#f Antique Pocket Watches

[redid-csc]

The Timeless Elegance of Antique Pocket WatchesAntique pocket watches are more than just instruments for telling time; they are cherished relics of a bygone era. These exquisite timepieces have long been symbols of craftsmanship, luxury, and prestige. In an age where wristwatches and digital devices dominate the timekeeping landscape, antique pocket watches continue to captivate collectors and enthusiasts with their elegance, intricate designs, and historical significance.

This article explores the fascinating world of antique pocket watches, their history, the craftsmanship involved, and why they continue to be treasured today.

The History of Pocket Watches

The history of Antique Pocket Watches dates back to the early 16th century, when the first portable timepieces were invented. These early watches were known as Nuremberg eggs, named after the German city where they were produced by clockmaker Peter Henlein. The watches were oval-shaped, bulky, and worn around the neck rather than kept in a pocket. They were not very accurate, often losing or gaining hours over the course of a day, but they represented a significant leap forward in horological technology.

As watchmaking advanced, pocket watches became smaller, more accurate, and eventually gained widespread popularity during the 17th and 18th centuries. By the 19th century, they had become the preferred timepieces for gentlemen, with many people carrying them in waistcoat pockets. They were often adorned with a chain, known as a fob, and were considered essential accessories for those who wished to make a statement of elegance and refinement.

Types of Antique Pocket Watches

There are several types of antique pocket watches, each with unique characteristics and mechanisms. The two most common types are open-face and hunter-case pocket watches.

Open-Face Pocket Watches

An open-face pocket watch is one without a protective cover over the dial. These watches are instantly recognizable by their exposed face and often feature intricate designs on the case back. They were popular among those who valued ease of use and visibility, as there was no need to open a cover to read the time.

Open-face watches were typically used by railway workers, engineers, and others who needed quick and accurate time readings. Many of these watches feature Roman or Arabic numerals and subdials for seconds, making them functional as well as decorative.

Hunter-Case Pocket Watches

A hunter-case pocket watch is equipped with a protective metal cover that shields the dial from damage. The cover is usually spring-loaded and can be opened by pressing a small button or crown at the top of the watch. These watches are known for their ornate engravings and designs, often featuring intricate patterns, floral motifs, or even portraits.

Hunter-case watches were popular among aristocrats and those who wanted to protect their timepieces while also displaying a sense of luxury. Some variations, known as half-hunter watches, have a small window in the center of the cover, allowing the wearer to see the time without fully opening the case.

Craftsmanship and Design

One of the most captivating aspects of antique pocket watches is the craftsmanship involved in their creation. Before the advent of mass production, each pocket watch was meticulously handcrafted by skilled artisans. These watches were mechanical wonders, consisting of hundreds of tiny components—gears, springs, levers, and jewels—working together in perfect harmony.

Movements

The movement of a pocket watch is its internal mechanism responsible for keeping time. Antique pocket watches often feature either a key-wound movement, where the watch is wound using an external key, or a stem-wound movement, where the winding is done through a crown located at the top of the watch.

The beauty of these movements lies in their complexity and durability. Some of the most renowned watchmakers, such as Breguet, Patek Philippe, and Vacheron Constantin, produced pocket watches with movements that are still admired for their precision and artistry. These movements often featured decorative elements such as engravings, gold-plated gears, and ruby or sapphire jewels that reduced friction between moving parts.

Materials and Cases

Antique pocket watches were often made from high-quality materials, including gold, silver, and platinum. The cases were not only functional but also a canvas for artistic expression. Watchmakers would engrave intricate designs onto the cases, ranging from simple geometric patterns to elaborate scenes of nature, historical events, or portraits of loved ones.

Some of the most luxurious pocket watches featured enamel work, precious gemstones, and even miniature paintings. These ornamental details elevated the watch from a mere timekeeping device to a work of art.

The Historical Significance of Antique Pocket Watches

Antique pocket watches hold significant historical value, often reflecting the social and technological advancements of their time. They were not only tools for telling time but also status symbols. During the 19th and early 20th centuries, pocket watches were given as gifts to mark important milestones such as weddings, retirements, and promotions. Many pocket watches from this era bear inscriptions commemorating these special events, adding to their historical and sentimental value.

Pocket watches also played a crucial role in industries where accurate timekeeping was essential. For example, during the height of the railroad boom in the 19th century, pocket watches were standard equipment for railway workers. These watches were regulated to strict standards of accuracy to prevent accidents caused by discrepancies in train schedules. The phrase "on the watch" stems from this era, as railway workers relied on their pocket watches to ensure trains ran on time.

Collecting Antique Pocket Watches

The world of antique pocket watches offers a treasure trove of opportunities for collectors. These timepieces are highly sought after not only for their historical significance but also for their beauty, craftsmanship, and uniqueness.

Factors to Consider

When collecting antique pocket watches, several factors can influence their value:

Brand: Watches from prestigious watchmakers such as Rolex, Patek Philippe, and Longines are highly coveted by collectors.

Condition: Watches in good working condition with original parts and minimal wear are generally more valuable.

Rarity: Limited-edition or one-of-a-kind watches can command higher prices.

Provenance: Watches with documented history or notable previous owners add to their desirability.

Investment Potential

In recent years, antique pocket watches have become increasingly popular as alternative investments. Rare and well-preserved watches can appreciate significantly in value over time. However, it’s essential to do thorough research and consult with experts before purchasing high-value timepieces.

Caring for Antique Pocket Watches

Owning an antique pocket watch comes with the responsibility of preserving its delicate components. Regular servicing by a qualified watchmaker is essential to keep the movement in working order. Additionally, pocket watches should be stored in a dry, temperature-controlled environment to prevent damage to the case or movement.

Collectors should also avoid polishing the case too frequently, as this can wear down the intricate engravings or reduce the watch’s patina, which can diminish its value.

Conclusion

Antique Pocket Watches offer a glimpse into a world where craftsmanship, artistry, and precision were paramount. These timepieces, steeped in history and elegance, continue to hold an enduring appeal for collectors and enthusiasts. Whether valued for their intricate designs, historical significance, or investment potential, antique pocket watches stand as timeless symbols of horological mastery.

[rosewaterandivy]

wouldn’t know where to start

summary: she likes to roll here in my ashes anyway

pairing: former s.h. x f!reader

a/n: did anyone ask for this? no, but I felt it in my heart of hearts! we need some hangdog steve and Mother Nature working her magic— adrenaline, tension, & forced proximity, aka storm chaser!steve and his band of misfits.

series m.list

It was nearing sundown as he drove into the small town. Soft summer winds blew through the wheat fields, bending the golden stalks as if it were an ocean of glimmering sunlight.

Main Street didn’t have much to offer— a Sonic, Dollar General, and a lone 7-11 were the corporate standouts amongst a panoply of mom and pop store fronts offering everything from a homestyle breakfast to antiques to laundering services.

Letting his wrist hang against the wheel, he pulled into the turn lane and flipped on his signal. A lone ‘88 Ford pickup passed him by with a neighborly tip of the hat. He flashed a smile and wave as he turned into the gas station.

He parks the rig and cuts the engine. To his right, Eddie blinks slowly taking in his surroundings.

“This it?”

His voice is scratchy with remnants of sleep. He reached back to wake Dustin and Robin, the latter doing so a bit more spastically than the situation warranted.

She rubs the sleep from her eyes as Steve exits the cab and waits at the gas pump.

Soon, Dustin and Eddie start whispering about what supplies to stock up on from the gas station and stumble from the truck.

Robin stretches and rolls her neck before pressing her finger to roll down the window.

Steve is leaning against the dusty cab, marks of red and ochre cleaving to his white tee shirt as he watches the numbers tick by from behind his aviators.

“Hey,” She offers with a quick grin, “Kinda like old home week, huh?”

He nods and pushes off the truck stepping toward her window. His face is drawn behind his glasses, despite his closed lip smile. He pulls the ball cap from his head and runs a hand through his hair.

It’s a lost cause really. He’d thrown it on earlier at the motel before they’d rushed out of the room just before checkout time. Between driving all day and mediating arguments that broke out between his three stooges, there hadn’t been time to pull off and change in an attempt to make himself decent.

The hat goes back on but Robin manages to pluck the glasses from his face and place them on her own. She sticks her tongue out and rolls the window back up just as the pump stops with a click.

He can hear Eddie and Dustin bickering as they walk back to the truck— something about the drone and upgrades. Steve returns the pump and slides his phone from his back pocket, the screen brightening back to life.

He thumbs through his messages with a sigh and pauses at your name.

As expected, there’s no response to his earlier query. The message reads delivered but his heart still sinks at being rebuffed.

Still in TX?

He’d sent that weeks ago. And still, he had no clue what to expect. For all he knew, he could show up to find another family living at the property or your granddaddy greeting him at the door with his shotgun.

It could really go either way.

Settling back in his seat, he puts the truck in gear and turns back into Main Street. Robin, Eddie, and Dustin chatter about some such shit as he grips the wheel, knuckles flaring white the closer and closer they drive to the house.

Red dust kicks up under foot as he steps out of the truck. The white-washed house before him is bathed in a dull yellow light from the lone bulb on the porch.

He turns back to the truck.

He could just pack it up and head back now, it wasn’t too late. He hadn’t been spotted yet and no one would be the wiser. Robin catches his eye with her blue eyes wide, a slow shake of her head tells him to do the damn thing.

A storm door slowly creaks open, boots falling against the worn wooden planks on the porch.

“Well, well, well,” A gruff voice intones into the night air. “I’ll be damned.”

Steve slowly turns around, willing his shoulders back down from his ears, and pastes on a megawatt smile.

“Hi, Mr. Wilder,” He greets with a wave, “Long time, no see.”

The old man scoffs, “You can say that again.” The double-barrel of the gun remains trained on Steve, his eye never leaving the scope.

Steve clears his throat uncomfortably.

“D’you know where she is?”

He laughs in reply, a callous thing.

“I sure as shit know where you weren’t.” He steps down from the porch, a flood light flickering on and illuminating the front yard as he does so. “At the altar, where you swore to me you’d be as you begged for my blessing.”

Logically, Steve knew it was coming. But it was still hard to stomach— he was a coward and he well knew it too.

“Now, Imma give you the count of three to git off my property. Which I think is mighty fair of me, considerin’ you how you broke her heart and all.”

Steve slowly backs up, hands in front of his body as if to soothe a wild animal.

“Sir, I don’t mean any offense, but if I could just talk to her—“

A sudden gust of cool air blows through the trees. The gun lowers minutely as Steve peers across the horizon, searching for something.

Rolling black clouds from the west, gaining speed and moisture. The temperature drops as the evening birdsong falls to a hush.

Robin scrambles out of the truck, all gangly legs and stammering sentences.

“Steve, it’s headed toward us. The doppler—“

“I know. Rob, get the—“

“Already done.”

Eddie and Dustin fall into step at his side, equipment gathered in their arms.

The old man sighs, pinching his fingers between his eyes in frustration and defeat.

“You remember where the storm cellar is?”

“Yessir.”

“I’ll meet you down there after I lock up the barn and house.”

Thunder rolls overhead as Steve leads his team into your family’s storm cellar out back. Crashes of lightning illuminate the freshly harvested fields, hay bales bundled tightly.

Your granddaddy joins them not five minutes later, shotgun still in hand. The phone in his pocket rings shrilly.

“You know, if I never saw your ugly mug ever again, I’d die a happy man.”

“Yessir, sorry sir.” Steve responds sheepishly as Eddie struggles to contain his laughter.

He sighs again and brings the phone to his ear. “You sure as shit better be, Harrington.”

[wildemaven]

bloom : one | joel miller

→ pairing: no outbreak joel miller x f!reader

→ WC: 2494

→ warnings: meet cute vibes, reader is single mom, small injury at work, Joel to the rescue using nontraditional techniques to help (I don't want to give it away), daughter is a teen and bleeds sarcasm, fluff and more fluff, mention of divorce and adoption.

→ a/n: some of you are probably like “wait, what is happening?!” i started this series on another account that i was using to take a break from this one. I had plans to finish this series out over there and then just abandon the account and move back here. but i love this series and want it to live here with my other work. so, im getting things set up so i can post part two later this week and move back to this account for good. also, this is series is a TLOU AU, so I've fudged all timelines and relationships to make it work for me. Ihope you like it, am very nervous to share it with you all.

two | series masterlist | main masterlist

You’re staring. 

It would feel less awkward if it were somewhere else, anywhere but where you are right now. Like sitting a table away at a packed restaurant, enough people crowded around to lessen your obvious ogling of a handsome stranger, eyes locked on his profile as you hide behind the empty glass you’re pretending to sip from. The crossing of paths in a grocery store would also feel less awkward, a quick glance back over your shoulder after your carts squeeze through the nearly claustrophobic aisle, your gaze on him as he stares at the shelves filled with sugary snacks— he most definitely would have a wicked sweet tooth you think. 

Unfortunately for you, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, it’s just you and him, alone in the store front of the floral shop— your floral shop. 

He’d walked by the front window, stopping instantly to read the shop’s name in gold letters above the entrance, then hands cupped over his eyes and face pressed close to the glass contemplating the shop’s worthiness of his time. 

It’s a corner spot, sitting at the crossroads of two of the town’s busiest shopping streets— prime location. Bold was a chance you took with painting the exterior black, even with the apprehension of the city council deeming it too “gothic” for the town's rather conservative appeal. The dark exterior paired with black and white striped awning over the door was the perfect balance of moody and romantic. 

It was worthy enough, pushing the front door open he stepped inside, the automated bell signaling through the shop. The heaviness of his boots scuff across the wood floor a few steps, his broad body stopping in front of one of the cold displays that held an array of dramatic arrangements. His hands tucked securely into his pockets as he looks around aimlessly, it’s evident this isn’t a regular occurrence for him. 

“Welcome to Wilder Floral. Is there anything I can help you with today?” You greet him from your workbench. 

Your hands busily work to trim the ends and dethorn the stems of a bundle of antique mauve roses, one of your best sellers, then trimming off the lower leaves before placing them in a bucket of water. 

“Not really sure at the moment. Just browsin’ for now.” His deep voice sounds through the small space, the raspy tone sending a tingle down your spine. 

“Okay. Well, if you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask.” He nods to you, catching the way his gaze doesn’t immediately break from you, he gives you a half smile then continues to look over everything again. 

You’re staring. 

Your mind is filled with thoughts of only this handsome stranger, quietly watching him over the now full bucket of cleaned roses. 

You note the way his hip cocks out to the side as he stands with his large hands secure against his small waist. His eyebrows pinch together briefly, a look of deep thought painted over his face accentuating the little crinkles around his eyes. After a moment, his beautiful face relaxes into a calmer expression. 

You can make out every muscle that runs the length of his arms, the weight of the arrangement he’s now holding provoking the defined musculature. His arms lifting and turning the vase with ease, examining every detail of the floral design you created. 

You’re still staring. You can’t help it though. Actually, you can, but your brain convinces you that you are just admiring, so that makes it more than okay— right? 

“You know, if you take a picture it lasts longer!” A hushed voice pops up from behind you. 

“Ouch!! God dammit, Ellie! Why do you do that?!” You yelp, tossing the rose stem you were holding onto the table. 

“It’s too easy! You were lost in la la land over some grumpy guy looking at flowers. I saw an opportunity, so I took it.” She laughs, pushing your buttons brings her a weird satisfaction. 

There’s a throbbing pain coming from your hand. Looking down you see  part of a thorn had broken off and was now embedded deep into the pad of your finger— a rookie mistake at this point in your career. You wrap your other hand around the base of your fingers, hoping some pressure will elevate the pain. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed this. Can you just go grab the first aid kit in the back, please!” 

“Yeah, yeah. Try not to fall for him too hard while I’m gone— don’t think you have enough bandages to fix that mess.” She sulks away into the back room. 

“Shit!” You hiss, the pain getting more intense and now radiating through your entire finger. 

“You okay ma’am?” The handsome customer asks you, stealthy in his approach to where you’re standing, still clutching your hand.

He places the floral arrangement he was holding down on your work table, his feet still moving in an urgent manner until he is standing in front of you. 

“Yeah— actually, no… The thorn broke off and it’s in there real good. It hurts and I’m trying really hard to not be a baby about it. Someone’s getting a first aid kit out of the back for me.” You hold your pained finger up to him. 

“Do you want me to take a look at it?” His hands slowly reach out, your lips parted and ready to speak but words fail you, only managing to nod a response. 

Your mind briefly wonders what Ellie is up to, but the thought vanishes instantly once his hands wrap around your wrist and he brings your injured finger closer to his face. 

“My name is Joel.” He looks over to you, heat pricks over your cheeks as he holds your gaze. It’s a cosmic thing, his touch activating warmth you’ve longed for. A corner of his mouth lifts, you can’t help but fixate on the dimple that forms resulting in a barrage of flutters erupting in your chest. 

“Hi Joel.” Giving him yours in return, his smile growing louder as he repeats it back to you softly, like he couldn’t wait to say it out loud. 

He refocuses back on your injury. A pinched expression, similar to the one he wore earlier, is even more adorable up close— zeroing in on the small wound that was tormenting you.

Joel’s movements are dizzying, an unbridled enthusiasm that elicits a sudden burst of desire you hadn’t experienced in ages, but he senses you trust him at your willingness to let him take control of the situation. Bringing your finger to his mouth, he wraps his pillowy lips around the tip of your finger and sucks with a gentle pressure. You watch him unabashedly, completely mesmerized by the way he jumped into action, how his cheeks draw in from the suction. 

Your eyes lock when he looks up from your hand, sensing your eyes already on him, his thumbs drawing circles over your wrist, soothing over your racing pulse, as he continues to suck at the fleshy pad of your finger. It feels nearly overwhelming, the fierceness of his warm brown eyes has an inebriating feeling blooming inside you. 

A gasp shoots through your throat at the feeling of his tongue slightly flicks over the part of your finger that is in his mouth, pressing the back of your other hand against your lips, embarrassed by your reaction to the erogenous sensation. 

The whole thing is over as quickly as it began. Joel is pulling your finger from his lips, his grip still holding on to your wrist as he lowers your arm down to your side. You watch as the tip of his tongue breaches his lips, his pointer finger and thumb picking at the small little thorn that was once lodged into your skin, now resting on his tongue. He rubs his lips together almost nervously, the weight of the whole situation kind of sinking in. 

“Got it!” He rasps, holding the annoying culprit up between his fingers. 

“How did you know that would work? I usually have to dig those out with tweezers. That was— wow, thank you.” 

“I get splinters regularly— I’m a carpenter. Sometimes when I’m out on the job, gotta use what you have. I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable, just knew it needed to come out— the last thing you want is an infected finger.” He rubs nervously at the back of his neck, hoping he didn’t over step in anyway. 

“No! Not uncomfortable in the slightest!! Thank you, seriously. Rose thorns can cause a mean infection too. I appreciate it—“ 

“I leave for two minutes and you’ve already moved onto second base with the guy?!” Ellie announces her reemergence, holding the first aid kit in her hands and a grossed out look on her face. 

“Ellie!” Your body runs cold, completely mortified, ready to crawl into the nearest hole. 

“He had your finger in his mouth— probably more like rounding to third if I’m being honest.”

You grab the kit from her hands, setting it on the counter, turning to see Joel still rooted in the same spot with his hands tucked into his front pockets and a tinge of red across his cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry! Sometimes I think my daughter forgets she has a filter and that she can actively choose to use it before she speaks.” You try to make sure he isn’t the one who feels uncomfortable now. 

“Adopted daughter, actually.” You roll your eyes at her need for technicalities. Adopted, yes, but daughter nonetheless. “Also, in case you were wondering, cause I’m sure you are, she’s single.”

“Ellie!” You look back at her with a sternness in your voice, eyes blown wide in hopes she picks up that she can stop at any point in time. Turning back to Joel, you mouth an ‘I’m sorry’, your shoulders dropping in defeat. 

There’s an awkward silence that settles over the three of you. Joel looks like he doesn’t really seem to know how to diffuse the awkwardness at hand, Ellie has a shit eating grin she wears proudly when she knows she’s embarrassed you just enough, and you simply would like to evaporate into thin air. 

“So, this is the part where you give your relationship status to her— makes this whole ‘her finger in your mouth’ thing feel a little less weird for all of us.” She has a point. You had been wondering that very thing, but how were you supposed to bring it up when he’s sucking a thorn out of your finger with his gorgeous mouth. 

“Single— very much single.” He laughs at how forward she is, knowing she’s just looking out for you. “I do have a daughter, probably about your age too.”

“What, your wife die or something?” Ellie asks with zero hesitation. 

“No. Just an ole fashion divorce. Anythin’ else you wanna to know?” He looks to Ellie, ready for whatever comes next. 

She studies Joel for a beat, “Nope, that’s all.” 

You release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, grateful to what ever greater power decided to switch Ellie’s filter back on. 

Ellie turns to head to the back room, where she had previously been working on her homework, but turns on her heels in the process to look back at Joel and you.

“One last thing, she needs to be wined and dined before you even think about kissing her.” Then she's gone before you can say anything else. 

The awkwardness creeps back into the room, you’re not really sure how to come back from all of that. You open the first aid box, rifling through the contents for a cleaning pad and small bandage.

“She seems like a fun kid.” Joel decides to take the lead, watching you swipe the alcohol pad over your finger. 

“She is— she definitely keeps me on my toes at all times. But, she’s got a big heart under all her sarcasm.” You tell him. You grab for the bandage, but Joel beats you to it, snagging it off the table and ripping it open before you get the chance. 

You hold your finger out in front of you, ready for him to wrap it up properly for you, but instead of sticking gauze, your wounded finger is met with his plush lips for a few seconds.

“Obviously, a kiss to make it better.” He smiles again and you melt, biting at your lower lip as he wraps the dressing around your finger. 

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Speaking of daughters— mine is the reason I came here in the first place. I was wanting to get this arrangement for her. She passed a test she’d been stressin’ about. Thought I’d get her a little something to celebrate her.” Joel points to the flowers on the cash stand that he had been holding earlier, grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket and pulling out his credit card ready to pay. 

“They’re on the house today.” You tell him as you walk up to your computer, imputing the information to zero out the sale. 

“No— no, I can’t let you do that. Lemme pay for them please. Least I can do for all your time and talent you put in.” Holding his card out to you, insisting he pay in full. 

“You practically saved my life,” A slight exaggeration, but he laughs anyway. “How about you come here for all your flowers in the future, instead of my competitors, and we’ll call it even.” 

“I can do that. I might just have a need for flowers soon then, I’m sure I can find an excuse to come back for more— you think you can handle that?” 

“Yeah— I can handle that.” Handing him the vase of flowers, hoping he does find an excuse to come back and tell you how much his daughter enjoyed them. 

Joel walks a few feet in the direction of the door then stops, turning back to see you’re already busily back to work with a handful of flowers. He says your name, falling from his lips like sweet honey, and you don’t think you could ever get tired of him saying it the way he does. “I’ll be seein’ you around. Try to be safe until then, m’kay?” 

“See you around Joel. I’ll keep the injuries to a minimum until then.”

“I’d prefer no injuries at all, actually.” 

“I’ll do my best.” 

You exchange goodbyes, watching him cross the street and get settled into his truck from the store front window. You’re not sure why you miss him, having only just met, but there’s a longing that’s started to burn inside your heart. 

Joel’s truck merges onto the road, he takes one last glance in your direction, his hand thrown out the window waving at you as he drives off, planning his next visit so he can see you again. 

next

[ofstarsandvibranium]

My Sweetheart: Part 1

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You purchase a vintage sweetheart bracelet from an antique store and with it, comes the spirit of the woman who owned it. Through her, you go on an interesting journey to find out what happened to her old lover.

A/N: I’m obsessed with sweetheart bracelets and I hope to purchase one some day. This idea came to mine while I was looking at some online. Also, look, I’m writing for Bucky again! uuuhhh i guess this is a mini series.

You'd been eyeing the bracelet for a month now. Ever since you came across the little antique shop in Brooklyn, you've been coming twice a week just to make sure the bracelet was still there. It was a gold stretch bracelet. In the middle, the charm was heart shaped and had a cute but simple design of a flower etched into it. It was $150 and you're somewhat surprised it doesn't cost more. Looks like it's in great condition, looks practically brand new. Nonetheless, you needed to save up for it. Living in New York wasn't cheap.

After you visited the shop for the fourth time in a row, the shop owner, Stan, said he'd keep it on hold for you since he knows you plan to buy it.

"No rush, sweetheart. I know you're good for it."

"How? You barely know me?" you can't help but ask the old man.

He shrugs, "I just know."

"Well thank you, so much. I really appreciate it. I get paid again in two weeks. After I pay bills, I should have enough for it."

He gives you a wave, "I'll see you in two weeks then."

___________________

Once your paycheck was deposited, you paid your bills in an instant. With the rest, you practically skipped to Brooklyn, ready to buy the bracelet.

You enter the store with a big smile towards Stan, "I'm ready."

He claps his hands together, "Congrats!" he goes to the back and brings out the bracelet. You gently pick it up and slide it over your wrist. It fits perfectly. It's not heavy. It's just...perfect.

You pay Stan in cash and you give the old man a hug, "Seriously, thank you so much for holding this for me. I just-I don't know what it is about this bracelet. It's so beautiful, like it was calling me."

"Probably because it was calling you. It's special, just like you."

You give him a wave as you exit the store. You watch your new bracelet gleaming in the New York sun. It's gorgeous.

_______________

At the end of the day, you get ready for bed. You take off the sweetheart bracelet and place it on your nightstand. You slip into bed and as your head hits the pillow, the sink in your bathroom turns on.

You shoot up, turning to the bathroom with wide eyes. You turn on the light and see your bathroom door wide open. You grab the pocket knife you have on your night stand, armed and ready in case an intruder some how snuck into your apartment without you noticing.

Once you approach your bathroom, you turn on your light and see no one. You look down at your sink and twist the handle that controls running water. The water stops for a millisecond before it's on again.

"What the-" you turn it off again and it turns on again. You leave it on, watching in confusion and slight fear. As the water grows hotter, steam starts to form.

That's when you jump back, wide eyed and suddenly frozen.

FIND JAMIE.

"Okay. Um, I don't know who Jamie is, whoever you are. But can I know who you are?"

DOT.

"Dot who?"

You wait for the steam from the water to cover the message. A minute goes by and then another, "Uh, hello? Dot?" You slowly reach out for the sink handle, turning the water off. It stays off.

You slowly shake your head, "I must be really sleepy," you head back to your bed. After turning off the light, you pull the covers over your head and fall asleep.

When you wake up in the morning, you're a little groggy, but well rested. You look towards your bathroom and suddenly remember the events before you went to sleep.

Surely, that was all just a dream right? Just a really weird dream.

You shake your head and slip the bracelet onto your wrist, proceeding to get ready.

_________________

"It's not a ring..yet, anyways," he smiles as his girl admires the bracelet on her wrist, a sign of his love and adoration for her.

"It's so beautiful," she looks up from the bracelet, "You really shouldn't have spent your money on me like this, Jamie."

He shrugs, "I don't care. I just...I wanted to give you something to remember me by. Just in case, you know?"

She shakes her head at what he was insinuating, "You're coming back to me. I'll write to you...I'll wait for you."

"I wouldn't be mad if you don't though," he gives her an understanding look.

She shakes her head again, "I'm waiting for you, Jamie. You don't have to worry."

"I love you, Dolores Millard."

"I love you too, James Buchanan Barnes. You come back to me, okay?"

"I'll do my best," he mumbles as he seals his promise with a kiss.

