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little-tyrant-gortash · 5 months

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Oathbreaker

Pairing: fem!Tav x Enver Gortash, fem!Tav/Astarion

Tags: Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Paladin Tav (Baldur's Gate), Vaginal Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Drunk Sex, Unrequited Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Scars, Blood and Injury, Injury, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Torture, Psychological Torture, Implied/Referenced Torture

Desc.: I'm playing a Paladin who let Gortash become the Archduke and immediately after my Paladin's Oath was broken.

My Paladin did not take that well. I just... had to write it. And a manipulative Gortash, too.

Not sure if I should continue or just leave it like this. 🤔

Word count: 2,190

Ao3 here.

Chapter 2.

Chapter 1.: Portal sherry

She didn't understand why did she accept the invitation. After she let Gortash persuade her to work together and he became the Archduke, Tav broke her Oath of Vengeance, and it put a weight unbearable upon her shoulders.

The others at the camp knew this. Tav was inconsolable for everything she lost that day, and they didn't even attempt to talk about it. They thought it'd be best if they pretended everything was alright.

But this wasn't the same with Gortash. He couldn't help but notice the way she behaved – very differently from when he first met her –, and he didn't miss how bloodshot her eyes were, either. Something must've happened. And if something happened, he was concerned about it, because it was her job to get rid of Orin for both of their sakes. She must be in her best shape for that fight, because as much as he hated to admit it, he needed her. Their alliance wouldn't work unless Orin was dead, and he couldn't make a move directly because his Steel Watch was robust and Orin was a little slippery fish. Tav, though… she showed real promise with her group of vagabonds. She could succeed where he couldn't. She must.

He didn't mention it while they had dinner. He invited her over, purely for business, to treat her to a lavish feast. She must've been living on scraps anyway, and since he offered her he'd share his kingdom with her, he thought it'd be a gesture which would bring them closer to each other.

How annoying to see that she wasn't in the right mindset to talk. But at least she accepted the invitation and she was present, dressed modest, quiet.

After dinner, she excused herself for a few minutes, which he used to relocate himself over his lavish couch. It was positioned right in front of the doors of the balcony, which he kept open. The late summer was warm, and he brought an opened bottle of portal sherry with himself as he watched the dusk fall over his city.

Tav silently walked over to the couch and sat beside him. Their bodies weren't close; their thighs did not touch, and yet, Tav could feel his energy. He had a certain darkness about him, one that strangely pulled her in. Funny… she felt the same about… about…

Her shoulders lowered in utter defeat as her eyes scanned the city. He was out there. Somewhere. Alone.

"You're awfully quiet tonight", Gortash remarked. He couldn't help himself, he didn't invite her over to spend the entire night in silence. She didn't answer; her face morphed into some sort of sad, sombre, grief-like expression. "Is everything alright?"

As he raised his bottle to drink from it – he never really liked portal sherry, he enjoyed wines instead, but tonight, he wanted something different –, Tav looked him straight in the eyes. She looked… utterly lost.

"On the day when I agreed to be your ally", she said, her voice hoarse from not using it much in the past few days, and, from crying day and night, "I broke my Oath of Vengeance."

Gortash raised a brow. That was it? An oath? Was that so important to her that she looked like a beaten puppy because of it? Poor little pet. Perhaps all she needed was a firm hand to guide her. The very hand of Bane's Chosen, perhaps.

"Is that so?" He asked, then offered the bottle for her to take. She stared at it, then at his face, and he half smiled. "Trust me."

She scoffed, but took the bottle, and drank from it. Her mind was immediately snapped out of her misery when the taste hit her tongue.

"Portal sherry?"

Gortash heard the hint of a surprise and glee in her voice as she looked back at him again, offering the bottle back. Nevermind they've shared an indirect kiss; her lips touching the same spot his did. For a brief moment, he toyed with the idea…

"I'm sure we all felt like we've ended up in places we hadn't dreamed of", he half smiled, taking the bottle, then taking another swig.

"Yeah."

Tav agreed, glancing out at the city again, but her eyes quickly wandered back on him. By the gods, how did he grow on her? Everything about him – the power he radiated, the intenseness of his gaze, his confidence, his sly smirk –, everything made her want to stay close to him. She never thought of herself as a good leader. Especially not after what happened to Astarion at Cazador's place. Why, why did she let him Ascend? Why didn't she agree to him to make her his spawn – he still would be on her side, and she wouldn't need to wallow in her self pity over her broken oath. She wouldn't feel so alone. She'd have someone who at least cared.

Her lips curved down again as her gaze unfocused, signalling that she was, once again, far away. And Gortash didn't like that. He wanted her to be present. Perhaps he could guide her… twist her fate in a way it'd suit them both. He realised he had to be her anchor; he needed her to take care of Orin, but she needed him to feel whole again. Odd. But, at the moment, he had little choice than to proceed. He had to give some power back in her hands, or everything they've planned would fall to ruin. If Orin killed her… he couldn't even imagine the prospect. If Orin had two stones and him, only one, the balance would shift in Bhaal's favour. Tav's presence and personality was much more… pleasant. For him, it was desirable to have her survive this. She couldn't die on him. Not when he finally found her – someone who was strong enough, clever enough, cunning enough to get rid of the biggest thorn in his side.

"Who knows where will it take us next", he offered her the bottle again.

She looked back in his eyes and he could've sworn he felt a stir within which was not the sherry's work in his system. She was a battle-hardened warrior; a Paladin, at that. Once proud and sure, now visibly beaten down. But she still accepted the bottle when he offered it to her.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Archduke Gortash?" She arched a brow, and despite her question, she drank.

"Perhaps", Gortash smiled slightly.

"And what's your purpose with that?"

His purpose was clear, it should've been clear to her as well. But she wasn't asking about his plans for their shared future; she was talking about the now. And now… he wasn't entirely sure. Perhaps he wanted to make her relax, to ease her mind, to give her a break from all that happened to her in the brief time since she'd entered Baldur's Gate. Or was there something else…? The moment her lips touched the bottle again, he had a fleeting thought of claiming those lips for himself…

"We can do whatever you want to do", Gortash replied quietly.

He was purposefully giving the illusion of the decision in her hands. Frankly, he could see how she was looking at him, and he knew whatever he proposed would be reciprocated within a short time. Perhaps that'd be best. It'd strengthen their bond, it'd give her a purpose to survive her quest against Orin, it'd solidify her wish not to turn against him. To weaponize her desire… for that to work, he'd need to play along. Pretend, for the sake of his purpose. On his way to his current position… he'd sacrificed so much more than that. It wouldn't cause a problem to him.

But there was more to this. This wasn't just about manipulating her so he'd get what he wanted. He had only felt this drawn to someone else once in his entire life; and he wasn't sure it'd be the best course of action to go down that path again now. He wouldn't tolerate it well if he opened up to someone else again, only to inevitably lose them in such a short time.

Tav won't wound up dead as the Dark Urge did. She can't fall to the same fate. She mustn't. If he played this dangerous game… he'd play it on his own terms. She'd come out of it alive. He won't bury another lover. Never again.

"If I didn't know better", she offered the bottle back to him, "I'd think you're flirting with me, Gortash."

He still had that easy, calm smile on his face as he reached out for the bottle. Before, he was careful not to touch her hand when he took it back from her. Now, he purposefully placed his fingers and palm over hers. A familiar feeling danced up and down his spine from the touch, signalling that he had to watch his own heart, very closely, not to fall for her. It mustn't. He had to remain focused.

"I'll be honest with you", his tone was calm, slower and deeper than usual, "the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew I wanted you to be my partner. Whether you want it to be based entirely on business or something more – it's completely up to you." He paused as he drank again, nearly emptying the bottle. "And please. Call me Enver."

Something shifted in her expression again.

"I am an Oathbreaker", Tav whispered. The sherry, combined with her turbulent emotions were not a good mix; her eyes filled with tears. "You surely wouldn't want an Oathbreaker on your side. I am… unreliable."

"Because you made the right choice?" Gortash raised a brow, his tone serious. "Because you knew the moment you met me that we need each other? I assure you, you've done nothing wrong."

"I swore I'd wipe out evil", her tears ran down her cheeks, and she looked away, ashamed. "I've disgraced my people."

Gortash put the bottle down on the table beside the couch, then turned to her and ever so gently cupped her cheeks. His hands were warm against her face as he stroked her tears away with his thumbs.

"I am not evil", he whispered to her, "and neither are you. Both you and I want the best for the people who turn to us for help. I've told you I wanted to lead Baldur's Gate to glory, and we will do just that."

"But at what price?" Tav didn't pull away, just brought her hands up to touch his arms, still covered with his golden gauntlets.

"If there were any other way, I'd do it." Gortash paused, attempting a lie. "I'd do it – for you. But we're neck deep in my original plan, and we must make the best of it for both of our sakes. I want to rule with you. I want you to survive this, I want you to stay focused." Heart beating in his throat, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. "I need you. I need you more than anyone else in my life, Tav. Please, don't have regrets about the past, not now. Look forward and take one step at a time, with me, alright?"

Tav remained as she was; only her hands moved to touch his face. Her slender fingers were so gentle that they made a shiver run down his spine. She explored his cheeks, his jawline with her touch; her thumb ever so gently ghosting over his scar on his chin.

"Gods smite you, Enver", she murmured softly, "you got me drunk", making him chuckle quietly.

The tadpole squirmed in her skull and she did her best to ignore it.

What are you doing?

The Emperor's voice rang in her head, as always, when he was concerned about her thoughts and actions. Frankly, she'd done a few stupid things during her journeys, but sharing a private moment with someone who just told her that he needed her, despite the fact what she became – interrupting that was rude.

Stay out of this, she thought.

You do remember he is our enemy, right?

For the last time! Shut up!

Funnily enough, the Emperor's meddling in her affair with the most powerful man of Baldur's Gate gave her the final push. She tilted her head and kissed Gortash, who reciprocated immediately. As if he had been waiting for it. Once he claimed her lips, he quickly dominated the situation; sliding his tongue over hers, making her go weak in his hold with a moan of pleasure.

And as he was kissing her like there were no tomorrow… he realised he was just as doomed as he suspected. Every nerve in his body sung with desire for her. Any plan he had, any scheming, plot, idea was out the window when her fingers ran in his raven locks, pulling him even closer. His hands slid away – down her form to her hips, guiding her in his lap, never stopping his kisses as he stood with her kept close to himself, with his hands on her ass.

His bedroom – thankfully – wasn't far away.

#little tyrant [enver gortash]#bg3 #enver gortash #baldur's gate 3 #archduke enver gortash #bg 3 #lord enver gortash #Oathbreaker

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tgrailwar-zero · 1 month

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Wait. How long were we out for???

ARCHIVIST: "Long enough."

He paused. A long, truly thoughtful pause.

And then he spoke, his expression sad and distant.

ARCHIVIST: "She's a fool. She loves humans, and wants to understand human love, but exists in an incompatible vacuum. She was summoned by a horrid man who she adored, watched a beautiful soul die, and was left alone. And so, in an attempt to understand the dreams of those she's left behind, she's given herself far too many faces than one needs. Gods have facets, of course, but she struggles to maintain her own godhood outside of the divinity grafted onto her parallel legends. Her own existence is already one branch of a broad tree- no, two 'branches' fused together by the cruelty of fate."

He held out his hand, a book forming in his palm.

The cover opened, a number of images floated to the surface, dancing around you.

ARCHIVIST: "The vagabond, who wanders the Solar Cell with plenty of care for the people. A wild animal in spirit, tamed and leashed only by her innate crystalized goodness."

ARCHIVIST: "The princess, who idly sits on the throne and drinks the praise of the Solar Cell's inhabitants like water, her heart an airy melody impossible to discern."

ARCHIVIST: "The empress, who watches both the struggles and triumphs of those in the Solar Cell with a wicked grin and cold eyes. Though perhaps her more formal title- 'Administrator'- is clearer to you. A competent, managerial soul."

ARCHIVIST: "The Priestess, shrewd and conniving in her affections and her hatred, who was shameless enough to insert herself within the Holy Grail War itself this time around. A pitiful creature, unable to change her stripes even if she tried. Perhaps becoming a goddess was an escape."

ARCHIVIST: "Those are the faces of the Goddess. At least, the ones she's currently flaunting. They call themselves 'Tamamo', but that's just the surface. Each one is a little bit more divine and a bit more wild than their appearances suggest. If you want my advice, don't fight them unless you have to. Most of them have settled as noncombatants in this twisted tale. Best to keep it that way, wild spirits are difficult to contain when unleashed. Unless you're feeling particularly vengeful, then go and try and kill them all. Maybe you'll get a 'secret end'."

'Tamamo-no-Mae'. It was a name, at least. Though based on what the ARCHIVIST said, it made it difficult to highlight in red.

ARCHIVIST: "However... her role is to be defeated. She's a stepping stone for humanity's salvation, not the cause. Part of her has accepted that, while part of her hasn't. And so, she's expertly crafted the roles of a cold, uncaring deity that thirsts for nothing but destruction and absolution and a brave, magnanimous goddess that sits on the precipice of sacrifice and salvation simultaneously, flipping a coin to see which side lands heads up. Luckily, you won't have to slay all of her- not if you don't want to. Firmly lopping off the head of the Priestess should push her to reveal the Heavenly Divinity, and then you simply need to kill that god, and then a Titan."

ARCHIVIST: "What? Does that seem a bit unreasonable? That's the pain of being heroes, sorry to say. Slaying more and more monsters, and delivering a happy ending on a pile of corpses."

He sneered, a twisted look for a twisted man.

ARCHIVIST: "A man gave you trash and your first thought was ghosts...? Trust me, you're the only ghosts here tonight."

That seemed like a no. At least from him.

A book was flung your way.

[ You received a Sports Magazine! ]

ARCHIVIST: "Now, go. I have my own business to attend to."

And then--

You weren't sure how, but you found yourselves back outside...

There was a chill in the air, the idle sounds of people walking the sidewalks and cars rumbling through the streets calmly drifting about. You checked your inventory- the keys you had been given for the Archives were gone. Or maybe more like 'returned'.

You looked around, and saw an odd sight. The calm chatter of your three Servants, standing on the sidewalk and simply... talking. Their voices lost on the night wind, but their faces fully illuminated under the moonlight.

KUKULKAN sitting on the edge of a sidewalk, people-watching as the small child you found was resting in her lap. She beamed as usual, freely chattering as she sat in between her allies.

AVENGER, staring silently up towards the moon, arms folded. The expression on his face inscrutable as always, red eyes briefly glancing in your direction before turning elsewhere. He didn't seem to say much, but every so often when prompted he'd respond.

CONSTANTINE, patiently waiting the closest to the door. He seemed to laugh at something KUKULKAN said, shaking his head with an awkward smile before noticing your arrival and approaching.

CONSTANTINE: "There you are. Shall we get going? The night is relatively young. If we get started now, we'll have time to camp for a bit before we head out to the Megalopolis." KUKULKAN: "Mm, should we travel through the night? If the Masters are feeling sleepy, I can carry them, yes?" AVENGER: "..."

SIGURD had said that in order to make it to the Flaming Bout on time when it started, you'd have to leave... close to now. Still, that wasn't a must. You could always continue to look around the city, and just arrive later. Though that may mean AVENGER would leave, as to not waste any time with his own crusade.

CURRENT MAP DETAILS ARE HERE.

THE NAMELESS CITY:

*If you chose to 'leave the Nameless City', your party will automatically regroup, and begin the 'camp scene' before you decide your next decisive destination. While the status of where you may go will change over the course of the story, your relationship and choices during Chapters 4-5 have gained you friends and allies in SIGURD, BRYNHILDR and the VALKYRIE, making you always welcome in the Nameless City!

#thgw map view #long post #thgw story #thgw: chapter 5 #main post

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skellymom · 8 months

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"Vagabonds" Chapter 2

HUNTER X READER/FEM OC. Link to the Introduction and Chapter 1:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/738467105361494016/vagabonds?source=share

Background: Hunter and Mad bond, make love, and break shit.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

Warning: SMUT ALERT! Fingering, oral sex, intercourse, erections, arousal, sexual/sensual feelings, flirting, swearing, alcohol use, mention of deep sorrow/depression/hurt/lost love/relationship breakups/estranged parents/heavy mental baggage/ugly crying.

Word count: 3K

(Credit: Cool moving star dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers )

Chapter 2 - Spotchka Under The Stars

Recap: Mad grabbed Hunters hand and led him through several dark winding stairways, many doorways, purposeful twists and turns that confused the sense of direction. The last door opened to a rooftop area...

...that didn’t even fit the aesthetic of Cid’s Parlor. Outdoor rugs sporting plush cushioned lounge seating, soft blankets, big throw pillows, centered around an elevated bonfire pit. Lit by strings of small lights, adding a dim ambient glow. Planters full of foliage framed the area, giving it a very natural landscape. All hidden by walls around the rooftop perimeter so as not to be seen by those looking up at ground level. A retractable awning was pulled back to reveal a clear night sky and millions of stars above Ord Mantell.

Mad walked over to the bonfire, hit a switch, and flames sprang to life. The glow and heat added yet another amazing element to the scene. Hunter stood transfixed by everything before him. Mad laughed. His mouth was hanging open, eyes wide. Adorable Laser Brain. It was already worth it, just to see the look on this man’s face.

“Here, down the hatch since your mouth hanging open.” Pulling the cork on the Spotchka and handing it to Hunter. Coming down from his momentary shock, and away from the scene around him to focus on Mad. The firelight danced off her skin, eyes, hair. Her smile now carefree with no menace. Beautiful in her genuine happiness. Hunter wanted to kiss her right now, just grab her and passionately plant one on that sassy mouth. But he didn’t want to ruin the bit of trust they had at that moment. He wanted to know more about this woman. So, he settled with a goofy smile while swigging from the bottle.

There was a large, cushioned settee, big enough for two people. Mad laid down and folded her arms under her head. The best position to look straight up to the sky and stargaze. From this position she could also regard Hunter and watch his next move.

“May I join you?” Hunter asked as he strolled over.

“I’ll allow it” Mad winked at him and grinned.

He settled in beside her. Then his comm lit up. It was Tech. Something about repairing a neighboring ship and wondering when Hunter was coming back to the Marauder. Since it wasn’t an emergency, he ignored the message. Omega would be fine with Wrecker and probably pass out watching holos. He needed this respite away from everything. Just for tonight.

“What is it?” Mad asked eyebrow raised.

“My brother pestering me. I’ll answer him later,” while switching off his comm.

He handed the bottle back to Mad. She took a sip, then candidly replied, “Tell me about your family.”

Hunter hadn’t expected that to come up. Honestly, he wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from Mad at that moment. She gave off vibes of guarded flirting. This probing statement caught him off kilter.

