#its always a blue guy + warm colors guy...... fuck

[numberonepartyboy]

ffffffuuuck <- still not ok from realising that she has a type in shipping

[dmitriene]

𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗟𝗘𝗢𝗡 𝗔𝗗𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨.

❝𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧❞ 𝘣𝘧 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥𝘺 𝘹 𝘨𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ❝𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦❞ 𝘗𝘜𝘙𝘌 𝘍𝘓𝘜𝘍𝘍, 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘛, 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞, 𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵, 𝘱𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴, 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤, 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴

 ✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

leon loves you, he really loves you.

you don’t need to look into his eyes at an angle or through a microscope to see pure adoration in the blue glasses — leon is a guy who looks at you as if you were the most hidden treasure of the many shining trinkets in his lair, protecting and cherishing like a dragon from cartoons or fairy tales that is guarding his treasure without intending to give it to anyone.

he expresses his love and affection for you through words and actions, warm, viscous like honey offers of caress and touch, calloused fingers running over your body a map of prints, hickeys, bites — licking and kissing tenderly, every hollow, bulge, unevenness, uncertainty which can form in you and does not have time because he is always here, cooing and purring about how beautiful you are, for him, in his eyes, in the blue boundless oceans that stretch before your gaze, whether he is standing in front of you on his knees or at full height, whispering again and again — «so gorgeous, so beautiful, so adorable, a pure piece of art you are, sweetheart»

leon knows what complexes are, rejection of yourself, your body — working as an agent leaves its imprints, obsessive thoughts, someone else’s wrong word, and you struggle all your life with self hatred when all you see in the mirror is a chaotic parody of a person, instead of to notice something special, beautiful, your own — in the eyes you see irregularities, scars, hair, eyes, a smile, skin color, you, you, you.

in the end, everything closes, like wires in an electric box, on hatred of your own existence and reflection in the mirror, which he does not want to see in your eyes, does not want you to experience this, every person has his share of scars, they are beautiful, and he intends to convince you of the same.

his warming touches are always on your body, an arm around your waist, or two, on the very bottom of your back, on your stomach, on your thigh, on your hip, on the softness of your ass, on your breasts, which he periodically massages or squeezes in his warm palms, nuzzling his nose against it if he lies on you, he outlines every part of the skin, the skin that gathers in soft folds, intuitively rubbing, warming and massaging, while his nose rubs against your neck, shoulder, whispering purring, as if he had suddenly been reborn as a cat, words of deep love, tearing giggles from your lips — «so freaking gorgeous, fuck, you can't believe how much i adore you, darling»

every word of his caresses deeper than even his tongue could between your legs, he creates intimacy in his very presence next to you, plunging you into a silent, warm abyss, while he mumbles words of delight through slurps and squelches when he carefully spreads your legs, drawing soothing circles while his tongue pushed deeper, traced, and his lips closes around your throbbing clit, sucking, as if teasing, flicking it with the tip of his tongue with quick movements and making your hips jerk forward, sobs, pleas escaping your lips — «l-lee, need t'cum, pleaseplease leon»

you don’t see, your eyes are swollen with a light veil of tears, but you feel his lips spreading into a wide grin as he sharply sucks on your clit, slowly circling before pushing and relaxing his tongue in the tightness of your wet hole, while his fingers intuitively rub and play with your nipples, placing his palms on your breasts, squeezing or stroking them before pulling back from you completely, leaving your slickness absolutely neglected with wet pop, making half bloomed fireworks flash before your eyes, tearing disappointed whimpers from your lips as he mutters, licking his wet lips and slowly removing your juices from his short, already dark stubble — «wanna hear your voice telling me how beautiful my girlfriend are, baby, and then i'll let you cum properly, alright?»

you fidget on the rumpled sheets in dissatisfaction, and he knows he’s being cunning, denying your pleasure for the sake of something that can be discussed, worked on later, but it wouldn’t be leon if he didn’t act like a sly fox, so you raise your head, huffing in displeasure, fidgeting with your teeth over your lips, swollen from his previously starving kisses, and finally you meekly whisper, enough to satisfy his cunning face between your wet, plush legs — «i'm.. i'm beautiful, very, hmh.. — beautiful person, and your girlfriend»

he nods, you can barely see through the wet gaze how his head moves before he silently returns to his work, causing you to instantly arch and practically scream, moaning long and sweetly, throwing your head back as he fucks his tongue in and out of your slippery hole, rubbing your clit with his thumb and soon making lewd squelches and grunts, licking up the plethora of your juices and slowly bobbing his head following the light thrusts of his tongue, before your velvety, gummy walls clench around his pink, warm muscle and your legs practically fly off, if not for the strong the grip of his hands, your body goes absolutely limp from the force of orgasm that fills leon’s mouth with your slick, gushing all around his face, dripping with clear liquid down his lips and chin.

you come to your senses when the white noise leaves your ears gradually, and warm fingers make you focus on the feeling of how the skin of your thighs is gently massaged, leon immediately notices how your eyes slowly dart around and leans towards you hastily, cooing and stroking your cheek with calloused thumb, a little worried about your clearly fucked out state — «there you are, sweetie, don't move, i'll take care of you from now on, mhm?»

you hum, nodding meekly and wearily squeezing out — «mm.. okay, lee..» before giving everything into his hands, it’s so right, it seems to him, and it’s good for you when he takes the majority of the weight on himself, at the moment in taking care of you, carefully wiping you from all stickiness and liquids, taking note of your sensitivity, before proceeding to give you a warm, relaxing bath, where he will carefully shower you with his attention and care, whispering honeyed praises into your ears while his hands gently massage your body.

he adores you.

taglist: @roseglazedlens, @scar-crossedlvrs, @daydreamrot, @kennedyswhore-old dm me if you want to be tagged in my works or open my taglist

[amalainse]

"life spring"

— gojo satoru

tags ට lite somno (consensual), praise kink, pussy job, riding, vanilla and full of so much love its gross, morning sex, lowkey sub satoru, established marriage, fix it fic of sorts

a/n ට i listened to hozier the entire time i wrote this. so thats how you guys know im serious about the vanilla sex.

───⠀౨ৎ this is the married life that gojo deserves and it's his and sometimes he can't believe its all real. (1.4k wc)

the room glows like pure gold, spun from the sun's waves.

its warm and it smells like home and satoru's eyes blink open slowly before shutting again. there are other colors too ; pretty cherry blossom pinks, hazy greens and blue the color of the sea. a gift from the first years — from nobara in particular. it's supposed to mimic stained glass.

satoru wants to cling to his dream for a moment longer. a boat, rocking gently at sea. you and your smile as you took turns pushing each other overboard. but the fuzzy feeling is lifting and faster by the second.

a bird cries and sings its morning song. satoru opens his eyes and grins.

the first thing he always sees when he wakes up is you. whether thats when your curled up under his chin like you want to burrow up under your skin. or if its like now—with your face inches away from his, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, grinding down on his cock.

satoru reaches out to pull you down, and breathes your name against your lips. not quite kissing, just breathing the same air. bucks up once and twice, smiling at your cheeky grin. like you aren't more undone than he is.

"'morning, satoru" you giggle, kissing him finally, sounding breathless.

his fingers find your waist, secretly delighting in your bareness. hums appreciatively as your weeping cunt rocks down against his cock—fully hard now. "its a very good morning"

he has no shame at all in admitting he loves this—loves when you take charge. when you go for what you want. you had spent so long being meek, trying to blend into the background. hoping to fade away. but you've come into your own, and satoru likes to think he's apart of that. how he gives you the stability, the comfort, to chase what you're after.

"did you cum yet?" satoru asks, fingers tracing shapes into your skin.

you shake your head, lip caught between your teeth. but you know to keep your eyes open—focused completely on him.

"that's my good girl" satoru says, proud. you let out a shaky whine, pace faltering. "my pretty wife, so wet for me"

your hands come down to frame his chest, nails pretty against his skin as your hips grind in tight little circles that have him groaning out. and then your hand grabs his dick—holding him right where you want him, oh god—grinding more firmly against your clit.

"that's what you needed baby? needed my dick, didn't you?" satoru asks, like you both don't already know the answer. pleasure zips up his spine as your movements grow faster, sloppier. the pressure's enough to keep him on the edge, enough to make him feel like he could cum, maybe—but doesn't. it's the best. his hand rubs your back, moves your hair out of your eyes. "i don't mind sweetheart, its your dick. my hot, perfect wife"

you sob, muscled thighs trembling as you chase your high. your nails dig into his chest and he knows your searching for it now—the perfect stroke that'll finally make you cum.

"my perfect sorcerer wife is so strong" satoru whispers, gently caressing your stomach. "so beautiful. i'm so lucky. you gonna cum soon aren't you, baby? gonna cum messy too?"

you nod, another broken sob falling from your lips, fractured uh-uh-huhhh, satoru. you change your angle, and suddenly the wet sounds of your pussy sliding against his cock fill the room.

"yeah," he says, nodding, a wistful sigh leaving his lips. "can you hear yourself baby, hear how fucking wet and sloppy you are?"

and that's what does it for you—slumping down into his neck with a wail, as you take his hand and lead it down to your cunt. he knows what you want immediately, rubbing you fast and hard as you cum.

"you did so good," he says, sticking his fingers into his mouth to suck off the taste. your hips shake and quiver with the intensity of your orgasm. you don't answer for a long minute, and he can feel the soft puffs of air against his skin.

"hi" you breathe, finally, smiling at him

"hi" he says back, like a dork. you snuggle in closer, fingers brushing up softly against his cheek. satoru smiles and briefly closes his eyes. he can feel the smile breaking out onto his face, impossible to stop. never did he think he could be here, and have this : softness, laughter and smiles. peace.

"mm, and what are you laughing at?" you ask, leaning up on one elbow.

satoru opens his eyes. grins cheekily. "you. i was thinking your head looked like a raisin"

your mouth opens and closes in disbelief. the hand that been so gently caressing his face moments ago pinches his cheek sharply. and then you get that familiar mischievous look in your eye.

"no wait—" he protests, far too late. you descend upon him, jabbing your fingers into his sides, and his stomach and the side of his neck—where he is most ticklish. satoru writhes on the bed, loud peals of laughter bursting from him as he tries every yielding term in the book.

"oh yeah not so funny now is it?" you goad, although the sound of his laughter drowns you out.

"okay, okay, okay—"

a loud thud, and satoru falls of the bed and crashes to the floor in a heap of too-long limbs.

"oh shit" you mutter, and he doesn't need six eyes to tell him that you're covering your mouth with your hand to hide your laughter. you lean over the edge of the bed, eyes crinkling in the corner. age has done well by you. "baby, are you okay?"

"i think i broke my back" satoru groans, and massages his lower back to nail the point in further. "i'm getting so old"

"oh please" you snort, rolling your eyes, "you're only 39"

"that means i already have one foot in the grave!"

you roll your eyes again, pulling him up on the bed. "yes, you old old man. practically dead already"

"its been a good run" satoru says dramatically, tossing his head back onto the pillow. "i'm going to die happy now. 10 long years married to the love of my life"

"mmm" you hum, noncommittally, reaching over to feel up on his cock. his back straightens and he gets hard again embarrassingly fast. "do you think you have enough life left to handle me riding you?"

satoru pretends to think about it, massaging your right tit, slightly smaller than the left—fitting so perfectly into his hand. "try not to squeeze my soul out of my body and we're good"

"good," you say, settling on top of him again "i want you in me"

"fuck—baby, you can't just—" satoru gasps, as you breach yourself with his cock in one hard thrust. all coherent thought tumbles from his mind, gone with the wind, when he feels your warm cunt flutter around him and then squeeze. "you're doing that on purpose"

"am i?" you ask cheekily, smirking, riding him hard and fast. your ass smacks down against his thighs loudly, and when he dares to look at the place where the two of you are connected—he sees the ring of white around the base and has to screw his eyes shut to stop himself from cumming. he groans, tossing his head back, arm shielding his face from view.

ten years, and he still has to fight from busting his load the minute you get your cunt around him. ten years and he still keens, still mumbles shaky gasps and praises into the air. hands squeezing delicately around your hips, occasionally going to cup your ass—to help you along.

not that you need it. you grind down, hand massaging and squeezing at his pecs, as your go in tight circles around his dick. then you rise back up, letting him slip all the way out before slamming back down again.

you lean down next to his ear, taking his lobe between your teeth and biting gently. "baby?"

"y-yeah?" satoru asks, voice high, thrusting up into your tight heat in short aborted pumps of his hips. "you need something from me?"

"mmm" you moan in affirmation and he can feel you smiling against his cheek. "i want you to cum in me now"

satoru's grip on your hips turns bruising. he holds you still and shoves his dick into you over and over again, loud in the silent room. so good he can't think, broken praises and curses spilling from his lips. he brings you down and slams up into you one last time before doing exactly what you ask of him.

[777sturn]

𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝜗𝜚 matt sturniolo

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉. . . you and matt have been childhood best friends for as long as you can remember. slowly, the friendship started to blossom into something more than that. cuddles and holding hands were a normal occurrence between the two, and every feeling was pushed away because it was strictly platonic. but what if one small and friendly gesture makes feelings begin to unfold?

˖ ࣪⊹ pairing, crush!matt x fem!reader

⊹₊ ⋆ warning(s), mature language, suggestive (?)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ jules’ message. little cutesy one for my first 😊

it was just another ordinary summer evening. the gentle sounds of the waves crashing against the shore and the salty air was what made you look forward to summer nights the most. the sky was painted with baby pink and orange hues and the sun was about to hit the horizon, indicating it was almost sunset.

you were currently alongside matt as you two walked around the half-crowded boardwalk. it wasn’t anything new, taking walks to catch the sunset was your guys’ thing. despite you two being childhood best friends, you only got to see him over the summer. every summer, your family and his would visit the beach house and stay until school began again. of course, you were close with nick and chris, but you were always drawn to matt and had a special connection that others may brush off as just a regular friendship— except, it was much more than that.

matt and you went through everything together— relationships, friend groups, arguments, you name it. there was always this unexplainable tension between you two, but it was always pushed away for the sake of keeping the friendship.

“if we don’t hurry up, we’re gonna miss the sunset!” you complain, gently nudging him.

matt rolls his eyes playfully, “we’ll make it in time,” he reassures, pointing over in the distance.

soon enough, the beach slowly comes into view. even though it was the perfect time of the day to be there, it was somewhat empty. there was only a few families and couples who were playing in the water or watching the sunset.

you smile as you notice the spot. it was a small rocky area close by the shore, it was always surrounded by seashells and for some reason the breeze was much cooler there. you turn to matt, your smile growing much bigger, “i’ll race you.” and in a blink of an eye, you were off.

“what the fuck!” matt called, running after you, “you got a head start!”

you continue to giggle as you run to the spot. the warm rays of the sun casted onto you as you reached the destination. another set of laughter escapes your lips as you watch an exhausted matt slowly jog to you.

“cheater!” he lets out a breath, running his fingers through his hair that the wind messed with.

“either way,” you start, sitting down on the sand, “i would’ve still won.”

“yeah yeah,” matt mutters, sitting beside you. the sun was now casting an orange glow over the ocean and the two of you. the waves continued its rhythmic melody as it met the shore. it was peaceful and quiet between you guys.

“i like this,” you whisper softly, breaking the silence, “watching the sunset, again with you.”

“god don’t be cheesy,” matt mutters shaking his head, a hint of amusement was heard in his voice as he tried to cover it up with a tough act.

you let out another giggle as your eyes roam around the sand and seashells in front of you. a plethora of different shapes, sizes, and colored shells caught your eye— but a couple of them in particular stood out to you the most. you reach out, picking up three blue shells that were different shades as the ocean. they were also blue, just like matt’s eyes.

matt was looking out at the sunset, not realizing you were searching for shells. you turn to him to study his face for a second before scooting a little closer towards him.

“look at me for a second,” you say softly, enclosing your fingers on the shells to hide them.

matt turns to face you with a slight confused expression. he looks down at your tightly closed hand, “i swear to fuck if you throw sand in my face, i’ll literally throw you into the ocean.”

you roll your eyes, “i promise i wont, just look at me and move your hair out of your eyes.”

he sighs, looking straight at you. his hand slightly held up his hair out of his eyes. you smile as you open your hand, revealing the three shells. you pick one up one at a time, holding it up close to his eyes. your eyes flicker back and forth from his pupils to the shell. you continue to stay silent until you bring up the third one, “found it.” your smile grows bigger.

“found what?” he asked, his voice was raspy and low from staying quiet.

“a shell that matches your eyes.” you say casually, wrapping your fingers around it again, “now, lets continue watching the sunset.”

“why would i watch the sunset if i could watch the pretty girl thats right in front of me.” he mutters, softly.

your eyes widen slightly, “look who’s being cheesy now.” you tease, playfully nudging his arm.

“now we’re equal.” matt smirks, “wait actually no.” his eyes divert on the shells, searching for a hazel colored one. he picks one up and turns back to you.

his hand gently tucked your hair behind your ear. the sudden touch made your heart drop and it felt like a whole zoo broke out into your stomach. he held up the shell next to your eye and lets out a satisfied hum, “perfect.” he says, lowly.

a slight blush crept onto your cheeks at what just happened. you watch as he puts it in the pocket of his shorts. he smiles softly, “now i’ll always have a piece of you to remember and you do too.”

the slight blush was now much noticeable and you could feel your cheeks heat up more and more.

“you’re blushing.” he mutters, teasingly. his eyes still on your face.

“i’m sunburnt.” you lie, turning your head back to the ocean in front of you.

he lets out a low chuckle as he gently cupped your face to turn to him again. of course, that just made everything much worse, “you’re definitely blushing.” he smirks.

it was silent between you two, the tension was unbearable. not a single word came out of your mouth. you looked at his face, for some reason, the shade of blue in his eyes were much darker than usual. the soft golden hue of the setting sun crept onto his face, accentuating his features: the depths of his cheekbones, the teensy flush on his cheeks, everything.

it was like the world had just stopped and the only thing you could hear was the soothing melody of the ocean as well as your heart beating quicker and quicker.

you couldnt help but smile as his thumb gently caressed your cheek. he returned the warm smile as his eyes flickered to your eyes and then down to your lips. of course, you notice, your cheeks flushed a brighter pink.

his eyes lock onto your eyes as if he was silently asking a question. you notice as you meet his gaze once again. the way butterflies fluttered in your stomach in circles made everything seem real. it was happening— the moment you wanted to happen the most.

you nod your head. he continues to look at you, making sure if there was any second guesses. matt slightly tilted his head as he leaned in closer to you, finally closing the small gap and kissing you softly.

his lips on yours was like the missing puzzle piece. the way your guys’ lips moved in harmony, slowly, made the kiss seem like it was filled with care and meaning. he lightly nibbled on your bottom lip and then ran his tongue along it, soothing it and began to crave your taste more and more.

you open your mouth slightly, tilting your head as his tongue brushed against yours. his hands made their way to your waist and gently tugged them, signaling for you to go into his lap. without disconnecting the kiss, you straddle his lap and cup his face. soon enough, the once soft and slow kiss was filled with craving and passion, the pace slowly picking up. teeth and tongue were clashing and soft moans were being exchanged. it was music to each other’s ears.

eventually, you pull away to catch your breath. you slowly flutter your eyes open to see matt. his lips were slightly parted and swollen from the excessive kissing. your guys chest rose in sync, trying to make your breathing pattern even again.

“you’re perfect,” matt mutters, his head moving to your jawline, softly kissing it before trailing a series of kisses down your neck.

he gently nipped at the skin, soothing it quickly after with more kisses. you tilt your head back, giving him more access. you hands lightly tugged on his brown hair as he bit and sucked harder. you melt into his touch as his grip on your waist became a little tighter, his thumbs slowly rubbing small circles on your waist. the kisses trailed down once again to the top of your breasts. he pulled away to admire his work, grinning wide, “yeah this sight is better than the sunset.”

[ahsxual]

Could we maybe have a smut with doug like maybe he billys the reader but decides to fuck her and leave her alone after

Dark Fear & Pleasure

Pairing: Doug Van Housen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI +18!!, rough sex, extremely mean Doug, fear play, pain kink, reader gets bullied, CNC, cumming inside w/o permission, heavy degradation/humiliation, name-calling (verbal abuse), mentions of stalking, cursing, mean!Dom!Doug x sub!Fem!Reader, possessive!Doug, spanking, dacryphilia, fingering, p in v (w/o protection)

Genre:(Heavy) Smut

Word Count: 2,2k

PLEASE BE AWARE THAT THIS FIC HAS DARK THEMES, IF YOU'RE AGAINST ANYTHING MENTIONED IN THE WARNINGS, DO NOT READ IT!!!

A/N: This is definitely the darkest and nastiest fic I've ever written... I was absolutely drooling over this request!! Doug turns me on sm and that's so alarming, but Idc. Please, be aware that this fic contains extremely heavy themes! Anyway, I hope I wrote Doug right and that you guys enjoy this 🤭😈 tagging: @aliceblxck @twelvelevens @unidentifiablesubject <3

"Leave me alone, you freak!" you couldn't take it anymore. You'd had enough. Ever since Doug laid his eyes on you, he wouldn't stop stalking you and humiliating you in front of his group, reveling in the fear and vulnerability you showed towards him. It made him feel powerful, like he could control you like a small, fragile bunny whenever he wanted to or felt bored.

This time, he crossed all your limits, invading your house while your parents were away. And this time he came alone, not bringing his friends to join in his "fun" with you, as he call it. How could he know you were home alone? Why was he so obsessed with you to the point of knowing your routine and discovering that your parents were going to spend the weekend away, leaving you unsafe for any creep who wanted to assault you? And now there you were, trapped between a pair of a psychopath's arms against the wall of your bedroom, his face so close to yours that you could feel his hot breath on your cheek. His grin was filled with malice, like a venomous snake analyzing its prey, ready to strike at any moment.

"And what fun would that be? I like tormenting you way too much, little bunny. You're so easy to scare... It actually turns me on." then you felt a warm tongue lick your wet tears running from your chin, while he moaned at the taste of fear in them.

You felt disgusted once you felt him get hard against you, so you impulsively spit on his face. You immediately regretted your bold action the moment you saw his blue irises darken so much until you could no longer see its color anymore. You'd never seen him so furious, as his jaw clenched so hard so as not to fall into the temptation of killing you right there.

"That's enough! You need to learn some manners and not disrespect who's in charge of you, you pathetic bitch!" you then felt his strong hands throw you harshly onto your bed, making you groan in pain. You were simply relieved that he hadn't thrown you to the rigid floor.

"Please Doug, what do you want from me...!?" you were feeling desperate by now, your fresh tears blurring your vision from the man who was about to destroy you.

"What do I want from you?" he chuckled, clearly mocking you like he always did. "I wanna be the one who's responsible for corrupting that cunt of yours. I bet you're not as innocent as you look... I bet you're tighter and wetter than any girl I've fucked before. And I'm gonna turn you into my sex slave for whenever I feel my balls full and want to warm up my cock. Are you more clear about my intentions with you now, huh?" he grunted before he forcefully grabbed your hair, forcing you to look at him as you winced in pain.

"No Doug, please don't... anything but that!!" you would be lying if you said that his words didn't make your panties wet and empty pussy clench around nothing, but you would never admit it to the man who's been tormenting you for months.

"Do you really think you can make a decision here?" he laughed at you. "Unfortunately, neither mommy or daddy are going to be here to help their sweet daughter from getting fucked by someone who just wants to abuse her slutty cunt. What a shame..." he slapped you across the face, purposely causing your cheek to burn and sting in pain. "You're so pathetic... and it makes my cock so hard." he said confidently, with pure danger evident in his words, before licking the top of your sternum all the way up to your chin with his long tongue.

"Why are you doing this...?" it was barely a whisper, but Doug could hear you perfectly. You looked away from him while he was pinning your wrists, restraining you with the weight of his body, while his free hand gripped your breasts and nipples roughly. He was way stronger and intimating then he looked, and the thought of being at his mercy absolutely terrified you.

"If you're a good girl for me and don't fight much, maybe I'll have pity on you..." he laughed as he said those words, making you believe he was lying with every tooth he had in his mouth. "But on second thought, I'd actually like to see you fight back." was all he said, before turning you over and shoving your face into your pillow to prevent you from breathing properly as he unbuckled his belt.

"Nooo, Doug!!" You screamed and tried to push him off you as you begged for his mercy, but that only seemed to turn him on even more, since it was completely useless. In one abrupt movement, you felt him pull your shorts and panties off, as he stared at your glistening pussy.

"Holy fuck, look at this... You're enjoying this as much as I am, you freaky slut. I knew I could corrupt you... This cunt is my fucking property now, you understand me?" you felt a hard slap on your ass, leaving a red handprint from his big hand. It hurt like hell, yet you couldn't ignore the pleasure that ran through your spine until it reached your core.

He kept spanking you until your ass was all red and sore. Once he got bored of it, he decided to check one more time if his actions turned you on even more, soon realizing that his suspicions were absolutely correct.

"You're even wetter now, little bunny... you should be ashamed of yourself for enjoying this. You do realize now that I'm not gonna stop ruining this pussy whenever I want to, right?" you moaned as you felt two long fingers enter you without any care and fuck you hard as if it were his dick.