[edutainer2022]

Many thanks to @janetm74 for her deeply moving and insightful story Grief: The Compass, and for putting up with my ramblings about the symbolism of Grandpa's compass and its meaning to Scott, as well as to Scott and Virgil going forward (especially after the revelations of Recharge). I had this little dream-like sequence in mind since the very early days of my return to TAG fandom as a intro to a larger story. Scott Tracy is, of course, very much not okay. It might not be obvious from the start, but it's true. He needs to find his way.

TRUE NORTH

The wind was ruffling early blossoms in the trees and his hair, as he jogged eagerly across the front yard to the farmhouse. Soft spring grass was tickling his bare feet. Mom was inside, he knew. He was so excited to see her.

The quiet hallway was filled with a soothing scent of cinamon and ripe late summer apples. Mom was probably in the kitchen, baking an apple pie. His favorite. He followed the wiffs of delicious smells, but the kitchen was empty. Each utensil in its place, exactly as Mom liked it. He needed to find Mom. The sense of urgency increased, as he passed the sunlit kitchen to the backdoor, out onto the porch and across the backyard. He shivered once, then twice, as a gust of vicious wind threw a handful of fallen leaves into his face. Golden and red, just like Mom's hair. Mom wasn't out back either and he was anxious now. On instinct, he followed the well-worn path to the meadow, stretching behind their old farmhouse in Kansas. Rough edges of pebbles dug into his feet so they were probably bleeding, but he kept going. He needed to find Mom!

His frantic paces came to a halt at the very edge of the meadow, though. As far as eye could see was cast in a swathe of pristine white. Snow. He knew deep down in his soul Mom was across that expanse of white. But he had no clue which way to go. Where to start. He stood at a loss, shivering, at the very edge of ice, licking his bare toes, the freezing numbness creeping up from the ground to his heart.

Then he remembered! Grandpa's old compass that Virgil made a point to give him for the duration of a rescue, would show the way. Ever since their heart to heart in the Arctic, Virgil would  give him the compass before each mission so he would find his way home safely. Just like that day. He was home now, but Mom wasn't there. He dug into a pocket, and, sure enough, his fingers curled around a solid cool weight of the antique gadget. Grandpa's compass would show him the way to Mom! But something odd was happening. As soon as he opened the lid, the arrow went haywire, turning in place, never resting on any one point. Despair and exhaustion nearly choked him and his knees were ready to give. He couldn't get to Mom no matter how much he longed to! No matter how much he missed her!

He was about ready to step into the unforgiving snow and take his chances, when heavy hands landed on his shoulders, pinning him in place.

"It's not yet time, Bluejay!"

The husky whisper was close to his ear. Dad!

"It's too soon, kiddo! You have to let me go first. You can then follow in my footsteps, but not just yet! Not for a long, long time. How about we go home now, son, eh?"

He wanted to protest. Mom was there, all alone, across the field of snow. He could find her, even if the stupid compass was not helping! He needed to be with Mom! But the voice failed him, caught up on a blinding pain in his chest. Strong arms were already steering him back to face the farmhouse again.

Even from afar, he could see all his brothers standing on the back porch, watching him. Allie seemed so scared, baby blue eyes wide and full of tears, clutching the railing. Gordon was standing apart, hunched over, his face dark and lost - he appeared so small and so young. John was ghostly pale, his eyes a green sea of pain. Scott could swear his ginger brother was swaying with each gust of wind. But it was Virgil who made him gasp. Standing one step down the porch stairs, his best friend was glaring daggers at him - the always soft face contorted with fury and anguish, kind brown eyes brimming with liquid fire. What made Virgil so angry? Had he done something stupid? He hadn't lost Grandpa's Compass! Right! The Compass! He looked down at his hand, still clutching the brass shell, and the arrow had miraculously settled, pointing due North. At the center of the porch of their home. At Virgil.

He felt an insistent nudge to start moving, as the voice by his ear spoke again, soft, but urgent.

"Let's go home now, Bluejay! Just like that, one step at a time! Your brothers are waiting."

He tried once more to twist and catch the sight of Dad, but thought better of it as a sharp pain pierced through his torso again. He still needed to make it home and give Virgil back the compass, so Virgil wouldn't be so angry with him. So Virgil wouldn't go looking for him all the way by the desolate cold white meadow. He also needed to find out what made John so upset, and he certainly needed to hug the Tinies. He sneaked a peek at the compass again - it was pointing firmly Home.

[weepinwriter]

“Love letters and marriage proposals may flood my path, but in you, I found the rarest gem amidst a sea of admirers.”

Name : Emir (m.) | Evara(f.)

Age : They're in their early thirties

Height : 5’8

Appearance : E. is a visually stunning person of 5’8”, possessing rich caramel-colored skin, hair as brown as the richest chocolate, and coffee-colored eyes you could simply lose yourself in (as you often do) As a male, E.’s hair is short and spiky, and as a female, E’s hair flows in luscious, full locks to the middle of her back. E’s female form also frequents hot brilliant red lipstick. They are a tasteful dresser, usually frequenting elegant dress clothes (be it dresses as a female or suits as a male) in shades of brown to match their appearance. The slightest bit of gold accents brings everything together into one attractive and irresistible mommy/daddy person. (ahem- all credits for the thirsting shall go to my co-editor @headdaze)

Personality : E. possesses an undeniable charm that captivates those around them, yet they remain a person of few words. Wherever they go, heads turn, drawn to their enigmatic and noble presence. The attention they receive is of little consequence to them, for they care not for the spotlight. Instead, they seamlessly integrate themselves into any setting, molding it to suit their own needs rather than others. Quiet by nature, they prefer to use words sparingly, reserving their speech for matters that ignite their passions. They possess a remarkable ability to switch between personalities, adopting the persona that they desire, skillfully using it to disarm and charm. It is only when their guard is down that they reveal their true self, shedding the masks they wear with calculated precision. In the realm of their ambitions, they are cold and cynical, unafraid to cross lines that others dare not tread, yet prideful enough not to easily bow to anyone. Indifference masks their actions, or so they wish it to be. They frown and sympathize, yet remain resolute in accomplishing their objectives, disregarding personal feelings along the way. Once they set their mind on something, there is no turning back. Determination is one of their most unchangeable traits, driving them forward regardless of the consequences.

Background : The only heir to the economic giant, The Quinn Industries, the Subject is an interesting and enigmatic individual that should be carefully looked into, as HUSH has noted. The Subject has had a relatively mundane childhood, raised to be the perfect heir to the company. They walk in a relatively small albeit powerful circle of elites, yet have shown no interest in intimately interacting with any potential suitors. Does not show any indication of having possible connections with X. Currently the Subject is under strict surveillance for undisclosed reasons.

Likes : manicures, insects, the pleasant smell of rain falling on dry earth (aka petrichor), intellectual debates, cats

Dislikes : liars, being controlled, talkative people, snakes, boiled potatoes, unhygienic people

Pet peeves : sneezing or coughing without covering one's mouth, unnecessary or forced small talk, the sound of nails scratching a blackboard

Trivia :

has a large collection of antique pocket watches and can correctly identify the model and even time period of all

is an expert in solving Rubik's Cubes and can solve one within 6 minutes and 39 seconds, that's their record

they have an extraordinary sense of direction, and can navigate complex mazes and labyrinths without getting lost

[stardustndreamsofsilver]

Inferum

Part Four

Jake x OC (f)

Warnings: scary elements, paranormal occurrences, occult ritual, violence, death

Find All Parts Here

Ils furent ce que nous sommes

Poussière, jouet du vent;

Fragiles comme de hommes,

Faibles comme le néant!

Our footsteps light and quiet, we all crept down the hallway and turned off our headlamps. As we approach the opposite end, the glow of candle light flickers and the air seems to sour and grow cold. With each approaching step, I begin to hear a choir of voices chanting;

“La nuit est longue, l'obscurité est vaste, les esprits sont agités. Les esprits ! Venez ! Votre festin vous attend. Vos humbles serviteurs vous attendent. Venez!

The night is long, the darkness is vast, the spirits are restless. Spirits! Come, come, come! Your feast awaits. Your humble servants await. Come, come, come!”

Their voices repeat the chant over and over as we grow closer. They seemed to crescendo when we reached the doorway. As their voices rose, my heart began to pound with equal intensity. I could feel myself begin to shake as my mouth lost all moisture. When I finally peered at the scene before me, the edges of my vision began to blacken.

Before us was an ancient stone altar. It was covered in pomegranate, a roast pig, apples, nuts, bread, bottles of wine, and other various foods and drinks. The altar was lit by two large silver candelabras that illuminate the empty chairs with place settings in front of each one. On each plate, there is a seemingly random object. One has a Victorian broach, another has an antique pocket watch. Each object represents the soul who is invited to attend the feast.

I swallow thickly as I ease my hand into my bag. My hand searches until I feel something cold, circular and hard. I clutch it in the palm of my hand and slowly take it out of the bag. Kneeling down, I roll the ring toward the altar and begin to chant along with the voices of the Gauls. As I slowly stand, I see the others looking at me in shock and horror. I can see Pip look at me with a knowing in their eye before they too begin to chant. Colette looks at me with hatred, already having joined the chant. The others' faces are quickly changing from shock and confusion to some sort of realization and finally to pure terror. They all look like they want to run. To escape the thing they both know and don’t know is coming. But they’re rooted in place.

At the strike of midnight, the chanting immediately ceases and the air is electric. Then everything begins to happen. The darkness surrounding us begins to move and take the shape of those who were invited to the feast. Their dark forms slowly mold into something more and more like what their earthly bodies had once been as they all step closer to their feast. The spirits all take their seats. Except for one. 

He stands where his ring lays on the floor, his back to me. He looks all around him until the dark pits that are his eyes land on me. As they do, he whispers, “Addey, what have you done?” As the words leave his lips, all of the other spirits turn and look at us. When they do, chaos descends.

Colette screams, pure anger and hatred lacing her cry as she charges at me, arms stretched out in front of her and aiming for my neck. Just before she reaches me Pip steps in and shoves her away, knocking her to the ground. Her head thumps with a sickening crack and blood begins to pool and seep into the dirt. Pip stares in shock, not having meant to kill her. Then, they whip their head toward me and yell, “Run, Addey!” As they do, the other Gauls step out from the shadows daggers drawn and they rush toward us.

I hesitate long enough to see one of them stab the woman standing right beside Sam straight through the heart. As I watch her body crumble to the ground and hear the cries of her lover and her friends, I feel a hand grab my shoulder. I scream and turn to face my attacker. When I do, he’s standing there. My fiance. The one I summoned and invited to the feast. He looks scared and his form is fading. “Go, Addey! Take this and run!” He warns as he places his ring in my hand. 

I do as he says, and run. I can hear the sound of footsteps following me as I race across the room and into another corridor. Racing through the darkness, I stumble and fall. Scrambling, I try to stand but keep falling back down. Tears blur what little vision I have in the pitch black of the catacombs. I can hear the footfall of one of the Gauls growing louder as they come closer and closer. 

Finally, I get my footing and haul myself up and start to run again. Running blindly, I make a quick turn into a connecting tunnel. I hide in the corner of the opening and cover my mouth with my sweat and dirt covered hands trying to quiet my breathing. I squeeze my eyes closed, straining to hear the other set of footsteps. I hear them running toward where I’m hiding on just the other side of the wall when they suddenly slow. They take on a leisurely pace as the Gaul begins to speak;

“Nous entendons vos poumons respirer. Nous sentons la sueur couler le long de votre dos. Nous voyons votre peur rayonner de vous. Tu ne peux pas te cacher de nous.

We hear your lungs take breath. We feel the sweat running down your back. We see your fear radiating from you. You can't hide from us.”

I feel a tear slip down my cheek as I hold my breath, praying to whoever would hear me that I would not be found. I hear them stop walking just outside the entrance to the tunnel. “Je t'ai trouvée, petite souris,” they whisper. My heart leaps to my throat and I ready myself to run again when I hear more commotion coming toward us. 

“Julieann!” I hear Pip call. At the sound of her name, I can hear Julieann turn toward the approaching footsteps. Then I hear the sound of something sharp piercing skin and the wet cough of the victim. I stand completely still and try not to breathe, trying to figure out who was the assailant and who was the victim. 

“Addey?” Pip whispers into the darkness.

I turn and rush to them. “Pip! How did you get away? How did you find me?” As I turn into the hall, I see Pip is not alone. Sam and Josh are with him. “What happened to the others?”

I see Josh’s eyes begin to fill with tears and Sam drops his head as Pip begins to answer, “The others– You saw what happened to Colette and the girl. The others ran. We do not know what happened when we were split up. We tried to follow where we saw you and Julieann go–”

I cut them off. “So you know the Gauls, you’re one of them. And they,” I say gesturing toward the boys. “They were the sacrifices. Colette lured them and you thought you were luring me as well,” Pip looks away from me and I see Josh and Sam look at them in disbelief. 

“Wait, what do you mean sacrifices? Who are the Gauls? What happened back there?” Sam shouts the last part as he fists Pip’s shirt pulling them face to face with tears streaming down his face. 

Pip looks to me for help but I do nothing. 

“Tell me!” Sam screams.

“You were meant to take the place of those we lost. If we sacrifice another soul, the one we call to will be restored to us,” Pip all but whispers.

taglist: @peaceloveunitygvf , @edgingthedarkness , @jakekiszkashangnail08 , @writingcold , @vanfleeter , @gretavanfleetposts , @katuschka , @thewritingbeforesunrise , @wrldabomination , @lipstickitty , @takenbythemadness

[skzsauce01]

Over the Moonshine

Synopsis: Although you enjoy dancing during your outings to 44th House, you are far more interested in one of the bartenders working there. Your siblings will never let you live it down, but their teasing is a small price to pay if you can spend time with Chan. 1920s/Prohibition AU.

Warning: alcohol

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairing: f!reader x bartender!Bang Chan

Other Notable Characters: Yeji and Hyunjin as your siblings

Prohibition was meant to be a boon for the country, but it has been more of a nuisance than anything. Father has the doctor coming to the house nearly every week to write him prescriptions of whiskey, and Mother awaits new shipments of grape bricks from California to turn into wine. Lest one think that only your parents defying the law, your brother knows runners for rum, and you and your sister have successfully made moonshine multiple times.

Really, if you think about it, it’s the government’s fault for foolishly believing they could force temperance onto its citizens. Prohibition. What a seductive word. It practically encouraged misconduct.

As you step out of the car, the autumn chill sending shivers down your spine, a familiar thrill envelops you. Speakeasies are nothing new, and though this is your fifth time visiting 44th House, you feel as if lightning is coursing through your blood. Inside your beaded bag hides a sample of your latest moonshine batch. Yeji has secured her own silver flask to her garter for her to sip on throughout the night, but you intend to share your portion with someone special.

“I should have worn my cape,” Yeji says as she links her arm through yours. The beads of her dress clack against yours, and her fur stole tickles your bare arms. “You were smart.”

“You’ll dance and drink the cold away,” you assure her, eliciting a laugh from her. “Hyunjin, what’s taking you so long? Your hair’s fine.”

He gives his reflection one last check in Yeji’s compact mirror before handing it back to her. You were deliberate with your appearance tonight as well, yet you itch to tease him for his vanity. The temptation grows even stronger when he pauses his walk down the pavement to adjust his tie.

“The wind mussed everything up on the drive,” he complains. 

“Should’ve taken the coupe like I suggested,” Yeji replies. She glances over at you, and a familiar mischievous expression crosses her face. “Unless you’re trying to impress someone with the Rolls Royce? Finally got a girl, have you?”

Before Hyunjin can retort, you archly add, “Who’s the lucky lady? Should we start planning the wedding, or will you break her heart like you did with the last one? She still calls the house, you know.”

“You’re both awful.”

While you and Yeji titter over your brother’s missteps in love, he knocks on the front door of the building. Above the golden “44TH STREET ANTIQUES,” the small window at eye level slides open. A set of dark brown eyes peer out, and a disembodied voice asks what they can assist you with. Changbin, you realize, which means that someone else is working the bar in his place, most likely Chan.

“I’m looking for a silver pocket watch engraved with the name ‘Paris Singer,’” Hyunjin says. 

The door unlocks and swings open, revealing the interior of an antique shop. Mahogany dressers and wing chairs line the walls of the establishment, and silver tea sets sit behind locked cabinets. Though the items themselves are pristine, the faint smell of dust hints at the amount of history the shop holds. Whatever many secrets these pieces hold, the only secret you wish to uncover is hidden behind a silk screen printed with birds: the staircase leading to where the true 44th House is. With only flickering light fixtures for guidance, you descend.

“Excited to see your beau, Miss Railroad Heiress?” Hyunjin says. The jazz music grows increasingly loud as you near the basement. “You think he’ll give me the good gin if I ask him nicely this time?”

How Chan managed to pick you out amongst the crowd is still a mystery to you, especially since you were nowhere near Hyunjin and Yeji at the time. The Hwang sibling trio is instantly recognizable together but separate? Just ordinary, albeit beautiful, faces.

“He’s not my beau.” Yet. “And how do you even know about that name?”

Yeji hops down the last step with grace, landing onto the stone floor with a satisfying clack. “Because we’re not deaf, Miss Railroad Heiress. Now come back with something good for us, please and thank you.” 

She smiles innocently at your exasperation, takes your arm, and guides you to the final door. When Hyunjin pushes it open, the whole world erupts with jazz and laughter, bringing an instant grin to your face. Men in pastel striped shirts and women in gold embroidered dresses swing and sway together, arms and legs snapping back and forth. The live band and flapper girls on stage encourage onlookers to join the rest of the party.

As expected, Yeji and Hyunjin forget about teasing you in favor of the dance floor. Meanwhile, you stick to the sides, weaving between the tables to make your way to the bar. A tipsy woman runs her hand through your fur cape and compliments you, and another woman trills with glee when she notices the number of beads you have on your person. 

A man drinking with his friends calls, “Find me for a dance later!”

“Oh, I will!” you shout back. You blow him a kiss, to the amusement of the table, before disappearing into the crowds once more.

Even from a distance, you spy Chan chatting up a patron as he pours him a drink. Minho is on the other end of the bar, showing off his skills with a tin shaker. Neither of them have a jacket on, only a black vest, so they must be exceptionally busy. Saturday evenings always are. Well, that has never stopped you from flirting with Chan before. You’d rather dance with him rather than a stranger, but a dance is a dance, no matter who it’s with. 

After Chan finishes someone else’s cocktail, you take their place, prop your arms on the wooden counter, and flash him a coy smile. “Hey, bartender. Can I get two bee’s knees and two of something made with this?”  

You pull out your flask of moonshine and slide it across the bar. Your initials are monogrammed on the front in curling letters, and your heart jumps when he brushes his thumb over the grooves. “You can give it a try if you like. Made it myself.”

“Did you really, Miss Railroad Heiress? You didn’t strike me as the sort to mess with a distiller,” he remarks. Nevertheless, he unscrews the top and takes a sip. “Not half bad. Be better in a ward eight though. Two, you said?”

“Yes. One of them’s for you.”

His arm hangs in mid-air, the bottle of lemon juice forgotten. “For me? How come?”

“I brought my moonshine because I wanted you to have a taste, so why not? Besides, you just said it would taste better in a ward eight. Let’s put it to the test.”

He laughs and starts again. You watch him pour and mix with fascination, and a childish delight washes over you when he drops two maraschino cherries into one of the glasses. You’ve asked for at least one cherry in every one of your cocktails at the 44th House. Changbin rarely obliges if the recipe book doesn’t call for it, but Chan never forgets.

He hands you back your flask and taps his glass against yours. “Here’s to you, Miss Moonshine.” 

The drink is perfect—sweet with a hint of lemon. You pluck out a cherry floating at the top, pull off the stem, and thoughtfully chew on the fruit. “Is that my new name?”

“There are two Miss Railroad Heiresses running around, after all. I need some way to tell them apart.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him that Yeji also knows her way around a distiller. But as far as you know, Chan has never spoken to Yeji before and likely never will since she sends you to the bar in her stead, so your skin tingles with fire as you hear the words “Miss Moonshine” roll off his tongue. It’s just as alluring as “prohibition.” Maybe it’s the whiskey talking.

(It’s definitely not.)

“Let me get your other drinks,” he says. Then he leans in conspiratorially close, his eyes glimmering under the honey-colored lights. “Stay until closing? I’ll do my best to sneak a dance with you.”

Before you can reply, a man in a herringbone suit saunters up to the counter and asks for a Chicago fizz. He glances over at you with practiced nonchalance, and you realize that it’s the same person who you blew a kiss to. He’s quite handsome up close, even if his airs are rehearsed. 

“Hello again,” he greets. His smile is dangerous, reminiscent of a serpentine path you drove on once in the countryside. “Are you free, by any chance? If I remember right, you promised me a dance.”

Chan has reverted to being a bartender, measuring syrup with a careful eye while eavesdropping on the conversation occurring in front of him. You’re a flirt but only with Chan; he has nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, he can’t read minds, so he sets down two bee’s knees in question: Will you stay until closing?

You consider pretending that the music is loud enough to drown out the stranger’s voice, but he seems to be the persistent sort. Reluctantly, you pop the remaining cherry in your mouth and tug the stem out from between your teeth. “What was your name again?”

“Seungmin.”

“One dance,” you agree. “But before and after that, I’m busy until the night ends. Thank you again, Mister Bartender.”

Chan relaxes and nods in acknowledgement. While Seungmin waits for his Chicago fizz, you take the drinks and roam around the speakeasy, looking for Yeji and Hyunjin. The room has grown more crowded, and a thin layer of perspiration graces your back. You press one of the sweating glasses to your cheek as you scan the groups that have formed. Yeji was the smart one, not you. 

You eventually find Hyunjin surrounded by a gaggle of women. His hair and button-down are more disheveled than they were after the drive, yet he doesn’t seem to care a whit now that he has admirers. He may deny it, but he thrives off of attention.

“Whose heart are you breaking tonight?” you ask as you slink up to the table. With two out of the trio present, a few of the more timid ladies make way for you. “Should I prepare apology flowers in the morning? And where’s Yeji?”

To his credit, he doesn’t blush at your comments. He’s more enamored by the cocktails in your hand. “Somewhere. What are these?”

“Gin. I still have some of my whiskey, if you want. We’re staying until they close tonight, by the way.”

After being subjected to tasting your previous moonshine experiments, he no longer enjoys whiskey, so he accepts the gin. “Sure. Did your friend make this?”

A wave of giggles courses through Hyunjin’s flock, and an image of your name in the society papers appears behind your eyelids. If you are to land in the papers again, it will be of your own volition, not Hyunjin’s mouth. “Any one who can make a good drink is a friend of mine. I’ll call the florist later.”

Before he can retaliate, you scurry off to find Yeji who is “somewhere.” After mistaking a woman with a similar stole for her and dodging a gallery of swinging limbs, you spy her in the middle of the floor, doing the Charleston while spectators observe her. With a blood orange drink in hand, Seungmin is among them, watching Yeji with curiosity. When she finally spots you, she dances her way over to you, onlookers cheering her on, and snatches the refreshment from your hand.

“Send Chan my thanks,” she says in between breaths. She leans against your shoulder and tries to pass off her stole to you. “Please? You’re not doing anything.”

As if he can sense your exasperation, Seungmin emerges from the sea of people and extends his arm out to you. “How about it?” 

You shoot your sister a pointed look. “I’d love to.”

You’re not as nimble as Yeji or as limber as Hyunjin—few people are—but your footwork is on par with theirs after years of practicing with them, and your passion makes up for the rest of your lacking skills. Seungmin is a decent partner, in spite of his attempts to chat with you throughout. 

“You sure you’re not free later?” he asks after the song ends. Flushed with exertion, he loosens his tie. “Not even for a drink? I’ll buy.”

“I can buy my own, thank you.”

You say your goodbyes to Seungmin and collapse against Yeji, who has sweet-talked a departing party into giving up their table for her. As she helps you shrug off your cape, you open your bag for your flask. The whiskey pleasantly stings as it goes down.

“Have you given up on Chan already? Your new guy is a looker, but I like Chan more.”

You explain to her the details of your arrangement, fully anticipating her to tease you throughout.  And she does. The wedding invitations will read “Miss Railroad Heiress and Mister Bartender,” and the wedding itself will take place at 44th House in honor of your first meeting. As she continues, you shut your eyes and do your best to concentrate on the surrounding conversations. You don’t care about the latest stove innovation, but it’s far less maddening than Yeji. 

In the midst of it all, having missed the company of his sisters, Hyunjin joins the table. No one trails after him, no one comes up to drag him away, which would have been favorable. What a disappointment; no hearts will be broken tonight. Worst of all, he, too, gives you grief for being enamored by Chan.

“Should I let you drive the car home, so you can impress him?” he says, earning a sigh from you. “Now that I think about it, you did insist on taking the convertible.”

“And you took an awful long time fixing your hair before we left!” adds Yeji. “Really, you and Hyunjin are more alike than you think.”

“Hey!”

How else will you pass the time if not for your bothersome brother and sister? You let Hyunjin argue for you and permit your eyes to wander to where Chan is still working. Dozens of patrons surround the bar, so you can only catch glimpses of him through the gaps between heads. You doubt he saw it, but what did he think of you and Seungmin? While some people get easily jealous, others recognize that sometimes fun is fun, no ulterior motives.

After enduring another five minutes of Hyunjin and Yeji’s bickering, you decide it’s time for a change of scenery.

“What do you want to drink?” 

“Mojito, extra lime. Make sure he knows about the Rolls Royce.”

“And don’t forget to tell him the wedding date. Jack Rose for me.”

The crowd hasn’t thinned out in the short time it took for you to arrive, so you patiently wait by studying Chan’s bartending skills. How long has he done this for? From handling a large bottle of vodka to garnishing drinks with mint leaves, all of his motions are deft. During the fifth cocktail, he notices your presence out of the corner of his eye and begins adding flairs to his process—a little twirl of the stick, an extra tall pour. When it’s finally your turn, he leans against the counter and meets you halfway. His eyes flicker with golden light.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he says before you can get out a word. “Miss Moonshine, can I be the next to dance the Charleston with you? I promise I’m a better dancer than the last guy.”

Astonished, you blurt out, “You saw it!”

“Of course I did.” Almost sheepishly, he adds, “You’re all I see.”

Your skin prickles as if you’re standing outside in the cold, but your cheeks are aflame. “The speakeasy doesn’t need you?”

“Minho’s got it handled. Come on now.”

You highly doubt Minho can man the bar by himself, but you nonetheless take Chan’s hand and lead him to the center of the building. You hear Yeji’s giggles and Hyunjin’s smug remarks as you pass by, but your annoyance is soon drowned out by the merriment of the other patrons. Soles slap against the floor in quick succession, and you nearly lose an eye to a flying string of pearls. 

Chan places his other hand on your arm. “You’re pretty good, but do you think you can keep up with me?”

His teasing rouses you further, so you put more energy into your steps. A little more bounce and a little more snap, just as he did when he was mixing drinks. The people surrounding you slowly inch away when you grow more excited, and you gladly use all of the space around. 

“Show-off,” Chan laughs when you momentarily let go of his hands to perform a series of kicks. 

You finish with a flourish and playfully bow when he starts clapping.  “It’s what I do best. How long do I have you for?”

“Not that long,” he admits, taking your hands again, “but come back tomorrow? I’m off then, so you’ll have me all to yourself.”

He winks, leaving you in a stupor as he guides you back to Yeji and Hyunjin. This is not how it’s supposed to be; you’re the one who does the flustering around here. You’re certain you have a silly smile on your face because as soon as he leaves, Yeji pounces for answers.

“What happened?” she questions. “Did he kiss you?”

“More like she kissed him,” Hyunjin drawls as he snaps his fingers in front of your eyes. “Have you died or what?”

