#(his thoughts are otherwise occupied alas)

[sunboki]

⎯ THE DEVIL'S PLAYTHING a Christopher Bahng fiction

💣 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. bodyguard au, demon au, friends to lovers, eventual smut, minors DNI

WORD COUNT. 6.6k words

WARNINGS. chan & han are demons(NO POLY), mentions of lucifer/the devil, eventual smut, descriptive violence, smoking, fighting, cursing, blood, wounds, drinking, reader gets drunk/passes out

PLAYLIST

AUG'S NOTES. this started as a random blurb while in the bathroom(tmi i know) but i just HAD to make a longer adaptation!! as usual, if you enjoy the fic please feel free to leave feedback & a reblog!ised ya’ll bodyguard chan would be back.. your wish is my command~

SYNOPSIS. A petty robbery leads to deep debt for Chan, a white-eyed demon occupying Hell. So eventually, he finds himself faced with no choice but to go job hunting. The best offer available? A bodyguard gig in the human realm. Oh, and the worst part? Jisung’s here too.

or alternatively :

When Chan had to leave Hell to "babysit" (a.k.a. protect) you in the human realm, he wasn’t expecting for things to turn out the way they did — in more ways than one.

SMUT WARNING. usage of the nickname “bunny” and “good girl”, somewhat hinted size kink, praise, dumbification, barely dubcon (reader gives consent ; nonverbal), creampie, chan cums inside (use protection ya’ll), monsterfucking! basically lmao

There’s an infinite list of reasons why humans shouldn’t associate with demons. But was it really all that important? Maybe the humans wanted it.

Or, maybe the demons did too.

Maybe, the demons didn’t have a choice.

What a funny thought.

Although, for Christopher Bahng, a demon himself, it was reality.

So the real question stood. Is it the humans that shouldn’t associate with demons, or the other way around?

The thought occurred to Chan at some point, but his head, ringing with the sound of silver coins clattering on glass surfaces, drowned out every ounce of sensibility. Blood, flesh, he was a demon. And right now, he had hell to pay as Lucifer’s underling. No pun intended.

Demons were an ideal choice for bodyguards, too obsessed with their own greed to pay any mind to the consequences, dogs to somebody else’s beckon, minds trained like hunting dogs.

Taking care of the dirty work, for a price.

A price that Chan needed, desperately. Because one thing demons, including himself, love doing is tormenting.

That is until he’s the victim of the tormenting, and all of a sudden the experience doesn’t feel too welcoming.

Raiding his home was an understatement considering they had utterly demolished every inch, not leaving a single fragment remaining in one piece. Granted, he didn’t cry about it. Instead, he lived up to his name, his title.

..Let’s just say he doubted the red stains would ever leave that shirt of his, metallic scent strong enough to make your nose burn.

Unfortunately, Lucifer wasn’t the greatest at forgiving, and he determined rather quickly this was only the start of his problems regardless of how sweetly the demon lord threatened explained he would dissolve Chan into ash if he ever got tired of him.

Alas, two weeks later, he gets a call.

Combing a frustrated hand through raven-colored locks, he holds the phone up to his ear, repeatedly snapping his fingers. The girl kneeled between his legs raises up begrudgingly, wiping her mouth and disappearing into his bathroom.

Well there goes a good blowjob.

Yet, finally, a job was proposed.

Multiple, according to the drone of a fumbling assistant. Jobs comprised of one he’d primarily work and occasional hitman gigs on the side.

Catch? The job was located in the human realm. Not impossible, but not as easy as sleuthing in Hell, where common folk were demons and not big-eyed, nosy, mind-your-damn-business-mortals.

The job in question? Babysitting. Specifically for Lucifer's right-hand man, otherwise known as the Devil’s Plaything. And, despite not being a demon, served Lucifer as if he was one. How cute.

Or as the trauma-induced auditor phrased it, “guarding” some girl.

“Guarding” was something he was mildly familiar with, but never a human. Never in the human realm. So when the suggestion was offered, Chan’s first instinct was to reject—remind Hell’s moderator that he wasn’t just a regular, but a demon of impressive status. A white-eyed demon, who, in fact, ranged most powerful of its kind.

His first instinct was also to punch the man working at the register of this putrid smelling burger joint right in the face, maybe frame his head as a part of a collection while he’s at it. Demons are creative like that.

Because being in this situation, nonetheless currently walking around in the human realm he swore to never step foot in has his stomach jarring.

“Chan, look at this! It’s called K-E-T-C-H-U-P, what a funny name!”

Oh. Yeah. The walking headache, Han Jisung. Forgot he’s here too.

Digging through his pockets for spare change, all he could find was a few meager pennie’s as the obnoxious noise of his demon-companion scarfing down a double cheeseburger had Chan’ jaw progressively tightening.

“Um, sir, that’s not enough to pay for-“ Without hesitation, Chan lifted his upper lip with his index, revealing the sharply pointed canines underneath and effectively silencing the apron-clad employee, frantically printing his receipt without another word.

Yes, apparently there are perks of being a hell-spawn.

Although, the burger still tasted like shit. What a shame.

Heading to the location wasn’t all too difficult, being that it was rather easy locating such an enormous property surrounded by tall, black hinged gates. The passcode… was another story.

Lucifer was likely laughing his ass off watching them try figuring this out.

“Okay, It’s probably like 666 or something- JESUS— you guys scare me sometimes.” Clutching a hand to his erratic heart with panic, a pacing Jisung nearly toppled over as his soon-to-be Boss suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gates slowly opening behind him.

He may not be a Demon, but by how nonchalantly he appeared from thin air, he seemed to gain some attributes over the years.

It didn’t take long for either of them to figure out why the title “Devil’s Plaything” was attached, because the more he toured them around this palace of a house, the more he told of his reasons for hiring them in the first place. Well, more like why Lucifer sent them here.

Easily speaking, his and Jisung’s role would be to protect you at all costs, considering your father’s current predicament (a.k.a coming under investigation for the bodies discovered in Hanuel Park). Not to mention the countless assassins sent on a daily basis, scouring the property for entryways.

Although he’s not surprised by their hesitance. This man, Yoon L/N, was the closest resemblance to the Devil on Earth.

He was terrifying, and coming from a demon, that said a lot.

Chan has to watch his tongue, because he’s not guarding another one of hell’s representatives, a creature of unprecedented rudeness and hatred, he’s guarding a human.

Someone who falls in love and cries, someone who can’t get away with murder when they’re annoyed and go uncharged.

Humans are pitiful. They’re emotional and too trusting and—

You step down the stairs.

They’re pretty and soft and really, really fucking pretty.

The sound of your father clearing his throat rips him from his trance, your trance.

He can practically sense Jisung choking on his laughter.

“Y/n, these are your bodyguards. Bahng, Han, this is Y/n,” He gestures, and Chan notes the gleaming watch on his wrist.

Best guess that thing’s averaging $70,000. Not to mention that this entire house, though naked to the human eye, is laced in traps.

Whether it’s the more hollow wooden plank on the floor that triggers some alarm or the multitude of switches under your kitchen’s island, the security system is certainly intact, and for good reason.

However, you couldn't have made Yoon L/n’s actions look more hypocritical, appearing so opposingly sweet.

“Nice to meet you,” You hold out a hand.

He doesn’t miss the half-smile you give him.

Shit. Don’t look at him like that.

Introducing themselves, you momentarily slip past, and in your stead, your father beckons either of them to the side.

“I’ll only say this once,” Yoon smiles, but it’s a leery smile, one that causes his gums to gradually show, like it’d belong to a murderer, a serial killer of some kind.

Fitting.

“Get her into danger, hurt her, or disobey my orders under any circumstances and I kill you, understood?”

And even though at the snap of a finger Chan could have this man drop dead, he believed him, both simultaneously nodding their heads without complaint.

Meeting eyes with Jisung, a common denominator sits heavy between them, most likely the first thing they’ve whole-heartedly agreed on this entire time.

This is gonna be one hell of a job.

.. .

District 9’s nightclubs are always a bust. If you’re looking for a drink without it being laced you might as well give up, and the only thing that keeps a person from getting swept away in the expansive sea of high heels, go-go boots, and awkward teenagers that miraculously managed to get past the bouncer is a lone, blinking red sign that reads “OUT”.

The first time you ever came here you never thought you’d be so relieved to open a squealing door.

Leaning against the side of the brick building sits the girl responsible for an entourage of drunk-calls and random texts of her location when she sneaks out.

Her moth-eaten sneakers are pulled up to her chest, bleached hair messily arranged into a spiky up-do while she aimlessly scrolls on her phone. Although you know she’s noticed you by now.

“I feel like..” She sighs, black mascara smudged beneath her waterline. “I should’ve taken that Vodka shot.”

You wrinkle your nose, dropping down on her left.

It’s fairly easy conversing with Ha-joon, a girl who didn’t require a reaction or a response, who didn’t talk much but had a whole pocketful of opinions. And you listened.

She swivels her head ever so slightly toward you.

“Do you think drinking a laced shot will make my life more interesting?” Her remark scarily nonchalant, you chuckle, snatching the joint from between her thumb and index and tossing it against the neighboring business’ wall in front of you.

Unfazed, she rises to her feet, pulling a Marlboro pack from her back pocket, palm cupping the lighter’s flickering flame.

“If you count fentanyl as a good time, then sure,” Lifting your chin to cock a sarcastic brow, she rolls her eyes before abruptly snapping her fingers, remembering. The sound ricochets off trash bags stashed at the furthest end of this deserted alleyway.

“You said your Mafia-daddy hired new bodyguards?”

Ah, you forgot you mentioned that.

Don’t mind the “Mafia-daddy” part.

Nodding, there’s a beat of stillness before she lightly nudges your calf with her shoe, Ha-joon’s sign for you to list some sort of detailed description for her to piece together.

This happens every time you meet somebody new. Her little guessing game before the first impression, apparently.

And so you do, spilling information to the best of your capabilities from the fifteen seconds you met them. Their hair, height, eyes (you recall Han’s especially, huge and hypnotizing like black-holes), clothing, and all the details your jumbled brain can pour out to your overly eager, easily bored best friend.

“So this Chan guy..”

One clever glance and you’re already predicting her next words.

“Does he have a big nose?” Smirk growing the darker your cheeks redden, you pathetically groan, burying your face in your hands.

Of course she’s cornered you, because you can’t deny your yes of an answer without evidently lying and digging further into your self-made rabbit hole.

Leave it to Ha-joon to secretly slip the raunchiest sentence you'll hear all night.

Smugness gradually dissipating, the barely-blonde shuffles back down, phone screen displaying countless messages you don't ask about.

Like earlier, Ha-joon doesn’t talk much, but she has a lot to say. Additionally, if she doesn’t bring it up herself, don’t mention it.

Years by her side taught you that.

“They’re only gonna get you in trouble, I have a feeling,” She murmurs prior to taking a long drag of her cigarette, lipstick shade perfectly contrasting with the soaring puff of smoke sifting from her mouth and nose upon exhaling.

She’s always been on the rougher side. Spontaneously rough, the type that would impulsively send you a text she’s going backpacking tomorrow despite an exam scheduled, the type that would continuously run away on a whim.

In essence, everyone on campus has some sort of crush on her (apart from yourself, obviously), whether it comes down to her rumbling persona or how much of a hard-core lesbian she is, you’re not sure.

You click your tongue, glaring at her flippantly.

“And that’s not doing you any better.” Musing in regards to her bad habits, she laughs lowly, low-rise jeans bagging down by her ankles while bending closer.

Your hands brace in anticipation, coughing when she blows a heavy smoke plume right in your face.

You choke a giggle, shoving her senselessly giggling frame.

“The only thing I’m letting do me is that waitress in there,” Painted nails pointing to the entrance while making utterly obscene gestures, you dramatically gag.

Well, until she spins on her heel, fetching a plastic bag holding two bottles of Cass beer from behind a metal trash can.

You tilt your head, the girl wordlessly cracking one open with her teeth and the other using the junction of her shoulder.

‘A Ha-joon thing’, you think as she hands you a glass, chilled exterior sending an unwelcoming wave of shivers throughout your body.

Your initial response is to decline, but her index to your lips shushes your reasons.

“I know you don’t drink often, but just a few sips just this once, please?” Batting invisible puppy-dog eyes, you sigh, gulping down a haphazard swig.

Last time you had genuinely gotten drunk was back in junior year of high school, all the kids swarmed in a rando’s basement, acting appropriately irresponsible for your age.

You recall your fat crush on Hwang Hyunjin (before realizing he was actually in a relationship) being the main component in getting so drunk that you blacked out, though you’re sure the highly unflattering pictures Ha-joon took would jog your memory.

Yet just a few sips was an understatement, something you should’ve known. Because conversation turns into more conversation, funny conversation, deep conversation while your wrist unconsciously lifts to your mouth till your friend transforms into nothing but a blurry figure illuminated by the moon.

And you wonder, as you feel yourself tilt further and further toward the cement below, if Ha-joon will snap unflattering pictures of this moment too, of stupid decisions leading to stupid consequences.

Most likely.

.. .

"Mmm." You mumble, face stuffed into his sleeve as Chan carries you from the alleyway, ushering a loopy Ha-joon into a taxi with a short bow.

Clad in his work attire primarily made up of black elements, he carefully places you in the back seat of the SUV and pulls off his dark coat to wrap around your body, ensuring you're fully swaddled to secure as much warmth as possible from the biting cold.

"We're going home, so hang on just a bit longer for me." The man assures, patting your head lightly before sliding into the driver's seat and pressing his foot to the gas.

Han, who was sitting in the back beside you while Chan drove, took experimental peeks at the pink-hue decorating your cheeks (evidence that you'd be drunk) to your puffy lips pursed in a pout.

He internally squeals, fiddling with his phone in his pocket, unveiled demon tail practically wagging with glee.

"Hyung, can I? Pleasee Hyung- just one photo she looks so cute–“

“No." The older of them responds sternly, one hand clutching the steering wheel.

As much as he normally wouldn’t care, this was his- their first actual order in fulfilling their duties, and Chan wasn’t willing to pay the price of fucking up Yoon’s guidelines.

His companion huffs, deflating by your side as he directs a childish frown at Chan in the mirror, only met with an equally stern gaze reading "no nonsense".

Chan had always been one to take his job seriously, not that Han didn't, he just liked having a little bit of fun jumping from side to side across those permanent marker drawn lines.

In actuality, if it weren't for his friend, Han would've never gotten the job in the first place.

Stark glowing of your houses’ lights lining the driveway ripped away his thought process, quickly intervening when your door opened.

"I can carry her," He claims, arms crossed while the older bodyguard simply cocks a brow, an action that shouldn't have Jisung shying away like he was.

There's an immense staring contest until Chan releases a hefty sigh, gesturing for Jisung to go ahead.

"If you drop her, I kill you, then myself."

This earns a giggle while Han unbuckles your seatbelt, softly cooing with you lying in his arms.

You're cute, very cute in fact.

Very off limits, in fact, he reminds himself, grip tightening the creepier he pictures your father—and it’s the adorable scrunch of your nose in discomfort that reminds him of his strength, immediately relaxing his hold.

Like Chan said, any wrong moves and they're both off the radar in seconds. Business.

The entirety of it all was a bit hilarious considering how things were when you'd first been introduced to the two, not appearing to be the type to get drunk like this, to get drunk at all in a secluded area next to some nightclub.

Chan wasn’t wrong when he said it’s always a surprise with clients.

Well, he was referring to his hitman job then, but it's still applicable in this situation, right?

…Right?

Forget it.

Slowly, oh so slowly your eyes peel open, instantly noticing the familiar smell and interior that definitely wasn't where you'd been five minutes ago with Ha-joon.

Ah. There he is.

Chan.

Peering over where you're tucked in bed, dressed in pajamas.

Hold on, pajamas?

Scrambling up and simultaneously wincing from the throbbing headache settling a dull ring in your ears, you send him an incredulous stare, face incessantly warming the longer you think about it.

Hangovers provide another of the many reasons why you don’t drink anymore, because this hellish predicament led to a single hellish explanation you certainly didn’t want to face.

"You... My clothes.." Stumbling over how to phrase it, you suppress a scowl watching the ghost of a grin make its way on his lips. Maybe you're imagining it.

One of his veiny hands reaches up to cover his eyes, leaving you to instead infatuate upon plush lips moving when he speaks.

"My job description, along with the papers you read and signed before I was hired gave me consent, but whatever I see is strictly confidential between you and I."

Gathering your sanity, you scoff, humiliation and embarrassment flooding your system at an alarming rate.

Flopping back onto the bed, you slam a pillow over your face, muttering a "strictly confidential my ass" that he had to have heard from the low laugh uttered in reply.