"Stop it Doug, please, it hurts! It's too much!!" you whimpered loudly, no longer able to distinguish pleasure from pain. You'd never been intimate with a guy with hands as big as Doug's, and it hurt so good.

"Good." was all he said before speeding up his pace. He grabbed your hair so you could breath, and when he pushed you back against your pillow, you came and screamed from the intensity of your orgasm.

"Look at that... after all the bitch likes me to humiliate and hurt her." he whispered with a clear smirk on his face, as he looked down at his cum-covered fingers, before grabbing you by the hair to make eye contact with you.

"Open. Now." not wanting to test him any further, you opened your mouth hesitantly as he shoved two fingers in forcefully, making you gag around them.

"You better suck my fingers clean or I swear I'll make you choke on them until you pass out, you slut." you did as he said, afraid to face the consequences of his promises. When you finished, he took his fingers out of your mouth and put them in his own while staring deeply into your eyes.

"Doug, please..." you no longer knew what you were pleading for: for him to let you go or for him fuck you like the wild animal he was. You began to feel your body, especially your pussy, craving his cock and touch, making you feel slightly dizzy from the adrenaline and pleasure coursing through your blood.

"It'll feel better if you want it too, trust me. You're wet enough not to hurt your pretty pussy too much, so don't worry. I'll be gentle with you." he promised with blatant lies and fake enthusiasm as he brushed the pieces of hair from your face that were sticky with sweat, before laughing and mocking your face.

He then pushed you down hard so that you were lying on your back, while he ripped off your top to expose your tits and erect nipples, leaving you completely naked and vulnerable for him and his hungry eyes.

"No bra, huh? You're making this so much easier for me, little bunny. Now... don't even think about fighting back, because I promise you it will hurt." you couldn't stop crying, yet you couldn't stop craving him either.

You'd probably just discovered a new kink of yours that was unknown to you until then, or you'd only noticed that moment how profoundly attractive you were to Doug, even though he bullied you and made fun of you almost every day. It was extremely bizarre, however your dynamic was something you felt very addicted to, like a sweet poison that you couldn't stop drinking no matter how deadly and poisonous it was.

He was still fully clothed, which made you feel even more humiliated about the whole situation you were in. But as soon as he pulled down his black pants and boxers... you wished you could still see him fully dressed and not come face to face with the monster he was hiding between his legs.

"Holy shit..." you cursed wide-eyed, praying that you could take him all without being ripped apart from the inside out. You saw his proud, wide grin reappear, making you realize that he enjoyed watching your fear and horror at taking him inside you way too much.

"Scared? I'll make it all fit no matter what, so you better be."

The moment he penetrated you, it was as if the entire world had collapsed on you. You felt like you'd been drugged, since you could no longer think or see straight. To your surprise, it didn't hurt like you thought it would, your wetness and lust for him causing your pussy to immediately adjust to his huge size. However, it did hurt when he started pounding into you, his long cock slamming into your cervix at a fast, rough pace. Your screams were mistaken for moans of real pleasure, making him groan too at the feeling of your tight, welcoming cunt. When he changed position to fuck you deeper, you grabbed the bit of skin of his back that wasn't covered and dug your nails in until he grunted in pain.

"Fuck, I've wanted to destroy this fucking pussy for so long..." he whispered to himself with his eyes closed, loud enough for you to hear him. His confession made you clench around him as you came on his cock, since he was hitting your g-stop over and over again.

"No no, you're gonna look into my fucking eyes as you cum and ask for my fucking permission!" he shouted at you with an angry face, before slapping you as reminder not to dare desobey him. He didn't stop until he made you cum a second time with his cock, this time doing as he told you, which deepened the intensity of your last orgasm of the night.

"That's it little bunny, that's how I like my girl... Obedient to her owner like a well behaved whore."

"P-please, don't cum inside me! I'm begging you, please!!" you implored him the moment you felt him reach his orgasm, but as you expected, he did exactly the opposite of what you wished for.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do! I'll cum wherever I want and you'll thank me for that, you ungrateful slut." these were his last words, before cumming deep inside you, his thick sperm coating your walls so deliciously.

When he pulled his cock out of you, still half hard, he stared at you with pride. You were looking like a mess: naked and covered in dark hickeys, your sweaty hair all messed up, your face covered in black mascara while your eyelids were half shut from exhaustion and your chest heaving rapidly from your deep breathing. When you felt some of your energy slowly being replenished, you covered your naked body with your arms and knees as you looked out of the window, while reliving what had just happened in your mind.

"Hey, you came three times with my fingers and my cock. Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it too. In fact, I did you a favor, so be grateful. I bet no other guy will fuck you this good." he said while buttoning his pants.

Before climbing out of your window, he stopped halfway and looked back at you, lying in a fetal position while you clutched your legs to your chest. He slowly approached you and knelt down to your level, watching you carefully before one of his hands tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

"I promise I'll leave you alone from now on, my little bunny... But I can't promise I won't come back to taste that sweet pussy of yours again." he chuckled darkly, as you felt him kiss your forehead firmly, before getting up and leaving your bedroom through your window.

And just like that, he disappeared in the middle of the night, as if the devil himself had paid you a visit to remind you who you belong to.

[dasnercaret]

i had so much fun drawing this guy it's unreal. please observe siffrin from @protectorcraft's fic a bell chimes somewhere!! what a dude. what a lad. what a weirdo (positive)

some more details under the cut! (spoilers for isat and the fic under the cut as well!)

i imagine that since siffrin's creachur form has something to do with wish craft, it wasn't too far-fetched to say that his eye would be colored too, especially given how the sky kid focused on it. however since this isn't his wish to stay with his family, i thought it would be nice to make it a different color... something representing the universe........ Sky Blue It Is

it helps that i am also obsessed with shades of sky blue AND the line from the fic that the sky kid said that it had "everything" in its eyes

i didn't illustrate it, but i think it would be extra cool if creachur siff's eye color changed as per time of day. just because. he's like the eye color version of that one 'do you love the color of the sky' post

i like to imagine that siffrin still has a strange Light in his eyes even when in his human disguise. can't remember if the fic mentions it or not but he has a sky blue highlight in those eyes now in my design. because i can :3

speaking of human disguise, i like to think that even with his transformation he's still not that subtle. mirabelle picks up immediately that he's weird but also that he's friendly and VERY good at survival, and so isn't too bothered by his... quirks. this might end up being canon to the fic honestly but i just wanted to trot out my two cents regardless while i'm here

i'm hoping i managed to communicate some of that off-putting nature in his face! especially his eyes. they're almost unnaturally gray aside from that strange highlight

i originally wanted to make his eyes even weirder but then i thought that being Too Weird would kind of defeat the point, and the point of this is that siffrin kind of has to pass as a normal human which means no glowing pupils, unfortunately. i can totally Give Him Pupils though. gotta get that subtle horror/ creepiness in :3

he gets glowing pupils / tapetum lucidum in the dark though. or when he's angry (see top left). as a treat

didn't draw his in between state (between human and dragon) but i imagine it looks kinda fucked up ! his horn and ears grow, his tail gets longer, teeth get sharper, his whole face sort of. Distorts. in a distinctly uncanny valley way. the blue highlight starts bleeding into his eyes (and his pupils start transforming from round to slit to star-shaped)

continuing, this in-between form in my head is sorta like the dragonkin soldiers from elden ring, just in terms of 'this is a weird hybrid of human and dragon and it just Doesn't Work'. like human, cool, dragon, cool, in between? fucked

siffrin is INSANELY floofy. even with the fact that he hasn't bathed in ages and his floof is all matted and tangled from lack of care he's still crazy soft. i think his fur also has similar insulating properties to his cloak so he never overheats or gets too cold. always the Perfect Temperature

if i were more confident in my skills (and which way this fic is going to end up going) i would have drawn a big hero 6 style moment where everyone is just lying with their face buried in siffrin's fur, like how everyone lays on warm marshmellow baymax.

i originally meant for siffrin to be more cursed and body-horror-y, and then i was looking at the fic descriptions for him (as of chapter 7, so there may be more detail later that i didn't get to see as of writing this) and was like 'wait... he kind of looks like the dragons from BOTW doesn't he' and then the inherent majesty kind of. just. Happened.

i like the fact that he looks kind of majestic though! i think it's a good representation of siffrin's terrible body image issues in this fic where honestly he looks awesome but he just doesn't realize it because, hello negative self-worth

didn't color the last doodles of human siff at the top left. apologies. i got sleeby

in another life mirabelle rides his dragon form into battle and it is exactly as awesome as it looks like it would be

kind of shoehorned my own oc into here as well but i SWEAR aleph is so absurdly similar to this design it's actually kind of hilarious. if i had a nickel for the number of space dragon designs i've made i'd have two, which isn't a lot but

and the full page of doodles! just cause

[quintessencewrites]

Y-yes, Daddy pt. 3

college student!ShuRiri x college student!black!fem!reader

Her eyes sent the message that her lips didn’t; they couldn’t, too busy being bitten to the flesh between Riri’s perfect rows of teeth, the gold on her lower set mirroring the gold around her neck.

Warnings: (buckle up, there are a few) 18+!!!!! Smut HEAVY, dom! Shuri, switch! reader, switch! Riri, cuckold? voyeurism, fingering (reader receiving), oral sex (reader/ Riri receiving). rough sex (reader/Riri receiving), public sex? explicit language (as always), double penetration (not saying who, it's a surprise), anal sex (not saying who), heavy praise kink, slight illicit drug use, strap slinging! all three of them... etc because I know I missed a few...

Word count: 8.4k+

Tags:

@percsane @zestgodtj @k3nn3dyxo @mlmilani @letitias-fav @doms-fav @sweetalittleselfish-honey @g4yforu @widowmakker @becauseimswagman1 @zayswriting @inmyheadimobsessed @laurensmabel1 @malltake12 @msudaku @faeriah-thv @fetchyourlife @mbakuetshurisprincess @sinsikoxo @honey-teaaaaaaaa @rxcently @pinkcorns @takeyaki @yamsthoughts @thethickerside @0hshoot1tsl4ni @shurisbathwater @shurismainbxtch @luvrzhearts @sadfreakx @shuri-my-love @justariellove @heartsforjojo @blackgirlfariy @tuesdaylovesu @chocoflagcutii @taiiunknown @zhanylai @ziayamikaelson @verachii @taiiunknown @beautybyfire @soearthquakequeen @remwritess @pinkwright @jenlouvre @letitiasleftfoot @6-noir @kya-rose @saintwrld @someshuriposts @jessiap @ilikegecos @iiluvl4n @katymae12344 @shurismainbxtch @crookedsaladlover @motheroffae @saintwrld @marsolgy @ogbells16 @verachii @shuriszn @playgurlxoxo @ashleighshaw @te-23 @dominquesheart @shuridefenselawyer @iminlovewithdomandtish @limbozqueen @cansah2002-blog

A/N: Y'ALL!!! I'M BACK <3 I don't know how to thank you guys enough for checking in on me while I was gone and giving me such grace while I got myself together a bit <3 I love you guys

Dedicated to my baby, @inmyheadimobsessed, Yes Daddy's biggest fan, president of the fan club, and one of my biggest supporters. She also gave me an idea for one of the scenes in this so co-writing status goes to her <3 Anyways ily, Lyric. As always, I hope I did you justice.

The cobalt waters glistened around your figure, swaying to and fro with a serenity unlike any you’d experienced. Eyes closed, face warm from the sun’s rays kissing your skin, Wakanda was a beauty to behold, with such vibrancy in its colors and its people. 

Its marketplace was adorned with rich tapestries, the palace was picturesque. The rivers that flowed through the heart of the capital flowed the bluest blue you’d ever seen; the grass was too green, the sand too yellow. 

“You grew up here? Shuri, it's fucking beautiful. Why would you ever leave?”

Riri’s hand never left yours, excitement traveling back and forth between your bodies. “I’d asked her the same thing, baby.”

“It’s unreal. It’s cartoon-like, like the trees and flowers, even the fucking sky, were painted that bright.”

Shuri couldn’t deny the pride that swelled within her at your awe of her home. She’d experienced it with Riri the first time she brought her over, and now, with you, her heart skipped a few beats just the same.

Your mouth dropped at every spectacle, arms wide, ready to engulf every new person. Merchants shared your contagious grin when you approached their displays, excitement beaming across every feature on your face. 

“Princess, Miss Williams,” they greeted. They’d nod in return, dropping a wave or two every now and again.

Shuri fell into your forestep, presenting a beam just as wide. Her usually too-cool demeanor dissipated the moment her sandaled foot touched the Wakandan dirt. Even Riri couldn’t deny the peace that the country brought forth from her. Her shoulders fell, relaxed for the first time in weeks as the stress of midterms and exams and assignments finally evaporated. 

 The princess hadn’t anticipated taking you home to meet ma dukes so soon, but you were ready. 

“Wakanda? Why?”

You rolled your eyes, an exasperated sigh floating from your lips and through the air. Riri sat on the other side of your dorm room, man spread with a wrap between her fingers, preoccupied, but still tuning in. “I told you, y/n.”

“Hush, Ri. She ain’t even say no yet.”

“I’m waiting to hear why before I say no.”

Upon your face were the biggest, roundest, neediest eyes Shuri had ever seen. Your bottom lip protruded into a plump little pout that quickened the pace of her heart. In her mind, she’d already lost. Regardless of the reason, she wasn’t going to be able to deny that look.

“Because it's spring break, I’m tired of the same old beach trips, and I’ve never been,” you walked closer, until your bosom rested on her stomach, eyes batting up at her with sweetness. “What better tour guide than the Princess?”

“Give it up, baby. Ain’t no way she gon say yes that ea-”

“Shut up, shortie. What better tour guide than the Princess, right?”

Shuri made plans to take you to her home that very night.

You were ready to visit the fairytale-like land; the very place where the rumors of its grandeur couldn’t even do it justice. The place where vibranium ran through its streets and every shade of brown sparkled under the sun's rays like a spotlight on the deserving natives. 

You were ready to meet their monarch, the powerful woman whose monologue at the State of the Union address those few years ago still gives you goosebumps. The awe-inspiring mother who raised such a capable daughter, so unlike herself and allowed her off to the States. 

You were ready to put a face to the names Shuri and Riri spoke of, those who were oceans away and still held such a prominent place in their worlds, one which you wished to be a part of. 

Thank Bast, or God, or fate, or whatever the hell it was for placing you at MIT at the same time as Shuri and Riri. Their pervertedly twisted minds complimented yours so beautifully, like the missing piece in a complex puzzle. 

 Nerves didn’t dare touch you when the Queen greeted you, slender, loving arms pulling you in, holding you tight, and giving you a motherly love you hadn’t felt in quite some time. 

“Y/n,” the older royal’s voice was booming. “Shuri, umhle (she’s beautiful).”

“Ndiyazi (I know), mother.”

“Grinnin’ like a dummy” Riri’s voice was a barely-heard whisper, not risking her words to be heard by the well-respected monarch. 

Shuri's eyes threw daggers at the small girl, an even smaller smile playing at her lips. She felt such serenity at your acceptance of her country that not even Riri’s words would get to her. 

The young royal wanted so badly to praise you, to kiss you, to shower you in the melody of ‘good girls’ that you deserved. 

Slender fingers snaked around your exposed waist, rippling the water around you and pulling your mind back to the present. Your lids lulled open, meeting a familiar gaze in the foreign place.

“Hey, ma.”

 The scent of cocoa butter radiated off you in an aura. Riri inhaled deeply, taking it in, entangling her brain with your essence in a dizzying spell. You were so soft under her touch, your chocolate-colored skin melting in her hands.

Her head was heavy against your shoulder, pushing her weight against yours until your back was pressed into the damp marsh of the riverbank. 

The lifting of your hand and caressing of her curls was instinctual and Riri softened even further underneath your fingertips. She’d been wanting this for hours; just to fall into your hold, to grab you and know that you were really there. 

Barely an arm's length away stood your princess with Nakia, engulfed in a conversation of their own, paying you no mind. Okoye sat close by, only allowing her feet to be swallowed by the water’s gentle waves.

“I see the States are treating you well, Shuri?” Nakia’s light voice curved at the end of her sentence, a tease evident between her words. 

“What makes you say that?”

“You haven’t returned home yet is what.”

“I haven’t graduated yet, Okoye.”

A string of mumbles leaves the general’s mouth, laced with curses. “You’ve gotten greedy, Princess.”

Shuri leans over the shore, elbows resting in the sand. “Greedy how?”

“You went to America for school, not to become a sister-wife.”

The poor young royal can’t hold back the laughter that erupts from her. “A sister-wife?! What the fuck are you talking about, Okoye?”

“You need two girlfriends, Shuri?”

“I do.”

“For what?”

Shuri’s wandering gaze over to you and Ri is full of desire that spills over her ducts like a tear. “They both got something different to offer.” 

Riri caught Shuri’s gaze from the corner of her eye. Of course, her majesty was watching you. She was always aware of what her girls were up to, both on and off campus. She saw the way Ri’s nails grazed the small of your back and the way your body curved upward in response, pressing your two figures into one another even further. 

She saw Riri’s hands travel further and further south, tickling your skin until they stiffened in the waistband of your bikini bottoms and came to a stop. Shuri’s breath caught in her throat, waiting and watching, wondering how far Riri would go considering the audience that surrounded them. 

Riri knew Shuri was watching. She wanted her to; she wanted her to see the effect she had on your body, without Shuri’s presence. She knew the panther could smell the heat radiating from your frame, pressed tightly against hers.

 So tight, so close that the chain that never left Ri’s neck was resting in your bosom. The chill of the metal contrasts with the humidity in the air and causes a shiver to travel down your spine.

It was such a slight movement, one that didn’t go unnoticed by either girl. Those mocha-colored eyes that you adored bore into yours, and baby, if only you could read the filthy thoughts behind them. 

Luckily, you didn’t have to. Riri wanted you and she wasn’t being slick about it. Her slender fingers toyed with your bottoms, one hand gently tugging the drawstring that held the thin pieced fabric together. The other grazed the front of your dangerously low waistband, touching your sensitive skin, but barely. 

“You’re so pretty, y/n, baby. I tell you that enough?”

“More than enough, Ri.”

Hmm, the distracted girl hums. “I like this swimsuit on you.” Her fingers don’t move from your waistline, playing and fiddling with the fabric there, tugging it away now and again. 

You wanted more; you craved more, and Riri didn't need to be a mind-reader to come to that conclusion either. Her eyes sent the message that her lips didn’t; they couldn’t, too busy being bitten to the flesh between Riri’s perfect rows of teeth, the gold on her lower set mirroring the gold around her neck. 

She cocked a thin brow and a devilish smirk played across her face. Her thin fingers continued to move, slowly and meticulously so that the water didn’t stir. 

Shuri caught the exact moment Riri succeeded in untying the dainty strings of your swimsuit. Her gaze traced your startled features when the fabric floated away from your body. 

“Riri, what the fuck?” It’s supposed to come out intimidating and intense, but the pitch of your voice and vibrato in your vocal cords melodizes a low moan from your lips instead. 

Underneath the still waters, from the waist down, you are completely naked. Everyone is oblivious; except Riri, whose actions were intentional, and Shuri, who was using every bit of restraint held in her slim frame to remain stoic.

“You gonna be good for me, baby? Good and quiet?” Riri’s lips brush the sensitive skin where lobe meets neck. In the back of your throat is a low moan, one that you know can’t be expelled. It stays tucked away and you nod instead, head barely moving, bobbing curls that can be explained away by the breeze. 

Shuri’s truly amused at the sight before her and the reaction it has on her body. She’s hypnotized by Riri’s fingers playing with you, gliding through your slit, brushing against your tender bud much too gently for your liking. The wetness in your folds can’t be deciphered from the wetness of the water, yet those bejeweled nipples that stood at attention, straining behind the padding of your top, exhibited the arousal that started in your toes and crept its way upward. 

She’s amazed at how little the water moves around you, eyes darting back and forth between you struggling to remain quiet and the conversation she held a part in with lifelong friends. Her mouth waters at the thought of you, so exposed. Thoughts of how fucking wet you must have been, how slick your pussy was, calling out for her. 

Your mind is muddled, completely ignorant of the extra set of eyes on you. Riri’s teasing you, never putting her long phalanges right where you want them. She’s taking her sweet time, mapping out every line, dip, and curve of your core. Her touch is too light for your liking as the neediness in the pit of your stomach expands. 

She’s got a few moments left in this game of cat and mouse before you break and the moan you try to disguise as a cough tells her just that. 

Shuri’s eyes wander back over at the sound she knows all too well. She couldn’t help but smirk at the noise. The heat she burns into the back of Riri’s head causes the distracted girl’s head to turn, resting her gaze on the princess’s watchful glare.

Ri’s brow raised once more in a silent question to Shuri, one that you weren’t able to decipher. 

Too bad for you. 

She doesn’t even look at you as her dark eyes drag slowly down Riri’s small frame and back up. Her chiseled face is unreadable to you and with a nod, a quick tilt of her chin towards the sky,  Ri reaches for your bottoms, dragging them back between your two bodies. 

“Lemme help you put these back on, baby,” Her whisper is so low, it’s almost nonexistent. 

Your sigh in response is frustrated, so sexually frustrated, just oozing an attitude Riri wants no part of. “You fucking tease-”

Her hand leaves the water, snaking around your chin and drawing your faces together. 

“I’m not done yet, baby. Just listen, damn.”

The chill behind her words shut you up immediately. Silence washes over you as your choppy movements ripple in the water, too quick for Nakia and Okoye to notice anything but your smiles, plastered across your face like a mask.

Shuri’s stifled laughter reeks of “I know.” The way she looks at you, so deep, so suggestive makes it clear she knows exactly what you two were up to. Her voice pulls her friend's attention back to her, those glistening coffee-bean-hued eyes dancing with knowing. 

“Nakia, how is my little Toussaint?” 

Riri’s body emerges from the river first, bottoms hanging so low on her waist, the indent where her abs meet her pelvis winks at you. Her hand reaches down, extending to you and the little effort it takes for her to lift you from the water is beyond impressive. 

Your drenched swimsuit runs streaks of water down your body, glistening against your dark skin like glitter. Your steps falter, the quiver from your heat making its way down your legs and tripping you. Riri guides your walk back to the palace, a ‘goodbye’ to Shuri barely playing on your lips as she lingers. Squelching emits from your soaked steps, following Ri’s quick ones. 

Goosebumps prickle your skin at the icy air in the palace, the large place still maze-like to you. Riri, however, is an expert guide. She makes every turn with precision, every array of large doors leading somewhere. 

Her steps suddenly stop, in the nook of a long hallway. Yours skip a bit, not expecting her sudden standstill, and her cool hands, still damp and shriveled from the water, reach for your bicep, pulling you into her. 

“Ri-what?”

Her lips crash into yours, kissing you the way she’s craved all day. They’re moving in sync, tasting every crook of her mouth, entangling your tongues, and swapping saliva. The moan that remained trapped in your throat finally releases, deep and breathy between her lips.

“Couldn’t wait til we got to the room. Need you, now.” 

The way Riri’s hands travel your body, the way they hunger to hold you, squeeze you, anywhere, everywhere. It’s fucking intoxicating, coating your mind like a drug.

“W-wait, fuck, Ri,” her lips move from yours, trailing down your jaw, licking up your neck in such a way that you shudder. She’s famished now, having had a taste of you, and she needs more. Her lips attack your throat, nipping and biting. You’re close, so close to melting in her arms, right then and there.

“Come on baby, you know my name and it ain’t Ri. Say it.”

There was a part of you that hated the effect their vulgar words had on you. They were so lewd, so perverted, and they had such a fucking hold on you. The dampness in your bottoms couldn’t be explained away solely by your swim any longer and Riri knew it. She could feel your body temperature rise, your skin growing warmer under her touch. 

“Ma-”

She tasted the word from your lips, growling at what they did to her. She couldn’t keep her hands off you, overwhelmed, not knowing where to grab. They rested on your right breast, squeezing, but she removed them quickly, afraid that your left one would grow envious at the lack of attention it was receiving. Caressing your back didn’t feel exact either; your front being so soft- there it was, begging for her fingertips to sink into it as well. 

Riri’s mind was racing an unwinnable race. What if the Queen was around, or the Dora? What if her body broke, fucking fell apart, needing so much of your touch that it couldn’t be satisfied by the little bit you were offering up?

Your still-wet (now even wetter) bikini bottoms were glued to your skin. The effort it took for Riri to pull them away from you, to pull them to the side just enough to reveal your pussy to her left water dripping to the stone floor beneath you. 

She wasted no time. Fuck all the teasing she did before, Riri fucking needed you. Her lips were on yours once more as she lined up two fingers at your entrance, preparing herself to swallow the moans that would spill from your lips. 

And swallow them she did, keeping your lips connected until she was knuckles deep, only coming up for air once your moans had died down to whimpers. 

“My good girl, baby. I know you can be quiet, right?”

You weren’t so sure. As soon as those digits got to moving, you knew that biting your tongue would be a near-impossible task. 

“C’mon, baby. Gotta be quiet so I can fuck you good.”

How pathetic was it, the way obedience ran through your veins? Your nod was hard, curls bouncing back in forth. “I’ll be quiet, ma,” the words quickly followed before Ri could correct you for not using them.

You felt your knees buckle beneath you the moment her slender fingers slid out of your wet center, only to be thrust in once more. What a beautiful pattern, one that left a warmth spreading through your body, face hot, cheeks hot, cunt hot. 

