#anyone know exactly when that godly image took hold?

[icarusbetide]

washington's resting bitch face game so strong his countrymen treated him like a god and elected him unanimously for all sorts of shit.

[tainted-wine]

Caring For Your Hormonally-Charged Bird

Hawks x Reader (NSFW)

(I didn’t mean for this to turn into a monster with over 7k words, but I finally finished it. This is based off of my mutant headcanons and also takes some inspiration from user kazooli’s awesome thirst posts about Hawks. Happy Springtime, everyone!)

Edit: Now there’s a Part 2!

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The songs of lovestruck birds rang across the streets. Freshly bloomed cherry blossoms rained petals down onto the pavement. Butterflies and bees hovered around the flourishing flowers. It was undoubtedly a beautiful day. Too bad you had to spend it in an office with an oncoming headache. A familiar voice spoke behind you.

“Wow, look at that. I don’t know what’s more gorgeous; the scenery outside or the lady staring at it.”

Hawks’s charm doesn’t affect you when he has pissed you off so many times in such a short span.

You’ve had the ‘privilege’ of working for the Hero Public Safety Commission for several years, from supporting public events to endless desk work. The pay was generous and life was overall more comfortable. All you had to do to stay on their good side was comply with every demand, ignore the condescending tones of the bigwigs, and turn a blind eye whenever you witnessed the occasional sketchy practice.

When they offered you a job as the personal handler of one of the top heroes of Japan, you almost fainted. You have always been a fan of Hawks. Fast, handsome, charismatic, he may not have the godly strength of All Might, yet he still felt just as flawless. You’ve been helping and guiding the winged young man since last summer and learned that he’s even more than what you imagined. He wasn’t just good-looking, he wasn’t just a sweet-talker…

He was also a fucking nightmare to work with.

You turned around to see said man ogling you a bit more than you were used to, his trademark crooked smile on his face, but you ignored that and went straight to business. “Your carelessness is trending again for the third time this week, Hawks.”

He drew a sharp breath in an exaggerated gasp. “Again? Oh, what could they possibly be on my ass for this time? Was I smacking on chicken wings too loudly in public? Did they catch the moment I almost flew into that crystal-clear window?”

You whipped out your phone, already prepared to show him a news page with a rather shocking photo. A man with an elegant and sleek appearance was beaten and bruised, his dazzling peacock tail fanned out behind him. The attacker was none other than Hawks, who was gripping the other man by the collar, his wings fully spread out with several sharpened feathers floating around his victim as an unnecessary precaution. It was a very aggressive display.

‘HAWKS LAYS SMACKDOWN ON PERVERTED PEACOCK’ was the headline.

“This is beyond excessive force. You could have just as easily restrained him with your quirk.” You scolded, fixing him with the steely authoritarian stare that you’ve been working on.

Hawks flinched, but you couldn’t tell if he was just playing with you or not. “Ma’am! I was simply defending the girl’s honor! She was very clearly uncomfortable and besides, wouldn’t flashing his tail like that be considered indecent exposure?” Yeah, that tone told you that he was clearly not intimidated.

“No, and even if it did, indecency and harassment wouldn’t excuse such a violent subduing. Furthermore,” you gestured at his threatening wing display in the photo. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were demonstrating similar behavior.”

He simply shrugged. “Just showing him who the bigger bird is around here.”

Your eye twitched. “For God’s sake, Hawks, you’re not an animal. Part of my job is ensuring that you maintain a friendly image that will keep the public at ease. This is not friendly. Shall I go through some of the comments for examples?” You scrolled down and cleared your throat in preparation. “Anyone else put off by how violent Hawks looks here? I didn’t know he had it in him to beat someone down like that. He’s usually all about being quick and efficient.” You scrolled down to the next one. “What’s the deal with Hawks? I was there and it was like watching a cockfight.” You clicked on a reply to that particular comment. “I know, right? I always wanted to meet Hawks in person, but after that, I was honestly too scared to-”

“Hold on, babe, I know you’re cherry-picking here,” Hawks, the little bastard, had taken out his own phone while listening to your reading. “Because those are nothing like my personal faves that I found on my Tweeter page.” You watched with silent frustration as his eyes scanned his phone until he found what he was looking for. “Ah, here we go. ‘Oh my GAWD, that look, those spread wings, he looks like such a beast!” He had raised the pitch of his voice for a mock feminine tone. “Leave it to Hawks to make all of us women feel safe. That pervert deserves to lose a few more teeth.’ Oh, and here’s the winner right here. ‘Just as I always expected, that hunk of a bird knows how to dominate. I can just imagine him towering over me, giving that same look while I take his big fat-”

“Hawks.”

He paused, but his shit-eating grin didn’t fade when he noticed your head being held in one of your hands. You hoped he didn’t notice that you were trying to hide the red that crept into your cheeks.

“…cock.”

You groaned loudly enough to most definitely be heard outside of the office. There truly were days when he would cut you some slack and be easy to deal with, but he has become downright unbearable for the past few weeks. His teasing has increased ten fold, yet he’s also been keeping his distance from you for whatever reason. It had taken you a while to notice, but he was normally more than happy to get in your face and ruin your professional act, but now, even when you’re the one trying to approach, he would casually step back to prevent the gap between you from closing.

And then it hit you.

Shit, it shouldn’t have taken you this long to connect the dots. You had even noticed how his wings appeared to be a shade brighter for the past few days, but dismissed it as a trick of the light. No, he had grown in his spring plumage.

“Uh, babe? You still there? Did the ‘C’ word break you?” Watching you stare into space was getting him a little concerned.

“You’re rutting,” was your simple reply.

Hawks’s face flashed into something more serious for a split second before giving a ‘tsk’ and looking away. “Took you long enough,” he scoffed. “Surprised the Commission hasn’t fired you for letting me go wild for so long. They must not have any replacements available right now.”

“Watch it,” you ordered. You pondered for a moment before asking, “Have you not been taking your hormonal medication? I know that you’ve been prescribed some for this time of year.”

He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, as if he was the one who should be feeling annoyed right now. Bitch, please. “Sometimes,” he muttered.

“Sometimes? They don’t work if you only take them sometimes, Hawks. I know you’re a busy hero, but you can put some effort into keeping track of your dosage.”

“Look,” it was the first time you’ve seen a genuine scowl on his face, the expression taking you back. “I just really hate that stuff, okay? They sap all of my energy and I put on a few extra pounds.”

You shook your head at his complaints. “Is that really worse than what you’re dealing with right now?”

“Yes. I’d rather be a horndog than a slug that doesn’t even have the will to move. It wouldn’t even be so bad if I could just sleep around every now and then, but that’s more trouble than it’s worth. I don’t wanna make your job that miserable.” He eyed you up and down for a minute, while you tried not to shy away from his piercing gaze. “Or I could find just one loyal partner that will help me scratch the itch?”

You stepped back, your heart racing at the unspoken request. “E-excuse me?” you stuttered.

Hawks raised his hands harmlessly. “Hey now, it’s just a suggestion. I’m pretty into you, you’re obviously into me, this could work out pretty well.”

An array of emotions were flowing through you, but you were more upset than anything else. “And what exactly makes you think I’ve been ‘into you’, as you’ve said?” Denial. You’re pretty sure that’s what this is. You know that you’ve been attracted to him since before you even met, but you weren’t going to let this overgrown brat have his way.

His sudden burst of laughter startled you. “You’re kidding, right? I still remember that look you had the first time we were in this room together, and it wasn’t the innocent ‘I wanna support my favorite hero’ look,” He was willingly approaching you for the first time in what felt like forever, every step sounding like thunder to your ears. “It was a ‘bend me over the desk and fuck me’ look.”

You were the one stepping back this time. You wanted to remind him not to use such foul language, to berate him for making such vulgar claims, but your voice was caught in your throat.

“We’d be doing each other a favor, right?” he continued, wings slowly expanding. “Keeping me in top shape is part of your job, isn’t it? I promise you that I’m gonna feel a lot better after this.”

You bumped into his desk, leaning back slightly as he finally closed the distance. His wings draped around each side of you, filling your peripheral vision with pure red. His face was only inches away from yours as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“You’ve been smelling so damn good lately. Been afraid that I just might pounce you if I get too close.”

A thickly gloved hand reached out and cupped your face with such a surprising amount of tenderness, you couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel bare. You were so entranced by his lustful gaze that you couldn’t find it in you to resist as he leaned in, feeling his hot breath as his lips drew closer to yours.

The door busted open accompanied by a shout. “Hawks sir! Your help has been requested at-OH!”

A genuine growl rumbles through Hawks’s throat and damn, that makes you tremble. By the time he turns toward the stumbling sidekick, he was already back to his cool and friendly self.

“Don’t stop on my account, buddy,” he beamed the younger man with an unwavering smile. “What’s the request?”

———

The next day, you tried very hard to pretend that little office incident never happened. You were not going to let something so unprofessional ever happen again. That was a promise.

Hawks, on the other hand, was being a persistent bastard. You were determined to win this battle. If he wanted the urges to go away so badly, then he can take his damn medication like he always has, not use your lack of authority and experience as an excuse to rebel. The only reason you haven’t informed the Commission about this is because you know that your head will be on the chopping block as well as Hawks’s. You will most definitely be in some shit once they realize that you can’t keep their most prized possession in check.

And to be fair, as the week went on, you really were wondering if you were cut out for this job. With his wings getting more vibrant, his advances becoming more frequent, and his feral rivalry against other men growing more severe, Hawks has officially become too unruly for you to handle, and you’re the goddamned handler. You couldn’t lose this job! What if they terminated you completely and you couldn’t get another position from the Commission?

You paced back and forth in the empty office. Hawks was late this morning, leaving you alone with your endless worries. He may act lazy, but he was never actually late for his meet ups. Looks like you’ll have to call him and pray that nothing serious has happened.

You jumped when your phone vibrated before you even reached into your pocket. Ah, looks like Hawks reached out before you did. You held your phone up, prepared to answer, and froze.

It wasn’t Hawks. It was the deputy, the very man that was kind enough to give you this job. He hasn’t called you since your first few days here to help get you started. With your progress, you doubt he was calling to give you a raise.

Well, as much as you wanted to throw the phone out of the window and find an appropriate place to bury yourself, you didn’t make it this far by cowering from these guys. Taking a deep breath, you picked up and greeted the man on the other side with a steady voice. “Good morning, Deputy.”

He addressed you with the same bored and unimpressed tone that you hear from every member in this cursed organization. Jeez, if you keep working here long enough, are you going to eventually sound as soulless as them? “I assume you are aware of Hawks’s current condition?” he asked.

Dammit. “My apologies, sir. I know that I have been neglectful of Hawks’s health and his behavior during this time. I have been doing my best t-”

“That isn’t the issue I am talking about, but thank you for confirming that you have indeed failed in keeping Hawks’s unsavory habits under control.” You flinched. Way to rat yourself out. “Hawks had managed to find and subdue the troublesome villain Libido.”

“Ah, of course. I have been informed of that, sir.” Libido was a cunning little criminal that has been causing trouble all over the city of Fukuoka. His ‘Love Breath’ quirk gave him the ability to exhale fumes with powerful aphrodisiacal qualities. The guy even made his own gas bombs, releasing them among unsuspecting crowds in the public. He was less of a villain and more of just a chaos-loving hoodlum that was too slippery for his own good.

The deputy carried on. “One of the sidekicks has told us that Hawks was exposed to his quirk.”

Oh. Oh dear. That’s some strong stuff to be subjected to.

“We have ordered Hawks to go home immediately and wait patiently instead of heading to a hospital. We will be sending treatment his way.”

Some of the tension left your body. “That’s good to know, sir. May I ask what kind of treatment he will be taking? I know I haven’t convinced you yet, but I want to do anything I can for his well being.” You hesitantly asked. Please, oh please let me make up for everything that has been happening.

You heard a faint chuckle from the other end. “That’s very good to know, because the treatment is you.”

You’re glad he couldn’t see the confusion on your face. “I’m sorry, sir. Are you saying I’ll be the one to doctor him? I’ll need to know what medicine he needs and how much rest he’ll be expected to-”

“Do you know how people affected by aphrodisiac quirks are normally treated?” he interrupted you for the second time. He didn’t even give you a chance to answer before continuing. “Given your questions, I’m assuming that you don’t. We can indeed offer drugs to weaken the effects, but Hawks will still be in great distress and will take a long time to recover, especially since he’s neglected to take his hormone medication with the help of an incompetent handler.” Ugh, you get it already. You screwed up. “But the quickest and most efficient remedy is, without a doubt, sexual contact and allowing the quirk to run its course. That is what we expect you to provide for him.”

What.

You took a full minute to collect your thoughts and ensure that you heard everything correctly. The deputy waited patiently. How kind of him. Once you gathered yourself, you conjured the most constructive response you could think of.

“Huh?”

An overly loud sigh sounded in your ear. Hey, it’s his fault for dropping this bomb of a request on you. “We can’t have the number two hero out of action for too long. The alternative is to strap him to a bed and sedate him for an uncertain amount of time. His rut has enhanced the quirk’s effects; this may even strengthen his arousal for the rest of the season.”

Your face paled. That sounds ten times worse than the way Hawks was already acting. “So, if I were to…be with him,” you blushed at the very thought. “That would provide the best relief?”

“That is the gist of it. You told me you would do anything for Hawks’s well being. Can I hold you to that?”

Your pounding heart was almost drowning out his voice. You didn’t mean to corner yourself like this. “O-of course. I’ll see what I can, um, do.” This discussion was getting uncomfortable.

“I didn’t expect you to be so hesitant. You’re a loyal fan of his, aren’t you? You should be thrilled. Few fangirls get this opportunity.” He laughed at his own joke. You sure as hell weren’t laughing with him.

“Yeah, of course, sir,” you grumbled. “I suppose I shouldn’t leave Hawks alone for too long. I’ll be on my way soon.”

“Excellent,” he said. “You’ll need to take some precautions, of course. Here’s what you need to keep in mind��”

———

You walked out of the local pharmacy, cradling the pills tightly to your chest like some sort of security blanket. The deputy’s advice echoed in your head.

“It’s best that you take contraceptives. Hawks’s mind will be clouded with feral cravings, such as the urge to breed. He is not going to accept condoms.”

You tossed the pills onto the passenger seat in your car.

“Again, Hawks is suffering from both the magnified effects of Libido’s quirk and his annual rut. It’s possible that he will not be of sound mind. If things get out of hand, you have the right to protect yourself.” the deputy paused for a moment. “Just try not to leave any marks on him, if you can. Hawks must look presentable at all times.”

Well, you did have a stun gun that you thankfully never had to use, and hopefully it will stay that way.

The deputy’s help made you way more anxious than before. Were you about to have sex with a horny man, or tame a dangerous beast? You still didn’t know what to make of this predicament.

You take your phone and select Hawks’s number. It’s probably best not to surprise him at his door. Hopefully he wasn’t too riled up and ignores your call.

The phone rings once, then twice, then you hear…whimpers? Shit, was it getting that bad?

“Hawks? Are you there?” you asked calmly.

“Babe.” Goodness, his voice was rough. He sounds like he just ran across the country. “Oh thank God. Talk dirty to me, baby.”

“Wha—no.” This was a mistake. You really weren’t prepared for such levels of horniness. He just blurted that out like it was nothing! “Look, um, I heard your urges are becoming too much to handle. I’m heading on over there to…help you.”

For a while you just heard what sounded like breathless laughs and weeping. Hearing him in such a fragile state had you genuinely concerned. “Y’serious? We’re-ah-we’re gonna fuck?” He was panting heavily between words.

Heat was gathering in your face. “Yes, that’s the plan.”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Get over here-fuck-so I can stuff you, babe. You’re gonna be mine. Oh I can’t wait to fucking have you.” This sounded like a goddamned porno and you couldn’t handle it. There was a strange sound in the background as he rambled, something like wet smacks. You kept hearing it in sync with his grunts and…

Oh.

“Just hang in there, alright?” You said quickly, wanting to end this call right now. “I’m coming.”

“Well, I’m not. My hand’s really not doin’ it for me. Gotta be inside you, babe. Gotta cum in that tight-“

You hung up.

You banged your head against the steering wheel harder than intended, but at least the pain got your mind off of…whatever all of that was. You can’t believe you just heard your favorite hero breathlessly talking about how he wants to bang you while jerking off. You didn’t know it was possible to feel this mortified, but that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was the tingle between your legs.

Hawks, one of the top heroes of Japan, the heartthrob of the generation, was lusting for you. It had you both excited and on edge. You remember the deputy’s comment.

“You’re a loyal fan of his, aren’t you? You should be thrilled. Few fangirls get this opportunity.”

You probably would indeed be thrilled if the circumstances were less dire. Your fantasies normally involved something simpler and more romantic, not saving him from his own sex-hazed mind. You still weren’t sure what you were walking into, and that was admittedly a different kind of excitement.

There was no time to waste with the state Hawks was in. Calming your nerves, you started your car and began taking the route to his place.

———

Here you are, at the doorstep of Hawks’s house. His place was surprisingly humble for a top hero, it made this encounter just a little less nerve-wracking. Pressing a finger to the buzzer, you waited anxiously, rocking back and forth on your heels. You really hope he’ll be dressed decently when he answers the door.

Your heart skips once you hear a click and the doorknob twists. It feels like it takes an eternity for the door to open and reveal…nobody.

Instead, you were greeted by a small flock of feathers suspended in the air. They slowly floated a distance away from you before stopping, as if they were waiting for something. You cautiously stepped inside, some of the feathers closing the door behind you. You don’t know what type of welcome you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. The feathers guided you, drifting up a flight of stairs and into a room with its door hanging open. You can hear harsh breathing inside, reigniting your fear. “Hawks?” You hesistantly called out without getting any closer.

A cracking voice cried out your name. “Help me. It fucking hurts. I’m so hot. Make it stop.” He sounded like he was crying. The desperate pleas prompted you to mask your fears for the umpteenth time and approach the room, taking in the sight of the man that has been waiting for you.

Hawks was naked, not to your surprise, but still to your absolute horror. He sat on his bed, skin glistening with sweat and a deep blush spreading throughout his upper body, making him look more feverish than aroused. His chest heaved with the irregular breaths that left his hanging mouth. His hair was even more unruly as usual, some of his locks sticking to his damp face. Your eyes locked onto his, pupils dilated and looking right through you.

He looked awful.

You came closer, trying your best not to stare at the very swollen and throbbing member between his legs. “I’m sorry,” you said softly, stopping right in front of him. “I didn’t think it would get this bad. I-I want to help. Just tell me what to do.”

He was on his feet the moment you finished, nude body just inches away from yours, but you kept your feet planted where they were. As his large wings slowly opened and enclosed around you, you noticed how brilliantly hued his feathers have become, practically glowing a vivid scarlet. It was captivating.

Two clammy hands came up to hold your face, the same hands he was furiously pleasuring himself with just a moment ago holy shit, and his mouth was on yours before you could even react. You gasped in shock of it all, allowing his tongue to slip past your lips. It was less of a kiss and more of just him hungrily ravaging every inch of your mouth, your own tongue wrestling with his to keep him away from the back of your throat. One of his arms lowered to wrap around your waist and pull you flush against his bare form, making you yelp when you felt his erection pressing against you. Hawks’s dick was on you.

You were too overwhelmed by his restless mouth and his DICK to notice the stray feathers hovering over you. A tug and a loud rip made you jolt. Hawks held you still, the sound of expensive fabric tearing making you flinch as your skin was slowly being exposed. The feathers were shredding your clothes.

You pulled away from his suffocating mouth just enough to take a breath and attempt to speak. “Hawks! Wha—” only for him to smother you once again.

“Don’t move,” he uttered between kisses. “Don’t want to cut you.”

With a few more slashes, your cherished suit was now scattered on the carpet in tatters, revealing your body to him, but the feathers weren’t done. The floating blades carefully slid under your panties and bra. You stood completely still, Hawks kissing you with less aggression in an attempt to soothe you as the feathers sliced through the last of your clothes. You were now just as bare as him. He simply held you tightly, face rubbing against yours with the occasional lick against your heated skin. Your eyes were closed shut, unable to process his frantic tongue, his surrounding body that felt like fire, his cock that was now pressed to your stomach you were going to drop dead holy shit.

“Smell so good. Tastes so good.” he groaned, still sounding short of breath. His mouth went down to your neck, sucking at it hungrily and giving the occasional nip, forcing a faint moan out of you. He continued his descent and reached your breasts, molding them roughly and attacking your nipples with hard sucks. Despite the rough treatment, a tight heat was building up in your abdomen, your hands cradling his head as he explored you. He ventured lower, now on his knees with his face right at your womanly mound.

Your heart was pounding when he leaned in, his nose lightly touching you as he drew in a long breath and giving a pleased sighed. His nose pressed in further and poked at your glistening pussy, your thighs clenching in surprise while he happily took in your scent. Fuck, he was really just kneeling between your legs and smelling you. You were ready to protest and tell him that this was getting too embarrassing before something wet and hot slid against your folds, replacing your planned words with a yelp.

Hawks apparently approved of your taste, strong hands grasping the back of your thighs as he brought you in closer to fully devour you. Your cries were impossible to hold in while he lapped at you, mind becoming too clouded with pleasure to stay modest. He moaned loudly into you, the erotic sound vibrating against you, tongue fondling every inch of your folds before his lips closed around them, sucking greedily and almost making your knees collapse. You were getting close, grasping onto his head in a desperate attempt to stay balanced, his mouth now assaulting your sensitive bud. Your blissful whimpers joined the filthy sounds of his feasting when your orgasm washed over you like throbbing magma. Once your legs lost the last of their strength, Hawks set you down gently on the floor, still licking your sensitive lips.

“Ah, Hawks…too much…” You whined weakly.

He got the message and pulled away to immediately climb over you, giving you a clear view of his face glistening with your juices. Bright wings were fully spread out once more; it feels like you were about to be taken by an angel, the most savage angel you could ever imagine.

He came down for a sloppy kiss, spreading your own womanly nectar all over your lips. “Hope you’re nice and ready now. Ready to take everything I’ve got.” He mumbled against your mouth. You couldn’t help but smile and feel grateful that even in such a frenzied state, he was still kind enough not to jump you the moment you were within sight.

You brought a hand up to caress the side of his face, watching his eyes flutter shut as he leaned into your touch like the needy animal that he was at the moment. His body was still unnaturally hot and he was still breathing harshly. It’s time to finally give this poor man some relief.

“Go ahead, Hawks. I’m all yours.” You were indeed ready for everything he has.

Hawks said no more, gripping himself and aiming right for your opening. The moment his head was pushing past your lips, he thrust forward, filling you completely and knocking the wind out of you.

You honestly thought he came right then and there with the totally profane howl that left him. “Fuck…!” he choked, looking on the verge of tears. Despite the seemingly paralyzing pleasure, he wasted no time in moving, his pace quickening at an alarming rate. Your pussy was still sensitive from his wonderful licking, his dick currently sending painfully powerful shocks that you just weren’t ready for, and yet heat began to pool within your core for a second time. Your arms were wrapped around his sweaty form, nails biting into his skin and forcing rugged grunts out of his throat.

The wet slaps of your bodies rang throughout the room, your limbs quivering as he pumped into you faster, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, full and prepared to pour every drop of its contents into your womb. Hawks had buried his head into the crook of your neck, letting you feel every breathless moan right against your ear.

All you could do was hold on and take the increasingly rough pounding. His rhythm was sloppy from the start, but the thrusts were becoming even more irregular as a sign that he was already reaching his peak. Not surprising, given the state that he’s been in all day. One well-aimed thrust hits your sweet spot, making you moan loudly against him.

The sound eggs him on, driving his hips at a bruising pace and fuck it feels so good it hurts. Your eyes shut tightly as another orgasm breaks free, your feminine walls clamping around Hawks, squeezing his own climax out of him. You gasped at the powerful throbs of his cock as it shot out stream after stream of cum inside you. The purely animalistic growl that rumbled through him had you shaking in the best way while you watched his wings twitch and flap, hitting you with a light gust.

After an impressive amount of spurts, Hawks collapsed on top of you. He was heavy, but having his weight on you like this was pretty nice. You rubbed soothing circles around his back, listening to the rather inhuman cooing sounds he made in response.

You just had sex with Hawks, your favorite hero and the very man you were paid to look after. Oh man, how badly have you screwed up your relationship? Not that you two had much of a bond in the first place, but now things will most certainly get even more awkward.

A twitch inside you interrupted your thoughts. What the hell? Hawks’s breathing was accelerating again as he suddenly lifted his weight off of you, and that’s when you realized even though he came, he was still hard.

With newfound energy, he pushed your thighs towards your chest and rammed into you before you could even register what was happening. His new angle had you seeing stars with each thrust, hitting you even deeper than before. The sensation was dizzying, your overstimulated body beginning to throb all over. Hawks had the most obscene expression on his face, glazed eyes watching your tits bounce while his mouth hung open, drool trailing down his chin. You didn’t know such a look existed outside of adult videos, and having it aimed at you was enhancing your stinging pleasure.

Looking down granted you the view of his drenched dick pushing into you, each slam of his hips rocking you into the carpet, which honestly burned like ouch. Thankfully Hawks was reaching his tipping point once again, his hips moving at a bruising pace before one final smack. You were spoiled with another wonderful image of his head thrown back as a choked moan escaped him, another round of cum shooting into you.

He finally slid out of you as he sat back to catch his breath, wings limply dropping to his sides. Finally. You didn’t know how much more your womanhood could take. The strain of moving your legs made you wince. Did he have to pin you so roughly?

Hawks watched silently as you pushed yourself up. You felt behind your back and…dammit, you really did bruise back there. Maybe you should go find a mirror; hopefully it didn’t look too bad. You noticed that Mr. Horny Wings continued to just stare, pupils still enlarged and his dick was still hard what the fuck. He suddenly shifted onto all fours and crawled behind you. The light brush of fingers over your blemished skin made you shiver. They weren’t big enough to be that painful, but you still hissed when he applied a little too much pressure, making him pull away.

“Sorry.” His voice was still raspy as he apologized.

You shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Could’ve been wor—AH!”

