#i just noticed the ceiling of his bed canopy has the stars on it

[tarithenurse]

Shots

Fandom: MCU AU. Pairing/starring: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader. Word count: 3219. Oops. Content: Alcohol and drinking/drunkenness, unrealistic hangovers, unprotected smut (be smarter than them, pls). Unbetaed as usual. A/N: So on an unrelated note...I was able to do groceries yesterday without having a panic attack! Yay! Go me!

Shots

The taste is mainly sweet but there’s a twang of sourness that makes the edge of your tongue curl...or maybe that’s the alcohol but there’s no burn anymore as you swallow, lifting the empty shots glass into the air as proof of your deed. Around you, your girlfriends cheer – all holding up their own empty glasses too.

Out on the dance floor, people are swaying and grinding to the beat that has held the same sway over you most evening and you’re eager to rejoin the masses. It’s a party after all and you’re young and gorgeous wanting to make the most of it.

“I think he’s looking at you!” Melissa squeals in your ear, drawing your attention to a man at the other end of the bar.

For a second your eyes meet but you look away quickly – though not too quickly to notice that he’s hot. Dark and broody, stubbles peppering his square jaw. He’s button-up is tight across his shoulders and arms, making it possible to see his muscles.

“Hey Buck!” you hear the bartender yell at him, tossing a beer his way, “fancy seeing you here on a night off.”

Buck. It’s gotta be short of something but you addled mind can’t figure out what. It doesn’t matter anyways as Brittney has decided that you’ve been standing still long enough and she’s now ushering all of your group back on the floor.

--- The world goes black ---

The lights are blurring as you tip your head back, gunning the tequila. The world spins gently, making you almost trip up as you bounce to the beat of the music.

“One more!” Melissa grabs your hand, smearing the lemon onto it before drizzling generously with salt. Another shot – you’re not sure if you dislike the alcohol or the lemon the most but it doesn’t matter because you have half a daiquiri left which you eagerly slurp through the straw.

--- The world goes black ---

Melissa had been tugging at your sleeve a bit ago but now you can’t find her. Maybe she’s outside.

--- The world goes black ---

There’s a deep rumble of an engine. Your view of the city is slanted and restricted to the narrow space of the car’s window. For a moment you wonder if the girls have gotten a cap, but you can’t hear their usual chatter.

--- The world goes black ---

You lie for a moment and just feel the mattress beneath you before you open your eyes because something doesn’t add up: how did you get home and into bed? Wringing your brain, there are waaaaay to many gaps in your memory to be comfortable.

It doesn’t help to open your eyes. Instead of the soft greys and blues of your makeshift canopy above the bed, you see bare ceiling and fear creeps into you like a sneaking cold. Turning your head, your suspicion in confirmed when the bedside table is different too. Sitting up with a jolt, you regret your actions as your head thrums but you are quick to ignore that as another revelation pins you in place: everything but your undies and bra is gone!

Scrambling to gather the covers over your chest, you look around for answers and notice a piece of paper on the bedside table. Taking it with shaking hands, you begin to read the jagged handwriting, fearing the worst:

“Where are you? You’re in my apartment – I couldn’t get your address out of you and I don’t know where your purse is.

Who’s apartment? My name’s Bucky. I’m a bouncer at the club you were at with your friends.

Where are your friends? I honestly don’t know...try to call them.

Where’s your phone? It was on the bedside table, try to look in the bed if it’s not there anymore.

Where’s your clothes? In the dryer in the bathroom (door to the right – there are fresh towel laid out for you).

PS. The pills are just aspirins, take them with the water.

PPS. If you just want to leave without a word, that’s cool – otherwise I’m back at noon.”

That’s when you notice the bottled water and the tablets still in their blister foil and you suddenly realize that your head still is throbbing. And you’re thirsty. Moments later the aspirins are gone with half the water and you set to the task of finding your phone.

The screen on your phone is cracked in the corner, a tell that you must have dropped it at some point in the night, but it still works well enough to show that you’ve got a couple of missed calls and texts in the group chat from Brittney and Melissa and you quickly type in a response:

“I’m fine. Just woke up. Not at home but at the bouncer?”

You also send a picture of the scribbled note.

Lowering your phone, you take in the surroundings for the first time. The place is tidy with one wall covered in a wardrobe with sliding doors and a window on the opposite wall with grey curtains. The bed you’re kneeling in is a queen size and made with matching grey linens, the sheet folded down tight even after use. The bedside table on the other side holds an old timey alarm-clock that reads 11:47 and a book – Lord of the Rings, of all things.

Getting out of the bed, phone clutched to your chest, you tiptoe to the door on the right. Opening it, you’re granted a view of a worn but clean bathroom and a wash/dryer tower where the dryer waits lazily to be emptied. There’s also a sink with a towel folded and resting on...and a mirror that shows off just what a mess you are.

Making a quick decision, you shed the rest of your clothes and step into the shower.

Oh, it feels heavenly as the hot water sprays onto you. Scrubbing as best you can (even borrowing a bit of shower gel and shampoo even though the scent is like pinewood rather than the usual flowers), you begin to feel like a real person again as if the anxiety is washed away with the sweat and the makeup.

It’s when you’ve stepped out of the shower and are half done drying that you hear it: footsteps.

Leaning against the bathroom door with baited breath, you can hear the steps in the bedroom. You hear them near the door. Hear them stop.

“Hey?” They voice is gentle albeit raspy.

“H-hi....uhm...”

There’s a soft hum. “Take your time. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You try to put a face to the voice. Bucky. Buck. A foggy memory of a man at the end of the bar surfaces. Handsome. No, scratch that. Hot.

You hear the footsteps pick up again and something spurs you on to say through the door: “Thank you! I...” You what? Got shitfaced and needed to be saved? “Thank you...”

“No problem.”

The footsteps trail away and you hurry drying yourself off. Considering this morning after, you’re happy you’d opted for jeans last night but the top is still worryingly skimpy for a Sunday morning in a stranger’s home. But there’s nothing to do about it.

Exiting the bathroom, you cross to the only other door and find yourself entering a compact but cozy living room slash kitchen. A tall set of windows let the city air in on a breeze, a few IKEA pictures hang on the walls, matching the rest of the interior and clashing wonderfully with the man standing by the stove with the back to you.

“I’m making omelette...in case you want some,” he offers, still not looking to you.

He’s wearing grey sweats and a tight white t-shirt that allows you to admire his back and the full sleeve tattoo on his left arm.

“Thank you but -” you start, only to be interrupted by a loud growl of your stomach that must have picked up the scent of the deliciousness he’s cooking.

You can see his shoulders shake a little at a suppressed laugh. “That’s what I figured. Plates are in the left, tall cupboard. Cutlery top drawer.”

Silently, you find the things and set the table. Then you start making coffee, causing Bucky to hum softly at the scent. It’s...cozy. Domestic. And every chance you get, you look at him. He has a gorgeous profile, you decide, especially when he smiles.

Eventually, you’re sitting at the table across from each other.

Scooping up some of the omelette (with cherry tomatoes, mushrooms, bell pepper, and cheese), you decide to eat rather than ask what you want but even with your eyes fixed on the food, you’re annoyingly aware that it’s Bucky’s turn to study you.

“You got a hold of your friends?” he asks.

You nod – and it’s partially true. The texts from them was from late last night where they’d made it home, asking if you’d gotten lucky. After that? Nothing. It makes you wonder if you’d tried anything with anyone – with Bucky.

“They okay?” he asks again.

“Hopefully they got a hangover for ditching me,” it pops out of you.

He smiles crookedly and something stirs in your belly. “I’m amazed that you’re doing this well considering how bad off you were.”

You shrug. “Maybe one day it’ll hit me.” You watch him scoop up a mouthful. “Do you normally take in drunks?”

“Gotta admit it’s a first for me,” he admits.

“Why did you?”

Something dark moves over his face. “Let’s just say...the alternative would have haunted me.”

Something tells you that you don’t want to know. Sipping the coffee, you allow the warmth to push aside the anxiety. “I remember you...at the end of the bar.”

“Oh so you remember something!” he smiles crookedly again. “I was so close to come over to you then.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He shrugs. “I’d have felt I’d be taking advantage of you.”

“...still got stuck with me.”

His grey eyes flash as he takes you in. “Well...maybe we can have a do-over?”

You set down the mug, trying to gauge his mood. “Isn’t this it?”

An eyebrow raises. “Don’t mind if it...but don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.”

“I don’t.”

“You can walk away if you want.”

“I said,” you intone sharply before softening up again, “I don’t.”

Surging forward, his lips crash onto yours, tongue soon sweeping along the seem of your mouth, making you sigh and open for him.

You slowly drive him backwards, following eagerly with a hand gripping in his hair and nails raking the scalp gently. His hands are on you, warm and slow as the trace from your hips to your waist and on until you grab his wrists and remove his touch from you. He could easily fight against the weak force you exert but he doesn’t, instead letting you have this power over him.

Pulling away, you see how they grey of his eyes is reduced to a thin circle. His chest is rising rapidly but in a steady rhythm and you want to see more.

“Take it off.” You tug at his t-shirt.

Obeying without a fuss, you’re happy to see that the tight shirt had promised only what it could deliver: a strong physique with lean and defined muscles and you’re ready to wager that it’s all natural, either from plenty of gym-time or maybe even some unfair meddling by mother nature herself. Either way, you’re happy to let your fingertips dance over his pecs and abs, causing goosebumps to follow in their wake.

“Pants too,” you decide.

“Seems a bit one-sided, princess,” he points out though his hands already are on the low-riding waistbands of the sweats.

“Considering how I was dressed when I woke up, I think you had a head start.”

He smiles crookedly. “Fair point.”

Standing just enough to slide the pants down the ass, Bucky makes good on your request. Thick thighs...and a thick bulge that strains his boxers and makes your cunt heat.

You’re on your knees before you know it, maybe hitting the floor a tad too hard but who cares as long as you get to slide your hands up his thighs and body. Reversing, your nails dance lightly across his tan skin before your fingers hook on the waistband of the boxers.

But this is as far as Bucky lets you get. Snatching your wrists, he breathes in deeply.

“You sure, princess?”

You meet his gaze calmly. “Yes.”

Slowly letting go, he watches you palm his erection through the elastic fabric. Watches as you pull at the scrap of clothing with one hand while reaching in and pulling him out with the other.

He’s big. The foreskin is still pulled over the tip so all you can see is a dot of angry red beneath a sheen of pre-cum.

“Here, let me,” he mumbles, lifting off the chair and pulling the boxers to his knees, allowing you to get the off the rest of the way.

Sitting naked on the chair, legs wide and balls resting on the seat, he’s a sight to behold. His cock leans upwards bobbing as he breathes in deeply.

Wrapping a hand around it, you testingly slide your fist up and down, eventually freeing his cock-head which you kitten-lick, causing the man to shudder. Salty. Another lick, this time longer and more pronounced, makes him groan – and devilish as you are, you grant him no warning before taking him in your mouth and suckling.

In your periphery, you see his arms flail and hands bunch into fists but he doesn’t touch you because you have once made it clear that he couldn’t. In lack of anything else to grasp, he holds on to the seat of the chair, knuckles whitening as you find a rhythm with your hand and mouth, cheeks hollowed as you suckle and lick what you can reach.

He’s heavy on your tongue. There’s a vein throbbing along the underside of the shaft. Whenever you tease the frenulum, his breath hitches.

Your free hand has been resting on his thigh but now you reach for his balls to roll them in your fingers and tug gently as they keep travelling up.

“Too good,” he warns, “gotta stop, princess.”

Pulling of with a plop, you bat your lashes at him innocently. “Stop? Or switch?”

His face lights up. “Thought you’d never let me.”

Scooping you up, he marches into the bedroom and tosses you unceremoniously on the bed before following. Crawling over you, he kisses your stomach until he reaches the hem of your top and he drags it over your head so he can bury his face in your cleavage. Kissing and biting, he manages to multitask enough to loosen the bra and (although that means pulling back for a moment) pull it off you.

“Fucking amazing,” he purrs at the sight of your tits.

Cupping one breast, his lips find the nipple of the other, bestowing a single feather light kiss to it that makes your skin pucker.

Then he descends, lavishing kisses and little bites wherever he reaches until his hands slide down your sides and around to the closing of your jeans. He’s fast, ravenous – one moment you’re half dressed and the next you’re lying completely naked and exposed before him.

And it feels good.

You reach for him, wanting him close and he accepts, keeping his body suspended on an elbow so as not to crush you while the other hand is occupied, gentle fingers stroking your folds and spreading the juices that have already gathered.

“I want you,” you whisper.

“Right here, princess,” Bucky replies with a crooked smile that evaporates as he slides his cock along your slit.

It’s a stretch but one that makes your toes curl in delight as he fills you up slowly until his hips are slotted against yours and there’s no more room to occupy for him.

Eyes screwed shut, he breathes heavily for a few seconds before finally meeting your heavy-lidded gaze and setting a slow and steady pace. Rocking into you, he somehow drags along the right spots and you feel yourself clamp down on him, causing him to gasp.

“Fuck, you take me so well, princess,” he growls.

His head dips to the crook of your neck where he bites softly as he ups the pace.

Your own hands are gripping him tight, nails digging into his muscles. You’re desperate to keep him close, wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him even deeper and keep him with you. In record time the heavy heat in your abdomen grows and consumes you, threatening to burst at any moment and you cry out for him to go just a bit faster and a little bit harder.

Instead he pulls out.

Empty, your cunt flutters around nothing as you blink to get him into clear view.

“Wha-?”

He shakes his head. “Too damn good.”

But Bucky proves himself yet again to be a gentleman: going down on you, he holds your thighs wide with his elbows while he busies both mouth and a hand to make sure that you don’t miss out on much and with a few tight circles of his thumb and the broad licks of a strong tongue, he’s got your trembling once more. Your hands are in his hair. Your legs are shaking, back arching. A guttural moan rips from you as you teeter on the very edge, so close to ultimate bliss but somehow unable to take the tumble.

“I need you, Buck,” you whine.

He hums against you, making you try to curl up as you’re so so so close. But you need his cock.

“Please!” you beg.

“Fuck.”

Pulling away, he doesn’t wipe his mouth as he gets up on his knees pulling by your hips so your cunt rises to meet his cock. The new angle, the fullness, it’s too much. Even with the head down, you know you’ll be done for in a few strokes and Bucky proves you right as he rams into you, hard and deep – moments later you come with a cry as your body seizes with ecstasy and you see white.

Each thrust a new moan is pushed from you lungs, prolonging bliss but not for long as Bucky’s hips falter in their rhythm and he too groans deeply.

For a moment he holds you still, allowing you to feel each throb of his cock inside you but eventually he collapses onto the bed with you, barely preventing himself from flattening you by letting go of your hip with a hand. You’re both breathing heavily, bodies covered in a light dew of sweat.

“Damn, princess,” he gasps.

“Says you...”

You can feel him softening slightly inside you, his cum seeping past his cock and probably making a mess out of the sheets.

“Just...give me a few and I’ll treat you better,” he mumbles as he pulls out and rolls off you.

Lying next to you, chest rising and falling, you can help but roll into his arm and put your head there so you can hear your heart.

“That a promise?” you ask sweetly.

“Oh yeah...I’m not done with you anytime soon.”

[hobiebrownismygod]

okay! may i request a (short) hobie going to his girlfriend who is obsessed with my little pony's house for the first time? her house is pink and she had a fluffy pastel blue welcome mat on her front door and two cute calico cat statues. everything in her house is kawaii and pastel colored with more fluffy furniture and pictures she painted herself. her room is worse. mlp plushies everywhere and posters littered on her walls. and to top it off, a 93cm/35in tall princess celestia plushie sits on the middle of her pink canopy bed (bonus points if she has a cutie mark tattoo :3c)

Yes!! I haven't watched my little pony since I was little so sorry if this is inaccurate or anything, I tried to research somewhat but I'm not sure if it worked out 😭

BTW Happy Fluffy Friday! I'mma start doing that now <3

Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

✪ MASTERLIST * . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . * TAGLIST ✪

589 Concord Dr.

That was the address you'd given him. As Hobie looked up at the house in front of him, with its bright pink walls and shiny white fence, he was debating whether he should call you and ask for your address again or not. He'd never seen such a...strange-looking house before, but then of course, it suited you.

Pastels and pinks, baby blues and fluffy yellows, those were the colors that you loved the most and those were what Hobie always saw around you whenever you were near him. A bright pink personality, a baby blue smile, a light yellow hug, they were all the colors that made you...well, you.

And he loved you for it.

He just wasn't expecting your home to be so...you.

Right on both sides of the wooden, pink porch were two calico cat statues, peering up at him. He stared at them for a moment, before he approached the fluffy sky-colored welcome mat situated on your doorstep and reached towards the doorbell, pressing it. A soft chiming noise played, like the one a wind-chime would make. He wasn't sure whether he should step on your mat or not, since his big, bulky combat boots would probably dirty it.

"Hi 'bie!" You exclaimed, pulling him into a hug as you opened the door. A smile immediately spread across his face. "Nice to see ya, sunshine." he said softly, kissing the top of your head gently. "Brought ya something. Think you'll like it." from behind his back he pulled out a bouquet of light purple irises, which you accepted, getting up on your tip-toes and giving him a kiss on the cheek as a thank you.

He was even more amused when he entered your house completely. Fluffy furniture, all matching the same colors as the outside of your house, with framed painting all over the walls. "Did you make these?" he asked you with a smile, arm hooked around your waist.

"Yeah...do you like them?" you asked him, having to crane your neck to look right up at him. "They're cute. Like you." he said with a laugh, approaching one of the paintings. He noticed it was slightly crooked and he attempted to move it, but it came falling down. "Shit." he muttered, catching it and trying to put it back on the wall.

"Oh, just leave it. I'll fix it later." You said, taking his hand and pulling him towards your room as he glanced back embarrassedly.

Entering your room was like entering a whole different world. Not an inch of drywall was visible, every square completely covered in posters and shelves. Even the ceiling was littered with glow-in-the-dark stars, with a small chandelier in the middle.

Your bed was fluffy and pink of course, with light yellow pillows and a darker pink canopy. Hobie stared in confusion at the giant plushie centered in the middle of it, staring right back at him. "What is that?" he asked holding it up by its neck. "Put Princess Celestia down!" You said with a laugh, taking it out of his hands and putting it back down on the bed.

Noticing how confused he looked, you started to feel a little awkward. Did he think it was too much?

"Is something wrong?" he asked, noticing your expression fall. "No, no..." you said softly, putting your hands behind your back and looking up at him. "Just, uh, what do you think?"

He chuckled under his breath, a wide smile spreading across his face. "I think you're the most adorable peng I've ever met." he said, hooking his arm around your waist and pulling you towards him. "Although I'm a bit jealous of Princess Celestia here. Seems she's spending more nights with you than I am."

Resting your head against his chest with a smile, you laughed softly, to which he promptly tilted your chin up, giving you the most gentle kiss, as though he was afraid he'd break you. "I might just have to decorate your room next. We can match?" you told him slyly.

His smile faltered before he laughed, hugging you a little tighter. "I'll pass." he said with a chuckle. "I think you're pink enough for the both of us, darling."

A/N: I hope you liked this anon! It was really fun to write <3 Lmk if you'd like me to add on anything though, because it was fairly short!

Taglist: @therealloopylupin2099 @spiderrinn @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe @itsparis-07 @vileviale @puff-hugs @d0ubl-tr0ubl3 @lauryn2558 @s6onder

[fandoms-in-law]

Stories Chapter 4

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3

Summary: Planning the redecoration of Steve's house comes in the form of Robin and Eddie trying to trick him into it

/\/\

Hellfire carries on being held at Steve's house, but the kids remain banned from going into Steve's room since Dustin raided it. They all start to protest until Eddie points to a shelf of blank notebooks Steve had brought.

Between him and Eddie there was one for every member to use if their notes were forgotten and none of them were allowed to take them from Steve's house in case they're lost. Dustin tries to protest that but gets cut off.

"I will be the first to say I'm not the biggest fan of the guy, but I'm with Eddie and Steve on this. You invaded his privacy last time he left us here alone and instead of being grateful he's not making us rearrange Hellfire to ensure its always when he isn't working or accepting the gift of notebooks to help out when our notes are forgotten you're trying to ask for more?" Gareth began ranting. "He's being more gracious over this than anyone's parents would be if they hosted and had their privacy invaded and from what I can make out, he's basically co-parenting you with Eddie any time you leave your homes. Sit down, shut the fuck up and thank him the next time he gives you a lift anywhere for not giving you more of a punishment for what you did."

Eddie claps slowly in the silence that falls over the 4 boys then. "Well said Gareth. Well said! Lucas, I copied your notes from the last session into your notebook while Steve Robin and I watched a film. If anyone has any further arguments, rolling with disadvantage is always a choice you can make."

Between the threat and Gareth's words nothing more was said and Eddie began recounting where the adventurers left their journey.

...

Robin didn't forget that Steve could redecorate and after a few weeks, and a few more small ornaments being added to his home, brought home decoration magazines into family video on their shift.

"Dream home designing, let's go!" she declared when a quiet period hit them, tugging Steve over to look at the magazines.

He stared at her for a moment, "Dream? As in you are going to point out things you'd want in your home too so I can judge those choices."

"Precisely, like this bed. It looks so gigantic I can only dream of how soft it would be." She immediately states, flicking through to one page.

He scoffs, "Until you get lost in it and have to wriggle for hours to break free of blankets that would weigh a ton. Also, would you want to have to fit the duvet cover back on that quilt?" he rifles through the magazines for a moment before slamming one open down on the counter. "No, the better bed is this. Big but not huge and with a canopy so I can feel enclosed and safer from watching things break through the ceiling."

"Good point. But you can't argue that the best baths are deep and free-standing." she counters, diverting to a different rooms design although Steve notices the bed he'd pointed out getting a star drawn next to it.

"Corner tubs all the way. You can have extra jets added and lower it into the floor to get the depth without making the height to climb over into it any higher."

"Good point. But you can't argue that the best baths are deep and free-standing." she counters, diverting to a different rooms design although Steve notices the bed he'd pointed out getting a star drawn next to it.

"Corner tubs all the way. You can have extra jets added and lower it into the floor to get the depth without making the height to climb over into it any higher."

Robin gave him a look, "I thought I'd have to argue you into playing this game, Dingus. You're already thinking about what you want your house to be like."

"Knew you couldn't keep quiet about it forever. Just got a head start of ideas to use." Steve agreed. "Besides I want to know what your dream house is like too. Come on, I know I'm going to need a big dining table but what would you go for? Just a living room so everyone can be comfy and eat on trays in their laps?"

"Hell no!" She scoffed. "I need space for puzzles and board games anyway so even if we always eat in the living room I want a dining room."

"Just normal seats though. Maybe some shaping but it can't be too pretentious." Steve described.

"As if Eddie would survive you getting rid of the pretentious chair he's claimed as a throne." she countered. "Besides I'm going to have chairs with cushions on them in my dining room."

"He can keep one grand chair in my house, the rest I want to be plain or slightly carved backs with like cats or something and then cushions. Dining chairs don't need arm rests." He allowed. "And the living room needs to be smaller, intimate and comfy as much as it can be when I need places to sit for all the brats. Maybe some of those massive cushions we can just collapse onto?"

Robin grinned. "Knew you'd be torn between fitting everyone in and the comfort of smaller rooms. Me, I'm just wanting a small living room with bookshelves around the TV that I can fill with books and videos alike."

"I'm making a house of comfort not schoolwork." Steve countered, holding one finger up but turning away as the door chimed for a customer coming in.

"Hello and welcome to Family Video do you need any help?" He recited, before grinning as he recognised Eddie. "Or are you just here to hang out?"

"I'm here bringing colour swatches. Since favourite songs have just been saving lives, who knows when favourite colours will." Eddie declared, waving the pages in front of Steve who rolled his eyes.

"That's a better excuse than Robin used, but you're still trying to get me started on redecorating or at least planning it." He chuckled. "Let's see what you've got anyway."

With a grin Eddie closed the magazines, piling them off to the side and spreading his variety of colour swatches out. "Personally I prefer reds, especially dark ones like this, but I can see you preferring lighter shades maybe even pastels."

Steve did move to cover over most of the dark shades, leaving the one Eddie had pointed out visible along with a few dark greens and blues. "For decorating my home? Dark colours make rooms seem smaller, like they're closing in. So unless I'm doing one wall in a dark shade and the rest lighter, we can avoid them. Honestly my favourite colour is lilac."

"Good choice, another thing you can't mention around the family, I bet?" Eddie agreed, shuffling around the swatches again. "And what is your favourite colour, Lady Buckley?"

Steve gave him a flat look, gesturing for Robin to reply first.

"Once I'd've said blue but these places we work like having it in their colour schemes. Perhaps an aquamarine shade." she decided after a moment, tapping the colour she meant.

Eddie raised an eyebrow to silently repeat his question to Steve.

"Actually, they think it's a colour that might help me find this perfect girl to settle me into the plans they've put on my life. Shows sensitivity as long as I don't have too many things in the colour. Focus on the colour or Robin's magazines before trying to push any other boundaries, Munson." He muttered, pointedly pulling the magazines out again,before glancing back. "And Robin chose a bathroom colour if she'd use it for a full room."

"It would be fantastic for a living room! Add some yellow accessories or furniture and it'll make the room feel sunny." She protested.

Steve rolled his eyes as Eddie also started starring the colours so far mentioned or pointed at by any of them. "Are these colours we can even get paint in for my house or did you raid like an art supply store?"

"DIY shop. All these swatches are of wall paints we can get a town over. The magazine I doubt we can get furniture from without extortionate delivery costs though." Eddie promptly replied, eyeing the pages. "We'd be better going around furniture shops if you get an idea of what you want to do."

"No we'd better actually be checking what I can afford to change. Pretty sure given the cost of moving walls I should just change the bathroom in any structural way and leave the rest to changing furnishings or adding throws and blankets over the living room. Painting the walls is definitely the most affordable change we can make and given its almost all white would be easy too." Steve corrected. "The dream home planning only goes so far if I can't afford to change everything about that house."

...

He'd known when pointing out the difference between his dream home and what he could afford to do that one of them would mention it sooner rather than later. That's why Steve made the sketch, rough and definitely not to scale, but a sketch of the houses floor plan never the less.

And it was good for Steve that he decided to make the house plan alone because going into the office, his parents bedroom with the intention of planning what they could become made him uneasy. He didn't need their comfort making it harder to convince himself it's just him there and everything else is fine.

Besides, it gave him a chance to actually imagine what changes he would make to the house completely outside of their influence. There was and probably always would be, part of him that said to share his spaces, to fill them with other people to make sure he wouldn't be alone again and it yelled in his mind to just agree with using Robin and Eddie's favourite colours for rooms, to bring in the furniture they preferred over his own.

Between the magazines Robin had given him and the colour swatches the Eddie encouraged him to tear apart Steve got to make a collage of the type of things he'd actually want to put in each room. It felt therapeutic in a way he was sure actually redecorating probably wouldn't be. After living for so long with his house like this it was almost terrifying to think about.

It's from this evening that Steve realises one thing he definitely wants in his room and living room to make the place feel like it's irrefutably theirs: murals of the party as victors over their towns nightmare. He knows the person to ask to do them as well, even if it breaks Eddie and Robin's rule against telling the kids.

Will is the best artist in their ragtag family. Plus he'd easily accept keeping the secret for them. Now Steve just wants to figure out more clearly what he'd like the scene to look like since he wouldn't have gore or grime in them; no good victory painting ever focuses or reveals that.

chapter 5

[stuff-from-the-void-matron]

Laurel Wreaths & Animal Teeth (3)

(c!technoblade x fem!reader)

(some people liked chapter 2 so here’s chapter 3. whether or not there’s a chapter 4 is dependent on if this one gets any comments/reblogs.)

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

You’re not exactly sure when your plans for a house shifted from ‘maybe a two story house’ into ‘some kinda roman temple/shrine type building’ instead. 

Probably after the third time you had to tear down what you were building because it just didn’t look right. You’d initially not been able to go anywhere with the white quartz (you’d made a base but it looked stupid so you’d tossed it) so you’d switched it with a birch wood. That was where the problems started. First you’d tried your hand at making a cute little cottagecore house, but it just didn’t look cute to you and instead came out kinda frumpy? So you scrapped it, even though it pained you. 

“Hours wasted.”

Then you tried making another house, this one taller and with dark wood. But it ended up looking like some kind of Viking home, no matter how much you tweaked it, which totally clashed with the vibrant floral scenery around you. It would work better in a snowy biome. So you’d scrapped that one too, none too happy either.

“Why do I suck?”

Then you’d tried your hand at making a cute mushroom house! But…. it was awful. No matter what you did it just didn’t look right?? You tried making the stem ‘natural’ like it would look in minecraft but then it looked too artificial to you. Then you tried making it look more normal but then it just ended up looking wonky. Long story short.. you hated it. You scrapped it, maybe a little more angry than the previous two times. That was when you’d gone back to the white quartz blocks.

