#I watched her speech instead of finishing assignment that was due in less than an hour

[personinthepalace]

Mister you’re fired!

Or today (November 7, 2020) in American history as sung told by Legally Blonde the Musical

[static-fanatic-1]

(Edenian Royalty Reader)

(First daughter of Sindel)

A thunderous whip cracked through the thick atmosphere with precision to a man's back. The elderly man's back bent at the sudden pain upon his sliced open wound. He gasped for air under the beating sun and over the scorching hot sands beneath his feet. "Hurry up you lousy man!" Screeched an Osh-Tek guard at the unfortunate soul on the other end of his whip. "The emperor will not abide to this worthless behavior!" He growled again, this time to all of the slaves taken from Edenia's rebels.

(y/n) watched closely with venom as her people were being tortured for a false Emperor. Beside the female, Rain growled as well, his deep and fluid voice echoing rhythmically through her skull. "Filthy Emperor, He does not deserve the throne."

"Correct you are, Rain, once we take control of Outworld it will be no issue to save them and restore Edenia to its former glory."

Rain nodded at the female's words, she was correct in every sense. After the death of Meleena things had become much easier, due to loosing her spoiled self. D'Vorah had made haste in taking her down to feed her filthy hive, and after that the same bug had attempted an escape with a precious amulet. Luckily she was cut short, no telling how bad things could have been. Unluckily it was Kotal Kahn who had taken the amulet into his own hands, using it to further show his power over the realms.

Rain huffed in irritation, Tanya appearing beside him. "I have received word from one of our scouts that Kotal Kahn's Osh-Tekk are making their way back to Edenia soon, possibly to collect more slaves." Tanya spoke clearly with her smooth voice.

"We cannot allow that to happen, Rain, Tanya, we must make haste in our actions. When will the Osh-Tekk be leaving?" (Y/n) spoke up with pain in her voice, her (e/c) eyes showing worry as her eyebrows furrowed. The female couldn't stand seeing her people being hurt.

"Princess (Y/n), I see you are in distress, but only time will allow victory." Tanya proposed. "As for their departure, it was not specified."

Rain turned his body from the buildings edge to the two beside him. "Your majesty, there might be a way to infiltrate the Kahn without him knowing." Rain paused for a second as if to rethink his words.

"I'm listening."

"Ko'atal has yet to know if your existence, you could possibly get into his palace and destroy it from this inside out. Tanya and I will assist from afar."

Tanya gritted her pearly white teeth. "It is not safe for the Princess, besides we do not know if any Edenian has spoiled her surprise."

Rain nodded. "That is true, that is why I was hesitant to propose this tactic, but Princess (y/n) isn't wrong, we need to act fast or else we might lose our chance. The Kahn is becoming stronger with every passing day, time is of the essence.

If Princess (y/n) was to get close to the Kahn then she could sneak Shinnok's amulet away, we could get the upper hand." Rain finished, sitting down on the roof instead of crouching.

Tanya and (y/n) sat down with him, forming a triangle. "Rain is right Tanya, if I could retrieve the amulet then we could easily take back Edenia and take over Outworld. I wish we had time, Tanya, but our forces are falling to the hands of Kotal Kahn, we have only a few men left at our disposal. Not to mention fewer now that Meleena is dead." (Y/n) calmly stated her view on the pressing matter, pointing out claims like the Tarakan's abandoning them after Meleena's demise.

"It is risky, but if that is what you wish to do then I shall not stop you from doing so. I will only be able to support you." Tanya tilted her head down in respect.

"Things will only go wrong once I know where Shinnok's amulet is, and it will be in my grasp by then." (Y/n) stayed calm throughout her speech, a new element of their operation coming to mind. "What about our allies? Kano?"

Tanya lifted her head again, staring into the Princess's (e/c) eyes. "Kano abandoned us after Meleena's death, we have little options now."

"A shame," (Y/n) said. "He still could've had some use." (Y/n) sighed and looked up at the sky, the sun blazing down upon them harshly. "We should leave and plan this out more, we have the last of the layouts for all of this place."

Rain and Tanya nodded, everyone getting off the ground, the Princess and Tanya gripping the biceps of Rain. In a moment of being stuck in the cooling water, the three were taken from the sunburnt lands of the Outworld palace to the lands of the humid Outworld jungles.

"Thank you, Rain." (Y/n) kindly voiced before turning her head in the direction of the small encampment they had created, few Tarkatans wondering around. The princess paused and looked around. "I can't believe we are in such a predicament. From the times long ago, what happened?"

Rain nor Tanya have an answer to their princess, making the atmosphere change into and other worldly silence. The female sighed and continued on her way to a large tent in the middle of the encampment. Tanya followed behind the rightful ruler of Edenia, Rain trailing behind.

"Either way we have little resources and even less time to finish this war, Edenia is in trouble and we need to act soon."

Rain sighed at (y/n)'s words. "We already have some rags for you to wear, but finding a convincing story as to why you are in his palace in the first place."

(Y/n) slightly smirked to herself at the thought. "Kotal Kahn does want slaves correct? So when the Osh-Tekk arrive with slaves I could join my people. From there I could build a reputation in a way to receive a free visit to the Outworlder's Palace. I know it isn't a full proof plan, but there might not be another way to get into his Palace without being hidden in plain sight."

Tanya shifted around in her spot beside the Princess. "You are correct, this all is too close together to figure out a way. All I can say is to find Shinnok's amulet before they find out who you are."

"Do not worry my dear Edenians, I will not fail."

~~~

Osh-Tekk soldiers surrounded the slaves, the Princess hidden within her own people. When she first joined them, they were surprised, but seemed to quickly understand what was going to happen. Freedom was going to happen, and it was going to happen soon.

The Edenians made their way through the sandy streets, the Princess's usual golden and silver outfits to the brownish grey rags the slaves were given to wear. The only issue is that the female was far to fair and beautiful to completely blend in, and the dirt upon her face didn't hide it too well.

Luckily no Osh-Tekk seemed to show much interest in examining their prisoners faces, though there was the two closer members of the Kahn that examined each prisoner a little more in depth.

One man had a raspy yet smooth voice with some sort of hat and many weapon things upon his hips and back. He had shoulder length black hair and tan skin. Every once in a while said man would take on of the things on his hips and twirl them around quiet skillfully before placing them back. (Y/n) honestly found his dexterous handy work quiet impressive.

The other person, or person's one should say, was a large man like beast with a much smaller, child looking creature on his back. They had metallic armor and the smaller one had metal claws. They looked like a strong opponent together.

(Y/n)'s eyes worriedly gazed through the crowd of slaves and soldiers, the crowd coming nearer and nearer to the palace. All seemed to go in slow motion as the mass of new slaves were forced to kneel down in front of the palace stairwell. 

Almost thunderous steps followed the kneeling, (y/n) glanced up in response to the sound. And there he was in all of his glory, the mighty Kotal Kahn. He glared down at the slaves as his closer companions moved to the front of the crowd. "Here they are." Voiced the gruffy man, once again twirling his weapon in his grasp.

Kotal Kahn's lips shifted to the side for a mere second before he made his way down to the slaves, his head held high and his headdress shinning in the sunlight. He stopped in front of a slave, examining them as if looking through their soul. He shook his head. "He will work on the construction." He spoke, a simple sentence with such a heavy weight on each word.

The man he spoke about squirmed and glanced around his fellow Edenians, finding and staring at the Princess with a horrified look. The Princess could see him swallow hard before being kicked in the face by an Osh-Tekk soldier. "Look in front of you." He growled and the whining Edenian below his feet.

Kotal Kahn stared at the beaten slave, following his gaze to the beautiful female kneeling down in rags. The emperor walked his way to the female, stopping in front of her much smaller form. "Who are you?" His deep voice rumbled throughout (y/n)'s being, making her body slightly shake. The princess knew he was intimidating, but it wasn't as horrifying than being up close and personal. "Answer me, Edenian scum."

'I-I am no scum.' Is what (y/n) truly wished to say, but her lousy plan wouldn't allow that. "My title is (f/n (fake name))."

Kotal Kahn lifted her chin with a strange blade, just enough to see into her (e/c) orbs. "And why was he staring at you?" The larger blue man motioned to the slave.

The princess gulped her saliva down her throat. "The Edenians are my dearest friends. They trust me as I trust them."

He lowly hummed to himself and turned his head to look at the other Edenians. "Their trust in you is useless. Servant."

Again Kotal Kahn moved to another, assigning the males construction and the few females as servants. It pained the princess to just sit down and watch all of this take place, but she bit her lips throughout the entirety of the whole visit.

The Osh-Tekk soldiers grasped everyone and took them to their corresponding places, the palace being just in reach of the princess.

~~~

The room was filthy and undeserving of Edenians, much less the rightful ruler of Edenia and Outworld. The room (y/n) was staying in wasn't the worst, yet it wasn't the best. It wasn't exactly large, but it had a bed and desk along with a small dresser. It was questionable to give a servant this type of room, and it was more unusual for her not to be sharing a room with another one of her people.

No Osh-Tekk has been around either to tell her to do anything, and it was honestly worrying to not be doing anything. Did he already know? If so, how?

The door opened to reveal and Osh-Tekk, he stood tall and moved to the side to allow free movement out the door. "There is a job for you to do."

(Y/n) nodded and followed the man, her head down while she listened closely to the footsteps throughout the halls. The two beings wondered for what seemed to be an eternity until she was met with the throne room. "Clean." The Osh-Tekk kicked behind the Princess's knee, knocking her to the ground right in front of Kotal Kahn. A wet sponge was thrown in front of the female.

Bitterly, she took the sponge and started her work, cleaning the stone. Though, where was the other servants? Were they even safe, or were they already slaughtered?

(Y/n) gulped a lump down her throat as she scrubbed harder against the cold stone. The feeling of the Kahn staring down her back more intense every passing second, and it scared her. (Y/n) had refused to be fearful of a lower power, but she knew something was wrong. Something was so wrong.

~~~

A week has passed since (y/n) has become a servant for the person she had sworn herself to kill. Rain and Tanya still haven't received any form of signal, nor has Shinnok's amulet shown itself. Time was becoming tighter and tighter, but no one has revealed her secret, so doing something soon would be ideal.

Princess (y/n) glanced out the window, it has been dark for several hours now. The (h/c) haired female slightly opened the door to her room, silence was being given. She crept out, making sure to shut the door behind her as she started her way down the hall in a bitter silence.

Throughout her search she saw very few guards, and the only issue was dodging the gaze of the large and small guards, the one with the metallic claws. And even though the two had more eyes too see her, she was just able to make it past them without too much of an issue.

(Y/n) now was in a strange hallway, one with a large door at the end of it, was this where it was stored? Joyfully and almost dashing, she hurriedly made her way to the large doors, her shoeless feet making the lightest of noises in her hurried attempt to find the amulet.

As the doors grazed the Princess's fingers a shiver ran up her spine, it must be from the power of the amulet, what else could it be from? She slightly opened the doors, entered and closed them behind her ever so softly. A small smile graced her lips as she rested her head against the doors.

Strong arms wrapped around (y/n)'s waist, squeezing tight enough to keep her in place, but that wasn't needed, for she was frozen in fear. "Now, Princess (y/n), why might you be here?" The deep voice bellowed through her head.

Something was caught in her throat, something stiff and rigid.

"And why can't you speak? Did I surprise you so suddenly?"

"H-how? How did-did you know?!" A sudden feeling washed over the Princess, and struggling became top priority. (Y/n) thrashed and whipped around in his iron grip.

"Ah, don't you remember the tournament created by Shao Kahn, to take over Edenia all those years ago? Well I was fighting in it, at the time I was the General of the Osh-Tekk army and fighting in the tournament was something I was told to do. That is when I met you, a beautiful Princess, the eldest daughter of Sindel. I fought you, and since then I have become infatuated with you. And you just decided to crawl into my arms, more than once." His breath became prominent upon her ear lobe, making her shiver all the more. "How lucky of a god I must be."

"Ko'atal?" Princess (y/n) glanced over her shoulder to meet Kotal Kahn's turquoise orbs, a lustful glare stuck inside them.

"So you do remember, good, then you remember what I did."

~~~

Edenia was stuck in a time of fear, Shao Kahn had made his way to a throne like chair on the opposite side of a coliseum, and the Queen and King of Edenia had sat on the opposite side, a worried look on their faces. "Mother, father, I will not fail this trial."

"I know you will, (y/n), all I can say is to take your challenger down at all costs."

"Yes mother." (Y/n) bowed at Sindel, giving her her respects before walking to the balcony of the colosseum, the gravel decorating the grounds below.

The horns bellowed below, telling all to look into the pits as the challengers approach. (Y/n) glanced at her mother, watching her nod, and then turned to descend into the pit.

Her golden and silver dress flowing behind her, the Princess's gorgeous (h/c) following her dress. A chest plate, shoulder pads, knee pads, and gauntlets covered her being to protect her from attacks.

"I am Princess (y/n) of Edenia," She paused and listened to the hushing crowd. "Bring your first challenger Shao Kahn!"

Yes, she would be fighting two people to protect Edenia, and it would be the most important fights of her life.

Shao Kahn scoffed and leaned to someone beside him, a pale and large man with inky black hair and skull armor. From below she could vividly see his nose piercings and his bloody eyes. The two above exchanged unknown words before departing, the man with the inky black hair leaving the emperor with the skull mask.

The man with the inky black hair showed himself as the newest challenger to the princess, his strength being shown through his height and muscle. "I am Ko'atal, General of the Osh-Tekk army, and I am your challenger!"

"So be it, Ko'atal, meet your demise!"

"I do not think so." Ko'atal was the first to make an attack, cutting his hand in the process for what seemed to be more power.

(Y/n) smirked to herself, finding his growth in power to be useless against someone of a high range. Golden orbs fumed in her hands as her body slowly started to float above the rough gravel. She aimed the orbs at Ko'atal and fired four of them, the man dodging them with speed.

The princess scoffed and flew away as he kept up his pace and skillfully dodging her attacks, coming a little too close on some of them. She flew above and over Ko'atal so he couldn't upper cut her jaw and quickly end this fight. Instead of him attacking her, she used her palm to hit his nose and then his throat. Accidentally forgetting the nose piercing, a long and jagged cut was found all the way down her palm, but she ignored it.

The fight kept going for a while, the Princess being kept on her toes as Ko'atal kept his advances at maximum. Soon he had grabbed her forearm, taking her down in a swift moment and a even more swift upper cut to the stomach. He tore out his strange blade and gave (y/n) multiple cuts upon her shoulders.

(Y/n) was pulled and slammed down harshly onto the gravel. "A shame a flower like you must be cut."

"Your compliments are given to deaf ears, Ko'atal." She head butted the man, yet it seemed to be ineffective against his raw strength. The two grappled for a small bit, Ko'atal having the upper hand, he landed on top of her and punched her square in the jaw. The princess growled and screeched in his ear, not as powerful as Sindel's screams, but still louder than a normal Edenian's.

Ko'atal winced, being thrown off onto the ground beside the princess. This was her chance, she cradled his hips with her thighs and summoned orbs for the last time. "We might meet again another time, Ko'atal." (Y/n) commented with a smirk before using her orbs to knock her challenger.

In doing so, she could almost feel the rage seething out from under Shao Kahn's mask. (Y/n) stood up and moved from Ko'atal's unconscious body. "Bring me your next challenger, Shao Kahn!"

From that point Ko'atal was taken by Baraka and a reptilian creature known ironically as Reptile. Soon the next challenger approached, a prince named Goro, and their fight ended in a similar way, with (y/n) winning.

Not too long after did everyone part their own ways, Shao Kahn staying in a room in the Edenian palace for simplicity reasons. His champions and fighters also staying somewhere in the palace as well.

Ko'atal recovered from the sudden blast of energy, luckily it wasn't as damaging blow, it seemed the blow wasn't intended to kill him.

As he walked around the palace, making his way to Gods know where, he stumbled upon the view of a beautiful Edenian princess in the gardens. She didn't notice him, and he found that quite alluring, and seeing her golden and silver dress gleam in the sunlight along with her perfect (s/c) skin, she was stunning to simply put it.

This is when a strange feeling washed over him, a feeling of lust for not just her body, but her mind as well. He was obsessed.

~~~

His hands slithered down her waist, his right hand taking a hold of the scared palm. "I knew it from the beginning, from the scars that matched the ones I gave you all those years ago, to your facial structure I've memorized. Now," He took her hand and twisted her body around to face him, his bare chest connecting with her dainty hands.

A crazed look entered his eyes as he smiled widely. "Marry me."

"Wh-What?!" (Y/n) attempted to push him away, but even when he was weaker back then she wouldn't be able to push away. "No! No, you helped take away and ruin Edenia! I will never marry you!"

Kotal Kahn grind his teeth together in anger. His voice echoed throughout his chambers in a thunderous way, mimicking the whip from a week ago. "That was not a request."

~~~

Rain and Tanya were found not too long after the forced marrying of Princess (y/n) and Kotal Kahn. The princess begged for their lives, but they were executed with no mercy. Kotal Kahn still is in possession of Shinnok's amulet and his power grows with every passing day and with each passing day Princess (y/n) becomes more and more powerless.

Princess (y/n) was never able to free herself from his memory.

[pugh-bug]

Scott Lang x reader

Chapter 2

I apologise this is a long chapter but domesticated Avengers makes me happy. If you’re reading this it’s meant to be a slow burnnn so enjoy the burning, the Tony x reader friendship and Thor being domesticated. If you like unsmashed lamps this chapter may be hard for you to read I’m sorry.

Warnings: none. unless you count archers breaking things.

You opened your weary eyes but everything was still black. Something warm was brushing against your face. You were warm... and in bed. ‘Please tell me I’m in my own bed.’ Without moving your splitting head you had no idea who could hear you until the unmistakable voice of Thor replied ‘It’s your own.’ He sounded amused. Somehow you felt well rested and more tired than you’d felt since Scott kept you up all night showing you card tricks, all at the same time. Although out of all the occupants in Stark Tower, Parker tired you out the most. The child. He was lucky you liked him.

Groaning you rolled over and face dived into your pillow clenching your eyes closed. Of course it was your bed. No one else’s smelt this good. Unless you’d gone nose blind as that weird advert went. ‘What day is it?’ You felt ridiculous asking but wasn’t this how you were supposed to behave? Youth? because Peter was in the minority being so morally well adjusted.

‘Sunday.’ That voice woke you up. ‘Y/N we can leave if you really want to sleep for another hundred years,’ you finally opened your eyes to see a much happier Scott smiling at you. Next to him was a smiling Thor glancing outside at the blue sky like a bird and a Peter looking apprehensive. You weren’t sure what as wrong with him he didn’t have the worst hangover of all time.

‘Come on get up,’ Scott spoke to you like you were five which just made you scowl... like a five year old. Looking mockingly scared Scott raised his hands up in ‘defeat’. ‘Okay don’t get up. I’ll just eat all the delicious pancakes Thor made myself.’

Thor snapped out of his bird watching trance to grunt before nodding ‘Yes. I’m afraid they are delicious.’ What did you do to deserve such generosity? And how could you resist pancakes? Oh but bed or pancakes?

‘These are amazing!’ You exclaimed (you had chosen pancakes). Thor grinned at your compliment as you ate like a rabid dog. Scott closed all the kitchen cupboards - he was such a dad sometimes - before leaning on the worktop facing you. ‘I’m glad you like them ,’ Thor remarked before finishing his breakfast and going to presumably get a shower leaving you with your favourite ant and third wheeling spider.

‘S- so I have an assignment due next month which is gonna take forever but Mr Stark-‘ as Peter launched himself into a long winded story about homework Scott caught your eye and smirked. You felt as if you were speaking in code. He watched you listen to your friends tangled tale with as much enthusiasm as you could muster despite your hangover. It seemed to amuse him.

‘And I was thinking who do I know that knows a lot about this sort of stuff? Y/N but I didn’t know how to ask y-‘

Scott gave you his best: can-you-believe-this-shit look and chuckled quietly keeping his eyes on yours. You smiled back but tried not to laugh - not wanting to upset Peter. Scott wasn’t as used to him as you were. He must have felt ancient beside someone as young and sprightly as the kid because even you felt middle aged in comparison. Luckily Peter had the attention span of a little child so before Scott could even try and think about asking him to leave he was off. Where? Chasing butterflies and doing something you did not need to know about.

You swallowed your words before they came out once Peter had left you and Scott alone. He was washing up and you weren’t even bothering to offer to do it instead. The hangover brain was strong and you didn’t even remember drinking never mind being pissed. Just as you watched him wash the final plate Scott turned to look at you. ‘You don’t even remember what you did last night do you?’

Oh fuck. Shit. What did you do? What could you have done? How could Scott tell you didn’t know? Was he turning into a psychic because of the quantum realm? It wouldn’t surprise you. Less and less shit did since moving to Stark Tower.

‘No. How can you tell? Have you absorbed Charles Xavier’s powers?’ Thank god the panic didn’t show in your voice for a change because otherwise all those oscar worthy performances you gave in the shower would have been a waste of time. Scott’s face pulled into a smug smile as he sat down at the breakfast table you hadn’t left.

‘Oh poor Y/N,’ he pulled a mocking sad face and used his creepy high pitched voice you hated. ‘Is someone confused?’ He was revelling in having the upper hand for a change.

‘Funny. You’re funny. Now tell me what I did or didn’t do last night before I throw this plate at you.’ You both knew you would never throw a plate at his cute face. It wouldn’t be worth the lecture of Steve on manners either. Steve. What could he possibly teach you about manners - they were fucking impeccable?

‘That’s not asking nicely.’

Your stomach contracted slightly as you could almost visualise the two pathways the conversation could lead to. His eyes were burning into yours with a new intensity you’d never seen in Scott before. It made your mouth dry and you cheeks burn up slightly. You felt like you’d been shoved into an oven without warning.

‘Fine,’ he refused to break eye contact with you and it was infuriating in a way. You willed him to stop as if he could in fact mind read. ‘Please just tell me what happened.’ Normally you only took this tone with Tony, you couldn’t help but wonder if in a weird way it meant you were getting closer to Scott. Atleast more comfortable. That would help you make less of a spectacle of yourself on a daily basis (not that that wasn’t fun but- ).

He told you that it wasn’t as bad as everyone was making out but you had decided to play beer pong with Thor and lost. Badly. You’d apparently cried when Clint said he didn’t want to play just dance and stormed off like a grumpy toddler who couldn’t get her own way.

‘Jeez,’

‘I know. You’re classy.’

‘I can be classy!’

Scott snorted at your outrage, downing the last of his orange juice while you sat in mock disbelief. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’ Okay noted. Scott didn’t think ripped fishnets were classy. Interesting. His ex wife was classy - ah let’s not open that door.

‘I didn’t throw up did I?’ You finally asked the burning question every hungover Gen Z member had to ask. He ran his hands through his dark hair but you refused to let your eyes linger for too long. ‘No you didn’t.’ This was followed by a cat like stretch he seemed to revel in performing. You heard the bones in his wrists crack and narrowed your eyes at him because you couldn’t think of what else to say. He didn’t seem interested in speaking either, he was blank. Fuck it. You knew when to let a conversation end.

‘I’m gonna shower.’ and as you left Scott alone in the kitchen to find the bathroom empty you smiled: if Scott had been 18 he would have said ‘without me?’ and thank god he wasn’t. You liked your older men immature in some ways (the fun ways) but pick me boys you could not abide. Scott was certainly not one.

After you’d sucked any joy out of showering dry by obsessing over how sad Scott may or may not be about his ex wife (or if he wanted advice) you dried yourself. You were 18 what advice could you have for the man? Middle aged men did seem to come to you for advice despite your own doubts and lack of experience. When Steve had been left out of a mission because of another fight with Bucky you practically became his mother consoling the drama queen. Tony called it ‘hilarious’ but you had a different word for the experience. That being said you wouldn’t mind listening to all of Scott’s problems on a loop on a fucking tape but bias is bias.

The walk to Tony’s obnoxiously large living room was short from the bathroom. The sound of the cold tile against your bare feet was all you could hear for a moment before the sound of-

‘Shit. Shit!’

Clint.

You entered the crime scene cold and confused, your wet hair was dripping cold down your back making you shiver. Stood in front of the tv flaming at the nostrils was a pissed off yet guilt ridden Clint Barton looking down at his handiwork. Lay on the floor was the lamp you’d bought Tony for his birthday. Smashed.

Nat was scowling at the archer lecturing him on how to carry things like a cross teacher. Wanda, Vision, Bucky and Steve were less concerned. You weren’t concerned at all it was a fucking £10 lamp. ‘Nat it’s fine it was an accident it’s just a lamp.’ You interrupted her scolding which gained you a sympathetic smile from Clint. His eyes said thank you. Nat did not seem convinced but swallowed her pride and calmed down anyway.

You scanned the room until your eyes met Scott, which you knew you needed to stop doing so often. There they were. Pointing back at you : a mixture of humour and the sadness you couldn’t stop noticing even if no one else did. You caved first and smiled at him. It was impossible not to.

