#Fabric Interconnect

[turiyatitta]

The Cosmic Symphony

Rethinking the Chain of EventsIn the realm of philosophy, we often view the universe as a logical sequence of events where causes lead to effects, neatly arranging our reality into an orderly timeline. This classical cause-and-effect paradigm has long governed the way we think about the nature of existence. But what if we looked at this differently? What if cause and effect were more than just a…

[foreverisntenough]

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 3 - Mr. Madrid | ‘Act II’

word count - 12.4

(bare with me my french is rusttty)

The soft hum of the plane's engines filled the cabin, a gentle, rhythmic sound that lulled most of your friends into a quiet, sleepy state on the flight from Greece back to the north of England. The lights were dimmed, casting a warm, golden glow over everything, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt worlds away from the hustle of the airport just a few hours before. You and Jude were nestled together in a secluded corner of the cabin, the luxurious seats providing a cocoon of privacy. But instead of sitting in your own seat, you were curled up in Jude’s lap, your body pressed against his in a way that felt both comforting and electrifying. His arms were wrapped around you, holding you close, the heat of his body seeping into you, making you feel warm and safe. The flight attendants had long since stopped passing through, leaving you in a pocket of stillness, as if the world outside your small bubble didn't exist. The intimacy of the moment was heightened by the darkness outside the windows, the only light coming from the small reading lamp above them, which cast a soft halo around your heads. You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at Jude with a smile that was equal parts playful and content. His hand was resting on your hip, fingers tracing lazy, absentminded patterns against the fabric of your joggers. You could feel the strength in his hands, the possessiveness in the way he held you, as if he didn't want to let you go-like he was afraid this moment might slip away if he loosened his grip even a little.

"Comfortable?" Jude murmured, his voice low and quiet, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Mmm, very." You replied, your voice soft as you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the warmth of his body beneath you. You nestled closer, your cheek resting against his chest, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "I could stay like this forever." You told him earnestly. Jude chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"I wouldn't mind that." He said, his hand slipping in the waistband of your joggers teasingly, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your stomach. The touch was light, teasing, but it sent a spark of heat through you, a reminder of the chemistry that had been simmering between you since that night on the beach. You looked up at him again, your eyes dark with the same unspoken desire that had been growing between you throughout the holiday.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked, your voice taking on a sultry edge as you traced your fingers along the line of his jaw, your touch light but suggestive. Jude’s eyes darkened in response, a slow, lazy smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "I was thinking," he began, his voice a low murmur that sent another shiver of anticipation through you, "That maybe this doesn't have to end when we land." Your heart skipped a beat, your pulse quickening as you read the meaning in his words. 

"Oh?" you breathed, your lips brushing against his ear as you spoke, the nearness of him making your head spin. "And what do you suggest?" Jude’s hand slid further up your thigh, his fingers grazing the top hem of your lace panties, a touch so light it was almost maddening.

"Come with me to Spain," he said, his voice rich with promise, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear. "We could... extend our holiday. See how well we do together in the real world." He cooed. 

"Spain, huh?" You whispered, your fingers gripping his hair, pulling him closer until your lips were almost touching. "And what would we do there, Jude?" You felt a rush of excitement and something more…something that felt dangerously close to hope. He smiled, a slow, wicked smile that sent your pulse racing. 

"Oh, I have a few ideas," he murmured, his voice dripping with insinuation. His hand moved higher, his fingers brushing just where you wanted him most, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you that made you gasp softly. "For starters, l'd finally get you all to myself. No distractions, no friends around... just you and me." Your breath hitched as he pressed a kiss to your neck, his lips soft and warm against your skin. 

"And what else?" You asked, your voice trembling slightly as his fingers continued their slow, torturous exploration. Jude chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin. 

"I think you know exactly what else," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Imagine waking up every morning in my bed... No rush, no interruptions. Just us, enjoying each other, exploring everything we've been holding back." His words sent a delicious shiver down your spine, the idea of spending days, nights, every moment with him making your blood run hot.

"That sounds... tempting," you breathed, your hand sliding down to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. "But are you sure you can handle that, Jude? Just the two of us... no escape?" Jude’s hand tightened on your thigh, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. 

"Oh, I'm sure," he said, his voice low and sure. "The question is... can you handle it, Y/N?" You smiled, a slow, seductive smile, as you leaned in and kissed him, your lips soft and teasing against his. Why didn’t you just go straight to Spain? It was valid question but then Jude would’ve had less time with you, and less time to work up the courage to ask you to come back with him. Jude’s flight time was doubled but at least he was bringing you home with him now.

"I guess there's only one way to find out." You spoke hushly against his lips. The flight back from Greece to England was a whirlwind. As soon as the private jet touched down, you felt the eagerness of getting back onto another plane, your mind was already elsewhere. Spain was calling, or rather, Jude was. The plan to switch destinations wasn’t the most practical, albeit not the most environmentally friendly choice either, but there was no denying the pull to be with him. As you disembarked, Whitney was her usual playful self, teasing you the moment your feet hit the tarmac.

 "Switching flights to follow your heart, huh? So you don’t need me to keep you company while you wait for the next jet back to New York?" Her grin was infectious, but before you could even think of a witty comeback, Jude was behind you, his lips trailing soft, lazy kisses along your neck. It was a wordless response that left no room for doubt—you weren’t going anywhere without him. Whitney raised an eyebrow, her teasing turning into a knowing smirk. "Alright then, I see how it is. Safe travels, lovebirds." She winked and walked off with Trent who was immediately in her ear asking for more details that she didn’t have and frankly, you didn’t either, leaving you with Jude, who hadn’t let go of you since you landed. You knew this choice was impractical but it was what you wanted. The thought of being anywhere else felt wrong. As the private jet bound for Spain awaited you both, there was a comfort in knowing that you were choosing this. Choosing him. The moment felt right, even as you boarded the plane, hand in hand with Jude, ready for more of each other. The gentle hum of the airplane engines created a soothing backdrop as you rested in Jude’s lap once again, your fingers still lightly tracing the patterns on his shirt. The intimacy of the moment felt fragile, like a delicate balance between the comfort of your closeness and the unspoken tension hovering in the air. You shifted slightly, turning your gaze back up to Jude’s face. His expression was relaxed, but you could see a flicker of something more in his eyes—something that mirrored the uncertainty you felt in your own heart. You took a deep breath, gathering the courage to ask the question that had been nagging at you since the end of your holiday.

“Jude,” You began softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “can I ask you something?”  You mused a bit more shy than you would’ve hoped. He looked down at you, his hand absently stroking your hair. 

“Course, angel,” he replied, his tone gentle, though you could sense the underlying tension in his voice.

“Why didn’t you… you know, sleep with anyone else while we were in Greece?” You hesitated for a moment, then pushed forward with a question you had to know the answer to. Jude’s confessional about you being a big factor in choosing to come on the trip had weighed on you. You weren’t sure if it was all a ruse or if he was serious. Jude’s hand stilled in your hair, and you could feel his body tense beneath you.

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause, his voice uncertain.  His brow furrowed slightly, as if he was searching for the right words. Jude was no longer swayed by the moonlight, bottles of wine, and the bliss post sex. “I guess I thought I would. That was kind of the plan, you know? Have some fun, no strings attached…” He explained. You nodded, a small, tight smile on your lips. You knew exactly what he meant, and it made your heart ache a little. This had all started as something casual, something easy and uncomplicated. But somewhere along the way, it had changed.

“I mean. I know I was the convenient option but why didn’t you?” You pressed gently, needing to hear his answer even though you weren't sure if you were ready for it. You being down the hall was convenient for Jude, but it wasn’t like he would've had a problem finding convenience elsewhere. 

“A very sexy convenience.” Jude quipped with a smug smile but your expression didn’t crack. You were serious. Jude sighed, running a hand over his hair, clearly struggling to articulate his feelings. “I don’t know, Y/N,” he repeated, frustration creeping into his voice. “I thought maybe it was just because we were spending so much time together, and I figured it would go away… but it didn’t. Every time I thought about being with someone else, it just… it felt wrong. Like I wasn’t supposed to.” His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. Your heart pounded in your chest, the vulnerability in his confession striking a chord deep within you. You could see the confusion in his eyes, the way he was grappling with emotions he wasn’t used to feeling.  A part of you felt guilty because he made it sound like you forced him into hooking up with you and told him he couldn’t get with other girls. Sure, you probably would’ve been a bit hurt but you didn’t say that. Another part of you was confused when he said he thought it ‘would go away.’ You couldn’t decide if that was a good thing, a bad thing, a jab maybe? You weren’t sure so you stayed quiet. “I… I guess. I guess I just wasn’t interested.” Jude continued, his voice quieter now, as if admitting it to himself for the first time. “I don’t know what it is about you but you’re different. You make me feel things I’m not used to feeling, and it’s… it’s scary as hell.” Your eyes narrowed. You could see Jude struggling to accept the fact that his silly idea to fuck his best mate’s girlfriend’s friend had back fired when he had caught feelings. You felt a lump form in your throat. To no surprise you were feeling just the same. You understood exactly what he meant. The way your heart raced whenever he looked at you, the way your entire world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you whenever you were together. But that only made it scarier. You had always prided yourself on being independent, on protecting your heart from getting hurt. And now, here you were, on the brink of something that could tear it all to shred, either be beautiful or devastating.

“I’m scared too if that makes you feel any better, Jude,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I��ve been trying to protect myself, to keep my distance, but… it’s not working. The more time I spend with you, the harder it gets.” The problem you and Jude were having was that your bodies and emotions were betraying you. Neither of you were looking for a relationship. Neither of you thought you wanted more except deep down that’s all you could think about. Jude’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as if he could shield you from the fear you were both feeling. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But I don’t want to lose you either. I don’t know how to explain it, but being with you just feels… right.” Jude explained. He knew his playboy lifestyle was in great jeopardy when he invited you back to Spain with him. He didn’t want to let you go, he didn’t want you fucking anyone else but he didn’t know if he could give you a relationship. The thing was, you didn’t want to let him go, you certainly didn’t want him fucking anyone else and you also weren’t sure you could give him a relationship. You were on the same discombobulated messy page. You closed your eyes, resting your forehead against his chest, trying to steady your breathing. Both of you well aware a situationship would only result in someone’s feelings getting hurt. The fear of getting hurt was almost overwhelming to both of you but god was the sex good. 

 “We can just hang. You know? No big deal.” You softly told him, your voice barely audible. You opted to keep the massive issues that were rapidly rising to stay under the surface. Jude leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“Good by me.” He told you, his voice full of raw apprehension. “No pressure, hmm?”  You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. You wanted to believe him, to trust that you could navigate this together. But the fear was still there, lurking in the back of your mind, in his mind, reminding you both of how much was at stake. If you caught feelings, real feelings, past a holiday fling, if you ever found yourself truly in love with him and then he left… you weren’t sure you could manage. Your best friends were dating, your pretty damn sure they’d get married and you would have to stomach seeing Jude’s stupid pretty face still but future you be damned you wanted this now.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice shaky but determined. Jude smiled, a small, reassuring smile that made your heart ache with hope. You sat like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, both of you feeling the weight of the moment. 

When you arrived in Madrid it was very clear that you were now on Jude's home turf. The massive Adidas ad you passed on the way from the airport to his home serving as a glaring reminder of just that. As you drove,  the car turned a corner, and suddenly, the massive billboard of Jude loomed over you. You couldn’t help but smirk, turning to Jude with a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Wow, what a model.” You drawled, nodding towards the billboard. “Mr. Madrid himself. What a welcome, Jude.” You fell into a giggle. Jude chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. 

“Yeah, well… welcome. You’re in my city now.” He pointed out the window to a kid wearing a Real Madrid Bellingham jersey.  You laughed a little more, the playful banter easing the nerves you hadn’t realized were there. 

“Clearly. Can’t drive one block without being reminded I’m in the Jude Bellingham’s city.” You emphasized his name. Jude’s smile grew, a mix of pride and embarrassment, as he glanced out the window at the towering image of himself. 

“Well, I hope you don’t mind being reminded a little more while you’re here.” He draped his arm around you in the back seat of the car and pulled you into him. 

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” you teased, you wiggled in his embrace to get more settled before reaching for his hand to give it a squeeze. “As long as the real thing lives up to the hype.” You cooed. You and Jude were seeming to have an issue where you were actively saying you didn’t want anything more but you were instinctively acting as if you were in a relationship. He shot you a look, one filled with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something that made your heart skip a beat. 

“Trust me, I never disappoint.” He quipped with a wink and you were pretty sure that your heart may have stopped beating for a moment. When you got out of the car, the air was warm, the sky a cloudless blue, and the city seemed to buzz with an energy that reached all the way out to Jude’s private neighborhood outside of it. The buzz mirroring the tension between you. You’d just spent a blissful, yet confusing, week together on holiday, filled with stolen glances, flirty banter, and nights spent tangled up in each other. Now, back in reality, at least Jude’s reality, you were unsure of where you stood. As you walked through Jude's front door, you couldn't help but feel a knot form in your stomach. You didn’t know how to label what you were, if you were supposed to label it —friends with benefits, something more, or just two people afraid to confront your feelings. Jude seemed equally unsure, his usual confident demeanor replaced by a hesitant awkwardness as you entered the house. "So," Jude began as he set your bags down in the entryway, his voice lighter than usual, "what exactly do we tell my mum about why you’re here?" He asked with a childishly smile thinking the circumstances were slightly funny. 

“Erm… We could just say I'm just here because of Whitney and Trent,” You suggested, your tone half-joking, half-serious. You bit your lip, trying to hide your nervousness with a casual shrug. Jude chuckled, though it sounded forced. 

“Yeah, because that makes perfect sense. 'Oh, Y/N’s just tagging along all the way back to Spain with me because her friend is dating my friend.' That won’t sound weird at all.” You both laughed, Jude pulled you into a hug, the air between you remained thick with unspoken words. Your heart raced as you tried to find the right thing to say. Why was this so complicated? You had been so open and relaxed with each other just days ago, but now it felt like you were walking on eggshells. Denise Bellingham entered the room just then, her smile warm and welcoming. 

“Well, well, well,” she said with a playful tone, “look who decided to finally come back home… and with a friend.” Her eyes widened a little inspecting you head to toe but she kept her sweet disposition. “Hi sweetheart, I missed you.” Denise gave Jude a hug while you watched on in a panic. Of course Jude had told Denise you were coming but it still felt pressure packed. “Hi hun, I’m Denise, it’s nice to have you with us. You’re friends with Whitney?” She asked kindly after she gave you a quick hug. 

“Hi, it’s really nice to meet you. Yeah, Whitney's plus one on the holiday and I guess in life but I’ve been replaced by T lately.” You giggled trying to act as natural as possible. “Thank you so much for letting me come stay.” You awkwardly got out not wanting to lose your manners despite the circumstances. 

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Happy to have you” Denise replied, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “You’re gorgeous, hun,  I’m sure Jude doesn't mind stealing you as a plus one of his own, right?” She raised an eyebrow to Jude, her subtly trying to deduce what your and Jude’s relationship was thinly veiled. Your cheeks flushed, and you laughed nervously. “Just coming to visit Madrid. I haven’t been in ages. Figured who better a tour guide than the boy plastered on every building in the city.” You giggled a little. Denise gave an unconvinced nod, clearly not believing a word of it. 

“Of course. But whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here. It’s been a while since Jude brought a girl home. Maybe he just needed some time with Trenty to get his head on straight.” She teased, her voice light, as she pinched Jude’s side. 

“Mum.” Jude groaned, shooting her a look of mild exasperation, though his lips twitched with a smile. “I don’t need anything from ‘Trenty,’ thank you.” He shook his head less impressed with his mum’s infatuation with Trent. Although you were still fixated on who or when Jude last brought a girl home. 

“Oh, hush, Jude.” Denise waved a dismissive hand at him, her grin widening. She turned back to you, her expression softening. “Really, though, Y/N, you’re always welcome here. It’s nice to have some new energy in the house.” She said sincerely. You muttered a ‘thank you’ feeling genuinely touched by Denise’s warmth. It was a stark contrast to the guarded front you often encountered, and it made you feel unexpectedly at ease. Denise winked at you. “Go unpack and settle in. Jude, show Y/N to … or I don’t know… you can sleep wherever you’d like. Dinner will be ready in a little.” Denise cooed and you felt anxiety wash over you. You really hadn’t thought too much about the sleeping arrangements. You were always fine meeting parents but a mum outright knowing you were sleeping with her son while you very clearly had just met and were not in a relationship… It wasn't a great look. Jude rolled his eyes good-naturedly, taking your hand in his, grabbing your rimowa in the other to lead you upstairs.  As you walked through Jude’s home, you couldn’t help but marvel at the luxurious space. The house was modern and expansive, with clean lines and sleek architecture, all accented by large windows that let in the warm Spanish sunlight. The pool outside shimmered invitingly, framed by rolling green hills that stretched as far as you could see. It felt like stepping into a dream, where everything was perfectly curated yet still managed to feel like a home. You followed him through the hallways, your footsteps muted by the plush carpets beneath you. The walls were adorned with minimalistic art, a few pieces of Jude’s memorabilia but it was subtle, the decor was understated yet sophisticated, just like him. 

“Sorry about that. My mum can be… a bit much. She thinks she’s chill but she’s just… I don’t know.” Jude muttered not really anything in particular in a whisper leaning in close to you as you walked. 

“No, she’s great, I get it. She just cares about you a lot. It’s nice to see.” You shook your head, smiling.  Jude’s expression softened, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. 

“Yeah, she does but if it wasn’t already clear upon invitation you will be staying in my bed. My room’s on this side of the house. Mum’s is on the next floor and the opposite side so no stress, yeah?” Jude explained and even though it wasn’t your favorite thing to think about he was right, no stress. You looked up at him, your heart fluttering at the sincerity in his eyes interwoven with a bit of mischief. As you continued up the stairs, the awkwardness seemed to fade, replaced by a sense of possibility that neither of you were quite ready to define, but both of you were willing to explore. When you entered his bedroom, you were struck by how calming it felt. The space was large but not overwhelming, decorated in dark neutral tones that exuded warmth and tranquility. The bed, dressed in soft linens, was the centerpiece, inviting and perfectly made, you were pretty sure he wasn’t the one who had done it. The room carried a subtle, woody scent, like cedar and sandalwood that smelt just like him, making you feel instantly at ease.

“This is really nice,” you murmured, taking it all in. Jude smiled, setting your bags down gently by the wardrobe.

 “I’m glad you like it. I do too.” He laughed. You walked further into the room, running your fingers lightly over the polished wood of the dresser, then over to the large windows that offered a stunning view of the pool and the hills beyond. 

“No, like it’s really nice,” you said, turning back to him. He stepped closer, his presence warm and reassuring, just like the room. 

“I know you said that.” Jude chucked. “Even nicer when you’re in it though.” He cooed. You immediately rolled your eyes at his cheesiness. Jude flopped onto his bed with a playful grin, patting the space beside him. "C’mere, lay down with me," he invited, his voice light and teasing. You shook your head, trying to suppress a smile.

"Jude, we cannot. It would be so blatantly obvious to your mum right now." You reminded him, raising an eyebrow. Jude groaned at you being so mindful of his mum, clearly disappointed.

“You’re killing me here,” he muttered, though his tone was playful. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, shaking your head once more.

“Well, someone has to keep you in line,” you teased, enjoying the way his frustration melted into a grin. He laughed, the sound warm and carefree, before sitting up and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. 

“You’re right, can’t risk getting caught… at least not yet. I want you here for more than just a day.” He joked, his breath tickling your ear as he held you close. After a moment, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes softening. “How about we go downstairs and watch some TV instead? Keep it PG for you.” He laughed. You nodded. “But just know I’m impatiently waiting till you let me bring you back up here.” He teased, feeling the comfort of his embrace.

"Patience is a virtue, baby. I’ll make it worth your while later. I promise.” You whispered, before you let go, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his ear.  A shiver ran through him, and he let out a low chuckle. 

"Now that's something to look forward to," he murmured, his voice a little huskier, the hint of anticipation between you electric. You went downstairs and plopped yourselves in the living room on an expansive velvety sage couch. As you nestled into the warmth of Jude’s embrace on the couch, the cozy atmosphere around you was momentarily interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing. Glancing at the screen, you saw it was your mum calling. You answered with a smile, your voice subconsciously shifting into French as you greeted her.

“Salut, Maman! Comment ça va?” [Hello, Mum! How are you?] You cooed sitting up a bit more. Jude flinched a bit taken aback by the switch of languages. You had said you barely knew Spanish, you said nothing about being fluent in French. Jude could hear your mum's affectionate murmur on the other end of the call. “Tu me manques aussi.” [I miss you too!]  You responded, your tone softening as you settled back down into Jude’s side. “Je suis en Espagne en ce moment. Juste à l'extérieur de Madrid. C’est magnifique ici.” [I'm in Spain at the moment. Just outside Madrid. It's beautiful here.]  Your mum rarely knew where you were but she cared enough to call and ask. Your mum asked you why you were in Spain so you glanced up at your reason why, Jude, who was watching you with a curious smile, though he couldn’t understand what was being said. “Ah, Maman, il s’appelle Jude. Il est… bon,” [Ah, Mum, his name is Jude. He's... good] you said, a shy smile playing on your lips. Jude raised an eyebrow playfully, clearly picking up on the way your tone softened when you had just said his name, even if he didn’t understand the words. “Moi aussi,” [me too] you agreed. “Je te raconterai tout plus tard, d’accord?” [I'll tell you everything later, okay?] You told your mum you’d tell her about him later although you probably wouldn’t. Your mum and you were open about a lot, boys always being a hot topic but you be weren’t sure how you would explain Jude. “Je t’aime aussi, Maman. À bientôt.” [I love you too, Mom. See you soon.] You ended the call and placed your phone on the coffee table, feeling the weight of Jude’s gaze on you. He looked at you with that same curious expression, like he was trying to piece together the parts of you he hadn’t yet discovered.

“So... are you French?” he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of surprise, but also amusement and a little laugh. It was clear he was learning something new about you that fascinated him. You nodded, a soft smile on your lips.

“Well… Yeah.” You laughed. “I am. My parents are French, but they moved to the States when I was born but we moved back to Paris and then I went back to the US for Uni.” You smiled. You were a little confused because you thought maybe this would’ve come up already or somehow Jude just should’ve known. Jude grinned, his eyes shining with interest. 

“I never would’ve guessed, but it suits you. The way you speak—it’s beautiful,” he murmured, his voice laced with admiration.You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his words, and you shifted slightly in his arms, feeling more vulnerable than you had moments ago. 