You push his hand away, glaring at him when he pretends to have been injured. “No one kissed anyone. Just a dance. Geez, it’s like you two are trying to get me in trouble. Let’s go before someone actually hears you.”

Hyunjin grabs your cape for you, not in a gesture of kindness, but so he can toss it at you and laugh as you struggle to catch it. “You could’ve at least gotten us our drinks before you decided he wasn’t worth it. Where are we heading now? Bellamy’s?”

“I’d rather go home,” you answer.

Yeji links one arm through yours and the other through her brother’s, effectively creating a human fence that others have to walk around. “So you can sleep and dream of him?”

“One day,” you declare, “you’ll get a crush, and I will never let you breathe again without mentioning their name. Hyunjin will join in, and you’ll get a taste of your own medicine.”

As expected, the drive home is riddled with poor jokes and pointless retellings of the night. It is the same when you head back to 44th House the following night. You’d rather Yeji and Hyunjin not be in the establishment at all, but reassurance is always welcome, even if it does come with a side dish of pestering.

Minho is the gatekeeper this time, and he regards you with some contempt for last night’s endeavor. Your half-hearted apology is responded with a grunt and a reluctant opening of the door. 

You inhale the scent of the antique store, run a finger across the back of a velvet chair for luck. Your whole body hums with energy as you descend, and the trumpet horns on the other side of the walls only increase the tension. Why are you nervous? You have no reason to be.

At the bottom of the steps, you say with gravity, “Both of you, stay away from me tonight.” 

Then you run into the crowd before they can follow. As the uproar rings in your ears, you scan the interior as you cut across the room, wincing when the overzealous tuba player blasts a note in your direction. Someone spills part of their drink onto the tops of your heels, and though you feel the liquid seeping between your toes, your main concern is finding Chan. You pause whenever you see a man in a black vest. Would he wear a similar outfit to his uniform on his night off? Likely, no, but you have no other basis for his attire.

“You’re here! Finally.”

You turn around to see Chan that has found you first. His grin shines like a crescent moon against his dark pinstriped suit, but there is nothing sinister about his expression.

“How do you do it?” you ask, slipping your arm through his. His face colors with a faint shade of pink. “You always seem to know where I am.”

“To be honest, I’ve been watching the door all night. Should we get something to drink first?”

As it turns out, you are correct to tell your siblings to stay far away from you because after sharing some potent moonshine, you kiss Chan by the bar. Everyone in the vicinity witnesses it, so you’re bound to end up in the papers tomorrow, but you don’t care. It’s Yeji and Hyunjin’s fault for putting the thought into your head. Most importantly though, this is the happiest you’ve been.

Prohibition. What a lovely era.

[uwukillmenowowo]

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥 [Tokyo Debunker X F!Reader]

[ 3 | Stars] 『⭐』

Key's for the story: Insert - Narrative - And then she stared at her reflection in the mirror [Insert] - Author speaking - [Eyyy there- wazzup readers] "Insert" - Talking - "Hey there!" [But can also be air quotes] 'Insert' - Thinking - 'Dame he's cute...' "Insert" - Whispering - "I- I messed up..." [But can also be an emphasis on a word/phrase, or flashback] (Insert) - Inner mind..? - (Deadass doesn't know how to explain it here) *Insert* - Action - *Sighs with their head down*[INSERT] - Magic - [OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!] or [IGGNAIM!]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫: [ 2 | Not Home] 『🏠』