He stalks over, fingertip tapping the water you hadn’t noticed sitting atop your nightstand.

Cautiously stealing a glimpse out from your pillow to see where he distanced himself across the room, you finish the cup in a swift motion, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.

“You huma- You aren’t good with your alcohol, are you?” He starts, quite entertained witnessing your annoyed gaze, one which very noticeably doesn’t stay focused on his eyes.

Sucking your teeth, you slouch, mirroring his crossed arms.

You’re fine with playing feisty, and by the awfully attractive way he’s cocking his head, he’s also willing to join this biting game.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because I’m never passed out and in need of someone to call for me when I go drinking.”

At this you practically hiss, grasping any futile chance to retaliate to no avail.

Opposed to his teasing nature, he drags a stool to your bedside, insisting you drink more.

Even more opposing, a gentle hand presses to your forehead, checking that you haven't contracted a fever.

To say your heartbeat pounded didn’t credit the surprise to its full extent, and thank whatever God above the experience only lasted a few more seconds, giving you plenty of time to freshen your haywire sensibility and brush your teeth before any more soul-sucking Chan run-ins continued.

You should’ve known better than to think he’d truly leave you be though, said soul-sucking bodyguard currently propped against the bathroom’s door frame.

“How did you get into this anyway? Y’know, bodyguard stuff..” You begin to ask, voice muffled from the toothbrush deterring any fully audible sentence.

He cocks an eyebrow.

“I have my ways.”

“Your ways?”

Within split seconds he’s right next to you, making rather intentional eye contact through the mirror.

You inhale sharply.

“Look, sweetness, my job as your bodyguard is to keep you safe,” He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “And if I tell you, I can’t guarantee that.”

There are three things you realized in that moment.

One, Chan is so, so close.

Two, he has an unfairly gorgeous face.

And three, your mouth is smeared with toothpaste.

Great.

You’d like to admit the first night of meeting these new bodyguards, more specifically Chan, went as normal and as non-Ha-joon-influenced as possible, but this effect on you causing your bloodstream to erupt in a hormonal frenzy of attraction told you the story had just begun.

.. .

"Jisung. Hold. Still! Keep moving and this wand is going in your eyeball."

Three weeks in and one thing after another has lead you closer and closer with either of them, whether it's convincing Jisung to go on ice cream runs (where Chan always ends up tagging along) or attempting to remain focused while they help you study (more like trying not to laugh at Jisung and averting your eyes off of Chan’s biceps in that muscle-shirt of his), the three of you are practically conjoined at the hip, and not on bodyguard standards.

"Okay okay! I was itchy. Can you move the piece of hair by my eyebrow?" He whines, grasping an apologetic squeeze on your waist while you focus in his lap.

You’re currently brushing mascara through his unfairly long lashes, but if anyone saw this without knowing the situation, chaos would likely unfold.

Although for you and Jisung, it's your average Friday night spent watching the weekly scary movie he’d decided on, Insidious. One he’d been commenting on for the past thirty minutes or so about how the “representation of demon’s was wrong” while you absentmindedly agreed, looping your index around the strand before abruptly stopping.

Residing slightly above his temple lay a scar, a decently sized scar at that.

Strangely enough, it's circular, like some type of horn or something had been there at some point. Maybe a biking incident?

"Ji?”

The boy's eyes drift up to you.

"What's this scar?"

Below you, he freezes, frantically thinking up the best excuse.

Lots of options, not a lot of time to decide.

"Ah.. that? When I was younger, I developed a weird kind of bump there, 'had it removed." And thankfully, you grunt a response, resorting back to applying his makeup.

Truth be told, those scars (another you hadn't seen yet) were his old horns, forced to be removed in order to initially land this job.

It still sends shivers down his spine thinking about when they had first been cut off, the recovery process resembling something out of nightmares.

Trust, the headaches were awful.

Chan, on the other hand, could keep his, considering he had the ability to conceal them on command. For Jisung, an inferior red-eyed demon with a few years beneath him and in such desperate need for income, chose the painful way through. As for his tail, that was luckily simple to hide (much to his pleasure).

Nevertheless, you could confidently say that your test-subject could easily land a modeling career after your makeover, and by the way he kept staring at the mirror, he seemed equally as enamored as you.

Well, that’s before a jumpscare leaps upon the screen and either of you shoot up, your clumsy companion whacking himself in the face with the mirror.

Staving your giggles, you try soothing the boy; you really do, but the uncannily gory scene that decorates the screen has you cringing back, and when you look at Jisung, expecting to find him cowering, your blood runs cold.

His lips are parted, but the only thing your horrified eyes are drawn to are the hooked canines peeking there. Not to mention his eyes.

Ghastly crimson, glowing.

Except when you breathe in an unsteady gasp, his head snaps to you, sudden facade appearing unaltered, like you hadn't seen something borderline terrifying.

Softly pulling your face close to him despite the screaming instinct to flee, he observes your bewildered expression, brows taut with concern.

“Y/n?”

Sweet tone contradicting, you immediately double backward toward your bedroom door, awkwardly honing the “I’m going to bed” excuse in hopes that suffices for the night.

Frenziedly closing the door, you determine rather quickly you don’t plan to go to sleep. Not that you think you could, but because this discovery isn’t normal.

None of this is normal.

How they found your location back at the alley despite Ha-joon never contacting anyone, how you “coincidentally” walked in on Chan “washing” his hands despite the water running red. Oh and you can’t forget about the rag left behind, putrid stench characteristic to a specific substance.

Blood.

You weren’t stupid. No father disappears the majority of the year on so-called “business trips” only to come back with new cuts and scratches he makes a sorry effort denying, and no daughter of his has literal bodyguards (yet you’re not sure they’re even official bodyguards thanks to your suspicions) glued to her side 24/7.

He does something dangerous, you know without doubt. But according to this hunch of yours, your father may not be the only one tied up in illegal madness.

.. .

Slipping into the car unknown to them was far easier than you anticipated.

You didn't plan on sneaking in in the first place, sure, but upon overhearing their hushed conversation regarding some type of “target”, you assumed whatever topic they were discussing may answer a select few of your billions of burning questions.

So, crouched in the floorboard of the backseat, you try muting your breathing, noting the clutter of metal sounding from your left, whatever responsible assumed to be shoved in the trunk.

Weapons. No mistaking it.

Your discovery is short-lived however, and you flatten yourself the best you can as Han twists around in his seat to grab something, already thirty minutes into your nearly secret mission.

Shit.

His shocked scream tells you enough.

Chan is fuming.

"Jisung, you told me she was asleep. So care to explain why the fuck she's in the back of the car?"

Han frantically flails. "For the record I told you she was lying down–”

"I. Don't. Care! She's not supposed to be here and all that matters right now is that she's at home and in bed, understood?"

As Jisung's lips pull into a tight line and Chan cranks the gear shift into drive, you glance around, a sudden–though risky–idea coming to mind.

"Hey, I could always tag along?"

"No!" They both shout in unison, heads jerking back to face you as if you suggested driving off a cliff.

That sounded much better in your head anyway.

Well there goes that.

Or so you thought.

Because unfortunately for them, wherever needed them needed them urgently, and through many clearly vocalized “she is staying in the car”’s, you weren’t driven home after all.

Fluorescent green lights cast an eerie glow across the perimeter, the location gnawing at your gut. An equestrian center by exterior, though there’s something else.

Wrong. You can’t explain it, but this place is wrong.

Discreetly unloading the guns, you skin crawls observing Chan messily stuff bullets into the magazine of a M240, the mere size of the thing setting your nerves ablaze. And as rightful asking questions seems, you can’t.

That feeling from earlier glues your mouth shut, like if you spoke too loudly, someone, something, would find you.

Thick foliage lay highlighted by your headlights, paving depth into sequential darkness.

You squint, zoning in on a small expanse of branches ajar. An ideal hiding spot.

Wait.

Bright flashes of iron spur your legs into motion, the switchblade cleaning slicing your wrist while mid-duck.

It forks into the car’s interior where the trunk had been opened, your cry of pain muffled by Jisung who basically throws himself inside a stall with you, the stomping of horse’s hooves muting your ragged breathing.

Firing belonging to none other than the machine gun Chan had been wielding pierces the air outside as either of you stay pressed to the stable wall, the pad of footsteps drawing nearer, causing your eyes to squeeze shut.

This is it. You’re going to die.

Much to your relief, it’s Chan, tactical holsters slightly torn, sweat beading his forehead.

The two share a look, remaining silent before delivering an eventual, affirming nod.

Short-lived.

An additional attacker sifts from the shadows, facial expression ushering no other logic than to kill.

Manic eyes, estranged eyes.

The older bodyguard spins, successfully blocking the first hit. Supplies are scattered everywhere, horses beginning to shift uncomfortably.

The perpetrator is faster, smaller, and lands a decent punch into his abdomen. However, the attack is futile, and just before he can stake his knife into Chan’s leg does the bigger man utilize his own weapon, ammunition positively bludgeoning every square inch of the assailant in baited seconds.

You understand why machine guns are strictly used for long range now.

Immediately, soft numbness floods your senses due to Han’s hands covering your eyes and ears, and you sit there for a while, blocked from the grotesque view of impalpable violence being enacted right before you.

You’d forgotten you were huddled together on the other side of the wall, too horrifically immersed.

It's strange. So much is strange.

These two men that you've grown effortlessly close to, grown effortlessly friends with, murder. Defensively in this case, yes, but they hadn’t brought those guns by chance, they brought them by intention.

Not just a twisted hobby like dissecting animals or something along those lines, but murder.

You’re sure they have their reasons, but it's difficult even imagining it. People who are extremely gentle when with you, responsible for such doings.

Talk about a duality.

The faint clatter of gun shells rattling against the marble flooring earns a subtle flinch, Jisung's hands cupping closer to your skin.

Then you smell it, what he'd warned you of no matter the cleanliness of the job.

A metallic, burning scent of blood, causing your nose to burn and your throat to grow increasingly dry.

Your stomach churns.

"You don't forget that smell" Chan had said before leaving the vehicle, and you knew what he was referring to now.

Putrid reek of rot and gunpowder beckon your lungs into fight or flight, but you remain still, ignoring the sharp sting of your wrist, bubbling blood dripping down your arm and onto the floor below, right atop your shoe.

Faint falling of bullet shells put an end to the fighting, then you’re blindly directed out the door without so much as a glance behind you. For your own good, you assume.

Hell, you’re not certain they’ll be much left of the bodies after Chan’s wrath.

As for right now, your top priority is your wrist. Swollen, skin tainted a grueling red shade.

Speeding home, you find yourself blurily recalling events, though all the little details simply swirl into strange shapes.

Shock is what it’s called. That state of monotonous wandering, occurrence too unfamiliar to take in, senses turning off. A coping mechanism of some sort.

Blearily you see the two men, talking, stepping out of the room, grabbing medical supplies. Like you’re in a time warp, dreaming. No pain, hurt.

On the other hand, your bodyguards were frantic, spewing curses and scouring the household for proper first aid materials.

Meanwhile, Chan was finally wrapping your wound in the bandages Jisung spotted, blinking madly in hopes his fogging headspace eased up.

Demons and wounds were not a good combination. Especially not human wounds.

Uncontrollable urges instructed him to tear you apart right this minute, do something, anything to quench that inexplicably demanding thirst.

Vulnerable, easy prey. His thoughts chanted, forcing him to step out of the room for a moment to where Jisung perched, close-pin fastened on his nose to block the mouth-watering smell.

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” He heaves, carding stressed fingers through matted hair.

“What, a little blood getting to a white-eyed demon?” His companion muses, hastily dodging Chan’s swinging fist. Immune to his threats.

It’s obvious to Jisung that’s only half of the story, but he’ll wait for his superior to admit it himself.

“It’s not just the blood,” He inhales deeply, gratefully accepting the water Han offered. “It’s her.”

Go figure.

To be honest, Jisung wasn’t good at pretending.

Well, in terms of lying he was a natural (a given, after all), but pretending he hadn’t caught onto his friend’s enormous attraction to you was technically impossible.

Quite surprising though, to think such an arrogant demon would’ve ended up like this.

Susceptible, willing. For a human.

Who would’ve thought.

.. .

It’s nothing short of a roller coaster regaining your stable consciousness. Chest wracking, world spinning. You’re situated in bed, injury carefully wrapped(though you can’t recall by who).

The doorknob rattles, and in walks Chan, except, you don’t feel happy, relieved.

Scared. You feel extremely scared.

“What- What are you?” Waver revealing your anxiousness, you curse the subtle tremble.

He smiles.

“Aren’t you a perceptive little one,” His voice dips lower, and as he edges closer, you find yourself pressing further into the pillow behind your head.

“I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions, so I’ll make it easy for you.” He lifts his curls, two perfectly placed horns residing there.

“We’re demons. He and I are different species, but both demons.”

Demons.

Demons.

Instantaneously, a tidal wave or realization crashes salty water into your lungs, expertly piecing your observations together. Red eyes, horn-like scars.

How had you not caught on earlier?

Momentarily, you meet his eyes. Still brown, although you wonder how deep of a red they’d stain, glaze over stunning vermillion or dusky cinnamon tones.

“Species?”

He hums.

“Red-eyed are the best at persuasion, that’s Jisung. I’m a white-eyed demon.”

So neither crimson nor cinnamon, you decide. Perhaps pale, opal color.

“White-eyed demons are usually Satan’s lap dogs, but what lots of people don’t know,” You crane forward to hear his next words, and he leans in as well. “Is that we’re also the most desired species, the most lustful.”

Lustful.

The words don’t truly sink in, and by the time they do, it’s impossible to rip the mischievous look from his eyes.

"What’s that supposed to mean.." You grumble, avoid his darkening stare.

A subtle tap on your thigh has your attention immediately shfiting, your entire body instinctively jolting.

"You want me to show you?" He begins with a laugh, a low, husky laugh that has your stomach tying knots. Not the usual, squeaky laugh, but one that's different, very different. "But if you say yes, I’m sure no one else can satisfy you the way I can."

Your expression pinches with annoyance, a bit offed by his sudden cockiness.

Granted, he looks heaven-sent despite being a demon, and you doubt he'd be any different in bed, but c'mon now, you have a right to be suspicious.

"And how're you so sure of that?" Leaning back on your arms where he sits in front of you, you fixate on the way kinky locks perfectly line the crown of his head, one particularly messy strand tipping over to linger above chocolate pools for eyes.

"Sweetness, Jisung are I are carved out of sin, there's not a particle in our body not built to fuck."

God. Hearing "fuck" come out of his mouth shouldn't have been that attractive. Chan had always been well-mannered, well-spoken, so to hear him say something vulgar for the first time, nonetheless "fuck", effected you more than you'd like to admit.

Slowly, oh so slowly he crawls on the bed, kind tip of his head betraying sinful intent.

“You want this?” He whispers, and your arms immediately wrap around his neck, tugging him into your lips fervently, needily, with a short nod of approval between sighs and stifled groans.

Your wrist aches, but from how heated this kiss is becoming, that matter is the least of your problems.

He feels like fire, tastes like it, nectarine on your tongue.

You waste nimble time undressing, suppressing a high-pitched mewl the longer he sucks deep purple love bites into your neck and down your collarbones, likely to be bruised tomorrow.

He’s careful, learning your body, your sounds. Touch light as a feather, not enough.

He’s big, that’s a given. Head red and angry with thick beads of precum apparent, you can’t possibly think straight, his name the only sensible word falling off your swollen lips.

Chan Chan Chan.

Brows knitting as his fat head bumps your entrance, you murmur pleas, practically delusional on his pleasure, his love.

Most desired, you understand what he meant by that.

“Feel good? Yeah? That's a good girl."

You can feel your entire body keen at the praise, utterly blissful from how amazing he was making you feel.

The stretch of his fat cock has your common-sense threading dangerously thin, head falling back, fingernails raking his back. Delirious.

When he actually started moving? Yeah, you’re convinced you paid a visit to cloud nine, fucked-out brain recognizing only the squelch of your bodies connecting and the squeaky, absolutely desperate sounds he’s pulling from your throat.

Not to mention his voice, accent thickening tremendously the longer he ruined your drooling cunt.

His, his, his.

"Shit- you feel fuckin' divine," He kissed the sweaty skin of your calf hiked over his shoulder, ankle held by a strong hand while the other occupied your hip, squeezing and kneading with each heavy thrust.

Chan wasn't lying about being carved out of sin, fucking like an absolute animal to the point tears began welling in your eyes, overstimulated and euphoric beyond belief as your hands shakily reach upward.