“Thank you,” you replied softly. “You know, I sometimes forget that you don’t know everything about me yet. I just feel... so comfortable with you.” You smiled back at him. Jude’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing with yours in a gesture that was both reassuring and intimate. 

“I’m glad you do,” he said, his voice tender. “You make me feel the same way. It’s like... I don’t have to try so hard around you. It just feels right.” He sheepishly admitted. “

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions—comfort, affection, and something deeper that you were still trying to define. “You know you’ve got layers, I'll give you that.” Jude laughed trying to snap back to something more lighthearted.

“I’d say you do too. You’re not exactly just throwing on a jersey every weekend.”  You admitted, your voice muddied in a giggle. Jude’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his touch gentle and reassuring. His eyes holding yours with a sincerity that made your breath catch. In that moment, as you sat there wrapped in his arms, you realized just how much this connection meant to both of you. What were you two doing? There was way too much emotion happening for this situationship and that emotion continued after your lazy afternoon post traveling. You sat at the dinner table late that night, your heart racing. You were trying your best to focus on the aroma of the food Denise had prepared, but your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. You were torn between the undeniable warmth you felt as you watched Jude interact with his mum—how his eyes softened when he spoke to her, the affectionate way he teased her, the easy smiles he shared—and the rising panic of sitting across from Denise, Jude’s mother, for the first time. Denise was exactly as Jude had described her: warm, witty, and welcoming. But still, you felt a little out of place. After all, the real reason you were in Madrid wasn’t exactly something you’d share over a family dinner. It wasn’t that you and Jude had agreed to continue exploring whatever was going on between you or even that you were considering some sort of future together. No, the reason you were here, at its most basic, unfiltered truth, was because you wanted to keep having sex. And you definitely couldn’t share that with Denise. 

“So, hun,” Denise began with a warm smile, “You said you hadn’t been Madrid for a little bit… 

Have you been here often before? Can’t get enough of the Spanish sun?” She asked. You shifted in your seat, trying to suppress a blush as Denise turned her attention to you. You smiled nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You could feel Jude’s eyes on you, almost as if he was silently urging her to say the right thing. 

“Yeah, I’ve come on holidays, or just visits in general. Sometimes my dad’s work took him here and I’d tag along. Jude had told me there were some must do things I apparently have been missing out on though so,” you added quickly, trying to sound casual, although Jude thought your comment was an innuendo. A cheeky smile grew on his face believing he was a thing you needed to do in your time in Spain. And while that was true, you weren’t telling his mum that.  “When Jude extended the invitation, I thought it would be nice to explore a bit more”  Denise nodded, seeming to accept your answer, but there was a twinkle in her eye that suggested she wasn’t buying it completely. 

“I see,” she said, her voice light and teasing. “And of course, having a personal tour guide like Jude must make the trip even better, right?” You laughed softly, a bit too quickly, and took a sip of your wine to hide your nerves. 

“Yeah, yeah, he’ll be a great guide, knows the language… I don’t” You managed, glancing over at Jude, who was watching you with an amused expression. You could tell he was enjoying your discomfort a little too much.

“Eh, don’t know your spanish is arguably better than mine.” Jude chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Doesn’t have that brummy charm to it, sure, but it’s good.” He winked at you. “You know, Mum, I’m just trying to make sure Y/N gets the full Madrid experience. Can’t let her leave without seeing all the sights.” He spoke to his mum despite his eyes being locked on you. Denise chuckled, her eyes shifting between you knowingly. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re here, Y/N. It’s nice to see Jude spending time with someone who keeps him on his toes.” She cooed. Your cheeks warmed again, this time with a mix of embarrassment and affection. You really appreciated Denise’s kindness, but you were acutely aware of the awkwardness of the situation. You wished you could just relax and enjoy the evening, but the truth of why you were here—why you were really here—hovered in the back of your mind like a secret you were desperately trying to keep. As the conversation continued, you found yourself caught between moments of laughter and tension. You loved watching Jude with his mum, the way he softened in her presence, the way he seemed to genuinely enjoy making her laugh. Hearing stories about him and his brother made you miss your own. It was sweet, endearing even. Yet, every time Denise looked at you with that knowing smile, you felt a jolt of panic. You knew Denise was cool, but how cool could any mum be when it came to their son’s “friend” who was really just around for… extracurricular activities? Denise poured more wine into your glass, her smile never wavering. “I hope you’re enjoying dinner,” she said. “I’m glad you could join us. It’s always nice to have good company around. Always thought it makes every meal even better.” Denise mused. You smiled back, grateful for Denise’s warmth but still feeling the weight of the unspoken. 

“Thank you, Denise. I agree. Good company is essential to any good meal but this has been delicious. Steak always pairs really great with Vega Sicilia as well.” You blabbered before picking up your wine glass. Denise’s eyes widened, taken aback by the comment. She didn’t even think you had seen the wine bottle so she was surprised by your call out. Jude chucked to himself. Clearly your pass at ‘liking wine as much as the next person’ was a farce. You knew from the first sip and that white label spotted from the corner of your eye what wine it was. “This is all wonderful. I’m really happy to be here, so really thank you.” And you were happy to be there, despite everything. You were happy to be here, with Jude, in this strange in-between place you had found yourselves in. You just hoped you could keep everything else under wraps a little longer. After dinner you returned to the comfort of the sage velvety couch nestling back into Jude's arms, feeling the warmth of his body against yours as you both relaxed on the couch. The soft hum of the TV played in the background, but your thoughts drifted back to the sun-soaked days in Greece, thinking you wouldn’t mind if you and Jude were cuddled just the same but in bathing suits on the beach.

 "I think I really miss Greece." You murmured, your voice filled with a hint of nostalgia. "The drinks, the sunsets, just the vibes. I hate when holidays end." You giggled. Jude tightened his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

 "Yeah, really good holiday. Don’t think I’m sad it’s necessarily over though." He smiled, his voice soft and comforting. "Best part of my holiday came back home with me." You smiled, feeling your heart flutter at his words. There was something about being with Jude that made everything else fade away.

 "You always know just what to say, huh?" You teased lightly, but your voice was tinged with sincerity. It actually made you a bit nervous he seemed to have these lines written for cinema at the ready. Jude's hand began to trace slow, lazy circles on your back, his touch growing bolder with each passing moment. 

"I mean it though," he said, his tone deepening. "I’m really not complaining. I might even think you look sexier in Spain than you did in Greece." He smiled at you with lust burning behind his eyes. The heat between you began to build, the air around you thickening with unspoken desire. His hand drifted lower, sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel his breath quickening, matching your own as the tension grew.

"Jude..." you whispered, your voice a mix of longing and hesitation. You turned your head slightly, your lips brushing against his jaw. He looked down at you, his eyes dark and full of intent. 

"Besides, your holiday isn’t over. I plan on extending it right here," he suggested, his voice rough around the edges. Your breath caught in your throat as you met his gaze, the intensity of the moment pulling you in. You nodded slightly, your body already responding to his closeness, the world outside the two of you slipping away. As Jude’s kisses grew more urgent on the couch, you felt your resolve crumbling. You tried to voice your hesitation, your words coming out in breathless gasps. 

“Jude, wait... we need to slow down,” you managed, though your own hands betrayed you. They continued to roam over his body, your lips eager to meet his. Your mind was racing faster than your heartbeat. This was what you had come to Madrid for—a chance to be close to Jude, to continue your passionate connection. Yet, as your bodies pressed together, a sudden and sharp ache struck your chest. The intensity of the moment and the emotions swirling within you became almost unbearable. You pulled away, your breath ragged, your heart pounding not just from the physical exertion but from a deeper, more unsettling realization. The room seemed to spin for a moment as you tried to ground yourself, your eyes focusing on the familiar yet suddenly distant features of Jude. Your thoughts spiraled. ‘Is this what Jude does?’ You wondered. ‘Does his mum know about all this?’ ‘How many girls has he returned from holidays with.’ The questions collided in your mind like a storm, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. How many women had been here with him before you? Were you just another fleeting encounter, another notch in his bedpost? The discomfort you felt was more than physical—it was emotional, raw, and real. The intimacy of your situation suddenly seemed tainted by a sense of insignificance. You felt a pang of self-doubt and regret, an acute sense of having misjudged the situation and your place within it. “Jude, I… I need a moment,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as you gently pushed him away, your own emotions threatening to overwhelm you. You stood up, your movements shaky, trying to regain your composure as you stepped back from the couch. 

 “What’s wrong? Did I do something?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry. Jude looked up at you, confused. You shook your head, struggling to find the right words amidst the turmoil inside you.

“No, it’s not you,” you said, your tone heavy with a mix of sadness and frustration. “It’s just… I need to think.” Sensing your shift, Jude immediately pulled back, concern etching his features.

“Y/N, talk to me. What’s going on?” Jude reached out to you, his hand brushing yours gently. Why all of a sudden did this matter so much to you. You’d never had a problem with hook ups before. Why did any of this matter? Tears stung your eyes as you fought to hold them back. As Jude’s touch grew more insistent on the couch, your mind started racing. You weren’t sure if it was the thought of his mum being in the house or the nagging question of whether you were just another one of many women he brought home. You felt a tightness in your chest, a lump forming in your throat—an unfamiliar ache that almost made you want to cry. You never cared like this before. 

“I just… I don’t know.” You tried to steady your breathing, feeling foolish for getting so worked up. “I don’t know why I’m feeling like this,” you admitted, your voice trembling. You weren’t sure you had ever halted a hook up you wanted as bad as this one. Jude sighed, running a hand over his hair as he looked at you earnestly. He pulled at your arm for you to sit next to him although he allowed for some distance between you both now. 

“I don’t know how to say this…” He took a deep breath. “ I don’t know what we’re doing or where this is going, but I like you. A lot. And as confusing as it is, I care about you. I don’t just bring anyone home to meet my mum, I want you to know that.” You bit your lip, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment. He didn’t tell you everything he was feeling because he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to acknowledge it but there was a shift in the air between you—like the tides were changing, pushing you both closer to something neither of you were quite ready to name. As you both settled a little further apart on the couch, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken. Jude reclined against the pillows, his arm casually draped around you, but there was a tension in his posture, like he was trying to find the right words. You felt it too, a knot of nerves tightening in your stomach as you stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the confusing emotions swirling around in your head.

“So…” Jude started, his voice low, hesitant. “This… whatever this is… it’s kind of crazy, right?” You let out a small, awkward laugh, nodding in agreement. 

“Yeah, it is. I mean, we haven’t even really talked about what we’re doing here… you know besides the sex.” You awkwardly explained, not sure if it was something he wanted to hear. 

“Exactly. I mean, it’s not like… we’re not looking for anything serious, right?” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance. You felt your heart skip a beat, unsure whether you were relieved or disappointed by his words. 

“Yeah, totally,” you replied, trying to sound casual, even though the thought of keeping things light made your chest ache. “Neither of us needs to complicate things right now.” You hummed.

“Right,” Jude echoed, but there was a slight tension in his voice that made you wonder if he was just as unsure as you were. He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. “But… we’re obviously into each other. I mean, that’s pretty clear.” He tried to rectify things. You nodded, biting your lip as you tried to ignore the flutter in your stomach. 

“Yeah, that’s obvious.” You cooed. Jude’s thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, and the small gesture made your breath hitch. 

“But then there’s this thing, right?” he continued, his words careful, almost cautious. “Like, if we keep… doing this, it might not just going to stay casual.” He hesitantly admitted both of you very aware you were walking a very fine line.

“I know,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the weight of what he was saying, the unspoken acknowledgment that this was more than just a fling. “It could get a little messy.” You slowly added. He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to where your hands were intertwined. 

“But it’s hard to stop, you know? Like, we know where this is headed, but we keep… we keep ending up here.” He whispered with sincerity but a bit of desire. The honesty in his words made your heart clench. You knew exactly what he meant. Every time you were with him, the pull between you was undeniable, even though you both kept trying to convince yourselves that it didn’t have to mean anything more.

“Yeah,” you agreed softly. “It’s like… we’re playing with fire, but we can’t help it.” You tried not to smile. You also tried not to kiss him because that’s what you wanted to do right now. He looked so patient, so kind, his lips perfectly pouting, mocking you with how good of a kiss you would get.

“And we know that if we keep going, it’s only going to get more intense. More… complicated.” Jude’s lips curved into a small, almost bittersweet smile. You met his gaze, feeling that familiar tug in your chest, that longing that you both were dancing around but not quite willing to confront.

“So what do we do?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, as if saying it out loud would make everything too real. Jude was silent for a moment, his thumb still tracing gentle patterns on your skin. 

“I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice thick with uncertainty. “I don’t want to stop, but… I don’t want to mess this up either.” He shyly told you, thinking honestly was best. You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. 

“Same. I mean, I’m not looking for a relationship or anything serious, but… this doesn’t feel casual either.” You sighed awkwardly hating that you even said the word relationship. He let out a soft breath, shifting closer to you, his warmth seeping into your skin. 

“I guess we just… see where it goes? No pressure, no expectations. Just… take it one step at a time?” You felt a wave of relief wash over you at his suggestion, but it was mixed with a lingering unease. You both knew it wouldn’t be that simple, but it was the only option that didn’t involve walking away. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, trying to convince yourself as much as him. “One step at a time.” You softly smiled. Jude leaned in, his lips brushing against your temple, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. 

“And for now… we just enjoy it,” he murmured, his voice low, almost daring you to argue. You turned to face him, your breath catching as you met his gaze. The tension between you was palpable, the air thick with the promise of what was to come. 

“Yeah,” you whispered back, your voice shaky with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. “Let’s enjoy it.” The words hung in the air between you, a tentative agreement to keep playing with fire, knowing full well that you’d both get burned. But as Jude’s lips found yours, the heat of the moment drowned out any lingering doubts, leaving only the electric thrill of what you both knew was inevitable. His lips felt better than you could’ve ever imagined at that moment.

“Maybe we should… move this somewhere more private,” you suggested softly, your heart still pounding but the anxiety slowly ebbing away. Jude nodded, his expression softening as he stood up, offering you his hand.

As the sun dipped below the horizon it casted a soft glow across the room, you sat cross-legged on his bed, staring blankly at your laptop. You had spent a few more days loving this messy little holiday extension with Jude and a few more nights wrapped up in him and in his sheets. The words blurred together on your screen, your mind too distracted to focus on anything but the tangled mess of emotions you found yourself in. The feeling of Jude’s t-shirt against your skin and his lingering scent on it only making matters worse. You had never meant for things to get this complicated, but here you were, caught up in something that felt far more serious than you had ever intended. Every time you tried to push the thoughts away and get back to work, your mind drifted back to Jude. How did you end up here, in his house, tangled up in something that was supposed to be casual, but now felt anything but? You sighed, closing your laptop and setting it aside, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. When Jude finally returned home, it was late. He looked exhausted from his workout, his hair damp with sweat, his movements sluggish as he kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag by the door. You offered him a small smile as he walked into the bedroom, but the air between you was thick with unspoken words.

"Hey, angel." he cooed softly, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it into the laundry basket. His voice was tired, and you could see the weariness in his eyes.

"Hi," you replied, your voice just as soft. There was so much you wanted to say, but you held back, unsure if tonight was the right time to have another heavy conversation. Jude glanced at you, sensing the tension in the air. 

"How was your day?" He asked, though you both knew that was just small talk, a way to avoid the real issue. He came towards you and cupped your cheek.

"Fine," you answered, shrugging. "I tried to work, but... my mind was kind of elsewhere." He nodded, understanding without needing to ask more.

“Yeah, I get that." The room fell silent, the only sound the rustling of sheets as Jude climbed into bed beside you. You both laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Neither of you seemed ready to dive into another conversation about where this was going or what you were doing.  But as you shifted closer to him, seeking the comfort of his presence, Jude turned onto his side and pulled you into his arms. The familiar warmth of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, soothed the tension that had been building all day. You closed your eyes, inhaling his scent, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. For a while, you simply lay there, wrapped up in each other, neither of you saying a word. It was enough just to be close, to find solace in each other's arms without having to define what you were. The comfort of his embrace eased the knots in your stomach, the doubts and uncertainties melting away in the quiet intimacy of the moment. But even as you settled into his embrace, the proximity and warmth between you started to stir something deeper. Jude's hand slid up your back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. You felt the tension shift, the air between you thickening as his lips brushed against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You turned your head to meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his. There was a hunger there, an unspoken need that neither of you could deny. The conversation that had been avoided all evening seemed to dissolve into the background, replaced by the heat building between you. Without a word, Jude leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. The tenderness of his earlier touch gave way to something more urgent, more intense, as his hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer. You responded in kind, your fingers gripping his hair, your body arching into his. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate as you both gave in to the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface all day. His hands moved with purpose, sliding under your shirt, tracing the curves of your body, igniting a fire that spread through you like a wildfire. You felt his weight shift as he moved over you, his kisses trailing down your neck, your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The earlier hesitation, the unspoken tension, seemed to vanish, replaced by a desperate need to be closer, to lose yourselves in each other. Things heated up quickly, the room filled with the sounds of your breathing, the rustle of sheets, the quiet gasps and moans as you both gave in to the moment. Jude shifted you so that you could feel his hard on, only the thin material of single layers of clothing separating you two. 

“You want to be a good girl f’me tonight?” He whispered as his hand snuck up your torso until he tortuously toyed with you stroking underneath your tits. You nodded desperately.  All the questions, all the doubts, melted away, leaving only the overwhelming desire to be with him, to feel his touch, his kiss, his body against yours. He pulled you on top of him, letting his tired body relax beneath you. His hands held you by your small waist before trailing lower and gripping onto your ass not without a firm slap. 

“Please. I want to be a good girl for you.” You pouted at him as you sank you hips down rubbing yourself against the tent in his boxers. “You feel so fucking good.” You moaned before he pulled you down to him for another kiss. He smugly smiled letting his hands slid under the tiny silky shorts you were in, squeezing and massaging your ass. Hi hands making quick work to get under your shorts, forcing your thinly covered pussy to grind against his throbbing erection.

“Yeah, be a good girl f’me. Show me how good you can be.” He bucked his hips up into you whilst pushing you to sit back up. His hands traveled from your ass back around to your waist, easing your his shirt up and over your head. You watched his pupils dilate when he drank in your naked form. You gasped as his thumbs played with your nipples. In swift succession he removed his hands from your boobs, grabbed your leg and flipped you over to be underneath him. You loved when he took control of you. He smirked looking down at you. He guided your leg up so your foot was next to his head and began placing slow kisses against your ankle bone working all the way down your leg to your core. He ate you mercilessly for what felt like an age and three orgasms later that had you whining that you needed him. "I need you too, baby, fuck, feel how wet you are." He told you, taking your hand and placing it between your legs. "Touch yourself, angel. There you go. Play with that pretty pussy for me, hm?" His deep voice vibrates in your head, sending a fresh rush of lust through your veins. Judes exhaustion from his workout dissipated and evidently he was on a mission of some kind because his hands pushed your legs against your chest, knees over his shoulders, fast. He positioned you, just how he wanted to fuck you, slapping  his heavy cock against your clit. He rubbed the tip of his hard cock leaking precut against your sopping wet folds. You shifted beneath him to pick your hips up allowing him to guide himself inside with ease. Greedily, he bottomed out in a swift thrust. You gripped the sheets in an attempt to ground yourself at the sudden stretch. The feeling was enough to wipe your mind clear of anything other than him and how he was making you feel. “I know, I know, doing so good f’me though.” He kissed your lips gently as you adjusted. It felt like every time you fucked Jude it was the first time. You just couldn’t get used to his size and you didn’t want to. You craved this. He kissed down your neck as he pulled out slightly before easing back in slower, fully burrying himself one more. 

"Feels so good. You always feel so good.” You whined. Jude gave you a devious smirk in return, giving your tender neck a break and resting his forehead against yours while he flexed and undulated, putting his abs, back, entire body into it, hitting spots deep inside of you that you didn't think were even there.

”No one fucks you like I do, baby. No one will ever fuck you as good as I can.” He told your harshly as he began to rail into you harder and faster. You were moaning his name incessantly. “I know, angel. Take my cock so well. Hmm?”  

“Uh-huh,” you moaned, letting your eyes close. Your head tipped back onto the pillow with one hand squeezing your own nipple. As the minutes passed Jude kept his strokes steady and rough as you desperately whined for a release. He would edge you again and again because he was entranced by the way your tits were bouncing, the sound of wet pussy, his balls slapping against your ass, the way your legs wrapped around him tighter, dragging your heel down his muscular back. Every part of this was textbook definition of what Jude considered perfect sex. It didn’t get better than this 

“Good girl,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rammed his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears. “Just like that, fuck baby.” He moaned watching the way his length disapeared inside your pussy. You tipped your head back further as his pace became more relentless. Your jaw slack, eyes closed tight.  “Fuck!” the timbre of his voice wavered, he was embarrassingly weak in you.

“Oh, oh my god, Jude. I’m… I’m going to cum” You mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips. “I’m cumming.” You couldn’t ask for any sort of permission any more. This was uncontrollable pleasure rifling though you. Your muscles tensed as white hot pleasure coursed through you.

“Yeah? Cum f’me angel.” Jude bit his teeth into your neck as his one of his hands dropped to squeeze your already sensitive nipples. “Mmmm such a good fucking girl.” He groaned as you cried feeling himself barreling close to his own release the way you were squeezing his cock now. Your body succumbing to pure euphoria and seeing whites but that wasn’t enough for Jude. He wanted more from you. His hand found its way between your legs as he began tracing harsh figure eights against your clit. You gasped as your hands desperately clung to his biceps digging your nails into his arms. “Gonna cum. Where do you want me to cum. Tell me now.” He demanded. You cried out ‘inside’ with a ‘please.’ A cheeky smile pulled on his face as he nuzzled his nose against your cheek in a juxtaposed and tender moment. ”Atta girl.” He cooed smugly. Jude had you fucking dick whipped in a matter of days and it was only getting worse the longer you spent with him. He shifted to push your ankles back towards your head, folding you in half. He fucked you like you had never been fucked. Both his hands held you down. His mind had gone blank. The only thing on his mind was you. He painted your walls with his release continuing to thrust over and over again.  He groaned as he felt your pussy convulse almost involuntarily into another earth shattering orgasm. Both of you completely spent. You laid there for awhile until he pulled out. He smiled at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you. He swiped his fingers through your folds but you we’re quick to grip his wrist tightly stopping him. 