━━━✦❘༻🔮༺❘✦━━━

[Book 0] The Academy of Ghouls

[Chapter 3] Galaxy Train, Riding On the Stars

━━━✦❘༻🔮༺❘✦━━━

{Your POV}

~~~~~

"Umm... Haku..?" He looked and me and hummed. "the... The train is about to leave.." I pointed at the train and Haku nodded. "Sure is." I watched as the train pulled away from the station. 'If he pulls me to some secret portal I might freak out.' I thought.

Haku was standing hands on his hips in front of an ice cream vending machine. I continued my interrogation. "Shouldn't we have gotten on it if we're headed for Tokyo Bay?" I shrugged, hoping that he wasn't going to say what I think he's gonna say. "This way's faster, actually." Okay- He didn't say the line but that's almost close...

Haku scanned his phone on the vending machine and... the vending machine let out a meow..? I smiled, finding that quite cute. But then... the vending machine slid open to reveal, "S-Space?!" I questioned in shock. "Don't let go of my hand." Haku suddenly grabbed my hand and he dragged me into the space door. "WHOA!" I yelped and kept a tight hold of the hairclip that Prince Rielle gave me.

"E-Eh..? We're... floating? Wait no... We're falling..." I hummed as I cleared my vision. "Haha! I like your energy. That's right. We're falling slowly." Haku pulled me closer to him and pointed to a bunch of stuff. "It's lost property." Haku explained. "Oop- Look out, we're about to speed up." I flinched and braced myself as we fell faster.

*Tmp*

"This is out stop. I stared in awe. "A train station in space?!" I took out my phone and took some photos and Haku laughed. "Don't worry. Unlike the last one, this train comes with a safety guarantee." I just hummed as I heard a train pull up. 'Yup... this is definitely magic...' I sweatdropped and hid my wand in my blazer pockets... Actually I kinda regret wearing my NRC uniform now... The pockets are too small...

"That's out ride." I looked to where the trail whistle was and gasped as I saw a train, riding on stars. "A steam train on stars? It's beautiful!" I awed. "That's the Galaxy Express. You've never seen one before?" Taking his question seriously, I shook my head. "Ahah! I meant in cartoons and comics~" Haku then walked forward to the train while I took more photos. "We're in the realm of non-fiction though. Go on, climb aboard."

I hummed and groaned. "Safety guaranteed, remember? Don't worry~ If anything happens, I'll protect you." Haku offered me a hand so I smiled as I felt a bit safer. "Okay" We walked into the train and I took more photos. 'It's beautiful!' I smiled.

Then I lowered myself into a seat. The soft velvet was so comfortable I relaxed just a little in spite of myself. The levers, switches, and dials peppered throughout the train car were reminiscent of an old age gone by. The warm wooden walls were lit by antique lamps hung from the ceiling. The starry sky outside was visible through the windows. "it's absolutely stunning." I awed more and took more photos. "Meow." I yelped at the sudden noise and looked around to find a white cat with a train conductors cap on. 'SO CUTE!' I thought and pulled Haku's sleeve out of reflex while I took photos of the cat.

"Heheh- Sorry to spring this one on you. Could you take us to the academy?" The cat walked pass us and I started taking a video. Then the cat turned around and meows happily. The swaying bottlebrush tail disappeared into the driver's compartment and I stopped the video. A beat later, the steam whistle blew, and the train chugged forward.

"That's the conductor. Don't worry- he doesn't bite." My jaw dropped. "That cat is the conductor..?" The train began to pick up speed, then entered a tunnel. 'I have to send this to Idia and Ortho!' I smiled. But before I clicked send I thought against it. 'Or... maybe later... they might ask if I got home. If tell them no then they'll probably tell Prof. Crewel... and Crewel will beat Crowley...

'I'll tell them later~' I thought and look a photo. "Ne ne~ Haku. Is it alright if I take a photo of you?" Haku chuckled and sweat dropped. "I expected you to be more nervous than awestruck. But that's kinda cute so why not?" Haku then shrugged and posed, he crossed his right leg over his left and held up a peace sign. I just hummed. "Why was 6 afraid of 7?" Haku became confused and I smirked. "Because 7 ate 9." Haku went wide eyed before he smiled while trying to suppress a chuckle. I took that moment to take a photo of his natural smile. "Aww~ Cute!" I giggled and showed him the photo.

[Srry for low quality]

"Whoa... That's really good..." Haku smiled as he stared at the photo. "You're really good at taking photos [Y/n]." I giggled and scratched the back of my neck. "Thanks. It's a hobby." The roar of the engine fought against the darkness, stirring awake some of the anxiety I'd try to lock away. "Most people'll never get to ride this train, you know. I'm glad that you're making the most of it. Oh look. We're nearly there." At Haku's encouragement, I shifted my gaze out the window.

We emerged from the tunnel, and the inky blackness was replaced by warm sunlight. An enormous building loomed outside the window. The gothic exterior stood solemn and elegant against the blue sky. I felt like I'd stumbled into a fantasy world... For the second time... 'NRC is much bigger but Darkwick seems to have a better budget...' I thought and smiled as I remembered all the teasing moments that Crowley would use the lack of money for stuff.

"We will soon stop of Darkwick Academy"

"This is us. Shall we?" I nodded to Haku and stood up. "I'm surprised that we're there already." The Galaxy Express shuddered to a halt, having reached its destination.

'Please don't be a weird, supernatural, all-boys, school' I pleaded.

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫: [ 4 | Academy] 『🖤』

[julesthequirky]

Beautiful Trauma - A Soldier Boy Miniseries: Chapter 2

Beautiful Trauma

Pairings: F!Reader x Ben/Soldier Boy

Summary: The reader is the real widower of Ben/Soldier Boy and loved their life together before the incident. In 1983 she took Compound V, so she could be with Ben forever, but in 1984 her life crashes to the ground, and she’s stuck in a world without him. In 2022 a knock at the door changes her life, and when she’s told that Ben is alive she hopes that there can be a forever after all.

A/N: Reader has certain traditional gender values, that are antiquated today.

Chapter Warnings: Antiquated views, language, and mentions of domestic violence.

Chapter W/C: 2435

This work is unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine. If you like it, heart, and reblog it. All feedback is gold.

1984

The baby slept in the bedroom, and some random crap played on the radio – the busted tv still in its place – it never got replaced. The stubbed-out end of a blunt lay in an ashtray along with the others, its job complete in dosing you up. Trapped smoke lingered around the room with nowhere to escape, and you were dozing on the sofa after smoking enough to take out a whole football team.

The boot bashing in your door jerked you awake. Still high, you rubbed your eyes and watched Payback, minus Gunpowder, and Swatto, storm in.

“Jesus, fuck. Smells like a ganja farm in here.” Mindstorm commented, coughing and waving his hand to waft the smoke away.

Confused, mind foggy from the blunt, you continued to stare.

“Look at her. She doesn’t know what time of day it is.” Crimson Countess noted, walking around the apartment living area.

“She probably doesn’t even know we’re here,” Tessa said, and she and her brother laughed.

“I do.” You slurred.

Crimson Countess picked up a photograph of you and Ben on your wedding day. You were standing on tiptoe, kissing Ben on his cheek, and he looked handsome as ever in his Philly baseball shirt, with one arm hooked around your waist and the other in the pocket of his slacks. It had been taken outside the registrar’s office. She put it back with a curl to her lip.

“Disgusting.” She muttered.

You blinked, and she continued to loiter, mumbling under her breath about the photos on the mantle and the Soldier Boy memorabilia. Then she spun on her heel, marched to the closed door where your daughter slept, and ripped it from its hinges.

“Mindstorm, do your worst.”

Instinct kicked in, if a little too slowly, and you flew off the couch only to topple to the floor. Stumbling, head-fogged, you attempted to barge through the TNT and Mindstorm barricade.

You shoved Mindstorm to one side, but the TNT duo pushed you back.

“I don’t understand.” Mindstorm muttered as you fell on your ass.

“TNT! Detonate!” Tommy and Tessa yelled in unison and joined hands. Then, they each held a hand up, aiming at you.

Your eyes widened. Shit. In your stoned-out state, you froze and waited for the electric bolt that would surely come your way. You squeezed your eyes shut, expecting the inevitable. Nothing. No electric. And certainly, no nightmares.

“What the fuck!” Tommy and Tessa screeched.

“Nothing’s happening.” Mindstorm muttered.

You opened your eyes. Mindstorm and TNT were staring at you, trying, but failing to use their powers against you.

“I can’t hear her. It’s so quiet….”

You didn’t understand. Compound V had been a dud. You hadn’t gained any powers – not even the most common – super strength. You’d sobbed on Ben, and he had comforted you as best as he could. Compound V had meant to be the way forward – it had meant forever with Ben. And the lack of powers had destroyed that. But here you were, gasping in breaths with three members of Payback powerless in front of you.

“Crimson! We’ve got a problem!”

Crimson walked out with your daughter on her hip and a hand on the other. “What?”

“Our powers are useless.” Tessa said.

“Sweet peace…”

“Useless…” Crimson muttered and held out a hand. She smirked, and where a fireball typically erupted – nothing. Not even a wisp of smoke.

“The hell?” Crimson attempted another fireball, this time putting some effort into it. But still nothing.

You used the fact that three out of four were stumped to your advantage to grab your daughter from Crimson Countess. Then, still unsteady, you stumbled and fell into TNT.

“Don’t just stand there. Do something!”

Spurred on, Tommy yanked you up by the collar, but Tessa got excited. Her manic smile swam in your view as she clocked you in the jaw. Stars burst, and Tommy pushed you down. Unable to save yourself, your head bounced on the carpet, and in the distance, you heard their hyena cackles and Crimson’s throaty voice, “Vought sends their regards.”, before blacking out.

2022

Silence fell around the room as the information was revealed to them. Looks were exchanged that you weren’t privy to.

“What? That’s what you didn’t know about?”

The unkempt one cussed under his breath.

“Butcher, this just got a whole lot fuckin’ complicated.” The black man said. His tone warning.

“Nah. It’ll be fine, MM.” Butcher said, waving him off.

He then gave you a sly look. “Hang on, if you were wiv Soldier Boy back then, ‘ow come you ent snapped out of the cuffs?”

You tugged at the cuff attached to the table leg. “I would if I could.”

“But you’re a Supe.” Butcher stated.

You laughed bitterly. “I’m not a Supe.”

“Well, excuse my French lady, but you look fucking phenomenal for 70. Fuckin’ ‘ell, bo’le, what you got up and rinse that shit for all its worth.”

“The V didn’t work. I didn’t get powers,” It wasn’t entirely true, but some secrets were worth keeping to yourself. “Except for the no ageing thing. That’s it.”

Butcher sat with his hand on his chin, taking it in. Then, finally, he opened his mouth to speak, but the youngun beat him to the punch.

“Are you the one that keeps leaving flowers on Soldier Boy’s statue?”

You nodded. Every anniversary, Valentine’s, birthday, and Christmas. And sometimes whenever you felt like it. Ben’s statue embodied the only living resemblance that he had been alive in a world that continued to slip from your grasp. Sitting there and talking to him restored balance in your life.

“If you know that Vought are scummy fuckers, why ent you done anyfink about it?”

“Like what? Storm in there and demand my daughter back and for them to tell the truth? Yeah, that would work really well.”

Butcher held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, luv, don’t getchur knickers in a twist.”

“Those fuckers stole a baby. Mon Dieu...”

The Asian beside him rubbed her hand up and down the Frenchman’s back, comforting him.

“Somethings not sitting right,” MM started. He stood and paced the room. “Vought grabbed your child, and they didn’t kill you?”

“Why would they kill me? They got what they wanted. Taking my daughter sent the message plain and clear– that they can get away with anything.”

“But—”

“Oi, leave off, wouldja.”

MM tensed his jaw, his fists clenched, but he questioned you no more. Instead, he sat and glared at Butcher.

You turned your attention to the leader of the gang, Butcher. “Can I please go now?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Tell us where Crimson is first.��

You huffed, annoyed.

“I don’t know where she is.”

“The fuck you don’t. She was Soldier Boy’s public girlfriend, and I fink you hated her wiv ev’ry fiba of your being.”

Yeah, you hated her, but after they’d taken your daughter, you just didn’t give a shit about anything anymore. Waking up sober with Vought lawyers knocking on your door with papers to sign about your daughter’s “untimely death” put you into three decades’ deep depression.

“I lost everything. You think I’m gonna care about some washed-up, has-been cooze? Ben was Payback, and without him, those losers are nothing.”

“Tell us!”

“She’s a two-bit trailer trash whore! Now tell me where Ben is!”

*

The bastards left you handcuffed to the table leg as they searched for Crimson Countess. As they left, you heard MM to Butcher, “There’s something she’s not telling us. Something’s not adding up. Why would they leave her alive after sending…”. You strained to hear the rest, but they were too far away.

Stupid fucking cuffs. You screamed in frustration, eventually managing to snap the table leg and free yourself. The handcuff dangled from one wrist – that would have to wait. More important things were at stake. You threw a chair at the window of the door, smashing it. With another one, you swiped the window free of glass and escaped. Nothing would stop you from getting to Ben.

Ben was in America. And he wanted revenge. He deserved payback for what those fuckers did to him in Nicaragua. And you would be there right by his side, supporting him.

*

The car swerved as a boom went off. The glass in the windows disintegrated, and the earth shook. You saw a bright light erupt into the sky. What the fuck? Desperate to return in the right direction, you turned the steering wheel until it gave out as the car continued to hydroplane.

It spun out, and you conceded death as the car careened into a fence post. The airbag deployed, and you smacked into it. Dazed but otherwise alright, you left the car and ran to the explosion site.

The lactic acid burned in your chest and legs, but you kept running. Ben was your world; you’d been without him for so long.

“Hughie!”

Butcher’s cockney accent punctured the air nearby, and you almost knocked into the kid.

“Fuck!” He yelled, jumping out of the way as you came whizzing by. You heard the sound of a Geiger counter ticking for a split second.

An orange glow emitted from Cuntess’ trailer, and a figure stood amidst the wreckage. Your heart leapt, and you used the last ounce of adrenaline to run to him. He moved away from the burning trailer.

Hope bloomed. Your pride and joy. Your world. Your feet pounded the grass. Your heart hammered in your chest. You shouted his name, and Ben turned around, ready for the threat pursuing him, but when he saw you, he stood stock still, his shield dropped, hitting the grass with a clank.

Ben stumbled a few steps as you latched on, arms wrapped around him. He stunk of smoke, but you didn’t care. Overwhelmed, you stuffed your face into his chest and broke down. Never in a million years had you thought it possible. You’d dreamt of reuniting with Ben, but the sad reality began again when dawn’s light pushed through the crack in your curtains, and you awoke alone.

His hand threaded into your hair, his head dipped, and he pressed his lips to yours.

“I’ve missed you so much, woman.” Ben breathed you in, taking slow and steady breaths, recounting for all the lost time.

The off-kilter angle of your world started to adjust itself, and you felt whole. Complete. You had your man. Now you just had to find your daughter.

He tilted your chin up and wiped the tears away with gentle thumbs, softly telling you to hush.

Nearly forty years later and this man still managed to leave you breathless. He honestly was flawless. Dark hair, which flopped over, so inviting your hands itched to sink into. Green eyes so dazzling and pretty, along with sinfully plush lips that whispered lewd things in your ear and gave scalding kisses in the dead of night. The fuzz he sported brought his flawless, gorgeous look together.

“You’re giving me a real chubby looking at me like that.”

You matched your bedroom eyes with a come hither smile. “Let’s go find some hay to roll in, then.”

You couldn’t catch his words, but the searing look told you of his intentions for the night.

“Sorry to interrupt the reunion.” A certain Cockney accent butted in.

Ben’s eyes became cold and flinty, and his stance became protective. He bent and picked up his shield, stepping in front of you. Irritated, you sidestepped, noticing Butcher and Hughie. Ben gripped your arm and shoved you behind him again.

“Stay put, woman.” He demanded.

“Charmin’. If I talked to my missus that way, she’d give me a bloody nose.”

You couldn’t see, and his hand on your arm stopped you from moving. He had a nice back, but you were getting tired of looking at it, so you leaned over, but he yanked you back in place.

“Well, mine knows her place.”

You couldn’t see, but you were sure he wore a tight smile. Probably pissed that you were showing him up.

Being a good wife to Ben gave you pride. Keeping him happy made you happy. You had dinner ready for him as he came through the door, fetched him beers when he asked, and, importantly, made sure you looked pretty for him. It gave you a purpose, and having your daughter only expanded that.

At times he could be abrasive, but you attributed that to Payback and Vought. They demanded so much from him, and he gave what he could. Whenever he did snap, you snapped back, which let him know you weren’t gonna take any of his crap. Sometimes if you crossed a line, he would rebuke you with a swat to the cheek. But you were always ready and willing with your apology – between his legs, on your knees.

“Alright—” Butcher started.

“I’m in. Meet me tomorrow, and don’t forget the stuff.”

In? Tomorrow? Stuff? Ben dragged you away before you could ask. If Butcher and his team had spoken to Ben, you’d bet your bottom dollar that they’d conveniently forgotten about you.

“Ben, I know them. The English bastard falsely arrested me, and they hounded me for information on Cuntess.”

“I’ll deal with it.” He gruffly snapped.

This side of Ben was all business, and you knew better than to cross Ben like this. Getting on the wrong side warranted a visit to the hospital with a well-thought-out lie.

“Okay.”

A heavy hand laid on your heart. Ben could be harsh, but he had a heart of gold and meant well. Your happiness resided in him. If he wasn’t happy, then neither were you. You couldn’t let it disrupt your forever. But something would until she was found. It wasn’t fair for him not to know.

Ben reached a car. He popped the trunk and placed his shield in.

“You gonna get in, or are you gonna stand there looking gormless?”

“Ben. I need to tell you something.”

He turned to you, irritated. “What?”

You stalled, and he gave you that look, meaning he had no patience for your antics.

“Vought took Heather.”

The air stilled, and the tang of burnt metal filled your nostrils. Ben bared his teeth, and the roof edge creaked as it bent under his hands. His breaths came out fast, like a raging bull. You expected another explosion, but nothing.

“Ben?”

At your tentative question, he looked up, fixing you with an intense stare. “I’ll get those fuckers. Don’t you worry.”

And you knew he meant it.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2

[mangoshorthand]

Arrow of Time: Chapter 4 [Five Hargreeves/ F Reader]

(Hard Feelings Part 5)

SUMMARY: When the mother of all teenage tantrums causes time itself to fracture, Five has to travel back to 1831 to repair the damage. But will he be able to cope with what he finds there?

On to Chapter 5 >> << Back to Chapter 3

Five makes plans to rescue you, but it's been far longer for you than for him.

Chapter 4: At Home With Reginald Hargreeves

Five chose a Glock 19 and filled his jacket pockets with as many spare pre-loaded magazines as he could carry. At 33 rounds each, he prepared to leave sitting on a respectable level of firepower; he just hoped he wouldn’t need it .With any luck, he thought, he’d arrive in something like the early 2000s and she’d be there waiting for him. He hoped for the best but prepared for the worst.

The heavy coat was a just-in-case choice. He knew from bitter experience: a decent coat was worth its weight in gold if you were stuck in some wasteland away from people. On the off-chance that Five wouldn’t be stuck in some wasteland away from people, some of Reginald’s gold antiques could be easily sold to help him get by. While Five was in the armory, Diego had searched him out a spyglass, what looked like a snuff-box and a pocket watch, all in gold or gold and enamel. 

“That should keep you going, hermano,” he said, giving Five’s shoulder a squeeze. Apparently, he’d chosen to forget Five’s meanness earlier. Despite Five’s favourite taunt, Diego wasn’t dumb: just then, he could see past his brother’s bluster of confident action to the just-veiled panic within. 

“You’ll find her.” he said, reassuringly, “she’ll probably be standing right on a street corner in 1970 or somewhere yelling about how Nixon’s a fascist.”

Five had cracked a smile at this before looking down again at his shoes.

“Diego…I don’t know for sure what’s going to happen. And…”, he’d sighed fitfully, indecisively,  “what the hell am I doing? If I go, she could be losing both parents.”

Diego squeezed the hand still on his shoulder. 

“If you don’t go, she could die. We all could. You know it, Five.”

Green eyes met brown as Five looked up.

“If we don’t come back, then-” he couldn’t finish the request, voice squalling as he choked on the words. 

Diego shook his head, laughing softly at the fact Five thought he even had to ask. 

“Like she’s our own. Tu hija es mi hija .”

Five nodded, some of his worry removed and, in a move as rare as it was heartfelt, hugged Diego. They broke apart after much throat-clearing and back-slapping. 

“Come on, Number Two,” Five said then, throwing off gravity with as much irony as he could muster.

Back in the study, Lila was trying her best to extort a smile from Aoife- to keep her relaxed despite Uncle Luther’s grave expression.   

“Honestly, sweetie, that’s got to be the most epic teenage meltdown in history. Whacking your Mum through a rip in time? That’s genius : that’s the stuff of teenage dreams. I just wish I’d thought of it when I was your age.”

As Five and Diego walked in, her father dressed to leave, Aoife began to leak from the eyes again.

The others tactfully averted their eyes as Five beckoned her to him for one final hug, giving them a little privacy .Aoife whispered unintelligible apologies and Five loving reassurance. Though it was mostly in Italian, the tenderness in Five’s voice was enough to let them know that this was for his daughter’s ears alone.

Five tried to put as much as he could into that hug: years of love, guidance and comfort that he might now never be able to give her. 

“ Ti voglio bene. Tua madre ti ama.”

“Dad, I’m sorry!”

“Stai sempre al sicuro, sappi che ti amiamo e comportati bene. Sono orgoglioso e non smetterò mai di esserlo, ok?” 

He held her tight for a few more precious moments before letting her go and stepping backwards. He was nervous or, more accurately, terrified. He hadn’t wanted to suggest that Aoife may not be able to replicate what she did; he didn’t want to plant even a shred of doubt in her mind. He knew it was entirely possible that she wouldn’t be able to send him after his wife but he had to go on pretending: for himself as well as for their daughter.

“Go on, cara,” he said, mustering a grin as if this was just a game of soccer and she was preparing to take a penalty against him, “send me wherever you sent Mom. Just do exactly the same thing.”

“Okay.”

She took a couple of deep breaths and shook out her limbs, bracing herself against the floor.

“That’s my girl.”

She rubbed her hands together and he felt her power up. This was a good start. 

“Come on now,” he encouraged, buoyed himself, “just a big push and we’ll be back before you know it.”

She nodded, fervently, eyes still sparkling with tears. Did she believe him or was she nodding with the force of how much she wanted it to be true? She closed her eyes and sprang at him.

He breached the film-like seal easily. She’d done it: he spiralled into senseless static storm. He fell (or maybe falls?) through time, screwing up his eyes against the turmoil. 

And he lands, amazingly, on his feet. His knees buckle only slightly. Straightening his back, he looks over his shoulder at the tear, watching it disappear in a sag-like collapse. No problem: it’s still there, only invisible.

He hurries out of the alleyway, brain much cooler than he’d imagined it would be, and scans the crowded street for a glimpse of his wife. Nothing. A setback, but only a slight one. He calls her name experimentally. Nothing but a few haughty looks from passers-by. Okay: reconnaissance time.

It’s old-timey times, that much is clear. He doesn’t know much about fashion but if that woman’s hat is anything to go by, it’s certainly pre-20th century. Carriages on the road: definitely 19th century. There’s a chill in the air: so winter, maybe early spring? He’d be thankful for the warm coat were it not attracting so many stares. So where is he? 

He strolls into the street, still scanning the pedestrians for a glimpse of your face. The accents of the passers-by certainly sound American and this is clearly a city, so he decides to work on the assumption that he’s traveled further through time than he has space. Those accents weren’t precisely what he’d expect from local New Yorkers, but he knows enough about linguistic change to know that accents shift over centuries. If these people sound a little more Irish or English or Italian or whatever, it’s to be expected.

He takes off the coat and drapes it over his arm. In exposing his suit, he hopes to look slightly less out of place than he does in the coat with its obviously modern fabrics. At least a suit will be a recognizable garment to these people, even if he’s wearing one that looks completely bizarre to them.

Though Five doesn’t know it, his next move mirrors yours when you arrived here, although he has less care for being polite. Across the street, a man slightly more down-at-heel than the relatively affluent people around him carries a newspaper under his arm. Five blinks across to him, appearing directly in his eyeline and causing him and several others to call out in shock.

“Is that today’s newspaper?” Five says, abruptly. He’s unwilling to tread softly: he wants to find you and get the hell out of here.

The man nods and Five holds out his hand expectantly. He thrusts it towards him and hurries away. Five knows he and the others will already be trying to rationalize what he saw: of course that strangely dressed man didn’t appear out of nowhere, he just stepped out from behind that carriage extremely quickly.

Five shakes out the front page. It’s a copy of the New-York Evening Post, dated March 6th 1831. That answers two questions: yes, he is in the nineteenth century and yes, he is still in New York. But none of this answers the more important question of where the hell his wife is.

Stuffing the newspaper into his back pocket, he blinks back to the alleyway, checking the walls for the hope of some sign: some calling card you might have left. Nothing. 

Hell, is he in the right place? Did Aoife somehow send him somewhere else? He didn’t think it was possible but he would have expected to have seen something by now if you were here. You knew how things went down in Dallas: you knew how he’d had to find his siblings like a trail of more-or-less idiotic breadcrumbs. You’d leave him some way of finding you again, he knew it.

Tracking people down was never a huge part of his skill-set, either when Dad was training them or when working for the Commission. Indeed, the job that had made his name in the Commission, (Paris: 1938) had been notable because he’d had to improvise after being unable to track the target down in time. Nevertheless, he’d had enough experience with it to know how to begin in a situation like this. 

He walks back to the alley where he arrived and puts himself squarely in your shoes. Knowing you almost as well as he knows himself by now, he’s at an advantage: it’s time to reconstruct your first moments here.

You were a first time time-traveler without the aid of a briefcase and his supportive arm…you’d be disorientated. You’d have fallen onto the cobbles. He crouches down, trying to get to the level you’d be at. You’d be scared, obviously. He looks into the sky behind him, where the portal would have just disappeared: you’d be looking for help, looking for him… but clearly he wasn’t there.

Still immersed in your headspace, Five looks around into the street. You’d probably panic, maybe run into the street and cause a stir. People would stare at you like they’d stared at him…except you were in your pajamas and robe: braless and exposed…you probably wouldn’t get much help from people on the street. They’d think you were mad.

His stomach lurches at this. If there’s one thing he knows about the 1830s, it’s that mentally-ill people were not treated well. So that puts asylums firmly on his list, unless he can find a better lead. Shit, a woman on her own in 1831? 

The realization makes him pause, blood running cold; if you’re here, then you’re probably in serious danger. He needs to find you, and quickly. He doesn’t want to think about what might happen if you’re here alone for even a few days. He bats away the thoughts for now and returns to his process. 

Vulnerable, unsure where (or when), you were and attracting stares from people dressed like a period drama. He crosses his arms over his chest as you would likely have done, to hide prominent nipples. Inside…you’d want to go inside and get off the street.

He hurries into all the establishments on the street: he blinks from church to pawnbroker and bookstore to butcher: neither the preacher nor the store’s clerks can recall a woman of your description. 

In the pawnbroker, he makes his first mistake. He’s so distracted by first enquiring after you and then selling the antique spyglass that he doesn’t notice something in the window: something that could lead him to you much more quickly. As it is, he walks straight past that item, folding the two hundred and ten dollars he got for the spyglass and placing the notes in his jacket pocket with two of the Glok’s spare clips.

If Five hadn’t been concerned with concealing the ammunition, he might have caught the sparkle of rubies and spotted your engagement ring in the window for sale. 

He’d initially overlooked the Milliner’s shop right beside the alley entrance. When he blinks inside unexpectedly, the two women comparing the shade of ribbon on two bonnets give little screams of surprise.

Ignoring them, Five focuses his attention purely on the shop’s startled proprietor:

“Did a woman come in here? She’d be dressed strangely. In a pair of pajamas and a robe?”

“Pajamas?” said the clerk, clearly not understanding the word.

Five tries to keep his frustration under the surface, “Like a cotton shirt and pants? With a floral pattern and a white robe on top? Probably panicking.”

There’s a spark of something like recognition in her eyes. Her disposition towards him, (already chilly), seems to cool even further on learning of his association with her.

“Yes sir, though it was a long time since.”

“How long?” 

“About a year now, I’d say.”

A year? Five rubs a hand down his face. A year? While he collects himself, the clerk looks him up and down.

“You wouldn’t be her husband, would you?”

His eyes snapped back to hers, heart leaping,

“Yes. What did she say?”

“As I say, it was a long while ago now and I’m afraid I shooed her out right quick. I can’t say I can remember all she said.”

Five leans threateningly over the counter.

“Well, think.”

The shop’s customers behind him whisper among themselves. He ignores them, eyes boring into the clerk’s. She stammers slightly as she responds,

“I didn’t set much store by it. She seemed mad to me, I’m sorry to say. She was raving about being separated from her husband.”

Five tries extremely hard not to snap, “She was separated from her husband. What else?”

She quails under his look, backing up towards the door to the back of the store. 

“S-she said to tell you where she was staying if you came enquiring for her.”

He raises his eyebrows expectantly. Why this woman can’t just get to the point , he has no idea.

“Yes, and where was she staying?”

“At the tavern,” the clerk said, as if this was evidence in itself of his wife’s ill-repute. “The Bull’s Head. It’s a block away and it’s got one or two rooms overhead.”

As the church clock strikes four, Five starts to lose his cool; he found the Bull’s Head and the owner had remembered a woman matching your description stayed a few nights until she could no longer pay and then vanished without a trace. He’d pressed the guy as much as possible, but that’s all he seems to know. Combing the immediate area had also yielded nothing. He has no leads: nothing, zilch.

…and after all the time he spent packing ammunition, he forgot his pills. No Zoloft or Prozac in this time period. He’ll need to go cold turkey.

He’s spent one of his dollars on a night’s room and board on the understanding that he may be staying longer. He’d asked specifically for the room you hired: he doubted it would help, but it makes him feel closer to you somehow. The bed is saggy, the mattress filled with some kind of husk and the thin feather-filled bolster on top does little to compensate. Sure, the room isn’t exactly the Ritz, but Five’s had worse accommodations in his time. He’s spent most of his life without plumbing; at one time, he’d have thought pissing into a chamber pot the height of luxury, and the latrine in the yard out back meant that he at least didn’t have to bury his shit. 

He was used to slumming it, but you weren’t. In your fifteen years together, Five had never known you to be anything other than prissy about your bathroom habits. The reflection made him feel a strange squirm of amusement and pity. How you’d cope in this environment, he had no idea…but you would have adapted; you’d have had to.

Now, he drums his fingers erratically on the bar, drinking beer that tastes like warm piss. He shifts uncomfortably, realizing that he’s sitting on the newspaper still in his back pocket. He’s exhausted all his options for today: it can’t hurt to scour the news for some sort of clue.

He’s surprised by how much of the paper is taken up by advertisements. The entire front page is full of bullshit like: ‘Doctor John Ashton’s most efficacious elixir for relief from ladies monthly courses’ and how ‘Miss S. Campbell is pleased to announce her opening of a store for the wholesale and retail of fine silks and muslins’ but Five scours through them all nevertheless, hopeful for anything, anything at all.

And then, when he gets to the ‘society’ page, his prayers are answered and his worst fears confirmed in one fell swoop:

As the church clock strikes four, Five starts to lose his cool; he found the Bull’s Head and the owner had remembered a woman matching your description stayed a few nights until she could no longer pay and then vanished without a trace. He’d pressed the guy as much as possible, but that’s all he seems to know. Combing the immediate area had also yielded nothing. He has no leads: nothing, zilch.

…and after all the time he spent packing ammunition, he forgot his pills. No Zoloft or Prozac in this time period. He’ll need to go cold turkey.

He’s spent one of his dollars on a night’s room and board on the understanding that he may be staying longer. He’d asked specifically for the room you hired: he doubted it would help, but it makes him feel closer to you somehow. The bed is saggy, the mattress filled with some kind of husk and the thin feather-filled bolster on top does little to compensate. Sure, the room isn’t exactly the Ritz, but Five’s had worse accommodations in his time. He’s spent most of his life without plumbing; at one time, he’d have thought pissing into a chamber pot the height of luxury, and the latrine in the yard out back meant that he at least didn’t have to bury his shit. 

He was used to slumming it, but you weren’t. In your fifteen years together, Five had never known you to be anything other than prissy about your bathroom habits. The reflection made him feel a strange squirm of amusement and pity. How you’d cope in this environment, he had no idea…but you would have adapted; you’d have had to.

Now, he drums his fingers erratically on the bar, drinking beer that tastes like warm piss. He shifts uncomfortably, realizing that he’s sitting on the newspaper still in his back pocket. He’s exhausted all his options for today: it can’t hurt to scour the news for some sort of clue.