‘Are we forgetting he’s a millionaire?’ Scott laughed at his own comment.

‘Excuse me, billionaire.’ Tony revelled in correcting people on how much money he had. How many cars he owned was a fun one too or how many times he’d redesigned everything in the house because he was ‘bored.’ Nat rolled her eyes in your direction which you quickly returned.

‘Really? Billionaire?’ Scott couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His voice was so high and his eyes were so wide you just grinned at his adorable face. Bless him. He knew nothing about Tony’s empire. What no one wanted was Scott’s lack of knowledge to end in a long speech from the billionaire about his life story. No one would stay for that.

‘I bought you churros. You said I had to pay for everyone’s.’ Scott sounded as if he could cry, so naturally everyone laughed. Even Vision. You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen him laugh before, it was so sweet. ‘Well I’m sure you’ll survive.’ Tony’s signature eyebrow raise was code for I’m-better-than-you.

Once everyone got up to get drinks and choose a film Scott snaked his arm onto your shoulder startling you. Everyone was on the other side of the room and no one was looking. There was a chance Tony was to see if you made a fool of yourself but you could live with that. ‘You jump so easily,’ he was not wrong. Everything startled you. ‘Did you know how much money Tony made?’

His hand left your shoulder, making you fight the urge to sigh in disappointment from the lack of touch. He sounded genuinely curious. Why he was fixating on Tony’s money you did not know. He didn’t steal anymore.

‘Everyone does. Why are you so interested? Are you planning a heist?’

Scott’s face changed. He was stood so close to you if either one of you moved there’d be no space to breathe. You wondered if he would ever fucking notice your ‘little crush’ on him or if it would continue like this forever. Would that be so bad? No. It would make more sense.

‘If I was you could be my accomplice.’ He sounded so confident. Of course it was a joke but still .. you? A criminal?

‘Hmm ... I think Nat would be a better choice.�� He smiled down at you as his hand found its way back to your shoulder. His touch, even in a non sexual way, made you feel like putty.

‘Sure she can come too. You’d be better company though, she’s a bit scary.’ You both laughed and then he was back to the sofa with the others. It took you a moment of standing around like an idiot taking Scott’s words in before you could join them.

Better company. Better company. Better company that a Russian assassin? Did that really mean much?

Taglist: @supraveng

[chick-from-nz]

Paper, Scissors, Rank (Ch: 3)

CHARACTER/PAIRING: Modern!Carrillo x Army!OC (eventually) 

WARNINGS: maybe some swearing, military slang, spelling and grammatical errors. Could be very OOC/AU for some. Carrillo might not be cannon accurate for some as this is an AU. Flippy, floppy point of views (if it can be called that?), some oc x Army!oc 

AUTHORS NOTE:  hopefully y'all enjoy this chapter, sorry for the high amount of OC on OC content in this chapter, also i was writing this late at night so its probably a lil disjointed, but ah, yeah you’ll see why soon. More of the Colonel is this chapter, finally, but yeah. enjoy!

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

CHAPTER: 3 OF ?

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It seemed wishful thinking really did not pay off for Cadet Greyson, the next two days of training went by without so much of a sighting of the Colonel, who at this point, was still nameless to her and her fellow cadets. Maybe he hadn't seen someone worth his while within the current platoon and had instead decided to leave for the main base to find a more adequate soldier. Greyson dismissed that thought as quickly as it came. Surely he would want a fresh little soldier to mold into his perfect team member, why else would he be sniffing round the training grounds if not for that reason. But as it seemed, no one other than herself had seen the Colonel around. So maybe he was really just a figment of her imagination then.

Pffft, as if, you can’t make THAT man up. He is pure sin of the utmost devine kind ��Greyson giggled quietly to herself. She had definitely gone mad from the deathly amount of exhaustion they had faced since the assessment day.  That or maybe I hit my head when I fell from that stupid wall.  Again she giggled to herself. Nope , definitely gone mad.

Another thing that struck her as odd was that she hadn’t seen  LT. Colonel Sinclair since their less than professional interactions two days ago. Hopefully he finally came to his senses and decided she wasn't worth the effort and that her rank was far below anything worthy of his attention. For some reason though, that thought struck a cord inside of her, one that frightened her. She was in over her head with this guy, way over her head and rank. Even if he was drop dead gorgeous.  Definitely not as attractive as a certain handsome Colonel.  A little inside voice reminded her. God, that was the last thing she needed, falling for a guy with an even higher rank, if she wasn’t frowned upon already she definitely would be then.

Shaking the idea from her mind, she stood up and continued packing up her kit. The company was to head back to the training base today. A welcome thought for all the recruits within the area. The thought of sleeping on a bed that wasn’t below zero temperature to the touch and fully functioning warm showers seemed to be pushing them to move faster and more fluidly as a team than ever before. There is never a more motivated team than a team that has a single goal in common . Sometimes she hated her father but she never knew that saying to be more true than it was now.

It took the recruits approximately thirty minutes to have the campsite return to the pristine state it was before they laid camp only four days earlier, despite the fact said week had felt like a month long mission.  Despite all the recruits being overworked and their patience stretched thin with each other, all of the thirty recruits had passed their final assessment week, which would mean all of them would graduate together. An accomplishment for all and a first for a company of this size.  Yet, it was obvious from an outsider looking in, that this company was definitely not a team of thirty like they should be. The distinct scores between the top three recruits and the rest had seemingly made the company into two teams. The twenty seven cadets who had done enough to pass, and the three cadets who had excelled beyond all expectations in every single area of the training. The elite cadets of the company some might say.

The next few hours flew by for the cadets, a long bus ride back to base, stowing away their kit and polishing boots to get their rig from exercise standard back  to office standard. Rumors' had been passed around that tonight there was to be a big meeting for the cadets to attend. There was a palpable excitement coursing through the mess as everyone tried to guess what the meeting was about, many speculated that they would be introduced to the Colonel, while others thought it was a congratulations for completing their assessment week. Although, it was safe to say, that many of the recruits were hoping for the former of the two, and maybe if that happened one of them would be formally offered a spot on the Colonel’s intel squad.

Without even knowing the name of the Colonel there was already a bet running between the female cadets about the attractiveness of the foreign officer. Some girls bet that he was going old and undesirable due to his rank,  while others bet he was a “young stud”. Greyson had kept her thoughts to herself but would often scoff at the descriptions the girls came up with, not one of them was even getting close to what the Colonel looked like, which instilled a strange sense of pride within the cadet. But also a high level of confusion as not a single recruit in the platoon had ever mentioned seeing an unknown officer with the instructors a mere two days ago.

As the evening progressed the recruits waited for an announcement to be made over the speakers for them to move to the scran hall or into the common area for the meeting. By eight o’clock the recruits finally heard the speakers crack to live, waking most of them from an evening of well deserved rest. The recruits followed the instructions given to them and made haste towards the common area a short march away from their barracks. Upon arriving, dismissing and gathering in the space many recruits seemed to deflate at the lack of an unfamiliar face.

“Good evening cadets, as you know there is a Columbian Colonel on base observing the ins and outs of some squadrons so he can choose a select few members from different corps so join his intelligence team. Over the past week he was in and out of the training grounds observing most of you knowing. By the end of your longest day he had made a tough decision between two of the cadets sitting in this room, along with choosing your squadron leader, Lieutenant O’Connor here to be a part of his squad. In saying that, the colonel is yet to inform us of which cadet sitting in this room is the lucky new member of his squad. I shall take it upon myself, as the commander of the unit, to inform you as soon as I know” LT. Colonel Sinclair’s speech seemed to drone on for most of the cadets in the room. They were tired, beyond so, and were just wishing he would allow them to leave as soon as possible, but as it seemed, he wasn’t finished yet.

“I will be taking time this coming week to pull each of you into my office to discuss your future in the force and what corps you are now eligible to join due to your overall scores gained from the past twenty weeks of your training. Once you have all been assigned to a core you shall receive your patches and berets and be formally welcomed into your chosen field before you graduate. The last week of training will consist of core introductions and briefs and finalization of drill before your graduation day. I will offer you all a very big congratulations for making it through training and wish you all the best for your futures in the force. You are dismissed”

At the dismissal most of the cadets all but jumped from their chairs, having been given no more orders for the night it was to be a peaceful night ahead. And many of them would be heading straight to the barracks for sleep.  Greyson began to make her way from the room following slightly behind her fellow classmates only to be stopped by the LT. Colonel calling out to her. Stopping abruptly at the order she turned around and walked back towards him, the whole time wondering if this was gonna be another one of his ‘teasing moments’.

“Sir, not to overstep but I would like to get back to the barracks and back to my pit before I drop on my feet” Greyson said kindly to make it very clear to the LT. Colonel in front of her that she was suggesting and definitely not ordering him around, that was the last thing she wanted to do.

“This will only take a moment Greyson, I assure you that...” the LT Colonel trailed off, waiting for his subordinate to acknowledge, before continuing on, “I wanted to congratulate you personally on you achievements over the cadets course, you have set multiple records with the scores you have obtained and I wanted to let you know that you are the top recruit from your intake”

Shifting on her feet awkwardly Greyson nodded in thanks, silently acknowledging her own achievements and also trying to stay awake for the conversation. The LT. Colonel took a step closer to her, again entirely to close from a professional standpoint, and placed his hand on her shoulder, steady and firm, making her whole body tense up at the initial contact before she subtly, or so she thought, relaxed far too much under his touch. She had, after all, had no contact from anyone since joining the army, as was protocol, but it had left her touch starved, and in her tired state, far too ready to throw rank out the window and do something that broke far too many rules.

The LT. Colonel noticed the way she relaxed under his touch and decided to push the boundary a little further bringing the cadet in front of him into a tight hug, to which she returned all too eagerly. While absorbed in each other's embrace they failed to notice one of the other cadets, Cadet Lewis, watching from the door. Lewis was Greyson’s roommate and had stayed behind when she noticed she wasn’t behind her like she should have been.

Greyson sank into the embrace, although knowing that this was highly against almost all rules put in place she couldn’t bring herself to care. Yes he was her commanding officer, and yes she was but a lowly cadet, but in that moment wrapped within his strong arms and snuggled closely into her chest, she had never felt more relaxed. She let out one long shaky breath, one that he definitely felt, and pulled away from him. She needed to keep the relationship professional till she graduated, and probably even after then, god knows her father wouldn't want her to disgrace his name.

As she pulled away from his warm embrace she dared a glance up, there was a look of what almost seemed like longing and affection in the eyes of the man before her, and a look of want, the emotions she found in his intense brown eyes made her shiver. She watched as his eyes glanced down towards her lips, then slowly back up to her eyes as his tongue darted out to lick his lips. Shamefully her own eyes were then transfixed on his mouth, and for a small moment, she pushed the thoughts of rank out the window as his head dipped down and his lips captured hers in a bruising kiss. The shock that came from the kiss had her gasping into his mouth, giving him the perfect opportunity to tangle his tongue with hers, she felt his hands start to wander down her back, and further still to her ass. The shock of this seemed to finally bring her to her sense, cause not a second later she was pushing him away and taking a few steps back for good measure.

Standing there staring at the LT Colonel, chest heaving in time with his, sheer horror overcame her sense. What had she just done? Wiping a hand down her face to clear her thoughts she knew she needed to end this before it started, even if the kiss was better than nay she had had.

“Sir, I..” Greyson trailed off, she was struggling to find the right words for the situation, she didn’t want to reject him in a harsh way, or reject him at all if she was being totally honest with herself, but she knew this was the only thing that would save her career from being a shit-fight. “I’m sorry Sir, I can’t do this, I’m sorry” and with those final words she dismissed herself and promptly left the room for the safety of her barracks. In her rush to get away from an awkward moment, she failed to notice the  LT. Colonel’s face fell and the way he had to refrain himself from reaching out to touch her.

Breathing heavily and overcome with emotion, Cadet Greyson finally made it back to her barracks, a room she shared with but one other cadet, the luxury of being an officer in training. To her shock her roommate, Cadet Lewis, was still awake, and by the looks of it, she had been waiting for her to get back.

“So, you're fucking the LT Colonel right? That's how you've made it to the top of the points board” Cadet Lewis hissed at her

“I... what the fuck are you talking about Lewis, I earnt my place on that board by beating the rest of you lazy fucks in the events fair and square. And what the fuck do you mean, fucking the LT. Colonel, what gives you that idea?!” In her already distressed state Greyson was finding it hard to process the accusation thrown at her by the cadet in front of her.

“Oh fuck off Greyson, don’t play dumb with me. All the cadets see the way he looks at you and how he treats you differently from the rest of us! And don't act like you weren’t just smooching up to him in the common room, I saw it all”

Greyson felt sick to her stomach, if Lewis had seen it all she could have just lost the right to be here if she decided to run her mouth. She forced herself to turn around before muttering, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Lewis”

Lewis just scoffed, “yeah right, what you think you are exempt from the rules because your daddy was in the force too? Fuck right off Greyson, you’ve got another thing coming if you think you’re gonna get away with this”

Greyson felt her stomach flip, god, the stupid cadet behind her really just pulled that card. She knew she came from an army background but she definitely was not sleeping her way to the top, no matter what the other cadets thought. But at the mention of her father, the sickness turned to anger and she rounded on Cadet Lewis, giving her the harshest glare she could muster, lips curled up in a snarl and a finger pointed in the direction of the other recruit she growled out, “You bring my fucking father into the mess that you’ve made up in that thick skull of yours and I’ll use my name to my advantage. I’m sure your family would love you to return home with Dishonorable discharge plastered all over your report, wouldn’t they?”

Greyson had to to hold back her smirk when she noticed the way the other cadet clammed up and how her face fell. Yeah that's right, bring my father into this and I’ll use it to my advantage you useless trash. And without so much as another word Greyson walked out of the room, slamming the door to their room for emphasis. She was sure almost all the recruits in the block had heard what had just transpired but she honestly couldn’t care less. She made her way out of the barracks building and towards the gym, she needed to get the tension out of her muscles and a workout would be the easiest outlet.

In her haste and far too deep within her own thoughts, Greyson failed to lift her head to see where she was going, and as she rounded the final corner that led to the gym she came to an abrupt halt, slamming into a wall, or at least that's what it felt like. It wasn't until a pair of strong hands moved to steady her did she realize she hadn’t in fact run into a wall at all, just the widest chest she’d ever felt the pleasure of being this close too. She presumed it was one of the infantry boys, they were usually in the gym this late so it would make sense. Except, as far as she knew, none of the boys had the last name  Carrillo.

[irene-sadler]

Sir Reynard and the Red Knight

1. my usual due diligence b/c some deeply programmed part of my brain can't not cite my sources::

are you interested in reading some secondary source material about the civic government of a medieval city?* or a primary source document listing the personal expenses of Henry VIII between 1529-1532, a line item of which i copied and modified for this chapter? well now u can i guess, go for it.

 *(there's like no easily accessible canon info about what Rivia (the city, not the kingdom or the castle) is like, but after some side reading about other medieval cities it seemed like it should be roughly the size of York vs the size of London or Paris, which were the capitols of much more important kingdoms to irl western Europe than Lyria and Rivia seem to have been to northern Fake Europe. i mean, before Meve more or less single handedly fucked up an entire invasion force and yeeted herself into international fame obviously.)

2. i posted a short scene i cut from this chapter here. 

 ---- 

  7.

    In the days leading up to the fair, a veritable army of men in armor descended on the castle and town surrounding it, spending a mint of money and tearing up the grass of the green outside the wall with ceaseless practices and a few very real fights. The Baroness, who had graciously accepted the Queen’s invitation, became a semi-permanent fixture beside the hastily erected fence surrounding the field. Despite the cold, she spent the short daylight hours observing and offering opinions and guidance. Gascon arrived with a retinue of familiar-looking rogues that drew a dark frown from Reynard and threw himself happily into the endless clashes. The Baroness watched him for most of an afternoon, then in the evening delivered a detailed lecture indicating how and where his technique could be improved, which he cheerily took to heart. The result, according to his tutor, was that he progressed, somewhat, from a reasonable amateur to something like a professional.

     Meve managed to keep her company often enough to hear many of her opinions. She noted bad habits and technical errors in almost all of Meve’s serving knights, with few exceptions; of Sir Odo, she only remarked casually that he yet showed no sign of losing a step, age or prior injuries be damned. She made the unusually enthusiastic comment within earshot of its subject as he offered advice to a young knight he’d unseated; he appeared slightly surprised and rode over, eyebrows raised.

    “Was that a compliment, my lady?” he asked, looming over the two women where they stood by the fence.

    “Would you like it to be?” the Baroness replied, giving no sign either way.

    “Why not?” he said, matching her tone, bowed courteously in his saddle, slammed his visor down, and rode away. Meve stared distractedly after him.

    “He’ll be an early contender for the prize, I believe,” the Baroness remarked.

    “Well, he’s certainly my favorite,” she replied, airily.

    “And doesn’t he know it,” the older woman muttered, then added, “That man has a target on his back.”

    Meve returned to earth and turned an inquiring frown on her.

    “Look,” the older woman explained, waving a hand to indicate the field at large. “There’s not less than two dozen knights here, and squires besides, as well as more than a few fighters who are neither. Some are no doubt here for the prizes, and some for th’ entertainment value, and others to catch a woman’s eye, but, no matter what their reasons, every man among them would very much like to defeat the Queen’s champion, make no mistake.”      

    The Baroness paused significantly, clearly waiting for her to see a point. Meve, aware that even Reynard lost a match, on occasion, failed to arrive at whatever it was; she shrugged dismissively and said, “Yes, and?”

    “And, therefore, don’t leave his equipment unguarded overnight, or his horse,” she explained impatiently, with a slight eye roll; she added, as an afterthought, “Your Grace.”

    “Oh.”

      After dinner she stared contemplatively into the fire, paying no attention to Reynard and Gascon’s idle chatter nearby. The Baroness’s suggestion - or was it a warning? - weighed on her thoughts. So did the fact that she had yet to find a third judge; a difficult prospect, as whoever she picked might not suit, or, worse, might be inclined to see political significance where there was none. Further, she hadn’t seen the black knight, or even heard anything of him, in well over a week; it was arguably the least of her problems, but bothered her nevertheless. She was jolted out of her reverie only when Reynard shook her suddenly by the shoulder; she frowned distractedly at him, realized he had asked her something, and said, “What?”

    “What are you thinking about?” he repeated, patiently. Gascon stared glassily at her, an expectant smile on his face. She explained about the judge, in brief, expecting their conversation to then go on without concerning itself with the matter.

    “But why d’ you need three judges?” Gascon wondered, instead, slurring his words somewhat.

    “Because there are always three judges,” Reynard replied stiffly, evidently less than perfectly sober himself.

    “The third judge is necessary, I’m afraid,” Meve explained. “A tiebreaker.”

    “Oh,” said Gascon, “I see. Well, what I would do is just get Gaspar or someone t’ do it, and say good enough; I suppose it doesn’t truly matter who does the job, in th’ end.”

    “The joust is serious business,” Reynard said, growing somewhat haughty, “You can’t just appoint some ruffian who can’t talk as an official.”

    “No,” Meve said, soothingly, before Gascon could react, “I don’t think he would do, at all, not to worry. However, Gascon’s drunken rambling has given me a thought - I don’t really have to choose the third judge myself.”

    “What do you mean by that?” Reynard asked, suspiciously.

    “Never you mind,” she said, casually, “You’ll find out soon enough. Anyway - I meant to ask you, Gascon, for a favor.”

    “By all means,” he replied, cheerily.

     “I need you to assign some of your more reliable and sober men to keep an eye on Reynard’s harness, weapons, and above all his horse, until the fair.”

    “Why?” Reynard asked; Meve ignored him, temporarily. Gascon, on the other hand, seemed to immediately understand, and nodded his agreement.

    “Oh, yes, naturally, you do,” he said. “I’ll put my best people on it, not t’ worry.”

    “Thank you,” she said, and then explained herself to Reynard after Gascon departed to see to the matter. He frowned doubtfully and began, “I really don’t think it’s necessary to -”

    “I know you don’t,” she interrupted, a little curtly, “It’s why I didn’t ask you.”

    He fell into a slightly disgruntled silence, obviously offended; she immediately regretted her tone, blamed it on the late hour, and delivered a genuine apology, which he graciously accepted, as he always did.

      At ten the next morning, she attended a meeting with the bailiff, aldermen, and Mayor of the city outside her castle walls. The Mayor was an ancient man who’d been installed in his position some years before she was born, and would not be hurried as he explained, at length, the procedures and trials of the next few days. She half-listened to his speech, delivered in the same didactic voice as always, and to the discourse that followed, well aware of the various topics that would be covered, as they were exactly the same each year for each fair - roadblocks, fire brigades, the necessity to have extra guards at night, the necessity to have yet further guards to keep the visitors out of the stockyard and away from the docks, the vanishingly small probability of snow. The Queen sat, patiently chiming in on the usual occasions to promise a detachment of soldiers from the castle and to offer the use of the stables in the courtyard, if needed, but otherwise waiting in silence for the meeting to wind to a close. There was, she knew from experience, no speeding up the unvarying process, and it was easiest to try; at the end, however, when the Mayor, as always, asked for any final remarks, she said, “I’ve one, gentlemen.”

    The room turned as one to stare at her in collective astonishment; she had never shown the slightest desire to lengthen any meeting in the past, and the atmosphere grew wary and uncertain at the irregularity. She smiled at them, professionally, and continued, “I have a small request only: the jousting event that’s bringing you so much custom this year requires three judges, but I find myself with only two; I thought perhaps you could select the last yourselves and then send ‘em along to the castle this afternoon.”

    She was assured that the thing was in their power to grant and departed in secret amusement, leaving the disturbed city government in full knowledge that, so long as she ruled in Lyria and Rivia, the troubling moment would never be forgotten.

      The city council sent along their choice - a round, dark-haired young woman - some hours later. She received a very dubious look from Reynard when Ethan brought her into his little office, where he sat in consultation with the Queen. Her name was Giselle, she said, and she knew nothing whatsoever about jousting - although, of course, she’d seen many a brawl, because she was a barmaid at the largest public house in the town square; she was just lately seventeen, but had been employed there since she was ten, and fights were expected and even wagered on should the combatants be interesting enough. Meve was, for once, grateful for Reynard’s unyielding sense of propriety; he grew steadily more unapproachable, but said absolutely nothing as the girl finished her introduction and subsided into silence, casting an uneasy glance at his remote frown.

    “Well,” Meve said, pleasantly, “It’s no matter; the finer details of the sport are easy enough to learn. I’m not going to force you, if you’d rather not, but should you like to be a judge tomorrow along with myself and the Baroness, you’re quite welcome.”

    Giselle’s face lit up; she replied quickly, “Oh, yes, I’d love to, my lady.” Meve nodded, satisfied.

    “Well, then, Ethan there will explain the rules and answer any questions you have; you may go along with him,” she said. Ethan promptly turned a brilliant shade of red as Giselle turned a broad smile on him. Meve drew on decades of diplomatic experience and managed to maintain a straight face as the pair attempted to make their escape from the overcrowded office, briefly became jammed together in the doorway, and awkwardly negotiated their way out, one after the other.

    “Gods preserve us,” Reynard muttered, rubbing his forehead painfully, the moment the door finally shut behind them. Meve snorted a laugh at last, perched on the edge of his desk, and said, “She’ll do nicely, I think; seems game enough, given the circumstances.”

    He shook his head at her and asked, wearily, “Is it too early to start drinking?”

    “It is a holiday. However, those guard patrols for the town must be arranged, and I still have to review my steward’s reports -”

    “I’ll bring the reports as well as a bottle, then,” Reynard decided, making for the door; she caught his arm as he passed, kissed him, and pulled away a long moment later to stare into his eyes. He blinked down at her, apparently struck as speechless as his squire, until she released him and said, “Go on, then; I’ll be here.”

    “Actually, I’m not thirsty after all,” he said, not moving away. She flashed a smile, slid her arms around his neck, and didn’t argue.

      Reynard did arrange the patrols, eventually, but Meve was forced to put the paperwork off; there was a feast to attend, and she had no time to read accounts before it began. It had to be held in the courtyard under the moonlight, because the entire city was invited and most of it’s more upstanding citizens had actually turned up, and, on top of them, all the knights and their horde of attendants; the resulting crowd would never fit inside the great hall. Even her usual courtiers had trouble maintaining stiff decorum in the open air, by blazing fires and with an astonishing amount of food and drink in them. The Queen herself sat at a table with the Baroness and Count Odo; the Count was companionably silent as usual, and so Meve passed the time chatting mainly with the Baroness. The women waved off occasional requests to dance in favor of a detailed discussion of feats of arms they’d witnessed during tournaments and battles, until, unexpectedly, Sir Holt advanced on them out of the crowd. The Baroness immediately paused, mid-sentence, and stared him down; he did not appear to notice her pointed, but wordless, dismissal. Reynard stiffened slightly in his seat, eyes narrowing. Meve sighed quietly; she of course knew the red knight was in attendance, because she’d spotted Gaheris out in the lists the previous afternoon, but had thought he’d have had the sense to avoid her.

