#i have no idea why they gave the dark skin option blue tones

[chaserainbows]

Calem without glasses on, he can't see shit

[piecksz]

animeverse where eren is still in his cell and hange+others have an idea of bringing ina girl to fuc to 'loosen him up' so he can give info,hange has studies n research to back this up they bring you dressed scantily to go be his whore he knows why ur there n hates u so hes mean and ignores ur advances eventually he hate fucks u w his anger being directed at u from his situation choking xtreme degrading just being rough in general MEAN SERIOUS EREN NO FLUFF OR LOVE

catalyst

eren yeager x reader

warnings: nsfw, roughness, mentions of breeding, degredation, choking, explicit language

a/n: this is my first prompt request n i was vvvv nervous so pls go easy on me ok ok i hope i did your vision justice

“As romantic as this reunion is, it’s not a date, we need answers.” Levi’s words were austere, ricocheting off the passage walls as the three of you traveled deeper below ground. “He’s still a shitty-ass teenager. Hopefully isolation has made him desperate enough for female contact.”

You said nothing, and instead your eyes looked around fretfully. The chamber was inhospitable, forged from naked rock adorned with smoldering torches. Your minimal attire was inapt in its frigid ambience, so you walked clung to yourself, arms wrapped around your bare shoulders to retain as much body heat as you possibly could.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” Levi questioned Hange, keeping his attention forward. He maneuvered through the sharp turns of the labyrinth, which gave you the impression he’d had many experiences down in the cells with his comrades.

Hange released a tremulous sigh. “It doesn’t matter. We’re out of options.” Their nervous tone had them looking over their shoulder, reassuring you with a placid smile. The gesture was thoughtful, considering it had felt like you’d been a third party to their strategic and undivided conversation, but it did nothing to soothe your hesitancy.

Levi and Hange had tracked you down and invited you to meet with them, urgently explaining that they needed your help with debriefing Eren after his insubordination and his blitz on Marley. He’d refused to disclose any further information about his conduct to anyone in the military, not even Mikasa and Armin, his closest confidants. So Hange suggested bringing in someone unbiased, someone not in the military to ruse more details out of Eren.

You were their prime choice after hearing how you and Eren had met when the Anti-Marleyan volunteers had arrived on Paradis. You’d been one of the several civilian volunteers that had helped with affairs and military proceedings at the port. There you’d met Eren and quickly forged a friendship, although Eren’s friends could have sworn there was more between you two than you would have liked to admit.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to their proposal. Perhaps it was your readiness to help the military in their righteous endeavors, or maybe it was for a different reason. Perhaps you were driven by your own selfishness. You wanted to see Eren again, even under the strange circumstances.

Eren’s cell was at the end of the corridor. Once Hange let out an abrupt “we’re here” your lips carried an eager smile, but your expression quickly faltered once you stepped forward and caught a glimpse of him in his cell. Even with the arrival of visitors, Eren kept his head forward while he sat on his bed, one arm balanced on his knee.

“Nice of you guys to pay me another visit. I’m starting to think you just miss me.” Eren’s voice was deep. So much deeper than you remembered. How long had it been? You couldn’t do the math.

“You know you’re our favorite problem child.” Levi responded humorlessly. He stepped aside for Hange to slip the key in the lock, and with one turn the door was swung open. “Don’t look so agitated. We brought you a gift.”

You made no efforts to step out from behind Hange and Levi, but Eren could see you clearly enough. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but maybe it was foolish of you to envision Eren slipping out of his troubled temper the moment you two saw each other again. Realistically, it never would have been that easy. Eren’s face remained hard, if anything it looked like seeing you made him even angrier.

Hange’s hand found its way onto your shoulder, supportive, but reminding you of the reason why you were there.

You shuffled forward, heels loud against the granite cobblestone. Darkness swallowed you as you crept in further, and you flinched at the sound of the heavy door being shut and secured behind you. Looking over your shoulder, your heart began racing at the sight of solid metal bars separating you from the outside.

“Let’s give them some space,” Levi suggested, stepping back from the cell.

Hange’s mouth opened to protest, but they were discouraged by Levi’s strong grip on their ear.

“We’ll be waiting outside if you need us, Y/N.” Levi announced through Hange’s squalls of pain. He gave you a comforting nod before his eyes drifted to Eren, and his expression toughened again. “Don’t try anything. Screams echo down here.” He paused and then turned on his heel to leave, tugging Hange’s ear before releasing it from his hold.

You watched nervously as the two of them disappeared behind the wall.

Hange’s voice was heard again further down the hall. “That hurt a lot, you know.”

It was the last remark you heard from the pair before you heard the door to the corridor close, and then worry flooded your system like it was on an intravenous drip. The Eren you were convinced you were meeting was replaced by someone you weren’t sure you knew, and suddenly you felt unsafe being alone with him, but you held an obligation to Levi, Hange, and the rest of the military that needed the information they expected you to gather.

You walked slowly, feigning a gentle smile to masquerade as though you were happy. It hurt to know that it was something you had to fake. You sat at the edge of Eren’s bed and took note as he made no efforts to shift away. That had to have been a positive sign.

“You look different,” you chuckled. “I like it.” The weak blaze from the burning torches casted a menacing shadow onto Eren’s stolid face. In the half light of the cell he appeared much older. You reached a hand out to brush away the loose wisps of hair that decorated his face, but your movement was stopped by Eren’s unyielding grip around your wrist.

You jumped, surprised at his roughness.

“Do you honestly think you can outsmart me?” His words were bitter.

You looked at Eren with wide, stunned eyes before blinking quickly and trying to laugh off your clear fright.

“What are you talking about?” You brought your unrestrained hand to his jawline, fingers tracing the shape of his face until your touch met the broad span of his chest, and then you felt gutsy enough to slip your fingers under the fabric of his shirt. “You’ve been down here too long. Not everyone’s your enemy, Eren.”

Your fingers wandered far enough until they met the defined curve of his collarbone and the robust muscle of his chest, but the moment was fleeting, interrupted by the jolt of Eren shoving you backwards. You fell off the bed and teetered, momentarily losing your balance.

“It’s pitiful that you’re letting them use you as a pawn.” Eren’s words were sharp, but venom in his words were bearable compared to the resentment behind his eyes.

He knew. He was smart, you should have known he would catch on. You created distance between yourself and Eren.

“What? They’re not using me as a pawn.” Your voice was unsteady. “I promise Eren, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you can help me understand if you just—”

“Then why are you here?” Eren rose from his bed to begin closing the distance you created, and your body began to quiver with dread.

You continued inching backwards until your tailbone collided with the edge of the cell’s sink, and you latched onto it with a sweaty grip.

“I’d rather be a pawn than be driven to do terrible things out of my own free will!” You had no choice but to admit what he already knew, and in seconds Eren’s hands were strung tightly around your wrists while he trapped your body against the sink.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized quickly, blinking back tears. You searched for something past his eyes, just a modicum of vulnerability to at least let you know there was a person behind the Eren you were speaking to, but the once fiery hues of green and blue in his irises were now frosted to an unremarkable grey. If it was true that eyes were the window to the soul, Eren was truly void.

“Please let go.” You pleaded and writhed in his grip. “Eren, seriously let go. You’re hurting me.”

“I don’t expect someone like you to understand.” Eren’s face showed nothing but malevolence.

“Someone like me?”

Eren pushed you back further into the sink until you bit back a shrill cry. “Someone that’s never had to make any sacrifices.”

Tear after tear did nothing to ease Eren’s painful hold, and as obvious as it was that he was hurting you, he remained unconcerned.

“Who are you?” You shook your head. “This isn’t the Eren I know.”

“Then your first mistake was thinking that you ever knew me.”

Eren’s words were somber, but he moved swiftly, and in seconds he tore you from the sink and had you pinned up against the wall, it’s jagged surface digging uncomfortably into your cheek. His mouth hovered by your ear, and when he spoke his breath fanned over the side of your face.

“Scream and I’ll break you.”

So you said nothing as Eren’s knee slid in between your legs, parting them far enough so that he could press his thigh to your cunt. His hands retired from holding your arms behind your back, and they traveled to your ass, riding up the fabric of your dress until it was on full display.

“This is nice.” His voice was condescending as tugged on your dress's short hem. “They did a good job at making you look—,” Eren delivered a sharp spank to the exposed skin then he ran his hand over the area searing with pain, “—like a whore.”

You took your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle a wail as Eren’s palm collided with your backside. He slipped a wicked finger under the thin material of your underwear and dipped his touch down between your thighs to stroke your folds through the cloth.

“Why are you shaking?” Eren used his free hand and slid it around your neck, gently at first, but you knew he wasn’t averse to tightening his grasp. “I thought this was all part of your plan.”

It had been, but your tremors weren’t the result of fear alone. You were scared out of your wits knowing that Eren had no reservations about harming you, and the thought shouldn’t have been as enticing as it was, but the combination of not knowing how he would choose to have his way with you had you feeling hot.

Your words were muffled through sobs, and your dazed mind didn’t make things easier, so all you could do was nod, which solicited a dry scoff from Eren. He hooked his finger around the fabric of your underwear and tugged it aside forcefully before parting your folds.

You released a feeble moan, and you could feel your knees buckling. If it weren’t for his tight grip, you were certain you would have collapsed. “Eren…”

“You’re wet already,” he said scornfully. Two fingers rubbed your clit mercilessly before slipping down to tease your entrance. “Acting scared meanwhile the whole time you were fucking dripping at the thought of me touching you like this. I don’t have to tell you how pathetic that is.”

Your breathing grew more labored at the anticipation of Eren’s long fingers entering you, pumping in and out of your hole while he ridiculed you for how desperately you tightened around his fingers, but you inhaled sharply when his touch disappeared.

Instead you felt Eren wipe your arousal on the inside of your thigh, and you had no time to question his behavior. A pitiful cry of surprise left your mouth as he grabbed the back of your neck, forcibly pulling you off the wall before throwing you in the direction of his bed.

“Move,” he commanded.

You staggered, looking back at him in alarm, but observed his directive without sacrificing any more time. Once you reached his bed, Eren followed closely behind, waiting until your back met the mattress to cage you in under his intimidating frame, and it then became clear that he held no other resolve than to use you for his own satisfaction. He disregarded your discernable ache and began unbuttoning his pants, pushing them down along with his briefs in one haste motion.

Eren’s large cock was already half-thickened with beads of precum glistening at its crown. He brought his palm to his mouth and spat in it before grabbing himself in the large curve of his hand to pump his length in preparation. He ran his tip up and down your folds, taking pleasure in the way you squirmed every time it prodded your tender clit, and then without warning he drove his cock into you, kindling a fervid cry that rose from the pit of your stomach and tore through your throat.

The sound echoed off the walls of the concrete box before ebbing into silence. Eren’s eyebrows creased in irritation while he looked down at you, and you suddenly harked back to his threat. You threw a quivering hand over your mouth, and shook your head, spluttering out a fragmented apology.

“I—Eren—I—I’m sorry…”

Yet he took no heed, and he began thrusting in and out of you, rocking back just to slam his hips into yours, over and over again until an uncomfortable pain grew from deep inside you and diffused over the span of your pelvis. All you could do was swallow your wails while your palm did it’s best efforts to smother your pleas. Fat tears ran down your cheeks and soaked into the sheets; your agony was hard to hide.

“Stop crying,” Eren barked through grunts. He pressed his hand to the hollow of your neck, fingers digging into your fleeting pulse. “You said yourself you have no problem being used.”

Sweaty fingers clutched his forearm, and you struggled against his dominance, breaths growing more and more shallow in an effort to conserve the air you were quickly losing.

He grabbed your wrists and held them together, pinning them to the mattress above your head with one hand.

“Maybe I should put a baby in you, then you’ll understand why what I’m doing is our last resort.”

Eren arched an eyebrow, but when you said nothing and only looked at him with glossy eyes a disdainful laugh slipped past his lips. He continued fucking himself deep into you, watching the way your body lurched with his movement, and then you felt his cock pulsate inside you.

It served as wordless notice that Eren was close, especially since he made no efforts to warn you. His eyes shut tightly, jaw hung slack while his groans intensified, and then he was cumming inside you, his hot seed flooding your walls as he claimed you.

You wound your eyes shut too, dark mascara-tainted tears staining your cheeks while you felt Eren thrusting through his high, making sure he had jettisoned every drop of his cum into you before he pulled himself out and wiped the creamy, white liquid that glazed his cock on the inside of your thigh.

“And when you report back, why don’t you tell them—” As if it were nothing he eased his weight off of you, taking a seat on the bed beside your shuddering body while he tucked himself back into his pants. “‘I let him fuck me pregnant because I’m a whore.’”

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Stress Relief (Donaka x fem!reader)

Summary: Donaka is stressed and it’s your job to help him relax.

Pairing: Donaka x Fem!Reader

Author’s notes: is this me posting filth again? Why, yes, it is! Enjoy because I have no idea how long this will last. LOL

Wordcount: 2688

Warnings: smut (oral m!receiving; fingering). Powerplay; degradation kink; edging, overstimulation; choking. 

Most of your days you spent doing whatever you wanted because you had no worries, not financially or of any type. You were free to hang out with friends, travel, party, and do whatever you wanted.

There were only two rules: you needed to be available to him whenever he called, be it in person or through the camera. And you were exclusively his. No one was allowed to touch you unless he said so. Those two rules were easy enough to follow when it meant having everything you ever dreamt of and more.

That day, you had been in your apartment reading when the message came in, making the smartwatch around your wrist vibrate:

Zen space. Lilac. NOW.

You had no idea what had happened and you preferred to remain blissfully ignorant of Donaka’s business, but you recognize that tone, even through text. He was stressed and furious and it was your job to help him relax.

Wasting no time, you set your book aside and headed to your bedroom, considering for a second if you should take a quick shower first, make sure your skin was silky soft and scented just like he preferred, but decided against it. Making Donaka wait was never an option so you just changed into the requested lingerie.

It was a pale lavender babydoll, with a lace front that revealed almost every inch of your body and tiny panties that barely covered your sex. You also put on the diamond choker he had gifted you even though he hadn’t explicitly asked for it, before taking the private lift that took you straight to his loft on the floor above.

The elevator opened in his home office and you noticed the room was dimly lit, the wall of screens was on standby offering a soft blue glow. The black leather couch was empty as you expected so you turned your attention to the left corner of the room, his Zen space, where he went to meditate or cool off.

Donaka was sitting on the glass bench, back turned to the rest of the room and facing the wall of concentric circles, his bare feet resting on the platform that separated the smooth and polished dark floor from the finely grated white sand. His hands rested on his spread knees and there was a slight hunch on his shoulders, the weight of his stress.

By his feet, in front of him, laid a thin pillow to protect your skin from the unforgiving sand and you were glad for it. You would, of course, kneel on it and endure the grains digging into your skin if that was what Donaka wanted but he didn’t get off on pain. Not yours at least.

You moved towards him in silence, resisting the urge to brush your fingers over his broad shoulders and back, before kneeling in front of him, sitting on your heels and looking up at the man that gave you everything and owned your heart.

His eyes pinned you in place and made your breath hitch. Cold fury clouded the brown orbs and his lips were pressed together tightly, jaw clenched tight. The sight made your body shudder with want and you pressed your thighs together.

There was something so arousing about seeing Donaka this enraged. Seeing the violence in his eyes and knowing that it would take him barely any effort to snap you in half or choke the life out of you. The knowledge that he was the kind of man that killed without even blinking but for some reason, he chose never to harm you. Most of the time, Donaka chose tender caresses and measured touches designed to bring you the kind of ecstasy that you had never experienced before.

Today his fingers trailed against your cheek in a featherlike touch, his thumb brushing over your lips, and at the faintest pressure, you parted them, letting the thick digit enter your mouth. You swirled your tongue around it before sucking greedily just as you wanted to do to another part of his body.

You watched his eyes darkening as you hollowed your cheeks and pulled more of his thumb into your mouth and moaned under your breath at the knot building between your legs, making your core pulse and dampening your panties.

Donaka’s other hand reached for the button and zipper of his trousers, releasing his half-hard cock from its confinements. He pulled his thumb free from your mouth, palm cradling your nape before he nudged your forward.

You licked your lips and inched closer, mouth salivating at the treat in front of you. You want his long, thick cock in your mouth. You wanted to feel it fully hardening between your lips, under your talented tongue. You needed to taste his bitter precum, a flavor you were slowly becoming addicted to… but all that could only happen after Donaka’s permission.

Sometimes it would come almost immediately. He would push you down his hard shaft, making you gag on it, fucking your mouth with abandon and using you like you were worth little more than your holes. In those days, he would come all over your face, zip himself up, and leave you to take care of yourself.

However, on days like today, when he was tense and furious with whatever had bothered him at work, he preferred to drag it out. To make you work for it, sometimes even beg to have his cock in your mouth. When he finally allowed it, Donaka would fuck your mouth oh so slowly, pushing deeper and deeper, until tears started to spring in your eyes, spit ran down your chin and your juices soaked your panties in such a way that all you and he could smell was the scent of your desperate arousal.

“What do you want?” He asked and his low and throaty voice sent shivers down your spine.

“Your cock, sir.” You whispered, peering at him from under your lashes. “Will you fuck my mouth, please? Make me choke on it?”

There was a barely-there twist in the corners of his mouth and your heart leaped in your chest. How you loved to make him feel good. It was like a drug.

“Such a good girl,” Donaka said, his thumb caressing your jaw. “My little cockslut.”

“Yes, sir,” you all but whimpered, pressing your thighs together once again because your cunt throbbed and you had never in your life thought you would get this turned on by being used like this, but by God, his words made you shudder with desire, body hot and ready for anything that Donaka was willing to give you.

With his hand still on your nape, controlling your pace, he nudged you forward once more, holding his cock with his free hand and letting the tip rub against your wanting lips. Donaka wasn’t one for much noise, but there was a slight hitch on his breath that told you he was enjoying the soft, almost ghost-like touch on the sensitive and swollen head of his member.

Your lips parted a little, letting your tongue brush against the velvety head and Donaka sucked in a deep breath, especially when the tip of your tongue probed against his slit, bringing forth a pearly white drop of his precum and making him harden fully.

God, your cunt ached in need to be filled but you knew you couldn’t touch yourself. Not until he allowed and that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Not until he had his release and part of you wanted to just suck him fully into your mouth, end this torturous teasing. Even if it meant a serious punishment later (or maybe especially because it would lead to a punishment).

However, the bittersweet pleasure of the edging and denial was like a drug too, making your orgasm be nearly blinding so you hanged on, gathering every little bit of patience you could find so you could continue to just lick the tip like a lollipop that you wanted to last forever.

After a few more moments of that painfully slow game, Donaka’s grip on your nape tightened, his blunt nails digging lightly against your skin, and you knew he was ready for more. You met his dark gaze, eyes hooded with pleasure lips parted in a soft pant as he watched you and he didn’t even need to tell you what to do.

“Sir, may I suck you now, please?” you pouted and kissed the head of cock for good measure, batting your lashes like a needy child and Donaka smirked.

“Yes, angel, you may.”

You didn’t need to be told twice and engulfed the thick and hard shaft into your mouth, whimpering at the burst of flavor on your tongue as he let out a small grunt of pleasure, his shoulders finally relaxing as he tilted his head back and just enjoyed your work.

You pushed him deeper into your mouth until your nose was almost pressing against the thick dark curls surrounding his member. The open fly of his dress pants scratching your chin as you hollowed your cheeks and hummed. Donaka cursed low and grunted, his hips raising lightly, driving even deeper, and you gagged, tears burning your eyes. Your clit was almost painfully swollen and each rub of the lace of your panties was torture. You needed just a little bit of…

“Take your hand off that cunt, angel.”

You had no idea how he knew. His head was still tilted back, eyes nearly closed but you didn’t dare to disobey a direct command. With a pitiful whimper and one last flick on your needy clit, you pulled your hand away, crossing them behind your back and Donaka’s smirked.

“That’s better.” He looked back at you, tugging you away until his cock slipped from your lips with a pop, and you gulped a breath. “No one ever taught you that you shouldn’t touch what doesn’t belong to you without permission?”

You said nothing because you didn’t have an answer to that.

“And to whom that little pussy belongs, angel?”

“You, sir.” Your voice was small and raspy from the abuse on your throat.

“Exactly.”

He petted your cheek once, before pushing you back toward his cock, and dutifully, you took him into your mouth again, letting your jaw slack so his shaft could slip in and out as he guided you to bob your head at a faster pace. His cock pulsed against your lips, and you could tell he was close. Soon enough, Donaka’s hot cum would be coating your tongue and you couldn’t wait. You were desperate for it.

Before him, you had never allowed a guy to cum in your mouth. Then again, before Donaka, the was plenty you didn’t let men do to you. He changed your life, and you knew you would never be able to go back.

His grip on you tightened again as he pulled you closer until your nose was buried against his pubes and you forced yourself to relax as best as you could as he let out a final grunt and pumped his cum down your throat.

The hot and sticky ribbons making you gag again and tears run down your cheeks as you blubbered and squeezed your wrists to hold them still. Only when he was completely spent, Donaka let you pull back, his cock slipping from your mouth, glistening with your spit and his cum as you coughed and gasped for much-needed air.

He only allowed you a moment, before he was forcing to sit on his thigh, your trembling legs spread as he pushed your panties aside and glided his long fingers over your soaked hairs and sensitive lips.

“My dirty little cockslut is this wet from sucking me,” he mocked with a biting tone, and you whimpered. “Do you want to cum, angel?”

“Yes, please, sir.”

His fingers rubbed over your clit, making you gasp and whine, the pleasure overwhelming to the point of hurting but you still thrust your hips up, seeking more.

“Please…” you were almost crying now, desperate for it. Exactly like Donaka like it. “Please, please, please. Oh God, please…”

Thick and fat tears ran down your cheeks and the same hand that had been around your nape, came to your throat, surrounding the choker and forcing you to tilt your face enough so he could lick away your tears and his two fingers finally entered you.

Your cries were high-pitched and needy as Donaka fingered you hard and fast, the heel of his large palm slapping your clit as he curled his digits and the hand on your throat tightened in just the right way.

Your climax hit you like a storm, lighting up every single one of your nerve-ends. Your vision darkened, your body tensed, your back arched and a wild moan tore from your throat as your cunt pulsed and throbbed and you squirted all over his hand and knee.

For a while you were nothing more than a conglomerate of nerves busting with pleasure that seemed to last forever as Donaka continued to thrust his fingers, pressing the rugged wall of your cunt and rubbing your clit, dragging out your bliss until another lightning struck and you came again in what it felt like was just seconds later, but you knew it had to be longer. Time seemed to shorten and stretch at once as you rode his hand, gasping, wheezing, and crying?

You couldn’t tell if that pitiful sound was really coming from your mouth, not when your body was electrified like that, your muscles spasming and feeling like jelly and you had to reach behind yourself for Donaka’s shoulders to hold yourself because surely you would slide to the ground if you didn’t.

And just as the blinding light of your pleasure was starting to dimmish and you thought you would be able to see and feel and talk and breath again, his hand restarted his motions and you cried because it was almost painful now. That sweet, incessant ache that made you seek it, and you could faintly hear sobs and pleas of stop and no more. You couldn’t take another.

“Safeword?” Donaka’s voice sounded clear in your ear, and it was on the tip of your tongue. You knew if it crossed your lips, he would stop, but your vocal cords refused to utter it. “Safeword, angel.”

You pressed your lips together tightly, like a kid with a secret, and shook your head. His lips drew into a pleased smile against your cheek.

“That’s my girl.”

His kiss on your jaw was almost soft and loving before his fingers restarted their dance inside you. Even faster than before and your hips were rocking against it, actively seeking out your third orgasm despite the aching of your abused clit.

Once again, as the climax overtook you, your body went rigid and seized, your vision whited-out and for several blissful moments, that intense pleasure made time fall away, leaving only the most perfect peace and comfort, like slipping into a hot bath after a long day, letting the scented water wash away any hint of tension in your body before you laid in your bed, the duvet and pillows soft like a lover’s caress, welcoming you to an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When you finally opened your eyes again, after what it felt like just a couple of seconds, you were in your bed, cleaned and tucked tight, the only evidence of your previous activities was the sweet ache between your legs whenever you moved and a deep, sad sigh escaped your lips.

It was always like this: Donaka fucked your brains out, then he would take care of you, clean you up and tuck you in and no matter how much your blissed-out self, begged for it – and you knew you always did – he would never stay. But this was the deal you made. You took whatever he gave you. You didn’t complain and you didn’t demand more.

You couldn’t. Too afraid of losing what little you already had.

xxx

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[asktensei]

Previously on Tensei’s Birthday Bash:

“Love,” I tug your sleeve, “Is the option of going out still open?”

“Tensei, it’s almost midnight - we can’t go out now,” you retorted.

“I have a sudden urge to go to the beach,” I say, looking out of the window, “The sky looks amazing, doesn’t it?”

“I have to go to work tomorrow, honey,” you say, cupping my cheeks.

“Please, love… for me?”

.

.

.

You turned to face Tensei. You felt his grip on you tighten as you pressed your hands against his soft cheeks. You smiled, seeing him close his eyes and savour the small act.

How could you say no to him? Every single thing he does makes your heart leap. Even by just melting into your touch, all of your rationality is thrown out of the window - just to make this male’s wishes come true.

“You better make me breakfast tomorrow,” you whisper, trying to not break the tension you both built in this small haven.

“Come on, Y/N - it’s my birthday tomorrow! I’ll cook the day after.”

“I don’t care if it’s your birthday, you’re making me breakfast tomorrow,” you got off the bed and went to get your bag.

Once you got your bag, you turned to face Tensei.

God, this man is a literal baby.

“Fine, I’ll make breakfast tomorrow.”

.

.

.

You helped Tensei into his wheelchair and then proceeded to walk beside him, heading to the beach. You enjoyed the soft light hitting your skin, closing your eyes as you gripped the back of Tensei’s seat. A small hum left your lips as you took in the crisp, cold air of the night.

“I told you this was a good idea,” he said, a smug look painted on his face.

You looked at the dark-haired male, annoyed.

“I have work tomorrow, Tensei - I’m scared I might oversleep,” you say, sighing, “...but I do miss the beach.”

“It’s been a long time since we went to our little oasis, hasn’t it?” he said, happiness laced in his voice, “We made a lot of memories there, you and I.”

You smiled, reminiscing all the moments you’ve shared with the former Pro-Hero.

“Do you remember when you tried to burn that ice cream I was eating with your quirk?” you said, laughing, “I remember how disgusted you were when the cream actually entered your engines.”

He tried wiping the cream off of the metal piece but resorted to asking you since he couldn’t clean it properly.

“You remember when a crab pinched your cheeks?” He said, holding back his laughter, “You cried so hard.”

“You can only joke about that when you actually feel the strength of a crab with its claws,” you retort, annoyed by his actions.

“Hey, hey - Wasn’t I the one calming you down?”

He was. He ran to a shop nearby and got an ice pack to cool down your cheek. He sat beside you, rubbing your back as you cried due to the immense pain. He kissed you on your forehead in hopes of calming you down.

“You were - you always have been by my side, Tensei,” You say, ruffling his hair.

“Don’t plan on changing that anytime soon,” he replied, pulling on your sleeve.

You faced the male beside you and instantly you were in awe. The blue tone of the sky had perfectly painted itself onto him, the cool tones brightening his cerulean eyes. His hair softly swished against the strong winds, framing his face so well. You stared at his lips against the soft blue hue of the night. Even against the cold colours, the redness of his lips still managed to shine, making it look so soft.

“You okay?” He asked, worried.

Thank God he didn’t know how much you loved him under this soft light.

“I’m good, Tensei,” you say, turning to the road ahead of you.

.

.

.

You closed your eyes as you stepped into the sea, enjoying the feeling of the warm water brushing against your feet. The heat from the body of water warmed your whole body like a small blanket. You enjoyed the feeling of the soft sand against the soles of your feet, rubbing your skin like a massage. The fresh breeze hit your skin, waking your senses.

It felt as if you came home from a long day at work.

It was so relaxing, so calming.

You missed this - a lot.

You turned to face Tensei enjoying the sea as much as you did. His eyes were closed, taking in the salty yet fresh smell of the breeze.

The blue hues of the night painted his skin so well it was not fair. No one could deny how amazing he looked under the night’s palette - he carried it with such poise.

It was times like this where you were reminded how precious Tensei is. After all, he was the very person who taught you how to love.

His lips lifted into a smile as he opened them and saw you staring at him.

“I am just that good looking, huh?”

Scratch that - he was an annoying ass.

You stared at his legs your heart dropped.

This was the first time he’d ever come to the beach with his crutches.

You knew how much he loved the beach - he loved it even more than you.

He went on and on about his memories with Tenya, his friends and his personal ones that took place on the sand you stood on.

You knew how much he loved the beauty of this little oasis, but he could no longer enjoy it.

He was the one who brought you to this very beach, but could no longer feel the freedom it gave.

If he can’t stand by himself properly, he’ll stand beside me.

“Tensei,” you started, “Do you want to enter the waters with me?”

“I can’t, Y/N…” he trailed off, looking at his crutches.

“I only need to carry you to the sea. You know water buoyancy exists, right?” you remind him.

“But -”

“I’m coming there,” you say, getting out of the water and heading towards him.

You stood behind him, and slowly took his left arm off its crutch and placed it on your shoulder. You gripped his side, pulling him closer to you.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Iida Tensei,” you say, laughing, “I’ve thought this through - it’ll work. Besides, you still have to get that right arm to work properly - you can do that, right?”

I like being the teaser once in a while, Iida Tensei.

“Stupid,” he chuckles as he turns to face the sea, “Let’s do this.”

“Ok! So there are roughly around 3 steps we need to do to reach the waterline. Once we reach there, you’re going to let go of your crutch and press your weight against me. I’ll carry you on my back and bring you into the water. From then on out, you just need to keep at least one limb on me. Clear?”

“Why don’t you just let me use my crutches until the waterline?” he asked.

Oh.

“I didn’t think of it,” you say, smiling in embarrassment.

“Dumb,” he teased.

“Hey! I could easily drop you here, you know?” You say, chuckling.

“You wouldn’t,” he said as he kissed your cheek.

Damn you.

“Okay, okay - let’s move,” you said, focusing on the mission at hand.

One.

“Damn, this is hard - why are you so weak, Y/N L/N?” Tensei said.

“Be careful, sir - your safety depends on me.”

Two.

“Why are you so heavy?” You ask, panting.

“I haven’t exercised in a long time and I eat a lot, I basically move using a wheelchair - you need more reasons?”

“Understood, sir.”

Three.

“Ok, we’re here,” he said, smiling.

“Yeah, yeah - smile. I have to literally carry you now,” you say, irritated.

“Hey! You suggested this, not me.”

“I did, didn’t I?” you say, sighing.

“How about I sit down on the sand first? After that, you can push me from the back?”

“Sir, have you heard of gravity?” you retort, “But sitting down for a while sounds nice.”

You gripped his sides tightly as you heard him drop the other crutch to the floor.

Time for payback, sir.

You immediately dropped him, making him fall on his behind.

“I did say your safety depended on me,” you replied, smiling.

“Oh?”

Oh, shit.

Using his crutch, he hit your calves lightly but just enough to make you lose your stability and fall face-first onto the sand.

“I’m still smart, you know?” He replied, smug laced in his voice.

“I’m sorry - weren’t you the one who forgot the existence of gravity?” You retort, rubbing off the sand.

“Holy shit, Y/N,” he began laughing at your sand-filled face, “Why don’t have my phone with me? I need to take a picture of you!”

This idiot.

“You got a lot of guts to do that to me now, don’t you?” you say, forming a plan in your head.

“Well, you wouldn’t kill me, so I don’t see you doing anything that bad to me.”

I guess it’s time to prove you wrong.

You hit the back of his head with your shoe, earning a groan from him. You then began to tickle his sides, causing him to laugh uncontrollably. You heard his pleas to stop, but you didn’t care - he asked for it.

“I guess,” giggle, “I need,” giggle, “Oh, never mind.”

He pushed his back onto you, making you fall back onto the sand.

“You like sand, don’t you, Tensei?” you say, kicking his thigh.

He pressed his hands on the sand beside the two of you and slowly got up. Then, he turned himself to face your body laid on the dry sand.

“Knockout!” he shouted, making you laugh.

“You’re really dumb.”

“Tenya is the smart one, not me,” he said, moving closer to you.

He laid back against you, pressing his head against your chest. You grabbed his hands, once again playing with his fingers. His right hand found its place against your left cheek, the pad of his thumb rubbing your cheek in circular motions.

“You are still extremely heavy,” you say, cutting the silence between the two of you.

“You do this to me all the time!”

“On the bed! Not at the beach,” you retort.

He chuckled, enjoying your irritated expression.