He’s surprised by how much of the paper is taken up by advertisements. The entire front page is full of bullshit like: ‘Doctor John Ashton’s most efficacious elixir for relief from ladies monthly courses’ and how ‘Miss S. Campbell is pleased to announce her opening of a store for the wholesale and retail of fine silks and muslins’ but Five scours through them all nevertheless, hopeful for anything, anything at all.

And then, when he gets to the ‘society’ page, his prayers are answered and his worst fears confirmed in one fell swoop:

AT HOME WITH SIR REGINALD HARGREEVES Newcomer to the Manhattan set, Sir Reginald Hargreeves, will be entertaining to a select group of Ladies and Gentlemen on March 9 at his home in LeRoy Place. Though one of the latest of an increasing number of British arriviste, Sir Reginald has made quite the impact on Manhattan society, and is already acquainted with the finest people. The evening will be devoted to music, dancing and social chat and promises to be a most fashionable occasion...

It makes him double-take. He can practically feel the blood draining from his face and into his extremities. Dad? Here? Throwing a party!? It just seems too much of a coincidence to not be significant. And how? How old was he? He knew he’d been around in the 20s, but to be here nearly a century earlier? 

He knows time’s in a fragile state right now, and if there’s one place he shouldn't go, then it’s that party, (the last thing he needs is to kick off another Sparrow Academy scenario), but he also can’t not go to this party. His Dad and his wife, appearing in a timeframe where neither of them had any business being? This wasn’t a coincidence: it simply couldn’t be.

…but he couldn’t just burst in and scream: ‘Hey Dad, where’s my wife and what are you doing here?’ It was essential to travel under Hargreeves’ radar and if he was going to do that, he had to be disciplined. No blinking, no yelling, nothing that could make him stick out. He hoped this ‘select group of ladies and gentlemen’ wasn’t too small so he had half a chance of blending in.

And if he were even to have a quarter of a chance of blending in, he needs to look the part. 

Then, Number Five makes his second mistake: He tears the society page out of the newspaper, folds it and hurries to the bar to ask for the nearest tailors or gentleman’s outfitters.  When he hurries out of the door, he leaves the rest of the newspaper on the table. If he'd kept reading to the personals section, he would have seen something even more useful than the piece about Reginald.

NUMBER FIVE - If a certain gentleman wishes to correspond with an old acquaintance, then he might apply to the editor of this newspaper.

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves, @rorygi1more, @jamiebower88, @nevillescomslut (sorry for double tag Nev this is just to aid with my creation of the next post!)

On to Chapter 5 >> Masterpost

[darkhangels]

15. silent night

enjoy the silence masterlist

morpheus x f!reader

warnings: smut, minors DNI, P in V, oral sex (male recieving)

words: 8117

A/N:  Ok so firstly I would like to say I am so sorry to admit but yes this is a Christmas chapter...I know, I know its way too early but I've been writing at a way faster pace than I expected so unfortunately you may just have to cope with it. This is the longest chapter yet and one of the first chapters that came to my mind when I started toying with the idea of writing this fic. I hope yall enjoy!

It was Christmas Eve.

And you were late, very late to the dreaming.

You would normally be in bed by now if not already in the dreaming. First you closed the coffee shop extremely late due to the mass amount of last minute shoppers needing caffeine, then you missed your bus and ran into Veronica. And then of course you had to go get food for dinner, which was also very late. Now you were walking the dark cobbled streets home, something you rarely did at Morpheus’ request but you had no other choice, Uber and taxis' way too busy taking people to and from parties and pubs to celebrate Christmas Eve.

The run up to Christmas left the weather glacial and bitter as the nights only seemed to grow darker and darker. Everywhere you went the same Christmas songs haunted you, despite the fact that they had been overplayed for weeks now. You shrugged your hands into the pockets of Morpheus’ long coat that you so proudly wore practically everywhere you went.

The streets were getting busier and busier as people rushed to get their last minute gifts and food for the big day, practically a stampede of forgetful boyfriends and stressed mothers flocking to every single shop in hopes to find the perfect present to gift their loved ones.

Despite your aversion to Christmas, this year you were in at least a bit more of a festive mood. After all, everything in life had been so perfect recently you couldn’t help but smile at all the festive cheer going on, but that doesn’t mean you were still Christmas’ number one fan.

You did however love the gift giving, this year you had brought Lorna a massive stack of books (not from the same bookshop you brought that book from obviously) that you knew she’d love as she was an avid reader, fantasy books, romance books you name it, you knew her favourites and knew she would adore these too. For Veronica, you had brought countless vintage perfumes, Veronica loved to collect anything vintage that was to do with cosmetics: Makeup, hair, you name it! So imagine your luck when you had walked into a particularly fancy antique shop only for there to be a whole collection of 60s perfume waiting just there for you.

Morpheus had crossed your mind, obviously, Lucienne and Matthew too! But you were unsure that they even celebrated Christmas, was there even a point in buying them gifts? Were you even in that kind of a relationship with Morpheus yet, bringing each other presents? Though you might’ve doubted it, you would’ve loved to have gotten him a present. There is nothing more satisfying than buying someone the perfect gift and watching their face light up and you wanted nothing more than to do that for Morpheus.

But what the fuck do you get Dream of the Endless?

You shoved your guilt for not getting him anything down, it was stupid. Did he even know what Christmas was? Surely so.

It's fine. You were overrthinking.

Normally you’d also have your Mum to think about but it wasn’t looking like you were going to see her anytime soon so you just didn’t bother. And so Christmas shopping was incredibly easy this year, and though you were still not fully welcoming of the holiday season, you were kind of looking forward to this Christmas.

Spending it with Lorna, Veronica and mutual friends would be a thousand times better than having to go to your Mum's place. Of course, there would always be one person missing, making it perfect for you. But you were lucky enough to even spend time with him in the dreaming, let alone in the waking world, so you were not entirely too fussed about that. Besides he’d probably go on a massive rant about how he actually inspired Christmas and religion and blah, blah with his all too big ego.

You smirked at the thought of him, as the two of you had gotten closer you found him winding into your thoughts like that. And your heart softly ached at the thought of his face, the way he touched you, his voice. Everything about him.

And yet you also started to fear.

You had cared for him.

You told him that you had cared for him.

But you knew you were past that point now.

You didn’t know what you specifically felt for him, but it was far more than you had ever felt before, and it was far too all consuming to not notice.

You pushed the grim thoughts down as you always did, choosing to simply live in the moment and enjoy the present instead.

Finally arriving home and shutting the door you arrived home with a huff as you collapsed onto your sofa, just about ready to fall asleep and finally see Morpheus. Of course that was until there was a knock at the door you groaned, stumbling away from your comfort and opening the door tiredly.

“Mum?” You almost shouted, dumbfounded at the sight of the woman in front of you.

She was rather uncomfortable, you noticed, fidgeting where she stood and plastering a nervous expression on her face. “Hello, dear” She chirped quite quickly.

You looked around her for Mark or maybe for a person holding a gun to her head, that would explain her strange expression and the fact that she was here at all, she hadn’t visited your apartment in years, she’d always pass judgemental comments on the way you and Lorna had decorated. “Are you okay?” You slowly asked, your forehead creasing in confusion.

She nodded firmly. “Quite well”

And she just stood there staring at you, a nervous smile on her face waiting for something.

You sighed before mentally cursing yourself. “Would you like to come in?” You hesitantly asked.

She nodded and you opened the door gesturing for her to come in as she hurriedly stumbled through the doorway.

You shut the door as she looked about, peering awkwardly. It had been years since she had been here. “Does Lorna not live here anymore?”

You shook your head. “No, she moved out a couple of months back”

Your mother nodded before she turned back to you with an apprehensive expression. “Here's your gift” She held out a messily wrapped present.

Your mouth parted in confusion and you wondered if maybe you were being set up, anxiously you took it from her before slowly muttering, “Thanks Mum”

Your eyes snatched up to hers. “I didn’t get you a present, I assumed you wouldn’t get me one” You said slightly coldly.

Her smile faulted and she swatted her hand in the air, shaking her head before plastering the smile back on. “Don’t worry, open it”

With a slight humourless chuckle you shook your head in disbelief before turning your attention to the present in your hand. It was extremely light, and soft. You pulled at the wrapping paper, slowly revealing the contents inside.

Your eyes widened before you swallowed and looked up to her with a glare.

She had bought you a toy raven.

A stuffed child's toy raven.

The irony was astounding.

She chuckled nervously. “I thought it was funny because of your nightmares”

Funny. You tried to see the humour in the situation, of course she had no idea of the levels of irony behind the gift, if she had maybe it would’ve been funny.

In fact if she had been there and supported you whilst you were waking up every morning with a tear stricken face and clutching onto your chest for dear life then maybe, just maybe, It would’ve been funny.

But she hadn’t been there.

She didn’t know.

And she had no right to be making jokes about such things like you were old friends.

You bit back tears. “Funny?” You repeated.

She paled at the expression on your face.

You stared at the toy in hand, it was kind of cute. Would definitely make Matthew mad and in turn make you laugh. But that's besides the point.

You slowly looked up to her again. “Mum, did you know I had that nightmare every night for almost forty nights?” You muttered.

Your Mum stiffened.

“I went to the doctor, a psychiatrist, I thought they were going to lock me away” You whispered. “Do you know what it's like to fear going to sleep every single night?”

She remained quiet, her gaze turned to the floor.

“Because I do, I still do”

She flinched ever so slightly. “How did you make them stop?” She asked quietly.

You bit your lip. “By doing something really stupid, but it worked”

“What was i-”

“It doesn’t matter” You quickly interrupted.

You had never seen your mum so quiet before.

“And this?” You motioned to the toy raven. “Is exactly the kind of stuff I’m talking about, my life may be just one big joke to you but it's my life”

“And it’s not your fucking entertainment” You glared.

Your mother looked up at you slowly, “I had no idea”

“Because you never ask”

She flinched again and you sighed, swallowing down the lump in your throat. The two of you stood silently as you rested against the kitchen counter chewing on your lip.

“I came here to apologise and now more than ever I realise just how wrong I am, how wrong I have been” She swallowed. “I’m sorry”

Your eyes snatched up to hers, wondering if you had misheard her. Her eyes were glassy and you soon realised she was tearing up. “I’m so sorry”

She quickly ran to you and engulfed you in a warm hug. And you stiffened.

For how many years had you waited to hear those words?

It would’ve been so much easier to throw her off of you, tell her to get out and that you never wanted to see her again.

But your mother had never apologised to you before.

And she was not one for giving hugs either.

You sighed and threw your arms around her, taking in the rare but enjoyable moment.

“Will you forgive me?” She quietly muttered.

You winced your eyes shut, Well, Christmas spirit and all that , swallowing your pride. “Yes”

You heard a sigh of relief come from your Mothers lips before you stiffened again. “But if you do this again, I will cut you off” You spoke harshly but sincerely.

“Of course,” She nodded.

Silence grew over the apartment and it was peaceful, oh so peaceful.

Your Mother and peace were hardly a thing that went hand in hand, but you let a sliver of happiness and forgiveness draw into your heart.

She pulled away and drew her attention back to the stuffed animal in your hand. “I’ll take it” She sombrely muttered, reaching for it before you moved it out of her reach.

She looked up at you, her eyebrows furrowed.

And you nervously chuckled. “Well I never said I didn’t like it”

Your Mum let out a chuffed smile for only a second before making her way to the door, you following soon behind her. She stopped in the doorway turning slowly to you, before hugging you again. “Merry Christmas”

“Merry Christmas, Mum” You smiled softly into her hair.

And for a second you felt like a carefree child again.

She pulled away and considered you for a moment. “You seem different, dear, happier. You’re glowing almost”

You blushed and let out a laugh. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me”

She gave you a knowing smirk, studying your face with full eyes. “Seems like love to me”

You blanched ever so slightly at the word.

Love.

Was that what it was?

“Whoever he is, I’d love to meet him one day” She continued.

You nodded weakly at her with one last goodbye before she left, leaving you to ponder whatever the fuck just happened?

And yet you were too tired to even think about it, instead you trudged to bed welcoming the warm embrace of sleep.

-------------------------

“She’s here, My Lord!” Lucienne called out as she was the first that spotted you.

You creased your forehead in confusion, as you walked towards Lucienne as she fiddled with her glasses in relief.

“Kid, we were starting to get worried!” Matthew croaked.

They were all gathered in the library staring at you with unreadable expressions though you noticed Morpheus’ posture soften as you arrived. You realised that the only other time you had been late to the dreaming was Halloween night, which might’ve raised concerns but you assumed that Morpheus would’ve just figured you were running late.

“Sorry I know, I’m late but I had to close the shop late and then I missed my bus, ran into my friend, had to find something to eat, then walk home and then my Mother paid me a visit” You spoke at an ungodly speed as the three watched you with furrowed eyebrows trying to take in everything you were saying.

You missed the way Morpheus’ jaw tightened at the mention of your mother.

“And Y’know it's really busy on the streets tonight seeming as it's Christmas Eve-”

Matthew cawed, interrupting you. “Wait, it's Christmas Eve?”

You threw your gaze to the bird. “Yeah” Before turning back to Morpheus with a nervous sigh. “So, I’m sorry for being late”

He nodded slowly in understanding as he walked to stand beside you, a silent hello that made your stomach flutter with butterflies and you had to bite your cheek from letting the massive smile that wanted so desperately to grow on your face from showing.

Matthew flew up to your shoulder. “Kid, how did you completely forget to tell me it was Christmas tomorrow?”

You shook your head and looked at Lucienne and Morpheus. “Well I mean I just assumed you didn’t celebrate Christmas here, I mean you do have a walking-talking pumpkin for a groundskeeper but I thought that was as far as holidays went around here”

Lucienne smiled. “We don’t celebrate particularly though it is hard to not feel the festive spirit of humans in the dreaming when we have children dreaming of Saint Nick tonight of all nights”

You smiled warmly at her, “Yeah I bet”

“When I was alive Christmas was my favourite time of the year, presents, big dinners, family get-togethers, it was the best” Matthew Chirped. “What about you, Kid, surely you have some big plans right?”

You smirked at Matthew, you always loved when he spoke about his human life, he was really the only creature in the dreaming that knew what it was like to actually live a mortal life, not just base assumptions on what they had seen. “Nothing too crazy, just hanging out with friends, not really that big of a fan of Christmas”

“Why not?” A curious deep voice came from beside you, you turned your gaze up to Morpheus.

“Well, y’know family Christmases aren’t always very smooth sailing and so I’m afraid I have more bad memories from this time of year than good ones”

Morpheus nodded slowly in understanding.

“Never thought you’d be a Scrooge, Kid” Matthew chuckled.

“Hey, I’m not a Scrooge, besides I’m actually in the festive mood this year” You grinned at him.

The conversation died and after helping Lucienne with some books Morpheus eventually whisked you, stealing you for himself as he pleasured you in the secret halls and nooks and crannies of the Palace making you giggle and hold your breath at the danger of it all, any moment one of his subjects could’ve easily walked past and heard the two of you. You were doing so well to have hidden your affairs with the King you didn’t want to blow it just because you moaned too loudly.

Morpheus on the other hand seemed as though he almost wanted to be caught, not caring if he heard footsteps drawing near or what not. It was his realm after all, and he was their King he could do exactly what he wanted to in his own palace and what he wanted was to hear you scream so prettily for him.

It didn’t really matter anyway, the final destination at the end always stayed the same. His bed.

Which is where you found yourself now. You were laying on his lap, silk sheets draping over both of your naked bodies, enjoying the peaceful calm that washed over you whilst in his hold, the post orgasm euphoria radiating off of the two of you in waves.

The smell of sex drifted through the air and your breathing had slowed down back to a normal rate after the world-ending orgasm you had minutes ago.

Morpheus sat up right against the pillows, his hair even messier than usual and his posture all the more ethereal as his white skin clashed against the dark sheets of the bed.

You doubted you would ever get over just how beautiful he was, every time you saw him you blushed and struggled to find your words. His gaze could make you feel so small and yet so seen at the same time, you wished only to be by his side every moment of every second.

You were getting far more than attached by this point, you felt extremely clingy though it seemed Morpheus didn’t mind or rather he didn’t particularly notice.

Morpheus however went about his business in the realm only waiting for the hour you would return back to him. He wasn’t quite sure what it was but a strange feeling would crawl up his spine when you weren’t there.

You would wind your way into his thoughts and he would smile softly to himself before feeling a painful tug on his heart, he soon realised what it was.

He would miss you.

And it made him feel like a fool. You were there with him for twelve hours at a time, more than enough surely to satisfy and yet he always yearned for more.

Not just sex either, though that was something that burned within his body like a treacherous disease clinging to him.

No, but the softer moments like this very one. Just drinking in your presence, you on his lap beside him.

How it should’ve been.

So when you were late to the Dreaming not only was Morpheus concerned as to your whereabouts but he was impatient.

He had spent every hour since you had left him last, counting down to this second.

And you were late.

He thought he’d be angry with you, perhaps he’d start to draw away from you again. But the second you arrived all of his anger just dissipated into nothing but a mere memory.

You had him wrapped around your finger and yet you had no idea.

“You mentioned your Mother?” Morpheus whispered.

You hummed.

“Before, in the library”

Your lips parted. “Oh yeah, it was strange, actually, really strange”

His silence probed you to continue.

“Well, she came to my apartment which she never does and she handed me a Christmas present so I opened it” You licked your lips. “And it was a toy Raven”

Your eyes flew to Morpheus as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I know, I know. I panicked for a second thinking maybe somehow she knew about you or Matthew but no” You scoffed. “She said she saw it and thought it was funny because it was like my nightmares”

Morpheus stiffened and he looked down at you, his lips parting in surprise as his eyes darkened.

“Yeah, I told her the truth about the nightmares, how I had them for so long and how,” You swallowed. “Not funny they were”

You shook your head still in disbelief as Morpheus watched your every movement. “And that’s when the strangest thing happened, she apologised”

You looked up at him. “Like actually said sorry, I thought I was going mad”

“And then we hugged, said Merry Christmas”

And she told me I was in love.

You flinched at the memory before swallowing slowly. “And then said Goodbye”

Silence fell as you thought about the conversation with her.

“All I’ve ever wanted was for her to apologise and she finally did and yet I thought it’d feel more,” You searched for the right word.

“Satisfying,” Morpheus croaked.

You nodded and bit your lip. “Yeah, more satisfying” You chuckled in disbelief. “Family, so confusing”

Morpheus hummed in agreement, mind casting back to his countless family dinners. “On that I can agree with you”

He hardly spoke about his siblings, nor his parents for that matter but from the limited information you had been told you realised that he was closest with his elder sister Death and has a rather conflicted relationship with his younger sibling Desire.

You couldn’t imagine Morpheus as a brother nor the fact that he had two elder siblings, you wondered if you would ever meet them though you doubted you would want to meet Despair or Desire after the stories he had told and well Death was inevitable, after all.

You thought back to the interaction with your mother, your lip curling up at the thought of the toy raven. “The toy raven is quite cute actually, I may name him Matthew 2.0”

Morpheus' lip quirked up. “He may have something to say about that”

You shrugged. “Not if he doesn’t know”

Morpheus looked down at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “And you have that much trust in me that I won’t tell him myself”

You smirked. “Well I think Dream of the Endless probably has more pressing matters to concern himself with, don’t you?”

“Maybe so” He smirked back.

Silence ensued with the two of you again.

“I may be late to the dreaming again tomorrow night, I’m going to Lorna's for Christmas so I can’t say for sure” You said.

He nodded slowly in understanding, “Do you truly dislike it?”

It, you realised being Christmas.

You chuckled, your laugh reverberating on Morpheus’ lap, unsure why he cared. “I don’t dislike it, I like giving presents and seeing people happy but it's just a bittersweet time of the year” You explained. “Always has been, maybe that’ll change after this year”

He remained quiet before he leant down and softly kissed your temple.

You beamed up at him before shutting your eyes transcending into the bliss of the moment.

-------------------------

The streets were uncharacteristically quiet as everyone had locked themselves in for the day, the winter sun casting a mystical glow onto the world as if it almost knew what day it was.

With a slow stretch you got out of bed making your way to the bathroom to begin getting ready for the festive day ahead.

When you got to the house you were extremely impressed. Lorna and Veronica had decorated to the nines. Lights hung in almost every room, garlands streaming around the perimeter. The Christmas tree had been decorated to perfection, no doubt Veronicas work not Lorna's.

They welcomed you in with a hug and a Merry Christmas as you placed a present under the Christmas tree and said your hellos to the other guests. You knew a few mutual friends and Lorna's sister and her boyfriend of course as you beamed at them wrapping them in warm hugs. The smell of cinnamon and roast chicken wandered through the air from the kitchen as faint Christmas music could be heard over the echoes of laughter and joyous voices.

You had already felt so much lighter and in better spirits than you would normally have been if you were with your family.

Sat on the sofa you gladly took a drink of Coca-Cola deciding to go minimal with alcohol this year, you did not need to be hungover tomorrow and you had strictly stayed away from alcohol after that night.

“I love your coat!” Gwen, Lorna’s sister beamed at you admiring the long black fabric engulfing you.

You blushed. “Thanks, it's a friends”

Lorna gave you a knowing smirk. “Friend?”

You shot her a glare.

Lorna took a long sip of her vodka cranberry as she smirked at you over the top of her glass

------------------------

Morpheus was deep in thought on his throne for what felt like forever before his mind was made up. With purposeful strides he made his way to the palace library.

“My lord,” Lucienne greeted.

“Lucienne, I have come to tell you that I shall be out in the dreaming for some time creating new dreams”

Lucienne nodded though her forehead creased ever so slightly. “Sir, did you not already make new dreams a little while ago?”

Morpheus swallowed before croaking. “Yes, but this one is special, a gift”

Lucienne nodded in realisation as she tried to hide her smirk.

“I trust you can watch over things for me” Morpheus spoke.

Lucienne smiled. “With pleasure, My Lord”

With that Morpheus exited as Lucienne followed him with her knowing gaze as a smile crept onto her lips.

------------------

It wasn’t long before the dinner was cooked and you had given a copious amount of compliments to Veronica for her Christmas Dinner. You spent the rest of the afternoon playing board games that ended in light hearted arguments and fits of giggles before slowly people started to go home, leaving you, Lorna and Veronica and Gwen and her boyfriend.

Deciding this was the best time to exchange presents you had all sat down in the front room. Lorna and Veronica were of course over the moon with the presents you had gotten them. For Gwen and her boyfriend you gifted them some old wine you knew they’d love.

Veronica had gotten you a bunch of art prints that were beyond beautiful, Gwen and her boyfriend a collection of gourmet chocolates.

Lorna grinned at you mischievously before handing you your present. “You may wanna open it at home”

“Ok, thanks Lorna?” You frowned in confusion. Curiously you took the wrapped box from her and set it aside ready for it to be opened later.

Night started to draw in as the sun disappeared and the moon took her place in the sky. Everyone was snacking on leftovers and curled up with one another on the sofa.

It was perfect.

You had finally had the perfect Christmas.

The one you had dreamt about since you were a child and yet, there was still one thing missing.

You looked to the couples beside you, Lorna on Veronica's lap, Gwen leaning into her boyfriend's warm hug and a soft pinging sensation entered your heart.

Oh how you wished Morpheus was here.

It was great being in a relationship with the king of Dreams for so many reasons. If you want practically anything he’s more than happy to give it to you. Hungry? Your favourite food would be in front of you in seconds. Need something to wear? A new dress will appear on your bedside.

He’d give you anything and everything without you needing to ask and it was amazing.

And yet.

Deep down you mourned the fact that you would never have this.

A domestic Christmas, him properly meeting your friends, falling asleep together.

All that tooth-rotting sweet shit that you yearned for and that he could never give you.

He wasn’t a mortal.

And you were.

You sat up from the sofa, a new twist of melancholy spiralling down your throat. “I think I’m going to get some air really quick”

Veronica frowned at you. “You okay?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be back in five”

Heading to the door you crept out, as the cold wind hit you almost instantly in the face. You sat down on the footstep of the porch as you watched the empty and desolate street in front of you. Christmas lights glowed against the ink black sky, a few stars spotted around, some were covered by dark clouds.

You rested your chin in your hand and let out a small sigh as the echoes of your friend's laughter from inside the house filled your ears, your eyes fell back to the sky as you admired the cold moon.

Trying to cast the miserable thoughts out of your mind.

“Still stargazing?” A deep and gentle voice croaked from the pavement in front of the streets.

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up to find Morpheus stood staring at you with a soft smile on his face. Your face lit up in confusion as you scrambled to your feet. “Morpheus, what are you doing here?”

He slowly walked forwards, silently before stepping onto the porch next to you as you turned to face him.

“Changing your opinion”

Your lips parted in confusion as you let out a chuckle. “On what?”

“Christmas”

You couldn’t help the grin that grew on your face as you blushed madly, your heart soaring at a million miles per hour. “You don’t have to be here y’know, I’m fine honestly, If the dreaming needs you-”

“The dreaming,” Morpheus interrupted you gently. “Is in the perfectly capable hands of Lucienne”

You nodded and smiled softly. “I know but-”

Morpheus stepped back ever so slightly, as he tucked his chin “If you don’t wish me here-”

Without even thinking about it you grabbed his hands and pulled him back to you. “No, Morpheus, I want you here” The grin returned to your face and Morpheus looked down at your hands in his as his features softened.

His gaze lifted up onto the arch of the porch, you looked up, following whatever had caught his attention, only to find some Mistletoe hung neatly in a red bow above the two of you. You let out a stupid snort and Morpheus watched in amusement. “This is so cheap, you know what this is right?” You looked down back to Morpheus.

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “I do believe I am aware of certain festive customs”

You shook your head in disbelief before you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion looking back up to the plant. “Wait, I swear that wasn’t here bef-”

You were cut off by Morpheus placing his lips against yours gently. You left your words unsaid as you melted into the tender kiss, your hands flew from his grasp to instead clutch onto his lean upper arms as you reached on your tiptoes to fully reach into the kiss. Morpheus’ hand wrapped around your back pulling you into him and helping keep you up right.

Slowly the two of you pulled apart and you couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off of your face as you stared into his eyes. The two of you lost in the moment before you softly leaned up to kiss him again, a strangled groan coming from the back of his throat as you clung onto his coat trying to pull him down so you could reach his lips. He softly threaded his fingers through your hair. And you slipped your tongue through his lips as another grumble racketed from his throat.

In one extremely quick motion the door swung open and you pulled your lips away from Morpheus, though your position stayed the same. The two of you dared to look to the now open door though you could both see Lorna staring at the both of you in your peripheral.

“Fuck” You muttered under your breath, only Morpheus being able to hear it.

You anxiously looked up at him, his eyes only on you, his expression so normal. Reluctantly you remove yourself from his grasp as he also rather reluctantly stepped away, still only watching you. You slowly turned to the open door, quiet as a mouse.

Lorna stood with a shit eating grin on her face. “I thought you said you were going outside for some air”

You nodded and started to stumble over your words. “Mhm I was and then I ran into Morpheus here-”

Lorna’s forehead creased in confusion. “I thought his name was Murphy?”

You gulped feeling Morpheus’ and Lorna's gaze both on you. “Yeah well, it’s short for Morpheus”

Lorna nodded, still with that smug look on her face, before she turned to Morpheus. “What is that, like Greek?”

Morpheus tore his gaze from you to Lorna. “So I believe”

She nodded and she quickly looked at you before looking back at Morpheus, your face silently pleading with her not to embarrass you.

“Well you are of course invited in, after all I’ve heard so much about you” Lorna beamed smugly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t introduce myself at the coffee shop, I’m Lorna”

You flushed and sent her a death glare before you shyly looked over at Morpheus, his expression unreadable. He gave a curt nod. “Morpheus”

“So are you going to come in?” She asked, her eyes moving between the two of you.

You looked at Morpheus, and honestly all you had wanted to do was to take him home as the night grew older. “Actually Lorns, We were thinking of heading home”

You could feel Morpheus’ gaze on you as you said the words though you still only looked at Lorna. “Oh, ok” She nodded.

“I’ll just grab my coat and presents and say my goodbyes” You awkwardly smiled as you started to head to the door before casting Morpheus a glance.

Lorna looked between the two of you. “You're not going to introduce him to everyone?”

Your eyes met Morpheus as you let out an anxious breath. “You can, if you’d like to”

Morpheus nodded and he strode up the steps beside you, placing his hand on your lower back as he always did when you were together in other people's presence. Lorna stepped aside with a victorious smile as she let the two of you back in through the door.

He clung to you like a deer in headlights.

He had met so many mortals. All of these mortals in their dreams, knew their every unconscious thought and yet, he had never felt quite so nervous.

As you stepped into the room, Lorna followed close behind, the two of you stood side by side as everyone's gaze turned to the brooding figure beside you.

They all fell rather silent and you couldn’t blame them, hell, you had been the same when you first met him. His presence was all consuming and something that was not easily missed. His very look was enough to send someone to their knees. Feeling Morpheus’ hand tense on your back you plastered a smile on your face. “Morpheus meet everyone” You coughed slightly. “Everyone meet Morpheus, My-”

You paled. You had never said what you were.

Frankly you weren’t at all sure.

You were his and that’s all you knew.

Neither of you had ever confirmed a relationship past that.

You swallowed your anxieties.

“My boyfriend”

You hadn’t missed the way his hand tensed again.

It felt childish describing him as such. He was so much more than that to you. Perhaps there wasn’t a word for what you were, but you were mortal and so were your friends, how else could you describe it.

Everyone's face dropped first before they smiled erupting into a small echo of ‘hellos’ and ‘welcomes’. You let out a small sigh of relief as you felt Morpheus beside you relax ever so softly in his position as he gave everyone a curt nod.

You leant up to his ear as he dropped his head down to hear what you were going to have to say. “I’m just going to grab my coat and say goodbye, then we can go”

He nodded at you and you left his grasp in search of your coat and presents, leaving him awkwardly stood by the door.

Veronica smirked as she looked at the brooding figure. “So I guess it’s your coat she’s been wearing for these last couple of months”

Morpheus’ lip twitched up. “Perhaps”

“And the reason why she’s been so different” Lorna added with a smirk of her own.

“Different?” Morpheus’ eyebrows furrowed.

Veronica snorted. “Oh yeah, dude, she’s been way happier and more herself”

Morpheus’ gaze turned to watching you as you milled about picking up your presents and shrugging on his coat. His eyes soften watching you do the most mundane things before pulling one of your friends into a hug and saying a hushed goodbye.

You made your way over to Veronica next, pulling her into a tight hug and thanking her for her presents. Then Lorna, giving her an extra long hug, before you reached Morpheus’ side as you waved goodbye to everyone with a gentle smile. Morpheus chose to nod as his exit.

The two of you stumbled out of the house finally left alone as you slowly meandered down the path. A content smile on your face.

“Boyfriend?” An amused voice next to you spoke.

You turned to him with a grumble. “Shut up, I didn’t know what else to call us”

“I believe you mortals called it courting once upon a time”

You smiled before rolling your eyes. “And now we call it dating”

You turned up to him as his eyes shone in the moonlight, his face lit solely from the Christmas lights hung upon the streets. The way he stared at you made your knees feel like jelly and your heart ache.