    However, all the red knight said to her was a polite greeting and a remark on the success of the evening, so far. She nodded at him in acknowledgment; he then turned to Reynard and said, “Count Odo - I look forward to our rematch, tomorrow.”

    “Do you, now?” the Count replied, coldly; then, his conscience apparently made uneasy by his own rudeness, added, “As do I, Sir Holt; best of luck to you, when the time comes.”

    “And to you, my lord,” the red knight said, glanced uncertainly at the condescending Baroness, and retreated without further comment. Meve glanced sideways at the Count’s distant frown and nodded to him resignedly. He needed no further invitation to quit the field, and, for some reason, the remainder of the event seemed to go on with a shade of awkwardness in his absence; her renewed conversation with the Baroness felt somewhat stilted, and the din of the crowd around them oppressive. The feast eventually ended with an inevitable speech by the Mayor, which not a soul attended to; the locals had heard it before and the visitors seemed to be unsure who it was that was lecturing them. The Queen then delivered some much briefer remarks, as expected, which received the crowd’s full concentration, dismissed them to their own devices, and departed.

      An hour later, she was safely in her own private office, puzzling over a line item in her steward’s report: paied to Sir Roger Eres knight upon a bille of Sir John Kimborne knight 153 g., when someone came thundering up the stairs and burst suddenly through the door. Reynard jerked awake in his chair by the fire, alarmed at the noise, saw what had made it, and settled again with a quiet, relieved, sigh. She herself had turned a savage glare on the intruder, but subsided when it only proved to be Gascon, reeking of liquor and panting slightly.

    “It’s late, Brossard. What do you want?” Meve asked, looking back down at her papers. She sat back with a quick, irritated, frown as the Duke strode over, slapped a wide leather strap down on top of them, and demanded, “Look at this.”

    “It’s a girth, from a saddle,” she said, glancing from it to him with a raised eyebrow.

    “Yes,” Gascon agreed, despite her warning expression. Reynard stood with a faint groan, walked over, glanced at it, and said, “Isn’t that one of mine? What’s this about?”

    “Look there, by the buckle,” Gascon said, impatiently, pointing. Meve eyed the area and spotted what appeared to be a wrinkle or crack in the leather; she picked it up to study it more closely, and finally looked back up at the Duke, scowling.

    “It looks as if someone cut it most of the way through,” she said. “And then, what? Glued it back together? A damn good job, too; would never have noticed it, myself, if you didn’t point it out.”

    “It would likely snap th’ instant it took a hard shock,” Reynard added, taking the girth and turning it over thoughtfully. “But when someone might’ve done it, I don’t know. I used this just yesterday, practicing against Roland Orlac; you were there, Meve.”

    “Perhaps they did it days ago, and it was just luck that kept it from breaking, then,” Gascon suggested, shrugging. “Or it could have been yesterday afternoon, before Pug and Gaspar started looking after your things.”  

    Meve swore angrily, already forming a long list of suspects: disgruntled barons, unscrupulous competitors, foreign saboteurs, domestic anarchists. Reynard sighed in weary agreement with her.

    “Well, annoying as this is, it’s not my first overly bitter rival, I suppose. I’ve survived th’ others; this will be no different,” he said, pragmatically.

    “Yes, well, regardless, it’ll be your last. Find out who did this, Gascon,” the Queen said. “I take attempts to sabotage my General’s equipment very personally.”

    “I’ll do what I can,” he assured, grimly.

[strayneoculturekids]

Denial - Minho x Reader

Pairing: Rich!Kid Minho x Rich Kid!Reader

Summary: You and Minho hated each other’s very cores, always having a go at each other and competing with one another. It wasn’t until guys’ mutual friends started getting a bit too close to you did Minho admit that he might’ve been challenging you 24/7 for a reason other than spite

Enemies to Lovers AU, Childhood Friends(?) AU, Rich Kid AU

Genre: Fluff

Requested by Anon: Minho: frenemies to less frenemies with more feelings of love than hate.

A/N: to all of my followers, this doesn’t mean I’m off of hiatus, my apologies, it was just a request I hadn’t finished before I went on hiatus, so please enjoy it!

Warnings: None~

—-

You nodded as you walked alongside your best friend, Bang Chan, to your guys’ next class, wordlessly agreeing with his speech about how he, Changbin and Jisung would ‘make like, the best rap group ever’, so as he liked to put it. You were just about to open your mouth to speak when Minho walked into the conversation.

“Hey, Chan” He smiled, completely ignoring your presence, knowing how much it pissed you off

“Hey, Minho” Chan spoke awkwardly, feeling the tension rise despite you and Minho not having had said a single word to one another

“Hello, Minho” You seethed, being obnoxiously loud, still, the annoying boy pretended like you didn’t exist

“We’ve got the next class together, right Chan?” He said, “Did you finish the homework?”

“We had homework?!” You paused in your tracks, breath seeming to stop, you’d never forgotten your homework before and you sure as hell weren’t planning on starting today

“No, we didn’t” Chan interrupted, trying to sound calm and indifferent “He’s just trying to rile you up, Y/N”

“So gullible” Minho sneered, mumbling just loud enough for you to hear

You almost jumped on him right there and then but decided maybe starting a fight in the middle of the extensive school grounds wasn’t the best idea, especially since you three were only a couple metres from your next class now. Gulping down your retorts to Minho’s spiteful behavior, you walked into the classroom, head held high, followed by Chan and then Minho. You went to the corner and sat in your usual seat, your best friend took his seat next to you and your enemy took his seat next to Chan.

After a couple minutes of hateful silence between you and Minho and Chan in the middle of it all, trying not to sweat, the teacher walked in and the chatter in the class died away.

The lesson began, as usual, with the roll, followed by the teacher introducing what was going to happen during the lesson and then followed by her actually starting it. It seemed today would be a boring lesson; a class test was coming up soon, so it was all bland theory work. You immediately took out your laptop and began making quick notes- just detailed enough for you to come back and actually understand what you were thinking while writing them. Usually you didn’t have to try all too hard in classes to get decent grades, but your and Minho’s undeclared competitions had recently moved along to academics and there was no way in hell you were going to let him surpass you.

The period ended quickly and, satisfied, with the amount of notes you’d written, you looked over to Minho before he managed to close the extravagant book he preferred to write in rather than his laptop; they were the neatest notes you’d ever seen. You were puzzled for a second, you’d never really taken Minho to be a neat person, but you quickly shook your head and began to pack up so you didn’t get left behind, not that Chan wouldn’t wait for you anyway, though.

“Do we have Chapel this afternoon?” You asked, looking to Chan as you got up from your seat; barely anyone at your school was Christian, but going to a Christian private school, chapel was compulsory

“Nah,” He said, quickly glancing to Minho as he walked out of the classroom, only saying bye to Chan on his way out, to which Chan replied with a ‘cya later’

“Oh, thank god,” You said, overdramatically placing a hand over your heart “what do we have, then?”

“I think year assembly” Chan shrugged “Let’s just go to the library, we’ll check there.”

You nodded and followed Chan out of the classroom and into the school grounds.

Your school was big- like, really big. It had five separate parts, one for k-2, one for 3-6, one for 7-8, one for 9-10 and one for 11-12, it was a bit ridiculous, and especially with the years k-6 and 7-12; they were separated across the school grounds so far that it took 15 minutes to walk between them. The grounds were full of luscious plants and large, rustic but comforting looking brick buildings; even more, there were a total of three libraries in the school. The library that years 7-12 used was so big that even you still hadn’t been everywhere in it.

After about three minutes of walking, you and Chan made it back to your guys’ lockers, put away your things (excluding your laptops) and started to walk towards the library. The library was one of the more modern-looking buildings, with windows everywhere, made of white concrete and the occasional house-plant decorating it. Inside, the library looked even bigger, decorated with ridiculous things like the giant snitch hanging on the wall behind the reception desk.

“Guys!” A deep voice came from behind you

You and Chan swung around to see Felix, waving to you from one of the biggest seminar rooms. You looked at the number it had on the front of it: ‘seminar room 3′ and went to the reception desk to sign you and Chan into it next to Felix’s, Seungmin’s, Hyunjin’s, Changbin’s, Jeongin’s, Woojin’s, Jisung’s and, unfortunately, Minho’s names.

Even though you already knew Minho would be inside the seminar room, you still groaned at the sight of him. Minho looked up and raised his eyebrows at you but quickly went back to showing Jisung something on his laptop.

“Hey, Y/N” Seungmin greeted, patting a seat next to him, “You said you wanted help with that history assignment we got, right?”

“You still haven’t finished that?” Minho interrupted, smirking evilly

“Relax, hot stuff,” Jeongin said jokingly “No one except you has finished, we got it two days ago. It’s due in three weeks”

“New watch, Woojin?” Chan said, taking a seat beside the oldest in the group

“Yeah” Woojin nodded and scooted his laptop so it was in between him and Chan instead of just in front of him. “It was a present from my aunt, I’d never wear it otherwise. Pure gold, supposedly; it’s quite heavy” Woojin frowned down at his watch; evidently, he’d been forced to wear it

You let the sound from the other eight boys in the room drown out and started your own conversation about the assignment with Seungmin, who happened to choose the same topic on it as you.

Around 40 minutes passed of you working on the assignment with Seungmin when Hyunjin stood up.

“Guys, we should get going now, don’t want to be late for the year assembly” He sighed dramatically

The rest of the members of the group stood up and followed Hyunjin out the door to the tall science building (where the lecture theatre was).

By the time you got there, a large crowd of everyone in your guys’ year had formed outside of the theatre. A short teacher came bustling through, the students automatically made a path for him to get to the door and unlock it. Once he had managed to push open the heavy entrance, people streamed through it, taking seats in the grand layered room. You and the nine other boys with you took seats at the back; seven of them streamed into the row, Chan was third last, then you, then, to your dismay, you looked back and saw Minho was walking into the row of cushioned seats to sit next to you, an unimpressed look resting on his admittedly handsome features.

Silence quickly fell over the theatre when your year co-ordinator walked into the middle of the lowered platform. She, as usual, greeted the hall and quickly went onto what was going to be happening during the following week, issues that have come up as well as congratulations on small things.

A couple minutes passed and you were half asleep when you felt Chan tap your shoulder. You looked over to your smiling best friend as he held up a discreet finger heart for you. You almost chuckled aloud, but stopped yourself and, quickly, you gave him two finger hearts in exchange. Chan scrunched up his nose in amusement and reached over to your face, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You mouthed a bashful ‘thank you’. You hadn’t noticed (Chan most certainly had) but Minho was watching everything go down, steam almost coming out of his ears. Why in the world was he feeling like this? Like he just wanted to…grab your hand and make you look at him instead of Chan, Minho wanted to be the one sending you innocent finger hearts, even though he didn’t admit it to himself. No, he couldn’t be feeling jealous, why would he need to?

Finally, after half an hour of the teacher at the front droning on about whatever it is she had to say, and half an hour of Minho sitting with his eye twitching, watching you and Chan platonically flirt, the assembly ended. The chatter immediately started up again and people went to go gather their things for last period- or go straight to their class if they had brought their things with them.

“Y/N” Minho grabbed your hand as a bunch of others passed you two, purposely losing the other eight people in your friend group, trying not to let the red on his face show

“The fuck do you want?” You asked, turning and facing him, ripping your hand away from his grip

“I-” Miho pursed his lips “Whatever. Never fucking mind” He grunted brutally, deciding that talking to you about his feelings wasn’t worth the embarrassment

You huffed and walked away from him, catching up with Changbin and Felix, who you had your next class with.

“Where’d you go?” asked Changbin when you joined the pair

“Minho held me up,” You said, trying not to frown at the statement- you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d imagined the blush that was painted across his face or not

“Minho?” Felix said skeptically “Did he finally confess his undying love for you?”

You were about to elbow Felix, except that when you turned to your friend, he didn’t seem to be joking about it at all.

“Pfft, likely story” You pulled your elbow back, deciding that maybe you could pry a bit more information out of Felix, knowing that he knew a hell of a lot more about Minho than you

“Yeah” Changbin chuckled “Chan has been trying to make Minho jealous” He looked like he had more to say, but Felix elbowed him

“He has? But…he hasn’t really been doing anything different to what we normally do”

“Well, yeah, you and Chan are already pretty platonically intimate, but he’s started doing it especially in front of Minho, haven’t you noticed?” Felix stated smartly

“Felix?” You cocked your head “Are you feeling okay? I didn’t even know you knew what half the words you just said meant”

Changbin let out a snort as he shut his locker, his stuff piled in his arms, quickly joining you and Felix with going to the last period

“Stop dodging the subject” Felix whined, “Just admit that you like Minho too!”

“Hell no” You furrowed your brows “Minho and I have been enemies since- since we were kids. I don’t have feelings for him…” You trailed off towards the end, beginning to sound unsure of even yourself

With that, you became quiet, ignoring Changbin and Felix chatting away next to you. ‘I don’t like Minho…’ you thought to yourself ‘no…I just…admire how smart and talented he is…and how good he is at dancing and singing…and how handsome he can look sometimes…holy shit I like Minho’ the very thought of it made you pause mid-step. Changbin and Felix stopped as well, turning around to check what was wrong. A few year sevens walking behind you almost bumped into you, but quickly changed their path, chattering away nervously.

“what’s up?” Changbin questioned

“Nothing…” you shook your head and kept walking, Changbin and Felix almost had to jog to keep up with your fast pace

“Y/N” Felix ran up to you, panting slightly “We weren’t going to invite you because we knew you’d probably be offended that we even thought you would want to come, but the eight of us are going to Minho’s house tonight, and you could come if you wanted”

“There’s no way Minho would want me to come” You snorted, scrunching up your nose

“But do you want to?”

“I- …no…” You said unconvincingly

“We’ll see whether he’ll let you come once class is over,” Changbin smiled, running to catch up with the pair of you as well

“Whatever,” You grunted in what you hoped to be a stoic voice

You three finally made it to the classroom where your teacher was already waiting at the front of the classroom sat behind her desk.

“Did the assembly go over time?” She asked, seeing as most of the class hadn’t shown up yet

“Yeah” Felix nodded and took his usual seat, followed by Changbin and then you

Just a few seconds passed and students began to flow into the classroom, all taking their ‘unassigned assigned seats’.

It felt as if the class barely began when it had finished, your mind had been on Minho the entire hour and for once, you didn’t take notes on what the teacher was saying- you didn’t even participate in a single class discussion, only narrowly dodging being called on by the teacher a few times.

You exited the classroom, more slouched than usual, wondering whether Minho would let you come along.

You were frowning the whole way back to the locker rooms, completely lost in your own thoughts. Everything you were doing was done absent-mindedly, unlocking your locker, packing away your things, grabbing your bag; it wasn’t until Chan tapped your shoulder that you finally came back to reality.

“Lix told me you wanted to come to Minho’s this afternoon?” He questioned

“What?! I didn’t say that!”

“Good, because I wouldn’t have let you come anyways” a snide voice interrupted from behind Chan, one that so obviously came from Minho

“Well,” Chan said, stepping aside, letting you and Minho have direct eye contact before continuing “Y/N would probably feel really left out. I’ll just skip out on your place tonight and hang with Y/N”

“Wha-?” Minho looked very taken aback, but his surprised expression was quickly replaced with that of an annoyed one “Fine, they can come,” He crossed his arms “only because I don’t want Chan to not come” Minho quickly added when you gave him a perplexed look

“Whatever, I’m only coming because I have no other plans tonight”

“tsunderes” Chan muttered under his breath

“What?” you and Minho both squinted at him suspiciously at the same time

“Nothing! Nothing” Chan defended himself, smiling in what he hoped to be an innocent fashion

After less bicker between you and Minho than the eight other boys had expected, the ten of you made your way to the school gates, being met by a black stretch limo and a sophisticated looking driver.

“Dude” Seungmin frowned at Minho “weird flex”

“What?! I don’t have another car that fits ten people” Minho said, smiling, raising his hands in defense jokingly

You almost smiled while watching Minho interact with his friends, he looked so handsome, smiling and joking carelessly with them, but you caught yourself just as the corners of your lips turned upwards.

“This is Y/N” Minho motioned to you when he talked with the driver, being much more polite than he normally would with you otherwise

“Ah, Y/N. I remember you,” The driver smiled and looked kindly to you, you smiled and waved back, you enjoyed the company of literally everyone in Minho’s family except Minho himself “The last time I saw you was when you were about eight; are you and Minho finally friends?”

“Pft- they’re not- we’re not friends- I-” Minho seemed to notice he was doing more damage to his image than good, so he hastily followed his friends into the car

“Hm. Seems Minho has a crush” The driver muttered to you as you entered the door

Without waiting for a reply, the driver left you in a flustered state to go to the driver’s seat. With a vigorous shake of your head, you entered the limo and shut the door behind you. It was incredible, like the typical millionaire limo you’d see in movies- black everywhere, basically couches instead of seats- hell, there was even a mini-fridge.

“I second Seungmin” Hyunjin came just as you sat down, looking around the car “Weird flex, Minho”

“Don’t pretend like you guys aren’t just as rich as me” Minho smiled, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks heating up

“Jeongin and I are here on academic scholarships, remember?” Seungmin spoke up “and Changbin is here on a music scholarship”

“Chan and I are here on music scholarships too!” Jisung yelled stubbornly, being far louder than necessary

“Yeah, but you and Chan could afford to be here without scholarships” Woojin raised a brow at Jisung

Soon enough, the car was full of chatter, you were so busy talking that you hadn’t even noticed the car had started moving and, before you could even process that the car had come to a stop, the driver opened the back door once again, telling you that you had arrived at Minho’s.

You blinked once and shook your head, soon stepping out of the limo into the surprisingly bright sunlight. In front of you stood possibly one of the biggest houses you’d ever seen- it was even bigger than yours; you had to strain your neck back just to see the top.

“Welcome to my oh-so-humble abode,” Minho said to you, ignoring the other eight boys for now since they’d already been there

“I third Seungmin,” You raised a brow, looking at Minho, unimpressed “Weird flex”

For the first time in your life, you thought you’d just caught a glimpse of Minho flashing a genuine smile directed at you, but he’d turned away before you could tell. To say it didn’t fluster you would be a complete and absolute lie; you stood there, cheeks red, refusing to believe that Minho could make you feel like this.

Finally, after a bit of a mess, the ten of your made it into Minho’s house, through the hallways that seemed almost endless, passing the far-too-big living rooms decorated with extravagant gold, silver, jewels and a couple charming house plants and up the wide marble staircase to be finally met with Minho’s room. The room was just as big as you’d expected it to be, but it was much more home-y than the rest of the house. A king-sized bed was placed in the corner, black sheets adorning it and a sweet looking wooden bedside table. There was what looked to be a gaming corner in a part of the room, a large, full-body mirror stretching across almost an entire wall and a modern but not overwhelming desk tucked away in the corner right of the entrance along with a couple bookshelves stacked with study books and keep-sakes next to it.

“That mirror is so distracting” You sighed, looking to the overly-large mirror

“It’s for dancing” Minho mumbled as he passed you, so low that you didn’t understand what he said

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” He said quickly, turning away from you with a red face

“I’ve got the switch!” Jisung shouted, running up to the array of consoles in the far corner of the room and grabbing the red, blue and black coloured Nintendo switch along with six other black controllers “Who’s playing Smash Bros with me?!”

Chan, Felix, Seungmin, Hyunjin, Changbin, Minho and Jeongin all rushed forward to grab a console, sitting on the bean-bags surrounding the corner while Woojin and you stood back, chuckling at their childishness.

“You’re not joining them, Woojin?” You asked, taking a seat on one of the spare bean-bags

“Nah, the winner of the brawl rotates out” Woojin replied, relieving his wrist of the gold watch he had around it the whole day

You nodded and watched as the boys all hastily picked out their favourite characters on the gaming console and started a brawl.

“What character do you normally pick, Y/N?” Felix asked, keeping his eyes on the screen

“Usually it’s Link” you shrugged, searching the boys’ chosen characters “the Breath of the Wild one” You added, remembering how many Links there were

“What a coincidence” Seungmin smiled mischievously as the brawl started and they all started smashing the controllers

“Minho usually chooses Zelda” Hyunjin interrupted, smirking at the large TV screen just as you’d gotten to Minho’s character

“Pfft, Zelda’s a bad character,” You said haughtily

“Not if you know how to use her properly!” Minho defended himself “Hah! See!” He said just as he’d knocked Felix (who had chosen Pikachu) off the stage

“Lucky shot!” Felix yelled as he respawned and immediately went for Minho for revenge

You laughed, completely forgetting the fact that you absolutely despised Minho in all the chaos. Only another couple minutes passed and the shouting became louder than ever; Seungmin (who had chosen Dark Pit) and Chan (who had chosen Meta Knight) were locked in a battle between each other, everyone else aside from the pair had run out of lives. Finally, after a shout of frustration and triumphant cheer, Chan lost his last life.

“catch, Y/N” Seungmin called, throwing you his controller

You quickly caught it while blinking, unaware of what was happening. You then saw Chan hand over his controller to Woojin and realized it was your turn to play. You walked forward and plopped down on the same bean bag as Jisung, who was closest to you.

“Agh! Hey, there’s no room for both of us!” Jisung whined, scrunching his nose “Just sit on my lap” He grabbed you under the arms and lifted you slightly onto his lap

“Can you see?” You asked, trying not to block your friend’s view

“Yeah” He confirmed, leaning slightly to the side while you leaned slightly to the opposite side

After that, you paid no attention to Jisung, busy changing your character from Dark Pit to Link while Jisung (who stayed as Kirby) peered around you. Minho, on the other hand, was glaring at Jisung like he never had before. ‘They could’ve just as easily sat on my bean bag’ he thought poutily to himself, glancing at you before shaking his head and turning back towards the screen just as another brawl had started.

Just for the irony of it, you immediately went for Minho’s character, still Zelda, and started fighting. The shouting quickly started up again and Minho was thrown off the edge by you, something to which he took great offense from, immediately respawning and going to attack you again. You and Minho continued your guys’ separate brawl until Jeongin (who’s character was Yoshi) interfered and managed to land a K.O move on you, considering your health percentage had gotten so high. Minho cheered and high-fived Jeongin while you frowned and respawned.

A couple more minutes and you and Minho were the only ones left. All of the boys shouting behind you seemed to be cheering on only you.

“You guys are so biased!” Minho yelled angrily “Just cause’ Y/N’s so pretty and sweet you cheer for them instead” Although his hands weren’t free, you could almost see him crossing his arms

“No, it’s because they’re a better player than you” Hyunjin (who had been Ice-Climbers) commented matter-of-factly

“You think I’m pretty and sweet?!” your jaw went slack and you were so distracted that you didn’t even bother to try and jump back up after Minho knocked your character off-screen, resulting in him winning

“What?! No! That’s not- I didn’t say-” Minho stuttered, his cheeks flushing red

“Yeah, yeah, we all know you guys have major crushes on each other, hand over the controllers” Said Seungmin, grabbing Minho’s controller from out of his hands and happily pushing Minho off of his bean-bag and taking his spot

You didn’t even process that you were absent-mindedly handing Chan the controller and sinking back into Jisung’s chest, both of whom were chuckling almost uncontrollably from your bewildered state.

“Alright Y/N, up” Jisung pushed you off his lap, toward the spare bean-bag where Minho had taken a seat, still puffy “Now that I’m free of my handi-cap, you fuckers are going down!” He yelled

You and Minho made quick eye-contact. He puffed out his cheeks and moved to the side of the bean-bag, making free space for you. You raised your eyebrows but nonetheless, took the seat next to him, trying to get comfortable without making skin contact with your self-proclaimed enemy, but it proved to be quite difficult with how much the bean-bag was moving.

“Sorry” You muttered, aware that by now, Minho was probably beginning to get annoyed

When he didn’t reply, you looked up to him, yet again, you two made eye contact for a split second. Minho’s eyes widened and his face turned even more red. He quickly averted his gaze to the screen, most of your guys’ friends had died by now and were instead cheering on Changbin (who was playing with Samus), Seungmin and Jeongin.

An hour must have passed, but you and Minho didn’t move from the bean-bag unless it was to retrieve the controller from the two that had been the last in the brawl, which was followed by you guys immediately going back to the same bean-bag to sit next to the other. You had no idea which round it had happened, but one time when you got up and went back to the bean-bag, Minho pulled you into his lap before you got the chance to sit next to him, and the next time Minho had to get up, you sat back down and made Minho sit in your lap, and it changed like that depending on who had to get up. Neither of you seemed to notice that everyone else in the room stared at the pair of you in shock each time it happened.

