#I don’t think I’m gonna be AS detailed as my first prompt drawing

[queeny-v]

Dropping another WIP image for the upcoming PPKM Week.

I already finished the first prompt now I’m working on the second!

[spacedace]

Found this old snippet and don't really remember of the context for it outside of being a joking exploration of how weird the Fenton/Phantom family tree would seem to outsiders (not even getting into how relationships might be classified differently between the human side & the ghost side)

Anyway gonna drop it here as a prompt lol

Mind the quick reference to dismemberment, there's no gore or detailed description and no one is actually hurt, it's more there for comedic effect, but still wanted to give the heads up on it 👍

---

Nomad motioned to the towering, vaguely vampire-looking buff dude with literal flaming hair what the fuck, “Dan, this is everyone. Everyone this is Dan. He’s my…” Nomad trailed off and blinked, a look of confused befuddlement on her face as she let the sentence hang for too long.

“Huh…” She said considering, looking up at vampire-dude, Dan apparently, with a confused furrow on her brow. “You know this is the first time I’ve ever had to try and explain our relationship to each other and I’m drawing a blank and what exactly to call you. Uncle? Dad? Brother? Like, I think you could technically be considered all three.”

What the fuck did that mean??? Kon snapped his attention over to meet Tim’s masked gaze, the look of wild confusion Kon was sure was on his own face mirrored there. Around the meeting room confused and worried looks were being shared by the rest of the League. Which like, yeah, what in the Habsburgs was happening here for all of those terms to be applicable?

“Well, you’re Danny’s Mirror, so if you consider him your dad then it stands to reason I’m also your father.” Dan said, hand coming up to his - literally flaming, how did that work? - goatee thoughtfully.

“Yeah but like, I call Danny dad just to piss Vlad off.” Nomad countered, toying with her severed arm with her still attached hand. Kon didn’t think he’d ever get over how casual she was about being literally disarmed and just…not caring. “And I definitely don’t see you as a dad. Uncle?”

The giant of a ghost shook his head with a frown, “Implies that Danny and I are brothers, which could work but gives our relationship kind of a weird vibe. I feel more like his father than anything.”

“Gramps, then?”

“No.”

Nomad laughed, “Fair, wouldn’t want to take the title of Grampa away from CW. Besides we’re both half Vlad, so I think brother works best here.” She frowned, looking thoughtful, “Maybe half brother?”

Dan considered, “Half-brother could work. Though it gives Vlad more credit than he deserves.”

“Oh come on, can you imagine the look on his face if we went in together on suing him for child support?” Nomad asked, fanged grin wicked. Dan’s face lit up at the idea, and Kon felt like they were rapidly heading towards the two ghosts running off to go and go torment whoever this Vlad guy was rather then them help deal with the current demonic problem at hand.

“Can you please explain what any of that means?” Kon asked, more a squeak than anything else. He was starting to get a headache.

[themadlostgirl]

NDY AU (9)

*Wow. Going back to the OG! Well OG adjacent since this is part of the little au I wrote but it doesn't matter. We're here! And that is another request off the books and finally done haunting my inbox!

I swear I know they are there and I had every intention of writing them sooner but time doesn't exist and suddenly a couple days turns into a couple months.*