Ri knew your body better than no other, though she and Shuri were neck and neck. Her free hand had already slithered around your waist and her center of gravity shifted, preparing herself to catch you if your legs were to give out entirely. 

Your bottom lip was rolled between your teeth, moans collecting behind it. You were a sight to be fucking seen, a pussy full of creamy fingers, and eyes that begged and pleaded for more. 

“Look at you, baby. You doing such a good job, taking me like that.”

Riri was enjoying the sight before her, the tightness of your walls, clenching around her. She almost drooled when she looked down and saw the cum she was digging forth from you, collecting in the palm of her hand. Even she had to resist a moan as the need to taste you, to fuck you, to ruin you crossed her mind. 

The fingers trapped within you would not speed up, nor slow down, much to your demise. Your hips rocked, pelvis crashing back against Riri’s hand as you rode her. Whispered moans were shared between you, lewd praises being thrown your way. 

“Shit, baby, you doing so good. Look at you, fuck.”

Low moans were all you could respond with.

“You gon ride me like this in the room, pretty girl? Gon let me get strapped up and watch you bounce on my dick?”

Fuck, Riri’s words had opened the floodgates. She could feel you tightening and convulsing around her fingers. Your moans had grown at that point, but she couldn’t stop you, Your head was thrown back, so her lips couldn’t cover yours. She couldn’t use her hands either; one of them was holding up your limp figure, the other, still being ridden into the sunset. 

You’d earned those moans, she decided, and as soon as you were done, the trek to your room would continue. 

All Riri could do was watch as her fingers tipped you over the edge. Your chest strained against your top, rising and falling with every gasp; those lips, round and full and so fucking biteable, parted and poised as you came. 

A sea of thoughts swam through Riri’s pretty mind, not a single one of them an intelligent one. There wasn’t a moment when she didn’t think you were stunning, but baby, when you came? Ugh, it fucking did things to her, bringing forth groans from her chest. 

Your brows furrowed, your body stilling and Riri’s hand was drenched. “Ohh, shit-” Your voice shook, just as unsteady as your legs, but Ri had you. 

“I know, baby, I know.”

You were a bit louder at this point, your voice echoing off the tall walls. Riri wasn’t religious, but she was truly praying to Bast that no one would wander upon you two. 

Her thighs were pressed together, her body shaking a bit, still in the wet swimsuit. You didn’t even have to touch her for her body to react. Just watching you, so vulnerable, so needy, all over her-just for her. 

Your head rocked back up slowly, eyes finally meeting Ri’s. A deep blush grew in your chest and rose to your face. Riri’s was adorned with a sexy smirk, one so delicious. 

“Good girl, baby.” 

You had made Riri soft and she hated to admit it. She’d never been so gentle to someone, so tender. 

“You ready to keep walking?” She plants a sweet kiss on your cheek, pairing it with one on your neck, nuzzling her head into the sensitive space.

“How much further we got?”

She pulls her head from you and glances down the hall. “Um, not too far.”

Mm, you groan. “Do we have to? You could just take me right here.”

Riri’s chuckle is so deep and alluring. “Don’t tempt me, baby. C’mon, it’s not that far.”

“Carry me?”

She couldn’t tell you no. You knew she couldn’t. Neither of them could, especially Riri. You were spoiled in every sense of the word, and they’d stopped trying to deny you. Why should they? 

“Bridal style or piggyback?”

Your dark eyes danced with joy as she trekked through the halls, you upon her back with a goofy ass grin. 

She was right, it really wasn’t that far. 

The bed bounced when Riri finally dropped you on it, legs spread wide, bosom bouncing with the fall. 

Ri tapped your pussy through your bottoms, standing to retrieve her suitcase. “Off, baby.”

You were eager, the fabric still sticking to your skin, falling to the floor with the weight of the water drenching them. Your damp pussy came into view to the girl across the room, whose breath caught in her throat at the delicious sight.

She watched you sit up and untie the strings to your top, the barely-there piece falling from your body. You watched her visibly drool when your breasts come into view, full and round, nipples erect, begging to be touched in any way.

You had her, every bit of her attention was on you, waiting so patiently for her to touch you.

Patience had never been your virtue, however. 

Your hands stuttered as they traced up your body, your nipples hardening at the sensation. With fingers you wanted so badly to be Riri’s, that you imagined were hers as she watched you from a small distance. 

The piercings adorning your bosom were one of her favorite parts of you. If her pupils could form tiny hearts, they would have. The sight before her was mouthwatering. Your fingers flicked the jewelry, that perfect little “O” forming on your lips. 

The heat in the air was palpable, the intimacy between you two undeniable. 

Your left breast weighed heavy in your hand as you brought it up, further and further until your tongue flicked out, eyes never parting from hers while you tasted your hard nipple and the metal pierced into it. 

Every bit of her demeanor cracked under the sexiness that was you. She stood frozen, in awe as you rose from the bed, strutting towards her on your toes, ass high, head even higher. 

You bent into her suitcase, finishing the task she’d abandoned. The harness was tucked away into the bottom, hidden beneath weeks worth of clothes. 

Still on your knees, you grab Riri behind hers, pulling her closer, until her clothes pussy sat in your face. “Here, lemme help you.”

The wet suit was already hanging so low on her waist that it only took a tug to drop them, her pretty, wet cunt coming to view in front of you. 

Your mouth is on her before you can resist the urge. She accepts your hands on her ass, holding her in place against your tongue. 

Riri’s hand rests on your head, trying so hard to keep her balance and not collapse. Your mouth goes to work, the taste of her satisfying your insatiable hunger. Her clit is so plump against your tongue, the sensitive bulb of nerves twitching, jumping away from the licks that won’t let up. 

“You taste so good, mami,” the urge to please fueled a courage unfamiliar to you. Riri bucked at your words, eyes rolling into her head. 

“Shit-“ the moans came from her in rapid succession, her lungs never fully expanding to take in a complete breath. They were music to your ears. Your pussy leaked, needing to be stuffed full of her. 

You couldn’t part from her just yet. Her hands tangled in your hair, gripping and pulling. Your name was on her tongue, her abs flexed with the orgasm building within her. 

“Shit, baby, you doing so good.”

The praises rang in your ear, satisfying something deep within you. You lapped faster, sucking and slurping. Riri’s pussy was wet, the vulgar sounds echoing in the room. 

She was close-so fucking close. The juices that poured from her were streaming, dripping onto your tongue with a taste that you couldn’t get enough of. Her body burned, needing to feel you everywhere. 

Ri’s thick thighs trapped your head between them, drowning you in the waters that she released, so warm and sweet. Your satisfied moans vibrated within her and though your jaw grew sore, you weren’t stopping. 

Not until you’d planted a passionate kiss to her center, tonguing it as though those lips would kiss you back. 

She watched you stand to your full height with a look full of lust. Oh, she was gonna fuck you up. Riri no longer cared who heard; she needed to hear you scream her name, she needed the bed to be soaked and she needed you to spill over for her time after time. 

“Strap up, Ri.”

The harness had gone from your hand to hers as you backed away, returning to her suitcase to choose the dildo you so craved.

“Where’s mine?”

There were at least six toys, all stored away from any wavering eyes. They were different shapes and sizes, different lengths and girths, all ones that you’d used before.

“Which one, baby?”

Ri wasn’t looking at you, too preoccupied with the straps around her hips and thighs. 

“The vibranium one-“

“They’re all vibranium, y/n.”

You made an audible sound when your teeth smacked your lips, one that Riri took note of. 

“The one I like the most, Ri.”

“I don’t know which one you talking bout, baby,” she stepped towards you, reaching into the bag to pull a thick piece from it, securing the toy to her pelvis. 

“Guess we gotta try them all, see if any of them are ‘yours’.”

She sat on the bed, resting on her forearms, arm held out and welcoming you over. Your steps were slow, and when you were finally close enough, Ri grabbed your waist, pulling your legs on either side of her hips. 

“This how I like you most, pretty girl.”

You hovered over the thick cock awaiting you. Riri’s hands on your backside, eyes scanning you. She brought your hands to her chest and tilted her hips upwards. 

“Sit on it, baby.”

Her whispered commands floated softly to your ears and you groaned at them as the heat burned within your chest. Your pretty lips parted over the tip of her dick, her hands guiding your body onto the extremity. 

Ri was biting on her lip so hard, she was afraid it would bleed, but the sight of you would be worth it. Your body lowered, further and further and she could feel your pussy stretching over the thickness of her cock. She could feel your warmth as her tip kissed your cervix and your pelvis kissed hers. A deep groan rumbled in the back of her throat.

Your pussy felt so full. Beneath you, your legs quivered, the tightness of Riri in your cunt weakening you. “Ohh, fuck-”

Riri gave you a moment to get adjusted, lifting your hand to kiss the palm before resting it back above her chain, the metal cool compared to the heat emitting from your bodies. “Move, baby. Bounce on this shit.”

You weren’t one to be told twice. Knees planted, toes digging into the mattress, you gave her what she wanted. The faux dick slid in and out of you, slurping with your wetness. Ri’s head is thrown back, mouth wide open. “Fuck, baby-”

Riri was something to behold. Her brows furrowed, forehead pulled tight in concentration. Each time you landed back on her cock, your ass slapped her thighs and the sound vibrated through the room.

“S-so good, ma. D-dick so fucking good.” You were already stuttering between clenched teeth. It felt so good, so right. Riri fit into you like she was made for you. Your thighs started to burn, your speed picking up, throwing Riri’s small body into the bed each time your body slapped hers. 

“Griot, soundproof the room.”

Her African accent was thick and low and it shocked you to stillness. You hadn’t even heard her come in.

“Ugh, baby-” Riri didn’t give a fuck who had entered. She already missed the feel of your pussy swallowing her cock.

Shuri sat on the loveseat adjacent to the bed. Her swimsuit had been swapped out for a black shirt and jean shorts, Her chains swung around her neck with each movement, her curls hanging lower in her face than usual, still weighed down by the water. 

“Who told you to stop, intombi entle (pretty girl)?”

She rested her elbows on her knees, hands folded before her. Her tongue flicked over her lips, moistening them before her canines sunk into them. 

“Ri, fuck her.”

Wakanda was doing a number on all of you because Riri did as she was told with no smartass comeback. Her hands grabbed your wrist, pulling them from her chest and restraining them behind you. Alarm bells rang in your head, but you ignored them, your body too excited for what was to come. 

You could feel Shuri’s eyes on your ass, anticipating Ri’s next movements. She fiddled for a moment, her thick cock sitting stuffed between your walls, jerking into you just slightly. You were leaking around her, growing wetter at the watching panther. 

Riri’s first thrust was anything but gentle. You bounced back down on her dick with the echoing sound of skin slapping skin. “Oh, my g-”

Your words are gagged in your throat, the next thrust coming quick and hard, cutting you off. Shuri’s eyes follow your body as Riri finds her rhythm. 

“You fucking her good, Ri. Look at her, just taking that shit.”

You and Ri share a moan at Shuri’s praises. She can’t wait until she can step in and get a taste. She’s allured by your bouncing breasts, so heavy and needy, the way they jump with your gasps and Riri’s movements. Your cunt is spilling onto Riri’s thighs, causing a stickiness between you two that the princess can’t wait to get her mouth on. 

Your movements sputter, cries growing louder, climbing higher. You feel Riri deep-its like she's in your stomach, the way she pounds into you. You’re clenching around her, squeezing your thighs, praying away your impending orgasm. You weren’t ready to cum yet. You didn’t want her to stop, Bast, you didn’t want this to stop. The lack of feeling in your legs was nothing compared to the feeling in between them.

“Ooh, pretty girl. You gon cum already?”

Words no longer exist in your mind so your head shakes in response. Shuri doesn’t move, fueling your flame from her front-row seat. “You not? That dick not good enough to cum on? My bed not good enough for you to flood?”

Riri is fucking drilling you. Her hips rotate into yours, her cock digging into parts of your cunt that you don’t think have ever been reached. 

“C-cum on m-me, baby,” Riri is breathless, her own orgasm fighting to get past the dam she has in place. “F-flood my shit.”

Their words are too much-they’re always too much. You could be on the edge of a cliff and their words would be what pushed you over. It did, every time, and this time was no fucking different.

Your cunt rains down on the girl beneath you, a scream trapped in your chest as she continues amidst the mess you’re making. 

“Fuck-” it drags from Riri’s mouth. She can’t hold it anymore. You’re just too warm, too wet, too tight. “I-shit, baby, c-can I cum in you?”

A nod is all she gets as confirmation and it's more than enough for her. Your eyes hit the back of your skull when you feel her warmth fill you, pushing around the cock that was still buried within your walls. 

“Ooh, fuck, ma-” your words find you, still gasped and low. 

You raise up on shaky legs that fail you. Riri releases from your pussy with a wet squelch and you fall beside her, body spent, legs sore. Both of you lay side by side for a moment, hoping for a few moments to recover, but Shuri is having none of that.

She stands from the chair, eyes stuck on your dripping cunt. It’s calling her and she saunters over, a “good fucking girl” falling from her parted lips. Her large hands hook beneath your thighs, dragging you to the edge of the bed with swift movements. 

Her head dips to your sore center, blowing gentle, cool air over your soaked lips. They’re so pretty, so puffy. You quiver beneath her, “W-wait, Shuri, I need a second-”

“I don’t care,” Her tongue is flat and wide, licking your entire core. The moan she releases at your taste is primal. Both you and Riri’s juices dance on her tongue, and it's better than any chef-made meal she’s ever had. 

The princess’s lips cup your clit and suck. Your back arches, throwing more of your wetness into her face and she accepts it graciously. You feel her everywhere down there-tongue stiffening and darting into your slit, nipping at your lips, kissing on your clit. 

Her tongue picks up speed, developing a pattern. It goes from left to right, up and down, in circles and drawing shapes. A square, a triangle, an S-H-U-

“D-did you just spell out your name?”

A big, stupid grin stretches her cheeks when she parts with your pussy. “I did. Good girl, picking up on that.”

Her praises bring forth a slight chuckle from you. “Why?”

“It’s mine; you’re mine.” She shrugs and her lips are warm and wet when they return to yours.

Riri is mesmerized, stomach heaving. “Can I taste?”

Shuri’s eyes may leave you, but her mouth does not. She beckons Ri over with a quick nod, tongue on your clit while her finger toys with your entrance.

You thought Shuri would move then and make way for Riri, but you were so fucking wrong, it was laughable. 

Two tongues, two wet mouths were on your pretty little cunt and it was heavenly. Shuri and Riri had your sensitive bulb trapped between their tongues as they tasted you, tasted each other. 

“Fuck, fuck, please-”

“Please what, baby?” Riri’s voice was muffled, her head still between your thighs. She wasn’t talking to you, though. Her words were directed to the glistening pussy stuffed in their faces, begging for them to tear it apart.

Fingers enter you and again, you didn’t know whose they were, but they were fucking you, deep, hard, so damn fast. “You squeezing me so fucking tight, baby, damn. Squeeze on my fingers, just like that. Look at you, you doing such a good job.”

“I-shit, mm, I w-wanna cum, pleaseeee-” That last syllable dragged through the air. It was too much. Fingers and tongues and mouths, everywhere. You couldn’t tell them apart, but it didn’t even fucking matter. They were going to bring you to your release, orgasm after orgasm. They weren’t planning on stopping, there would be no breaks. 

“Ooh, Shuri, she asked so nicely.”

Mhm, she moaned, too busy with your clit in her mouth. “Give her what she wants then.”

There was perfection in their movements. The two fingers curved into your cunt were rubbing your G-spot every time, the tongue on your clit further tangling the sensitive nerves behind it. Baby, you were so fucking close, you just needed one more thing-

The third finger in your pussy is what did it. 

“F-f-uck, I, coming, da-shit-” You were drunkenly incoherent. The feeling was overwhelming, so much so that it hurt. Your body needed to get away, but it couldn’t move, frozen in place as pleasure mixed with pain. 

Shuri and Riri were soaked, faces still deep between your thighs as you squirted before them. They devoured you, not letting a single drop go to waste. Your juices ran down their chins, glistened on their cheeks. It was so sloppy, so fucking messy, and it was delicious, the way they swallowed you.

Finally, your sap ran dry and your breathing evened out. Shuri flicked your bean with her tongue once more before she parted with it.

“Aye, Ri-”

Riri’s eyes departed your quivering cunt with a roll. “I swear to God, if you say I took that like a bitch, Imma-”

Shuri’s lips shut her up, pressing hard against Ri’s. It catches the small girl off-guard for a moment, and her mouth drops open.

The princess uses that as her in, tasting your essence from Riri’s tongue. The kiss is sloppy, strings of spit connecting them, your cum being swapped between their mouths. Riri moans into it, and you follow up with one of your own. 

You can see their tongues caressing each other, twisting and tangling, and it's so damn sexy.

You’d never seen them like this, so tender with one another. 

Shuri drops Ri onto the bed beside you, their mouths never detaching. An idea forms in your mind at the sight and you will yourself to get up. Your sore muscles scream as you turn towards them, reaching between their close bodies to unfasten the harness still strapped to Riri. 

Her moans fill the room, coming out muffled underneath Shuri’s lips. Neither of them notices you leave the bed, moving through the room like a ghost. Riri’s suitcase is still open and at the very bottom, zipped behind a discarded pocket is exactly what you’re looking for.

You weren’t one to strap up often in this relationship, and you had no idea how the straps were supposed to go around your hips. “Shuri, c’mere.”

At the sound of your voice, Shuri pulls away from Ri, drool covering their faces and sparks behind their eyes. She turns and catches a glimpse of you, struggling with the harness, and cocks a sharp brow your way.

You can’t help the eye roll you let follow through. “C’mere, please?”

“That wasn’t the problem with that sentence, and you know it, baby girl.”

“I need help,” you whined, patience thinning. 

“What are you trying to do baby?” Shuri reaches you in two steps, her long fingers taking the harness from you and securing it properly. 

You ignore her, directing your next words at the girl still on the bed, watching, waiting for what was to come. 

“Ri, can I fuck you?”

Her mouth fell agape, stunned by the thought. You took her dick so damn well, but she had never taken it from you. The thought was dizzying, excitement in her bones, slick in her cunt.“Y-yeah, baby.”

“You sure it’s not you who need to get fucked again?” Shuri grabs your face, index finger, and thumb sinking into your dimples. “You seem to have forgotten how to address us, baby.”

The smile that spreads on your lips is devious. “Whether or not I address you correctly won’t change the answer, now will it?”

You’ve rendered the princess speechless. Before she can open her mouth again, you throw a pair of boxers in her direction, the ones she used when she fucked you into oblivion. 

“What you want me to do with these?”

“Wear em on your head,” your sarcastic tone cracked a smile on the young royal’s face. She reached up to catch the object you threw her way. It was one of your toys from home, a smaller cock compared to others you used, but still impressive. 

“Safeword, ma?”

Riri sat on the bed, legs spread wide. Anxiety pooled through her veins at what was coming for her and she couldn’t wait. “Um, shit. Red?”

“You always choose red.”

Her shoulders rise and fall, “Then it should be easy to remember.”

You were too busy trying to secure a thicker piece to your body, the vibranium running through it connecting you to the fake cock like it was real. A soft moan lingered on your lips at the feeling radiating down your legs and through your center. 

“You think you in charge now baby?” Shuri’s tone was teasing but her words were true. You’d taken a new lead in the new country and she kind of liked it. 

“Nah, I like being taken care of too much,” your wink actually causes the princess to blush. “Can you go sit behind Ri? Put her on your lap?”

“Yes ma’am,” Shuri gave you a swift salute and made her way back across the room. She lifted Ri with no effort, placing her still-naked, still-wet body on her lap, back to front. 

You made your way behind her, the bed dipping with your added weight. Riri was mesmerized by the sight of you, on all fours, making your way to her like a predator to its prey. 

Her lips are parted so prettily, waiting for you. Her breathing hitches as your mouth approaches hers. When they connect, it’s with a moan and you can still taste yourself, still taste her on her own tongue. 

The kiss is brief and wet. Your lips wrap around her tongue, sucking on your own flavor and when you pull away, you pull her bottom lip with you, teeth sunken into their softness. 

“Remember the safe word?”

“I-yeah? I just said it like two minutes ago.”

You move past her, lips brushing her ear ever so slightly. “Just making sure.”

Shuri’s your target and you get close, your voice getting low so that only she can hear you. 

“Has she ever taken you in her ass, daddy?”

She sputters, her nickname rolling off your tongue and straight to her core. “U-uh, y-yeah, baby. Why?”

“Because that’s where I want you.”

This fucking confidence, it looks so good on you. Shuri can only nod, mind foggy. She lifts Riri by the back of her thighs, planting slow, tender kisses on her neck. “You ready, Ri?”

Shuri’s cock is lined up, ready to enter and Riri’s caught on. “Baby wh-“

You’re running your hand down her front, over her golden chain, through the valley between her breasts, down the tattoo that sits at the top of her stomach, past her belly button, all the way down to her clit. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

Riri fucking loved this, whatever this side of you was. “I-I want to.”

“Good,” your arms fall around her shoulders and you nod at Shuri to continue. “And we gon take real good care of you, I promise.” You seal your vow with a kiss, just as Shuri’s tip slides in, trapped in Riri’s tightness. 

“Shit,” Ri hisses between clenched teeth. Shuri’s breath is gone, Riri’s squeezing around her just too well. 

“R-Ri, I-“

“Go ahead,” Riri’s pussy glistens at you, awaiting Shuri’s next movements. “B-bottom out. I’m good, f-feels good.”

Riri’s ass swallowing Shuri’s cock was a fucking delicious sight. Excitement grew in your stomach, your clit beneath the strap jumping at the sight. Her legs were spread wide as Shuri’s dick disappeared completely into her. 

“F-fuck Shuri-“

“Yeah, baby. It’s been a minute,  you so fucking tight. C-can I move?”

“Not yet,” you butt in, crawling into the space between Riri’s thighs. Your own cock lined up at her entrance, tip tracing her slit. “Ri?” 

“O-oh,” a dry chuckle escapes her. “Y-you’re gonna destroy me, baby.”

Your lips land against hers once more as you will your hips forward, just a bit. “Is that okay?”

Her nod is frantic, “F-fuck yes.” 

You’d intended to give her all of you at once, but with Shuri in her as well, you’re met with resistance. Riri has to feel every inch of you penetrate her walls slowly, digging deep. She throws her head back against Shuri’s shoulder, mouth wide open, eyes lazy. 

“Oh my god, baby, fuck!”

You stop before you’re fully in, halted by her curses. “Am I hurting you?”

Don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop. Riri’s already gotten a taste of what you were about to give her, she wants it all. Her fingers grab your hips, pulling you closer until you’re hilt deep. “N-no, baby. F-feels good, please, fuck me, fuck me.”

Shuri’s index finger taps your chin, pulling your eyes from Ri and onto her. “You ain’t boss man yet, baby. Follow my rhythm.”

You agree, and pull out at the same time Shuri does. Riri whines, feeling too empty. She needs to be filled again and it doesn’t take long to fulfill her wishes. 

Shuri thrusts so you do too. “Fuck!” It’s more growl than moan, but it sounds lovely coming from Ri’s mouth nonetheless. 

You’re mimicking Shuri’s movements and Ri is a wet mess between you two. You can feel her, all of her. Her juices are trailing down your cock, her walls squeezing you, and god, they were so soft. 

It was like you just melted into her, your moans meshing with hers as though you were the one being fucked. 

“Babyyy, you’re doing s-so good, f-fucking me so good,” her words were fuel to your flame. Your fingers tightened around her waist. The pressure of her gripping you, the pressure of Shuri’s cock pressing against yours through the girl between you, my god, it was fucking delicious. 

And she was fucking delirious, unable to control the sensation as it ran hot through her body or the incoherent words that ran from her mouth. 

“S-so close, so close-“

When Shuri picked up speed, so did you. From the look on her face, full of focus and lust, she was also close. 

“D-don’t cum yet, ma. N-not ready to stop.”

You wanted her to hold it? Fuck, fuck that was gonna be hard. Her orgasm was right there, you were grinding into it with your tip, her pussy splashing around your cock, dripping down to Shuri’s. 

“O-oh baby, I-I can’t-“

“Yes, you can. I know you can.”

Your lower stomach was covered in Riri, the wetness slicking your clit. She couldn’t though. She was already coming, your name on her lips, loud. 

“Y/n, baby, oooh, my b-baby, I-I’m f-fucking coming.”

Shuri breaks your rhythm, bouncing Riri on her cock at inhumane speeds, panther-like speeds. You slip out at the swift movements and Ri is free to release, coming, fucking squirting on your torso, soaking you in her stickiness. 

“Just y/n, Ri? You only coming for her?”

“N-no, Shuri, fuck, t-too deep-“

She lifts the girl slightly, but doesn’t stop. “Oh now you know my name? Didn’t know it when you were coming, so guess I gotta make you cum again, huh?”

Riri’s trying so hard to squeeze her legs shut, her body too sensitive from the orgasm that just wrecked her. “N-no, sorry, S-Shuri, fuck-“

The panther’s got her canines bared, eyes dark, voice low. “Nah, that’s n-not my fucking name no more, baby-“

Shit, what a fucking sight. Ri’s breasts bounce hard, her little body being thrown into the air, landing back on the entirety of Shuri’s cock. 