“I love this,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

“I do too,” you say, ruffling his hair, “Next time, you be on the sand though.”

Laughter erupted from the male leaning against you.

You looked at his joy-filled expression. You can’t help but wish that this man before you remains as happy as he looked right now - preferably against the blue hues the sky had to offer. You want him to stay in your arms as you relish the moments you are in his. You want him to enjoy the riches of life he has provided to multiple residents of Musutafu. You want him to live his life by your side as you shield him from the harsh words of others.

“Thanks for this, Y/N,” he said, moving upwards to kiss your cheek.

“Happy birthday, Tensei. I love you.”

“Thanks, Y/N. I love you, too.”

You both, covered in sand with slightly wet clothes, shared a kiss under the pale moonlight of the night as a blue hue dusted your skin - maybe with a dash of scarlet on his, too.

“Now that that’s done…” Tensei whispered.

You were pushed by Tensei into the sea. The body of water’s salty liquid entered your body through your nose and your mouth, filling your senses with nothing but disgust.

Yep - still the same, annoying guy.

[paper-n-ashes]

The Late Shift

Characters: Paul Sevier x Female Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings/Tags: There’s actually none (I hope). I know. I’m surprised too.

Authors Note: This is so dumb. I’m aware. Look, I’ve been dealing with a horrendous writers block and shattered confidence and I made Paul Sevier gifs to ease my pain. It turned into this. I just wanted to try something a little cute and fluffy to get back into the swing of things. So... here it is.

*

It was going to be a long night.

Stuck on the Wednesday evening shift for the third time this month, you mindlessly fiddled with the pen in your hand. Twirling it between your fingers, your mind drifted away from the present moment, wondering why your boss seemed to dislike you so much to keep you here past 6pm in the middle of the week. He’d always been adamant this was prime selling time for this boutique suit store, with corporate clients needing to do their shopping outside of normal business hours.

You, however, knew keeping this place open was senseless, barely seeing more than a few unenthusiastic customers in these agonizingly slow stretches. Working on commission also made you all the more bitter about being paid minimum wage to stand behind a counter and doodle sketches of imaginary clients dressed in the outfits you personally tailored. This isn’t where you thought a Bachelor of Arts in Fashion Design would take you, that’s for sure.

“H-hello,” you heard a deep voice quietly greet you, startling you into focus. “Are you busy? I… think I need a little help.”

Eyes flickering up from the notepad, you were sure your pupils blew wide at the sight of the man in front of you. Standing at an imposingly large height, his hair a severely murky shade of black, with honeyed irises shining brightly behind delicate spectacles.

A human personification of tall, dark and handsome. Well, except for the clothes.

The stranger wore the layered combination of a grey tweed jacket and argyle patterned sweater, arranged over a particularly heinous, mustard-coloured button up. While the ensemble made you internally cringe, it gave him an air of intelligence, like the kind that hangs around stuffy, old college professors who have more academic accolades than you have fingers and toes.

“Me?” you coughed out, knowing full well you were the only other person in this tiny little shop. “Uh, yeah. I mean- No, no I’m not busy. What is it you need help with?” Even when you stood, the man towered above you, making you silently begin to calculate the high-numbered measurements you’d need to fit him in something.

“I have an important meeting scheduled for Friday. You know, the type you need to wear a suit to?” Evidently the thought of it made him nervous, as you noticed his cheek twitch slightly, his eyes scanning momentarily at the garments filling the space. “I’m… uh… not so great with clothes.”

Clearly, you chuckled inside your head, holding the word from your tongue. “You want me to pick out something for you?”

He took a defeated breath, his mouth twisting into an awkward yet wonderfully endearing smile. “Would you mind? Only if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble!” you burst, maybe a little too excitedly. “It’s my job!” Bounding out from behind the counter you’d been imprisoned by, you moved directly to the section of classic navy business suits. Slim line. Something to accentuate his well-built frame, rather than hide it away. You had to pause, swivelling back around to the dumbfounded man. “Is price an issue… uh…?”

“Paul,” he answered for you, slowly moving to where you stood. “And… I suppose not. Probably should spend the money on something that will last. If you think it’s a good idea.”

Oh thank god, you mused without showing the relief on your face. He’s not some rich asshole trying to flash his cash. “A good suit can last you five years, if you treat it right.” Your hand reached over to graze one of the deepened blue sleeves of a jacket at your left. “And a classic colour will never go out of style.”

Paul let out an embarrassed chuckle. “I think you’ve already noticed how lacking in style I am…” He glanced to your nametag, murmuring your name with a goofy smirk curling his lips. You’d never seen a grown man, especially not one of this stature, appear so adorable. It was horribly distracting.

“I’m sure you have expertise in other areas,” you stumbled, realizing only when the words came out how offensive they might seem. Yet Paul conceded to your comment, his rumbling laugh making your chest feel tight.

“Debatable,” he shrugged. “I’m just glad I found some qualified personnel to help me in this instance.”

Oh boy. Humble and charming? You were in so much trouble. Surely someone as sweet as this had another waiting for them at home. “I’m sure your partner could help you pick out something nice too.”

“Not an option in my case.”

Shit. Single too. You were truly fucked.

You turned, trying to calm your erratic heartbeat by focusing on finding an outfit that would contain his longer limbs. Plucking out a matching jacket and trouser set, with an ivory, collared button-up, you offered them to Paul, his features having melted into a sweetened look of intrigue. “Go and try these on. There’s a changeroom just behind the counter. See how they feel, and we can go from there.”

He nodded, taking the pieces with both of his large hands and shuffling away to where you’d pointed to. No sooner than the latch had locked were you dashing to where your phone was sitting at the register, flitting out a rushed text message to your favourite co-worker.

There was rustling you heard emanating from the changeroom stall, doing your best to ignore the urge of picturing Paul, a man you’d met only minutes ago, gradually slipping off his clothes to reveal the toned muscles underneath. You grimaced at yourself, shaking your head to banish the imaginations. God this was unprofessional.

Finally, a response lit up on your phone screen.

You laughed softly through your nose, about to type a reply when you heard the lock click open again. The breath in your lungs was stuck as Paul made his way out, the expensive textiles draping over his burly frame in a way that made your whole body tense.

He rustled a hand through his hair, looking up to you while fidgeting with the starchy material stretched over his chest. “Does it look okay?”

After all these years working this job, the enticing novelty of attractive men in well-fitted suits had slowly worn off, especially when most of them treated you with about as much respect as the used gum they spit out onto the sidewalk. Suddenly, all those preconceived notions were gone. On Paul, this ensemble instantly became the most captivating thing in the entire universe.

The inside of your mouth flooded with saliva, having to swallow hard before speaking again. “Great… it looks… great.” You did your best to conceal a settling exhale. “What do you think? How does it feel?”

Paul shifted to look at his reflection in the mirror, pupils trailing up and down, flexing his limbs in an attempt to get a proper impression of the new apparel. “It feels really good. Makes me look… sophisticated.” He turned to you, his expression unsure. “Right?”

Your smile was sparkling, nodding to his question. There was a small amount of work to do, noting how in your effort to make sure everything complemented his physique, you’d oversized him. The waistline of the jacket needed to be taken in, the shoulder lines sitting slightly off, and the trouser length needing to be taken up slightly. “A couple of adjustments and it’ll be perfect.”

“You mean taking it to be tailored?”

“No need.” You pulled out the wheel of berry pins from your pocket, kneeling down on the floor next to Paul’s feet. “All our tailoring is included in the price. Done completely in house.” You began to fold the bottom edge of his pants, pinning it to an adequate length. “I can have it ready for you tomorrow, all ready for your Friday meeting.”

“You do all the tailoring yourself?” Paul asked as you slinked another pin through the fabric.

“Sure do,” you chirped, moving onto the other leg. “3 years at a design school taught me a few things about cutting and sewing.” With the hemlines in place, you straightened in front of him, plucking out a roll of measuring tape from your other pocket. “I just… need to take a few measurements to properly alter the jacket.”

His cheek twitched, the line of his jaw seeming somewhat strained. “Sure. F-fine. Do what you gotta do."

You went with determining his arm length first, feeling out the boney point of his shoulder and striping the lined tape all the way down to his wrist. Then, after taking a deep inhale, you curled your arms around his hips, focusing hard on the little black numbers to ignore the fact Paul’s breath had started to skate over your skin with this close proximity. It was when you were lining up the thickened stripes indicating his chest circumference that you made the mistake of peering up, finding his alluring stare fully concentrated on you.

There was a moment. A spark to waiting kindling. Where impulse could have led you to do a dangerous thing. You’d never been the hasty type, never acted without considerable thought. Usually so shy and composed, never making the first move. Although right now, you could scarcely hold yourself back, desperate to know the sensation of Paul’s lips, how they’d move over yours, what they tasted like.

No. This was so inappropriate.

The compulsion was about to wither away when you felt a hand skim up your waist, the lightened touch shooting a thrill over your skin.

“Excuse me,” a gruff voice called from your side. “How much are these dress socks?”

You immediately stepped back, smacked into reality again. “$12.99. Exactly what it says on the box.”

The older gentlemen scrutinized the packaging, lids narrowed until he finally saw the numbers plastered at the border. “Oh, right. Eh, a little expensive for my taste. Thanks anyway.”

Flustered, you began to coil the measuring tape into its resting spiral, forcefully glaring at the floor. “I’m all done. You can get dressed into your own clothes now.”

In your periphery you saw Paul regarding you with a gentle nod, walking back into the changeroom without another word. Every part of you wanted to sink beneath the wooden floorboards, so horrendously embarrassed you could feel a smoldering heat prickle at your cheeks. Only to relieve some of the nervous energy, you ran to your phone.

Again, Paul was exiting out of the stall just as you were going to submit your reply, placing the neatly arranged garments over the counter. It was difficult to look directly at him, having to summon all remaining shards of your courage to drift your eyes up to his face. “Was there anything else you needed?”

His mouth parted, only to quickly snap shut, scratching at his hairline in the seconds it took for him to give you a response. “No. Nothing else. Unless there’s something more you think I need.”

You shook your head, wishing you could give another answer just to keep him here. “You’re all set.” The full price of his items flashed on the monitor in front of you, spouting it to him as your fingers flicked across the keyboard to finalize the purchase, with a personal discount that wouldn’t show on the receipt.

“When should I come by to pick it up?” he queried, passing you his credit card. “Oh, but there’s no pressure. Whenever you have the time is just fine.”

An idea flared. “If you give me your number, I can text you when it’s ready.”

“That works for me.”

Erasing all evidence of the conversation you’d been having, you brought up the number pad, handing your phone over. Paul swiftly typed in his details before placing it back in your palm. ‘Paul the Suit Guy’ the contact read, unable to stifle your laugh.  

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His eager expression made your heart quiver through a beat.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered. “I’ll see you then.”

Paul waved his hand in an awkward flourish to signal his goodbye, eventually moving far enough from your vision for you to finally take a full, relaxed breath. In a dazed hurry, you keyed in your returning message to your co-worker.

It was the precise moment your thumb had pressed into the ‘Send’ button that you realised your recipient wasn’t the one you’d intended.

You’d sent this message straight to Paul.

Fuck. Oh fuck. This was bad.

While you were scrambling to formulate a believable excuse, a new message popped up onto the screen.

Tags for my lovelies who might tolerate this nonsense: @tlcwrites @roanniom @princessxkenobi @hopeamarsu @blowthatpieceofjunk @mariesackler @leatherboundriot @foxilayde @modernpaw @cornmousequeen @direnightshade @safarigirlsp @blackberries45 @mylifeisactuallyamess @caillea @jynzandtonic @beskarbabs​

[yeenybeanies]

Giant Cowboy Murder Mystery

forgive me it’s been almost two weeks since i posted the preview sdfjdfj but the full version Was released to the public on my patreon on time so you can’t be Too mad at me patreon will receive new chapters first!

3,790 words

mild mentions of nudity and injury

thanks for reading!

patreon | ko-fi

Cool, crisp air rustled the leaves of the tall conifer trees, and crickets sang their choruses, filling the calm evening with a natural symphony. A crackling campfire lent its rhythm, rounding out the song. It sounded peaceful. Serene. 

It smelled a lot different. A putrid stench permeated the air, filling the forest. 

A young woman ran. Ignoring her bare skin, her shrieking muscles, her burning lungs, she ran. She ducked and weaved her way through the trees, following the only thing she could really discern in the darkness: that campfire light. Its orange glow was a beacon of hope, of safety. Jaw clenched, the woman pushed her battered body further. She paid no mind to the branches and thorns that scraped her as she passed, to the stones that stabbed her feet. Her body was numb, filled with adrenaline and the need to escape.

As it came more into view, the woman realized with rising concern that the campfire was much bigger than she’d initially assumed. With some distance still to go, it looked more like a bonfire than a campfire, or maybe a forest fire. Her pace slowed some. 

No, it was too stationary, too contained to be a forest fire. Reassured, she continued her sprint. 

As she approached the treeline, the girl called breathlessly for help. She held her arms in front of her face and crashed through the underbrush, into the clearing. Her whole body shook. She doubled over, hands to her knees for support, and tried to speak, but she could only manage shaky sobs between her gasps for air. 

Instead of voices rising to meet her, the woman only heard wind and crickets and crackling. 

No, that wasn’t true. She heard another noise, like crunching and tearing. She looked towards the source of the noise, and toppled over from fright. Several yards to her right stood a massive, four-legged beast resembling a horse or a mule. It had to have been at least forty, fifty feet tall! Its head hung low at the end of a long neck, mouth to the ground to graze at the grasses. Each chomp it took left a bare patch of dirt big enough for her to curl up in. The beast paid her no mind, save for one long ear pointed in her direction, but she felt like she could no longer breathe. 

She didn’t know for how long she stared at the giant horse-thing. It felt like hours. Her lungs protested the lack of air, but she couldn’t bring herself to breathe, to move––not until something else grabbed her attention. A heavy, rhythmic thudding, something she felt more than she heard, yanked the woman’s gaze away from the beast. Eyes wide as saucers stared into the darkness between the trees across the fire. The sound grew louder, shaking the ground. From the darkness, she could make out a tall figure. It looked almost human in shape, save for the fact that it, much like the horse, was at least forty feet tall, and proportionally filled in. The figure pushed past the trees and stepped into the clearing, taking on orange tones from the fire’s light. It––he––was a man. A giant man. 

A giant man and his giant horse. 

It was too much. Like a switch had been flipped, the woman found her breath and her voice. She screamed. The shrill noise startled both the horse and the man, the former joining in with an alarmed grunt of its own. The man looked down sharply, his eyes landing on her. The lower half of his face was covered with a scarf, and he wore what looked like an appropriately-sized cowboy hat. As a matter of fact, his whole outfit gave her the impression that he was some sort of giant rancher or cowpoke, from his hat to his spurr-toting boots. 

For a long moment, the two stared at each other, neither moving nor making any noise over the night symphony. The woman felt herself start to shake, though not from the cold. The fire provided ample warmth to keep the chill away, even in her naked state. No, she was shaking, quaking, out of pure terror. With him staring her down, she felt even smaller, even more exposed. 

Wordlessly, the giant man took a step forward. His boot hit the ground with a heavy thud, sending a jolt through the woman’s body. Flight mode activated, she scrambled to her feet and rushed back into the forest, back the way she came. 

The giant hesitated when the human bolted. Of all the things he expected to see tonight, a naked human woman was not one of them. His mind swirled with questions: what was she doing here? How did she get here? Why was she naked? What had caused all of those cuts and bruises on her? 

Whatever the answers, clearly she was distressed and in need of help. 

He breathed a sigh and continued forward, keeping his pace slow and eyes sharp. She’d probably never seen a giant before, or so he assumed, hence her reaction towards him. He pondered over the idea of calling out to her, but he decided that his voice might scare her more. 

Humans: anxious little creatures. 

Carefully, he followed after her, making sure to mind where he stepped.

The woman ran as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her. Everything hurt, but she couldn’t stop––not with that giant on her tail. She could hear his footsteps crashing behind her, threatening to stomp on her. Were it not for the tight-knit trees, she was sure he would have caught up to her already. 

Which way was she going? She didn’t know. It was too dark to see much beyond the ground and the trees right in front of her. All she needed was to get away, maybe find somewhere to hide and wait for the giant to pass her. 

Then what? 

Would she have to spend the night in these woods? Alone? Naked? There was a giant man and a giant horse-mule thing; were there other giant animals? Where the hell was she? 

Her racing thoughts came to an abrupt halt when her foot caught on a root. The woman cried out in pain and fell bodily to the forest floor. She bit her lip and brought her knee up to her chest, hands cradling her now injured foot. Already it was starting to warm and swell. She didn’t have time to dwell on it, though; those thundering footsteps still followed behind her, getting closer and closer. The woman clenched her jaw and pushed herself up to her knees. She figured she wasn’t going to be able to run much further, so the next best option was to hide. That was a part of her skeleton of a plan. Getting hurt was just a bumpy start. Forcing herself to stay quiet, despite the throbbing pain in her foot, the woman crawled her way around the large, protruding roots of one of the trees. She found a hollow to sequester herself into and curled herself into a ball, hands over her head. 

The giant’s footsteps grew louder until they were practically on top of her. The woman squeezed her eyes shut and sent a silent prayer to anyone that would listen. 

Above and oblivious to her, the giant man scanned the dark floor as best he could in the moonlight. He should have brought a lantern with him, but he hadn’t thought to do so in the moment. It was such a bizarre situation. 

What was he going to do with her if he found her? Cover her up, surely. That would be step one. But after that . . .? He figured he could take her back to the cabin, but then she’d be surrounded by even more giants. If she reacted so poorly to just one, six more would surely send her into shock, or worse. 

The giant sighed heavily and shook his head. 

* * *

“Look who it is! Mr. Elijah Love! Where the fuck were you?” 

The jovial voice made the giant’s nose crinkle. Slowly, Eli lifted his head, tired eyes meeting the owner of said voice. Though the other giant wore a blue scarf over the lower half of his face, like everyone else on the farm, he knew he was grinning. He could hear it. 

“Shit, you look like you were up all night. Did you get more bags under your eyes?” 

“Not now, Smart.” He answered with a hint of warning in his tone, a signal that he was not in any mood for his fellow giant’s teasing. Unfortunately, Smart rarely minded any signals or warnings. Eli rolled his eyes and dismounted his horse. 

“If not now, then when?” Smart continued. His voice was already grating; the grin did not make it any better. 

Eli shook his head and ignored Smart. Reins in hand, he led his horse towards the barn. Once he saw to her needs, he could retire to his quarters. The prospect of much-needed rest sounded great in his mind, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get anything meaningful. The human still raced through his mind. He lamented that he hadn’t been able to find her; she’d clearly been in distress. Over what, he had no idea. What could possibly land a human naked in the middle of a forest? Surely it couldn’t have been good. The poor girl had been hysterical. She’d called for help. 

And she hadn’t expected a giant to answer her call. 

Eli mulled over last night’s events as he entered the barn. With muscle memory guiding him, he started to remove his horse’s tack. 

“Miss Blueberry Pie!” Called another voice. Eli sucked in a surprised breath, mind snapping back into the present. A young giant approached from the other end of the barn. His boots were covered in muck and soiled bedding. His face scarf nearly matched his bright red air in color. He stopped before the horse with treats in one hand. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d––oh! H-hello, Mr. Love.” As if just noticing Eli, the young giant stiffened, cheeks going red. 

“Gaffin,” Eli greeted. He took no offense to the oversight; it was well-known on the farm that Gaffin liked the animals more than his fellow giants. He’d probably sleep in the stables with the horses if he was allowed to. “We got in late. Is Pie’s stall still clean?” 

“Yes sir! Cleaned it out and gave it fresh bedding this morning. No one’s been in there since.” Once the horse had finished her treats, Gaffin started to rub her ears, much to her delight. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, a low rumble in her chest. 

Eli nodded. He hauled the saddle from Pie’s back and carried it over to a rack. “Would you take her from here?” 

“Sure thing! It’d be my pleasure, Mr. Love.” His eyes lit up with excitement. Normally, Eli would have been reluctant to hand Pie to someone else, since she was both his responsibility and his beloved steed, but Gaffin would often insist on overseeing care of all of the horses, and he did a damn good job attending to them. Pie was in good hands. Eli gave Gaffin another nod and exited the barn. 

* * * 

“Love.” 

The sharp voice unceremoniously yanked the giant from his snooze, making him flinch. He blinked his eyes to clear the sleep and looked up towards it. Standing over him was another giant, their dark eyes staring down at him from between their wide-brimmed hat and their yellow face scarf. They gave him an expectant look, one brow raised and arms crossed over their chest. 

Eli groaned softly in a stretch and pushed himself up to sit. “Slayne. What is it?”

“You sure you’re good for a night patrol? Smart said you looked exhausted,” they said. Their expectant look shifted into something more concerned.  

“Smart says a lot of shit,” Eli said tersely. “I’m fine.”

“Are you? It’s almost sundown and you’re still here.” They tilt their head towards the window, to the reddening sky beyond.

Eli cursed under his breath and lept up to his feet. Had he been asleep that long? He certainly didn’t feel very rested. His thoughts and dreams had been plagued with that woman, still lost somewhere in the forest…

“I’m fine,” he repeated. The giant pulled his scarf up over his nose and grabbed his hat from his bed post, then his gun belt. He pulled his boots on and brushed past Slayne, heading for the door. 

“Elijah,” they said, using that same sharp tone. It made him pause and glance over his shoulder. “You’re not fine. But we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” 

Ugh. He wasn’t looking forward to that. How was he supposed to explain to her what kind of a night he’d had? He hardly understood it himself. Nevertheless, he offered a shrug and pushed through the door. 

As expected, Blueberry Pie was out in the pasture, happily grazing away. Eli called her over with a loud whistle and led her to the barn to get saddled up, then, after getting a few more treats from Gaffin, headed off towards the farm’s perimeter. 

* * *

Eli was no stranger to the night shift. Most of the time, he prefered it. Save for the occasional pest trying to get at the livestock, nights out in the pasture were quiet. None of the other giants could pester him out here. It was peaceful. 

Usually. 

Tonight was an exception. Tonight, Eli couldn’t seem to relax. He was antsy, on edge. His horse felt it too. Blueberry Pie was normally a very placid horse, but tonight, her ears swiveled to and fro at every noise, and frequently flicked back towards him. He could feel her tension just as much as she could feel his. 

And the night was dragging on. 

Eli rubbed at his brow and stifled another yawn––his third in the past half hour. His body felt tired, and his mind even moreso. The moons in the sky told him that it was only around midnight; he still had several hours to go before the suns came up, and plenty of perimeter to cover in that time. Eli gave Pie a firm pat on the neck and nudged her ribs, encouraging her to trot on. 

They were near the clearing where the woman had appeared last night. A foul smell hit his senses, making the giant grimace. He’d noticed it the night before, too. It smelled rotten, like a dead animal. He’d made a mental note to investigate it, but the woman had pulled his attention away from it. 

The campfire he’d used last night came into view through the trees. It was a common stopping point for Eli on these night patrols. He’d often rest here for a little bit before continuing on his way. Tonight, though, he didn’t feel too interested in stopping to rest. Despite the heaviness he felt, his anxiousness kept him moving. Eli eased Pie to a stop and dismounted.

Almost as soon as his boots hit the dust, a shrill scream pierced the air. Both giant and horse startled, the latter whinnying in her own alarm. Eli felt his blood chill. That was the same scream from last night––the woman’s scream. 

Eli ran. He dashed into the forest, running towards where he thought the scream had come from. Another cry made him pause and readjust his route. With each stride, her distressed cries grew louder––as well as a rough scraping sound. Just beyond a wall of trees was a massive, dead oak. Scrabbling at its trunk was a huge, bear-like beast that stood nearly twenty feet in height. Its claws dug into the bark, clawing and reaching for something higher up. What it was, Eli didn’t yet see, but he could hear the woman still screaming nearby. He pulled one of his pistols and shouldered his way through the trees. The bear rounded on him, snarling. It was not something he wanted to fight; what it lacked in height––compared to him––it made up for in bulk.  The giant fired a warning shot into the air and yelled, cracking the beast’s aggressive facade. It too, apparently, didn’t care to have this fight. Whatever meal it sought up in the trees wasn’t worth it. It turned tail and ran off, vanishing into the forest. 

Once he was sure it was gone, Eli holstered his weapon. He kicked himself mentally for not shooting the damn thing. It was his and the other ranchers’ job to make sure that titanofauna didn’t come too near the property and the surrounding area. He’d have to hunt the bear down later. 

Right now, he had another priority. A few feet above the gouges in the bark, a shape trembled in the moonlight. It was the woman. She shook like a leaf in a windstorm, and her breaths came in uneven gasps. 

She was terrified. Not just of the bear, but of Eli. 

Slowly, the giant knelt down before the tree. He studied her for a long moment. She was still naked, the poor soul, and she’d acquired many new cuts and bruises. Her legs and arms in particular were a ragged mess. Eli pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her, but the woman shrank away as best she could. 

“Here,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. He gave the handkerchief a little shake. “Cover yourself.” 

The woman stared at him, eyes wide as the moons themselves. Save for her shaking, she didn’t move. Eli frowned. He lifted the handkerchief and dropped it over her, making her cry out in alarm. It was comically large compared to her, like a bed sheet. She struggled under the fabric for a minute, limbs flailing, until she managed to get her head out. Her hair stuck out at odd angles, making her look feral––or more feral than she already looked. 

“You should drink something too,” Eli said. He pulled his canteen from his belt and removed the cap, then held it to the woman so that water pooled at the lip. Again, she shrank away. Eli sighed. “I don’t wanna dump this on you too. I suggest you just drink.” 

Much to his surprise, the woman complied. She dipped her hands into the pooling water and pulled a handful to herself. Her first drink was tentative, but her next two were more eager. Eli figured it had been a while since she’d last had water, and he could guess food as well. She took two more handfuls of water before she backed off again. Some of the water had dripped down her chin and neck, washing away some of the dirt. 

“Alright.” Eli capped and stowed the canteen. “Don’t suppose you want to tell me what’s going on?” 

The woman stared at him. She looked marginally calmer, but fear and distrust still painted her demeanor. 

“Got a name?” 

Silence. 

Under his mask, Eli pressed his lips together. He didn’t blame her for being afraid of him, but it made it a lot more difficult to help her. 

“Okay,” he said with another sigh. “Come on out of the tree. I’ll get you somewhere safe.” He raised his hand, palm up, to her level. She yelped and tried to retreat further, but the giant handkerchief got tangled under her and threw her balance. The woman fell from her branch, dropping nearly five feet, directly into Eli’s palms. Her sudden weight startled the giant. She wasn’t heavy, but having her in his hands reminded him of the fact that, in his forty years, he had never actually held a human before. 

The woman lied in his hold for a few stunned moments, then bolted upright with realization. She glanced at the fingers and flesh around her, then up to the masked giant’s face, and screamed. He flinched, eyes closing and brows furrowed. For such a small body, this human had a set of lungs in her. He felt her lurch, which made him curl his hands around her. That, in turn, made her struggle more.

“Miss––I’m trying to help–––” Abruptly, her scream faded, fizzled out like the cries of a dying elk. Eli opened one eye, and then the other, to see her body limp in his hold. A pang of alarm struck him. “Miss? Hey–––” He opened his hands to see her better. He hadn’t squeezed her at all––or so he thought. Gingerly he prodded her side with a thumb. When she didn’t react, he gathered her in one hand, and gently rested two fingers to her chest. He dared not even breathe, not until he could feel the faint, fluttering beat under the cloth and flesh. Her heart was still ticking. She was still breathing. She was just unconscious, likely having fainted from shock. Eli released his breath and let his shoulders relax a little with relief. 

Though she didn’t seem too keen on going with him, Eli couldn’t just leave her here. That wasn’t an option. Carefully he wrapped the handkerchief around her so that it was a bit more secure, and so that it might keep her restrained, should she wake up violently. He brought her nearer to his chest and stood up. 

The breeze picked up, carrying with it another wave of the vile smell. Eli grimaced and fought off the urge to gag. He really needed to find out what the hell was causing that stink. It was probably what attracted the bear.  

But that would have to wait another day. Tonight, he needed to focus on getting this mysterious woman to safety. 

Keeping her cradled to his chest, Eli returned to where he’d left his horse. Blueberry Pie lifted her head, her ears angled towards him as he emerged from the treeline, and grunted in greeting. He returned the greeting with a pat to her forehead and a soft hello. She leaned in towards the bundled handkerchief, nostrils flared, and gave the woman a curious sniff.

“Easy, Pie,” he chided gently. “She’s not a treat. We ought to get her back to the farm.” He patted the horse’s neck affectionately, then rounded to her side and pulled himself up into the saddle. Having only one free hand made it a little bit more difficult, but, once he was settled, he took the reins and gave Pie a nudge to start walking. 

There was still some perimeter left to patrol, but he had a feeling the woman wouldn’t be waking up for a while yet. He’d keep her safe with him until they reached the farm, and then he’d figure out what to do with her. 

[lovelyshawnn]

Sick Little Games

George Weasley x Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader

Y/N and Draco were known as the ultimate slytherin duo. When she catches him in the act of infidelity, she makes it a goal to hurt him back as much as he hurt her. What starts as nothing but a sick little game, turns into something more with another red headed boy.

“what would malfoy think if he knew i was fucking his girl right now?” george grunted in my ear, hips thrusting into mine while my back was pressed against the prefect bathroom’s cold stone wall. my legs were wrapped around his waist, sultry moans tumbling out of my mouth as he fucked me senseless. his words only intensified the pleasure as i gripped on to his biceps for support. he could feel my wet pussy clenching around his throbbing cock, signfying that i was close to coming.

“what would your little boyfriend think if he knew how well you take my cum?” i let out a whimper as his thick cock hit my gspot, making my vision go completely white. “fuck y/n,” he grunted as his pace quickened. i let out a string of curse words, toes curling in pleasure as he rubbed my clit with his long slender fingers as we reached our orgasms together.

his movements slowed and eventually halted, cock still balls deep in me as he placed loving kisses all over my face. he slowly released me from his hold, planting my feet back on the ground before completely removing himself from me. with our chests still heaving, we transitioned from standing by the bathroom’s windows, to the warm bubbly bath. this was common thing for us, so naturally we were able to establish a routine. sneaking out of the dorms late at night to see each other, satisfying our thirsts for each other before taking a dip in the bath to relax and cleanse ourselves of our sins.

george’s hands worked its way down my neck and shoulders, rubbing out any knots while he gave me little pecks on my forehead. i smiled my first genuine smile of the day. i was constantly dragging myself throughout the day, in and out of my classes, plastering a fake smile until the clock struck a certain time at night where i would meet up with george. “so why are you still with that git anyways?”

i rolled my eyes at his choice of words. i considered not even replying at all, but one glance at his concentrated face with that accusational eyebrow raise, and i knew this was something he wasnt going to drop again.

“he loves me,” i sighed, shrugging my shoulders.

“he loves you? is that why you caught him fucking pansy parkinson in the forbidden section of the library?” georges hostile tone rang in my ears.

it was supposed to be our date night. draco knew how stressed i had been with all our recent exams, and how much i needed a break. my sweet, loving boyfriend of almost 2 years proposed we have a date night full of snuggles and snacks to relieve my stress. after getting dolled up and waiting in our slytherin common room for over an hour, i came to terms with the fact that he wasn’t going to show up.

the silly thing was, i really tried to make excuses for him. blaise had strolled past on his way up to his dorm and asked why i was sitting there all alone. “just waiting on draco,” id say passively, in which he’d give me a pitiful smile before heading up. i thought, maybe he just got caught up on some of his prefect duties. or maybe he took a nap and overslept. or maybe he even got detention for the day, but he would never forget about me, right? surely he couldn’t forget about his own plans that he made.

i’d grown tired of sitting there all alone, letting my thoughts eat me alive. so i grabbed my book bag and decided to head to the library to get a head start on some homework. walking deeper and deeper into the dark library, thats when i heard it. the faint gasps and moans coming from a high pitched female voice. “ugh,” i thought, “who wouldn’t even have the decency to go to a private spot?”

i rounded the corner, my eyes almost bulging out of my skull as i took in the sight in front of me. a bright platinum head of hair stuffed into the crook of pansy parkinsons neck, as he fucked her on one of the library desks with her skirt hitched all the way up. they had been so into it that they didnt even see me. what gave it away was some stupid lamp falling over as i rushed out of the library, tears in my eyes. athough they stopped at the sound indicating someone was there, they never knew it was me.

my vision was blurry, tears streaming faster down my cheeks as i ran away. i wasnt sure where i was going, but i knew i had to be as far away as possible from that complete and utter asshole. from the second i saw him til now, a million feelings coursed through my body. i was devastated, devastated that the man i loved for 2 whole years had been lying to my face. how long was he unloyal for? was this the first time? these unanswered questions made me transition from grief to rage. i was infuriated that he took me as some kind of fool who would never find out about his cheating ways. i had been so caught up in my emotions that i didnt notice where i was going, smacking face first into a very toned chest.