“You two…” Chan shook his head, smiling to himself

“What?” You looked up from your place on top of Minho’s lap

“Huh?” Minho peered around you to look at Chan

“What happened to hating each other?” Jeongin teased

You and Minho paused, faces growing red. Neither of you answered, just looked down, not willing to take your gazes off of the ground, even though Felix had just taken your last life in the game.

Finally, after it grew dark, you guys turned off the TV and console, leaving it and the controllers for a charge.

“There are uh…” Minho looked to his fingers and began to count on them “six bathrooms upstairs, not including my parents’ en suite. So…which of us are going to shower first?”

“Fuck- I didn’t bring clothes” You face-palmed, only now remembering that you’d been invited to the ‘sleep-over’ unexpectedly, and hadn’t brought any supplies to school with you

“You can borrow my hoodie,” Chan said

“I brought spare sweat-pants, actually,” Seungmin said

“I’ve got another t-shirt” Hyunjin rummaged around in his bag

“Would offering you a pair of fox socks be weird? They’re fluffy” Jeongin questioned cutely

“I don’t think any of us have spare undies” Seungmin looked around with a raised eyebrow

“You can borrow Minho’s boxers” Changbin chuckled, joining in

“Wha-” you blushed

“I mean, it’s probably the best option if we’re being completely honest” Woojin added, fighting back an amused smile “You do clean your boxers, don’t you, Minho?”

“Of course I do!” Minho said, looking fairly offended “But lending them to someone else- isn’t that a bit unsanitary…?”

“I mean I’m sure it’s fine between…romantic partners” Jisung smirked, raising his eyebrows suggestively

“Shutup” Minho glared at his friend

Despite his initial protests, he walked over to his overly-large cupboard, opened it, and got out a pair of plain black boxers. The entire group ‘ooh-ed’, all except for you.

“This is actually happening? We’re actually doing this? …jesus christ…” You tried not to laugh as Minho reluctantly threw the boxers at you and pointed to his en-suite

Trying not to die of embarrassment, you walked into the bathroom while the other nine boys sorted out which five would be showering first, followed by Minho showing them where the other bathrooms were.

Not too long after, everyone had showered and the ten of you gathered in a circle.

“Let’s play truth or dare” Seungmin smiled- it would look sweet if you didn’t know any better

“I’m down” Hyunjin agreed, a chorus of agreements sounded throughout the group

“Me first,” Minho said quickly “Felix, truth or dare?”

“Dare, obviously,” He said in his deep voice

“In the next room over, there’s a balcony where you can jump safely into the pool from. I’ve done it before.” Minho paused dramatically “I dare you to jump from the balcony in your PJ’s into the pool”

“What?! I’ve already showered!” Felix complained

“Fine, you can take off your shirt” Minho reasoned, still smiling

Felix opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out, so he stood up, the group following him, exited the room and proceeded to march to the room next to Minho’s.

“Other way, idiot” Minho said from the group

Felix bashfully changed directions and went into the other room, which was similar to the rest of the house, so unlike Minho’s comforting room. The balcony doors were glass and Felix quickly stripped himself of his shirt and socks and stepped out onto the balcony. The drop wasn’t far, it was like a diving board, the only catch, you supposed, was that Felix would have to shower again, and probably steal a pair of Minho’s pants.

Without another thought, Felix dived into the pool, creating a big splash.

“IT’S FUCKING FREEZING” Felix yelled once he resurfaced, quickly wading his way to the edge of the pool and pulling himself out

The group chuckled while Woojin shook his head. Minho threw a towel at Felix which he grabbed and wrapped around himself.

“The door inside is over there” Minho pointed to the left “you know your way around this house. Seeya in a bit”

“Seeya” Felix waved, ruffling his wet hair to hopefully dry it a bit so he didn’t completely soak the carpet inside

The rest of the group walked back to Minho’s room and rearranged themselves in a circle, leaving an empty space for Felix.

“Wait….we have to wait for Felix to get back so he can ask the next person,” Changbin said, scrunching his nose

“I’ll go!” Chan interrupted, looking rather amused “Minho, truth or dare?”

“uh- dare” Minho hesitated, knowing that if he said truth, he’d be asked whether he had feelings for you

“I dare you to kiss the cutest person in the room”

“Pft- easy” Minho smirked again, standing up

“Other than yourself!” Chan quickly added when he saw Minho making his way to the large mirror behind him

Minho groaned and turned to face the group just as Felix had walked in, looking rather cold and, without even asking, went into Minho’s closet, grabbed a pair of pants and made his way to the en-suite with his dry shirt and socks and- somehow- another pair of his own underwear.

“I smoke all you bitches” Minho stated “but if I must, Jisung come here”

Jisung raised his eyebrows, whispering a ‘what the fuck’ to himself, staying seated.

“Don’t lie to yourself, Minho” Woojin leaned forward “we all know you think it’s Y/N-”

“Yeah” Hyunjin intercepted before Woojin could finish his sentence “it’s obviously me. Have you seen this face?” He cupped his face in his own hands and gave a charming smile to the group

Minho looked over to Hyunjin, unimpressed.

“Okay, change of dare” Chan stated before a fight over who the cutest in the group is broke out…again “I dare you, Minho, to kiss Y/N”

“damn” Changbin snorted

“just straight up? How bold of you, Chan” Minho glared at his friend

Chan smirked, maintaining eye contact with Minho. None of the group seemed to notice that, in the corner, your entire face was shining red. You had tried to distract yourself from the situation by focusing on the running water of the shower that Felix was using, but your brain hated you and that started to lead to images of Felix you didn’t want, you quickly moved on from that. ‘I wonder how jealous Minho would get if he found out that I was unintentionally picturing Felix showering’ you thought to yourself, and the thought of Minho being jealous seemed enough to distract you.

“Y/N?” Minho turned to you

“huh?!” You snapped out of your thoughts

“come here” Minho motioned you towards him

“How about you come here?” You scrunched up your nose, ignoring your oh-so-obvious blush

Minho, ignoring his own ‘oh-so-obvious blush’ silently got up and walked towards you. The entire group watched with bated breath. The room was completely silent, Felix seemed to have stopped showering now and was drying off, so not even the sound of water running could distract anyone. Minho cupped the side of your cheek, his palm and fingers were surprisingly cold, but you could practically feel the heat radiating off of his face from all the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“so…” Minho started, breaking the silence, and the group finally seemed to be able to breathe again “can I kiss you?”

“…yeah”

And with your confirmation, Minho leant forward and placed his lips onto yours, immediately pulling away afterward. The seven people around you erupted into a mixture of cheers, ooh’s and fake gags. Felix came barrelling out of the bathroom, beckoned by the sudden uproar, his shirt still wasn’t fully on and he looked extremely confused.

“What happened?!” He asked, finally putting his arms through the last hole

“Y/N and Minho finally fUCKING kissed!” Jisung yelled

“They did WHAT?! AND YOU GUYS DIDN’T BOTHER TO TELL ME TO HURRY UP SO I COULD WITNESS THE MOMENT?!” He looked utterly distraught at the news that he’d missed something so ‘important’

The group burst into chuckles, snorts and giggles. Minho and you hadn’t made eye contact since the kiss, although, it was so short that you weren’t even sure it could be considered a kiss; that fact didn’t seem to trouble the group though.

“Oi Felix!” Minho yelled, and once again, the group turned silent

Minho grinned before turning towards you again, his cocky smile faltered slightly when he made eye contact with you, but before he could turn back, he went in an kissed you again.

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” Felix whooped

“truly a moment to behold” Chan shook his head comically, along with Woojin

Your mouth hung open slightly, just out of surprise that Minho had kissed you again.

“You should’ve asked first!” You pushed him away, angry that he had the ability to make you so flustered

“Sorry” Minho smiled sweetly and rubbed the back of his neck

Eventually, the ten of you moved on from the kiss and continued with the game, which ended in Hyunjin almost being brought to tears from eating an entire spoonful of hot sauce, Changbin confessing that he did, in fact, steal Jeongin’s socks, more than once, Seungmin coming very close to accidentally knocking Jisung over the head with a baseball bat, Chan admitting that he had slept in Seungmin’s bed before purely to annoy him and then blamed it on Felix, and Woojin baking cupcakes for everyone (one of the more tame dares) and far more, too much to explain.

Finally, when it came time to sleep, which was well past midnight, you and Minho slept on a spare mattress together, arms tangled and sharing warmth between the two of you. It was, you felt, the most content you���d ever been in your life.

[sugaxjpg]

04 | blank check; m

⤷ “Let me get this right, okay? You threw my name in as your fake girlfriend because you needed to prove yourself to your empty-headed friends, and now you need to fix it. Still,” you paused, raising your eyebrows, “your way of fixing is not to disclose it as a lie, but to cover it up with an even bigger and riskier one. Is that correct?”

⤷ PART 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | Co-written with @pantaemonium

✓ Couple: Jungkook x Reader | Fuckboy!AU & FakeDating!AU

✓ Filed under: smut, tragic comebacks

✓ Words: 6,892

Author’s Note: And here it is... whatever this is. Laura and I are sorry. Also, Part 5 will be a bit longer than the ones we have put out so far, so pls be patient!! It’ll come :,) 

Your debate class had its intense, hair-pulling moments in the past — from the dichotomy of the current political climate to philosophical dialogues about Descartes’ universal doubt — but, every once in a while, even your professor would get stressed at the constant bickering of his top 10 students and, instead, would chose a dumb theme that the class could find some sort of humor in. After some time, even that showed itself to be an obstacle, since most of your classmates had their head so far up their own ass that they forgot what the sun looked like, even less what it was to have a chill, borderline comical, conversation with another human being.  

And that was where you and Namjoon came in.

If you were to be completely honest, you could say without a shadow of a doubt that the two had a constant veil of bitterness floating between you. What could you do? Both of you were a bit more competitive than you should be, and the prospect of academic validation was far too tempting for you two to just let it slide. But, damn. If Dante Alighieri had the misfortune of meeting Kim Namjoon throughout his life, you were absolutely sure he would have added the man somewhere amongst his circles of inferno — because, Jesus Christ, was he a pain in the ass when he took things to his personal side.

“In synthesis, professor, I must conclude,” Namjoon started, leaning against the tall surface of his table. The copy of the discussed book was placed before him, and you could see that he had highlighted — and color-coded — at least half of it. “Bella Swan should have picked Jacob instead of Edward. The amount of danger she faced was ridiculous, and perfectly avoidable if she had chosen the one that was always there for her and, quite frankly, much more attractive.”

Subtle. Always so subtle.

With his feet over a nearby desk, your professor hummed, and used his cup of coffee to hide the smirk that creeped up on his lips. From your peripheral vision, you could see the other students exchanging animated glances, waiting for your turn to defend Team Edward. “Alright. Very good, Kim,” he praised, then turned to you. His mop-like moustache was stained by the brown coffee, and it looked more disgusting than it should. “What do you have for us, defense?”

You pushed your shoulders back and, without a missed beat, spoke your truth. “I disagree with Namjoon’s conclusion, professor. Edward Cullen cared about Bella Swan much more than Jacob ever did. He was only angry because he was thrown into the friendzone, and did not get his desires fulfilled by his best friend.” Your eyes darted towards Namjoon as you verbalized those words, wishing you were just as subtle as he had been — that is, not at all. “Edward protected Bella since the start, was patient, and didn’t force anything on her. With all due respect, professor.” You turned back to the class. “Jacob had no free-pass to Bella’s black lacy underwear just because he had been there for longer.”

“That’s irrelevant to this debate, come on!” Namjoon defended himself, blushing from the tip of his ears to — not that you had been looking before — the place where his tan skin disappeared under his shirt. The buttons opened, that would’ve gotten him a warning in high school—but in college it was the average cool dude uniform.  “Jacob was not as simple-minded as he’s thought to be. He may be a werewolf but he’s not stupid—”

“Well, I have to disagree. As you may have read — and I’m sure my opponent highlighted this part too—, in the fourth book of the saga Jacob imprinted Edward and Bella’s new-born baby, under the justification that, and I quote, everything he was—snip, snip, snip—floated up into space when he met the baby’s eyes, which are coincidentally very similar to Bella’s who happened to be at the moment, dead.”

“It is explained within the Twilight universe that werewolves often link themselves to their partners for life.” Namjoon barked back, although there was no confidence left within him when he opened the book, and started looking through his notes, wondering how he could’ve left the imprinting-the-baby topic out. What a mess.

Poor Namjoon had surely been very busy dreaming of your black underwear to finish preparing the debate and that, good for you, meant you had won — for once.

“My shaking jerked to a stop; heat flooded through me, stronger than before, but it was a new kind of heat — not a burning,” you read, trying to occult behind the pages the wicked smile invading your features. At the back of the classroom, your classmates started laughing enough for Mr. Moustache to turn around and shush them. Namjoon was paralysed. His projection into the Jacob’s character was not as funny anymore. “Around five minutes before he falls in love with the half-vampire parasite, he’s hugging Bella’s flailing body, forbidding her from dying. He’s not what I call… consistent with his feelings.”

Namjoon opened his mouth to talk, but all of the present souls knew that his chances of coming back from that annihilation were practically zero. With a smile and a resonating laugh, Professor Pornstache turned around to the class. “Alright, children of the corn, you all know how it goes,” he started. You had no idea how he hadn’t noticed the soaked mess that his upper lip had turned into, but that’s what botox injections can do to your overall sensibility, after all. “Write on a piece of paper who you think won, and then let’s do this as democratically as we can — even if we all know that the final word is mine.”

You rolled your eyes at your professor’s attempt at being Cool With the Kids. Mussolini over there — Mustachelini? Nah — constantly tried to sneak in references of popular movies into his every sentence, which explained his constant obsession with reviewing young adult novels. Next one up, according to him, would be something from Cassandra Clare, and you really didn’t think you’d be able to endure another painfully awkward love triangle discussion, even less the hidden incest.

With a few chuckles and guilty gazes crossing, the classroom was quick to pass the papers off to the front row, where the teacher’s personal pet — Jisoo? Achoo? Bless you — could organize and count the votes. You were lucky she was great at her job, for it took her less than five dragged-out, silence-filled minutes to have an answer.

With a grin that seemed to come out straight from a Monopoly live-action movie, your professor looked down at the winner’s name. “Oh, look at that,” he said. “Seems like we have a new name to pay attention to. Namjoon…” he dragged out his speech in a way that you swore the air had been sucked out of your lungs. Next to you, the boy leaned forwards, chest filled up with pride. “Better luck next time, kid. Y/N got the trophy. That’s ten points to gryffindor, and a nine for Team Edwards.”

With the weight of defeat dragging his shoulders down, Namjoon retreated to the back of the classroom, where the bad boys — you almost cringed thinking of him as one of those — sat and gnawed gum loudly trying to make the world believe their attitude would get there somewhere in life except, perhaps, jail. He plopped onto his chair, and let out a defeated sigh. If he couldn’t win a Twilight debate that meant his career was over, his reputation on the floor. It was a tragic defeat, one he had never expected.

Part of him, you thought, should be happy that it had been you the one to conquer the first place. It could have been someone else, like the guy from second row who carried an anime figurine around and ate his boogers when he thought no one was watching; or maybe, the resident weed-lover, who would probably rant for five minutes about the necessity to legalize marijuana, and avoid altogether the mundane problems of two-hundred year old bloodsucker hottie number 1; and very white, very anodyne Bella Swan.

“So, tell me, what kept you so busy that you couldn’t finish the assigned reading?” You questioned, rubbing — as they would say — salt over his overabundance of pride wounds. It was petty, but it was the funniest part of defeating the smarty-pants in the room. “Anything on your mind? Do you need a pep-talk? My therapist’s number, perhaps?”

Namjoon crossed his arms over his desk and laid his head over them, hoping the earth could just open up and swallow him alive. It crossed his mind that Jungkook probably didn’t even know which elements that are inside the Earth’s core — nickel and iron, for the ones wondering — even less which layer was liquid: internal or external. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe you wanted someone that was more than brains, or maybe you could be searching for someone so dumb that would make you feel more confident at your own IQ — yeah, that was probably it. You wouldn’t pick anyone but Namjoon if that wasn’t the case.

But he needed to control the flux of his thoughts before it got the best of him, and he made the mistake of being a little bit more honest than he should. What could he do? His pride was completely shattered — over a Twilight debate, for fuck’s sake — and he was struggling to seat down after the catastrophe that had been that pizza. Never underestimate the enemy. Never underestimate cheese left out to rot for too long.

And, most importantly, never underestimate Jeon Jungkook.

“So, Y/N,” he started, raising his head from the desk. Two other students had already moved to the front of the class to start their debate on the powers of some of the secondary vampire characters, but he didn’t care about it — that one, he could win it in his sleep —, for his eyes were completely glued to your own. “You ran away from us that night at the party. Care to say what happened between you and your misunderstood knight?”

And god bless your winner high for not making your face crack under the sudden question. Even if the image of Jungkook rubbing his cherry splitter came back in a hormonal rush throughout your body and mind, the smirk in your lips lingered, and your inner despair did not drip through your words. “Nothing happened, we are perfectly fine,” you lied. “In fact, he invited me to go to Jimin’s pool party next weekend. Hope you don’t mind my company.”

It was ephemeral, but you saw the way Namjoon’s eyes widened for an instant — he was a mortal man, with simple mortal needs. Seeing glimpses of your black underwear? That was nice. Seeing you in full bikini? That was a miracle, and Kim Namjoon wasn’t someone to disregard a message from the Lord.

He cleared his throat, and looked towards the front of the class, where the debate was starting to heat up. One of the students claimed that vampires having weather-controlling abilities made no sense, for it was Twilight, and not X-men. He had to agree with that one. “That’s… something to consider,” he spoke. It was getting hot there? It was either you or the intestinal cramps from that forsaken pizza — how many days would it take for it to leave his system? God. “Never thought of you as someone who enjoyed… the outdoors.”

“I’m not the sun’s biggest fan, that’s true,” you acknowledged, “but that’s what relationships are about, you know? Making sacrifices, spending time with your boyfriend’s friends. All that.”

Namjoon, once again, lost his space to speak. As his eyebrows twitched together in a sign of his disbelief — and a bit of jealousy, let’s be honest — and his plump lips parted in a silent exclamation, the screen of your phone lit up, a loud ding! ruptured the attention of the class. From the front row, Pornstache asked for you to turn the device off.

“Won’t you look at that,” Namjoon complained, watching your fingers as you quickly placed your phone on silent mode. “Edward Cullen is here to save the day.”

There was a tinge of agony in his voice, that you interpreted as a silent hope that he could someday become the one to disrupt the class to send you, perhaps, a corny I miss you, let’s meet at the library after class, or a more saucy — and god knows you hate that expression — I’d love to be in bed right now, doing you-know-what. Namjoon didn’t strike you to be one to send a I’ll fuck you raw against the wall only because he would understand the physical limitations that would come with such statement.

“Edward Cullen is just trying to know if I’ll be going to your match next week, I think,” you lied. The phone vibrated against the table, insistent. It was like having Jungkook behind your back, saying whatever nonsense he had come up with that same morning. “Don’t you have something useful to do? I don’t know, start reading Cassandra Clare’s failed incest fanfic attempts or something?”

“Nah, you know what? I’m going to the bathroom. That pizza is still kicking my intestines, and not in a good way.” He smiled, and it was dashing. “See you later.”

“When you finish pooping.”

“Yeah.”

With raised eyebrows and the ghost of a smile lingering on your lips, you watched as Namjoon made his walk of shame towards the front of a class, then quickened up his pace suddenly. If you could go back to the night of the party and tell him about the consequences of his ridiculously high cheese consumption, you wouldn’t. It was too funny to just let it pass.

Your entertainment, however, was short-lived. As soon as you turned your gaze back to the device on your hands and actually read through the previews of Jungkook’s messages, you could tell that something was wrong.

Jungkook’s only neuron: [incoming video]

Jungkook’s only neuron: SHRIIRSHIT

Jungkook’s only neuron: NO DONT OPEN THAT PLEASE DONT

Jungkook’s only neuron: THAT ISN’T FOR YOU BABY NO

Jungkook’s only neuron: IM SO SORRY OMHFGF NPONONOONO

Jungkook’s only neuron: i want to die please dont download the video please i will do anything i will buy you milkshakes for the entire week plea...

But it was too late: you knew Jungkook was terrible at finding compelling arguments, but that was just too much. He knew you were curious, and his overwhelmed texts only increased your sadism to prolong his suffering. Of course you were going to see whatever the hell he had sent you, and of course you would make sure to tease him for it until the end of time. It was what he deserved after dragging you for yet another acting gig.

So, you unlocked your phone, and went straight to his conversation. Nothing could have prepared you for what you were met with — but one thing was for certain: you were so happy that you had brought your earphones that day.

Curiosity started to carve a hole within your chest. It started as a mere tingle, just below your breastbone, when you plugged in your earphones and starting downloading the video. Had Jungkook been a bit smarter that day — or just more technology-conscious — he would have remembered there was an option to delete his video. It would erase it from the face of earth, and with it the shame it would bring along. It was useless now, because by the time he understood the power he had allowed to slip away you would have already saved the thing in your phone. For blackmail purposes only, of course.

With absolutely no expectations, you pressed play. The condemnatory piece of evidence Jungkook had sent by mistake started playing on your screen, a vastness of black pixels and an eventual flash of light. It must be something huge, for him to panic — while sober — on the chat-room. And huge it was, although at first the image was without form and void. Darkness invaded the screen, like there was a towel or a shirt placed in front of the camera, and the only remnants of light that managed to filter in were through holes in the cotton.

Maybe Jungkook had finally lost his mind, and he had recorded one of those confession videos with huge cards. You are perfect to me, could have been read in one of those, scribbled with a Sharpie in his terrible handwriting. But Jungkook was not the romantic type so that would not be the case, he had a reputation to hold — surprisingly, he had not destroyed it yet.

And so the dumbass said “let there be light”, and there was light — and the most horrendous pink tiles covering the bathroom floor. He appeared into focus, clad in grey sweatpants and a tee shirt that you recognized immediately as part of the training gear for the volleyball team.

“Oh, god,” you muttered to yourself, watching him seat cross-legged before the camera. You had watched enough porn in your life to, at least, sense where this was going, but you were not prepared. Not at all.

When the boy — Jungkook, it was fucking Jungkook and you knew it — moved backwards on the shot, the entire scene came into focus, presenting you with the image of what you presumed was his bathroom. You would recognize that pink abomination anywhere, even if, the last time you witnessed it, you had not payed attention to the disgusting fact that the tiles were also a pallid tinge of roseate; the same color of the heat that painted the boy’s cheeks, all the way to the tip of his ears.

The image was slightly blurred still, but you could tell that he was sitting on the floor, back pressed against a bathtub. Jungkook had moved down on the shot enough so you could see up to his nose, but his eyes were still out of frame. It didn’t matter: you knew it was him, and you could not stop looking at the way his swollen lips were parted, glistening with the thin layer of his saliva. From in between them, came the weak, shy sound of a moan, and his body shivered in expectation.

Before you could even take hold of your actions, your gaze was already shooting downwards, past the droplets of sweat on his tan neck, and the obnoxious colors of his team shirt — for fuck’s sake, he was clearly not the brightest of minds, but, if he wanted it to be a bit harder to figure it out who it was, he shouldn’t have worn that. Dumbass. The hottest fucking dumbass you’ve ever laid eyes upon. Not the point.

Then, you saw it, and your mind went blank. Jungkook had one of his veiny hands placed over his hard member, its outline vaguely visible through the thick fabric of his pants. And, shit, that wasn’t the only thick thing in sight. But anyways. He was caressing it slowly, up and down, then rolling his palm against it slowly, dragging out the whines that broke upon his lips. Through your earphones, you could hear the fragile inflections of his voice against your ear, and you swore you could feel his raggedy breath hitting your skin at every new exhale.

On the upper part of your screen, another message popped up: I can tell you’re online!!!! it practically yelled, reeking of desperation and pheromones. You ignored it. There were more interesting things happening. Bigger things.

Jungkook pressed his palm down on his cock one, twice, but soon grew impatient at the lack of sensibility it provided. You tapped on the video and saw that it was three minutes long, which told you just how much he was eager to get straight to the point; and, much to your inner satisfaction, your hypothesis was quickly proved.

Almost timidly — who would’ve thought Jeon Jungkook could be any shade of timid, for fuck’s sake — the tip of his cock was released from the constriction of the elastic. He had been dripping enough to wet the fabric, and it elicited a thousand questions amongst which the idea of Jungkook cumming in his pants, unable to stop himself was primordial and very much overwhelming.

With more tenderness you had ever imagined he would be capable of, he pressed his thumb against his crown, smearing his slick all around. It ripped a long-drawled groan out of his throat, as he threw his head back and against the bathtub. Sweat started to pool in hollow of his clavicle when he dared move again, hand encircling his length.

That was the moment you understood the situation was serious in more than one way because a) Mr Pornstache was still doing whatever he believed was teaching, b) Namjoon had just crossed the classroom threshold and was about to return to his place by your side; and c) your panties were wetter that the goddamn Nile and it was Jungkook’s doing.

