#Some other designs . Them meeting would go horribly. And I need to start blending them again

[selfcontainedunivcrse]

i want to do a silly drawing of my old avatars / at least some of them interacting but the problem is i have . Way too many

[supercutszns]

bitter to the taste; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc + pairing: 5.5k, luke castellan x f!reader

synopsis: a sharp blade, a black eye, and (more than) two kisses.

warnings: this is even sluttier than the last one, language, sword fighting, sharp objects, blood/injuries, reader is still a horrible person and so is luke but he's also a loooser, making out, allusions/mentions of sex but no super explicit descriptions, kind of fluffy at the end

notes: i’m starting to hate this bc i think i’ve been staring at it too long sorry if this is not as good as pt.1 but i have plans for this series ok. also READER AND LUKE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE!!! THEIR RELATIONSHIP WILL NOT ALWAYS BE GOOD!!! THEY SUCK!! they are also not real but keep that in mind :) synopsis inspired by crush by ethel cain; designated song for this fic is unpunishable by ethel cain (i’ve got a whole chronological playlist for these freaks like it’s serious)

You’ve always had a taste for violence. And an equally powerful penchant for sloth. 

You prefer to watch the carnage, not participate. It satisfies something inside you that you know, if it wasn’t for your laziness, could cause something irrevocable. Who the hell has time for that?. You’d rather lie back and watch instead.

This flaw of yours is the only reason you haven’t stirred more trouble, you think. It’s the reason you never attend camp games or sparring lessons. Sometimes, when you do, a dark muscle flexes inside your heart to curl out of its slumber, forming a hunger you don’t have otherwise. The second it starts to pry you have to rear yourself back and tuck the monster in. Banish the need for something more.

You don’t want to feed it. You don’t know what happens if you do. So you let other people do the feeding for you.

Luke cuts through two dummy heads in one swoop. It’s fucking gorgeous. The moon reflects off his sword, a silver sheen casting his face when he’s in the right spot. His brows are set, eyes so dark they blend with the night. Every motion is ruthless. Satisfying. 

You don’t know how many times you’ve watched him like this. He called you out for it last night, but you’re sure he doesn’t know the half of it. The shadows are a sacred cloak to you, and you wait inside them until you want your presence known. 

Meet me tomorrow. 

It runs through your head like a broken record. You can still feel his breath on your lips and your neck is still tender—had to wear a sweater in the blazing heat to hide the marks. Since you were created you’ve accepted a universal truth about yourself: you don’t harbour affection for anyone or anything. There’s not a single thing you’ve felt drawn to or protective over but yourself. It’s solitary, yes, and lonely, yes, but that’s the way you’re supposed to be. 

But you think about last night. You think about the moments between the kisses and the rush. When he teased you against your ear. When his hand brushed a certain spot on your back and something much lighter fluttered inside of you. When you crawled into sleep and thought about him, those were the moments that struck you the strangest. 

His gaze pans over the treeline every once in a while, the anger diluted. Then it comes back twice as hard as he shreds another dummy to pieces. 

He’s waiting for you. Oh, this is rich! A better person would probably turn around and go spoon their offerings into the bonfire the second they understand what they’re doing is incredibly destructive. But who are we kidding? You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. 

So you take a step forward, slip out of the comfort of the dark, and the next time he looks to the treeline he knows you’re there. He can’t see you, but he knows. 

You wait. His strikes are less tenuous, much smoother. It almost makes you laugh. Some fucking showman he is. 

Eventually, he buries his blade in the dirt and wipes his brow. “Are you gonna come talk to me or are you gonna stare at me all night like an owl?”

You relish in the feeling of shedding the darkness, coming into the light of the moon. “Hi,” you say flatly, but there’s a tiny smile on his face when he sees you that almost puts you off. 

“Hello, rotten.” He tries to lean on the hilt of his sword but it isn’t quite tall enough so he stumbles. It’s so pathetic it almost makes you laugh. 

“Don’t call me that,” you grimace.

“Okay, back to heathen?”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Well, you don’t seem too happy when people call you by your name so pick your poison here.” 

You don’t say anything, your mouth set in a scowl. “All right, both it is,” Luke shrugs.

He’s different from last night. Less impatient. You hope it’s not because he thinks he has you now—he’s got another thing coming. “I almost thought you weren’t gonna come,” he says with a crooked grin, neither bashful nor ashamed. 

You’ve made your way closer to him, the soft grass turning to dusty earth. “Don’t know why I did,” you mutter crassly. 

Having abandoned his sword, Luke chuckles wryly. “Yes, you do.”

That bitterness he hides from everyone else pierces through. He tilts your face up like he did yesterday, the press of his fingers beneath your chin almost burning you. You know he’s peering at the marks on your neck. 

“If you made me come here just to hook up with me you’re delusional,” you glare. 

“What, like that’s not why you’re here?” He pushes your face up a little higher, grinning a little when you add resistance. “I’m a gentleman, you know. I can be patient.”

This guy is full of fucking shit.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you snipe. The only point of contact you have is his hand on your chin, but you’re a hair’s breadth away from having everything else. The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you.

He keeps your face still. He’s studying you, and you’re suddenly curious about what he sees. You remember all those looks you’d share at the dinner tables that made this happen in the first place. What did he see then? 

“You wanna fight?”

It takes you a second to react. “What?”

“You want to fight. Pick up a sword, let’s go.” He smiles as he finally lets you go, waltzing away from you to unbury his sword from the dirt. His touch permeates through your skin and you hate it. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? I can’t fight.”

“Sure you can,” he replies, grabbing another sword from the training rack. “You need to burn off a little steam.”

You laugh sharply. “And you think me waving a sword around is gonna do that?”

“Uh, yeah,” he grins. “It’s the method that lets us keep the most clothes on.” 

You glare at him. His smirk is a mile wide. The way your stomach is simmering almost makes you sick; it’s like gorging yourself on candy except this time the candy has a sword and maybe wants to fuck you. 

You just watch as he hands you his sword, and the moonlight glinting off the metal has you believing it’s not the kind used for training. “I’ll use the dull one,” he assures. “C’mon, heathen. I know you’ve used a sword before, they force us to.”

“I usually skip those classes.”

He laughs. You can’t tell if it’s at you or with you. “Of course you do.”

You don’t like following orders, but oh, what the hell. Luke knows something about you, just like you know something about him. You’re only a little curious about it. 

“Straighten your back,” is the first thing he says once you’ve taken your stance across from him. The blunt of his sword reaches out to tap your hip. 

You begrudgingly do as you’re told. He watches you mirthfully, and the press of his sword against you starts to feel like a substitute for his hand. All the closeness you’re hungry for, dampened by cold steel. It still makes you buzz. 

He gives you the barebones—the right grip, how to maneuver, the proper balance. But long gone is his easy disposition. The motor inside him that powered all those dummy beheadings and disembowelments is running again, except this time it’s for you. He wants a fight. This is his battlefield. All right, you’ll bite.

You start to spar with the skill of an overgrown toddler. The sword feels like an unnatural ligament hanging off your body. Luke is precise, convicting, far more enthusiastic than you. “You can do better than that,” he prods after your swords clash lazily for the billionth time. “Stop going easy.”

“You’re going easy,” you shoot back. 

“Yeah, but I’d really rather not. Come on.” 

There’s a moment of hesitation. You think about that dark thing you keep harboured. A muscle aching to be used. 

“Come on,” he says again, and he almost sounds pissed. “All of a sudden you’re playing nice? What are you afraid of?”

Something flares inside you. “Nothing!”

“Then pick up the sword and fight me.”

You huff and roll your eyes, but your next swing is far more inspired. Luke blocks it easily, but you don’t care. “There we go,” he nods. “Again.”

This is more than you bargained for when you decided to come see him. All you want is to make out with this hot, awful person and have him tell you hot, awful things about yourself you probably already know. Why do you have to fight to get it? 

He keeps provoking you no matter how hard you try. Your temper picks up the more you swing, discordant clangs bruising the air, but it’s still not enough. Luke doesn’t let up. Of course the one time you try to be nice, you’re not allowed to. On second thought, why are you reigning yourself in for Luke? The only other person in camp with a real, consuming viciousness? If anything you should hit him twice as hard, since he’s so sure he can take it. 

“No wonder you’re so angry all the time,” Luke heaves out, and it gives you a swell of satisfaction. “You don’t have a proper outlet. Maybe you’d be nicer if you didn’t sit around and complain all day.”

“Shut up,” you gnash your teeth. 

“Just saying, maybe you should do something about it.”

You’re getting lost in the rhythm of the swords, the adrenaline, the sweat passing the scar on his cheek. Every swing you think less and less, and that dark muscle flexes more and more. It feels like home to you. Like a good meal. Your bones ache and the world has darkened, but that rotten pit inside you cracks open in full bloom. 

Luke keeps egging you on but you can’t hear him. Not like he still needs to. You think you’re smiling, or huffing furiously, or both. The sharpness of the sword intrigues you. A million terrible things reflect off its blade and you imagine them, all at once, until you are out of your body and the black hole inside you has properly wedged itself open. 

Luke jabs at you and you bring your sword down with a vengeance. But it’s a little too low. You only notice when he drops his weapon to the side and staggers back.

The fog of violence falters. It fades almost completely when he hisses long and hard, eyes screwed shut, and you see the tear in his shirt. In his skin. 

“Shit,” you say. “Fuck.”

You don’t sound sorry, you don’t think you are sorry, especially when he laughs. It’s a wheezy one through his teeth as you come up to him, but a laugh nonetheless. “Knew you were going easy,” he remarks through a wince. 

You ignore him, looking down at the injury. A  gash across his abdomen. It’s bleeding a little, but not enough for it to drip. You did that. Just looking at the blood, you feel the bitter taste of it in your mouth, the reward a temporary hunger for carnage brought you. This is why you don’t play camp games. 

“I’ve got thick skin. I’m fine,” Luke says casually. “I’ve got a medical kit under that tree over there in case I beat myself up too bad.” He’s no longer scrunched in pain, and you’ve got a feeling he’s telling the truth. So you go fetch the kit where he said it was. You need to wrap that slash. Not because you’re sorry for him, but because looking at it makes you angry. 

You kneel and pop the lid of the small tin kit, covered in dirt. It’s mostly gauze and bandages. Rubbing alcohol too. “Just give me the gauze, that’s all I need,” Luke gestures. 

“Shut the fuck up, I’m doing it myself.” You’ve already torn off some gauze, sitting all the way up on your knees. 

“Most people just say sorry.”

“You pushed me,” you spit back, surprisingly forceful. Luke’s smile drops. You take a deep breath, adjusting yourself to get eye level with the injury. “I told you I don’t fight.”

You’re not sure what makes Luke give in, but he doesn’t say a word as you lift the hem of his torn shirt and he holds it up. There’s no proud remark about your eyes lingering on his stomach, or the hesitation in your hands. You stare at the wound. It really is shallow. Your thumb presses at the skin around it and he winces. “My bad,” you mutter. 

As you sterilize the cut and wrap the gauze around his torso, you try not to let your fingertips cling to the warmth on his skin. You try not to notice the other scars littered there, most faded to the point they should be impossible to pick up even in the sun. It’s obvious he’s staring at you. Your neck is crawling with warmth. But you don’t engage, you just wrap the gauze a few times and do your best not to notice the rise and fall beneath his muscles as he breathes. Then you fasten things neatly and put everything away so you can get up. Any second. Come on. 

“Good?” You ask instead, exhaling. 

“Good,” he affirms. He slides a hand under your forearm and gets you up. It stays there once you’re standing. The night stills. 

“I’m guessing you’re adding ‘attempted killer’ to your list of horrible qualities,” you go on to break the silence.

He holds your gaze unyieldingly. “I’d consider that a pro, actually.” 

You are entirely fed up with this drawn out evening, but you can’t bring yourself to speed anything up any more than stepping closer so your chests brush. “I will give you one, though,” he continues, craning down to your ear. You smell his skin and it sends you back to the position you were in yesterday. 

He finally kisses your jaw, just once, then your neck. You shiver. “You’re too tense.” Another kiss behind your ear. It’s not enough. “Do you even know how to have fun?”

“I don’t want to have fun,” you reply bitterly. I just want to make out with you, asshat.

Luke’s breath frosts over your face when he chuckles, but before he can get any further away you catch his mouth with yours. Almost instinctively his arm winds around you to pull you in closer, your hand looping through his curls. It's a relief, knowing last night wasn't some freak accident. This does feel good, actually, and it can happen. Everything you felt yesterday is only more urgent now, hungrier, and you're pretty sure the way you kiss him gives that away.

He indulges you, squeezing the base of your hips as his other hand thumbs across the marks on your neck. This is so fucking embarassing—you think you whine when he bites down on your bottom lip. You’ve never needed something this bad, you’ve never needed anything. But you press yourself as close to him as you can manage and his hand runs lower, slips against your inner thighs, and it’s difficult to worry about anything else. 

Until he pulls away. Like a dick. 

He doesn’t go far, his forehead pressed to yours, but you feel like pulling out all his hair. It’s a muddling mix of frustration and longing you’re starting to associate with him. “Dude,” you groan, an inner coil only starting to unwind begrudgingly compressing. 

“Let’s go for a swim,” he says. The enthusiasm is almost alarming. Almost makes him look younger.

You’re homicidal. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, heathen. Let’s go for a swim, come on.”

He’s rubbing circles on your thigh, which only makes you want to strangle him. “But I—I don’t have my bathing suit,” you string out. 

The smile gets more boyish. “Wow, whatever shall we do?”

It’s another challenge. Another dare. And he knows what you want, fucking jerk. You’re going to kill him. 

“Fine,” you grunt, and the second the words leave your lips you’re pulled to the lake. 

It’s a warm, sticky evening, only made worse with the sweat and the half-assed kissing, so the water doesn’t seem all that bad. Unfortunately, you don’t like giving into demands. So you stare ghoulishly at your fingernails as Luke tosses off his ripped shirt and his shorts so he can plunge into the lake. “Aren’t you going to at least come in?” He asks, but you don’t look at him. 

“I don’t like swimming,” you lie. 

“At least your feet. It’s nice, I swear!”

A splash, like smoke moving through wind chimes. You look up and Luke has completely submerged, popping his head up closer to the mouth of the dock. “Please,” he says with such conviction your resolve turns to butter. Gods, what is happening to you? You still need that lobotomy! 

You sigh, roll your eyes, turn your back to him. “Fuck this,” you mutter under your breath. You undress to your undergarments and you’re not sure if you want Luke to be watching or not. The moon touches your bare skin and a chill trickles through you. 

You take a seat at the edge of the dock, knees tucked to your chest. Luke swims over for you right away. His hair is dripping against his skin, and you hate how beautiful it looks. The waterline is high tonight, almost ridiculously so, so he props his elbows up on the dock with no problem. “Come in,” he urges. 

“No.”

“Just your legs?”

“No.”

“Gods, I’ll make it worth it, just throw your damn legs in!” 

Your eyebrows shoot up. His face is stubbornly pink. Oh, so now he wants something. You take your time uncurling yourself and Luke wades away from the dock so you can put your feet in. The water goes up to your calves, and you shiver. “So fucking difficult,” he mutters, and your pulse flickers. 

“Sorry, what was that?” You let yourself grin for the first time all night. 

“Nothing,” he hums. This time when he comes to the dock, he wraps his hands around your calves. You’re pretty sure he can stand here because he stops treading. The warmth of the water seems to spread further, long past the threshold of your knees. 

He rests his chin just above your knee, water pooling on your skin. “Stop dripping on me,” you complain. 

“Sorry.” He fake pouts when he kisses the damp spot. You see, ever so faintly, a diabolic shift in his expression. He nudges your leg with the point of his nose, then kisses it, then starts to move it aside. ��Feel bad about teasing you all night,” he murmurs, still with an edge. He presses more kisses on your legs. “I really did want to see you.”

The irony that he’s still teasing is not lost on you. You’re not loving how desperately warm you’re starting to feel. “Why’s that?” You lean back on your palms. 

“You’re a very interesting person,” he quips innocently. His hands are cupping the backs of your calves. He’s pulled you a lot closer to the water, and somehow you’ve just noticed. Another blistering kiss on the inside of your thigh. 

“You’re fucking evil,” you scathe. 

He looks up at you from between your legs. “You have literally done nothing but berate and injure me this whole evening.”

“Yeah, and right after I patch you up you jump in the water for shits. You’re playing infection roulette, Castellan.”

“See? You’re so mean.” He sighs, and in a move that almost surprises you to death, he hoists both your legs over his shoulders and they dangle into the river behind him. “And here I am anyway, making it up to you.”

You are suddenly illuminated on the purpose of this situation. Why Luke is between your legs. Your heart jolts. “Luke, you can’t be serious.” 

“Mmhm.” He leans forward to kiss right under your navel. 

You hate how much you want him to do it again, how your body burns, but you avert your eyes. “Someone’s gonna—someone’s gonna hear us.”

He snorts, “No they won’t. Either this or you come in the water with me. Or both. We’ll see.”

A huge smile cracks across your face before you push it back down. You’re going to spend a lot of time coming back to this moment, this night, wondering why. “What is wrong with you.”

It comes out like a compliment when it leaves you. You want to vanish. Luke chuckles, and something foreign to the both of you buzzes through the air. 

“Are you going to be nice?” He asks against your skin. 

“Are you going to be quick?”

His mouth finds your hip bones and yeah, why the hell would you say no to this? He nods, “Swear.” 

That’s all you need. You let your eyes slide shut and your head tilts towards the sky. Luke takes your permission and runs with it, pries you open with his mouth until the stars soak through the black of your eyelids. 

You discover pretty quickly neither of you are good at keeping promises. 

The next time you need Luke’s med kit, he’s already awake. 

It’s been happening more and more often. You lurking around camp past moonrise and finding Luke outside his cabin, going for a walk or a stretch or a … something with you. 

“Do you ever sleep?” You ask him sometimes between flurries of kisses with your back against a tree. 

“Could ask you the same thing, heathen,” he squeezes your hips and nips at your neck, but never answers the question. And neither do you, so you’re both okay with it. You’d hate to give up this feeling, but he doesn’t need to know that.

This is the first time in your punitive life you have felt alive. Like a person, with bones and flesh and soul, a real presence. Not a ghost of smoke and shadow. You are real. 

Fooling around makes you feel like an actual teenager. You’re young, you remember when Luke joins you in the dark. You’re having fun. His hands under your shirt and his mouth on your collarbone, the way he bites down and winces when you do something a little too well, when you string out his name and he rewards you for it. You’re both greedy, insatiable people, so there’s a push and pull only the two of you would ever be able to handle. And nobody has to know. Despite all the bruises, the sleepless nights, the swollen lips, all you and Luke share in the daylight are noxious looks, and that's only if he can find you. A perfect crime. Camp Half-Blood’s angel and the vice that lives in the shadows. But in the dark, it’s hard to tell which is which. 

“Luke,” you whisper. “Luke.”

“I’m up,” he grumbles, peering up at you. “You shouldn’t sneak into my cabin.” He was already sitting up in his bed when you slipped in, and he didn’t notice you were there till you were right in front of him.

“Worried someone will catch me? You should know better.” 

He follows you outside so you don’t wake the other campers. There’s a thrill knowing just one interaction between the two of you could ruin both your reputations forever. 

“What is it, heathen?” He asks as the door closes behind him. It’s so dark and your back is turned to him, but his voice is drenched in smugness. “You don’t usually want to put up with me more than once a night.”

“Don’t have a choice,” you mutter, staring out at the camp. You go to chew on your bottom lip, but you wince immediately. “Where’s your kit thingy? The one we used after I impaled you.” 

“You mean after you lightly grazed me?” 

“Just tell me where it is, Luke.”

Your sharpness could cut through any sleepy daze he possibly has. He’s silent behind you for a second. “Why?” He asks.

“Because I need it.”

His hand curls around your shoulder and before you can think to submerge yourself in darkness, he turns you around. When he sees you, his face breaks from something proud to something … you’re not sure you like. “Oh, heathen,” he murmurs. “What happened to you?”

You guess it’s a semi-appropriate reaction, although you expected at least a grimace. To put it lightly, your face looks gnarly as fuck. There’s a bruise on your cheekbone and your lip is split. But what really draws attention is the half-formed, garish black eye swelling up your right side. 

“Just the usual. Pissed someone off.” It hurts the skin on your lip that’s caked with blood. 

He rests his thumb on your unbruised cheek, but somehow it still stings. You know he can’t see much of you in the dark but he tries. The prolonged eye contact without the imminent promise of a kiss feels foreign. “You need to go to the Apollo cabin,” he concludes, brows pushed together. 

A laugh slips past your broken lips. “No fucking shot. They would not help me.”

“Why not?”

“Because one of their shit-eaters did this!”

The words take a moment to register. You see them filtering through Luke’s brain. He blinks absurdly. “An Apollo guy beat you up?”

“Not beat up. Just … tussled.”

“How much tussling earns you a black eye, exactly? From Apollo kids.”

“Gods, just tell me where your kit is so you can go back to fucking sleep.”

His fingertips inch around the back of your neck, thumb still against your face. “Already wasn’t sleeping. I might as well help you,” he shrugs. “I move the kit every once in a while so some other campers don’t ravage it.”

“I don’t need help.”

Luke opens his mouth, then sighs deeply. He takes a firm hold of your arm and starts to tug you along. “Hey, what—” you swat at his arm. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffs. “Come on.”

It’s strange. Luke’s never done you a favour before. At least not one like this. You’re disgruntled enough that you had to go ask him in the first place and now he’s dragging you around? “This isn’t such a big deal, Luke,” you badger. “I’m fine.”

“Sure, whatever. Wait right here.” He lets go of you and only then you realize you’re in front of the Apollo cabin. You grimace, and Luke must have noticed because he says, “Don’t worry, I’m just gonna go inside and grab some things. No one’s gonna jump you.”

You scowl at him, and he just laughs. A part of you hopes he hits his head on the way in. You hide anyway. 

It’s a few minutes of waiting in the oppressive summer heat, until Luke emerges from the cabin with his hands full. He looks around, hesitantly calling, “Heathen?” Then again. You move out of your hiding spot and he jogs over to greet you. 

“Nice haul,” you comment. There’s an ice pack, cotton pads, a few miscellaneous items. “How’d you get them?”

He smiles widely. “Everyone loves me, heathen. It’s not hard.”

“…So you stole them.”

“Yes, but only because I’m too tired to talk to people and I’m protesting for your sake,” he rattles off. “Now hold this ice pack before it gives me frostbite.”

The two of you make your way down to the docks again. It’s morphed into your usual meeting place, since the waves lapping at the shore mask when Luke gets a little too noisy just to piss you off. (At least that’s what he tells you.)

He’s stashed his little tin in a different tree this time. After he retrieves it he sets everything out like a chef preparing to make a meal out of gauze and rubbing alcohol. 

Your head has been throbbing for the past few hours. You’re not proud that you antagonized the wrong Apollo kid and got a shiner for it. You’re less proud that you came to Luke for help. Just like everyone else does.

“Come,” he gestures, tugging at the waistband of your pants. You scoot closer to him and swallow the weight of your pulse when he touches you. 

Luke slowly presses the ice pack to your black eye, letting you hold it. “What did you do to earn this, anyway?” He asks, head tilted to the side. 

You’re hissing because of the ice, half-consciously shifting into him. “The usual. Spat at him. Made fun of his daddy a little too much. Tripped him so he landed face-first in his offerings.”

“You did not,” Luke laments as he dots alcohol onto a cotton pad. 

“You’re allowed to say you’re proud of me, Saint Castellan. I won’t tell. You can be mean.” Your voice drips with irony, and you hope it bothers him. The flex in his jaw gives it away. 

“You’re always gonna be meaner,” is all he says back. “This is gonna hurt.”

It’s all the warning he gives before he presses the pad against your lip. The sting envelops you immediately, and your good eye squeezes shut. “Shit, ow!” 

“Stop moving your mouth.”

“Fuck,” you swear anyway. Your lip burns so hard you can feel it in your teeth. 

Luke holds your jaw with his other hand so you can’t shy away. “I’ll kiss it better,” he teases. “Almost done.”

You roll your eyes, but Luke takes the pad off a few moments later. “Serious question. How are you so awful to people all the time?”

A groan tears through your throat with such force your head tilts back. “Not you too! I don’t need a fucking reason, there is no reason. Why doesn’t anyone get that?” 

“I’m not asking why. I’m asking how.”

He’s oddly serious, the caress of his thumb on your cheek far slower. You hate it when people want a reason why you’re like this, just to help them sleep at night. But from the bags lining Luke’s eyes, sleep doesn’t seem to be on his radar. 

“I just don’t care,” you admit, shrugging. “I don’t care about any of them. I don’t care about what they can do to me. I don’t care about anything.”

“…What about the Gods?”

It makes you cock your head. “Huh?”

“You wouldn’t care about them, either?”

You think, but only about which words to use. “No,” you decide, “They don’t scare me. They’re nothing. What are they gonna do to me?”

Luke snorts, almost nervously. “Uh, punish you for saying that, for one.”

You turn back to him, ice pack leaving your eye as you gesture. “How? By killing me? Pecking out my eyeballs? Burning me alive? I’m telling you, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. It’s all just nothing to me. I’m fucking unpunishable, I’d like to see them try.” 

Huffing, you look back up at the firmament of stars. Luke says nothing. 

The grass rustles as he shifts, and his mouth ghosts over the bruise on your eye. “Unpunishable,” he murmurs, like he’s testing it out. Then he places an uncharacteristically gentle kiss just beneath your eye. And another just above. “We’ll see about that.”

You get that feeling again, the unbearable lightness in a place it shouldn’t be. Mixed with the poison lodged in your heart. 

Luke kisses you, still so delicate that you wonder if he’s been body-snatched. If anything, your bleeding lip feels soothed against his. His hands cradle your face with no ferocity at all. It seems wrong. 

“How do you feel?” He asks after pulling away, dark eyes nebulous and wide. The night usually sharpens his features. Now, they’ve been hushed.

“Um, better,” you reply. 

He hums, laying a slow trail of kisses on your jaw. “Did you at least get the other guy?” He asks between kisses. “Like, did you hurt him?”

“Not really,” you divulge, wondering if you should feel shame. 

“Why?” He’s made his way to your neck now, nudging your jaw up so he can kiss behind your ear. 

“I’m not a fighter.” And, without warning, for a reason you will never, ever be able to explain, your tongue adds, “I’m a killer.”

Your own brows furrow. Luke pauses for a moment, but knocks his nose against your neck. “Guess one of us has to be.”

There’s no more fooling around. No snappy insults, no feverish kisses, no hunger to be satiated. Luke just checks you over a few more times, hides his med kit, and you both get up to sleep. But his hand wraps around your wrist, far less firm than when he dragged you here. “Stay in my bunk, heathen,” he offers. “Leave in the morning.”

You think you’re making a mistake when you agree, but it doesn’t feel like one. 

The next day, after you’ve left Luke’s bunk, rumours float around camp that Luke Castellan accidentally butted some Apollo kid in the face with his sword during training. Caused a bloody, broken nose. Luke was very sorry, apologized profusely. 

But you know, by the way he takes you behind the stables that night, that he didn’t mean a single damn word.

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz

rotten taglist: @thaliagracesgf

leave a pm/comment/ask if you'd like to be added to a taglist :)

[inkedtae]

fountain of fantasies ⇾ jjk. [M]

⟶ from the eros universe; you do not need to read eros to read this one shot

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ god!jungkook x curvy!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ s2l, greek mythology au, circa. 1800 au, historical au, light fluff, angst, smut, pwp, filth, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ you rather be engaging in heart racing activities than in heart breaking ones

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 15.6k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ dom!jungkook, bigdick!jungkook, buff!jungkook, winged!jungkook, longhair!jungkook, ponytail!jungkook, sub!reader, slightly insecure!reader, shy!reader, mentions and consumption of alcohol, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it folks), rough sex, playful-ish sex, semi-public sex, fountain sex, dirty talk, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight degradation, overstimulation, exhibition, a lil voyeurism, praise kink, anal, edging, squirting, choking, hair pulling, bodyworshipping, a lil motorboating, a lil begging, water play, a lil spit play, a lil breast play, ass play, a fountain of filth :)

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ i’m too much of a hoe for greek god guk not to turn this into a mini-series... 

⤜ banner by ↠ @thebannershop​ (thank you dearie~)

⤜ beta’d by ↠  @moonmintrails​ (my soulmate~)

⤜ le playlist ↠

Plump plum juices leak from your violet stained lips. You watch the storm rage through the balcony windows. Flashes of lightning, streaks of raindrops and the wall-rattling thunder only stares back at you. The noise of the world around you would be just the perfect cover for all the sounds he draws out of you. Teeth sinking into the fruit’s flesh, you take another bite and fix your stockings. Topless, you lean back in your plush seat and cross your legs. 

You know he’s not coming. It’s been a week since his last visit, a week of staying up late only to fall asleep and wake up to a new toy. You glance at your bed. The collection of gifts under it do not compensate for his absence. You don’t want the ruby dildos or golden anal plugs. You can live without the silver tit-clamps and sapphire pearled whips. It’s him you won’t do without. 

But tonight would be a perfect night of fun. You swallow your bite before taking another one as your mind circles every dirty thought you’ve been wanting to entertain for the last seven days. Staring out the rain stained windows, the one that appeals to you the most for tonight would be on that balcony, where it started all those months ago. The thought of being drenched in rainwater while he bends you over the railing makes you squeeze your crossed legs together. And the fluttering flap of his wings as they shake out the storm prickles your skin with goosebumps. Wet hands tangled in your wet hair. Loud moans blended in the loud thunder. 

An urgent knock raps on your door. You sit up, letting out a shaky breath from the remnants of that fantasy. As you set your plum down by some grapes on the side table, you shoot to your feet to grab your robe. 

“Bunny,” Mary, your sister, whispers from the other side. 

The little childhood nickname brings a smile to your face. The two of you would play Wonderland in the garden as children and Mary would have you, Bunny, guide her down the right path. Now, she only ever calls you that when she’s nervous and struggling to admit it. 

Tying the robe around your waist, you eagerly let her in. “What is it, Mary?” You smile as she rushes past you. 

She doesn’t take a moment to properly greet you, darting to your little library instead. “Do you have that book about Mount Olympus?” She asks. Her freshly painted nails scrape over the spines of each book as you part your lips to reply. “Oh! Here it is!”

Returning to your seat, you watch your older sister skim through the pages. “Why the sudden interest in Greek gods?” 

“Michael mentioned something about Hera and I just wanted to- I knew it!” 

Chewing on another bite, you raise a brow at her. “I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that tomorrow,” you chuckle around your food.

Mary pauses. Her eyes, previously gleaming with excitement, diminish into indifference. She clears her throat and shuts the book. “Mama says to never correct a man.”

You stuff your mouth with a big bite and avoid your sister’s gaze. There’s lots you have to say about your mother’s philosophy on love, but you know better than to voice those opinions. 

Mary continues talking, despite knowing your reservations about your mother. She holds the book to her chest and tentatively sits on your bed. “Mama wants me to talk to you about something.”

Slowly chewing, you glance at her. You already know where this is going. It’s another desperate attempt on your mother’s part to make sure you don’t wear the dress he had gifted you. She knows full well how much it reveals and how well it’s designed. You don’t care for your mother’s opinion though; you haven’t for months. It’s Mary’s opinion on the subject that matters to you. 

“But, I told her that I don’t want to lie to you.” She takes a moment to sigh then meets your gaze once more. “You’ll look gorgeous in that dress, Bunny,” she smiles. “And I have the perfect shoes for them too.”

A laugh bubbles out of your throat and you almost choke on your food. Mary laughs at your struggling state. “Oh, can we get ready for your party together?” You ask, perking up in your seat once you properly swallow your food. 

Mary’s excited gaze wavers. She glances back at the book before hesitantly nodding. “Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing…”

You give her a pointed look. Flopping down on the bed, Mary groans and stares up at the ceiling. “What do you think of Michael?” You part your lips to reply, but she continues, “I mean I know he’s from a good family, and can take care of me, and he’s so handsome.”

You bite your lip at the last comment. Michael is not exactly your type of heartthrob. But, then again, your senses have been obscured by a god, so now not a single person can look as handsome, as beautiful, as heavenly as your Eros. 

“But, he says and does things I’m not exactly…” She trails off. “And I think his previous courtship with Linette ended horribly.”

Her half-sentence rings some warning in your gut. However, by the way she avoids eye contact to stare at your crystal chandelier, you decide not to address it. “What makes you think so?” you ask instead.

“Well, that’s what he told me.”

Resisting the urge to scoff, you simply quirk a brow. Mary may be a couple of years older, but she still hasn’t grown out of her naive tendencies. You’re about to tell her that everything will be okay when you catch a familiar silhouette on your balcony. 

He’s here.

Mary shoots up off your bed. You fear for a second that she may have seen him, but then she asks, “So? What do you think?”

Gulping, you take a moment to collect your thoughts. Erasing the fact that he’s finally here from your mind, you try to remain focused on your sister. You want the best for her. You want her to be excited about who she marries and for the life she will spend with that person. And that’s why it takes you a world of restraint not to tell her that if she isn’t a hundred percent sure about marrying Michael, then maybe she shouldn’t. 

“Do you love him, Mary?” You ask. “And I don’t mean that ‘nobility’ love. I mean that, ‘makes you cry just thinking about losing him’ love.”

Mary hesitates.Your eyes flicker to the balcony where he continues to stand. Inhaling deeply, you silently ask him to wait just a second longer. 

“I think I do,” she smiles. 

Your heart shatters at her phrasing. I think. Where is the room for thinking when true love is at your door? You want to tell her that there shouldn’t be any of this ‘thinking’ nonsense. You either do or you don’t, you want to say. But her smile is so pure and eyes light up just enough that you don’t have the heart to take it all away. Besides, maybe she really does love him. 

“Then, I think he’s perfect for you.”

Mary grabs the book and jumps to her feet. “Let’s meet in my room at seven,” she smiles, ruffling through your hair on her way to the door. “Have a good night, Bunny.”

“You too,” you smile as she shuts the door with a wink. The gesture is unusual but you suppose she’s just excited about the party tomorrow. You’re not exactly sure why she did it and with a winged god at your door, you can’t find it in you to care for too long. 

Darting to the balcony, you pull open the doors to be greeted by empty winds and heavy raindrops. Those wings are gone, balcony vacant of anything but despair. Not even a gift replaces his presence. You hold your tears back and swallow the growing lump in your throat. Your time is not one of his toys, nor is it free. You’ve run out of patience. You’re empty of reason, thriving on broken feelings. 

Shakily sighing, you bury the hurt in your voice and whisper, “if you can’t stay, don’t come at all.”

