#despite looking correct in the preview!!! right in front of my eyes!!!!

[wrestlezon]

i learned a lot about subtitles today. mainly that i dont understand the standards or guidelines and that i did them in the worst way possible if i wanted to attach them separately to a twitter video. what a nightmare. not enough documentation. listen, dont be cute and overlap subtitle timings. spare yourself.

if you find yourself in a funny situation with exporting subtitle regions from davinci resolve and need to end up with an srt with no overlapping timecodes, download ttconv. my final message (passes away)

[butmakeitgayblog]

Teach Me

Ch. 7

Test days

///////////////

God, she hated test days.

The mind-numbing minutiae of it.

The waste of time that could be better spent actually learning. 

The way she had to show up to do… absolutely nothing. 

Pacing an ambling line from one end of the lecture platform to the other, her eyes swept the darkened room before checking her watch again.

“You have thirty seconds left to finish your thoughts for this piece, and then we're moving on to the final slide,” Lexa called out, remembering to soften her tone so as to not make the more consumed writers of the class jump nearly a foot out of their desks.

Again.

The screen overhead flipped from ‘ The Column of Trajan’ to ‘ The Arch of Constantine’, and the clock on the wall ticked on.

A few more minutes passed in relatively dull silence as Lexa mentally flowed through the lesson plans she had presented thus far, combing the downturned sea of faces and mentally shouting what she hoped the students had taken from them. 

Because she wanted them to do well.

Because she measured her own success as an educator by her student's every success.

Because if she had to read one more essay this semester that contained the words “lit” or “potato quality” in reference to ancient carvings, she just might tear her own hair out.

She really hated test days. 

Mind buzzing with thoughts of stylistic contrasts between High Empire versus Late, and wondering who among her pupils would draw the correct conclusions for why each piece represented on the test was chosen, Lexa felt her pocket vibrate as she settled down on the edge of the table at the head of the room.

Fishing her phone out, she glanced down and froze at the preview that flashed bright across the screen.

“That is a very tight vest you have on Professor”

Schooling her face despite the heat that bloomed bright hot in her cheeks, Lexa checked the timer she had set and barely hesitated before opening the message.

“Shouldn't you be focusing on your test?”

“Just finished a minute ago. Now I'm wasting time until class is over.”

“Shouldn't you want to leave then?” she thumbed out. As if on cue, she pressed her phone to her chest and nodded as a student traipsed up to the front and deposited their test booklet on the table before slipping out of the lecture hall without a sound. “It's a beautiful day. Go enjoy it instead of pretending to look busy.”

“But the view's so good right here…”

Straightening up from her slouched position, it felt like a herculean task to keep her eyes from beelining to the front row and exactly two seats to the left. 

Instead she made another lazy loop around the dais, scanning the crowd for moving pencils (and any obvious signs of someone having fallen asleep.) 

The dull squeak of graphite on paper had her winding back around to stand behind the safety of her podium.

“That's highly inappropriate. Remind me why I let you sit in the front row?” she typed back the second her hands were out of sight. 

She snuck another glance out into the dimmed lecture hall and waited.

“Because I'm your very favoritest student Professor Woods,” she read when another message popped up right below it. “And because when I wear this outfit you can almost see up my dress.”

/////////////

Read on AO3

[steddiebang]

When it feels like heaven, I wanna bare my teeth

Author: @Vicecaptain5 l Artist: @artofstace Posting on Tuesday, October 31

Legend has it that in the depths of Shades State Park once dwelled a bat-like being said to steal people away. Now a mysterious stone effigy lies dormant in the forest, believed to be the creature trapped in slumber. If you perform the proper ritual you will see one wish come true, however were you to fail or disrespect the entity, a curse will befall you and you will be snatched in the night. That’s the myth of the Shades Snatcher. Dustin Henderson believes the legend. And has a wish. In hopes to save Hawkins orphanage, his home, he reaches out to the Snatcher, unaware there’s more to the tale than an urban legend. Like a cryptid that can take human form who they decide to keep and name Eddie. Despite their caretaker Steve’s reservations, he too grows fond of the creature. A story about found family, love, the meaning of being human and the one rule to the universe: what you give comes back to you.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Sure enough, it takes them about ten minutes to finally reach a narrow path diverging from the main one, guiding to a small clearing. There’s nothing particularly impressive in it, aside from the dark statue sitting at the foot of a centuries-old willow tree. The stone is almost black, carved in the shape of a humanoid creature. Big bat-like wings are folded behind it, a long tail curled around its paw-like legs. The face is framed by a curly mane, and something like horns or big animal ears poke from the top of its head. The carefully carved face looks young, and with its eyes closed it almost seems to be asleep. 

The statue is covered in vines. The style is hard to place and the brochure says no one really knows where it comes from. It’s the only statue in the whole park, and in general, no one has ever seen anything similar in the area.

It’s a mystery and one they can’t even place in a particular historical period. 

Dustin runs ahead as soon as he sees the statue and he has to admit, he expected it to be taller in person, but that’s beside the point. 

“Is that it?” asks Max, carefully.

“What was it called again?” adds Lucas.

The small group sits close to the landmark, eyes fixed on the stone figure no one has an explanation for, despite their best efforts. The whining and complaining has died out, and even if they all liked to play the part of the unimpressed little big men, the whole group couldn’t hide their fascination. There’s something inherently enthralling to a statue of a mysterious creature no one knows anything about, lying abandoned in the forest and looking like it could open its eyes and break free from the stone at any moment. 

“We trusted you to come here for the monthly trip. Is this the reason?” wonders Erica.

Dustin waits for his friends to make themselves as comfortable as they can as he stands next to the statue. He owes them an explanation. They all agreed to come to this park. He barely said anything about the urban legend. They gave up their votes for the monthly trip, as they are gladly reminding him since they arrived. The least he can do is expose all his reasons.

“Guys, first of all, thank you for going along with this,” he admits wholeheartedly, “What do you know of Shades State Park?”

“There is a fuckton of trees?” jokes Lucas.

“Correct,” offers Dustin, “Still, it’s not what caught my attention. What do you know of the Shades Snatcher?”

“That you just made it up,” Erica is quick to reply.

The other huffs and sits on the flat stone, right in front of the statue. It almost looks like it was made on purpose if only that rock wasn’t a natural formation. “According to lore, if you come here and sacrifice a black rooster in front of the Snatcher’s statue at night, you can ask for anything you want and the Snatcher will grant your wish. But if you get it wrong or mess it up or disrespect it in any way, the Snatcher will curse you, then find you and then kill you.”

There’s a moment of silence. A very long one, into which they all exchange looks amongst themselves.

“Ooooh,” says Max after a while in mock wonder, “That’s so dumb.”

“You’re clearly disrespecting now,” punctuates Dustin.

“Guess I’ll be snatched tonight, then.”

Dustin sighs and ignores her. He starts rummaging through his backpack so that he doesn’t have to look them all in the eyes, since it’s obvious he’s the only one that believes in the tale, “You will be cursed first. Do keep up.”

El exchanges a look with everyone else before wondering, “You have something you want to ask it?”

The other stops his searching and sighs before finally looking the group in the eyes, “I overheard Steve and Wayne the other day. They said the orphanage will be shut down soon if they don’t find a way to at least pay the overdue taxes, and that the funds have all been cut, because the city council is trying to buy the lot. Then they said lots of stuff in legalese but basically, the orphanage is about to be closed.”

Read more on October 31!

[lurkingteapot]

Step by Step ค่อย ๆ รัก Ep 6

Live blog under the cut as usual

- I really, really love Chot and Pat’s friendship.

- oh no, he got all excited and even did his hair for him and got stood up! Jeng to the rescue?

- Jeng to the rescue.

- oh dang that looks good, DANG

- the Put situation is ??? and I am very curious to see how this develops

- did I mention how grateful I am to have Bruce play Chot? They better keep this character this way, I LOVE Chot, ok.

- oh, so … not a date? I thought this was going to be a date, so did Pat (I think)

- so it’s an attempt to buy Pat out, innnchresting

- this is SO DOMESTIC oh my god their mutual crushes

- Jaab going to his mum for relationship advice is a lot more wholesome than I expected. I also have zero sense of how old Jaab is supposed to be -- he’s so babygirl, but I assume based on the way Pat addresses him he’s older than Pat despite not acting the part …? we’ll see we’ll see

- random sign saying “Küche” (German for kitchen) in the kitchenware section of the store, amazing

- okay but please don’t buy cutlery that’s going to have to withstand restaurant use at a regular shop, that’s just asking to replace them in like … three months, maybe a year at most.

- They’re playing, I love it, god, I’m so soft for grown adults being playful like that.

- Pat using คน /kʰon/ the classifier/measure word for people for the stuffed toys!!! (The correct one, as Jeng notes, is ตัว /tuːa/) One of my tutors mentioned that her 3yo did that exact thing; everything living was counted that way for them. I choose to see this as Pat sounding extra cute here.

- the incredibly unnecessary amounts of eye contact here are giving me second hand heebie jeebies even though I KNOW they’re both into it

- these two are so stinkin cute. I don’t go for office romance, much less for boss/subordinate romance. I’m rooting for these two like whoa.

- Pat, the point of a chef’s hat is to prevent hair and sweat from getting in the food. putting it on him like that is not doing anythign on that front. I get that you’re distracted (valid!), but. please.

- FOOD TALK this show is truly coming for my weak spots, huh. Food talk, and they’re FRANK about it! also Pat you are SO valid, I also think that dark meat >>>> breast meat.

- what the fuck, Kong, this is verging on stalking. will you please STOP.

- THAT’S RIGHT, TELL HIM, PAT

- oh NO, Put using the plushie to do the hard talking bits until he feels confident enough. ENDEARING. why are all of them endearing themselves to me this ep.

- okay I’d say this looks like Pat’s gonna let the shark down gently. What a place for a cliffhanger, though!

- … preview says not letting down? and a hell of a lot of misunderstandings next episode. one week! aaah?

[writingsfromthegrave]

Josiah Nguyen x GN! Reader

you aren't quite sure how his little video game works . . .

" josiah ? " you peer over your co-worker's shoulder, highly interested in what his computer screen was displaying. you weren't all that much of a rule breaker and stuck to your usual work 'program', that being an office organizational website thing. and so watching josiah fool around was a little odd to you

he gave you a hum in response, turning toward you with a blank expression on his face. he held another gaming device in his hands, more focused on that rather than the game on his pc.

you motion your head toward his screen, a questioning look on your face. it wasn't that you were angry he was slacking off, no, you were just too curious to not say a word. it seemed like a very violent game, nothing that really suited your taste

"oh. this." josiah lazily turned his swivel chair toward the desk, setting the handheld device in his lap safely. in just a few clicks, josiah found himself in the main menu, displaying the title full view for you. "you wanna play?" a small smile formed in one corner of his lips, being more of a grin.

you quickly nod your head no, not enjoying the previews you've seen so far. there was a whole lotta blood and shooting, not your thing. "you sure?" you noted his voice was really soft. just a little observation, nothing meaningful.

his calm demeanor made you feel more comfortable, but you knew that regardless you'd probably mess up his rank or something; you weren't too good at FPS games. that being said, you hesitantly declined his offer

josiah shrugged, lifting up the smaller portable device, showing you the screen. it was a puzzle-like game, and while still not your favorite, it was way more playable for you. "it's called undertale." you walk closer to his desk, pulling up an extra swivel chair in front of him.

he gently hands you the device, guiding you on how to play the game properly. it was black and white with a little skeleton dead center of the screen. looking below the skeleton, you pick the least violent option, being MERCY.

josiah praised you for picking the correct option, instructing you when you needed it. his deep voice made you feel a little something, but that wasn't your current focus

"that was fun, but my break just ended five minutes ago." you let out a little chuckle, handing josiah his property back. as you exchanged the device, your fingers brushed against his for a second

and god his hands were... a bit soft. unexpectedly.

you blush at the sudden contact, not daring to look at your colleage. but, if you had to guess, he was a little smug with your obvious flushed reaction

it was very hard to hide...

"enjoy your work." josiah said sarcastically as you quickly scooted away back to your desk in the corner, facing forward to his cubicle.

slight curiousity struck you and you decided to peer over the top of your booth

your eyes met his own, catching him staring right up at you.

it was humiliating, to say the least. you quickly sat back down despite the loud noise your chair made and aggressively put your head in your hands, sighing out of frustration

you fall in love way too easily for your own good.

[joonie-beanie]

Stress Relief

Pairing: Barbatos x Reader x Diavolo

Word Count: 10,061

Preview: The Royals have been bogged down with a busy workload, so you decided to help relieve some of their stress in whatever way you can.

Read as: Barbatos has a thing for rope bondage, and Diavolo is just happy to be involved.

This chapter is also being posted as a part of my “Devil Doms” series on AO3.

Also! This is a follow-up to Bath Time, and Helping Hands, so if you haven’t read those, I would recommend doing that first!

For as long as you’ve known Barbatos, you’ve assumed that the butler is perfect in every sense of the word. He’s skilled, and handles his tasks without complaint, and in a timely manner. He addresses his duties with a kind smile—never wavering.

Despite his busy schedule, he never shows signs of cracking.

…until today.

You walk into RAD that fateful Friday morning, and discover Barbatos in the student council room—frowning. Now, seeing Barbatos frown is not entirely out of character. You’ve seen him frown in worry, and in concentration. He does have emotions, after all, but…today he just looks stressed.

There are dark circles under his eyes. The way he’s hurriedly searching through papers—a few slipping off the table and onto the floor—is a sign of his current out-of-character state.

Without second thought, you stride into the room and begin picking up the papers on the floor. Barbatos startles ever so slightly when he notices you at his feet—too absorbed in his current task to have heard you approach.

He sighs.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Are you okay?” you respond to his quiet, tired words. There’s genuine concern in your eyes as you press to your full height, and hand the small stack of papers back to him. “I’ve never seen you like this before…”

“It’s been quite a hectic week…or two,” he admits, exhaling in relief as he finally uncovers the report he’d been looking for. “Typically, like students, Lord Diavolo and I are able to rest on the weekends—only dealing with a few, small meetings here or there. But the last two weeks, every day is busy from dawn to dusk.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you say sincerely. You reach out and give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. Barbatos smiles at the gesture. Then, in an uncharacteristic turn of events, he sets the paper in his hand back on the desk, and turns to fully face you. He envelops you in a tender hug—one of his hands wrapping around your waist while the other moves to cradle against the back of your head.

“You’ll have to forgive me for this sudden display of affection,” he mumbles, his breath tickling your ear as his cheek nuzzles against your hair. “I didn’t realize how much being unable to see you on Sunday would affect me during the week.”

His admission has your cheeks heating up ever so slightly, and you lift your arms—wrapping them tightly around his middle.

Due to Barbatos and Diavolo’s lack of free time, the two had been forced to cancel their tea time with you the previous weekend. You’d been disappointed, considering you’d gotten so used to ending your week in the company of the two, but there was nothing you could do about it. If they were busy, you’d have to suck it up.

“Will you be free this weekend?” you ask him, pulling back to look into his green eyes. He can see the concern, and longing in your gaze. Apparently, you’ve missed him and his Lord as well.

“I can work around your schedule, since I don’t have much to do. Of course, if you’re both too busy, I’ll understand, but—”

He cuts you off with a kiss to your forehead.

“I will double check the schedule and contact you later.” He reaches over and grabs the stack of papers—topped with the report he’d been looking for. As he takes the neat stack into his arms, he turns and flashes you one last smile.

“Thank you for the brief moment of peace. It is greatly appreciated.”

With that, he makes his way out of the student council room with the normal poise and grace he always exhibits. Once alone, you take a deep breath, and hold a hand to your cheek. It’s warm—painted with a light blush.

Really, it’s rare that Barbatos is the one to initiate a show of affection with you. Typically, you’re the one hugging him (although he always reciprocates).

The last time he had initiated skinship was weeks ago, after he’d paid you a visit at the House of Lamentation due to your ailing back.

Memories of that night attempt to push to the forefront of your mind, and you desperately try to shove them away. It’s the middle of the day—you don’t need to be thinking about Barbatos’ hands on your skin, or the way his fingers had felt inside of you…the way he’d looked while his dick was in your mouth…his cute post-orgasm face…

Shaking your head, you smack your red cheeks. You don’t need to be thinking about those types of things during school hours.

Yes, it’s been a few weeks since that fateful day with the royal butler, and you’d be lying if you said he hadn’t crossed your mind sexually every so often since then. However, you’d gotten bogged down with school work—any of your scarce free time going to the brothers—so despite your longing, and Barbatos’ offer of another massage if you wished, you hadn’t gotten a chance to ask.

Then, of course, once your schedule had opened up, Barbatos’ had narrowed. His duties piled up—filling his days with work—and you’d have felt far too guilty asking him for anything on top of his already busy schedule.

Aside from last Sunday, you’d still managed to maintain your weekly appointment of Sunday evening tea with the butler and Demon Prince, but bringing up sexual favors while sipping on Earl Grey and eating tiny sandwiches hardly seemed appropriate.

So, you’ve accepted that maybe it will be a while until you’re able to inquire about Barbatos’ services again. And while it’s a little disappointing, you don’t intend to push the matter. Barbatos already works so hard, and you don’t want to burden him with your sexual need.

Taking a deep breath, you grab the straps of your backpack, and nod to yourself. While you long for another massage experience from the royal butler, you can live without one. Right now, you just want his schedule to clear up, so you can resume your regular Sunday tea with him and Diavolo. And if that’s all you’re able to receive, at the moment, then you’ll still be satisfied.

Smiling, you finally step out of the student council room and make your way to your next class.

Hours later—as you’re heading back to your room following dinner with the brothers—you feel your DDD vibrate. Curious, you pull out the device and look at the notification lingering on the screen.

[New Text from Barbatos]

Your heart skips a beat—nervous to see the contents. There’s a big possibility that the royals are still busy this weekend, and that they won’t be able to squeeze you in anywhere.

You take a moment to calm yourself before clicking into the message.

Barbatos: I apologize for my late follow-up. It seems that Lord Diavolo and I will not be available for our normal Sunday Tea time again.

Barbatos: However, I am free starting at 7pm on Saturday evening, if you would like to come over. Lord Diavolo will be tied up with a meeting until a bit later, but he expressed interest in joining should the meeting adjourn at an acceptable hour.

Barbatos: I understand if you already have plans, but please let me know if I should expect you.

You’d already promised to have a self-care night with Asmo on Saturday, but honestly—you’re sure that he’ll understand.

You: That works just fine for me! I will be over at 7 tomorrow.

Barbatos responds with a happy sticker, and you find yourself smiling. You can’t wait to see them.

The hours tick by slower than you think possible the following day as you wait for evening to come. 

Due to the addition into your schedule, you and Asmo change your self-care night to a self-care afternoon. Thankfully, Gossiping with the Avatar of Lust--while doing face masks, and sipping on mimosas--definitely helps to pass the time quicker.

The two of you finish up just before dinner, and head down to the dining hall together. You eat merrily with the 7 brothers—making conversation, and listening to their banter. By the time the table is cleared, and everyone’s bellies are full of food, it’s already nearing 6:30.

Hurrying back to your room, you make sure you look presentable. You mess with your hair—trading your shorts and tank top for a knee-length sundress. Not only has the Devildom been heating up lately, but you always try to dress a bit nicer in front of the royals. So, a sundress should be perfect for the occasion.

Throwing your DDD into a small purse Satan had gifted you some time ago, you sling the bag over your shoulder and make your way from your room. You run into Lucifer by the front door, and he surveys you with a knowing look.

“You’re headed to the Demon Lord’s Castle, correct? I’ll walk you part way. I’m leaving to meet someone in town.”

“Thanks,” you smile, stepping through the front door when he holds it open for you. The two of you then start away from the House of Lamentation, comfortably at each other’s sides.

“How did you know that I’m heading to the Castle?” you ask him as you walk. You don’t recall sharing your plans for the night with any of the brothers. Even when you’d changed the time of your plans with Asmo, and he had inquired, you’d just said that something had come up. (He had begrudgingly accepted that response—too curious for his own good).

“I had a meeting with Barbatos and Diavolo this morning,” he tells you, eyes ahead as he guides you through the crowded streets. “Diavolo was whining about how he hopes his meeting with the planning committee tonight won’t drag on too long, so he can join you and Barbatos before it’s time for you to leave.”

“I mean…how late can the meeting possibly drag?” you question, blinking innocently. There’s no way a meeting will last beyond…10…11pm, right?

“Depending on the matters that need to be discussed, I’ve witnessed the meeting last until 2 in the morning,” he informs you with a shake of his head. “Diavolo hates speaking with the committee more than anything, so I hope he’ll be able to wrap things up in a timely manner.”

“That would be nice,” you say honestly. “It seems like they’ve both been running rampant... Speaking of, how is your workload?”

You grin up at him, a knowing look in your eyes. Lucifer sighs, smoothing a hand through his dark hair.

“My time to sleep is limited, but for once, it seems that I’m not fairing the worst among the three of us. I hope your visit with Barbatos and Diavolo will help them relax a little.”

“I don’t know if I have that type of power, but I hope so too,” you laugh, pausing when Lucifer places his hand atop your hair. He regards you fondly—the two of you standing in the middle of the city street.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he says, and then steps away. “This is where I leave you. I believe you know the rest of the way, yes?”

You nod, and he raises a hand—bidding you farewell.

“Don’t stay too late. If you need an escort home, text the group chat and one of us will come get you.”

“Will do, Lucifer~,” you drawl, tempted to roll your eyes. They’re always so overprotective of you—it’s not like you always need an escort.

Lucifer flashes you the slightest of glares—lips tugging into a smirk—before he turns and disappears up a side street. Now on your own, you continue up the wide road—taking the familiar path to the castle. You arrive a few minutes later, and when you knock on the grand front door, it only takes a few seconds for Barbatos to pull it open.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he says, eyes creasing pleasantly as he smiles. You can see the exhaustion beginning to settle into the small lines of his face.

“Of course. I was looking forward to seeing you,” you respond honestly. As he guides you into the castle, you can hear the chatter of distant voices, and assume that Diavolo’s meeting with the committee must have already started.

“Would you mind accompanying me to the kitchen? I’m afraid I haven’t had the chance to prepare the tea yet.”

