#shakes him by his geometric shoulders

[manthequin]

BANNED from anthian city forever for wearing ugly halloween outfits and stacking no paper

[meownotgood]

pillars. / viktor x gn!reader, fluff and angst, lots of angst actually, implied childhood friends, confession kisses, mentions of death, one singular czech pet name, kissing viktor's moles, takes place during s1 act 2, so technically no s2 spoilers but some things are implied. word count: 7.9k

read on ao3

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"You look exhausted," You hum, your voice thick with fatigue in unison, "Don't you think you should rest?" 

Viktor takes a breath deep and slow enough to hear, his hands briefly faltering as he twirls a small, bronze magnifying glass with his fingers, but he doesn't reply, nor does he turn away from his notes. 

The lab is cool, quiet — aside from the distant hum of various pressure valves and idle machinery. The Hexcore thrums. Runic engravings litter each complex, geometric surface. Viktor rests his balled-up hand on his face, bony knuckles pressing into his cheek. With his inkpen, he messily scrawls something into his notebook. Low, blue light illuminates the cluttered room and his workspace. Each side of the Hexcore pulses when you approach behind him, twirling to its own complex, ominous rhythm. Acknowledging you, somewhat. 

Viktor inhales sharply, and shakes his head frustratedly, crossing out what he'd just written with jittery, forceful motions. 

It wouldn't be the first time you've found him here, like this, mulling over some sort of invention or idea when most of the city is already asleep. Falling into a focused routine is merely second nature. And normally, you wouldn't protest. 

When you were much, much younger, staying awake as long as you could felt fun. Helping Viktor cram studying for exams in between finishing an invention the night before Progress Day became a yearly occurrence. In the weeks before finalizing blueprints for the Hexgates, you'd almost forgotten when either of you had last seen the sun. It's just that this routine has been far more absorbing, far more taxing — and the repercussions are painted clearly on Viktor's shadowed face. 

He looks drained. Worn. Like if he tried to stand, if he wasn't leaning against his desk and absorbed in his research, the weight of his own exhaustion might make him crumble and collapse. The ends of his hair stick out in messy, curled strands, from where he's anxiously twirled them around his fingers. 

You hate the dark bags that have made their home under his eyes. You feel a knot in your gut as you watch Viktor's hands; shaky, and imprecise. Flipping through the pages of his notebook to search for something. Tracing a sentence with the end of his inkpen, only for his gaze to flicker back to the start when the words failed to register. 

You sigh. Forcing a smile, even though he can't see it, you take another stumbling step forwards. Your arms wrap around his thin figure loosely, and your weight settles gently yet firmly against his hunched back, in something of a tender, evocative hug. 

Viktor shifts, his grip tightens on his pen when it almost slips. You nuzzle into the perfect, head-shaped space at the crook of his neck, breathing him in — flooding your senses with a coffee-warm richness, with the scent of ash and sweat and lingering sparks. 

His gaze softens like melted honey. As if the simple press of your body to his returned pieces to himself he'd thought he lost. Brows unpinching, your heat at his neck spreads across him in waves, contradicting the collected edge kept in his tone. 

"I'm not yet tired," Viktor lies, trying his hardest not to lean into your embrace. "I'd like to analyze this for a few moments longer. This page is," He shakes his head. "Incomplete. If I could find the key to what induces some form of response, then-" 

As if on queue, the Hexcore sparks with energy, twirling faster, glowing with luminous constellations. Viktor swiftly moves to jot something down, but as fast as the Hexcore reacted, it's just as quick to return to normalcy. 

He mutters something under his breath, slightly jostling you from his shoulders when he leans forwards in focus. 

"I swear," You're grumbling; you rest your chin on the hard edge of his shoulder, glancing between the Hexcore and his notes with passive interest. "You've always been like this." 

"Like what?" Viktor flips through his notebook once more. "Stubborn, I'm assuming?" 