Your lips collided into his and he softly cradled your head with both of his large hands as he passionately tasted your lips, going back to when you were interrupted as his tongue slipped into your mouth and you let a high pitched groan of want and need leave your throat. “Take me home” You hoarsely whispered.

“As you wish” Morpheus responded, pulling sand seemingly from out of nowhere and whirling it around you, as you covered your eyes and leant into them.

When you opened them again you were in your front room, you dropped all your presents at once and shrugged your coat off before colliding into Morpheus, your lips connecting with his yet again, with a want and need. He responded just as quickly, taking his own coat off leaving him in his shirt and trousers as he pulled you into him, the kiss deepening and becoming sloppy and messy.

The two of you barely stumbled to your bedroom as you couldn’t disconnect from one another. Morpheus pulled off his shirt, momentarily stepping away from you before you latched onto each other once again.

He sat on the edge of your bed bringing you closer to him as you straddled him before gently pushing his chest down so he was laying down. You bent over him, kissing him before removing yourself from his lips and gently brushing your lips against his jaw making your way down to his neck and a soft groan came from his throat.

Your mouth made its way to his collarbone and left kisses down his chest and then stomach landing just before his trousers. You could see he was hard through his trousers and if that wasn’t enough the way his jaw was clenched was more than enough to tell you how you had worked him up.

With a small smirk, you looked up at him through your lashes before curling your fingers round his trousers and pulling them down, inch by inch.

You left a kiss on his groin and a clenched hiss left his lips before you took his length in your hands, and oh so slowly stroked it. His head flew back against the pillows as a grunt left his throat. You shyly took it in your mouth using your tongue to leave feverish strokes that made Morpheus moan like a madman.

Fitting him all in was hard but you were determined to make him undone as you quickened up your pace hearing the way the moans tumbled from his lips, his breath only quickening by the second.

Tears stung at the back of your eyes as you bobbed your head up and down, hearing Morpheus start to unravel before he growled and gently grabbed your hair pulling you away from him. You looked up at him confused before he rasped so roughly you only caught the last words of his sentence “...inside you”

You pulled away taking off your last items of clothes, Morpheus watching you like a predator stalking its prey. Gently you lowered yourself onto his length with a hiss, steadying yourself onto him getting used to the feeling at this angle before rocking your hips back and forwards in a steady rhythm. Morpheus placed his hands on your hips giving you more support as you rid him, causing him to throw his head back again.

This was a very rare occurrence. Normally he was the one taking charge, pleasuring you and putting you first. But tonight you wanted nothing more than to please him and watch as he fell apart underneath you. You wanted to be good to him, show him how much you felt for him.

He started to rock into you and a moan escaped you as he thrust so deep, hitting just the right spot. You fastened your pace in response and he let out a low grumble. “Always so good for me”

You started to clench around him, and you placed your palms on his chest to steady yourself as your thighs started to shake before he released himself into you and you started panting on top of him, incredibly sweaty and worn out.

Morpheus’ hand wrapped around your neck and pulled you down to him as you engaged in a lazy messy kiss. You eventually pulled yourself off of him and leant down beside him in the bed, your body weak from the work out, as your heavy breathing filled the otherwise silent walls of the room.

Slowly Morpheus sat up and drew closer to you as his lips found your necks, making you even more weak in the knees, you let out a tired whine as he made his way to your breasts taking one bud in his mouth and making your head spin with his tongue. Your hand felt his hair as you gently caressed his head, your eyes shut in pure bliss.

One of his hands trailed down your stomach to your entrance before starting to stroke your clit so slowly and gently, making you desperately and tiredly mewl. His head was by yours as you could feel his hot breath on your ear, lips brushing your cheek as you desperately started to shake at the feeling of his fingers starting to speed up. Your moans becoming louder and louder. “Morpheus!” You gasped as two fingers entered you, his thumb brushing your clit as you writhed in pure ecstasy.

His lips gently nibbled on the lobe of your ear as his gingers pumped in and out as you desperately neared your orgasm. Calling out his name with a mixture of ‘Oh!’s and ‘Please!’s. “Let go” He whispered gently in your ear and that's exactly what you did, as you clutched the bedsheets, gripping with white knuckles as you saw stars.

Morpheus removed his fingers from you and you both collapsed against the bed, sweaty bodies intertwined as you rested against his chest, weak from your orgasm. He gently started to stroke your hair out of the way of your face and you had wondered if at some point in the day you had maybe died and had drifted off to this heaven instead.

“Are you alright?” He gently asked.

You smiled lazily up at him. “I’m far more than alright”

Morpheus’ lip twitched up. “I know the feeling”

You smirked up at him as before you rested against him, his warmth completely encompassing you as the feeling of his hands slowly stroking through your hair made you melt into him. And before you knew it you had drifted off into a serene sleep.

-----------------

When you arrived in the dreaming you soon realised that you were not in the library like where you usually would arrive. Instead you were just outside the palace. Stars littered the sky as you realised it was night time in the dreaming, not necessarily a regular occurrence but nor that rare. You had expressed your deep found love for the beauty of the dreaming at dusk and nightfall many times to Morpheus who always found your wonder so enchanting.

It took him a few minutes to arrive as he sauntered up to you, his black coat behind him, looking certainly more put together than when you had left him in bed. You couldn’t help the smirk that grew on your face as he drew nearer.

“Care to explain why I’m not in the library, My king?” You asked, a faint trace of mischievousness in your voice.

He looked down at you softly and gently. “I’m afraid I have to steal you away from my librarian and Raven for tonight”

Your forehead creased in confusion. “Why?”

He reached his hand out. “Come, I have something I wish to show you”

Though incredibly suspicious and confused you took his hand as he led you round a way of the dreaming you had never been before going past wonders you had never even heard of.

Eventually Morpheus drew to a halt, slightly anxiously looking at you before grabbing your hand again as the two of you climbed a hill. This had to have been one of the highest points in the dreaming if not the highest.

Morpheus stopped yet again and blocked your gaze, moving in front of you. “We are here”

Slowly he pulled away and you stepped forward looking back to him with a confused gaze as he nodded his head motioning you to move forward.

You took a few steps and on top of the hill in front of the two of you stood a lake, a beautiful sapphire ever flowing lake that perfectly reflected the unimaginable constellations of the sky above. Your head snatched up to the sky and considering this was the highest point of the dreaming you could see the stars all the more clearer.

The only thing that could leave your lips was a gasp as you marvelled and stared at the beauty before you turned around. From up here you could see the whole of the rest of the dreaming. The palace lit up in gold, The river you sat by, fiddlers green. All of it.

Your breath hitched, as your mouth hung open unable to form words at the view, you looked back at the lake and the stars, before eventually turning back to Morpheus. “It’s beautiful” You whispered weakly.

Morpheus stared back at you, a deep intensity burning in his eyes. “It's for you”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“I made it for you” He repeated his voice as soothing as a lullaby as he stepped closer to you.

Your breath hitched. “Me?”

“You once told me how much you loved water and wished it was eternal night” He looked down avoiding your gaze. “Here in this spot of the dreaming it will stay eternally night forever”

“How is that even possible?” You gasped.

Morpheus cocked his head. “You’ve spent enough time in my realm to know that anything is possible here”

Your eyes started to burn as tears formed in your eyes, your mouth gone dry, he had remembered everything you had said about the stars, about your love for water. All of it. “Morpheus, I don’t know what to say” You admitted, as your voice wavered hoping your emotions spoke for themselves.

“Then say nothing” He softly answered. “It is a gift”

You looked back at the lake and the stars before looking round to the rest of the dreaming, one silent tear escaping your eyes as your heart throbbed. You turned back to Morpheus and threw your arms around him as you collided into his chest. “Thank you, Morpheus, thank you so much”

He looked down at you swallowing harshly, relief overtaking him as he saw your gratitude, knowing you indeed liked his gift. He closed his arms around you, holding you in his grasp as he leant down to your ear. “Merry Christmas, My rogue dreamer”

The two of you spent the rest of the night sat by the lake, stargazing and talking about anything and nothing all at once. Before you left to drift away to the waking world Morpheus turned to you. “Did I succeed?”

“In what?” You chuckled.

“Changing your opinion of Christmas” Morpheus asked, his lips twitching up.

“You succeeded admirably” You turned to beam at him. “Best Christmas ever”

[tssdresses]

Orange Poll Dress | The PlanTM

Hi, everyone, and happy pride month!

Now that I've officially ordered all the materials I need for this outfit, I wanted to give you all an idea of what my plan is.

This outfit is going to consist of six (seven, depending on how you count) pieces, plus shoes. In order from head to toe, that's:

Hat

Dress

Removable/optional sleeves

Blazer

Corset

Underskirt/petticoat

Shoes

I've also ordered some accessories, including sunglasses and some fun jewelry inspired by steampunk looks-- specifically by Dahlia's outfit from the Sexy Photoshoot video, because it slayed. I also ordered one of those antique looking pocket watches, because it looked cool and fit with the vibe.

The materials I ordered included, of course, fabric for the dress, underskirt, and sleeves, but also a hat (y'all I was not about to try and make a hat this go around), a Simplicity pattern for the dress that I'll alter, a spool of bronze chain, and even through the poll results for charms were to just focus on chain, I wanted to get some gear charms. Every time I tried to picture this outfit, it felt incomplete without the gear charms, but they will be sparse to reflect your choice. I also ordered a corset as opposed to trying to make one-- it is on my bucket list to do! Just not for this project.

So, in order, here's The PlanTM:

For the dress, you all voted for a high neckline with a basque waist and bishop sleeves. The bishop sleeves are pretty easy, but... I live in the US American South, and summer was fast approaching when the time to actually plan this dress came around. It's summer now, as I write this. It's hot. So, I wanted an option to remove the sleeves, and to make them a lighter material. As far as the literal construction goes, though, the sleeves are easy.

I made a high-necked dress for Logan's dress and it went... okay. It worked, I mean. However, I wanted to actually follow a pattern for this one, so I tracked down a turtleneck dress pattern to use.

The basque waist I have no idea how to do, full stop. So, I'm going to cheat, and use the corset to make that.

Putting this all together, I am going to follow the dress pattern I've purchased to create the bodice, and then alter the pattern to add fullness and pockets to the skirt. The corset on top will give some contrast and layering, as well as adding the basque wasitline (also, y'all need to forgive me if I ever type baroque instead of basque-- they live next to each other in my head and I so desperately want to call the v-wasit a baroque waistline, and one day I'm going to be too excited to share something with you that I'll screw it up). When I add the fullness to the skirt, I'm also going to hike it and sew it in place to create the asymmetrical element.

The underskirt will be made of a dark blue thin tulle, to provide some contrast to all the orange and neutrals (white, black, brown, bronze, etc.) we'll have going on, and if it works the way I hope it does, will peak out of the negative space made by the asymmetrical fall of the skirt. If I have enough fabric, I'm going to add some of the blue tulle to the cuffs of the sleeves.

The sleeves are going to close at the upper bicep and at the wrist and be made of an orange crystal organza, leaving my shoulders exposed and being easy enough to remove/make optional to the outfit. Most likely, when the sleeves are off, the blazer will be on.

Speaking of the blazer, what's up with that? Well, I found an old grey/brown blazer in my closet, I have truly no idea where it came from, and I'm going to alter it to go with the look. So, that's the story of the blazer.

The blazer, corset, and hat will all be pre-existing items which I will alter and embellish with the chain and gear charms to make them more steampunk-y. If I have the time and energy, I'll probably go in with my embroidery thread, too! This also goes for the shoes, which are back heels that already look like they'd fit in a steampunk setting! Thrifted them for like three bucks, too, so that's epic.

I came *this* close to buying a fancy cane, but ended up not getting it (unfortunately, I've chosen an expensive hobby, so I spend a lot of time budgeting to buy the best quality materials I can, and the cane didn't make the cut).

My goal is the various layers will all work together to make a fun steampunk cosplay! Materials should hopefully all be here by the end of the week. I'm getting a tattoo on Saturday (!!!), and then I'm hoping to start working on the dress this weekend. I'll keep you all updated!

[ofstarsandvibranium]

My Sweetheart: Part 6

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You purchase a vintage sweetheart bracelet from an antique store and with it, comes the spirit of the woman who owned it. Through her, you go on an interesting journey to find out what happened to her old lover.

Series Masterlist

It isn’t a day Bucky needs to be at the shelter for volunteer work but after that first day, he's come in to check up on Alpine. The little white cat couldn’t stay away from Bucky and, it seems, Bucky couldn't stay away either. As soon as Bucky would place the little guy back in his cage, the crying would start and it pulled at Bucky’s heartstrings. So Bucky kept Alpine with him the entire time he worked in the cat room with you, Yelena, and Kamala.

Seeing you in your work place, Bucky could see that you were very determined and assertive, but also caring and compassionate. You made sure to treat every animal you handled with the love and care they deserve. It's admirable and cute to see how soft you are with the animals.

But Bucky’s not here for you, no. He’s here strictly for Alpine. That’s it.

You freeze when you see Bucky in the lobby. Your brows furrow in confusion, “Back again so soon?” It's the third day this weekend, he's come by.

He shrugs, “Wanted to check on Alpine.”

You chuckle, “He’s got you wrapped around his little paws, huh?” You joke as you gesture for him to follow to the cat room.

“Birds of a feather flock together…or cats, I should say.”

You let him into the room and as soon as he stood in front of Al's cage, the kitten starts yelling up a storm. Bucky chuckles and sticks a vibranium finger through the bars, "I missed you too, buddy."

You unlock the cage and Bucky immediately plucks him out and the kitten is crawling up his shirt. You smile wide at the little animal, "He's gotten super attached to you already."

"I feel the same," Bucky murmurs, gently stroking the kitten's back with his vibranium hand.

"Since you're here, you think you can help me clean the dog kennels? Mikayla and Reese went to go walk them around. It'd be a lot quicker with another person."

"Sure," he replies with a shrug. He follows you outside to the dog kennel area where it's formed a circle and there's a yard in the middle. Bucky stops as he watches Alpine climb into the hoodie he's wearing. He feels the kitten wiggle around until his head pops up through the top.

"You comfy?" he pats the kittens head with a smile on his face.

"That's so frickin' cute! Can I take a picture?"

"I guess," Bucky replies, still peering down at Alpine with a fond look in his eyes. You snap a few pics and then slip your phone back into your pocket.

"So we'll pick up any poop in the kennels. We take the blankets and beds out, then power wash each kennel. Depending on the state of the blankets and beds, we either put them back or throw them in the bins for a wash. Got it?"

Bucky nods, "It's okay if Alpine is still with me?"

You glance at the white kitten. His eyes looking back at you with curiosity. You softly smile, "As long as you keep an eye on him and make sure he's safe."

"Of course."

"Cool. Come on," you gesture for him to follow you to grab the cleaning supplies.

____________________

Dot watches as Bucky follows your lead in cleaning the kennels. He watches and listens to you intently, making sure he gets everything right.

Dot smiles to herself as Bucky gets to cleaning. He's humming a song to himself and occasionally stops to check on the white cat. Dot sees Alpine's presence as a two for one deal. Because Bucky seems to have an attachment to the cat, he's more inclined to see you at work. The woman hopes that this further helps bring Bucky to find true happiness and, maybe, even love.

She leans against the wall and watches as you and Bucky work in tandem to clean one of the kennels. She sees the power wash hose and picks it up. She switches it to the lowest level and turns it on, causing you and Bucky to jump in surprise.

"Did you do that?!" you ask him.

With wide eyes, he shakes his head.

You groan, "Dot, are you kidding me?!"

The hose shoots your way and you dodge it, running right into Bucky's arms. He looks at you with concern, "You okay?"

Dot smiles to herself at the sight, you in Bucky's arms. She proceeds to hit Bucky with some water and he jolts, "Hey! Not cool, Dot!"

She snickers and turns off the water and drops the hose, stepping out of the kennel to give you guys some privacy.

"You okay?" you ask, glancing at the large wet spot on him.

He shrugs, "I guess," he then peers into his hoodie, Alpine, now awake from his nap, meowing up at him, "Yeah, sorry, buddy."

"Maybe you should put Alpine back, just in case. Also, we have some spare shirts you could borrow if you want."

"Yeah, alright."

The two of exit the kennel and walk back to the main building, Dot following behind you, a skip to her step.

______________

After Alpine was put back into his enclosure, Bucky followed you to your office. You pulled out a bin, "We have these shirts for volunteers to use when we have events." You plucked up a bright electric blue one and tossed it to the super soldier, "This should fit you."

"Thanks," Bucky says and then proceeds to slip out of his jacket and pulling his hoodie over his head.

You close your eyes, "WHAT THE HELL! GO TO THE BATHROOM AND CHANGE, YOU WEIRDO!"

"Okay, okay! Sorry!" he rushes out of your office and down the hall to the bathroom. You pinch the bridge of your nose and, unbeknownst to you, Dot is doing the same thing.

You look down at the gold bracelet on your wrist, "Listen, Dot, I don't know what you're trying to do, but knock it off. I'm trying work, Bucky's here to help me. And before you tell me anything, he's here for Alpine. Not me. If he's ready to adopt Alpine, great, but in no way am I gonna let you try to romance us. He's not interested."

If you could see Dot right now, you'd see she's shaking her head.

When Bucky comes back in, you straighten up and you can't help but giggle at his appearance.

He frowns, "What?"

"You look like a highlighter," you poke at his shoulder before you could even think. Realizing what you did, you back up immediately, "Sorry."

"It's fine," he murmurs and rubs the back of his neck with his vibranium arm, which you see now in all its glory since the other times you've seen him, he's been wearing long sleeves.

"Woah. I've seen pictures of your arm online but seeing it in person...so much cooler."

Bucky's face scrunches up in confusion, "You looked up pictures of my arm?"

Your eyes widen in horror, "What?! No! I looked up you-well, researched you when this whole Dot thing happened. So pictures of you with your cool vibranium arm showed up in the search. Very badass."

"I've killed people with this arm," he states in a deadpan manner.

"Well, do you plan on killing me with it?"

"..no."

"Then I'm good. Anyway, we should really hurry up and get back to cleaning. The dogs will be back soon."

"Yeah, alright," Bucky says, placing it leather jacket and hoodie onto your desk before following you out the door.

__________________________

When Bucky gets back to the compound, Kamala is immediately running up to him, "Soooo where were you off to on this fine day?"

He rolls his eyes, "Out."

"Like out on a date?"

"Just out, Kamala."

"He went to the shelter again," Yelena states from the kitchen as she munched on some cup of noodles.

"How'd you know that?" Bucky asked the young Russian.

She nods at his shirt, "Your shirt. You weren't wearing that when you left."

Bucky looks at her with dead eyes, "Do you always note what I wear, Belova?"

"No. You always wear dark colors and that," she points at the electric blue shirt, "is not dark. It's the complete opposite of dark. It's like you want people to notice you!"

He holds his hand up and rolls his eyes, "Alright, I get it."

"So you went to the shelter. Where Y/N works. Y/N works at the shelter you went to. Interesting," Kamala says with an excited grin.

"I went to see Alpine, kid."

He moves towards the kitchen and opens the fridge to pull out a water bottle, "I like the little guy."

"But you don't like the woman who cares for him when you're not there?" Yelena asks, continuing to slurp her noodles.

"I didn't say that."

"So you do like Y/N?!" Kamala exclaims.

Bucky hangs his head down, eyes closed and hands on his hips. He sighs, "I didn't say that either. I like Y/N but as a colleague. She's nice and I admire how much she cares for the animals at the shelter. Obviously, I have to see her if I want to see Alpine."

Yelena nods, "Are you going to adopt him?"

"I'm not sure. I really want to, but who's gonna watch him when I'm out on missions."

"We can," she responds as if it's the most obvious answer in the world, "Any one of us could watch him and if we're all needed, I'm sure Y/N wouldn't mind watching him."

"We'll see, alright? As much as I'd love to have him, it takes a lot of time and commitment to care for a kitten and I'm not sure if I'll have that right now."

"Understandable," Kamala says with a nod, "It's good that you're being considerate of what's best for him."

"Thanks, kid," Bucky mumbles, chugging down the rest of his water. With a gasp, he tosses the bottle into the recycling, "I'm gonna take a shower. I spent the day cleaning the kennels and I stink of dog poop."

Kamala nods, "Yeah, that's probably best."

When Bucky leaves the young Avenger turns to Yelena, "So? Wanna help me?"

The older blonde woman shrugs, "He made it very clear he's not interested in Y/N, Kamala."

"That's fine! We don't have to make them fall in love with each other! I just want to help Bucky find his happiness! ...oh and to help her get rid of the spirit that's stuck to her."

"The what?!"

[durrtydawg]

A Taste of your Own

{Sam Drake x F!Reader PWP🔞}

Sam's had his fun with you, and earned thousands from screwing you over. Absolutely ravenous to see him humbled, you've devised a plan to get your own back. You could've been the bigger person and let it all go, but it's much more fun to give him a taste of his own medicine. Right?

PLEASE READ THIS VERSION INSTEAD. IT'S GOT A MUCH BETTER ENDING, AND I SHOULD'VE UPLOADED IT FIRST!

(This is your final warning for dubcon and general depravity- head on over to ao3 for more detailed tags- also, it's very long and plotty, so once more, I implore you to read 'Best Served Cold' to jog your memory on previous events that have occurred in this silly little timeline. TY <333)

((Also love and hugs to @bluewingedangel for moral support and listening to my rants, and @lilsnatch ​ for the girl boss encouragement and for providing me with the funniest line in this godforsaken thing. Ily)) 

Word Count: It’s a long old boyo- 11.5k 🥴

“Got a light?"

 Sam takes a long, slow drag, eyes trailing down the length of a tight-fitting emerald dress, then up to the unfamiliar, intricately made-up eyes staring up at him.

 Exhaling smoke, he fishes his hand into his inside pocket. "For you?” He flicks open his lighter and extends it forwards, smiling. “Sure."

 She thanks him, and he watches her face glow orange as her lips envelop her cigarette in the corner of his eye. He smirks to himself.

 Luck is truly on his side tonight; with his recent find landing him an invitation to a renowned antiquities gala, he’d already spent most of the evening scoring potential contracts with an array of fat-pocketed antiques snobs, too lazy to find their own treasure. Now he’s being approached by a late-twenty-something you’d usually only see in a morally dubious magazine.

 Did he deserve such a fruitful evening? Well, yes, he told himself.

 Sure, he wouldn’t have gotten to where he is now without figuratively (and literally) fucking over his ex for the amulet that revealed the treasure’s location…but you started it.

 Right?

 "So,” The woman starts as Sam snaps out of his trance to watch the smoke billow from her mouth. She turns, leaning sideways against the balcony.

 "So." He mirrors her, intrigued as he drags on his cigarette.

 Her eyes give him a once-over. "The infamous Samuel Drake, right. Talk of the town.” She glances over her shoulder into the prestigious function room inside, then turns back with a demure smile. “Better looking than I thought."

 "Oh yeah?" he laughs, exhaling smoke. "You're not too bad yourself."

 She looks at him for a moment, assessing, almost. “Impressive find, I’ve got to say. Hundreds of people were after that amulet…what’s your secret?”

  Foul play? Deceit? Sexual coercion?

 Nobody needs to know all that, so, he taps his nose. She nods, a hint of a smirk on her lips before she takes a drag.

 Sam's intrigued, and undoubtedly attracted to her. He's almost driven to ask her what her deal is until she speaks again.

 "So why are you out here all alone? Finally had enough of all the attention?" She smirks.

 He smiles briefly, shaking his head, looking back out at the landscape in front of him. He’ll never get enough of the attention.

 "Just needed a moment to myself. Reflecting, I suppose." He waves his cigarette in front of him, flicking a bit of ash over the balcony.

 She smiles wistfully, toying with her necklace. "Shame."

 "Hm?" He questions, taking another puff.

 "I know it’s quite forward…” She begins, timidly. Sam turns to her fully, an inquisitive simper on his face.

 “I was going to see if you'd be up for a…different kind of attention. But if you'd rather be alone..." She stubs out her cigarette on the balcony and throws it over the edge.

 Sam coughs as he exhales, eyes following her falling cigarette as they widen slightly. She grabs the lapels of his suit jacket, pretending to straighten them out, regaining his full attention as he tries to appear unfazed.

 "I can just leave."

 His eyes flicker between hers and her hands on his jacket.

 "Not even gonna buy me a drink first, huh?" Sam jokes, unsure of her severity.

 She smooths her hands down his front with a shrug, before clasping her hands behind her back.

 "Sure."

 He straightens his posture, smirk reinstating itself. "You're...serious, aren't you?"

 "What's your poison?" She simply replies, plucking the cigarette from his hand. She takes a drag before stumping it out whilst Sam shakes his head in amusement.

 Still got it, he thinks. Scrap that. He knows.

 He takes a quick glance between the bustling interior of the function hall, and the stunning stranger in front of him.

 Fuck it, he also thinks.

 "Surprise me, sweetheart."

 *

 For the first time in ages, you’re willingly in the same building as Sam.

 He looks, admittedly, as attractive as ever...honestly, it's unfortunate that the corporate nine-to-five lifestyle wasn't something he'd ever fit into. Seeing him in a suit is always a sight for sore eyes.

 It's a shame he doesn't know you're here. He'd lap up such a compliment.

 Focus.

 Upon further inspection, you notice a beautiful young woman slowly approach your ex as he- surprise, sur-fucking-prise- smokes over the balcony. She gets his attention, and he extends his lighter with a smirk. You shift in your seat.

 That one-dimensional, irritating- no, infuriating smirk sets off a cacophony of emotions within you. Annoyingly conflicting emotions. Again. For fuck’s sake.

 Inhaling, you refuse to give in to being irritated, and instead admire the ornate chandelier above you as you take a seat at the function room’s bar. Once you get the disinterested waiter’s attention, you order the easiest red wine to pronounce- it'll match your dress. A killer dress, might I add.

 You look stunning; fashionable hair, extra weight in all the right places, a little more makeup than usual. Self-esteem has taken a huge leap forward for you since you last saw him, and in turn, you're almost unrecognisable.

 You thank the waiter as he slides you your wine glass, and at the same time internally thank whatever higher power there may be for the invention of the free bar as you swivel back around to overlook the bustling room, making sure to strategically cover the lump in your dress around your thigh with your bag. More on that later.

 You swirl your wine around its glass, watching as the woman runs her hands up his blazer, your nails impatiently tapping.

 After a moment, she turns and begins to walk back into the hall. You watch Sam grin to himself, shaking his head and cracking his knuckles as he turns back out to the vineyard. You take a gulp of your wine, letting it sit in your mouth for a moment, trying not to wince. It’s bitter. So are you.

 You turn back to the bar as the woman approaches and leans beside you, waving the waiter over.

 “You were right.”

 You don’t look at her as she speaks, nor she you, but you bite back a grin as you swallow your wine, relieved.

 “It really didn’t take much at all.” She laughs before ordering two neat bourbons.

 You take another quick sip. “Told you it’d be easy. Can’t keep it in his pants.” She laughs at your comment.

 You can officially tick ‘befriending an escort’ off your bucket list.

 Ah yes. A recap.

 Sam's inability to ‘keep it in his pants’ acted as fuel for your initial fire towards him, and of course, a few months ago, that same inability led to you leaving an old manor house empty-handed, in what is perhaps the most humiliated (and sticky) state you have ever been.

 After some time to recoup, it dawned on you that it's time for Sam's hamartia to really hit him where it hurts.

 Hiring an escort was...interesting, but an efficient way to get what you want. Going through the nuances of your plan with said escort after being promised a hefty discount for doing so was even more interesting.

 But hey, it got the job done.

 “He’s good looking.” You scoff as she says this. You agree, of course, but you can’t give in to that just yet. “Shame about the personality, though.”

 You nod, downing the rest of your wine. “How long?”

 “Hmm…give us half an hour. Text me when you’re nearby.” The waiter pushes two crystal tumblers towards her. She picks them up and turns to leave. Before she walks away, she smiles at you.

 “We’ve got him right where you want him, honey.” She winks, and you crack a smile as she walks away.

 She’s right. You’ve got him exactly where you want him, and you couldn’t be more excited.

 *

 Ending up in some girl’s hotel room on the brink of what he hopes is going to be a one-night stand wasn’t on Sam’s list of expectations for the day. Hope of a one-night stand, of course, because his commitment issues have been through the roof since you.

 That relationship began with what he thought would’ve been a one-night stand, too.

 He’d never wanted a long-term relationship until you came along, and he nearly hated the fact that he was the cause of its end.

 What? No, that’s bullshit! Sure, he messed up. No excuse for you to threaten to kill him, steal all the notes you’d both made on your treasure trail, and fuck off, almost without a trace.

 Anyway, why on earth was he thinking about you whilst he had his tongue down the throat of a total ten inside a swanky hotel room, without having done any of the hard work himself?

  Don’t be a clown, Samuel. Enjoy the moment.

 The ‘ten’ pulls away, breathless. She bites her lip with a smile, tracing Sam’s stubbled jawline with her thumb.

 He sees cogs turning in her head. Intriguing.

 "I want to tie you up."

 Oh.

 Well, that certainly puts a spanner in the works.

 Sam breathes heavily, hands still at her waist whilst her nails trace over his skin. Her other hand reaches the side table for her bourbon. He stares at her, brows knitted together, somewhat lost for words.

 He’s not into that… Is he into that?

 "You want to…"

 “Tie you up. Yep.” She pops the ‘p’, flashing him a coquettish smile, taking a sip before laying her arms over his shoulders. Sam remains silent, mulling it over in his mind as the half-melted ice clinks in the glass held behind him.

 Plucky.

 Maybe he’s not entirely opposed. It's...different. Not something you would’ve done to him.

 She brings the glass round to him, tilting it encouragingly towards his lips.

 "Oh no." She whispers, tilting the glass further. He takes a sip, frowning a little. "You're not…insecure, are you?"

 Oh. The ‘I’ word. Sam's brow quirks. God no, he’s not insecure. Trust issues? Sure. In abundance, in fact. But he’s not insecure. He swallows.

 He assesses her, catching a glimpse of a mischievous glint, and he knows she's just having him on.

 "All right." He smirks, hand sliding down to her hip, squeezing ever so slightly as she places her empty glass down, “But not the whole time.”

 “Not the whole time.” she repeats with a slow nod, fingers entangling themselves in his hair.

 Tie already undone, he single-handedly unbuttons his collar, making a start on the top third of his shirt buttons as he gently guides her onto the edge of the vanity with his other hand on her waist. She smiles into his mouth, letting go of his hair to push back impishly, wheedling a smirk from Sam as he rolls with it, allowing her to guide him backwards until the back of his thigh collides with something.

 He forces his lips away from hers for a moment to kick the chair he’s just bumped into out of his way, but she drags him back round by the chin to look at her. He raises an inquisitive brow, slightly breathless.

 “Sit.” She utters, hands moving to his chest. Sam glances back at the chair. It’s one of those fancy ones with glossy, carved spindles and upholstered cushioning riveted into the seat. No arms. All the easier for her to sit on top of him. Nice.

 He’s not usually one for being told what to do. But what’s the harm in giving in just once?

 He smirks back at her. “You want me to-oh, okay.” His sentence doesn’t finish as she gently pushes on him, so he has no choice but to sit down. He narrows his eyes up at her in a sort of smirky smoulder that she reciprocates as she walks behind him.

 She pulls at the strip of tie hanging under his collar, snaking it away from him as she nips at the newly exposed birds on his neck.

 He relaxes into the chair as her hands squeeze at his biceps. She eventually grips with an exaggerated tightness, pulling his arms behind him, round the back of the chair. Sam laughs in shock of her strength, and plays along, impressed.

 He holds his own hands in place as she gathers the tie in hers, slowly wrapping it around his wrists as he wriggles in anticipation. She loops it round and through, Sam turning his head to try and watch what she’s doing, but he can’t quite turn enough.

 “So obedient. Must make a change, right?” She provokes, close to the shell of his ear. He goes to reciprocate with some smart remark, but she pulls hard on the tie, harshly pulling his wrists together a lot harder than anticipated, and he winces slightly.

 “Take it easy, gorgeous.” He flexes his hands. She chuckles lightly, making another knot and pulling again. “Jeez-ah, Jesus, are you trying to screw up my circulation or something?” He jokes with slight unease as she yanks the knot tighter.

 A buzz from her bag on the table attracts her attention, and she turns her attention from Sam to look at her phone.

 She types something, phone screen lighting up a smirk on her face. “What are you-”