Obediently, he lowers himself, letting you hold his face for some sense of security while feeling so vulnerable.

You pathetically search his eyes, head thrown back after one particular roll of his hips that earns a rumbling moan from the man.

Each time he bottoms out it feels like you're losing it, rubbing that gummy spot that makes your heels dig into his shoulders and your moans transform into high-pitched cries, shuddering.

"Channie- Oh fuck Channie- I can't It's too much-"

Practically gasping for air to ease the buzzing fuzziness blinding you, you cherish the equally mind-numbing kiss he soothes, pressure in your lower tummy building and building at a flying pace.

"Yes you can, bunny. 'Need to cum? C'mon, cum for me, 'atta girl." He tuts, slowing himself down with each squeeze of your cunt signaling your approaching release.

Torturous.

Nothing like this, never in all his life had he felt something like this. So delicate and fragile as you look up at him, glossy dolly eyes far too tempting.

At this point it was an obligation to stuff your pussy full.

Rolling your puffy nub in tight circles, your thighs twitch, gripping the pillow behind your head like a vice as the sharp knot in your stomach finally snaps and a near pornographic sound rips from your throat, back arching off the bed.

The sight of you has his eyes nearly rolling back, so ruined and angel-like. You're a white rose in a field of wilting grasses. Bloomed in his ill-fated fingertips.

His pants stifle, big hands holding the back of your thighs spread for him. His pace stutters, and with a gritted whine of your name he slams his hips, painting your aching cunt white.

The last thing he anticipated visiting the human realm was to find himself in this situation.

And whether he liked to admit it or not, if the Devil had your father wrapped around his finger, you had him tied up without a chance of escape.

So while you both scrambled to clean up your evidence and not fall over your own feet hearing Jisung clumsily drop a clattering frying pan in the kitchen, he thinks, if only for a second, he’d be okay with it.

Being yours, that is.

FIC TAGLIST. @y-ur--i @atinism @darknova2319 @producedbyhanjisung @knightoftime21 @leonswifesstuff

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[syluss-karaoke-teacher]

Love and Deepspace - Nightly Rendezvous - Part III, Rafayel

Third part is up!! Rafayel and Sylus are my main boos, and I absolutely adored Intertidal Zone and the sensuality of it. This (and Sylus' upcoming one) were written wholly after the cards had dropped, so it's more faithful to the card's plot, but still with my own interpretation and imagination sprinkled in hehe.

Word count: 2248 words

MDNI! Tags and main text under the cut. You have been warned.

NOTE: This fic is only posted on tumblr and on AO3 under the pseud Yuli_Hunter. All other uploads on any other websites are non-authorized. I do not own any part of Love and Deepspace as an IP, but I do own this piece of fanfiction, and you are not allowed to repost it, copy it or otherwise claim it as your own.

That's it, enjoy! ❤️

Tags: reader!MC, fem!reader, PWP, fingering and oral (f!receiving), PIV, what do you mean I'm starting to repeat myself with these tags?

Not beta-read we die like Grandma

~*~*~

The bathroom is quiet, and the water in the tub is warm. After the blazing desert sun you thought you would never want to feel warm again, but the sudden snowfall, along with having to leave Rafayel to his own devices, reversed those thoughts. You sigh and lean your head back against the edge of the bathtub. You are not quite sure how long you have been here. After you woke up in the hotel parking lot the rest of the evening has been a blur. Your thoughts have been occupied by Rafayel so completely that at times you could have sworn you heard his voice in the empty room. The look he gave you before you left… You are sure you could spend an eternity gazing into the beautiful nebulae of his eyes and still not unveil all the mysteries hidden there. Today you would have wanted nothing more than to envelope him in your love so completely that you could have erased whatever sorrow held him captive. Alas…

You shift in place and the water splashes higher on your chest. The goosebumps it causes makes you realize how lukewarm the water has turned. You see that the falling snow has piled up on the windowsill, and decide it’s finally time to leave. But to do what?

You dry yourself with a towel and wrap it around yourself as you step into the bedroom. As you circle the room aimlessly you spot your black cocktail dress from the first night of your trip. It’s laying on the backrest of an armchair, carelessly tossed there after, well… You had tried to make Rafayel feel better on your first night here. You blush a little as you inspect the garment. It’s the only fancier dress you have with you for the trip, and you could have worn it to the art salon as well if not for Rafayel’s insistence to go alone. Seeing that he is yet to come back, your options are either to wrap yourself into a bathrobe, order room service and watch a movie all by your lonesome or use the opportunity to dress nicely for your own sake and eat dinner at the wonderful hotel restaurant. You turn the dress around for a moment longer before making up your mind.

Your push-up bra hangs discarded on the armchair along with the dress, and you slowly ease it and the dress over your still damp skin. Afterwards you go looking for a pair of fresh panties from your suitcase, only to realize that your suitcase isn’t in the walk-in closet where you left it. You frown at the row of men’s shirts hung up in there and idly wonder how Rafayel has packed so much again that he feels the need to spread his outfits into your room too. It wouldn’t surprise you to find his paintbrushes in your makeup box next.

The suitcase isn’t in the bedroom either and at this point your tired brain starts to catch up. You go into the bathroom and stare at the vanity table. Cologne, a silver razor with shaving cream, hair mousse…

“Oh.” No wonder you only found this one dress and bra in the room.

Suddenly there are noises coming from the front door, and you walk towards them without a second thought. As you are almost out of the bedroom you come face to face with Rafayel.

His eyes are upon your face instantly. Before you have a chance to react, he grabs you by your wrist and waist and swirls you around to lean against the wall. He buries his face into your neck, sighing deeply and laying kisses onto your heated skin.

“Rafayel… what are you doing here?” you managed to ask as your mind threatens to go hazy again. You don’t seem to be faring that much better than Rafayel was earlier.

Rafayel pulls back for a moment. He doesn’t say anything, yet the heat in his gaze is enough to make your stomach flip. He pushes his thigh between your legs, and instinctively you grind against it. The action reminds you of your missing underwear and causes a shiver to run along your spine. Your eyes flutter shut, and a small sigh escapes your lips.

That seems to flick a switch in Rafayel, who surges forward with a groan and captures your lips in a searing kiss. It’s demanding yet gentle; it forces every thought, every last shred of your attention onto him. Rafayel circles his arm more tightly around your waist, pulling you fully against his thigh. With his other hand he cradles the back of your head as he licks your lips to ask for entrance.

You were never good at poetry, but for Rafayel you will have to learn some day: there are no ordinary words to describe what he does to you. Only a few moments of kissing and you are left feeling like a teenager again, thighs trembling with need and lungs begging for oxygen as your lover pulls back to admire his work.

“Wh…what are you doing here Rafayel?” you try again, and when Rafayel still won’t answer, you playfully bite his lower lip as he leans in for another kiss. Rafayel groans at the feeling and pushes his hips flush against you. He is rock hard, and it makes you feel a little bit better about your sorry state.

“This is my room. You came in here, not the other way around,” he finally murmurs. He runs a slender finger over his bruised lip before laying his hand on your chest. Slowly he lets his fingers slide down the black fabric of your dress as his eyes are fixed upon yours. Your breath hitches as he reaches the hem of the short skirt and grabs it, then pushes it upwards until your naked pussy is exposed.

“What I meant was… Shouldn’t you be at the even—tahhhh—” your question ends in a moan as Rafayel’s fingertips brush against your slick entrance. He rubs against you with such faint touches that it drives you mad.

“Did you plan on leaving the room like this?” he asks with a hint of jealousy in his voice, and pointedly ignores your own question. You feel yourself clenching over nothing and end up grinding down on Rafayel’s hand. He lets out a playful tsk and releases your cunt before reaching for the zipper of your dress. Once unzipped it takes only a few tugs to undress you and leave you clad in just the push-up bra.

With a pleased hum Rafayel leans down to kiss your breasts as he returns his hand to your core. He cups your sex and slides his index and middle finger inside you. He starts to slowly pump into you as he nuzzles your cleavage that’s rising and falling in tandem with his thrusts.

After leaving a mark of blossoming red onto your left breast Rafayel lifts his head with a lazy smirk. He brings his other hand to your face and presses his thumb in, sliding it back and forth a bit for you to get the gist. Your eyes widen and you whine pitifully before starting to bob the digit in your mouth, wetting it at the same speed he is doing to your cunt.

Rafayel’s eyes are almost black now with how wide his pupils have blown up. His mouth hangs ajar as he uses both of his hands to fill you. The fingers inside you curl against your g-spot and you moan around his thumb. You bring your own hand to circle your clit as you brace yourself for your impending orgasm. Rafayel grasps your chin, forces you to look only at him. You feel yourself racing closer—

Ding-ding!

The intercom on the wall near you suddenly bursts into life. You squeeze your eyes shut, and hear Rafayel cursing softly.

You have a call waiting!

It’s a small wonder Rafayel doesn’t use his Evol to blow up the offending device. The call signal rings again, and you slip Rafayel’s thumb out of your mouth.

“You should answer. It could be important.”

Rafayel turns back to you, and you look at him with the most innocent expression you can muster. You lick your lips and clench around his fingers. Your slick has dripped down to his wrist by now, and you are still infuriatingly close to your orgasm. The blazing annoyance in Rafayel’s eyes is nothing but a turn-on at this point.

Rafayel grits his teeth and pushes the ‘accept call’ button harshly. The intercom crackles to life, and an unknown male voice starts to talk. Rafayel’s hand slips out of you, and it makes you panic for a full two seconds.

“I am busy,” Rafayel barks at the intercom before grabbing your hips with his hands and hoisting you up into his arms. He crosses the short distance to the bed and sits you down onto it, crawling between your legs as the man on the call still asks him questions. You manage to hear the words ‘salon’ and ‘early’, before Rafayel rolls his eyes and dives his head down. You can only hope his friend doesn’t hear the sound you make as Rafayel goes down on you.

Strong hands hold your hips down as Rafayel brings you back to the precipice. His tongue is hot and heavy against your folds and he moans around you like a man starving. You grab his purple hair a bit too forcefully, but that only makes him more determined to please you. It isn’t long before you are bucking your hips futilely in his grasp.

“Raf, I’m so close, I’m—” you try to warn him, but Rafayel merely hums and pushes his tongue into you. Then you are tumbling over the edge, cumming straight into his awaiting mouth.

You chant Rafayel’s name like a prayer as he eases you through the aftershocks. His hands massage your hips, and he kisses the shivering skin of your inner thighs.

As you come to your senses you look at his beautiful visage between your thighs. He stands up slowly from the bed while pressing light kisses up your leg. With a final kiss on your toes he lays your heel on his shoulder and brings his hands to his belt buckle. You lick your lips as he slowly undoes his belt: something about the sure movements of his hands mesmerizes you. Rafayel toes off his shoes and pushes his pants and underwear down. As he does his cock spring free, slapping against his abdomen. The tip of it is flushed angry red and slick with precum. Rafayel hisses and brings his hand down to stroke himself. Despite having just come you feel your arousal simmering to life again as you watch Rafayel pleasure himself. You arch your back to unhook your bra, which has grown uncomfortable, and then move your free leg behind Rafayel’s backside to gently coax him forward.

“Please Raf, my love,” you whisper hoarsely, and hear his breath hitch in response, “I need you.”

You see Rafayel’s chest glow red above his heart. He crawls onto the bed, kneels between your still spread legs and lifts your hips up and over to his lap. He nestles his aching cock between your folds, rubbing up and down as he leans over you.

“That’s my line,” he murmurs and captures your lips into a soft kiss. It’s almost enough to distract you from the sharp intrusion as he suddenly pushes in and buries himself almost to the hilt into your pulsating heat. You moan into the kiss and claw his back as he rocks back and forth. The air between you is hot and heavy. You feel like choking on nothing, and Rafayel steals what little oxygen there is with his kisses. You can do nothing but hold onto him as he sets the pace.

You are a sweaty mess: your hair sticking to your forehead, and you are sure that your face is as red as Rafayel’s dress shirt. Yet, when he pulls back enough to lay his forehead against yours and gaze into your eyes, pure beauty is reflected in them. You can’t turn away, not even with the risk of drowning.

Rafayel turns louder the closer he is. His gasps, groans and whimpers tumble out of his mouth as he quickens his thrusts. He changes his angle ever so slightly until your voice matches his, and when he feels you tightening around his cock, he releases your hip to help you along with his fingers.

“Sing for me, cutie,” he pleads. And when have you been able to deny him anything? You come apart around him, your whines high-pitched and your back arched off the mattress. Splendid colors flash behind your closed eyelids as your orgasm coaxes Rafayel over the edge with you. As he stills inside you so do his moans, and in that silence you swear you can feel him coming straight into your womb with how deep he holds you in place.

You lay like that for a while, Rafayel still inside you, running his hand through your hair as he searches your eyes for an answer to a question you didn’t know needed an answer. He kisses the palm of your hand and the tips of your fingers, and you smile up at him.

“As long as you need. As much as you want.”

So he does.

[rhineposting]

“So you’re telling me that this war-horse stallion you purchased not that long ago not only isn’t a stallion, but it’s also not even a horse to begin with?”

Capitano nodded idly to the question, otherwise occupied by the task at hand, which had been thoroughly brushing the mane of the animal ; a beautiful gray and white pony, in height barely reaching to his chest. Truth be told, he never quite intended on getting a horse to begin with, he could march fast well enough on his own, and it was good for keeping his condition in check. However the Jester insisted, and so, a few years back he went searching for a travel companion. People from all over were offering their steeds as soon as they learned of the Harbinger’s search, desperate to strike gold. Though he was no business man or dignitary, the Captain was well aware that a single purchase of his was akin to a whale-fall in the ocean of markets and trades. Therefore, he did not make haste in purchasing a horse - deliberately picking where the whale would be best off falling.

That, and of course, he didn’t want just any horse.

Those already grown had their own personality, especially those who had already been in a conflict. As such, the likelihood of one such veteran cooperating with him was low, same could not be said about the likelihood of accidents occurring. He truly would not want to fight with a horse over a minor disagreement in which there were none to blame, that would have been just unfair to the animal.

Therefore, he chose to raise one such steed for himself from a colt. That way, it ought to have been attuned to him from the very beginning, he thought to himself. Thus he had went on an even longer search for a colt befit of military activity, one that would be able to support his weight in the battlefield should the need ever arise. Of course, as he soon after learned, that was a task as easy as finding a needle within a stack of hay, for none matched his requirements. Perhaps it was doomed to fail, Capitano would think, and that was in truth the preferable outcome for him. That way, the Jester would per chance leave him be to keep walking on-foot to whichever his destination may be. A horse may be moody, but his own body fell to no such weaknesses, after all.Then, during one visit to a particular farm, he had been shown a colt - larger than most of it’s peers, nimble yet strong and capable, and with a gorgeous coat too. Its first owner couldn’t find enough words of praise for the animal, constantly listing seemingly endless good qualities whilst Capitano fed it with before provided snacks. As expected, the price was twice as large as that of a regular colt, but for a man his status few were things he could not afford, and a horse was not one of them. So he paid everything upfront and returned to the capital with his finally obtained steed.

Alas, as the years passed, it scarcely grew until eventually it stopped growing entirely - tall enough just to nibble on his coat every now and then, and that’s where it occurred to him that perhaps there was something wrong with the horse.

But of course, there was nothing wrong with it. It just wasn’t a horse.

The Jester sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, “At the very least, do you still have the name and location of that merchant? This kind of transgression cannot be forgiven or forgotten. Otherwise, you’ll send word far and wide that Harbingers can be tricked and cheated with absolutely no repercussions. Surely, neither you or I desire that?”

To that, Capitano only kept combing the pony’s mane, his time-off pants and shirt long since covered in coarse gray hair. Every now and then, he’d spare a gentle caress to her side, and she seemed most pleased. So was he, in turn.

“If you wish to put the merchant on trial for deliberate misinformation, I’ll make no arguments against it,” he answered, quite plainly - before continuing- “However, I do think Siobhan had fulfilled her role as my companion rather admirably. I can count on one hand the number of men more loyal than her. Regardless of the kind of sentencing her first owner will receive, that won’t decide whether I shall keep her or not.”

Ever so slightly amused, the Jester chuckled and took a seat. Far, on the other side of the room, away from the pony. While her quarters had been regularly scrubbed clean, the smell of an equine was still one of Jester’s least favorite smells. His sense of smell had been decaying well enough on it’s own for the last few decades, no need to hasten the process of completely losing his scent.

