#face and body art instructor

[contoursfx]

Please come check out our artists website. It won't be up for long. He is very talented.

[nouearth]

hear me out.

dick grayson x male reader.

summary: dick pushes you to your limits in the gym, and your animosity towards him slowly transforms into unexpected admiration (and unlocks months of concealed pining).

wc: 7.2k. genre: smut. warnings: top!dick, dom!dick, bottom!reader, bottom!reader, sub!reader, one sided rivalry (reader's end), enemies to lovers(?), brief fighting, reader and dick are working out, physical fighting (with boxing gloves), envious!reader, insecure!reader, hotheaded!reader, uncut!reader, public!sex, gym!sex, dirty talk, praising, guidance, handjob, fingering, kissing, spitting, lots of sweat, body worshipping, reader will be walking funny for the next week.

Your shoes squeaked after every thump from landing on your feet. One foot chased after the other in a pursuit, and your knees raised past your navel as the cable rope cut through the air with a turn before hitting the ground. You huffed after every snap of the rope, a burn scalding the muscles in your thighs and wrists with every rotation, tensing as if you’d been hit, as if your coarse throat would feel the remnants of the whip afterward. 

“Five…Four…Three…” 

Sweat dripped off your forehead, off the locks of your bouncing hair, in anticipation of a merited water break. The water bottle sat on the seated stationary bench, pooled by its own condensation. You could taste it with your eyes, a ravishing sight that pushed you harder. You sped up, raised your knees higher, and endured the pain for ten seconds more. Your gut was sucked in, engaging with your core, and your breathed out in methodical puffs, your chest rising along with it. Everything was burning, muscles tightening into flaming knots that would render you frail by tomorrow morning. If the floor was lava, your body was the volcano erupting it. 

Holy bells rang once you finally counted down to zero, and you immediately came to a halt, the weight of your gratification breaking your movement with an echoing thud as you instantly marched forward to quench your thirst. 

“Fuck.”

Your nostrils stung more than usual. Flared with every inhale as you were catching up to your breath, and more so when you cooled down with several sips of water. Breathing had never felt so good, an absolute fiend you turned out to be after every workout.

You’re getting weaker. Breathing harder. Quicker. You’re losing control on your breath. How are you going to keep up with the team? If you feel this fatigued after a warm up? You let them down last time. Got knocked out and Dick—

He was getting to your head. Again.

Dick. 

The name rolled off your tongue bitterly. A foul taste of metal and battery acid lingered in your parched mouth before it was drowned out by another gulp of water. Another. 

And another. 

And another, as the aforementioned man across from you halted his ropes, stopping in his tracks. 

He’d been doing this since you’d arrived. Mirroring you like a reflection, copying your every move as if you were an instructor. If you were doing strength training, he stopped his cardio to take the machine next to you. Pushed when you pushed, groaned—louder—when you did. 

Needed to stretch your hips? He made some lame excuse about how his legs were too tight, and felt the need to join you on the floor, stretching himself beyond the limits of what you could achieve. It colored you impressed, but you would never say that out loud. Though, you did silently admire the view of his ass, and that especially, would be kept a secret between you and the floor.

Now, it was with jump-roping. The two ropes swung from either corners of the gym like the gears working silently in your head. There was a need to compete with you for some reason.

A satisfied smirk rolled a drop of sweat off his face, and seized his naked torso with glitter as he took a step under a light that lit his body like a podium, or—and you hated to admit it—like one of the sculptures you remembered fawning over in Art History. From his broad build, you could tell that Dick was sturdy, toned, and undoubtedly beautiful. 

His fringe clung onto his forehead, but you could see the gratification he got from outlasting you, smiling while he squeezed a stream of water into his mouth. You noticed how much more capable he was with the calmness of his breath, and felt his adrenaline pumping through the room. In turn, it possessed you—his energy–maneuvering you to the center of the room where a foam mat was placed, and to which Dick expectedly trailed after you.

“Wanna have a go, partner?” Dick said while rolling his shoulders back before picking up a pair of boxing gloves, then another without your confirmation. 

“Seriously—“ He tossed the other pair towards you, an accurate shot that landed into your arms. “Are you going to be doing this all day? Copying me?” You silently thanked him because you began kneading one glove like a stress ball, the rubber foam absolutely gratifying with every scrunch of your hand, as well as consoling as it kept you sane for a little longer.

“I don’t see the problem—“ You began approaching him with the gloves fitted snug over your fists. “Well, actually. I do see the problem. You’re not training hard enough.” Marching with heavy stomps, your nose flaring with every breath that he casually spat out. 

“You give up as soon as you feel tired. I mean, no amount of water breaks are going to help you. You think we have the time to sip water when we’re rescuing a town? A city? The world?” 

His voice, soft and smooth yet it was grating to your ears. The constant talking. Rambling. It gave you a headache. It made you see red. Hearing him berate you. Mock you.

“You’re breathing too hard too, which is taking up all of your energy. And your emotions? You need to control them better. Not only does it affect your combat, but your relationship with your team. You shut yourself off when you don’t do well on a mission.” 

“What are you, my therapist now?”

“Listen, it does no one any good if you’re—“

And it stopped with a strong swing towards his left cheek. His head snapped to the side when the rubber foam smacked him like a whip. 

If red hadn’t blurred your vision, you would’ve noticed the tiniest smile he mustered up from the corner of his lips. A crooked, slanted one that was followed up with a chuckle.

“Not exactly fair play, but…” He raised a hand to rub at his cheek before adjusting the gloves onto his wrists, cracking his neck and stretching the muscles in his back with one more shoulder roll before positioning himself like you were: knees bent and fists raised with the gloves fencing off your face. 

“I’ll give it to you. You can throw a good punch. Beginner’s luck?”

The comment made you swing at his left, and he snapped his head to the right. You missed. There was a precision to his move, something that you lacked in as he snuck a punch to your right cheek. A grunt was stifled, and then let loose in a cough when you felt another beat to the left of your abdomen. Sputtering breath, when Dick scored another hit to your jaw. 

“Fuck—“ Your eyes locked on him while he held your gaze. Your perception seemingly widened, heightened as you’d noticed the smallest movements from Dick, twitching upon instinct as if he was about to strike, but there was nothing. Just the taunt of his arms, and Dick’s teasing smile to garnish, to taunt.

He was circling you. You were circling him. It was the same movement, following each other like two predators unwilling to share the last morsel of food. You felt as much as a leader as Dick was, but from the outsider’s perspective, it was telling who was following the other’s lead. 

Who was the experienced leader of the two sparring men.

Dick feigned a punch with a raise of his arm, and you immediately buckled, jerking back to nothing but a bluff of a hit. You were then greeted by an obnoxious chuckle before he landed a successful sneak to your head, a hit impactful enough to rattle your knees and knock a scoff out of you.

“Be observant. I punch better with my—”

Another swing to his left cheek. Successful, and harder this time, as it managed to stumble him from his stance. You could feel the impact of your fist on Dick, even if it was cushioned by foam. 

It was exhilarating.

“Fight better with your mouth closed too.” You spat, raising your arm to strike the same cheek again. Dick detected it before you could attack, and ducked lower to the right, where he met a sudden fist to his jaw, a calculative undercut that sent him falling onto his back.

“Shit—“

Something unleashed in you. The red in your vision had scorched, burned blue as it reached its highest temperature. You immediately seized the opportunity to straddle him, to face the source of your belittlement, to look at the leader that everyone on your team had silently wish you were, that everyone had admired, to somehow stare and pierce him long enough with your eyes that you were able to tear into his body and take his incredible abilities and mold them into your own, becoming that someone that you had undoubtedly admired as well. 

You threw another blow to his face, enough to knock a groan out of him. It was pleasing to your ears, the low trembles of his voice because of your touch, they twitched with gratitude. But you needed more, a beg from Dick, a plea for you to stop. You threw another punch, and then another as you became blinded by rage. It was out of your control, your arms had a mind of their own as they continued wailing on Dick, even if he had shielded himself with his arms for the last minute now.

You breathed hard, tossing your gloves off as you held him down for a stronger grip and prying his arms from his face. A need to touch him, to feel the impact that your gloves had been restraining you from. You pinned him by his bare and sweaty shoulders that made the grasp all the more slippery, but you nonetheless held him anywhere you could, by his biceps now, and stared into him. You peered into those brown eyes that mysteriously settled your fury until you’d succumb to the beautiful tranquility of his orbs, quietly pacific compared to his mouth.

Dick’s chest was rising. Up and down like your own, recovering from the pummeling you had given him. His eyes were widened as he watched you—studied you. No marks on his face, thankfully due to the cushions you were begging to be replaced with stone a tantrum prior. 

It was humiliating to prove him right, about your emotions, and you sat still, on his lap, breathing. Your fists had stripped you of the little energy you had left, and turned it into mush, but you found support in the warmth of Dick’s body, still breathing. Your grasp had loosened, but remained on his biceps. Warm skin, and ever slightly kneading because of your own envy of Dick’s strength.

You felt your eyes closed, shutting yourself off of the supply of Dick’s silent consolation as the adrenaline pumping through your veins had slowed. “I can never be you, can I?”

“Who says you have to?” Finally, Dick’s voice hadn’t grated your ears like it had in the past. It was gentle as ever, but this time, there was a warmth to it that you wished you could be bundled up in if it had a physical body. A spirit that could temper you with just its warmth, rather than the toxic heat that had just boiled your rage.

“Because—they’ve seen you, Grayson. They know how you operate with the Titans. I can see it, you know? The way they look at you, then the way they look at me. It’s just…”

“You know, my team looked at me like that when they saw how Bats ran the Justice League.” 

“With disgust? Contempt? Disdain? All of the above?”

“No,” He laughed, gathering himself half-way up with the support his elbows. “with... relief?”

“That’s… not helping?” You rolled your eyes, and then felt yourself flush upon coming to realization upon your current position on his lap when he sat halfway up. “Sorry—“ Without making eye contact, you brought yourself off Dick’s hips, but found yourself suddenly pulled back by the waist.

“No, no. What I meant was…” He cleared his throat, sitting up as he positioned you back on his lap again. His hands interlocked against the small of your back, a devise to keep you from abandoning him on the lone mat, but to also pull you closer, hip to hip. 

“Batman… is impressive. You’ve seen him, right? How he has this presence that automatically appoints him as leader. Commander, really. I don’t know anyone that can plan better than him, but that’s not to say that he doesn’t have his faults. He’s all business, little relations. So are the others. You’ve seen them too. Supes, the Lanterns. I respect it. They respect him because of that, and vice versa. But… that’s not how my team works. Not the Titans.”

“I see…” You shifted, nodding every now and then as you listened.

“It’s just… My members are more than co-workers, you know? This isn’t some nine-to-five job that you’ll probably quit after five years. It’s… our lives now. And with them, they’re with me every step of the way. So, they’re more than co-workers. You don’t protect co-workers. Not saying the Justice League don’t care about each other… But what you do protect are friends, families. Yeah, they’re my family, so I treat them as such. And maybe… that’s why they seemed relieved they were part of my team. And…”

“I just have to find what works with my team?”

“Yeah. I mean, you guys are just starting out. Everyone’s still adapting, still getting to know each other, still figuring out each other’s powers, right? Things are bound to be a little more destructive in terms of chemistry.”

“I don’t know… I just… I don’t know if I can lead them like you guys can. I’m not like you guys. In terms of skills, in terms of leadership, in terms of—“

“Then work on that with your team. That’s what a good leader does, they seek out help from their teammates and let them know that their opinions and help are valued.”

It sounded absolutely simple. Something that shouldn’t have taken you this long to figure out, but Dick was right. Rather than seeking for your team’s help, you thought you had to endure whatever situation had arisen on your own. It weighted heavily on your shoulders, until you couldn’t muster up the strength to push your own weight. And in turn, that affected your team. You needed them, just as much as they needed you. 

“And here you are…” Dick continued, suddenly bursting with a smile. “Instead of spending time with your team, you’re with me. I know I’m quite charming, but geez, (M/N), can a guy get some alone time?”

You scoffed and lightly punched at his chest. “Did we forget that you were the one joining me in the gym when you have your own in the tower? Copying my every move? What’s up with that?”

He shrugged, kneading nonchalantly at your sides. “Knew you’d be alone. Knew you were probably blaming yourself, moping around. Thought I would give you a little push.”

You shifted again, your hands keeping close to yourself as you couldn’t muster up the strength to complain about his wandering hands.

Or rather, find anything about his hands to complain about.

“Push as in to annoy me?”

“Well, I was supposed to be teaching you some things, but, uh… you were playing whack-a-mole with my head earlier.” 

“That’s because—“ You sighed, dropping your head low in embarrassment. “Sorry. I don’t know. Everything started happening so fast and—“

“No, it’s fine. It gives me the perfect opportunity to introduce you my first lesson of the week.” He was sincere, smiling up at you, almost as if he had mistaken your brief fit of rage as a game of tag.

“What’s that?” You asked, meeting his eyes once again.

He pondered for a moment,, pursing his lips as he was lost within his thoughts before speaking again. “How To Communicate To Your Team 101.”

“How is that even going to—“

You felt a sudden press to your lips. A softness that awakened your five senses by tenfold, and a desire that you had kept vaulted in the back of your mind; now beginning to unlock to its freedom the longer Dick had his lips on you. It wasn’t right. No, it wasn’t like it was morally wrong, it was just…

You hesitated, conjuring up all the reasons in your head on why kissing Dick wasn’t a good idea. But it was futile. Everything had been resolved within this moment; the way he let you use him like a punching bag, the way he didn’t spare a single second to share his empathy for your concerns, the way he tended to your wounds days prior despite your brazen disregard to his kindness. 

You were being selfish again, guarding yourself off with ice like you had done with the others. When in reality, you wanted him. 

No, you desperately needed him.

You felt him open up his mouth, assuming he was about to speak, but you seized his breath with a slot of your lips, and kissed him. One hand came up to rest on his cheek, to finally feel the slight scruffs you had delivered on his skin, and you caressed tenderly across textured skin, to the slow rhythm of your lips, whispering, “Sorry… again.”

“Don’t be. Without it, you wouldn’t have been on my lap. And… I wouldn’t be kissing you right now.” Dick muttered, a satisfaction to his voice like he had gotten his wish fulfilled. He ran a lone hand up your back, then back down your spine, bone tingling once he repeated again under your hoodie, and gazed across your bare skin.

“What are you doing to me…” It was a genuine question, something you wished could be answered because you didn’t know yourself. And yet, you were scared of the answer if Dick was to ever give you one. It’d been a while since you felt like this, with someone else.

For the past few months, you hated him. Couldn’t stand the sight of him. And now, you feel like you couldn’t tear yourself apart from him. From the softness of his lips and to the warmth of his body; the longer you endured him, the more you realized you had been captivated by Dick all along.

“I don’t know, but… I like figuring you out.” Dick’s speech was slurred from dragging his lips down to your jaw, nipping at your sweaty skin. “Like how you push me away, but you can’t help but tolerate me whenever I’m in the room.” He breathed you in, sucking at the corner of the sharp bone. You pressed your head into his neck, silently letting him take you. “How you’d sneak glances at me and roll your eyes, only to keep on staring… and staring… until you hadn’t realized that I was looking back at you. Because you were too busy looking at me.”

Nothing but the truth came out Dick’s mouth. Remarkably candid, because you thought you were more covert about your conflicting feelings for him. It brought a bloom of heat to your cheeks, and you hid your face inside his neck, groaning because Dick began licking at your neck, and because you felt stripped, absolutely vulnerable.

“Dick…” Something was rising in your shorts, tightened around the center. Warm and pulsing, even when Dick had unzipped your hoodie and thrown them to the side. A chill was felt across your bare back, most likely a draft from the vent, and Dick held you closer, sandwiching the heat, and suddenly your erection, between his body and yours.

“I knew you never hated me.” There was something about your chest that he loved. How smooth it felt. A few hairs had grown at the center, raised from the feelings Dick was supplying to your body. They tickled his cheek whenever he rubbed himself against it until they were then flattened with a long, fluttering lick as he maintained eye contact with you. “Always right.”

The taste of your sweat was salty yet delicate on his tongue.

“Hate is a strong word...” Your fingers threaded through Dick’s locks, scrunching them into your fist when he started toying one nipple at a time with his tongue. The wet muscle flicked deftly, then he suckled, and then tugged, like he had known your body, like he had explored your body before. It was strange, how he knew the right thing to say, and the right thing to do.

Maybe he was ‘always right.’

“Whatever it is, it’s not stopping you right now.” His hands dropped to the waistband of your shorts and he pulled away from your swollen nubs. It was unwilling. You could see it in his eyes, the thirst to ruin, and it compelled him to bring another suck to your nipples, a few seconds more that almost pulled a dangerous whimper out of you before he ultimately paused. “Nor is it stopping me.” 

With a gentle push on your chest, he leaned you back onto the mat while lifting your hips up, smoothly sliding your shorts off. They joined the pile containing your hoodie soon after, and then your briefs to top.

“R-right here? Aren’t there cameras or something…?” Your hands instinctively came down to cover yourself, cupping that embarrassing erection that Dick was thirsting for. The head of your cock peeked out from your clumsy gasp, and his hands instantly came up to pry your hands off.

Dick had that same look in his eyes when he was circling around you earlier. A rapacity blaring the pupil of his eyes. His piercing gaze alone kept your hands from coming up to cover yourself again. You knew you wouldn’t stand a chance against his strength.

“I doubt anyone is watching the gym… Private for a reason.” Your legs were then wrapped around his waist after pulling you by the ankles. His presence was commanding. You knew to keep your arms to your side, hands forbidden from obstructing the view of your hard, throbbing cock.

“No wonder you’re so stressed. Look how hard you are.” Dick muttered, seemingly speaking his inner thoughts because he was too distracted by the veins of your erection. Thick and pulsing as he wrapped a hand around you, and stroked, fascinated by the stretch of foreskin unfolding from the head of your cock when he pulled back, then rolling back up when he pulled forward. “This okay?”

“Fuck—Yeah… Feels good.” One arm was raised to wipe the cold sweat off your forehead,  but it then rested against your forehead, shielding yourself from Dick’s gaze as he slowly pumped you back into breaking another round of sweat.

“No,” He paused, suddenly squeezing your foreskin over the tip of your swollen glans. You whimpered. Not only did he squeeze you tight, stripping you of a friction that you desperately had been needing more of. But Dick was teasing, threatening with the dull movement of his thumb as he pressed and rubbed into the fold of skin, polishing the head of your cock  in a thick sheen of pre-cum as his grip would draw out a generous amount from beneath. “I want to see you properly. Look at me.”

You reluctantly met his demands, only after you felt the tip of his thumb prying into your slit. Was this supposed to be a punishment? Because you could’ve allowed it to go on for longer, knowing how much Dick marveled at how much pre-cum you were leaking out.

Your body felt hot, and your hands—they needed something to hold, something to grip. When Dick began resorting to quicker strokes to your cock, you were clawing at the mat at first, etching your presence with indentations of your nails as your warning came in vain. “I’m going to cum if you keep doing that, Dick—“ 

“Use your words I’m telling you.” He spat in his palm after a millisecond of a break before lubing your cock in his own spit and churning you into the tight, yet slippery friction of his fist. Dick’s gaze had been fixated on you, never once had it torn away to look at something else. Not even a peek at your cock deliciously fucking into his fist. Because in case you forgot, he liked figuring you out. “Gotta communicate with me.”

The stoicism you had worn with pride, only ever fragmenting from anger upon defeat; Dick had discovered another facet to its escalating submission, and it was delightful watching you unravel in real-time. The slick of his hands; one beating off your cock while the other massaging your balls; your expressions had given yourself away on how to break you down. Maybe it was because you had given up keeping up the facade. Or maybe it was because it was Dick, who has done more than enough to earn your trust, that you found yourself nearly crumbling.

He had studied you, his hands continuing to wander, explore every part of you while silently cataloging the right spots to make you crack. You were close, hanging off the edge with one hand, nails dulling over a cliff as you desperately prevented gravity from pulling you down under. When his hand had left your balls in favor of suddenly pushing a finger inside of your tight hole, Dick knew you had completely submitted.

Your body was writhing, hips desperately thrusting in the air despite Dick pinning them down to properly stretch your hole and fill you up with another finger, and another. Your expressions were ravishing, conflicted with pleasure and tension, and your mouth opened to politely tell Dick to stop, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to utter the demand. Instead, all that came out of your mouth was a whimper of his name, a stutter that rang delectably in Dick’s ears when he interrupted you with a deep push of his fingers, curling and then pumping in and out of you, and another whimper would secure the deft removal of the rest of his shorts and briefs. All because he couldn’t contain himself anymore. 

He had absolutely no right to teach you about control, for the reason that he was on the brink of losing it himself. You looked absolutely wrecked, all from the stubborn grip around your cock, the tight fit of his fingers, and Dick couldn’t imagine what you’d look like if he was in you, his thick cock fucking you, making love to you.

“Seriously, Dick—I’m about to—“

You couldn’t help it. Dick’s demand to control yourself was absolutely absurd with his reign on your body. The wet, sticky sound his spit made as Dick’s fist was being screwed by your pulsing cock drove you nuts. And then came the view of Dick’s thick cock, throbbing, pre-cum dripping heavily off of his swollen head as he watched you untouched, begging to be touched. You swore you almost surrendered had it not been for his wrist slowing down, a delicacy you begged prior, but now desperately wanted to vanish.

“God, you know I always loved it whenever you accidentally let a smile slip. But this? You’re so beautiful like this, (M/N).” He paused despite your silent pleas for him to otherwise. Though, all was forgiven when he leaned forward to kiss you on the lips. Sweet and bountiful like his words had made you feel, and you kissed him right back, an eagerness compared to his own movements, but then gratefully countered with an impatient swipe at your crack. His cock, plump and heavy, then wet and sticky as he smeared his pre-cum over your hole. Your legs remained wrapped around his hips, but Dick pushed his body weight forward until they folded with your knees touching your chest, his cock dangerously pressing at your entrance.

Dick spat in his palm again, reaching down to coat himself in the sticky layer of spit, and you felt him press. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, anticipating with an accelerating drum of your heart as he teased, slicking your pucker with the gentle, smooth circling of his tip.

“Please… I need it.” You had a gentle grasp around his nape, pulling him down until his forehead rested against yours. You’ve never seen him like this, so up-close and intimate. A mole, a freckle on his face that you’d never noticed, and you instantly yearned for what could’ve been all this time, had it not been for your stubbornness.

“What do you need? You need me inside of you?” Dick clarified against your lips, a whisper into your mouth as you parted them open to welcome his tongue. Hot and heavy, you let your tongue wrap around his for a tingling moment before pulling away, a string of spit webbing a path between your lips and his. “Use your words.”

“Need your cock, need you… Need everything. As long as it’s you.” You marveled at Dick, drunk off of the mutual endearment you have for each other. He regarded you with a warm smile, followed by a dazzling glint within his gaze, then relayed the turn of his mouth to yours with another kiss, a gentle warning, before Dick pushed his hips forward and slipped his cock inside of you.

“Good boy.”

“O-oh, fuck.” 

Your body tensed as soon as you took the first inhale of breath since he’d breached you, sharp and abrupt, just like the pain that had jolted the muscles in your body to squeeze around him. You were playing defense, impeding the foreign introduction inside of your body with a clamp, yet Dick resisted. Rather, he thrived on your strain, adoring the suctioning feeling of his cock as if you were conflicted about inviting him in or pushing him out. It didn’t take much to figure out that it was the former. During the meantime you were adjusting to his cock, Dick was thrusting the few inches that had slid inside of you. Small and short movements to aid in your stretch, and then eventual pleasure as he gradually pushed himself deeper until you’d blossom completely open for him, like a bud in the Spring.

“Fuck, you’re so tight… So good, your ass is so good.” He was satisfied with half of his cock inside of you, rocking into you slowly until you felt comfortable enough to have him harder, faster. Till then, it was perfect like this. Breathing in your whimpers, holding your face like it was the last vestige of your sanity, before kissing you again, sweet on the mouth, tender with your tongue, to hold a fragment of your sanity within him and sealing it where no one could ever take it from him.

“T-too big, Dick—Fuck…” You whimpered again, closing your eyes from the uncomfortable detection of already feeling completely full, yet you and Dick both knew it wasn’t a complaint. Rather, it was a simple observation that had rendered you speechless, an inkling you’d disappoint Dick for not being able to take him properly, to not let him in like you had done for all these months.

“You’re doing great, baby. Doing so good… You can take it, I know you can.” His words were so warm, so kind, so gentle in your ear, low and sinking in your neck as he marked you as his with constant licks and kisses, and immediately, he dialed up your confidence by tenfold. You felt yourself relaxing, the tension in your body melting the longer he rocked half of his cock into you.