“No worries!” you say immediately, flashing him a reassuring smile. “I’ll help out if I can, too!”

Barbatos chuckles. “I’d appreciate that.”

Engulfed in a comfortable silence, the two of you make your way to the kitchen. Once there, Barbatos pulls out a kettle, and then moves to fetch the tea. However, when he pulls open the wooden cupboard, he pauses.

Curious, you step up behind him, peeking over his shoulder.

The cupboard is entirely empty.

Barbatos places his gloved palms on the counter, his head hanging in defeat, and an annoyed sigh leaving his lips. You stare at him, shocked to see the crack in his professional demeanor.

“The other servants must have grabbed the last of it to serve the guests at the meeting…”

“It’s okay, Barb!!” You say immediately, jumping back and throwing your arms into the air. “We don’t need tea!! It’s not Sunday anyway!”

The butler turns to look at you, and can’t help but laugh at your dorky position.

“I suppose you’re right,” he admits, raising a hand to cover his face as he releases a few more chuckles. Your cheeks heat up a little, realizing you must look silly, and you drop your arms.

“Besides, I don’t want you to feel obligated to serve me while I’m here! This is supposed to be a break for you, since you’ve been so busy!”

“But if we’re not having tea, then what shall we do?” he questions, tilting his head to the side innocently. You blink, lifting a hand to your chin as you ponder the thought.

“Well…is there anything I can do to help you relax?” you smile at him kindly as you speak. “You’ve been working hard, so if there’s anything I can do to ease some of the stress off your shoulders, I’d love to help.”

Barbatos regards you curiously at the offer—like there’s an idea that immediately comes to mind, but he’s not sure if he wants to say it. You assume that perhaps he’ll ask you to help with a chore, or will ask for something like a foot rub. Oh! Or maybe to play a board game.

Instead, he ends up flashing you a small smile. He extends his hand, holding it out to you, and you take it without a second thought. Fingers slotting through your own, he then tugs you from the kitchen and back into the hall—leading you somewhere else.

“There is a hobby I have that helps me to relieve stress. It’s a bit…unorthodox, so if you’re not comfortable with it, then—”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Barb!” you interrupt him, a pout on your lips. “I want to help you unwind, so whatever it is, I’m sure I can handle it.”

He gives your hand a squeeze, an amused look in his eyes. He doesn’t bother with a rebuttal—simply letting you think what you wish.

Silently, he guides you through the long halls. At some point, you pass the entrance to the magnificent bathroom you’d once discovered Diavolo bathing in. Your experience with the aphrodisiac, and Diavolo helping you out on that night feels like a fever dream. The thought of his stupidly large cock, and his hands on your body has you getting warm all over, and you shake your head to try and rid yourself of the sinful imagery.

The event had happened months ago, at this point. Since then, you and Diavolo have never spoken on it, and you wonder if he regrets his actions—feeling like perhaps he had overstepped his boundaries with a guest in the heat of the moment.

However, considering he acts friendly and kind to you as always—still offering hugs, and other simple shows of affections—you haven’t bothered confronting him about it. As long as the two of you are on good terms, that’s what matters to you. (Even if you have occasionally fantasized about fitting his cock inside you since then).

“Are you thinking of Lord Diavolo?” Barbatos’ voice drags you out of your thoughts, a knowing look in his eyes as he regards you. You blush, embarrassed at having been read so easily.

“I…I just…I wonder, sometimes, if he solely helped me out of a sense of obligation, or if he enjoyed it as much as I did,” you admit quietly. Barbatos gives your hand a comforting squeeze. “We’ve never talked about what happened, so…Agh, I’m sorry—is it weird that I’m talking about this with you? I don’t—”

“It’s not strange, Y/N,” he interrupts you with a shake of his head. “Lord Diavolo and I are quite close. Not to mention, I was there the night you were affected by the bath, remember?”

In that moment, you suddenly recall that yes—Barbatos had been there to see you in all of your needy glory—and you heat up more. If he notices, he chooses not to comment.

“While Lord Diavolo may have acted as he did to stop the effects of the aphrodisiac, I assure you he received just as much enjoyment out of your predicament as you did.”

Curious to the meaning of his words, you furrow your brow and stare at him. Barbatos just smiles—giving nothing away. Not until you start angrily pouting, at least. Then, he loosens his lips with a quiet sigh.

“I went to check on My Lord after I saw you return to your room, and when I approached his chambers, I could tell he was…preoccupied with the affliction you had given him.”

Meaning, he had overhead Diavolo jacking off to the thought of you after he’d left you alone in the bathing area to clean yourself up.

Ah.

“Okay, can we stop talking about this before I combust, and die?” you ask, a hint of a whine slipping into your tone. You tug your hand from Barb’s grip to cover your blushing face. He chuckles.

“For someone so lewd, you certainly do get embarrassed easily by your own actions.”

“I’m gonna request that you STOP calling me out like this, thanks,” you shoot back, glaring at him through spread fingers. He breathes a laugh, and you pause in your stride as he suddenly stops in front of a closed door.

Looking around, you realize that you’ve never been to this part of the castle before.

Twisting the handle to the door, Barbatos pushes it open and then ushers you inside. You regard the sizable room curiously.

It looks similar to any other lounge in the castle. The walls are lined with bookshelves and paintings. There are four couches—all placed in large square formation around where a coffee table would typically be. However, there is no coffee table.

Instead, about 8 feet from the ground, there’s a long, thick strip of bamboo. The bamboo is held up by tan colored rope—thick, professional knots secured to either end of the wood, and leading back up to hooks on the ceiling.

In fact, when you look closer. You can see that there are hooks mounted to the ceiling in multiple areas around the room. Not to mention the dozen spirals of rope hanging off hooks near the fireplace.

You swallow the saliva that has pooled in your mouth.

“You…use rope bondage to relieve stress?”

“Oh? You’re familiar with it?” he questions, stepping across the threshold of the room. He reaches up to grab one of the perfectly kept bundles of rope—trailing his fingers across the soft, red fibers.

You hold your arms shyly in front of you. This is a turn of events which you hadn’t been expecting tonight.

“I’ve always found it to be interesting, and beautiful, in a way,” you admit, purposely leaving out how you find it entirely too arousing as well. Just the thought of Barbatos tying you up has wetness already beginning to gather between your thighs. But, you don’t want to make it awkward—fearing that perhaps Barb doesn’t get any sexual gratification from the activity—so you stay silent about how much it turns you on.

“So, you wouldn’t be opposed to helping me relieve some of my stress, if this is what is involved?”

Your gaze shifts from the handsome butler, to the rope in his grasp, to the bamboo anchor in the center of the room. You wet your lips, and then smile at him.

“Of course. I’d be more than happy to.”

At your words, Barbatos steps forward—stalking over to where you’re standing just within the ring of couches. His mossy eyes regard you softly. You feel your heart hammering away within your ribs.

“Do you promise you’re saying that sincerely? I don’t want to hurt you, nor push you beyond what you’re comfortable with.”

“I know, Barb,” you tell him softly. You reach your hand out—fingertips skimming over slightly rough fibers of the rope. You’re sure you’ll feel a slight bite when he ties you up, but the thought only serves to heighten your arousal. “I wouldn’t agree if I didn’t want to help. And I trust you. Please don’t worry—this is what I want.”

A pleased look settling on his face, he leans down and presses the briefest of kisses to your forehead.

“I’m glad to hear so.”

Taking a step back, the butler regards you contemplatively.

“I would hate to ruin your dress. And it’s easier to tie with less clothing in the way. Would you mind removing it?”

Your face heats up at the request, but you nod—moving to slip the straps off your shoulders. After all, he’d massaged you all those weeks ago. It’s not like seeing your body is anything new to him.

“Just the dress?”

It’s an innocent question. You want to make his job as easy as possible.

“You—”

“Hey, isn’t this basically just more work for you?” you interrupt him as you shimmy your dress down your torso to the swell of your hips. He chuckles, gaze flitting down to look at your sheer-lace bra. The black color matches your underwear—although the panties aren’t lace, nor see through. (You hadn’t accidentally wanted to flash a demon (or at least, reveal too much) in town if the wind decided to flip your dress up on your journey over).

“It does take effort on my part, but I don’t consider it to be “work”,” he tells you. “And yes, just your dress is fine. Your undergarments won’t get in the way.”

“Okay,” you nod, voice soft. You finish stepping out of your dress—discarding it onto one of the nearby couches. Barb looks over your form appreciatively, and you seriously wish you could learn how to control your blushes.

“It’s important that you stretch, first. I don’t want you hurting your back again.”

“What? Not interested in giving me any more massages?” you tease, eyes sparkling at him. He breathes a laugh.

“I never said that.”

As you bend over—touching your toes, and stretching out your tight muscles, Barbatos moves across the room to grab more spools of rope. The entire time, his gaze lingers on you—taking note of your level of flexibility.

He’s pleasantly surprised by what he sees. The cogs in his brain start turning as he silently debates which position he should tie you in.

After a few minutes of stretching, it seems that Barbatos is finally satisfied to begin.

“This may take some time to tie. If you’re ever uncomfortable, or the rope feels too tight—please let me know.”

“I will, Barb.”

With that, the demon butler is quick to get to work. He instructs you to lift your arms, and you do so obediently—watching him as he wraps the rope around your torso, just beneath your bust. He stops every so often to check the firmness of his ties—making sure that he can slip a finger between the rope and your skin. He wants it to be loose enough that it won’t impede your blood flow, but tight enough that you’ll stay bound once he attempts to suspend you.

Before long, Barbatos has dressed you with a chess harness—your clothed tits pressing against the lacy fabric of your bra as the ties above, below, and between your breasts squeeze your mounds and push them outwards.

Satisfied with his work, he nods his head and takes a step away.

“Could you please sit on the floor, and spread your legs?”

His request reminds you of the growing pool of arousal in your nether region, but you comply nonetheless.

Sitting on the hardwood floor, you drop your arms to your sides and spread your legs. As you do so, the butler walks over to the fireplace. Just above the mantle is a hook—a strand of rope securely weaved around it. As Barbatos works on loosening the thick, hemp rope, you trace it’s path across the ceiling, and realize it’s the rope currently controlling the height of the bamboo anchor above you.

As the demon unfurls the rope from around the hook, the solid strip of bamboo moves closer to the ground. Soon, it’s only a few feet from the floor.

Satisfied with its new height—at least for the time being—Barbatos loosely wraps the rope back around the hook and then returns to your side.  He kneels behind you, and you gasp when his fingers tug at the knot of rope between your shoulder blades.

“Too tight?” he questions, reaching to snag another bundle of red rope from the couch. You shake your head.

“Nope, just right.”

He hums considerately at your comment, sounding a little amused.

You remain silent as he drags more rope against your back—threading it through the bulk of your chest harness. Each pass of the soft fabric has goosebumps rising on your skin, and your gaze glances down between your still spread legs.

Hopefully since your panties are black, he won’t be able to see the wet spot that has formed…

You breathe shakily when Barbatos hefts the rope over the bamboo bar—giving it a tug. You feel the chest harness hug your tits ever tighter at the action, and you bite your lip to hold back from groaning. Honestly, if he touched your clit right now, you’re sure he could bring you to climax with little effort…

However, since you’re still attempting to be considerate of the fact that this is his stress relief, you don’t say anything. You remain carefully silent as he secures you to the anchor via the chest harness—an additional length of rope winding around your waist. He ties it to the bamboo as well—hoping to take some of the pressure off of your chest, seeing as he doesn’t want to bruise your ribs.

Once that’s taken care of, he moves in front of you. There are two more lengths of rope in his grasp.

For the first time in a while, Barbatos takes a moment to regard you. He’s been so caught up in his work, that aside from little inquiries as to your comfort, he hasn’t gotten a chance to really check in on you.

What he finds before him is a little startling.

Your cheeks are painted red—eyes blown wide, and lips slightly swollen from how much you’ve been biting them in order to try and control your reactions. As his gaze rakes down, glossing over your chest, he notes that your breathing is quick--your nipples taut against the thin cups of your bra. A tell-tale sign of your arousal.

A handsome grin tugs at his lips.

Reaching down, he squeezes the meat of your inner thigh with one hand, stretching your leg open wider. He lifts his other hand to his mouth—effortlessly tugging the white glove off with his teeth—before he’s dragging two of his digits gently up the crotch of your panties.

“My, I guess I shouldn’t have worried about being selfish with my request,” he chuckles. You pout at him angrily, eyes glancing away.

“Don’t tease me…I was trying to be polite…”

The pout on your lips fades away the moment his naked palm cups your cheek. Gently, he guides you to look at him—his face just inches from yours.

“I apologize for teasing,” he says. “I’m pleased to know you’re enjoying yourself beyond what I expected.”

To emphasize his words, he leans in and presses a tender kiss to your lips. Immediately you’re moaning, hands reaching forward to fist in his shirt—keeping him close to you. Your mouths slot together—slow, languid kisses being exchanged between you.

“Would you like to continue?” he eventually mumbles, and when your eyelashes flutter open, you find him staring at you—a heat in his gaze that hadn’t been present before.

“Yes, please.”

 Sitting back, Barbatos tugs off his other glove and immediately resumes his work.

He starts at your ankles—wrapping the rope around you a few times, before tossing it over the bamboo--this time on the outside of the sturdy hemp, which is keeping the light-weight wood anchored to the ceiling. He repeats the action on your other leg, mirroring his previous actions, and then moves to make a tie just above your knee with a new spool.

This time, there’s an additional command.

“Lift your arms up.”

You do so, watching him with bated breath as he once again threads the rope across the slab of wood above you. This time, however, he pulls the rope tight—hiking your leg as high as it will go in combination with the ankle ties keeping your legs spread wide.

Once the rope is taut, he ties it around your wrists—letting you keep your arms bent. Your hand instinctively moves to hold onto the rope once the knot is finished, and you give it an experimental tug downward. The additional tension causes your legs to part even more—revealing all you have to offer.

“Are you, ah, fond of having girls spread wide like this for you?” you ask, a little breathless as you watch him grab one final coil of the rope. This time he moves to secure it around your upper thighs, right near your pelvis. He threads it beneath the rope around your waist—tugging it tight, and truly making sure your legs are spread as much as possible. You actually start to feel a dull strain as he makes the final tie—mirroring it on your other leg, per usual.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he responds, smiling as he pulls on the rope in a few places—making small adjustments to the tension in certain ties in order to ensure that your weight will be evenly distributed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to do this, and I can confidently say that you’re making it far more entertaining than I expected.”

“Well, you’re welcome for that.”

Chuckling, he presses to his feet and moves past you. The butler makes his way to the fireplace, once more taking hold of the rope tied above it.

“I’m going to suspend you now,” he informs you, and your pussy clenches at his words. “If you feel pain, tell me and we will stop immediately.”

“Okay,” you breathe, licking your lips. In the next moment, you feel the rope around you dig into your skin ever so slightly—your ass inching off of the ground as Barbatos effortlessly moves the bamboo anchor higher into the air.

Within seconds—you're fully suspended, your body about 3 feet from the floor. The rope bites at your flesh, but not painfully. Just enough to remind you that you’re tied up, in the air, and at Barbatos’ mercy.

Since you don’t express any discontent, Barbatos re-secures the rope around the hook, and then makes his way to the center of the room. He takes his time walking around you—surveying his work. His fingers trail across your sensitive skin, making you gasp. Your legs jump against the bindings in reaction to his touches, but your limbs barely move--his skillful ties keeping you obediently held in the position he has chosen for you.

“Barb…,” you whine, not knowing how much more of this you can take. You’ve been horny since the moment you’d stepped foot into the room, and you’re sure at least an hour has passed since he began tying you—if not more. Your panties are practically soaked. You need some type of relief, and soon, or you honestly think you’ll explode.

Barbatos steps in front of you, two fingers hooking beneath your chin and angling your head up to look at him. He smiles.

“Is there a problem?”

There’s a mirthful glint in his eye. It’s clear he’s feeling more playful now that he’s in his element.

“I…please touch me.”

“I thought earlier you expressed worry in me doing “extra work”? It certainly sounds like you’re asking me to exert myself with that request.”

“Barb, please,” you whine, struggling against the rope as you attempt to lean up and kiss him. There’s no way he can deny you after all of this—not when you’re in such a state. “Please. I need you.”

Your begging sounds like music to his ears, and he gives in a little—leaning down to kiss you. You melt into the sensation.

“How would you like me to touch you, Y/N?”

“I…I want your cock, this time,” you say honestly, mumbling the words embarrassedly against him. You feel bad asking. After your previous escapade, you’d gotten the feeling that Barbatos was more comfortable in pleasing others, rather than focusing on himself. After all, despite having gotten hard, he had never asked to have sex with you. He’d been content with getting you off on his fingers, and likely would have let himself remain hard without solace if you hadn’t offered to help him in return.

Barbatos pauses at your request.

“It’s okay, if you’re not comfortable,” you quickly say, understanding painted in your eyes as you regard him. “I just…have been thinking about the possibility of having you inside of me, since last time, so—”

“If I am what you want, then I shall give you what you ask,” he interrupts, leaning in to steal another tender kiss. A quiet moan escapes you.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t be offering otherwise.”

He cups your cheeks, peppering you with kisses, and then steps back. You watch him with rapt attention as he fiddles with his belt—working to free his cock from it’s confines. You hadn’t noticed before, but he’s already hard—straining against the zipper of his slacks.

Luckily, he’s skilled with his hands. It only takes a few seconds until his length is free—his slacks and the boxer briefs beneath them resting just below his pelvis.

“We should have taken these off, if you desired this outcome,” he comments, finger looping beneath the crotch of your panties. You pout at him, but don’t bother retorting. Right now, the only thing on your mind is Barbatos putting his cock inside of you and fucking you until you cum.

Noting your hungry stare, Barbatos doesn’t bother asking permission before he moves your panties to the side, revealing your slick womanhood. Grasping his length, he guides the tip of his cock between your folds—wetting himself with your arousal. When he catches your clit, you openly moan—body flexing against the ropes holding you in place.

Barbatos can’t help but smile.

“Always so needy.”

You open your mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a heated groan—the demon butler sheathing himself into your heat without warning. Your sopping walls allow him to glide in easily, and the sudden stretch has your eyes rolling back.

“Fuck, Barb,” you breathe his name, fixing him with the most pitiful face you can manage. You need him to move—now.

He’s more than happy to comply.

Barbatos rocks his hips back and forth gently, fucking in and out of you with care as he assures that you’re okay for him to move despite the abrupt intrusion. He feels your walls clench around him—seeking more—and he takes a deep breath at the sensation. You feel so good.

Gripping your waist, he thrusts into you with fervor. His speed increases, a blush dusting his cheeks as his gaze shifts between your blissful face, and your greedy pussy. In all his years, he’s never seen someone take his cock so beautifully.

Quick pants slipping past your lips, you instinctively tug at the rope wrapped around your wrists—accidentally spreading your legs wider as he fucks you. You can feel the strain on your thigh muscles, but right now, it’s the least of your worries. You’re too preoccupied with the way Barbatos’ cock is dragging inside of you—hitting you in all the right places.

“Please touch my clit,” you gasp, sensing your impending orgasm. You feel bad, being so close already, but you can’t help it. Barbatos’ cock throbs as he realizes how quickly you’re coming unraveled thanks to him. At this rate, he won’t last very long either.

Always happy to serve, the butler removes one hand from your waist and presses his thumb into your clit. The swift, side to side motion against the sensitive bundle of nerves has you choking on a moan—your head lolling backwards.

“Oh fuck,” you bite, the muscles in your torso tensing. Barbatos can feel your pussy tightening around him, and he clenches his jaw. Keeping his rhythm, it’s only another minute until you’re crying out his name—body spasming against the bindings as you reach the apex of your pleasure. Your pussy milks around his cock, constricting so tightly that a curse actually falls from the demon’s lips.

With a strained groan, he pulls himself from inside of you—his seed spurting against your used pussy, with a few stray droplets painting your thighs.

You’re just about to whine at the sudden loss of him when the door to the room creaks open. Immediately, you’re ejected from the bliss of your orgasm—heart hammering against your ribs and eyes flying open as you turn to see who has discovered you and Barbatos in such a compromising state.

“I actually managed to get the committee to end the meeting early, and went in search of the two of you,” the Demon Prince himself speaks, stepping inside. “When I discovered our typical spot empty, and then noticed the lack of tea in the kitchen cupboards, I thought I’d better check here. Seems I was right to.”

Diavolo chuckles as the door clicks closed behind him. He reaches up to loosen his tie, his infamous red coat nowhere to be found.

“My Lord,” Barbatos speaks, bowing. You glance down and notice that the butler has already tucked himself back into his pants—looking perfect as usual. The only hint of his recently experienced bliss is a few stray hairs sticking to his forehead, and a dust of blush on his cheeks.

Oh, and the cum that’s leaking down your skin.

The Demon Prince smiles pleasantly at his butler before his heavy golden gaze shifts to you. Instantly, you’re feeling warm all over—embarrassed beyond belief to be seen by Diavolo in such a lewd state.

Your little fling in the bath with him is one thing, but being hoisted mid-air, legs spread wide, with nowhere to hide yourself is another.

“Diav—”

“Impeccable work, as always, Barbatos,” Diavolo interrupts you. He steps into the center of the room, reaching forward to grip the strands of rope parting your breasts. He gives the harness an appreciative tug, eliciting a gasp from you. His eyes sparkle at the sound.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“I see you were a little zealous today,” he continues, eyes falling to your used pussy. Your breath catches—gaze widening in surprise as Diavolo drags his finger through a stripe of Barbatos’ cum. Behind the Prince, the butler dips his head.

“Y/N requested it of me. I would be a fool to have said no.”

“Indeed,” Diavolo chuckles, his attention never leaving you. His large hands roam across your legs—skimming over the rope where it digs into the soft flesh of your thighs. There’s an appreciative glint in his gaze as he surveys your body—beautiful and helpless thanks to Barbatos’ rope work.

“You know, Y/N,” he begins after a minute, his fingertips trailing up the length of your arms, and making you shiver. He leans down to your eye level, smiling at you handsomely. “I was a little worried, following the incident with the aphrodisiac, that perhaps I had overstepped my boundaries. However, following recent events, I’m wondering if it’s not that a line was crossed, but perhaps that it’s me you’re not interested in.”