Way to start the week.

Then again, miracles can present themselves every once in a while and, for you, it was the fast-thinking that suddenly overtook your senses. Even if every fiber of your being begged for you to do otherwise, your fingers were quick to pause the video, block your phone, and shove your earplugs inside your jacket’s pocket before Namjoon’s gaze even casted itself in your general direction. Usain Bolt who?

You cleared your throat — was it hot in there?  “There you are,” you whispered as he sat down next to you. Namjoon looked one shade whiter and many years older. “Had fun?”

He rolled his eyes. “What kind of question is that?” You did not know. You weren’t thinking straight. You could barely recall your name amongst the echoes of Jungkook’s moans inside your mind, and it was driving you insane. “Anyways,” he started, “did I miss something important? Any big arguments to take into consideration?”

“The biggest argument I’ve ever see— I mean no, nothing,” you were quick to correct yourself. Your heart was beating so fast inside your chest that you recalled every medical drama you’ve ever watched, the movement of the defibrillators and the anxious screams of the doctors — charge it to 200; to 500… There’s nothing else we can do, we lost her. Jungkook strikes again. “You know what? This reminds me, I should go to the bathroom as well— To do… to… take care of lady stuff.”

Taken aback by surprise, Namjoon leaned back against his chair and raised his eyebrows in expectation, trying to predict where that was heading towards. He was clearly doubtful of your actions, and Mr Mustachelini was far too enrolled in the superpower debate to care about the way you roughly moved to your feet, almost knocking the desk over as you did so. Thank the heavens above that you didn’t wear a skirt that day, because the situation in between your legs was reaching critical levels.

“Lady… stuff?” he repeated slowly. There it was: the man you learned to fear in debates and in the court, with those piercing pupils and the expression that told you that there was no use in lying, for he already knew the secrets that you hid underneath your tongue. “Did something happen?”

You laughed nervously. “Absolutely nothing happened,” you lied. He could tell. Somehow, he just could. “I just have to leave, it’s gonna be really quick just… okay, bye.”

Namjoon moves around very slowly. The commotion of your sudden leave had probably pressed a slow-mo button he could not turn off. It was like all his energy was being redirected towards his brain, aimed at the gears you could almost hear rumble. It was just a bathroom escapade, it wasn’t that deep. But Namjizz was keen on discovering the secrets you were not skilful enough to conceal — at least not with the image of Jungkook’s swollen dick in his pretty hands still engraved in your brain.

“Bye,” you repeated, waving him farewell. Still perplexed he muttered something along the lines of: are you sure everything is alright? That you never responded to. All you could picture was the girls’ bathroom at the end of the corridor, the cubicle at the far left — the one less transited.

You had some dignity left inside, so you didn’t run. Instead, you walked as fast as your legs allowed. In hindsight, it was a ridiculous image, but you could only feel the weight of your phone growing heavier in your pocket, the wires tangling like serpents as some sort of cosmic punishment for your unspeakable crimes. As if it wasn’t enough that you had fallen for the local cliché; that you had been tempted by the one character in the comic you had promised you would only treat with disdain and, perhaps, some well-founded superiory.

Jungkook was an overused trope, that was clear enough —  thanks brain for the painful reminder! — but fuck, did he make you wet with only a few seconds of his blurry, leaked sextape.

Despite the late hour, the bathroom was deserted. You had been hoping to find someone there, someone disagreeable and nasty who would kill your libido with just a look. Coco would’ve fit the role. But there was no one around, and the cleaning lady had just polished the tiles till they shone like diamonds.

Weren’t you the luckiest girl in the entire university, huh?

Giving it no more thought, you locked yourself inside the cubicle. Your phone vibrated again, this time in your hand.

Jungkook’s only neuron: please Y/N  i didn’t mean to send that to you. it was a mistake. come back and call me a pig BUT DO SOMETHING. THIS IS LIKE POKING A STONE WITH A STICK

Jungkook’s only neuron: if you didn’t see it as I BEGGED YOU TO PLEASE FORGET I EVEN SAID THAT

He continued to rant into the group chat, monologuing about the many reasons behind your silence. It was — truth be told — abnormal of you to skip a chance to roast him, but there were more important matters to attend to. With a quick swish of your finger you silenced him, and with it the guilt that could come.

In movements far too quick to be your own, you plugged in the earphones in your ear, checked that they were well connected to your device — the last thing you needed was to interrupt the chastic beauty of that recently-cleaned bathroom with Jungkook’s devilish moans — and moved back to the video. The recording started over, but you were quick to move back to the time stamp you had stopped in — 1:38, precisely and, yes, you had memorized.

Now, that was when your morning started to go downhill, because it was when you decided to, as you had mentioned before, defenestrate the rest of your pride, and do the dirty work. Kind of: you were a bit out of your senses, but not enough to finger the baby maker in the middle of a public bathroom, no matter how clean it was.

So, you settled for the second best.

As the video resumed, you noticed the wetness that had spread between your thighs, only increasing as those lust-filled images flashed before your gaze. There was something alluring about the idea of the Great Jeon Jungkook playing with himself, allowing for his hips to roll against his hand as temptation overtook his senses; his legs so weak that he could barely move in that gruesomely pink bathroom floor. He was edging himself, that you could tell from the continuous biting of his lower lip, and the quivering pants that left his mouth, and he was adoring every second of his self-inflicted torture.

Moans and curses poured from his chest like ambrosia, and your other hand was quick to undo the buttons of your pants. You could see him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed, as his parted lips groaned for release, his muscles clenching again and again; cock throbbing in his hands. Perhaps, in an instant of patience, he would rub himself through his underwear until he was hard enough, or maybe he would grind against his bed until he could no long take the pleasure that monopolized his carnal desires.

Not that you were far away from that fate.

Hastily, you placed your hand in the space between your jeans and your underwear, finding your clit instantly. Your fingers traced circles over your sensitive spot, but the numbed feeling was awfully frustrating to endure. Just like the fucking video before your eyes was; the rise and fall of Jungkook’s abdomen as he reached for his own orgasm; the teasing of his thumb against the top of his member; the weak, whimper-like moans that infested your mind like a damn egyptian plague. Everything about that situation was frustrating, and it was tearing you from the inside out.

As he so tenderly caressed his length, you wondered at the rubor that had conquered his neck, the toned expanse of his chest. Jeon Jungkook had lost the intimidating arrogance that seemed to envelope his entire being. There was no arrogance in the curve of his mouth when opened his mouth in a whimper that broke before it could be captured by the microphone of his phone. There was no pride in the way he tilted his head back, fingers tight around his cock as he fucked himself relentlessly.

Despite the lack of friction, the sole image of his muscles tensing as he approached his release was enough to have you trembling. The memento of his hands roaming your waist was clear in your mind when you pressed your clit just a bit harder, wishing it was him the one to tease you with the same cruelly he was teasing himself. The wonders his fingers could do, his tongue. As his moans became louder, your movements turned erratic, almost desperate. It threatened to break you, but you could not find reason within yourself to stop.

Still, Jungkook wouldn’t be Jungkook if he didn't find a way to ruin your fucking day.

The vibration of your phone in your hands made your heart jump inside your chest and, for an instant, you swore you had seen the light at the end of the tunnel, and the angels calling you to join them above. But no — it was the human-shaped devil named Jungkook and he was, quite literally, calling you.

With a stressed-out groan, you barely thought about your actions before sliding to answer his call, his previous moans being immediately replaced by static. “What the fuck do you want, Jungkook?”

From the other sound of the line, you heard a shuffle. “Oh great, you picked up,” he spoke. You couldn’t tell if his voice was permeated by annoyance or by relief and, quite honestly, you didn’t give a flying fuck — you had your hands pressed against the soaked mess that had become your panties in a public bathroom, and the last thing you needed was to psychologically characterize his timbre based upon the inflections of his tone. “We have to talk.”

Honestly? Fuck it. The guy had already ruined one rub-out session for you, and he wouldn’t do the same thing again; not when the only detail you could think about had been the ridiculously hot video he had sent you. “No we don’t,” you threw back, breathing growing sharp as you continued your motions — slower this time. “This is not the time, and you have nothing—” You paused, biting back a moan, then masking it as a cough. Okay, you certainly didn’t think that through. “You have nothing to justify.”

“You know I do.” He hesitated. “It’s about the video.”

“Of course it’s about the fucking video,” you interrupted, throwing your head back against the wall. You were starting to get close, and you knew it. “Are you narcissistic enough to jerk off to a video of you... jerking off? This is the weirdest case of inception I’ve ever seen.”

Jungkook paused on the other end. “Inception? But that has nothing to do with my family.”

Good god, have mercy on your soul. “Inception, Jungkook.” You groaned. “Not incest.”

“Not the point, smart ass,” he was quick to reply and — fuck Jungkook and his honey voice — you could have sworn he had almost stuttered. There was no way you could have known for sure, for your own mind was wandering elsewhere and you were barely containing the tremors of your own voice. “I really need to see you and explain, so tell me where to go and I’ll be there.”

“Jungkook,” you called, and your brain thought it was a great moment to bring the images you had been trying to avoid, of Jungkook in-between your legs licking your wetness away as you whimpered his name. At the end of the line there was only static to match your error, so you rapidly added. “There’s no need to explain. I really have no interest in seeing you beat your meat to whatever Arctic Monkeys song you chose as your sex jam, so I don’t really care about your reasons—”

“It’s very normal to do something like this, okay? Some guys do it all the time. I do it all the time to, you know, see how I perform and everything.” You had long lost track of his explanation. The murmur of his voice was just an echo at the back of your head, for you had never stopped pressing your fingers against your clit, trying to subdue the sweet pain threatening to take over. Your brain was overworked — and overwhelmed — and Jungkook blabbing his way out of shame was not annoying enough to stop you. “It’s like monitoring yourself, and It makes me a better lover. A better partner, if you want. Y-you should be glad I’m doing this—”

As Jungkook ranted on, you couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt him, for you knew the moment you tried to speak only a moan would emerge from your throat.

Jungkook, however, took your silence as a punishment. “So you really watched it, huh?” He chuckled, humorless. “Guess I fucked up again—”

For fuck’s sake not now. The way he hesitated — just for a second — before he spoke and his voice refused to come out untainted but in a rough whisper, was the last thing you needed to complete your descent into Dante’s nine circles of hell.

Before you could notice, the faintest whimper dripped from your lips, a broken chord that sounded like his name.

Well, if you wanted to stop Jungkook from blabbering, that was the way to go.

Maybe if you had been a little more in your senses, the realization that you had just moaned out the fragmented syllables of his name would have seemed like an apocalyptic forewarning for the chaos that would ensue. But no: you were far too gone to care, and it had fulfilled your initial purpose of silencing the annoying insect buzzing in your earphones.

But of course, Jungkook wouldn’t let it go so easily.

On the other end of the line, he cleared his throat. “What… are you doing?” He paused, seeming to take in all the details he had ever so naively overlooked aforetime — the vague panting that departed from in-between your lips, the eagerness in which you rushed to finish your sentences. Something odd was taking place, and even his one living neuron could perceive it. “You sound like you just ran a marathon. ”

“It’s a debate class, genius, things got… heated,” and that had been the perfect word to use. “I’m not doing anything.”

There was a second of hesitation before he spoke up again. “Isn’t Namjoon in that class with you?”

“Yes. Congrats on the goldfish memory.” You breathed out — okay, you could maybe hold yourself back. You were getting close, for your legs were already shaking, and you could barely keep your eyes open for longer than a couple seconds and, if you had holden tight for that long, you could do it again. Just no more moaning. Not in front of him. Later, maybe.

“That’s weird,” Jungkook spoke. Fuck his voice, fuck the way his whimpers and cries for release still echoed inside your head; fuck the delicious sight of his head thrown back, and his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed hard. Fuck him. Fuck you. Hopefully. “I just texted him and he said that you left to go to the bathroom. For lady pro—”

“—It’s a different Namjoon.” What kind of answer was that? You were barely thinking. “Listen, Jungkook, I’m not in the mood to talk, so maybe you could just… call later?”

“There’s only one Namjoon, and we both know his lame lactose-intolerant ass.” Jungkook could be sharp if he thought very hard. Maybe the ruptured thoughts crossing your mind, the weakness spreading all over your body, was what he had needed to fight on equal ground — and somehow you knew he would be very proud of this victory. “You received the video, and then went to the bathroom?” He was trying to organize the timeline of your befall, and for once his solitary neuron was cooperating, while yours were just running around, screaming like hippies high on acid. “Did you go to the bathroom… to watch it?”

“Jungkook, just drop it.” You whined, the sound needier than you had ever intended. “Let’s talk later, okay? I need to go back to class now. Call me later if you want and we’ll talk about the stupid party or your rampant narcissism, whatever you want.”

“I’ll wait for you after class—” He didn’t sound convinced. The raggedness of your voice was a good reason to be puzzled, but the guy was apparently too idle to hang up and do something useful. “We can go somewhere to discuss the party details if you’re up. You know, like a business meeting but in like a café or something.”

“I have a test tomorrow.” Holding to the last threads of rationality, you understood it was time to end the conversation. “Nice talking to you, Jungkook. Bye.”

Jungkook would have questions, of course, but you could only think of him, his hands, his soft lips against your own. Your hand returned to torture your clit, this time unrestricted by his presence on the phone. It was ridiculously easy to find the right pace, to bring back the memory of his weights pressing against your own, his tongue discovering your mouth. Jungkook could mess your existence even in your imagination and that was something you had to confess you had never expected.

Call ended, you allowed yourself to suspire in relief, dwelling in the absence of his frequent interrogations, and the pleasure that was overtaking your senses. The silence, however, was short-lived: you forgot you still had the video playing in the background.  

Now, some things in life are beautifully synchronized: the fly of birds as the sun sets; your favorite sad song playing while you’re driving in the rain… Jungkook’s dragged-out moans echoing inside your head the same instant you found your high. You know, the simple stuff. The kind of stuff that makes you lay awake at night in horror.

Your legs trembled when you reached your orgasm, waves of heat running up and down your thighs as you fought to suppress a prolonged whimper. On your hands, the device called for your attention, and your parted eyes barely got the glimpse of a smaller, digitally edited Jungkook covering his abs with the white strands of his own relief; hips rolling against his palm as his mouth, open, cried out in sheer alleviation. You loved that sight, and it pushed you even further down your decay into inferno.

But, of course, the video didn’t stop there. It didn’t fade into black, as you had expected, because you deserved a plot twist to end the day. You had depleted your luck reserves long ago — probably during a math exam — so it was highly unlikely that the guy would just finish the deed and turn off the camera.

No, instead Jungkook continued teasing his cock until his thighs trembled with the excess of his own caresses; limbs flinching under the tides of his exaggerated stimulation. He could not bite back he suspires of despair as he rode a second orgasm and muttered an unintelligible prayer.

Wait, scratch that. You rewinded the video, to listen for a second time. In this occasion you closed your eyes, because his fucked-out face was far too distracting for your brain to keep up with so many stimuli.

It was, actually, very intelligible.

Jeon Jungkook was not praying, but moaning your name.

That, nevertheless, was a secret that would die with you. Or so you hoped.

[winchester-purgatory]

Doomed | Dean Winchester  (2/5 part 1)

Her first night at the bunker wasn’t as glamorous as Cordelia had hoped. The mattress was hard, the room cold and there was this constant - and very annoying - buzzing noise from the always-going air circulators. She had been tempted to turn them off with one snap of her fingers, but it would’ve rapidly made the bunker feel stuffy.

Finishing with a coat of lipstick, the redhead stood from the bed and smoothed her dress before walking out of her assigned bedroom. She followed the voices coming from down the hall and walked through the wooden door frame that led to the kitchen, finding both Winchesters.

Dean looked up as she entered, the clicking of her shoes selling her presence. ‘’How are you not hungover?'' he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. ''You drank all of the bottle.’’

‘’Not all…’’ The blond gave her a look and she rolled her eyes. ‘’Witch’s brew,’’ she explained, crossing the concrete floor and joining Dean behind the counter. ''May I?''

Dean gave her the carafe, just enough left in it, and joined his brother at the table with his coffee, waiting for his toasts to pop from the toaster. He usually counted on Sam to make him eggs and bacon, but he hadn’t offered this morning so, toast it was.

‘’Found anything, yet?’’ Dean asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

Sam shrugged, laptop opened in front of him, doing some type of research. ‘’Possible shifter in Illinois, but Garth is on it.’’

‘’Anything else?’’

‘’You’re looking for a case? What about my mother? And, Lucifer? You’re giving up?’’ Cordelia asked, belligerent.

‘’We’re putting it aside, for now,’’ Sam corrected, trying to remain calm despite the redhead’s tone. ‘’I know we need to find Rowena, but we don’t have any lead on where she could be at the moment. Crowley and his demons are looking for her as we speak. He’ll call us when he finds her. For now, all we can do is wait.’’

Wait? Cordelia huffed. Easy to say when you’re not the one who’s getting married to Lucifer...

.

Into the evening, Cordelia decided to do some exploring to pass time. There wasn't much else to do inside the bunker, being first and foremost a safe place, not a house. She pushed open a door and climbed some stairs, revealing a room filled with old cars and a few motorcycles. A sort of garage.

She walked through the large room, admiring the perfectly aligned cars, noticing how none of these models were from the current century. She didn’t know much about cars, but Cordelia had been alive longer enough to recognize some of the models.

A noise of metal hitting the floor echoed through the room, catching the redhead’s attention. She looked around, alert, ready to use her magic on whoever was hiding in here.

Lucifer?

Cordelia's blood ran cold at the mere idea of him being here. The chances of him knowing where she was hiding were very small, but it was still a possibility.

A familiar black car was parked at the far end of the garage with its hood up as someone was leaning into it, working on the mechanic.

Her defence instincts calmed down, no longer feeling a threat. She coughed, grabbing the blond's attention. ''Something wrong with the car?'' she asked, her voice echoing through the garage.

Dean shook his head, shutting the hood. ''Just doing a check up.''

Cordelia hummed. ''Are all these cars yours?''

‘’No. Only this one,’’ he pointed at the black Impala, a smug smile on his lips, ‘’Or, as I like to call it, my pride and joy.’’

‘’A car?’’ she said with a hint of mockery, not understanding how a car could be someone's pride and joy. It’s just...an object.

‘’It’s not just a car,’’ Dean defended. ‘’Baby isn’t just a car. This was my dad’s car and he passed it on to me. My brother and I have been conceived and grew up in that same car. I learned to drive in this car. We travelled the country in it. Hell, I spend more time in this car than any other places. This car is...home.’’

It sounded absurd and idiotic to associate a vehicle with the feeling of home, but, somehow, Cordelia was fascinated by Dean’s story behind the car. How he gave a whole story to an object.

‘’I thought the bunker was your home?’’

‘’Yeah, but home doesn’t always have to be a house. The idea of home is relative and can change from people to another. What I consider home might not be the same for you. No matter where I reside, Baby will always be my first home. I’ve lived at the bunker for less than two years, while I’ve spent my life in that car.’’

Dean’s speech brought Cordelia into a deep thinking. What was her home? Since she was a child, Cordelia never had a permanent place to live. She and Rowena had been on the run, squatting in abandoned apartments and houses, hiding from the Grand Coven during her whole childhood. It wasn't until she joined the Coven that she finally found a place were she felt safe, a place she wouldn't have to run from, a place where she belonged.

‘’The Coven was my home,’’

To her, the Coven was more than a gathering of witches. Those witches were her sisters of magic. Unfortunately it all turned to dust after being exiled. Her sisters were now forbidden to contact her due to her betrayal. She was completely cut off from the magic world - except for her powers.

Dean flashed her a short sympathetic smile, pushing aside his personal hatred for witches and showing compassion for Cordelia’s loss. He had come across a handful of witches in the past, but, despite her haughty attitude, Cordelia had nothing of a wicked witch. She had been under their roof for a whole day and hadn't tried to hex them - yet - which was good. Maybe Dean had been wrong for putting all of them in the same bag.

‘’Wanna go for a ride? Sam’s busy with his books, doing intellectual things.’’

.

After living here for over a year, Dean quickly got to know the best places in Lebanon. The best burger place, the best liquor store - he needed his whiskey - and, lastly, the best bars.

The place had a classic, old vibe to it and Dean loved it. They had a pool table and Dean was anticipating the moment he'd teach Cordelia how to play, using his pool skills to impress her, but tables turned when she picked up the cue and he was the one who was impressed. She could play.

Dean reached for his glass of whiskey, taking a sip. ''I have to admit, I'm impressed. Most girls can't hit a ball on their first night, let alone score three in a row.''

''I’ve been on the earth for far longer than you, Winchester. A woman needs to entertain herself,'' Cordelia explained, taking another shot but missing the hole, hitting the border instead. ''Your turn.''

She had two balls left and Dean had three, it was close.

Dean picked his cue and bent, visioning his shoot and succeeding, pocketing the blue ball. ''Yes!'' he whistled, a fierce grin on his lips. ''We're even now.''

Cordelia passed in front of Dean and smirked, placing herself on the right side of the table and shooting. She hit the orange ball and brushed Dean's red one. The way she was leaning on the table gave Dean the perfect angle for a view, his green eyes going down from the sheer, lacy sleeves of Cordelia's dress to the slit on her thigh.

Those damn witches. Dean bit his lip, fighting the temptations and effects Cordelia had on him. Getting involved with a witch had gotten him in nasty situations in the past, but looking won't hurt. Right?

''Where did your lucky hand go? You missed your last two shots,'' Dean teased with an amused smirk.

Rolling her eyes, Cordelia deposited her cue on the nearby table where their drinks were, downing the last of her drink, ice clinking at the bottom. ''I'm gonna get another one. This scotch tastes like water. Nothing like the real thing.’’ Cordelia wrinkled her nose. How dare Americans call that scotch? ‘’Don't cheat while I’m gone,'' she warned, pointing an accusing finger at Dean.

''Won't need to. I'm confident about my skills.''

''Afraid to get your ass kicked by a woman, uh?'' the redhead taunted.

Dean laughed as he watched her leave, studying the table before going in for his shot. He poached himself and was tempted to pull the white ball out while Cordelia was gone, but didn't.

Glancing ahead in the bar's direction, he spotted Cordelia waiting and making conversation with the barman who was clearly trying to flirt - and failing grandly. It was amusing to watch, the man having no chances with the redhead witch.

Since they had arrived, the barman hadn't stopped staring at Cordelia which irritated Dean. As the bar's owner, he should have some respect for his clients - more so women. He better watch out. If she catches him looking down her decolleté, a hex bag is so quickly slipped inside a pocket...

.

When the two returned from the bar, Sam was in the library, a book open in front of him, reading something that could be helpful in the future. It was almost 2am, but the brunet insisted on waiting for them, needing to knock some sense into his brother because, sometimes, older doesn’t mean wiser.

‘’Had a good night?’’ Sam asked, catching the two inebriated ones the second they made it in.

‘’We did.’’

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean, watching as he descended the staircase, Cordelia on his heels, her manicured hand holding onto the railing as she walked down.

‘’You should’ve come along,’’ Dean said, car keys still in hand. ‘’She’s impressive at pool. Even beat me once!’’

‘’Twice,’’ Cordelia corrected.

Sam raised an eyebrow. ‘’I thought you were invincible at pool?’’

Dean shrugged. ‘’Blame it on the whiskey.’’

‘’Yeah, I can smell it from here...’’ Sam pointed, a pinch of disapproval in his voice.

A frown crease on Dean’s forehead. Sam hadn't told Dean off about his drinking habit since he was a boy and started stealing beers from Bobby or their dad's stash. He knew that he didn't approve of him downing so much alcohol so regularly, but Sam never had a problem with him drinking. Or, if he had, he never voiced it. Why was he suddenly sounding like it was one?

The blond sighed, not feeling like playing guessing games or listening to Sam turning around the pot, just wanting to go wash up and crash on his bed. ‘’If you have something to say, just say it.’’

‘’How can you be so irresponsible? I'm not talking about the drinking. It's going to the bar with her. You could've very well drank whiskey here instead of parading in town in plain sight and risking her cover. I thought we agreed on helping Cordelia and protect her from Lucifer, but you did the exact opposite.'''

‘’She needed fresh air. You should have some too,’’ Dean suggested, walking past the table. ‘’Maybe you’d be less of a grumpy old man if you didn’t have your nose stuck into old books all the time.’’

‘’She’s wanted by Lucifer, Dean!’’ Sam reminded his brother. ‘’She can't wander around town with you and go to bars. What if one of Lucifer’s minions sees her in town with you and tell their boss? They’ll come straight to the bunker and it isn’t arcangels-proof. I get that your intentions weren’t bad, but we can’t assure her safety if you are being reckless.’’

‘’You know, I can hear you when you talk about me.’’

‘’And that goes to the both of you,’’ Sam added. He glanced at Cordelia. ‘’I know we agreed to help you, but you can’t do whatever you please either. You need to stay hidden in the bunker. I know it sucks, but it’s the only solution we have for now.’’