Hawks shoved you forward, manhandling you until you were properly on your hands and knees. Fuck, your entire lower body was starting to ache, and here he was, ready to go another round. The head of his still-swollen dick was already pressing at your entrance. Grasping your hips, he pushed past your puffy lips and re-entered your heat. You bit your bottom lip and took the limitless strength in his hips, his balls sometimes smacking right into your clit and bringing you closer to your next climax.

His pace slowed down briefly in order to lower himself and suck at your bruises. “Nnngh, fuck, Hawks!” The combined pain and pleasure had your insides burning. He moaned and panted into your back, kissing up to your neck and sucking there as well. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your torso, pressing your body against his in an intimate embrace as he plunged into you more deeply.

It was impossible to not moan after each stroke. His face rested on your shoulder, and you reached behind to bury a hand in his hair. Shit, this was all getting so intimate. He was holding you and was so close, you could feel the ripple of his muscles as he caressed every inch of your inner walls. Your third burst of pleasure had you quivering against him as he continued to chase his own orgasm, stars appearing in your vision with each thrust. Hawks sank his teeth into your neck before bottoming out and releasing more cum inside you.

Both of you were lost in your sensual spasms before you collapsed. Hawks didn’t lay on you completely this time, his sweat-soaked form crouched over you, close enough to still be inside of you…

And rock hard.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

You stayed as you were, your face down and your ass up, as you felt him humping away at you again. You could barely whimper as your tender pussy took another pounding. Christ, why wasn’t he getting tired? If the quirk was getting any closer to wearing off, it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

It wasn’t long before he came again, grunting with each hard buck as he filled you with his apparently endless supply of cum. Was he done? Please be done. You turned your head just enough to check the state of his erection.

Nope.

Hawks had enough mercy to carry you to his much more comfortable bed before continuing. He took you again.

And again

And again.

You were positively ruined, no more strength left in your body as he repeatedly claimed you with fervor. Whenever it appeared you were getting uncomfortable in a certain position, he would simply switch things up before carrying on. Despite how utterly exhausted and raw you felt, your orgasms kept coming, every surge of pleasure clouding your mind more and more.

You had lost track of time. Was this his fifteenth go? seventeenth? Keeping count was becoming a drag. It didn’t help that Hawks was in too much of a trance to even speak, giving you nothing but moans and growls. At least he didn’t sound on the verge of tears anymore, so maybe he was making progress.

Another orgasm was approaching; could your tired body even handle it? You were laying on the edge of the bed as Hawks stood and fucked you. Even through all of the overwhelming passion, you never got tired of staring at his wings, the dazzling red never failing to mesmerize you. They fluttered rapidly as the tension in your core spilled over, your mouth opening in a silent scream and a blackness closing in on you with every blink.

Your body was finished.

———

Everything hurts.

That’s the first thing you noticed when you woke up and made the mistake of stretching. Your arms and legs ached, a sharp pain shot through your back whenever you shifted, and between your legs…well, the throb down there didn’t at all feel pleasurable anymore.

Still, you fought the pain to sit up and examine yourself. Your nether regions were surprisingly clean, almost as if someone had already taken care of it. With all of the cum Hawks pumped into you, it should frankly be an awful mess down there.

Speaking of, where was the guy?

“Hey.”

Oh, there he was leaning in the door frame. He had obviously tidied up, no longer a flushed and sweaty wreck, and was now sporting a pair of loose pants and a tee. You had never seen him looking so casual. It was probably a privilege very few had, and knowing that ignited something in your chest.

He glanced around before looking back at you. “You alright?”

Realizing you were just gawking at him and haven’t said anything yet, you coughed to ensure your voice was still clear and functioning. “I’m fine.”

He snickered. It was a sound you were used to whenever he knew he had the upper-hand in some way, but something about it felt softer this time. “I just fucked you into high heaven for a whole day.” He could’ve acknowledged it in a less shameless manner, dammit. “I just wanna know if you’re alright. You look pretty stiff.”

A jolt shot through your lower back in perfect timing with his statement, making you flinch. “Yeah, I’m—I’m pretty sore. Very sore,” you admitted.

“Ah,” He stood up straight. “I’ll go get some, uh, pain relief. Be right back.” And with that, he was out of your sight.

You waited patiently for his return, actually observing his bedroom for the first time. It was surprisingly bare, the room of someone who didn’t spend much time at home. There was a window that you didn’t notice and holy shit he was right. It was nighttime; you spent the entire day in Hawks’s bedroom. The fangirl in you was squealing in delight. You told her to shut the hell up.

The man returned with a glass of water in one hand, a pill in the other, and a set of clothes draped across his arm. “Here,” he handed the water and medicine over before sitting beside you on the bed. You gulped down the capsule, sputtering a bit as the cold water flowed down your dry throat. “I’ve got some clothes that might fit you well enough. Sorry about your suit. I’ll give you some money for a new one.”

He’s never sounded so wooden before and you couldn’t stand it. You let out your best good-hearted laugh as you took the offered clothes. “Stop that, Hawks. You sound as bland as your bosses right now,” you joked.

He laughed along with you. “Heh, sorry babe. Just worried that I came on a little too strong at the beginning there.”

You simply hummed in response. His clothes were so warm and smelled like him. Despite being surrounded by his strong scent for hours, you still welcomed it.

“So…looks like you’re feeling better.” You took in his appearance again now that he was closer. There was still a tinge of red in his face, but he seemed overall back to his usual relaxed self.

“Oh yeah, much better. The feeling’s still there, honestly,” he saw your eyes widen and instantly blurted out, “Just barely! I can ignore it and think clearly just fine now.” A boyish smile spread across his face. “Looks like I’ve got a hero. You really saved me back there.”

A ridiculous snort left you after hearing such praise. “Is that all it takes to be the great Hawks’s hero? I’m flattered.”

“Hey, I’m serious,” He looked you square in the face, and you couldn’t look away from his sincere expression. “It’s never been that bad before. Not gonna lie, I’m embarrassed you saw me like that. That was worse than all of my teenage ruts combined. Damn villain’s quirk really messed me up, felt like I was going fucking rabid. I don’t know what state I’d be in if it weren’t for you.”

Your mouth opened and closed, unsure of how to respond to his gratitude. “You’re welcome,” was all you could say. “You don’t need to feel bad about it. It’s…” You looked down at your feet. “It’s not like I didn’t like it. It was very draining, honestly lost track of time at a certain point, but it, uh, it was an experience.”

Hawks nodded in response. “Sure was. Never thought I’d rail a girl so hard and for so long that she’d pass out. I’m impressed with myself.”

“Hawks.”

He hung his head in mock shame. “My apologies, ma’am! I completely forgot that such vulgar language isn’t tolerated around you.” And there’s the infuriating grin that you were beginning to miss.

Both of you were laughing, slowly melting away the tension and stress that filled the room since morning. This…this was nice.

“So, you probably still don’t feel all that great, sooo…” Hawks rubbed at the back of his neck. “You wanna stay for dinner? Already ordered a chicken pizza with some wings.”

“Oh?” You raised your eyebrows. “Taking me to dinner after the sex?”

“Hey now, you know me. ‘The hero who’s too fast for his own good.’ Sometimes I miss a step or two.” He winked before getting up to leave. “You just lay there and rest, and go pee already. Don’t need an infection on top of everything else you’re going through. I already cleaned up the horrifying scene between your legs.”

You shuddered at the crude comment before falling backwards onto the poor mattress that had endured so much today.

Tomorrow, it will be back to professionalism. Back to pretending that you’re Hawks’s superior. Back to sucking up to the Commission. You’re going to cherish every minute of tonight, enjoying the company of Keigo Takami, not Hawks.

A shout echoed from downstairs. “The bathroom’s still empty, babe! Get your ass in there and pee!”

[the-darklings]

—𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 (𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆);

pairing: quentin beck x f!reader

word count: 9k+ (i’m a clown, don’t look at me)

summary: "He will be the death of you. He will love you to ruin.”

warnings: manipulation (of other people), love/hate-rivals relationship, swearing, questionable morality.

notes: Y’all this took me seven years but we’re finally here. Enjoy!

“unbecoming” mini-series: | 01 | . .

“It won’t work.”

“How do you know, you haven’t even tested it?”

“Your theory is sound but the application—”

Your fingers squeezed tightly around the stress ball in your hand, and you cast a dark look his way. Beck stood stiff and tense next to the whiteboard, listening to you intently as he held a black marker clenched between his fingers. He looked more dishevelled than usual. You would be surprised if either of you got more than a few hours of sleep last night. The prototype had as good as taken over your life—your life now melting into one rhythmic beat of trying to get this project ready for the demo. 

Time was not on your side. Your aim was to get the lead project right out of the gate, and you couldn’t waste time on petty arguments with him. When he actually listened, you bounced off each other with near frightening ease, coming leaps and bounds in the last two weeks alone. Still, the prototype was nowhere near ready because you could not hold a stable image for longer than two minutes. Not to mention a mountain of other weaknesses and instabilities plaguing it. 

You both knew that the problem was in the algorithm used to project the image outwards. Beck had been working on making it more stable for months now. While illusion tech was not your area of expertise, you offered more of a critical assessor role, questioning and throwing ideas right and left to see if anything would stick.

He hated it. But he loved it too.

It was impossible to escape the thrill of that sticky web of pure creation and problem-solving. The more you drilled him, the harder he reworked the technology, the more precise his calculations became. Together, you have effectively rewritten half of the base code used to project the holographic illusions in the last week alone. The image was twice as clear now. 

Often, he may have given you guarded, burning looks, but your mutual dislike for one another didn’t stop you from working unsettlingly well together.  

He still won’t allow you near enough though. 

“We have to try and apply it then,” you told him curtly, throwing the red stress ball with Stark Industries logo on it in the air. “Ultimately keeping it static will not work. It needs to be able to adapt to the subject’s perception and vision. That’s only if you want to take it to the next level though.”

“But,” Daniel’s voice broke carefully into what was previously an “intellectual argument” between you and Beck only. “If we don’t even have the prototype working, should we really be concerning ourselves with the next level?”

“Future visualisation,” Beck replied sharply, just a hint of condescending bleeding through his words, “Is key to the success of any project. It often inspires and unlocks different routes to achieve the end result. It’s less about adding pressure on yourself and more about finding effective ways to make the end product better. You have to have vision if you want to succeed.” 

Daniel fell silent after hearing that, and Victoria’s eyes narrowed, her pen stilling against the notebook where she was making notes on your brainstorming session. 

“What if we change the perception angle for the subject?” Daniel suggested after a moment, glancing your way. 

“No,” you and Beck both shot back without missing a beat, sharing a brief look between yourselves. 

Noting Daniel’s startled expression, you allowed your features to soften, adapting a milder, more soothing tone, “The problem with that,” you began kindly, catching his gaze. “Is that altered perception would tip the subject off right away. Ever gotten that little tingle at the back of your mind when looking at an optical illusion? That’s because your optic nerves are relaying a visual that does not compute in your brain. You can’t explain it but you know it’s wrong, and then your mind starts working overtime trying to pinpoint exactly what the problem is. Once that happens, you’re a goner because the immersion is gone. For now, we need immersion and stability in the illusion the most. Which is why we should try the new algorithm suggestion. If the hologram isn’t constantly stable it won’t matter in the long run.”

Beck’s jaw tightened somewhat upon hearing your pointed words but his gaze turned towards your colleagues. 

“Rerun test results from the last trial,” Beck ordered, but there was just enough politeness in his tone to keep even Victoria satisfied. “I want to do another trial tomorrow, and I need to know how far I can push the system without making the prototype explode in our faces.”

Daniel and Victoria nodded at once, standing together and moving toward their respective computers right away. Swinging your legs, you got up from your seat on the table to follow them, your stress ball in hand but Beck’s voice stopped you before you could so much as take a step.

“Not you,” he stated reluctantly, a faint smile lingering on his face, but his gaze narrowed when you peered at him with something close to surprise. “I need you with me and working on the grating light valve.”

You stared at him blankly.

On the other side of the lab, you heard Daniel and Victoria come to a standstill, the room suddenly falling suffocatingly quiet. 

“If I want another trial done tomorrow, I need another pair of hands,” he provided in a way of explanation upon noticing your puzzled expression. “If it fails, we will remodel the algorithm and try your idea instead,” he added tightly, voice thin. 

His dark, inscrutable gaze moved away from you after that and you had to force back a victorious smile. 

The traces of bitterness on Victoria’s and Daniel’s faces were impossible to miss though.

. . .    

The ball left your hand for the hundredth time that day, sailing smoothly through the air as gravity sank its nails into it, immediately dragging it down. 

Funny that. 

Everything that goes up must always come back down. 

“Question.”

You heard Beck exhale quietly as he shifted in his seat. It was an honest sound; a sound that betrayed his irritation with you, and it made you gleeful that he allowed these nastier parts peek out when it was just the two of you.

It was just after 1am, marking it yet another too long, too sleepless night stuck working in the lab. There was a dull ache of exhaustion pulsing near your temple but you had gotten very good at ignoring it by now. 

“Go on right ahead, sweetheart,” Beck intoned dully, eyes never leaving the prototype he was fiddling with in front of him. “I’m thrilled by the mere thought of having you question everything I do yet again.”

Scoffing, you threw the ball in the air again, catching it clumsily. At least you didn’t drop it, unlike the last four times. “Please stop acting like you’re not finally making tangible progress with this.”

His hands stilled, lowering the tools he held delicately onto the workbench as his eyes slid to you. 

He probably had a grand total of four hours of sleep in the last 48 hours. He looked like a mess. An attractive mess, but a mess all the same. 

His eyes were too wide, too cutting, as he stared at you for a silent moment. “Someone has a high opinion of themselves,” he murmured coolly. 

You grin stretched and you wiggled your fingers at him playfully, “Someone has to. Besides, you would have found a way to get rid of me if I was really such a burden to you. But, back to my previous point: question.”  

He leaned back, his chair creaking as Beck adjusted himself. 

“Go on, then.”

His expression was blank, closed off, but there was that unnerving glimmer of interest that he usually hid very well. But it was late—or rather early—and it was just the two of you with a table separating you, and a thousand questions you could ask each other. 

“Let’s say, for a moment,” you began pleasantly, rolling the stress ball between your hands as you leaned your elbows on the table, your eyes locked with his. “That we live in a perfect world where you will succeed and get this technology to work. Now, I don’t know if Victoria and Daniel didn’t ask you, or whether they did and you simply shut them down, but I have to ask: how will you handle the side effects?”

Quentin’s head tilted slightly to one side, and he grinned—sharp, menacing—while he leaned his chin against his open palm. “Side effects? What makes you think something as innocent as illusions will do anyone any harm?”

“Don’t play coy with me, sweetheart,” you purred lowly, mocking, voice dipping into something colder as you mirrored his position. “Your briefs make it clear that your end goal is to create technology that will alter someone’s perception of reality itself. I don’t think I need to sit here and explain to you what overexposure to something like that does to a person. But just to make it clear: a weaker mind will suffer from paranoia as well as disillusion with reality. Is that clear, or do you want me to go on, no? Now, please enlighten me how you will handle minds that can no longer distinguish between what’s real and what’s not. It’s more than dangerous it’s—”

“Godly.”  

A hushed breath slipped past your lips and you stared at him wide-eyed. Beck’s expression remained the same but the blue of his eyes almost looked black, the shadows under his eyes making him appear more than just dangerous. Somehow more and less than human all at once; a raw, terrible thing.

You forced your fingers to relax their deadly grip on the stress ball in your hand. 

And then you laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

And you weren’t surprised to find him grinning at you from ear to ear when you were done. 

. . .

“I mean it’s kinda awesome.”

Yes, it would be if it weren’t for the obvious tinge of envy in Daniel’s voice. 

“Why do you think—?”

“Daniel,” Victoria cut in flatly, expression sour as she glanced at him. “It’s none of our business as to why.”

“I know,” Daniel insisted, but he didn’t sound as convincing as he probably would have liked. “But aren’t you curious? I’ve worked for him for over a year, and you worked with us for almost 9 months. Are we doing something...wrong?”

Okay, this could potentially become very problematic if you didn’t handle it with a certain delicacy. 

“Dan,” you addressed him directly, your expression arranged into something concerned, troubled, “I’m sorry. I—you know how he is. Stubborn, demanding, and overly dramatic about everything. I—I think it’s purely because I’m annoying him too much. Maybe he’s hoping that by allowing me to work on the prototype he can finally keep me quiet for longer than five minutes, you know? It’s not because you’re somehow less—god, you’re so smart. You both are. I think Beck just can’t handle me anymore.”

“You’re wrong.”

Much to your surprise, it was Victoria who answered you, frowning at you like what you were saying didn’t make any sense to her. 

You paused, genuinely surprised, and when she addressed you next, you realised that you may have underestimated her after all.  

“You’re brilliant,” she told you seriously, gaze set and jaw tense, “Just as brilliant as he is, and he sees it too. That’s why he lets you work on the prototype. If anything, watching you both work together is downright terrifying.”

. . .

“Why pretend?”

You didn’t bother holding back your disbelieving scoff. “Okay, first of all, pots and kettles,” you said flatly, “And second, what is it to you?”

“Curiosity.”

Chuckling, you glanced up at Beck and away from the lens you were fiddling with, “About?”

Much to your surprise, he was already gazing at you when you looked up at him. He rarely gave you his time or regard, choosing to continue working while you talked—and even then, you both preferred to work around each other rather than together. This meant most of these late-night work sessions were spent in tranquil silence. 

“What makes you tick,” he told you bluntly, not missing a beat, and your slight smile widened at the gleam in his eyes. “Why bother with trying to make everyone your friend?”

“Well in assuming that, you’re already wrong,” you disagreed casually, rolling a loose screw between your fingers and giving him a speculative glance, appraising. “It’s not about being friends with everyone. It’s about their belief that you are their friend. It’s unwise to commit to anyone or choose sides. Court attention at all times but never commit. By making people feel appreciated you make them depend on that positive attention. People are...simple. And it’s very easy to fool someone when they’re already fooling themselves. You would be surprised how disarming selective honesty and generosity can be.”

You could see him mulling over your words, and it was hard to ignore the shiver of delight at the ravenous look he was giving you. He ran his hand over his three-day-old stubble, thoughtful, astute. 

“But not with me,” he pointed out impassively, a treacherous smile twisting his lips to one side. “What’s the matter? Don’t want to be best buddies with me, honey?” he practically purred and you laughed shortly.

“Please,” you shot back with a gleaming smile, your eyebrows knitting. “It’s just the two of us here, so we can be as honest as we want. You can’t stand the sight of me because you hate the very idea of your authority being questioned. That’s fine, I don’t really like you either, to be honest. Why ask me though? You do the exact same thing, you just lack the patience—oh.” 

Scoffing, you leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest, “You think I manipulated my way into this position, don’t you?”

He gave you an innocent, almost playful look, and shrugged, leaning back in his seat as well. “You tell me.”

“As much as it would no doubt comfort you to think so, no,” you stated firmly, a touch irritated now, “I got here by pulling endless cramming nights in school and college. I got here by working double shifts after school to pay for my education because I had no help. From anyone. Even when I barely had enough to feed myself, I didn’t ask for help. Everything I’ve achieved, I achieved by myself.”

Beck exhaled slowly, fixated on you in a way that you knew would make most people uncomfortable. 

“It would seem we do have something in common after all,” his tone was light, but his eyes told a different story. “But you’re still unsatisfied with what you have.”

It wasn’t a question. 

“No, I guess I’m not.”

“Why is that?”

“The exact same reason you’re here,” you explained smoothly, watching his expression carefully. “Because I want something and I’m going to get it.”

A glimmer of that ferocious, mocking smile twisted his features once again and his head tilted to one side, “And the self-inflicted isolation is just part of the deal, sweetheart?”

Your laugh was hardly pleasant but you didn’t care, not with him, “Touche.”

. . .

“You just described your girlfriend, that’s not fair,” Daniel said with a laugh. “You’re making the rest of us feel bad with your fairytale romance.”

“I’m weeping for you, truly,” Victoria deadpanned, not even giving him a glance. “What about you then? What’s your perfect partner?”

Daniel sighed deeply, frowning as if in deep thought, and you almost rolled your eyes. The two of them were sitting opposite to you, busy with last trial results while you sat on the other side of the table with your feet propped on the gleaming surface. The tablet in your hand was warm from hours of use, and you pretended to fiddle with the data on screen, almost involuntary eavesdropping on their conversation. 

You weren’t about to pass up on free entertainment. 

“Someone smarter than me,” Daniel began, so serious a laugh bubbled up at the back of your throat, and you had to work hard to keep it in. “Someone kind and nice—oh, and someone with a great sense of humour too! Just someone amazing.”

For a second you felt his eyes rest on you, and you worked very hard to keep your concentrated expression in place.

“Wow,” Victoria drawled slowly, amusement bleeding through her dry exclamation. “That’s deep, Dan.” 

“Shut up.” 

Daniel laughed weakly, clearly embarrassed, and you had to bite your tongue to keep yourself from smirking too.

“Hey, what about you (Name)? Who would your perfect partner be?” he questioned and you paused, fingers stilling on the tablet screen.

You had been so preoccupied with enjoying their pointless conversation that you never took a moment to prepare an answer for them. For the first time in a while, you felt yourself draw blank. 

Before, premeditated words like “tall, dark and handsome” would have slipped out with a bashful smile and half-hearted shrug. Now—

Hmm. 

Moving your knees to one side so you could see them clearly, you felt your words bubble from someplace deep in you, “Someone with teeth.”

For a second they were both completely still before Daniel burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking from the force of it. Victoria, on the other hand, was giving you an odd look—almost like she could read deeper into your words. 

“Yeah, I’m kinda having a hard time picturing you with someone who has to wear dentures,” Daniel shot back with another snort, shaking his head. “It would be funny to see though.”

Your smile was indulgent, and you waited till Daniel took the lead, steering the conversation in a different direction before letting it slowly fade. 

It was almost impossible to escape the suffocating intensity of Beck’s stare across the room though.

. . .

The trial failed. 

The holographic illusion lasted a minute and fourteen seconds—a new record but nowhere near good enough if you wanted the lead project. 

Daniel was frustrated and expressed his disappointment loudly. Victoria was more subdued but no less dismayed. 

Beck took it calmly, but his fingers touched everything with a gentleness that told you he wanted to smash and grind everything in close vicinity to dust. 

His eyes lifted to yours. 

He didn’t say a word, simply stepping past you towards the whiteboard with the algorithm.    

There was no point in gloating right now, you both had work to do. 

Hours became a haze of suggestions, adjustments and recalculations. 

Neither of you noticed when Daniel and Victoria slipped out, far too focused on your work. 

It was some time after midnight, that Beck slammed his hand against the board in frustration, making it rattle and wheel back. He breathed deeply, calming himself, though you could see how tense the muscles in his neck were. He grabbed the edge of the board, pulling it closer and leaned against it for a moment, running his hand through his hair. 

Sighing, you bent down, picking up the fallen marker and walked up to him till you were standing side-to-side. 

“Breathe,” you instructed calmly, though your own eyes were aching from staring at the damn thing for countless hours. “You’ll figure it out,” you added firmly, offering the marker to him. 

Beck looked at you, gaze hollow, and loose strands of hair brushing against his forehead as he reached for the pen in your hand. His fingers locked around yours, scorching hot, and he gave you a thin, morose smile. 

“I know we will.” 

You only laughed at him softly. 

“That doesn’t work on me,” you tutted, your words deride, dry. “Keep your “you’re so special because I’m drawing exclusivity around you and myself” wordplay to yourself.”

His smile transformed into an almost pleased smirk, and you rolled your eyes. “Back to work.”

. . .

“A minute fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two—”

With every read, Daniel’s voice pitched like he was holding himself back from screaming the numbers out. Your nails cut into your palms as you stared at the solid, blue image of floating dolphins in front of you. You would be lying if you said you weren’t counting your breaths too, waiting for the image to break. 

It didn’t. 

A week and a half of working nonstop and now—

It stayed strong, steady, and you grinned widely when you heard Daniel scream that it’s been over two minutes. Victoria immediately chided him, reminding him to keep counting since the trial wasn’t over yet.

Through the happy chaos, your gaze found Beck’s who was standing on the other side of the hologram. Blue lights danced over his features and you observed the muted wonderment in his gaze, the raw satisfaction practically radiating off him. You smirked innocently, pulling a mock joking expression with a shrug of your shoulders. 

For once, his answering smile actually resembled something close to genuine joy. 

. . .

“Okay, so I could lie and tell you the traffic was really bad but honestly I just felt like—”

You froze, your words dying in your throat and the grip on your coffee cup tightening slightly. There was that all too familiar spike in your pulse, and you inhaled deeply, quietly, rearranging your features into something neutral as you observed the stranger in your lab. 

The man stood dressed in a white, crisp shirt and khaki pants that only accented his tallness. He stood with his back to you, arms crossed over his chest as he observed the floating dolphins in front of him. 

Upon hearing you, he turned in your direction, a smile breaking out across his face. His grin was near blinding, his eyes crinkling behind his designer glasses as he peered at you with open interest. 

“Can I help you, sir?” you asked politely, approaching him few steady steps at the time. 

“Ahh, you may be able to,” the man said, turning to face you. “You won’t happen to be the (Name) I’ve been hearing so much about?”

Oh, something about this didn’t sit right with you at all. Starting with the fact that this stranger shouldn’t be in your and Beck’s lab when no one from your team was here. 

“That would be me, sir,” you answered with a faint, awkward smile, “And you are?”

The man blinked before releasing a brief—forced, oh he was pretty good—laugh, his gaze briefly sweeping down the length of you as if weighting your worth.  

“Where are my manners, honestly,” he exclaimed, still grinning but it was an empty, contrived thing. “My name is Patrick Hodge. I work in the Visionary department as well, just a different team. I’m its leader.”

Ah yes. Competition. You had meant to check out what projects you were up against eventually—poke around for some weak spots, see if there was anything to exploit. His name also rang a bell. This man was not only in a position of power but also well-liked and respected around the Engineering & Innovation division. 

Looking at him, you could see why. 

A cold-blooded opportunist who was good at playing the charming sucker. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, sir,” you responded respectfully, taking his hand when he stretched it out in your direction. “I would introduce myself, but it seems like you already know of me.”

“Indeed I do,” he said silkily, still holding your hand for longer than would be considered appropriate. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about you. Always smiling, always willing to help out. Quentin Beck’s new miracle right hand. I just had to meet you for myself. Some are even attributing his latest breakthrough solely to you.”