“Why, are you not worried that should the time arrive, she’ll be rather vulnerable to harm?” the Jester asked, most curious. To which the Captain momentarily paused the combing and proceeded to march off to the side where something akin to a wardrobe stood, from which the man pulled out a mesh of metal plates and leather straps - the contraption soon being carefully secured atop the animals head ; revealing itself to be a tailored helmet with a sharp, metal pike sticking out from the helmet’s forehead. Siobhan seemed most pleased.

“She headbutts things and people when she’s stressed,” the Captain explained calmly, unaware of the absurdity of the image he created with that one act alone,“And as of recently, I’m trying to teach her how to carry a weapon with her teeth, though I haven’t yet decided what kind of weapon it should be. Safe to say, sooner or later, she’ll be more than safe from lethal harm.”

Once again, the Jester chuckled - barely restraining an undignified bark of laughter from pouring out as the makeshift war-unicorn looked between the two of them, it’s gaze yearning for brain cells to spare. It had gotten to the point where the Jester, usually immovable and stern, could not bear to look at the animal no longer, least he’d risk his dignity once more.

“…So be it. You may keep her, but don’t say I did not warn you, Captain,” he eventually coughed out, his back turned to the man and his companion both. “Is there anything else you wanted to speak of before I ask Ajax to fetch us the thief?”

“One thing, yes : I would like Siobhan to be added to the portrait you commissioned for me when I first joined. She earned it.”

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

on our fates alight--not a monster

It had been a fortnight, and Maxima had yet to see Riven DeGlass again. Or any of the other Eorzean Dominants, for that matter. Much of his time had been spent being debriefed by the Alliance and acclimating to his new surroundings. And if he was honest, the Garlean found himself grateful that he hadn’t seen—or encountered any of the Dominants. The last time (second-to-last if he counted Riven) he’d laid eyes on any of them was at Tsukuyomi’s summoning. Otherwise, he had nothing but tales. Some of them he could verify, others he couldn’t.

But Maxima also had a raging curiosity. One of the Populares’ reforms had been aimed towards the Ilsbardian Eikons. History had proven in the past that for much of the landlocked realm, the Eikons had been utilized not for warlike purposes, but in defense of their respective territories against powerful monsters and the like. And there was clear evidence several of them had been forced into becoming warmongers by their respective nations. The Populares had wanted the Emperor to declare amnesty to any bearer of an Ilsbardian Eikonic bloodline, and to negotiate with them in good faith on how to handle the inadvertent danger an Eikon did bring.  It was a subject Maxima had devoted much thought to, especially as more details came into Garlemald about the Eorzean Dominants. That they avoided all-out Priming unless they had to, that they would give their foes warning about engaging in combat. The Eorzean Alliance had created techniques that protected their people when they had to share a battlefield with a fully Primed Eikon. And somehow against all odds, Riven and her allies had been and still were fighting against the only Eikon-hunter Varis could field against them—Erick sas Gage.

“You can move around the castle, but I would advise you to keep clear of the Queen’s Wing.”  Rahubhan had told him after a session. “It’s where the Scion Dominants are staying. I doubt any of them are like to hold a grudge, but in the case of two of them, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“What do you mean?”

“Were you privy to any information on a place known as Site Sixteen?” Maxima frowned at the question.

“It…sounds familiar.”  He replied. “I know Asahi had a report given to him on it once. In fact, it was…right before we left for Doma.” Maxima watched as Rahuban exhaled.

“It was an undercover Garlean research facility in Sharlayan. Responsible for the deaths of many Dominants and their Eikons in the name of ‘research’ for the Empire, including the city-state’s native Eikon, Thaliak.” He began.

“Their god?!” Maxima exclaimed, eyes widening in shock.

“Yes. And until recently both Riven and Sebastian were prisoners there. It’s…left them with a significant amount of trauma.”

“I understand.” Maxima murmured.

The following day, Maxima found himself with an unexpected berth of free time. He wasn’t needed for debriefing and his companions were occupied with other affairs. He couldn’t go out into the city—even with a disguise the locals would probably easily identify him. The only option left was to explore the palace—which the Garlean took full advantage of. Despite the imperial occupation, the royal residence had been left mostly untouched in terms of style, art, and furniture. The Resistance guards were familiar with his presence by this point, and some even shared stories of their lives under the previous two kings of Ala Mhigo. A visit to the kitchens procured him a rather delicious late lunch, and it was there Maxima learned that the Royal Menagerie had finally been restored, with plans being finalized to open it to the public.

"Too hot to go up there now, you'll broil!" One of the Resistance cooks said cheerfully. "Wait until the evening. There's a good breeze that blows in from the mountains, and the night-blooming flowers will be opening their petals." And with that advice, Maxima waited until the sun dipped below the horizon. Then he ventured out and upwards, not stopping until he reached the last queen of Ala Mhigo's gardens. The area was a riot of color, plants and tree branches swaying gently in the mountain breeze. There was no sign of the titanic struggle against Zenos, though the Garlean fancied that if he closed his eyes, he could imagine the battle. Magic being cast, weapons clashing, the sound of footsteps, bells tinkling...

Bells?

Wait.

Maxima opened his eyes. He'd wandered fairly deep into the Menagerie. Here he was surrounded by more trees, with reflecting-ponds scattered about. And on a platform in the middle of one of the pools some feet away...was Riven DeGlass. As Maxima watched, the brunette started to dance, her steps graceful and sure. The sound of the bells were coming from her outfit, the Garlean realized. Their melody was pleasant, soothing to the mind and ear.

She must be practicing. He'd heard that Valefor's Dominant was a master of the Thavarian dance-style, something that he'd not had an opporunity to witness--and would not now, despite his sudden urge to hide and keep watching. Clearly Riven had sought privacy, and Maxima felt he had enough strikes against him as it was...

Then suddenly, he felt a cold edge press against his throat. Maxima went stock-still, eyes widening. While his fighting skills had been nothing to write home about, he could recognize that he was in very grave danger. A Bozjan-style gunblade was flush against his skin, if it moved he was as good as dead...

"What's this, then? A Garlean where he isn't supposed to be?" The voice was velvet, darkness infusing every word. Maxima continued to stay still, his eyes flicking to the blade's wielder. Dark purple armor, brown hair and blue eyes that held a malicious light in them.

Odin! It had been Sebastian Astralyas that Rahuban had gone into detail when he had first warned Maxima. The Sharalayan scholar and his Eikon had suffered a decade of torture and abuse in Site Sixteen. Maxima remembered all too well the fear that would creep into the soldiers' voices when they spoke of the Dominant of Darkness. Odin's footsteps were piled high with corpses, and from the smirk on Sebastian's face Maxima feared he would become the newest one.

"Didn't somebody warn you? Monsters roam this castle." Sebastian continued, his voice breaking into Maxima's thoughts. "You might want to steer clear. You could catch our cooties."

"I was made to understand men and women had free run of the palace. Not monsters." Maxima's tongue was faster than his brain--did the man just say cooties? Was that an actual thing in Eorzea? The last time he'd heard that he was a boy on the playground--

"Are you sure about that?" Sebastian's voice was soft. "There's a monster standing next to you right now."

"I don't see a monster. I see a man." Maxima countered. "A man beside me, and a woman--whose privacy I wanted to respect-in front of me. A man and a woman who were either blessed or unlucky to bear great power, and have been doing their best to deal with the consequences. Although..." The Garlean swallowed, continuing.

"If this is for Doma, I do not blame you for wanting vengeance. But allow me to say this. Asahi was false and treacherous. It is a good thing that he is dead."

"He was your superior officer. Did you not agree with what he had in mind?"

"His private thoughts were not known to me." A lie, but Maxima judged that it was better to not air Asahi's personal opinions of the Scion Dominants. Especially when the gunblade was still pressed to his throat. "I learned too late that he had bargained with the Mitsirugi clan to kidnap you all--and as for the summoning, I did not know what were in those chests. Had I known..." Maxima trailed off, his eyes lowering to the ground.

"...Known?" Sebastian prompted.

"...Had I known, I would...I would have tried to help." It would have been treasonous, and he would have probably have needed to throw himself on the mercy of the Domans, but Maxima had taken the time to deeply reflect on what had happened.

"I would have tried to help." He repeated. "You can believe me or not, but I would have tried. And I can tell you this as well--there are many in the Empire who don't see you as monsters. Who understand you're mortal, you're men and women just like us. That it's not fair that you're punished for the sins of others, or for the random chance that someday, somewhere you might commit sins of your own. We believe...I believe, that Dominants and Eikons and regular people can all live in peace." Maxima lifted his gaze and looked straight ahead. Riven was still dancing, unaware of the standoff.

"You're not monsters. None of you are." There was silence for several moments, and then Maxima started as the blade lifted from his neck. Putting a hand to his throat, he sighed in relief. Beside him, Sebastian sheathed the gunblade. He turned on a heel and began to walk away. The menacing aura that he'd been projecting vanished, and Maxima frowned.

Why does it feel like I passed some sort of test...?

"You're wrong about one thing." Sebastian had come to a stop. Maxima lowered his hand, turning to look at the gunbreaker's back.

"What am I wrong about?"

"No need to kill you for Doma. That's already been settled." With that, Sebastian continued to walk away. Maxima stared at the Dominant's retreating back, then snorted softly.

----- on our fates alight masterpost here

[kaizoku-musume]

Hold My Breath

Entry #2 in @xxsycamore’s Visions of Temptation kinktober event. Link to Ao3 here.

Fandom: Arcana

Pairing: Julian x OC (Casimir)

Word count: 2.3k

Prompts: Pegging | Choking

This was torture. There Casimir was, wearing a gorgeous red lingerie outfit made up of a sheer corset, stockings, and see through panties, sitting on Julain’s chest with an arm stretched behind them to open themself up, and Julian wasn’t allowed to touch. Okay, that wasn’t completely true, because his hands were definitely planted on Cas’ thighs, but he wasn’t allowed to help stretch them out for him, and that was just too sad.

Julian’s dismay must have shown on his face, because Cas rolled his eyes. “I’m doing this all for you, and you’re still complaining?”

“Pfft, of course not,” Julian ran his hands up and down the fabric of the stockings, admiring the shade on Casimir, “this is a wonderful birthday present, truly. I couldn’t appreciate it more. I only wish I could be more involved to take the burden off you.”

Casimir snorted, “Yeah, sure, that’s why you want to finger me, because of the burden. Which burden are you talking about, the one on me or your cock?” Despite his predicament, Julian snickered at the joke. “Can’t you be satisfied with sucking my cock like we agreed?”

“I most certainly would be, but I don’t see the cock in question, so alas, I’m currently left bereft,” Julian opined with no small amount of drama.

“My bad, I thought you’d want to appreciate the sight longer, should have known you couldn’t stand not having your mouth stuffed,” Cas tugged the hem of his panties down freeing his hard cock from its tight, small confines. Seeing the outline of it bulging through the material had been alluring, but nothing compared to seeing Casimir’s pretty cock in its entirety.

Julian gripped Casimir’s thighs and guided them forward where Julian’s head rested on a pile of pillows. “Hello there,” he kissed the tip of Cassie’s dick in greeting.

“Oh my gods, can you stop talking to my cock already? It’s not going to respond,” Casimir grumbled.

“Sure it does,” Julian blew directly on the glans, causing the shaft to twitch, “See?”

“Ugh, just get on with it already,” Casimir dismissively waved at Julian with his free hand.

“Gladly,” Julian said before he took Casimir’s dick in hand, stroking the shaft as he gave attention to the head first. He started off with little kitten licks right at the tip where Casimir was just starting to leak precome, circling the round head. When Casimir made an impatient noise, Julian took the head in his mouth, suckling at the sensitive tissue, egged on by the small noises spilling out of Casimir. He could happily do this all day, just work on Casimir’s pillow-soft cockhead, but the mage would get annoyed, so before too long, Julian began sucking Cas’ cock for real.

Julian wrapped his lips tight around Casimir’s shaft, slowly taking in inch by inch, bobbing his head and jerking off what wasn’t in his mouth at the time. Cas’ hips made small jerking motions, caught between two different sensations, but they never made an attempt to control the pace. So Julian took his time with it, lavishing Casimir with as much attention as he wanted.

He would take a break to lick down the veins running down their shaft, then go back to taking nearly the full length in his mouth, tongue dancing up and down, hand squeezing around the base just in case Cassie was close. When it looked like Casimir was getting used to the rhythm of Julian’s movements, he pulled off and mouthed at their balls, carefully popping one into his mouth while he rolled the other between his fingers.

Julian quickly lost time like that, playing with Casimir’s cock to his heart’s content. He did notice when Casimir made a hissing noise, stomach briefly tensing up. “Fid you a’ anofer fin’er?” he purposefully asked while he was otherwise occupied.

“You have to stop doing that,” Casimir said, voice strained. He was definitely three fingers deep now-he liked using more fingers to make up for how shallow they reached inside him. He wasn’t able to reach his prostate from that angle, either. So Julian made up for it by deepthroating Casimir, nose buried in a shortly trimmed patch of curls. “Fuuuuuck, fuck, fuck,” Casimir cursed, hand grasping onto Julian’s hair, That-you don’t have to stop doing that.”

Julian stayed there for as long as he could, Cassie’s cock buried to the root in his throat. He could feel his throat constricting around the intrusion, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes from it and the lack of air. When he could no longer withstand it, he slowly drew off their cock, tongue trailing along the shaft, experience the only thing keeping him from choking. Now that Casimir was almost ready, Julian wanted to hurry and make him come.

So he pulled out all the stops, one hand stroking and twisting around Casimir’s base while he used the other to roll his balls between his fingers, bobbing his head along the rest of Cas’ length, tongue focused on giving attention to the glans while his saliva eased the way. Casimir’s moaning grew louder and higher-pitched, the arm behind him working feverishly to open himself up for Julian’s cock. Julian peered up at Casimir, watching him quickly break down.

Casimir only lasted for about a minute under Julian’s best efforts, shaking apart under his orgasm. Julian swallowed him down with ease, slowly easing Casimir down from his high, pulling off his cock with relish.”Well, you were right, that was very satisfying,” Julian licked his lips, catching any stray drops.

“Didn’t shut you up as much as I wanted,” Casimir muttered, pulling his hand away from his ass and sliding down Julian’s body to settle at his waist.

“It never has before,” Julian said, hands going back to Cassie’s hips, “I applaud the effort, of course.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Casimir grumbled, lifting himself up and gripping Julian’s cock, lining it up with his entrance. He sank down, the tip popping in easily, but he had to bear down on the rest. Julian held still as Casimir’s delicious heat swallowed him up until he was fully seated, hips pressed together. Casimir took a few moments to adjust while Julian ran soothing hands along his thighs and waist. “You’ll appreciate this effort more, no doubt,” Casimir said before starting to move.

They began with short, shallow thrusts, lifting themselves only a couple of inches before dropping back down. It was a challenge for Julian no to buck into them to help them ride his dick, but it was what Casimir had requested, so all Julian could do was lie there and take it, watching Casimir gradually gain speed and momentum. “You’re right again, I am most definitely appreciating this effort,” Julian cupped Cassie’s ass with one hand, the other splayed out on the hem of Casimir’s stocking.

“I’m always right,” Casimir braced his hands on Julian’s chest for leverage as he rode him, “You just keep forgetting that.”

Julian took in the sight before him: of Casimir bouncing on his cock, stomach contracting with the effort, wavy green hair flying around his face, gasps and moans slipping out of him, lingerie hugging his curves in all the right places. “In my defense, I usually have something much more interesting to focus on and remember.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere when I’m already dolled up for you,” Casimir moaned in between thrusts, “You want to sweet talk me into something, do it after today’s sex marathon.”

That hadn’t quite been Julian’s intention, but he couldn’t deny a part of him was hoping Casimir would go easy on him. Because this was where the actual torture started-earlier was just a small taste to prepare him. Casimir kept full control of the pace, and he utilized that to his advantage.; he sped up until Julian was starting to get close only to slow down and bring him back from that edge, just to start the cycle all over again. It was payback for the blowjob, surely.

“This hardly seems fair,” Julian croaked after the fourth time Casimir edged him.

“For who?” Casimir argued, “The person doing all the work or the one reaping all the rewards?” Julian opened his mouth to make a counterpoint, but Cas beat him to it. “I don’t want to hear you muster up a token protest like you’re not actually enjoying this. We both know that’s bullshit. Or do I need to remind you of literally every other time?”

Julian snapped his mouth shut. He couldn’t refute that. Yes, this was agony, but it was the best kind. He wanted it to end but he also wanted it to go on forever. But was it really necessary for Casimir to point it out?

Casimir seemed to be losing steam, however. It was a hard position to maintain, and their thighs must have been burning by now. They were just grinding on his cock, rocking back and forth as they took themself in hand. “Look at that, you already get a break. You’re gonna have to take the reins for now,” they said as they stroked themself, pumping much faster than they were moving their hips, “I may have forgotten to take an energy potion.”