“Woah! Y/N? You alright there, love?” George’s voice was impossible not to recognize. “Oh, I-I’m sorry,” I gasped before turning around to leave. His warm hand clasped around my wrist softly, tugging me back as one of his hands lifted my chin up so that he could inspect my face, and most importantly my blood shot eyes.

“You’re crying,” his voice was a lot softer than i’ve ever heard it before. with him being a gryffindor and me being a slytherin, i was used to the rude remarks he’d yell at us in the hallways. him and his lovely twin have always made my life here at hogwarts a living hell. as of recently, he went from constant bullying to the exact opposite. he was always throwing complements my way as loud and obnoxious as possible. and i knew he did it just to get a rise out of his most hated slytherin of all, draco. draco was always a possesive boyfriend, not wanting any guys to look at me. but having a weasley complement me out of everyone else would’ve drove him absolutely mad.

however, what started out as an excuse to piss off draco, had turned into something else. george couldn’t help but notice how my eyes were a lot browner than he remembered, a certain twinkle in them whenever i got excited talking to my housemates about something. he quickly found himself feeling jealous as malfoy walked through the halls with his arm around my shoulder.

of course, i was oblivious to all of this, which would’ve explained his soft tone. “I’m fine,” I sniffled, wiping my tears off with the sleeve of my sweater and avoiding direct eye contact. “Come with me,” he wasted no time, dragging me down the corridor before i could mutter a response. he led me to the prefect bathroom, opening the doors for me as i took in the beautiful mosaics.

“how did you even get the password?” i asked suspiciously to the troublesome boy.

he shrugged, “turned percy’s hair blue and wouldnt change it back until he’d tell me,”

i let out a snort, which i was quick to cover with a cough. only he could make me genuinely laugh after figuring out the man i had loved so deeply, didnt love me back enough to keep his dick in his pants. i turned away from his gaze, but he saw it. he took pride in being able to cause that gorgeous smile, but he was nice enough to not tease me about it tonight. he’d definitely bring it up another day, though.

“so, whats wrong?” he asked, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the porcelain sinks. i let out a sigh, debating on whether i should tell him at all. he was supposed to be our rival, afterall.

“draco cheated,” i stated. georges face softened, all traces of humor dissipating into thin air. “i’m sorry y/n,” he started, “that bloke doesn’t know what he’s got.”

for the first time that night, i looked up at him and saw the look he had in his eyes. the lingering gaze around my figure, the softness in his facial features, the way his eyes bored into mine with a sense of longing.

that was when a lightbulb when off in my head. ill admit that im not proud of what my next thought was, and it was definitely one of the most slytherin things i have ever done, but it was worth it. i wanted to hurt draco. i wanted him to feel as bad as i did, and i wanted revenge.

i strode over to his leaning frame, making it a point to swing my hips in the process. my lips formed a pout as i spoke to him in a low voice. “if he doesn’t know what hes got,” i trailed my fingers from his shoulders down to his chest, “who will?”

my lips got incredibly closer to the shell of his ear. “you?” i asked, cupping his buldge with my hand. he let out a barely audible whimper, eyes staring back at me like a deer in headlights.

i left a gentle kiss on his neck, “tell me if you want me to stop.” george shut his eyes for a split second, contemplating his morals. he weighed his options and outcomes. on one hand, he’d be able to piss off that spoiled brat malfoy, which would give him enough satisfaction to last him the rest of his life. on the other hand, he’d finally get to know what the taste of his crush’s lips were like. it was a win win situation. fuck it, he thought before closing the gap between us, lips moving in sync as the kiss became increasingly passionate. his hands roamed all over my body as i ran my fingers through his hair.

it was an amazing night, full of multiple orgasms that left me struggling to walk properly. george was certainly thicker than malfoy. the day after was when the feelings of sadness, regret, and confusion came sinking in. as soon as i woke up and left my dorm, there he was. in his perfect green uniform that perfectly matched his perfect porcelain skin. dracos head was held high, not a care in the world as it was obvious he completely forgot about our date night and had no idea i caught him and pansy red handed.

i walked past him, not even batting an eye in his direction as i made my way to the great hall. “y/n!” he called out, quickly catching up to me, “whats wrong?”

i rolled my eyes, “you forgot our date.” his eyes immediately widened as he realized his mistake, cheeks blushing like a tomato as he recalled where he was instead of the date. “darling, please forgive me. i’m so sorry, i just got caught up in my studi-“

i halted my steps, not wanting to listen to his bullshit excuse, “i forgive you.” he looked at me with bewilderment, “y-you forgive me?”

“of course,” i gave him the most convincingly sweet smile, “its not a big deal at all!”

his shoulders relaxed in relief at my words. oh, what a stupid boy. what a stupid, stupid boy. the only reason i was “forgiving him” was because i was going to hurt him back, a lot worse. he held my hand in his as we continued our stroll to the great hall, him lifting my hand up to plant a kiss on my knuckles.

right when he had done that, i locked eyes with a familiar red head from across the corridor. he smirked as he watched me, noticing the way my steps were slightly different than normal. it was the same shit eating smile he wore last night as he made me reach my 3rd orgasm, face buried between my legs and licking up my juices as if his life depended on it. i bit my lip as the flashback played in my head, instantly making me feel lightheaded again.

draco and i took our usual spots at the slytherin table, everything seemingly normal until the owls arrived. a letter had been dropped into my lap.

unravelling the parchment, there was a faint message scribbled across in black ink. “same time and place tonight?”

there was no name or any indication of identity, but i knew exactly who it was. luckily from where i was sitting at the table, i had a clear view of george. as i looked up from the letter, i instantly made eye contact with him, him giving me a sly wink before regurning to eat his mashed potatoes. he didnt need an answer, he knew id come back after the night we had togegher.

“whos that letter from?” a voice snapped me out of my haze. i jumped slightly before tucking the letter safely into my robe, “oh, it was just mum.”

“whatd she say?” draco questioned, slightly suspicious as he recognized me hiding the letter.

“she asked how you were, shes having dinner with your parents this weekend,” i said while gulping down my goblet of juice. draco seemed convinced at that answer, dropping his suspicions rather quickly, “oh thats right, mother was telling me about that.”

it was ironic, really. we were seen as the picture perfect duo. the slytherin prince with none other than his slytherin princess. we had the world in our hands, both coming from wealthy pureblood families. even our parents were over the moon at the news of our relationship blossoming, instantly talking about our plans for marriage in the future. but were we willing to throw that all away for these sick little games?

hi guys i know i usually write shawn fics but ive been into hp recently and wanted to give it a try! if u guys rlly like this one, id love to make a part 2 n finish the series (: pls lmk and give feedback! 🤍

[itsapapisongo]

STEPPING UP | Bang Chan

Starring: Bang Chan and Ok Taec-Yeon

Featuring: Ok Taecyeon | Seo Changbin | Hwang Hyunjin | Mark Lee

Genre: Action | Superhero

Concept & Tropes: Captain America!Chan | Non-Idol AU | Superhero AU

Word Count: 7.1K

Warnings: Language and sequences of action and violence.

Summary: When a team of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are held for ransom by terrorists, the Captain—Bang Chan—is tasked with aiding in their rescue.

Context & Notes: This is very much influenced by the Lemurian Star sequence in Captain America: The Winter Soldier. This ties-in with Webbed Surveillance and Measure of a Hero in that these stories are set within the same fanverse. For the sake of simplicity, Chan is not the Captain America, but someone picking up the mantle and is referred to as the Captain since he’s Korean-Australian. He’s a super-soldier, been through some shit (i.e. fighting in the army, losing friends, being put on ice) and getting used to modern life after a couple of years of cryogenic sleep.

This one goes out to Lina ( @scriptura-delirus ) and Ivy ( @chogiwow​ ) for sharing my enthusiasm for idols as superheroes. We need heroes. Now more than ever.

THOUGH THE QUINJET had cloaking technology, it wasn’t needed as it lurked in the dead of night with ease. It flew undetected across the Pacific Ocean, slicing through the clouds and inching closer to the rendezvous point.

Aboard this state-of-the-art jet, a S.T.R.I.K.E. squad prepared for the mission. Among them, was a living legend. Not the one the rest of the world knew but one that nonetheless stood in high regard.

Bang Chan—otherwise known as the Captain, a name that had caught on but he quite hadn’t accepted yet—was clad in a stealth suit and carried a perfectly round shield on his back; it bore a star and muted tones of silver and blue. He adjusted his earpiece and turned to the squad, giving the team a cursory glance.

Some of his fellow agents checked their weapons while others began to huddle around the squad’s leader, Ok Taecyeon, as he began the briefing. A monitor displayed images of an aircraft carrier stranded at sea. Coordinates appeared on the lower portion of the screen, followed by the vessel’s manifest.

“Eyes on me,” said Taecyeon, clapping to get everyone’s attention. “The target’s a mobile satellite launch platform. This ol’ beaut is the Levanter. It has a skeleton crew aboard, no more than twenty people. They were about to send up their last payload when—” he tapped the monitor’s touch screen with his index finger, zooming in on a satellite image of the carrier. “—terrorists took her over. That was over ninety minutes ago.”

Chan frowned before he asked, “Any demands?”

Taecyeon grimaced. “Pretty hefty demands, if you ask me,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “They want a billion and a half.”

Shocked was visible in the Captain’s eyes but it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. A billion and half? It seemed like an inconceivable figure. Back in the day, it would have been a number to scoff at. It was too high a price for a simple aircraft carrier, he thought, but the world had changed in the past century so what did he know? Even if he believed that by modern standards that was an exorbitant amount of money, he had to know.

“Why so steep?”

“It’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s,” the team leader replied, as though it were a no-brainer. “Which means it’s worth more than the ransom itself. If they get paid, the info can be sold to the highest bidder. They’d be making bank for a while.”

Chan clenched his jaw, his hands unconsciously settling on his belt’s buckle. He titled his head to the side and scoffed, not wanting to entertain such a possibility. When he spoke, it was with a tone of disbelief—

“If they get paid?”

“They won’t.” Taecyeon shook his head, pursing his lower lip down as he swiped a finger across the screen. “Trust me on that, Cap.”

These days—an age of answers and curiosity—information was power. Those that were willing to obtain it would do so through whatever means necessary. Chan understood why someone would attack and capture the Levanter, but he couldn’t quite conceal his disbelief.

How had S.H.I.E.L.D. allowed for this to happen? Ships like these weren’t supposed to be vulnerable. If they were, it would be a major liability for the organization and the ransom proved such a point. Not because of the economical factor but because of a potential loss or corruption of whatever data was stored within these ships.

“So it’s not only a rescue mission, we’re recovering whatever data might be in there,” Chan deduced, crossing his arms across his chest. Even if the suit was padded and close to his skin, his muscle definition was nonetheless impressively visible.

“Apparently so.” Taecyeon nodded.

Chan glanced at the monitor and motioned with his chin at it. “What about our extremists friends?”

“They’re with R.A.I.D.”

“Who comes up with these names?” one of the agents.

“It stands for Radically Advanced Ideas in Destruction,” Taecyeon explained. Chan could tell he was doing his best not to roll his eyes. “In essence, they’re HYDRA lite.”

“Hmm,” Chan grumbled. “That’s not very comforting.”

Taecyeon gave in and rolled his eyes. “No shit.” He pushed the monitor forward so that everyone got a good look at the mug-shot of a tall and bearded middle-aged man with a hardened face and malicious brown eyes. “This is their leader: Vladimir Korda.

“Sokovian-Russian, born in Southern Russian but raised in Novi Grad. Sokovian Armed Forces, dishonorably discharged. Our friend here was part of a covert kill squad named EKO Scorpion. Nasty piece of work.” Taecyeon glared briefly at the man’s dossier. “It seems he got fed up and decided to go from military man to mercenary to—”

“Terrorist,” Chan finished for him. “And the kind without a cause.”

“Don’t know or care if he has a cause.” Taecyeon sniffed and motioned a gun with his right hand, pointing it at the monitor. “I just know I’d like to put a bullet between his eyes.”

Chan shook his head, meeting the team leader’s eyes. “We’re not neutralizing anyone. This is a standard CSAR mission,” he said in a stern tone.

Taecyeon tilted his head then gave a small nod of understanding. Chan could tell that he wasn’t happy about it but orders were orders and the man often did his best to do things by the book. CSAR—combat search and rescue—were in-and-out S.H.I.E.L.D. operations that required not only efficiency but the highest of discretion. Contact with hostiles was to be kept to a minimum thus “neutralizing” targets was an acceptable option unless completely necessary.

“Wanna hear about the hostages?”

Chan raised an eyebrow, taken aback by Taecyeon’s casual tone.

“Sure,” he answered, hesitation palpable in his voice.

Taecyeon pulled up the hostages’ photos. There were two civilians. The rest were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents as their dossiers showed they had been stationed in the Levanter for over six months. Chan recognized a handful of them and felt a knot tie itself around his throat; two or three of them he’d been with on different assignments. His hands fell from his belt and settled behind his back as he clenched his fists; under the gloves, the knuckles had turned white. As he studied the faces of innocent people caught in an undesirable and undoubtedly traumatic situation, Chan thought of how important it was to accomplish the mission properly.

“They’re being held in the galley.”

“How many?”

“Nineteen people. Mostly techies with the exception of a Level 4 agent.”

With an idle flick of his wrist, Taecyeon swiped the screen and the photo of a bespecalted young man with black hair and indigo highlights appeared. He wore a suit and sported an expression of confused exasperation.

“Seo Changbin,” he told them, grimacing at the agent’s photo. “Good at what he does but not made for field work.”

Chan raised an eyebrow, prompting Taecyeon to motion a hand over his chest, as if to say how-to-say-this-politely. “He’s good at being behind a desk,” he replied, albeit not unkindly. “Which begs the question of why he’s aboard the carrier.”

“Did Fury mention him at all?”

Taecyeon gave him a weary look and shook his head. Why would a Level 4 agent be aboard the Levanter? There was nothing there for someone who sat behind a desk. If he were part of the tech-team, Chan wouldn’t have questioned it. Yet there was a vital piece of information missing and it was beginning to bother him. They people upstairs always asked him to step in and save the day but besides telling him how, they seldom ever told him why.

I feel like a glorified janitor, Chan fretted as his brow furrowed and transformed his handsome features into a scowl. Someone handed him his helmet and he nodded his thanks, silently placing it on his head. Between the Quinjet’s dim-lighting and his helmet, it was hard to read his face.

“So, Cap, how are we going to do this?”

Chan blinked once, twice, then cleared his throat. “I’ll clear the deck, you find the hostages,” he affirmed, pointing a finger at the Levanter’s layout on the monitor. “Get them out and into the life pods.”

“I’ll find Korda as soon as I clear the deck.” Chan turned to Taecyeon. “We don’t want any casualties so we’re incapacitating anyone we come across.”

Taecyeon nodded firmly, saluting the Captain with a wink. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he acknowledged. “No neutralizing. Duly noted.”

The Quinjet went dark then lit up under a red light. An alert turned on. The jet’s back hangar doors opened and a strong wind whipped through the hull. The cool night air nipped at their exposed skin but each and everyone of them shrugged it off. No one had more experience with the cold than Chan. As the rest of the team prepared for the jump, the Captain and Taecyeon walked over the hangar doors’ edge. They looked down at the dark ocean below, felt the wind howling in their ears.

“Captain!” Taecyeon leaned in, yelling over the noise. He shielded his face against the wind with an open palm. “What do you say if I buy us chimaek after this is over?”

“Chimaek, huh?” Chan yelled back and titled his head, a hand unconsciously adjusting the shield on his back. “That sounds tempting.”

“Up to you, old man.” The team leader shrugged, smiling as he caught a glint of exasperation in Chan’s eyes. “I understand if you want to rest. Sit in, fall asleep, drool all over yourself in your rocking chair, y’know?”

“As long as you’re paying,” the Captain half-smiled, fist-bumping his partner.

Taecyeon chuckled, knowing he had won him over as he yelled, “Give the man some space!”

Chan put some distance between himself and the hangar doors. Without hesitation, the Captain cracked his neck, ran the length of the jet, then leaped out of the Quinjet. The S.T.R.I.K.E. team paused, awestruck. No one or spoke for a few seconds.

They all realized something at the exact same time.

“Was he—was he wearing a parachute, boss?” an agent asked, visibly concerned.

“No,” Taecyeon confirmed, half-smiling. “No, he wasn’t.”

LIKE MISSILE SLICING through the sky, moving faster than the eye could follow, Chan hurled headfirst toward the Levanter. Just as he was about to crash on the Pacific Ocean, he flipped then dived into the dark depths below. He was less than a hundred yards from the ship so swimming to the carrier was easier than expected.

The Levanter floated in the calm water, the moonlight reflecting on its deck. An armed man kept watch and heavily yawned. He was looking out to the sea when Chan was climbing the ship’s steep anchor. Feeling movement, the guard leaned in over the rail just in time to catch the Captain’s ascent and made a sound between a gulp and groan when he was grabbed by the collar of his bulletproof vest.

“What the—” he managed to mumble before he felt his forehead make contact with the railing and was subsequently thrown overboard.

Chan propped himself up and jumped the railing with ease. Gathering his bearing, he looked left and right then reached and took the shield off his back. He parkoured his way across the deck, dispatching another armed man with effortless speed and skill. Several more men patrolled the perimeter, armed to the teeth and blissfully unaware of what was to unfold.

He stood in the shadows and surveyed his surroundings. Out of the four, two were huddled together and carrying a hushed conversation. The other two were on opposite sides of the deck, looking out to the ocean. Chan counted to ten, his grip on the shield tighter, then sprung into action.

He whistled a tune that suspiciously sounded like Arirang and got their attention, emerging from the shadows when the quartet whipped round to look for the sound. The man farthest to Chan barely had a second to register something—was that a saucer?—flying right at him. With a resonating clunk, the shield smacked him right in the chest and knocked the air out of his lungs; he collapsed, instantly incapacitated.

Having practiced for years and learned how to find the proper angles for the perfect throw, Chan blindly outstretched his left hand and closed it around the shield as it ricocheted back to him. He sprinted towards the nearest threat—the chattering duo—and tackled them both without breaking a sweat. The three of them struggled on the ground for a second but were on their feet as quickly as they’d fallen down.

The Captain lifted the shield and, gripping one of the leather straps, punched it; the round vibranium shield slammed into one of the men’s forehead and his knees gave in; he collapsed with a huff and a pained moan. Chan whirled and avoided a kick to the chest; though he was fast, he wasn’t fast enough to completely avoid the attack because he felt the man’s leg grace his ribs. The guy wouldn’t quit, though, because he kept kicking. Even when he missed he managed to have minimal contact.

I’m wasting my time, the Captain mentally groaned.

This guy was fast but the Captain was faster. When the man threw yet another kick, Chan intercepted the attack by grabbing the man’s ankle and twisting the leg with a flick of his wrist. A loud snap-crack confirmed he had effectively fractured the entire limb. The man toppled over and was about to scream when Chan knelt, chopped at his throat, and broke his windpipe. He heard whimpering and glanced over his shoulder to see the other man was shaking from head to toe; the guard had spread his arms out to display his surrender.

Chan straightened and was about to continue clearing the deck when he remembered there was still a man left. In all the commotion, as quick as it had been, he’d been too hyper-focused on disabling any threats that he forgot to not underestimate the enemy. When he turned to search for the last man standing, he felt the barrel of a gun against the back of his neck.

There you are.

“Clear,” the Captain whispered on his comm.

The man cocked the gun but never fired. A low pfft-pfft echoed in the night and he collapsed; tranquilized but not dead. The sound of parachutes alerted Chan of his team’s arrival. Six skydivers slapped their chest releases, their chutes billowing above then behind them. The team landed quietly, already used to these types of operations, sidearms at ready in their capable hands.

“Thanks, Taecyeon-ssi,” said Chan, half-bowing..

Taecyeon waved a dismissed hand. “Don’t mention it,” he said with a devious smirk. “I know you’re helpless without me.”

Chan clicked his tongue, passing the shield from his left to his right hand. Now that they were huddled together, he gave the perimeter a cursory glance and nodded when he found the comms tower. “Have the feeling I’ll find Korda there.”

“Seems like a good place to be in,” said Bam, one of the agents.

Taecyeon followed the Captain’s gaze. “Sure does,” he mumbled, his voice stern and low. “Call it, Cap.”

“I’ll go for the comms tower. The three of you—” Chan pointed at Taecyeon and the two agents beside him. “—find the hostages. And you three—” he pointed to the remaining members of the team. “—secure the engine room.”

“You heard the man. Spread out.” Taecyeon unslung the rifle off his body, wrapping the strap around his wrist. As the Captain nodded and started to walk off, he whispered, “Watch your six.”

Chan winked. “Always.”

THE COMMS TOWER was taller up close as he used a large pipeline to aid his ascent. Chan balanced himself on the line and he removed a pocket-sized surveillance launcher from a pouch in his belt. He aimed high and fired it at the Levanter���s comms room. A cord arched through the air and a microscale microphone stuck to the comms tower’s window. Initially, there was nothing but white noise until—

He could make out a conversation: two men talking over each other as they argued about something Chan had no context for. A man spoke Russian in a soft voice that was laced with malice and contempt. The Captain raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the dissonance between Korda’s voice and his cutthroat appearance.

Closing his eyes and pressing a finger on his earpiece, he focused on what was happening in the comms room. He was glad Fury had convinced him to learn a thing or two after being thawed out besides martial arts and catching up on politics and the world’s current and complicated status quo. Though he wasn’t fluent in Russian, he knew enough to get by and what he was hearing didn’t bode well for the mission.

“They still haven’t responded to our demands. We’ve been here for—”

“It seems like you’re in a hurry, Anatoly,” said Vladimir Kora, sounding bored. “They know what we want and they know we’re not bluffing.”

“Sir, if I may—”

“Nyet.” Korda grumbled. “You may not.”

A phone rang and Anatoly immediately answered. He mumbled then passed the call to his superior, mentioning it was coming from the galley.

“As soon as we get the money, this boat moves.” There was a pause and a heavy, irritated sigh. When Korda spoke again, he barely raised his voice but the Captain could tell he didn’t know need to because his tone was laced with seething anger. “Move them to the engine room. They’re not gonna be much of use once the ransom is paid.”

Chan scowled. There was no way in hell that was going to happen.

THE GALLEY WOULD have been immaculate if not for the droplets of still-fresh blood on the floor. The tiles were white, the walls silver, and almost everything was made of metal. The room was cold and smelled of dinner—ramyun, cooked vegetables, stir-fried beef, rice, something spicy—and none of Korda’s men could really resist glancing at the pots and pans where the food had been left unserved.

The Levanter’s crew was silent. They had been ever since they had been hijacked. Tears had been shed and mumbled prayers had been uttered but no one really dared speak up. Their minimal training dictated that they were to disclose nothing and to keep an even temper.

But for Seo Changbin keeping an even temper was the bottom of his priorities. He was tie-strapped to a metal counter. His legs had been tied too so his movability was limited and painful. Changbing had no other choice but heave a sigh and endure the aches and bruises the hijackers had so generously given him. His back was bothering him but it was his shoulder that was really driving me off the wall. Out of instinct, he’d intercepted a blow meant for someone else and was beginning to regret not being more cautious.

Every little movement hurt and made him wince. Enduring someone thrusting a rifle’s stock in between his shoulder and collarbone was no easy feat and nothing he’d ever wish on someone—except, perhaps, on the asshole who did it—but he’d rather take the hit than have his fellow agents be hurt.

The galley’s door opened and a grey-haired man stepped in, clad in a maroon uniform. He didn’t carry an assault rifle or body armor and the only sign that he was a man of authority was the ivory Heckler & Koch P7 holstered in his left thigh. Changbin could make out a familiar insignia engraved in its grip: a macabre skull with six tentacles below its jaw.

Great, Changbin grimaced, these guys are back.

Grey Hair spoke in Russian to one of the three men watching over them, his voice hoarse like that of a smoker’s. He glanced at them, smirked, then kicked at the legs of the two women to Changbin’s far left. The women—Lina and Aibi—leaned into each other but didn’t show fear. To Changbin’s chagrin, they glared at Grey Hair and hissed in annoyance.

“Aish,” they whispered, eyeing Grey Hair up and down in disgust.

Grey Hair scowled and reached for his gun, the ivory losing its splendor in his calloused hand. He aimed it at Lina’s forehead. If she was scared, she didn’t show it. Instead, she stared him down and clenched her jaw, leaning forward so that her head was pressed against the barrel of the gun.

“Go ahead,” she whispered in Russian. “See how that ends for you.”

“You speak—” Grey Hair blinked. Confusion was apparent in his eyes and he hesitated, the gun being pulled away from his victim’s forehead then returning to it with strengthened resolve. “Then you know what’s going to happen. You’ll be dead now or in the next twenty minutes.”

Aibi snorted. “Yah!” she yelled, sounding fierce, outraged. When Grey Hair turned to her, she lowered her voice and spoke in Korean, enunciating every word with thin-veiled vitriol. “Don’t drink your kimchi soup first.”

Changbin scoffed and failed to suppress his chuckle. His father used to say that often and he could never take the proverb seriously. And yet it gave Grey Hair pause as he didn’t understand Aibi and hadn’t counted on their defiance.

“If you’re wondering, I can translate,” Changbing interjected in English, leaning forward so that Grey Hair could see him properly.

“Translate.”

“She said . . . don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Bitch,” Grey Hair grumbled in English and motioned to hit Lina but relented when he saw Changbin struggling against the straps. “You want to be hero?”

“Not really, no,” the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent shook his head then shrugged. “But I’d preferred if you didn’t hurt anyone.”

“You want bullet in your head?”

The gun was aimed at Changbin. His eyes widened as he recognized the present danger. He kept calm and titled his head to the side. “Again, no,” he replied in an aloof tone, as though he was having a conversation about the weather. “I just want you to know, tovarishch, that S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”

Grey Hair flinched. “We are not comrades.”

“Thank God for that.” Changbin lifted his eyebrows and relented from rolling his eyes. “We’re already your hostages. I don’t see the need to be smacking us around.”

“We’re in control.”

Lina lifted her chin, holding back a smirk. “Not for long, comrade.”

“HOW LONG WILL this take?” Anatoly fretted, leaning on a console with crossed arms.

“As long as it takes,” said Korda.

“We’ve been here—”

“If you have anything to say, just spit it out.”

Anatoly opened his mouth to respond but immediately closed it. Suddenly, he couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Questioning Korda’s leadership wasn’t encouraged but it wasn’t frowned upon; one simply needed to know how to do it. Unfortunately for Anatoly, he didn’t know how to explain the knot in his stomach.

Korda scoffed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It seems the cat caught your tongue,” he sneered as he leaned on the captain’s chair, giving his back to the bridge’s rectangular window. “We stick to the plan.”

“This was not part—this was not the plan.”

“Adapt or die, tovarishch.” Korda cracked his neck, unholstered his side-arm, then pointed at Anatoly’s chest. “You’re not afraid are you?”

Eyes on the gun, Anatoly trembled. “I’m not,” he answered, but his voice was shaky.

“In our line of work, fear is useless. Toughen up, son.”

Anatoly nodded. “I will—” he began but didn’t finish, his breath caught in his throat. He gestured a hand over his boss’ shoulder but before Korda could react something burst through the room’s window and hurled Anatoly backwards. The sound of something light and sharp cutting through concrete and reinforced steel echoed in their ears; it was followed up by the crunching of glass under heavy footsteps.

By the time Anatoly gathered his bearings, Korda was already on his feet. He caught his boss’ silhouette sprinting out of the control room. Anatoly blinked and saw a man clad in dark blue, his face concealed by a helmet bearing a white star on the forehead and stylized wings by his ears. The man glanced at Anatoly, grimaced, then disarmed him by tossing away his holstered side-arm.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized and sounded genuinely remorseful. “We’ll get you some medical attention once you’ve been taken into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody.”

“You’re Captain—”

“Yeah, that’s me.” The man nodded and placed a finger in his ear. “I got a man down in the control room.”

Anatoly reached out and gripped the man by his forearm. “Am I going to—am I going to die?”

The man—the Captain—knelt and helped him into a sitting position. “Not if I can help it,” he reassured Anatoly with a small nod. “Now, if you excuse me . . .”

The Captain stood to his full height and walked past Anatoly, wrenching something off the wall and clasping it on his back. Anatoly realized what had burst through the window: a shield. That had graced his left arm and knocked him off his feet so it was no wonder he felt like his arm from the elbow down had fallen off.

Before everything turned dark and the pain overwhelmed him, Anatoly couldn’t help but feel relieved that he wasn’t going to die.

“KODRA IS ON the move!” Chan alerted Taecyeon as he sprinted after the terrorist leader. “Have you secured the hostages?”

“We’re on it, as we speak,” Taecyeon answered, his voice a mere whisper in the Captain’s ear. “We’re thirty seconds from clearing the galley.”

“Clear it and secure it. No one comes in, no one comes out. Not until I’ve subdued Korda.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Taecyeon-ssi? That’s getting annoying.”

A muffled chuckle came through Chan’s comm. “More of a reason to do so,” said the squad’s leader. “And Captain? Go gentle on the guy. I want to roughen him up a bit.”

Chan clenched his jaw. “Yeah? Get in line.”

THE GALLEY’S DOOR burst open with a bang and the room exploded with violence.

Changbin recognized Ok Taecyeon leading the charge, his aim eerily accurate. In the blink of an eye, Grey Hair and the remaining hijackers were effortlessly disabled. Grey Hair had been shot four times, his chest decorated with tranq-darts. Aibi kicked him squarely in the jaw, groaning as the straps chafed her heels and impeded her movements.

“We told you, didn’t we?” Lina tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “S.H.I.EL.D. doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Galley secured, sir,” said one of the agents, her voice that of a woman’s.

“We’re clear here,” Taecyeon relayed to the Captain and nodded when he heard the man’s response. “Bam, cuff these assholes. Yuna, help me untie our friends here.”

Bam removed his mask, tossed it aside, and pulled a handful of plastic tie-strips from a pouch in his belt. He went to work without wasting a second as Yuna unsheathed a tactical knife and began to cut tie-strips off hands and legs.

“Are you alright?” Taecyeon knelt in front of Lina, slashing the tie-strips in her legs.

Lina stretched her legs, leaned to the side so that her arms could be untied. “As best as I could be,” she retorted with a blank expression. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re glad to see you guys.”

“No shit,” said Aibi.

Taecyeon smirked, swiftly moving to free Aibi and the two technicians between her and Changbin. He patted backs and offered a comforting smile. “You’re a-okay now, folks. We got your back.”

“Now what?” Changbin heard himself ask and cringed when all eyes were on him.

“We wait. It won’t take long. We got a man upstairs getting things done.”

Changbin knew they were safe. The Captain was a force to be reckoned with and one would have to be out of their mind to not yield in his presence.

FOR A MAN in his mid-seventies, Bang Chan moved with athletic grace and a keen awareness of his surroundings. But as he turned to check a corner, he was unprepared for the steel-booted kick to his lower back. The brunt of the attack was absorbed by the shield, which echoed with a distinctive high-pitched ring. 

Chan stumbled forward, a low grunt escaping through gritted teeth. Out of instinct, he reached for the shield. He gained his balance and whirled so fast that he caught a look of mild surprise in Vladimir Korda’s face. The man was emerging from the shadows and took slow steps forward, scrutinizing the Captain.

“I should count myself lucky,” exclaimed Korda in English, laughing derisively. “The Captain, as I live and breathe!”

Chan sensed he was being measured both in size and skill. He narrowed his eyes and focused on controlling his breathing before giving in to his anger. He narrowed his eyes and winced at how stiff his right hand—from his forearm to his palm—felt as his grip on the shield tightened. It was light in his hands—light enough to be thrown with impeccable aim and malicious intent—but he lowered it. Using it would have to be his last resort.

“The Symbol of a Nation, they call you!” Korda chuckled and pacing back and forth, stretching. He paused, bowed, then took a fighting stance. “It’s going to be an honor tearing you apart.”

“You certainly can try.” Chan glared.

“I’ve heard you can’t live without your oversized frisbee.”

“Uh-huh.” The Captain nodded dismissively. “Who do you work for?”

Korda shrugged. “Why does that matter?”

“Not anyone would hire an man like you for something as risky as—”

“Hijacking S.H.I.E.L.D. property? Please, Captain, I don’t know whether to blush or be insulted.” The Russian placed a hand on his chest and lowered his head, feigning embarrassment. His face darkened when he straightened and glared. “Who hired me doesn’t matter. You’re not asking the right question.”