And you started with a huge square, then that sorta morphed into a circle. Or as ‘circular’ as this world’s building blocks could get. Then it just sorta.. went from there? Before you knew it you had a circular white temple/shrine with a domed and tiered ceiling and four tall stained glass windows with star and sky designs. You’d gotten into the construction as it had begun to be more fun. You’d even hung lanterns by chains from the ceiling in symmetrical points and it gave the whole place a nice vibe you think. Especially when it started raining outside.

Once it was all done to your satisfaction you just sat in the middle of the quartz floor and gazed up at the gently swaying lanterns. You’re glad you’d ended up with this place, it looks pretty and has a calm vibe you can resonate with. 

It would be dawn soon so you decided since you were done you’d go to bed since you had nothing else to do at the moment. Or well that had been the plan until you placed down your bed and couldn’t help but notice how utterly ridiculous a single bed in the corner of this huge temple looked. It actually made you snort before deciding then and there you needed a bed that somewhat matched the temple aesthetic you guessed you were going for now.

-0-

You ended up making this huge canopy bed with curtains and a platform you had to walk up a step to get to the three beds you’d put on it to look right. Under normal circumstances you’d not like such an overly lavish bed but it certainly fit the almost regal aesthetic your new temple home had. Which was just fine you supposed, it’s not like you were opposed to it. Just not what you’d planned to do from the get go.

Only problem now was.. the place still looked weirdly empty of life. Like one of those barren ‘minimalism’ nightmare homes rich people get off to. So you went through the inventory and started looking for stuff to decorate with. On the wall to the left of the entrance you set up an area for a brewing stand and cauldron as well as an ender chest, mostly just because it looked cool with the purple particles. You also hung up some item frames on the wall by the quartz counters you set up and picked out a bunch of pretty colored potions to hang in them.

Then on the opposite wall you made a little library with an alcove in the middle for an enchantment table. With a lantern on top of the bookshelf next to the crafting table and clay pots of flowers on the uppermost bookshelves to give the area a nicer look. You even added some fluffy carpet in front of the area to enhance the comfiness. And when you went over to the front door and then turned to look at the whole space you smiled because it really did look good. Larger than you’d intended, sure, but also very comfy now too.

You think you’re done with the inside until you look up at the bare walls between the stained glass windows. They were a little… naked. So you tried hanging up some paintings but… they looked terrible. The ‘round’ angle of the windows kept the options for what paintings you could put up pretty narrow. So you forgot that idea and instead tried putting up item frames! But you put some up and disliked it almost immediately. It felt way too busy so you got rid of those too. 

You were getting tired of decorating so you just grabbed a random banner (purple because why not?) and then you grabbed a handful of different colored dyes before pulling out a loom. You tried a bunch of different designs, threw out most of them because they either ended up with ugly clashing colors or looking way too busy. But you finally settled on one that was a purple banner with an orange gradient coming up from the bottom and finally a gold sun right in the middle. It looked very pretty, like a sunset!

Once you were happy you hung a couple inside then on a whim you even hung a couple outside your door on either side. It made the outside look prettier in your opinion so once you were done (for real this time) you went and just flopped into bed, not feeling more than a touch tired but with nothing else to do at the moment. So you snuggled into your big cozy bed and drifted off to sleep~

-0-

Days passed since you built your home and you kept up work around the village, planting bamboo and berry bushes in a wall around it in a circle as a form of defense against the Illagers. They were kinda jerks and seemed to only want to kill villagers. Which wasn’t cool. And yeah you could have dug a moat or pit around it instead you guessed but you didn’t want any of the villagers falling in and you felt like they would… 

So a wall of bamboo and prickly berry bushes it was. And it works! And looks dope. So win/win.

And it was as you were on your way to put some lights at the bottoms of the ponds and rivers that you noticed it from the corner of your eye. One of your sunset banners! But it was hanging up outside of the weaponsmith’s place instead of on your temple home where you knew you left it. But then you noticed another one hanging up outside the stonemason’s workshop…

You look over at your home up on the hill and see your banners still in place. And you know none of them trudged all the way up there just to steal one from the inside so you decide to investigate more in the village. And the further you walk in the more banners with your pattern on them you see. Actually every building you pass has at least one hung up somewhere near the door. You blinked before chuckling a little and thinking to yourself,

‘Oh! They all must have seen the banner I made and liked it! So they made their own to hang up. That’s actually pretty cute. I’m glad they like it.’

You were blissfully ignorant to the fact that the villagers have started to see you as their saint of sorts. Their goddess of prosperity and kindness. Without whom they would still be lost and living in pathetic huts and with no drive to acquire a skill and better themselves. They honestly look back on those times as such a dark period of their lives. When they were ignorant of their own abilities without your blessing to guide them. They owed you their lives and they wanted to show their thanks to you.

So when they saw you put up your sunset banners on your temple they quickly went to the shepherd and asked him to make them some just like it! And the shepherd, with his skill being a master thanks to your wonderful trading help, was easily able to craft such banners. Every villager had at least one by the time the sun was going down, all of them proudly being hung on the outsides of their homes and work buildings to show their allegiance to you!

But it wouldn’t stop there. The villagers wanted to give back even a fraction of what you have given to them.

-0-

In the following weeks you definitely noticed the villagers acting… odd. It started small at first, with them each coming to you and giving you gifts. The shepherd gave you a pair of blankets that were beautifully crocheted with this fluffy wool yarn, one that’d been dyed a soft baby pink while the other was a soothing sea foam color. You thanked him with a smile three times over and he seemed endlessly happy you liked them. You took them home and laid them across your bed and liked the pop of color they provided your space.

Though after that the farmer and leatherworker both met you at the entrance to your temple and each gifted you some things they thought you’d like. The farmer happily handed over a full basket of freshly baked bread along with another basket containing a bushel of golden carrots and almost a full melon’s worth of glistering melon slices. While the leatherworker offered up a pair of dainty leather sandals that looked like they would lace up your legs to just below your knees. And also what looked like a prettily crafted leather utility belt! It had lotus details and golden studs and buckles on the front and back. And one large pocket, one medium zipper pocket, and two smaller pockets. You loved all of their gifts and thanked them both over and over while safely putting the food away (and maybe eating some bread right then) and putting the slippers and belt on. 

You were beyond grateful and thought that was the end of that.

You… were wrong.

-0-

As the days turned into weeks you were lavished with more and more offerings. It took you a while to realize that’s what they were; offerings. You got a little uncomfortable with all the gifts after a bit but when you started to refuse them the villagers looked so sad so you began to accept them again. Especially after they tried to make ‘better’ stuff for you after your initial refusal, under the impression the last ones weren’t good enough for you or something. It started to get hard to take in all the gifts, because sometimes you weren’t available in the village (you still liked to explore) or because you were working on something and they couldn’t reach you. So as a solution you set up a double chest outside your temple for them to put the gifts in. 

They eagerly adapted to that and each night you’d clean out the chest, putting away practical gifts and discreetly getting rid of ones you had WAY too many of. Like the food. You had a full double chest of food and you didn’t need anymore, but saying so would probably hurt their feelings. So this was the easiest way. Plus a lot of the gifts you actually DID like. Like the sandals, hip pocket belt, and the pretty white dress you were currently wearing. The under part of it was just a simple white sleeveless mini dress that went above your knees (you’re not sure it was that shirt when you first tried it on..) and the over part of the dress was a sheer white maxi dress with loose ruffled sleeved that hung off your shoulders, and a slit on each side that helped with ease of movement.

You’d taken to wearing the dress, the hip pocket belt, and sandals every day. They were all comfortable and looked pretty good on you now that you think about it. Not to mention the fabric was light and breathable too, which helped keep you from getting too hot. You’re not sure what kind of fabric it’s made of, but whatever it is it’s light enough to not make you sweat but it’s also heavy enough to keep you from getting cold when it’s windy. Regardless, it’s your go-to outfit these days.

But aside from the offerings and stuff, you had to sit down and really examine your current position. You really took the time to pay attention to how the villagers were treating you. And you eventually came to the conclusion that they were treating you like some kind of saint or deity. They gave you the best of their wares as offerings, they took on your banner as their own (presumably as a show of loyalty), and they almost seemed to worship the ground you walked on. This isn’t even mentioning the statues that they’d put up of you… Like, they were good! Very well done and made of polished white quartz but.. it was still strange. Though like everything else you can’t say you weren’t getting used to it all.

You sighed and rolled with it. 

-0-

You realized one day you’d never been to the Nether. And you wondered if the rules here (like mobs not bothering you) was also true there? You couldn’t deny you were sorta excited to go see, but also scared. You HATED the freaking Hoglins when you played Minecraft before this place. They were always so aggressive and you can’t count how many times they’d killed you, the bastards. But your curiosity won out over your anxiety so you grabbed the enchanted diamond pickaxe you’d been given and then paused while grabbing a stack of gold bars.

“Wait I need to wear gold right? Or the Piglins will be all mad,” you said as you grabbed a gold helmet from your inventory.

You thoughtlessly went to put it on but jerked the helmet back when it clanged against something hard. Something hard that made you wince as a small shock of pain went through your skull. A curse left your lips as you asked out loud what the fuck THAT was about. You were in the middle of trying to come up with an explanation when you reached up with your free hand and flinched when it came into contact with something on your head. Something that 200% was NOT your hair or skull. Panic bubbled inside you and your stomach sank into your feet as you whipped the gold helmet up to look into its polished surface to see yourself.

Horns? Little blunt horns… On your head. 

With a shaky hand you reached up, sort of hoping this was just a dream. But when your fingertips brushed against the soft velvety texture of the horns your breathing grew faster and you pulled your hand away like you’d been burned. You dropped the helmet, not even hearing it clatter against the floor as you stumbled back, nearly tripping over the step that led up to the platform your bed was on, but you somehow managed to get to the bed and sit down.

Before you knew it you’d burst into tears and buried your face into your hands, sobbing and unable to cope with this new fuckery. 

You’ve had to deal with so much weird insane shit since ending up here, wherever the fuck HERE was. You were honestly so tired. You’ve done your best to stay calm, stay sane, and just keep going. And for the most part you have! You focused on surviving, building, and dealing with the villagers. You’d probably feel silly for breaking down over some dumb horns later, especially after you’d barely batted an eye over your weird ears, teeth, and EYES. But the breakdown was probably more to do with life deciding to give you another slice of bullshit despite your overflowing plate. At least that’s what the logical part of your mind was thinking.

But the illogical part, the emotional part, was just so done. So you cried and cried and cried your very soul out until no sound was leaving you anymore. And then, once you were cried out and exhausted you weakly crawled onto the pillows and just passed out. 

You’d deal with this new shit later.

-0-

Far on the outskirts of the opposite side of the village from your temple a young boy with golden hair stumbled across the entrance to said village. 

He’d never seen this village before and was curious. He’d have gladly stormed in and started going through villager chests for loot but it was getting close to dusk and his older brother said he needed to get back asap. Now usually he’d shrug off his brother’s bossy nature but he’d sounded worried so he decided to hurry and get back before it got too late.

But before he turned and left he marked down this village’s coordinates so he could get back to it later..

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

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[luminouspoes]

After Poe being tortured by Kylo Ren in TFA, he would have some kind of PTSD.... So I was thinking can you write about Poe having nightmares about that, and the reader comforting him? Just pure fluff

Warnings: some references to Poe’s torture/nightmares & PTSD 

It’s well past midnight when you shuffle into the shipyard, a sweater tucked around you and a toolkit hung around your hips. You couldn’t sleep, so you figure it would be a good time to get ahead on some of the repairs you needed to do tomorrow, which included some minor repairs on Poe’s newest ship.

He hadn’t crashed it or gotten it blown up yet, which you supposed was an improvement, the most damage his X-Wing sustained in his last mission was some blown fuses and carbon scoring. 

You’re surprised to already find a technician’s ladder rolled up against the hull of the ship when you arrive. You glance around, but find that the Resistance base is surprisingly quiet, save the sounds of wildlife emitting from Ajan Kloss’ jungles. You step up on the ladder and clamber up to the top, where you find Poe Dameron asleep in the cockpit.

His head is tilted back against the headrest like he fell asleep looking up at the stars - which he probably did - and while the sight is certainly endearing, he doesn’t seem to be sleeping well. His expression is screwed up and he’s fidgeting in his seat quite a bit. Worried, you rap your knuckles against the closed window to get his attention. It works - a little too well because Poe jolts upright abruptly and slams his head into the roof.

You wince apologetically as his eyes fall on you. His eyes soften around the corners, and he presses the switch to unlock the ship’s canopy as he runs a hand over his sore head. You push up on the canopy so you can rest your arms just on the edge, then you lean forward. “You’ve got to stop falling asleep out here, Dameron.”

“Well, at least I sleep,” Poe says defensively. “I’m not sure that you do, as many times as you keep finding me out here.”

“Insomnia is my best friend,” you retort wryly, stepping down the rungs when Poe goes to stand up. You hop down instead of taking the last couple of steps, then steady the ladder as Poe steps onto it. Instead of doing the civilized thing and walking down, Poe just grips the handlebars and slides down till his feet land on the soft grass beside you. 

“Which I’m sure has nothing to do with the amount of caf you inhale.”

You skirt around his crack about your caf addiction. “So what’s your excuse for sleeping in this thing and not - oh, I don’t know - your quarters?”

He doesn’t meet your gaze, instead, his dark brown eyes sweep back up to the canopy of stars above. “The stars calm me down.”

You sidle up closer to him, following his gaze. There are thousands of glittering stars, too many to take in all at once. You’re tempted to point out a few systems you think you recognize, but you remain quiet because looking up makes everything on the ground fall to the wayside, and you kind of want to embrace that.

“You’re still having nightmares?” You finally ask, sliding your gaze from the sky to the star standing beside you. There really is no other way to describe Poe, in your mind. He’s a bright light in the middle of all this darkness, with an irresistible gravitational pull that brings people together. 

“Yeah.” He admits, voice rough. His content expression slips to a pained one. “They were starting to go away, I don’t get why they’re so much worse recently.”

You step around in front of him, taking his face in your hands. “Trauma’s not a straight line, anything could have triggered them. A recent mission, the way someone phrased something, general anxiety -” you brush your thumb along his cheekbone where you can just barely make out the faint outline of a scar - “Which there’s plenty of, anymore.”

Poe hums in acknowledgment, catching your wrist and bringing your hands down. He doesn’t let go though, instead, he pinches the fabric of the sweater as he thinks. “Outta all the things I’ve seen, I can’t believe I let that brute get to me most of all.”

You shake your head. “Nope, we’re not doing that.” You press a kiss to his nose, which he scrunches his face up at, ticklish. “You didn’t let him do anything, that’s not how this works.”

“How does this work, then?” Poe asks, sounding both genuinely curious and frustrated.

“It works by you not blaming yourself for your trauma.” You reply with ease. “You’re already doing well.”

“How so, doc?”

You tip backward and make a sweeping gesture towards the sky. “You found something to calm yourself down, enough to sleep by.”

“Not very well,” Poe admits as he rubs the back of his neck. “I was having another nightmare when you showed up, and besides...falling asleep in an X-Wing isn’t the most reliable way to catch up on sleep.”

You look down sheepishly, trying to muster up the courage to say what you're thinking. “You could, um, stay with me. If you want.” There's a leaf just by the toe of your boot with a fascinating set of bright orange veins that pop against the dull yellow of the leaf, so you stare at it as your question is met with a beat of silence.

“In your quarters?”

“No, in the X-Wing.” You retort sardonically. You fix Poe with a well, duh expression. “Yes, my quarters. I don't sleep well at night anyway, so you could...lay down and if I notice anything bothering you, I can wake you up.”

You entirely expect him to decline, but instead, he asks, “You wouldn't mind?”

“You're my friend, of course, I wouldn't mind.” You reply, cheeks warming. “Besides the Resistance needs its favorite commander well-rested.” 

“Are you sure it's the Resistance's favorite commander and not yours?” Poe asks with a tiny smile, and you swat at his arm. He dodges easily, catching your hand again, but this time he tugs you forward. You stumble against him, one hand landing on his chest as he looks down at you with a soft expression. 

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a warm embrace, his chin resting on the crown of your head. Despite your hammering heart, you melt instantly against him. Few people gave hugs like Poe Dameron did.

“Thank you.” He murmurs faintly as he moves his head to press a kiss to your hairline. 

“Always.” You say when he draws back. You extend your hand to him, wiggling your fingers slightly. Poe chuckles, takes your hand, and you lead him back to your quarters. 

You don't pass anyone on the way there, which is fine by you and by Poe too, you're sure, but by the time you're stepping into your room with Poe hanging sheepishly behind your heels, a wave of exhaustion has hit you. Still, you're true to your word, so you motion at the mattress. “Have at it,” you tell him as you move toward your desk. 

Poe doesn't even pull down the duvet, just toes off his shoes and sits gingerly on the edge of the bed like he's afraid he'll break it. “You sure about this? I don't like the idea of you staying up all night to make sure I sleep. Where'd we be if one of Rose's best techs were falling asleep on the job cos of me?”

“I told you, I'm not even tired -” you hide a yawn behind your hand and cough, but Poe's eyebrow shoots upward so you know you've been caught - “I mean, I'm tired, but not enough to sleep.”

Poe leans forward off the bed, grabbing you by the sleeve of your sweater, and gently tugs you forward. You could hold your ground if you want, but you shuffle forward anyway, a tiny smile tugging at your lips. 

“You need your rest too, you know. I can always sleep on the floor or go back to my quarters.” 

“You're not sleeping on my floor.” You scoff, “And I think we've already established that you’re having trouble sleeping in your quarters.”

“The X-Wing is always available.” 

“Or we could just share the bed.” You don't mean to say it aloud - you don't think - but it slips out anyway. Part of you flounders, but it's overridden by your concern for his screwed up sleep schedule, so you continue on, “It's not like we haven't fallen asleep together before.”

Those times were different and you know it - falling asleep huddled together over datapads in the corner of the debriefing room was totally different than dozing off in the same bed.

Poe stands up and you start to think he’s going to leave, but instead, he gestures at the bed. “Pick your side.”

“Really?” You ask, moving to your favored side, closest to the wall. Unlike Poe, you yank the duvet down and snuggle in before patting the space next to you. He climbs on just as warily as before, feet kicked over the blanket.

“I figured there was a 50/50 shot of me finding you asleep outside my door if I tried to leave,” Poe says with a light smile and you whack him with one of the bed pillows. He isn’t wrong, you’re well-known around the base for your dedication to looking out for your friends, and that sounds...exactly like what you were planning to do if he wasn’t going to stick around.

He settles on the bed beside you, a low sigh escaping his lips as he stares up at the ceiling. You twist onto your side, propping your head up with your elbow. “Poe?”

He hums in response, not immediately taking his eyes off the ceiling. 

“It’s okay to be afraid, you know.” 

He turns his head to look down at you softly. “I know, I just...wish I wasn’t.”

You seek out his hand in the dark. As soon as you find it, you thread your fingers together. You wish none of this happened, it makes you angry when you think about it. “No one wants to be afraid, but it’s okay. You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

“Everyone’s counting on me. Leia’s counting on me.” 

“You really think the General doesn’t have nightmares either?” You counter. His gaze flicks back up to meet yours. You shift again, scooting a little closer. “Rey’s mentioned having nightmares, so has Finn. Even Jess has them, you know that better than anyone. People are all counting on them, so what makes you so different?”

“I just...don’t wanna let her down.” He’s talking about Leia, you realize.

You shake your head. “Poe Dameron, that’s impossible. No one understands the General quite like you do.” You bump your knee against his side, “I’m pretty sure no one understands you quite like the General does.”

“I don’t know about that.” Poe chuckles and looks back up at the ceiling. “There’s this person who always seems to know what I’m thinking.”

“Oh? What are they like, then, have I met them?”

“Probably. They’re a technician. One of Rose’s best, actually. Chewed me up one side and down the other for strapping experimental tech onto Black One before it got destroyed. Usually drags me to bed when they find me out cold in an X-Wing.”

Your cheeks warm. “They sound like a handful.”

“They are,” Poe agrees and you resist the urge to swat him with a pillow. “Stubborn like you wouldn’t believe, strong sense of justice, has an even bigger heart and will do anything for the people they care about. They’re a damn good friend - even if they keep their room below freezing -” he emphasizes this last part by finally ducking under the blankets and you bark out a laugh.

“It’s not that cold.” 

“Oh, yes it is,” Poe argues with a shiver. You roll your eyes and settle back into your pillow as he settles on his side, his back to you.

After a long moment of silence, you say, “Hey, Poe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a damn good friend, too.”

You’re met with a sheepish laugh, and you cautiously throw an arm around his torso. He doesn’t react for a minute, but just as you’re about to pull away, he wraps his hand around yours and pulls it up to his chest. You smile and awkwardly move closer, burying your face in between his shoulder blades.

It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out, but you stay up for a while longer to make sure he’s in a steady sleep, but for the first time all evening, he seems relaxed and peaceful, so you close your eyes and murmur against his shirt, “G’night, flyboy.” 

[httpjeon]

made of stardust: folia — seokjin (m.)

seokjin/reader | alien!au | fluff, smut

wordcount: 9.5k

contents: alien dick!seokjin (he has tentacles), intoxication, kissing under the influence, seokjin rlly cares about consent, squirting, vaginal and anal sex, light size kink, LOTS of kissing, seokjin knows he's good looking

— synopsis: stressed from work, you're sent on vacation to the beautiful, tropical planet of Liana where you meet a beautiful Folian man named Seokjin, who makes your vacation 10x better.

note: the first installment of mosd! ik it's been pretty anticipated; seokjin's version is the least convoluted and messy of the bunch so that's why he's first! taehyung is next!

blog masterlist — made of stardust masterlist

© httpjeon 2019. do not repost, modify, or translate.

With a smile on your face, you inhaled the crisp, sweet scent that carried on the breeze. Adjusting your grip on your suitcase, you gazed out towards where you heard the soothing crashing of waves hitting the shore.

"Miss. ______?" you jumped at the sound of someone saying your name, drawing your attention away from the ocean.

"Um, yes that's me," you smiled, meeting the dazzling smile of a young woman.

"I'm Yura, I'll be your guide," she said, "I'll show you to your hotel."

"That would be lovely," you nodded, following her towards a black vehicle — a craft you had gotten used to seeing already. 

She helped you load your suitcase into the trunk before opening the passenger door to let you in. You relaxed into the plush, red leather seat with a sigh and let your eyes drift towards the window. The sight of beautiful architecture and foliage passed by and you could just feel the built up stress beginning to evaporate.

At first, you hadn't wanted to go on vacation but eventually, you were urged to do so by your supervisors. As part of your job, they figured they could send you to Liana — a beautiful, tropical planet teeming with rain forests and life.

The planet was part of six in a solar system called the Vela System in the Fanet IV galaxy. It was a recently opened galaxy as part of the Interplanetary Relations Commission’s goal of making every galaxy accessible for visitation. Over a millennium ago, the Commission, started on Earth, began to expand from nearby planets to nearby solar systems and eventually nearby galaxies. While there were over 500,000 galaxies currently under the IRC’s treaty, more and more galaxies opened every month. The Fanet IV’s capital planet, Vulia, was the first to allow an IRC Embassy to be built and eventually the Commission’s reach expanded to all the planets. 

Liana was the second, and most eager to open, the race of aliens known as Folia, excited to show their beautiful planet off to anyone. As a result, it quickly became somewhat of a vacation resort.

"You'll be staying in Vano's most prestigious hotel," Yura explained, making you break your gaze from the window to look at her, "You'll have direct access to private springs and you'll be right on the shore of the beach, it's really lovely."

"Wow, I can't wait," you smiled, gazing out the window once again.

It wasn't too long before you were pulling into a parking space outside a gigantic building — taller than anything you'd ever seen on Earth. You gaped at the hotel — the sign written in the native Folian script which you hadn't had the chance to learn yet.

Yura opened the trunk and pulled your suitcase from inside, extending the handle before motioning for you to follow her. You hurried your footsteps, unable to help but gape at the beautiful trees and plants that lined the hotel aesthetically. 

The inside was beautiful, the walls, floor, and ceiling were made of marble-like stone that shimmered underneath the light. There was a young man at the counter, who smiled at the sight of you.

"Welcome! You're Miss. _____, I presume?" he asked, typing something on the hologram computer in front of him, "Your room is 1807 — this card will let you in."

You took the metal card from his hands, a little light blinking green on the end. You thanked him and pocketed it, following Yura towards the elevator.

She pressed several buttons on the wall, foreign words flashing across the touch screen as she tapped away on it with a well manicured finger. In the blink of an eye, the doors were opening to a beautiful hallway decorated with red and black accents. Stepping out, you felt your feet sink into the carpet slightly, making you lose your balance.

"Oh!" Yura gasped and grabbed your arm, giggling softly as you finally caught your balance, "Careful there..."

"Wasn't expecting that," you mumbled, stepping aside to let her roll your suitcase out of the elevator.

"Yeah, most people get surprised," she chuckled, "Typically you'll be barefoot out here, so wearing shoes kind of feels weird on the floor."

"The decorations here are beautiful," you mumbled, passing by a tall obsidian vase with flowers such a vibrant shade of orange that it hurt your eyes to look at.

"Yes, well, this is the most high-end resort on the planet," she said, stopping in front of a door, "You can only expect the best here."

You pulled the key card out and pressed it against the scanner, watching the light flash in a series of yellow blinks before there was a loud click. Yura turned the handle and pushed the door open.

You stepped inside and gasped at what you saw. A beautiful chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow through the room. There were velvet, powder blue curtains drawn over the huge windows. Bypassing the canopy bed, you opened the curtains and smiled.

You were very high up on the 18th floor, allowing you to see the ocean disappear in the horizon. It was beautiful, the sun beginning to set, bathing the world in a brilliant shade of orange.

"Well, Miss. ______," you turned away from the window to see Yura leaning over the desk writing something down on a notepad, "This is my contact information. I am at your disposal, feel free to call if you have any questions or concerns. If you wish to go somewhere, please let me know and I'll be more than happy to show you around."

"Thank you so much, Yura," you smiled, walking her to the door to bid her goodbye.

Once you were alone, you let out a sigh and kicked your shoes off before pulling your socks off. Smiling, you felt your bare feet sink into warm, plush carpeting. The fibers were soft and seemed to swallow your feet.

Flopping back onto the bed, you breathed in the soft, sweet scent that wafted from the bedding. Hugging a pillow to your chest, you rolled over and gazed out the window as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. Your eyes began to feel heavy as you relaxed before you finally fell asleep— tuckered out from the trip from Earth.

You groaned as you stretched, slowly waking up. The first thing you noticed was the fact you'd fallen asleep in jeans — extremely uncomfortable. You sighed and sat up, casting a glance out the window to see the moon was sitting high in the sky.

Getting out of bed, you approached the window. The moon was brighter and closer to the planet than the moon on Earth and even the light from the city couldn't dim its reflection off the dark sea. The stars sparkled vibrantly in the sky and you smiled. Looking down, you could see the tide was hitting the shore more violently than it had been during the day. Backing away, you unzipped your suitcase and began to dig around to fetch some pajamas.

Before the trip, you had gone shopping for new clothes to wear to the alien planet. That included a new, expensive silk pajama set. It felt light and cool against your skin, felt even better as you curled up beneath the thick, soft blanket to properly sleep.

You adjusted the tie of your bathing suit behind your neck, the knot rubbing and irritating your skin. The elevator buzzed before the door opened and you stepped on, shivering as your bare feet hit the cold, tiled floor.

"What the..." you stared at the panel, flashing flights and holographic numbers confusing you. A message in the Folian language scrolled past on the screen and you sighed, deciding to just press the button beneath the "1", hoping it wouldn't take you to a basement.

The door opened immediately and you smiled proudly as you stepped into the lobby. Looking around, you adjusted your bag on your shoulder.

"Are you looking for the entrance to the beach?" you gasped, spinning around to look at the person who startled you. She smiled kindly, wearing a uniform with the name 'Lee' sewn into the fabric, "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” she apologized, bowing her head slightly. 

"Oh it's...fine, yeah um," you cleared your throat, "I'm looking for the beach."

"If you'll go through those double doors, you'll find the access point," she said, motioning to the two glass doors across the lobby, “It's a panel on the wall at the end of the hall.”

"Thank you," you smiled before turning your back to her before making your way over to the doors.

You pushed them open and immediately got a huge whiff of sea salt. Walking down the hallway, your footsteps echoed off the tiled walls as you made your way towards the end. You stopped at the wall, a panel blinking on the wall just like the woman had told you.

It took you a moment to realize that it looked like the panel for your room so your hotel keycard may work. Mentally, you cursed yourself for not learning how to read the language before coming. Pulling the metal card out, you held it up to the panel, watching a pink light flash over it as it was scanned before the card blinked green.

Something let out a loud clunk and you stumbled away as part of the wall moved, indenting inward before beginning to ascend. You squinted as the sunlight blinded you and the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the numerous voices of beach goers met your ears. You stepped through the newly made doorway and jumped when it quickly slammed back down and vanished into a simple wall again.

As soon as your feet hit the sand, you sunk into it. Looking down, you wiggled your toes curiously. 