“Enough.” You giggled, his laughter marrying yours in the thick air as he plopped beside you pulling you into him after he promised to clean you up in a moment. When you finally came to, both of you breathless and flushed, the intensity of the moment lingering in the air. Jude's forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy, his hands still cradling your face as if he couldn't bear to let go. Neither of you spoke, the silence thick with the weight of what had just happened. But as you lay there, still wrapped up in each other, you knew that tonight had changed something between you. Whether or not you were ready to face it, the connection between you had deepened, and there was no going back now.

The next  morning was serene, the soft light filtering through the curtains and casting a golden glow across Jude’s room. You had been up for hours, already having completed a workout, indulged in your full skincare routine, and taken a long, hot shower. By the time you were dressed and ready for the day, Jude was still sound asleep, tangled in the sheets, his dark curls splayed across the pillow. Your alarm began to chime, breaking the peaceful silence. Jude groaned, pulling the pillow over his head in protest.

“Angel….” Jude mumbled. “Baby…” he groaned. “Turn it off, please," he mumbled once more, his voice thick with sleep. "It’s one of my last days before footie starts. Let me sleep in.” He complained. You chuckled softly, moving to silence the alarm. 

"It’s also one of your last days with me, Judey." You reminded him, your tone light but laced with a hint of sadness. Jude’s heart squeezed at your words. The reminder that your time together was fleeting stung, and it made him reluctant to fully wake up and face the day. When he finally opened his eyes, they were immediately drawn to you. The morning light played off your skin, making you look even more radiant, effortlessly stunning in a way that took his breath away. You were already dressed in Dior shorts with a knit corset top, a simple but stylish outfit. Your hair pulled back and your skin seemed to glow from your meticulous skincare routine. 

“How long have you been up?” He asked you with a strained voice. You gave him a knowing look. He knew you woke up early. This wasn’t shocking news. Jude couldn’t believe how beautiful you were, especially in the early morning light. As he continued to stare, his thoughts drifted back to the previous night. The intimacy you’d shared lingered in the room, the memory of your touch and the way you’d let him explore parts of you that you rarely allowed others to.  It had been a powerful moment, one that deepened the connection between you, even if neither of you was ready to fully acknowledge it. 

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” He looked up at you with a tender expression, Jude reached out, his hand finding yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. You hummed appreciating the compliment. “Stay in bed with me, hmm?” He cooed pulling you closer to him, his hands dropping to palm your ass 

“Tempting but no.” You smiled. “Come on. Please get up from bed, you promised!” You dramatically pouted at him. 

"Where am I taking you?” He asked, his voice still heavy with sleep but laced with sincerity and a light laugh.  His words hung in the air, filled with the unspoken tension that had been simmering between you since the beginning. You smiled softly, your heart doing a little flip at his touch and the way he looked at you, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

"Barrio Salamanca. You need to wake up, sleepy boy. You’re forgetting everything you told me last night." You replied, your voice just as soft riddled with a giggle, your fingers curling around his hand. "Because I was really looking forward to today just the same way you were really looking forward to last night.” You raised your eyebrow at him.  Jude sat up slowly, the sheet falling from him revealing a delicious deep v as he propped himself up on one elbow. He studied you for a moment, his gaze intense and full of something you couldn’t quite place—something that made your pulse quicken and your breath catch. In the post sex haze Jude began to ramble on about just how much he loved cumming inside you and that he’d buy you anything you’d like tomorrow now today, if you let him do it again. And so you did. You went three more rounds after that first one before you went to bed.

"I was looking forward to it and I’m gonna look back on it very fondly.” He gave you a devilishly handsome yet cheeky smile, his tone teasing but with an edge of vulnerability. "You should look forward to today. A day out in Jude Bellingham’s city with Jude Bellingham…  lucky you.” He smirked. You laughed, the sound light and genuine, easing some of the tension that had been building.

“Lucky me.” you admitted, your eyes sparkling with mischief. Jude chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled you closer, his hand wrapping around your waist. 

"You know," he began, his voice low and husky as he leaned in, "I wouldn’t be opposed to getting into a little more debt.” He laughed pulling you a bit harder towards him. 

"You are plenty indebted to me," you teased back, leaning into him, your lips brushing against his ear. "But after last night, I think I deserve to be spoiled a little, don’t you?"

You giggled. Jude’s breath hitched at your words, the playful tone in your voice doing little to mask the deeper emotions that were swirling beneath the surface. His heart raced as he thought about what you had shared, the vulnerability, the connection, and the unspoken promise that lingered between you.

"Yeah," he whispered, his lips ghosting over your neck as he pulled you even closer. "I think you do." For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. The memory of last night was still fresh, the way you had let him in, both physically and emotionally, had changed something between you. It was a line that had been crossed, one that neither of you could pretend didn’t exist anymore. Finally, you pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his. "So, are you ready to get up now?" you asked, your tone light but with a hint of challenge. Jude smiled, his hand sliding up your back, his touch warm and comforting.

“I suppose we should get up. We do have plans, I promised, after all." His voice low and full of promise. You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips as you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. You pulled back, standing up, your hand still in his. Jude watched you for a moment longer before he finally moved, sliding out of bed and standing beside you. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you against him as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. "Today’s going to be a good day," he murmured against your skin, his voice full of determination. You leaned back into him, closing your eyes and savoring the moment.

"I think so too," you replied softly, your heart full as you stood there, wrapped in his arms. As you both got ready to head out, the memory of last night lingered between you, a reminder of how much things had changed, and how much you both wanted to hold onto what you had, even if neither of you was quite ready to admit it yet. Shopping in Salamanca with Jude felt like something out of a movie. The neighborhood was breathtaking, a place where Madrid’s vibrant history met the height of modern luxury. The streets were wide, lined with trees whose leaves danced in the gentle breeze. Elegant boutiques with polished glass windows displayed the latest fashions, while the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the nearby cafés. Jude guided you through the streets with a casual confidence, his hand resting on the small of your back. You couldn't help but admire the architecture—grand buildings with ornate facades, some of which had stood for centuries, now housing some of the world's most prestigious designers. The sun bathed everything in a golden light, making the whole scene feel almost surreal. 

"Shall we? C’mon I told you I’d buy you anything. You held up your side of the deal let me do mine. I know ‘anything’ to you means Chanel.”  His voice was light but with a hint of something more serious. As you passed by Chanel, Jude paused and nodded towards it with a smile. 

"I was kidding, Jude. I don’t need a Chanel bag. I have Chanel bags" You emphasized the plural with a soft laugh, shaking your head picking up the bag hanging off your shoulder. “It was sex… I was kidding.” You couldn’t drop your smile but he wasn’t laughing. He looked at you with those deep, serious eyes, the kind that always made your heart skip.

“Yeah, but it was very very good sex. I know you don’t need one. But I want to get it for you. Because I want to, not because I have to." The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. Jude had always been generous, but this felt different—more personal. Your heart practically exploded at the thought. You could afford the bag on your own, of course, but this wasn't about the price. It was about the gesture, about him wanting to spoil you just because he could. The bag, which you might have once seen as just another luxury item, now felt like the most special thing you’d ever own. Inside the store, the world seemed to slow down as you selected the bag, with Jude watching you closely, his gaze soft and warm. When the clerk handed it to you in its pristine packaging, you couldn’t help but smile, feeling a mixture of excitement and gratitude. Leaving the store, you and Jude found a quiet café just off the main street, nestled between two elegant buildings. The outdoor seating was shaded by large umbrellas, offering a perfect spot to people-watch while enjoying a coffee. You sat down, placing the Chanel bag carefully beside you, its significance still making your heart flutter. As you sipped your drinks and chatted, the atmosphere around you slowly began to shift. You noticed a few glances in your direction, whispers spreading among the other patrons. It wasn’t long before you realized that Jude had been recognized. Unlike you, he seemed completely unfazed, accustomed to the attention that came with his fame. But for you, the sudden shift in energy was unsettling. Jude, ever in tune with your feelings, noticed the moment your comfort started to waver. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Home. Hmm?” he offered gently. You nodded, grateful for his understanding. Jude signaled for the check, and before you knew it, he had paid the bill and stood up, coming around to your side of the table. He helped you with your things, then wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you left the café. As you walked down th double stone street, his hand never left you, a protective and reassuring presence. “Had enough of being out. Want you back home with me now.” When you were finally alone again, away from prying eyes, he whispered once more in your ear as you got into a car. 

"Good," you teased, "because I want you all to myself. Tired of sharing." You giggled, a warmth spreading through your chest as you leaned into him. Jude grinned, his eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and something deeper.

 “I’m all yours,” he replied softly, his voice filled with a sincerity that made your heart race. It was moments like this where it was abundantly clear you two were lying to yourselves about not wanting more. Once back at the house, you both walked through the door with an ease that came from spending time in each other’s company. The luxury of the place still hadn’t lost its charm on you, but now it felt even more like home because you were there with Jude. As the door closed behind you, shutting out the rest of the world, you felt a sense of peace settle over you.

•

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 4 - Oldest Friend xx

[pascalpvnk]

only need ten

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x afab!reader

summary: this brain rot post by @chaotic-mystery

word count: 0.8k words (i'm impressed with myself)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship (not specified), swearing, needy Joel, porn with a smidgen of plot, no physical descriptions of reader, smut (unprotected p in v, fingering if you squint, creampie)

a/n: it's been aaages since i've started and completed a fic in the same day! anyways, barely edited and quickly beta'd by me, all mistakes are my own. i hope you enjoy! xx (divider by @/saradika)

The snooze button fell under the weight of your palm as your alarm clock beckoned your consciousness. You settled yourself back into your spot, cuddling into the massive man pressed against your back, his arm draped around your frame. A groan vibrated into your neck as Joel pulled you tighter against him. He caged you in like some kind of wild animal.

“Darlin’,” he rasped, the usually deep timbre of his voice reaching half an octave lower. “Just turn the damn thing all th’way off.”

His nose buried deeper into the side of your neck, his hips shifting against your own. Oh. His cock was straining against the thin fabric of his boxers, nudging at your thigh.

“Joel,” your whine muffled by your pillow. “I have to leave in fifteen minutes, I can’t be late for patrol again. We have to be back in time for Sunday brunch.”

“Only need ten, baby,” he drawled in a hushed tone, hooking his thick fingers beneath the waistband of your panties. “Please?”

His lips ghosted along your jaw, his beard prickling against your skin. Your eyes were somewhat adjusted to the darkness of your bedroom, but you couldn’t see the needy man behind you. So when his teeth dragged against your jawline, it completely caught you off guard. Arousal immediately seeped through your underwear, clouding your logical thinking as you nodded in response to him. 

Wasting no more time, Joel pushed your panties down the expanse of your legs, keeping them hooked on one of your ankles. The rough pads of his fingertips teased your entrance, collecting your slick and depositing it to your clit. He traced small, calculated circles along the sensitive and swollen nub. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. Already s’wet for me,” Joel grunted, shuffling behind you and replacing his fingers with the ruddy tip of his cock, lining himself up to spear into you. He slowly stuffed it into your weeping pussy, drawing desperate groans from both of you.

A calloused palm slid under your shirt, landing atop one of your breasts as Joel’s cock bottomed out inside of you. It was quite a pinch since you were so short on time, but your core quickly adjusted to the familiar body. Moans slipped between your lips as he continued to fuck you slowly, but Joel wasn’t having it.

“Baby, ya sound s’pretty,” he sighed with pleasure. “But you’re gon’ wake up the whole neighborhood. Won’t hear the end f’it from Ellie.”

“Can’t help it,” you panted. “Y’feel so good, oh fuck.”

Joel’s hand wriggled out of your top, planting it on your jaw to turn your face. He swallowed your whimpers and cries of pleasure with his lips enveloping yours. His hips continued their lazy pace as your own hand came up to lie overtop his massive one. Sweat from his torso smeared onto your back as your bodies and souls connected as one. 

“Yeah, keep squeezin’ my cock like that, sweetheart. Make a mess all over me,” he groaned against your cheek, kicking the duvet off of your overheated bodies. Maneuvering his leg between yours, he got your leg swung over his thigh, giving himself deeper access into your begging cunt. Each pass stimulated your g-spot, your walls fluttering around his length.

“I’m so close,” you cried as quietly as you could muster. Your breath hitched with every snap of his hips, your impending orgasm tumbling quicker and quicker towards you. A call of your lover’s name was stifled by his palm, the bicep it was interconnected to bulging under your ear. His now free hand found its way back to toy with your throbbing clit. Your walls spasmed around him, his cock twitching in response.

“Christ. Gon’ fill you up, baby. All mine,” he slurred, his grunts and pace picking up as he chased his own high. It was your turn to suppress his volume. A passionate kiss was exchanged, enough to send Joel over the edge and paint the inside of you like his personal canvas. 

Kisses and soft touches continued for a moment after Joel turned you toward him, clammy foreheads pressed together tenderly. Whispered ‘thank you's and ‘I love you's were pressed into your cheek, neck and shoulder before Joel reached down to capture your panties. He pulled them back up your legs and covered your sex, trapping every drop of cum he gave you. 

“Just a reminder f’who took care of your pretty pussy until ya get t’come back to me,” he mused. Joel helped you get bundled up for your first below freezing patrol shift, getting your jacket zipped up, boots tied and stocking cap secured before sending you off with a ‘be smart’ and warm kiss on your forehead. 

The walk to your post felt ten miles long with how behind you were, your boots leaving behind tracks in the fresh layer of snow. There was no way of hiding your true excuse, you reeked of sex and sweat, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't worth it.

“Eight minutes late again! Grace period is up, I'm afraid,” Tommy chirped as you approached, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. Only ten minutes your ass.

to stay up to date on when I post fics, follow @pascalpvnk-writes and turn on notifications! i hope you enjoyed <3

[comrade-kimberly]

From Palestine To The World, October 2024 by Queers In Palestine.

Language: Unworded by colonial violence, resisting erasure

After a year of an ongoing genocide, ethnic cleansing, attempts of expansion by the Zionist settler-colonial project, and of our ongoing steadfast global revolt, we are delivering a message from Palestine, to the world, while words cannot convey the depths of our collective trauma or the radical resistance we embody. Words collapse as we bear witness to the destruction of bodies, lands, histories, and futures. Language can no longer hold the weight of our suffering, our rage, our endless grief. It cannot do justice to our feelings and experiences. While capitalism and colonialism’s forces of death and destruction are wounding the world, we are still determined to deliver our voice, we are still moved by the force of life, and will always move with and towards it.

Palestine and Lebanon: One land in grief and struggle

The Zionist colonial entity still exists because colonial and imperialist powers are supporting and funding it. These are the same powers that produced the Sykes-Picot colonial agreement that fragmented Palestine, Lebanon, Syria and Jordan and other Arab nations in 1916 by enforcing borders on our lands. We live with the implications of these systems. We deeply embody the knowledge of this violence, and have been trying to warn the world that these powers neither see our humanity nor respect our sovereignty. The world’s promises of justice and accountability through colonial international laws and institutions only reproduce violence and harm with no transformation. The very existence of these colonial powers is built on the (social) death and exploitation of others. The same tactics of annihilation that have been used in Gaza since last October are now also used in Lebanon. They are reaching us all––from surveillance tools of political repression, to weapons for direct killings. From corporations to other colonial structures, if we do not dismantle these systems, they will continue to consume us all.

Zionism: Threat against humanity

Zionist settler colonialism has been perpetrated against the land of Yemen, Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, and Palestine. But it does not stop there: Zionism is a global threat. While Palestine is used as the Zionist entity’s testing-ground to develop technologies of oppression (including cyber invasions and technological warfare) to control the people and suppress resistance worldwide, these Zionist inventions are exported and used for state violence to further colonial, imperial and capitalist expansion. The Zionist entity’s influence extends to geopolitics and resource extraction across Latin America and Africa––from mining projects in Namibia, to diamond extraction in Angola, and ‘Cop City’ in the USA–– and its aggression can only be contained through struggle and abolition.

The myth of individualism and separation

Individualism is an instrument of the systems of (neo)liberalism, racial capitalism and colonialism. It is designed to destroy our collectives and community practices through fragmentation and separation––from each other, the land, the planet and universe, and from ourselves. The illusion of separation denies our autonomy, our sovereignty over our bodies and land. We resist this colonial myth of individualism that serves oppressive systems. We are interdependent and our struggles are interconnected and intersectional––there is no such thing as individual liberation. No one is free, until we are all free.

On the path of abolition and transformation

Our reality, and our queer, feminist, radical truths, cannot be quantified. They cannot be reduced to data, to screens, to consumable images. The genocidal violence we face and resist everyday, is not an event to be documented. This deep rupture is a tearing apart of the fabric of life that demands something more than mere speech. It demands action and transformation. And it necessitates abolition. Abolition not just through the dismantling of prisons and the destruction of all carceral systems—but the refusal of all structures that seek to imprison and kill our bodies, our desires, our lands, our futures. Abolition is a direct confrontation with the forces that seek to erase us on the path towards life-affirming and systemic transformation, it is to radically imagine and build a different future from the present.

Hope as a radical practice

Our bodies ache with exhaustion, our spirits bruised by the relentless weight of oppression. In this land stolen from us, where we live the genocide in our every moment, hope is a radical practice. We are warriors, survivors, rebels. We will not be extinguished. The world’s indifference is a betrayal––we know that. We will not allow our disappointment to consume us. Fuelled by our collective rage and grief, we unite and empower us. Still amidst these difficult times, we channel our hope as a collective force of resistance to the very foundation of these unjust systems, in Palestine and everywhere. We will not only survive this genocide, we will thrive––reclaiming our stolen land and building a future free from the chains of patriarchy, colonialism, capitalism and zionism.

Constant transformative struggle towards collective liberation

One year later, we continue to call for the world to:

Be radical, feminist, queer, intersectional, decolonial, and abolitionist in our resistances: fuelled by rage, love and longing for justice, transformation and collective liberation.

Resist the hegemonic colonial narrative: do not stop talking about Palestine with your kin, queer siblings, friends and community. Challenge the colonial and Islamophobic framing of Palestinian and racialized voices as antisemitic.

Escalate all forms of disruption of the colonial and capitalist systems enabling this violence. Rage and strike against the use of your labor and tax money to fund, support, and endorse settler colonialism and genocide. Fight against governments and hold them accountable for their military, diplomatic, economic, and political relations with and support to Israel.

Rage and grieve as radical forces for change: together we channel our anger and grief towards a world free of Zionism and all other systems of oppression.

Radically imagine a different world and put this imagination into practice by organizing to fight current systems and build the future from the present.

Always re-membering: honoring those we have lost, and standing steadfast in resistance by all means possible.

[ninthcircleofprythian]

The Bird and The Badger

(A series of interconnected one shots)

Part 1 - Keeping Up Appearances

Eris x OC (Bryn)

Summary - Eris and Bryn travel to Night Court to enact the bargain with Rhysand.

Warnings - light swearing

Author's Notes - this begins the series The Bird and The Badger. A series of interconnected one shots telling the the story of Eris and Bryn. This story will be told in non-linear order but will be posted in the master list chronologically.

The day had come. As they were escorted down the sleek obsidian halls of the Court of Nightmares, Bryn fought to keep her posture straight and her face neutral. Her heart however was like an injured bird fighting wildly in her chest. As she drew a deep breath through her nose, she slid her glance toward the male next to her. Eris, her husband and mate, spine ramrod straight and face pulled into a menacing glower. The profile of his strong nose held high and brows furrowed, he stared straight ahead at the back of the Illyrian leading them to their destined meeting. 

As she released her cleansing breath, her hand unconsciously lifted to graze over her front, smoothing her gown before settling low on her abdomen, between her hips. The moment was brief as she caught herself, brushing her hand over the fabric once more before dropping her hand back to her side. Her fingers twitched a moment, desperate to reach over the small space between them and grasp the hand of her husband but she resisted. This wasn’t the time. Or the place. They had come for a purpose in which certain appearances needed to be upheld.

Bryn’s brandy colored hair was swept away from her face, pulled into a severely tight arrangement at the nape of her neck. No soft waves or falling tendrils. Eris’s own hair was also pulled back, tied into a leather cord and resting on the stiff collar of his brocade jacket. They were the picture of elegance. Stoic and impassive, the guise came much easier to Eris than it did to her, having had so many more decades of practice. 

The Illyrian before them paused, using his siphon magic to swing open the ornate door before them. The frame briefly lit up with a faint blue glow before opening up into a large high ceilinged room. Eris stepped in front of her, leading the way to the long oak table centered in the room. Bryn didn’t spare the Illyrian another glance as she passed through the door even as she felt his gaze drift over her profile. 

Another wave of anxiety rushed through her. She was familiar with Azriel, as he was her. She had worked within the realm of his periphery spies long enough to have had interactions with him over the years. It was the revealing of herself in this way that had her stomach twisting in knots. The mating bond between her and Eris had never been part of the plan. Their courtship and secret marriage had been withheld from everyone except the couple, until recently. 

Bryn settled into the seat that Eris had pulled out for her, smoothing the front of her gown once more as she did. Eris slid easily into the seat next to her and she held back a frown at her own disappointment. No kiss to the top of her head, no lingering trail of fingertips down her arm. Her attention quickly shifted as the guard that had trailed behind them through the hallways took his post next to the now closed doors, Azriel settling on the other side. The sight only caused the grip of anxiety to tighten in her chest. Two figures representing the dilemma she now found herself in. 

The guard opposite Azriel held himself stiffly, staring straight ahead. Decked out in Autumn Court garb with a large crest of two baying hounds upon his chest, he was here at the insistence of Beron. Having recently been made aware of his son’s secret mate and marriage, his suspicions of Eris had only grown. He no longer allowed him to leave the boundaries of Autumn Court unguarded, under the watchful eyes and ears of his father at all times. 

Barely a moment of stillness passed before the doors were opening once more. Cassian entered first, long hair half swept back while the remaining strands curled over the crests of his shoulders. 

“I hear congratulations are in order, dear Eris,” he smirked as he took a seat on the opposite side of the table, shifting his wings around the chair back. Only a passing nod was made in Bryn’s direction as she stilled her face into non-reaction. 

Before Eris could even draw breath for a response, face as neutral as her own, two more figures swept into the room. Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court swept in with a ripple of power, no doubt showing off. It was the figure that followed behind him that caught Bryn’s attention however. Amber eyes, much like the ones belonging to the male next to her, locked with her gaze. Lucien, Eris’ estranged brother, gave her another subtle nod. This one different from Cassian’s, somehow softer. 

“Eris. What a lovely surprise,” Rhys drawled as he pulled at the cuffs of his dark tailored suit. “I would have kept you waiting longer,” he smirked. “But word travels fast and I just had to lay eyes on the female you bribed into marrying you.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Rhysand. I didn’t think to invite you as I didn’t think you would be interested in stealing away another bride.” Eris sneered across the table. “Or is yours no longer satisfactory enough?” 