Pairing: Peter Pan x fem|Reader

Prompt: A little bonus chapter to the end of the NDY AU I wrote forever ago. The curse is broken! (Fair warning it is a long post)

~~~

It is amazing how time can fly.

My life was about as normal as it could get considering everything. I went to school, went to work, did homework, went to bed. In between all the monotony of routine though was my single bright spot. Peter. My Peter.

Ever since we had met we had been inseparable. He had unlocked a part of me that I had never known was there. Something rebellious and wild and unashamed to be completely myself. I loved who I was when I was with him. It felt like I had been asleep for a long time and now I was finally awake.

My parents still didn’t approve of him no matter what I told them or what Peter did. They saw him as a nuisance and a terrible influence on me. I think they assumed that I would outgrow him at some point but they could not be more wrong. I loved him and if it weren’t for the fact that we had tried once and failed we would have run off together. Started a whole new life together just the two of us. It felt like forever ago.

Peter and I found ourselves now in the trailer that Peter had officially started staying in permanently after the whole mess with his dad happened. He had taken a generator and was keeping it warm and livable that way so he didn’t freeze to death in the winter. We were laying on the bed, not a strip of clothes between the two of us. I was stretched out across the covers and Peter was sitting cross legged next to me with one of his notebooks in hand.

No matter how many times we had done it since that first time on the beach I got such a thrill when we had sex now. Like it was some big forbidden thing we shouldn’t have been doing. Which was ridiculous considering how good it felt. I couldn’t sneak Peter into my house so we had taken to coming back to the trailer when we felt frisky.

As we had been laying there in the post coital glow I had spotted his notebook and asked him to draw me like one of his French girls. He didn’t understand the reference and I had to explain it was from a movie and in it the one character draws the female lead naked. He liked that idea very much. He liked it a little less when I kept singing Celine Dion and told me to lay still.

“Are you almost done?” I asked.

“Give me a minute, pet.” he said, “Perfection takes time.”

“I don’t need it to be perfect. The only people who are gonna see it are you and me.”

“It does need to be perfect because the figure that I am drawing is perfect. A perfect model and an imperfect drawing just won’t do.” he said with a smile. “Now stop wiggling. I swear I’m almost done. I’m just getting the shading right.”

I stayed still for a few more minutes before Peter declared his masterpiece done. I immediately sat up and asked to look at it. He handed me the notebook and I felt my face go hot as I looked at the picture. I knew that Peter was a good artist but I don’t think I was prepared for just how good a drawing it was. That definitely was me, naked as could be. Not a detail blurred or erased.

“I think this has to be my best portrait yet.” he leaned over, leaving a kiss on my shoulder. “What do you think?”

“It’s great. I’m actually a little shy now. It didn’t really occur to me how intently you were focused on me that entire time.”

“Hard to focus on anything else.” he turned my head to kiss me. “And now that I’ve immortalized you in graphite perhaps we can have some more fun.”

“Not likely.” I pushed him back. “We’ve been here forever and I need to get home.”

“Ugh!” he flopped back against the bed. “No. Stay here. We could both live here if we wanted. No having to run home, we can just stay in bed all day.”

“You are insatiable.” I rolled my eyes and stood up as I started searching for my clothes. “I will be back to see you tomorrow but if I don’t get home soon then my parents are going to be on my ass. So, are you going to keep pouting or are you gonna walk me home?”

“Fine. I’m coming.” Peter got out of bed too and started dressing. “Any plans for the weekend?”

“Babysitting.”

“Oh come on! Can’t you cancel? I thought you stopped taking weekend babysitting jobs.”

“I did. But Ms.Mills asked me to watch Henry. Henry is literally my only exception to my no weekends rule. Sorry.”

“Henry Mills. Stealing my girl.” Peter wrinkled his nose.

I tugged on my shoes. “Oh yes, the eleven year old is going to steal your girlfriend. The competition is fierce out here.”

“Is he still on that whole thing about all of us being characters from a fairy tale?”

“Yep. It’s been getting worse since his bio-mom came to town. I swear, the amount of times that kid has run off into things he shouldn’t be getting into is staggering. He doesn’t need a babysitter he needs a leash.” I linked my hand with Peter’s as we started the walk back into town.

“So much weird shit has been happening since she arrived.” Peter said. “I mean, Ms.Blanchard got accused of murder after being outed as a mistress. There was that fire at town hall. The sheriff died. It’s been bad. Don’t get me wrong the chaos is entertaining but it is a lot.”

“Yeah. Hopefully things will be winding down now.” I sighed. Peter saw me back to my house and kissed me goodbye before strolling back up the way he came. I went inside and had another uncomfortable dinner with my parents before absconding to the safety of my room. That was another thing, my relationship with my parents was never good but it had only been getting worse as of late. It was as if the thin veil of a functional family had been stripped away and we were left to come to a single conclusion. We couldn’t stand each other.

The idea of moving into that trailer with Peter sounded more pleasant by the hour. If it weren’t for the fact that I knew my parents would call someone on me to drag me back I may have taken him up on it.

The weekend came and I went over to watch Henry. He looked miserable poor kid. “Things not going well, buddy?” I asked.

“Not really,” he muttered. “No one believes me. I don’t know what to do to make them understand.”

I really didn’t get the whole storybook thing but I did know something about people not listening to me. My parents never listened when I tried to tell them Peter was a good guy. I could imagine Henry was feeling the same kind of frustration.

“Maybe I can help.” I told him. “You have a list of who you think who is, right? Let’s go over it again. Maybe if we can figure out who everyone is then it’ll help them understand it isn’t just a coincidence.”

“Maybe.” he said. He half-heartedly pulled out his book and a pad of paper. He started going over the ones he knew for sure. “You know, this entire time I realized I never tried figuring out who you were.” he turned to me.

“You think I’m in here too?” I asked.

“You have to be.” He said and started flipping through the stories. “I just don’t know which one. There’s not a lot of stories about teenagers in here. Tell me more about what you like to do. Who are your friends?”

“I like to read and I get good grades.” I said. “I uh…I don’t really have a whole lot of friends. I have a boyfriend though that I really love.”

“Boyfriend? Have you always had a boyfriend?”

“I don’t talk about him much. Not everyone likes him. They don’t see him as I do.”

“Who is it?”

“His name is Peter.”

“Peter…” Henry scratched his head. “Last name? Sometimes the entire name has clues.”

“Pangle. Peter Pangle.”

“Pangle? Really?”

“What?”

“What is he like? You said people don’t like him.”

“No. He’s a bit of a jerk. Immature. He likes to draw and his favorite book is Lord of the Flies. His favorite color is green. I don’t know Henry, any of this ringing any bells?”

“Immature, likes green and books about boys trapped on an island.” Peter’s eyes went wide. “And he’s your boyfriend?”

“Yes. What does this--” Henry ignored me as he started scribbling something down in his notebook. “What epiphany did you just have?”

“It’s just a hunch but I feel pretty good about it.” he showed me the page. “Your Peter is actually Peter Pan and since you are dating him then that most likely makes you Wendy Darling.”

“You think we’re Peter and Wendy?” I tried to bite back a laugh. “Doesn’t Wendy have brothers? I’m an only child.”

“Maybe the curse separated you.” Henry said. “But it makes sense. You take care of kids as a job and Wendy was taken to Neverland to be a mother figure to the Lost Boys. It makes sense.”

“Perhaps.” There was a part of me that was kind of hoping that Henry’s theory about who I was would unlock something but I could only shrug. Wendy Darling? It didn’t feel right. Peter though…he does have a lot of similar traits to Peter Pan now that I think about it. If anything this would be something entertaining to tell him about later when I saw him.

After I was done babysitting Henry I returned home and stayed up late talking to Peter over the phone. I told him about Henry’s theory and I could hear him groaning over the phone. “Peter Pan? Really?”

“Oh shush, it could have been worse. You could have been Pinocchio or something.” I told him.

“I only have one kind of wood on me.” Peter said.

“You are disgusting and a pervert. I’m going to bed now.”

“Oh come on ‘Wendy’” he teased, “Don’t hang up on me. I want to talk more.”

“Don’t call me Wendy. And I would love to stay up longer but I really am tired.” I yawned to emphasize my point. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight, pet. Love you.”

“Night. Love you too.” I hit end call and rolled over to go to sleep.

The next day more chaos ensued in town. I was sitting at home, book in hand when I heard sirens going blaring down the street. What emergency was happening now? I went to ask my mom and she informed me that one of her friends in the hospital said that Henry Mills had been taken to the ER after having fallen unconscious due to some unknown factor.

“Oh god, poor Henry.” my heart went out to him. He was a good kid. I really hoped that he would come out of this alright. I decided to go check on him and went to the hospital.

It was strange seeing him laid up in bed with all the tubes and wires surrounding him. He was so still. I had always known Henry to be so full of life. This was wrong. He couldn’t die like this. He needed to live. It was so important that he lived!

I didn’t stay long. I couldn’t stay there and see him like that. I didn’t want to go home either so I decided to kick around on the beach, watch the waves lap at the shore. What I would have given for a balmy beach and warm white sand. Maybe one of these days when I finally graduated and could ditch this town.

It was as I was standing there looking out over the dreary grey of the dark ocean I felt something slam through me. It was like I had gotten hit by a wave and it left me staggering on my feet as memories slammed into my brain. An old life. My life.

My head shot up as I remembered who I was and where I had come from. I stared at the woods and started running. Peter! My Peter!

My legs kept pumping as I willed myself to go faster. I needed to find Peter. I had to!

My pace stumbled to a stop as I noticed something rushing over the forest floor and swallowing the trees in sinister purple fog. I could feel it in my bones, the way it tingled and set my hair on edge. This was magic. I braced knowing I couldn’t outrun it and instead let it encompass me. The rush of it fell over me and away as the fog dissipated and I was still standing where I had been. I was still here. Good. Hopefully that meant Peter was too.

I was rushing up the trail and saw someone barreling down the other way. “Peter!” I shouted. “Peter Pan!”

“Lost girl!” Peter ran to me and tackled me in a hug. “It’s you. It’s us! I remember!”

“I know.” I held him tight, scared to let him go. “Peter…Peter…”

“It’s alright, precious.” he pressed a kiss to my head. “We’re not going to be separated again. Never again.”

“Twenty eight years…” I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “We’ve been stuck here for twenty eight years.”

“I know. I know.” he soothed me. “But we had each other. Even that damn curse couldn’t keep us apart.”

“That it couldn’t.” Tears were leaking down my face. “Do you still remember our lives here?”

“Yes.” he wiped the tears away. “I remember you saying that you loved me.”

“Yeah…I guess I did.” I had been carefully dancing around that for decades back on Neverland. Yet a couple years stuck in a curse finally loosed the feeling from my tongue. “You said you loved me too though.”

Peter’s face went pink. “Right.” he cleared his throat. “I suppose I did.”

“Do you still feel that way or was that just the curse talking?” I asked, scared of the answer.

He softened, pulling me in for another kiss. “No precious, that was not the curse talking. I love you. I do. I swear.”

“Your word is your bond.” My face hurt from how wide I was smiling. “I know we’ve been here together this whole time but I feel like we were still miles apart.”

“Not anymore. Never again, lost girl.” Peter said. “I told you before when the curse was about to hit us that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. It was only a matter of time until I found you.”

“And you were insufferable.”

“Yet you came around to my charms once again.”

“Somehow. How you can charm anything is a wonder.”

The smile on Peter’s face started to drop and darkness entered his eyes. “Peter? What’s wrong?”

“That fucker hurt you.” he said, his words like ice. “I’m going to go kill him.” he started walking back towards town, tugging me along.

“Who are you talking about?”

“The man this damn curse had me convinced was my father.” he growled, his grip on my hand almost painfully tight. “He hurt me. He hurt you. I’m going to kill him for that.”

“Oh…right.” I had almost forgotten about that. It seemed like a lifetime ago. How long ago was that even? It could have been years at this point but I simply couldn’t gauge when it happened. Still, the fear I had felt was real and so was the anger rushing through my veins now. “After we kill him can we return to Neverland?”

“Of course.” Peter’s smile turned cruel and calculating. “And there was one good thing about this curse, it gave us access right to the Heart of the Truest Believer.”

My heart skipped a beat as I realized he was right. “And I’m his trusted babysitter. I’m sure we could convince him to come with us. If the kid wants nothing else, it’s adventure. And what land is more perfect for that than Neverland?”

“Gods I’ve missed you.” he pulled me in again to plant a kiss on my cheek. “Come now, Lost Girl. We have a new game to play.”

(1) (Previous)

[yorshie]

Hey everyone!

HAPPY FIRST DAY OF THE YEAR!

I wanted to let you guys in on some things that I’m working on right now.

I’m getting through requests so I can open them back up, but I wanted to let everyone know that my askbox is still open for talking and for raccoon rambles. I guess it’s kinda like head canons but I totally don’t see them as requests and I’m down to talk turtles at any time, so feel free to come say hi!

I’m thinking about starting a naughty blurb/short story collection for Valentine’s Day. I got the idea from Tychou but I still haven’t decided how it’s gonna work, but I’m leaning towards letting you guys send in pairings over here, but the writing itself will be kept on AO3. Still thinking on that one.

You guys can still send me in sketch prompts! Nothing too detailed please but if there’s something you’d like to see me draw more of feel free.

The stories coming out next are most likely : Ch 6 of SMR, then Pick up the Pace, then Donnie’s not possessive.

Also, big thing at the end here, I’m opening up post submissions soon. I’ve never gotten one before so I don’t know how they work, but I started thinking about this the last time someone sent me writing in the ask box- now, there’s still tagging in posts, I know that, but I was thinking about when I first started writing for TMNT, how a bigger blog reposted Appy Slices and that was how I started reaching ppl. I want to encourage others to write, and I want ppl to stop seeing a gate in front of writing. No one gave us permission to write, we just had a little bit of audacity and a story to tell, and that’s all you need to write for a fandom. You don’t need anyone’s permission. You don’t need to be “good enough”. There’s no magical step stool where you get over the hedge and suddenly you’re a fic writer. We just wrote :)

Hm I rambled there a bit. But yea, post submissions. I’ll set up some rules and pin them nice and big in my master post, but I’d really like there to be a way for people just starting out or just getting into the fandom to get their stories out in front of other ppl. And as long as these rules are met, you could hypothetically submit your post or tag me in your work to read.

Hm. Think that’s everything. Thank you all once lord for being a part of the trash pile (address: tortuga brothers garbage truck) look! We got a mailbox! :D

[goblins-trashbin]

Oc-tober x goretober so far!!

This year I’ve decided to 1- follow two prompt lists, and 2- not force myself to do EVERY day on said lists. I find that forcing myself to follow prompts that in no way inspire me often leads to burnout, so I decided to just spare myself the hassle. Here is a small dump of the days I’ve done so far!!

(I’m using @/susann.ilse on tiktok’s oc-tober list, and @/on.going.crisis on instagram’s goretober list, I’ll be puttinh both of them at the end of the post^^)

Day 1: gender swap x rotting! The oc used and gender swapped is Valerie, one of my oldest oc’s. This isn’t actually the first tile I’ve gender swapped her, I think last time also was for an art challenge?? Anyway, since I already had a design for gender swapped Valerie I thought it fitting to use her (that, and the fact that I KNOW most of the prompts are gonna feature the oc I’m currently fixated on; Leandra ^^’)

Day 3: one colour x gashes! Oc used: Leandra <3 Still super happy with this one, definitely an improvement from day 1 :,> Kinda bugs me that I forgot to draw the skirt under her though, but I didn’t notice until I had already exported it, and I can’t be assed to add it now :<

Day 5: newest oc x nosebleed! Oc used: Leandra again >v> Honestly any piece I draw of her turns out a banger, she inspires me so much <3 Though, again I let a small detail escape me when making the drawing… I forgot her fucking eyebrows. Once again I can’t be assed to go in and add them, but it still bugs me.

Day 7: birthday x eyes! Oc used: Valerie. Again not something I’m super proud of. The forehead is weird, the colouring is rushed. Love the idea and texture of the brush though. Kinda sad that the only character I manage to draw in an aesthetically pleasing way atm is Leandra, especially because I’ve had Valerie for like 6-8 years now.

Day 11: angst x fungi. Oc used: Fig! And omg Fig my saviour!! As a circle of spores druid tiefling she was absolutely perfect for this prompt! And the pose??? So happy with it tbh T^T Maybe it’s not Leandra that keeps the secret to my artistic talent, maybe it’s just tragic tieflings?

Day 13: favourite oc x headache!! I don’t really have an over all favourite oc, but I do have one that I am currently VERY fixated on, which is of course Leandra :3 I imagine her urges and the voices her dad speaks to her in her head have about the same effect as Shar reminding Shart about her presence, so I imagine she’s often plagued with migraines.

And that’s all so far!!! :3

[the-duke-of-nuts]

The Florist and The Tattoo Artist

Day 1: Tattoo Shop/Florist @dukexietyweek

Author’s Note: It’s Spooky Gays week bbs! You all remember last year when I said I'd write a fic to this exact prompt based on my post? Of course you do! I of course did not write it yet B U T don't scroll away just yet I promise there's something. I've written a little snippet (I say snippet as if it isn't literally half of one of the chapters) on one of the scenes that happen in the story but I made sure to write in a way where you don’t really need the whole fic to understand what’s going on. With that being said enjoy I guess!

Summary: Pretty much just Remus coming up with a tattoo design for Virgil and asking him out on a date.

Pairing: Dukexiety

Word Count: 1018

Warnings: Food Mention, I guess Remus mentioning his ass I don't know there's not really much here so I think just those should be fine

"Y'know for a tattoo artist I'd expect you to have at least one." Virgil commented as he started watering the beautifully grown plants in the shop. "Oh I do I gave myself a tentacle sword one on the right side of my ass." Remus answered casually. "How did- Y'know what I don't wanna know." The tattoo artist cackled at seeing Virgil shake off the impressive yet disturbing thought. 

"Trust me I'm gonna get more soon. So what about you, have you ever thought about getting a tatt?" 

"I mean... I wouldn't mind getting one I just don't know of what." The florist shrugged as he finished watering the plants and walked back to the counter. "Well for starters where do you want it?" Remus asked. Virgil thought about it for a moment. Despite the florist's appearance he never thought that far ahead about where'd he even get a tattoo let alone hoped for one in the first place but knowing the tattoo artist, the mustached man would probably come up with a big or possibly suggestive kind of design for him so he went the safe route. 

"I don't know probably like..." Virgil started rolling down his sleeve and pushed his wristbands and bracelets out of the way and pointed to his wrist and forearm. "On my wrist or forearm or somewhere around there." "Hmm..." Remus suddenly took Virgil's arm and started lightly tracing the design he had in mind on the emo's wrist area. The florist fought back from shivering at the touch already knowing the smug words that would come out of the tattoo artist's mouth if he did or looked back up and saw how much he was blushing but luckily Remus was still distracted with figuring out the design. 

How did we get to this... One moment we're working across from each other and I'm trying to kick you out of here as much as possible on the daily and next thing I know I can't get enough of your stupid flirting...

"Got it." 

Virgil immediately snapped out of his thoughts once he heard Remus speak again. "I think something like a stormcloud with patches on your wrist would look good. Something like... OOH! Do you have any paper?" Virgil looked under the counter and found his sketchbook and handed it to Remus with a pencil. The florist mentally hoped and prayed the tattoo artist didn't carelessy flip the pages too fast and see the drawing of him on the very last page. 

If he asks or says anything just tell him it's Freddie Mercury but edgy. 

But Virgil instantly relaxed when Remus thankfully started sketching the design on the first empty page he spotted which was in the middle of the book. 

Remus was known to be fast with his sketches but he made sure everything was detailed and perfect to the point where he didn't even need to use the eraser. After a minute or two Remus finally finished the drawing and looked at it satisfied. "Like this."

Once the tattoo artist flipped the sketchbook over to reveal the design, Virgil stared at it amazed. When Remus said a stormcloud with patches he certainly delivered. It was so detailed that the emo even immediately knew what colors he wanted it all to be. 

"Woah holy shit that actually looks pretty badass!" "Thank you! I tend to give only the best for my Muses~" Remus winked smirking as he put the sketchbook back down.

Wink at me with those damn pretty eyes one more fucking time and I'll give you something to be smug about  

Virgil cleared his throat blushing. "I'll think about it." "Cool just let me know and I'll give it to you for free." The florist went wide eyed at hearing that. Normally people would be grateful for not having to pay for a tattoo but the thought of Remus possibly needing the money one day just didn't sit right with Virgil. 

"What? Ree no no no I can't but what if-" 

"No butts except yours getting the tatt for free Vee Vee!" Remus booped Virgil's nose to which the florist sighed defeated trying to swat the tattoo artist's hand away. "Fine." Virgil playfully huffed and crossed his arms looking away. "Good..." Remus suddenly smirked. "Fair warning though tatt's on the wrist hurt like a bitch but I'll gladly hold your hand if you need me to~" He teased wiggling his eyebrows. "Shut up." A flustered Virgil playfully hit a cackling Remus' shoulder. 

"But if you really wanna pay me back I'll also take a date as a form of payment~" 

"Not that I'm immediately saying yes or anything but what did you have in mind?" 

"There's an Italian restaurant down the street... I know how much you love pizza and bread sticks~" Remus took Virgil's hand and kissed it smirking as the emo's face became even redder. 

Can you stop making me wanna fucking kiss you for 10 seconds!?

"Alright fine you had me at the pizza and bread sticks." Virgil said not letting go of Remus' hand. The tattoo artist beamed at hearing that. "Really? Well how does tonight after we both close sound?" Virgil couldn't help but smile at Remus' eagerness. He missed seeing that pretty spark of excitement in the tattoo artist's eyes. "I'd like that." "Yes!" Remus fist pumped whispering victoriously to himself. 

"You won't be disappointed-" 

The tattoo artist was cut off by his phone alarm ringing to which he dramatically sighed and turned it off. 

"Looks like my lunch break is over... Meet back outside of here later?" 

"Sounds good." 

Remus smiled at the approval and before he could turn away and leave Virgil tugged him back to him and kissed his cheek causing him to freeze and blush.  "Now go before I change my mind and you mess up your schedule and if you do, that won't be on the lips tonight." Virgil teased. "Yes Sir~" Remus smirked and quickly ran out of the shop and back to his job. Virgil chuckled and shook his head. 

I'm in love with a dork.

[clockworkspider]

Ohhh that tarot prompt game is such a cool idea 👉👈

Yuzuru and Ibara?

Or, if you're not comfortable with them, Keito and Eichi because I will never shut up about them?

Doesnt need to be romantic!!

Keito and Eichi ended up with the better card draws.

Six of cups - Happy memories from the past, inner child Reversed Hanged Man - Resisting change of perspective Reversed Devil - Attachment holding one back, unable to let go

cw: end of life discussions

Keito and Eichi finalizes Eichi's funeral plans.

—

“Keito! I’m so glad to see you! If I have to talk to another lawyer I think I’m going to die two months early. Did you bring the Item?” 

“Don’t joke about that. And yes, I brought it. Tho I think it’s still too soon to revisit this. My family and I will take care of everything, so why don’t you focus on living.” From his bag, Keito withdrew an old notebook. Tho the color of the cover has faded with time, the edges were as crisp as they were 18 years ago. On the cover, in the neat and stiff writing of a child, were the words ‘Eichi’s funeral plans’. 

“I want to finalize this while I still have the energy, otherwise my family will have everything their way.” Eichi answered, a matter of fact. 

“Funerals are for the living, you know?” Keito chided half-heartedly. Already prepared to execute Eichi’s demands, no matter how unreasonable. 

“That’s why we’re reworking it, right? I’m not gonna ask to keep the pyramid, so you can relax. I’m sure with the amount of proposals we’ve overseen thus far, we can come up with something dignified enough to satisfy my family. But it’d be a shame if there’s no trace of all the hard work of our childhood selves.” 

“Fine,” Keito said. He sat down, opened the notebook, took out a pen, and grimaced. 

“Oh?” Eichi intoned. 

“Our imagination truly knew no bounds back then,” Keito explained. 

“Pass it, I wanna see!” Eichi took the notebook and poured over it, occasionally reading aloud what he thought were amusing. 

“Oh my gosh, is that your writing? Did you actually make a vampire shogun reference here?” 

“It was a cool scene. I think it’s very poetic and appropriate for a buddhist funeral. You seem to have agreed here.” 

At that, Eichi fell silent, and just stared. 

“What?” Keito asked. 

“I’m just thinking of how familiar this look. You, sitting by my hospital bed, with that notebook and pencil in your hands, planning my funeral,” he said, smiling. 

And now it was Keito’s turn to be silent. 

“It was easier back then,” he finally said, looking away.  

“I never thought I’d live this long back then, to be honest,” Eichi answered. 

Keito had nothing to say to that. 

—

They spent some time pouring over the details, going between reminiscing their childhood and working on the new plan in an unhurried fashion. Truth be told, neither of them had any time to waste. Still Keito argued over the increasingly silly ideas seriously. If they keep working on it, it would never become something final. 

“Anzu has volunteered to organize a send-off party with our generation of yumenosaki graduates and the initial ES staff. We can incorporate some of the more light hearted ideas there instead, so the funeral itself can be more solemn, and you can take part yourself if you have the energy,” Keito said. 

“Really? She didn’t tell me!” 

“We were going to finalize a few things first after our session together today. She didn’t want to trouble you with it at the early stage yet, but I figured you’d want to start composing your monologues.” 

“Fufufu…” 

“What now?” 

“Keito has changed. The past Keito would have never relinquish part of his plans to someone else. 

“Well, if it’s that girl, I’m sure she’ll handle it with care.” 

“Keito is more proud of our beloved Anzu than anyone, right? You’re the one who corrected all her earliest proposals. I’ve seen the mark-ups. You were merciless, you practically re-wrote the whole thing!” 

“Well, she’s fixing mine now.” 

“She’s come a lone way, hasn’t she? Tori too… To think we’ve started the path to our dreams with so many blunders. Back then, I never thought we’d get this far. To think that I got a chance to stand shoulder to shoulder with Wataru… And Akatsuki has come so far too. I know you and Rei fought the long fight with Rhylin execs and won. I’m proud of us.” 