“Not a problem. Captain Julian is always prepared to take the helm!” Julian declared.

Casimir looked like they wanted to say something in response (complain about how cheesy that was, probably), but they were too close to properly form the words; syllables turned into gasps instead. A few more pumps and they were tumbling over the edge, ropes of come splashing into Julian’s stomach. Julian pet them through the orgasm, cooing words of praise that had Casimir playfully swatting his chest.

“Shall I help you off?” Julian offered, adding quickly, “Off me, I mean, of course, you’re not ready for another orgasm so soon.”

“Maybe you should take that as a sign that you use too many innuendos and knock it off,” Casimir waved off Julian’s wandering hands, “No, no, I plan on making you come like this, just give me a second.” True to their word, they began swirling their hips after a short breather, gyrating on Julian’s lap despite having just come.

Julian started to protest like an idiot-who in their right mind would turn this down?-but Casimir wrapped their hands around his throat, applying a light amount of pressure. That shut Julian up. Oh wow. Was Cas really going to-

“Just because it’s your birthday,” Casimir said as they began to gently squeeze, “I’m giving you extra special treatment.”

He was. Wow, this was a special day. Julian stared up at Casimir with stars in his eyes as his airflow was carefully cut off. He dug his nails into Cas’ waist as the mage kicked up the pace of his grinding.

Casimir waited until Julian was noticeably starting to feel the strain of the lack of air before easing off, allowing Julian the opportunity to gulp down a couple of breaths before Casimir closed his hands around his windpipe again. Casimir only repeated the process a few times, but it was more than enough for Julian, who was in heaven.

He’d tried, once, to explain to Casimir what it felt like, but words weren’t quite enough to convey the sense of weightlessness that came with being forced to stop breathing like this. How it started with a tingling at his fingertips and toes and then spread to the rest of his body, how his mind felt all floaty but his lungs were all too aware in these precious few moments. How it allowed him to stop thinking or feeling unnecessary things and just let him focus on Casimir.

It wasn’t just the pain of his throat being squeezed of life, although that was definitely a bonus.

Casimir hadn’t fully understood it, but he was willing, a precious few times a year, to take part in such an activity. Julian treasured each occasion, and this time was no different. Much as he wanted it to last forever, Cas wasn’t willing to risk their luck-three cycles was the most he ever got. So Julian ate it up, one hand clutching Casimir’s arm for support, the other the sheets, toes curling at the mind-numbing sensation.

If Casimir was in such a giving mood right now, surely he’d give Julian just a little more leeway. On the last breath taken in and swept away by Casimir’s expert fingers, Julian bucked up into him, causing the mage to cry out in surprise, forcing him to ride the motion in order not to dislodge his hands or accidentally apply too much pressure.

“You jerk,” Casimir snapped, “I knew you’d get a big head.” But there was no reprimand following their words, and the lack of a punishment emboldened Julian to keep fucking up into them, chasing his high. He was so used to counting down the seconds that he knew exactly how long he had left before Cas let back up. Ten seconds. If he timed it perfectly, the results would be amazing, but it was so hard to focus the longer he went without it.

Thankfully, Casimir caught onto Julian’s intentions and went with it, riding Julian as well as they could, letting Julian drift comfortably in the paradoxically calm high of breathlessness. When there were only three seconds left and Julian’s lungs were starting to scream at him, Casimir bent down and nipped at Julian’s lip harshly, pulling at it with his teeth. The unexpected, sharp burst of pain went straight to Julian’s dick, breaking through the fog in his brain. He hurtled straight into his orgasm, thrashing under the force of the dual sensations. Casimir drew his hands away through, and the sudden rush of air to his aching lungs helped prolong his orgasm.

Julian was lost for a good few minutes, vaguely aware of himself gasping for breath and Casimir shaking slightly in his lap. The aftershocks felt like they lasted even longer. By the end of it, Julian was left panting, splayed out along the bed, Casimir having fallen to lay on top of him as they both recovered. They were both going to need quite the long break before they could move onto the next round, but Julian didn’t regret a single second.

[superloves4]

I still taste the past - Chapter 7

Relationships: Curufin/Finrod, Celegorm/Aredhel (background) Summary: Finrod wanted to see Curufin, get his closure after all they had gone through, end things once and for all. What he gets is a journey through the memory of where they've been and the choice of where they will go. TW: none. A/N: Enjoy!

Masterlist - Also on AO3

Curufin looked to the side of his bed and sighed, it had been his suggestion, yes, but when he was alone he couldn't deny the hope that Findaràto had decided to defy him and stayed.

A year, a year of living off of stolen moments when others were sleeping or otherwise occupied, and Curufin could feel it taking it's toll on him in the tiredness that wouldn't leave. Ingoldo, he wanted to scream, Ingoldo, Ingoldo, Ingoldo.

He pushed away from the dirty sheets, preparing for another day in Tirion. The simplest way to be with Findaràto had been to take a commission with his grandfather for a time and then insist that it required him to be available at all times and thus he couldn't just sleep in his room in the crown prince's residence, he just had to stay in Tirion Palace where his cousin, oh so coincidentally, also currently resided for his architectural studies. Alas, this also meant he had work to do.

There was a rather nice conversation happening when he arrived, so nice he waited for the other smiths to finish before revealing he had in fact heard all about how they thought he had taken the job for the purpose of undermining Turukàno, who also was had taken residence in the city for architectural studies although he had moved out of the palace after his and Elenwë's marriage, a marriage that had cost Curufin seven gold coins.

It was laughable how wrong they were in their suppositions and yet so close, they would, however, dearly regret their words as Curufin gave them double the work for the day.

"Ah, arrived early I see!"

He turned around and bowed to the king who smiled patiently.

"I'm your grandfather, there's no need for this." Finwë told him, indicating that he wanted for Curufin to follow.

"Not when I'm working," he explained his reasons as they left the room "Then you are my king, I have to live up to the job you have given me."

Finwë shook his head "You're too harsh on yourself, I asked for you because I trust your eye to detail not because you are my grandson, you are a great smith in your own right."

Curufin smiled "Father did a good job then."

The look Finwë gave him then almost resembled pity but Curufin could not figure out why that would be so, therefore, he changed topic.

"Is there any reason for the visit?" he asked.

Finwë nodded, taking the topic change "Yes, I have hopes for this project to be incorporated in the new pavilion so I have asked for Findaràto to help you in the plans."

Curufin's heart skipped a beat, what golden opportunity was being given here? If he and Findaràto were working on the same project then nobody would question his presence in his bedroom and he was sure he could find some way of justifying for Findaràto's presence in the mornings as well then. That was perfect!

"That seems to be good," he spoke too quickly, failing to contain his excitement. Finwë gave him a confused look but he quickly recovered with a façade of indifference and his grandfather continued to explain his plans.

Alas, if he had known that a laugh would be his undoing he would have been more careful, but he had no way of knowing so when he heard her.

The laugh was delicate, like the waters of a spring, but it rang laud and glad like the song of birds, and all in all, it made Curufin frown, a prickling in the back of his mind as of something being wrong. But Finwë smiled and pointed down.

"It seems that Findaràto has not waited us on his lonesome," and chuckled, Curufin ears were ringing however, but Finwë didn't notice and continued "Arafinwë and Ëarwen have great hopes."

"Who is she? I've never met her," he asked curtly.

Finwë's smile widened "That is Amarië of the Vanyar, she and Findaràto have long been friends," and his voice took a conspiratorial tone as the laugh echoed again when Findaràto grabbed the girl and whirled her around after she tried running "Or perhaps, even something more?"

"Who's to say, perhaps, the pavilion's first use shall be their wedding."

Curufin bound down the stairs leaving Finwë to run after him, striding into the garden just as Findaràto placed Amarië on the ground again.

"If someone were to look at you they would think you were made of time, wouldn't you agree, Findaràto?" he spat, already regretting being there at all, especially as Findaràto, still short of breath, turned to him, his eyes shining and smiling radiantly.

"Atarinkë!" he exclaimed before taking the vanya's hand and bringing her in front of Curufin "This is Amarië, my friend of many years, she has decided to visit Tirion for a time. Amarië, this is Atarinkë, dearest to me."

She bowed in the way of one well taught, one thing Curufin hated to admit was that the woman was beautiful and near Findaràto they looked a beautiful, perfect match."I have heard much of the prince, I'm happy to be able to meet you."

"I have never heard of you."

Serpent tongue, he was, cruel and wrathful, as he stared in the glaring eyes of his lover as the girl flinched, her smile fallen as she shifted her weight, unsure what to respond to his hostility.

"Atarinkë!" Findaràto reprimanded him and Curufin stared back with the same intensity.

"Well not all of us have the cheek to laze around during work hours."

"Most of us, however, are capable of basic politeness when meeting a friend."

"Do you put your hands on all your friends?" Amarië barely covered a gasp, face turning red, Curufin wanted to slap her hopeful glances at Findaràto away, there was another scathing reply at the back of his mind ready to be said but Finwë intervened.

"I had hopes that you'd put your differences aside for once," he told them and his disappointment was palpable "If this continues you will both be removed from this task, am I clear?"

They responded in affirmative but they continued to glare at each other, not even looking at the king.

Finwë sighed and talked with Amarië instead "Forgive us, Amarië, I didn't think a pavilion would cause a fight."

The girl chuckled and nodded, although anyone could see she was embarrassed still "No, it's my fault, I should not have bothered Findaràto in his duties, I won't disturb anymore I shall leave now."

The king reiterated his apologies before she left and they actually began their project.

"I'm not dropping this Atarinkë!" Findaràto exclaimed, it wasn't unusual for the two of them to fight but it was the first time he just couldn't understand Curufin at all  "You almost caused a scene in front of our grandfather of all people! Secrecy was your idea!"

"What did you want me to do?!" he answered, his voice echoing in the deserted corridor "Let you make a fool out of me?"

"How was I doing any of the sort? You're not making any sense!"

"You were gallivanting with that vanya!"

Findaràto let out a harsh laugh "So that was all? Amarië is my friend! If jealousy was all this was, you needn't have bothered."

"Why didn't you tell me about her before?!"

"Because I didn't think it was needed! You don't like the vanyar and Amarië hardly leaves Taniquetil, there hadn't been any need for an introduction before!"

"Because hiding your friendships is not suspicious at all."

"I wasn't hiding Amarië!"

Curufin rolled his eyes and Findaràto lost any last patience.

"What now? Am I to make an itemized list of all my friends?" he threw at him "Or have you forgotten that other people have friends?!"

"When your parents are actively planning your wedding, then yes!!"

Findaràto sighed and took a turn of the room trying to calm down.

"My parents have long hoped I'd announce my marriage," he explained, trying tiredly to make sure Curufin understood "Any marriage," he emphasized "Amarië just happens  to be one of my oldest friends, they made assumptions."

Then he stopped behind Curufin, letting his arms envelop the other "Assumptions I could dispel if a certain someone accepted my proposal." He kissed the other's neck "Is it not enough that you are the one I love?"

Curufin sighed, wondering if that was truly enough, but he let Findaràto kiss him, no matter how bitter it felt when jealousy ate at him so deeply. Amarië was exactly what was expected of Findaràto's spouse, beautiful and bright and kind, there would be no crowd they could not captivate and there was no one that would disagree that they were a match. What of Curufin then? Would he be asked to make their bridal jewellery or would his skills not be considered enough for the golden prince of Tirion?

But he said none of that, instead he let out a quiet "I do have friends..."

Findaràto quickly suppressed a chuckle, trying hard not to fall into laughter "Please, name one friend you are not related to."

Curufin almost replied Angaràto before realizing it was meant beyond his brothers, so he tried to find another name, and he tried, and tried, but was coming up blank and with every longer moment of silence Findaràto's amusement grew. So he threw the only name he had.

"Well, there's Astalalmë, she's a girl whose mother would deliver the raw material to the forge. We are friendly?"

The suppressed snickering stopped and Findaràto was quiet for a moment before finally replying "Who is that?"

[ciphers-dv]

no i didn’t forget!!!1! ← totally forgot

Submissions for the Carnival Creativity Contest prompt: An Airy New Friend

To be a Worldhopper is to be often subjected to rather… unusual situations. Anything ranging from getting pulled into petty rivalries, to being attacked by pirates, to getting stuck in sprawling enchanted labyrinths. Not to mention enough encounters with literal deities that would make even the least devout person second guess themself. As for what Nyklo was currently witnessing? It may not have been the most fantastical thing she’d seen; but, it was certainly among the stranger ones. It had begun with stumbling into that colorful, buzzing tent housed within the cacophony of the Carnival (Which was another odd experience in itself) and being swindled into the most bizarre game of cards that she’d ever heard of in her life. Accolades– as the points were called– given and taken without rhyme nor reason. By the end of that first round, Nyklo was convinced that the jester running it was making up whatever numbers would allow him to make away with her potato ante. A second round did not occur. At least, not for her. Before Nyklo could mumble out an excuse to leave, the Worldhopper was bodily shoved aside from her seat at the low table. Her… companion... of a Peryton ruffling their wings before dropping onto the cushion she once occupied. And while picking herself off the floor, Nyklo watched as the Peryton dropped another bundle of potatoes before the jester. ”I’ll play.” … So began the routine for each following day of the Carnival: begin by meandering through a shifting maze, followed by nursing a cup of tea (Or two) while watching a wheel slowly tick its way around, and ending with a visit to the card game tent for a few rounds. There, Nyklo would sit back and bear witness to the fastest plays that she could never imagine. Pitre dropping down a card and rattling off its tribulations just as quickly as Caesari would chirp back a number (The Accolades..?-- “Hey, I thought we started with zero!”) or the answer to some arcane riddle (”Eleven?! That doesn’t even make any sense!”). Nevertheless, Caesari managed to win the grand prize at least a few times. So clearly the beast had managed to decipher something from the game that she wouldn’t have even begun to dream of. However… Sometime within those lightning rounds Pitre expressed an interest in the Peryton (Nyklo couldn’t fault him. Caesari was certainly an… eclectic creature to behold. Nevermind the ability to play– and win– his game. … Speaking without needing to move their mouth… Seeming to know much more than they let on… Delighting in being a general nuisance… ) and contemplated a companion of his own. When the jester stood up from the table and disappeared somewhere deeper into the tent, Nyklo figured he’d gone to fetch something for her to animate for him. It wouldn’t have been the first time it had been asked of her. But, alas, things can never be quite so simple for the Worldhopper. Pitre, in all his jester wisdom, has deemed balloons to be the supreme medium to construct a pet and Caesari, in turn, expressed an interest in wanting to see the results. So after a presumably proper amount of time for the development and creation of a befitting balloon beast, Worldhopper and companion were recalled through one of those bellspeakers. Thus leading up to now… … In the moment it took for Nyklo to drop herself in the entrance of an otherwise empty tent, the jester appeared. Baffled, she gazed up as Pitre– stood in the middle of a slow-laden lane of the Carnival– held aloft a… balloon pony? Yes, indeed; a pony fashioned of pastel-colored balloons and even decorated with a flourish of paint. He brandished the figure at Caesari. The Peryton in turn holding a balloon self-miniature in their maw and looking awfully amused. Where’d that come from? “A most fitting pet for a jester, yes? I see you’ve had one made for yourself.” Caesari’s ears flicked forward, eyes squinting in mirth. ”No.” “No?” Pitre frowned. “It couldn’t have been yourself. You have no hands.” The jester peered at Nyklo. The Worldhopper shrugged back; “No idea.” “Simple, really,” the Peryton continued on, grinning around the balloon-from-thin-air. ”Not real.” Caesari tightened their maw around the balloon animal, making it burst with a loud pop and startling a gaggle of passing by carnivalgoers. And just as the beast has said, not a trace of the balloon was left. Somehow, it never existed in the first place. "Unfortunate. Perhaps you would enjoy one more permanent?" A strange Carnival with strange inhabitants. Strange games with strange rules. But those, at least, were temporary. But strange companions? Much more permanent. Such is the life of a Worldhopper.

[sinceileftyoublog]

The Church Album Review: The Hypnogogue

(Communicating Vessels)

BY JORDAN MAINZER

The Church’s 26th album (and first in 6 years) is, strangely, their first concept record. You’d think the Australian greats’ dreamy, neo psychedelia would be perfect to soundtrack tunes with a narrative arc; alas, this is Steve Kilbey’s first foray into more literal musical storytelling. Yet, he smartly keeps it vague, and secondary to the music itself. The plot is futuristic: A rock star in the 2050s falls in love with a scientist who invents the titular Hypnogogue, a device that pulls thoughts out of your head and makes them into music. Is it a ham-fisted analogy for AI art? Perhaps. But the plot is an effective symbol for being lost in the dream, the limbo between slumber and wide-eyed beginnings that music can achieve. “Remember the music pulled out of your head / Piano trickling into the cans,” Kilbey sings on the title track, “Insulating guitars, reptilian bass / Kick in your face, the snare in your heart.” Flickering guitars make the song epic without being showy, a self-reflexive microcosm of The Hypnogogue as a whole.