The aura in the room intensified as that pulse of power that had entered the room before grew. Bryn didn’t have to turn her head to know that the muscle in Eris’ jaw was fluttering or that his teeth were in danger of cracking from the strain. Pulling her shoulders straighter, she followed her husband’s lead and remained silent. 

That violet gaze trailed over her, flicking down before slowly making their way back up to her face and yet she remained still. 

“Not what I was expecting, I’ll give you that.” The smirk on Rhysand’s face had Bryn’s jaw tensing now too. “I hear you are a former resident of this court, is that so?” With a wave of his hand, Rhys gestured to the room around them. 

She was indeed a former resident of the Court of Nightmares – many years ago, but not far enough in the past for her liking. “Yes,” she answered shortly. The need to divulge anything further did not press her. 

“And you were unhappy here? As High Lord, I would be interested to understand what could have been done – differently.” Rhys’ astute stare hadn’t left her once during his questioning, but a slight rustling of wings tore her attention away from him. Scanning her eyes toward the door, she settled on Azriel who shifted slightly before returning to his statue pose, hands clasped in front of him. It wasn’t him that caught her eye but a strange shift in the air before him, light bending strangely around the chest of his leathers. 

“From your perspective, of course,” Rhys added, realizing her attention was no longer on him. 

Kicking her mind back into the moment, she narrowed her gaze at him. “I have my reasons.”

From the corner of her eye, Bryn caught the ever so tiny movement of Eris’ hand twitching on the table top, his stare also focused solely on Rhys.

“Fair enough,” the High Lord sighed as he brought his hand up casually. Leaning back into his chair and inspecting his nails he continued. “I’d hate to know how low your standards are if the Autumn Court was such an upgrade.”

Anger flared brightly within her, but not as bright as the flames that now encaptured Eris’s splayed hands on the table. “She is my wife and my mate, Rhysand. She is carrying the heir of the Autumn Court and you will treat her with respect.” The disdain of his voice dripped off of the final word as Eris gritted it out through his teeth. 

Reigning himself in and extinguishing his flames, Eris slowly turned his head to meet her sight. His face did not soften nor did it falter. The look too brief but comforting in some small way. 

“Ahhh, so that’s the reason for the quickie marriage then,” Cassian quipped from his seat with a sly smile. “Couldn’t have an illegitimate heir now could you, Eris?” 

The rage that had flared within her was only fueled higher at the question. Before anyone else could make a response, Bryn swiveled her head to center her sight on Cassian fully. 

“You fucking bastard,” she spit out venomously.

“Takes one to know one,” he spat back, sly smile now gone. She watched as his eyes dropped low, locking on her middle with a nod before glancing back to her face. 

In a blink, Eris shoved back his chair and stood, hands engulfed in flames once more as they now singed the table top, but it was Lucien’s rumble of a growl that halted everyone’s movements. 

Eris’ wild eyes swung over to his brother who was also now standing. All eyes in the room were on him, Rhys’ especially. The calm and passive act was gone, replaced with cold calculation. Lucien’s rapt focus was only on Cassian however.

“The child is not a bastard. And regardless of its means of conception it is still my relation. So watch your fucking mouth, Cassian.”

“Yes, Cassian. Do settle down,” Rhysand directed without even a glance in his direction. The cold calculation still lingered on his face as he switched his eyes between the mates across from him. The moment was not lost on him. Although this meeting had gone against the plan Eris and Bryn and entered with, the result they desired had still come about. Rhys understood the moment an impending heir was mentioned. News that Eris would have never shared willingly if it wasn’t important somehow.

Lucien, having settled back into his seat, spoke once more. “Does our father know?”

Eris only met his brother’s gaze, but no answer left him. Moving his sight to Rhysand he saw the same silent question in his violet eyes. The only indication of his answer came from the quick flick of his own eyes toward the door – and the guard that lingered there. Following the movement, Rhys nodded firmly at Eris with a dip of his chin, understanding immediately. 

He will now.

The feeling that the news revealed was important now turned to desperation. Rhys mulled the revelation in his mind that Eris must be in a desperate position to reveal something this big in front of his father’s lackey. Scrambling internally for a moment, he dug for a way to get to the necessary information.

Eris could see the understanding light upon Rhys’ face. Following the struggle to determine his next move, he flicked his eyes from the hold he had on Rhysand’s toward the direction of his wife. With an imperceptible nod, Rhysand took the bait.

Clearing the room wouldn’t work as the guard had orders directly from Beron. He wouldn’t leave Eris’ side if suspicion was this high. Yet only one guard had been sent along. He might not leave Eris’ side, but he would leave Bryn’s. Beron has severely underestimated his son’s wife, much like he had underestimated his own. 

“Azriel,” Rhys spoke smoothly. “Why don’t you fetch the High Lady. I’m sure –,” he nodded across the table.

Realizing names hadn’t been exchanged, she offered hers to him. “Bryn,” she answered stiffly.

“I’m sure Bryn here would prefer to talk of softer things than the business of males.”

The imposing warrior tucked his wings in tight as he moved to shift toward the door. As he did, she saw it. The strange bending of light failed for just a fraction of a moment, revealing the tail end of a golden thread planted squarely in the middle of his chest. 

The darkness of night had long ago come to rest over the grueling day they had faced. Eris and Bryn returned home weary, their mission accomplished. Everyone involved now understood what enacting this bargain would entail moving forward. Despite the heavy weight of stress pressing down on them, they glided through the halls of Forest House much the same way as they had in Night Court. Stoic, regal, stiff. 

Approaching their chamber doors, the guard that had tailed them was swiftly replaced with another, standing post just beside the door frame. One rigid nod of a bow, and he leaned to open the door before them. Eris only lifted a lip into a half sneer before ushering Bryn into the room and clicking the door shut behind them. The complication of the news about their bundle of joy reaching his father’s ears was tomorrow’s problem. 

He had barely lowered his hand from its lazy wave, enacting the silencing wards over the room, before Bryn’s cry reached his ear. 

Grasping at the bedpost, she slumped forward, head hanging low as she sobbed. “I hate this,” she forced out between struggling breaths. 

Her words and the sound of her cries wrenched at Eris’ heart painfully. The bond between them pulsed with her pain as tears of his own filled his eyes. Sweeping forward he met her back, one arm snaking over her waist, palm splaying over her abdomen. 

“I know,” he hiccuped down more tears as he whispered softly in her ear. “I’m so sorry, Little Bird. You deserve so much more than this.” Another wave of sobs tore through him as he choked them down, Bryn’s head leaning into his. “You deserve better. And I am trying so desperately to give it to you.”

Her slender hand slid up to graze the side of his face and he nuzzled into her palm at the touch. “Oh Badge,” she wailed weakly as she continued to cry, her attempts at calming herself futile. “I know. It’s just – I hate pretending to be something we aren’t. That’s all.” 

The words renewed the pulse of torment within the bond as they both gave into their sobbing, finding comfort in the arms of each other as they could only do away from the looming eyes of his father’s spying. 

[probablyasocialecologist]

Gaza, that ancient city on the eastern shores of the Mediterranean, has come to be the political and moral compass of the entire world. Despite the pervasive destruction, Gaza stands not as a place in need of lessons. Instead, it is itself the poignant lesson of our modern age – a litmus test for humanity. As the death toll continues to rise, it becomes increasingly challenging to conceive of a violence more profound than that inflicted by machine guns and aerial bombardment. However, Israeli colonial violence – both in Gaza and Palestine more broadly – has historically manifested at various scales. It extends from the confines of a bedroom to encompass a neighbourhood, a whole city, and stretches to the scale of a regional geography.  Understanding the destruction of Gaza calls for a dual perspective. It requires zooming in on the intimate scales of violence while also being aware of these broader manifestations. At the core of Israeli colonialism in Palestine is the logic of partition, a paradigm fundamentally at odds with the land, its people and its history. Gaza has long been a nexus of interconnected worlds: for millennia, it served as a vital crossroads, connecting Palestine to Egypt and bridging the continents of Asia and Africa. The roads from Gaza to Bir al‑Sabe’, Jaffa and Jerusalem have witnessed the passage of visitors, merchants and pilgrims from diverse corners of the world. The city’s social, cultural and economic prosperity has been woven into its geographical openness, a defining feature in Palestine’s long history. Any thought about Gaza and Palestine’s future is bound to reckon with this history. The enduring imprints of Gaza’s geographical openness are discernible in both its social and built fabrics. This ancient city has witnessed the rule of various empires and civilisations, including the Egyptian Pharaohs, Greeks, Romans, Byzantines and successive Islamic dynasties – each contributing to the rich tapestry of the city. Gaza is home to historic treasures such as the Anthedon Harbour, the port that linked the city to the Mediterranean world in the Roman era; the Great Omari Mosque, one of the most significant mosques in Palestine; and the Church of Saint Porphyrius, believed to be the third oldest church in the world. These historic landmarks, among residential buildings, universities, museums and cultural institutions, have not escaped the intentional targeting and destruction inflicted by Israel. In essence, these sites embody all that Gaza stands for and Zionism doesn’t – geographical openness and historical continuity. In historical terms, the 75 years of Zionist domination in Palestine represent an anomaly, as Gaza and other cities have perennially thrived on cultural diversity and interconnection. 

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Disorganized aspect thoughts (read my writing on classes here)

like classes, they're equal and opposite.

time/space - existence. both aspects concern themselves with the very fabric of reality. In time's case, it is the minute, the details, the past and future, the discrete, and struggles. in space's case, it's concerned with the macro, the big picture, the present moment, the interconnectivity of all things into a greater whole, and resolutions. a time player knits together the nitty-gritty of a plan. a space player keeps track of the larger goal.

breath/blood - movement. both aspects concern themselves with the direction of the party, both ad a whole and between individuals. in breath's case, it's concerned with freedom and choices, movement and flight. in blood's case, with bonds and pacts, tying down and keeping still, stalwart in the face of opposition. a blood player keeps the party together. a breath player brings the party somewhere new.

light/void - materiality. both aspects concern themselves with that which can be known. In light's case, it's concerned with the concrete, the factual, the fortuitous, and clear communication. void is concerned with that which cannot be known - secrets, subjectivity, emptiness. the spaces between, the silence, and the infinite promises it holds before it's collapsed into the known. a light player illuminates that which is salient. a void player dwells among the infinite possibilities of the unknown.

mind/heart - causality. both aspects concern themselves with cause and effect. in mind's case, it is concerned with the external - logic, actions, societal ramifications, karma, and justice. in heart's case, it is concerned with the internal - feelings, motivations, identity, the soul, the self, and acceptance of all as they are. a mind player keeps track of right and wrong, and how people will act. a heart player keeps track of identity and motivations, and how people will feel.

life/doom - journeys. both aspects concern themselves with the cyclical paths all entities undertake. life is concerned with beginnings, continuations, exploitations, healing, growing, and pushing through. doom is concerned with endings, laws, suffering, acceptance, peace, leisure, and letting go. a life player summons the strength to push through and adapt against all adversity. a doom player brings all to their proper conclusions and gives all a place to rest.

hope/rage - beliefs. both aspects concern themselves with truth and fantasy, and imposing their will upon the world. hope is the aspect which makes fake things real, makes the impossible possible, is associated with magic and divinity. rage, then, is the aspect which deems real things false and banishes them - "tearing down false truths" - and turns the possible impossible; it is associated with physical sensation and devilry. a hope player imposes their will on the world by making real what they believe in. a rage player imposes their will on the world by banishing that which they refuse to acknowledge.

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example classpects, although i must include a caveat: classpects are deeply personal to the character they're applied to, and thus, even two people with the same classpect can manifest two entirely different skillsets. these are only some suggestions for how the combinations might shake out.

rogue of time | one who steals time for others / one who steals from time for others. a rogue of time is a force of change and upheaval; while they can travel through time, doing so is highly instinctive, and they often find themselves lost as to why they travelled to when they did, even as their instincts draw them to the exact right moment to disrupt the status quo - and they can often disrupt time for the worse, if not given clear direction and communication. More unique to this combination is the rogue's ability to steal directly from time, able to appearify past and future objects and entities at will, or to steal time away for others, able to reverse aging and injuries, or prevent accidents and harm, by stealing past and future, respectively.

knight of space | one who wields space / one who leads with space. a knight suffers from crippling insecurities, and in the case of space, this may lead to them shirking or denying the interconnectedness of all things that they instinctively feel. the relationship of a knight and their aspect is a straightforward one, that of a soldier and weapon or tradesperson and tool, so a knight of space will have fairly "standard"-seeming abilities - teleportation being the big one, but size manipulation, barriers and borders, and all other physical properties. with space's focus on interconnectedness and the larger goal, the knight takes on the frontline role of ensuring the party is united in the correct direction, always aimed in the proper direction.

seer of void | one who comprehends void / one who guides with void. a seer generally tends to struggle with blindness, both literal and metaphorical; so much the worse for one whose sight is aimed at the nothingness. already prone to feeling so burdened by their sight that they choose self-destruction, a seer of void must receive careful guidance from their party in order to understand the abyss they are gazing into. once given this direction, the seer will be an incomparable guide in unknown places, having an instinctive grasp of the ebbs and flows of nothingness, able to set the party on paths where nothingness is absent. a seer of void is well-equipped to deal with emptiness, nothingness, or eldritch madness that would normally drive others insane. Moreover, no secrets are truly secret to a seer of void; although such things are often unspeakable by nature, when the time comes for a secret to be known, the seer will always have a feel for how to bring that knowing about. "Lost" is never actually lost when a seer of void is present.

prince of light | one who destroys light / one who destroys with light. Princes are often the most psychologically maligned and self-destructive party member, and thus, a prince of light will embody ignorance, misfortune, and/or incommunication. What's worse, if their psychological problems are left unaddressed, they may wind up destroying precious knowledge, fortune, or lines of communication for the party as a whole. However, brought back into the fold, the prince, first of all, has access to deadly lasers. But also, they can crush arguments with facts and logic, and are especially skilled at using light to crush misfortune or banish uncertainty, paving the way for sure victory.

heir of heart | one who is beloved by heart / one who awakens to heart. an heir tends to start out privileged, and an heir of heart especially begins the game having won the hearts of their team members. However, this is also a danger to them - being naturally gifted with their aspect, and not having done much introspection to learn to control it, an heir of heart often winds up subsumed by the desires and identities of those around them, left unable to make choices for the party's benefit, or even their own. they must interrogate why they are so beloved, and what it means to be beloved, in order to protect from the consuming force of heart, and to learn to share their inheritance. An heir of heart can often take on the role a blood player would typically have, as they're uniquely suited to bringing understanding between their teammates, as they share the bonuses granted to them as a heart player amongst their party. they naturally charm their opponents, and are well-suited for political maneuvering or de-escalating hostilities. moreover, being a heart player typically allows them to achieve Ultimate Selfhood sooner, often during the game itself, the benefits of which are conferred to their party, as the party is granted a guide with knowledge of all timelines, whose heart is big enough to fit them all.

sylph of mind | one who nurtures mind or creates a land of mind. sylphs already struggle with a tendency to luxuriate within their comfort zone, becoming aloof to the outside world - a sylph of mind is especially dangerous in this regard, as mind is concerned with karma and justice. a sylph of mind who does not have their worst tendencies kept in check will designate themselves judge, jury, and executioner of the party, imposing their own sense of values upon their teammates and making enemies of those who do not conform. However, if they are pulled out of their comfort zone and forced to come to a realization that their own values are not absolute, the sylph can instead become a trusted moral backbone to the party instead, capable of providing constructive guidance, and dare i say, cognitive-behavioral therapy, in line with their tendency to be nurturers and healers. a sylph's passive abilities are incredibly powerful; with a sylph of mind on the team, the party never has to worry about foes equipped with mental attacks - mind control, mind reading, or whispering madness. if something of that nature does somehow manage to infiltrate the sylph's area of control, it's trivial for the sylph to banish it - one does not mess with a sylph within their own territory.

thief of breath | one who steals breath from others / one who steals with breath. thieves are selfish mavericks by nature, playing a dangerous game with the patience of their party, and a thief of breath finds it all-too-easy to earn their teammates' ire. by stealing breath - that is, choices and freedom - a thief of breath can control their victims. what's worse is that, by granting themselves that stolen breath, they grant themselves the power to determine the party's direction. thus, the thief must be confronted and made to address the reasons they desire such control. once turned toward the party's best interests, the thief of breath is a powerful force of freedom and liberation - so long as they have a say in things, no prison can hold the party, and no obstacle is insurmountable. the thief's ability to steal breath is also literal, as they're capable of asphyxiating foes, or using vacuums to their advantage - for example, the air bubble of a pistol shrimp. Moreover, once they've amassed a store of stolen breath, they can do nearly anything with it - blowing their enemies away, masking their scent, slipping in and out of tight spaces. At least, until they run out, and they have to replenish their stores.

witch of blood | one who manipulates blood / one who achieves dominion through blood. a witch of blood starts the game surrounded by an excess of bonds - but with no clear idea of how to change them. Often an "outsider," a witch is prone to following the whims of their naive hearts without fully interrogating the ramifications of their actions - in the case of a blood player, this means setting up or destroying relationships. this naivety makes them easy to manipulate, and they will often be taken advantage of by external forces, and, their gullibility left unchecked, will lead to them perpetuating harm - which is especially bad for witches, who have such powerful active abilities, and set the tone for the world they create. The same abilities that make a witch of blood capable of singlehandedly destroying a party's interpersonal relationships also makes them the ultimate matchmaker, once they've learned to sort right from wrong. otherwise, their abilities are quite literal - a witch of blood can manipulate literal blood, and also instruments of binding, like ropes and chains. there doesn't exist an enemy a witch of blood cannot incapacitate, provided the witch is fully-realized. interestingly, as they preside over bonds, witches of blood can actually act as a breath player, weakening bindings just as easily as they can strengthen them. with a witch of blood on the team, the party is truly stronger together - and the witch can ensure that they stay that way.

maid of doom | one who distributes doom or manages with doom. maids begin the game oppressed, if not outright enslaved, and the maid of doom especially has been designated one of the universe's sufferers. maids have an unbelievable influence on the party, managing from the backlines, and if these malicious external influences aren't addressed, a maid of doom will doom their party, dispensing their aspect according to the whims of their master. However, if they are able to free themselves, then a maid of doom is one of the most powerful possible party managers. doom is concerned with rules and proper processes; as such, a maid of doom knows that there's a place for everything, and ensures everything is in its place. they can also bring suffering without injury, which is sometimes useful for snapping a sylph out of their comfort zone, or showing a thief how it feels. after all, doom players provoke sympathy, either for themselves or for others, and oftentimes, pain is needed for growth. As doom is also associated with silence and rest, a maid of doom is also uniquely gifted in providing comfort and compassion to those who are in pain, providing them the space to grieve and cry, and soothing them that everything will eventually be at peace. the fact that doom is associated with pain and death means that it is one of the most powerful combat options available to maids, as the mere act of dispensing it can cause great damage to their foes - alternatively, they can grant the foes silence and peace, putting them to sleep. the last of their duties is to bring all things to a close - when the maid of doom says they all lived happily ever after, they fucking mean it.

bard of life | one who allows the destruction of life / one who allows destruction through life. the bard is the class of making the impossible, possible, and this is especially powerful when paired with life's tendency toward forward progress against all odds. however, bards tend to be shaped by the worst of the society from which they come, and the harmonious pairing of bards and life can easily work against the party, allowing for the destruction of not just their literal lives (while bypassing godtier immortality), but also for all that life stands for - beginnings, forward progress, healing, and the surmounting of challenges. A particularly maligned bard of life can cause the destruction of all the party's progress entirely, including all future progress. On the flip side, if the bard is taught a new way of being, there is no state of ruination that cannot be overcome. Their ability to allow destruction through life means that life will find a way, dammit. Even if the bard is the last one standing, their class will grant them some miracle by which the rest of their party can return, so long as the bard keeps living. the bard of life can either be the ultimate dead end, but, like nature reclaiming the most barren wastelands, they can also be the symbol of ultimate perserverence.

page of rage | one who earns rage or inherits the mantle of rage. pages start weak, with infinite potential, but long, arduous journeys of self-improvement to reach that potential; this almost seems contradictory when it comes to rage - is the page meant to learn how to be angry? Well, yes, but more importantly, the page must learn how to be honest with themselves. rage is concerned with truth and the destruction of lies - but what that truth and what those lies are are malleable. unrealized, the page of rage will likely spark a massive conflict by misdirecting their anger, or deeming the wrong things to be true, which can tank an entire party. however, if they are capable of surmounting the emotional issues that plague them, a page of rage is practically capable of warping reality. rage does not bring anything new into being, but it DOES take "false" things away - and these things can range from illusions, to disguises, to propoganda, to governmental policies, to the lies we tell ourselves, to game mechanics, to other entities' abilities, to the laws of physics - a similar powerset to a prince. moreover, as the aspect ruling physical sensation, a page of rage operating at 100% will be delivering the most brutal smackdowns on any team. a page of rage is an unbelievably dangerous foe, capable of laying bare all embarrassing things, uncovering all secrets, and denying all falsehoods - if only they're able to reach that point.

mage of hope | one who invokes hope or is drawn to hope. a mage of hope seems, at first, like the ultimate boon to a party - a "prophet" capable of literally speaking hope into existence. However, great danger lies in this incredible power - mages are often tainted by extreme self-loathing, which in turn, muddies their visions, and causes their prophecies to be self-destructive, if not destructive to the party - so much the worse when hope turns fake things real. A mage of hope can speak their darkest, ugliest, cruelest thoughts into existence no matter how improbable, or even impossible, such circumstances would normally be - and, in fact, they're naturally drawn to doing so. it would actually not be odd for a mage of hope to be the party's biggest problem until they were able to address their self-loathing and move on from it. Once this is done, then that incredible ability to prophesy the most impossible circumstances, and make them come true, becomes something that works in the party's favor. does this seem overpowered? hope is kind of just like that; it's considered an exploit in paradox space canonically, which is probably why it's balanced by only being given to the most pain in the ass classes. other mages would be constrained by their aspects - mages of doom can only predict dooms, and mages of heart can only predict feelings and matchmake; a mage of hope has no such restrictions, as hope is magic, divine intervention. The only requirement for a mage of hope's prophecy to come true is that the mage believes in it.

