#And then I was just thinking about the lapels on his coat again - does he flip them up? Are they just naturally like that?

[zayne-li]

Cross posted on AO3, may be edited in the future, it was written very shortly after the game actually came out.

Explicit, MDNI.

Zayne gets injured, MC saves him, and Zayne has very normal feelings about it.

Feelings like: femdom, etc.

"Zayne! Zayne! Can you hear me? Come on, get up, you have to get up, we need to go now!"

The world is fuzzy at the edges, and there's a tinny sort of ringing in his ears, but he hears his hunters voice. She's upset. Why?

Arms stronger than they should be tug at the lapels of his white doctors coat, dragging him up off the concrete, and he blinks hard several times. His head is swimming. 

Zayne groans, deep and low as his awareness slowly returns, able to blearily look around and recall that right, yes, we were at my favorite sweets shop... And then...

"I know it hurts, Zayne, but I really, really need you to get up right now." That's her voice again, and then he can see her. Right in front of him, holding him halfway off the ground. There's blood smeared across her lips, cheek, and eye, and her hair is ashy with dust, no hint of the real color underneath it all. 

It occurs to him that it's concerning he can't recall what exactly has happened. Was it Wanderers? Some sort of accident? A weak cough escapes him as his shoes scrape across the loose pebbles on the road. 

Everything hurts. Like one giant bruise all over his body. But he is slowly regaining his senses. He does have at least that.

All around them is destruction: rubble and dust and shouts for loved ones piercing through the fog. The air smells and tastes metallic as his hunter helps him up onto shaky feet, hoisting one of his arms over her shoulder and wrapping the other around his middle.

"Can you walk? We need to get you to Akso now."

Her pupils are blown, and eyes wild. It's a look he hasn't seen on her before. Despite the pain and danger they are in, there is something about her in this very moment(maybe the blood, the adrenaline, this demeanor he's never seen before) that makes his gut clench.

Ought to dissect that later, he thinks. Then again, perhaps not.

"Akso?" His voice is rough, throat sticky with dust.

"Yes, you broke at least two of your ribs in that explosion, you need medical care, do you understand?" 

His eyes drop down to hers, and he realizes just how much they are touching in this moment. All the way from their feet to her head, becoming a long line of heat down the right side of his body.

What timing, Doctor Li.

"I understand." He confirms to her, and plants his gaze firmly ahead of them, forcing his attention onto the task at hand rather than the way that look in her eyes makes him feel.

--

Weeks later he is still recalling that day, though who can blame him, confined to bed rest as he is? Three broken ribs and a full month of leave from the hospital, it's difficult to find ways to entertain himself. 

Zayne closes his eyes and he sees her covered in sweat, that single minded determination carving deep lines into her face. If she'd had to, she would have dragged his limp body to the doors of the hospital. It was a look that told him, "I'm not losing you too. Not today." It was that look that had given him the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

It aroused him deep in his gut, somewhere he hadn't even known existed. 

It was disturbing, in more ways than one. 

He'd begun to have dreams. 

Dreams of her coming home to his apartment, the door closing with more force than necessary, her dirty boots crossing through the kitchen with purpose. And when she found that purpose, she would have that same look on her face. In some of the dreams she'd still have blood on her face, and she'd lick the droplets away, just as she did while she labored to save his life that day. 

She would grab him by the knot of his tie, stifling his surprise with a bruising kiss, plundering his mouth like a woman starved, using her unexpected strength to push him back against the wall, to cover him with her smaller frame. He would moan into her throat and her lips would curve into a smile against his. 

One night, he wakes around four in the morning after dreaming of his hunters battle lust and he finds himself in an uncomfortable, sticky mess.

Zayne knows he loves her. He has since he was a boy, that has never changed, but through the years, his crush has waxed and waned, but remained fundamentally childlike. It hasn't been until they reconnected this past year that he'd even begun to let his thoughts drift to more unsavory places. And now... Well he determines that this new... Discovery of his remain well and firmly hidden. 

Her presence in his life is too precious to waste with his depraved imagination. 

After all, while he's been bored and cooped up in his apartment, with strict instructions from every person in his life to "Sit and rest, for once!" She has been visiting him almost daily. Usually not for long, as her own work keeps her extraordinarily busy(he supposes he's never noticed just how hard and much she works before, because he himself is often entrenched in his own), but always with an easy smile and some sort of treat for him. Chocolate, or cookies, one afternoon a little fruit tart from a vendor she passed on her way to see him.

Most of the time, it is no challenge for him to recognize that her friendship is far, far too valuable to risk losing. 

Today, she knocks on his door, and when he opens it, he almost forgets. 

She's a mess. 

There's a fairly large, but shallow cut across most of her face, from her cheek down to her chin, her hair is pulled up haphazardly, the leather glove she normally wears is missing, and her clothes, though neat, have small tears across one of her knees, and her shoulder. 

Zayne swallows before he greets her. 

"Difficult day?" 

She exhales a chuckle. "Just a long one, sorry. I was going to go home to clean up, but by then it would have been pretty late, and I was already nearby when I finished, so I thought I'd just uh... Drop in." 

She's sheepish, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand, and Zayne forces himself to look away, making eye contact with the corner of the wall instead. There's a chip in the paint. 

"Really, you needn't trouble yourself on my behalf, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You require rest as well as I." 

What would it feel like, right now, to have her press up against him? Warm. Solid, he thinks. Would she grab him by his jaw? Turn his face this way and that? 

He imagines how she would taste. Salty and metallic, he thinks, especially now. His hunter, shoving him onto his back in his bed, she would be impatient, barely taking the time to undo their pants before sheathing herself on his cock, using her palms on his chest for leverage to fuck herself as she pleased. 

"Yeah, well then we might as well rest together, huh?"

She pulls him from his depraved thoughts.

Zayne realizes that the heat between his legs, if not controlled soon, will become a much larger problem(no pun intended).

"You have quite the knack for turning phrases, you know." His tone stays even, and he turns away, inviting her inside without another word, his excuse being the television in his living room that needs muting. 

"And you never have this much time off. It's kinda fun, really." 

He hears the click of the door shutting, and the turn of the lock. 

"I brought you something, too."

Thud on the kitchen counter. Whatever it is, it sounds hefty. While he pretends to look for his remote, he adjusts himself in his pants, burning with shame for this predicament. 

"What is it this time?" 

"Brownies! Salted caramel flavored. They're my favorite."

She appears quite suddenly in the corner of his vision, and he jumps, feeling his face grow hot. 

"Thoughtful as always." He smiles, and hits the mute button on another story of wanderer attacks. 

His hunter frowns, leaning her body around to get a good look at him. 

"Something's wrong. What's wrong?" Her tone leaves no room for arguments, and Zayne's eyes go a bit wide just for a moment. 

"What makes you think anything is wrong? Other than my broken ribs?" He doesn't realize it, but he imitates her in the way he tilts his head. The mirth in her eyes makes his chest ache. 

"You're blushing, Doctor Zayne." Her tongue pokes out from between her teeth with her smile. 

"Perhaps I'm coming down with a fever." He counters. 

She squints, but moves away, rolling not just her eyes, but her whole head. "Oooh-kay. Then perhaps I should leave, huh? Keep you from spreading your virus all over Linkon?" 

His mouth opens, but he has no immediate response. 

"Uh-huh." She oozes with smugness. 

God he wants her. Whether in his dreams, or right now, either will do. He's wanted her for so long. And now she's so close. Zayne feels his entire chest go tight with longing. He wants everything with her. For her. 

He wants her to be with him always. If he could put a tiny little hunter in his pocket and keep her there he would, just so he could pull her out when he likes to soothe the ache in his soul that she both creates and fills in equal measure.

He wants her just like this, messy and stinking of rain and sweat and blood, he wants her sweetness, her humor, her easy charisma.

And God he wants her to claim him. He wants the battle lust, her fingernails deep in his scalp, the stinging on his back. He wants her to take whatever she likes from him, his body, his soul, his everything. 

"I wasn't blushing. You are mistaken." Somehow he keeps his voice even and calm, though inside he fights to keep from pouncing on her. 

Down, boy.

Recognition flashes across her face. 

And then a flurry of emotions he has trouble naming. Confusion, shock, and something else he can't define, but it reminds him of the day they were in that explosion, and she became someone he didn't know. 

His hunter steps forward, further into his space, and on instinct, Zayne steps back, his swallow loud in the quiet apartment. 

She must see something on his face. Fear, he thinks. And her expression of bewilderment changes as her gaze flickers rapidly across his features, first his eyes, his mouth, the bob in his throat, the fist clenched at his side, and then back to his mouth.

Her movements are slow as she takes another step forward, as if she's afraid to spook him, like one would a wild animal. She grabs the front of his shirt, and he swallows back a whine. 

His hunter sees this too.

"Why haven't you said anything?" 

"You frighten me sometimes."

Do I, Doctor Zayne?" Her eyes are dark, and she pulls him down to her, tilting her head just so, and holds him a hairsbreadth away from her lips.

He can taste her breath. It makes his knees weak. God, if you are there, don't wake me from this dream.

[matchamiko]

lol neuvillette just sucking ur nipples or smth is enough to have u going a bit insane right??? RIGHT????

Giggling so hard rn

Warnings: breast worship/play, dry humping, mentions of masturbation, mentions of penetrative sex; previously established relationship.

If there’s one thing Neuvillette is, it’s thorough. You ask him about one of his trials after he returns from the Opera Eclipse, and he’s talking for hours about every piece of evidence in the case; you shyly ask him to brush your hair and he’s producing several combs and brushes and an oil to massage your scalp; he decides to take you on what humans call a date, and you’re trekking through the purple fields in the countryside to the most darling little picnic spot and dining on pastries until dusk, and then returning to the city to stroll about the fountains and gardens arm in arm with the promise of a mightily thorough kiss at the end.

And he’s no different when playing your body like a fiddle. He's got you folded into his lap, office door locked, blinds only half drawn but there's no danger of anyone looking in, not when he's so wrapped around you that it's hard to seen even a glimpse of your bare skin. It started as a visit for tea, the leaves you brought from your village in the Vale fresh and still warm from being dried over a fire, chatting idly in the way you two did that Neuvillette found so refreshing and simple. Then it led to you shyly asking for a kiss, having missed him so dearly and so wantonly, shown in the way you gripped his lapels and leaned further into him with a questioning sigh and an answered grunt. And now, you're half dressed spread over his thick thighs, his coat strewn next to the two of you and his gloves somewhere with it.

"Let me taste you," he murmurs against the column of your throat, hands running up the length of your back and down again, squeezing your hips into a dizzying grind. Your breasts press deliciously against the cotton of his shirt, nipples slipping and rubbing over his chest and every time you shudder with pleasure, Neuvillette basks in the way you arch harder into him like a cat. You feel wonderful, writhing over his groin and trying not to let your darkest desires overtake you like you so often did. The precious little tea farmer he'd befriended and then courted and then decidedly and silently pledged himself to; you're full of dirty secrets and filthy wants that has him spiralling into territories he'd never even thought about before. And your tits were one of them, to put it frankly.

He's fucked you before, numerous times, to your hearts content and more often than not, to your dictation and command. It wasn't surprising that your precious Iudex wasn't particularly well versed in human seduction, and you bravely stood up to the task you had completely made up, of showing him everything you desired and introducing him to everything he desired. But today, in the secrecy of his office, the knowledge that just outside the doors, people mill about and wait for an appointment with him; Neuvillette steps away from his duties and demands the feel of your supple skin against his teeth.

"I admit," a hand grasps the fat of your breast, squeezing roughly with the whoreish rhythm you have going on with your hips, "I've been thinking often about having you like this, desperate and desiring me all from the touch I give you here," fingers pluck at your nipple before he dips his head and takes it into his mouth. He's done this before, too many times to count, but with him being fully dressed and you an absolute mess in his lap; it feels different, raw and unfiltered in the wavering sanctity of his office. You can feel Neuvillette's tongue flattening over your nipple, swirling and curling like he does between your legs and it sends you arching into him, further into his reclined figure and deeper into his lap. A dizzying moan leaves you chest when you feel the hot, hard press of his cock through his trousers, confined in such a way that it's mind numbing when you grind against it. He pulls back for a second, looking up at you with hair strewn about his face, cheeks red and ears redder, panting hot and wet against your skin.

"Don't stop, please," he doesn't care for your politeness, doesn't care for your request, doing as he pleases with your body; one hand gripping your bottom and urging you to grind against him, and the other grasping meanly at your tit. Neuvillette seems positively ravenous this afternoon, though it should have been obvious in the way he allowed you to push him over to the settee and mount him without asking.

"I'm plagued with thoughts of you during matters that I should be attending to, important matters that garner my fullest attention and yet -," he suckles a bruise into the swell of your breast, held firm by his hands, squishing them together and nuzzling into the crevice between, breathing deeply enough to shudder, "All I can think about is you, what I want to do to you the next time we are alone, the next time you allow me to have you in such undignified ways," you're shaking when he regains his focus and takes your nipple into his mouth, tugging and nipping and gnawing like he does on his bottom lip when he's concentrating, suckling hard before letting go with a pop - allowing you to take a gasping breath and to look down at how positively enthralled he is at he taste of your doughy flesh,

"You don't need to be so formal while you're playing with my tits Neuvillette," you've always been more straight forward, more brash and crude, than him; having grown up in the countryside, in another nation, a whole other life to the one he leads. He leaves a wet trail from his tongue over your nipple, catching it between his sharp teeth and tugging enough to make you whine lowly, "I - can't stop thinking about you too, 'specially when I'm on my own," the implication is implicit but Neuvillette surges up into you, hips strong and knocking into yours with a grunt. He's filled suddenly with images of you writhing in your bed, hand stuffed between your thighs, fingers wet and slick in your cunt - the same he can feel pulsing and purring over his lap.

"Tonight, I've cleared my last appointment so I can spend it with you," he gasps, lips swollen from their assault on your breasts, eyes unfocused and pupils blown wide with want "After supper, after I spoil you like I have promised; you are showing me everything you do when you are alone and desperate for me,"

[kimsohn]

𓇼 7:42 pm

pairing . sunwoo x gn!reader about . 559 words, fluff warnings . fire mentions

sunwoo doesn't think too much of it when he sees the firetruck pulled up at his apartment complex. his neighbor's cat, missy, tends to get stuck in the trees a lot, so seeing a lone firefighter every other month or so is a normal occurrence for him.

he does get a little worried though when he sees the smoke floating out of the window. especially since he lives on the fourth floor and that window has suspiciously familiar curtains framing it.

the elevator's preoccupied by the firefighters, so he has to jog up the stairs. by the time he's reached his floor, with a sinking feeling that the universe has it out for him today, he's out of breath and heaving.

he stops breathing though once he sees you, sitting on the bench next to the elevators.

his steps become urgent, and before he knows it, he's kneeling down in front of you. your head is in your hands, so you don't really notice his presence until he places a hand on your shoulder.

"what happened?"

the hands framing your face fall to the side, and you gaze at him with a guilty expression.

"i was trying to make something nice for you. a strawberry cake, since it's your birthday, but it kind of backfired."

you stare at his opened door, watching the firefighters jostling around, but his eyes never leave your frame, scanning incessantly to make sure you're okay.

"you didn't get hurt, right?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer. you suppose it'll help him feel reassured if you say it out loud though, so that's exactly what you do.