Cordelia huffed, her temper filtering through her slightly slurred words. ‘’I’m not taking orders from anyone.’’

‘’Little reminder, you’re the one who asked us for help.’’

[chocoluckchipz]

Dance with Me, Chaton - 7

Read it on A03, WattPad, FF.net

Written for @ladynoirjuly2019

< Previous

7. Bad Luck Charm

“Good morning, Adrien.” Lila latched onto his arm as soon as he walked into the designer’s department. “Guess what? I’ll be your guide today. Isn’t it wonderful?”

A slight chill shot up his spine. Adrien leaned away, untangling Lila’s hand from his arm. “I’m sorry, but Mme Bustier assigned me to Marinette, and I’d like to continue my tour with her.”

Lila dramatically swooned. “Oh, but the poor soul can’t. She simply has too much work to escort you around today.”

Adrien frowned. “She said she was still on schedule yesterday.”

“Oh, she said it thinking she could finish whatever she didn’t finish at home, but she wasn’t able to. And on top of that, someone misplaced a few of her designs that are due tonight, so she also has to redraw those. That’s why I’ll be showing you around today, Adrien. We wouldn’t want Marinette to get in trouble, now would we?”

She batted her eyelashes at him, but Adrien looked past her to Marinette’s table. “No, we wouldn’t. That’s why I’d better check on her. Thank you for telling me, Lila.”

Lila stepped in front of him. “Don’t you think it’ll be better to let her work interrupted? She’s stressed as it is.”

“Maybe,” Adrien said, bypassing Lila. “But I caused her to fall behind, it’s only fair I help her.”

“But you don’t have any experience in designing,” Lila whined. “You’d be a burden instead of a help.”

“I think that’s up to Marinette to decide,” Adrien retorted. “Don’t forget that I grew up in a designer’s house, and even if I don’t design myself, it doesn’t mean I can’t do basic stuff. Now, if you don’t mind—” Adrien stopped and looked Lila straight into her eyes. “By the way, I’d appreciate if you stop telling people we’re dating, Mlle Rossi. I’d hate for you to lose your job for spreading false information concerning Agreste family. Alright?”

Lila’s lips pressed into a thin line as she watched him for a few seconds. “I don’t know who told you that it was me spreading rumours. I would never lie like that,” she scoffed and turning around, walked away.

Adrien headed to Marinette. Dark circles under her eyes, pale skin, glossy gaze, she looked miserable, staring at a blank sheet of paper in front of her.

“Marinette?” Adrien softly touched her shoulder.

She stirred, startled.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you but I’ve heard you need help?”

“Help?” she murmured, her gaze unfocused.

“Yeah. Did Lila do something to your work?”

She hid her eyes, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Marinette.” Adrien sat beside her. “It was written all over her face.”

“I… I can’t be sure it was her,” Marinette whispered. “But, yes, a part of my portfolio went missing this morning, and I have until eight to hand it in.”

“Is it possible?”

“Partly but not whole.”

“Okay. That’s something. Tell me how can I help?”

Marinette shook her head. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. I’ll speak to Mme Bustier. Maybe she’ll give me until tomorrow morning—”

“Marinette.” Adrien took her by the shoulders and turned to look at him. “You don’t look so well as it is. How will you pull an all-nighter trying to finish this?”

She looked at him for a short while, her eyes wide. “I don’t know.” With a sigh, her shoulders slumped as she muttered. “I didn’t sleep much yesterday as it is.”

“Then don’t be stubborn and let me help you. I promise I’m not hopeless. I can do some stuff. Just tell me what you need and I’ll do it. Okay?”

Marinette watched him a few more moments before relenting. “Alright. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Adrien smiled. “Let’s do this.”

Marinette inhaled deeply, then looked at what she had and quickly put down what needed to be done. Together, they figured out what parts Adrien could help with, and what Marinette would have to do herself. In about an hour the process started. Adrien ordered their lunches in and they ate while working. At seven in the evening, nearly everyone but them had left. The end, however, was already in sight.

“And done.” Marinette grinned through exhaustion, putting her work away. “Half an hour to spare. Oh my gosh, Adrien. Thank you so much! I would’ve never done it without you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he hummed. “You’re done. I still need a few more minutes.”

“Let me finish it for you. You’ve helped enough.”

He gave her a tired but happy smile instead. “Nah. I’ll finish. But I’ll appreciate a cup of coffee.”

“I’ll go get some for us in the cafeteria. It should still be open.” Marinette rushed off.

Adrien finished his work and leaned back into his chair. Not having any time to look for Ladybug, he almost judged this day to be wasted. However, seeing Marinette happy was enough to say that it was worth it.

A startled cry echoed in the hallway. Adrien stirred and headed towards the source only to find Marinette standing a little distance away from the door, soaking in coffee from head to toe. One of the cups lay open by her feet. The other one she stretched to him.

“Oh my gosh, Mari.” Adrien rushed over. “What happened? Are you burned?”

“I spilled it,” Marinette said, her eyes glued to the cup on the floor. “And no, I don’t think so. It wasn’t that hot.”

“You spilled it on your head?” Adrien took the cup from her hands and put it to the ground. Then he pulled off his jacket and tried to wipe her clean.

“Yes,” she whispered, not moving an inch. “I spilled it on my head.”

“Marinette.” Adrien shook her lightly so she would look at him. “Who did it?”

“Me.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I?”

“I wonder the same.”

Marinette looked to the floor and whispered. “I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

“Okay, but I’m waiting for you in the office, and when you’re back, you’re telling me what happened.”

She walked off without answering. Adrien hesitated to go back to the office. Why would Marinette lie? Because she did. He saw it clearly. His feet followed her on their own, stopping short of coming out from behind the corner as he noticed a figure in a familiar orange blouse slip into the ladies’ room after Marinette. Luckily, the door was slightly ajar, so Adrien could hear everything that was going on inside when he walked closer.

“Leave me alone, Lila.”

“Oh, darling, I just wanted to say goodnight.”

“You already did,” Marinette barked. “Or you have more coffee to spill on me?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t, but I do appreciate you covering for me. I see our time in school had taught you something after all.”

Marinette puffed. “I didn’t do it for you. Don’t even dream of it.”

“Then why did you do it? Huh, Marinette?”

There was a pause before he heard Lila’s maniacal laugh. “Oh darling, I knew you were still afraid of me. Good. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You’re wrong.” Marinette sounded pissed. “I couldn't care less about you and your lies. Get out of here, Lila, and leave me alone.”

“Poor, poor Marinette. Trembling at the sound of my voice alone—”  

Adrien was about to interfere when Marinette interrupted Lila with a voice that could cut steel.

“Let me make it clear to you once and for all, Lila. I didn’t tell Adrien it was you who spilled coffee on me only because he’s a nice person, and I don’t want him to feel responsible for your stupid ass targeting me just because he chose to help me instead of gallivanting around with you. Mme Bustier asked me to show him around. Neither of us had a choice, so stop this nonsense and leave me alone. I’m not afraid of you, nor will I take your bullshit any longer. So, piss off and get lost.”

“Oh, geez. So touchy,” Lila puffed. “So adorably disguising,” she mocked. “Adrien is a nice person. Blah, blah, blah. He’s mine,” Lila hissed. “Keep away or it won’t be the coffee on your head next time, but something a little more—”

Adrien had just about enough. He knocked on the door. “May I come in?”

Lila squeaked. “No.”

He could practically feel the smirk in Marinette’s Yes.

“Adrien,” Lila cooed and smiled sweetly enough for Adrien’s stomach to turn in on itself. “Have you seen what happened to Marinette? Poor girl got her coffee all over herself She is such a klutz—”

“You’re fired, Lila,” Adrien countered, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll give you a few hours tomorrow morning to pick up your stuff, but leave before noon after you properly apologize to Marinette.”

Lila shrieked. “You can’t fire me!”

“Maybe I can’t," Adrien smirked. “But my father can, and he will after I tell him everything I just saw and heard. And if by any reason he won’t, then I’ll be in power to fire you myself in less than a month. Only then I’ll give you such recommendations, you’ll never be able to find work in the industry.”

Lila bit her tongue.

Adrien’s smirk turned smug. “Don’t want to date me much now, do you, Lila?”

She silently glared at him, then threw a murderous glance Marinette’s way and stomped away.

Adrien turned to Marinette. “Are you okay?”

She was trying to contain a giggle, but when he smiled Marinette erupted. “Thank you,” she said a few moments later. “You didn’t have to, but thank you anyway.”

“Has she been bullying you for long?”

“Since lycée.”

Adrien whistled. “That’s a lot of years.”

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. It’s not like I allowed her to walk all over me all the time. I had my own victories once in a while.”

Adrien chuckled. He liked this side of Marinette. Bold and courageous. Like his Lady. Too bad she didn’t show that angle of hers too often. He’d need to watch her more.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of this on my account,” he said. “You gave me your lucky charm, and in return, I’ve become a bad luck charm for you.”

“Nonsense.” Marinette smiled. “If it weren’t for you, she’d find something else to bother me with. It’s nothing new. Really. Almost like an everyday occasion.” Marinette halted her speech, her eyes widening. “My project.”

“Still on the table.”

“It’s probably past eight already. I have to—”

“Go!”

The duo raced back to the office only to find Mme Bustier sitting at Marinette’s desk, studying her project folder. Upon seeing them, her smile dropped. The woman stood. “Marinette, what happened to you?”

“Lila,” Adrien responded.

Mme Bustier frowned. “That lady needs a good scolding.”

“Already done.” Adrien nodded. “She won’t be bothering Marinette anymore.”

Mme Bustier arched an eyebrow, her smile filling with amusement. “Thank you, Adrien.”

“Not an issue.”

Picking up the folder, Mme Bustier turned to Marinette. “Is everything in here?”

“Yes.” Marinette nodded.

“Good. Then I’m off for the day. Lock up when you’re done.”

“Will do. Thank you, Ma’am.”

Adrien helped Marinette cleaned up and lock off. Seeing as her clothes were ruined, she agreed to Adrien’s proposal to drive her home. On the way, Marinette shared stories from her life, told him about her friends, her passions, her dreams. By the end of their journey, Adrien’s jaw hurt from smiling. She was so easy to talk to. Soothing even. And now that Adrien knew she had that fierce spark in her that Ladybug had, he couldn’t wait to get home and confirm his suspicions.

***

Chat Noir: Good evening, my Lady. How was your day?

Ladybug: Typical. Nothing exciting. Yours?

Adrien pouted. Bad Marinette. Lying again. There was no way the Lila accident could be considered as typical and un-exciting. Should he hint?

Chat Noir: Mine was a-mew-sing. I spent the whole day in the company of a lovely lady.

Ladybug: I’m happy for you. Though, if you excuse me I must run.

Chat Noir: Where to off to so late?

Ladybug: Club.

Adrien’s eyes widened. If it were Marinette, she would be snoozing right now. She would be resting after a hectic day. Not going to a club, even if it was Friday night.

Ladybug: Ttyl Chaton! Have a great night.

Adrien typed his farewell and dropped the phone on his bed. Looked like Ladybug wasn’t Marinette, after all. Their days didn’t match. Back to square one and off to a new department on Monday.

Oh, shit.

Adrien swore under his breath, closing his eyes. He promised he’d steal files for Ladybug this weekend which is tomorrow and the day after. How was he supposed to do that? He’d never hacked a computer and certainly not from a distance. And he was not going into his father’s office to do that in person. As of yet, his life wasn’t so bad to throw it away so carelessly.

Groaning, Adrien got under his comforter and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t worry about it today.  Saturday sounded quite nicely for worrying about hacking into his father’s computer. For now, he’d better relish in that warm feeling his day with Marinette had given him.  He should spend more time with her. He really should. And after he found Ladybug and would have more free time, he certainly would.

_______________________________________________________________________

Next >

[azeroth-and-beyond]

Broken Bonds

Athaea stood on a small balcony, overlooking the barracks grounds. She was wearing her warden armor, her hands on the railing. Below her, dozens, maybe even a couple of hundreds of kaldorei were standing at attention. In a normal day, those might’ve been watchers honing her skills. But it wasn’t a normal day. Today was the first day of bootcamp. It was the day where kaldorei who believed themselves to be warden material gave their shot at it. Athaea knew that most, if not all, of those present would be rejected. Wardens were the elite fighting group of the watchers after all, and they had very high standards. 

She pushed herself off the railing, walking into the door behind her. As she moved through the corridors, a few watchers ran back and forth with supplies. Others were finishing the last minute preparations for the recruitment. Athaea didn’t pay them much attention; she was a warden herself, and the watchers were far below her rank. They had their own job to do, as did she. She moved downstairs, into the entrance and then to the field grounds. She saw Maiev standing tall ahead of the potential recruits, staring them down. 

The scene reminded her of her own recruitment day; it had been almost two thousand years since it took place. Back then she was still a priestess of the moon, handpicked by a recruiter to become a full blown warden. Of course, that didn’t mean her training was any less demanding. If anything, that just meant more eyes were on her than for most wannabe recruits. This was her first year volunteering to take part of the warden boot camp, and she knew how it went.

“Sergeant Winterlance.”

“First Lieutenant Amberblade. I‘m ready for my assignment, ma’am.” Athaea responded after she turned around and saluted her superior. Amberblade looked up and down, inspecting Athaea armor and posture. She gave her a curt nod, giving the cue for the lower ranked officer to relax. 

“Glad to have you helping us with this. Your assistance will be more than welcome. Also, speaking of which, I believe your sister is here. Lyeenya Winterlance, correct?” The lieutenant looked straight into Athaea eyes, 

“My...sister?” A chill ran down the warden spine, her entire body tensing up. Athaea didn’t know her sister wanted to become a warden at all, much less that she would be here tonight. She felt her blood draining from her face as she tried to look away from her superior. Amberblade raised her eyebrow at Athaea, slowly crossing her arms. 

“Well, either way, she’s in the third column, so go and send her your best wishes before she’s officially a recruit. She’s a priestess of the moon, correct? Like you were when you came to us. Well, I’m sure you know the rules and how you are expected to treat her then. Dismissed, Sergeant.”  Amberblade nodded and left her vicinity, leaving her alone. 

Athaea closed her fists, her metal gauntlets screeching as it scraped against itself . She turned her head toward where Lyeenya was. Her face was now growing hot, the paleness replaced by deep shade of purple as the blood rushed back in. She started moving toward the supposed location her sister was at, furious. Her movements were stiff, the warden doing everything she could to not explode. She moved across the field, barely acknowledging anyone around her,

“Sis! I’m here!” The voice rang in Athaea head as she looked to the side. She finally sighted Lyeenya, as she was a few feet away from her, coming in for a hug. But Athaea immediately put her hand forward, grabbing her shoulder and holding her in place. The younger sister looked at the hand holding her in disbelief, and then up to Athaea eyes. “A-Athaea?” Lyeenya yelped out, wide eyed.

“Look, I don’t know why you are here, especially after what I told you already. I don’t want you to come and besmirch my reputation like you did in the sisterhood. I’m not sure if I wasn’t clear enough the last time I talked to you, but I didn’t expect you to be stupid enough to actually do this.” Athaea immediately lashed out, her hand holding Lyeenya shoulder a bit too tight for comfort. Her brows were furrowed, a furious expression covering her entire face, even if she had managed to hide it in her voice.

“I…” It took a few seconds for Lyeenya to process everything she had heard. Her eyebrows trembled as she held back tears. “I’m not here to screw you over! What happened at the Sisterhood happened over a thousand years ago sis, and it was an accident!” She answered in a slight panic, taken by complete surprise by her sister's reaction. “I’m not copying you, I’m not stalking you! I… I just want to serve the Kaldorei as a warden!” Athaea squinted her eyes, giving her sister a light shove, enough to push her back a couple feet.

“If we are really doing this, then I’ll be straightforward. You’ll call me Sergeant, or ma’am. No ‘sister’, or ‘sis’, or ‘Athaea’ or anything else, got it? None of that shit. I’m not your sister here. I’m your sergeant, and you are nothing. Not even a recruit yet. Don’t you dream of receiving any kind of slack for being my sister. Preferably, don’t even look at my direction.” She spat out, pointing her finger toward Lyeenya face. “I’m done here and I’m done with you. Get in line, meat.” The warden turned around and walked away, leaving Lyeenya behind as she called for her.

Athaea muscles were sore due to how tense she was. But she couldn’t shake off what just happened from her mind. She walked to her position, watching over a group of the kaldorei waiting for the boot camp. Athaea barely heard anything of the speech. She only realized it was over when the other wardens broke off to leadthe prospects.

While most of the initiation day went well, Athaea couldn’t take her mind off of Lyeenya. She made sure to avoid her sister as much as possible, but she could still feel her hands trembling every so often. It was hard to contain her anger, especially in front of all other wardens and the recruits.   

As the days went by during training week, it became harder to avoid her sister. Every once in a while, she caught a glimpse of Lyeenya’s training. In one of those times, she saw her sister sparring with a fellow hopeful recruit. It had been several years since she last saw her, but as she moved back and forth in her spar. Her memories rushed back into her mind. Instead of her recruit armor, she saw a younger Lyeenya, in her old priestess robes.   

Athaea body froze for half a second, enough for her sister to land a decisive blow on her training partner. And as Lyeenya reached to help her partner get off the ground, that past image on Athaea head solidified. Her eyes saw the priestess kneeling to help a familiar kaldorei, a smile covering her lower face.   

“I’m sorry, that was my fault.” Athaea could hear, but her sister’s mouth hadn’t moved at all, even as she helped her partner to get back on her feet. The warden shook her head, pulling herself out of this flashback. And as soon as she did so, she walked away from the recruits, not wanting her sister to see her. 

The training was intense, and about half of the recruits that started it had already dropped out. She could hear some of her fellow wardens talking about her and her sister. But the topic was dropped whenever Athaea approached them.

“She left the last trials just a few minutes ago. I’m sure you’ll be able to track her down, Sergeant. Unless you have any questions, consider yourself dismissed.” Amberblade said before turning to a few other scrolls, stamping them with a few wax seals. Athaea finally managed to force her legs to work and leave the room after several seconds still. She pressed herself against the wall just to the right of the door, her hands sweating. Not wanting to make this last any more than it needed to, she rushed into the corridors, searching for her sister.

“Sergeant Winterlance, do you know why I’ve called you?” Warden Amberblade looked into her subordinate eyes, sitting on a wooden chair. Her stare was cold, her expression indecipherable. Athaea had no idea if she was about to get punished or lauded. 

“I’m afraid not, ma’am. Was I supposed to?” She did her best to keep a neutral approach, even if she was somewhat suspicious of what was going on. She stayed on her feet, looking straight into Amberblade eyes, waiting for her to continue. 

“Very well. I called you here to talk about your sister. As I’m sure you are aware, she’s currently undergoing the last part of the training. Staying until the very end of our warden recruitment process is already an achievement in and of itself. But there’s more to talk about, when it comes to Lyeenya and her performance.” Athaea ears perked up, the warden swallowing. She had tried her best to avoid her sister altogether this week, and she definitely didn’t want to deal with that situation now. “While going through the results of all the recruits, I inevitably ended up seeing her results as well.” The lieutenant touched a rolled up scroll laying on the table, just ahead of her. 

“I remember we once had a conversation about your sister. You said you didn’t want her to become a warden. Which, to be completely honest, is understandable. Being a warden is not for most people, and only we can see that as clearly. Being a warden means, oftentimes, a life of solitude and service. I won’t preach to the choir here, Athaea. But I decided that, as a token of gratitude for your service, I should give you the chance to talk to your sister before presenting her the results.” She tapped the scroll with her fingers. The sergeant looked at the scroll for several seconds, silent. She did say those things to Amberblade some time ago, but for different reasons.

“Take the scroll to her, and give her your viewpoint before giving her the results. I think that way she’ll have a more neutral view of your personal opinion if you do it that way. We are not hurt for wardens badly right now, so I will not put any blame on you if she doesn’t end up joining us over it.” Amberblade pushed the scroll across the table, toward Athaea. “Ah, by the way, just to make it clear, she passed. Her scores weren’t as high as yours, but, well, very few are.” The lieutenant said with a playful smile, grabbing the scroll and offering it to Athaea. Her eyes were still locked, staring at the scroll. She slowly reached for it and then pulled it back to her, almost mechanically.

“She left the last trials just a few minutes ago. I’m sure you’ll be able to track her down, Sergeant. Unless you have any questions, consider yourself dismissed.” Amberblade said before turning to a few other scrolls, stamping them with a few wax seals. Athaea finally managed to force her legs to work and leave the room after several seconds still. She pressed herself against the wall just to the right of the door, her hands sweating. Not wanting to make this last any more than it needed to, she rushed into the corridors, searching for her sister.

“Lyeenya.” The warden voice carried across the small field her sister was in, sitting against a tree. Lyeenya looked exhausted, in more ways than one. She took a few deep breaths as her older sister approached her, expecting the worse. Athaea held her sister scroll in her hands, but she had yet to hand it to her. “This here has your results, Lyeenya. And I’m supposed to present them to you.” The warden looked down at Lyeenya, not kneeling or sitting down with her.

“You are not going to become a warden, dear sister. And I’ll make this clear for you. I don’t care what got in your head for you to even try to become a warden. Especially after I left you behind in the Sisterhood. I don’t care if father and mother are telling you to reconnect with me.” The warden raised her finger, pointing it directly toward Lyeenya face. 

“I don’t want to reconnect with you. And especially, I don’t want you following my footsteps, and I don’t want you copying me. I don’t care for the Winterlance name. If it were up to me, I would never see you again. You are an incompetent brat, and there’s nothing connecting us but a thin and meaningless bloodline. I’ll spare you the shame of receiving your results with all the other recruits around you. Instead, I'll let you leave on your own, so maybe they’ll just forget about you, Lyeenya. Just like you should do with me.” Athaea didn’t mince words. She kept the scroll close to herself, holding it against her waist as she lambasted her sisters. 

“B-But… s-sis…” Tears starts to spring from Lyeenya eyes, immediately inundating her face. She pushed herself off the ground, sobbing and scrambling away from Athaea. She almost fell over on the ground as she ran, her cries filling the forest. Athaea sneered, shaking her head. Later that day, she returned the scroll to her superior for storage. She took the rest of the day to enjoy the feeling of knowing her sister wouldn’t bother her again, hopefully ever.

[airrium]

Short Story - My Bully

Author notes: So this was for an assignment in my creative writing class and I honestly just kinda pulled it out of my ass in the block before it was due. We all got a picture of a random person a few classes before it was due and were supposed to write about them under the restrictions. I had to include: a character twist, and indirect characterization (speech, thoughts, effect on others, actions, and looks). I ended up getting 18/18 on this which I was really surprised about. My teacher enjoyed how I wrote it from someone else’s perspective so the thoughts became N/A. I hope you enjoy :)

~

My Bully

Jeremy Lanting is the most horrible person in the world.

I was over the moon when I got accepted to Blackwell Academy. My entire elementary school experience had been dreadful. I was bullied by the same kid everyday, and guess who it was; Jeremy Lanting. So when I saw that I was accepted to such an academically smart school that there was no way Jeremy could get into, I was excited. Free from my bully. But now, here I am at Blackwell Academy, and Jeremy Lanting is sitting right in front of me.

His once always dirty hair and appalling smell now washed over by the shampoo provided in the dorms. Dressed in a school provided uniform instead of that same grey shirt he wore almost everyday throughout grade six and seven. I wish I could see his face. Scrunched up nose and chewing on his chapped lips, probably imagining my body in between his teeth. I would have never thought that he could even get into this school. I didn’t think the kid that cared about no one, even himself, would be smart enough for Blackwell.

RING! We all get up from our seats and head into the hallway. I’m feeling brave. I came to Blackwell for a fresh start and I intend to have that fresh start. Jeremy will not stop my new life. Quickly I find him in the hallway chatting with some classmates. Probably creating a new bully army to harass me with.

“Jeremy Lanting we need to talk!” I yell and almost the entire student body in our part of the hallway turns to face us. To look at me. My face feels hot but I don’t care; it’s time to face Jeremy. He turns and faces me, arms crossed.

“Get on with it.” His eyes stare right into mine.

“Blackwell is a fresh start for me and I will not be abused by you henceforth on, are we clear?!” His eyes roll at me and he turns around, unimpressed.

Before I can say more the intercom dings and a voice begins to boom throughout the hallway. “Jeremy Lanting please see Principal Hemming in his office.” The dings ring out and Jeremy makes his way towards the offices. This must be to deal with the clear issue of Jeremy not being able to attend Blackwell due to his stupidity and aggression. Not fit for our prestigious school.  To make sure of this I follow.

Jeremy’s head is facing towards Mr. Hemming and away from me. I can only try to decipher what our principal saying. He seems sympathetic. Mr. Hemming is clearly trying to let it down on Jeremy easy that he doesn't belong here. After a while they stand up and shake hands. Before they seperate Mr. Hemming hands a piece of paper over to Jeremy. The door swings open and I am once again face to face with Jeremy. He looks straight at me with his devil eyes. Scoffs, then steps around me and walks away.