Just breathe. Breathe. You found it helpful following Dick’s breathing pattern, exhaling when he pulled out, inhaling when he pushed in, and gradually, you felt yourself opening up for him, taking him in longer strides, with little breaks, faster, harder, until you felt thoroughly plugged when he pushed once more to cork his cock inside of you, balls-deep.

“S-shit, Dick—Fuck—So good—“

Dick trembled with a moan sinking into the underside of your jaw. His cock had never felt so wanted, so warm in another’s body. You took him in without a single complaint, and it was a spectacle, an absolute wonder when Dick leaned back to watch himself completely unsheathe out of you like a dagger out of its scabbard. 

“Look at that… Fucking beautiful.” Your hole was gaped open with the diameter matching the girth of Dick’s cock. Blinking, puckering desperately as it painfully endured the loss of heat, the loss of his desire. You’d never felt so exposed, completely powerless as Dick had you bending your legs further back with one hand, and the other spreading your cheeks apart to further see how much more you could stretch. 

The color of your flesh was enthralling, and if the marks on your neck had not been telling that you were Dick’s; he pressed a kiss to your pucker, gentle nibbling and licking at the puffy rim before abruptly spitting inside of you, and another for good measure, the glorious designation would remind you now.

“Dick—No more, I need you, please—“ You reached down to spread your pucker with the spit dribbling out of you using two fingers, then pulled back to taste him, sucking on them before your craving for Dick would return with a vengeance, body-writhing and mind-numbingly so.

“Tell me. What do you need, hm?” Dick tapped his cock against your hole. The plump head slid smooth over the spit-covered flesh, mixing with his pre-cum, while he watched you with a grin, each swipe of his cock taunting to pull completely away unless you spoke.

“Need you. Inside of me. Fucking me. Holding me. Kissing me. Touching. I don’t know—Please, please. Just need you.” Your wishes were long-winded, but sincere. The gaze you had given him, an imploring look that Dick would take a moment to hold for a little longer despite your begging.  Cherishing it, not knowing if this would be a fluke you’d later regret down the line, but in the end, all that mattered was that  you let your guards down at the mercy of Dick’s guidance. Then utterly defenseless, when he gave into your wishes, a chaste kiss to your lips while doing so, and pushed himself deep inside of you with one smooth thrust.

You stiffened in Dick’s arms when they slipped around you, digging your nails into his skin. Squeezing his waist with your legs, you held onto him when he pushed the rest of his body weight over you, bending you further while keeping his lips connected to yours. He was stabilized on the tip of his toes, thrusting into, past, and against your inner muscles all at once. You clenched around his cockhead, the pleasure unbearable to resist as each dip of his hip successfully knocked a gasp from your mouth. 

“So good, so tight like this…” Dick’s cock was in heaven, burying you deep until his heavy balls pressed flushed to your taint. He would stay motionless whenever he did; to catch up on his breath, to draw out his nearing high for a little longer, and to feel you, luxuriate in the warmth of your walls squeezing him tight, pulsing with dilemma, and ultimately refusing to let go. “Think I can come just like this, you squeezing my cock…”

He looked down at your face, a brief check-up. Your lips moved as if you were about to say something, but no sound came out. Only a stutter of a gasp, little sounds that Dick found incredibly magnetic, to which he found increasingly difficult to keep his lips off of you. He failed with little effort on his end, in hopes to steal those tiny sounds and keep it for himself. 

Your pupils were blown when they weren’t rolling back from the smallest movement of Dick’s hips. In addition, with your lips swollen and lids heavy, you gazed up at Dick like he had saved your life, as if he had guided you towards a better place. Your life seemingly were in his hands as he held your cheeks and kissed you once more. Sweet again, rocking into you steadily, sweat sticking his skin to yours. 

And maybe he did.

“Say something. I want to hear you.” A merciful demand upon your lips. You were trembling, barely swallowing down moans while Dick continuously impaled you with his cock—up into you now, when Dick leaned back until he was sitting up, and brought you back onto his lap like before, pushing your hips towards the rate of his thrusts.

Mesmerized by Dick, your mouth parted open and your throat immediately began emptying itself of all the harbored moans and groans that you had been holding hostage. “F-fuck me, keep fucking me. L-like that. No—Harder, harder—“ They rattled in volume, bouncing in sync with the way your ass had been doing against Dick’s cock, and then louder, because your marvelous sounds emerged an addiction out of Dick.

Sweet Jesus. He couldn’t stop. Watching the desire in your beautiful features, hearing your pleas reflect your want, stroking your cock awaiting for its release, marking every flesh of your skin his mouth had come in contact with. At the level of intimacy; from the pull of Dick’s hair, the sloppy, open-mouthed kisses you two shared, and the mutual passion you had for each other; you no longer felt like his disciple, but rather, an equal to Dick’s being—a derivative blessing, that would course correct each other’s life.

Your hands could barely hold onto his shoulders, but you worked with your strength, the slip of his skin, and locked your hands around his nape. Forehead to forehead, you and Dick breathed moans into each other, heavy and thick with yearning as you two pressed close, stuck to each other like glue. He cataloged the tiniest details on how your face contorted with pleasure; the scrunch of your nose, the roll of your eyes, the part of your lips. Your fist tightened around your cock, pumping it rapidly to the pace of Dick’s thrusts, churning it until your biceps had distractingly flared with veins. 

You did the same. You watched Dick’s mouth agape with rapture. The scrunch of his brows when he fucked into you faster and to the root. The clench of his jaw when you squeezed tight around him, suctioning his cock until he sounded delirious with pleasure. It was beautiful. He was beautiful, and you knew he found you beautiful as well, the beautiful loss of reality from the mutual pleasure, and that was all it took to make you spill your load without a single warning. 

You smashed a guttural groan to his lips and unraveled your fingers, leaning your body back to let your cock release where it pleased to afterward. “Oh, fuck—“ 

“Holy shit.”

Thick shots rained on Dick’s sweaty body. Three spurts to the center of his chiseled chest, and then another four splashing high in the air when Dick powered up on the sight of your cum alone, and drilled you harder, your cock dribbling in cum as he did so. His nails dug into your ass cheeks, spreading them apart, then cushioning them back around his cock to somehow press your walls against every vein pulsing through the thick of his erection.

Dick fucked you like you’d begged him to. Long, strong thrusts, to the brim on each stroke, undoubtedly hitting your prostate at every turn from the way you would jolt forward with widened, rattling, yet blissful eyes. A sight Dick would have forever ingrained into his memory, because you were officially, utterly, and completely wrecked.

It was heaven. The crown of Dick’s cock sliding over the spot, the depth of his cock rendering you immobile and dazed. Again, he’d repeat. A new addiction, surging powerfully through his veins. You let out a sob. 

Again. You squeezed your eyes shut. 

Again. You dug your nails into his shoulders. 

And again. Dick smacked your ass at the delirious state he was in. He had completely breached inside of you, explored every inch of your hole with the circle of his hips. A thrust. A slam. A rut. He had traversed through every option to dismantle you, and like clockwork, your snug hole all but sucked on his cock, begging for him to come inside.

He couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Baby, baby…” Dick’s large hand smothered his warmth around your throat. You could feel the callous in his palm, a gentle abrasion to your smooth skin, and he rubbed your seed all over your body, then his. He fucked harder to the sight of the sticky sheen layering your body. The smell of musk. The stick to his hands. Filthy. Your body and his were filthy together. Filthier, when pleasure burst from the base of his shaft, and in turn, flooded your insides with a large load. He moaned, and you arched into him, into the stick of his body, anticipating for the rupture of your doing. 

Your cock throbbed once, straining forward with its swollen head aiming towards the ceiling, and you spat thick shots of white seed into the air, eventually course-correcting to land on your body and Dick’s.

It was wonderful. You could feel Dick’s cock pulse as his seed rushed up the shaft and buried you deep into your guts with thick and heavy shots. Upon impulse, you squeezed as well, clamping around the peak of DIck’s orgasm until it must have crested with the stillness of his breath. “Don’t pull out.”

“Wasn’t planning on it…”

If he hadn’t thought it enough, you were beautiful, he was keen on calling it a mantra because it meant that he was still here, on this very earth, breathing and witnessing your very existence. Your body was weakened, barely mustering the strength to hold your chest up without the aid of Dick’s arms around you. Limp, after your second orgasm. All of you, you were so beautiful. From your rim hugging the base of your cock, your softening cock dripping, your swollen nipples, the smooth planes of your cum-stained chest, and parted lips. You were a banquet to Dick’s eyes, a feast that could muster up another around to have at you, to have you completely devoured if he had really wanted to.

But no, this was perfect. Watching you in silence, surveying up at you while you peered down at him, panting, breathing slow, in a case of wonder of how one could have such an effect on him without a morsel of effort. 

“So… lessons? You always do this to new recruits?”

“Only if they absolutely suck at their role.” An exhaustion in his smile, you wanted to capture it in between your lips, and replenish him with gratitude.

“Hey— Asshole…” You muttered, a gentle knock to his chest, to which he laughed off, and then held on, to pull you in for a blissful kiss.

With the way you fit into his arms as if you’d always been meant to be there, warm where he was cold, and cold where you were warm, he knew he didn’t need his question answered.

“Kidding. Let’s just say… it was curated for a special someone. And hopefully, they liked it as much as I liked teaching it.”

“I have a good feeling that they did.” 

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[samodivaa]

frenzy of lust and sin 1〗

Part 2 Pairing: Instructor!Bucky x Recruit!Reader

Summary: During your training to become an agent, you've earned the moniker "Sergeant's girl" around the base—that doesn't give him the right to be possessive or jealous, but what gives you the right to be a brat? Warnings: sexual tension, age gap, sparring Words: 3.4k

Bucky knows that the body is not a thing of wild magic, but a collection of chemicals, tissues, and nerve impulses. Thoughts are no more than electrical surges in the brain. Sexual arousal is no more than a flow of chemicals to certain nerve endings. Sadness no more than a bit of acid transfixed in the cerebellum. In short, the body is a machine, subject to the same laws of electricity and mechanics as an electron or clock. As such, the body must be addressed in the language of physics. And if the body speaks, it is the speaking only of so many levers and forces. The body is a thing to be ordered, not obeyed. But the feeling is not leaving, he can’t control it. Jealousy. He is witnessing himself become daily more notable for savage sullenness and ferocity. But in the end, it’s an instinctive feeling. Your presence has flattered him from the first time you met, you are full of ambition which leads Bucky to adopt a double character without exactly intending to deceive anyone.

He keeps the acquaintance and has no temptation to show his rough side in your company, and has the sense to be ashamed of being rude towards such a young lady. You are the only recruit who gets this side of him, but it is a secret in his heart, he is guilty of such a secret, because he has to forcefully hold it. He keeps his hold on his affections towards you unalterably, not showing what he is truly feeling. With all his superiority as your hand to hand combat instructor, he finds it difficult to keep it professional as more time passes. As he falls more for you. ============================== The moment you enter the room, he discerns your soft-featured face, pensive and amiable in expression, eyes which are large and serious, your figure almost too graceful. It forms a sweet picture―and your aura. It's…intoxicating. It's shining, it always shines. 

“Good morning, Bucky” you have a sweet, low manner of speaking as you walk towards where he is sitting. “Good morning” his voice sounds ill-natured, politeness that would only be laughed at, restraining an unruly nature, wary of the secret he knows about you. He is trying to not be overcome by emotion. Emotion is the art of breaking hearts, minds, and tongues―but it is too much, even for Bucky.

You reflect for an instant, with knitted brows “Are you okay?” “Of course I am, why do you ask?” he whispers crossly.

A surprised laugh almost breaks free from your lips, because his naturally reserved disposition is exaggerated into an almost idiotic excess of moroseness today and you wonder why that is. Bucky slightly widening his eyes, parts of his lips, but there is absence of arrogance as his features become unreadable again. He rises up from the bench, but you have no time to express your worry further as you gaze at him with a troubled countenance, because it might be something deeper. ==============================

It is all because of three days ago.

As he carries his basket to the laundry room, he spots a look for a washing machine with a finished cycle. He opens the door and unloads the freshly washed clothes, placing them into the basket in front of the machine―but these clothes are familiar. Leggings, he knows them by heart. Curiosity is gluttony. It is a great temptation to look through all of them, piece by piece. And although his demeanor is calm, his eyes betray a maelstrom of emotions—his self-control is shattering. The impulse lurks. His gaze moves downwards. To his crotch. Jesus. He is hard. And sometimes, to regain sanity, he has to acknowledge and embrace the madness. Bucky wavers for a moment, and then, irresistibly impelled by the naughty spirit within him, sits on the floor and finds a red dress underneath the leggings―curiosity sparking in his eyes as his lids to twinkle, because he has never imagine you wearing such feminine clothing. Until now. He wants to see the curve of your back, the dress clinging to your chest and waist, flaring over your hips—and certainly wants to look at your tits in it.

“Fuck”  His throat gurgles slightly, looking at the cloth through his lashes like the starved man he is. It is almost impossible to express himself out loud, satisfaction speaks louder than words. He is overwhelmed by emotions, leaving him both speechless and breathless, but even then it is important to identify the correct emotion—lust, a longing that goes on a loop. He neglects his throbbing cock, but his attention remains the dress as he falls victim to countless daydreams.

There is scarcely time to experience a thrill of his arousal before he sees something else—male boxers. He stands stunned. Paralyzed. Breathless. But there is no time for inaction. His mind floods as he tries to make sense of what he is seeing.

—Men are punished by their sins, not for them.

Seeing the boxers, he speaks of lust in the past tense. The scene that plays in front of him, is perfectly adapted to a temporal phenomenon: distinct, abrupt, framed—illusions are bound to be shattered, reality finally sets in. An indescribable look flits across his face, because that sparks his anger. It is so wrong to feel like this, yet he is firmly persuaded that a great deal of his consciousness, in fact, is a disease, the more deeply it sinks into that mire and the more ready he is to sink in it altogether—Jealousy. He hates those insoluble problems and contradictions of human nature, and that he is capable of conquering his fragile inner center—only silence remains. To take back his power in any given situation, he needs to focus on the things he can control. The thoughts he chooses to think is usually the best place to begin, but by a natural impulse his mind starts to wonder—about this man kissing you, touching you, fucking you. 

==============================

That’s how his unusual behavior is fueled, expressed, plainer than words could do, the intense anguish at having made himself the instrument of opposing his own jealousy. You enter the room and he is already waiting for you and as you approach the bench where he is sitting, he is  supposing you are going to say something, looking up. The expression of his face seems disturbed and anxious as three days ago, lips are half asunder, as if he wants to speak, and draws a breath, but it escapes with a sigh instead of a normal sentence.

“You know, relationships are not allowed here” “What are you talking about?” you pursue, kneeling down by him and lifting your winsome eyes to his face with that sort of look which turns off bad temper, even when it is right in his own world to indulge it. “It is part of the rules, you sighed it” he goes on, less sulkily. “Yeah and I am not in a relationship” you respond, peevishly rising to your feet.  “You just slept with some random guy?” “It is not against the rules” you exclaim in an irritated tone, chafing your hands together and frowning.

“So how was the sex?”  he asks too casually, his countenance growing graver. Bucky has an unusual gloom in his face, that makes you dread something from which you might shape a prophecy, and foresee a fearful catastrophe. Will he expel you from the training program?

“What do you mean?” you ask, with an accent of indignation. “How was it” he asks, emphasizing each syllable “When he fucked you?” —Jealous makes tongue unconscious

You avoid aggravating his fiery temper by staying silent, not knowing what attendees his anger and the curiosity of your personal life. His behavior today provokes you exceedingly, but you lay the blame on his latest mission which was a disaster. He doesn’t have power to conceal his emotions anymore, it sets his whole complexion in a blaze. Bucky rises from the bench, scoops up his water bottle, takes a long gulp from it  and impatiently bades you to go to the training mats, terminating the conversation with a sequel of horrid imprecations in his mind. You know that It is as much a part of him as his limbs, this need to make sure that you are safe, to protect you. But this is the first time that he hasn't been so kind to you. And you remember a definition of chivalry you’d heard once: a man protecting a woman against every man but himself. Through the madness of his words, a part of his soul is revealed—a part of him that has to do with the past. Even if people around him try to forget it, the past remembers him. That void in his chest fills with anger sometimes and it is scary to witness it.

You don’t want to spar with him, but you won’t back down either—back and forth you go, shifting your feet and moving across the mat like some wild, ferocious tango. It is exhilarating to be moving like this with you, so close Bucky can see your eyebrows pinched together in concentration, little drops of sweat as they run down your face. Then it happens. You couldn’t get your arms up in time and Bucky’s next kick hit you squarely in the side. The attempt to conceal the pain doesn’t work as you feel all the strength go out of you as your back hits the ground hard. In a second he gets on top, which makes you wriggle and squirm, trying to throw him off. He grins down at you, enjoying his momentary superiority and the feeling of your smaller body underneath his. You don’t let the mental block or panic control you, ideas flow so rapidly that you have not time to decide what to do—you scowl adorably and arch up against him in a way that sends electricity through him—and that unbalances him enough for you to flip him over and straddle him.  —He is a mournful wreck ruined by his biggest weakness, you. You are on top now, pinning him, grinning down with sparkling eyes. He is exasperated, because he doesn’t know what this look means. He put it somewhere between indifference and pride. Your eyes are so intense he wants to look away—or never look away, he can’t decide, but he keeps his gaze fixed on you as if you fear that you would vanish if he is to remove it. To his shock, the heavy breathing, the rush of adrenaline and endorphins, the intense stare, the rivulets of sweat, arouses him even more. 

“It was nice” you declare, emphatically, speaking sincerely “The sex was nice” you add in a tone particularly calculated to provoke him. 

You seem to allow yourself such wide latitude with both your actions and words today, it really leaves him speechless and you laugh at his reaction as if you are inclined to make it no laughing matter to Bucky. When your eyes meet his gaze as you are staring at each other, time stops. Those eyes are piercing yours, and you can swear at this moment you sense something more. It surprises you that he doesn’t say anything in return. You are not used to seeing Bucky like that—without the attitude, without the facade. He tries to conceal his reaction from you, but his face grows cloudy at your reply, his heart grows pale with pure annoyance: a feeling that reaches its climax when you silently rise and leave the room as Bucky ponderes your reply painfully. He would not have wanted to hear of staying a second longer anyways. ============================== It is a continual nightmare. He needs several days off from all training sessions to meditate on his thoughts in solitude. He persuades his conscience that in a way it is not his fault as possessiveness is a problem, rooted in his ill-bred past―he suffers greatly, because of the brainwashing, torture, his mind struggles between disorder and order, trying to find a balance between the two extremes. 

But he can't keep on running, he needs to face one of his biggest problems―for all his time that he has spent with you, he couldn't avert that excess of emotion: mingled possessiveness and jealousy has overcome him completely lately. The nearer he gets to the facility the more agitated he becomes and on catching sight of it he trembles in every limb. You are young, beautiful and there is something contagious when you act like a brat, it takes root in him and his desire grows along with him―your presence is a moral poison that contaminates his whole mind.  —There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable. You are forbidden. Young. His best trainee.

============================== You are already sitting on the bench and turn around when the door opens. Eye contact. How can he mitigate his adoration for you when he can't concentrate half the time he is around you?

“Good morning, Bucky” 

You say with feigned playfulness and he notices a mischievous smile on your lips. As if you are on hostile terms with him, but still somehow friendly. And what amuses you is painful to him beyond expression―he doesn’t say anything in return, but sits next to you, and looks thoroughly indifferent as he takes the water bottle out of his backpack. It is normal thought, you are alarmed at his recent indiscretion, and the disclosure he had made of his behavior in a transient fit of anger. Bucky is sick with conflict, possessive emotions fester in him while this sludge, guilt, eats away at his insides and he is acutely conscious of the swift passage of time. ―He needs to say something. Finish the session and go home. It is that simple.

And he stares hard at you, watching you take a long drink from your bottle. Then he follows the flick of your tongue over your bottom lip. His heart stumbles a beat. What the actual fuck. Was that on purpose―he has come here to train you and once again, he is left speechless. Then. You lean in, your scent filling his nostrils. He is shocked to feel his throat tighten with a primal hunger, just to hear: “Don’t you like me?”

You laugh softly, utterly feminine sound that galvanizes all of his senses. You lean closer, allowing Bucky to savor the sweet, sinful energy which shimmers from you―some primitive male instinct warns him of your innocence―like a bloom on a vine, fragrant and dainty. He scowles―don’t pinch it off. His heart knows no peace, because everything is wrong with having feelings for you.   *What is she playing at? Is she trying to provoke me? It's working*

“It's not that I don’t like you, it's only that in your presence I don’t like myself”  he speaks without any anger in his voice, but with much sorrowful despondency.

Now, you are the one left speechless, but manage to preserve your external composure, in spite of his ghastly countenance and strange confession. You find childish diversion in the idea of pulling his mental strings―you struggle desperately to not smile as your mind obsessively plays and replays his words, your eyes narrow into thin slits as your gaze doesn’t leave his, because your suspicions are confirmed, he likes you. That describes his change of habitual conduct. A hideous notion strikes you, how wonderful it would be to use the satisfying exhibitions of power and control to deliberately create more desire in him―only to capriciously deny it. It is clear that he doesn’t know that you are a virgin if he accuses you of sleeping with other men. The question is―what exactly provoked him? But your abstraction is evidently so deep, and your whole aspect so misanthropical that Bucky thinks how uncomfortable you might be feeling. He reflects that all those words will be branded in his memory, and they eat him deeply, eternally, because he should have not said them. All because of his greedy jealousy. He looks astonished at the expression on your face, only assuming what you might be thinking of him―he gazes at you with mournful and questioning eagerness, clearly on the verge of madness. He endeavors to say something, but can’t manage it which makes him compress his mouth as he holds a silent combat with his inward shame, meanwhile, your mind offers a perfect plan. 

“Do you want to kiss me?”  

You whisper, anxiously, yet boldly―mesmerized by the tiny flecks of indigo in his blue eyes—you can drown in those eyes and it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. His beautiful features offer themselves to your gaze as you trail through them, annoyed at how attractive he is. You feel stuffy, there is not enough air to breathe as his eyes stare at your lips for a few moments.

“Watch that mouth” 

A wicked curve appears on his lips, because your pure innocence is a kind of insanity to his mind that sees in scattered images of varying vulgarity. Kiss you? He wants to fuck you. You are so impetuous and bold―addictive. “Or what? You will kiss it?”

You say which makes you glance up to find his eyes blazing with raw need. Innocent and virtuous, you represent the exact type of female he needs to avoid…“Or I will fuck it”―ugh, he can’t say that, but he wants to. God, he feels so naked knowing you have clearly identified his desire for you. He can’t go any further down. Rock bottom. His mind is a mess, but he has no intention of cleaning today. You lean, but before he can say anything you lean back and smile, leaving him to grapple with an absurd sense of disappointment. Teasing Bucky is part of the fun that comes before kissing—oh, you will for sure ruin him long before you touch him. It will be more satisfying to exhibit power and control than deliberately creating desire—only to capriciously deny it. His smile is faint and lopsided, his answer takes a long time, which is uncharacteristic: “Don’t do that again” Bucky’s voice is measured, his longing raw. Self control is all he has left. His face feels scattered in pieces and he can’t not keep it straight. The feeling is a whole lot worse than being hungry for any dinner, yet it is like that. All he can think about―is you. “Why? What will you do?” Your laughter sounds like music, you just  can’t miss a chance to remind him what a brat you are and that's when a sense of his folly compels him to mutter: “Why don’t you really keep your mouth shut?” You guess he utters those words, at least, though his voice is hardly intelligible. You know his voice well, bright and brittle, but now it has the thinnest layer of ice over―you know that he feels guilty about liking you. His question is an attempt to repress the intensity of your delight. He looks at you with a droll expression―half angry, half laughing at your boldness. “Why don’t you-” your exhalation carries a rasping tremor as if holding back a giggle “-give my mouth something else to do?” His mouth gaps, but no sound comes out. He stares at you, with a grin hovering about his lips, and a scowl gathering over his eyes:

“I have no words” he articulates softly. “Bucky…” you tease him  “You always have something to say” And yet, he freezes stiff, as if he has been pushed onstage in a play where he doesn't know the lines―God, you’ve broken him. You’ve managed to render him speechless―Dominance. Control. These things are the roots of Bucky’s character. And you are the first person to defy his dominance and to challenge his self control. What a languid woman, a force of gravity by which you irresistibly make him speechless—and at the same time, fuel a new side to him. Eye contact. There is more in the eyes. Longing. The naughtiness emanates from your eyes—you look at him like you own him, openly teasing him as if it’s normal. And now you know that he needs you. This scarred, broken man needs you...and you want to be there for him. There is a silent promise not to let his secret out, but there is no promise for not teasing him purposely from now on—you jolt at the knowledge that you are instilling his inner peace to such an extent. 