Oh?

You smiled faintly, playing at bashful, and lowered your gaze to the floor while your fingertips tapped against your coffee cup. “Not at all, sir,” you demurred with a chuckle. “That was all Mr Beck’s work. He figured it out. Holography is hardly my area of expertise. I can only advise, perhaps suggest ideas, but ultimately it’s not my field or invention.” 

“What is it you specialise in then? If you don’t mind me asking?”

You most certainly minded, but this was information you could give him easily enough. For two reasons: first, you needed to know why he wanted to know so badly, and two, fulfilling his first request for information would psychologically leave a good impression of you. An impression that you were obedient and possibly a source of information. All things that could draw him back to you, ultimately working out in your favour.  

“In AI construction and development, sir.”

And just like that, you felt your instincts screech at the pleased, almost haughty, sheen in Patrick’s eyes he did a very good job of hiding. If you hadn’t been watching him as carefully as you were, you would have easily missed it. 

He had a look of a man who just received the best news in his life. 

“May I ask—”

“Patrick. Whatever brings you here?”

The man in front of you stiffened, his fake grin wavering for a moment before he finally released your fingers, glancing over your shoulder. 

It was odd. 

You almost felt relieved to have Beck back in the room with you. 

His sharp edges you liked. Patrick, on the other hand, left a rotten aftertaste in your mouth.

“Quentin,” Patrick greeted smoothly, stretching his hands out for another shake. “Congratulations on your progress. The whole Visionary program department—hell, the entire division—is buzzing about it.”

Beck came to stop right beside you—unusually close even for him—and your arms almost brushed against each other when he took Patrick’s hand in his own. 

“Thank you,” he replied with that charming, crooked grin of his. “I couldn’t have done it without my hardworking team. We still have a lot of work to do though.”

It was impossible to miss the way the two men were eyeing each other up behind those pleasant smiles and honeyed words. Whatever they had between them wasn’t nice or pleasant, and you felt your interest arouse as you glanced at Beck from the corner of your eye. 

“I’m sorry but I’m afraid I’ll have to cut your conversation short,” Beck continued, not sounding very sorry at all, “Still lots of work to do and the demo week is just around the corner. If you would excuse us,” he finished pointedly, smiling pleasantly. 

“Of course,” Patrick voiced calmly, but you didn’t miss the slight, irritated narrowing of his eyes. “You need to use this momentum of success while you still can after all. I look forward to seeing you more around the industries (Name). If you ever want to drop by and have a look at my project, you can find my team and myself at lab 38. I think it will be to your liking. Good day to you both.”

And with that, he strutted out of the room like he owned the place and deemed it no longer up to his standard. 

. . .

“That absolute imbecile Daniel must have blabbed.”

Beck’s words were soaked with simmering sort of rage, everything he touched being held in a white-knuckle grip. You observed him intently, resting your chin on your palm as your eyes tracked his erratic movements. He was angry, and he looked like he was having a hard time keeping still because of it.

“No one was supposed to know,” he explained bitterly, his tone pinching vehemently around every syllable. “Our progress would have been our biggest advantage.”

His eyes turned to you, narrowed, and he blinked like he was suddenly coming back to himself. You wondered if he realized just how unguarded he’d been just a moment ago—how easily it had come, and how you were still in your spot simply gazing at him calmly despite it. 

“Okay, first of all,” you spoke blandly, lifting your chin from your palm and folding your hands on the table before slouching in your seat. “Cut the theatrics and tell me who the hell he is and why I should care. I know he’s a big shot around here but clearly you have some personal shit going on between you.”

Beck’s jaw tightened minutely, sharpening his features in a way that made you regard him with more interest. Oh, this one was personal alright. 

“Last year,” Beck began, his voice icy, “He sabotaged me. Made sure I wasn’t able to present my technology because he knew that what I had was better than his work.”

Eyebrows jumping upwards, you pulled a mock shocked face, your lips parting, “Your proof? Or did you just get a special little boy feeling that it was him?” you wondered cheerfully.

Beck’s expression flickered and he chuckled coldly, giving you an equally mocking shrug, “Gee, I don’t know, honey. Maybe the fact that he told me straight to my face? He’s an arrogant prick and couldn’t resist gloating. Of course, I had no way to prove it. He covered his tracks well.”

“Are we still talking about Patrick or…”

His stare was cutting, “Funny.”

Your eyes rolled and you shook your head, sighing, “Look, I’m sorry but can you get any more cliched? A rival? Really? What’s next? Oh, I know: you’re a superhero now.” 

“What did he ask you?” Beck suddenly demanded, changing the subject completely. “Did he ask you about the illusion tech?”

Staring at him vacantly, you forced a shaky, “Yes, he did. And I told him everything,” was your terrified whisper before your features cleared with a blink, and you shot him an exasperated look. “No, he didn’t ask. And even if he had, I would have fed him a cork of shit. I’m not an idiot. I know he’s competition. He wanted to know what I specialised in.”

“And?”

“And it’s AIs. Happy?”

But Beck didn’t look happy at all. With his shoulders hunched—tense—and his knuckles white, he looked ferocious at he stared at you for a long moment without blinking. 

“Shit,” he muttered breathlessly, rising abruptly, “Shit, shit, shit. That fucker.”

Shooting an odd look his way, you tracked his tightly coiled figure as he moved around the table. “Okay. Am I missing something here?”

Beck’s wide-eyed stare swung back to you, blazing, “His own project is AI. That asshole is hoping to manipulate you to his side. He saw that your interference was helping me. He can’t take that chance. He wants to use you against me.”

“That’s cute.”

“I’m not joking, honey.”

Rising to your feet, you closed the distance between you in a few steps. “No, that’s really cute,” you shot back bitterly, pure acid dripping from your words. “Cute that you think I’m going to allow some desperate, arrogant prick to just shove me around like some pawn in your little pissing contest. I know men like him. If he wants to play games, that’s fine. I can play, but I will play to win.” 

Oh, there was something enjoyable about the guttering severity of his regard.

Something enjoyable about the way he was looking at you like he wanted—

“Hey, I’m back—”

You blinked, almost disoriented, your head turning sharply towards Victoria who stood in the doorway. She appeared frozen, her almond eyes taking in the image in front of her with a subdued frown. 

You’d been so lost in the moment—in the heat of the argument—you hadn’t even realised that you and Beck were practically chest-to-chest. Taking a step back, you shot the older woman a smile. 

“You brought doughnuts? You shouldn’t have!”

Victoria’s smile was genuine but stilted, her gaze focused on Beck. When you glanced at him too, you were forced to swallow heavily when you found him still staring at you. It was like he hadn’t bothered acknowledging Victoria’s presence at all, something indescribable gleaming in his eyes while he stared at you. 

The moment passed, and he turned away from you without a word. 

Suffice to say, Daniel did not escape the storm that was Beck’s rage when he came back from lunch. 

. . .

“So are you guys coming to the party on Friday?”

Victoria didn’t hesitate, “It’s not just any party, Dan,” she explained flatly. “It’s a mandatory company gathering, and as a team that’s going to be presenting our work in two weeks time, we have to attend. So yes.”

Daniel presented her with what he no doubt believed to be an endearing grin, “Be my platonic plus one?”

Victoria finished typing whatever she was working on before peering at the blonde from beneath her glasses, “I’m taking Salma, Dan. Duh.”

Daniel blinked, momentarily speechless, “Wait, right, sorry. How about you (Name)?”

Drowning a mouthful of coffee, you glanced up from your work with a noncommittal hum, “Me? Someone already asked.”

Victoria shot a not-so-subtle look Beck’s way but the man in question was frowning at his screen, turning his head slightly in your direction as if confused.

“Really? Who?” Daniel questioned, a little put out and a bit too demanding for your taste.

Giving them both a blank stare and pointedly ignoring Beck, you simply said, “Patrick Hodge.” 

“What?”

Daniel and Victoria both exclaimed almost simultaneously, and from the corner of your eye, you saw Beck’s head snap in your direction. 

“He asked, and I said yes,” you told them impassively, calmly taking another sip of your coffee. “Stop acting like it’s some big thing because it isn’t.”  

“Of course it’s a big—”

“Could you two give us a moment?”

Beck’s voice sliced through the room like a bolt of lightning despite how soft and calm it was. Daniel’s expression fell, and he glanced from you to Beck, and then back again. Victoria’s attention was solely on Beck, her eyebrows furrowed as she stood, nudging the still Daniel beside her.  

“C’mon, you,” she prompted, giving you a discreet look you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Let’s have an early lunch.”

Daniel looked like he was going to protest, but Victoria grabbed his forearm, giving it a squeeze of warning.

You remained silent while the two gathered their things, not giving Beck the time of day while his attention remained focused solely on you. Unnerving. 

The door to the lab barely closed before he was already up and on his feet, approaching you with that dangerous gait that originally caught your attention. 

“What were you thinking?”

Exhaling wearily, you tilted your head lazily to look up at him when he came to a stop beside your desk. “Why wouldn’t I say yes?”

His eyes flashed; a silent, awful storm brimming behind that calm facade. “Because I told you what he wants. Because he’s using you to get to me.”

“Whatever is going on between you two is irrelevant to me,” you threw back at him without hesitation, and noticed the way his jaw tensed at your words. “He’s one of the most prominent figures in this company. I would be a fool to not use this chance to pave my own way.”

Beck moved closer, your legs almost touching, “You don’t need Patrick to pave your way. Once I get the lead project—”

“Well that’s just it, isn’t it, handsome?” you interrupted coldly, a sarcastic tilt of your voice giving him a pause. “Your lead project, not mine. I need to think about myself because when you get the project—rejoice!—but what about me?” 

“You will be my project co-leader.”

Oh.

To be the project co-leader would place you right at the top of the food chain. More than that, if the project did well and ended up bringing company success it would open all the doors for you and then some. You wouldn’t need to wait for opportunities—they would come to you and in abundance. 

Lethal sort of calmness slackened your face, and you rose to your feet slowly, practically face-to-face with Beck as you stared into his eyes. 

“I would encourage you to think very carefully about the words you use around me,” you whispered, your voice like a sharpened blade against his throat. “I’m not your puppet. I’m not a pawn you can use however you please. You ever lie to me and I will make you regret ever meeting me, Beck. That, I can promise you.”

“I’m not tricking you,” was his hushed response as he stared at you unblinkingly, something hungry warping his features when you leaned closer. 

A fleeting smile danced across your face and your hand lifted, brushing against the lean curve of his shoulders before your fingers came to a rest against the back of his neck. The soft material of his black turtleneck tickled your fingertips, and from this close you could scent the faint whiff of his expensive cologne.  

“Hodge can give me everything I need,” you told him quietly, lightly running your fingers across his neck, and biting back a smug grin when you felt his pulse jump just so. 

Beck’s own lips twitched into a sly, almost cruel smirk as he leaned into your touch with a knowing expression. “Perhaps,” he agreed, his hot breath fanning against your lips from how close your bodies were. “But I can give you everything you want, honey.”

A genuine, sensual sort of laugh slipped free from you, and you glanced up at him from under your lashes, grinning. 

Your eyes locked onto his lips and you leaned closer, your bodies touching and the pad of your thumb gently stroking his jaw. Your breaths mingled and you breathed him in deeply, enjoying the moment for what it was.

He was looking at you like wanted to devour you, and you have never denied yourself the little things in life. 

You paused just before your mouths touched, however; enjoying the closeness and the heat of him so near. 

What a wonderful, treacherous thing he was. And oh, how he made your blood sing. 

“We shall see about that,” you breathed with a playful laugh. His eyes snapped open when you pulled back, and for a moment you were sure he was going to grab you and kiss you anyway. 

Taking another few steps back, you shot him a wink, licking your lips. “We shall see.” 

. . .

“Oh hey, you’re still here.”

Victoria didn’t reply right away, and you felt a small frown tug your lips down as you watched her hurriedly moving her equipment around. She liked her work area clean and tidy but something about this felt...final.  

“Vic? You okay?”

Her hands trembled before she splayed them across the workbench, a shuddering breath escaping her. 

“I’m transferring after the party,” she told you bluntly, still not looking your way. “I haven’t told Beck yet and...I rather you didn’t either. But I wanted you to know. I mean—I—we’ve sort of become friends in these last few months, right? The only two girls on the team.”

You hurried towards her, cautiously touching her shoulder, “Of course we’re friends,” you assured her softly, your expression creasing with confusion. “But transferring? Why? Did something happen? Did Beck say something—”

“It wasn’t him,” she cut you off, but her following chuckle was bitter. “I finally got approached by another team leader. Dominique. I’m having a hard time believing someone like her wants me on her team.”  

Indeed. 

You knew of Dominique. Or, more accurately, knew how close her and Patrick worked together. 

My, my, Patrick was indeed good. Trying to manipulate you to his side and taking Victoria from Beck—effectively eliminating two most valuable members of the team in one swoop. He must be feeling pretty confident he would be able to charm you to his side if he was trying to pull something like this with only two weeks left till the demos. Interesting. 

“Wow, congratulations, you deserve this,” you told her, giving her shoulder a pat. “Don’t give me that look, you really do deserve it.”

“You’re not...mad? Not going to call me a traitor or something?” she mumbled, fiddling with folders in front of her. “I thought you would be angry.”

“What? No, of course not. If this helps you excel that’s all that matters,” you replied with a slight laugh. “Besides you’re an adult, I can’t exactly make these decisions for you. I will miss you. But I also wish you luck.”

Victoria exhaled in obvious relief, giving you the widest smile you’d seen from her yet. You both stayed like this for a few seconds, content, before you saw the happy smile on her face crumble away piece by piece. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Victoria gave you a long, searching look before shaking her head. “If I tell you,” she began, hesitation twisting her voice. “Promise me you won’t get upset.”

Curiosity bubbled in the pit of your stomach and you nodded slowly. “Promise. I always keep an open mind. Or I try.”

Her features twisted into a grimace and she glanced around the lab—almost like she had to confirm to herself that you really were alone. 

“I’ve seen how you are with Beck,” she whispered, cautious, awkward. “I know you think it will be different with you. I know you hope it will be love one day, but a man like him...”

She hesitated, staring at her hands, and everything inside you went incredibly still at her words.

“He’s the most dangerous man I’ve ever met,” she admitted tersely, still not meeting your stare. “He will destroy everything in his path to get what he wants. I’ve seen it. So leave. Please run now while you still can. Love from a man like him will only bring you pain. If you let him, he will be the death of you. He will love you to ruin.”

The silence that fell around you after she finished was peaceful, the buzz of technology around you a familiar symphony. 

When Victoria finally looked up at you warily, you felt her muscles stiffen under the palm of your hand.

“Oh Vic,” you told her with a gleaming, cold smile, “Who said anything about falling in love?”

. . .

“You look beautiful tonight.”

A lie.

But he was damn good at it.

“Thank you.”

Patrick spun you in a respectful, comfortable circle, minding the other couples on the dancefloor. You had no choice but to accept his request for a dance, letting the soothing jazz number wash over you as the rich and the wealthy danced all around you.  

Majority of the faces were familiar to you from the company. And it was impossible to miss how more than one pair of leering eyes drilled holes into you when Patrick spun you around with another glowing smile. 

“You still haven’t shared your thoughts on my project,” he prompted rather bluntly and your eyes swung to him, feigning startled surprise. “I was rather anxious to hear your professional opinion of it.”

“It’s rather impressive, sir,” you told him with a slight, polite smile.

But not as impressive as Beck’s work—not if he got it to work at its full capacity like intended. And you would make sure he would.  

Patrick’s own smile was sharper, more annoyed, “Nothing else to add?”

You blinked innocently, forcing another embarrassed laugh, curving your shoulders somewhat. “Sorry, sir, you make me rather nervous.” 

“Nonsense, dear—”

“Mind if I cut in?” 

Patrick came to a stop, you with him, and your eyes flew to your right only to find Beck standing in front of you. He looked…

Good.

Better than good.

Clad in all black and his hair slicked back neatly, he looked more like a sinful, dark promise than a man. While he usually preferred a clean-shaven face unless he was stuck in the lab for days, today his stubble was heavy. It framed his face in a more roguish way that made your pulse jumps slightly when his piercing blue eyes met yours. 

“Quentin, I was just—”

“Come now, Patrick, surely I’m allowed to steal my own right hand for one dance?” Quentin wondered, a pleasant chuckle escaping him. “Or am I wrong?”

He glanced around the crowd in a rather obvious and telling manner. A showcase that he knew full well that people were watching you all right now. Patrick’s smile was stiff, bordering on resentful, but he released you all the same, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss on top of it. 

“I see you very soon, dear,” he promised you, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. He gave Beck a dazzling, deride smile that almost made you bristle on his behalf when he brushed past him. 

Beck didn’t waste time, stepping closer and taking your hand in his just as a new song started playing. His other hand settled on the small of your back, the two of you swaying from side to side wordlessly.

“I don’t think I need to tell you how breathtaking you look tonight,” he stated calmly after another minute of silence. “But you do.”

“Oh, you’re getting good,” you snapped, controlling your tone and trying to smile through your clenched teeth. “I almost believed you this time. Better yet, tell me what the hell you’re doing right now?”

His grip on you tightened slightly, and he gave you a mock surprised look, eyes widening, “I do believe we’re dancing, (Name).” 

Seeing your hard stare, he cleared his expression, peering at you for a moment longer before finally giving you a flat, “Saving you.”

“Did I look like I needed to be saved?” you scoffed, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping on your conversation. It was already proving to be a challenge to keep your expression calm. “I was laughing just moments ago.”

Beck hummed, a slight smirk twitching his mouth upwards, “Yes, you were laughing. But not with him but rather at him—there’s a difference. He was boring you to tears.”

“Can for once,” you hissed under your breath, your gazes clashing, “Just once, you think of something other than your ego? Can’t you leave your dick-measuring contest till a later date? Don’t ruin this for me.”    

His gaze was frigid as he spun you around, carefully bringing you back into his embrace. “I told you, you don’t need him.”

“And I suppose I need you instead. Is that it?”

You didn’t bother holding back on your bitterness this time, your words like a barbed-wire tightening around you both. 

It was difficult to interpret the long, lingering look Beck gave you in reply to your words. Swaying silently for a few more moments, you forced your expression to relax, hoping that he was going to let this moment pass. 

“No, you don’t need anything from anyone,” he finally admitted, his words frustrated but it didn’t feel like the frustration was directed at you. “That’s why I like you.”

Biting on the inside of your cheek, you cut another look his way. “I told you that doesn’t—”

“I’m not saying it for the sake of saying it,” he rebuked, his expression hardening like it was difficult for him to admit that. “I don’t use my words lightly, sweetheart. But I had hoped you would know why I cut in.”

“Well, I don’t.”

His irritation was hard to miss this time, and his attention dropped back to you from the crowd he was observing only moments ago. “He wants to take you to his bed, use you once, and then throw you away like a used toy. All so he can have the satisfaction of rubbing it in my face.”

“So?”

A breath—sharp and disbelieving—whistled past his parted lips and his grip on your hand tightened for a second before he relaxed. “So? So, you would take him to your bed?”

Your smile was more of a snarl as you leaned in closer, “First of all, who I do and do not take to my bed is none of your goddamn business. Second, let him think with his ego. As far as I’m concerned that just puts me in a stronger position.”

Beck leaned in too, his gaze firm, insistent, “If you make him desire you but not give him what he wants, he will grow to resent you.”

You pushed away with a sigh, and he twirled you in a sweeping circle before tugging you back, his arm like a shackle around your waist. It was becoming increasingly more difficult for him not to show his anger, and the cracks made you more curious than you would care to admit. Did he truly care so much about his ego that the mere thought of you sleeping with Patrick frayed his edges this badly? Or was there more to this? More than he won’t admit to. 

“That doesn’t matter, I don’t need him to like me long term,” you muttered, trying to force calmness into your tone. “Besides since when are you such an expert on wants and desires of other people?” you wondered with a slight tilt of your chin as you regarded him oddly.

He didn’t reply, his eyes flickering over your features unhurriedly, gaze inscrutable. His continued silence only made you bolder, and you leaned closer, your lips almost brushing against the curve of his ear, “I do wonder, what is it that the great Quentin Beck wants?”  

Something burned in the endless abyss that was his eyes when you leaned back. The heat of his palm sank into yours, and you had to hold back a shiver when the arm resting at the small of your back slid around your waist purposefully. He pressed you close, gaze fervent, and the contours of his body melted against yours when his lips parted to respond— 

“Ah, sorry, if I could have your attention please!” 

You pulled back from Beck with an unsteady breath, his hand flexing around yours like he wasn’t going to let go before his grip loosened. For a moment you stared at each other before your eyes turned to locate the source of the voice. The music faded into a gentle stop, lights dimming till the only thing illuminated was the small stage where Patrick now stood. He beamed at the crowd; his white suit almost blinding as his eyes swept over everyone, watching as people turned their attention to him. 

“Hi, everyone, sorry to pause the festivities,” he began with a chuckle. “Just a few announcements before I let some of my other distinguished colleagues take the stage. Firstly, thank you, everyone, for coming tonight. It’s wonderful to see so many talented individuals here in one room. While unfortunately, Mr Stark could not attend the party himself—probably off saving the world somewhere—his spirit is truly with us here tonight. So let us make him proud! Secondly, I would like to make a more personal announcement but for that, I would like to invite someone else to join me on this stage. (Name) would you be so kind?”

You felt Beck stiffen beside you, and had to take a moment to force your own fluttering heart to calm down. Patrick’s eyes finally spotted you in the crowd, smile widening into something almost predatory when he gestured for you with his hand. Swallowing, you took a step towards the stage, your mind scrambling for an explanation as to what exactly he was planning. 

Beck’s fingers enclosed around your wrist swiftly, skin burning, and your head snapped in his direction as you paused. Something wild and dangerous twisted his expression before he allowed his face to smoothen. You waited—just a second, just the one—to see if he was going to say anything but he remained silent. His heavy stare didn’t waver though, and whatever he was trying to convey through his silence you chose to ignore. 

Tugging on your wrist, you broke free, heading towards the stage without so much as a backwards glance, carefully climbing the steps to the platform. Patrick was already waiting for you, taking your hand in his the moment you came face-to-face. Your skin crawled when his cool, dry lips pressed against the top of your hand again, his attention shifting back towards the expectant crowd. 

“This young lady,” Patrick explained, pausing for effect, “This lady right here took me by a complete surprise. I admit I was late to learn of the talent we were housing in our company. Everyone I talked with, everyone I approached, had nothing but good things to say. It almost seemed too good to be true. But then I met her, and well, suffice to say I was wrong to doubt my colleagues.” 

Patrick grinned at you, and something about the too happy gleam of it unsettled you more than you would care to admit. Despite your unease, you forced your lips into a faint smile. 

“And then I learn that this talented, kind, hard working-individual was unutilized daily,” he continued, his voice full of mock disbelief and you felt something close to dread starting to creep into your veins. “Well, I don’t believe that anyone at Stark Industries should be made to feel undervalued. For that reason, from this moment on, I’m appointing (Name) as my personal consultant on the AI project I’m currently working on.”

Ice sliced through your body, collecting right at the base of your heart as your eyes flew through the crowd. 

But Beck wasn’t looking at you. No—his dark, vicious stare was focused entirely on the animated Patrick who was still talking, talking, talking— 

He had planned this. 

The bastard had planned to simply take you. Perhaps he couldn’t be bothered to play, or perhaps he knew it would take too long to recruit you to his side. 

He knew. 

And had chosen to remove you from the team—from Beck—by pulling all the strings available to him. 

You were simply his instrument of control. A puppet, a pawn, for him to use in order to lessen Beck’s chances of winning. 

“Come, dear,” his sickly sweet voice registered over the loud applause, his fingers lingering between your shoulder blades. “I would very much like to enjoy my victory now.”

Victory. 

Victory? 

The word echoed, splintering inside your mind—

Something savage and scorching boiled in the pit of your stomach and—

Patrick stepped down the steps, extending his hand for you to take and you bit your tongue till you could feel the sharp sting of blood in your mouth—

You placed your hand in his.

Victory? I’ll show you victory.

. . .

an:.....PHEW! Thank you so much for reading. Hope you all liked the cliffhanger lol. Not gonna lie, I’m nervous about this series so any feedback is always appreciated! Love you all and see you on the flip side!! tagging: @angeli-fucking-cat @calypsolotus @ssskeletonsoffun @galactic-magick @antisocialshipper (thank you guys, hope you liked it!)

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 11

Previous: Tailing Taehyung 

Pairing: Min Yoongi X OFC

Genre: Angst, Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Swearing, Kissing, Mentions of Consensual Sex

Summary: The final part of Suga’s orders are carried out. 

Codename Another Shot at Love Pt. 4

Winter After Graduation

           December and January passed without much to report. That being said, everything that OT7 had planned went swimmingly, with one singular exception.

           The dinner at the Lee estate had sent a wave of insecurity through Euna, which made it easy for Yoongi to feign ignorance when he began, deliberately, to pull away from her.

           The first few weeks after dinner were filled with Yoongi convincing Euna that he was going to stay, that he was all in, that he wanted to be with her. She believed him, and by believing him, started the early drafts of their futures together. He hated the deception, the lies he strung together as easily as breathing, the files and documents charting his deception updated daily by Hoseok.

          Hoseok had the unpleasant task of transcribing all conversation and interactions between marks and members of OT7, his specialized training and exceptional hearing made his job easy. Yoongi was instructed to record everything, except sex or any hooking up that went down. Being in charge of most of the tech, he wielded his glasses and watch, set to record when they were on his person, set to turn off when they couldn’t detect his body heat. He could manually turn them off, a button on his watch near the band allowed him to with ease. He’d only fucked up once or twice, not recording when Cupid spilled important info, which angered Namjoon to no end. They weren’t amateurs, Yoongi should know better. Regardless, everyday Hobi transcribed the conversations between Yoongi and Cupid, adding more to the list and charts of the lies being told.

           “Jun-Seo said that Jimin wanted to send you something, a welcome to the gang, gift,” Euna said over dinner.

           Surprised and pouting, Yoongi responded, “A gift?”

           “Knowing Jun-Seo and Jimin, it’s probably a Dae-Seong voodoo doll,” Euna shrugged.