"i'm fine. i called the emergency department as soon as i noticed the fire. your kitchen might be worse in shape though..." you trail off, already failing to meet his gaze.

you two sit there in silence for a couple of minutes. you think he's going to hate you, break up with you, chew you out and then kick you out of his life, but instead, he does the opposite.

he brings you in for a hug.

"i'm sorry," you say, voice shaky against the lapels of his coat, "i'm really, really sorry. for fucking up your birthday and your apartment. if you never want to see me again—"

"stop it," he interrupts, clutching onto you a little tighter, "don't even think about saying that. i love you, and yes it'll be an inconvenience having to find another apartment, but you and your safety is a thousand times more important to me."

he listens as your erratic breathing slows, until you're calm and your sniffling stops.

"happy birthday. and i love you too," you murmur. "i love you more than that stupid strawberry cake i was trying to make."

he laughs as he pulls away, resting his palms on your shoulders.

"we can get that cake from the store, baby. and we can light the candles in your apartment instead and passionately make out afterwards. it'll be like nothing went wrong."

"knew i started dating the right guy. we can gaslight ourselves into thinking this never happened, if you ignore the big dent in your bank account from insurance."

he deadpans, standing up.

"just do me a favor, okay? let me be the housewife in the relationship. stay far away from the kitchen, please."

"hey!"

[fox-guardian]

I am asking about the stoker swap au

In short, it's an AU in which Danny survives his encounter with The Stranger and goes to work at the institute instead of Tim! Tim is still alive, Danny has NO formal qualifications to be working at the institute, and Tim is So Stressed because he lied on his applications. Danny takes on Tim's role in the institute, while Tim gets increasingly worried for his safety <3 That part does not get easier when he actually moves down to the archives <3

and now because i was thinkin real hard about it and got bored of just typing roughly the same synopsis over and over again, HAVE SOME DOODLES TOO <3 three things i've already written and one i Really Want To Write So Badly But It's So Far Away <3

[ID: Four drawings on a soft lavender background featuring Magnus Archives characters. The first is a drawing of Danny Stoker after falling down a ladder leading up to an attic. He is dressed in academic clothing and is on his back, with his lower body still partially on the ladder. One foot is on a rung and the other is sticking out in the air. He looks to be in pain and he has swirls for eyes and little bees are flying around his head. Next to him are Jon, also dressed academically and holding Danny's coat, and an old woman wearing a black dress and a shawl. She looks at Danny with concern and Jon is startled by Danny's fall, visibly jolted.

The second drawing shows Danny and Sasha, both dressed academically, sitting at her desk looking at a computer screen. Danny is slouching with a horrified expression, while Sasha smiles, looking chipper. The computer is labelled "the horrors".

The third drawing shows Danny and Elias sitting across from each other at Elias' desk. They are both wearing black suits with ties and both have slicked back hair. Elias is smiling politely at Danny with his hands folded on the table, and Danny is smiling confidently back at him with his hands folded in his lap. Over the drawing is multiple faded drawings of Danny in different forms of panic. One has him sweating and screaming "I'm Doomed" with his hands in his hair, another has him looking oddly calm and posed like a corpse with a bouquet of flowers over his chest saying "This is the day I die", and the last one has him bent in half, laying face down in a puddle of tears, clawing at the floor, with his feet out in front on either side of him. "Crying noises" is written above him.