Sparkling diamonds, glasses, and wine circle the ballroom. Sipping on your drink, you take in the gleaming marble floors and the arches of the grand windows. The Barbury Estate is twice the size of yours. You want to believe that your mother’s delight in Mary’s proposal has more to do with her happiness than the fact that her fiancé is riddled with more wealth than he knows what to do with. But, you know that your mother has a special bond with money. It’s the same relationship she has with social standards. Her philosophy is simple; the more, the better. Now, if only your mother felt that way about you. 

No, wait. This night is not about you. An evening lost in a grand room of people only appeals to you when the occasion for such torture is your sister’s engagement party. Your chest swells with pride as you watch Mary dance with her fiancé. Michael Barbury is not exactly what you would call ‘prince charming.’ His jokes border on racism and thoughts are somewhat insipid, but he makes Mary happy. That’s all that matters to you. Her relapse in judgement last night does worry you. But you know that she’ll be happy with Michael. With Eros gone, you wonder how soon you’ll find a love like that too.

Mary’s graceful giggles cut you out of your trance. You blink once, twice until your senses fully return to you. Even the smallest thought of him throws you out of your consciousness. Settling your eyes back on your sister, watching as she basks in Michael’s unwavering attention and dotting devotion, you’re greeted with a sense of comfort. The guilt of not speaking your truth disappears and the fear of never finding love dissipates to the back of your mind. 

“Miss (Y/N)?” Lee Kyon asks, waving his hand in front of you. 

Right, you forgot he was there. Turning to face him once more, you flash Kyon a somewhat kind smile. “Yes, Mr. Lee?”

He furrows his brows. “Is everything alright?”

Perhaps everything would be alright if your mother didn’t constantly feel the need to set you up with the first poor man that accidently looks your way. Yes, you’re well aware of your mother’s behaviour and the fact that Kyon has no real interest in getting to know you. Judging by the way he continues to loop back to the same dull topic about the history of wine, you can tell that he is merely trying to keep the conversation short enough to be polite, but not long enough to be courting you. 

It’s not as though you care for his company either. Kyon has half of Michael’s intelligence. Even though you were only half-listening to his rant, you already pick out the few historical inaccuracies in his unprompted explanation. Of course, the worst thing you can do to a man is attack his wits and pride; that’s what your mother tells you anyway. It’s what worried Mary last night too. And you’ve tested that theory enough to know how true it is and how fun it can be. Watching them grapple for the right words, flare their nostrils in frustration and demand you apologize will always be just as humorous as when they try to “teach” you about language or art or, in Kyon’s case, history. 

Biting back a sigh, you nod and silently pray for a way out of this boring conversation and into something a bit more exciting. 

Clearing his throat, Kyon searches for a way to fill the silence. He then half-heartedly mutters, “You look darling this evening.”

Glancing down at your dress, your face heats up. The tiger lily-peach layers of satin and tulle fall down to your ankles. The pleated skirt mirrors the petals of a flower. Cleavage on display, the long flowy sleeves fall off your shoulders. Finished with a green ribbon around your waist and gleaming pink jewels, this is possibly the best dress he has gifted you. 

Your Eros left it, no wait- he’s not yours anymore. A friend left it hanging in your closet one morning after another passionate night in his embrace. It was a beautiful surprise to be woken up to and a manageable struggle to explain how it came into your possession. You can’t help but find it a bit ironic how your mother is desperate to set you up with the first man she sees, but hesitant to dress you up for the occasion. He must have known, must have felt your frustration towards your mistreatment. 

It takes everything in you to fight off the smile playing on your lips. You glance back up at Kyon, parting your lips to thank him when he continues, “And how brave of you to wear such a dress.”

You pause. “Brave?” 

Kyon smiles and nods. 

Is he really telling you what you think he is? Is he really undermining your confidence, undermining the beauty you know you have by commending your ‘bravery?’ No, you mustn’t judge too quickly. Perhaps he’s admiring your choice to go against expectations of covering up with a shawl. 

You swallow back your initial assumptions, and decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Lee?”

“Well,” Kyon starts. He looks off to the side and raises both his brows before looking to you once more. His hazel eyes scan your figure, jaw clenching as he clears his throat. “A dress like this is traditionally worn by a woman that looks more like…” he trails off, eyes wandering as well. “Like Miss (L/N).”

A stinging chorus of hushed laughter strikes your pride. Your gut boils with shame and humiliation as your eyes bounce between the partygoers near you. You hadn’t realized they were eavesdropping. As a desperate attempt to ignore their maliciously amused looks, you follow Kyon’s gaze to Mary. Chewing on your lip, you ignore the urge to roll your eyes. This isn’t the first time someone has compared you to her, and you know very well that it won’t be the last. Even the utter disrespect of referring to you by your first name and your sister by your last name further displays their lack of recognition for you. In their eyes, you will forever remain as Miss (Y/N), the spinster-destined sister of Miss (L/N). And though you are certain that the twinge of pain and anger festering in your chest is for Kyon, you can’t help but be a little annoyed with your sister as well. 

But then she laughs, smiling so bright and wide. She looks up at Michael and rests her chin on his bicep, reveling in his attention and embrace. You realize, in her moment of happiness, that you can’t find it in you to hold this grudge against her. Your love for her is greater than your pride. Besides, she plays no part in your insecurities. And, you decide as you turn back to Kyon, neither will this privileged upperclassman.

“How brave,” you sigh with a single shouldered shrug. 

“What is, Miss (Y/N)?”

“How brave of you to believe anyone cares for your opinion.”

Kyon chokes on his drink. The partygoers, previously humoured by your embarrassment, relish in your courage to upstage Kyon. Gasping a giggle, you step back to avoid being spit on. He glares at you as he wipes his chin. You don’t hesitate to return that hard, hateful look in his eye. Raising a challenging brow, you dare him to attempt to embarrass you again.

He takes one step towards you, looking as though he’s about to grab at your arm when his stride is redirected. Kyon walks away without another word. You stare after him in confusion as he mutters an apology under his breath. 

You’re not sure what caused this sudden change in his angry course, but you’re all too happy to be rid of him to dwell on the thought of his motives much longer. He must’ve known how offensive his words were. True, most people compare you to your sister, but at least they have the decency to do it behind your back. You rather be physically absent from a conversation like that. It makes it easier to ignore and avoid the negativity. 

Confidence restored, you feel comfortable in your skin again. The dress is a perfect fit, the struggle to breath nowhere to be found, and sits well on your frame- despite what others think. However, you have very little time to revel in your victory as your mother stalks towards you.

“What have you done?” she hisses over your shoulder. Before you even have a chance to look back at her, she drags you by your arm to the edge of the room. “What did you say this time?”

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips as you clasp your hands before you and reply, “He insulted me.”

Your mother quirks a brow. “And?” She questions as if waiting for a more substantial argument. 

“And?” You echo in confusion. “And he insulted me. I don’t see why that’s not enough of a reason to insult him back.”

She shakes her head and inhales deeply. You brace yourself for the disparaging rant you know is coming. Nothing good ever comes from a head shake and heavy sigh. But, instead of her usual ‘stay in your place’ harangue, your mother cuts to the chase this time. “Do you realize that might just be your only chance for happiness?” 

Suppressing a dry chuckle, you lower your gaze to the floor. You know your mother is well aware of how her question sounds; you know she doesn’t care. Still, you ask, “Is that really what happiness looks like, mother?”

She falls silent. After a beat, you dare to peek up at her. Those once hard eyes soften as her gaze locks on Mary and Michael, locks on how they gaze upon one another with such adoration. Blinking repeatedly, she turns to you and sighs, “Yes, to some people that,” she pauses to glance at Kyon, “is what happiness looks like.” 

A wicked pang of sad, lonely anger twists in your chest then tumbles to the pit of your stomach. Your gaze falls to the ground and heart shatters with that last shred of hope that your mother perhaps did want the best for you. Up until now, you truly believed that in some twisted way, she was just looking out for you, making sure you have someone by your side long after she’s gone. Her words now and that shameless look that matches that shameless confession only point to the painfully obvious fact you have tried so hard to ignore. Your mother’s need to make you look a certain way and throw you at any breathing man has never been for your well-being, but rather the well-being of her reputation. 

“Go to Mr. Lee, (Y/N),” she orders. “Offer to freshen his drink, wipe down his shirt, and then apologize. Beg for his forgiveness if you have to; just make this right.” 

With a deep breath, you trail your eyes back up and try to collect yourself. Your eyes flicker between the exit and where Kyon stands.Your mother clears her throat, drawing your attention back on her. 

“Have I made myself clear?” 

“Crystal.”

She returns to her friends, that gleeful smile plastered on her face once more. Your eyes fall back on Kyon with every intention of following through your mother’s orders. However, he only greets your gaze with malice. A wave of nausea overwhelms you. 

With a shake of your head, you tear yourself away from his threatening demeanour and turn towards the exit. You just need to get out of his line of sight, out of that pretentious atmosphere. Something within you can’t seem to stop telling you that one more moment near that passive-aggressive punk will only make you feel worse. So, you lengthen your strides out of the ballroom and down the hall to put as much distance between you and them. 

The pressure of their expectations suffocates you like no corset ever has. All you can think is how desperately you need some fresh air. It takes you a moment, but you navigate your way around the manor well enough to find the back entrance. 

Cold air engulfs you the moment you step outside. A relieved giggle slips past your lips and you throw your head back to relish in the cool spring breeze. The sky reflects a swirl of silvery indigo. It lures you into its constellations and wonders with every other glance. Lowering your gaze, you scan the garden before you. A cobblestone path leads all the way down to a hedged maze. You can never resist a good garden. In fact, you had helped design the one back home. You hope that when your husband-to-be comes along, he’d have a garden too and maybe you can design it together.

Realizing you can maybe hold on to a few more moments of peace if they can’t find you, you decide to follow the path and hide away within the walls of the maze. You’re halfway down the cobblestone trail when you sense a strong pull dragging your soul closer to the hedges. Picking up your pace, you follow that tug faster, soon weaving through the maze like you’ve been through it before. It’s not long before you reach the centre. 

It’s a large clearing, decorated with a variety of blooming flowers. In the middle stands a grand marble fountain. Three tiered, the fountain sprouts fresh water through the mouths of singing angels. A little smile plays on your lips as you click-clack your way towards it. The tranquil rush of the stream calms your previously erratic heart. You take a seat on the edge and stare down at the pool. It’s empty of floating flowers or little fish like the one you have at home, but still beautiful all the same. 

“Miss (L/N).”

Your eyes well up the moment his sweet voice greets your ears. A shaky breath escapes you and you turn to find him. Did he not hear your words last night? Does he not care? Or is he here to stay this time?

Sitting atop the hedges of the garden maze and out of the moon’s light, he looks just as heavenly as always. Most details of his beauty are hidden, but you can make out his long hair and the way it’s pulled back into a ponytail, leaving loose, short strands to frame his face. And those soft wings are out, spread wide behind him as he stares back at you. Shirtless, he smirks. 

You can’t help the smile stretching upon your lips at the sight of him. It’s an uncontrollable reflex, as is the wetness of your core when he’s around. He usually doesn’t arrive this early when he does show up. How long has he been there? 

Clearing your throat, however, you subside the urge to smile upon his presence. “Mr. Jeon.” His name leaves your lips in a trembling breath as your heart’s aflush with desire. You have to remind yourself that you’re upset with his disappearances.

A sweet smile takes over his features. “I’ve upset you,” he notes. 

Is this a joke to him? How many nights does he expect you to wait around for a maybe? You both know your time is worth more than that. And though you want to tell him that he’s done more than upset you, that he’s disappointed you, you confess something else instead. “I’ve missed you.”

“You know I miss you too,” he replies. 

You resist the urge to scoff. “Are you working tonight?”

He shakes his head. “I just got off actually.”

Without me? You mentally scold yourself for your dirty thought. You can’t even hold onto your anger for more than thirty seconds without having the urge to spread your legs for him. “Lucky me,” you sarcastically reply. 

“Do you like the dress?”

“I’d like it more with the gift from last night,” you glare at him. “If there was a gift from last night, that is.” 

Hopping off the edge, his wings fan out to guide him down before you with ease. Your face falls as he stands in the moonlight. Thick mud coats his muscular body and those once white wings are stained with dirt and grim. His sharp face is scratched with little scabs as well. He looks like he fell from the sky. 

“Jungkook,” you whisper as you reach out to caress his wounded cheek. 

But Jungkook can’t be any less interested in his current state. His attention does not waver off you. Those kind eyes of his scan your frame, lingering around your breasts. “It looks even better than I imagined.”

You feel as though you have to ask him if this really is a joke to him this time. He leaves you for a week with very little behind and returns only to be caked in mud and peppered with wounds and has the audacity to pretend it’s not an issue. Now, you’re upset. 

You blink back your tears, quietly asking, “What happened?”

Maybe it was the hurt in your tone or the worry flashing in your eyes but his usually cocky demeanor trembles just enough to comfort you. “It’s just been a long night, baby. I missed a couple of shots and it took a little more effort than usual to fix everything.”

Fidgeting fingers trail up the exposed side of his thick thigh under the stained toga-like skirt he wears. He shudders under your touch as your hands make their way up to his buff chest where they stay. You inhale deeply to settle your erratic heart. The earthy grim of the mud invades your senses. He doesn’t even smell like himself anymore. 

Knitting your brows together, you ask, “Are you hurt?”

Jungkook’s entire expression softens. Shaking his head, he goes to cradle your body closer to his but stops before his hands reach your waist. You can feel his desire though, to touch and be touched. It’s raw and real, and purely Jungkook. This shared desire the two of you have roots deep within your souls. It breaks your heart to think that he’s not yours anymore, and maybe you made that decision rashly, in a moment of anger. But, you both know it’s not how you feel right now. 

“I need to know your schedule,” you say in a quiet voice. He tongues his cheek, erupting your heart with a surge of want. You ignore the feeling long enough to continue, “I can’t just sit and wait, Jungkook.”

He stares down at you, eyes unreadable. You can tell that he’s mulling over your words, but have no clue how he feels about them. Finally, he cups your cheeks, staining them with dirt, and says “I need you to trust me when I say that I’m doing my best to get to you as quickly as I can, darling.”

Your heart cannot deny him when his gaze reflects such sincerity and honesty. Every ounce of trust, of belief is in him and only him. And maybe you are being selfish, but to be stranded without an explanation is heartbreaking. You know he knows that, or at least feels it in you when you think of him and pray. 

“Just tell me I’m yours again,” he whispers, “and I’ll prove to you how much I’ve missed you too.”

Is that why he’s here? He’s afraid of losing you? Biting your lip, you can’t help but lean into his touch. It was mean of you to punish him like this and make him think that you were really upset with him when in actuality, all you wanted was a little more attention. You give him an innocent look through your lashes. He does his best not to swoon, but you know him well enough now to know that the little quiver in his lips means he’s on the verge of getting on his knees. 

“No man of mine is this dirty,” you smirk, echoing the words of your first encounter. 

Jungkook smiles and this time you have to keep yourself from swooning at the sight of his dimples. “I thought that’s exactly how you like them,” he purrs as he walks you back towards the fountain. 

Heat rushes to your face. The marble edge of the fountain hits the bend of your knees but you refuse to sit down with Jungkook only inches away. His hands may still be on your face, rubbing that dirt into your cheeks, but his body is still too far away from yours. You move to take a step forward, desperate to have your body against his. However, Jungkook is quicker, most likely having read your mind, and moves back before you can even get half a step in. 

Your eyes harden at the action. Pushing his hands off your face, you quirk a brow. 

“I don’t want to ruin your dress.”

“A dress like this is meant to be ruined.”

He smirks. You can tell by the amusement dancing in his eyes that he’s enjoying the sight of you this needy and possessive. He decides to further test the limits of your composure, asking, “Don’t you have a party to get back to?”

He’s teasing. The mockery riddled in his features is enough of a hint, but the playful tone in his voice is still something you bask in. Taking a seat on the edge of the fountain, you let out a deep sigh and look up to the clouds. “A flight back home might do us both some good,” you suggest instead. “It’s not like there’s anything waiting for me at the party anyways.”

“Not even your sister?”

You shake your head. 

“Mother?”

Face folding, you suppress the urge to groan and whisper, “Oh, gods no.” 

Jungkook chuckles as he circles around the fountain. He dips his hand in the clear water, before asking, “What about Lee Kyon?”

Now, what would Jeon Jungkook know of Lee Kyon? A quick scan of his features doesn’t let you in on much besides the fact that he’s trying to draw a reaction out of you. However, what reaction is he hoping for? Is he looking for an explanation? He knows all about your mother’s habits and your relationships, or lack thereof, with mortal men. You never even have to say it; Jungkook knows there’s no one else for you but him. 

“Mr. Lee is fragile,” you sigh. 

His wings twitch. He likes what he hears. You curl in your lips to keep from smiling. Could he, Eros the god of love, lust and desire, really be jealous of an imbecile? Setting your visual tastes aside for a moment, you and Jungkook both know that Kyon, bless him, knows less than the very fountain you’re sitting on… The very fountain Jungkook is climbing into.

“What are you doing?” You ask, shooting to your feet as Jungkook makes himself comfortable. A giggle tumbles out of you, even though you tried to bite it back, at the sight of him washing himself like a bird. 

Jungkook stops for a moment, that playful gaze meeting yours. This one look is enough for you to know he’s heard, and he’s most likely still hearing your thoughts. You wish you could dip in and out of his mind too. It might put an end to all the guessing on your end. 

Continuing to splash his torso clean, he replies, “You’re sending me some mixed messages, baby. I thought you didn’t like me dirty.”

He has a point. Making your way over to him, you sit by his submerged frame on the edge of the fountain. Jungkook rubs his lips as he watches your jeweled fingers trace the curves of your cleavage. Your hand stops in the centre, just above the tied strings of your corset. You begin unlacing it when Jungkook tsks. Snapping your gaze to his, you wait for further instructions. 

“What are you doing?”

“I want to get in with you.”

“So, get in.”

You move to unlace your corset once more, but Jungkook grabs onto your wrist. Catching his darkening gaze, you furrow your brows at his tilting head. He’s gesturing for you to get in, but won’t let you take off your dress. He can’t serious think you’d get in wearing it the water is filthy with his- 

Glancing at the clear water, your thoughts are overtaken by confusion. You expected it to be tinted a dark brown from all the mud but it only reflects the marble bowl of the fountain, Jungkook’s legs, and that growing erection between them. You probably should question him on when he took that skirt off and why the water is so clean even after he went into it with layers of dirt coating his skin, but the heat between your legs is slowly growing more and more insufferable. 

Your eyes flicker back to Jungkook’s to find him already staring at you, a smirk painted on his handsome face. He pushes his tongue against his cheek once more, knowing how much you love that move, then quirks a cocky brow. Kicking off your heels, you lift your dress enough to dip each stocking covered foot into the fountain. You hiss at the sensation of the soggy socks against your feet, but power through knowing how much Jungkook loves the way they look on you. 

Your dress puffs up to the surface and you have to push it down and back to put as little space between you and Jungkook. “Your hair’s filthy,” you pout as you finally straddle his lap. 

Jungkook lets out a little sigh. You first think it’s because his cock stands right in front of your pussy, but soon realize how wrong you are. His dazed gaze wanders over your features, unsure where to stop and what to admire first. Those large hands instinctively find your thick thighs. He rubs and massages them as you untie his hair and wet your hands enough to wash some of the dirt away. You tilt his head back and lick your lips. It’s a habit you have when concentrating. Jungkook knows it well. 

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he suddenly purrs. His voice is thick, saturated with lust and adoration. “Honestly, you don’t have to do anything, darling, just let me look at you for a little bit.” 

You freeze, hands half tangled in his mud slick hair, and gaze back down at him. Dipping your head down, your lips catch his. You’re obsessed with the lack of hesitation between the two of you. Never has Jungkook thought twice about taking you as his when the two of you are this close. No matter how long he’s gone or how upset you may feel about that, when you find each other again, it’s almost like he never left. Your souls rapture in harmony and bodies tangle indefinitely. Eternity lies in the palms of your hands every second you're together. 

“I’ve got to clean your hair,” you mutter against his lips. He only hums before kissing you again. Inhaling sharply, you let him have another sip of your breath before pulling away completely. And you realize, as you glance at his wings, that they could probably use a good scrub down too before the two of you indulge in the good fun you’ve been dying to have all week. 

Before you can vocalize this, however, Jungkook is already readjusting your shared position. He tucks his wings tight behind him and shifts the two of you around so that the stream of the fountain washes down his back. “Hurry,” he orders. There’s very little room for negotiation in his tone. His appetite for a fun night is growing too and you can’t help but smile at the eagerness you’ve triggered. 

Sticking your tongue out, you hook it under his chin and tilt his head back. Jungkook continues to gaze down at you as he gives into your gesture. “That’s hot,” he mutters. 

This is new. He never talks this much when things start to heat up. Most of the time, you’re tossed looks and expected to decipher his mood, but you’re all too caught up in how gorgeous he is, you can barely understand what he means. Everything is always based on feelings and going with your instincts. But this time, Jungkook’s more vocal. It’s almost as if he’s thinking out loud. 

His wings twitch again. You snap your gaze from his hair to his eyes and find he’s raising a brow. Didn’t you wish you could hear his thoughts too? Could this be his way of granting it to you?

“You know what I like most about you?” He asks as you continue to wash the mud from his hair. Grazing your nails through his scalp, you hum in reply. “You’re incredibly intelligent.” 

Your fingers shudder against his head. The guilt of last night returns. Your sister should be with someone who isn’t afraid of her intelligence either. You should’ve told her not to follow through with this, not to marry Michael.

Jungkook’s hands trail up to your ass, gripping onto the plump flesh. The harsh gesture snaps you back into the moment. You jump a bit and let out a little squeal as your gaze meets his. “I much rather you don’t think of other men when you’re with me,” he groans. 

Fighting off the proud smile tempting your lips, you nod. “Sorry; it won’t happen again.” 

“Better not,” he mutters and that smile finally settles on your lips. “And don’t worry about your sister. She’ll be fine.” 

A part of you wants to question him more about how he knows that, but the death grip he has on your ass and the way he’s looking at you does not leave much room for a sexless conversation. You rather your family stay out of conversations like this with Jungkook. His desire to be the only one in your thoughts makes a bit more sense to you now. 

Smiling, Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose. “You figure things out faster than most people,” he says. 

You kiss the little freckle under his lip to let him know you’re done cleaning his hair. “You spend too much time in my head,” you tease. Instead of in my…  The rest of the sentence twirls in your mind for him to find it. 

As you move to clean his right wing he chuckles and continues, “I’m serious, baby.” He kisses your neck as you stand on your knees and reach for his wing to properly clean it off. “Your mind amazes me. That’s why I spend so much time there.” 

Barriers of the mind fall. They were trembling before but now, with every whispered thought Jungkook voices, you can feel those walls of distance crumble around your inseparable bodies. You’ve always melded perfectly physically and stroked the other’s spirit by caressing your souls, but mental barriers have always halted any real conversation between you and Jungkook. He’s always been able to know your next move, your every thought because of his immortality. And to have the chance to do the same only makes you feel that much closer to him. For this reason, you hope he doesn’t regret opening up to you and giving you a little peek inside his mind. 

Your physical senses shock you back to the moment. His fingers soften their grip on your ass, rubbing it instead and your pussy reactively clenches at that pet name you love so much. Unsteadily inhaling deeply, you move to clean his other wing in silence. You decide you won’t talk this time. Your mind is open to him if he’s looking for your opinion, but tonight you just want to hear his thoughts and be the one tossing unreadable looks. 

Jungkook chuckles against your neck, rolling his shoulders back as you brush your fingers through his wings. His lips trail down to your collarbone. He kisses his way down to your breasts and buries his face between them. Breathing in your scent, he sighs happily and mutters, “This is my favourite thing.”

Your breasts? By the way his hands always settle on your ass and the fact that his first hand-delivered toy was an anal plug, you always just assumed that his favourite feature of yours must be your ass. But you suppose if your breasts-

“Actually, I was talking about the way you smell.”

“It’s called soap,” you tease, earning yourself a light spank. He then bites on your right tit, sucking on the skin just because he can. You giggle and settle yourself back on his lap. Your ass, plush and plump, all but melts over his muscular thighs. 

Jungkook stares at you. His brown eyes are vacant and lost in thought. He quiets under your gaze, only just shifting to pull you closer than you already are. Your pussy frames the length of his cock and you find it increasingly hard to stay still. Trying to read that dazed expression on his face, you wonder what happened with his devotion to thinking out loud. 

Licking his lips, Jungkook finally breaks the silence. “Twenty-three.” He leans towards you turning the two of you back around so his back is against the fountain’s edge again. “I want you in twenty-three different ways, but I don’t think we have time to do all of them.”

You swallow thickly. Grinding your hips into his, you rub your needy pussy against his throbbing erection. Jungkook’s eyes slightly roll back and he has to hold your hips down only to look at you properly again. “Can we make time?” You ask. The desperate cry for more is evident in your voice and you know that, by the quirk of his brow and the shudder of his wings, he’s having trouble saying no. 

“I wish,” he confesses. “My favourite ones take time.” 

His fingers dig into your ass again, hinting at what his favourite positions might be. It’s no surprise that it has to do with your ass, you’re just worried that he’s going to ask for more than you’re ready for. Yes, you may have gotten used to anal plugs over time since he knows how to prep you for them, but his cock is an entirely different game. You are constantly reminded of how those other toys really are just toys because his cock is that uncomparable. 

Jungkook relaxes back against the marble wall and watches you as you salivate over the size of his cock. He doesn’t need to read your mind to know you're terrified of whatever pain may come with it but excited because you’re just that much of a whore for him. 

“You know you don’t have to do it. I have lots of other favourites,” he smirks. 

As your thoughts trail off, he bucks his hips into yours. You breathe moan and clutch onto his shoulders. Every little movement makes you ache for more. A week without a single bit of sexual stimulation, even by yourself, is too long. He never told you that you couldn’t play around alone anymore, but when you have him, why the hell would you play with yourself? You know he’s going to come every night, or at least you hope he is. And the truth is, one he must already know judging by the pleased look in his eyes, even if he had told you he wasn’t coming, you still wouldn’t have touched yourself. Nothing can compare to his touch; you don’t need to try anything else to know this.

A shaky breath escapes Jungkook at your next mental confession. You don't think you were ever really mad at him. You just knew that acting out would get him to come tonight. Jungkook scoffs, looking up at the darkening sky as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

Are you even really sorry? His eyes dart to yours as if wanting to see for himself if your thoughts are true. You don't know if you can answer this question with his eyes on you like that. But, that conclusion seems to be enough of an answer for him. 

He shakes his head and wraps his arms around your waist. Pouting, he asks, “Do you know how worried I was?”

You mirror his expression, drawing a pout in your features as well, and press your chest against his. His breath hitches and body melts into yours, betraying his intentions. Noticing his struggle to stay upset with you, you pepper wet kisses under his chin and along his jawline. 

Jungkook can’t resist you for much longer. He whimpers as his hips grind into yours. Bending at your every touch, he unravels beneath you. A giddy smile breaks your pouty features and it’s only then that he seems to realize how much he’s let himself go in front of you. His grip on your hips hardens. As you kiss up his face, you find his lust-stuck eyes dark with dominance. He hates being vulnerable to your touch this much.

“No, baby,” he rasps. You quirk a brow. “I hate how drunk you get off the power.” 

A proud smirk twitches on the corner of your lips, confirming his words. You’ve barely had taste for the power he’s accusing you of getting drunk off of. However, the fact that you’re able to control him so well with such a small dose fills your heart with pride. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I am?”

There’s a certain cocky pitch in your tone that rings sharply to his ears. His brows twitch, wings flutter, and gaze wavers. He may have been able to look past your exaggerations of dismissal and the way you tease him, but to speak to him with very little regard for his power unleashes something primal within him. You can always tell you’ve really pissed him off when he pouts, clenches his jaw, and breathes so steadily, you can barely hear him. 

Jungkook watches you carefully. “One week without my dick and suddenly you think you own it?” 

“Don’t I?”

A sharp smack lands on your ass. The slow draft of the water does not slow his hands down. In fact, it only increases the sting and accuracy. You gasp and fall forward against him only to be spanked again. Another moan leaves you, this time with your lips hovering over his. Exchanging breathes, a dangerous thought occurs to you. Your lips are over his. What’s to stop you from spit-

He growls. You tremble against him. The purely thunderous rumble in his chest rattles your soul. “I fucking dare you,” he hisses.

Though you want to heed his warning, you can’t help but notice how he keeps his mouth open despite his disapproval. You gather what you have in your mouth and pause for a moment, knowing that he knows what you’re about to do. His mouth remains open. You drop the wad of spit it without a second thought. 

Jungkook swallows it almost immediately. “You’re going to regret that,” he breathes. 

“I highly doubt that,” you smirk.

The cocky persona you seemed to have picked up from him crumbles when his middle finger pushes between your cheeks and circles your tightest hole. His words about his favourite ways to fuck you return to you in distant echoes. You arch your back and push your ass into his hand. His finger threatens to slip in. 

“You’re barely ready,” he scoffs.

Do you harbour reservations based on fears that he just might be too big to fit in your ass? Of course you do; he’s huge. A fact of which he can’t help but always smirk at when you point it out. But, you’re hungry for him and you know that he would never do anything to hurt you. Letting out a shaky breath, you affirm, “I can take it.”

“You aren’t wet enough.”

“Then, change that.”

The continuous authority that drips in your tone has tested his patience for the last time. Reaching a hand out of the fountain, Jungkook grabs for something on the ground. You try to lean over him and sneak a peek at what he’s looking for, but the friction of your clit against his length has you shuddering back in place. 

A little smile breaks Jungkook’s previously callous expression. He pecks your neck and laughs quietly against your skin as he mutters, “You’re adorable.” 

Heat rushes down to your core instead of your face at the little praise. You lean down to press a gentle kiss to his lips when you catch a glimpse of something gold in your peripherals. Glancing up, you find him clutching onto his bow. Before you have the chance to ask what he’s planning, Jungkook only just drops the tip of his bow in to break the surface of the water. A misty rose gold tints the clarity. Little flicks of sparkling gold twinkle back at you as you watch the fountain filter the essence all around you. 

You cautiously meet gaze. He always confirms new things with you before acting on anything, no matter how mad or horny he is. His rash decision to spike the fountain with an unknown substance chills your blood for a second. You start to shift back from him a bit when he breaks the silence. 

“It’s just a lubricant,” he quickly explains. A relieved breath, you didn’t realize you were holding, leaves you. Shifting back against him, you nudge your nose against his. “Sex is a bit different underwater, baby, and I don’t have time to get you as ready as you need to be.” 

A gentle nibble on his lip is all it takes for the rush of the fountain to be the only sound in the silence that settles upon you. His hands guide your hips against his, the fiction much smoother now with that hint of lubrication swirling around. You run a hand through his hand and tug his head back to be greeted with the sweet rumble of his laughter. You can’t help but giggle with him as you place soft kisses along the side of his neck. 

Jungkook quietly moans in little whines and breathless gasps. Every shudder of his wings and furrow of his brows makes you want to rip your dress off and be just as naked and against him. But, then again, there’s something powerful to the taste of being fully clothed and still destroying a man’s composure. You barely have to do anything and Jungkook bends to your every will. You can now understand why he believes you’re so drunk on power, but the truth is you always had this power. He knows this, most likely wanting you to realize it too if he’s the one that suggested you stay clothed. The only difference now is that he’s openly displaying the ways you unravel him rather than keeping it to himself. 

“Do you see what I mean now?” He asks in a breathless whisper. You trail your kiss up to his cheek and moan against it as he continues, “You’re so smart and beautiful and precious.” 

Jungkook pauses, stilling your hips and pulling his face away from yours to look into your eyes. He parts his lips to speak but his words keep falling short somehow. 

His words so far have already ignited an untamable fire not only between your legs, but within your bones as well. He is drenched in every part of you. Shifting to a softer touch, you untangle your fingers from his damp hair and cup his cheeks the same way he had done to you not too long ago. “Go on,” you tease, tossing him a playful look. 

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even smirk. His eyes, though hinted with amusement, continue to be lost in some sort of trance. He knows you’re curious, but keeps this little bit of thought to himself. Lifting your hips, he hovers your entrance over his erection and finally smirks. 

“Beg a little,” he orders. Though his voice barely carries to the other side of the fountain, the authority in his tone is still as clear and hard as it always is.

Your power trip must have really messed with him if he’s having you beg without giving you a good reason to. An annoyed sigh fans against your collarbone as your body continues to hover over his. “Don’t play,” he rasps, “You know that’s not it. I can hear the truth before the lie, darling.”

That’s an unfair advantage but one you don’t mind too much if it means he talks to you like this all the time. He’s right too. You know that’s not what’s got him eager to hear you beg. It’s the way you beg that’s got him eager to fuck you. Clenching around emptiness, needy to be filled and ruined, you whine a tiny “please,” then a string of profanities as his tip strokes its way to your entrance from your clit. 

“Again.”

Back arched, breasts against his bare chest, and hands clutched onto his biceps, you place your lips on the shell of his ear and blow a gentle breeze against it. “Please,” you mewl. 

Jungkook’s hands tremble and he all but drops you on his cock. Pussy in an instant stretch, with very little room to adjust, you cry out in his ear. Though your voice may be broken and pitchy, Jungkook doesn’t flinch. When it comes to you, the usual results never qualify. You are one of a kind, as unique as him. 

His muscles flex under your palms. Hands finding their place on your ass again, Jungkook guides your thrusts. He can practically feel your weakening body with every bounce and grind against him. You know he can. He shows it in every tightening grip on your ass and grunt in his moans. 

The knot in your stomach is already twisting, conspiring against your better judgement on how long you think you can last. You’ve never been able to outlast him, cumming twice before he finally reaches his first orgasm of the night. He’s just so big and hits those right places way before the rest of him can catch up. How he manages to brush up against your softest spots within the first three thrusts will always be beyond your comprehension. He’s just that good. 

The choked moan that leaves him resembles a chuckle. A frustrated whine escapes you. Is he still listening to your thoughts? It’s not like you’re thinking anything he already hasn’t heard you say, or rather scream, but it still somewhat embrassasses you to know that he will always hear how whipped you are for him. 

“Tell me,” you plead with your lips pressed just under his ear. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

The sparkling water around you begins to splash out of the fountain bowl as Jungkook speeds up the pace of your bounces. Deciding your ass seems to be too much of a distraction to him, you pause mid-thrust and move his hands up to your hips. A shuddering gasp escapes him as you carry on with the bounces at his same pace. Your ass claps in and out of the water, thrashing water all around the ground. 