           “Okay, did they want to drop it off or give it to you?” Yoongi shrugged it off.

           “Jimin wants to have dinner, the four of us,” Euna told him, sipping her wine.

           Nodding again, Yoongi asked, “How do you feel about that?”

           “I would rather not,” Euna said.

           “Then we won’t.”

           “Isn’t it part of being a family?” She asked, unsure what the protocol of a functioning family was.

           “Having dinner? Didn’t we just witness Guadalcanal? You think the troops wanted to hang with the natives after they slaughtered them?” Yoongi scoffed. He hated how docile Cupid was towards her family, always doing what she thought was right, rarely what she wanted.

           “Eh, it wasn’t that bad,” Euna responded.

           “You’re shitting me,” Yoongi’s eyes were wide. “War is not normal, I mean, besides Iraq and Afghanistan, that’s normal.”

           “No, I’m not. We’ve had far worse, that one was honestly, average. At least my mom made it through the entire meal, and no one broke a glass or threw a plate at Dae. They weren’t on their best behavior, but it was better than most meals we share,” Euna informed him.

           “That’s toxic, psychotic, that’s fucking horrifying, Euna. You don’t have to put up with that.” Yoongi took her hand in his while she watched her roll her eyes.

           “Didn’t you know that, though?” She snapped.

           “Know what?”

           “The Lee family, and Lee Enterprises, breeds nothing but toxicity and wages psychological warfare on every member of the inner circle. That’s why no one leaves,” Euna’s temper continued to flare throughout the night, sleeping as far from Yoongi as possible, barely acknowledging him as he slipped from her home the next morning.

           Arriving at work the next day, Yoongi and the OT7 team spent an additional week tracing the longevity of careers at Enterprises, as well as tracking hirings, firings and workers who just disappeared from records.

           “Who’s been there the longest?” Namjoon asked, files scattered across the conference table, writing strewn on the glass between offices. He was growing tired, a sign from the cold he’d acquired running a surveillance mission with their recent acquisition, a trainee ready to be put into the field.

           “Not including the Lee family, that would include a somewhat distant Vanderbilt relative, a Henry Claypoole,” Yoongi said.

           “Not a Korean?” Seokjin asked.

           “No, the Lee’s didn’t rise into prominence until, well, it looks like the late 80s, when they did a market sample and it became apparent that an Asian-American owned company would serve better in the future than another fortune 500 owned by a white family, that and Vietnam had ended and American sentiment towards Asians of all kind was changing,” Namjoon responded.

“Once the Civil Rights Act passed, and the government continued to allow Asians immigrate, opinions were changing.” Yoongi added.

           “It wasn’t that long after Vietnam though,” Seokjin was skeptical.

           “It didn’t go over well, they hadn’t gone public until the early 2000s, so it balanced out. It was pretty hush-hush until the mid 90s when Claypoole died.” Namjoon pulled up the paperwork, passing it to Jin.

           “Still, Vietnam, AIDs, their investors were okay with this?”

           “At the heart of the Lee business model, is a relentless grab for power. They were making ins with the wealthiest families in Asia, Europe, UAE, Middle East and South America. There wasn’t a royal family or billionaire who hadn’t put their money in,” Namjoon told the men.

           Curious, Seokjin asked, “Before it was Lee Enterprises, what was it called?”

           “Claypoole & Lee Enterprises,” Hoseok responded. He’d forged a few older documents with their old insignia and water mark.

           “CLE?” Jin had looked at their old stocks, comparing them to other companies when he was in college. They were a fickle company, always hard to pin down or predict.

           “Yes,” Hoseok answered again.

           “They changed their name?” Jin confirmed.

           “It was a complete rebranding to help with their demographics, but it also made sense once Claypoole was six feet under.” Namjoon replied.

           “The less American, the better?” Jin clarified.

           “Exactly, better for the global image,” Namjoon adjusted his glasses before running a hand through his hair. Dark and quaffed, it fell back into place in gently swoops.

           “Claypoole worked in the bank from day one,” Yoongi addressed the three men.

           “Claypoole was just a figurehead, the original chairman of the board while Lee and his crew ran the company,” Namjoon said.

           “How do their hiring practices measure up?” Hoseok asked, he spent zero time reading and understanding the internal workings of the company unless he has to write in a specific person’s voice.

           “They accept applicants in pools, hiring in spring/summer, train in fall, then reevaluate the following spring. Their classes or cohorts are no more than ten people, with a few exceptions based on the market demands and company growth. Some years, specifically at the beginning of the tech boom, they hired fifty people, other years, six. It is fairly unpredictable,” Namjoon passed around another set of documents.

           “The most tenured staff has been there for thirty years,” Yoongi said sipping his coffee.

           “Yoongi, you haven’t had to sign an NDA?” Hoseok asked.

           “No.”

          “What about retention?”

          “No one talks about retention. It wasn’t in my contract at all, no blind clauses or double language.”

          “Has anyone left in the year you’ve been there?”

          “Not that I’ve seen. No one talks about contracts or negotiation outside of the speculation of what will happen come May.”

          “Their plans for negotiating contracts also vary by years spent, first years going through a level of hell that slowly descends as you work your way up the ladder,” Yoongi informed.

           “Why would they want people to stay?” Hoseok asked.

           “They’re all complicit? They knowingly are committing felonies, so staying means no one can hold it against them?” Yoongi suggested.

           “An entire company of 200 people, all insider trading? All embezzling? That’s inconceivable,” Namjoon was unsure how realistic the possibility was.

           “An entire company, minus one,” Jin whispered.

           “Yoongi, how is our Cupid doing?” Hoseok smirked.

           “She wants to move in,” Yoongi muttered.

           “What?” Seokjin yelled.

           “Yeah, oh, and her clothes have begun to infiltrate my closet,” Yoongi sipped his iced americano, his own making, a product of the espresso machine he had begged Namjoon to buy. The coffee ice cubes, a stupid idea from a pop-up video, had turned Yoongi’s favorite addiction into a godly experience.

           “She wants to move in, with you?” Hoseok was shocked.

           “Fuck off,” Snapped Yoongi.

           “What else?” Namjoon asked.

           “She’s been calling a lot, at random times in the day. She’s got snacks in her apartment for me, like really niche stuff. She bought a thousand-dollar bottle of whiskey for me, bought me a pair of silk pajamas that cost near $550. The worst of it all, and I swear, I swear, she’s developing an impregnation kink.”

           Namjoon and Hoseok laughed, doubling over to hold their sides as they became consumed by the idea.

           “Seriously?” Hoseok gasped.

           “Whatever happened at that dinner has her scared shitless,” Seokjin remained calm, though the shock etched into his ageless features. “She’s never wanted kids.”

           “Which is why it’s concerning,” Yoongi said.

           “You stopped using condoms?” Namjoon dropped the laughter to stare at Yoongi. “Don’t tell me you stopped using-

           Yoongi’s eyes widen, cheeks tinting pink as he blushes. “No, no, that’s how I know she’s developing this, obsession. She very vocally, wants my fucking seed.”

           “Does she ask you not to use one?” Hoseok inquired.

           “Yeah and tells me I can take it off and I don’t need to because she’s on birth control, which she isn’t.”

           “Pull out?” Hoseok suggested.

           “Oh yeah, the second least successful method to avoid pregnancy,” Namjoon laughed again.

           “You can tell her you don’t want STI’s,” Jin offered.

           “She’ll ask if I’m sleeping with other people,” Yoongi had gone through every option, there was no good solution. He pissed off Cupid, or he put himself at risk. Unwanted pregnancy was not how he was going to start off his mid-twenties. Fatherhood was not on the table, especially not with someone he at his core, didn’t love.

           “Are you?” Jin wondered.

           Rolling his eyes, “When would I have the time?”

           “You’ve always been a one partner kind of guy,” Hoseok responded.

           Confusion in his eyes, Yoongi tilted his head. “What does that even mean?”

           “Just that-

           “Yoongi, start distancing yourself, as gradually as possible,” Namjoon redirected.

           “Roger that.”

           It was a cliché, become a horrible partner to get the other person to break up with you so you didn’t have to. It’s even more of a cliché for the person hoping to be dumped to revert back to their pre-relationship behavior in order to get their partner to dislike them, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, that was exactly what Yoongi did. Frankly, he didn’t have to try very hard, though, to get Euna to be hurt by him.

           Introverted in nature, he began by closing himself off to her, cancelling plans, bailing at the last second. He became withholding of sex and general intimacy, being standoffish when she tried to get him to open up, annoyed when she tried to use her wiles against him. He tapped into all the flaws past partners had accused him of and let them run wild.

          It was slow at first, building up Cupid’s resentment towards him, for every step away from her he took, she took three more towards him. Her internet searches became solely based on ways to keep Yoongi, entrapment through a hole in the condom, or preying on him after a night of drinking. She lost all sense of what was acceptable, what was normal, and spun out completely. Cupid tried to track his phone, bought burners to call and catfish him, put extra security in place in his corner of Lee Enterprises to ensure she had eyes on him all day. Paranoia and obsession have no place in a healthy, stable relationship, but Yoongi couldn’t fault her for feeling both towards him.

          The final straw, on Yoongi’s end, was a confrontation the night following Cupid’s weekly family dinner.

          “Why didn’t you come to dinner? Who were you with?” Cupid demanded when she called Yoongi.

          “I told you, I have a deadline and Matthew needs the plans before the market opens on Monday,” Yoongi reminded her.

          “You’re not at work,” She snapped.

          Calmly, Yoongi exhaled, “I’m at my apartment.”

          “Why are you lying to me,” It wasn’t a question, but an accusation.

          “I’m not lying, Euna, I am at home working,” Yoongi answered.

          “Why don’t you ever come to dinner?”

          “You said I didn’t have to, after the first one,” Yoongi reminded her.

          Cupid scoffed, as if that was a true reason. “Jimin’s there, and recently, Dae’s wife has been making an appearance.”

          “I would prefer to not engage with your family unless I have to. It blurs the lines of work and personal –

          “But you’re dating me! You’re fucking me, you’re in love with me.” She rattled off, “Why does my family have to be the problem? What’s really going on?”

          “What do you mean?” Yoongi was already tired of the conversation.

          “You’ve been acting weird for months. You don’t want to sleep with me, you hardly stay over, you’re distant and weird,” Accusation after accusation, Yoongi had made a list himself of what she could potentially throw at him.

          “I have been going through a lot, can’t you understand that?”

          Scoffing again, Cupid responded. “You’ve been going through a lot? What about me?”

          “Euna, I know I’ve been shit, I just-

          “You don’t love me anymore, do you?” Bingo.

          “What?” Yoongi feigned hurt.

          “You’re not denying it,” She snapped.

          “Do you really think that?”

          “Yes, Yoongi, I do. I think you used me to get into good graces with the company so you can move up the ladder. Now that you’ve got some traction, you fucking don’t care about me or our relationship.”

          “That’s crazy! When have I ever shown any sign of wanting to move up the corporate ladder? It wasn’t my idea to fall into bed with you, Euna, your mother set this up,” The angrier he pretended to be, the faster this would be over.

          “Why are you acting like this if you’re still in love with me?” She demanded to know.

          “I told you, works been chaotic and I –

          “If work’s chaotic, why not tell me? I can change that.”

          He held in a laugh, “That would be like nepotism but worse.”

          “Are you saying this to make me feel better?” She asked, voice softening.

          “Euna,” If only she could see him, eyes closed, glasses on his desk, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was tired. Tired of Euna, tired of working at this company, tired of lying. He didn’t often burn out on missions, but this had taken him to his edge.

          “You don’t want to have sex, you don’t want me in your space, you cancel plans, you never answer my calls. Yoongi, are you cheating on me?”

          “What?”

          “You are, aren’t you?” She could feel the tears breaking through, the resolve of anger she had disappearing.

          Yoongi took a deep breath, knowing she was going to throw up whatever she could until it stuck.

          “Euna, stop,” Yoongi sighed.

          “Then tell me what’s going on,” She whispered.

          He had to say it, he had to otherwise this fight would continue on, resulting in an in person confrontation. “We should break up.”

          The silence on the other end was worse than her screaming at him.

          “What?” Her voice was still soft, a heartbroken whisper.

          “We want really different things, and I don’t know if I can or will ever be able to give you what you need. I’m sorry, Euna, I am,” Yoongi said. He wasn’t a heartbreaker, he loved fiercely and passionately. But Cupid was a mark, plain and simple.

          “Fuck you, Yoongi,” She spit.

          “I’m sorry, Euna,” He laid on the apology.

          “You had my heart,” She sniffled.

          “I know,” He sighed.

          “And you stomped on it, ran it over with an 18-wheeler, and threw it into a blender. Fuck. You.” Cupid was back to anger, coursing through her like lava down the side of Kilauea.

          “I’m sorry,” He repeated.

          “I want my stuff back, and I want you to put in your transfer at Lee Enterprises,” Her voice was fueled by anger and sudden heartache.

          “A what?” Yoongi was shocked.

          “Transfer, you can’t work under me after this,” She had switched to business mode. There was one thing Yoongi had remained impressed by, and that was Cupid’s ability to put the job over everything else, everyone else, not because she had to, because she wanted to.

          “That’s unlawful,” Yoongi warned.

          “I don’t care.”

          “Euna,” He pleased.

          “Transfer, or I will fire you.” An ultimatum, something she never wanted to be faced with.

          “You can’t –

          “Don’t. Test. Me.”

          “Okay, I’ll do it Monday,” Yoongi compromised.

          “You can send my stuff back, I don’t want to see you.” Cupid hung up. In her home, she threw her phone against the wall, watching it rebound onto the carpet before she fell to the floor, tears abounding. How many heartbreaks could she withstand? How many tears would fall at the emotions of another man, breaking her spirit? In some deep recesses of her subconscious, Dae-Seong’s words played through without a scratch. Maybe he’d been right.

          Yoongi texted OT7, who no doubt had already known through the rapid transcription Hobi was almost certainly completing, or through listening to the fight go down. The receipts would show that Yoongi had followed orders as directed, he completed his mission, his mark had been hit. Hook, line and heartbreak. Looking at the calendar, he laughed darkly. Of course, he would break up with her days before Valentine’s Day.

Next: Codename The Mochi of It All

[be-dazzled]

#SIYC

Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser FFnet link: click here Tumblr link: explore here Genre: Multi-chapter, Romance, Comedy Rating: M for Sensitive Content and Language

Summary: Gray Fullbuster is a player both in love and in life. He plays Professional Basketball and is being groomed to be in line with Basketball Legends Michael Jordan, Lebron James, Kobe Bryant and Stephen Curry. There’s just one problem, Gray Fullbuster is a play-ah. His life is a giant mess of crazy parties, waking up with random women and waking up in random women’s apartments. Just living the life.

The opinion of the public on him is waning. To save the million-dollar endorsements in the verge of disappearing, Gray needs to change his image. Therefore, Gray Fullbuster, Fiore Knight’s Team Captain and Most Valuable Player, will be in the next season of “My Star Can Dance”.

There’s another problem: it seems like his star isn’t that bright since his partner, one of Fiore’s prominent ballerinas, doesn’t know him? His billboard is hanging in front of her dancing school! And it was a good billboard since all he was wearing was his six-pack and an Aztec bandana. How come she didn’t notice?

...

You the one that I dream about all day You the one that I think about always You are the one so I make sure I behave My love is your love, your love is my love

–        You Da One, Rihanna

…

It’s been a week or so since the weekend they spent at Juvia’s hometown. She had her mother to thank for the awkward morning following the paper bag incident and what was or were inside it. Juvia just couldn’t face Gray after that because all she could think about was the paper bag full of protection sitting atop her counter. Juvia had her mother to blame for turning her into some kind of a deprived woman who hadn’t had sex in ten years.

Everything just reminded her that she was indeed a woman who hand’s had sex in… she forgot how long. Like when Hoopster was in a one-on-one basketball game with Juvia’s father. Gray’s dark gray shirt clung to his toned abdomen and Juvia could only keep herself from sinfully tracing what they called the ‘happy trail’. When Gray took off his already wet shirt, Juvia swore her mouth ran dry. If she was a man, her blood rushed to that one place.  

 All she could think about was feeling Gray’s skin against her fingertips.

 So, Juvia decided it would be better for her, her heart and her hormones not see Gray for the meantime; just until she got over him and his undeniably delicious body. It was impossible: one, not to see him because of the dance show, and two, it’s hard to get over that godly body of his.

 Juvia, stop. Your mother catching you ogling the Hoopster was enough – embarrassing enough.

A polite knock pulled Juvia’s attention toward the twin wooden doors that spitted out the man of her thoughts recently. He had his casual clothes on – plain white tee and faded denim jeans. Nothing said casual more than his raven hair swept under his Fiore Knights bull cap. When their eyes met, the corner of Gray’s mouth tipped. He looked ready to run towards her and pull her in the tightest embrace. Juvia was sure all she wanted was to fall into his arms. However, someone else demanded her attention.

 “Finally, Mr. Gray is here.”

  Juvia twitched at the moniker. How many times did she ask her friend never to call Hoopster by the name of one of the sexiest main leads in erotic literature? Because she could easily see Christian Grey in Gray Fullbuster. That goes without saying, her inner goddess was clapping back at her – Ms. Juvia Steel.

 A single snap of Levy’s small and slender fingers pulled her away from her ‘Fifty Shades of Gray Fullbuster’ sexy dreams.

 “You should really stop drooling over Gray so much if you want to keep your dignity intact, Juvia.” Levy scolded.

 “I’m not drooling over anyone.” Juvia denied, trying to sound non-defensive by masking her blushing with disinterest.

 Gray approached the two, shaking Levy’s hand while pulling Juvia closer against him. He leaned in to plant a soft peck on Juvia’s left cheek and the ballerina almost jumped in surprise. For a second, she thought Gray would kiss her on the lips, right in front of Shrimp. She almost had a heart-attack.

 “Hi.”

 “Hey.” Juvia sheepishly replied.

 Gray hadn’t released her yet. Rather, he kept her hand clasped in his and maintained their position. He had his back on Levy so he took the chance to say something he wanted to tell Juvia since they came back from her hometown.

 “I really miss you.”

 Juvia smiled, her gaze saying the same, that she really missed him too. Now that they were a couple, they managed to have conversation through their love-stricken eyes.

 “Is there something going on between you two?”

 “Yes/No.”

 The couple answered in unison, albeit differently.

 Which made the assistant show-writer even more suspicious.

 It wasn’t like Juvia was trying to hide their relationship or anything. She told Gray it was better to keep it from the public so that they could enjoy their relationship in private. It was hard not to be able to hug or kiss each other at a whim but because of the show, Gray and Juvia was catapulted to fame. Since then, Gray and Juvia became public figures. Gray was used to the attention. He already had a large number of following – basketball fanatic or otherwise. But Juvia wasn’t. She wasn’t used to the limelight.

 However, Juvia knew this little secret wouldn’t last that long. It was going to come out one way or the other. So, she decided she was going to tell Shrimp about everything. She was her best friend, after all. Levy knew all about the Gray-spell Juvia was under in High School. She’d sit her best friend later. For now, she’d like to keep Shrimp wandering.

 “Really? ‘Cause you guys appear to be so–”

 “–So, what’s the next challenge?”

 Juvia quickly changed the subject when Levy was about to attempt to ask further. She knew how crazy it drove her best-friend and she’d like to keep it that way for a little while.

 “Oh, that’s right!”

 Excitement was written all over the assistant show-writer’s face.

 “This week you are going to dance the tango.”

 “Tango?”

 “Yes! And guess who suggested it.” Levy didn’t even give Juvia the time to breathe when she announced, “it’s Aquarius!”

 The name breathed life to the fan-girl in Juvia. Gray could only cover his ears from all the fan-girl screaming. As the Hoopster watched his girlfriend and her friend jumped around in circle, he realized how it was for Julian Lockser. This was a girl thing he apparently wasn’t a part of.

 “She’s so blown away by your chemistry that she wanted to see you two in a more sensual dance.”

 The word made Juvia stop dead in her jumping, which made the whole celebratory jumping awkward. Levy was left hopping on her own.

 “Sensual?”

 The memory of the bag of “protection” Olivia brought came haunting her again.

 …

 Social dancing wasn’t Juvia’s cup of tea. She was a ballerina through and through. So, the producers of the show hired a coach to teach Gray and Juvia one of the most intimate and fiery dances for couples – the Tango.

 Lyon Vastia was one of Magnolia’s top dancers. He met with today’s hottest dance loveteam – Gruvia, as their fans fondly call them on tweetit. Juvia heard about him. They ran within same circle but it was the first time she met him face to face. Juvia, however, had other pressing concern, such as Levy’s announcement.

 “Aquarius said she will be visiting you guys during training.”

 The ballerina wasn’t sure if the radical heartbeat was due to excitement, pressure, or nerves. Probably, all of the above. Yet, she was thankful. All these fantasies she had about Gray, his hair between her fingers and abs under her fingertips, flown out the window. She couldn’t even care less about this Lyon guy who was apparently trying to catch her attention.

 “We’ll have the team take video footage too.” Levy informed.

 “I guess we should jump into it then.” Lyon started.

 Juvia couldn’t agree more.

 The ballroom instructor started their stretching. He was quite handsy with Juvia, which earned an obviously indiscreet hiss from Fiore Knight’s MVP. Juvia could tell her boyfriend did not like this Lyon guy one bit.

 …

 Gray narrowed his midnight blue eyes at the dance coach with the funny bluish-silver hair. At first, he thought the coach was gay or something. He had never met a guy who was as limber as that Lyon guy. But with the way he was holding and looking at Juvia, Gray was convinced otherwise.

 The green-eyed monster stomped over where Lyon was teaching the ballerina basic steps in Tango. Wasn’t this handsy Lyon supposed to be teaching him? Among the three of them, Gray wasn’t the professional dancer.

 “I think I got it.” Gray proclaimed as he insinuated himself between the two and took what was rightfully his.

 The Hoopster tried to remember where Lyon placed his hands on Juvia. He placed his open palm at the small of Juvia’s back and enclosed one hand in his. Jealousy blocked his view; he didn’t notice Juvia suddenly blushing at the contact. But looking into her blue stunned eyes, Gray became worried.

 “You nervous?” He started a conversation.

 “A little.” Juvia responded.

 But Gray could recognize the tension on her worried eyes.

 “We’ll gonna do fine. Better even.”

 Little did he know, Aquarius wasn’t the reason why Juvia was all red and tensed.

 “Hey, guys. I’m still here.”

  Lyon tried to catch the couple’s attention but Gray enjoyed ignoring him.

 …

 Juvia’s mind was in a mess and it was in a contest with her heart. Her heartbeat was erratic and she knew exactly why – Gray was standing in front of her, smiling with that sinfully sexy smile of his, holding her with heat that penetrated through her skin and entire being.

 When it was Lyon’s hands on her, her body had no reaction. Her mind was still on the fact that she needed to impress her childhood dance hero yet again. But when it was Gray, when it was that raven-haired Hoopster who stood inches away from her, when it was his hands that pulled her closer against him, her whole body was electrified.

 “You nervous?”

 “A little.” Juvia couldn’t fully comprehend the question. She lost her voice for a moment before she responded. Her mind was still focused on Gray’s lips.

 “We’ll gonna do fine.”

 At the back of her mind, Olivia’s voice was telling her to just go for it.

 “Better even.”

 Juvia wondered, were they talking about the dance or…

 “Hey guys, I’m still here.”

 Lyon’s presence made her realize that yes, it was about the dance.

 Focus, Juvia!

 …

 Juvia called for a time-out. She needed a break from Gray’s electrifying touch. It was definitely reminding her that she was twenty five and she was a woman. But above all, that she was a professional. So, in order to regain her senses and composure, Juvia needed to step away from that gorgeous distraction.

 Juvia got a tumbler full of water from the dispenser. She dabbed a towel all over her face and placed it around her neck. Juvia watched the bustle inside her studio. On one end, there was a group of men and women in black shirts with the word ‘crew’ printed at the back. Then, there was Shrimp, leading a discussion with a circle of writers. She scribbled on her notes every now and then. At the other end, not too far from where the dance coach was resting, there was her boyfriend – Gray Fullbuster. She watched him take out a towel from his duffle and bury his face on it. Then he sat on the floor with legs spread open. He unceremoniously downed the water from his own tumbler.

 Juvia saw the Hoopster threw what clearly was a dirty look. The recipient was the unsuspecting dance coach. A cute little snicker escaped the ballerina’s lips and a smile painted itself on her face. She found it amusing. Gray was a full grown man; Juvia was reminded of that fact with the way he held her, kissed her and the way he made her feel that only Gray could make her feel. Sometimes, however, she was reminded of how they first met. So, it shouldn’t be a surprise if the Hoopster – her Hoopster – acted like a child; just like how Gray was acting jealous of the new dance coach.

 She also found it cute how Gray would throw himself at and in between Juvia and Lyon, purposely but discreetly, especially when the dance coach got unnecessarily close. He’d use his body and block Lyon’s alleged advances. He would say he got the step when he obviously has not. Gray was acting so possessive he ended up as the female partner with Lyon taking the lead. The ballerina mentally noted Gray’s fall from glory and promised herself to tease the Hoopster about it, endlessly.

 “Hey Juvs!”

 Juvia knew that shriek even if she had her back from it.

 “Aquarius is in the building.”

 Juvia sprayed the water out before she could swallow it. Good thing Levy was in a good distance. Otherwise, she would have taken a second shower.

 “I’m sorry, what?!”

 Juvia heard it the first time but her ears couldn’t believe it.

 “Yeah.” Levy refused to repeat it. “She’s coming right up here.”

 Juvia didn’t know what to do. She wanted to scold herself but that she couldn’t even do. Her mind went totally dark. Panic rooted her on the floor until the door finally spitted out Magnolia’s Prima Ballerina.

 “So are you just gonna stand there?”

 Juvia jumped at the low voice. She managed to turn around and face the owner.

 “Go say hi.” Gray suggested.

 But before Juvia could utter another word, her ballet hero already approached them.

 “Magnolia’s favorite dance couple.” Aquarius addressed them. “Gruvia, right?” She probably recognized the surprise in Juvia’s eyes when she explained, “I read the news and I’m on tweetit too.”