After school I notice Jeremy sneaking off the school premises. This is my chance to get rid of him once and for all! I follow him out and onto the bus. I hide in the back and watch him while he’s standing in the aisle. We hit his stop and I follow him out in the crowd. I pull out my phone to get evidence of his disobedience of the rules. I snap a photo as he walks into a soup kitchen. A soup kitchen? Heading inside to investigate further I find him suiting up in the kitchen to feed the homeless. Did I follow the right person? The only reason I can think of Jeremy being here is to poison the less fortunate. I run up to him to confront him on that thought.

“Jeremy Lanting are you here to kill these poor people?” he turns as soon as he hears my accusatory voice. His eyes go wide as he see me.

“What are you doing here?-”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here? It states in the Blackwell student rules that we are not allowed to leave school premises without an adult or permission from someone with authority.” He looks around us frantically. I’ve never seen him panic before.

“I’ll tell you everything after. The doors are about the open.”

I watch him feed and talk to those around him. He seems so pleasant. Not like the person I know from elementary. Once he’s done and everyone has clearing the dining area he comes over and talks to me. Jeremy takes a breathe.

“My mom lives here.” His eyes search desperately at the floor for something other than my gaze.

“Your mom? Jeremy I-”

“Let me finish.” Another breathe. “I also used to live here.”

He went on for almost an hour about how he used to live in the shelter and how he heard about Blackwell through me. He wanted to help his mom out of the shelter and into rehab for her drug addiction. He’s at Blackwell on a scholarship he worked for.

“I never wanted to tell anyone because I thought they’d judge me. So I guess I just decided to hurt people before they could me. I was just afraid yah know?”

“Jeremy I can’t forgive you for the torture you put me through.” His eyes turned to me saddened but with a sense of understanding. “But I think we can be friends from here on out.”

He smiles.

So maybe Jeremy Lanting isn’t the worst person in the world.

~

[trinityludford-trigwell]

Week 4- the beginning of this week we spent the day curating and creating our concept boards. I found this task less enjoyable than I thought I would. I don’t think my final board reflected my actual window display concept that much and I wasn’t happy with the final board itself. I think given more mediums and materials I would’ve made a better board and I think I should’ve covered the board more not left so much blank space. It was a long day and unsurprisingly I was tired again and slept on the train. Come Thursday, we initiated our mystery shop tasks and refined out SWOT evaluation. I set out to complete my mystery shop for homework as due to technical issues like waiting for UO to respond I couldn’t complete it by the end of the day, I found it difficult to find the time to complete this and the motivation. From this I’ve learnt that although its great I spend a good amount of time on tasks I enjoy, I also need to set aside time and give myself strict deadlines to finish the tasks I find boring - otherwise they never get finished and I’m rushing at the end of the assignment to complete them. The second half of the day consisted of looking at celebrity influence on fashion and another enjoyable task for me - writing an article on their style and its influence on mainstream fashion. Without a second thought I decided to do the queen herself (not literally - Kate Moss. After watching British style genius episode 1 I was inspired by her ability to sell out anything overnight and her insane influence on women of all ages.

The lesson on Thursday made me really excited to learn about communications in fashion, be it writing or creative positions. This showed me more of the path I want to continue on, I feel very interested in fashion writing as in projects and work so far I find the most interesting tasks are researching than writing an article on a topic or influence or celebrity. Ive always enjoyed writing essays in school and persuasive pieces or speeches. On the other hand I also really enjoy styling and even fashion photography - not that I believe I’m that good at it. However Thursday was rounded off by and impromptu visit to A&E. This left me in a significant amount of pain over the weekend (cleverly I left my painkillers given to me in a hotel room), so I didn’t get much work done and instead rested - rest including watching even more films and documentaries, so not an overly unproductive weekend!

[missanthropicrn]

Imperfect Garden

Hey look at me running right up to the due date on an assignment. Takes me back to college!! I was the Secret Santa for @inkwelldried, and apparently one of the few that did a fic!

The menu of options given to me was dizzying and I honestly went with what gave me an opportunity to 1.write my favorite character, and 2. dance around a subject I know super well: death and dying. So... I guess this isn't the perkiest of fics but... It's Akio and Ruka, and I enjoyed writing it! I hope you like it, or at least find it interesting!

Warnings: There's nothing graphic at all and I actually meant for it to be not clear whether there was history there or not but Akio is gonna Akio so there's the underage thing implied.

Imperfect Garden

Death was here, clinging to the tables, the bed, the floor, oppressive and inescapable. It was a fog brought indoors, creating a haze about the room that Akio didn't necessarily dislike, but knew to be deceptive. The dying always think more clearly than everyone else.

“Chairman.”

Much more clearly. Exhaustion weighed down Ruka's eyelids, so that his lashes partly obscured his view. Jaundice left his skin otherworldly, yellow, and dehydration loosened it against a bony frame. He touched his face self-consciously, but if the sight of him alarmed Akio at all, he hid it well.

“You’re an old man, Ruka.”

“Just when I'd started getting good at being a teenager.”

“Unfortunately, those two conditions are not mutually exclusive.” His voice was startlingly loud for the room it filled. Or so it felt at first; it was only unhushed, and Ruka had forgotten what people sounded like when they weren't dancing around his condition. The bed creaked as Akio leaned against it, unaccustomed to the weight of flesh. Ruka watched him shift from one foot to the other, making himself comfortable. A chair was nearby, obscured by a mess of blankets, but Ruka knew it wouldn’t have mattered. Akio was exactly where he preferred to be. “Your nurse doesn’t think you're long for this world.”

“She saw me fold over my own legs this afternoon. It didn't inspire confidence.”

“Perhaps not in her. But if you ask me, I would say you don’t appear interested in death just yet.”

“Who would be?”

“Everyone, in the end. Of course, it’s the ‘in the end,’ part that people struggle with.” His gaze traced the thin tubing that began at an unfriendly looking machine and ended in Ruka's arm.

“Mm. It's strange to think at some point I'll be finished dying. The wait feels like an eternity, now that eternity isn't worth anything. Or...is there something Ends of the World can do about it that the Chairman cannot?” Ruka smiled, and Akio tipped his head, as if ceding a victory.

“That’s a question you should have asked me a long time ago.”

“I was afraid to. You might have said yes,” he murmured, attempting a wry tone. The hoarseness of his voice, gone dry with lack of use, didn’t quite manage it.

“And now, I might say no. The journey to acceptance is farther along than you think, though you're not so far gone that you would refuse a detour. I suspect you understand by now that taking the longer way will bring you to the same destination, whether I interfere or not. But… that's not why you're asking, is it?”

The head of the bed groaned, pulling Ruka upright. The movement brought on a wave of raspy, dry coughing. As he fought to catch his breath he heard a brief exchange between Akio and a nurse, and a tray being set down and swung around the bedside in front of him. What he glanced at warily, he reached for with a delight that surprised him.

“Real tea. Pu-erh? How did you get them to steep it right?”

“Explicit instruction.”

That was a smile Ruka didn't expect to see, all teeth and promises, and thrown by it, he turned his attention to what Akio had brought instead. His fingers were thin, but so was the teacup, a frail and delicate thing ready to droop with the weight of its contents. They drank in silence, while Ruka’s senses sluggishly tried to do the exquisite tea justice. He had mostly made his way through his cup before he bothered to notice the not-pattern of shimmering gold that decorated it. And Akio’s. And the teapot. He turned it in his hands, examining more closely. Veins glittered along the fault lines of what had clearly been shattered before.

“Kintsugi. Taking a broken thing and making it whole; a teacup mended with gold, to celebrate the flaws it has overcome, rather than pointlessly trying to conceal the obvious. People are no different, I find. A broken creature pulled back together may try to hide their flaws…”

“...but they should gild them instead.”

Akio’s laugh started somewhere in his diaphragm and ended in the pit of Ruka's stomach. It had not always been welcome there, but here and now, it made him more human than he'd been in weeks. His visitor seemed oblivious to his condition, speaking with the same purry, careless sensuality he'd had back at the school. That was centuries ago; back then, Ruka had been whole, bright-eyed, and confident, a beautiful youth brimming with potential. That was over. Ruka was sure whatever Akio had come for, it wouldn't be any good. Still, it felt wonderful to be on edge again. His thoughts stretched, waking from a drug-addled sleep. He'd forgotten what it felt like to think in anything but past tense, and warily, he let his mind wander to long-abandoned places: the present, and even worse… the future.

Akio, appearing satisfied with something, drew from his pocket a gold chain taut with the heavy weight of the locket it bore. Ruka's hand stretched out automatically, and the corners of his mouth turned down. It felt damp around the edges, waterlogged, but he didn't bother opening it.

Ruka's back straightened, scraps of stored up strength coalescing into defensiveness. It was definitely going to be necessary now, even if his clipped speech was not. “There really was no hope for her escaping Ends of the World. How were you going to resist a talent like that?”

“Do you think I tried to?”

Wrinkles around Ruka's eyes deepened as he squinted; the room was uncomfortably bright now that he was looking at it. Their appearance intrigued Akio. Seemingly unaware of the impropriety of his touch, he traced the thin line of a blue eyebrow down to where the wrinkles gathered, soft fingertips smoothing them out briefly before letting them form again. The contact was curious at first, only melting into sensuality as his fingers fell away, nails skirting down the side of Ruka’s face. Ruka shook his head, the beginning of a smirk on his cracked lips. Any other reaction, he thought, would be a waste of effort.

“She's a brilliant duelist. One of the most powerful I've ever seen." He nodded toward Ruka's hand. "But her full potential lies trapped there, close to her, and utterly out of her reach. She knows, as we know, that she cannot grasp it without breaking the locket. And she will break with it. I'd have the shards break into shapes I can use.”

The effort of sussing out Akio's motives lifted a heavy fog Ruka hadn't noticed was there until it wasn't. Every little beep and blip of the machines around him pressed into his attention, and the air felt crisp, electric. Perhaps it was the tea. He poured himself another glass, surprised by the weight of the teapot, and more so by his carelessly, successfully, lifting it. The astringent smokiness of it captured his senses for a brief, wonderful moment before he returned to reality. Akio had been watching him, evidently pleased with something. If it was because his eyes had cleared, whitened, and regained some of the spark of life, Ruka didn't know it.

“You would take this away from her? But she won't duel without it. It's what drives her.”

“Indeed it is. Arisugawa is set to duel once more, after which it would be best for all involved if miracles became less of a priority in her life.”

“So she will lose. She's just… a whetstone for the Sword of Dios.”

Ruka couldn't remember when Akio had moved from resting against the bed to sitting on it, but now he leaned back, his arm draped on the bedside table. “Does that anger you to know?”

“Not at all. Miracles are not what Juri needs.”

Akio laughed. “She doesn’t know that. Or...she doesn’t believe she knows it. You are at the mercy of the ticking clock, far outside the reach of Dios’ power. And for it, you have something she lacks. The perspective of hindsight.”

“Call it what it is,” Ruka murmured, flexing his fingers around the locket. “It's the perspective of the dying.”

“Yes...that’s another way to put it.” A curious expression passed over Akio's face, as if he'd momentarily forgotten Ruka was yellow, emaciated, and bedridden in front of him. To tell the truth, Ruka had briefly forgotten this himself. Akio pressed on, “Your insight is precious. A beautiful consequence of bitter mortality. It’s something that can’t be grown in a perfect garden. So I must, at times, have it brought in.”

That smile again. The one that promised so much more than the obvious, as much as the obvious appealed. How could Akio smile at him like that? Like nothing had changed, like he was still a beautiful young man with a bright, tempting smile of his own. Didn't he see how Ruka looked? This was somehow worse than the reserved care others took with him. It made him miss, and regret, and want, and served no purpose...

“The correct answer to whatever I offer, of course, is no...”

“I'm well aware of that, Akio. Wisdom is no protection from you.”

“Yet, here I am, at your end, knowing you won't refuse me.”

Akio’s voice had turned all velvet and smoke, and it brought back memories Ruka thought he had no use for anymore. Good and bad, pleasure and pain, hope and failure. The Dueling Game came rushing back to him, bringing it with it a thirst no tea could ever quench. Akio knew it, too: he recognized that flirtatious satisfaction. It was in the way he leaned back, encroaching on Ruka’s space. Recollection flooded the hollowed out spaces in his mind. He knew this look. His agreement was a foregone conclusion.

Ruka broke the gaze Akio had captured to stare down at the locket. There was no point asking why it was in his hands now, he thought, trying to temper a gnawing eagerness with cynicism. The fingers framing its shimmering gold were twig-like, all visible veins and paper-thin fingernails. They curled around the imagined hilt of a sword, aching with a sudden, overwhelming eagerness to test its weight.

“Sharpen the blade she wields. Bring her to the arena. And let it break her.”

“What do I get out of this?” Ruka cringed at his own voice. It was louder than it had been, and it was hungry, and hopeful, and he knew that was not going to help him.

“Saving her from herself is not enough?” Akio lifted his hand before Ruka could answer, falling just short of silencing him with a touch to his lips. “You will be given a gift only someone who has received it themselves can give. Something only we would understand. An escape, whatever the cost, from the overwhelming dread of dying.”

Ruka’s expression soured, his gut grasping what reasoning hadn’t caught up to yet. “....and death?”

“Death has already claimed you, and that I can’t change. But come to the school, accept its illusions, and you will, until that moment, live as you lived before. Whole, and human, and not bound to a bed melting before your very eyes.”

A slow inhale. A dry mouth. Fingers twitched again, swearing this time they could feel the soft grip of worn leather. Of his sword. Ruka’s chest hitched, and pain blossomed with the motion, bouncing around against his aching ribs. For a split second, he feared the worst, but he was mistaken. It was, much to his surprise, laughter.

“But it won't be real. I'll still be dying.”

"No. It won't be real. Will it matter, if you believe it?"

"How can I believe I'm not dying? I can't even walk. I can't.." Ruka gestured to the tubing hanging from his arm.

“Had I asked you when I walked in what color the walls were, you wouldn’t have been able to tell me. And had you not been busy trying to guess my angle, you would have choked on the tea.” Akio’s fingers returned again to the yellowing skin at the corner of an eyelid, this time spreading into Ruka’s hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp. “Dying is an active process. So is forgetting. You can pick between them, and it is in my power to make either convincing.”

“Yes.” The word escaped Ruka’s lips in an explosive breath, before he let himself think better of it. When he uttered the word again, it was heavy with doubt, and Akio grinned at the sound of it.

"Guilt is for the living, Ruka. You know that better than anyone." A thumb stroked Ruka's temple, and he shivered. He found, somewhere, the energy to shiver, as well as the energy to respond to the inviting purr of Akio's voice. "I admit, I find you quite captivating the way you are. But there's no shame in wanting to escape the heavy burden of mortality."

Though neither budged, Ruka felt the space between them close. It had always felt that way, like Akio controlled the air's willingness to divide them. Ruka parted his lips, licking them, unsurprised by now to find them smooth and supple, though they'd felt like sandpaper an hour ago. Fingers tightened behind his head, and he found himself grinning, a lazily inviting expression testing itself on his face. This he remembered: that the prize was always in resisting the temptation. There was no fun in it if you didn’t let yourself be lured in, a little.

Akio laughed, indulgent and almost chiding. His fingers drew back, running through smooth, short locks of dark blue. "What happened to your hair?"

Ruka blinked as he withdrew, a familiar combination of tension and relief in it, before shrugging a little awkwardly, watching Akio's fingers. "I was...doing especially poorly last month, and the hair had matted. The nurses were forced to cut off what they couldn't untangle." He smoothed over the back of his head self-consciously, half-aware that he couldn't see the veins in his hands as they approached. "Will it grow back when I forget that?"

Akio pursed his lips, considering this, and Ruka imagined he could see either state as readily as the other. He laughed, exasperated as the answer became obvious.

"No, I don't think so. It suits you."

[pjxmin]

▹ pairing: Jeongguk x reader ▹ genre: smut [sub!jeongguk] just filth all around ▹ word count: 4,235 ▹ a/n: thank you @bvngtvns​ for helping me think of an actual vague-ish storyline for this collection and for encouraging this smut-fest, and thank you @taequility​ for putting up with my disgusting ass + screaming about sub jjk with me ily

You decide to have a little fun with a remote controlled toy in class and Jeongguk will do anything for his relief.

It’s a Thursday morning on the last week of the semester in your least favourite subject of the year and the last thing you want to do is be there. You already presented last week so you didn’t have to come, but Jeongguk insisted he needed your ‘moral support’ and didn’t want to sit alone for two hours—as well as pointed out rather snarkily that you probably won’t touch the other assignments you have waiting for you, so you might as well come and watch. And that is why you are here, sitting in a squeaky plastic chair in a stuffy room with no windows, listening to some girl read each slide of her powerpoint word for word in a monotone voice for ten minutes straight.

Blessedly Jeongguk is next, already up before the tutour even calls on him, taking his laptop and dongle with him. He trails a hand along your back as he squeezes past you, casting you a look that says ‘don’t try anything’ as he steps up to the podium in front of the class. You wouldn’t dream of it.

He sets up, plugging in his laptop – a much faster process since he doesn’t have to log in to his account and waste five minutes loading a presentation.

Half the class isn’t listening and doesn’t try to pretend they are, even when he begins to speak. You can’t blame them because even though he’s your boyfriend, there is nothing even remotely exciting about political economy theory despite the fact that he’s trying to make it so. Jeongguk has always been good at presentations, delivering engaging speeches, getting the class moving and involved (much to everyone’s chagrin) – but there are some things even Jeon Jeongguk can’t conquer.

Jeongguk is nearly finished with his presentation when you lock eyes and you grin devilishly. Perhaps it’s cruel, but you’re bored, Jeongguk has delivered the bulk of his presentation, and conclusions are unnecessary anyway, so you decide to have some fun. Because you’ve known him long enough, you notice the slight widening of his eyes and the quickening of his speech, already bracing for what’s coming. You lean back in your chair, phone in your hand, waiting, giving him a false sense of security just long enough that he stops glancing your way, and that’s when you open the app on your phone, pressing the on button.

Jeongguk jolts. He stumbles in his speech, losing focus momentarily, before regaining his momentum and carrying on – though he speaks with far less conviction and takes more time to remember the words he has revised. Jeongguk has recited this speech enough damn times in front of you that you could have done the presentation for him if he were sick, so you can hear him grasping for his next sentence, eyes flicking across his bored audience, desperately trying to remain engaged with them even though he’s rushing to finish. He’ll still pull through with a High Distinction, even though he’ll complain to you about throwing him off his game later. 

You first bought the toy—a remote controlled vibrating butt plug—with Jeongguk six months ago. He was the one who suggested introducing toys into your relationship, but you’re the one who chanced upon this one. He eyed it warily at first, but curiosity got the best of him and you emerged from the shop with new loot to try out. The first time you switched it on, he was on the bus home. He sent you a slurry of frantic texts and returned hard with arousal, which you were prompt to alleviate.

Jeongguk nearly slams his laptop shut when he finishes his presentation, holding it precariously in front of his pants, presumably to hide his growing boner. You switch the toy off as he scoots back into his chair and crosses his legs, not looking at you. You just give a quiet, amused laugh and turn back to the front of class, watching the next girl log in to her account and load up her presentation on Roland Barthes (taking her time, as though postponing the presentation by a few seconds would help her feel any more confident).

The next hour stretches on and you spend most of it either looking at recipes on Pinterest or researching for your Communication Industries and Practices essay, which you really should be finishing writing by now considering it’s due in less than forty eight hours. Jeongguk is all jitters, his leg bobbing up and down impatiently, bumping up against the roof of the table every so often that the girl in front of you casts him passive aggressive glances to get him to calm the fuck down. You place a hand on his knee and he stops moving for maybe ten seconds before starting up again. You know what’s on his mind—that he’s dying to say something to voice his frustration and leave the class—but he stays silent and waits. His jaw is locked, tense, and he heaves a sigh of relief when the last presenter finishes. You shoulder your bag, ready to leave, but Jeongguk grabs your arm, pulling you back as everyone else goes.

“Are you going to your next class?” His voice is strained, still high strung from your fun earlier.

“Uh, yeah, after my break,” you say. You have Poetry in two hours – an elective you unfortunately got stuck with out of lack of other options that matched with your timetable (and because you chose too late and most other classes were full).

“Skip with me.”

You raise your eyebrows, grinning teasingly. “Why should I?”

“Please,” Jeongguk begs, glancing at your peers as they file past you. Your tutour steps out moments later, bidding you goodbye as he heads down the hallway. “I’ll be good.”

And good he is. When you arrive home, he trails kisses down your neck, hands exploring the curves of your body with a barely restrained desperation. You can feel he wants—needs—more, but he awaits instructions, patient as ever. He can wait for hours if that’s what it takes, knowing if he acts out he can be forced to wait even longer or denied his relief. Sometimes that only gets him more aroused, aching with desire, coming almost the instant you finally touch him.

“Please, this—the toy—I need more,” he says against your lips when you finally reach the bedroom. His words are sweet, and you’re almost tempted to tell him to keep it in, knowing the longer he asks for something the more needy he becomes.

“Take it out,” you instruct. You help him out of his clothing, abandoning it by the foot of the bed. You unbuckle his belt and pull his pants down, the outline of his erection strains against his boxers, springing free when he takes them off. He reaches down, freeing himself of the toy, wincing at the sudden emptiness. You leave it out for him in the bathroom on days when you want him to wear it, though sometimes he puts it in himself without any prompting. You don’t always turn it on, but the knowledge of it being there is enough to get you and him riled up.

“Will you touch me?” He asks.

You lean down to brush your lips against his jawline, your fingers trailing along his navel, close to his cock, but not close enough.

“Fuck yourself for me first. Use your fingers.”

He whimpers, but doesn’t protest. So good. Always so good. You give him a peck as encouragement, soft, but fleeting. He draws the container of lube out of the dresser beside the bed, squeezing a generous amount out, and your stomach lurches in excitement. He’s always put on a good show for you.

He kneels down in front of the floor length mirrors by the bed so you can get the full view—both from the front and back—and reaches behind, slipping a finger in easily after spending a day with the toy in. His lashes flutter shut, an oh escaping his lips. The lube squelches as he works his finger in his hole, stretching himself gradually, body almost trembling from finally being able to appease his building frustration.

But he can take more, and so you say, “Take two.”

He’s coming apart so beautifully in front of you, the way he does, and it’s always so hard not to touch. Because you want to touch. You want to be the one who makes him bite his lip and screw his eyes shut, caressing him in all the places that drive him crazy most. But there’s something about watching him sink back onto his own fingers, drawing himself to the brink and back, that makes you sit and watch every time, despite how bad it chips away at your self-control with every whimper he makes.

“I—yeah—fuck, okay.” He adds another finger, his cock twitching as he does. Precum leaks down the throbbing length, but he knows not to touch himself. Not yet. “Oh, this feels, ngh, feels so good.” He scissors the fingers inside himself, digging deeper against the spot that makes him pant and moan uncontrollably. Each movement is graceful in its own way, but only temporarily. You watch his glistening fingers glide inside his pink hole, mesmerized by the sight.

“C-can I do three?” His eyes are unfocused, looking but not really seeing.

“Are you ready?”

“Y-yeah. Need more.”

“Alright, add another.”

He does. He bites down on his lip, scrunching his face as he adjusts to the stretch that he has explained is ‘slightly painful but in the best of ways’. He’s taken bigger things than three fingers.

Jeongguk ruts back, pace less steady, more desperate, anything to feel some sort of relief after an entire day at the brink of frustration. Sweat trickles down his temples and you want to lick it off.

He pants, reaching up to tweak one nipple, then the other, murmuring about how good, so good he feels, but it would be better if you were fucking him instead.

You shift forward, slotting your lips against his, swallowing his breathy moans in your mouth. His tongue laves against yours sloppily, unable to focus properly from the pleasure that runs through every fibre of his being.  

“You take it so well, baby,” you say encouragingly, running your fingers up his thighs. His eyes are molten lava, mouth slick and red.

“S-so well,” he repeats. “For you.”

“Think you’ve been good?” Your hand stops beside his cock and it twitches from the proximity, knowing you might finally give him what he really needs, not just watch him. He nods quickly, breath hitching. “Say it, baby.”

“I’ve been good,” Jeongguk says, almost pleading. “Very good. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please touch me.”

You do. You spit onto your palm and wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, eliciting a sigh from Jeongguk, whose hips lurch at the sudden contact.

“Do I—stop—” His words, half-formed thoughts, break off, spilling into one another, but you understand him anyway and tell him to keep his fingers inside—he hasn’t been given instructions to stop. He struggles to find a rhythm, fucking back onto himself and fucking into the circle of your hand. You draw languid strokes up and down, your thumb smearing the precum down his length.

“Think you deserve more?” You ask, adding twisting motions with each measured pump.