“I-I’m n-not-“

Shuri showed no mercy, her hand reaching around Riri’s front to swipe at her clit. The overly sensitive bud was already worn out. 

You watched, hypnotized, wondering when Riri would crack. Shuri’s eyes met yours and god, her smirk was so sexy. “Like what you see, baby?”

Your nod was slight, lip pulled between your teeth. “Good, cuz you next.”

She turned back to her task at hand, teeth sinking into Riri’s neck, licking away the pain she knew it caused. 

“C’mon, baby. Give it to me.”

“F-fuck, Shuri, please-“

Shuri was relentless-her torture wasn’t letting up. “My name, Ri. Say my name baby.”

She had to. Riri knew she had to as her second orgasm tethered near. It was going to rip her apart, Shuri was going to rip her apart. Eyes squeezed shut, cunt leaking once more, she caved. Riri gave in, just as her pussy poured into Shuri’s sheets, her name roaring through the air.

 

“D-daddy, fuck!”

Shuri was fucking pleased and her cock twitched deep in Riri, spilling her seed into her ass and back all over her dick. “Was that so hard? Huh, baby?”

Riri was silent, body shaking, nut collecting beneath the three of you. She convulsed like she was possessed, mouth wide open, a beautiful contortion on her face. 

Her body went limp afterward, falling into the wet comforter beneath her. “Shit-“

Shuri leaned over, a wet kiss falling from her lips and planting on Riri’s. “You called me da-“

“Nigga, no, okay? We don’t speak of it.”

You make your way between their two bodies, having enjoyed the tender moment, even if it was brief. “You did call her daddy, though.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, and then some. Riri’s eyes were slits, staring daggers into your head. 

Shuri’s lips moved to yours next, “I didn’t know you had all that in you, baby.”

Your blush brought butterflies to the princess’ stomach. “Did I do good? Did you like it?”

Her arms wrap around your body, pulling you on top of hers while Riri scoots closer, kissing down your arm. “You did phenomenally. I fucking loved it, fucking love you.”

“I love y-“

A hard knock cuts your words short. Okoye’s voice rings through the heavy door, “Hey! Yeah, your soundproofing didn’t work, Princess!”

[awfularachnid]

VHS

Quackity/Reader||NSFW||TWs+Fic under cut

Read on AO3

Haiii everynyan

Drugged sex

Noncon/Dubcon if you squint

Choking

Sadism(?)

Quackity being all fucked up man idfk

Alexis always seemed to be the quiet type.

He didn’t really have friends, kept to himself huddled away in his own corner of the class you shared together, in the cafeteria he sat alone usually; always with his face buried in that green notebook. But frankly? You never really paid it any attention, in fact it took you three months into the year to even notice he existed.

It was a warm afternoon, your English teacher had announced a group project, and assigned everyone a random partner. You had the misfortune to be paired with Alexis. It took you a moment to grasp what he said, you scan the room endlessly, having no recollection of someone with that name in here. Until you notice him walking up to you that is.

He’s silent, doesn’t say a word as he settles across from you. Stringy strands of hair lay on his forehead, pressed down into his skin by a dark blue beanie. You seem to have a vague memory of the teacher getting angry for a while about the hat, but eventually just giving up. The hoodie he wears looks old, the once colorful design on the front mostly faded and worn, like the odd look he has in his eyes. Alexis is a strange guy; at least that’s your initial impression.

You look at him expectantly, waiting for an introduction, a hello, something. But he just sits there, fiddling with his pen and staring at the desk. It’s at this moment you realize he is going to be the most annoying person to work with. As the rest of your classmates chat, you and Alexis sit in silence for a little bit. Until eventually you decide you’ve waited for long enough and say hello, and introduce yourself.

He stares at you, still silent, and then nods. He goes back to fiddling with his pen. You groan; and silently wonder how you’ll ever get any work done this way, he’s so unwilling to participate it’s already getting on your nerves and you’ve known the guy for maybe ten minutes. No wonder he doesn’t seem to have any friends. If you weren’t being forced to, you wouldn’t have spent what little time you had with him.

But that was two months ago. Now, you’re sat on the sofa in Alexis’ basement and watching some old vhs tape the two of you had found in a box an hour or so prior. You aren’t really paying attention to it though, your mind is more focused on the soft buzz strumming through your bones, it seems to be emanating a tune. Alexis has it too, a soft buzz that seems to radiate from his body. His eyes are transfixed on the screen ahead of him, the tv is buzzing. No, wait, that’s you. Or is it Alexis? They all seem to merge in your crippled mind, the awful edges of where he ends and you start glow softly. Does it though?

Do they really glow? Or are you just struggling to keep your eyes focused? What had he given you… the name escapes your memory. He’d told you it would help take the edge off, you’d been stressed from some important test, you can’t even remember what class it was for now. The little tab he placed on your tongue certainly did its job. You’re smooth sailing across a sea of fluffy, musty couch cushions.

“Hey, you good?” He asks, it seems so distant though you hardly notice, then he snaps in your face a few times and that brings you back momentarily. “You alright, man?” You blink at him, he doesn’t look concerned. He looks… happy. Satisfied? Some unreadable expression seems to grow in intensity as you slowly nod at him. Your eyes squint as he shifts, and pulls his arm around your shoulder. He's tried this before and you’ve always brushed him away; and you certainly make an attempt to do so now, but your arms don’t seem strong enough.

“Stop…” you grumble out at Alexis, he grins at the tone of your voice which doesn’t seem to make any sense because you’re trying to sound frustrated. It’s to no avail though, he doesn’t care and gently pats your head with his other hand. You close your eyes and soak in the feeling. Why were you trying to sound mad? Doesn’t matter, not while two fingers slip underneath your chin and pull you towards his face.

‘Alexis smells like cigarettes’ you think for a moment, before the thought is replaced with ‘Alexis tastes like cigarettes’ as he kisses you, soft and sweet. You’re not really sure what you expected from his kisses, but it wasn’t soft and sweet. He wasn’t soft and sweet in the slightest.

His tongue slips into your slightly ajar mouth, and runs across your teeth of all things. It seems odd before you remember his affinity for teeth, the small jar he had by his bed is full of them. That doesn’t feel important now though, especially because he’s sliding his hand up your shirt. Alexis’ fingers roam across your skin, and between kisses you hear him talk about how soft it is, how soft you are and how well you’re doing. None of it registers, the only thought on your mind is getting him off of you, but it feels like the harder your hands push against his chest, the further you sink into the sofa.

He pushes you down, down into the cushions and into your untimely demise. “You don’t have a clue,” he starts, finally pulling away from your mouth, a thin string of spit connecting your lips. “How badly I need this… just relax, okay?” His voice is barely above a whisper, like he’s scared the walls of the basement are gonna soak up his words and repeat them to someone. Like they’ll tell someone what he’s done. God knows you won’t.

You don’t even reply, words don’t even form. He doesn’t care to listen anyways, doesn’t care about how you’d behave if you were sober right now. Not that he’s sober himself… maybe that’s why he’s doing this. Or maybe you were just too stupid to realize this was his plan all along. A shiver runs down the back of your neck as he squeezes your breasts, too rough to feel genuinely pleasurable. Not that any of this is really pleasurable.

His mouth moves down your body slowly, dodging your crumpled up shirt that’s currently bunched above your tits, and sucks a dark purple mark into the skin of sternum. He does it again, and again, and again until he grows bored, leaving you decorated in bruises of various sizes. You groan when he finally pulls back, relieved to have that over with. However the relief is short lived as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, and swirls his tongue around it languidly.

You can’t hold in the whimper that escapes your throat as much as you try. With your back arching off the sofa you push your chest into his face even further, he groans and vibrations send chills down your spine. “Alexis…” you’re not sure why his name leaves your mouth, but it does and it only seems to egg him on. He sucks a bit harder, and bites gently on the delicate flesh, which you don’t quite understand as he’s already left you covered in hickies.

“So cute… fuck you’re so cute.”

“So sweet.”

“So pretty for me.”

“So good for me”

The words don’t process and all you hear is a jumble of noises, shuffling clothes and a sudden rush of cold air hitting your lower body. Then… something. Something unfathomably warm runs across your cunt. Your eyes open again, and you gaze down at Alexis. He’s on his knees between your thighs, rubbing the pre-cum slicked tip of his dick across your lips. He’s muttering something to himself, or maybe to you. It reminds you of some prayer, but you can’t quite place it.

“I’m so sorry, you —- understand —— you have —-“ You blink at him, and rub your eyes, confused as words seem to slip out of the bounds of reality. He looks desperate, it’s the only word you can conjure to describe his expression. Desperately stroking himself, desperately praying, desperately sucking in gasps of air between moans. For a second you feel bad for him. For a second.

Then he begins to push his cock in you, one hand holding your hips in place and the other guiding the length into you. He hisses out pleas of mercy to whatever God he may believe in, and possibly to you as well. In that moment, every ounce of sympathy you’d ever felt for him vanishes, and you’re suddenly looking at a shell of a person.

“God, oh my God you’re so tight-“ Alexis moans, and pushes himself deeper into you, until he’s fully engulfed by your aching walls. He sighs, as if the hard part is over. The only thing you can conjure up are whimpers, it’s been easy to ignore the pain, but now he’s just staring you down, eyes flickering between your own and his cock buried inside you. The ache between your legs grows steadily, your pussy contracts around him and his dick twitches and you feel fucking ill.

It only gets worse, the hard part is over but only for him, and he knows it. Alexis pulls out slowly, and then rocks his hips forward, testing the waters. Clearly, the waters are treating him well. Some sound hardly recognizable as his voice leaves his throat, leaving Alexis flushed and embarrassed looking. It doesn’t stop him though, his hips continue pumping into you, finding a steady and slow rhythm, igniting every nerve in his body for the better, and every nerve in yours for the worse.

A quiet slap of skin fills the room, mostly covered by that hum in your brain. What isn’t at all covered are Alexis’ groans, his whimpers and heavy breathing. You can’t decide what sound is worse and more disturbing. “You feel even better than I thought you would, fuck, this was worth it.” Your stomach ties itself in knots. You whimper, and grab onto his sofa as tightly as you can, in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

“Take… it out.” You finally manage. Alexis doesn’t stop. In fact, that only seems to make the problem worse. He lets out a low moan and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and begins to fuck into you faster. His grasp on your hips tighten, holding you as still as he can, and pulling you back onto his cock as he thrusts in. “Yes- fuck yes. Beg for me, baby.” He gasps, and his eyes connect with yours again. You hope for a second you’d see something. Some regret, something bad. But all you see is joy, a sick man taking all he can from you.

Finally, you snap; and tears begin to roll down your flushed cheeks. Again, it only seems to excite him further, your pain and misery make him twitch and ache inside you. “Getting me so close, you’re doing so good for me..” your eyes shut again. You try your hardest to pretend this isn’t happening, that you’re somewhere else. But the rough slap on Alexis’ hips against yours makes it difficult.

You feel his hold on you tighten for a moment, before one hand leaves your hip, and grasps at your throat; and you wonder if this is it. If this is how you die. With Alexis’ throbbing dick slamming in and out of you, tears caked on your face. Your hands move without thought, and they try their hardest to pull his hand away, loosen his fingers, something, anything, so you can breathe.

To no avail. His grip only gets tighter, and the air in your lungs slowly depletes. Your vision becomes hazy, and his gasps and moans seem distant. Until suddenly, his hand loosens and you can breathe, but at what cost? His hips stutter, and what were once rough and steady thrusts have become quick and sloppy. You feel a warmth unlike something you’ve felt before dribble into your body.

Alexis was always the quiet type. He never really had friends and frankly, you wish it had stayed that way.

[zombii-ships]

What would fusion with MC and Joseph, MC with Shaun, MC and Bo, and fusion with MC and Jack be like? (Those are separate fusions with MC) Would some of them have super strength? Mind reading powers? Or teleportation powers? What would their fused personality be like and how would they feel being a fusion?

ANON YOUR BRAIN IS MASSIVE this would be so fun!! Gonna include some fusion dance ideas too because im steven universe trash

MC & Joseph :

Lotssss of spins and hes smooth as FUCK with it. I feel like the fusion def gets the kind of aloof nature Joseph has, and kind of a dry wit aboot them. The fusion also gets a great sense of improvisation during a fight. I feel like he’d be really nervous at first when y’all fuse, he can’t see you and he’s worried he did something wrong. But after the first ten or so times he warms up to it. He likes the closeness but worries about his thoughts making things unstable, so focus is key for him. As for powers, I’m thinking super strength, also some kind of empathy abilities, like a spidey sense when someone nearby isn’t okay. Ya’ll get the power to feel like omens/premonitions.

MC & Shaun:

Shaun’s ready to shuffle his ASS off. There’s also a little krump thrown in for pizazz. Idk man he gives rave glowstick goth to me and im a shaun simp so this one’s a lil unfair. Yall are getting the most MAGNIFICENT hair, first things first. Also hear me out….four arms type beat. The fusion is a total showoff, and a massive teasing goofball. Big smiles and peace signs!! They get animal communication(which shaun adores because he gets to talk to moonpie!!) Alsoooo FANTASTIC sight. (He’s a director, he’s all about the vision!) Shaun fucking FREAKS the first time yall fuse, but then it settles on him that hes so so close with his best friend like this, and he loves it to bits.

MC & Bo

Sweet boy is absolutely HYPE and FULL of energy! He’s always so damn excited about fusing with you, you can see it all over him. From the first time it happens, he’s so so on board, he’s literally in the same form as you, its like a cuddle…but MORE. You guys of course get the ears and tail! So much floof. With that you get super hearing, like from a damn mile away, and a speed boost! Also hear me out, electronic control. Yall can hack games & some machines while you’re fused. The fusion’s getting Bo’s determination & talkative nature, and theyre such a people person. Theyre all about good deeds and praise.

MC & Jack :

Okay, so he is SO attuned to you. His main goal is just to be close to you, and he’ll match every move. Jack absolutely adores fusing, and he’d be a permanent fusion if you were down. He’s addicted to being so close to his sunshine, being almost in their head. Whenever it’s time to unfuse he mopes for a little while afterwards. He’s gonna find every excuse to do it again asap! This fusion gets teleportation powers via screens & tvs! They also have a hypnotic ability which can stun, suggest, or make people fall asleep! They’re smooth when they move, almost sleepy looking, but it’s because theyre so calm. They’re also very quiet but very sweet, and incredibly caring. , and they get Jack’s affinity for taking care of people. This fusion’s also VERY tall and their hair keeps Jack’s blue color, but the facepaint reflects MC’s personality.

[clumsy-jiminie]

ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

❝ ʙɪɢ ꜰᴀɴ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!oc ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 3.8k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, public displays of affection

↣ notes :: welcome to the first chapter! 💕 I hope you guys already for the rollercoaster between these two.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"you see my thick thighs, lost when you look into my brown eyes, see my little waist can make you switch sides. you've never seen the devil in disguise."

- be honest, jorja smith-

ｗｉｎｔｅｒ

A low hum of people chatting over the Lo-Fi beats filled the area. Glasses clinking, some munching, all sounds that Kiara Smith grew familiar with. Though the crowd was more significant than the last exhibition she attended, it was starting to become all the same. 

She could remember the very first exhibit she went to and all the nerves it brought. She was a bumbling mess—sweaty palms constantly being wiped on her dress that she may have also used as her prom dress while her stomach frequently threatened to release her breakfast all over the floor—as she watched the few people who also attended like hawks. So insecure about the words those people chose not to share. So insecure about their lips pressed into taught smiles. Were they being genuine or just keeping up appearances? Was her art worth anything, or was she going to flop and end up having to get a shitty job just to make ends meet? Those same nerves would never fade, holding onto her like some clingy child desperately needing attention. But they became less apparent whenever her boyfriend was around. The heaven-sent angel would always know the right thing to say and make the world melt away. Though he would never miss an event, it was very seldom that he was on time. She never stressed his whereabouts, knowing he'd arrive eventually.

The 24-year-old continued to walk around, partially eavesdropping as she passed couples and groups of people. Occasionally, she would take a sip of the bubbly gold in her glass to appease that child named Nerves tugging on her leg. She slowed to a stop once a particular piece caught her eye. It was two separate canvases placed at equal heights. One canvas had a bright figure colored in hues of pink and blue, while the other was dark. Shades of black and grey bled from one canvas to the other as if it was trying to overcome the figure itself. The darkness had enough space on their canvas, though, at least a third remaining untouched, but it wanted the colors. It wanted to possess them, spread its darkness to them.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" blurted a voice near her. Despite the voice being calm and inviting, it startled her. She quickly turned to the side, not realizing a man joined her. His side profile was magnificent — features that were immaculately sculpted from his eyebrows, down his straight nose bridge leading to a button tip, to where his rose-shaded lips took center stage, frozen in a pout. His light blonde hair with dark roots made his olive skin stand out. It looked natural on him. The man was attractive, and Kiara couldn't deny that. His aura alone was almost as intoxicating as the drink in her hand. It pulled her in and wrapped around her like a warm embrace. She nodded, humming in agreement with his question. She faced ahead again.

The man stole another glance at her, eyes slowly glazing over her features. "It's so rare nowadays to find someone who could capture so much without saying a word. It's almost godly."

The more he talked, the nicer his voice sounded. It had an excellent depth, low and appealing even in his hushed tone. Kiara was into what he was saying, continuing to nod until the last comment. She had to sip her drink to subdue the urge to giggle.

"But you know what you and this painting have in common?"

She turned to look at the man, their eyes meeting for the first time tonight. And boy, how he could get lost in those pools of amber. She raised an eyebrow curiously, her glass still resting on her lips as she silently urged him to continue.

"You both were crafted with the same care, holding a beauty one could only dream of containing."

Kiara almost spat out her drink, startling the man before her. She raised her hand to cover her mouth, holding back the remainder of the liquid behind her taut lips. The man's eyebrows drew together and his lips pursed slightly. His expression then dropped to a neutral state once he realized she was chuckling at what he said.

Once she swallowed the liquid, she turned to face him completely. She took a moment to graze over his appearance fully. He was well dressed, wearing a black blazer, white crew neck underneath, and dark-wash skinny jeans. Silver earrings dangled from his earlobes to match the silver chain around his neck and the wristwatch. 

"Damn," she commented, a grin growing on her full glossed lips, "you're really laying it on thick for someone you don't know." Her voice was nothing he expected. She seemed like one of those Hamptons girls, playing in New York City with daddy's money. Her voice was light and smooth like silk fabric, but her accent was hard like a concrete wall. She was either from Queens or Brooklyn, syllables being dropped or stretched at a whim. Something about the way her words blended was incredibly sexy. 

The man quirked a brow, intrigued as the corner of his lips pulled into a half smile. "You tryna say I'm out of practice?"

"Precisely." She answered quickly and confidently as she gazed up at him. "I expect that kind of line from someone twice your age."

"Well, ouch." He chuckled, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as his eyes glanced downward at the girl. "My job requires me to be blunt, so I call it like I see it."

"And you're saying I'm as beautiful as this painting?"

He grabbed a glass off the tray of a passing waiter. "Your beauty surpasses it." It was true. She was absolutely breathtaking. Her golden honey skin practically glowed under the cool white fluorescent lights. Her hair was dark brown and long, pulled back into a sleek high ponytail with two strands framing her face. Her black satin dress hugged every curve in her body with grace, and there were plenty of them. The material looked soft to the touch, gently reflecting the light. He'd be lying if he said her looks weren't the reason why he approached. And on top of all the looks, she smelled phenomenal—warm and sweet, like a freshly baked sugar cookie with a dash of cinnamon on top, making him want to relive through the holiday season that just passed.

Kiara let out a soft scoff. "Thank you, but that's not as much of a compliment as you may think." She suddenly spun on her stiletto heels, turning her back to the man as she walked away.

He quickly followed, catching up in a few steps to join her by her side. "Do explain."

"Beauty has, and always will be, skin deep." She circled the champagne in her glass while looking out into the crowd. "Looks fade over time. Trends come and go faster than the seasons. So if you really wanna wow a girl…." She stopped at another painting that grabbed her attention before looking at him. "Compliment the things you can't see." The two stopped to gaze at the artwork in front of them. The man thought over her words while admiring the piece. The canvas before them had various hues of green splashed about, but shades of purple peeked through upon closer inspection. It mimicked little flowers blooming through a field of wild grass. She managed to lead him to the only painting that mirrored their conversation.

He nodded, taking a sip of his drink. "You're completely right. And to think I almost missed out on how intelligent you are."

She smiled, soft and genuine. "Thank you."

The man stayed by her side as Kiara floated, offering his opinions on whichever piece they stopped in front of. She really appreciated being able to receive unbiased feedback on her work. He didn't know he was chatting with the artist. No one in the room knew. The name signed at the bottom of each canvas was Luna, a faceless painter. It's been that way since the beginning, and she intended it to stay that way. Only her close friends, family, and people she hired knew of her secret.

"I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to lunch tomorrow." The man asked at their fourth or so painting.

"I see you don't waste any time."

"Correct. Time is limited, after all."

She looked up at him, his perfect lips pulled into a soft smile. Maybe in another lifetime, she thought as she caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Flattered, but I can't."

His brows furrowed. He thought that the conversation they were having was great, so what was with the rejection? "May I ask why?"

"I have a boyfriend," she said with a wide smile.

He suddenly scoffed, causing her to tilt her head to the side slightly. "I haven't seen anyone on your arm the whole night." The first thing the man hated the most was being lied to.

Her brows then lowered while her eyes narrowed. "He's just late."

The second thing was excuses.

"Tsk," he shook his head before downing his drink. "Committed to a man with no time management? Red flag."

"And somehow that's better than a man who can't take rejection?" She shot back as she quickly matched his energy. They had a peaceful conversation only moments before, and now the energy between them had grown negative.

"Oh, I can take rejection," he stated with a chuckle as he put his glass down. "But only when I'm being told the truth."

"It is—"

"Hey, darling." And finally, the deep and butter-smooth voice appeared, melting away the anger that was bubbling inside Kiara. As he approached her side, he placed his large hand on the small of her back and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm sorry I'm late."

The blonde in front of them eyed the man from his tan skin and wavy ebony hair to his solid-colored turtle neck and long coat. Something about the dark-haired man seemed familiar to the blonde. Then it hit him like a freight train. "Well, isn't it Mr. Kim Taehyung?" He smiled widely, glancing up at the slightly taller man.

Taehyung's brows furrowed momentarily before grinning. "Holy shit, Park Jimin!" He stepped forward, leaving Kiara's side to wrap his arms around the blonde. "What are you doing here?" He asked as he pulled away from the man. "I never would've thought that you'd be into art."

He chuckled softly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "It's just a little appreciation I picked up from Spain." He shrugged casually.

Taehyung's jaw clenched briefly, his smile slipping for a moment. For as long as he's known Jimin, he always had to slip in a way to brag about his accomplishments. It was sad that he still hasn't grown out of that trait yet. "Ah yeah," he responded, playing cool, "I forgot you traveled there. How was it?"

Jimin shrugged again. "It was Spain," he said, glazing over the topic. "But me and—shit, I'm sorry." His attention shifted from Taehyung to the woman. "I never asked for your name."

"I'm Kiara," she said softly. Her arms folded over her chest as she watched the two men converse. She didn't mind a bit since Taehyung was the most extroverted of the two.

"Kiara," Jimin repeated to himself, his eyes trailing down her appearance briefly. He tried to pin the name to the face, especially if she was Taehyung's. His eyes finally returned to the other man. "Kiara and I were discussing some of the pieces earlier. I've been a huge fan of Luna for years now." He tried to be calm about the subject of Luna, but it made excitement course through his veins. He was among the first few to learn about the mysterious artist who abruptly appeared on the scene. Everyone wanted one of their pieces overnight, and Jimin was obviously at the very top of that list. Every brushstroke left was a paragraph, speaking a language only artists could understand. 

"I don't even wanna talk about how hard it was to get in here," he chuckled, a faint flush spreading over his cheeks. A Luna Eclipse had a longer wait list than some Michelin-star restaurants. Luckily for him, he was able to pull a few strings. A few phone calls here, some embarrassing promises there, and he was in.

Kiara couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips as she eyed the man. The smirk on Taehyung's lips was full of pride, almost conceited, as he tilted his head slightly to the side. "Oh, you don't say?" For once in the pair's life, it felt like Taehyung had a one-up on Jimin. "How does it feel to—"

"My love," Kiara interjected, voice just as sweet, yet bitter, like honey as she placed her hand on Taehyung's chest. She looked up at him, and Jimin could see her pupils dilated, swirling with love. He chewed on his lower lip gently. He barely knew this woman, but why did he want her to look at him like that? "I have to talk to you about something."

Taehyung stared at his partner with furrowed brows before looking at Jimin. "Um, alright. I'll catch up with you later then."

She looked at Jimin, and that love dissipated instantly. Such a look was only reserved for Taehyung, making a heaviness grow in his abdomen. "If you would excuse us."

The blonde couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from Kiara. "Of course," he finally said, grinning at the man. "Don't be a stranger!"

The two waved at each other before Kiara led him away. Her arm wrapped around his, holding him close to her. She glanced back at Jimin one last time before pulling Taehyung to a quiet section of the event. He leaned against the pillar while Kiara stood before him, gazing up at him.