Jungkook digs his short nails into the flesh of your hips, growling every time you whine at his tightening grip. Forehead against his, you catch his gaze and offer an innocent one. “I’m-” he cuts himself off, realizing how breathless and dazed he sounds. You nuzzle your face into his as a silent attempt to encourage him to continue. “Kiss me,” he begs. 

If you weren’t stuffed full of his cock and extremely enchanted by the way he pretends to sound composed, you would’ve refused to kiss him and insisted that he finish that sentence. And that knot in the pit of your gut only tightens with the grip of your pussy. Pressing your lips against his, you slip your tongue in and let him swallow your moans. 

The moment his tongue tackles yours, your legs quake. Thrusts hesitating, your body begins to spasm against his. Your hands grapple at his shoulder just to ensure you stay a float as your threatening orgasm continues to build. 

“Jungk-” You break the kiss to tell him, to ask as he has taught you over and over again. 

But Jungkook only latches his lips onto yours once more. You gulp down a moan or two of his before he hisses against your lips, “Just fucking cum. Now, kiss me.”

You may have been drunk off power not too long ago, but as you kiss him again, you realize that he is drunk off you. And that’s all it takes for your ograsm to finally rush over you. Jungkook lifts his hips up to meet your stuttering ones. Your lips fall off his. Face buried in the crook of his neck, you cry out his name and cream all over his cock. 

“I’m thinking you’re such a good girl for cumming like this,” he suddenly whispers as you ride out your orgasm. Even with your ears ringing and mind shuddering from the second wave of cum gushing all over his hard, huge cock, you can still hear every dirty praise clearly. “My whore got herself off so well.”

The whine that escapes you from his words alone is borderline pornographic. Jungkook even feels it, arching his back so his chest collides with yours as well. “You’re so sexy,” he whimpers as you babble fountain water by his shoulder from exhaustion. 

Wet, wet, wet; everything is wet. You’re both drenched in lube tinted waters, cum, and your desires. You can’t revel in it though, as the skirts of your dress float the surface and corset clings to your chest all too tightly. You can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone tell him that you need a quick break. 

“No,” he groans, settling you on his thighs. Circling his hips into yours, Jungkook grips onto the nape of your neck to peel you off him. 

Your heart stumbles as your mind races to figure out what you’ve done that was so wrong, he’s wanting to stop the night here. “I’m sorr-”

“You don’t need a break,” he sighs between moans. He sits himself up, his wings extending only to drape over the lip of the fountain’s bowl. All movements underwater cease as he digs his fingers into the bust of your corset. In one swift motion, Jungkook tears the first few laces apart, instantly sending a full batch of oxygen to your lungs. 

Gasping, you gaze down at your torn dress before glaring at him. Maybe with just a wet dress, you could have explained your way out of whatever mess this is going to get you in when you attempt to return to the party. However, a torn dress will not be that easy to explain. You want to glare at him and tell him off but he shoves his face between your now exposed breasts and moans before you’re able to. 

He moves your hands up his shoulders so your arms drape over them, then settles them on his favourite place; your ass. Two of his fingers push between your cheeks and stroke your hole. His touch there is much smoother than before and you suspect that it must be the bow-tipped lube. 

You moan quietly, resting your chin atop his damp head as he kisses and bites at your breasts. Your pussy still hasn’t recovered from your orgasm seconds ago. In fact, truth be told, your entire body is having trouble recuperating after cumming that hard in a week. But you want more of him and he still hasn’t filled you of his godly load yet. And with his fingers circling around your asshole, you can’t deny him the second ride he’s patiently waiting for. 

A slow grind of hips into hips is a good start, you tell yourself. You’ve never really had to deal with this before, since Jungkook would usually just keep pounding into you despite the fact that he knows your limbs are exhausted from one orgasm already. Clenching your jaw, you start to bounce again, ass clapping against his thighs in suppressed thumps underwater. The overstimulated pleasure brings tears to your eyes. You cry out his name and hold onto his wings. 

He groans against your right breast from the contact. You’re about to apologize, knowing his wings are sensitive, when he shoves his fingers into your tightest hole. You freeze and throw your head back from how easily he slipped in and how fucking good it feels. Jungkook scissors his fingers within you, peeking a glance up from between your breasts. 

“Are you okay, baby?” he slurs. He licks up the valley of your breasts, holding your gaze shamelessly. 

“Mhm,” you mewl. 

Resuming your thrusts, you feel your tears run down your face freely. You don’t even have it in you to wipe them away. Your hands, instead, centre around his back. You scratch at it for a bit until you feel him add a finger. Moans tumble into his wet hair as your fingers trail up the length of his spine. 

Jungkook stiffens. A choked groan tears from his throat and he hides his face further into your breasts. They bounce around his cheeks with each hop on his cock. Too consumed by your own overstimulated pleasure to dwell much thought on his movements, or lack thereof, you mindlessly repeat the action. You stroke his spine once more and then you hear it. 

He sobs a moan.

You still your hips, looking down at him. As you run a hand through his hair, you’re about to ask if he’s okay when the whooshing flutter of wings obscures your vision. One second, you’re straddling his lap with his fingers in your ass. The next, you’re the one submerged in the water with him hovering over you. Wings fully extended, face stained with tears, Jungkook makes sure your arms are resting over his shoulders like before then takes up a deadly speed of thrusts into you. 

His speed defies the laws of physics, hips moving much faster than they should underwater. Half the fountain is on the ground from the force of his movement. All you can do is sob with him as your body becomes his only source of pleasure. 

What’s gotten into him? He doesn’t even have an interest in your ass anymore, hands locked in a death-like grip on your hips. In a moment of pure animalistic pleasure, you just wish you knew what’s running through his head. 

“You,” he growls in a pout. “You’re all I think about, you fucking whore. You’re all I can ever think about.” He swallows thickly before continuing, “You can’t go one second without thinking of me and now all I can hear is your voice. All the time; it’s you, you, you.”

You don’t know if you should apologize or cum from the simple confession alone. His voice, his words, his entire fucking attitude has you aching to cum all over again. 

Jungkook stumbles over his chuckles. “You just love seeing me like this, huh? You love seeing me worship you, baby?” 

Worship. Does he want you to cum that badly that he’s willing to lie? You both know he doesn’t worshi-

A sharp thrust derails your thoughts. Your eyes roll back as you moan out his name. 

“You’re my goddess,” he confesses. “You’re my only goddess.”

He repeats the phrase over and over again until that’s all that rings in your ear, in your heart, in your soul. His release paints your tightening walls. The knots within your gut have unraveled long ago and it’s only when your blurred vision somewhat clears and convulsing body trickles into tremors do you realize that you’ve both cum together to the words he’s still repeating. 

Voice a tiny, gruff whisper, Jungkook whispers, “My goddess.”

He’s serious. He must be. He truly worships you. The tears in his eyes, the break in his voice, the truth is clear and just as starkly bare as he is between your legs. His eyes suddenly flash with worry, almost as if he’s recognized what he’s said. He meant what he said, you realize, but he never meant to say it. 

Jungkook gingerly pulls out of you as you try to seat yourself up. You pull your legs into your chest and watch him take a seat beside you. He leans his head back against the rim of the fountain and gazes up at the sky. You follow his gaze, noticing it’s gotten much darker out, the silver stream of stars piercing an indigo backdrop no more. A midnight black cloaks the world above you, a crescent moon lighting up your night and an array of stars twinkling down at you. Though your mind is still foggy from your recent orgasms, body still shuddering, you can’t help but think about his words. What makes him think you belong up there, amongst true gods and goddesses? 

His wings twitch as they tuck themselves behind him. You know that combination well. He’s hiding something. Usually, you don’t ask, knowing he will only deflect the topic and shower you with attention and praises instead. But, his spoken thoughts are now looping around your mind, begging to be answered. 

“Jungkook,” you mutter, shifting closer to him. Face still stained with tears, he forces himself to look at you. The questions are on the tip of your tongue; what, why, when? However, as you part your lips all you can bring yourself to say is, “I didn’t hear anything.”

You’re my goddess. 

The words return with ten times the force they previously held. It’s almost like denying their existence is just as blasphemous as saying them. You swallow thickly and try to extract the words from your mind, but it's too late. They are as entrenched in your bones as your affection for him is. There is no undoing what has been done. 

You bring a hand up to his face and wipe away the stray tears. He melts into you almost immediately. Maybe it’s best if you return to the party now. You can make up some excuse as to why you’re drenched and torn on your way there. Jungkook’s state is all but worrying and you feel as though you shouldn’t be witnessing this. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he finally says. His voice has regained composure and tone controlled. No more does he choke on his words or laughter. The authority he indirectly bestowed upon you has been returned to him. 

You should tell him you’re done, that he shouldn’t say things he doesn’t mean to. You should tell him that he shouldn’t play with your feelings or your heart like this. But, again, the words wither away the moment you part your lips to voice them. And, instead, you ask, “How do you want me?”

Jungkook smirks. His hands snake around your hips and lift you up onto his lap. Back to his chest, you make yourself comfortable, leaning into him. He pushes the excess fabric of your dress aside just to get you as close as possible. Then, you feel it against your ass, pushing its way between your cheeks. His erection is just as hard as when you started. It’s no wonder why he’s not done with you yet. You suppose he didn’t just confess something he can’t take back only to still leave with a full hard-on. 

“I thought you didn’t hear anything,” he whispers in your ear as his hands cup the underside of your thighs. 

You nervously look at him over your shoulder. “I didn’t.”

He chews on your earlobe, warm tongue caressing your jaw. “I should stop thinking about it,” he whimpers against your skin. “I should stop thinking about you.”

I’m not a goddess, you want to tell him. But, by the way he sucks in a sharp breath, you can tell he’s heard and isn’t impressed. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to scold you for degrading yourself, or to correct you. The words never arrive. 

Jungkook shakily exhales. No more trips into his thoughts it would seem. He remains silent as he spreads your legs and swiftly lifts you up. You expect another harsh round into your pussy but his tip shoves its way through your asshole instead. Throwing your head back, you try to suppress your scream by holding your breath. 

It doesn’t hurt as much as it usually does during the first initial thrust of a toy. Whatever he tinted the water with must be the result of a smooth entrance, and a deliciously blissful stretch. You let out a breath you held, along with a loud, high-pitched squeal. Jungkook folds you up well, holding the bend of each knee into your chest as he continues to slowly lower you onto him. 

Once you finally take him all in, you settle your entire body back into him. Shuddering breaths, drifting eyes, you hold him deep within you and try not to completely lose yourself in a fit of moans and pleads. You don’t even know what you’d be begging for, just that a string of “pleases” will leave you. 

Are you getting bigger, you mentally ask. 

He chuckles and shakes his head as his nose nuzzles into your cheeks. He can’t get enough. Inhaling you deeply, you realize that he can’t get enough of you. He even said so in so many words. And you don’t have much of a problem with that considering you can’t ever get enough of him either. You’ve consumed all of his thoughts it would seem and he’s even lost himself to you so much so that he’s declared you his one and only god-

“Fuck!” 

The stream of the fountain rushes down on your clit. He holds you straight beneath it as his hips move up and down against your ass. You’re at his total mercy, every thought of ever being in control a complete joke. You rest your head against his shoulders, trembling hands placed over his as a desperate attempt to control yourself.

Your first water wave induced orgasm hits you within seconds. You don’t know for sure, but you’re all but certain that you’re cumming. Your eyes have been screwed shut for a while, and body shaking since this endeavor in the fountain began. Only when you try to close your legs do you confirm that you indeed came.

Jungkook keeps them open though. He ignores your pathetic scratches on his knuckles as you try to explain to him that it’s all just too fucking much for you to take. “Just let me cum,” he tries to soothe between little hushes and murmurs about how good you’re taking his cock. 

But then your second orgasm from the fountain hits and you can’t stop squirming in his hold. He keeps you folded and under the water’s subjection nonetheless, somehow even cooling the temperature down. As you shiver under the cold rush, Jungkook positions you higher against him so that the water pours into you instead. You realize, pussy clean of his cum now, that you’re getting fucked by a fountain; a fountain that he controls. And you fucking love it. 

Then, there’s the fullness of your ass. Every inch of you is his. If you’re his goddess, he must know that he’s your god. Your one and only. 

“Careful,” he warns against your thoughts. 

You have an assful of his cock in you, getting off more times than you can both count in a fountain that does not belong to either of you; when have the two of you ever been careful? In fact, your recklessness is what brought you together. Had he not seen you on your balcony every night, he might not be here at all. Carelessness runs in your veins, laced in your tone as you cry out, “You’re my god!”

The clouds rumble above you. The heavens can warn all they want. Interrupting sexual endeavors would do them more harm than it would do you. 

“If you want to cum, you’ll behave,” Jungkook hisses. His thrusts suddenly snap into something primal. 

Your body bounces every time, water rushing down your clit once more. This time you feel your orgasm build, and fast. Toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, you hold onto every twisting, clenching knot at the pit of your stomach. 

“Ask!”

“Please?”

A particular ram into your ass lets you know that half-hearted plea won’t get you very far. He doesn’t deign to repeat himself. Instead, he lets his harsh movements and bone-rattling growls speak for him. 

“Please let me cum, Jungkook, please.”

“Again.”

“Please, please, please, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t say it. But you feel it. You feel the approval in the form of a gentle kiss against your ear. Hips a craze, rolling against the wave, you clench your jaw and try to channel all your pleasure in a high-pitched moan rather than the cry your lungs are desperate to let out. Your cum gushes then, juices squirt seconds later. Entire body on fire, under the scrutiny of the stream as you try and fail to recollect yourself. You’re shattered, ruined, obliterated by his cock and this fountain of fantasies. 

“That’s a good girl,” he coos. “That’s my good girl.”

His. His. Gods, the things you would do to be his always, not just under the cover of the night. Jungkook releases your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist as he grounds your ass over his hips. Load after load shoots within you, making your giggle and shake with ecstasy at the filling sensation of being stuffed so well. 

“Ah-yah, baby,” he groans in a scowl against your jawline. “You’ve got the tightest little hole for me, hmm? If you weren’t so exhausted, I’d have us do this all over again.”

Exhaustion. Yes, that’s what you’re feeling. With your mind foggy and broken from the countless orgasms he’s sent through you, you can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone think to go for another round. Your body’s only excuse for staying afloat is the winged god behind you. He clutches onto you as if his only reason for surviving is you. And judging by his previous confession, that very well might be the case. 

Jungkook rests back against the fountain’s edge once he’s done. Gasping for air, he continues to hold onto you, kissing your shoulder mindlessly. “I never really know how much I miss you until I have you,” he whispers. His teeth graze your supple skin. 

Body limp, you can’t find it in you to reply. All you can think is after he pulls out, he’s going to fly back to Gods know where and leave you to hobble back to the party alone. After all, isn’t that how every night ends? You two share a passionate few moments, both have out of body experiences when orgasming, then you fall asleep and he sneaks away. What’s to say this night won’t be any different?

“I thought I told you to trust me?”

“I do.”

He scoffs. You don’t blame him. Your words are hardly convincing. It has nothing to do with the fact that you just came five or six different times. It’s the lack of commitment in your tone that tips him off. You hear it too. You really do trust him. He’s just let you down too many times to count. 

“What more do I need to do? I’m with you every chance I get.” 

Exhaustion. It’s not a physical one, not the one you’re still recovering from. It’s one of the mind. He’s exhausted with this back and forth. You are too. This isn’t exactly what you thought your first relationship would look like. 

He pauses, body freezing beneath you. 

Oh, right. He’s in your mind. He heard that. Is that not what this is, though? Isn’t this a relationship?

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say it,” You repeat, looking at him over your shoulder. 

Jungkook starts to soften in you. You’ve really set him off now. He lifts you up and off his cock, sitting you on his thigh and ignoring the way you hiss and whine at the discomfort. You turn to glare at him over your shoulder only to find him already glaring at you. 

“Do you want me to come back?”

Is he threatening you? “Do I have to remind you who came here begging-”

“You lied!” He cuts you off with a shout. 

“You knew that, though. You knew I was lying,” you point out, a pout starting to overtake your features. “You came because you missed me.”

“That’s never been a secret.”

“Say it then, Jungkook. Say this is a relationship.”

He falls silent. His once annoyed eyes can’t even meet yours. 

“I know you’re jealous of Lee Ky-”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffs. Shaking his head, he forces himself to meet your gaze. 

Sad tears vary drastically from blissful ones. Tears of bliss soothe the pleasure and make it bearable. Tears of sadness sting your eyes, pierce your heart and shed any part of you that can make such a situation bearable. Sad tears only remind you of your pain. 

Your eyes sting with despair as he regards you with such frustration. Emptying your mind, discarding all thoughts, you ask, “Are you coming tomorrow?”

Jungkook sighs, but not a beat of hesitance affects his answer. “Of course.”

You raise a brow. See?

“Fine. This is a relationship,” he mutters. “What does that change?”

Nothing. It hasn’t changed a thing. You don’t even feel any different, any better. Maybe it’s because you forced it out of him? You don’t know. The tears only fall faster though, and you can’t bear to look at him. Your heart’s conflicted, shattered and replaced all at once because, though he is the cause of your tears, his presence is also the only thing soothing them. You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your temple over his. 

You can at least relish in his company for a few moments longer. And his scent, that intoxicating waft of creamy coconut and sweet peony orchards returns now that all that mud and grime has been washed off. The scent is comforting enough for you to relax in his arms and forget your pain for a second. 

“That’s not what I smell like,” he whispers. You tilt your head away to get a better look at him. A little smirk tugs on the corner of his lip as he says, “It’s what you smell like.”

Impossible. He’s always smelled like at the end of every night. You’d cuddle into his chest and inhale a breathful of the tropical scent. How could that be what you smell like if he reeks of it? The knowing look in his eyes is enough of a hint for you to realize you know the answer. He’s dripping with your essence every night because he spent the night in you. You wonder if you smell like him too. 

He sighs, circling his arms lazily around your waist. He deeply inhales your skin, smiling against it, but doesn’t answer your mentally posed question. Damp hair clinging to the sides of your faces, you settle in the other’s company. One of his hands rises from the water and wipes away your tears. As you sniffle, he whispers, “I promise I’m-”

“Doing the best you can,” you croak, finishing his sentence with him. 

Yes, yes. You’ve heard it all before. You don’t think he’s lying, your Eros is no liar. You do believe that he is, in fact, doing the best he can. But if his best is only a few hours every night, you’re not sure you can accept that. And, yet, you also can’t find it in you to truly, with all your heart, reject it as well. 

He needs to prove his devotion to you in another way. A risky thought then tiptoes into your mind. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you take a deep breath and ask, “Could you do me a tiny favour?”

Jungkook’s hesitant to meet your gaze. He glances at you through his peripherals, otherwise keeping his gaze locked on your breasts. Whether he’s trying to distract himself or not, you still push them out a bit in hopes that they will grant you the “yes” you’re hoping to hear.

He nods. 

With a little kiss upon his cheek, you stroke his shoulder with the soft tips of your fingers and ask, “Would you please escort me to my sister’s wedding?”

He turns his head away from you. Staring across at the other side of the garden, Jungkook withdraws from you. His hands fall off your frame as he heavily sighs. You press yourself against him, trying to regain his attention but he only shakes his head. 

“Acting cute won’t make this any easier,” he grumbles. 

You huff and slouch against him. “How about just the rehearsal dinner?” You try to negotiate. When he rolls his eyes, you quickly add, “I’ll be stuck with Kyon and honestly I don’t think I handle another minute of his incorrect reilieration about history.” 

Jungkook snaps his head towards you at the mention of another man. You cock a brow to which he only scoffs at. “You’re being obnoxious,” he seethes. “And unbelievably selfish.”

“So?” you question before you can stop yourself. His words sting, slicing through your confidence all too easily. There isn’t much room for thinking and even if there was, he would be listening to them anyways. So, you might as well say what you want out loud. “Was it not selfish of you to make me wait-”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m not going to repeat myself, (Y/N). You can’t keep telling me that you trust me only to keep bringing this up. I was busy. You had to wait. It didn’t kill you.” 

Your tears have returned. He rolls his eyes at the sight. Whatever remnants of your heart you thought you had has been obliviated. “You make me feel so loved,” you whisper as your hands retract from his body. 

Jungkook’s expression disarms all hostility. His eyes reflect regret but you’ve heard, seen all you need to. 

“But why do you only make me feel this way when we’re naked?”

“You’re not naked,” he’s quick to reply. 

It’s your turn to scoff. How can a god be this dense? “Aren’t I, though? Tell me, Jeon Jungkook, whose thoughts are open for the other to hear? Who is the one waiting, praying for the other’s attention? Who has been bare since first glance on the stupid balcony you left last night?”

Before he couldn’t meet your eye out of disinterest, but now he avoids your gaze out of guilt. Yes, you’ve been obnoxious, selfish, maybe even a little entitled. However, you’ve had a god to yourself for months. You’ve had endless moments of ecstasy that only end in soft cuddles and whispered sweet nothings into the night. Is wanting that attention when the sun hasn’t set yet too much to ask? 

Jungkook parts his lips to reply when his eyes suddenly shoot up. He sits up, almost knocking you off his lap and snaps his head towards the very pathway you came from. 

“(Y/N)!” 

You gasp upon hearing your mother’s voice. The clicks of her heels draw further towards you and before you can look at Jungkook and ask what you should do, what you should say, you’re thrown into the fountain. 

Ice cold waves engulf you as you inhale a good chunk of the fountain. Your lungs burn from the accidental intake of water. You only just get your hands under you and sit yourself up and out of the water as quickly as you can. Familiar shouts ring in the distance. Coughing up the fountain, you push your hair back and look around the garden. 

Your mother is staring at you in utter shock, screaming at you to come out but refusing to help you herself. As you try to lift yourself up, you find the water has returned to its usual clarity and that Jungkook is nowhere to be found. He seriously left you to almost drown in the fountain by yourself? He’d be lucky to get more than a kiss from your tomorrow night. You can’t believe he has the audacity to yell at you then let you there like that. In a fit of anger, you send a lashing string after lashing string of profanities to him in the form of a prayer. 

“Miss (L/N)!”

Your blood chills. Hands on the lip of the fountain, you turn towards his voice. Fully dressed in a dark blue suit, his wings nowhere to be found, and dry hair pulled back a neat ponytail, Jungkook rushes over to you. His strong hands settle on your waist before he effortlessly scoops you out.

All you can do is stare. Mouth agape, eyes vacant, you try to figure out why the hell he made himself all presentable and left you looking like a mess. You want to whisper your profanities and swear that he will never touch your ass for leaving you in such a mess, but all you can find yourself saying is, “Mr. Jeon.”

His eyes shoot to the sky as your mother rushes towards you. Nothing is making sense and you only wish you can read his mind to know what to do next. 

“Goodness, (Y/N),” your mother hisses as she rushes towards you. “Cover yourself!”

Looking down at your bust, you gasp. Oh, right, he tore it. Crossing your arms over your chest, you look up at him and glare. But Jungkook only takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s only when you feel your mother’s arms around you do you realize that you’re shivering. 

“What have you done to yourself now?” she whispers in your ear. 

Her eyes then settle on Jungkook. That look graces her face. That look of assessment. She’s scanning the unknown god up and down, looking for signs of wealth, status, and reliability. It doesn’t take her long to innocently smile and fall victim to his beauty, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Jeon.”

He bows his head then turns to you and says, “I told you not to sit on the edge.” Jungkook fakes a polished chuckle. He shakes his head at you when your eyes narrow at him. “I told her, Mrs. (L/N), I told her the marble is slippery. But, Miss (L/N) just had to get a better look at those flowers.”

You glance back at the fountain with your mother, finding an array of tiger lilies floating in the bowl. All this trouble to explain why you’re wet? You look back at him cautiously and wonder what the end of this conversation is meant to look like. 

“Yes, she loves flowers,” your mother sighs. She then sets her sights on Jungkook once more and asks, “Jeon… I’m not sure I know of the Jeons. Are you from out of town?”

Jungkook charms your mother instantly with that kind, toothy smile of his. He nods and compliments her quick wits, to which she laughs, then explains, “I’m visiting for the wedding.”

The wedding? Does that mean?

“Miss (L/N) invited me. I’m rather glad to have run into you, Mrs. (L/N) as I was hoping to ask permission to escort your daughter to the wedding.”

One of your hands, previously covering your right breast, shoots up to cover your mouth out of utter shock. Did he orchestrate all this just to agree to your favour? You hope you haven’t guilted him into it. You’ve done that to get him here and admit to your relationship; you already regret doing that. You just hope he’s acting on his own accord right now. 

Jungkook shoots you a wink as your mother fixes the jacket so that your uncovered breast is concealed once more. Sighing of relief, you offer him a grateful smile. 

“Are you sure?” Your mother suddenly asks, looking back to Jungkook. “(Y/N) is the one you want to escort?”

He glances at you and smiles. “Miss (L/N) the one and only thing I’m always sure about.”

Your mother raises a brow at you. She smells something fishy, knows something is off about this entire encounter. You watch her carefully as she looks between you and Jungkook. And when you expect her to refuse, to lecture you in front of him, your mother adopts an opposite approach. She smiles upon the two of you and shifts you closer to Jungkook. 

“I would be delighted to have you escort my daughter, Mr. Jeon,” she beams. “Do you mind walking (Y/N) to the carriages? I cannot let her go back and drip all over the Barbury’s rugs.” 

Jungkook offers you his elbow, returning your mother’s smile. “It would be my pleasure.” 

You stumble towards Jungkook, your mother practically pushing you into him. With a shaky hand, you take his arm and let him guide you out of the maze. After a turn or two within the tall hedges, you part your lips to ask him what he thinks he’s doing. 

However, Jungkook fills the silence before you can. “I’ll buy you an entire bouquet of lilies, darling. Just promise me to never fall into a fountain again,” he laughs, exaggerating the volume of his voice. 

This time, you pick up on his hints and realize that your mother must still be close by if he’s still putting up such an act. “I promise it won’t happen again, Mr. Jeon,” you innocently reply. 

A smirk, you know is real, graces his features. He walks you around the manor and to the front of the house before breaking out of this noble character of his. “I think she bought it. Your mother is a very suspicious woman.”

You scoff. “That’s just one of many titles she holds,” you mumble under your breath. As you walk towards your family’s carriage, you can’t help but ask, “Why did you do that?”

Jungkook stops you before the door and takes both your hands in his. Those amused eyes linger around your exposed breasts. He chuckles a bit at the way you arch your back to keep them there, making you giggle along with him. 

“Are you happy?”

You pause. Is that why he did this? To make you happy?

“Are you?”

He gives you a pointed look. “Answer the question, (Y/N).”

“Are you just doing this to make me happy, Jungkook?” You ask instead. “Because I will go back to her and tell her that we were both in that fountain and-”

“So what if I am?” He cuts you off. “I want you to be happy, (Y/N). Why is that so wrong?”

It’s not. There’s nothing wrong with him wanting you to be happy. But you want him to be happy with his decision. You’ve forced him into admitting things and meeting you. You don’t want to force him into this too. You want him to want to take you, to want to be with you. That is what true happiness is to you. It’s Jungkook unconditionally wanting you the way you unconditionally want him. 

Jungkook cups your face. Leaning his forehead against yours, he whispers, “I’m sorry I make you think I don’t want you just as much as you want me.” His nose brushes against yours, hitching your breath as he presses himself against you and continues in a breathy whisper, “Watching you cry breaks me in ways I can’t describe. And being the reason for your tears just destroys me, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to see you smile again.” 

Then, he presses his lips upon yours, reaching for the carriage door behind you. When he pulls away, he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, ushering you into your seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, baby,” he smiles. 

You’ve misjudged him for the third time tonight. Thinking he doesn’t care for you, thinking he left you, and thinking he doesn’t want you. All you can do now is pray that he forgives you for all the curses you’ve hurled his way. 

He chuckles and places kisses on both your hands. “It was very amusing actually.” 

You nod. “I’m sure.” But, you’re still sorry. 

With one last round of kisses over your knuckles, Jungkook promises, “I won’t be late.”

“I’ll be waiting regardless,” you immediately reply. 

The next three words are on the tip of your tongue. He can almost hear them, judging by the twitch of his brows. You don’t have a chance to say them though as he clears his throat and shuts the door. You watch him from the window, shakily exhaling. 

Jungkook calls the coachmen. The carriage jerks forward. The lasting image of his smirk, those sweet eyes and that muscular frame is all you try to see. However, in seconds, he’s pulled from view. The only memory you have of him remains with that sacrilegious confession in a fountain of fantasies. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[felassan]

Thoughts on Dark Fortress #3

(This post is under a cut due to spoilers.)

There’s a lot I thought/wanna say about this final issue, to the point that it’s hard to know where to start!

The cover art is.. beautiful. The symbolic allusion between Shirallas and the dragon (his draconic-y claws, the semblance of a broken collar falling off in the same way, the fire) 👌 On the whole, lined up side-by-side the three covers of Dark Fortress feel really thematically cohesive. Shirallas’ and the dragon’s claws echo Tractus’ sharp metal gauntlet, and as well as the similarities between the dragon and Shirallas, both Tractus and the dragon have a circle of weapons, and the patterning encircles Tractus’ neck and wrists like the collars and shackles. Y’know, like you can just really tell the cover artist planned ahead and put a lot of thought into how the 3 cover arts would ‘flow’ from one to the other, blending elements between them.

I posted some of my fav panels here.

I knew he was my boy but Shirallas’ backstory broke my heart ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` ) the first panel is so bleak and heart-wrenching. the burning aravel parts.. another Dalish clan met a terrible fate.

I wonder if his clan wandered Tevinter like Clan Oranavra? it makes me wonder if Shirallas and Fenris met in Tevinter. It’s nice to see that another clan took him in. And if Shirallas is a name he took, not his original name, I assume it has a special meaning, maybe to do with his quest for justice/vengeance. Shiral means journey, “allas” is found in vallas, which means set, as in the sun. The “vallas” in vallasdahlen (life-trees, planted in remembrance of those who dedicated their lives to the Dales) means life. in many ways the sun and life are the same thing, and there’s the obvious connection to Elgar’nan, eldest of the sun. So journey/quest - sun/life? Like since the loss of his clan he’s on a journey/quest for the rest of his life to get justice/vengeance, which are attributes of the sun god Elgar’nan? that became his life’s purpose and his direction of ‘travel’ ever since his loss, what he dedicated his life to since then. :’( 

Elgara vallas, da'len. ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` )

This is our first look at the vallaslin application process, no? what Shirallas is saying in this panel is the Song to Elgar’nan. it’s interesting, in that that prayer kind of resembles what happened, or almost happened, in this issue. a fortress shaken, fire, winged death (a dragon), pretenders to power, “strike the usurpers” (“Red Wraith, dispose of my enemies, kill the traitorous mage”). pretty cool right?

⬇️ me two months ago, look at the tags in red brackets. 

oh my son.. Dalish father roams, and the Dalish son won’t survive the fight   ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` )

the panel where Fenris and Shirallas shake hands ;; to which experience is Fenris speaking of, I wonder? once upon a time he saw Anders almost lose himself in his own quest for Justice/Vengeance for the mages.

Parallels between Shirallas succeeding in proving himself to Nenealeus and when Fenris succeeded in proving himself to Danarius all those years ago - compare. ;__; an elf surrounded by bodies of people he’d killed to prove himself, and a horrible Magister telling him “well done”.

I love the design of the sword and its use as a ‘divider’ on the first page splitting up the panels is both smart and beautiful. even here there’s pink light around it, the dragon’s fire

overall I wasn’t expecting this issue to begin with flashbacks to Shirallas’ past and backstory, so this whole page caught me off-guard

omg look at the red lyrium ‘veins’ under Shirallas’ skin. when he emerges from the sarcophagus that is a very cool picture of his face

Nenealeus has been taking beard-styling advice/trends from the dwarves

check out the sword crackling and reforming as Shirallas makes contact with it. is the red lyrium under his skin moving in this scene?

in the panel of Vaea running away from the dragon, it’s nice that as she runs Fenris is still behind facing the dragon, to protect her

gorgeous background in the panel with Marquette, and his expression is one of Regret for what he just did and for his part in all this. the dawning realization that I’ve Fucked Up Big Time

as Nenealeus’ weapon is a sword, does he have some Knight Enchanter-adjacent skills (I don’t expect the actual KE artform is exclusive to southern Circles only)? it’s a physical item ofc, not a summoned one. staffs are infused with lyrium to provide a conduit for a mage’s power. so then, mages can channel power through other [presumably similarly-infused] weapons too, not just mage staves/staff-like magic implements or their bare hands

given the color of Nenealeus’ magic and the fact that the dragon was under the control of his magic, it now makes sense to me why the dragon’s fire is that color! o:

Marius is badass (nice touch that his shoulder is smoking pink with the effects of one of Nenealeus’ magic attacks here) and the four panels where everyone’s grim and determined, facing off against each other and Venatori goons made me feel quite emotional. Aaron is Team Dad.. it’s nice to see him having a friendship / paternal moment with Francesca both acknowledging her pain and power while also giving her a pep talk. You can tell when he says too “We all need to do whatever we can in this moment” that he’s talking about himself too and may already be thinking one or some of them aren’t going to make it out of there

Francesca GO OFF!! she’s so powerful, and it’s really cool every time seeing her plant magic in action. it puts in perspective how powerful Velanna would have been with her similar skills (skills like Thornblades), and I enjoy the contrast of the fire in the background and the blue/green of Fran’s magic in action

Fenris is so cool-headed in high-octane combat situations, quickly taking stock, assessing and realizing the odds then coming up with a plan. the look on Vaea’s face when she’s like >:( wtf u can’t just leave is cute

cool pulled-back bird’s eye shot of the Fortress

Karasten continuing with the sass about Tevinter even during a siege

Fenris speaking Qunlat! I love that they brought this lore fact into play and had him make use of this skill, it’s a neat reminder of Fenris’ exchange with the Arishok if you take him into the compound in DA2. in the opening-up the gates scene, Vaea’s worried about letting the Qunari in and going to the Qunari (from her expression), but she trusts Fenris and his judgement enough to open the gate and see what happens

I like that Tessa’s bolts are fletched the blue of her accent color

chills at the panel where Shirallas is walking out of the flames advancing on Aaron. Ser Aaron, who never retreats, not at Ostagar, not now ;__;

the battle-scenes are beautiful, fast-paced and gory, chaotic and colorful, like it would feel to be there 

Fenris then puts himself between Aaron and Shirallas. I could hear “I will deal with this Red Wraith” in my head

Autumn can look so scary. a true mabari warrior! when she leapt towards Shirallas I was Stressed for her safety despite knowing rationally that they wouldn’t kill their dog!

the horizontal combat splash page is awesome

CLEVER GIRL Autumn. she and Fenris are in sync in this sequence.