"Stubborn, yes. Smart. Terribly ambitious." You reach up, until you're able to place a few taps onto his forehead with the end of your finger. Viktor barely seems to notice. He adds onto an almost-full page by messily writing in the margins. 

"I know how hard it is for you to stop those gears in that brain of yours. Once they're going, it's impossible to get them to stop." 

"Mm. And you know how important this pursuit is in particular, yes?" 

He reaches for a notched turn dial on the opposite side of his desk, connected to the Hexcore by a series of braided wires and support poles. Your gaze follows his hands — gripping carefully, with delicate, calloused fingers. There's a distinct pause. A moment of palpable tension, as you both instinctively hold your breath. 

Viktor twists the dial. Once, twice. 

The Hexcore gives off a few miniscule, pitiful sparks, like a God's first attempt at a lightning storm. And he expels a long, drowsy, disappointed sigh. 

"I do," You murmur, sympathetic. 

Viktor grinds his jaw, hard enough to feel it aching, but even through his fierce familiarity with self-induced destruction, even though he isn't deserving of this, he can't hope to hold onto the ragged bites of stress in his veins. Not when you're so warm, when the feeling you ignite in his chest with your voice alone is so terribly soft. He has missed this. 

"But I also know," You're continuing, "Every time you get close to a breakthrough, once you let yourself rest," Viktor's head nods sleepily, struggling not to fall, and you playfully tap your index finger to the end of his nose. 

"That's when you find it." 

Part of him wishes he could keep himself from listening. Of course, as strongly as he wants to be better and more efficient, because taking a break is like admitting defeat, and defeat is worse than accepting he might've reached the end of his line — he knows you're right. 

Placing the cap on his pen, he leaves it in the middle of his notebook, closes the pages to save his spot before hastily, reluctantly pushing it aside. 

You grin. You slowly shift up, and Viktor feels your arms sliding from his shoulders, your weight leaving his body. For a second, he thinks you might move, believes you'll leave and feels a sharp grind between his ribs at the thought. Instead, you place your palms on his rigid shoulders, and you squeeze. 

His lashes flutter, eyes partially rolling into his skull. His head grows dizzy, like he'd been spun. Frustration melts out of him as warmth and light take its place, shining from your touch like the kiss of stars and the rays of the sun. Bright and lovely; galaxies weaving themselves into his tired muscles. 

Relaxing, he can't help but lean back, dropping his head against your waiting chest. 

"I saw Jayce before I left this morning," You're murmuring. It's in one ear, and out the other at first. You lean in, speaking close to him this time, to make sure you've been heard. Your voice shudders through him, warm like candle wax. "Says he hasn't seen you sleep in days." 

"In one day," Viktor corrects, rather matter-of-fact for someone who's busy melting into you like his limbs are boneless. "Technically, about twenty- no, twenty two hours. More or less. Honestly… hardly worth the over-exaggeration." 

"Vik," You scoff playfully, breath fanning warmly on his skin. "You're doing it again." 

Your palms move. They drift from his shoulders to his arms, fingertips gently toying with his sleeves in a foolish attempt to touch his skin. He tilts his head all the way back, and cracks his weary eyes open to look at you. 

"And what is it I'm doing?" 

"Saying things that make me worry about you. And then expecting me not to." 

"I am not-" 

Right then, before he can speak, your hands return to his now-tensed shoulders; they combat the ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat when they roll his muscles. His chest thrums with a soothing gentleness, rich and saccharine, difficult to swallow down. 

"You are worried about me?" Viktor questions, sighing slightly when your hands work out a particularly old, tightened knot. "I have not seen you in… who knows how many days. I have lost count." 

Your mouth forms a hard line. 

"I- I know," You're answering, hands drifting down smoothly, as if they're carried on waves. They find where his tie is neatly fastened around his collar, grasping the diamond and pulling to loosen it. "I've been trying not to get in your way. Everything is just- Jayce is a counselor now, and you're busy with a thousand different things. I'm not going to interrupt your work with my stupid-" 

"Our work." Viktor's tone is resolute. It holds you, grounds you against the raging winds in your mind that threaten to pull at your pieces. "Hextech was furthered by your contributions. Do not forget that." 