"Why did you cut me off?" Taehyung asked, keeping his voice calm.

"Because you almost name-dropped me," she said, her arms folding over her chest. 

The 26-year-old's lips turned into a small o shape before forming a sheepish smile. "You're right. I'm sorry. I completely forgot for a second. It's just so hard not to brag about you when you always look so good." He reached out and touched her waist, pulling her into him.

She couldn't stop her lips from forming a smile as he buried his face into her neck. She giggled quietly, her hands placed on his chest. "Stop it," she whined, not wanting him to do such a thing.

Taehyung inhaled deeply, the notes of her sweet perfume entering his nostrils. "Mm, and you're wearing my favorite perfume too?" He mumbled against her skin, placing gentle kisses randomly. "You just wanted me to be on you."

The girl laughed before gasping when she felt his large hand fully palm her ass. She pulled away from him just enough to slap him in the chest playfully. "We're in public!"

His eyes locked with hers, with a smirk playing on his lips. "So?" He questioned as he pulled her close again, resuming to litter her neck with kisses. "No one's looking anyway. They're too distracted by your beautiful art." 

He continued until he reached her favorite spot, a moan parting from her smiling lips. His hands couldn't get enough of her, feeling her up as if it was the first time. Kiara's eyes fluttered shut, biting back moans that wanted to escape her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Taehyung," she whined again, partially out of want. It started to feel so good that the world began to melt away. "Someone will see."

Someone cleared their throat. "That's true."

Kiara's eyes shot open, quickly pushing the man in the midst of giving her a hickey off of her. He groaned as his back hit the pillar wall while she turned around. Her cheeks flushed with heat, embarrassment promptly replacing the arousal. She saw familiar ice-blue eyes playfully glaring at her. The petite woman pushed her long, ginger hair off her shoulders as she cocked an eyebrow at the two—disapproval flooding her features.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. "Hello, Aimee," he said, greeting the woman for both of them.

Aimee huffed, glancing at the man. "Taehyung."

He stood up from the wall, kissing Kiara's temple. "Lemme get us something to drink." He shot one last glare to Aimee before walking off.

Aimee shook her head. "I don't know how you put up with him and all the PDA." She grumbled, her heavy New Jersey accent ringing through Kiara's ears while she glared a hole into the back of Taehyung's head.

Kiara straightened out the smooth material of her dress. "You get used to it," she smiled softly to herself. "Plus, I kinda like it."

"Ugh," Aimee rolled her eyes as she folded her arms over her chest. "Seems like he'd fuck ya right there with an audience." The girl pointed her index finger to her open mouth, making a gagging sound while Kiara laughed.

"You're so dramatic," Kiara smiled while shaking her head. "But what's up? Is everything going OK?" Aimee was at every event Kiara held. She was her art dealer, providing guests with the information needed to purchase a piece. She would only come up to the artist if something were awry.

"Oh! Everything is fucking fantastic, honestly." Her eyes lit up with excitement as she bounced on the balls of her heels. "I think this might be your best collection yet."

Kiara sighed in relief, placing her hand on her chest as it fell. "Thank you. If we can get everything sold tonight, I'll be set." Aimee looked at the girl, her brows furrowing momentarily before releasing. "Taehyung and I have been looking for a bigger place."

Aimee's lips turned down into a slight frown. "A bigger house? Has he even talked about getting a ring yet?"

Kiara's shoulders dropped, her hand pinching and rubbing at her fingers. She sounded just like her best friends and every other friend in Kiara's life. "I know," she sighed. She glanced down at her left hand, where her ring finger was aching to be adorned with something. "It's so backward, but a one-bedroom isn't enough. He needs an office space for work. So, I'm hoping the ring will come soon after once we settle into a new place."

She looked at the girl, a sad smile replacing her frown. "Well, it's only been four years, right?"

Only. That word ran circles in Kiara's head. 

It's only been for years. 

You've only just moved in with each other. 

You've only just started dating.

The word was growing tiresome, especially in the conversations about Taehyung. Everyone had an opinion about her and her relationship, but no one dared to say anything straightforward about it. She was sick of only.

Kiara nodded slowly, which only caused Aimee to sigh. "He'll come around, doll, don't stress it." She assured with a soft smile, gently patting the woman's shoulder. "Lemme get back to my job so you can get that house." After Kiara gave Aimee a small smile, she walked off. She almost bumped into Taehyung on the way out, the two quietly cursing at each other before continuing their path.

He returned to Kiara with a smile, handing her a glass of champagne. "All good news?"

She grinned at the man, feeling warm despite not sipping her drink yet. "Amazing news."

As the night continued, the two walked around together. They always had a hand on each other somehow, whether it was Taehyung's on the small of her back or Kiara's hand being swallowed by his. She adored this. It made her feel safe—feel wanted. He had to let everyone know she was off the market and was his. As if a shiny diamond ring resting upon her left finger wouldn't have done the same. Taehyung struck up conversations with random people, small-talking them like the extrovert he was. During each conversation, she would glance around, finding something to fill her attention while they spoke of things that didn't matter. Every time, her gaze would meet the blonde.

Their eyes lingered for longer than what was appropriate. Why was he looking at me? She thought while she fidgeted with her fingers. Or was he staring at Taehyung?

"Love," she said as she turned her gaze to Taehyung. He has just finished up a conversation with an elderly couple. "How long have you known Jimin?"

"We grew up together, and were best friends."

The girl's eyes went wide. Despite four years together, Taehyung rarely talked about anything before his college years. It was optional to dwell on past things, even though Kiara would've loved to know everything, from how he scraped his knees while learning to ride a bike to his first love.

"We even went to college together, out here," he continued. "But our crowds were completely different. He got along with the nepo babies since he basically is one, and I got along with the art kids. I remember us bumping heads quite a bit." He let out an amused chuckle.

"Oh," she frowned slightly.

"Like he didn't have to brag about going to Spain," he blurted out. "Not all of us can drop our responsibilities and take off on vacation for a year."

"A year?!" She repeated as her jaw dropped.

"Mhm, basically had his parents pay for the whole trip." There was a fire behind his words. He's been tight-lipped about his friendship with Jimin, and finally, it felt amazing to let it out. "I'm surprised he's not rotting from the inside out."

Kiara pouted a bit, never hearing Taehyung speak so harshly about another. "Well, maybe it was a birthday gift?" The blonde couldn't be that bad, even if she got a taste of that quick-witted mouth earlier. He could've just been having a bad day after all.

"He left in March, babe, and his birthday is in October."

Her mouth formed a small o before she chewed on her lower lip gently. "So you're not gonna catch up with him?"

He looked ahead before glancing down at the girl. "I am," he said with a shrug, "I would rather hang out with a nepo baby than my coworkers." Kiara let out a half-hearted snicker as he pressed a kiss to her temple. "It would be a good opportunity to get out of the house since someone says I need to make friends."

"You do!" She looked at him, brows furrowed and nose slightly scrunched. "I feel bad leaving you home every girls' night. I want to know you're having fun and not rewatching the same three movies."

"They're good movies!" He argued with a smile as the girl shot him a glare. "But I hear you," she stretched out the last syllable as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "So I will try for you, OK?"

The girl smiled, leaning up to touch their lips together briefly. "Thank you." She hoped they could work past their differences and become friends. She knew the man wanted to go out and experience things, but he longed for a set group to do that with. Sometimes, rekindling a relationship was more manageable than starting a new one.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

[bitch-butter]

POV ask of the Messy Au

ahh i don't want to spoil pretty from the back too much, but here's a quick imagining of webgott's Official meeting in pretty on the inside.

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

The cold was bracing, even all the way down to his marrow, and he slumped against it thankfully, trying to decide whether he'd smoke this cig faster or slower. It was getting easier, showing up sober-ish, but he still missed the hot flush of nothingness at the back of his tongue, being unable to tell whether he was having a good time or a bad time. Gene was being uncharacteristically kind, but then so was everyone as he closed in on a year of...whatever this was.

A whole year. A whole year, the sound of it in his ears like cream off the top of fresh milk, like metal scraping over violin strings.

Like -

The light in Babe and Gene's kitchen was broken abruptly, the warm box of it going dark and shattering into a human form, and suddenly he wasn't alone. Leaning out the window was the wayward kid from last time, the lost boy that Toye felt bad enough to invite into their sorry band of ne'er do wells. Joe had known he didn't belong from the fucking jump with his hair and his face caught between the inside and the outside, blue and orange shapes only catching the edges of his beauty. He'd been shocked the other guys seemed to take to the guy - Webster - as fast as they did, but then Joe always did take an extra ten minutes to warm up to anyone. The bitch flower sometimes only needs an extra ten to sufficiently bloom, so at the very least he gets a full picture.

And here Webster was again, poking his head out from the window with a curious expression on his handsome face, and Joe admitted he found himself surprised.

“You’re back,” he said, unable to think of what else to say, feeling bizarrely pleased. 

Webster nodded. “I’m back," he replied, and his voice was a rich plume of fog in the cold air, the breadth of it stretching out towards Joe like it wanted to lay itself across his face.  

He sounded proud of himself, and Joe huffed out a low sound, smiling in spite of himself. “We didn’t scare you off,” he said, and couldn't help but sound impressed even to his own ears. Webster would not have been the first sad-eyed twunk they chased off with their codependent antics, so the fact that the guy came back for more was worthy of a certain degree of pleasure and alarm. The guy must be some kind of glutton for punishment.

A somewhat ugly sound snorted its way out of Webster's nose, and Joe could see him perfectly in his minds eye: ivy-leagued, sweater-vested, perpetual virgin, trying desperately to impress. “Not a lot scares me," he said wryly, and oddly Joe could detect a note of sincerity.

Bringing his cig up for a long drag, Joe held the other man's eyes in his own, their color washed out by the shadows. Maybe he could give this one a chance. Anybody that at least wants to pretend that they aren't intimidated is at least worthy of a secondary glance, a bit more than just the cursory dismissal Joe affords people.

It doesn't hurt that his long dead libido - currently enrobed in full funerary garb after having to relearn how to have and use pleasure sensors effectively - is threatening to rise from the grave at the sight of the guys face. Joe's first instinct upon feeling attraction for another person is to go completely still, but outside of Jurassic Park that's never been an effective game plan really, so what could it hurt extending an interaction that he could feasibly jerk off to later?

Jerking off to this would truly mean he was beyond help. Eh, who cares?

“That’s good to know,” he said, voice pitched downward, hoping to draw the kid out. “Joe Liebgott,” he introduced, extending his cig-free hand.

“I know,” Webster nodded, taking his hand in a firm grip that Joe would absolutely not think about later. “David Webster.”

“I know,” he mimicked, holding his hand perhaps a bit longer than necessary before releasing him, the warmth of the other man's palm sticking against him like golden honey. He distracted himself from Webster's idling by taking another pull on his smoke, trying not to watch the guy too closely as he glanced from the kitchen and back to Joe, breath billowing in front of him once again.

“Were you all guessing I wouldn't be around this long?” Webster asked, quiet but curious, strangely high and low at once.

Joe expelled a burst of a laugh, all smoke in the night air. “That’s putting it mildly,” he said, the smoke catching in his throat with the chill of the night, and Webster gave him an unimpressed look; brow raised, mouth pursed, and he glanced back into the kitchen.

In the warm glow of the apartment his eyes went bright blue, and their color shot out at him like the Northern lights. They were a rolling wave over him, and the coldness of his hands became less acute, the sting of his cheeks tempered by the warmth of the other man's waters. Suddenly he missed California, missed summer skies, missed the way the air seemed clear and distinct in the mountains.

Webster's eyes held all these things, and Joe felt abruptly as though he knew him very well. Even deeper than their loveliness he could see something down, down, down, far towards the very bottom that called out to him. Hunger. Pain. Longing.

Your eyes, your eyes, your eyes, he thought.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Webster said abruptly, the Harvard brat once more, and he gave Joe a sharp, petulant sniff before shoving off of the ledge and escaping back into the light of the kitchen. “See you later,” he tossed over his shoulder, already gone.

Joe missed his presence, found that he wanted more. And that was always a dangerous pastime for him, wanting more. Wanting more led him down long hallways, through doors that lead to other doors, to trouble, to the greatest of adventures and the most exquisite pain.

“See you,” he said softly, mind already turning with possibilities, with the feeling of looking down from a great height.

Aright, David Webster, he though to himself, pulling on his dying smoke. You're on.

[heliswife]

Hello! New Anon here! 🍓 This is my first request! ^^ Could i make a request with how sleepovers with The project sekai boys would go? (together like a big ol chaotic party 💀) I understand completely if you do not want to do it! It does sound pretty chaotic and tricky after all! Love your work! Take care!☆

-🍓Anon☆

NAUR THE CHAOS IS GONNA BE CRAZY 😭 I LOVE THIS SO MUCH LMAO, BUT WELCOME 🍓 ANON!

Sleeping over with the Fantasista squad!

☆-> Rui paints all of y'alls nails! Tsukasa really wants to paint them too, but his shaky ass hands are saying the opposite. Akito denies the nail painting, but he really wants it and just gives in after convincing. Toya lets Tsukasa paint whatever color, and he usually chooses some electric blue or purple to fit whatever aesthetic he has going on

☆-> you guys sleep over at Toyas when his dad isn't home bc Tsukasa doesn't want to bother Saki (leo/need weekly sleepovers so real 😱), Ruis room is a hot mess, and Akito doesn't want Ena to bother y'all

☆-> TSUKASAS SNORING... 😭 Y'ALL HAVE TO SUFFER 🗿 but yea he always falls asleep first at sleepovers and y'all mostly Akito prank him by drawing on his face and the good ol' hand in warm water prank 😼

☆-> you guys watch a horror movie, and Tsukasa definitely gets scared easily so he just grabs on to you or someone else while he cowers in fear. Rui is just intrigued and he watches the horror movie without flinching 😭 Toya is watching the horror movie like its a regular action movie; he does not get scared easily. Akito gets sorta scared but he acts like he isn't terrified.

"This isn't scary at all, its completely obvious that its fake."

"Why are your eyes so wide then? You're also sort of trembling."

"Uh..."

☆-> at some point someone comes up with the idea to prank call people and y'all end up calling Ena, Nene, Saki, or whoever the fuck you can think of

☆-> when it is time to sleep, its just one big pile. Rui sleeps in a starfish position, Toya and Akito on one side and you and Tsukasa on the other. Because you're in Toya's house, there's a fuck ton of plushies you're sleeping with too so it's super cozy. It will be sorta hard to sleep because of Tsukasas loud ass snoring tho...💀

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 5

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 5: Sex with a Ghost

Chapter Summary: You and Dieter indulge yourselves in more ways than one.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.6k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, death, cocaine addiction, grief, PTSD, angst, flashbacks, cannabis use, implied poverty, psychic abilities, communication problems, paranoia, dirty talk, oral sex (v receiving), infertility mention, safe sex discussion, but also unprotected PIV sex, fluff, divorce, bathtub

Notes: Chapter title from "Sex with a Ghost" by Teddy Hyde. This chapter is like... a smut sandwich. You'll see.

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

You follow Dieter into his hotel room at The Plaza, jaw dropping as the door closes behind you.  

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mutter to yourself, reaching out to trail your fingers along the buttery smooth finish of the wainscoting framing off sections of the wall. 

Dieter meanders into the living room- the fucking living room inside a fucking hotel room - and plops down on the dusty baby blue velvet sofa (not a couch, a sofa, that’s how expensive it looks) like it’s nothing spectacular. Just some room. 

“This is your hotel room? And you’ve been staying at my apartment?” 

“Technically it’s a suite, not a room,” he advises, causing you to roll your eyes, and stretches out along the length of the sofa, “I like your apartment. This is so,” he grimaces and gestures around his vicinity, “Uptight.” 

“I think fancy-schmancy is the proper term,” you smirk and raise an eyebrow at him, wandering around the circumference of the room, awestruck at the immaculate Edwardian era décor. Gold picture frames. Bright, cream colored walls that stretch tall up to the high ceiling. Spotless reflective surfaces on the tabletops. Plush, delicately colored velvet upholstery lining the chairs and sofa. A fucking crystal chandelier hanging above the center of the room. 

Then you’re reminded of his cocaine-fueled tirade, about your apartment and Ethan’s otherworldly occupancy of it, and scoff, “Also, you do not like my apartment. You said it was, and I quote, fucking creepy.” 

“It is fucking creepy,” he laughs, a real, deep kind of laugh that stretches his face and wrinkles his eyes. He sinks deeper into the sofa’s embrace, then shrugs, “But I like it.” 

Your eyebrows raise and you give him the stank eye, as if to tell him yeah fucking right, but he doesn’t notice. He’s frowning down at his iPhone, tapping the screen.  

With Dieter distracted, you return your attention to the room around you. Along the wall behind the dining room table, you find velvet curtains, the same shade as the luxurious sofa. You spread the curtains open wide, letting the sunlight bathe the room. Down below in Central Park, people are no longer people, but tiny ants mulling about the trails, peeking out from underneath the deciduous tree canopy. When you lean closer, forehead pressing against the warm window pane, the streets below come into view. The veins of this city, vehicles of all shapes and sizes, its blood cells, flowing back and forth to drop things off and pick things up. Always moving. Keeping the city alive. 

A dizzying rush of vertigo hits you, and you pull away from the window, leaving an oily smudge against the pristine glass. You try in vain to wipe it away with your wrist. 

“Besides, this place is way more haunted than your apartment,” he chuckles to himself. 

This piques your interest. 

You tilt your head towards him and frown, “Oh really?” 

He hums in the affirmative, then diverts his gaze from his phone to your eyes and elaborates, “Like this suite? A rich girl died in the bathtub. Took too many benzos and passed out. Drowned accidentally. And um,” he sits up and tosses his phone on the mirror-top coffee table, then points to the window you were just gazing out of, “Some old geezer jumped out that window. Dapper guy. Kind of a jackass.” 

You take a big step away from the window and cross your arms in front of your chest, furrowing your brow, “How do you know that?” 

“I just kind of,” he screws his face up in contemplation, gesturing to the area around his unkempt chestnut hair, “Know. I guess. Since my overdose. It’s weird.”

You creep closer, keeping your guarded posture in place as you sit down in a goldenrod colored armchair across from him. 

“Like at your apartment, I can see him and feel him. It’s…” he scrunches his face up and drops his eyes to the floor, pondering, then looks back up at you, “Like a palpable sadness. Like he’s sorry. It’s really… heavy.” 

Dieter doesn’t need to tell you who he is, or what he’s sorry for. 

“He’s- he’s sorry? Did he tell you that?” Your voice is quiet and shaky. 

“It’s just a feeling,” he shakes his head and frowns, then after a beat, he raises his eyebrows and starts, “He does -” 

He cuts himself off. His mouth clamps shut and eyes go wide before he averts his gaze. 

“He does what? ” you lean forward and search his face. Watching the way he starts to jitter, fingers thrumming against his thighs. How his leg starts to bounce. 

“Nevermind,” he shakes his head, standing up and grabbing his phone from the table, shoving it in his pocket, still averting his eyes, “Don’t listen to me, it’s probably just brain damage or something, anyway.” 

“No fucking way, Dieter,” you scoff, rising to your feet, narrowing your eyes at him, “Tell me.” 

“Fine ,” he groans and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands, then runs his fingers through his mane, “He tries to talk to you. But you’re closed off. That’s why he couldn’t come through the psychomanteum.” 

Your hair stands on end. 

To be totally honest, you thought he was fucking with you by insinuating he has a sixth sense. But this statement makes your stomach twist in a knot. 

“How did you know I didn’t contact him?” 

You haven’t talked to Dieter about your experience with the psychomanteum yet. There’s no way that he could know you failed to contact Ethan, let alone that you used it at all.

“Like I said, I just know,” he sighs, then paces over to the wet bar (this place has a fucking wet bar, for fuck’s sake) and pours whiskey into two cups as he mutters, “This is why I don’t talk about it. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. I can’t explain it.” 

A pang of guilt radiates across your chest, and your shoulders sag, releasing your arms to your sides, “Sorry.” 

“Don’t sweat it, doll,” he mumbles, then picks up two crystal low ball glasses and hands one to you. He empties the glass into his mouth and sets it back on the countertop. You do the same. The liquid burns the ridges of your throat as it succumbs to gravity, then its heat settles in your belly. 

Both of you lean a hip against the countertop and face each other. There’s only a foot between you. His presence is large, but not in a domineering way. It’s warm and settles all around you, squeezing you tight. 

Like a bear hug. 

“How do I, um…” you frown at the floor, trying to find the right words, “Open up… to him?” 

He raises his eyebrows at you and crosses his arms, “You’re asking me how to open up to your husband?” 

Embarrassment heats your cheeks and spreads down your neck. Laughing at the absurdity of it all, you throw your hands up in the air, “Yeah, I guess.”

“I don’t know if you know this or not,” he chuckles, dropping his elbow against the countertop to lean in closer, whispering conspiratorially, “But I am not the best person to get marriage advice from.” 

You smirk and roll your eyes at him, then meet his gaze. He searches your face and sees you’re waiting for a better answer. 

“I dunno, how did you talk to him about stuff when he was alive?” he shrugs.  

After pondering this question for a moment, you answer, “I, um… I guess I don’t know.” 

You pause. Sigh. Bite the inside of your cheek along the ridge of scar tissue you’ve gnawed into your smooth flesh over time. 

Dieter hums and pours more whiskey into the glasses, then nudges one towards you. 

“Bad influence,” you tease, making him grin, then pick it up and take a big swallow. He sips and watches you expectantly. Your heart starts to thud in your chest as you open your mouth. But you don’t know how to say the words at the tip of your tongue. 

You don’t know how to admit that you used to be so fucking good at opening up to Ethan. 

Even after a lifetime of communicating in 3D chest with your mother. After betrayal you felt when your father, your best friend and confidant, left you alone with her. You boarded yourself off to other people, thinking that if they can’t get close, they can’t hurt you. 

Then you met Ethan. 

At the beginning, when you felt angry, frustrated, or hurt, you’d default to passive aggressiveness. Slam doors. Give him the cold shoulder. Keep it inside. Always burying the feelings you thought would burden him. Because that’s what feelings were: a burden to others and to yourself. 

He used to cup your cheeks and stare into your eyes, gaze piercing and determined. Tell you that he wasn’t going to leave you alone until you told him exactly what the fuck was wrong. That he’s not a goddamn mind reader. That there’s nothing you could possibly tell him that would make him run away. 

“Hit me with the truth, baby,” he used to tell you, “I can take it.” 

Direct and honest communication. Nail by nail, the two of you worked tirelessly to pry those shutters open and let the light in. And you did. It was one of the reasons the two of you worked so well together. 

You don’t know how to tell Dieter that, when Ethan relapsed, it changed completely. 

He became a person you didn’t trust. Frequently, Ethan would stumble in at 7am, talking a million miles a minute, a sharp sniff interrupting his monologue every 10 seconds, hands trembling like your grandma’s when she started showing symptoms of Parkinson’s disease. When you told him you were concerned, that it was becoming a problem, he claimed that his drug use was under control. And you trusted his word as truth, because it had been just that for the whole 5 years you were together up to that point. 

But he started to lie about where he was, who he was with, what they were doing. Your confrontation was no longer met with direct and honest communication. 

Instead, it was met with denial. 

He couldn’t take the truth anymore, because the truth was that, despite several lengthy inpatient rehab stays in his twenties and early thirties, despite the control he was able to exert over his urges for years, he was still an addict. 

Eventually, cocaine poisoned his brain with paranoia. You started to lose business because he wouldn’t take on new clients out of fear that they were undercover cops, and the existing clients grew wary of your coked-out husband interrogating them. His list of friends dwindled. The ones that stuck around would come over to your apartment and they’d lock themselves in that fucking room for hours. 

You hated when this happened, because every goddamn time, accusations would start flying and a fight would break out. Then you had to mediate an argument between a bunch of cokeheads or try to get in the middle of a fist fight. It wore you down. 

But it wasn’t just other people that Ethan started to lose trust in. 

He started asking if you were talking to the cops, or the DEA, or the FBI, or the fucking illuminati. You didn’t have to ask to know that he thought you were an informant. Each interaction with him felt like a puzzle. If you said the wrong thing, or laughed at the wrong thing, or didn’t laugh at the right thing, or asked a certain question, it would set him off. He was impossible to predict. 

You no longer felt safe to open up to him, so you boarded yourself back up. Conversations with your husband were a means to an end. Whatever you could do or say to get his attention off of you. He refused to go to treatment. His parents refused to see that he was out of control. His ex-wife had seen this all before and the only advice she could give you was get out. 

You didn’t listen to her advice. You thought that if you just loved him hard enough, stayed with him and worked through this, he would come back. But he never did. 

All of these things you consider telling Dieter. But if you tell him, he’ll know how miserably you failed Ethan. He’ll know that what happened was your fault. He’ll see you for what you really are: a coward. 

Instead, you meet Dieter’s warm brown eyes and shrug, “I’ll figure it out.” 

He raises one eyebrow and his lip curls as he sighs. Disappointment is written all over his face. You open your mouth again, trying once more to explain. 

“I’m… I- I- I used to be able to open up to him. But he was… sick,” you stammer out. 

It’s now that you realize you’ve never said the words out loud: He was an addict.  