“Save that for the speech,” Keito said, paused, and added, “I’m proud of us too.” 

“But you know, I don’t really know if i’m sold on the idea of a light hearted sendoff and a heavy solemn funeral. I know some people want their friends and family to send them off with a smile. Like it’s all going to be alright and they can go happy. That’s just lying to themselves, right? I’d rather see how much people will miss me while I’m still alive,” Eichi said glumly. Then, with a bit of mischief in his eyes. “Say, why don’t you cry for me now, Keito?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous! How did the conversation even turn to here? I’m not Hibiki, I can’t cry on command.” 

“But you’ll cry for me after I’m gone, right? That’s so unfair, everyone else will get to see it except your childhood friend. Rei mentioned he made you cry on stage once. And to think I missed it!” 

“I wasn’t crying on stage! Stop bringing that up!” Keito snapped, then sighed, an expression of immense pain. “Anyway, you can’t ask that of me. 

“It’s the job of officiant to direct the mourners and keep things together until the end. It’s not my turn to mourn until everyone else are done. To ask me to cry for you while you’re still alive. Incorrigible.” He tutted, and he didn’t say, ‘If I do, I don’t know if I’d be able to stop. If I give in to grief, and let it swallow me whole, I don’t know if I’d ever resurface.' 

Eichi laughed, startling and crystal clear. “But Keito has been crying for me all these years, haven’t you?” A pause. “When I look at you, my first friend, I can’t decide if I want you to move on and be happy, or if I want you to mourn me forever. When I think of the person all of you will become without me in your lives, it hurts so much. 

“In Buddhism, they say attachment the source of all suffering, right? And seeing Keito suffer is a hobby of mine.” 

“You use to be so cute,” Keito muttered, “how did you grow up to be so twisted?” 

To that, Eichi could only chuckle. 

“Hey, Keito,” Eichi said, “I’m not ready to go. 

“I don’t want to leave.”

And Keito, without words, pulled him into his arms in a trembling hug, crushing them together tighter than they’ve ever been before. 

“I don’t want to go, Keito,” he repeated, over and over, between sobs he didn’t know if they were his own, “I don’t want to go.” 

—

“No Eichi, we are not doing the scavenger hunt on your funeral. Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“You’re already thinking of clues, right? Keito loves that kind of thing. I know you do.”

[littleperilstories]

The Prince of Thieves: If It's Not Right, You Have to Put It Right

Mood Boards | Chapter Titles | Also on A03!

Warnings: Fantasy-esque prison setting, painful wound cleaning, restraints (shackles), severe power imbalance, nasty law enforcement/abuse of power, aftermath of flogging, mention of wound infection, lady whump

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Word count: 3917 || Approx reading time: 16 mins

If It's Not Right, You Have to Put It Right

Teaser: Is there no one around here with any kindness in their heart? Or any goddamn sense in their head? “But…no one’s looked at his back since yesterday.”  I point at Fox, letting my voice quaver. “Those cuts will get infected if they don’t get cleaned.”

Bree

The night passes in unsettling quiet. There are no howls of despair from other cells, no angry bellows from the constables. In fact, little noise at all breaks through the darkness, save for the scraping of hobnailed boots when the patrolling guards stalk through the halls.

Fox, too, is quiet—no moans or whimpers from pain-induced dreams. He sleeps, silent enough that I catch myself hoping he’s not dead.

Sleeping, when  it’s my turn to sink into its elusive mists, brings no rest. Waking, which happens enough that I’m not sure I slept at all, brings only grief and uncertainty.

Hatchett first said I would hang, then changed to not necessarily. Was that part of the game? Was he simply trying to confuse me? If I am not taken to the gallows, but left here to rot instead, what then? Or perhaps…perhaps that’s it? Maybe it’s enough for him to watch me suffer? He’ll get his long-awaited vengeance for running away from him  four years ago, and I’ll get to die cold and alone.

A hoarse moan from the other cell jars me from my thoughts. “Am I still alive?”

I don’t know whether to muster up tears or laughter. Pressing as close to the bars as I can, I squint through the dark. “Seems you are.”

“Shame.” He draws a slow breath, punctuated by a wince.

“Does it hurt?”

“Like hell.”

He hasn’t moved much from where he fell asleep last night—probably couldn’t. His wince echoes through the darkness as he slowly starts to rise.

“No one’s come to take a look at those yet.” I can’t see his lash-wounds, not while his face is turned toward me, but I was awake for enough of the night that I’d have noticed if someone visited.

“That asshole medic will come around when he wants to,” Fox mutters. “Or maybe never. He hates my guts.” After he’s pulled himself upright, panting slightly, he adds with a dark laugh and a vague gesture around us, “Like everyone else.”

I don’t understand. Why take care of the shoulder wound, but not these ones? “But they might get infected—”

“So? What do they care?” His words run together, so it sounds like, Whatta they care? “Aren’t I gonna die anyway? May as well make the lead-up painful.”

I can’t think of anything to say to that, so I say the first—and most inane—thing that comes to mind. “I don’t hate you.”

Something flashes across his face. Amusement? Gratitude? Confusion and discomfort he’s too polite to acknowledge? “Uh. Thanks.”

I don’t respond. I’m too busy wishing I could die right about now.

Long, dragging minutes prompt the realization that I haven’t eaten since my last meal at the Smith house, nor have I had any water since my interrogation.

Tell me what you know about IA. Its leaders. Its methods. Everything.

With the sound of the whip still ringing in my ears, I was not inclined to give Baden Hatchett a single word, let alone any goddamn details about running for IA.

Speak, Miss Cooper, or you will find your stay in this prison less than hospitable.

You realize it is in your best interests to cooperate, do you not?

You think I won’t go to any lengths imaginable to take them down? Do you really want to be on the wrong side of that battle?

You’re a fool, I finally told him. I already am.

“Please, sir. When is the medic coming?” The constable who delivers water and bread appears genuinely surprised when I scramble to my feet and address him. “Will it be soon?”

He gives me a look one might give a worm, squashed and bloody beneath their shoe. “You sick?”

“W-well, no, but—”

“Then sit down, girl. Mind your own business.”

Is there no one around here with any kindness in their heart? Or any goddamn sense in their head? “But…no one’s looked at his back since yesterday.”  I point at Fox, letting my voice quaver. “Those cuts will get infected if they don’t get cleaned.”

Scoffing, he asks, “Is that supposed to be my problem? Take your fucking meal and worry about yourself.”

This time, when I answer, impatience slips through, and I press myself against the metal. “I’m telling you, he needs to come look at—”

“‘I’m telling you’?” Reaching through the bars, the constable shoves me back. My stocking feet and tired limbs struggle to keep balance, and I sink to the floor. “Who do you think you are? Mind your goddamn tongue, you hear? He’ll come when he’s available.”

Fox lurches forward when the guard shoves me, spitting venom—the only weapon he can wield. “Look what we got here. Another big man who likes pushing people around.”

I cringe. It’s nice of him to speak up, but he’s already saved me once. I don’t need him to do it again, certainly not now. For once, even if neither of them realize it, I’m the one in control of the conversation. Keeping my eyes on the constable, I reapproach. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Infected wounds kill people all the time. Don’t you care?”

The constable glances at Fox and guffaws. “About him? Not particularly.” He tugs out his baton. “Seems you still need a lesson in respect.”

Although I step back as if cowed by the implicit threat, I say, “I give respect to those who earn it.”

His eyes narrow. “Is that so?  Rest assured… I will let Constable Hatchett know.”

Fox leaps back into the conversation, contempt upon his face. “Going to run right to mommy and tell her, are you?”

The constable slams his baton against the bars of Fox’s cell hard enough to echo. I barely suppress a startled squeak. “You and your mouth. You just don’t learn, do you, you stupid fucker?”

Based on the look on Fox’s face, I can only imagine what he’s thinking: Well, you better come in here and teach me a lesson, then, or something equally ill-advised. But he grits his teeth and says nothing.

“Huh. That’s what I thought,” the officer says, and he stalks away.

Fox turns his glare on me. Once the constable’s footsteps have faded, he says, “So much for not doing that anymore. Didn’t you promise just last night you wouldn’t try to piss them off for my sake?”

Irritation flares inside me. “I promised I wouldn’t put myself in harm’s way. There were bars between us, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Didn’t stop him from trying, though, did it?” Fox gestures toward the door. “And you do realize, right, that he could have come in if he wanted to? That’s how jail works. They’re the ones with the keys.”

“Sure. But I’m the one with this.” I brandish the flask I unlatched from the constable’s belt while I was distracting him with my complaints. “Let’s hope it’s just water.”

How satisfying it is  to watch his eyes widen. Ha. Weren’t expecting that, were you? “When’d you pinch that?”

“There’s a reason Spider recruited me.” I unscrew the top and inhale, praying the pungent smell of alcohol doesn’t assault my senses. “I’m not half bad.” With a sigh of relief, I return the cap. Just water. Exactly what I wanted.

“All right, well, good job, but…why do you need that?”

“I don’t need it.” I drop the flask and scan my clothes, seeking the least soiled stretch of fabric before I tear a strip from the skirt. It’s far from sterile, but it’ll have to do. “You do.”

He frowns. “What?”

“If that dumb fucking medic,” I say, “isn’t going to do his job, then I’ll have to do it for him.” Waving the torn cloth, I gesture toward the water flask. “Come closer.”

He’s staring at me with a mix of astonishment and something I can’t place. Suspicion? Confusion? “Why?”

“Because just hurry up.” I beckon him with my hand. “Before he figures out his flask is missing and comes back. I’m going to clean your cuts.”

He blinks. Flinches. Is he…embarrassed? Is the prospect of me touching him more horrible than being whipped in front of the entire prison? “Bree, you don’t need to—”

Bitterly, I say, “I do if he’s not coming.”

He barely moves a muscle. “We just met.” His good hand rubs anxiously at the nape of his neck. “You shouldn’t have to…”

We just met. His words sting more than they should. “We’ve met before.”

“That night doesn’t count.” For the first time, he looks at me with something akin to pity. “It was awful. For both of us.”

“You saved my life.” No point in bringing up the first time we crossed paths. Why would he remember? He’s probably helped Spider recruit dozens of runners.

“Right, but…” Wide and uncertain, his eyes are still fixed on mine. “I don’t expect nothing from—” A pause. “You…you don’t owe me anything.”

I huff out an annoyed sigh. “Will you just get over here? Or was st—taking this a complete waste of time?”

For a moment, he remains a statue—then hauls himself across the floor, stopping with his back to me. “This…good?”

I reach through the bars to test the distance between us. “Yes.” Hovering my fingers over his back, terrified to touch him until we’re both ready, I scan for any inch of skin that isn’t pocked with lash-marks. “I’m…I’m sorry again. He wouldn’t have flogged you if not for me.”

“Not your fault.” Fox’s voice is bitter, but I believe him. “For a miserable bastard, he’s fucking creative when he wants to be.” He puts on his best mimicry of Hatchett’s low voice. “Consequences.”

Surely he’s trying to be funny, but a shiver runs down my spine. Father was cruel and quick to use his fists, but dumb as a rock. Baden Hatchett is cruel but sharp—clever and quick to use his wits. Had I gone through with the marriage, what awful consequences might I have met when my actions brought him displeasure? “Yes.” You will call the count. “He is.”

Banishing Hatchett from my mind—as much as I can when I’m staring directly at his handiwork, embroidered in blood across Fox’s back—I reach for the flask. “I’m going to run water down your back first. I imagine it will hurt.”

“I expect so, yeah.”

“Are you ready?”

“Do I got a choice?”

I pause, not sure what to do. “I mean… You do, but…”

He snorts. “Just say no.”

Swallowing an uncomfortable laugh, I open the flask.

At first, the water runs rust-coloured to the floor, pooling between us and mingling with the filth crusted there. Fox hisses.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “Just breathe.” What did Mother used to do, when I was young and Father got carried away? Tell me about the story you read today. How were your lessons this morning? Let’s go through some arithmetic facts. “What’s two times two?”

He jerks his head back to look at me, brows pinched in confusion. “What?”

“My mother used to try and distract me,” I say, “when she had to, um… When I was hurt and she didn’t want me to cry.” Didn’t want me to cry too loudly and bring him storming back. “Stories, arithmetics, and such.”

“Listen. I’m not doing any maths right now. This fucking hurts enough as it is.” He winces again as another flood of water drips down his back. “No need to bring school into it.”

“All right. That’s fine.”  Inexplicably, my heart is pounding as I lift my makeshift washing cloth. “I’m going to start, um, cleaning.” Why are my hands shaking? “May I…?”

If he was embarrassed before, he’s gotten over it. “You’ve already started. Might as well finish it, yeah?”

I grit my teeth as if I’m the one who’s bracing myself for pain. “Tell me a story, then. Something about you.”

He barks out a laugh.“You think that’s a good idea? Who knows who’s listening in?” After a pause, he adds, muttering into the darkness, “Fuck you, whoever you are.”

“You needn’t tell me your life story,” I say, chuckling, though my stomach twists. “A happy memory or something.”

He gives a soft yelp. I’m doing my best to be gentle, but the wounds are still raw, and my dress isn’t made from the softest material. “About. What?”

“Anything.” Reaching through the bars is awkward, and my back and arms already ache from the awkward position. Perhaps his story will distract me, too.

To my relief, he acquiesces. “I…used to have…this dog.”

The cloth is already stained pink. “How sweet.”

“She w—” He breaks off, choking back a gasp. I’ve reached one of the deeper cuts. “She really was. And my br—”

His words halt so abruptly, I wonder if I’ve somehow killed him.

“Fox?” I murmur. “Your…?”

“Nothing.”

He is quiet, his breath stuttering as I wash the dried blood from his back. Some of the wounds have already scabbed overnight; I pray there’s no grime trapped inside.

“I was a little shit in school.” I’m puzzled by the change in subject, but I don’t pursue the dog story. “The schoolmaster hated me. He loved to give me the strap.”

Perhaps Fox and I differ in our understanding of something happy. “This doesn’t sound like a good memory.”

“Well, every time I put crickets in his desk, it felt pretty good.”

I bite back a laugh.

“Once, I put a baby snake in his hat.”

“You didn’t.”

“And I broke—ah—” The cry only deters him for a moment. “—into the schoolhouse one night and wrote a rude story on all the slates, pieces of it on every single one. It took hours.”

I’m giggling now, helpless as I imagine the look his shenanigans must have brought to the schoolmaster’s face. “You were a wicked little boy.”

“Yes. Very.” He pauses to wince and jerk away from me as one of his cuts splits open at my touch.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m trying—”

“I didn’t make it easy for myself.” He’s rushing now, shoving his words together as if that will somehow keep the pain at bay. I di’n make it easy f’r m’self. “I could never sit still, and listening to him droning on and on was so boring. All I ever wanted was to go out and play. I’d get in trouble for talking to the other children, daydreaming, fidgeting, talking out of turn, generally being insolent…” He laughs. “Once, I just ran outside because I decided I wanted to go for a walk.”

“How old were you?”

“I dunno. Young.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice now that makes my heart ache. “Ma almost killed me when she found out.”

“And you were, of course, very sorry when you got in trouble.”

“No!” His laugh wraps around me like a cloak, a snatch of childish joy that has drifted from the past to offer us comfort for these precious, fleeting moments. “I remember enjoying my stroll very much. How could I be sorry for that?”

Another cut dribbles fresh blood down his back, and the spell is broken. With a hiss of annoyance, I tear another strip from my skirt to soak it up.

“Was it a happy one, then?” I keep my voice soft. “Your childhood?”

His unkempt mop of hair bounces with his nod. “Yeah. It was.”

Why am I suddenly blinking back tears?

“All right,” I say, hoping he can’t hear the tremor in my voice.  “I think that’s the best I can do.”

A dark stain, wet and rusty, glares up at me from where bloody water dripped onto my skirt.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

I drop my hands in my lap, trying not to dwell on how my hands, too, are stained. “It was nothing.”

“Won’t be nothing if—when—we get busted. Give me the flask.” He turns so we can face each other once again. “So they think I took it.”

“No.” I place it behind me, where he can’t reach. “You’re not taking the blame for me. I’m not afraid of them.”

The look on his face tells me he knows I’m lying. “They’re gonna figure it out.”

“No,” I repeat. “I’m the one who took it, so—”

The sound of hobnailed boots scrapes through the air, too quickly, so quickly I barely have time to think.

“Bree, please,” Fox says through gritted teeth.

I tent my legs and sweep the empty flask beneath the canopy of my skirt.

It isn’t the same officer from earlier. Rather, the junior constable from yesterday appears outside our cells. What’s his name? Michaelson.

Shit.

“Please,” he begins, his voice doused in sarcasm, “please tell me you two crooks are continuing your thieving ways in here.” The torchlight gives his eyes a maniacal gleam. “Because I would so love to find out that you’re bold enough—stupid enough—to steal from a constable.”

My earlier confidence disintegrates under Michaelson’s searing gaze.

“Where is it?” he asks softly.

How likely is it he’ll believe anything I say? “What are you talking about?”

“The flask that mysteriously disappeared from Officer Lenton’s belt. Where. Is. It.”

I frown. “Flask?”

Would it be better to confess? Give it back? His face gives no indication that either scenario would result in mercy.

Michaelson flips his attention to Fox. “Where is it?”

Fox just shrugs, silent.

The constable looks back to me, and I can tell—impossible though it should be since he wasn’t even fucking here when I took it—he knows. “Stand up.”

How foolish I was, believing I was ever in control. Sighing, I pull the flask out from underneath my skirt and toss it toward him. It clatters against the bars and hits the floor.

“Well, well.” Michaelson studies the flask for a moment. “And why did you take this, girl?”

Before I can even open my mouth, Fox speaks. “I made her do it.”

What the fuck? I shoot him a furious glare. “No, he d—”

“I…” The idiot next to me is racking his brain for a story as he speaks. “I… I wanted to see how loyal she still is to IA. To me.”

After a long pause, Michaelson pierces me with his gaze. “And? Are you?”

Great. Fox tried to help and ended up throwing me into a net. No matter how I answer, we’re in trouble—either he’s a liar or a manipulative bastard gang leader. Either I’m the thief or a stupid little girl following orders. Swallowing hard, I stare back. “What do you think?”

Michaelson smirks. “And did the fox-thief force your hand? Did he make you take it?”

“Yes, I did,” Fox says quickly. If I ever get my hands on him, I’m going to slap him for being a self-sacrificing moron.

Instead of reaching through the bars to retrieve the flask, Michaelson unlocks the door. I realize how egregiously I overestimated my abilities to run this fucking water-flask heist.

“You know what I think?” He steps inside. I scramble to my feet, unsure how that will help me—but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be sitting passively on the floor while he goes through with whatever he’s planning.

“Jesus Christ.” Fox is getting to his feet, too, pain written across his face—violent poetry inked into his skin, sweat glistening on his brow. Sit down, for fuck’s sake, I want to say. But he’s still talking, clinging now to the bars with his uninjured arm. “Leave her alone. She didn’t—”

Michaelson ignores him. “I think,” he says, grabbing my arm and yanking me toward the back wall, “that he’s as much a liar as he is a thief, and a bad one at that. And you? You’re a little bitch who was happy to let him take the fall for you, yes?”

“Get off me.” Trying to wriggle from his grip is useless. What am I supposed to say?

A bruising grip digs into my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “And not even a word of apology. Incredible.”

Is he serious? “Apology? You think I’m going to apologize?”

Michaelson smiles, as if this is the answer he was both expecting and desiring. “No.”

My back is pressed against the wall now, heart thundering in my chest. “I didn’t take it to drink, I took it to—”

Why am I even bothering? He doesn’t care. “You two want to play games?” His voice slithers into my ear. “Better understand the fucking rules.”

When he lets go of my arm, I try to jerk away, only to feel a sharp sting across my cheek.

“Don’t.” Fox’s voice cracks.

“Rule number one. Don’t forget it.” Michaelson closes a ring of cold iron over my right wrist. “It’s us who make the rules. Not you.”

I glare up at him, every thought  unintelligible except for one. “Fuck you.”

He slaps me again.

“Constable Hatchett says you two can cry in here together while you wait for your turn in the square,” he says, dropping my arm, making the chain rattle. “I don’t understand it, but fine. Try to rig the game in your favour—even think about stealing from one of us ever again—and I’ll fucking make you wish you’d never been born.” His gaze slides to Fox. “Both of you.

I can see the way Fox is shaking, and I have a feeling it isn’t from fear.

Unlike me.

I watch Michaelson stalk out of my cell, unable to follow, tethered now to the wall. The chain allows some freedom—but not enough to reach the door or the wall I share with Fox.

Michaelson doesn’t even look at me when he lets his foot, no doubt on purpose, knock over my untouched cup of water. I flinch at the tinny sound, at the sight of the liquid—that I should have gulped down while I had the chance—transforming into muddy sludge on the floor.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Fox is still clinging to the bars. “How was that necessary?”

The clang of the locking door echoes through the corridor.

“You really think you’re some kind of hero.” Michaelson pauses in front of Fox’s cell, making no effort to go inside. “You’re not. You’re nothing. The sooner you get that through your thick head, the better.”

“That’s not true.” I shuffle forward, trying to ignore the pull of the chain on my wrist. “Don’t listen to him.”

Michaelson laughs, turns on his heel, and walks away.

My knees give out on me the second he’s gone. I kneel, gasping softly, waiting for Fox to say the words I deserve to hear—I told you so.

Instead, once he, too, is on the floor, he asks quietly, “Are you all right?”

Nodding—all I can do.

“Did he hit you hard?”

I shake my head.

Surely, tears should be streaming down my face, carving ravines into my skin, burning my slapped cheek. But there’s nothing.

Once I can form words again, I ask him, “Are you all right?” He shrugs in answer. “Your back?”

“Still hurts like hell.” The tiniest flicker of a smile. “But it’s clean. Thank you.”

Maybe it’ll be enough to stave off infection. Maybe it will mean his last days here carry a smidgen less suffering.

How could I be sorry for that?

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Tagging: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @gala1981, @kixngiggles .

[Banner ID: A narrow horizontal, rectangular banner featuring a barred archway. The bars and the stone walls evoke the feeling of a dungeon or prison. There are burning candles on either side of the archway. The title of the story, The Prince of Thieves, appears in white text in the centre of the image. The author's username, abbreviated to LPS from littleperilstories, appears in the bottom right corner in partially transparent text. End ID.]

[whentherewerebicycles]

ok well i drove 50 min in moderately heavy traffic to get to this place only to discover that they accidentally sent my security credential to the washington dc office instead of the washington state office 🫠 then had to drive 35 min back (less traffic, at least?). kind of an annoying way to waste a morning but whatever i listened to music and thought about my story idea in traffic so at least there’s that. unfortunately this means i will have to go back sometime in the near future once they get it shipped over.

i spent a couple hours this morning prepping for the campus visit but then started overwhelming myself a little bit so i think i’m gonna gently dial that back for today and return to it later. i honestly think i could do most of the visit tomorrow and it would be just fine. the only parts that feel like big question marks are the job talk i have to give to faculty (on a prompt that will not be provided until a week or so beforehand) and an “informal workshop or something like that” i have to lead with students (they haven’t settled the details yet). but like, both of those will be fine! i’m just raring to get started on the prep work yknow and not having clear parameters means i will do the classic jes thing of going deeper and deeper into various rabbitholes until someone stops me lol.

to try to give myself some parameters:

in general, i want to approach the research/prep work less as “i must do this otherwise i won’t be prepared!!! what if someone grills me on the research on this hyper-specific topic!!!!” and more as “would doing this research be interesting to me and useful to my work as a teacher even if i weren’t prepping for an interview? if so, proceed.”

buzzwords and specific citations don’t matter! what matters is my ability to clearly communicate my big picture values as an educator and administrator, the concrete things i’ve done to enact those values in my past work, and the vision i have for building on that work in the future in this specific institutional context. if i start feeling overwhelmed or like i am beginning to flounder, i return to my core values, my concrete actions, and my vision. i trust that in an interview or job talk context i’ll be able to draw on specific examples to illustrate those things or use my deeper knowledge to answer trickier questions if they arise. 

to keep myself focused on the high-level / big-picture philosophy i want to convey, i think it might be useful to actually make a list of core values or guiding beliefs - so that i have a VERY clear sense of what i’m trying to communicate and a very concrete document to refer back to when i’m feeling a little at sea. i think that should probably be the first thing i do and the main focus of this week, before i let myself delve any further into researching random little topics that might come up in some hypothetical interview situation lol.

i want to remember something macky said, which is that most people would prefer to talk and work with someone who’s curious about the world they’re entering rather than hyper-focused on explaining how awesome they are and how much stuff they’ve done in the past. so i don’t want to let my little insecurities about whether i’m Really Qualified For This Job lead me to knowledge-dump or talk endlessly about myself to try to “prove” something. i want to go into this experience with the calm, grounded belief that this is work i am well equipped to do, so that i can keep the campus visit itself focused on engaging with students/faculty, asking lots of thoughtful questions about the school’s work and priorities, and just in general showing that i can be a good colleague/teammate who people would enjoy working with.

[nightroo]

May or may not have forgotten what I posted here myself months ago so the last post had a few repeats. oops.

Well I know for sure this one won’t because I stopped posting when I started the second semester, which is what this post is about. So the drawing above is the start of working with more complex shapes, using the ones we learned from last semester. This is also where things got interesting, since I could see the potential for architectural drawings.

There are a lot, and I mean A LOT of drawings like these in my sketchbook, I’m gonna show you only the ones I find interesting.

After that we went back a bit for cast shadows, which I have decided are my new mortal enemy in art. A long time ago it was rendering hair, but that’s nothing compared to this.

The amount of calculations you need to do for this and the different formulas for each shape make me wanna rip my hair off. And that’s before getting into more complex shapes.

They're not 100% correct but my teacher said the majority of people won’t notice anything wrong so I shouldn’t worry about it. I won’t until I need it for a personal project, then I’ll get very annoyed again.

After that nightmare I got rewarded with finally using colors to render for the first time!!! I love rendering with colors so I was very excited haha