In essence, The Hynogogue is a tribute to the sensations we hold most dear. “Your ascension, your reward,” Kilbey repeats on opening track “Ascendence”, showcasing the prototypical buildup of whirring, warbling noise, atmospheric guitars and arpeggiated, chiming synths. On the pulsating, glassy “These Coming Days”, he describes “The wallpaper at your favorite café / The paper flowers in the kitchen / The aromatic pines, the rambling vines” as if they themselves are what bring us life. If the album’s world occupies our worst nightmares, where the intangible can become computerized, humanism replaceable, the band smartly argues against it by creating beauty out of nostalgic sounds. Kilbey’s always Bowie-esque croon is the perfect match for the “All The Young Dudes” guitars of “No Other You”, and his muted vocal overdubs on “Succulent”, atop wobbling synthesizers and stadium-sized guitars, recall Pink Floyd at their headiest. And the sway of “I Think I Knew” and jangly guitars of “C’est La Vie” are The Church at their most beatific and catchy, a straight line from “Under The Milky Way” until now.

At over an hour and most of its songs slow burns, The Hypnogogue is an album that requires patience, but its rewards, sonic and otherwise, are plentiful. “Everyone must want something,” Kilby sighs on “Albert Ross”, and whether that’s the glacial thumps of “Thorn” and “Antarctica” or the baroque melancholy of “Aerodrome”, there are feelings here to occupy every corner of your heart.

[theroseceleste]

Worlds Apart - Chapter 3 - Lady Althorpe

The Captain meets with his potential fiancée for a promenade. After being accosted by the landlady...

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Word count - 1801

Minors DNI

Contains : Slight suggestion of SA

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Pt 1 Pt 2

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Gideon had made it into his thirties without participating in a single promenade with a woman. This streak was something he was hoping would continue until the day he died, but alas, his mother had finally grown tired of having an unwed son.

Before his dreaded walk around Mayfair, he had some errands to run. Some of which happened to be in Camberwell.

A market had been set up on the same street as the Fighting Lion. He roamed the stalls, looking to buy flowers for Lady Althorpe as he had been annoyingly instructed to do so. The thought of it made his skin crawl, but he didn’t want to lose his rank and place in the military due to his pesky mother’s word.

As he passed the Fighting Lion, he saw Miss Tanner roll out an empty barrel into the alleyway behind her pub. Their eyes locked onto each other momentarily, before he turned his head and looked away.

“Oi!” He heard the delightful landlady yell out. Her not so angelic and sweet voice echoed in the alleyway before she stormed out to talk to him.

The Duke sighed impatiently. “What do you want?” he grunted as he turned his fed up eyes back to the woman. “And I believe you’re supposed to say ‘Your Grace’, not-“

“Oh, piss off.” Miss Tanner folded her arms, her eyes squinted as the summer sun shone in her eyes.

“‘Ave you been spreadin’ bad word about my pub?” she asked, cutting to the chase.

The soldier’s brow furrowed as he sneered at her. “Why would I waste my breath talking about the hovel you call your pub?”

His answer surprised her. Although she thought he could be lying to avoid her wrath. “You- you ‘aven’t been talkin’ about my pub?” Her voice sounded less confident now.

An evil smirk began to show followed by a hearty laugh. “Oh… Miss Tanner… Your establishment is failing you and you think I’m behind it?” He leaned in closer, risking a slap from her, but he was prepared.

“You must regard me higher than I thought you did. How sweet.”

There it was. A swing of her hand caused him to duck. Then, as it passed over him, he caught both of her lower arms this time and swiftly manoeuvred her into the alley behind her pub.

“Get yer ‘ands off me!” she began to yell as he pushed her front against the wooden wall off the public house.

“Shhh…” he hissed aggressively at her as he folded her arms behind her back, pressing his body against Miss Tanner’s to pin her there. “Don’t make too much noise. Otherwise I’ll have to declare you tried to assault me. Imagine how bad that’d be for your little pub… hmmm?” His free hand moved some of her long brown locks covering her face.

She wriggled in his grasp which only made him press her harder against the wall. “Now now… You don’t want me to hurt you now, do you?”

“Get off me,” Miss Tanner growled angrily, glaring at him from the corner of her eye.

The evil smirk that occupied his face evolved into a grin while he chuckled darkly into her ear. “But I’m having too much fun.” He enjoyed the control he had over her, to the point of feeling a stirring underneath his breeches.

She felt it too, poking into her back as he pressed himself against her. Her breathing hitched as her eyes widened. “Don’t you dare.” A dark, threatening voice rumbled from her chest.

“Don’t I dare, what?” the gleeful Captain asked.

Miss Tanner squinted at him while her head was turned to the side. “Don’t you dare force yourself on me.”

His eyes widened at her words. She couldn’t tell if it was shock at the mention of an awful act or inspiration to actually do it. The intense pounding of her heart had begun to hurt.

Gideon’s shocked expression turned into a scowl. “Don’t flatter yourself.” An evil growl resonated in her ear as he leaned in close. Afterwards, he pulled away again, wearing a smirk this time.

“Besides, I don’t have time to. I’m to meet Lady Althorpe and promenade with her,” he said as he released her arms and stepped away.

Now it was the brunette’s turn to widen her eyes at him while she massaged her wrists. It sounded totally unlike him to do such a thing. She suspected it was because he’s now a Duke and under pressure to make someone his Duchess.

“Now, are you done with wasting my time?” the stern looking man asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

There was no verbal response from the landlady. All he got was a glare which only fed more fuel to the fire that was his glee.

Without another spiteful word or snide remark, he left the alley and went on the hunt for flowers.

The summer sun shone brilliantly down over Saint James’s Park, near Buckingham Palace. Willow trees hung lazily over the lake as it glistened in the sunlight.

The Captain’s mother greeted him, approving his choice of clothing - thankfully not his blasted uniform.

He wore a navy blue jacket and a white dress shirt underneath with a little bit of frill. His black breeches completed the formal attire.

The Duchess did wish he’d cut his hair short, but at least he tied it back, to look presentable.

Her keen eyes then spotted the lady her son was supposed to meet with. “There she is. Now go - with haste for goodness sake.”

He growled at her as she tried to push him. The overly involved mother realised her efforts to hurry him were futile and stopped.

With a brightly coloured bouquet in hand, he approached the fine young lady.

She was blonde and had a slight frame. A pale green dress adorned her body, the long skirt flowed in the gentle breeze.

As she watched her suitor draw nearer, she reached out to him, offering her hand covered in gloves, matching the colour of her dress.

“Lady Althorpe, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The Duke bowed as he took her hand and kissed it gently.

No smile was present on his face, however his expression remained neutral, working hard not to look indignant about this entire experience.

“Your Grace,” she replied with a polite curtsey. Her eyes landed on the beautiful flowers. “For me?”

He thought that was a rather stupid question, but he gave a nod and passed the bouquet to her.

Wrapping her arms around the colourful bundle, she smelled them. “They’re lovely. Thank you, Your Grace.” The young woman curtseyed again before handing his gift to her chaperone.

A long path snaked through the verdant grass running alongside the lake. The pair began to promenade side by side.

“Your Grace, may I ask you some questions?” Lady Althorpe asked sweetly. Her voice sounded youthful - almost too much so for him.

“Of course my Lady,” he replied, trying to sound as gentlemanly as possible. It didn’t help seeing his mother in the corner of his eye walking nearby keeping her eye on them. What did she think was going to happen? Was she expecting him to ravage Lady Althorpe in public? Start acting like a pig and misbehaving in front of the young woman? Did she really think he was incapable of courting? Well, maybe he seemed incapable, but in fact he simply had chosen not to try. And if it were not for his mother’s overbearingness he still wouldn’t court anyone.

Looking at a family of swans paddling on the lake, the lady began to ask her questions.

“I know this is my first season, but I don’t recall seeing you at balls or out very much in society. What has made you want to start looking for a wife?”

Gideon would have very much liked to respond simply naming his mother as the reason for this promenade today but to save an earache from the Duchess later, he decided to lie.

“You may or may not know, but my father unexpectedly died earlier this year. Meaning that not only am I now the head of the household, but I also gained my father's Dukedom. I figured now is as good a time as any to start my search for a wife.” Every word - every syllable he spoke killed fragments of his soul, but he did it without grimacing.

“I see,” Lady Althorpe responded. “And, if you don’t mind me asking, what is your age, Your Grace?”

“Thirty, my lady,” the Duke answered.

The pair continued on their way along the path, passing by large willow trees on one side and groups of people who they shared the path with.

Occasionally some of the young women who walked by shot his promenade partner a jealous look, wishing it was them instead.

“What about you, my lady? May I ask for your age?” He knew this was her first season, so he could have a rough guess, but he was struggling to make conversation. As they walked, he kept his hands held behind his back at all times, so he did not accidentally touch her.

“Eight and ten (18), Your Grace.”

The Captain did his best not to shudder. He knew some men would prefer the company of a younger woman. But he preferred a woman who knows what she’s doing when it comes to pleasure. Too much time in brothels had spoiled him.

Looking at her, his usual sexual activities he feared would break her. Or traumatise her. Or both…

Overall, the promenade was pleasant - painful for him - but pleasant. He learned a fair bit about her, information he’d surely forget the moment he got home.

Lady Althorpe bade him goodbye with a sweet curtsey and he gave her a final kiss on the back of her hand, still wearing his stoic, expressionless face.

She left with an excited smile on her face with her chaperone.

The Duchess joined him again, the moment her son was alone.

“How did it go?”

“You were there, you tell me.”

His mother pressed her lips together in a hard thin line. She was not impressed with his sarcastic attitude.

“What was she like?”

“Bland.” His voice carried a monotonous tone indicating his severe boredom of the subject.

She rested her hands on her hips, frustrated with his attitude.

“I’m going back to the barracks tonight,” he began, the Duchess widened her eyes in panic.

“You are going to return to Mayfair-“

“By Friday - yes; to get this wretched proposal out of the way. Good day, mother.” Turning on his heel, he strode off feeling thankful that every step he took was a step further away from her interference.

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[saltbcrne]

harlon has just been granted a private audience with his grace, @vaeles.

it was a brazen idea.  brazen,  indecorous,  and all too unlikely to work,  and yet…  there harlon was,  against all odds,  standing face to face with the king of all things  —  again.  and though so very much had changed,  both between and around them,  it seemed that the racing of his rabbit heart had not.  it thumped in his chest uncomfortably,  echoing throughout his body,  threatening to drown out the precious sound of the kingsguard’s retreat.  harlon watched them out of the corner of his eye with his quivering hands clasped behind his back,  waiting for their moment of peace at last,  before finally allowing his gaze to settle once more on his new king,  and dear old acquaintance,  vaeles targaryen.

looking at him,  harlon felt something inside of him shift and buckle  —  a yielding of an unspoken sort.  powerful men made him nervous,  nervous in ways little else in this world ever could,  and there were none as powerful as he:  the war-won soldier,  the king,  the dragon,  the god.  he commanded the skies,  the seas,  and the land in-between.  it was beyond harlon’s understanding that one single person could be so important,  so immortal,  and so he focused on what he could understand.

vaeles,  above all else,  was a man made of flesh,  bone,  and sensation.  a man he’d once known,  however briefly it had been,  and a man once wanting and now willing to be alone with him still.  that,  he felt,  was more important than any other title he held.  yes,  that was something he could most certainly work with.

thus,  harlon pivoted and turned his mind’s eye towards the past.  he had not won vaeles’ favor that fated night by groveling at his feet or vying for a sliver of the power he commanded.  no,  he,  in all of his eager,  relentless,  and puppy dog-eyed enchantment,  had earned it by surrendering himself to the current of curiosity and desire they’d found themselves adrift in;  had won it by treating one of the most handsome young men he had ever seen as though he were ordinary,  despite the so very extraordinary features which suggested otherwise.

if fate had favored such a fool then,  could he not hope that it might favor him once more?  they were older now,  more experienced and made weary with time.  it did not seem so preposterous to him that a myth made man trapped in a den of vipers with vultures circling close overhead might want a reprieve from his role in the unfolding story that was his life,  even if only for a moment;  and while harlon was no warrior,  no wife to be,  and no one of any particular importance,  he did believe that this  —  the invisibility of his existence,  the freedom on offer in such undiscovered darkness  —  could be something of value,  if the king so wished it to be.

having already bet his life and whatever dignity the greyjoy name could still lay claim to,  harlon sauntered forward undeterred by convention and planted himself before his host.  he was too close for a man of his station,  too far when compared to their first meeting,  and so just right for whatever undetermined space they would occupy now.  quickly,  quietly,  and with a curious glint in his eye,  a warm wash of brown flitted about his grace’s face,  wanting to take note of everything he’d missed.  stationed so high above them all,  it was always so difficult to get a good look at the man who was to lead them.  a small voice at the back of his mind wondered if it was intentional.

“would it humor your grace to know that i almost gave your men a false name?”  he asked,  gaze caught on the scar running through the king’s lips.  that’s new,  he mused,  mind plagued by the thought of what it might feel like against his own — intrusive, irrelevant, and yet entirely compelling.  “alas,  i feared they would not think highly of such a stunt, understandably so.” harlon canted his head then, audibly jostling his dangling pearl cluster earrings as he did so, and smiled — dimpled, true, and undoubtedly kittenish. when his eyes flitted back up and landed on a rare violet bloom, they held a plea, the same one that echoed in his words: i mean you no harm. "a pity that such mischievous trickery cannot suit me as well as it once did you."

[theherosreturn]

(A.N. I said Ena but this will do)

Bradley: Well, so long as we can repel any that are threats, maybe even gain them as allies, I’m fine with more Pokemon joining us. Now…since Uzi is occupied with aiding our Miraidon friend, I’ll go check on Irida now.

(After being pointed to the room she was in, Bradley found her on the room’s bed, clearly in sorrow over her…unique situation, even as her Glaceon sits next to her)

Bradley: I take it you’re not handling this well.

Irida: In all honesty, I don’t know what to do now. With what you have said, I do believe that I am not in my current time period…while you were busy, I tried several different things that would’ve worked otherwise, but not even the nobles would respond, as if they were just…not there… (She is clearly bothered by the loss of so much she knew…)

Bradley, sitting next to her: I’ll be honest myself, I have not quite had to face a situation exactly like yours. (Irida seemed like she was about to say something, but Bradley said something first) However…I am very familiar with loss….all too familiar. In my years as the Warrior of Light, death has been at every corner, and not just foes who must be put down for one of many reasons…or civilians I couldn’t save. Indeed, I’ve lost close friends over the years. (Bradley is clearly quite somber over this, unpleasant memories all to common) Papalymo, Moenbryda, Minfillia, Haurch-…Actually…you recall how I reacted when the Analog Beast mimicked a knight and ended up enraging me? (Irida: I do…was the knight someone you remember fondly?) Very much so. His name was Haurchefant Greystone, and to say he was a friend of mine is…not really the whole truth. He was a ray of sunlight, in a sense. Eternally kind and optimistic despite knowing to keep things realistic, always willing to help others, and willing to stand with others no matter what. Heck, if he was still alive, he’d likely be making you hot chocolate by now or something like that. Alas, while we were trying to stop corrupt members of a church that held power over Haurchefant’s home of Ishgard, he ended up having to sacrifice himself to save everyone else, even his shield unable to defend against the attack he took. Even so, in his last moments, he didn’t seem to have regrets, simply telling me that a smile better suits a hero…*sighs* You know, it never truly gets easier to talk about his passing, even now. It’s easier to handle my feelings about it, but even so… (Irida can easily tell that Bradley…genuinely misses Haurchefant….) I’m sorry about the depressing story, I just wanted to explain that…well, you aren’t alone in this. I understand that you’re no doubt confused and missing those you hold close to your heart. Just know that for now…*takes hold of her hand for a moment*…you’re still not alone. If the others and I can find a way to help you return home, we will. If we can’t, then we’ll do our best to aid you regardless, as even in the worst case scenario…the sun will shine again.

(This…was not what Irida expected…but somehow…she didn’t feel so alone now)

Irida: …thank you…

Bradley: *smiles* Now then…I’m going to head back out to the others, do you feel comfortable enough to join me?