You shift your gaze to Barbatos, wondering if he had told Diavolo the outcome of the massage he’d given you a few weeks prior, but his face reveals nothing. He’s back to being the perfect butler in the presence of his Lord.

 “Lord Diavolo, t-that’s—,” you swallow the lump in your throat, arousal flaring in your gut when Diavolo presses a finger beneath your chin, turning your attention back to him. “That’s not it at all. I promise.”

He cocks a curious eyebrow, waiting for you to explain. You take a shaky breath, muscles flexing beneath the bindings as your post-orgasm high begins to fade, making the bite of the rope more obvious.

“I…have wanted you—to have you, ever since that night. I just…didn’t have the guts to inquire about the possibility…I was hoping maybe you would approach me instead, and when it didn’t happen, I assumed the window of opportunity had closed.”

“Oh, Y/N,” he moves his hands to cup your cheeks, gently skimming his thumb across the warm flesh. “You are more than welcome to ask anything of me.”

“I want you, then. Now,” you breath, a fresh wave of arousal pooling in your belly as you stare at him. Your words have his golden eyes darkening with hunger.

The months worth of unspoken desire fills the space between your bodies--igniting a flame in Diavolo’s blood.

“Say it again,” he commands. You strain against the bindings, wishing you could touch him.

“I want you, Lord Diavolo. Please fuck me.”

In the next beat, Diavolo is on your lips. He licks into your mouth, swallowing all of your needy little whines and moans. One of his hands moves to tangle in your hair—trapping your lips against his own—while the other finds purchase on your breast.

He slips a finger beneath the lace cup, and tugs it down without hesitation—freeing the previously covered mound. You gasp around his tongue, thighs flexing. You can feel arousal beginning to dribble down your cunt, pussy once again aching to be used and filled.

“Barbatos,” Diavolo rumbles, finally pulling back to give you air. The butler appears at the edge of your vision as you struggle to breathe. He places a hand over his heart.

“Adjust the height of the suspension, and then come here. It’s not fair of me to make you watch. Come and join.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Barbatos disappears from your field of vision, and a few moments later, you squirm as you feel yourself being hoisted higher into the air. The sensation stops when your pussy is at the same height as Diavolo’s growing bulge.

“I can’t be mad at the two of you for enjoying yourselves without me, when it acts as such good preparation,” Diavolo chuckles, two of his fingers slipping between your glistening folds. They push into your heat with little resistance, so the Prince adds a third. You feel a stretch, but it’s far from painful—a quiet moan sneaking past your lips.

He watches you with arousal swimming in his golden irises.

Leaning in to lap against the unmarred skin of your neck, Diavolo pumps his fingers in and out of you. Wet sounds fill the room along with your breathy whines, and the minute Barbatos steps up behind you—moving his hands to fondle your breasts—you let go of any remaining decency.

You throw your head back, body shaking as the two pleasure you. Groans fall from your lips, hips bucking against Diavolo’s hand. You crave him, desperate to feel your pussy stretched around his monstrous cock.

“Please,” you beg, barely able to get the word out. Diavolo shushes you with a hot breath against your neck—canines nipping at your flesh.

“Be patient,” he tells you. “One more.”

He momentarily removes his fingers from inside you before pushing back in—a fourth joining the others this time. The sensation steals your breath away—body thrashing against the bindings. You’re so stupidly horny that you don’t even care if it hurts. You need Diavolo inside of you.

“You must trust Lord Diavolo, Y/N,” Barbatos pipes up. You can feel his breath on your ear—his mouth moving to rest on the side of your neck that Diavolo isn’t currently assaulting with his lips, teeth and tongue. To accentuate his words, he rolls your hardened nipples between his fingers. Your pussy clenches around the Demon Prince’s digits.

“He’s only doing this so not to hurt you.”

“I know, but—,” Diavolo cuts off your whining with a rough bite against the junction of your shoulder. You gasp at the pain, writhing, and once more he’s rewarded with your pussy gripping his fingers so deliciously. The Demon Prince’s cock throbs at the sensation, craving to be inside of you, but he knows he can’t take you as easily as others might. The last thing he wants is to break you.

…as fun as that idea may be.

“You’re doing so well,” he praises you, tongue lapping over the indentation of his teeth. A bit of blood pools in the shallow divots—the tangy red liquid making him groan deep within his chest. He pumps his fingers in and out of you for what feels like ages, continuing until there’s no resistance.

Then, finally, his digits leave you with an embarrassing squelch. You mourn the loss with a needy whine, eyes peeling open to stare at him. However, when you see Diavolo messing with his slacks—his cock springing free and standing tall against his abdomen just as you had remembered it—your protest ceases.

Instead, you’re left swallowing the saliva that pools in your mouth—cunt throbbing as Diavolo presses himself back between your legs. Barbatos is by no means small with regard to dick size, but Diavolo makes taking the butler seem like child’s play.

“Remember to breathe,” The Prince tells you, tracing his length between your folds. The head of his cock pushes against your entrance, and despite his warning, you feel your breath catch. Even four fingers are barely enough to prepare you to take him.

“Breathe,” Barbatos whispers against your neck, his hands moving to settle just beneath your breasts. He gives you a reassuring squeeze, and you finally suck in a shaky breath of air. Diavolo allows you a moment to ground yourself before he moves once more—managing to fully slide the head of his dick in, along with a few inches of shaft.

You see stars.

“Fuck!” your entire body shakes, pain and arousal mingling in a dangerous combination. Your chest heaves, knuckles turning white with how tightly you’re gripping the rope binding your wrists. And yet, you can’t take your eyes off the sight of Diavolo’s cock, and the way it disappears inside of you. You don’t dare look away.

Hands gripping your waist, Diavolo takes a deep breath in through his nose, and then cants his hips forward. The rest of his length stuffs inside of you—stomach bulging ever so slightly from his girth—and your mind goes white.

Hot tears stream down your cheeks.

For a frightening second, Diavolo worries that he has injured you.

“Y/N—”

“Please please please please move!” you cry, chest heaving. You struggle against the bindings, breaking off into a desperate sob. The Demon Prince and his butler share a surprised look. Then, Diavolo is grinning, ever so slowly rocking his hips into you. Each movement assaults you with a new wave of pleasure.

“You didn’t tell me that she gets like this,” Diavolo remarks, glancing to his long-time friend. Barbatos shakes his head, his hands once more settling on your breasts. When the butler flicks his thumbs against your nipples, a muscle clenches in Diavolo’s jaw—your pussy constricting around him.

“I had no idea it was possible,” Barbatos responds, but you don’t hear their conversation. You can’t tear your gaze from the spot where Diavolo’s cock vanishes between your walls. You’ve never been so full before—so stretched--right at your breaking point.

It feels so good.

“Y/N,” Diavolo speaks your name tenderly, drawing you from your state of desperation. Your blown-out eyes turn up to him. He cups your cheek, brushing over the damp tear tracks on your skin. “What are your safe words?”

“S…Stoplight colors,” you tell him, and he nods. Leaning in, he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“Use them if you need to.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Feeling better about your safety, Diavolo once more grips your waist, and begins fucking into your pussy with quick, smooth strokes. Each drag of his cock inside of you has you moaning—arousal rapidly building in the pit of your stomach. A part of you hopes that you’ll last long enough to cum with the Demon Prince, but when Barbatos settles his mouth against your neck—sucking at a particularly sensitive patch of flesh—you reach your climax without warning.

A cry tears from your throat. Your body spasms, pussy milking around Diavolo’s cock and hugging him so firmly that he actually snarls at the sensation. However, he doesn’t bother reprimanding you for the unprompted orgasm. No, instead he waits just long enough to allow the height of your pleasure to subside, before he begins snapping his hips into you with abandon.

Your lips part in a silent scream, Diavolo fucking you hard enough to make your tits bounce despite the upright position. As you struggle to maintain any sense of coherency, Barbatos hugs you tightly from behind, whispering quiet praises against your skin. It’s truly the only thing keeping you ground, at the moment.

“I can feel you getting tight again,” Diavolo remarks, the slightest growl in his voice, even as he chuckles. “Are you going to cum with me, Y/N?”

You shake your head violently. “I-I can’t. I can’t.”

You’re convinced that another orgasm will kill you.

Diavolo glances past your shoulder, to Barbatos. The butler nods his head. Without speaking a word, Barbatos knows his Lord’s request.

Pressing an apologetic kiss to your shoulder, Barbatos lowers one of his hands between your spread legs. Two of his fingers find your clit, and you choke down a sob. You desperately attempt to convince the royals that you’re unable to cum a third time, but the way your walls continue to contract around Diavolo’s cock says otherwise.

“Cum with me, and then you can rest,” Diavolo speaks, leaning in to capture your lips. He can taste your salty tears through the kiss.

“P-please,” you struggle to breathe, blurry eyes settling on the Demon Prince as he sits back—snapping his cock inside of you particularly hard. “Please.”

“Please what?” Diavolo asks, golden eyes soaking in the sight of you absolutely falling apart for him.

“Please…,” you repeat, voice trailing off. You’ve been so adamant about your inability to orgasm again, but now—with Diavolo thrusting into you, and Barbatos’ fingers working at your clit—you’re once again on the edge of release. You sob, the sound broken.

“Please let me cum.”

Diavolo grins handsomely.

“Cum for me, Y/N.”

And you’re helpless to obey, your body spasming as your third and final orgasm of the night tears through you. Your chest heaves—struggling to take in air as Diavolo fucks you through your pleasure—chasing his own bliss.

Thankfully, he comes only a few seconds behind you—seating his length fully inside of you, and stuffing you to the brim as he spills his seed between your sopping walls. The sound of ragged breathing fills the room.

You fade out of consciousness for a moment.

“You did so well, taking Lord Diavolo,” Barbatos whispers into your hair, bringing you back into reality. He presses a soft kiss to your head. You whimper at his words, exhausted, and craving more praise and comfort.

Knowing that you need to be released from the suspension, Diavolo finally pulls his softening cock from inside of you. Immediately, his cum is slipping from your used heat—dripping down your pussy, and even onto the floor at your feet.

“Barbatos,” Diavolo speaks, taking a step back. The butler nods, swiftly moving to unravel the spool of rope secured above the mantle. Soon, you find yourself on the floor, both Diavolo and Barbatos working to undo the many intricate knots and ties.

It takes a few minutes—you whining and begging for affection the entire time—but finally the two free you from your bindings. As you move your limbs around, you can feel blood rushing back into certain areas of your body.

You’re definitely going to be sore tomorrow. For many reasons.

“You did beautifully,” Diavolo whispers as he scoops you into his arms. He moves to settle on the couch, cradling you in his lap. He brushes a few stray hands of hair out of your face, smiling when you reach up and cup his cheeks—tugging him into a kiss.

“I’m seeing many new sides of you today,” he remarks with a chuckle. You lean back, tiredly pouting at him.

“Well, this is the first time I’ve been fully tied up, suspended, and fucked by both a Demon Prince, and his butler, so.”

“That would explain it.”

He grins wider, a fond look in his eyes as he dips down to press a kiss to your forehead. As he does so Barbatos kneels at your side. There’s a pleasant smile on his face, his now-gloved hands gingerly trailing against your legs—dipping into the shallow marks left by the rope.

“How are you feeling?” he questions. His voice is tender, full of concern.

“I’m okay,” you say. “Sore, and tired, but…I feel good.” You extend your arm—fingertips trailing against his jaw. Barbatos leans into the feeling, cupping your hand with his own. “Thank you both for taking such good care of me. Even though you may have exerted yourselves more, rather than relaxing tonight, like I was hoping you would do…”

“I can’t speak for Barbatos, but personally, I feel much better now,” Diavolo pipes up. The butler nods in agreement, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm.

“Yes, I agree. I feel quite relaxed.”

You roll your eyes at them, breathing a laugh.

“If you say so.”

The royals share a laugh as well.

“You need to rehydrate. Shall I fetch us some beverages?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, Barbatos. It’s unfortunate we’re out of tea.”

The butler presses to his feet, bowing minutely. “It is. I will be sure to restock the pantry soon.”

He turns, heading towards the door, but your voice stops him.

“Wait--,” you speak, noting a clock on the wall nearby. It’s already past 11. “—It’s getting late. I don’t want to take more of your time. I know you still have a busy schedule tomorrow.”

“I would think that Lucifer and his brothers will be concerned, should you return home in your current state,” Barbatos comments, and you pause, glancing down at yourself. You’re covered in rope markings all over your body, not to mention the hickies and bite marks now littering your neck. On top of that, you’re still not even sure if you can properly move on your own, let alone walk.

“I…”

“I was going to ask you to stay with us,” Diavolo pipes up, smiling at you. “If you don’t mind sharing the bed, I’d prefer to have you close tonight.”

Your cheeks heat up at his words, but you can’t deny how appealing it sounds—spending the night in Diavolo’s arms. Especially considering how he’d just ruined you.

“Okay,” you concede.

“Good!”

You gasp as Diavolo presses to his feet, still securely holding you in his arms. “In that case, please bring the beverages to my chambers, Barbatos.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

The butler then disappears from the room. Diavolo follows him out, but not before tossing a handily available blanket atop your naked form. Your grip at the soft fabric, pouting as you watch your cute dress get left behind on the messy, rope covered floor.

“My dress…”

“Barbatos will likely return and clean up before the night ends. I’m sure it will be returned to you by morning,” Diavolo reassures you. You curl your hand into the dark fabric of his shirt, glancing up at him.

“That’s still more work for him…”

“You need to stop worrying about us,” he scolds you, giving you a light squeeze. You knock your forehead against his chest.

“It’s hard. I want you both to stop being so busy.”

“Soon,” he reassures you with a chuckle, and you feel his lips press into the crown of your hair. “Then we’ll go back to having Sunday tea.”

Perfect.

That night, you pass out tucked against Diavolo’s broad chest, before Barbatos ever appears with the drinks. At some point, a wet cloth drags between your legs, and a straw is placed between your lips, but you’re too exhausted to remember anything more than that. All you know is that when you wake up the next morning, Diavolo is gone, your bladder is full, and there’s a note on the nightstand addressed to you.

It’s Barbatos’ handwriting.

Y/N,

Lord Diavolo would like to apologize for being unable to keep you company this morning. We promise to make it up to you at a later time.

Your dress, along with vitamins, and other health supplements that will help you should you be ailing from the excitement of last night, are at the foot of the bed.

Blinking, you look down and realize that indeed your dress is folded neatly at your feet--a small gift bag beside it. But there’s no way you’ll need such medicine, right?

Slowly, you press to your feet, and immediately groan. Yep, everything is sore. You’ve never felt so achy all over.

Lucifer is here for a meeting. He will walk you home at 9am, once it is finished. Please meet him at the front doors.

If there’s anything else you need, please let myself, or Lord Diavolo know.

- Barbatos

You note that your DDD has been conveniently placed on the nightstand beside the note.

Clicking the phone screen to life—you pause.

It’s already 8:50.

“Shit!”

You rush to prepare yourself—dressing haphazardly, and running through the halls of the castle in order to meet Lucifer on time. You arrive at the front doors to find him waiting for you. He cocks an eyebrow, gaze falling to your current outfit. You’re adorning the dress you’d worn the day before, but beneath it, you’re also wearing a white turtleneck.

How curious.

“…did you enjoy your stay?”

There’s an amused look on his face—one that tells you he won’t be fooled by whatever excuse you decide to try and come up with. So, you settle for giving him an honest response.

“I did.”

And you can’t wait until your next one.

[haru-sen]

Imperial Forces

I’ve written...a lot of words for a fanfic no one asked for, and only one person has confirmed knowing what the hell I am even talking about.  My god. This is a preview of the IAL anniversary gift and may be changed down the road.  Certain people instigated this, you know who you are, and I’m still salty at you.

TW:  This is a darker piece of work compliant with some of the unpleasantness that one expects the Sith Empire.  Includes: dubcon, mentions of previous sexual assaults, attempted sexual assault, bad boundaries, bondage, and improper use of the Force.  Edited: Posted some minor corrections. Part 1/?

You sat at the table, ramrod straight, focusing on the silverware, and your glass of wine. The cut of the crystal was exquisite, and the wine was a Dathomirian Fury Red, if you recalled correctly, which you might not, because the entire day had been an absolute disaster, and you would be so very lucky if you made it to the dessert course. Surviving this situation was highly unlikely. You’d known for awhile that your time was extremely limited. But having dessert before you were murdered by a Sith lord, would be kind of nice.

You glanced up at the masked Sith, and then the bored moff across from you: dinner, dessert, death. At least the dining room was luxuriously decorated. You’d always expected to die in a dark, gross alley. This was an upgrade, really.

But for some reason, all these high-end pre-murder amenities were not making you feel any better.

**

They called you Cipher 13, because your real name was classified, and because the previous Cipher 13 took a one-way trip down a sarlacc pit the night before your spontaneous promotion. In all fairness, the name was probably cursed. You were the “unluckiest” of the Cipher agents, often getting the worst assignments or having your missions interrupted by the most unbelievable accidents.

It was an old joke by now, but you still got regular comments about your unenviable misfortune. Like today, when you’d gone to the quartermaster to stock up on the special blend of stimpacks Ciphers used. Fixer 3 had made an awkward joke about how your formula had “unpredictable results” and looked uncharacteristically scared when you took one right in front of him. Fixer 3 was normally a sensible guy and you liked him. You weren’t sure what he had been thinking today.

But it had been a long week, and you had not been given the regular rest break between assignments. Something “urgent” had come up. Watcher 5 had briefed you of your next mission, which was something convoluted and political. You were working for a Dark Council member. Watcher 5 had slipped in a snide remark along the lines of, “try not to let your personal chaos spill into this operation. Sith Lords have little tolerance for surprises.”

He said this, like you had control over these things. Ridiculous.

For example, how could you anticipate that a rancor would get loose at a diplomatic banquet and eat the person you were supposed to interrogate (along with half a dozen or so other very important people)? Not your fault, and certainly not within your control, and despite slicing the needed information from his personal terminal, the mission had been judged (unfairly!) to be a failure. Then there was that pazaak tournament on Nar Shaddaa where you had been burned by another Cipher, who outed you to the Hutts. It didn’t matter, in the sense that you won the game, shot her in the face, and received the boon you had entered the tournament to acquire. (The Hutts didn’t care who you worked for, as long as you weren’t crossing them.) You received demerits for having your cover blown by another agent’s blatant betrayal. (But she didn’t get any, because she was dead, and Minder 2 was pissy with you after that forever.) Then, there was that time you’d walked right into a Jedi strike team ambush meant for Darth Baras on Corellia… You were lucky to only lose a hand that day. Coincidentally, the officer who had given you the bad intel had also been fatally unlucky. He had a rare and deadly allergic reaction to the nuts in his ryshcate pastries, served at a diplomatic fete that weekend. How tragic it is when one can’t even enjoy their pastries.

But it wasn’t just misfortune. The current Keeper did not like you, had never liked you, and was growing more and more frustrated by the fact that you kept coming back alive, when many others did not. (You knew for a fact that the Minders had a betting pool regarding your survival. Minder 12 had been very helpful in providing you the behind the scenes information. You missed her.) As Keeper effectively ran the ops division of Imperial Intelligence, this was a definite problem.

Watcher 4 had been instrumental in keeping you alive. But now that he was gone, you were on your own with very few allies within your organization. That was why you had been given this newest assignment. (You missed Watcher 4 as well, and while you could not and would not try to prove it, you thought he and Minder 12 might have faked their deaths and run off together. It was a purely fanciful notion, but you could dream, right?) Imperial Intelligence agents didn’t get happy endings. And Ciphers usually didn’t make it to five years.

You had seven.

By all rights, you should have been able to transfer to a Watcher position a long time ago. But that never happened. It was probably because Keeper hated you. You did not know exactly why. You suspected it was because you were not born into the upper echelons of Imperial high society. You had started out a slave, earned some freedom, and trained as a Cipher; but on the Imperial capital planet of Dromund Kaas, that wasn’t enough. Your continual survival offended him, a constant reminder of his own failure to erase you.

And so here you were, assigned to the whims of Darth Thanaton, a member of the Dark Council, a crusty overpowered madman, and worse, an absolutely unmitigated boor. He was urbane enough in his public appearances, but behind closed doors? An absolute drama queen.

You stood in his foyer, Thanaton was shouting now, and you got the impression that he did this a lot, having an audience present was optional. The man himself was older, fit enough to show his face (no mask or rebreather), and had been quite the assassin in his day. The room was black marble, filled with ugly stone antiques, and it felt like a mausoleum, only louder and more oppressive. Your head was pounding and your stomach churning as you struggled to pay attention to his spiel. You were professional enough that you could maintain a mask of respectfulness, despite your growing physical discomfort. You had powered through worse.

Like that time on Tatooine when you’d broken a leg in melee combat with Tusken Raiders…That had been a bad day. Or that time you’d gone undercover as a Hutt’s dancing slave on Nar Shaddaa. Or even when…

Focus. Thanaton was bad enough. You did not need to take a trip down traumatic memory lane in the middle of a Darth’s monologue.

Thanaton spent a good quarter of an hour railing against the failing morals and falling standards of the Sith academy on Korriban. And then another quarter of an hour complaining about the bureaucratic delay in assigning a “suitable” Imperial Intelligence agent to his cause. He went into great detail about how much the Council needed this work done, and how important it was, and how Lord Messor’s habits were unseemly, and Moff Kiljack needed to know his place, and...and...and… It went on much longer. He sprayed spittle when he spoke. It was painfully distracting.

You nodded along, like a good Cipher, even though you could feel the nastiness of his aura crawling along your skin. It worsened your nausea. You were no saint, but being near powerful Sith made you queasy. There was something fundamentally wrong with most of them, and your body knew it. But you stood at attention, masking your disgust, because to cross a Darth was a clear-cut and uncomfortable death, usually with choking, sometimes lightning. You’d seen it up close many times and experienced lighter versions of those punishments yourself. Best avoided if possible.

Keeper knew what he was doing. There was a fifty percent chance that you wouldn’t even make it to the mission. Snotty old Darth Thanaton would take offense at you for simply existing and smite you before you had a chance to get to work.