You realize that you, too, were scared to admit the truth about Ethan. Tears start to burn behind your eyes. You clamp your mouth shut as they start to slide down your cheeks. 

“Sick?” Dieter inquires. 

You nod, then turn away and start walking around the room again, trying to hide this embarrassing display of emotions. 

He follows you. 

“Lua,” he starts, grabbing your hand. You lace your fingers with his, but don’t turn around. Just stare at the door and will yourself to stop crying stop crying stop fucking crying . 

“Hey, come on,” he tugs at your hand, but you’re frozen in panic. Your mind is filled with a blinding, debilitating terror. 

Dieter walks around your statuesque body when you don’t respond, bringing his eyes level to your far away stare, cupping your face with his hands. His thumbs wipe away the tears like windshield wipers against your flushed cheeks. 

“Look at me,” he rumbles. You blink and bring him into focus, meeting his gaze. His features fold into concern, “You ok?” 

Without warning, his question squeezes your heart like a sponge, expelling the sorrow you’ve been absorbing for over a year. Even before the accident. The grief that started to accumulate over those long, lonely nights when you wondered where your husband was. If he was safe. If he’d ever come home again. 

If he’d ever come home again. He never really did, did he? 

Your face crumples and you shake your head back and forth, and sob, “No- no, I’m not fucking ok.” 

He deflates, then stands up straight and pulls you into a tight embrace. You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his dirty tank top, chest heaving as you cry against him. His lips press against your hair and he starts to gently rock you. 

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry for crying,” you sniffle between sobs, “I didn’t mean to-“ 

“Louella,” he cuts you off, mumbling against your scalp, “Don’t apologize for crying. I’m here for you, ok?” 

You nod in response, chest heaving as another wave of tears starts to hit you. 

He continues. 

“I know how you feel. You’re not alone, ok? You- you’re safe. With me. I don’t want you to hold back, ok?” he takes you by the shoulders now and pulls back to meet your gaze, holding you steady. His eyes are bloodshot and watery, but hold a deadly seriousness, “Do you understand?” 

You sniffle and nod, wiping tears away with the back of your hand. 

Dieter searches your eyes and grinds out, “Don’t you dare fucking hold back.” 

His intensity rings like a bell, resonating down your center. A shiver ripples goosebumps across your flesh. You nod again, then sniffle and choke out, “Ok.” 

He holds your gaze for a beat longer, then pulls you back into a hug, nose buried in your hair. His body heat wraps around you and squeezes you tight. As you take a deep inhale, you smell the sharp musk of his sweaty tank top, but find it enticing. Your grip tightens, fingertips pressing into his back. He softens at the touch, humming in approval, then mumbles, “You wanna see the rest of the suite?” 

“Are you trying to suggest something?” you chuckle, raising an eyebrow even though he can’t see it. 

“Actually, I wasn’t, but I like the way you think,” he says, and you can feel his cheeks ball up in a grin against you, “I need to take a shower. Change clothes. Make a few phone calls. After that, though,” he pulls back and gives you a smirk, then quirks an eyebrow, “I’ll fuck you in a really fancy-schmancy bed.” 

Your cunt clenches with excitement. You flash him a sheepish grin, “Oh yeah?” 

His tongue rolls across his bottom lip. Your eyes follow the movement. It doesn’t go unnoticed. Fingers dig into your sides and he leans forward, soft patches of his beard rubbing against your cheek as he rumbles, “Is that what you want, sweetheart?” 

Your heart starts to thud heavy in your chest. Head feels light. Joints start to gelatinize. 

“You want me to fuck you?” his breath is hot against your ear. 

You nod and swallow hard.

“Say it, Lua.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you whisper back. 

His throat vibrates with something akin to a growl. You slide your hands up to the nape of his neck, into his hair. Savor his soft curls between your fingers. Your foreheads meet. He cups your cheek with his palm. Thumb grazes your lips. A delightful shiver drips down the middle of you.  

Your eyes flutter closed and you pull him closer, tasting the heat of his ragged breath, drinking in the delicious anticipation of his mouth hovering there, waiting for your signal before he acts. 

“Can I kiss you?” he breathes, trailing both hands behind your head until he’s cradling your skull in his strong hands. 

“Please.”

He pulls your lips against his, hard and wanting. You stumble backwards a step from the impact, but recover your footing and return the kiss with equal force. His lips part with a moan. You take up this newly available space, sliding your tongue against his, committing the taste of his saliva to memory. He drops his hands to your hips and thrusts against you, grinding his hardened cock between your bodies. 

“Are you- gonna- be able to- wait that long?” you ask between frantic kisses, tightening your grip on his hair. 

“Don’t think so, doll,” he mutters and presses hard against your sex, pulling a gasp from your chest as the friction pools hot in your center.

The two of you don’t part lips as you stumble blindly backwards until you’re backed up against the sofa. He nudges your head to the side with the bridge of his nose and rumbles, “Think I’m gonna have to bend you over this couch-“ he grabs the sofa and presses his hips against yours, “and fuck you right here.” 

You whimper and tug at his waistband. Capture his lips in yours. He groans into the kiss and slides his hands under the hem of your dress, then turns you around and yanks your underwear down to your ankles. 

“Wanna fuckin’ taste you first,” he mumbles, dropping to his knees, hiking your dress up to your waist, “Take this off, love.” 

You pull it off over your head and toss it aside. His hands are soft but strong on the backs of your thighs, sliding up the sweat-laced skin, knees nudging your stance wider. 

“That’s it, baby,” he coos, spreading the tender flesh between your legs, “Wanna see that pretty pussy. Fuck yes-”

His tongue parts your lips and drags electric along the middle of you. 

“Oh my fucking god, yes,” you gasp and arch into the delicious sensation. A sharp sting ripples across your ass when he slaps it, and you growl through gritted teeth, “Fuck yes.” 

He starts to roll his tongue over your clit, slow and steady, pleasure growing thick and luscious at your core. Vibrations echo through you as he moans against your cunt. Fingertips dig into the swell of your ass cheeks. 

You whimper and close your eyes, savoring the deep, throbbing pain each digit derives. Relishing the delightful spring of ecstasy his tongue found. Listening to the bass of your heart pounding frantically in your chest. 

His moans grow louder as you bend over and start to writhe against his face. He stills and flattens his tongue, letting you take what you need, grip on your ass loosening so he can feel the heat of your movements against his palms. 

“Do you like that, baby?” you pant, “Like when I ride your fucking face?” 

The thrill of these words leaving your mouth trickles down your spine, collecting molten at your center. You chase this blissful warmth, picking up speed. 

He groans and slaps your bouncing ass in response, prodding you onward. 

“How does that pussy taste, baby, hmm? Like how fucking wet I get for you?” you ask him in a throaty whisper, drunk on power, aching with lust. 

Dieter seamlessly replaces his mouth with his hand, unable to resist the urge to respond, “Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart-”

You reach back and pull his face back between your legs, growling, “Don’t you fucking stop, Dieter-”

He moans and dutifully resumes his position, letting you rub yourself off on his flattened tongue. The muscle feels fucking divine. Slick but firm. Anchored in place exactly where you need him. 

“That’s perfect,” you groan, then swallow hard as static starts to tingle at your core. 

You pick up speed, chasing the sensation, whimpering, “That’s it, baby, just let me fuck that handsome face.“ 

He moans so loud, the vibration shoots through you and makes you gasp with glee, “Fuck yes,” eyes fluttering shut as you concentrate on the pleasure growing wide inside you, hips jerking frantically now, “Wanna hear how much you like it, baby, let me hear-“ 

The sound waves echo deep into your body when he complies. And that feeling, that hot, delicious fucking feeling keeps building inside you. 

“So fucking good, such a good boy,” you croak out, then gasp as the twisting, aching pleasure starts to swell, “I’m gonna cum, baby, just like that, yes- yesyesyes-” 

You come apart in layers, splitting into tiny microscopic pieces before dissolving on his tongue. As you gasp and convulse, lost in your orgasm, he laps away at your cunt frantically, coaxing the sticky, sweet arousal into his mouth. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan, instinctively pulling away from the overwhelming stimulation. His hands hold your hips in place, reeling you back in. He closes his lips around your swollen clit, sucking it mercilessly as your whole body starts to tremble and you let out a choked sob. 

For a moment, all you can hear is your own thudding heartbeat, the deafening pleasure swallowing you whole. 

He moans against you again, tongue breaching your entrance and writhing around. It only makes you want more. You think of his hardened cock against your earlier. How fucking big he was. Desire burns hot at your center. 

“Fuck me, Dee, please-” you whine. 

He starts to fuck you with his tongue and, even though it feels fucking amazing , it’s not what you need. You turn around and look down at him. 

He’s truly a sight to behold. 

On his knees before you, chest heaving, eyes wild and black, face glistening with your cum. He pouts up at you- fucking pouts , this man- and ghosts his hands along your hips, drifting towards your pussy like it has him hypnotized. His cock is tented inside his shorts. A wet spot has darkened a section of fabric to a deep forest green. 

“Fuck, you’re so sexy,” you purr, bringing your thumb to run along his bottom lip. 

“Says you,” he chuckles, then grabs your hand in his, pressing his lips to your wrist, holding them there in reverie. A whine emits from your throat at the contact. His eyes follow yours as you lower yourself to the floor, pushing him back gently until he’s seated and you can climb into his lap. 

You tug at the hem of his tank top, pulling it off over his head, then press your palms against his bare chest. His hands slip around your waist. Eyelids flutter shut. Head rolls back. Recognizing his hunger, you hook your hands at the back of his neck and bring yourself closer, until the heat of his skin is flush against yours. 

Your hips roll against the stiff length of him, making him shudder. 

“Fuck , Lua,” he breathes, hot gaze meeting yours, fingers digging into your flesh, pressing a kiss into your jawline before whispering, “Wanna feel that sweet little pussy wrapped around me.” 

“Then take your goddamn pants off already,” you mumble and run your fingers through his hair. 

“Yes ma’am,” he grins, then grants your request, pulling his shorts and boxers down as he tells you, “You can boss me around any time, doll. I’ll do fucking anything for you, I swear to god, anything you want.” 

His cock escapes its confides with a light smack against your thigh. You look down to see it and your eyes widen, then you grin at him, “I fucking knew it.” 

“What?” he laughs at your pleased expression. His hips thrust against yours ever-so-slightly, just a little, just enough to catch some friction on your skin. 

“I knew you had a big dick,” you giggle, covering your face as it starts to flush with embarrassment. 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t notice, sweetheart,” he rumbles. His lips graze your cheek, breath hot against your skin, “You think that tight little cunt will be able to take it?”

You hum and roll your hips forward, pinning his cock between your bodies, then look between it and his eyes, “Only one way to find out.” 

“Should I get a condom?” he asks, searching your face. 

You ponder this for a moment, then return his question with a question, “Are you clean?” 

He nods, “You?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, then start to blush as you say, “I got tested last week. Plus, I haven’t had unprotected sex since, you know…” 

My husband died. 

He hums in acknowledgment, thankfully not making you say it out loud, “I can get one, no problem-”

“No, no, it’s actually- I’d um, I’d like to… not… if that’s ok,” your whole face is flushed now as you stammer, “I, like, know you, so I feel like it’s… different. I don’t know.” 

Your stomach flutters at the admission. 

He grins wide. His hands settle on your waist and his thumbs smooth circles against your skin as he rumbles, “Are you on birth control?” 

You laugh out loud. He furrows his brow and frowns in question. You shake your head, “Sorry, it’s- it’s not funny, I’m just, um, barren. So, no, I’m not on birth control. But nothing grows inside this hostile environment anyways, so…” 

“Hostile environment? ” he throws his head back in laughter at the phrase, then returns to your grinning face with an amused smile and shrugs, “Ok, no condom then.” 

So the two of you guide yourselves into a ready position, the head of him nudging up against your entrance, dipping into the hot, gooey pool of arousal still dripping from your pussy. Slowly, you lower yourself down, mouth falling open with a gasp as your walls stretch wide to accommodate his girth. 

You press your forehead against his and whimper, “Jesus fucking Christ, Dee.” Your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck and you pull him into a kiss. As you huff and whine against his mouth, he works you open inch by inch. 

When you don’t think you can take any more, you start to roll your hips slowly. Ecstasy ripples through your body in waves. He lets out soft little moans, grip on your waist tightening, and gasps, “Oh my god , baby- fuck, pussy so fucking good.” 

“Mmm so good -” you slur in agreement, capturing his lips in yours, melting against him. You drip down the length of him, pooling onto the floor pristine floor of this fucking suite whose nightly rate is probably one month’s rent for you. 

You’re now abstract. A concept. A ghost, really. Only existing as your five senses. Dieter is consuming all of them. 

The salty bite of his sweat on your tongue. The throbbing ache of pleasure as he splits you open over and over again. The musky, warm scent of his skin filling your lungs. The breathy curses and praises that fall from his lips. Those lust-blown eyes, dark with passion as they bore into yours. 

“You’re taking me so fucking good, baby, holy fucking shit,” he pants against your mouth, “Sweet little pussy getting filled just how you like it?” 

“Just how I like it, baby, yes yes yes,” you whimper, pushing against his thrusts. 

His fingers dig into your sides and he snaps his hips up, growling, “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck yes-”

You release a choked sob as he reaches the end of you. Stars invade your field of vision. He grits his teeth and grunts in time with his thrusts, bruising grip holding your lower half in place. Burying your face against his neck, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, legs around his waist, and hold on for dear life as he fucks up into you mercilessly. 

Then you’re both reduced to your most basic animalistic instincts. Moaning. Grunting. Writhing frantically in a heavy cloud of lust that clings to your skin. Sweat pools between your bodies in the places they meet. 

Pleasure wraps its tendrils around your entire being and burrows inside you. Every single cell in your body is saturated with it, overflowing with it. It pools at your center, churning hot and thick like magma, setting your insides on fire. 

You bite into his shoulder, sinking your teeth into his skin, muffling your wrecked sobs. He moans wantonly. His hands slide up your back. Fingers twist into your hair and tug. 

“Yes yes yes,” you whine, letting your head roll back into his grasp, exposing the column of your neck. He licks up your throat and then lays down a smattering of wet kisses. Your moans project to the ceiling, sound waves echoing through the crystal chandelier, “Fuck me so good, Dee, fucking perfect.” 

Dieter’s pace grows more erratic. His grunts fade to sharp little moans and he pants, “I’m so fucking close, baby.“ 

“Cum inside me, Dee,” you whimper, “Wanna feel you cum inside my pussy-”

He groans, then pulls your lips to his. The kiss is sloppy, just like the rhythm of your hips grinding against his, just like the cadence of his moans melding with yours. 

Gravity slips away as you start to ascend, following the feeling of ecstasy up, up, up, heart pounding, ears ringing from the elevation, body tingling from head to toe. Your stomach flips and you cry out as your orgasm drops you in a freefall. Dieter gasps and groans, hips stuttering as you quiver and clench around him. 

“I’m- I’m-“ his mouth falls open and he shudders beneath you as he cums, fucking his load up into your cunt one, two, three times. 

The fluid motions of your bodies together slow to stop except for your chests as they rise and fall. Even then, the breaths become more shallow, less desperate for oxygen as the exertion fades into normalcy. But the two of you are propped up against each other, tangled in a loose knot, eyes closed, minds numb, muscles still trembling. 

“I can’t feel my legs,” he confesses, mumbling into your neck, “But I don’t wanna move.” 

“I don’t… I don’t think I even can move. We’re stuck here, sorry,” you respond with a content sigh. 

Neither of you protest for another minute or two, until you try to swallow and find your mouth and throat are fucking arid . You cough a little and whine, “Need water. So dry.” 

He groans and squeezes you tighter in protest, then sighs, “Ok. We can do this.” 

You don’t go to move. 

“You gotta go first, though, doll,” he chuckles. 

“Are you sure?” you mumble. 

“Mmm yeah, I’m sure,” he hums, then shifts underneath you, coaxing you into motion. Reluctantly, you sit up and look down at him, meeting his warm gaze. He sits up and presses a kiss against your lips. Soft and sweet. It flutters inside your chest. 

You run your fingers through his hair and deepen the kiss, sinking back down against him. 

A quiet groan rumbles in his throat. His soft cock twitches inside you. Your tongue slides against his, slowly, intimately. An insatiable thirst for him starts to overtake you, but then he breaks the kiss and mutters, “We gotta get off this floor, baby.” 

“Fine,” you groan with exaggeration, then untangle yourself from him and get to your feet. Your body is still trembling and shiny with sweat. The combination of his cum and yours feels slick between your legs as you make your way over to the sink and fill up a glass of water, chug it, fill it up again, and turn around. 

Dieter is sprawled out, spread eagle on the floor, tipping his chin to the ceiling so he can see you. 

“Need help up, old man?” you laugh, tilting your head at him. 

He scoffs, but doesn’t say no, so you set the glass down and walk over his feet, then grab his hands and help him stand upright. 

The two of you drink roughly five million gallons of water, taking turns filling the expensive crystal tumbler with tap water, then guzzling it down like you’ve been stranded in the desert for months. 

“Where was I?” he clears his throat and narrows his eyes around the living room, then a lightbulb goes on over his head and he settles his gaze on you, “Oh yeah, um, do you wanna see the rest of this place?” 

Dieter shows you the two bedrooms and bathrooms of his suite, more tickled by your exasperation at the luxury of it all than the amenities themselves. 

“Look at this fucking bathtub, Dee, oh my god,” you gasp, running a finger along the lip of the white ceramic of the deep soaking tub, eyeing the gilded fixtures, “Can… can I take a bath in it or is that weird?” 

You look up at him, face stretched out in what he thinks is a wince. He frowns, “You can do whatever the fuck you want here, doll.” 

“Sorry, I know you wanted to just be in and out, but this is literally the nicest place I’ve ever been in,” you chuckle and turn away, unsuccessfully trying to hide the way your cheeks deepen a shade. 

Dieter reaches out, capturing your hand in his. You spin towards him and search his face as your fingers intertwine. He asks, “Do you wanna stay in the fancy-schmancy hotel tonight?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek and glance around the immaculate bathroom, “I don’t know. I have to get some orders out tomorrow morning.” 

“We can take a bath and rent movies. Order room service. This place comes with a butler, you know,” he coaxes, reeling you in closer, bringing his hands to your sides, meeting your eyes to show you that he wants you to stay, “I’ll see if he can bring bubbles for the bath.”

Your lips bloom into a big, beautiful smile and you concede, “Ok, ok, if you insist.” 

God, it makes his heart ache with adoration. You are fucking breathtaking. He doesn’t give a fuck whether the two of you stay here, or at your place, or on the fucking street. Just as long as he gets to be with you. 

Which reminds him.

“I gotta make a few calls quick, do you need anything right now?”

You frown and shake your head, “I’m cool as a cucumber.” 

Dieter secludes himself in the smaller of the suite’s two bedrooms. He digs his phone out of his pocket and makes call number one, to his booking agent, Mark. 

Mark is a no-nonsense workaholic who does not understand the concept of “leisure” or “vacations” or “I’m going out of town for a few days to visit a friend so don’t expect me to be available to do work.” Which, most of the time, actually meshes well with Dieter’s frivolity. Mark’s micromanagement and hyper vigilance keeps Dieter on task. 

But this week, Mark has been hammering out the details of an upcoming movie production, cc’ing him on hundreds of emails back and forth about contracts, accommodations, schedules, blah blah blah. Instead of wasting precious time reading through these email chains, Dieter dials Mark’s number and waits for him to pick up. 

“How’s New York?” Mark greets him. There’s no background noise, and Dieter guesses he’s in his office with the door closed. 

“Great,” Dieter responds, pacing slowly back and forth at the foot of the bed. He chuckles to himself when he remembers that the last 4 days were definitely not fucking great, but somehow today has completely overshadowed that fact. 

“Not getting into trouble, right?” 

“Depends on your definition of trouble.” 

This is Dieter’s way of answering him without lying and without saying yes. A conversational loophole. Dieter’s publicized drug use and philandering has had a significant impact on his marketability as an actor. Mark has been working tirelessly to keep work coming in, and would probably fly off the handle if Dieter’s most recent coke binge somehow made tabloid headlines. 

“Seriously, though, are you staying clean out there?” 

So much for the conversational loophole. 

“I, uhh-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dieter!” Mark’s groan sizzles in the speaker before Dieter can say more. He winces and moves the phone away from his ear. 

“Listen, I don’t think anyone knew who I was. Just went to some shitty bar and met some randos. Went back to their place and did some coke. No big deal,” Dieter paces faster now, running his fingers through his hair, “But then I went back to my, um-“ 

He falters here. The words “my girl” were right on the tip of his tongue before he caught himself. Dieter clears his throat and resumes. 

“My friend’s house and slept it off for a few days. That’s it, though, she’s been keeping me outta trouble otherwise.” 

“Alright, but I swear to god, if that shit gets out I’m gonna kick your fucking ass, Bravo, you hear me?” 

“Yes sir,” Dieter grins, relieved to move on to the next part of the conversation. Moving on from the part where Mark could ask who “she” is. Not that Mark really gives a shit about Dieter’s private life, as long as it doesn’t interfere with his job as an agent. But sometimes guys like Mark come out of left field with sentimentality like that. 

And right now Dieter has no fucking clue how he would react if he were pressed on the topic of you. 

Gun to his head, if someone asked him “What is Louella to you?” He’d end up fucking dead. 

Hell, no gun to his head, if just someone- anyone, really- asked him “What is Louella to you?” There’s a distinct non-zero chance that Dieter would still end up fucking dead somehow. Panicking and jumping out the window seems like a very real possibility in that scenario. 

Thankfully, Mark is not the kind of guy who cares about shit like that. 

So Dieter happily listens to him blather on about next month’s jam-packed schedule, and auditions, and scripts, and flights, and movie production, and fuck, this is so goddamn boring. There’s no way he’s going to remember any of this anyway. It’s a complete waste of time. 

Precious time that he could be spending between your legs, on your lips, even just fucking staring at you. Each minute that drags on makes his skin crawl. 

“Does that all sound good to you?” 

Dieter stops pacing and squints up at the ceiling, then answers, “Yeah. Wanna just send my schedule stuff to Lincoln so he can update my calendar?” 

“Will do.”

The phone call ends and Dieter punches the air in success. One task down. 

He taps around on his phone, pulling up an email from his lawyer, Gene. He opens the document and e-signs all the necessary sections, then sends it as an attachment in response. He calls Gene and leaves him a voicemail, notifying him of the email. 

Then, finally, phone call number three. The phone line trills a few times. He’s not surprised when her voicemail picks up, and instead of her endearing Bulgarian accent, it’s a generic pre-recorded robot message. 

“Please leave a voice message after the beep.”

BEEP  

“Hey, Annie, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know I sent the paperwork to Gene so we can, uhh… wrap this thing up. I, um, I also just wanted to tell you that I wish you nothing but the best. I know I wasn’t always the easiest to deal with and um… I don’t know. I appreciate everything you did for me. For us. Thank you for everything. I guess that’s it. Bye.” 

“This is… by far… the best fucking idea I’ve ever had in my life,” you declare, carefully passing the joint the short distance to Dieter’s dry hand. 

The bath water is hot and saturated with lavender infused epsom salt. Steam curls off the surface between tall stacks of iridescent bubbles. 

He plucks it from your fingertips and closes it between his lips. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, settling deeper into the water, deeper into the stoned haze, deeper into Dieter’s soft, naked body. 

The vibration from his hum of agreement rumbles against your back. 

“I fucking love baths,” you roll your head back, nestling into the crook of his neck. He pokes your belly for attention and you crack an eye open to see the joint held in front of your face. You pinch it from his fingertips and take a hit, exhaling a thick, skunky plume of smoke as you ramble, “There’s that um… Silvia Plath quote from The Bell Jar about baths. Fuck, I wish I could remember it. So good.” 

“There must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them. Whenever I'm sad I'm going to die, or so nervous I can't sleep, or in love with somebody I won't be seeing for a week, I slump down just so far and then I say: I'll go take a hot bath,” Dieter recites, then takes the joint from your grip and takes a hit. 

The steaming hot water sloshes as you look up at him, mouth gaping open in disbelief, “You just have that whole quote memorized and on the ready?” 

His face lights up in a smile as he laughs, eyes folding into crescents, “That’s half of my job description. Plus, I like that book.” 

The bright smile is contagious and it spreads to you, heating your chest even more than the bath water does. You sit up and try to turn around so you can kiss him, but the tenuous underwater gravity situation teams up with your dope-fogged brain and throws you off balance. With a squeal, you tip over into the water and completely submerge yourself. 

He starts cackling at you when you resurface, completely soaked and covered in bubbles, and you can’t help but join him in laughter. His wet hand reaches out and you take it, letting him pull you in. Your legs curl around his body, hands meeting at his neck. He holds you there with his wet hand on the small of your back, keeping you from floating away in the deep water of the soaking tub. 

When he hands you the joint, you pout, “I don’t have a dry hand for the joint anymore.” 

“Mmm, here, lemme try something-” he plugs it between his plush lips and inhales, the joint’s cherry glowing bright. His wet hand comes up to your chin and guides your face closer, until your mouth is open and hovering directly in front of his. As he breathes out, you breathe in, taking in his exhaust. 