 Aquarius’ heels tapped on the wooden floor as she approached the couple. Confidence put a slight bounce on her steps. She gave them a once-over; one that made Juvia’s heartbeat triple. But Magnolia’s Prima Ballerina and the show’s Head Judge was not trying to be intimidating. The friendly smile on Aquarius’ thin lips said so.

 The sight stunned Juvia for a second, not able to believe her own eyes. But lo and behold, it was her childhood dance hero, in the flesh.

 “Welcome, Ms. Aquarius.” It was Gray who extended his hand towards the guest and placed a soft peck at the back of her palm.

 “Oh, Mr. Fullbuster, always the charmer.” Aquarius giggled.

 Only when Aquarius’ expectant eyes landed on Juvia did she remember her manners. She almost kissed her hand when she realized that wasn’t how you do it.

 “Ms. Aquarius, it’s such an honor.” When Juvia was able to compose herself, she managed to spit out coherent words.

 Juvia didn’t actually hear what her dance hero said but the latter’s lips read ‘lovely’.

 Aquarius looked around the studio. There was an air about Aquarius that reminded Juvia of the older version of herself – Olivia Lockser.

 “Lovely studio.” That one Juvia heard but the Prima Ballerina’s back was still at her.

 She wasn’t judging my studio, was she?

 A sudden want to impress Juvia’s dance hero hit her.

 “Ms. Aquarius!” The dance instructor emerged from behind Gray. “We haven’t been introduced but I am Lyon Vastia,” He extended his arm to receive the hand of the Prima Ballerina. “I’m the tango instructor. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” But instead of shaking her hand, Lyon repeated what Gray did earlier.

 Chivalry wasn’t dead in this generation.

 Aquarius answered him with a timid smile of modesty. Then, she asked him for an update as to the dance challenge. Lyon Vastia gave her the rundown, only good words to say about the couple. Aquarius looked pretty happy about it. She spun around and turned to Juvia with eager eyes and satisfied smile.

Juvia wasn’t sure what to do so her returned smile appeared rather awkward.

 “Do you two have any idea why I picked Tango?”

 It was the childish Hoopster who answered, “’Cause my chest would look good in that deep V polo shirt?”

 Aquarius began to giggle as if something clever was said.

 “No, Mr. Fullbuster. Although that’s one of the reasons.” She teased back.

 Juvia should really start jumping in the conversation but she couldn’t seem to find the right timing.

 “I suggested Tango because you two have no idea how your chemistry is overflowing.” Aquarius’ suspicious blue eyes jumped between Gray and Juvia. Then, an idea made the corner of her mouth tip. “It’s so overflowing I’m beginning to think this isn’t just for TV.” A lone eyebrow teased a little.

 Juvia gave out a nervous laugh – one which raised some brows around the room and felt like required some explanation. But thanks to the male crew carrying an on-standby handheld broadcast camcorder, Juvia was saved by the bell.

 “Ms. Aquarius, we’re ready for you.”

 “Alright.” Aquarius quickly replied. Then, she excused herself from the group. She walked across the room and towards the interview set-up. A crewmember put on her lapel and asked her to sit on the comfortable armchair.

 The Prima Ballerina easily talked into the camera as if she was giving an interview. Gray and Juvia went over to watch. They both agreed that the fifty-year old ballerina looked good both on and off screen.

 “When you dance, you don’t just move with your body.” Aquarius said in ease like she was used to being on camera. “You move with your mind, your heart and your soul.”

 Juvia’s amused eyes were glued on the Prima Ballerina and every word that came out of Aquarius’s mouth fascinated Juvia. But there was something she said that caught the young ballerina’s attention.

 “That’s why they said that dancing is like making love.”

 Now, where did she hear that before?

...

Writer’s Corner: Hello there, loves! So, as you all know, I forgot my laptop at the city I work in. Because of the Corona Virus plaguing the world today, our region declared a community quarantine, which means I can’t travel so freely. Hence, the new photo header. Also, I hope everyone is doing okay despite this pandemic scare. I hope you guys stay at home and be healthy.  Lastly, please look forward for my Gruvia Week entries this 2020.  Love you!

[melodious-madrigals]

wondertrev secret santa gift!

This is for @wondertrevnet‘s WondertrevSecretSanta2019 exchange. My recipient is @mousedetective: I hope you enjoy this, and I hope you have wonderfully happy holidays! 

Title: oh, your love is sunlight 

Summary: Diana is paid a visit from a goddess, learns a couple of secrets, and incidentally, gets something of a midwinter gift. 

Notes: Modern fic; includes a slight retcon related to the Wonder Woman (2017) origin story but otherwise canon adjacent; ignores WW84 trailer for now (sorry!); a little bit of angst at the beginning but mostly fluff! (also available on ao3.) 

Without further ado, here it is:

***

On the darkest day of the year, Diana startles awake, her heart pounding, muscles tensed. She thinks she catches the remnants of a dream, but they fade away before she can clasp onto them, so thorough in their retreat that they might never have come at all. It is far earlier than she would normally wake, but she finds herself completely unable to relax back into a state that might allow her to fall back to sleep. Sighing, she gets up to start coffee, but promptly decides she doesn't need any, and climbs to the roof instead, thinking that if she's up, she may as well get a sunrise out of it.

The very first rays are only just peeking over the horizon, throwing the light dusting of new snow into a fresh, golden relief, when she hears footsteps approaching and whirls to face the newcomer, senses prickling at an even higher frequency than they have been all morning.

In front of Diana is a woman she has never seen before, with bright eyes and dark skin, a soft, calming kind of beauty.

“Hello, dear one,” the woman says. Her voice is rich, thick and sweet like honey.

The woman may be unknown, but there is something about her that sets Diana vibrating, a gentle current of electricity deep in her bones that extends from the depths of her body to the tips of her fingers.

It registers without thought that this is a goddess, even if they are all supposed to be dead.

“Hestia?” Diana guesses, because this goddess is soft, warm, strong, and perhaps it is her connection to the lasso that is setting Diana’s nerve endings alight.

The woman laughs, gently, and it is a sound that Diana instinctively wants to hear again.

“No, dear child, I am not Hestia. Do you not recognize your mother?”

At this, Diana balks. “My mother is Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, and she remains on Themyscira.” Liar is unspoken, but hangs in the air all the same next to her defiantly tilted chin.  

“So she is,” says the goddess, with surprisingly good humor, if any of the stories are to be believed. “But I am Aphrodite, and I am your godly mother.”

“I have an Amazon mother and a godly father. Zeus. I know how I came to be,” Diana insists, wary.

Aphrodite tuts. “You are a demigoddess, dear one, but not because Zeus impregnated your mother. She shaped you, but I gave you your life force.”

Diana is at a loss for words, trying to process what she is being told. “I am a daughter of Zeus. My lightning—”

“I am not powerless, and love can be electric, dear one,” quips Aphrodite, “just as it can be soft, or iron-willed, or all-consuming. Your godly powers are something all your own, but you are my daughter plain and simple as you are Hippolyta’s.”

“Ares told me—”

“Ares lied. Does this truly surprise you?”

No, it doesn't, but Diana is still trying to recover from the whiplash that she was shaped from clay, as her mother once told her. There are too many tangled lies, even a century on.

“Even when my mother lied to me about the circumstances of my birth, the tale always included Zeus,” she settles on.

“Zeus liked intervening, and he liked getting credit,” Aphrodite huffs. “What your mother told you was only a partial lie. I alone heard her prayers, her suffering, and I begged Zeus to let me help. He allowed it. It was by his will, but by my hand. And then you were created, my beautiful daughter. The tale went how it went, but now needs to be set straight.”

Diana’s brow furrows. “But why are you here now? After all this time?”

“Because I can be,” Aphrodite replies simply, seemingly pleased that Diana has accepted her version of events, or at least not dismissed it entirely. “Make no mistake, my powers were sapped millennia ago, and then once more last century in an attempt to hold Ares at bay. I was incapable of making appearances in my corporeal form until very recently. You were my first housecall, dear one.”

Diana bends her head slightly in deference. She is not afraid of the goddess, per se, but sees no reason to make an enemy out of what is most likely a fickle being. “It is an honor.”

Aphrodite sighs. “No need for that, dear one. I came because you did what we could not, and defeated Ares. This is your thank you, even if it is a bit tardy.”

Diana tries again, unsure of exactly how to proceed. “There is no need to thank me. I did as I was born to do.”

“Yes, and no,” says Aphrodite with an air of ambivalence and mystery. “They call you the Godkiller, Diana, but your job was not to kill Ares. It was to protect humanity, to love them. Even in their imperfections. Which you have done, even when it was hard and messy.”

(Diana finds that she desperately wants this to be true, that there is something fundamentally absolving about this paradigm shift.)

“It is not about what they deserve, but what I believe,” says Diana, by way of explanation. She thinks of all it took to convince her of this, and the image of Steve rises unbidden, as it often does when she contemplates why she stays. (Her heart clenches and her throat closes, yet again, even a hundred years later. It has gotten easier, with time, but is still an open wound in her heart.)

“Yes, exactly, dear one. Which is why I am here. I have watched you struggle through a century of the worst that humanity has to offer, and I see how your heart hurts, and yet you believe. You love. So wholly and unreservedly, and the humans are all the better for it. And so I have a gift for you, for your enduring pain.”

It is tempting, intriguing, but Diana knows that gifts—particularly gifts from the gods—do not come without a price.

“Aphrodite, I cannot accept whatever it is you have to offer.”

“Nonsense, child. I know what you are thinking. But this comes from me, as your mother, and from me, as the Goddess of Love, not on high from Olympus. Not from Zeus." The meaning is clear, even if she doesn't say it aloud: I am no god. This gift is freely given, not bound by the strings of men. "I am only sorry I could not deliver it to you sooner; acquiring it took my last bit of power, and I assumed you would rather have it a bit late than never at all.”

“You are too generous,” Diana says warily, still mildly worried that there is a catch.

“And you are too kind. Chin up, dear; it's just about time for breakfast.”

With these perplexing words, Aphrodite begins to manifest, and a blinding light explodes across the rooftop, leaving Diana seeing spots for a few moments in the early Parisian light.

There's a cough from the ground, and Diana realizes that Aphrodite has left something in her wake. Blinking, Diana kneels down, trying to clear her vision, and almost chokes when the figure says, “Angel?”

Two more rapid blinks, and her eyes confirm what the voice she heard indicated: Steve Trevor—winded, confused, and still in a sooty German uniform, looking for all the world as though no time has passed—is on the ground before her.

Her first reaction is, anticlimactically, one of complete shock and immobilization, but then he takes a shuddering breath, and her instincts kick into overdrive, because he's here in front of her alive and breathing. (She's had this dream too many times to count, but she'll be damned if she doesn't make it worthwhile, even if it is just another gift from Hypnos.)

“Steve,” she breathes out, and then launches herself at him, wrapping him in a tight embrace, even in their awkward position on the ground.

It takes only half a beat for Steve’s arms to wrap around hers, and it's this action that finally convinces her that he's real and here, because her memory, sharp as it is, has never been able to accurately replicate the exact pressure of his arms around hers, has never faithfully recreated his exact scent or the warm roughness of his lips against her skin as his head tucks into her neck.

She hears someone sobbing, and realizes with a jolt that it's her, but can't seem to stop the flow of tears, even once it's registered.

And then Steve’s voice is in her ear again, soothing her, whispering soft words with little meaning, and telling her that he's there.

It's the fact that he sounds a bit befuddled, even as he does it, that finally forces her to pull herself together, because she's not the only one affected by Aphrodite’s actions.

Slowly, she pulls away just enough to lean her forehead against his, look into his eyes. (She still needs the tactile affirmation that he's here.)

“Diana?” he says slowly, “What happened? Ares?”

“Gone,” she says, and she can't help the upturn in her voice, the smile threatening to break out on her features, despite the seriousness of the situation. “What do you remember?”

His brow furrows. “I—I pulled the trigger, and then—nothing, save for a blinding light. How did you get to me in time? I should be dead—not that I'm not thankful that I'm not,” he adds.

Diana exhales slowly. “I did not save you,” she admits. “I could not. I was embroiled in battle with Ares. I—I watched your plane explode. I watched you die.” Her voice breaks, because the thought is still unbearable. It takes her a moment to recollect herself. “It was not me,” she repeats, “but Aphrodite. Apparently some of the gods are still alive. And she saved you, plucked you out in the moment before the explosion.”

“Well...that's neat,” says Steve, and she's missed him so much, missed his sincere comments that would sound sarcastic coming from anyone else so acutely, that hearing him now makes her erupt in a joyful laugh.

“Yes, it is very neat. And she brought you here to me, safe and sound and most certainly not exploded.”

“So Ares is defeated and the war is won?” Steve asks hopefully. “You did it?”

“We did,” she emphasizes. “But Steve, there was a bit of a problem.”

“There always seems to be,” he says. “Is there another megalomaniac god we have to stop?” His tone is joking; she can tell he's trying to lighten her mood. (It might work if she didn't have to tell him that he's a century removed from his time.)

“Aphrodite did not have the power to return you to me directly. She was only just able now, and...it has been more than one hundred years, Steve.”

“One hundred—please tell me you're pulling my leg, Diana.”

“I wish I could, Steve. But it has been a century,” she says softly.

“Well, that's slightly inconvenient,” Steve says, still aiming for a light tone, but Diana can tell he's rattled.

“I am so sorry, Steve. In typical godly fashion, Aphrodite did not consider how you might feel on the matter, and acted with her own agenda. She did not consider that death might be preferable to living outside one's time.”

“That—Diana, no. You may not have heard me, but I meant what I said on the runway: I wished we had more time, and now we do. Even if it's not in the ideal way. If you'll have me, that is,” he adds sheepishly, “since a century has passed.”

“Steve Trevor,” Diana says firmly, cupping his face in her hand. “I would like nothing more than more time with you. Did you—did you mean the last thing you said to me at the airfield?”

Steve exhales sharply. “I—Diana, of course I do.”

(His use of present tense doesn't escape her notice.)

“There is not a single day that goes by that I do not regret our parting,” says Diana, tears welling up in her eyes once more. “Because you went forward without knowing that you were loved. So I do not care if this is a hundred years overdue, or a few too early, but I love you too.”

(She knows it's foolish, has had a hundred years to wonder if she really did love him, if they even knew each other well enough for love, if she still loves him only because she's built his memory up. But he's here, and they have another chance, and she'll be damned if she doesn't say what she's feeling. On Themyscira, Diana wore her heart on her sleeve, but that isn't a good thing in Man’s World, and she's sick of hiding it. No, this is the time to turn a new leaf.)

Steve is clearly not unaffected by her words; emotion swirls across his face, and his eyes are glossy too, with his own unshed tears.

"Diana, I would very much like to kiss you, if that's alright."

It absolutely is, and she closes the distance slowly, reverently. Their lips meet, and it feels like coming home, a softness and sureness that feels indescribably right.

When they eventually pull apart, he looks at her in awe, like she is his salvation.

Normally, she would not like a man—anyone, really—to look at her this way, when she is just a person and not a benediction, but she finds that this time, with Steve, she doesn't mind. She just might be looking at Steve the same way.

***

Despite the fact that a hundred years have passed, for Steve, it has been only a few hours since the battle. Diana can see the exhaustion written across his face, and tells him to get some sleep.

“Diana—” he begins to protest, but she gives him a stern look, tells him that she'll wake him up for lunch, if he really wants. He nods, but allows himself to be led to her bed, which is still crumpled and unmade from earlier.

At his hesitation, she realizes that he probably feels too grimy from the battle, and leads him instead to the bathroom, where she quickly teaches him how to use her shower (and, as it happens, showers in general). She leaves him, collects her largest sleep-shirt and most-oversized sweatpants (which will still likely be a bit tight, but it's better than the remnants of the German uniform), and leaves those for him.

He falls asleep almost immediately, and she spends nearly half an hour just watching him: the expression on his face is peaceful, and he looks years younger than she’s ever seen him. It takes her almost as long to keep convincing herself that he's here, really here, and the rise and fall of his chest calms her.

Finally, she rouses herself, and calls into work, for which she isn't quite late yet, but will be shortly, and lets her secretary know that she won't be in for the day. (She hesitates, almost wants to say that she won't be in for the rest of the week, but decides against that. It would raise too many questions. Already, people will be shocked, because she rarely misses a day of work.)

She taps out a couple of emails, one to the interns, one to her secretary, and then, upon reflection, one to Bruce, because it's been a while since she's heard from him, and with Bruce, no news does not necessarily translate to being good news. For good measure, she even sends an email to Vic, because she enjoys his correspondence.

In the next two hours, Diana’s apartment becomes neater than it has in a while: her kitchen is spotless, her clutter in the sitting area straightened, her office organized and shelves dusted. Eventually, she moves on to actually preparing food (which speaks to her true inability to sit still, because she hates cooking with a passion, avoids it wherever possible).

She is flipping pancakes (because her pantry does not have adequate ingredients for any meal that is not breakfast), about to go wake up Steve, when she hears footsteps, and suddenly a pair of arms slips around her waist from behind, and a very sleepy Steve nuzzles the side of her neck, kisses it.

It makes her inhale sharply (it is, after all, exactly the kind of silly domestic thing she used to have dreams about, right after he died), and that pulls Steve out of his sleepy fog. He immediately jumps back.

“I'm so sorry, Diana,” he gasps.

“Steve, it's alright,” she reassures softly, putting the final pancake on the stack, and turning off the gas.

“No, Diana, I'm so sorry! I woke up and it felt like a wonderful dream and that's not an excuse b—”

“Steve,” she tried to cut him off, facing him properly now.

“—and I keep forgetting that it's been a hundred years for you—” he goes on frantically, before she finally manages to quiet him.

“Steve!” she snaps, and places her hands on his shoulders, so that she can make eye contact. “It does not bother me. Did our conversation this morning mean so little to you? I love you, and you need not feel strange about physical affection.”

His eyes darken at her words, and suddenly she is across the room, and their lips meet.

It is a good thing that she turned the gas off when she did, because they do not make it back to the kitchen for a while, the pancakes sitting in their stack, forgotten.

***

There is something warming, gratifying, soul-cleansing about being known so intimately. Sure, there are things Steve missed in the in-between, but it's easier to catch him up on those things than it would be to have to try to explain where she comes from, how she got to this world. Steve has seen her at her most idealistic, and also at her most disillusioned, and he loves her anyways. He's also easy to talk to in a way that most people aren't, and willing to listen in a way that most people won't.

As they lay in bed that evening, curled up together, she relishes it.

“The last time we were together, I thought I was made of clay, brought to life by Zeus’s hand," she tells him, still trying to make sense of it all. (It's possible that she's been using Steve's arrival to postpone a slight identity crisis, but then she realizes that she can share this with Steve.) "Then Ares told me Zeus had a hand in my birth the normal way. Now Aphrodite tells me the story about the clay was true, except it was by her hand. I am not entirely sure what to think anymore, Steve.”

“Well, isn't that just a Topsy-turvy sort of lineup,” Steve says by way of reply, apparently mulling it over. Before she can say anything else, however, he has something more to add. “I gotta say though, Diana. It seems to me that for all the flashy powers you have, it's your capacity to love that makes you strongest.”

It's such a Steve response. To casually distill something down to its essence, and make it seem like an accident. As if he hasn't just seen right through her.

"And I mean, the things you can do are truly spectacular! I don't mean to say they aren't. It's just that it's how you use them that really matters, and you use them because you're so full of love. Compassion. Kindness. Anyhow," he trails of, scrubs his hand against the back of neck awkwardly.

"No; thank you, I think you are right," she says, catching his hand. Then, "I want it to be her," she admits. "I want Aphrodite to be my godly parent. Is that bad?"

Steve considers for a moment. "My mythology is a little rusty, but I know better than to choose a Greek god out loud."

At this, Diana laughs. He's not wrong.

"But no," Steve says. "I don't think it's wrong. I can't think of a single myth where being Zeus's kid really worked out for someone."

"Steve!" she exclaims, but she's still laughing.

The conversation dies out soon after, and sleep follows not far behind.

***

On this day, the solstice, the darkest day of the year, Diana wakes alone, but falls asleep next to her love. Like the light of a bonfire in the darkness, like the merry twinkle of Christmas lights or the soft, resolute glow of Chanukah candles, like the promise of five extra minutes of sun, like the clean expanse of new beginnings, there is a little extra hope in the world, bright with possibility. The days will lengthen and with them their love, and they will finally have the time to find out what people do when there aren't wars to be fought.  

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

Ajax: Fidget Spinners VI

           The Lord of the Underworld was almost exactly what Pax expected he would be: moody, dark, and evil-looking with a strong affinity for the color black. Or maybe it was the color “trapped soul.” Whatever it was, Hades liked it outlined in gold, probably to look more intimidating. He wore black robes and had a helm under one arm.

         There was one major problem. He didn’t have blue fire for hair. Disney taught Pax that Hades was supposed to have blue fire hair and a great sense of humor. Disney had lied to him. This just looked like a rich, pasty white guy. 

         His black and gold chariot was spooky, but Pax had seen cooler ones. The one they were designing for Kronos was way better.

         Axel was crazy enough to have his sword still drawn. In the presence of the Lord of the Underworld, with Hades’ squadron of geriatric dominatrixes, and some Halloween standees behind them, Pax’s brother set his jaw and kept hislips in a firm line. When asked later, Pax would say Axel didn’t shake once (and they would get a chance to be asked later; they were both surviving this, damn it.) Truth was, Pax’s presence seemed to weaken Axel’s resolve. Pax guessed it was real easy to get yourself killed when it was just you that would be doing the dying part.

         Pax’s mind raced. One thing was certain: they weren’t fighting their way out of this.

         Axel grunted when Pax pushed his sword hand down.  

         “Get out of here,” Axel hissed in Mayan.

         Pax didn’t know how to explain to Axel that the invisibility spell over Pax was sparking and would attract a lot of attention if he tried to pick up Axel and flee. Pax didn’t get a chance.

         Hades’ voice boomed and reverberated around the cavern more than Jack’s had. “You will not escape me this time, Perc—”

         As his chariot ground to a halt, his dark eyes narrowed at Axel’s tiny form, then flicked back up to the furies. “This isn’t Percy Jackson.”

         The furies had been fluttering in an intimidating circle above, like the most obnoxious of gnats. One landed beside Hades’ chariot, looking nervous. “We thought it was Luke Castellan, My Lord. Your rage and obsession over Jackson must have—”

         Hades roared. He lashed out towards the Fury.

         She took to the sky again, shrieking.

         “Does this look like the host of Kronos?!” Hades bellowed, Pax thought, rather offensively. Axel could totally host Kronos if he wanted. “I’m not sure if I would rather strike Jackson or Castellan dead first.” His dark gaze returned back to Axel. “You’ll have to suffice.”

         Pax wished the invisibility spell came with a sink-into-the-ground function. He trembled at the power radiating off this god, and knew, in that horrifying moment, that Axel was about to challenge Hades to a duel.

         Pax’s mouth opened. He wasn’t sure what words would come out, but they would definitely be better than Axel’s, You wanna throw down?

         “We’re lost,” Pax said.

         Hades looked confused, clearly noting that Axel hadn’t opened his mouth.

         Axel tensed.

         No option for running now. Pax continued, feeling a few sparks above his head flutter down to singe he shoulder. He hoped that wasn’t burning holes in the invisibility spell. He might need it in a moment. “Yes, we’re lost,” Pax repeated. “We’re looking…” He grasped for anything that might baffle the Lord of the Dead. At those words, it popped into his head. “We’re looking… for Xibalba?” The comment came out a question.

         Axel cleared his throat. “Yes,” he confirmed, glancing in Pax’s general direction without landing exactly on Pax. “We’re looking for Xibalba.” Robotically, Axel sheathed his sword.

         Hades looked incredibly annoyed. “You are Mayan,” he said, examining Axel’s tufted ears with begrudging realization. “You’re not Greek at all.”

         “Nope,” Axel confirmed. “My faith is in the Mayan gods and the Catholic Trinity.”

         None of that was false. They had always practiced within the Mayan and Catholic faith. They knew Greek and Roman gods and hung out with them. Pax hardly called that faith or worship, no matter how often Morpheus liked to tease them as his little devotees when they slept-in with a rare, sweet dream. Axel scorned when anyone suggested he refer to the Titans as all powerful.

         Hades pinched the ridge of his nose. “Who let you down here?”

         “Um…” Axel said. He, Luke, and Jack must have slipped into the Underworld through a back entrance and didn’t know who to pin the blame on.

         Pax had an immediate answer. “Charon,” he said.

         “CHARON!” Hades bellowed.

         Even Axel flinched as the cavern trembled with a minor earth quake. A stalactite fell and crashed into lines of the dead in the distance. They passed through, unharmed.

         “First he has the audacity to ask for a pay raise, and now he’s letting heathens into my domain!” Hades yelled, “His impertinence knows no end! First his suits! And now his life coach that’s telling him how hard it is to find someone with his skill set!”

         Although Axel probably couldn’t see Pax, the brothers knew to looks towards each other as though to exchange a glance.

         “Is his skill set hard to find?” Axel asked.

         “Yes!” Hades bellowed, “It’s nearly impossible to find a well-suited grim reaper.” Pax wanted to raise a hand to ask if Hades’ “well-suited” meant Charon’s outfit or skill set, but Hades cut him off. “But, you can’t let him know that. It goes straight to his head and now he thinks he’s irreplaceable. He forgets that one-in-a-billion is different than irreplaceable. How many people do you think die in a day!?”

         Pax coughed into the back of his hand to keep himself from laughing. Was this guy for real? Most of his prior fear was evaporating. “Us heathens?” he reminded Hades.

         “Yes, it has been an awfully long time since Charon flubbed and let savage barbarians into my domain—”

         “Let’s stick with heathens,” Axel growled.

         Pax had to agree. He remembered Alabaster once telling him something about how barbarian meant someone who wasn’t Hellenistic to the Greeks, but avoiding the adjective “savage,” was that too much to ask for?

         “And now we have a leak in our ICEE unit. They should have caught you at the entrance,” Hades continued like Axel hadn’t spoken.

         Had Pax heard that right? “ICEE? For real? As in—”

         “Inhumation Correction to Exact Exequies,” Hades growled. “This is what you get when you let liberal arts majors name things. Regardless, they’re for the dead who were improperly processed after death. They’ll be able to sort a ghost and a…. are you some kind of spirit guide?”