The copper (right middle sphere) is my absolute favorite, and my teacher really liked it as well.

We also had a small lecture on arrows and ribbons/fabric and we got to render them with colors as well.

For all the colored drawings I used a combination of alcohol markers and colored pencils. The markers melted and blended the pencils and I could use this to mix colors I didn't have. For example, I didn’t have a red marker at all.

After that we had a fun exercise where we needed to either study an object or design our own. The purpose was to use the previous lessons about shapes in perspective, and the rendering of different materials. I went with a gun design, but not just any gun-this one is technically 3 guns, a pistol and an SMG that you can connect and form an assault rifle. So I designed each gun separately (somehow I managed to turn this exercise to designing 3 objects instead of one, leave it to me to make it harder on myself lmao), and thought about how they connect, making sure the chambers kinda align and stuff like that.

I don’t wanna brag but I got the highest grade in the class for this assignment. Mostly because I’m the only one that actually rendered the different materials (or tried to), but also because my teacher liked the idea and thought it was interesting, and something people would actually buy if it was real.

It’s not the best but I literally didn’t have a grey marker so I was pretty limited. I chose a stained-glass theme for some reason, I didn’t want to make it a normal looking gun. The scan made it a bit more contrast-y than it is irl.

After a huge break we came back and had one lesson of silhouettes, something I kinda knew but never went out and made studies of. The challenging part of this was the time limit, at the start we had a minute, but it went down to 30 seconds. We were allowed to go overtime but it wasn't considered good.

On the same lesson, we also had life drawing, using each other as models. We had to get the pose down in one minute, and then take that as a reference for a more detailed drawing. I chose to completely change the context at that point lol

The next lesson was about isometric perspective. I don’t think I’ve actually talked about this here, but I got scammed by a guy who asked me to make him a city island in isometric perspective, then when it came time to pay, he “took a vacation” for two weeks. Came back to tell me he’s definitely gonna pay me. Proceeded to disappear. Anyways I haven’t done isometric from that moment until this lesson, where we were given a prompt word and had to draw an environment following it. I used only colored pencils for this one because I forgot to bring my markers, but it was a nice restriction to only use 12 colors and try to combine them to make the rest. I really enjoyed this one since I got the freedom to make something cool.

(the prompts are top-to-bottom forest, COVID-19, underwater and space) my teacher walked up to my desk to see what I’m doing while I worked on the space one, and he said “you are crazy” every time he passed by. He showed everyone’s work around, and a lot of people liked mine :) The space one is based on a black hole btw, but if it was an eldritch horror.

The last lesson was a time for the teacher to review everyone’s work one by one, so most of the time we were waiting for our turn. He put up a pic of an old camera if any of us wanted to draw it, but I used it as a reference for a building because it reminded me of art deco architecture. After finishing that, I had an idea for a shrine kind of place, inspired by a spot I built for a friend’s minecraft server that we didn’t end up using. And I topped it off with Lykena and Eivrun sketches (that for Eivrun might turn into a full painting when it’s her turn)

The entire year my teacher was occasionally asking me if I’m not getting bored, because we were going through a lot of basics I was obviously proficient at already, but I always found something new to learn, no matter how small, even on topics I practiced a lot before. So I’d say this workshop was very useful for me. And besides, it’s always good to get critiques from a professional, and from people who are interested in art.

[ateezreactionsandscenarios]

Backfired

Pairing: Mafia! Kim Hongjoong x Reader

Genre: Angst, Mention of a panic attack, and a brief mention of blood!

CW: Mention of panic attacks, mentions of blood.

Word Count: 3056

Summary: Mafia Boss Hongjoong has brought you along on an important mission as his most trusted ally, or so he thought, when you blow their cover he knows punishment is needed to make sure mistakes like this don’t happen again but did he take the punishment a bit too far?

Part 2

Prompt List               MasterList         Buy me a Coffee

“Remember, he said to keep it clean.” Yeosang reminded you for probably the 10th time since you’d been on the rooftop. “Yeosang, give it a rest will you, I know what my orders are.” You snap back at him. Your boss Hongjoong had trusted you to take out their latest target and he made it very clear he wanted it done clean and to have no attention drawn. He had full confidence in you, after all, you were the only one he could fully trust, his greatest ally. You hadn’t been working for him long but he saw great potential in you, taking you under his wing the day you started and in no time he’d trained you to be the best assassin in the mafia. But your titles didn’t stop there, the mutual respect you and Hongjoong had for each other (and the possible sweet spot he had for you) meant you were a bigger part of his group than you made out to be, you were his second in command, you were the one he went to when deals had to be struck and stupid dinners needed to be attended and most of all the one he trusted the most to take out the bigger targets just like the one you were working on now.

Perched at your snipper you waited patiently for the target to come into view, the information given to you was that he’d pass by the big tree at the gates of the park at 1:15 on the dot, he did so every time he returned to work from lunch every day without fail, you’d also been given a detailed description and a rather blurry photo of what he looked like so you avoided killing the wrong person. You glance at your watch which read 1:10, just 5 minutes to go and it was game over for him, no witnesses, nothing to trace the assassination back to you, Yeosang, or the group, everything was going to plan. “5 minutes y/n, better keep an eye out.” Yeosang piped up again, not like he was really doing anything himself. “Yeosang, I swear, if you open your trap one more time or try to tell me how to do my job again this bullet will be going into your head instead.” You threatened, glaring at him as you did so. He held his hands up in surrender, returning to playing with the little stone on the floor.

1:13 and there he was, the other side of the park, clear as day. You took your stance peering through the sniper’s scope, ready to pull the trigger as soon as he was in place. “Ah shit.” Yeosang hissed getting to his feet. “Yeosang, get down! He’s almost in place if you get seen we’re in the shit.” 

“That’s not what you have to worry about right now...Witnesses.” Your heart started to race and for once in your career, you were nervous to take the shot. The target got closer and closer to where he needed to be, your window of time was shrinking, and fast. “Y/n, there’s a lot of witnesses, I don’t know what’s going on over there but there’s a lot of people.” You didn’t know what to do, either way, you were getting into shit, either you take the shot, killing the target and completing the mission but drawing a lot of attention which was going against Hongjoong’s instructions, or to avoid the attention you let the man walk away with his life ultimately failing a mission for the first time in your career. “Y/n, what are gonna do!?” Yeosang started to panic next to you, not making your thinking process any easier. “Will you shut the fuck up, I’m thinking.” 

“Well think faster we’ve got mere seconds to take the shot or not!” You sigh, weighing out your options you knew there was only one thing you could do, the one that would get you into less trouble. You had to let him go, even if it meant failing the mission you couldn't risk the amount of attention it would draw in. The target came into place, your finger still on the trigger but laying limp with no intention of pulling the trigger. “Y/N!” Yeosang hissed suddenly causing you to jump and as a result, pulling the trigger. “Shit!” You cried out falling backward from the snipper trying to process what you just did. “Y/n, what are you doing!? The witnesses.” Yeosang was in full panic mode at this point his breathing heavy as he tried to work out a way in which this could be fixed or how to break the news to Hongjoong. “I was going to let him walk away but then you had to open your mouth!” You peer over the side of the roof to see if by some sort of miracle you’d managed to pull it off. Well on the bright side you’d successfully eliminated the target, clearly indicated by the way the body lay limp in a slowly growing pool of blood, but the consequence now was there was a swarm of people rushing over to the body screaming and calling for help. “Fuck, what are we going to do?” Yeosang’s face was white as a sheet at this point, the blind panic he was in made small beads of sweat form on his forehead. “Look, he’s going to find out one way or another and I think he’ll go easy on us if we tell him ourselves.” You start to pack away your gear turning back to Yeosang who was just standing there like an idiot. “We need to get out of here and fast, you call Hongjoong and tell him exactly what happened while I pack this shit away.” He nods quickly turning on his heels and walking off to make the call. 

His hands trembling as he punched in the number, the dial tone making him feel sick to his stomach, Hongjoong would go easy on you, you’re his favourite, but the same couldn’t be said for Yeosang he didn’t want to know what was in store for him. “Is it done?” Hongjoong said as he answered the call making Yeosang’s stomach drop to his feet. “Boss, there’s been an issue a pretty big one too,” Yeosang said quietly into the phone making sure you couldn’t hear him. There was no response from Hongjoong, knowing he was waiting for him to explain he continued to talk. “Boss, there were witnesses around...a lot of them, I tried to tell her it was too risky to take the shot, we’d get caught, but she didn’t listen. She didn’t care about the witnesses, she took the shot. There’s a big crowd down there.” He could hear the heavy breathing he knew all too well, Hongjoong was furious, punishment was afoot, he was just hoping his story was convincing enough for him to be let off the hook and for only you to be left with the repercussions. “Tell Y/n I want a word with her when you get back.” And with that he hung up. The anxiety never left Yeosang, he might be in the clear with Hongjoong but you on the other hand he was going to have trouble with, but you were the lesser of two evils, you didn’t scare him as much as Hongjoong did.

“How did he take it?” You asked not looking up from the box you were packing quickly. “Do you really need to ask?” The anxious tone in his voice told you all you needed to know. With a sigh you shut the lid and hurried for an escape. “Come on then, we might as well get it over with.” 

Sitting outside Hongjoong’s office you bounced your leg feeling uneasy over what was to come. Yeosang had gone in first, you were hoping with him going first Hongjoong might relieve most of his anger on him and possibly go a little lighter on you...you hoped. The whole room was silent, not even the small mumble of shouting from the other side of the door. Hearing Hongjoong scream at Yeosang might have calmed your nerves but right now you had to deal with the agonising silence while you wait to be called in.

The door opened, snapping you out of your thoughts. You got to your feet only to be greeted by Yeosang who was hanging his head like a child who just got a scolding from his mother. “Good luck.” He mumbled, not making eye contact before leaving you. You step into the office, Hongjoong sat at his desk with his head in his hands as his fingers grip clumps of his hair in frustration. “Hongjoong, before you say anything let me...”

“No.” He cut you off looking you in the eye, you could see just from the way he looked at you how pissed he was. You pressed your lips together, doing as you were told and keeping quiet. “So you took the shot, knowing there were witnesses.” He started, for now he sounded calm. "I told you, strictly no witnesses, to keep it clean y/n." You opened your mouth to speak but seeing the way he shot you a warning look you quickly shut your mouth. "Do you have any idea how bad this can get because of your carelessness!?" You jumped a little when the tone of Hongjoong's voice suddenly rose almost to a shout, you just hoped he didn't notice. "Hongjoong, please let me explain." He sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest waiting for you to try and talk your way out of this. "I knew I was going to get in shit no matter what I did, there were only 2 options, let the target walk away or kill him and attract witnesses. I wanted to let him walk away."

"Then why didn't you, you took the shot y/n." Anger started to bubble inside you remembering the way Yeosang had royally fucked up the whole plan. "I was letting him go, I stayed at the gun in hopes there was a way I could still go through with the mission, I had no intention of pulling the trigger, but Yeosang..."

"Yeosang? Why is he brought into this?"

"He's the one who was panicking, he made me jump and that's when the trigger was pulled." Hongjoong rose from his seat, a small smirk on his face. This didn't look good. "Trying to push the blame on Yeosang for your carelessness?" You were astonished, how could he think that? "Yeosang was the one who called me to break the news, which you probably already know, but he told me you didn't care about witnesses, you wanted the target gone." Your blood was boiling, that little rat, to keep his own ass out of trouble he pushed it all onto you. "Y/n," He started, walking up to you. "I trusted you, you are my greatest ally, the one I trust the most." You felt a small pain in your chest, you knew all of this but he never outwardly told you so hearing it now while you're being scolded hurt on a whole new level. "How am I meant to trust you again?"

"THIS WASN'T MY FAULT, YEOSANG IS A RAT!" You screamed in his face doing the best you could to defend yourself but instantly regretting it as soon as you opened your mouth. His eyes went dark, fury burning inside him, no one dares talk back to him let alone raise their voice, and you just did both. Hongjoong didn't utter another word to you, he didn't need to, you knew what happened to people who went against him and that sent a surge of anxiety through your bones. Grabbing you by the wrist dragging you out of his office and down the hallway. You did all you could to fight back against his grasp, you knew what was waiting for you behind that door and it terrified you, he clearly forgot about your deep rooted fear. "Hongjoong please, anything but there, you know I can't do it!" You cried out on the verge of tears watching as the door got closer and closer. "You should have thought about that before answering back." He spat before throwing open the door and pushing you into the dark room before slamming the door on you making sire to lock it behind him.

The room was pitch black so much so to the point you couldn't see your hand in front of your face, the darkness was everywhere, it swallowed you whole and you could feel it, you could feel how the darkness had you in a tight grasp squeezing the air from your lungs. "HONGJOONG!" You screamed desperately banging on the door, tears streaming down your face as panic started to take over. You banged on the door for what felt like forever, hands surely bruised from the constant impact, but it was no use, he'd gone, he was long gone and you were alone in the dark. You slid down the door clutching your knees to your chest in an attempt to find some comfort, your breathing was getting heavier as your heart raced, hammering against your chest so hard you could almost hear it in the dead silence of the room. It felt like the whole room was closing in on you, you felt like you were suffocating no matter how much u panted or how deep a breath you took you were still breathless, it was like you were underwater. Sweat started to pump out of you from every inch of your body, you were so warm you were to the point you could have stripped down to nothing and still be sweaty but you were to terrified to even move an inch, literally scared stiff. You don't know how long you were in the room for could have been minutes could have been hours, you'd lost all sense of time and the longer you were locked up the worse your panic attack got until finally the last thing you remember was your whole body slumping to the floor.

Around 2 hours had gone by and Hongjoong thought you'd spent enough time locked away, maybe you'd have learnt your lesson by now, not only about talking back to him but also for going against orders. He didn’t think twice about your silence on the other side of the door as he casually walked up to it almost like you hand’t been locked in there for hours. “Well I think it’s been enough time Y/n.” He called out to you looking for the key to unlock the door, but now the silence made him uneasy. He was expecting an answer even if it was a blunt one but more silence met his ears. “Y/n?” Hongjoong opened the door only to find you slumped unconscious on the floor. His heart started racing as he ran up to you pulling you into his lap lightly tapping your cheeks to get you to wake up. “Y/n? Y/n wake up!” His voice became shaky after no response from you as you lay limp in his arms. You eventually came around, eyes fluttering open to look at him as he let out a big sigh of relief. “Y/n, what happened?” You looked at him confused for a second before looking around at your surroundings. Recognising the room you’d been trapped in you hastily climbed off him panicking yet again as the memories of the terror you just experienced flooded your mind once again. “Y/n, Y/n, calm down.” 

“Fuck you Hongjoong.” His eyes blew up wide, he had no clue where this was coming from, he’d understand if you were mad about the punishment but to react like this really had him stumped. “You of all people I’d have thought would never put me through this, you know how terrified I am of the dark and yet you fucking trapped me in here for fuck knows how long and all without a second thought.” The guilt washed over him as he put 2 and 2 together, he knew how terrified of the dark you were and he’d seen it first hand, he didn’t know how he could forget such a thing and if anything his heart broke. He wouldn’t openly say it, it just stayed as an unsaid thing between you both, he had such a soft spot for you, he didn’t know if it was because of the trust and understanding he had with you to the point he saw you as a friend, possibly his only friend, or if the feelings towards you were a little more than that. But right now he knew he had to make it up to you.

You pulled yourself up to your feet unsteadily, stumbling a little as your legs felt like jelly beneath you, he tried to help you steady yourself but you simply pushed him away not even wanting to look at him. “Y/n, please I completely forgot, please forgive me.” You didn’t even look back at him or show any sign of acknowledgement towards him as you walked out the door and as far away from him as you could get. “Y/n!” Hongjoong yelled running up to you, clutching your wrist trying to stop you going any further, but once again you forcefully pulled yourself free from his grasp and continued on your way. 

Hongjoong had no clue on how to make it up to you, the very fact you couldn’t even look in his direction right now made him feel so hopeless. He was never one to be able to handle the cold shoulder easily but now it was coming from you nothing else that was going on right now mattered, he didn’t care about what happened on the mission and what repercussions could be coming his way all he wanted to do right now was to show you in any way he could how sorry he was, how awful he felt, and how much you really meant to him. It was going to take a lot of time and effort but it would all be worth it in the end if it meant you’d talk to him again. He didn’t want to admit it, but right now he felt so hopelessly lost without you.

Tag list:   @kpopcrossworlds @kpopjust4u  @whatudowhennooneseesyou​  @8tinytings  @jenotation​ @grim-adventures58​ ​  @owjohny​  @ker1​

[ohimsummer]

only you, babe

this was supposed to be for a smut prompt LMAO got caught up in details and Jean being the most perfect bf ever

content: fluff, jean x reader, modern! au

When you brought up wanting to go shoe shopping, Jean couldn’t wait to take you to the mall; he was thrilled at the thought of spending money on you. He was chatty the entire way there as he inquired what colour you were thinking, what type you wanted, where you were gonna wear them first. His excitement was adorable to say the least. You found his constant interest in your life endearing. It felt good having someone care about something as small as your random purchase of shoes. That was Jean for you: always caring.  

Your boyfriend, being the gentleman he is, jogs over to your side and opens the door for you. Jean’s hand is extended to help you out of the car. He was so chivalrous, always being mindful of you and your needs, always there to lend a helping hand. You loved it.  

It doesn’t take long for you guys to arrive at the shoe store you had in mind. Your arm is intertwined with Jean’s, and fingers laced with his own. He radiates a warmth that pushes away the cool air in the mall. The alluring scent of his cologne is distracting, but you still find yourself drawing in deep breaths to take in more of the smell. Jean untangles himself from you for just a moment to pick up a pair of shoes he thinks you might like. They’re a cute, sort-of rose gold colour with a white midsole and laces. You turn them over in your hands, studying their basic design while Jean looks over other shoes in the isle.

“I don’t think I have anything to match these with, Jean.” He turns and examines the frown on your face as you try and find where he got the shoes from.

“Guess that means we’ll have to find you an outfit to go with it, hm?,” he answers. ” So, does that mean you like them?”

You nod before continuing with your concerns. "But, Jean, we just came here to get a pair of shoes.”

He’s quick to respond, "Looks like there’s a change in plans then.”

A giggle leaves your lips, and it’s music to Jean’s ears. He searches through the boxes until he finds a pair of the shoes that fit you. He doesn’t even need to ask; he already knows your size by heart.  

You guys spend a good half hour shopping in that one store alone. Jean is meticulous in choosing shoes for you, considering things you hadn’t even thought of. “Baby, you don’t like wearing stilettos, you said they make you walk funny. Also, you hate the colour red.”

You squint suspiciously at Jean’s statements, but you know he’s right. He somehow knows what you like better than you, but it’s all part of his mindfulness. He stores away minute details in his head about you, stuff that didn’t even seem significant in the moment. You barely recall a few months ago when your uncle gifted you a pair of heels for your birthday. You were showing Jean what they looked like over facetime as you struggled to walk a mere 10 feet in them across the room.

“I’m gonna fall and break my damn neck.,” you complain, and you glance at your phone to see the lovestruck look on Jean’s face as he smiles at you. “High heels are so hard to walk in.”

You think of the way Jean laughs with you when you eventually slip and fall on your butt. Or how, despite the giggles and guffaws he let out, he has an express look of concern in his eyes as he suggests you take a break from the heels so that you don’t injure yourself. It’s a happy memory, and though it feels a bit fuzzy and almost nonexistent, you know Jean remembers every bit of it.  

[rangergurlgleek1211]

Hey everyone. So in July on the 21st I turn the big 30. So I want to challenge myself by creating 30.. 1000 worded tarlos Fics. But I need your help. I want everyone to send me a line and I’ll have to write the mini fic around that sentence or two.

So this was originally for my birthday. But now it’s gonna be a series of prompts which I will upload through the month. Don’t worry I will fill them all at some point it just won’t be all in the same month. I hope you understand and don’t mind waiting. These fics might be longer now I have time to write them in more detail.

Also you can send a tag with it so for example .

“ I love you, I’m proud of you” ( fluff/hurt comfort)

Suggested lines:

"Actually TK, he is my ex-boyfriend..." (petty/funny jealousy) requested by @xtltokio

"What do you mean your forgot to pack it?" (Angst with a happy ending) Requested by @chaotictarlos

That first night TK, that night when I saw you at the bar I told myself "I'm going to marry him" (fluffy) Requested by @tarlos-spain

“I could really use a hug” (emotional hurt/comfort) Requested by Anon

"Nope, that is the last straw. This is where I draw the line." (Fluff/Hurt/Comfort) requested by @sapphire11

“Will you marry me?” (Fluff/sweetness) requested by anon

“ I can’t believe your mine” (fluff/sweetness) requested by anon

"Well...that's not what I expected to happen." (any category) requested by @sapphire11

“I’m sick of being the one who always makes everyone miserable and worried” (angst, hurt/comfort) requested by Anon

You’re driving me crazy. (Uncategorised) requested by anon

“That wasn't funny. Why did you do that?” (Funny/fluff) requested by anon

“I’ve missed you so much” “it’s only been three hours” (fluff) requested by anon

Tyler Kennedy Strand, get back here!" (Fluff) requested by anon

"Why didn't you say anything?" "How could I? You never returned my calls." (Angst w/optional happy ending). Requested by @pretendtofly

"You may think differently, but I love this about you" - (angst/comfort with good ending) requested by @xtltokio

“I guess I thought you were different” (angst+happy ending) requests by anon

"Their eyes met, suddenly they were alone in the crowd." (Fluff) Requested by @bubblesandroses8

“I trust you” (hurt/comfort and lots of feelsssss) requested by anon

“Baby, I love you, but your a danger magnet” (hurt/comfort, fluff) requested by me.

“What is it babe?” “Nothing I’m fine” “liar. Tell me what’s wrong” / version 2? "Babe, I know you're not fine, tell me what's wrong." (cute, emotional comfort/fluff) requested by anon

“ I can't believe they forgot, guess I'm easy to forget" (Angst with a happy ending) Requested by me.

“We should never have agreed to let our parents help plan the wedding.” (Fluff) requested by anon

"I wish I could be brave like you" (angst with a happy ending) Requested by @bonheur-cafe

“Wait. Don’t go.” (Fluffy) requested by @detective-giggles

"and that's why I married you" (fluff) requested by @xtltokio

Please help me by rebloging with your friends as I don’t think I’ll get many suggestions otherwise.

[avintagekiss24]

WE LOVED WITH A LOVE THAT WAS MORE THAN LOVE || STEVE ROGERS

pairing: Steve Rogers x black!reader ; minor pairings: peter parker x michelle “mj” jones, andy barber x black!reader, sam wilson x black!reader, ransom drysdale x black!reader, bucky barnes x black!reader || word count: 19,080 || warnings: smut, sex, gang bang/multiple sex partners m/m/m/m/m/f, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), biting, marking, anal sex, hand job, nipple play, cult-like gathering, mentions of voodoo, voodoo lore, cult rituals

authors note: it’s here! took me forever. i wanted to post this much earlier, but the election week threw me off my schedule so this got pushed because i had another deadline to meet for another challenge. this is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​​ once upon a midnight dreary challenge! i chose “believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see”, an invitation to a stranger’s party, and a cultish gathering for my prompts. again, i got a little help from my girl @tropicalcap​​ in helping me piece together a few plot points.

just a quick note :: steve never goes into the ice and the government doesn’t give him the serum... his transformation is achieved in a different manner. therefore, bucky’s transformation is also a little different than canon.

manip of peter & mj by sidewalk manips (i think they’re on instagram... not sure, i found it on google) // divider by @whimsicalrogers​

MONDAY

The ornate envelope in your hand is heavy. It’s decorated with thin, gold leaf, hand drawn designs, almost resembling the intricate henna leaves. Your name is scrolled across the front in big, black Old English calligraphy— hand written as well; you can just tell. You flip it over in your hand, the weight of it making a soft thud when it rests against the heel of your palm. A red wax seal is pressed against the flap and the back of the envelope, two initials carved deep— S.G.R.

Flipping the envelope back over in your hand, you press your lips together in a hard line. Junk mail is getting really fancy now-a-days. You blink at the front, reading and then rereading your name. A tinge of something— you’re not sure what, pulls at your stomach, making it constrict as your breath deepens harder than before. You even stop walking. You just stare at the envelope, drawing your bottom lip in between your teeth as you blink down at it.

It’s just unsettling. The weight of it, the attention to the little details of the writing and the designs. It’s anything but junk mail, but the tiny shards of anxiety that are prickling up against your skin don’t want you to think too much into it.