It was sand unlike anything on Earth. It was purple — a very light shade that it was almost white and instead of being hot like you would expect from being blasted by two suns, it was cool. Crouching down, you grabbed a fistful, watching the tiny grains slip through your fingers back down to the ground.

You stood back up and looked out towards the water, the surface sparkling beneath the sun's rays.

It was a wonder to see two suns in the sky as opposed to the one on Earth. The larger of the two was similar to Earth's but a second, smaller one sat in its shadow a brilliant blood orange color. Your could also see the silhouette of a couple of the other planets as well — Vulia and Argo as the two nearest planets to Liana, you assumed.

The sound of someone scream caught your attention and you turned just in time to watch a man playfully push a woman into the water. You couldn't help but smile as she resurfaced, shouting in a language you didn't recognize.

It was true, what Yura had said; that Liana was an extremely successful vacation hub. You took a seat on the sand, enjoying the cool feel of it beneath you. Closing your eyes, you let the sunlight warm your skin and relax you.

It felt like you were there for hours before finally packing your things up. Your skin was still damp from a quick dip you had taken in the ocean — the water was startlingly warm as you had been expecting the cold shock that always came from the Earth's oceans.

You held the card in your hand as you approached the panel you had used to get out. When you scanned it, you were immediately blasted with the building's AC. It felt nice but a little chilly, causing goosebumps to rise all over your moist skin.

The door shut behind you and you sighed, looking around the tiled hallway. You were pretty tired, energy having been sucked out of you from swimming. 

"Hey..." you noticed there was a glass door hidden away in a corner. There was a sign in the window that you couldn't read and approached it.

Pushing the door open, you stepped onto a warm carpet. There were sweet scents wafting from all around you, aromas that you couldn't help but inhaling more of.

Too busy looking around, you didn't notice a person heading right for you until he ran into you. You stumbled, gasping in surprise at the contact. Before you could fall, a strong hand grabbed your arm and steadied you.

"Whoa," he chuckled, "You good?"

"Ah, yeah sorry..." you bashfully cleared your throat, "Wasn't paying attention—" you stopped when you finally looked up. The man wore a confident smile on his pretty lips. His skin was soft, almost glowing without a single flaw in sight. He had broad shoulders and a sharp jawline, a beautifully proportioned body.

He was absolutely stunning.

"Let me guess...you're a tourist," he raised a perfectly manicured brow at you.

"H-How did you—"

"You all get this dreamy, astounded look on your faces when you see a Folian," he scoffed, folding his arms over his chest, “I'm Seokjin, by the way.”

"______...and um...I've met several Folians...since I've been here..." you mumbled, his voice alone making your eyes flutter.

"Nah," he shook his head, leaning closer, "Vano is actually predominantly IRC territory now, you know where all the embassies and foreign politicians come to stay and whatnot. Folians don't really hang around the resort," he grinned, meeting your gaze, "...you'll know when you see a pure-blooded Folain," he grinned, "Like myself."

"I-If...um..." his smile was so dazzling it left your brain scrambled for a second before you shook your head and continued, "If it's not common then why are you here?"

"Well," he chuckled and shrugged his shoulders, "The springs here are...insane."

"The springs?" you asked.

He nodded, "You haven't heard?"

"I mean...my travel guide told me there are some but..." you shrugged, motioning for him to continue.

"Oh, man," he smiled, "They're amazing — literally the best in the galaxy,” it was clear he was boasting, obviously feeling a strong sense of pride over the claim. 

"Is that so?" you asked, allowing a small smile to come to your own face.

"Yeah," licking his lips, he shoved his hands in his pockets. Inhaling, you caught a whiff of his cologne and it smelled absolutely amazing. His eyes raked over your form and you became acutely aware that you were still wearing your bikini top, "You know, it's better...going with someone."

You crossed your arms over your chest and cocked your head to the side, "Are you asking me to go to the springs with you?"

"Yeah, I," he chuckled, nodding his head, "I guess I am."

"First, tell me what this place is," you said, motioning around the room.

"Oh, it's just a massage parlor," he responded, "People come in for a rubdown after being on the beach so they can go back to their rooms and relax. I got one before you came in."

You hummed, "I'll have to check it out..."

"So...you coming with me?" he asked, already making way for the door.

"Oh, uh yeah," you hurried after him, slipping through the door before it closed behind him.

You followed closely behind him, staring up at the back of his head. It made you realize that he was pretty tall. Too entranced in watching his hair bounce and the confident way he walked, you didn't pay attention to where you were going.

Suddenly, he stopped and you bumped into his back with a grunt.

“Hey…” you mumbled, stepping away to see him looking over his shoulder at you with a smirk on his face.

“Lost in thought?” he teased, raising a brow.

“No,” you lied, making him scoff.

“Sure, anyway, we're here,” he said, pulling a plush green curtain aside to wave you in.

Stepping past, you gasped at what you saw. Walls of shimmering rock closed in the space surrounding the spring. You could see steam rising off the surface of the water and it made your skin grow sticky from the humidity in the air.

“Come on then,” his voice was muffled as he was pulling his shirt over his head.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of his body; he was well built, and his skin was beginning to shine from the humidity. He reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, making you gasp and cover your eyes.

“Hey now,” he chuckled, “I don't know what you expected to see but…” he trailed off and you took your hands off your eyes to see he was already half submerged in the water.

“Y-You can't just do that,” you complained, pulling off the leggings you wore over your bikini bottoms.

“Do what?” he sighed, leaning back against the rocks lining the spring.

“Strip like that, are you even wearing anything?” you asked, finally making your way towards the water.

“Of course I am!” he gasped, “You’re not lucky enough to see me naked.”

“Oh the burden,” you replied sarcastically, rolling your eyes as he laughed.

You dipped your toes into the water and hissed at the heat. Your skin quickly adjusted and you were able to comfortably slip into the water and make your way over to where he was sitting.

“Does no one come here?” you asked, referring to how empty it was.

“Eh,” he shrugged, “I guess it's just not a busy time.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, relaxing and closing your eyes as you let the heat of the spring ease all the tension your body retained. You could literally feel the stress melting off.

The peace was interrupted by boisterous laughter coming from the entrance way. You jumped as a couple of guys wandered in joking and goofing off with one another.

Your eyes were fixated on them — their good looks on par with Seokjin’s. You followed them with your gaze, unable to break away as the men shed their shirts and prepared to enter the spring.

“Hey,” you jumped when you felt Seokjin’s breath against your ear. Glancing at him, you found you were inches away from his face, “I know they're good looking, but you're here with me...shouldn't your attention be on me?”

“U-Um...I’m sorry…” you muttered, heart stuttering in your chest when you noticed how thick and pretty his lips were.

He smiled, “Good girl.”

Despite the fact you were submerged in a hot spring, you felt a shiver go down your spine.

Your trip was cut off shortly after when he let you know that he had somewhere he needed to be. You bid him goodbye and returned to your room, the memory of the beautiful Folian man lingering in your mind as you curled up to sleep that night.

You stepped out into the hallway, your flip flops dangling from your hand as you turned around and checked to make sure your door properly locked. Suddenly, a heavy hand landed on your shoulder and you swallowed down a scream as you spun around to see who it was.

“Seokjin,” you greeted with a smile, quickly relaxing, “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” he grinned, looking down at his own outfit. He was dressed nicely, black slacks and a white button down that had the sleeves rolled up with the first few buttons undone to expose his chest and collar bones. His hair was combed back to show his forehead and you could only say he looked like a model.

If he were a man on Earth he'd probably be the top male model in the industry with his good looks.

“What're you doing here?” you asked, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

“I'm staying on this floor,” he replied, “Just happened to see you when I was heading to the elevator.”

“Oh, well that’s a coincidence,” you smiled, beginning to turn away to go to the elevator.

“Why're you going to the beach so late, it's starting to get dark?” he asked, halting you.

“The beach is really pretty at night,” you explained, “It's pretty common on Earth so I thought it might be fun here as well.”

“I see,” he hummed and shoved his hands into his pockets. He shifted on his feet almost awkwardly and you took that as your cue to let him escape the conversation.

“Well, I’ll see you later,” you offered him a small wave over your shoulder before you once again turned to make your leave.

"Hey, wait!" he called and you stopped again, turning to see him walking closer to you, "You haven't been here long right?"

"Just a couple days, why?" you asked.

"Well," he cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders, "I was wondering if you had a chance to see...what Liana really has to offer."

"What do you mean?" your question caused a small smirk to appear on his lips and he leaned even closer so that you could see the way the lights reflected off his dark irises.

"I mean, outside of this resort," he said, "There's so much you can see and experience."

"I-Is that so?" you cursed yourself for stuttering but having him so close made you nervous — a fluttering kind of nervous. 

"Yeah," he chuckled and stood up straight once again, "Why don't you get dressed up and come with me?"

He didn't really give you any room to argue, not that you wanted to, so you nodded and pulled your key card out. You could feel his eyes on you as you unlocked your door and slipped inside. Leaning back against it, you let out a sigh and looked around the room.

Scrambling to undress, you ran over to your closet and pulled it open. You mentally thanked your past self for packing a couple of more dressy clothes — just in case, you had told yourself when you hadn't known what to expect from your vacation.

Pulling out the tight black mini-dress you figured would match with Seokjin the best, you hurried to pull it on. Smoothing the fabric down, you ran to the bathroom and flicked the light on. Your makeup bag sat on the counter and you really didn't want to keep him waiting so you opted for simple eye makeup but a bold red lip.

Just as you were spraying some setting spray when there was a soft knock at your door. Sighing, you fluffed your hair a bit before racing to the door to slip your shoes on.

You yanked the door open to see Seokjin leaning against the door jamb, fist raised like he was going to knock again.

"You're so impatient," you complained, turning your back to pull your purse from your abandoned beach bag.

"What can I say?" he stepped back to let you exit the room.

Shutting the door, you let out a sigh, "Let's go then."

"You look..." he let out a low whistle, eyes scanning your entire body, "You look really good...you almost look better than me."

"Oh real flattering," you mumbled sarcastically, smiling when you heard him chuckling behind you.

When you left the hotel building, you followed him to a car garage to a craft that he opened with the press of a button. Climbing in, you looked around at all the buttons as he got on as well. He typed around on a small, holographic screen before the car started.

"Whoa," you whispered as you realized it was completely self driving.

You watched the glitz and glamor of the resort disappear into a dark, desolately populated area. The buildings were run down and there were few lights to be seen until the car pulled down a small side street with several small buildings lit up by neon signs.

The car shut off and he got out, opening the door for you as he waited for you by the sidewalk. Once out of the car, you could hear the deafening bass of music coming from the buildings surrounding you.

"We're going here," he grabbed your wrist, tugging you in the direction of a building lit up with the sign 'The Core' flickering above the blacked out door.

The floor was packed with people dancing and moving to the rhythm of the music. Cigarette smoke burned your eyes and made you cough as you let Seokjin lead you through the crowd. Reaching the end of dancefloor, he pulled you in the direction of another doorway obscured by a black curtain.

As soon as you stepped inside, you were knocked breathless in shock at what you saw. Inside there were dozens of lounge chairs and couches filled with people. Women sat on men's laps on the lounge chairs while men laid above women on the couches — all of them with wandering hands and lips locked in heated kisses.

Your mouth was dry at the shameless displays of intimacy, all of them practically having sex right there in the open. Seokjin didn't even cast a fleeting glance towards the people, instead tugging you in the direction of the empty bar counter.

Once seated, you were able to see another doorway beyond the wall with lights flashing from within. You leaned back a bit to see a woman pressed against the wall, arms wrapped around another woman's neck as they kissed. Blushing, you avert your gaze and glanced down at the shiny bar countertop. 

"You got anything like this on Earth?" he asked, talking a bit louder to be heard over the muffled music coming from the other room.

"Um..." you clear your throat and shake your head, "I mean...we have nightclubs but...no one does..." you motioned towards the people and he chuckled.

"Well," he shrugged and raised his hand to wave the bartender over, "Get me some Red."

"Sure thing," the bartender nodded and turned his back to prepare the drink.

You watched his hands move to dispense some red liquid into a glass cup adorned with gold and jewel accents. He placed it in front of you both and dipped two metal straws into it.

"What's this?" you asked as he motioned for you to take a sip.

"It's a drink," he smiled, resting his cheek on his hand against the bar counter.

"Obviously," you muttered, eyeing the drink with a frown, "You drink first."

"A bit suspicious aren't you?" he chuckled to aimed the straw towards his mouth and took a couple sips, "See? I wouldn't poison you or anything."

"Is it alcoholic?" you asked, pulling the glass closer to you.

"Not in the way it is on Earth," he replied, "Though the effects vary for humans. It gives Folians a buzz and feelings of euphoria...but sometimes it doesn't even do anything for humans..."

You hummed and took the straw into your mouth and sucked. It was cold on your tongue, holding a sweet almost tangy taste you simply couldn't identify. Swallowing it down, you licked your lips to chase the remnants.

"What is it?" you asked when you finally pulled away.

"Blood," he replied, taking his straw to have another taste.

You blinked, brain slow to comprehend what he had said, "Come again?" your jaw fell open as you squinted at him.

"It's Folian blood," he said.

"You...you drink your own blood?" you asked.

He nodded, mixing it a bit with his straw, "It's a delicacy, as you tasted it's really tasty and like I said before...it causes a state of euphoria...why wouldn't we drink it?"

"Well..." you frowned and thought about his words, "I mean human blood tastes terrible so...I guess it's just a weird concept to me..."

"We're not the only ones who drink it," he explained, "It's manufactured and sold to all planets of the Vela System. It's a pretty good source of income for the planets economy."

You hummed and decided to take another sip. Once again the sweet, tangy flavor melted on your tongue and you sighed — it really did taste good. There was nothing on Earth you could even compare it to.

The two of you shared the drink until it was empty and he pushed the glass away. You felt so much more relaxed while he wore an almost dreamy smile on his face.

"So...what's up with all this?" you motioned to the dozens of people who were still latched onto one another without a care in the world.

"Hm? It's just...I dunno, you don't have sex on Earth?" you choked at the question and waved your hands quickly.

"N-No...I mean yes we do but..." you felt your cheeks heat up as you spoke, "It's sort of something more private, on Earth you'd be arrested for this."

"What? Why?" his brows were furrowed in confusion.

"Well...It's not something that's...meant to be seen by all, you know?" he shook his head and you sighed, "It's sort of an intimate act, I guess? I mean people have casual sex but it's not something that people want to share with the world...it's just private for us."

"I see..." he hummed and spun on the stool to face the people, leaning back against the counter with his elbows supporting him, "Here it's sort of hierarchical."

"What do you mean?" you asked, following his lead to turn towards the couches.

"Well, here sex is pretty important for us," he said, "It's sort of a social ranking. Really successful people who are deemed to contribute more to society are permitted to have multiple spouses. Instead of it being illegal to actually have sex in public here, it's illegal to take more partners than your social rank permits — depending on how many more you take the punishment varies."

"Whoa..." you whispered, "It's sort of an egotistical thing to have multiple partners on Earth— like a guy with the most scores has bragging rights."

"That's interesting," he hummed, "We've got egotistical assholes as well but..."

"How many are you permitted?" you asked suddenly, making him look at you in surprise.

Even you were shocked at your own question. It wasn't like you at all. Though, with every moment that passed you began to feel more of the effects of the drink. You felt so light and happy, completely worry free. It seemed like there were no consequences to anything you did or said, giving you a green light to ask him whatever you wanted with confidence.

He chuckled, "You're really feeling it aren't you?"

"Don't ignore my question," you mumbled, narrowing your eyes in what was probably a very non-threatening glare.

"Well," he slid off the stool and held his hand out to you, "I'm permitted a few."

"How many is a few?" you asked, taking his hand to let him help you down.

As soon as you were on your feet, you felt everything move beneath you and suddenly you found yourself crushed against Seokjin's chest.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice sounding a little distorted in your hazy mind.

"I...I guess," you giggled, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you as he began to carefully lead you to the exit of the club.

The entire car ride was a blur. You remember holding onto his hand and him allowing you to, keeping his eyes on you the whole ride. His gaze made your heart race more than the drink had and you felt goosebumps rising upon your skin.

No one spared you a glance as he helped you to the elevator to the floor you both shared.

"Where's your keycard?" he asked, chuckling as you leaned against the wall with a grin on your face.

"'N my bag..." you replied, letting him zip it open.

It took him a second to find it, accidentally grabbing your wallet first before finally pulling the card out from where it was buried on the bottom. His hand rested on the small of your back as you leaned into him, hugging his arm to you. The door clicked as it unlocked and he used his free hand to push it open.

Immediately, you kicked your heels off and signed in relief. You heard the door click shut behind you and turned to see him leaning against it with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Once again, that feeling of confidence washed over you and you sauntered up to him. You felt him stiffen when you pressed yourself against him. His hands hovered in the air for a second before settling on your waist to pull you closer. Moving up on your tiptoes, you pressed your lips to his and he let out a stuttering sigh. His grip on you tightened just a bit as he kissed back, your lips moving flawlessly together.

Before you could lose your confidence, you reached up to undo a couple buttons of his shirt. He hummed against your lips, deepening the kiss before you broke away with a smile.

Biting your lip, you pulled his shirt up to untuck it from his pants, "You really are...so good looking."

"You're not so bad yourself, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice surprisingly deep. When you began to pull at the buckle of his belt, he suddenly grabbed your wrists.

"Wh-What's wrong?" you asked with a pout, biting your lip when you noticed how long and pretty his fingers were.

"I...would love to fuck you right now, seriously, I'm painfully hard right now," he whispered, making you giggle, "But you're not clear right now...and I don't want to take advantage, alright?"

"But..." he stopped you with a swift kiss to your lips.

"Get ready for bed, alright? I'll keep an eye on you for the night," he said, watching you pout as you collected your pajamas from the bed where you had left them earlier that day.

"Why?" you asked, making your way towards the bathroom.

"Because I've never heard of a human getting so messed up by Red before," his voice was muffled when you shut the door to the bathroom.

After taking off your makeup and getting changed, you wandered out of the bathroom to find Jin wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants while laying on your bed. His face was buried in a pillow but he looked up when you came out.

"Where'd you get those?" you mumbled, motioning to his attire.

"Went to my room," he replied with a brow raised, "I'm down the hall, remember?"

"Oh...right," he chuckled at the spacey look on your face before you climbed onto the bed.

It was strangely comfortable, though it was probably the drink, to sleep beside him. His hand rested on your waist as he kept his eyes on you until your breathing evened out and you fell asleep.

You were woken up by the soft sound of cursing and when you opened your eyes you saw Seokjin messing with a cart of food. He was crouched down, trying to pull the tablecloth from where it was stuck under the wheel.

"What're you doing?" you asked, voice rough from sleep.

"Huh? Oh! You're awake!" he smiled, stood up, "I got some room service, I was hungry and I figured you would be too."

"I actually am," you smiled, pushing the blankets off to climb out of bed.

"Help me with this," he mumbled, motioning to the cart, "It's stuck."

"I'll pull the cart while you get the cloth free," you said, waiting for him to kneel down and nod before executing the plan.

He gave a small 'ah-ha' of victory when it pulled free before standing up.

"Cute pajamas by the way," he said, pushing the cart over to the little table across the room.

"I..." you looked down at your matching pink pajama set and blushed, "Don't tease me."

"I'm not!" he laughed, setting the plates down on the table before motioning for you to sit.

"By the way..." you picked at your plate with a fork, "I'm sorry for last night."

"What do you mean?" he asked, taking a bite of food.

"For, you know...kissing you like that," you mumbled.

He chuckled, "I didn't mind one bit."

The tone of his voice had your cheeks heating up. Meeting his gaze, you found the almost cocky smirk on his lips and the dark glaze in his eyes. Squeezing your thighs together under the table, you remembered how it felt for him to hold you against him, how strong his grip was and how soft his lips were.

"Well...st-still..." you cleared your throat and took a bite from your fork.

"So I was thinking," he held the smirk on his lips, giving you a knowing look as he changed the subject, "We could go down to the beach since I sort of stopped you last night."

"Oh...you want to?" you asked. He nodded and you smiled, "Great! We'll get ready after this."

When you both finished eating, you excitedly got changed into your swimsuit while he went to his room to do the same. Slipping on some shorts, you opened the door to find Seokjin making his way down the hall.

He was shirtless, simply opting to wear his swim trunks with a towel thrown over his shoulder.

"Let's go then!" he smiled, taking your hand to tug you in the direction of the elevator.

It was cute, how excited he seemed, "What's got you so excited? You live here."

"Well, I've never been to the beach with a human before," he said, stepping out of the elevator, tugging you with him.

You squinted against the sudden burst of sunlight, the strange sensation of the cool sand on your feet. You noticed he was going in a different direction than the shore and asked him, "Where are we going?"

"There's a cool little cove around here," he said, "It's pretty quiet, not many people hang around it."

"Oh cool," you whispered, having to fasten your steps to keep up with his larger strides.

Finally, it came into view, large boulders and rocks with water harshly sloshing against them. He climbed up first, getting a steady stance on the rock before pulling you up. You laughed when he slipped a bit against the slickness and let out a small shriek of surprise.

You took a seat, dipping your feet in the water with a sigh. He followed your lead, leaning back on his hands with his head tilted back. Looking down, you gasped at all the colorful fish you could see swimming beneath the surface.

"Whoa, they're so bright!" you muttered, gaining Seokjin's attention.

"You don't have fish on Earth?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Of course we go but these are like neon!" you said, watching the way they circled on another, "I always imagine alien planets having terrifying wildlife."

"Ah, no there aren't too many dangerous creatures here," he said, "But Argo on the other hand, place is practically deadly."

"Ah, I've heard of Argo," you muttered in wonder before fixing him with a curious gaze, "Your galaxy is pretty new so I've only heard some stuff...rumors and the like, you know.”

"What do you do for a living on Earth?" he asked.

"I actually work for the Interplanetary Relations Commission," you said.

"But you don't know much about the planets?" he cocked his head to the side.

"No, unfortunately my job is more financial instead of scientific. I don't deal with the other planets or anything like that," you explained, "I just basically make sure the IRC doesn't like...you know...go bankrupt."

"I see," he chuckled, "Well, I think it's pretty cute how excited you got over fish."

"I...c'mon," you muttered, embarrassed by the compliment, "Do you know if it's possible to do like a sea dive or something?"

"Yeah, I think so," he said, "I can help you set something up tomorrow if you'd like?"

"Really? You'll do it with me?" you grinned and he nodded, "I'm so excited!"

You felt his eyes on you and turned to look at him, finding him smiling at you. He reached forward when he realized he had your attention. His hand was warm as he cupped your cheek, leaning forward to brush his lips against yours.

He smirked when he felt your breath stutter a bit in anticipation. Before he fully kissed you, however, he backed off and slid off the rock into the water with a splash.

"Hey!" you pouted, "That's not very nice."

"Who said I'm a nice guy?" he laughed, splashing water at you, making you gasp in surprise. Before you could recover, you felt him wrap his arms around your waist and tug you in. You cried out as your head dipped under the water.

Resurfacing, you went to yell at Seokjin only to find him swimming away in laughter.

You spent the entire day with him at the beach until the moon was rising into the sky. Wrapping a towel around your shoulders, you began to walk with him back to the hotel. You could hear the laughter of people nearby as they ran around on the beach and couldn't help but smile.

"What's up?" he asked, finally reaching the elevator.

"Nothing, it's just..." you leaned back against the wall, meeting his soft gaze, "I was sent here on vacation and I sure as hell didn't expect to be spending it with you."

The door opened and you stepped out, Seokjin following behind you. Fishing your card out, you approached your door.

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked, making you pause to turn around.

You smiled and shook your head, "No, actually you've really made it a lot better."

"Yeah?" he stepped so close that you could smell the sea salt clinging to his skin as he looked at you through damp bangs, "I can make it...even better, you know?"

"Can you?" your voice lowered and he smirked, leaning close so his nose brushed yours.

"Oh yeah," his lips met yours and you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you sighed into the kiss as you felt him wrap a strong arm around your waist. His lips were soft and warm, with just a hint of chapstick he had applied lingering on them. 

You gasped when he suddenly lifted you up, taking a few quick strides before depositing you on the bed. You smiled as he crawled on top of you, resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your head so he could kiss you once more.

His hands carefully slid up your stomach, making goosebumps rise along you skin. You sighed, lashes fluttering when he cupped your breast in his hand. Pulling away, he met your gaze as he pushed the band up until both of your breasts came into view. 

Thumb circling your nipple, he licked his lips at the soft whimper you let out. You reached up and cupped his jaw, pulling him down for another kiss. 

Giving the bud a soft pinch, he chuckled when you gasped into his mouth. He broke the kiss to leave small pecks down your jaw and chest until he could envelop your nipple in his mouth.

The way your back arched in response had him groaning. Cupping your other breast, he rolled the bud between two fingers until he felt your hands wrapping in his hair. 

He chuckled and began to leave kisses down your stomach until he reached the band of your shorts. Casting a glance up at you, he found you staring down at him with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. 

Before he could do anything, you hooked your thumbs into the hem of your shorts and began to push them down. He helped, pulling them from your legs as you pulled your bikini top off so you were completely bare before him. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, sitting back on his heels to get a good view of your body. Gripping your knees, he carefully spread your legs apart until your wet folds were fully in view. He licked his lips and reached forward, running his fingertips over your slit to collect the wetness there before bringing them to his mouth. His eyes fluttered at your taste on his tongue and when he licked his fingers clean, he knew he needed to taste more.

“Jin—” you gasped when he dove down to find your pussy with his tongue. 

Sliding his tongue between your folds, he groaned at your sweet taste. He laid on his stomach, wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold your open for him. Finding your clit, he took the bud into his mouth and relished in the moan you let out. Gripping at his hair, you ground your hips down to meet his sinful tongue. 

You grew wetter by the second, he could feel the way you were dripping. His ego swelled, knowing he was able to turn you into such a mess. He pulled back for a breath, licking his lips and looking up at your disheveled state. 

Your hair was wild and splayed over the pillows. Your lips were red and swollen from how you were biting them in your pleasure. His eyes followed the movement of your hands as you cupped your own breasts to pinch and tug at your nipples. 

“Please,” you whispered, arching you'd hips upwards. 

He smirked, knowing exactly what you were begging for. Not wanting to leave you yearning, he spread tour folds with his thumbs until he could see your entrance clenching in anticipation. Meeting your clit once more, he flattened his tongue as he gave it a slow, long lick. 

You cursed, tossing your head back into the pillow. It had been a while since you got laid, work having taken over your life. With Seokjin’s talented tongue working your cunt like it was his job, however, you realized just how much you'd missed it. 

Your walls were beginning to spasm and tighten. Clutching his hair tighter, your body became tense with the oncoming orgasm. He groaned, taking your clit into his mouth once again. 

Within seconds, you came. Your thighs trembled in his hold and he could feel your bud pulse in time with your high. The moans and whimpers of his name you let loose made him acutely aware of just how hard he had become. 

You finally began to push him away as the stimulation inched into overstimulation. He pulled away, sitting up as his chest moved with his heavy breathing. Licking his lips, he collected whatever juices he had missed on his thumb to lick clean as well. 

“You're...really good…” you mumbled, still catching your breath from the incredible orgasm he had given you. 

He chuckled, “Thanks, I try my best.”

His response had you laughing and you sat up, wrapping your arm around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. Kissing him was phenomenal, he knew just how to move his lips and when to use his tongue. You could taste your own juices and you eagerly caught every lingering taste. 

As you reached for his swim trunks, ready to push them down, he stopped you. You stopped and looked up at him curiously.

“Hang on…” he cleared his throat and took your wrist in his hand, pulling our fingers from the hem of them.

“What is it?” you asked, worried you had done something wrong.

“It's just…” he sighed, “My...anatomy is different from a human man’s.”

“How do you know what a human man looks like?” you asked with a brow raised. 

He chuckled, “I've heard stories and seen things from visitors.” 

“I see...well…” you used your free hand to run down the smooth plane of his chest, “Different how?”

His smile faded a bit as he reached down to tug the hem of his swim trunks down. Your mouth fell open a bit as his member came into view. 

It was an angry red, clearly throbbing with his arousal. There was one main appendage with four smaller ones surrounding it. He wrapped his fist around himself and sighed in relief. 

You reached out and let your fingers graze one of the smaller ones. He hissed and you gasped when it twitched, almost wiggling, away from your touch. 

“Whoa…” you mumbled, knocking his hand away to grip the main one like he had. 

It was warm, pulsing with his heartbeat. It was slick, allowing you to easily stroke him until his head fell back in a moan. 

“P-Pretty different, huh?” he choked out, ears turning red the longer you stared at him. 

“Very…” you whispered, “Almost like...tentacles…”

“I-I guess,” he grunted, eyes fluttering as you felt his cock leak even more, “Shit, d-do you still want to…?”

He trailed off and you paused, staring at your hand wrapped around him. Although it was something you never dreamt of seeing or touching, you felt yourself clench at the thought of having him inside you.

“Yeah…” you whispered, smiling when you saw him sign in relief. 