         The question didn’t sound sarcastic, just irritated. Pax’s mind raced, trying to think—

         Pax decided to go with lying, a rarity with his normal half-truths. He forgot no one could see him while he shrugged. “He’s the weird one. All Mayan dead look like me.”

         “Uh-hu…” a Fury somewhere above said doubtfully.

         Pax stuck a tongue out at her and had the delightful realization that he could moon the Lord of the Dead right here, right now, in his own domain, and no one would know to stop him and there would assuredly be no repercussions.

         That would also mean mooning the creepy dominatrixes in the sky. He decided he would pass up the opportunity to avoid that.

         “We’re sorry to cause you such strife, Lord Death,” Axel said, holding up his hands in a mock-honoring gesture. “We can show ourselves out, really.”

         “Likely,” Hades said. “Last time we had an ICEE mix up, there was SUCH ruckus and chaos. That einherji was terrible for our image!”

         Axel frowned, his hands clenching into fists. “You know, not all misplaced souls are like that.”

         “Yes, you try telling that the to Elysian Field occupants that had their houses torched and raided. All it takes is one and it devalues all the properties for miles!” Hades said.

         Pax got the bad feeling that Axel was about to attack Hades regardless of their ruse. While warranted, Axel might really be a misplaced Mayan soul stuck in the Underworld’s immigration unit if he did.

         Before Pax could say something to ease the mood, Hades leaned forward in his chariot. His hand curled around his black helm. His dark eyes bore down onto Axel.

         Had Axel been a lesser man, he’d have probably crumbled to his knees with all that godliness trying to make him feel mortal. Pax definitely felt himself trembling. Instead, Axel stared back.

         Hades pointed to Axel’s arm. “You tried to swim in the River Styx.” This time, when the Lord of the Underworld spoke, his oily voice was also filled with ice.

         Axel lowered his arms completely. His burn marks had been on full display from where he’d withdrawn Luke from the dark waters and held his acidic friend.

          Considering that probably wasn’t a popular tourist destination for a leisure dip, Pax could see where marks from it would be suspicious.

         “Is that what your river is called?” Pax asked, trying to edge his voice with some mockery. “Our black river is the scorpion river. Dipping in it is part of our death ritual. You should check the pH balance of your scorpions. I think they’re off.” That most certainly was not part of their death ritual. Pax planned to stay as far away from the Black River as he could when we went to….

         An existential panic threatened to break Pax’s concentration on the present. Would he end up in the Mayan afterlife or the Greek one? Or even the Catholic one? Others in Camp Othrys said it was based off belief, but what if you believed in all three? And what if Axel didn’t end up in the same one? Would paradise even be worth it if you couldn’t hang out with your bro?

         The expression on Hades’ face brought Pax’s attention back. Those harsh lines hadn’t softened at Pax’s flubbed explanation. Hades was in the process of deciding he didn’t believe them and, probably, wondering which part of his robes he’d put the Pax brother’s souls into. Guy had some weird fetishes if he kept people’s souls in his robes and ladies with whips as his escorts. No wonder Persephone only stayed down here a few months out of the year.

         They needed a distraction and they need one fast, something that would shock or offend Hades so much that he’d forget to toss them into his evil sock drawer and something that would startle Axel away from where his hand was creeping towards his sword hilt.

         “Your helmet looks stupid,” Pax blurted.

         That… that was not what they needed. But, Pax would make it work.

         Before Hades eyes could bulge out of his head, his “WHAT” could shake apart the Underworld, or Axel could choke on his laughter, Pax continued, “I’m looking out for your best interests. It looks like your helm would look stupid on, and I wouldn’t want you looking stupid to other invisible spirits like myself. You see, us invisibles look visible to other invisibles. Haven’t you noticed that when you have your helm on?”

         It was a huge gamble. Alabaster would have been able to tell Pax if that was stupid or not, according to mythology. At the moment, all Pax could remember was that it was a helm of invisibility. He couldn’t remember what other figures possessed this power.

         Hades’ brow had furrowed in rage, his mouth agape like a rabid animal. In the briefest moment, Pax saw a glimmer of insecurity in those pits of eternal pain that Hades had for eyes.

         Either Pax had already sentenced him and his brother to death or Hades needed the tiniest bit more coaxing before he cracked.

         “I mean, I’m a Mayan. I’ll talk to you straight. How many Greeks would dare give you an honest opinion on this?” Pax said, so fast that he hoped others could keep the syllables separated. “Try asking one of your humble servants.”

         The ghoul army behind him shuffled in nervous motion. The Furies seemed to fly higher.

“I trust my servants to be honest with me,�� Hades snarled. He scowled up towards the Fury that had spotted their party; she hadn’t flown up fast enough. “Alekto.”

She seemed alarmed. “Yes, Master?” she said uncertainly.

         “Does my helm look stupid when I’m wearing it?” Hades asked.

         Her wing flapping grew so tentative, Pax thought that she might lose altitude. “Um…. Master, I cannot see it on you when you wear it. You’re invisible.”

         Hades nostrils flared. “Of course you can’t,” he said, his voice bitter with suspicion.

         Pax shrugged in a, what are you going to do?, gesture. Remembering that Hades couldn’t see him, he shoved Axel and hoped his older brother got the message.

         “Underlings, am I right?” Axel asked. The words sounded unnatural from him. On the laundry list of things that made Axel passionately angry, the misuse of underpaid workers was one of them.

         That didn’t matter to Hades. He examined his helmet so thoroughly, he probably hadn’t even heard Axel. Pax had cracked Hades’ confident demeanor with the tiniest hint of insecurity. Alekto’s hesitation was all Pax needed to convince the Lord of the Dead that there was a problem.

“Charon did give the design to the Elder Cyclopes during the First Titan War. It has always been a little too tight.” Hades lifted his helm and stared into the dark eye sockets. Pax was a little disappointed that the helmet didn’t turn Hades’ arm invisible when he stuck his hand inside to lift it up. Hades snorted. “Of course I would be the only god that needed measurements for my great weapon. Zeus and Poseidon get a bolt and a trident. Doesn’t matter if their henchmen are unreliable. You’d think with all those tailored suits, that Charon could take a proper measurement—”

Pax wanted to point out that Hades should be able to just change the size of his head. He was a GOD. That was the opposite of what Pax wanted Hades to think. Pax feigned a gasp, kicking his brother’s boot.

Instead of sharing Pax’s gasp, as he had hoped, Axel glared at him. His message was clear: get on with what you’re doing before you get us killed.

         “Oh, you’ve never SEEN your helmet on yourself?” Pax said, sounding as aghast and offended as he could manage. “I mean, if you’re comfortable with not knowing whether or not you look like an idiot—”

         Hades made a threatening growl.

         Pax knew he couldn’t back down. “—and maybe telling Persephone that her husband lost his fashion sense after the SS uniform went out of style—”

         “Those uniforms influenced dark fashion for years,” Hades said with pride.

         “All villains admire that look. Clearly you know what you’re doing,” Pax agreed. “Maybe we just need someone to model your helmet for you, that way you can make adjustments to fit what you think is best, not Charon’s sloppy notes.”

         “It would be nice to fix the sizing. And I could add some more skulls to it, if I were to have it fixed,” Hades mumbled, tilting the helm on its side.

         “You’ll need someone who—I mean, no one could do your grand, imperial stance justice, but someone who would come close. You need a chiseled, manly-jawed model. Someone with an authoritarian stance...” Pax hummed like he was thinking. “Oh, the Furies won’t do. They’re ladies. And you don’t want someone who’s decomposed. They won’t be able to tell you if it would be comfortable with adjustments. What’s your head circumference?”

         “37 in this form; 25 when I look more like the lesser race,” Hades said absently. He gestured towards Axel and Pax, clearly meaning, when I look mortal.

         “Twenty-five!” Pax cried. He shoved Axel’s shoulder, so Axel stumbled a step forward. “A chiseled-jaw, authoritarian stance and a 25 inch head circumference—”

         “No—” Axel hissed at Pax, but Pax knew it was already too late for him to properly protest.

         “—that just so happens to fit my brother! What luck!” Pax had no idea if that would fit his brother’s head. He didn’t know many people who knew their own head circumference, let alone the head circumference of a relative. After they lived through this, he’d have to ask it of Axel. Then he could make him a, I Went to Hades and Only Got This Defective Helm of Darkness cap.

         Hades’ eyes narrowed. They slid past the helm to the two of them. Pax had managed to usher them closer to Hades’ chariot. “Are you suggesting I put my most prized weapon atop your brother’s head?”

         “I mean, if you have someone else to model it for you quickly, we don’t need to bother you.” Axel shot Pax a look.

         Pax nodded sagely. “I’m sure you have lots of dashing heroes that aren’t decomposed and gross or incorporeal to help. I mean. We’re just right here. Passing through. And I happen to be someone who can see invisible things. I guess we could call up Hecate—augh. I forgot she betrayed you for the Titans.” Pax snapped his fingers like he was disappointed. “And Queen Persephone might not mind too much if you get some zombie brain junk on those beautiful, raven locks.”

         Hades eyes widened enough that Pax thought the King of the Underworld might shoot lasers at him. Maybe Pax was pushing the line a bit too much.

         “How would a Mayan know about Hecate and her betrayal?” Hades demanded.

         “The Lords of the Dead gossip a lot,” Axel blurted. “You know how Lord Hun-Came gets when he’s been drinking and playing ball with Lord Vucub-Came.”

         “This is why you only have one Lord of the Dead. Bureaucracy just means red tape and more time for courtly banter.[1] You can run a government so much easier when you’re a tyrant,” Hades said and sighed, like he’d been petitioned many times for a democratic underworld.

         Axel rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Apparently, only when you have competent henchmen.”

         Pax pinched his brother’s arm. They were close; he could feel it, especially since he almost felt bad for Hades. If Hades really thought it was easier to rule down here by himself, Pax wondered how lonely this guy got.

         Pax wasn’t here to check on the underworld’s mental health though. “Why not surround us with a circle of guards. It’s not like we’re trained acrobats that can jump over people’s heads.” Axel snorted. Pax pinched his shoulder again. “And, we might as well help you. It’s the least we can do before you escort us to your ICEE unit.”

         Hades considered this for a moment. His entourage shuffled in discomfort. The Furies might hit a stalactite if they flew any higher to avoid his wraith.

         “Very well,” he said. “Guards!”

         The shuffling grew louder as the warriors made a loose circle around him and his brother. Some of the spear tips got a little too close for comfort. They’d have to be careful avoiding those while escaping.

         Hades motioned Axel forward.

         The taller boy clenched his jaw. Pax was pretty sure the tension therein could shatter an entire frozen lake. While this was the perfect opportunity for Axel to get the sword equivalent of a sucker punch on Hades, Pax wanted to remind Axel that they probably couldn’t stab the Lord of the Dead, bid a “good day” to his army, and skip out of here down a black brick road. Pax swallowed, reminding himself that sucker punches were things that he did. His brother had some weird concept about something called honor? Pax normally ignored Axel when he talked about it.

         Here came the hard part: getting Axel to kneel to accept the helm.

         Axel leveled with Hades’ black chariot. Pax could feel the overwhelming power radiating off it and its master. Authority bled off this guy like creepiness from a spider, and Hades wanted Axel to bend to his will without having to be asked.

         Axel, an idiot who bowed to no man nor god, cleared his throat. “Lord Hades, I believe you won’t be able to reach me from your chariot if I kneel.”

         The comment was presumptuous and Pax thought Axel had blown all their improvisation quicker than a Star Trek Vulcan would ruin the atmosphere of the Renaissance festival. He waited for Hades’ fist to turn into a cartoon hammer and smash Axel into the black sand.

         Instead, Hades growled, “Mayans are the first people to even think about that. Would my soldiers have said anything? No. They would have forced me to reach further down to get them.” Especially with how tall the god was, an extra four feet would be a lot to stoop.

         The Lord of the Underworld lifted his hideous black helm above Axel’s tufted ears.

         As the helm came down, it compressed Axel’s long, twisted hair. Or, Pax thought it did. When it made contact, the helm melted Axel.

         Within a microsecond, the essence that was Axel had liquefied into shadow and flooded into the sands. There wasn’t even an indent where he’d been standing.

         There was one major flaw in Pax’s plan. He actually couldn’t see his brother. And, in that moment, with Axel-fertilizer in the underworld’s black sand, Pax realized Axel and Pax might have been the ones who were just tricked.

***

 Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! :D Stay tuned next week to see what—well…. you can’t really see what Pax and Axel are doing. >>’‘

Anyway, stay safe and indoors!

  ***

Footnote:

[1] Ha ha. Courtly. Like a ball court…. I’ll show myself out.

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Sex Contract - Chapter 4

Genre: friends to lovers au / friends with benefits / mature content / romance / angst

Characters: Shim Changmin x Kaia Ashton (OC)

A/N: Due to the overwhelming request I have followed your encouragement to bring back one of my older stories. This was back in a time where OCs were everything and writing one chapter in each main’s point of view was the trend. I hope that even though I have edited this drastically, that you can appreciate this story comes from my older style of writing. I definitely still read this often and find it enjoyable so I hope you will too.

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 - FINAL

Chapter 4 – Kaia’s POV.

 Kaia watched Changmin’s eyes widen slightly at her interest, her teasing making him feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t really expected such a reaction from the tall man but he had given it and now she was intrigued. Kaia wasn’t exactly experienced in having a male as a best friend and wondered if you could ever be truly relaxed on all topics like she was with her closest female friends.

“I’m not answering anything!”

“If I answer your questions, will you answer mine?” she proposed and Changmin seemed to ponder her request. He picked up his bottle and took a swig, which settled him.

“How do you know I have anything to ask you?”

“Do you go and ask all your noonas about sex then?” Kaia smirked as he blushed and shook his hands in answer. “I’m not shy of the topic, but if you are-”

“No I’m not,” he quickly said and smirked back. “You’re not a noona anyway. I’m probably the sunbae in this situation too.”

“Don’t rediscover your ego now, Changmin.”

“Alright then, why do you pay so much attention to dramas, they don’t exactly fulfil that need. Since I’ve known you, you’ve never mentioned about having a boyfriend.” He folded his arms over his chest, his chocolate eyes warming up at the lack of boundaries. It seemed like Changmin was prepared to have the conversation now.

“I guess it’s harder for me to find someone here in Korea than back home. Not a lot of Koreans go for foreign girls.”

Changmin shook his head. “There are a bunch of guys who would date you. In fact, if you knew what some of the boys in Super Junior think of you, that wouldn’t be an excuse.”

“That’s my working environment Min!” She slapped his arm and raised her index finger to wag it back and forth. “I have professionalism. Besides they’re all idols.”

“And men with desires that need to be met.”

“What, like some sexual relationship only?” she asked and Changmin shrugged. “I don’t think I could have sex without a proper relationship first. Though that’s never really worked out much for me. I kind of miss it.”

Changmin rubbed his hands together. “You’ve never really spoken about your past experiences. You have done the deed, right?”

“Of course!” she cried in horror and he laughed heartily. “I just suck with men in general. They tend to walk all over me. I’m never really good at reading the signals. It’s almost like they see me as an accessory, and shy out before I can see if they’re a true prince or not.”

“See there’s your problem right there,” Changmin stated, nodding lightly. “Going around thinking that Princes still exist. This isn’t a monarchical country Kai. If you want to marry a Prince, you’ll have to look at Harry back home.”

Kaia scrunched her nose up in disgust as the Korean laughed some more. Though the topic had got her thinking, just how easier it would be to meet sexual needs without emotion getting in the way? Kaia always threw herself into relationships wholeheartedly; wanting her happily ever after like all the fairytales she had grown up believing in. It was hard to shake the notion off that there weren’t any romantic guys left around these days.

“It seems everyone’s standards are incredibly high, I have to admit,” Changmin said a moment later, breaking his friend out of her reverie. “I mean, you have a point, what happened to saying I like you and the person like you back the same way? It seems like games have to be played, and everything can be taken in more than one way.”

Kaia stared at him. “When did you last date someone?”

“Two years ago.”

“Woah, so long ago.” She blinked a couple of times in confusion. “I thought you’d have a bunch of girls lining up for a slice of Godly pie.”

“Oh don’t you go starting it too,” he cried as she giggled at his obvious disgust. “It’s harder than you think. Much like your belief of guys not liking you for what you are, I feel the same. It’s hard to find an honest woman these days. Women like security. I can’t offer that. Women like stability too and I’m always unaware of where life is taking me. I can’t offer anything but what little of a personal life I have. Especially with work, it’s harder to be able to manage a relationship. So I just don’t bother trying.”

Kaia pulled her knees up under her chin and stared at her friend. “Do you ever miss holding someone? Or other physical elements?”

“All the time,” he truthfully responded and sighed, throwing his head onto the back of the sofa. “It’s funny, but I actually enjoyed working on Paradise Ranch. It’s shameful but every action I had to do, even though it was awkward, it was comforting at the same time. It made me reflect on how to fit a girlfriend into my life. But I just can’t find a way, and I don’t have the emotional effort to offer anyway.”

“It seems like we’re on the same level but for different reasons,” she surmised and he nodded his head sadly. “My best friend back home told me that I’m a painter.”

“You’re a what?” Changmin lifted his head at Kaia’s statement, sending her a curious expression.

She nodded. “I meet a guy and paint an entire picture of what I want from the relationship. Then after the first couple of weeks of dating comes the obvious signs that I painted it all wrong. Then I feel the need to escape before I get hurt.”

“That kind of backs up your way of living through fantasy then,” Changmin agreed. “Don’t you want to try and experience something though?”

“I try,” she admitted, thinking back on past experiences. “I attempted to change the image in my head but then they usually try to rush me into bed or I do have sex with them and then they never contact again. I guess I’m just one of those girls guys never want to understand.”

“No one probably wants to try and stand up to your Prince complex,” he said with a laugh and she looked away from Changmin, knowing he was right. A pair of arms wrapped around her and Kaia glanced up at the brunette. “Looks like we’re as bad as one another wanting love but having no ability to maintain it.”

“This is nice though,” Kaia said softly, savouring the feeling of his arms around her. They had hugged before but with the sensitivity in the air, she was able to close her eyes and remember all the things she loved about men. Without thinking it through, Kaia grabbed his hand, feeling how soft his warm skin was.

“Sometimes it would be nice to just forgo relationships and have someone around who you could turn to that wasn’t in the form of a video,” Changmin replied and Kaia frowned, blinking rapidly and snapping her hand away from his.

“Did you just bring up porn?!”

Changmin coughed awkwardly. “How else do I get any attention?!”

“Oh my god, Changmin!”

“You brought it up earlier!”

Kaia nodded. “I didn’t happen to be in your arms at the time though!”

“I was just being honest. I’m sure you have to deal with your own needs too when the mood strikes!”

She gasped, feeling her cheeks flood with colour. “I never expected us to ever speak like this.”

“Isn’t it a good thing though? That we feel this comfortable around each other? I could never take myself off to have one night stands all the time; I know it’d reach the media in a flash if I did. I wouldn’t be able to pay for sex either so what else does a man have left as an option eh?”

“I guess you have a true point.”

“It would be just nice; it’s all I’m saying. But I don’t know really anyone who I could trust to be myself completely around whilst meeting my needs.”

“Well, you have me.” Kaia covered her mouth as soon as she said it and watched as Changmin regarded her for a moment. she waited for him to reject the idea completely.

“I’ve never seen you as anything more than a friend.”

“Me neither, personally I don’t think you’re someone I could ever date,” she replied and he pulled a face. “No, I’m serious. Your fans are kind of deluded by what they see. The real Changmin is just like any other gamer. If you didn’t have a schedule to keep to, you’d sit in your room playing games all day and night, only coming out for food or bathroom breaks.”

“I take high offence to that!” She gave him a hard look. “Alright it’s probably true, but I have lots to like about me. And for one I don’t try to find a Princess in another, and just accept the girl for who she is.”

“Cheap shot,” Kaia said and Changmin chuckled.

“You’re right though, there’s a term for it, friends with benefits, right?” he asked and she nodded. “I wonder how well it works out?”

“I guess it depends on the couple. It could either go one of two ways. They end up falling in love, like in all the movies, or end up bored of the sex and move on to find partners.”

“Well, there’s no risk of that happening if we tried,” Changmin announced. “I don’t think I could see you as anything more than a best friend.”

“Are you even attracted to me?” Kaia wondered and he smiled. “What?”

“Well, you’re not ugly.”

“Thanks, I think,” she replied and Changmin laughed again, wrapping an arm around her.

“I know from earlier that you think the same about me, Kai.” He smiled smugly. “But you know what; you missed out on watching the rest of Heartstrings.”

“Like I was ever going to be able to watch it in peace with you around,” she bitterly stated, although it was hardly a thought that crossed her mind truthfully.

The night had turned down an unexpected path. Kaia wondered if it was all a dream or something they’d both forget after a good night’s rest.

_________________

Part 5

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[theessaflett]

Wicca & Whispers: My Unexpected Month as a Pagan Convert

My first and, to date, only, experience of a spiritual revelation happened in the summer of 2017.

Half an hour into a meditation session, eyes closed, legs crossed, I had a startlingly clear image of a gigantic oak tree growing out of the ground in front of me, unfurling its leaves and stating in a deep voice: I am Mother Earth. I am the one true religion. Convert to the Wiccan Faith.

This spiritual revelation, crystal clear in my mind’s eye,  was a little unexpected…not least because that meditation session was part of a Christian retreat. When we went round the circle afterwards sharing any godly moments we’d had during our prayerful meditation I, unsurprisingly enough, kept quiet. Right sort of experience. Wrong religion.

          -----------------------------------------------------------------------

With no small amount of trepidation and some curiosity, I recently asked around my friend group and requested that they describe me in one word. Some responses were:

Focused Self-Assured Unique Creative Warm   Versatile Funny

And, my favourite: “Essa” …Fair enough.

Now, this is a wide reaching list, but there was one word that didn’t make a single appearance from anyone: religious. I am not surprised by this. I am generally known as the cynical one, the sardonic one, the pessimist, the sensible thinker, and rightly so. (I am Scottish, after all.) Essa the logical. Essa the skeptic. Many, if not most, of the people who meet me in my day to day life would probably expect me to be agnostic, even atheist.

And yet.

And yet the institution of the church and Christianity itself has had a profound and far-reaching importance in my life. My mother is a lay-reader, church organist and choir leader. My dad is also a church organist. My Mum’s family are Church of Scotland Elders, My Dad’s folk are Salvation Army, some of them even founding members of the London branch of the institution. My family tree is heaving with religion, my own childhood spent in church buildings and prayer meetings. I was playing violin in the praise band at aged 4, playing the organ and helping run local church summer workshops by age 12, arguing on theological issues with church camp youth leaders by age 13. When people ask what my relationship is with the church, I usually just say, “I grew up in the church and my family is very involved with our local church community” and leave it at that. At that point most folk presume this to mean that I have given up on religion myself and leave the matter be, much to my relief.

And yet.

And yet I do still go to church, when I can. I am a congregation member of a very liberal C of E church in London, the type of church where God is referred to by female pronouns, people don’t guard ‘their spot’ on the pew and metropolitan gay couples bring their aesthetically flawless children with them every Sunday morning. I don’t tend to experience much great spiritual uplifting during the service but I enjoy the sermon, which usually has a disruptive, feminist slant, the sense of community, the feeling that here is a group of people who care about each other and are trying to just generally be nicer to everyone. I’ve told myself for years that there isn’t a need for a powerful sense of the otherworldy, of godliness, to make church worthwhile: surely a sense of that community and a reminder to be kind is a generally good thing, worthy in of itself.  

I was the church organist for this tiny yet friendly congregation in Tayport between the ages of 15-17. They did excellent cups of tea. I’m the one with the ginger hair.  (2013)

And yet.

And yet since I was very small, I have yearned for that ‘aha!’ moment. That euphoric experience of spiritual enlightenment where I would know that God was out there in the world. An unmistakable KA-POW. 

“You just need to send one sign!” I remember fervently bartering late one night when I was about eight during my bedtime prayers. “Just send one sign to show you exist and I won’t ask again and I’ll be extra good!” I was unaware then, in the midst of my doubt, of the irony of my paternal grandmother’s maiden name: Thomas. (Theology joke).

Years passed, and my wish for clear ‘godly proof of life’ faded into the background but didn’t entirely dissipate. From the ages of 10-13 I went to increasingly evangelical church summer camps where everyone else and their pet dog had seemingly had a personal meeting with Jesus, throwing myself into bible study groups and arm-waving to cheesy pop worship songs in the desperate hope that some sort of visitation from the Holy Spirit might eventually happen by Day 9 of camp. Nothing.

              ------------------------------------------------------------------

My teenage diaries are filled with fears of a malignant God, or a long-dead God, or a God that simply had decided that I personally was worthy only of being ignored. By seventeen I had given up on God entirely and announced myself agnostic. …This proved to be a very short-lived phase. Homesickness and a wish to find that specific sense of belonging that only churches can truly give led me to my current  liberal C of E church in 2014, but that wish for that ‘just one sign’ was still a background hum.

You can perhaps appreciate my frustration, then, when I finally got my sign in that prayer meeting in 2017. This was it. The visitation I’d been waiting for since eight year old me had laid down the gauntlet, demanding proof. It was just such a shame that it was the wrong bloody religion.

What would you do? On the one hand I was a church goer, who came from a church family, who had been brought up in the Christian faith.

On the other hand I had been wanting a spiritual sign from the heavens for about 14 years by this point and there it was. Ridiculous in nature and almost certainly brought on from a combination of severe sleep deprivation, high caffeine intake and end-of undergraduate-degree existential stress, but there nevertheless.

Reader. I went for it.

As my girlfriend at the time watched in mild, and then moderate alarm, I went out on what can only be described a ‘Wiccan Spree’, where in the space of about three weeks I obtained four spell books and a brand of incense called ‘Dragon’s Blood’, started following about eight different ‘Witchy Aesthetic’ Instagram accounts, watched countless YouTube spell videos, joined a Facebook group called ‘Divine Goddesses’,  signed up for a MeetUp event where you joined a ‘coven’ and casted spells in woods, guilt-read a blog called ‘So You Used To Be Christian And Now You’re Pagan: An Introduction To Your New Faith’, collected leaflets for a Pagan festivals that included activities such as ‘Tree Yoga’, drew my very own pentangle, made a wand and repurposed tea-light holders as containers for random household items that I decided represented the four elements. I was, in retrospect, almost certainly having some sort of small nervous breakdown, but at the time the sense of sudden purpose was truly wonderful. Wonderful, that is, until I got to the chapter about gender roles in my new, shiny Wiccan textbook. 