But you were not unaware of the situation. Lord Messor was an unconventional dark lord, taking more than his share of apprentices from Korriban (and doing who knows what with them? Sith Lords didn’t usually keep more than one alive at a time). Moff Kiljack had been one of those apprentices, and had shown an extreme aptitude for military strategy. He had then been put on a different career track, promoted to head of Messor’s security forces, and given free reign. Eventually however, things between the men soured, and the former security chief had managed to wrangle a promotion from the Imperial army, instead of just wasting away as Messor’s lackey. He gained some powerful allies and rose quickly to the rank of moff. To no one’s surprise, Messor hadn’t taken the change of allegiances well, and now things were awkward, to say the least.

Thanaton claimed that he found the entire situation offensive. You didn’t think it seemed any different from any other horrible day on Dromund Kaas. There were so many betrayals, atrocities, and political cliques, you just tried to keep your head down, and your heart beating. It was more likely that Thanaton feared Messor’s growing power and wanted to eliminate a rival.

If only you had gotten another off-world assignment. You’d already disabled the kill-chip implanted in the base of your skull. You could just fake your death, move to some peaceful, secluded farming planet, and not worry about being flayed alive for accidentally making eye contact with a power-mad sorcerer.

You’d always suspected your cause of death would be “someone else’s ego” or at least “collateral damage,” but you didn’t expect it to play out so literally. By the time Thanaton actually got to the point, you had been standing in his foyer for an hour, watching him froth and rant. Lord Messor or Moff Kiljack had just been assigned to deal with a situation on Hoth or Voss (you couldn’t tell because Thanaton had been going at it for so long that he kept switching the names and not giving you any kriffing context…) But you were to sabotage those efforts, make Messor and the moff lose credibility, fall from grace, and be tossed into the bone pile in the waste dumps outside the city.

That’s it. Ruin them on the basis of his disapproval and use his tenuously plotted scheme to do it. Failure would be met by death.

Success would also probably be treason, and that too was punishable by death.

Hell, if you did succeed, Thanaton would have to kill you to tie up loose ends.

Death, death, or more death, with no obvious way out. Normal mission parameters, really.

Nodding, you told him, “I understand, my lord. It will be done, my lord,” while preparing to take a shuttle off-world and commit very public suicide on Nar Shaddaa. Hell, you could just go throw yourself at the mercy of Theron Shan. He probably would only torture you a little, as a formality, before taking pity on you, and ending your misery himself.

OK, clearly you had been in Darth Thanaton’s dark energy radius for too long, because his madness and depressive thoughts were now rubbing off on you. Plus you still wanted to throw up. And Thanaton might have sensed your urge to flee, because he sent you back to the Imperial High Command with an escort: one of his security advisors, a pompous man of “good breeding” named Captain Prince, and a dozen heavily armed guards.

Druk.

The soldiers weren’t really there for you, you realized once you were already seated in the convoy listening to Prince further explain Thanaton’s “plan.” Lord Messor was taking on a greater role in the war effort against the Republic, and Imperial High Command was providing more men for his military gambits. Prince and his men were being overtly assigned by Imperial High Command, though they were actually loyal to Thanaton. Prince would be reporting to Messor tonight. Your cover was as Prince’s assistant. Your job would be reconnaissance and sabotage, and you would be reporting your progress to both Prince and Thanaton. You also would be expected to produce reports for Keeper, not that Prince understood the workings within Imperial Intelligence.

...It was shit plan. You knew it even before you heard it, though Prince seemed confident that his background would pass muster. That was a little more reassuring than Thanaton’s mad ramblings, but still amateur. Prince was a decorated military man, and had seen some very vicious combat, committed atrocities, and been rewarded for his service. He was not the man you would have put in charge of any operation that required subtlety. If Keeper had wanted this job done right, he would have assigned it to you himself, and given you free reign. There was a lot of subtext to unravel, but right now you had to nod along to Captain Prince’s blathering. He wasn’t nice, he stared at your chest longer than was polite, and he put a hand on your knee. You lightly brushed it off, reminding yourself that you could not kill Thanaton’s representative on the first day.

Like any highborn noble, Lord Messor had an estate outside the city. The route was straight forward, and you were taking a regular speeder to get there. Contrary to your expectations, the ride actually helped clear your head. You were still a little shaky, but less nauseated. Getting away from Thanaton helped. Wind lashed at your skin as you watched the jungle pass by, and you wondered how much of a lead you would have if you left for Nar Shaddaa tonight. With any luck, it would be hours before anyone noticed you were gone.

You waited, hands steady, even as you and Prince exited the vehicle. It was raining, as usual, and the air stunk of ozone. Three more men followed from another transport, and Prince did not offer any introduction, though you could feel them watching you with predatory eyes.

The Messor estate had several outbuildings, and the gates were high. A large fortress had been partially carved out of the cliff, the jungle providing more strategic cover. Though solid, it had the columned facade of an ancient Sith temple. You studied it, not quite sure what Thanaton had been complaining about. Lord Messor seemed to have traditional Sith tastes (gothic and imposing), at least when it came to architecture.

“Come on, kitten,” Prince said with a leer. “If you want to marvel about size, I have something to show you.”

The men behind you laughed.

You just smiled politely, and decided that maybe Prince would lean too far out a window tonight. The jungle provided a lot of ambient noise to cover any screaming. The winds were dangerous. Accidents happened, especially around you. Hell, if Prince was defenestrated, they’d probably be too busy mopping up the meat confetti to look for you…

Prince led the way to the fortress, frowning as an HK droid met you at the bottom of the steps.

“Greetings, Captain. Lord Messor is expecting you. Please come this way.” The droid pointed to a more discrete entrance: a small path leading to a recessed door. With the foliage and the angle of entry, it was well-concealed.

Prince’s upper lip curled in aggravation, but he adjusted course. You followed, noting the placement of the turrets, the thickness of the walls, and the fact that the droid that met you was a high-end assassination model. It spoke like a protocol droid, it had those functions as well, but you were very familiar with the HK series.

You followed Prince through the heavy durasteel door and to a narrow set of stone steps. The lights were low, and the stairwell was mostly in shadow. Then the door slammed shut behind you, leaving the HK droid and the other three men outside.

Prince stopped, he glanced at you questioningly.

“I didn’t shut it,” you said.

Prince pushed past you and tried the handle. The door did not budge. He frowned and drew his blaster pistol.

“Let’s go,” he told you, gesturing with the pistol for you to go first.

“Of course, Captain,” you said, maybe a little sarcastically, as you marched up the stairs, keeping an eye out for trip wires, pressure plates, or any of the other nasty surprises that Sith lords liked to keep around their homes.

...Druk. Sometimes there were creatures. The local fauna was bad enough, but the Sith liked to import nasty things as well as craft their own monsters. You’d seen plenty and you had no desire to face Sithspawn again any time soon.

You stepped lightly. The stairs went up for at least three stories, and then there was another door. You glanced back at Prince.

“Hurry up,” he growled.

You opened the large metal door, and stepped into a cavernous room big enough to serve as a huttball field. Dim lights shone in wall sconces, and two rows of black pillars lined a path to a massive carved throne. All these features seemed to be cut from the same mountain stone.

There was a figure on a throne, black and red robes under a heavy breastplate, a black hood and stylized skull mask covering his face. He wore heavy metal gauntlets, tipped with dangerously sharp talons.

“Captain Prince,” Lord Messor spoke quietly, his voice smoother than you expected, a lot calmer than some other dark lord whom you had met earlier today. The acoustics of the room were amazing, his voice carried through the hall.

“Ah, my lord,” Prince stepped past you, his blaster already holstered. “I am honored to finally- be in your presence.” He gestured for you to follow as he led the way toward the throne.

“I did not give you orders to approach.” He sounded almost bored.

Prince stopped. “My apologies, my lord. I did not-”

“You don’t need to explain,” Lord Messor said, resting his chin in one palm. “And I don’t have patience for your excuses.”

Prince cocked his head to the side and looked almost comically confused.

And then Moff Kiljack – you recognized that striking blonde hair and those icy blue eyes - stepped out from behind a pillar, and pressed his blaster to the back of Prince’s skull. There was no hesitation. He blew the captain’s brains out right there in Lord Messor’s throne room. Prince dropped with a thud.

You barely had time to avoid the splatter, let alone wonder what Moff Kiljack, Lord Messor’s sworn rival, was doing in his throne room. You glanced between the Sith lord and the moff, wondering if you had time to dive for cover while they battled.

Instead, Lord Messor just sighed. “Ensign De Veo,” he said, using your cover name, and giving you hope that he didn’t know exactly what was going on. “Also known as Cipher 13,” he added, crushing that hope. “I’m sorry for the mess. Kiljack can be so...uncivilized.” He stood and began descending from the dais.

You glanced over at Moff Kiljack, not at all surprised to find the blaster pistol aimed at your head.

“That’s unnecessary, Kiljack. I’m sure our dear Cipher understands her position.” Messor swept down the stairs from his throne, red and black fabric swirling behind him. He circled you like a hungry sleen. “Now, I realize this isn’t what you expected. But I’d be delighted to explain everything. So why don’t you join us for dinner, and we can discuss what you’re doing here, why you’re still alive, and what you need to do to stay that way. This should be easy enough for a woman of your caliber.” He chuckled.

There was no room for panic. You survived because you could think on your feet. Because you didn’t get caught up in “what should have happened.” You kept your mouth shut and most of your insubordinate comments in your head.

You gave a stiff bow from the waist. “I would be honored, my lord,” you said, already tasting lightning in the back of your throat. It was very unlikely that you would get through the night without a demonstration of Sith might.

Lord Messor laughed, like he found you genuinely amusing, and headed toward the eastern doors.

“Cipher,” Moff Kiljack was at your side, offering you his right arm. He was a tall man, very fit in his officer grays. There was blood on his cuffs and glove. He stood like he was carved from ice.

You swallowed and tentatively placed your metal hand on his bicep, wondering if you could scratch him with one of your poisoned needles without him noticing.

“I wouldn’t,” Kiljack said, not even turning his head to look at you. “Be a good girl, and you’ll make it out of this alive.”

You shivered, suddenly very cold in your officer’s tunic. The fear crept down your spine, threatening to freeze you in place. But that would not do. You forced yourself to breathe. You had forgotten that the moff had once been a Sith apprentice. Force-users could pick up surface thoughts. Normally though, you were better at shielding. You steered your mind back to nav-charts and the asteroid belts of the Outer Rim. Head held high, you walked with Moff Kiljack to Lord Messor’s banquet hall.

**

And so here you were now, seated to the left of Lord Messor, a very bored Moff Kiljack sitting across from you, watching you with cold eyes.

The table was long, almost the length of the room, and also carved from the same obsidian stone as the chamber. The same with the high-backed chairs, though they were not attached to the floor, and had plush cushions on them.

Your brain was working almost too fast, panic welling in each heart beat. You tried to calm yourself, as you stared at the vividly colored salad in front of you. You turned some of your hyperfocus on that. It was very aesthetically pleasing, and would not be out of place at a restaurant on Alderaan or Coruscant. Perhaps it would pair well with-

-So what the hell was going on? Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor shared a well-known enmity. But now they were working together, likely because they had learned of Darth Thanaton’s intent to bring them both down. Prince’s men were definitely dead. HKs were ruthlessly efficient like that. You were a loose end, but one they could bargain with. They would want to use you against Thanaton, of course, but you were an experienced Cipher. You still had some resources-

-a Starblossom spritzer or a Coruscant blush wine. You weren’t sure what the next course was, but traditionally there would be a protein and a starch, and-

-This wasn’t a con you could pull off alone. Not that it had much of a chance before. The original plan was half-baked garbage and you didn’t really want to-

Wait.

You willed yourself still, taking a moment to breathe. Your mind was moving too fast. There was something wrong. Had been wrong all day, your focus slowly sliding into the abyss. But trying to figure out what was exactly was wrong, was like grasping at fog. And with both a moff and a Sith lord watching your every move, now was not the time to buckle.

Your memory coaxed up a tiny epiphany. This started around the time you met Thanaton. Was it him?

Kiljack took a bite of his salad, his flat expression not changing, even as he chewed.

Lord Messor was not eating though. He raised his mask to sip his wine, but given the kinds of damage Sith lords did to their bodies, it was possible that he did not have a normal digestive tract.

“Is the food not to your liking, Cipher?” Messor asked, curling those metal talons against his palm with a rhythmic tap tap tap.

“It is exquisite, my lord,” you said, picking up your fork, and taking a bite. The vegetables were crisp, fresh, and lightly vinegared. There were sweet berries mixed in with crumbles of salty cheese. If this was your last meal, you could have really done worse. “Are these Alderaanian fickleberries? They’re a wonderful addition to the dish, just the right amount of sweetness.”

“Indeed,” Messor practically purred. “You have a sophisticated palate. I understand that you are well-traveled.”

“Or she’s used them before,” Kiljack said, still eating his salad. “Likely when she mixed them with the nuts in that Corellian ryshcate to poison Ambassador Morrow. Clever move: I understand the symptoms mimic an allergic reaction. Never thought to mix fickleberries with vweilu nuts and a decoction of grillig-juice. All are harmless on their own, but when combined together, the enzyme produced causes catastrophic organ failure in most humanoids.”

You froze.

“Do you think that would work on Darth Thanaton?” Kiljack asked, tilting his chin up “No, that’s far too radical for him. Mixing foreign nuts and berries, he’d never go for that.” He flashed you a predatory smile. “You might have better luck with a rancor.”

They knew.

This wasn’t just about Thanaton. No one in Imperial Intelligence decisively knew everything that you had done, or how: just that you got results. But Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor, two mortal enemies had just sat you down to dinner and they karking knew. And if these two knew what Imperial Intelligence did not, that meant they were far more driven and dangerous than you initially expected and how did they know? Why did they go through all that effort-?

Terror, still fresh from your encounter in the throne room, blossomed in your chest once more. Dozens of scenarios played out in your mind: the consequences of your exposure. There was no need to go into graphic detail, though you kept getting distracted with colorful visions of your own evisceration. No matter what you thought of, it all ended very badly for you.

In that moment, you cursed your premature deactivation of your kill-chip. They knew. And if it was you versus a Sith lord and his moff ex-apprentice, you would not win. They had already done the hard part, already figured out what you did and how. And then you had just walked into Messor’s home, a gift-wrapped sacrifice. They wanted something from you, and judging by what they already knew, what it took to find that information out, they had the will and means to break you. You’d seen the inquisitors work, seen the aftermath too, the piles of mewling meat begging for death. Being on the wrong side of Sith and moff persuasion wasn’t any kinder. Electrocution or a snapped neck were far better.

You were on your feet in seconds, already turning to run, hoping Moff Kiljack would take you out in one shot.

“No!” Lord Messor raised his hand, and you slammed back down into the chair. Something in your body cracked as you struck the stone, and the world went black for half a second before you snapped back into your body.

You tried to move, but the force held you in your seat, pressing tightly against your chest, your arms pinned down on the armrests. You could barely breathe, let alone move your limbs. Shuddering, you could only watch as Moff Kiljack leaned against the edge of the table in front of you. He reached out, one gloved hand tilting your chin up.

“You hit her too hard, Messor,” his voice was calm. “She’s bleeding and her pupils are uneven.”

“Couldn’t help it. She moved too fast, and she was planning to self-destruct.” Messor’s voice came from behind gritted teeth.

“That, or hoping to get one of us to do it for her.” Kiljack shook his head.

Cold sweat dripped down your neck. Your breaths came in short bursts. You were trapped, back flat against the stone chair. You couldn’t move. And you were at the mercy of men who didn’t know the meaning of the word. A strangled sob died in your chest as you vainly tried to move your limbs.

“Shhhhh, don’t struggle,” Kiljack reached for your napkin and then gently blotted your nose. “Messor, she’s having trouble breathing.”

“I know,” Messor shuddered, and took a deep breath. “She’s very scared.” There was a note of something like hunger in his voice, but he raised his hand again, and suddenly you could draw in a little more air.

“Mmm,” Kiljack nodded, those blue eyes studying your face. “That’s it, stop fighting us. This doesn’t have to hurt.” He set the napkin down, watching you intently, like a puzzle he wanted to dissect. He smiled then. “You are very loud, Cipher.”

You gritted your teeth and tried to stifle your breathing. You must be badly injured if you were making too much noise. Ciphers didn’t make a habit of being loud. For obvious reasons.

“That’s not what I meant,” Kiljack said. He leaned in, nearly nose to nose with you. “Quiet your mind.”

You stared at him, trying to swallow, but your throat was dry and your vision blurred. You dropped your head, too dizzy to stay upright.

Kiljack lifted your water glass to your lips. “Here. Take small sips. We don’t want you to choke. On the water.”

You flinched, waiting for one of them to follow up with a traditional Sith demonstration of force choking.

“Just drink your water,” Kiljack ordered.

You opened your mouth, closing your eyes as the glass touched your lips. The cool water tasted better than you hoped and the light steady stream cleared your throat.

“That’s it, good girl.” He stroked your cheek, his black glove soft against your skin. “Is that better?”

You managed a nod, feeling queasy from the motion alone.

“Now, are you going to behave?” Kiljack asked coolly. “Or do we have to keep you restrained? Another stunt like that, and I won’t be so nice, do you understand?”

“I’ll be good, sir,” you said, voice weak, and you had to grit your teeth, because speaking hurt. That force blow had done some damage to you. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact location, because your whole body ached. You still couldn’t move. And to make things worse, Moff Kiljack, of all people, was trying to gentle you like a wild tauntaun.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the different routes off of Nar Shaddaa instead of your current location. And you waited for the next threat of more pain, or the lightning, or whatever Kiljack wanted to use.

“Now, she’s gone silent,” Kiljack muttered.

“She’s in pain,” Messor said, his voice still low. “And while I find nav-charts far less tedious than endless streams of pazaak, someone really needs to teach you how to shield your mind better. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long with such loud and irreverent thoughts.”

Normally, you were better at it. But Kiljack had said your pupils were uneven...OK, concussion. That made sense. You took an inventory of your injuries: bad concussion, something fractured in your chest or abdomen, and you still were trapped here with a dark lord and a moff who wanted you for nothing good. Druk. It would have been so much easier if one of them had just killed you outright. They were supposed to be good at that kind of thing. Hell, you could still bite your tongue off and-

Kiljack gripped your chin, prying your jaw open. “I thought you were going to be a good girl, Cipher.”

You whimpered.

“I will get the bit and the slave collar,” he said glaring at you.

You relaxed your jaw. You weren’t trying to upset him. You were concussed. And you didn’t have complete control of your faculties right now.

Kiljack narrowed his eyes at you. “Is that so? Do I need to get the bit for your own safety? Or would you prefer I make you a cloth gag? Messor, can we borrow your sash?”

“Sah-ee, sir,” you said. It was not the first time you’d given a disingenuous apology with another man’s fingers in your mouth at the dinner table, and quite frankly you were a little embarrassed to be in that situation again.

Then came the spasm of pain that would have bent you in two, if you could move that far. Instead, you twitched, teeth clamping down on the moff’s fingers as you struggled to breathe. You tasted blood in your mouth, though you weren’t sure whose it was.

Kiljack’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move, and the slap you expected did not come. He waited for you to unclench before withdrawing his fingers. He examined his torn glove with a sigh. “We’re going to need kolto, Messor.”

A kolto pack floated over the table to Kiljack.

Nimble fingers began unbuttoning your collar. You opened your eyes to see Kiljack unfastening your tunic, a kolto pack in hand. His gaze lingered on your thin undershirt for a moment, and then he applied the cool healing gel onto your stomach, along your sides, and around to your back.

“I don’t think we’ll be finishing dinner out here any time soon,” Messor said.

“Messor, I’m not making do with just a salad, no matter what kind of fancy berries you put in it,” Kiljack said, wiping his hands off and checking his fingers. There were teeth marks, and some broken skin, but nothing severe. After the kolto application, the wounds started closing up as you watched.

Messor laughed. “We can take our meals in our rooms. Why don’t we call the medical droid and put our guest to bed first?”

The pressure on your body suddenly lifted, but before you could regain your bearings, Kiljack scooped you out of the chair.

“Is this causing you more pain?” He asked, one arm supporting your back, the other under your knees.

“No,” you said, though breathing was still uncomfortable. Rib damage, likely. You didn’t struggle, too woozy to make good decisions right now. On the bright side, it looked like they weren’t going to kill you just yet, but also, you hadn’t made it to dessert, and you were a little sad at the prospect of missing whatever Lord Messor’s chef had concocted. Even if it was fickleberries mixed with vweilu nuts and a decoction of grillig-juice.

Despite the danger, you could not keep your eyes open. The world faded away.

You dreamt.

**

You were back in that dining room, candlelight casting eerie shadows on the walls. You saw yourself bent over that banquet table, Lord Messor’s hand on your back, your face pressed against the stone, your wine glass rolling on its side, the red liquid dribbling onto the floor. You felt a spark and flinched, that light crackle of electricity as those metal talons trailed down your spine.

“Scared?” Messor murmured, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

“Yes, my lord,” you panted, squirming under him, feeling his cock pressed against you through his robes.

“Good.”

**

You were on your knees, staring up at Kiljack, the tip of a riding crop under your chin. You didn’t recognize the room. There was a small fountain flowing in the corner. It was an office, probably aboard a starcruiser from the shape of the window. You did not recognize the orbit. But Kiljack was in full moff regalia, gray tunic coat and jodphurs, black boots and gloves, and a heavy belt. Was this his battleship?

“I told you to open your mouth,” Kiljack said coldly.

You hesitantly parted your lips, noticing that your hands were unbound. You could-

Kiljack pushed a piece of silicone into your mouth, the ring shape holding your teeth apart. He fastened the strap snugly around your head.

“That’s better,” he said, an edge in his smile as he cupped your cheek. “This wouldn’t be necessary if you were more careful with those teeth. Now be a good girl and stick out your tongue.”

**

The bedroom was large and dimly lit.

The bed was enormous, draped in scarlet silks and pillows. It was comfortable, but you could not actually move very far. You poked at the gold collar latched around your neck. You wore matching bracelets and anklets, but there was a chain attached to the collar and secured to the headboard. You rolled your eyes at the outfit: the dancer’s garb with the red and gold harness top, chain belt and lashaa silk loincloth, and knee high boots.