“Good because if you said no, I would be going back to my room with the worst case of blue balls in my life,” he said and you giggled as you laid back, admiring his pretty smile as he grinned at your laughter.

Releasing your grip on his cock, you glanced at your hand. His precum lingered on your skin and you curiously brought one finger to your lips. You felt his eyes burning into you as you took your digit into your mouth.

Your eyes widened at the taste. It was sweet — indescribably so, almost like sugar. He wore a small smile, as if he understood your thinking. He didn't say anything, however, simply shifted on his knees and spread your legs apart once again. 

You were still dripping and he could see your hole clenching pathetically around nothing — begging to be filled. He was more than willing to do just that. 

“Flip over,” he said, holding onto your hips as you clumsily rolled over, “Hands and knees,” you did as he asked, perching your ass high in the air, “Good girl…”

You kernel under the praise and he could see you clench, making him chuckle. Rising on his knees, your breathing stuttered as you felt the almost silky texture of his cock prodding your entrance. 

Despite the extra tentacles, his cock was pretty similar to a humans. The head of him was the thickest part as he began to push in. Burying your face in the pillow, you let out a groan when you felt your walls beginning to stretch open to fit him. 

He panted, running his hand soothingly along your spine. You were clenching so tight, cunt struggling to accommodate the fat head of his cock. Both of you groaned in unison when it finally popped on, the rest of his length easily sliding in until you were completely filled.

He sat still, feeling you spasm and drip around his cock until you let out a whine, “Please move, Jin.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, “Alright, sweetheart.”

Your breathing stuttered as he pulled out, the shape of his cock allowing him to drag over your sweet spot in a way no human could. Your eyes rolled back and your thighs trembled at the feeling, making Jin’s cock throb against your walls. 

“Oh god…” you whimpered, biting down on the pillow when he sunk back into you. 

He chuckled above you, holding onto your hips for leverage so he could hammer into you. He let out another curse, head falling back when he felt the tip of his cock hit your cervix, making you clamp even harder around him. 

“You feel so good,” he growled, “So tight.”

“Y-You’re gonna m-make me cu...cum,” you sobbed, clutching the pillow until the material groaned in protest, “Already…”

He scoffed, “‘Cause my cock is better than anyone's, huh?” you didn't respond, too lost in the painful heat that came whenever he bottomed out in you, “Tell me,” he snapped.

“Y-Yes, so...so fuckin—” your praise was cut off when you felt something touch your clit. 

Glancing between your legs, you felt tears sting your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure as the tentacle on the underside of his cock met your clit. It moved as if it had a mind of its own, your own juices mixed with his allowed for it to swirl effortlessly around the bud. 

Your high was coming faster than you could have ever expected. You knew it was going to be strong and part of you thought it could almost make you black out. Watching the tentacle move, you let out a low whine when the tip of it slipped beneath the hood of your clit to find the bare, vulnerable bud directly. 

It was the final blow and before you could voice it out, you were cumming. Seokjin groaned as you trembled and moaned beneath him, a gush of juices almost forcing his cock from your cunt. 

The bedding grew wet but he didn't stop fucking into you, even as you sobbed into the pillow. 

“Such a messy girl,” he growled, cupping your ass cheeks to spread them apart, “Never would have guessed you'd be such a slut.”

The name made you groan and twitch around him, making him chuckle. The way he was reducing you to nothing but a spasming, drooling mess was incredible. Never before had anyone reacted so strongly to him — maybe he should fuck humans more often, he mused.

You were lost in space, your mind unable to think of the world beyond the fat cock stuffing you full. You were sure nothing would feel better than this but the feeling of another one of his tentacles had you second guessing. 

“Can I fuck you here too?” Jin asked, voice low and rough as the tentacle prodded at your ass. 

“I-I…” you whimpered and nodded.

“Use your words,” he snapped, slapping your ass harshly, leaving a burning sting in the impacts wake.

“Yes please!” you choked out, the words almost impossible to get out.

“Good girl,” he praised, making you whimper.

Holding your breath, you gasped as you felt the tentacle carefully begin to slide into the right hole. The lubrication on it allowed for an extremely easy entrance — it wasn't too big so there was minimal burning from the stretch. It was still there but it quickly dissipated, making you sigh.

The tentacle moved in time to his pounding hips, reaching deeper inside with every inward thrust. The sound of skin slapping together filled the space mixed with your moans and his groans. 

Already sensitive from two prior orgasms, the added tentacle along with the one still playing with your clit, leaving you a drooling mess. 

Seokjin was nearing his own end, grip on your hips tightening as his thrusts started to become sloppy, “Cum for me...c’mon…” he whispered, encouraging you over that edge.

As soon as you hit your high, the first spasm of your calls around him sent him over as well. His chest met your back as he groaned, his cum filling you. 

There was so much, more than you could have expected. It overflowed, being forced out of your clenching cunt as he continued to rut into you to ride the high. Dripping down your thighs, it added to the mess you had made earlier. 

You could even feel the tentacle stretching ass open throb in time to every pulse of cum. Slowly, you slumped down as your orgasm faded. 

He pulled his cock from your cunt, groaning as he watched the rest of his cum spill from your stretched hole. The tentacles pulled free as well and you collapsed on your side with a sigh. 

Your thighs were sore from being in the same position for so long but otherwise you felt euphoric. Seokjin followed your lead and laid beside you, chest heaving as he caught his breath. 

“Well…” you sighed, making him look at you. His cheeks were flushed and his bangs stuck to his forehead from sweat, “You certainly did make it better…”

He laughed, “Oh yeah? How has it been so far as a vacation?”

“A few more days of this and I'm pretty sure I’ll be stress free for the rest of my life,” rolling over, you met his lips for another kiss as laughed softly. 

You let yourself relax against him, relishing in the soft caresses and pecks he left along your skin. Part of your heart aches as you remembered that after your vacation, you wouldn't be able to see him again. 

Disregarding the feeling, you turned your attention back to the beautiful man in front of you who was more than willing to make sure this vacation would be one that you remember for the rest of your life. 

[abybweisse]

Missed opportunity: bedrooms

Sebastian saw the bedrooms for each of the lords of the stars. If pressed, he might even remember which room went with which bracelet (the number of stars). During the murders arc, his eye for detail and deductive reasoning was strong, even noticing notes on the inside of Arthur’s sleeve cuffs and knowing why they would be there.

So, why did he never mention any of the details to our earl?

Polaris’ room was sparsely furnished (but it had been nice) and had slashing and stabbing damage all over the place. A knife or two was stuck in the floor. Other knives were stuck in the desk. Like I said a moment ago, the room wasn’t that bad before. The bed had a simple headboard but still had a partial canopy above it and two pillows. There used to be two windows, but they got boarded up. There was a desk and chair, a dresser, a trash can, and even a framed mirror. One of the knives was stabbed through a book or journal. I even see what looks like a broken water pitcher. The bed isn’t that low to the ground, and the sheets drape down to the floor, as though someone could be hiding under the bed; he doesn’t look... probably because he cannot detect a soul. Well, bizarre dolls don’t have souls.... Sebastian doesn’t mention any of this when they get to Phantomhive townhouse and see the damage there: the knives stuck in Agni’s back, the slashing damage and carvings on the master bedroom wall, etc.

Vega’s very nicely appointed room features a narrow bed (but there might actually be a second one to the left we just aren’t getting to see) with a lavish partial canopy. Looks like a wrought iron bed frame. Two plush toys. A lamp. A side table with books, a vase of flowers, and other smaller items. Across from the bed(s) are two matching vanity tables with mirrors and two matching stools. The vanity table that might go with the bed we see also has one or two bottles on it. There is artwork on the wall, including what might be a portrait. The large window has more drapery, and there is a crystal chandelier. Even more interesting is the fact there is another door... that Sebastian apparently never opened. And he never mentioned to our earl that Lord Vega could be two people, possibly twins (since Nina only has four sets of measurements).

Lord Canopus had the least appointed room, by all accounts. A metal bedframe, one pillow, and no canopy at all. There is a small desk and very basic stool to serve as the vanity. I see a mirror, a basin of some kind, and what might be a small lamp with an exposed bulb. I remember bloggers trying to figure out what that was, and I’m not sure I recall correctly. There is a window with a wavy screen panel or a single curtain panel. The bed has bloody bandages on it, and a crate near the bed is full of more bloody bandages. A very clinical look to the room. And, again, there is another way in/out of the room: a pull cord is attached to a door in the ceiling. Right above the bed. And Sebastian apparently didn’t investigate further.

Sirius’ room looks very similar to the master bedroom at Phantomhive Manor. It even has a similar chaise or fainting couch at the foot of the bed. (Undertaker is reclining on the Phantomhive Manor version of it in ch169). I won’t go into all of the details, but there are many paintings on the wall, and some of them seem to be portraits. Of whom? And there might be places in there for a bizarre doll to hide, like under the bed or behind the side drapery of the full canopy.

And yet... Sebastian doesn’t mention these rooms to our earl at all.

[laurelsofhighever]

Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again. 

--

CW: sleep paralysis in the beginning

Something hunted her. Avarice, perhaps, or Glory. The light in her hand drew them ever closer, blinding them to the glint of the dragonbone Talon she kept unsheathed by her side, the blade that longed to sate itself on their spirit flesh. For one, the rose was a trophy, for the other, the essence of all she hoped to gain. The forest around her hung close, crooked branches girdled by beards of hoary lichen, roots trying to trip her, the light above blocked by the canopy so that only the bobbing green glow of wisps remained to guide her along the path. They drifted towards her and darted away again like shoals of curious fish, and as ever, the demons gained. She would have to turn soon, to stand and fight though exhaustion snapped at her heels. And something else nagged at her too, a weightlessness, a disconnect between her actions and the world around her as if chains dragged at her limbs.

A dream, then. In realising it, she slipped into sunlight as the forest dissolved around her, opening her eyes to rich furnishings and sheets of gold brocade overlaid with soft pelts to keep out the cold, the warm pull of an arm thrown over her stomach. Alistair lay already alert beside her, the details of his face blurred by the haze of first waking but no less dear because of it. As her body rolled and turned into him, he rose above her to bring her close, untangling his arm from the bedclothes to embrace her.

“Bad dreams?” he asked, in a voice that didn’t quite reach her sleep-fogged ears.

She felt no desire to reply, and instead slid her hand into the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck to pull him down to her mouth. His touch stirred the banked embers in her chest, his weight melding them together, one body, one lick of heat through questing limbs –

But he had no scent. There was no scratch of stubble against her cheek.

Her consciousness erupted into the prone form of her slumbering body, but got no further. She commanded it to move. Her flesh responded like stone, and panic rose like water to freeze her lungs. Avarice might be leaning over her, its claws poised above her to rend life from her bones and claim her skin as its own, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t even feel her sword in her hand. A finger, an eyelid – anything that might bring her back to herself. She fought. She screamed inside her own head, pushing back at the darkness and at the illusion it fed her of her hands moving, the iron of her will useless against the dead weight of her limbs.

It must have been only moments before the paralysis recoiled and broke without warning, but it felt longer. It left her gasping in the dim, moonlit confines of an unfamiliar room, with an unfamiliar shape lumped among the pillows next to her. Despite her sudden start, the figure breathed in deep, even lungfuls of air, and as her eyes grew used to the dark, Rosslyn made out Alistair’s bearded face poking from the covers. His eyes roved under their lids, his lips parted slightly, while his hair – though longer than it had appeared in her dream – stuck out at all the odd angles she remembered. The certainty that she could not have imagined him so calmed the race of her heart and brought her back to where she was, the knotted string that had led her back into his life.

“No, Ambassador, I didn’t say that…”

His mumbles trailed off as he shifted under the covers, and she bit down on a smile. They had been in Highever when she first found out he talked in his sleep. She had teased him about it, and all the salacious things he might have uttered without the filter of his conscious mind to stop him, but even as her hand reached out to smooth his hair away from his face, the sweetness of the memories turned bitter. They had shared so little time together without the world getting in the way, brief weeks after only a year of knowing each other, and since then, she had lived two years in an endless Void, without anything to bar the sound of her own breath from her ears. He, meanwhile, had grown into the grace of his kingship without her. She had known he would, but it didn’t stop the whisperings of the snide voice at the back of her mind that told her he no longer needed her. What if everything, including his image, were just another dream?

She withdrew her hand without touching him.

Carefully, so Alistair wouldn’t notice, she shimmied out from under the covers and set her feet into the thick silk pile of the rug that guarded the bed like a moat. She counted her fingers, pressing her thumb to the tip of each one in turn, and then along the scar on her wrist that she had received from an accident in the training arena when she was still a beginner. The movements had become habit by now, but experience had taught her habit itself was dangerous, a way for the mind to skip over inconsistencies in favour of familiarity, and so to ground herself she closed her fist around Talon’s blue leather scabbard. Slowly, making sure to feel the difference between cool metal wire and rough drakeskin, she half-drew the blade and winced at the scrape of the dragonbone as it came free.

Here lay the test; she breathed deep relief when her reflection showed her eyes, a slice of the tapestry behind her, and nothing else. It did not warp into any monstrosity, or move while she sat still, and with a roll of her shoulders she eased the sword back into its rest. Not that it stopped her hands from shaking. With a last long glance over her shoulder, she rose and padded across the expanse of gilded carpet, with Talon held tight in her left hand so the buckles wouldn’t jingle.

No expense had been spared in the appointments of the Emperor’s bedchamber. The high ceiling had been painted blue and dusted with silver stars that glinted in the moonlight spilling in from the windows. The largest of them mapped out the constellations visible in the night sky, though as she gazed upwards, Rosslyn noted that they had been arranged according to aesthetics, rather than accuracy to the true heavens her mother had taught her to read as a child. With a rueful twitch of her lips, she turned away and skirted the suite of chaises and spindle-legged sofas that clustered around the fire, their fine silk threads a heady texture under the trail of her fingers.

She found the opulence garish, from the sculpted marble halla framing the hearth to the tapestries on the wall that showed scenes of nobles hunting or riding into battle on horses with faces that seemed almost human, and she imagined the expression Alistair might have let slip when he first opened the door. Only the drift of woodsmoke from the fire brought her any familiarity, the faint, whining hiss of its heart filling the silence as she explored. A bookcase stood in the corner of the room at the edge of the fire’s shaky glow, but close enough to spark against the gold-leafed titles on the spines. Still unsettled, she tilted her head to read them, mouthing their names to herself before she pulled out a likely tome concerning natural science and let the pages fall open on a discussion of dragon anatomy. She forced herself to see the shape of the words as well as their meaning, the first sentence on a page and then the last, and then the first again to make sure it hadn’t changed.

“Rosslyn?”

She dropped the book and turned, Talon already ringing out of the scabbard as she sank into a defensive crouch at the unexpected voice. Blinking groggily, Alistair sat up in the bed, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down. His eyes shifted from her face to the weapon in her hand and the battle-ready stance she was too slow to hide.

“What are you doing over there?” he asked as she turned towards the window and tried to calm the race of her pulse. She heard him kick the covers away, the grumbled command to the glowstone, and the pad of his bare feet across the floor.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Even though she heard him coming, she flinched when he touched her arm.

He edged closer. “Bad dreams?”

She clenched her jaw against the chill of déjà vu down her spine. “Something like that.”

“Are you alright?” he asked.

A sigh tumbled from her lips as she ducked her head, as she leaned into the hand sliding into the small of her back and fought against the part of her that wanted to make light of what he must have seen. And yet, hadn’t she been trying for months to find him again? His lack at her side had been a physical ache beyond even the scars the Fade had left on her; to shut him out now when he was reaching out seemed too much like madness, like being bested by the fear she had pushed back for so long.

“When I was in the Fade, it was difficult sometimes to tell what was real,” she admitted, drawing her hands around herself. “When I had to sleep I’d wander through the dreams of others, and when I woke up I could never really be sure that I really was awake or if it was just some trap set by a demon. It’s been… hard to adjust back.” She kept her gaze on the carpet, but then she didn’t need to look to feel the cautious sympathy radiating from every line in Alistair’s body.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I…” The heat of his palm was a distraction, a reminder of all the times she had opened her eyes on his image and wondered whether the illusion might be worth succumbing to it. She had been alone too long, and left too many pieces of herself behind with the corpse of the Nightmare. But he was too clever, reading her silence and the fear behind it as if the words were scrawled across her face, and he moved close so that his bulk and his scent might fold her away from the world, cupping her jaw to lay a kiss at her temple.

“What will help?” he asked.

Rosslyn let herself wrap around him; her body acted on its own initiative and buried into his shoulder as her mind drifted back to the bad episodes of the first few days, when Merrill had led her through reality and shown her all the ways to rely on her senses again.

“Details,” she said, content to lose herself in the rhythm his fingers made against the back of her neck. “Things to ground me, that my mind can’t make up.”

“Such as?”

“Words on a page, smells…” She allowed herself a smirk. “That damned beard.”

“More baseless attacks against facial hair?” He tutted, shaking his head and deliberately mussing her hair with the accused beard in the process. “You’re still as cruel as ever, dear lady.”

Her heart fluttered. “I’m still ‘dear lady’?”

“Always.”

When she could stand to lean away, she looked up at him, gazing at her with the same oak-bronze eyes she remembered, the same flecks of gold, the calm and the rapture and the certainty that had steadied her soul from the beginning. Unable to bear the weight of his expression, she turned her focus to the slight bow-curve of his mouth, and the growth of hair that accentuated the strong line of his jaw. It was several shades darker than that on the rest of his head, though as she gently raked her fingers through it, strands of copper and gold caught in the glowstone’s light. His eyes slipped closed at the touch and she smirked wider.

“You like that,” she murmured.

He hummed. “I never thought it would feel so nice.”

If they had been together, they would have discovered such sensitivity long ago.

“Rosslyn?”

She bolstered her crumbling smile. “I just thought of a use for these bristles of yours.”

“Mm?”

Instead of answering, she closed her fingers and drew him down with the lightest pressure until they met in a soft brush of lips. “That’s a much easier way of getting you to kiss me.”

“Easier than just being in the same room as me?” he teased. “Easier than being brave and beautiful and everything I’ve ever wanted?”

She let go. His smile was earnest but she couldn’t look at it, blinding and stealing her breath as if she were stepping out into the sun on a winter’s day. And still, his sigh cleaved her like a butcher’s knife as his hand skimmed the length of her arm to where Talon still rested in a white-knuckled fist.

“I have guards outside,” he told her. “You’re safe. Whatever hunted you before, I won’t let it get you here.”

She remembered another night, after an attempt on her life, when he had sworn himself to her defence. “So Orlais has run out of assassins, then?” asked lightly.

“Come back to bed,” he murmured, raising her knuckles to his lips. “Or – we could read one of the books, if…”

“If I don’t think this is real? You don’t need to worry about that, I’m convinced.”

The tension knitted tight through his shoulders unspooled. “I’m glad.”

“You don’t have to stay up on my account.” A smile ghosted across her mouth, brief and unconvincing. “This is hardly my first night without sleep, and from what I overheard earlier, you have negotiations to attend in the morning.”

“And rob you of the company? Perish the thought. Besides,” he added, bending past her to pick up the book she had been skimming, “Une étude de draconides du sud sounds fascinating.”

“It’s rather dry, actually.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Then maybe it’ll send us back to sleep faster. Come on, those chaises look comfortable, even if they’re gaudier than any furniture has a right to be.”

Defeated, Rosslyn sighed and let herself be tugged along, unable to entirely fend off the infectious grin sent her way, or the squeeze in her chest as she sat and Alistair knelt before her on the floor to wrap a heavy blanket around her shoulders.

“Will you read to me?” she asked.

His smile softened. “Of course. Now budge up.”

Negotiating the chaise took more effort than the bed. Despite being wide enough for the voluminous panniers favoured by Orlesian fashion, the springy, overstuffed cushions had not been designed to accommodate even one person lying down, much less two who had become unused to coordinating their limbs. After a lot of awkward folding and a brief interlude where she made him sit up again to take one half of the blanket, Rosslyn settled on her side with her back against the chaise and her cheek resting on Alistair’s shoulder in order to see the pages as he read them. Talon, still within reach, had been propped against the armrest.

“Now, let’s see, where shall we start…”

Heaving a contented sigh as he flicked through the pages, she snuggled closer and wrapped her free arm more fully around his waist. The movement pushed up the loose hem of his nightshirt, and without thinking she followed the feel of warm skin and slipped her hand beneath the fabric, pleased with the small hum elicited by the movement. After a moment, however, she paused, frowning. Instead of the smooth expanse of muscle she had once known almost as well as her own body, her fingertips tracked along a line of hard, raised tissue that curved across the point of Alistair’s hip.

“What…”

“Rosslyn?”

She levered herself upright and lifted the fabric to get a better look at the scar. “I don’t remember this.” Three long, uneven stripes stood out pale against the richer tone of his skin, faded enough that the initial blow must have been healed by magic, but still livid pink beneath where the new flesh didn’t quite meld with the old.

“Oh, that. It’s nothing, really.” He pulled the shirt down again to cover it, and dragged her hand to his lips. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It looks like it hurt,” she pressed.

He smiled, too wide. “Barely felt it, actually. This looks like a promising page –”

“What happened?”

“Just leave it alone!”

Stunned, she flinched away to better look at him, at the immediate regret in his eyes and the wariness that still lurked behind it.

“Rosslyn –”

“It happened at Ostagar, didn’t it?” she said, and felt her stomach lurch as he sat up and hunched over with his elbows on his knees.

“It… It was while they were still clearing the rubble. There was still hope, but not much, and every rock they lifted where they didn’t find you…” He bit his lip. “It all got too much in the end, so I took a party out to hunt down the demons that escaped the rift’s collapse. One got a lucky swipe.”

All because of her. She shut her eyes and dropped her forehead to his shoulder to banish the image of him, wounded and grieving and hating her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he murmured “You’re the one who was always telling me not to drop my guard.”

“If I had been there…”

“No. Don’t do that. I’ve spent two years wondering what might have been.” Arms wrapped around her waist, fingers under her jaw coaxing her to look at him. “You’re here, now, and everything’s going to be alright.”

Still unsure, she shook her head. “I thought this would all be so easy. I thought I could just… walk back into my life like none of it happened. But everything’s so different.” Just because she had been stuck in time, she had assumed the same of everything else, that she might return to the moment she first struck the Nightmare and still have her place as the Falcon without politics or resentment to cloud her triumph. The worst of it, the part she could barely admit even to herself, was that everything from her return to Harrowhill to the painted stars above her might not be real at all, and yet she had wearied so much that not even the guilt of surrender could make her care. Perhaps the real Alistair had died along with her at Ostagar, the only thing left of him this illusion, a phantom set of hands around her waist the closest she would ever get to him again.

The pressure of those hands tightened before she could move away, drawn into his lap instead with the blanket forgotten around her knees.

“Not everything is different,” he said. “Not the important things. You’re still my wife.”

Her breath caught in her lungs.

“Unless…” A pause. “Rosslyn, when this is over – when you’ve done what you have to for Flemeth and these trade talks have been hammered out – you will come back with me, won’t you? Ferelden still needs its queen.” He swallowed. “And even if it didn’t, there’s not a moment that’s gone by that I haven’t needed you. It’s been awful, I’ve missed you so much.”

Something sharp constricted in her chest as the firelight caught in his eyes, on the tears he rapidly tried to blink away. “I didn’t know if you’d want me like before,” she confessed.

“Of course I do.” For the second time, the book tumbled to the floor, this time displaced from his lap so he could turn and take her face between both of his hands. “I love you. I never stopped.”

“I’ve caused you so much pain –”

“It’s alright,” he repeated, again, stroking her face with his fingers as he leaned forwards and pressed his brow to hers. “You came back to me. It’s alright.”

Soothed by the patterns he was drawing across the back of her neck, she shifted until her legs pressed on either side of his. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m here. Rosslyn, I…”

His hands had wandered again, palms ghosting down her back and over her thighs, pulling her closer while his knees came up behind her to take more of her weight, to tip her forward onto his chest. She cupped his face and kissed him before he could gather himself enough to speak, and then followed the line of his jaw with lighter brushes of her lips to the pulse point in his neck, her concentration only broken when he found the hem of her borrowed shirt and slinked into a tighter embrace against her skin.

His teeth rasped against her shoulder, a chuckle low in his throat. “We’re supposed to be reading, dear lady.”

“You’re the one who started this,” she murmured back, as her fingers inched beneath his collar.

“You’re the one encouraging me,” he retorted. “Maker, I can’t get you close enough – tell me you don’t want to stop.”

“It’s not that…” A worry tugged at the small corner of her mind not yet consumed by the sensation of being touched, growing in presence until it could not be ignored. “I don’t know if I’m – if we’re still, uh, protected.”

“Ah.” To her relief, he didn’t push her away, and instead leaned back against the chaise with his arms around her shoulders. “And you don’t have any of that tea with you?”

“I wasn’t exactly expecting to need it.”

For an instant, the shadow of thwarted expectation hung in the air, mingling with her worry about the cost of her hesitation, until with the breath of a low, rumbled laugh, Alistair sent the tension blowing away like errant cobwebs on a breeze.

“I’m sure we’ll dig some up from somewhere eventually,” he allowed, helping her adjust so she lay adjacent rather than astride his lap. “Besides, after two years, I can’t say it would have been my best performance anyway.”

She stretched up, careful not to jab a knee into where it wouldn’t be appreciated, and pecked him on the cheek before tucking herself back against his side. “The performance isn’t what I care about.”

“I love you. Have I said that yet?”

“I could stand to hear it again.”

Their fingers laced, and for a while only the fire made conversation.

“It occurs to me,” he offered eventually, with a sly wiggle of his eyebrows, “there are other things we could do. If you wanted. We could find out why that bed is so ridiculously big.”

“We could,” she replied, careful. “But… I think I want this over first. I’m still bound, and I want to feel like myself when I call you my husband again.”

Another sigh heaved through his body, shuddered with uncertainty. “‘Husband’. I’ve missed hearing that. I’ve missed –” He scrubbed at his eyes. “You know, we never got our honeymoon. We said we’d go to Eastwatch when the war was over, but we never made it.”

“We were going to take picnics to the riverbank.”

They’d had it pictured so clearly before Ostagar, a shining beacon for which to strive, when their responsibilities might fall away just for a little while and allow them the peace that had always at the last eluded them. Her family’s estate, couched in a slow meander of the River Rangett with the sweeping glades and pastures of Marl-land beyond, had seemed the perfect remedy to the demands claimed of them by war.

“I left Teagan in charge in Denerim,” Alistair mused. “There’ll have to be a progress to show you off to the people now that you’re back, but I’m sure we can persuade the guard to lose us on the Imperial Highway – what are you laughing at?”

She drew his knuckles to her lips. “You. Talking like a politician. Plotting. You’ve grown.”

“I hope that’s not a comment on the number of fine cheeses I’ve been sampling of late,” he huffed, shifting beneath her.

She recognised the deflection for what it was but let it go, realising the dark turn of her thoughts must have shown in her voice, the knowledge that so much of the person he had become was a stranger to her. And yet, as he reached down to retrieve the now sadly crumpled Une étude des draconides from where it had fallen, the way their bodies fit together and the logs cracking in the fire brought back all the promise she had felt in those few weeks by his side as they waited out her recovery from the Battle of Highever, the winter nights long and the frozen wind turned aside by the thick walls of her childhood home. He had read to her then, too, taking her away from the pain of her healing wounds to places woven by his voice alone, with his heartbeat under her ear and his fingers idle in her hair.

“Is the book alright?” she asked.

“A bit creased,” he answered. “But intact.”

“Good. Tell me about dragons.”

--

He read from the book until his voice turned hoarse, the winding prattle of academic language somewhat beyond his grasp of conversational Orlesian, but he tried keep the flow of words in cadence to at least get the general meaning. When he finally laid it aside and pinched his hands over his eyes to refocus his vision, the first rime of daylight could just be seen over the distant trees outside, a faint lilac stain against the ink of night swallowing the stars. Rosslyn didn’t stir even when he touched her shoulder to check her realness, when he gently carded the jet strands of her hair back from the wet patch of drool slowly seeping into his shirt. She had always slept heavily, like a true soldier, deep to dream and grumpy to rise, while he often started at phantom noises or spent hours trying to calm the whirl of his thoughts long enough to let him rest; more than once, he had used the slow, even rhythm of her breath to follow her into slumber.

He had so much to tell her. Without her to share it, his life had turned into one long road of nothing but duty stretching to the horizon, but now the details flooded back into his mind, full of colour. The two mares Fergus had given her as a wedding gift were stabled below as his own personal mounts, and Cuno waited back in Denerim, a pampered sire of many litters who would no doubt prove unbearably smug about being right that his mistress had survived.

The news could wait until they had more time, however, when they no longer had to hide her presence from Celene. For now, he had no wish to move her, but the angle of the chaise was beginning to hurt his back and they would both be in far more comfort on the bed.

“Rosslyn? Love, we need to get up, just for a bit.”