[mint-yooxgi]

Intoxicating - Yandere!Fennec Fox!Jeongin

Yandere AU & Hybrid AU - First Person POV

Genre: Mature, Smutty Themes, Internal Monologue

Pairing: Jeongin X Implied Chubby!Reader

Words: 1,665

Warnings: Implied masturbation and dirty thoughts. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: So, here it is! The first of what I'm deeming are the 'Feral Drabbles' hehehe. This one is a bit tame to start since I'm feeling things out, but I'd really love to know what you all think of it! Like I said, I'm trying out a new style here, so I really hope you all like it. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

The First of The Feral Drabbles

You’re intoxicating. 

Did you know that?

Of course you did. Why else would you always wear that scarf I got you, only to casually ‘forget’ it at my place? 

You know how much you drive me crazy. It’s like you want me to scent you.

Really, you can’t blame me. The soft pastel pink of the material was practically glaring at me from the hook near the front door. I had to move it before it drove me insane.

Where better to keep it than in my bed? Where you should be.

The fabric is knitted, and quite smooth to the touch. Not as smooth as your skin beneath my fingertips, but it’ll suffice for now. It has to. 

My imagination can only do so much.

Oh, how I long for the day to feel you falling asleep in my arms. Sure, you do it sometimes even now, but it’s not the same. 

No. Right now, we’re only friends. Friends who have an undeniable chemistry with one another. Friends who clearly want something more.

You can feel it, too, right? The way our lives are interconnected. You and I, we’re meant to be. Besides, I know what I do to you. You’re not as subtle as you think.

I hear the way your breath hitches when you catch me staring at you. I’m sure you can see the emotions in my eyes, even though I try and hide them. The love, the desire, the sheer desperation I harbour for you knows no bounds, and I’m afraid I will never stop.

I want you, and I want you to want me, too.

I know you do. I can smell the way your scent shifts the slightest bit when I do certain things. I catch you staring when you think I’m not looking. I see the way your eyes linger the slightest bit longer when I roll up my sleeves, or even come out of my room with my shirt unbuttoned. Your breath stutters slightly when I wear that cologne you like, and I notice how you lean into me more when I do. 

It makes me so happy to know I can affect you in these ways. I’ll let you in on a little secret, too. I do it for you. 

It’s all for you.

I know you like it when I smile, it sets your heart racing. I also know you enjoy when I run my fingers through my hair.

Do you wish it was you? Do you also want to know what it feels like to have you pulling at my hair? I bet you’d be so gentle at first, cautious even. That is, before you’re gripping it and pulling me into you to get exactly what you want from me. 

Whatever it is, I don’t mind. As long as you only did it with me, I don’t care what you do. Use me, please me, love me, just whatever you do, never leave me. You’re not meant to be anyone else’s but mine. Just as I’m not meant to be with anyone else but you. 

I’m yours, Baby. Forevermore.

Fuck, I wish you were here right now. I wish you could see what you do to me. I wish you could see how hard you make me, my cock throbbing from just the thought of you. Really, it’s embarrassing, how much precome leaks from the tip, my whole body aching for your touch. I want you to see how desperate I am for you, clinging onto that scarf for dear life. Maybe then I could bury my face in that delectable cunt of yours instead.

I bet your lips feel so soft and supple… god, I want you all for myself.

Would you like me playing with that pretty pussy of yours, Baby? Would you want me to finger you while you stroked my dick? Would you let me eat you out while you sucked me off? Or, would you prefer to have total control? I’d let you tie me up any time you’d like, Baby, as long as I got to do the same to you. I bet you’d look so pretty spread out on my bed, and all just for me to see.

Fuck, I’d start slow. Simply trailing my fingers over your body to get you accustomed to the faintest of my touch. Maybe I’ll blindfold you, too. If you let me, of course. I hear dulling certain senses can make others that much more sensitive… Regardless, I’d make sure to treat you right, and I wouldn’t be done until you’re a trembling, moaning, blissful mess.

I want you to scream my name, and my name only. After all, it’s going to be the only thing you’ll be able to remember.

I’ve smelt you, too. You’re not subtle. I know when you get turned on. I’m beginning to recognize all those little telltale signs that alert me to your every need, and then I watch you carefully when I emulate those same stimuli that turn you on. It makes me so happy when I see those plush thighs of yours squeeze together from something I’ve insinuated. It lets me know everything that I need to. Everything important.

It’s working.

God, I want to feel you around me. I want to feel your naked body pressing against mine. I want your legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer with every thrust I give into that tight little wet cunt of yours. I want your nails raking down my back and drawing blood, claiming me as yours in every primal way you know how. I want all of this, and so much more as your velvet walls spasm around my dick from another earth shattering orgasm only I could give to you.

My body is yours. It’s only fair that I offer it all to you.

You make me so desperate, Baby. I can hardly ever think straight when you’re around. Half of the time, I’m overcome by the need to make you mine in every way possible, and the other half I’m dreaming about our future together.

That’s just it, isn’t it? 

Our future. 

Us.

Together.

No one else.

I am made for you, Baby, and you are meant to be mine. 

Mine, and only mine.

Oh, where should I put my claim on you? 

I wonder…

Your neck? It’s always been begging for me to mark it; to rub my scent all over it and let everyone know that you’re mine and I’m yours.

Hmmm, or perhaps your thighs? The tender flesh has always tempted me beyond belief. I’d love to toss them over my shoulders and just drown in that dripping cunt of yours, but perhaps some other time…

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me, spending hours worshipping every part of your body that you’ve always wanted someone to please. I’m not lying when I say I could get lost in you.

Maybe, I’ll bite my mark on that soft stomach of yours. Maybe then you’ll start showing it off more for me to admire.

Then again, I don’t want anyone seeing what should be for my eyes only.

You’ll understand, right? How no one else gets to adore you like I do? How no one else is allowed to admire your ethereal figure, and worship your very being like I will? I’m all for showing you off, and making others jealous of what they can never have, but certain demonstrations from My Goddess are for me, and me alone.

Oh! I know! I’ll put my claim on you just above your collarbone! It’s the perfect area. You can show it off whenever you want, and I can tease you by resting my chin on your shoulder when you don’t. After all, if that were the case, only we would know it’s there. It’s perfect.

Just like you.

I should warn you, though, I do have quite a bit of stamina. Of course, I’ll cater to your every need, but I might have to be a little selfish, too. Selfish in the way - the best way - when I say that you make me insatiable.

I bet your moans sound so cute. I want to know what you sound like when you whine for me, when you’re begging me to please you in all of the ways I’ve only dreamed of. I want to make you come with a smile on your face, pleading for me not to stop. To never stop.

I wouldn’t. Not in a million years.

I will say though, that yes, I am an eager lover, but I also never want you to be uncomfortable. I’d take care of you in every and any way I know how, using whatever means necessary. Always. 

You’d never have to worry about anything. Not while I’m here to take care of you. Besides, a little birdie told me that you rather enjoy knowing your lover gets off to the thought of you. I’m always ready and willing to put on a show just for you.

Only for you.

Fuck, I could tell you about what I’m doing right now. What I always do when I think about you. Then, maybe, you’d be compelled to replace my hand with your own, teasing me even further while taking care of me like I’ve always fantasize about. It’d be the perfect mixture of passion and condescension. A thought I’ve always been into, but only with you.

God, I want you so badly, Baby. I wish you were here, letting me fuck you raw instead of me desperately fucking into my hand longing for the warmth of your pussy. Or maybe, you’d want to fuck me. Whatever the case, I’m all for it. Maybe then my teeth would be sinking into your own flesh and claiming you as my own instead of this stupid scarf.

It’s not enough. It will never be enough.

But what can I say? 

You’re just that intoxicating.

[codenamesazanka]

i always loved the Geten Himura reveal and blurb of backstory because it really rounded out the world of bnha. imo. It was a relatively tiny detail, but it showed that problems were deeper and more complex than just Bad Man, because many things were interconnected, and how tragedies can occur due to those chains of intersections.

Like, the fact that the Himura were traditional wealthy landowners was significant, because it meant they were the exact sort of old-money conservative douchebags that would hate change, that would marry cousins to keep their bloodline pure, that would raise children with the expectations to sell them off in arranged marriages. And because they were an old landowning clan, they would've had influence over local village politics - so is it any surprise that villages would be awful towards heteromorphs, when the village leaders or elites were people who rather marry their cousins than 'taint' their bloodline with outsiders and possibly have a kid with a heteromorphic quirk?

It meant Rei was always prepared to not marry for love, but be married to someone rich, and stay in that marriage no matter what, for the sake of her family. I don't know how low the Himura fell, but given that they're a big landowning family, they probably weren't 'starving in the streets' poor and in need of cash for survival, but rather didn't have the money to support their previously comfortable lifestyle. Rei kept in contact with her mom, but the mom could offer no support when Enji turned abusive - whether it was because the mom was also trained to be a traditional housewife and thought this was all normal, or because the mom needed the daughter to keep up a lifestyle, it's all fucked up. And plus, the marriage broker in Chapter 301 also mentioned "Himura women" like there's bunch, and there probably were - Rei's sisters or cousins also getting married off for money, also stuck in this clan-obligation-duty-dysfunction-web.

Enji was the asshole Rei ended up marrying, and everything that happened is his fault, but there very much could've been five other wealthy assholes that her parents had lined up for her to meet. In fact, Enji could've been a particularly useful idiot for the Himura - at the time, Enji was only 21, 22 years old, only having reached the age of majority the year or two before; his father was dead, so he's the head of his household, so they don't have to worry about pesky in-laws; he was probably nouveau riche from his Hero career, so he had no idea of old clan politics; he wanted a quirk marriage, which fit perfectly with their blood purity ideology; and he wanted a kid immediately, sealing the deal. Enji's selfishness matched beautifully with Himura's own messed up issues.

And so the problem isn't just Enji, and it didn't affect just Rei, it's a whole thing. And I so always thought this reveal added so much to the landscape of HeroAcaWorld, where quirks didn't only brought new problems, but exacerbated old prejudices and inequalities, entrenching them even further into the fabric of society. And it would've been fascinating to see how Heroes would have to deal with that.

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Creep - Nisse!Soap x reader

Warnings/tags: Fem!reader, nsfw, very creepy Johnny. Stalking, toxic behavior, Johnny watching reader without their knowledge or consent. Mastrubation, possessiveness. As a long time supporter of the Creep!Soap agenda, I have decided to put my own spin on the idea.

Nisse: House spirits who live in a realm of interconnected pocket dimensions, known as nowhere-space, made up from the unused and inaccessible space within houses. From the space between furniture and the wall to the depths under the bed, it’s all part of their hidden worlds. But it’s not just the forgotten spaces, it’s the forgotten belongings of the home owners. From old socks missing their matches to entire pieces of furniture if they’re ignored long enough- if a nisse finds something the unwanted by the homeowner, it’s already theirs.

Nisse!Johnny, whose presence you’re completely oblivious too- but who is anything but oblivious to yours.

He’s watching you, constantly. Always just watching you as you go about your mornings and evenings. He's watching everything: from how you make your coffee to how you only shake your hips and dance to your music when you think you're alone.

In the shower, while you sleep, as you get dressed- he’s always watching. Usually from the safety of nowhere-space, but occasionally he’ll get bold enough to get up close to you as you sleep- anything to get a good view of your beautiful, vulnerable sleeping face.

And oh, how he loved it. How he loved you. How he loved just being around you. In your presence, even without any interaction. Just watching, listening, fantasizing- and your perfect cluelessness to the whole thing just made it better.

Was it creepy? Sick? Wrong? Maybe, but that wasn’t going to stop him. It wasn’t going to stop him from watching you, and it certainly wasn’t going to stop him from taking your things. Especially not when taking your things was the only part that he is arguably supposed to be doing.

He’s a nisse! It’s his job to take your forgotten items off your hands for you! It was almost a favor, really. You should be grateful to him. At least in his opinion. 

That ornament that one of your ex’s bought you a few Christmases ago before you two broke up? The one that you never even hang up, that makes you all sad and ruins your mood when you see it in the box? Yeah, that one. He’s really doing you a favor by making it… “get lost” one year.

Same thing with the phone number he found hastily scribbled onto a napkin in your purse. That guy wasn’t going to be good for you, he could just tell. It was best for him to just make it disappear, really. 

And that pair of panties that somehow got nudged a bit too far under your bed? His. Absolutely his. His, the second they touched the ground.

Under the bed was textbook nisse territory. So it was your own fault, really.

And he was even nice enough to return them… eventually.

Only after holding them to his cock and jerking off all over the pretty fabric, of course. Imagining that- instead of fucking his fist and rubbing his cock against your stolen underwear- that he had you to hold down and bully his cock into- that he had you to squeeze and dig his fingers into- to pin you down by the hips as you squirmed and made your sweet, pretty little noises for him. All for him, even if you didn’t know it.

And one day, he would have that. But for now, he would have to make due with only the sick sense of satisfaction and possession that came with watching you unknowingly wearing the pair of cum-stained panties he had used to placate himself just the night before.

The way he sees it, this house and it’s nowhere-space was his territory. It belonged to him.

And by extension, so did the things inside it. Including you.

[star-girl69]

Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: i LOOVVVEEE natalie i had to so i hope you all enjoy!!

also- send me a private message, an ask, or leave a comment if you want to be apart of the taglist!

warnings: mentions of blood and death, swearing, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter One - Deadly Nightshade

Chapter One - Deadly Nightshade

—-

Growing up with a botanist for a mother, you were used to the smell of dirt, to the feel of leaves on your skin. Unwillingly, names and characteristics of every plant in your mother’s greenhouse had been drilled into your brain since childhood.

But, there was this sort of magic that surrounded deadly nightshade. Atropa belladonna, or deadly nightshade, is a toxic plant you can draw from memory. There’s just something so magical about the mirror-black berries, the soft green stems and leaves. Like there’s been this sheen covering the plant every since your childhood. Your eyes are drawn to it.

It’s just this small plant, that sprouts these beautiful berries. It is seemingly safe- harmless. When you let your guard down and pop that berry into your mouth, feel it explode between your teeth, and that is when the poison starts. It’s been weaved into the fabric of the known world- used in stories, warned about in cautionary tales.

You’ve always felt this kinship with that plant, like you came from the same place, learned your lessons from the same teachers.

You are deadly and you are nightshade. You are a botanist’s daughter, an aspiring journalist, and a student at Wiskayok High School.

—-

1996-

Everyone was shouting and screaming. Not only the players on the team, but the crowd who has gathered to watch, cheering and yelling and whistling.

“Allie! Allie, Allie!” one of them shouted, trying to get the ball from her. You looked up from your notebook, watching as the girl in question- Allie, Number Eleven- tried to maneuver past a girl from the opposing team. But, she was still a freshman, still had so much to learn, so the other team took the ball.

You sighed, heavily. Sports weren’t the most fascinating thing in the world, but as a member of the school paper, you had been assigned to track their progress all season. Everyone had known from the beginning that these were the type of girls who were going to win. They were champions. They were going to nationals.

You’d found yourself becoming emotionally invested in the team, feeling sad when they lost, happy when they won. But something about the way the girls just moved together, the way they were interconnected- not only was it a way to spend your day, work your way up the school paper hierarchy- but something fun to watch.

Another girl, her curly brown hair pulled back by a bandana- Taissa, Number Eight- shot forward with more determination that ever. Like a bullet, set on her target, she whizzed through the air- a straight shot, the line came to you. You struggled to both write that down and pay attention to the game. Soon enough, the ball was back into the Yellowjacket’s feet.

An uptick in the cheering. Another note in your notebook.

Taissa passed it to Shauna, Number Six, who got it around a small cluster of the other team. The white and black of the ball barely visible through the red of the other team. After a moment of bated breath, she passes the ball back to Taissa, safely around the swarm of red jerseys.

Parts of soccer felt like just a fight for the ball. Like the ball was already the trophy, and they had to keep it safe from anyone who would try to steal it.

“Tai! Tai!” Jackie, Number Nine, shouted. Taissa glanced upwards, waited until Jackie had ran forward enough, then kicked the ball with such a ferocity that you could barely see it arc through the air.

Finally, it met it’s mark, and collided with Jackie’s head.

You could hear a few gasps, but this was all apart of the plan.

Besides, the gasps turned into cheers when the ball rolled past the goalie, safely delivered into the net. They had kept the trophy. And they were going to nationals.

—-

2021-

“Have a nice day!”

The smile was fake. The voice was too. But the customer gave you a tight-lipped smile back, muttering “you too”, before grabbing her bags and hurrying off.

You wanted to take your break, sit down and rest your aching ankle for just a moment, but there was one more customer in your line.

The grocery store was a boring job. It was a Whole Foods, on the outskirts of New York City, just a few blocks away from your apartment.

After the plane crash, you tried to go back to your hometown. You tried to be close to the trees and the grass. But you found that you couldn’t. A second too long, a moment that you spent thinking, and suddenly it was the wilderness again.

Suddenly, your backyard was full of pits with spikes, tree stumps, and so, so much blood.

Two minutes too long in Central Park- and suddenly you were trapped in the forest again, a burning plane next to you, and screaming all around.

“Good morning,” the woman smiled. She set a chocolate candy bar on the conveyor belt, and you smiled and reached over to grab it.

“Good morning. Did you find everything okay today?”

The woman nods and makes a “mhm” sound. You can feel her eyes on you, and it’s no surprise when she says-

“Are you Y/N L/N?”

Sometimes, someone obsessed with the plane crash will find you. They’ll come to your house, to your job, and you tell them the same thing you told the reporters. They always seem so sad. They always think they were the first person to find you, to ask you.

So, you pat their back and say you wish you could tell them more- but all you did was scavenge and starve. And to the world, that’s all you did. But the ones that are left know the truth.

“Yes,” you say, trying to keep the polite smile on your face. You scan the chocolate bar. “Will that be all?”

“I’m Jessica Roberts. Star-Ledger.” She almost seems a little- apologetic. Sheepish, but this is the act they all put on, their little journalist show, that they all forget you know as well. “I wanted to call you, but you don’t seem to have a number, hm?”

“I’m not interested in talking to anyone. There’s books and magazines and newspapers, please just look at those. Now, will that be all?”

You place the chocolate bar in front of her with perhaps more force than is necessary. She glances down at it.

She has tan, dark skin, and short curly black hair. She’s quite pretty, but you’ve developed a distaste for reporters and journalists.

“Y/N-”

“I’m very sorry I can’t help you with that. Will you be paying with cash or card?”

She sighs, and digs through the pocket of her green jacket, taking out a brown wallet. She starts to take out a five dollar bill, but stops. She looks up, and her eyes meet yours.

“I don’t need help, Y/N. I’m looking to help you.”

You flipped the light switch on your station, showing that you were closed. You looked back down at the money, waiting for it expectantly. They were usually this persistent, but something about this woman made you want to get away.

“I know you’ve been letting other people tell your story. People who barely knew you. And they’re making a lot of money doing it.”

“I’m doing fine with money, thank you, besides for the $2.25 you owe right now.”

She smiles. “Five minutes.”

“$2.25.”

“If you don’t like what I have to say, then I’ll leave you alone. Promise.”

You sigh, and your look out the window, spotting the planter tree in the sidewalk.

It starts to twist. The bark turns darker. The branches start to move in odd ways, odd ways that can’t be explain by the wind. The darker bark can’t be explain by a shadow or a cloud.

The wilderness is in you. And sometimes it comes out.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’ve grabbed the money from her hand, pressed the cash button the screen, and dumped her change into her awaiting hand.

You look up at her slightly shocked face, but she recovers quickly.

“Alright. I get it. But think about it.” She produces a card from her other pocket. “Call me if you change your mind.”

“Have a nice day!” you say through gritted teeth.

She smiles.

And when you look over, the tree on the sidewalk looks how it did before. The wilderness is gone, for now, but it always comes back.

—-

1996-

The locker room is alight with a sort of electricity. A song plays through a small speaker, and Shauna primps her hair, while Taissa ties her shoes, completing the uniform.

With nationals comes a lot of recognition. The pep rally today is for them, not some stupid football team. You think back snarkily to Gordon River, the journalist who covers the Wiskayok football team, and how pissed off he must be.

“Hey, yeah!” the song rings out. “I want to shoop, baby!”

The girls start to join in, singing along with bright smiles borne from what can only be victory.

“Girls, what’s my weakness?”

“Men!” they all shout, and you smile as you look over your notes from the game, thinking already about how to weave it all into a story.

“Okay then, chillin’, chillin’, minding my business- Yo, Salt, I looked around and I couldn’t believe this- I swear, I stares, my niece my witness- The brother had it goin’ on with somethin’ kind of uh- Wicked, wicked, had to kick it-”

You look up at the girls in front of you, Lottie dancing off around you, watching Taissa, Natalie, Shauna, and Laura Lee sing to each other.

You smile and walk off, hearing the song end and the girls all erupt into shouts and cheers. You turn the corner, bringing your notebook to your chest, watching Van and Lottie stare at themselves in the mirror.

“Does someone wanna tell Kelly Kapowski to maybe worry less about prom and more about not fucking up nationals?” Lottie asks, fluffing up her hair while Van makes a mustache with a piece of her ponytail.

Taissa moves around you, leaning in front of the mirror to fix her own hair.

“Oh, come on,” she says.

“If she plays like she did at states…” Lottie continues.

“Don’t worry,” Taissa says, standing up and crossing her hands. The girls in the mirror all look to her. “That’s not gonna happen.”

Then, she simply walks off.

—-

“Hey, Misty,” you smile, coming to stand next to her. The boys portion of the pep rally is ending, the speaker encouraging everyone to clap- but that’s not why this crowd is here.

“Hi!” she says, her blonde curls bouncing, smiling wide.

The crowd claps sparsely, and the boys all stand there looking rather awkwardly.

Misty was- something. You weren’t really sure what she officially did, but she supported the team with her entire heart. The boys slowly filed off of the gym floor.

“Now, our next act needs so introduction.” Misty started bouncing on the balls of her feet. “So let’s all just make some noise for your New Jersey State Girls’ Soccer Champions!”

You tucked your notebook to your chest so you could clap, while Misty kept bouncing and then shouting and cheering louder then anyone else. You smiled a little bit, admiring her dedication and enthusiasm.

The girls ran out onto the gym floor, and you took mental notes of how much louder and happier the crowd was. Even the mascot of the school came out, a cartoonish bee, encouraging the crowd to cheer louder, more.

Misty started chanting “buzz, buzz, buzz!” Which was the official chant of the team. They were called the Yellowjackets, so bees and buzzing made sense.