You had worn these before – what spy hadn’t? But you didn’t remember getting here, or where here even was.

There was someone else in the room, somewhere in the shadows, just watching you. You looped a length of chain – your best bet for a weapon, and began examining where it connected to the headboard.

“I thought you were going to behave today.” Messor’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness.

“But if this is how she wants to play, why should we deny her?” Kiljack laughed.

The lights went out. And suddenly you weren’t alone on the bed.

**

“So do you like the view?” Kiljack whispered. “You’ll have to be quiet, or everyone will hear us.” He tightened his grip around your waist. “Or maybe that’s what you want.”

You sat on his lap, looking around the throne room, in all its sinister glory. Crimson imperial banners hung from the walls and pillars, the firelight casting harsh shadows. There was a second story balcony overlooking the throne room. It was too dark to see if anyone else was up there. But the rest of the cavern was a vast expanse, easily surveyed from the throne where Kiljack sat: Lord Messer’s throne.

He was right. If you made any noise, it would echo.

You swallowed roughly, eyes drifting to the spot where the moff had executed Prince. There was no body or blood.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Kiljack growled in your ear.

You opened your mouth to speak.

“You’re in my seat,” Messor said, the words echoing off the walls as he materialized from the shadows. His tone was dangerously mild. He stalked up the stairs toward you.

You started to move, but Kiljack held you tightly against him. “About time you got here,” the moff said. “I was getting bored giving the tour. Maybe we can move on to something more exciting.”

**

You sat up with a strangled gasp, your head pounding. Another unfamiliar bed, but when you looked down, you were covered in blankets. You peeked underneath, finding yourself still dressed in your thin tanktop and uniform pants. You ached, like you’d been in a fight. But there wasn’t pain between your legs, a small, but important reassurance. The inside of your mouth felt like a stable floor and you winced as you looked around, the dim lights still aggravating your eyes.

It was a large elegant bedroom, the furniture silver with red trim. It was neat, but it felt lived in, not a guest room. You started to look around, but your vision swam. Holding your head, you gave yourself a moment before trying to focus.

Yesterday was an absolute sarlaac snarl. You’d been sent off on a poorly-planned suicide mission, and your reactions were...wrong. Judging by how awful you felt right now, you’d been drugged. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to analyze each location step by step. You started feeling ill in Darth Thanaton’s presence, but you neither ate nor drank there. Maybe he did have some secret force brainwashing powers, but that was unlikely. That ability was too subtle for a bombastic coot like him.

...The stims. Something had been wrong with the stims. Fixer 3 wasn’t being a smart ass. Fixer 3 had been trying to warn you. Echuta! It had been right there in front of your face and you were too distracted and arrogant to notice.

You growled, throwing the blankets off. You tried to stand, but found you were still too dizzy.

“Well, I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better.”

You blinked.

Just off to the side, nestled between a wardrobe and a table, sat Moff Kiljack. There was a blanket on his lap and a blaster pistol on the table. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, before he stood, fully dressed, though his jacket was unbuttoned. A faint dusting of stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked you over. “That’s better.” He tapped his left temple. “You’re not so loud any more.” He gave a sigh that sounded a lot like relief. “I know that wasn’t entirely your fault. You were out of your head. The medical droid analyzed what was in your system, if you’re curious.”

“Someone sabotaged my stims,” you said, resting your head on your knees. “Someone in Imperial Intelligence.”

Moff Kiljack nodded. “Makes sense. You also had a bad concussion, cracked ribs, and some bruising. The kolto pack helped a little, but a localized injection sped it up.”

“Thank you,” you said, even if you were not so sure that you were grateful to be saved. Because you still had a lot of questions about what was going on, why these two “enemies” had put so much research into your accomplishments, and how much they knew about Darth Thanaton’s intentions.

You closed your eyes, knowing a few things already:

Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor had a complex relationship; this was likely Kiljack’s room and Messor would not keep it for him if they were really enemies. You needed to figure out the exact nature of their alliance and how much of that infamous enmity was a smokescreen. They worked too well in tandem for all of that showboating to be real.

Keeper was now actively trying to kill you. It would be very difficult to tamper with the stims otherwise. Thanaton was probably meant to be the instrument of your death. He was old, powerful, and no one would bat an eye over a Darth executing a Cipher.

The sensitivity was getting worse. Once it had been an asset, just enough insight to give you an advantage. Now it was opening you up to too many other things. And you lived in the capital city of the Empire, where so many hungry Sith congregated. No, this was bad for you. Kiljack was right, you needed to shore up those shields, and hide yourself better. Anything less would get you shipped off to Korriban.

“Can you hold down food?” Kiljack asked, suddenly standing beside the bed. He set a glass of water on the night stand.

“Not sure. Thank you.” You eyed it for a moment, knowing that he could have slipped any manner of drug in there, but at this point, what choice did you have? They needed you for something, and that meant they probably needed you alive and functional. You took the water, sipping it slowly.

The moff watched you like a hawk, probably worried that you were going to choke or throw up.

You studied him, noting his bare hands. There were scars on them, but it looked like the bite marks had healed. “Sorry about biting you last night,” you said. Apologizing seemed like a good idea. It would be wisest if they thought you were docile and amenable to them. You still weren’t certain that you were going to thank him for sparing your life. But you were a little more confident that they weren’t planning on torturing you to death. Not immediately, anyway.

“You need to be more careful with those teeth,” he said, without a hint of inflection, that handsome scarred face stoic once more.

You stared at him for a second, a moment of deja vu. You shrugged. “I need to be more careful, period.” You dropped back onto the pillows, another wave of dizziness skewing your balance.

The moff picked up a personal comm. “Echo, let Messor know that our guest is awake, and have something mild brought up from the kitchens for her.” He glanced over at you. “I can send for the medical droid.”

“You already had me checked out, right?” You asked, staring up at the stone tiled ceiling.

“Yes. There was a small amount of bleeding in your skull. We took care of it. It can provide some painkillers and anti-nausea meds if you want.”

We took care of it.

That was an interesting way to phrase it. The medical droid might have accomplished it on its own, though the procedure would be more invasive.

“I think I should go for the anti-nausea meds,” you said, one hand over your eyes. “But if you give me a minute, I can try to get upright and-”

“Just stay there,” Kiljack said. “Messor will be along shortly. Finish your water.”

You sighed and downed the rest of the glass, spilling a little down your chin, and not really caring because your head hurt.

**

The comm unit chimed and Kiljack stepped out of the bedroom. When he returned, he was carrying a large platter of flatbread, grilled fish, and some fruit. There was a small glass of anti-nausea medication too. He set it all on the nightstand and poured you another glass of water from the carafe.

Your stomach rumbled, so you took a few berries and ate them slowly, letting the sweetness roll down your throat. You downed the medication in one shot.

When everything stayed down, you took a few more berries, and then a piece of bread, passing on the sauce, just in case.

Kiljack settled back down in his chair, watching your every move.

You had taken a break from trying to eat, when there was a knock. It was distant, and you realized this bedroom was probably part of a suite. Kiljack got up, giving you a stern look.

You pretended not to see. You were still too messed up to make a run for it, and even if you did manage to escape, where would you go? Keeper was trying to kill you. Thanaton was not going to be happy about Prince. And Nar Shaddaa with its flashing lights and cacophony of sounds, would give you a migraine bad enough to make your head explode. You could stay here in the comfortable bed for a moment. You needed a more accurate picture of the situation, before you did anything rash. You did not need a repeat of last night.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t have to get back to the fleet, I’ll just stay here and babysit your new pet spy,” Kiljack said sharply as he returned and practically threw himself into his chair.

Lord Messor followed, still in those sweeping red and black Sith robes, that stylized skull mask in place. The Sith had several skull motifs, though to be honest, his reminded you a little of the Mandalorian mythosaur skull symbol, without the horns.

“I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better,” Lord Messor stood in the doorway. There was a slight mechanical quality to his voice that you had not noticed last night. The mask had a built-in vocoder then. Interesting.

“My lord,” you said, attempting a bow at the waist and feeling your head swoop dangerously close to your knees.

“Don’t-” He sighed. “We can do this informally, Cipher. You’re still recovering from your ordeal.”

You nodded, wincing as you leaned back into the pillows. “I appreciate that, my lord.”

“We’re in private, Cipher. You can forego the title as well.”

Thankfully, you were already lying down, because otherwise you would have fallen over in shock. You had never actually expected to hear a Sith lord say that. After Thanaton, it was a pleasant reversal. But you did not trust that magnanimity.

If Messor and Kiljack knew about the “extra” missions you did, then they had to have a fairly accurate psychological profile of you. They had to know that people who forced you into bad situations ended up having freak accidents. Being polite was just a good way to manage you. You had no illusions about the altruistic natures of moffs and Sith lords. But you could appreciate the effort and you would work with good manners. This was certainly better than spending an hour being shouted at by Darth Thanaton.

You waited for one of the men to speak. They were the ones who wanted you here, after all.

“You were recently tasked by Darth Thanaton to sabotage our strategic efforts on Hoth and Voss. You were assigned to Darth Thanaton by Imperial Intelligence, but that does not mean Imperial Intelligence condones his actions. However, as Thanaton is a member of the Dark Council, politics must come into play.” Messor’s hands twitched. He wasn’t wearing the gauntlets today. He had large hands, dark skin, and thick callouses, probably from handling weapons.

“So someone in Imperial Intelligence tipped you off?”

“Your...Keeper saw fit to warn me,” Kiljack said, fingers steepled.

You frowned. “But not Lord Messor.”

“I think you’ve already figured out that Messor and I are...exaggerating our feud.” Kiljack gave a wry smile. “But that is very guarded knowledge.”

“Yes,” you nodded, and then winced, because you did not need to be bobbing your injured head like an idiot bird. Your brain had taken enough of a blending.

A secret political alliance gave them an interesting cover and access to a wider range of intelligence. But Moff Kiljack did not have the wealth and prestige that Lord Messor did. He would be at a fundamental disadvantage. A Sith lord was not likely to trust anyone outside their control. There were a lot of disadvantages to this tactic and you could not see a clear payoff. You sat with that for a moment. There was an important reason for their ruse, though you doubted they would tell you anything but a plausible cover story today. But the layout of the game started to form. You looked at the empty spaces, trying to find the details that didn’t make sense.

...There it was. There was a third party in play, aiding and abetting this ruse. Someone with enough clout to help Kiljack get his promotion. Someone that even Keeper did not want to cross...

Another Dark Council member then. And given Kiljack and Messor’s military interests and mostly low-key behavior, you had a good idea whom that Council Member was, though again, not why they were using this exact ruse. But if Kiljack’s patron was who you thought it was, you did not blame Keeper for wanting to stay on his good side.

But you were also pretty sure that you were not supposed to survive that meeting with Thanaton yesterday. The exchange would go something like this:

“Send me another minion, peon!”

“I’m so sorry, your Decrepit-ness, you killed my only available agent and we’re very shorthanded! There’s no one else to send. You’ll have to wait.”

Keeper would be off the hook with Thanaton and Kiljack’s patron. You would be dead. Three problems solved.

Except you were alive, and no problems were solved. You looked up to see Kiljack studying your face.

“Do you suspect that Keeper knows the feud is fabricated?”

“No. That’s very exclusive knowledge,” Messor said without a trace of doubt.

You wondered how he could be so confident – not because he wasn’t ruthless – but because your business was secrets: keeping them, stealing them, rooting them out. If people wanted information badly enough, they would find a way to get it. No matter how well you thought you covered your tracks. Your stomach soured a little at that thought. They’d figured out some of your secrets. You’d have to return the favor, if only for your own pride. And maybe some leverage.

“So you want to recruit me as a double agent against Thanaton,” you said.

“Partially,” Messor admitted. “But I had a more permanent offer in mind for you.” He cleared his throat. “My current intelligence chief will be retiring soon. You were recommended to us.”

You blinked. “I can’t just quit Imperial Intelligence, believe me, I’ve tried,” you blurted out.

“You can if you have the right patronage,” Kiljack said. And he had some experience there, having gone from Sith apprentice to moff.

“You want me to help you bring down Thanaton, get you onto the Dark Council, and then you’ll hire me?” Your lips twitched at that tall order. Sith expectations.

“I will hire you now as a house intelligence agent, at double your current pay with all the usual amenities one expects from the well-to-do estate of a Sith lord,” Messor said. “Promotion to intelligence chief pending results.”

That would have been extremely generous, except Imperial Intelligence was criminally cheap. Sure you had some good benefits, but they didn’t have to be competitive when their employees literally weren’t allowed to quit. Still, it was not a bad offer. Better than a lot of the alternatives.

Messor continued. “Handling Thanaton and the Council are longer term problems. If we succeed on Hoth and Voss, I will have enough clout to extract you intact from the employ of Imperial Intelligence. And it will be easier since you’re already assigned to me: possession is nine tenths of the law.”

You sat with that for a few seconds. You could play the long game, letting Thanaton think you had wormed your way into Messor’s confidence. That would sit well with Keeper – it kept him out of the hotseat. You could go back to Keeper and see which way he wanted you to go – for intel purposes only - and then do whatever you wanted anyway. You could say no outright, and get shot in the head by Kiljack…

“You have questions,” Messor said, still keeping his distance.

“How long have you been tracking me? And what brought me to your attention?”

“A man once called “Sparrow” recommended you to us a year ago. He is around here if you want to catch up later.”

You sighed, of course Sparrow was still alive. That explained a lot. He knew you well enough to guess which missions you had purposefully altered. He knew your expertise well enough to conjecture methodology. That he shared this information with a strange Sith lord should not have surprised you entirely. The former Cipher 7 was a skilled assassin; he’d been declared KIA with his brother two years ago. But it seemed he had found a safe haven here.

“His brother?”

“Didn’t want to work with us. No one was going to force him. He took a shuttle to Yavin 4. Sparrow visits him occasionally,” Kiljack said.

“Why me?” You asked, not because you doubted your abilities, but because you still did not quite understand how this coalition worked.

Messor was silent for a moment. “You are a reasonable woman. And looking at your track record, we thought your methods would align with ours.”

“And why do you think that?” You asked.

“The Rancor Incident,” Kiljack said with a smirk.

You kept your face neutral.

“Lord Vilhus was there, a very nasty individual. But the casualty list also included Ieyak the Butcher, Margrene the Bloody, General Arus, Enso Chain-Maker, and Lord Casten. Coincidentally, none of the slaves, servers, or civilian bystanders were hurt. And everyone thought it was just a terrible accident. That took planning, skill, and finesse.”

You stared at your lap, trying to remember if any of those people had good or bad ties to House Messor. Vilhus wasn’t anyone’s friend and Arus wasn’t related. Casten might have attended the Academy at the same time as Messor. You pondered that connection.

Because once you’d had a close...friend, a lower ranking analyst in Imperial Intelligence. A smart and pretty Twi’lek who didn’t deserve the things Lord Vilhus did to her. Lord Vilhus was a Sith lord and could do as he pleased to those weaker than him. So when you saw him there and that rancor… It was just an opportunity.

You looked up to see Kiljack studying you intently. “None of them were allies to House Messor or myself,” he told you.

“Am I...broadcasting?” You asked, trying to make sure your mind was quiet.

“No, it’s just the next logical question,” Kiljack said. He cleared his throat. “But there’s something else we need to address.”

“You’re a Sensitive,” Messor said.

You winced. Of course they’d picked that up yesterday. “A little. Nothing kinetic level, just intuitive boosts every now and again. Came along later in life.” Though it still might be enough to get you sent to Korriban. And now they knew. Which was a manageable thing. You knew about their fake feud, they knew about your force sensitivity. Mutually-assured destruction ensured that the balance of power remained less complicated.

Messor nodded. “Kiljack is very good at shielding. You should consult him about how to better protect your mind.”

Kiljack gave Messor a side-eyed squint, but did not protest.

Accept the offer, take a hard job, and maybe get out from under Keeper’s thumb. Or decline and end up dead. It wasn’t much of a choice.

“What do I have to do to sign on?” You asked.

**

Different Sith lords had their ways of ensuring loyalty, or at least compliance. You had undergone years of conditioning to be kept under the authority of Imperial Intelligence. A lot of that conditioning had come undone in your term as an active operative. You had worked hard to slough the restraints that would have otherwise hobbled your thinking. They might have had your service, but your mind was your own. Ciphers had a lot of leeway to run operations as they saw fit, because an obedient drone could not do their job. But there were still ticks, involuntary habits ingrained in your mind, pathways worn in by years of unpleasant reinforcement. Oh, you weren’t loyal to Imperial Intelligence, but you knew to instantly bow your head to a “superior,” to mask your emotions with a lie, and that the mission came first at the expense of all else... You knew these things in your bones, because of the conditioning. And you understood intimately how those rituals did psychological damage.

So when Lord Messor stepped into the room and drew closer, you prepared yourself for something unpleasant.

“Give me your hand, the flesh one.”

Permanently, or just to hold? You wanted to ask, but you kept your mouth shut and extended your right hand. He took it gently between his palms. His skin was warm and rough. You swallowed, preparing to be overwhelmed by your reaction to the Sith.

The world turned black.

Then heat and light poured into your skull, a waterfall rushing through you, and you screamed under the torrent. It cut through your perception, and tethered something in your head, to that little spot of intuition that always knew when a weapon was being drawn or when someone was lying to you. That metaphysical aperture expanded, wedged open by the hooks of Messor’s connection. He was in your head, and for a moment, you were face down on the dining room table, those claws tracing along your spine while he pinned you there, while you squeezed your thighs together, squirming at his touch…

Then you felt the weight on your left arm, felt Messor squeeze your right hand, and you forced your eyes open.

Kiljack held you to the bed, your left hand pinned over your head.

You could feel Messor through the force. He was in your mind, had his own private backdoor in, a new sort of violation. And that realization enraged you. Snarling, you thrashed, “You bastard! Get the hell out of my head!”

“If you shield well, I can’t see what’s in your head,” he said calmly. “And I won’t go looking.”

Cursing, you lunged at him, but Kiljack held you down, his full weight on your body.

“It’s not mind control, it’s a minor force bond,” Messor said, tone even.

So this was how he kept Kiljack in line. And you had just willingly submitted yourself to the same treatment. Maybe death was preferable. Fury overtook you and you tried to throw Kiljack off you. When he didn’t budge, you sunk your teeth into Kiljack’s shoulder.

He jerked, then braced himself, hand tightening on your throat. “I thought I told you to be more careful with those teeth,” he rasped, pupils huge.

You waited for the leash or the neural bolt.

It’s not a leash. It goes both ways. And it fades with time. Messor said quietly in your head. Also, if you keep biting Kiljack, he’s going to choke you out.

Groaning, you released the moff, feeling his fingers begin to loosen around your neck. You kriffing piece of sarlaac scum! I’m going to feed you your teeth!

“I hope you’re talking to Messor, because you’re not in any position to threaten me,” Kiljack said gruffly, running his thumb over your throat, before letting go of your neck.

“You’re on the list too, don’t worry,” you hissed.

Messor released your hand, a hint of amusement in his aura. “Get some rest, Thirteen. We can talk more later.”

I know so many annoying drinking songs from dozens of planets. I will be screaming them into your skull all night!

“Charming,” Kiljack said, rubbing his temple. He glanced down at his ripped jacket and glared at you. “If you’re going to be a nuisance, you can go crawl into someone else’s bed, because-”

There was the ghost of a memory, a shirtless Kiljack laughing as he lay in the bed, another man pinned under him, like you had been, a flash of heat pulsed between your thighs-

Messor inhaled sharply.

Kiljack pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you-” He pushed his hair back, suddenly very tired. “Just go. Your proximity is probably making things more difficult.”

“Your shoulder,” Messor said softly, he stepped out of the room and returned with a medkit.

You watched silently as Messor carefully cleaned Kiljack’s wound, and treated it with kolto.

Kiljack leaned into Messor’s hands, his head resting against Messor’s shoulder, and it clicked.

There was more than one reason why Kiljack did not betray Messor, one you had not anticipated. You gave a dry laugh, how utterly ridiculous. These stories never ended well for the Sith or their lovers. Suddenly very drained, you dropped back into the pillows.

Rest.

I hope you get eaten by a gorryl slug, you bastard. You pictured the giant carnivorous slugs of Kashyyyk, arboreal hunters that dropped onto their prey and were nearly impossible to pry off. They would exude digestive juices and slowly digest their victims. An unlucky person could take a very long time to die.

What are those- oh that is awful. I’ll have to remember that one. A low laugh in the back of your skull. Kiljack is very good at shielding. He will help you if you ask, nicely.

I’m going to gut you like a ghest.

Get some rest, Thirteen. You’ll have plenty of time to threaten me later.

[ri-ahhh]

desperate

Grayson makes his girlfriend all kinds of desperate by posting those photoshoot pictures for everyone to see

warnings: long af, about 4.6K, but mostly sexy times

***

MJ Macias is in a hurry as she huffs and struggles across the threshold of the front door and into the Dolan boys’ house. She practically lives there, so she had taken it upon herself to do the weekly food shop for all three of them. Her arms are laden with reusable shopping bags that are filled to the brim with groceries from Trader Joe’s, so she bumps the door closed with her hip behind her before waddling as fast as she can into the kitchen.

“Hey,” she greets Ethan hurriedly, heaving up and plopping down the heavy bags onto the granite countertops.

Ethan stands in the middle of the kitchen, minding his own business, eating a banana and scrolling on his phone. He nods his head in return, his mouth otherwise occupied by a mouthful of fruit.

MJ whips off her sunglasses and tosses them with her keys onto the island catch-all plate, simultaneously toeing off her AF1’s. “Can you do me a solid and put those away, please?” she asks. Her body feels hot despite the fact that they keep their AC on typical-boy freezing temperatures. “I gotta, um…take a poop. Yeah.”

Ethan eyes her suspiciously and chomps off another bite of his banana as he does so. Her flushed face, her twitchy hands, her slightly breathless voice, are all telling a different story. Unfortunately, he’s around his brother and his girlfriend often enough to know their horny tells, which are usually his cues to get the hell away from them; those two really didn’t give a fuck who was around when they got desperate enough.

“No you don’t. You saw his douchey Instagram post, didn’t you?”