“They are everything to me. Pretty much the only thing I have” he replied. Long silence. He wasn’t going to give much personal information away now. Crosshair’s face appeared in his mind, followed by Omega’s as she told Cross he was her brother too. The disappointed expressions on Tech, Wrecker, and Echo’s face as they turned away from Cross to board the Marauder. We never leave our own behind. Mad noticed a sudden pained micro expression from Hunter.

Mad handed the bottle back to Hunter. He took a long-drawn-out sip.

“To the Nomaadi People family is life...literally. We may be scattered among the galaxy, but our devotion is deep. If I call on my family, they will be there. The shirt off their back, food from their mouths, fight for safety's sake, with them there will always be a home. It’s not a place, it’s the people. Our creed is: By blood or chance, our family makes.”

“Sounds beautiful. You’re lucky to have such a support system to call family.” Hunter answered briefly. Unsure how much to share. This was uncharted emotional territory for him.

“We used to be a huge extended family. Not many of us left now. We are a marked people” she stroked the tattoo emblazoned on her chest lovingly. “Double edged sword. Marked as an honor to belong to The Star People. Tattooed right against our hearts. We are comprised of blood relations and non-blood's that are adopted in. A tapestry of community. And yet...marked by powerful Establishments that would eradicate us from existence for just being who we are and owning this symbol.”

Mads words made him think of all the clones he knew. A huge extended family of brothers. Yet expendable lives for the war machine. Clones were barely given respect among the wider public...less so than droids. Nobody cared if clones lived or died. They were cannon fodder, and a useful tool. Most of them now controlled by the inhibitor chip.

As the night progressed and the Spotchka flowed, they both loosened up enough to ease into earnest conversation. Mad talked about being an “independent contractor” refugee smuggler and more about her Nomaadi culture. Hunter about his brothers, sister, planets they had visited while working odd jobs for Cid. He didn’t mention being a clone or having ever belonged to the Republic. He purposely avoided that, with Mad never questioning. She probably never suspected it since he didn’t look like a Reg, nor dressed in uniform. He hated lying by omission and honestly wanted to tell her. His fear was that she would immediately get up and leave. He enjoyed her presence...and selfishly...he was lonely.

Tentatively, parenting entered the chat. He discussed Omega but omitted her role with the Kaminoans. Mad discussed Love, but omitted her offspring being force sensitive should this man narc on them for any bounty reward. Both wanting to connect but scared to risk too much for safety's sake. They talked about how much they cared for their family. How they worried about their children's safety and for the future of the galaxy in general.

By this time, it was late, and the moon above Ord Mantell was high. A slight chill was in the air, so they covered up with blankets. Mad still shivered from the cold. Hunter politely offered to snuggle for extra heat and trustingly Mad took him up on it. He put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Being that Mad and Hunter were almost identical in height, her head rested against his. They settled in together and watched the stars quietly for a time. Eventually, a shooting star sailed across the night sky.

“Make a wish, Mad”, Hunter said quietly.

Mad sighed. The night was not what she expected. It was better. This right here with Hunter, was the most she had let down her walls. The closest she had been to anyone since Love’s father. Sure, she had some flings hoping they might blossom. But any conversation was brief and impersonal. Most men were “in and out” quickly. Some even avoiding her altogether once they realized she was Nomaadi. Hunter looked past all of this. He seemed very genuine. The combination of alcohol and emotion bubbling up at this moment rushed out before she could stop it.

“I wish...to be loved. I’m so damned lonely!” The shock of it coming right out in the open. And, before she could do anything to stop it, started to cry. Through her tears she stammered, “I appreciate my kid...but sometimes it isn’t enough”.

Mad didn’t apologize for her emotional outburst. She was done with worrying about what others thought of her. Or if she was what they thought she should be. The road leading to this moment was such a long, hard one. If this man wanted to bail because she showed some human vulnerability, she didn’t kriffing need the company. If Hunter wanted to snuggle with someone baggage-free, there were plenty of escort houses open all night in Ord Mantell.

The sudden change of character had Hunter sit up on one elbow and regard Mad. Tears streaming down her face, she looked up deeply into Hunter’s eyes. Mad saw a man contemplating his own emotional baggage. Hunters' eyes looked moist in the firelight. No tears, but close. Tired lines forming on his face. She unintentionally struck a chord.

Brushing away Mad’s tears, Hunter felt a deep pang within his own heart. While he had his brothers and Omega, there was no intimate partner to share his deep feelings with. Keeping to himself, holding back so much for his family. Losing Crosshair, no longer having a homeworld, scrabbling for basic existence. Hunter understood Mad’s emotions. It was so difficult and lonely to be the rock others held onto for strength. The weight of Mad’s emotions reached out to touch his senses, while flowing together with his own. A riptide taking its toll on his controlled demeanor, pulling him out to sea.

His voice husky with emotion, Hunter spoke with difficulty while returning Mad’s deep eye contact, “I don’t know what to say...other than...for tonight...I’m here.”

With a sudden movement, Mad intensely embraced Hunter, tightly wrapping her arms around his neck. Her forehead resting against his cheek. Hunter reacted kindly by wrapping his arms around her body. The energy that raced through them in Cid’s Parlor returned with more intensity. It's warm tingle didn’t leave this time. With the embrace it stayed and made both of their bodies shiver with its power. Hunter, finally unable to hold back any longer, broke out in tears. They ran down his face and mingled with Mad’s. They held onto each other like their very lives depended on it. Crying, hitching sobs from the heart, noses running onto each other. Forming a bond of deep emotional sincerity.

The Kaminoans never prepared Hunter or his brothers for such raw emotional interaction. Brutal honesty regarding the struggle of existence. He never had to think of such things. Raised without this type of contact or context. Clones were told what to do. To execute someone else's orders. Not to consider their own emotional wants and needs. They were property of the Republic, now pawns for the Empire.

Mad had built walls since the absence of her last partner. She refused to be hurt again when he left Love and Mad alone. She mourned his absence, and the collateral damage to her child. But she never let go of the hurt and loneliness his absence left on her heart.

Mad and Hunter clung to each other, nestled together under the moon and stars of Ord Mantell. Half drunk on Spotchka, breathing in each other, and crying like newborn children. Finally, when they ran out of tears, they whispered to one another. Gentle caresses gave way to passionate kisses. They both felt the heat of sexual desire take over. “May I touch you?” Hunter asks demurely. He’s feeling very ardent but doesn’t want to overstep.

“Yes”, she snarks with a smirk. “I’m up for anything...except anal.”

Hunters' expression is full stop shocked while his penis immediately pokes Mad’s thigh HARD.

"Feels like HE’S totally on board.”

Hunter chuckles “Not used to a partner that's so...frank.”

“I’m not one for holding back” and with that Mad flipped Hunter onto his back and straddled him.

Hunter ran his hands up Mads thighs and growled. One hand slid to her inner thigh and brought his fingertips to her center. Then he started applying firm pressure and making lazy circles, rubbing her clitoris through her pants. She shuddered. Mad caught his other hand and brought it up to her face. He gently stroked her cheek with his open palm as she brought it to her mouth to kiss. From there she inserted his thumb into her mouth and sucked on it. Her tongue tickled the base of his thumb while it was in her mouth.

Mad paused, pulled Hunter’s thumb out of her mouth and swirled her tongue around the tip. An unspoken promise of what she could do to him. This accentuated by grinding her hips against his swollen crotch. All done with intense unbroken eye contact.

“You First, Mesh’la.” Pulling his hand out of her grasp, Hunter started undoing her pants. Mad helped him slide them and her underwear off together. He could smell her full arousal. Mad then took off her shirt and threw it showily behind her. Large breasts bare and nipples hard with the chilly air. Hunter’s erection ached.

He grabbed Mad’s hips and dragged her to his mouth, burying his face into her crotch. She inhaled quickly and moaned as he sucked and flicked his tongue over her clit. He firmly held her hips down onto his face, groaning and growling like a wild creature. Occasionally he would shake his head side to side under her with wild abandon.

It didn’t take long for Mad to orgasm. As the wave of her climax washed over, she arched her back and took in the stars of Ord Mantel right before her eyes rolled back into her head. She cried out. Delicious aftershocks jerked her hips.

Hunter, fully enjoying the show asked, “More?”

“MORE!”

Hunter obliged happily. More licking, sucking, growling. Bringing her to another orgasm. Then another. Her refractory time was indeed short and since she wasn’t saying no, he kept on going. He was quite enjoying watching Mad lose her composure over and over again.

Eventually...” Oh, Maker...Hunter...” she was breathless and swooning. “I can’t anymore! My legs are weak.” She laughed while panting. He had tongue fucked her so much, she literally could not move her body off his face.

Amused, Hunter lifted her off him and set her down. He helped Mad lay back as she was now a shaking, wet mess. She lay back catching her breath. Off went Hunter’s shirt and pants. The potted plants were covered in their clothing. Then he pulled the covers and himself onto Mad. Before he went to nuzzle her, Hunter grabbed another blanket off the chair next to them and wiped his coated face off on it.

“Classy there, Hunky” Mad teased.

“Might save this for Cid. Drape it over her office chair for a surprise. She’s been such a bitch to me and the rest of the Batch.”

“Hey! Keep my bodily fluids out of it. You really should just wipe your ass on it. Seems more fitting.”

They both erupted in laughter. Then passionately kissed. Hunter nuzzled Mad’s neck as she wrapped her arms and legs around his body. He traveled around and down kissing her chest. On the way, he made sure to give a full loving lippy kiss to her Nomaadi tattoo. In his mind, he sent intension to whatever Force or Ancestors were out there: From my lips to your ears. Take care of this woman, her children, and her family. They deserve to be happy. SOMEBODY DESERVES TO BE HAPPY!

Hunter settled on Mad’s breasts, nuzzling between them. Groaning as he breathed in the scent of her skin...and her perfume. Something akin to dark blooming flowers and amber. Sweet, warm, and musky. It drove him wild. He reached down, grabbing his swollen member, and stroked it gently. His cock was leaking and wet.

Mad ran her fingers through Hunters dark curly locks as he licked her nipples. Then he nibbled them. He let go of himself and cupped one breast while lovingly caressing her curves with the other. He was slowly...methodically making his way to the inside of Mad’s thighs.

Hunter looked up at Mad and exclaimed with heated desire, “Oh ner kar'taylir darasuum, oh ner kar'ta! (Mando’a: “My love, my heart.”)

Mad answered breathlessly back in Nomaadi: “My heart, my love.”

Mad snatched off Hunter’s bandana and tossed it with the rest of their clothing. His curls spilled out. She grabbed handfuls of them. They were so soft. The feeling of his hair, his touches, kisses, his scent, the Spotchka, night air, fire, stars, her lust, all blended in total sensory euphoria.

Hunter stroked Mad’s Mound of Venus and she pulled him back up for a long, deep, soul kiss.

Then she pulled away and leered at him “I want to taste you.”

Hunter smiled and obliged. He laid back and relaxed on the settee. Mad leaned over Hunter and rested her ample breasts on his lap, framing his stiffened cock. She then gently teased the head with her tongue. Small wet circles, flicking her tongue on his frenulum, that intensely passionate gaze up at him while he gazed down at her. He was starting to lose his composure. Not wanting to cum too soon, he looked up above at the stars.

Everything right now was amazing to Hunter: The stars, this woman, the heat of their lovemaking. It had been so long since he felt this alive. Like the air crackled with energy. A lot of this was his enhanced senses, but a lot of it was...something he couldn’t explain. Something wonderful.

Mad’s ministrations on Hunter’s cock became intense. She was really enjoying what she was doing to him. He felt and tasted amazing. She enjoyed listening to his heavy breathing and groans. It made her feel powerful to be able to make a partner react like this. To bring someone such joy.

“I...can’t hold it together much longer” Hunter gasped. “Is this how you want me to finish? Or do you want me inside you?

“I want to hold you and kiss you when you cum”

“Are you...do you need any...protection?” Hunter momentarily felt guilty he hadn’t asked sooner and certainly didn’t want to kill the mood.

“No...I haven’t been fertile for...awhile now.” Mad inwardly cringed. How can you say, hey I started menopause early...without it sounding so unsexy? “The kitchens been closed” she giggled self-consciously.

Hunter chuckled and pulled Mad up to embrace her. They kissed passionately, running fingers through hair, nibbling lips, earlobes, necks. Ardently stroking each other's back.

Their lovemaking ramped up as they both fought for top. Neither willing to concede bottom. Rolling back and forth on the lounger, making it rock wildly. Whomever was in the apartment below The Oasis was NOT getting any peaceful sleep tonight. Finally, they settled with Hunter sitting up and Mad straddled him. She slowly lowered herself down upon his length. They both shivered as he slipped into her warmth. Mad held Hunter still and without moving, worked her pelvic muscles around his cock. He gasped in surprise. Then she slowly undulated her pelvis up and down, side to side. Her hips were dancing while he was inside her. It was more than he could stand to not explode.

“Uhhh...Mesh’la...kriff...”

"Mmmmm..." Mad smiled, eyes heavy lidded in the throes of ecstasy. Starting to shudder, pressure and heat building inside of her. Hunter grabbed her hips. They held onto each other and rocked in unison. Their breathing heavy, punctuated by growls, gasps, sighs.

Both Mad and Hunter were overtaken by the returning feeling experienced earlier, like a tidal wave forming within them. Rising up, up through their bodies, cresting, and crashing with intense emotion and sensory feeling as they both climaxed together. It was an almost out of body experience. Neither was aware of how loud their screams of orgasm were. They finished hot, sweaty, exhausted and panting. Hunter lovingly stroked Mad’s face. They held onto each other, forehead’s touching, relishing the afterglow.

The moment was interrupted by a drunken voice.

“DAMN! Somebodies havin’ a bangin’ time up there!!! Hee, hee. WOOOoooOOOooo...”

Neither one spoke as they tried to catch their breath. Hunter and Mad just stared with shocked eyes at one another.

“Ya woke me up. Imma movin’ somewhere else to give ya’s some privacy.” SOMEONE had passed out against the building on the street. They could hear cackling and amused mumbling as he wandered away.

Both relieved that they were now TRULY alone, relaxed in the afterglow. The stars twinkled overhead as Mad laid comfortably upon Hunter, embracing each other. As Mad opened her mouth to speak, they both heard a loud CRACK!

The wooden settee collapsed, having broken in several places, dumping them both onto the rug underneath.

Hunter and Mad laid there shocked for a few seconds.

“FUCK! Cid’s going to have my ass for this!!!”

Mad howled in maniacal laughter.

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

To read Chapter 3

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/729052697841582080/hunter-x-ocfem-reader-ongoing-series?source=share

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yostresswritinggirl · 3 years

Text

The One The Bard Once Loved

NEW Vibe check (appropriate song to cry to while reading)

"The bard, the sprite, the archer. The trio of young dreamers that wish to witness the blue skies past the raging winds that lock their freedom. But those are more than mere dreams, for it requires the sacrifice of those you love, to grace the courage to fight a God. And Barbatos, poor Barbatos, sacrificed more than he wanted."

Pairings -> Venti x Fem!Reader x Bard (Gale)

Word Count -> 4,337

Theme -> Angst, Backstory, Long Fic

Series -> #Bonafide specials (100 followers event)

Warnings -> Spoilers to Venti's story, character death

"Oh little sprite, from whence beyond

Does thou reminiscent of a vagabond?

Curious to which it whisks upon

Trapped now in desolate, forlorn"

Venti the wind sprite had always been curious, the single whisk of air that always goes the opposite way, hanging behind from his fellow currents to be distracted by a curious thing. So it was no surprise to anyone that he had gone lost once more in their rounds swaying but when he'd not return, long ago has his current passed the nation of Mond. Yet there was no way he can fly by his family of winds, for he finds himself trapped within the walls of a grazing storm that cages the stone walls of the city, of winds that he could not control nor agitate.

No matter how hard he tries the wind does not part, and so little Venti was stuck inside brooding skies and angry blasts. No mere sprite can go against the mighty strength of an archon.

So he resigns to his fate and wanders in this new place. Of a city wide and barren, why dare the Decarabian hide such dwelling? And even with the raging howls of the walls of wind, Venti couldn't help but wonder the silence it traps within.

A tiny ball of white in an expanse of gray. The thought scares the little sprite enough to make him scurry for the smallest bit of sound he can decipher. The loneliness creeps into his core—

And his little body bumps into that of a soft material. "Oh! Goodness, one should not run off without looking like that-" the figure turns and finds itself face to face with a floating blob, deep blue eyes wide and mouth hangs with wonder. Venti recognizes this creature in one of his endeavors as the wind, a human being, the true wanderers of Teyvat. Yet what is one doing trapped? "Such a peculiar being! What could you be?"

Yet it is not frightened by Venti's rarity, well, given he is not the most frightening wonder in this continent this was no surprise.

The sprite did not mind being found out. No, no, quite the opposite honestly, as he flies closer to the young boy and hides in his upturned hood. Nuzzling against the junction in his neck as he expresses gratitude in the company and presence of another in this desolate world.

The young boy chuckles and it reminds him of a song. "Perhaps you do not understand what I spoke?" The sprite shakes its head and the ticklish spot is tickled again. "Or do you not know how to speak?" A nod. And another giggle.

Without another word, the human slips back into the alleys of winding yet thin roads before making his way inside what looks to be a cathedral of tall composition. Glass windows of the same length tinted in kaleidoscopic patterns of color. There is a light in them you would usually bask in during the 'outside world', but in here it replicates that of an oasies in the deserts of Sumeru.

Underneath the artificial haze it beams a seeming spotlight at a figure clad in a dark ebony cloak. Venti felt the vibrations of an elated gasp as the human rushed over with a smile and frantic waving.

"My fair muse, how you've brighten my day, bestowing your presence tonight!"

The cloak tenses before immediately relaxing, the 'muse' he speaks of turns with its loose hood falling as it bundled around the shoulders, and Venti the sprite couldn't help but gasp too at the sight!

Fair is lacking, no words can describe the essence of bloom and beauty at the beholder as you stood there almost sparkling, hair catching the twinkle of light. Your plum lips caught itself smiling yet your eyes twinkled double the amusement at the sight of the human before you, "Gale." You murmured with an undertone of annoyance as you trudged over, flicking the boy's forehead so suddenly he'd voiced his hurt loudly. "Where have you been?! You've never been late to our daily rendezvous, you had me worried-!"

"Oh, such a cutie when you worry!" The young boy, Gale, cupped your cheeks in the middle of your spiel as he softly pats it with his fingers. Venti had never seen such creature change colors as fast as you, not even a chameleon, or an octopus in hiding. "I've simply found a new companion while I was out and about!"

As if a spotlight was caught unto him this time, your blown eyes wandered to the sprite floating by your company's neck. And oddly he'd found the attention appreciated.

"Who is this? An elf?"

"Venti!" There was a distant jingle of imaginary bells in his squeak of a voice.

"It/You can talk?!"

(Y/N) Lawrence.