“Not who but why?”

Korda clicked his tongue as if to say bingo. “You’re perceptive, kapitan. And here I was thinking you were just a shield.”

“Just a shield?” Chan pursed his lips and removed his helmet. He was a young man—handsome, dirty blond, brown-eyed, with a fine jaw, and a fair complexion—and the anger that glistened in his eyes made him look older, jaded. His next words were spoken in Russian: “We’ll see.”

Korda growled, unleashing a fury of punches—jabs, hooks, uppercuts—with deadly precision yet Chan was too agile for him. The Captain was dancing around him, moving out of the way of each attack so swiftly that Korda was beginning to give into anger.

Whack! A high kick to his collarbone, drove Chan back with a groan. He could hear Korda cackling.

“Is that all, old man?”

Old man? Chan reloaded his biceps and assumed a fighting stance, ready to bring this entire ordeal to an end. Yeah, I’m not gonna let that slide.

Korda made a guttural sound akin to a roar and threw a kick above the Captain’s head only to find himself losing balance. Chan held and pulled his opponent’s leg higher, kicked him in the stomach once, twice, then punched upward on the man’s groin. Kodra collapsed on the ground, groaning and mumbling expletives and swearing he’d kill the Captain.

Chan picked up his helmet and said, “I can do this all day.”

“Fuc—”

“Nope.” He lightly tapped Korda on the nose, knocking him out. “That’s enough out of you.”

Breathing hard, Chan sat on the ground. He hugged his knees against his chest and looked up to a starry night sky and the moonlight enveloping him in its glow. The cool breeze nipped at his skin, a reminder that he was still wet from diving in the Pacific Ocean.

The night was beautiful. When had been the last time he’d done this? He couldn’t tell but he wasn’t going to let this moment pass. Unfortunately, despite wanting to be in the moment, he was stirred from his reverie when Taecyeon’s voice came through his comm.

“Cap?”

Chan sniffed and stood up, stretching. “We’re clear,” he answered, lifting then tossing Korda over his shoulder. “Is everyone accounted for?”

“Bad guys have been subdued. Our folk are safe.”

“Glad to hear that.”

“Meet us on the life pods.”

“Are we in a hurry?”

Taecyeon made a sound between a scoff and a snort. “The quicker we’re out here, the quicker we can get our chimaek on.”

“Roger that.”

FOUR HOURS LATER, they were debriefed and back in Seoul. Upon their arrival, Deputy Director Bae had made the necessary arrangements for the Levanter’s crew to be treated for any medical injury or emotional trauma.

Bam, Yuna, and the rest of the S.T.R.I.K.E. squad were stationed in a safe-house near Itaewon. They were given orders to rest and report twelve hours later to Seoul HQ. As an elite S.H.I.E.L.D. counter-terrorist special unit, they were trained to be the best in a world where the unexpected happened every day. Their work never stopped. Rest was a luxury and it was indulged whenever the opportunity arose.

During the war, sleep was sacred. Just because the day turned into night that didn’t mean getting some shut-eye was guaranteed. Anything and everything could happen. Then again, anything and everything did happen. So Chan knew what it was to be sleep-deprived, going from one mission to another to another to another. When Taecyeon told his team to call it a night, they obeyed without protest.

Yet Taecyeon rarely ever slept. Chan had seen him napping but never sleeping and he seemed like the type who was a light sleeper—a butterfly flapping its wings might wake him up. But as they clinked their soju glasses and celebrated yet another accomplished mission, Chan could see Taecyeon was concealing his exhaustion.

They were in Chan’s dimly-lit studio apartment—the type that was considered spartan with a bathroom, kitchenette, and living room that doubled as a bedroom—and sat on the floor. There was a single rectangular window with a modest view to a modest street outside; it was open and allowed a soft, rain scented breeze in. Empty bottles of soju and beer were strewn in the ground-level coffee table Mark and Hyunjin had gifted Chan when he moved in.

“Got any plans for tomorrow?”

Chan smiled. “Not really,” he replied, lifting the shot glass up to his lips. “What about you?”

“Geonbae.” Taecyeon downed his shot, clicked his tongue, then chuckled. “I got someone waiting for me. I’m thinking I’ll take the weekend off.”

“Oh?”

“Or, y’know, a least a day off. Vacations in our line of work are . . . complicated.”

Chan chuckled and rubbed his neck. To say that working for S.H.I.E.L.D. was complicated was the understatement of the millennium. One thing was being a soldier, the other being a member of an organization so vastly secretive that Chan wasn’t sure how much power they wielded or how many resources they had across the globe.

Complicated, Chan thought, as if that doesn’t sum up my life. “I assume Eddie’s missing you,” he added, smiling ruefully.

Chan knew with certainty three things about Ok Taecyeon: he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. legacy, he and his sister were the grandchildren of a highly decorated agent; he had a fondness for chimaek; and he was absolutely “soft” for his dog. So it was no wonder that a fond smile spread across Taecyeon’s face as he refilled their glasses then dropped them on their beers. He was beaming and it was contagious because Chan couldn’t suppress the half-smile that tugged on his lips. It was strange yet pleasant to see such a change in his usually snarky demeanor.

“I bet he is,” Taecyeon agreed. “I’ve been missing the shit outta him for over a month now.”

“I say take the weekend off.”

“So should you.”

Chan frowned. “And do what?”

Taecyeon scoffed. “Take a walk. Hang-out with friends. Go on a date. I don’t know but just—aish—just step out and smell the roses.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Aish.”

Chan shrugged, taking a sip from his drink—somaek, as it was referred to—and found himself uncertain about how it tasted. It was an odd mix that somehow worked. Taecyeon drank his own calmly, already used to the beer cocktail’s unique flavor. To Chan’s surprise, it went well with chicken since they had devoured not one but two family-sized boxes of hot wings and fried chicken.

“You do anything Saturday?” Taecyeon queried, his tone casual yet coaxing.

“Do sit-ups count?” Chan scrunched up his nose. He didn’t like people interfering in his personal life so he played dumb. “‘Cause if they do . . . that’s how I spent my Saturday.”

Taecyeon clicked his tongue. “Good Lord, you’re boring,” he blew a raspberry and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table’s edge. “Look I get it—work’s important and we can’t always enjoy time for ourselves—but you’re more than just a soldier.”

“It’s not that.” The Captain looked away, eyes drifting to his half-consumed drink. “Schedule’s just a little tight these days.”

“Hyung-nim . . .”

Chan blinked, mouth agape at the honorific. He opened his mouth to reply but was too shocked to form a coherent thought.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. needs you, hyung-nim. You’re the Captain, for fuck’s sake, but—” Taecyeon bowed his head and passed a hand through his hair. He straightened and met Chan’s eyes, smiling a weary half-smile. “The world’s complex and uncertain but the least you could do is find the good within it and enjoy it. You can’t live solely for work—you must live for something.”

“I don’t know.” Chan rubbed his forehead. “Family, stability? The guy who wanted all that was on ice for far too long. I think someone else came out.”

“And what do they want?”

Chan grimaced. “I don’t know.”

“Then, Cap, take tomorrow to figure that out.”

AFTER BOWING PROFUSELY and apologizing for being drunk and speaking informally, Taecyeon left an hour later. Chan called him a cab and was surprised when received a text from Bam, relaying his commander’s arrival to the Bunkbed—the Itaewon safe-house—and giving the man shit for not holding his own against the Captain. 

After all this time, Chan found it funny that others used honorifics around him. It felt strange being treated like a senior because he still felt like that twenty-something kid that joined the army to fight the good fight. He could be their grandfather but he didn’t look like it.

Despite feeling accomplished, he didn’t sleep that night. Taecyeon’s words echoed in his head—you’re more than a soldier . . . live for something . . . figure it out—and it felt like being hitting with a brick wall. It hadn’t been that long since he’d been pulled from the cold and into this bold new world. Yet he hadn’t taken time to fully immerse himself in it.

Work had impeded that from happening and he was oddly thankful for that. Adapting wasn’t always easy and the times, for better or worse, demanded change. Chan sensed he wasn’t ready for change. Given enough time, he would be . . . but not yet.

The weight of the conversation stuck with him and it was beginning to bother him. still Taecyeon was right. Chan couldn’t keep himself isolated . . . waiting for the next mission . . . letting time pass right by him when he had just returned to the world of the living.

He sighed and reached for a flip phone Jackson had gifted him on his birthday. His contacts were limited since he rarely communicated with anyone outside of work. The selected few that had his number were people he trusted unconditionally. In the off-chance of losing the device—and because he still didn’t trust technology enough—Chan had memorized every number saved on the phone.

He dialed a number and waited. The contact ID read: THUNDER 현진.

With bated breath and closed eyes, he listened to the phone ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, until—

“Hey there, grandpa!”

Chan couldn’t help but rub his temple. “How are you, Hyunjin?”

“I’m doing as good as I can—M, web him up!—yah! Webs. Use them, like, now!”

“Are you busy—”

There was a loud boom followed by Hyunjin grunting and cussing through gritted teeth. The sound of thunder and crackling lighting echoed in Chan’s ear, as though it were happening right besides him. After a second of silence, he heard Hyunjin chuckle in between breaths.

“Say, ajeossi, what do you say to lending us a hand?”

“With what?” Chan frowned.

“Oh, y’know, the usual . . .” Hyunjin said as matter-of-factly. “Super-villains.”

Chan paused, looked at his flip-phone, and blinked as if to consider what was happening. He heard a familiar and unmistakable voice, calling after Hyunjin with a tone of disbelief and disapproval.

“Are you on the phone right now?” Mark sounded livid. “Dude, are you serious?”

“I’m getting reinforcements!”

“YAH—”

“Don’t get your webs in a bunch, M!”

“Hyunjin—” Mark began but was cut off.

Chan wondered what was going on but before he could ask, his friend interjected. “Ajeossi,” said Hyunjin, not bothering to listen to Mark or Chan. “On your left!”

He heard it before he saw it. Behind him, something began to glow: it started as a just a small, twirling sparkler until it grew into a wide circle that encompassed much of the kitchenette. Chan couldn’t see the rest of his apartment because this burning circle—a portal, no doubt made with magic—opened to a busy intersection in what looked like Enn City. Cars had been crushed or exploded; the streets were cracked or burning; and standing a few feet away was Hyunjin himself.

“Where’s the shield?” he asked, hanging up the phone.

“It’s—uh—there,” said Chan, pointing to a corner of his apartment. The shield laid untouched but ready for battle.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, his right hand extended as if waiting for something. “Well . . . are you gonna grab it or are we gonna stand here all night?”

Chan smiled. He snatched the shield, ran the length of his apartment, and leaped into the portal. He quickly realized he wasn’t wearing any tactical gear when he felt the hot asphalt under his bare feet. The portal closed behind him with a soft hiss. Great, he thought, I’m underdressed.

“Looking good, ajeossi,” said Hyunjin, smirking.

“Please,” Chan mumbled, ears burning with embarrassment. “Stop calling me that.”

A dull whistle resonated faintly in the air until it crescendoed to a loud boom. That’s when Chan saw it: a war-hammer so splendorous and beautifully crafted that he had to remind himself it wasn’t the real thing. He now understood why Hyunjin had his hand over his head as Pokpung met home in its owner’s hand.

“What are you two doing?”

Chan turned to his left and saw Mark Lee—the Brotastic Spider-Man—glaring at them as he hung from lamppost. His suit was black and neon-green. It fit him like a second skin and was coated with debris dust.

“Are we gonna fight or are we gonna pose like idiots?”

“Call it, Cap.” Hyunjin passed Pokpung from his left to his right hand.

The Captain—Bang Chan—smiled, bursting with purpose.

He didn’t know what he’d do tomorrow. He just knew it was worth fighting for.

[akitohsworld]

Disclaimer: Thank you for all the love on my last smut fic. But well, since I want to commit, Imma give you another for this new year. I crave a more dominantly portrayed Simeon (I'm a switch, I have my craves ok) because I think he be the most shady of them all. I still need to accustom myself to writing these and get better, so extremely kinky shit will have to wait, but I did my best with this one as I vow to always do :D

Happy New Year everyone ❤️🌚👉👉

Warnings: NSFW, smut, light BDSM (collar etc.), fetishizing religion (Christianity), mentions of edging

Divinely Demonic (Simeon X GN!Reader)

"Take these off for me, would you?", his voice sounded innocent, but his eyes had this sadistic subtext to them. Taken aback, you reached for one of his arms, to take off his glove.

"Ah, (y/N)", you stopped, "I'd prefer you use your mouth."

An innocent smile tugged at the angel's lips. You huffed silently.

So this is how he wanted to play it?

Being in a relationship with Simeon for some time now, you could definitely say that he was all parts of a perfect lover and more. He was kind, caring and he conformed to your wishes as much as he could. For him bringing you happiness was his greatest joy and, if he was being honest, he never thought that he would feel that way about anyone. With different parts of your relationship, came different and new things to try and experience together, and so it had been a bit awkward to open up about kinks and fantasies at first. Especially, since Simeon was an angel and you didn't know where you had to draw the line. But, like everything in a good relationship, communication and an honest approach was key to fulfilling both of your desires, and indulging in this angel's fantasies in particular had you blushing and squirming in all the right ways.

You couldn't lie, the idea of Simeon's perfect, angelic, kind mask crumbling off to make space for that beautiful sadistic nature of his, sprinkled with raw un-honeyed disdain, made you quiver in excitement.

You provocatively shifted on the bed, hand grazing his arm as you took yours back to lean into for support. A shimmer glistened ever so slightly in Simeon's blue eyes when he grazed his gloved thumb over your bottom lip.

Your eyes trained on his as your lips parted, sensually engulfing his thumb, careful not to bite down on his finger. Teeth biting at the thin cloth, then pulling at it cautiously. Doing the same with his other glove afterwards. But this time, you made it a point to kiss his fingers, before taking them into your mouth, eyes trained on his. Simeon's breath hitched.

"(y/N)..", your hand traced his abdomen lightly, before suddenly sliding it into his pants, making him hiss as you palmed his already erect cock, proceeding to apply pressure to it deliciously slow.

You weren't going down without a fight. Not that it mattered, top or bottom, both was very enjoyable. But who could decline a bit more spice?

Your lips found his in an attempt to distract him from your other free hand, already pulling down the zipper as you felt him sigh into your mouth. Your fingers traced his slit just how he liked it, and he must admit, he was this close to let you just service him right then and there. Much to your dismay though, the angel smiled against the kiss. Indulging you, feeling you up himself as his tongue devoured your mouth, hands uncharacteristically squeezing your ass. He moaned.

"(y/N)"

You hummed against his lips.

The angel's hands were causing a tingling sensation on your skin as they traveled up your sides and a pleased sigh escaped your mouth.

"(y/N)."

He grabbed you by your chin and you could feel the excitement burning into your core at the change of tone in his voice. Innocence long forgotten. Simeon's eyes were dark with lust and-

"Ahh.. Where's your patience, little lamb?"

-you swore you saw a sadistic shimmer in them.

He chuckled, shaking his head in a pseudo-disappointed manner, pulling down your pants swiftly. You let out a surprised gasp as he pushed you on the bed.

"Sim- hah", his fingers traced your clothed sex, already wet with your fluids. He applied pressure to it, fingers trailing its features in a teasing build up, earning a gasp from your lips. Your inner walls clenched around something that wasn't there and you felt your core aching for his touch. Your body started squirming as you desperately tried to hold back your voice, while Simeon rubbed the spots that made you whine and hold onto him with need. When his slender fingers finally proceeded to enter you, moans and gasps followed as they signaled your growing impatience.

He slid down between your legs nerve-wrackingly slow, planting lingering kisses on your chest, abdomen and between your thighs, while your undergarments were tossed aside in a swift motion.

"You didn't think it'd be that easy, did you?"

His breath tickled on your skin as you felt his eyes bore into your soul. You said nothing and just looked at him tauntingly, a façade. In reality you wanted nothing else for him than to ruin you.

A smirk formed on his lips for a split second. Simeon's expression was no longer restrained, but clearly amused. Without warning his mouth enveloped your sex, tongue sliding around what made your hole clench and shiver. .

God, you wanted to touch him so badly.

"Simeon please- haah...nnh-", you felt a coil in your stomach tighten with each suck, each lick and stroke of his tongue against your sensitive spots. He groaned against your sex, sending vibrations through the sensitive nerves. You were so close, so so close-

"Fuck- Simeon-.."

He moved away.

You let out a very frustrated groan.

"No... Why?-"

"You didn't answer my question, little lamb."

He was mocking you.

"I-..", your fingers clenched at the sheets, "I forgot what you asked..."

Simeon sighed, seemingly disappointed.

"Oh no. That won't do", his gaze sent shivers down your spine, "That won't do at all."

He stood up, getting something from his nightstand.

A collar with a chain, and a Bible.

Your eyes widened. His cape slid down to the floor with a quiet thud.

"Now, now", the angel, still fully clothed hovered over you, "like we practiced."

The collar found your neck tilting it upwards as he gave the chain a light tug. He then proceeded to place the now open Bible next to your head.

"What do you say? Shall I forgive you?"

You breathed in sharply. Your mind was in shambles from all the teasing. And normally you hung onto Simeon's lips whenever he quoted the scriptures during sex because it was just so hot to you. But that didn't mean that you knew everything by heart. The Bible, tauntingly placed beside your head, was not an option. It was just there to test you and you knew that .

Your nose scrunched a bit as you tried to remember.

"M-Matthew 14 to s-"

SMACK.

His hand slapped your thigh.

You bit back a moan.

The numbers always messed you up, it was hard to remember them.

It didn't help that his fingers prodded your entrance before provocatively taking his cock out of the restraints of his clothes, rubbing it against your sex. Your hips ground up for more friction.

He just send you a teasing smile, a chuckle escaping his lips. "You were saying?"

You knew the answer was there, right beside your head, but no, no Simeon didn't like brats. Well maybe he did, but he didn't take too kindly to them. And today you were just not patient enough for hours of edging.

You felt his soft, warm hands rubbing at your thighs, spreading them slowly to see you better.

You were so lovely to him. Already so needy and throbbing. But that didn't mean he was going to let you off easy. A light tug on your collar told you he expected an answer.

"M-Matthew..... 6: 14 to 16, says ahh..", his fingers spread out your entrance, "F-for if you forgive them-"

He tugged at the chain, harshly.

"Guh- oth- other people when they do-"

Slowly he entered you, feeling your walls clench and sucking him in. A loud moan leaving your mouth. More, faster, deeper, is all you could think about as your legs attempted to draw him closer. Simeon groaned, brows furrowed as he indulged in the feeling of your aching entrance around him. "If you mnh do well" , he pounded into you once, hard, a guttural moan escaping you, " I'll let you cum, okay?"

That was not a question.

You nodded aggravatingly.

He then started to move at a steady, but rough pace.

"Mnh- hah siinn against you, ngh- your heavenly F-father will also...", your eyes traced down Simeon's beautiful features, " forgive you.  But if you don't-"

Another harsh tug at the collar took your breath away, followed by a particular hard thrust against your hips. You felt the coil tightening inside your stomach again, trying very hard to bite back your moans and do as you're told. Just concentrate, concentrate but... You were captivated by his flushed cheeks, his skin glistening with sweat and his eyes dripping with lust.

Good God, he was so pretty.

"Mnh Do not forgive others", your gaze lingers at his crotch, shamelessly and hungrily, " their... Uh their-"

Your vision was beginning to blur, he was hitting all the right spots. As such, it was beginning to feel harder and harder to recite in a comprehensive way. Every sound coming out of your throat threating to be a moan, rather than a word. Although, that's just what Simeon wanted. He loved to see you melt away under his touch, struggling to be good for him. It was the most delicious thing, seeing you squirm under him, trying so hard to make him proud and praise you.

The wet sounds his thrusts were making echoed througout the room, ragged breaths and low moans the only thing reaching your ears.

"Ahgh-", a cut out moan escaped your throat as he tugged on the chain once again, this time with more force.

"Are you mn..distracted, little lamb?", his voice brushed your ears like feathers as your gaze shifted up to his eyes again. He slowed down his pace teasingly, making you whine. "Done already?"

You shook your head. You wanted nothing more than to make him fuck you into oblivion at this point.

"Then continue. Unless", he lowered himself onto you, lips brushing yours, "you want to be punished?" your thighs clenched at his hips involuntarily.

"Their...", you furrowed your brows in concentration, hands clenching the sheets, "sins, your Fa-"

He pounded into you harder.

"Hahh- fuck-", a harsh tug on your collar took your breath away once again, but he wasn't slowing down. On the contrary.

"hah..Continue", his lips curled into a full blown sadistic smirk. His face darkened by shadow from the light hitting him from behind made him look so divine yet so demonic, eyes shimmering like sapphires drenched in blood.

Simeon himself was getting slightly impatient, what you did to him, he never experienced before. Your walls kept sucking him in, trying to keep him there in a delicious tide, as he felt his own orgasm approaching. Your moans and prayers tugging at his own restraints, when your body reacted to him in all the right ways.

You wanted to touch him. You needed to touch him. With pleading eyes and furrowed brows you tried to concentrate one last time. Gaze fixed on him, as you recited the last part.

"Yo-hah-your", he hit a particular spot with force, your back arched and made you almost shout the rest, "F-faather- aahhn- will not forgive yoUR SINS!!"

Simeon's smile widened while cupping your cheek.

"Such a good little lamb.", you felt his fingers tracing your sex again with urgency, while he hovered over you, letting go of the chain and pressing his forehead to yours lovingly. He bit his lip, muffling his ragged breaths and moans that dared to escape him each time his hips slammed into yours.

Finally, your hands buried into his locks, kissing him passionately as you drowned out your moans in each others mouths. Tongues intertwining as if you tried to suck out your souls, claiming each other.

"(y/N)", you parted, hooded eyes staring back at you, while both of you let the pleasure take over. Simeon's hips crashed into yours with more vigor every time, hitting that one spot that made your back arch and your walls clench deliciously around his aching cock. It was all so much. Your hands found their way under his shirt, clawing at his sensitive back. Your legs pulled him even closer towards you, flexing with each thrust. He felt his member dragging along your walls as if you were trying to milk him dry, your body trying to devour everything he was giving you and more.

"Hng Simeon"

His hand movements sped up together with his pace. The coil was tightening and tightening. He was close. And so were you.

The slapping sound of flesh against flesh mixed and matched the groans and pants of this ravaging play of pleasure. You were clenching him so forcefully now, every movement, every twitch of his cock mirrored in moisture of your hole. Bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Hah- mn- Simeon please, please, please-", your fingers were clawing at the angel's back so much, your knuckles turned white. With powerful thrusts dragging along your walls and his fingers moving over just the right spots a loud guttural moan accompanied your spasming walls , covering him in your juices as you were driven over the edge. He moaned loudly, overwhelmed by the feeling of your orgasm bringing about his own while he bit down on your neck in an attempt to deal with all the pleasure he was feeling. His wings had sprung out and his body was shaking wildly. As you rode out your high, you held him close, his moans still spilling out of his mouth.

He rocked his cock in and out of you in a slower more sloppy pace as his arms held your head, pressing his face into your neck, while your hands gently graced through his locks and then found his wings, causing him to shiver and groan, hands clawing into your shoulders.

With time you had come to understand that angels experienced orgasms way longer and were highly sensitive and vulnerable in those moments.

"It's okay...", you panted and lovingly kissed his head, "I'm here.. it's okay.. you did amazing."

A low chuckle errupted against your neck.

"I- ahh.. should be saying that...", he turned his head to face you, eyes full of love and adoration, "You did ama-nnh-zing, little lamb.."

Now it was your turn to chuckle.

"Let's take a bath later, shall we?"

He hummed quietly and nuzzled into your neck again.

"Yeah.. let's do that"

In moments like these, you don't need to say it, to get it across. Because you share it and you feel that.

[thewickedmerman]

My Redesigns of The Specialists

Well, since I finished with the Winx Club girls and The Trix, I figured it was time to do my redesigns of The Specialists. However, not all of them are going to be just powerless fighters. I felt it would be more fun to make their team be made up of fighters, fairies, and sorcerers. Plus, they get to have their own transformations too. The fighters get transformations similar to the Power Rangers/superheroes (Because it makes no sense for there to be an emergency and they just rush off to change clothes, which is an INSANELY dangerous time waster), the fairies will have transformations similar to the Winx Club themselves, and the sorcerers will have transformations similar to the ones from Miraculous Ladybug (Honestly, I don't know what to think for the sorcerers). Why? Because it's so much more fun that way.

Sky

Well, I got the most BORING of the boys out of the way, so that's something. For his design I used Eric's body from The Little Mermaid, the face of Derek from The Swan Princess (Or at least from a specific poster), used his second hairstyle from the show because it suits him better and look less like a surfer dude, and I used the uniforms The Specialists get in the later seasons because it's BADASS. Plus, considering that Eraklyon is related to geology, it makes sense to have some armor that looks like stones. I did change the shade of blue to match his signature color, which is sky blue (I mean, it's in his name). He is the prince of Eraklyon and the son of a sorcerer and a fairy, but they still loved him despite that he had no magic. However, that made them even more protective of him since he was a child and there was a threat of him being kidnapped and held for ransom by Yoshinoya. So Sky's best friend/squire, Brandon (Who is a fairy and has magic to protect himself and Sky) was to switch places with Sky for public appearances and in school, so that no one would know who Sky really is. The only ones who knew the truth were the royal family, the castle staff, members of the royal court, and Diaspro & her parents (Who Sky was betrothed to since they were babies). Despite having no powers, Sky refused to be helpless and studied fighting hand-to-hand combat and weaponry. Sky is a boring character but could be good if put in the right hands. Give him flaws, have him held more accountable for his actions, none of the bullshit conflict that happens with him and Bloom from seasons 4-8.

Brandon

For his design, I used the face of Edward from Enchanted, the nose of Rameses from The Prince of Egypt, the eyes of Joseph from Joseph: King of Dreams, and the body of Bolin from The Legend of Korra. I've always questioned what race Brandon was supposed to be coded as because he seemed pretty ambiguous. Was he just white but with a tan? Was he Middle Eastern? Was he Filipino? Was he Hispanic or Latino? I saw someone say he was Middle Eastern and pointed out some areas in the Middle East where they have lighter tan complexions, dark brown hair, and similar features to him. So I thought for some representation, I would go with the Middle Eastern coded option. I made him a little darker than he was in the original show by giving him Flora's skin color from the original show (Since I gave her a darker skin-tone in my redesign of her), sharper eyes, and more Middle Eastern looking nose. I didn't want to use Aladdin's nose because the noses of Aladdin and Jasmine were a little too exaggerated the same way that the noses in Lilo and Stitch were too exaggerated (Polynesians don't have potato noses). I also wanted to show some body diversity by giving him a plus-sized body. NO, Bolin's body isn't fat but it's very much plus-sized. Brandon was a fat little boy growing up because he was just built differently. However, as he got older and started training, he bulked up. He's still plus-sized but is also muscular. You're probably wondering why I decided to make Brandon a fairy. I don't know but it just works. He is the fairy of geodes! I got that idea from Diaspro's fairy form and powers. They come from Eraklyon, so the magic in that world must be related to geology. So he's basically an Earthbender lol. But his powers are rooted on rocks, stones, gems, ect. so it's no wonder his body is so solid like a rock. I also modeled his wings after Diaspro's, which I noticed are solid instead of transparent like other fairy wings. I figured that must be part of the geology themed powers. As for his costume, I based it on one of the background fairies that were seen during the destruction of Bloom's home planet, Sparx. It just looked like it suited him. He and Sky have been friends since they were little and he is Sky's squire. He's the son of one of the palace guards. Since Sky was in danger of being abducted since he was a little kid, Brandon was made to pretend he was the prince for Sky's protection. Brandon's parents were dead against it, but the king demanded it. However, it was ultimately Brandon who decided to do it, even if his parents disapproved of putting their son in danger. You may ask, how would people believe that two white parents had a brown son? No idea! I guess they just said he was naturally tan lol.

Riven

For Riven's design, I gave him the face/head of Proteus from Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas, the body of Shang from Mulan, and the eyes of Gaston from Beauty and the Beast. For his outfit, I didn't want to just give him the same outfit as Sky but with a different color because I wanted more individuality. So I gave him the outfits that were worn by Nex and Thoren (Sky's cousin). They looked less heroic and epic as the outfit I gave Sky, which suits Riven's more roughish nature and how he hasn't had an easy life compared to Sky (More on that later). It also has a bit of a low-key bad boy vibe to it. I still stayed true to his signature color, magenta, while making sure it didn't clash with his magenta hair, and giving him some purple to match his eyes. And I just had to give him an angry look on his face because it's Riven, so of course. Riven is my absolute LEAST favorite of the specialists. Sky may be boring as hell but Riven is ANNOYING as hell. He's poorly written, has terrible development, is always an asshole for no reason, has no backstory to justify the way he is, doesn't really change, and his relationship with Musa is absolutely toxic. In my version, I give him a backstory and better character development. His backstory is that he was born to a father that was a sorcerer and a mother that was a fairy while he was born without the ability to perform magic, which was a MASSIVE disappointment to his parents. They neglected him, emotionally abused him, and on occasion physically. This makes his actions and attitude all the more understandable. He's a show off because of how he never really got attention growing up from his own parents and is trying to make up for it, as well as prove that he is capable of great things and isn't useless just because he doesn't have powers. He's angry and a hothead but has more of a secret gentle side that he sometimes shows, MUCH MORE than the original Riven, which helps make it more understandable why Musa would have a crush on him. His emotional baggage also made it easier for Darcy to manipulate him, even giving him some magic (But takes it away when she dumps him). His backstory also gives him a reason for why he lashes out at his fellow teammates. In my version, Brandon is a fairy and Timmy is a sorcerer, so they can perform magic while he can't. He especially resents Sky because of how he was also born with parents that could perform magic while he couldn't but was still given love and attention despite this. It made him VERY angry and jealous because of how Sky manage to have parents that adore him, despite being born unable to do magic, while Riven had neglectful and abusive parents because of his inability to perform magic.

Timmy

For his face/head I used some old concept design of Milo from Atlantis: The Lost Empire and the smile, eyes, and body of Aladdin. I went with Aladdin's body because of how Timmy wouldn't be as masculine as the others but wouldn't be lanky. Aladdin has some muscles on him but he's not super built. I also gave him freckles because it's just too perfect for him. His outfit was tricky because of how I had to find a way of making him look like a sorcerer but also incorporate it with technology to go with his powers because of how he is the Sorcerer of Technology. For his scepter, I went with Tecna's Mythix wand, with some adjustments. Redheads look surprisingly really good in the color yellow. I decided to make Timmy a sorcerer because of how I feel it suits his personality. He's not as action-oriented as the other guys but more intellectual, even though he still fights. Imagine how amazing he'd be with technology with magic. He'd excel! No, I don't have him being from Zenith like Tecna but from another technology planet, though one that isn't considered as high up as Zenith. So this makes him feel a little intimidated by Tecna, that and him having a MASSIVE crush on her. He always is trying to prove that he is capable and isn't just some weak nerd. Out of all of the specialists, he's one of my favorite, if not my number one favorite. He's just absolutely awesome with how much of a dork he is.

Helia

Helia was the one that I was looking the most forward to doing a redesign of because of how I made him a fairy. Out of all of the Specialists, he's the one that really benefits the best from being made a fairy, especially when I got to his Believix and Enchantix. He has more of a feminine personality while still proving he isn't a wuss but rather a badass, despite being a pacifist. This gives him layers and depth beyond just being a typical good looking hero. Plus, his hair is just AMAZING! I used the body of Mako from The Legend of Korra, the eyes and nose of Shang from Mulan, and the head/face of Little Creek from Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron. I also gave him Brandon's skin tone to make him look more brown instead of just a light Asian. His outfit is very feminine but also clearly meant for a man because of how it's kind of toga looking. But I did his toga in a way that looks more Asian inspired instead of Greek inspired. Plus, this look suits his chill and relaxed personality. I made his outfit salmon pink with some orange because those colors just look so good on him and just suit his character. I made him the fairy of art, the same way that Musa is the fairy of music. So he can make art literally come to life, turn things like paint into ropes, can control paper (Particularly when in an origami shape), create portals, can jump into paintings to hide, and you get the point. Basically, his powers are awesome!