Part 2

[sorceresssundries]

The Githyanki Initiate

A Lae'zel prequel story

Art by the incredible @orangekittyenergy - please send her some love for it <3

Warnings: Violence, death, angst

Nestled deep within the Tears of Selûne a hollowed-out asteroid drifted silently through the sea of night, Its silhouette stark against the luminous backdrop of stars and swirling cosmic dust. This was no place for outsiders; it was a sanctified bastion of discipline, a fortress where tradition and honour were etched into the very stone.

Within its confines, the children of Gith were hatched, raised, and forged. Their raw, untamed potential was shaped by discipline and fire, hammered into the tempered steel of seasoned warriors. Here, the weak were culled without mercy, and only the strongest emerged, tested by relentless trials to serve Vlaakith, the eternal Lich-Queen and their pitiless God. 

Not just a training ground; it was a crucible where the young were stripped of weakness, reshaped by pain and perseverance, and reborn as the relentless warriors who would one day take their place among the stars; destined to continue the eternal war against their enemies. Every stone, every shadow, and every breath pulsed with the legacy of a people determined to conquer all, driven by a history of enslavement and a future of unyielding conquest. 

In Crèche K’liir the strong survived, and the weak were forgotten. 

At its heart was a vast chamber filled with the gruelling clang of clashing blades and the grunts of exertion. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the crackling energy of psionic power, as recruits of all ages, from the youngest initiates to those on the brink of joining the Githyanki’s elite, honed their deadly skills under the vigilant eyes of seasoned instructors, their Varsh. The training grounds were meticulously divided into specialised sections, each designed to forge different aspects of combat mastery. Sparring arenas witnessed fierce one-on-one duels, where every strike could mean victory or death. Obstacle courses twisted through the grounds, designed to test not only physical agility but the recruits' strategic thinking and endurance. 

Every failure was a death sentence, and every success a stay of execution. It was barbarous, it was impersonal, it was necessary.

In these unforgiving environs, a lesson was unfolding - one that would be the most challenging, the most pivotal, ever taught to young Lae’zel of Crèche K’liir. 

She was ten years old, and she was about to be changed forever. 

Today, the weight of expectation pressed heavily on Lae’zel’s shoulders as Kith'rak Urlon, a towering figure of authority and unyielding discipline, observed the lesson. His cold, piercing gaze swept over the recruits, measuring their worth with an unreadable expression.

Lae’zel felt the intensity of his scrutiny, every movement of her body under the sharp focus of his eyes. She knew this was not just another lesson - it was a test, one that could define her path within the crèche and into the great beyond. If she was to become a Kith’rak and sit astride a Red Dragon, if she were to bring honour to her race and blaze the legacy of the Githyanki across the stars, it would all start here. Now.

There were no training swords, nor were there lighter, smaller blades meant for the soft hands of younglings. Lae’zel was an initiate of the Githyanki, and she would have her glory, or she would die chasing it. 

With the precision of a seasoned warrior, she sparred against her peers, her blade a blur of calculated strikes. One by one, she disarmed her opponents, her skill evident in the fluidity of her movements and the sharpness of her mind. Finally, she faced a young boy, a cousin from her clutch. Their clash was brief but brutal. With a swift, decisive strike, she brought him to his knees, his weapon clattering to the ground.

As the boy gasped for breath, Lae’zel stood over him, her heart pounding not from exertion but from the realisation that all eyes were on her. Kith'rak Urlon stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing against the stone floor, and stopped before her. His expression was inscrutable, but his words were laced with a cold, hard edge.

“Impressive,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Your ferocity and tactics are commendable, Lae’zel.”

A flicker of pride surged within her, though she kept her expression neutral. “Thank you, Kith'rak.”

“Tell me,” he continued, his tone more probing, “have you made your first kill?”

The question struck her like a physical blow. Though her training had prepared her for this moment, she hadn’t expected it to come so soon. Still, she met his gaze unflinchingly. “I have not, Kith'rak, but I eagerly await the day my blade is baptised in blood.”

He remained impassive. “That day is today,” he declared. He gestured to the boy she had just bested. “Kill him.”

For a heartbeat, hesitation flickered across Lae’zel’s face. The boy knelt before her, his breath ragged. The weight of the command, the finality of it, pressed like too-tight armour against her chest.

They were children. And as her eyes met his, memores stirred within her, bittersweet and fleeting, like a ghost from a time that no longer belonged to them.

She knew him well, he was from her clutch, the same group of young Githyanki raised together from the time they could toddle. They had studied the same ancient texts, shared the same meals in the cold, cavernous mess hall, and endured the same gruelling lessons. There were nights when, after the day’s brutality, they had found moments of quiet together. They would sit at the edge of the great asteroid, looking out at the vastness of space, watching as the lights of far-off worlds twinkled in the distance, promising future conquests. In those quiet moments, they had shared all the possibilities that were waiting for them. The battles they could face, the precious knowledge they could gather.

Entire worlds were theirs to conquer, they had the pride of the Githyanki and the impenetrable imagination of children. 

“What will you become?” Lae’zel had asked him, as she dreamt of her own future. 

He had paused for a while, before answering her. “Whatever I want.”

This was before sharper blades had been pushed into their gentle little hands. Before their futures had been decided and they still had the sweet, innocent privilege of being able to dream one for themselves and to get lost in the bright adventures of tomorrow, the way children often do. But, time has a way of sharpening the softness of youth. What was once a world of limitless possibilities slowly narrowed into a path they had no choice but to walk. Their laughter became battle cries, duty replaced dreaming, and wonder, which had once been boundless, was now shackled, locked away, and eventually… forgotten.

She stared at him now. He was steady, unafraid, despite the certainty of what was about to happen. Knowing him made her proud. Knowing him made her hesitate. Only for a moment, but long enough. 

“Perhaps I was wrong about you, Lae’zel,” Urlon said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Perhaps you lack the ruthlessness required to honour Vlaakith”

His words were a dagger to her pride. The very idea that she could fail, that she might be deemed unworthy in the eyes of her people and their queen, ignited a fire within her. She could feel the eyes of her fellow recruits on her, the raw heat of their judgement. The pressure was immense, suffocating.

“If you cannot fulfil this command, then perhaps you are the one who needs to be culled.” He gestured to three other initiates, waiting patiently at the sidelines.

 “Execute her,” he ordered them coldly.

Something pulled tight snapped within Lae’zel. This would not be the end of her legacy. Her grip tightened on her blade, and without a second thought, she whirled to face the approaching students. Her eyes narrowed as she assessed the threat, she had the calculated mind of a warrior who knew she was outnumbered and outsized… but far from outmatched. 

The first initiate charged with a war cry and Lae’zel dropped into Hrath Ajak, the battle stance known for its precision and fluidity. Her muscles coiled like a spring, and as he brought his sword down in a sweeping arc meant to cleave her in two, Lae’zel darted to the side, her body a blur of motion. His blade met only air, and before he could recover, she was inside his guard, her blade flashing up to slice across his unprotected thigh. With a quick pivot, she thrust her sword into his side, between the plates of his armour. He collapsed, his eyes wide with shock as life was snuffed from them. 

The second initiate lunged at her with a snarl, his blade slashing toward her with well-honed viscousness. Lae’zel twisted her body, just barely evading the strike, but the tip of his sword slashed down her face, leaving a burning line of pain. Blood welled up from the cut and trickled into her mouth, and she spat scarlet onto the floor at his feet and hissed at him in response.

The pain was a whetstone, and she sharpened herself against it.

He advanced, each step deliberate, each swing of his sword aimed to overpower her. Lae’zel danced backward, her movements fluid, conserving her energy as she let him tire himself out. She was smaller, lighter on her feet, and she used it to her advantage. She ducked under a wild swing and darted around him, her blade flicking out to slash at the back of his knee. He staggered but didn’t fall, turning to face her with a growl of frustration. Before the growl was finished, she drew her blade across neck, silencing him with a swift, ruthless strike. He was still spluttering blood as the third soldier attempted to approach her from behind. 

He was the largest of the three, and Lae’zel knew she couldn’t match his strength, so she did not try.  He pressed his attack, striking harder each time, trying to crush her beneath his superior size. Lae’zel’s breath came in short, controlled bursts as she parried his blows, her arms shaking from the force behind each of his hits.

As he brought his sword down in a powerful overhead strike, Lae’zel dropped to the ground, rolling beneath his swing and coming up behind him. She darted around him, her movements quick and unpredictable, her blade slashing at every exposed piece of flesh she could find. Finally, she saw her chance. As he brought his sword up for another heavy blow, she leapt upwards, and thrust her blade under his chin and out through the top of his skull.

Lae’zel stood amidst the fallen, bloodied but unbent, her chest heaving with adrenaline. Salt from her sweat dripped into the gash across her face—it stung fiercely, mingling with the taste of iron on her lips. She felt the pain but did not acknowledge it.

She turned back to the boy, her cousin who she had once gazed at the stars with and asked about his future, and In a single, fluid motion, she drove her blade between his ribs and into his heart. 

His corpse slumped to the ground with the others. 

Kith'rak Urlon watched her with a neutral expression. 

There was a beat where she expected the swing of his sword to drive her to the same fate, but she was spared. 

“You will make a fine soldier, Lae’zel. Report directly to me tomorrow and we will continue your training.”

Lae’zel, still breathing heavily, bowed but did not bother to wipe the blood from her blade as she sheathed it. Let the blood of her kin stain the floor beneath her feet. She cast one last glance at the bodies on the ground before leaving them behind. 

Something had ended today, and something else began. There was no going back. 

Later that night, she sat alone in the Great Library of K’liir. Her ten short years were but a single, unpolished stone against the tower of ancient knowledge surrounding her. She was small, a solitary figure in the vastness, the low orange candlelight throwing shadows that loomed large behind her. In her small hands, still caked with the blood of her kin, she gripped a Githyanki Disc - her gold eyes danced over it, reading the story of her people as though it were a fairytale. To a frail and fanciful human, it might have seemed just that: knights clashing with dragons, the slaying of monstrous horrors. But, this was her history, and her future. She would be a hero to sail the astral sea and bring glory to her kin. She would drag a mind flayer’s severed head through the halls of her people and mount a dragon whose fiery breath would set the stars alight.

She would not just be a part of history; she would make it.

She read the disc in her hands for the third time. 

There is no other race as proud, as fierce, or as deserving of the stars as the Githyanki. We are the survivors of enslavement, the conquerors of our oppressors, and the raiders of countless worlds. We, who have risen from the chains of the Illithids, stand as the eternal guardians of the Astral Plane.

Without our vigilant guardianship, the Illithid parasites would spread like a blight across the cosmos, an uncontrollable plague that devours life and enslaves our people. These soulless creatures would have turned the stars themselves into a wasteland. It is by our hand, our unwavering resolve, that such a fate has been averted. While other races allow their emotions to cloud their judgement, we possess the strength to cast aside such weaknesses and do what must be done. A Githyanki does not falter.

Our brutality is not born of cruelty for its own sake, but of necessity. We do not shy away from the hard choices, the difficult actions that must be taken to preserve the balance of power. It is our destiny to bring order to the chaos that lesser beings have allowed to fester. 

We are the blade that cuts through decay, the fire that purges weakness, the storm that reshapes worlds.

Vlaakith gha'g shkath zai.

After reading it so many times the words became etched in her mind, she walked with aching muscles and a heaviness in her bones over to the great statue of Vlaakith that stood vigilant over the room where the history of her people was held. 

The Lich-Queen’s carved eyes seemed to pierce into Lae’zel’s very soul, demanding her fealty, her submission, her all.

She let herself have one final, mournful thought of a cousin who she had once sat with and talked of the future, before gripping the pommel of her blooded sword and vowing to never hesitate again. One day her sword would be silver, and she would be tethered to no-one, only Vlaakith.

Never again would she sit idly and watch the sun and stars with another, nor let the colours of a hopeful sky warm her days or glimmer with promises of what could be. There was no more colour, no more softness. There was only the red of blood and the black of death.

Lae’zel of Crèche K’liir, was a child no more.

[bratbby333]

jjk camp counselor au

nsfw brain dump, multiple x reader feat: satoru, suguru, nanami, toji, sukuna, shoko + choso summary: you're a camp counselor trying to make the most of your summer

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

satoru would definitely be the one to lead the rallies each morning, he's so charismatic and domineering. he'd also be in charge of the 15-17 year old group (obvi). he'll blatantly flirt with the other female counselors in front of you to make you jealous, sneaking away to the woods while the kids are eating lunch to apologize to you while balls deep inside you...summer fling energy fr

"i-im sorry...promise...it was nothin...meant n-nothing 't me" he pants out, seeing the irritated look on your face as you glare at him from over your shoulder, arms bracing your body against a tree, your jean shorts down by your ankles, panties shoved to the side. "shut up and keep fucking me, satoru," you roll your eyes in response. "show me how sorry you are," your demanding voice wavering slightly, stifling your moans so he doesn't know how good it feels, trying to keep up your annoyed facade. but god does he feel amazing, his tip stimulating your sweet spot with every stroke. he fucks you so much better when he thinks he's in trouble...he's a whining, whimpering mess for you power bottom!gojo supremacy

suguru is most definitely the chill instructor, leading the more creative activities; arts n crafts like tie-dye, making jewelry, etc. all the kids love him, too. he'd beam with pride as they run up to him to show him what they were able to create. he'd profess his feelings for you with a handmade, beaded bracelet.

you sneak out of the women's cabin in the middle of the night to meet up with suguru, finding him sat on the crest of a hill with a blanket laid out to watch the stars "suguru...this is precious," you gasp, eyes bright with adoration, taking a seat next time him, your legs kicked out in front of you and your arms propping you up. - "what about the kids? what if they see us?" you ask, concern plastered across your face, your legs wrapped around his waist, hands secured behind his neck, fingers tangling in his long hair. "don't worry, love," he breaths out, pausing his strokes, his strong arms positioned on either side of your head, "nanami's watching mine and shoko's watching over yours...plus we're so far from camp, no one's gonna see us", he reassures you with his pelvis flush against your core. "you just look so beautiful like this, i couldn't resist" he'd moan out, returning to his initial pace, thrusting deep and slow, the blanket he had laid out now disheveled. the moonlight bounces off your skin in the most ethereal way, and suguru can't get enough of you.

nanami would be in charge of the whole camp, carefully organizing everyone's permission slips, allergy forms and medical records (which were alphabetized and given to shoko), the payments from parents, the whole nine yards; ensuring everything ran smoothly. he would also be the one supervising the obstacle courses. he'd carefully and methodically strap the kids into their harnesses, surveying everyone intently...do you really think he'd trust the other dummies he works with to do so?

and of course he'd find a way to repurpose the harnesses as restraints in the privacy of the men's cabin with you, the two of you slipping away during one of satoru's overly energetic pep rallies. "ken...what if someone catches us?" you moan out, your arms secured behind you, your back arched, and your chest pressed against the mattress. his deep, purposeful strokes continue, his voice steady as he repsonds. "don't worry, love. we made the mistake of giving satoru the mic, he'll talk for hours if you let him...now hush and let me take care of you, yeah?" you nod back before moaning loudly, the depth of his cock in this position is hitting spots you didn't know existed. "you're taking me so well. such a good girl for me," he groans out, his trust speeding up, the sounds you're making for him spurring him on.

toji would be in charge of the more physical intramurals; dodgeball, kickball, archery, and life guard on duty for the water activities.

and god did he look good while patrolling the waters, his broad shoulders and tanned skin glowing under the summer sun, his wet swim trunks clinging to his thick, muscular thighs. you watch him from your beach chair, legs clenching and core pulsing at the sight of his sternly focused face, his eyes running up and down the lake, his body glistening from the droplets of water trickling from his damp hair. you're glad shoko is more attentive with the kids because your mind is elsewhere (and for a valid reason, too). - after the kids are sent to get changed into their dry clothes, he absolutely obliterates you in the boat house. "saw you watchin' me the whole time...this what you needed, love?" he'd ask through gritted teeth, his thrusts hard and deep, his thick cock stretching you out perfectly. you whimper in response, eyes low, mouth agape, nodding profusely as his fingers dig deeper into your hipbones. "uh huh..needed you so bad, toji," you whine out. baywatch!toji has me putting my fist in my mouth

sukuna would not get hired because the organizers were afraid that he'd try to create a child army and illicit a rebellion to overthrow the camp counsellors, creating a dystopian society where the kids tend to the land and run his errands for him. bummer... ruined his summer plans.

shoko helps you run the girl's cabin. she also works the first aid tent during the day, her long hair tied back to keep her cool. you lean up against a tree, admiring her beauty. you're pulled from your daydream when gojo elbows you in the side, shooting you an amused look; "go make a move, she likes women, ya know?" wiggling his eyebrows at you before running off to frolic in the water with his group.

the two of you sneak away during the bonfire, finding yourself in her bunk, laid on your back with her soft tongue attacking your clit. "sho, i'm close," you gasp out, your hands tangling in her auburn hair. she hums in response, the vibrations pushing you even closer to your release. you cry out for her, the pleasure coursing through you is overwhelming your senses. she uses one hand to cover your mouth, the other swipes between your folds before inserting two finger into your dripping cunt, curling slightly to massage your g-spot. your hips buck against her mouth, before you spill all over her tongue from the added stimulation. as you try to regain your breath, she leans over you and places two fingers against your neck. you gaze up at her through dazed eyes, shooting her a questioning look. "just checkin' your pulse, thought i was losin' you," she laughs.

choso takes his job very seriously, basically a helicopter parent while watching the kids...he's so protective of the children, treating them as if they were his own siblings. he stops dead in his tracks when he first lays eyes on you, watching you interact with your group; you are so sweet with your kids, tenderhearted and caring...he falls in love almost immediately and all he wants is to get close to you.

his soft, slow strokes make you giggle into his ear. everyone's in the mess hall for dinner, leaving the cabin empty, the once silent building now filled with your moans. "cho, you can be rougher with me," you sigh out, pulling him deeper into you, groaning at the stretch of his fully engulfed member. he buries his head into the crook of your neck, a long moan leaving his parted lips as he bottoms out against you. his cheeks flush to a bright red...you swear you can feel the heat emanating off them. "i know...jus' scared i'll cum fast if i go harder...you're just so pretty...so fuckin' sweet, angel," he whimpers out. he paws at every inch of you, his strokes getting more frantic, kissing your cheeks delicately and whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

author notes: this made me giggle so much while writing. i love doing short form AUs, theyre so entertaining to me. sorry about sukuna's i was feeling unhinged when i wrote it

if u have any requests, feel free to send them my way! here's the link to my inbox ☺︎ leave an emoji if you want to be added to my anon club, or send it with your url and i'll credit you!

i really liked this idea and im considering making it a longer story, but i only wanna focus on one character x reader...leave a comment with who you'd want it to be with! (counselor!gojo is calling to me, but what do y'all think?)

thank you all for your love and support on my work...i literally tear up when i get the notifications. i'm so honored that y'all find my writing enjoyable enough to interact ❤︎

© bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do not distribute. 2024.

[pirateprincessblog]

Daddy Chronicles

𝘾𝘼𝙐𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉! 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝘼𝙍𝙀 𝘼𝘽𝙊𝙐𝙏 𝙏𝙊 𝘼𝙋𝙋𝙍𝙊𝘼𝘾𝙃 𝙄𝙎𝙉'𝙏 𝙎𝙐𝙄𝙏𝘼𝘽𝙇𝙀 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙋𝙀𝙊𝙋𝙇𝙀 𝘽𝙀𝙇𝙊𝙒 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘼𝙂𝙀 𝙊𝙁 𝟭𝟴｡

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲? ↳ Go Back ↳ Nah, I'm good

The boys are all aged up, I do not mention the exact age anywhere, so you are free to imagine whatever you want.

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝟎% 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭, 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐟!𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳!

read for me

park seonghwa ➳ bookworm!reader, ceo!seonghwa, bestfriend'sdad!seonghwa

synopsis: best friend's father has a rather big book collection, and you are a big bookworm who has started losing touch with reality. he shows you just how real it can get away from the covers and pages.

one

two

three

in vino veritas

kim hongjoong ➳ artist!hongjoong, dilf!hongjoong

synopsis: hongjoong loves art, wine, and pretty girls. how convenient that on the opening night of his art gallery, as he sips his red wine, his eyes land on you.

one

player 9

jeong yunho ➳ footballplayer!yunho, coach!yunho, aunt!reader

synopsis: you always thought that your nephew's football coach was handsome, and when he invites all the parents and families to come watch him play a big match, you struggle to keep your cool while watching his clothes stick to his body and his face and muscles glistening with sweat.

one

three is a crowd

kang yeosang ➳ swimminginstructor!yeosang

synopsis: a tragic event in your childhood created an aquaphobia for you. at pool parties, beaches, and camping, you are always the one to stay out of the water. until your father finds you a swimming instructor, who solves one problem, but creates another one.

put on a show

song mingi ➳ ceo!mingi, fashiondesigner!mingi, model!reader

synopsis: your ceo is to die for. drop dead gorgeous, aged like fine wine, a figure you’d kill to have. his only problem? he might be the meanest person you’ve ever met in your life. then why are you enjoying his degrading words as he makes you take every inch he has to give you?

silver band

choi san ➳ collegeprofessor!san, student!reader

synopsis: choi san is a married man, and the hottest professor you’ve ever seen. you feel unnatural amounts of jealousy and hatred each time he opens his laptop to start the lesson, showing everyone through the projector the desktop picture of his wife while he opens the files he needs to teach. you want a taste of him so bad, but he shows zero interest towards you. or anyone else. so how will you pull this off?

white dress

choi jongho ➳ dad’sbestfriend!jongho, bride!reader

synopsis: you don’t love this man at all. he is a cheater, he hits you, he flirts with other women in front of you. what has gotten into your father’s mind and is forcing you to marry that bastard? maybe his best friend has a little more compassion and will notice your silent cries for help.

20% off next buy

jung wooyoung ➳ cashier!wooyoung, pervyneighbour!wooyoung, innocentexploring!reader

synopsis: never in your life did you see a dildo this huge. it’s so… big, so purple, and it’s staring right back at you. the cashier seems to notice your horrified face with each isle you walk down, and he can’t help but offer you help. how can he help, when even you don’t know what you’re looking for?

[unholyhelbig]

part 4 mob boss mommy *i mean natty oops*

Title: The Oversight [Part 4/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 4325

Warnings: Gun imagery, heights, unecessary tension, horrible grammar, and funnel cake

[A/n: Heads up, I wrote this while I had the flu & a pretty bad fever, so it's not my greatest work. Thank you all for the postive feedback!]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

“Hit me.” Natasha’s words were growled, a low rumble compared to the warm spring breeze that produced nothing but a balmy environment. Sweat glossed her collarbone, moved against expanses of skin that you had let yourself imagine, but had never seen. She was a distraction, despite being your instructor.

Her wrapped fist made contact with your jaw, a metallic taste coating your tongue. You let out a grunt of protest, fingers quickly working against the area to ease the throbbing pain. “That wasn’t fair,”

“You think they’re going to play fair? Focus up. Hit me.”

There was something about being this close to Natasha that formed a pit in your stomach. You were meant to have skin on skin contact, though most of your mornings for the past two weeks had been spent at the gun range, she had deemed you ready enough to learn how to fight. It was an art, you figured, not just something you could blindly go into.

For the first fifteen minutes of your day, you had watched Natasha and Kate spar. Yelena was standing next to you, a borderline predatory gaze on her face. You’d realized that it was one of the only emotions she harbored, and that Clint was rightful in his fear. Still, her attention was not focused on you, and that was good enough for the time being.

Instead, it was homed in on Kate. “I have been teaching her for nearly a year now.”

“She’s good.”

“You do not have to lie, y/n. She’s sloppy, reckless. Look how calculated Natalia is.”

Those emerald eyes were tracking every move the taller girl made. She’d initiated contact with Kate’s ribs, with her knees, and her shoulders. She’d fallen to the grass more times than you could count, but she still got up. That’s what seemed to count around here. Even as green a brown stained her workout gear, and as purple blotches of dead blood rose to the surface of her skin.

“It pays to learn fighting styles. That is something the Danver’s family does not understand. They hire whoever they can. Bodies over skill, it can work in some situations, but not all.”

“When did this… war start?”

“Mm, the power struggle has been raging for decades. Our parents, and their parents, and their parents before them. Both of us were trained to take over the family business. Men, they fight with their hearts and not their heads. When Carol and Natalia took up the mantel, things only got worse.”

You felt silly, growing up on these city blocks, and not realizing that a fight bigger than yourself was raging just within the shadows. You supposed that was a good thing. If you knew, you’d have taken Ronnie out of here in a second.

Kate hit the ground for a fourth time, the air knocked out of her lungs. She still had enough left to groan and prop herself up on her elbows. Natasha chuckled, the sound bubbling past her lips. This was much too fun for her.