You shove it to the back of the pile of mail in your hand and continue flipping through it as you walk down the hallway towards your apartment, your purse bouncing against your hip as you move. Once inside, you throw the mail down first, then your keys, before you turn on your heel and move towards your bedroom, already tugging out of your blouse.

-

The TV is nothing more than background noise at this point. You’re curled up on your couch, a bowl of popcorn in your lap and a glass of red wine in your left hand as your eyes flit across the screen of your iPad. You scroll slowly with your right index finger, gobbling up a Stucky fic on ao3. Your eyes widen at the written words before you, your mouth dropping open as your heart starts to beat just a little harder— you’d die if anyone at work ever found out that you spend your free time reading about Bucky Barnes getting his back blown out by Captain America— but nobody told them to be so attractive. It’s their fault, really.

There’s a heavy knock at the door, but you don’t budge. You just push back against the pillows and keep your eyes on the illuminated screen as the door opens, “Take your shoes off.” A heavy sigh greets your ears seconds later, drawing a smile onto your lips as you throw your eyes quickly towards your little sister, “House rule.”

She rolls her eyes hard and toes at her sneakers— making sure to kick them up against the wall so the thuds rumble through the apartment— you know, for added drama. She pulls her bag over her head and drops it to the floor before padding across the carpet and plopping down next to you.

“You readin’ the one I sent you?” she asks, grabbing the popcorn out of your lap, “Can we order a pizza?”

“Yes and yes.” You answer absentmindedly as your eyes nearly pop out of your skull at the smut on your screen, “MJ!”

She laughs, scrunching up her nose as she pops some popcorn into her mouth and nods slowly as she focuses on the tv, “I told you it was nasty.”

“You didn’t say it was this nasty, good God.”

The younger woman scoffs as she throws her loose, wavy hair over her shoulder, “But you steady readin’ it though.”

You cut your eyes towards her, “I didn’t say that I don’t like nasty, just that it’s nasty. I think I have a coupon up on the counter for Tony’s if you wanna order now.” MJ is up on her feet as soon as the words leave your mouth, “Get some bread sticks too.”

The rummaging MJ does in the kitchen blurs with the screams from the television as you start to read again, losing yourself quickly back in the BDSM world the author has so vividly painted. You leave a kudos and a quick comment before tossing your iPad to the side and lift your eyes to your sister again, blinking as you find her leaning up against the counter, the weird envelope in her hand.

“The fuck is this?” she asks, her lip snarled, eyes squinted as she turns it over in her hand, “Why’s it so heavy?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh a little, “I got it in the mail today. It gives me the creeps.”

MJ moves around the coffee table and falls next to you again, tossing the coupon at you before sliding her finger underneath the flap. You grab her wrist before she goes to open it, tutting softly, “Don’t. Just leave it.”

“Why?”

“Because! I’m gonna throw it out.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m opening it.”

“Come on MJ—”

She slides her finger underneath the flap before you can stop her again, breaking the wax seal in two. You huff as she pulls out the 5x7 piece of heavy cardstock, then tips the envelope to lodge whatever was weighing it down free. A brooch falls into her palm, both of you leaning up to inspect the intricate piece of jewelry. It’s floral in design— pearls, or what look like pearls, placed strategically between the little, diamond encrusted, platinum leaves. Three pearls are bunched in the middle—  the center of the flower, with three larger diamonds outlining them.

“Holy shit, is this real?” MJ asks, lifting it up and turning it over, “Holy fuckin’ shit.”

You shake your head, “It can’t be. There’s no way.”

“It looks real.”

“No,” you scoff, waving her off, “It’s costume.”

She shoves it into your palm, “Feel that thing! It’s heavy as fuck, that ain’t costume jewelry.”

You furrow your brow as you let it sit in your palm, feeling it. It looks old— really old, like something that would have been worn back in the 1800s. You flip it over, bringing it up to your face as you spot another set of the S.G.R. initials engraved in the back of one of the small leaves.

“Fuck.”

The word slips out of your mouth effortlessly as you eye the jewelry and lick your bottom lip. You glance over at MJ who stares back at you with wide, hazel eyes, her lips parted, “See? That shit is real.”

You point at the card in her hand, swallowing quickly before you clear your throat, “What does that say?”

She takes a breath as you push your side into hers, your eyes scanning the writing, “We request the honor of your presence this Friday, October 31st, 2020 at 1543 Asher Ln. 8pm. No extra guests. S.G.R.” she slides her eyes towards you, “You know somebody with those initials?”

You blink, racking your brain, “No. I don’t— I don’t think so, at least.”

“Well, he or she obviously knows you.”

You grab the invitation from her, reading it again before you turn it over, hoping to find something else scribbled on the back. You drop your hand to your lap when you don’t and zero your gaze in on the television as it starts to tunnel.

“Bro,” MJ laughs quickly, “This is some freaky deaky shit.”

You eye the white invitation once more, reading it over again and again— as if you’re missing something, “What, um,” you start absentmindedly, “What do you mean?”

“This is some Eyes Wide Shut shit, sis!”

You scoff again, rolling your eyes as your shoulders slump, “Stop it MJ.”

“Girl,” she laughs harder, clapping her hands and letting her head fall back against the couch, “You gonna go?”

“No!” you squeal at her audacity, tossing the invitation and brooch on the coffee table, “It’s obviously some kind of joke or something.”

“That is no joke! The brooch has got to be at least ten g’s, easy.”

“It’s not real. That shit’s not worth ten dollars.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, prude.”

You feel anger flushing through your veins, your face heating up as you stand quickly and walk into the kitchen, “I’m not a prude, Mary Jane.”

“Oooh, my full name,” she mocks, “What are you gettin’ mad for?”

“I’m not mad, I told you that thing gave me the creeps. Everything is a joke to you.”

“I’m not jokin’! Somebody obviously went through a lot of trouble to send you that, I’m just callin’ it as I see it.”

You down the rest of the wine in your glass and quickly pour another, bringing it to your lips as you rub the back of your neck with your free hand, “It’s some kind of prank.” you exhale, taking another sip, “I’m throwing it away.”

MJ rolls her eyes again, grabbing your iPad before she props her feet up on the small, square table in front of her, “Sure, sure. Yeah, somebody sends a diamond encrusted brooch and a handwritten invitation just for funsies. Got’cha.”

You close your eyes and take another gulp of wine, using it to stop yourself from saying something that will more than likely dissolve your evening into a fight. You swallow slowly, pushing the smooth alcohol down your throat and letting it settle and warm in your belly.

“1543 Asher Ln. is a real house, just so you know. Pops right up on Zillow.”

You sigh loudly.

“And,” she starts, dragging out the end of the word, “It’s only fifteen minutes from here.”

“Are you gonna order the pizza or what?”

“You should go, I’m just sayin’.”

“I’m not gonna,” you stop yourself as you glare over at her, her eyes and posture taking that MJ tone as your voice gets sharp, “I’m not going to a strangers house. Okay? Drop it.”

“There’s no reason not to go.” You stare at her for a few seconds. You squint your eyes and let your mouth fall open as you scrunch your face, honestly in disbelief, “What?” she shrugs, “I literally met Peter last year at a party of someone who, to this day, I still don’t know. I can’t even remember how I ended up there.”

“MJ—”

“Don’t MJ me. It could be fun!” She smiles big as you sit next to her again, “You need to live a little. Get some dick, man.” You cut your eyes back over at her and lift your middle finger, “I mean it!” she laughs again, “There is nothing more fun than a Halloween party.”

You lean forward, reaching for the brooch. You roll it around in your palm, keeping your eyes on it as MJ babbles on. You eye the invitation as it lays on the table. The anxiety is back— constricting your stomach, making you itchy and jumbling your thoughts. It’s like it’s screaming at you— like something or someone is trying to get your attention.

You reach forward and slide the invitation to the edge of the table with your fingertips. You grab it swiftly and stand again, feeling MJ’s eyes on your back as you move into the kitchen. Shoving the invitation, the envelope, and the brooch in a drawer, you push the notion right out of your mind.

You’ve never entertained MJ’s crap before and you aren’t going to start now. Out of sight, out of mind.

TUESDAY

There’s a flower arrangement sitting on your desk the next morning. It’s lively— all of the flowers a different shade of pink. The stocks are a blush-pink, the roses spanning the pink spectrum. The spray roses are more purple than anything, but they bring the whole thing together.

There’s a small card leaning up against the glass vase, your name scribbled across the front. You pluck it up quickly and flip it over.

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

Your purse falls off your shoulder and down your arm as your eyes go wide. You turn quickly, scanning the bullpen as people move about but you’re not exactly sure what or who you’re looking for. You drop your purse into the chair front of your desk and walk out to your assistant.

“Did you sign for these?” you ask, your voice slightly raised and agitated.

Nakia glances up at you slowly over the rims of her glasses, clearly picking up on your demeanor, “Uh, yeah? ‘Bout half an hour ago… everything okay?”

“What flower shop are they from?”

She shrugs, widening her eyes, “I don’t know, it came by delivery service.”

You tug at your suit jacket around your hip and let out a huff, “Don’t accept anymore, okay?”

You turn on your heel before she can answer and stomp back into your office, closing the door behind you. Heat ripples through you as you grab the handset of your phone and bring it to your ear, angrily dialing your sister’s number. You lean against your desk, arms crossed over your chest as it rings, eyes shifting around the room.

“Yo.”

“There are flowers sitting on my desk.”

You’re met with silence for a few seconds, “... okay?”

“There from someone else that I don’t know,” you huff, “The initials are J.B.B. this time.”

“Oh shit, I forgot about that. Okay, so two dudes wanna rail you at this party. That’s my kind of Friday night, sis.”

“Will you cut it out!” you hiss angrily, turning to face the windows behind you, “This is freaking me out!”

“Oh my god,” you hear her moving around, like sheets and pillows being rumpled until a muffled, groggy moan sounds, “Peter… wake up… wake the fuck up… what did you say about that weird party thing?”

You roll your eyes and tap your foot nervously as the two go back and forth. There’s shuffling again on her end, and then a heavy sigh, “I think it’s a masquerade party.”  Peter Parker finally says, his words slurred with sleep, “That’s where—”

“I know what a masquerade party is Peter, thank you.”

“Oh yeah, okay, sorry, so,” he starts, shuffling around again, “I heard for the past couple of years that somebody has been throwing a secret masquerade party at different places around town.”

“How did you hear that?”

“So, there’s this girl I had a class with last year, her name was uh, Liz. She said her older sister was invited to it. And then, there was this other girl, Shuri, she also said that her sister got invited one year too. I didn’t get the full scoop from Shuri though cuz she ended up transferring to Columbia, which, okay, yeah it’s a great school and all, but—”

“Peter,” you say, closing your eyes, “Focus please.”

“Right, sorry. So, yeah, it could be that party. Liz said her sister got the same brooch.”

The hair on the back of your neck stands up. You clear your throat as you shift, cutting your eyes back to the vase of roses sitting in the corner of your glass desk, “Did she go?” you ask trepidatiously, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand.

“Uh, yeah. She said it was pretty chill.”

“Pretty chill? The fuck does that mean?”

“Sorry, um, she said her sister said it was fun. Plenty of alcohol, plenty of food. But, because of the whole masquerade thing, she never found out who invited her.”

Put it on speaker, your sister's voice rings, then a sharp, sudden sound of skin on skin followed by a squeal from Peter, “Ow! Okay!”

“So,” you start, your fingers picking at the spiral telephone cord, “They didn’t say anything weird happened or anything? They’re both okay?”

“Liz said that her sister said she talked to some blonde guy for a while. He was asking her a bunch of like, weird, artsy questions but she thought it was all a part of the allure of the party so she just went with it. Other than that,” Peter trails off, and you can practically see him shrugging as if he’s right in front of you, “She said it was fun.”

“See? Everything is on the up and up.” MJ adds, “You should go.”

You don’t answer right away. You slide the small card towards the edge of your desk, picking it up again.

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

“Peter, thank you, sorry for waking you up.” You say a few moments later, clearing your throat, “I’ll call you later MJ, okay?”

“Okie,” she purrs into the phone, “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Your answer is distracted— quiet and airy as you set the handset back into the base. You stare back at the flowers, chewing on the inside of your cheek as something starts to gnaw at you. Something deep. You set the small card back up against the vase and shake your mouse to wake up your computer, forcing yourself into your emails, the small sentiment running circles in your mind.

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

WEDNESDAY

You’re barely home from work when there’s a knock at your door— in fact, you only have one shoe off when the thud sounds through your apartment. You sigh, slipping your pump back onto your foot before you stand from the bed and move to the door. Peering out of the peephole, you spot a FedEx driver, his hands full of packages.

“Hi,” you greet as you open the door, “Goodness, these are all for me?”

“As soon as you sign for them they are.” He laughs, handing you the small pen and handheld scanner.

You sign quickly as he places the boxes just inside your door, and wiggle your fingers as he makes his leave, hustling back down to his truck. You keep your eyes on the boxes as you close and lock the door— you didn’t order anything. You haven’t ordered anything in at least a week and when you do, it’s always from Amazon. All of these boxes are unmarked, except for the shipping label, that has no return address.

An envelope is taped to the side of the largest box and based on how your week has been going, you already half know what to expect. You rip it away from the box and slide your finger underneath the flap, pulling out another handwritten, five-by-seven card.

Hope it fits… A.S.B.

You shove the card back into the envelope and toss it aside before grabbing the large box, sitting it on the bar. With the help of your house key, you rip into the box, popping open the flaps once the tape is broken down the middle. You gasp as you pull out a black and gold ball gown, your mouth dropping open as your eyes go wide.

The corset top is strapless and intricately hand woven with small, black beads in a leafy design. A layer of gold tulle spills down an even longer layer of black tulle, all the way to the floor. The dress is thick— heavy, as you hold it up in your hands. You search for a tag, sewn in initials, something to try and place where this could have possibly come from, but find nothing, as if it’s one of a kind. You splay it out over the couch and move to the second box— your interest now suddenly piqued.

You pop open the second box to find a slightly smaller box inside. Tucking your fingers underneath the rim, you pull the top away and gasp again— this time bigger— and take a physical step back. You blink stupidly and you fumble around in your pants pocket, trying to find your phone. You slam your finger down on MJ’s name and bring it to your ear, lifting a gold Giuseppe heel up in the air.

“You need to get your ass over here, now.”

-

There’s total silence in the apartment as you, MJ, and Peter stare at the Giuseppe heels and a handful of jewelry. The most jaw-dropping being a thin rose gold chain adorned with ninety one (Peter counted), different shaped diamonds arranged to resemble the leaves of a vine. At the center, they all meet at a large— museum caliber— yellow diamond.

“So let me get this straight,” MJ starts, placing her hands on her hips, “Those are Giuseppe heels, and not just any Giuseppe heel, the Cruel Crystal Giuseppe heel, that they don’t even make anymore,” she emphasizes with her hands, “A necklace with a diamond that bigger than my goddamn fist, and a, hang on a second,” she closes her eyes, holding up her hands to add to the drama of it all, “A hand stitched ball gown?”

“Don’t forget the mask,” Peter breathes heavily, “That’s, I’m pretty sure that’s made outta pure crystal, so,”

You play with your bottom lip nervously, your left arm thrown over your stomach as you slowly turn your head towards your sister and her boyfriend, “Did your friend's sister get all of this shit too?”

The young, brown haired man scratches his head as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other before shrugging and expelling a breath out of his mouth, “I mean, I…” he shrugs again, completely at a loss, “I don’t know.”

“Maybe we can google the initials or something. Where’s your iPad?” MJ asks, turning on her heel and rushing into your bedroom.

“I tried that already,” you call, grabbing the shoes from the counter and slipping your feet into it, “Oh my god, they fit.” You whisper more to yourself than to anyone else in the room.

MJ rolls her eyes, “Well, what came up?”

“Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes,” you answer as you twirl around in a circle, completely enamored with your shoes, “So, nothing.”

Peter gasps and places his hands on his chest as his face fills with a quick fear, “Fuuuckkk, what if it’s them?”

You and MJ both scoff, “Don’t be stupid, Parker.” MJ says.

“It could be! You don’t know!”

“Ok, yes, Captain America and the Winter Soldier are behind this. Sure,” she cuts her eyes towards you, “He has such a crush on them. Did you try the third set of initials?”

You nod as you stare down at your feet, turning your right foot slightly, watching as the gold glints underneath the light, “Yeah, no luck there either. Just random ass dudes— look at how good these look on my feet, sissy.”

She waves you off as she sits on the coffee table, her face being lit up by the light of your iPad, “Okay, A.S.B., Andrew Stephen Barber, assistant district attorney— could be him… he’s cute at least.” she shrugs.

“I doubt it,” you let out a breath, “I should try on the dress, huh? I mean, you know, just to see.” MJ throws you a look while Peter glances between the two of you nervously, “What? I’m still not going, I just want to see how it looks.”

“Uh huh,” MJ squints her eyes, following you as you walk back into your bedroom, already pulling down the zipper on the back of your shirt, “Sure.”

THURSDAY

MJ💕 12:37pm

Lunch? I’m right around the corner from your building

You hear your phone chime, but you don’t tear your eyes away from your screen immediately. Voices come from the speaker on your phone as you type fervorously. You’re only really half listening— this meeting has nothing to do with you, but, you’re the account manager, so you have to at least try and seem interested while you work on another contract with a much more lucrative, expensive company.

The iPhone rattles again against your glass desk and you snap it up this time, your eyes scanning the message. Right on cue, your stomach rumbles.

You 12:40pm

Sure, sure. Chinese?

MJ💕 12:41pm

Yum.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you open your SPARK messenger and tap on Nakia’s name. She knows you and MJ’s order like that back of her hand, and messages you back minutes later to confirm the food will be on it’s way within the hour. You return your attention to the large computer screen before you, pushing your glasses up your nose as you shift your vision to the second monitor slightly to your left.

There’s a small tap a few minutes later, followed by Nakia’s beautiful face peeking in as she mouth’s MJ before opening the door wider to let your lanky sister breeze into the room. You hold your fingers up to your lips as the chorus of voices still speak from your speaker, but keep your eyes on her as she pulls her bag over her shoulder and head and plops down in one of the plush seats in front of your desk.

She makes herself busy on her phone, no doubt texting Peter as you return to your emails and contract, losing twenty or thirty more minutes.

“Okay guys, I’ll talk to you next week right?” You ask, your fingers hovering over the speaker button, “Okay… alrightly, buh-bye.” you slam your finger down on the small, round button and widen your eyes as you let out an audible breath, “Sorry, sissy.”

MJ holds up her hand, her face still buried in her phone, “You’re an important lady, I get it.”

“I thought you had class today?”

“That’s the good thing about having a pregnant Professor,” she smiles, wiggling her eyebrows, “Morning sickness apparently lasts throughout the day.”

Another tap comes at the door before Nakia emerges again, this time her hands full of food, “Here we are ladies,” she smiles as she sits the bags on your desk, “This also just arrived for you too.”

Your face twists in confusion as she hands you something wrapped in plain brown paper. There’s a black ribbing wrapped around it, tied in a neat little bow in the center of the package. It’s light whatever it is. Your eyes drift slowly over to MJ, who sits up in her seat, peering at the package in your hands before she blinks up at you— a knowing look on her face.

“Thanks Nakia,” you smile, trying not to draw her attention to all of the air being sucked out of the room.

MJ’s phone rings just as Nakia exits the room. You hear her mumble a greeting, but your attention is quickly sucked back to your hands. Curiosity gets the best of you. You pull at the ribbon and toss it aside before curling your fingers around the edges to find where it’s taped together.

Just as your fingers find where the edges meet, Peter Parker’s voice fills the room, “Am I on speaker?”

“Yes!” MJ hisses, “Talk.”

“Ok, so, I was talking to Liz about the weirdo party her sister went to last year. She got the same packages throughout the week! Monday, she got the invite, Tuesday she got flowers, Wednesday she got a dress, shoes, and a masquerade mask, and Thursday she got—“

“A book of poems,” you breathe, the sound low and airy, “By Edgar Allan Poe.”

“Exa-Exactly.” Peter stutters.

It’s delicate, this book— the pages. You thumb through them gently, smelling the authenticity of it— the rarity. It’s been kept in pristine condition but it still looks old, the pages a dull brown; crisp and brittle to the touch. Your heart thumps against your chest as the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. Your throat constricts as you swallow hard, nerves filling your body.

“Which one is it?” Peter asks softly, the weight of this affecting him through the phone.

“Tamerlane and other poems.” You recite as you close the small book and run your fingers over the front cover.

MJ scrambles to her feet and scurries around you, her eyes plastered on your computer monitor as she starts to type.

Peter clears his throat, “Liz’s sister got a copy of Al Aaraaf. It was like, a first edition or something.”

“Fuck,” the obscenity falls from MJ’s lips with ease, but with a gentle discomfort, “This says there’s less than twelve copies of this in existence— twelve. I mean, how do you even get your hands on something like this?”

You can’t even speak. You just sit there, feeling the small book in your hands, staring blankly at the cover. Peter and MJ start to bicker back and forth as they try to make heads and tails of all of this. You aren’t taken by the book exactly, yeah, you're holding one of maybe twelve copies left in the entire world, but there’s something else gnawing at you in the pit of your stomach— something that’s been just at the tip of your subconscious all week long.

It’s like—

“Was Liz’s sister into Edgar Allan Poe?” You ask suddenly.

“Not at all,” Peter answers quickly, “She thought it was weird.”

“And the dress and the shoes? Did they um,” you blink up at MJ but avert your eyes just as quickly, “They didn’t fit, did they?”

There’s silence from Peter. You can almost see him, standing there in the middle of the college campus with a dumbfounded look on his face— his fingers threading through his hair, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide, “No,” he answers after a slow minute or two, “They were too small.” He goes quiet again before he says, “How did you know that?”

The feeling that’s been gnawing at you all week. You’ve felt like someone’s been looking for you. There’s been this… pull— somewhere deep inside of you— like someone is calling for you.

What scares you is that you want to answer.

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting,” MJ recites slowly.

“Dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before,” you finish for her, “I used to read that to you when you were a kid.”

“He’s your favorite.”

“My absolute favorite,” you laugh nervously, “I wrote my thesis on Al Aaraaf when I was in school.” You fall back into your chair, “That dress fit me like a glove, MJ—  the shoes too.”

She shakes her head quickly, her eyes closed as she slowly comes to the realization that you are. She runs her thin fingers through her wavy hair before she rests her hands on her shoulders, squeezing to comfort herself, “Do you think it’s—”

You shrug, “It could be.”

MJ drops her eyes from yours.

“What’s happening?” Peter’s voice sounds again, “What— what do you mean? Who do you think it is?”

“I’m adopted,” you say slowly, a soft smile on your face as you keep your eyes on MJ, “I was two, maybe three when they took me from my mom. I was placed with our parents, MJ’s biological parents, really quickly— I don’t remember a whole lot, but I remember someone reading Edgar Allan Poe to me, specifically Tamerlane.”

“Fuck,” Peter breathes, “You think it’s her? Your mom?”

You glance towards the floor, a small card catching your eye. You pick it up gingerly and turn it over, your eyes scanning over the handwritten note.

For passionate love is still divine

I lov’d her as an angel might

With ray of the all living light

Which blazes upon Edis’ shrine

See you tomorrow, love — H.R.D.

You drag your eyes back up to MJ’s as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, “It’s definitely someone that knows her.”

FRIDAY

You don’t go into work.

Peter and MJ have been at your apartment all day, helping you piece this crazy story all together. Liz’s sister, Shuri’s sister— they were all you. Same age, all of you born within days of each other. All born at the same hospital. All adopted around the same age.

Someone is looking for you; and has been for years.

You and MJ are now on opposite sides about this party than you were at the beginning of the week. You want to go. You need to; especially if it’ll lead you to your mother. MJ voiced her newfound concerns, to the point where she shed a few tears— but, being the big sister you are, you brushed them away and explained it as best you could. You just need to know if she’s out there—  what these people, S.R.G., J.B.B., A.S.B., H.R.D. know about her.

So, she helps you get ready. She curls your hair and pins it up. She paints your nails and helps you into the dress before she leans against the door jam of the bathroom, watching you do your makeup— just like she used to when you were a teenager. Peter knocks on the bedroom door before he barely opens it and shoves his arm inside, an envelope hanging off his finger tips.

“Hey guys,” he says softly, “This just came.”

“You want me to read it?” MJ asks, tapping it against her fingers. When you nod, she tears the flap and slides out the card, “A chariot will await you at 7:30 sharp… but please take your time. S.T.W.”

“What time is it?”

She glances at her phone, “7:25.”

You let out a shaky breath. You lean into the mirror and dab at your lips, removing any excess lipstick before you push back again and drag your eyes down your reflection.

“You know,” you start, keeping your eyes on your painted nails, “I don’t remember my mom at all. Not her face, not her voice, but I remember a man— my dad, I guess.” You blink back towards your reflection, squinting your eyes as the gears turn in your head, “I just remember blonde hair and a deep voice reading those poems to me. I remember feeling safe when he held me.”

MJ drops her eyes and nods slowly as she rakes her fingernails up and down her forearm, “I get why you wanna go. I do.”

“I just need to make these fragments make sense, you know? I remember these other guys too— which,” you shrug, “Would make sense since mom said that my real mom lived in a commune, but,” your words drift off.

“Remember when you thought Steve Rogers was your dad?”

You laugh wholeheartedly, “I do! I just always felt like I knew him, I don’t know why.”

You still do— feel like you know him.

“So, yeah. I get it, I really do. It’s gotta be hard not knowing where you come from— thinking that every stranger you meet, or every person you see could possibly be someone you used to know.” MJ sighs as she meets your gaze through the mirror, “You look great. You always look great.”

“Thanks, sissy.” You bunch your dress in your hand and lift it gently as you step towards her, “I’ll be fine.”