Nabu

And now we've come to my favorite of The Specialists, Prince Nabu. First of all, I want to make VERY CLEAR that in my version, Nabu DOESN'T die! That was a bunch of BULL CRAP! I mean, he's introduced in season 3 and then close to the end of season 4 they kill him off? Not to mention that out of all the boys, they chose the darkest one, who was also the love interest of black woman! She ended up having to suffer more than any of the other girls because of this. Not to mention that in season 5 they tried to replace him with a brown (But much lighter) man with terrible blonde hair and a terribly bland and boring personality to match, Roy. Then when that didn't work, they did a dumb love triangle in season 6 where the white man that has a personality mixture of Riven and Brandon, Nex. Yeah, all of this is TOTALLY not racist! And that's coming from a white man. Also, I wanna also point out that Nabu is NOT black! He is Indian, so he is coded as South Asian. Now that we got my rant out of the way, for his design I used the face/head of Naveen from The Princess and the Frog, the body of Flynn Rider from Tangled (I wanted to use Naveen but there wasn't a base of him to use or a tasteful nude picture of him), and the eyes of Esmeralda from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I also chose to keep his super long single braid instead of the two shoulder blade length braids he had in season 4. Why? Because it just looks SO MUCH better and is more badass. Non-white men just look amazing with long hair. He is still a prince but he doesn't come from Layla's planet, Andros. Why? Because that planet is water themed and his powers aren't related to water. His powers are illusions and healing, so it only makes sense that he comes from another planet, especially when the rules of Andros are black while Nabu and his family are Indian. He and Layla are in an arranged marriage, which she refuses and their relationship still goes the same way it did in season 3. Except, I'm having them meet during my Sirenix story line because that season would be about Layla, due to it being water themed. He still went by a disguised name, Ophir before revealing his true identity once they fell in love. So I'm giving true respect to the Sorcerer of Healing and Illusions.

And now for Brandon and Helia's Believix!

Just like the girls, Brandon and Helia are getting Believix and Enchantix forms. For the Believix forms I took inspiration from @teawithlemonacid, who did some fanart of The Specialists as fairies. I did make some adjustments of my own but still did take inspiration from that artist, so credit where credit is due. As I said when I did the girls with their Believix, the way they earn their Believix is pretty much the same way they earned their Charmix in season 2. They have to believe in themselves and overcome a personal struggle. I also took liberties with the Believix aesthetic because of how I want the fairy looks to be more timeless rather than dated-looking.

Brandon's Believix

For Brandon's design, I gave him a new hairstyle because if the girls get new hairstyles for each new fairy form, so do the boys. I gave him Nex's hair, apart from those dumb looking sideburns. I embroidered some stoned onto his outfit because of how he's the fairy of geodes. Since I also decided to have his race be Middle Eastern, I decided to incorporate some of that into his look as well. I gave him some curled toed shoes and some Middle Eastern inspired accessories. That was hard because of how most Middle Eastern jewelry are women's jewelry. I gave him Tecna's Mythix wings because they just really suit him for some reason. As for how he earned his Believix, well he had to overcome some hidden resentment he had for Sky that was starting to show during a trust exercise. He resented that he had to put his life on the line for Sky ever since they were kids. That really effects a child when they are having their lives in danger in order to protect someone else. Yes, Brandon did agree to do it in order to protect his friend but he also knew that if he didn't do it that he and his parents would be in trouble with the King and Queen. Sky's parents didn't really show much concern for Brandon's safety and that caused more resentment because Sky didn't really say anything to his parents about their poor treatment of his friend. Sky could tell something was up and it was only when Brandon stopped bottling up his feelings that things started to get better. It was emotional and difficult but Brandon felt better when he finally let it all out. It was then that he earned his Believix.

Helia's Enchantix

homeworldHelia's Believix was A LOT of fun to do. I loved getting to have his hair loose because it looks amazing. I didn't make too many changes to the outfit I modeled this after. I love how the gold has a paint-like feel to it. It really adds to his powers being art based. I used Flora's prototype Bloomix wings for his Believix wings because they just seemed to suit him. I also had the magic coming from his hand looking even bigger and more powerful than it was during his Magic Winx form. The way he earns his Believix was different from how others earned their Believix. instead of mainly being an emotional struggle, it was also a physical struggle because he had to overcome his passive nature. He has a lot of power but he holds himself back because of an accident that happened when he was a kid. Because he didn't restrain himself, a friend of his got badly hurt. The friend lived but his parents wouldn't allow him to be friends with Helia anymore. After that, Helia kept to himself, chose not to be aggressive, and wouldn't live up to his true abilities because of that accident. His grandfather, Saladin (The headmaster at Red Fountain), has been trying to break him out of it and live up to his true potential. It was only when his friends, specifically Flora, were in danger that he finally overcame his passive nature and started using his full power. This caused him to earn his Believix.

And finally for Helia and Brandon's Enchantix

We have come to Helia and Brandon's final transformations, Enchantix. Just like the girls, they must earn theirs by saving someone from their homeworld by making a big sacrifice. The boys were hard to do, due to how there wasn't really anything for me to go off of. However, I think I managed to do a pretty good job. I also wanted to have them be in revealing outfits just like the girls. I mean, fair is fair, after all. Let me know what you think.

Helia's Enchantix

For Helia, I wanted to do something that had an Asian influence to it that also showed his art powers being influenced. I gave him something that was very flowing to go with his sensitive and feminine personality while also having a rainbow theme to go with his powers. I didn't use the colors of the rainbow because I didn't want him to just look like a Pride themed look, which ended up looking awkward and busy when I first attempted it. So I limited the colors to the ones in his wings to make it look better. I still wanted to include his two main colors, salmon pink and gold while still making the rainbow colors pop. I went with a very Asian inspired hairstyle, which actually shows both of his eyes. The eye that is usually covered is actually blind, which goes with the childhood backstory I gave him that helped him earn his Believix, which will also play a part in earning his Enchantix, which I will get to in a little bit. I felt it would show him embracing himself while also showing the Asian culture. I took some liberties with the jewelry because of how most jewelry is meant for women, which is why most male looks are boring. I tried to butch up his shoes to make them look less girly and making the gems resemble a paintbrush. For his wings, I used Stella's Mythix wings because they look like a rainbow, which really suits Helia. I made his powers in his hand the biggest and strongest they've looked out of all his fairy forms. As for how he earns his Enchantix, I had him save his old childhood friend, who Helia had accidentally caused to become permanently blind because of his powers, which also caused Helia to become blind in his right eye. He had seen him but was avoiding him because of his guilt, despite his old friend trying to reach out to him during this time. He saves his old friend from an avalanche that was caused by The Trix, specifically Stormy. Helia not only almost died but his wings were crushed, so he wouldn't be able to fly. He said that he lost his friend once because of something he did and wasn't going to lose his friend again when he could do something about it. However, it was due to this sacrifice that he was able to earn his Enchantix and gain a new and MUCH stronger pair of wings. Not only that, but he had his old friend back after all this time. Helia apologized for what he did to his friend when they were kids, but his friend forgave him and said he missed Helia.

Brandon's Enchantix

Brandon's Enchantix was even more difficult than Helia's because of how Brandon's not as feminine as Helia. I took some inspiration from Tynix because of how Brandon's powers are related to geodes. I made his vest and best/waist thing look like diamonds. I even incorporated gems into his sash. I took major liberties with jewelry because Middle Eastern (Which is the race I decided Brandon is) jewelry is very limited in jewelry for men, at least from the google search I did. I love the one sleeve look I gave him with his emerald vest/armor. I even gave him some gems on the bottom of his pants. I gave him very Aladdin looking pants, only without the crotch being so low lol. I gave him the hairstyle of the character Thoren from Winx Club and Stella's Tynix wings. The way he earns his Enchantix was by saving Sky from being eaten by one of Valtor's minions, causing Brandon to be eaten instead. This cause Brandon to earn his Enchantix and his powers were enhanced to where he could destroy the creature from the inside. This earned him not only his Enchantix, but also finally getting respect from Sky's parents, who, AT LAST, apologize for how they treated him. Yeah, this is simple but you get the point.

ENJOY!

Credit for the character bases goes to SelenaEde, Credit for the backgrounds goes to SparxGuardian, credit for Helia's Believix wings goes to darkfairyofmadness, and credit for the Enchantix wings and Brandon's Believix wings goes to AstralBlu. All of whom are on DeviantArt.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: F*@k The Chef {One Shot}***

Ransom Drysdale x Family Chef Reader

Warning: NSFW, SMUUUUUT, Cursing, Hard Dub-Con, DARK Creepy Ransom, ALL STARS ON NSFW METER

***DO NOT READ AT WORK!!! TAKE THE WARNINGS SERIOUSLY***

Words: 4k

Summary: HA! Nope.

Note: So, my first attempt at Ransom and more importantly Dub-Con. I don’t know about you, but Ransom does not scream anything but dubiousness. That means consent is given but by dubious means. I hope this is even a fraction of good. Was this dark? Thank you guys for reading!! 

Also, this was not written to offend anyone.

**Loosely Edited/Proofread**

***Gif Not My Own***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you got the call that you’d been chosen for an in-home chef position, you were happy. You’d hit bottom when you’d tapped out all of your savings trying to help your mother when she got her diagnosis. Cancer—stage three Cancer. It was a death sentence, your mother said. She was hell-bent on not fighting it, but you wouldn’t hear a thing about it. She’d birthed you a fighter, and you’d go down as a fighter. The cancer didn’t waste any time progressing. Before long, she went from no symptoms to every symptom in the book. She said she’d made her peace with death, but you weren’t ready to face a world without her.

 You drained your bank account with her meds, her care, and funding the portion of treatment her insurance refused to. After six months, you were broke. The call that you’d be chosen for a live-in position automatically garnered a refusal. You couldn’t leave your mother. Then the offer got even better, not only were you requested but the salary was better than any personal chef had ever seen. There was no way you wouldn’t take the job.

 When you rolled up to the address, your jaw dropped when you realized where you were—the Thrombey estate. You weren’t an idiot, you’d heard about the Thrombey Dynasty, everyone had heard the rumors. They’re the wealthiest family, they controlled serious portions of the business world and even that the family was seriously weird. You’d even heard the torrid tale of the black sheep of the family, Ransom Drysdale. You’d heard about his arrest. The release of information was interesting. The whispers said he’d killed his grandfather and the family housekeeper, but the official story said the family was a victim of insufficient evidence that pinned the murders on Ransom. It was safe to say the family had secrets, and though you’d never met Ransom, he looked dangerous.

You couldn’t believe your luck. Upon speaking with Linda Drysdale about the position, you knew this would be an interesting position. Linda told you what you needed to know to do your job accordingly, and you took detailed notes. It was clear that everyone in the household and the family had particular tastes that had to be paid attention to.

 Six months into the position, you’d learned a lot and developed on the job skills it took to survive working for the Thrombeys as well as living with them. You considered yourself an expert now. That was until you walked into your kitchen one day and saw a set of shoulders that looked ripe for the touching. He was bent inside the fridge, and it gave you a good view of his backside. It looked nice—toned. You got lost looking over the muscles you knew were underneath the brown sweater they wore that you didn’t even realize when they looked over their shoulder right to you.

 “Holy Shit,” you gasped.

 Ransom Drysdale stood a few feet away. His body straightened and came to full height. He was huge, or bigger than you. You were clearly the omega, and he looked every bit the vicious alpha.

 “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” His mouth remained relaxed, but there was a playful but dangerous glint in his eyes. “Or maybe you do entirely different things with a mouth as pretty as that.”

 Unexpectedly, butterflies filled your belly. You usually were immune to pick up lines like that, but that was a blatant pickup line, one that was dark but for some reason, affected you. As he sauntered toward you, you caught dangerous vibes coming off of him. You backed up with every advance he made. When your heel hit the threshold of the kitchen entrance, panic set in. You were alone with a man who’d quite possibly killed two people, one of whom was his own grandfather. He stopped mere inches from touching you and smirked. Goosebumps flooded your skin.

 “Yeah, you do entirely different things with that mouth. Care to share?”

 You were stunned silent; his eyes were an intense shade of blue you couldn’t help but admire. That, coupled with his perfectly coiffed dark hair and chiseled jawline, it would have been an honest assessment to call him beautiful. When you didn’t answer, his smirk widened and sent chills down your spine. Leaning forward to your ear Ransom took a deep inhale then groaned.

 “One day.” With that, he walked off, leaving you dazed and slightly shaking. You didn’t know what it was you were shaking from fear or excitement.

 You thought to render your resignation after that encounter, but you couldn’t convince yourself to pass up on the clearly over-generous salary, not when your mother was still in treatment. After an all-night debate with your door securely locked and bolted with a chair underneath the knob, you decided to keep the job but tread carefully, especially when it came to a one Ransom Drysdale.

 For the next four months, you put up with a lot more than an average family chef would have had to. You stomached the catcalls, the whistles, and the demeaning sounds Ransom made every time he saw you or was close to you. You just steeled your spine and pretended you’d heard nothing at all. Every time you were left alone in a room, you made an excuse to leave. When you had to bring his dinner to his room because he hated his family so much that he refused to eat with them at the dinner table, you kept it simple. Rather than go into the lion’s den, you left it on the floor in front of the door, knocked, and made a mad dash to get away before he opened the door. You skated by for four months.

 As time went on, his advances became more and more blatant. What started as catcalls or whistling turned into sly comments about your uniform and how it should be shorter and how the fit did wonders for your waist and breasts. That escalated to outward attempts at getting to you. On the off chance your eyes met, he’d bite his lips, lick them obnoxiously and wink at you. When that had no effect, he found ways to touch you slyly. He’d squeeze past you sliding his body against yours, take plates or other items from you while ensuring his hand grazed yours. A few times, he’d even grabbed your waist. Each time it produced a loud yelp that could be heard throughout the house.

 After months of you not reciprocating or opening up to his advances, his delivery became even crasser. It was a little strange to you. You knew from the sounds that came from his bedroom that he had no shortage of women that would do whatever, whenever he wanted. You didn’t know why he had this fixation with you. Part of you said it was the draw of breaking someone—something. He possibly wanted to break those around him that were put together, and you were just the closest target. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to provoke him.

 One night, Ransom must have been lying in wait for you. When you approached his door with the tray of food, he swung open his door, startling you half to death. He smiled like the Cheshire cat if the Cheshire cat was a convicted murderer.

 “Funny meeting you here,” Ransom said, leaning one brawny shoulder on the threshold.

 “I—I have your dinner.”

 “You have my dinner who?” Clenching your jaw, you swallowed the smart comeback that nearly slipped from you. As if sensing it, Ransom smiled as his eyes darkened. He tilted his head to the side, quietly reminding you he was waiting.

 “Sir,” you filled in.

 He nodded and breathed out. You saw his eyes lazily travel over your body. He wasn’t even being coy about it; he was doing it outright like he wanted you to know what he was doing. Doing your best to ignore it and not say something reckless you’d regret in the trunk of his car as he took you to some abandoned part of the estate to kill you.

 “Bring it inside,” Ransom ordered. You hesitated. Going inside was a stupid idea, anyone with half a brain knew that. You also thought what other option did you have? He didn’t even bother repeating it. It was as if his privilege told him you’d obey.

 Cursing to yourself, you slowly stepped into his room and looked for a place to put the dinner tray. As you walked across to the small table up a few steps on the other side of the room, you did your best to slow your breathing and calm your nerves. Once you placed it down, you began walking back to the door. Before you got near it, Ransom shut it and leaned against it. Your stomach fell.

 “Uh—what’re you—what’re you doing?”

 “Whatever the hell I want,” he gruffly said. His eyes didn’t look clear tonight. He’d taken something. In your time working there, you’d learned a few things about Ransom. He liked women, alcohol, good food—rich food, and drugs. You suspected he did them all, but you knew for a fact he liked weed and molly, otherwise known as ecstasy. He must have taken one tonight, you though.

 Ransom rubbed his nose and sniffled as he did it and zeroed in on you. “Come here.”

 Instead of listening, you backed away, trying to create distance between you. “Come—here!”  It was said more loudly. He meant business. Panic set in and a feeling of dread. Before he moved, he growled then pounced. You yelped and got ready to scream, but Ransom’s hand clasped over your mouth before he pushed you against the wall on the other side of his room.

 “Let’s not go doing something stupid, sweetheart,” he drawled his voice dripping with wickedness and sin.

 “Tell me—sweetheart,” Ransom began with his face just inches from yours. “What would you do to keep your job?” You felt his finger trail your throat. It inched lower and lower until it was at the rise of your breast. “One word from me, and you’ll be out on your ass faster than you can say Cancer treatment.”

 With those words, your eyes widened. He knew about your mother. When he saw you realized it, he smiled sinisterly.

 “That’s right, sweetheart. I know you need this job. The question is, what will you do to keep it?”

 Moments passed where he kept his hand clamped over your mouth. Only when he was sure you weren’t going to scream did he remove it.

 “The next words out of your mouth better be anything, sweetheart,” Ransom warned. Glaring at him, you hoped to convey all the hatred you had for him at this moment. Ransom didn’t look like he cared, his smile said it didn’t faze him one bit.

“Haven’t you heard the rumors? Hate turns me on. I’d be careful how you look at me, Y/N. I just might bend you over that table and have my real dinner.” Your eyes bugged with his threat, but your belly did cartwheels. What the hell was wrong with you, you wondered.

 “So—again, what will you do—to keep your job?” He said it in a sing-song voice this time. He was enjoying this. The sick fuck was enjoying this.

 “What do you want?”

 As if he’d been waiting for you to ask him that. He smiled and got so close his nose touched yours. You tried to press your back even further onto the wall hoping it would suck you in. That didn’t happen though; instead, ransom’s hand tightened on your hip and pulled you to him. Your body was now crushed flush against his. Even dressed in the teal-colored wool sweater, you could still feel every muscle underneath. He was athletically built.

 “You.”

 As if for emphasis as soon as the word left his mouth, you felt his erection poking against you. Again, your belly did backflips as you were filled with strange feelings; fear was the least of them.

 “I’m tired of waiting for you to throw yourself at me so I can take what I offer. You are the only one who has resisted this long. Why resist? Just give in. Give me what I want,” Ransom spoke through clenched jaws as he ground his crotch into you. A small moan escaped your lips, one you instantly regretted. His lips touched your ear before he spoke.

 “You want me. Give it, or I will take it.” Ransom then bit your earlobe, but it wasn’t gentle. It was forceful. His teeth relinquished their hold before he bit your neck. He wanted to mark you.

 Suddenly a loud knock broke the heady aura in the room.

 “What!”

 “Where is Y/N! She’s needed now. Have you seen her?” It was Linda. You’d never been happier to hear her voice.

 Ransom’s anger was evident, and it grew when he saw relief in your eyes. He looked like he was thinking of all the things he wanted to do to you, and none of them ended with you clothed and unmarked. Ransom then begrudgingly scoffed and went back to your ear. “Soon.”

 After he spoke, he released you. Quickly you scurried to the door and out. You didn’t even bother to shut it behind you. You just ran.

 For days you looked over your shoulder. For days you lived on edge. You kept your door locked with the chair underneath and even pushed one of the nightstands against it in case he was strong enough to barge in. Night after night, nothing happened. Day after day, Ransom was on his best broody behavior. The catcalls stopped, the whistles were a thing of the past, the touches nonexistent. He’d gone one hundred to zero overnight, and it confused you.

 You were relieved the first few weeks, but that relief turned to doubt. You were convinced he was working some twisted angle. You were sure he would sneak out from every corner and push you over whatever furniture was nearby and have at it. It was a constant worry. After four weeks and nothing, you began to relax, especially when you found little things lying around at your door either early in the morning when you rose to get breakfast ready or late at night when your day was done. The items weren’t huge things; they were things such as your favorite flower, or your favorite dessert. There was one time you found a diamond necklace in your favorite color. You knew who it was from. You didn’t acknowledge them, though. That must have been encouragement, every so often you’d find pieces of jewelry, earrings, bracelets, rings, all items that looked like they cost more than an average weekly paycheck. You didn’t wear them, you kept them in a drawer and tried not to think about them.

 His behavior was erratic and confusing. You couldn’t figure him out. One morning ransom was waiting in the kitchen for you. You nearly tripped over your own two feet. You couldn’t walk away because he’d already seen you. Cautiously you walked into the room, taking the path that left enough breadth between you and him. You wanted to get to the fridge, but the action meant your back was turned to him. You didn’t want to turn your back on him.

 “Don’t bother. There is no one here today—no need to make breakfast,” Ransom informed.

 “Uh—what—

 “I have breakfast already.” He nodded to the pink box sitting on the island. Your eyed dropped to it and caught the aroma of pastries. You recognized the box.

 “I made coffee,” Ransom informed. Shock filled you.

 “You?” He scoffed, got up, and walked to the fancy espresso machine. He then poured the dark liquid into a mug and approached you. The scent of the exotic coffee beans teased your nostrils. He stopped a few feet from you and held out the mug. It was the mug that read “my house, my rules, my coffee.” You couldn’t help but think of the stories you’d heard of Marta. Marta who was now strangely gone without a trace.

 “Take it. I promise I didn’t do anything to it.” You slowly reached out and took the mug and sniffed it hoping to be able to smell if he poisoned or drugged it.

 “I didn’t poison or drug it. You have entirely the wrong idea about me, Y/N.” He chuckled and walked back to the espresso machine to get his own mug. He then came back to you and leaned on the island while facing you.

 “I want to apologize,” Ransom began. You almost dropped your mug.

 “Apolo—huh?”

 “I know, it is not a concept I’m familiar with, but neither is forcing myself on the help. I don’t have to force anyone to fuck me,” Ransom crassly explained.

 “Nice. Lucky you.”

 “Meh. I didn’t mean to—I was high. I didn’t have full control.”

 You studied him trying to assess if he were being sincere or if this was yet another ploy.

 “Come, I got your favorites.” Ransom walked away to the stool and sat then opened the pink pastry box.

 It was filled with your favorites, madeleines. It was a box of an assortment of them, and they smelled delicious. Ransom waited for you to approach. When you did, it was a slow stride, and you took the stool that was farthest from him. The two of you ate and drank in silence. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time, though. You tried to keep your nervous ticks to a minimum, but it was difficult. The longer you sat across from him, smelling his cologne, the more you felt temptation. It was confusing. Though you hated him, you were strangely intrigued by him, inexplicably attracted to him. It was one of those things that you felt ashamed of. When the last madeleine was eaten, Ransom stood and walked out of the kitchen without a word. Your head was spinning from this three-sixty.

 That wasn’t the end of Ransom’s peculiar behavior. It all continued as did the wayward glances. At times they were soft, and other times they were hard and intense. You were convinced the man had bipolar disorder or even multiple personalities. Several more weeks passed with him giving you the hot and cold treatment, the psychopath and sane citizen act. Though you tried to talk yourself out of it, you found yourself with mixed feelings for him.

 You were minding your own business preparing the lunch for the household. You’d just finished putting a freshly kneaded loaf of bread in the oven and checked on your pot of stew on the stove slow-simmering when heard the clink of metal. Your curiosity won out, making you look behind you to the nook in the kitchen, and there stood Ransom. He was dressed in his favorite white cable knit sweater and dark pants. Your eyes immediately dropped to those pants to see his belt undone, and him slowly zipping down his pants. You were frozen in place. The slowness of his moves was like torture. You knew you should have looked away, but you were interested in knowing just what had countless women compromising their morals. When his cock flopped out of his pants, you gasped and placed your hand at your throat. He was long and thick and completely ready.

 You heard a growl from him, and in seconds, he was across the kitchen and in front of you, pressing you against the fridge.

 “Looks like soon is today. When we first met, you showed me a glimmer of how dirty your mouth was. That was just a fraction though Y/N. Get on your knees and show me more,” Ransom demanded. His eyes were again dark similar to the way they’d looked the night in his room.

 “Ransom pl—” Ransom grabbed your throat, but he didn’t squeeze.

 “What did you call me?”

 “S—sir,” you replaced. His top lip rose in a devious smirk.

 “On your knees. Or we can call this your last day working here.”

 You knew he was serious. Linda was wrapped around his finger, and she didn’t even know it. All he had to do was say he hated your food, and you’d be out on your ass, and your mother would suffer for it. After quick calculation of your options and the fall out from them, you slowly dropped to your knees. Ransom’s thick cock was right in front of your face. The violent veins were protruding to give you an idea of just how engorged he was.

 “I’ve dreamed of this for months. Open your pretty mouth, sweetheart.”

 You opened your mouth, and without warning, Ransom thrusted forward, sending his cock down your throat. You gagged, but Ransom kept it nestled in the tight confines of your throat. You groaned, hoping to relay your panic from your lack of oxygen intake, but either Ransom didn’t understand, or he didn’t care. You were sure it was the lather. He pulled his hips back, allowing you to chough and gasp for it. The reprieve was only momentary. In seconds, he shoved his cock back into your mouth and held the back of your head where he wanted it as he fucked your face.

 You did your best to remain conscious. With every thrust, Ransom shoved his cock further and further down your throat, suffocating you in the process. Soon slobber and thick globs of mucus dribbled from your chin and down to your flour-covered uniform. Ransom didn’t slow his actions or take heed to not break your throat with his cock. He fucked your face viciously. His only concern was his pleasure. When his thrusts became so fast you couldn’t keep up; you gagged with every forward thrust. Your struggle must have been a turn on for him because the sounds coming from him were animalistic but also vulnerable.

 “That’s it; sweetheart suck my cock. You take me so fucking well. swallow me!” His hands loosened their grip from behind your head, and he caressed your cheek with the back of his hand. It was out of character.

 “Use your hands!” you wrapped both your hands around his shaft and worked his length as he continued to fuck your mouth. Ransom dropped his head back and groaned loudly.

 “Yes, that’s it, sweetheart, swallow this cock! show me how bad you fucking want it!”

 When you moaned on his length, you were shocked. You couldn’t believe this; you were turned on. Ransom must have known it too because it was then he plowed into your mouth with reckless abandonment. The moment before he came, you saw his intention. When you felt the hot splash of his cum shoot against your tonsils and down your throat, Ransom clasped his hands behind your head again and held you in place so not one drop escaped your mouth. His grunts were loud and forceful. From the look of him he was in ecstasy.

 “Swallow every drop!” It wasn’t a suggestion. You struggled swallowing and attempting to breathe. It felt like his cum was coming through your nose. You began to feel lightheaded and woozy as Ransom swished his cock around your throat, nudging it against the walls. The sensation fiercely triggered your gag but thanks to his cock in your mouth, there was nowhere for anything to go. Gulping, you swallowed what he deposited, and that action had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. It was then Ransom pulled himself from your mouth, finally allowing you to chough and gasp for air.

 After a few moments, Ransom stooped down before you, his cock still out and slowly coming back to life. Your eyes met, and he had a smile on his face.

“There, there sweetheart. You did good.” Ransom used a dish towel to dab at the corners of your mouth before he wiped your messy chin. “Could be better, but don’t worry, I’ll train you proper tonight.” He leaned to your ear and whispered. “Let the big bad wolf in Y/N. I promise I’ll fuck you right.”

When he said it, he stood and walked out of the kitchen, leaving you on the floor in complete shock at what just happened and the fact that you liked it—a lot. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 61

Masterlist

----

Initially, moving everyone to Cretea seemed like a brilliant solution to a terrible situation. In practice, though, it soon turns out that there are about a hundred problems attached that Miryam didn’t see coming at the first glance.

The first issue is, obviously, that most of their people do not want to move to Cretea. In spite of knowing about Shey and the other Fae members of the Alliance wanting them dead, the Seraphim still thought they would be able to return home to Erithia, and they are understandably reluctant to leave their home behind. The idea of moving to an island that is considered holy in their religion does little to ease their unhappiness, either. Meanwhile, the humans are theoretically fine with moving to some island they never heard of before, but are far from pleased at the prospect of having to share that island with a group of Fae.

Convincing everyone to go along with the plan takes days, and it only works because the alternative is to risk getting murdered. There are several concessions that need to be made, though. For one, it quickly becomes apparent that the Seraphim will only agree to come along if their friends and families can come as well. That was not initially something Miryam and Drakon had planned for – no need to drag more people than absolutely necessary into it, after all – but the Seraphim refuse to leave otherwise, and so they have no choice but to spirit the hundreds of thousands of Erithians still waiting in Erithia away to their camp. The attack they stage to cover their tracks is not exactly a good trick, but they hope that in the general chaos ensuing all over the Continent right now, no one will think to double-check.

Meanwhile, the humans come up with a few demands of their own to assure their safety. Most importantly, they downright refuse to be ruled over by any Fae. (“No offence to your husband,” Niria, who relays the decision to Miryam, says, “He seems nice enough, but he’s still Fae.”) Miryam would have picked Niria for the job of leading the humans, but everyone else seems to agree that it will obviously be her who takes up the role, and she has to admit that it’s convenient for an eventual unity within their soon-to-be-formed country to have the rulers of the Fae and humans already married to each other. Eventually, they might actually manage to get a unified government for all people living on Cretea, but for the moment, it is agreed upon that humans and Fae will be governed separately, with an option of merging the two governments eventually should both sides agree.

By the time they finally move on to the next issue (how to get everyone to Cretea), the Continent has already completely dissolved into chaos. They had to pull in most of their spies, but Andromache, who drops by almost every day, keeps them well-informed.

“It is a mess,” she says one day, looking drained enough that Miryam wordlessly hands her a mug of tea and gently pushes her towards the nearest chair. “Millions of people on the move everywhere. All roads are crowded, and the soldiers are busy day and night trying to keep the violence between groups at bay. And we still haven’t got any idea where to put most of these people.”

For the most part, Miryam just tries not to think about it. She doesn’t want to imagine these millions of people who are forced to leave their homes and travel through the entire Continent into the unknown, doesn’t want to think that this was not the future she was hoping for when she dreamt of what a world after the war might look like. (We won, she reminds herself. That’s all that really counts. Any other problems, we will find a way to deal with.)

There are many things she is trying very hard not to think too much about. Her death, for example. Or the wall that will soon go up and the people who will have to die for it to happen. Or how the entire mess the world has been turned into is, in some way, because of her. During the days when she is too busy to spend much time thinking, it works for the most part. At night, it’s a different matter.

At the end of the day, she’s still one of the lucky ones, though. Unlike so many others, at least she isn’t losing her home. Of course, there are places she will miss, Erithia and Telique for one. But she never truly had a place she considered home, not really, so there is no home for her to lose now. Her home were always other people, and most of those will be coming with her.

It more difficult for Drakon. He is trying very hard to pretend that he is enthusiastic about moving to Cretea to set a good example for his people, but Miryam can tell that losing Erithia is tearing him apart. That is definitely her fault in a way, just as the fact that his right arm still hurts and none of the healers they talked to has been able to do anything about it is because of her. (Well, the blame for that last thing lies with Daín for the most part, but he had the good sense to stay away so far. Miryam is sure that will change soon enough, though, given what she knows about him.)

Drakon and her settle into a rhythm of sorts together. During the days, they pretend everything is fine. At nights, when they are alone in their tent, they allow themselves to mourn, to be scared and in pain. It probably isn’t ideal, but Miryam supposes they will have all the time in the world to deal with what they lost once everyone is safe and settled on Cretea.

----

Miryam is asleep in their tent, or at least pretending to be, but Drakon gave up on trying to sleep after having spent two hours tossing and turning on his mattress. His right arm still hurts, pain shooting up from the fingertips to the shoulder at any movement, which makes sleeping difficult.

Instead, he leaves the camp, nodding to the guards as he passes them, and sits down on a flat stone by the shore still within the wards Miryam set up around the camp. Tiny waves are lapping around his feet. Drakon picks up a handful of pebbles and starts tossing them into the water, sending ripples running over the surface.

He is just about to pick up a second hand of stones when a reflection appears in the water. He looks up and finds a dark-haired man with dark skin and blue robes floating above the water. So he did come, just as Miryam predicted.

“Ghost,” he says, only to remember a heartbeat later that the being in front of him is called Daín.

“Hello Drakon,” Ghost – no, Daín, remember it already – says quietly.

He doesn’t say anything after that, and Drakon only stares at him. Miryam told him about what happened after he resurrected her, but he still cannot quite believe that the man before her is the second-most important being in his religion. (Although given that his goddess apparently wants him dead, he might want to reconsider his religion as well. There are many things he needs to reconsider, it seems.)

“How… how are you doing?” Daín finally asks.

“Good,” Drakon says in a too-casual tone. “Thanks for asking. You might want to avoid Miryam for the time being, though. She’s furious with you.”

“Miryam, huh?” Daín asks. “And you?”

Drakon shrugs with his good shoulder. “My arm still hurts.” Understatement of the century. “I can barely hold a pen. How do you think I am feeling?”

Daín’s form dims slightly. “I’m sorry,” he says. “That’s what I actually came to tell you. I didn’t mean…” He breaks off, then starts again. “I regretted it the moment I did it.”

“Why did you do it, then?” Drakon asks.

That’s what has been bugging him ever since. Admittedly, he isn’t the best at judging people, but he still thought he could trust Ghost. They weren’t exactly friends, but he still thought they liked each other. That he was apparently so wrong stings.