MJ at least has the decency to blush a little as she rolls her eyes and digs through the black hole of her purse in search of her phone. There was no point in denying it if he was gonna call her out like that. “Fine! Would you rather me tell you I’m off to suck your brother’s dick? Because I am.”

Ethan retches a little. Drama queen. He looks down at the half-eaten banana in his hand, grimaces, and sits it on the countertop he had just been leaning against. “Ugh. So many terrible, terrible images I can’t stop now.”

Phone in hand, MJ is already halfway to the hallway when she stops and turns to give him a deadpan look. “You’ve caught us full-on fucking, E. Just think, you’ve already seen worse.”

She smirks when he groans loudly, his head tipping back exasperatedly. If there’s one thing that provides her with endless entertainment, it’s pushing her boyfriend’s brother’s sometimes oversensitive buttons. “Okay, okay, MJ, leave now please, before you inflict more mental scarring on my poor virgin brain. I’ll just… pretend like I don’t have any idea what’s going on in there.”

MJ scoffs. ‘Virgin brain’ is the biggest lie she’s ever heard pass his lips.

It also jogs a helpful memory in her head from two nights ago.

It started when she had woken up in the middle of the night completely parched, and padded herself sleepily into the kitchen at 3 AM for some water. The muffled yet tell-tale noises breaking the silence blanketing the rest of the house should have been her warning, but in her defense, she had still been half asleep. Cut to zombie-esque MJ suddenly turning wide awake when she rounded the corner to find Ethan on his knees on the kitchen floor, his head buried between his girlfriend Evie’s legs where she sat perched on the counter. A nearly inaudible squeak of surprise was the only thing she had left behind before booking it back to bed, leaving the couple none the wiser in the dim light of the kitchen.

She had still been thirsty, she remembers grumpily, and was left with her own mental images burned in her mind, which she had spent a good portion of the rest of that night trying to put out.

It’s only fair, as payback, that he doesn't find out that she and Gray have been in the exact same position several times before.

Alright, so it’s a little hypocritical for her to continue to dig at him, but she does so anyways without any guilt whatsoever. “Hm. Well, at least we’re behind closed doors. You should probably remember: the kitchen is for cooking, not for eating.”

She gives him a grin and a pointed look at the counter behind him, leaving Ethan looking momentarily confused before understanding dawns on him. “MJ, shut up. Serious— wait!”

“Thanks for putting the food away, E!” she calls over her shoulder as she continues across the living room, laughing heartily at the furious blush on his face.

MJ is still chuckling when her phone buzzes in her hand. Her heart lifts when she sees it’s from Grayson, asking if that was her he could hear Ethan yelling at. She swipes the text notification away and bites her lip as she stares at the new photo that is her background wallpaper. Thousands of other girls are probably looking at that picture of him laying in bed the same way she is now. What they don’t have, she thought smugly, is the real thing waiting for them on the other side of a door.

That’s exactly what she finds when she enters their room: him sprawled out on that very bed, looking superbly comfy in his athletic shorts and soft t-shirt, barefoot, his skin a fresh golden tone from doing laps in the pool earlier today. His eyes dart away from his phone, which he tosses to the other side of the bed when he hears her come in.

“I thought that was you,” he says with a bright smile, reaching his arms out to her. “C’mere. I haven't seen you all day.”

Not exactly true, as they had crossed paths a few times in passing in the morning, but the effect had been there since they were both separately busy. She doesn’t correct him and ignores his grabby hands, too, despite how much her body longs to dive into them.

She shuts the door quietly behind her, her green eyes appreciating the real-life version of the man in those photos. Those photos that she had gotten a tiny preview of a few days ago when Grayson had showed her the email, but were nothing compared to the final product. When she saw his Instagram post right when she got in her car to come home, her mind, heart, and pussy were all instantly fighting with each other to process the coinciding beauty and sexiness of the images blessing her eyes.

Now, she wants to take the time to appreciate every aspect of him. To let her brain wrap around how he can be so beautiful inside and out; to let her heart simply feel how much she loves him; and to let her body be a tool for his enjoyment.

Her lust must be evident on her face as she stares at him, unmoving from her spot by the door, because Grayson’s bright smile turns knowing. He loves the effect it has on her when he shows off what’s really hers to his millions of followers. It’s mostly why he does it. Admittedly, he’s self-aware enough to realize he thrives off the praise and attention from his fans, but he’s also selfish enough to do it simply for the rise it gets out of his beautiful girlfriend; he knows it could only end in his favor.

He also knows MJ like the back of his hand by now, and he hasn’t seen her this turned on without him even touching her since he made that post in Australia about saving the duckling. The marathon session he had been rewarded with after that was unmatched to this day.

Grayson has a feeling now might be the time.

MJ is finally brought back to her senses a little bit when he shifts up the pillows to get more comfy and to allow himself a better view of what he knows is about to go down. She takes off her black baseball cap and tosses it to the corner of the bedroom, eyes never leaving his as she shakes out her wavy waist-length hair. Her delicate fingers tug at the drawstring of her grey sweats — the very ones of his that he’s wearing in the pictures, actually — and steps out of them when they fall to the floor. Finally, her casual black body suit is all that adorns her body, and she pulls the spaghetti straps down her arms so it can slide to the ground as well.

Grayson licks his lips and let’s his hazel eyes absorb the delectable curves of her body as she stalks over to him like a panther on the hunt for her prey. She climbs onto the bed with their eyes still locked, small smiles tugging at both of their lips, until she’s straddling his fully-clothed waist.

“Who gave you permission to be that sexy online?” she asks quietly, combing his hair back with the manicured fingers of one hand and using the other to steady herself on his shoulder as she sits back and wastes no time rocking her hips over his lap. “Making all those girls want you. Jealous they can’t have you.”

Grayson bites his plump lower lip and brushes her long tresses over her shoulders so her tits are fully exposed for him. He takes a few moments to admire his favorite part of her body while his large hands find her hips to help her grind against him. He can feel her wetness already seeping through his shorts, and it makes him dizzy that she’s this turned on by him without him having to do anything at all.

“I thought you liked it when I make other girls jealous,” he retorts, meeting her eyes once again with a grin. MJ gasps when his hands sweep upwards to cup her sensitive breasts, where he rubs his thumbs a couple of times teasingly over her nipples before dropping one down to swipe through her slit. He moans when he brings the digit to his mouth, sucking the coating of her sweet, earthy arousal off his skin. “Mm. In fact, I know you like it.”

He’s so perfectly feeding into this sexy-and-I-know-it douchebag fetish of hers and it’s making her head swim dangerously. MJ moans herself and pushes his hand away from his mouth so she can kiss him deeply, sloppily, her tongue finding his in his mouth and sliding alongside it sensually.

“I fucking love it,” she whispers hotly when they pull back for air, her chest heaving with both desire and the attempts to catch her breath.

She uses the downtime to take hold of the hem of his shirt and tug upwards. Grayson lifts his arms in assistance until the garment is over his head and thrown across the room. MJ’s fingers are instantly drawn to the newest addition of body art inked into him: the black-and-grey photorealistic peach on his ribs.

For all intents and purposes, it’s her name etched into his skin forever. Usually when she sees it, it just makes her heart extra soft for him. Now, it only drives her lust for him through the roof, because if only those millions of people knew what that peach really meant.

MJ dives back in to kiss him again, both of their hands grabbing at every bit of exposed skin they can reach as their lips and teeth and tongues clash roughly, perfectly. They make out like that for a few more minutes until MJ’s finally able to comprehend that he’s fully hard beneath her. She could very easily keep grinding on him until she came, but she decides to focus on him. Really, it’s almost selfish how desperate she is to make him cum first.

Her breaths are loud and heavy as she bites her lip and scoots down his body with a grip in the waistband of his shorts, dragging them down with her. Grayson lifts his ass off the bed and hisses when his dick springs free, hot and hard and throbbing for her. MJ’s mouth waters at the sight, and she sits back on her knees with her eyes glued to him as she throws her hair up in a messy bun. With it sufficiently pulled out of her face, she settles on her belly in-between his legs, getting comfy; she’d be there for a while if she has it her way.

Her legs naturally bend at the knees and cross at the ankles, looking innocent and seductive as she takes him in one petite hand, the other scratching her long nails along the skin of his abdomen, hip, and upper thigh. She makes sure his eyes are on hers when she turns her head and licks up the whole underside of him like an ice cream cone. Grayson sighs and interlaces his fingers behind his head to watch her work, just like the spoiled prince she’s treating him as.

“You’re so hot,” she murmurs after giving the head a lascivious kiss. Grayson moans softly and throws his head back, swallowing hard when she follows it with a gentle suckle of the whole tip — just teasing little snippets of what’s to come. “Makes me crazy how sexy you are, Bear.”

With that, she dips her head lower and takes more of him in her warm, wet mouth a few times, then pulls back and drizzles some of the saliva pooling in her cheeks onto his dick. She repeats this again. And again. And again, her eyes shining mischievously as she watches him get more and more worked up the longer she goes without giving him exactly what she knows he wants.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hazel eyes glazed over as she spreads the considerable amount of slickness from her mouth all over his shaft. She’s got him as desperate as she set out to, which is only confirmed when he finally begs, “Suck it, baby, please.”

MJ grins against his skin and, with his dick sufficiently wet, gives in instantly. She dips her head and takes the first couple of inches into her mouth, then a few more on the next pass, until finally she has enough of him in her so that his tip is tickling the back of her throat. She hollows her cheeks and twists her hand on the way back up, continuing until she’s got a rhythm and pressure that has him moaning unashamedly amidst the filthy sounds created by her mouth on him.

“So fucking good,” he groans, gripping the base of her messy bun and holding her down so her spit and drool pools at the base of him, dripping down his balls. Tears start to stream from her eyes as MJ allows him to keep her there until she has to tap his hard stomach, trying to lift off of him to gasp for air.  

Grayson pulls up on her hair at once to let her, swiping at the tears on her freckled cheekbones for her as well. MJ giggles breathlessly and strokes one hand over him while the other cradles his sac. “Because you have the best dick, Gray. So big and thick and nice. I love your dick,” she moans and ducks down to suck one of his balls into her mouth, giving it a warm bath before the other gets the same treatment. “Mmm. Want it back in my mouth right now.”

“Yeah,” he growls, his eyes shutting momentarily when her lips wrap back around him. He doesn’t want to miss a second of her pretty face so close to his cock, though, so he opens them once again and demands, “Wanna fuck your mouth.”

God, yes. “Do it, baby, I’m ready,” she instructs with a moan. Her pussy throbs greedily when she takes him back all the way down, relaxing her throat and concentrating on breathing through her nose when he bends his knees and starts thrusting gently.

His hand returns to her hair for leverage and holds her head steady as he finds a tempo with his hips that she can handle. MJ fights her gag reflex and does her best to look up so she can watch his beautiful face with teary green eyes for as long as she can. Giving head has always been something she’s relatively enjoyed, but Grayson has taken her appreciation for it to a whole new level. Never before had she craved the feeling of her throat being stretched, the slight ache of her jaw, the way her eyes watered, like she does with him.

Grayson’s sounds are getting more frequent and needy, music to MJ’s ears solely for the fact that they feed her ego and drive her own arousal. She’s always loved that he wasn't afraid to be as loud as he usually is outside of the bedroom, inside it as well; whether he was working out or talking or getting his dick sucked, he had zero regard for his volume in respect of his twin just down the hall.

“Fuuuckk,” he moans, almost painfully so, and tugs roughly on her hair once again to pull her off of him as he sits up. He’s panting, a cute flush tinting his cheeks and neck and chest. She catches the sexy glint of one of his tooth jewels as he grits his teeth with a little snarl in attempts to hold himself together. “C’mere.”

MJ whines and follows his physical order, but not his verbal one. His cock is an absolute mess with her spit, a beautiful sight to see, and she rubs it all into his tight balls and his shaft with two hands. “Put it back in, Grayson, I want it in my throat,” she pleads, opening her mouth wide for him.

A deep, guttural noise passes his lips, his eyes blown out with desperation and desire. His visceral reaction to her defiance sends a gush of moisture to her already dripping pussy as he drags her up to him by her hair.

They’re nose to nose, breathing heavily, and MJ expects him to pull her by the back of the neck to kiss him, but he just reaches a big hand up to wipe the moisture from both her eyes and her mouth off of her flushed face.

“Ride me,” he growls, his fingers moving from the soft skin of her cheeks to the more delicate area of her throat. He squeezes gently, and she’s so turned on, that the simple hitch in her breath that results from it makes her eyes roll back and her clit pulse. “Ride me as good as you suck my dick, MJ.”

MJ whimpers and lunges forward to crash her lips against his, moving from the middle of his legs to straddle him with a knee on either side of his hips. Without breaking the heated seal of their mouths, she lifts up onto her shins and reaches behind her to find his cock and line him up with her center. If he wants a good ride, she’ll sure as hell give him one.

Grayson’s moan is synchronized with her own as she sinks down on him, so wet and ready for him it’s just one easy movement until she’s balls deep on him.

“God, this pussy,” he growls, grabbing a handful of her thick ass and following it with a sharp spank to her skin, causing her to yelp into the minimal space between them. He bites his lip and looks up at her darkly as she wraps her arms loosely around his neck, her nails digging into the sinews of his broad back. “Go, Peach. Fuck me.”

Those were usually her choice words, so something about hearing them in his deep, raspy voice said to her, sends her head reeling and her hips rocking of their own accord. She is fucking him; they both know everything she’s doing right now is for him. If she happens to cum in the meantime, it will simply be an added bonus this afternoon.

If she were taking herself into account, MJ would start by grinding on him, building that pressure in her core by stimulating her clit. But she wants to do everything she knows he likes, all for him. She looks at his face, his body, and sees those insane photos on Instagram. How many girls would do anything to be in her place?

A lot. Too many, really. The renewed thought both drives her crazy and makes her heady with a weird sense of momentary superiority.

MJ moans and starts rising up and down on him, bouncing on his lap so her tits are jiggling right in his face. Grayson grunts and watches intently until he takes them both in his hands, squeezing roughly. He releases one and wraps that arm around her waist, bringing her forward so he can suck her nipple of the breast he’s still holding into his warm mouth.

“Lay down,” she says breathlessly after a couple of minutes of letting him indulge, pushing gently on his chest. Grayson follows suit. He swallows hard when she drags her nails down the hard ridges of his abs before bracing herself there with her palms and making sweeping circles with her hips. As much as he loves a face-full of her tits, nothing beats the full view of her body when he's flat on his back like this. Her dark hair curtains the soft, blissful features of her face; her breasts shake enticingly; the respective dips of her waist and swells of her hips are more pronounced by the way she’s sitting astride him; her own lean muscles work hard as she moves gracefully, sensually, to give him as much pleasure as she can.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs lowly, overwhelmed by the sight of her on top of him, working just for him. Without him even realizing, his thumb instinctively finds her clit, his mind and his body hardwired to make sure she’s satisfied as well no matter what.

A new rush of heat floods her body at his touch, and the tip of his cock is hitting just right on that spot behind her belly. Her head tips back with a high-pitch gasp and she fights for a second between instinct to reach her own peak and the competitive, determined urge to get him to cum first.

It takes all her willpower to take the latter route and gather both of his hands in hers, interlacing their fingers and pinning them above his head. His biceps bulge obscenely, his shoulders and triceps equally pronounced, and MJ moans wantonly at the sight as she changes the motion of her hips. She uses the new leverage and goes back to moving up and down on him, a slight smirk gracing her lips when she watches his attention zero in on her tits swaying over him from the way she’s leaning above him.

Unfortunately (or, who is she kidding, fortunately) for her, Grayson also realizes the advantages of this new position. His knees raise behind her so his feet are flat on the mattress, and he grins when he starts thrusting full-force up into her. He would usually wrap his arms around her waist to hold her steady, but those abs are coming in clutch as he achieves the same effect with his hands captured above him.

He knows this is one of her favorite positions, when he jackhammers her like this, and sure enough her moans and whimpers shift in pitch and frequency as her body goes stiff. She can only take him like this, and any thoughts of other girls and jealousy and pride or any other emotion like them fly out of her mind as her body’s desires take over her brain’s thinking power.

“Fuckfuckfuck, Grayson!” she squeals, her eyes squeezing shut and breaking their mutual gaze as she cums and cums hard.

“Yes, baby, cum for Bear,” he grunts, snatching one of his hands from hers so he can grab her face by the cheeks and pull her down for a sloppy, desperate kiss.

It takes her almost a minute to come down enough for her to be coherent, and Grayson smiles smugly as he sits them up and trails his mouth to the spot behind her ear that never fails to make her shiver. “You love my dick, Peach? Hm? Who’s dick just made you cum that hard?”

MJ groans and grasps a handful of his dark hair when he bites into the junction of her neck and shoulder. “Yours,” she whispers. Her body is exhausted, but she starts moving over him again, tugging on his long, sweaty hair to pull him away from her skin so she can look him in the eye. If there’s anything that gets Grayson Dolan off, it’s eye contact. Eye contact, and dirty praises of his prowess. “Didn’t even need to touch my clit, it’s so good.”  

She clenches purposefully around him as she speeds up, and Grayson’s eyes roll back for a second. It’s MJ’s turn for her pride to swell, as the simple action puts him right at the edge. “Fuck yeah… ungh, MJ — gonna cum…”

She’s off him in an instant, back on her tummy as she strokes him off into her open mouth, her eyes big and green and sparkling as he whines with every spurt of his hot seed that gets released. The first couple of shots are powerful enough to miss her mouth entirely and land half on her face, which catches her by surprise, but she giggles as the rest find their place on her tongue.

“Holy shit,” he groans after a few moments, his chest heaving as he stares down at her with his white cum pooled on the surface of her tongue. It takes him an extra second to process the streaks on her face, and he smiles with a shake of his head. She grins back and swallows, swiping her finger across the bridge of her nose to collect the extra and sucks it into her mouth.

“Best nut I’ve ever tasted,” she says truthfully. Take his douchey captions as you will, but regular exercise and a vegan diet make the best cum. It’s science.

“Unreal,” he murmurs, plucking a Kleenex from the nightstand to clean the rest of her face, then reaches down to hook his hands under her arms and drag her up to lay next to him.

MJ smiles and nuzzles into his neck as she lets him pull her close to his chest. She reaches blindly behind her for the blanket to throw over their sweat-cooled bodies. “That’s my line. That’s what started this whole tryst in the first place. Because of how unreal you look in those photos.”

Grayson hums, and he kisses her temple. “You’re prettier. More beautiful. Absolutely stunning.”

MJ scoffs and blushes. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be used to him complimenting her like that, with such conviction. “I don’t think so, but okay.”

He shakes his head, his eyes closing as he starts to drift off. “You have boobs. You win by default. Nothing’s better than your boobs. Except your pretty face.”

She giggles and snuggles closer with a yawn. There’s a minute of comfortable silence, until she breaks it with her sex-rasped voice. “Oh, by the way, I caught your brother going down on Evie in the kitchen the other night. In case we need leverage in the future.”

Grayson grins, his eyes still shut as he nuzzles the top of her head. “Nice work, baby. But can we please take a nap? You wore me out.”

“Yeah, I did,” she says smugly to herself. She should probably get up to pee, but in her mind right now it’s worth the risk if she doesn't have to move. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Peach. Now go the fuck to sleep.”

[monstersandmaw]

This month's exclusive features a huge minotaur with submissive tendencies, and a male reader who's happy to give him what he needs... Throw in a few of the very finest tropes - fake dating, there was only one bed, and some heavy mutual pining - and we've got nearly 4k words of fluff and smut for you.

Some mentions of slightly animalistic language used in reference to our mino boy - the word 'bull' is used, and I don't know if that would bother anyone, so I thought I'd just mention it anyway.

Hope you enjoy, and that you're looking forward to the CYOA continuing tomorrow with Gabriel and our female reader.

Preview

Magnus’ enormous hooves caught up with you as you strode down the pavement towards work, sorely un-caffeinated and still a little groggy despite your shower. Mornings were not your thing on the whole.

He called your name, sounding slightly breathless as he drew level with you, and you halted abruptly as a huge mug of takeaway coffee was dangled in front of your face along with a rather enticing smelling brown-paper bag.

“No.”

His ears waggled. “You don't even know what I was going to say!” he protested, licking his right nostril nervously with his thick, pink tongue - an old habit that you’d long ago noticed. You knew all his little ticks, from the way his tail swished when he was agitated, to the way his left ear drooped a little more than the right when he was feeling low… you knew him better than you knew anyone. He was your best friend, and your flatmate, but your heart ached at what he was not to you.

“When you present food to me, it’s because you’re making up for something, or you want a favour. You haven’t done anything lately that I’m aware of that needs an apology, so it must be a favour, and I’m not interested.”

That wasn’t strictly true, and you knew it.

You’d do anything for the enormous black-furred fluff ball, who looked intimidating as all fuck but in fact was nothing less than a gigantic pushover.

He, however, appeared to miss that fact, and gave a deep, sonorous low of distress and his ears went back, left drooping markedly. “Please? I’m… I’m in a bind…”

Now if that didn’t give you ideas you didn’t want at 8am on a Monday morning… Forcing images of him tied up beneath you out of the way before you gave yourself away, you fixed him with as steely a stare as you could manage.

Magnus swallowed. “So… I… I’m going to my cousin’s wedding…”

“Mmm,” you hummed. You knew all about that already.

“Yeah, and… I… I may have said I was bringing my boyfriend… just to get my mother to shut up about pairing me off with someone at the wedding…”

You blinked. “But you don't have a boyfriend at the moment…”

You’d done your fair share of picking up after him whenever he made another monumentally reckless choice in partners - male and female - and you’d almost lost count of the number of times he’d got his heart broken by someone who just wanted a quick no-strings fuck with a huge minotaur. Or by someone who’d snickered at him if he’d felt brave enough to admit that he preferred to bottom over topping. Gods, the things you would do with him if he’d let you, but each time you’d offered him comfort in the form of a hug, he’d always been the first to break it, the first to walk away. Over the years, you’d come to the conclusion that he wasn’t into humans. He’d never dated one to your knowledge either.

“I… I know… but that’s kind of not the worst bit.”

“Oh dear gods, what did you say?” you asked, snatching the dangling coffee from his hand and drawing deeply on it. It was exactly your favourite blend, and the perfect temperature, and you rolled your eyes a little bit as you swallowed it down.