A wordless mumble was the only reply, tilting his mouth in a smile as he gave up and hooked one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back. Had she been awake, she would have complained about being carried when she had two perfectly good legs of her own, but as Alistair stood the movement only turned her further into his chest and her hands closed around the folds in his shirt. He tried not to think about how light she had become as he laid her down again a moment later, how much colder.

After pausing only long enough to retrieve Talon, he slipped under the covers beside her and pulled them up until she was tucked in snug up to her chin. Too much did her trusting, easy breathing remind him of their last night together before the battle at Ostagar, the morning when he had unwound his arms from her warm body and left without a word, hoping to keep her safe.

He would not suffer that again.

Careful and quiet, he tore his eyes away and rolled over, reaching for the top drawer of his nightstand where servants had stashed a set of reed pens, paper, and a writing pad. Both of them had duties, he his meetings and she the destruction of Morrigan’s mirror, but as he dipped the nib into the inkpot and sponged off the excess, he breathed deep through his nose, determined not to waste the gift Fate had chosen to grant him. After their trials were over, he would make sure they could both be together again. Forever, this time.

[edupunkn00b]

A Study in Green and Yellow, Dukeceit Week Day 2

Dukeceit Week 2021 Day 2 Prompt: Green/Yellow

[ AO3 ] - Word Count: 881 - CW: none (wut? Edu can write like that?)

I knocked on his door and pressed my ear against the polished yellow wood. I started counting, voicelessly mouthing the words. I closed my eyes, listening, enjoying the little wet popping sounds on the ‘t’s, ‘f’s and ‘x’s. One two three four five six … I gave up at 300. There wasn’t a peep from his room. I stood back, staring at the door. I’d left behind smudges from my hand and the side of my face on the otherwise pristine surface. I wiped them away with the edge of my sleeve, then slowly tried the doorknob. It turned, and I edged the door open.

It opened smoothly, with not even the hint of a squeak from the hinges. “Oh, Jannie? Anybody home?” I called out into the warm, dimly lit room. The bed was made, a soft yellow comforter perfectly positioned on the four-poster bed. An additional thick woolen blanket was neatly folded over the foot of it, and I could see the control and power cord for a heated blanket partially tucked under the pillows. The door to the adjoining bathroom was opened, but the light was off.

The room appeared to be unoccupied. Well, at least it was before I came in. Ha.

Poking my head back into the noticeably colder hallway, I snatched up the buckets of paint I’d left just outside his door, then eased the door shut, waiting until the door was flush against the frame before slowly releasing the doorknob, letting the latch quietly slide into place without even a click.

The inside of the door was polished as well, and my fingerprints dulled the surface of the doorknob and the edges of the wood. I rubbed them out with my sleeve until the wood shone again.

Time to pick a wall.

The wall behind the bed was partially blocked by a big lemon yellow canopy. Crawling up on the bed to get a closer look at the space, my hands and knees sunk into the soft surface. I scrambled off and watched as the blanket and mattress slowly rose back to their original height. I pushed my hand down on the center of the bed, then lifted it up, watching the woosh of the soft material reshaping.

I checked the wall opposite the bed, but it was nearly completely covered by the door to the bathroom, a television and three large framed photographs of—I tilted my head sideways and stepped closer to get a better look.

The first photograph was large, spanning the level of his desktop all the way up to the ceiling. The frame was completely transparent. I tapped the edges and the center of the frame, each tap making a high-pitched click. I pressed my hand against the surface. It was cold. A solid glass frame. Again, I polished away the smudges I left behind with my sleeve. The picture inside was a massive closeup of some sort of undersea creature. At first, the picture looked fuzzy and out of focus, but soon I could make out the details of tiny particles floating in the water. There was some fleshy thing in the center of the frame, all mottled greens and browns and muted black.

The center picture was much smaller, but was protected by the same style of frame. It appeared to be a photograph of a forest floor. Brown and yellow leaf litter covered bits of tree roots, and sunlight seemed to dapple through the trees. As I looked closer though, down in the lower right corner of the picture, there was a tiny yellow snake hiding among the dead leaves.

The last picture was just as large as the first and was the most recognizable. There were swirling splashes of color, blues and golds and greens, all spread out across a black background filled with stars. Some of the stars were brighter than the others and when I looked closely, I could see that the brightest spots were actually multiple stars clumped together. I took a few steps back and slowly edged closer to the picture, catching the moment that my eyes could discern one big bright blob was composed of two or three or more tiny pinpricks of light.

I sighed. Two walls were out.

The surface of the other wall was taken up by a floor to ceiling window, currently covered by thick yellow blackout curtains. The fourth wall was broken by the door, centered between two ten-foot high bookcases that covered the remaining wall space. Frustrated, I sank to the thickly-carpeted floor and stared up at the ceiling.

I stared at the beautiful, pristine, completely canvas-blank ceiling.

I leapt to my feet, snapping a large canvas drop cloth onto the floor. I snapped again for a ladder and a few paint brushes. I slid one arm through each of the thin metal handles on the green and yellow paint cans, then I clambered up the rickety aluminum ladder. Perched at the top, I swung one leg onto the other side, straddling the top, prying open and then hooking the paint cans on the little rubber-tipped protrusions on either side. I pulled out the largest brush with a flourish, running my fingers over the silky edges of the bristled end.

I had work to do. ---

taglist: @demon9980 @the-dead-and-the-decaying @psychedelicships @dukeceitweek

[redemptionbaby]

The Altar is Calling | Arthur/Reader| Pt.3

Pairing: Demon!Arthur Morgan/Reader

word count: 1305 

Notes: oh geez here it is. I don’t think this is necessarily well developed, which is why I’ve been holding onto it for so long, but I’m just gonna post it lmao

When you next awake, Arthur is no longer next to you. The curtains of the canopy bed are still drawn, which is probably why you slept in so late. You assume it’s late. Arthur is already up. Then again, there is no day and night in hell, is there? You hear an accusatory tone from a nearby room.

“Oh, so first you don’t tell me you got hitched, now you won’t even let me meet her? This is the kinda thanks I get, after raising you like my own son?”

You get up and find the room has changed, the illusion no longer present. The walls and floor are a deep blackish blue like obsidian, the ceiling glimmers with embedded gems that seem like they’re supposed to emulate stars. The furniture is matching, and there’s too-red light coming through the gaps in the drapes. There’s a vanity against the far wall, on it is your nightgown neatly folded, next to another piece of folded clothing. Interestingly enough, it’s white, with intricate embroidered symbols and motifs you don’t recognize.

You slip it on to find it comes to your knees, and it looks to be a tunic or dress, very loose, but it would have been much scarier if it was perfectly form-fitting. You use a nearby basin and pitcher to give your face a quick wash, and you notice after licking your lips that the water tastes very… mineral-y. 

“Now, I didn’t say anything like that. She just so happens to be asleep right now ‘sall.”

“I see-- tired her out on the wedding night? That’s my boy!” This statement is accompanied by haughty laughter and embarrassed blustering. 

You pad your way to the door and carefully open it, hoping not to make too much noise. The door opens directly into a sort of sitting room or foyer; Arthur’s back is to you while another demon is casually standing across from him. Arthur is again in his loincloth, hair still mussed from last night, while the other demon is dressed in a cleanly pressed white shirt and a black and red vest, not unlike how you’d see your father’s friends dressed at social events. 

“Now, I didn’t mean it like that—“ 

The other demon’s eyes flicker away from Arthur and behind him, landing squarely on you as you come up to them, gingerly grabbing onto Arthur’s wrist to try to get his attention. He swivels his waist to see you standing at his side, in the dress he picked out for you, no less. The other demon’s eyes light up kindly, his face stretching in a smile that shows his crow’s feet, but at the same time his expression is not unlike the one you make when you notice the waiter walking by is finally carrying the tray with your order on it. 

“Oh, now Arthur, you didn’t say she was such a sweet little thing! Salutations, young lady!” The demon rather assertively grabs the hand at your side, kneeling somewhat to get at eyes level with you and kissing the back of your hand. He waits for a moment, in quite an obvious fashion, before you yip out your name and introduction just like you do at all of your mother’s parties, sounding like a little dog in the most polite way possible. The demon barks out another startling laugh before standing back up to full height and looking down on you. 

“Call me Dutch, miss. I’m an old friend o’ yer husband’s,”

“Old is right—“

“And by that, he means I can recollect all sorts of stories from when he was a snot nosed brat!”

“C’mon now, that ain’t necessary— darlin’, you hungry? I’m sure our guest is just on his way out. Now ya seen her, y’happy old man?” 

“I outta punish you for speaking to me like that, in front of a lady, no less. But seein’ as it’s your honeymoon, I’ll forgive you and get out of your hair,” Dutch turns back to you with a less-than-innocent expression. 

“Delighted to meet you, little lady. This fool ever give you any trouble, you’ll be sure to give ol’ Dutch a call, won’t you?” He disappears before you in a mass of dark, smokey tendrils that appear at his feet, leaving behind a small card with a sigil on it. You hear Arthur mutter drama queen under his breath at the display. 

Upon picking up the card and thinking of where to put it, you discover that your dress has pockets, making this pretty much the coolest day of your life. 

—————-

For breakfast, you have a bowl of berries and pomegranate seeds with a side of fresh cream, honey, and oats. Despite its simplicity, it tastes absolutely decadent. In between spoonfuls of food, Arthur lets you play with his hands, exploring the lines in his knuckles and palms, stroking his claws, fiddling with his rings. He’s unoccupied by food, and seems content to let you do everything at your own pace. Inwardly, he’s overjoyed by this simple act of intimacy. 

“Do you need to eat? Is that like, an insensitive question?” He chuckles. 

“Nah, not really. Though there are a few things I like to eat for fun.” He winks with a kind of playboy smile he hasn’t made in decades, then immediately cringes at his own attempt to be smooth (considering just the other night, he cried his way out of consummating his own damn marriage). Luckily, the innuendo seems to have gone entirely over your head. 

“So why do you have the food? For guests?”

“They’re offerin’s. Ain’t as much as they used to be, but some mortals still worship us demons. I even get prayers every now and again, if you can believe it.” He sighs listlessly. “Food don’t go bad down here, so it just piles up. ‘M glad someone can enjoy it.”

He reaches across the table and grabs your chin, using his thumb to wipe some cream from your bottom lip. Your tongue darts out to lick his thumb, a bold move on your part, and one which clearly surprises him. His eyes are wide and his eyebrows raised for a moment, before his face relaxes into a lazy smirk, and he chuckles. Your face heats up, and you lower your eyes, avoiding his gaze. He can’t help but keep staring anyways-- he loves to see the pink on your darling little face.

“So what’s the verdict, little wife? You stayin’ down here with me, or goin’ back up to your own kind?” He can’t hide the disappointment in his voice at the idea of you leaving. Your eyes flick back up to him in a way that reminds him that you’re more than meets the eye.

“This-- you. You win hands down. Of course, I’d like to not leave my parents totally hanging, if possible. They’d be heartbroken if I just vanished…” Arthur’s smile reaches his eyes at your words, he gets up so quickly he nearly knocks over his chair, taking a couple quick strides before scooping you up by the waist. You grip his shoulders instinctively as he lifts you much higher than you’ve ever been lifted, twirling you, before handling you to sit on his forearm. You’re at eye level with him now, with his free hand on the back of your neck, and he leans in to plant a sweet kiss on your lips, coaxing you into opening your mouth so he can get his tongue in. You feel like he’s trying to devour you, and he only breaks the kiss to further pepper your face with kisses. The adoration, the worship, the gratitude, the love in his eyes is unmistakable. 

“‘Course we can work something out, angel. You’ve got my word.”

You wake up in your bed at home.

[sandalwoodandjasmine]

There’s nowhere else I’d rather be

Iskandar pulls aside the curtain.

The view of the palace courtyard down below beguiles his senses: Between colonnades of white marble, a landscape of water and light presents itself to his view, illuminated by both the moon above and the dozens of candle-lit lamps beneath.

He sighs, then mutters. “This is perfect. I can’t think of anything more perfect.”

In his back, his husband drops onto the spacious bed with its heavily embroidered brocade coverings. His head lands between the copious amount of cushions spread over the bed’s top end. He lets his eyes wander over the dark ebony furniture, the crystal chandelier and the swings dangling from the ceiling, as well as the white marble archways separating the main area from the oriel leading to the balcony.

“It’s quite something,” Antoni agrees. “Explains why they are charging a fortune for just a single weekend.”

Iskandar turns around, smiling bashfully. “Well, it’s my birthday…”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Antoni explains. “As far as I’m concerned, any amount of money is worth having a good time with my husband. You love it, I love it. Easy.”

A warm glow settles on Iskandar’s cheeks as he beholds his husband, sprawled out on the bed. He simply cannot get enough of the magnificent sight that is his jaan.

Iskandar had asked him that they arrive at the Lake Palace in Udaipur in style, both of them dressed in deceptively simple, but precious sherwanis - the cloth hand-picked by Iskandar and custom-tailored to fit them - and light cotton churidar pyjamas. Antoni had initally startled, but eventually agreed; it was Iskandar’s birthday after all, and the stay at the Lake Palace his wish.

He looks so good in Indian clothes, Iskandar thinks wistfully. If only he didn’t have to sandbag Toni into wearing them every single time…

“We will have a good time, jaan,” Iskandar agrees as he saunters towards the bed and plops onto it next to Antoni. He leans in to breathe a kiss on his cheek. “I’m sure of it.” He rolls onto his back, crosses his arms behind his head and lets his eyes wander, taking in their regal surroundings. “All about this seems to have leaped straight out of a romance story.”

“Yeah?” Antoni asks, craning his neck to peer at Iskandar.

“Absolutely!” Iskandar insists. “There’s the lake itself, with its languid rhythm,” he explains, angling his thumb on his outstretched palm to indicate the first item on a list. “The palace, which is no less than a fairy-tale castle built out of white marble. The night, with its full moon in front of a star-spangled dome of black. Our room, which is…”

“Pretty corny?” Antoni suggests.

Iskandar throws the other man a puzzled look.

“We have a canopy bed, Iska! A freestanding bathtub! And a swing that’s mounted on the ceiling. A swing!”

Iskandar laughs. “Well yes, we do. But romances, and all their paraphernalia, no matter how corny, never lose their appeal. And anyway,” he angles his still outstretched ring finger. “Our room, which is maybe pretty corny, but is also a regal chamber where once rajas and ranis  recited poems, played the sitar or the sarod, and abandoned themselves to other worldly pleasures. And then…” A hungry glint flashes up in Iskandar’s eyes, and his little finger - the last to still stand - bows down. “… and then there is my handsome husband, who is dressed like royalty of begone times himself…”

“Who you dressed up this way!” Antoni defends himself.

“Who I dressed up to look like royalty from begone times, and who reclines on our bed, amid silken cushions and on and equally rich bed cover…”

Antoni playfully rolls his eyes, but cannot help but grin. “You are a poet after all, Isk. You might deny it, and tell me I’m the poet between the two of us, but when put in the right environment, lyrical words flow out of your mouth.”

“I can’t deny that this place, and everything about it… stimulates my imagination.”

A mischievous grin blooms up on Antoni’s mouth. He sits up on the bed. “Why don’t we stimulate your imagination some more?”, he suggest. The expression on his face grows more wicked, and he adds: “My prince?”

Iskandar’s eyebrows clamber up in surprise. “My prince?”, he asks. What is his husband up to?

“You said it yourself,” Antoni explains. He spreads out his arms in a wide gesture to encompass their surroundings. “We are in a place worthy of rajas and ranis. It’s a lovely night. I feel that I must be in the presence of a prince of old.”

Iskandar cocks his head, amusement bubbling up in his chest. “Maybe you are…”

“Would you like me to draw you a bath, your majesty?” Antoni asks. Iskandar notices that he has banished the cocky tone from his voice, and instead has clothed it in mellow notes. He looks up at Iskandar out of doe eyes, half-veiled under long lashes, giving him an air of gentle meekness.

“I…” Iskandar mutters, dumbfounded. He’s thrown off guard by the sudden change in his husband’s demeanour. At the same time, he can’t deny that he finds it arousing. A pleasant tingling spreads all over his skin and makes its way south. Still lost for words, all he can do is nod.

Antoni gets up from the bed, and smooths down the fabric of his sherwani. “Why don’t you sit, while I prepare your bath?” he suggests. Becoming aware of Iskandar’s temporary paralysis, he hurries to his side, gently guides him to one of the heavily cushioned armchairs.

Iskandar lets himself sag down, his eyes following Antoni’s movements in amazement. His husband walks over to the freestanding bathtub that is separated from the rest of the room only by a transparent room divider. He opens the gilded faucet, and a steady stream of water pours forth. Vapour begins to rise and floods over the rim of the tub.

Mesmerised, Iskandar observes how Antoni lets his hand wander over the array of bottles containing bath oil. With his finger, he traces the labels until he comes across one that seems to satisfy him. Antoni unscrews the cap and leads the bottle to his nose. He hums appreciatively before he pours liberal amounts of the oil into the tub.

Soon, the smell of sandal and jasmine deluges Iskandar’s senses. His eyes fall shut. He cannot help but groan with pleasure. The tingling of anticipation morphs into a warm glow, almost an ache that lights up his body from inside.

“My prince. Let me help you undress.”

Iskandar blinks, and sure enough, Antoni is kneeling right next to him, looking up at him expectantly. Iskandar never even noticed how he made his way from the tub to his side.

Antoni’s fingers gently brush against Iskandar’s thigh, waiting for him to react. Not trusting his voice, Iskandar just nods. His heart beating wildly in his chest, he gets up.

Antoni is there immediately. He lifts the maroon silk stole from Iskandar’s shoulder and carefully places it on the coffee table that centers the seating arrangement. The heavy necklace made from several rows of golden beads follows. Then, the thick, jewel studded bracelets are gently stripped off Iskandar’s wrists. Next, nimble fingers untie the buttons of his sherwani.

His husband’s touch is so soft, almost imperceptible. Like a dandelion seed that brushes one’s cheek. Iskandar observes how one button after the other pops open. He licks his lips, and finds them terribly dry. His eyes are glued to Antoni who is veiled in a bloomy haze, lending the scene an oneiric quality. Is it the light cast by the old-fashioned chandelier? Is it his own tipsy state of mind? He can’t tell.

Antoni keeps his eyes lowered, never meeting Iskandar’s gaze. As his fingers reach the last of the buttons in the area of Iskandar’s midriff, he murmurs: “Please raise your arms a little, my prince, so that I may take off your coat.”

Iskandar obeys. Antoni’s hands find Iskandar’s collarbones and slip underneath his sherwani to loosen it and pull it back. As soon as Iskandar’s arms come free, Antoni steps around Iskandar, grabs the sherwani’s shoulder pieces and lifts it off Iskandar. He folds it neatly, and hangs it over the backrest of the armchair Iskandar was sitting in.

Now Iskandar stands there,  left with nothing but a thin cotton vest and a pair of churidar trousers. He shivers lightly. Are the goosebumps that have risen up all along his arms the result of him being divested of his coat? Or is the charged atmosphere, the electric tension that has built between him and his husband that provoked them?

“May I…?” Antoni asks. His eyes flit up, checking Iskandar’s expression for the briefest moment, as if he was trespassing into forbidden territory.

“Yes, please,” Iskandar replies, his voice quivering with tension.

A pleased little smile blooms up on Antoni’s lips. He wriggles the vest free from the trousers, then dives his hands underneath it. Drawing his fingers up from Iskandar’s loins, all along his torso, he pulls the vest upwards, and soon it comes free, too. Then he is on his knees again, and pulls at the string of Iskandar’s churidar. The knot holding them together comes open without much resistance and they fall to Iskandar’s ankles. Before Antoni frees him off them entirely, however, he first…

The gaze Antoni throws him then, just before his fingers slip underneath the elastic band of his briefs… An expression both bashful, looking up to Iskandar for assurance, and simultaneously wicked. Iskandar bites his lips and a barely suppressed moan escapes from between them.  The sound must have encouraged Antoni, because now the briefs slide over Iskandar’s hips, no more hesitance shown.

What they reveal doesn’t come as a surprise. Iskandar stands to attention. Antoni is playing him all too well. While his briefs slide down his thighs and calves, the breath that Iskandar had been holding wheezes out of his lungs in a hiss. As much as his swollen member is desperate for more stimulation, Antoni clearly doesn’t intend to give it. Not now, anyway.

Instead, he pulls the churidar and briefs over Iskandar’s ankles as if undressing his prince was his only job. “You may step out of them now, my prince.”

Iskandar does as he’s told, and steps out of the last of his clothes. Standing there as he is, stark naked, he waits for what his husband has in store for him next. He resolves to play along, and be the illustrious Indian prince for tonight.

“Your bath is over here,” Antoni murmurs and points in the direction of the tub.

Iskandar nods. “Yes, of course!” he agrees. A bath. This is about taking a bath, he reminds himself. At least for now…

Pulling his shoulders back, puffing out his chest, he struts towards the tub, climbs the steps to the low dais on which it is placed. From the corners of his eyes, he can see Antoni checking him out subtly. Iskandar checks the water’s temperature with his fingers and, finding it to his liking, steps in first with his toes, then slowly submerging his entire leg. Then the other. He lowers himself into the water and soon finds himself engulfed by a pleasant warmth up to his torso.

Already, Antoni is by his side. Kneeling next to the tub, he begins massaging Iskandar’s scalp. Driving his fingers into Iskandar’s curls, Antoni rubs small circles against the skin of Iskandar’s head, applying just the right amount of pressure. He’s too good at this. From the top of Iskandar’s head, Antoni’s fingers wander downward, towards the spot behind Iskandar’s ears, then along his spine. Iskandar cannot help but groan when his husband’s hands part, following the curve of where his neck leads into his shoulders.

“Your shoulders are so tense,  my prince,” Antoni scolds him. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I know,” Iskandar murmurs sheepishly. “The affairs of state…”

“I don’t care about how much work those useless ministers burden you with, or how many lords and ladies try to talk you ears off with their insignificant concerns,” Antoni blisters. “They should know better than to tax their prince beyond his limits. You may be strong, and disciplined. You are capable of great things. But even you are just human. It serves no one if you are tense and exhausted from burning the candle at both ends!”

“Ministers?” Iskandar chuckles. “Lords and ladies? You must be speaking about great councillor Hackett, huh?”

“The very one!” Antoni huffs. “He’s driving you too hard! You are a war hero!”

Iskandar pulls up one eyebrow in amusement. “I am?”

“My prince, it was you who saved us from… from…” Antoni’s eyes turn into slits as he tries to come up with a scenario.

“The Reaper Sultanates?” Iskandar suggests, grinning.

“Yes, thank you,” Antoni agrees. “My knowledge of Indian history is a bit sketchy.”

Iskandar lifts his hand out of the water and strokes Toni’s arm. “You’re doing great, jaan.”

“So anyway, yes,” Antoni nods, slipping back into character. “Thanks to your valor and leadership, our kingdom could fend off theses invaders and prevent them from slaughtering our people. But still, the council treats you as their errand boy!”

“The council can be a pain sometimes…”

“And I have to make up for it by working all that tension and all those cricks out of your muscles every night!” Antoni splutters.

“I’m lucky to have you,” Iskandar sighs. “What would I do without you taking care of me? Working my sore muscles? Drawing my bath, just as I like it? Robing and disrobing me. Lathering my hair, massaging my scalp. Oiling my skin…”

“Somebody needs to look after you, if those in offices of power won’t do it,” Antoni whispers against the shell of Iskandar’s ear.

“You’re too good to me,” Iskandar protests.

“If nobody will treat you as you deserve it, then I’ll have to make up for it all. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, my prince.”

“Nothing?” Iskandar muses, drawing his hand over the white bubbles floating atop the surface of the water, etching lines into them that vanish almost immediately as new bubbles flood into the empty spaces.

“Nothing,” Antoni repeats hotly against Iskandar’s ear.

“There’s something…” Iskandar shakes his head. “No.”

“Speak, my prince.”

Iskandar shakes his head again, more vehemently this time. “I don’t think it’s appropriate of me…”

“You mustn’t let what’s on your mind be unspoken,” Antoni insists.

“But…”

“I demand it!”

Iskandar chews his lip, feeling terribly self-conscious all of a sudden. How can he ask this of his servant? Will he not abuse his power, as his overlord, and compel him to do something he wouldn’t willingly consent to?

“Please, my prince…” Antoni repeats, cupping Iskandar’s jaw with his palm, caressing his cheek with his thumb.

“Would you… would you join me?” Iskandar asks breathlessly.

“Join you?” Antoni echoes, his eyes going wide. “Join you in the bath?”

“Well, yes,” Iskandar stutters, immediately following it up with: “Well, no! That’s why I didn’t want to say it, it isn’t my place to ask!”

“I will!” Antoni quickly retorts.

“Please, don’t,” Iskandar pleads. “It’s not an order. It wasn’t meant like that. I don’t want you to feel obliged to do something you’d rather not.”

“But my prince, I want to do it,” Antoni protests. “I want to please you in every way I can.”

Iskandar shakes his head, looking down embarrassed. “I don’t want you to do things just to please me…”

“Well then,” Antoni remarks,  perking up his chin.

“Well then?” Iskandar slowly repeats, frowning.

“I’m doing it for myself. I could use a hot bath, too.”

“Oh, is it?” Iskandar asks, feeling his lips curl in mirth again. Antoni is being such a cheeky servant…

He’s already on his feet, marching towards the nearby wooden folding screen.

“What are you doing?” Iskandar wonders.

“If I’m going to undress, I will need some privacy, won’t I?” Toni asks from behind the screen as he starts unbuttoning his sherwani.

“But of course, yes!” Iskandar quickly agrees. It is only right then that he averts his gaze, affording his servant what he surely deserves. If only the folding screen wasn’t carved, the intricate floral patterns etched into the panels revealing much of what is going on behind the screen…

As much as he wants, Iskandar cannot keep himself from stealing glances at the screen. The sherwani is already hung over one of the panels. Soon, the churidar trousers follow. Bit by bit, his servant’s form is revealed. What a fine form it is…

“I will need you to close your eyes, my lord,” Antoni announces.

“Most certainly!” Iskandar calls, reluctantly obeying.

Naked feet pad over the stone floor. “My prince, can you shift a little?” Antoni murmurs, before Iskandar feels him slipping into the tub at his back.

Antoni can’t fully suppress a groan of pleasure as hot water embraces his body. But it’s only a split second before he’s back in character. “Are you comfortable like this, my lord?”

“Very,” Iskandar hums, leaning back against the other man.

Antoni’s hands are back at Iskandar’s shoulders, working the knots and tensions that the hot water hasn’t been able to ease.  “I want to make sure you are absolutely comfortable, as relaxed as you can possibly be.”

Iskandar’s fingers run up from Toni’s thighs to his knees, and back down again. “Can’t remember the last time I was as relaxed as this.”

“Good,” Antoni murmurs, and leans in to place a gentle kiss against the side of Iskandar’s neck.

The fine hair at the back of Iskandar’s neck rise up in response to that kiss. He sucks in a breath of air and his hands clench around Antoni’s thighs as his body reacts to the stimulation.

“Am I being too forward, my lord?” Antoni asks while he goes in for another kiss. This time, he lingers. His eyes peering upward to observe Iskandar’s reaction, Antoni lets his tongue venture out of his mouth and begins to explore Iskandar’s neck.

“Ahhhh….” Iskandar’s eyes roll upward as he moans in pleasure. “Quite forward, yes,” he agrees.

“Do you want me to stop then?” Antoni asks as he drags his tongue upward along Iskandar’s neck and towards his jaw.

“You’ll have to,” Iskandar groans. His prior arousal is back, and it is back with a vengeance, lighting his entire body on fire. “Unless…”

Antoni kisses along Iskandar’s jaw “Unless?”

“Unless you want your prince to… to lose his mind and melt in your hands…” Iskandar exhales.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want?” Antoni murmurs. “As I said, absolutely comfortable, as relaxed as possible.”

“You don’t know what you are wishing for,” Iskandar blurts out. “My body is already reacting to you. If you continue down this path, I won’t be able to control myself.”

“Then don’t. I’m not expecting you to control yourself,” Antoni replies, driving his fingers deep into Iskandar’s thick curls to pull his head against his lips.

“I don’t… I don’t want…” Iskandar stammers.

“You don’t need to hold back.”

“I can’t…”

“What is holding you back, my prince?” Antoni urges.

Iskandar shakes his head. “Just because I’m prince… it doesn’t mean… you are still your own person, and I won’t abuse my power…”

“What if you wouldn’t be abusing your powers?” Antoni asks, licking Iskandar’s ear. “What if I wanted it, too? What if wanted you to lose control?”

“Oh my…” Iskandar sighs, and his palms wander from Antoni’s thighs all the way to his buttocks. “I want you,” he finally admits, and squeezes what his fingers have eagerly sought out.

“Then take what you want.”

 ***

 Toweled dry and having slipped into soft and fluffy bathrobes, Antoni and Iskandar decide to cuddle up in the seating niche in the room’s spacious oriel. The casements of the stained glass windows are opened wide to catch the nighttime breeze.

Outside, flocks of clouds drift past the moon. The night is quiet apart from the whisper of the fountains and the cry of the cicadas wafting up from the courtyard below.