She nods quickly, pursing her lips as she cuts her eyes away from yours, “I know that.”

You smile and tilt your head towards her gaze to grab her attention again, “I’m your big sister, you know. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, I just—” she shrugs, “I don’t want you to forget me.”

“MJ,” you start, grabbing her elbow when her chin quivers, “This has nothing to do with you or mom or dad. I love you guys, you’re my family, that will never change. I promise you, okay?” you pull her into a tight hug, rubbing her back, “You will always be my sister— no one will ever take that away from us.”

“Guys,” Peter calls, “A red Audi just pulled up out front, like, an expensive one.”

“Your chariot awaits.” MJ laughs as she pulls away from you, wiping the wetness on her cheeks away.

You thread your fingers with hers and walk out into the living room where Peter smiles softly. You hug him too— he’s the best thing that could have ever happened to your sister.

“You guys are staying here for the night, right?” you ask, grabbing your clutch.

“We’re not leaving until you come back.” MJ answers.

“Okay. I’ll um, I’ll stay in touch throughout the night, okay?”

MJ nods, “We’ll stay by our phones.”

You head for the front door, opening it quickly before you step out into the hallway, “Don’t have sex in my bed,” you say suddenly, whipping back around to face the couple, “Please.”

“Oh my god,” Peter scoffs, rolling his eyes as a red tint flushes through his face, “We won’t.”

“Yeah, we’ll have sex on the couch.” Your shoulders slump as you squint at MJ, her laughter rolling off her tongue, “Just joking. Have fun, please text us.”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you too. Be careful.”

You have to turn away from them abruptly or you’d never leave. Grasping your phone and the small clutch you borrowed from MJ, and your crystal mask in your hands, you head for the elevator. It’s a slow ride down to the main floor— silent too. Nothing but the sound of your racing thoughts bouncing back and forth in your mind. The metal box slows to a stop, a soft ding fills the air, and then the world slides back into view— a sleek, red Audi visible through the glass front doors.

A man steps out of the driver seat as you walk towards the door and push through, tightening your grip on your dress. He moves around the car, stopping just at the back door. You notice his eyes dip to your chest and you can’t help but follow his gaze. The flower shaped brooch catches the artificial light of the street lights and each little diamond starts to glint and gleam, even the pearls taking on a new shine.

The driver smiles softly, “The invitation you received was handwritten in an Old English font. The initials at the bottom?”

A test.

“Oh, um, S.G.R.”

“Those flowers you received on Tuesday were beautiful—  white carnations, right?”

You shake your head, “Pink roses.”

“I read a poem the other day, I can’t remember what it was called though. It went something like ‘know thou the secret of a spirit bow’d from its wild pride into shame’…”

“O! Yearning heart! I did inherit thy withering portion with the fame, the searing glory which hath shone amid the Jewels of my throne, Halo of Hell! And with a pain not hell shall make me fear again— o craving heart, for the lost flowers and sunshine of my summer hours,” you smile gently, “Tamerlane— the name of the poem.”

He opens the door and holds out his white, gloved hand to you.

-

1543 Asher Lane is lit up like Rockefeller Center during Christmas. Your mouth drops open as you pull up out front, every window glowing with a warm light. The front doors are thrown open with seemingly hundreds of people moving about inside. The driver opens your door and holds out his hand for you, prompting you to slide your palm into his. He keeps a firm grip on your fingers as you step out, and then helps you up the long front steps.

He only releases your hand when you reach the front door, bowing gently before he skips back down the stairs and towards the car. Your heart drums in your ears as you place your crystal, half face mask on your face and adjust it gently before you drop your hand to the necklace nestled in your cleavage. You play with the large yellow diamond as you step inside, your eyes going wide as the lively noise of a full blown party suddenly fills your ears.

An orchestra plays in the middle of the large, open foyer, the sounds bouncing off the walls and rising up into the tall ceiling. Twenty or thirty couples dance to the upbeat tune and you’d swear you’d just stepped into the 1800s. All the men that move about are dressed in black tuxedos, the only distinction between them all being their different masks. The women twirl in their Venetian ball gowns, their jewelry and intricate, flamboyant masks glinting underneath the light.

There’s double staircases winding up walls, leading up to the second floor, more people laughing and talking intimately on them. Waiters in white suits, black ties and white gloves move seamlessly about, slipping in between the bodies with plates of champagne and finger foods— each one bending forward politely and placing their free hand behind their back as party goers pluck the goodies off their silver serving plates.  

The floors are made of marble. A large, ornate chandelier hangs from the high ceiling, spilling a warm, almost golden light over everything and everyone.

“Champagne, ma’am?”

You snap your head towards the voice as it breaks you from your trance, “Thank you,” you smile as you take the thin champagne flute from his tray.

Just as quickly as he arrived, the waiter is gone again, leaving you to admire the scene before you. You take a sip of the bubbly liquid and pull out your phone, taking a quick picture and sending it to MJ with a short message. You’ve barely tucked it away when another voice sounds at your side.

“Would you care to dance?”

You turn towards the calm, deep voice, your lips parting as your eyes bounce between two crystal blue eyes. Blonde hair is swept back neatly, a strong, smooth chin and jawline visible underneath his silver, laser cut Venetian mask. He’s tall— towering almost, his chest and shoulders wide and broad. You’re taken by him almost immediately. You nod quickly, blinking a few times as he takes your champagne flute from you and hands it to a nearby server before he takes your hand and leads you into the middle of the floor.

You gasp as he sweeps you up in his arms, resting his large hand on the small of your back and pulls you into his hard body. You can’t help but stare up at him as he starts to twirl you around the floor, taking complete control of your steps. A laugh bubbles up from your chest as he spins you away from him, extending his long arm until just your fingertips are touching, and then pulls you back into his chest.

He’s a confident man— you can tell by the way he spins you around the dance floor. Even as the tempo of the music changes, from upbeat and fun, to slow and somewhat sad, he stays right in rhythm. You’ve always been a sucker for a man that can dance.

A slow smile creeps onto your face as your eyes bounce back and forth between his while the orchestra plays, “What is this song?” you ask suddenly, breaking the ice between the two of you.

“Sicilienne in E flat major, do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.” You laugh a little, turning your head to watch the young cellist, “He’s so young, is he local?”

“He isn’t, no. That’s Sheku Kanneh-Mason of Britain, you may—”

You snap your head back towards him, “He played at the Royal Wedding! Oh my god!”

He chuckles as he gently tightens his hold around your waist, “The very one.”

You turn your head to watch the young man as he plays, completely in awe of his raw talent and bask in it, knowing you’ll never be in such company again, “My God, this is incredible. I have no idea what I’m doing here.” You laugh.

“Well, you were invited, yes?”

“Yeah but I—” you stop yourself, shaking your head gently before you smile again, “I had a crazy thought about this party. I thought someone from my past was trying to reach out to me.” He tilts his head a little, his eyes scanning your face. You laugh again, “Don’t mind me, I’m just imagining things apparently.”

“Someone from your past?” He nudges gently.

You’re not sure if it's the champagne you’ve been sipping all evening, or just because for some reason you feel like you’ve known this man your whole life, but you start to spill your guts, “I thought, God, this is going to sound stupid. I thought my mom, or someone who knew my mom was trying to reach out to me through this party, which sounds insane now that I think about it. I was adopted, so,” you shrug, “I dunno, I was kinda hoping that she’d be here or that someone could get me in touch with her. Sounds crazy, right?”

He spins you again, this time slow, his eyes dragging down your body. He pulls you back into him and you rest your hand on his chest as you watch the orchestra, a soft smile on your face, “You are young yet, my friend, but the time will arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on in the world, without trusting to the gossip of others,” you recite, “Believe nothing you hear and only one half that you see.”

His steps hitch ever so lightly.

You turn back to face him, blinking up at him as another smile spreads on your lips, “I didn’t catch your name?”

He blinks at you, something new in his eyes— something like relief? You can’t tell. His lips part and he takes a breath, trying but failing to get his mouth to move, “I’m sorry,” he finally says, laughing gently as he shakes his head, “Um, I’m Steven— Steve. Um, Edgar Allan Poe?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you laugh, “He’s one of my favorite poets. That last line just kind of describes my thoughts over the past few days is all.”

“It’s strange for a young girl like yourself to be an Edgar Allan Poe aficionado.”

You shrug again, nodding, “I know. I just, I’ve always had an affinity for him, it’s one of the few memories of my father that I have. He used to read Poe’s poems to me as a child.”

He stops dancing abruptly, “May you excuse me? I’m sorry, I have to um, I have to go see someone very quickly. I’ll be right back.”

Before you can even answer, he brushes past you, dipping in and out of the people still filling the dance floor. You blink in confusion, watching as he jogs up the stairs and stops at the very top step, leaning into a dark haired man. They both turn in your direction after a few minutes, catching your eye before they turn back to one another, the dark haired man grabbing Steven’s arm in… surprise, maybe?

They break apart seconds later, Steven jogging back down the stairs, the dark haired man walking briskly along the long catwalk, stopping only to tap three other men on the back before they too follow quickly behind him and disappear. You grab another champagne glass from a waiter and take a gulp as heat flushes through you— nerves suddenly racking your body.

You keep your eyes on Steve as he pushes through the people again, making a line straight towards you. Tilting your head back, you finish off the rest of your glass as he approaches you again, “I’m sorry,” he smiles, “That was rude of me.”

“Oh, it’s, it’s no problem,” you laugh nervously, clearing your throat as you glance around the crowded room.

He holds out his hand to you, “Would you come with me? Please?”

You shake your head as fear strikes you, “Oh, you know, I actually have to get going, I—”

“I know your mother,” your eyes widen at his words, stopping you dead in your tracks, “And your father. Please, come with me.”

You aren’t crazy.

Someone is really trying to contact you.

You grab his hand and let him pull you through the crowd and towards the stairs. He steps aside and lets you lead, placing his hands on your waist as the two of you move up the long staircase. Once you reach the top, he grabs your hand again and pulls you along the catwalk until you disappear down the hallway. You pass by a series of doors before you stop at the last one, Steve stopping to knock.

The door pops open seconds later and Steve steps aside again, dropping your hand to hold his out towards the door. You remove your mask and sweep your hair out of your face as your mouth falls open, your eyes wide as you stare at Steve.

“It’s okay,” he reassures, his voice soft and calm.

You take a step, and then another, your heart beating hard and fast, goosebumps popping up on your skin. You step into the room but stop dead in your tracks as the air is sucked right out of your body. Four men sit at a long, antique, baroque style table. Their hands are placed flat on the dark marble top, heads bowed. The room is dark except for the flickering candles that sit in their ornate holders in the middle of the table, the light accentuating the mens’ black and gold scaramouche masks.

Fear rolls through you in waves, your breaths shaky and heavy as it falls from your lips. The door clicks behind you and you feel a hand on the small of your back again, another one on your elbow, “It’s alright darling,” he whispers in your ear, “I’ll help you to your seat, okay?”

“Steve,” your voice trembling, “I don’t, I don’t understand, I—”

“It’s alright, I promise you. We are not going to hurt you. That goes against everything we stand for. Come.”

You blink wildly at the men at the table as Steve pushes you past them slowly. They don’t flinch— no one makes a move to glance up at you or even breathe harder than what they already are. You were so busy staring at the men occupying four of the five chairs at the table, that you didn’t even notice the hand carved chair sitting against the wall at the back of the room.

The frame is golden, the upholstery teal in color and covered with floral embroidery, the back designed with a diamond tuft. It sits up a little higher than the table— propped up on a small, hand built stage with three steps leading up to it. Steve helps you up the small steps, keeping your hand in his until you’re seated.

As soon as you're settled, the four seated men pull a candle from the center of the table and place it right in front of them. The golden flames dance at the tips of the long, white candles, casting shadows over the dark walls.

“You may begin.”

You snap your head towards Steve as he speaks, your mouth hanging open, your eyes wide, breath shaky. The dark haired man that Steve first spoke to stands, his chair scuffing against the floor as he pushes away from the table. He grasps the candle holder in both hands as he approaches you slowly, his eyes cast down towards the floor.

Your breath quickens as he nears you. You squeeze Steve’s hand as you push back into the chair, starting to draw your feet up as he kneels before you, “Wait, wait, wait, wait! What are you—”

“It’s okay, darling.” Steve purrs, his thumb sweeping over the back of your hands, “It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you. Just relax.”

A hot tear streaks down your cheek as your whimper, your chin trembling as you push a hard, focused breath out of your mouth. The man in front of you mumbles something— in French you think, but you aren’t sure— before he reaches into his pocket. Your breath hitches in your throat as he starts to sprinkle rose petals at your feet, chanting as he does.

You feel his fingers brush over your exposed toes before he lifts your right foot and slips off your gold shoe— tracing a cross with the tip of his finger on the top of your foot. He repeats his actions to the left and stands, keeping his head down as he makes a cross over his face and chest and then turns and returns to his seat.

The next man stands, a thick beard covering his chin, his candle in hand as he approaches you, never making eye contact. Instead of rose petals, he lays money at your feet— a single dollar bill— before he traces the cross into your skin while he speaks in French.

The third man is clean shaven, like Steve, but his hair dark— some falling over his mask and onto his forehead. He leaves a handful of herbs and one white egg at your feet before sweeping his fingertips over your toes and branding each foot with an imaginary cross.

The fourth man that kneels before you repeats everything to a T. He’s tall, his skin a deep, smooth walnut brown. He leaves behind a handful of wheat grain and what looks like raw sugarcane before he blesses your feet and rises again. He taps his forehead and chest before each shoulder and moves away, retaking his seat at the table.

Tears still trickle down your cheeks as you blink furiously— your stomach churning, your palms clammy. You snap your eyes towards Steve as he finally releases your hand and grabs a bowl from the small table tucked into the corner of the room. He steps in front of you and kneels, setting the hand painted bowl at your feet. He lifts your feet gently, placing them in the bowl with care, massaging your ankles and lower calves to calm you.

It works— your voice trembles as you push out a gentle hum, focusing on his hands on your skin. He starts to speak in French, his voice low and calm, much like most of the evening. He pulls a small flask out of his jacket pocket and pops the lid before he pours the unusually cool liquid over your feet. You flinch instinctively but focus again on his soft hands, kneading your feet as he washes them.

Steve pulls the white silk pocket square from his suit jacket and dabs at your feet, wiping away the moisture. He traces a cross on the tops of your feet before standing again and cups your face with his hands. You’re drawn into him— resting your forehead to his as he continues to chant, his lips so close they brush against yours as he speaks.

“Bless this missing child,” he whispers, the only part of his chant in english, “She is home at last.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, every burning candle is suddenly extinguished by some force now filling the room. You blink in the darkness, your breath quickening as you grab Steve’s forearms.

“Shhh, shhh, shhhh,” he coos, stroking your bottom lip with his thumbs, “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

The room is full— so full of energy; power. It whips around you, electrifying your skin and blood, rattling your bones. It’s foreign— anomalous— but yet feels so comforting and warm. Like love. Like you're surrounded by family. You loosen your grip on Steve’s forearms as the fear drains from your body, a voice— a soft whisper in your ears. A voice you’ve never heard before but have somehow heard your whole life. It’s a language you don’t understand, but yet you know exactly what it’s saying.

Your eyes pop open suddenly and the room is washed in a warm light as the candles are suddenly lit again. Steve smiles at you softly as your eyes, now full of wonder and a new sacred knowledge, bounce back and forth between his deep blues. There’s a new electricity between the two of you, something unspoken, but written in the stars all the same.

The blood in your veins rushes hard, the sound of your thumping heart beating in your ears as goosebumps pop up over your skin again. Your stomach tightens as the molten of your ardor starts to pool and spread through your body, blazing a quick path. Steve’s thumbs still sweep over your lips, underneath your eyes, over your nose as you hold loosely onto his wrists. You grab your bottom lip between your teeth and let your eyes fall to his mouth before you inhale sharply— soft and pink, his lips.

His large palms spread warmth through your face, his thumbs still circling— still pushing along your smooth skin. Blue eyes dart around your face, continually meeting your deep brown eyes before dipping to your expectant lips. He pushes closer— so close that his pillowy lips rest against yours, but he doesn’t rush it— doesn’t press any harder.

He leaves it all up to you.

The energy is back in the room, swirling, filling you up with the power and presence with each breath you take. You press your lips to his as the sweet sirens start to whisper to you again. A moan slips from your mouth and into Steve’s, where he gobbles it up, exchanging a deep, pleased groan of his own.  

His lips start to travel, moving down to your chin and jaw. He nuzzles into the soft, warm crook of your neck where he sucks lightly— his velvet tongue sneaking out and slipping along your skin. You push your chest into his as your back straightens, a gasp filling your lungs with the sweet air that surrounds you.

The emotion takes over in the heat of the moment— the fire of his lips and hands setting you a flame. Your leg hooks around his waist as you curl your fingers over his broad shoulders, digging your black painted nails into his shoulder blades. His teeth nip at your taut flesh and you lurch forward, your head tilting towards the ceiling as a choked moan strains in your throat.

You feel his deft fingertips on your naked calf, slipping along the length— over and around your knee, up your thigh— where he kneads and gropes, pulling heavier, louder sounds from you as his lips caress your flesh. A shiver rolls down your spine when his thick digits brush over your sticky panties. He doesn’t shy away, he sweeps the pads of his fingers over you again and again, finding a sweet little rhythm as he applies a gentle pressure.

Hips roll. Chests swell. Grips tighten as your head rolls back. Your mouth falls open as you drag in a breath, pushing it out with a husky groan. Your teeth grab your bottom lip again as you slide your hand around his wide back, hooking your arm around his neck. Humming, you open your eyes, blinking slowly back at four sets of hungry eyes trained on you and Steve. You inhale again, letting your lips part as you link eyes with each man at the table.

The men sit stark still— not moving a muscle as the flame from the candles light your bodies. Shadows dance across their masked faces as they watch in silence, but you can feel each and every one of them. Each energy is slightly different but acutely masculine, acutely tuned into you.

You don’t mind them watching. The scene salacious— vulgar.

Wrapped up in two large, muscly arms, you’re hoisted from the chair as Steve grabs your lips again with his own. He walks you to the table and sits you on the edge, right between two of the four men occupying it. The marble top is cool to the touch as he helps you up onto your feet, holding the tips of your fingers with his hand. He leads you into the center of the table, five heads all tilted up towards you as you stand there, the bottom of your dress dragging behind you as you move.

You feel like a princess with all of their eyes on you, hanging on to your every move, drinking in every inch of you. You twirl— a giggle falling from your lips before you sink down to your knees, peeking over your shoulder at the only brown eyed man in the room. You place your thin fingers over your lips, playing with them gently as you bat your eyes at him and sweep your hair over your shoulder— exposing the zipper of your dress.

He obliges without hesitation. Standing to his feet, he reaches for you— a warm hand on your bare shoulder, another grasping the zipper. You nuzzle your chin and cheek against his long fingers before brushing your lips over them quickly. His warm brown skin melts into yours as he pulls on your zipper, exposing more and more of your naked back as he goes.

The soft smile on your face grows wider as he centers his large palm in the middle of your back. Warm skin to warm skin. His eyes are ablaze— dark, blown pupils against a lighter brown iris— set dead on you as his lips part, showing off a distinctive gap in his teeth as his fingers whisk across your back and shoulder.

You turn to face him, still kneeling in the center of the table, and reach for his mask— pulling gently on the black tie until the bow falls away. He lets you remove it from him, a soft smile playing on his lips as you reveal the handsome face underneath.

“Samuel Thomas Wilson,” Steve offers softly.

Samuel tips his head towards you as you run the tips of your fingers along his softly bearded jaw, “S.T.W.” you say easy, recalling the last of your calling cards, “Hi Sam.”

You lean forward and place your lips on his— one gentle, chaste kiss before you break away from him with a soft smack.

You follow Steve with your eyes as he moves to the man seated next to Sam. Steve places his hand on his shoulder, “Andrew Stephen Barber.”

You bat your eyes at Andrew as he stands and takes your hand, bringing the backs of your fingers to his lips, “Andy.” He supplies as he removes his mask and sits it gently on the table.

“A.S.B., thank you for the dress.”

His presence is calm— gentle, matching the softness of his beard and dark hair. You press your free hand into the halter top of your dress to keep it from falling, but all the modesty you once had is evaporating quickly. You feel like you’ve known them all forever.

The next pair of blue eyes bring a forceful energy, one of entitlement and defiance. Before Steve can get his name out, he’s standing, his mask in his hand revealing his boyish, clean face, “Hugh Ransom Drysdale.” He winks at you suggestively, “Ransom.”

He wraps his long arm around your waist and pulls you close, crashing his lips to yours in a fury. You giggle against him before accepting his velvety tongue into your mouth, letting it sweep along your bottom lip and then slide along yours. Steve taps his shoulder and after a beat… or two, Ransom releases you from his grip, a smirk on his face, a twinkle in his eye.

You turn to the fourth man— the dark haired man that Steve initially spoke to on the stairs. He’s standing, with Steve behind him, the tips of his fingers resting on the edge of the long table. He’s the only one wearing gloves. His breathing is controlled, his eyes set on you as you inch towards him, sitting up on your knees in front of him.

You walk your fingers up his chest seductively, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you smile at him, “You must be J.B.B.”

He tilts his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I could be S.G.R.”

“While the guy named Steven stands behind you?” you squint playfully, reaching for his mask.

He grabs your wrist with his left hand, making you gasp. It’s a firm grip, but it excites something deep in you. You drop your hands into your lap, flattening them on your thighs as you take a deep breath and push it out of your nose. He glances over his shoulder at Steve, who nods just once before he turns back to face you and starts to pull at the fingers of his gloves. He removes the right hand first, tucking the black glove into his pocket before he starts on the left, pulling slowly— finger by finger.

Your mouth drops open as he pulls the nylon material away, your eyes going wide as he stretches out his digits, the candle light glinting off of the dark metal. The breath in your throat hitches as you watch him reach for his mask and untie it, pulling it away from his face to reveal a familiar one.

J.B.B.

James Buchanan Barnes.

So that means—

You blink towards Steve, whose mask is now off and sitting on the table. He rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he exhales deeply, “James Buchanan Barnes,” he then points at himself, “Steven Grant Rogers.”

You blink rapidly— completely dumbfounded as the two super soldiers stand before you. Bucky takes your hand, brushing his lips over your fingers before he pops them into his mouth, sucking gently on your digits as he flicks his eyes back up to yours. Your stomach tightens. A hum accompanies the breath that vibrates through your chest as he drags his left hand up and down your arm.

Steve cups your cheek and turns your head towards him before he traces your jaw and chin with his index finger, “We’re gonna take care of you baby girl,” he whispers as he places his fingertips on your forehead and brushes them down your face, “We’ve searched for you for so long.”

You believe him— you don’t know what he’s talking about, but you believe every word.

You push in and kiss Bucky, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and squeeze gently before you turn towards Steve, pulling him into another deep kiss, “Get this dress off of me.” You whisper.

Hands— so many hands, each pair distinctively different, are on your body within seconds, tugging and pulling at the heavy dress until you’re free of it. The only piece of clothing left on you is your thin thong as you lay back on the table, your hands over your bare breasts, covering them. You gaze up at the five men peering at you, their eyes wide and hungry.

Steve slips his hand down your sternum, the pads of his fingers sliding down your stomach to your hips, where he traces the thin band of your underwear— his touch making you raise your hips from the table. Sam drags his thumb along your chin and bottom lip before he pushes the tip just inside your all too eager mouth. You suck gently, running your tongue the length of his digit as Ransom pries your hands away from your breasts.

You moan softly, arching your back into Ransom’s hands as he starts to tweak your taut nipples, rolling them both between his fingers before he leans down and sucks your right breast into his mouth. Hands grab your thighs, kneading your flesh and pull them apart as Andy licks into your mouth, his tongue massaging the roof as he holds your chin.

The energy is back in the room— the power swirling as the men start to devour you. There’s tongues over your toes, hands on your tight nipples and abundant breasts, lips on your shoulders and neck. Fingernails scrape against your skin as they slink underneath the band of your panties, pulling them down your thighs and calves before they slide over your ankle and are discarded to the floor.

You feel the warm metal and flesh hand of Bucky around your ankles, drawing your legs up so they’re bent at the knee. He crawls onto the table, his heavy blue eyes drinking you in as he lets his metal fingers dance up and down the inside of your thigh. You start to shiver at his touch— your back arching away from the table as you gasp and hiss from the hands and mouths and tongues all over you.

Bucky sinks down— low, onto his belly— his eyes still trained on yours as he wraps his arms around your thighs. He starts to blow warm air against your sticky, hot sex, his eyes finally dipping away from yours and to your lower half as your hips jerk and whine. His metal fingers push through your folds gently, rubbing the sensitive nub at the center of you, then teasing your slit and opening.