You swallow, but it does little to chase away the dryness in your throat. In a hasty, abrupt motion, your palm grasps Viktor's shoulder, this time twisting his chair to make him face you. He eyes you with surprise for a moment, his tired gaze tender and weak enough to light the shrapnel in your stomach. 

"Viktor." Your head tilts, affectionate. You reach up, and brush away the messy strands of hair that cover his pretty face and tickle his forehead. "This research, this dream of yours, it's-" 

"It is a necessary risk." 

Gaze wide, you freeze up. Viktor exhales sharply, glances away from you to focus on something in the distance instead — messy shelves of discarded machinery, inventions you once worked on together, etched with your signature and his — because the way you're looking at him has an ache prodding at his heart, sharp and thorned.  

"Finalizing this thesis would simply be the beginning," Viktor continues, passionate, gradually starting to talk with his hands. "Think of the lives we could save, of the good we could prosper from this sort of technology. Enough to improve the Undercity for the better, to provide rationale for the potential dangers. I understand you are worried- but this is our life's work we are talking about. If we were to determine the true limits of Hextech, it would make our efforts worth it, in spite of… even if…" 

He stops, trails off. Glances up, and decides he might've said too much. You understand. You have always understood where all of this is going. 

The lives he could change would be worth the price, even if he was to throw away his. 

Tattered threads tear from within you — unspoken, buried deep. You've become well acquainted with the taste of denial. Sharp on your tongue, thick in your throat to meld with the bile. It sits on your lips as words better left unspoken. Eats away at your skin and your flesh and your core, settles in your limbs and at the tips of your useless fingers. Reverberates, until the ringing in your ears begins to sound like him. 

Piltover feels so distant, with the idle noise of the lab filling the room. Miles away, even though you're right in its heart. Nothing has ever been fair. It cast you aside, it was never your home. He was. 

All you've received for ages now are fake sentiments, vague reassurances. Reminders of how terribly futile your ambitions have proven to be. Every sun has to set, every star will burn out — but fuck, you don't want him to burn. 

Your mind is dizzy. Each thought spins, tipped faster and faster. Light pounds from behind your eyelids, and your stomach churns, making you nauseous. The lines blur between Viktor's figure, the floor, and the dull aura of the Hexcore, beginning to overlap everything together. 

You aren't present, or perhaps you're wishing to be anywhere but here. Curled beneath the covers, hiding under your bed like you did when you were a child, running to the furthest, broken edge of the universe so you wouldn't have to imagine him slipping through your fingertips; Viktor draws you back, grasping your chin oh-so gently. He tilts you towards him, puts your focus on him to push the rest of the world into the background. 

"Though, I suppose there is no harm in stopping for the night," Viktor reasons, his tone a soft murmur, devastatingly gentle. "I have missed you. I believe I may have neglected to make myself clear." 

And for a brief reprieve, there isn't anything sweeter. Nothing this fatal. 

His arm braces behind him, elbow resting on the edge of the desk. You follow through when he gently keeps you in place, steady on his direction; you're a compass, and he's Polaris. Your gazes don't separate, magnetized together like a hex crystal to iron. 

For a moment, he forms a small pout, in a way that would have you grinning if the circumstances were different. His expression ripens, becomes soft. Almost guilty. A plea and an apology and some form of a confession, muddled into one dangerous, indecipherable nebula. 

"You sure?" You're muttering, trying to keep your tone upbeat, regardless. "Your project looks like it's itching to fly away." 

"Eh," Viktor shrugs, he allows his thumb to brush over your cheek. "I'm sure it can wait. It understands I have more important things to focus on." 

His touch makes you ache. Guides your sorrow to entwine with his, digs in deep to grasp at your chest with such devastating familiarity. 