Gale the Bard.

Venti the El- Wind Sprite.

Gale was a bard that resides in the cathedral of Mondstadt, homeless and without blood and kin, the nuns had took him in and lead their choir in turn for their hospitality.

You, on the other hand, lived with a clan of hunters that once ruled the mountains and forests. But with the emergence of the inescapable walls of wind, your family had been on the forefront of the protection of the citizens.

There were a lot of struggles in communication between you two and the lil sprite. He only knows his name and how to copy words (not so fluently) so questions had to be foregone, teaching the little one took priority. And Gale being the weaver of words took it upon himself to teach him frequently as you had your duties and family to go to.

Venti would sometimes disappear for a majority of the time and you'd figured he finally found a way to pass through the winds without shredding himself among the blades of current. And then he'd pop back in to listen to the merry tunes Gale had come up with, both of them waiting for your return.

"Ah Venti, is she not a beauty? The youngest daughter of Lawrence, as divine as that of incense. Oh tell me those dotted eyes could see it too!" The little sprite eagerly nods as he follows the bard's stride across the aisles in the holy cathedral, once again barren of other souls except for them. Whenever his human friend finds time to muse, it would be most about the maiden he fancies, the muse of most of his songs. Venti had been captured by his delicate tunes and savory lines to the point that he too had been overly enticed by your grace when your presence shines.

Your strength, your smile, your laugh, your hair. Your gait, your poise, your eyes, your glare. You had caught their stares dozens of times in silence before and it was always up to you to put them back to present time.

Venti simply basked in your warming aura and indulges himself outwardly, often you'd find him dozing off on the crown of your head. And often times you'd find a little pout on Gale at such a sight that you had no choice but to tease. In those moments, the wind sprite knew he had come out triumphant.

The cathedral doors open as quickly as they had closed, your windswept and frantic form appearing from the storm outside. The two boys in your life immediately lit up on your appearance but you'd know most of it was directed at the numerous scrolls and books you currently cradle in your shivering arms.

You offered them a grin, one of victory, and you'd all cheered at your success.

Soon, your merry trio made its way to the second floor of the cathedral in front of a faraway hallway that looks over the vast floor of the first yet still had the glow from the looming illuminated glass windows. Beholden in front of you are illustrations of a world beyond, filled with colors and shine, a world you had only imagined from stories now pictured perfectly.

Venti would hover over the illustrations at random intervals and giddily point at some of those he recognized, squeaking incoherent noises yet reflecting happiness and familiarity. While you fancied with indulging the sprite in his incomprehensible stories, Gale sat beside you with adoring yet distant eyes upon the images laid before him. Looking through them, and projecting himself in such a world. The books of the outside world you'd stolen from your clan's sacred libraries will be the start of a spark of desire to be free. And with it the start of a new era.

"The true sky, and songs that cageless soar...

Were they not wishes worth fighting for?"

Long had you gone and abandoned your stolen goods for them to admire more, at least until the day your clan finally realized the missing materials in the vast expanse of the bookshelves they own. There was more to marvel at yet you feared if you linger longer, your sister would look for you and find your little crime all too soon.

Venti quietly watches the familiar illustration of a beach littered with creatures of the sea on its glittering sand before he'd lift his tiny head up, witnessing the intense stare his bard friend had on the scroll where lies an overgrown tree and a stone structure. The sprite noted he had not seen this one.

"How marvelous it would be, to celebrate the most joyous moments under this tree," Gale mumbled in a quiet lilt of longing in his voice, "Imagine (Y/N) and I, with you by my side, as I finally pluck the courage to get down on one knee." Venti bumbled in slight jealousy, buzzing in front of the bard that could only cast a laugh. "Oh hush, dear friend, is it not appropriate to take an arrow to the knee for an archer such as she?"

Yet even with his desire to be by your side, the little sprite knew that he would be there to support his friend for the happiness you two deserved. In a land where you are free. Still, Venti hopes his cuteness would be enough to prolong you just a little bit more.

Drunk in passion and dreams, the next day the bard was scheming. And when you'd come to his cathedral of a home, he finally poured out his plans to you with a Venti quipping with cheers on the side.

The Mondstadtian had predicted your hesitance, even your disapproval on the notion, and were ready to chip in to persuade you once more— yet you gave in. Immediately. The same fire burned in your eyes at the thought of being unshackled and caged from the world begging to be explored. Your sentiments together with the bard fueled the desire between you three, and through the brainpower of a trio of young minds, you had drawn your plans.

Gale aided by Venti would try and coerce with the Ragnvindr clan's leader, and you would work on convincing your eldest sister Amos for the help needed to coerce the whole Lawrence bloodline into the battle. You knew there was an undeniable hatred within her against Decarabian and you wanted her to fuel that fire once and for all, for one great cause.

And soon enough, the strings of fate had come into play, and the one who shall record this momentous history has taken its seat by the balcony of war. Only the last piece of the puzzle is left in this grandoise play—

"Gale, Venti, are you sure this is the right direction to the hideout? We're taking a route longer than usual, surely you're not making last minute pranks..."

Your bow smacks at your back as you made your way inside the dark closet. It was two cycles before the fated ambush would come and in your nerves you had not realized how amiss things had been for the others. You were more than ready even if your fingers were to tremble everytime it holds your bow and arrow, predictions of the war that shall come floats within the expanse of your mind.

In your limited vision, your bard friend and sprite shared a look that did not pass by you. The tension had only caused you to gulp in your nervousness, were you found out? Did the participants of the revolt suddenly back down? "There has been a change of plans, but worry not for history still pans. My Muse, it is best you stay to assure you will not be caught in the storm's disarray-"

A hand flew across the bard's pristine white skin and his dark ocean hues could not help but widen. Is he... telling you to not participate in the war?! What kind of— a sob left through your gritted teeth despite your best efforts, and you're not sure who was more broken between your friends upon the sight. "How could you, even think- Gale, you carry no arms but a lyre! And Venti still has no means to go against the Archon that controls the winds! What kind of absurd idea is this?!" In the middle of your rage, your friends had already wrapped you in their sentimental hug, expressing their own misery with free-flowing tears." I'm supposed to protect you... t-the three of us were supposed to lead the path of freedom..."

"You've always protected us, (Y/N). Now would be the best time... to return the favor," and as your friend stepped back to give a parting smile, your whole world suddenly engulfed in black as the door shut with a slam and a final lock.

"Gale! Venti! No, please no! Let me out! Don't do this, PLEASE!"

"Please hear us out, our dear (Y/N)," Gale leaned his forehead against the thick door that separates you two, shedding the last bit of tears he could muster before the end of an era. The desperation in your every bang against it, breaks apart a hole in his own heart, "For your own good, and your own future."

When Gale described love to the little Venti, the latter was certain that he felt the same way for you. Yet the human ever so jokingly laughed at how he was still too young to fully understand the implications of such words. But he desired just as much to protect you, to be by your side, and to see your smile. But the human was right for he did not truly understand the reasons WHY he felt like so...

So he asked instead, dear friend Gale of Tales, why have you come to cherish this human in devotion? And quite so the other was happy to indulge!

"It starts with young Mondstadt when the walls were young and the people still knew the tales and what they sang. I was a poor little bard with a broken lyre, when living alone was nothing but dire.

Without a home, without a bed, I was ready to starve to death. But an angel clad in white suddenly lead me to bright light. My muse had brought to me a cathedral, yes the one we are in now! And since then I've lived a proper choir life, always wondering how...

just how things would be without (Y/N), my angel? Continuing to live in the dark alleys, would I have been able? Even now I have yet to repay her act of kindness. But one day, for sure... " Perhaps, this act the young boy now follows, was the payment he had been waiting for.

How long you had stayed there, you had no clue but by the sounds of war cries and clashing steel had told you enough. You'd been there for too long.

Blessed with some luck that a crowbar had found its way in this janitor closet in a cathedral no less, you had immediately set out to join the battle: beyond the holy doors flames had lit up from the torches the revolt has carried, many bodies lay by the stone grounds of the city, some moving and struggling while some... you spare them not a second thought as you rushed past the stone pillars to where the heat of the war should be. If the battle plan had gone as it should then—

A hand gripped your arm with such force it had you cry out before you even registered you were being slammed to the floor. A shadow of a knight that serves the God of Storm looms over you with a glare blazing past his helmet. "You're one of them, I recognize that face! You're not winning today-" yet another blade suddenly pierced through his chest, and your shirt had been splattered when it was pulled. The now lifeless body falls past you and another replaces him.

"Sir Ragnvindr!" The knight shared the same shock and relief you wore before it steeled, immediately pulling you up and away from the on-going exchanges of blows. "Everyone- how's the war looking?"

"Men had fallen from the green-tipped arrows, but we are making progress," the redhead gestured to the tower where the greatest enemy lies, taking note of the cracks and crumbling structure, a sign of his coming doom. A very good sign. "Amos took it upon herself to climb the tower-"

"What?! That's beyond the plan, she- she could get herself killed!" You brought your own bow from your back at the mention of your sister archer, bringing the strings back with an arrow at the ready, your intention clear. The redhead had shown a glint of worry but his gaze had been resolved once again at the hope of freedom, and he leaves you to your chase as he fends off the guards that dare go after you.

You expertly evaded blows and parried kicks with your bow and arrow, yet no sign of the heads of the resistance had caught your sight. The longer you climbed, the more you feared for the worst. By 2/3 of the tower you had scaled you managed to poke your head out to see the scale of war. Of red and orange floated below as the razor winds felt more violent than it had been ever since you had been born within its impenetrable walls, even from this distance high up you could still hear the clash, the warmongers held up in the central square where all battles now takes place.

And within that chaos you managed to single out a lump of black and a dot of floating white. Miraculously, your scream had reached their faraway ears and looked up, just in time to see your aerial shots of support.

"(Y/N)?! What is she-!" His words had been cut with an arrow wheezed past his head to bring down a foe that had sneaked behind him. Right, battle. Many of the immediate threats had been neutralized and the resistance had found the upper ground thanks to the archer's barrage. "How-how is she up there!"

Another body had fallen next to him with a cut on its back, a certain knight rushing past him to hit another. "Watch your back, bard! Now's not the time to monologue, she's going to backup Amos."

You were too far to hear the horrified gasp and the fearful expression your two faithful friends adorned. But the ground you were on began to shake, and you know you had to go on. "Venti! Gale! Focus, I'll be there with you two soon!" You screamed at the top of your lungs in hopes that it will reach them before continuing your ascent to the most treacherous area you had to be in—

You barelled towards the woman with silver hair with a pace you've never seen and a strength you'd never thought you carried, exchanging the shot you felt lodge into your left side as you sent one right through the guard's neck. You fell on your bottom and clutched the wounded area, but kept it there, if not to make sure the blood does not pour if you were to take it out.

"Sister!" The familiar voice cradled you as gently as she could with a fear-stricken face. But you assured her that it had not hit anything major, the way her worry didn't dissipate seem to hide a kind of anguish she couldn't name. "We must get you to safety, the clerics- the clerics could-"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," you grunted as you pried yourself out of her grasp to prove your point, still able to keep your stance. You see Amos struggle from fatigue yet about to bite back, "We're so close, sister, any moment we linger is another body on the list of deaths." Painfully she'd bitten on her own tongue, finally relenting as you ascended the last few steps.

Normal arrows are nothing but toothpicks against the mighty God of Storms, the Anemo Archon, who easily flicked your futile attempts to graze him. And yet Decarabian was losing power just from fighting off not only your barrages but those even from below. His walls were thinning and his heart crumbles, from the thought of his once devoted followers turning back on him.

With one last strength the Lawrences gathered every piece of energy and power they could into their shot, and Decarabian looked at them with tired eyes and a raised hand. "Finally, I shall hold his gaze." The voice next to you spoke before your charged shot, swirling with beaming light flew past the sharp gale of wind and pierced through the God's core. Your ears had picked up on a violent crack before you were hit by the razor breeze upon the dying breath of the archon, sending you and Amos off the crumbling tower to free fall to your deaths.

In the edge of your peripherals the bleak gray walls of storms dissolved into rays of natural light, giving way to a hue of blue you had never seen before. As the wind wheezed past your ears, you smiled at the face of death—

When a jingle of little bells suddenly slowed your descension, and you were softly met with the hard floor on your back. With tired eyes you'd found yourself next to the pioneers of freedom, conscious and unconscious. You had felt Venti nudge your hand to those of another's limp ones, soft palms yet calloused fingers, you intertwined your hands with that of the bard's.

"We did it, we finally... did it..." A pulling force drains the consciousness from your mind and body in laboured breaths, and despite your protests to keep staring at the beautiful sight of the true sky, your eyelids were pulled shut by an unknown exhaustion.

Past their closed state, a flash of light was the last thing you had thought. Bruised and beaten, your warm hand did not register how the ones you clung to... did not squeeze back.

...

The next time (e/c) orbs flew open their eyes the world felt that of a lucid dream, with silk of the cleanest white donned their body, and the softest breeze of a sweet flower you had not smelt passes by you. Teal orbs looked down at you with a gentleness you've felt from the artificial light from the cathedral. Speaking of- your eyes unfocused shifted its gaze to the light blue skies.

"You're... awake." Your bard friend breathed out in disbelief and another emotion your brain can't quite place. The cotton of clouds float above in painted beauty, and you had pried your sight away from it almost painfully just to spare your companion a look.

"It's..." your throat grated and ached at the attempt, coming out so weak and breathless, "It's very beautiful... out here, free... Have- have you gone to explore?" Your face twisted in numbing pain from talking, and the bard started to quiver yet stood strong with a smile.

"I had, it's - it's just like how we imagined, even better than we've taken for granted," wet spots adorned your cheeks in short successions, you couldn't help but smile. "I only wish you were there to see it first hand, the flowers, the sunsets, the land-"

"Yet I fell asleep," you laughed in mirth yet there was no sound that escaped. The grip around you tightens as you loll your head to the side; there lays a new city kissed by the huge orb of light in the blue veil of a sky, lush green grass of health you've never seen before shone with a moistness on it, and around its glory lays a beauty of a moat that mirrors the one above. Beautiful, you whispered under your long-awaited breathe.

"The people of Mond had done their best to rebuild, for the promise of freedom they had not wilt," a hand on your cheek, flawless, urged your gaze once more to lay upon the bard. "We've devised a festival to celebrate named Ludi Harpastum. Tell me... my muse, will you accompany me in this new custom?"

A new breeze had lulled you in your ears once again to sleep, and a flash of fear had passed over your companion's features before it dissipated when you opened your eyes once more. A festival, you haven't heard that in years, "I would love to. But maybe... tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow."

"Mhm, I feel tired... the sun invites me to sleep, will you wait for me tomorrow?"

"T-Tomorrow."

"Good." Your eyes were covered by darkness again as you felt a pressure against your forehead. "It's... a date..." And your tired heart finally found peace, after battling for 15 days restlessly, desperately.

Venti picked you up from where you laid on his lap, setting you down on the grass bed besides the giant roots of the Windrise tree. Nearest your left, a stone plate carved with words you never dare see lies next to you. And for the first time in fifteen days, a God cries again.

¹The green-tipped arrows were coated with poison.

²Reader's bow is designed after the Raven's Bow.

³Gale is not the bard's official name but was used to avoid too many confusion.

⁴This had a different, more painful and hatred alternate ending where you hated Venti for taking Gale's form, but I changed it so I could rest my own heart.

*in honor of your contribution to Mondstadt's freedom, the maiden who throws the Harpastum is made for your grace.

@boxofteenageideas @creation-magician @your-local-venti-simp @indigodreamtime47

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshots #exile.flower #genshin impact Venti #venti #venti x reader #Bonafide specials #publish at midnight #genshin impact x reader #angst #female reader

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bloodredx · 2 years

Text

Day 31: Home

Pineridge sat sleeping under the wide light of the full moon. The vampire slipped through the shadows of the silent village, a hood tight over his head as he passed from alley to alley. The predator had one destination in mind, and curses from the gods themselves would be the only force that could stop him. And even that would be met with the force of his determination. It had taken so long to just be able to sneak away from the hospital, to find the opportunity to get out of the seemingly all-knowing gaze of his mentor. But she was out of town, and no one could stop him from slipping away. Tonight was his night.

He knew the path by heart, slipping into the familiar steps of the cobbled roads as naturally as he could now see in the dark or hear the ravens flapping their wings on the far side of the rooftops. The birds paid him no mind, knowing their claws would not be able to grasp his soul for some time. One last turn and there it was, just as he remembered it. The only home he had ever known, the same cracked wood siding, the same chips in the roof’s shingling. He bet the door still creaked if you moved it too fast, though he wasn’t inclined to test the theory.

It felt dirty, looking through the window like some desperate vagabond, but it calmed his heart to see little had changed. The table was still against the far wall, the same macramé pieces hung on the walls. Looked like a few new ones had been added to the collection. He rolled his shoulders, bringing his cloak tighter against him. Not for fear of the cold, no that would never bother him again, but the risk of any strand of his red hair peeking through could give his identity away. And this close to home, that was a mistake he couldn’t afford. Especially now that a woman had walked into view, her greying hair now diminishing the same tone of red, but still beautiful despite the rages of time. A thick blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, a tea cup in her hands. She placed it down gently, turning her attention to stoke the fire roaring in the stone hearth. Icarus caught a glimpse of her eyes, the same kindness he remembered lingered there. Yes, his mother was okay. Surviving, just as she always did. Tough as nails that one, though it seemed like a few extra lines marked her face, a tired expression painted her lips. His heart ached.

Icarus lingered a bit longer, at least until she retired for the evening. There was no purpose in remaining, and he turned on his heel to retrace his steps back out of town. He immediately collided with something. Heat and heartbeats. No, someone.

“Hey now, ya need to be watchin’ where ya goin’ there, bud.” A strong accent, one he could barely parse or place.

“Oh, so sorry. I guess I didn’t see you there.” Icarus apologized quickly, avoiding meeting this person’s eyes. “Have a good night.”

He tried to side step and keep going, but the man held his arm out. “Hey, not so fast. I saw ya peepin’. Ain’t gonna let that slide to quick, huh? Maybe if ya weren’t so otherwise occupied, ya’d been aware of me.”

“What? You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried to deny it quickly, now finally looking up his confronter. The man was a bit taller than him, but not by much. Seemed to be of moderate build and decent tone. His hair was silver, but not with age, the moonbeams almost reflecting off his messy curls. His eyes matched with the same shimmering silver, moving almost like liquid, flowing across his irises in easy waves. Bizarre, Icarus had never seen anything like it.

“I do know. I done seen it.” He crossed his arms, a sly smile crossing his lips. “Ya been up to no good. Lil’ trouble maker.”

“No, I haven’t. Just taking a stroll in the moonlight. What could you know of me?” He dropped his voice to a whisper, looking around for anyway to slip past and make a break for it.