Steve presses his balmy lips right in the valley of your breasts and peppers kisses along your jiggling flesh. The tip of his tongue circles your nipples before his teeth nip and bite. You gasp loud as a metal finger, and then a second push into your cunt— a thumb pressing against your clit. Your hips jut upward as you mewl, the sound quickly being covered up by Sam’s mouth as he kisses you hard.

Bucky blinks up at you as he withdrawals his fingers and waits— waits for you to make eye contact with him before he sucks them into his mouth, wiping them clean of your slick. He moans— heavy and hard as he closes his eyes, savoring your taste.

Your hips start to roll into his hand as he dips his fingers back into you, his breath washing over your quivering thighs. Ransom tickles your right knee, then skips his hand down the inside of your thigh, where he cups your sex around Bucky’s pushing fingers. Ransom starts to rub your clit, pressing firm circles into your wet flesh as Bucky curls his fingers to massage your muscles.

Andy sinks his teeth into your side before his tongue glances out over your stomach, circling your belly button before he sucks on your skin. He presses his hand into your lower stomach to add some pressure— Sam and Steve each taking a breast into their wet mouths, their tongues swishing and swirling.

You dig a hand into Steve’s hair and cup Sam’s head as they tease your nipples, a sharp yelp bursting through your lips as Sam bites down gently. Ransom spreads your folds with his index and middle fingers and suddenly, there’s a tongue— a warm, velvety tongue flattening against your clit. You push your head up to watch as Bucky sucks on your nub, his eyes searing into yours as he releases you with a smack, and then dives back in, the tip of his tongue flirting with your opening, his fingers still pumping.

Your head and hips roll as unrestrained groans rumble through your chest and fill the room, mingling with the deep moans and growls of the five men pleasing you. The sound of a zipper bounces off the walls— your hand then grabbed and pulled to your left. You gasp at the heavy warmth that fills your palm as your fingers wrap around Sam’s length. You roll your head towards him, biting your bottom lip as you watch your hand slide up and down his impressive girth.

You grab Steve’s hip with your free hand, digging your fingers into him as you lean up, beckoning him to come closer. You kiss him hard once he’s within distance, smacking your lips against his before you sound into his mouth as Ransom slaps your pussy, the gold band around his ring finger adding a heaviness to the strikes.

Bucky kisses up your thigh, sinking his teeth into your flesh every now and again until he reaches your ankle and foot. He thumbs at your black painted nails before he pulls your toes into his mouth as he massages your calf, “These are cute, these toes.” He murmurs, a light chuckle vibrating through him.

A chorus of zips start to sound, one right after the other. Their jackets soon hit the floor, the crisp, white sleeves of their button downs are rolled up their forearms before they all descend on you again. You’re lifted from the table into Andy’s arms as Sam slides into the space you once occupied on the table, his pants riding low on his hips. Andy kisses you deeply before placing you back on your feet on the top of the table, keeping a hold of your hand as you traipse along Sam’s side.

You throw your leg over Sam’s body and sit slowly, wiggling your hips as you position yourself on his lower stomach. You reach back, dragging your fingers through the curly patch of hair covering his lower half, tickling his skin. You slip your fingers into his unzipped pants and pull him free, stroking and squeezing him slowly before you swipe your fingers over his wet tip.

Two strong hands grip your waist— Ransom— as you slip your hand down to Sam’s base and lift upward, guiding him towards your entrance. Ransom holds you steady as you sit down on Sam, your cunt swallowing every delicious inch of Sam’s cock until he’s completely disappeared. You lean forward, splaying your fingers out on his wide, thick chest as he grabs hold of your thighs. You pull up, hissing as his cock slides out of the tight grasp of your pussy and then sit back down, moaning as he fills you again.

Ransom slips his hand up your spine and wraps his fingers over your shoulder as you start a slow rhythm, up and down, up and down, up and down. Your hips roll as Sam starts to buck his hips up into you, each stroke a little harder, a little sharper than the one before it. There’s a chest to your back and then teeth nibbling at your earlobe as you lean back into the body and rest your head on a shoulder. Ransom’s mouth then covers yours as he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tight as you ride Sam, your nails digging into his rich brown skin.

You gasp as a tongue teases your thick nipple, and then a hand closes over your left breast, squeezing and kneading gently. You slide your hand into Ransom’s hair as you watch Steve flick the tip of his tongue against your nipple before he sucks your breast into his mouth, moaning as his tongue swirls.

Andy slips his hand down your stomach and starts to work your clit, grabbing your chin with his free hand and tilting your head towards his. His head is tilted upwards, his eyes hooded as he peers down at you through his long, thick eye lashes. You whine as Sam’s pace quickens, fucking up into you hard as he grips your hips so tight you’re sure he’ll leave marks behind. Andy snarls his lip as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open, as your hips falter, as you get louder and less restrained. He licks into your mouth before he lays a filthy kiss on you— demanding and sloppy.

Ransom squeezes your shoulder before he pushes you forward with his other hand, nearly crushing you against Sam’s chest. You shiver when you feel his cock slide through your ass cheeks, leaving a wetness behind. He pulls back and the backs of his fingers glance over your ass, deep hisses and a grunt coming from him as he strokes his cock— a drop of his cum dribbling onto your skin.

He suddenly pushes his fingers into your mouth— index, middle, and ring— wetting them with your saliva before he drags them back through your ass, the tips circling your hole. There’s a tangy taste left in your mouth, some of you, some of him, as he slaps his dick against your ass and then spreads you apart. Sam slows beneath you and then stops as he drags his large hands up and down your forearms, grabbing your hand and sucking your fingers into his warm mouth.

You slam your eyes closed, tensing as Ransom starts to push the head of his cock against your asshole. He places his hand against the center of your back, Bucky cups your face in his palms, sweeping his thumbs over your cheeks as he pecks your lips with his, singing gentle praise to help relax you.

“You can do it baby,” Bucky whispers, rubbing his nose against yours, smiling softly, “You can take him baby, I know you can. Can’t she Steve?”

Steve sinks his teeth into your shoulder, humming as he drags his red, swollen lips down your arm, “This pretty girl sure can,” he reassures, his voice smooth and low, “And it’s gonna feel so good, baby. You’re gonna feel so full, so stretched.”

You whimper loudly. You grab Bucky’s shoulder as Ransom’s dick finally breaks through your threshold. Ransom lets out a breath, the warm splashing over your back as he stills, a shuddering groan vibrating through his chest. Ransom squeezes your shoulder again, leaning forward to place sloppy kisses on your back, “More?”

Steve kisses your temple before he nuzzles into the side of your face, “You can do it sweet girl. You can take him all.”

Bucky kisses your lips again. Sam nibbles on the tips of your fingers as he nudges his hips into yours, burying deeper into you. You nod quickly— you do want more. More, more, more.

Ransom starts to push again, spreading your tight muscles as he forges, filling you right up. He doesn’t stop until he bottoms out— his stomach now pressing into your ass as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck.

“Such a good girl,” Bucky purrs as he reaches between you and Sam’s bodies, starting to play with your nub, “Such a sweet, pretty girl.”

Sam is the first to move, pressing up into you before he withdrawals slowly. Ransom counters his actions, pulling out when Sam pushes in, delving in when Sam drags out. It’s hypnotizing— the rhythm, the push and pull. Your mouth goes slack as Steve rolls your nipples in his hands, his tongue and teeth nipping and licking at your damp skin. You roll your hips, pushing back into Ransom as Sam fucks up into you as electricity flows through your veins.

“That’s it baby girl,” Bucky praises through impassioned kisses, his tongue slipping along your lips and the roof of your mouth, “Stuffed full, aren’t you sweetie?”

Your stomach tightens at the words, your heart beat pounding against your chest and in your ears as a tingle rushing up your spine. There’s a pull deep in your belly, a molten heat and the raw emotions spreading through you as your body tightens hard.  Your hips jerk as a sudden current strikes you— your cunt closing around Sam. He shudders and you feel it, feel it rumble through his chest as his own hips get desperate.

Ransom fucks your ass with fluid motions, his enormous hands and long fingers digging into the supple flesh of your waist. He grunts, hard and grainy as the warmth of your insides caress his cock. Ransom gets loud, Sam gets loud, you get whimpery— needy, almost to the point of tears as the waves roll harder and faster through you. Each stroke, each thrust, each plow of their hips driving you closer and closer to your demise.

A moan chokes in your throat as your orgasm blooms across your skin, but soon the sounds are pouring out of you. Loud, desperate, relieved as the waves finally crash. Bucky bites his bottom lip hard as his fingers slap against your jumping clit. Steve pinches your nipples as he rests his forehead against the side of your face, his hot breath sticking to your skin.

Sam drives his hips into yours once more and digs his thumbs into the creases of your thighs as his cock starts to spit, over and over again, spilling into you. Ransom fucks through it all, keeping a firm grip on your shoulder until he too comes undone in your ass. He pushes deep, deep, deep inside as he spurts, watching as your hole spasms around him.

Ransom pulls out of you as soon as he’s milked and you feel his cum bubble out of you, slipping down the inside of your thigh. You’re lifted off of Sam— brought to the edge of the table, on your hands and knees, your feet hanging over the end. A massive hand presses between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest and head down onto the cool surface as you try and catch your breath. You jump when a pair of warm lips connect where your ass ends and your thigh begins, a soft beard brushing against your skin.

Andy drags his finger up the inside of your thigh, collecting the cum that’s spilled from you and pushes two fingers into your hot cunt— your muscles still quaking, still constricting. He fingers you slowly, skimming his fingertips up and down your thigh as he pushes his digits, cramming Sam and Ransom’s cum deep.

You hum with each stroke, lunging forward softly, your nipples grazing over the marble table top as you move. You blink slowly as you lift your head, watching as Bucky climbs onto the table, spreading his legs as they slide around you. He slides his flesh hand into his pants and starts to stroke his cock— long, languid pulls as his metal fingers pull on his tight balls. You wrap your hands around his thighs, the excitement bubbling up in your chest once more as you watch him.

Andy replaces his fingers with his dick in one fell swoop. You mewl, your tits bouncing as he starts a brisk pace. The sound of his skin slapping against yours bouncing off the walls as Ransom, Sam, and Steve watch on, chests rising and falling hard as they tug their hands up and down their cocks at the sight.

You rock forward, your face inches from Bucky’s cock as he jerks himself, peering down his long body at you. Keeping your eyes on his, you push your tongue out from behind your teeth and lick at his shaft quickly before puckering your lips to kiss the thick vein running the length of him. You push your hands over his hips and up over his abs as your mouth slides over his wet, red mushroom tip.

Bucky moans deep, his back arching from the table as he pushes his hips up into your mouth, sending his cock right to the back of your throat. You pull upward as his hips sink back to the table, releasing him with a pop and smiling as his cock sways back and forth. You wrap your fingers around the base of his dick, wiggling him a little before you lower your mouth over his tip, sucking lightly as you swirl your tongue over his slit.

Your plump lips go slack around Bucky as Andy presses into a spot— sending a jolt right to your heart. Andy lets his hands roam along your back and sides as he fucks you, gripping and squeezing, groping and kneading your thick, soft flesh. He’ll push deep, and then just stay there for a few seconds, savoring the warmth, the tightness of your slick muscles before he wiggles his hips and withdrawals from you, just to plunge back in.

You release Bucky quickly to swallow the piquant spunk left on your tongue before you cram him back into your mouth. You suck on his cock head as you pump him up and down, twisting and turning your hand as you go. A muffled moan seeps from your mouth, vibrating around Bucky’s cock as you slam your eyes closed, feeling Andy’s strokes in your stomach.

The tingles are back— the pull in your belly. Your pussy tightens as the electricity within you starts to bounce around, synapses firing. Andy feels it, Bucky too, their hips pushing harder and faster. Your nails scratch at Bucky’s skin, squeezing uncontrollably as your heart beats in your ears, heat flushing your face.

Andy fucks into you good, hard and deep, sending you right over the edge once more. Your release spreads through you, warming every inch of flesh, every pore, every follicle. Andy thumbs your clit as he continues to pump his hips, fucking your right through your orgasm until your contracting muscles and slick coax his climax. Bucky erupts at nearly the same time— long, hot ribbons of his cum shooting from him, splattering on his stomach and dribbling down his cock.

There’s movement out of the corner of your eye, Steve standing from one of the chairs to grab your chin, pushing your head and face up towards him. He kisses you hard— sloppy, sucking on your bottom lip before he tongues the roof of your mouth. He pulls away, cupping your face in his hands gently as he rubs his thumbs along your cheeks, a soft smile on his lips, eyes full of affection.

“Such a good girl.” he whispers.

He pulls you into another kiss, but this time it’s softer— sweeter. Slower.

Andy pulls out of you, his hands still sweeping over your back and ass and thighs. He presses another kiss right into the creases of each cheek before he falls into a chair next to Sam. Bucky slides off of the table and sits next to Ransom, resting his head on the back of the chair and lets his mouth go slack as he lets out a breath.

Steve crawls onto the table as the four other men drag their chairs to the edges of the table, sitting up straighter once they get situated. Steve grabs your lips with his, a soft hum wavering in his throat. He separates from you but doesn’t go far— resting his forehead on yours as he nuzzles into you, rubbing the tip of his nose along the bridge of yours. He starts to guide you back, his hand behind your head, as he lays you down flat on the table, your knees drawn up, your feet flat against the cool surface.

You sweep your hands up and down your thighs in anticipation as you watch him unbutton his shirt slowly, his blue eyes wandering the length of your body as his fingers move. You push up onto your elbows, tilting your head as you blink at him when he pulls the material away from his buff torso.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you dip your eyes to his broad chest, his skin tanned and tight. There are faint scars littered along his skin— a few tiger stripes on his biceps and sides. His stomach is firm and flat, six perfect abs carved out, and the cutest belly button you think you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. You sit up, placing your hand in the middle of his chest, right in the middle of those hard pecs and watch your hand move with each breath he takes. Your fingers fall, down his sternum, over those abs, and slightly into the dark blonde patch of hair that peeks out of his open pants.

You draw your bottom lip into your mouth and send your eyes up to his as your hand digs deeper— your dainty fingers wrapping around his hard, hot cock. His chest tightens at your touch. You inch your body closer to his, throwing your legs open and around either side of his body as you start to pump him slowly. You draw your hand up his shaft, sweeping your palm over his sensitive, weeping tip before you push back down, squeezing him gently— feeling him.

His breathing gets deeper, his chest and stomach constricting, his lips parting and quivering ever so lightly as you massage him. All five pairs of eyes are on you— unwavering, barely blinking as they consume you and only you. The power swells in your chest. You feel like a goddamn queen. Captivating. Strong.

You pull him free of his dark slacks and have to take a breath at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. Thick and long, his tip shiny and wet and red— eager— his dick jumping every now and again as cum dribbles out of his slit. You sweep the pads of your fingers over the tip again, collecting the warm, cloudy spunk and push it down his shaft, along the thick vein that runs down him, wetting every inch of him.

He pulls you into his lap in one swift move, like you’re absolutely weightless. His cock settles against your pussy and clit, resting against your stomach as he wraps his arm around your back and waist. You instantly start to roll your hips, sliding your skin along his dick— coping a feel— letting it radiate through you.

The current in the room picks up. The flames of the candles start to flicker as if there’s a strong breeze that threatens to extinguish them. You push up with the help of Steve’s strength, your mouth hanging open as you guide him towards your entrance. You push his flesh through your folds, teasing yourself a little before you align him with you, starting to sink your hips down.

You dig your fingertips into his shoulders, let your head fall back as he opens you up inch by inch. A growl scratches at the back of your throat when you feel his hot lips on your neck, peppering kisses, tongue lapping, teeth nipping as you take him. The candles flicker hard as Steve bottoms out in you— hip to hip; flesh to flesh.

Throwing an arm around his neck, you really start to move, pulling up on that towering dick before sinking back down on it. Your tits bounce as your hips roll, a delicious burn starting to spread through your thighs. Steve’s hips fuck into yours, meeting you halfway as you crash down. There’s hands on you again— on your shoulders and arms, on your thighs, wrapping around your ankles— Andy, Ransom, Sam, and Bucky— grabbing, kneading, gripping, groping.

The electricity in the room bounces off the walls, energizing you, drawing you into Steve more and more with each passing second. The wind even kicks up outside, slamming against the sprawling house, shaking the lush trees. The warm moonlight cascades into the room and over your bodies as you fuck Steve unmercifully on top of the old table. You gasp and moan and pant— the sounds bitten off, choked, and heavy as your pussy constricts around him.

He appeases each whim of your hips, driving into you deep and hard, taking control when your hips jerk and shudder. He encourages you— they all do— sweet, tiny whispers, filthy, low declamations. Their voices rattle your brain and your bones as the candle light trembles again.

You’re slamming into each other, Steve bottoming out with each thrust. Your stomach is tight, your body warm and prickly, your clit stinging as another orgasm looms in the distance. Steve’s hips are rolling and pushing, his fingernails scratching your skin as he rakes them down your naked back. There’s teeth on your shoulders and neck, lips over your nipples, fingers prodding against your clit until you come undone, shouting and pleading to every God you know.

A sudden burst of warmth explodes inside of you— Steve’s strangled groans growing loud as he comes. Your face breaks with passion, tears threatening to spill as ungodly, high-pitched sounds spill from your lips. You’re all shrouded in darkness. The candle light whipped away, suddenly extinguished by the invisible forces in the room.

The candles relight again out of nowhere as you collapse against Steve as your body finally gives out after the thorough fuck session. You’re heavy and limp, air rushing out of your mouth, sticking to his damp, humid skin. You can’t even keep your eyes open. You hum intermittently as their hands brush over your skin before they pull you away from him, laying you back down on the table.

Their voices ring out, all in sink, chanting again in French. Sam sprinkles your body with the flask, from your head to your toes— Steve traces a cross on your chest. They all flatten your hands on you as their chorus finishes, and you hear the soft voices again. They’re warm and happy, the feminine voices, as the love— the familial undercurrent— fills the room again.

You’re lifted into arms, pressed against a chest before one of their discarded jackets is thrown over your shoulders. Your head is foggy, thoughts slow as someone carries you out of the room. You feel their protection, the fierce safeguard of you as suddenly you’re the center of attention. It feels as if hundreds of eyes are on you— because there are as they walk you right through the center of the party.

“Our missing child is home.” Steve announces, smiling softly down on you, sweeping his large hand over your forehead, “The family is complete once more.”

An exuberant applause erupts.

You’re moving again, slowly the eyes on you disappearing as the fivesome moves you through the house. A door clicks, the sound of the bottom of it sweeping across the carpet filling your ears. A warmth surrounds you as you’re laid down onto a bed, a large, full comforter covering your naked body. You squirm, your head rolling against the pillow as you murmur and whimper.

“Shh shh shh, little one,” Sam purrs, stroking your face with his thick fingers, “You’re safe.”

“We’re all here sweet girl. Just rest.” Andy says calmly, brushing his lips over the backs of your fingers.

Naked bodies surround you— cram you right in the middle of them. Arms and legs are thrown over you, fingers thread with yours, lips and beards glance over your skin as they whisper and blether. You roll into a body, you’re not even sure who’s, and you hold onto them tight, letting the sleep seep in, letting it pull you away into the deep.

SATURDAY

There’s an intrusive light burning into your face. You shift, rolling your head away from it before rolling your entire body over onto your side. You stretch your arms out and sigh slowly, wanting nothing more than to melt back into the soft, deep slumber that had been disturbed— but your brain has other plans. It slowly starts to awaken, the fog lifting, memories and visions of the night before playing before your eyes. Hands on your skin, lips locked on yours, eyes following your every move.

You spring upwards.

Your eyes pop open as you inhale sharply. You snap your head to the right and then the left before you scan the room, finding it completely empty. You turn back towards the windows, squinting and blinking as the sun belts into the room, the light spilling over the floor and bed. Voices float towards you— warm, male laughter— before it dies away again and all you hear are the random chirps of birds and the soft swish of the breeze against the trees and house.

That’s when the soreness seeps in. You roll your shoulders as you recognize the subtle pain, roll your neck before stretching your arms above your head. There’s laughter again, the clatter of pans and dishes and you blink at the closed bedroom door. Questions start to populate and swarm, pushing away the rest of the sleepy fog in your mind.

You throw your legs over the side of the bed and stand, but throw your hands back on the mattress as you stumble, having to steady yourself. Your legs are jelly. A hum vibrates in your chest and throat as you take a step after a few sobering seconds. The muscles of your sex scream at you— achy and tight— used. It’s sharp but also dull, nagging and deep— the soreness. It feels good. Feels right.

Spotting an egg shaped floor length mirror leaning up against the far wall, you pad towards it, squinting and hissing as pangs of the delicious pain prickle along your skin and muscles. You peer at your body, twisting and turning. You’re marked beyond belief— suck marks on your neck and shoulders, red raised welts on your sides and thighs, deep bruises and teeth marks scattered along your body like a map.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

You spot a small bench in front of the bed, a pink satin tank top and matching shorts tossed over it. You slip the tank top over your arms to cover your bare torso and pull the shorts up your legs, your ample behind poking out of the bottom of them. You start for the door and move into a long hallway, following the laughter and voices emanating from deep in the house.

This is a really big house. It takes a while, well, you’re nosey so you peek into each room you pass and stop to eye the paintings on the wall, but you finally find the source of all the noise. You turn into the vast kitchen, finding five men placed throughout it. Sam is over the stove, cracking eggs and flipping potatoes and fresh vegetables. Andy sits at the bar, his nose buried in the Saturday paper as he sips on a black coffee. Bucky and Steve sit at the table, talking hushly over some old papers, and Ransom leans against the fridge, thumbing through his phone.

Bucky’s the first to notice you. He greets you with a wide, bright smile, his eyes crinkling at the sides, his nose scrunching, “Good morning beautiful.”

The rest of the men all blink at you and a warmth flushes through your face as you play with your fingers. Before you can respond, Ransom sweeps you off your feet and into his arms, kissing you hard and deep before he sits you back down and swats your behind, “Mornin’ doll.”

“Don’t be so rough with her,” Andy chides the slightly younger man. He grabs your wrist, bringing the back of your hand to his lips, “Sleep well, baby?”

“I did, thank you.” You smile, nervous but flattered by the attention.

“Hope you’re hungry sweetie,” Sam says, leaning into you to peck your lips as you move towards him.

“I’m starving.”

“I bet. You slept hard last night.” He winks, nudging you with his shoulder, “Ransom, plates.”

“I’m not the help, Wilson.”

“Well you are to-fuckin-day. Get the plates, trust fund baby.”

You laugh as you move towards the table, getting swept up into another breathless kiss by Bucky before Steve pulls you into his lap, brushing his nose over the back of your shoulder. Ransom and Sam hand out the plates one by one, taking drink orders and handing them out before they take their seats at the long table. You stay in Steve’s lap as you eat, listening as they all chat and cut up a little, teasing the youngest of them, Ransom, and listening intently as Andy talks about his latest case.

“I bet baby girl over here has some questions, hmm?” Bucky says after a while, cutting into his sausage and popping a small piece into his mouth.

You nod as you chew and swallow, before your eyes go wide, “Oh shit! My sister MJ! I bet she’s—”

Ransom slides your phone towards you, “I texted her for you last night and again this morning. Convinced her not to call the cops— she’s a feisty one.”

“Oh God, thank you.” You sigh, glancing over the texts.

“You can call her if you’d like. We can step out.” Steve offers, peering at you over your shoulder.

“No, no. She seems to be pacified for the moment. I’ll call her in a little while. So,” you lead in, “How, um, what is all of this? How do you guys know me, or my mom, to be more specific?”

Steve wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him before he takes a breath, “This is going to sound really strange and it’s a really long story.”

“I got time,” you laugh, “It’s the only reason I came last night. Didn’t expect to get fucked by five dudes, but, you know,” you giggle, “Shit happens.”

“Steve and I,” Bucky starts, “We knew your great-grandmother, Marie-Angelie Paris Laveau of New Orleans. Steve was… sickly.” You nod quickly, having read everything there is to know about the great Steve Rogers, “I had heard that there was this new religion, down south. A woman that claimed to be a healer and Steve was my best friend, so, we decided to check it out in the early forties— wanted to see if she could help him.”

“When we finally got to Louisiana and tracked Marie-Angelie down, it was nothing that Bucky and I had ever seen before.” Steve chuckles, “Your great-grandmother was a beautiful woman, had thousands of followers, just like her mother, and her mother before her.”

“Followers?” You ask, furrowing your brow.

Bucky shifts his eyes to Steve before they land back on you, “You’re a direct descendant of Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen of the French quarter.”

Your eyes widen at the words.

“The elder Marie was a very powerful woman, passed down her knowledge and her gift to her daughters who kept her spirit and her craft alive. Marie-Angelie took one look at Steve and knew she could help. So,” Bucky takes a breath, holding it in his chest for a second before he pushes it out, “We made our offerings, appeased the spirits and we had Steve stay with her for the night.”