“Because I couldn’t spend the rest of eternity stuck in that cave,” Daín says, voice rising slightly. “I just couldn’t.”

“But we had promised to get you out,” Drakon says. He doesn’t like how small his voice sounds. This would probably be easier if he was angry.

“And how would you have done that, with Miryam dead?” Daín shakes his head. “Any possible way to ever free me – be it in combination with resurrecting Miryam or just cutting me loose – involved you using the sword. I didn’t want this, I swear I didn’t, but it was my only chance.”

“Ah,” Drakon says, nodding slowly.

He hadn’t considered that. It makes sense, though, and it being the reason for why Daín did what he did is actually a relief. It means that Daín didn’t hate him, didn’t fake friendliness to manipulate him into freeing him from the beginning – Drakon didn’t misjudge him that badly, after all – he just wanted to get out of the cave. After eight thousand years of being trapped there alone, it is certainly something Drakon can sympathize with. He doesn’t exactly approve (his arm hurts too much for that), but he has a hard time blaming Daín.

“And you…” Daín continues, “you wanted to save Miryam so badly. Initially, I wasn’t going to help you, but you practically begged me and so – “

“And so you thought it was fine to lie to me?” Drakon asks, annoyed again. He understands why Daín didn’t give him the choice, but there’s really no reason for Daín to act like he was doing him a favour, or like he was justified in taking away his choice on the matter. “If you were so sure I would do it anyways, you could have just told me the truth.”

“I – “ Daín begins, but he is cut off by a voice from behind.

“Are you actually apologizing because you feel bad, or just because your little plan to free yourself didn’t go quite as planned and you need me to not hate you, Daín?”

Drakon turns around to Miryam who is leaning against a tree behind him, arms crossed so tightly she looks like she is moments away from accidentally snapping them.

“Can’t sleep?” Drakon asks by way of greeting and moves aside a bit on his stone to make space for her.

“As usual.” Miryam pushes off her tree and goes to sit next to him. Arms still crossed, she turns to glare at Daín. “Still waiting for your answer.”

Daín still seems to be processing what Miryam just said to him. He is hanging entirely still in the air, not even blinking. At Miryam’s words, he snaps out of it, though.

“I really do want to apologize,” he says. “I would have come even if I had been freed fully, instead of just being tied to you instead of the sword. And I would still want you to not hate me even if I was able to move more than a mile away from you at a time.”

Miryam snorts. “Yeah, it must be terribly inconvenient. All that work to get free, only to end up tied to one of the people you betrayed to get what you want.”

She is very good at only letting anger and coldness show right now, but Drakon knows that she was as hurt by Daín’s betrayal as he was, and that she isn’t pleased at all by having him bound to her now. Under different circumstances, Drakon thinks she might have decided to be more charitable about the entire situation and give Daín a second chance, but it seems she decided to be angry for both of them about Daín nearly getting him killed.

“Besides,” Miryam continues, “your apologies hardly undo what you did.”

Now, Drakon does feel the need to interject. He is almost beginning to feel bad for Daín.

“It was nice of him to explain, though,” Drakon says. “I can’t even blame him, honestly.”

Miryam twists around to face him, looking outraged. “What?” She asks. “You can’t be serious.”

Drakon shrugs. “He wanted a way out of that cave. I understand that. And if I had just let him out earlier instead of leaving him trapped there all alone just because I was scared to break tradition, none of this would have happened, so at least part of the blame for the entire situation lies with me.”

“Using the sword would still have killed you, though!” Miryam is clearly trying to keep her voice calm, but she doesn’t succeed entirely. “That was his plan from the beginning. How can you just be willing to overlook that?”

In spite of himself, Drakon finds himself smiling. It has been an ongoing discussion between the two of them in the last weeks which one of them is putting to little importance into their own wellbeing. Drakon feels that Miryam is brushing off the fact that she died and the related trauma too easily and also spends far too much time blaming herself and too little blaming others for everything that happened. In turn, Miryam thinks that Drakon should focus less on her and more on how he almost died and also lost his home.

In the end, they are probably both right. It seems that they are both painfully alike in that they never quite manage to place enough importance on their own lives.

“That wasn’t my plan at all,” Daín objects, making Drakon turn to face him again. “I didn’t want to hurt Drakon, that’s why I stopped suggesting he use the sword after a while!”

Miryam looks like she already has a reply ready for that, but Drakon cuts in before she gets the chance. “I think we aren’t going to solve this today,” he says. “What I’d like to know, though, is how you ended up in that cave. The true story. And how you know the Mo… Étain.”

That stops Miryam from saying whatever was just on her mind. She has been dying to know the details of Daín’s and Étaín’s past, and she evidently cares more about that than about telling Daín off yet again.

“Alright,” Daín says. He seems relieved at the chance to change the subject. “Then let’s start at the beginning. From my understanding, it is Fae belief that I am a Fae who was chosen as a consort by Étaín, who is the goddess who created this world.”

Drakon nods, internally bracing himself. He has a feeling he isn’t going to like whatever is coming next. He was never go-to-the-temple-daily religious, but he did care about it. The years of war didn’t exactly improve his relationship with his goddess, but he can’t shake the feeling that this will be worse still.

“The Fae, as usual, were wrong on both counts,” Daín says. “Étaín and I are both members of a species called Aín. We are born from the universe itself, made from the strings that make up its essence and have powers that are – although any Aín I can think of would consider the comparison an insult – similar to the powers witches exhibit. Although the more correct way to put it considering the history would be that the witches have powers that are a faint echo of ours.”

“Sounds pretty god-like to me,” Drakon mutters.

“That’s an interesting question, isn’t it?” Daín asks, perking up. “What is a god?” He seems genuinely excited at the question. “You see, there is no clear answer. If we define it as a ‘being of great power that is worshipped as a deity’, one might consider Miryam to be a goddess, provided she got herself some worshipers, and – “

“Can we get back to the subject at hand?” Miryam asks sharply. Drakon cannot tell if she is just annoyed with Daín in general, wants him to continue his story, or doesn’t like the goddess-comparison. Probably a mixture of all three.

Daín winces. “Sure. Anyways, long story short, Étaín grew tired of simply visiting worlds and watching life there as a spectator. She wanted… well, I suppose that no longer matters. She took over one of the worlds – this one – and began to shape it to her liking, using the Cauldron, a magical item she created, to anchor the spell she used. She never particularly cared about the world’s original inhabitants – the humans, as I am sure you already guessed – but there was a bunch of invaders from another world – the Fae – who were all too happy to worship her as a goddess when she had prepared this world so well for them. And Étaín quickly found that she enjoyed being worshipped as a goddess.”

Drakon groans and buries his face in his hands. He prepared himself for the worst, but this is worse than anything he considered possible. His ancestors were invaders who stole this world from the humans and then proceeded to enslave him, his goddess the one who helped them, and –

“And what was your role in all this?” Miryam asks.

“I was her best friend,” Daín says without looking at Miryam. “And then I was her lover and her husband.”

“So you helped her.” Miryam has her arms crossed again and seems to be growing increasingly angry as the conversation progresses.

“No. But I didn’t stop her either, and that’s almost as bad.” Daín sighs. “It took me far too long to realize that she was wrong, and to start acting against her. I only changed my mind when I met Rashida. But from then on, I worked with the humans against Étaín. Well, mostly against the Fae, but Étaín backed them, so it made little difference. I managed to keep it secret for centuries, but she found out eventually. When she did, we fought. And we hurt each other badly enough that we were both reduced to this.” He gestures at himself. “Powerless. Mere shades of what we once were, forced to remain stuck in this world forever without ever having the power to influence it again.”

Drakon curses softly and runs a hand through his hair. Wonderful. So everything he believes was one giant lie. Well, not everything, of course, but still quite a lot. A lot of really important things.

Miryam nods slowly. “Interesting story. We’ll think about it.”

“There’s more still,” Daín says. “So much you do not know yet.”

“Maybe some other day,” Miryam says. “I’d rather be alone with Drakon now, though.”

Daín nods. “Of course. And I truly am sorry.”

Miryam doesn’t react. Drakon might have offered some acknowledgement, but he is still chewing on what Daín just told him. After waiting another heartbeat, Daín disappears into thin air.

Drakon turns to Miryam. His first instinct is to apologize, to offer some kind of comment about what Daín just revealed about his ancestors, but Miryam likely wouldn’t care about that. She didn’t the first time around, and she doubts he will now.

Miryam is the one who breaks the silence. “I can’t believe you are actually considering to forgive him,” she says, but she is smiling as she shakes her head slightly.

Ah. So this is what they are talking about. “And you?” Drakon asks. “Are you just going to hate him forever? Might be inconvenient, given that he is tied to you. He’ll have to be around a lot.”

Miryam laughs. “Unfortunate, isn’t it? I guess I’ll have to put that on the list of things I will eventually have to deal with. Sometime after we’ve made sure our people get through the next year without starving, I imagine.”

Drakon smiles back at her. “At least it won’t be boring?” He offers.

“Oh, definitely,” Miryam says and takes his hand. “At the rate things are going, we’ll be lucky if we ever get so much as a single boring day in our lives.”

“There’s a lot to be done until we get there, though,” Drakon says and jumps to his feet. “Houses to build and fields to plant. A country to create from scratch.” He offers her a hand to help her up.

Miryam takes the offered hand and lets him pull her to her feet. “Sounds fun. We better find a way to get everyone to Cretea safely first, though.”

----

Moving over to Cretea turns out to be less of a challenge than Miryam initially anticipated. Lacking ships and unable to purchase new ones for secrecy reasons, they had to rely on magic to get them across the ocean and onto the island. The entire matter (disabling the wards to even allow people onto the island and then creating a spell that allows about a million people to transfer to the island) took Miryam four days and no less than six trips to Cretea.

The spell she ended up with is hardly a work of art – it’s a one-way bridge of sorts between their camp and Cretea, and only ten people can pass through at a time and the transfer over to Cretea takes about thirty seconds, meaning that they need to have the spell running for well over a month to get everyone over to the island – but it is functional. A month is long, yes, it seems like a small price to pay for a relatively safe and comfortable way of travelling. Especially compared to what the millions of people on the Continent who also lost their homes have to deal with.

On the last day before the first people will start leaving for Cretea, Andromache visits again. Drakon is busy explaining the logistics of everything to the group of soldiers that will pass through the wall first, and so it’s just the two of them sitting together in Miryam’s tent.

“So, how are you doing?” Andromache asks.

Miryam shrugs. “Getting used to everything.” She doesn’t say that the nightmares are bad again, or that she feels so terribly guilty for all these people having to leave their homes, or that she is terrified of what the future might hold.

Andromache is kind enough to leave it at that and not call attention to her lie. “You’re leaving with the first group tomorrow?” She asks instead.

“Yes.” Miryam nods to the necklace Andromache is still wearing around her neck. “That will still bring you to me whenever you want. I’m hoping to see you again even when we’ve left the Continent.”

“I’ll come visit,” Andromache says with a sad smile.

Neither of them says that Andromache will have a very limited amount of time where she is even able to visit. The evacuations will probably take a few months still, but once the Wall goes up, there will be no more visits. Because there will be no more Andromache.

It is a subject both of them have carefully avoided in the last weeks. The knowledge that the wall spell will require the lives of the six human queens to come into function is always there, standing between them, but Miryam hasn’t yet found the courage to address it and Andromache doesn’t seem interested in bringing it up either.

Miryam reaches into her jacket and pulls out a second necklace. “And it would be great if you could give this to Mor. Tell her that I’d like to see her again sometime.”

Andromache frowns at the necklace in Miryam’s hand, then reluctantly takes it. “Is this your way of making me talk to Mor again?”

“This is my way of making sure a friend of mine doesn’t spend the rest of her life blaming herself for my death, and of possibly clearing up our argument,” Miryam replies. “Although I do wish you two would talk things out.”

Andromache makes a face at Miryam. “I don’t.”

“It was just an argument, Andromache. And it was halfway my fault, anyways, for not warning Mor of what I was going to do. It’s really not worth breaking up over.”

And Miryam feels terrible that this argument led to two of her friends breaking up. She never wanted that to happen, and she doesn’t think Mor deserves it. What she has said hadn’t exactly been kind, but given what Miryam had done, it hadn’t been unwarranted, either. Miryam doesn’t regret her actions, but she also cannot blame anyone for hating her for them.

“Well, it’s not your relationship so you don’t get to decide that,” Andromache mutters. When Miryam just watches her in silence, she sighs. “Besides, I’m not breaking up with Mor over the argument the two of you had. I’m breaking up with her because of the general implications of her behaviour.”

“You don’t really think Mor is anything like Shey,” Miryam says.

“No. But I don’t think I can imagine a relationship with her either. Not anymore.” Andromache shrugs. “I mean, even if I wasn’t going to die in that spell, I think it would be better for things to end here. Especially with the wall soon going up, there is little point in investing in a relationship I am unsure about.”

“Either way, you should talk to her sometime,” Miryam says. “You won’t get many chances to clear things between you up anymore, and such things shouldn’t be put off too long.” She thinks of Jurian and all the things she never got the chance to say to him and adds, “Talking from experience.”

Andromache sighs and closes her hand around the necklace. “I’ll give it to Mor,” she says. “And I’ll see. About the conversation.”

Miryam nods. “That’s all I am asking.”

----

Almost two weeks after Miryam gave it to her, Andromache still carries the charmed necklace she was meant to give to Mor around with her. She intended to give it to Mor right away, but somehow, the opportunity never arose. With the entire Continent dissolved into complete chaos, refugee trails running from one side to the other, she simply didn’t have much time for private conversations. Besides, Mor wasn’t in Telique as much as before, meaning they rarely saw each other either way.

Alright. If Andromache is being entirely honest, she didn’t exactly put much effort into meeting her, either. She could easily have sent a letter and asked Mor to come visit, but the truth is that she simply doesn’t want to talk to her. Having a few weeks to think everything through helped calm her anger into a manageable extent – which was, of course, helped by the fact that Miryam and Drakon turned out to be alive and… well, not quite well, but well enough, she suppoes – but that still doesn’t mean she’s just going to forgive Mor. Not for her behaviour and not for the mindset behind it.

Talking to Mor now would mean having to deal with that, and she simply doesn’t have the energy to explain to her where her problem is. If Mor doesn’t figure it out herself, it’s hardly up to Andromache to help her.

She promised Miryam, though. And Miryam also has a point that some things ought to be settled in due time. So as the date when the wall is scheduled to go up (which will, as it happens, also mean Andromache’s death), she finally makes herself approach Mor after a meeting in Telique.

“We need to talk,” she says by way of greeting, making Mor spin around to her, the papers she was just studying forgotten. Before she can say anything else, Andromache adds, “Meet me in half an hour in our usual spot.”

With that, she turns around and stalks off.

Their usual spot is one of the palace’s private gardens, this one belonging traditionally to Angolere. Usually, it is visited by courtiers from her country, but with everyone so busy lately, it is entirely empty when Andromache arrives. She still walks around once to check, then sits down on a bench under a willow and waits.

Mor arrives five minutes later. She is clearly nervous, fiddling around with the sleeve of her dress as she walks. Andromache nods to the seat beside her and waits until Mor has put up a ward around them before pulling the necklace out of her pocket and holding it out to her.

The explanation she offers is quick and hard. She only offers the bare bones of the situation. Miryam, Drakon and the others are alive, they are hiding, Miryam wants Mor to visit. She does not mention Shey, or the fact that Miryam died. If Mor wants to know about these things, she will have to speak to Miryam about it.

Halfway through her explanations, Mor begins to cry. Andromache does not put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. Part of her wants to, but that would send a signal to Mor she doesn’t want to send, and so she simply finishes her explanation and then waits for Mor to stop crying.

Maybe it was wrong of her to wait this long before giving the news to Mor. Letting her go on for weeks still thinking Miryam, Drakon and the others are dead was cruel, perhaps. Did she truly do it because she did not want to speak to Mor, or was it some sort of punishment? It bothers Andromache that she cannot tell and she vows to herself to do better. She once loved Mor dearly – for all that she made mistakes, she does not deserve cruelty, or punishment.

“So things between us…” Mor begins, hesitantly. “Things are fine again? We’re good.”

Andromache’s initial reaction is to snap at her, but she promised herself to be kind about this from now on, if only to make up for not delivering Miryam’s message earlier. This is, although Mor doesn’t yet know it, their final conversation. And Andromache wants a neat resolution to this, one that will leave her knowing she did everything right. She doesn’t want to be angry with Mor anymore. She just wants this settled and then she wants to move on.

“No,” she says as gently as she can manage. “I never blamed you for Miryam’s death, and so her not being dead changes nothing at all.” Mor looks completely crestfallen. She doesn’t say anything else, so it’s up to Andromache to say the final words. “Things between us are over, Mor.”

She doesn’t say that she is sorry. This conversation is already more for Mor’s sake than for hers, but there are limits to how far she will go. Maybe if Mor hadn’t thought that the sole problem was Miryam’s death, she might have been kinder.

Mor is crying again.

Andromache sighs. Still, she doesn’t reach out to comfort her. “With the wall soon going up, we wouldn’t have much of a future either way,” she says. “The Night Court and Angolere will be on different sides of the wall, with no way across.”

It isn’t the reason for why she is ending the relationship, but it might soften the blow for Mor. Let her think that the wall influenced her decision, that they might still have had a chance without it.

“I could stay in Angolere with you,” Mor sniffs.

“And leave your family behind forever? That’s not a choice I’d want you to make. Especially not over a relationship I am no longer sure about.”

She is far more than “no longer sure”, but there’s no need to say that. If not for the wall, if not for Andromache’s upcoming death, there might be some way to salvage their relationship, but Andromache doesn’t think she would be willing to make the effort. She certainly wouldn’t want Mor to make a choice as permanent as leaving her home behind for her now.

It does not make Mor cry any less, though. Andromache wishes she would stop crying long enough to think about her words and realize she is right. There’s no way Mor would want to leave her family and friends behind, not even for Andromache. But well, maybe she has a right to her tears and this is just Andromache being impatient with her. Looking at it objectively, it is probably her who is being too cold about this while Mor’s reaction is appropriate to the situation.

“Not all endings have to be bad,” Andromache offers. “I know it sometimes feels that way, but a relationship ending isn’t the end of the world. It just happens sometimes, and sometimes, it is even for the best. At times, two people are just right for each other for a time, and then they aren’t anymore, but that doesn’t mean the time before was bad or didn’t bring anything to both of them.”

That was very, very kind of her, Andromache thinks. Miryam will be satisfied. A bit cold, perhaps, but she just can’t help it. She is done with this relationship and, harsh though it may sound, done with Mor. She believes what she said – for a time, their relationship was good and she will always be grateful for that. But she sees no cause to maintain any kind of relationship with Mor after this.

“But I don’t want to go on without you,” Mor whispers.

Is it too cold if Andromache tells her that she will get over it in time? At least that’s the experience Andromache made in her two previous relationships. (Well, the first of these relationships barely lasted more than a month, but that didn’t make Andromache at eighteen feel less like she was dying when her then-boyfriend broke up with her.) On the other hand, that is probably not what Mor wants to hear right now, and given that this is her first relationship, it might be best if she makes these experiences on her own.

“You’ll manage,” she says. “I was the first person you loved – I doubt I’ll be the last.” For the sake of the good years they had, she makes herself smile. “I was happy to have met you, Morrigan. I wish you a long and happy life.” It is true, too.

Mor is crying harder again and doesn’t seem capable of saying anything, but that’s alright. Andromache would have appreciated some kind parting words from her, but she doesn’t need them. She is perfectly at peace with the way their relationship ended – this meeting’s intention was to give Mor a resolution, not her.

She gets up, inclines her head to Mor one last time, and walks out of the garden, leaving Mor alone on the bench.

----

On the Continent, the evacuations continue, the chaos showing no way of easing yet. By contrast, Prythian is almost eerily calm. The only court that is losing any territory is Spring, where everyone is busy moving hundreds and thousands of people, but up north in the Night Court, one might think there are no evacuations happening at all.

Mor enjoys the quiet. It offers a nice contrast to the storm raging inside her, and gives her all the time in the world to nurse her broken heart. After that terrible last conversation with Andromache, she fled to the cabin in the mountains where Rhysand is still recovering – or, lately, quietly seething at the fact that his father forbid him from going after Amarantha on his own – and together, they spend days in solitude.

They are a good fit these days, both of them equally miserable. For the most part, they do not talk at all. Rhysand wants to be left alone with his rage, and Mor doesn’t feel like talking about what happened with Andromache either. Well, she wouldn’t have felt like it even if Rhys had known about their relationship in the first place.

As far as she can tell, Rhys believes she is mourning Miryam and Drakon. About them, they talk once or twice, but Mor usually blocks off the conversation. She loves Rhys, but she isn’t prepared to talk about Miryam yet. Not when Miryam and their last argument are so closely tied to everything that is now wrong with her life.

Some days, she sits outside in the cold and twists the necklace in her hands. She hasn’t found the courage to actually use it yet. If Miryam wanted Mor to get it, that likely means she wants to talk to her, but what would they even talk about?

Nothing Mor might say would change anything about the facts. It won’t undo what Miryam did in the Black Land, or the argument they had about it. Nor will it erase the fact that Mor promised to protect Miryam, and then she left, and then Miryam almost died. It won’t make Andromache want her back, either.

Mor is sitting outside with the necklace again one day when Rhys sits down next to her. “What is the business with that necklace?” He asks. “A gift from a lover who left you?”

“No,” Mor chokes out. And then, before she can think any better of it, she is telling him the truth. Not everything – not a word about Andromache – but she tells him what the necklace is, what it does. She wants to mention her argument with Miryam, but every time she tries to repeat what happened, her voice abandons her.

After she is done, Rhys is silent for a while. Finally, he says, “I’m not sure if you should visit them. It would be a risk.”

“How so?” Mor asks, perking up.

“Well, if Miryam and Drakon wish for people to think they are dead, you visiting them would only put that in danger, wouldn’t it? What if father notices that you are gone and starts asking where you were?”

Mor flinches. She didn’t consider that option yet, but he is right. It would be irresponsible to visit Miryam. Even if Miryam asked for it, Mor shouldn’t… At least not right now. Maybe in a few months, once everything has settled down and she isn’t watched this closely by her uncle anymore. Maybe by then, things will have calmed down all on their own, too. Sometimes, time is the best medicine.

Yes, Mor thinks. This is right. Soon enough, things will have calmed down and it will have stopped hurting and then, she will be able to talk to Miryam again, too. It will all be alright. It just takes a little time.

----

The next two months are so busy that the time seems to move at twice the normal speed. That it takes over a month to move everyone to Cretea seemed inconvenient at first, but having people appear one after the other on Cretea actually turns out to be a blessing. That way, the first people to arrive can already start setting up a camp, scout the terrain and look for food. All of this is be painfully necessary because Cretea, densely forested and full of unknown plants and animals as it is, it definitely not an island you just want to dump a million of people onto without preparation.

By the time the last of their people arrives and Miryam closes her bridge spell, they have not one but actually five separate camps, all within less than an hour of each other, to avoid people being too densely crowded in one area and polluting the water. They also have some makeshift huts erected and catalogued most of the common fauna and flora as well as mapped the nearby parts of the island. The cartographers and scouts especially have done great work, but everyone on Cretea did their part.

Loathe as Miryam is to admit it, though, everything would have been a whole lot more difficult if not for Daín’s help. Within a day of the first people arriving on Cretea, they realized that the island is completely different from the rest of the Continent. More than half of the local plants and animals are unknown even to their experts, and it is impossible to tell which ones are dangerous. (For example, who would have thought that the tiny elephants living in the jungle can spit poison if they feel threatened?)

Daín, having apparently been the one to create Cretea as a wedding gift to Étaín, knows all the local specialities, though, and he is willing to help, which forces Miryam to put her lingering anger with him aside for the moment. To his credit, he doesn’t tie his help to any demands, doesn’t even ask Miryam and Drakon to forgive him for what he did in exchange. Drakon still seems to forgive him, even though his arm still hasn’t gotten better. Miryam doesn’t feel inclined to do the same yet.

Busy as they all are with trying to settle into Cretea and not be killed by the wildlife, she barely notices how the time passes. It’s like she blinked and suddenly, more than two months have passed since that battle on the ocean floor. On the Continent, the evacuations are drawing to a close. Not everyone is settled in yet, of course, and on the Fae side of the Continent, it is already obvious that there will be struggles over borders still to come, but everyone has reached their side of the Continent by now. Which means the wall will go up soon.

The realization hits Miryam like a punch to the chest when Andromache calmly tells her that they will cast the wall spell in less than a week. Before she even had the chance to truly comprehend what is about to happen, it’s Andromache’s last visit and they are forced to say goodbye to each other.

Andromache seems entirely calm about the situation, which just makes it more difficult for Miryam. Words rarely fail her, but now, they do. Andromache is one of her closest friends – the idea of losing her like this is unbearable. It almost feels like Miryam is killing her herself.

Andromache seems to guess her line of thought, though, because as she hugs Miryam goodbye, she whispers into her ear, “I know you like to blame yourself for things that aren’t your fault, and that you won’t listen to me when I tell you that you hold no blame for a decision I made freely. I still want you to not blame yourself for this, though. Consider it my last wish if you want.”

Miryam isn’t sure if that is a wish she will be able to honour, but she still makes herself nod. After Andromache has disappeared, she spends a long time staring at the space where she was just standing, trying not to think about anything at all. Then, she turns around and walks over to the nearest human camp.

It is perched in a valley, and Miryam finds a flat stone on a nearby hill where she sits down. From up here, she can see the entire camp, all the people moving round down there, going about their daily activities and simply living. Children are running through the camp, chasing each other in some made-up game. Fires are burning everywhere, adults preparing dinner over them.

Miryam smiles softly. Maybe in a moment, she will go down there and join the hustle, maybe find herself some dinner and join the groups of people sitting around in front of the tents. For the moment, though, she is content to simply watch.

She loves moments like this. They remind her that even if many things didn’t go the way she planned, at the end of the day, she got the most important thing she wanted, the only one that really mattered. At the end of the day, they won and they are free, and that’s all that really counts.

She just wishes Jurian was here to see this. He would have loved it as much as she does and it is so beyond cruel that he never got to see that the victory he sacrificed so much for.

“I miss you,” she whispers.

She doesn’t believe that anyone is there to listen, doesn’t even believe in an afterlife, but some things are better said out loud. For some words, it is easier to be able to pretend that there is someone listening.

“I wonder what you would make of everything if you were here.” She smiles, shaking her head slightly. “You would probably be against the wall far less than I am. You would think I’m stupid to dislike it so much, I know. We might even argue over it. I would give anything to be able to argue with you over that one more time. But mostly I just… I really wish you were here to see this. We won. And it kills me that you never got to hear about that.”

The only answer is the wind rustling in the leaves. What wouldn’t Miryam give for one chance, just once more chance to talk to Jurian. How is it that she got a second chance at life but he didn’t?

She tries to comfort herself with the knowledge that Jurian would be happy for her. If he was able to talk to her, he would probably tell her off for feeling guilty that she lives while he is gone. He would want her to live a happy life, the same thing she would have wanted for him had their positions been reversed.

“We won,” Miryam repeats once more, and then, she gets up and walks down to the camp.

----

The sunlight pierces the darkness without warning. Had Jurian been able to, he would have closed his eye against the sudden light, but as it is, he can only wait until his eye adjusts to the brightness and he can see again. Slowly, Amarantha’s face comes into focus in front of him.

“Have you missed me?” She asks.

Even if Jurian had been able to reply, he wouldn’t have. He didn’t miss Amarantha, of course, but after so long trapped alone in the dark, even the face he hates the most in the entire world is a welcome sight. He doesn’t know how long it has been since Amarantha shoved his eye into that casket, furious over the Loyalists’ defeat and clearly trying to sour the victory for Jurian, only that it felt like an eternity trapped alone in the dark, moments blurring together in a never-ending stream of terribleness.

“It’s been almost three months,” Amarantha says as if reading his thoughts and picks the ring with his eye on it up.

“Such a long time!” She seems in a good mood today, and Jurian is immediately suspicious. Her good news tend to end badly for him. “There is so much you missed. Do you want me to tell you?”

Yes. No. Jurian doesn’t know. If he still had a body, he is sure his heart would be racing. Any news that has Amarantha in such a good mood can only be terrible indeed, especially when it must be bad enough to counter her anger over the Alliance winning the war.

“Well, one thing you certainly didn’t miss was your allies looking for you,” Amarantha says casually. “Because they didn’t. They seem entirely content to leave you to rot. If you ask me, they are probably glad to be rid of you. Not that I can blame them.”

Once, Jurian might have objected – internally, at least – but now, he cannot. He has run out of possible explanations for why none of his friends came to save him yet, especially with the war now over for months. They should have come. But they didn’t, and the only possible reason is that they do not care.

“No, there was something else I wanted to tell you about,” Amarantha says. “I even considered interrupting your little time-out for it, but I thought you could use some time on your own to contemplate how little use your side winning this war was for you in the end.”

Desperately, Jurian tries to cling onto the knowledge that this war was still worth it. If they won, that must mean slavery was abolished. Millions of people must have been freed. It was worth it.

It is difficult to truly feel that way, though, when he cannot see the effects. All that’s there for him is pain and suffering, and none of his supposed friends seem to be willing to help him. It’s like they won and then forgot about him, like they had no use for him anymore and so they threw him away.

“Well, now you hear a few months too late,” Amarantha continues. She smiles at him. It is not a pleasant smile, showing far too many teeth. “Your little mortal lover – sorry, former lover – is dead.”

Jurian’s world goes entirely still. It’s a lie, is his first thought. It has to be a lie. A poor one at that, given that he knows the war is already over. Miryam cannot be dead.

“That lesser faery she betrayed you with is dead as well, although I doubt you are sad about that,” Amarantha continues. “As well as a whole bunch of other people, mortals and faeries, mostly. Ravenia sent soldiers after them, and they somehow managed to completely wipe each other out. Everyone dead, on both sides.” Her smile broadens further. “I find it beyond amusing, honestly. Although I would be really curious to know what you think about it.”

What he thinks about it? He thinks, of course, that it cannot be true. And if it was… No, he cannot bear to think about that.

“She betrayed you, after all,” Amarantha continues. “You did everything for her, and she couldn’t even be bothered to try and save you. Maybe she was too busy with that faerie prince she picked over you. Maybe she was glad to have you out of the way.”

Jurian wishes he could block out her words. He doesn’t want to hear what she is saying, but he can’t stop it. The words are like poison, all the deadlier because there is at least a spark of truth in them.

Amarantha shrugs. “If I were you, I would probably hate her. I’d be glad that she is dead.”

Jurian isn’t. He isn’t. He could never hate Miryam, could never want her dead.

But she must have hated him and wanted him dead if she never came for him. He tries to tell himself that she simply might not have had the time, that she might have come for him after she freed her people had she survived to do so, but it isn’t a good enough excuse. Had it been Miryam being tortured, he would have dropped anything to try and save her. Nothing, absolutely nothing could have been more important.

And she left him for Drakon, Drakon who wouldn’t even try to save her when she was in danger. Jurian told her to stay away from him, but she didn’t listen, and what did it get her? It’s her own damn fault if she died.

No, no, he doesn’t mean that. What is he thinking?

Amarantha smiles like he knows exactly what is going on in his head. “You are glad,” she says, and Jurian spends the entire rest of the day forcing himself to relive all the good memories he has of Miryam to prove to himself, to Amarantha, to everyone, how very much not glad he is.

----

Given that Andromache is going to die in less than half a day, she is surprisingly calm. She spent the last days settling all the needs to be settled. She visited her mother and all her remaining family, met up with any close friends and wrote a few letters that are meant to be opened only after her death. Most of the meetings went well. Her mother didn’t want to let her go at the end, hugging her again and again which just made it harder for Andromache to leave, but at the end of the day, she feels that all of the meetings were a success.

Her people are not yet entirely settled in, but her successor will see to that. Everyone will be provided for, and Andromache is sure that Ania is a good choice as a successor, someone who will govern fairly and wisely for the years to come. Everything is settled. She isn’t leaving any loose ends behind.

With only five hours to spare before she wants to meet the other queens, though, she suddenly finds herself with nothing left to do. Everything is settled, but Andromache still feels like she needs act, to somehow do one last thing even if she doesn’t know what. Her hours are so limited now, she can’t help the feeling that she ought to be using them to their fullest extent.

Yanis eventually finds her wandering through the palace aimlessly. He doesn’t say a word, just takes her by the arm and leads her to one of the gardens. They sit down amongst two rose bushes. With autumn approaching, the flowers are raining petals on the pathway. With a start, Andromache realizes that she will never see roses in full bloom again.