He scratched at his neatly trimmed facial hair. “That your heart is achin’ at bein’ here.” The words were much more somber, serious. “But it was a voice ya couldn’t not follow. Ya had to.”

Icarus bit his lip, uncertain of how to respond or what exactly this man knew. Fortunately, he didn’t need to, the man wrapped his arm around his shoulder, starting to walk and dragging him alongside. “It’s okay, I get it. I ain’t gonna say nothin’ to no one ‘bout it.”

“W-who are you?” Did he know his secret? And if he did, why was he so casual, unafraid?

“Hopefully a friend. That might take time though, now that I consider it.” Each step brought them further away from the house and closer to the edge of the village. “Call me Bones, just a traveler, a tired soul on a long journey. I think that’s somethin’ we share, yeah?”

“You could say that.” The screams of distrust and unease picking at the back of his skull. But he sensed no immediate malice, and curiosity was getting the better of him.

“Good, good. We’re on the same page now.” He took a deep breath, pulling something out of his coat pocket, flicking it up between his lips quickly. “I’ve seen many a dead man walkin’.”

“Yeah, what makes you say that? Do I look dead or something?”

He chuckled, flicking up the fire of a lighter. He brought it up to his mouth, Icarus now realizing it to be a cigarette. “Y’all all share the same look in ya eyes. That same...” He paused to blow smoke out of his nose. “sadness. Don’t know how to put it.”

No point in hiding it. “That’s fair.” Icarus agreed softly, pulling his cloak closer around him.

“Hey, keep that chin up. Ain’t no one like a sour puss.” Bones flashed a soft smile as he pulled his cigarette from his lips. “I know ya don’t know me, and I know this’ll fall on deaf ears, but it’s okay to feel lost, yeah? Ya think ya need to be somewhere, but the gods drag ya halfway ‘round the world, or across the country, hell even across town when ya don’t want to.”

“Sounds like you’ve been there.”

He snorted. “More times than ya’d ever guess, there kiddo.” Bones softened his tone again, continuing slowly. “Still, your heart will find peace, yeah? Just give it time.”

Icarus felt his nose crinkle as the scent of smoke finally crossed him. The two continued walking to the edge of town, the forest’s branches swaying softly in the breeze as if they were dancing in the moonlight. “You know, it’s most unnerving to come up to a stranger and have a deep talk like that.”

Bones raised a brow. “Is it?”

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here, you might not be used to the social customs.”

“Bah, I got enough manners to last me. People are people no matter where ya go.” He tilted his head considering a moment. “May explain the sharp looks I get from Glacideans. Ain’t no one want to talk their truth, I guess. Too busy hiding behind formalities. Ah well, neither here nor there.”

Icarus laughed uncomfortably in response. “I suppose that’s true.”

Bones just smiled in response, giving him a look that said he knew more than he was letting on. “Ah well, I think ya’d better run off home. It’s late as hell, nothin’ good happens once we pass midnight, yeah?”

“Ha, yeah that’s true.” Icarus shuffled his feet,, considering his next words carefuly. “But what if you don’t know where home is anymore?”

The silver haired man cocked his head as he considered the query. “I think home is a bit more transient than that. Sure it could be a house or an apartment or somethin’. But it’s also where ya feel safe, where ya want to be. Where ya can be who ya truly are. Even with family or friends ya don’t always get the chance to do that.”

“Yeah.”

A silence drifted across the thin layer of snow, disturbed only by the sound of Bones stomping his cigarette butt into the ground with his heavy boot. His head turned suddenly, as if hearing something in the far distance, though the vampire didn’t sense anything. Bones turned back, a dumb grin on his face. “Night’s stretchin’ on. Get on out of here. Maybe if you’re lucky we’ll meet again.”

“I doubt it, but sure. You’re right. It’s time.” Icarus agreed, his head turned to look over his shoulder and back to the sleeping town. He could pinpoint the exact location where his mother now likely lay sleeping. He longed to turn back, but decided not to risk the curiosity of this stranger. “Have a good night, Bones.”

“Yeah, ya too buddy. Take it easy!” He walked backward a few steps before turning and continuing his way along the trail outside of the town.

Icarus flipped his hood down, taking the first steps back between the pines. The feeling of floating covered him, as if he was adrift between the tides. The sleeping town had no place for him, the hospital was suffocating at best most nights. The woods offered more comfort than he had received recently, but at the same time, what of it? It didn’t matter right now. At least for the next few hours he had a place to think, to work himself out. The woods had always been there for him; perhaps that was home? He slumped his shoulders as the lights from the town faded behind him, the moon his only company on the long walk home. It would be enough for now.

(OC-tober challenge by @oc-growth-and-development can be found here)

#Icarus #vampire #Bones #mage #necromancer #home #smoking #bloodredx writes #writers on tumblr #oc-growth-and-development #oc-tober #oc tober #hey we made it to the end

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cheri-translates · 4 years

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[CN] Gavin’s Dangerous Night Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 危夜之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Do note that this date features S2 Gavin, but doesn’t contain S2 spoilers.

Timeline: The STF Filming Plan -> Dangerous Night Date -> Saving the Young Troublemaker Project

[ This date was released in CN on 28 Sep 2020 ]

Female Anchorwoman: Next, our focus is on breaking news.

On the television, the two words “Breaking News” are displayed on Loveland Night News. The female anchorwoman looks into the camera and starts presenting the news.

Female Anchorwoman: Around 10pm today, a building in the suburbs of Loveland City collapsed for reasons still unknown. According to sources provided by eye-witnesses, the building was part of a certain estate development project, and has not been put to use. Typically, no one goes in or out. But this does not eliminate the possibility of people being trapped within. The municipal administration has expressed that this incident could have been caused by Evol. The STF has been engaged to carry out a rescue mission. Loveland Night News once again calls citizens...

Squadmate: Captain Gavin, we’ve contacted the base. The search and rescue dogs will be here soon.

Gavin sits on a chair, his legs crossed as he pulls the strings on his leather boots tightly.

Gavin: Got it. We’ll set out once the search and rescue dogs are here.

Squadmate: Yes.

Gavin stands up, adjusts his equipment to a comfortable level, then picks up his phone on the table.

The phone displays the time: 22:59. It’d take an hour to reach the collapsed building.

Gavin taps on a message he received three days ago. The sender is MC.

Message from MC: Gavin, when I was out for location scouting, I discovered a slightly strange building in the suburbs of the city. There seems to be special Evol fluctuations inside.

Message from MC: Does the STF want to make some time to investigate?

Message from MC: Just to be clear - I’m really not joking this time.

His response was: I’ll take a look next week.

There’s a cute emoticon in the white message bubble opposite.

And the conversation ended there.

The response section still retains the draft he didn’t send at the time: Don’t go there alone.

By the time images of the collapsed building appeared in the news, the surrounding area had already been cordoned off.

Gavin makes a call... “du”, “du”, “du”, again and again.

When the female automated voice resounds, Gavin hangs up.

---”the number you have dialed is currently unavailable.”

It’s dark.

I open my eyes, attempting to stand up in the dark.

MC: ...I’m not dead.

I rub the dull ache at the back of my head, panting while my heart flutters with fear.

The collapse of the building happened so suddenly. I instinctively ran to a corner to hide. From the looks of it, that decision saved my life.

I reach out to feel around my surroundings--

There’s a wall in front of me. It’s slanted, so it must have fallen. It just so happened to shield me from broken stones that fell.

But precisely because of this, I’m stuck in a narrow space and can’t really stand up.

MC: Cough, cough cough...

My mouth is filled with the taste of dust, and I don't know how long I've lost consciousness.

The building was swaying very violently when it collapsed. I couldn’t stand steadily at all, and my entire body collided with a wall.

I return to my senses, using both hands to feel the ground.

My phone... I remember gripping my phone the entire time.

No one knows that I'm here. This unfinished building has been left empty for several years, so no one might come to my rescue.

I need to hurry and find a way to call for help.

Air is still flowing here, so there’s no danger of oxygen deprivation. But I can only survive for 3 to 4 days without a water source.

Before the building collapsed, I was in the basement level. Logically speaking, it’s near the surface, but I can’t tell if the upper floors are crushing on it...

The wall above me doesn’t seem to be able to hold much more weight. If it gets weighed down slightly, there’s a risk of a collapse.

I frantically feel around the mess on the ground - it’s all pieces of rock, broken steel bars, glass shards...

Suddenly, I see a single, cold ray of light--

The phone touchpad recognises my fingerprint, lighting up the screen. I hurriedly pick up the phone, and on it displays: “2 Missed Calls”.

MC: Gavin.

Upon seeing this name, the tautness in my heart suddenly relaxes.

I immediately give him a call. The “du”, “du” of the dial tone resounds in the empty and quiet darkness, amplified infinitely.

Countless thoughts fly across my mind--

Maybe Gavin is resting. Maybe he’s on an important mission. Maybe he isn’t in Loveland City now...

“du”, “du”, “du”...

When the fifth beep sounds, I’ve already set down the phone, preparing to hang up.

Gavin: Where are you?

MC: Gavin!

I suddenly hear Gavin’s voice. I stare at the screen and am stunned for a moment.

And react immediately!

MC: Gavin! The unfinished building in the suburbs I told you about just collapsed. I’m trapped in it, in the basement--

Gavin: Got it.

His voice is overly calm, which I find odd.

MC: You already know about the collapsed building?

Gavin’s calm voice drifts from the phone, mixed with the clamour of his surroundings.

Gavin: I’m in charge of tonight’s search and rescue mission.

MC: ...

MC: ...haha! That’s great.

Gavin: What’s wrong?

MC: Nothing much, I just feel the happiness of a disaster survivor.

Gavin: I haven’t even rescued you out yet.

MC: With you around, there won’t be a problem.

Gavin breathes composedly, as though not knowing what to say.

Gavin: If you were afraid of death, you shouldn’t have gone running around in the middle of the night.

Gavin: ...I can’t leave out a single reminder.

Gavin raises his volume.

Gavin: Where were you before the collapse?

MC: The carpark in the underground basement.

Gavin: I’m looking for you now. Take care of your own safety.

MC: Hold on. Gavin, there’s no hurry to look for me. I was only here for a short while and there won’t be any danger. But I saw some vagabonds staying here at night. There are definitely other people in this building. Save them first!

Gavin is silent for a few seconds.

Gavin: The STF will not decide who it will save first or later. I’ll save everyone.

I don’t want to wait here alone, so I don’t hang up even after a long time.

Neither does Gavin.

Sometimes, the sound of Gavin and other members of the STF would drift from the phone.

Gavin: Do you have the plane figure of the building?

Squadmate: Got it. Captain Gavin, we’ve asked around the vicinity, and there are a few vagabonds living in this building. Most of them are on the third or fourth floor.

Gavin: There’s been a rainstorm these two days. This building doesn’t have covered windows. Locations near the windows will be drenched from the rain. They should be in the middle parts of the floor. Two people per group - bring the search and rescue dogs and begin the operation.

Squadmate: Understood!

I hug the phone in contemplation.

Before sending Gavin the message, I had already visited this building a few times to investigate.

I familiarised myself with all the entrances and exits to have the confidence to deal with any surprise situations. But I completely didn’t expect that this would happen.

Gavin: [with a gentle voice capable of making flowers bloom] Are you all right?

After a moment, I realise that Gavin is talking to me.

MC: Huh? I’m fine.

I look at the time displayed on the phone - It’s already 1am.

Gavin: Are you sleepy?

MC: ...I’m not that brave. How could I be drowsy under such circumstances?

Gavin: The scope of the basement level is too large. I need a more detailed lead.

MC: Are you holding the plane figure of the building?

Gavin: Yes. Relate your route to me.

MC: I came in using the east entrance, and planned to take the stairs up from the fire exit. So I should have been heading west.

The sound of a finger gliding across the paper can be heard.

Gavin: During the collapse, did you see the fire exit?

MC: I didn’t. It was probably around a hundred metres away. I’m currently trapped in a corner. The structure here is pretty stable, so it could be a load-bearing wall.

Gavin: I know your approximate location. Wait for me.

MC: Mm.

Hearing my soft sigh, Gavin laughs.

Gavin: Are you afraid?

MC: Maybe a little. It’s a new experience in life, so of course it’d scare someone.

Gavin: Knowing what it means to be afraid is a good thing. If I didn’t come, how did you plan to rescue yourself?

MC: There’s no such “if”. The moment I felt something was amiss, I gripped my phone and wanted to give you a call.

I hold onto the phone, staring at the light on the screen, and staring at the word “Gavin” on it.

Just this name alone harbours the ability to make one feel at ease.

Gavin: You’re so certain that I’d come rescue you?

MC: Mm! Captain Gavin is someone who will never leave a single Loveland City citizen in the lurch.

Gavin ignores me.

MC: ...

MC: Have you found the other people who are trapped?

Gavin: We’ve found two. They’re being rescued now.

MC: That’s fast...

Gavin: STF’s search and rescue dogs have undergone professional training. They can accurately locate people who are trapped.

MC: Search and rescue dogs?

??: Bark!

A bark suddenly drifts from the other end of the line.

Gavin: Little Grey should have found you.

MC: Little Grey? What a careless name... Were you the one who named it?

Gavin: What’s wrong with the name?

...I don’t give him a response.

In the darkness, I seem to hear sounds from above.

Tiny rocks are pelting from above. The steel bars seem to be weighed down by something, releasing a whimpering sound.

Gravel and dust rustle as they fall...

MC: Gavin!

MC: Leave quickly. Bring your men and leave immediately, it’s dangerous! There’s going to be a second collapse--

Gavin breathes, as though he’s about to speak, but doesn’t. He quickly issues out orders.

Gavin: Everyone, take note. Evacuate immediately. I repeat - Evacuate immediately!

I hug the phone, not sure what I should say to Gavin.

Gavin: [with the gentlest of voices] MC, you’ll be okay.

His voice carries with it his usual confidence.

Gavin: I guarantee.

I press the phone to my ear, capturing every breath in his voice. After adjusting my breathing, I raise my volume.

MC: You have to leave quickly, don’t stay here! I’m very safe where I am. Shouldering another collapse is no problem!

The creaking of the steel bars grows closer. I’m not sure if it’s just my misperception, but the wall above me seems to have caved downwards slightly.

Already set to the lowest brightness, my screen becomes even dimmer.

A few large rocks pelt down in front of me, channelling large gusts of dust.

MC: Just bring Little Grey to look for me later, I...

Rumble!

The building collapses once again, causing dust clouds to billow.

The STF team members have rescued two elderly folk who are in their fifties, who collect scraps for a living.

Gavin stares at the ruins in front of him wordlessly.

His eyes are mixed with imperceptible, repressed emotions. It’s as though underneath the tranquil ocean hides turbulence and fierceness.

The searchlights illuminate the location he was standing at just now, and the search and rescue dogs had already sent a signal to him -- it meant that his target could have been under his feet.

Maybe only five metres away. Maybe three metres.

Gavin: Everyone--

He squats down, rubbing the nape of the rescue dog, pulling on its leash again.

Seeming to sense something out of the ordinary, they wag their tails at Gavin, as though comforting him without words.

With a heavy gaze, he looks towards the two rescue dogs, as though he’s handing over all his trust.

Gavin: Recommence the search and rescue operation. Be sure to rescue everyone who has been trapped.

The phone has already exhausted its battery, and has shut off automatically.

I’m huddled in a corner, trying to reduce the amount of energy expended.

I know that the slanted wall has already collapsed, and is hanging above. Maybe the steel bar didn’t snap, which is why only half of it has weighed downwards.

There’s a wall behind me, and a gigantic fallen rock in front. I don’t have any space to move.

But it’s far too dark. I can’t check the condition of the wall behind me, and I don’t know how much longer it can hold.

MC: Gavin.

There’s nothing I can do. I lean on the wall and wait patiently.

I know he’ll come.

MC: ...

A few hours pass, and I hear some sounds from above, but they disappear into the darkness quickly.

Perhaps knowing that Gavin will definitely appear, the fear and anxiety in my heart dissipates with the passage of time.

The most distinct feeling is tiredness.

Maintaining my posture of sticking close to the wall, my back is hunched, and I’ve been sitting until my bottoms hurt.

Time passes so slowly here. Every second is elongated.

The physical fatigue I’m experiencing tells me that an entire night has gone by.

In the middle of sleeping and waking, a bright light suddenly appears before my eyes...

I immediately turn my back towards it -- as expected, in the next instant, a strong wind suddenly lifts the tiles and bricks in my surroundings.

I lift my head to see Gavin standing above the ruins.

The sun is faintly discernible behind him and the layers of clouds, illuminating a faint glow in the blue horizon. Wind brushes his fringe, revealing that pair of resolute amber eyes.

Gavin: Are you okay?

His voice is very light, and exudes a rare fatigue. It seems he has been busy the entire night. But a faint smile still hangs at the corners of his lips.

...as compared to the wry smile I’m wearing now, Gavin seems more like the disaster survivor.

Gavin: Give me your hand!

He takes a step forward, reaching out to me. I hurriedly hold onto it, but I don’t want my entire self to be towed away by him.

My vision is turned upside down. Gavin suddenly hoists me onto his shoulders.

MC: ...Gavin?!

I see that under his protective gear, his shirt is drenched with sweat, sticking to his broad back.

Reason tells me to put up a bit of a struggle. But after hanging by a thread between life and death for an entire night, I seem to be unable to triumph over the tiny greed in my heart.

The doctor from the ambulance comes over to help, but Gavin waves a hand at him, signalling that there’s no such need.

He walks forward by around ten metres, leaving the site of the ruins. He sees me down on the hood of a STF car.

His brows are furrowed, looking as though he’s suppressing his emotions. My gut feeling tells me that he’s angry.

MC: ...I was wrong! I was wrong because I shouldn’t have gone running around in the middle of the night, and troubling the STF to rescue me. As for using the community’s resources, I’ll be sure to do a serious self-reflection.

MC: I guarantee that this is the only time. There won’t be a next time!

Gavin was probably about to say those things to me, and didn’t expect that I’d acknowledge everything. So he remains silent for a period of time.

Although are elements of a joke in my words, I shoot him a resolute, apologetic and sincere expression.

I know that he’s worked hard for an entire night, and has been worried for an entire night.

After a moment of silence, he releases a faint sigh.

Gavin: You said it yourself - there won’t be a next time.

While he speaks, he reaches out to place a hand on my head--

MC: Ah it hurts...

The back of my head suddenly hurts, and I exclaim softly. When I reach out to touch it, I discover that there’s a big lump on the back of my head.

Gavin: You’ll only learn your lesson after experiencing some pain. I’ll send you to the hospital for a check up later.

MC: No need, I...

Information must have been sent through his earpiece. Gavin lifts his hand to signal that I should be quiet. He leans his head to the side, listening seriously.