The girls all filed into a line, some clapping, some smiling- some more genuine then others- but all of them basking in the glory of victory. It was a good look, you had to admit. The title of your small little column on the paper came to you now-

Yellowjackets: Burning Bright in Victory

—-

[lis-likes-fics]

Sweet as Sugar

Pairings: Agent Whiskey x Reader Word Count: 11.3k Warnings: NSFW, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pining, cunnilingus, blowjob, slight dirty talk, slight praise kink, cowboy rule, swearing (this is basic smut, I think), Whiskey’s a little confused but he’s got the spirit... A/N: I have a writer’s block toward the end of writing this, so what should have only take about a week took, like, a month. Hopefully, I’m back to writing again but I will make no promises bc it’s too gloomy outside for any good serotonin boost to write with. Thank you and enjoy this peace offering bc Pedro Pascal had found a way into my brain!

The mall was bustling with people, men and women coming and going, passing through to look at all the booths and tables showing off all the different organizations to one another as the convention continued on through the day. It was not just any convention, either. Secret services from all over the world, interconnected and soon-to-be, gathered that day to listen and learn and hopefully form closer partnerships to other companies. The entire building was rented out for this function.

Agents continued to pass by the big booth decorated with rhinestones and flowers, which advocated an elegant simplicity to represent the business they ran. Displayed on either side of the booth were two dresses: one a simple, yet fashionable wedding dress with intricate detailing sewed into every stitch, the other, a woman’s business suit with a flower pin carved from what looked like sapphires. Along the table were pieces of jewelry—watches, bracelets, rings, necklaces, just samples of what the company had to offer—and pamphlets of what exactly it was the business they were running.

And displayed proudly on the sign over their booth was a symbol, a renaissance style ‘Q’ that twisted and curved in classic cursive.

You sighed as you ran your hands along the sleeves of your blazer, your fingers grazing the cufflink on your wrist that matched the symbol of your agency. You had been standing behind your booth with one of three of your coworkers for about an hour now, waning the daylight in shifts between handling the booth and exploring the convention for food or company that was not the women running your station.

You looked over your watch as you awaited the return of your colleagues so you could switch off again, so you could leave the confines of advertising your business. Your outfit—a delicate gold satin button down that loosely tucked into your perfectly tailored white dress pants, which flowed along your legs and matched with white blazer to create your formal attire suit—was a perfect representation of your agency: distinguished and efficient. Your partner, though she wore silver and blue, stood beside you to match.

You smiled and shifted the clubmaster frames sitting at the edge of your nose as Pearl and Jasper returned, both women sending you nods and smiles as they took your places behind the booth for your switch. “We found the Kings just that way,” Jasper said, pointing in the direction they’d just come from before shifting the cloud of coiled black hair away from her face and securing it in a poofy ponytail. She then slipped her hands back into the pockets of her dark red suit, glancing back at Pearl as she spoke.

“They’ve got a nice booth. We might have some competition,” she quipped, smirking as smoothed her fingers over the thin chain of her necklace.

Opal, your own partner, laughed and shook her head. “Don’t we always have competition with the Kings?” she retorted, playful as she turned to walk with you. You agreed with her joke and headed in the direction Jasper had pointed in.

On the way, a pair of eyes spotted you and you offered a large grin. One of the agencies you partner with were the Amadoda Amafulege, the Flagsmen. They were a company set in Africa who you counted on for certain resources: information, jewels or gemstones, fabrics. They were reliable friends.

You and Opal approached them with wide grins, pointing them in the direction of your own booths to greet Jasper and Pearl. The interaction was short but warm hearted, and you were off again before you could be sidetracked by some other business you happen to work with. You both continued on walking, greeting physical bodies and holographic forms with waves and nods.

The large sign of the Kingsman symbol sat atop a booth as two well-dressed gentlemen with glasses stood behind their booth. One of them spotted the both of you, recognizing the likewise fashion choices as you came closer. Opal grinned, a mix of amusement and adoration in her tone at the company which both allied and competed with your own. “The famed Kingsman.”

The younger one smiled, offering a nod to you both. “Hello,” he greeted. When you finally stood in front of their booth, he reached out and handed each of you a pamphlet. You glanced over it, disinterested in absorbing information you already know. Both agents held their hands out for you. “Agent Galahad. This is Agent Merlin.”

The older man, Merlin, gave a courteous nod, “Pleasure to meet you.”

You nodded, shaking his hand confidently. “Back at you,” you responded. “We didn’t know if you’d be coming.”

Merlin gave a nod, smiling with a slight chuckle at your words. The Kingsman had not shown up to the last convention, business had gotten in the way and they were greatly missed. “We pulled some strings.”

You looked over their table at a few gadgets, some disguised as ties or watches, and then looked over at the two suits they chose to display similarly to your own booth. “Good to have the famous Galahad and Merlin,” you said, “and with a good booth.”

Your tone offered your impressed attitude toward their well-decorated station. Some of the booths here had not offered a lot of effort, simply their symbols on a sign and some pamphlets and gadgets on their tables. Plain. Boring.

“Some of these are severely lacking,” Opal said, practically reading your mind. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing the black curls out of her face so she could see as she offered her smile. “You’d think a secret service could put together a decent booth.”

Galahad extended a hand with his suggestion, "You should stop by the Statesman. You'd probably be impressed."

"We'll keep it in mind," you agreed, picking up one of the fancy watches on display. You examined it, the Kingsman symbol hiding under the glass, the gold lining on the band, the knobs and secret accesses embedded inside.

Merlin smiled, "In the meantime, we shall take a stop by yours."

Opal nodded, "Down by the Krispy Kreme. Can't miss it."

Your thumb pressed against the button on the side meant to wind the hour hand. It obeyed, pushing down and revealing a hologram of the Kingsman symbol once more.

"Very nice toy," you commented, pushing the button again to make the symbol retreat.

Merlin hummed, "You haven't found the kill button yet."

You shook your head, still examining the watch. "No, I have. You've got the poison dart here–" you tapped the near-invisible button on the side, "and the tranq dart here," you tapped the button next to it.

They raised their brows at you, impressed. "You've got them too close together, you should separate them a little more," you suggested. "Wouldn't want someone trying to knock an important target out and end up killing them instead."

The agents glanced at each other under Opal's watching gaze and your diverted one as you set the watch back down. Galahad nodded, "Right."

"Opal," you said as you turned to your partner. She hummed and you held your hand out.

"Oh, yes," she mumbled, lifting the lapel of her jacket to reach into a pocket. She handed it to you for you to present to both Kingsman. The box was lengthwise, a thin, golden thing housing a watch made by your agency.

"This is for Galahad—Harry—sent by our boss. She was hoping for us to run into you today. You'll give it?" You said, handing it over to the two.

"Of course," Merlin said, peeking inside of the box with a nod.

The two of you left again to go look at some other booths, or to find food. They sent you off with the directions to the Statesman, waving and wishing you farewell.

As you walked next to Opal, you recounted the booths you'd seen and the ones you hadn't on the way. You motioned toward the restaurant in the distance, smiling at the waft of good food as you got closer to it. You would all have to stop and eat there later today.

Your thoughts came to a halt when you heard someone's voice speaking to you, an unfamiliar voice that had you turning your head at the two figures approaching you.

"Hey there, sugar."

The voice had a Southern twang, smiling and confident as the owner slowed to stand in front of you. "Here we go," Opal mumbled beside you with an amused grin.

He was a handsome man, charming in the right ways. The black hat on his head accompanied his accent and his outfit, a suit that screamed professional cowboy. The mustache above his lip was kept and clean, and he wore it well, along with the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

He looked at you with his dark eyes, his tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip as he smirked. "How lucky am I to see a beauty like you in a place like this?"

There was a woman next to him with short dark brown hair mostly shielded by her own western hat, her skin shades lighter as her own glasses sat at the bridge of her nose. She held her hand out, "Hi, I'm Ginger Ale. This is Whiskey."

"Nice to meet you," you greeted her warmly, taking in the sight of her with a look that could only be described as an evaluation.

You turned to Whiskey, raising an amused brow as you held your hand to shake his. He grabbed it gingerly, bending at the waist to press a kiss to your knuckles.

"How do you do?" he winked, holding onto your hand a little longer before letting you go.

Opal chuckled, "He's cute."

He smiled at her, satisfied with her assessment as he grinned at her like some excited pup.

You tilted your head, nodding slowly. "Yeah… In a flirty toddler kind of way." His demeanor did not shift, your words were no dagger to his ego. "Just want to pinch his cheeks and pat his head," you chuckled, half-reaching like you would actually do it.

You might, his skin looked soft and you want to see his hair underneath his hat.

He winked again, licking his bottom lip, "You can do whatever you want, sugar," he quipped.

You chuckled. Cute.

"You think so?" you asked, tilting your head as you pitched your voice a few octaves to sound as sweet as the nickname he kept calling you.

He shifted so he was standing beside you, careful with his arm in case you didn't want to be touched. Thoughtful. He walked a little with you, leaving Opal and Ginger to stand next to one another and watch him guide you a few feet away.

"I know so," he chuckled. "What's your name?" He said "your" in that way only cowboys can say it: that slurred 'u' that made the 'r' slightly bleed into the last word.

You licked your bottom lip, offering a teasing gaze as you looked at him through your lashes. "Why don't you guess it?" You turned to him, setting your hands on his chest and playing with his tie.

He seemed charmed, entranced by your little gestures and looks. "Probably something pretty like that necklace," he smirked, motioning to your chest as his fingers brushed the golden locket around your neck, resting just between your breasts.

You took it in your hands, stroking the sides. "You like my necklace?"

"It's beautiful," he agreed, staring back at you with a gaze that matched the lovestruck puppy vibe he'd given you earlier. "Just like you," he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles once more.

"You wanna take a look inside?"

"I'd be delighted," he breathed, leaning forward just a little as his face huddled closer to you. You offered a tiny giggle as you undid the clasp, slowly opening the locket as you built the suspense of what could possibly be presented inside.

A bright light flashed quickly into Whiskey's eyes, there one second and gone before a full one could pass. Whiskey's hands rushed to his face as he made a slight groan, and he stumbled backward. You reached forward, pressing a hand to his chest, and watched him fall to the ground.

He made little sounds of discomfort, laying on his back as he brought his hands away and blinked rapidly. He stared in no clear direction, looking around blankly for…something.

Opal chuckled from her spot, Ginger stared with a mix of amusement and concern, and you just looked down at him with a smile as he tried to see.

You approached him, bending at the hips and looking down at him with a smile. You brushed some hair out of your face.

"This is my partner, Opal," you gestured toward her, though you knew he could not see. Your necklace had a device within it that temporarily blinded those on the unfortunate end of it—temporarily.

You pressed a hand to your chest, "My name is Diamond," you reached out and picked up his hat, which had fallen off his head. "Agents of the Queensmaiden."

You brushed the fabric of the hat, setting it over his face before straightening your back. You looked at Ginger Ale as you rejoined Opal's side. "Nice to meet you, Ginger."

She smiled and dipped her hat at you once, waving. "You, too. Feel free to stop by the Statesman."

You nodded, looping your arm with your partner's, paying the blind agent no mind as he struggled to his feet. "We were just headed there!" you smiled, amazed at the turn of events as you pointed it out. "We'll stop by later…when he can see again."

You turned with Opal, looking over your shoulder and grinning gently. "Bye, Whiskey," you giggled before taking your leave.

Whiskey reached out hastily, grabbing a hold of Ginger, just to make sure she was still there. The way she could have rolled her eyes and shook her head as a dopey smile spread over his lips. He motioned in the direction he thought you walked out in, sighing dreamily.

"I need her."

This time, Ginger did roll her eyes and shake her head. She took his outstretched hand and started pulling him back to the booth. "Come on, lover boy."

~

You did visit the Statesman’s booth—where you met Scotch and Tequila—but did so while Whiskey was away. You wanted to tease him, make him anticipate your arrival for you not to appear and leave him wanting more.

As the night waned, the booths were taken down to make room for the afterparty that had already begun. You were standing at one of the tall, narrow tables with Opal and Tequila, enjoying the music playing in the background as people mingled through the night.

As you laughed at a sarcastic comment made by Tequila, you heard the familiarly smooth voice of his colleague fill the space between you and couldn’t fight your smile.

“I see you’ve met my associate,” he announced himself, sidling up next to you as he leaned on the table. The look on his face held no defeat or upset, he was just as smiling as before as he took in the sight of you, once again entranced.

You chuckled, looking him up and down as you watched each other. “Oh,” you smiled, “so you can see again…”

He laughed heartily at that, amusement seeping into the sound and painting your stomach with butterflies, a light, airy feeling that bounced off the bones of your ribcage. He clasped his hands together, motioning with his head toward your chest, where your golden locket still lay idly by.

“Very nifty gadget, that necklace of yours,” Whiskey smiled, his eyes never leaving yours for long.

You picked it up, tracing your thumb along it like you had done before in a slight tease. “I’d like to think so. I designed it,” you confessed, setting it back down and looking at him, your head tilted up as you straightened your spine with pride. He tilted his head to the side, his grin deepening at your clear genius.

Tequila and Opal shared a look as they took in the interaction, chuckling lightly. “I’ll go ahead and step away now,” he said, doing just that and glancing back at your partner standing by his side.

She nodded her agreement, holding her hand out to the offered crook of his arm. “And I’ll join you.” She walked away with him, shaking her head and smiling as she left to go hang out with her own new plaything—of sorts.

Whiskey’s eyes looked you up and down as he thought over something for a moment before he simply spoke again. “Can I buy you a drink, sweetness?” he offered, holding his own arm out for you as Tequila had done.

You considered him, raising a brow. “I’m still sweet, huh?”

He flashed his teeth with his next grin, dipping his head down in a nod as a gesture with his hat. “Like sugar,” he hummed.

You sighed. “Okay.” Your arm looped through his own, and he smiled triumphantly as he gently tucked you into his side. You gave him a similar gaze to the one you’d given him before he ended up walking around blindly for an hour: your head tilted down as you looked up at him through your lashes, your smile soft, and your eyes teasing—the perfect demonstration of the less eloquently put “fuck me eyes”. “Lead the way, Whiskey.”

He walked you to the bar that had opened earlier on for the convention. The liquor was all top shelf stuff—they wouldn’t dare give low-quality alcohol to these highly respectable representatives of these agencies. He made sure you were sitting comfortably on your stool before he took his seat next to you—a true gentleman.

A bartender came down to the pair of you and smiled, waiting for your orders. “Scotch, neat,” you nodded, adding a “thank you” on the end as you looked away, anywhere but Whiskey while your eyes examined the many options behind the bartender.

“Actually,” Whiskey held his finger up, “I want you to try something.” You looked at him, narrowing your eyes teasingly at what he could be doing now. He turned to the bartender, pulling his hat off and setting it to the side to reveal the neatly kept hair underneath it. “Kentucky Statesman, whiskey,” he nodded.

They nodded back before stepping away to grab the bottle. You looked at him with a smirk as he gazed back at you, self-satisfied before you’d even tried the liquor he’d suggested. The bartender returned with the bottle of the amber liquid, showing off the label to ensure it was the correct one. When Whiskey nodded, they grabbed two glasses from under the bar and set it on the table, pouring the appropriate amount into each one.

You picked up the glass as it was given to you, swishing it around and examining it. You picked up the bottle in your other hand and looked at the label as you brought the lip of the glass to your nose to smell the heady scent of liquor. “Whiskey from Whiskey, huh?” you quipped, still only sampling the scent.

He laughed, sitting back with his glass in his hand, refusing to take a sip until you had. “Give it a taste.”

You smiled suspiciously, bringing the glass to your lips and sniffing it once more before finally tasting it. A sigh escaped you as whiskey lingered on your tongue before burning delightfully down your throat. It was magnificent, like liquid gold.

"Oh my god," you whispered under your breath, closing your eyes and shaking your head.

He smiled proudly, "Good, right?"

You looked at him, composing yourself once more as you straightened your back and too-slowly set your glass back down. You let out a long, calculated breath and just nodded too hard. "It's…It's good, yeah."

He finally drank from his own glass, hiding his chuckle as he beamed. "Go on," he said as he set his glass back down. "Have some more. On the house."

You looked at him, raising a brow. "I thought you were buying me a drink," you pointed out, taking another generous gulp.

He leaned back, motioning widely to the large selection of fine liquor. "Be my guest, get whatever you want."

You inhaled the intoxicating scent of the drink already in hand, your eyelids fluttering for a split second before you just shook your head. "I suppose I'll settle for this," you told him, sipping your drink and setting it down again.

Whiskey grabbed the bottle and refilled your glass. You looked up at him, narrowing your eyes playfully and smirking. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

He shook his head, "Of course not. Just tryna show you the plus side of a Statesman." He set the bottle down and winked at you.

You scoffed, anything but annoyed. "What, think I'll find you?" you swirled your drink around. "We'll hook up over some good liquor?"

His laugh was nearly explosive as he shook his head, seemingly amused in the deepest degree. "Oh, no," he said. "I intend to do more than simply 'hookin' up' with you."

You hummed your response, examining him for far too long and looking away before his dark gaze could override your self-restraint. You crossed your legs, turning your body to face away from him again.

"So," he breathed, "tell me about the Queensmaiden."

You took in a long breath and blew it out to think, reaching out and grabbing his hat discarded on the table. Feeling the fabric under your fingers, you tilted your head. "What do you want to know?"

He shrugged, "Where did it come from?"

"Well," you began, "It was formed some time after Kingsman, 1952, by a man named Bobby Gold." They way you said it, with reverence and sass, Whiskey's lips twitched in a smile. "He's like… in his late eighties now, looking good." You shook your head to get back on track. "He founded the Queensmaiden to be an all-women agency, picked a protégé to take his place and run it after he stepped down."

You turned to him with a boastful smirk, "She's the first Diamond—was the first Diamond, she retired. I knew her, worked with her when I first joined. I got her name, promoted from Quartz."

He nodded, deeply invested in the way you spoke as you played with his hat, made of sturdy, soft fabric. "Fascinatin'," he smiled.

You nodded. "Gold ran a really popular jewelry business of the same name, had a younger sister who ran a tailor shop for women's clothing with her husband. He founded it, she later partnered as co-founder. Now we're a boutique found in most countries…all over the world." You shrugged your shoulder so nonchalantly, like your boast wasn't a real boast. "It's very efficient, dare I say, more efficient than the Kingsman itself."

He snorted, "Don't tell them that."

You leaned forward, too close within his space, "They probably already know." You sidled up closer to him, a clear flirt as you smiled. You raised his hat to him and set it atop your own head.

Whiskey's eyes darkened as he watched you down his nose. "You know…" he said slowly, "there's this rule where I come from… Wear the hat, ride the cowboy."

You licked your bottom lip as your eyes flicked up and down his face. "Oh, I'm well aware." His hand reached out and grazed your arm, daring to bring you closer before you pulled away from him again with a sweet smile. "What about Statesman?"

It took a beat for him to recover before he was shaking his head. "Not as glamorous," he sighed thickly. "Agency in the south full of cowboys and rascals."

You traced the rim of your glass with your finger, picking it up again and bringing it to your lips. "Well, I love me a nice cowboy," you said as you looked at him over your cup.

"Lucky for me, huh?"

"We'll see." You took a sip from your glass.

Suddenly, the music which had been in the background shifted into something else. Country music blared through the speakers and caught the attention of everyone in the area. Some excitedly stood to go join the small group ready who may have recognized the music, but one look at the jukebox provided by one of the agencies here proved that it was, indeed, a southerner who'd started the music.

Tequila stood there with his hat on his head as he smiled, one hand held out and grasping Opal's hand as he spun her into his chest. He glanced up at Whiskey and nodded once before hopping off to the large space cleared to dance.

He was the one to determine what dance was being done as he twirled Opal around into a half amateur-half professional swing dance. People joined in with their partners and allowed themselves to be swept away into more amateur dancing—a dance Whiskey suddenly seemed confident to prove himself in.

"C'mon, I've never missed a swing," he smiled excitedly.

He took your hand and pulled you to the floor before you could protest. He swung you, making you stumble into his chest as you breathed quickly. "I've never swing danced before," you confessed.

He looked you dead in the eye, his own sparkling with excitement and hints of giddiness. "Just follow me," he breathed, his kissable lips forming the words in a way that made it impossible to deny him this.

You sighed, "You better know what you're doing."

He smirked, this one more sly than the last. "Trust me, sugar," he leaned in. "I know what I'm doin'."

You tilted your head, standing up a little more and placing your hands in his. Once you were situated, you smiled and let out a breath of courage. "Well," you whispered, "show me how a real cowboy does it."

Whiskey beamed before he pulled you into the music, quick steps and swinging arm making it impossible to keep up. He twirled you out, he twirled you back in, he switched you to one side and swung you to the other. He spun you under his arm and into his chest. Just when you thought he might slow down, he dipped and held you in his arms with heavy breaths.

He caught the hat as it fell from your head, lingering there and staring at your lips. You stared into the depths of his gaze, catching your breath as they mingled between you in soft puffs of air. He slowly straightened his spine, standing you up and setting the hat atop your head once more, admiring its place there.

You smiled, leaning forward oh-so slowly. His eyes fluttered until they were closed. He looked so calm, so gentle and pretty. You pulled his hat from your head and put it back on him, lingering there a moment before pulling out of his arms and missing his warmth.

He felt you leave and refused to watch you leave him behind. When he opened his eyes again, you were gone. When he turned his head to a mystified Tequila, Opal was gone.

A breath poured from his lips as he couldn't help but smile. He smiled at your charm, at the way you left him starstruck, at the way he'd slipped his number in your pocket in the hopes you called him, finding him again and leaving him with a little more closure as he looked down at his boots and shook his head.

"Fuck me," he cursed, chuckling to himself.

~

That was the last he saw of you for months, the last you saw of him for months.

You hated how much you thought about him—his puppy-like flirtations, his darkened gaze, his fascination, and the way he moved you like a tornado on the dance floor. You stared at the crumpled up piece of paper with his number scrawled on it all the time, considering, thinking, wanting to call.

But you never did. Never once did you pick up the phone and dial his number. Never once did you talk about him to your colleagues or your partners—not even with Opal, who was totally smitten with her own cowboy.

You missed him, but you were determined not to.

But that didn't mean a crossing of paths would hinder a good reunion.

You smiled at the receptionist at the front desk, who granted you a smile of his own with the tilt of his head. Walking up to the desk, you adjusted the purse on your arm and spoke. “Hello, I’m here for an appointment with Mr. Sullivan. I’m his three o’clock.”

He hummed, “I wasn’t aware Mr. Sullivan was taking appointments today. Name?” he asked, turning to his computer.

“Davis. We made an appointment together over the phone,” you stated in a sickly sweet voice. “Oh, I hope I marked the right day.”