“Imighthavesaidyouweremyboyfriend.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry what?” you said, grateful for having just swallowed the coffee, otherwise you would have done a spit take.

Magnus whined and huffed through his wide nostrils, looking thoroughly miserable.

“Keep walking,” you said, glancing at the time on your watch. “I’ve got a meeting, but seriously, did I hear you right? You said I was your boyfriend? Whyever the fuck?”

It must have come out a little harsher than you’d intended, because he made another miserable lowing noise. “I talk about you all the time, and when I said I had a boyfriend, mum was the one who said your name. I just… didn’t correct her. I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll phone her later after work and put her right. It’s not fair of me, but… I thought I should tell you anyway…”

“I’ll do it.”

Read the whole thing right now over on Patreon

[asknarashikari]

*looking at Saber previews again with a grim look* A fluffy Touma minific for my sanity please

This got way too long lmao. Does it even count as fluff?

Touma knew he was dreaming. He didn’t know how, but he knew he was.

He found himself in an unfamiliar house, sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea in hand. Across from him was Rintaro, reading the newspaper, his brows knitted together in concentration. Beside him, Kento was polishing his sword, and Mei was on his other side, knitting what appeared to be a scarf. 

It was so startlingly domestic, it almost made Touma uneasy, had it not been for the feeling of... rightness that filled him. 

“Touma? Is there something wrong?” Kento asked him, suddenly. “Your tea is going cold...”

“Oh, uh...” Touma was startled by Kento’s appearance. He looked... older. There were laugh lines around his eyes, a touch of grey at his temples. Despite this, Kento still looked as dreamy as the day he flew into the bookstore and back into his life on his magic carpet, and Touma tried to fight the blush on his cheeks. 

“Ah, it’s today, isn’t it?” Rintaro put his newspaper down, and it was only then that Touma noticed the pair of glasses perched on his nose. It only made him look more distinguished, and combined with the more relaxed hairstyle he currently donned, Touma felt ridiculously attracted to him.

“...What’s today?” he asked, confused. “Why do you two look... older?”

Mei sweetly laughed beside him, and she turned to face him. Like the other two, she seemed to have aged a few years overnight, but doing so gracefully. Aside from the slightest wrinkles around her eyes, and her hair being pulled cut into a short, mature bob, she didn’t look any different from the Mei he knew, as beautiful as the day they met right out of university.

“You told us about this,” Mei said. “You think you’re dreaming, don’t you?” she asked him. 

“I feel like I am,” Touma confessed. “How else could this be possible...?”

“You know how it’s like with us Riders,” Kento said, putting aside his sword. “Stranger things have happened. Or, will happen, in your case.”

“‘My case’...?” Touma questioned. “What’s going on here...?”

“Tou-chan, Tou-chan!” 

“I...se...?” Touma had expected a toddling dragon to come and bowl him over to the floor. He did not expect to see a towering teenager in a high school uniform to rush at him with a bunch of papers in hand.

“Tou-chan, did you look over my composition already?I have to leave in a bit, I’m going to be so late!!!” 

“Tou-chan and Mama looked it over already, Ise,” Mei said, handing him a bunch of stapled papers. “We pencilled some things you need to correct but it’s all good.”

“Thanks Mama! I’m going to go now!” Ise nearly flew out of the front door with a piece of toast in his mouth, stuffing the papers haphazardly into his bag.

“T... That was...” Touma stammered, staring after the young man in shock.

“Yes, that is our son, Ise. He’s in high school now.” Rintaro said with a smile. “He’s become quite the man, hasn’t he?”

Touma swallowed. “So... is this... is this really....?” He felt tears in his eyes. 

“Yes, Touma,” Kento replied, smiling at him. “Turns out, I was wrong about the doom and gloom after all.”

Touma let out a choked laugh. “I told you so,” he told off through the lump around his throat. 

He reached for his eyes to wipe at his tears, only to find himself staring at the bands of silver and gold decorating them. He let out an almost hysterical giggle, knowing for sure what this was now, because he was certain his brain wasn’t mad enough to make this up.

All of a sudden, the room started to turn to white at the corners, like it was dissolving into mist. “What...?”

“Shh, don’t worry,” Mei reassured, “You’re just about to wake up. But rest assured, this is no dream, Touma.”

“We’ll see you real soon, dear,” Rintaro told him, unworried. “It’ll be sooner than you think...”

Then Touma’s vision went white, and he woke up.

--------

Touma’s eyes snapped open and he sat straight up in bed, panting. The sun was only barely starting to rise outside, but he barely noticed it with the thoughts whirling in his head.

Why was I shown... whatever that was? He looked at his lap, where the old story book he, Kento and Luna had read when they were kids was opened to a blank page. Luna... did you show that to me...?

Kento groaned awake, having been jolted by Touma’s sudden movement. Mei and Rintaro, who were on his other side, were still fast asleep. “Touma?” he yawned sleepily. “What are you doing up so early...?”

He laughed a little. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you...”

“Stranger things have happened,” Kento shrugged, noncommittally. 

Touma couldn’t help the soft smile on his lips when he heard Kento’s reply. “That they have.”

[bostoniangirl85]

Inspector Gadget fanfic preview: ‘Ghosts of Transylvania’

A sequel to my favorite IG episode, ‘The Haunted Castle’, as well as my fanfic ‘Through Thick and Thin’.

This particular scene take place towards the end of the fic. Brief summary - Penny is 14; she, Gadget, and Brain return to Transylvania to investigate evil machinations, M.A.D. conspiracies, and legends of a vampire haunting the local village. 

Plus I just wanted to write something fluffy and fun after all the angst I’ve written. Enjoy!

The band quickly struck up a pounding, fast-paced tune, and soon the villagers were clapping and dancing despite the tavern being packed near to bursting.

Gadget quickly sidestepped to avoid a young couple that had actually decided to dance on one of the tables given the lack of room (he suspected a bit too much beer on their part but as they weren’t underaged he’d let it go this once). The young man stumbled, nearly falling off the table, until Gadget’s extended hand caught him by the collar, steadying him.

“Thanks, Inspector! You should join in!” the man laughed as he twirled his partner around, not even batting an eye as Gadget’s arm telescoped back to its normal length.

Shaking his head at the wildness of today’s youth, Gadget leaned against the wall to avoid any more dancers (or having any drinks spilled on him). He watched with a smile as a woman pulled Penny into a chain of men, women, and children.

Her golden hair whisked among the dancers and Gadget would have been perfectly content to stay there all night, watching his niece dance, until suddenly she was right in front of him.

“Come on, Uncle! It’s fun!” she said, face flushed as she took his hands in her own. “I don’t know the steps...” Gadget protested as his niece pulled him into the crowd.

“That doesn’t matter - I don’t think there are any steps!” Penny laughed, beaming with such life and joy that it nearly took his breath away.

Feeling a bit like a clumsy ox next to a graceful doe, Gadget reluctantly let Penny pull him into the crowd. When Penny had been much younger they had playfully danced together to the radio at home, but never like this with so many people around them.

Gadget had never really been fond of dancing, even from before he had become a cyborg. Penny noticed his hesitation and gave him a quick hug.

“No one’s going to laugh at you, Uncle,” said Penny softly, so that only Gadget with his enhanced hearing could hear. “They just want you to enjoy yourself.” Gadget nodded, relaxing somewhat as he wrapped one arm around Penny’s waist, taking her other hand in his own as they moved with the crowd.

“It’s okay to have fun,” Penny added, laughing as they were jostled a bit by the excited crowd of dancers. “That means you too Brain!” she called to the dog, who barked excitedly, tail wagging.

The band sped up their tune to an even faster one and the crowd sped up as well. Soon the very floorboards were shuddering under so many pounding feet. 

Penny laughed as they were pressed close together from all sides. Gadget felt his self-consciousness fade at seeing how happy his niece was. His eye suddenly caught sight of the clock above the entrance and he smiled down at his niece.

“Wowsers, Penny, it’s midnight! That means it’s your birthday!” he nearly had to shout above the noise but didn’t mind. “I almost forgot!” the girl exclaimed breathlessly.  Suddenly feeling mischievous and much more confident, Gadget suddenly put both hands on Penny’s waist and lifted her up above him, twirling her around.

“Uncle Gadget, put me down!” Penny half-gasped, half-laughed, once again amazed at her uncle’s strength as he effortlessly held her. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing as they twirled around until the room spun in a wash of color around them. She leaned her forehead against her uncle’s and relaxed completely in his arms, knowing he wouldn’t drop her.

Gadget shook his head, suddenly feeling more human than he had in a long time. He kept his arms wrapped around Penny’s waist, one hand resting against her back to keep her steady.

“Can’t do that, Penny! It’s your birthday!” he said with a grin.

“Oi, it’s your birthday? Happy birthday, kid!” 

“Yes, happy birthday!”

“Many happy returns, my dear!”

The girl blushed and waved her thanks at the villagers who were now in full swing, shouting and clapping and whistling as they danced with abandon. The count had certainly been correct when he had said that they knew how to throw a party, she thought.

Gadget watched his niece’s beaming face and was once again struck by the utter trust Penny had in him. He had felt her immediately relax as soon as he had picked her up, only surprise and joy in her face when so many other people had often given Gadget looks of horror and fear (he wasn’t quite as blind as everyone thought).

“Happy birthday, Penny,” he murmured, hoping his tone conveyed his feelings. Penny never failed to remind him that he was still human despite everyone else seeing only a machine.

Penny smiled gently down at him, her hair a complete mess and hanging in a golden mass that brushed against Gadget’s skin as she playfully kissed his nose.

“You’re amazing, Uncle Gadget.”

Gadget blushed a bit but didn’t put her down as the music and laughter swelled around them. 

They would both be exhausted tomorrow morning but maybe he could convince Chief Quimby to let them stay a bit longer.

[managedmischiefs]

“north” preview// spencer reid

I’ve finally reached 200 followers and as a thank you to my lovely, amazing, and supportive followers, I’m posting a preview to my Spencer fic called “north.” 

I also wanted to thank some of my amazing friends for helping me out with deciding what part to post. All my thanks and love go to @thundergunexpresss @spencer-reid-in-a-pool @baubaby @timey-wimey-lovi 

I hope that everyone enjoys. My inbox is always open and I’d love to hear what you have to say about my writing. Thank you for sticking around the madness and chaos and shit posts of my blog🖤🖤

genre: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 1.6k

"Hi, Spencer," Amelia pops up beside me with her stunning smile.

I take a refreshing breath as soon as I see her, smiling back. "Hi, Amelia," I push myself out of the booth in an attempt to greet her properly.

"Okay," Amelia holds her hands out in front of me, as if stopping me from coming any closer, "so I was thinking about you when you were off at work-"

That's nowhere near the end of her sentence, but it catches my attention the most. I couldn't stop thinking about her, but she was actually thinking about me. It's not one sided. I've never been successful with girls but I did something to this one to make her think about me.

"Or more specifically," she corrects herself, "about how you don't like shaking hands and I totally agree with you. I looked up statistics on handshaking and it's so disgusting. So," she enunciates the word with a huge smile, "I came up with alternatives,"

I raise my eyebrows. "Alternatives?"

"Yeah! For handshaking," Amelia tells me. "So we could high five, but that wasn't my favorite option. We could fist bump, or we could elbow bump, or we could do like," she holds up her hand with her pinky out, "almost like a pinky promise but then I thought that it's still technically touching hands, but we're not covering as much surface area as a whole handshake would. And, of course, I'd assume that hugs are off the table, which is fine." Amelia let's out a little breath and then a giggle. "That was a lot all at once. Sorry about that,"

"No, it's okay," I nervously tuck my hands in my pocket and make a mental reminder to keep my feet still. "It's actually really, um, it's really sweet that you put so much thought into how to greet me,"

Amelia presses her lips together in a shy smile. "I should go order my tea. I'll-"

"Actually, I-"

"Spencer!"

I let out a small laugh at the perfect timing. "I noticed your order the other day and I ordered for you already, if that's okay. I hope it is,"

Despite it being five incredibly long days after our first meeting, Amelia is just as stunning to me now as she was before. Her skin is glowing and her eyes are still harnessing the beauty of the ocean. Her hair is up in a bun today with some pieces still falling out to frame her face. She's wearing a black turtleneck with a plaid skirt, black stockings, and the same black heeled boots as before. There's no camera around her neck today, but I see the straps of her leather backpack around her shoulders and I assume it's tucked away in there. She looks different, sure, but I still have to keep myself from swooning.

"That's really sweet of you, Spencer, thank you," I can swear Amelia's cheeks are red.

"Sit, I'll go grab them," I gesture back to the table before rushing off to grab both of our piping hot drinks, rushing back before they can cool off too much. I sit back down and slide the cup over to Amelia, which she grabs with a grateful nod. "So how are you?"

Amelia takes the first sip of her tea as I pull off the top of mine and blow gently. "I'm pretty great, actually. The weather isn't so nice out today, but it makes for some beautiful pictures. What about you?"

"I'm," I weigh my options of what I could say for a moment, "happy to be here,"

…

"Tomorrow, same time? As long as you don't get a case today,"

"That sounds like a plan to me," I stand at the same time Amelia does, putting my messenger bag over my shoulder and leading her out. I make sure to hold the door open for her and let her out first to be a gentleman. "So I'll text you or call you later and let you know if I get a case,"

"I'll be waiting," she says as she buttons up her coat and then puts her back on, smiling at me.

We're facing each other in front of the door to the cafe, just waiting for the proper goodbye. I hold up my hand with my pinky sticking out, and I'd do anything to immortalize the smile that comes to Amelia's face in that exact moment.

"I knew you'd like this one," she murmurs, wrapping her warm pinky around mine. "I'll talk to you soon, Dr Reid,"

"You know, you can call me Spencer," I say, almost refusing to let go of her hand.

"I'll think about it," she smirks, pulling away and going walking the opposite way. I watch her go, too entranced by her to even move. She has a certain youthful bounce to the way she walks that makes me want to run right up to her and sweep her off her feet.

But I shake my head at my own intrusive thoughts and force myself to turn around and get to the metro. I can't afford to be late again. I can't afford anyone asking questions.

///

The world has a funny way of working, and I've noticed that many times throughout the years. Nothing ever works out the way I think it will. After all I've seen, I expect to work myself to death and die alone. I'm a loose canon and it's obvious. I keep myself reined in, but that won't last for long. I don't deserve to be loved.

But then Amelia waltz's into my life. She comes bouncing in with her black heels, vintage cameras, tea bags, nose piercing, beautiful smile, and equally stunning laugh. She makes me feel like a normal person. She doesn't treat me like an FBI agent, or like someone who has endured trauma, and maybe that's because I haven't told her about any of trauma, but I intend to keep it that way for as long as I can. Amelia comes laughing into my life with her denim skirts that aren't appropriate for the cold weather, curly blonde hair wrapped in patterned scarves or tied back in scrunchies, love for red wine, entrancing blue eyes, and her affinity for strawberries.

It's impossible to not fall in love with her and I hate myself for that. She makes it easy, so maybe it's not my fault that I can't get her out of my head. Maybe it's not my fault that I look at the empty spot on my desk and wonder what it would be like to have a picture of her there. Maybe it's not my fault that I hold her pinky in mine for far too long when we say our goodbyes. I wish I could blame my feelings all on her. I wish I could blame Amelia for how fast I'm falling for her.

I fall in love with the energy she radiates. I fall in love with the way she speaks of her creative process while painting a new piece or drawing a new picture. I fall in love with the way she claims she has a foolproof formula for finding hidden treasures in any given thrift store. I fall in love with the way she talks about her artistic and creatives processes. She speaks of everything with such passion and fire in her eyes that it draws me in. Amelia has taken to setting an alarm on her phone so that I make sure I leave on time for work and every few days, she makes sure to show up before I do so that she can order both of our drinks so that it's not always me ordering for her and "wasting my money on her hot, flavored water."

Amelia and I keep up our morning coffee meetings for two months. We meet as much as we can, only taking the time off when I'm not away on a case. It's actually normalizing my sleep schedule too and I'm getting more sleep than I have in two years- or since Maeve died. When these meetings started, I used to not be able to sleep out of pure excitement of knowing I'd be able to see Amelia again. But then she started to text me the night before, sometimes to remind me to set an alarm so I'm not late or to remind me to bring a magic trick to show her (magic tricks are now common occurrences in the mornings) or to just say how she's looking forward to seeing me tomorrow. Most people usually aren't excited to see me specifically.

The word date never surfaced in any of our conversations. I'm not sure if any of these would be considered a date. Typically, dates happen at night, but these coffee meetings happening bright and early in the morning. And maybe I'm too scared to even bring up the word date because then that will solidify what we're doing, if we even are doing anything. I'm too scared to admit that I'm falling way too hard for Amelia.

I wish I could man up and ask her out for real. I want to be able to see her outside of the confines of this tiny cafe just a block away from my apartment. I want to be able to see her out on the town, laughing and bouncing on her toes in the adorable way that she does. I want to maybe be somewhere with her where we're not just sitting and drinking tea or coffee. I want to know even more about her. I want to know everything. I know I feel something strong towards her and as much as I don't want to admit it, I need to figure out what it is before I go insane.

[yjk-imagines]

Preview from a future fic I'll be writing

Warning for partial nudity. Nothing seggsy, just changing clothes.

When you went through the things that Jaina had been through with her friends, the concept of privacy and personal space went out the window. And she didn't mind it one little bit. Jacen was sitting on Tenel Ka's lap, and Lowie was sitting on the bunk that the twins usually shared, playing with Jaina's wookie doll. It was a testament to her explicit trust of her friends that she didn't rip it out of his hands and hug it tightly. Jaina herself was sitting on the bench in the Rock Dragon's hold with her feet on Zekk's lap. Zekk was attempting to fix a part he'd brought from the Lightning Rod, but was struggling because Jaina's feet were tapping out the beat of the latest Bith hit.

"Masters and Mistresses," Em-Teedee interrupted their comfortable silence with a soft chime over the comms as he monitored their flight from the cockpit.

"We are coming up on Canto Bight. It would be prudent to prepare your disguises now."

"Thanks Em-Teedee!" Jaina called. Lowie growled an affirmative.

Tenel Ka gave Jacen a nudge, and despite the big, soft brown eyes he stared at her with, she kept nudging him until he fell onto the floor.

"The closet should be over here." Tenel Ka opened the double doors and the fabric nearly took off Jaina's eyebrows as it gasped for breath after being squished inside.

"Huh," Jaina grinned, "Maybe the Ta'a Chume has a few good ideas every now and then."

Tenel Ka graced Jaina with a rare smile, "This is a fact."

"Okay," Jacen slicked his hair back at the fresher unit, "Let's go over our roles one more time."

"You don't have a role," Jaina shoved a stylish Corellia-cut suit at her brother, "You, TK, and I are notable enough to have a alibi for being on Canto Bight."

"Yeah, but the holonet doesn't know anything about us. Uncle Luke said that Canto Bight is always swarming with paps, so this is our big chance to create the persona that we want the rest of the galaxy to know."

"You've been crafting a big, dramatic backstory this entire ride, haven't you?"

"I have." Jacen admitted with a huge, dorky grin.

"Hear me out;" Zekk pulled out his ponytail, "A playboy."

Jaina hummed and hawed, then looked at Tenel Ka, who already had her poker face ready to go, "It might work, if he had any girls to play."

"Hey!" Jacen protested, "It could work!"

Not with his one and only girlfriend by his side all night. Jaina rolled her eyes.

Canto Bight had connections to Black Sun, and so at the request of the new owner, Master Skywalker sent five of his newly minted Jedi Knights to snuff them out. Jacen, Jaina, and Tenel Ka would play the heirs come to have a night out, spend all their money, and sniff out suspicious activity. Zekk and Lowie would play bodyguards.

Lowie wore pieces of the same suit Zekk had squeezed into, and the boy from Ennth envied him.

"It feels too tight," He said, trying to move his arms without tearing the suit.

Jaina tried to hide a chuckle, "It makes you look more intimidating." She told him.

"Friend Zekk, there is another suit here that would perhaps fit you better," Tenel Ka tossed it to him. This style of suit was mostly black, with purple accents. It hugged his hips, but comfortably, and the sleeves allowed for more movement while concealing a couple of holsters on his arms. He placed a single tiny blaster on his right arm, just in case, and tucked his lightsaber into the two on his left.

"Still intimidating?" He asked.

Jaina, who was still indecisive about what gown to wear, looked him up and down. "Let's try a fake scar," She suggested.

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me, you look like you have a babyface."

"Are you saying I'm not intimidating?"

"Zekk, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you're about as intimidating as Nicta."

Zekk had no idea how to react to this. His mouth moved back and forth as Jaina grabbed the makeup kit. "I was the Darkest Knight!" He defended.

Lowie growled, badly stifling a fit of laughter.

"Lowbacca is correct. That is not who you are anymore." Tenel Ka decided on a slim number in neon green, with a matching sash of green, blue, and yellow taffeta.

Zekk sighed, "Well, good to know all the time spent meditating on my actions and taking responsibility really worked."

"Hold still," Jaina pushed down gently on his shoulders to get him to sit in the chair. She began to draw a long white line over his eye, reminiscent of the scar on Anakin Skywalker's face. Zekk waited patiently, but with exasperation, for the whole process of blending, shading, and contouring to be finished. By the time Jaina was done, Lowie had brought them out of hyperspace and everyone else was dressed.

"Am I beautiful yet?" He asked.

"Very," Jaina promised.

"For a mechanic, I am impressed with the attention to detail you gave my makeup," Zekk said, examining himself in the closet mirror.

"Hey Jay! check it out!" Jacen said. His hair was spiked up in the front, and face was painted with the craziest amalgamation of colors and powders he could concoct, reminding everyone else of Raynar's robes.

"You like it?" He asked his bewildered sister, framing his face with his hands, "I'm thinking rich bad boy with a heart of gold."

"Perfect! You're bad at everything!"

Tenel Ka stepped in between the twins before they could start fighting and smear the makeup on Jacen's face.

"I thought that you might find this dress fashionable, yet comfortable enough for your tastes," She held out a pile of fabric, and Jaina could hardly tell where it started and where it ended.