Thinking that the search and rescue operation has yet to be completed, and that he definitely has other things he’s busy with, I hop down from the hood of the car, making a “I’m off” hand gesture towards him.

The world around me suddenly darkens a few times--

My legs grow weak, and my vision dims. Dimmer and dimmer...

Just before I lose consciousness, I seem to feel Gavin’s hand on my cheek, the rough fabric of the military gloves, his calloused finger pads...

I feel it all.

Doctor: The nuclear magnetic resonance shows that it’s just a mild shock of the brain. It’s nothing serious. The loss of consciousness is only temporary. It could also be due to low blood sugar levels and insufficient rest.

Doctor: If you’re worried, she can remain in the hospital for observation for two days. Are you a family member of the patient? I’ll bring the documents over in a while.

Gavin: All right.

With a sound of acknowledgement, the doctor leaves the ward.

The girl lying on the bed hasn’t regained consciousness. The IV on the back of her hand is strung to glucose.

Gavin walks over, reaching out to brush aside her fringe, which is damp with sweat. His brows furrow slightly, as though he’s angry. As though he doesn’t know who he should be angry with.

Gavin: ...why are you so bold - daring to go anywhere on your own.

He sits on a chair in front of the bed, leaning against the back of the chair in fatigue.

His deep gaze sweeps past her pale cheeks and haggard shoulders, stirring up great waves within his eyes which differ from usual.

After a while, deep breathing fills the quiet room.

Sunlight pours in through the curtains, chasing away all the darkness and unease of the night before.

Phone call: here

🦮 MOMENTS 🦮

Gavin’s Post: The team received a box of canned dog food.

MC: I don't know the address of the base for search and rescue dogs, so I could only send them to you.

Gavin: Got it. I’ll send it to the base.

Gavin’s Post: The team received a box of canned dog food.

MC: I sent it - it’s for Little Grey.

Gavin: They don’t eat outside snacks, but I’ll convey your kind regards to them.

Gavin’s Post: The team received a box of canned dog food.

MC: Only cans of dog food? Captain Gavin, check the box again...

Gavin: A silk banner for Little Grey? All right, I’ll accept it on its behalf.

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #this date left me feeling so emotional T^T

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thevagabondexpress · 2 months

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doing stairs after bicycling uphill against the wind, and other of today's adventures

#tonight on the vagabond express

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yokelish · 4 years

Text

Worth millions.

Remember that? Back by popular demand. Reworked, improved, but only miserly so. And with chapter two coming soon~

✏ Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs ✏ Characters: Nakahara Chūya, Dazai Osamu ✏ Word count: 3,650 ✏ Warnings: swearing, smoking. ✏ Part I; Part II

Worth millions.

Chūya narrowed his eyes at the figure near on the pier. It was close to midnight and no sane or law-abiding citizen would wonder around those docks alone. He did not expect a fight tonight but would be willing if it come to that. It was, after all, his mess to deal with. And whoever was standing in the way would be crashed by gravity. Chūya took a minute to observe what the person on the pier was doing. If it was some vagabond scaring them away wouldn’t be an issue. At first glance it seemed the figure wondered around the pier aimlessly — looking around to satisfy their curiosity or satiate the desire to observe small beauty of the world, —but only at first. Nakahara didn’t have to waste another minute to understand the person on the pier was looking for clues, evidence. And that was Chūya’s job. Then, it wasn’t a simple-minded wanderer or a drunk wondering in the moonless night. This person had a purpose to be here.

“You better know how to swim,” Nakahara said with a dangerous cadence. With his silhouette shrouded in darkness, he knew and meant the danger emitted. There was no escape from the pier unless they wanted to swim. Or face him. He had no issues with either option.

“Shiiiiit,” the voice uncertain echoed. “I’m taking too long.”

Chūya smirked and moved closer, slowly, biding his time. There was no need to be hasty with this interesting encounter. It was rare for something interesting happening on the job in the dead of the night. Someone else was here with the same purpose. It couldn’t be boring. But he wasn’t planning to let them go. If they were a part of those thugs that dared to challenge Port Mafia, there was only one way out for them.

“Port Mafia, right?” the voice asked, refusing to move, standing their ground. Intimidation was only present in their voice, and Chūya wondered if he was carefully toyed with. Pretending to be frightened before making a move.

The stranger raised their hands in surrender. “I am not looking for a fight,” they continued talking to him confident that they were listened to. The pier wasn’t enough for the two of them. Nakahara came closer, close enough to recognize their features in the moonless dark.

“That’s unfortunate,” Chūya said, smirking. “I might be.”

The person didn’t say anything, didn’t back away from him or step close as if kept there by stubbornness, ignorance, or blind bravery. Instead, they reached inside their pocket. And if this stranger thought a gun could scare Port Mafia, they were both wrong and stupid. A figure dressed in black and wrapped in deep-red glow, For the Tainted Sorrow. Suddenly, the dark space between them brightened. It wasn’t a gun they were reaching for but a torchlight. The light was aimed at the sky enlightening them about this encounter. They didn’t even use it to blind the mafioso and make a run for it. Even more stupid than he gave them credit for.

“Well, damn,” they said with a bright and irritatingly unafraid smile on their face. “Nakahara Chūya, the gravity-manipulator and martial artist. I am not buying lottery tickets this month.”

Chūya tilted his head in question. A very well-informed enemy or… simpleton Dazai never failed to open his big mouth. “Dear Detective Agency,” he sighed with irritation. “Suicidal moron can’t shut up about me.”

“That’s where you’re right,” they confirmed, straightforward and facile.

“What do you want?” Nakahara asked, crossing his arms. The Agency was an enemy; however, fighting them here and now would do nothing for the greater conflict. Boss, too, proclaimed temporary ceasefire. Acting against Boss’ orders was equal to betrayal. Also, they didn’t look like a challenge or threat in any way with that too eager to please and appease attitude.

“Just looking for something stolen,” they replied, nonchalant. “My guess is that you are here for the same reason.” This openness of theirs was getting on mafioso’s nerves. He wasn’t known for a patient temper. The Agency member could have tried to dance around his questions, run or offer a trade-off. But it seemed like they were trying to work out some semblance of functional cooperation. As long as it went within the lines of his loyalty to Port Mafia, he could match this pace.

The smile grew on their face before they turned off the light. It was bright.

“We can help each other!” Agency’s detective offered in a chirpy manner.

“Can we now?” Chūya scoffed, amused. “Just say you need my help.”

“I don’t,” they shook their head. It wasn’t spoken in mockery or false confidence. While the darkness blurred their features, he still heard the smile on their lips. “But you need mine.”

Nakahara raised a brow, antagonized. Dazai must have been giving out lessons. Bandaged freak had an unmatched skill, but they were gravelling him fairly fast too. Chūya didn’t need help, especially from a detective of the Agency. Nakahara was a Port Mafia Executive; he was the merge of a human and a god Arahabaki. Help was the last thing he needed. He expected them to prove the point, but his patience was running dangerously thin each second.

“The smugglers,” the person started talking quickly as if sensing the heat, “didn’t finish their transaction. What did they do with the merchandise? It’s a pier. Not many places to hide things.”

“If they had half-a-brain, an airtight aluminum case would take a day or two underwater,” Chūya shrugged.

“I bet you don’t want to swim tonight, it’s cold, brrrr,” they rubbed their shoulders, mimicking the experience. “So, I will graciously save you from that.”

Mafioso crossed arms on his chest and smirked. There was no way of impressing him, less so of doing him any favours. But he was allowing for this to happen simply because it was quite fun. It didn’t last long, however. Soon, the sound of moving water filled the dark and silence around them. And something rectangular came from the water and floated into their hands effortlessly. It was the case, unmistakably, it couldn’t be anything else.

“I can beckon objects towards myself if I know what they are,” they succinctly explained. “Since I know yours, it’s fair that you know mine.”

Chūya didn’t ask but was given an answer. Perhaps, by some strange morality it was fairer for him to know their ability since they knew about his. But this wasn’t the world that cared about fairness. They were coming from two different worlds, opposing views. They were enemies. It wasn’t personal. From the wrong side, one of them for sure was, had to be. Yet the Agency’s detective continued with the task as if nothing were amiss. Chūya watched them take out a lock-picker’s set. He chuckled, amused. All that talk about morality…

“You are probably here for the valuables,” they continued to talk, unbothered, while trying to pick the lock. “Allow me take one thing. Our client has sentimental value attached to one of the objects inside.”

“They stole more than just valuables,” Nakahara replied. Wittingly or not, he almost said more than needed. Chūya had to hold his tongue from saying anything more. Speaking more than needed would be more than just unwise.

“Ah, is that an invitation to take everything else but what you need?”

“No.”

“Kidding, kidding.”

The case opened with a distinct click. A sound of a skilful lock-picking. From the Armed Detective Agency, indeed. But, true to their word, only one thing was taken. Nakahara had no clue why that would be an object of sentimental value, however, but Lady Luck was on their side. He didn’t need that.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” they said, standing up, and offering a polite and reserved smile.

“That’s it?” mafioso asked, unimpressed. There were a few things he could imagine being spoken, tastefully mixed into the conversation, to make a little sharper, a little more dangerous. “Nothing else to add, dear Detective Agency?”

“Gimme a sec.” There was a theatrical pause perfectly executed. Acting worthy of the effect it produced, with a finger to tier mouth and a thoughtful expression on their face. “Oh, no, Port Mafia! How could you! That’s not right, Port Mafia!”

Chūya shook his head. It was amusing it its twisted, overly dramatic way, but the comedy was too close to reality to be truly funny.

Their act was quickly dropped, switched for a more serious expression and tone. “You could have thrown me into the water the moment you saw me or a moment after when you realized who I was. But you didn’t. And agreed to cooperate.”

“That’s—”

“Hm?”

“Never mind,” Nakahara dismissed the protest. For one, defending his perfectly logical actions seemed foolish. Second, and most importantly, there was no need for him to voice it and neither it seemed to be heard. If that’s gratitude they were offering — to hell with it.

“Scatter,” Chūya commanded in slight jest. “I have work to do.”

The detective bowed to him in jest, most graciously bowing out of their encounter. He let them go and afterwards sighed. There was much a lot of work left to do.

One would safely and reasonably assume this one chance of an encounter was the only time he’d meet someone from the Agency outside of conflict. It wasn’t so. Sometime later he got to see them again. It wasn’t anything related to a job and happened in the light of day. He saw them with jinko and young murderess approaching the local shopping centre. At the entrance, however, they stopped and waved goodbye. The kids proceeded on their own inside. That would have been it: Chūya saw them, they didn’t see him. Such was his conviction, until they waved at him. From afar, sure, and it could have been anyone else who was in his general direction. But somehow, he had a feeling it was aimed at him and no one else. He didn’t acknowledge them in any way.

“C’mon out anyone who’s still alive,” he grinned maliciously into the camera. Chūya was having a bit too much enjoyment with this. After all, it was about time he’d get to play cat and mouse with the Agency. Ceasefire wasn’t much fun.

In the dark tunnel, finally echoed footsteps other than his. Playing the messenger was a boring beat, but a brawl wasn’t completely out of the question, ever.

“Just two of you? What an insult,” Chūya sighed. Just two enemies and not even the most intriguing ones. It all unfolded just the Boss’ predicted. The Agency cannot help itself but to be predictable this way. A confrontation was started to make the blood run hotter. He wasn’t a good match for a messenger job anyway. Everything was working out splendidly. Except for when the voice came from the speakers. The voice belonged to an enemy, the other side that Port Mafia will never reconcile with. He knew the voice — knew exactly who it belonged to — but still hearing it here and now was somewhat unexpected. Something he couldn’t even explain to himself.

“President, with all due respect, I’d like to say something,” came from the speakers. Nakahara stilled the moment he heard it coming from the speakers, he wanted to hear everything.

“I believe in the Agency’s strength just as much as you do, you know it. But we cannot take on the Guild alone. There’s one thing Nakahara was right about: we are short staffed,” the voice on the other side spoke with underlined worry. Mafioso wondered how it felt to speak rather defensively of your enemy. What he’d like to know even more is why even speak in defence of an enemy. But since it was serving Port Mafia’s purpose…

“But if you think such crude tactics would work on us, then Mafia is unfit for waging war,” the President’s voice spoke.

“Veiled threat from the enemy leader himself? Such an honour,” Chūya mocked.

“What are you hiding?”

“Not a thing.”

“He is not lying,” familiar voice interfered. The gravity wielder grinned devilishly. He wasn’t lying, they were correct in that assessment. But it was no good news for them. A shame, truly. For them. So bravely and insistently speak in the enemy’s support. That was the luxury or stupidity few could afford. He couldn’t.

“Why would we need to move?” Nakahara asked with the same smile on his face.

“Alright, fancy hat,” another voice spoke up. And then there was a snicker. Chūya never heard them snicker before but had no doubts it was them. Otherwise, it was the enemy leader and that was a far less appealing thought. Fancy hat?

It wasn’t because he had any doubts about Boss’ plan or because he didn’t trust in the abilities of his fellow comrades. It was because he hated Dazai. Because he wanted to see what was going to happen, what that schemer had pulled this time. And because deep inside Nakahara already knew what sort of deal the Boss would make given the chance. Mori wanted Dazai back in the Mafia, and while Chūya was perfectly content without the failed suicide around, it wasn’t for him to say so. Whatever cliché game he was asked to play, he’d play it till the end.

From up here he could witness the whole thing and, if something were to go terribly wrong, he’d be down there in seconds. But he had unwavering faith in Boss’ planning. Still, the cigarette in his mouth was burning. It was boredom. From up here, he could see everything but not hear it or be entertained by any other means. One, two, three, four…Number four is deadly, according to superstitions.

“Fancy seeing you here!” said the voice from behind. Familiar voice, sure, but it was not supposed to be heard here. Chūya turned his head. That very same detective of the Agency coming to him at such convenient time? It couldn’t be a coincidence. What a cliché, Dazai, especially for you.

A huff, a puff. The cigarette started to taste a lot better now. “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t a question but a warning.

“Don’t worry, no one knows I am here. If you throw me off this roof, it’s a perfect crime,” they quickly assured. And while there was a small laugh at the end of that sentence, he could hear it was filled with anxious tension. “I wasn’t invited for the meeting either but still came to watch. It’s not as concealed up here as you’d think.”

Mafioso kept quiet, feeling annoyed, feeling played for a fool. But before the right words to scare them off came to mind, the voice spoke once again.

“Here,” there was a nudge on his shoulder, “it’s a far better thing to put in your mouth.”

Nakahara looked at what was offered. Goddamn ice-cream? He raised a brow in question. This was more than just a little strange. This was getting a little ridiculous. And the idea of throwing them off the roof didn’t seem as alien as before. Nonetheless, under his murderous gaze, they didn’t relent, continuing to hold up the ice-cream in stubborn generosity.

He had to look away from them. “Damn it.” Agitated, he still begrudgingly put out the cigarette and accepted the ice-cream. The packaging wasn’t messed with, with drops of water from being in the freezer just recently. They, too, had one. An ice-cream for themselves with the packaging matching. Mafioso tore it open. Damnit. It was cold and sweet, vanilla flavour hidden underneath dark chocolate.

“See? I was right. It is a better thing to put in your mouth,” they grinned at him. Not malicious, not mocking, it was a cheerful, kind smile of a friend. They were enemies, people from different sides, fighting for different things. Reconciliation was not an acceptance — a strategy.

“Choose your words better,” Nakahara scoffed.

“Sorry, sor—"

“Or I will throw you off the roof.”

“I said sorry. So, um, what do you think? It’s going fine, right? Even if it’s just to defeat the Guild, we can come to an agreement of sorts? You’d help, right?”

“What are you getting at?”

“I am… worried.”

“About?” he asked without any interest whatsoever. But since this was a conversation — a very used play at social norms and small talk — he would indulge them only for the duration of this ice-cream. A shame to let a good thing go to waste.

“My…comrades,” the enemy answered. That was a delicate answer. Too delicate for such situation. Even Chūya could understand the worry one would have for one’s friends and comrades. Yet something didn’t sit right with him as if a gut feeling telling something he couldn’t yet understand.

“So, if you are fighting alongside one of them, would you help them?” they asked. It sounded so naïve and genuine. Terribly sweet, just like this ice-cream. Underneath the dark chocolate, something awfully sweet and innocent white in colour.

“Is that what their life if worth?” Chūya asked, thoroughly amused. Quite a conversation maker this one. “An ice-cream?”

“Nah, a life is invaluable. And smoking kills. Take care of yourself.”

Chūya laughed. Loudly, thunderously, profoundly regaled. He was pillorying them and their ideas. But, still a nudge on his shoulder, playful in its manner.

“I am counting on you, Nakahara Chūya!”

This was getting too ridiculous for Nakahara to comprehend as a sane person. “Scatter.” He didn’t even mean it maliciously or as a sincere threat. It was a reminiscent jest. And like before, they bowed to him and offered a polite smile, graciously leaving the situation.

Chūya hated Dazai. He hated all the faces Dazai had: arrogant kid, suicidal failure, scheming bastard, traitor, liar, and womanizer. It wasn’t even all the list of masks his ex-partner had. But Chūya would take out the trash once they were done here. The reunion was a temporary arrangement. After, he would be free to deal with Dazai as he wished. What else he hated? The number of body bags his people came back in. All at the fault of a child whose ability was abhorrent.

“Do it,” Chūya said with certainty. He would remember that number for a good while after this is all over and is but a history.

“Oh yeah?” Dazai sounded too chirpy for himself. “Well, in that case…” The knife Dazai conveniently snitched slashed the wooden cage Q was trapped in. Nakahara watched, and the mafia-black blood boiled inside him.

“Your hypocrisy makes me want to vomit,” he stated with sincere spite. The knife stopped chipping at wood as Dazai started to explain such hypocritical act. Excuses, excuses, that was the core of this traitor. Chūya knew for a fact what his ex-partner thought of Q’s ability. What a pathetic, lying bastard.

“It’s a logical decision,” Dazai excused his actions. “Plus, I don’t know how I would look them in the eye.”

“The Agency?” Nakahara shrugged, uninterested.

“Aren’t you curious, Chūya?” It was taunting. “Nosy about my personal life?”

“Personal life? You don’t have such a thing, womanizer.”

“People change, Chūya,” Dazai replied with a sickeningly familiar smile. The bastard meant what he said. Gravity manipulator hated him all the more for it.

Nakahara crossed his arms. “People? Maybe. What do you have to do with them?”

His ex-partner pretentiously pouted. “You know, Chūya, I know your moves down to pacing and breathing.” Dazai stood up. The knife remained plunged into the wood. “But I never knew you liked ice-cream.”

“Bastard, I knew it was your scheme!”

“What? No.” Ex-mafia shook his head. “What would be in it for me? But relationships are built on trust and honesty. So, naturally, I came to know of it. I was as just as surprised as you were.”