“She is fragile.” Yelena nudged you with her arm. You frowned. Kate accepted the outstretched hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. She looked dazed. “Do not tell her I said so, but she was looking for a project. You have to give it your all. For both of your sakes.”

You drew in a breath to respond, but Yelena clapped a hand on your back before taking a step toward the dueling duo. “Alright Nat! I think you’ve tortured Kate Bishop enough. Do not break her.”

Kate was bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet, her fists raised in a defensive position. Her lip was split, rusty crimson against the corner of her mouth. “I can do this all day.”

“You do not have to.” Yelena’s nose scrunched up “You stink. Go take a shower.”

The blonde shoved Kate playfully towards the house, trailing behind her and murmuring things in Russian. She’d left you alone with Natasha, something you had become quite accustomed to. In your workout gear, you felt more than a little exposed, her stare raking up and down your form before her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink than they already were.

The two of you had sat on the lawn chairs as she wrapped your knuckles, had you punch the palm of her hand to see how much blowback it would cause. You were holding back, and you both knew it. Her last command had been non-negotiable.

When you swung your right hand towards her jaw, Natasha wrapped her fingers around your wrist. She had flipped you onto the ground with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. You’d flailed in panic instead of going limp like Kate had.

You’d dragged Natasha down on top of you. Her body weight was warm from the beating sun, her elbows on either side of your head. Natasha’s knee was between yours, pressing into your core. You let out a small gasp at the sensation, pulling in her musky scent of sweat and clove.

Stray strands of russet hair framed Natasha’s face as she peered down at you, her chest heaving, each breath pushing her closer to you. Her nose was brushed against yours. The two of you were impossibly close, soul-crushingly so. You were certain that she could feel your heartbeat through your shirt.

She made a quite noise “Pet, if you wanted to get me on top of you, all you had to do was ask.”

Your gaze had given you away, and Natasha suddenly had a shit-eating grin against her lips. You hooked your legs against hers an arm wrapping around her waist. In a smooth move, you had her flipped against the grass, eyes reflecting the blue of the cloudless sky. She nearly seemed impressed, and you preened at the stare.

That was before her knee came up and knocked the wind out of you for the second time. You grunted, rolling off her. The two of you stared up at the sky for a few moments before she hoisted herself up and offered you a hand. You batted it away out of habit, rising on your own.

“When you fall, you fall with grace.” Natasha said, her voice stoney, right back to her serious self. “That way you don’t end up like we just were.”

“And if they ask?” you lifted an eyebrow at her, a hint of malice in her voice. She took a step closer to you, and that ever-intoxicating scent filled your lungs once more. Your ribs still ached from her kick, fingers massaging the sore spot. However, all of your movement halted.

Her voice was murmured and rusty. “I don’t want anyone else on top of you.”

“Okay,” You whispered, throat suddenly tight. “Then show me how.”

Veronica had the excited reflection of light in her eyes. They scanned the traveling fair that had been set up in the park bordering the harbor and a square city block. Each year, tents with local vendors would go up, rides and carnival games in their stead.

The scent of kettle corn filled your lungs, a mix of sweet and salty that reminded you of your own childhood spent here. It was the one constant that every foster family took part in. Sometimes you’d be given a stack of tickets, others, you’d get enough for a large cup of the best lemonade you had ever tasted.

Her hand tightened around yours, squeezing in excitement. Despite your current situation, you couldn’t help but smile. The soft sound of music and the light breeze was enough to make your forget about your aching muscles, and the light sweater that you had thrown on to hide the bruising against your shoulders, your arms, and collarbone. Natasha had really done a number on you.

“Jimmy is a nice guy, he really is, but the whole magic thing is driving me nuts.” Darcy used her forefingers to pinch off a bit of blue cotton candy, shoving it into her mouth. She talked around the melting sugar. “Seriously, he spilled my coffee all over my lap attempting a card trick and then attempted to mop it up with a never-ending handkerchief.”

You snickered at that, earning a look cut from glass. “What? I’m sorry about your drycleaning, but it is kind of funny.”

“Yeah, whatever. I just have to grow a backbone. He doesn’t try to pull that shit with Monica. No one tries to pull that shit with her.” She knelt in front of Ronnie, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “You’re not going to tolerate stupid magic tricks, are you?”

She was met with a silent, but amused stare, her eyebrow lifted. You’d been leveled with that look more than once yourself. It dissolved you into more laughter. “Alright, alright. No magic for the kid. Does the Ferris Wheel count as magic?”

“Well sure, but only at the worlds fair.”

You rolled your eyes but effectively tugged them both into the line. It had always been one of your favorites. It gave you a good look at the city you called home. Of course, your view of that city had been stunted lately. It never truly changed the beauty of the lights and the way they reflected off the water.

Your shoulder came in contact with chilled leather, your attention having been trained on fishing through your pockets for the small red tickets. Your eyes shot up, ready to rush out an apology until the words stopped in your throat.

Seeing Natasha outside of her manor was jarring. She looked nearly the same, a tight-fitting black T-shirt and a leather jacket draped over her shoulders. Her hair was loose, unlike it was at training earlier in the day, cascading down her shoulders. Her make-up was light, her unripe stare pouring into yours. That bewilderment melted into her cool exterior as if it were never there in the first place.

“Natasha,” the word poured from your lips before you could stop it, and the corner of her mouth quirked up in amusement. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I can take a hit” She stated matter-of-factly. You were well aware of the fact, and you had to stifle a shiver as it worked its way down your spine. Hours before she had been nestled so perfectly on top of you.

Your cheeks heated up and you glanced sparingly at your friend, her own eyes going back and forth between the both of you. It was then that you noticed Clint, towering over Natasha with his arms crossed over his chest. He gave you a finger wave, and you lifted your chin in return.

“I’m Darcy, you are?” She was beyond forward, and it made you internally cringe. She reached her hand out to the very woman that ran the city. It was like sticking your hand in the lions enclosure covered in steak sauce.

“Natasha,” her words dripped with a subtle hint of her accent “This is Clint.”

“Howdy,” he knelt then, Veronica was clinging tightly to your leg, peeking around tentatively. She hugged you closer as he spoke. “You must be Veronica.”

The woman in front of you softened as you had never seen before. Her eyes grew brighter, though you could pin that on the circulating lights of the Ferris Wheel. There was a genuine smile on her lips as she looked at the girl who hugged you ever close.

“She doesn’t talk much, I’m afraid.” Your hand moved comfortingly to her shoulder. Ronnie seemed comfortable, if not excited about the rides that were teeming around them.  

Nat smiled at you “Oh, I’m sure she’ll speak when she has something to say.”

Ronnie’s death-grip on your leg seemed to loosen a bit as Clint straightened up. Darcy continued to scrutinize you and Natasha, something mischievous in her stare that you didn’t exactly care for. She rocked back and forth on her feet and directed her attention to Clint.

“How good are you at skeeball?”

“An absolute beast.” Clint replied.

“What do you say to a challenge? I bet I can kick your ass with the power of science. Winner springs for funnel cake.”

You picked up on the subtle look Clint gave Natasha and the even more subtle wave that she responded with. She blew an amused breath. Darcy stretched her hand towards Ronnie and wiggled her finger. “Kid, you staying or going?”

This time, Ronnie looked up at you for confirmation and you gave her a small, encouraging nod. She dislodged herself and wrapped her hand around Darcy’s. The promise of flaky and sweet funnel cake topped with powdered sugar was too tantalizing.

Admittedly, you were used to being left alone with Natasha at this point. Though it had mostly been in a business capacity. She seemed almost shy now, the line for the Ferris Wheel inching ever so closer.

“We can still go on, if you want.” She suggested.

“Yeah, yes. Of course.” You replied, “that would be lovely.”

“Your friend is very persistent.”

“She’s harmless, really.”

“And your daughter. She’s beautiful.” Natasha shoved her hands into her pockets, the two of you inching closer in line. “Just like her mother.”

Once again, you could feel the breath lodge in your throat, your cheeks flushing with fire. She was so bold at moments, and you remained silent in your conquest. There was no telling what was overstepping, though she blinked at you expectantly.

You fumbled dumbly with the tickets in your pockets, presenting them to the attendant. You both ended up in a cherry red car lined with nice leather cushions. Natasha’s thigh was warm against yours, her thick scent coating your lungs. Her arm was around the back of the cart, and a familiar sense of safety settled within you.

“You worry about her,” Natasha said to fill the silence as they loaded each cart. It lurched forward and back, making your stomach turn. “I didn’t start speaking until I was nine years old. My mother, she was so concerned that she rushed to be every specialist that money could buy. Whole days spent driving to different counties, just for them to say that same thing. Nothing is wrong, and I’ll talk when I’m ready.”

“What was that moment? The one where you were ready?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “The thing about being quiet, is that people tend not to notice when you’re in the room. My father protected Yelena and I from his world for as long as he could, but eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves, and others. I watched him give a man his last drink before shooting him between the eyes.”

“Fuck, Natasha.” You murmured.

“He doesn’t know I saw that. I ran as quietly as I could back to my room and hid under the duvet like a child. Something snapped in me that day and I no longer wanted to be silent. I suppose the fear of displeasing either of them ebbed the words from me.”

She was being vulnerable in front of you, a side that you had never seen. There were always her subtle touches, and her purred words that would hit the pit of your stomach. You’d watch as she gave unwavering commands to Clint, to Yelena and Kate. But this was different. This was her.

The city sparkled around you. Tricolored lights reflected off the blackness of the causeways that lapped listlessly at the harbor. If you squinted, you could almost make out the mansion where you spent most of your time.

The carnival buzzed below. Her scent was overwhelming, so warm and welcoming despite her danger. And dangerous she was. It was alluring, exciting. You looked at her, eyes pouring with emotion. Not so much pity, as she would snap your wrist at the fact. But a simple understanding.

Tentatively, you reached up and cupped her cheek. You both were too far above the ground to be realized and the simple gesture was one of good faith. Surprisingly, she leaned into your touch, making a quiet, relieved noise.

Your voice was whispered, “You didn’t deserve that. You were just a kid.”

She had closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth of your contact. Her features were so soft, so broken in this moment that you resisted the urge to kiss her frown away. Before you could contemplate it, the Ferris Wheel lurched and she gently took her fingers and wrapped them around your wrist, lowering both of your hands into her lap.

“She’ll talk,” Natasha gave your hand a squeeze “give her time.”

Natasha cleared her throat as the cart neared the end of its journey. She pulled away entirely, her arm still along the back of the seat. When she leaned closer, you could feel the weight of the gun in the inside pocket of her jacket. Seriousness had lidded over her eyes once more.

“We have a job tonight, and I want you to come along.” She said, breath hot on your collarbone.

You were suddenly snapped back to reality. Natasha was in fact the head of a crime ring that you had unwittingly stumbled into. Up until now, aside from the brutal beating, it had almost felt like child’s play. She’d relearned you how to shoot, and you knew the very basics of fighting. But, you were far from her Winter Soldier stand in. You weren’t even a toy soldier.

She sensed your hesitancy. “I have a meeting at a restaurant downtown. It’s not going to go south, but if it does, I need you there. You won’t be alone.”

“Clint?” You asked.

She shook her head “guys got a family of his own, he must spend some time with them outside of work hours. Kate.”

You fought back the noise that threatened to escape your throat. You didn’t doubt Kate, but you certainly doubted yourself. You didn’t have your own weapon, and the threat of leaving a restaurant with a bullet lodged between your ribs became very real, very quickly.

She chuckled at that, “I trust her. I trust you. Just stand there and follow her lead. Look hot and intimidating.”

“Is hot really a requirement?”

“Not really, but you pull it off.” There was a switch in her again, one that had been flipped effortlessly as she grabbed the collar of your sweater and pulled you impossibly close. You were nearly sitting in her lap. “Don’t fail me on this, y/n. It’s imperative that you do as you’re told.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You swallowed thickly as her hands wandered your side expertly. It took you a moment to realize that she had pulled the gun from her own coat and silently transferred it to yours before she released her hold on you. You had admit that you missed the touch instantly.

She stood from the cart when the attendant unlocked the door, reaching her hand out to you. You took it was ease, letting her help you onto the metal dismount. There were no words exchanged as you readjusted the weapon as slyly as you could muster, hands shoved into your pockets a moment later.

“I don’t know what to tell you, dude.” You could hear Darcy’s voice from within the crowds. It was easy to spot them, and you swore you saw the ghost of a smile on Natasha’s face. “The kid kicked both of our asses. Split the difference and pay up.”

“Yeah, fine.” Clint fished out his wallet and placed a couple of bills in Darcy’s waiting palm. “The price of carnival food these days is outrageous.”

Kate had presented you with a leather holster that fit snuggly around your chest and abdomen. She’d tightened the straps, your arms halfway raised. It felt a bit like a dressing room at the mall, her breath hot on your cheek as she tugged the center strap to make sure it was secure.

“Natasha likes us to be presentable.” She handed you a dark jacket to throw over the contraption. “Inconspicuous and deadly. But still presentable.”

You followed Kate’s lead. Natasha was to drive to the restaurant, and the two of you were to follow in a separate car. It was important to stay quiet unless you were spoken to directly by Natasha. Kate seemed at ease on the ride over, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel to an incoherent pop song.

The holster pinched you uncomfortably, but you were so deep into your own fear, your own reluctance, to pay much attention. Kate shot you a look, hard in her nature, and then softer when she glanced at you a second time.

“You’re much too tense” she flicked off the radio, delving you into a comfortable silence. “Lower your shoulders and relax. It’ll be an uneventful night.”

“Right,” you let out a shaky breath “uneventful.”

“Look, I can’t imagine how jarring this is for you. I would have shut down by now, changed my name and gone into witness protection if I was thrown into this life the way you are. Without a choice. But, we can make the best of it and do what we can to protect Natasha.”

“It seems like she can handle herself,”

Kate chuckled “Oh, she can. But she doesn’t keep us around just for protection. It’s a big city, she wants people she trusts. She wants a family. And I know it might not seem like it, but her welcoming you into her inner circle… it’s a blessing. Just like we’d go to bat for her, she’d do the same for us.”

You swallowed the dryness in your throat as Natasha pulled her car to the curb in front of a russet brick building. Kate did the same expertly, shutting off the engine. She clapped you on the shoulder, giving you one more encouraging smile. “One night at a time, y/n. Follow my lead.”

Kate opened the door for Natasha, and you had to keep your jaw from dropping on the ground at the sight of her. Her long leg stretched onto the sidewalk, her hand squeezing Kate’s in return as she helped her from the vehicle.

She wore a maroon dress, one that had a slit down the leg that left little to the imagination. The color matched the shirt Kate had given you earlier, everything orchestrated to a tee. The woman looked at you approvingly before she took striding steps towards the front of the building. Out of habit, you held the door open for you, another look sparkling in her dark eyes.

It was a restaurant that you had never set foot in. There was a sour, yet pleasant, scent of vinegar and cabbage masked with that of freshly baked bread and beef. The walls were painted deep green, black and white photos of rolling hills placed above empty tables.

It was clear what table you were to be led to. There was one in the center of the restaurant that was set up with a bottle of wine, and water. A candle burned in the middle, shading the woman who occupied it with shadows that stretched her delicate features. She wasn’t alone.

The woman had cropped blonde hair at the shoulders. Her hazel eyes were calculating, clocking Kate and yourself immediately. Kate pulled Natasha’s chair back, allowing her to sit before she took a step back. You flanked her sides, arms behind your back and stare trained straight ahead like a sentinel.

“Two,” the woman smiled devilishly, hiding it behind a glass of deep red wine. “Are you compensating for something, or someone?”

The woman who stood much like you did behind her boss was not masking her contempt towards you. She was familiar in an irking way that you paid no mind to. It was in passing, you were sure, but it was one of those itches that would worsen until you could scratch it with your whole hand.

“Not at all,” Natasha replied cooly, “I believe there was something you wanted to discuss?”

“Mm, there was. You know the Maroni property on the west side.” She leaned forward, placing her glass down. Her lips were stained in a dark red that matched Natasha’s dress. “I want it.”

“That’s a horrible way to say please.”

“Natasha, we both know it doesn’t serve you in it’s current position.” She put emphasis on the name.

“I fail to see how that matters. Just giving you the property is out of the question. That’s not how this works, but I do admire your gumption.”

“Then how exactly does, this work?” She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. Both you and Kate tensed. The vaguely-familiar woman behind Carol shifted on her feet in the slightest movement. “You kill one of my men and offer nothing in return?”

Natasha lifted her eyebrows “Exactly. This isn’t a bartering system, and it never has been. If I give you this building, it will change everything and I’m not much in the mood for a power struggle. What do you need it for?”

She seemed to falter “I don’t have to answer that. I’m offering to buy the property from you.”

“It’s not for sale.”

There was finality in her voice that rocked the room into silence. She hadn’t touched her wine, nor her water, and you figured she wouldn’t. Carol glowered at her, clearly not used to having her endeavors squashed with such ferocity.  

Natasha took a steadying breath. “Is that all? It’s late and I’m tired of your graveling.”

She let out a sigh and crossed her legs, drumming her ringed fingers on the cloth-laid table. The flames in the candle seemed to react to her impatience. Kate’s jaw clenched and unclenched as she leveled the woman behind Carol with a fierce stare.

“I suppose. I want you to remember this moment, Natasha. I offered you a deal.” She stood and dramatically sighed once more. “This could have been easy.”

Kate always kept her eyes on Carol, on the woman who followed behind her with her hands shoved into her pockets. The darkness of a previous scar littered her collarbone. She had the same stare that Bucky had, that same determined anger that came with years of meetings with higher stakes than this.

“Oh, and Nat.” She stopped just short of the door, turning to face the three of you.

Kate reached for her weapon, and out of a blind trust, so had you. It was warm from its housed place against your side. In that moment, you knew that anyone else in the room would be a quicker shot than you. Still, your heart was beating quickly in your throat.

“I don’t know where your Winter Soldier is, but this is a sorry excuse for a replacement.” She laughed, a mean sound. “A kid and a burn-out… you should’ve taken the deal.”

She left without another word, leaving you in a chilling silence. For a few long moments, Natasha stared at the table, at her reflection in the syrupy red wine. Her fingers brushed against the glass, frowning.

“I’m twenty-three.” Kate let out in a single breath, eyes drifting from you.

“Don’t look at me,” You whispered back, “I am a burn-out.”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toocreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos @cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145]

[shadeysprings]

YOU

—Art Collector!Steve Kemp x F!Reader

Summary — Your unexpected meeting with the famous art collector takes a dark turn when you learn the secret of his private collection.

Warnings — oral (female receiving), dismembered bodies, disrespect to the dead, entrapment, plots of killing, serial killer vibes, Steve being a calm psycho. There may be more I haven't mentioned but please read with caution.

Word Count — 5.4K

A/N — Story #1 for my FREAKtober Fest. The fic was heavily inspired by the movie itself and House of Wax. I'm happy to finally explore Steve's character in writing and I must say, I enjoyed every bit of it. The title was taken from the song You.

Gif by the amazing @steve-kemp

Shout out to @vellicore and @sgt-seabass for bouncing ideas with me and being my beta.

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

They didn’t come.

It was all you could think about as almost 2 hours had passed since your grad show started. Despite your parents’ — mostly your mom’s — disapproval of pursuing an arts program, you still invited them to the show. You hoped that if they saw what you were truly doing, they would understand your passion for paints and charcoal.

But it was a long shot, and you knew that. Though at least you tried…right?

You envy your classmates who carry bouquets while they present their artwork to their families and strangers alike. You were lucky enough to have a few come by your cubicle, delighted to explain the medium and process of your work. Some seemed genuinely intrigued while others, you can tell, only came by and endured your talk for the free stickers you offered at the end of your spiels.

Another hour passes by and you look up front when you hear an announcement being made by your instructor; a class photo. You’re reluctant to join, seeing no value in such a thing to be done as it’s obvious that once the day ends, they will be strangers once again. But another adamant call from your instructor has you heading to the front, a frown forming on your face when you’re pushed at the back, towered by your classmates—unseen once more. 

As parents and several others grab the opportunity to take a photo, your eyes suddenly divert back to your cubicle when you see someone looking over at your main art piece. You can’t put a pin on his face but you know you’ve seen him before. 

Once the group photo has ended, you immediately head back to your spot, catching the familiar stranger taking one of your stickers as well as a business card that sits beside it. It’s when you finally recognize him—and you’re in utter shock that he would be looking at your work. He finally notices you, a smile on his face as he holds out his hand. 

“Hi.” He begins, “I’m—”

“You’re Steve Kemp.” You finish for him, the confidence you suddenly displayed startling the both of you. But you push on when you see a smile of amusement on his face, taking his hand to shake. “You’re the famous art collector.” You wouldn’t have known it was him with how dressed down he looked with the corduroy jacket and navy jeans, but you’ve seen his face several times in art articles that you wouldn’t miss it.

“I wouldn’t say I’m famous.” He humbles himself but he lacks the conviction to make it believable. “I think I’m just skilled in finding pretty things—like this one.” He gestures towards your charcoal painting, the look of interest evident on his face. “What compelled you to incorporate a whale and an astronaut? What’s the story behind it?”

His question makes you smile. Maybe he is interested, you think to yourself and look towards your artwork before diving deep into your answer. 

“The artwork was inspired by the 52 Hertz Whale.” You begin. “Just to give you a little background; out of all the whale species, it’s the only one that makes a call with such a distinct pitch. Researchers had guessed that it could be a hybrid of two whale species but any attempts to search for the creature for further study have failed. Though some have been saying that it’s not a whale but an entirely different animal.

“Loneliness was the main theme of the piece—just like the whale, if it truly exists, it is alone in the vast sea; with no family to call its own and with it being different from the others, no one would listen or understand their cries. Akin to the lonely astronaut floating in the endless void of space. Though the flowers and the seagull represent hope and freedom—that one day, everything they thought to be true would change, that someone is there to listen and welcome them in their arms.”

You feel yourself shiver and your heart race as you end your interpretation. How the art piece truly mirrors your life and your cry for recognition from the people who truly matter. You try your best not to shed the tears that well in your eyes, presenting the collector with a smile and hoping he sees it as passion and confidence. 

But the look on his face startles you; there’s no judgment but you see a hint of amusement in his sapphire eyes. You think he’s about to say something, to comment on what you said, instead, he looks back at the artwork, seemingly appraising it. 

“How much?” The question stuns you. Did you hear correctly?

“I’m sorry?” 

“I want to buy your art piece.” He expounds. “How much are you selling it for?”

That’s the last thing you expected to be asked in a college grad show. Was he seriously wanting to purchase it? You try to answer, to tell him that you’re not really looking for buyers nor expecting to sell any of your work but no words come out of your mouth, still taken aback by his surprising inquiry.

“I don’t—” You stutter. “I’m not really—”

The chuckle he makes has you pulling on the cuffs of your oversized flannel, feeling slightly anxious at the thought that he’s making fun of your state of shock. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He says with a smile, one that you mimic if only to ease the tension building within you. “But I am serious. I do want to buy it.”

Still, you don’t know what to say. Do you just give him an amount and call it a day?

“Why don’t you sit on it? Let’s say two days and I can give you a call for your price.” He holds up your business card between two fingers, the smile on his face turning into a playful smirk. “What do you say?”

Under-dressed.

Not that it was a concern you realistically should have but the patrons of the bar made you feel as such with the men clad in suit jackets and the women, either in dresses or whatever you call the style of attire that was classier than your hoodie-jeans-sneakers combo. At least you brought a coat—that’s fancy enough, right?

You nurse your Bellini cocktail and thumb through your phone while waiting for Steve, popping your conversation thread with him every second or two just to assure yourself that he confirmed, or rather, planned the night of drinks to discuss your “Lonely Whale” piece as he coined it. It seemed odd at first but his determination was what compelled you to agree to meet him. 

The hiss of the straw fills your ears as you suck the last dregs of your drink. You shouldn’t have come early, you tell yourself, then you wouldn’t need to order another glass to accompany you on your wait. 

“Need a top-up?” A familiar voice from behind startles you and you look up to see Steve, decorated in a maroon wool sweater and that tantalizing smile he seems to always have. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad coming here to this part of town.” He says as he takes a seat beside you in the booth. 

You scoot over to give him room, surprised that he didn’t take the one across from you. “Please, don’t be sorry. I wasn’t waiting long.” You assure him with a soft smile, tapping a finger on the rim of your glass. “The drink kept me company.”

“Are they any good?” He asks but he’s already called the attention of a server before you can even reply. He orders a Bloody Mary—quite peculiar, you think, but you’re not one to judge someone's preference. “And the lady will have another, please.” 

Silence envelops the both of you as you wait for the drinks to arrive, feeling shy and anxious when he rests his arm against the back of the booth and turns in his seat to face you. You’re not used to being seen yet here’s this man, well-known in the field you didn’t think to excel in giving you such unwarranted attention. 

“Uhmm, so I asked my instructor about the painting,” you begin as you try to break the ice, “and he said that—” but stop when he shakes his head and lets out a gentle laugh. 