 “Hold on.”

 Sam leans forwards, lips parted in astonishment at her sudden disengagement from her own idea.

 “Uh…hi?” An unamused laugh from Sam breaks the silence, “I hate to interrupt…but…this is kinda awkward.”

 She finally turns back to him as he glares at her, his expression tentative as she moues at him.

 “Sorry, sweetie,” She drawls, forefinger neatening her smudged lipstick. “Just a little…admin.” She chuckles, waving her phone around before sliding it back into her purse.

 Admin? He straightens his posture. Something’s not right.

 Time to plaster on one of his most charming smiles. “You know what? I…don’t think I’m all that into this, so do you mind…” He turns his head to look towards his bound wrists, “takin’ this off?”

 She twists her mouth in thought, and for a moment, Sam thinks she’s going to say no. Silently fretting, he tries as subtly as he can to pick at the knot, but she’s tied it so fucking tight and complexly that he can barely move his hands around to reach it, let alone figure out how to untie it.

 It’s a goddamn necktie. How has she managed that?

 “Okay.” She pouts, clearly disappointed, yet meanders around to the back of the chair. Sam quietly sighs in relief.

 She stands behind the chair, bending, hands snaking over his shoulders and onto his collar. She squeezes his shoulders a little, before dipping close to his ear.

 “A small word of advice.”

 That’s a significant tonal shift. He frowns in perplexity, turning as much as he can to face her.

 “At least get to know a girl’s name before they get you into such a…compromising position.”

 His frown deepens, concern filtering its way into his bloodstream. “What do you-”

 “For someone as intelligent as you supposedly are, you think an awful lot with your dick.” She offers a complacent grin.

 Her phone buzzes again, magnetising both of their attention. She approaches her bag and picks it up- meanwhile Sam’s frown begins to loosen into one of perturbed realisation.

 “What are you doing?” He pushes, knee rapidly bouncing in apprehension. “Hey!” He shouts, as she turns to approach the door.

 He’s indisputably flustered now, and no matter how hard he tries to yank the tie off his wrists, all he achieves is sore friction on his skin. “Where the fuck are you going?” He glares frantically between the woman and his arms behind him, masking his distress with fury.

 “What-” She blows a kiss towards him before closing the door.

 Shit, shit, shit. What the hell is going on?

 There are a lot of dangerous people at this gala, but who has he pissed off enough to get him alone like this? Who was she with? What in God’s name has he gotten himself into know?

 He doesn’t know anyone here, apart from a few old flames from the treasure-hunting circuit…

 No, no. Escape now, figure it out later.

 Escape. Right. Ugh, if he could just get his thumb under that bump in the knot- shit. Lost it.

 The sound of a beeping key card and a click from the door handle should’ve drawn Sam’s attention, but he’s too concerned with getting himself free.

 “I swear,” He flexes his knuckles before turning back around to look at the door, in hopes that the woman is back to get him out, only to tell him it was just some senseless attempt at foreplay, “if you’re not back here to untie me, I’ll…”

 He trails off, and everything falls into place.

 Collapsing into the chair, he wheezes a laugh, his stare saturated with hostility.

 You.

 “You’ll what?" You sneer slyly, leaning against the door as you lock it, tossing the key card and your purse onto a lavish side table.

 He snickers up to the ceiling; cold, humourless.

 “Well,” It’s tongue-in-cheek, but it’s crystal clear that he’s livid. “Isn’t this just goddamn perfect.” He seethes, eyes narrowed in annoyance as he secures murderous eye contact with you.

 “I know, right! Got ’cha good.” You’re chipper. Thrilled, even. He hates it.

 “The hell is this?" he spits, briefly looking behind him to see if he’s made any progress with the knot. He hasn’t.

 You frown, folding your arms as a smile plays on your lips.

 “Take a guess.”

 Sam’s shoulders flex again; another feeble attempt at loosening the tie. He scowls at you.

 "Enlighten me." he spits through gritted teeth.

 You shrug, nonchalantly inspecting your nails. “Let’s backtrack six months or so-”

 “I was being rhetorical.”

 “I don’t care.” You’re quick to respond, and the sudden stern tone of your voice renders him silent again.

 “After that stunt you pulled in Wales, I was livid, and nothing brought me more joy than the prospect of tracking you down and really hurting you. Ending your life, even.”

 Sam shifts, still struggling. You bite back a grin at his slight display of anxiety. “You are a conniving little-”

 “But,” you cut him off, holding your hands up defensively, “After some time to think, I realised there was some sick part of me that wanted more than that.” His knee bounces, and whilst he snubs the idea of looking at you directly, you can tell by the way his eyes focus on your collarbone that he’s listening. “As much as it pains me to admit it, that’s something we both have in common, isn’t it?”

 He shakes his head, you presume, because he’s in denial of his current position. He squints, genuinely perplexed. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

 “I guess you did what you did to me because you wanted to prove you were the one in control, right? You could’ve just threatened me, stolen the amulet, and left. But no. You used me- my body, to make you feel good- hell, to make me feel good,” You lean, tilting your head to force him into eye contact, “As I’m sure you recall.”

 His frown deepens, though the anger begins to subside, now joined by confined confusion.

 “This insatiable masochism, let’s call it, is eating away at both of us, and it doesn’t seem to matter how much we hate each other, there’s always going to be a mutual, undermining need that won’t go away.”

 He grunts out a mirthless laugh, tongue grazing against his top teeth as he, again, tries fruitlessly to wrench his wrists free. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it sounds like nonsense to me.” He mumbles. You tut.

 “Thought you were smart, Sam.” Your tongue toys with your molar as you stare at him. “Regardless, I’m gonna let you choose how this is gonna play out.”

 He gives up with the rope, slumping with an angry sigh. “Oh, how kind’a you.”

 You scrunch your face up in a sickly smile before you crouch in front of him.

 “Let’s see if you can get that smart noggin of yours to make a wise choice.” you form a fist, knocking on his temple as if it were a door; he aggressively shunts you off with a grumble. “Option one,” You push the slit in your dress aside, revealing a small pistol you’ve tucked away in a thigh holster.

 It’s left an imprint. Hmm, maybe you’ll get its outline tattooed as a tasteful reminder.

 You look back up at him, clocking the concern in his furrowed brows just before it’s replaced by his deadpan façade. “I blow your brains out, perhaps like I should’ve done what? A year ago?”

 His lip quirks. “You’re hilarious.”

 “Oh, I’m-” You laugh, unceremoniously pulling out the gun, standing again to lean over him. “I’m not joking, Sam.” The barrel is pushed his chin, forcing him to tilt his head back. For a split second, there’s a flash of something in his eyes as his throat bobs against the gun, like his confidence subdued itself. Fleeting, but enough for you to work with.

 “What are you do-”

 “Shush for a sec, please.” You click the safety off, your free hand resting on the back of the chair beside Sam’s shoulder.

 “Unbelievable.” He whispers, eyes closed.

 “Yeah, not a particularly fun evening for either of us. Plus, I’m not exactly dressed for scrubbing your blood out of this extremely pricey looking carpet. Still, it's an option.” His throat bobs up and down. Your tongue instinctively darts out onto your bottom lip.

 “Your alternative?” Sam’s breathing quickens ever so slightly as he mutters a few choice expletives. His eyes dart around the room as he tries to calculate some sort of escape, but you’re confident that such a chance is nigh on impossible. “You let me, pfft, how do I say it… you let me have my way with you. Get…even, let’s say.” You speak with all the nonchalance in the world, and Sam double-takes at you so dramatically that it’s almost comedic.

 “Jesus Christ.” He expresses, hazarding an uneasy glance at you. “You’re not…on something, are ya?”

 “Nothing but the desire to humble you, handsome.” You wink, catching a glimpse of what you think might be an endearing glint in his eyes. That, or he thinks this is all a huge prank.

 Is little miss happy-go-lucky almost beginning to make Sam feel…at ease? If you can keep it up for much longer, you might see yourself slide into more lenient grounds.

 He shakes his head in disbelief to the best of his ability. “Okay, but seriously.” He chuckles to himself. “You’re proposing…that I screw you?”

 Crass. His grin evolves into a smirk. It’s irritating. Goodbye, potential lenience.

 “No. That implies you’re in charge. I’m proposing that I ‘screw’ you.” He closes his eyes and takes a breath as you continue, lowering your air quotes. “It’d be…cathartic for me. I think you owe me that much, huh, Sam?”

 Sam laughs disdainfully through his nose. “I don’t owe you anything, sweetheart.”

 You bite your lower lip, your brief silence rendering Sam cocky. Sigh. Time to put an end to that.

 “I suppose there’s a third option.” You smile, beginning to drag the gun downwards, over his chest until it meets the outer side of his thigh. His eyes begin to follow, but you harshly cup his jaw, forcing him to look up at you. He grits his teeth, looking up at you with contempt and…there it is again, that microscopic hint of admiration.

 “What if…” You can’t help but let a huff of laughter escape you, “What if I took this gun, rammed it right up your ass, and maybe pulled the trigger?” You bite hard on your cheek as you hold back an onslaught of laughter.

 You can’t help it…the abrupt, pure, unadulterated horror on Sam’s face is enough to send anyone spiralling into giggles. Again, impeccable comedic timing on his part, even if it is completely unintentional.

 You take a pinch of metaphorical salt and rub it into his wounded ego. “We never tried pegging, did we? And the silencer in my suitcase is a good six inches or so, so-”

 “Oh my God, you really think you’re going to get away with this, don’t you? Thought it all through, huh? Some goddamn genius you are.” Oh, the venomous, panicked sarcasm.

 You chuckle, patronisingly pinching his cheek. “Ooo, scared?”

 “What?” He snaps, shaking you off. You let it slide- this is all too entertaining. “Of you?” He laughs. “Just insanely aggravated.”

 “Hmm. Aggravated, scared, Comme ci, comme ça.” You beam.

 Sam scoffs again, shaking his head as he flexes his fingers in irritation. Is that his only form of defence? Idiot.

 “There are people all over this damn building. As soon as you-”

 “So, yell. Make a fuss. Call for help. I haven’t gagged you, have I?” You interrupt, crouching in front of him again. Steadying yourself with a hand on his knee, you grin as Sam tilts his head up to the ceiling, grunting in annoyance. You bite your thumbnail in thought for a second, a playful gleam in your eye.

 “Hold on, let’s give it a shot.” You grin mischievously, pointing at the gun, satisfied with your unintentional pun as you skip over to the door. You unlock and open it, holding onto the doorframe as you excitably swing yourself outside, gun on full display. Like you give a fuck.

 “Hey!” You shout, biting your lip, grinning whilst you wait a second. No one. “I’ve got a loaded gun and my horrible ex-boyfriend tied up in here. Anyone want to help him out?!”

 You wait just a few more seconds. Still no one. You tut, turning back to shrug at Sam. “Guess no one gives a shit. Oh well, was worth a go.”

 You re-lock the door and lean against it with a deliberately dramatic sigh. Eyes falling on Sam, you feel your breath hitch slightly at the way his eyes bore into you with an intense hatred, fuelled further by his own mounting indignity. You approach him again, stooping in front of him.

 You’re really riling him up now- the way his face twitches in what you assume is anger is oh-so-satisfying.

 “Don’t look at me like that, it’s not like you’d do it. You’ve got too much pride, haven’t you?” Your hand squeezes his knee, until something slightly further up catches your eye.

 A smirk tugs on your lips. “Unless…maybe pride’s the wrong word.” Your empty hand glides slowly up his thigh, stopping next to the slight newfound strain in the fabric of his trousers.

 “Fuck off.” He hisses, hunching in an attempt at hiding the tent he’s started pitching.

 You gasp mockingly, enjoying his effort to mask his humiliation by glaring straight at you. “Samuel. Is that a stolen amulet you’ve got tucked away there, or are you just happy to see me?”

 He shakes his leg with a huff, getting you to remove your hand. You laugh, pushing yourself up. “Oh my God, see what I mean? You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

 He bristles, unsettled. “So…so, you set me up with a smoking hot girl, get her to come onto me all kinky and tie me to a damn chair, and you’re surprised that I’m hard?” He asks, defensively narrowing his eyes at you.

 You scoff, scrunching up your face in a doubtful expression. “No, no, no, that wasn’t there two minutes ago.” You bite your lip and prepare to tease before you clasp your hand over your mouth with a gasp. “Ohhh, did all that talk about shoving something up your-”

 “I can wholeheartedly assure you that that is not the case.” He brusquely cuts you off, flourishing his sentence with a short-lived, sarcastic smile.

 “Shame.” You pout, but you’re after more. “So, it’s me, then. Humiliating you.” You question, sincerely, searching for an answer in his apathetic expression. But he won’t give you that satisfaction.

 Sam closes his eyes and sighs, trying to push away the twinge of agreement you’d stung him with.

  She can’t keep you here forever. You’ll have your moment.

 “You’re really gonna make me do this, huh?”

 You stare at him for a moment before you snap out of your thoughts and nod, tossing the gun impatiently between your hands.

 "Then…I think you know what ‘option’ I'm gonna go for, don't'ya?"

 You grin, putting the gun’s safety back on.

 "Quick question.” you begin, throwing the pistol onto the bed on the other side of the large room.

 “Fire away.” He replies with sardonic enthusiasm.

 You jeer, unclasping the holster from your thigh, chucking it onto the bed beside the gun. “Do you have any shame?"

 Sam draws in a breath, then sighs up to the ceiling. "A little. Though, probably not the amount you want me to have.” He smiles bitterly, foot tapping with impatience. Or anxiety…Both?

 You tut with mock sympathy. "Oh, don't you worry. We've got all night."

 You get close, smirk fading as your jaw clenches. “Rest assured, when we’re done, you are going to feel that same shame that I felt after you shoved me over that countertop, tied my hands behind my back and fucked me speechless without a say in the matter.”

 Sam initially refuses to look you in the eye, and instead glares towards the floor, jaw clenching and unclenching rapidly.

 “Hmm. Something on your mind, Sammy?” You ask in faux concern. He hates being called that.

 His mouth twitches and he laughs bitterly through his nose as he regains eye contact with you.

 A sudden harsh kick to your leg sends you stumbling backwards slightly, and you grunt in mild pain. You’re fast though, because before Sam can make whatever move he was planning, you stamp hard on his shoe and grab him by the throat.

 “No.” You shake your head slowly.

 “Shit.” He mutters, glaring at you whilst trying to hide a wince. He grunts at the sensation of your nails digging into his skin, holding himself as still as possible.

 You grit your teeth, widening your eyes with warning. "Trying to get me to call you a bad boy, Sam? Bit unoriginal, don’t you think?"

 "I slipped." he lies, attempting to mask his oh-so-evident apprehension with anger as he looks down.

 "Better make sure you don't ‘slip’ again."

 He looks back to the ground like a schoolboy who’s just been given a week’s detention in front of his whole class.

 If you could see his humiliation levels on a thermometer, they’d be reaching a gentle simmer.

 You want to laugh. You don't. Instead, you stare at his lips. Something about that slight pout he does when he's unimpressed is endearing. He gulps against your hand, defeated. What’s he got to lose?

 "So…are you going to get this over with or are you gonna keep running your bitch mou-"

 A searing sting across the face deems Sam silent. Eyes closed; he huffs in surprise as he keeps his head leant to the side.

 Did you just…slap him?

 You laugh in disbelief. “Really?” You mutter, ignoring the sore tingle taking over your palm as you flex your fingers. “Hey. Look at me.”

 You've literally got him tied to a chair, a loaded gun nearby...and he’s still disrespecting you.

 Fuck it.

 “Jesus! Okay!” He hisses as you deliver another smack to the other side of his face. He squirms, anxiously looking at you as you stare at his crotch, newly entertained.

 No, no, shit, not again. His eyes are wide. He begins to panic.

 “Oh!” You can’t help but laugh in delight. That thermometer is fast approaching boiling point. “Is that…another new thing for you?” You offer a deriding glance at his growing erection, gnawing at your lip. “Samuel Drake. Enjoys getting smacked in the face. Who knew.”

 “Screw you.” He retorts quickly, cheeks rosy- though something tells you not only because of the hits.

 “We’ll get to that.” You snicker as he watches you begin to roll your dress up your torso. You pull the fabric over your chest, and he can’t help but fixate on your bra for a second, observing you in a trance-like state, your actions catching him off-guard.

 Fuck, she’s still gorgeous, he thinks, much to his own chagrin. Smells good, too. Sweet. Like caramel, he notes as you climb onto the chair, placing your legs over Sam’s spread ones.

 Ugh what? No, he loathes you. And now, shit, you’re on top of him- in your underwear- and he can’t pull his stare away from the way the warm lamp light flows over your soft curves and casts highlights in your hair, and God, he’s transfixed by that caramel scent.

 You'd always reminded him of the stuff. Not the ooey, gooey, pretty, golden type, but the hard, chewy type that hurts the roof of your mouth and gets stuck in your teeth.

 Like said caramel, you've also caused him irreparable damage over a long period of time, but there’s something so addictive about you that Sam couldn't ever put his finger on.

 He hates you but, God help him, you’re right about that ‘insatiable masochism’; you're stuck in his fucking teeth and he’s really struggling to shift his craving for more-

 “Suck.” You demand, placing your thumb at the corner of his mouth.

 He stares at you, mouth agape as he snaps out of his daze. "I-" his eyes close and he shakes his head, before glaring at you with a façade of disgust. "No, no, I, uh," he laughs, nervously this time as you single-handedly unclasp your bra. The poor guy doesn’t know where to look. "I…can't do that." He clears his throat.

 "Sure, you can." you pout, tone nauseatingly sweet. You cup his cheek in your hand, thumb moving towards his lip as his eyes are glued to your chest as you hurl your bra to the floor- to his own surprise he doesn't try to shake you off. Maybe because your perfect tits are now sitting right at eye level, and he can’t help but absorb the sight of them for a moment.

 Sam feels himself breathe slightly faster, as your thumb rests on his bottom lip.

 "It’s not difficult." you whisper, gently hooking your thumb over his bottom teeth, pulling his jaw open slowly. Again, despite his small grunt of discomfort, he lets it happen, fascinated by what you’ve become.

 You gently push his mouth closed around your thumb with the rest of your hand, and Sam unconsciously jolts his hips upwards into…nothing. Oops.

 You snicker, and he finally looks up at you, eyes glassy- hypnotised. Though, he must notice you’re pleased because he blinks quickly and settles back into a frown. That alone is enough to send coils of warmth through you, ending up right where it matters most.

 “Just admit it. This whole taunting thing is really getting you going, isn’t it."

 Of course it is. But he’s not about to give you the gratification of vocally admitting it. He despises you. He should bite your thumb off.

 You narrow your eyes at him, sliding your thumb over his tongue. He grunts and tries to jerk his head away, but you hold him in place with a vice-like grip and he scowls.

 “Don’t be sour. This is all your own doing.” you chitter, and he rolls his eyes.

 God, what is she droning on about now, he thinks as you shift yourself forwards, lowering yourself a little.

 Sam feels himself swallow as your groin presses down onto his. You search for his eyes as he refuses again to make direct eye contact. “I mean, I didn’t force you to pop a boner.”

 Grow up. Get your heart rate under control, you’re not sixteen for chrissakes. It’s not like she’s touching your- oh.

 He sinks further into the chair as you roll your hips a little, tittering at his reaction.

 You slowly pull your thumb out of his mouth, rubbing it slowly along his bottom lip before you gently angle his chin up towards you. His eyes close, and you grin as you watch his eyelids flicker in what must be some serious internal conflict.

 “It’s a good thing I’m not much like you.” you lean further forward, pressing your chest onto his, skin lightly touching skin. “I’m slower. More patient.” You lower your hand, undoing the button then the zipper on his trousers. Sam watches, brows furrowed in a wonderful display of trepidation, embarrassment, and of course intoxication.

 Your hand snakes underneath the zipper, but you’re fixated on the lustful haze gradually thickening over his eyes. He writhes a little as your fingers stroke slowly over the remaining layer of material keeping him from being exposed. He stifles a gasp as you delicately begin to palm him.

 Christ. What is he supposed to do? He can’t get up, and he sure as hell can’t control the blood flow to his- oh lord. You squeeze hard, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to release the sound trapped at the back of his throat, so instead, he screws his eyes shut.

 You leer down at him, moving your other hand from his chin, toying with his soft curls. “I can hate you, but still show you love.” You pull back the elastic of his boxers and he watches with inner turmoil as you begin to lazily jerk him off. God, he’s hard.

 His chest rapidly rising and falling, and the sight of him, unable to move while you straddle him, makes heat continue to rise to your core- though you can’t let your arousal distract you just yet.

 “But you?” Your nails dig lightly into his scalp, and he flinches. Still silent, though. “You’re fuelled by lust. That’s why I always knew this was always going to work.”

 Your thumb glides over the head of his cock and he inhales sharply. Smudging a bead of precum back over the tip forces a small throaty groan from Sam, and you grin as his eyes flick up to you to check whether you heard. He knows you did…he’s just in denial.

 “As soon as you can sense you’re going to get your dick wet, all your logic just flies out the window.”

 “Sh…shut up.” He grumbles, leaning back into the chair, unsure of whether his eyes should be open or shut.

 “You shut up.” You retaliate; the hand that’s nestled into his hair suddenly tugs on the roots, extracting a startled moan from him as you pull his face harshly towards your breast.

 He grunts, trying his hardest to pull his head from your grip but he underestimates your strength.

 “Knock it off!” He groans, albeit slightly muffled, but you stand your ground and calmly continue to rub at his cock. His chest heaves in a mixture of frustration and urging- it’s amusing to watch.

 “Open wide, pretty boy.” You taunt, holding him as close to where you want him as possible.

 “I’ll bite your damn nipple off, you bi-ah! Ffffuck!”

 You almost allow him to call you a bitch again, but it’s nothing a swift grab of the balls can’t solve. “I can squeeze harder if you want, Samuel.” You sneer.

 “Go to hell-ahh, ow, Jesus!” You press with your nails, and he bucks into your grip to try and loosen the pressure. “Fuck-f-fine! Just stop that, will ya?” He pleads through gritted teeth.

 “Suck. It.” you force with full sincerity, both hands loosening their respective grip. He stares at you, breathless, scornful. If looks could kill, you’d be dead five times over.

 “Oh. Kay.” He snarls like a spoiled brat, before reluctantly leaning forwards under your scrutinising gaze. He closes his eyes, muttering something under his breath before he opens his mouth and latches grudgingly onto your nipple.

 You begin to massage his scalp as you look at each other; you with smug satisfaction, and him thinking up a million-and-one ways to make you suffer. You’re fully aware of this, but it only makes you more thrilled to be in this position.

 “Look at you.” you coo, humming in contented satisfaction. “Do it properly and I might return the favour…down here.” You watch his brows struggle to hold their frown as his cock gradually re-stiffens in your hand.

 Goddamnit, his shoulders and wrists are aching, and he wants nothing more than to hold you down and choke you out, but he can’t deny how good your hand feels wrapped around him. He can only imagine how much better your mouth would feel- Christ, if he’s going to get anything out of this at all, it’s the ability to shut you up for a few minutes while you suck him off, so he obeys. For now.

 You sigh as his warm tongue swirls around your nipple, his teeth gently grazing alongside.

 “That’s good.” You whisper, continuing to immerse your fingers into his hair- grip looser, but still spiked with warning. He lets out a long-held breath through his nose, eyes fluttering shut, and you take it as your cue to quicken your hand’s pace.

 And so, it goes on. He can hardly believe that this is really happening. Of all the things he’s gotten himself into, this was up there with the most ludicrous.

 As the next few seconds progress, you hear his breathing gradually get more erratic, feeling his head grow heavier in your grip. The bastard’s close.

 With all his might, he’s trying to keep quiet, but maintaining such composure is becoming more arduous by the second.

 You, on the other hand, are maintaining perfect control.

 The heat between your legs is progressing into something that would otherwise be insanely distracting, but your sole focus is on Sam’s increasing lethargy, and how your hand alone has gotten him to a somewhat obedient state. Even if it is reluctant for now. Go you.

 Gently tugging on his hair, you bring him away from you, tilting his chin up so he’s forced to look at you. He’s trying so so hard to remain stoic, but he’s flushed, lips parted with need, thighs tensing.

 You dip down, leaning into him so your lips are mere millimetres apart. “You’re close, aren’t you.” You tease, gripping harder as your other hand continues undoing the buttons on his half-opened shirt. His eyes squeeze shut, but other than his erratic breathing, he remains silent. You lean around to his ear, and he shifts, shoes scuffing against the plush carpet. “Do you want me to make you cum?”

 “Holy shhh-“ He cuts himself off, trying to concentrate.

 “I asked you a question, Sam.”

 Ignored. Again.

 You slow your movement.

 He tries to buck his hips into to your hand in a desperate attempt to gain the last bit of friction he needs to orgasm, but you’re too observant, and before he can quite get there, you let go completely, pushing yourself up and off him.

 Sam releases a guttural, close-mouthed growl of exasperation as he writhes around in the chair. “Of course.” He mutters, and as he tries to regulate his breathing, you kneel in front of him, a conceited look on your face.

 “All you had to do was answer me.”

 He wants to call you every cruel name under the sun, but that’ll ruin his chances of any further physical contact, and as much as he’d loathe to confess, he’s reached the point of no return.

 He pants up to the ceiling, a humourless smile wavering on and off. “All I had to-” He shakes his head, biting his lip in frustration. “You know what?” he glowers down at you. You raise a brow in interest. “As soon as I get off’a this fuckin’ thing, I’m gonna-”

 “What are you gonna do?” You sit up on your knees, separating them slightly, and as you smooth your hands up his thighs, he scowls. You squeeze provocatively, and his hips twitch. “Please don’t say you’re going to kill me. That’d be so unimaginative.”

 Hair twisted around your fingers, you pull it over to one side of your face, tilting your head until your lips are hovering over him. Eyes following your every move, his glare dissipates into a look of muted anticipation as you part your lips and wrap your fingers back around his shaft.

 “Go on.” You push, looking up at him through your lashes, and the sensation of your breath cooling over his sensitive cock is enough to make him squirm and swallow in want.

 “What?” he rasps.

 Entranced, again. Men.

 You swirl your tongue around the lower half of your mouth, allowing yourself to salivate, before you speak again.

 “Tell me all of the depraved,” you push spit over your lip, allowing it to roll down his length, mixing with another droplet of precum as you continue, “disgusting shit that you’d do to me if you got loose.”

 Jesus, you’re hot. It’s no wonder he’s practically leaking.

 “I’d-” He clears his throat in disgruntled disapproval of how hoarse he sounds, “I’d h-hold you down, and-”

 “Where?”

 “On the f-fuck-the floor. On the floor,” he spurts as you pull the head of his cock into your mouth. “Shit…I’d wrap my hand ‘round your throat, arms pinned above your head,” you set a steady pace, bobbing your head as he continues, and God, you’re soaking.

 “And I’ll squeeze, really fucking hard, ‘til you’re crying, beg-begging me to s-stop.” You hum, interest piqued, the soft vibration making Sam hiss. You hollow your cheeks, moving your hand so your mouth can engulf him as far as is comfortable to coax him on just a little more, savouring the salty sweetness that you draw from his slit. “Just before you p-pass out, I start fucking your tight little pussy, and stop choking you only to fuck your throat…just to shut you up for five fffucking seconds.”

 Jesus, he’s hot, too. No, what? He’s fucking rude!

 Watch it, Samuel.

 “Gonna…come all over your face, like the whore you are…fuck, I’m close.” He trails off into a near-whisper. You frown, but continue to swirl your tongue, evoking a deep groan from Sam. He can be a prick if he wants. Call you a whore, by all means. But there’ll be consequences.

 He bucks up; you feel him hit the back of your throat and you gag, eyes beginning to water, and whilst it seems almost counterintuitive, you let him do it again.

 It’ll make your next move all the more satisfying.

 Every curse that leaves his lips sends your core seizing in anticipation- You’re making him feel so so good, and he’s finally on the brink of admitting it, but your clit is fucking throbbing, and quite frankly you’re growing bored of him getting all the attention.

 You watch his torso tense as he holds his breath, and just as he twitches inside your mouth, you rapidly pull away.

 He growls through his teeth, specks of frustrated spit jumping at you as he angrily thrashes around. “No, you fuck- No!”

 What? Did he really think this was going to be some sort of ‘wam-bam, thank you, ma’am’ turn of events? Moron.

 Stepping back, you’re fascinated; engrossed by the way he proceeds to yell every vile insult in the book in your direction. It’s like you’re watching it in slow motion.

 A smirk tugs on the corner of your lips, and it intimidates him- it’s evident in the way he begins to lose his words and fails to maintain his steadfast eye contact.

 He lays his head back, sighing in defeat, chest heaving. “How much longer are you gonna keep this up for?” he breathes, not waiting for an answer because he knows you could keep this up for days if you had to. “It…” another huff- there’s something he doesn’t want to admit. “It hurts.”

 “Aw, does it?” You sniff, wiping your slightly swollen lips with your thumb.

 You leave him on a cliff edge for a moment, sauntering your way behind him, his gaze following you until you’re too far around for him to turn his head. What now?

 Dipping down to the shell of his ear, you whisper.

 “You know what else hurts?”

 His eyes are unnerved as he turns to looks up at you, awaiting your answer. You bite your lower lip, slightly weakening your smile as you brace your hands on the top of the chair’s back.

 “Your tied wrists being crushed by the weight of your own body.”

 He turns to look at you, and confusion sets in as your smile fades into a focussed display of effort. Your grip on the chair tightens, and as your knuckles turn pale, Sam’s eyes widen in realisation.

 “No, no, no, wait!” His plea falls upon deaf ears as you pull with all your strength, sending Sam falling backwards with a thud. His face contorts in pain, but he says nothing for a moment, merely breathing through clenched teeth as he tries to shift into a less agonising position. He’s unsuccessful. Get humbled, bitch.

 “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

 “Yep,” He whispers, hoarsely. Amusing. “Yeah, it- ow, okay. You’ve made your point.” You kneel, before laying down beside him. “Can you just-” He’s all high pitched and croaky.

 “What? Make you a little more comfortable? No.” You scoff, turning to look at him. His eyes plead with you, and you smile again.

 God, his wrists kill. The fucking wood from the chair’s spindles has begun to splinter and break, and it’s digging into his skin, not to mention the ache in his neck and shoulders from his body whacking against the floor.

 Hold on. The wood’s…splintering. Right near his wrists.

 “Hey,” You start, attracting his attention as you straddle him, leaning back on his thighs, ensuring your ass is grazing ever so slightly against his dick. He retains eye contact with you, waiting for you to continue with whatever you were about to say, and as you position yourself comfortably, his hips subtly move under you to stimulate himself in any way he can.

 “Do you think about me?”

 His face contorts in bewilderment; not at what you said- oh, he understands the question perfectly- but bewilderment at your ability to ask an insanely emotional question in such a bizarre situation.

 You can no longer ignore the heat in between your legs as you slip your underwear aside, cursing under your breath as you begin to stroke yourself. Sam cranes his neck, wanting to see everything you do, trying desperately to buck his hips into your ass cheek in an attempt to get himself off, despite the pain in his arms. You, of course, want to see him struggle, so you hover just shy of his reach.

 “No.” You chastise, and he actually whines, throwing his head backwards onto the floor in frustration. “Answer me.”

 “For god sakes, you’re killing me.” He pants. You raise an eyebrow in warning, continuing to smooth your wetness around you, cheeks significantly warmer than they were a few minutes ago. “Fuck- fine!” He attempts to readjust himself, whimpering at the pain radiating from his arms and how sensitive he’s become. “Sure. Sure, yeah, I’ve thought’a you.” He pants. In all fairness, he is telling the truth.

 You hum in acknowledgement as you bring your free hand behind you to fist at his cock again. A cluster of knots twist and turn inside of your abdomen at the sight of his stomach flexing inconsistently, alongside the sound of his desperate, hitched groans just escaping the back of his throat.

 He’s a fucking mess, and as you guide him towards your sobbing pussy, you don’t think you’ve ever found him more attractive.

 Fingers delicately tracing circles over your clit, you arch yourself downwards, crawling forwards so you’re hovering over his torso. Your necklace and hair tickle his chest, and as your lips linger just above his, you can hear his unstable grunting that he’s trying so hard to keep under wraps.

 “When have you thought about me, Sam?” You ask, voice lowered, with a huskiness to it that makes him close his eyes and swear under his breath as you hold him mere millimetres away from you.

 You don’t really care about whether he answers you or not. You’ve still got some interrogating to do, sure, but you’re not scared of him anymore so you’re just enjoying seeing him under pressure.

 “I…I don’t-”

 “Was it when you were balls deep in some other girl while I was doing recon on the treasure you stole from me?”

 Fuck, he adores how disgusting you’re being. How disgusting he’s made you. It’s thrilling, if a bit frightening.

 “Or- fuck- was…was it when you had your handsome little face nuzzled right into her cunt?”

 Jesus fucking Christ. His tip nudges its way into you, and he could come right now. But no, he’s got to pull himself together because he has to feel you. He shakes his head fanatically, eyes squeezed shut briefly before he continues to watch you, dying for friction.

 You’re so close, but you pull yourself away from your swollen clit, studying your glistening fingers briefly before shifting your focus back to Sam’s fervent stare. His eyes follow as you slide your fingers past your lips, smoothing them over your tongue. You beam down at him as he watches you taste yourself, full of an eagerness that he doesn’t seem to care about hiding any more. You release your fingers from your mouth with a pop, making sure your lips shine with your own arousal.