That sickening smile, that arrogant tone! Chūya had Dazai pinned down as well. The assortment of face masks of his once-partner…and the appalling pleasure to study them all. But the most abhorrent thing was that the hypocrite wasn’t lying. The bandaged bastard was taking pleasure in speaking the truth.

Dazai was slowly shortening the distance between them. “So, why did you behave like an obedient dog, Chūya?” The languid steps forward, putting them dangerously close together. The shorter mafioso pressed his fingers into a tight fist. The leather gloves squeaked.

“Answer me, Chūya, for old times’ sake,” Dazai continued to provoke. “I don’t think it’s because of ice-cream, was it? Could it be…? Oh.”

You are on thin fucking ice, Dazai. It wasn’t for any other reason than killing time. It wasn’t because he found them strangely intriguing in their passive acceptance of him being from Mafia. And it wasn’t because they spoke in his defence. To speak in your enemy’s benefit was the luxury or stupidity few could afford. He wasn’t impressed by their stubborn kindness despite knowing that he was stronger than them. That he could kill them. That he was an enemy.

“You never could hide your emotions, Chūya. Your face does say it for you,” Dazai was now grinning viciously. “You like them, don’t you? You like them.”

Chūya pushed forward, angry, provoked, with all the spite he could muster. The fist landed hard. The force of his punch sent Dazai stumbling backwards. But there was glee in those dark eyes. The delight Chūya rarely witnessed, but it wasn’t totally alien. It felt good for him too — to punch Dazai in the face like that. Yet his blood was still boiling hot. And there was a bitter and tight feeling in his throat, tasting of sweet vanilla ice-cream.

“Oh, the look on your face, Chūya,” Dazai mumbled, mocking, gleeful, and seeming to ignore the swelling on his face and the pain that came with it. “How did you say it before? “Better than a masterpiece worth millions”?”

#yokelishtorturesenglish #bsd fanfic #bsd scenarios #bsd imagines #nakahara chuuya x reader #chuuya x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader x dazai #will it show in the tags a second time?

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rowanartist · 3 years

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Mute Mind by DarklingMoonor comments my hero academia; Explicit; EraserMic

#marvel #anime #fic rec #2020

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cagestark · 4 years

Text

Introduction to Ink//4

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

don’t even pretend like i edited this lmao

It’s three in the morning when Toni feels confident enough to slip out from between the soft cotton sheets of one of Natasha’s guest bedrooms. It has been forty-five minutes since she heard the last stirring coming from the room beside her’s—Sam is apparently a bit of an insomniac. The cool air of the room on her bare legs has her shivering along with the thrill of anxious-excitement in her stomach. She isn’t doing anything wrong by sneaking out of her own room and into Bucky’s, but having it all take place in the dead of night with everyone asleep certainly makes her feel illicit.

She takes a long moment to assess herself in the mirror above the dresser. Her hair has just begun to dry from the shower she took. When she presses some of the damp tendrils to her nose, all she can smell is acacia instead of smoke. The nightgown she’s wearing is hardly that, just one of Rhodey’s old shirts that falls past the crease where her thigh meets her ass. Beneath it are the only clean panties she had packed, sensible cotton ones. Nothing like the scraps of lace and silk that she’s seen in Natasha’s drawers and laundry hamper, but she doesn’t think Bucky will mind. And if he does mind? Then he’ll just have to peel them off of her.

Reaching down, she softly traces her fingers over the cotton crotch of the underwear, noting the damp heat. Ever since Bucky had shed his pale t-shirt under the warm glow of the fairy lights, Toni had been wet. When she finished stomping her way through the woods after Wanda’s interruption, she’d had to disappear off to the bathroom to wipe away her own slick before it could drip down her thighs. Sitting there on the closed porcelain toilet seat, two fingers pressed flat against her clit, she’d been tempted to finish herself off.

To use the two fingers Bucky had sucked clean (God, she could still see his face burned behind her eyelids, the way his stormy eyes had rolled back like he was licking ambrosia off of her instead of cum).

But Toni didn’t like to do anything in halves. She would cum with Bucky tonight, or not at all.

Creeping on silent, bare feet over to the door, she twists the doorknob and pulls the door inward. The hinges don’t squeak, nor does the floor as she slips out of the guestroom, careful to close the door behind herself less anyone pass in the night and see she isn’t there. When Natasha had directed them all to bedrooms, she had told Bucky to take his ‘usual room’, the one at the end of the hallway. That’s where Toni creeps, past Sam, past Clint. She holds her breath as she takes the cool doorknob in her palm.

Is he asleep already? She wonders. It would be thrilling to slip between the sheets with him, to wake him with her body pressed against his hard one. Maybe he’s awake like her, though, trying to convince himself to slip his way into her room. Toni only opens the door as wide as she needs to get inside. Then, she stares at the bed, eyes widening because—

Bucky isn’t there.

Dread coils in her stomach. Had he left? He hadn’t been drunk like the others. What if he had decided to avoid any more interaction with Toni altogether, to slip out of the house and off into the night like some womanizing vagabond from her mother’s romance novels? He had gotten his, after all. Isn’t that all men ever want? Maybe with the blood back in his brain instead of his cock, he realized that he was out of Toni’s league.

Toni shuts Bucky’s door and nearly returns to her own room. But then she remembers the way he had wandered off outside, how he had seemed like he needed to put distance between himself and the others. With expectations low, she pads silently to the stairs, feeling her way down them carefully in the dark.

She isn’t disappointed.

There he is, seated in one armchair, his head leaned back and one tattooed arm thrown over his eyes. An afghan that had been draped over the back of the couch is in a heap on the floor. Either Bucky is an insomniac like Sam or there is something keeping him from sleeping.

Toni must make some noise on the stairs because Bucky’s arm jerks away from over his eyes and he is staring at her with wide, bloodshot eyes. At the sight of her, he makes a noise in the back of his throat and returns to covering his eyes.

“Shouldn’t you be in your room?” he asks. His voice is low but not a whisper, and Toni can’t help the way her heart jumps into her throat, turning to glance back up the stairs as if expecting one of the others to come bursting from their room to inspect the noise. When no one comes, she takes a steadying breath and takes the last few steps down the stairs. Sightless in the armchair, Bucky adds: “That sounds like the wrong direction for your room.”

“I’m not going to my room,” Toni says, matching the low pitch of his voice.

Sighing, Bucky sits up. He has shed his shirt again for comfort while he attempts to sleep. His skin looks carved from marble in the moonlight, the pale expanse only interrupted by the ink that divides him up and decorates him. His jeans have ridden low, belt off and left by his shirt, and it gives Toni a few more precious inches of the tattoos that rest at either hipbone: bold, encircled stars.

“If you were smart, you would,” says Bucky, his eyes glued to her legs.

“If I were smart? I solved the Kepler Conjecture when I was six.”

Bucky winces, seeming to understand his insulting words. “I mean, I know you’re smart. Doctorate in engineering—goddamn you’re smart. But there’s more to being smart than numbers.”

All his talk, but he isn’t working to get away from her. He doesn’t lift a finger to stop her while she takes slow, purposeful steps towards him until she’s standing inches from him, their knees nearly touching, bare skin to denim. Still, he stares at her legs, at her tanned thighs. She wonders what would happen if—

Letting her arms raise in a stretch, the shirt rides up and up. Bucky’s eyes open wider and wider until he’s staring at her white cotton panties with a stricken expression, the shadow of her well-trimmed pubic hair just barely visible. His throat bobs with a painful swallow as her arms fall back to their neutral position. Toni feels infused with power, drunk with it. While she didn’t doubt the existence of feminine sexuality (she lives with Nat, doesn’t she?), Toni had never considered her own ability to wield it. The way Bucky looks at her makes her slick between her legs, makes her head feel light.

Makes her bold.

“Do you not want to have sex?” she asks. “Because I want to have sex.”

“It’s not about what I want,” he rasps. “It’s about what’s right. You don’t know what you’re getting into, and it’d be wrong of me to take advantage of that while you’re drunk.”

Toni places her palm in the center of his chest over his pounding heart and pressing him firmly back into his seat. She plants one knee beside him, wedged between the chair and his thigh, and then climbs fully onto his lap. His breath comes full and slow, like he’s counting them. The rasp of his jeans against her sensitive inner thighs has her clit aching.

“First of all,” she says. “I’m not some sort of child; I’m a virgin. There’s a difference, believe it or not. I don’t know what I’m getting into? Unless you have a second cock which I somehow missed, I know exactly what I’m getting into. Or rather what I’d like to get into me. Second, I had two beers, and one shot before I followed you. That was five hours ago. If you’re scared and trying to come up with an excuse to keep from fucking me, you’ll need to think harder than that. The only thing wrong about this situation is that I haven’t cum yet. So let’s talk about solutions.”

After her monologue, she is left panting, their faces so close that their breaths mingle.

Bucky reaches out and cups one of her jaws, pulling her face down towards his own. Her eyes flutter shut on instinct, preparing for a kiss (their first, she thinks with a giddiness that is downright embarrassing), but instead he holds her face there inches from his own. When her eyes open, she narrows in on the furrow of his brows and the frown of his mouth. Beneath her, there is a growing bulge in his jeans that makes her thighs clench around his own.

His eyes rake across her face with an intensity she could never hope to match.

“You really are sober,” he murmurs. His thumb traces the line of her chin with tenderness.

“You know what else I am?” Toni asks. With a trembling hand, she reaches down between her legs. The shirt has ridden up dangerously high on her thighs and her wrist pulls it up the rest of the way while she cups her sex over her underwear. “I’m wet.”

In an instant, Bucky grabs her hand and drags it to his face, breathing in like he’s smelling her (thank God she has showered, she thinks breathlessly, even though he had done more than smell her—he had fucking tasted her just hours ago out in the woods). The groan he lets out has her heart skipping.

“If you want me, I’m yours,” he says, nuzzling against her palm. “Can’t say no to you. Don’t want to say no to you, ever.”

His consent overwhelms her. She lowers herself the last few inches until her cunt is pressed flush against his jean-clad erection, and God it feels so good. Reaching out to steady herself with his shoulders, she lets her body lead the way, back arching on instinct so that she can grind against his hardness. Bucky’s hands ghost up her thighs before taking her hips in his broad hands, encouraging her to make long, hard strokes. Her body sags forward as she buries her face in his neck, breaths shaking.

Already, she feels the heat inside her building.

“I—I could cum like this,” she admits into the junction between his shoulder and neck. “Should I stop?”

Bucky groans. His fingers tighten their grip on her. “The hell should you stop for? Show me, honey. Show me how you can cum like this.”

“Bucky,” she gasps, body shivering at his words.

Using his feet on the floor as leverage, he drives his hips upwards. If his jeans and her underwear weren’t in the way, they would be fucking. But even this is good, so good, so much better than her fingers. Even better is his voice in her ear muttering the filthiest things: “There you go. Chase yours, honey. Your body knows what to do, doesn’t it? Come on, Toni, tilt your hips, oh yes, there you go. That’s right against your clit, isn’t it? That feel good?”

The coil inside her winds tighter and tighter, throat constricting until she feels like she can hardly breathe much less answer his questions. His hands slide from her hips back towards her ass, fingers slipping beneath the fabric until he’s digging his fingers into the flesh where the curve of her ass becomes the curve of her vulva, pulling her apart until the lips of her sex spread and her clit has to take the brunt of the thrusts.

The coil snaps. For a moment her entire body goes still, frozen in time. Then the pressurized ball of pleasure that’s been condensing bursts, all her muscles stiffening and unstiffening as if she’s in the throes of a seizure. Bucky whispers the dirtiest encouragement to her, his hands drifting back to her hips to help smooth her jerky, desperate thrusts. She hardly recognizes the sounds that pour from her mouth and feels helpless to stop them as the sweetest pleasure floods from her pelvis outward, washing over her in waves that she feels helpless against.

“—so good, Jesus, Toni, the noises you make drive me insane. Come on, lean back, show me your face—”

And she can’t imagine what he could want to see her face for, but she does as he asks anyway, tipping herself back into a seated position so that he can look at her. She’s too busy looking at him to wonder what he might be seeing, to think that her expression might be mimicked on his face, the glossy heated eyes, the flush that’s trailing down his inked collar bones.

Suddenly she is overcome with the need to feel that inked skin with her mouth, to trace it with her tongue, to rub her lips against the smooth skin until they are raw and swollen. Still overcome with twitching aftershocks, it feels good to keep rubbing against his cock so she does, the simplicity of chasing feel-good sensations overwhelming her higher functioning. Parting her mouth, she places a wet kiss to the honeycomb on his throat. Above her, he makes a tortured sound, trailing his hands gently from her thighs over her flank and up the arch of her back.

His skin is warm and clean, tasting faintly of the scent of whatever masculine body wash Nat keeps stocked in the guest bathrooms. A helpless noise slips past her lips as she lets her mouth drift up to the wasp just beneath his ear to suck.

“God,” he rasps, voice buzzing the skin beneath her mouth. “You gonna mark me up? Suck harder, honey, I can take it. I’m gonna be covered in you before the night’s through, in more ways than one.”

Harder? she thinks. A tendril of righteous fury unwinds in her belly—he kept her waiting for so long, wielded his morals like a shield against her obvious affection. And while there is a sensible part of her that sees these are good things, a part of her that is even glad he did those things, she feels overcome with the need for pleasurable vengeance. She opens her mouth wider and bites him, sinking her teeth into skin, body thrumming when he jerks and groans.

The sounds of him, his smell, his flesh against her tongue stokes the fire that had just been smothered, igniting coals inside of her.

“Can I have your cock now?” she asks. “I feel—empty.”

Bucky’s head tips back until it rests against the headrest of the armchair. His face catches the moonlight, and Toni can just barely see the blooming mark on his throat outlined by the crescents of her teeth.

Then he is shaking his head. “Not yet,” he says. “Need to get you naked, first. Here, get up—”

Toni stands coltish in front of him. His eyes scan her from head to toe, stopping where her nipples are visible through the thin shirt. He reaches out and fists a hand in the fabric and tugs her forward until he is nuzzling against her sternum. Then he gathers the excess and tugs it tight across the modest swell of her breasts. Suddenly she is hyper-aware of how her breasts ache, nipples tight desperate points. Then he leans forward and takes one clothed tip into his mouth, sucking at her through the cotton.

She slaps a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out and waking the house. His other fingers toy with the neglected peak, strumming the pad of his thumb over it. It feels like there is a direct connection between her nipples and her clit and that when he teases one, it teases the other.

When he pulls his mouth away, the cotton of her shirt is damp and see-through. She shivers as it cools, leaving goosebumps on her skin—but then he is switching to the other breast and he lights her on fire all over again.

“Bucky,” she whines.

He parts his mouth from her reluctantly, lapping at the cotton one last time. His hands skim down the curve of her hips until his palms reach the hem of her shirt. Pale eyes flash burning hot when he glances up in question. Toni barely manages to keep from rolling her eyes; instead, she reaches down for the hem and in one simple motion strips it from her body.

Bucky groans. Beneath the shirt, she is naked except for her soaked panties. Toni has no illusions of her physical appearance: she is average at best. But Bucky still looks at her like he wants to eat her whole, one of his hands reaching down to rub at his erection. Emboldened, she reaches down and slides the panties off too, lets them pool at her ankles before stepping out of them delicately.

“Lookit you,” Bucky murmurs.

“I hope you’ll do more than look.”

When he stands from the armchair, he towers over her, but any intimidation she felt for him was left in the woods outside, was shed from her the moment he shed his shirt just to let a naive young woman sate her curiosity in his body. His hands ghost over her form, giving her phantom tingles. He turns his hand over and lets the back of his fingers brush against the dark curls between her legs.

“Spread them,” he says.

“What?”

“Your legs, spread them.”

Flushing, Toni does. Then he drags one knuckle up the seam of her cunt. It’s electrifying, brushing over her clit in a touch that has her gasping, parting her lips around his finger so that he can nestle it against her opening. God, it makes her realize just how hungry it feels. Seeing no reason to deny her instincts or what feels good, Toni lets her hips jerk forward, his knuckle just pressing past her entrance, a stretch that has her whining.

Bucky pulls back, ignoring her noise of displeasure. Even in the moonlight, it glistens, wet with her cum.

“That all for me?” he wonders.

Toni snorts. “I don’t see anyone else here.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you to have better eyesight than I do,” he teases, smiling. Then he lifts his hand to his mouth and licks her wetness from his finger.

Toni is suddenly struck with the knowledge that she has never tasted herself. Reaching down, she uses one finger to mimic the path that Bucky had taken, shivering at the slick heat and the roughness of her curls. Then she brings it to her own mouth, brows furrowed. It is almost tasteless, probably from her thorough shower. There’s a hint of musk, but she kind of likes it. More than anything, she likes Bucky’s reaction to her, his eyes going wider than she’s ever seen, his mouth parting in surprise.

“It’s not bad,” Toni says. Her eyes fall to his lap. “When do I get to taste you?”

Bucky groans. “Jesus, can’t believe you’re just asking me questions like that—”

“What, am I breaking sex-etiquette?”

His lips ghost into a smile. “No. There isn’t really any etiquette, except for the kind we decide on together, I guess. I like your mouth—the things you say, I mean, the, the way you say things without caring how they sound.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” she says somberly. Toni knows the effect her mouth has on people—and to date it has mostly been negative. There was a disastrous date (one Toni had been far too embarrassed to admit was her first) between herself and one of Nat’s classmates. By the end of the night, every time Toni opened her mouth, she saw the exasperated roll of her date’s eyes and spent the rest of the date in complete silence.

He didn’t deserve my mouth, Toni thinks. But Bucky does.

As Bucky presses her back towards the couch, Toni twists and slips from his grasp.

“Stop,” she says. When Bucky freezes, she feels the thrill of being obeyed. He is like marble as she reaches out and runs her fingers down the hollow of his sternum. His piercings catch the light that streams in through the window and she feels like a magpie with how drawn she is to the tiny barbells. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

Bucky exhales shakily, the only response. When Toni drags her thumb across his nipple, nudging the metal bead at one end and then the other, his head tilts back to bare his honeycomb throat, mouth parting. It’s a strange sensation to feel the metal beneath his skin, and she knows that she must be being far more cautious than she needs to as she rolls either nipple between her fingers. But he doesn’t seem to mind. His chest heaves with the breaths he takes and she follows the rapid rise and fall, refusing to give him a moment of reprieve.

When it feels more like she’s teasing herself than teasing him, then she drags her fingers down between his pecs, down over the bare skin of his abdominals and down to the waistband of his jeans. The zipper is distorted obscenely by his erection, and he hisses and groans as she works the button free, giving him inadvertent stimulation.

He isn’t wearing boxers beneath—maybe he abandoned them after the woods, maybe he threw them away in Nat’s guest bathroom. His cock springs free and it is bigger up close, a very decent length, an intimidating thickness, cut and flushed dark. The head is sticky, and when she traces a thumb over it, Bucky gasps. In her grasp, his cock jerks: an adorable bob that has her fighting a smile.