Irida: …I…I think I’ll stay close to you…for now, at least…

Bradley: Then just know that if you need some time alone, you can return here to collect your thoughts, ok?

(Irida simply nodded, her expression only a small smile. Thus, she and Bradley went to the main hall (with Irida’s Glaceon staying what was now Irida’s room for a nap). What was now going on? Something involving both ‘Raidons, apparently)

Medic, who was checking on both the "wheel" parts of the two dragons: How very interesting! In my medical opinion, zese creatures and zeir vay of transportation shouldn't be even possible! But much like zhe Bee and its round little body, zese creatures care not for such logic~!

Jackrow: Don't even think about it Doc...Remember what happened last time when you tried to experiment with the slime of a Muk and a loaf of bread?

Medic: Oh come now, It vas only just one gelatinous bread monster! Besides, I'm not going to experiment on an injured animal. I may be a hired mercenary that experiments on his fellow teammates but even I have standards!

Luz: Bradley, since you were curious what new factions we're currently dealing with, I guess I can try and explain them all briefly.

====

The Crystallized Horde: The true main threat that disturbs all natural order within the entire multiverse.

The Plagued Ones: Infected individuals turned into fungal infested undead and are lead by Plagued Killer.

The Metal Legion: A hive mind of Robotized individuals that follow every single order of Mitchel Smasher.

The Gluttonous Savages: A giant pack/clan of ravenous people turned demons that even feast upon their own kind if they become weak or show weakness and all follow The Texas Wendigo rule to a T.

The Phantom Assassins: Black cloaked assassins/killers that rarely speak and are all loyal to Shogun Rex.

The Global Occult Coalition: A fascist group who sees anyone who have powers/magic or are anomalies as "inhuman abominations" and try to kill them in anyway possible.

The Chaos Insurgency: A group of chaotic individuals who use anomalous items to cause as much madness as possible and have all joined forces with The Savage Scavengers and their much more powerful than before leader.

The Null Order: The secretive rebuilt/reborn Gray Horde that desires both revenge and total control over everything once again...And have joined forces with The Combine/Universal Union with their bases still unknown.

The Xeno Hive: The reincarnated Neo Hive with much more deadlier soldiers by the newly renamed King Xeno Blight.

The Syndicate of Steel: Same "Destroy all organic life" goals but now with a much more bigger and powerful army and a much more greater fortress...Which is also the robotized Copper 9 exoplanet from another universe.

[capiovis]

As Caius sat back and continued to watch the scene in front of him, he brought his own hand down to his groin to begin groping himself, now that the fabric of his jeans were starting to bulge and tighten as it filled up with his pulsing cock. He was nowhere near the size that he thought Joseph would end up becoming, but he had never heard any complaints with what he was endowed with so far. He pulled on his hoodie and simply watched, his gaze moving from the man's slab of dripping wet meat, to his eyes and lips. In that moment, he wondered what sort of sounds he would hear from him tonight, what words would be whispered to him when he was rutting into him on the couch. It was rare to find a man of Joseph's stature to play around with, so with a chuckle, he commented. "I'm hungry for it because it's one of the biggest dicks I've ever seen besides in porn. Finally, I'll have something to practice my deepthroating skills on." Although the concept sounded exhilarating and delicious in his imagination, it did frighten him a little to be faced with such a monstrosity. But alas, he wasn't a quitter: and he had doubts Joseph would torture him by trying to squeeze every last inch inside of him, in either of his holes.

When the larger man stood to cup his face and provide him with that sweet, chaste kiss, Caius practically melted in his seat. Coming across a muscular man with a dick like his was rare, but kissing? It caught him off-guard at first, but that gentle and dominant push was just what he needed. As their lips brushed, pressed and pecked at each others, Caius let out a soft, unhindered moan when his tongue slid out to greet its new boss. The texture, the sensation, the feeling of the man against himself had Caius practically throbbing, and he was sure Joseph could feel just how aroused he was becoming since the bulge in his jeans was now otherwise occupied by the man's tender caress. Just as the kiss came to an end, he forced himself to stand up, standing directly in front of his new companion. Caius got onto his tiptoes to rekindle their kiss, a hand rising up into the back of his neck to help direct him down. His other hand came down, seizing that weighted, fat length that was still exposed in the empty train carriage. With a skillful twist of his wrist, he began to provide him with a base-to-head full stroke, his grip firm enough to ensure an easy glide across that wet slab. Caius proceeded to move his hand repeatedly, nice and slow, but precise, churning away at that beautiful length. The train was coming to a stop now. Caius' stop. The kiss ended, but his hand remained firmly at the base, remaining stationary in order to take a firmer hold and help direct the man, guiding him away from where they stood and out of the doors. The entire station was vacant. Caius lead the man through it, purely by handling that dick, like it was his own personal leashed animal. Just as they stepped down the stairs and through the exit of the station, a heavy downpour began to fall upon them. Still, Caius was unbothered; he carried on, passing a few drunk men and homeless folk that were asking him for money, not even phased by the nude circumstance.

Soon enough, he slipped into a dark alleyway, came out the other side of the road and turned left, to enter his building. It was only then that he released his grip upon Joseph's cock; there were several flights of stairs since the elevator was out of order, but he had hoped it would give the man a nice view of his robust bubble ass that was perfectly shaped by his dark jeans. He took the stairs two steps at a time; he was at the top floor, the only apartment in the entire floor since it was the smallest, but it was cozy and it was his.

He made quick work of his front door, slid it open and stepped on inside, wasting no time in removing his clothes, starting with his sneakers and socks, his jacket, his hoodie, his shirt, but he decided to leave his jeans on, wanting Joseph to remove it himself and take what he wanted from him. "C'mon, Boss. Get naked. I want—no, I need—to see every inch of you. I need to see what I'm going to be worshipping for the next couple of hours. All of you."

Joseph had always been a businessman through and through, and he had always looked for deals that would benefit him. When he came across Caius and his own distribution of marijuana, the mob boss figured it would be easier to bring him into the fold than to chase him out. After all, the other man knew the town and who to connect with. What better way than to handle his expenses and consider him a part of his organization? In order to ensure the deal was favorable to both parties, Joseph had provided the other man a more proper and stable income, something that he could tell the other lacked at the moment. And as he was bringing Caius into his fold, it was now Joseph's responsibility to ensure the success and livelihood of the other.

As he had agreed to take him home, Joseph had accompanied Caius back on the subway. But with the train car empty and his own lustful thoughts of the younger man taking hold of himself, the mob boss thought he would have a little fun in a more public setting. It didn't take much for him to see where Caius' eyes were gazing at during their meeting, and a rather pointed gaze at his bulge made Joseph realized what the other man was hoping he was agreeing to. Once his cock was free and swaying in the air, he raised a brow at Caius to see what steps he would take now.

He wasn't even fully aroused yet, his cock still soft and swelling in size, when he watched the other man swallowed up as much of his cock as he could. Joseph rumbled in amusement, enjoying the sounds of Caius gagging and spitting on his cock. It was truly an enjoyable moment, feeling the warm, wet sensations gulping up his member. "Fuck...." he growled, one hand rubbing the back of the younger man's head as he felt Caius press his face up against his musky balls. "Breathe it in... This is what you signed up for, after all..." The mob boss made no attempts to stop the other man, even if the other man struggled a bit with his size. Joseph figured Caius knew his own limits and wouldn't push himself to take on something that would cause him harm.

Once the younger man pulled away with a loud pop, Joseph didn't give him much time to breath and recover. He had watched Caius resume his seat, only to pull him back into a firm and passionate kiss. It was deep and consuming, as though Joseph were trying to eat up the other man with his ravenous appetite. He let their tongues explore each other's mouths, unbothered that his cock was still out in the open, slick with Caius' saliva. "Glad to see that you like the taste. I haven't met anyone as hungry as you for it, but I think we'll find lots of ways for you to enjoy it. After all, now that you're under my care, I have to do my best to make sure my hungry boy's satisfied with all his needs. Isn't that right?" he chuckled, gently patting the other man's cheek when they broke from the kiss. At the offer to head back to his place, Joseph raised a brow in amusement. The large man nodded in amusement, pulling Caius back for another kiss as his hands roamed down to grope at the other's crotch. "Lead the way then. It won't do either of us any good if we wait any longer."

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

[MC, Dazai, and Isaac playing twister]

Dazai: Isaac, right hand red.

Isaac: *ends up on top of Mc*

MC and Isaac: Ok you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

Dazai: I stopped spinning like 15 turns ago. Honestly I'm surprised none of you realized sooner.

[cumberlocked4everr]

Tell Me I Still Have You...

A Sherlock x fem!reader imagine

With his best friend married and a expected father to be, Sherlock is concerned about what's going to happen next. He will experience the absent of John for a while, but he's still got you to aid him on cases and otherwise the daily life. Doesn't he?

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: None really. Mention of Sherlock's "death".

The guests were gliding, spinning and turning around the detective, the music was a little too loud for speaking, and the lights shifted between colors every second. The case had been solved, a man was arrested and taken to the station by Lestrade and the wedding could continue as it should. John and Mary were now a married couple and smiling of pure love at each other. Part of the reason was because Sherlock had just told them of their pregnancy in his usual deduction explaining method.

You were happy for them. They deserved this. Though you couldn’t help but feel a little envious. Not about marriage. That wasn’t so important. Nor that they had a baby on the way. You didn’t see yourself as the mother type anyway. No, it was the affection they had for each other. To have someone who shares your feelings and shows them in public as well as in private. This was something you had never prioritized before, but as you stood here, watching him….

It was difficult to put a word on it. But no matter how much you had tried to push it away, it only grew stronger, like your own body was taunting you. Because having a shot with him was like shooting an apple off a person’s head while blindfolded and said person running. Alas, impossible. It didn’t stop, however, that you were taking a step closer.

“Not much of a dancer either?”

You halted and turned towards the man who had approached you. It was the same guy from earlier. He had taken the initiative first and spoke to you on several occasions when you were otherwise not occupied with John’s friend almost being murdered or Sherlock’s usual rant about everything and nothing. He seemed like an alright bloke, but you weren’t interested in the slightest. But since he was kind, you chatted along with him yet again.

His eyes moved, scanning the room. Not for danger this time, more so of setting the scene. John and Mary swayed close along with everyone else. Although Sherlock enjoyed how things had been, he wouldn’t deny his friend this happiness. And both he, Mary and you had assured him that things wouldn’t change but they had to change. John had a much larger responsibility now as a husband and soon to be father. Even Sherlock knew that. But when John couldn’t trot along on cases, he would still have you. Right? The detective wondered why he asked himself that. There hadn’t been any indications that you were leaving the flat as well. So why was he uncertain of that fact?

Once his sight landed on you, he stopped moving further. You were currently in conversation with Philip from earlier. Sherlock could tell what his job was, his personal life and current living statues before Philip could tell it himself. He believed that living with two cats and working in an office all day wouldn’t be of much interest to you, but here you were, smiling and giggling at something he said. It was as if all the other people disappeared and it was only you and him.

He shook that thought out as soon as it popped in. He blamed it on the curiosity of the future, whether you would continue to stay and help on cases. It was nothing more than that he simply was accustomed to having colleagues he could actually work with.

His thoughts were interrupted when a girl bumped into him. She laughed and mumbled what could have been an excuse without meeting his eyes before continuing to dance. In fact, no one was looking at him. Everyone so occupied with each other he might as well be invisible. Though he was used to not getting the attention or being the center of a crowd except on cases, he admitted that he felt ignored tonight. Especially from his own friends. John and Mary had a somewhat excuse, this being their marriage, but you… You had never denied your fascination over him, and it was often the two of you in situations like this one because you got along. But now, some ordinary, boring he would say, man had stolen your attention.

The song ended and a new one started and in that moment, Sherlock had made a decision. If he were to just stand in the middle of the dancefloor, he might as well leave before he disturbed more people with their dance by being an obstacle in their way. But first, he had to get out of this crowd.

To be honest, it had been a long time since you had been as bored as you were right now. Philip rambled on about something at work but you had stopped listening long ago. Your eyes led you back to where you had originally been staring. Sherlock was still there, but he looked like he wanted to flee the scene. You apologized to Philip and left him before he could say more.

“You okay?”

The question caught Sherlock off guard. He hadn’t noticed you coming up to him and his expression seemed to worry you. “I’m fine,” he said quickly in hope to ease your mind.

“Alright.” You looked at each other before you both moved away, the silence of conversation getting uncomfortable.

“Do you want to dance?” Sherlock asked the question before he could think thoroughly before doing so. He expected you to say no but found himself surprised when you said,

“I thought you’d never ask.” You gave him a smile that warmed him in a different way than the room filled with people did. Sherlock found the corner of his lips curving as he held up his hand.

Yours was not too warm, nor too cold. Just the right temperature to his own and he couldn’t deny that it fitted rather perfectly in his grasp as he drew you closer to him. It felt as time moved slower when he did. Even surrounded by so many, his cologne still found its way to you. It had the same effect on you as it had for many months. Soothing, protective…

“A penny for your thoughts?” Sherlock asked after you had begun to sway to the music.

You tilted your head. “Short of deductions, Mr. Holmes?” The sarcasm wasn’t hidden in your question. You loved taunting him now and then, especially when you received those annoyed looks from him in return.

This time, Sherlock smiled awkwardly and defended himself by saying, “I attempted to make small talk.”

“You? Small talk? I thought you wanted to dance. Are you sure you’re alright?” You were a bit amused, but also confused. Sherlock had never shown any interest in such human behavior.

“Perfectly,” he stated and swirled you around once before returning to the basic position. His left hand was steady on your back while he led you with such precision and confidence you wished you had danced with him long ago. The lights seemed like they had a dance of their own as they reflected on his face. Still, his eyes shined down at you and in this moment, you felt like the most important thing in his life. Like for a minute, you had what you wanted. Him.

After the song had ended, Mary came over to steal you for a moment. She wanted to discuss the pregnancy and usual lady talk before the night ended. Meanwhile, Sherlock had withdrawn to the hall to get his coat. He hadn’t said he was leaving to anyone. Partly because he never did. He ran by his own schedule, not everyone else's.

*

No matter where you searched, Sherlock was not to be found. Neither John, Molly or anyone else had seen where he went and after discovering his absent coat, it didn’t take you long to deduce he had left. But to where?

Baker Street was your first guess, but when you found the flat empty, you thought you were back to scratch. He didn’t answer your call or text, he hardly did if it weren’t utterly important.

You decided to try the hospital next. You went through all the rooms he normally used and rooms he hardly or never were in, but came up with nothing. You were about to give up and head back to the flat and wait for his return instead when the door leading up to the rooftop stood ajar. It was supposed to stay closed, and locked, at all times and no one else was here at this time of night. Except…

Your fear rose as you walked up the stairs and out on the roof. The air was even more chilly up here and you had only a thin shawl over your shoulders. Your dress didn’t apply much warmth either, but that thought faded when you saw Sherlock standing near the edge, gazing over the city. The first thought coming to mind was unpleasant, and one you had long since tried to forget.

“Sherlock?” You approached him slowly when all you really wanted was to rush over and pull him away from the dangerous edge. He stood completely still when you came up beside him, his gaze fixed on the city lights. Your pulse raced through your body and you felt your heart hammering against your chest as one more step would have made you fall. “Sherlock, please.”

The pleading in your voice was what finally brought his eyes to you but you were now trying to not let the height drag you down. Sherlock saw the fear, not just in your eyes but in the way you shifted weight on your legs and drew closer to him. It didn’t take much of a deduction to know why you were reacting this way. Not here, not on this building. He should’ve known you would leave when you found out he had, but he didn’t know you’d find him so quickly.

“Thirty-two minutes and twenty six seconds.”

“What?” you frowned.

“It’s how long it took you to find me. Impressive. John would’ve taken at least twice as long.”

He had been timing-? Sure, he times many things but only when it’s convenient to him. So why was this important? “Well, this is his wedding night, you couldn't place blame if it took him a day or two.” Sherlock gave a “hmm” in response and returned his admiration of the night sky.

“Could we please step away from the edge?”

The detective exchanged glances between you and the free fall in front of you. He gently placed his hand on your arm and guided you a few steps back to safer ground. “Sorry.” His hand lingered on your arm still, though now would be a time to remove said contact. “Why did you come after me?”

You took a deep breath before answering. “You left without saying anything. I thought something had happened or that I did something wrong-”

“Why would you think that?” It was like you had struck him in the face the way he asked that. Before you could say more, Sherlock continued. “I eh…” he cleared his throat. “I was testing a theory, that’s all.”

“A theory? Here?”