“Yeah, I, yeah.” More frantic nods, pupils blown wide as he watches you settle down on the carpeted floor in front of him, looking up at him as you give his cock hesitant kitten licks, teasing, drawing out his frustration just enough that he might start begging, but doesn’t. Jeongguk’s pride is an unshakeable thing, but in your hands he turns into putty and would say anything for you. But tonight you won’t make him beg. Not much. Tonight you’re feeling generous.

Your tongue flicks over the head, licking along the vein that runs down his length before taking him whole into your mouth. He groans, loud, even louder when you bob your head up and down, taking him as far as you can without choking. You’ve practiced deepthroating and mastered it, but that’s reserved for special occasions—when he’s been extra good (or if you want to push his buttons just a tad more). You love the way he loses himself at the sight of your nose pressed into his neatly trimmed pubic hair, and so as one should with all great things, you do it rarely to appreciate it properly.

Tonight he’s feeling slightly daring, bucking into your mouth with shallow thrusts despite the fact that you didn’t allow him to, so you hold him down, stilling his erratic motions. You swirl your tongue around the shaft, then lower yourself, licking his balls, sucking one into your mouth as you pump him steadily, running a finger across his frenulum every now and then. His moans become more and more disjointed, hips canting up, then rutting down in a frenzy. His eyes are screwed tightly shut and you demand he opens them; he complies, watching you with fascination as you work your mouth and tongue over him, teasing him the way he likes to be teased, drawing the prettiest noises from his throat. When you can tell he’s getting close, you release him and sit up to kiss him—hard, all tongue so he can taste himself on your lips.

“You wanna fuck me or get fucked?” You ask. Some nights you both take it, either as a reward or a punishment. It takes longer, depending on how long you deny one another’s satisfaction, and by the end you’re spent, unable to do anything but lie back in bed and regain your breath.

“I—ah—” He jerks as he shoves his fingers deeper, and you know if he keeps going like this he’ll probably come all over himself. “Fuck you, wanna—fuck you.”

“Okay. Fingers out.” He lets out a soft mewl at the sudden emptiness inside of him after feeling so full all day. You lie back on the floor, pulling him down on top of you, and he props up an elbow on one side of you, his other palming at the fabric of your jeans, mouthing at your jugular as a shiver skitters across your spine. Too much clothing, so you fumble at your zipper, and upon being given access, he pulls the denim down further then slips his hand into your underwear, the direct contact making you gasp.

“So wet,” he says quietly, brushing a finger over your clit, motions gentle. He swipes his index over your slit, appraising how slick you are after watching him. He works his fingers against you just long enough to get you writhing underneath him when he removes them to tug at the end of your shirt. “Can I?”

“Yes.” He helps pull it off, chucking it aside. His hands roam over your bra, searching, exploring, appreciating before pulling it down just enough to expose your breasts underneath. He squeezes one mound, latching his mouth onto the other, sucking and flicking his tongue along the sensitive bud, pushing you down when you arch your back up to him, closer to the heat of his mouth. Desire blossoms in your core and you need more, need him to touch you where you crave him most. You shuck off your pants completely and he seems to understand your unspoken request because his hand trails down your stomach, returning attention to your swollen clit, rubbing it just hard enough that you’re the one letting out obscene sounds, a disarray of fragmented thoughts and pleas.

“More,” you say, carding your fingers through his hair, gasping when he slips two fingers inside you and works them into a steady rhythm, gradually quickening the pace. He fastens his mouth to your neck, sucking red and purple hickeys to match the ones fading on his that you’d left several days before.

Jeongguk hooks his fingers slightly inside you, stroking your G-spot, watching you carefully for your reactions. It takes longer to make you come this way, but the orgasm is unlike anything else you’ve ever felt. The first time you achieved one was while you were fingering yourself while Jeongguk was away at his parents’ house and after twenty minutes you were hit by a wave of pleasure so intense and unexpected that you didn’t understand what happened at first. Of course, Jeongguk wanted to see it in action the moment he got home, and fingered you for an hour like a goddamn champion until you were shaking all over. Tonight though you don’t have the patience and want more—wanting more than anything to see him crumble—so you push him to the side gently, kind enough not to be demanding, but reasserting who’s in control as he falls onto his back. You could order him to eat you out then fuck you into oblivion, but you take pity on the sight of his throbbing cock and straddle his face, leaning down on top of him so you can take his cock in your mouth as he eats you out from below.

Being in a position like this almost feels like a contest sometimes to see who can bring the other to the brink faster, when their movements lessen, focus shot, unable to keep up with the other anymore as their orgasm approaches. 

Jeongguk gets to work quickly, giving a sharp, long lick along your slit, emitting a low groan at the taste of you—or perhaps from the way you lower your mouth onto his erection, swallowing him deep, filling your mouth completely. He resists the urge to buck up into you and you can feel the tension in his thighs as you find the right pace, hollowing your cheeks.

Shallow waves of pleasure begin to spread through your body and you know you’re close, but you’re too prideful to be the first to cross the finish line when tonight was about him, so you take him to the back of your throat again and relax your jaw, waiting for it to be comfortable enough to take him even further, slowly, until there’s nothing left. He reacts immediately, the movements of his tongue faltering, his breath coming in short gasps, moaning loudly as you swallow, the tightness of your throat and your mouth around him too much to handle.

“Fuck, you’re gonna—make me come,” he manages to force out, the jumbled quality of his voice sending a note of pride through you. His hips jerk up and tears prick your eyes, so you come up for air, wrapping a hand around his spit-slick length instead. More expletives slip from his lips, surfacing in high-pitched whines that sound less and less like words the more tightly strung he becomes. He tries to return his attention to your pussy, tries to give you the care you deserve, but when he fails you lift yourself off him so he can continue undistracted, leaving him at the precipice of his orgasm once more—so close, yet so far from what he so desperately craves.  

“You’ve been such a good boy tonight, Jeongguk, don’t stop now,” you say, rubbing your hands along the taut muscles of his torso, giving him a harsh pinch to remind him who’s boss here right now. He gives a slight hmph but doesn’t protest since if he does you’re likely to leave him high and dry, which is a much worse demise than being obedient for a little longer and receiving what he’s been waiting for so patiently all day.

Jeongguk licks with his tongue flat, a faint growl pouring out as he focuses wholly on the taste and smell of your sex, so wet for him and only him.

“Taste so good,” he says. The sound of him lapping up your juices is loud and filthy, but nothing in comparison to your lewd reactions. You grind against his mouth, having to remind yourself to be gentle, especially when his hands squeeze your legs so you ease up. He sucks on your clit, fully aware this is the quickest way to make your resolve deteriorate—and it does. The skillful movements of his tongue have you coming in no time, your legs weakening as the wave of pleasure spreads through your limbs. You move off him when you trust yourself not to fall over on top of you. You may have received your relief, but Jeongguk’s cock is still hard, still waiting, and you’re not feeling merciless enough to leave him like this.

“Think you can make me come again?” He can and has, but challenging him always gets him going even more, eager to prove himself to you.

“Let me fuck you and I will,” he says.

Jeongguk gets into sitting position, looking up at you, and you step in front of him, lowering yourself with your eyes fixed on his in the mirror. You take his cock, lining it up with your entrance, swirling it around teasingly but not pushing it in. His expression implores you to stop teasing him after waiting all day for this, so finally, you sink yourself on him, unable to stop the sigh that pours from your throat at the stretch because of his thick length, so warm and so good inside you. He rests his hands on your sides, helping keep you steady as you begin to lift yourself and descend again, slowly initially, relishing the feeling of him moving inside of you. But soon slow isn’t enough and you ride him faster, watching in the mirror as his length disappears inside you.

“You like watching me ride you?” You say breathlessly.

“I love it,” he says, and presses a kiss into your spine. It’s a small gesture, but it makes your heart surge and you take one of his hands in yours, lacing your fingers through his. You give his hand a quick squeeze then guide it to your clit. You don’t have to help him find the way you like it—he’s memorized the way your body works over the years, knowing exactly what it takes to draw your orgasm closer or further. He rubs the sensitive nub in tender circular motions and you drop your head back from the overwhelming feeling of it all—his cock buried deep inside you, fingers against your clit, lips against your neck.

“Want you to fuck me,” you say, shifting forward so you’re on your hands and knees. He sits up, sliding inside you once more with ease, reaching a hand around your body to touch you again. His back presses against your own, the skin of his thighs slapping against the back of yours with each of his thrusts, faster, harder, even faster.

“Love feeling you inside me.” Your words are breathy, more for yourself than for him.

“Love you.”

You laugh, feeling the smile in the kiss Jeongguk presses to your shoulder.

The grip of his hand on your hip tightens until it’s almost painful. There’s nothing teasing or gentle about the way he drives himself into you deep, his groans mingling with your moans, heat emanating from his body.

“I—I’m close,” he says, hips bucking furiously, chasing his high that’s just a hair’s breadth out of reach.

“Come inside me,” you say, not missing the way his next thrusts stutter because of your words. Most days he comes in your mouth, or decorates some part of your body, but every now and then you let him do it inside you. You know how crazy it makes him, and there’s something indescribable about feeling his warmth inside you.

He slows down, his fingers on your clit speeding up slightly, pressing down just a tad harder, your orgasm hurtling towards you until it knocks you off your feet and you’re trembling with him still inside you. He thrusts into you a couple more times, but the feeling of you tightening around him is enough to draw him over the edge too and he comes inside you with a drawn out fuck. He remains still a few moments before easing himself out of you, his come spilling out onto the floor and down your thigh. You sit to face him, spreading your legs so he can see the white fluid dripping out of you, and run a finger along your skin then lift it to your mouth to taste him. 

“Christ,” he breathes, shaking his head at the sight of you licking the come off yourself like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted in your life. He holds out a hand and you take it, allowing yourself to be pulled towards him. Your touch is gentle, nothing demanding about it as you nuzzle your face in his neck, limbs weak and spent. His skin against yours is warm, arm wrapped around your waist firm.

“Why are you so nice today? What’s going on with you?” Jeongguk says, a glint of amusement in his voice.

You look up at him and flick his nose. “Haven’t you been told not to question good things?” 

“Can’t help it when I’ve got a freak for a girlfriend who enjoys teasing too much.”

“You love it.”

“Maybe. Gonna be nice next time too?”

“Don’t count on it.”

[persasseajackson]

Coffee shop AU- Percabeth

I based this off of an AU prompt I saw a LONG time ago. I honestly forgot I had written this it had been about two years but I decided to finish it :) I have no doubt that there are probably lots of mistakes and the format probably got a leetle messed up while I tried to figure out how to blog THis but please enjoy :) also prompt creds to whoever made the prompt along the lines of “my computer battery is low and I need to finish my assignment and ur the only seat near an outlet can I plz sit w u?” OK I’m done rambling now

••••••••••••••••

Annabeth had been staring at the boy for seven minutes, and her computer was now at nine percent. It’s not that big of a deal, she thought for the fifth time. Just go up and ask if you can use the outlet. It was just her luck that the hot guy with messy black hair and one hell of a jaw line was sitting at the table blocking the last unoccupied outlet, and Annabeth’s computer was dying and her essay was due tomorrow. It shouldn’t be this hard, and it’s not like she would usually have this much trouble, but the guy was really cute and he was probably playing candy crush on his phone and what if she interrupts him before his high score is achieved? She would steal his outlet and his high score. Not that she knew for a fact that he was playing candy crush. Maybe he was writing a really important email to his teacher or texting his girlfriend. Annabeth cringed. Girlfriend. He probably did have a girlfriend. A whole bunch of girls probably swooned all over him at school. She knew guys like him, from what she was observing. He was probably an athlete. No, definitely an athlete, judging by his broad shoulders and muscular arms. She shouldn’t even bother approaching him, then, if he was anything like she assumed he was. She could imagine his pink lips curving into a frown as he ignored her and went back to tapping on his phone. Annabeth shook the possibility out of her head. She was over thinking this whole thing. Her computer was at seven percent now, and she still had two more paragraphs to proof read for the third time, even though her work was already typed and edited. She wouldn’t let her essay be less than perfect all because of cute guy blocking the outlet. Annabeth made up her mind and shot out of her chair, scooping up her laptop, computer charger, and coffee before marching over to the boy’s table. She plopped her things down across from him, and jammed her plug into the outlet, finally calm now that her essay was safe. The boy looked up with a small smile, and Annabeth was slightly taken aback. “Well hello there.” The way he said it wasn’t flirtatious at all. He seemed amused, as if he had watched her fight herself before stomping her way over. Annabeth winced when she realized that he probably had noticed her glaring at the outlet from her own table. It took Annabeth a moment to recover after she locked eyes with him. She had never seen such bright green eyes before. She replied with a nod and a smile that probably looked more like a grimace, because that was all she could manage. Annabeth stared at her computer blankly for a moment, before looking back up at him. “My computer was dying. You were the only table with a power outlet next to you,” she said, feeling stupid after her awkward explanation. The boy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t mind.” He chuckled, and held out his hand. “I’m Percy,” he told her. Annabeth tilted her head when she heard the name, deciding she liked it. “Annabeth.” She shot him one last half-smile, unsure if she should continue the conversation. If she wanted to finish her essay, she needed to get to work. Forcing herself to tear her eyes away from his mesmerizing green ones, her own eyes began scanning the screen, searching for mistakes and quickly running her fingers over the keyboard letters to fix any. “What’re you working on?” Annabeth nearly fell out of her chair when she felt Percy’s breath tickle her neck. Her head whipped around to find him crouching next to her, looking over her shoulder at her essay. He was so close to her that his head was almost resting on her shoulder, and she caught a whiff of his scent. He smelled like chlorine and spearmint gum. She swallowed. “Um, essay. For school.” She inwardly rolled her eyes at her lame answer. She expected Percy to be satisfied with her answer and sit down again. What did her essay matter to him? Instead he leaned in closer, and Annabeth held her breath. No stranger this hot had ever been this close to her before. “What’s it about?” Percy asked. “Why do you need to know?” She shot back instinctively. She didn’t mean for the response to sound so rude, she was honestly just curious. Percy didn’t seem bothered by it, though. He just shrugged. “Wondering if it’s anything worth reading.” He smiled. Annabeth frowned. “No,” she blurted. Percy’s smile shrunk slightly, and he raised an eyebrow and held his hands up in surrender. She shook her head and started over. “No, I mean, it’s not.” she swallowed, “worth reading, I mean. You wouldn’t want to read this.” She laughed humorlessly, gripping her cup of coffee in her hand tightly. “It isn’t anything good. Just school work.” Percy frowned, and suddenly gripped his chair and dragged it around so that he was seated next to Annabeth. She sucked in a breath of air, her shoulders tensing. What was with this guy?                                                                     “Nah, I don’t believe that.” He pulled her computer closer to him, and Annabeth restrained herself from stopping him, and instead wrapped her other hand around her silver A necklace that her mother had given her when she was in sixth grade. She stared down at her now cold coffee, anxiously waiting as Percy’s eyes scanned her paper. Honestly, under normal circumstances she hated people reading her work, but something about Percy made her curious to hear his opinion. She hated that.                                                                         Percy hummed as he read something, and Annabeth’s head snapped up.

“What?” she asked, overeager to hear his thoughts. He tilted his head and looked at her. “You didn’t write about your mom?” Annabeth’s heart stuttered for a moment. “Excuse me?” she breathed. Why would he ask about her mom? Percy was frowning. “No, it’s just,” he shook his head and squinted like he was doing a hard math problem. “The prompt was asking you to write about someone that inspires you, and you wrote about,” Percy raised his eyebrows. “Your teacher?” His tone wasn’t judgmental, but one of disbelief. He glanced at her, hiding a smile. “Kiss ass, much?” Annabeth narrowed her eyes. “First of all, I’ll have you know that my teacher is amazing, okay? He’s taught me a lot.” Percy smirked. “He taught you a lot academically, or,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “In other ways?” It took Annabeth a moment to decipher his sentence, but when she did, she instinctively shoved the boy away from her, astounded. He let out a loud laugh as Annabeth made a noise of disgust. “So now I know you have the immature mind of an middle school student,” she huffed. Percy was still laughing, and Annabeth glared. “That was gross and uncalled for,” she scolded him. “And not even funny. Get some better material,” Annabeth added. Percy held his hands above his head in surrender, but his playful smirk never vanished. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Bad joke--my nerves got the best of me.” He turned his attention back to Annabeth’s computer, while she made the effort to brush off the last part of his sentence. “Tell me more about your teacher,” He said, and Annabeth shot him an incredulous look, raising her eyebrows in an accusatory fashion. Percy raised his hands even higher. “I promise my middle school mind won’t make anymore inappropriate jokes,” he told her seriously. Annabeth eyed Percy for a moment, waiting for him to break. He held her eye contact, though, and seemed genuinely interested. So she launched into her history about Mr. Brunner. He was practically the father she never had. Well, she had a father. Just not a particularly good one. She explained how his lessons were more than just lectures; they were meaningful talks about life and the world around them. Mr. Brunner was just about the most inspiring person she knew, and that was more than what she could say about her own family. Annabeth paused her speech and took a sip of her cold coffee, which was more of an excuse to stop rambling rather than her actually enjoying its taste. Percy seemed to be letting her words sink in, and Annabeth laughed at the expression on his face. “Still trying to figure out how someone could actually admire a teacher?” she teased. Percy shook his head. “No, not at all. And I get that. I mean he sounds super cool and all. I was just surprised. Like, for me, my mom is the most inspiring person I know.” Annabeth felt her chest tighten, and a pang of a nameless emotion jabbed at her. Immediately she felt guilty for her reaction. So what, Percy had a mom he loved and admired? Why should she feel bitter towards him for that? He was a total stranger, but Annabeth already longed to have something he had. Percy seemed to have picked up on her expression, because his face displayed the same guilt Annabeth felt. He placed her laptop back in front of her. “But that’s just me. Family means something different to everyone.” Annabeth wanted to laugh at his use of the word ‘family’. Family could never fit her idea of the people she lived with. She exhaled, wanting to release every emotion Percy had dug up inside of her. Shaking her head, she said, ���I’m basically done writing it anyway. Just editing.” For the third time. She stared at her computer screen with a new hatred, the formerly passionate essay now tainted with reminders of people she resented. People she would never write a praising sentence about even if her college acceptance letters depended on. Percy jumped to change the subject. “So why are you here on a Tuesday? Saturday’s are usually when you’re here?” She stared at him for a moment, registering his comment. Percy seems to be doing the same thing, because his tan complexion turns slightly pinker, and he starts to fidget with his hands. “Not that—I don’t like…know your schedule, I’m not a stalker I swear to god, I just mean this one Saturday—well, actually more than once, like it’s actually been three Saturdays that you’ve been here. Not like consecutively, actually the first time I saw you here was five weekends ago. Not that I count. I mean I do? But I’m not creepy, really, I just got really bored, so I like made up this kind of game where I was like, hey, let’s see how many times that cute blonde comes here to do homework. I mean not that you’re cute—wait no, you’re really cute. God. I just mean—“ “Percy.” “Uh, yeah?” She tried to hide the smile playing on her lips. “Do you want to meet here for coffee next Saturday?” Percy’s mouth fell slightly open. “Um, okay. I mean, totally,” He cleared his throat. “Uh, yes. Yeah. Coffee,” he swallowed. “would be good.” Annabeth closed her laptop and began collecting her things, looking down at her busywork to hide her blushing face. Unable to help it, she let out a little laugh when she thought about Percy’s adorable ramble. She stood, clutching her items close to her, glancing up at an already-up-right Percy and meeting his eyes. “So Saturday?” she confirmed. Percy let out a short, low laugh, partially aimed at himself. “Saturday.” He beamed at her, shoving his hands in his pockets and swaying back and forth on his heels. He had recovered from his flustered rant, and was back to his charming ways. Annabeth nodded, and turned to exit the shop before she exploded with giddiness. Percy called out to her, and she turned around to meet his sparking eyes. “I expect that essay to get an A. Anything lower, and I might be too embarrassed to be seen on a date with you.” Annabeth ignored the way her stomach swirled at his use of the word ‘date’. She laughed, giving him a shrug that said, “we’ll see”, and fell back on the door as it glided open for her. She turned and felt pep in her step as she walked home. She was feeling better about this essay.

[karma2u]

batch three is AGO

glad I finally got to write up ookami and akihiko’s profile~ they’re adorable

info in the read more!

Akihiko- Akihiko is an angel hybrid, born in the island once known as japan. he trained there in the guild branch nearby, but halfway through his training he was transferred to the mainland guild where he completed his training, determined to become a representative for hybrids like himself, who only had physical traits rather than or including powers. while he was training he was sent as an apprentice to accompany a mission to an area not yet under the guilds control, and where many watch list people had been seen. upon arriving they discovered it was a black market for the selling and buying of flora and fauna hybrids, a type of hybrid traditionally seen as being less human than monster hybrids. after assisting in arresting many of the merchants and customers, he guarded a cage while it was being taken to the nearest guild base to help liberate those trapped inside. one of the people in the cages happened to be a wolf hybrid who refused to give in his name, and so Akihiko dubbed him Ookami. during the journey they became somewhat friends, and decided they would meet up once Akihiko finished his training, as Ookami had plans of his own first. currently he works for the guild with Ookami accompanying him, and is good friends with Bass and often tells her about the places he visits on missions. he can use his wings to fly a short distance, and fights using two swords. would be voiced by Kuraiinu (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fItaHWwR53I), nationality- Japanese Ookami- Ookami is a fauna wolf hybrid, which until the introduction of a new guild leader was legal to buy as slaves or pets. he was born from a mother who was used for being female, and sold at a young age to a woman who used him to display her wealth with rich clothes, until hiding him when owning hybrids was made illegal. soon after she decided the risk was too much and sold him to slave trader in the black market. upon arriving there he decided that he wasn't going to accept what was being done and acted aggressive to the traders and potential buyers, putting him in a separate cage and giving him a collar to mark him as aggressive, but his weak figure meant he couldn't even be sold to people looking to use him in fights. and so he was left in the market for years, until the market was liberated by the guild members Akihiko was alongside, becoming friends on the way to the guild base. after the guild registered him as a citizen, he promised to find Akihiko when he finished his business. he decided to keep the collar he had been given as a symbol for his perseverance, and so he went to look for his mother; only to discover she had fled to join a tribe of fauna hybrids (a common occurrence due to their persecution) and decided to leave her as she was. currently accompanies Akihiko everywhere, but has not decided to take up official training. fights using two bladed weapons, would be voiced by Cody Carson (set it off lead singer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oR_iQomHOZQ ), nationality-???? (presumably Romanian, but hasn't got the accent) mari- mari is a regular mystic who lived a regular life in what was once Greece. once she discovered about her being a mystic, she went to the Greek branch of the guild to receive the mandatory official training. after this she decided to officially assign herself to the guild, but only to receive the regular payment given for being a member to help her family pay off depts and open the tailors her father had always wished for, designing and creating her outfit. when the guild realised this is what she used her money for, they asked the tailors to work under their name, as well as to produce and design uniforms and outfits for the members of the guild. they were happy to do so, and so they opened up a second store in the guild headquarters, located in the middle of the mainland, which Mari's father ran while her mother moved to a new house nearby. Mari decided to help in the tailors, however took part in many missions when work was particularly slow; including the mission Ookami was saved in. however, one day she received a near-fatal injury while on a mission that wasn't originally considered dangerous, and not long later her father passed away of old age, and so she decided to retire from missions and to dedicate herself to work at the tailors; and to reflect such a change even her daemon Risa changed from a sword to an umbrella. used to fight with a daemon sword, but if the situation calls she can still use her umbrella as a blunt object. would be voiced by Erica Luttrell (sapphire https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BOhgAM2CvTo ), nationality is Greek with Hungarian heritage Sacha- Sacha is a flora hybrid who was born as part of a tribe who was in hiding to avoid persecution. however, by the time they reached the age of ten they were found and kept in the hidden market that would eventually hold Ookami. flora hybrids sold quickly in sure markets, due to how they often had a way to manipulate plants that could even generate more profits from crops. however, Sacha refused to reveal their power in hopes of avoiding being sold if they determined they had none. however, doing so made them suffer from effects such as random violent outbursts and even caused problems in their speech, to the point where even now they cannot say more than a few words before becoming incomprehensible. these outbursts lead them to be classified as agressive, and was put along side Ookami, however they didn't speak much. however, for a long time Sacha kept something secret; they were not only a hybrid, but also a mystic, with a daemon by the name of marsh, an occurrence so rare that only three others were reported to have lived. they used this as a way to break from their cage and escape. currently they refuse to take up official training and instead chose to wander from place to place, however the guild was for an unknown reason placed under orders not to force training upon them by the guild leader. fights with their daemon marsh, who takes up the form of a spear, but also has the ability to move around existing plants, so is able to do things such as create walls or traps, but also uses it to create shelter. for the few words they say they sound something like glados (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EVlLOGL9ezE) nationality-????