 “Bet I taste better, though.”

 Finally- fucking finally, you sink inch by inch down onto him, and as you draw a groan from him, you force your tongue into his mouth, making him taste you.

 To your surprise, Sam kisses you back with as much desperation as a man tied to a toppled over chair can, savouring the flavour he’s missed so much, and for a moment, it’s almost as if there’s no animosity between the pair of you.

 You feel so tight and warm around him, and he fills you out perfectly; but as you give yourself a moment to adjust, he feels something give around his wrists. His eyes open in realisation, and as his tie loosens from his hands, he debates lashing out, hurting you, getting his own back after all this insane shit you’ve put him through; nonetheless, as you finally begin to roll your hips, something in his psyche shifts. It instantly dawns on him that he…he wants this. All of it.

 So, he keeps his arms underneath him, despite the pain, because the deep breaths and strangled moans coming from you as you pull your lips away from him and rest your forehead against his are doing more for him than ibuprofen ever could. He’s missed being inside of you. Hell, at this exact moment, he’d go as far as saying that he’s missed you entirely.

 And he’s fucking livid because, whoop-de-do, there’s the regret.

 The two of you fall into a sort of rhythm, making your strange position work surprisingly well; the room fills with the sound of your intermittent whimpers and breaths and his pants of your name, and as you nip harshly at the lowest bird on his neck, he swears with an almost painful desire to touch you; If he could just grip your ass, your thighs, pull on your hair and clamp you down on top of him whilst he jackhammers into you, all to see your eyes roll to the back of your head, he could die a satisfied man.

 He could bring his arms round now, right? You’re so sweaty and entranced by riding him that you’d let him loose without some sort of stupid outburst, surely. It’s a risky move, but fuck, it’d be so worth it if you let him.

 A choked gasp escapes him as you slide him out of you completely before sinking all the way back down…and as you let out a languid moan, there goes his train of thought.

 “Oh, ssshit.” He hisses, eyes rolling back as you repeat the action over and over ‘til it’s almost painful. “Jesus, keep…keep doing that. Pl-please.”

 You still once you’ve got him filling you to the hilt, sitting up fully, hands braced on his thighs. Your chest heaves, but you can’t help but look down at him with a crazed smile.

 “Was…was that a please?”

 “I-” Sam takes a deep breath through his nose, face contorting into unsatiated ire as gravity works against him. “Come on, for chrissakes.” He whispers, desperate sibilance drawing spit from his lips.

 “God, look at the state of you. Pathetic.” Fingers finding your clit again, you can’t believe you’ve managed to condition him in such a way, and you revel in the way he glares at you with helpless irritation.

 “You’re pathetic, aren’t you?” God, he’s so conflicted and you can see it. You work your clit like your life depends on it, and your thighs begin to tremble. “Hah. Still think I’m a bitch, huh? Well, who’s the bitch now?” You bite your lip, laughing hysterically as your eyes flutter closed.

 Sam can only gawk at you in morbidly curious awe. Who are you? Had you been quashing this side of you the whole time you were together?

 No. No. He wants to finish. Needs to. He can’t get the friction he needs at this angle whilst your being so fucking selfish, but he doesn’t have to screw around waiting any more.

 He gave you what you wanted and you’re still denying him of the one good thing he’s allowed to take from this. That awe begins to dissolve into a rage as he thinks fuck this. You’ve had your fun. You can’t shoot him if he’s holding you down.

 “Too far, princess.” He mutters, with a sort of depraved smirk emerging on his lips that you’re too immersed in your own pleasure to see. You frown for a second, but he feels so good inside you, you keep rocking your hips back and forth, superbly stimulating your aching pussy from all angles.

 It’s not until you feel a harsh, stinging tug at the side of your scalp that you tense in fear and stop moving.

 Sam yanks your head to the side so harshly that it’s a surprise he doesn’t tear out a chunk of your hair. With a high-pitched cry, you’re sent rolling off him onto your back, and after taking a second to become fully aware of the fact that the fucker has gotten loose, you scramble onto your front, preparing to bolt for the gun laying on the bed. No, no, no, this wasn’t supposed to happen! What are you supposed to do now?! You can’t really use the fucking gun, can you?

 Sam massages his wrists and cracks his neck as he finally stands, before wrestling his shirt, shoes and trousers off in quick, irate succession. His chest heaves, and he snaps the elastic of his boxers back onto his hip, though you can see he’s still rock hard through the material. He’s also quietly enraged. That’s dangerous.

 “Pathetic, huh?” He sniffs, words full of spite as he stalks behind you.

 Adrenaline floods its way into your stomach as you reach the bed, but just as you reach for the gun to keep him at bay, a swift grab of the chain of your necklace has you flying backwards into Sam’s chest with a choked gasp.

 “You know what else is pathetic?” He holds you, one hand gripping you by the throat, the other arm snaking tightly around your waist. You can't kick your legs because they're clamped between the side of the bed and his own. Sam lowers his mouth to your ear as your eyes begin to water, not so much with fear, but with the frustration of your plan going to shit.

 “No back up plan.” He laughs. “Guess we’re both idiots, huh?”

 “Get…off.” You huff, exasperated as he pushes you face down onto the edge of the bed, pressing himself over you.

 “Sorry, sweetheart, you’ve got me all riled up, so, no can do.”

 You whine in response as you feel his bulge pressing into your ass cheek. You wriggle and writhe as much as you can, though after a moment, you don’t fail to notice that it’s the sides of your throat that he’s squeezing- not your windpipe. He’s not trying to harm you… Instead, history is about to repeat itself.

 At least this time it’s on a bed, not a freezing cold, stone counter.

 “Wanna know what’s really screwed up?” He says, hand tangled in your hair to keep you pressed down as your brain begins to feel fizzy. You whimper sporadically, trying hard to at least get your arms free from under your stomach before you lose all cognitive ability. “This is just gonna keep happening…isn’t it, you an’ me.” You feel the crotch of your underwear get pulled aside as his freed cock nudges at your cunt again, though this time, it’s harsh and selfish and it’s clear that Sam’s not really in a mercy-giving mood as he brutally shoves himself all the way into you, giving you no time to respond.

 “Jesus Christ!” You yelp, feeling as though your cervix has just been punched. “Shit, Sam-ah!” He pulls himself out of you, and does it again, and again, and you swear you hear him laugh over the increasing volume of your heartbeat, because he knows it hurts you, but lord help you, it feels fucking wonderful at the same time.

 “We’re both obsessed with each other, aren’t we?” He growls, and you want to retaliate, but he’s fucking all the air out of you that hasn’t already been taken by his hand around your throat, and you’re beginning to lose all sense of everything around you.

 “Fucking hate you.” He quickens the pace; rough, deep, his grunts sending you closer to the edge as you close your eyes, tears squeezing their way out. You can’t believe how easily you’re giving in to him- how quickly everything’s gone to shit, but you literally can’t form any thoughts as he hits you in all the right places. “Hate you.” He repeats, and you couldn’t agree more, “but-shit-can’t get enough ‘a you.” A series of long-held groans and pants escape you as he briefly pulls out of you, letting go of your throat to flip you onto your back. You’re too dazed to fight back in any way, and if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t fucking care anymore. That was what you wanted to hear. Sam wants you.

 He climbs up, hovering over you as he scoops you up and drags you further onto the bed, your arms splayed out beside you, head flopped to the side as you let blood flow back towards your brain. Your eyes fall on the pistol that rests just out of reach. Even if you could grab it, you can’t fucking use it, can you?

 “Hey,” he slaps your cheek, gripping your face to force your eyes in his direction. He holds you there, cheeks squished as his dick remains unmoving inside you. He’s flushed, vicious, and gorgeous- you stare up at him, anticipating, wanting. Just like him. “Look at that damn gun again, and I’ll shoot you myself.”

 “Good luck with that.” You mumble, cock-drunk smile on your face as you stare lazily up at him, content. He glowers at you, waiting for further explanation as he starts drilling into you yet again, letting go of your face to hike your thigh up further. “It’s not loaded.” You wheeze. “You can’t get enough of me.” You tease, fall into a series of intoxicated giggles as he…slows? No!

 Not ideal. Why did you fucking tell him about the gun?

 His eyes scrutinise your face. There’s no deceitful glint from you. No obvious sign of a lie. Just an anxious look that says ‘get on with it, you annoying bastard.’

 He realises that you never intended to shoot him- of course you didn’t. You couldn’t do it before. Besides…you want him, Sam wants you- it’s painfully obvious on both sides, but you’re two toxic idiots who constantly want to one-up each other; a relationship is impossible.

 He does, however, smirk to himself at the prospect of a toxic ex-partners with benefits situation, enjoying the sight of you trying to get him to move above you. You’re sick of his smug stare, so you attempt to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you. He complies, fucking you again, with a few nips to your neck.

 “So, you really did all this just to have your pretty little pussy filled up, huh?” He tries to confirm his theory in a way that matches the depravity of this entire situation, before he accuses you of being a ‘whore’ once again; you discreetly nod, but this time it doesn’t piss you off. In fact, it does quite the opposite as you feel the coil in your abdomen tighten drastically. You moan through your bitten lower lip, tits bouncing, sweat beading on your forehead as he cages you in.

 “W-wanted to hah-have the power for once,” You stutter between gargled moans as you feel his movement begin to become slightly unsteady. “To watch you sss-squirm, oh god.” You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him even deeper into you as he chuckles into your neck.

 “Power?” He laughs, “Jesus, girl, you’ve got all the fucking power. Want you…all the damn time.” He lethargically admits, head lifted, eyes closed as he focuses on his fast-approaching climax. “I’m-gonna come inside you. That what you want?” Is he genuinely asking? You can’t tell. But yes. Of course, that’s what you want, so you nod desperately, a whimpered plea escaping you.

 The sound of wet skin on skin and the desperation in your voice is all it takes for Sam to lose his mind once more, head falling back down into the crook of your neck as you drag him close to his peak for what feels like the thousandth time. He groans, the thought of such a long-awaited release pushing him over the edge, and all too soon he can feel himself twitching and spilling inside of you.

 The sudden warmth of his cum filling you, and the deep, almost animalistic groan that tumbles out of his mouth and vibrates into your skin pushes you over the edge as well, your arms unconsciously tightening around him, nails clawing into his back as your body quakes with long-anticipated pleasure.

 “Fuck, I’m-” you interrupt yourself with a rasped, muted scream as you come. He squeezes onto you as he empties himself fully, actions becoming languid and sloppy as he lets out one final string of curses. He feels you contract and spasm around him; every shudder and convulsion of your body and every messy, lurid cry that stutters out of your mouth as you orgasm causes him to smile between zealous breaths. God, he’s missed you.

 After a moment, Sam opens his eyes, seeing your head strewn backwards, throat bobbing as you gulp in warm air, your bare chest heaving from exertion. You stay, just for a second, basking in the afterglow as your respective heart rates force themselves back to a steadier state; Savouring a comforting warmth that you both fear will very shortly dissipate back into unsullied hostility.

 He slowly pulls himself up, sliding out of you with a wince. You feel this, and almost instantly snap out of your post-orgasm haze, breathlessly clambering away in fear of what he might do to you. You hadn’t planned for this. As you huddle yourself against a post on the bed, trying to think of what to do, you think he might actually kill you.

 Instead, he flops onto his back, and you stare at each other; on edge, ravished, rapt, and also a little pained from such a drawn-out release.

 Sam clearly senses your fear, somewhat disappointed by your sudden departure from his proximity. “I’m…not gonna do anything. I’m fucking spent, all right?” Your eyes shift warily around him as he takes on an uncharacteristic, and totally unanticipated-in-this-situation soft tone. “Look. I don’t know about you, but I think I’d prefer it if we just kept screwing instead of threatening to hurt each other twenty-four-seven.”

 Your brows furrow in anxious confusion. You agree. But you don’t want to say it. He’s a renowned trickster.

He tilts his head up to look at you before rubbing his hand over his face with an exasperated sigh. How can he prove his honesty to you?

 “You’ve got this room all night?” He finally asks, voice husky.

 “Yeah.” You respond, feeling a little safer at the fact that he’s still splayed out on the bed, visibly exhausted. This is all so, so strange.

 “Good.” He starts with a grin. “‘Cause I’m gonna tie you to that chair and eat you out til I make you squirt again.”

 Oh. Oh.

[aries-writingblog]

Enemy Fire: 15

Summary: There's a new kid in town, and she's got a city to usurp.

Pairing: Jason Todd × F. Reader

Word count: 4.0k

Warnings: language, arguments with family, smoking, micro aggression

AN: photos are from Pinterest

Jason’s fingers turned the lighter in his pocket, his other hand busy holding a cigarette to his lips. He had posted himself against his bike in the driveway.

Staring at the imposing manor before him.

He flicked ashes, exhaling smoke. Watching it curl above his head, obscuring parts of the mansion. He could almost imagine the place being on fire, watching it burn through the smoke.

He hated coming here. To this expensive excuse for a home. The memories were often too much to handle— giving him a migraine that wouldn’t disappear for days.

Not to mention his grave in the back still gave him a chill down his spine.

Jason flicked the cigarette down to the gravel, using the heel of his boot to crush it further. Swiping the keys from his bike, he shoved them into his pocket before leaning down and snatching the discarded cigarette butt. In his other hand, he carried his helmet along with him.

His boots crunched against the gravel, harmonizing with his steady in and out breathing. A thready attempt to calm himself, even after the cigarette.

Taking the steps two at a time, he approached the door faster than he thought he would. Closing his eyes and inhaling twice, he steadied himself before opening the door.

He just needed to get in and get out. He would be just fine.

He hadn’t walked two steps in to the foyer, when Alfred appeared from thin air. His palm extended, white gloves in pristine condition; Where a silver ash tray sat. Jason sighed, dropping the cigarette butt into the tray.

“Master Jason, very nice to see you here again.” The butler tilted his head in welcome.

“Alfred.” Jason sighed, shrugging his leather jacket off his shoulders.

Alfred accepted it, folding it over his forearm before extending his other near Jason.

“Most of your siblings are already seated and awaiting Master Bruce and Master Damian.” He explained.

Jason adjusted his grip on his helmet, finally relinquishing it to Alfred’s hand.

He always felt a little strange giving Alfred his items when he had functioning hands himself. It had especially felt strange when he first arrived; Having someone to pick up after him and be at his beck and call was an estranged disconnect from his previous life.

“Thanks.”

Alfred nodded, turned on his heel and started toward the coat closet.

Jason stalked down the familiar, main hallway. It connected all the rooms of the first floor— the foyer, leading down to the sitting rooms, the kitchen jutted off to the left on another hallway, to the right, a hallway led deeper into the mansion. Straight ahead, there was the main dining room.

Reaching out, Jason dragged his fingertips along the wall. He remembered when Bruce had the hallway redone— the wallpaper stripped and the walls painted in a dark grey.

He could recall a time when the decorations were less comfortable. Less personal.

Candelabras and miscellaneous antique pieces, along with various, old paintings and artworks.

Bruce had gotten rid of most of it years ago. Sold it or gave it to museums.

In the place of priceless pieces, now hung family photos and various memorabilia.

A candid of Stephanie and Cass, playing basketball. Dick standing proudly beside his high school principle, donning cap and gown; His diploma hanging in the frame beside it.

Photos of himself, and all his siblings. Adopted or not.

His eyes skated over the newest photo on the wall. Damian in his school uniform, holding a first place trophy; A painting in the background, with Bruce standing behind him proudly, one hand on the boy’s shoulder.

A small, reluctant smile pulled Damian’s lips at the corners. Though the pride shown through his eyes.

Jason pulled himself out of the haze of memories, stalling at the doorway of the dining room. He could hear the familiar voices and sounds, melodic in the next room.

He glanced down; His hand was trembling. Shoving them into his pockets, he exhaled. Attempting to loosen the knot of emotions that had made their home in his chest. His jaw ached from how tightly it had been clenched.

An hour, he told himself. One hour and then he would have his answers. That was all he had to endure.

Pushing his shoulders back, he straightened his spine. Drawing up to his full height and tilting his chin.

His presence was felt before it was seen, as he strode confidently into the dining hall.

Dick’s eyes found him first. His smile faltered for half a second. Disbelief clear on his face.

“Jason, you’re here.” He exhaled.

Suddenly, everyone’s attention turned to him.

Jason ignored the staring, and the manic grins, as he found his place at the table. They had never been assigned seats, but somehow, everyone knew just where to sit. Every time.

The silence was strange, since it had been rowdy and chaotic, just moments before. And there were never many opportunities for silence at Wayne Manor. Not since the family had been established.

But here they were— all staring at each other in the rare quiet.

“Finally graced us with your presence, I suppose.” Cass spoke, interrupting the silence.

Cassandra Cain had always been a curious one to Jason. She was, in his opinion, one of the most tolerable at the table. She kept mainly to herself, unlike his rather intrusive brothers, and had been selectively mute for a number of years.

She had been the perfect sibling.

And though she was still mute most days, she did speak when she felt the urge. Her words were almost always sarcasm.

“Funny.” He quipped, lifting his eyebrows.

Cassandra shrugged, and turned back to continue signing conversation with Tim. With that, the remainder of the table went back to their original conversations.

Except—

“Has our friend gotten better?” Dick asked, leaning his elbows on the table. He had lowered his voice, but he knew Jason could hear him across the table.

Jason shrugged, leaning back. He spread his thighs, stretching his legs out under the table. His forearms draped over the chair arms. His broad form becoming increasingly imposing, trying to deter Dick from the conversation

“Don’t know.” He dismissed.

Dick’s brow furrowed.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean, I haven’t seen her.”

Dick’s eyes narrowed, searching his brother’s face for any hint of a lie. Jason’s face was impassively normal. Frustratingly so.

He pursed his lips. For too long, he had been without answers on this woman. First, she attacks Jason in his own territory, multiple times, setting fires and leaving him bruised and burned (what he had heard from Damian, at least), then she has his pager, with gunshot wounds in an alley. On top of that, Jason didn’t seem to have an idea of who she was or where she came from.

Nothing was making sense. All her charity, mixed in with the deeds she committed behind a mask; It all clashed. Especially when he couldn’t find a shred of this woman in any database he checked. He’d even roped Barbara into the search. When she came up with nothing, he knew something was definitely wrong.

And she definitely didn’t need to be in Gotham unsupervised.

“People just don’t disappear. Especially people with gunshot wounds.” Dick explained. Jason rolled his eyes.

“She does. Get used to it.”

Dick opened his mouth again, prepared to ask how he knew of her traits if he didn’t know her. Before he could, the two missing parties from their dinner arrived.

Damian stalked through without greeting, as per usual fashion, and took his seat beside Duke. Bruce was behind him, speaking with Alfred.

When his attention swung to the room before him, his eyes almost instantly landed on Jason.

Jason shifted in his seat, forcing his back to stay straight. To keep his demeanor and not crumble beneath the joy in Bruce’s eyes.

“Jason.” Bruce’s eyebrows raised, pleasant surprise clear on his features.

Jason’s own eyebrows furrowed, a sneer painting over his lips.

“Why is everyone acting like this is the first time you’ve seen me in years?” He snarled.

Truthfully, the whole family seemed to run into each other at some point. Jason often felt he couldn’t escape fate’s grasp when it came to running into family in the city.

And it wasn’t as if he ignored them all the time. He picked up their calls occasionally. Responded to a few texts here and there. He wasn’t a complete recluse.

He still needed access to the Batcave for the computer systems.

“It isn’t often you come here.” Bruce responded, evenly.

The air felt tense— stiff from their exchange. It wasn’t a secret that the relationship was still rocky. Mountainous, even.

One wrong word would set Jason off and send him packing. Because Jason was always looking to pick a fight. He was always looking to run. And Bruce was always careful with his speech and his language— leaving him to walk on eggshells. Their conversations, if they could even be labeled as such, always held that tense electricity.

One always waiting for the other to drop the second shoe.

“Sure, but I disappear for like two weeks and no one questions anything.” Tim muttered.

Alfred strolled in with his servers cart, beginning to laden the table with the meal he had prepared earlier in the day.

“You didn’t die once, Tim.” Barbara told him.

“I mean, I can arrange something if it will get me some love in this household.” He complained, leaning his face against one fist, propped on the table.

As Alfred put a dish down, he leaned over and nudged the young man’s elbow. Nearly causing his face to hit the table.

Stephanie snorted, causing Tim to elbow her in the ribs. She stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes.

Damian scoffed at the immaturity across from him, rolling his own eyes.

Various conversations began again— low chatter becoming the background noise of the evening.

Bruce kept quiet, simply observing his children.

Although he only had one blood related son, most of the adopted kids looked strikingly similar at first glance. Inspection would always show their differences. And while he didn’t get many chances, Bruce inspected them all when they were together.

Damian’s eyes were his mother’s ; Sharp and dark green. Cunning. He received his dark brown hair and tanned skin from her, as well. The features, however, were all Bruce. The shape of his eyes and slope of his nose.

Timothy’s raven hair paired evenly with his paler skin tone. His silvery blue eyes were surprisingly soft for such a sharp color. A sturdy, Scottish nose and jaw rounded his face off at soft angles.

Jason was always a peculiar case. Most noticeable of all his siblings. Jet black hair, with his white streak. Mismatched eyes, set with dark circles beneath. Scars marred his tanned skin, leaving pale, jagged marks behind.

Dick had clear Romany features— his dark hair and fair skin, with deep blue eyes. His face was kind. Smile lines creased his cheeks after a while, and he seemed to have a permanent glimmer to his eyes.

The variety came with Stephanie, Duke, Cassandra, and Barbara.

Bruce felt a small smile tug at his lips. The same smile that he always felt whenever his family was together.

Not fighting crime or stopping evil.

Just being domestic. Together. Healing.

Jason’s stomach turned another somersault. He stared down at the plate. He wasn’t even hungry for Alfred’s cooking at the moment.

He had too many things running rampant in his mind. There was too many stimuli in the room. He felt crazed— the insanity of the Pit bearing down against his spine.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed against it. The whispering, wanting voice at the base of his skull. Taunting. Teasing. Begging him for a chance to prove itself useful.

He just needed a moment. To collect himself again. To reign in his feelings— prevent them from overwhelming his heart. Flooding his chest.

Focus.

Focus.

YN. You’re here about YN.

He let his spoon slip from his grasp, clanking noisily against the China. Bruce paused, glancing down the table.

The chatter faded away.

“Did you report LN to the police?” Jason asked. His gaze remained on the plate before him, counting the number of each item.

Shoe, meet floor.

Bruce sighed.

He should’ve known this was on his docket for tonight. He should’ve known Jason looked too confident, too troublesome for just a regular dinner.

He was always unsure and stiff at the Manor. Earlier he was fluid— leaning against his chair as if he owned the place. Now, his hands gripped the chair arms. His knuckles fading from their original color.

“Jason—“ Bruce began.

Jason didn’t let him interrupt.

“That’s not fair to her. You just revealed her identity to all of Gotham.” His words were rushed, all of them running out of his mouth with no way of slowing down. He didn’t want to slow down. He didn’t want to lose this nerve he had conjured. “What if someone had done that to one of us? You know how screwed we would be?”

“She’s a meta, Jason. She’s already caused significant damage to parts of the city. Attacked you, even.” Bruce pointed out. Jason scoffed, throwing his head back. It collided with the chair; A cruel smile carved his lips.

“I can’t believe that you agree with that stupid meta law.” He hissed.

Bruce’s fists clenched, placing his cutlery to the table.

“It’s to keep civilians safe.”

“So innocent people are forced to register themselves like animals and live in fear of an anti-meta group attacking them? Sounds real fair.”

Bruce shook his head, sighing through his nose.

He wasn’t surprised that Jason’s bullheaded stubbornness would take up this side of the topic. His son tended to reach into the extremes on too many occasions. Find the worst of humanity.

Perhaps that was the reason for his extremities. He had seen far too much already.

“Why is this suddenly a big deal for you?” Bruce demanded. Jason narrowed his eyes.

“I’ve been made aware of the problem.”

Dick glanced between the two. His eyes met Barbara’s. He knew the look on her face, all too well. Questioning.

She wasn’t told the full story before releasing that information to the public. Dick wasn’t sure if he himself had all the information, anymore.

It should have been a routine by now, how to deal with an argument occurring in the Wayne home. With any nine people, there were bound to be a disagreement here or there.

But add in the vigilante titles, and the deep rooted history between everyone in the group, arguments happened without notice.

Most of them could get resolved easily, without much fanfare. Except when they occurred between Dick, Jason and Bruce.

Their histories were the most troubled. Their arguments the most volatile. When one happened, it was best to board the windows and prepare for a hurricane.

“Have you been in contact with Ln since her last attack?” Bruce accused, his face stern.

Jason blinked, titling his head to the left. His face too innocent.

“No.”

“You’ve said it yourself, Jason,” Bruce warned. “This woman is out for blood.”

“No.” Jason argued. “I think she’s scared. And alone. Besides, I’m talking all metas here. It isn’t fair to them. They’re people.”

“Potentially dangerous people.”

“Only the ones who want trouble.”

“Then they should have no issue registering if they mean no harm.” Damian interrupted, taking a bite of his food.

Jason scowled, nearly growling at the boy.

“You don’t get it.” He pressed, trying to shove him from the conversation. Showing him his opinion wasn’t welcome.

However, it only proved to open the floor for discussion.

“For once, I happen to agree with Jason.” Stephanie chimed in, unafraid of voicing her opinion. Jason grit his teeth, his gaze never moving from Bruce’s face. “I mean, aren’t we doing the same thing here? As vigilantes? We’re breaking the law. There’s nothing that says we wouldn’t turn against the law, either. Some of us already have. Continue to do so.”

“For a greater good.” Bruce explained, his tone exasperated.

Jason scoffed, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His bottom lip curled between his teeth, biting down on the flesh as he nodded.

“You always preach the greater good, but you couldn’t even put an end to one of the biggest threats Gotham had.” He challenged. Bruce’s head turned, almost daring him to surface the topic he brought up every time. The argument he clung to— the incident he was still hung up on. That he couldn’t seem to let go. “Dick had to do it.”

Somehow, the silence intensified. Darkness crept into the corners. Unease settled like a wet blanket, weighing down.

Dick kept his eyes on the table. His jaw clenched. His eyes stung with emotion— the same emotions that rose to his throat every time the Joker was mentioned.

Bruce’s heart ached. Every time he was reminded of his greatest failure as a father, a hero, a man. The kidnap and torture of his son. The murder and the pain.

All of his torment when he resurfaced from the depths of the Pit. All of his misery and anger while piecing himself back together.

The man, cleared his throat, the emotions had clung to his vocal chords. He didn’t trust himself to speak on the subject.

“I will not sacrifice my morals for the Joker.” Bruce stated, evenly, after a moment of collecting himself.

Jason wouldn’t take it.

“Not even after this?” Jason stood abruptly, his hands impulsively found their way to the hem of his shirt, yanking it up and over his head. His jaw clenched. He hated showing these godforsaken scars but any reason to shove it back into Bruce’s face, he would take it. He gestured up to his face, as well. The Joker shaped scar burning. “After me?”

Bruce winced, skimming over the thick autopsy scars and various inflictions the Joker had left on his skin.

Burn marks and knife wounds, littering his abdomen.

With no answer, Jason took the silence as his response. He scoffed, shoving away from the gathering. Leaving the mild, depressive chaos he had ensued. He squeezed his fist tighter over the balled up shirt in his hand, forcing the panicked tears away from his eyes.

It had escalated much further than he had planned— taken a turn back onto a path that he thought he was over.

Every time Jason thought he was done with the Joker and his lingering grasp on his body, he got sucked back in.

He always gave in to the anger.

Jason growled, the noise reaching a loud shout as he threw his shirt in a fit of anger. The fabric slammed against a framed photo and fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Having grown up in the manor gave him ample opportunity to explore the various hallways and hiding places.

Twists and turns that could lead to attics and balcony’s and hidden rooms. It was easy to lose himself to the familiar path he always found. The all too familiar balcony near the fourth floor. The one above the gardens of the backyard.

It was difficult to find, the first time. Having to go through multiple conjoining rooms to find the French doors.

Though, he was always found by Alfred.

Alfred seemed to know everything in those days— even now, as he approached the balcony, Jason wondered if he was simply predictable or if Alfred was some sort of psychic.

“Master Jason.” He announced his presence, keeping himself at a reasonable distance, four feet from his most troublesome charge.

“Not now, Pennyworth.” Jason sighed, blowing smoke into the air. The cloud was larger than usual— being in higher altitude, the air was colder.

Jason barely felt it, but his skin was sure to have goosebumps.

“It’s quite chilly at night, I would advise wearing all your clothing.” Alfred responded, nodding to the discarded shirt he had picked up from the hallway. Then he pursed his lips, focusing his gaze to the item that preoccupied the young man. “Cigarettes harden your arteries.”

Jason chuckled, darkly. Deprecatingly. He flicked ashes over the railing before taking another drag.

“My plan is to make my heart as hard as Bruce’s. Then maybe I could understand his decisions.” He snipped, obviously choosing to be petty over the situation.

Alfred hummed.

He had seen many arguments between Jason and Bruce during their time; While it certainly wasn’t the worst he had heard, it had a distinct venom that he hadn’t heard in a long time.

It was always the boy’s death that brought out the worst arguments. Simply because neither man had forgiven themselves. Bruce blamed himself, no matter what he was told. And Jason loathed himself for the path he took after he was resurrected.

Neither seemed to understand the other’s reasoning.

Bruce couldn’t let himself sink to the level of his enemies— killing people and proving himself to be just as corrupt. His nature was caregiver, hero… not avenger. He thought he could keep Jason alive by carrying on, fighting in his name.

Jason couldn’t see why Bruce never exacted revenge. Jason had always believed in divine retribution— karma and every action having a reaction. It had only been intensified by the corruption of the Lazarus Pits. The world had become black and white.

It had taken years for him to even begin dissolving into a simple greyscale.

“You’ve always been soft inside, Master Jason.” He determined, recalling the strong emotional bursts Jason would have as a child. Even now, when he was more adept at covering them, Alfred could still see the hurt flicker across his face for a moment, before it disappeared.

Jason frowned, staring at the gardens below.

“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t.” He admitted.

Truthfully, Jason did wish he could be more like his adoptive father. Or Dick, or Tim. He wished he could see things as they did. Right or wrong, no matter the circumstance. No matter the person.

He got too attached. Too sentimental. Waded too deep.

And it always ended with him being the fuck up.

Alfred observed the boy quietly for a moment. Of all Jason’s assurances that he wasn’t his family, in the end, he was. He could see a young Bruce Wayne, sitting before him again. All that empathy, with no clear direction.

“There is room for all kinds of justice.” Alfred assured him. Jason shook his head, brushing a hand over his face. The old butler stared at his profile before clicking his tongue. “You truly feel that strongly of this woman? She attempted your life, several times.”

“Hasn’t everyone in this family?” Jason deadpanned, cocking a brow.

Alfred tilted his head in agreeance; He had to admit, he was correct. All the boys in the family tried to kill each other on a weekly basis— whether it be by prank or vengeance, he tended to have his hands full.

“While I agree with you, about all metas and the database, I must agree with Master Bruce about this woman. She has proven herself to be dangerous, for now. And until she can change that course, perhaps the safest place is behind bars.”

Jason’s head bowed, a heavy exhale leaving his nose. He put his cigarette down on the stone railing.

“She’s scared, Alfred.” He admitted quietly.

The butler paused; Jason looked tired. Exhausted from his constant fight against the evil of the city, against his history, against his family.

Perhaps this girl would be good, for him, Alfred wondered. Someone who wouldn’t be burdened with his past, the way the family was. The way his current friends were.

Or she could prove to be the final bullet in the chamber, sealing his fate.

Reaching across, Alfred picked up the burnt out cigarette butt, holding it between his index and thumb.

“At some point, the frightened become the ones who deal the most damage of all. And we must beware of that transition.” He warned.

Jason swallowed as Alfred turned on his heel. The doors opened and closed.

He was left alone again. Alone with the swirling disaster that substituted his thoughts.