It's an excruciating reminder of how much you have craved this. How badly it hurts, to feel Viktor's hand tremble as he touches you, slightly unsure, when you wish he wouldn't be. Exhaustion is wound so deeply into his system, you'd think he was born with it. He brushes his palm from your cheek to your jaw, caressing idly, in an absent, lazy motion. And it frustrates you, because you know you'll soon be lost, wishing you could feel his touch again. 

Every pound of your heart reminds you of everything — of the brushes of fingers, when passing tools and pens at the work table. Hands solidly grabbing one another to steady anxieties, to offer familiar reminders. Nights spent categorizing constellations, while in your eyes, Viktor's radiance burned brighter than any distant galaxy. 

Gentle touches pressed to weary limbs. Tightening machinery, releasing the gears on a brace. An arm offered to help him stand. Instinctually standing beside him, at the side that might need you. Fingertips exploring the notches of a spine, traveling rivers of veins, mapping out star-shaped clusters of freckles. 

Tired moments much like this, but instead of protests and strives against fate, there were lovely brushes of whispers. Twin dips in the same bed, murmurs of, I'm here, you can go back to sleep. Touches that wished for themselves to be something more, something lasting. Though they knew they'd evaporate by morning. 

It's far too late to still rely on daydreams. 

You let the haze die out, tracing the edges of his hard knuckles as an apology before you clumsily push his hand from your cheek. Standing up straight, the lab seeming more cold and quiet and empty than ever, you choose to put distance in between yourself, and your lost love. 

"Sorry. I shouldn't-" Breathe, you've got to remind yourself to breathe. Air catches in your lungs, sharp and dizzy, and you quickly shake your head. "Viktor, I-" 

Gods, Viktor shouldn't have to choose between you and his ambition. He shouldn't need to place his own body in the middle of making a difference, and saving himself. There's still so much you haven't done, haven't said. The life you both dreamed of and fought for is crumbling, he still has so much he was meant to accomplish, and yet — 

A hand grabs your wrist with surprising force, to keep you from taking another step back. 

Viktor's brows pinch. "Do not tell me you're thinking of leaving." 

Oh. Your gaze finally travels up from your feet, and he looks hurt; his voice barely manages to avoid cracking around the edges. His fingers dig into your wrist sharply, desperately. 

Viktor's jaw tightens, his firm grip causing veins to show in his wrist. Your shoulders slump, and you exhale. 

"I'll walk home with you. You shouldn't sleep here, it's bad for your-" 

"No, no you will not," Viktor interrupts, exasperation echoed through his tone, pain and worry laced through the lines of his palms to compel them to shake. "Tell me why you are refusing to stay. It's been weeks without change, why must you run off the moment I attempt to make time for you? I doubt you have any idea how much this torments me." 

Weeks of avoidance, days upon days where he'd watch you disappear too soon. Viktor would turn, he'd say something to the empty air because he expected you to be there, but you would be gone, absent from the lab or the hallways or the dorm you once shared. Bitter sentimentality, the hurt you forgot to take with you, is all that would linger in his bones. 

Just how far are you willing to run — in vain, until your legs might snap — to pretend you won't lose the only thing you have left, your friend, your partner, to imagine you might escape the certainty of his conclusion? 

Your gaze is flighty. It carries raindrops, flutters on soft wings, between him and the intricate, statuette angles of his face. Between the ground and the desk, and the glowing Hexcore. He has rarely seen you so unsettled. When your emotions run high, you hide them from him; unsuccessfully, he might add. Your wrist flexes beneath his palm as he feels your hand clench, and unclench. 

Little by little, you're tugging his heart from between his ribs. Tearing it apart like petals pulled, like the games you used to get lost in when you both were kids; you love him, you love him not —

"I can't stay. I wasn't- I shouldn't have tried to come back to the lab in the first place," You answer, dejected. His grip only tightens on your wrist when you pull. "Viktor, please." 

"Answer me. I need you to say something," Viktor grits out, voice getting louder, his shoulders tensed with frustration. "What is the cause of this- this fracture in between us?" 