Shirallas serving super saiyan vibes with the bulk, strength, hair

Fenris bargaining for Fran’s life and then trusting her to use her magic as part of the attack on the Red Wraith

lmao Ser Aaron

smart thinking Fran

Aaron praising her ;__;

Marius was straight-up prepared to die to stop Nenealeus ;__; poor Tessa in this exchange

the face-melting scene  👌

“Ah, Marius... I knew it would come down to the two of us”: this panel is just really cool? Nenealeus looks almost congenial here, which makes him seem all the more colder and more dangerous. and the burning bodies strongly remind me of the bodies at the start of Inquisition which are at the ‘blast point’ of the Breach at the Conclave

when Marius and Vaea’s eyes meet and they formulate the backup plan  👌

nice to see ‘staff’-less magic in action. Nenealeus is clearly a very powerful mage. when he’s frying Marius he has Star Wars Palpatine and force lightning vibes

OH VAEA... you did it, but my heart hurts that she had to kill someone for the first time, even though it was foreshadowed by her discussion with Marius in a earlier issue. & Nenealeus’ look of surprise as he dies says it all

it’s a serious moment but Marius now looks like a cat that stuck its paw in a socket hh

when Nenealeus is doubled over dead, it’s a great panel- the white background taking us out of the chaos that’s going on all-around for just a moment, showing the seriousness of what’s just transpired for Vaea and the realization of it setting in. a pause, the shock. & it’s nice to see Marius being soft with someone other than Calpernia or Tessa

but despite what’s just happened Vaea is still Vaea, she’s concerned about life and immediately wants to save the dragon. I like the part where panels of Vaea and Fran ‘face’ each other as they have this discussion, a lot.

in the moment that it takes off, does the dragon realize Vaea is responsible for saving its life? the ‘eye’ panel feels like an acknowledgement from it, or between the two

Fran’s magic destroying and sinking the sarcophagus into the ground reminds me of what in-world lore says happened to Arlathan, in a way

omg they have to stop Shirallas before he gets over 9000

do you think when Aaron says “We cannot retreat” he’s thinking of Loghain’s retreat at Ostagar?

at this point btw I’m pleasantly surprised that Marius survives, I had sort of expected him to die in this issue

oh Marquette, curiosity killed the cat dontcha know

new lore just dropped: the Red Wraith is able to heal from any wound, which is notable, and he and the sword have a.. symbiotic relationship? with each other. “He feeds energy to the sword from the red lyrium in his veins. And in turn, the sword heals his wounds.” What are the lore implications of this? Just what is red lyrium capable of?

Paragon Branka reference! and later on a Black Marsh reference

:’( As soon as Aaron launched into his story at this point my stress levels went through the roof and I knew it was Time. and then - well. you know :’((( Aaron had death flags in previous issues, so I was logically prepared and not surprised by the occurrence (this isn’t a bad thing btw), but I still wasn’t EMOTIONALLY PREPARED

mfw

nooooooooo.... It was at this point everyone that I burst into tears.. i have never Ugly Cried at a comic before so that was a new experience.. It’s hard to put my feelings about this into words bc rly it just straight-up destroyed me, u know.. Vaea’s “Don’t leave me”, Aaron’s tears when he knows the deed is done, his pendant.. surely the resemblance between the way he looks on this cover and the way he looks in the panel when he’s falling and Vaea is shouting “Aaron!” is intentional. i’m just destroyed okay

On the next page, holes in Shirallas’ shirt where his wounds were before they healed is a nice touch. Autumn’s bite here must surely be shattering the bone in his lower leg. then as if i wasn’t in enough pain already - being separated from the weapon, did that bring Shirallas back to himself for a while? His “Friend?” and the look in his eyes when he looks up at Fenris is so pitiful :’( for a moment just before the end he’s the boy in the wood surrounded by his burning clan again. RIP Shirallas son, we barely knew ye but I loved u :’(((

Having Marquette escape is a smart choice, it means there’s someone still kicking around Thedas who knows what happened here and what went down. maybe we seek him out in the next game when trying to follow up on the plot-thread of the idol/red lyrium/its capabilities/Venatori/Qunari? anyway, can’t help but admire, in a fashion anyway, someone who dips out to save their own skin, and his attempted grift when he’s talking to Tractus x)

we hadn’t seen the last of Tractus indeed. there he is! “This is me, crying over our loss” - he’s such an edgy boi

THE IDOL

“Oh, you mean this idol?” feels like they’re breaking the fourth wall and deliberately teasing us x)

when Fenris says “[stay clear of it] Red lyrium can do things with your mind” I wonder if he’s thinking of his experiences with things like Bartrand and Meredith

started to cry again at the final Aaron scenes ok.. when it pans back to Vaea and Autumn on the shore with the dying Aaron, they look so small and lonely set against the backdrop of the gray rock, windy shore, jagged outcrops. it’s a beautifully poignant and incredibly forlorn backdrop for this scene. Autumn in these panels, and again the parallel between Aaron lying here and him on that cover page.. ;; the whole scene is raw and gutwrenching. even in death Aaron was thinking about Vaea, apologizing that she had to take a life, outlining his hopes that she continues to have a positive future and doesn’t descend into any kind of darkness. the fact that all this time he’s carried around a letter addressed to King Alistair in his pocket, to recommend that Vaea be knighted, the fact that he’s crying too, the pendant, the tenderness between them, how proud Aaron is of Vaea, the fact that he goes out telling a story and smiling because he’s so proud of her, here at the end Aaron is filled with pride and looks at peace.. i can’t ( ok i cried again on this re-read when writing this post, Dad Stuff is the ultimate way to get me ok.. don’t look at me _(°:з」∠)_ )

Vaea IS more than worthy. I’m so glad someone recognizes that and sees it in her. King Alistair WOULD knight her, and there’s a beautiful poetry in that fact as the son of an elf. there’s also something poetic in that, if Vaea becomes the first elven knight of Ferelden, well it echoes the Emerald Knights of old in a way. that’s beautiful. I’m very proud of Vaea.

Here we see another parallel - when Francesca is comforting a crying Vaea as her father figure passes away, it directly echoes when Vaea comforted Francesca when she was crying after her own father died. 

Aaron’s hometown of Portsmouth is a real place in England

I’m happy to see Fran and Autumn continuing to travel with Vaea, and Fenris continuing to keep his promise to Aaron to keep Vaea safe, and that Cassé is now Fran’s horse (that’s a lovely touch considering she healed him in Blue Wraith, a full-circle moment)

Fenris is right, they were family. soft supportive Fenris, with emotional intelligence ;; (and he of all people knows about Found Family)

the last panel of Vaea crying is beautiful too, the sun is rising in the east after the terrible night they’ve had, and the ‘faded’ rectangles is a great style/composition choice

even Cassé the horse looks sad

the scene of Fran and Vaea riding double with Fenris smiling in the background is super cute, and I love that the last we see of the party is them honoring Ser Aaron by telling stories like he did, of his exploits. I hope they always tell stories of Ser Aaron ;;

I’m glad Tessa made it out okay, she’ll be able to return to Charter. 💜 I was a bit worried this wouldn’t be the case

the last page DBKGRRGRKRKGREKF 

Pour one out for Ser Aaron Hawthorne of Portsmouth, Knight of Ferelden.

---

A recap on wider plot-points

The Qunari Antaam have taken control of Castellum Tenebris, and Neromenian has fallen to their advance.

The sarcophagus is broken and has been buried deep in the ground. Francesca asserts that it won’t be found.

The Inquisition agents retrieved the broken shards of the weapon, and are going to take its remains to the shadow Inquisition.

Tractus Danarius is alive and in possession of the idol, or was at the timepoint of this comic. He wants to use it to impress the Venatori remnants so that he can rejoin them. Marquette thinks, or said that he thinks (could easily be a bluff or his lack of knowledge about it compared to someone like Solas), that it doesn’t work anymore. (I’m leaning towards it does still work, otherwise why would Solas be interested in it?)

Solas, in what looks kinda like his most recent DA4 trailer gear, was watching the events of this series/arc the whole time and knows what happened. He knows Tractus has the idol. None of the people in this comic plot are “People Solas doesn’t know”. And it seems that he is able to use eluvians to watch people.

There’s a chance that Tractus Danarius is the mage in Tevinter Nights, from Dread Wolf Take You - the mage from House Danarius who went with some slaves to Nevarra to use the idol to perform a ritual with the Mortalitasi. That mage wanted to change the world to help fight the Antaam’s invasion. In the tale at least, he used the idol, a rift opened, the Dread Wolf popped out and killed him. At the time of that ritual the idol was still working.

+ some new lore -

the Red Wraith was able to heal from any wound, which is notable, and he and the sword the idol created had a.. symbiotic relationship? with each other. “He feeds energy to the sword from the red lyrium in his veins. And in turn, the sword heals his wounds.” What are the lore implications of this? Just what is red lyrium capable of?

eluvians can be used to watch people. not just to communicate over long distances or as portals between places

Lastly I don’t know what to do with myself anymore as this is the end of a long-running DA arc and was the final piece of [currently-known about] new canon Dragon Age content that we’ll get.

[refinedbuffoonery]

Flawless (7)

Con Artist AU. masterlist. 

Content Warning: swearing, PTSD, violence, sex

Before we get started here, you all need to know that Flawless will be going on a mini-hiatus. This chapter is the end of my original outline, and I need to spend some time planning out the next plot arc before I write the next chapter. 

(Also, shoutout to the lovely humans who translated the line in French. Y’all are the real MVPs.)

Anyway, this is it. The chapter you’ve all been waiting for. The heist. It feels so surreal to finally write it. As always, thank you for coming on this wild ride with me. ❤

*****

In the shadow of its brightly illuminated landmarks, Paris hummed to the tune of debauchery. 

Paparazzi gathered around the Louvre’s glass pyramid, waiting to capture a clear picture of a celebrity guest entering the afterparty. Riley shielded her face with her clutch as she walked in, careful to remain unidentifiable in the barrage of photos. The gold buttons on her emerald jacket-dress caught the warm light emanating from the pyramid and the bright camera flashes. She was well dressed, but not enough to stand out. Tonight, Riley needed to blend in. 

She ran a hand through her hair, making sure the loose curls covered her earpiece. For the sake of stealth, the team’s comms were skin color, but they were Nikki and Cage’s skin color, not Riley’s. 

Riley was half-tempted to throw her comms into one of the fountains out of spite. 

She was the last of the Five Eyes to arrive. They staggered their arrivals to avoid being associated with one another, as a precaution. Pulse thrumming in anticipation, Riley bounced on her toes slightly as she waited in line to check in. The Louvre security team meticulously checked each guest’s ID against the guest list; there would be no party crashers tonight. 

It had been all too easy for Riley to add the Five Eyes’ cover identities to the guest list a week ago. Now, she handed the stone-faced security guard a drivers’ license bearing her face and the name “Danika Jackson.” Returning her ID with a nod, the security guard stepped aside, allowing Riley to enter the party. 

Everyone is responsible for their own entrance and exit. That was her new rule. She got everyone’s names added to the guest list, but her assistance ended there. If someone ran into trouble, it was on them to bail themselves out. 

Riley had learned that rule from her mentor when she first dipped her toes into the world of two-faced schemes and nimble-fingered cons, but she never truly understood it—or saw the need to enforce it—until she felt the bite of handcuffs digging into her wrists. 

It was a mistake she’d never make again. 

Riley strolled through the hallway bearing massive Italian paintings, slowly making her way to the room containing the most overrated painting of all time—and the rendezvous point. 

The Mona Lisa room was empty aside from a blonde woman in a beaded, blood-red cocktail dress standing much too close to the glass-encased painting. Riley stood to the woman’s right and studied the painting as well. It was underwhelming. 

“You’d think the most beautiful woman in art would be wearing a prettier dress,” Nikki remarked.

Riley snorted, crossing her arms. “Says the woman who just bought a four-thousand-dollar cheetah print pantsuit.”

Nikki feigned offence. “You’re just jealous because you couldn’t pull it off. Anyway, quiz time. What year did da Vinci paint the Mona Lisa?” 

“1503,” Riley answered easily. “And the woman’s name is Lisa del Giocondo.” Nikki’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What’s that look for?” 

“I didn’t think you actually listen when I talk about art.” 

Riley offered her friend a small smile. “I’m always listening to you.” The sound of heels clicking down the hall made them pause. When the coast was clear, Riley murmured, “Is everyone in position?”

“Yeah. Desi and Sam should be inside already, and Jill checked in a few guests in front of me.”

“How did that go?”

“Easy peasy.” Nikki glanced at Riley and softened her tone. “Are we sure Jill is ready for this?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we? Don’t forget, it was your idea to recruit her.”

Nikki turned back to the Mona Lisa. “You know, you really do suck at pep talks.” 

“Oh shut up.” Riley rolled her eyes. “Are you sure you want control room duty?” 

Nikki spared her a sideways glance. “I’ll do it. You did it last time.” Her second sentence hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the job gone horribly wrong. And a reminder of all the things they still hadn’t talked about. 

Riley brushed it aside. They could talk after they were each forty million dollars richer. 

Pulling a flash drive hidden inside an old lipstick tube out of her clutch, Riley instructed, “Plug this in, and it’ll do half the work for you.” 

“Thanks.” Nikki put the tube in her own purse. “See you on the other side.” 

“Don’t get caught.” 

“Don’t get caught,” Nikki parroted, and Riley strode down the hall toward the party.

She followed the pulsing music and the stream of guests to a room in the far corner of the museum, passing the employee door Nikki would sneak into along the way. Crossing the threshold, she couldn’t conceal her gasp. Riley had seen plenty of opulent rooms over the years, but the Galerie d’Apollon was something else entirely. Gold moulding framed the dozens of paintings covering the walls and the arched ceiling. Display cases containing the French Crown Jewels formed a line down the middle of the rectangular room. Despite the party’s couture dress code, the bedazzled guests looked entirely underdressed compared to the grandeur of the gallery.

She only let herself be awestruck for a few seconds before getting to work, marking the exits and security cameras. Riley didn’t like how deep the gallery was in the museum—and how far she would have to walk to make a clean escape with the jewels. 

She would be the one walking out with them. No one else. Riley had made that crystal clear during the team planning meeting a few days ago. 

Draped in black fabric, the case containing the designer jewelry sat in the middle of the gallery. A security guard stood by it, no doubt to ward off nosey guests wanting a sneak peek. 

A wave of nausea passed through her, reminding Riley that the closest thing to a substantial meal she’d eaten all day was the two pastries she ate a few hours ago. She slipped through the crowd with practiced ease, heading for the snack table. Jill was already there, gorging herself on bread and cheese. Eyes wide, the blonde froze as Riley sidled next to her, evidently thinking she was in trouble. 

But Riley simply reached for a piece of bread and asked, “Which cheese is the best?” 

Exhaling audibly, Jill pointed a manicured, light blue nail. “That one.” Riley tried it. Jill was right; it was delicious. 

“You ready, Blondie?” Riley asked, lowering her voice. “There’s no job unless you get this right.” 

Jill rolled her shoulders back, snarking, “No pressure or anything.” There was a bite to her words, one Riley noticed only came out when someone, namely her, pushed the blonde a little too far. 

“Sorry,” Riley said, and she meant it. “You can do this. Don’t second-guess yourself. Commit.” 

Jill merely nodded, swallowing another piece of cheese. 

Riley wandered off, not wanting to stay with Jill too long. With her back to a wall, she scanned the room in search of Desi and Cage. When she didn’t see them on her first sweep, Riley furrowed her brow. Where the hell were they? 

A bright laugh carried across the room—Cage. There you are, Riley thought. She spied her teammate enjoying the spotlight in the center of a group of models all cooing over Cage’s pale pink dress. It suited Cage, with its billowy sleeves and flowy skirt that hit just below her knees. Cage giggled again, putting her hand on a woman’s shoulder a little too boldly for the gesture to be casual. 

Predictably, Desi wasn’t far away, staring daggers at her shameless flirt of a girlfriend. 

Riley unmuted her comms. “Easy there, Des. It’s just an act.” 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she snapped. Even from a distance, Riley could see Desi’s tight grip on her champagne flute. 

Riley cooed, “So jealous.” 

The woman wrapped a proprietary arm around Cage, clearly welcome to the blonde’s advances, and Cage beamed at her. 

It was enough to push Desi over the edge. “Don’t forget whose bed you’re sleeping in tonight, Samantha,” she snarled. “And I don’t remember agreeing to share.” 

Cage excused herself from the group. “My love, did it ever occur to you that I’m making you jealous on purpose? Because we both know—”

Nikki cut her off, rescuing the team from whatever filthy thing was about to come out of Cage’s mouth. “Don’t be gross, you two.” Riley stifled a laugh. She and Nikki had been subjected to many things they didn’t want to hear over the years. This would hardly faze her now.

Focus. They needed to focus. 

Riley finally spotted the sharp-eyed assistant she noticed at the runway show. Always two steps behind the designer, the young woman obediently trailed him as he floated from group to group. The assistant finished her drink, setting it on the tray of a passing waiter, and strode toward the main hallway in this wing of the museum. 

“I think she’s going to the bathroom,” Jill said. “Do I follow her?” 

Snagging a drink of her own, Riley answered, “No. Bump into her when she comes back.” She watched Jill make her way toward the far side of the gallery, ready to intercept the assistant and steal her keys. 

Everything was going to plan. Jill just had to steal the keys, and then all they had to do was hurry up and wait for the big reveal. Eight o’clock, Riley was told upon arrival. The designer would commence his speech at eight, then reveal his masterpiece to the world. 

Riley checked her watch. Thirty more minutes. 

She knew she’d been standing in this spot for too long already, but Riley was loath to give up the relative safety of having a wall at her back. The twinge of fear she’d felt earlier at the runway show came raging to the surface, rooting her stiletto-clad feet in place. Leaving the wall meant having people in her blind spot. No one’s going to hurt me, Riley promised herself. This is a party, not a prison. 

Her legs felt like lead weights, but Riley forced herself to re-enter the crowd, one agonizing stride at a time. She made it as far as the nearest display case before she had to stop, and her eyes landed on a tiara resting in the center of the display. Countless tiny diamonds formed flowery swoops and swirls, with a handful of emeralds scattered between them, filling what would otherwise be empty spaces. In the center, the diamonds framed a large, round emerald, mimicking the shape of a flower. 

It was exactly what Riley would have stolen had the Five Eyes agreed to rob the Louvre itself, rather than this party. Maybe she’d come back for it, one day. 

Using the case as a pseudo-wall, Riley took a deep breath and re-scanned the room in search of Jill. Unsurprisingly, Jill was exactly where Riley had last seen her.

She kept an eye on the recruit, knowing Desi and Cage were doing the same. Riley was impressed; Jill had quickly figured out how to linger without being obvious she was waiting for something. Jill mindlessly pushed up her glasses—the only visible sign of her nerves—and the movement drew Riley’s attention. 

But not to Jill. 

To another blond head, far behind her. One Riley desperately hoped to never see again. 

“We have a problem,” Desi said. 

“I saw.” 

Nikki’s ex-boyfriend stalked into the gallery, a taller, older man at his heels like a shadow—the same men who chased Riley, Nikki, and Jill through the taco shop a few weeks ago. 

Fuck.

Ducking her head to avoid being spotted, Riley hissed, “Nik, get your ass to the control room and lock the door behind you. We’ve got company.” 

“Already here. Accessing system controls as we speak. Whoever designed the security system in this place should be fired, because this is ridiculously simple. I should’ve left it in French just to keep it interesting.” A pause. "Who's here? Wait. No. Let me guess. Interpol? The mob? That bitchy designer I once robbed point-blank?" 

"Your ex." 

"Oh."

"You didn't tell him about our dream job, did you?" The words came out a little too accusatory, but Riley didn't care. She needed to know. 

"No! Of course I didn't. He— Look, I don't know why he's here, and we can figure that out later. Right now, you need to keep him busy. He's smart, Riles. Maybe even smarter than you. Be careful." 

Riley scoffed. "Smarter than me? We'll see about that." 

"I'm serious, Riley." 

But Riley ignored her, instead giving instructions of her own. "Cage, you watch Jill. Des—" 

"I've got the big one." Classic Desi, never letting her finish a sentence and yet always knowing what she was going to say. The habit was obnoxious at first, but over time Riley learned to appreciate it. "See the bulge on his left side? He keeps touching it." Desi said. "He's armed." 

“He’s what?” Jill exclaimed. 

Chuckling, Desi said, “Now look at my left side. We match.” A small, terrified squeak was the only response. “Well, what did you think I meant when I told you I’m the team’s exfil specialist?” 

“Not that!” 

“And Nik’s ex?” Riley asked, redirecting the conversation. 

“Seems clean.” 

“He is,” Nikki confirmed. “Mac hates guns.” 

“You know,” Riley said, studying the larger of the two men, “The other one kind of looks like a guy who dated my mom once.” 

“Really?” Desi asked. “Think he’s the same guy?” 

Riley took a closer look. He was tall, with broad, muscled shoulders and a buzzed haircut, and considering how often he fidgeted with his tie, he didn’t get dressed up often. He smiled at a passing waitress. He had an open, friendly smile, which totally contrasted with the systematic way he scanned the room. “Nah.”

Jill squawked, “Wait! Are we really still going through with this? Didn’t it just get a whole lot harder?” 

“You say harder, I say more fun,” Cage said. “Just stick to the plan. You’ll be fine.” 

Jill, it seemed, wasn’t so easily reassured. “Am I the only one who sees this is a trap?” 

“It’s only a trap when you don’t know about it. When you do, it’s a challenge,” Riley said. 

“But what if the plan goes wrong? Then what?” 

At the same time, all four women answered, “Improvise.” 

Riley muted her comms as she approached Nikki’s ex; Jill didn’t need the added distraction. Help her, Riley pleaded with the universe. You owe me. 

Pushing her concerns about Jill to the back of her mind, Riley studied her target. There was a champagne flute in the spy’s hand, but he didn’t drink it—not even a sip—and his methodical gaze swept the room, no doubt making note of each guest and who they interacted with. 

He was cute, she had to admit. Definitely Nikki’s type. 

Purposefully not watching where she was going, Riley collided with him, narrowly avoiding sloshing his drink onto her shoes. She pretended to stumble, and his free hand caught her waist, ensuring Riley stayed upright. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Pardon me.” 

His hand left her side. Frowning, he asked, “Do I know you?” 

Don’t lie. Evade. Her former mentor taught her that. 

Riley smirked. “I bet you use that line on every beautiful woman you stumble into.” 

“Only when I’m too blown away to say something original.” He winked. 

Maybe this would be easier than Riley anticipated. “Care to wander the museum with me while you practice your next line?” 

“Normally I would, but I just got out of a relationship, and I’m not looking to start anything new.” 

So much for that plan. 

His honesty, however, was surprising. 

“Not even a little fun?” she goaded, but Nikki’s ex declined once more before excusing himself and vanishing into the crowd. 

At least Desi had better luck keeping the other spy occupied. She had him cornered, her body carefully angled to prevent him from seeing the slight bulge from the gun hidden in her dress. The plunging neckline had two purposes—easy access to the gun holstered at her side while providing a distracting view of her chest and intricate tattoos. It was just enough to snag wandering eyes and keep them focused on the front of her body, rather than the side. To the spy’s credit, his eyes remained pointedly fixed on Desi’s face. 

“Got the keys,” Jill announced. Perfect timing. 

Riley breathed a sigh of relief. “Good work, Blondie.” 

Now, all they had to do was wait.

*****

While the designer yammered some pretentious bullshit about fine jewelry as the centerpiece of fashion and art, Riley slowly pushed her way to the front of the crowd gathering for the reveal. A few feet away, Cage did the same. Across from them—closest to the still-covered jewelry display case—Desi and Jill took their places. None of them were particularly interested by the designer’s speech, but Nikki would be hanging on every word if she were here. 

The designer rambled on, explaining how particular pieces among the French Crown Jewels influenced the designs of his own work. It was awfully arrogant, Riley thought, comparing his own work to such timeless pieces. The longer he spoke, the more Riley disliked him and didn’t feel even an ounce of guilt for robbing him. 

Lingering on the edge of the crowd, Nikki’s ex and his partner seemed content to remain out of the way. For all Riley cared, they could stay there all night. 

The gallery lights flickered once. A few guests glanced up nervously, but the majority remained transfixed on the designer. 

Nikki’s voice crackled through the comms. “Everyone ready? Nod once if you are.” Riley nodded. One by one, so did everyone else. “Alrighty then. Lights out in five…”

Riley counted the number of paces between her and Cage—six. 

“Four…”

Paces from Cage to the jewelry case—eight. 

“Three…”

Paces from the case back to her original position—ten. 

Two…

Closing her eyes, Riley waited. 

“One.” 

Several women shrieked when the lights went out. 

Riley opened her eyes, and before they’d even adjusted to the dark, she strode toward Cage. Six steps. She collided with Cage, dropping her purse on the ground and taking Cage’s identical one, containing replicas of the necklace and earrings. 

Cage shouted that someone stole her purse, causing a scene. She’d chatted and flirted with enough people throughout the night for her voice to be easily recognized, and a murmur broke out among the agitated crowd, creating just enough background noise to cover the sound of Riley’s heels clicking on the floor. 

Eight steps to the back side of the jewelry display. Riley could just make out Jill and Desi unlocking the case with the assistant’s keys. She braced for an alarm to sound, but there was nothing. Atta girl, Nikki. 

Riley opened the purse. Carefully, Desi replaced the real jewels with the fakes, depositing the real ones inside Cage’s purse. 

Jill locked the case and replaced the cover, and Riley returned to her original position among the crowd. The designer and his assistant remained oblivious to what transpired behind them, even as Jill slipped the keys back into the assistant’s dress pocket.

“Lights on in three,” Nikki warned. 

Emergency lights flickered on, casting a harsh white light over the murmuring crowd. A man angrily questioned what happened, followed by a chorus of “Yeah, what he said!”s in a variety of languages. The assistant urged the crowd to remain calm, promising everything would be sorted out shortly. 

Riley looked over her shoulder, searching for Nikki’s ex. He was nowhere to be found. She narrowed her eyes, but with two hundred million dollars worth of jewelry in her hand, Riley decided she didn’t particularly care. 

The woman Cage flirted with the longest stepped forward, picking up the purse Riley had tossed near Cage’s feet. “Isn’t this your purse?” she asked Cage. 

Riley’s teammate feigned embarrassment, gracefully reclaiming the purse. “Yes, that’s it. Thank you.” 

Just as an outraged Cage exclaimed the purse was empty, Riley melted into the dispersing crowd, slowly making her way toward the museum’s exit. That was the plan. She’d leave first, and once she escaped with the jewels, everyone else would exit as well. 

Riley retraced her steps, heels clicking on the hardwood flooring of the museum’s endless long hallways. She didn’t look at any of the art as she passed, not even a single glance. Art had always been more Nikki’s thing than hers. 

Weaving her way back to the exit, Riley prayed Nikki hadn’t missed any of the cameras. She was supposed to loop them all, allowing Riley to leave the museum unseen. But with each additional camera—some obvious, some not—Riley’s anxiety rose. 

Nikki knows what she’s doing, Riley reminded herself. She won’t let anything happen to me. 

Two years ago, that reassurance would’ve been enough. 

Now, her distrusting brain shot back, Are you sure? 

Riley didn’t dignify it with a response. 

Passing the museum’s security checkpoint, Riley smiled at a bored-looking security guard. “Vous partez déjà?” he asked. 

Riley hoped the security guard asked why she was leaving so soon. She never did get around to brushing up on her French. “Oui, I have a flight to catch.” Not a lie, although the flight wouldn’t take off until early tomorrow morning. 

The crisp night breeze prickled Riley’s bare skin. She took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs. For the first time that night, Riley finally felt her body start to relax. The vast, empty plaza felt so much safer than the packed gallery. Still not safe enough to let her guard down, but safer. Riley slipped her hand into the purse, fingers closing around an earring. It was surprisingly heavy in her palm. 

Another flawless job. The Five Eyes were back in business. 

She was halfway across the plaza when Nikki started cursing, but Riley didn’t slow. Everyone is responsible for their own exit. The job was done. No turning back now. 

There was a distinct male voice in the background, but Riley couldn’t make out what he said. 

“What do you mean, ‘I had a feeling you’d be here’?” Nikki demanded. “We haven’t spoken in months, Mac, and I know you didn’t track me here on your own.” 

Her ex’s voice was nothing more than a low, indiscernible rumble. 

“What?” Nikki whispered, her voice breaking mid-word. 

As much as Riley wanted to know what he said, she kept walking. But that didn’t stop the others from hissing Nikki’s name, demanding to know what was going on. 

Nikki yelped, and then the male voice purred, loud and clear, “I know you’re listening, Riley. Why don’t we go on that little walk now?” 

With a cold laugh, Riley said, “In your fucking dreams.” How did he know her name? As far as she knew, Nikki never mentioned her. 

Still, she kept walking. Everyone is responsible for their own exit. No matter what. 

Riley muted her comms, and Nikki’s piercing shriek filled her ear. A muffled grunt followed.

Then nothing. 

Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay. 

“Riley, you need to come back,” Jill pleaded. “Nikki needs help.” 

She didn’t answer, clenching her jaw with the effort to keep silent. An airplane flew overhead, and Riley tracked its path across the sky. Every step brought Riley closer to her own flight home—and the freedom that entailed. Turning around now would only put that in jeopardy. 

But every step also took her away from her best friend. The woman she once believed she’d do anything for. 

Jill was overreacting, Riley reasoned. Nikki was more than capable of getting herself out of a bind. Riley lost track of the number of impossible situations she and Nikki had found themselves in over the years, and they always found a way to escape. 

“Sam is getting Jill out,” Desi said, slightly out of breath. “Riles, I don’t think I can get Nikki out on my own. Jill is right. You need to come back.” 

Riley faltered. If Desi thought there was a problem, then something must’ve gone really, really wrong. 

Maybe Jill wasn’t overreacting after all. 

“Des—” Cage started. “They opened the case.” 

“So?” 

“They know the jewels are fake. If Riley comes back, it won’t just be Nikki going to prison.” 

Prison. 

Riley didn’t think she was breathing. Heart thudding wildly, her stomach tied itself into knots, and her clothes became damp with sweat. The sense of safety she’d felt earlier was gone, and Riley fought the urge to run. Every little noise—traffic, pedestrian chatter, a siren in the distance—was coming for her, ready to drag her into some dark hole she’d never emerge from. 

Nothing was logical anymore, like the part of her brain capable of rational thought had gone to sleep. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to wake up, but it was no use. 

Run, while you still have the chance, her body screamed. 

Everyone is responsible for their own exit, her brain repeated. 

She needed to turn around. Nikki couldn’t go to prison. 

Two years ago, Riley had gone to prison in Nikki’s stead. She let herself be arrested to protect her friends. Her family. 

If Nikki went to prison now, then Riley’s sacrifice would be in vain. 

But Riley’s body refused to turn around. Her worst memories from prison flashed before her eyes—ones Riley desperately wanted to forget—like a cougar crouching in the shadows, waiting for the exact moment she was at her weakest to pounce. 

She couldn’t go back there. She couldn’t go through that again. 

She wouldn’t survive it twice. 

“Riles,” Nikki pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Where are you?” 

Run, that voice in her head said. Don’t look back. 

Her steps were slower now, less sure. But Riley didn’t stop. She couldn’t. 

“I need you.” 

Save yourself, girl. 

“I’m sorry,” Riley whispered, but her comms were still muted. With a shaking hand, Riley unmuted them one last time. 

It’s better this way, the voice promised. You’ll see. 

It was all too easy to slip into the brutal, emotionless persona she’d built while in prison, the process having become instinct. It was necessary then, to keep her safe and alive. Now, it did the same, preventing Riley from making a mistake every cell in her body knew she wouldn’t come back from. 

In a cold, unflinching voice, Riley said, “Everyone is responsible for their own exit.” 

She threw her earpiece into a nearby fountain, and the click of her stilettos echoed in the night. 

~ Tag List ~ Want to be added? Send me an ask.

@macrileyedits / @hellishrose / @losingitovermacriley​ / @mylifequotesshowallofthem / @thecarrieonokay / @holbytlanna​ /

[shananigans402]

1-65 will do, please. Thanks fuck face :)

I knew exactly who this was and I was so tempted to not reply, but your punishment is having to read through all my answers and remember them forever or you fail the friend test. To everyone else, please do not click unless you want to be very bored, my answers are not interesting lol

1. Do you ever doubt the existence of others than you? Nope

2. On a scale of 1-5, how afraid of the dark are you? Assuming 5 is the most, 1. Maybe 2. 

3. The person you would never want to meet? The person who sent me this (jk I’m excited for our eventual meet up where we hit up a strip club first thing 🙏)

4. What is your favorite word? I answered with ‘conniption’ the other day and still have not found a word I like more.

5. If you were a type of tree, what would you be? Already answered this, fruit tree! I also like palm trees, maple trees, and willow trees. I know that’s not the question, I’m just saying random shit now.

6. When you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought? It took me a long while to remember where I was this morning. I honestly don’t remember, I was rushing to get ready for an early morning meeting.

7. What shirt are you wearing? My Orlando Strong shirt 

8. What do you label yourself as? Lesbian

9. Bright room or dark room? Bright room

10. What were you doing at midnight last night? Sleeping? Possibly checking on a feverish little beeb who was going through it with her second dose of the vaccine.

11. Favorite age you’ve been so far? No idea. I like various ages for different reasons, but this age so far is not bad. 

12. Who told you they loved you last? Probably my sister 🤷‍♀️

13. Your worst enemy? The person who sent this ask.

14. What is your current desktop picture? The apple pic of Catalina island that changes based on time of day (yes it’s the default, don’t judge me)

15. Do you like someone? Lol yeah I hope so 😂

16. The last song you listened to? Pretty Girl by Hayley Kiyoko 

17. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up? Definitely @raginage

18. Who would you really like to just punch in the face? I feel like I can only attack Raginage so many times. Can I pick a fictional character? This week I was real mad at Dave in The Darkness. BaBe!​

19. If anyone could be your slave for a day, who would it be and what would they have to do? Lol no one, you’re talking to a person who feels very uncomfortable with anyone doing anything nice for them.

20. What is your best physical attribute? (showing said attribute is optional) Not this again. Last time I said eyes? Still no pics, sorry

21. If you were the opposite sex for one day, what would you look like and what would you do? What would I look like? Do I get to design myself like a sim? I honestly don’t know what I’d do because I doubt the world needs another clueless white man walking around, so maybe just stay at home. 