“She prayed over me all night. Chanted, offered the spirits many gifts, had me drink this potion that she’d made,” Steve says slowly, “I’m not too sure what happened. I just remember waking up and looking like this. It came with conditions of course, one of which she told us about, the other she didn’t.”

“What were they?” you breathe, engrossed in the story.

“The condition we knew about was that Bucky and I had to join the society.” You raise your eyebrows, prompting Steve to smile, “The elder Marie, your great-great-great-great grandmother entered into a pact with Sam’s great-great-great-great grandfather.”

“He was a farmer,” Sam says after he takes a sip of his coffee, taking over the story, “My great-great-great-great granddaddy went to Marie for a little advice and to have her pray for his crops. He was flat broke, about to lose the farm, Louisiana was going through a terrible drought— he offered Marie the last dollar he had in his pocket. His crop came in more bountiful than ever, in fact, it was the only farm that yielded that season. Made him a millionaire overnight. So, in exchange for her prayers, he offered her and her offspring protection. As long as there's a Laveau bloodline, the Wilson’s will watch over them.”

Silence falls over the room as you blink back at Sam, unable to speak. Bucky leans forward, placing his flesh hand over yours and rubs gently as concern fills his blue eyes, “You okay, honey?”

You nod, closing your eyes as you swallow, “Yeah, I, um, so… okay, so Sam, Steve and you are bound to protect me? Because of this society that was formed?”

“Us too,” Andy adds, “My great-great-great-great grandfather, Reginald Barber was a politician, went to Marie for some help around the same time as Sam’s granddad did, and when she fulfilled his request, he also joined.”

“My grandad is a writer, he too ended up joining the society in the early sixties with your grandmother when his first novel blew up.” Ransom says, “Harland Thrombey.”

“Harland Thrombey, the mystery writer, right? I thought he had a daughter?”

“That’s my mom. When I was born, I took her place in the order.”

You lift your eyebrows, nodding your head, “Wow.” you laugh a little, “So, what exactly do you guys do for me?”

“We just keep you safe. Watch over you, try to fulfill all of your… needs.” Sam answers with a smirk on his face and a glint in his eye, “Keep the bloodline going, if need be.”

You squint suddenly as the wheels and gears in your brain turn, “Wait so, this is passed down? From generation to generation?”

“Yes.” Andy answers simply.

“So, that means that all of your fathers, had sex with my mother? Am I.. oh my god,” your hands fly to your face, “Am I related to you one you?”

“No, oh my god!” Ransom recoils, his face screwed up in disgust, “The fuck do you think we are, weirdos? No.”

Steve laughs, rubbing your stomach with his large hand, “Your father is James Rhodes. He’s part of the congregation, the followers of your grandmothers. He was chosen for your mother, just like your partner will be chosen for you.”

You blink, your mind empty, “Chosen?”

“It will be someone either in the society— one of us— or someone in the congregation.” Steve nods, “Either way, your partner will be someone who will understand our debt to you and your family. If your partner is indeed someone in the society, that person is then removed, so there’s no impropriety, and someone in the congregation will take his place to keep the society full. Once you’re paired with whoever, we all then have a duty to reproduce so our children can take care of yours— again, with women in the congregation who understand our duty, and so on and so forth.”

You fall back against Steve’s chest, slumping a little at all of the information, “It’s a lot,” Sam reassures, “I know, I’m sorry.”

Insane is what it is, you think, rubbing your forehead with your manicured fingers. Somehow though, it all just kind of makes sense, “You said there was another condition? After you and Bucky went to Louisiana? What was it?”

“Me.” Bucky smiles, leaning back into his seat as his eyes fall into his lap.

You glance back at Steve, “I don’t understand.”

“In order for me to achieve this,” Steve motions towards his body, “Something had to be sacrificed, “The spirits chose Bucky. Some years later, after we joined the army—”

You gasp, covering your mouth again, “When he fell from the train.” You finish for him.

Steve just nods, “I put two and two together after a while. I went back to Marie and told her I was done— I wanted out and I didn’t care what happened to me for it. So I ended up just kind of floating through life. Threw myself into my work and saving the world. I didn’t know at the time that some of my blood had gotten into the hands of the Germans during the war. They studied it— noticed that my enzymes were nearly indestructible. They created the super soldier serum to replicate my strength and healing abilities.”

“Hydra, is what they were called. They found me and started experimenting.” A sad smile covers Bucky’s face. You lean forward, cupping his cheek in your hand and rub your thumb just under his eye. His smile turns upward as he nuzzles into your warm palm, “I’m alright.”

“I got wind of Bucky in the eighties, he had assassinated this researcher, they actually got a picture of him. I had to bring him home,” Steve shrugs, “But he was tricky— elusive. I tracked him for a few years but I couldn’t ever get close, and I knew I only had one option at that point.” Steve rests his lips against your shoulder, brushing them back and forth slowly against your warm skin, “I tracked down your grandmother and your mom for help.”

You feel him smile against you and you turn, throwing your arms around his neck as he continues his story, “You were barely walking when I met you the first time. You were so cute, so little. Even though I was still pissed, you stole my heart as soon as I saw you. You were the only innocence in this craziness.”

A tear slips down your cheek. He wipes it away with his fingers, smiling softly at you as you’re overcome with emotion, “Did you used to read to me?” you ask with a shaky voice, the early, fragmented memories you have of a blonde, blue eyed man suddenly making sense.

“Tamerlane by Edgar Allan Poe was your favorite.” he smiles, “That’s how I knew it was you last night. Poe was your favorite, even back then.”

You hug him tightly and feel hands on your back and shoulders, a pair of lips on the top of your head and the side of your face as Andy, Bucky, Ransom, and Sam crowd around you, “We brought you home now.” Sam voices gently, “We’ll take care of you baby. From now until the end of days.”

You let them soothe you. Let them stroke your hair and whisper their sweet nothings. Let them kiss your skin and wipe away the tears as the sun cutting into the room through the windows washes you in warmth. You lean back after what seems like forever, sniffling gently as Steve brushes those fingers underneath your eyes, “I want to meet my mom.”

“Of course. We’ll take you to her whenever you’re ready. She was supposed to be here but, she couldn’t deal with the heartbreak again if it wasn’t you. She’s been looking for you for so long— they both have.”

You exhale deeply, closing your eyes as you rest your head against Steve’s chest, nuzzling into him, “Why was I taken?”

“Somebody sent a tip to the police that your mother was living in a commune—” you feel him tense, his tone going harsh, “Just a nosey ass woman who didn’t have anything better to do with her time. Made up some shit about drug trafficking coming out of the house. It was raided while I was in Europe— they took you, put you up for adoption. I should have been there. I should have protected you.”

“You're protecting me now. That’s all that matters.” You whisper, “But,” your voice drops away as you open your eyes, blinking slowly.

Ransom’s massive hand runs up and down your back, “What is it, honey?”

“My sister. My mom and my dad— the people that raised me. I love them.”

“We are not going to take you away from them,” Bucky answers quickly, “They’re a part of you. We understand that.”

“Can’t wait to meet that sister of yours,” Ransom adds, “She seems fun.”

You laugh through the fresh wave of tears that have wetted your face, “She is fun. She has a boyfriend named Peter, he loves you two,” you smile, gesturing towards Steve and Bucky, “He’s gonna shit his pants.”

You close your eyes again, your head starting to pound from all of the information that’s been placed at your feet. Your stomach churns and you shiver, causing Steve to tighten his grip, “Let’s lay you down, huh? That was a lot to take in.”

They all follow you and Steve back into the bedroom where you first woke up that morning. You’re stripped naked again, crowded in the middle of their hulky bodies. They let you cry. They let you talk aimlessly. They let you get angry, and then sad, and then content as you work through your sordid history. One by one, their lips are on yours again. Hands dig into your sides and grip your thighs. Languid thrusts, hot breaths, short whimpers, and long cries fill the room as they make love to you over and over.

Your bones are liquid. Your body, your cunt stretched and used— so sore you’re not even sure your limbs are connected anymore. You come, time and time again, from their mouths, their fingers, their wet, hard cocks. You take it all— two of them stuffing you full while a third occupies your mouth, the other two not-so-patiently waiting for their turn at you.

Sleep tugs at you from every angle after a while and you fade in and out as the day drags on. Women come to you in your dreams— the women of your family. They whisper to you, the great secrets of your long lineage. They smile and lay their hands on you, filling you with their spirits, their love.

You’re suddenly at a large body of water—  Bayou St. John. A woman perches by the bank, her hand swishing back and forth in the cool water. You traipse towards her through the tall grass, your feet sinking into the wet ground. You kneel next to her as she sings a native song. She’s wrapped in a red, white, and blue shawl, her eyes sparkling as she turns towards you. She cups your face, running her hand down your cheek and jaw before she reaches into the water and pulls out a large, multicolored fish.

You spring forward, gasping hard and deep as you wake from the vivid dream. You cover your face with your hands as a chill runs down your spine, your forehead covered in a cold sweat. Without thinking, you splay your hand over your stomach as your heart stills. There’s movement behind you— Steve slinks his hand around your middle, settling his hand over your much smaller one.

You peek over your shoulder and he’s staring at you, his lips parted slightly, his blue eyes wide and full of knowing. His words from earlier coming back to you. Your partner will be chosen for you. It will be someone either in the society— one of us— or someone in the congregation. You lay back down, curling into him, tracing his nose and jaw, his chin and eyes with your fingers as he blinks back at you.

“Did you see her too?” You breathe. Great-great-great-great grandmother Marie Laveau.

He nods, “I’ll take care of you,” he whispers as Sam, Andy, Ransom, and Bucky all sprawl out around the two of you, “I promise.”

You nod, smiling slowly, “I know.”

You mean it. You know he will— that they all will.

[silhuetismo]

on the shore - the hunger games’ blurb

i was missing katniss and finnick’s friendship today and i got inspired by a request i’ve received. so i wrote this. and then i translated it, because when i started to write it i actually envisioned this first tense of the blurb in english. so yeah. hope you guys enjoy! and please be nice, english is not my first language. :) 

if you guys have any prompts for me, i would love to give it a try. 

wc: 781 

· ° . ⊹ · ° · ° . ⊹ · ° · ° . ⊹ · ° · ° . ⊹ · ° .

They play on the shore. The boy with the bronze hair and green eyes jumps into the water. The other one, with brown curls and equally green eyes, tries to get his attention by cupping his chubby toddler hands and splashing his brother with water. 

“Thanks”, I say to Finnick, who is sitting beside me on the shore of the beach while handing me a glass of juice.

“The pleasure is all mine”, he responds with a seductive tone, unable to go against his provocative nature.

“I finished the net and, I have to say it, I did a great job”, I tell him, pulling the finished net to show him. Finnick picks up the material, admiring it. He lifts his hand seconds later and I smile, bringing my palm against his in a high-five.

“Who knew, huh, Everdeen?!”

“Did you doubt it?”, I mock him.

“I did. All the time.”

He's so ridiculous that I can't help but laugh. But before I can reply, Aiden's shrill, laughing squeal catches our attention. We both turn to face him and watch as Peeta spins the boy around. Fate doesn't hide away from all the fun and grabs Peeta’s leg, which causes the three of them to go straight to the ground in a swift but loud crash.

The worry I feel for Peeta's tumble and prosthetic leg soon gives into delight when I see him grinning from ear to ear the minute Fate and Aiden start to tickle him.

“I'm gonna be honest with you... one of those days, Fate and Aiden will convince me to give you guys custody of them. And 80% of the blame will be Peeta's.

“Is it just me or are you feeling a little bit threatened?”

“It’s just you. I'm feeling relieved, actually”, he jokes in a dead serious tone.

We sit in silence for a moment, gazing at the children while they draw pictures in the sand with Peeta's help, eyeing the waves crashing in the ocean and the sun beginning to retire for the day to make room for the moon.

“Have you ever noticed how happy they are?”, I question, sipping my glass of juice. “Sometimes it feels like they're from another world.”

“They are from another world”, Finnick says softly. “The world we fought for.”

I shake my head, allowing myself the brief peace of knowing that my friend's children will never know any of the horrors we’ve experienced in our childhood. Their days will be filled with laughter, fun times and warmth.

“Will you tell them?”

Finnick stares at the ocean for a while before answering me with a simple:

“No”

The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials have been built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they still teach about them at school, and Fate knows we played a role in them. Aiden will know in a few years.  And I understand Finnick's resolve, because if I were in his place I would probably spend hours on end wondering how could I tell them about that world without frightning them to death?  Without being scared to death myself with only the idea of reliving the torments that haunt me every night in my nightmares.

A few seconds later, he continues:

“I think about it all night. Sometimes, Aiden takes me by surprise and Fate notices one of Annie's panic attacks and I think that, maybe, they need to know, they need to hear from us. But, deep down, I know that I can't do this to them. I can’t bring myself to do it.”

Finnick, then, tells me of an episode that he experienced in his third year in the Capital as a victor. He recounts the graphic and sordid details of the abuse he was put through and the scars that later were erased by doctors. We're both crying when Peeta, Fate and Aiden come over to us.

Finnick's eyes and his entire countenance instantly transform. It becomes clear to anyone seeing it why he had survived for that long and it's this ability he has of hiding whatever he's feeling. The difference is that, now, he doesn't have to fake the bright smile he carries on his face when Aiden shows off the little shells he's collected and Fate starts his story about their adventure and both of them start yelling "Aunt Katniss, Aunt Katniss." 

Peeta sits down beside me, wiping away tears that still unobtrusively trickle down my face and kisses my hair. And I cling to this new world, where the Capitol and its tortures don't exist, as if it is my lifeline. Because I’m pretty sure it is.

[clefairymuke]

regrets | chapter seventeen

prev. chapter | next chapter

pairing: levi ackerman x reader

themes: enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut

tw: violence / explicit sexual content

word count: 2465

note: i pride myself in staying accurate to levi’s character because it’s difficult to do when it comes to romance. one thing i will not budge on, however: he is not a virgin. he’s a god in bed. definitely super rough. isayama is wrong. idc that he’s the author. all that aggression in that little body? this man fucks. period. he’s a different person in the bedroom. thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

Your mind was somehow racing despite the total lack of coherent thoughts in your head. It was like running in place. The feeling of Levi's lips on yours, moving in unison with his hands as they traced your body, made you ache in the most satisfying of ways. You savored every hungry and merciless prick of his teeth against the newly swollen and sensitive skin of your lips.

His tiny bites moved to your neck, sending chills down to your toes as you gasped for the air that stung your bruised mouth. His hands slid over the curvature of your waist, moving to grip your hips as he turned the both of you around, shuffling you backward until you had no choice but to take a seat on the cool wood of his desk. He ran his fingers along your thighs and tapped them, a silent request, prompting you to spread them to allow his body to fit more seamlessly against yours. His grip traveled languidly to the backside of your knees, lifting them until you understood and wrapped your legs around his waist, hanging loosely from his hips like a belt. Realization set in when you felt the bulge in his trousers brush against your most sensitive place.

"Levi," you whimpered out between gasps as he worked roughly away at your neck, "What are we doing?"

"Do you want this?" he murmured against your skin, his tone obviously displaying his feelings for the first time -- it was husky and desperate.

"Yes," you breathed without hesitation.

His hand left your legs to land gently on the side of your neck; he didn't apply any pressure, he only brushed his calloused thumb down the length of your throat. "Then please, for once in your life, just shut the fuck up." With that harsh remark, his lips crashed back into yours, his tongue pleading at your lips for entrance as you wove your fingers in the hem of his shirt. You obliged him, fighting a whine as his hands came to cup your breasts, kneading them gently. You suckled his bottom lip, drawing the quietest of groans into your mouth and sending Levi even further into his newfound desperation, his insatiable hunger for you.

Your fingertips found the smooth, cool buttons of his shirt easily, snapping them apart one after the other until his bare torso was exposed for your exploration. You felt his toned chest rise and fall rapidly as he continued his assault on your lips. He pulled his hand away from your throat and his mouth away from yours for a moment to shrug the shirt off of his shoulders, letting loose his muscular arms. He looked at you for a second, lust clouding his eyes, before he tugged at the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head; the air against your hot skin was jarring as you watched him admire you. He looped his arms around your back and unclasped your bra swiftly, tossing it to the side to join your shirts. He studied you intently, eyes traveling from your face, to your breasts, to your navel and back again. "Such a pretty girl," he cooed, making your cheeks burn red as he caressed one of them, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.

This moment didn't last long, as he soon dropped to his knees and dove to your chest, peppering kisses around where you wanted him, teasing you until you almost whimpered with want. This was where the real fun would begin. He cupped one breast in his hand and took the other into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your nipple and sending waves of pleasure through your body. You giggled softly at the memory of him shouting at you only ten minutes prior; you were an idiot to think he didn't want you.

His tongue continued to dart across one of your nipples as he tweaked the other between his fingers, making you squirm. "Do you like this?" he asked you, breaking away for only a second before returning to suck harshly on it. You moaned, nodding your head eagerly. You felt him smirk against you. He then pinched your nipple between his fingers, quickly yet firmly, sending a shockwave down your spine and a whine through your mouth. "How about that? Does that feel good, brat? Do you still want to shout at me now?"

His lips lined a trail down your ribs and your stomach as he detached his mouth and fingers from your now-sensitive nipples, giving you only a second for a sigh of relief as he began to unbutton your pants. He tugged them down your legs before tossing them to join the rest. He sat eye level with your pussy, now only clothed by the thin material of your panties. You knew he could see how soaked you were -- you wondered if you should be embarrassed.

"I asked you a question," he told you, running his fingertip along your inner thighs as he stared hungrily at the space between your legs.

"It felt incredible," you answered honestly, a grin painting your lips as you reached a wonderful thought: "I'm sorry for yelling, Captain."

This awakened something in him. He roughly threw your legs over his shoulders and showed no mercy, licking you through your panties and gripping your thighs tightly enough to bruise. His warm, wet tongue sent electricity through you each time it came in contact with your core, leaving your hands to weave themselves into his hair, pulling harshly as he made you squirm and moan. He tugged your panties to the side with one finger, finally making contact where you needed him most.

His tongue looped quick circles around your clit, pausing to suck harshly on it every once in a while, leaving you no time to catch your breath. You moaned out a string of expletives mixed in with his name, unable to control your voice any longer. You simply hoped no one could hear. Your lewd sounds only seemed to drive him further, his pace quickening and one finger starting to circle around your hole. You quickly discovered this was only to tease as he abruptly pulled away, his mouth and chin shining with wetness as you looked down at him.

"Hush," he scoffed, the iron grip on your thighs not once letting up. "Do you want everyone in the building to know what you're doing right now?"

Any ounce of self-respect you had had long gone out the window, and you knew that. You ignored his question. "Please don't stop, Levi. Please," you whined, your hands trying desperately to pull his head back down to your soaked core. You were too weak to budge him. "I don't care if I'm being loud -- just -- please, Captain. Don't stop." The smugness in the smirk that ran across his lips would normally annoy you, but you were in no place to roll your eyes or utter a sarcastic quip -- you laid on his desk, hips bucking at the idea of having his tongue on you for just one more minute; how pathetic.

"You don't care if anyone hears you?" he asked, eyes lust-filled.

You should have known then that you were in for it, but your brain was too frazzled to make the connection. "No, I don't care, just please keep going," you told him. He obliged. His lips latched back onto your clit, sucking hard and making you yelp. At the same time, he plunged two fingers into you mercilessly, the sound of your wetness sloshing inside of you almost embarrassing; however, it was difficult to hear over the loud moans of his name echoing from your throat like a chant.

You felt your stomach tightening, everything building up to a point that you weren't sure if you could control yourself any longer. You needed release, and Levi was not hesitant to drive you there. He continued his relentless pounding of his fingers into you, his mouth working a special kind of magic you had never had the pleasure of experiencing before that moment. It was becoming too much.

"Levi, I'm gonna cum," you moaned, not-so quietly. As soon as you finished your sentence, his fingers disappeared from within you and his mouth pulled away, leaving you squirming and clenching around nothing. "No no no no," you whimpered, needing to let all the pressure go. "Don't stop. Why'd you stop?"

His arms wrapped around your weak, shaky body and lifted you, your legs and arms wrapping around him as he carried you across the suite. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, feeling his hand extend to open a door -- his bedroom. You weren't in a state to take in the details, and made a mental note to do that later; your thoughts, though, were cut short by Levi dropping you onto his bed and unbuckling his belt. You looked up at him with an expression that could only be described as awe: his hair had been destroyed by your greedy hands, tangled, messy, and falling into his eyes; his silver gaze looked like that of a predator -- taking in every inch of your naked body, excitement dancing through them -- his pants hung loosely around his hips, his abs leading into a v-shape that ended in his masculine hands fiddling with his belt buckle. It fell to the floor with a clang, his fingers swiftly unbuttoning his pants and pulling them off, a new pile of clothes starting in the floor of this room.

Your eyes widened as he stood in front of you, not even pausing as he used your thighs to pull you to the edge of the bed -- you could focus on nothing but the size of him, wondering if it would even fit. It was long and thick, veins protruding as he was as hard as could be. You swore your mouth almost started to water.

"Ready?" he asked you, his gentleness taking you by surprise. You nodded hungrily as he positioned himself between your legs, the head of his cock poking at your core. He lifted your legs with his forearms so that they weren't quite on his shoulders, but still high enough to fuck you as deep as he wanted at the moment. You drew in a breath as he split you, stretching you further than anyone had before; you groaned in ecstasy. As he hilted himself into you and hit the back of your walls, your hands launched to grip his shoulders, nails digging into his back so deeply you were sure they'd draw blood. Then he was still for a moment -- perhaps he was letting you adjust, but you were sure he was only doing it to tease.

"Fuck me, please, Captain," you breathed out, not removing your nails from his back. He rocked his hips gently once or twice, giving you wave after wave of pleasure. You had never felt so completely full -- you were unsure of how he was able to move at all.

Without warning, he unsheathed his dick completely and rammed it back into you, resetting the pace entirely. You became a whiny mess as he pounded into you time after time, the knot in your stomach quickly returning and begging to be untied. He shifted up slightly, landing in the perfect place.

"Fuck, Levi, right there," you cried, dragging your nails down his back. You wondered if it was too early to decide that this was the best sex you'd ever had. "I need to cum."

"Cum for me, pretty girl," he said softly, brushing your hair out of your face. He placed his hand around your throat, squeezing only slightly and earning a loud moan. With his words, you let everything go. You felt tsunami waves  crashing on your shores as he rode out your climax, his dick twitching inside of you and his hand tightening around your neck every time your pussy clenched around him. He never slowed; once you were finished, he continued to pound into your sensitive cunt, making you writhe and whimper. His other hand trailed down from your cheek past your neck, making a little circle around your nipple before going even further. His thumb came to rest on your clit, toying with it as he fucked you like he wanted the entire regiment to hear his name.

He released his grip on your throat and wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you up to look him in his eyes while he fucked you stupid, your own pupils falling to the back of your head as the overstimulation started to make it to your brain. His grunts and groans had begun to grow more frequent, signaling you that he was close. "Who else has fucked you like this?" he asked, sultry anger dripping from his voice.

There it was -- the jealousy. The thing that had started this whole ordeal and a new contender for your favorite thing about him. "No one, Levi," you replied between squeaks of pleasure, the knot retying itself in your stomach one more time. "I'm close again," you moaned, the utter ecstasy from the combination of his cock pounding into you and is thumb assaulting your clit beginning to be too much to handle.

He ignored you. "You thought you were so fucking cute today, kissing him in front of me," his strokes grew sloppier with every word, and you knew he had started to come undone. "I wonder if Eren fucked you like this, seeing as you were willing to give it to him in the disgusting stables. Surely he was at least as good as me."

"No -- nobody's fucked me like you. Just you, Levi. Please just let me cum," you begged him, your heat throbbing around his dick and only worsening your situation.

His strokes grew slower and deeper, his rhythm breaking completely. "Good girl," he cooed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before letting you fall back to the soft bed below you. "Cum for me one more time."

That was all it took for the flood gates to open as you pulsed around him, moaning out his name like a prayer, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. Once you finished, lying there in a panting mess unable to even lift your head, he pumped out a few final strokes, curse words and your name littering from his mouth as he pulled out and released himself onto your stomach. He rolled over to lay next to you, gently pulling your head onto his chest and combing his fingers through your newly tangled hair.

"What am I going to do with you?"