Your arm drops. Your bottom lip quivers, and your breath gets caught in your lungs. The expression on your face is more sore than he's ever seen it, painful enough to kill, bordering on bursting into tears. 

And then, your voice quiets. "I don't want to watch you die." 

The Hexcore gives off a low, rumbling sound. The lab becomes quiet enough to hear the individual ticks of machinery gears. 

Viktor's grip loosens on your wrist, only slightly. He doesn't speak, he can't listen to his heart or his head when he's placed between the persistent thrumming of both. You aren't looking at him. Regret dawns on your face, then sadness, then something he can't recognize when you turn your head away. Fatigue curls into his system, and settles amongst everything else: the guilt, the anticipation. The raw, forceful tenderness. 

It's a reminder that you're right. 

The passing of each slow second seems to exist for just the two of you. Dragging on and on. Barely helping him to find any answers. If only there was more time. 

Words could never be enough, burying your emotions like lodging a knife way deep in your chest isn't working. Your partner was made to burn bright, to exist as an act of defiance itself. To dedicate his mind and his body and his bruised hands to progress, no matter the obstacles or limitations, the past grievances or untold emotions. 

So many moments were never adequately spent. Days and weeks across years taunted you, moments spent as friends and colleagues, despite half of you belonging to him. 

You just needed one push, one thrust into the light to stop you from holding back, because you knew you risked ruining everything. But if Viktor continues, if the Hexcore grows more and more dangerous, if the council continues to require more of him, and what you haven't spoken about becomes true — there won't be anything left to ruin.

And as he watches you collapse, firm on the outside but weak on the inside, turning back to him because you have to, not because you want to, Viktor finally understands. 

He knows this body is… wilting. 

Decaying; he can feel every ounce of newfound weakness in his limbs, knows he's a servant to his own existence as it waits for him to waste away. Many from the Undercity are much less fortunate. He is grateful you are stronger than him. 

More pressingly, he is acutely, abruptly aware of how little time he's spent with you — it runs as fierce in his chest as the hourglass-shaped reminders of the short span he has left. You used to be inseparable, you shared the same dreams. Your talks weren't limited to melancholy utterances of, Have you eaten yet? and, Is your leg okay? and, I never see you anymore, will this time be the last? 

How he's chosen to treat himself are small deaths, in a way. Promises to join you later that led to nothing, nights of exhaustion framed by mornings of fading in and out. He's followed his own guide to avoidance, the steps were simply laid out differently. He's grown sick of it, truly. And deep down, or perhaps on the surface, he is so, terribly exhausted. 

Swallowing thickly, you remain frozen in place, waiting for him to give up, for his hand to slip from your wrist. When it does, you continue to linger. Your heart pounds loud in your ears. Little glances at him greet you with his face downcast, his shoulders slumped. 

You sigh — and you decide this can't be it, or perhaps you're just not ready. You draw yourself dangerously close, to trail your knuckles down Viktor's sharp jaw as a weak apology. 

If there's one thing he isn't accustomed to, it's throwing logic to the wind. Viktor tries to think of this like his notes, attempts to categorize and interpret these emotions. He imagines there's diagrams and logs in his own swirly handwriting, outlines that would guide him to precisely what he needs to do. 

None of it works, of course. It's a terribly juvenile line of thinking. And he's rarely one to give into impulsivity, but you make it so difficult to think, to focus. 

His breathing is already quickening and sharpening, creating pockets of light in his weak lungs, even through the reminders of his own mortality's shadow. Nothing is more important than the feeling you cradle in his chest, bright and fate-defying. 

It would not be like him to accept this. To fade out with a hundred contributions unfinished, a thousand words unspoken. Confessions meant to fall from his voice like meteor showers, fears and regrets with no way to form on his tongue. The thought alone leaves him troubled, choked. His jaw tightens in frustration, only relaxing when the ghost of your fingertips guides him to. 