The THC drags you up higher. The slick heat of his body against you elevates you even higher. 

You exhale a cloud and meet his eyes. They’re hot on yours. He glances at the dwindling joint and dips it into the bath water, then tosses it onto the mosaic tile floor. 

In all honesty, the ashes creeping along the surface of this otherwise amazing bath, and the soggy roach bleeding out soot onto the tile would normally make you feel uneasy. 

But, in all honesty, you find yourself not giving a single fuck about those things. 

Instead, you’re focused on him. He pulls you into a kiss that ignites your soul. Both his hands find your waist underwater and settle there. 

A feeling surfaces. It’s saturated in melancholy and romance and hesitancy. It tugs at your insides and aches to be known. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” you whisper, grinning coyly. 

“Give it to me, baby,” he wraps his slippery arms around your back and pulls you closer. 

Your body settles against his, laying your head against his shoulder, watching his Adam’s apple bob when you admit, “I’m kind of sad you’re leaving tomorrow.” 

“Oh yeah?” he smiles, squeezing you tight, “You gonna miss me, sweet cheeks?”

“Oh my god don’t ever call me that again,” you cackle. Your head jostles around on his shoulder as he laughs, too. Then a silence settles. Your fingers ghost along his chest underwater, and you mutter, “Yeah, I think I’m gonna miss you.” 

“I’m gonna miss you, too.”

[ Next Chapter ]

A/N: Out of curiosity, what do you think our lovers would dress up as for Halloween? May or may not be gathering ideas for an upcoming chapter lol.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

The Setup - a Malevolent fic

Things are very serious. It is absolutely not time for a little extra... atmosphere.

Unless you're a forgotten one, and the drama is a lifeline.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3

----------

Carcosa had gone to the Shrouded Mists of Miseria for some unknown reason, and the palace was wrapped in shadow. The light was almost blue, sapping color, leaving everything with the curious feel of New York streets in winter.

It was a slow, gloomy day. Gloomy clouds, gloomy gods, even gloomy music—a sort of paced and syncopated jazz, sounding down the hall from Arthur’s music room.

Parker hunched along in his long peasant’s coat, thick and warm, which felt enough like a trench to put him in the mood. He kept his hands in his pockets, but was no less ready for that.

Then, out of nowhere, there he was: a leggy, thin blond, sneering in superiority and wearing some fucked-up red tights fit for Shakespeare. The stupid little Van Dyke he’d been growing hadn’t quite filled in yet, so it just looked like Larson spit up his food.

Larson was lookin’ healthy, though. Parker didn’t like that.

Larson didn’t like anything about this, either, and sneered at them as he passed. Guys like that always did. Parker held his gaze, unblinking until the asshole wandered by—though even Larson unconsciously moved to the beat coming from Arthur’s room.

When is that guy gonna get a clue? said Sunny, timing his words to the gentle sound of cymbals from Arthur’s place, his accent not quite Parker’s, not quite Bogart.

“When he realizes he didn’t fuckin’ chase us away,” said Parker, leaning on his Bostonian. “Just gotta put up with him for now, kid, until we get this figured out.”

Can we figure it out, partner? said Sunny, who was so caught up in the story of it all that even Larson couldn’t upset him.

Parker had made damn sure he would be. “Sure thing, kid. Already halfway there… and this is the next step,” said Parker, tugging down his shirt, and gave the music room door a knock.

#

Arthur was trying to write when he walked in: a tall, dark drink of water, fists for days, and the smarts to back it up.

And he looks serious, John finished the description as the cymbal, bespelled, continued its tshh, tuh-tuh-tshh, tuh-tuh-tshhh.

“Lester,” said Parker, and took a seat without asking. From his coat, he drew a small bottle. “This is good. Good stuff; the kind of drink a guy should have on a cold day like this.”

Arthur, he’s holding out a crystal decanter with—

And Sunny spoke up. It’s a good drink; full of the fire you need to face down a King.

Arthur played a bluesy set of chords, a minor scale with a major sixth and seventh, keeping time. “I don’t drink anymore, Parker.”

“It’s tea, idiot,” said Parker under his breath, and something about the way he did it tipped Arthur off.

Parker was running a game, somehow, some kind of sting—and that he’d shown up in full character already meant it was fucking important.

It had been so long since Arthur’d been part of a sting like this, but years of practice at Parker’s side held: he slid into his role like putting on like a pair of comfortable slippers.

The subtle beat continued, and Arthur transitioned to a G seven alt, then to a minor nine. “All right, detective. I’m listening,” he said, which might as well be code for I’m in.

Parker nodded (knew Arhtur was smart) and leaned in. “So we all know the deal, see? It ain’t safe on these streets no more. The place’s gone to shit. King’s gone loco. It’s no bueno, is it, pal?”

No bueno, said Sunny with relish.

Arthur, what’s happening? whispered John.

But Arthur was nodding along, noodling through chords. “Yeah. You’re preaching to the choir, pal.” And softer: “Just go along with it, John. He’s got a plan.”

“Way I see it, we got us three options,” said Parker, crossing his legs, tapping one foot in time with the beat. “One: We get outta dodge. That ain’t gonna work, for a varietal of reasons.”

Arthur laughed. It wasn’t a big laugh, but the inside joke of a wrongly-used word had surprised him. “Right. Kayne—the big boss—would track us down. He’s got eyes all over this town.”

Parker’s lips quirked. “That low-life.”

Low-life, whispered Sunny, very bravely indeed.

“So. Option two: we all put up with it like the King’s a bunch of mush-mouth politicians, and I think we both know that ain’t no good, either. Makes me wanna gag, Lester. I won’t lie.”

“No, thanks,” said Arthur. “I ate enough bad fish in the orphanage to last a lifetime.”

A lifetime, Sunny whispered.

“Good one. Well, pal, that just leaves...” Parker leaned in, head down, and though he didn’t have a hat, his eyes were shadowed. “Option three.”

We pin the bastard down! Sunny proclaimed.

Whoa, said John, deeply confused.

“You’ve got my attention, but you still gotta sell me on it. Risk’s pretty high. Big Boss Yellow ain’t no pushover,” said Arthur in his crisp British accent.

John choked.

“I got hope, kid,” said Parker, tone just soft enough that Arthur knew this wasn’t part of the game. “Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do. And you know what? You know what? I think he’s not all gone inside.”

Not all gone? said John, baffled, then was surprised to find his vision blurred.

Arthur didn’t wipe his eyes. He kept his hands in the keys. “Like I said, detective. I’m listening. What’s your plan?”

“A Dickens play,” said Parker.

Arthur snorted and played an A flat with a B major seven. “We don’t have the power to pull off that play. Can’t exactly tie him to a chair.”

“Yeah, we can. Or more specifically… you can.” Parker leaned back, and his chair creak matched the tah-tah-tssh of the drum.

“Me?” Arthur played an f minor nine and scowled in Parker’s direction.

“You got your regular meeting soon, yeah? With the lady.”

John gasped. How did you know?

The drum stopped.

“It’s the same time every week,” Parker said gently.

Oh.

The beat took up again.

“You willing to take that dame a request?” said Parker.

Arthur played a G major seven. “Yes.”

“Then we got a chance,” said Parker.

“She may not be enough.” Arthur briefly pressed his fists into the keys, delicious dissonance. “He’s a fucking… he’s got all the future he wants, and reliving his past will only make him worse.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Parker. “That’s why we’re sticking to Christmas Present, my friend… and we got ourselves a secret weapon.”

Arthur went still. So did the cymbal. “Not her.”

“She’s already in,” said Parker.

“You son of a bitch,” said Arthur, shaking a little.

“Easy, old friend,” said Parker. “The damsel’s in, and it’s better for everyone.” His pause said much.

Arthur understood. Objectively, it was better. Better for the little gods. Better for the humans. Better to walk in with a secret weapon instead of uselessly going up against a god.

But it was his daughter. “Detective,” he said, rough, struggling to keep up the gig.

“Just think about it this way,” said Parker. “How well did she handle it when you hid your conflicts from her before, huh?”

Oh, shit, said John.

Arthur ducked his head. “That isn’t fair.”

Are we losing him? whispered Sunny.

“No,” said Parker, utterly sure. “Keep it spinning.”

She’d figure it out anyway, Lester, said Sunny in rehearsed, even tones. And she wouldn’t be happy you left her out. If you want her to trust you as she grows, you’re going to have to trust her, too.

“Good job,” Parker said, and lightly touched his jaw.

Arthur sighed, his jaw tight, and the tah-tah-tssh resumed as fog slid by the window, wrapping the room in an almost monochrome gloom. “I won’t risk her going in without backup. I’m in.”

“Good man.” Parker leaned in, unable to keep his shoulders completely still against that perfect beat. He might not sing great, but he sure as hell had rhythm. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

#

The Keeper didn’t warn anybody what was coming because her humor was her own, quiet, but sharp.

Her gown shifted, just slightly, becoming more form-fitting, more traditionally hourglass in spite of multiple arms. All around, the library… paled. Color leaked out, sinking even as the sound of distant, mourning brass and a snare drum rose to take its place, scratchy as if played on vinyl.

“Um,” said Tabby, staring around and then down at herself, where her Baby Metal My Little Pony t-shirt had transformed to an image of Robert Mitchum saying “No, Really, What The Fuck” in a comic-style speech bubble.

“Hm,” the Keeper said, peering at the shirt. “Close enough.”

“Uh,” Tabby said, gesturing.

“You’ll see,” the Keeper said, completely unhelpfully. A pillbox hat appeared beneath her veil, which shortened to a fashionable, still-concealing length.

The portal opened (shockingly colorful, all things considered), and Arthur stepped through. He looked grim; the clothes he’d picked today had a distinctive look, broad in the shoulders, long and thick, barely gold at all. It wasn’t a trench coat, but it was about as close as Carcosa let him get.

Tabby looked down at her shirt and back up again. “I am fucking recording this,” she said, and scuttled off.

Arthur walked straight, head high and hands in his pockets, trusting John to guide him, trusting the Keeper to move anything that might trip. His outer garment (Coat? Sort of?) flapped around his legs, and he walked in time to the soft, LP-scratchy sound of quiet, rainy-day jazz.

“Mister Lester,” the Keeper said. “Right on time. Seems as though something foul is afoot, though; gray days like this bring all the scum to the surface.”

Is she in on it already? John whispered.

“Looks like it,” whispered Arthur, and flashed her a grateful look. Then he went grim and did his best to affect a Trans-Atlantic accent. “Sorry to bug a dame on a day like this, but you got it straight: all the scum’s floating upstream.”

“Oh my god,” Tabby whispered from somewhere unseen.

“Shhh!” someone else whispered back.

“Don’t know how much I can assist you, Mister Lester,” the Keeper said, drumming her fingertips against the banister of the stairs. “But give a girl a minute and I can hear you out. Shall we step into the office?”

“That’d be best, ma’am,” said Arthur, and followed her in.

This office doesn’t usually have windows, but today, it does, John said, pitching his voice low and rugged. The freezing rain of Leng pelts against the translucent stone, a grim and pattering sound in the gray light that filters through. The chairs are severe black linen instead of velvety greens and dark wood, and the marble-topped desk is piled high with mismatched manila folders and paperwork.

“Appreciate you making time to shee us, ma’am,” said Arthur.

John flickered inside him like flame. He still didn’t get it, but melodrama was guaranteed god-nip, at least for bits and pieces of the King in Yellow. She’s dressed like women in our era, Arthur, real hourglass figure and a pillbox hat.

“Always a pleasure to see my favorite gumshoe,” she said; there were no delicate teacups, but she produced a mug of steaming coffee instead, a small pot of cream and sugar next to it.

Arthur, there’s coffee, whispered John.

“I can smell it. Thank you, partner,” said Arthur, who was all the fuck in.

John shivered with happiness at the title, picked up the mug, and doctored the coffee as he saw fit.

Was it John’s imagination, or had the shutters in the windows, the creaking of the bookshelves, adjusted to match that snare-drum rhythm from the unseen turntable?

“Ma’am,” said Arthur, touching two fingers to his forehead respectfully. “Not in any way disparaging a high-class dame like you, but it seems to me you got your ear to the grapevine.”

“A girl needs to keep ahead of all the gossip,” she said, one finger tapping on the marble-topped desk.

She’s produced a small stoneware ashtray and a silver cigarette case. She opened it with a click, pulling one of the cigarettes out and bringing it to her hidden mouth.

She sighed. “I hear our mutual acquaintance has gone a bit batty.”

“Yeah. Off his rocker. Off the deep end. Lost his damn marbles. And, well, you know my old partner Parker, and his new partner Sunny. They got a plan, but… we’re nobodies, and we got no resources. We’re gonna need some help.” Arthur sipped the liquid brought to his lips, and bravely did not indicate that the sugary, slightly-coffeed milk was in no way what he’d expected.

“He didn’t come in with you, this time. He always did before; needed to make sure his right-hand man was alright,” she said gravely—and there was a strange sound, like someone eating a cigarette, which would be ridiculous, and therefore Arthur forced himself not to imagine it. “There’s not much a girl in my position can do to help you, Mister Lester; but ask, and if I can, I will provide.”

Arthur’s tiny smile at right hand man was a soft and precious thing. “Ma’am. We need a way to hold him. Make him listen. He don’t wanna right now,” he said, carefully forming the words like Parker would. “We need him not able to run away or just knock us out for the duration.”

F… uh. His daughter’s gonna be part of it, said John, trying to get into the genre, too. His, uh. Number two kid. I guess. And muttered, Don’t know how many he has—

“That doesn’t matter right now. She’s his focus,” whispered Arthur.

Oh, uh. His number one kid.

“His daughter’s involved? Poor thing.” There was a brief break in character as the Keeper sat up; but she leaned back into her chair, the wood creaking as she shook her head. “If you can get him to me, I can keep him pinned. I own this part of the Dreamlands; he steps into my parlor and the web will shut tight, and he’ll go where I say he goes. Do you need a back door for the others?”

“Yeah.” Arthur swallowed. “Parker and Sunny. Me and John. Faroe. If he’s got anybody feeding him the shit he’s spitting out… we gotta present a united front.”

John fed him some more caffeinated sugar milk.

“Sounds like you’ve got the trump card already. Your girl is the key to his heart.”

“I won’t lie, ma’am. We talked it out.” He swallowed. “Big Boss Yellow’s already broken his promise. I think he’s gonna hit back hard. Not her; never her. But we might take some damage, if you get what I’m saying. I think that has to be part of it.” He took a breath. “And… I need… you to help me do something.”

She reached up, unpinning the cameo from the ribbon on her neck; she rolled it in one hand and it rounded, filled, and became a delicate mother-of-pearl doorknob. “I’m listening, Mister Lester.”

“I wanna use the mark to call him.” He clenched his fists on his legs. “Parker thinks the best way to get him where we need is to do that. But I know that means I probably gotta be hurt for real.”

John growled lightly, really trying, and pressed the mug to Arthur’s lips.

Somewhere, a trumpet mourned its muted wag-wah-wah, all but singing words.

“A tricky situation,” she mused. “But not unprecedented. One function of the mark is for the engraver—the one who marks—to better protect their charge. Distress, injury, any of that could potentially call an engraver to their charge’s side. But you…” She leaned forward, her presumed chin perching on a hand as she peered at him. “You’re a special case, Mister Lester. You and your partner altered that contract in ways I can only speculate. And you’ve endured  more than your fair share of trouble. With my unique gifts and a bit of coaching, I think you and I will cook up the perfect bait for this golden fish.”

John peered at her through Arthur’s eyes. Whatever we need to do, we’ll do. We’re in, all the way. We… He took a deep, metaphorical breath. We’re gonna flip his lid.

Arthur’s lips twitched. “Yeah. That’s what we’ll do. Together.”

John abandoned the coffee on the desk and took his hand. He’ll never know what hit him.

“What do you need me to do?” said Arthur while the bookcases creaked a beat, and the air in the rafters somehow joined that soft trumpet song.

“First, here, for your former partner.” She held out the doorknob; it was small and fit in John’s palm easily, no larger than an egg. “He will merely need to insert it into a wall to make a door; when the trap is sprung, I will open the way for him, and your backup can enter. Your target won’t have time to be suspicious; they can be on the other side of the city and it’ll work.”

“That’s perfect,” said Arthur, taking it as John studied it close.

“Wrap it in this, and he won’t be able to detect it,” she said, and passed over a delicate silk handkerchief—black, of course. “Next, I need a date. I assume next week? Or do you need sooner?”

Arthur sat up straight. “Yes. Next week. He’s got… the rite’s coming soon, and Faroe’s birthday. We don’t dare let this go on that long.” He went red. “He, uh. He didn’t… show up last year. I think he skipped entirely. People were talking about it. Sunny and John both think it’s doubly important the king reestablishes connection this time around. So before.”

Yeah, that he establishes it, John griped.

Elsewhere, the drum went bah-dm-tssh.

“I see,” said the Keeper. “Well, you’re on your own for that part.”

Oh, he’s got it covered, said John. He’s written a—

“Stay in character,” Arthur murmured for John’s sake more than his.

Right! Right. So yeah, dame, thanks for the help.

“Happy to provide it for such upstanding gentlemen as yourselves,” said the Keeper. “Cigar?”

“Can I take one for my friend?” said Arthur.

“You most certainly can,” she said, and produced the kind of Cubans that he never could have afforded.

Arthur took four home.

After they were gone, and color seeped back in, Tabby had to ask: “So, uh. What the fuuuuck?” she said, bright and sweet.

“It’s an emergency,” said the Keeper softly, “and the forgotten ones are… under strain, more than they realize, because Hastur is unstable. By keeping up the drama, they are being protected.” She shook her head and her veil flowed back outward with a sound like a sheet being aired out.

Tabby chewed on that for a moment. “So they’re roleplaying to keep it from getting too overwhelming?”

“Yes. Though it seems more like accessing memories than roleplaying. This was their life on Earth, after all.”

Tabby held up a small mobile phone. “Also blackmail.”

“Tabby,” chided the Keeper, but did not take it away.

#

Parker waited in their spot (just where they’d agreed to meet, which was also known as the kitchen), coffee steaming, cookies at the ready. Every once in a while, Parker made a little shh-ch-ch-shh sound, imitating cymbals, and it made Sunny giggle.

Arthur came in, still in his coat, and slid across from Parker exactly as if they were doing this in a diner in some disreputable part of town. “Got the goods.”

“I knew you’d pull through.” Their tongue moved in Parker’s mouth briefly, still following that rhythm. “Cookie?”

“Blue plate special, if you please.”

Parker slid over a cookie. “Show me.”

Arthur made a big deal of looking around (not that he could see a damn thing) and produced the said goods: a doorknob and a silky black handkerchief, which he explained quickly and succinctly.

He also handed over two cigars, which Parker pocketed for later.

“Saturday,” said Parker.

“Saturday,” Arthur agreed.

“Better leave first, so they don’t think we’re together,” said Parker.

“Yeah,” said Arthur, saluted, and left.

Detective Noel would eat his heart out, said John, and they were gone.

Parker bobbed his head for a moment, tapping his fingers to the time of music recalled.

Partner, said Sunny, just slightly hesitant. The damsel.

“Yeah, we gotta bring her in.”

That was a risky lie.

“Necessary. And it’s not really a lie, right? It’s just… the wrong place in the script.”

Yeah… yeah!

From out in the hall, Arthur’s jazz picked up again; he’d left the music-room door open, for which Parker was grateful.

“Let’s go find the princess,” said Parker.

We’ll make her talk, said Sunny, and paused. That’s not quite right.

Parker chuckled. “You’ve got the idea, buddy. Let’s go.” He stroked his jaw, took another cookie, and left to find his target.

#

Faroe hated training in weather like this: cold, damp, gloomy. It was necessary, she knew; if she couldn’t fight because the sky was overcast, she might as well hang up her sword.

Or her fists. Today, as it turned out, was fisticuffs.

She’d gotten significantly better since she was small, and though she never quite managed to get a hit on Dis, Dis actually had to block rather than only dodge. Faroe considered that a win.

“Twist your hips more,” said Dis, demonstrating. “Your arm isn’t the strength of this. Your body is; your arm is just bringing the… oh, for the love of…”

Faroe dropped her fists and looked.

Parker was heading toward them, eyes locked on her, hands in his pockets. He looked grim.

Faroe’s cheeks colored. Mindful of dignity, she waited until he neared so she did not have to shout. “What’s wrong?”

“Did I say anything was wrong, princess?” said Parker, his accent heavier than usual. From the windows, music trickled down, a distinctly atmospheric sound, but out here, it was faint, tinny; almost empty.

“You need a minute?” said Dis.

Parker looked her right in the eye. “May be life or death, ma’am.”

Dis tilted her head.

Don’t get in our way, said Sunny, sticking to rehearsed lines. Big Boss Yellow is no pushover.

“Oooooookay,” said Dis, hands up. “Have fun. Faroe, that footwork—tomorrow, I want it fixed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Faroe said, wrinkling her nose, and turned to Parker. “What can I do for you, Mister Yang?”

The music didn’t quite reach. Outside, without the walls of the palace, it was harder to maintain the game.

Parker still held on. “Got a big case today, miss. Maybe too big for the likes of us little guys.”

Faroe’s eyes went huge.

“None of us might come out of it… alive.” He leaned so heavily on the accent, waggling his eyebrows, that Faroe giggled.

She was young enough to go along with this without a second thought, and cleared her throat. “The best cases are dangerous, so I’m given to understand.”

He grinned. “Follow me,” he said, heading back toward the equipment hall.

Here, the music seeped down, and that made it better. This next part would be hard.

There really was no way to do this gently. “Here’s the deal. Your daddy ain’t okay, and I think you know it.”

She stopped walking and looked up at him.

He looked back, gaze steady, an absolute talking to another adult look on his face.

“Arthur?” she whispered, but she knew it was not.

No, little one, said Sunny. Your adoptive father… has changed.

Here was a gamble. Parker was good at gambling. “We think it’s because of what happened with Gokar’luh.”

She looked down. “I knew it,” she whispered.

“We need to talk to him. He’s been a real jerk lately.”

A real piece of work, said Sunny.

She looked up. “Tell me.”

He did not want to do that.

“You want my help, don’t you?” she said. “It’s why you’re here. Tell me what he did.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or I won’t help you.

We knew you was a tough broad, said Sunny.

She blinked, took it in stride, and did not back down.

This was Arthur’s kid, all right. “That’s about what I thought you’d say,” said Parker, giving in, and explained.

He tried to make it… not too bad. Not too rough. To couch it in expressions instead of blunt fact.

But it was enough. It was hard. Faroe was brave until the mention of swaying, and then she dropped her gaze. “I know. I heard.”

“Heard?” Parker’s brow knit.

“Arthur’s been crying in court. I… guessed something happened.”

Fuckin’ smart kid. Never knew what a kid like that would catch onto. “Yeah. He’s been…”

Messed up in the head, Sunny supplied. But we’re gonna help him.

She looked up. “Explain.”

And there was a glimpse of the queen she’d one day be. Helluva thing. Parker went down on one knee. “Your dad’s a tough nut. You and me, we’re just folks; somebody sits you down and tells you you’re being a jerk, you listen. You get it. But him…”

He waited.

Gentle dissonance echoed down, piano in quiet torment, edging its way through soft and secret chords.

Faroe said, “He might not listen.”

“Yeah,” said Parker. “So we’re gonna make him.”

“How?” she whispered.

Parker told her how.

Gonna be a hell of a sting, Sunny said.

Faroe smiled through her tears. “My father is always there for me,” she said, soft. “I know he always will be. This time… I’m going to be there for him. I’m in,” she said, and had no idea she sounded exactly like Arthur.

#

What the actual hell were they up to, and why were they so bad at hiding it?

Hastur knew they were up to something. The entire palace probably knew they were up to something. Parker and Arthur slinked around in ugly overcoats, giving each other meaningful murmurs and handshakes in the halls. Both pieces of him whispered in R’lyehian, using code that included words R’lyehian didn’t have, which was awkward, to say the least.

[H' ah yar llll bake-off,] said John.

[Y' mgr'luh nafl'fhtagn yeast,] Sunny agreed, and Hastur nearly put a stop to it all right then.

Nearly time for the bake-off? I see rising yeast? What did they actually think they were doing?

Whatever it was, their hosts encouraged it, and even dragged Faroe into the farce.

“The frog flies at midnight,” she said to Parker on her way to breakfast, and he gave her an exaggerated nod before moving on.

Hastur really didn’t have time for this. Whatever this was. Especially since he evidently needed to add how to do a sneak to the future training regimen for all of them.

Arthur was legitimately the worst. It was like he’d been cursed to lie badly, and his new standoffish attitude in court was only giving the gossips fuel.

Hastur had ears in places. He knew what was being said: favoritism.

That’s what they’d decided. That Hastur, the King in Yellow, Lord of Carcosa, the Unspeakable, had applied some of his newly returned discipline to his youngest, spoiled spawn, and now, it was favoring the mother.

Gods were not supposed to have headaches. Gods were not supposed to have teenage drama problems, either. Maybe he’d gone crazy and none of it was happening.

No, he decided. It was too annoying. His madness, if it ever came, would be deliciously self-serving.

At least whatever the humans and pieces were up to kept them all away. Away was good. Away was the goal.