First of all, she noticed the red cape. Two buttons, stretchy material, and an endless amount of opportunities. She was sold immediately, but even more so when she noticed the white pants that went under the whole ensemble.

"The shirt is more of a tunic, and can be worn with or without the pants, though I assume you would prefer the pants?"

"Um, yes!" Jaina immediately began to change, trading her cargo pants for the long white pants that, while shiny and white, fit more like Zekk's bodyguard-style pants. She was in love. They came with a matching set of white heels, but who cared when she got to wear pants to a fancy, stuck-up party?

And then she had to change her shirt.

Zekk froze, staring at her collarbone. The familiar pattern of spindly white lines trickled into existence, blossoming with the faded black and blue of bruises from lightning and gathering together beneath Jaina's bra.

"Jaina, what is that?" He asked, his voice shaking.

Jaina looked down at her chest. It hardly pained her nowadays, but yeah, it was there.

"Uh, lightning scar?" She quickly pulled the white shirt on, not nearly as excited about her disguise now.

"No, Jaina," Zekk's voice was low, and bristling with sharp, pointed syllables. "That is not a natural lightning scar and those kinds of bruises only come from Sith lightning."

He stepped closer to Jaina, who didn't move. The whole ship was deathly silent as Zekk's anger rippled outward into the force.

"Jaina," His voice held a hint of softness as his fingertips brushed against her hand, "Who did this to you?"

[minijenn]

Keys to the Kingdom Preview

In which Ven and Vanitas get into a bit of a scrap. Or they will after this bit of catty dialogue between them. Anyway here goes a bit of that ahaha: 

Despite just waking up from a 12-year slumber mere seconds ago, Ventus’ movements are swift and steady as he rushes to stand protectively in front of Aqua, his Keyblade held tight and firm in his grip. His determined manner is a far cry from Vanitas’ still somewhat weakened state; he stumbles to right himself from the palpable blow he just sustained, his hold on his weapon starting to slip as his free hand finds a place against his still-pounding head. Even so, he can’t help but crack a satisfied smirk as he glances up to look at his “brother”. 

“Ventus…” he begins, straightening himself up to properly stand. “Welcome back to the world of the waking. It’s about time you finally stopped lazing around here.”

Ventus’ already stern glare sharpens at this. He’s all too aware that over a decade has passed since he’d fallen asleep, over a decade since he’d faced his other half and narrowly won and lost all at once. And yet, despite the span of all those years, Vanitas clearly hasn’t changed one bit. “Well, I would have loved to have been awake all this time,” he retorts brazenly, a bit crossly even. “But something happened a few years back that was bad enough to force my heart right out of my body. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Vanitas?” 

Vanitas sneers, his largely concealed eye fixing Ventus with a hateful glare as he takes a still somewhat unsteady step forward. “You’re gonna wish you were still asleep when I’m through with you, you pathetic little--augh!” He cuts himself off with a sharp, sudden shout of pain, one that catches Ventus off guard, especially when he hears it echoed by someone just behind Vanitas. Towards the far side of the hall sits a pair of familiar, friendly faces, Donald and Goofy, if Ventus remembers correctly. And positioned securely between them is the source of that echoed cry, someone that he recognizes instantly, despite having never actually seen him before. After all, there’s no mistaking the one who’s kept his heart safe and sound for so very long. 

“S-Sora…?” Ventus whispers, his eyes wide in shock as he gets his first real look at him. Despite still being listless and weakened for a number of reasons, Sora somehow hears him and lifts his bleary gaze up enough to meet his. He manages to offer him a worn, yet warm smile, but in his stunned shock, Venuts is hardly able to return it. Not when he glances from Sora back to Vanitas… and sees so many similarities between the two. 

“What’s the matter, ‘brother’?” Vanitas speaks up, putting on a taunting smile as he eases himself out of his former agony. “Surprised by the ‘family resemblance’?”

Ventus is quick to shake his head to clear it, knowing now isn’t the time to let his guard down. Not when he remembers that Aqua’s still laying, unconscious and injured, on the ground right behind him. “No,” he says. His voice comes out stiffer than he had meant it to. “What I am surprised by is that you’re still here. What do you even want?”

“What I want,” Vanitas brandishes his Keyblade, pointing it directly at Ventus as he continues approaching him. “Is the same thing I wanted 12 years ago. I want the two of us to become one once again… and I want the X-Blade.”

“You mean Xehanort wants the X-Blade,” Ventus corrects, taking up a battle-ready stance. 

Even so, Vanitas simply, calmly shakes his head. “No,” he says, his icy grin growing. “This time, it’s all for me.”

[amerrierworld]

Curtain. (ii)

Carol (2015) fanfiction

Pt 1: x

Word Count: 1,874

Warnings: Swearing, but that’s it.

June - three days earlier

"We need to have any photos before the start of the run, so you have until next week to finish them. Can you do that?"

"Of course, Miss Gerhard."

"Oh, please, call me Abby. Dannie did say you were too polite for your own good. I don't bite, you know."

Therese blushed and glanced down, fiddling with the buttons on her camera as Abby led her backstage. The stage manager gave her a quick tour, and Therese scanned the premises, looking for the best angles to see the stage from the wings. The seats were empty and the lights were dim, focusing on the minimalistic set of a living room as the backdrop of the show.

"Anyways, it's an early preview so there'll probably be loads of kinks to work through as the show progresses tonight, and knowing our director, she'll probably pause the show a lot. You have free range of backstage and the seats to do as you please. The last photographer we worked with during rehearsal only showed up with blurry photos, which sent the PR team into a fit."

Therese was testing out her camera on stage, moving from the wings to the front seats as Abby gestured around. There were few workers around, cleaning and preparing for the preview of the theatre's production of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

"So! All we're asking for is some good photos of our lovely actors, the stage, and whatever tickles your fancy. It's a small show and we need all the promotion we can get," Abby continued. Therese nodded, chewing the inside of her cheek as she glanced around the theatre, taking note of the lights and seats.

After agreeing on her deadline and payment, Abby was typing in her theatre contact in Therese's phone in case anything came up, and the young photographer was quick to hurry out of the theatre, bustling with excitement for her job later that day.

-

August

"Cheers to finally being done!" Dannie exclaimed dramatically, popping open the bottle of champagne.

"Oh, stop it Dannie! I've been crying since the curtain call," Gen scolded him, whacking his arm with her purse. The actress was dressed impeccably, a silk silver dress draped around her voluptuous frame like she came straight from the silver screen. Therese felt inadequate with her simple green turtleneck and black dress pants.

"Seriously though folks. Congratulations on an incredible run," Dannie said. "I almost cried this time around. Almost."

"You sound just like old bat Gerhard, y'know," Richard stepped in, who was sitting across from Therese with a wide, arrogant posture and his arm slung over Gen's shoulders possessively. "I swear that lady has a stick the size of a tree trunk up her fuckin ass."

"Maybe she wouldn't be so uptight if someone just hit his marks," Gen said coldly. Richard's gaze darkened considerably, but all Gen did was sip her champagne, flicking auburn hair over her shoulder in that celebrity-style manner that Therese couldn't help but admire.

From what Dannie had told her, Gen and Richard had been on and off during the show, creating tension left and right. A classic backstage romance filled with just as much drama as the show they were in. Apparently it helped the actual tension needed during the performance, though that was really the only thing it was good for.

Closing night had been a huge success either way. Critics had raved about their electric performances, tiny hiccups going unnoticed by the audience. Therese was overjoyed to see her images in papers, on posters and on the theatre's website, her name printed in the corners of the photos. Gen had asked Dannie to bring Therese to their small celebration at the restaurant they were sitting in. She desperately wanted more female companionship after being surrounded by the likes of Dannie and Richard.

"Speaking of the fucking devil," Dannie commented, nodding his head to the front door of the small restaurant. Therese turned and caught the sight of Ms. Gerhard -no, Abby, she corrected herself- wearing a stunning jumpsuit. On her arm was a tall, familiar blonde beauty and Therese sucked in a breath as time slowed down for her while watching the two walk in.

Director Ross was dressed in a timeless black suit, bowtie and high heels, hair swept up in a sleek hairdo. The way they walked together was like watching power and confidence personified in the two women.

Therese took a sip of her water to help the blush that she felt creeping up her neck.

"Ah, shit, no way, why they gotta go out for dinner the same place we are?" Richard grumbled. "I really don't want to talk to them."

"Nonsense! They deserve just as much praise as we do," Gen snapped. She stood up from her seat and waved at Abby, who caught sight of the actress easily. Gen always had a way of commanding the room whenever she felt like it.

Therese felt her excitement plummet as she noted that only Abby was approaching their table. The blonde stayed back in their booth, shrugging off her blazer, revealing a crisp white button down that made Therese squirm.

"Fancy seeing you lot here," Abby said, leaning on their table. "Celebrating, I assume?"

Dannie held up the champagne and grinned. "You got that right, boss."

Therese kept her eyes fixed on her glass, afraid that by looking at Abby her gaze would give her away. Were the two a couple? No, of course not. They  were coworkers. Nothing more, right?

"Well I saw Gen and just wanted to come over and congratulate you guys. It was a terrific run, despite everything," with a pointed look at Richard, "so you deserve a well-earned night out."

The other three all responded to Abby with some sort of thanks and Therese forced herself to look up at her and smile. Her eyes were met steadily by the brunette, and though the gaze was firm, Abby smiled nonetheless.

"Good to see you again, Therese. A wonderful job on those photos, by the way."

Therese smiled, beaming proudly. "It was an honour, Abby."

What the fuck? An honour? Am I even saying coherent things? Therese tried to keep herself nonchalant and cool, though a prickling sensation on the back of her neck made her flustered. She looked around and found a pair of deep blue eyes staring back at her from the booth across the restaurant. Ross was looking at her intently, fingers grasping a martini glass. Therese felt her mouth go dry.

"I best get back, enjoy your night," Abby said and with that walked away. Therese lost contact with the blonde's eyes as Abby got back to their booth, their sudden and immediate chemistry forgotten.

Reminding herself to breathe, she tried tuning into Dannie arguing with Richard over some theatre related technicality, and she was filled with the sudden and desperate urge to abandon the three and run over to Abby and the director to hide away, just to get to know this Ross lady better.

"But hey, Terry, you're gonna come back to the theatre soon right? With your pictures and all that?" Richard's annoying voice brought her back to reality.

"Oh, I don't know," she shifted uncomfortably. "I've got a different job starting next week, so photography might be on hold for me for a while."

She chewed her lip, not wanting to say anything else. She had nothing against Dannie or Gen, but after her and Richard had broken up she tried to avoid talking to him as much as possible. In group settings, she was fine, and with their intimate circle of friends it was hard to avoid him so she didn't mind putting up with him.

But no, this job was hers. Not Richard's, Dannie's, Gen's. It was a step into a different direction for herself. And even though she told herself it was more for the pay, she couldn't help but be excited about the kids she was going to meet.

Dannie shifted the conversation to some lewd story from a theatre when he had been just starting out and Therese felt she could breathe again.

-

"Who is that girl sitting next to Dannie?"

"Therese? Oh, she was the photographer we had in just before the run, don't you remember?"

"Hmm right. I thought she seemed familiar," Carol sipped her martini slowly, eyes darting over to the petite brunette again.

"Stop it," Abby scolded.

"Stop what? I'm just getting a good look. It's been a long time since I've seen her."

"Whatever you're thinking of, Ross, you better cap it. I'll have you know she's a terrific photographer and I want to hire her again, though I won't be able to do that if my artistic director decides to... involve herself."

Carol smirked but backed down, leaning back against the seat and glancing out at the dark street, illuminated by hazy lights dancing in the fog that had spread over the city.

"You all set for September?" Abby asked. Carol's smile disappeared, her fantasies of the brunette forgotten as she looked at the year ahead.

"I have no idea, Abby. I haven't had Rindy for a full month since, well, since this whole mess started. Plus it's the beginning of the school year for her, you know how anxious that can make her."

"And you. You're always a mess when those things start up."

"Hush. At least the first week is cleared up for me, I can relax and take Rindy to school, pick her up, make her meals..."

Carol drifted off again in her non-working, stay at home mom dream that was finally happening in just over a week. Her and her daughter together without a show, without court, without fights... Bliss, she thought.

"You haven't forgotten our meeting with Jeanette though, right?" Abby asked cautiously, brows furrowing. Carol's head snapped up.

"What?"

"The meeting to finalize that you're stepping away from the theatre? C'mon, Carol."

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry Abs. I genuinely forgot." Carol whipped out her phone and hastily looked up the email Jeanette sent them. Wednesday. 3pm. At the exact time she was meant to pick up Rindy, she'd be on the other side of the city.

"Fuck," Carol groaned. "I guess I gotta get a sitter for Rindy then." God, she couldn't wait to be done work.

"Do they not have an after school program at Rindy's school? Just let her hang out there and we'll pick her up once we're done. It won't be more than an hour, Carol, I don't know if it's worth getting a sitter."

"No, you're right. I'll call them tomorrow and see what they can do," Carol sighed, putting her phone away.

Suddenly feeling the urge to check, she glanced over at the party from across the room, trying to catch a glimpse of the photographer again. She was disappointed to see that only Gen and Richard were left, who were at it with their usual banter at their table while eating. Dannie and Therese had disappeared.

"Carol," Abby warned.

"I know, I know. Sorry." Carol forced herself back to the conversation. "I'm hopeless, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are, you nitwit."

A/N: Life is insane, y’all. This story stumped me for a bit, but here I am. Hope you’re all good, let me know your thoughts <3 

[prettywordsyouleft]

Down By The Lake - Part 2

Summary: It was only meant to be a stolen moment between you and your lover Daehyun and ended with him framed for murdering your best friend. With the assistance of your aloof friend Inspector Bang, could you find the real culprit called The Pauper, in time to clear Daehyun’s name?

Pairing: Jung Daehyun x reader ft. Bang Yongguk

Genre: murder mystery / periodic au / horror-ish

Warnings: murder / death / dark content given the nature of the storyline

Down By The Lake will be shared daily at 10am NZST.

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

It didn’t take long for the scene to turn into complete chaos.

Your scream had alerted those within earshot and before you could ask Daehyun to help you remove Lucy from the lake, there were multiple people before you shouting different commands. You were grabbed suddenly and you struggled within their grip, reaching out for Daehyun who was being dragged off in the opposite direction.

“Wait, no! What are you doing?!”

“Calm down, my Lady!”

“How did you get into this state?!”

“You’re safe now!”

“I was safe a moment ago!” you stated, shivering with the cold seeping into your undergarments. “Let him go! He was with me!”

“Precisely and we need to protect you from him!”

“No, I mean! Oh, this is ridiculous, let me go and listen!” you exclaimed, shoving a man off of you roughly and dashing out of the water after Daehyun struggling against his four captors. “Let him go this instance! That is an order!”

“Y/N!” a voice called sternly and you whipped about, bursting into another wave of emotions. Rushing to your father’s side, you took his hand and shook it rapidly. “Father, they are taking away an innocent man!”

“Where are your clothes?!” he breathed, looking around at all the men who quickly darted their attention to the ground. “Find my daughter something to cover up with!”

“Father!”

“Y/N, are you hurt? Come with me, this is a dangerous place!”

“WHY WILL YOU NOT LISTEN?!”

“Now, my dear, you are growing hysterical. Someone, fetch a doctor! My daughter has fallen ill!”

Despite the apparent shiver coursing throughout your body, you grew desperate to be heard. “Please Daddy, Daehyun and I overheard the—and Lucy struggled and—”

You choked on your distraught sobs, clasping a hand to your mouth in hopes to settle them, only noticing the blood upon your skin when you pulled away. It all became too much for you and you stumbled, unseeing from that moment as everything turned dark.    

“Daehyun!”

You sat up with a start, blinking rapidly as your private chambers came into focus. Looking to the right where you heard movement, you groaned when your lady maid rushed to your side. “Oh no, my Lady. Please lie back down, you are awfully pale.”

“I am perfectly well, Clare,” you corrected, gently pushing her encouraging hand away. “I need to get ready at once.”

“Your father insists you rest until the doctor is back later today. It’s only been three days since-”                                                                                        

“Three days?!” you echoed in horror, throwing the blankets aside and ignoring Clare’s whimpering protests. “Why have I been in here for so long?! I need to go to the station immediately! What have you of the stable hand that was with me that night?”

“I fear I have no information to give you, my Lady. Investigators have been here every day, eager for you to wake up.”

“Send word that I am now alert and ready to communicate,” you instructed, approaching the mirror across the room and stared at your reflection. You folded your arms across your bosom, determined to rectify the situation immediately.

However, it appeared no one was ready to listen to you seriously. Investigator Moore nodded apathetically in your direction once you were done explaining what happened that evening.

“Yes, about the young man you were found with, how long have you been acquainted?”

You frowned. “Well, some weeks. I believe he arrived here just before spring.”

“And how long has he courted you?”

Your father gasped into a handkerchief. “Investigator!”

“Apologies, my Lord, it must be spoken of. Your daughter just admitted to grave connections with the man. I fear he may have corrupted her.”

“Honestly!” you remarked, shaking your head incredulously at the pair. “Corrupted?!”

“Has he taken from your body?”

“Sir,” the companying officer breathed and the older man nodded gruffly. “Just answer the question.”

“I approached him!” you confessed, trying not to look in the direction of your father now heaving visibly. “It was I, not him, who made the first move.”

“Y/N, enough. She is not of the right mind-”

“I am perfectly sane right now. I demand to see Daehyun at once.”

“Afraid not, my Lady, he’s not in an area where visitations are allowed.”

“You have convicted him of a crime he has not done!”

“He is the only suspect we have. This is the fourth killing this year of young women from the upper-class society. Surely, you have suspicions.”

“Yes, that there is a killer who walked right by Daehyun and I. He was with me at the time! I heard it all! Did you not listen when I expressed this the first time?!”

Investigator Moore nodded once more, mumbling to himself. “Perhaps she’s right.”

“I am!”

“If you heard it then, why did you do nothing to help the poor girl? Why, you could be an accomplice!”

“I am nothing of the sort! I went to and then…”

“And then?” your father prompted as you stilled, trying to wrap your mind around it.

“And Daehyun held me back. I believe for my safety!”

“So you could have stopped the killer from murdering your best friend, could you have not?”

You gripped at your skirt, blinking rapidly to replay the scene. Daehyun had definitely looked troubled as he held you back. But why? You were certain it was to protect you, to keep you from seeing something so ghastly in person. Not that seeing Lucy after had been any easier on your wits but at least, you hadn’t been put at risk either.

Your life wasn’t any more valuable than hers and had you known, you would have leapt in front to save her. Was Daehyun aware of this and that was why he stopped you?

Or could he have seen what was happening and… chosen to allow it to continue?

You struggled with this new thought process, tears welling in your round eyes. You had believed him to be honest, hard-working, humble and much more fun than the boring over-exaggerative Viscounts and Earls you were used to spending time with.

But could he have been more dangerous than a simple stable hand? Your hand rose to your mouth as you began to tremble.

Investigator Moore grinned. “Well, my Lady, that will be all for today, don’t you think?”

You were now seen as the living victim of Lucy’s murder. You went from being someone people talked about with envy to that of the girl they pitied, and rumours began to mill around. Most pointing that you would be next to meet The Pauper. It should have filled you with chills and have you barricaded within your house until he was captured.

And yet, the fact that you had too many questions and not enough answers had you knocking on the door of an aloof inspector’s house desperately until an old man swung it open midway, clearing his throat disapprovingly. “It is Sunday, madam.”

“I am aware of the day; however, I am in need of speaking with Inspector Bang today if it is alright. Please, I sent word ahead of my visit.”

“And surely you would have received notice if he had been inclined to an intrusion today.”

“It is quite alright, Percy,” a deep voice called from within and you smiled with relief. The owner of the house stepped into view and gave you a half-smile. “Y/N will never leave us be unless we let her in. Come, I am sure you have much to inform me of.”

“Have you seen him by chance?” you asked when you were done explaining all you knew to Yongguk, his expression unreadable. You took a distracted sip from the teacup you had held onto as if your life depended on it this entire time. Yongguk remained unmoving and you placed it down with a jostle, tea sloshing over into the saucer. “Stop with this silence! I know if there is anyone in this world who will listen to me right now, it is you. Everyone else sees me as a mere woman who has gone particularly mad after seeing a dead body.”

He finally smirked. “Anyone who knows you personally will understand you have been mad for much longer.”

“I am not here for your amusement, dearest,” you muttered though it did relieve your nerves having Yongguk respond like that. It meant he was listening and taking what you said seriously.

Unlike everyone else.

“He is alive. For how long, I do not know. The commissioner wants to label Daehyun as The Pauper. He fits the bill. He is a mere stable hand. The weapon used by the killer is a tool found in most stables. And so far all he has done is attack daughters of the elite. Being found with one of the most influential unwedded young women in our county makes it even more suspicious.”

“Except, if he was the killer why am I still alive and who murdered Lucy whilst I was with him?” you questioned and Yongguk smiled.

“He could have lured you and hired an accomplice for the evening so he could kill you next. Or there’s a copycat and you were always the main prey.”

“Perhaps we could also consider Daehyun as innocent!” you demanded and Yongguk nodded easily.

“Yes, yes, innocent until proven guilty. However, how many of the lower class gets that privilege? He’ll have a week left at most.”

“A week?! Surely we can find proof in the meantime! Please, Yongguk, I swear to you, I know he is innocent. I had my suspicions for only a moment and I simply cannot believe someone I got to know intimately could be a killer!”

Yongguk’s eyes popped and he coughed a couple of times, your gaze darting to your lap at how he had taken your words. With cheeks blazing, you shook your head. “I am not meaning in that manner!”

“No, I would expect nothing of the sort,” he responded, strained with embarrassment.

“I have already been labelled as tainted and yet no one believes me for the words I speak that are truthful, just those that lead them to think I have sullied my family name all because I was found in my undergarments.”

“I believe in you, Y/N,” Yongguk announced sincerely, leaning forward in his chair to catch your gaze. He smiled determinedly. “I want to catch the killer myself as well, so shall we join hands in solving this case together?”

You nodded, holding out your hand in agreement. “I will assist in any way I can so long as we can clear Daehyun’s name.”

_________________

Part 3

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