The last drawing is of Tim and Elias. Tim is gripping Elias by the lapels, yelling in his face with a furious and challenging expression, while Elias is sweating nervously and holding his hands up defensively, looking confused and afraid. His glasses are broken and bent and one of his eyes is swollen half-shut. end ID]

~~~~

the first two drawings are from danny's first field work outings with jon and sasha respectively, the third is from his first interview with elias, and the last is a scene i haven't written yet that takes place directly after the prentiss incident, in which tim confronts elias for putting his employees (read: danny) in danger and then punching him in the face <3

i really wanted to draw tim super mad because i never draw those kinds of expressions and i think he deserves to punch elias in the face <3 i don't think he'd be Quite like that in the written scene itself but it was v fun to draw

[heliads]

Someone's Brother, Someone's Sister

Based on this request: "y/n’s motivation for joining the dregs is that she has a sister with a work contract with pekka rollins. she wants to break into pekkas office and destroy her sisters contract. when kaz finds out he talks about his brother and y/n gets the impression he’s projecting his relationship into theirs and she resents that?"

masterlist

It is surprisingly easy to enter the home of the Dregs. The building affectionately referred to as the Slat looms on the horizon; oil lamps shine in its crooked windows like gap teeth, and the stones and brick of the exterior are unwashed and dark with soot. All who pass by it do so with great unease, tugging coat lapels over mouths lest the devil get in on a stray word that wasn’t a prayer for salvation. 

You would think it would be some kind of impenetrable fortress, but you walk right in. There are guards loitering by the door, relaxed in the knowledge that someone who wanted to be here would have tried to kill them already, and any intruder who wasn’t trying to start a fight would lose their money if not their life when they tried to leave again. People don’t just bother the Dregs. You beat them or you die trying. There is no peaceful coexistence.

The wooden boards creak under your feet, but no one casts you longer than a fleeting glance before moving on to better, brighter things. It would be a stupid idea to come here unless you were invited. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy for you to navigate up to the top floor, taking the staircase level by level until the stitch in your side tells you that you’ve reached the summit.

Kaz Brekker is not expecting you. Not officially, anyway. Still, for someone who supposedly has no idea you’re coming, he looks rather unsurprised when you enter his office after knocking once on his door. You think you see a flash of black at his window, but when you double take, it’s gone. Kaz does not acknowledge the shadow’s absence any more than he points out your presence.

Instead, he tilts his head back, knocking a wave of raven-black hair from his cold gaze. “Can I help you?”

It’s a pleasant thing to say. Were it not for the fact that he’s eyeing you like you’re a lamb before the slaughter, you’d almost believe that he genuinely does want to help you. However, this is, of course, the Barrel, and no one would go out on a limb for anyone unless they had an idea of a pound of flesh they could extract for themselves.

“I have a younger sister,” you begin.

Kaz cuts you off irritably before you can progress much further than that. He waves a gloved hand, annoyed already, which isn’t a good sign. “Everybody does. Do you know how many people beg me for jobs every day? There are scores of brothers with mouths to feed in this city. If I wanted to help someone’s sick mother or dying cousin, I would run a hospital, not a gang. Get a better excuse or get out.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “Fine. I know someone working in Pekka Rollins’ office. Is that better?”

Kaz lifts one shoulder. “I have spies already.”

“Not this one,” you tell him. “My sister works in Pekka’s buildings every day. Cleaning, polishing, that sort of thing. Who knows the kinds of papers she might see? Or the people feeding him information? No one suspects the help.”

“I don’t need you to tell me the importance of spies in the shadows,” Kaz scoffs, but he’s less dismissive than before. Good. You need this to work, even if it’s a sob story he’s both heard and told time and time again.

“Is that why you sent some of your men to follow my sister and I?” You ask slowly.

Dirtyhands doesn’t smile. Kaz might, though. When the corners of his lips twitch upwards, you’re not sure if it’s a declaration of his good humor or just an indication of a wolf ready to feast on blood and gore, but either way, it’s better than the barren stare.

“Why would I send my own Dregs after a maid and her sister?” He questions you.

You meet his gaze coolly. “Because you were already looking at us as a potential source of information. I’m here to accept your job.”

“I haven’t made an offer,” Kaz points out.

You shrug. “Don’t, then. There are plenty of other gangs in the Barrel. I just need a way to get my sister out of Pekka’s grasp before it’s too late. If you won’t help, I’ll find someone else who will.”

Kaz leans forward slightly. “It isn’t the best idea to flaunt your disloyalty. If you’re just as willing to go to other gangs, why should I trust you in mine?”

“I’m as loyal as I need to be once I’m hired. Once that happens, you won’t have a reason to doubt either of us. That I can promise.” 

He cocks his head at you, considering this. “Making your sister into an informant could kill both of you. One misplaced sense of familial duty isn’t worth the agony Pekka Rollins could cause you if you fail.”

“It would be worse not to try,” you assert. “I owe her that much.”

Something passes over Kaz’s face, a shadow of something he won’t say aloud. For someone who’s heard this story before, he seems affected by it regardless. Perhaps that’s why he’s so cold and calculating outright; if his candidates are scared off by him, they won’t trouble him with their siblings and parents and relatives any longer.

At last, Kaz places his hands carefully on the desk. “I have entertained the possibility of your sister feeding me information before,” he admits, “I consider it for every new hire of his. You were already a possibility before you even knew I existed.”

He proves this statement by pulling a piece of paper out of his desk. You scan it quickly, realizing it’s a contract with a blank at the bottom for you to sign. “And what, me showing up sealed the deal?”

He nods indifferently. “It proved you were willing to face the risk of this job. I don’t want my spies to be cowards.”

“Trust me, you’ll find that both of us are brave enough,” you tell him, and sign the contract with a flourish. 

Kaz takes the paper back, eyeing you appraisingly. “I suppose we’ll find that out soon enough.”

He’s as good as his word. Not two days have gone by before you’re given a set of instructions. Your sister must find a select document in Pekka’s office while she’s cleaning and report back a series of names to you, who will in turn feed the information to Kaz. Your sister already informed you that she would be more than fine with taking this sort of risk if it would get her out, but you can’t help a knot of guilt from twisting around your stomach when you think of the disastrous consequences should she get caught in the act.

She isn’t caught, though, and soon enough you’re hurrying back to the Slat. Kaz looks microscopically more welcoming on your second visit, but this quickly shuts down when, instead of telling him your sister’s information, you start out instead by telling him that you want your sister out of Pekka’s grasp in a month or less.

“That’s absurd,” Kaz says flatly. “Why would I terminate such a useful asset?”

“Because I want her safe, and even if you won’t have her, you’ll still have me as a member of the Dregs, and I’ll be more familiar with Pekka than most of your other employees,” you argue. “Besides, you had me sign a contract, not my sister. She has no responsibility to you.”

He arches a brow. “And how exactly would you go about removing Pekka’s influence from your sister? He’s not the kind of man who gives up easily, that I can assure you.”

“It won’t be that difficult,” you assure him, “my sister’s a maid, not one of his higher level employees. I just need to get in his office so I can destroy the contract she signed with him. After that, he’ll have no reason to keep her around, and he’ll still be under the impression that she knows nothing, so she’ll just slip out from his fingertips.”

“Of course,” Kaz muses sarcastically, “it shouldn’t be any trouble at all to get into Pekka Rollins’ office. It’s not as if that office has been the object of my attention for quite some time.”

“So we’ll make a heist out of it. Fine. Send other guys with me, we can take money or documents or whatever while I tear up the contract. One month, though, and she’s out.”

Kaz is silent for some time. “You really think you can protect your sister from Pekka Rollins? No one can. No brother is strong enough to protect their family from him.”

“I have no brothers to protect me,” you whisper, “just me. If I lose my sister, I have no one.”

“You are not the only one,” he says slowly, “with no one. You would not be the first one to underestimate what you’re getting yourself into. This sort of thing can drown you.”

He shivers when he says drown, a whole body spasm. You’re not sure that he’s aware of it. You’re not even sure that he is aware of you anymore. Wherever Kaz is, it’s not here, not anymore. He is in the thrall of some memory you could not dream of understanding.

“You can’t keep anyone safe from Pekka,” Kaz mutters. “You can’t. He couldn’t. J–”

He cuts himself off abruptly, knuckles curled into such tight fists that you almost expect the gloves to tear. Instead, he speaks up again, voice hoarse but controlled. “You may try. The information. Now.”

You tell him what your sister learned, afraid to hold back anything. When you leave the room, Kaz looks unsettled again, eyes wide and haunted. There is something he knows about Pekka Rollins that he will not tell you, something he’s reminded of whenever you speak of your sister.

You see this shadow of his again and again in the coming weeks. Sometimes it lingers for longer. Other times he blinks it away in a flash and he’s back again like nothing ever happened. When one month passes and your deadline comes to save your sister, he actually agrees with a plan to break into Pekka’s office. You weren’t entirely expecting him to accept such terms, but you think there is something compelling him to do this more than mere greed.

Then again, maybe greed is all. When the announcement is delivered to a select group of Dregs that you’ll be breaking into Pekka’s office, Kaz gives no mention of your sister nor her contract. In fact, when you bring it up to him, he just waves his hand and listlessly says that you can do what you please in there so long as you don’t ruin the mission.

At the beginning, maybe this casual dismissal would have stung, but you’ve grown accustomed to Kaz’s varying tempers by now, so you nod and take your leave. He’s standing by his window when your group leaves. You can see his silhouette when you look back, and although he’s too far away for you to see much other than a black shadow against the gold of lantern-light, you can sense the deep furrow of his brow as if he were right there before you.

Kaz is not your concern now, though, the heist is far more important. Still, you can’t help but turn to Inej Ghafa, who was appointed to lead this little expedition, and ask her why Kaz isn’t coming with you. It’s a foray into the stronghold of his enemy, why wouldn’t he be there?

Inej has always been kind to you, and the soft downturn of her frown when she speaks to you emanates calm sympathy. “He doesn’t want to mess with your task,” she says simply, “Not what the rest of us are doing, but how you’re freeing your sister. He says he doesn’t fare well with family disputes, not when Pekka’s around.”

You shake your head. “That makes no sense. Kaz isn’t superstitious. He doesn’t believe in luck, bad or otherwise.”

Inej lifts a shoulder, the movement a ripple of shadow against shadow in the dark of night. “I know. It’s all he’d tell me, though.”

You can feel her eyes on you even after the conversation ends, even after you walk away. So Kaz is afraid to mess with this, then. If you dared to put a finger on it, you think it might– well, it might even have to deal with Jordie.

You’re not entirely sure that Kaz is aware he has spoken the boy’s name aloud. It took him a long time, many long nights and early mornings. He has taken to musing and mumbling when you’re there. On one of those times, you heard a name. Jordie. Between that and his unnatural fixation on your relationship with your sister, you’ve been able to guess at a story. You may not be aware of any other Brekkers in the city, but that does not mean there were never any before you joined the gang.

The air inside Pekka’s headquarters is fraught with peril. Still, your sister’s information is good, and you’re able to find your way to the man’s office without too much trouble. There’s a filing cabinet in the back, full of contracts, and you quickly leaf through them to find your sister’s. You burn it with the very candle on Pekka’s desk, and after thoroughly checking to make sure there are no duplicates, you rejoin the rest of the gang without another word.

Kaz is waiting for you when you come back. The rest of you stole other important documents from Pekka’s office, just as you proposed when you first mentioned your need to liberate your sister, but Kaz quickly shoos everyone out of his office but you.

He sits there, stiff as a corpse, and stares at you. “Did it work?” He asks hollowly, “Did you save her?”

You nod. “The contract was destroyed. She’s safe.”

“The contract may be gone, but there’s no telling of her safety,” Kaz muses, half to himself, “No one is safe, not really. You think you’re alright and then he disappears, and then it’s over.”

You close your eyes for a moment of strength, but when you force them open again, Kaz still has the same weary expression on your face. It’s starting to rub you the wrong way, if it hasn’t since the first day. “My sister is fine, Kaz. I’ll find her work somewhere else. We’ll both be okay.”

Kaz’s eyes flash to you. “How can you promise her safety? You can’t do anything to save her. Not here.”

“I just did,” you argue, “I destroyed the contract. I did it. Pekka’s hold on her is over.”

“And what about the rest of us?” Kaz questions. “Can you find the rest of our contracts, too? Can you act like a Saint and save all of us?”

His tone is bitter, mocking. It cuts you to the bone. “I’m not your Jordie, Kaz. I can’t fix you.”

“I know,” he says, the words gut-wrenching, “I know.”

You stand abruptly. He does nothing to stop you. “I’m still honoring my contract,” you tell him, “I’ll carry on as a Dreg unless you kick me out. But don’t you ever even think about putting my sister in harm’s way. Her days as a spy are over.”

Your rooms seem even smaller than usual that evening, despite the fact that your sister is overjoyed at the thought that her life won’t be at risk anymore. In every one of her smiles, though, you hear Kaz’s warnings rattling in your ears. You can’t protect her. None of us can. Who are you to think otherwise?

You still show up at the Slat. You’re given jobs from down the ladder of command, never from Kaz himself. You haven’t haunted the top floor office in days, then weeks. It is fine, sort of, except for the fact that you do not want it to be just fine, you want– you want him, and that’s not what you expected at all.

A month goes by with no word from him, and then one night you’re out strolling by the harbor, looking over at the relentless surge of the tides, and he materializes from the gloom to stand there beside you.

He doesn’t look at you at first, just stares out at the water. “Your sister is alright.” Not a question, just a statement. You wouldn’t be surprised if he has taken it upon himself to find out that information already.

“Yes,” you answer.

He tilts his head up to stare at the empty sky. “This city has a way of wrecking us. You have enough bad turns and you think they’ll never end. You don’t trust it when someone has something good. I have been waiting for your rescue attempt to be ruined. It hasn’t.”

You nod. “Not all good things are a trap, Kaz.”

“I know,” he says, “I know. I’m sorry.”

You glance over at him in surprise. Dirtyhands doesn’t apologize. Kaz might, though.

Kaz meets your gaze for a second longer, then starts to walk away. “My door is open,” he tells you over his shoulder, then disappears back into the gloom of night once more.

You watch him until he’s long gone, then turn back to the water once more. The Barrel is not a good place to cultivate your dreams. More often than not, you’ll end up drinking poison instead of wine. Tonight, though– tonight, you think it might not be so bad after all.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Who'd You Have to Blow to Get That Part?"

Rated: Teen

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x reader

Tags: mild D/s elements, mild degradation, reference to past sexual encounters, slight daddy kink, lovers to enemies

Summary: Ransom won't let you leave the room until you agree to go out with him again.

You’ve been ignoring Ransom’s calls for a week when he finally corners you in your dressing room

“Well well well,” he simpers. “The Lyceum. You’re really making your way up from the chorus line, little girl.” You glare at him and he chuckles, doing a slow walk around your body, appraising you in a way that manages to feel both admiring and ridiculing at the same time. He plucks at the ribboned hoop of one of your panniers as he passes. “Well, la-dee-da,” he mocks. “What on earth is this? I think I like it.”

You swat at his retreating hand with a huff. “Who let you back here, Ransom?” 

“Oh didn’t you know I know everybody? The director’s an old friend. He knows I have an interest in … the theater. Said I could poke around backstage if I wanted.”

“Great. I’m sure he didn’t mean in my dressing room.”

“Your very own dressing room, by the way: how fancy.” He doesn’t look at you as he says it, instead sauntering along past the couch and then over to the dressing table, feeling free to snoop around. You cringe when his fingers drag across the vanity top and land on the script you’ve left lying there. He picks it up and starts flipping through its pages. “Hmm …”

You fluster at the idea of him seeing all the notes you’ve scribbled in the margins. “Do you mind not touching my stuff?” you gripe. “Ugh.” Looking around for your robe, you spot it draped over the back of the dressing chair but realize that it won’t stretch around when you’re wearing the panniers. You huff and try to plant your hands on your hips assertively—a motion that is likewise hindered. You settle for gripping the sides of your whalebone-stiffened waist. “I don’t have time for this. Why are you here?”

“You’re one of the leads,” Ransom says, feigning impressed as he waves the packet of papers in the air. “So Daddy finally bought you a speaking part, huh?”

You feel your cheeks heat, hating him with every fiber of your being. “No,” you grit, hurrying over to snatch the script from his hands and set it back on the table. “I got this part myself, you insufferable piece of shit.”

“Been practicing those blowjob skills, then?”

Your jaw works as you fight not to react. “Why are you here?”

“I tried calling,” he says. “But you’re surprisingly hard to get a hold of these days.”

“Ever consider that I lost your number?”

“Mmm, I don’t think that’s it.” He smirks and leans in close enough that you can smell his cologne, can see every detail of that stupid-pretty face, the hair that’s gelled and combed to perfection. He looks good, just like he always does, which only makes you hate him more. “I haven’t seen you twirling in your usual circles, bunny,” purrs. "Not since we parted ways. What’s it been now, three months?”

“Five,” you say tightly. “Though who’s counting?”