The enthused, evangelical pages about the powerful, strong energy of men and the sensitive, delicate energy of women left a sour taste in my mouth, particularly when it became clear that male and female energies were always expected to ‘intertwine’ exclusively with each other. I’d thought I was pursuing a fresh, exciting new way to explore my spirituality, a way that left the more archaic views and beliefs of the church behind. It was a disappointment, then,  to discover that heteronormative expectations of gender and sexuality permeated more than just the ‘mainstream’ religions. Wicca wasn’t going to be my ‘true path’, after all. The vision of the tree suddenly seemed like a silly figment of my imagination, and I was glad that I’d kept it mostly to myself. The spell books quietly and sheepishly went to the charity shop.

…And yet.

As I write this here in late 2019, there is still, somewhere in my brain, that eight year old child who is waiting for the moment of indisputable proof of a higher power. I am, of course, in good company, as countless Christians have searched for exactly that proof right from the beginning of the faith: the New Testament is chock-full of disciples needing massive, indisputable signs from the Heavens before they’ll believe practically anything, much to Jesus’ frustration. In John 20:29 a newly resurrected and very irritated Jesus says to Thomas, a disciple so skeptical that he’s known as Doubting Thomas (…told you my earlier Thomas joke was a theological one) and who has refused to believe in the resurrection of Jesus right up until the moment Jesus literally appears in front of him, “ Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed!”

…A phrase probably written into the Bible for the early Christians, encouraging them in their belief in a Messiah they hadn’t personally met, and a phrase that still holds comfort for Christians around the world today.

It’s one of those deceptively easy-sounding sayings, ‘Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed’.

I’ve always been someone who’s a stickler for facts  - for instance,  I worked out that Santa didn’t exist when I was five and then couldn’t understand for the life of me why everyone else was perpetuating a lie that was, in my mind, simply unnecessary. (It took quite a lot of persuading from my parents for me not to share my newfound knowledge with my friend group. I settled for pitying looks and pointed questions along the lines of, “But how exactly does he get down the chimney, Karen?”)

People who are Fact People don’t like the concept of blind belief. We don’t like it at all. It makes us feel exposed, and icky, and foolish, and like we’re being played for suckers.

I am a Fact Person. I am also not many people’s typical idea of a Christian.

I have tattoos. I am openly queer. I believe abortion and birth control are fundamental human rights, I don’t believe Mary was a virgin or that non-believers need ‘Saving’, I consider the Bible to be a fascinating tapestry of sociological history best read with the expectation of cross-culture misunderstandings rather than it being the undiluted Word of God, and I think that in institutionalised religion there is often too much fixating on a possible future Heaven when Hell is already happening now, in this lifetime, to so many people who need Earthly help rather than lofty prayer.

I am, in short, too much of a questioner to ever be a ‘true believer’. Blind Evangelical faith is just never going to come easy for this Doubting Thomas.

And as for my tree vision? My queer, feminist relationship with gender and gender roles stopped me from identifying as Wiccan, the restricted binary expectations making that path an instant no-go.

And yet. I am far from an atheist.

Me (now with blue hair) at a spiritual retreat with members of my current church community (Spring 2019)

              -----------------------------------------------------------------

As I move away from my teens and deeper into my twenties, I can slowly feel a subtler understanding of what God might be beginning to lap at the edges of my understanding of the world. Be it Mother Earth, be it the Holy Trinity, be it whatever you want to call it, I have noticed the small things I do in day to day life to honour the unexplainable.

The fact that I knew that lighting a candle and conducting my own small service for the flat I was about to leave after living there for 3 years was absolutely the right thing to do, despite the fact that that building was theoretically just bricks and mortar? Unexplainable.

The fact that I sometimes enter a house and go “yep, this is good” and sometimes am like, “ABSOLUTELY NOT, NOPE, DO NOT WANT TO STAY HERE THIS HOUSE DOES NOT LIKE ME”? Unexplainable…and ridiculous to witness.

The fact that, every so often, in the woods or on a deserted beach, I get a strange sense of flickering connection? A sense of an electric undercurrent that could be sparked into life if only two wires were connected? Unexplainable, unexplainable, unexplainable.

Celtic Christianity, that ancient and now largely forgotten Spiritual meeting-place between Christianity and Paganism, has a term for these moments where the Other can be felt, if only for a half-second: they are ‘thin places’, the places ‘in the world where the walls are weak’.

In the words of 1 Kings 19:12,  

         After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.          And after the fire came a gentle whisper.

I’m beginning to suspect that perhaps in all my straining, in all my looking for divine ‘massive earthquakes’ and ‘impressive firestorms’, I’ve missed countless gentle whispers.

My relationship with faith is destined to wax and wane. The only certainty is that it will never stay the same. That, I’m beginning to realise, is allowed. Normal, even. For now, unsure of what the future may bring, I am content to search for those thin places and whisper into the quiet. 

You never know. I might hear a whisper in return.

[konnl]

Scrappers

Humanity experienced a life-altering split. The details of how are long lost. All humanity knows is that some went for the stars while the rest were left to rot on a dying Earth. Those left behind hide and salvage what they can from the old world, staying hidden from the star-beings, commonly known as Harvesters.

Scrappers is August’s flash fiction that brings readers into a continuation of last month’s sci-fi horror universe. Enjoy the story in written word, audio, artwork and soundscape.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Scrappers

Big Picture

We try to stay hidden by staying underground. People like me have to go to the surface, though. When we do, we do our best to keep noise levels down and stay light-footed. You’d be amazed at how well satellites can pick up the alteration of landscape from the skylines. Even the smallest detail – like a footprint – can be detected by their drones. Stealth is all we can do until we find a better way to fend them off. There are probably a dozen names given to them. Everyone has a grudge for something they did or someone that they took. The Godly, Gene Freaks, Anti-Sapien, or whatever your choice of phrase is, we all know them as the Harvesters. The Harvesters always return to Earth. They come for us. They find us. No matter how well we hide.

“Angie, get with it,” came a croaky voice.

My eyes shot up to the sound, seeing a man looking over at me, the orange hue from the setting sun casting sharp shadows on his leathery-skin. The neon green LED lights from his goggles shined right at me. Ruggy, my partner. We had a mission. Gather scraps.

“Sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t really here.” My thoughts were being dragged off into the big picture of the world. The Harvesters. Our attempts to survive. Stuff that Ruggy wouldn’t really care about hearing.

“Keep your mind on our why we’re on the surface. I don’t want to be here like you, but there aren’t any options.” He shifted his rifle under his arm, holding the gun at a forty-five-degree angle, gaze forward. “Magnify your map and stay on course. The operator said there is an amplitude of metal not far from here.”

The Lost

I adjusted the interface that displayed within my goggles. With a twitch of my eyelid, the goggles changed the glass to project night vision. Another subtle eyelid movement caused the UI to zoom in on the map that displayed at the corner of my eye. It brought up a detailed landscape of the rubble that we walked through. Well, a map of what everything used to look like.

“These maps aren’t helpful,” I said. “They’re well over a century outdated.” I looked at the top-down view of the geographical location of the map. It showcased skyscrapers, roads, and complete pathways. In reality, all I could see was a charcoal skyline, rubble ground, and nature attempting to grow new green life in between the concrete cracks.

“It’s the best that we have to work with,” said Ruggy. “Us Scrappers always get the low-tech stuff.”

“Yep,” I said. There wasn’t much of a point in discussing the topic. He was right. Scrappers were a low rank. That’s why we stick together. Plus, I knew what Ruggy was thinking: shut up and do your job. It was tough to do just that. We were in the middle of a long-forgotten civilization trying to find old metal scraps, praying that we wouldn’t be detected by the Harvesters – not exactly motivating.

“This seems like a waste of time for us,” I said. “We’ve never gone this far out into the Lost.”

“Yeah, well,” Ruggy said. “When we’ve raided all of the other closer past cities, we don’t have much of a choice but to go further in.”

I scanned the ground in front of me, holding the rifle tight. There were washed-out yellow painted rocks mixed in with grey rocks. These were once roads, at least what is left of them. I’ve seen complete streets in the archive photos before. Never had I seen such large chunks of remnants in person.

“All of this seems so surreal,” I said. “These people used to live in peace before it all went south.”

“They didn’t think so,” Ruggy said, taking a turn down an archway. “Down this way,” he said.

I followed behind him looking at the massive archway. It was large enough to house a twelve-man transport shuttle. “What makes you say that?” I asked.

“They weren’t happy and tried to change the world which got us into this mess,” Ruggy said.

“I suppose.” Ruggy had a point, the past civilization were the ones that brought humanity into a technological revolution. I just liked to imagine there was a better world at some point in time. “They only wanted to do what was good for us,” I said.

“Are you really that naïve? Come on, kid.” Ruggy said. “The history books always look as good as they can, even if they are on the losing side. I am sure that Harvesters paint a pretty glorified image of their past, justifying why they do what they do. Good is relative.”

“If you don’t trust the history books, what do you trust?” I asked.

“Well,” Ruggy said. “I don’t trust much. I do know not to trust one stupid book. That’s been the issue with humanity for centuries. We put our trust in a book. Now, we’re living the greatest downfall from this repetition of history.”

My pace slowed down as we came across a massive semi-complete structure. It was about one-third of a sculpted head. A bearded man with a long nose and long hair, although it was difficult to tell from the missing pieces.

Amazing, I thought while looking up to the mountain in the near distance. Remnants of a sculpture’s base could be seen around a pile of rubble. An educated guess would be the head had tumbled down the mountainside during an explosion. That was my best guess. I really had no idea.

Gods on Repeat

I picked up my pace, realizing Ruggy had continued on without me. Once I caught up beside him, I said, “It really isn’t all from one book though. There’s bureaucracy, corruption, and human greed to take into account.”

“True, but they shroud it in justification from their holy books.”

“Yeah, it is tragic we kept repeating the past.”

“Its ridiculous. We used to believe in super beings, gods, in the sky that judged our lives. Our ‘holy book’ was science and it was just as bad as the rest.”

“The science era wasn’t much different from religion,” I said looking at Ruggy’s leathery face.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“Because the Harvesters turned themselves into gods in the sky, judging us.”

Ruggy chuckled. “How poetic.”

I couldn’t tell if he was being his typical unenthusiastic self, or if he was actually impressed with what I challenged him with. It was hard to know with Ruggy, he always had the same mood with anything that he did.

The two of us continued down the uneven path, hopping over large clumps of city remains and plants that had grown over the past world. Looking at it all made a part of me want to just go back to the cruiser and give up. Gathering scraps was tedious. The Lost was depressive to look at. It wasn’t like I had much choice. Scrapping was all I was good at. I didn’t have any other skills that could help humanity survive. There were no educational systems for me to go to. People that possessed knowledge from the past carefully chose who they passed knowledge onto. We have to operate this way. There is no time for everyone to learn everything. We had to learn one skill fast and stick to it.

The Harvesters were technologically advanced, mentally superior, and physically herculean. There was no time for anyone to wish about what they wanted to do. The higher commands run us through rigorous tests, analyze what we are best at, and that is what we do until the day we die. It’s that simple.

“Here’s food for thought,” Ruggy said as he reached the top of a steep rock. “Playing off of what you said, about The Harvesters being living gods and such…” he extended his hand for me.

“Yeah?” I asked as I took his hand, letting him pull me up.

“You ever fathom that humanity has just repeated itself?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, panting looking down at my health-cuff. The screen lit up with a flick of my wrist. It stated we were just over fifty kilometres from our cruiser. I thought that was a lot, but seeing that Ruggy hadn’t even broken a sweat, made me feel like a goof. Looks like I’d have to get on a tighter exercise routine when we got back to base.

“The Harvesters,” Ruggy said. “They were us at one point. Gods are only projections of what we wish to be. They had access to become one, and that is what they did. Perhaps humanity has gone through similar routes in the past, and religious books are just history books about them.”

“You mean like what the Babblers are doing?” I raised my eyebrow with a smirk. The idea was humorous. “You know Babblers are just desperate to find meaning to all this chaos by speaking about it like some prophecy.”

“Exactly my point. The Babblers are no different than any prophet. I take it you never got familiar with some of the archive’s religious texts?”

“No, can’t say that I have,” I said. “I’m a Scrapper, I rarely have time to read.”

“Yeah, you’re also in your twenties. Ah, don’t worry about it. I was a baboon at that age, too, chasing all the fucks I could get.”

My nostrils flared. Who did Ruggy think he was summing me up as some young horny uneducated kid? He had a way of belittling people. Unfortunately, I had to work with him. Scrappers stick together once they were chosen. Scrapper’s code.

“Anyways…” Ruggy said after my prolonged rage-silence. “Perhaps the past religions like Christianity, Hellenism, Hinduism, you name it, all had holy men who saw things for what they were.” Ruggy brought out his hand. “I’m not saying this is the kind of stuff that I believe in, but just playing off your idea.”

I smirked. “Really? You know a damn lot more than I do about religion. You sure you’re not becoming a Babbler?”

“Zip it. Just throwing the idea out there that maybe this isn’t the first time humanity has surpassed itself and went for the stars, leaving the rest of us down here.”

“It’s a wild theory.”

I wasn’t sure what else to say. Ruggy knew a lot more about humanity’s past than I did, and it wasn’t worth challenging him. As he put it so delicately, I was just a young horny kid. His statement had me wondering though – was humanity just repeating itself? Did the past civilizations turn men into gods, like the Harvesters? It’s a crazy idea, and no one truly knows. History was distorted. The details of how they went for the cosmos and left us here was a convoluted – and confusing – rabbit hole that isn’t worth going down. Trust me. I’ve tried. Every ‘fact’ contradicts itself as to how humanity’s split started.

Retrieval

I followed behind Ruggy as we continued down the mapped-out path projected on the goggle-screens. Of course, the goggles could only estimate roughly where we went. It’s not like we had any satellites to work with. That’s a giant flag to attract Harvesters. The chips processors are attached to our health-cuffs, they do some weird science-algorithm-tech thing that I could never understand. All I know is the map talks to the cuff, and they can estimate my steps with the city’s map’s size.

“Looks like we’re almost there,” Ruggy said.

“So, the operator found some jackpot from their A.I. algorithms or what? I still don’t get why we had to come out this far.” I asked.

“I don’t know Angie. That isn’t my department, nor yours. They tell us where to go, and we got the scraps. That’s all.”

“Right,” I said while tightening the grip of my rifle. We had never gone this far out into The Lost before. The fact we left our cruiser made me uncomfortable. If a Harvester were to show up, we were on our own. We couldn’t outrun them – that’s pointless. We had no transportation – we were sitting ducks on foot.

Ruggy brought his rifle up as we turned the corner. The smell of burning metal began to pick up. This was abnormal. Burning smells meant something recent was around. Nothing burns in The Lost. Those fires and explosions happened long before our time.

I used my eyelids to navigate through the goggle’s interface. The screen projected a keyboard and message thread between Ruggy and I. My eyelids twitched in swift movements, stringing together alphabetic characters into words.

DO YOU SMELL THAT? I typed out in the chat.

YEAH, KEEP YOUR GUARD UP, Ruggy typed back as he descended down a rocky, narrow, path.

I felt the sweat build up on my pits and palms. Whatever this was wasn’t part of our standard protocol. The operators typically had us find piles of rubble we had to dig through to snag metal. This was something different.

We continued down the path, creeping slowly to avoid loose rocks. The last thing we needed was to make noise. Ruggy reached the end of the steep decline to where the path opened up. Smoke rose from the open charcoaled ground. Even with the goggle’s enhanced vision, Ruggy nor I could make out what was in front of us.

I raised my rifle as I reached Ruggy’s side, stopping right in front of the opening.

My eyelids moved, typing, I CAN’T SEE ANYTHING.

NOR CAN I, Ruggy wrote.

YOU SURE THIS IS THE RIGHT PLACE? I asked.

YEAH, CHECK THE MAP YOURSELF.

The map was pretty accurate when it synched with the health-cuffs. Plus, there was only rubble all around us. There was nothing of value here other than this mysterious smoke and burning smell.

WHAT DO WE DO? I asked.

WE’RE SCRAPPERS, WE SCRAP WHATEVER IT IS.

Ruggy tightened his grip on his rifle and stepped forward. He didn’t look back, expecting me to follow. I had to. Ruggy was right, we were Scrappers. With that in mind, I took a deep breath and marched alongside Ruggy into the smoke.

The closer we got, the smell heightened into strange stinging sensation. It overpowered my senses and couldn’t smell anything else. God, I wanted to have a mask at this point in time. Scrappers always got the leftover supplies and never the ones we needed. At least we had the goggles, it kept our eyes clear as we moved through the unknown.

I stayed slightly behind Ruggy, making sure nothing came from his sides or behind us. We entered the thick of the haze. Nothing was visible beyond a few feet. The further we stepped in, the smoke changed into an orange-red hue.

FIRE, Ruggy typed.

IT’S A CRASH? I responded.

A roar erupted from the brighter flames further ahead. We raised our rifles. A humanoid silhouette rose from the flaming ground, deformed from the light. Large limbs reached up for the sky. Too large to be human. The roar morphed into a howling groan. A sound of agony.

HARVESTER, Ruggy typed.

YOU SURE? I replied

POSITIVE. WHAT ELSE CRASH-LANDS ON EARTH?

HARVESTERS NEVER CRASH-LAND.

MAYBE. BUT THERE’S NOTHING ELSE IN SPACE.

WHAT ABOUT THAT THEORY YOU JUST CAME UP WITH? PAST CIVILIZATIONS GOING FOR THE STARS?

SHUT IT, KID. DO AS I SAY.

WHAT?

SHOOT FIRST, ASK QUESTIONS LATER.

I exhaled slowly. A part of me was annoyed. There were so many questions that we hadn’t answered. We were making choices that were beyond our rank. Whatever we were witnessing was not a Scrapper’s role. Harvester or not, this was something we had to report. There was also the fact we could end up getting killed. Scrappers were about stealth and retrieval, not killing things.

WE SHOULD CALL IT IN, I typed.

WE CAN’T, REMEMBER? Ruggy replied. WE’RE ON A LOCAL CHANNEL. HELPS WITH STEALTH.

LET’S GET BACK TO THE CRUISER THEN. THE OPERATORS WILL WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THIS.

WALK 50K? THIS THING WILL BE GONE BY THEN. WE SHOOT IT, CALL IT IN.

I wasn’t sure what else to say to Ruggy. We wouldn’t be able to make it back to the cruiser, report the finding, and expect to find whatever we found to still be here. Action was needed. Besides, Ruggy had his mindset regardless of any protocol. He wanted to find out what this was. I had no other choice. I couldn’t leave him behind. Scrapper’s code.

[certifiedskywalker]

Jughead Jones X Plus Sized!Reader

Anonymous said:

plus size reader x jughead

I did a head canon set-up for this one, I hope that’s okay! This might be slightly triggering, maybe?

You and Jughead started out as friends

You had been best friends since 1st grade, when you painted on each others faces.

“Look! It’s a butterfly!”

“Awesome! Thanks Y/N.”

You giggled, “You’re welcome Juggie.”

You hung out to together all through grade school but when middle school came around you started to distance yourself from him.

You had started to notice that most of the girls in your grade were much more skinny than you.

“Hey Y/N! My dad is taking me to Pop’s after school with Jellybean! You wanna join us?”

“I can’t, but maybe next time.”

Jughead wasn’t blind, even in middle school.

He’d been your best friend for so long, there was no hiding from him.

He worried so much about you that in 7th grade he begged his teacher to switch his classes around so he would have the same lunch period as you.

The teacher didn’t change it, so whenever he could, Jughead would hang out with you.

He started walking home with you after school.

“What’s wrong Y/N?”

“Nothing Juggie, sorry we haven’t hung out a lot.”

“We’ll just hang out over summer!”

And you did.

Jughead often slept over at your house, because around this time his dad was starting to struggle.

During that summer, you felt happy. You forgot about your bad self-image and enjoyed time with Jughead.

But by the time you finished 8th grade year, your problem had come back to roost.

You were never able to hang out with Jughead because you were either too busy trying to exercise or just weren’t in the mood to face other people.

Jughead would see you in the halls and feel something in him break.

You always looked so sad.

The summer before Freshman year started, your family planned a trip to a water park.

They had also extended an invitation to Jughead, hoping your spirits would lift.

No one knew exactly why you were down all the time. You didn’t dare tell anyone it was because of the way you looked.

You knew you’d hear the same old “nonsense, you look great!” or “Are you kidding me? You’re so pretty.” from your family.

You hated it. They openly would lie to you.

When the day of the trip came you put on your swimsuit and started to cry in front of the mirror.

Little did you know that Jughead arrived at your house, and was looking for you.

He heard you crying in the bathroom and knocked quietly on the door.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

All he heard was sniffles on the other end.

“I’m going to come in okay?”

You were too upset to stop him, you just reached for a towel to cover your ugly body with.

Jughead opened the door, and upon seeing you crying on the floor, he shut the door behind him.

He knelt on the ground before you, his swim trunks folding over his knees as he did.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

You just shook your head in response and Jughead sat next to you.

“You need to tell me, Y/N. I can’t help if you don’t.”

You sniffled, looking at the floor beneath your feet, “I’m fat.”

“Y/N, that doesn’t make you unlovable. You’re beautiful, no matter what.”

You turned and glared at him, “I am, please don’t lie to me.”

“But I’m not,” he said, moving so he was in front of you again, “you’re beautiful.”

He reached out a careful hand to brush some hair out of your face.

A blush crept onto your cheeks at his action, and he smiled.

“See? You’re adorable,” you let out a small laugh.

“I’m not like the other girls, pretty and thin and-”

“If you were, you wouldn’t be you.” He said, staring into your eyes.

“If you lose weight or not, you’re perfect to me. You should be perfect to you too.” He said with pink tinted cheeks, “you’re gorgeous Y/N.”

You gave him a smile and he stood up, holding his hand out to you.

“Let's go swim okay? If you don’t feel comfortable you can wear one of my shirts over your suit.”

You took his hand, and that was your first step towards happiness.

Freshman year went by in a flash.

You spent most of it with Jughead, hanging out at your place or at the Twilight Drive In.

You would openly talk about your self-image with him, and he’d do his best to convince you that you’re beyond amazing.

Which you are, you’re beyond amazing.

Jughead finally opened up himself, and told you about his dad.

You offered him a place at your house, hoping he would take it.

He didn’t, “I’m staying at the Drive In for now, I’ll be okay.”

“You can at least use my shower whenever you need it.”

He laughed, “is that your way of saying I smell?”

“No, Juggie, you smell great.”

Your hardships only strengthen your friendship, because you shared them with one another.

You started to grow more confident, little by little.

You would look in the mirror and see yourself, not something you hated.

You wore the clothes you wanted and didn’t care about the looks you’d get in the halls.

Jughead would look too, because you were breathtaking. The air of confidence that surrounded you made him really happy, something he hadn’t felt since his dad joined the Serpents.

His feelings for you grew, as fast as your love for yourself.

At points Jughead had his own cases of self doubt.

You’d become so independent and strong, why would someone like you want someone like him?

He didn’t make a move, so you just remained best friends.

Until you asked him if he wanted to go to Jason’s memorial dance.

You were sitting in a booth at Pop’s, which had become your normal hang out spot right after school.

You’d normally help him out with his novel, but you had other objectives this time.

You asked him, and he just stared at you in shock.

He didn’t know what to say, not really; but he did know he wanted to.

“I was just wondering Juggie, you don’t have to stare like that.”

“No, no, sorry. I’ll go with you.”

“Really?”

“I’d be crazy not to,” you smiled at him.

“The fact your willing to go to a school dance is surprising in itself!”

He smiled softly, “if anyone else had asked I would’ve said no.”

You felt a blush crept onto your cheeks and you wondered if Jughead felt the same way about you as you felt about him.

You found your favorite and most fancy outfit in your closet, mentally preparing for the dance the next day.

Prior to the dance, you and Jughead agreed you’d met there; but as you looked around the gym, you didn’t see him.

You walked over to lean against the wall when you felt someone grab your hand.

You turned around and was met with Jughead’s green eyes.

“Hey,” you whispered, and you took in his attire

He was wearing a nice dress shirt, black jeans and shoes that, surprisingly, weren’t sneakers.

And his hat, of course

“You look great,” you said and he half-smiled.

“Have you looked at yourself?” he asked and your heart sank for a moment.

“If I look great, you look godly,” you smiled at him.

For most of the dance, you and Jughead just talked about everyone else.

He poked fun at the couples that were separated by teachers who didn’t want to watch them make out.

A somewhat slow song came on, and Jughead watched as you observed the couples that made their way to the dance floor.

He nervously got up, extending his hand to you. You smiled and took it, hoping this wouldn’t be the last time your held his hand.

You both made your way to the dance floor, swaying quietly to the music.

“Thank you,” you whispered, feeling tears swell in your eyes.

“For what?” He asked, his tone was concerned when he noticed your unfallen tears.

“For everything,” you said, “if it wasn’t for you, who knows where I’d be right now. Probably not here. Not with you.”

His heart broke a little at your words, even more when he saw your tears fall.

“You’re here right now, and you’re beautiful,” he whispered back, “your shape doesn’t matter. What’s inside, now that’s what matters. It’s what I fell in love with.”

You almost didn’t catch those last words, but when you did, you met his gaze.

He gave you a weak smile, “surprise.”

You smiled, “I fell in love with you too.”

He leaned his forehead against yours, “why? I don’t deserve you.”

“You’re perfect to me,” you murmured, and he smiled. It’s what he had said the day he found you crying in your bathroom.

Since the dance, you and Jughead became an official item.

Where one went, the other followed.

Nothing really changed otherwise, except now there was kissing. Lots of kisses.

Jughead isn’t one for PDA, but when it come down to it, if he wants to kiss you he will. If people are around and staring, so be it.

He wants to kiss you a lot!