Bringing her thumb to her mouth, she wastes no time in pressing it past her lips and sucking it clean. His taste isn’t much like hers; instead it is stronger, muskier and with a hint of salt. All at once, she needs him in her mouth.

“Let me suck you off,” Toni asks.

“Toni,” Bucky groans. His cock jerks again in her hand. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. Do you want me to? You said you liked my mouth. Would you—like it on your cock?”

If he thinks that the dirty talk rolls stilted from her mouth, he doesn’t show it. All he does is mutter expletives and nod jerkily. Bucky strips himself of his jeans and sits on the center couch cushion.

Bare to her. Completely.

With reverence, Toni kneels, running her palms across his thighs. The hairs there are fairer and more sparse. His legs are inked as well, pictures that she traces with her fingertips. Above her, he sits patient and still, only twitching when she presses her mouth to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. With a hand on either knee, she coaxes him to spread wider. Her eyes rake over him eagerly. It isn’t the first cock she’s ever seen (though it is the first in-person). If only the lights were on, she would be able to explore him better. In the dark, she can only really rely on one exploratory sense: touch.

The skin of his cock feels like hot silk when she runs her fingers down the length of him. It has ridges that are perfect for her tongue to trace, veins running paths from the flared head down to his sac. Bucky must prefer to keep himself well-groomed, because he is hairless here the same way he is on his chest. She presses his cock up towards his stomach, noting the way precum leaks from the tip at her firm touch. Her other hand cups his balls, tracing one and then the other, running her fingers gently over the soft, wrinkled skin.

“You’re gonna kill me,” says Bucky brokenly.

Leaning forward, she presses her closed lips to the very base of his cock. Beside him on the couch, his hands tighten into fists, knuckles standing out white. Encouraged, Toni begins to press gentle kisses up the shaft, gradually letting her mouth open so that she can stroke her tongue along the silken skin. When she reaches the head, she takes it past her lips and lets it rest on her tongue. Her eyes fall shut so that she can concentrate on the smoothness of his skin, the sharp taste of his cum. When she suckles at the head of him, Bucky groans, the muscles of his thighs clenching and unclenching.

“Dear god,” he rasps with a voice like sandpaper. “This won’t last long at all, sugar, I, oh fucking hell, your mouth—”

She startles at the feeling of his fingers touching her hair. When he sinks them deep into the damp tresses and takes hold firmly, something inside of her positively burns. Opening her jaw so wide it aches, she takes more of him into her mouth. If he stretches her open here, what will it be like when he sinks his cock inside her sex? The thought makes her whine around him, spit running down the inches of his shaft she can’t swallow down. It makes the slide of her hand easier when she wraps her slim fingers around the base and begins to jerk off the excess.

“You sure you��ve never done this before?” he breathes. “Because you’re a natural. Thirty seconds in and I want to shoot down your throat. Goddamn, Toni—”

Toni is sure that her own slick must be dripping down her legs at this point. As curious as she is to explore his body and reactions, she has never been patient: she wants him inside her. Pulling off of his cock, she says, “I don’t want you to cum down my throat. I want you to cum inside me.”

Bucky hisses. He has to reach down and grip the base of his cock to keep from cumming, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. “I can’t do that. I don’t have any condoms.”

“What good would it be for you to cum in me if you’re wearing a condom?” Toni snarks. “I want it dripping down my legs when I go up the stairs back to your room. I’ve had the implant since I was fifteen years old, neither of us need to worry about any souvenirs.”

“You don’t even know if I’m clean,” he says. He looks down at her with his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, high on his moral outrage. “That’s what I mean about smarts being more than just numbers. You should never fuck a guy bare unless you’ve seen that he’s clean.”

“I know you’re clean,” she snaps.

“How the hell do you know that? Read a book on STD’s?”

“You let me put your cock in my mouth. You think that can’t spread disease? Yeah. You weren’t thinking about it then, were you? Because you know you’ve got nothing bad to give me. I know that you’re clean because if you weren’t, you would have stopped me.”

Now he looks downright tortured, staring down at her with his face twisted in sadness and anger. “You don’t know that. There are people out there who don’t care if they hurt you as long as they can stick their dicks inside of you. You can’t go thinkin’ the best of everyone.”

“I’m not thinking the best of everyone,” Toni admits. “I’m thinking the best of you. In science, theories are accepted as true until proven false. The only thing you’ve done since we’ve met is try to protect me. An infuriating though noble motive. You are a good man, and until you prove otherwise—I’m going to believe in you. In the good in you.”

Bucky’s head tilts back to rest against the couch. His throat works as he takes several slow breaths. Much like when playing chess, Toni knows when to press and when to let pieces alone; she lets him turn over her words without any more fuel from her. Instead, she leans her cheek against his knee and waits, refusing to breathe lest she vibrates out of her skin with impatience. At last, he lets his head fall forward again and he nods with comical graveness.

“Come here,” he says. “Up on my lap.”

Her heart pounds, blood thrumming with anticipation. The size difference between them is only emphasized as she straddles his thighs. Elevated as she is, they can look at each other eye-to-eye. Toni is struck all over again by how handsome he is, the perfect symmetry from his face, the low brows that give him an intensity that threatens to take her breath away.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. When his hand reaches for her, thumb ghosting along the line of her jaw, it trembles.

“Yes,” she whispers. His fingers make contact, and he brings her forward.

It’s her first kiss. While there is an instinctive fluidity to it, the mechanics aren’t as simple as her erotica novels made it out to be. It helps to be hungry for him and to feel his thinly veiled hunger in return. His lips are soft and eager, and when they part to adjust the angles of their faces, his mouth returns to her parted, tongue lapping at the seam of her lips until she opens. A soft aching sound slips past her lips, and she’s glad that both of their eyes are shut so that he can’t see the embarrassed flush that burns her face.

Wait, his eyes are shut, right?

She peaks.

They are shut. She shuts hers quickly lest he catch her looking, but then he takes her entire bottom lip between his own and sucks at it softly and the thoughts leak from her ears. Bucky kisses with a dual nature; sometimes he is prone to long moments of softness as if he is sipping sweetly from her mouth. Other times, she can’t help but feel like he wants to split her open, drink deeply and sate his thirst of her. A quick learner, she mimics his actions. The noise he makes when she nips at his full bottom lip goes right between her legs.

It is much like taking a poker to the softly smoldering coals of a fire. Toni burns. Thighs trembling from the effort it takes to hover over his lap, she lowers herself only find that his hard cock brushes against her curls. Bucky pulls away, hissing.

“Sorry,” Toni murmurs.

“Feels good,” he pants. He looks debauched, mouth red and swollen. From me, she thinks. “Remember what I told you in the woods? About you rubbing yourself off on me? Feels good for the both of us, honey.”

“Put it inside me.”

He laughs too loud. Toni glances up towards the stairs, still dark and empty.

“Fingers first,” says Bucky. “Put your arms around my neck and let me know if anything hurts.”

Toni buries her face in his neck. With one large hand, he cups the entirety of her naked sex. Just the warmth of his hand has her mouth parting, when he lets two middlemost fingers press forward to touch her opening, she groans.

“You play with yourself here?” he asks her. His fingers make no move to enter her, just rub and circle around her entrance. Toni is beyond words, chest tight with anticipation, so all she can do is nod in confirmation. Bucky groans, cock jerking where it is pressed flush between their naked bellies.

For a long time, all he does is trace the line of her: fingers gathering the slick at her entrance and dragging it up to her swollen clit. Most passes, he avoids touching that knot of throbbing nerves, but sometimes he takes it between his two fingers and applies the slightest pressure until she is gasping and her hips are trembling in his grasp.

“Relax,” he says.

She bites his neck.

“Jesus,” he groans, flinching away from her teeth. “I should spank the hell out of you for that.”

Toni arches her back until the hand steadying her hip slips back and takes a firm hold of her ass. He must feel as if she is panting in his ear, her breaths are coming so fast. Usually, Toni skimmed over spanking scenes in erotica or watched with ambivalence, eager to get to the good parts. Why the thought of Bucky doing that—of disciplining her—turns her on so much, she won’t even begin to guess. Her degree is in engineering and not psychology; leave the soft sciences to the soft scientists.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” she mocks.

“No,” he says. His fingers press with more firmness at her entrance, stretching her just barely. “I don’t need to scare you to get you to behave.”

With slow and steady movements, he lets one finger slip inside her. Toni sighs happily. In a rare moment of penance, she kisses the bruise left on his throat in the shape of her mouth.

“God you feel good,” Bucky says. “That hurtin’ you?”

Toni rolls her eyes. “No. I usually use two fingers, anyway.”

“I’d die to see that,” he sighs. “Is that what you were doing up there in your room for so long? Working two fingers in an’ out of this pretty pussy?”

“No. I wanted to wait—for you.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to lean in to her, his lips pressing against her throat. His voice is wrecked when he says, “There isn’t a single part of you, not a single thing you say or do that doesn’t drive me insane.”

Without another word, he withdraws from her and then two fingertips are nudging at her entrance. The stretch makes her suck in a breath even though there is plenty of wetness to ease his way.

“Okay?” he asks. His breathing has picked up, either mimicking her unconsciously or noticing the tension in her form. “You feel—real tight.”

“Your fingers are bigger than mine,” she theorizes. “It doesn’t hurt though. Keep going.”

Bucky presses in to his last knuckle. He uses his thumb to rub at her clit and when she clenches around his fingers, they both groan. Impatient, Toni draws her hips back to feel the slide as his fingers come free, dragging against the sensitive rim of her entrance.

“Go ahead,” he pants. “If it feels good, go ahead honey.”

She keeps her thrusts slow. Her hips are unused to the movement, and when he spreads his fingers to open her wide, it almost hurts.

“How the hell am I going to get inside you,” Bucky mutters.

Toni hopes that’s rhetorical.

More and more, he opens her up. She never stops the rolling of her hips, but sometimes he pins her to him so that he can focus on her clit, strumming his thumb back and forth over it until she feels liable to cum and more slick drips out of her. Then he stretches his fingers again. It goes on forever, the slick sounds growing more and more obscene until there is no more ache. When he slips a third finger inside, it doesn’t hurt at all, just burns in a deeply satisfying way.

“I want you on top, just like this,” he says. “That way you’re in control and if somethin’ hurts, you can stop right away. Got it?”

“Got it, it’s gotten,” Toni answers. Her thighs tremble, cunt pulsing emptily when he pulls his fingers free and goes to lick them clean. Toni stops him with a hand around his wrist. His eyes stare at the way her fingers can’t touch for the thickness of him. Without thought, she says, “That’s mine.”

He blinks. “I—know?”

“So it’s mine,” she says, tugging his hand towards her mouth. When he realizes that she means to lick her slick off of his fingers, his eyes fall shut, cock jerking between them.

His throats clicks when he swallows. “But, you’re a good girl, right? You’re gonna share, aren’t you?”

“If you ask nicely,” she whispers, buzzing on the high of his submission.

His eyes are so heated, they pin her in place. Never has she been so thankful for her eidetic memory. He’s the most beautiful person she’s ever seen, and the sight of him with his swollen mouth and inked skin and burning eyes is one that she commits to memory again and again. Unwilling to part from it.

“Please,” begs Bucky.

“Do better.”

“Please share. Two tastes tonight aren’t enough. I’d gladly spend the rest of my life with my mouth to your pussy, that’s how bad I want it. Even just one finger, honey, let me have one.”

She is positively shaking when she brings his wrist towards her—and takes all three fingers into her mouth. Bucky makes a sound like he’s been punched, but he bites down on any protests, gritting his teeth. He presses down on her tongue, the barest bite of his nails until she shuts her teeth around his fingers in warning. When any semblance of her essence is gone, she lets go of his wrist.

“You’re cruel,” he rasps.

“That’s what you get for thinking I’m a good girl.”

“I take it back.”

Toni shifts up, her hand reaching between them for his cock. It is slick with precum that has smeared against his abs. As soon as the flared head rests against her entrance, she realizes the discrepancy between three fingers and his cock.

“Just take it slow,” he says, breaths unsteady. “For both our sakes.”

She lowers herself just an inch. The stretch as the head slips past her entrance burns in the best way. Once she doesn’t need to guide him anymore, she lets her thin arms wrap around his shoulders, the fingers of one hand burying themselves in his hair in a grip that must be painful even if he doesn’t mention it. Another inch disappears inside her, and it pinches in a way that has her wincing. Instead of pressing forward, she raises her hips up until he nearly slips free from her before taking him back in.

“Jesus,” Bucky whispers as she fucks herself on the tip alone.

“Don’t rush me,” she laughs.

“I’m not, I swear,” he says. “Just trying not to blow my load, you’re so tight—fuck, I felt that. You squeeze my dick like that again and I’m finished, honey, holy shit.”

“I can’t help it,” Toni gasps. It feels so good to use those muscles, feels so good to clench against him as he’s filling her up. The next inch comes easier, and the next after that. She lets herself lower those last few inches until he’s completely inside of her. It doesn’t make sense: how it feels so foreign but how it feels so right. He’s touching places inside of her that her fingers never could, that even his fingers never could, filling her in a way she’s never been full. It’s overwhelming all at once. Whining into his throat, she says, “God, it feels like you’re in my throat.”

Inside of her, his cock twitches and makes her squeak—an altogether indignant sound that she will take to the grave.

“Just sit there for a minute,” Bucky pants. “Please Joseph, Mary, and Jesus, don’t fucking move.”

“Don’t tell me that; now I want to move even more.”

He tightens his grip on her hips, unrelenting. Now, even when she shifts against him, she can’t move an inch. The knowledge stokes the heat inside her higher, pulling a moan from deep in her chest. She feels his lips press to her shoulder, a soft and sweet touch that maybe she wasn’t even meant to notice. A smile blooms where no one can see it, and she forces herself to relax and wait for him.

After an endless minute, he finally releases his bruising hold of her hips. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay? I can move?”

He nods. “Do whatever feels best.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. Toni lifts herself up, lamenting the loss of him just so that she can bring her hips down hard in a thrust that shakes her to her core. If she had any breath in her lungs, she might have shouted; even Bucky seems shattered, groaning expletives that are far too loud. At the apex of his thrust, he touches a spot inside her that feels so sensitive it nearly hurts. She wants to feel that hurt again and again and again. The pace she sets nearly breaks the both of them. She has never been able to cum from internal stimulation alone, but when he hits that spot deep inside, she feels like maybe she could.

When her legs begin to shake from overexertion, he shifts them until he lies flat on the couch, coaxing her to lean forward and let some of her weight be borne by her palms on the armrest his head lays on. It changes the angle, and she leans forward and then backward to experience every sensation.

“Look at you,” Bucky breathes. “Taking my cock so well. Just chasing what feels good, aren’t you honey? Tell me how it feels.”

“Good,” Toni whines, digging her fingers into the fabric of the armrest. He thrusts his hips up like a reward and she cries out. When she leans forward, she finds that she can grind her clit against the base of his cock.

“Do better,” he says, mocking her earlier words. Another sharp thrust upwards, that sharp, bright ache—my cervix, she thinks with a thrill. That’s what that is. He’s just long enough to touch it.

“If cumming means that you won’t be able to keep fucking me like this, then you’re never allowed to cum,” she says. “Ever.”

Bucky laughs so hard he wheezes. “Yeah?” he says when he catches his breath. “You want to put a ring on me, use my cock like it’s a toy for your convenience? How many times could you cum on my dick before I blow my load even with the ring on, huh? Nothing could keep me from cummin’ inside you. A pussy this sweet? Let’s be glad I’ve lasted this long.”

Toni clenches her muscles tight until he hisses.

“Let’s start counting,” she says. “Make me cum, Bucky, please.”

He groans. One of his hands goes to her breast, taking her pebbled nipple between his fingers while the other drifts down to where they’re connected. For a moment, he ignores her aching clit and instead lets his fingers trace where she’s stretched around his cock. He mutters something foul, filthy, hot and then he presses the pad of his thumb against her clit, rubbing briskly, working to follow her thrusts even as they stutter and grow erratic.

“Oh God,” Toni breathes, toes curling. “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop, please—”

When she cums, it’s explosive—never has she cum while so full, while being filled. Hypersensitive to his cock, it feels huge where he thrusts in and out of her, cunt gripping him tight. Every thrust drags her orgasm on and on, his thumb never growing lenient where it toys with her clit until she feels like she could cum again, which has never happened, never—

The second is slower and deeper, her entire body seizing up above him. Both of her legs cramp, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing fucking matters. Nothing except for his thumb on her clit and that burst of pleasure so deep inside her so keen that it almost hurts.

When her brain finally begins to function again, her lashes are wet, her throat is raw, and Bucky has a hold of her hips, gently humping upwards into the cradle of her hips. The wet sounds of their sex almost make her flush, but then she realizes that he is whispering to her frantically:

“—please, I’ve got to cum, can’t hold off anymore. Did you mean it, that you want, you want it inside?”

“God, yes,” Toni says, voice wrecked. “Inside me, please. Do it inside me—”

He grows still beneath her, the music staff across his chest expanded from the force of his inhalation. His eyes are squeezed shut, the expression on his face looking almost pained. Then she feels it: his cock twitching where it’s buried deep inside of her, a flush of warmth and wetness. He groans, teeth clenched tight.

“I can feel that,” she says in wonder.

And when his eyes open, misty and dazed and looking for her own so that he can smile up at her, all she can think is, I want to feel that again.

Nat creeps back up from where she had crouched on the stairs low enough to catch a glimpse of the living room below. A noise down the hallway draws her attention, but it is just Wanda, her head poking out questioningly from one of the guest rooms. Wanda points a finger towards the stairs and then takes that same finger and thrusts it into a hole loosely formed by her other fist.

Nat makes a circle with her thumb and forefinger.

Yes! Wanda mouths, pumping her fist. She holds up her hand and Natasha gives her a phantom high-five before disappearing back into her bedroom, taking extra care to close the door without a single sound. Steve is sound asleep where she left him, but when she crawls back into bed, he reaches for her even in sleep to wrap an arm around her.

All in a day’s work.

Hours after the sun has ridden, Natasha is the first awake. The living room is empty with no sign of any late-night scandalous activities. She hadn’t checked Toni’s guestroom, but she would guarantee that it was empty. It puts her in a good mood, and she hums while he starts an extra-large pot of coffee. In the quiet early morning, Natasha is struck by a rare moment of complete contentment. So many of the people she loves under one room, safe, happy, sated.

If only life could be like this all the time, she thinks.

One by one the others begin to wake and come down. Bucky arrives first. Natasha passes him a mug of coffee without a word, ignoring the sight of the vivid bruise against his neck. They must have staggered their arrivals to avoid suspicion, because Toni arrives only a few minutes later, hair wet from a shower.