Reclining against the cushions in his back, Iskandar hums happily. He pulls his husband, who is laying against his chest, a little closer, burying his mouth in Antoni’s hair.

“I didn’t know how much I needed this,” he declares.

“Yes,” Antoni chuckles. “You were really into this, that much was clear.”

“Not like I tried to hide it,” Iskandar retorts.

“The prince thing really got you going, didn’t it?”Antoni asks, smirking.

A blush spreads on Iskandar’s cheeks, spreading over his entire face “Well…”

“Make no mistake!” Antoni clarifies. “I found that extremely hot. The way you let go and just… claimed what’s yours.”

Iskandar arches his brows. “You are mine?”

“Heart, body and soul,” Antoni simply retorts.

Iskandar shakes his head. “Oh Antoni,” he murmurs and places a kiss against Antoni’s hair. Then he sighs.

Antoni cranes his neck to check on his husband. “What’s up? Did something happen?” he wonders.

“No, not at all,” Iskandar mollifies. “Just. Everything…”

“Everything?” Antoni prods, looking puzzled.

“Yes, everything. About this moment. This life,” Iskandar explains. “That we should actually be here. That we should live to see this day, to experience this moment. It still feels unreal, sometimes.”

“It does,” Antoni agrees.

“When we were in the midst of it all…” Iskandar shakes his head incredulously.  “Wouldn’t’ve thought it possible.”

“Nah,” Antoni snorts. “Cards were stacked against us. Pretty fucked up odds.”

“Not in my wildest dreams…” Iskandar continues, his voice quivering. “The best outcome… almost too much to hope for…”

“… was to go out in a blaze of glory and take these bastards along with us, ridding the galaxy of their existence,” Antoni finishes Iskandar’s sentence.

“Yes,” Iskandar croaks.

“Yet here we are. Pretty much a miracle.”

Iskandar nods. “Every day since has been a gift.”

Antoni sighs and cuddles up closer to his husband. “It has. I know that I’m certainly treating each one like the precious thing it is.”

“Huh. Yes,” Iskandar agrees. “What boggles my mind is this. Not only did we live, both of us, but we were given so much more. Blessings that… could and maybe well should be spread out among a dozen people. Azadi and Bashir entered our relationship and we’ve since experienced love so intense and deep, I didn’t think it possible. And then of course… our children arrived.”

Antoni smiles. “Our little rays of sunshine.”

“It seems almost too much…”

“What, no!” Antoni protests. “For everything we’ve gone through, it only seems fair, ok?”

“The war, the Reapers,” Iskandar continues pensively. “Sometimes, it feels like all of it happened in another lifetime.”

“It’s true. The contrast couldn’t be more… extreme.”

A cloud drifts in front of the moon and for a few short seconds, the moon disappears. But soon enough, the cloud has passed and no longer mars the moon’s refulgence. In another time, another life… entities much more ominous overshadowed the moon. Overshadowed the sun and stars and the entire sky. Destruction rained down from above, as it simultaneously did on all worlds, all over the galaxy.

An echo of that shadow must have travellled over Iskandar’s face, because Antoni whispers. “Don’t let the memory of those times trouble you, Isk. It’s in the past. We beat them. We survived. We built a life for ourselves and we get to savour our victory, with every day, with every breath.”

“We’ve not even turned forty yet, Antoni. How can this be?,” Iskandar asks incredulously. “From my childhood spent between space and India, to Brain Camp, to joining the Alliance and the N7 program. Getting to know you. The Skyllian Blitz, Akuze, our marriage. Taking command of the Normandy, being made the first human Spectre. Saren. Sovereign. Alchera. Project Lazarus and Cerberus. Horizon. The war. The catalyst. Dying a second time and… being brought back a second time. Becoming an admiral. Azadi and Bashir. An then of course Rey, Vijay, Aman and Asha. Ambra. Vivek…”

“If you put it like that… we’ve actually had pretty eventful lives so far,” Antoni hums.

“Eventful lives?” Iskandar asks, shaking his head. “More like, experiences worth ten lifetimes, maybe more.”

“Well, yes,” Antoni concedes. “Don’t think I’ll mind if things turn out not quite as eventful, going forward.”

“Hey!” Iskandar protests, wagging his finger. “I’ve just been promoted to the rank of an admiral. One of the youngest admirals in the history of the Alliance! My career has barely started!”

“Barely started?” Antoni snorts. “If the Reaper War wasn’t your endgame, I’m not sure I want to know what is.”

“Just wait and see,” Iskandar replies, perking up his chin.

“Course I will!”

“Yes. Of course you will,” Iskandar agrees. He grabs Antoni’s hand, laying his palm flat against Antoni’s before he entwines their fingers. “You always do. You always did. All this time, throughout it all, you’ve been by my side.”

“Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[glorious-blackout]

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part One

(Should probably think of a better title at some point but for now I’ve got nothing)

@rock-n-roll-fantasy It’s about time I finally stopped teasing and started posting something, isn’t it? 😅 I should be able to post Part Two tonight as well and technically Part Three was the initial teaser (which due to being written beforehand doesn’t line up as perfectly as I’d like, but I’m too lazy to change it right now) so I’ll link those as soon as I can. Hopefully the rest won’t take too long! I’m now at the stage of having spent so much time thinking about this behemoth that I’m a little sick of it, but I hope you enjoy it!  🥰

Part Two, Part Three

Mark thinks he could live a thousand lifetimes and still never get tired of this view.

Not so much the hotel itself, though he supposes that makes for an impressive enough sight. With its sleek curves carved into smooth cream-coloured stone - designed to resemble a natural rocky outcrop rather than a man-made construction - it’s little surprise that guests willingly travel through the inky blackness of space to rest here for a while. Beneath his perch on the hotel’s impressive outdoor balcony, a turquoise pool stares invitingly back, the shimmering waters undisturbed by so much as a breeze. In the distance, resting in a cove upon the roof, he can hear the distant chatter of guests enjoying a luncheon at the newly opened taqueria. The restaurant itself is concealed from view by an overhanging blood-red canopy, but he can visualise the diners clearly, paying a fortune for the best food the moon has to offer while gazing out towards nearby gentrified apartments and undulating valleys.

The taqueria represents the newest addition to the premises. The hotel already plays host to a pair of Italian and Japanese restaurants, alongside an all-you-can-eat buffet for those who prefer to stuff their faces without judgement, but all three have been outshone of late by the new arrival. Mark had pursued the outlandish idea following a drunken remark from one guest who decried the absence of good Mexican food on the moon. If he’d realised that said taqueria would go on to become the prime topic of several mind-numbing meetings then perhaps he’d have let the joke die without further comment, but he himself had been too drunk at the time to possess that level of foresight.  

By this point he’s so sick of hearing about it that he had to be physically forced to read the glowing reviews upon the restaurant’s grand opening. He would have been much happier simply relegating them to the nearest bin, though admittedly the less favourable articles had given him a good chuckle. Buried among the countless four-star reviews had been a particularly unimpressed critic who managed to fashion a terrible pun out of ‘taco’, ‘taqueria’ and ‘tacky’ for his headline, before awarding Mark’s efforts with a pitiful two stars. Mark had been so tickled by it that he’d immediately ordered the article to be framed and hung on his office wall.

Pulling his gaze away from the hotel itself, he draws his attention to the nearby town which has cropped up in recent years, predating the hotel by only a matter of months. The surrounding area once served as a camping ground for scientific projects, populated by scattered white tents and forklift trucks, but little trace remains of those good intentions now. Mark’s surprised he’s even allowed to lay eyes upon the town, so reserved is it for the richest of the rich. Gaudy apartments have sprung up around a narrow, elevated highway like overgrown weeds, with more and more buildings creeping outwards as the years go by. No doubt it won’t be long before his view is completely obscured by giant lumps of steel and tall windows. The topmost floors carry a price-tag of millions, or so he’s been told; their suites offering splendid views of the deep canyons on the lunar surface and the towering space station on the outskirts. Those properties must be a haven for nosy old dears enjoying their unearned retirement, content to sit by the windows as they watch the rockets come and go. In quieter moments, Mark likes to imagine the casual conversations that must take place on those uppermost floors as he ponders how the other half live: “Look love, there’s another one coming in now!”, “Russian or American?”, “Think it might be English, actually...”, “Oh, not those bastards!”  

Mark had been offered a first-floor apartment prior to his arrival, though he suspects the proposal had been made in jest. The eye-watering price-tag for rent alone had been enough to persuade him that his humble suite on the hotel’s fifth floor would be perfectly adequate. He can’t say he’s ever regretted that decision; the holier-than-thou attitude of the locals is insufferable enough without him being forced to live among them. Besides, this way he’s guaranteed a better view.

A droning hum draws his eyes skyward and a tight smile tugs at his lips. Just on time. The new arrival cruises lazily across the thin atmosphere, the rocket’s hull a deep fire-engine red as thrusters spill black smoke and bursts of flame from the rear. A private vessel, most likely. Company starships don’t tend to be so kitsch for fear of throwing off rich clients with elegant sensibilities. No doubt this particular ship is some playboy’s new toy – the space-age equivalent of a 70s Lamborghini – but so long as it comes bearing plenty of paying guests, Mark certainly isn’t in a position to complain.

He watches as the ship prepares for its final descent, drifting towards the spindly tower situated five miles away, notable for the endlessly flashing lights adorning its clinically white exterior. A lighthouse for the modern age. The thrill of watching spaceships come and go has started to waver in recent years. Knowing that what he’s seeing has less to do with the wonder of space travel and more to do with commercial ventures has sucked the childish wonder from his heart, but there’s still enjoyment to be found in watching the crafts make their landing. Once upon a time, railway-watchers must have gleaned similar amusement from witnessing steam-trains pass by, while they munched on their picnic sandwiches and squinted through binoculars with bleary eyes.  

For all that he’s allowed himself to become jaded by certain aspects of his new home, he finds comfort in knowing that one sight will always ignite wonder in his heart.  

In the far distance, resting peacefully against a vast starry sky, Earth stares back at him in all her glory. No photograph has ever successfully captured the brutal beauty of that hulking mass of deep greens meshed with delicate blues, overlain by thick swirling clouds and snow-capped mountains. His eyes trace the subtle variety of colours, from deep forest-greens to the industrial greys of vast cityscapes, to the golden hues of sun-battered deserts. The view is ever-changing - ever-turning - and he smiles as his eyes latch onto the more populated areas, bathed in pinpricks of golden light like decorations on a Christmas tree.  

It’s impossible to spot England from this distance, tiny as she is and persistently buried beneath swirling clouds. The hulking mass of Africa stretching from equator to pole is visible enough however, and if he squints, he can just about spot the sharp stiletto-heel of Southern Italy. If darkness hasn’t yet fallen back home then it surely will in a matter of hours. He smiles as he imagines amateur astronomers wrapping up warmly in their oversized parkas, dragging themselves and their gear to the peak of the closest hill with the intention of gazing up at the tiny civilization planted on the moon. No doubt he’d have done the same when he was a boy. There’s no specific memory to latch onto, but a vague recollection of glow-in-the-dark stars glued to the ceiling above his bed is assurance enough that he must have made the trek with a cheap telescope of his own once or twice.  

Only, back then there’d been no burgeoning society to gaze upon. The only sight that would have greeted his tiny eyes would have been deep untouched valleys carved into endless grey rock.

It’s unclear how long he spends losing himself to the whims of malformed childhood memories, but when the moment is finally broken by a playful finger poking none-too-gently at his temple, Mark leaps out of his skin with a startled curse. The new arrival can’t help but laugh, seemingly glad to have broken the spell that was threatening to consume his friend. While Mark waits for his heart to stop beating a samba in his chest and grips the smooth railing of the balcony with bone-white knuckles, he somehow manages to resist the urge to fire a sharp “Fuck off Jamie!” in the direction of the man who currently has mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Hey,” Jamie says with a gentle smile once his mirth has settled, raising another finger to Mark’s temple and pressing more softly this time. “You gettin' lost in there again?”

He must be, Mark thinks with a sigh as he clenches his eyes shut and tries to anchor himself in the present. Jamie is often a quiet, comforting presence but he’s never that quiet. The fact that Mark had been too lost in his thoughts to notice his approach is likely a sign that he’s long overdue a nap.

Not wanting to concern his friend more than he already has, Mark offers a sincere smile before responding to his question with an evasive, “Hey yourself.”

If Mark is currently coiled like a tight spring, Jamie exudes a level of carefree bliss which is mercifully contagious. In contrast to Mark’s sharp suit – a reliable mask for the guests’ benefit – Jamie has chosen a pair of battered old jeans and a faded white t-shirt. With his long hair tucked lazily behind one ear, he could almost be mistaken for a glorified sixties hippy, albeit Mark doubts he’d appreciate the comparison. He doesn’t need to act like a professional until the hypothetical curtain rises on their evening set, and it appears that the nervous thrill of performing to a new pack of guests couldn’t be further from Jamie’s mind.  

The reminder that Mark himself is due to sing with the lads tonight sends a flurry of excitement through his veins. Closing his eyes and letting the music flow through his soul while he sings into the mic has always granted him more contentment than the mundane inner-workings of the hotel ever could.

Taking Mark’s ongoing silence as an invitation, Jamie turns to face the hotel complex, resting his back against the metal railing seemingly without a care for the steep drop on the other side. He doesn’t remain quiet for long, and Mark inwardly braces himself for his friend’s teasing when he spots the formation of a shit-eating grin stretching across his handsome features.

“Amazing what you’ve done with the place, it truly is,” Jamie declares, adopting a ridiculous impersonation of the Transatlantic accent that characterises the vast majority of their clientele. A trained ear can easily spot the Yorkshire twang lurking beneath the pompous act, but he almost sells it. Enough to have Mark straining to hold back a grin at any rate. “I’d wager this is a three-star establishment, easily. Might even push it to four if I’m feeling generous!”

“Oh, stop it!” Mark scoffs, stifling his laughter and bowing his head to conceal the sudden heat flaring in his cheeks. Kudos to Jamie, however, for his antics have the no-doubt desired effect of releasing some tension from his tightly-wound frame, and he glances towards his friend only to spot a victorious grin. This isn’t the first time a similar joke has been made at Mark’s expense. The need for him to sell the hotel to prospective guests has resulted in him having to adopt the role of sleazy businessman on multiple occasions. Doing so has always made him feel gross and he doesn’t particularly like himself when he’s caught up in his act, but his friends seem to find amusement in his alter-ego at least.

It is somewhat reassuring that they’re able to recognise that, despite the vast quantity of masks he regularly adorns, he’s still the shy kid they grew up with underneath it all.

“I don’t like playing salesman,” he admits, not for the first time. “It’s just part of me job description.”

“I know that,” Jamie says without missing a beat, squeezing Mark’s shoulder gently and banishing any remaining tension in the process. “I were only messin’.”

Mark smiles and leans into Jamie’s comforting touch. He knows. Of course he does. It can just be difficult to unwind sometimes; the weight of responsibility seems to crush his spine more often than not, leaving little room for levity. The lads help when they can, but for the most part it feels unfair to drag them into hotel business and burden them with his problems. They agreed to hop onto an entirely new celestial body with him for the opportunity to continue playing as a band, not to get caught up in the internal politics of a company they barely understand.

A low grumble disturbs the air, causing the ground beneath their feet to quiver. Two pairs of eyes are drawn to the illuminated space station as the playboy rocket finally makes its descent, the thrusters sputtering like a broken match as they release one final gasp. A mechanical whine resonates in the distance as intricate machinery clamps onto the ship’s hull, keeping her secure while her passengers – ten in total according to the updated guest list – gather their belongings and prepare to disembark.  

This is the moment Mark has been waiting for all morning, whether out of excitement or dread he cannot tell. His time for dawdling has been cut short. In a matter of minutes, he will be forced to make preparations to travel to the space station and greet his new guests upon their arrival. It’s one of many added perks advertised on the hotel’s website; further proof of Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino’s first-class service. Albeit this particular gimmick tends to be reserved only for the richest of guests; those prone to frequenting the suites on the uppermost floors, with transparent ceilings offering an unfiltered view of the stars. Mark can’t remember whose idea it was to have the manager await the guests on disembarkation – certainly not his – but as with a great many details concerning the running of the hotel, he is powerless to refuse his services.

The quickest route to the station is the highway; an elevated road built on steel platforms and sheltered by a curved tunnel, offering a direct means of travel from the station to the hotel while branching side-roads spill onto the town’s quiet streets. No doubt Mark will return that way in a rented limousine rather than his beloved Bentley, but for the outgoing trip he’ll likely elect to walk.  

Pre-dating the highway by several years, an underground tunnel lurks in the underbelly of the town, offering direct passage to the Arrivals Lounge of the station. In the fledgling days of the hotel, Mark had found the tunnel unbearably claustrophobic and suffocating, but as more and more people have elected to drive over time, he has learned to enjoy the solitude that comes with wandering through its depths. The sleek, curved interior with tangerine tiles and dark alleys branching in all directions reminds him of the stylish Kubrick movies which headline the hotel’s vintage cinema, and the perpetual brightness offers a closer approximation of daylight than the spotlights surrounding the hotel ever could. The walk will take much longer than a simple car ride would, but he’s well-practiced at this. What with all the fuss regarding interstellar passports and customs, he could twiddle his thumbs for the next half hour and still have time to greet his guests with feigned politeness at the exact moment they rock up to the station’s exit.

His approaching duties don’t seem to be lost on Jamie either as he gestures to the rocket dismissively before remarking, “Guess that’s a couple more audience members for tonight, then?”

A weak smile tugs at Mark’s lips, and one glance at Jamie’s face implies that he’s not particularly keen on the idea of Mark having to dash off so soon either.

“You could come with me, you know,” he offers, though a sinking feeling in his chest is enough to inform him what the response will be long before he hears it. His friends have never much cared for the managerial responsibilities of the hotel, nor have they ever accompanied him to the station. Why on Earth would Jamie agree to come with him now? “I bet you’d butter ‘em all up with your charm.”

Sure enough, Jamie’s handsome face morphs into an expression of scandalised disgust, not unlike the time Mark and Nick dared him to swallow a platter of oysters without gagging.

“Absolutely not!” he insists, as though Mark has just proposed that he leap naked into the pool and subject himself to the delighted ogling of lunching diners and afternoon gamblers alike. “They can be charmed by me guitar-playin' all they like, but that’s all they’re gettin'. I don’t do meet and greets.”

“Cool and mysterious type, eh?” Mark teases with a wink, a warm sense of pride flooding through him as Jamie scoffs at the accusation. “That’s why you’re their favourite you know.”

“Nah, that’s bollocks. They’re just grateful for the distraction from your ugly mug,” Jamie shoots back with a wicked grin, reaching an arm around Mark and pulling him in close like an overbearing older brother.  

Rather pathetically, Mark finds himself being so grateful for the human contact that the thought of reprimanding Jamie for his remark doesn’t even cross his mind. Besides, while confidence is hardly his strong suit, he’s had enough proposals from female – and occasionally male – guests to pay a visit to their suites after-hours to know that his ‘mug’ is far from undesirable.

It strikes him as odd that he’s never been inclined to take any of those prospective partners up on their offer. As the only unattached member of his friend group, he technically has free rein to spend his nights with whomever he pleases, and yet he’s consistently elected to sleep in his own bed, alone. Perhaps it’s the impermanence of it all that stops him from indulging in drunken mistakes. One-night stands have rarely appealed to him, and there’s little hope of developing a genuine connection with someone who’ll be returning to a different planet within the week.  

That’s not entirely the reason, however. On the rare occasions where he’s been drunk enough to consider an invite fully, his initial emotional reaction has always been one of guilt. The mere thought of inviting a stranger into his bed feels like an unforgivable betrayal. God knows why – he’s sure he would have remembered if he had a sweetheart waiting for him back home – but no degree of logic has ever succeeded in banishing those feelings from his heart. Perhaps he’s simply married to his work, as Matt has often joked, but he’s not sure that explains why he’s prone to feeling so fucking lonely.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” he finds himself asking before he can stop the words from spilling forth, though he doesn’t have the energy to berate himself. He leans further into Jamie’s warm embrace, wondering if the strong arm draped over his shoulder is the only thing keeping his feet on the ground. Without further prompting, Jamie squeezes him a little tighter and Mark’s eyes close in momentary relief.

When he opens them again, he finds that all humour has drained from his friend’s face, only to be replaced with a genuine concern that has guilt gnawing at his bones. There’s no need for him to worry his friends about problems that don’t exist. He’s fine, honestly. It just feels like he isn’t sometimes, and he’s yet to figure out why.

“Sorry mate,” Jamie says finally, sounding like he genuinely means it. An apologetic smile tugs at his lips and Mark returns the gesture with a weak smile of his own which is easier to summon than he expects. “Promised the missus I’d treat her to lunch, and she’ll give me a right bollockin’ if I back out now.”

A spontaneous laugh breaks free from Mark’s chest as he takes a moment to enjoy the mental image of his bandmate being royally admonished by his tiny, yet undeniably formidable wife. If Jamie minds him laughing at his expense, he doesn’t show it, seemingly content to watch as the remaining pressure is lifted off Mark’s shoulders. No doubt it’ll return with a vengeance later, but for now he opts to enjoy this rare moment of lightness; it’s amazing how easily his friends can make him feel human again.  

Much as he wishes they could linger here for the rest of time, teasing each other until one of them finally cracks, the minutes tick by relentlessly to the point where neither of them can justify further procrastination. Jamie has his date with his wife to attend to – having finally arranged to judge if the ‘Information Action-Ratio' is truly deserving of four whole stars – and Mark has his appointment with the new arrivals who will no doubt be hoping to collapse onto their beds for an afternoon of beauty-sleep before enjoying the evening’s festivities. Neither party are likely to be happy if kept waiting without good reason.  

Jamie draws him into a tight hug before Mark can pull away, and he sinks into it with a sigh. The embrace is broken far too soon, forcing Mark to school his expression into one which does not betray his disappointment when Jamie begins the trek back to the hotel’s interior, seeing him off with a wave and a hurried, “See you at rehearsals, yeah?”

Mark waves back and utters an affirmative which he doubts Jamie hears, before watching him vanish behind a set of automatic doors. And then he’s alone again, with only the overhanging Earth for company. Not for long though; his round trip to the station and back should only take three hours at most, and then he’ll be free to spend time with the lads and rehearse the set for the evening. In a matter of hours he’ll be standing onstage – the only place that truly feels like home – flanked by his closest friends as he sings his heart out to a drunken crowd. Whether the guests approve or not is of no concern to him. So long as he gets the opportunity to lose himself in the music, that’s all that truly matters.

For now, he has other responsibilities however. The present moment is not calling upon him to be the frontman of the hotel’s house-band, but rather the renowned owner and manager of the establishment. It may not be a role he particularly enjoys, but it’s one he’s good at and it would serve him well not to neglect his duties. Formal complaints from guests are thankfully a rarity, but he can’t say he appreciates the bollocking he gets whenever one manages to slip through the cracks. The degree of paperwork alone is horrendous.

Fuelled by a newfound conviction, Mark casts one final glace over the impressive view with a resigned sigh, before tearing himself away from his quiet haven to face the music.  

[jenovahh]

The Honey Pot - Ch. 5 - My Name is Honey

“Welcome to the Galvus Estate.”

The words of the Hyur chauffeur pretty much pass in one ear and out the other, for you can’t keep your jaw from dropping at the sight of Zenos’ home.

Wrought in hauntingly beautiful metal, the Galvus Estate sits primly upon the hill that you are at the base of. Well-manicured gardens sprawl out what feels like for malms before the opulent mansion, showcasing a variety of flora which you can tell isn’t native to Hingashi. Multiple fountains of varying styles are sprinkled across the garden, the miniature shows eye catching as the car slowly pulls down the hand laid brick road.

Dark in color, the architecture of the estate differs greatly from any home (or any building in general) of that in Kugane, leaving you to wonder if it’s design hails to their Garlean heritage. As far as you knew, Varis himself was not a native to Kugane; that he immigrated from Garlemald as a child and that for someone with so much power, most of his origins are shrouded in mystery.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you try to not look too shocked; the very vision of a have-not being brought into the world of the haves. The chauffeur seems to realize he’s lost you and continues his drive to the front of the estate. Once there, he puts the car in park and steps out so that he may open your door for you.

He’s a bit late however as you’ve already done the job for him, ignoring his reserved sigh as he reaches to steady the door as you shakily climb out. “Ma’am, you still look very hurt,” He murmurs, holding out his other arm in offering.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You huff, standing on unstable feet, willing yourself to stand upright. A pain shoots up your right leg and you begin to go down, but thankfully the chauffeur’s reflexes are somewhat fast enough to catch you before you collapse entirely.

“Obviously.” He drones, pulling you back up and clutching onto you. “While I’m sure you have your pride Miss, I ask you to remember I too, have a job to do.” He speaks softly, giving you a knowing look. “Not all of us are...built to receive punishment for failure.”

Catching his grave meaning, you nod silently, allowing a bit more of your weight to rest on him. “I’m sorry.” You whisper, watching as he gently closes the door. With a gentle nudge he urges you toward the grand front doors, the brick beneath your soles somehow managing to feel just as fine as it looks. Just as you reach the door it’s opened by a housekeeper, who gives you a slight bow.

“Also for the record...I wasn’t punished. I fought Zenos,”

The chauffeur grips your side tight and you yelp in pain. “I do not know much about your relationship to Lord Zenos, but I advise you against addressing him so casually in public. People like me have only heard hearsay of your coming. You don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea, should it leak out to the public.” He hisses underneath his breath, guiding you past the grand staircase that is in the foyer. “One might guess you are quite close. Employees certainly do not stay within the estate.”

You purse your lips as he guides you through another door, deciding to heed his words. Like it or not, this was the path you were given, not the one you had chosen. From the tone of his voice, you wonder if the chauffeur has seen employees leave work to go home; and never come back.

“Why tell me this?” You ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

“None of us want to work here. But no one wants to struggle either. And just looking at you...I can tell this is the last place you want to be.” He smiles easily, accenting his already handsome features. “Also...you’re the first person to ever thank me. I’ve been workin for these guys for about three years now.”

That brings a smile to your own face. “I hope I get to see you around more often then.” You beam at him, watching as his cheeks tint red.

“You might. I’m Lord Zenos’ personal chauffeur.” He murmurs bashfully, leading you down another hallway. The estate certainly didn’t look this big from the outside, but you did only see the front of it to be fair.

“Got a name?” You ask, eyes wandering over the expensive artwork lining the walls. It seemed Varis certainly wasn’t above flaunting his very obvious wealth.

“Ardbert.” he answers, finally coming to a stop at a door. “We’ve arrived at your rooms. Just give me a moment,” Fishing what looks to be a credit card from his pocket, he presses it to the access point on the outside, the device chirping happily much like the one at the highrise. Leading you in, it is far grander than you ever expected.

“This is the wing where Lord Zenos stays. His room is the floor above this one. Your uniform,”

Ardbert’s words once again become background noise as you look around slack jawed. The walls are painted in a striking red with an elegant, black design strewn across it. Your bed sits against the far wall, now situated in the middle instead of tucked against itl. A canopy sits on top of the bedposts, your mouth forming an “o” as you can see a beautiful landscape painting on its underside.

Your room has a desk tucked against another wall, along with dressers and a walk-in closet. There’s a door that leads to your personal bathroom, which you are ecstatic to get a look at were Ardbert not doing his best to walk you to the bed as you try to crane your neck to look at everything.

“Ma’am,”

“Honey.” You interrupt, flashing him a smile. “None of that ma’am stuff.”

He gives a small smile at that. “Only when we are alone.” He concedes, giving you a none-too-gentle nudge to sit upon the bed. It almost feels like it’s trying to drag you into its cozy grasp as soon as you make contact. “While I don’t know how you managed to get so banged up, I am under strict orders to make sure you rest until the resident doctor is here to check up on you.”

Deciding to not make his job harder on him, you nod and allow the bed to draw you in. “All right. But only ‘cause you asked.” You snicker, appreciating how he always seems to return your smile.

“I appreciate it. And...take care of yourself.”

With that, he makes his way out the door, shutting it behind him.

You lie there and stare absentmindedly at the painting on the canopy, wishing you knew more about brush strokes and techniques to appreciate it better. Instead, you just lie there and let your bones relax, the pain mostly a distant soreness. They had given you some pretty strong painkillers, and from the look of the doctors’ faces, you’d think you had come from the brink of death and not a little spar with the Galvus heir.

That bastard.

Just thinking about him sets your blood to boiling, wishing you could land another fist in his face. And in his stomach. A swift kick in the balls to add insult to injury.

The train of thought pulls your lips into a sadistic smile, imagining taking advantage of your newfound position to get some good payback on Zenos yae Galvus. Even he himself said your place as his bodyguard was merely for show; nothing but pure looks. He gave you a position where you could be kept close with little question as to why, free for him to use you as he wished.

Even though the situation had not turned out exactly as planned, you still could find some humor in it. You could already imagine the look on his face when you finally did him and his father in, wiping their crime from the face of the star.