22. Do you have a secret talent? If yes, what is it? Nope. And my last answer to this was awful. I do think I have a fantastic ability to annoy my friends but in a way that’s just amusing/endearing enough to make them still want to talk to me 😌

23. What is one unique thing you’re afraid of? Unique? Uhm well my two big fears are confined spaces and deep water so a submarine is like my worst nightmare.

24. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your disposal. Oh this is going to sound so odd. To be clear, I’ve had better sandwiches, but my go-to is provolone, turkey, roast beef, and spicy brown mustard or whole grain mustard. Please don’t judge me.

25. You just found $100! How are you going to spend it? Travel budget for future trips to visit my buds and get into trouble and eat food. I know $100 won’t go far, but it’s something.

26. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, but you have to leave immediately. Where are you going to go? Well, after my last answer I want to visit my friends! But there are too many people to visit and I only have one ticket. So change of plans. I’m going on a solo trip to Greece. Or Argentina. Or Iceland. Or Bali. Damn, I’m indecisive. 

27. An angel appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. “Be brand-specific” it says. Man! What are you gonna say about that? Even if you don’t drink booze there’s something you can figure out… so what’s it gonna be? Rabble red blend. Just a solid red wine. Also because @viola-lloyds stole my answer the other day (Juneshine; to be fair I asked her this question but whatever) and I don’t want to copy her.

28. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place? Oh I answered this one, something about respecting others. Yeah, a nice rule like that. Want to establish some healthy communication on this island.

29. What is your favorite expletive? It’s still fuck

30. Your house is on fire, holy shit! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don’t worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely. So what’s the one thing you’re going to save from that blazing inferno? But what about my PLANTS. Can they count as loved ones? Probably my laptop, I know that’s lame but like...I have a lot of stuff on here. Or the collection of cards I have that my granddad drew little drawings in, I want to get them all framed.

31. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be? To be honest, I don’t know if I’d change big life events in case it altered the trajectory of where I ended up. So idk maybe the ending of Bly, let’s give those lesbians have a happy ending!

32. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world! Italy! But wait, let’s get back to this sleeping with celebrities and super-powers bit...

33. The Celestial Gates Of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn’t think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back? Oh that’s a really tough question. I always wanted to meet my great-grandma Olga because she seemed like a really awesome lady. 

34. What was your last dream about? I can’t remember, this is bothering me because I wish I could! I’m sorry. My gf recently had a dream where I kissed a dude right in front of her. It made us both very uncomfy lol

35. Are you a good….[insert anything you’d like here]? I hate this question because I can only think of one thing.

36. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital? For surgery, yeah

37. Have you ever built a snowman? But of course!

38. What is the color of your socks? Not wearing any? I was wearing blue ones earlier. Jfc my answers are so boring.

39. What type of music do you like? Lots! I tend to listen to indie, classic rock, and some pop

40. Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets? Sunsets!

41. What is your favorite milkshake flavor? Chocolate or a variant (chocolate peanut butter, chocolate caramel)

42. What football team do you support? (I will answer in terms of American football as well as soccer) LA Rams or Seattle Seahawks. I know they’re in the same division. It’s tough. (Please don’t ask me why these teams)

43. Do you have any scars? Yep, mostly from burning myself on ovens. I simply get too excited for my food.

44. What do you want to be when you graduate? I...have graduated? 

45. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? Well bestie recently said I have “lesbian hands” and I think that’s code for man hands so maybe that hahaha

46. Are you reliable? I try to be!

47. If you could ask your future self one question, what would it be? How many more times will I watch The Darkness before I learn my lesson? (Related: When does other bestie finally admit to her fetish?)

48. Do you hold grudges? Not typically, no

49. If you could breed two animals together to defy the laws of nature, what new animal would you create? A dog and an otter? Can we domesticate otters? No, a horse and a large bird, create a pegasus and then free travel.

50. What is the most unusual conversation you’ve ever had? Oh god. I don’t even know where to start today tbh. Damie and pokemon and cosycon and looming and feet and [redacted] and developing apps for VP. So many fantastic conversations. 

In real life, probably the time I was at a laundromat in Italy and this guy wandered in with a beer, sat next to me and my male roommate, assumed we were a couple, and proceeded to give us bizarre life advice. I wish I could remember more of it, but it was so odd.

51. Are you a good liar? Hmm I’m okay at it I think, that is, I can convince people I’m serious when I’m actually joking. But I don’t like actually lying if it’s not just teasing someone. 

52. How long could you go without talking? Probably a few days if I had to.

53. What has been you worst haircut/style? The haircut I got before studying abroad! It was too short and I was so sad.

54. Have you ever baked your own cake? For a birthday? No. For fun? Absolutely.

55. Can you do any accents other than your own? Not well, no

56. What do you like on your toast? Butter and/or honey and/or jam

57. What is the last thing you drew a picture of? My beautiful depiction of a scene of chapter one of Private Dancer. 

58. What would be you dream car? An electric car of some sort. I don’t know enough about cars tbh

59. Do you sing in the shower? Or do anything unusual in the shower? Explain. Nope but sometimes I’ll play music and dance and maybe softly sing.

60. Do you believe in aliens? Yep! Definitely 

61. Do you often read your horoscope? Almost never unless someone sends it to me.

62. What is your favorite letter of the alphabet? Already answered, A

63. Which is cooler: dinosaurs or dragons? Dinosaurs! 🦕

64. What do you think about babies? What do I think about them? They’re pretty cool. Just tiny little humans. 

65. Freebie! Ask anything interesting you can think of. I was very nice and let you correct your mistake and submit one after the fact:

In your opinion what is the best thing you can cook, like your speciality? My favorite thing to make is pasta, I started making my own sauce and I’d love to make pasta from scratch sometime.

[monstersandmaw]

Embers - Chapter Three

It's Friday again how did that come around so quickly?! That means a new chapter! This week we get to know a little more about our somewhat prickly-seeming dragon friend...

Hope you enjoy it! Looking forward to your feedback as always.

One, Two

While Mikaeïl held the door open for you behind him, he didn’t meet your eye and turned away the moment you’d passed the threshold, striding elegantly down the corridor with his long red hair swinging gently from side to side. You tried not to let your canvas shoulder-satchel bash on the immaculate paintwork of the architrave as you passed through it to hurry after him. Part of you didn’t dare break the silence of his stern wake, but another part of you - the feistier and cheekier part - decided it couldn’t hurt.

“Has your family lived here for very long?” you ventured.

Mikaeïl’s shoulders stiffened slightly, and you thought for a horrible moment that you really ought not to have spoken up at all. Then, without breaking stride, he turned just far enough to shoot you golden-eyed look over his shoulder that revealed a microscopic smile at the corner of his inordinately pretty mouth. “We have,” he said. “My grandfather built the current house.”

“Your grandfather?” you murmured, still a couple of paces behind him, because trying to walk next to him in the narrow confines of the corridor would have been a bit odd. “I thought the place was older than that…”

“You aren’t particularly observant, are you?”

“Excuse me?” you blurted, eyebrows rising.

He only chuckled darkly and shook his head, and you started to feel like he perhaps wasn’t as nice as Frankie had indicated he could be.

Just when you had thought about letting this new-found dislike of him settle more permanently in your estimation of him, his quiet, regular footsteps stalled and he halted. “I… That was unfair of me. I apologise,” he said without looking at you.

“Don’t socialise much outside of work, do you?” you quipped back rather sharply, and to your surprise he turned slowly to look at you with a dolorous, heartfelt expression on his beautiful face. His porcelain mask had vanished completely. He didn’t speak, but his faltering smile said plenty, and it was your turn to apologise.

Mikaeïl laughed softly and said, “I think I deserved that one,” and stretched out his elegant hand to you. “Call it even and draw a line under it?”

You couldn’t help the way your lips twisted into a wry smile as you shook his hand and nodded. His hand was cool, which surprised you for some reason - you’d assumed he’d be warm, though perhaps it was just the fiery hair - and he had the soft skin of a scholar.

“And you’re absolutely right,” he said as he released your hand. “I don’t socialise much. Besides, humans… confuse me at best.”

Casting him an amusedly puzzled look, you grinned, “Anything I can help clear up? I mean, while you’ve got one captive…”

His eyes flashed suddenly, flaring a bright yellow before returning to their usual burnished gold, and you frowned, but he laughed gently enough. “Nothing I can think of right now, but I’ll be sure to ask. I do have your number after all…”

“That was for Frankie…” you grinned playfully.

“I don’t know that he’s interested in humans, though I’m not sure.”

“And you are?”

“Again,” he said with a slight tilt of his head, “I’m not sure.” Mikaeïl smiled and twitched his head towards the other end of the corridor. “Come, let’s get you that drink.”

“You make it sound like there’s a champagne fountain waiting for me behind that door,” you muttered. “I mean with this place, who knows…?”

Taking a deep breath, Mikaeïl said, “Well, there has been a champagne fountain here in the past… at my brother’s birthday, but personally I’m more of a fan of the conventional ones. Outside.”

“You like gardens then?”

He nodded. “I have…” and then he laughed quietly, interrupting himself with his own private amusement. “Sorry. I have what you might call a small ‘hoard’ of plants.”

You narrowed your eyes and let your gaze slide upwards to the curved horns in his fiery red hair. “You know…” you began apprehensively, “The first time I met you in the cafe, I thought you might have some tiefling in you… I’m wrong, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” he said, though he didn’t elaborate or clarify your speculations. His hand found the door knob and he ushered you into a bright and surprisingly modern, homely kitchen. Modern it might have been, but it was not modest. Contemporary fittings, top of the range appliances, and stunning marble counter tops all gleamed in the spotlights from above, and every surface gleamed, spotless.

“Wow,” you breathed.

“I like to cook,” he offered almost shyly. “Tea? Coffee? Or… wine or something?”

“Maybe it’s a little early in the day for that,” you said with a smile. “And I need to be able to drive Celia home.”

He answered with only an understanding smile.

Mikaeïl was a creature of contradictions. Prickly and cold on the outside, he walked with a stiff back and kept his jaw permanently clenched when he wasn’t speaking in clipped but articulate sentences, and yet there was a softness to the way he smiled and a shyness to the corners of his mouth and eyes that spoke of a sense of humour and maybe even a kind heart. You also found that you absolutely adored his gold-framed, completely round glasses.

“Maybe just a cup of tea,” you suggested.

“What kind?”

“Uh… the tea kind?”

His harsh exterior cracked visibly as he snorted delicately with obvious and unexpected amusement, and he drew you over to a cupboard on the other side of the kitchen. Before you got there, however, you glimpsed a modern conservatory attached to the south side of the house and gasped. The space was absolutely full to the ceiling with plants: some dangled down from macrame hangers, while others spilled and tumbled their leaves and tendrils over shelves and still more reached proudly upwards for the glass roof above.

Mikaeïl’s gaze followed yours, and he shrugged. “Part of my hoard…” he said with a smile.

They almost seemed to glow and sparkle in the clear light, glimmering like coloured glass, and as much as you wanted to go and examine them, you tore your eyes away and looked back at him. “They almost don’t look real,” you murmured. “They’re beautiful. Sorry,” you added, returning your attention to him. “Tea?”

“Yes, tea,” he said and cleared his throat. As he opened up the cupboard, it was your turn to laugh. Every spare bit of space was stuffed with Kilner jars full of exotic blends of tea. A spicy, fragrant, and enticing cloud of scent wafted out to greet you.

“Oh my god,” you laughed. “I didn’t need this to turn in to a lesson in herbalism… I just wanted a cup of tea. I thought it’d be easier than coffee… Are you sure this isn’t your real hoard?”

He seemed highly amused by that, and said, “Well, tea is a plant, is it not?”

You had to agree with that, and let him choose you a blend to try.

With your tea brewing, he offered you a seat in the conservatory, and you adjusted the strap of your shoulder bag before deciding to set it on the ground. “I love the light in here,” you commented as you gazed around.

“You sound like an artist,” he said, still standing, statue-straight, in the squared-off archway into the space.

“Graphic designer,” you said. “But I love to draw.”

Interest flared in his expression. “Do you take commissions?”

You nodded. “Yeah?”

“Then I might have a job for you, if you’d be interested…”

…To be continued next week!

—

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[shemakesmusic-uk]

Blending left field jazz elements with club tropes to forge something truly new, Emma-Jean Thackray's work is never less than riveting. New album Yellow is out on July 2, with the composer commenting: “It’s a record about togetherness, the oneness of all things in the universe, showing love and kindness, human connection. I approached the record by trying to simulate a life-changing psychedelic experience, an hour where we see behind the curtain to a hidden dimension, where the physical realm melts away and we finally see that we are all one.” Set to be released via her own Movementt imprint, the album is led by gorgeous new single 'Say Something' - opening with glimmers of Rhodes piano, it leans on that hi-hat shuffle before Emma-Jean Thackray uses her voice to elevate the song. A plea towards communication, it's a powerful introduction. [via Clash]

Philadelphia punk rockers Mannequin Pussy have released the title track to Perfect, their upcoming EP due out May 21. The new song comes with a flashy music video that’s inspired by the kitschy glamor of Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion, too. Musically, 'Perfect' is a distorted blaze of rock guitars that sees vocalist-guitarist Missy eviscerating the idea that people must manicure their own social media presence. “Last year, I found myself spending more time on my phone than I ever had in my life… I realized that through years of social media training, many of us have grown this deep desire to manicure our lives to look as perfect, as aspirational as possible,” explained Missy in a statement. “We want to put ourselves out there, share our lives, our stories, our day to day — and these images and videos all shout the same thing: ‘Please look at me, please tell me I’m so perfect.’ It’s simultaneously a declaration of our confidence but edged with the desperation that seeks validation from others.” In the accompanying music video, directed by Missy, viewers get to watch as a 10-year reunion at Sugarbush High slowly unravels. It opens on three former classmates, all three of whom are pregnant, dishing some hushed gossip and talking about how they want to get plastic surgery that’s so good they mistake one another for strangers. Cue two students-turned-drag queens making a grand entrance and strutting their stuff on the dance floor (mirroring the 1997 comedy classic) while old classmates gasp, shield their eyes, and panic. Meanwhile, Mannequin Pussy can be seen tearing up the band stage while they perform live. [via Consequence]

Following the release of her debut EP I Can’t Cry For You in December, Manchester’s Phoebe Green is back with new bop ‘IDK’. “[It] explores a complete detachment from reality, observing things from a place of total apathy and feeling as though I’m witnessing my life as a bystander with little to no connection to it,” Phoebe explains. “It’s a horrible state to be in, I think it happens when I get overwhelmed.” [via DIY]

Fast-rising French-Korean artist spill tab is unveiling her latest mesmerising single ‘Anybody Else’. Accompanied by a new vid directed by friend and collaborator Jade Sadler, spill tab says, “This song is cheesy as fuck but I love it, it’s pretty straight forward, a little shameless - the lyrics are sort of a way of expressing my love without openly saying I love you. Jade Sadler (the video director) and I just wanted to have a shit ton of fun on this one. We thought about something with narrative or plot and it was just getting to be too corny. I wanted something lighthearted and playful, so we decided we would have all of our homies in this video paired with different colors and angles and set designs. I’m so excited with the way it turned out.” [via DIY]

Willow Kayne has shared her debut single 'Two Seater'. The Gen Z talent links together huge opposing forces, creating her own potent brand of rebel-pop. New single 'Two Seater' finds Willow blazing a trail, upending convention through melding together differing sounds. The lush, 90s inspired soundscape leans on nostalgic impulses, but her punk-like disregard for convention is sheer pop futurism. Produced by DANIO, it finds Willow Kayne coming into her own completely off the bat. [via Clash]

BENEE has shared a video for her single ‘Happen To Me’. It’s the latest cut from her debut album, Hey u x, which arrived last November featuring guest spots from the likes of Grimes, Lily Allen and Flo Milli. “This song is super important to me,” she says. “It’s the opening track [on the album]. It’s the first song where I’ve written about anxiety. The lyrics are pretty dark. Life is pretty crazy right now, and I think it’s important to talk about this kind of stuff.” Of the video, she adds: “Stoked to be sharing this music video with everyone! I filmed it with a bunch of mates, and it was the coolest set! Hope you love it as much as I do.” [via Dork]

Los Angeles-based art-pop artist Kit Major has shared the music video for 'When the Drugs Don't Work,' a more introspective stab at her signature dark, electropop sound. Blending driving dance beats and thumping hyperpop-influenced synths, Kit Major creates an intoxicating elixir of soundbites and grit. Taking inspiration from Charli XCX, Billie Eilish, and Charlotte Lawrence, 'When the Drugs Don't Work' dives into the overwhelming vulnerability and panic of failing to curb a depressive episode with medication. With this release, Kit Major furthers her efforts to be open and make light of her mental health struggles. On the video, Kit Major shares, "'When The Drugs Don't Work' was filmed in one weekend, directed by my best friend in my departed grandparents' now empty house. We filmed this in quarantine without a crew and worked to create a dark & twisted fairytale together. When I first started thinking about the video, I knew I wanted a more lighthearted take to balance the darker theme of my mental health in the song. I wrote the lyric, “little princess hurt locked away inside her palace,” because sometimes when I'm isolated in my room I visualize myself as a Disney princess running inside her castle, instead of being in my bed, surrounded by empty water bottles. This song was written from a mix of different perspectives including my own, my persona, and outside voices. I think we accomplished the storytelling behind WTDDW by portraying the importance of imagination and trusting yourself."  Alongside, director Noël Dombroski adds, "WDDW is a raw, introspective song from Kit that shines a light on parts of herself that at times may be hard to face. We were lucky enough to be able to shoot at Kit's late grandparents' house, an emotionally significant location that acts in the video as the inside of Kit's head. We wanted to challenge viewers to look at every facet of themselves and realize that each part is valuable, even if you may not like it. A conversation we had a lot was about the color scene, where the image of Kit is being pulled apart by color channels. You may hate one of those colors, but you still need it to create that full image. The same can sometimes be said about depression - it may be a layer of yourself that you don't care for, but without that experience, I don't know that WDDW could exist." The music video dives into the psychological turmoil at the heart of the track with a hyperstylized touch. Spotlights wander through a funhouse version of Kit's childhood home, hunting down our protagonist, who we find trapped behind bars, downing teardrops from teacups and champagne from the bottle. Simultaneously unnerving and stimulating in a Paranormal Activity-meets Alice in Wonderland aestheticism, the music video for 'When the Drugs Don't Work' dives into the floating images of a mental breakdown with a fever dream lucidity.

Number One Popstar continues to prove herself as a powerhouse, shaking up the music world with her fresh, unapologetic beats. This week, she shares another one, her new single 'Forever 21.' And no, it’s not about clothes. 'Forever 21' begins with a kicking beat, but subdued with reflective, twinkly keys. It’s a perfect mix of existential dread and dance. Carrying this vibe throughout, it breaks in between with a beaming guitar-driven bridge. Lyrically, the track makes us question why brands and media make it seem like our twenties are our prime, when we still have our whole lives ahead of us? Despite the effervescent pop sound, Hollowell got vulnerable about her past and its effect on the song, saying, "I initially started writing 'Forever 21' when I found myself looking back on my early 20’s, wanting to recapture the hopeful and dumb feelings of my youth. But the longer I spent on the song, the more it became a reflection of the loss I faced when my parents passed away in my early 20s. I started looking at my own fear of death, of dying like them. I really didn’t know where my life was headed back then. […] I eventually turned that painful experience into a motivation to go after everything I wanted in life. To be seriously less serious, recognizing everything is fleeting.” Like her other music videos, Hollowell likes to flip popular culture and societal expetations on their head. While also bringing the fear of aging to life, she also reminds audiences to stay present instead of holding on to youth. [via Earmilk]

Following in the footsteps of Prince and Lizzo, Dizzy Fae is set to become the Twin Cities’ next pop sensation. She just dropped her brand new track, 'BODY MOVE', and much like the name suggests, it will make you want to move. Self-described as alternative R&B, Fae takes a few notes from contemporary hyperpop artists like Charli XCX and Doja Cat with an industrial iciness that plays off the technicolor pop melodies. It’s an influence you can hear on 'BODY MOVE', produced by New York’s Stelios (Young Thug, SZA). The track builds itself off a snappy, rubber band bass line indebted to pop’s recent disco revival. “It’d be so cruel if I didn’t let my body move,” Fea’s voice loops through a robotic filter. A buzzing drum machines barrels in at the chorus, transforming the lightly retro groove to a futuristic club track more akin to the production styles of 100 gecs. But for all the modern influences, the Ying Yang Twins reference shows she’s a student of all types of music. [via Consequence]

Technically, 'Your Power' is not the lead single from Billie Eilish’s newly announced album Happier Than Ever. The album includes two songs she released last year: the jazzy, well received ballad 'my future' and the contemptuous multi-format radio hit 'Therefore I Am.' However, 'Your Power' is the first song Eilish has released since announcing the new album, debuting her new look, and officially commencing her LP2 era, so there’s definitely a deep sense of anticipations around the song. Eilish teased 'Your Power' this week with a brief sound snippet featuring acoustic guitar and the words “Try not to use your power” sung to a Feist-y melody. Now the full song and its Eilish-directed music video have arrived. The completed record remains as soft, pretty, and devastatingly sad as the preview audio. In the clip, a slow pan across a mountainside in the Simi Valley reveals Eilish in the clutches of a gigantic snake. (A press release specifies that it’s an 80-pound anaconda.) [via Stereogum]

[farelian]

Galactic Quarrels: Unexpected Visitor

And here I am, back again with another edition to this series. Thank you all for your support, this one I flashed through and had so much fun writing it! Be prepared for the next one because things are about to get... teddy bit crowded

~~~~~~~

In the early morning, as the sun rises over the horizon, Michael is out on the balcony doing stretches, bending his body and legs in ways a Zarqonan would most definitely find disgusting and painful.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes returning back into reality, looking left and right looking at all the high-rise buildings and the large blue lake over in the distance.

He needs to maintain his physique and strength, but as of now, he hasn’t built up the courage to go outside in sleeveless shirts and running pants with shoes. So to substitute for it, he starts doing body exercises and stretching in his residence.

Walking back inside he walked to the coffee table picking up his holo-watch and taps it a few times. Screens show up showing his fitness routine and exercise record, not enough by him letting out a disappointed sigh.

He is still a citizen of the UTF as per the migration deal, he’s basically just out on vacation instead of moving away from his parent’s house and finally moving into his own.

And being a citizen of the UTF, he is still a Lieutenant in Frontier Command, UTF’s equivalent of a space army and fleet. 

He wonders if he should go home again.

Turning the watch off and placing it back on the table, he walked to the kitchen counter taking his glass of orange juice. It’s a surprise when he got a package of Earth’s fruits, he also got a blender so better use it rather than leaving them in the fridge.

He feels watched though, the last few days he has this unease in his heart and the feeling of being watched 24/7, even when he’s going to go to sleep. He looked up and around the apartment again, there have to be cameras in here there has to be.

He returned his focus back to his orange juice and went behind the counter to blend some dragonfruit. The sounds of the motor and turning blades blast the room while the noise of the fruit being chopped and blended echoes outside into the hallway.

“I hope they don’t think I’m making a bomb in here” *He muttered to himself as he waited and waited. Turning it off and pouring it into another glass, he raised it up to his mouth, ready to drink the dragonfruit only to be interrupted by the quiet knocking of the front door.

“What?” He said quietly, he knows Yaku, or any Zarqonan never knocks on the door and just burst in unannounced, this is new. “Coming” He yelled putting down the glass of dragonfruit and cleans his lips with some tissues before walking to the door.

He looked around again as that feeling of being watched still lingers, then he faced the door. No peephole or see-through tech, he wished he was back on Earth now. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the knob. This feels different, it feels like it’s not a Zarqonan over on the other side. Could it be a Murumur? Could it even be a government agent that came to pick him up without telling him in advance?

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know if he opens the door he will wake up inside a shipping crate on his way to the edge of the galaxy to be sold in the galactic black market.

A muffled feminine voice can be heard. “Come on what’s taking so long?” Human, a human voice.

He’s taken aback, he turned the knob and slide the door open and looked down at the figure. A human woman, wearing a black and dark red coat with a full military-style uniform. Taking a quick glance at the woman’s face, yellowish eyes with hair that’s tied back into a long ponytail that stretched down to her hips.

Around 5’7” tall, he couldn’t believe it. “Um, hello how may I help you?” Michael let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “Haven’t seen a human face for a while”

“Of course you haven’t” The woman replied with a relatively sour but somehow comforting attitude. “Jill Porter, nice to meet you, Michael”

“You know me?”

The woman laughed while nodding. “Everyone knows you, Lieutenant! The mad man that wants to migrate to the Zarqon homeworld” Mad man? Is that his title now? The mad lieutenant?

“Oh, that’s uh… interesting I guess” “Yeah, interesting indeed” Jill claps her hands together and peeked into his apartment. “Can I come in?” Michael stepped aside. “Sure, let yourself in.”

As the woman walked into Michael’s apartment, he walked into the kitchen finally drinking his glass of dragonfruit while the door automatically closes itself. Glancing back towards the girl, he prepped a cup. “Tea or coffee? They’ve come from those weekly packages.” He said taking the coffee jar.

Jill took a seat on the armchair in the living room, looking back at him. “Cofee would be good” Then she looked up and around his apartment. “Nice place”

“I thought every room is designed like this?” He responded while brewing a cup of coffee.

“I mean yeah mine is basically a carbon copy but it’s nice to be polite” Jill replied with a chuckle as she fixed her attention to the tv, turning it on.

He walked over placing the coffee onto the coffee table and sat on the couch, leaning forward resting his elbow on his thighs folding his hands together. “Alright, cut the chit chat. Who are you and what do you want?”

Jill laughed as she looked back at Michael with a smile. “Are you deaf? I just said who I am. Jill Porter.” She shrugged and tilted her head. “For what I want, I want you to help me here.” She said pointing at Michael.

Silence, a few seconds pass by without a word being spoken before Michael replied to her request. “I like to know who my employer is.”

Jill laughed once again, shaking her head then nods. “You’re smart Michael, no wonder you go through the ranks at a young age.” Jill reached into her coat and pulled out an id card. “Jill Porter, lead xenobiologist for the Putter Institute.”

He took the id card and looked at it. A rotating model of Jill, name, age, occupation. He returned it and sighed. “Alright, what do you need help with?”

“I need a willing specimen, a Zarqonan”

“And what will you do with them?”

Jill pulled out a holoprojector. “Exactly one week ago a Zarqonan arrived at our local Topirus branch, the outermost colony in UTF space” An image of the Zarqonan in question appeared. “She is missing a back-left tentacle after a horrible accident in one of their orbital research stations.

To create the prosthetic requested by the Zarqonan, we need to examine the back-left tentacle.”

“Let me guess, they don’t let any humans onto the station?” Michael concluded first before she continued.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Alright, I understand why you’re here now,” He said nodding while Jill put away the projector.

Jill leaned back into the armchair. “So, lieutenant? Can you help”

A few seconds of silence as Michael stared at the ground. He looked back up and answered. “I know a girl”

~~~~

Michael’s residence has been turned into a makeshift examination lab and Yaku was brought in for the examination. The xenobiologist, Jill, worked examining Yaku’s left-back tentacle taking scans and examining its structure.

Yaku herself did not mind but is thinking if there’s another way to make this more efficient and not resulting in a mess.

Power cables scattered across the floor connecting the power to the lights and scanning equipment Jill brought with her. The doctor looked eager examining the subject, asking Yaku all sorts of questions.

“So what are the purposes of your tentacles?” The doctor asked while Michael is leaning back against the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Moving up one of her two front tentacles, she speaks. “The two front tentacles are used to maneuver, turning left and right and to slow down.” She then lowered the tentacle lifting up one of the back ones. “The back is for moving around.”

Michael grunted as he pushed himself off the wall and walked over, crossing his arms on his chest. “I still don’t know why you just don’t render a model immediately and make it.”

While continuing the examination, Jill answered. “At Putter we do not waste resources. We take the exact measurements, the exact height and preferred weight, joints and muscle contraction points” Writing the last bit of info into her datapad she stood back up.

“Also, this is a great learning experience for us, in the case aliens demands for prosthetic rises,” She said turning away to the table and portable little computer transferring the data.

“So there’s a consumer satisfaction stance, and a marketing stance,” Michael concluded once again.

“A hundred percent correct Michael, I thought you would be hard to work with” She turned back around. “But it looks like everything worked out fine.”

Michael turned to Yaku and nods. “Thank you Yaku”

“No problem Sir Michael, I’m glad to help.” Yaku said turning to Jill and make an attempt at smiling.

The two humans not noticing the subtle small attempt of smiling, both of them shook hands. “Well looks like everything’s done now, thank you, Michael, I’ll get an update soon enough”

“My pleasure” Letting go of the firm handshake. “Well since everyone is bored and doesn’t have shit to do, want to stay and watch some movies?”

Jill chuckled and shrugged with a smile. “Well sure! Just don’t put on a romantic one, we’re not there yet.”

Michael laughed and waved her away. “Oh, how bold of you to think that we are already in a relationship? We’re just acquaintances” That gained laughter from the opposition. Michael turned to Yaku and gestured to the couch and armchair. “You want to join Yaku?”

Yaku looked over at the couch and tv before nodding slightly. “I would love to.”

“Great!” Michael was about to go to the kitchen only to realize all the equipment in his room. “Oh uh, clean this mess first would you?”

Things are starting to get a tad bit crowded.

[dreamcatcherfication]

The Queens of London Part 2 - Rolling in the Deep End

Part two of my “Queens of London” series. The more I write this, the more I feel like I’m writing a Spy AU. That’s not what I intended, but I guess it could work out. Anyway, I’m trying to get at least one fic out everyday for the time being. I feel like I have enough time and y’all deserve some content. (I can’t promise good content, but I try).

Writing Masterpost

Please send in prompts and asks, I’m happy to write for everyone (trust me, I’ve got plenty of time). Word Count: 2042

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts

Summary: When Katherine Howard received a strange invitation from a group of women known as “The Queens”, she had no idea what to think. The last thing she expected was to be thrown into the center of a dangerous conspiracy against some douchebag named Henry. But by now Kat’s learned that she really has no idea what to expect anymore.

Part 1 

The entire table sat in silence, the majority of the women staring at Kat. The teen had her eyes pointed downwards, too terrified to make eye contact with anyone else. The realization that she was in way over her head was sudden and jarring, and it made her sick to her stomach. Should have just stuck with the ramen, she kept chanting in her head. “So,” Boleyn awkwardly piped up. “You got anything for us Brandon?”

Kat felt immediately wrong when Anne called her that, so she spoke up, “Actually, you can just call me Kat,” before she could think of anything else. The queens looked a little taken aback by her young voice but they said nothing.

It was Cleves who nodded and explained, “Well you probably should know why we wanted you here tonight. We’re actually a little surprised you actually showed up, especially with how you never show your face in public. We had no idea you looked so,” she stumbled around for the right word, “young.”

Okay, that explains a lot, Kat thought. If none of them know what Katherine Brandon looks like, then they don’t know that I’m not her. That’s lucky. It was Aragon who spoke up next. Her voice was stern but her eyes didn’t hold any of the anger Kat was so used to seeing in adults. “You read the letter, so you must know what Henry’s been doing.”

Trying to keep a stutter out of her voice, Kat said, “Please remind me.”

The women all seemed vaguely confused, but they obliged. “Henry Tudor, one of the most well known politicians in London today,” Catherine Parr started. It struck Kat in that moment, of course it would be someone like Henry Tudor they were talking about, not some backstreet gang member Henry she’d been expecting. “He’s been screwing us all over with his puppeteering -”

“Ooh cool simile,” Anne said as she tilted her head towards Cathy.

“That’s not a simile,” Cathy deadpanned. She continued, “But Henry has been practically controlling the entirety of Parliament. He’s unlawfully put restrictions on Aragon’s company, he’s been making it absolute hell for Jane to do her charity work, and so much more. Not to mention his dabbling in the Black Market and the assassinations we suspect him of taking part in. We tend to stay away from all that, but I know the Black Market’s your specialty Kat. And we all have our personal beef with him.”

Nodding along, Kat hid her surprise at the mention to the Black Market. She was supposed to have connections to the Black Market? Oh, she was a lot deeper in than she thought. “That’s why we’re going to take him down.”

“What?” The word slipped out of Kat’s mouth before she could close it.

“He’s done some horrible things,” Jane spoke firmly, “and that’s unforgivable. He’s got everyone under his thumb. Unless we can get cold hard evidence to convict him, he’s always going to win. That’s why all of us need to work together. So Kat, are you in?”

Later, Kat would ask herself What was I meant to do? when Jane gave her that hopeful smile. She had always looked up to the woman, reading about her in free newspapers. To have her directly asking for help, Kat almost instantaneously said, “Of course!” The enthusiasm was a direct contrast to her actual nervousness, and the change was enough to offset the other women.

“Right,” spoke the woman with the slick ponytail. She shot a glance at Boleyn but the other woman only shrugged. “Well we’ve been devising a plan for a while, but it’s taken this long to assemble the whole team. Now that we’ve got you, Kat, we can finally get started.”

“Yes, I think it would be best if you went with Jane and Joan so they can give you a rundown of our previous meetings while the rest of us discuss our future plans,” Aragon stated offhandedly, giving a pointed glance to the millionaire. Jane stood up, followed by Joan and stuck out for Kat to take. Hesitantly, Kat slipped her hand into the woman’s grip and allowed herself to be led out of the room. As Joan closed the door behind them, Kat could almost feel the eyes of the seven remaining women on her back.

After the three girls left the room, the remaining seven were quiet. No one knew what to say after the awkward introduction they shared with Katherine Brandon. “Okay, it can’t just be who thinks she’s way too young, right?” Anne broke the silence, looking expectantly at the others.

Maggie nodded in agreement, elbowing Bessie in the side to get her to nod along. “Well looks can be deceiving,” Bessie shrugged and went back to tapping her fingers on the table.

Someone clicked their tongue, and everyone turned their attention to Anna. The designer was looking down at the table with a concentrated look on her face. “I can’t help but feel a little off about all this. Brandon’s supposed to be one of the most ruthless competitors in the Black Market, but Kat looks like she couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“It doesn’t matter how she looks, right now we have to trust her,” Cathy cut in. “If we’re going to take down Henry, we need everyone we can get. And that includes Kat.” Slowly, everyone mumbled out varying forms of agreement.

Maria shifted in her seat. “We’re going to have Jane watch her, aren’t we?”

“You make it sound like we’re stalking her,” Maggie retorted.

“But Maria is right,” Aragon sighed. “We need her, like Cathy said, but we can’t leave her alone. Not until she proves herself. Anytime she’s around one of us, we’ll have Jane there.”

“But we can’t stalk her?” Anne asked, toeing the line between disappointment and understanding.