He’d greet you with a “hello beautiful,” every morning at school so you started out the day happy.

If you were having one of your bad days, he’d never leave your side.

You often didn’t talk to anyone, including him, when you had your bad days.

Sometimes he’d buy you a flower, your favorite flower, and then you’d get mad at him for spending what little money he had, on you.

“Juggie, don’t buy me things! You-”

“Have enough money to get by. I always do.”

You’d accept the flower, and he’d sneak in a kiss.

You’d always text him good-night messages, knowing that he got lonely in the Drive-In.

Over the weekend, you’d sleep over there, watching old movies and cuddling with Jughead.

“I love you,” he’d whisper.

“I love you too, Juggie.”

You remained to be the others rock when it came to emotional issues.

You were quite literally, dating your best friend.

And you loved every minute of it, as does he.

[nolimitsongrace]

March 12: You’ve Got What It Takes

You’ve Got What It Takes!March 12, 2020

Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. — Matthew 5:15

Once while in Israel, I took a break from the speaking schedule at a conference we were conducting to enjoy a quick visit to a local archeologist’s office and take a look at ancient oil lamps he had collected throughout the years. I eagerly waited for him to pull those rare lamps out of a box so I could examine them, but I had no idea how many of them he had collected. There were scores of them — and he let me know that this was just the tip of the iceberg compared to the large collection he had put away in storage.

When he saw the surprised look on my face, he immediately began to explain how the soil of Israel is loaded with archeological relics, including ancient oil lamps. “There are so many of these in the ground that you can just about dig anywhere and find an oil lamp,” he said.

I asked, “After thousands of years have passed, I thought these would be pretty rare, so why are there still so many of them still being found?”

*[If you started reading this from your email, begin reading here.]

He answered, “These lamps were the only source of light in the ancient world. As you can see, these lamps aren’t very large. If a person really wanted to light his house or building, he had to use a lot of these lamps. That’s why there are still so many of them scattered in the dirt throughout the land of Israel.”

I reached out to take one of the lamps in my hand. The archeologist told me, “That’s a Herodian lamp that dates to the time of Jesus.” It was small, formed of clay, shaped to hold oil, and had a small opening at the end of the spout where a wick could be inserted into the base of the lamp to soak up oil. In ancient days when it was time to light the lamp, fire was put to the wick. As long as oil was supplied to the base of the lamp, it would keep burning and giving light.

Today that Herodian lamp sits on my desk in Moscow — and every time I stop to look at it, my mind goes to Jesus’ words in Matthew 5:15. He said, “Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.”

The word “candle” in this verse gives the impression of a wax candle like we use today, but during the days when Jesus walked the earth, there were no wax candles such as the ones we use. This word “candle” is an unfortunate translation of the Greek word luchnos, a word that refers to an oil lamp exactly like the ones I just described. A literal translation of this verse should read, “Neither do men light an oil lamp and put it under a bushel.…”

In this text, Jesus was exhorting the disciples — and us — to let our light shine before men so we can influence the world around us. He used the example of an oil lamp to make His point, so before we proceed any further, I believe we should delve deeper to see why Jesus used an oil lamp and why this imagery is such a perfect illustration of us!

Oil lamps were made of clay and were very fragile. In fact, they were so fragile that they could be broken by a mere squeeze of the hand holding them. Even in Jesus’ day, these oil lamps had to be handled carefully lest they break, the oil spill out, and the light be lost.

Now do you see why Jesus used oil lamps to depict you and me? Although our bodies are a miracle created by God, like the oil lamps in this illustration, we are made from the clay of the earth and we are very fragile. The real miracle is that God would choose to put His Spirit inside us. That is why the apostle Paul wrote about it with such wonder in Second Corinthians 4:7. In that verse, he said, “But we have this treasure in earthen vessels….”

The example Paul gave in this verse is not exactly the same as the oil lamps in Jesus’ illustration, but the point is precisely the same. In this verse, Paul used the Greek word ostrakinos when he referred to us as being “earthen vessels.” The word ostrakinos describes easily broken pottery made of inferior materials. Shoddy, deficient, substandard pottery is exactly the kind of “earthen vessels” Paul had in mind when he wrote Second Corinthians 4:7. He used the illustration of cheaply made pottery to epitomize us. That explains his amazement that God would place His Spirit in us! Think of what a miracle it is that God would place His Spirit inside you and me!

The lamps in Jesus’ illustration were fragile oil lamps, yet they contained oil that empowered the light. In the Old and New Testaments, oil is the symbol of the Holy Spirit. Just like the oil in the lamps to which Jesus referred, God has placed His Spirit in us. Although at times we feel fragile, as long as we yield to the Lord, He continually resupplies us with enough of the Holy Spirit’s oil to keep us burning through the night so we can give light to those who are in darkness around us. We have a continual supply of the oil and the fire of the Holy Spirit!

But in Matthew 5:15, Jesus told us, “Neither do men light a candle [i.e., an oil lamp], and put it under a bushel.…” What did He mean when He spoke about putting a lamp under a “bushel,” and what is a “bushel”?

The word “bushel” is the Greek word modios. It refers to a jar or container that was used to measure grain. To put a lamp under a jar or container where there is no oxygen would obviously put out the light. Do you see what a powerful statement Jesus was making? He was driving the point home that it makes no sense to light a lamp and then put it under a bushel where no one can see it. Why would anyone want to do that? Furthermore, putting a lamp under a bushel where there is no oxygen would be sure to smother the light.

By using this example, Jesus strongly admonished us to keep our gifts, talents, and influence out in the open where they can be seen, where they can grow, and where they can provide light to other people.

Why would God give you gifts to benefit others and then have you hide them where no one can see them or appreciate them? God never intended for you to conceal your gifts or to hide your influence. He wants your light to shine brightly!

Maybe you’ve seen yourself as being inferior, or maybe the devil has assaulted your self-image and tempted you to wrongly believe that you have nothing to offer. Perhaps you have felt that you fall short in comparison to others whose gifts and talents shine especially bright. But if you’ve kept your gifts and talents under wraps, you may be shocked to discover how gifted and talented you really are and how much potential influence is inside you just waiting to be tapped. You just have to give yourself the opportunity to shine!

It’s time for you to quit hiding in the shadows! God put His Spirit and supernatural abilities inside you — and that truth alone should bring you out into the open! His Spirit in you is a rich reservoir of oil that will burn long and burn brightly. You have what it takes to be a success!

But for you to be the phenomenal success and influence God knows that you can be, you have to be willing to quit putting yourself down. And then you have to choose to step out of the shadows! It’s time for you to come out from under that bushel where you’ve been hiding and let the Holy Spirit light your wick with a fire that will make you shine for Him! As long as you are willing to keep yielding to the Holy Spirit, He will keep filling and supplying you with enough oil to burn long and burn strong so you can be a source of light and illumination to many people all the days of your life on this earth.

What a waste of time it is for you to buy into the devil’s lies and badger yourself with thoughts that you have nothing to offer! God’s Spirit lives in you, and if you’ll dare to let Him do it, He will burn so brightly in your life that you will become an illuminating force to people all around you. But if you refuse to bring your gifts and talents out from under wraps, no one will ever know what God has put in you. And if you neglect those God-given endowments too long, eventually they will begin to diminish, just like a fire that eventually goes out for lack of oxygen.

So why don’t you make the decision today to get out of the box of insecurity and complacency that has contained you? Stop telling yourself you’re not as good or talented as others, and start using what God has given you for His glory! As you press into Him and put your wick down deep into the oil of the Holy Spirit, you’ll become so saturated with His presence that you’ll begin to burn brighter and brighter for Jesus. Just let your gifts flow, and become the influence He intended you to be! Believe me, friend, you’ve got everything it takes!

MY PRAYER FOR TODAY

Father, my heart is filled with gratitude today for Your Spirit inside me. What a miracle it is that You would place Your richest treasure in me! Today I want to surrender to You anew, and I ask You to refill me with a full supply of the Holy Spirit’s oil so I may burn long and bright in this life. You have called me, equipped me, and anointed me to do great things in this life. I know I have been guilty of putting my light under a bushel, but I’ll do it no more! I’m making the decision to step out of the shadows and allow God to release my gifts and talents when and how He desires. I choose to shine my light where it will be a benefit to someone else. Jesus, I thank You for helping me realize that it’s time for me to step up and step out so that I can be the godly influence You want me to be in someone else’s life.

I pray this in Jesus’ name!

MY CONFESSION FOR TODAY

I confess that I am stepping out of the shadows. I am releasing my gifts, and I am making the decision to let my light shine so I can be the blessing to others God intends me to be. I am finished badgering myself and putting myself down. I will no longer hide my light and life under a bushel. I am filled to the brim with the Holy Spirit’s oil. His fire is burning brightly in me, and very soon it will be evident for all to see!

I declare this by faith in Jesus’ name!

QUESTIONS FOR YOU TO CONSIDER

Can you truthfully say that you are using all the gifts and talents that God has given you, or have you been reluctant to step out in faith and let those gifts and talents work? What is stopping you from being all that God has planned for you to be?

Think just for a moment about your life, and assess the various ways you are using the gifts and talents God gave you. Where are you using them, how are you using them, and are you using them to your maximum potential? Have you ever considered how your life would change if you actually let God’s gifts fully operate in you?

Have you sought the Lord to discover where He might want to position you so your gifts can operate for His purposes? What is the lampstand where your gifts could be best utilized for His glory in this season of your life?

[iamjephthah]

Lesson 103: Spiritual Failure and Restoration (Luke 22:54-62)

FROM THE SERIES: LUKE PREVIOUS PAGE | NEXT PAGE Lesson 103: Spiritual Failure and Restoration (Luke 22:54-62) Related Media John Newton was a wild-living sailor and slave-trader who got saved and became a godly pastor and the author of many hymns, including the beloved, “Amazing Grace.” He said late in his life: “My memory is nearly gone, but I remember two things: that I am a great sinner, and that Christ is a great Savior.” Even if your past is not as wicked as John Newton’s, you should be growing in your awareness of those two great facts. The longer I am a Christian, the more acutely I am aware of the exceeding wickedness of my own heart. I can identify with the hymn writer, Robert Robinson, who wrote, “Prone to wander, Lord I feel it; prone to leave the God I love.” But, thank God, the more I see my own sinfulness, the more brightly God’s grace shines. As Robinson also wrote, “O to grace how great a debtor daily I’m constrained to be!” The story of Peter’s denials is recorded in Scripture to underscore these two great facts: the weakness and sinfulness of even the most prominent saints; and, the greatness and abundance of God’s love and grace toward those who fail. For those who are walking with the Lord, this story warns us to take heed lest we fall. For any who have fallen, the story holds out the hope of pardon through God’s abundant grace if you will turn back to Him. Even when we fail the Lord badly, if we will repent God will restore us and use us again in His service. 1. Sometimes we fail the Lord badly. Luke draws a stark contrast between Peter’s failure to confess Christ under pressure and Jesus’ faithful confession under pressure. Jesus confessed that He is the Messiah and Son of God before the powerful Jewish Sanhedrin, but Peter failed to confess Christ before a lowly servant girl. When you place Peter’s earlier confession, “You are the Christ of God” (9:20) next to “I do not know Him,” you wonder how the same words could have come out of the same mouth within the space of a few months. Some might question whether a true Christian could ever do what Peter did on this occasion. But we would be in error to say that Peter was not saved when he committed this terrible sin. He had recognized his own sinfulness in that first great catch of fish, when he fell at Jesus’ feet and implored, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!” (5:8). Later, when other disciples had turned away because of Jesus’ hard teaching, Jesus asked the twelve if they, too, would turn away. Peter proclaimed, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have words of eternal life. And we have believed and have come to know that You are the Holy One of God” (John 6:68, 69). Peter definitely knew Jesus as Savior and Lord. Becoming a Christian is a matter of repentance and faith (Acts 20:21), which are flip sides of the same coin. Repentance means turning to God from sin (1 Thes. 1:9). Faith is trusting what Christ has done to pay for our sins on the cross, rather than trusting our own efforts or good works to save us (Eph. 2:8-10). Just as we cannot turn north without turning our backs on the south, so we cannot turn to a holy God for salvation without turning our backs on any known sin in our lives. We cannot trust in Christ to save us without repudiating trust in our own efforts to save ourselves. But the repentance and faith which save us do not put us in a protective bubble so that we are free from all sin until we get to heaven. The Christian life begins with repentance and faith, but it also continues with repentance and faith on a daily basis whenever we sin or when God’s Word opens our eyes to sin that we previously were not aware of. If a person is not walking in repentance and faith, there is reason to doubt whether he truly knows Christ. Still, we need to ask, “How can a believer who enjoyed the privileges Peter enjoyed—who walked as closely with Jesus as Peter did, who saw the miracles Peter saw, who heard the teaching Peter heard, who professed his commitment as strongly as Peter did—how can a believer like that fall into such terrible sin?” The answer—please note—is, gradually, not suddenly. A. THE COURSE OF SPIRITUAL FAILURE: A SLOW LEAK, NOT A BLOWOUT. We all have had the shocking experience of seeing someone we looked up to spiritually fall into a great sin. At first glance, it looks like he was just cruising along at 75 miles per hour when, BAM! he had a blowout. We think, “Wow, that’s scary! I hope it never happens to me.” But the fact is, there is no such thing as a spiritual blowout; there are only slow leaks. When you examine any spiritual failure, you always discover that there has been a slow spiritual decline. It was probably in secret. He kept up the outer appearances. He continued to look the part of a godly man. But in his heart, he was not judging sin. He was not evaluating himself in light of Scripture. Slowly the air was leaking out of his spiritual tires, but we didn’t see it until they were flat. No man is walking closely with Jesus on Monday and on Tuesday gets seduced by a beautiful woman. Adultery (or any other sin) always starts in the mind (Mark 7:20-23). A man begins tolerating lustful thoughts. He secretly looks at pornography. He discretely checks out the sexy women he sees. On the surface, he may be a pastor or church leader. He may be preaching or teaching God’s Word every week. But his Bible study and prayer life are superficial. He isn’t judging his sin and walking in fellowship with Christ. He justifies it, thinking, “I’m just a normal guy. It’s not hurting anyone. Besides, I’d never be unfaithful to my wife.” But, he likes it when women flirt with him. He enjoys hugging them, as sisters in Christ, of course! Satan bides his time until the opportune moment. Then he drops the bait, the man falls, and everyone is shocked. The precise course of spiritual failure will vary from person to person and from incident to incident. But we may learn how to avoid the slow leaks in our own lives by tracing Peter’s decline. B. THE CAUSES OF SPIRITUAL FAILURE: There are more, but let’s look at six:  We refuse to submit to the hard teachings of Scripture. Just after Peter’s famous confession, Jesus began to teach the disciples that He must suffer many things, be rejected by the Jewish leaders, and be killed. But Peter couldn’t accept that. He actually took Jesus aside and began to rebuke Him. Jesus in turn rebuked Peter by saying, “Get behind Me, Satan; for you are not setting your mind on God’s interests, but man’s” (Mark 8:31-32). We have also seen that, just hours before, when Jesus predicted that Peter would be sifted by Satan, Peter protested that he would follow Jesus to prison and to death (Luke 22:33). He directly contradicted Jesus’ word because it was a hard thing to submit to. We’re all inclined to do exactly what Peter did. There are many difficult things in Scripture, things that run counter to our liking. If we’re not careful, we focus on the Scriptures we like and skip the ones we don’t care for. We like the idea that man is free to choose his own destiny, but we don’t care for a God who has mercy on some and who hardens others according to His will (Rom. 9:18). So we clip Romans 9 and many other Scriptures from our Bibles. We like a loving and tolerant God, but we don’t care for a holy God who lets us reap what we sow and who visits the iniquity of fathers on children to the third and fourth generation. We like a God who heals us and makes us happy, but we don’t like a God who refines us through trials and hardship. The first step to a spiritual fall is when you start picking and choosing the Scriptures that tell you about the kind of God you like and ignoring the Scriptures that tell you what God is really like. A woman in my church in California had earned her degree in counseling from a Christian university. She wrote a letter to our elders complaining about my preaching in which she said, “I’m tired of hearing all the time that I’m a sinner. I want more sermons that tell me that I am a person of worth, made in God’s image.” The elders said to me, “When the Bible says that we’re made in God’s image, you preach it. When it says that we’re sinners, you preach that. It just so happens that the Bible says that we’re sinners far more often than it says that we are made in God’s image!” I advise you to read all of God’s Word. Read it consecutively, not skipping the hard parts. And, submit yourself to the whole thing, not just to the parts you like.  We do not face up to our pride. Peter believed in his own commitment more than he believed the word of the Lord (22:31-33). The other gospels reveal that Peter also believed that he was more committed than the other disciples: “Even though all may fall away, yet I will not” (Mark 14:29). But Peter was blind to his own pride and self-confidence. Alexander Maclaren observes, “Over-reliance on self leads us to put ourselves in the way of temptations which it were wiser to avoid” (Expositions of Holy Scripture [Baker], Luke 13-24, p. 267). Pride is the most common and troublesome sin that we face. Satan fell when he boasted, “I will make myself like the Most High” (Isa. 14:14). He tempted Eve by appealing to her pride, telling her that she could be like God. Ever since, the human race has been plagued with the sin of thinking too highly of ourselves. This is being fed in our day with the false teaching that we need to build our self-esteem. Scripture no where teaches such a thing. In many places it tells us to clothe ourselves with humility and to regard others as more important than ourselves (1 Pet. 5:5; Phil. 2:3). One clue that we are blind to our pride is when we hear of someone who has sinned and we think, “I could never do such a thing!” “Even though others fall away, I will not!” “Let him who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall” (1 Cor. 10:12)! “Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before stumbling” (Prov. 16:18).  We come under satanic attack. Satan had demanded permission to sift Peter like wheat, but Peter was oblivious to the danger, even though Jesus warned him (22:31-33). Later Peter wrote, “Be of sober spirit, be on the alert. Your adversary, the devil, prowls about like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour” (1 Pet. 5:8). If a real lion were loose on the streets of Flagstaff, we would walk much more carefully than normal! We would be always on the lookout, and probably be armed with a weapon to defend ourselves. And yet we often ignore the adversary of our souls, living as if he did not exist.  We grow spiritually dull and distant. Peter was not only dull with regard to the enemy without, he was dull with regard to the enemy within. Jesus had warned the disciples, “Keep watching and praying, that you may not come into temptation; the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak” (Mark 14:38). But not sensing their spiritual danger, they fell asleep when they should have been praying. As a result, when Jesus was arrested, Peter reacted in the flesh, whacking off the servant’s ear, then fled in fear. Now, he came back, following at a distance, and sat down among Christ’s enemies to warm himself by the fire. Whenever I deal with someone who is having serious problems, I ask about his devotional life. Invariably, it has either turned into an occasional routine, or it has ceased altogether. The person has allowed his first love for Jesus to cool. Your private devotional times with the Lord are the roots that sustain the tree. If a tree lacks deep roots, it may look pretty for a while, but invariably, a storm will hit that topples the tree. If you lack deep roots with the Lord, frequent times where you meet alone with Him to read and meditate on His Word and to commune with Him in prayer, you will fall when the storms of temptation hit.  We respond to crises in the flesh, not in the Spirit. When the mob came to arrest Jesus, Peter started swinging his sword, but his response was not what the Lord wanted. I suppose that Peter meant well, but his zeal did more damage than good. He was fighting when he should have been submitting. Then, sitting by the fire, he was submitting to group pressure when he should have fought in the Spirit. Even so, when we have been dodging the hard truths of Scripture, we have not judged our pride, we’re under satanic attack, and we’re spiritually dull and distant, we will respond to crises in the flesh, not in God’s Spirit. Something will happen that demands a godly, spiritual response, but we start swinging the sword or we say and do things to deny our faith in Christ. That’s the last bit of air leaking out of our spiritual tires:  We compromise our witness by our words and behavior. You wouldn’t think that the bold, brash Peter would be toppled by a servant girl, but he was! He was like a mighty tree that has been eaten inside by bugs. Outwardly, it looks tall and strong. Inwardly, it is rotten and weak. One day a small breeze blows on it and it comes crashing down. Although Luke is kind to Peter, the other gospels hint that his three denials began small and grew to horrible proportions. He first said to the girl, “I don’t know what you are talking about” (see Mark 14:68). Perhaps as she kept insisting that he had been with Jesus, he gave the response Luke records, “Woman, I do not know Him.” He changed locations, hoping to avoid any other confrontations. But the girl came again and repeated her charge, and was joined by some of the men. Now Peter had to stick with his story, so again he denied that he was one of the disciples: “Man, I am not!” (Luke 22:58). For about an hour he tried to block out his failure by making small talk around the fire. Then the bystanders began to accuse him of being a disciple because of his Galilean accent. At this point, Peter began to curse and swear, insisting that he did not know “this man” (he wouldn’t even utter Jesus’ name; Mark 14:71). At this point, we can’t believe what we see: Peter, the bold apostle, openly denying that he knew his Savior and Lord! That’s the awful process, how the air leaks out of our tires until we are running on the rims. We would have thought it inconceivable at first, but that’s where we end up when we don’t fix the leaks. Thankfully, the story doesn’t end there. In Peter’s restoration, we see God’s abundant grace: 2. If we will repent of our spiritual failures, God will restore us and use us again in His service. The turning point for Peter involved two things: the crowing of the rooster, which reminded him of Jesus’ prediction; and, the Lord’s turning and looking directly at Peter (which only Luke records). What a look that must have been! I don’t know whether they were moving Jesus from one place to another, and He caught Peter’s eye as He was being pushed along; or, whether He was inside, but within visual range. Normally a guilty person won’t look you in the eye. But the Lord turned, which probably caught Peter’s attention. Then He looked at Peter and Peter looked at the Lord (Luke twice refers to Jesus as “the Lord” to emphasize His deity, v. 61). Peter instantly fell apart in repentance and godly sorrow over what he had done. He went out and wept bitterly. A. THE PATH OF RESTORATION REQUIRES REPENTANCE. I can only briefly comment on several aspects of repentance:  Remembrance of God’s Word. “Peter remembered the word of the Lord” (22:61). All repentance begins when we remember the word of the Lord. What does the Lord say about what I have done? That is the issue. Men may minimize my sin: “Don’t worry about it! Everyone slips up occasionally. Don’t be too hard on yourself.” But God’s Word is the final authority. It tells me that I have sinned.  Conviction of our sin. The Lord’s look penetrated down to Peter’s conscience. Jesus didn’t have to say anything. Peter was deeply convicted in his heart. He didn’t try to paper over it or make excuses or rationalize it away. Conviction acknowledges that God is right and I’m wrong.  Godly sorrow over sin. This will vary with the seriousness of the sin and the personality of the sinner, but when our consciences realize that we have sinned against a Savior who loved us enough to die for us, we will mourn over our sin. We won’t be flippant or shrug it off.  Appropriation of Christ’s sacrifice for our sin. Jesus had already begun to suffer for Peter’s sins as He endured abuse at the hands of sinners. That sacrifice would be completed on the cross, where Jesus cried out, “It is finished” (John 19:30). We cannot atone for our sins by our sorrow or penance. Christ fully paid the penalty that we owe. We can only appropriate Christ’s sacrifice to cover our sins.  Appreciation of God’s abundant grace. Christ’s look not only conveyed the pain He felt at Peter’s failure. It also communicated His great love and grace. Peter remembered the word of the Lord, which included the fact that he would be restored because of Jesus’ prayers for him (22:32). What amazing grace, that Christ chose Peter and us, knowing full well how we would fail Him! His grace saved us and it keeps us unto the day when we shall be with Him forever. If you say, “I’ve sinned too badly; I just can’t accept God’s forgiveness and grace,” you’re not trusting in Him alone. You’re proudly trusting in your own method of atonement. Christians believe in and thank God for His grace as the only basis for forgiveness. If you need to be restored, you must repent of your sin and trust again in God’s grace and mercy. B. THE PATH OF RESTORATION RESULTS IN RENEWED SERVICE. As you know, the Lord personally restored Peter and did not kick him off the apostolic team. When the Day of Pentecost came, it was Peter who stood in Jerusalem, before some of the same people who had heard him deny Christ, and boldly proclaimed Him as Savior and Lord, risen from the dead. If Peter had clung to his pride, he would have said, “I’m never going to show my face in Jerusalem again. Someone else can preach, but I’m going back to fishing.” But thankfully, Peter recovered from the fear of what people thought and was restored to care about what pleases Christ. So he preached and God was pleased to save 3,000 souls. Conclusion The hymn writer I mentioned earlier, Robert Robinson, was a wild young man who lived a debauched life as a teenager. At age 17, he went with some friends to scoff at the famous evangelist, George Whitefield. But Robinson was so impressed by Whitefield’s preaching that he got saved. At 23 he wrote the hymn, “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” For many years he served as a Baptist pastor, but later in life he got involved with the doctrines of Unitarianism and strayed from the Lord. One day he was riding in a stagecoach when he struck up a conversation with a woman. When she realized that he was well informed on spiritual matters, she asked him what he thought of a hymn she had just been reading. To his astonishment, he found that it was the hymn, “Come Thou Fount,” which he had written as a young man. He burst into tears and told her, “I’m the poor, unhappy man who wrote that hymn many years ago. I would give anything to have back the joy I knew then.” The woman assured him that the “streams of mercy” referred to in the song still flowed. Robinson was deeply touched, turned his wandering heart again to the Lord, and experienced His grace and forgiveness. That same grace is available to all who have failed the Lord. If you will turn back to Him, He will abundantly pardon and restore you to fellowship with Him and to service in His cause. You may be a great sinner, but Jesus is a greater Savior! Discussion Questions Is all spiritual failure a slow leak, or are there occasional blowouts? Does the fact that believers can sin badly run counter to so-called “lordship salvation”? Why/why not? Why is it dangerous to camp on favorite passages of Scripture, rather than to read it all? What are some difficult biblical truths which American Christians are ignoring or denying? Have we truly repented if we don’t feel sorry about our sins? Can this turn into an unbiblical system of penance? Is it right to restore to pastoral ministry a man who has fallen into sexual sin? Support your answer from Scripture. Copyright, Steven J. Cole, 2000, All Rights Reserved. Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture Quotations are from the New American Standard Bible, Updated Edition © The Lockman Foundation