You think he’s playing at your lack of knowledge of these types of transactions that it makes you second-guess your words. Maybe you should have come off more confident and prevented showing him an inkling of your cluelessness. But the smile he sends your way speaks of something different. There is no presence of ill-intent yet you still keep your guard up. 

“We can talk business later. I’d like to get to know the artist more first.” He says and for some reason, it could be how comfortable he seems to be around you, that you nod at his request, a soft smile forming on your lips. 

“Well, what do you want to know?”

Giggling. 

It’s been a while since you’ve done it but you guess after 4 glasses of the Bellini and a sip of his Bloody Mary, anyone would be in a lighter and more carefree mood. Just like how you are. 

The anxiety that filled you when you first walked into the bar seems non-existent with how well Steve carries a conversation. He listened to you complain and laughed at your sarcastic comments, throwing back another to keep the exchange alive. There was no dull moment to be recorded, only understanding when you shared the struggle of an art student living in a fast-paced environment. He’s probably the first person in your life who knows almost everything there is to know about you and even if he is a total stranger, he feels more familiar than any other. 

The night rolls by quicker than you’d hoped and the next thing you know you’re in his car, the alcohol messing with you as you begin belting out garbled lyrics to an Adele song. You’ve never felt so free and relaxed, and who would have thought you’d find it in someone who simply wants to buy your art project? 

You arrive shortly at your apartment building, a curious thought passing through your head as you don’t recall typing in your address in the GPS. But it goes just as quickly as it came when the passenger door is opened and Steve holds out a hand to help you out. 

He says your name, the syllables rolling like honey on his tongue and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way the moon shines against his face, but you truly notice how his sapphire eyes glow brighter with how close he stands to you, his cologne permeating your senses and his warmth mixing with yours, keeping away the cold autumn breeze of the night that surrounds the both of you. 

“I had a lovely evening.” He breathes, allowing him to take your hand in his. “And I don’t want it to end just yet.”

And it doesn’t. 

You invite Steve into your apartment for coffee, something to help completely sober him up and drive home safe. But as soon as you close the door and toe off your shoes, his hands are on your face and his lips capture yours, a soft grunt escaping you when he presses you against the door. You’re too stunned to process that he’s kissing you, only finally realizing it when he breaks the kiss and looks at you with his eyes so blue. 

You think he’s about to speak, to apologize for his forwardness, but instead he smiles while his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. You don’t understand what he sees in you to warrant such soft affection, or to even consider you as someone to kiss. 

He leans closer once more, this time you sense the apprehension in his movements and with the way his eyes linger on your face. You shut your brain off completely, not wanting reason and rationality to stop whatever force that was pulling you together. So you meet him halfway, hands resting against his chest when you press your lips against his, a moan escaping you as when you feel him pull you further into the kiss. 

To say he was a good kisser was an understatement with the way his wet muscle caressed your own and how his lips wrestle you into a passionate exchange. He chuckles when he bumps against a side table while walking backwards, blindly into the living room, hands pawing at each other, groping, touching, and you lift up his sweater as the desire to feel his skin blooms in your head. 

But he doesn’t give you that chance as you drop back onto your loveseat couch, Steve’s hands pushing up your hoodie to expose the tank top hidden within. His fingers tickle your skin, teasing, taunting, and in one swift move he pulls down the cups of your bra having your tits spill out from them. 

Mewls and moans are the only sounds that leave your lips, coherent words nonexistent with how his lips wrap around a mound, sucking, licking, and dampening the fabric to expose your stiff nipples which he gives his undivided attention to. You try to reach for him, to at least make sure that this is all real and not a dream, but his hands take yours, preventing you from even running your finger through his dark hair, the act only heightening your senses further. 

But his venture to your breasts eventually stops and you look down at him when he trails butterfly kisses against your stomach, hands releasing yours only to undo the button and fly of your jeans. The garment flies but your panties stay, and you swear you could almost combust just from the way he looks at you—his eyes swirling with hunger, eagerness, and desperation for a taste. 

Slowly, he trails kisses against your inner thighs, lips, and teeth meeting skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to feel. The nervousness swirls around you like twine, making your heart beat loudly against your chest as everything feels too new, too alien, despite this no longer being your first. But you’ve never encountered anyone as captivating as Steve and you feel as if he would run away once he sees you completely. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers into the air, his warm breath grazing against your heated core. 

It’s only then you comprehend what he’s done, your panties pushed to the side to expose you completely before him and all at once you feel your body burn when he laves his tongue against your pussy lips, gentle at first, testing the waters which shift to intent as he pushes them apart with his fingers, your sacred bud caressed by his expert tongue. 

You whisper his name as he begins delving into your pussy, strong hands keeping your thighs apart and pushing them down against the couch with his groans of pleasure filling your ears and fueling your desire for him. You reach down to run your fingers through his hair which you end up grabbing as a gasp is pulled from your lungs when he begins to suck your clit. 

The room feels like it's spinning with the ecstasy that climbs higher within your body, your senses no longer feeling like your own as Steve pushes on with his pursuit, his mouth dancing beautifully against your clit, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. But he stops, and a small wave of panic arises in your chest. Though it washes away like footprints on the sand when he ventures lower, his thumb taking purchase of your clit, rolling and adding pressure while his mouth ventures lower, teasing your slit at first before slowly pushing inside. 

Oh, how your body sings. Your back arches from the coach and you call out his name, louder this time, turning into a moaning mess as his regard to your cunt never wavers. You then feel the dam filling up at the pit of your stomach and all you can do is buck your hips against his mouth, encouraging—no—pushing him to pull you over the edge. 

“Steve—” It’s all you manage to say, your breath catching in your throat. 

His actions then become erratic, as if he can feel you teetering towards your peak, pulling you more to his mouth and devouring you whole. Sloppy, wet sounds of his mouth echo from below your waist, Steve letting out a low and guttural growl which only sets you ablaze. His thumb pushes more onto your clit, the pressure digging into your pelvis and finally having the dam at the pit of your abdomen burst.

Your body shakes and you grab onto Steve as your pussy walls flutter from your release, choking a sob as your sweet essence flows out of you. His awaiting mouth then laps each and every drop you offer, the sensation making you shiver yet at the same time cocoons you in euphoric bliss. 

The alcohol in your system then appears, mixing with the pleasure that continues to loom around you, and your eyes begin to droop, a smile forming on your lips. Your limbs ache deliciously, cunt buzzing from the orgasm that has taken over. You feel tired all of a sudden but happy at the same time and you forget all, even Steve, as you’re ready to end the night with such a good note. 

But a tap on your thigh pulls you from the serene moment, startling slightly to see Steve looking down at you with a grin painted on his face. “Stay awake, Baby.” He says, his hand running up your side and grabbing the hem of your hoodie. “I’m not yet done with you.”

Nervous.

It’s all you feel as you stand outside of Steve’s home—if you could even call it that. With the modern exterior and floor-to-ceiling windows of the one-story home, you’d think you’re about to enter a museum. But it’s only reasonable for him to have such a lavish abode; he is an art collector after all. 

“You okay?” You turn your head to the side to face him when he stands beside you, his warmth brushing against your skin as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close.

“A bit—but more excited really.” You tell him, the giddiness of seeing his private collection dominating the restlessness you felt earlier. 

“Only the people who matter have seen it.” The smile he gives you is so contagious that you give one back and follow him inside his home.

After the night spent at your apartment, your life slowly revolved around Steve. Mornings begin and nights end with him and his attentiveness—one that you found more endearing than suffocating, as what some people you assume would say if they knew of your relationship. 

You don’t even know if you both have a relationship as neither of you discussed anything about labels, simply enjoying each other’s company. But you know that Steve has rooted himself deep in you, and you know that no matter how hard you try if anything comes that would sever you both, you’d have a hard time letting him go. Steve is the only one who has truly seen you and accepted you as you are.

A chill brushes your skin when you pass through the threshold of his home which has you pulling your knitted jacket more around your frame for warmth, and the first thing you see are the gallery lights mounted on the wall, with each one shining down on art pieces of different forms. The ones that stand by the door are wax figures of a woman’s pair of legs, one on each side. You look at it closely, the craftsmanship so intricate that you’d think it was real. The ones that come after it are different sets of arms and hands of women, again, each one posed differently and elegantly, as if welcoming you further down the hall.

It gives you pause with how unusual of a collection it is—women’s body parts—but you suppose that the world of art is filled with oddities. There was even one you heard who collects glass eyeballs, not caring if it was worn or not.

What greets you next are several paintings—if you can even call it as such—that litter the wall just the same, though you’ve never seen anything like it; one is of a canvas that houses different strands of hair that form into waves. You’re in awe with how they mimic the raging seas and how detailed and time consuming it must have been to complete. There’s even an image of a boat topped over it, as you inspect closely, you assume is made of leather. 

There’s another like it, though this seemed more like a showcase of all types of tresses, spaced out perfectly in rows of five. Each one portrayed a distinct person, with colors ranging from blonde to black and textures from curly to the straightest you’ve seen. The urge to touch it grows strong, wanting to check if they’re real or not.

“They’re real,” Steve answers your unspoken question, and you turn back to face him, feeling shy all of a sudden when you see him staring at you. “I call it live art.”

“You made this?”

“Oh, no.” He smiles as he nears the artwork, Steve’s hands tucked inside his pockets while he looks up at it. “I had it made. Though I did provide the materials—volunteers donated the hair.” His explanation has you thinking; you never knew people would donate something so personal for art. “I’m hoping to add more to the collection—a prized one that can be my center of attention.” He says and you catch him looking at you from your periphery. 

“What kind of prized piece?” You ask, curiosity nipping at the back of your head. 

“Something I could never get tired of looking at.” The smile he gives you sends a chill up your spine but your mind flows out into a daze when he steps forward and takes your face between his hands, his lips meeting yours in a soft kiss. “Like you.” He whispers and you can’t help but feel your face heat up with how beautiful he makes you feel. 

“Come on. There’s more in the living room and I wanted to show you where I would place your painting.” He says, giving you one last kiss before taking your hand and leading further inside. But you don’t miss the piece that sits just at the end of the hall; a torso of a woman, the composition almost similar to Alexndros’ Venus de Milo, except this one was missing its head. 

The living room is a sunken living room and it’s just as exquisite as the front of the house with paintings and figurines scattered in an organized fashion. Two couches sit on either side of a low table with a small cart that holds an array of spirits. You look around, mesmerized at the beauty he keeps within but stop when you notice a small greek style column sitting in the corner of the room. 

“What’s that?” You ask, pointing at the unusual fixture. 

“That’s just a chair a friend of mine made.” He responds while pouring the both of you some drinks. “It’s pretty cozy even if it’s made out of stone. Why don’t you try it out? Pretend you’re an art piece.” He urges and the giddiness you feel allows you to humor him. 

Soft jazz music then begins to play as you run your hand against the top, having a feel of the material before you take a seat, grabbing onto the sides to properly set yourself on top of it. The smile you catch on Steve’s face is wide as he approaches you and hands you your drink, his hand reaching up to caress your face. 

“You look perfect on it.” He sips on his drink and so do you. 

You can’t help but look at his eyes, how soft they look yet full of amidst the muted lighting that surrounds the both of you. You feel his hands continue to linger on your skin, resting gently on your shoulder with his thumb caressing the expanse of your neck. 

“Dance with me.” 

It’s all he says and you don’t have time to respond when he takes the glass from your grasp, setting both of them on the shelf that stands nearby and he reaches for you, his hands taking yours and placing them over his shoulders while his own finds purchase around your waist.

It feels like you’re walking on clouds with how he sways the both of you, his movements in sync with the music that fills the air. He holds you close, feeling his fingers drumming lightly on your back and how your feet follow him aimlessly, blindly with each step he makes. You’re suddenly aware of the intimacy that slowly winds the both of you, much different from the times he’s slept on your bed, and you feel shy, eyes casting down to stare at the edge of his navy turtleneck.

“Don’t hide from me, Baby,” He breathes softly, tilting your head back when he pinches your chin and feeling the warmth of his breath ghost against your lips. “I want to see you.”

Giddy.

It’s the only feeling you describe as soon as you wake up, your body sore but in a good way and the sheets atop the mattress warm, not just because of you but from the man that sleeps soundly at your side. You turn to face Steve and examine his face, his beautiful pointed nose and his dark hair askew from the pillow underneath his head. 

You couldn’t believe your luck that someone like him would find interest in someone like you. You must have done something good in your previous life to feel such happiness that the neglect and disapproval you once received from the people you expected to love you is being provided by someone you’ve barely known for a week. 

Good things come to an end, you hear the pessimist in you say but you push it down, deep down where you cannot hear its cry. You’re going to enjoy this, whatever this is, and if time comes that it should indeed come to a stop—well, you’ll cross the bridge when you get there. 

You move to cuddle closer to Steve, wanting to feel more of his warmth but it’s interrupted by your need for relief that you settle on placing a kiss on his forehead before turning to leave the bed and find the restroom.

Washing your hands when you finish, you find a robe hanging at the back of the door and boldly take it, putting it around you to shield you from the cold that continues to circulate within the house and venture back to his room—back to Steve’s arms. Except the lone light that shines in the darkness catches your eyes and you glance towards the bedroom. You don’t want to be caught snooping but the call of the void is too strong for you to ignore. 

Silently, you pad down the hall and find yourself face to face with a staircase that leads to a closed door. Must be the basement, you think to yourself, taking one step at a time, you descend to your destination. You hesitate to hold the knob, not wanting to spoil your welcome but you soldier on, pushing through the barrier. 

A row of yellow muted light illuminates the entryway, and you see nothing but several black barrels neatly pushed against the wall and a few scrubs hanging from mounted hooks. You thought you would see more artwork but are left disappointed, deciding to turn back but the white light at the end of the room stops you, curiosity once more taking over your senses.

Fear then grips you tight when you step into the light, hands flying to your mouth and a gasp unwillingly escaping you when you see a woman laid down on a metal table with her lower half missing and her head free of her scalp. What hangs on the wall makes your stomach turn even further, body parts—arms, legs and a severed head coated in something you can only assume to be wax.

You run. Your heart beats hard against your chest as you make it back again to the door and close it as quietly as you can, not wanting to awaken your host—a monster you never thought him to be. Carefully, though quickly, you climb the steps and the only thing you could think of is to leave and run as far as you can where he cannot find you. 

Relief slowly washes over you when you get to the last step. Now all you have to do is go—call the authorities and—your thoughts take a dive when you feel someone grab you by the waist, trapping your arms along with it and a hand covering over your mouth as well as your nose.

“Where were you, Baby?” Steve’s calm voice forms from behind and your panic only rises further. You struggle against his hold, flailing as much as you can for him to let you go but he’s too strong and you feel the tears spill from your eyes as you think that this is the end. He’s caught you. You’re going to die. 

“You never should have seen that.” He simply says and you grunt when a stabbing pain forms on your neck, a cool sensation flowing through your veins. 

It’s then that he lets you go, your hand flying to where you felt the sting before turning to look at him. What did he do to you? You notice the syringe in his hand. Is it poison? Your vision almost instantly goes blurry, your limbs heavy and you drop to the floor, eyes cast to the ceiling as you try to make out your current state. The last thing you see is Steve, a sinister smile on his face and incoherent words coming from his lips before everything goes dark. 

You’re dead.

It’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you come to. Everything slowly comes into clarity; the room you’re in is somewhere you’ve not been and the cool metal you feel around your ankle only solidifies the fact that he’s successfully trapped you in the hell he dwells in.

A door opens and closes and you curl up small on the bed you lay in to hide yourself from him. You’re crying once again a multitude of emotions surge from within—is it fear? Hopelessness? Anger? Towards him for lying to you or to yourself for believing him. 

“I never wanted you to find out this way.” He sighs. “I never wanted you to find out at all.”

“Are you going to kill me?” You can’t help but ask, even though you know what the answer is.

“Not yet.” His calm in his voice brings a chill to your spine. “Despite what you believe, I meant what I said; you matter to—”

“Stop lying to me!” You shout and sit up from the bed, grabbing the pillow on the bed and throwing it at him. “Why are you doing this?! What did I do to deserve this?! Why me?!” You shout, the anger that was settling in your bones turns into a raging fire. You go to lunge for him, wanting to rip his skin with your bare hands but the cuff on your foot stops you, making you fall to the ground in front of him. 

He tuts and you see his leather shoes in front of you. A groan then leaves your tongue when he grabs you by your face, your hand taking hold of his wrist as you try to pull away from him. But he only pinches tighter, making you shout in pain that fades all too quickly when he shakes you and makes you face him dead in the eyes.

“The more you fight, the harder it’ll be.” He snips. “I enjoy you a lot—don’t make me kill you so soon.”

“Just fucking do it!” You spit. “Do it! Kill me now!”

The laugh he gives you is menacing. He shakes his head, his other hand moving to run his finger on the side of your face. You see the darkness swirling around the sapphires of his eyes and you question yourself why, for the many times he’s stared at you, you’ve never seen it before. 

“Soon.” He promises. “For now, I’ll keep you. I don’t mind that column being empty just a little longer.”

[yellowjackets96]

the way you do the things you do / angus tully x reader — part one

summary / chaos is only natural when barton's resident misfit strikes up a bond with the middle child of the school's most despised instructor.

warnings / none

word count / 1,300+

hii! this one goes out to the very wise anon who suggested a plot revolving around angus and mr. hunham's kid, which, i must say, is an utterly brilliant concept. however, it turned out to be a lot longer than just a mere one-shot like my first one had been, so it'll probably end up being two or three parts. i hope that's okay, lovely anon. thank you for sharing your brilliance with me!

Moreso than anything else, the relationship between the two of you started as an agreement. Well, an unspoken one, but an agreement nonetheless. Somebody had to look out for the two of you, on equal footing as outliers, as social rejects, as the odd men out. No one could be better for that role than you yourselves. 

To your utter dismay, ever since your parents made the decision to ship you off to Barton Academy in order to get you “the best education available” for high school (which was made possible by your father’s half-off tuition staff discount), you found yourself under a level of scrutiny that you never once faced at your old public junior high. It was not your intention to be perceived as the offspring of the most hated man there, either, but word travels quicker than a deer crossing the road at Barton. A concept introduced to the dean on a Sunday morning ends up widely-understood knowledge by a Monday evening. You’d already been written off as the ‘spawn of Satan’ before you even started your first class. Tough fuckin’ luck.

On the other hand, Angus’s isolation was entirely self-imposed. Following several years of what his mother had promised would be a “short-lived maintenance phase,” he became fed up with the entire process — the constant shifting and forced socialization and paperwork and meetings with headmasters. Lather, rinse, repeat, over and over until he felt utterly insane. He grew to resist society’s forced conditioning of him, lashing out the only way he knew how, through acts of adolescent rebellion. Due to how much you contrast from your stickler father, you eventually saw eye to eye with Angus on this. Once you had finally worn him down to the point of dragging a tragic backstory out of him, you understood why, because, of course no teenager could possibly be interested in the art of befriending their peers and engrossing themselves in a community at their third consecutive school. 

But it didn’t start off too swimmingly.

He entered your life on the strangest day of the week, during the least-interesting possible time of year — a Thursday in late February. You learned of his arrival through the grapevine, mere hours before you first saw him. Perched at a seat towards the very corner of the dining hall, you had become increasingly intrigued by the nearby nonstop chatter from a group populated by Georgie Jackson, Philip McNamara, Billy Wolfe, and Teddy Kountze, a rare sight in the seven o’clock breakfast setting, which was typically chock full of half-dead, completely exhausted teenagers.

“You wanna bet it’s gonna be another freak?” Teddy had grumbled, shaking his head dismissively at something optimistic Georgie must have said. “They’re half the school, at this point.”

He not-so-transparently nodded towards you, earning him in-sync laughs from the more agreeable Philip and Billy, and a halfhearted head shake from Georgie. “Christ, dude. And you wonder why we’re the only kids who tolerate you.”

Teddy threw his hands up defensively. “Hey, I’m just sayin’! We could benefit from someone actually cool and fun.”

“God, could you imagine how cool a girl would be?” Billy daydreamed, practically drooling.

The shaggy-haired blonde smirked. “You’re telling me. That’s all I wanted since I first enrolled here. Would be nice if old man Woodrup would do what the student body actually wants, for once.”

“Instead,” Philip piped up, wearing a dejected pouty frown. “I’m hearing this guy got kicked outta three different schools.”

Your curiosity piqued, you finally jumped in, against your better judgment. “What could possibly get a teenage boy tossed from not one, not two, but three schools? That sounds utterly ridiculous.”

The energy sufficiently changed as Teddy shot you a poisonous glare, you watched the trio of his small-time henchmen sink into their seats, seemingly anxious at how angry you were about to make him. His scrunched-up face twisted into a confident smirk, like he was one-thousand percent confident he could ensure you would never speak to him again. “What’s it to you, Walleye Jr.? You think I’d lie about some shit like that? Would you tell your daddy if I did?”

A scoff escaping your throat, you leaned back into your seat, slightly dejected. “Well, no, but-”

“That’s what I thought,” Teddy said, his lackeys chuckling in unison, practically on cue. “And you wonder why you don’t have any friends, loser.”

Just like that, enforced unnecessary social hierarchy had left you right back where you were before, with more questions than you could ever get proper answers for.

Once lunch period rolled around, you figured you may as well not try your luck again. 

Wrapping a gentle fist against the surface of your father’s door, you barely had to stand by for more than a few moments before he greeted you, the smile that he saved for you and the rest of your family plastered across his cheeks as he slung an arm across your shoulder, pulling you into a casual hug. Due to the academy’s policy of teacher’s children not being allowed to take their parent’s classes to avoid favoritism, you no longer spent time with him every day as you typically did with your mother back home. The reunion was definitely something you had been yearning for since you last saw him, even though it must have been no less than a week ago last Sunday. For the first time in far too long, something at Barton brought joy back to you. 

“How have you been, sweetheart?” your father asked, his reading glasses bouncing slightly on the bridge of his nose as he sat back down at his desk. He pointed to the chair on the other end of it, offering it to you. You gladly accepted, tugging the seat out and sliding into it.

You shrugged at the question, trying not to pay Kountze and his gang of blockheads too much mind. “Fine. Haven’t really done anything too notable or special.”

“Well, hey,” he offered, sliding a sheet labeled roll call across the desk to you. “Maybe this’ll brighten your spirits, despite how much the prospect of it annoys me.”

As soon as he finishes speaking, you instantly know what he was referring to, your eyes catching on the highlighted name sandwiched between Neil Sweeney and Todd Wedderling, bearing an emboldened word next to it — Angus Tully (NEW). And then, like it were on cue, the door behind the two of you swung open, revealing the sight of an instantly-enrapturing bearer of deeply brown eyes.

“Ah, Mr. Tully,” your father remarked, rising from the desk to greet him. “What a coincidence. I was just introducing them to you.”

Angus snorted. “All good things, I hope.”

“You’ve yet to prove us otherwise,” the older man quipped, before quickly turning toward you. “This is my middle child, the one Dr. Woodrup told you about. They’re a sophomore like you, so even though you won’t be in my class together, I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Picking up on the hint, you offer the other teenager a hand, which he casually shakes. “Pleasure to meet you, Angus.”

The brunette offered a crooked half-smile, enough to draw one out of you, too. “Nice to meet you as well.” Everything about him seemed natural — the way he didn’t force his grin, the warmth of his palm, the distinct waviness of his mud-shaded curls. This school left you perpetually surrounded by well-off jackasses, standing where they were currently placed via generational wealth, rather than strength and perseverance, working off of their own merits as your father had. Not to say that Tully was dissimilar in that manner, but he just felt so distinctly different, like he was not even trying to cultivate a phony persona in the effort of impressing others. If only everyone were like him. Maybe Barton would be bearable after all.

[songmingisthighs]

Wanbelyn

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. xxii - that's so gay

neurosurgeon!hongjoong × reader

buy me coffee ?

where love and peace is held, i never expected for this to happen. i planned and i planned, i expected, and i hoped, but it was never you. you held what i wanted hostage to make room for you, the thing that i needed but has no means of acceptance. deny me, live your best life.

From the moment you and Kijoong stepped into the gym, Kijoong immediately tried to run away from you to try one of the gym equipments. You had to wrangle the boy into your arms as you gave the front desk your information and told him that you had an appointment with the owner's son. It didn't help that the front desk dudebro was staring at you like a piece of meat.

A gym rat milf enthusiast. Original.

"Hi!"

You turned your head to the source of the voice and was met with a guy in black t-shirt and sweatpants that looked like he just stepped off a calvin klein photoshoot. Honestly, it made you blush a little but you did your best to not appear flustered, standing up with Kijoong in your arms with a smile on your face. "Hi, you must be Stan!" You said, making San crack a grin and chuckle slightly, "Actually, it's San," bending down slightly, he locked eyes with Kijoong who was looking at him curiously, "And you must be Kijoong! Uncle Wooyoung told me a lot about you!" Hearing the familiar name, Kijoong straightened up, "You know Woo?" He asked in squeak, "Of course I do! He told me your nanny here wanted you to try some classes, huh? Why don't we go check them out, does that sound good?"