“No, we won’t cross that line.”

There was a silent consensus amongst the group as they all settled back into their seats. They had faith that Jane and Joan would be able to get a good reading on Kat. After all, Jane was wonderful at getting someone’s true personality to shine, and Joan was perfect for analyzing that personality. It was what made them such a good duo.

The light squeeze of her hand reminded Kat who she was with. “Jane Seymour,” she couldn’t help but mutter in awe.

Jane had a nice smile, one she wasn’t afraid to flash in Kat’s direction. “Based on what the other queens told you during the meeting, I’m sure you already have a pretty good idea of what’s going on here.” Kat swallowed thickly and nodded, not taking her eyes off Jane. She was sure Joan was standing behind her, likely watching her every move, but Kat was transfixed. For so long, she had fantasized Jane Seymour looking up from her phone on early morning walks and smiling at her as she sang. And now, here she was, having a conversation with the woman. 

“Right, then let’s get into the specifics of it,” came Joan’s voice from behind Kat. The teen whipped around to face Joan, but the lady had already started circling Kat to stand next to Jane. They were an interesting duo in Kat’s eyes. The kind, charitable millionaire and the protective… assistant? Sister? Kat didn’t know how the two of them were related, and she made a mental note to look it up the next time she had a chance.

It was Jane who continued the conversation then. “We’re going to go undercover -”

“Like a spy?” Kat asked.

“Like a spy,” Jane replied giddily, “and get the evidence we need to get Henry sentenced to jail. He’s got this party in a few days time that we’re going to go to. We’ve been invited -”

“Under the pretense of keeping up appearances of course,” Joan cut in.

“To his party, and we’re going to use it as a cover to break into his secret rooms. There we’ll hopefully be able to find documents linking him to all his illegal activities. The drug deals, assassinations, anything that’ll get him arrested.”

Kat frowned and stared at the floor. “Then why do you need me?”

Joan smiled, the grin carrying the same energy as Jane’s. “You’re the most important part Brandon.” It didn’t escape her notice the way Kat cringed at the name. “No one knows your face. You’ll be able to disappear without anyone noticing to grab our evidence.”

Gulping, Kat tried to keep herself calm as she realized how much worse everything was getting for her. “Okay. Then what’s everyone else doing?”

“Joan and the other ladies,” Jane paused, then added, “Maria, Bessie, and Maggie,” for clarification. “They run the operation from here. They plan, tell us the latest updates, they’re our backup squad.” Kat nodded along, making mental notes to the best of her ability. “Aragon is a big name, everybody knows who she is, so she serves as our distraction. Get all the attention on herself, nobody notices you sneaking around. Anne does basically the same thing, except she also gets information from the partygoers. With how silly she asks, you’d be surprised how cunning she can be. Anna provides the looks for everyone so that we can blend in. It’s a high class party with rich, influential people, we need to look the part. And Cathy, ever the journalist, snoops around. She takes note of every little thing she sees and hears in case it could possibly come in handy. I’ve seen her carry four blank notebooks at a time in order to record everything.”

It was a lot of information Jane had willingly shared with Kat, and the teen did her best to take it all in. She repeated it in her mind in order not to forget what she had learned. “What about you?”

“Isn’t that one obvious?” Jane laughed lightly, “I’m the one with the invitations. Henry doesn’t like the other queens, but he won’t make a scene if I invite them all. He’s too prideful to tell me I can’t bring them.”

Joan furrowed her eyebrows and leaned forward, inspecting Kat. “It is quite lucky that you’re so small, you’ll slip right by.” Kat figured it wasn’t meant to be offensive, but she was suddenly self conscious about her size compared to all the other queens. How am I supposed to compete? She thought, when they’re all fully grown women and I’m an anxious, growth stunted teenager?

The two women didn’t seem to notice (or if they did, they made no comment) her internal turmoil. Jane patted Kat on the back and led her towards the door. Joan held the door open and gave a small, but genuine smile. “The meeting’s over already?” Kat asked in confusion. She felt as if she’d just arrived.

“These things tend to be pretty quick. Besides, we only called a meeting to get you informed. We’ll meet back here at the same time tomorrow night so you can get to know everyone and we can prepare for the party,” Jane explained. 

Stepping out the door, Kat turned around to face Jane and Joan who were both still inside the building. “I won’t tell anyone about this, I promise. And I’ll be back tomorrow.” After learning how much their plan hinged on her, Kat felt she had the duty to at least try and help them. For some reason, she had gotten the note to meet them, and if they were going to take down a crooked politician who apparently has a lot of beef with them… Kat was going to do her best to help. If that meant becoming some modern version of a spy, then so be it. (Secretly, Kat liked the idea of getting to be her own version of James Bond. She’d have to come up with a cool intro, like his.)

With one last glance, the two women inside the building shut the door and left Kat to make her way home in the dark night. Once the door was shut, Jane turned to Joan. “Did you get the same feeling I got?”

“And so much more,” Joan nodded. “We need to tell the others. They’re gonna want to know about this.”

[izzy-b-hands]

Winter Haze

Was in a weird funk this evening, so this happened! I have a playlist of what I was listening to during the writing of this; if anyone wants that info as they read lemme know.

Also we get NSFW in this one, just an fyi. Smut can be healing because of...reasons. That’s as much energy as I have to elaborate on that right now tbh. 

I took liberties with how train cars were and are because I could barely write today, let alone research at my usual pace. Forgive the inaccuracy, and enjoy the fantasy of a train car and compartment of said car that I sort of designed as I wrote to make it fit what I needed it to do. 

If anyone likes this enough to want a part two of them actually in the city I send them to in this one, lemme know on this post or via ask or message or carrier pigeon or whatever mode of communication you prefer, and I’ll try and get it out and done before the holiday break is over. I work most of it, but I’ll have a day or two where I should be able to write some, and I have Ideas for the Boys in The City. 

The decision to spend Christmas Eve and Day away from everyone wasn’t lightly made, but it was made quickly, and in the simplest of motions. A quiet conversation about how much money a train ticket for each of them would cost, a phone call to Mary (Sid was out) to ensure she or Sid could check on the animals each day they were gone, and packing in a rush as they reassured the cats and the dog with soft kisses and words that they would return. 

Exactly what the journey was supposed to shake, Snafu couldn’t say. There had been the usual ennui of the winter months, the repetition of work and just enough time after at home to try and relax before doing it all over again. The preparation of gifts bought months ago in advance for the holiday (Eugene was ever a planner, buying the first gift last March, a knife set for Sid to use when he went out hunting.) 

Those gifts were sat in the front hall closet now, where they would likely remain until they returned. They’d given Sid and Mary permission to divvy them up and take them to the appropriate people if they wished, since most of their friends and family in Mobile met at Eugene’s parent’s house for Christmas, but they’d refused, not wanting them to miss out on seeing them opened. 

As rude as he figured it was, Snafu couldn’t bring himself to care about that. He still wanted the people getting the gifts to enjoy them of course, but needing to make an event out of the gift-giving wasn’t necessary this year. 

Eugene had bought the tickets at the station, to where Snafu didn’t ask and again found he didn’t care. There was a lot he didn’t care about right then, except for getting on the train, holing up in the sleeper car for two Eugene had insisted they get even with its extra cost, and simply existing there, with Eugene, who seemed to be in a similar sort of mood. 

They both had been for weeks though, struggling to do much more than wake, go to work, keep the cats and dog fed and loved and entertained, exchange a quick kiss or hug before settling to sit in the living room after work to try and fail to read a book or whittle or do any of their other usual hobbies, then going to sleep to do it all over again the next day. Any conversations about it previously had floundered, not for a lack of trying and not in any anger or frustration, but in exhaustion. 

Hence, the trip. They already had the time off of work, and while there were sure to be complaints from everyone else (excepting the understanding Sid and Mary) for them not being at the usual celebrations, it was otherwise a perfect time to go. 

They didn’t speak all the way through the station. They didn’t need to. It was muscle memory, the pace at which Eugene liked to walk through the station (quickly enough to get to the train more than on time, but not so quick as to be pushing anyone else aside, especially any women and children or elderly trying to parse their way through the busy station), the way he’d reach for Snafu’s hand in a big enough crowd to ensure they wouldn’t get separated, how he always wanted Snafu to let him on the train first (so he could reach back out and take Snafu’s suitcase with one hand, the other reaching out to help him up onto the train.) 

Finally, inside the sleeper car with the door shut tight and the curtains on the windows of the compartment pulled to block out any light or curious eyes, Eugene sighed. 

“Feels safe now, doesn’t it?” Snafu asked. 

“That’s exactly it. I haven’t been able to put a word to it till now,” Eugene replied, dropping onto one of the beds, his suitcase haphazardly shoved underneath it. 

“I know the feeling. It didn’t hit me until we got in here, but man...I still can’t explain it anymore than that. We got no reason to feel unsafe back at home,” Snafu said as he put his suitcase in the holding rack above the other bed, then moved Eugene’s from the floor onto the rack of his bed. 

He nearly dropped it as Eugene’s fingers traced at his stomach through his shirt, cooled by the winter air but welcome all the same. 

“The routine of it all, maybe,” he continued as he finished placing the suitcase, then knelt by Eugene’s bed, taking those same fingers to his lips to kiss them gently. “Different sorta danger.” 

“Staleness,” Eugene remarked. “Maybe not as bad as never knowing what’s gonna come next, having too much going on, but-” 

He shrugged as best he could laying on the bed, his eyes meeting Snafu’s, looking warmer than they had in weeks, months even. “Still bad. You know exactly what’s coming, and that unless you do something, nothing different is likely to show up unless it’s some horrible emergency to fix. Forgetting every day, every week, because they all blend into one slurry.” 

“Like the muck on Peleliu,” Snafu murmured. “Just tragic in a different way. Less human loss, more...” 

“Destruction. Internally mostly, instead of both internally and externally. And not for any great effort or cause or need, just a result of living the way people say you should. Day in, day out, barely noticing any of it passing by because it never changes,” Eugene finished. “I wish they had beds that could fit two people on these.” 

Snafu nodded, then peered at the clasp that the beds tucked into, to hold them up and allow the regular seats to be pulled from where they tucked into the walls of the car. “Can you get up for a second?” 

Eugene nodded, and stood, watching him work. 

He stole the pillows from the beds before pushing them into the clasps, making sure they were held tight before freeing a blanket from one of the two extra suitcases they’d brought with them (four total suitcases was maybe an excessive number for two people, but if he told the truth, neither of them really gave a shit about that) and spread it on the floor. They had, however, only brought the one blanket with, so he popped free the beds for a second to steal the blankets from those, settling them on top of the one on the floor as best he could. 

“It ain’t gonna be the comfiest, or perfect, but-” 

Eugene dropped to the floor on his knees beside him, and pulled him close for a kiss, a hand on his back to hold them both upright as the train jerked to life and started it’s journey, the sound of the engine muting their moans as they lay on their makeshift bed, their shoes hitting the door of the compartment. 

“I didn’t move the blanket up far enough,” Snafu giggled in between kisses. 

“Shit,” Eugene laughed. “You stay put.” 

“What? No, let me-” 

Before Snafu could move, Eugene was there at the top edge of the blanket, pulling it further away from the door (not that there was much further to pull it, the compartment being only so big), with Snafu still on it. 

“There,” Eugene smiled as he lay back on top of Snafu, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Better?” 

Snafu nodded, and pulled at Eugene’s jacket sleeve. “Awful lot of layers left on you. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we ain’t outside in the cold anymore. You can take that off.” 

Eugene stood, and stripped off the jacket, tossing it to the far corner of the compartment. “Good?” 

“Mhm,” Snafu mused. “Tie really isn’t needed either.” 

Eugene grinned, and pulled it free, tossing it to Snafu. 

He caught it and tossed it behind him without looking. “What about that shirt? Awful warm, that shirt.” 

Eugene laughed and shook his head, but started to unbutton it. 

“Let me help you. Those fingers must still be froze up,” Snafu said, and moved to crawl forward to Eugene, getting onto his knees so he could reach for the bottom buttons of Eugene’s shirt. 

Eugene’s hand was in his hair, playing with it gently as Snafu undid the rest of the buttons, pulling his head to rest against Eugene’s waist once the shirt was undone. 

He pressed his face to Eugene’s stomach before carefully biting at the buckle of Eugene’s belt. 

“Just real warm in here, isn’t it?” Eugene asked with a giggle. “Don’t really need any of these clothes.” 

“No sir,” Snafu replied, moving away from Eugene to start stripping off his own clothes. His eyes stayed on Eugene though, watching him take off everything else, tossing it into the rest of the clothing pile they’d created. He was only half undressed, his belt just undone by the time Eugene was in front of him, completely and perfectly naked. 

He motioned Eugene over anyway, too eager to wait any longer to touch and be touched. 

It wasn’t that they couldn’t have this back at home, and a good most nights they did, sometimes to their own frustration the next morning if they were up too late. But there was something different about it here, just as good but something else at the same time, being able to be safely behind a locked door, being taken somewhere else, with nothing to worry about except each other. 

He could taste that feeling, in every kiss, in the way Eugene’s fingers scrabbled to help pull off the rest of his clothes, in the way Eugene’s hips rocked against his. It was otherworldly and strange and familiar all at the same time, and he didn’t want it to end. 

They were somewhat limited by the size of the compartment, but he wasn’t prepared to let that put a damper on anything. He had a small container of Vaseline secreted away in his suitcase that he moved quickly to grab, earning a fussy and yearning whimper from Eugene the second he was gone, returning to slick it onto both of their hard cocks so he could focus on everything else. Letting their hips move together, hands roaming, lips everywhere they could reach in a quick moment, leaving marks on each other’s necks and shoulders, making them gasp just loud enough that he had to ponder if anyone in the next compartment could hear them. 

Not that he really cared, as he figured politeness would prevent anyone from asking after them, and he was much more concerned with gently running his thumb over and around the head of Eugene’s cock, feeling Eugene’s teeth just a bit too sharp in the meat of his shoulder as his hips jerked and he could feel Eugene’s cock throb as cum hit his stomach. 

He didn’t have a chance to reach for his own before Eugene’s hand was there instead, working him as softly and sweetly as only Eugene knew how to, pulling him close with his other arm around the back of Snafu’s neck, a leg wrapped over Snafu’s hips as they pushed against Eugene’s. 

He let himself moan softly in between kisses to Eugene’s shoulder and chest, both hands wrapped at the back of Eugene’s neck, as he came with a shudder onto Eugene’s stomach. 

For the next few minutes they stayed there, locked against each other, kissing. It was warm and soft and safe and if Snafu could have bottled and saved any moments of theirs, this was one he’d wanted bottled first. 

But finally they had to move, using one of their shirts to clean up (not ideal, but they’d not sprung for the even more expensive sleeper car compartment that had its own bathroom, and even he didn’t want to go walking in between cars in that much of a state) before dressing again to go to the dinner car. 

It wasn’t amazing fare, but it was edible, and he hardly paid attention to the food anyway. He only had eyes for Eugene, who could barely eat but for the giggles he got whenever their eyes met. Finally, they gave up on dinner and returned to the sleeper compartment, kicking off their shoes and clothes to put on their pajamas and snuggle underneath the thin blankets from the compartment beds.

“Where are we headed anyway?” Snafu asked as Eugene tucked himself up under his arm, both of them wanting to be as close as possible. The darkness settled over the compartment now, as they’d left the lights off so neither of them would have to get up to turn them off later.  

“New York City. Was one of the only spots they still had these sorts of tickets available. No idea what we’re going to do there though,” Eugene replied with a chuckle. 

“I don’t care,” Snafu said with a smile. “Whatever it is, it’s gonna be good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. ‘Cause it’s gonna be you and me, and that’s always good,” Snafu kissed the top of his head, and settled in for the night. He didn’t know how long it took to get to New York, but he didn’t care. He had his man and time to spend with him, and that was all that mattered. 

[shambali-sinner]

The Closet of Mirth, Part One

I know it has been a VERY long time since I updated this story, but I finally got a surge of muse and I’m going to be riding it as far as I can. This chapter goes way more in-depth with character development than I ever intended, but the characters always do what THEY want to, and I’m not letting myself get in the way of that! Max and Reader have a small fight, prepare to take their physical relationship to the next level, and talk about their past sexual experiences, all in the time between after-dinner “wine” and their nightly fuck-session! (Part Two of this chapter will include the fucking.) I hope you enjoy seeing a different side of Max!

Reminder that this story is DARK! Warnings for this chapter include mentions of sex work and gang-related execution by decapitation, as well as, well, a closet full of detachable robot penises! This chapter is not really safe for work, but does not contain any descriptions of sexual acts. As always with this particular story, Fem reader/pronouns.

Previous chapter

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Maximilien leaned back into the velvet couch, swirling a glass of Glenwales while he waited for you to emerge from behind the dressing screen. He stared down into the supposedly aged oil distastefully. “One of the most expensive weights in the world, and it’s practically flavorless,” he complained. “Once that deal in Havana goes through, I’m adding an omnic libation division and designing my own blend. Nothing tastes better than a classic thirty-weight-ten, but none of these vintages can get the formula right, and I refuse to drink that plebeian swill from the corner markets.”

“If anyone can design the perfect luxury oil, it’s you, Max,” you replied, shimmying off your stockings and throwing them over the edge of the screen. You grabbed your silk robe from the other side and slipped into it, tying it loosely at your waist before approaching the edge of the divider and sliding a bare leg into the omnic’s view. “There’s not a person in the world with a better sense for the fine things in life.”

His eyelids lifted a little and he leaned forward at the sight, setting his glass to the side. “Is that your attempt at flattery, my little canary?”

You peeked around the corner, a curl of hair falling out of place and swinging down to frame your face. “That depends.”

“On what?” he smiled back.

You came fully around the corner. “Only if it’s working.”

Some of Maximilien’s joints clicked audibly as he took in the full sight of you. He knew the black silk would look delectable on your frame, shining in contrast to your soft, supple skin. He hadn’t expected you to look so downright ravishing in it. At its shortest it hit your mid thigh but split and dropped dramatically in the front, revealing your smooth, bare calves to him. The back of the robe dragged sensually along the floor behind you, while the sharp neckline barely covered your breasts. At his request, you’d left your lacy red bra and panties on underneath. The way the lock of hair had fallen against your cheek and the faint smudge of lipstick on your pout made you the perfect amount of dishevelled. You looked like a present made just for him, ready to unwrap from his signature colors. He sat there in shock, the only sound the faint whirring of his internal cooling fans.

You lifted your eyes to his gaze and he could see some uneasiness in them, a worry that you were inadequate since he hadn’t audibly reacted yet. Your face fell. “You hate it,” you said, dejected.

It took him another moment to recover. “Of course not, my dear. You simply stunned me, that’s all. Come sit with me. Sing to me, Canary.”

You visibly relaxed and sat next to him on the couch, tucking your legs under you and leaning an arm around his shoulders. Your hand combed slowly through your hair. “And what would you like to hear tonight?”

“Anything to keep my mind off this horrible Glenwales. I should just buy the company myself, you know. Rebrand it, perhaps.”

You chuckled. “Something classic, then. Perhaps an Ella Fitzgerald?”

He hummed affirmatively, closing his eyes and relaxing back as you began the low, sultry intro. You stroked his shirt lightly, fingers slowly climbing to the knot of his tie and gently loosening it. Once you had the top two buttons undone you started moving your hand down to palm him through his pants, but he moved suddenly and caught your wrist an inch above his belt.

Surprised, your voice caught in your throat. He turned his head to look at you. “I have a different idea for tonight, darling. I think you’re ready for it.”

“Ready . . . for what?” you asked hesitantly.

“Come along, my dear,” he said, standing and grabbing his glass, downing the rest of the oil in a single go. “We’re going to my room tonight.”

He took your hand and pulled you to your feet and out the door. The Big Omnic Butlers stood at attention. Maximilien motioned at one of them who then emitted a small bell tone. Your assigned servant came forward. “Good evening, sir. Ma’am,” the small valet omnic said, bowing to each of you in turn. “I expect everything has been to your liking this evening?”

You had learned the previous week that questions of this nature were directed solely at the master of the house while he was present, unless he expressly asked your opinion. He handed the glass to the valet. You remained silent. “See to it the room is put back to rights. We won’t be back in it tonight, but I have an early flight to Brazil  in the morning, so she’ll need to be escorted back for dressing after I leave.”

The small omnic bowed her head. “Yes, sir,” she said. You offered her a small smile and an encouraging hum. She straightened and disappeared into the room.

Maximilien motioned again to the two B.O.Bs, this time to follow behind as he led you to his room. They kept a protective distance, but it was far enough to still afford you some privacy.

“You’re going to Brazil tomorrow? Am I not coming along?” you asked.

“Not this time. I’m meeting with a regular contact about some funding for his tech company. Mundane, really. Besides, I think you’ve shown enough loyalty, I can give you a little longer of a leash now.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Brazil,” you pouted. “I’ve seen such beautiful pictures.”

“I’ll take you with me sooner than you think, I promise.”

“And how am I supposed to take a man like you at your word?”

“Carnival. I’ll take you for a vacation. That gives you a specific, measured time frame,” he negotiated.

“That’s nearly eight months away!” you protested.

“And by then, you’ll be trained enough to fend for yourself instead of needing bodyguards around every corner,” the omnic countered, stopping in the hall and turning to face you. “The only ones in my organization who know who you are, what you look like, are Adeyemi and Akande, and for a good reason. They are the only two I trust not to take advantage of you for leverage against me. You now have a target on your back for anyone who considers me an enemy, whether seemingly an ally or not. I’m not risking you among the people my associate in Brazil works for, or any of my other colleagues, for that matter, until you know how to avoid becoming collateral.”

You both stood quietly for a moment. You’d never seen him get so worked up. You opened your mouth to respond, but stopped yourself. Now was not the time to call him out on his emotions. Instead, you perked up artificially and playfully nudged him, trying to get the mood back. “Okay, Max, that’s fair. Carnival it is.”

The walk to his room continued, and soon was over. The B.O.Bs took their places standing guard outside the double doors while you and Maximilien slipped inside. There was still a bit of an awkward air hanging thick. It was only your second time being in the room, and the first time you would be sleeping in it. Most nights he would simply fuck you in your room and then come back to his own.

You tried to look around the room to find something to spark up the conversation again. Your eyes stole to the new bed against the wall. Custom-made, circular, and absolutely massive, you had never seen anything quite like it. The other time you had been in here the bed had been expensive and lavish, but standard and much smaller, with his energy modulator on a small table off to the side. Now the energy modulator was nowhere to be seen, while the table was on the other side of the room, near where Max was unfastening his belt.

“New bed?” you cocked an eyebrow at your partner as he shrugged off his sport coat and hung it.

“I figured our activities in this room would require something larger and more robust than what I was completing my rest cycle on previously,” he explained.

Oh. That explains it. It’s a sex bed, you thought to yourself. You inhaled deeply, intrigued as you went over and sat on the edge, running your hands over the blankets. You still had a question you would like to have answered. “Max, if you don’t mind my asking, where is your energy modulator? You can’t just go without it.”

He continued undressing and chuckled incredulously at the question. “You really want to know everything there is to know about omnics, don’t you? Very well. My battery charger is on a panel that slides out from the bedframe near the pillows. And since I can already anticipate your next question, no, I don’t need to go through a rest cycle every night. In fact, I could go a fortnight between full cycles, but I prefer to run one every night for diagnostic purposes. The same associate who performs my . . . less legal modifications monitors what you humans would call health. She knows at a second if I’m not operating at tip-top shape and need a hardware or software adjustment.”

“So your secret friend is a she!” you teased, crossing your legs and letting them slip through the silk fabric of the robe.

“Again with you calling my associates ‘friends,’” the omnic sighed, sliding open a drawer in the table and producing a small remote control. “Although I would suppose she is more so than most,” he mused. “Let’s leave her at ‘acquaintance,’ shall we? Anyway to answer the final question I know you’re burning to ask, if I am at low energy, I can charge myself enough for a full day in as little as fifteen minutes, but that’s only in a low-power emergency, and is unsustainable for more than three days. After that, I would malfunction.”

“Well, at least there’s no risk of that right now,” you said coyly. “I’m sure you’re ready and raring to go.”

He glanced back at you, unimpressed with your lack of subtlety, but couldn’t help a twinge of pride stirring inside him at your boldness. It was enough for your current garments to seem all too much in the way at present and he quickly turned his attention back to the remote.

“My dear, I know how much you enjoy the current appendage I wear between my legs, but--” He paused for dramatic effect, pressing a button on the remote which opened an entire panel of the wall. “Perhaps you’d like to try something different tonight.”

You gasped, rising from the bed and joining Maximilien by the newly opened closet. Shelf upon shelf glowed with blue ultraviolet light, showcasing an impressive assortment of omnic cocks of every shape and size. He let you take your time ogling them, counting them, feeling the surfaces and hefting them to feel the weights. Most were made of the same smooth, panelled metal his usual piece was, simply varying in length and girth. The next section contained silicone members with a variety of textures on the surface and tips. The final group were made of glass. Curiously, you looked back at him.

“For temperature play, if you like. We can try out whichever one you want for tonight, and when I get back from Brazil, we can spend time exploring to find your favorites out of my collection.”

“Do they all--”

“Yes, they all ejaculate from the store inside my body, which reminds me . . .” he cut you off, turning back into the drawer. “I have more flavors available for you to choose from.”

You weren’t paying too much attention. Your eyes had fallen on the largest piece on the shelf, which seemed to both have the girth of a soda can and be the length of your forearm.

Maximilien followed your gaze. “Ah yes, that is one I have yet to get to with any partner. Up until now most of my sexual encounters have been one-night stands, and as you can probably tell, it takes a lot of training to be able to take that size. If you like it, we can probably get there someday.”

You were overwhelmed by all the choices available to you. You’d only had two different cocks inside you before. How were you supposed to tell what you might like? No way to know unless you try, you reminded yourself. You’re going to end up trying all of them eventually. Taking a deep breath, you turned to the standard metal pieces and selected one that looked noticeably longer than what you were used to with Maximilien.

“Nine inches is an excellent choice for our first experiment,” he praised, taking it from you and turning around to finish readying himself. “Go ahead and select a bottle from the drawer.”

Peering inside, you noticed about ten different flavors available to you, including the standard strawberry in a pink bottle. Next to it was a soft orange color, followed by a much more vibrant orange. You rolled the lighter-toned bottle between your fingers before nodding determinedly. “I would like to try peach flavor tonight,” you announced, setting it atop of the table while your partner placed his everyday eight-inch member on an empty shelf space. Something about his previous comments unsettled you.

He noticed your slightly concerned look. “There is nothing to worry about, my dear. The light sterilizes every piece completely, and you know how I dislike physical contaminants, so each is washed thoroughly once a week. I promise there is no danger to you.”

“It’s not that,” you bit your lip.

“Then what is it, my dear?”

You paused, unsure if the question would anger him, but ultimately decided you had to know. “You talk about them as if you use them regularly. How much use have these seen? H-how many sexual partners have you had before me?” you stuttered.

For a moment Max didn’t respond. He was confused at why that should matter. He bought you; surely you understood what that meant to him. But as he considered your uneasy features, a thought struck him that hadn’t before. Perhaps monogamy and its connotations were more emotionally important to common human females who weren’t in the business of selling their bodies to strangers. He wanted this arrangement to work between the two of you, and he thought the display of the bed would be enough to show that. But clearly the presentation of the closet full of devices to take your sexual relationship to the next level had jarred you away from thinking rationally. Or at least his own obvious show of considerable prior experience with them had. How curiously the human brain worked! He would just have to answer your questions and then express it to you in words.

“We have been together for two months now. In that time I have not engaged in sexual intercourse with anyone but you,” he began. “Before I obtained you, I would regularly travel with at least three of these pieces, in addition to my everyday appliance. I had made a habit of spending evenings off while away on business with various prostitutes in my bed, both human and omnic, mostly female and occasionally male. Sometimes I would seduce someone at a bar for what you humans call a one-night stand, and on occasion I have seduced patrons of my own casino. There are many partners I have seen multiple times, often calling on them while in their city on business. Sexual encounters for me occurred about twice a week. I have had a total of 27 partners before you. You are my 28th.”

You opened your mouth to say something, face having grown red with either anger or embarrassment. You couldn’t tell which.

Maximilien lifted a hand to silence you. After six years working as a servant, calming yourself at the gesture was involuntary and automatic. In this context, you hated it. But instead of allowing your anger to flare again, you took a deep breath and decided to hear him out.

He continued. “In all my years of existence, I’ve never committed to any single person. I’ve lived my life as a perpetual bachelor, never desiring monogamy -- until I met you. In the past two months I have made every effort to emulate a human relationship as best I can. You are my 28th sexual partner, but my first life partner. I must confess this is completely new territory for me, darling. I’d never shared a bed overnight with anyone until that first night we had together in Paris. I was hoping this new bed I had made for the two of us would express to you my efforts in making this arrangement into a relationship. But I suppose I must be more direct with my communication to that effect in the future?”

You didn’t reply.

“I can assure you, my dear, none of the objects in that closet hold any emotional value for me, nor do they represent attachments to previous sexual partners. They are tools only, and ones that are now free for you to use as you desire.”

You bit your lip. Holy fuck. I think I’m in love.

You took another deep breath. “Since you shared your sexual history with me, it is only fair I share mine. When I was nineteen, I began dating a shopkeeper near Antonio’s manor. I would often go to fetch ingredients for the cook, and over time the young man and I formed a connection. For my twentieth birthday, I gave him my virginity. We dated steadily for several months, until the day I found out he had broken into my parents’ shop and stolen several valuables. He had cheaply used me for information so he could make a quick stack.”

“How did you find out it was him?” the omnic asked.

“Since my family’s business was under Antonio’s protection, his men investigated the robbery and determined the culprit. I found out when Antonio himself brought me the shopkeep’s head to throw into the canal. No one betrays me and gets away with it.”

Maximilien’s eyes blazed. “Adeyemi is right about you. You will make an excellent assassin. But I do hope you realize the more you tell me about the late Mister Bartalotti, the more apparent to me it is that he was preparing you to become . . . his.”

You looked down. “That was the first incident where he showed me special treatment like that,” you confessed. After a moment you met the omnic’s gaze again. “I’m much happier living here, with you, than I ever was in Venice, even working in my family’s shop as a child. Thank you, Max.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that, Canary.” He reached and covered your hand with his own. “My internal clock is telling me it’s getting late, and I do have that flight to Brazil early in the morning.”

You rubbed your free hand over the back of his, a coy smile spreading across your face. “Then let’s not waste any more of our precious time talking . . .” you leaned down and kissed one of his gold rings, then looked up into his eyes through thick lashes. “ . . . Sir.”

Next chapter | All chapters

[devnny]

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

i like to call this chapter ‘AH, devi’s crazy TOO.’

[additional end-of-chapter drabble here: X ]

Devi watched Johnny brood sourly in the reflection of her rearview mirror, and couldn’t help but smile in amusement. There had been an argument between him and Tenna about who would be sitting in the passenger seat for this particular car ride – an argument that Johnny had bitterly lost.

“Who the fuck cares if you ‘called shotgun’…” She managed to hear him grumble under the thunderously loud music, and she snickered to herself.

Maybe she would pacify him with kindness later, if all went as planned tonight, but for now, Devi needed him to be in as pissy of a mood as possible without him being completely insufferable. She didn’t know the innerworkings of his fucked-up head too well, but she imagined that like anyone other person, he was more likely to get in a fight with someone if he was already in a bad mood.

The yellowed sign of the Camera slid across the windshield of the car as they drove past its front and turned into the small, poorly lit parking lot behind it. Devi had barely turned the engine off when Johnny undid his seatbelt, eager to leave his abhorred spot in the backseat. He got out and took in the familiar scenery of the theater’s dumpy, dark parking lot with a fond smile.

“Hm, I haven’t been here in quite a while.” He commented while Devi stepped out of the driver’s side beside him. She looked to him, then surveyed the area herself.

“Yeah, me either.” She replied, deciding not to mention that it was because of him that she had avoided this place for so long, then took up the leash that dangled loosely from his neck. Johnny’s eyes flickered down a moment at the movement, only to snort in remembrance of his new attachment.

Tenna looped around the trunk to meet them as they began their walk to the building.

“They still haven’t fixed that light by the dumpster?” She complained. “That’s been out for like, a year! Who knows what vile city dwellers could be lurking in the dark, ready to shiv me and steal my monies.”

Devi snorted a laugh.

“Eh. I’ve got the most dangerous thing in this parking lot roped to me, so I’m not too worried.”

Johnny smiled devilishly at that, and Tenna squinted apprehensively in his direction. Devi wasn’t wrong, she guessed, but was that really a good thing? She desperately hoped that whatever Devi was planning didn’t get either of them stabbed in the process.

The trio walked into the dull lighting of the entrance, and Johnny felt his asshat senses heightening by the second. He listened to the small crowd’s murmuring, pessimistically certain that someone would make a comment about either his attire, like usual, or the fact that he was currently adorned with pet equipment. A few people gave them weird stares, but his keenly tuned ears failed to hear if they said anything. Devi tugged him in the direction of the ticket booth, interrupting his paranoid scanning for the time being.

They settled on an old horror film, much to Tenna’s dismay, given the current company. Johnny felt some contentment in leading Devi to his old favored spot in their designated theater – he had a preferred spot in each of the Camera’s handful of theaters, back when he frequented the movies more often. He was also pleased when Devi readily sat beside him instead of putting Tenna between them, though it was most likely because having that damned leash drape over Tenna’s lap while she held it from the other side was impractical. He wanted to believe that she would have sat next to him anyway, even if the situation was different.

Devi only half-minded the movie, instead keeping her focus on Johnny’s behavior, which was more suspensefully entertaining than the cheesy, predictable stalking scenes of a film that she’d seen plenty of times as it was. She watched as covertly as she could at every twitch and look he gave to the people that laughed at inappropriate times, or talked through the ‘boring’ parts, and she felt some God-awful mixture of pride and disappointment that he did little else. Maybe his self-control had improved more than she thought it had.

The closest he got to losing it was when a couple of girls’ talking started getting progressively louder, as if they were unaware that their difficulty in hearing each other was because of the movie that they had paid to see. Devi could see Johnny tense, and could vaguely feel through their conjoined seat the movement of the muscles and tendons in his arm flexing and stretching as he ground his knuckles into a fist over and over. Before he could even yell at them, Tenna lobbed her still half-full box of candy over their row and hit one of the girls in the head with it, sending the shadows of little chocolates across the screen for a second, paired with her target’s aghast gag.