Low light frames you, the features of your face troubled; oh, he can hardly remember the last time he's seen your smile. But he remembers, knows it to be beautiful. The slight softening his gaze undergoes as it flickers across you is utterly familiar — you pointed it out, once. 

Your eyes overfill with warmth, they melt like amber. Your pupils widen like big, lovesick moons. His head can't help but spin; there's so much he never realized, when you did.

His hands like to absently search for something to fiddle with when he needs to think. His fingers have a habit of tapping against something methodically: his desk, the spine of his notebook, his own forehead. The mark above his mouth follows his lips, when they tip into a smile. He's doing it now, surely. Softening in your afterimage. Gaze warm, honeyed, hopeful. 

No, he isn't sure if his fate can be changed; he's treading close, but he isn't dying yet. The Hexcore is unresponsive to every stimulus he's attempted, but his research is far from complete. There are mountains of quandaries he isn't sure he can fix, pitfalls remaining just out of his control. All but one, all but this. This is something he could do, something he can change. 

You almost speak. Almost give some useless, parting words when his tired, gentle eyes drift back to yours, two ships on the same sea. He's inquisitive, hesitant, his brows creased together in thought and with conviction. The mere sight of him — hair a mess, skin pallid, ignites a thousand feelings and worries in your gut; a lighter tossed to a puddle of gasoline. 

It's something Viktor picks up on. 

You look pained. Unsure of yourself, from the way your eyes can't quite meet his own, from how your hand slips away from his cheek, as everything in you threatens to disappear. Weary, as you gaze at him like you've already lost him. 

You've forgotten how to read him, he realizes. Caught up on what you might lose, the both of you have forgotten what you could have. Viktor's heart feels like it might burst, with enough force to make the sun's implosion look weak, and you don't understand, he'd have to show you. 

He takes it as a sign. Grasps the last chance you've extended to him, and runs with it as fast as he can. 

His name dies on your mouth, before you have the chance to speak it. Echoes haunt your soul when his palm finds your cheek, solid, sure; Viktor pulls you in hard, threads of distance easily closed, and he presses his lips to yours with an intensity that feels vividly visceral. 

It won't fix what's already been done. This isn't a promise, falling short between being reassurance and becoming a goodbye. It isn't the way he would want to confess, if fate was kind enough to give him a choice. 

But Gods, logic and reason, worry and mortality are all melting into nothing. Fading and fizzing into the sky, budding and beginning anew in his lungs — because for so long, he has needed this, needed you. As fiercely as dead parchment longs to be burned. 

Your body immediately goes tense in surprise. Your arms awkwardly hover in place, until Viktor's head tilts, following the gentle aria, his palm brushing from your jaw to your cheek to hold you close — as though you're still prone to vanishing, if he were to let go. Like this is the beginning of too many firsts, and even more lasts. This kiss is worthy of savoring. 

So, you do. You let your eyes flutter closed. You shift forwards with a shaky step, practically stumbling into him. 

It's sweeter than you ever could have pictured. The subtle roughness to his chapped lips. The slight tickle of his breath, when you pull apart for long enough to hesitate, but not enough to gain the wisdom to stop. 

Soft kisses draw you further, closer. A hand holds his cheek, a palm braces to his shoulder. Careful to use little force, to avoid any accidental hurt. 

Viktor follows, leans back, has you bending closer as you get caught in his butterfly effect; blue light bathes you, and the Hexcore shifts, utterly radiant. There's a moment of separation, a brief second where your eyes barely get to flutter open. A pause that promises to be your last opportunity for regret. Greedy and urgent, brutally eager, Viktor drags you back in, keeping you caught in his penumbra. Coaxing you to cage him in — to kiss him like you mean it. 

The taste of you is vivid, perfect, intense, rich; you make charged electricity glitter down his spine when your fingers curl into the soft, chestnut tresses of his hair. Grasping, pulling, leaving it even messier than it already was before. 