A knock on the door jolts you from your plotting, shouting for whoever is outside to enter. The Miqo’te doctor you saw yesterday strolls in, stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck. “Greetings.”

“Hello.” You return, eyes fixated on him as he moves to stand beside your bed. Did everyone who worked for the Galvuses speak so properly?

“How are you feeling?” He asks, hands pulling his stethoscope from around his neck, placing them in his fuzzy ears.

“Not too bad. Bit sore, but nothing another night’s rest won’t fix.” You reply, watching his expression turn into one of pure confusion as he conducts his light examination.

“A bit...sore you said?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah. Why?”

His features pinch together as much as possible, before he pulls away. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Though I must say...you have quite a few people in shock.” He finally answers, relaxing his face.

You tilt your head in confusion this time, watching as his eyes dart toward the door.

Leaning closer, he begins to whisper, “I know you’re new here, but I don’t think you grasp what you did.” His ears twitch nervously, as if searching for any foreign noise. “That you faced Lord Zenos is shocking enough...but that you lived to tell the tale has anyone who knows absolutely floored.”

“What? He doesn’t have any lackeys worth sparring?” You question, shifting to sit yourself up, forcing the doctor to sit back.

“There are very few....very few people who have dueled Lord Zenos. Not all have lived. And those that have were instead given to Lord Varis, to protect him.” The doctor explains, constantly glancing at the door. “You’ve fought him, lived, and walked away with bruised ribs at the worst. Others have had their bones entirely broken,”

“Speaking ill of me, are you?”

The doctor freezes up with fear, tail frizzing as Zenos steps into the room. Somehow he seems far too large for it, despite all the ceilings being noticeably higher than Doman architecture. “O-Of course not, Lord Zenos,” the doctor trembles, sparking your anger.

“He was telling me what a shitty employer I have.” You interject, meeting Zenos’ cool gaze with a fiery glare, inflamed further as his lips pull into an easy smile.

“I see your time in bed has done little for your tongue.” He drawls, looming closer. Your body rises naturally, kneeling in the plush covers so you may jump up at any moment.

“I’ve enjoyed my time in bed. It means I don’t have to deal with you.” You sneer, teeth bared as he stands at the foot of the bed. Something flashes across his eyes, something akin to interest as his eyes drink in your battered form.

“Luckily for you, my bodyguard is of no use to me broken and bruised. How much longer until she’s healed?” Zenos asks, settling to ignore you instead. The doctor nearly jolts at suddenly being addressed, his ears pressing flat against his head.

“Her vitals seem to be in stable condition, however,”

“That is not what I asked.” Zenos states coldly, that apathetic edge back to his voice. The glare he fixes on the shuddering doctor would kill him if it could, and it’s at that moment you decide you’ve had enough.

Standing atop your covers, you drag his attention back to you as you fist your strongest hand in his shirt. It’s soft to the touch, designer probably, for how plain it looks. But that’s not what matters right now. “I’m feeling just dandy.” You growl, hating how he places that stupid grin of his back on his face.

“Are you now?” He purrs, his eyes dipping to how your arm trembles. In a flash he makes a move to punch your side but you catch his fist with ease, wincing at the pain that shoots up your arm, unable to hide the cry of pain. “You are still unfit to serve me quite yet.” In a show of speed he frees his fist to grab your own, yanking hard to disrupt your balance and spin you around, pulling you against him, front to back.

You grit your teeth as he locks your arm behind your back, unable to move unless you feel like dislocating your shoulder. It rankles that he knows you know that. As if the doctor still isn’t in the room, he rests his chin on your shoulder, his hair tickling what bare skin is exposed to the air, drawing a gasp from you. For someone with such a cold demeanor, he is surprisingly warm. “Let me go, you overgrown, insufferable,” Your tirade is cut short as you stop to jerk away from his face as he presses closer.

He chuckles at your insults, the sound rumbling through you in the most delicious way. “Don’t stop on my account. Snarl and bite and gnash. Hate me if that’s what you must do. So long as you never stop fighting, living for that rush of blood, my beast.” His breath rolls across your skin, the sensation cool to the steadily rising warmth you feel. The man is a furnace. “I have found your strength and it is now mine. Deny my words all you want...but even now…” He pauses to laugh low and deep, and your teeth unconsciously bite down on your lip. “I can feel your pulse racing in my hand.”

You fall forward as he releases you, huffing indignantly as you flip yourself to face him. He studies you in silence for a moment before finally looking to the doctor. “She is to remain in bed until she is fully healed and ready for combat. Until then she doesn’t leave this room.”

“I’m right here, you know!” You hiss, glaring at his condescending smile.

“And here you shall stay. I look forward to you unleashing all that pent up anger when I see you next, my beast.” Done with the conversation, he turns with a flash of golden hair and strolls out the door.

You would kill him.

Well you wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Then you would be no better than he was.

Somehow that fact hadn’t sunk in...your doctor looked nearly ready to pass out from fear. Was Zenos’ reputation truly that horrible? Was there truth to the myth?

Had he really meant it when he said he would leave Nael there to die…

The thought that someone could be so heartless, so callous about another’s life, that they felt they could snuff them out whenever they inconvenienced them…

It’s what fueled your irritation as you were escorted across the estate grounds to Zenos’ personal training room, your fists flexing in the freshly bought fighting gloves you were given. Your favorites were stashed away in a drawer where hopefully no one would think to toss them out, or so you hoped. The fact that you were given an entirely new wardrobe without being asked or at the very least measured, concerned you a little less than it should have. ‘These damn rich people.’ you mumble internally, wiggling your toes in your brand new tennis shoes. Top of the line like nearly everything else in this Twelves damned, oversized house.

You’ve already made a decent map in your head back to your room, that way you can start walking yourself around the estate, and hopefully, snoop around in the future. The escort stops before an elegant metal door and you whisper a quiet word of thanks as you watch him press his card to the access point to let you inside.

The training room certainly is a lot more personal indeed, lacking the size and space of the gym at the high rise. The walls are painted a glaring red like the majority of the mansion, multiple weights of varying sizes lining one wall. A miniature fridge sits in one corner filled with a multitude of beverages, from water to what looks like sports drinks considering they have no label. The room is almost somewhat barren in comparison, save for a wall holding multiple training weapons on its racks.

Oddly enough, Zenos is seated in the center of the room, legs crossed in meditation, the pose looking strangely natural and effortless for someone of his bulk. His hands rest upon his muscular thighs, face completely relaxed as he controls his breathing. His breathing is so controlled, one might think he is not breathing at all.

“I’m here.” You announce, walking further into the room. His eyes slowly open to land on you, fixing you with a solid stare. “So you are.” He murmurs, giving you a once over. “And looking almost presentable. Enjoy your rest?” He asks and you have to remind yourself it’s not out of genuine concern for you.

“It ended far too soon.” You huff, watching as he stands to his bare feet, towering over you once more. You find yourself wishing that the only time you were taller than him wasn’t when he was on the ground. He is dressed much the same as you, a simple workout shirt loosely clinging to every bit of muscle he had, with equally form fitting pants. Had you already not pegged him as an apathetic narcissist, you’d think he was doing it on purpose.

Then again…

“So. You hired me as your bodyguard, what now? I just wake up and follow you around like a lost puppy? Hit anyone who calls you a mean name?” You snark, beginning to do your warm up stretches. He watches your every move like a hawk, and even were the situation different you weren’t sure if you would find it flattering or creepy.

“If that’s your prerogative. You are under my employment and my father’s by proxy. Therefore, there are rules you still must follow.” He explains, moving closer to you. His hand reaches out to grab your arm before you can jerk away, guiding it to a more comfortable position in a way that is strangely gentle. “I will explain the terms of your employment, after we have dueled.”

You mutter a begrudging thanks, finding the position much easier to stretch in. His eyes never leave you as you go through your motions, and it is clear he sees you as something to move and touch as he wishes; but thankfully he’s not handsy. His nudges and adjustments are purely instructional, his eyes completely analytical. “You are clearly trained, but have not studied anatomy. Most of your forms are off.”

“What kinda street rat knows anything about anatomy?” You retort, coming up from your final stretch. He’s finally backed off, walking back to the center of the floor. You watch his back muscles flex as he swoops his curtain of hair into his hands, elegantly pulling it into a ponytail.

“A street rat indeed…” He murmurs more to himself even if the words make it to your ears. “Your training does not speak of someone who has lived their life on the streets.” He observes, hawk eyes watching your every step as you come to meet him on the floor. You do your best to keep your expression in check, realizing that Zenos is not just a wall of muscle. He’s obviously smart.

“Are you gonna stand there yappin’ or what?” You spit, raising your fists to guard yourself. He sees your diversion for what it is by the glint in his eye, but is willing to let it slide as he brings his own arms up.

“You won’t hold back on me this time will you?” he asks, excitement glittering in his gaze as he slowly starts to circle you. You release a rude snort, unable to keep your lips from quirking upward. “You sure you want that? I handed your ass to you pretty good from what I recall.” You taunt, flexing your fingers.

“I would love nothing more.” He purrs, stepping in to make his first strike. You dodge him easily, able to weave your smaller form underneath the wide arcs of his punches. Deciding that it can’t get much worse from here, you don’t hold back, unleashing the full force of your schooling upon the eccentric heir. His face is pinched in concentration but the thrill never leaves his eyes, his exhilaration shining through in each strike. His blows seem to carry more force and it is with mild offense you realize even he was holding back on you that day.

How dare he.

Sweat drips down your back, your shirt clinging to your form as the two of you fight, adrenaline and excitement flowing through your veins like a delicious cocktail. Still, he will not let you get a hit in, his guard too solid, and he knows by now you’re willing to take a hit to get in one of your own. You’ve not had to think this hard about an opponent in so long, that you can’t help keep the smile off your face as you catch his fist in your hand.

He returns it, eyes gleaming brightly as he makes to grab you by the arm, but you are too swift, weaving out his grasp. He’s far too sturdy to nudge, and only a full fledged grab will do. You gasp as he manages to grab your arm and hold fast, his smirk downright feral. You tug and you pull to wrench your arm free, struggling to fight against his brute strength. He tries to pull you closer and you plant your feet down trying to twist out of his grip but he keeps step with you, smirk shining with victory.

Time to wipe it off his face.

Giving a sharp tug, you force him to move his weight with yours if he wants to keep you held. His free arm moves to grab hold but you grab him first, quickly turning your back to him and pulling him close. Bracing your legs you crouch down low and pull, yelling with the effort as you topple his weight and flip him backwards over your shoulder. He manages to twist himself to where he lands on his knees but he is on the floor regardless, and you grasp him by the collar in victory.

“Nice try.” You beam, chest heaving as you look down upon the Galvus heir. He stares up at you in disbelief again, his eyes wide with bewilderment and...wonder?

A trick of the light.

“Truly...there has been no greater prize I have won from my hunt…” he heaves, and you notice that he’s actually broken a sweat. His shirt hugs his chest tight, leaving little to the imagination as he gazes up at you, his blue eyes jumping across your features. “You are something else, my beast.” He purrs, despite how you clutch his shirt tighter and near your face to his.

“I told you. My name. Is Honey.” You bite out, for what good it does you.

“So you have said. But I find it a much more fitting name.” He croons, his cool breath slipping across your face. “A rat, plucked from the streets of savages--”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as you slam him on his back, digging your knee into his chest. “I will end you.” You hiss, wishing anything you said would have the proper effect on this man.

“You might be able to back up such claims, my little savage, but you lack the conviction.” He laughs, the sound growing louder as you sock him in the jaw.

“Shut up!” You snarl, praying he doesn’t notice your fist shaking.

“Do it then, Honey. Kill me, if that’s what you want.” He challenges, his body going completely lax beneath your own. He holds your gaze in a solid, unwavering stare, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

You could do it.

You could end him right here.

Your hands around his neck, he’s clearly defenseless; you’d just have to make a break for it before anyone could come check on him. You’d already be gone.

Your hands circle around his neck, and he has still yet to do anything to stop you. You squeeze, squeeze hard, feel the muscle and the veins cave under your hands. He hasn’t stopped staring, hasn’t stopped smirking even as you try to force yourself to add more pressure, to crush his windpipe--

“You disgust me.” You seethe, rising off of him and heading for the door, leaving the Galvus heir alone in the room.

[blackevermore]

Twinkle Twinkle

[ Taz x Mikey ]

Summary: Taz came to NY for the holidays and brought lights

Genre: Wholesome 

Warning(s): None

Word count: 2,200

A/N: I was putting lights up for my grandmother and I could only imagine Me and Mikey having fun together. That’s where this short story comes from. I even threw in future comic plot twist (shhhh)

x Taz loved twinkling lights and mood lights. Not street lights that needed to be fix or neon signs that have been abused over the years, but little room and window lights she could hang. Back home, she made it a mission to decorate every window in her apartment with twinkling lights. Her bedroom was a beacon of mood lights that sat behind her headboard, dresser, and vanity for her changing light pleasures when she turned them on. She couldn't explain the way the lights made her feel without repeating the same string of words. The way the lite up the room and reflected off people's skin just felt good to see. It made her feel mellow and relaxed. But only in a private setting, not large city scenes or clubs. Those just made her uncomfortable and wanting to hurry home and hide under her blanket. 

x Christmas was a scapegoat for Taz to buy a shit ton of lights and abuse her rights to decorate. As soon as November 24th rolled past, she was running towards her favourite stores to snag every type of lights. When she told April, she was flying up to New York for the rest of December the poor girl didn't realize her cousin would bring a suitcase of lights with her. April refused to put up an argument when Taz went to work lining the windows. It was a beautiful sight, especially when Taz put in the work to spell out April's name across the pannels.

"What are you doing?" April poured herself another cup of hot chocolate and drowned marshmallows.

"I'm going to decorate the fire escape," Taz answered, slipping on her boots and coat quickly. She had a large bag strapped around her shoulder with more lights and rolls of tape.

"Where are you really going?" April rolled her eyes and placed a hand on her hip as she walked closer to her younger cousin. Taz gave a weak smile and shook her head, no use in lying to a news reporter and very nosy journalist. When Taz went to answer her April put up a hand to silence her, took a swig from her mug, then lowered it with an all-knowing look in her eyes. "Tell the guys I said 'hi' and that I'm sorry I haven't visited. Hothead boss has been down my back."

"Will do! Keep the window unlocked this time!" Taz slid the window frame up and climbed out. 

x In mere minutes Taz was humming down a familiar dark street and flipping through her social media. Laughing at comments left on her tiktoks and even replying to some. She heard the click of her heel boots over the abnormally large manhole she realize she had arrived. Getting to the lair was second-hand nature for her at this point. How in the world no one realized that the size of this manhole cover was bigger, then the rest was beyond her. That was the magic of New York, no one cared to give a damn if something was out of the norm unless it affects them directly.  In other words, mind your damn business, Karen. She placed the bag down beside her as she bent down to put in the code Donnie gave her. When the green dot lit up, she quickly shot to her feet and stood above the metal ring so it could lower her down. 

x "Guys!" Taz called out but was met with silence. It was rather dark, which meant that everyone was either really busy doing whatever or they were gone. "Yo Guys!" Taz called out again to make sure if they didn't hear her the first time they caught it the second. When she still didn't get an answer she shrugged and went over to the couch to place her bag down. They must have already been out on daily night patrol. She looked around the lair with warm eyes, it had been two and a half months since she's been here. It kinda sucked that no one was home, but that also meant she could decorate without protest from with Raph or Leo.

x Last year she asked to put up lights, and Raph was against it after Mikey made the 'okay' symbol hand sign right on the ceiling. Of course, everyone else thought it was funny, but Raph really wanted to bop Mikey on the head. Leo didn't necessarily care about the lights since they did look nice when he meditated. But he did care for Raph to not throw a fit. This year, however, Taz was going to hang designs above every brother's bed. She bought respectable colour lights for every turtle and even their dad.

x She pulled out her phone to check the time, it was 8:30pm, which meant she had about another two hours before the team would be back. She pulled off her coat and kicked off her shoes behind the couch. She had to get comfortable if she was going to be climbing on furniture, balancing lights, and taping them. She pulled out her phone and headphones and quickly plugged in to give her something to work to.

x She started in Leo and Raph's room and started with the red man himself. She pulled out the standard round cone red shell lights and started taping and dangling them around the makeshift headboard. She went ahead and wrapped some lights around the legs of the bed and under it so the floor would glow. She had also bought funny clip ons that said 'Red Hot' and attached them between a few lights. She moved on to Leo's bed and pulled out lilly-shaped blue lights. 

x She knew he was big about tranquillity, so flowers were a perfect match. She had to figure out how to make the flowers stick up instead of just slapping them on willy nilly. The slow song that was playing had just ended, and a faster beat kicked up, and her brain started turning. She started singing out loud as she figured out how to position the lillies around the bed. She settled on the idea of them hanging around the frame like a flower boat. She placed a flew lilly lights on the headboard, but most of them were around the bottom. When she was happy with her work, she picked up her bag and headed to the next room. Kpop started up and even without knowing the words she sang along.

x Donnie lights were more so a gag gift she spotted in the kid's aisle that she knew would make the others laugh. Star Wars theme lights with the Millennium Falcon and Tie ship lined against the wiring. Of course, these lights couldn't simply drape over his headboard. That was too easy for him to take down and throw away. She had to hand them above his head, with the ceiling being in a reasonable latter reach Taz went to work causing trouble. She finished the Star War lights then turned back to her bag to pull out more lights, they were all blue this time. Donnie was her favourite to poke fun at, but that didn't mean she didn't respect him. 

"OH AH AH AH AH!" Taz yelled at the top of her lungs as Down With The Sickness came on just as she tapped the last string of blue lights across Donnie's headboard. What Taz hadn't realized was that she was being watched by a very worried yet chucking rat dad who had been home the whole time. He was enjoying the pure joy the young girl was having as she set up lights in his son's room. Splinter was sure they would get a kick out of them as well. He wasn't going to interrupt Taz and went back to his room. This time with his own pair of headphones to block out her screaming-I mean singing. 

With Mikey's bed, Taz had picked out two sets of lights, orange hearts and pizza slices she somehow found at a thrift shop. Of course, she was going to go all out with how she set up Mikey's bed. This was her baby, her boo, her man, her silly bean sweetheart! She was going to make a princess canopy with the pizza lights (thank god she bought every set of them) and dangle the orange lights between the rows. First, she needed a ladder because standing on Mickey's bed was not going to help her. She went out to the living room and to a random closet she was sure the ladder would be in. Thank god it was or she would have spent the next hour trying to find it. She hauled the ladder back to the room and set in place. 

"Oye cariño, sólo pienso en ti / When I wake up in the morning until I go back to sleep." Taz was more proud of herself by saying the Spanish lyrics than her hanging skills. Mikey had been helping her learn Spanish for the past three months, and it was finally paying off. She thought it was weird how each other could speak a second language so fluently but couldn't speak the same language as the other. It did leave it up to the imagination when fights broke out. With the last set of lights tapped, Taz looked between the two beds and smiled in success. She took a step down the ladder, but her foot messed the bar, and she felt herself falling. She tried to grab onto the ladder, but a pair of hands grabbed her waist and pulled her down. Taz panicked for a moment then calmed down when she heard soft chuckles through her music. 

x She pulled a headphone out from her ear and hit Mikey on her shoulder.

"Why do I get attacked?! I saved you!" Mikey laughed and pulled her closer.

"Saved? You scared the hell out of my Angel. When did you get back? Wait! Raph and Leo haven't seen their room yet have they?!" Taz started on a long ramble of worry as the orange turtle sat there with wide eyes. Finally, he placed a finger over her lips to shush her, Taz narrowed her eyes then licked him to get it off.

"You know that doesn't work on me, and no they haven't, though I don't think you want Don to see his." Mikey giggled and point to the lights.

"Oh no, I do want him to see it, but it was meant to be a surprise." Taz sighed with slumped shoulders and threw the tape on Mikey's bed. "Well surprise." Taz pressed the light button on both power boxes for Mikey's bed to come alive and twinkle in patterns. 

"Oh wow babycakes this is stunning." Mikey had noticed the lights when he snuck in, but now that they were on, they looked terrific. As he watched the lights, Taz watched his face, the same face she made when she looked at lights. That lost but safe feeling that only the lights could give her when she was lost in thought. Mikey was like her in more ways than one and that made her heart beat faster. She tried to calm the flutters in her heart before he notices. She looked down to her hands to twiddle her fingers, but when she saw the tips of her fingers starting to glow, she threw them behind her back. 

x Not this. Not right now.

x "Oh, baby thank you!" Mikey snapped her out of her thoughts when he pulled her into a hug and kissed all over her face. Taz shook her head and pushed him away for a moment then pulled him into a proper kiss. Mikey wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up to spin in circles. When he finally let her down that's when they broke away for air. The couple was a giggling mess until someone at the door cleared their throat. 

x Donnie stood in the door unimpressed as he eyed his bed up and down. Taz held up a finger telling him to wait, there was more, she skipped over and pressed the power box, and the light came on. Donnie facepalmed.

"Star Wars, really? You could have gotten me anything else." Don groaned half-heartedly, not truly disappointment in Taz's shenanigans.

"Yeah but you're a nerd and nerds love Star Wars. Next time I'll get Star Terk or DnD just to make you happy."

"Ster Terk is a very respectable pop culture classic that could stand the test of time and still come out more successful with a new movie or reboot. Don't disrespect the classics." Donnie shot her a look and Taz rolled her eyes. 

"Mikey I'm going to go turn on the other's lights before they notice them. When I'm done help me decorate the rest of the lair before Raph tells me no?"

"Hell yeah!" Mikey replied as his baby girl ran across the living room to the other rooms. Leo and Raph gave her strange looks then turned to the youngest two to explain. Donnie threw up his hands and walked over to his lab and out of sight, and Mikey only shrugged.

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 7

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: ongoing fic and all that

Warnings: highly suggestive innuendo and near-heavy petting??? The word “penis” shows up once?

Abstract: Everybody play the game...

Roger was a bucket of cold, glass-shattering water, splashing over the company before him. He heard what you had said, and he had no desire to interrupt whatever Deacy’s reaction would be. This tender display, however, had been anathema to him. He felt like he had walked in on something desperately intimate. He had the urge to look away, even. So, instead, he did the next best thing in his book, which was to make light of the situation. Everyone, rather than looking at you and Deacy, turned their attentions onto him, the Blond God. Besides liking the attention, he knew Deacy wouldn’t have wanted all eyes on this stolen moment. Annoying, maybe, but Roger was undeniably shrewd and possessed a high emotional intelligence reserved, typically, by those of the female persuasion; it was Roger’s firm belief this innate skill of emotional intelligence was the secret to cracking the female code, and was precisely why he was so effortlessly adept and knowledgeable with any and every woman he came across.

Leaning against the door frame like the coolest person in the room, Roger threw his arms into the air, spilling part of his cocktail on the floor. “The party has arrived! Fashionably late, but always ready to play. I’m guessing I lost the game?”

You and Deacy had let go hands, but were still lost in each other’s eyes.

Lydia snaked between you and Brain out of the bed and into Roger’s arms. He slid his empty hand up her back, taking in the scent of her straw-colored hair. “You’re intoxicating, love.”

“Better than being intoxicated,” Lydia said, raising an eyebrow at Roger.

“Oh, this is nothing,” Brian said sliding out of the bed himself. “You should have seen him at the New Orleans party…”

“You should have seen all of us at the New Orleans party.” Deacy said to the room at large, his eyes still on you.

“Oh?” You questioned, curious where this was going.

“If you ladies had been there, maybe we’d have someone who could tell us what happened.” Brian said straightening his jacket and brushing errant hairs from it.

“You were all at a party of which none of you recall?” You asked somewhat impressed, though not sure you should be.

“Oh, you know, it was a holiday, and one thing led to another.” Deacy explained embarrassingly, slithering over to you on the bed.

“One drink led to another, more like.” Roger smirked.

“And another and another,” Brian said, turning on the lights.

The room was the largest bedroom you had ever seen. Half of your apartment could fit in it, you thought. The bed was the centerpiece. An ornate black headboard accented the lust red bed. A dramatic mirror, encircled with lights, like actors usually had backstage, you thought, rested across from the bed. The vanity had an elegant claw-foot bench in front of it. A walk-in closet and master bathroom wasn’t far from this, but obscured from view by a gauzy curtain. A seating area, with a chaise lounge, sofa, arm chairs, and sleek glass coffee table took up a corner of the room. Stills from black and white movies adorned the walls. A pair of french doors led to a balcony. Plants hung from the walls in large canopied holders. Hoyas, you thought? They certainly enjoyed the dramatic skylight that took up half the ceiling. Dark wooden floors and a Japanese-inspired dressing screen rounded out the room. It was modern and an antique throwback all at once; it was Freddie, you thought: forward-looking with one glance over the shoulder looking back just to make sure, if nothing else, that nothing was out of place.

“I seem to remember costumes; though, who was wearing what is beyond me, darling.” Freddie stood, and offered a manicured hand to Jim. Jim took it, savoring the touch. He wanted to reach out and touch a bit more, being in their bedroom, it was somewhat difficult to remind himself not to. Jim settled for sending Freddie a knowing look that said, quite clearly, “I am having you later tonight, and there is simply nothing you can do about it, Mr. Mercury.”

Freddie responded to this look by licking his lips at Jim, and smacking his ass loudly, noticeably, and without a care in the world.

This seemed fairly par for the course for the men in the room; none of them batted an eye; in fact, Brian, Roger, and Deacy all had fond smiles on their faces regarding this display.

Brian carefully chose one of the armchairs, sat down, and looked up through the skylight at the stars above.

Roger was leading Lydia over to the sofa, he put his arm around her. The silky satin of her dress draped over Roger’s legs. He kept pawing at it, trying to see if she was ticklish; she wasn’t giving him an inch though.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that, Rog.” She whispered in his ear, breathing in his blond hair.

Freddie led Jim to the chaise lounge, where they sat comfortably.

You and Deacy sat on the end of the bed together. This was another compromising position. You didn’t want Brian to feel like a third wheel, well, a seventh wheel. However, you didn’t want to move from Deacy’s side, or give him the wrong impression. The wrong impression here would be that you didn’t want him--that you weren’t interested in him. Would moving away from him now and going to one of the armchairs give this impression? How could you communicate your need for Deacy and your need to be gracious of Brian’s sensibilities and situation?

You pursed your lips and slowly smiled at Deacy. It was a calculated smile. It said, I’m not done with you, I may never be done with you.

Deacy knew you were trying to communicate something. He wished then that you and he had been together as long as Jim and Freddie; they could say whole novels to each other in flicks of their wrists, and the rhythms of their breath, with looks, with eyes, and sighs. Deacy took a centering breath and took your hand in his again; he had decided to lay his cards on the table, to slide the curtain of paradox aside ever so briefly so you could glimpse the truth.

“Y/N,” he said softly.

“Speak up for the rest of the class, will you, mate?” Roger shouted from the sofa.

Jim glared at Roger with the wrath of hellfire behind his usually kind brown eyes.

Freddie reached for a decorative pillow and tossed it at Roger’s head; he had surprisingly accurate aim.

“Very butch of you, love.” Jim remarked.

“Y/N,” Deacy repeated, ignoring the chaos.

“Yes, Deacy?” You whispered, curious and concerned all at once.

“I want to know everything about you. As important as your most sacred goal, as intimate as your most crippling fear, as inconsequential as your second favorite ice cream topping. Just simply everything.” He paused. You were breathing as one, studying each other intently. He licked his lips and continued conspiratorially, “So whatever is going through you head right now, know I’m not going to spread my wings and leave in only seven days, as if I’ve grown disinterested. I am interested. You are interesting. Arresting to me. You have my attention, complete, undivided.”

No one had ever made such a declaration to you before. You weren’t quite sure what to say. No one had ever been quite so upfront with you before, and it was refreshing and new and an enormous relief. You didn’t have to guess what Deacy wanted, in this respect anyway. What he wanted was you. You found yourself unable to distinguish one passing second from another. This was a moment you could happily be lost in forever. Other people were in the room, but they didn’t exist for you now. Was this real? Too good to be true? This man had swagger, charm, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t sincere. You searched his face for a con, for a signal he was playing you like a game of scrabble.  

“It’s been a full minute.” Jim was delicately checking Freddie’s wristwatch, “If she doesn’t say something soon should we send in reinforcements?” Jim whispered to Freddie, sending a look Lydia’s way.

You decided to pinch your arm with your other hand. You then pinched Deacy’s arm next.

“Ow,” He said, raising a questioning eyebrow at you.

“Just checking,” you said smiling faintly.

“I assure you, he’s quite real.” Brain said, sending you a smile.

“Yeah, a real bore.” Roger yawned, slinking a hand up Lydia’s leg playfully.

Jim made to stand up, and Freddie yanked hard on his arm to return him to the chaise.

“Reciprocity,” you said, finally.

“What’s wrong boys?” Roger said grinning from ear to ear like a jackal, “It’s all in good fun!”

“You’re such a tosser, Rog.” Brian said shaking his head at his oldest friend. Everyone was laughing, even Deacy.