Johnny was surprised at the direct action, then built up a grim laugh into a quick cackle, joined by Tenna, who squealed out her usual high-pitched hyena laugh. Devi sunk back against her seat in defeat, already sensing by the hushed chatter a few seats ahead that the woman her friend had just beaned with a box of Raisinets was too weak-willed to confront their ‘larger’ group about it.

She tried to brush it off. Johnny was fantastic as drawing trouble to himself, and there would surely be another decent opportunity as the evening progressed; people were just too rude and shitty to not give him the desire for violence.

When the movie finished and they began their walk out to the street, Tenna insisted that she knew of an amazing little train of food trucks that parked nearby that they just had to try. It was almost six blocks away, and with the streets mostly dead, Devi would have insisted on any normal night that they drive there – of course, tonight was a little special, so she insisted that they walk.

“Yeah, I could use the exercise. Been cooped up in the apartment with Nny for one day too many.” Devi spoke nonchalantly about her choice, guiding Johnny smoothly away from the direction of the parking lot and toward where these alleged food trucks should be. She hoped along the way that Johnny would try and run from her side, at anything, even to chase a cat or something equally harmless.

Tenna nodded as though that made sense, but still had the gut instinct that Devi was up to something that she wouldn’t admit to. She kept her suspicions to herself while they trekked down the sidewalk, and instead continued talking up their eatery for the night.

Two streets passed, and Devi almost wanted to pout that Johnny had done nothing but walk dutifully by her side. He observed his surroundings with waning interest, unaware of Devi’s scrutiny. The darkened buildings of the already-closed shopping district blended together into one amorphous, black shape in his eyes, with his mind unable to find the square, uniform city architecture interesting for long. He was much happier looking at the starry sky, though it was difficult for many of the stars to appear brightly enough to be seen from a view inside the city. Stupid concrete monster wasn’t good for anything.

Partially coherent jabbering from Tenna failed to distract Devi from her disappointment in what was, so far, the most normal outing that she had had with Johnny since their reunion. She wished it wasn’t disappointing, but the entire purpose of this trip was to ensure that her leash idea would hold up in the face of Johnny’s unpredictable nature. She couldn’t afford to have a false sense of security when walking the streets with him!

The universe had thrown her so many asinine screwballs at this point that she wouldn’t be surprised if Johnny magically slipped his collar despite his big, dumb pumpkin head, or somehow had the unreasonable strength to break the clasp and attack something.

Why did he have to pick tonight to be on his very best behavior?

They reached the gated lot full of assorted food trucks without incident, and Devi’s lips vibrated with an annoyed exhale that sounded more like a disgruntled horse. Tenna assumed it was because of the gross, greasy looking people and food that awaited them, and gave her shoulder a friendly jostle.

“C’mon Devi! Truck food is amazing, you remember the hamburger sushi don’t you?” She asked with a giggly smile. Johnny made a face at the mention of ‘hamburger sushi’.

“Oh, I remember.” Devi eyerolled. It was actually pretty good, if she was being honest, but as of now she was bored with this completely fruitless adventure.

Johnny watched Devi curiously while they followed Tenna around the lot to different van windows, and his lower lip tented up in thought. She seemed unhappier suddenly, and he wondered why. Like Tenna, he speculated that it was because of their current environment, which he would emphatically agree was horrible. The mixing of smells from the numerous different types of frying dishes certainly did nothing for his already small appetite, and the people bumming around eating were all loud and irksome. And smelly.

“Devi, must we eat here?” Johnny whispered to her. Devi turned her head toward him.

“You don’t have to get anything if you’re not hungry.” She told him. “There’s food at home.”

Johnny pouted more.

“That’s not completely what I meant…” He mumbled, looking around. “The people here are wretched. Can’t we go somewhere more… completely absent of life?”

Devi looked at him for a moment before caving into quiet chuckles. Johnny felt his heart swell at the sound of her laugh. He steadied his composure as she moved to speak again, but her response was lost as Tenna called them over to the farthest corner of the lot.

“I FOUND THE HAMBURGER SUSHI TRUCK!” She yelled victoriously. Johnny’s mouth wormed miserably as Devi lead him to his doom of the fast-food version of fusion cuisine.

As they came to a stop beside Tenna, Devi noticed two men leaning up against the side of one of the buildings that walled off the lot, and raised her eyebrows in interest. They were smoking and drinking, and overall looked like the kind of late-night assholes that would loudly criticize others for a laugh. She wasn’t getting her hopes up, but kept their presence in mind as they waited for their food, just in case they were more trouble than she was asking for tonight.

 Tenna had ordered them two ‘cheeseburger’ rolls to share, and the concept of splitting two items between three people only vexed Johnny further. Now he would have to make certain – if he even bothered to EAT this disgusting-sounding thing – that whatever he was grabbing hadn’t already been handled by someone else. It was repulsive enough knowing whatever sweaty creature lurked in the van’s ‘kitchen’ was going to create this abomination with, likely, their bare hands.

He shivered in disgust.

The truck was either very popular, or the cook was very slow, because it was taking forever for their order to come out. As time drug on, Johnny began idly picking at his collar while Devi talked to Tenna. He was indifferent to their conversation topic, and his eyes listed over the rooftops of the surrounding structures, again looking for anything to occupy his thoughts while he was unable to have Devi’s undivided attention.

A particularly rude-sounding set of laughs resounded behind him, and his senses were suddenly sharp again. Anyone else wouldn’t have thought twice about it, probably wouldn’t have even heard it amongst the chatter of everyone else nearby, but Johnny was accustomed to being an object of ridicule, and knew the common vocalizations of assholes and bastards.

“Hey!” One of them said. He stopped to laugh again before continuing. “HEY! Dog-guy! Did she get you neutered too??”

Johnny and Devi both straightened at the comment, immediately aware that they were the subject of discussion. Johnny trembled a second as he attempted to swallow his insult, but failed, and turned to face the men that were trying to humiliate them. Devi only turned enough to side-glance at the interaction with a small, apprehensive smile.

“DOES MY SITUATION CONCERN YOU THAT MUCH?” Johnny yelled back at them. He steamed when the pair only ‘OOOH’d back at him in response before breaking into hysterics.

Devi watched as Johnny’s body began to shake more, and held her breath behind her inconspicuous expression as he took a step forward. Tenna eyed her in concern, uncertain why she wasn’t intervening into an exchange that would surely only escalate without her involvement.

“Hey girl, he’s had all his shots right? He looks rabid!” The other called toward Devi, and Johnny took even more offense that they would address her directly with their brainless, monkey-drool humor.

“SHUT YOUR MOUTHS.” He ordered, standing wide-legged and pointing aggressively in their direction. “DON’T SPEAK TO HER, you filthy, bleating, devolutions of humanity! I don’t come outside to be a spectacle for swine like YOU.”

His eye twitched when their response was something about him coming outside to have ‘walkies’, followed by further spittle-inducing laughter. Oh, how he hated people so very much. Just watching how unguarded they were as they hooted and gestured at him made his fingers twinge with the desire for physical mutilations. It would be so hard to laugh without tongues! Or faces! OR A HEARTBEAT!

The grit on the asphalt scuffed with the friction of his boot as he lunged toward his intended victims, and Devi barely had a chance to register he’d moved at all before her arm was outstretched, a continuation of his now taut leash. Within the second, her arm was extended as far as it would go, as was the leash, and Johnny gagged from the speed at which his collar hinged around his neck. His body propelled forward further, twisting him around, and he hit the ground face first with an unceremonious BLAP!

Everyone stared at his limp figure on the floor for a few seconds, and then the men spasmed with a new, uncontrollable fit of laughter. Devi’s eyes were wide as she watched Johnny raise up onto his elbows, and she felt a long-missing energy crackle to life in her stomach.

She bowled over and laughed; laughed with deep, desperately needed triumph beating in her blood.

“IT WORKED!” She yelled at Tenna as she rose. “DID YOU SEE? It worked!!”

Tenna offered her a confused, open-mouth smile, but her eyes only showed her worry and discomfort at Devi’s abnormal change in demeanor. Devi bent back and held her forehead, still laughing.

“Oh my GOD. That was so perfect!” She chuffed. “I… I can’t believe it! Heehee!”

Tenna set a hand on her shoulder.

“I think… all the joy you’ve repressed for like, an entire year, is coming out right now. All at once. About this weird fucking leash thing.” She dropped her hand and pointed to Devi’s wide smile. Devi’s only continued her snickering.

“It worked, it worked, it worked! HAH-HAH-HAH!”

Johnny’s ego couldn’t have been more bruised if he ran it over with his own car in a freak accident. He pushed himself up, using his knee to get back into a standing position. The bastards behind him were still laughing, and Devi was cutting up with Tenna about it too, which stung a lot more than the taunting of some nameless strangers. He tried to breathe between his clenched teeth to calm himself down, but he was so embarrassed and angry – Devi probably just let him make an ass out of himself to teach him a lesson. Why did she always have to make a fool out of him to get her point across? Talking and being gentle was an option too, if she didn’t know!

He couldn’t stop himself from glowering when she turned to face him.

“NNY!” She smiled at him, and Johnny frowned unhappily, believing her smile was part of her mockery. He could guess that Devi was going to reprimand him, again, for trying to attack some ‘innocent’ people – he was getting sick of this. Those morons were not innocent; they instigated this! She saw it!

“What?” He snapped bitterly. Devi only laughed and tugged him closer by his leash.

“That was PERFECT, I’m so happy!” She cheered. “You did just what I wanted you to do!”

The tension in Johnny’s face vanished immediately.

“I…” A weak smile crept over his lips. “I-I did??”

“YES! This night wasn’t a total waste after all!”

Johnny’s previous perception of her smile as cruel and jeering dissipated, and instead he felt himself amazed by the wide grin she wore. He hadn’t seen that particular smile on her in quite a long time, and the inside of his chest was suddenly light and airy. He had absolutely no idea what part of his actions exactly she was talking about, but he had made her so very happy, and that’s all that mattered to him for the moment. Johnny clasped his hands in front of him, admiring her continued giggling until Tenna approached them.

“Um… our food is done.” Tenna spoke while she chewed, still judging the bizarre scene uncertainly.

“Oh, good—” Devi took one of the take-out plates from her, but got distracted when she realized that the two peons she’d used to test Johnny’s apparatus were still guffawing in their direction. Her attention moved back to them, and Johnny followed her stare, scowling in their direction to show his support of her disapproving look. Devi passed him their food casually, and then slipped the handle of his leash off of her wrist.

“Here, hold this a second.” She said with a smile as she dropped it into Tenna’s open palm. Tenna almost gagged on her food when she realized what she had just gripped onto.

Johnny was surprised too – it was unlike Devi to give away control so casually. His wide eyes flicked away from Tenna’s hand and back to Devi, who was walking toward the men standing by the wall. He felt a twinge of worry; not because he thought Devi couldn’t handle these idiots, but rather that said idiots might touch her in some way.

If either of them pushed her or something, he would gut them both with the chopsticks that were so carefully perched on the raised edges of this disposable plate. No way would Tenna’s weak grasp be able to hold him back, he was confident in that.

Devi looked between the men in front of her as she walked, debating from her experience with shitty guys and their unspoken douchebag tier rankings, which of the two was more leader than follower. She thought that the one that first called out to Johnny, the taller one, was likely that man.

“Huh?” The same man said as he saw Devi encroaching on the invisible border of their hangout territory. “Oh, what’s the matter girlie? Did we upset your pet over there?”

He sneered a rude grin at her, and Devi smiled back, certain that she had chosen correctly.

With her last step, she drew her arm back, then hurled it forward as though her knotted fist was a shotput. Her knuckles cracked against the bottom of his jaw at such a speed that it threw him back with a light topspin. His turning body slammed his head into the brick wall behind him, and he bounced off of that like a sad rubber ball, landing at the wedge where the building and ground met in a heap.

Johnny and Tenna opened their mouths in silent gasps, unable to do anything else.

Devi held her fist in front of her a moment, appreciating the dull ache in her digits with a satisfied smirk, then dropped her expression to shoot the remaining man a warning look. He looked terrified, like a sheep separated from the flock, and Devi was content with that. She turned around and regathered her ‘things’ from Johnny and Tenna.

“C’mon, Nny.” Her mouth perked up again. “Let’s go.”

--

BACK HOME:

Johnny jammed himself further into the nesting spot he had made for himself on Devi’s couch, shuffling his legs to get more comfortable. His head lolled over to watch Devi, as it had many times since the movie started. It was supposed to be thought-provoking, said one of Devi’s film magazines, but by all accounts was dull and droned on aimlessly about the futility of society. It was a totally unbelievable portrayal of a mental downward spiral– and he would know. Where was the frenzied tears? The passion?

But, to be fair, even the most interesting, well-written plot in the history of cinema couldn’t keep his attention right now, with Devi sitting beside him lazily and scorning the images on her TV. His heart fluttered remembering her gleefulness just an hour ago, and how she decked that guy that had been laughing at him. Now that was passion.

A relaxed smile spread across his face, and he sighed contently. It had been such an exhausting night; from venturing into public, to enduring Tenna’s loud nature, to arguing with shitheads, to falling and hitting his head on the floor, to eating hamburger sushi – which was much better than he had imagined, actually – he was exhausted. It didn’t help that this movie was unengaging and badly-written. It would be a better use of his eyeballs to look at the dark inside of his eyelids.

Devi turned to make a sarcastic comment about the film, but lost her air when she saw Johnny asleep with his head tilted back over the couch cushion. She stifled a laugh.

“Wow. This movie must really be a boring piecashit to put you to sleep, Nny.” She said to him.

She pulled a wadded blanket out from her corner of the couch and threw it over him, then settled in to continue watching the rest of this abhorred picture. Maybe the ending would blow her fucking mind, or something.

Half an hour later, Devi’s cheek was stretched against the back of her hand, her head drooping despite her arm’s best efforts to keep it upright. She blamed her outburst of absolute joy tonight for taking so much out of her, and her weary brain decided it would be fine to fall asleep right here, beside Johnny, the man she normally locked her bedroom door to ensure didn’t come in and kill her while she slept. She didn’t even have enough cognitive function to argue how fucking stupid that was.

Devi’s eyelashes flittered closed for a few seconds, but just as she was drifting off to sleep, Johnny screamed at the top of his lungs and jolted her wide awake. Her hands clamped over the arm and top of the couch, and she scrambled back against the corner to stare at him. Johnny’s irises ricocheted around the whites of his eyes madly, before settling on Devi with the look of a frightened animal.

“…YOU GOOD?” Devi asked with concern and restrained fear in her voice.

Johnny looked cautiously around the room, then back to Devi, who was not bleeding or stabbed, as he had dreamed she was. He stared at her torso until he was absolutely positive that the injuries that he’d just seen seconds before were, in fact, figments of his imagination, and then relaxed shakingly against the couch cushion.

“Y… yes.” He choked out, then cleared his throat. “Yes. Just a… bad dream.”

He pulled the blanket on his lap up and around his shoulders, bundling it over his head and huddling up into a paranoid ball on the couch. Devi blinked tiredly, then rubbed her eyes as she mentally chastised herself for bothering to be startled by more of Johnny’s nonsense.

“Okay.” She sighed and stood. “I’m going to bed. That movie sucked, in case you were wondering.”

Johnny smiled fondly at her pessimism.

“Alright. Goodnight, Devi.”

“Night, Nny. Try and… get some rest.” She raised an eyebrow in reference to his previous panic, and left to her room.

Johnny watched her door close, then snatched up the remote and changed the output to cable. He focused on the TV as if his life depended on it, stubbornly refusing to even consider the notion of sleep again. ‘Get some rest’—yeah right! The night terrors were only getting more gruesome and realistic each time he slept, and he was not at all interested in seeing exactly how bad the dreams could get. He decided the best way to avoid that was to not sleep at all again, for as long as he could manage.

--

NEXT.

[dr-gloom]

Ssserpentine

A/N: Based on this post by @princeanxious. Dimitri elongates his s’s because the accident left him with some impaired speech that he’s been working to fix. One such method of teaching the ‘s’ sound is to draw it out; unfortunately, many folks tend to normalize this technique so any SLP/SLPA worth their salt tries not to use it if they don’t have to. Virgil’s piercing

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: Platonic Prinxiety, familial/brotherly Moceit, possible/hinted at Anxceit, possible/hinted at Royality

Words: 2,393

Summary: After an accident leaves Dimitri physically scarred and half blind, he decides to take back his confidence and turn his blemish into a statement. And of course his family are going to fully support him.

Tags/Warnings: swearing, blindness, mentions of pain, tattooing, sympathetic deceit

Fics Masterpost

Read it on AO3

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Dimitri sat in his car, anxiously tapping the steering wheel and staring at the sign of the tattoo parlor he’d meticulously researched for. Out of all the places close to him, this place seemed to have the best reviews and the pricing was decent (from what he could tell). They even were one of the few places who openly stated that they could tattoo over scars, which is apparently harder to do, or something. All things considered, this was like Dimitri’s Eden. His first-pick college. His safe place.

Okay, really? He was being so weird about this. Just get out of the car already, doofus.

Dimitri takes a shaky breath and opens his door, stepping out into the parking lot. He forces himself forward, approaching the tattoo parlor with determined steps. When he’s about ten feet away he suddenly stops and turns around heading back for his car.

“Nope, can’t do thisss. Absssolutely not. Thisss wasss a horrible idea.”

He grips the door handle, staring at his reflection in the window. The mottled skin that makes up about half of the left side of his face glares back at him like a neon sign. He looks at the glass eye; the green iris and reptilian pupil had drawn his interest the moment he laid eyes on it, and Patton, sweet, loving, never-judgmental Patton had told him to go for it. “It’d be so cool!” he said. So Dimitri had done it.

It was largely the inspiration for the tattoo he wanted to get.

The one he was currently stalling on by staring at his reflection in his car window.

Dimitri groans and lets go of the door handle, turning back to the building.

“Jussst do it. Come on. Jussst…. Walk in, tell them what you want, and get it over with.”

He nods to himself and starts walking towards the door. His hand’s nearly on the door handle when he chickens out, turning around. He walks with quick, rushed steps back towards his car, his face burning. He was being an idiot.

“You know, I don’t think we have extension cords long enough to give you a tattoo outside, as fun as that would be.”

Dimitri spins around at the voice, looking over the man standing a few feet away. The man is dressed in torn black skinny jeans, black boots, and an MCR tank that leaves his tattooed arms exposed. His purple dye-dipped hair is sideswept just out of his eyes, as if he brushed it aside so he could see better. Soft brown eyes look at Dimitri with an undercurrent of understanding, a playful smirk on his viper bite-pierced lips. Dimitri’s brain stutters to a stop. “Wh-what?”

The man - more than likely one of the tattoo artists - thumbs over his shoulder at the tattoo parlor. “You gonna come inside or what?”

Dimitri gives a halting nod, shifting from foot to foot. “Oh, yeah, I jussst…”

The man shrugs. “I get it dude; first time jitters. Happens to the best of us. Come on, I’ll help you out.” He starts walking towards the door and Dimitri follows, walking quickly to catch up to him. “Name’s Virgil, I’m one of the tattoo artists.”

“Dimitri.”

Virgil nods and holds open the door for Dimitri. “So what can we do for you today, Dimitri?”

“I want a tattoo.”

Virgil snrks. “Well I figured that, dude. What are you thinking of getting?”

Dimitri walks into the parlor, looking around. There are tattoo designs pinned up to the walls, focused mainly around the work stations. Two other employees are in the parlor; one at the front desk reading, and another at his workstation tattooing a customer. Dimitri glances at Virgil. “....Sssnake ssskin. On my faccce.”

Virgil hums and nods, moving to sit on his stool. “Okay, sounds cool. A few things; one, the face is pretty sensitive, so unless your scarring - I’m assuming this will go over your scar?” At Dimitri’s nod, he continues, “So unless your scarring killed those nerves, it will hurt. Two, we won’t be tatting you up today, because I need to plan this out. I figure it gives you a little time to decide if you really want this anyways, so what’s the harm. Are you thinking something like broken skin, or just scales?”

Dimitri sits on the padded chair, glancing at the designs pinned to the wall behind Virgil. “I don’t even know what broken ssskin meansss.”

Virgil grins and pulls out a binder, opening it and flipping through it. Dimitri catches the occasional glimpse of a drawing; Virgil’s personal portfolio, he’s guessing. Virgil stops and points at a page. “This is broken skin. It’s a design I did for a client a while back.” The design was of tiger print, drawn in such a way that it looked like the paper had been broken almost like an egg shell to expose the print. Dimitri studies the art piece for a moment before he shakes his head. “I think I’ll jussst go with sssnake ssscalesss.”

Virgil nods, closing the binder and putting it back where he got it from. “Sounds good. How about we exchange numbers so I can send you design plans for you to OK. Sound good?” Dimitri nods. “Good. Logan will book you an appointment a couple weeks out so we have time to get it just right. It was nice meeting you, Dimitri.” Virgil gestures to the man reading up front and sticks his fist out. Dimitri eyes the appendage with a look that just says, “Seriously?” before tapping his own fist against Virgil’s and getting up, heading up to the front desk.

Virgil sits with his feet on the cushioned chair, his sketchbook propped up on his thighs. He taps the end of his pencil against his bottom lip as he thinks, staring at the blank page before him.

“You’ve been staring at that thing for an hour. Lose the ability to draw?”

Virgil glared across the room at his coworker. “No, asshole, I’m just thinking. Something you don’t do enough of.”

The man gives an offended gasp, placing a hand to his chest. “Excusez-moi. Rude, much?”

“You started it, Ro.”

Silence for all of thirty seconds, and then, “Seriously, what’s got you so stumped?”

Virgil sighs and lets his feet fall to the floor, tossing the sketchbook onto the padded chair. “New client wants a snakeskin face.”

Roman’s lip curls in thinly-veiled disturbance. “What, like…. His whole face?”

Virgil scoffs. “No, dumbass. He has a really big scar on the left side. Wants to cover it.” Roman hums in understanding. “I’m just kind of… Strapped for ideas right now. Everything I can think of looks too… Stupid.”

Roman props his feet up against the wall. “Well, what’s the scar look like?”

Virgil digs out his phone and pulls up the conversation with Dimitri. After they’d gotten him squared away for an appointment that was now only a week away, Virgil had asked Dimitri to text him a picture of the scar as reference. Virgil tapped the photo to enlarge it, handing the phone to Roman. Roman looked at the picture for a moment, his lips quirked to the side in thought.

“I may have an idea.”

“Dude, they look like freaking… Those gems from Zelda. This sucks.”

“Well I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas!”

“Actually, yeah, I did.”

“But are they good enough?”

“.....”

“That’s what I thought.”

Virgil’s phone going off at 2 am was not how he wanted to be woken up. Especially not on a Saturday. Wasn’t this supposed to be the one day he got to sleep in? Why did the universe hate him?

“H’llo?”

“Virgil! I figured it out! Get down here now, you have to see this!”

“Can’t you just text it to me?”

Cue the offended gasp. “Text it to you? I’m offended you’d even ask!”

Virgil groans, sitting up and grabbing his boots. “I’ll be there in ten.”

“....Huh.”

Roman fidgets with his fingers, studying Virgil’s expression for any hint of disapproval. “So?”

Virgil sets the sketchbook back on the table and pulls out his phone. “Only one way to find out.”

Roman grins as Virgil snaps a photo and sends it to Dimitri.

Dimitri sat once again in his car, staring at the tattoo parlor several yards ahead of him. He tapped on the steering wheel, the tapping of his finger matching the beating of his heart. Did he really want to do this? A tattoo was more or less permanent, and this was… Well, he definitely wouldn’t be able to blend into the crowd once he went through with this.

Patton laid his hand on top of Dimitri’s, effectively stopping his twin’s tapping. “Come on, Di, it’ll be fine! You’ll look so cool, like a… What are they called… Like a Basilisk! Well…. Half of you, anyways.” He laughs lightly.

His twin’s laugh draws a small smile out of Dimitri, and he sighs. “People are going to think I’m a freak.”

“Then I’ll beat them up!”

Dimitri laughs. “You can’t even clap me on the shoulder without worrying you hurt me.”

Patton pouts and crosses his arms. “Yeah, but you’re my twin, of course I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Dimitri doesn’t respond to that, just looking through his windshield at the tattoo parlor. “Well… Don’t want to be late for my appointment.” He steels his nerves and steps out of the car, Patton’s door shutting a moment after his. Patton moves to his side and takes his hand, and even though Dimitri can’t see him he knows his twin is giving him a reassuring smile. He takes a deep breath and starts walking with Patton towards the parlor.

Dimitri grips Patton’s hand tightly as the needle moves over his skin, trying not to squeeze his eyes shut too tightly or he’d risk crinkling his skin and messing Virgil up.

“It’s okay, Di. I gotcha. You’re okay. It’s gonna look great.”

What felt like an eternity later, Virgil set his machine down and sighed. “Alright, we’re done. Let’s talk aftercare.” He turns on his stool and grabs the supplies he’d set aside at the beginning, bandaging up Dimitri’s face. “So you don’t want to take this off for a few hours. At least two, though to be safe leave it on for three or four if you can. You’ll want to have it covered overnight to prevent the sheets sticking to you or getting stained, so you might just wanna leave it on unless it’s rubbing your skin uncomfortably or falling off already. You’re gonna wanna make sure your sheets stay clean for at least the first two weeks; this means you shouldn’t do anything in bed other than sleeping, to avoid crumbs, pencil shavings, whatever. Once you take off the bandages, you need to immediately wash your skin. We typically recommend something gentle and plain like Dial soap, definitely nothing with a fragrance or those little cleansing beads.”

Patton nods, scribbling the instructions into his notepad. Dimitri’s glad not for the first time today that he brought his twin along.

Virgil’s coworker walks over, his hands in his pockets. “So how’d it go?”

Virgil shrugged. “Pretty good. Dude didn’t even cry.”

The other man swore under his breath and handed a smirking Virgil ten dollars. Virgil turns to Dimitri. “This is Roman, he helped me design your tattoo.”

“Helped? I practically did it myself!”

“It was a 50/50 effort and you know it.”

“....Still.”

Patton jumps up, grinning at Roman. “Hi, I’m Patton! Dimitri’s twin.”

Roman grins at Patton and slings an arm over his shoulder. “Well hello, my fair prince.”

Patton giggles. Virgil groans. Dimitri rolls his eyes.

Great, just what he needs. Some guy hitting on his twin.

Thomas grins as he looks over Dimitri’s face, holding his adopted son’s jaw gently to turn his head. “It looks good! It healed well. You look so cool.”

“That’s what I said!”

Dimitri rolls his eyes. “You two are alwaysss ssso posssitive. It’sss naussseating.”

“Awwww, you love us!”

“....Shut up.”

“Di Di Di Di! Look!”

Dimitri spins his chair around to face his twin, who stands in his doorway bouncing on the balls of his feet with a large grin. Dimitri raises an eyebrow. “Yesss?”

Patton runs over to his twin, showing him his bandaged wrists. “I got tattoos! They’re on my ankles too. Roman did them for me!”

Dimitri’s eyes widen and he gently grips Patton’s arms, turning them to get a look at the bandages. “You got tattoosss? Why? What of?”

Patton grins. “They’re snake scales, just like you!”

Dimitri blinks, processing what he just heard. “Pat…”

“You’re so strong, Di, and I’m so proud of you for not letting your scar define you. I love being your twin.”

Dimitri lets go of Patton’s wrists to hug his twin around his waist, pressing his face into Patton’s stomach. Patton giggles and runs his fingers through Dimitri’s wavy hair. “Love you too.”

“Out of the way, old man.” Dimitri jokes, grinning as he lightly shoves Thomas. The soft hiss he gets in reply has his grin turning into a concerned frown. “Dad?”

Thomas waves him off, grinning. “Oh, don’t worry about it Di. I’m fine!”

“Sssomehow I don’t believe you.”

Thomas frowns, then sighs. “Alright, well… I’d wanted to wait until it was healed to show you, but I guess the cat’s out of the bag.” Dimitri is about to ask what he’s talking about when Thomas pulls his shirt up, exposing a bandage taped over the left side of his chest. Dimitri’s eyes widen.

“What happened?”

“I got a tattoo! It’s those scales, like yours and Pat’s. Right over my heart, because I love my boys.”

Dimitri flushes, staring at the bandage. After a moment, he gives Thomas a mischievous grin, poking his chest. “Actually, your heart’sss about… Right here.”

Thomas frowns. “What, really? Aw, man!”

Dimitri laughs. “It’sss fine. I like it. I bet it looksss ‘cool’.”

Dimitri sighs, pressing the phone to his ear and listening to it ring before the person on the other end picks up with a tired sounding, “yo”.

“Are you and Roman coming over for movie night? Dad wantsss to know.”

He can practically hear the grin in Virgil’s voice. “Movie night with the serpent Sanders? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Taglist:

@hungry-red-panda @neonb-fly @chemically-imbalanced-romance @punsterterry @dead4sevenyears @metaphoricalpluto2 @tanyatoloni1334

[inkstaineddaughter]

Darkness Expectant Chapter 26: A First Journey Complete

Kylo/Reader

Some fluff, some angst and A LOT of smut!

5,716k words

You can’t remember the last time you’ve been so bone-achingly tired. You take a deep breath, blink rapidly and try again to focus again on the console in front of you, even if the text and the diagrams are starting to blur and blend together.

Your feet hurt and your back hurts and it feels like it’s been days since you’d last eaten. You understand how important the launch of this new fleet of TIE fighters is and how crucial it is that every detail be perfect. You’ve even smiled at the thought of how much your dad would have loved discussing weapons technology with your husband. But more than anything, you just want everyone around you to shut up and go away.

Kylo nudges you with his elbow again and gives you another meaningful look. He’d already told you that you could leave and go home whenever you needed to. Go to bed and he’d be back soon. But you’d (stupidly) refused, determined to stay the course. You’re grateful that he’s allowed you to lean against him and has wrapped his cape protectively around you as you shift your weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

Had you actually fallen asleep standing? It feels like no time at all has passed when Kylo’s voice, his sharp, “Supreme Leader Voice” brings you back from wherever you’d been. “This will reconvene tomorrow. We’re nearing completion anyway.” You watch as the officers and designers shuffle out of the room, mumbling and shutting off datapads and consoles.      

“I’m not sure what kind of reward you expect for that,” he says as he props you back up on your feet. “You didn’t have to stay.” You yawn widely and shake your head at him.  “This is im… important! To you and to the entire Order. I should be here for it, be involved.” Kylo sighs deeply and mutters “Be involved in bed.” Naturally, you hear him. And smile as he hooks his arm around your shoulders and leads you out of the command room. But the sound of your name, at once urgent and relieved, brings you all the way to your senses.  “Supreme Leader, may I steal my daughter from you for a bit?” Your mother sinks into an obviously sarcastic curtsy before hurrying across the command room. “I promise I’ll give her back in one piece. I’ll even feed her dinner.” She looks back at you, pleading, but with a strange undercurrent of something almost like excitement. “(Y/N), I really, really need to talk to you.”

“Of course,” Kylo answers smoothly as he quite literally hands you over to her. You scowl at him. These two certainly do love making decisions when it comes to you. Resigned to your fate, you allow Kylo to place a kiss on your forehead, and tell you that he loves you before linking your arm with your mother’s and heading back to her quarters. She’s rambling about how difficult it was to find you and she can’t believe you and Kylo were still working this late. And you wonder how easy it is to slip from the role of Loving Daughter to Devoted Darkside Wife, to “Fuck-Me-Kylo-I’m-Your-Whore”. Almost as if they’re not really separate roles at all. Just you.

Only two people in the Galaxy can truly anticipate your needs. And never fail in meeting them. And you almost melt with gratitude when your mother places a plate of Kodari-rice and groat chop in front of you after you’ve sat down. “I have to feed my kids, right?” she asks as she settles into the chair across from you. Her eyes flick down to your belly and you smile.

But it just means that you won’t be going to bed hungry. And you plan on going to bed within the next…. however long it will take you to finish eating/pretending to listen and walk back to your quarters and your bed.        

“I’m sorry to drag you here and I know you’re tired, but this is serious,” your mother tells you, leaning across the table. “Not bad, though. Just serious, so please don’t worry.” Of course, now you’re already worried. Every horrible scenario runs through your head as you set your plate down and steel yourself for the worst. She draws a deep breath and closes her eyes briefly. And your heart stutters and starts beating again when she says the words, “I’m thinking about getting another pittin.”

Relief washes over you as you sink back into the chair and glance at the clock on the wall. Even pregnant, exhausted and miserable, in the battle between sleep and pittins, pittins will always win. So much for getting to bed any time soon. “All right,” you rub your hands together as you sit up and your mother looks at you hopefully. “There is no such thing as too many pittins. And I’m sure I can get you special permission to have more than one in your quarters, if you need it.” You wink at her. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard the rumors, but apparently I have some influence with the Supreme Leader.” Now, male or female? And what are you thinking for names?”  

You have no idea how much time has passed when your mother deposits you back at the door to your quarters, kisses your cheek and thanks you for all your help. Kylo is probably in bed, if not already asleep. At least you’ve eaten dinner and are looking forward to curling up and falling asleep next to him.

But the lights are on inside and a familiar smell fills your quarters. Familiar, but still elusive. It smells like comfort. It smells like home. “Kylo?” you call as you walk in. The dining table is set with a full tea service and plates of crumblebun and Jogan fruit tarts. It’s then that you realize the smell is sapir tea. Your heart clenches at all the memories woven into and around the taste and smell of the drink.

He comes in from the food prep area, gestures for you to sit down at one of the seats and you notice that, for all the elegance and symmetry of the table, your husband, looks a little disheveled. From his messy hair and rumpled pajamas, down to his bare feet. Why hasn’t been in bed?  He sees the confused look on your face and gives you one of the smirks that you’ve come to know so well. The kind that make you want to smack him, make you want to kiss him.

“Which one of us is going to say ‘Happy anniversary’ first?” he asks. Anniversary? Of what? Alderaan? Jakku? Jedi Temple?! You wrack your brain, trying to give meaning to the day. Kylo takes a step closer to you and holds out his hand. “It was one year ago, the day we met.” The day you met? The first time?  “A year?” you whisper and do the math, quickly acknowledging the time spent in fear and fortitude with Snoke and whatever was lost as the Resistance struggled in their attempt to rescue you. It seems more like a lifetime, several lifetimes. The blink of an eye. “It has!” you breathe.

Kylo shrugs almost imperceptibly, his face melting into a smile. “At least one of us has been keeping track. Come and sit.” He takes another step closer, but you can only stand frozen as images and memories flood your mind, taking you back to the very beginning. When you stood in your quarters, shouting at your mother that they can’t just “give” you to Commander Ren. When you sat across from him at a conference room table, he offered you his hand and you offered him your loyalty. Did any part of you know then, how much either of you would give to each other? Or gain in return?