Sherlock shrugged. “It’s a good place to think.”

A sudden, strong breeze hit your bare arms and legs, causing you to tremble. You embraced yourself in hope to warm up but it did little to not help. Sherlock’s eyes followed your movements. “Cold?” The sarcastic tone wasn’t helping. Bringing a coat with you when you left the flat hadn’t even crossed your mind.

“What gave it away?” you playfully say back to which he chuckled. “Can we just go home?” His head raised at that last word. Home. It took him a few seconds but then he agreed and together, you walked back down. Instead of taking a cab, you suggested walking for a bit. It was late and cold and probably a bad idea, but you wanted to have more time just the two of you alone before arriving back to the flat and your lives continued as normal. And damn it was cold. Your shivering only intensified the longer you kept walking but you didn’t complain out loud. The quiet of the night, with only the sounds of your shoes against the pavement was nice.

You kept your gaze on the ground or on your surroundings, not noticing Sherlock taking off his coat before you felt it over your shoulders. The instant warmth from his body met your cold one and you sighed in relief at the comfort it created. You mumbled a thank you and pulled the - his - coat closer around you. Sherlock walked in a half circle and stopped right in front of you while removing his scarf. All you could manage was to watch him as he folded it in half and placed it around your neck. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a different kind of shiver through you. He then pulled one end through the other until it wrapped nicely around your throat. “You should’ve brought a coat,” he simply said as he adjusted the length of the scarf so it covered your chest. His former teasing tone had been replaced with a softer one, one you could almost take as a concerned one. But you didn’t let yourself go there.

His scent attached to his clothes found its way to you once more and once again, it calmed you. “Yeah.” It was all you could muster to say and Sherlock returned to your side.

The silence reappeared as you kept on walking but it wasn’t as unbearable as before. You enjoyed his company and just because he was silent didn’t mean he was uncomfortable. His arm brushed against yours and still with his thick coat in between it sent electrifying waves through your whole body. You could blame the cold for walking so closely to him, but to you it was more reassuring. The closer you were the safer you felt.

A sudden honk from a car made you jump and grab his arm. Someone shouted and you saw some people down the street on the opposite side of you, waving their arms at the passing car. You kept holding onto Sherlock though. He didn’t object to the matter and it wasn’t until your heart rate had returned to its normal state that you let go.

You passed one block, then another. It would take you a while to get back, but you hadn’t meant to walk all the way. But you had passed very few cabs so far so the chance of getting one seemed slim.

“A penny for your thoughts?” You asked his own question from earlier, suddenly craving some noise and right now his voice was what you wanted to hear. You could often listen to him for hours. When others found him annoying, you found him intriguing. However, Sherlock kept quiet. “Come on, you’re never in this deep thought unless it’s of some importance to you.”

When he still didn’t say anything you grew worried. It was normal that he kept things to himself, but this time you had a feeling it had to be something bigger than information about a case. You remembered then that he mentioned a theory he had. That could be why he’s acting distant. “Don’t push me away, Sherlock. Not again.”

Not again. Sherlock felt his pulse take a few fast beats. As a man prepared to do anything, nothing had prepared him for the blow he would face when it came to you handling his fake death. That included the fact that he hadn’t meant for you to watch him fall. But you had and it was the worst sight you’d ever laid eyes on. And the following two years were the worst time to be alive.

That time still had its claws deep into your heart, and since he had come back, you had been more cautious on cases and wouldn’t let Sherlock put you in the shadows and withholding stuff anymore.

Finally, Sherlock halted and turned so his whole body faced yours. He looked at you in such a way it felt like he was reaching your soul. “Tell me I still have you.”

His words sent you off guard and you didn’t know what to say because you weren’t sure what exactly he meant by that. “I- I don’t…”

He read the confusion on your face and sighed, ready to walk on but you grabbed his arm. “Sherlock. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” He observed your state. His coat hadn’t ridden entirely of the cold from your body. “We should find a cab for the rest of the way.”

You didn’t get another say in the matter because all of a sudden, you were attacked from behind. A man caged you in his arms so tight you couldn’t get free. “Sherlock!” Before he could help, Sherlock too got caught by two others. He fought them off as long as he could, but they had the upper hand. You struggled too, not letting them capture you so easily. The man behind you brought a damp cloth against your face, pressing it against you.

Sherlock managed to knock one of them away, but the other gave him a hard blow to the head. You couldn’t see with what, but you saw Sherlock fall right before darkness closed in on you until it consumed you.

[heyhilana]

Swimming (Javi G)

Summary: After a day's work at Javi's home, you decided to go out to the private pool where Javi is laying on one of the floaties. While you only went there to tell him goodnight, he has other plans for you.

A/N: Hi lovelies! Here is the next installment that I've been working on <3 It's been so fun to write this as I love to see where I can take this to lead up to the first installment, Show Off. I don't know if I'll continue after that one, or if I'll end there but I love what I've been able to set up as of now. If you want to read the previous installments, click here. Otherwise, enjoy!

Pairing: Javi G x !f reader

Warnings: The reader daydreaming about Javi screwing her because well, can we blame her? But besides that, just a late-night swim that has that beautiful tension.

Word Count: 2k

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It was half past ten, another long day of drawing out plans for where the next clientele meeting could take place. You decided on Italy, knowing that you hadn’t been there in some time and that Javi had another home right off the coast for you two to work in. Although that would mean sharing the same house, something that hadn’t crossed your mind until you were walking downstairs. You were sure that the house would have more than enough room for you, probably enough room to house 2 families as Javi believed in the more space the better, but the idea of occupying space with him, more than just a few hours of the day, made you feel hot.

Knowing that he would only be a few doors down rather than a drive away. He would be in close proximity with you, even being able to go to your room to see how you were doing. All the dreams you had of him leaving you in a cold sweat, his name flowing out of your lips like a song, a chant even as you dreamt about the way he would hold your body, holding you up as you knew you would turn into hello from his touch, the feather like kisses that would be bestowed on you, worshiping every inch, crevice, whatever he could find with his hungry eyes. And just when he would get to the point of tearing off your panties even when you would protest about them being ruined, to which he would remind you that he could buy you another or even ten, just when his tip that pearled with precum was lined up with your pulsating core, you would wake up clutching your chest.

How you would manage to not have a dream about him knowing that he would be so close to taking care of you, fixing the growing ache that left your panties sticking to your core when he walked by you to wish you a good morning you didn’t know. Hell, maybe you would just lose it and pounce on him at his desk, rolling your pencil skirt up just as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his throbbing cock to fill you up, riding him and hoping the chair wouldn’t break or else you would just have to finish bent over his desk looking at the view while he told you that you were the prettiest and smartest partner he could have. But alas, you knew that it was just your fantasy running wild over the playboy that you wanted, well, maybe needed as the mere thought of him left you wanting to get home faster to fix yourself. But just as you were getting ready to walk out you turned to see that Javi was in the pool, laying on one of the floaties he bought a few days ago. Your legs started to move before your brain could process what you wanted and you opened the door, calling out for him.

“I thought you were going to wait to use the floaties?”

“Why wait when I can use them now?” He took a sip of his drink, and the way he basked in the night glow was enough to make you want to cross your legs. “Come here, I know you’re not going home yet.” You walked outside, looking up at the sky and seeing the full moon and bright stars shining down on you. A perfect night, a perfect man who just happened to be your partner in the pool, and you having a school-girl crush on him which made your mind go blank more times than you could count. Was this a sign to make a move? To try something with him? You weren’t sure, but you sat in one of the chairs and put your bag down, maybe letting your eyes wander down just enough to get a better look at him.

His soft curls made him look more relaxed, not the man that had to be perfectly tailored for business. The softness of his body and the slope of his belly gave him a more comforting demeanor where you could let your hair down with him, that he was soft and loving once you got past the party persona that was what he was known for. He looked at you with earnest, a smile tugging at his lips which tugged at your heart despite you just moments ago wishing that he could bury himself into you to quell the nonsensical desires that made working besides him almost unbearable. He was taking up your thoughts in either erotic or soft ways like now, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

“Well, I was going home until I saw you lounging around,” You took a sip of the bottle of water that was in your bag, needing to quench the thirst that you had although it started from Javi.

“Seems to me that you want more, maybe a swim.” You almost choked on your water when he said that, knowing that as much as you loved the ocean views you were not the best swimmer.

“That would be the last thing I would do. I may as well drown at this point.”

“Nonsense. Come on, I’ll teach you.” You felt goosebumps rising on your body. A lesson? Maybe a lesson in learning how to fend off your desire for Javi but swimming? It was perfect since your fear of swimming had to go at some point, and even more better Javi would take his time with you, not knowing that he was indulging in your need for his touch.

“You’ll teach me? Javi, the biggest boss in arms dealing is going to give me a swimming lesson?”

“If you’re going to be by my side you have to know how to swim.” It was something about the way he said by my side that made your stomach do somersaults, the longing idea of being more with him becoming a reality.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” Now it was his turn to choke as he almost choked on his drink.

“You sure there’s nothing in that drink of yours?” He pointed to your water.

“Nope. More sober than you.”

“I’m only on my second drink. I have a whole night to go before I’m making a fool of myself.” “You sure you don’t do that already?” You joked as you took off your shirt, feeling a little nervous about it all.

“You seem to like it when I do.” He answered as he took another sip, looking away to give you more comfort in undressing. You pulled off your shorts, leaving you in just your underwear. You made your way to the steps and stepped into the pool, the warm water surprising you before you saw the heaters on the sides of the pool. The water reached your chest as you walked to the slightly deeper end before Javi put his drink down and got out of the floatie. He walked to you and grabbed your hand, his hand slotting with yours perfectly.

“Ready for your first lesson?” He winked at you, and you realized with his red swim trunks he did look like a lifeguard or a swim instructor which made you smile.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He moved you down to the middle of the pool.

“First, let’s practice floating. Have you done that before?”

“I’ve tried but I usually get scared by something and then I lose focus.”

“That’s okay. I’ll keep you up and try to keep you as relaxed as possible.” His words almost made you laugh as if there was one thing Javi didn’t do to you it was keep you relaxed. In fact, he constantly awoke something in you that was primal, carnal desire that you hadn’t had with anyone else before. And it only intensified when he let go of your hand to turn to your side and placed his hand on the small of your back.

“Just trust me. Lift up and I got you.” You were trusting him, having him help you overcome your fear of swimming but also giving in to what you wanted although it wasn’t explicitly said.

“Okay, I trust you.”

“Good girl.” That little phrase flew from his lips with ease, and although you were sure it didn’t mean much to him, it meant everything to you. But you lifted up slightly, the water taking up your gravity as Javi’s hands grabbed you. You felt yourself reaching above water level with Javi’s hands on your upper and lower back.

“How does this feel?” You wanted to say that it felt like your heart was pounding out of your chest.

“It feels okay. Just don’t let go.”

“I won’t. Let’s just move around first.” He walked slowly, helping you get comfortable with moving around. From your peripheral you could see Javi looking at you with a softness only reserved for you, making sure you were okay. But mostly, you were looking at the full moon staring down back at you, following you as you kept floating to the opposite side of the pool. It was all comforting, home-like as being in this moment with Javi, no talk of work, clients, or other mind-numbing topics that could take away what you felt for him. You tilted your head to face him just as he stopped walking, his hands still holding you up.

“I’ll move one hand away. Just trust this.” He moved his hand away from your lower body and you felt yourself beginning to dip but you held yourself up, finding that you were more comfortable with the water moving with you.

“Look at you. I knew you could do it.” His free hand caressed your cheek, and you suddenly felt heat rising to your face due to his mostly innocent act. You felt his other hand leave your back, the ultimate test to your floating. You took a deep breath and relaxed, letting the water do what it was supposed to do. You beamed at Javi, proud of yourself for finally getting comfortable with the water.

“Thank you Javi, really. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I’m sure you could’ve. Smartest woman I know.” He kept caressing your cheek, making you slightly lean into it. His hand did find its way back to your upper back, and you did see him lean in to you.

“Are partners supposed to do this?”

“I think because we’re the biggest jefes in the world, we can do what we please.” He gently put you back down from floating, but his hand was still on the small of your back. Although you were in the pool you felt hot, knowing that he was looking at you with those intense cedar eyes that intimidated you as much as it excited you. You knew that you were inching closer, the line that you created on logic melting into oblivion as your lust took over, but just as his other hand find his way to your waist you moved back.

“I-I can’t. This can get c-complicated.” You did the hand motion between you and him, and while he looked sad, which you could fathom why, he obliged, getting out of the pool first and helping you out.

“Understable. Jorge will lead you to the bathroom to get dressed.” You saw that Jorge was in the house, completely ignoring the situation as he probably saw this more times than he could count.

“Thank you. Uhm, goodnight Javi.”

“Goodnight, Y/N. Text me when you get home so I know you got there safe.” He gave you a smile, although something in his eyes made you wonder if this was just lust for him, or something more. If anything, you thought that the old Javi would just have someone else on call but it seemed with you, that was all he wanted.

“I will.” It was all you said before you walked into the house, the pressing thought in your head being what would’ve been had you let him kiss you in the pool? Would you two have kissed, maybe more? Would he unleash hidden desires like you had for him? You didn’t know for sure but with how you left, turned on yet regretting leaving as you wanted to finish what was started, you knew that you wanted to make up for it later the next chance you had with him.

[purpleyoonn]

Petrichor 10 Preview

P E T R I C H O R

Petrichor /ˈpeˌtrīkôr/  (noun)

“a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.”

Summary: You had been working at Bangtan Corporation for almost two years now, and not once have you ever laid eyes on your bosses. That was, until you met them when out with some of your coworkers. Now, you almost wish you hadn’t. Almost.

Pairing: CEO BTS x Chubby MC

Genre: werewolf au, ceo au, soulmate, polyamory relationship, angst, fluff, omegaverse, a/b/o dynamics

Warnings: smut, violence, mentions of knotting, heats, ruts, workplace discrimination, fat phobia, sexism, insecurities,

Some warnings may be added to the beginning of individual chapters.

Will be updated Saturdays at 5pm PST

Masterlist // Taglist

COMING SATURDAY JULY 16TH: 5PM PST

————————————————-

“Excuse me, Minhyuk-ssi, but I think I must get my mate something to eat.” Jin had cut the man off, politely, as he noticed the glaze covering your eyes. He could smell your scent becoming darker, almost burnt, a tell-tale sign of your impending anxiety attack.

Holding you even closer to his side, he searches for the tables of the buffet he knew occupied a wall of the room every year. Upon seeing his wish, he helps you over to the table, not letting his arm leave you as he makes you a plate of the small hors d'oeuvres before bringing you to a round table that has his name covering two of the plates

“Talk to me my love. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.” Jin pleads with you, hating the sight of your impending shut down. They’ve all noticed that you would rather remain silent over what bothers or upsets you, feeling like you would burden them otherwise, which was absolutely false.

“It’s nothing Jin. I promise.”

“So, it isn’t about the envious looks of jealousy you are receiving?” He raises an eyebrow at you, a little upset that you wouldn’t share what had you so uncomfortable.

He was not oblivious to the looks that you were receiving, nor was he going to stand back and let his mate feel the depth of those stares. Taking control of the situation, he chose to do what he wanted, pulling you out of your chair and placing you in his lap. You had gone to protest only to receive a tight grasp to your thigh and a look of warning. You bit your lip as you watched him move your small plate closer, and reluctantly opened your mouth so he could feed you from his hands.

You were hot as you sat in his lap, one hand covering the expanse of your thigh while the other fed you small pieces of fruit and bread. His full attention on you as he watched you chew and swallow each piece. Feeding you brought so much satisfaction to his wolf that he could feel the rumbles beginning to grow in his chest at the thought of providing for you in such an intimate and domestic way.

Plus, he reveled in the anguish of the people causing his mate distress. Watching them as they try to hold themselves back from causing a scene at the sight of his mate on his lap, and not them. He couldn’t help but smirk, hearing their upset and jealous whispers. Jin couldn’t help but want to stir them on more, to prove to everyone in the room that you were his, even if they already knew it.

He couldn’t help but want to stake his claim on you 24/7. He wanted to ravish you against the table, mark your skin with his lips and cum so the entire world would know you were his. Alas, he had to settle for something on a smaller scale to move with your own comfortability. He moved forward, nosing at your neck, still smelling his scent on you. Letting out a little groan, he pressed his lips to your skin, feeling the harsh swallow at his touch. 

“Jin, what are you doing?” Your breathing was becoming inconsistent and shallow, the stares on you making you all too aware of what your mate was doing.

You didn’t receive an adequate answer, only another open mouth kiss placed on the side of your neck, your pulse felt underneath the caress of his lips.