Your lips part, your breath forms an intoxicating meld with his. And he is only foolishly, stupidly human. Made of flesh and bright dreams, etched with soft skin and fervent desires. Too weak, desperate, and caught in your echo to contemplate anything but the way his own name sounds — the V is a soft vibration, the completion of the consonants makes it sound like reverence — when it's breathed into his mouth. 

Hazily, he feels your palm press, shoving gently to his chest, pushing his back against the desk in a clumsy effort to bring yourself closer. His chair shifts slightly from the movement, rusted wheels grating the tile. Your palm finds its place between his lower back and the desk's firm edge, bracing some of his weight, and acting as a buffer, keeping him from pressing against it. 

Viktor melts underneath you, breathes a soft noise into your mouth that begs you not to stop — as if you could. As if you haven't wanted this in an unquantifiable amount of ways, across an infinitum of discarded daydreams. You're left to steal gasps in between, clinging onto quickened sighs that rival the struggle of keeping your head above water, as wild waves crash over your skull. 

Out of breath, he blindly fumbles to find your shoulder; pushes gently, silently asks you for a moment of reprieve. 

You draw back immediately. You're unable to stop yourself from shuddering when he softly breathes your name. Familiar accent curling around the syllables, giving them life and importance like your name was made for him to say. To whisper, to covet, to plead. 

"Lásko," Viktor coos, as his eyes grow heavy. Glinting, with a spark of zeal that tells you to stop holding back. 

You're well acquainted with the warm, softhearted nickname. You know it to be something Viktor taught you himself, between gentle explorations of the few things you didn't already know about one another, when your late-night curiosity and desire to learn led you to, Oh, and what name would you use for someone special? 

His jaw grits; his next words, murmured in his mother tongue, resemble a sharp, possessive swear. His head tilts with yours when you lean closer — but you shift, falling in to let your lips find his neck. 

The kisses you place there are hurried, desperate; like rays of light, as if you don't have time. Obediently, he stifles a whimper, and allows his head to fall back. It leaves plenty of room for your wandering hands to crinkle and press aside his shirt collar, and you place your lips on the firm, jutting curve of his collarbone. 

You find the twin moles on his neck tendon, blessing a kiss there, near desperate enough to bruise. You follow them like a treasure map, to kiss the perfectly-placed mole above his mouth. Your palms cup his face faintly. Then, you sweetly kiss the mark on his opposite cheek, your lips warm, laced with fervent sparks. 

Viktor shudders, he feels lighting race up his spine and split him open like a scythe. He's been avoiding his own declining reflection for weeks upon months now, but he doesn't need to remember much of himself to still know exactly where you're kissing, like the back of his hand. 

The ghost of your lips just above his mouth, and then to the apple of his cheek send a thick, syrup-sweet realization reeling through him. His moles. It reminds him of fingertips playfully tapping his face. Of soft comments and pretty compliments, portraits of his own image that he'd never forgotten because they were from you. 

When you hear the hitch in his breath, he swears he feels you smile against him. He's certain, once you shift back down to his neck, to repeat the process all over again. Placing messy kisses onto his soft skin, worshiping the intricacies he would've never thought were admirable. Memorizing each placement as though it's deliberate, like making a map of the night sky's constellations. And Viktor swallows, shakes, softens. 

Blindly, you search for where his hand has been kept at your side. You grasp it, and pursue the natural interlacing of fingers: yours fitting perfectly between the gaps of his. 

Trying not to shudder, failing when your breath fans against the right-angle corner of his jaw, he guides his free hand to trace the small of your back. His fingertips are gentle, hesitant. Careful brushes akin to a study, an exploration. 

With a dizzy mind and even more muddled thoughts, he doesn't expect when you support your weight by placing your knee on his stool, between his legs — when you lean in close and fast and hard, crashing your lips against his once more. One kiss isn't enough, so you kiss him again; you let yourself be pulled in on his current, and he forgoes breathing to drink you in instead. 

Your body arches into his touch, curves when his palm presses flat to your back, attempting to feel as much of you as possible. You want to be pliable beneath his warm hands like clay, because at least being molded would leave an imprint. You'd have something to remember what this meant, what his touch felt like. 