Kijoong looked between San and you, unsure how to answer. But you shrugged, "It's up to you bud," you encouraged. "Well maybe you don't know what classes we have. Currently for kids, we have classes in gymnastics, tumbling, and a couple of martial arts classes," San explained, trying to offer options to aid the boy in his dilemma. You cringed at the first two ideas though, "Yeah, he's already hyper as it is, we don't wanna turn running around in the house into catapulting his body onto the wall with precision." San couldn't help but laugh at your joke, finding it amusing that you were effortlessly funny. "Of course," he said after his laughter died down but letting the smile on his face remain, "Well let's have Kijoong try some classes, hm? Our kiddy Karate class is going on right now and let's see how he likes it."

While Kijoong joined the Karate class, you and San sat at the back, watching the class progressed but mostly having a nice chat.

"I have something to admit," San's voice broke your concentration from seeing Kijoong looking at you like he wanted you to hold him, "I actually recognize you. Wooyoung talks a lot about you," San said sheepishly. Your eyes widened but almost immediately it furrowed, "Wait, how much is 'a lot'? It can't be that much, right?" San took a moment to think of an answer that allows you an insight as to how often Wooyoung talks about you. "Well, I know you both met because he got into an argument with your cousin, Jongho when Jongho moved into his dorm complex in college his second year and you had dragged them out of their stupid, petty feud literally to the lobby and force them to apologize to each other in public," San answered after contemplating. You couldn't help but feel a little impressed at his knowledge but also confused as to why Wooyoung would share about you and your cousin. "Okay that means he talks about me quite a lot," you chuckled.

Conversation with San flowed rather smoothly and you found yourself talking about choice of career path and even telling him about how you ended up being Kijoong's nanny all the while making sure the boy was still listening to the instructor up front. The conversation started with your college days and his and he talked about how he ended up managing the gym with his dad which he was against of initially because he didn't want his love for exercising and taekwondo to be diminished to numbers and maintaining a brand. You were rather impressed with how he pitched the kiddy classes to his dad and had to convince him for 3 months straight before he said yes and not a year later they expanded and moved to the current building. He has tenacity, potential, personality, and passion. You kind of saw why Wooyoung befriends him and even became roomates.

It was about fifteen minutes into the class when Kijoong came trodding with a deep pout, climbing on your lap and burrying his face on your shoulder. "I'on like this class," he whined, arms tightening and face nuzzling deep. You scoffed and tried pulling the boy back but he was clinging onto you for dear life, "Kijoong, buddy, you're not even giving this class a chance, you've been looking back at me this whole time! You can't say you don't like something when you haven't put in the effort which includes concentration like the other boys here," you sighed. Hearing your words, Kijoong pulled back and batted his eyelash at you, trying to melt your resolve but unfortunately you were not about to fall victim to his manipulation. The same can't be said about San who was wracking his brain trying to think of ways to engage the child. "You gotta try, buddy," you pointed out unwaveringly which furrowed Kijoong's eyebrows as he side-eyed San who was trying his best to not grab the boy and give him some candy. "He's a boy, why does he get to stay here and talk to you?" He scowled.

You were about to scold Kijoong when San answered without missing a beat, "Because I don't do Karate, I'm a Taekwondo athlete. Well, former." That piqued Kijoong's interest as seen from his twinkling eyes, "My uncle Bumjoong knows Taekwondo!" He exclaimed, loosening his grip on you to turn towards San, "How do you do Taekwondo?" He asked, head tilting to the side in intrigue. "Why don't I show you? My kiddy Taekwondo class is over but we can check out the classroom and try things out," he smiled at Kijoong who immediately tried to make a dash through the door but you knew better and wrap your arms around his torso. "Are you sure you can give him a private trial like that?" You weren't really worried about access as much as being a bother because he's the owner's son and he was going out of his way to show things himself. Kijoong, on the other hand, didn't care as he dangled in your arms while still trying to make his escape to check out the Taekwondo class.

San waved his hand and stood up, "Nah, I need to make sure we have enough tiles for next week's mid class practice which is for kids ages 12-16. May I?" San opened his hands in front of Kijoong, hinting that he wanted to take the boy out of your grip. You would be hesitant or even reluctant had it not been for the fact that Kijoong was trying to claw his way into San's arms and when you let go of the boy, instead of having San carry him, Kijoong grabbed San's hands and tried pulling him towards the door. TRIED being the operative word since San didn't even move an inch, only staring at the boy with amusement in his eyes.

Just as you thought they would walk out first, San (unbothered with Kijoong's attempt to drag him away) turned around and offered you a hand to help you get up which made you blush because it wasn't like you had any issue. His gentlemanly manners shone as he opened the door for you even when Kijoong was whining for him to hurry up (which earned him a light scolding for being rude) and had moved to dangling off of San's strong arm. You all but stare at how San wasn't affected at all by Kijoong's constant attempt to move him. Once again, you found yourself amused and impressed by San and you couldn't help but pat yourself on the back, feeling sure that this was going to be a good thing for him. And maybe for you.

network :

@cultofdionysusnet @sandsofire @kflixnet

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[rotworld]

The Vow

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

you were born into the secretive and gruesome world of house mandragora, paired with an apprentice assassin who dreams of the day he will die for you. if you go through with your dangerous plans, that day may come sooner than either of you are prepared for.

->original work. basically explicit; contains graphic descriptions of violence, extremely dubious consent (coercive/fuck or die-adjacent), manipulation, power imbalance.

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On the morning of the end of it all, you wake to the sound of rain. The black canopy curtains have been tied to the posts of your bed and your room is awash with the dull, stormy light and drizzling shadows of a downpour. Merrill sits in a chair by the window, still and silent, already dressed in his black bodysuit and form-fitting armor. He’s probably been there for hours, watching you sleep. 

“Good morning,” he says, terse and serious as always. “Today’s the day.” 

He stays there while you prepare for the day, his piercing stare following you back and forth across the room. Everything you do feels unusually weighted and final. Normally, there would be some small talk—at least, you would talk and Merrill would nod or grunt in acknowledgement, or even grace you with a curt reply. Today, you’re both silent and haunted by anticipation. Merill doesn’t move until you’re nearly finished dressing. You don’t hear him stand up or cross the room. Like a phantom, he rises soundlessly and walks to you with unnatural grace. He kneels, dexterous fingers quickly lacing up your boots in a fraction of the time it would take you to do the same. 

“You’ll protect me, won’t you?” you ask him. 

Merrill looks up at you with awe and reverence, his eyes half-lidded and his gaze heated. His hand caresses the back of your leg, his gloved palm sliding up and down your calf. This is one of the only times he smiles; when you make a request. When you give an order. When he kills. “Of course,” he whispers. “Always.” 

“From everything? From anyone?” 

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. He nuzzles against your leg like a dog, legs pressed tightly together as he resists the urge to grind against you. 

You are Merrill’s whole world. Promised to one another when you were too young to know what that meant, you were raised in conjoined Houses; he in the spartan halls where children become weapons, you in this dark, cloistered manor where death and life are intertwined. You can still remember the day you were first permitted to see each other in the courtyard that joined your worlds—a solemn and severe teenage boy clad in an assassin’s vestments, blades sheathed and strapped all across his body. His cold gaze melted the moment you saw each other. He stared, wide-eyed and breathless like he’d seen something beautiful for the first time in his life. 

He would fight for you. Bleed for you. Die for you. There’s nothing he wants more. 

This is a cruel thing to do to him, but he’s the only one you trust.

Merrill is your shadow on the long, dreary walk to the dining hall. Thunder rumbles beyond the arched windows and lightning illuminates the gardens, leaves and branches bobbing beneath sheets of rain. The dining hall is lit by a silver chandelier, dangling strings of crystal resembling dew on a spider’s web. Portraits of your predecessors hang on the wood panel walls in decorative frames, posed sullen-faced in crypts and cemeteries. You’re the last to arrive for breakfast. A long table meant for lavish dinner parties is only sparsely occupied. Four seats are taken at the far end of the room by a handful of your elders and instructors. Each is accompanied by a small group of revenants, fully armed and armored, who remain standing, chatting quietly over the heads of those seated. 

They frighten you. They always have, no matter how polite they are. Their silver, reflective eyes and corpse-like complexions are a constant, inescapable reminder of what’s soon to be expected of you. Their attention is suffocating. You can’t stand in a room with one and feel like you have any secrets left.

Every eye turns towards the open doorway when you appear with Merrill. Wordlessly, you walk  the length of the table until you reach your seat. You nod politely to Orcus, seated at the head of the table. Merrill bows to the revenants before he assumes his post beside you.  Breakfast waits for you beneath a silver cloche: eggs and toast with an assortment of sweet and savory accompaniments to choose from, green garnish and washed roots fresh from the garden, everything artfully arranged on a plate with a floral pattern ringing the edge. 

“No hello?” Orcus says wryly. “You’re in a mood this morning.” He wears fine, corset-cinched robes and heavy jeweled necklaces befitting the head of House Mandragora, snow white hair tied in a high ponytail. An outsider might assume he is frail, getting on in years, from his wrinkled face and thin, bony hands. And it’s true, he’s the oldest among you—far older than most people would ever guess—but it would be a mistake to underestimate him. His plate is empty except for a few slender, pale orange roots with leafy green stems. Hemlock, you think with a frown. You don’t know how he eats it raw like that. The taste is far too musty for you.

“Good morning,” you mutter. “Please pass the jam.” 

It’s not Orcus who does it but one of his revenants. Gideon leans over the table and arranges each glass jar on a long silver tray, so careful with the clawed tips of his gloves that you never hear them clink against something. He comes over to your seat, inclining his head in a bow before he sets the tray beside your plate. You thank him sheepishly and he grins, leaning against the table with his arms crossed over his chest. Standing on your other side, Merrill watches him. Not with suspicion but with attentive interest; the eager gaze of a student towards his beloved teacher. 

Gideon is everything he has been taught to work towards. He is utterly silent when he moves even as he passes over the same floorboards that creaked and groaned beneath your feet. He is tall, lithely muscled and honed to swift, lethal perfection. His hair is dark and he is permitted to wear it long unlike Merrill’s short, precise cut that ends at his nape. He smiles, too, even when he isn’t in the field or catering to Orcus’ every whim. 

His eyes were blue once. They’ve calcified to metallic silver, shimmery like an animal in the dark. 

“What has you so tense this morning?” he asks playfully. 

“Nothing,” you say, focused on slathering a generous helping of pink jam onto your toast. Foxglove, says the label. It has a sharp, bitter tang that fizzles on your tongue.

“Your apprenticeship is almost over. You’ll be an official member of House Mandragora soon. Aren’t you excited?” 

“Can’t wait,” you say glumly. 

“I never should’ve let you go to public school,” Orcus laments. “You’ve been difficult ever since. What on earth does that wretched world have to offer you?” 

Choice, you think. You don’t dare speak the word aloud. Choices are what you found out there. There are so many things people can be. Not just what was decided for them. Not just the House they were born into. You’ll never have that here. The others try to draw you into a conversation about politics and alliances, how amusingly the distant Main House has conducted itself as of late, but you’re unenthusiastic. The revenants are leering at you, whispering with hooded gazes. Wondering who among them will have the privilege to taste you.

“You could be our new representative to the Main House,” one of your instructors mentions, hoping to entice you into anything more than apathy. “Most of us don’t care for socialization or those tiring soirees they love to host. Perhaps you would enjoy those.” 

“I’d rather not,” you say. 

“Well, we could always use more apothecaries. The gardens are also a splendid place to work.” 

“Mhm,” you say. You reach for the jar of wolf’s bane jam, the sticky sweetness inside dark purple.

“Or you could tell us what you want instead of making us guess,” Orcus says brusquely. Your eyes meet across the table. You know he cares in his own strange way, as much as anyone in House Mandragora cares about anyone else. He sent you to the Main House sometimes as a child in the hopes of easing your loneliness, setting up playdates with children who ultimately were too afraid to come near you. He let you out in the garden when you should have been studying, or brought you with him to the revenant’s leisure quarters where they cooed and fawned over you.

Your silence tells him all the things you know you can’t say. He sighs heavily. 

“House Mandragora fulfills a very important purpose,” he says. “There is no one else who can do what we are capable of.”

“I know,” you say quietly. 

“Our work is sacred. It is vital to the Main House and necessary for all of humanity. Without us, those who inflict sickness on the world would not be culled.” 

“I know that,” you insist. 

“Only we can do this,” Orcus says sternly. “We are few in number because it is a rare thing to birth a new being from both life and death. Each one of us is precious. Each one of us has a role we must fulfill—”

Your silverware clatters on your plate and you shove your chair back, standing abruptly. Gideon frowns. Merrill looks at you with concern. “I would like to begin my studies for the day,” you say. 

Orcus’s brows furrow in irritation. You confound him. You always have. You wonder often if you were a mistake, or if his impulsive kindness in your youth was a strangeness the likes of which House Mandragora has never experienced before. “You may go,” he says coldly. You do, without hesitation. You can feel them watching—your elders, disapproving. The revenants, curious and hungry. Merrill follows you into the hallway, easily matching your rushed pace. 

“You’re upset,” he says. 

You shake your head. “I’m fine.” You pass elaborate wall sconces and decorative alcoves with sculptures and old vases, open doorways to libraries and laboratories. Such a vast, sprawling place, and so empty. It was so frightening to be the only child here. You stop beside an arched window adorned with intricate Gothic stonework, looking out at the rain churning the mud. The garden grows wild with prickly leaves and bright blossoms; larkspur, lily of the valley, clumps of hydrangea and shy blooms of bloodwort. 

“I wish I could help. I wish I understood better,” Merrill admits. 

You wish he did, too. You wish anyone here did. “Doesn’t it scare you?” 

“What?” he asks.

“Dying.” 

He doesn’t answer. You turn and he quickly averts his eyes, his smile small and trembling. “No,” he says. “Not at all. I’ve dreamed of all the ways it might happen.” He glances up shyly, his smile waning at the sight of your discomfort. “Are…are you afraid?” His expression softens. He moves closer. He reaches for you slowly, giving you time to back away or reject him. When you don’t, he cups his fingers beneath yours. He holds your hands like each is a precious treasure. “Are you afraid of me dying? For you, and for the House? You don’t have to be. I want it more than anything.”

You pull away slowly. Merrill lets you go. You see just a twinge of fear and hurt before he covers it with his usual stoic facade. “Will you uphold your vow?” you ask him. 

He doesn’t smile but he nods resolutely and stands straighter. “Yes,” he says. “Always.”

“Thank you, Merrill.” 

The sound of his name makes him shiver and bite his lip. He nods again and you try not to feel so guilty.

You have to wait until evening. Your instructors are nosy throughout the day, a constant rotation of concerned faces peeking into the study where you’ve sequestered yourself. The revenants are more active at night when everyone else goes to sleep, so you don’t have long. As the sky darkens and the rain keeps falling, Merrill follows you through the courtyard. He holds the umbrella while you fumble with a keyring pilfered from one of your instructors, each thin piece of metals bearing a decorative flower at its base. This overgrown shack in the corner of the garden conceals the entrance to the Sending Tunnels, a covert pathway for the revenants to leave the House and perform their duties. Its dark, subterranean passageways fork and wind in a dizzying labyrinth that would be easy to get lost in, but Merrill has been taught how to navigate it blindfolded. 

You’ve checked the schedule and no one is coming and going at this hour. This is your best chance. One of the exits feeds directly into a subway tunnel in the heart of the city. You could be long gone by the time they even realize you’re missing.

“You’re certain you want to do this?” Merrill asks, so quietly you almost don’t hear him over the constant hiss of the rain. 

“You promised you would help me,” you say.

“I did. I will. Always. But are you sure about this? No one is permitted to abandon the House. They’ll hunt us for the rest of our lives.” He doesn’t sound afraid. He doesn’t even sound upset. Matter of fact and mild as always, Merrill simply seeks clear orders and your approval. You wish you didn’t have to get him involved. You wish his House hadn’t made him what he was, so eager to please you that he would turn his back on everything he’s ever known just because you asked.

It takes a few tries but you find the right key decorated with the pinwheel blossom of an oleander flower. The lock turns and clicks. You push the door and it creaks open, a musty smell emerging from inside. “Yes,” you say. “This is what I want.” You want to show him the world outside this place. Maybe he’ll love it, simply because you do.

Stone steps descend into deep, oppressive darkness. The air is cold and ancient, choked with dust. The only lights in the Sending Tunnels are lanterns affixed to the walls, and they are few and far between. Merrill holds your arm, gently guiding you in the void between with soft tugs and whispers. You think you’ve made several turns, that the path might have sunk even deeper into the earth, but you aren’t certain. 

Several times, you think you feel wind. A sudden chill, or the breeze of movement gusting past you. Something could be here and you wouldn’t know, you realize. But Merrill would, surely. He would sense danger coming long before it reached you. 

“You’re shivering,” he says. 

“I didn’t know it was like this down here,” you admit. “How far is it?”

“It’s…right here.” He sounds reluctant. Nervous, you think.

You can’t see anything. Then a light flickers—a lantern turns on in the tunnel ahead, switched on by clawed fingers. Gideon steps forward and your heart sinks. Those aren’t shadows in the tunnel behind him. Those are revenants standing shoulder to shoulder, blocking your path. They raise their heads in unison and the glint of lantern light makes their eyes shine. The scuff of footsteps on the stone behind you is deliberate, a way of letting you know you’re surrounded. 

“I made a bet with Orcus this morning,” Gideon says. He saunters closer. Merrill’s arm slips away and he puts himself between you. His hands twitch at his sides, fighting the instinct to draw a weapon. “He’ll be disappointed to know he lost.” 

“Gideon, please,” you beg him. “I don’t belong here. You have to know that. Everyone knows. There’s no point in keeping me here.” 

“Of course you belong here. Every member of House Mandragora is precious and irreplaceable.” He takes another step and you see Merrill bristle like an angry cat, muscles taut and shoulders heaving with heavy, anxious breath. Gideon tilts his head, regarding Merrill with an expression of amusement. “Do you uphold your vows, brother?” 

Merrill trembles. “Yes.” 

“Against everything?” Gideon asks. “And everyone?” 

Merrill turns to look at you. On his face is an expression of sheer, unbridled joy. “Yes,” he breathes. Gideon grasps his shoulder with one hand. The other plunges into Merrill’s chest like a dagger, punching all the way through flesh, bone and armored bodysuit in a sickening burst of blood. You’re too shocked to scream. Merrill holds your gaze even as dark droplets spatter the floor at his feet. Blood trickles from the corners of his blissful smile. When Gideon rips his hand back out, he sinks to his knees, clutching the gaping wound. You can see soft, pulsating things and the glint of fractured bone poking through the hole in his chest. He shudders and coughs, a watery red clump pouring from his lips. 

In shock and disbelief, you drop to the ground beside Merrill. He rolls onto his back and you frame his face in your hands, tears rolling down your cheeks. He clasps your hand against his face with shaky fingers. He nuzzles against it, kissing your palm. His eyelids flutter. He’s losing too much blood. You hear the revenants whispering above you, excited, expectant, and you suddenly understand. This is not a punishment. Merrill didn’t tremble with fear before, but with anticipation. 

“You told them,” you realize. “You were never going to help me leave.” He might not hear you, or he might not care. He groans in agony and clings to your hand. 

“He protected you from yourself,” Gideon tells you. He shakes his hand, splattering Merrill’s blood on the floor. “From your recklessness. From your shortsighted, pointless rebellion.” When you do nothing but wordlessly shudder and cry, he crouches beside you with a pitying expression. You flinch when his claw grips your shoulder, blood staining your sleeve. His eyes glint in predatory delight in the dark. “He’s going to die,” he tells you with a smile. 

You can barely see through your tears, everything twisting light and shadow and blood. This isn’t a choice. It never was. This is the next step on the only path you’re allowed to take. Inevitable, no matter how hard you fight. Merrill’s grip loosens. His gaze grows distant. He stops coughing and trembling, sagging against the ground. You do what you were always going to do, somehow, someday. You climb on top of him, laying over his body and the hole through his center, feeling his pulse slow and stutter in his chest. You press your lips against his. 

The first death is misery. Orcus told you it would be. It is pain unlike any other, heat and sharpness and unmaking. Merrill shivers under you. Then he flinches. Then he convulses, legs kicking and flailing under you, hands clenching and unclenching. His eyes roll back in his head and if he had the strength, he would be screaming. He makes horrible choking sounds, his fingers scraping the floor until his nails break and his fingers bleed. The saliva dribbling down his chin and pouring out the sides of his mouth is a dark greenish-yellow like bile. His heart is shaking uselessly. His lungs are paralyzed. His nerves are on fire and his insides are corroding, the hole in his chest sloshing with pinkish foam and dark red sludge. 

The poison in your body could’ve killed every revenant in the tunnel when they still lived.

You can feel the change when it takes him. Merrill goes frighteningly still for a moment and then he gasps. His chest heaves with harsh, sucking breaths and he wraps his arms around you, one hand cupping the back of your head while the other slides down to your waist. He’s ravenous when his strength returns, kissing you back with tongue and teeth. His hips push up against you and you gasp at the sudden hardness straining against his bodysuit between his legs. 

“Yes,” he moans between eager nips and licks and bites. “Oh, it’s—it’s even better than I imagined. You taste like heaven.” 

The first resurrection is bliss. They all are, Orcus says, but your revenant will chase the perfect ecstasy of that first soul-searing sensation after oblivion for the rest of eternity. Merrill kisses you hungrily, his tongue curling against yours. The taste of you has gone from rancid to the sweetest ambrosia and he strokes your cheek, smooths his thumb along your jaw, tilts your head into a better angle so he can swallow even more of your poison. You’ve never kissed before, never felt the throbbing thickness of his arousal so close to your center. It makes you whimper and hold onto him tighter. 

“Move with me,” he begs you. Both of his hands move lower, cupping the swell of your ass through your robes. It’s bold of him, unthinkable only hours ago, but he’s not just an apprentice anymore. He pulls you into the shaky, rolling motions of his hips. You gasp and shudder together at the pleasant friction. “Like that,” he whispers. “Use me. I’m yours.” He encourages you with soft, pleading kisses, squeezing and kneading your ass. 

You forget everything—where you are and why, that anything else exists. All that matters is Merrill, warm and writhing and kissing you breathless. The sound he makes when you frantically grind down on him is almost wounded, desperate, shaky keening. 

“And you’re mine. Mine forever,” he babbles, half-muffled against your lips. “You’ll have others, I know you will. But I’m your first. I’ll always be your first. I knew the taste of you before anyone else.” He chants praise and encouragement even when you break the kiss, overwhelmed and sensitive in ways you’ve never experienced before. You bury your face in his neck and blanket your body over his, mindlessly rutting your clothed sex against his. “Don’t stop,” he whispers, his breath warming your ear. “Keep going. Doesn’t it feel good?” His breathing gets harsher, his moans louder, as he bucks up into your thrusts. 

You cry out and stiffen against Merrill, hips shaking in frantic movements as you reach your peak. He tilts your chin and claims your mouth while you’re still catching your breath. It’s your poison on his tongue that pushes him over the edge. He groans as he licks into your mouth and pulls your hips roughly against his in several last hard thrusts. You go limp against him and Merrill cushions your head against his chest—whole again, healed over beneath shattered armor and torn fabric. His hands stroke your head and down your back. 

You regain awareness of your surroundings gradually. You’re too tired for shame, too weary for anger. The revenants encircling you fall to one knee, their heads bowed, honoring your ascension to House Mandragora. 

Your revenant takes your hand and presses it to his lips. His smile is wide. His eyes gleam silver.

[city-of-ladies]

Edith Garrud - The suffragette that knew martial arts

The first British female teacher of jujutsu, Edith Garrud (1872-1971) taught the suffragettes to protect themselves.

A passion for martial arts 

Edith Margaret Williams was born in Bath in 1872 and started her career as a physical instructor for girls. She shared this passion for physical culture with her husband, William Garrud, a wrestling and boxing instructor.

They came in contact with Edward Barton-Wright who had spent three years in Japan, and studied judo and jujutsu. He elaborated his self-defense techniques known as “bartitsu” and opened his club in London in 1899.

The Bartitsu Club was notably opened to women. Edith was thus able to train alongside her husband. By 1908, Edith and William became jujutsu instructors themselves with William in charge of the men’s class and Edith teaching the women and children. 

Jujutsu specializes in speed, precision and the use of soft, flowing movements to deal with aggression rather than using just brute strength. The couple showcased their skills through demonstrations. In one of them, Edith defeated a male aggressor played by her husband. The sight of this 4ft-11inch (150cm) woman effortlessly throwing a much taller man greatly impressed the audience. 