She swallows against the sudden tightness in her throat. In all the last months, she avoided thinking about all that dying entails. She thought about the fact that she has to die plenty, of course, but she never really allowed herself to contemplate what that means. And there were a million different things to consider, her people and the evacuations and the final council meetings keeping her so busy that she simply didn’t have time to think about it.

Now she does, though, and she doesn’t like it at all. Like most people in the world, Andromache doesn’t want to die. There are so many things she still wants to do. She would like to see Angolere rebuilt south of the wall, and see her people thrive. Should it ever become possible, she would like children of her own, and a partner to grow old with should she find someone she can imagine spending her life with. She once thought it might be Mor, but it wasn’t, and she would have liked to have the time to find someone else.

Maybe she should have asked Miryam what dying feels like. But no, that would just have made Miryam feel worse about the entire situation. Besides, she doubts bleeding out from a spear to the chest feels anything like being consumed by a spell.

She supposes at least she get to see another sunrise, as they chose dawn as the time to cast their spell. Hopefully, the morning won’t be cloudy so she will get to see the sun one last time.

Slowly, Yanis takes her hand. His rough, callused fingers squeeze hers.

“Remember our first mission, when we were rooky soldiers together?” He asks.

“When we were sent out to chase that band or faeries that had attacked the village?” Andromache asks, a smile tugging at her lips. “And you idiot thought you could get into a fistfight with one of these lion-wolf-mixture things and win?”

“It knocked my sword out of my hand!” Yanis objects. “I was panicking.”

“Lucky for you I still had both my sword and my senses, or that thing would have taken your head off.”

Yanis grins, but his smile soon fades. “Anni, I – “

A messenger bursts into the garden, nearly stumbling over his feet in his haste to bow to Andromache. “Your Majesty,” he says, holding out a letter to her. “From Queen Nakia. She said to deliver this to you.”

Frowning, Andromache takes the letter. She sees no reason why Nakia would write her a letter now, not when they are both going to die together in a few hours. She breaks the seal and unfolds the parchment.

Dear Andromache,

If all goes according to the plan, this letter will be delivered to you by midnight, which means that by then, it will be too late for you to change anything about any of it. I apologize for lying to you, but I didn’t think you would agree with my plan, and I had to do what I thought best for our people. I hope that you will be able to forgive my ploys.

For all that I believe we have all chosen worthy successors, it would be irresponsible to leave our people without any experienced leaders in a time like this. We couldn’t all die, and I trust that you and the others who remain will keep our people safe and lead them into a bright future.

It has been my honour to work with you in the last nine years.

Your friend,

Nakia

----

Queen Nakia of Scythia considers herself a practical woman. As such, it became clear to her quickly that robbing the humans of their entire leadership in one go would be a very, very bad idea. Admittedly, it was her bad idea, and at the time where she suggested it, it might not have been so bad at all, but now, there is simply no way sacrificing all six queens in one go is the right thing to do. Not when it would bring instability to their people in a situation as precarious as this one.

Fortunately, Nakia listened closely when Miryam initially explained the spell to them all. Back then, she said that the spell would work not only for the people it was tied to, but also for any close relatives. Some reading in books stolen from abandoned Fae libraries confirmed quickly enough that any close relatives to the other queens would work just as well as sacrifices.

It was not difficult to find people willing to step in for the other queens. Andromache’s mother. Sehline’s older brother. Mije’s uncle. Kjani’s grandmother. Only for Leline, there was no one since her entire family had died two years ago during an attack, so she is in the forest where they met to cast the spell along with the others.

Some part of Nakia feels bad for going behind the other queens’ backs like this. They will not be grateful to her for sparing them at the expense of their loved ones, but she is not doing it for their sakes. No, glad as she is that Andromache and the others will get to live, she is doing this solely for her country.

As for herself… Well, she had plenty of relatives of her own she might have asked, but she didn’t. A child should not die for its mother, nor a grandchild for its grandmother, and while Elmira is still young and inexperienced, Andromache and the others will easily able to support her through the initial years queen, just as Nakia herself did for so many others.

She had a long life, and a good one. For forty years, she ruled her country, kept her people safe. She watched her children and grandchildren grow up. Now, she gets to die knowing that her people will be forever free from slavery, never forced to fear the Fae again.

It is good, she thinks as she sketches symbols she does not understand into the earth around her, following the instructions Miryam left closely. The moon is standing high above in the sky.

Nakia finishes the last symbol and turns to face the others. “Shall we?” She asks.

They all look back at her. Some are crying, others firm. They all nod, though.

Nakia turns to look up at the moon. Slowly, she begins to recite the spell, keeping her gaze fixed on the moon above. It is the last thing she sees.

----

Miryam isn’t sleeping. She is lying in bed fully clothed, head resting on Drakon’s shoulder and his arm wrapped around her. When she senses the magical tremor running through the air, she sits up bolt upright.

“What happened?” Drakon asks, sitting up as well.

Miryam shakes her head, gasping. She can still feel the magic thick in the air, pulsing like a second heartbeat. It is not a pleasant sensation. And there, miles and miles away, she can sense something else. A barrier running through the world, cleaving it in two.

“It’s too early,” she whispers, stretching out her senses to investigate that new barrier. It is too far away for her to get a proper read, though. “Andromache said dawn.”

“The wall?” Drakon asks, turning around to her.

“Yes,” Miryam says slowly. She swings her legs over the bed’s edge and walks towards the door to the tiny hut they are sleeping in. She looks outside over the sleeping camp, as if to assure herself that they are still there. “The wall is in place now.”

----

A/N: So, this is not the last chapter after all. There will still be an epilogue coming, set 10 years after the wall went up, to wrap up some loose strings and also just... generally end on a positive note. That is obviously hard to do in the direct aftermath of basically 7+ years of extremely traumatizing events, but I do want to give off a HOPEFUL expression of the future, so an epilogue it is.

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed @aileywrites

[happy-whumper]

Sold

This chapter literally cost me my last nerve and while I am still not happy with it, I have decided that I also cannot deal with it any longer so I'm posting it now anyways xD it is still not super whumpy, but I promise that'll change in the next chapter!!!!! CW: dehumanisation, swearing, some more auction whump; if i forgot anything please let me know!!

The first few minutes were rather uneventful, the bids weren’t too high yet, some people were still unsure how interested they actually were and wanted to just keep their options open. Nicolas went with that for a while, but he was sure he wanted to have them. So after the offer of 650.000$ for Rain, he spoke up. “1.4 Million for all three.”. The room fell silent and he could feel peoples gazes turning to him. He didn’t mind it, he was used to being the center of attention. The auctioneer seemed pleased with that. “1.4 Million, anyone bidding more?”. There was a moment of silence and just as Nicolas thought that was it, another person spoke up. “1.5 Million.”. It seemed to have come from a table not too far from his, but he didn’t bother to turn his head to see who the other bidder was. Whoever they were, he would beat them. Once he had his mind set to something, he could be quite determined. The auctioneer's eyes lit up and Nick noticed that the pets on the stage started to look uneasy. Which was somewhat reasonable, given that someone was offering over a million dollars to buy them. “1.7”, his voice was calm, knowing full well he could keep going like that for a while. There was a whispering discussion breaking out at the other bidders table, agitated voices seemingly discussing something. They seemed to have come to a conclusion, because another offer was put out. “1.9 Millions dollars.”. A murmur went through the crowd. That was a lot of money to pay for three pets. But Nicolas didn’t let that stop him. He simply smiled, raising his glass to his lips before saying, “2 Million.”. He took a sip, watching the reaction of the people. The auctioneer paused for a moment, giving the other bidder a chance to up their offer. “ 2 Million dollars for the three pets…”, when there still weren’t any further offers, he hit the hammer on the podest. “Sold to Mr. Bennet!”. Some people clapped, some confused, some impressed. Most a mix of both. The curtain closed again and Ethan patted him on the shoulder. “Not bad man!”. “What can I say, you were right. Those are some interesting candidates.”. “Sure are!”. He leaned to the side, looking over his shoulder, trying to catch a glance at the other table who had been bidding on the three pets as well. He frowned, leaning back and looking towards Nick. “I didn’t know your sister was back in the business?”. Now it was his turn to frown, “What?”. He turned his head and there was, standing at the table with some other people he didn’t recognise. She had dyed her hair light pink and was wearing a simple and yet elegant black dress to fit into the scene. “Excuse me for a moment.” Ethan nodded. “Of course, hey I’ll go make sure they get your pets ready, while you take care of that!”. “Thank you.”, he gave him a last, genuine smile, before turning around, making his way over to his sisters table. “Hello Clarissa. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

She hadn’t seen him coming so when he spoke, she flinched, spinning around. “Nick, hey...Yeah I uhm…”, she looked to her friends, but they looked just as confused as her. “I’m just here for research purposes.”. He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sure. Though i have to ask, since when does research include bidding almost 2 Million dollars on pets?”. Her hands started fidgeting and her eyes kept darting around the room, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah uh...Listen it was really nice to catch up and all, but we really need to go now.”. “That’s a real shame, we should really meet again sometime!”, his voice sounded honest and for most people around it would have sounded genuine. But his sister knew better than that. “Oh one more thing…”, he leaned forward, lowering his voice to not risk being overheard, “I know about your little...rescue group. I know that that’s why you’re really here. Trying to save those pets, it’s pathetic, really. I would have expected more from you.” Clarissa took a step back, straightening her back and finally looking him in the eyes now. “Just good that I have stopped caring about your opinion a long time ago.”

As soon as the curtains closed, the guards appeared again. “Damn, I can’t believe someone would pay this much money for some stupid pets”, the guard looked at them with a sceptical expression. “I can’t believe that you think anyone cares about what you have to say to that…”, the girl, Olivia, mumbled more to herself but still loud enough for Rain to hear her. Unfortunately, the guard had heard it too, stepping over to her and grabbing her by the hair, pulling her head back. That caused a pained hiss from her and she glared at the man. “What did you just say?”, his voice wasn’t particularly loud, but his anger was still coming through. She was clearly not impressed though, looking him directly in the eyes, “I said that no one cares about your opinion, dickhead.”. His face turned into an angry grimace. “Listen here you little-”, before he could finish his sentence, she interrupted him, a way too confident grin on her face, “What, you’re going to threaten me? Oh please, do tell me all the awful things you want to do, we both know that you won’t do it anyway. So please, save both of us the time.” He shot her a last angry glance, before letting go of her hair again. Rain let out a breath, he had been watching the whole situation anxiously, scared of what might happen. Talking like that to a guard in the Academy would have gotten him punished easily....

Just as it seemed that the guard was just going to let it be, taking a step back, he seemed to change his mind, kicking Olivia hard in the stomach. She leaned over, groaning in pain and making a pained grimace. “Fucking asshole!”. Her tone was still angry but her breathing was ragged and the slight shaking in her voice did not help either. The man seemed satisfied though, removing the cuffs around her ankles and pulling her up by her arm. The other two guards, who had only been watching so far, now did the same with the other two. They were more or less dragged out of the room, causing Rain to stumble and almost fall, which brought him a harsh pull on his already bruised arm, causing him to let out a small cry. “Can’t you be a bit more careful? Geez he’s already terrified, no need to be such a dick.”, Rain turned his head in surprise,this was the first time the other boy, who had been introduced as Theodor, had said anything. His voice was calm but had a slight annoyance to it. The guard just rolled his eyes and pushed the blue haired boy forward again. A few minutes later, they got to a new room, again it was completely different from the ones he had seen before. It was mostly empty, there were some beds standing against the wall, separated by curtains. Each of them got brought to one of the beds and immediately a cuff was closed around his ankle, securing him to the bed to make sure there was no escape. With that, the guards left, locking the door behind them. For a moment they just sat there in complete silence. And as they sat there, the reality of their situation came crashing down on Rain. Someone had just bought him, like he was nothing more than an object. A complete stranger just...owned him now. His breathing started to get faster again, his heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest and his body started shaking. What was he going to do with him? Where would he go? Why were they in this room? The room started to spin again, the tears in his eyes blurring his vision. Before he could stop it, a ragged sob escaped his lips and he could feel his face getting wet with hot tears. Once it started, he felt like he just couldn’t stop crying, helpless sobs and gasps the only sounds coming from him. He was scared, hurt and just wanted to go home. He wanted to be safe again, not at this strange place, no idea what was about to happen. Suddenly he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch and rapidly turning his head. The hand had belonged to Theodor, who was looking at him with a worried expression. “Hey, look at me. You need to calm down, can you take a deep breath for me?”, Rain stared at him with big eyes before slowly nodding and doing as he was told. “Very good!”, he gave him a reassuring smile, that immediately made him feel a bit calmer, “Now just keep doing that okay? Nice deep breaths.” Rain nodded again and continued to focus on his breathing, eventually calming down enough to return to his normal breathing. Theodor took his hand away and for a moment he felt sad, the skin where his hand had been felt cold and sad now. His cheeks turned red and he looked at the floor, embarrassed about the outbreak. “Th-thank you…”. “No problem.”, his voice was warm and calm, something about it made Rain feel a bit saver. He was still absolutely terrified of course but...something about Theo made him feel like it would all be okay eventually. For the next few minutes none of them said anything, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Rain shivered slightly, although he wasn’t sure if it was from the low temperature in the room or something else. But before he could question that more, a man in a white coat entered the room. He was holding a clipboard and was wearing a pair of thick black glasses. His hair was dark brown, although there were streaks of grey visible. Immediately Rain's hands began to twitch again. “Well, hello there!”, he smiled at them, it was friendly and he immediately wanted to smile back. The other two looked at him with a mixture of suspicion and annoyance. “Now, I’m just here to

make sure you’re all healthy and ready to go, I promise it won’t hurt!”. Olivia just scoffed, rolling her eyes. The man just pretended as if he hadn’t seen that, still smiling. “So, who wants to start?”. No one answered. After about a minute of uncomfortable silence, he sighed and turned towards Theo. “Okay, then I’ll just start with you.” He called someone and one of the men from before stepped in. The man in the white coat nodded towards Theo, who was then led through a door in another room. Rain looked after them for a moment, worried what they were going to do. Olivia seemed to have noticed his worry and confusion, “Don’t worry, the Doctor’s probably just going to do some tests and sign some paper saying that everything is okay. It’s no big deal.” She groaned and put one leg, the one that wasn’t secured to the bed, up resting her chin on it. “How...How do you know all that?”, Rain tilted his head in curiosity. She smiled slightly, though it wasn’t a happy one. There was something bitter about it. “I’m not doing this for the first time. It’s always the same procedure, you get used to it. Well. If you get sent back as often as I do at least.”, she let out a short laugh, but again there was no humour in it. Rain nodded slowly, not fully understanding what she meant but he also didn’t want to bother her any more. So instead he just stared at the ground, trying to stay calm. About ten minutes later Theo and the guard returned to the room. He didn’t bother to close the cuffs around his hands again, instead he just went over to the girl who seemed already annoyed even though he hadn’t said anything. She sighed, letting her leg fall to the ground again. “I hate doctors…”. With that she was brought through the door, leaving the two boys alone in the room.

After the brief conversation with his sister Nick didn’t quite know what to think. Her being at this event wasn’t necessarily something to be concerned but most definitely unusual. For the most part she preferred to say more behind the scenes and her appearance on this evening made him wonder if there was something special about this one. But that was something he could think about later, for now there were other things that needed his attention. Namely the three new pets he had just bought. He still wasn’t quite sure if getting three at once had been such a good idea but well...It was a challenge. And he loved a good challenge.

He made his way through the crowded room until he reached a discrete door at the back. It wasn’t locked, so he went right through, entering a hallway. Compared to the luxurious hall before, this one felt cold. Sad almost. The floor was made out of a light wood, the walls had a bland beige wallpaper on them. There were a few people walking around, but no one paid much attention to him since they were busy with the still ongoing auction. He didn’t mind that one bit. Since he already knew the place a bit, he had been here before, after all one of his oldest friends worked there. As if on command, Ethan rounded the corner, just finishing up a conversation. When he saw Nick he grinned. “Perfect timing, I was just about to go look for you anyways!”. He made a gesture, telling the other man to follow him. “So, they’re just in for the doctor checkup, you know the drill, but I figured I’d get you their files while you wait.”. Nicolas just nodded, his thoughts starting to drift off again. They passed a few windows and he saw that it had started to rain (haha...Rain...Why am i like this), in fact it seemed like there was a whole thunderstorm going on. The lightning caused sudden flashes of light and was shortly followed by the crashing thunder. He frowned, driving his car home in this weather was not going to be fun.

There was a loud crashing sound, causing Rain to flinch. His eyes darted towards the door, half expecting someone to storm in. When nothing happened he relaxed a bit more, perhaps it was just the weather. When they had brought him to the car earlier the sky had already been grey, thick dark clouds blocking out the sun. He had been nervous, it wasn’t like they never took trainees away from the academy but he had never been one of them before. The knowledge that a lot of those people never came back hadn’t done much to calm his nerves either. It had been about 3 years since he had gotten to the Academy and it still terrified him. No one ever explained anything, they only were told the bare minimum of information. Anything that hadn’t to do with the training wasn’t important.

Once again he felt like he was left in the dark, completely unaware of his faith.

All the time he had been in the room there had been steps in front of the door, passing and never stopping. Now he heard them again, but this time they didn’t leave. Instead he heard a click of a lock from the door and a moment later it swung open, revealing to men standing in the door. The first, the one that held the key to open the door, seemed vaguely familiar, Rain had seen him earlier. He had short blonde hair and his smile reminded him of a salesman, someone who was always trying to convince you to spend your money on something new you didn’t really need. His suit seemed expensive, but also as if the man hadn’t spent a lot of time picking it out. But he wasn’t the one Rain was paying attention to. Instead he fixated on the other man who had entered. He was taller, had dark hair and grey-blue eyes. Something about him immediately made him seem important, in an intimidating way. As if not watching out for him could have fatal consequences. Rain immediately felt his heart starting to beat faster again, unsure whether he wanted to look away from the man or not let him out of his sight to make sure nothing happened. From the corner of his eye he could see that the other two had gotten tense as well, all of them feeling the weighing presence of the stranger. Like a promise for dark times looming over them.

Taglist: @starnight-whump , @froggywhumpy , @whumpasaurus101, @as-a-matter-of-whump, @jordanstrophe, @myst-in-the-mirror, @jojothepanwithoutaplan (Let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Hold You Tight Straight Through to Daylight | Sasuke Uchiha

✦ pairing — Sasuke Uchiha x female!Plus Size Reader with PCOS

✦ word count — 1.1k

✦ modern AU

✦ request — would you be comfortable doing something where the reader has PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome)? Some symptoms include severe weight gain, difficulty or inability to conceive, and depression (just to name a few that I personally have). If so, could you do something with Sasuke.? [...] It would be great if the reader had a hard time coping with those symptoms but Sasuke helped her through it and assured her that she is still beautiful and he still loves her despite her flaws with the syndrome.

✦ warnings — angst, mentions of food, allusions to depression, talks about weight, pre-established relationship, fluff.

✦ author's note — the modern AU part was unintentional, tbh, but it read as such to me while editing.

════════════════════════

If only you could have blamed it all on exhaustion... but you didn’t even know what was going on. Saying the day had been long would have been an understatement — you had known you would have a tough one since it started.

Sometimes human beings can’t do anything to stop a bad day from happening, and expecting yourself to have fixed it out of nowhere was unfair, yet there you were, staring down at the kitchen counter, wondering what you could have done to make your day better, to prevent this horrible headache from hitting you.

Work had been a nightmare, and that had been the least of your problems. A bad day entailed an unwavering sense of dread from beginning to end. You couldn’t wait to sleep it off.

You wished it was that simple. You wished sleeping things off truly worked. And you definitely wished this was temporary.

The mere sight of food made your stomach churn. It was one of those days.

So you walked towards the bedroom with another pile of guilt on your shoulders and a scrambled mind.

A shower didn’t sound appealing, nor did one of your usual attempts at self-care. You didn’t know what you wanted apart from stopping feeling like this.

Blue light loomed on the white ceiling as you laid on your back. You placed your hands on your belly and immediately regretted it. The carpet under your back burned your skin as you shifted.

Canting your hips, you pulled your pajama shirt down. A groan escaped you as you considered staying in that uncomfortable position just in case.

You gave in to the wishes of your body and rested your entire body on the carpet again. The blue reflection on the ceiling was getting darker.

Soon the bedroom turned dark. You couldn’t be bothered to get up and turn the lamp on.

You didn’t have to wait for too long for the light to be turned on, though. Your partner was home already, you could hear the jingle from his keys and his approaching steps.

You squinted as the door opened and lowly whined as the lights turned on. He didn’t acknowledge you as he dropped his keys onto the bedside table.

“Everything okay?” you asked. Force of habit.

“Yeah,” Sasuke replied in the same tired tone he did every night. He finally looked down and frowned. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Just felt like it.”

He hummed, removing his hair from his face. Sasuke analyzed your position for a moment. As he sat down next to you, he asked, “Another rough day?”

“You have no idea.”

He shifted, pulling his cellphone from his back pocket before throwing it onto the bed. Sasuke once again stared at you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

What could you say? The truth? That you were feeling like shit again? “I don’t want to bother you.”

He scoffed. “You’d never bother me.” He could tell you were skeptical, so he added, “Come on, talk to me.”

You knew he wasn’t mad, that he wasn’t trying to mock you, but he would never understand the amount of guilt you felt on a daily basis. You felt like you were trapping him in a relationship from which he didn’t get anything in return.

“I think I’m gaining weight,” you mumbled, embarrassed to the point of feeling your face heat up.

Calmly, he reminded you, “We knew it would happen again.”

“You’re not helping,” you gritted.

He stuttered. You kneeled on the floor before using the bedside table as leverage to stand up.

“Hey,” he called for you before you could leave the room.

“What?” you asked, eyes away from him.

“Don’t leave. I misspoke.”

“No shit?”

He stood up and approached you. “Look at me.” You denied him. “Please?”

You shook your head. You didn’t want to cry, the reminder that you’d always be overweight was enough.

“There’s nothing wrong with gaining weight. Much less if you can’t control it.”

He lightly placed his hand on your shoulder, waiting for your reaction. When you didn’t push him off you, he took you by both shoulders.

“I’m just... tired,” you admitted, dropping your head forward. “So tired.”

“I know.”

“And you’re going to get tired too...”

He trailed a hand towards the back of your head. “Yeah, no. Not happening.” Sasuke reminded you, “I love you. And I need you to get it through your head.”

You nodded, forehead against his chest. ”I’m annoying, sorry.”

“You’re not annoying,” he quickly assured you. “You’re amazing. And beautiful and neither of those things is going to change. The way I feel about you isn’t either.”

“But I have shitty days.”

He hummed. “I do too. It’s okay.”

You couldn’t contradict him, he definitely did. “Well, at least you are sure you can have children...”

His body stiffened before he parted from you. “Again with that?”

“I’m just saying you should—“

He cut you off, “I should be able to make decisions for myself.”

You followed his movements with your eyes. He silently plugged his phone before undoing the bedding.

“Look, I shouldn’t have said it like that,” you started, attempting to apologize.

He ignored your words as he laid on the mattress. “Come here.” He patted his chest.

Hesitant, you walked toward the bed. He opened his arms as you crawled on the mattress, eyes on you.

You laid on your side with your belly brushing his side and your arm behind his head. But such a position wasn’t what he had been looking for.

Sasuke wrapped his arm around you, bringing you closer until you didn’t have any other option but to lay on top of him. You leaned your head on his shoulder while he placed his hands on your back.

Both of you laid there in silence, with a hint of anxiety lingering in the air. The topic was sensitive for both of you, yet you found the way he got offended nerve-wracking — that should have been you.

As though reading your thoughts, he broke the silence, “You get on my nerves when you speak about yourself like that. And when you try to make decisions for me.”

“I’ve explained myself multiple times,” you said softly.

“So have I.” He opened his legs so you would fit better. “I don’t mind reassuring you, you know? I—“ He inhaled and exhaled loudly. “I like doing it,” he admitted, “I never thought I’d say anything remotely close to that, but I do.”

You hugged yourself to his torso, unable to come up with something as significant to say. “Thank you.”

He moved just enough to kiss your head. “It’s a pleasure.”

Oh, so he understood. And he didn’t care. You weren’t a burden or a broken vessel he had to fix — you were you and that was more than enough.

[rhysismydaddy]

After Midnight pt. 1 (Feysand)

Synopsis: After a tumultuous, heartbreaking relationship, Feyre Archeron turns to online dating for a break from normalcy. Or rather, to Velaris Nighttime Ventures, the most exclusive, high-dollar escort system around. She needs to ease back in to intimacy, so this seems like the perfect idea. But what happens when her escort turns out to be someone she can’t get out of her head? Someone who seems to understand and appreciate everything about her? 

My many disclaimers: Stole a line in here from The Hating Game. And one from ACOTAR obviously. And the story line is loosely based off of The Kiss Quotient. Basically, I’m a fraud.

__________________________________________________________

~Feyre~

If I told any of my friends I’m about to hire a hooker, they’d laugh themselves silly. 

And, to be honest, the idea is a little ridiculous to me, too. 

I’ve never had a problem getting a date in my life. Brownish blondeish hair, blue-gray eyes, and an athletic build give me slightly above average looks. A lucrative job makes me financially sound and independent. A lifetime with two sisters gave me a sense of humor. 

I’ve dated prom kings, nerds, and everything in between. I’m completely normal. 

Or at least I used to be. 

After everything that happened last year, I don’t know if that’s true anymore. 

My therapist tells me constantly it’s okay that my last relationship changed me. And the multiple degrees on her pretty green wall tell me she knows what she’s talking about and that she’s completely correct. 

Even if... even if it doesn’t feel okay. 

Even if I can hardly stand looking in a mirror or being hugged or someone giving me a compliment. 

Even if I haven’t felt like myself in so long, I don’t even know if I’d recognize it if i did. 

Because while I used to love putting makeup on, choosing a dress, and going out, the thought now fills me with so much dread it makes me nauseous. 

What if I just make the same mistake as last time? 

My sister's told me my whole life to guard my heart, but I always laughed it off and  said she was being cynical. And what do I have to prove it? Trust issues and a standing appointment Dr. Motley. 

Men don’t deserve my trust. At least not right now. 

But... it’s time to move on in the physical sense. 

And since running the risk of taking home the wrong man scares me shitless, I’ll start with someone who can’t reject me, can’t make me feel worthless. 

Someone who won’t develop feelings for me or get attached and demanding. Someone... who won’t mind giving me control. 

A hooker. 

Or escort, like the Velaris Nighttime Ventures website says as I scroll through pages and pages of profiles. 

Gods, this is more stressful than my first gallery opening. 

All the profiles include is a picture, probably-fake name, height, an age, and a simple sentence about them. 

It feels creepily similar to online shopping. And there are so, so many options. How the heck am I going to choose one? 

Scrolling down further, my eyes roam over men of every skin tone, age, and height. I don’t have any real preference, but decide I need to have a few ground rules, otherwise this will take forever. 

Age? I’m twenty-seven and don’t have an interest in being a cougar, so I set the range from twenty-eight to thirty-five. 

Height? At 5′6, I’m not exactly tall, but I’ve always found men who were more attractive, so I shrug and put the minimum at six feet. 

Pressing enter, I watch the website sort, then look at the number of men left. Thirty. Not bad. 

Scrolling through slowly, I realize it’s kind of like a yearbook for an all male college or something.

A college full of really sexy men. 

I pause on a few, but something about them make her keep going. I want the complete opposite of my ex, so any with features like him get eliminated. 

Eventually, I get to the last row, feeling a little dejected. 

But then I see him. 

His eyes seemed to pierce through the screen, and once I see him, I can’t look away. Without another thought, I click on the profile. 

The name under the picture reads Rhysand. No last name, probably for privacy purposes. He’s a few years older than me. And tall--6′3 tall. But that isn’t what draws me closer. It’s the sentence he’d written. 

To the stars that listened -- and the dreams that are answered. 

My fingers ignore the rational part of my brain and click the button to book an appointment, and before I know it, I’m looking at a confirmation page. 

For tonight at midnight. 

Oh gods.

~Rhysand~

After working at the bar for a few hours, I head back to my shitty apartment to get ready for tonight’s appointment. 

Someone has booked me for an “evening of adventure and pleasure” as the confirmation email tells me. 

Wonderful. 

All I know is her name: Feyre. It doesn’t sound like an old-lady name, so there’s that. 

Those are the worst. It feels like fucking someone’s grandmother. Not that I’d know, exactly. And I mean sure, most of my clients are older. But there’s older, and then there’s old. Fine line between the two, let me tell you. 

Most of the people who hire me are in their forties, trapped in miserable marriages, and desperate for a decent lay. They’re also filthy rich, because I’m not cheap in the slightest. 

It’s why I’d agreed to this shit in the first place. 

Yeah, I have to psych myself up and sleep with a random lady, but the pay is killer. And the more money I make, the quicker I can stop. 

So I shower and go through my pre-appointment routine, trying not to think about what’s become of my life. 

There weren’t any special requests on the appointment, but the meet was set for a swanky hotel downtown, so I put on a dark suit and white dress shirt. My hair doesn’t need much work, so I leave, figuring I’ll get there early. 

The drive over’s quick, and soon I’m walking inside and sitting at the bar. She has my picture, but I don’t have a clue what she looks like, so she’ll have to come find me. 

After a few minutes, someone settles next to me, and I turn around with an expectant smile. 

But when I see who it is, I stop. And hating myself more than I thought possible, I tell the woman, “Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.”

Which really fucking sucks, because she’s beautiful as hell. 

Smooth skin, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and kiss-me lips kind of beautiful. 

She gives me a strange look, then says words I’d never expect from someone like her. “I’m Feyre. I’m the... client.”

The way she cringes on the word tells me it’s her first time doing something like this, and the thought makes me a little too happy. 

I know I should say something to comfort her, but all I can think is... she’s definitely no grandma. 

~Feyre~

He keeps staring at me for a few more moments, then smiles and says, “Sorry. You’re not what I was expecting.”

I nod, then realize I have no idea what to say. Or do. Fuck, this is weird. “Do you want a drink?”

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “Feel free, though.”

That’s the first good idea I’ve heard all day. After ordering from the bartender, I turn to the man next to me and smile sheepishly. “I don’t really know how this works. It’s my first time with... this.”

“I figured.” He’s turned toward me, one arm braced on the bar. “You can have your drink, and we’ll go upstairs when you’re ready.”

A nervous laugh ebbs out of me, and I blush. “Okay.”

Gods, am I really going through with this? 

I mean sure, he’s hotter than all hell, but he’s a prostitute. 

Would you rather invite a random man home with you? the bitch that lives in my brain asks with a knowing smile. 

I ignore her as a drink’s set in front of me, finding it helps a little. The man next to me just watches, face a mixture of confusion and amusement. 

Somehow, the photo didn’t do him justice. He’s ridiculously attractive, with dark hair, almost violet eyes, and tan skin. There’s a hint of stubble on his strong jaw, surrounding the sensual mouth that’s currently smirking at me. 

I’m definitely attracted to him, but this is still weird. 

“So, why are you doing this?” he asks as I drink. “If you don’t mind.”

I’m sure as hell not telling him the truth, so I say, "I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

Rhysand smiles, and it only makes him more attractive. “Fair point.”

Then he looks me up and down, raises his dark brows, and asks, “Ready?”

Not in the fucking slightest. “Sure.”

By the time we reach the elevator, I’m practically shaking. Telling myself that I can do this--that it’s what I want, for gods sake--doesn’t really help. But I don’t say a word as we glide up, then walk to the room I’ve rented for tonight. 

When we get inside, I avoid looking at the bed as I turn to him. 

Rhysand smoothly takes off his suit jacket, then leans against the wall and crosses his ankles. “You seem nervous.”

He certainly doesn’t. Every move he makes is smooth and easy, like he’s so comfortable in his body he doesn’t ever get nervous or self-conscious. 

Must be nice. 

“I do?” It’s a deflection, and we both know it. 

“You’re shaking like a wet dog.” My nose wrinkles at the analogy, and he grins. “A very cute wet dog.”

I told myself I’d be alright, but now that I’m alone with him, I realize I’ve told absolutely no one where I am tonight. And if things go wrong... I start pacing. “I’m, uh... it’s just... nothing. Let’s do this thing.”

I should write sonnets. 

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say a word as he walks to sit on the edge of the bed. Feeling like the biggest idiot in the world, I sit next to him. 

“Why don’t we just take things slow?” 

Thank the gods. I nod. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, using manners I definitely hadn’t expected but much appreciate. 

I nod again, trying to keep my hands from shaking. 

Rhysand raises a hand, but I swallow and push down the flare of panic as he cups my jaw and tilts my face to his. Then he leans in--keeping his word and going very slowly--and I brace myself as his lips brush against mine.