It may have only been a year together, but Kylo immediately recognizes the look on your face. He sees how your eyes fill and your lip wobbles before he sweeps across the room and sweeps you into his arms. He’s warm and steady wrapped around you. “Still mine,” he whispers into your hair. “Now come sit down.”

You finally sit and have barely looked over the table, taking in the tea service and the delicious looking meal, when a realization hits you. “My mother!” you hiss and watch Kylo lean back in his chair, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “She was in on it the whole time! Keeping me distracted so you could have a chance to… oooooh! I bet she doesn’t even want a new pittin!” You’re not really angry, not at them anyway. Though the thought of Kylo and your mother working together like old friends, to plan a surprise for you is mildly irritating. Working together because you had forgotten what will probably be the most important day of your life.

Kylo shrugs and picks up his teacup. “I can’t speak one way or another about the pittin,” he says. “But I did enlist her help with keeping you busy while I set things up.” He holds out his cup. “Anniversary toast?” he asks and you scramble to lift yours as well. “My wife,” he says simply. The other half of my soul and every voice I’ve ever heard inside my head. It all lead to you.” You’re not even sure how to follow that and your hand shakes as you hold out your own cup.

“I didn’t want to hand my entire life over to you. Didn’t want    

The sapir tea is just as lovey as it’s always been, smelling like home and warming your heart as well as your fingers that are wrapped around the cup. Though you want to save some of the crumblebun for breakfast, you can’t seem to stop eating it. Kylo sees you hesitate as you reach for another piece. “I’ll have more sent over,” he assures you. “It’ll be here by the morning.” He looks at you like the most beautiful thing in the Galaxy, like you’re not even real. Sometimes, he makes you feel like you aren’t real. Nobody real could ever do anything to deserve him. “A year!” you marvel through a mouthful of pastry. “It’s funny how it seems like a lifetime or like no time at all.”

Kylo reaches across the table and places his hand on yours. “I can do this now if I want,” he says. No more confusion or tangled emotions. He can reach across anything now and take any part of you he likes. Your fingers slip perfectly between his as you twine them together, bring him closer. “You remember the day we first met, don’t you?” he asks.

You blink in surprise. “Of course, I do! I was completely overwhelmed by everything, but I remember you. It was like you took up the entire space of the room. And I had no idea where I was supposed to fit.”  

“You were so scared.”

“I was so scared,” you agree.    

“It was frustrating!” Kylo continues. “I could feel it and I hated it. I just wanted to comfort you.” He clenches his fingers around nothing, as he remembers. “You were wearing blue that day and your hair was tied back.” Kylo shakes his head. “You were confusing even then.”

“I was scared and I was angry,” you remember. “So furious that I was essentially being handed over to another person, like I was some kind of property.” You had fought your mother hard on this. No way were you willing to give up your whole life and submit to a complete (and still terrifying) stranger, just because you had become some kind of Force tracking device.

“I mean, I knew who you were, of course,” you continue. “I’d been seeing you at ceremonies and functions and whatnot for a while. But it was ‘Commander Ren’. He was tall and wore all black and a mask and was supposedly immensely powerful.” That’s it, really. Your mother would drag you along to any First Order pomp and circumstance. So, you could fold your arms and scowl at everybody, sick of hearing what a beautiful young lady were becoming or how your dad would be so proud of you.

Kylo looks surprised by the fact that your paths had previously crossed, that you hadn’t both just burst into existence the day you met. “I wish I’d seen you,” he frowns. “Recognized you.” But you shake your head at him, convinced that he would have had very little patience with you back then. He was in the early stages of training with Snoke and you were a teenage timebomb. You scoff, and giggle darkly. “I doubt you would have wanted very much to do with 16-year-old me. I was a pretty unpleasant.”

You watch the familiar shadow fall over his eyes, darkening them with something other than regret. “I might have,” he says. “You were close to legal age. Old enough to marry.” Your breath catches, tightening your chest and sending a surge of warmth that travels through your body and settles heavily in your cunt. “I could’ve taken you anywhere,” Kylo continues. “Done anything I wanted to you.”

“I would have let you,” you reply and realize that you’re not the least bit teasing. You’re certain that, even then, the tiniest flash of light between you would have become the consuming fire that devours you both now.

And you each notice how the atmosphere changes. The romance and sentimentality have vanished as you meet each other’s eyes across the table. You can almost hear that lightning crackling and buzzing in the corners in the room.

You shrug and continue. “I miss you like that sometimes. Not that you aren’t terrifying now.” Because he is. Still towering over everything in his path and leaving devastation in his wake. Now unmasked, his victims and followers are able to see everything, from the slightest flick of an eyebrow to every feature contorted with rage.

“But the mask and the hood, the voice modulator.”  You look down and realize that you’d been subconsciously rubbing your hands over your thighs and see how your legs have spread under your own touch. You place your hands back up on the table. “It was absolutely frightening, but exciting.”

Kylo continues staring at you, his mouth slightly open and eyes wide. As you stare back, you see his tongue dart out to moisten his lower lip and you wonder what the chances are of him just snapping and fucking you hard and fast on the table, teacups shattering on the floor and jogan fruit smearing onto your thighs.

“I saw you at functions and ceremonies, but there’s so much I feel like I missed. That I would have loved to have seen.” You become aware of how your voice is now shaking and how difficult it is to  catch your breath. “The power and the destruction,” you continue. Kylo has seized your hand again and is now squeezing, his thumb rubbing hard against your knuckles, the same way he would rub against your clit if you were naked beneath him.

The table suddenly seems too wide, too much distance between you as you hear the teacups rattle against their saucers. “I especially wish I’d been there when you killed Han Solo,” you confess. “Not that I haven’t seen it countless times in your mind, but in person, it would have been so much more. I wish I could have felt all of it with you.”

“I wish you’d been there too,” Kylo groans. You can see the color rising in his cheeks and the sweat that beads across his forehead.

“I’m not a total deviant,” you attempt to explain before he cuts you off. “Yes, you are.” And you smile, because when it comes to him, you really are. Nothing is sacred. Nothing too brutal to share with him, to revel in together.

“All right,” you admit and shrug. “Maybe I really like the idea of sucking your cock right after you’ve murdered your father, I don’t know. Maybe.” Kylo briefly closes his eyes and huffs out a breath. “I would have thrown him off that bridge myself, so I could reach you faster.”

The lightning in the corners is now crackling inside your head, the Force pressing against your chest, making it even harder to breath. You feel the walls of your pussy throbbing, contracting to the rhythm of your heartbeat. The room already smells like sex. “You’ll see so much more,” he promises. “So much worse.”

But the lightning mutes, the pressure on your chest increases and you feel your ears pop as you instinctively place your other hand over your mouth and yawn widely. And the mood disappears. Kylo releases your hand and graces you with one of his rare, toothy smiles. “I’m amazed you’ve lasted this long,” he tells you as he walks around the table and helps you to your feet. He wraps his arms around you and holds you as tightly against him as he can, as much as the baby belly will allow. “You always seem to do that though, don’t you?”

“Hmmmf?” you mumble, your nose pressed into his chest. Kylo releases you and steps back. “Start yawning in the middle of an important conversation. Am I really that boring?” he asks. You remember the first time he’d kissed you and stumbled through a confession of love. You’d sat next to him, your hand in his, somehow both hanging on his every word and disbelieving of the entire situation. Until you’d suddenly, and quite rudely yawned right in his face.      

Before you can answer, he reminds you for the fourth time to go to bed and you finally acquiesce. It’s hard to leave though. The vision of your dark warrior and Jedi killer clearing off the table, with tangled hair and no shoes is not one you want to tear your eyes, or heart away from.

In the bed chamber, you peel your clothes off and pull a simple sleeping shift over your head. If Quica decides to sink her claws into your back as you sleep, you’ll be protected. And if Kylo decides to sink anything else into you at any point during the night, you’ll be accessible.

With all the events of the evening, anniversaries and pittins and jogan fruit, you feel your earlier excitement waning as drowsiness starts to cloud your head. Quica settles on the bed next to you, her furry body pressed against you and her purr vibrating in your own chest. At least Kylo will be able to curl up next to you, you think. A year. Even if the small kicks and summersaults from inside your own body remind you of the passage of time, it still seems unreal.

“Off the bed.” The voice that pulls you from your doze is threatening, but familiar. Quica is gone and you blink up at the figure standing over you. It is a figure of nightmares, of comfort and confusion. Of lust. Silver lines and leather-clad hands. Instinct takes over and you hasten to roll out of the bed. To obey.

“Don’t move,” Kylo warns you. And though you can’t see his eyes behind the mask, you can feel them on you, tracing every curve, noting every bit of exposed and flushed skin. All the elements that you remember are there, the hood pulled up over the mask, the draping cowl across his chest and the frayed and uneven cape. Your heart drops and your pussy clenches. Gods, you’ve fucking missed this!

The leather is cold against your skin as he drags his hands up your arms, raising them above your head. “You should never have to undress yourself,” he says as he pulls off your shift in one swift motion and lets it fall to the floor. “Not when I’m around to do it.”

Kylo holds your chin in place and swipes his thumb over your lip. “Scared?” he asks. The modulator making his voice distorted and nearly unrecognizable. You know he’s going to push your limits tonight. But it is your anniversary after all, and it doesn’t seem fair that you should get to have all the fun. You swipe your tongue across the pad of his thumb and swirl it around the tip just like you love to do with his cock. “Not yet,” you answer.

He pulls his hand away from you and you watch as he climbs onto the bed, only slightly awkwardly as he tries to avoid getting tangled in the cape. And he settles on his back. And not even on the side he regularly sleeps on, but in the middle of the mattress. And you’re utterly puzzled as he lays his head down just below the pillows. This is obviously some sort of anniversary surprise he’d planned. But, unlike the tea and dessert, you doubt very much your mother has had anything to do with it.

Kylo doesn’t turn his head to look at you and instead keeps his faceless gaze trained on the ceiling above the bed. “Are you going to join me or not?” The words are clipped and he sounds impatient. You wonder if he expects you to enter into his mind and anticipate his requests before he asks. Easier said than done. But you see his finger tapping against his thigh, watch the bedchamber light reflect off the shiny leather of his glove. You decide that, in this case, going along with him will be more fun than being a cheeky brat. And you pull yourself onto the bed next to him.  

You climb atop him, straddling his hips in the old familiar position, moving your hands up his chest. “No,” he scolds, seizing your wrists and pinning them together. With his free hand, he lightly smacks your ass and you stifle a small moan at the feel of the leather against your skin. And you sit there, throbbing and leaking against him, but confused about what exactly he’s asking. “Up, up, up.” He releases your wrists and you crawl off. “Mask,” he says, pulling the hood down from where the fabric had snagged on it. And you sit there, feeling naked and stupid. Although it might be to your advantage. “Ummm, yes?” you reply.

Kylo reaches and grabs your wrist again, pulling you closer. Even through the voice modulator, you can hear how his teeth are clenched. “Ride it!” And your heart doesn’t just drop in your chest at his words, it disappears altogether, leaving a dull, aching emptiness inside you. Your cunt clenches around nothing and you feel the heat travel up your body and the surge of moisture between your legs. “Come on,” he urges almost gently as he pulls you up toward his head.

You shuffle up the length of the bed, your calf brushing against his arm, each individual pleat in the sleeve leaving a trail of goosebumps down your leg. You’re mesmerized by the sight of your breasts, your nipples hard and bright pink. And though your belly obscures most of your legs, you watch as you lift your knee, swinging it over to settle and sink down into the bed just above his shoulder. And just as your belly hides the lower half of your body from view, it also hides Kylo’s mask from view. Though it does nothing to muffle the sound of his voice “same damn quote”. And you wonder what the view must look like to him. How many times has he looked through that visor and seen people’s last moments and watched the life in their eyes drain into nothingness? The burning, blinding glow of his lightsaber or his vision covered with spatters of blood. The only view now is of your open, throbbing pussy as you sink down onto his face. No victims or battles or dead fathers. Just swollen flesh as so much red.    

As your husband, you adore him beyond all reason and as his apprentice, you were unflinchingly loyal to him from the very beginning. Not once did you hesitate in choosing him over your mother, even over Snoke. But now kneeling, hot and dripping over his face, over the dreaded but achingly familiar shapes of the mask, fogging up the surfaces, a shiver runs through you at how forbidden and profane the whole act feels. How utterly disrespectful and you’re reminded of when he fucked your mouth as you sat on the Supreme Leader’s throne. It makes you sick but so, so wet how he takes every symbol of ritual and reverence and defiles them one by one with you. Until the only sacred things left are each other.

The obsidian and durasteel of the mask are still cold against the throbbing heat of your cunt. The silver ridges of the visor drag against your clit and you moan softly. “Make your sounds,” Kylo urges you and the deep vibration from his voice reaches all the way up into your chest. You roll your hips and the edges of the faceplate slide along the creases in your thighs. As you move faster, the unbidden image of Darth Vader appears in your head. Whether it came from some place within you or was put there by Kylo himself, you’re not certain. But it’s almost a mirror image of you now, sweaty and shaking, sitting atop the mask, sliding your wet pussy over the grooves and ridges. Leather-clad hands on your thighs, gripping and bruising the flesh. The same mask that sits in a box only a few feet away in the bedchamber. You shudder as your eyes dart over to the shelf where the burned and twisted remains of Vader’s face lie. Beneath you, his grandson squeezes your ass, wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you down harder, moving you faster as you grind your clenching cunt against him.

And he stops. Kylo lifts you, not too gently, off of him and stands. You squeak his name in surprise as he reaches for you and drags you to edge of bed. He continues staring down at you and you watch in amazement as he unfastens his trousers and pulls his cock out through the layers of fabric with one hand while still keeping the other on your leg. He shoves your knees apart and holds you steady as he pushes unto you. And he keeps going, even when it feels like there’s no more of him or more of you left. Then he bottoms out and you feel the rough fabric of his tunic as it scratches against your thighs. And the pressure on your cervix almost steals your breath away.    

He only lets a few moments pass before he begins thrusting into you soundlessly, keeping your legs spread as his fingers dig into your knees. Above you, he seems unfeeling and almost inhuman. Even though the light reflects off the wet streaks you left on his mask, he doesn’t betray a hint of his own pleasure or any care for yours, other than allowing you to keep your hands placed over his. He feels as anonymous and vague as the Commander Ren you would sometimes see at functions when you were younger, tall and clothed in black. And it’s easy to imagine him taking you anywhere and you allowing him to do anything to you.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” His voice is hoarse and betrays the emotion that really is there, the mounting lust and desperate need. “Not just your precious Kylo Ren?” he pants with each stroke. “You want the Supreme Leader, don’t you? Want to feel his power and his cock deep inside you.” The “Yes!” that falls from your lips is indecent. “You want him to come in you?” Kylo asks, increasing his pace, somehow thrusting harder even though you’re clenching almost painfully tight around him. “Come hard and just fill your tight little pussy all the way up.” And you want everything from him. Too much and yet nothing at all. Every orifice on every surface in every star system. You want to burn down all the parts of your life from before he was there. Watch the entire galaxy burn as you kneel before him and take him into your mouth. As he bends you over another smoldering ruin and opens you up.

But in this moment, this is all you need. His cock in your cunt, hitting every spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch up into him. Making vulgar, squelchy sounds as he fucks you through your slick. His hands that grip your knees, pulling you onto him as his thrusts become harder and deeper. You nod frantically, your throat almost closing as you choke out a “I want it!” Followed by an almost inaudible and much deeper, “Oh, fuck.”

“You’ve done so well,” he continues. “You’re always so good to me. Such a sweet…” He pauses, shakes his hands out from under yours as he reaches up, reaches to release the mask’s faceplate, to tear it off and let it fall at his feet. A sob catches in your chest at the sight of him. His face is flushed and sweaty, his lips are swollen and his hair matted against his temples. You missed him!

“Kyloooo!” you whine as you blink back tears and reach for him. He gathers you into his arms and kisses you. Holds you as close against him as your unborn son will allow. “I love you, (Y/N)!” he breathes against your skin. “I love you, Gods, I love you so much!”

Words have momentarily failed you, but you hope he can feel by the way you keep your hands clutched into the rough fabric of his cape, how you continue to move your own hips in time to meet his, how your pussy tightens around him. Everything. Too much and still not enough.

He slips his hand down between you and you feel his thumb on your clit, swirling tight circles around the painfully swollen nub. “Oh, thank the stars!” you gasp as you finally find your voice. “Please, yes!” He’s going to bring you there. Drag you along with him and then hurl you into the chasm. Before he jumps in after you.

Kylo increases the speed of his thumb, rubbing frantically over your clit. “Don’t you ever fucking touch yourself, you hear me?” he babbles. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you!” You feel your juices run from between your legs, feel them pool on the bed below you. And both of you are so, so close and so hot and so wet. “Please,” he begs. “You’ve got to come on my cock, baby! All over me.” His voice is now plaintive. “Please. I need to feel you!” You nod and tighten your grip on him, pulling him closer, trapping him against and inside you. You’ll spend the rest of your life coming on him. Every anniversary, every year.

“Fuck!!” you nearly shout as he drags the head of his dick against that one perfect spot inside you, the spot that always makes you clench around him, makes you drool over his cock, makes you sob. “Kylo! Just…mmmm, just harder!”

He smooths a gloved hand over your head, pushing back your sweaty strands of hair. “All right,” he murmurs in a low voice. “Whatever you need.” He grips your waist and slams into you so hard, it almost makes you gag. You can feel him all the way up into your throat.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” you chant in time to his brutal pace. He yanks you down hard onto him and freezes, as his thumb presses into your clit. You can feel his cock swell inside you and your pussy clamps tight around him as he explodes into you, coating your walls with him. “Oh, I’m coming!” you gasp, somehow sounding more surprised than consumed by pleasure. But consumed, you are. So consumed that you can only squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto your Supreme Leader, your Commander Ren as you ride out the peaks and valleys of your shattering orgasm. The fabric of his tunic scratches your face as you press into him, hearing his labored breathing above you and feeling the drops of sweat that drip into your hair.  

“Kylo!” you choke. “Oh, sweetheart!” He shoves your chin up, growls, “My fucking wife!” and crashes his lips against yours. Your cunt continues its contractions milking and sucking every last drop of cum from his cock. As you suck his tongue in rhythm, moving your lips against his, tasting him and taking all of him into you. His lips slide against your cheek as his softening cock slips out of you and he collapses on the bed, panting. You’re almost sobbing and your hands are on his face, in his hair, on his chest, whatever you can touch. He throws the blanket over the two of you and wraps his arms around you as tight as they will go.

“Don’t even say it,” Kylo warns as your breathing begins to return to normal. “Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head.” You mumble some nonsense into his shoulder, something that you hope sounds innocent and unconcerned, but he knows how he still terrifies you. Knows that even the happiest of celebrations, the sickening relief of reunion or the creation of new life together can erase that fear entirely.

He pulls his fingers through your hair, lifting the damp strands from off your neck. He hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off or even pull his pants back up for that matter. You love him. And you raise your eyes to meet his. “You can go back to sleep now,” he says. “And I’ll still be here when you wake up.” He places a hand low on your belly, nearly on your pubic bone and you feel the fluttery kicks from inside as a son recognizes his father. “I will be here,” Kylo continues. “And so will he. Every year and every other anniversary from now on.”        

[writingfromkitchenator]

Soldier First.  Woman Second.

Star Spangled Bingo fic for @star-spangled-bingo​

Square filled: Fake dating

Marvel Fluff Bingo fic for @marvelfluffbingo​

Square filled: Feelings accidentally revealed

Characters: Bucky x OFC, Steve, Sam, Klaue

Words: 3,162

Warnings: Violence, rape scenario if you squint (nothing happens and the guy regrets it).

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Artemis currently hated that saying.  It was bad enough that she was the only female to come on this mission, limited on numbers as they were, but now they were expecting her to do this.

“I'm a soldier, not an actor.” She said angrily.  “I'm not made for this sort of thing.”

“Join the club.” Steve said patiently.  “But you can't deny that we need to do this.”

“Why can't one of you just go?” She snapped.  “It’s not like the rest of the team would be far away.  I’m not designed to be some pretty thing on someone’s arm.”

“This is an exclusive members club Arty,” Steve said with a sigh.  “A couple is less likely to be noticed than just one person.  You and Buck are the least likely to be recognised out of all of us, and as you’re the only woman here, it leaves it a bit difficult for there to be too many other options.”

“I’m sure one of you could go as a damned gay couple.”  Artemis grumbled under her breath, leaning heavily against the wall and trying to ignore Bucky’s small smile at her comment.

“Exclusive members.” Steve said flatly.  “Meaning they won’t take kindly to things outside their norm. Even if we said we were the wealthiest couple around, no one would take it seriously.”

She rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t change the fact that I’m meant to be the door prize!”

“No offence Artemis, Sam said from across the room.  “I don't think anyone would take you as a door prize.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. “Watch it fly boy, you just remember who is more than capable of hitting you when you flapping your wings around.”

Sam grins and shakes his head.

“None of this is going to change what needs to be done Arty.” Steve said sternly.  “Do you think Bucky is comfortable with this?”

She glances at Bucky, who shrugs his shoulders.  “I don't know, he looks rather indifferent to me.”

Steve sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.  “Look, the decision has already been made for you.  You two are going whether you like it or not.”

Very reluctantly, Artemis relented.

She shifted in her dress uncomfortably again, tugging it down.

Bucky grabs her hand. “Would you stop it?  You look fine.”

Artemis shoots him a look. “Says the one tailored up in a suit. I feel ridiculous.”

He can’t help but smirk. “Here I was thinking that that was your usual feeling.”

She rolls her eyes and tugs her hand free, straightening the dress and then uncomfortably letting her hands hang by her side.  “I’m soldier first, woman second Barnes.  Dresses aren’t part of the uniform.”

“Well, tonight it is,” They both look up at the large manor atop the hill, cars filling the space and they can make out the people at the end of the long driveway.  “So let’s just play our parts and be done with it, okay?”

Artemis’s jaw twitches and she nods silently.

Bucky can’t help but shake his head with a smile.  “I think you look good, if that’s any consolation.”

She doesn’t get a change to respond as Steve comes over, dressed as a driver.  “Sam’s got eyes on.  You two ready for this?”

Artemis had honestly thought that they wouldn’t even make it past the door, but here she was, successfully inside, her arm looped through Bucky’s and looking around at all the rich and powerful black-market dealers within the room.  She was honestly stunned that Steve had pulled off the drive, let alone her and Bucky successfully handing over their forged invitations.

Bucky gives her arm a slight squeeze.  “Are you alright?”

She nods, her sharp eyes scanning the room for their target.  “Looks like it’s a no go yet.”

“Mr and Mrs Vandermeer,” A voice said unexpectedly from behind them, causing them to turn and see a dark-haired man standing there, looking them up and down in a judging way. “Such an usual couple in an unusual trade, especially when I’ve never heard of you before.”

“Drake Hardmon, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”  Artemis grits her teeth and gives a slight bow.  “My husband and I were just discussing whether someone as highly esteemed as you would be at such an event.”

The grin from Drake reminded her of a shark, and she didn’t miss the way his gaze skimmed over her again. “Oh good, you’ve heard of me, however that doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t heard of you.  In this business, everyone does know everyone.”

Bucky holds out his hand. “I’m James, this is my wife Juliet. My family recently had a series of unfortunate accidents, leaving me with a small fortune to use wisely.  It was my understanding that these events were the best in the world for that?”

“Unfortunate accidents you say?”  Drake shakes Bucky’s hand.  “Well, that does sound like you’ve come to right place.”

As Drake starts to introduce the two of them around like he owned the place, Artemis couldn’t help but grit her teeth more and more wishing that Drake was their actual target.  He seemed to make any excuse to touch her, even just the slightest brush, and it was setting her on edge, making her unfocused, which meant that she was having hard time tracking down their actual target.

A tray of drinks went by and Drake hands them one each and takes one for himself, holding it up. “For…happy future prospects.”

Artemis hated herself for having to smile and clink their glasses.

Drake finally excused himself from their sides, giving Bucky and Artemis a chance to breath a little.

“I didn’t think he’d ever leave.”  Artemis breathed quietly to Bucky.

“Nor did I, I was wondering how much our story would hold up against all the people he’d introduced us too.”  Bucky’s gaze ran through the crowd of people.  “No sign?”

“Nothing, but it’s been a bit hard with the dragon around us.”  She hissed and then shifted uncomfortably.  “I wish he bloody stopped touching me.”

Bucky tensed and his gaze met hers.  “What?”

They didn’t get a chance to discuss it though as Drake suddenly returned with someone they recognised in tow.

“That’s him.” Sam’s voice came quietly in their ears.  “You guys watch yourselves.”

Bucky and Artemis didn’t need telling twice, even as Drake introduced them to Ulysses Klaue, they knew who he was instantly.

“New bloods with new money, eh?”  Klaue smiled at them.  “I think it’s about time that happened, hardly going to get anywhere with all these old farts here running the place.”

“That’s going to depend on who’s interested in our money, doesn’t it Mr Klaue,” Artemis said coolly. “And which investment we think will be best for it.”

Klaue chuckles and then winks at her.  “Oh, don’t you worry that pretty little head about it darling, everyone here has blood on their hands, as long as your money’s solid, someone will want it. Isn’t that right Drake?”

Drake nods.  “I trust you have all the necessary paper work?”

Bucky slips his hand into jacket and pulls out several pieces of paper, handing them over.  “I trust you’ll find them all in order.”

Klaue’s eyes followed Bucky’s arm and the glove that was hiding his metal from sight.  “Any reason for the single glove there mate?”

“Horrible burn injuries as a child.”  Bucky said, glad that they’d rehearsed this, watching Drake disappear into the people with his papers.  “People are often put off at the sight of them and I usually prefer making a good impression.”

Klaue nods.  “Don’t need people thinking you’re some sort of freak eh?  Impressions are all people care about around here.  You two enjoy your night, I’ve got to go make sure my own business is ready to go for interested parties.”

He leaves them be, Bucky quickly leading Artemis into the quiet corner of the bar, grabbing them both a drink, before leaning close.

“That was too close.” He said quietly.  “We are getting in too deep here.”

“Agreed.”  Artemis follow Klaue through the crowd before he slipped out from the room.  “There’s too many people here.”

“Easy guys,” Steve’s voice came.  “No one is any the wiser yet, so just keep playing along.  We need to find out what his shipment is.”

“He’s a bad guy, what does it matter?”  Artemis hissed, pressing closer into Bucky as it earns her an odd look from someone nearby, making sure to look up into his eyes.  “We get him alone, we take him out.”

Bucky mentally forced himself to keep his gaze on hers.  “Arty, you and I both know that none of these guys are going to be traveling alone tonight.”

“So?” Her voice dropped quieter.  “It’s not like we haven’t been in worse situations before.”

“Artemis…”

She ignored Steve and leans up into Bucky, making sure it looked like just a couple moment to everyone else, her lips against his ear.  “I’m going to head the restroom, scope the place out a little, you wait here and watch.”

Bucky stares at her and she steps back and downs the rest of her drink, casting him a smile before moving off into the crowd.  He swallows, watching after her, Steve cursing in his ear.

“Dammit Buck, why didn’t you stop her?”

He didn’t have an answer, shaking his head and downing his own drink.

Artemis made her way through the crowd fairly easily.  This, she could do, she knew how to blend in and not let people take notice, but the façade that her and Bucky were using was slowly wearing thin on her.

She was itching for a firefight.

Glad to find the bathroom deserted, she was quick to wet a towel and press it to her face with a sigh. She couldn’t mess this up, not now that they were so close, meaning she had to get a grip on herself.

Her heart was still racing a little after what had happened between her and Bucky, wondering why she’d done that.  It was just acting, right?  The two of them had always gotten along easy enough, she’d even consider them friends, but going beyond that…that wasn’t possible in the life they had.

She shakes herself off, pushing it away to focus on the task at hand, when Sam’s voice came into her ear.

“You’ve got Drake heading to you Arty, heads up.”

“To the woman’s bathroom?”

She’d no sooner asked it than the door opened and Drake walked in, that shark like grin back. “Hello sweetheart, thought I might find you here.”

Artemis raised an eyebrow, mostly to hide her look of disgust.  “Oh?  And may I ask why you’re interrupting the sanctity of the women’s bathroom to do so?”

He chuckled and locked the door.  “I thought we could have a private chat, away from prying ears.”

“Away from my husband you mean.”

“Well, he was rather dull,” Drake shrugs, stepping further into the bathroom.  “It doesn’t take a genius to work out the real brains of an operation.”

Artemis doesn’t move. “My husband an I are equal I assure you, I simply prefer observing than talking.  He knows that when I have a point to make, I do.”

Drake stands close, too close, and towers over her.  “Is that right?  And what do you say to this situation?”

The longer that Artemis took, the more worried Bucky became, his eyes searching the crowd almost frantically.  “Come on Arty, where are you?”

He kept having to stop himself from thinking back on that moment or from hurrying away from the bar to go and look from her.  He had to trust that she had the skills to deal with the situation, just as he had to trust that Steven and Sam had their backs.

His finger tapped on the bar, eyes moving from person to person.

It was as he got towards the edge of the crowd that movement caught his eye.  Soldiers.  Moving along the windows outside.

Bucky’s body tensed. “Why is there so much action Sam?”

“I don’t know, I had to take cover myself.  These guys aren’t on our side, that I can promise.”

He silently watched as the soldiers lined themselves up and Bucky found his gaze moving to the end of the room where the door was that Klaue left through, finally pushing himself from the bar, intending to follow.

That was when Klaue walked out, rifle in hand.

With a sinking feeling, Bucky suddenly understood that Klaue wasn’t here to make a deal, he was here to steal everyone’s money.

No sooner had he thought it, than gunfire went off, windows shattering as people screamed and grouped together, being tightened in by the soldiers in to the centre of the room.

Bucky jumped the bar, crouching low and hoping that none of the soldiers noticed.

“We’re on our way guys, stay put.” Steve’s voice sounded urgently in his ear, Bucky daring a glance over the bar as Klaue laughed.

“Look at all you pathetic people.”  He said loudly.  “All you money hungry sharks who think you’re too high and mighty for us little folk. Won’t give us the time of day, put your money where it’s really needed.  Well, tonight, that’s about to change, but, first things first, why don’t you come out and play, little Avenger?”

Bucky flinched and slowly stood with his hands raised from behind the bar, three soldiers in front of him, guns raised.

Klaue smiled at him. “See, I can smell vibranium from a mile away mate, and considering you’ve got a whole arm of it, it stands out a little.”

“Good thing it punches hard too.”  Bucky said as he lead out from behind the bar.  “Wouldn’t be as satisfying beating up bad guys then.”

Klaue chuckles.  “Now then, where’s you’re pretty lady friend? I would’ve thought that Drake would’ve finished his fun by now.”

As if on queue, the bathroom door was kicked open, a very bloodied Drake flying out, groaning on the floor barely moving, as an even bloodier Artemis stepped out, her dress torn, her gaze on fire as she eyed the room.

“I don’t suppose one of you fella’s would lend me a gun?”  She asked, glancing from the nearest soldier to the weapon he was holding. “I’ve got to teach a pervert a lesson.”

“Nice of you both to join us.”  Klaue laughs. “But as for the weapon, you’re going to have to do without I’m afraid.”  He signals to the soldiers and three guard her like Bucky.

“Pity,” Artemis said flatly.  “And I was just starting to get used to the dress.”

Bucky took the queue as she moved, the guards barely having a second to react as Sam crashed through one way and Steve the other, chaos quickly erupting throughout the room as guns started firing and people started screaming.

Artemis made short work of the three guards, already pumped from her fight with Drake, and made even shorter work of a couple of more once she got a hold of a gun, each shot true before she went on the hunt for their target.

Almost too late did she realise Klaue’s gun was trained on her.

She moved just in time to avoid a killing shot, but not enough to stop the bullet from burying into her shoulder, making her curse loudly as she’s forced to duck to cover behind a table as more bullets rain down on her.

The familiar noise of a shield making contact got her to peak around where she was hiding, her hand pressing into the wound, but it wasn’t Steven marching towards the soldiers, it was Bucky.

And he was furious.

Bucky caught the shield and threw it again, his aim true, and keeping the others distracted long enough for him to get there and start taking them down, the shield called back to Steve as he continued his own battle.

Artemis watched in an almost stunned shock at the brutality Bucky used to take down the soldiers, leaving him alone in almost a blink of an eye.

“Not my girl, you arseholes.”  He spat before his gaze met hers and he hurried over.  “You alright?”

It takes a moment for the shock to wear off and she nods.  “Just a flesh wound, nothing I can’t handle.”

His gaze quickly flicks over the cuts and bruises he can see.

“Hey love birds!” Sam calls.  “Care to actually get the bad guy?”

“You up for this?” Bucky asked, helping Artemis to her feet and handing her a gun.

Artemis snorts, stepping away from the cover, where she can see Klaue running down the hall, firing over his shoulder.  “Please.”

There was no hesitation in her shot, Klaue falling, holding his leg as he cursed, Sam and Steve finishing off the last of the soldiers.

Once things had calmed and they’d got Klaue away to Shield and all their injuries patched up, Bucky and Artemis found themselves alone in the kitchen one night, Artemis’s arm temporarily in a sling from the bullet wound.

Things had been a little awkward to say the least, Sam wasn’t currently speaking to either of them, but they hadn’t really talked about what had happened.

Artemis was honestly tired of dancing around it.  “So. Your girl, huh?”

Bucky’s gaze meets her with surprise for a moment before he goes a little red and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Well…I guess I got a little carried away into the acting?”

She snorts.  “Don’t give me that Barnes.”

He frowns a little. “Yeah?  And you leaning into me like that?”

Artemis shrugs with her good shoulder.  “I was playing along.”

Silence dragged on for a moment.

“I don’t mind if you don’t?”  She finally said quietly, not looking at him.  “If you…feel that way, I mean.”

Bucky looks at her and finally smiles a little.  “What happened to soldier first, woman second?”

Artemis glances at him and returns with a nervous smile.  “I’m sure I can make an exception for you.”

He chuckles.  “Then it’s a deal.  Can I ask a question though?”

“Go for it.”

“Would it be presumptuous of me to make a request on a first date?”

“You mean that wasn’t a first date?”  She chuckles at his expression and shakes her head, pretty sure she knew what was coming.  “That would depend on the request.”

Bucky smiles a little sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Would you wear a dress for me?  Only if you’re comfortable of course.”

Artemis smiles and walks over to him, leaning up to kiss his cheek softly, making him pause. “Bucky, you’ve got to properly ask me out for one first, then I might consider it.”

He pauses for a moment before he laughs, wrapping an around her.  “Artemis, my girl, will you go on a date with me?”