“Clearly not you,” he teases, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’ll admit I’ve hardly thought of you at all, since then, but …” He’s wearing a camel-colored coat and cashmere scarf, and he reaches past said coat’s lapel to produce a single, long-stemmed rose, presenting it to you with an earnest pout. “I heard about the role. Thought I’d stop by and congratulate you, see how you’re doing.” He lets his gaze drag over your half-dressed form again, eyeing you up appreciatively. “I still think about you, you know.”

“I thought you’d hardly thought about me at all."

He looks surprised for a second, before he’s chuckling at you again with that trademark blend of affection and condescension that you wish you hated more than you do. “Oh, bunny,” he coos, nudging your chin with the rose’s fragrant bloom. “You pay attention to what I say. I always liked that about you. That’s just how you are, isn’t it? So attentive, such a good girl.” You color mightily at that, too flustered to think of a waspish response like you want to. He sees this and smirks, dragging the rose’s velvet petals over your lips and humming in satisfaction when you hastily snatch it from his hand. “There we go,” he praises softly. “Pretty flower for a pretty girl. Though I worry how you’re doing when you don’t turn up in public for months on end.”

You force a prim smile. “That’s sweet, but I don’t need you to worry about me, or bring me gifts.” You turn around and stick the rose into a nearby vase, which already has a number of similar blossoms in it. Ransom’s is the biggest and freshest, but you rearrange it into the middle of the pack so that it doesn’t stand out as much. “And I’m doing just fine, if you really want to know.”

“Are you, though?” he presses. He steps closer, close enough that the frame of the panniers presses against his pants, and it’s easy for him to reach up and finger the strap of your stays. “I seem to remember you being quite the social butterfly.”

“Yep. That’s me.”

“You’ve missed the last several big events of the season, and I know you well enough to know that it’s not like you to play the shut-in.” He traces the strap from your shoulder, down to the top of the busk. You see his blond eyelashes lower onto his smug fucking cheeks as he shamelessly leers at the swell of your breasts, his fingers hovering just over the skin. “Who’re you supposed to be?” he asks. “Marie Antoinette?”

You scoff and push past him. “Unlike you, I get busy. I actually work for a living. And yes, that sometimes means that frivolous parties aren’t my number one engagement. So if you’ll excuse me.” You’re supposed to be over in wardrobe, getting fitted for your costumes. Danielle is probably already waiting for you. But Ransom blocks the door when you try to leave, and he does nothing to disguise the way he looks at your body when you stand back to regard him with another huff. “Ransom, move.”

“You should wear corsets more often,” he drawls, ignoring your protests entirely. “It actually makes your waist look tiny.”

You glare at him and try to move around him to grab the door handle, but he leans back against it so that you can’t pull it open. He grins, eyes raking over you from head to toe. You fight not to squirm, feeling more ridiculous than anything else, decked out as you are in your eighteenth century reproduction undergarments. You sigh and stand back, frustrated at how goddamn entitled he is. “What do you want?” you ask, knowing that he wouldn’t be here bugging you right now if he didn’t want something. 

“I want to give us another try,” he says. 

You wait for the punchline, or for him to crack a mean smile and laugh at how gullible you are, but neither happens and you’re left standing there blinking at him like a dummy, heart in your throat. “What?” 

“You heard me.” He pushes off from the door and stares you down as he steps up close. He cups your face in a palm that’s soft from never having seen a day of work in its life. You have to fight not to press your cheek into it, and of course he notices, the overconfident prick. “I think we called things off too soon,” he murmurs. “Don’t you?”

“‘We’? You’re the one who ended it.”

He frowns thoughtfully. “Hhhm, did I though?”

“Yes.”

“Ehh, I don’t know if I remember it that way.”

You purse your lips. “I said I wanted to be exclusive, and you called me clingy.”

“Well that’s hardly ‘ending’ things …”

You scoff. “You said my pussy wasn’t ‘anything to write home about’ and left me at the restaurant.”

“Hmm. Well … maybe I was too hasty.”

“Yeah, right. ‘Hasty’.” More like genetically predisposed to assholery, you think.

“Hey, I mean it.” He grabs you when you try to move around him, holding you still by your upper arms.

“Let me go.”

“Maybe I never gave things between us a real chance, bunny” he says, trying to ply you with his words and sheer proximity. “That’s what I’ve been thinking these past months. That I let you go too soon, didn’t think things through. That I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“More like your dick,” you mutter, but he ignores you. 

“After all, we had good times together, didn’t we? And you always look amazing on my arm, and the sex was soo …” he trails off, letting his fingers trace your skin. His mouth twitches when he notices your breathing picking up, your chest heaving visibly against the front of the stays. “Come on, princess. Just think about it,” he coaxes, leaning in to whisper against your ear. “You and I fit so well together. Don’t you remember how it was?”

You shiver instinctively, body reacting to the words he’s murmuring so intimately against you, to the way he’s touching you like he owns you. “Ransom,” you breathe. “I don’t—”

“I miss you, you know. I do. In my life, in my bed. I don’t like waking up alone.”

You ignore the flutter in your belly at hearing him admit that, and force yourself to shrug his hands away. “Well that would be your problem, not mine,” you say. He’s not good for you, and letting him bust in like this and insinuate himself back into your life will only lead to disappointment at best, heartbreak at worst. “Excuse me,” you grit when he walks backwards to block the door again. So fucking entitled. “Seriously, Ransom. I have somewhere to be!”

“I don’t really care. We’re not finished here,” he growls, eyes losing their charming sheen. “You can leave when I’m done talking to you.”

Your core clenches at those domineering words, and you have to square your jaw before you can bring yourself to insist, “Ransom, get out of the way. I’m warning you …”

“No, I’m warning you,” he says darkly, grabbing your arm and yanking you in hard against him. You gasp and catch yourself with a hand against his chest, but he keeps you off balance as his other arm scoops in behind you and holds you tight to him by your lower back. “Mmm, I like this,” he purrs, fingers finding the laces of your stays and grabbing onto them. He grabs you by the back of your neck with one hand while he tugs at the laces with the other. “Makes a nice handle. Good for moving you where I want you.”

“Get your hands off me.”

He tugs the laces again, jostling you forcefully. “Thought you liked it when I handle you.”

“What I’d like is for you to let me go,” you grit. 

But he only narrows his eyes and sticks his face closer in yours. When he speaks, his breath fans out warm against your lips. “You’re confused, bunny. I should bend you over that vanity and remind you just how much you like it.”

To your shame, his manhandling and his domineering words turn you on, and you know he can tell—he can always tell what he does to you. That’s part of what makes him so infuriating, and so dangerous. “Let go of me,” you say lowly, surprised (and disappointed) when he actually listens, his hands releasing you so suddenly that you stumble back a step in your heels. His eyes bore into you slyly as you huff and right yourself. “What is your problem?!” you fume at him. 

“Come with me to the Governor’s Ball,” he demands, confident and cocky as always, as if the past few minutes and your numerous refusals haven’t even happened. “You have an invitation, I presume?”

You glower at him. “Of course I do, you twat.” Given that your father is the Governor, it’d be odd indeed if you didn’t have an invite. “Awful presumptuous of you that I don’t have plans to go with somebody else,” you snap. “After the way you treated me? I wouldn’t take you as my date to a dive bar.”

He chuckles, and it’s in that low, self-assured way that drives you absolutely bonkers and makes you feel like a “pick me” girl all at the same time. “Oh, bunny. You think I don’t know you better than that?”

You shoulder your way around him to yank open the door. “You don’t know me at all, jerk.” 

You inhale sharply when his hand clamps around your wrist and he shoves into you from behind suddenly, pressing you up against the door and slamming it shut with your combined bodyweight. “I know you better than any man alive, princess,” he hisses, grinding his hips against your ass and kissing your cheekbone in gentle counterpoint when you gasp at his audacity. “Shhh shsh,” he hushes. “Don’t worry, now. You’ll have an excellent time, I promise. Now, you go get fitted for your little costume, and I’ll send a car to pick you up Saturday evening. Say nine o’clock?”

You huff, flustered by what an utterly presumptuous asshole he is (and by the way your cunt is clenching on nothing, being pressed up against a surface full-body by him like this). “You know what your problem is, Ransom?”

He drags his nose across your cheek with a chuckle. “What’s that, bunny?”

You can’t get as much leverage as you’d like, pressed up against the door the way you are, but you do your best and jab back into his solar plexus. And his shocked, breathless grunt is a satisfying indicator that your elbow has met its mark. You turn around and take his face between your hands to peck a kiss of your own to his cheek. “It’s that people’ve been paid to make you think you’re better than you are your whole life,” you whisper sweetly. You kiss his cheek and then let him go, leaving the room before he can regain his breath.

Masterlist

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AFG Dark bingo @anyfandomgoesbingo @anyfandomdarkbingo

Card: sarahyellow/sarah-writes-stucky

Square B3: "Lovers to enemies"

@badthingshappenbingo

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Square I5: "thwarted escape"

@blackhawkfanatic

[ughgoaway]

YES maybe teacher has the lab coat lying around from a little science experiment she's done with her school kids (I'm thinking of the bicarbonate of soda/vinegar volcano that everyone made) and Matty tries it on for a laugh and she starts blushing and going all bashful and embarrassed because she fancies him so much

OH YES!!! GENIUS!!

you're going through your wardrobe looking for a coat to wear, you and matty have a reservation at a nice restaurant and as much as you want you want to show off your pretty dress it is also December and 2°C.

you laugh as you flick through and pull out the coat, showing it to matty, who is busy gawking at you from his place on the bed.

he manages to pull his eyes from your ass to look at what's in your hands, and immediately, his face scrunches in confusion.

"Did you have a secret career as a scientist that I didn't know about?" he asks, standing up to come behind you in front of the mirrored door of your wardrobe.

he slides his hands over your waist and hooks his chin over your shoulder as you both look at the coat in your hands.

"No, no, it was from the science fair last year. we were all making bicarbonate volcanoes, and I wanted to dress the part. I'm not quite sure why I've kept it this so long to be honest, " you say bashfully, going to hang it back up, but matty grabs it out of your hands before you can.

"You obviously kept it for your future hot boyfriend to try on." he teases, taking off his suit jacket and laying it on the bed.

you briefly get distracted by his back and arms in the shirt he's wearing before realising he really is trying it on.

"mattyyyyy, we don't have time! we're gonna be late, " you go to sit on the end of the bed as matty ignores your protests and swings the jacket on.

"Huh. don't know how to feel about the fact we're the same size in labcoats, but oh well, " matty laughs to himself but notices a distinct lack of giggles from you.

he looks up at you and sees the flush on your cheeks and the distinctly horny look on your face. you might as well be a cartoon character with heart-shaped eyes popping out of your head.

how interesting.

"What do you think, baby?" matty teases sauntering up to you and brushing his hands over the lapels of the coat.

you nod dumbly as matty stalks towards you. Soon, you're looking up at him wide-eyed as he stands tall in front of you between your parted legs.

matty smirks and nods at you, subtly reminding you that you haven't said any words since he put it on.

you shake your head and timidly say, "looks great," and give him a bashful smile, trying to hide your clear attraction. your voice breaks as you attempt to speak, and you have to cough awkwardly when you finish in a futile attempt to hide your emotions.

matty brings his hand up to rest on your cheek, and you immediately lean into it, closing your eyes at the contact. he smirks to himself and traces your cheekbone with his thumb.

his hand feels red hot against your face, and you know you've been found out. you open your eyes prepared to stutter an embarrassed apology, but matty does not seem bothered.

his eyes are almost black, and you know exactly what that look on his face means. he's into it too.

"So you really like it, huh sweet girl?" matty moves his hand down to your lips and pulls your bottom lip down with his thumb. he watches it snap back into place and goes to trace it again, but you take his thumb into your mouth without a second thought.

matty groans at the sight, watching you work his thumb just like you do when you suck him off. he taps his other hand on your cheek, and you know the cue, immediately opening your mouth obediently.

matty pushes his thumb on your tongue and watches the saliva pool in your mouth. his mouth starts watering at the sight, and he knows exactly what he wants to do.

you've mentioned finding him spitting on stage attractive, so he figured this wasn't too far a stretch.

he leans down and spits, watching the salvia trail of the end of his lip and falling into your mouth.

you let out a strangled moan whilst keeping your mouth open, trying to play by his rules.

matty taps your chin delicately and demands, "swallow."

you nod, and matty slams your jaw shut. You swallow diligently and open your mouth back up to show him its empty.

he smiles gratefully, "Good girl, how did we taste?" Both his hands hold your cheeks now as you gaze up at him adoringly.

"so so good sir"

fuck. you hadn't called matty that before. It had just slipped out from your mouth once you saw him in that coat.

he growls and starts pushing your head towards his crotch. that was definitely something he could get used to.

you rub your nose into him and look up at him with begging eyes.

"Go on then, sweet girl"

"What about our reservation?" you ask, but seemingly ignoring your own words, you were already unbuttoning his trousers and pulling down the zip.

"we'll just be a little late." matty groans as you start to mouth him through his boxers.

and... you definitely were more than a little late. and matty struggled to ever book that restaurant again.

worth it.

[girl-next-door-writes]

How Can We Say Forever

Characters: Armitage Hux x reader

Summary: There is a fine line between the fantasy and the reality. So when that line is crossed, Armitage does what he feels is necessary to survive.

Word Count: 1097 words

Prompt: Angst. Mutual pining. Everyone knows but them. A kiss without thinking. Help fixing clothes.

A/N: @morby requested a touch of angst for my favourite general as part of my follower milestone celebration, and so here it is.

It had been the right thing to do. Obviously it was the correct decision, so why did he have to spend so much time telling himself that? Strategically, it made sense for you to take a squadron and set up a base in the abandoned Rebel camp, find out as much as you could about the area. Professionally, it made sense for you to gain this promotion of sorts. Personally… well.

If asked, Armitage could tell someone how long, to the very minute, it had been since you had left his side. Like a slow drip in the back of his mind, his body tracked the loss, stealing him of sleep and what little appetite he had. Countless times, he turned a corner and believed, for a fraction of a second, that he caught a glimpse of you. There were moments he thought he caught the scent of your shampoo. The whole situation was slowly driving him insane. Your absence was more of a distraction than your presence had ever been.

“General Hux.” Your voice cut through his thoughts. Even the grainy hologram of you didn’t ease the deep ache within him. These update reports had started as the highlights of his week, but now they were just a reminder of the distance between you.

His image appeared before you, causing your heart to race. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping, exhaustion etched on his features, and you felt a pang of concern. What you would give to be there to take on some of his burdens, to lighten his load. Then again, that was the problem was it not? You had got too close and now you were banished from his presence.

It had started out as little things, helping with paperwork, bringing him an extra caff on your way past the bridge when he was on shift. At first, he seemed surprised by your gestures, then intrigued. The line between you grew blurred and you had taken for granted all the little smirks and knowing looks he sent your way, thinking this was how it would always be, you and your General.

Of course, this behaviour did not go unnoticed by others. Phasma would roll her eyes affectionately whenever she saw you approaching her and Hux, knowing that she had lost his attention completely as soon as he spotted you. Kylo had publicly berated you for a mistake which was not your fault, and paused mid-sentence when he felt the heat of Armitage’s anger pulsing through him. Ren turned to look at the General who was trying so hard to conceal his emotions, knowing protecting you would only lead to ruin. Several underlings on the base had figured out that, if they had to take bad news to their General, then the best time would be when you were there, somehow you always lessened the blow.

This budding, whatever it was, was clear to see by everyone who saw the two of you together and yet, if asked, you both would insist it was a professional respect and nothing more. That was until the incident.

Standing in his office, Armitage frowned as he went over his notes for his latest address. The fine balance between inspiration and lecturing he usually excelled at felt a little forced this time.

“I just don’t think it is stirring enough.” He grumbled as you took the notes from him and cast your eye over them.

“I think, there are troops who would feel inspired by you even if you read them the instruction manual for refresher installation. It is just as much about how you say it as it is what you say.” You place the notes on the desk and smooth down the lapels of his coat, picking off an errant piece of lint that had dared defile his ensemble.

As your fingers worked over the cloth, Armitage felt as if time had slowed. Holding his breath, his eyes took in every detail of your face, savoring the proximity. There was something about having you this close that made his brain glitch. He felt heat rising up the back of his neck and just prayed you wouldn’t notice the panicked look in his eyes. The desire to say something witty, to make you smile, or even laugh, was overwhelming and left him speechless.

“There. Perfectly presentable.” You hummed, looking up from the coat with a soft smile. “Go inspire the masses, Sir.”

And that was when it happened. That was the moment that changed everything. Without a thought, you had leaned in and placed a kiss to his cheek as if it were the most natural thing for you to do.

On the loneliest of nights, when he lay in the dark of his bedroom, Armitage closed his eyes and would swear he could feel the warmth of your breath, the softness of your lips, the stain of your kiss forever imprinted upon his soul.