“Are you hungover?” Natasha asks, letting her face crumple into a concerned expression. “God, T, you look like you didn’t sleep a wink. Was it the bed? Those guest rooms—”

“The bed was fine,” Toni says primly. Her face barely twists when she sits on the stool at the kitchen island.

“Gimme that,” Bucky mutters, taking the mug meant for Toni from her hands. Looking her dead in the eye, he says lowly enough so that only she can hear: “You aren’t slick, Nat.”

“Toni sure was,” she says, barely moving her lips.

Bucky snorts, turning away to take Toni the coffee. Natasha turns her back to them, making herself busy with breakfast on the stove so that no one can see her smile while she listens to them bicker over the best way to take their coffee. Steve is suddenly there, pressed flush against her back so that he can place a kiss at the crown of her head.

“Everything okay?” he asks under his breath.

And it’s not a lie when she looks up at him and says: “Perfect.”

#winteriron #female!tony stark #toni stark #cagewrites #iti

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lescentvisages · 3 years

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Sofia Boutella

Born : April 3, 1982 (age 38), Bab El Oued, Algeria

Occupation : Actress, model, dancer

Sofia Boutella was born in the Bab El Oued district of Algiers, Algeria, to an architect mother and a jazz musician father, Safy Boutella. Her surname means "the men of the mountains". She was raised in a fairly secular household that cultivated artistic expression and creativity. Sofia Boutella started classical dance education when she was five years old. In 1992, at the age of 10, she left Algeria with her family in the midst of the Algerian civil war and moved to France. Shortly thereafter, she started rhythmic gymnastics, joining the French national team at age 18. Growing up in Paris, Sofia Boutella was exposed to many more forms of dance, particularly hip hop and street dance, which intrigued her for offering more "freedom" compared to the more disciplined styles of ballet and gymnastics. She joined a group called the Vagabond Crew, which won the Battle of the Year in 2006, and participated in a spin-off group called "Chienne de Vie and Aphrodites".Her breakthrough as a dancer came in 2007, when she was picked for the Jamie King choreography for Nike Women's "Keep Up" campaign, serving as a role model of femininity and hip-hop. This was a major boost to her career and led to more work alongside stars like Madonna, in her Confessions Tour, and Rihanna. She credits her work with Madonna for helping her learn English. Sofia Boutella successfully auditioned for the Michael Jackson This Is It concerts but could not attend due to the extension of the Madonna tour, whose dates coincided with the Jackson residency. In February 2011, she was the main character in the music video for "Hollywood Tonight" by Michael Jackson. In 2014, after 12 years as a dancer, Boutella sought a career in acting. Initially, she purposefully avoided auditioning for lead roles, wishing to play supporting characters so as to learn from more experienced actors. In 2015, she appeared in her first major film, Kingsman: The Secret Service, which jump-started her career as an actress. One year later, she appeared as the alien warrior Jaylah in Star Trek Beyond, released on July 22, 2016.

#sofia boutella #actress #model #dancer #female

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readerinsertfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Thief

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Character: Keiji Maeda

Prompt: I renewed my Netflix subscription and the first thing I watch after ‘Money Heist’ (La Casa de Papel) was ‘Hotel del Luna’ and then this line popped up and hi, inspiration.

--- Also blame Jules for this sudden will to write for this man even if there is virtually no content out.

Under the guise of the night there was another world to explore entirely. A world that couldn’t withstand the brightness of the day, not meant to be seen, or to be noticed, only to be reflected upon at a later date. So was this story not meant for the light of the day, and every tale that followed only happened under the reflection of the moon.

“Are you a thief or a visitor?”

With one hand he stilled you, a gentle warmth pressed against your arm as you turned around to face the man. The smile that accompanied the redhead held all of the enthusiasm and excitement at the meeting between the two of you. Keiji hadn’t expected you, at least not here, not tonight, for he was unable to go out, the preparations of war keeping him busy amongst many other tasks.

“I’m here to steal, what else?” Your response was harsh, once more reminded of the distance between both your classes. “I heard that there is a great treasure hidden here, one that can help me get a castle for myself,” you exclaimed.

He belonged to the upper class, whereas you were nothing more but an ant to be trampled upon. A point proven so clearly now that you had explored his castle and seen his wealth with your own eyes. He was part of the rich that you despised so much, no matter the wine exchanged and the songs sung.

To this the man was unfazed, dazzling eyes taking you in, catching you in your lie as he let go of your arm. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he questioned slowly, his smile only widening instead of falling. To this you remained guilty in silence, unable to find the words to properly answer.

“The guards here suck, I managed to sneak in so easily. I might as well have walked through the gates,” you diverted the conversation instead, not wanting to admit that part of you was curious where he had gone for tonight, or that you felt lonely and sought out the companionship of a dear friend out of your league.

To this Keiji smile turned tender, a strange expression crossing in which his usually brotherly image fell apart and there was just a man remaining. Leaning over he forces you to look him in the eyes and for once you find that there is more than just that overtly familiar vagabond in them.

“I think you have already stolen what you came for,” he speaks, a hand rising towards his chest as he patted the center of it. Suspicion met his expression, your eyes squinting as you wondered if this was a trap, your mind jumbling up into tangents of why Keiji would decide to play this card other than sincerity.

Chuckling the redhead straightened up, crossing his arms at the back, a clear gesture that he wasn’t planning on capturing you, the signature between the two of you that you were free to go. And as clear as his earlier words had been his actions were even louder; he had no intention in getting back what you had stolen.

#ikesen #ikesen keiji #ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku keiji #keiji maeda #ikemen keiji

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rinnysega · 4 years

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Charlie & Lovejoy Fic Commission - “The Basement”

First off, I love writing for Charlie.

Second, I completed my first fic commission since the early 2010s it feels like. I can’t keep track of time anymore.

This was really fun to do @pascalls, thank you for commissioning me and helping me get through this hell diet by giving me a fun project to work on! I hope you like it, and I encourage others to read this too if you want to see a really unique Simpsons OC that I again love wholeheartedly.

Hope you enjoy it!

The worst part about living in the reverend’s basement was hearing all the clatter going on upstairs - the normal sounds of daily living for suburbanites of Springfield, of which Charlie felt no part of. Every one of Helen’s laughs, every clink of silverware on a plate, every moment Timothy Lovejoy spent without him, just echoing through the ceiling and in every vibration through the wall. Charlie once again found himself trying hard to not let it get to him as he concentrated on a project he’d started earlier that afternoon.

A few days ago, Lovejoy came to him and explained he had to go out of town for that weekend, and that Charlie would have to stay behind on his own. Charlie wasn’t one to feel dependent on others - in fact a few days to himself sounded like a much needed period of rest to him - but he did find himself sad when he was told the news. He would miss him, that reverend.

He put his tweezers down, finishing up the last touches of his masterpiece. He looked it over, wondering if there was any need for improvement, and despite there being many, he decided it would have to do. In his contemplation, the voices of Tim and Helen came in through the window to the lawn, and he assumed they must be packing the car. They’d be leaving any moment now to make it to Missouri by 11pm.

Whatever. He held his little gift in his hands, and he smiled to himself, hoping the reverend would like it.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard footsteps coming down toward the basement, and he slipped the figure into his pocket, slipping into the shadows out of habit.

Reverend Lovejoy came in, peeking through the door as not to startle him. When Charlie saw he was alone - as always these days- he came out from beside the work desk.

“Hey.”

“Hey Charlie,” Lovejoy said. “Thought I’d stop by and say goodbye before we left.”

“Oh, isn’t that nice?” Charlie replied. It might have come off as sarcastic, but he meant it...kind of. Deep down he did. Whatever, best stick with your choices, he thought. “Well, what kind of holy man would you be if you didn’t come mingle with the vagabond before going back to your basic, Wonder Bread wife.”

“There’s no need for hostility, Charlie.” He glared at him with that smug arrogance said vagabond had come to love so much. Though in all honesty, he should have seen some kind of snark coming, regardless of what he said. It seemed to be his nature, even with others beside himself. Whatever the case, it was something Charlie craved in their interactions.

“We’re only going to be in Missouri for a few days. You should be fine on your own until Monday afternoon.”

“I don’t see why you have to go to a church retreat when your church is literally next door.”

“It’s a...thing.” Even for a preacher he didn’t feel like explaining how stupid it was. Still, he sighed. “Part of being in my position is to go on these weekend retreats with other leaders of the community and -”

“Yeah, yeah, look, you just go and have a good time.” Charlie finally approached him to straighten up his navy tie against his salmon pink shirt. “I’ll watch over the house in case you get robbed and you know.” He made a throat slit motion. “Take care of any problems that may come up.”

“Charlie, if I come back and there’s police tape on my-”

“Relax, Timmy.” He patted off a few bits of sheepdog hair from his shoulders. “If I kill someone it’s not going to be on your property. We’ve been over that already.” He continued to get the staredown. “Okay, fine, I won’t kill anyone at all.”

“That’s better.” His scowl turned into a small, endearing grin as he began to count his points on his fingertips. “Now, I went ahead and put the frozen steaks in the fridge to thaw, and the DVR is set to record a few shows Saturday night - do NOT erase them.”

“Okay.”

“And you’re welcome to sleep on the couch and use the television as long as you pick up after yourself. Last thing I need to do is explain anything to Helen if something’s misplaced or filthy.”

“You can’t blame it on the dog?”

“He’s staying with the Flanders’ until Tuesday.”

“Okay.”

“And-”

“Tim, I think I can handle two whole days on my own.” He backed up and hoisted himself up to sit on top of the Lovejoy Junction table. He knew Tim hated it, but it was comfortable and he’d just have to deal with it. Besides, he should count himself lucky he kept control of his tail as not to break anything. He continued on, “Shouldn’t you be going then? Isn’t your wife wondering where you’re at?”

It pained him to say that ‘w’ word sometimes, and that moment was definitely one of them.

“I told her I was putting up my trains in the order I like them kept in before a big trip. I already did it last night, but I just wanted the extra time to...come see you.”

Charlie’s ears perked a bit at that statement. He tried to play it cool.

Lovejoy coughed a bit before finishing his thought, “-and of course to let you know the rules of the house while we’re gone.”

His ears wilted slightly before perking up again when he remembered the little project he’d been working on.

“Hey wait.” He got up from the table and dug his hand into his pants pocket. “Before you go, here. I made you something.”

Charlie pulled from his pocket an ill-crafted wooden figure and set it down on Lovejoy Junction beside the steeple. It was a small pastor, and although crude in its shape and design, Lovejoy could tell who it was supposed to resemble.

“Aww. You made a little me,” he said.

“I tried.”

“No, no, I think it’s good.” He walked over beside him and picked it up to hold in his hand, letting it lie across his fingertips. “Really good.”

“Well...thank you.”

Lovejoy continued to smile at the little thing before he set it back down where Charlie had put it. He turned to him. “You know, you surprise me.”

“Huh?”

“You surprise me. I came down here thinking you’d be listening to swear music or smoking out of the window, but you’ve been productive. I’m very proud of you.”

“Proud of me?” he questioned. “Mmm, what’s the catch?”

“No catch. I think my company has started to rub off on you. You’re getting creative and into some new hobbies by the looks of it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just thought it was stupid you didn’t have a Reverend Lovejoy for Lovejoy Junction. Imagine if Lard Lad Donuts didn’t have a Lard Lad outside. It’s chaos.”

“Well thank you, Charlie. I really appreciate it.”

“And you’re not just saying that because you have to? You really like it?”

“Why yes, I really really like it. You’ve got a talent.”

“Please don’t butter me up before you leave. You’re embarrassing us both.”

“I wasn’t trying to, but if you’re feeling humble, then please, take the compliment. Maybe you could do a few more this weekend until I get back.”

It was something Charlie considered. “Well, what’s it worth to you?”

“The satisfaction I helped guide you to a more appropriate pastime than whatever debauchery you get yourself up to out in Springfield.”

“Come on, you can at least buy me dinner.”

“What, those steaks upstairs not enough for you?”

“Fine. What else you got then?” That smirk came back. This was getting fun.

“Well...how about I spend the night?”

“With who?”

“With you!”

“With me? You mean down here with me?”

“Sure.”

Well, that caught him off guard a bit. “Okay...and you won’t be on your train set the whole time?”

“Not the whole time, but most of the time I’d like to take the choo-choos out for a spin.” He giggled a little to himself. “If anything, just to get the noises going to give Helen the idea I’m pulling an all-nighter.”

“I mean if it’s noises you want…” Charlie slipped over to rub against him but as usual, the man backed off with a hand to block him.

“No.”

There was a car honk upstairs.

“Your carriage awaits, my liege.” Charlie brushed past him to see him out the door, but stopped when he saw how Tim hadn’t followed. It was as if he were hesitating, looking down at the floor while rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’ll get going...umm…” he trailed off.

“What is it?” Charlie asked.

He didn’t say anything at first, but opened his arms for a hug. “For the goodbye.”

Charlie smiled and immediately bounced over into his arms, enjoying the warm embrace from him he often craved as well.

“You’re being so nice to me tonight. Really, what’s the catch?”

“No catch. I’m just…”

“You just what?”

“...I’m just going to miss you. That’s all.”

Charlie’s fingers tightened against his shirt, enjoying the smell of him, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Without anything to say back, he took the opportunity God gave him that moment, and he leaned forward to kiss him.

Nothing special, he figured. Just the same old kiss he usually gave him. Something he did on occasion whenever words couldn’t express how he felt. And at this point it went one of two ways. Lovejoy would either push him away out of anger or annoyance, or he’d hesitate those actions and let him finish - to get it out of his system, he’d say. Sometimes whenever he did that, Charlie would imagine maybe those lips were pushing back, even though he knew they weren’t. But it was a comforting thought on those lonely nights in the basement. What he’d give to crawl into bed with him and kick Helen to the floor. Surely Lovejoy had to know how hard he’d been restraining himself not to hurt her or anyone else he liked more than him. Surely he’d be proud of him for setting aside his vices of jealousy and dependency on him. But, another day would pass, and there would be more cold silences where Charlie longed for something warmer. And in those times, he would believe he was kissing him back, even if it was foolish to think so.

And tonight he was prepared to feel that same let down.

But then, a miracle.

A hand grasped his lower back, the other the back of his neck. Charlie didn’t open his eyes, afraid perhaps he was imagining such a feeling, and reality would let him down again.

But it was real. He felt the reverend’s fingers grip his ginger hair. He felt him pull his waist closer to his body. He felt his lips parting, and he felt his hot breath that preceded his tongue. His mouth was open, and he was willing. Timothy Lovejoy kissed him back. Not only that, but if Charlie’s mind wasn’t deceiving him, it was with the same passion as Charlie would show him on occasion. Could this mean…?

Maybe.

Oh, how he didn’t want it to stop. He could feel burning tears trying to bubble up, but he forced them down and held the reverend tighter until there was no gap between them to fill. He even went beyond as such to slide his leg up the leg of his holy man. The friction, the touch, the soft sensuality of it, it was setting him on fire.

But almost as suddenly as he got his wish, Lovejoy pulled his lips away, leaving Charlie’s behind to remain open, tongue outstretched, begging for the man to return to him.

He opened his eyes, but the smudges on his glasses from their feverish embrace blurred Lovejoy’s face in streaks of color. Even in that distortion he could tell he was nervous. Perhaps even sad, or worse...ashamed.

“I...I need to go.” He said.

His hands slipped down to Charlie’s hips and he pushed himself away from his grip.

Charlie stepped forward, desperate. “Don’t go.”

He hated how weak he sounded, but how could he not when his defenses were broken down so easily with just a hug and a kiss.

“I’m sorry.” The reverend said again. He kept stepping back with every one of Charlie’s steps forward until Charlie had no other option but to stay and watch him back away, hoping that by staying his distance, Lovejoy would remain here with him.

Lovejoy himself could see the battling emotions of despair and hope that were at war inside Charlie, and he had no one to blame but himself. He thought by coming down here to say goodbye, it would only be out of kindness of his heart for him...but now he feared the worse - there was more.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated and he turned around and left.

“Wait-” He went to rush after him, but Lovejoy slammed the basement door shut. By the time Charlie reached it and tugged at it to budge, he heard the heavy click of the lock.

Charlie pressed himself against the door and clawed at it pathetically, like a dog scratching at the door for his master. He hoped maybe this would change the reverend’s mind, emotionally manipulate him into opening it again. Then, he begged, maybe he would hold him in his arms in grief and apologize for his outburst.

Yet, the sounds of footsteps going upstairs pushed that idea from his mind. It burned it to the ground in ashes.

Charlie backed away from the door and leaned against the train table. He glanced up at the windows that led to the lawn. He’d crawled in and out of there a million times, and Lovejoy knew he could do it. He knew he wasn’t trapped in here, that Lovejoy knew there was a means of escape for him. But even if he managed to squeeze out of the window in time, chances are he and Helen would be long gone down the road…

As that thought crossed his mind, the headlights shone through the basement - tires scraping against gravel - and then they disappeared, along with his beloved.

His lips still tingled where they kissed. If there was ever anything to pray over, he’d hope this feeling could last him through the weekend until he could see Tim again. But he’d never pray for such a thing. It felt useless to beg love from a God who kept Tim at bay with his moral conscience. He’d never give him or Tim what they both wanted.

But maybe...knowing Tim wanted it too, deep down...that could be enough...maybe.

In the meantime, Charlie removed his glasses to wipe on the edge of his shirt as he made his way over to the tool box. He took out another wooden figure piece and sat at Lovejoy’s workstation, pushing those thoughts from his mind as he worked. He chipped away at it for the rest of the evening.

The minutes turned into hours, and those long hours passed through the night while nothing but a dim lamp kept him company as he whittled and smoothed out as many rough edges as he could. He painted carefully, as carefully as he could with his claws, and after a while, he just had to accept that it was his best. And that thought saddened him.

He stared at his creation in begotten woe. Even his best was ugly.

Maybe it was a good thing Tim wasn’t here to see him this way. He’d never forgive himself for being so weak. He could barely forgive himself for how soft he acted before Lovejoy ran away from him.

Charlie moved away and stood before Lovejoy Junction, staring down at the reverend he made by the steeple. He looked at the piece in his hand, and then back to him.

What are you doing this for? He thought.

He didn’t belong beside him as he wanted. He didn’t fit into this perfect little world. No matter how much he told himself through the reverend’s actions, there was no way in Heaven nor Hell that Timothy Lovejoy would ever choose him.

And with a sigh that solidified his acceptance of that reality, he placed his hard work on the far side of the valley - behind a mountain, almost hidden completely by a lop-sided bush. No one but Lovejoy would ever see it when he cleaned his table top, and he figured even then he’d probably overlook it. It was so small and out of the way.

But he knew it was there. He knew.

A little wooden Charlie.

#pascalls #charlie oc #reverend lovejoy #simpsons fic #simpsons stuff

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