He looked at you and just smiled, shaking his head. “No worries. I don’t see you in the database, but I’ll just give him a quick call to confirm. Alright?”

You nodded, thanking him kindly as you wiped your hands down your light suit. He picked up the phone and dialed the number to his boss’ office, giving you another large grin. When the phone was picked up, he began to explain the situation, and his reaction was full of wide eyes and stutters. “Yes, sir,” he answered, setting the phone back down.

He looked back at you regretfully. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Sullivan will not be taking any appointments today. You are welcome to reschedule, if you’d like.”

“Of course,” you nodded.

“Great.” He reached down under the desk to grab some papers before wincing. “I’ll have to go make some copies. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Not a problem.”

He disappeared behind a door behind the desk and you sighed, turning anyway to go up to the elevator on your right. As you were walking, you noticed a group of men walking down the hall, dressed in black with shades over their eyes. Security guards. You straightened your spine and merely kept walking. You were just at the elevator when you heard shots firing behind you. You groaned loudly and ducked for cover. Their gunfire was loud and thunderous, making couch stuffing and wood splinters fly through the air as you hid behind a desk behind a sofa in the cushy lobby.

You cursed under your breath as you dug through your purse. “No, no, no,” you mumbled as you selected which weapon you would use. You dug out a little silver disc and smiled. “Yes,” you declared as you pulled a little pin out of the side.

You threw it behind you where the guards were still shooting, and ducked down, waiting for a blow that never came as the gunshots continued. “Talc!” you yelled, shaking your head at the newbie in the weapons department and one of her faulty weapons making its way into your arsenal.

You huffed as you looked behind you before you suddenly heard a body drop. You looked over and your eyes widened in shock and surprise. Hiding behind a couch a little farther away from your own was a person who definitely was not on their side. He locked eyes with you, and your expressions became mirrors of the other.

“Diamond?” “Whiskey?”

The simultaneous ringing of your names only escalated the confusion as you stared at one another. “What are you doing here?” he questioned in as low a whisper he could manage to ensure you still heard him, holding a sleek, golden gun tight in his grip as he paid no mind to the small cavalry currently shooting at you.

“I’m on a fucking mission. What are you doing here?” you countered.

He shrugged, “On a fuckin’ mission.”

Shit. “Shit,” you huffed. You thought for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. “What’s your objective?”

Whiskey pressed his gun to his temple, tilting it up as a gesture of his assassination attempt. You let out a breath of relief, pulling a drive with the Queensmaiden symbol on the side from out of your bra and showing it off to him. He sighed as well.

“Cover me?” you asked.

He smiled and nodded, sending you a flirty wink. “You got it, sugar.”

You grinned and counted down for him before ducking out of your cover and rushing to the elevator closest to you. Whiskey stood, grasping his gun as he shot. You pressed the elevator door button and glanced over your shoulder, gripping your gun tight as you waited impatiently for the elevator to open.

When you heard the ding, you had half a second to celebrate as a loud shot came too close to you. You looked down at the elevator button, flashing and sparking as it sat destroyed in the wall.

You pried the door open and shouted Whiskey's name over your shoulder as he retreated back. You got inside, jamming the button closed without missing a beat or waiting for him to get through.

The doors were already closing when he finally slipped through, a bullet missing him by an inch. In the safety of the elevator, you let out a breath and calmed.

There was silence, besides the breaths blowing through the space of the elevator. Whiskey looked at you as you raised your hand, looking at the clock face of your watch.

"You never called," he accused, looking at you with a raised brow and a look on his face that wasn't mad, but not entirely giddy with joy.

You shrugged, still not looking at him. "Been busy."

He chuckled, "With what?"

You missed his voice, that smooth Southern lilt that could lull you to gentle sleep or drive you insane with desire. With the adrenaline pumping through your veins, it was the latter.

"My job," you laughed, pressing a button on your watch as a hologram arose from it, circling the Queensmaiden symbol.

You turned to him, granting him a smile. You were more happy to see him than you should have been. "Did you miss me, lover boy?" you winked. "Tequila says you did."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You've been talking with Tequila?"

You smirked, nodding. "Of course," you told him, swiping the hologram aside to pull up some files off of some computer. "He's with Opal. They hooked up after the convention."

He sighed longingly, leaning on one leg as he set his gun back in his holster. "And to think," he breathed. "That coulda been us."

You snorted, "Don't get ahead of yourself, cowboy."

You tapped away from the files you'd been scrolling through, pulling up some surveillance footage. There was a hall through the camera, one full of guards with more numbers than the ones downstairs.

"Aww," you muttered. "We have a whole welcome party waiting for us." You turned him with a grin, swiping away the hologram and returning your hand to your side.

He reached behind his back as he smiled. "How sweet."

Whipping his jacket to the side, he grabbed some sort of fancy handle, intricately detailed with gold and silver. You nodded, impressed as you looked at its design.

"Nice," you commented. You opened your jacket, sliding it off your arms and reaching behind you to grab a hold of a handle of your own. It was blue, a shining color that sparkled as Whiskey's eyes scanned over it.

The elevator dinged and you stood beside Whiskey with a smile. The sea of guards on the other side watched you with stern faces, ready for the inevitable fight as they stared down two people who didn't stand a chance.

"Well, howdy, fellas," Whiskey greeted, tipping his hat.

You tilted your head and smiled, "How do you do?" You pressed a small button on one end and the handle began to unfold, expanding into a dagger on one end of a strong rope and a heavy hammer-like weapon on the other.

At the sight of the weapon, the fight began. With drawn guns and angry glares, the guards were quick with their guns as they cornered you in the elevator.

The handle in Whiskey's hand extended into a lasso—a silver whip that he swung out into the small army. It wrapped around the gun of the man in the front of the group, holding on tight as he pulled it taut and sent him falling forward.

You took your rope dart and began swinging it, smacking a bullet out of the way as it hurdled toward you. You threw it and Whiskey watched, amazed, as it wrapped around some man's neck and the dagger embedded itself into his chest. You pulled it, and he spun around to the floor.

The other guards were distracted long enough for the both of you to retreat from the elevator and into the fight.

Ropes flew through the air, daggers pierced bodies, and electricity had them writhing in pain before dropping to the floor. Whiskey's rope wrapped around someone's neck as he pulled him in, punching him hard in the face and sending him to the floor.

He heard a pained yell behind him and turned to see some man falling to the floor with a blue knife in his back. You stepped forward, setting your foot on his back and pulling the dart out.

"That's cool," he said, admiring your weapon of choice.

You smiled, pulling a gun and shooting someone coming toward Whiskey from behind. "Thank you. It's made of sapphires."

"Oo," he smiled. "Duck." You did so, dipping down as he raised his own gun and shot another man aiming his gun at you.

He looked down at you, knelt on one knee in front of him, tightly gripping your rope tight. "What an interestin' position we've found ourselves in."

You scoffed, standing up too close to him. "Keep it in your pants, hotshot."

You turned on your heel, returning to the fight as the few guards who were left brandished their guns. The last of them were easy to take out, and you did. As you swung your rope at the last man standing you noticed a different rope do the same.

You turned your head to Whiskey as he smiled at you. "Looks like we made a connection."

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up." You grabbed your gun and raised it to the man, shooting him instantly and collecting your rope as he dropped to the floor.

You walked over to the body, bending down and wiping the blood from your blade before stepping over him and toward the grand office door down the hall. Whiskey was more than happy to follow you.

You take a card you'd snatched from one of the bodies and swipe it along the reader, the door sliding open to allow you inside. As soon as you crossed the threshold, you heard the sound of a gun click.

You both looked up at Mr. Sullivan pointing his gun at you, dressed in an expensive suit with hands that trembled only slightly with fear for his life. You sighed, looking back at him. "Well, you caught us," you said as you stood beside Whiskey. "Props."

"Question is…" Whiskey added, "who're you gonna shoot?"

Sullivan tilted his head. There was no amusement in his face, but he gave you a look that said "really?". He motioned between the two of you and raised a brow. "You've got some rope. I've got a gun. I can shoot both of you."

Whiskey nodded, agreeing with his logic. "Well, you caught us fair and square," he sighed dramatically. Then he smirked, "Pull the trigger."

Sullivan didn't like how calm you both were. He was holding a gun to your face, and you were telling him to pull the trigger. Why the fuck would you tell him to pull the trigger if he had the upper hand? Were you suicidal?

"There's just one little thing," you spoke, shifting on your side. "You brought a gun to a knife fight."

Sullivan missed the way you passed your rope dart to Whiskey, who took it with too much excitement and, with a few mighty swings, threw it at the unsuspecting boss. The rope wrapped around his neck, and he dropped his gun to grab it and force it away to no avail. The dagger came back around after its loops, and he had no time to process as it lodged in his chest.

Whiskey smirked before he pulled roughly on the rope, spinning the man round, unwinding him like a yo-yo. The dagger yanked from his chest and Whiskey caught it as it flung back. Mr. Sullivan dropped to the floor, choking on his own blood as it spilled from his wound.

You walked past him dismissively, stepping up to his desk and grabbing your drive. Sticking it in the computer, you began typing away as Whiskey admired your weapon.

"I needa get me one of these," he muttered.

"I've got plenty. I'll send you one," you suggested.

He looked up at you, his eyes glittering, "Really?"

"Why not?" You shrugged your shoulders. Leaned over the desk, you watched the loading bar slowly climb toward completion before you were able to withdraw the drive and stuff it in your pocket.

You grabbed a butterscotch from the bowl on his desk, helping yourself as you walked back over to Whiskey. You smiled at him and tilted your head. You hold your hand out to him, making a grabby motion.

"Can I have it back?" you asked.

He tilted his head up, smiling down at you with narrowed eyes. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" you questioned.

"Can I get something in return?"

You sighed and thought for a moment, continuing to smile at him as you returned your hand to your hip. "What do you want?"

He shrugged, pretending to think. "How about a pretty please?" he smirked, his eyes dark and inviting, his voice quiet and deep.

"You want me to say please?" you asked, standing too close as your eyes flickered to his lips for half a second.

Again, he shrugged, but his smile became more wicked. "A kiss on the cheek might suffice."

You chuckled deeply, standing on your toes as you leaned forward. You got closer, closer, and closer still until your breaths mingled. You shifted to his cheek, turning your head just enough so your lips nearly brushed his ear as you whispered to him. "You're going to have to try harder than that."

You took the rope from his grip and backed away from him, watching him watch you with lidded eyes. You backed toward a private elevator in the office, pressing a button on the wall as the doors opened. You looked toward the door you came in and smiled. "You've got company."

You stepped back into the elevator and the doors closed, shielding you from him as you waved.

Whiskey stood in the office, looking toward the door that was currently being beaten against by his visitors. Smiling and shaking his head, he laughed heartily. "Clever."

You stepped out onto the roof, taking the drive from your pocket and tossing it to the ground. You pulled your gun and shot at it once, destroying it entirely as you made your way to the jet waiting for you. You boarded it, climbing into the pilot's seat as you started it up and left.

As you flew away from the building, you glanced back at it and smiled when you saw a figure climbing up the side of the building to the roof. He looked over his shoulder at you, and you could make out the distinct sight of him waving his arm at you. Not to grab your attention, but to say hello.

You saluted him before departing for a second time.

~

Your next encounter with him was not so far in the future. In fact, it was later on that night.

You walked into the large house you were staying in after a long day out. Between your mission, your flights, and everything in between, you were about ready to pour yourself a drink and go to sleep early.

The house was owned by the Queensmaiden, a mission house for meetings or get-togethers or just a place for agents to crash after long days on missions. Since your trip today was done alone, your partner back at home serving as your tech that day, you were in this big empty home alone. You didn't mind much, it was a lot of space, you could turn on the stereo as loud as you want, there was plenty of expensive booze. You were all set for the night.

As you walked through the loud house, which was filled with the classic voice of Frank Sinatra, you made your way to the open bar. As you poured yourself a drink, you glanced at the label with a smile. Statesman whiskey.

"So you did like it."

You didn't turn around, but you smiled at the smooth tone of your cowboy behind you. You grabbed a second glass and poured him his own. You set the bottle down, picked up both cups, and walked over to him with a smile.

"It's alright."

You stopped in front of him, making a bad habit of standing too close. Passing the glass over, you looked up at him through your lashes. He wasn't wearing his hat, giving you a view of his tousled hair. Likewise, he was stripped down to a white button down with the sleeves rolled up, his shirt still tucked in his pants fastened with his belt. His tie was gone, and the top buttons of the shirt were undone. He saluted his glass to you, and you gladly clinked them together in a quiet cheer before taking a sip, your eyes never parting from his.

"You know," he sighed. "This disappearing act of yours is starting to get a little old, Diamond."

You shrugged a shoulder, "I can spice it up if you want."

He simply shook his head, "I think I'd rather pick a different act. It would put us in much different positions."

"Oh?" You smiled, reluctantly turning on your heel and stepping away from him. "What positions did you have in mind?"

You lounged on the couch, kicking off your shoes. You looked back at him with one hand on your glass and the other under your chin as you rested your head on the back of the couch.

He sighed once again, his whole body moving with him as he looked at you in that way that reminded you of a lovesick pup. He set his hands on his hips, leaning on the side as he contemplated.

"You never called."

His words from earlier pricked your heart in a special kind of way this time. You sighed and just shook your head, "No, I didn't."

The song playing through the speakers in the house faded out to welcome another. Sinatra's "I'm a Fool to Want You" was sharp in your mind.

You set your glass down and looked up at Whiskey again. You reached your hand out to him, wiggling your fingers in the hope that he'll hold your hand.

He did, and you smiled.

"I did miss you," you confessed.

That offered him some solace. "Honest?"

"Honest." He sighed, stepping closer. You sat up, settling on your knees as he still towered over you. He looked at you for a long time before suddenly smiling. He bent down, wrapping his arms around your body and surprising you as he hoisted you up, spinning you over the couch and setting you on your feet. You held onto him, laughing as he pulled you close to his chest. He slid his hand into your own, entwining your fingers as his other hand rested on the small of your back.

"Dance with me?" he asked.

You tilted your head, "Do I have a choice?"

He laughed and just shook his head. "No."

You laughed. He took a side step, swaying you in time with the gentle rock of the music. It was slow and steady, filled with too much emotion than should have been allowed for a couple who had only met once a few months prior. You rested your head on his chest, your eyes closed as you blew out a long breath.

His voice rumbled in his chest as he spoke, low and quiet. "How lucky am I to see a beauty like you in a place like this?" he smiled.

You chuckled, recalling those words from when you first met. "Am I still allowed to do whatever I want?" you asked, looking up at him.

He spun you out, twirling you before spinning you back in, your back pressing against his chest. He leaned down to your ear. "Never revoked the privilege."

You twisted your neck to see him, smiling at his face so close to yours. You leaned forward, your lips ghosting over his own as you considered it. For a moment, you considered it.

You swerved to hover your lips near his ear, "Catch me."

You stepped away from him, walking backwards as your eyes stayed glued to his. You watched him with the same dark, teasing eyes as you had used before. The naughty look on your face, the proximity at which you once stood, the tingling of your lips never grazing his but teasing him with the possibility of such a sacred union…the thought of never sealing that fate with you and leaving once again for another wild goose chase where he never knew if he would see you again due to the dangers of the lives you both lived. They were possibilities that made his heart ache in ways it shouldn't have.

He just shook his head, deciding then and there that he wouldn't let you have another swift get away, wouldn't let you slip through his fingers with nothing to remember you by but the ghost breaths against the shell of his ear where you exhaled your secrets. "Not this time."

He took a few long strides toward you, taking you in his arms and crashing his lips down upon yours. You gasped into his mouth, melting instantly into him as your legs turned to jelly. He held you close to him, supporting your neck with one large hand as he consumed you in a passionate embrace.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down and swaying gently as you finally kissed the cowboy you'd been craving for months. He bent down, wrapping his arms under you and lifting you to wrap your legs around his waist. He held you up with strong arms, walking you back until he was pushing you up against a wall.

When he pulled from the kiss, heavy, hot breaths were exchanged between the two of you. His hands roamed your body, drinking you in desperately. His mouth pressed against your neck, his tongue darting out to lick along your thumping pulse. You moaned, feeling the heat between your legs igniting with a fire.

His name fell from your lips as he nibbled on your neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair and you pulled on his messy strands.

He rolled his hips into yours, pulling a shaky breath out of you. Your leg tightened around him, bringing him closer as you mirrored his own movement from before, drawing out your pleasure with grinding hips and breathless sighs. He groaned as one of his hands gripped your waist to stop you.

Whiskey unwrapped your legs from him as he set you back down on your feet. When he sank to his knees, it was with a maddening amount of eye contact that he didn’t dare break. His hands smoothed along your sides, rounding to the front to undo the clasp of your slacks. He moved torturously slow as he pulled the slacks down your legs, revealing more and more skin to him as he went along. Your eyes fluttered when you felt his lips on your thigh.

You stepped out of the pant legs when they finally pooled around your ankle. Whiskey leaned forward to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his tongue darting out to taste the skin before taking it between his teeth in a gentle nibble. You stifled a moan at the feeling, watching his dark eyes drink you in.

When he finally fingered the waistband of your panties, he pulled them down in one swift tug to reveal yourself to him. He licked his lips and you bit down on your own. “Look at that,” he praised. “So pretty.” He looked up at you with a cocky smirk, holding the back of your leg up and setting it atop his shoulder.

He leaned forward and your lips parted so delicately when his tongue darted out to lick you. Your breath hitched, halting in your throat as his hot tongue delved between your folds. Like a fire, the warmth spread through your body as you melted into him. Your hips jerked, seeking his mouth.

His lips wrapped around your pussy, tasting you with an intoxicated moan. When he sucked on your clit, your breath trembled and a whimper managed to weave its way through your vocal chords. His talented tongue glided through your folds before retreating as he pulled back from you to look at your pretty face.

You looked down, whining lightly at him as he stared at you with eyes that glittered with praise. His hand trickled up your side before dipping between your thighs and into your warmth. “You taste sweet as sugar, sugar.”

You had to fight through your eye roll as you enjoyed the sweet stretch of his thick fingers inside of you. “You have very skilled hands,” you nearly stuttered. Your eyes fluttered as he curled the length of his fingers.

“Why, thank you, sweetheart,” he dipped his head as though he was still wearing his hat. He pushed his fingers in deeper, adding a third as he coaxed you toward a sweeter release. He was a lot gentler than you expected, treating you like a fragile lover. It warmed your heart, so used to the less patient lovers of one-night stands long since.

The sharp dig of dull nails into the flesh of your thigh contrasted with the prior feathery fingertips on your sides. You were breathless and needy, aching for him all over. With those same fingers still buried deep inside of you, he leaned forward and sucked on your throbbing clit.

The shocks of pleasure creeping up on you sparked along your skin—your fingertips, the very ends of prickly flesh. Your fingers gripped and tangled in his hair. Your hips stuttered forward, searching for his mouth in a desperate attempt to push yourself over the edge.

But he was doing it first, crooking his fingers in the perfect way here and digging the tip of his tongue into that sensitive bundle of nerves there as your pitch climbed higher and higher with the anticipation of a climbing buildup. The rubber band inside your belly snapped and your mouth dropped. What were supposed to be rises of whiny moans were just a symphony of shuddering breaths, arrhythmic and impassioned.

He was right there to ease you through the shocks, encouraging you with his tongue back down to the tingles that covered the expanse of exposed skin.

When he pulled away, his lips were still occupied with your body, pressing hungry kisses to your thighs and lower belly with a fervor that made you tug harder on his curling locks of hair.

He looked up at you with kiss-swollen lips, smiling like an idiot in love—no, not love. This was just lust. That's all. That was it. It didn't matter if that spark in your chest only pumped through your veins when he looked at you like that.

You smiled at him, breathless. "Take me to bed."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

He tightened his grip around your waist before he stood, tossing you over his shoulder and holding you with one arm. You yelped, dissolving into giggles as he carried you through the house and through the winding halls toward the bedroom.

On the way, you smiled as you passed by his hat sitting on a table along the walls. Reaching you, you had just barely grabbed it with your fingertips as you held it to your head.

He pushed the door open to reveal the room: a king-sized bed with golden sheets, a mini chandelier reflecting diamonds all over the expensive room, paintings and frames and shelves probably hiding more tools and gadgets than there are choices of liquor behind the bar in the main room.

He kicked the door closed behind him, admiring the room with a hum and a nod of his head before plopping you down onto the bed. You fell with a bounce, chuckling again as you held onto his hat. He smiled, watching you put it on your head and look at him with eyes that expressed far too much to be an innocent one-night stand.

Part of Whiskey hoped it was more than an innocent one-night stand.

So did you.

But if it was, he would rock your world. He stared down at you with darkened eyes, undoing his shirt and tossing it somewhere in the room. The rest of his clothes followed after until he was in nothing but his boxers. Then he did the same to you, except he didn't stop until you were bare before him, left in nothing but your expensive necklace and earrings to admire the way you still looked like the perfect reflection of the woman of his dreams. He left the hat. You looked perfect in it.

"Not fair," you complained with a grin. "I'm stripped bare, and you're still dressed."

You leaned up on your elbows, sitting up until you were situated on your knees as you leaned forward. You smiled up at him, hooking your finger in the band of his boxers to pull him forward. "Your turn."

He set his hand on your cheeks and nearly melted at the way you leaned into his warm palm, your eyes fluttering shut as a gentle breath blew through you. He shifted his hand so he pinched your chin, lifting your face to see better. "You're so fuckin' beautiful, sweetness."

"Oh, yeah?" you chuckled. "Prove it to me."

He leaned forward, bending down to your face and connecting your lips again. He licked into your mouth, tasting the remnants of whiskey on your tongue. You moaned, melting against him. You pulled away, your hand still hooked around his waistband. You tugged them down, ridding him of the meaningless article of clothing to reveal him to you.

Fuck, he was beautiful. Flushed tipped, thick, and throbbing. As you reached out and stroked your fist over his cock, he twitched in your hand and groaned. You bit your lip, leaning forward and giggling when his hat on your head bumped into his stomach.

He chuckled at you, tilting it up so he could see your face and you could move. You smiled at him before going back to his leaking slit. You leaned forward and licked him, flattening your tongue along his head to taste him. You moaned again, leaning forward to take a longer lick along the length of him. He breathed a curse under his breath, watching you lick him up as you worked your tongue along him.

His hand came to rest on the back of your neck, easing you forward without actually moving you. Your lips wrapped around him, slick and warm as you took him in your mouth. His head tilted back before he looked down again to see you, not wanting to miss a second of it.