Deacy pulsed a rhythm with his hand that was holding yours. He turned his attention back to you, and said, “Is that your only request?”

“It is for now.” You admitted simply.

“I will offer you reciprocity always. In everything.”

“In everything?”

“Everything.”

“Well, at least I have the opportunities to toss, Bri.” Roger patted his crotch, challenging his friends.

After one more longing glance at Deacy, returned to you by another quick pulsing rhythm from his hand, you stood and threw yourself into one of the fancy wingback armchairs. Deacy followed suit, dancing over to the other remaining chair.

You recalled Freddie telling you how competitive everyone in the band was. You sensed the temperatures turning towards some never-ending grudge match. Sure, it was something all families did, you reassured yourself; for them, you figured, this kind of sparing was on par with any other game they might play while on tour?

“Cheesecloth,” Brian said, answering the challenge.

“Excuse me?” Roger said with a condescending laugh, “that supposed to be a threat? Do try to impress our guests, Mr. Astrophysicist.”

“Actually, I concur with Brian; cheesecloth, you are Rog.” Deacy winked at Roger. It was, you thought, the only threatening wink you had ever seen. You had no idea how Deacy could turn a cheeky, seductive gesture into a sinister, aggressive expression, but he could. You were, without question, and without sense, suddenly turned on by this ability of his.

“In what sense of the word, Johnny?”

“Well, Mr. Grease-gun,” Deacy countered skillfully, “correct me if I’m wrong, Bri--”

“Oh, no need there; you’re never wrong,” It was simultaneously a compliment and a deadly jab to the ribs, as if Brain were playing chess and setting up the next attack.

Deacy chuckled to himself lightly, “It’s apt, if you really thought about it.”

“Though Rog barely thinks through anything,” Freddie added.

“Facts, all facts, gentlemen.” Jim responded.

“All in good fun?” You questioned Roger.

Roger winked at you. Completely different from Deacy’s. That wink told you all you needed to know. This was a game, purely a good time. Though a game built around venting feelings that were perhaps too hard to say not in jest. This was their therapy disguised as a game, you thought. Very clever. These four men were brilliant, and entirely different from each other yet compatible. More paradoxes, you sighed.

“Masochists, the lot of you!” Lydia shrieked in mock-disgust. She ineffectually tried to push Rog away with one hand, while pulling him closer with her other.

“Cheesecloth?” Roger said, impatiently. “Give me your best shot, boys.”

“You’re always wet and any true, enduring knowledge tends to slip right through your notice.” Deacy reasoned. “That fit the bill, Bri?”

The silence was broken by a resounding, joyous laugh. And Roger was the one laughing. It clanged around the room like one of his gongs. Tears were tracing down his cheeks. His honest laughter made you and everyone else in the room laugh, too. His laugh was infectious.

You and Deacy briefly locked eyes while laughing, and it was transcendent bliss. Absolute joy.

“That’s terrible!” Roger said, between laughs, clutching his gut for affect.

“What, your feelings hurt on round one?” Brian asked disappointingly.

“I think he’s referring to your punchline, Deacy dear.” Freddie said.

“Not quite the stinging barb I was expecting.” Roger wiped the tears from his piercing blue eyes, “Though with such a weak start…”

“It doesn’t matter how you start, but how you finish.” Lydia said, smiling suggestively at Roger. She was snaking a hand down his chest, now. All the way down.

Roger coughed, and placed his hand on top on hers, which had made its way to his inner thigh. She was toying with him. Teasing him, in her own patient way. Her hand was close enough to his penis to cause Roger excitement related to nothing more than anticipation, yet far enough away to appear demure and shy. So close, yet so far away, Roger thought.  

You immediately thought of earlier in the evening when you and Deacy had first held hands at the bar. It seemed ages ago to you, like it had happened to another person in another lifetime. Your own laying on of hands and been innocent by comparison, yet that had been a game too.

Roger leaned into Lydia, and gave her a garish kiss. He was showing off his prowess and enjoying himself immensely. There was something about kissing Lydia in a room full of his friends that excited him greatly. A bright exhibitionist streak ran through his life, and at every turn he was curious how he could subtly, or not so subtly, bring it to light.

“Lydia,” Roger pulled away from her calculatingly. “I never,” Roger turned and suddenly winked at Deacy, “misfire.”

Everyone, besides Roger and Lydia, exclaimed at Roger’s perfect punchline.

“Checkmate that one,” Jim said, shaking his head at Deacy, laughing good-naturedly with everyone else.

“Check my mate? If you insist!” Deacy said, twinkling at you. He did a little dance in his chair with his hands and shoulders. It shouldn’t have been sexy, but you were a sucker, and he had you hook, line, and sinker.

Meanwhile, Roger was returning his lips to Lydia’s, “Goddess in Red...” He said, biting her lip between words. He paused, pressing his lips to her ear, and moaned deeply, lewdly. Something in that moan said he wasn’t yet done playing the game; he had one more parting shot. “You ready?” He said in Lydia’s ear.

Lydia, the siren, pulled away from Roger, and said, loudly, “I’m always ready. Are you ready for a ride, Daddy?”

Her wink was a whip crack.

Tag List: @phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum @obsessedwithrogertaylor @groupiie-love @richiethotzierz @partydulce @sophierobisonartfoundationblr @psychostarkid @teathymewithben @smittyjaws @just-ladyme

[laur-rants]

Fic Complete: Wolfbann

Chapter 17: With Reckless Abandon

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Corvo/Daud, Past Jessamine/Corvo Rated: Mature Chapter Synopsis: Time to crash the Boyle party and start a new chapter for Daud and Corvs

*Note: The read more may not appear for mobile users. For this, I sincerely apologize. The best way to avoid this is to blacklist #long post Special thanks to @wantonlywindswept for being the fucking rock this fic needed, my constant fan. This fic was all for you, boo. Thank you so much. I love you. A lot. And its very VERY gay.

AO3 Link

Previous :: First

The lights of extravagant decoration hung high in the sky, so bright even the stars scattered from their brilliance. Giant balloons floated over and around the Boyle mansion, making the cold of Dunwall's winter seem a little less bitter. The party goers below seemed oblivious to the weather; the Boyle sisters kept the grounds heated, both in temperature and the alcohol burning in their guest's veins. They all laughed and yelled behind elaborate masks, eyes turned to the night sky as one of the huge balloons burst suddenly, showering confetti down on the disgruntled security guards below. Another in the cluster followed it, and another; inebriated patrons cheered, clapping at the show.

Among the distracted crowd, a shadow moved. One with a long coat, a well-fitted vest, and a metal mask that laughed like death. There was a long sword at his hip and a wristbow hidden in one of his gloves, but the guards didn't seem to care or pay any mind. They just shooed away the stiff figure when they caught him at the lavish dining table, telling him half-heartedly to put his weapons away. The masked man scoffed as the guard frowned; he grabbed a slab of bread and cheese and shrugged apologetically before darting off, quiet as a ghost.

The Boyle house, this skull-masked man was finding out, was a never-ending maze. Even when he thought he knew the layout, he ended up somewhere… unexpected. This time, it appeared he had escaped into a small dining parlor, one full of loiterers and smokers. A woman in a moth mask and a man in a whale mask watched him carefully, even as he awkwardly eyed his plate of food.

“That's quite the mask you have there,” the moth purred, and the metal face twitched to attention. “Almost like those masked felon stories from the plague.”

That laughing mask tilted, the individual behind it clearing his throat. “Yes, that is where the inspiration came from,” he said, rough voice grating. The woman seemed pleased with the answer, as if nothing could be more exciting.

“At least someone at this party has a sense of mystery about them,” she laughed and her companion scoffed, annoyed. “If you ever need a good time, just ask for Miss White.”

The metal mask nodded, falling into a mock bow. Miss White giggled, making her friend even more distraught. He put a hand on her shoulder and steered her away, loudly proclaiming “More like suspicious. I'd steer clear of such unsightly masks, if I were you, Miss White.”

The mask watched them leave from behind glass lenses fitted into deep sockets. Then, he disappeared entirely.

In a magical blink and a flurry of smoke he was outside, perched just above a top floor balcony. Next to him emerging from the roof's shadow, a giant dog appeared, its eyes glowing in the dark and blending in among the lights. He held the plate out; a brown, greying snout sniffed, eying the mask critically.

“Bread and cheese with no wine ?” the wolf mentally inquired, incredulous.

“Listen, I'm not a maid or a waitress. If you don't want it, Rinaldo, toss it to someone else.”

The wolf's lip curled before chewing down the quick meal. Mildly satisfied, he licked his nose before looking down over the party below. The mask watched him, choosing his next words carefully.

“Seen anything worth reporting?”

“A few things, all of them boring. From the patrol, this is looking to be a typical Boyle masquerade. Some patrons are complaining that this is the second masked party in a row from the sisters, do they're disappointed.”

“Any word on the target?”

“Yes. Connor's deduced it's Waverly. She's in red. Last seen near her sister in the music room, but moving upstairs. Might be able to intercept her there.”

“And Brimsly?”

The wolf's lip curled into a wicked grin.

“We're keeping him occupied.”

The mask groaned, shaking his head and adjusting his hood. “Just don't make it obvious, please.”

The wolf eyed him knowingly. “It's the twins. What did you think will happen?”

The snarl from behind the metal would have been menacing if it wasn't so tired. His left fist clenched; under the glove’s leather, an arcane mark sparked to life.

“As long as he stays put, I suppose. I'll be right back.”

He disappeared again, a flurry of smoke invisible against the cold sky, unseen by those below. His body left a trail as ink slithered into claws and black tendons, a physical ghost against the Boyle house decadence. He slid his smoky body back inside, hugging the ceiling, perching on extravagant chandeliers and dodging the guards patrolling the upper levels of the house. His predatory body finally solidified, the hood drawn close and those glass eyes seeing every bit of movement.

It wasn't long until his quarry appeared; dressed all in red and sporting a crimson, porcelain mask. Waverly Boyle finally ascended the stairs, passing under his hiding spot. He watched her quietly as she muttered angrily to herself, checked her pockets, then entered her room with the key procured.

He clenched his fist. In an instant, sound and color drained away. He leapt down, crouching low and sliding into the room. As he entered and stood off to the side of the canopy bed, he let the magic go. Color and air rushed back in and Waverly entered her room, none the wiser of her shady visitor.

She went over to her desk, checking the open book laid there. The mask adjusted his gloves, clearing his throat loudly.

“Lady Boyle.”

Waverly jerked, frantic, pulling a knife from her bag and tossing it his direction. He cleanly dodged the blade and closed in as quickly as possible. As she darted for the door he grasped her wrist, holding her in place.

“Get off me! I will call the guards!”

“That will make saving your life quite difficult, Miss Boyle.”

She jerked against his grip, unconvinced. He growled and pulled her closer and tried again. “Listen. There's a man here trying to abduct you. His name is Lord Brimsly. He claims to love you. Do you know him?”

That got her attention. She stilled, chest heaving, her mask's blank eyes looking into his shiny glass ones.

“How do you know this? Have you seen him? Did someone send you?”

“It is my business to know such things,” the mask purred out, “as it is my business to know you have been supplying money to Regenters about the city.” As Waverly twitched and looked away, he tilted his head. “Ah, I see I wasn't mistaken about that either.”

“If you were sent to kill me, you might as well,” she all but cried, her voice broken behind her pristine mask. “I am in too much debt now. They keep calling for me, expecting me to fund their little pity group. Brimsly is among them: he hounds me, stalks me. My sisters don't know, they don't see the books, they think he's just a weirdly fervent suitor...” She shook her head, her fight leaving her. “Be quick with your blade. I am better off dead.”

The man behind that toothless smile loosened his grip, taking a step back. The eldest Boyle sister didn't move, but stood resolutely, waiting for the blow.

A blow, he knew, would never come.

“Apologies, but killing isn't my business anymore.” He told her, his voice low. “I'm here to offer you an alternative.”

Her mask shifted, as if trying to catch his eye. When she didn't refute or respond, he continued. “I have an old contact who was more than happy to offer you a life away from Dunwall, up north in Morley. Portside. You could change your name, remake your life. And nobody would ever know.”

“A contact?” The woman repeated, suspicious. “I can't trust that. I need names.”

The mask eyed her, silent and unmoving.

“Farley Havelock,” he finally supplied. “An old captain of the Royal Navy, now… retired.” He adjusted his grip on Waverly once again, this time holding her hand in his. “As a personal favor he's agreed to let you escape and go unscathed.”

“But-- the Regenters?”

“The crown plans to deal with them. They will not hound your sisters as they did you once you are out of the picture. You have my promise, your sisters will be free if you leave.”

“And if I don't?”

“Then I will not only destroy the Regenters, but the good name of House Boyle,” he threatened casually. “I will have no other option than to bring the scandal to public attention and followers of the late Lord Regent are not looked upon fondly--”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Waverly said, waving him off frantically. “I always knew this day would come anyway. If I have a target on my back, I always will. This just confirms it.” She shuffled away and grabbed her book, a few belongings and some money, stuffing it all into her purse. “So? Where do we go? How do you get me out of here?”

The metal mask bowed ever so slightly. That macabre smirk almost appeared real, if only for a moment.

“Leave that part to me, Lady Waverly.”

------

Maneuvering Waverly through the house without appearing suspicious proved a tricky task, especially since the eldest Boyle was wearing a noticeable shade of red. However, she was able to distract guests and kept a respectable distance from the man in the metallic skull. For his part, that same mask kept an eye out for Brimsly, the individual trying to abduct Waverly. A voice nagging in the back of his head fed him a constant stream of updates and the two of them changed their paths through the house accordingly.

Eventually, they came to the back cellar stairs, where the only obstacle was a curious Miss White who was snooping around the kitchen wares. He sent her off easily enough with a compliment and a drink, sighing as soon as she was out of sight. This was turning out to be one of his stranger jobs to date, and it wasn't even over with yet.

He led Waverly to the basement where a small river boat waited. She stared; in the boat, two men waited. One of them was small and greying, with tired eyes and mutton chops framing a quiet smile. The other was a larger man, shaved head glistening with sweat, his face looking pulled and stretched. She glanced back to the mask, looking for an explanation.

“Miss Boyle, I present Farley Havelock, previous captain of the royal guard, now private boat owner. And his friend and old subordinate, Samuel Beechworth.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Boyle,” the large captain said, though his hand twitched at his chest and his voice wavered.

“And you're supposed to get me out of this city safely?”

“As safe as we're able, ma'am,” Samuel said, settling down at the rear of the boat. “I'll help navigate the two of you out to the larger ship waiting in the harbor.”

“How do I know I won't be killed?”

“Farley here is also seeking asylum from Dunwall,” the mask explained, “since more than one party is after his blood. If I hear he has killed you, he'll be breaking contract and dealing with much bigger issues than the ones he currently has.”

“It's true, my Lady,” Farley confessed. “I've made too much trouble since my furlough. I best be going as well.”

“Well, I suppose we're dealing with the same problem,” Waverly said. She looked down, hesitated, then stepped up to the boat. Havelock took her hand, helping her in. He then turned a grateful eye on that laughing mask.

“Thank you for the second chance,” Havelock told him quietly. The mask just growled, waving them off.

“Just get out of here already,” he snarled, voice warping. “And don't make me regret it.”

“And you promise my sisters will be safe?” she asked again, looking for reassurance.

“You have my word,” the masked replied. The boat's motor puttered to life and the gate to the river estuaries opened up. “I don't make promises I can't keep.”

If Waverly responded, he never heard it. The boat was already moving, the motor drowning out any words spoken. Havelock just nodded once and then they were off, disappearing into the gloom of the night.

The mask stood there for a moment, watching the dinghy float off. The cold crisp air of outside floated in, and something chillier than winter settled in his chest.

On the wind's whisper, he turned.

There in the gloom of the cellar's shadows, a pair of shining eyes stared him down. Reflective glass eyes, set into the face of an elongated mask, the gas filter of it making the wearer's breath come out ragged.

That metal mask huffed. He laughed once.

“What, had to come and check my work?”

The newcomer stepped out, a heavy blue coat trimmed with gold draping his shoulders.

“Of course not,” He muttered, annoyed, his long legs unfolding as he stood up and strode over. The heavy Whaler mask was pushed up, revealing the scowling face and long hair of Corvo Attano. “I came to get back the mask you stole from me, Daud.”

------

“Who told you?” Daud asked a few minutes later after they had found a secluded balcony to retreat to. Corvo shook his head, amused, his borrowed Whaler mask pushed up off his face.

“Nobody did,” he confessed. “I just knew.”

Daud nodded, humming, his smirk still hidden behind Corvo's metal mask. He carefully removed it from his face, the cold air immediately prickling at his clammy skin. He raised an eyebrow at Corvo but not because of the vague response. Over the last two months, Corvo had grown more and more used to the mental collective he was a part of now -- and was more at ease due to it. Intuitively, Corvo really could have just known -- or, he could have just gone to his room and seen his mask was missing from its stand.

Both were valid theories. Both were probably true.

“I'll blame Connor anyway,” Daud said, the smile pulling at his scars and Corvo laughed. It had a nice sound about it, even if it was still rusted at the edges.

“So,” Corvo mused, the borrowed Whaler mask finding its way into his restless hands. His cheeks shone with sweat as he leaned on the Boyle's balcony, watching as the boat carrying Lady Waverly disappeared downriver. “Do you think this whole night will become a conspiracy?”

Daud laughed, a gruff thing, the feel of it hanging in his chest. He turned his own temporary mask in his hands, fingers smoothing the glass lenses resting under those metal brows. “Probably not as much as you think,” he growled back. “I wouldn't be good at my job if it could be traced back to the crown, but there will be stories enough about her disappearance, I'm sure.”

“Still surprised you had a contact in Havelock, of all people.”

Daud shrugged, his mouth never losing it's quirk. “He owed me a favor. And I think they'll both be happier like this.”

“Mm,” Corvo noncommittally agreed.

Daud settled on the balcony himself, watching the Royal Protector closely, as he always did. Even after two months employment, a saving of an Empress and partially sharing a headspace, Corvo still fascinated him. Not because he was necessarily complex, no, but because he was unpredictable.

Daud never wondered why the Outsider marked Corvo. He was, truly, a man of interest.

Corvo looked over, noting Daud's unwavering gaze. His eyes darted away, watching the colorful festivities as the Boyle party continued, the participants and guests none the wiser about the disappearance of one of their hostesses.

“We have to go back down eventually, or people will be suspect.”

“That is likely, yes.”

Corvo sighed out a ragged breath. “Parties really aren't my thing, but Emily insisted heavily that I come to this.”

“It’s because she can't go herself, not yet,” Daud reminded him. “And having a good story to bring home to her is her only price.”

When it came to Boyle's previous annual parties, Daud had only watched from a distance -- had even killed someone during a masquerade once -- but had never been invited. In a way, even if he was here on a job, he saw no reason to not enjoy the rest of the evening before retiring back to the Tower. Still, he turned to Corvo.

“Our role in this story is over, however. If you want to head back to the Tower, we can. Just say the word and I'll gather my men.”

To his surprise Corvo shook his head, long hair tousled in the wind. “No, not yet. I just got here, after all. Emily's orders were to enjoy myself.” His eyebrow hiked up as he spun the Whaler mask playfully in his hand. “We could switch masks. Fuck with the party goers.”

Daud's lip twitched up as he uncrossed his arms. “That's the only way you're going to deal with this, isn't it? Seeing how many pockets you can pick, how many drinks you can steal, and how many guests you can scare?”

“Maybe if we stay long enough, they'll be so drunk you could morph your head and nobody would realize or remember.”

“I'm an assassin,” Daud snarled, but there was no venom in his voice. “I may be dramatic, but I'm not obtuse. There's a reason the Wolf of Dunwall is a child's tale.”

“Even more reason to make an appearance and excite the boring lives of these poor nobles.”

Daud huffed as he stood, ignoring Corvo's coy smile. He held out the Protector's metal mask, expecting his Whaler's mask in return, but Corvo didn't move from his spot. He stayed leaning over the balcony, listening to the rabble of the partygoers, the colors of the lights bouncing off his every angle.

He was a man of exquisite form and a wolf of sharp intent. Corvo looked back up to Daud and Daud felt his jaw clench.

“What? You're not going to take it?” Daud said impatiently, nudging Corvo's arm with the mask.

“You aren't an assassin anymore, you know.”

Daud blinked, taken aback. He drew himself straight and looked away.

“We both know it's old habit, Attano, and even if it's not killing people my prey still seems to disappear in much the same manner.”

“I don't mean…” Corvo shook his head, licked his lip, started again. “Can I tell you something, Daud?”

Daud felt his stomach flip and his brain buzzed unpleasantly with the voices of his nearby men. He shut them out of his mind, one by one.

“You can tell me anything, Corvo.”

“Anyone listening?”

Daud laughed, low and short. “There were a few curious noses. They've been shoved away.” He settled back down, trying to get comfortable again. “What is it?”

Corvo went quiet, even withdrew from Daud's headspace. His leg twitched as he gripped the mask tight.

“She called you 'dad' the other day.”

Daud froze. He felt his hackles rise defensively, his eyes widening. Corvo glanced at his expression and chewed his cheek before clarifying. “It was a quick thing, a slip up. She seemed… startled, like she didn't expect it to be so natural. Like she expected me to be mad.”

Daud breathed out harshly, looking away and rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Corvo -- I'm sorry, you know I'm not looking to take that role from you--”

Corvo was up instantly, fixating Daud with a glare so intense that Daud felt his throat close and his self-consciousness rise.

“No, you misunderstand me and also her. You aren't taking my role in her life away, I will always be her father, her Corvo. I'm not mad that she sees you this way; I'm relieved, actually. You aren't an assassin to us, not anymore. You're her family.” Corvo's face softened and Daud felt his vulnerability rise. “You're our family. You can put that past behind you.”

“You shouldn't call your professional partner your family,” Daud scolded -- but there was a weakness to his words and they held no bite. And there it was -- that treacherous affection worming across the bond he shared with Corvo, filling his chest and alighting him from the inside out. He felt his physical space invaded; when he next looked over Corvo was there, a smirk on his face, offering the Whaler mask to Daud.

“Is that what you think this is? A professional partnership?”

Daud exhaled, aggravated when Corvo didn't waver. His jaw clenched as he refused to meet Corvo's eye. He didn't need this now, he wasn't drunk enough to handle Corvo coming to him with this conversation topic. He had been holding Corvo at arm's length for the past two months, refusing to push against any boundaries and yet Corvo kept inching closer against both of their better judgements.

Daud breathed in and licked his lips. The action didn't go unnoticed.

“I thought that was what you wanted it to be,” he said, finally meeting Corvo stare for stare. He had hoped it would make Corvo stand down, back off the advance, but still Corvo refused to move, his features instead going sharp and wild at the edges. Something stronger than affection burned against their bond and filled Daud's nostrils. His nose wrinkled and he grasped for the Whaler mask, yanking it from Corvo's palm.

Corvo's claws gripped his wrist, holding him in place.

“Corvo--” he warned, a lip curling to show off lengthening fangs.

“I didn't come tonight because of the mask,” he stated evenly, owning up to his excuse. His eyes never lost their focus on Daud. “And I didn't come because Emily told me to.”

“Well then you should get better hobbies than babysitting me,” Daud argued, but he didn't pull away from Corvo's tight grip, didn't turn from that intense stare. “Especially when parties aren't your thing.”

“Daud,” Corvo admonished softly, shaking his head. He looked down and away. “Please, don't make this hard.”

Daud sneered, still defensive despite everything he was feeling from Corvo's mind, from his own emotions. He tried to ignore it, to brush it off, but something about it made him want to drown instead of fight to keep his head above the surface. A wave crashed over him and he gaped at Corvo, disbelieving.

“You can't be serious.”

“As the dead.”

“Please, don't ask this of me.”

“And why not?”

“Should I list the ways?” Daud growled, body rippling, “Ask anything else of me, and you know I'll be there for you, but--”

“Then stop talking.”

Daud stuttered to silence, his mind too shocked by the command to counter it. And then Corvo was there, the heat of his body filling the space between them, his scent strong off his slicked skin as lips slid across his, biting with stubble. Daud's inhale was sharp as his bond exploded with emotion and he was almost too shocked to kiss Corvo back, even as the Royal Protector pulled him in closer, the gap between them closing. Corvo relinquished his mask from Daud's hand as the kiss deepened, both their chests rumbling with unsung cries. The scrape of teeth sent electricity down Daud's spine and he licked after it, claws gripping to Corvo's coat as his thoughts and emotions spiraled wildly. He couldn't tell who's ecstasy he was experiencing, who's triumph, who's arousal. It didn't matter anymore; it was complete and whole and wonderful--

Corvo backed away, a breathy laugh on his lips as he tapped Daud back into reality. Daud blinked, meeting Corvo's hungry eye; Corvo cleared his throat and motioned to Daud. He looked down; his whole body was sloughing off, smoking like a signal. Immediately his stationed men were mentally checking in on him, one after another. He cursed under his breath and mentally pushed them away again, all to Corvo's undying amusement.

“Nice to see you feel the same way,” Corvo mused as Daud pulled his heated face away, brushing his inky fur off his back. Daud grunted at the obviousness of the statement and straightened his jacket.

“I shouldn't,” was his only annoyed answer. “It's too risky, it's too -- Outsider's literal ass, Attano.”

“You're thinking too much about this.”

“And you're not?” Daud countered, hating his desperation. “You're not thinking about the potential repercussions, the potential threats--”

“I am,” Corvo said smoothly. “But I also know I am inexplicably drawn to you, and you to me. You saved the only family I have left… you are part of that family now, Daud.”

“Don't be such a sap, Attano,” Daud croaked weakly. “You don't have to do this just because some bloody magical bond told you to.”

“Don't blame instinct on this,” Corvo told him sharply. And then, softer, “She wanted me to forgive you. She wanted me to move on. And ever since you accepted to be my Royal Spymaster, well…” he shrugged his shoulders. “Less guilt. Less regret.”

Daud didn't ask how Corvo knew the motives of Jessamine Kaldwin posthumously. They were two monsters of men who spoke with whale gods, could manipulate Void and had powers and dreams that made them scream at night. For them, speaking with the dead was the least alarming of their life events.

“Listen, I can't--” Daud started, his teeth going heavy, making his words sound forced. “What do you expect from this? Where do think this is going to go?”

Corvo shrugged and Daud bristled. He was far too nonchalant about all this.

“I had an affair with an Empress for 14 years. I know how to keep this hidden, if I have to. And it won't interfere with work.”

Daud pinched the bridge of his nose, hating how Corvo's amusement kept intruding on his thoughts. “And my spies? They'll know.”

“They're spies,” Corvo said, his eyes going dark. “They should know how to keep a secret.”

Daud sneered at the response, the growl rippling out of him as his logic fought with his emotion.

“If we ever break it off, you're going to have to fire me.”

“Then we won't break it off.”

Daud swallowed hard and coughed, gaping at Corvo. Corvo still stood there, serenely, still waiting for Daud to come around. Daud saw the conviction in Corvo's eyes and felt his panic rise. He shook his head, wiping his mouth where it was still wet with Corvo's saliva.

Void.

He turned, his chest filled with fire, and breathed. Corvo gave him a moment before extending his thoughts back to him. They flowed over his addled brain, cool and reassuring, and when Corvo gently grabbed at his arm he didn't pull away.

“Sorry, that may have come off strongly, but I'm not…” Corvo licked his lip, took a breath. “I just want you here. With me. Physically, maybe not intimately yet but... I've wanted this for a while now. I see no reason for that feeling to change. Besides,” he smirked, nudging Daud closer, “you're too good a spymaster to just fire.”

Daud scoffed, amused, opening to the affection. He raised a brow towards Corvo, eying him quizzically.

“You're not going to let this go, are you?”

“Well, I would, if you weren't interested,” Corvo mused, suddenly preoccupied with Daud's sleeve. “But now I know you feel similarly, so…”He trailed of mischievously and Daud scoffed, amused.

He wasn't winning this test of wills at all.

“Corvo, you already have my life in your hands,” Daud reminded him. “If you want to give this a shot…” His eyes went dark, his smile dangerous. “Fine. Just make sure you don't regret any future decisions you make with it.”

Corvo laughed and nearly yanked Daud in again, pulling him close and licking against teeth and lips. This time, Daud was far more eager to reciprocate, reveling in their emotions melding together with each kiss.

They eventually returned to the party, bodies smoking with energy, Daud in his whaler mask and Corvo hiding behind his laughing metal face. They melted into the crowd, never out of sight of one another, sharing gossip with the guests while their two minds tangled with every passing shared moment. By the end of the night, the job was done. The largest investor for the Regenters was gone out to sea and the crown remained safe from a few more dissenters.

By morning, the Knife of Dunwall was smiling despite himself, nursing a coffee brought in by the hungover Royal Protector himself. Daud's men, blessedly, said nothing, but Daud could feel their energy.

They all knew.

And he accepted it, all of it. Against his better judgement, against any bit of logic he could muster, he was ready for whatever this new chapter brought. Perhaps, just this once, it wouldn't be as bad he expected.

Perhaps his future wasn't so bleak, after all.