In 1907, Edith starred in a short film Jujutsu down the footpads in which an innocent lady overpowers two ruffians. 

Vote for women

Edith took an interest in the cause of women’s suffrage. In 1909, she was invited by the Women's Social and Political Union (WSPU) to give a demonstration in the presence of Emeline Pankhurst and other leading figures of the movement. As William was ill, Edith demonstrated alone and invited members of the audience to test her skills. This included subjecting a skeptical police officer to a powerful shoulder throw. 

In 1910, Edith also wrote a series of essays, advocating for the growing community of female martial artists and how self-defense could free women by giving them the means to protect themselves:

“You constantly read in the papers reports of dastardly attacks on helpless women by thieves and ruffians. A woman who knows jujutsu, even though she may not be physically strong, even though she may not have even an umbrella or parasol, is not helpless. I know many women personally who have tried the tricks I shall explain to you and come out on top. They have brought great burly cowards nearly twice their size to their feet and made them howl for mercy.”

The bodyguards

The suffragettes faced dangerous and violent situations. This was especially the case on Friday 18th November 1910. 300 WSPU members marched on the House of Parliament and faced police officers armed with batons. Women were subjected to six hours of beatings and arrests and there were widespread reports of sexual abuses.

Emeline Pankhurst thus asked Edith to train a group of women that would be known within the WSPU as the Bodyguard. Led by Gertrude Harding, they acted as agitators, disruptors and decoys. 

Edith trained them in hand-to-hand combat and the use of homemade concealed weapons such as wooden India clubs and the fashioning of cardboard body armor. The suffragettes took advantage of their opponent's surprise and exploited their weaknesses.

They for instance struck directly at a police officer’s helmet to knock it from his head. Policemen were held accountable for the loss of uniform items and had to pay for their replacement. They cut the suspenders so that the policeman had to hold back his pants, blinded the police with a charge of umbrellas etc.

When told by a policeman that she was making an “obstruction” during a demonstration near the House of Commons, Edith pretended to drop her handkerchief, threw the policeman over her shoulder and disappeared into the crowd. 

In prison, suffragettes went on hunger strikes and were subjected to force-feeding. The “Cat and Mouse Act” of 1913 allowed hunger-striking prisoners to be released and then re-incarcerated as soon as they had recovered their health. The Bodyguard thus protected and hid those women.

Edith for instance hid militant suffragettes in her dojo, telling the police not to disturb her lessons and leave her property. 

A quiet retirement

Edith’s contributions to the suffragist movement ended with the beginning of the First World War. Little is known of her life afterward. 

She and her husband would run the Golden Square dojo until their retirement in 1925 and retired to a quieter life. William passed away in 1960. In an interview in 1965, Edith said that her recipe for a long, happy and healthy life was: 

“Self-discipline. Of course, I had to be extremely disciplined to succeed at jujutsu and hold my own with men […] but it is the mind which really has control, not only of your muscles and your limbs and how you use them, but also your thoughts, your whole attitude to life and other people.”

She died in 1971. A plaque on the building that had been her home can be seen today: “Edith Garrud 1872–1971. The suffragette who knew jiu-jitsu lived here”.

Further reading

Dorlin Elsa, Se défendre : une philosophie de la violence  

Godfrey Emelyne, Femininity, Crime and Self-Defence in Victorian Literature and Society: From Dagger-Fans to Suffragettes

Kelly Simon, "Edith Garrud: The jujutsuffragette". In McMurray, Robert; Pullen, Allison (eds.), Power, Politics and Exclusion in Organization and Management

Ruz Camila, Parkinson Justin, ““'Suffrajitsu': How the suffragettes fought back using martial arts”

[scribblestatic]

Sheepzun Posting~

----

Luo Binghe was frustrated.

He'd left his Shizun behind on Qing Jing Peak to see what was happening. As his Shizun had noted, indeed, there was something amiss.

Demons infiltrated Cang Qiong Mountain.

He rushed forward toward Qiong Ding Peak since it seemed the demons intended to isolate those disciples the most. On the way, he slayed a few smaller demons, carefully using the techniques his Shizun instilled in him. After all, it was different to practice something and to actually use it.

Despite his inexperience combatting something so human-shaped, he was able to dispatch them fairly quickly. He had yet to strain a muscle as he continued on his way.

He eventually arrived at the main hall of Qiong Ding, a crowd of disciples from a few peaks struggling against the might of the main hoard of demons. Luo Binghe quickly jumped into the fray, saving one disciple from having his head bashed in. Several were already wounded, cornered and unable to escape.

Though he didn't have his spiritual sword yet, he did his best to beat back the incoming demons. These ones were larger than the imp-like demons before, just as tall or taller than his comrades and clearly more shrewd.

How dare they strike! These demons really were despicable!

But, as he kicked a demon back, a gust of wind suddenly began pressuring the demons' side. A flash of light flickered, and a familiar sword stabbed into another demon trying to kill a different disciple.

Before he could say anything, some of the Qing Jing disciples that arrived with or before him began calling out.

"It's Immortal Master Shen!"

"Martial Uncle Shen!!"

His...Shen Qingqiu landed gingerly on the ground, looking as unflappable as he always did, loftily looking down on others. His presence felt stronger than before, so he surely broke through at least one stage. It hadn't taken very long for him, despite the immortal not breaking through a realm since the time Luo Binghe became a disciple.

Luo Binghe's senses triggered, and he moved out of the way just in time to avoid Ming Fan rushing past him, relief extremely evident in his ecstatic expression. He watched as the boy spread his arms to present their master, grinning in the direction of the demons.

"Demon girl! My Shifu is already here, see you if you dare to be arrogant anymore!"

Finally, the tide returned to the side of righteous cultivation, the disciples no longer cornered as they all sidled up to Shen Qingqiu for support. Luo Binghe finally sheathed his sword once the sides were cleanly split, the demons on the defensive with the disciples and master now standing in the way of an easy exit.

And so, Luo Binghe made the mistake of thinking himself safe.

He was swiftly reminded he wasn't upon hearing the immortal master call his name to face the largest, most fearsome competitor of all three trials.

Shen Qingqiu wasn't aware that he'd been training with another teacher. That his Shizun was present on Qing Jing Peak. Or, if he was, he never said anything about it. Besides, few, if any, Qing Jing disciples were aware of Shizun's presence. He kept himself carefully concealed.

Regardless, Shen Qingqiu likely knew he was barely trained in Qing Jing's martial arts. After Shizun pointed out the uselessness of his cultivation manual, Luo Binghe could only assume this sabotage was intentional. And now, the immortal had him facing a demon that would be a struggle for some of Qing Jing's instructors to handle.

Did... Did Shen Qingqiu want him dead? Why?

But Luo Binghe didn't have the luxury of time to question the immortal's reasoning. Instead, he put his whole body into dodging the swing of the large demon's sledgehammer, watching as the ground cracked under the pressure of its collision.

Getting hit by that once, he could probably handle with a few injuries. Getting hit several times...

This was a fight to the death.

So, using everything he learned from hunting animals closer to the base of the mountain for food and from training with his Shizun, he sought to bring death upon his opponent. If he tried to do anything less, he'd die instead.

Fleeing would definitely be the best course of action here. But with everyone's eyes on him, he couldn't flee. He was cornered.

Dodging as much as possible, he looked for a gap in the elder demon's defenses, but it was all covered with that dastardly poisoned armor. If he could at least find the straps keeping it on him, he could, essentially, break the tortoise's shell.

He had to keep himself from becoming a splatter on the pavement first, though--

"Ughh!!"

Luo Binghe barely had time to prepare before the sledgehammer slammed into his side. He could immediately feel his arm bruise, but he leaned with the force pushing him, then helped the energy leave him by rolling, quickly returning to his feet.

'You don't have horns, so instead of confronting force head-on, you should try to lean with it. Help the energy escape so it doesn't act entirely on your body.'

It hurt, but he was still standing. With a dash, he avoided another slam from the sledgehammer.

However, his energy was starting to wane. Usually, a prey animal would have much more room to move and to find an escape. He could not escape, and so, it was a battle of stamina and interest. As long as he could keep moving and avoid death, he could wear down on the elder demon's patience, leading him to make mistakes...

But Luo Binghe had less stamina than his opponent.

He was starting to get hit more and more. Blood was crawling up his throat as he felt bruises purple under his clothes.

Panting, sweat dripped off his face. If he let himself hesitate for too long, he'd start to lose focus, his vision swimming. His heart beat frantically in his ears.

He could distantly hear the disciples behind him call his battle a one-sided beating, bemoaning his inevitable loss. The demons were starting to laugh and ridicule him, telling him to dance, dance, and dance more.

How frustrating...

How frustrating...

If he was to die here, it would not be the demons that killed him.

Shen Qingqiu... His blood would be on Shen Qingqiu's hands.

Although he had loosely clung to the idea that the immortal master would one day treat him like he was worth the same time and effort as any other Qing Jing disciple, at this moment, he finally laid those hopes to rest. Instead, heady resentment, barely held back by his reverence, began to burst through and cloud his mind.

The hammer was moving. He needed to dodge. He needed to--

A forceful voice interrupted his thoughts. It echoed in his mind like a gong, clearing out all the noise, save for that single line.

'Luo Binghe, you will win.'

...

Shizun?

That was definitely his Shizun's voice.

Then, that meant he was watching him. Somewhere behind him, his Shizun was watching over him, voicing his thoughts only to him.

And though he couldn't trust the words of anyone else, he could trust his Shizun.

He said he would win. That meant his Shizun truly believed that he would.

There came a warmth to his chest, spreading to his other limbs, enough that his eyes burned with the urge to cry tears of happiness. Oh... Oh how good it felt, for someone to believe in him despite all odds! To care about him!

It was all he had ever wanted from anyone, and it was something his Shizun gave him so freely.

But now was not the time to cry.

A cool calmness washed over him from his head to his feet. His once wavering vision focused as he managed, barely, to dodge the swing coming at him, leaning backwards before flipping, landing back onto his feet.

His body ached. He turned his head to spit out loose blood before licking his teeth. He was against an opponent with decades of experience on him. The demons were still cheering for his demise, for him to lose. Shen Qingqiu was still waiting for him to mess up and perish.

But he would win.

His Shizun commanded it.

---

There was a shift in the energy around the battle.

It started slowly, with the demons continuing to jeer at Cang Qiong for their inevitable defeat.

But then, Elder Tian Chui's hammer missed again.

And again. And again. And again.

The disciples, once disheartened and restless, began to perk up.

Luo Binghe dodged another swing, his gaze strong and serene. It was as though he simply moved out of the way, like dodging a mere stick instead of a hammer. At one point, he merely tilted his head a few scant cun away as the hammer's head passed it. It didn't even scratch his ear before he twisted away.

At this, the demons began going silent, and like before, the tide returned to the cultivators of Cang Qiong, and instead of mourning a loss that had yet to happen, they began cheering for a victory they could now see in the horizon.

Frustration began to color Elder Tian Chui's movements as he struggled to hit the boy. But Luo Binghe carefully avoided each swipe, looking for a good opening.

Everyone could see that the elder was completely covered in spiked armor, save for his face and fists. No one was sure how Luo Binghe could combat that, but his newfound confidence influenced those watching.

Even Sha Hualing began watching the cultivator boy closer, humming under her breath as she inspected him. This little bud could prove very troublesome in the future if allowed to grow. Unless Elder Tian Chui ended him here, she'd need to employ some more subtle tactics.

Luo Binghe avoided another swing, but then he stood firm, bearing his sword.

Had he found it? An opening? But no one could see it anywhere!

Enraged, the demon elder held his hammer firmly and thrust it forward with a bellow.

But, much to everyone's surprise, instead of dodging, Luo Binghe's qi began to flow off of his skin. Then, it disappeared, condensing into his sword--not even a spiritual sword, but one intended for training.

A flicker of light appeared at the tip, and the tip of the sword and eye of the hammer collided.

A beat of silence. Then, like lightning, Luo Binghe's qi shot through the hammer's eye, up the handle and grip, and burst into the meridians in Elder Tian Chui's hand, up his arms.

The clear, whitish blue qi polluted his meridians and cracked through them.

Elder Tian Chui, who had several hundreds of years of cultivation, cried out in pain as the meridians in his hands stung, like thousands of bees and hornets stinging him from the inside. The pain was enough for him to drop his hammer, much to the shock of the demons behind him.

Although Luo Binghe's sword now had a prominent dent in the tip, he still ran forward, gathering qi around him. He swung his sword toward the elder's other hand, slashing through the skin of his knuckles as more painful qi found and bled into him.

Luo Binghe swiftly backed away as the demon cried out again.

From his short move forward, he was able to see the slight gaps in the armor.

From then on, instead of a mouse facing a cat, a snake was circling a pheasant it had already poisoned.

With careful slashes and stalking, Luo Binghe cut the straps keeping much of the armor on his body. Cut by cut, Elder Tian Chui's vambraces and greaves fell to the ground, leaving his arms and legs exposed to the open air.

Luo Binghe didn't waste a single moment, slashing incessantly at the demon as he channeled more painful spiritual qi into his demonic body.

Finally, he gathered his qi into his left hand and, with a burst, shot it at the demon's chest. It flew forward, then exploded right in front of him.

The elder demon cried out once more, then fell onto his back, disarmed and almost fully disrobed. His helmet fell off his head, rolling on the ground.

For a few moments, both the demons and disciples went quiet.

Then, Cang Qiong's side began an uproarious applause!!

Amazing! They just witnessed something one would never see in hundreds of years! A single disciple, not even the head disciple, managed to win against an elder demon with hundreds of years of cultivation under his belt!

Qiong Ding disciples ran up to him first, applauding his success and praising his technique as Luo Binghe's adrenaline finally calmed. He took their praise in stride, though he seemed to look a bit out of place, like he was unsure of what to do about them. Instead, he was looking around as though in search of someone.

Of course, most would assume he was looking for his Shifu, so one disciple pointed in his direction, Luo Binghe looking over.

Shen Qingqiu's expression was outwardly impassive, but now, the boy could see the underlying rage in his darkened eyes. The spine of his fan was cracked from the force of his clenched fist.

Luo Binghe looked away, still searching for someone else as the cheering increased.

A little further off, Liu Mingyan gazed at Luo Binghe with a mix of awe and envy. Neither of them had their spiritual swords, but Luo Binghe's results were so much more outstanding than her own. She quietly decided that he could potentially make for a good rival, someone to look to in order to improve her own cultivation. She'd have to look out and encounter him more often, if only to see what he did to train.

Sha Hualing's opinion that she couldn't leave the boy alone did shift, though it was mixed with anger at the situation. Of course, this 'Luo Binghe' was quite powerful and handsome. If only he wasn't a cultivator... But perhaps there was something more behind his power. She'd need to investigate it, and she knew just the demon to consult.

But first and foremost...

“...The Central Plains people of the Human Realm have talents as expected, for such a young hero to come out. Ling-er really admires," she pleasantly gritted out, her gaze sharp.

Shen Qingqiu turned toward her with a scoff, eyes narrowed.

"We've accommodated your tryst and tolerated your unannounced presence for quite some time now, Young Miss. You would be wise to withdraw, since we were so underprepared to facilitate your family's curiosity. Surely it's been sated, and you all have learned well."

The disciples, drunk on victory, jeered at the demons, Sha Hualing's eye resisting the urge to twitch.

Eventually, she gave in. It was clear that her demons were outmatched. Unless the tides turned once more, they were going to return empty-handed. And that was if they could return at all. Surely the disciples were upset at their visit and the injuries they wrought on the sect. Now believing they could win, they would surely be out for blood!

This all should've worked out, if not for...

Sha Hualing finally chose where to direct her anger, grabbing Elder Tian Chui's hair as he sat up, wounded and bleeding sluggishly from many cuts. With his hair in her firm grasp, she smacked him across his bare face several times.

“To lose to such a young disciple under Elder Shen in a fight and in such an ugly manner! You’ve lost face for all demons!”

"This one is incompetent!" the elder cried out, interrupted by the scratch of her nails across his cheek. "Begging the saintess for punishment!"

"Wretched cur! To think you would humiliate us like this! How dare you call yourself an elder!"

"Begging Saintess for punishment!!"

Shen Qingqiu sniffed at the display, fanning himself leisurely.

"This master finds your behavior incredibly uncultured, Young Miss. If you wish to discipline your subordinates, do so off our esteemed mountain. You all have long overstayed your welcome."

After a few more biting words, Sha Hualing did an about-face, forcing herself to smile. "Elder Shen's words are right. This Ling-er lost herself for a moment after seeing the inexplicable talent of your sect's young gentleman, comparing him to the waste under her own command. Elder Shen, please excuse this one."

She turned her back to them, her expression chilled as ice as she stared down at the dishonored elder.

"Elder Du Bi fighting and losing to Elder Shen is a matter of course. For you to also lose your trial, against a sect disciple no less... You don't need me to say anymore. See to yourself."

Elder Tian Chui understood her order immediately, feeling his heart sink. This invasion was only supposed to be a time for them to rough up and kill a few cultivators, humiliating them for their own honor.

But now, he was the one humiliated, the only one who truly lost against Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. But it wasn't against Immortal Master Shen. No, it was against that little doll of a boy who he beat around until he spat up blood! But instead of ending the play, he was the one on the ground instead!

Malice fueled him, pushing through the pain still tingling in his limbs from the spiritual qi that polluted them. while he was mostly disarmed, he still had his breastplate, the spikes coated in Without A Cure.

That little weedling... He'd see the end to him today!

He moved as though he was going to kneel in shame, watching that curly-haired human boy stop looking around, surrounded by his peers as they inquired about his health.

Instead, he steadied himself, grabbing his hammer.

Then, with a burst of physical power, he shot up, running full-tilt toward the boy. His arms raised, his hammer prepared to strike, as he bellowed with all the fury he felt in his heart!

Luo Binghe had calmed down, fatigue bleeding into his body, so his senses had uncharacteristically dulled. As such, he was somewhat sluggish when he heard the incoming demon, looking up too late as he approached. The disciples, once around him and praising him, quickly scattered, leaving him standing alone as his vision blurred with exhaustion.

'Ah...' he thought, 'Shizun did tell me about this, didn't he...'

The pain shooting through the elder demon was too much, causing him to stumble. He was going to fall too quickly for Without A Cure to make contact with the boy. But it was clear he was dazed! His hammer would complete the job for him!

He would be well worth his own name!

As though time slowed, the demon's hammer approaches the top of Luo Binghe's head.

But before it reached, some invisible thing rushed forward, shoving disciples aside.

Its body was a blur as the qi obfuscating its appearance and presence diminish.

Its head was low, an ivory white coming into view, as the smell of fields and grass emanated from it.

Then, it pushed its front legs off the ground, its head high. The curled horns attached to its skull slammed against the incoming sledgehammer.

Instead of the hammer continuing its downward motion, it yanked up so quickly, it was as though a rope was attached to it, the other end hidden somewhere in the heavens. The sudden move stretched the demon's arm to its limits, delaying his fall.

There was a sharp crack, a pop, unlike anything those present had ever heard before.

A moment later, the sledgehammer, from its face to its handle, wavered--

Then shattered like glass.

Only the grip remained, which Elder Tian Chui clung to as he finally fell chest-first on the ground.

His right arm...the bones in it felt wrong. Were they...broken?

Broken from the vibrations the grip of his hammer couldn't withstand?

His left hand, which had let go, bleeding from his poor grip before, helped him as he tried to look up.

A ram stared back at him.

But it wasn't like any ram he'd seen before.

Its gleaming eyes focused on him, horns curled and vicious, without a single crack. Wavy wool, more akin to hair than cotton, hung off its body, similar to a yak. A single red spot stood out on the ram's forehead.

The sheep began stepping backward, but from the focus on him, the demon could tell it wasn't to retreat.

"Wh-Wha--"

Before he could say what he wanted, the ram rose up on its back legs, stepping forward with its front ones bent.

Step, step, step, step--

Just as Elder Tian Chui attempted to speak, the ram's steps shifted into a thrust, its horns angled downwards.

The ram's head collided with the demon elder's.

With it, a flash of spiritual qi--

And a burst of red.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

The Art of Etiquette Part 6 | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Your parents invite Mr. Jeon over to dinner without your knowledge and spring a proposal on you that you're not given a chance to refuse Pairing: f!reader x Etiquette instructor Jungkook Word Count: 4.1k~ Warnings: Explicit Language and a lot of teasing a/n: A longer chapter as promised 😅 Hope you guys are looking forward to the next one 🤭 p.s. barely edited so have mercy on me lmao Start from the beginning

"Hey" my mom says, popping her head in my room. "Yeah?" I respond, thumbing through the most recent book Jungkook gave me. "Dinner is almost ready so can you come downstairs in a bit?" she questions and I look up at her as if she's grown two heads. 

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I question, extremely suspicious of her motives. "What do you mean? I'm your mother" she chuckles, walking towards where I'm laying on my bed, brushing back the hair that had fallen in my face. 

"Usually you use that as an excuse to discipline me or whatever so what's really going on?" I question, sitting up from my reclined position and straightening out my clothes. 

"I was going to wait for James to tell you but there's a charity ball next weekend and we wanted you to attend it with us" she says, smiling at the idea of having a united front with all three of us together. 

"A charity ball? What charity?" I prod further while cocking a brow at her. Wanting to figure out exactly why there needs to be an event when they can just not have an event and give all the money to the charity. 

I swear, I'll never understand rich people. 

"I don't know honey that's something for your father to worry about" she says not giving a care in the world to what I thought was a very valid question. "Step father" I correct her. 

No matter how hard she tries, no one is going to take my father's place.

"Step father" she echos as if she's tired of me already "Either way, it'll be good to get your face out in public with us. Who knows, you might be able to make some good connections along the way" she finishes as she walks out the door, paying no mind to if I would like to continue the conversation or not.

"Oh and we've invited Mr. Jeon to dinner tonight so he'll be arriving shortly" she calls out over her shoulder. 

'Mr. Jeon is coming okay whatever' I think to myself before blinking a few times and finally processing what she said. "Mr. Jeon is having dinner with us? Why?" I say rushing out of my room to catch her before she's gotten too far. 

"Well after he dropped you off the other night I realized that James and I haven't really had a chance to speak to him yet so a family dinner seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so. Is there a problem with that?" she questions, noticing my body language. 

"Nope. No problem at all" I choke out, mad that she didn't give me any sort of warning or better yet, asked if I was comfortable with it. "Great, we told him to come around 6:30 so try to be down before he gets here" she says and continues on her descent down the stairs and out of my sight.

"Shit" I say to myself and run back into my room and check my phone where it reads six o'clock on the dot. 

Looking down at the clothes I'm wearing I realize I'm donning an oversized sweatshirt and some baggy sweats with my hair in a sad excuse for a ponytail and run into my bathroom to do something with my hair as quickly as I can.

After doing that and throwing on some mascara and chapstick I dig through my closet and find a nice off the shoulder sweater and some jeans and throw them on as quickly as I can and pair it with a set of converse hoping that it'll suffice. 

I know for a fact that he's gonna show up in something ridiculous like a suit of some sort but I can't be bothered to do much more than this. Thanks to my mother I wasn't even given the opportunity to choose otherwise. 

"Y/n Mr. Jeon's pulling up right now" I hear my mom call out for me. I roll my eyes before responding. "Be right there" I yell out, checking myself out one last time before heading down where I see my mom is already greeting him in the doorway. 

As I observe their exchange I watch as Jungkook's eyes flicker over in my direction but once he actually sees me he makes eye contact after dragging his eyes up and down my figure, making me lose my footing for a second but not enough for him to notice. Or so I thought as he meets me with a knowing smile while my mother has her head turned the other way. 

I roll my eyes at him and finish my path down the steps without falter and end up a few feet in front of him where my mom still spouts off a ridiculous excuse for small talk all while Jungkook has barely taken his eyes off me.

"Thank you for inviting me Mrs. Hart" Jungkook says and she quickly dismisses the formalities requesting he call her Lily instead before she excuses herself so she can grab a vase for the flowers I'm just now noticing he had given her. 

"Y/n would you mind taking him to the sitting room? Dinner should be ready soon" she finishes and leaves Jungkook and I still standing by the front door. 

"For you" he says pulling out a single white rose from behind his back. "Oh, it's beautiful" I say, reaching out to take it from him, accidentally grabbing his hand instead of the flower and look up at him with the intension to apologize but my words are caught in my throat when I meet his eyes. 

His damn eyes that see right though me yet beg to learn more. His eyes that leave my skin crawling but craves his touch no matter how light it might be. His eyes that tell me everything and nothing all at once. 

"You're welcome Pretty" he whispers as though it was a secret never to be told to any soul other than our own.