"Fuck," he breathed, hips twitching. You smiled around him, working him deeper in your throat with the intent of taking the whole of him. "Fuck, you're amazing. How did I get so lucky?"

You whimpered, laving your tongue along the underside of his cock where the vein was throbbing. "You like that?" he asked. "You like when I tell you how fuckin' perfect you are?"

You nodded as best you could, wrapping a hand on the back of his thigh to pull him in some more. "You're so goddamn perfect," he promised. "Makin' me feel special like this. D'you feel special?"

You just moaned your response, suckling around him and pulling a rough moan from him. After a moment, he pulled you away, setting his hands on either side of your neck as he caught his breath. He looked down at you, smiling and pulling you forward to kiss you again. The way he kissed you this time was so much different than before, so much softer, slower, with more meaning behind it than there ever should have been. Fuck, you were drunk on it, craving his lips more and more with an impossible desperation, even while he was still kissing you.

He eased forward, moving you until you were laying on your back. His lips slipped on and off of yours, down to your neck as he buried his face there and suckled on the skin.

He settled himself between your legs, grinding down on you as you moaned into each other's mouths. You grasped his bicep, squeezing it tight as you stopped him. "Wait," you breathed.

He stopped immediately, looking down at you with a face etched in concern. "What? What's wrong?"

You smiled, "Wear the hat, ride the cowboy." Your hands flattened on his chest and you pushed him back with a huff, flipping him around so he lay on his back as you straddled him.

He smiled at you, setting his hands on your hips. "You scared me for a second there," he said, his thumbs stroking circles along your skin.

You hovered over him with shaky thighs. "Scared you weren't gonna get your cock wet tonight?" you chuckled.

He just shook his head, "Scared I hurt you."

Your breaths filled the rooms as your body slowed to a stop, staring at him. Your heart leapt and you allowed yourself, just for a moment, to succumb to its calling to him.

"You could never hurt me, Whiskey," you promised.

You only allowed him a moment to let it sink in before you were grabbing his cock in your warm palm, stroking him a couple times before guiding him to your soaked pussy. Sinking down on him, both your eyes shut as your breaths puffed into the air.

"Fuck," you moaned. You braced yourself on his shoulders, helping them guide you as you slowly rolled your hips atop his. His hands gripped your waist, blunt nails digging into skin and creating little crescent dents.

The sensations were amazing. His cock stroked along your velvet walls and sparked a desperate pleasure within you that had you forgetting about the little tingles of pain at adjusting to his length. You brought him deeper, your bodies connected indefinitely as you began your slow movements.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the blossom of pleasure deep within you. You leaned back, placing a hand on the hat to keep it there as you rolled your hips, faster and faster, chasing the euphoria you craved.

"Look at you," he groaned. "Fuckin' ridin' me like a true cowgirl."

"Lucky for you, huh?" you smirked, breaking off into a whimper as the blunt head of his cock brushed against a sweet spot inside you.

He nodded, "Lucky for me."

You rode him, and you rode him hard, ignoring the ache in your hips and your legs from the continuous motion, ignoring the breathlessness shocking your throat at all the air you were taking in, ignoring the pounding in your chest at the way he stared at you: lips kiss-swollen, eyes sparkling, hands gripping. It was so much, too much, you craved this man more than you'd ever craved anything before in your life.

"Whiskey," you moaned, stifled moans tearing from your throat as his name spilled from your lips. "Fuck, Whiskey, you feel so good."

He hummed. "Take what you need from me, sugar. Take what you want." You leaned forward, holding yourself up with your hands on his shoulders. You were desperate, fucking yourself on him like it was your last time. When his thumb brushed your clit, a guttural moan ripped at your throat and your hips jerked. "That's it, sweetness. That's it."

He was just as breathless as you, guiding your hips with one hand and circling your clit with the other. "Shit," you sighed. "More. Fuck, Whiskey, I'm almost there."

"C'mon, sugar," he urged you. "Cum for me, Diamond."

You didn't care to hold back, you couldn't. You came with a shout, dropping forward onto him and burying your face in his neck. You moaned into his neck, pitchy and breathless as you came apart on top of him. Your hand tangled in his hair, he held tightly to your hips.

Your cunt clenched around him, squeezing and spasming and bringing him to the edge as his release tumbled after yours. One of his hands flew to your hair, holding you there as his fingers carded through.

Your hips canted a couple more times, milking the last ounces of pleasure you could get before you fell against his chest. He held you as you both slowly floated down from your highs, falling into the other's embrace as you came to.

The stillness that followed was like something out of a dream. The air was heavy with the smell of sex, but light with the breaths blowing from the both of you. Every inch of your body tingled, your fingertips felt like pop rocks, your skin prickled with a mix of warm and cold. Whiskey's heartbeat resounded through you, grounding you as you traced your fingers over his chest.

You could feel his hand stroking through your hair, rubbing gently into the back of your neck and making you feel like putty. You could stay like this forever, resting atop him and feeling the life he breathed into you from his chest.

"Jack."

You took in a small breath, leaning up and shifting yourself so he slipped out of you. You sighed a little before looking up at him with a lovesick grin. "Hmm?"

He looked at you, smiling right back as he chuckled lightly. "My real name is Jack."

You smiled and shook your head, burying your face in his chest as you chuckled. "Jack Daniels?" you joked, recalling the name brand Whiskey.

The way he chuckled made you look up at him. "Yes, actually."

You looked at him, smiling so wide your face hurt. "Seriously? Your name is Jack Daniels?"

He nodded, "Yep."

You shook your head, laying your head back on his chest and reaching clumsily over to grab his hat, which had fallen off your head. You set it over your face, shielding you from the light shining from the chandelier.

You sighed slowly, tracing patterns into his skin. You whispered your own name to him, glancing up at him and then back out to the little lion figurine on the small stand against the wall on the other side of the room. It was bronze, standing proudly with one paw perched up and his mouth dropped in a mighty roar.

Whiskey smiled, stroking his hand down your back and then back up to your hair. "You've got a beautiful name, sugar."

You smiled slowly. "Sweet as sugar?"

He nodded, "Sweeter."

You leaned up, your face inches apart. "You're gonna get a cavity if you have any more of me," you kissed his lips, long and slow and wanting more.

"The sacrifices we make…" he replied, chuckling deep in his chest as he kissed you again.

Pedro Pascal taglist: ... Tag yourself here...

[mothermara]

textile enthusiasts need to stop lying about how easy sewing is. please acknowledge that sewing competently is a large amount of interconnected skills (how to thread a sewing machine, identifying the grain of the fabric, how to tie off a stitch, what stitch to use for the type of thing you're doing, how to read a sewing pattern) and that not everyone takes to effortlessly or has the initiative to learn on their own. please. please

every time somebody tells me that their hobby is easy because they can do it effortlessly they have to open a digital art program and tell me what every individual feature does with no prior research. in your own words please describe the difference between the soft light, hard light, overlay and screen layer blending settings along with examples of what specific effects you might use each one for (gun against your head)

[ninthcircleofprythian]

The Bird and The Badger

(A series of interconnected one shots)

Part 2 - A Matter of Trust

Eris x OC (Bryn)

Summary - Eris needs to find someone he can trust to help with part of his secretive plan against Beron.

Author's Notes - this litte one shot details Eris and Bryn's first meeting. Short, cute, sweet. Enjoy.

Eris’ eyes flicked around him inconspicuously as he made his way through the town streets. The day was bright and fair, a cool permanently autumn breeze blowing against his face. Even with the fine weather, the streets were mostly empty. A few females ambling between shops, a horse drawn cart loaded with wares making its way over the cobblestones. The lack of people milling about made him even more suspicious. 

Everything made him suspicious lately. As the time for his father’s inevitable demise drew closer, Eris was wary of everything around him. He had taken more steps in his plan, small steps but progress nonetheless. The fear that his father suspected ulterior motives grew with each passing day. 

He continued to pick his way through the twisting roads, turning false corners and doubling back just in case he was being followed. Being unfamiliar with this specific part of town had him turning in circles more than once. His hand held firmly around the object in his pocket, sweat slicking from his palm to the smooth curved surface. It was the sole reason for this venture today.

No longer able to trust the advisors and merchants that his father held in his grasp, Eris had to do his own sleuthing to find what he needed to accomplish today. Which is what led him to the tiny rundown shop he now stood in front of. 

C. Welch

Master Tinker and Fabricator

Repairs of All Kinds

He couldn’t trust just anyone with this project. He wasn’t even sure he could trust this C. Welch, but the small band of loyal spies he had built, with the begrudging help of the Night Court Spymaster, had assured him that if he needed something made from scratch that this was the place to go. Especially if it was secretive in nature.

Stepping inside he was immediately blinded, not by light but by the lack thereof. The small windows on either side of the tiny room were coated with filth and dust and had the discolored look of supremely old glass. Allowing his eyes to adjust he brushed a hand down the simple linen shirt he wore, feeling as if the filth was transferring to his person. 

Before him stood a leaning wooden counter. A bell had rung when he walked in, but the counter remained unmanned. As he stepped forward to peer through the open door frame behind it, a female nearly came tumbling out of it. 

“Sorry,” she panted. “I heard the bell from upstairs. I was just in the middle of something.” 

“I’m looking for C. Welch,” Eris stated with a pull of his upper lip. He took in the figure before him. She was of average height with brandy colored waves falling over her face. It was the eyes that grabbed his attention. Deep gemstone green with shining flecks of gold. 

“That would be me,” she answered. “What is it that I can do for you, my Lord?:

The question startled him out of his observances. “You know who I am?” he questioned suspiciously. He had taken great care to tone down the normally exuberant style of clothing he normally wore. The simple linen shirt and plain black trousers and wool coat apparently wasn’t fooling her. 

“Are we not in the Autumn Court?,” she asked with a smile. “Of course I know who you are, my Lord.”

His grimace was evident as she continued. “The hair gave it away. You are a Vanserra through and through, sir.” She smiled openly with a wink.

The comment did nothing to hide his disgust. Eris’ one desire in life was to be nothing like his father. That was the entire reason for him being here today although she didn’t know that. Palming an object in his pocket, he brought it out and laid it on the counter. 

“I need this timepiece repaired,” he said dismissively. It wasn’t the object that he came for but a test. 

“Could the Court master not repair it for you my Lord?” She was referring to the master tinker that the Autumn Court family held in residence. Craftsmen of all types were under the Court employ for any needs that the Court family may have. 

“Where I choose to take my business is of no concern to you,” Eris sneered. 

“Certainly, sir.” She held the pocket watch in her palm, turning it over and over before reaching below the counter and producing a small pouch of miniscule tools. Reaching again to the shelf along the wall behind her, she slipped the head piece over her hair and flipped the loupe in front of her eye to begin her investigation.

Eris let the silence build as she worked, swiveling his gaze at the assortment of odds and ends collected along the walls. Most of it carried the same layer of dust the windows did. 

“Are you the sole proprietor of this establishment?,” he queried.

She didn’t remove her gaze from the task at hand. “I am.”

A few more minutes of silence ticked by as she leaned over the watch in front of her. Every so often adjusting a tiny piece and flipping it over to read its front. 

“What exactly is the issue you were having with this watch, my Lord?,” she asked, once again not lifting her gaze from her work.

“It’s losing time,” Eris said with an impatient flick of his hand. “Running slow. It’s been causing me to be insufferably late to very important meetings.”

“Hmm,” she hummed in concentration. With a twist of a tool and a snap of the backing, she set the watch back down on the counter. “I’m afraid I have bad news for you then, sir.”

The sinking in Eris’ gut had nothing to do with the state of the watch’s repair and everything to do with the realization that he predicted this outcome.

“Whatever the cost, no matter. I need a working timepiece. I can leave it with you if I must.”

A flash of smile graced her round face. “Well, fortunately my Lord, it won’t cost you any coin. And you certainly don’t need to leave it with me.”

“So you can’t repair it after all?” The air of arrogant disappointment rolled off of him as he spoke. 

“No, my Lord. I can’t repair it.” Her slender hands pushed the watch across the counter towards him. “Because there is nothing wrong with it. It is working perfectly, almost better than designed. It is obviously very well cared for.”

Eris took the watch within his fingertips, peering down at it before slipping it back into his pocket.

“Most would have just taken my coin for being so dim that I can’t properly read a watch,” he smirked. “Especially considering whose pocket that coin was coming from.”

“Most people are thieves and liars, my Lord,” she responded with a smirk of her own. “There are enough broken things in this world. I have no reason to lie just to have something to fix.”

He stood stock still considering her words as he pondered his next move. 

“What did you say your name was again?” His eyes narrowed as he took her in once more.

“I didn’t, my Lord. The name is Bryn,” she held her hand out to him in order for him to shake it. 

Eyeing her still, Eris slowly moved the hand from his pocket and grasped the one offered to him. Soft, smooth palm met his, the warmth a surprising comfort. With a gentle squeeze she released his hand back to him.

Meeting those jewel-like eyes, he questioned. “The door says C. Welsh? Didn’t you say that was you?”

Bryn giggled as she packed the tools back into the pouch and returned them under the counter. “I did. The C. is for Colibryn. It means hummingbird. I just go by Bryn though, my Lord.”

“There is no need for the title,” he said slowly, his face softening a touch to lose the snide look. “I am not the High Lord.”

“Are you not the heir apparent?”

“I am, but the throne still belongs to my father.”

“For now,” she said with an eerie calm. Something shifted within those captivating eyes as she held his stare and Eris’ eyes narrowed again in response. The thudding of his heart was the only thing sounding in the tiny workshop.

“You can just call me Eris,” he said with his own measure of calm wariness. His hand slipped from his pocket once more and this time it was him who extended toward her. 

The shift in the air was palpable. A knowing felt that this time he was introducing himself to the person he came to see. The person who would help him carry out this portion of his plan in secret. Someone he could trust. 

For a moment, Eris almost believed he caught the gold flecks in her eyes flare as she extended her hand out to grasp his once more. 

“A pleasure, Eris.”

The sound of his name pointedly rolling from her tongue gave him that strange comfort he felt earlier grasping her hand. The feeling only intensified as her palm met his once more. This time he was the one to enact that gentle squeeze, feeling the frailty of her bones as he did so. The moment lingered just a fraction too long before he let go.

“There is another matter I’ve come for today,” Eris drawled as he produced the second object from his inner pocket. 

“Would I be correct in assuming that this matter is – secret in nature?,” she posited without even a glance to the object now sitting upon the counter. 

He held her gaze firmly, neither one of them blinking as the seconds ticked by on his perfectly working timepiece. “You would,” he answered. 

“Then you have my discretion. And my attention.” That flare he swore he saw before in her eyes returned before she quickly dropped her gaze to the object before her. 

Collecting the object within both hands, she rolled it as she inspected. Smooth and curved, it was vaguely egg shaped with a flat bottom. One press of the slightly indented button along one side caused the top to pop up. The tiny speaker inside began playing the soft melody of a lullaby before she pressed to tuck it back down.

“It’s a Symphonia,” Eris stated, the sneer of his voice gone.

“I’m familiar with them,” Bryn replied, placing it on the countertop once more. 

“What I am hoping for is something similar in function. It needs to be able to record the same amount of sound, but I need it to be –”

“Smaller?” Bryn smiled mischievously. “Easily hidden?”

“Discreet,” he added, his own eyes now flared in response. “Is that something you can do?”

Twisting the bottom half of the Symphonia, Bryn removed the outer casing covering the components. Flipping down the loupe still adorning her head, she inspected the innards with a practiced hand. Poking and prodding with her nail and one tiny tool she turned gears and tapped springs. 

“How many do you require?” 

Eris’ eyebrows rose. The thought of having multiple on hand had already crossed his mind, but his expectation had been that even just one would be a success.

“How many can you make? Let’s say – within a week’s time?”

Peering through her loupe once more, Bryn gave a final glance and one last twist of components before twisting the halves back together. 

“A week? I would say at least three. Possibly four. It’s really a matter of having the necessary number of parts. The engineering itself is no issue.”

With a nod, Eris once more reached into his pocket. “I assume a deposit upfront will be required.” He dropped a weighted leather pouch on the counter, rattling with the sound of a great number of coins. 

“Name your price,” he continued. “Like I said before, whatever the cost. The rest will be given upon completion.”

That mischievous smile returned. Bryn’s face lit up with amusement as she drew her eyes down towards Eris’ feet before slowly making their way back up. 

“I don’t want your coin,” she started. “I have other things that would be of more use to me.”

Glancing around the workshop quickly, his eyes zeroed in on hers. Certainly, some coin would be of use to her, he thought. There is plenty to be repaired here outside of her work.

“Such as?” Eris asked, extending the words as he waited for her to continue. 

Bryn’s gaze dropped quickly, once again to where she had looked towards his feet moments ago. “I want one of those,” she pointed to the space next to Eris’ legs. 

Eris whipped his head down to the space there. The press of the hound’s head leaned into his knee as it peered back up at him. Snapping his focus back to Bryn he glared at her, unmoving. 

“How did –” he stammered. That burst of flashing gold pulsed through her eyes once more as the corners of her mouth ticked up. “You can see through glamours,” Eris breathed. It wasn’t a question. Shisa was a constant at his side, especially in recent weeks. Always on alert and always glamoured outside the bounds of Forest House. 

His mind went immediately to his brother. Lucien with his mechanical eye, had the ability to see glamours but it had always been Eris’ understanding that he could only see them, not see through them. There was nothing mechanical about her emerald eyes however.

“That’s my price,” she carried on like nothing happened. “One famed Autumn Court smoke hound - of my choosing.”

Slipping easily back into his cruel prince facade, Eris sneered. “You do a lot of hunting then?”

Despite his mocking tone, she remained casual. “No. No time for hunting I’m afraid.”

“These are highly trained beasts,” he replied with a hand placed atop Shisa’s head, that sneer still on his face. “Bred for either hunting or guarding, sometimes both. They are not some casual pet. If you’ve no time for hunting, I can only assume you want one for security reasons.”

His eyes swiveled obviously around the workshop once more, no attempt at hiding his disdain at what she would want to guard here. 

Bryn only laughed. The sound reverberated around, like a light that was so sorely needed within the room. That strange sense of comfort pulsed over Eris’ skin.

“I have my reasons,” she maintained. “And that is my price. You are free to decline and take your request elsewhere of course, my Lord.”

The use of the title instead of his name unnerved him in a way he didn’t care to examine right then. Shaking his head in a quick motion, he dropped the curl in his lip. 

“My apologies,” Eris offered sincerely. “The price is fair. I assume you will want to make your selection before beginning the work.” She nodded in the affirmative. “Very well then. Allow me to arrange a time for you to come view them. I will send word.”

Just as he turned to make his way toward the exit, she stepped out from behind the counter and approached. 

“A pleasure doing business with you – Eris,” his name falling from her mouth pointedly. Once again, her hand was brought out, hanging in the air between them. This time when he grasped it, he made sure to keep the touch brief but that did little to lessen the impact of the strangeness that enveloped him once again. 

With a bend of her waist, she folded over to bring her face close to Shisa’s and brought her delicate hand to the side of the hound’s face. With a gentle sweep of her fingers, she stroked her affectionately as Shisa nuzzled into her palm. 

“I look forward to hearing from you,” she said as if speaking to the dog before flicking her gaze back up to his. 

Eris stood there a few beats before nudging his body into action. Shisa had never willingly let anyone outside of himself or his father approach her in such a manner, at least not without a growl of warning first and certainly not nuzzling. And the only reason Beron was able to is because Eris had commanded that she must. 

With only a nod at her words, he signaled to the hound and made his exit. 

It was only a few short hours later when Eris’ word was sent. 

As Bryn was finishing up the list of necessary parts she would need to acquire, a whine was heard outside the shop door. With a huff of a laugh to herself, she left the stool she was sitting on and made her way to the door, flipping the CLOSED sign as she pulled to open it. 

To anyone else looking, it would have appeared that she was opening her door to inspect the empty street outside. But Bryn saw what awaited her. 

“Well,” she said, moving away from the door as she held it open. “Are you coming in or not?”

Shisa entered and Bryn closed the door firmly behind her. Turning to the hound, she found it sitting politely, still and quiet just staring at her. It took her a moment to notice the collar it was now wearing that wasn’t there before. 

“Clever,’ she remarked to noone as she slid her fingers under the band. Locating the attached roll of paper, she unfurled it.

I will return to accompany you tomorrow evening.

No name signed but it was unnecessary. Bryn just smiled as she tucked the note in her apron pocket. 

“I don’t suppose you are allowed to take a treat before you go, huh?”

Shisa just made her way toward the door, whining once as she reached it. 

“Guess not,” Bryn smiled and opened the door to allow her to leave. 

@mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @chairofchaos @pit-and-the-pen @sarawritestories

@ceoofyearning

[random-xpressions]

I'm that fragment of divine will that came between the pen and the destiny. My story is carved, my fate is written, the script is completed, the plot is predetermined. What am I but an unfolding of the divine ink etched into the book of destiny. Does this make me a defeated fatalist, having given up efforts completely with the flawed thinking that everything is already written, so what's even the point of actions? Or does it take me to age old maxim താൻ പാതി, ദൈവം പാതി "Me half, the other half is God"? Or the simple maxim: "the effort comes from me, but its fulfilment is from God." My faith in divine destiny makes me even more active than as antagonists would like to picturize us as some lethargic lot. This universe runs on the laws of cause and effect. You plant the seeds, you reap the fruits. As simple as that. You don't plant the seeds, you die of hunger. Every fabric of this universe is interconnected. Zero efforts, zero results. The end is bound to the beginning. There is a cause and then there is the Cause of all causes, the one who holds the helm, the one who directs the energies, the one who paves the path. My origin is there. A painter first has the image inside him before it is drawn on the canvass. I'm that fragment of divine imagination, that's our ultimate home, born out of that spirit, blown into existence, dispatched, released, the unfettered divine thought, the original idea. Don't be deluded by your human form. You existed even before time was created, in that hidden realm, in that careful thought before the divine pen had written down your fate...

Random Xpressions

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The Death of Siegfried, from The Story of Siegfried by Howard Pyle (1882) :: [Guillaume Gris]

* * * *

“Although its shape constantly changes to suit the age, the central tenets of the secret tradition remain the same. The idea, for example, that psyche, soul, constitutes the very fabric of reality; that humans are individual manifestations of a collective Soul of the World which interconnects all things; that imagination, not reason, is the chief faculty of the soul – though not the pale imitation of imagination as we now know it; that there is another world whence the soul comes at birth and to which it returns at death; and that the idea of gnosis, of a personal and transforming experience of divinity, is of the essence.”

~ Patrick Harpur

[Thanks Ian Sanders]