Armitage stiffened at the contact, bringing you back to your senses and you hurriedly pulled away, eyes wide with panic.

“Sir, I-“ whatever you had been about to say, whatever apology that might have fallen from your lips was interrupted by a trooper informing the General that he was required urgently. And so, he had left. He left you standing there in his office wondering how badly you had damaged your relationship.

Armitage had been a coward, he knew that. After going out of his way to avoid you, he had happened upon this advancement for your career. He knew you sort him out when you received your new orders, Phasma had told him as much, but he couldn’t bring himself to see you. If you were physically in his presence then either you would apologise and he would see how much you wished to take back that moment, a moment that had become the most precious to him, OR he would take back this promotion because the reality of never seeing you again would break his heart.

The latter was not an option. You had to go. Somehow, you had become his weakness and as soon as that was discovered then he was done for. There was no room in the First Order for ‘happy ever after’, no space for ‘forever’. He didn’t deserve that kind of life and a romantic entanglement would only prevent him from focusing on his long term goals. It was the right thing to do. Strategically, professionally, it was the right decision. So why did he feel that he was simply sitting here, waiting for you?

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Love Across the Galaxy 🌌 | Helmut Zemo Imagine

Contains spoilers for GOTG Vol.3

Link to my Marvel masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Baron Helmut Zemo x Roman Goddess/Guardians!reader (romantic), The Thunderbolts—Baron Zemo, Bucky Barnes, Thaddeus Ross, Valentina Alegra De Fontaine, John Walker, Ghost, Justin Hammer, Taskmaster, Yelena, & Red Hulk (platonic), The Guardians of the Galaxy—Quill, Mantis, Nebula, Drax, Rocket, Groot, Kraglin, & Cosmo (platonic)

Content Warnings: profanity, light angst, fluff, mentions of death, fighting & violence, spoilers for GOTG Vol.3 (don’t read if you haven’t seen it!) | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 4.9k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: In which Baron Helmut Zemo, hater of the Avengers and desire to rid the planet of enhanced beings, becomes a member of the antihero team led by General Thaddeus Ross & CIA Director Valentina Fontaine where he meets the legendary group of misfits turned Guardians of the freakin Galaxy and loses his heart to a Goddess with a love for 80s music and talent for cutting of limbs.

Note: GOTG Vol 3 has permanently altered my brain chemistry and I cannot stop thinking about it. Truly the best film since Endgame & it’s inspired me cause I’m also back to loving Zemo again. I refuse to believe Marvel would give us a Thunderbolts film w/o Zemo so I will make sure he’s in this team.

After learning about all the Gods in Thor: Love & Thunder, picture you are Minerva, the Roman Goddess of Wisdom & War (Roman equivalent to the Greek’s Athena) and has cosmic powers similar to the Eternal’s Thena and has been with the Guardians since the events of the first GOTG film.

————————

Fall 2023

“I don’t see why we need these people to help us,” Zemo rolled his eyes, strolling beside General Ross with the rest of the team around them. Once outside the cool breeze hit him, ruffling the lapels of his coat as his eyes squinted from the bright light.

Ross lets out a tired sigh, “Because, Zemo, as much as it galls me to admit it this threat is far beyond what we can deal with. It’s not terrestrial and chances are these…” he had trouble coming up with the word, “let’s just say they’re more experienced for this situation.”

They all stop before the flight line. It’s clear all around them with no sign of an approaching vessel.

“Who are these guys again?” Justin Hammer popped some jelly beans in his mouth. John looks down at the file in his hands, making a face as he does.

“They call themselves…The Guardians of the Galaxy.”

“Oh God,” Bucky moans, immediately making mental notes to protect his mental arm knowing a certain talking animal was on the hunt for it. He was gonna have to sleep with one eye open.

Zemo raises his brow, “Friends of yours, James?” Bucky is not pleased by the assumption.

“I wouldn’t call them that.”

“Aren’t they part of the Avengers?” Ava’s tone is slightly disapproving. While Scott Lang and the Pym/Van Dyne’s helped her, she still got bad rep despite doing what she did to survive.

Zemo, not happy with the idea of working with Avengers, snatches the file from Walker.

“Not technically,” Ross replies while Zemo reads over the page. “They arrived with Thor in 2018 against the first battle with Thanos, remained an associate to the team while continuing whatever the hell it is they do in space, and returned in 2023 to defeat the purple bastard once and for all.”

“Did you fight with them, Bucky?” Yelena asks from beside the soldier.

“Yeah,” the memory appears in his mind. Specifically where he grabbed Rocket by the scruff and spun them in circles to cover more area as they fired off their guns. “Our interactions were brief…but memorable.”

The Baron had seen many things over the years, like the rest of humanity with the formation of the Avengers and reveal of intergalactic and enhanced beings, but to stay he wasn’t thinking, ‘what the fuck?’ by the picture in front of him would be a lie.

An earthling turned ravager, a blue mercenary, a woman with antennas, a genetically engineered raccoon, a living tree, a gray alien that could take down Thor, a man with a metal Mohawk, a telekinetic dog, and an exiled sword wielding Goddess. All misfits and outcasts, mostly space criminals turned superhero guardians of the cosmos.

Well….they were quite the bunch.

“They are not still with the Avengers, I take it?” Zemo wanders around, eyes lingering on the Goddess. White streaks adorned her natural hair color, eyes gold and lips painted with what appeared to be a permanent smirk. She wore a gold and white headpiece that had an owl extending its wings.

Name/Alias: Minerva, Goddess of War; Race: Deity; Planet of Origin: Caelum; Age: approx. 2500 yrs (39 Earth yrs); Occupation: Warrior/Mercenary/Defender of the Andromeda Galaxy; Allegiance: The High Council of Caelum (formerly), Guardians of the Galaxy, Thor, God of Thunder, The Avengers (formerly); Abilities: Cosmic manipulation, enhanced strength, agility, speed, & durability, thermal detection & mental teleportation; Specialization: artillery and battle strategy.

Ross let out a sigh, “only when the planet is about to go to shit due to an intergalactic threat. Which we’ve now got on our hands, but considering the Avengers are all on sabbatical I’m sending you in,” he checks his watch, “but I need all the extra hands and like I said, they’re experienced.”

Zemo stares at the blank sky, “How will we know they've arrived?”

“Believe me,” Ross mutters under his breath. “You’ll know.”

A loud rumbling noise caught everyone’s attention, gazes turning upward as a hexagon shaped breech in the sky revealed a very large spaceship in its wake, followed by the distinct lyrics of AC/DC’s ‘Back to Black.’

“Back in black. I hit the sack. I’ve been too long, I’m glad to be back. Yes, I’m let loose. From the noose. That’s kept me hanging about.”

“Oh my,” Yelena breathed out, hair flying back from the gust of wind. Zemo lifted a hand to cover his face from the leaves, as did the others, many wide eyed.

“I’ve been looking at the sky. ‘Cause it’s gettin’ me high. Forget the hearse ‘cause I never die. I got nine lives. Cat’s eyes. Abusin’ every one of them running wild.”

“Great song,” Justin voiced, grinning from ear to ear. The ship made its descent, music getting louder.

“‘Cause I’m back. Yes, I’m back. Well, I’m back,” it approached the tarmac, “Yes, I’m back. Well, I’m back, back.” wheels hit the tarmac, engine powering down but music still blasting, “Well, I’m back in black,” the ship doors opened, revealing steps extending to the ground, “Yes, I’m back in black.”

It was almost like a scene from a movie. Slow-motion if one will by how the Guardians exited their ship and stepped foot on the tarmac with AC/DC on full volume. All dressed in their new suits of red and blue leather with the Ravager flames on the chest.

Arriving in style.

Quill led with the rest flanking his sides. Drax munching on snacks while Nebula looked menacing and Groot towered over everyone. Cosmo had her tongue out in excitement, Rocket carrying his gun strapped to his back. Mantis’s chin held high, like she was on top of the world and Kraglin trying not to appear lost. Lastly Minerva was drinking a caprisun, Ray Bans covering her gold eyes.

Zemo tilts his head in amusement at the sight. He expected the Goddess, of war nonetheless, to have a more menacing approach like Nebula considering her reputation. But she was just as relaxed and laid back as Drax.

The Guardians walked several paces until they were directly in front of the Thunderbolts. It was then the music stopped, Ross being the first to address them. “You sure know how to make an entrance.”

Quill gave a smug grin, “We know.” Hands go to his hips, “You’re wearing a suit so you must be the boss man. Although I believe there’s also a boss lady we’re here to do business with.”

“Director Fontaine is currently occupied. She’ll be arriving in the morning.”

“I assume we won’t be knowing a damn thing until that happens, huh?”

Ross tightens his lips, “You assume correctly.”

“I told you we should’ve handled it on our own,” Minerva’s glances to Quill annoyed. Surprised by her voice, Zemo's eyebrows raised at her sudden input. Her accent was slightly Italian given her mythological origin is Roman.

Quill clicked his tongue, “We don’t have authority here, Minnie.”

“Midgard is part of the Andromeda Galaxy. Technically we should.”

Now the man was giving her a pointed look after Ross’s body language turned defensive, “I’d rather not get our asses thrown in Earth’s prison system. We go by the rules—the ones we established.”

Minerva grumbles under her breath, finishing the last remnants of her juice pouch, “Would’ve finished the job faster. They wouldn’t even know we were here.”

“Okay well, we’re doing things this way. We’re here as a team to work with a team. Right, Mr. Secretary?”

Ross’ disapproving eyes linger on Minerva, who in return rolls her own, before turning his attention back to Quill, “Yes. Now let’s move on shall we?”

He lets out a breath of relief, “Agreed.” Bidding a warning look to each of his teammates, they all wait for what the man in the suit has to say. Ross extends a hand to the people on either side of him.

“This is my team. All with different levels of skill and experience. Justin Hammer is our tech and weapons specialist,” Justin gives a wave, “Yelena Belova,” Ross points to the blonde in a white tactical suit, “former Black Widow and master assassin.” At the mention of Black Widow Rocket, Nebula, and Minerva all tense, faces becoming solemn at the memory of Natasha. They were the three remaining Guardians during the blip, becoming close with the Avenger.

“Ava Starr, she can phase through anything,” they all look impressed, finding the talent cool. “Antonia Dreykov, who we like to call Taskmaster.”

“Why’s that?” Kraglin asked intrigued.

“She has photographic reflexes and can mimic your fighting powers. Basically use your own moves against you.”

“Niceeee,” all the Guardians echo. Ross points to the two individuals in between Zemo and Yelena.

“Our super soldiers, Captain John Walker and I believe you all know Sergeant Barnes.” Bucky tightens his mouth with a curt nod.

“You still got that arm on ya?” Rocket muses, earning a nudge—well more like a kick—from Minerva. The rest of the Thunderbolts besides Bucky all become wide-eyed at the talking Raccoon…even though it said on the file he could.

But how the fuck else were they suppose to react to a talking raccoon?

All Bucky does is glare, “Don’t even think about it.” Rocket shrugs, “Worth a shot.”

“Why is that one carrying a giant frisbee?” Drax’s mouth is filled with Zargnuts. Walker, the man in question, becomes visibly offended.

“It’s a shield not a frisbee.” Zemo bites back a smirk at the soldier's tone. Not to mention the Guardians' reactions were priceless.

“A shield?” Mantis repeats confused.

“It’s a frisbee,” Drax mumbles.

“Like that circular object Minerva conjures to deflect attacks,” Nebula tiredly explains. Mantis’s mouth forms the shape of an ‘o’.

“And lastly,” Ross sounds just as exhausted as the cyborg, “Baron Helmut Zemo, former intelligence operative.”

“I am Groot,” Zemo’s attention goes to the tree alien, confused by his words. Minerva, seeing his expression, addresses it, “He says he likes your fancy cape.”

‘Cape?’ He thinks, but doesn’t comment on it and his perplexed reaction makes Minerva smirk. Instead Zemo says, “Well, I appreciate the compliment. Thank you.” Groot’s pleased, grinning wide like a child.

It’s then Quill’s turn to formally introduce the Guardians. The Thunderbolts bite back their own amusement at the nicknames and surprise of hearing the dog, Cosmo, speak through her suit with a distinct Russian accent. Afterwards Ross leads them all into the hangar, Minerva removing her sunglasses now that she was inside, allowing her gold eyes to be visible.

From there they all interact, awkwardly for the most part as they have no idea what the hell to do as they wait for further instruction. It soon becomes bickering and even challenging someone in hand-to-hand combat.

Well, what can you expect when a team of heroes meet a team of villains/anti heroes? Rivalry at its finest.

“Any day now, Quill,” Minerva groans, relaxing her stance. Across from her several feet away was Walker, confused by why she was taking so long to attack. They were standing in the middle of the squared off area with the teams surrounding them, but giving enough space to avoid being in the crossfire. Quill was scrolling through his Walkmen.

“What’s he doing?” Zemo whispers to Kraglin, eyes flicking back and forth from the human Guardian and the Goddess.

“Trying to find a good fight song. You know, get the vibes going.” Out on the square Minerva lets out a loud huff signaling her annoyance was increasing.

“Just give me another second—.”

“Quill.”

“I almost got it.”

“Pick a goddamn song!”

“Fine!” Quill shouts, randomly selecting the first one his finger hits. A second later Duran Duran’s ‘Hungry Like the Wolf,’ blasts through all the speakers attached to the Guardians arms. The antiheroes become perplexed, while also noting the song choice. Justin and Yelena started to bop their heads.

“Darken the city, night is a wire. Steam in the subway, earth is afire. (Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do)”

Minerva smirked, retaking her stance. As she lifts her hands, cosmic energy around her consorts to physical matter, taking the shape of a spear and shield in either hand. Wide eyes take over the Thunderbolts.

“Woman, you want me, give me a sign. And catch my breathing even closer behind. (Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do)”

“Wow,” Justin exhales. “In touch with the ground. I’m on the hunt, I’m after you.”

“That’s so cool,” Yelena muses, others muttering in agreement. “Smell like the sound, I'm lost in the crowd. And I’m hungry like the wolf.” Keeping his admirations to himself, Zemo watches the scene unfold in silence.

“First one to step or get thrown out of the square loses,” Bucky shouts over the music, “Ready….” Walker clutches the strap of his shield, Minerva twirling her spear once, “Fight!”

“Stalked in the forest, too close to hide,” Walker lets out a cry, charging at the Goddess. “I’ll be upon you by the moonlight side (Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do,” Minerva blocks his attack, pushing back slightly only to crouch to swipe at his legs, “High blood drumming on your skin, it’s so tight,” Walker dodges her spear, but fails to avoid her kick to his chest, sending him backward. “You feel my heat, I’m just a moment behind.” He brings his shield up in time as her spear barrels down at him. “Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do.”

They continue their one-on-one for several minutes, both coming close to getting the other out of the square and the song changing to ‘Cherry Bomb’ by The Runaways—a favorite amongst the Guardians. The entire time Zemo was mesmerized to say the least. Every move she made was effortless, showcasing strengths and ability to predict Walker's moves.

He hadn’t felt such attraction to a woman in so long. And here he was experiencing a feeling that was almost unfamiliar.

Ultimately Minerva wins the battle in what one would call a divine move. At the peak of the song, Minerva’s golden eyes glow bright resulting in the eyes of the owl headpiece to also glow and become animated. It takes form, coming to life and soars straight at Walker, throwing him off by covering his face.

“What the—uuugh!!” He’s flying through the air, back meeting the harsh ground with an audible groan. The owl leaves him, returning to Minerva and consorting back into a headpiece. When it does her eyes dim back to their normal hue. Her team broke out into whistles and hollars, meanwhile Walker’s were unimpressed.

“Guardians for the win!” Rocket cheered.

“I am Groot!”

“Never underestimate the power of Duran Duran!”

Minerva helps Walker up, “Not bad, soldier.” As she turns to head off the pad, her eyes lock with Zemo’s and a wink is sent his way. Heat rises in the Baron, glancing away to hide his smirk.

Oh boy, trouble was on the horizon.

Next Yelena went against Nebula. Their fight was even more intense and nearly ended in a draw. Eventually Yelena overpowered the cyborg and got her to step out of the square. It was a tie. Groot and Rocket teamed up against Ross in the form of the Red Hulk—which took a lot of convincing—the two claiming the win after fooling the General. Taskmaster beat out Quill, handing his ass to him which had the Guardians in a heap of laughter.

“I enjoyed that more than I should have,” Minerva teases, crossing her arms as she takes a spot beside Zemo. He glances at her, mirroring her expression.

“Not a common occurrence for your friend to lose a fight?”

She scoffs, “You’d be surprised by his record.”

Lastly Bucky went toe-to-toe with Drax, and of course Rocket had to yell, “Take his arm and give it to me!” And well….it ended with them tackling each other out of the square.They didn’t know who won at that point, so the teams were tied 2-2 initiating a debate on who should be crowned the best.

“Okay, let’s call it a day,” Ross announces, ending the squabbling between the groups. “Night’s upon us and frankly I could use a drink. We’ll return here first thing in the morning—7am sharp to discuss the threat and where to go,” he turns to Quill, “we’ve got sleeping quarters arranged for you all if you please. Otherwise my guess is you’ll remain in your ship?”

About an hour later, after both teams settled for the night, Zemo decided to take a walk around the flight line. It became a habit of his since joining the Thunderbolts. A way to clear his mind after a long day of briefings and training. He basked in the peace that came with being alone, but there were times he felt lonely and longing for company to share the peace with.

Ten years since losing his family and the pain never strayed. Yet, he managed to live with it. He accomplished his goal in 2016 when he tore apart the Avengers. Likely is to blame for the loss against Thanos resulting in half of the universe’s population turning into dust for five years.

Did he feel remorse for the consequences of his actions? Possibly. Did he regret it? No. At this rate he’s accepted the reputation he painted himself to be.

“Zemo, correct?” The sudden intrusion spooked the Baron, jumping slightly by the glowing eyes in the darkness. A moment later Minerva stepped into the lighting, eyes dimming to normal. She was still in her suit, though her hair was pulled back, white streaks seeping through the natural color.

“Yes, but you may call me Helmut,” he replied, nodding in greeting to the Goddess.