My body doesn’t exactly know how to feel when they touch. On the one hand, a very handsome man is kissing me. On the other... a man is kissing me. 

I ignore the second thought and kiss him back. 

His lips are silky soft against mine, slowly urging them open, and then his tongue is in my mouth, caressing mine. Everything’s slow and sensual and practiced. 

And even though it’s a picture-perfect moment, it feels like that scene in the movie where the dumb blonde goes down the dark hallway while the entire theater screams at her to run. 

Oh gods oh gods oh gods. 

My brain’s playing me a repeat of the last year on fast forward, and I press my eyes closed to try and block it out. 

I’m fine. 

Rhysand leans into me, and then I’m on my back with him hovering above me, still kissing me. His surprisingly muscled frame is heavy against me, pressing me down into the soft sheets, and his elbows are by my head.

Nothing’s wrong. 

Everything’s wrong. 

I take a quick moment to remind myself that if this had happened a year ago, I’d probably have wrapped myself around him and let him do whatever he wanted. 

But the past twelve months weren’t just a bad dream. And the band-aid protecting the stupid, naive girl I used to be from the harsh realities of the world has been ripped off and torn to bits. 

And suddenly, I can’t breathe. 

His head snaps up immediately, and violet eyes gaze down at me, full of concern. A weak hand comes up to press against his chest, and he sits up immediately. “Feyre? Are you okay?”

I shake my head and practically roll off the bed onto the floor. It’s completely undignified, but I don’t care. My lungs are on fire, my throat tight with the tears I’m barely holding back. 

I have to get away from him; I have to get some space. 

My back hits the wall, and I curl into myself, pressing my forehead against my knees. 

Breathe, Feyre, breathe. 

The silence in the room is broken only by my gasps, and I focus on the sound, letting it remind me that I’m here, that I made it out. 

I don’t let myself think about the other person in the room. It’s just me, and I’m fine. I made it out. 

There’s scratchy carpet under my legs, a wall behind my back, and more than enough air in the room. 

Eventually, my brain catches up with the obvious, allowing oxygen to fill my chest. I’m gulping down breath after breath until my heart rate finally starts slowing down, and it’s only when my head stops feeling fuzzy do I open my eyes. 

Rhysand sits on the bed, beautiful eyes wide, watching me. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Gods, he’s probably uncomfortable beyond belief. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, cutting him off and shaking my head. I know I should get off the floor, but my legs feel like jello, and I don’t want to crawl around again. “I, um...”

The words to explain the panic don’t come easy, but he stays silent, giving me time. 

And because I’m a coward who still can’t admit what happened to me, I repeat the words my therapist suggested I try. 

“I have problems with intimacy.” It’s hardly a whisper, but I know he hears it. “And, um... I thought it would be easier with someone like you.” I flinch at my own words and try to make it sound less offensive. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay, Feyre. I understand.”

Tears burn the edges of my eyes, but I force them down and steady my voice. “You can go. There’s money on the desk.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you like this. Unless I’m the reason.”

“No, it’s not you,” I assure him. “You’re great. I just have a hard time relaxing with- I mean around-”

“Men,” he finishes quietly. 

And even though I didn’t tell him, he looks like he can read the words off my face. Rhysand doesn’t say another word, but his eyes are understanding and calm. 

He extends a hand, the silent invitation clear, and for some reason, it makes me smile as I slowly get to my feet, using the wall to support me.

Walking over, he takes my hand in is, and I notice how rough his palms are. Before I can wonder what he does to get such big callouses, he takes my other hand and places them on his shoulders. 

“You’re in control. There are no expectations with me.” The words wash over me, settling in, and my heart slows down a bit. “If you want to kiss and call it a night, we can. It’s up to you.”

For some reason, hearing that he doesn’t care helps. It’s the reason why I chose this, I guess. I’m the client, and I’m in control. 

Finally feeling calm, I slowly run my hands over his shoulders, down his arms. He’s heavily muscled, but it’s smooth and lean, not bulky. From a physical life, not from hours spent in a gym.

I can see the faint lines of tattoos beneath the shirt, but I don’t move to unbutton it. 

His eyes stay on me, and I meet them as my hands drift to his face. The stubble I’d noticed earlier is rough against my fingers as I trace his jaw, then the strong slope of his eyebrows. 

It’s been a year since I touched a man. Longer since I did so this... leisurely. 

My hands find their way into his dark hair, and I smile at how soft it is. His head tilts back a little and his eyes drift close. I don’t know if he’s putting on a show or actually enjoying this, but he seems calm at least. 

And I think... I think this could work. 

Working on my intimacy issues with him could help fix me, maybe even get me ready for a real relationship. 

So I lean in slowly and press my mouth to his. 

Like he said, I’m in control. While earlier had felt like being kissed, this feels like kissing. I move my mouth slowly over his, tracing the curve of his lower lip softly. 

He really is a beautiful man. 

And patient, too. He’s extremely patient while I take my time learning the shape of his mouth, then the angle of his jaw. He stays still, eyes closed, letting me explore. 

I slowly drift back to his mouth, and when he eases his lips open, I meet his tongue with mine. It’s slow and light and just enough to make me want more. 

My breath comes shorter, but it isn’t in panic.

Taking his hands from the bed beside him, I place them on my hips. His fingers flex, but they stay exactly where I put them, even as I wrap my arms around his neck and press a little closer to him. 

We’re still just kissing, but I feel it in my entire body, all the way to my toes. 

I pull back and take a deep breath, not knowing how to put what I want into words without embarrassing myself. Bright violet eyes meet mine as Rhysand runs his tongue across his lower lip. “Just say it.”

How can he read my face so well after just an hour of knowing me? 

“Lean back,” I say, my face warm with a blush. “But don’t turn us over. I can’t... I feel trapped.”

Rhysand just nods, gripping my hips tighter, then lays down with me on top of him. My chest is against his, my legs resting in between his. It’s the closest I’ve been to someone in a long time, and I wait for the panic to set in, but none comes. 

“You okay?”

A small part of me wishes he wouldn’t be so damn understanding and nice. It’s making me feel so incredibly stupid, even as it warms my heart. 

I nod, then put my head down against his chest. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why?”

Looking back up, I meet his eyes hesitantly. “You’re probably so weirded out by me. Paying you just to come make out like teenagers.”

He smiles, and it makes some of the nerves untangle. “Silly woman. I could kiss you all night. You have the most delicious mouth.” He leans in and kisses me, as if to prove it, then makes a deep humming sound. 

“That’s absurd,” I mutter, even though I feel a lot less anxious now. 

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “You taste like fucking candy.” His arms loosely wrap around my waist. “Tilt your head to the side and I’ll prove it.”

I do, and his mouth meets my neck, slowly but in a way that makes it feel like I’m being devoured. Tingles shoot down my body as he sweeps my hair off my neck to get better access, and a soft moan escapes me as he sucks on the spot between my shoulder and neck. 

He pulls away enough to say, “You have a really sexy moan, too.”

My face goes scarlet, and he grins up at me, then we’re kissing again. Gods, the man can kiss. He’s letting me control everything, but it’s obvious he’s good at what he does.

Even though I’m almost delirious with lust--something I haven’t felt in a long, long time--I know this is enough for tonight. I’ve already had one panic attack, and I don’t want to push myself too hard. 

So I pull back and tell him, “You can go. I don’t think... this is good for tonight, I think.”

“I feel like you’re not getting your money’s worth if I leave now,” he says, and if I could’ve sworn I hear a hint of sadness in his tone.

I shrug, not telling him the money for tonight was nothing to worry about. Instead, I just slide off him and stand up, straightening my shirt. “It’s was more than okay. Seriously. Thank you for being so understanding.”

Rhysand rises fluidly and grabs his jacket, then turns to me. Before he can speak, I say, “I actually wanted to talk to you about another appointment.”

After an awkward pause, he says quietly, “I don’t really do... repeats.”

“Oh.” There’s no way to hide the disappointment in my voice. 

I’d thought that I’d be able to work with him slowly. Build on what we did tonight. The thought of having to find a different man and explain why I’m so emotionally stunted... shit. 

What if I freak out again, in front of someone new?

Gods, no wonder he doesn’t want to come back. He’s already had to deal with an hour of my trauma. Who would ever sign up to do it again? I’m damaged goods.

“It’s not you, I promise. I’ve just had a few clients get sort of... attached. So I made a policy to not meet with women more than once.” He sounds nice and apologetic, and it grates my nerves a little. 

Rejection is rejection no matter how you look at it. 

And no matter how fucked up I am, I don’t need anyone’s pity.

But, like a big girl, I smile and nod. “I get it. It’s fine. I’ll find someone else. Your money is on the table.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Find someone else? What do you mean?”

My eyebrows fly up at how shocked he sounds. He just saw firsthand how not okay I am, and he’s surprised? 

“I mean that I’ll find someone else. I have intimacy issues, and I need to work on them. I understand completely that you’re uncomfortable with that, and I’ll find someone who isn’t.”

There’s a flicker in his jaw. “And you’re planning on using the website for this someone?”

“It’s really none of your concern.”

“Feyre, there are some not so great people on there. You shouldn’t use-”

My patience snaps. “You have absolutely no right to lecture me. You don’t want the job, I will find someone else, since it’s such a goddamn burden. Now thank you very much for tonight, but you’re community service is done. You can go.”

There are too many emotions on his face to process them all, but I definitely register shock. 

“I promise it isn’t about you, okay? You’re great. Hell, I’d want to sleep with you even if I wasn’t getting paid. But I have a policy, and-”

“Like I said, I understand. You can go now.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t use the site to find another guy.”

There’s something about the command in his voice that grabs every last thread I’m hanging by and rips them free. I march over to him and jab a finger into his chest. “Do not tell me what to do. Ever.”

Rhysand eyes narrow, but it isn’t in anger. It’s like he’s looking at a puzzle, and he just figured out the piece he’d thought would fit won’t. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

I remove the finger-gun from his chest, but he doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he catches me completely off guard by saying, “I’ll do four more appointments.”

Rolling my eyes comes a little to easy. “Don’t do me any favors. I’m not your goddamn charity case.”

“No, because if you were, you’d probably be a little grateful.” Whatever retort I had planned dies in my throat. “But it’s not pity. I don’t want you getting hurt by some other guy from the site.”

There’s enough genuine concern in his voice for me to believe him. And the last thing I want is to put myself in danger. 

But I still ask if he’s serious, because to be honest, it sounds perfect. 

If I can fix myself in six appointments. 

That’s a pretty big if. 

“Yes, seriously. But I’m going to charge you more, and we can only meet here.”

I shrug because I sure as hell wasn’t about to invite him to my place. And unless he’s planning on charging enough to buy a house, it should be fine. “Okay.”

He glances at me, then down at himself, like he’s suddenly aware he’s still standing here. “Okay.”

And just like that, I’ve hired a hooker. 

____________________________________________________

Part 2 is here because I have no self-control. Let me know in the comments/my box if you want to be tagged :)

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[starsinmylatte]

A Song Among the Stars Ch 3

Pairing: Grand Admiral Thrawn x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature/Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings/tags:

Slow Burn

Slow Romance

Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con (never by Thrawn)

Sexual Tension

Mix of Legends and Canon

Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo is protective of his muse

Ballroom Dancing

Imperial Officers (Star Wars)

Angst and Romance

Canon-Typical Violence

Masquerade

Imperial style

Phantom of the Opera AU if you squint

Thrawn finds his muse

Summary: Lyra's life was turned upside down the day the Empire took her. Once a renowned singer and performer on the Outer Rim, she is now little more than a songbird trapped in a gilded cage. Forced to perform and used as Imperial propaganda for years, she grew to despise her life until one fateful night and a chance encounter with a certain Grand Admiral.

Author's note: Hi everyone! Please let me know if you enjoy chapter 3 of A Song Among the Stars. I'll have a masterlist soon with all of the chapter links, but here's the link for the first 2 chapters on Tumblr and AO3 here. Tumblr likes to hide my writing, so please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it!

A big thank you to @pala-din-djarin for formatting advice!! 💙💙

AO3 link here for chapter 3 if you'd prefer!

Song Suggestions At the beginning: Thrawn - AtinPiano The dance: Masquerade Ballet Suite: 1. Waltz - Aram Khachaturian

“I am Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Seventh Fleet. I trust you will have no further issues with me asking you to leave.”

The edge in the Grand Admiral’s voice glittered with dark promise, and a tense silence fell. Even in my current state, I could tell that he was definitely not asking; his statement was little more than a scarcely veiled command. Bost stood incredibly still as the oppressive atmosphere continued. I could tell he was carefully considering his options, but there couldn’t have been many, as Thrawn’s commanding body language clearly showed he had no intention of backing down.

Suddenly, the sound of frantic footsteps broke the silence. All my muscles involuntarily tensed as my instincts screamed danger. Three more shadowy figures came running around the corner of the maze behind Bost. Fearing the absolute worst, I physically and mentally prepared to defend myself again. I dropped my weight evenly between my legs and shifted into what I assumed was a passable fighting stance. Apparently, the change in my posture did not escape my new friend even though I was still completely behind him.

“There will be no need for that,” Thrawn’s voice had returned to its original soft, dulcet tone, “excellent timing, Commander Vanto.”

How did he recognize him? It’s kriffing pitch-black out here!

I quickly decided it was a question for another time and relaxed ever-so-slightly as Thrawn acknowledged the newcomers. If he knew them, considering the present situation, it was currently good enough for me. Thrawn gestured back towards me and spoke again in an infuriatingly calm tone for the situation, “Please escort her back towards the ballroom. I will join you momentarily; the Commodore and I have something to discuss.”

I had no idea what Thrawn needed to discuss with Bost, but anything was better than me being chased down.

The three shadowy figures stepped into a patch of starlight. Any relief I felt earlier was amplified tenfold because Dreycolt and Arkmad were instantly recognizable. They stood slightly behind the third man, who I assumed was Vanto. All three of them looked ready for a fight, and their facial expressions flickered between worry and relief. Vanto gave Thrawn a curt nod before pushing past Bost and offering me his hand.

I don’t know him, but I don’t have much of a choice here, and there’s not really any time to think…. I have to trust my instincts.

Tentatively, I reached out and placed my hand in his; he gave it a reassuring squeeze. Vanto’s hands were noticeably calloused, which gave me another sensation to focus on. However, even with those feelings grounding me to reality, my frazzled emotions swooped in like carrion birds as the adrenaline started to wear off. Intrusive thoughts started to slip through every mental wall I had in place as he led me away from the maze and back through the garden.

Stars, what do they even think about this situation… How is this going to be handled? Is the Empire going to somehow blame me for causing a scene? Am I going to be the one punished??

Before I realized it, we had walked about half of the way back to the ballroom. Vanto led me to a nearby bench; I gratefully sat down and stared back in the direction of the ballroom. The flickering lights, laughter, and faint music indicated that the party was still in full swing and would be for some time. There was zero chance of me leaving early because the second part of my job tonight hadn’t even started.

Vanto took a seat on the bench directly across from mine, and I didn’t even have time to open my mouth before words came tumbling out of his, “Are you alright?”

I immediately recognized the accent, and it momentarily drew me out of my melancholy state. “Commander Vanto, you’re from the Outer Rim too,” I noted with as much of a smile as I could manage.

He returned the smile, but his deep brown eyes and creased eyebrows still showed unease, “Yes, I’m from Lysatra, but please call me Eli.”

It was obvious that Eli wanted to discuss the incident, but it was so very rare to meet another person from a world near mine on Coruscant that I actually felt slightly relieved. It was like having a small piece of home nearby.

Another pleasant change was that the starlight shone bright enough for me to fully see in this area of the garden. Eli’s tanned face seemed kind, even though half of it was hidden by a black mask, and his dark hair and eyes were a welcome contrast to Bost’s icy complexion. Maybe it’s a sign that everything will be ok.

I could tell that Eli was trying to find the right words to continue, but he only managed to gesture around like he was trying to pull them out of the air. That alone told me all I needed to know; he had a rather good idea of what Bost tried to do.

Deep breaths, I reminded myself as I nodded with all of the confidence I could muster. You must be strong. “It’s happened before. I didn’t have anyone to rescue me, but I survived then, and I will survive now.” I was reminding myself just as much as I was informing Eli.

His face paled. “This isn’t the first time?” He trailed off before nervously running his fingers through his dark hair. I heard him muttering something under his breath that sounded like a long string of swearing in another language.

Any chance of further conversation was stopped by the sound of footsteps and the arrival of Dreycolt. He was out of breath from running through the garden, but he still managed to get the words out, “I cannot apologize enough for what happened. We tried to get help, but….”

The apology is nice but pointless.

I raised a hand to cut him off. “I’m assuming you don’t know Bost like I do. That conniving bastard would have found a way to dispose of you both so he could get me alone. However, you getting help likely saved me; the Grand Admiral arrived at a very timely moment.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but a pointed look from Eli cut him off. I raised an eyebrow at the two men.

Eli rushed to speak first. “I was the contact if there was trouble, but we weren’t expecting anything like this.

Something doesn’t quite add up here…..

At that point, I noticed both Dreycolt and Eli had the same insignia on the shoulder of their uniform: an extremely stylized black tribal design with three heads. It was emblazoned on a grey circle, and the whole thing was ringed in red. They had to be from the same fleet, and if Thrawn knew them immediately….

Suddenly, everything clicked into place as I locked eyes with Eli. “You’re all from the Seventh Fleet, and Grand Admiral Thrawn is your commanding officer.”

“Quite perceptive.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sudden reappearance of Thrawn’s smooth voice behind me. Unlike with Dreycolt, there had been no footsteps or any other warning of his arrival.

Kriffing hell, why is this man so silent? He may have helped me, but that doesn’t give him the right to scare me out of my mind a few minutes later.

Concern flashed across Eli’s face as he wordlessly reached out to make sure I wasn’t too rattled by the shock. I took a deep breath and nodded slightly in reassurance. My thoughts raced through my previous mantras. You are fine. You are safe now. Eli shot an annoyed look at the man behind me as I composed myself and turned to face Thrawn so I could properly thank him.

It was still dark but I immediately realized that he was tall. Very tall. Even though I was looking up, my small stature combined with my seated position meant my gaze fell on his broad shoulders. I instantly noticed the crisp, white hue of his close-fitting dress uniform and the shining rank bar he wore confirmed his earlier claim. He was absolutely a Grand Admiral.

He smoothly stepped backward and acknowledged me, “My apologies, it was not my intent to frighten you.”

Any words coming out of my mouth died at the tip of my tongue as I finally saw Grand Admiral Thrawn fully illuminated in a patch of shifting starlight. All thoughts of this rank or thanking him abruptly left my mind as one thing became abundantly clear: he was not human.

Where the neck of his pristine uniform ended, his skin was blue. Not merely tinted with blue, but it was truly the beautiful color of a deep pool of water that had frosted over in winter. My gaze continued its path upwards and traveled to his face, which was partially obscured by an ornate mask resting atop high, regal cheekbones and an aquiline nose. From beneath the mask, his ruby eyes seemed to burn into mine like red-hot coals.

Trying desperately not to make a fool out of myself, I did my best to snap out of the shock. Grand Admiral Thrawn was the only non-human Imperial of any significant rank I had ever met, and I severely doubted any others existed. Every Imperial gathering I attended before this one had been filled with countless human guests, but I had only ever seen non-humans used as servers or entertainers. Talle, Kaia, and Ahni had never served a non-human Imperial, but almost all of the other handmaidens were non-humans taken from their worlds.

Why is he working for the Empire in this high of a position?

I fervently hoped the dim lighting hid any sign of my surprise. After all, no matter the reason why, this man was still a Grand Admiral. There was no guarantee that he wouldn’t request some kind of a favor in return for saving me earlier. I knew enough legends about the types of favors high-ranking Imperials often pulled or traded, and I was already way more indebted to Thrawn than I was comfortable with. His appearance may have surprised me, but I refused to let my lack of knowledge show. I fully realized that lack of knowledge was a weapon the Empire had firmly pressed against my throat, and it was marking me as prey like blood in the water.

I took a deep breath, straightened my posture, and mentally berated myself. This was all my fault. I had gotten too complacent and comfortable with the Imperials. I had no idea Bost was even here, but I let down my guard and accidentally gave him an opportunity. Dreycolt, Arkmad, Eli, and now Thrawn…… There was absolutely no guarantee that I could trust any of them.

Think, Ly, you have to think. These people prey on the weak, so you have to seem strong, at least for now. At the very least, use caution. Just get through this night.

It was like flipping a switch mentally; all of my walls flew back up, and my emotions dulled until everything was just numb. The sparkling, faultless personality I used in Imperial society clicked back into place. I inclined my head respectfully and addressed Thrawn, “Grand Admiral, I cannot thank you enough for your help tonight; your quick response to the situation likely saved me.”

“There is no need,” his voice was still impossibly soft as he regarded me. I lifted my head and met his eyes for the second time; the heat of his gaze sent a shiver down my spine. “From the state of his hand, I would say you were defending yourself admirably.”

My face flushed, “Still, I do not know what would have come of the encounter. If it came to a case of my word versus his, especially since I injured an Imperial officer, I doubt anyone would take my side.”

As a “guest” of the Empire, I had everything to lose based on my reputation. If I angered the wrong person or fell from social favor, I would no longer be useful as propaganda……. The weight behind my previous words went unspoken but was understood by all.

An indecipherable expression crossed Thrawn’s face. Krayt spit, he’s hard to read. Most people had tells that let me read their expressions like an open book, but the Grand Admiral seemed to be very different.

“However, I do have one question. What happened to Commodore Bost?” I couldn’t help the tiny falter in my voice when saying his name, but it was small enough to be excusable.

Thrawn’s eyes narrowed and seemed to burn brighter, “I sent him to be treated for his injury. However, I made it perfectly clear that you were a guest and asset of the Empire, so his behavior towards you would not be tolerated.”

I mentally scoffed. So that’s what upset him. Not the injustice committed against me, but the mistreatment of Imperial property. I wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the protection he had provided, but my blood absolutely boiled at his words. However, I gritted my teeth and smiled at him, “Again, I do not know how I could possibly ever thank you enough for this.”

I wasn’t worried about the medics treating Bost; they knew enough about Imperial society to keep their mouths shut on what and who they treated. Most likely, they assumed he was one of the many starting an after-party early. The rumors of the extreme tastes of some officers and politicians often spread like wildfire among the servants and handmaidens. Talle had been unofficially requested at an after-party once before, and she told me stories that made my stomach turn.

Thrawn inclined his head towards me in acknowledgment of my thanks, and I continued speaking, “However, I do need to return to the ballroom. The orchestra will be the main entertainment for the rest of the night, but I was requested to be available as an escort. I’m sure my dance card is already quite full, and I don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

After all, what good is propaganda if it isn’t thoroughly used, I thought dryly. It honestly did not matter to me if I kept anyone waiting; in my opinion, they could wait for all eternity. Unfortunately, it would matter a lot to my handler if they complained.

“Don’t worry, Captain Dreycolt and Lieutenant Arkmad will still be accompanying you. Both of them are already on your card,” Eli reassured me as I turned around to face him again. “I also took the liberty of placing myself on your card so that I will be close by too.” He pulled out a small datapad and continued, “We are all spaced evenly throughout the remaining time so that you will have someone checking on you often.”

Now that was reassuring. As much as I wanted to be wary of Eli, he seemed to be very kind and it was making it hard to keep my guard fully up.

I thanked him with another smile and reached up to check my hair. Thankfully, all of Kaia’s hard work seemed to have paid off. Not a single pin or gem felt out of place, and I chalked it up to a minor miracle. After a brief inspection, my dress was still pristine, and my shoes were fine too.

I stood up from the bench and turned to address Thrawn once more, but he had stepped off to the side and seemed to be in deep conversation with one of the medics. His current expression was much easier to infer because the poor medic looked terrified. I quickly decided that I didn’t want to know, and it was better that I didn’t ask.

When I glanced back towards the ballroom, Eli offered me his arm, and I accepted the gesture. He signaled to Dreycolt, and the three of us began the short walk back through the garden. Thankfully, it was uninterrupted and uneventful.

Arkmad was waiting for us at the same side door he and Dreycolt had helped me exit from earlier. He was fixated on the small datapad he was holding and muttering under his breath. The datapad looked very similar to Eli’s, but this one was exceedingly familiar.

I peered down at the list displayed on it, “So, who’s on the card tonight?”

“Oh, just the usual mix of the usual senators and high officers. You actually seem to be in higher demand tonight; the performance earlier must have really impressed some important people,” he responded with a sympathetic look. “It looks like your card is completely full for every dance tonight.”

Oh, joy. Sometimes I was lucky enough to escape the last few dances, but, of course, tonight couldn’t be that convenient. I sighed inaudibly and shifted my feet. At least these shoes are comfortable.

Arkmad tapped me lightly on the shoulder and gestured to the far side of the ballroom, “Your first partner will be waiting for you near that column. The next song is about to begin, so I suggest you get started.”

The first thing I did when I stepped inside was signal the nearest server. I took a glass of sparkling wine, quickly glanced around to make sure nobody was staring at me and downed it. I felt the effects of the strong alcohol almost immediately; one glass was nowhere enough to make me drunk, but I hoped it would further dull any remaining nerves. I returned the glass to the tray and ventured off in search of my partner.

The first few songs passed by quickly. The slight buzz from the alcohol lightened my mood and made it easier to tune out any faults of my partners. Some were heavy-handed with flattery or praise, intent on trying to steal me away for the night. Others had already indulged in too much alcohol to the point where their breath smelled of the wine and their steps faltered. At least they all seemed to be decent dancers, and I was skilled enough in social etiquette to politely refuse or divert the conversation.

I truly had no problems dancing; most of the time I rather enjoyed it. My education at the conservatory had included many lessons on the classical styles and different regional dances in addition to my more intensive singing lessons. We were all supposed to be well-rounded performers, so the education contained much more than just singing, even though it was my main focus. When I was taken to Coruscant, it was vaguely easy to learn any dances I didn’t already know. Most of my partners here were higher class, so they had some kind of dance instruction at least once; they weren’t always graceful, but almost all of them were bearable partners that only sometimes stepped on my feet.

As the orchestra played on, the long list on my dance card grew shorter. Some faces were new, but many were the same senators and officers that often requested me. Before I knew it, I had danced with both Arkmad and Dreycolt, and less than half of my list remained.

I told both men the same thing when they checked on me: the rest of the night was going well. They each seemed satisfied with that answer and moved to the balcony overlooking the dance floor. As Eli’s lively dance was finishing, he pushed his stray hair back into place with a gloved hand, “Miss Lyra, it was a pleasure.” He gave me a small bow as an excuse to lean in close and whisper, “Are you doing alright?”

I responded with a curtsy and an almost imperceptible nod. “The pleasure was all mine, Commander.”

He seemed satisfied with my answer as he walked off to join the other men on the balcony. I had turned to grab another glass of wine before my next partner found me when an all-too-familiar voice turned my blood to ice.

“I do believe that I have the pleasure of claiming the next dance. It seems the man on your card….. won’t be able to make it.”

I whipped my head around and stared directly into the cold, glacial eyes of Commodore Bost. Somewhat vindictively, I noted that his injured hand was bandaged and slung across his chest. He had also donned a plain, white half-mask that covered the scarred side of his face since our last encounter.

My heart raced in my chest; I scanned the upper balcony for Eli, but he was nowhere to be seen. I caught Dreycolt’s eye and he raced off with a panicked expression at the sight of Bost standing in front of me. Even though my heart was racing and panic rose in my throat, I knew that as long as I stood inside the ballroom he couldn’t harm me; even Imperials dew the line somewhere.

Bost reached out to seize my hand and I snatched it away from his grasp. “I refuse to dance with you. You aren’t the name on my card and I have no reason to accept your request.”

He clicked his tongue at me mockingly, “So defiant…” He leaned in to whisper in my ear, “However, I am a very patient man. I can be here all night if that’s what it takes.”

Another shiver ran through me at Bost’s chilling words. I closed my eyes and winced at the foul feeling of his breath on my neck. Suddenly, a looming presence appeared behind me and Bost quickly stepped backward. Assuming Eli came to my rescue, I turned around and gave a low curtsy in greeting, but I instantly realized my assumption was profoundly incorrect; the figure standing in front of me was dressed in white.

Still in my low curtsy, I raised my head and stared directly into the smoldering gaze of Grand Admiral Thrawn. His red eyes remained fixed on mine as he bowed and offered me his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Thrawn’s request rang in my ears. Did he actually want to dance with me, or was he just guarding an Imperial asset? Either way, I was incredibly grateful for his second timely arrival of the night. There was no other choice for me but to take his hand.

Before I could, Bost made a small noise of protest behind me. Thrawn rose from his bow and silenced him with a single look. The Grand Admiral’s voice had the same dark, commanding edge as it had in the garden, “Commodore Bost, your presence here is not required. I will be claiming the rest of Miss Lyra’s dance card tonight.”

My thoughts raced again at his statement. Sometimes a particularly wealthy or powerful person would request multiple dances a night, but someone claiming the rest of my dance card was absolutely unheard of. However, I highly doubted anyone would be willing to argue about it with Grand Admiral Thrawn if he was serious.

Bost must have realized the futility of his position; he glowered at me, turned away with a flourish, and exited the ballroom. I sighed audibly, “Thank you for stepping in again. However, I don’t wish to be a burden on you for the rest of the night.”

The corner of Thrawn’s mouth twitched into a smile, “Not at all. I believe it will provide an enlightening distraction.” He offered me his hand again, “May I?”

Kriffing hell, he was serious then. I gently placed my right hand in his left, and he wrapped his long, elegant fingers around mine. The orchestra played the beginning notes of the next song, a waltz, and he seemed to recognize the dance immediately. Thrawn murmured appreciatively, “ah, an excellent choice,” as he pulled me in until our chests were almost touching.

My cheeks colored slightly and I prayed he couldn’t tell. The familiarity with which he moved me was almost seductive when combined with his velvety soft voice and the lingering effects of the wine.

The dance began and we glided across the ballroom floor to the music. This was one of the more difficult dances of the night, so many stepped off to the side and watched the braver couples attempt it. I knew it by heart, but Thrawn led us with an intensity that told me he did too.

Some of my previous partners could dance very well, but none moved with the same warrior’s grace that he exemplified in every step. The feeling of his broad chest against mine and his strong arms firmly around me made my mind spin. He was so unlike anyone I’d ever danced with; he seemed to move with the same strength and confidence with which he commanded.

No, no, no... you are not doing this. It’s just the wine and your overcharged emotions running all over.

I distracted myself from the dance and his burning touch by studying the intricate pattern on his mask. It was white, but under each eye a thin strip of red in a slightly darker shade outlined the openings and made his gaze even more intimidating. An intricate pattern of entwining, golden snakes bearing their fangs delicately wove their way around the mask’s rim.

In the back of my mind, I came to a sudden realization: Thrawn was testing me. As the song progressed, he began using more and more complex movements. It was as if he was trying to see if I could keep up with his brutal pace.

Kriffing blue bastard. I’m not some little thing for you to toy with.

Well, two could play that game. I locked eyes with Thrawn, gave him the most stubborn look I thought I could get away with, and switched my step pattern up. If his gaze was smoldering before, now it was blazing. He flashed me a grin that was absolutely feral and twirled me out on his arm. As he brought me back in, he pressed me against his chest and dipped me low. He murmured in my ear and his breath smelled faintly of the sweet wine, “Very enlightening, thank you.”

The rest of the night passed in a similar fashion. Thrawn led and I matched his pace step for step, challenging him the entire time. By the time the final note on the last song rang out, we were both breathing noticeably harder. A single strand of his neat, dark hair had fallen into his face and I knew some pins had fallen out of mine. This was the first time a dance partner had made me break a sweat since I was at the conservatory.

He released me from his arms, and the loss of contact was more disappointing than I cared to admit. The Grand Admiral bowed one last time as Eli, Dreycolt, and Arkmad appeared behind him. His voice seemed to have the slight accent from the garden as he addressed me, “You dance quite artistically; thank you for indulging me.”

Thrawn turned away and shared a quick word with Eli, who had an expression of shock on his face. Their conversation lasted for a few minutes before he addressed me again. However, this time his accent was gone. “I’m afraid I must take my leave now, but Commander Vanto will see you safely home.” He reached up to push the stray lock of hair back into place and walked off the dance floor and out of the building. Dreycolt and Arkmad shared a look before following closely behind him.

Eli still seemed to be in a state of surprise. He shook his head like he was clearing out his confusion and offered me his arm, “Miss, if you’re ready, we can head outside. I have a speeder waiting for us.” I smiled at him as we walked out of the ballroom and into the crisp Coruscanti night.

Tags: @mittheresabosen @pretty-with-andorian-shingles @handbaskethell