"I- what?" I stammer, caught off guard by his compliment, eyes wide in shock which only earns me a slight upturn of his lips before he turns to face towards the direction my mother had disappeared to.  

"Shouldn't we be heading to the sitting room like your mother requested?" he says slipping his hand out of my grasp. 

I clear my throat before wordlessly walking towards said room, worried that I might betray myself otherwise. 

"You have a lovely home" he says once I motion towards a place for him to sit once we arrive in said room. "Thank you. James and my mother bought it soon after they got married so we've lived here ever since" I respond, making an effort to keep the conversation going. 

"Would you mind if I asked how long ago that was?" he questions, opting to do the same. "It was about four years ago, around the time I was graduating. They had been dating for a few years and I guess they decided that they were serious enough about each other to get married" I say just scratching the surface as to how everything went down between them. 

"Are you fond of your step father?" he asks, apparently interested in getting to know more about me. "I like him more than I like my own mother most days if I'm being honest. He's a really great guy and my mom seems happy so that's all I could really ask for" I say shrugging my shoulders, not really having too strong of an opinion on it. 

He nods his head, almost reflecting on the answer and I fear that I've made him feel awkward by my response so I nervously slip in a question of my own. "Do you have family close by?" I question since now that I think about it we really haven't had too much time to get to know the most basic things about each other. 

"Unfortunately no. My parents and brother live in Korea still and so it's just Bam and I" he says with a sad smile. "Bam?" I question, "Yeah my dog. He's a Doberman that thinks he's a lap dog at times and at other's he's ready to defend me against the smallest of things" he says with a soft smile reminiscing about the fond memories they've made together. 

"How old is he?" I question, seeing that he clearly loves talking about him. "He'll be turning two in December" he says scrunching his brows together for a second as he tries to get it right. "Aw he's still just a baby. Why haven't I seen him before?" I question since I feel like I would've noticed a big puppy like him wandering around the place. 

"I take him to his trainers while I'm working and then pick him up once we've concluded our lessons" he replies. "So that's the business meeting you spoke about when my mother tried to invite you to dinner the other night then" I say clearly catching him in a lie from seeing his reaction. 

"Yes, it was" he says, deciding to admit it to set a good example for me instead of breaking the promise we made. "Is that why you force me into letting you give me a ride home most days?" I prod further, wanting to get answers out of him while I still can. 

"That, amongst other things..." he trails off with a smile and before I'm even able to think about what the fuck he means by that my mother comes in letting us know that dinner is ready. 

"Thank you so much for joining us on such late notice Mr. Jeon" James says, reaching out to shake Jungkook's hand before we all sit down. Jungkook sitting across from me with my mother and James on either end of the table. 

"Thank you for your generous invitation. You have a very lovely home" he compliments while turning his attention back to my mother for a second, inferring that she was probably the designer from the feminine touches throughout it all. 

"Lily really prides herself in creating a soft and peaceful atmosphere and I can't help but adore everything she's done to the place" James says while gazing over at my mother with a soft smile. Anyone can see that he really loves her and although her and I butt heads I'm happy she ended up with someone like him. 

"I feel as though you've definitely achieved your goal then, wouldn't you say y/n?" Jungkook says, catching me off guard by bringing me into the conversation.

"Oh, um yes I think you've done a wonderful job mother" I say smiling at her momentarily before looking back over at Jungkook, giving him a look as a way to question his motives but he only gives me a pleasant smile in return. 

The night goes on almost painlessly with each of us engaging in what Jungkook would phrase it as 'Stimulating Conversations' and even gets a few smiles and laughs out of me. It feels as if I'm seeing him in a new light tonight. 

Not merely as teacher and student, but as some what of a friend. One that I'm starting to realize has had nothing but my best interest at heart. Sure some of his methods might seem unorthodox but I know now that he means well, he just has an interesting way of showing it. 

"Would that be alright with you y/n?" I hear James call out, making me realize I had not only been thinking about Jungkook but also staring right at him and losing track of the conversation. 

"I'm sorry what was that?" I say quickly, tearing my eyes off of Jungkook and over at James, hoping to hide that I was staring at Jungkook but also avoiding his ever knowing gaze. 

"I just asked Jungkook if he would escort you to the charity ball we had mentioned earlier. That way you have a familiar face around" he says, widening my eyes at the suggestion and flitter them between Jungkook and James for a moment before trying to deny the offer. 

"I couldn't possibly ask him to do that. I'm sure he has other matters to attend to or someone else he might have in mind to go with" I babble, trying to offer him a way out of this but my mother clears her throat as a warning to not try to push it anymore and to just accept what James thinks would be best for me. 

"It's fine y/n, I assure you. I would be more than happy to help guide you. It's important for you to make a good impression no?" he says, nudging his foot against mine. Leaving me jolting at the sudden contact. "R-right" I stutter, taking a sip of water to cover up my reaction. 

He just loves getting his way doesn't he? I swear, if we weren't being watched I would've stomped on his foot but instead I pull my feet back towards myself, leaving them out of reach and luckily they take our exchange as an agreement to the posed idea.

"If you don't mind me asking, how old are you? You just seem so mature but look so young that I just can't seem to pinpoint what your age might be" my mother asks him while taking a sip of her wine. I swear if she's tipsy and about to start flirting with him right in front of James I'm gonna puke. 

"I turned 27 last September, I do tend to get that a lot. I guess it's just one of the many blessings my parents have bestowed on me" he says lightheartedly but I can tell he's clearly eating up the compliments as a way to tease me. 

"Do your parents live close by? I feel like I would've seen them by now at one of the events over the years but I can't seem to recall a Mr. or Mrs. Jeon" James ponders, turning Jungkook's attention back over to him. 

"Oh they're back in Busan, my home town in South Korea. I figured it would be too big of an adjustment for them to move here so I make sure to go visit them when my schedule allows it" he says giving a concise answer. 

"Oh I've heard that Busan is a beautiful place to live. It's by the coast if memory serves me right" my mother jumps in, making me take interest in the conversation, still wanting to know more about him. 

"Yes that's correct, although I only lived there until I was about eighteen when I got accepted into Seoul National University and in turn moved to Seoul" he informs and James asks more and more questions, fascinated in what the upperclass might call a "self made man journey". 

~~~~~~

As the night wraps up and the dessert is long gone I can see that my mother is ready to head to bed, hopefully before making an absolute fool of herself after all the wine she's consumed. 

"It was lovely meeting you Jungkook" my mother lightly slurs and James soon comes to her aid to say goodbye as well and I take that as an opportunity to slip out to get some air.

Making my way to the courtyard at the back of the house I take in the sight of the few stars that I can manage to make out, all these city lights stopping them from shining as bight.

"It's a shame isn't it?" I hear Jungkook's voice say from behind me, making me jolt in surprise. "You scared me" I say after glancing back at him. "I apologize, I didn't mean to" he say while taking a few strides towards me. 

"Likely story" I mumble under my breath and he chuckles at my reaction. "Okay maybe I did a little bit, but it's only because I enjoy watching your reactions" he says smugly once he's standing next to me. 

"Where's James?" I question, glancing over at him before turning my attention back to the sky. "Taking your mother to bed. Seems like she's had one too many" I nod my head in acknowledgment and he surprisingly takes it as an answer, refraining from asking questions, seeing my slight discomfort on the topic. 

"What's a shame?" I question, making him tilt his head in confusion. "You said earlier 'It's a shame'. What were you referring to?" I remind him. "It's a shame you can't see many stars from here. The city lights tend to shine so bright that you can never truly see how brilliant they are" he smiles before answering. 

"I don't think I've ever actually seen that many stars. I think the closest thing was when I was on a road trip with my mom and dad. I was too young though so I hardly remember it. I miss it though" I end, clearing my throat and pushing away any emotions that had stirred up from that last statement. 

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that" I say rubbing one of my bicep and shrinking back into myself so to say. 

"You have nothing you need to apologize for y/n" he responds, leaving a beat of silence before filling it up again. 

"I used to go stargazing with my father too" he starts, making me make eye contact with him for a second. "We used to drive all the way out to the edge of town where it was away from all the big buildings and bring a big blanket to lay on and we would just look up at the stars for what felt like hours" he smiles fondly, turning his focus back towards the heavens. 

"I remember my mother scolding my father once for keeping me out too late, worried that I might've caught a cold. My father swore up and down that we both had dressed warm enough but by morning we both woke up sick as dogs" he chuckles, making me smile. 

"She continued to scold him all day and all night but even through all of that, she was still there, nursing us back to health" he finishes. 

"She sounds lovely" respond truthfully "She is" he whispers with a sad smile, and from that alone I can tell how much he misses home. "She can be quite intimidating when she wants to be though" he laughs. 

"Oh really? Is that who you get it from?" I say, poking fun at him. "Get what?" he asks turning to face me and I mirror him, meeting his mischievous gaze. 

"Your intimidation tactics you try to use on me" I say and he cocks an eyebrow at me. 

"Try? I'm pretty sure I'm rather successful most days don't you think?" he questions taking a few steps towards me, leaving me taking a few steps back. 

"Key word is most though, they don't always work" I say, walking backwards not paying mind to anything but keeping a distance between us. 

"Really?" he says with a knowing smile, glancing behind me. As I open my mouth to respond I lose my footing and step off the patio flooring and onto the grass but before I fall Jungkook grabs my wrist and pulls me flush against his chest. 

"Because they seem to be working right now. Seeing as you're trying to run away from me" he teases, tilting his head at me. 

I push against his chest lightly and he loosens his grasp on me to barely give me room to breathe. "I wasn't running" I say, placing my hands on top of his and prying them off of me. With him letting go with little to no resistance, allowing me to step aside and walk past him. 

"Then what were you doing?" he says grabbing my wrist before I get to far. As I try to respond I see a light turn on in my parents bedroom and pull Jungkook over to hide behind one of the pillars, hiding incase one of them were to look outside. 

I watch for a few moments, holding my breath as I see shadows form in the light cast across the lawn, feeling my heart race until the light turns off, signaling that they've hopefully turned in for the night. 

I let out that breath and jump at the sound of an amused scoff, having forgotten that he was still with me. 

"What was it you were doing Miss y/n" he says in a hushed tone and when I turn to face him I realize I have my back against the pillar with a strong grip on his wrist, in turn having pulled him closer in an effort to hide. 

I take in the distance between us which at this point is mere centimeters and lose my words watching as the city lights reflect in his eyes. 

"I was maintaining personal space" I say after having regained the slightest bit of clarity which dissipates when he leans his forearm against the pillar above my head and leans in closer. 

"And what pray tell are you doing now?" he asks in my ear and I can almost feel how much he's enjoying this, leaving me without the strength to come up with a reply. 

"Hmm? Cat got you tongue?" he says, placing his hand on my waist and barely ghosting his lips against my skin. 

He waits there for a beat, giving me a chance to respond but when I don't he decides to fill up that space. "I had fun tonight. Invite me over again sometime?" he questions, squeezing my waist a bit making me let out a quite okay and he smiles against my skin before pushing himself off of me and turning to walk back inside. 

I stammer trying to say something but decide to just follow behind him.

"Let me get your coat and I'll walk you out" I say, knowing where we keep them when guest come and quickly catch up to where he stands at the front door and handing it to him. He decides to drape it over his arm in place of putting it on since his car is parked right out front. 

He opens the door and lets me out first before following after and closing it behind us to keep the crisp night air from getting into the warm house.

"Thank you, um thank you for coming tonight. I wasn't really in on this plan so I'm sorry if the invitation inconvenienced you at all" I explain while following him to the drivers side of the car. 

"I had a free spot open tonight so I was more than happy to accept" he says, opening the door and leaning in to place his things on the passenger side seat and straightening back up to face me again, not making moves to sit inside yet. 

"I'm sorry they basically volunteered you to be my date to this stupid ball thing" I apologize further, looking down and kicking the rocks under my shoes in embarrassment. 

"You know," he start, tilting my chin up to make eye contact, "You say sorry quite a lot for someone who doesn't need to apologize" he finishes, rubbing corner on my lips with his thumb before leaning in. 

I shut my eyes tight, scared that this might be the time he actually kisses me and hold my breath. 

I hear him chuckle to himself and places a kiss on the corner of my mouth, close enough to keep me wanting more and no where near far enough to maintain that professionalism he tries but fails to maintain around me. 

"Goodnight y/n" he whispers before sinking down into the drivers seat making me open my eyes fast enough to see the satisfied smirk on his face. 

He closes his door and starts the car, rolling down his window before he puts it in drive. 

"We're going to the modiste in the morning to pick out your dress for the event so be ready at seven" he says, turning his face towards me. 

"But it's Sunday" I protest and he nods in acknowledgment. "I'm aware but time is of the essence love. I'll come pick you up so please be ready on time" he says, waiting for an answer to solidify the plan. 

"Yes Mr. Jeon" I mumble looking down at my shoes again, falling into routine of agreeing when I wish I didn't have to. "Good girl" he finishes, leaving me snapping my vision back up at him with shock and he grants me a smile in return. 

"Goodnight Mr. Jeon" I say and at that he chuckles and faces straight ahead, rolling up his window before pulling out of the driveway and onto the street. Leaving me with my thoughts and emotions in a turmoil like he always does. 

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[lilac-ravenclaw]

Let me introduce my Hogwarts Legacy MC, Raven Fawlty. I love her so much and want to share her adventures with everyone.🪻

Art Trade? Yes, please! Just please tag me with your drawing. In return I’ll draw your Hogwarts MC! 👩🏻‍🎨

Instagram | DeviantArt | ArtStation

✨ artof.ravnbee on Ko-Fi ✨ Thank you!

The Picnic 🧺 - 3k words / fluff

📖 Traces of Lilacs - Ao3

Ch. i - Miracles

More chapters coming soon!! ✍🏽

If anyone is interested, I created a playlist inspired by Raven. I'll continue to add songs as time goes on. Hope you enjoy! 🎧 Spotify Link 🎧

General Info

Name: Raven Fawlty - { reason for her name for me } “Ravens” often represents ancient wisdom, transformation and intelligence. The name “Raven” means “dark haired or wise”. “Fawlty”… honestly this was a gimmick at first. As I love the show, Fawlty Towers with John Cleese. Ran in the mid-late 70s with only 12 episodes, and was hilarious imo. it was the first name I could think of when creating my character.

Birthday: January 29, 1874 { The Raven was published in Jan 29, 1845 }

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Sex/Gender: Female { she/her }

Ethnicity: Latina and English

House: Ravenclaw

Wand

Stalk: Dark Brown

Wood type: Willow

Core type: Unicorn Hair

Flexibility: Reasonably Supply

Wand Length: 12”

Handle: Checkerboard - Blue

Patronus: Black Bear

The Black Bear is known for their adaptability and resourcefulness. Others will see her as a fierce opponent who will protect herself and those close to her. Only those close to her will know of that softer side she usually keeps hidden away.

Physical Appearance

Eye color: Light Violet

Skin color: Tan/light brown, with olive undertones.

Hair: Long length and black, usually worn in a braid.

Height: 5’1” (155cm)

Weight: 110lbs (49kg)

Body type: Hourglass and petite

Birthmarks: small mole on the face, left cheek

Fashion style: Loves wearing a comfortable trouser, but will still wear a button up blouse and a skirt. Doesn’t care for the traditional school robe, but favors a nice blazer/jacket when needed.

Accessories: Pierced ears for small earrings, (wears a pair of snake gold snake earrings Sebastian gave to her as a birthday gift).

History

Place of birth: Somewhere in the UK

Childhood: Grew up in orphanage in London. Doesn’t know who her parents are, or her real name. She has a love for literature and took the name “Raven” after Edgar Allen Poe’s poem, The Raven. The orphanage she resided in was very strict and had a harsh living environment. The caretaker was mean to the children, much like a Miss Hannigan from the show Annie. So much so, that is how Raven acquired her last name “Fawlty”. A homonym for “faulty”, meaning of faults, inadequate, or wrong. (Which is also why the show, Fawlty Towers, got its name too.) Unknowingly to be a future Ravenclaw, took the insult of a name as a challenge to succeed and learn all she could and be the best version of herself.

Family history: Her father originally from South America and went to Castelobruxo, a wizarding school in Brazil. Being from the heart of the Amazon rain forest, he had a profound love for magical creatures. Which is where Raven gets her love for magical creatures as well. He had traveled all over the world and eventually made his way to Europe where he met Raven’s mother, was also traveling abroad as well. She had also attending Hogwarts in her youth, being a former Ravenclaw too. She loved astronomy, and music literature (her mother, Raven's grandmother, was a music instructor). It is unknown what happened to her parents in their untimely death, and how Raven ended up at the orphanage. **Keep in mind, Raven herself doesn’t know this. I just wanted to write this down to know where she gets her personality and interests come from ☺️**

Notable events/milestones: Raven always knew somehow.. she was different. Though, according to the wizarding world’s standards, it took a little longer for her powers to emerge. Even small things would happen here and there, without her realizing what had happen and that she was the cause of such strange occurrences. Until one day when the orphan keeper (the person who runs the orphanage) was “disciplining” one of the children and Raven stepped in to protect them and that enough was enough. She had forced a large shelf to fall over onto the orphan keeper… it was as if what she was thinking became a reality. Afraid of what would happen, Raven ran away, seeking shelter where she could. As Professor Fig was assigned the task of giving Raven her letter and bringing her to Hogwarts, it still took no time at all for Professor Fig to find Raven even though she was missing from the orphanage. She was hesitant at first but overall wasn’t scared at all, and actually was relieved to know there were others like her. A whole world like her just waiting to be apart of and that was the happiest day in her life.

Other notes: She had studied with Professor Fig for the duration of the summer before starting at Hogwarts. Having only gained her powers after the school year had finished. He had become the first father figure to Raven.

Psychological Traits

Personality type: INFP (Mediator) is a personality type with the introverted, intuitive, feeling and prospecting traits. These rare personality types tend to be quiet, open-minded, and imaginative, and they apply a caring and creative approach to everything they do.

Personality traits: intelligent, witty, adventurous, warm, courageous, emotionally intuitive, and quick-thinker.

Introvert/Extrovert: Sometimes both. Loves to be around her close friends, but doesn’t mind spending time alone reading a good book or flying on her broom.

Hobbies: Star-gazing, tending to the magical beasts in the Vivarium, reading, and singing. Doesn’t audition for the school choir til her 6th year. She doesn’t tell anyone except Poppy if she should try out, as Raven was 100% nervous about it and never sang in front of people.

Loves: Flying on her broom and singing in the choir.

Morals/Virtues: Values being compassionate and always being there for her friends/loved ones at a moment’s notice. Tries to do right by them and stand by their side when times are tough. She knows what it feels like to be alone in certain situations and doesn’t want her friends to go through the same thing.

Phobias/Fears: Being trapped in a “cage” and being forgotten.

Relationships

Love Interest: Sebastian Sallow… From the very beginning she felt like there was some sort of connection, but was a bit too oblivious to see it at first. He’s very charming and almost flirtatious with other girls, so figured she wasn’t any different. Sometimes she will catch him sneaking a glance in her direction during class, while studying in the Library or at mealtimes in the Great Hall. It was so easy to stand by him and help him find a cure for his sister without even a second thought. It may have been foolish, but Raven knows what it’s like to have no support when at your lowest. To feel like all hope is lost. She can understand losing your parents at a young age.

Parents: Deceased, Names Unknown

Grandparents: Unknown, Names Unknown

Best friends: Poppy Sweeting and Natsai Onai

Friends: Ominis Gaunt, Garreth Weasley, Amit Thakker, and Imelda Reyes

Rivals: Leander Prewett, not in a bad way. It's mostly a friendly competition when playing Summoner's Court.

Enemies: Peeves the Poltergeist, damn him for catching them in the Library!

Clubs: Crossed Wands, Summoner’s Court, and Hogwart's Glee Club ( was super hesitant in trying out for the school's choir, but her best friend Poppy gave her the confidence she needed to try out).

If you’ve made it this far then thank you so much for reading. Hope you enjoyed learning about my MC✨

[mikuni14]

I know I keep talking about Tharn and how wonderful he is, but I also have to say something about Phaya. Who is, on reflection, a perfect example of a "manly man"✨, the main character of an action movies, who works for me for once. He's also one of the few action/adventure/crime MLs that I find really hot and attractive, something other productions almost never achieve. Why? Because - I say this only from my perspective - what the producers THINK will be attractive to me is completely different from what I actually FIND attractive.

Phaya is a classic male hero, but he takes classic patterns of masculinity and reworks them in his own way.

Phaya looks very masculine, but in a way that I like. He's muscular, but not too much. His muscles were developed through martial arts training, sparring, something that is related to his hobby and work, not worked out just for being muscular. We see him determined and focused when he goes through training, but he also has fun sparring with his friends, instructors, WITH THARN (that's a completely different story 🔥). We see that he likes healthy competition, that he has ambitions, but he is focused on improving himself, not on proving to others that he is better than them. Phaya has a healthy approach to his body, to competition and to sports.

I like that Phaya takes care of himself, that he tries to look good (especially for his crush), BUT AT THE SAME TIME he has no qualms about finding the most embarrassing matching shirts and persuading said crush to put them on and casually stroll around the tourist area town, looking like a funny, old married couple. Phaya has a healthy attitude towards his appearance and how people perceive him (he doesn't give a fuck). The most important thing is that Tharn is by his side. In a matching shirt.

I like how active and task-oriented Phaya is, that he recognizes his own or any other problems and just does something about them. Suspicious murder? Phaya starts ivestigating. Strange dreams? Phaya has been researching it all his life, now he's going to the place where he can find answers. Tharn is not answering his calls? Phaya doesn't get offended, he doesn't create scenarios in his head, he just goes to Tharn, confronts him and comes up with a creative way to relax the stressed Tharn. Phaya acts, does research, has no qualms about asking for help and accepting help. Phaya is a pack animal, not this lone wolf bullshit.

I absolutely love how open Phaya is with his feelings, with himself. Friends? Grandmother? The Abbot? THARN? Phaya doesn't hide anything. When Tharn asks if he's feeling ok at the festival, Phaya tells him about his troubling feelings, he doesn't hide behind a straight face and "I'm fine." Phaya is not afraid or ashamed of his feelings or talking about them. Or admitting weakness, feeling bad or even fear.

what deserves a special mention is how open Phaya is about his interest in Tharn - towards Tharn and the rest of the world. Phaya is like "Tharn, I'm so interested in you and I want you to know it". And if anyone else sees this, it's not his and Tharn's problem, it's the world's problem, because Phaya is too busy with Tharn, who is all delicious right there, to worry about the rest of the world. Phaya is a grown man who knows what he wants and currently wants Tharn and to be a good cop and solve the mystery of his dreams and he will not waste his energy and time on proving his worth or anything else to the world.

Phaya has his own life BEYOND the romanse. He has a job, ambitions, a family, a home, his art, interests, and his own personal problems to face. Tharn is a part of his life, a new part, because Phaya existed as a person before Tharn.

I also like how Phaya treats his sexuality, namely he is completely ordinary and normal about it 😀 No issues, no trauma, no internal conflicts, no "finding himself", no crisis. I like the fact that he is pushy with Tharn, and although I'm normally not a big fan of kisses "without warning", it doesn't bother me in this case because Phaya is completely aware that Tharn likes him "that way". Tharn is flirting heavily with Phaya and they already had their almost kiss, so Phaya didn't cross the line with him. Besides, Tharn is also a grown man who can read Phaya's intentions, and he kissed him first - twice 😂 Phaya's sexuality is not a problem in this story, he is very simple about it.

Phaya is the kind of action hero that simply suits me. He seems to fit the type: he's aggressive, cocky, talented, smart, inventive, handsome and athletic. But he is also - in a quite ordinary way- nice, caring, friendly, supportive and helpful. He doesn't put himself in the center, he doesn't make everything about himself. He's also very funny, doesn't take himself seriously, can be a classic dudebro, goes to parties where he plays stupid games 🍾 and he is open with his feelings. He is naturally, effortlessly cool, but sometimes he is a bit pathetic and doesn't get everything right.

For me, Phaya is Phaya from the scene in the tub of icy water, hugging and supporting Tharn (because he wants BOTH of them to pass this test), it is Phaya from the scene in the bathroom, super sensitive to Tharn's mood, it is Phaya visiting tourist attractions with his crush and tucking him in to sleep. This is Phaya knowing when he can allow himself more with Tharn and knowing when to stop. This is Phaya who doesn't lie to Tharn, who seduces him, gives him time, gives him space, but at the same time leaves no doubt about how he feels about him and makes sure that Tharn is aware of it. It's Phaya intoxicated by Tharn's closeness and also coming up with cute nicknames for him.

Phaya is a classic model of masculinity without all the toxic, violent, stupid alpha bullshit, but with self-awareness, true personal freedom, the ability to function in a relationship, a family, a team, society, readiness for self-development and emotional maturity. He is a natural leader who can apologize to his teammates. Phaya redefined the male action hero type and I love him for it 💖