“Helmut,” she tests the name, “like the headwear people use when they ride bikes or spacesuits?”

“That’s one way to look at it, but yes I suppose so.”

“Interesting. What brings you out this late in the evening?”

He shrugs, “wanted to get away from the constant complaining of my comrades,” eyes go to the sky, “and I like to admire the stars.” Minerva moves to his right, glancing up as well.

“They’re much more incredible up close.” He peers down at her, not bothering to question her judgment. She lives in space after all.

“I bet so. I’m sure the view from here is nothing compared to what you’ve witnessed.”

She shrugs, “These stars you don’t even know if they’re still alive. It took years—possibly millions—for the light to reach Earth.” Zemo looks back up, focusing on the North Star.

“For all we know they burnt out ages ago.”

Their eyes connect, Zemo feeling a weight on his chest by the intensity of her gaze. It’s followed by unease when she says, “Natasha told me about you.”

Instantly he looks away, feeling an unfamiliar wave of dread. “Ah.” Here was a discussion he was not expecting, nor willing, to have.

But Minerva didn’t show criticism. In fact, her gaze and tone resembled understanding. “How do you do it?” The question took him aback.

“Do what, exactly?”

“Align yourself with people who go against what you stand for?” Minerva’s tone wasn’t condescending at all, only curious. “Most of your team are enhanced individuals—two are super soldiers to be exact. You went to many lengths to disband the Avengers and put an end to superheroes,” there’s a slight tilt of her head, eyeing the Baron with intrigue, “but you join a group consisting of people who fall between the spectrum of hero and villain where most are the exact thing you wished to eradicate. Not to mention led by two people you wouldn’t say you share similar moral values with. Why join them?”

For the first time in his life, Zemo was at a loss for words. Not a single word uttered as he tried to comprehend what Minerva had just confronted him with. How could he explain? Hell, he didn’t even know the real truth other than wanting to stay out of his cell. A big price to pay in exchange for freedom.

Minerva spoke again before he could respond, “I once committed an act similar to you,” the surprise is evident on Zemo, “Vengeance against those who were responsible for the death of my loved ones. It’s why I was exiled,” a frown appears, her attention returning to the stars. “So I understand you, probably better than anyone here. Understand why you committed those acts to destroy the Avengers. I don’t fault you for what you did—if I did it would make me a hypocrite. You’re not the villain Ross and the Avengers made you out to be.”

“How so?” His voice is strained, “what have you lost?” He didn’t mean to come off as defensive, but the conversation was bringing up emotions Zemo didn’t want to face.

“As Goddess of War all I knew was bloodshed. How to prevent it and how to fight it. Battle strategy was my domain, and the High Council knew better than to question my judgment,” she releases an exhale, “but Mars, the God of War and my brother, was my ultimate rival. He hated how much our father doted on me and agreed with plans I coordinated. It made him feel inferior. He’d do anything to prove himself.” Her tone remains neutral despite the painful memory surfacing.

Zemo remained quiet, picturing the scene as Minerva relayed it. Though stoic the Baron could see the pain and sadness lurking behind her eyes. Managing it as best she could for the sake of her friends. Who knows how many years it’d been since she lost whoever it was close to her. But the hole would always remain.

“To put it short,” she started again, bidding a glance, “Our home was under attack and his rash decision to slow down the enemy led to the death of my family—my husband and children.” Sympathy arose in the Baron, understanding her anguish, “An intentional move on Mars’ part because he believed I wouldn’t be fit to remain on the High Council after stuffing such a loss, therefore he would take my place as Head Commander of our armies and my father’s second Command.”

“He wasn’t exiled?” The question left Zemo before he could stop it. Confused by how the God avoided persecution for his crime, Minvera was shunned. “Your family was targeted.”

Minerva’s smile was bitter, “because their deaths were a result of war, the High Council viewed it as collateral. They failed to see Mars’ responsibility, believing he didn’t intend to kill them. So, I took it upon myself to bring justice. Not only to Mars but also the High Council.” Her smile fell once more, “I made sure they would pay. And they did, but it was far from over after finishing the job. Those who survived didn’t hesitate to throw me out to the wolves once I was contained.”

Zemo nods his head, “where did you go afterward if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I was imprisoned on Xandar for some time,” well they certainly had some things in common, “Once I escaped I became what your people would call a bounty hunter. Where it led me to meeting those clowns I now call my family,” she pauses before adding, “and escaping prison for a second time. Only it was to save the Galaxy.”

The laugh that escapes Zemo surprises him, “I guess it all worked out then.” Once more they lock eyes, twinkling against the stars shining down above.

“I suppose it did.”

Three Years Later

Zemo raced out the door the moment he awoke to rumbling that shook the foundation of his home. After three years he’d recognize the sound in an instant, only this time it was without warning.

An action that rarely occurred.

Throwing on his coat and house slippers, the clock read 2:30 am, flooding the Baron with worry. ‘What is she doing here at this hour?”

Usually when Minerva drops in she gives Zemo a heads up. A day or two’s notice, but recently he couldn’t get a hold of her and passed it off as the Guardians on a job. With the unexpected visit, so late at night, Zemo instantly knew something was wrong.

Hurrying out to the front lawn right as her ship landed, Zemo jogged to where the stairs extended. When they did, the doors revealed his Goddess, still wearing her suit, standing before him. Zemo noted the exhaustion painting her demeanor. Dark circles beneath her eyes, which appeared dimmer than usual, and scars indicating recently healed wounds.

His arms are around her the moment she’s within distance, her own around his neck, “This is a surprise.”

“Sorry I didn’t call,” the exhaustion was evident in her voice. Barely above a whisper causing Zemo to tighten his hold.

“It’s alright, darling. I’m just glad to see you are okay,” his hand runs along her hair, “wanna tell me what happened?” He hears her sniff, increasing his dread, “Close call?”

“Too many,” her voice cracks and there’s a pause. “We almost lost Rocket. We saved him thankfully, but then we nearly lost Peter. And I almost—,” she stops short, not wanting to relive her near death experience. “This was…it was too much for all of us, Helmut.” A kiss is pressed to her head, offering comfort.

“Let’s get you inside, mein schatz.” Zemo leads Minerva into the home, sitting her in the living room while he goes to put a kettle on the stove. Filling two cups of cherry blossom tea, Minerva’s favorite, he joins her in the living room.

After taking her first sip of the brew, Minerva removes the headpiece from her hair and makes herself comfortable before giving Zemo a play-by-play of the past three days. He stays quiet, listening intently but visibly reacts with each awful detail Minvera relays to him. From the unexpected attack from Adam Warlock, to the disgusting abuse Rocket endured at the hands of the High Evolutionary, to Quill nearly imploading in space had it not been for Adam’s change of heart.

Zemo’s knuckles turned white when Minerva spoke of what happened to her. Anger consumed him and he wished he had been there to protect her. Seeing his distress Minerva placed her hand on his, gently squeezing, “I’m okay, Helmut. I’m here now and we all made it out. There were many close calls, but we’re all alive and that’s what matters.”

Taking her hand, Zemo brought it up to brush his lips against her fingers, softly kissing her knuckles. “I don’t know what I would've done if I lost you, Minnie. I—-,” he stops himself to exhale, squeezing his eyes shut, “I would’ve found a way to fly across the galaxy to avenge you.”

“I know you would,” she murmurs, removing her hand but positioning herself in his lap. Arms snake around his neck, pulling him so they were inches apart. “I’d expect nothing less. Also I’d be a hypocrite considering I would do the same for you.” A playful smirk formed, “I was already plotting when Ross let you get captured by those bastards last year. Had it ended any other way, Ross would cease to exist.”

Zemo snickered, “I see we haven’t really changed completely despite our friends believing the opposite. Neither of us hesitating to return to old ways if it comes down to such circumstances.”

She smirks, “No, I don’t suppose we haven’t.”

“What a pair we are,” leaning in, his lips meet hers in a soft caress. Warmth seeping through his veins. That effortless high he believed he’d never have again after the loss of his family.

But he found it with a Goddess in the stars. Where love swept across the galaxy.

When they pull away after a moment, Zemo keeps his forehead against hers. Gold meeting brown. “I’m not sure I can let you go now, liebling. At least not for a while.”

“You never have to anymore,” her words have him startled, the man pulling away slightly to get a better look at her.

“What are you saying?”

Minerva’s gaze turns soft, though there’s slight nervousness, “After everything we all realized something. We found the family we were searching for, but some of us needed to find ourselves. Peter’s here on Earth to find his grandfather. Mantis is off on her own adventure. Drax and Nebula are on Knowhere to help raise the children we saved from the High Evolutionary. Rocket and Groot are leading a new era of the Guardians. And me,” she stops, emitting a gaze full of love that takes Zemo’s breath away. “I’d like to be here. With you, Helmut. If you’ll have me.”

If his heart could explode from the happiness Zemo was feeling it would. Tears were threatening to prick his eyes, the Baron willing himself to remain composed. “Oh, Schatz,” he croaked, cupping the side of her jaw. “I should be the one asking you that. Of course I’ll have you. I love you more than every star in the galaxy.” With that he kisses her, putting all his love and passion it causes her own eyes to water.

“I love you too,” she kisses him again. They remain on the couch, falling asleep eventually curled up in each other’s embrace. Their last thoughts filled with joy as they awaited the new adventure on the horizon.

An adventure just between them. A reinstated Goddess and a fully pardoned Baron opening the next chapter of their lives. Together.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

probably no more freaky killer today, i have murder on my mind lol because of the fic

like, i've been stuck with the image of murder wearing a black long coat (with a hood of course). he's going to look like a grim reaper with that attire on. he's like an ominous figure, the harbinger/angel of death. but it would be also very cute in the way he wants to emulate reaper and grim in some way.

i am toying with the idea of reaper giving him an 'engagement gift', like a ring or a lapel pin, so he can wear it too. i know traditionally in some cultures there's the idea of a mortal becoming a bride for a god, or a man marrying a goddess, and becoming the bride/husband makes you either an important figure in their cult/worship or a deity in some way (after you expire your mortal life that is). just think it's a neat idea to weave into the lore.

~ crowshipping anon

There’s always time for more freaky killer later 🙏 (and I love your fic please tell me more about your fic begging on my knees)

But yeah, this seems very interesting and cute! I’ve heard of a term around in pagan communications of godspouse and godspousing, and I don’t know too much about it besides that a devotee, worshipper, believer, etc. somehow someway enters a more intimate and personal relationship with a god(s) and/or goddess(es), usually of a romantic nature and sometimes even of sexual, i heard. I don’t know too much about it yet, so I won’t speak to much of it.

I’m thinking perhaps Reaper gives him a lapel pin if he proposes when Murder is still working under Nightmare, because its easy too keep close on his person when engaging in violent acts that would likely damage or risk losing a ring—and its small enough and less suspicious to hide if someone with bad intentions were to discover it.

And perhaps, after Murder manages to escape Nightmare and is no longer having to worry about fighting or danger, maybe Reaper proposes again with a ring, or Murder starts wearing the ring if Reaper gave him both during his time with Nightmare, or Murder told him to keep the ring for now and used the lapel as a representation/similar to a promise ring.

Or perhaps Murder turns down the proposal at first, either wanting to wait for better conditions or maybe just not feeling ready or worthy of it. And maybe the lapel is something he does on his own to make his interest in marrying Reaper clear, but in the future, perhaps? One day. A promise ring kinda.

[ellipsae]

Hi, I'm back with another Post-Epilogue design, this time for Guy. I have to admit, I really struggled with this one. Guy's original design has such a clean but distinctive style to it that I just can't quite capture. At first I tried to do a 'work' outfit for when he gets hands-on with fon tech before switching to attempting a formal outfit. The casual jacket-off variation feels more like Guy than the full dressed one though...I'm not too satisfied with this one but there were several design points that I wanted to work in and did at the very least. Maybe I'll revisit this design again down the road.

Anyways, please see under the read more for more design details. !Warning for Spoilers!

-so post-epilogue, I imagine Guy becomes a 'rising star' in noble society after hitting it big by sinking all his wealth in fontech development which quickly became a booming industry in the post-Planet Storm world. All the other nobility are so impressed by Guy's rise in reputation/wealth/smart investment decisions but in reality it's largely just Guy being a really big fontech nerd like usual and funding everything that are really interesting to him and being an early investor. He spends more time than he likes having to attend parties and gatherings but he understands having and maintaining a reputation is important to assert his influence and opinions, especially after all the obstacles he faced getting back his title (I imagine he got judged a lot for his rappig caretaker job and such), plus he's so used to being a servant he doesn't act like most nobles. (He finally graduates from his job as Peony's Rappig Caretaker though.)

-the device in his suspender holster is a fonon counter, it can detect the type and concentration of fonons in the immediate area. (It's a useful tool plot-wise for this AU *winkwink* ) Normally Guy carries it when he's on site, observing fontech excavation, it's helpful for finding power cores.

-in the post-epilogue world, Guy's interest and knowledge about fontech makes him the greatest source of information in the party, in contrast to Jade being the authority on fonic sciences back when fonons were abundant

-I also imagine that many people are still reluctant to adopt fontech in their everyday lives/still stuck on losing the Score and fonic magic so there was not a lot of initial interest. It was also still quite a risk to invest in given a lot of advance tech had to rely on excavated machines from the Dawn Age. In contrast, replicas have no preconceptions about fontech and I imagine Guy helping fledgling replica communities get ahead by sharing and teaching them how to use simple fontech. Since philantrophy/altruism is also part of what nobility does, it makes the other nobles impressed as well.

-I went a little overboard with the gold cording but I really like the idea of the cording being a traditional style of Hod.

-the four leaf clover-like knot is a decorative knot called a mokkou musubi, it carries the meaning of 'perpetuation of one's descendants'. Pere tied it for him with that in mind to revive the House of Gardios.

-the pin brooch on his lapel is the same as the one Marybelle wears on her cravat. I like to think that it's their family crest. In the off-jacket version, Guy has a smaller pin on the collar.

-I really wanted to preserve the curved open window (?) that his vest has in his original design so I ended up putting it as an open back on his jacket

-I went through so many types of coat styles, from like caped trench coats to riding frocks but cycled back to keeping the single-tail back.

-the orange 'jacket' around his waist in the jacket-off version is actually his vest. And the cloth in his pocket is not the cravat from his full dressed version, but I can imagine a funny skit where everyone keeps thinking it is the cravat.

[queerofthedagger]

Fluff #10 for Dreamling!! My AO3 username is wynnebat 😄

Ahh thanks for the prompt Wynne! This really is just utter ridiculous softness, I hope you'll like it! <3

In Bold Letters

“I am going to marry you one day.” In Hob’s defence, he is just this side of tipsy, is a little too drunk on expensive wine and Dream’s presence and the high spirits of the wedding reception they are just stumbling out of.

Well, Hob is stumbling. It also wasn’t their wedding reception, of course, but that of one of his closest friends—this lifetime—and, truth be told, he still isn’t entirely sure how he ended up here with Dream, of all people.

“Will you now,” Dream says, one sharp brow raised. He looks amused, but if Hob were to go out on a limb, he would say that it was fond. Mostly. Perhaps a little intrigued, too, if Hob were to indulge in wishful thinking.

It does horrible things to his already loose tongue, and he links their arms together. The cool night air is doing wonders for his head, but not quite enough yet to make him second-guess his words. Not quite enough yet to make him worry that Dream might storm off again, despite him not having done so in roughly one hundred and thirty-four years, or fifty-one meetings (not that Hob is counting or anything).

“Well, I got you to come with me to this one, didn’t I?” he says with a grin, gesturing behind them where music and laughter are still tripping into London’s streets.

To be fair, mostly Dream had turned up in the New Inn as he is wont to do and found Hob in the process of getting ready. Whatever reckless madness got into Hob today, it precedes the alcohol, because he’d asked, not really expecting a positive answer, ‘You could come, if you liked?’ instead of telling Dream to come back tomorrow.

Weddings and alcohol or not, Hob has never once been reasonable where Dream is concerned; at the end of the day, it always seems to pay off.

Dream pulls them to a halt and turns to face Hob properly. His eyes are very dark in the dim light of the streetlamps, but there is something warm to them, something unnameable that nestles comfortably beneath Hob’s fourth and fifth rib.

“I will admit that humanity’s habits and customs often elude me,” Dream says, stepping close enough that Hob can see the night sky in his eyes, “But I do believe that I would be correct to point out that commonly, couples would be expected to spend a period of time courting first, would they not?”

The air shifts, and Hob’s throat goes dry. Well-worn fear tries to climb up his spine, but Dream is still looking at him with something awfully close to affection, and so Hob swallows the urge to take back his words.

At his lack of answer, Dream smiles, just a tick of his mouth. “And further, I do believe that commonly, proposals of marriage are not only posed as a question but also involve a certain sort of ceremony and gravitas, do they not? Humans do have a great many nightmares about it, I recall.”

Hob is… well, actually, for once he isn’t quite sure; Dream is teasing him, but what he is saying would also imply—