Parker stayed scarce, wounded by the double daggers of Hastur’s strike and Larson’s unpleasantness. Arthur had not tried to speak to Hastur again since the swaying, which was as planned. Painful. But as planned. Hastur had broken his word. Hastur had violated him (barely, by most standards, but it landed).

It would probably need reinforcement soon, which Hastur would provide. He’d go further, if necessary, depending on how much Arthur pushed. Steal minutes from him, hours; maybe force him to actually behave in court for a while, and hit two birds with one stone.

John and Sunny were certainly… invested. They’d spent the entirety of yesterday’s training flickering meaningfully at each other across the archery range.

Sunny kept affecting some kind of accent. John used warped expressions, misdone as though he’d heard them through a door. We’re making whoopie! he said as they left dinner one night.

“Making tracks,” Arthur said under his breath, very quickly.

Oh, what the hell…

We’re blowing a powder, John said on their way out of court.

“It’s take a powder, John,” murmured Arthur, and did not turn back toward his King.

Well, you know what? This had nothing to do with him. They were occupying each other, staying out of trouble, maybe giving each other comfort and distraction.

That was good. That’s what Hastur wanted. It hadn’t even made sense for Arthur to turn toward him at other times, anyway.

He didn’t miss it.

Did not.

And if he did, it was a small price to pay to keep them all safe.

#

The week passed.

Hastur secured two more blood-pact allies.

He communicated with Dagon (and Hastur was astonished just how much the old fish had learned in twenty years).

He continued to arrange for future education for Faroe—things she couldn’t learn here, things from humans, which she’d be mature enough to face in two more years. She was growing so fast.

(Did everything have to hurt?)

He’d miss so many milestones. So many first things, so many occasions he knew she planned to share with him.

Unseen, alone above his mind-breaking city, he reached up to touch the crack in his mask. Hastur understood cruelty. He was very good at it. But there was always a cause.

Everything he did was always justified. Maybe it wasn’t nice, but he had good reason. This…

Kayne didn’t seem to need a reason. There was no purpose for it; pleasure, maybe? But what good was torment from such a distance? Hastur enjoyed shredding the disrespectful as much as anybody, but that was the point, wasn’t it? Shredding. You did that up close, hands-on, tentacles lung-deep. What possible fun could it be to watch from far away, and not even take part yourself?

Maybe if he’d understood Kayne better, he could have prevented something. Behaved in a certain way, provided some alternate entertainment. Maybe there was still another way; something that guaranteed Kayne would move on at the end of those six years, when Faroe turned fifteen.

(Fifteen. Could she truly be fifteen when he died? For humans, that was almost grown.)

The answer was probably to ask the Keeper, but he was leery of using this Outer God connection, leery of angering her (and endangering Arthur) or somehow causing more trouble. How could he balance this? What could he do?

Hastur sighed. He was distracting himself from tonight’s annoying task: handling the many important merchants who were pissed at the way Carcosa had transformed.

Ridiculous. It had been this way since its inception! They complained as though the past ten years’ changes were normal, to be expected, and it was unacceptable in current (original!) form.

The question was how to handle this. If he did it too kindly, the distance he was pushing between himself and his people would shrink, so that was right out. But if he did it too harshly, the merchants themselves would back away—and Carcosa was wealthy, and could survive that, but he hardly wanted to give an isolated city to John (and eventually Faroe).

How in fuck could he balance this? He growled, rumbling in displeasure; should he go ahead and make that separation? Let Faroe build her own world-famous markets? No, that would be an enormous waste of a decade of reputation and trust. Damn it all. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to go talk to the stupid but strong Menomites of the Karkan mountains, who would make excellent allies if he could get them to understand that defying Carcosa meant death—

The stuttering heartbeat blasted through him as if he’d been struck with lighting.

Arthur.

He froze, reaching automatically, searching—

Arthur was not in Carcosa. What? What?

The stutter happened again—pain, shock, terror lancing him like an enemy’s arm.

Arthur was dying.

Where?

Hastur froze, tentacles still as paint, focused.

The faintest touch, like lingering scent in a hallway.

Hastur flew.

Right to Arthur’s music-room, boiling the floor beneath him with his speed, blasting the doors open (another stutter, it hurt, how much could Arthur take, Arthur) and—

A portal?

A portal he could not feel. His eyes confirmed it; his senses could not. And through it—

Arthur! You bitch, stop! Stop!

John.

It had to be a trap. Clearly a trap.

He didn’t give a fuck if it was a trap. Arthur’s life flickered like a candle near an open window. No time to leave notes or get backup or anything else. Hastur plunged through—

Spun, the strange sense of sliding inside some one-way skin that only allowed entrance and not exit, and he was squeezed, and he felt Arthur ahead, and he strained and reached and strove—

Hastur, the Feaster From Afar, the Unspeakable, the Lord of Interstellar Spaces, landed on a simple wooden floor with all the grace of an octopus dropped from a bucket.

“Dad!” cried Faroe, and her small hands were on him, and Arthur was right there and gasping as Parker sat him upright, and the Keeper was—

The Keeper?

“Stay calm, please,” said the Keeper. “I will not let you leave until this is faced.”

“What?” said Hastur, reaching for Arthur, feeling him spooling back into health (gasping and heart pounding and Arthur—).

“When one entreats another to solve a problem,” the Keeper said, “it is generally frowned upon to then go and make that problem more difficult to solve. You have a lot of explaining to do. Good luck.”

“What?”

She was gone.

Poof.

Vanished.

The room was lovely, with books on shelves, with comfortable furniture, with a fire burning in the grate (but not an open chimney and he could feel this was sealed) and Arthur—

“Is…” gasped Arthur, his breathing ragged. “Is he here?”

“He’s here,” said Parker. “It’s time.”

“Arthur,” said Hastur, standing, clutching Faroe in his many arms and looming near.

Arthur was clammy, pale, sweaty. “That… fucking sucked.”

The Keeper’s words were catching up, slowly, so slowly. So was Hastur’s anger.

“Sit up. There we go,” said Parker, tipping cold water to Arthur’s lips.

Arthur drank messily, and it spilled down his shirt.

“Dad,” said Faroe.

“Shh. I will keep you safe,” said Hastur, going on automatic.

“Dad.” Faroe’s tone bore no softness. “It’s time for you to listen.”

And Hastur finally realized the trap he’d fallen into was theirs.

He went very, very still. A deep rumble worked through the room as if it had been built over a mighty engine. He felt, magically, what this was: a pocket dimension, thoroughly protected, connected to… nothing. To void. Until the Keeper returned, there was no way out, not even by portal.

Everyone was looking at him.

All of them dared.

Hastur opened his mouth, and he growled. “What in fuck are you doing?”

Arthur pointed with one shaking hand. “Stopping you.”

[dontfeeltoohot]

Just cuz I can lmfao

YTAU YTAU YTAU YTAU

Enjoy some Steve POV!

X X X

Steve stares at himself in the mirror, wishing Robin was here to help him pick out an outfit. He’s meeting Eddie at the tattoo parlor at 7 so they can grab some food and walk around downtown Hawkins. It’s September, the temperature is starting to drop, and leaves are very faintly changing color.

Pulling off his navy polo, the shop owner groans and runs a hand through his hair. Fuck. Why is this so hard? Because it’s Eddie, the guys he’s unknowingly jacked off too numerous times thanks to wavs on YouTube. It’s also the guy that’s incredibly attractive and sweet and funny and kind. Jesus Christ.

Looking around his bedroom, he finally decides on a plain dark green t-shirt and his old, vintage blue grey Members Only jacket, a gift from Robin last year for Christmas. Deciding he looks good, Steve goes and brushes his teeth, then fixes his hair. Years ago he would have obsessed over it, but now he lets it mostly do its own thing. Robin always tells him it looks better than highschool, and he tries to believe her.

The walk from the apartment to Main Street is only ten minutes. Steve actually enjoys walking most days, it lets him clear his head and he likes to people-watch. The lights on Green Light’s parlor sign are lit up, letting everyone know they’re open. He’s been in a few times now, though still not many. He’s known Eddie (personally) for less than a month, but it’s nice they’re starting to hang out more.

The one issue he keeps running into is trying not to think about the fact he’s listened to this man sneeze for over two years, has built a whole fake persona for him, but now he’s hanging out with the real Eddie. The real ‘thebanished’. It’s kind of mind blowing.

Bells hit together and ring out as Steve opens the door, knocking from where they’re hung on the door knob. He smiles at Lana, the one piercer they have employed, and she smiles back, her Monroe piercing glinting in the light.

“Eddie, your boy is here!”

His boy? Steve tries to get the words to compute in his brain as he looks over to where half walls separate workstations. The middle one on the right side of the room is Eddie’s, and he can’t help but grin as a messy bun of curly brown hair pops up from behind the wall. A moment later, Steve notices Eddie’s holding a tissue in his hand. Cheeks feeling warm, Steve forces himself to walk closer. Surely he’s not sick again, right? If he is the universe has to be fucking with him.

“Hey Harrington,” Eddie beams at him.

The artist is wearing a plain black shirt and black jeans with rips at the knees, his usual attire. Tattoos litter his arms completely, spilling onto his hands. Steve thinks he’s seen some kind of design peep out from around the necks of his shirts sometimes, too. There’s a few wispy curls around his face, bangs brushing his eyebrows.

“Hey, you ready for food?”

“Yeah man, gimme just one second,” Eddie smiles and tosses the tissue into his trash can. “Sorry, I was cleaning off my gun,” he adds, gesturing to the half taken apart tattoo gun sitting on the chair.

So universe isn’t fucking with him then.

“Oh, you can f-“

“Nah, I need some food, this can wait till tomorrow,” he promises, and Steve melts a little at how genuine Eddie looks. Thoughts about Eddie and food remind Steve of six nights prior when Eddie had told he and Robin he was diabetic.

The older of the two grabs his denim jacket from the back of his chair and pulls it on, then grabs the backpack that’s sitting in the corner, also black. He turns and gives Steve another smile, then gestures to the front.

“Ready?”

Nodding, Steve follows him out, passing by two guys who look like they're in their twenties, obviously high and on the couch.

“They’re going to get the shiftiest tattoos if that weed is as strong as it smells,” Eddie laughs, walking down the sidewalk. “How was your day Stevie?”

“Hopefully they regret it,” Steve smirks, basking in the fact the air has dropped to the 60’s and 70’s recently. “It was good! Robin has that date tonight, so she wouldn’t stop talking all day…”

Steve means to continue talking but the sun catches his face and he’s not wearing sunglasses. Almost immediately his nose itches and he stops walking, eyes fluttering shut. He can feel Eddie stop too, can hear the little keychain on his backpack stop hitting the fabric.

“eiIHKSHH! heh’IhDSTCHHuh!”

He snaps his face downward, hardly covering, but directing any spray he might have toward the ground and himself.

“Sorry,” Steve blushes when he opens his eyes and sees Eddie staring at him.

Then it hits him. Duh. Eddie’s into this. Well…maybe not his sneeze personally, but anyone who has a YouTube full of wavs has to actually have the kink too. Oh god…how loud had he been? Shit, he needed to practice sneezing in front of a mirror to watch his face or something now, because what if it was super bad?

“Bless you.”

Eddie says it was an amazing amount of ease, it doesn’t come out shaky like Steve’s had weeks prior when the guy had been sick. He’s still looking at him.

“Thanks.”

“That’s rare, sneezing from the sun,” Eddie adds, and what the fuck, how is he so chill talking casually about this?

“Yeah, I think I remember reading that somewhere. I’ve always done it.”

Maybe he can have some fun with this. Eddie doesn’t know that he knows. Holy. Shit.

As they continue their walk down to the local burger place, Steve listens to Eddie talk about his friend who’s coming into town, and how he can’t wait for Robin to meet her. As they approach Benny’s Burger Joint, Steve turns and his eyes once again get light shone into them.

“IHKSHH! eiISHH’UH!”

He manages to twist away into his arm this time, sniffling after.

“Two times in one walk Stevie? Jeez, are you a vampire?”

Steve blushes and laughs, shaking his head and opening the door for the man, feeling oddly light.

[middleearthpixie]

Wanted Man ~ Chapter Fourteen

Summary: A price on his head, Loki of Asgard finds himself stranded on Earth and in need of one woman's help in order to free himself from the bounty and try to reclaim what he sees as his rightful throne in Asgard.

McKenna Carlin just wanted to put a horrible day behind her. She had no idea that things would get worse before they get better…

Pairings:  Loki Laufeyson x ofc McKenna Carlin

Characters: McKenna, Loki, Shannon, Thor, Coulson

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.6k

Tag List: @fizzyxcustard @court-jobi @guardianofrivendell @piggledy-higgledy @evenstaredits

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here! 

Loki stood frozen, staring in wide-eyed fury as McKenna disappeared in a burst of colored light. At his feet lay two dead Chitauri and beside him, Shannon screamed, “What the fuck?” at the top of her lungs. Again.

“No. You come back here!” Loki shouted at the sky, firing jets of blue-white light from his hands to knock two more Chitauri from the sky. They slammed into their brethren, bones shattering, blood spattering, but it wasn’t enough. There were too many of them. 

One of the Chitauri must have survived the fall, for it lifted its head and its weapon, but Loki whipped about, and blasted the beast into oblivion. When he looked up, the Chitauri were gone.

McKenna was gone.

He dropped to his knees, barely feeling the jar rattling through him. He wanted to throw up. How could he be so stupid? How could he so foolishly risk putting her in danger?

Breakfast came up. Violently.

“Oh, God, that is rank,” Shannon choked behind him. “Here.”

He shoved away the bottle of Coke she held under his nose. “Get away from me.”

As he rose, he saw the other B&B patrons running out, saw the horror in their eyes when they realized the god Loki stood before them in his warrior’s clothing. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered now, but hunting the Chitauri down and killing them all.

“Someone call S.H.I.E.L.D.!” someone yelled.

Shannon whirled about. “Shut up! None of you are in any danger. Right, Loki?” She cast a glance at him and waited a beat. “Right?”

No. Everyone around him was in danger. He hadn’t felt a rage this powerful since the night of Frigga’s death. He’d failed to protect her. He’d failed to protect McKenna.

He failed.

McKenna’s phone lay on the ground, the screen cracked but otherwise intact. He swiped it up and glared at it as if it had personally insulted him. A flick of his fingers and the crack vanished, but he didn't know how to work it.

“What do I do to reach son of Coul?”

Her forehead furrowed. “Who?”

“Son of Coul. Little man. Always in a suit. He works for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Son of Coul. Right.” She took the phone from him and swiped to bring up the keypad. “Uh… you wouldn’t happen to know his number off the top of your head, would you?”

His temper growing more difficult to quash, he clenched his jaw until it hurt and gritted, “Why would I have his number?”

“I—I don’t know. I’ll just… Google it. You can find anything with Google, right?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Her hands shook but she swiped across the screen and then began typing and a moment later, held out the phone. “I found it. It’s ringing.”

“Tell him to meet me here.”

He didn't wait for her to respond, but spun about to stalk across the parking lot, shoving several people out of his way as they snapped pictures of him with their phones. One guy shoved back, and Loki whirled around to snatch the phone from his grasp. As the guy sputtered with indignation, Loki crushed the phone right in front of him, letting the shattered pieces bounce across the parking lot before resuming his stride without saying a word.

He hit the beach, sand shifting beneath his feet, and as he walked, he shed his Asgardian clothing for his Midgardian ones, as leather was far too hot for the beach in the middle of summer. The sand was warm beneath him as he sank into it and stared out over the water. So calm. If only he could feel that calm again. Everything inside him churned like an angry sea. The Chitauri would pay for taking McKenna and there wasn’t a force on Earth or any other realm that would help them if they harmed her in any way. He would make certain of that.

“You wanted to talk, Loki?” Agent Coulson’s voice was at his right side and Loki twisted to see the man in the black suit sitting beside him. “I’m listening.”

“I need your help,” Loki replied, turning back to the water. “I need my brother.”

“And why should I help you?”

“Because McKenna Carlin is an innocent in all this.”

“I’m listening.”

Loki drew in a deep breath and turned back to Coulson. “I know you have no use for me and I understand that. At the moment, I have very little use for me as well. But know this, I had no intention of repeating my mistake. I made a bargain with a devil, and now McKenna is paying for my mistakes.”

“The Tesseract? Thor told us about your bargain with the Chitauri.”

Loki rubbed his forehead with one hand. His head pounded worse than it had after he’d tangled with the Hulk at the top of Stark Tower. He felt sick. Still, he drew in a deep breath and said, “They’ve upped the ante now and have taken McKenna. Without Thor’s help, I will not be able to get to her. If I call for Heimdall to open the Bifrost, Odin will see me in chains and imprisoned before I’d have the chance to blink.”

“She means something to you?”

Loki met his stare easily, nodding as Coulson removed his sunglasses and promptly squinted at the brightness. With a bob of his head, Loki replied, “She does, yes.”

Coulson’s eyes widened, despite the glare bouncing off the ocean. “Really? That wasn’t really what I expected you to say.”

“Nor did I expect it. But there you have it. She is. I will willingly trade my life for hers. Bring Thor here and I will surrender to him when this is over and McKenna is safely back here.”

“I will try to get a hold of him, but you know I can’t promise anything,” Coulson replied slowly, slipping his sunglasses back into place. “He may not be willing to help you.”

“He will. I helped him when he needed it. He owes me, if nothing else.”

“Very well. How can I reach you?”

Shannon knelt behind Loki, holding McKenna's cell phone. “I removed the lock off it. Kenna told me her passcode a long time ago.” She gave Coulson the number and handed the phone to Loki.

Coulson got to his feet. “I’ll call you when I hear. And Loki?”

Loki looked up. “Yes?”

“Don’t do anything foolish.”

“Of course.”

The sand squeaked as Coulson made his way back and Loki let out a low sigh, burying his face in his hands for a moment before he also stood. He felt as if he’d aged a thousand years. Pent-up nervous energy coursed through him, fury mingling with helplessness to create even more fury. “She said something didn’t seem right this morning.”

“She gets weird feelings all the time. No one really listens to her about them.” Shannon moved to stand beside him, looking out over the water. “You and I are pretty much the only ones.”

He glanced over at her. The left side of her face was bruised beneath her eye and there was a jagged cut along her jaw that was beginning to scab over. “What happened?” He gestured to his own jaw.

“I think I was too close to Kenna and one of those… things… got me.” Tears glimmered in her dark eyes as she looked up at him. “Please tell me she is going to be okay. Tell me they aren’t going to hurt her.”

“She will be. Thor will come. He won’t be happy about it, but he will. If nothing else, she is a Midgardian and this is his realm. And he does owe me. I wasn't lying about that.”

“This is your fault, you know.”

“I know. Trust me, I’m well aware that it is.”

Shannon punched him then. Hauled off and punched him in the jaw with enough force to knock his head back. “You did this and you better fix it. Because if you don’t, I’ll—”

This time, he caught her fist as she made to hit him again. “Because you’ll what? What are you doing to do to me?”

“She’s my best friend.” Her façade crumbled and the tears spilled down her cheeks. “And if something happens to her…”

He caught her as she collapsed into him. “She’ll be all right, Shannon. I promise.” 

He held her until she finished crying and as she pulled away, she swiped at her eyes. “She loves you, you know. She won’t say it, but she does. She loves too easily and usually the wrong guys so you better prove yourself worthy of that, because she’s not going to be hurt by you. Not like she was by Joe.”

“I know.”

“Good.” She punched him in the arm this time. “She’s a good person. She should be treated like a queen. And no one ever treats her that way.”

“If I promise you I’ll treat her like a queen, will you stop hitting me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I promise I will.”

The phone on the sand rang and Loki just stared at it while Shannon rolled her eyes and answered it. “Hello?”

She held the phone out. “It’s Coulson.”

Loki took the phone. “Yes?”

“It’s Agent Coulson. Your brother has agreed to a meeting, but won’t say whether or not he’ll help you.”

“Where?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. We’ve set up base down the boardwalk, next to where the local police operate. Think you can find it?”

Loki offered up a long look. “I think I can manage to, yes.”

“Good. Get here as soon as you can.”

Loki handed the phone to Shannon, who carefully switched it off and asked, “Well?”

“The stand where son of Coul blasted me. You remember how to get there?”

She nodded. “Come on.”

He followed her to the silver Jetta and folded himself into the passenger seat, which was uncomfortably close to the dashboard. With a sigh, Shannon leaned over and he initially stiffened up, but then she reached down and the seat slid back. 

“Thank you,” he said.

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

The drive back to Point Pleasant seemed to take much longer than before, and by the time they were walking up to the small, unimposing construction trailer, Loki was ready to jump out of his skin.

Thunder rumbled overhead. Lightning split the sky. And for the first time in a long time, Loki didn’t jump at the sound.

“Damn,” Shannon whistled as Thor strode toward them, both his red cape and his golden hair flowing in the breeze.

Loki held his gaze as Thor approached, looking none too friendly. “I didn’t believe son of Coul when he told me. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Can we discuss that later?” Loki asked, walking past his brother to the trailer. “I’ve more urgent matters in need of my attention.”

“He told me. A woman?” Thor grinned, much to Loki's irritation. “My brother? Worried over a woman? And a Midgardian woman, no less.” 

“I mean it, I’m not in a gaming mood.”

Thor followed him inside. “I’m shocked. What is she to you?”

Loki glared at him. “Everything, Thor. She is… she has… She is important.” 

That stopped Thor in his tracks and he arched one brow. “Important?”

But Loki didn’t pause. “Yes. And the more time you waste demanding an explanation, or to mock me, the lesser the chance of my finding her in time. If she dies, I take no responsibility for my fury.”

That took the rest of the wind from Thor's sails and he said, “You must be desperate, if you’re asking me for help.”

“It seems to me I said those same words not too long ago.” 

“I will help you, but then—” 

“I will not go back into the dungeons, Thor. Not now.”

“We will discuss it later—” Thor peered back at Shannon, who was following them down the hall. “Who is this?”

“Shannon. She is McKenna's friend.”

“McKenna?” Thor looked at him and arched one golden brow.

“Don’t even tease me about her now, Thor. I’m in no mood.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. The Chitauri took her.”

Thor whistled. “You’ve made powerful enemies, Loki.”

“I know. And you have no idea how much I wish otherwise.”

“Father believes you to be dead. I saw you die, on the plains of Svartalfheim. I held you as you died. How is it you’re here?”

“Because you saw what I wished you to see, not what was there. As you can see now, I’m here and alive and well. Now, can we?” They turned the corner into Coulson’s office. Loki turned to his brother. “If you don’t mind?”

“Of course. So, what did you have in mind?”

“I need to get to Asgard. Heimdall will be able to see her. Then, when I know where she is, I’ll go in and get her, and destroy them all.”

“Alone?”

Loki faced Thor. “I won’t need any help.”

“You will.” Thor leaned against Coulson’s desk. “But, how do we get into Asgard without the entire guard landing on us?”

“Because I will not be going as me.” Loki stood up, and with a twitch of his fingers, he said, “I can go as one of your new friends.”

Thor shook his head. “Tony Stark? Not a wise choice. You could never fool anyone into thinking you’re him.”

“Fine. How about this?”

“Hawkeye? No.” Thor grinned. “Why not the Hulk?”

A muscle in Loki's back twinged at the thought. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

“Sorry.”

“How about the Captain?” Loki waved his hand and then winced. “Still a bit tight, but I think I can manage.”

“And it has a mask.”

“I can change my appearance at will, remember.”

“I know. But Father knows you. Heimdall knows you. Wear the mask and take no chances.”

“I’m already not taking chances, Thor. I just want her back.”

Thor nodded, all traces of joking gone. “I’ve never seen this side of you, Loki. It baffles me a little. You’ve never lost your heart before.”

“I’ve never even risked it before,” Loki told him. “And now I know why. If something happens to her…”

“It won’t.” Thor assured him. “Come. I’ll have Heimdall open the Bifrost.”

“And what about me? Should I just wait here?” Shannon asked from the doorway.

“Go home and take care of Cinder,” Loki replied. At Thor's puzzled look, he explained, “McKenna's cat.”

“A cat?”

“Don’t laugh. It’s a nice cat.”

Shannon didn’t look happy about his suggestion, but said, “Will you let me know?”

“You can wait here, Miss Hathaway,” Coulson said as he strode into the room. “We will be in touch with you, Thor.”

Thor nodded. “I’ll be in touch.” He looked over at Coulson. “I’ll let you know if we need help.”

Loki drew himself up to his full height, which was about half a foot taller than Coulson. “I’ll need no help.”

“Just in case,” Coulson told him. “It can’t hurt.”

Loki just bobbed his head and continued on his way. He wasn’t interested in repairing destroyed bridges. Not right now. 

As they walked, Loki wiggled his fingers and became Captain America again. “We aren’t going to be bumping into him any time soon, are we? Because that might become a bit—ah—awkward.”

“No. We won’t. I don’t know where he is, but he won’t be seeking entry into Asgard.”

“Good. Although, I would like to know how he walks in this.” Loki gave a surreptitious tug at the inseam. “It pinches.”

“Enough. You’re going to have people staring at you.”

“Won’t they already? And does he honestly carry this shield everywhere?” 

“Loki.”

“Right, right. I’ll stop.” Loki's rising spirits dimmed as he refocused on his task. He had to find McKenna, had to make certain no harm came to her. 

But first, they had to get into Asgard.