“I would court you,” Hob says, jumping off the precipice without bothering to measure the distance. “If you let me, there is nothing I would rather do, weeks or months or years of it. I’d take you to art galleries and theatres and readings. I’d gift you jewels and flowers, or simply cook for you and make you tea. I would propose with all—”

Dream kisses him, effectively cutting off what Hob could have easily spun into a speech. Dream kisses him, with enough force that Hob almost stumbles, twisting his hands into the lapels of Dream’s coat. Dream kisses him, gentling after a moment, and Hob thinks if this is how he dies, that would be quite alright, actually.

“We could start with this, if you are agreeable,” Dream murmurs once he draws back, just far enough to breathe the words against Hob’s mouth.

Before Hob can answer, Dream is kissing him again, tender and hungry and devastating. His fingers are cool against Hob’s jaw, and Hob pours his answer right down Dream’s throat, clenches his fingers into dream-spun fabric upon narrow hips, and thanks whatever gods are out there for his big, big mouth.

“Yes,” he laughs, once they pull apart, just to make sure, just to say it, and see the pleased joy spread across Dream’s face.

“Yes,” he repeats, much later but not as many months as it could have been when, of course, Dream beats him to the actual proposal. “I already told you months ago, did I not?”

Dream huffs, but Hob can read the affection underneath as if in bold letters.

✨December Gift Ficlets ✨

[citruscloudsandmoon]

Mayblade day 13: Affection

An excerpt from my unpublished Beyblade fanfic 'In the mood of Love'.

Rating: K+

Pairing: Kai/Hil

Hiromi was leaning against the walled garden wall, sipping on champagne from the flute when she heard slow footsteps on the gravel footpath. Thinking it might be one of her cousins, she said;

“Tell mum, I am not hungry. And If I will be, I will eat later”

When no reply came, she finally looked up and saw the last person she was expecting; Kai was standing a few feet away from her in a three piece dark blue suit, a white rose pinned in the lapel of his coat. He looked incredibly handsome.

“Well if isn’t the love of my life” Hiromi drawled, lips breaking in a cynical smile.

“So glad you could make it”

Kai let out a derisive snort at this. Her tone was far from it.

“We both know that’s not true,” Kai said as he sauntered towards the brunette, hands tucked in his pants pockets.

“But it is!” Hiromi insisted “ Rumiko would have bite my head off with her whining if you hadn’t come”

Kai didn’t say anything further. Something else caught his attention.

“You are wearing a different dress,” Kai commented, remembering the pink coral dress which Hiromi showed to him two months ago. That dress was pretty. But it was no match to the viridian one which Hiromi was wearing now.

“I was feeling rebellious for once,” Hiromi said, now rotating the flute to catch the light from the setting sun. Curious to see whether the low beams would make the champagne more golden.

Hiromi was about to ask his opinion about her look; what he thought of it and whether she looked beautiful? but decided against it. It didn’t matter. Besides, he was going to give her a clipped, rehearsed answer anyway. So she settled for another question.

“Why are you here?”

“Because I know you don’t like being around people. You were never the one to keep up appearances. You were never the one to care about others' opinions…”

“Sure your absence would have caused a scene, but you would have been least affected by it…” Hiromi then drew in her breath to steady herself. She suddenly had this urge to throw the glass on a gravel path. She could have. But what if a small animal stepped on a fragment in the dark? Someone else paying the price for her bitterness. It just wasn’t right.

“Insolent people saying mean things doesn’t hurt. Because that’s how they are…” Kai began.

Where was Kai going with this?

“But if it’s coming from someone who’s good-hearted, it sure does sound rude”

Kai sighed before answering Hiromi’s question; “I came here just to look at you. But now…”

“I want to talk to you, have coffee with you and maybe kiss your forehead. Because I missed it”

“You missed my forehead?” Hiromi asked warily. She wasn’t impressed.

“Terribly” Man, he really was shameless.

But maybe she was more shameless than him, for after a minute, Hiromi ran her hand through her hair, bringing her fringes up, so now her skin was exposed.

Hiromi closed her eyes, when she felt a pair of cold but soft lips pressing on her forehead tenderly.

Once.

Twice.

Then thrice.

Huh, he wasn’t lying then.

But then again, she missed this too.

[1bringthesun]

alright. we’ve reached deranged o’clock. today, i, tai, will be dissecting the garb of Fyodor (bsd). if someone has done this already, oops! let’s begin.

to start, an image of Fyodor for reference.

so i’m kicking us off with his hat, because that’s probably the easiest part. the fandom has collectively agreed that it’s an ushanka, and yeah, i tend to agree. it pretty much looks exactly like this (image pictured below: white ushanka from this link).

so that’s that. to balance it out, i’m doing his cape next, because what the fuck. it looks like a pretty normal cape at first glance. one with fur lining. like this (image pictured below: a black cape with fur lining at the top near the collar from this link.)

but i urge you to go look back at the reference image, because not only does Fyodor’s cape not attach at the top, not only does it have buttons along the edges, but it has a notch lapel (a type of collar lapel; basically those foldy things by the sides at the top of a trench coat). and once again, it doesn’t attach at the damn top.

so that leaves us two options: either it’s an unbuttoned coat with sleeves that don’t show because it’s so dark and a fur lining, or it’s a really weird cape. and please spare me, because i know nothing about fashion. i’m doing this all for fun. so let’s explore each option.

it could definitely be something like this, except with fur added (image pictured below: soviet officer’s naval uniform from this link)

except… you know. it doesn’t have sleeves. but his cape doesn’t have anywhere to clip onto at the top, and it also has that collar lapel, and also buttons, so it barely looks like a cape at all! what are you WEARING, Fyodor??

there’s one last possibility, but it’s not a style of cape so much as it is one specific thing i found that looks like the discolored version of what Fyodor is wearing. because i know i’m going to hit the image limit, i’m just going to tell you to visit this link if you wanna see what it looks like. it’s just a lora piana cape.

in any case, his cape does look like a personally tailored version of something that originally came from the russian military, so there’s some food for thought. moving onto his shirt.

the one clothing item that looks most like what he’s wearing is a qipao/cheongsam top. for all intents and purposes, the style and everything looks quite similar—the buttons and how they’re in the middle, where the purple-colored trim would go on Fyodor’s shirt and how it aligns with the sewing, etc. here is an example.

(image pictured below: a white qipao/cheongsam top that honestly looks a lot like what Fyodor is wearing from this link)

that looks pretty similar, right? right?!?! but damnit Fyodor, you had to make things complicated, didn’t you?! because … because your collar? that is NOT a qipao/cheongsam collar. (image pictured below: official art of Fyodor holding his hat and smiling with no cape on from this link)

the only thing that would explain how this was still a qipao/cheongsam top was if he was wearing a fengxian collar. and even then… it’s not quite right. (image pictured below: woman wearing a red dudou with a fengxian collar from this link.)

…but putting so much effort into styling one single shirt… i mean, i couldn’t find any men’s examples of the fengxian collar because styling your qipao is more of a feminine thing to do. so let’s visit russian fashion again.

ah, but there’s the slight kicker. 19th century russian fashion was, to my knowledge, influenced by asian fashion. for example, the khalat, also known as a russian cape, which— huh, do you think he could be wearing a khalat?

….i finished talking about his cape. and as i was writing about the weird collar on his shirt, i remembered this official art, which i grabbed and saved directly from the manga so i don’t have a link source. (image pictured below: newish official art released in the manga—Dazai and Fyodor standing next to each other with yellow paint(?) severing their heads from their bodies and TV screens with various pictures surrounding them.)

Fyodor’s collar! look, it’s straight! maybe he IS wearing a cheongsam! the cape still has that weird collar lapel (goddamn it) so i can’t really say anything enlightened about that, but… the shirt!!

cool! alright! his pants! so this is really straightforward. idk if it’s pants that come as a pair with the shirt or something, but they just look like normal white linen pants to me. (image pictured below: linen, white pants on a woman from this link)

finally, his shoes. i only have one image left before i hit the image limit, so i hope you’re willing to scroll back to the top, where you’ll see his shoes look very strange, but surprisingly, they’re easy enough to label.

i think it’s likely he’s wearing Renaissance boots, given how they look almost identical to his sans the fact they’re disconnected in the front, but Renaissance boots DO have gaps, it’s just not pictured in the specific image of these specific boots i chose. (image pictured below: Renaissance boots from this link.)

yeah, they’re a little short, and maybe they don’t look EXACTLY right, but you can’t deny it’s the same style. if you think the shoe quarters look a little less attached to the vamps, then i’d just tell you to consider the fact he’s wearing spatterdashes and call it a day. (more about spats here.)

and finally, if you’re interested in 19th century/historical russian fashion, given Fyodor’s outfit seems pretty inspired by that, i advise you check out this link, which goes into some detail about things i didn’t.

of course, i hope you enjoyed my disorganized insanity, and may you have a good sun-out time or moon-out time!

[goforth-ladymidnight]

A Second Chance, Ch. 10

@praetorqueenreyna @thrumbolt @taymartiart @northern-star-polaris @zivotzaruzi (Does anyone else want to be tagged or untagged?)

Pairing: Tamlin x Lucien

Wordcount: 4.6k

Summary: Tamlin and Lucien reluctantly part ways to go to work, where they each learn something that could change the nature of their relationship

Read on AO3, or read on below:

At 8:58 the next morning, Tamlin turned his back on the elevator so that he wouldn’t have to watch the numbers climbing, signaling the moment the doors would open and he would have to ride it down to the lobby, alone. Lucien’s car was in the parking garage on the other side of the building, but he had insisted on taking Tamlin to the guest elevator anyway. If Tamlin had known how their night together was going to go, he never would have accepted Jurian’s offer to pick him up. It was too late to change their plans now, but he wished he could, just the same.

As if sensing his somber mood, Lucien reached out and adjusted the knot of the white scarf around Tamlin’s neck. “So, what time do you get off work?”

Tamlin blew out his cheeks and thought about how much to say. “It depends on the day. We still have some leftover work from the weekend to catch up on, so we should be through by six. Why?”

“Mmm… I was thinking: Takeout.”

Tamlin blinked. “Takeout?”

“Mm-hmm.” Lucien walked his fingers up the length of the scarf. “Ordering out. Staying in. Watching a movie.” He pulled on the scarf to bring Tamlin’s mouth to his level. “Other indoor activities,” he murmured, then kissed him.

Tamlin breathed in his freshly applied cologne, tasted the subtle cinnamon flavor of his lip balm, and felt the soft wool fibers of Lucien’s coat beneath his fingers. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was dreaming, even though he was wide awake. “That sounds amazing,” he said with a sigh, then repeated the Scythian phrase Lucien had taught him. “You’re amazing.”

To his surprise, Lucien began to blush, and dropped his gaze as if to hide his grin, an impossible task.

“What? Did I say it wrong?”

“No.” Lucien reached up and smoothed out the lapels of Tamlin’s jacket, still smiling. “I was just thinking… your accent has gotten better. That’s all.”

“Well, I had a good teacher,” Tamlin said with a shy grin of his own.

Lucien’s eyebrows flicked up. “You certainly taught me a thing or two,” he teased, then pulled Tamlin down for another kiss.

The elevator bell dinged, and the doors opened behind them.

Tamlin pulled away reluctantly and sighed again. “I guess this is it,” he said mournfully.

“Oh, no,” Lucien declared, and stunned him by pulling him into the elevator by his scarf. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“But your car is on the other side of—”

Lucien’s mouth against his silenced his argument, and by the time the elevator doors slid shut, he was done trying.

Luckily, no one else called for an elevator before it reached the lobby. Not that Tamlin would have noticed, anyway.

Lucien’s head fell back against the gleaming wall of the elevator, breathing hard. “They really should invent a day that falls between Sunday and Monday,” he remarked, face flushed. “I could use another day of this.”

Tamlin was breathing just as hard as he gripped the railing for balance. “Yeah. Me, too.”

Just then, someone from the lobby stepped through the open doors of the elevator, and startled when he noticed them scrambling to stand up straight. “Oh! Are you boys getting off?”

“No!” Tamlin said quickly as Lucien said: “Yes”, then let out a shy laugh when he noticed Lucien smirking.

Lucien patted Tamlin’s chest. “Sadly, he is, but I’m not,” he said, then chastely returned his hands to his pockets. “Right, Tam?”

Tamlin reached for the elevator door as it began to slide closed. “Right,” he said shyly, then stepped through the opening. “Um, see you later, Lu.”

Lucien smiled like a pleased cat as he leaned back against the railing. “See you.”

Tamlin’s thoughts began to clear only when he reached the glass doors of the lobby. He could see Jurian’s vehicle idling under the awning, and beyond that, a fresh sprinkling of snow sparkled in the sunlight. He took in a deep, cleansing breath. Traffic was going to be hell, but on a day like this, absolutely nothing could spoil his mood.

As he pushed open the first set of doors, a distant voice called behind him: “Hey, Tam!” He turned to see Lucien trotting after him. “Tam, wait!”

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Tamlin asked worriedly, letting the door fall closed as Lucien caught his breath.

“You forgot something.”

“I did?”

Tamlin half-expected Lucien to reach for him and give him another goodbye kiss, and was surprised when Lucien reached inside his pocket instead, but his curiosity quickly overrode his disappointment.

“I meant to tell you before: I get off at five, so, just in case you get here before me…” Lucien reached for Tamlin’s hand and pressed something small and flat and metallic into it. “Here.”

Tamlin opened his palm and stared at what lay there in disbelief. “What’s this?” he asked, as though it wasn’t completely obvious.

“The extra key to my apartment,” Lucien said shyly. “If you want it.”

Tamlin let out an amazed chuckle and held it up. “You’re giving me a key, just like that?”

Lucien shrugged. “Yeah. I mean… I would have put a bow on it, but I didn’t think about it in time.”

Tamlin turned the small brass key over in his fingers, tracing the shape of the grooves in the blade, speechless.

“If it’s too much too soon, you don’t have to take it—”

“No, no. I’ll take it,” Tamlin said, which made Lucien smirk. “I just… I can’t believe you’re already, we’re already, um, you know, living togeth—well, I mean, not living together, but…”

Lucien chuckled. “We were roommates once,” he pointed out gently. “Think of this as just… picking up where we left off.”

Tamlin blushed as he dropped his gaze and nodded. “Yeah. Okay,” he said softly, then tucked the key in his pocket and sighed. “Would it be a cliché if I said I miss you already?” he asked with a shy smile.

Lucien’s answering smile was kind. “It’s not a cliché if it’s true,” he replied, then reached for him. “Come here.”

This was a much gentler goodbye kiss than the one in the elevator, but no less effective in the hunger that it caused.

Lucien must have felt it, too, for he did not release his hold on Tamlin when they parted. “I suppose it’s too late to call in sick,” he said huskily. His breath was warm against Tamlin’s mouth.

Tamlin tore his gaze away to look out the glass doors of the lobby where Jurian’s SUV was still waiting. “Unfortunately,” he said reluctantly, fingering Lucien’s fine wool collar. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Lucien’s countenance brightened at once. “Well, if you start feeling at all queasy, call me,” he said, straightening Tamlin’s scarf. “I’ll come and get you, tuck you into bed, and make you feel all better.”

Tamlin felt himself turn bright red as he let out an embarrassed chuckle. “You know, I am feeling kind of feverish,” he flirted shyly.

“Ooh, I hope it’s contagious,” Lucien teased, then kissed him again, briefly. “Go on, then,” he said, releasing him at last. “Before I become delirious and take you back upstairs with me.”

Tamlin couldn’t contain his foolish smile as he reached for the door. “See you later,” he said.

“See you,” Lucien replied, then took a step forward as if to follow. “Say, maybe I’ll pick up some chicken soup and dumplings for dinner tonight,” he remarked, putting his hands in his pockets. “Then afterwards we can play Doctor.”

Tamlin nearly fell through the door as it unexpectedly swung open behind him. He looked around, face burning, but no one else was around to notice. “Geez. Now you’re making me delirious.”

Lucien grinned an unabashed grin. “I knew it was contagious,” he teased, then jerked his chin at the door. “Go on. You have my number if you need me.”

Tamlin shook his head and chuckled, then released the door to wave. “See you, Doc.”

The warmth of Lucien’s pleased grin followed him out the door and into the SUV.

“Well, well. Good morning,” Jurian remarked as Tamlin slid into the passenger seat. “Where are your antlers, Prancer?”

Tamlin breathed a shy laugh as he buckled up. “Don’t you mean Rudolph?”

“Oh, no, not with that walk,” Jurian said, grinning as he shifted the SUV into gear. “You were prancing.”

“What? I was not!”

“Oh, yes, you were.” Jurian grinned as he drove through the parking lot. “You got laid.”

Tamlin’s face turned to flame. “Shut up.”

Jurian chuckled. “You know Dasher, and Dancer, Prancer, and Vixen,” he teased in a warbly sing-song voice. “But do you recall…”

“Jurian—”

“The most famous reindeer of alllll…”

Tamlin couldn’t help his embarrassed smile and hid it in his hands, even though the windows were tinted well, and there was no one else around to hear Jurian’s terrible singing.

Jurian chortled and reached over to pat him on the arm. “Relax, kid. I’m happy for you.”

Tamlin looked up at that. “You are?”

“Sure,” Jurian said distractedly, glancing over his shoulder as he pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic. “It’s about time you got lucky.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, but it wasn’t luck; it was a goddamn miracle. Tamlin watched Jurian carefully as he asked, “What about you?”

“What about me?” Jurian said, staring straight ahead.

“Did you get lucky?”

“Hmm… You seem awfully interested in your boss’s love life,” Jurian said evenly, then shot him a look. Don’t push it.

Tamlin barked an incredulous laugh. “You just sang the first verse of a Christmas song because of the way I walked, and now you’re pulling the employee card on me? What gives?”

“What gives is the less you know about it, the better,” Jurian said coolly, smoothly changing lanes.

“About what? Screwing your mark?”

“Hey.” Jurian pointed at him. “You don’t talk about her that way. Ever.”

Tamlin’s face flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that…”

Jurian’s jaw tightened as he returned his attention to the road. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered.

They drove in silence for an entire block before Tamlin found the courage to ask, “Does this mean she’s not our mark anymore?”

“Like I said: The less you know, the better.”

Tamlin pursed his lips. “She’s my mark, too, so unless you plan on firing me, I think I’m entitled to know something.”

They came to an idling stop at an intersection. “You really want to know?” Jurian asked quietly without looking at him.

Tamlin’s heartbeat quickened. “Yeah. I really want to know.”

The light turned green, and Jurian smirked at him. “Too bad,” he said, then sped up with the rest of traffic.

Tamlin groaned and slumped in his seat. “You’re such an ass.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Jurian quipped, then flicked on the radio.

Ordinarily Tamlin would have sulked in silence for the rest of their commute, listening to the weather forecast and holly-jolly Christmas ads that coaxed everyone to buy-buy-buy in time for the holiday, but things were different now. He finally had someone else who cared about him, so he wasn’t afraid of being kicked out of the apartment if he pushed things too far. He reached over and switched off the radio.

“What the—” Jurian stared at him. “What the hell?”

“Watch the road,” Tamlin snapped. “You’re going to drive, and you’re going to listen.”

To Jurian’s credit, he did both, and carefully.

Tamlin took a deep breath. “If you want to sleep with Vassa, you’re right: That’s none of my business. But if you’re also going to turn around and turn in her whereabouts to some—some client, I need to know. Lucien and I are dating now. Even if we weren’t, I—I care about him. I’m already in too deep to be some kind of double agent.”

“So you did get laid.”

“Jurian.”

“Okay, okay. You made your point.” Jurian sighed loudly through his nose as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I wasn’t going to say anything until after we got to the office, but there is something you need to know.”

Tamlin’s heart skipped a beat. “About what?”

“About Vassa. I have to look into it first—you know, once I have access to her file—but I think…” Jurian blew out his cheeks, looking pensive.

“What?”

“I think she’s on the run from… from the Scythian mafia.”

* * *

Lucien was humming the tune to Silver Bells when he walked into Eris’s office later that morning.

“Knock, knock,” he called out cheerily, unbuttoning his coat.

Eris, who was on the phone, waved him in, distracted.

While he waited for his brother to finish his call, Lucien turned his attention to the elderly greyhound dozing on the couch in the corner of the office. More silver than grey anymore, the hound lifted its head when he approached, and its tail slowly thumped against the cushions when he reached out to rub it behind its silky ears.

“Hey, old man,” he said gently as it sighed and leaned into his touch.

“Hey, yourself,” Eris quipped, hanging up the phone. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so early, or at all, really.”

Lucien chuckled and gave the dog’s neck an extra pat before moving closer to shrug off his coat. “I thought I might as well come in and earn my keep.”

“Well, you picked one hell of a day to do it. Dad’s coming.”

“Ugh.” Lucien shrugged his coat back on. “Is it too late to go on a coffee run? I can be back in a couple hours—”

“We have coffee.” Eris pointed to the chair across from his desk. “Sit.”

Lucien grimaced and sat instead on the corner of the desk.

Eris sighed in a resigned way, and sat back in his ergonomic chair. “Well, before Zeus descends from Mount Olympus to strike fear in the hearts of we lowly mortals,” he began wryly, steepling his fingers, “I thought I should ask: Do you still want to proceed with your boyfriend’s case?”

“Of course I—” Lucien’s back straightened. “Wait. How did you know he was my boyfriend?”

Eris smirked. “Because I know you. You don’t know the meaning of: Take it slow.”

“So?” Lucien frowned and crossed his arms. “You could learn to take a hint. Mor’s going to break up with you if you don’t make up your mind soon and propose.”

“She already has.”

Lucien winced. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Eris said, sitting up with a tight smile. “She and her new girlfriend are very happy together.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, well.” Eris sighed. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Whenever I took her to the ballet, we were both looking at the ballerinas’ legs.”

Lucien was too surprised by this information to ask how Eris noticed. He thought that everyone was staring at the men in tights on stage.

Eris continued, “I just don’t want you to be surprised when I show up to the work Christmas party with a different date, that’s all.”

“You already have another date?” When Eris nodded, Lucien whistled. “I take it back. You’re no slouch after all.”

Eris let out a wry chuckle and leaned over to open a bottom drawer in his massive desk. “I don’t dare. Nesta is a dancer. If I slouch, I die.”

The old greyhound’s collar tags jingled as it moved off the couch and padded over to Eris, tail wagging, apparently hoping for a treat from that bottom drawer. Naturally, Eris had one.

As he watched Eris run his hand over the hound’s lanky frame as it chowed down on a bit of jerky, Lucien realized something. “Oh, I get it. Nesta is the owner of those legs you were looking at on stage,” he teased.

Eris gave his dog one more treat before sending it back to the couch with an affectionate pat on the flank. “Like I said, Mor and I were over a long time ago,” he said quietly. “We were both looking.”

Before Lucien could ask more about his brother’s new paramour, Eris produced a dusty-looking phonebook from the same drawer and thumped it on top of the desk.

Tapping his finger on the once-glossy cover, Eris said, “If you still want to proceed with your boyfriend’s case, I’m going to need some questions answered first.”

“And you think you’re going to find them in the city directory?”

“Not me. You.” He slid the phonebook closer. “Look under P for Private Investigators.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because I’m older and I say so.”

Lucien grimaced and took the phonebook in hand. “Don’t we have temps for this sort of thing?” he complained, riffling through the pages.

“I want to do this off the record until I know more about the situation,” Eris explained, dusting off his hands. “Besides, all hell is going to break loose when his High Lordship arrives, and I don’t want anyone distracted.”

Lucien’s finger traced over the surprisingly small number of listings of private investigators, and he sighed. “Do we have to do it this way?” he asked quietly.

“Do you have a better idea?”

He didn’t, but it seemed wrong, somehow. Distrustful. “You swear this will be off the record?”

“I’ll pay in cash. If this goes poorly, no one needs to know we were involved. And if it goes well… Well, they still don’t need to know,” Eris said with a dismissive shrug.

Lucien took a deep breath. “Fine,” he agreed, though reluctantly. “How about this one?” he suggested, pointing to a simple ad with an eye in the center of a ring. It was quiet. Clean. It helped him feel less… dirty for spying on his boyfriend.

“Fine by me. Read me the number,” Eris said, reaching for the phone on his desk.

As it began to ring, Eris put it on speaker, and Lucien panicked.

“What am I supposed to say?” he hissed.

“You’re not,” Eris hissed back. “But I’m not doing this by myself.”

Before Lucien could say anything else, the voice on the other end picked up.

“Thank you for calling J. P. I., where we put the Private in Private Eye. How may I help you?”

Eris leaned in. “Yeah, hi. I’d like to inquire about a comprehensive background check for someone.”

“Certainly, sir,” the man on the other end said, sounding as though he were rummaging for a pen. “Just a moment… Now, is this background check for a potential employee, or someone else? And remember, don’t be shy; we put the Private in Private Eye.”

Before Eris could reply, Lucien reached over and ended the call.

“What—Hey!” Eris frowned at him. “What did you do that for?”

Even though Lucien’s finger was still pressing down on the switch hook, his ears continued to ring. “That was him,” he said hoarsely.

“Who?”

Lucien swallowed hard. “Tamlin.”

* * *

“Are you still there? Sir?” Even though the line had already gone dead, Tamlin tried again. “Hello?”

“What’s the matter?” Jurian called out, searching through one of the many piles of paperwork that needed to be filed in one of the rickety metal filing cabinets lining the tiny office.

“I don’t know. I guess he just hung up,” Tamlin said with a frown, and returned the handset to its cradle. He carefully swiveled around in the creaky office chair but still nearly knocked over a stack of printer paper. “I told you that was a stupid slogan.”

“What’s the point of running your own business if you can’t have a little fun with it?” Jurian quipped, then shot to his feet with a triumphant cry. “Ah-ha! Found you, you sneaky bastard.”

“Who, Koschei?”

“Yep,” Jurian said, smacking the file folder with his free hand. “What do you say we do a little research on our good friend, here?”

Tamlin grimaced and fiddled with the pen in his hands. “I don’t know. If he’s really part of the Scythian mafia, maybe we shouldn’t—”

The phone on the desk began to ring again, a tinny sound in the small space.

As Tamlin reached for the receiver, Jurian remarked, “Need I remind you that we put the Private in Private Eye? We’re not going to get caught for—”

Tamlin shushed him and put the receiver to his ear. “Thank you for calling J. P. I., where we put the Private in Private Eye,” he recited dryly. Jurian gave him an exaggerated wink and a thumbs-up. He sighed and continued, “How may I help you?”

“You are the one who speaks Scythian, yes?”

Tamlin’s blood ran cold as he recognized the deep, heavily accented voice. “Um, only a little,” he admitted, but he didn’t feel like telling the man how amazing he was. “Jurian,” he hissed and pointed at the receiver. “I think it’s our friend.”

Jurian’s curious smile vanished, and he quickly took the phone as he traded places with Tamlin. “This is Jurian,” he said carefully, then nodded as he sat back in the office chair. “Da,” he said, then covered the mouthpiece as he looked up and whispered, “Get me the Scythian Study Guide.”

Tamlin wordlessly did as he said, retrieving the dictionary from its place on the nearby shelf among the other guidebooks they had—Caring for Your Camera, Birdwatching for Beginners, Visiting Vallahan, and Job Hunting for Dummies—but Jurian didn’t seem to need it.

As he conversed with this client, whether it was Koschei or one of his associates, Jurian spoke calmly and fluently, thumbing his way through the dictionary as if it were a magazine instead of a reference. Even his accent had improved. It seemed that Vassa was just as good a teacher as Lucien.

And speaking of Vassa, Tamlin straightened up when Jurian said her name. Even though he didn’t understand the language, he could tell that the conversation wasn’t going well. Jurian’s face hardened as the voice on the other end grew louder. Swearing, he guessed, and cutting Jurian off when he tried to explain... something, before inevitably getting hung up on.

Jurian jerked the receiver away from his ear. “And the same to you, asshole,” he muttered before carefully returning it to its cradle.

“What was that all about?” Tamlin asked as he watched Jurian run a hand through his unkempt hair.

“What do you think?”

“Vassa,” they said simultaneously, then they both sighed in unison.

Tamlin lowered himself carefully onto the corner of the desk so that it wouldn’t wobble, but it wobbled anyway. As he returned his pen to its jar, he asked, “So, what did you tell him?”

“I said that we had run into unexpected delays and needed more time to track her down.”

“And what did he say?”

“Oh, he called me a—you know what? I’m not sure it would translate all that well,” Jurian said with a wincing smile. “But don’t worry. I’ve heard worse.”

Tamlin blew out his cheeks and looked away. He’d certainly heard his fair share in his years working for Jurian. “So, what do we do now?”

Jurian tiredly scrubbed at his face and groaned. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to not smoke really, really hard.”

Tamlin winced. Even though he didn’t want to know more, he had to know. “And Koschei?”

“He can smoke in the pits of hell for all I care.”

“Does that mean we’re quitting?”

Jurian heaved a deep, resigned sigh. “It means that we have twenty-four hours to give him Vassa’s whereabouts, or we’re off the case.”

Tamlin perked up. “Hey, that’s a good thing though, right? We still have half the money. We can just quietly back out and…” He faltered when Jurian shook his head.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not?”

“No, because now that Koschei knows that she’s here, what’s going to stop him from hiring another Private Investigator?” Jurian pointed out. “Someone who doesn’t care if Vassa gets hurt, or who helped her out by paying for her very pricey, very private hotel room.”

Tamlin’s blood ran cold. “You mean Lucien.”

Jurian nodded grimly.

Tamlin got up and rubbed the back of his neck as he turned around to stare out the grimy window. “There’s no way out of this, is there.”

“Not unless you know any other redheads in Prythian who just so happen to speak Scythian.”

Tamlin sighed, then whirled around with a sudden idea. “Lucien does.”

Jurian made a face. “Nice try, but in case you hadn’t noticed, Lucien is male.”

Tamlin ignored that little jab and braced his hands on the desk’s flat surface. “All Koschei wants is a photo of a redhead who matches Vassa’s description,” he said, getting excited. “I’m not saying Lucien could pass for Vassa, but I am saying that we could take a photo of any redhead in Prythian and say that we think it’s Vassa.”

Jurian’s head jerked back in surprise as he thought it over, then he shook his head. “And put an innocent girl in harm’s way? I don’t think so.”

“Koschei will know it’s not her. He’ll have no reason to go after her,” Tamlin insisted. “Maybe it will make him think he’s looking in the wrong direction. Who knows? Maybe he is.” When Jurian tapped his chin, looking thoughtful, Tamlin pushed himself away from the desk and added, “At least it will buy us some time.”

Jurian didn’t respond at first, but opened the file folder on the desk to peruse its contents. “Koschei did say he would pay us once he received the photos,” he mused.

“So, as long as we provide him with some photos in good faith…” Tamlin offered.

“Then there’s no reason to suspect we’re lying,” Jurian finished.

Tamlin spread his hands in an innocent shrug. “For all we know, your Vassa is just an innocent tourist,” he pointed out.

Jurian smiled sadly to himself. “My Vassa,” he said quietly, then nodded. “Okay.”

Tamlin grinned. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay,” Jurian said, pushing himself away from the desk. “Let’s pull a fast one on these goons.”

Tamlin’s courage faltered for a moment. “Wait. If they’re actually goons—I mean, if they’re with the mafia—what if they try to come after us?”

Jurian waved dismissively. “Koschei isn’t going to pay us for giving him the wrong photos. Besides, it’s not about the money anymore. It’s about keeping Vassa safe.”

Tamlin breathed a laugh and shook his head in wonder at how much Jurian had changed in a few short days. “You’re amazing,” he said proudly in Scythian.

Jurian’s chin jerked back, and he spread his hands in a confused way. “I, uh… Thank you,” he said, giving Tamlin a little bow. As he straightened, he smirked. “Did your boyfriend teach you that one?”

Tamlin felt himself begin to blush. “Yeah. Why?”

Jurian shrugged and slid the Scythian Study Guide closer. “You might want to save that little phrase for him, that’s all.”

When Tamlin took the book in hand to look it up, Jurian stopped him.

“Later. First, we need to figure out a plan. We only have twenty-four hours to make this work.”

Tamlin nodded, both excited and relieved at this turn of events. He was surprised that he didn’t feel more guilty, but this wasn’t like before, when he had lied to Lucien to save his own ass.

If this worked—no, when this worked—he wouldn’t have to lie to Lucien ever again. After tomorrow, there wouldn’t be any more secrets between them. There wouldn’t have to be. He could finally move on and live his life freely. Once and for all.

[tough-n-dumb]

From: Maybe They Could Try Again

Almost without thought, he slid his hand down to cup the back of her knee, thumb gently gliding over her skin that almost seemed to shimmer.

He was so transfixed he didn’t notice Inej shifting closer until he felt her hand sliding into his hair, fingernails lightly scratching his scalp. He shut his eyes, breathing deeply and letting the feel of her wash over him.

“Thank you. I like you like this.”

Kaz opened his eyes and looked up at her. “Seated at your feet?” Like the penitent he knew he was.

She smiled. “Well, I certainly don’t mind that. But no, I mean when you let me see what you are really feeling. When we can try, together.”

He bent forward and lay the softest kiss on her knee, then stood.

Inej’s legs fell apart and he stepped between them. Her hands went to the lapels of the coat he still wore and pulled him even closer. They were now at eye level with each other and Kaz leaned in until his lips barely brushed her ear.

“Then will you have me now, Inej?”

It was HARD to pick a small selection, I love all of this obe so much!

thank you🥹this was definitely one of my favorite sections to write! i love a good first kiss

i suppose first i should say that in general this part came from me being absolutely obsessed with the bandaging wounds trope (and it’s also of course a call back to the first time kaz did this for inej—but this time, he doesn’t have to pull away). the part you chose is in the space between the bandaging and their first kiss and i really tried to amp up the tension here starting with small touches that, as evidenced by the rest of the fic, they’ve slowly been getting better and better at

he felt her hand sliding into his hair, fingernails lightly scratching his scalp. He shut his eyes, breathing deeply and letting the feel of her wash over him

i think kaz would be a huge fan of inej playing with his hair and so this was me being completely self-indulgent and writing just that. it also serves to show how her touch has become something that soothes him

but then of course, kaz can’t take any emotions seriously and immediately makes a joke about her liking that he worships her. inej indulges the joke but then corrects him, but for kaz it is true, isn’t it? she may not be an actual saint, but he, the sinner, is still utterly devoted to her. which is another trope i eat up

Her hands went to the lapels of the coat he still wore and pulled him even closer

i just really like writing one character gripping another’s clothing and pulling them into a kiss/embrace, what can i say

Kaz leaned in until his lips barely brushed her ear.

“Then will you have me now, Inej?”

this is again a call back to the bathroom scene—him standing between her legs and leaning in—as well as the “stay in ketterdam” conversation. but this time, kaz isn’t asking her to stay. he knows she will leave and he knows she will come back (although he does still deal with anxiety over this as is seen in this whole section of the fic). this time, it’s more teasing, though there is a little bit of uncertainty. but he doesn’t have his gloves on and he is not turning away from her. in fact, he is trying to get as close as possible. and of course she does respond that yes, she has him—he is hers undeniably

and then right after this section, the finally have their first kiss! and it’s messy because of course their first kiss would be when they are still learning each other in this way. and i loved writing a little role reversal of inej getting annoyed about kaz stopping her because her leg is hurting and pouting ensues

and so they kiss because they can; because they want to; because they are healing together—without their armor💞

thank you so much again for this ask, it was really fun revisiting this fic :)