Seconds and minutes bleed into one another. You can barely tell where he begins, and you end. Two halves of the same anatomy, you can feel the thrum of his inherent light beneath your breastbone. 

The Hexcore watches. Pulses, hard enough to make pens begin to roll across the desk. To topple a precarious stack of diagrams, which sends a few papers fluttering to the ground, to make the steel marbles of a Newton's cradle clumsily clink together. 

Neither of you notice. The response Viktor's been searching for spikes just beyond his reach. You make him feel weightless, as though the fragility of his own vessel is more of an afterthought, until he could be ripped into fragments and you would be there to put him back together. Viktor's palm holds the back of your neck, his head tilts with yours, and you kiss. Falling into one another, only unfalling to breathe. Your atoms melt into his particles, blossoming a blur between your two shapes. Your heart pounds with his, to a rhythm so exact they could be mistaken for the same singular beat. 

Finally pulling away requires a mountain's worth of strength and effort. You only do so because you've got Viktor's back pressed hard against the desk, and he's practically about to fall off his chair. 

You both needed to breathe. It takes several moments for your head to stop spinning. You can barely focus on anything, but the bruising of your lips and the skip of your heartbeat. Stumbling back, sliding from his chair to offer him more room, you cup his jaw in both palms. Soft and blissfully tender, as though this is what they were made to hold. 

Viktor sighs hard, gasping heavily. His skin is slightly flushed, still warm to the touch. His gaze stays on you, basking in your afterglow. You're used to him flinching away. A slight hesitation always laces through his fingers when you try to grab his hand. His muscles tense on instinct whenever your arm wraps around him, braced to help support his weight. 

But this time, your palms hold his face, your thumbs brush his skin, and he melts into your touch, unburdened. Gaze fluttery, expression relaxed. Giving in at last, after countless ages of starvation. 

The low light of the lab, and the soft glow of the Hexcore's rune matrix — quiet, now — frame his face in outlines of shadow and hues of cerulean. Shades of blue meld with the honeycomb of his eyes, dulling the color. Clouds over a fading sun. 

He hears the slight shake in your breath first, before he feels a tiny droplet hit his cheek; and you're leaning forward, trying to hide. Eyes shut tight, as you rest your forehead against his. 

"Sorry, I-" Viktor murmurs, weak and faint. So quiet, you almost fail to hear. "I know this does not… fix things." 

Oh. He hasn't seen you cry since you were both kids. 

Viktor remembers clumsily trying to comfort you, making a crude somewhat-flower-pinwheel out of scrap metal as a gift, because he thought it wouldn't fix everything, but it might make things a little bit easier. For a time, anyway. 

Reality is often a cold, cruel overseer. Remembering how to breathe again brings sharp pain into his lungs, it returns an ache to his tired shoulders and his strained leg. His vision comes back into focus, his future returns to taunt him but this time, something is different. 

He feels a spark. A newfound wave of ambition. The radiant golden hour, before a bright, final breakthrough. 

"It's fine," You breathe, weak and fragile, with a meager shrug of your shoulders that says you are anything but. "I didn't expect it to." 

Viktor grasps your chin, gently shifting you back to give him space to look at you. His thumb brushes a stray droplet from your cheek. He tuts: a soft, teasing, tch sound. "Ah, but for a time, the world nearly felt miles away. Did it not?" 

His gaze is hopeful, almost nervous. Trying to gauge any slight shift in your reaction. Thankfully, his voice seems to swiftly bring you back to life. You laugh a bit, wiping the remainder of tears away with the back of your hand; there's the smile he's always admired. 

"Like we were melting into each other," You admit, a little shy, tenderly wistful. Your heart unfurls in your chest like a bright, pretty blossom. It's fitting for the both of you to recollect, to try and analyze the intricacies of every situation. "It was…" 

You're pausing, trying to find the right description, as you rest your arms around his shoulders in something of a half-hug. It was lovely? Captivating? Addicting? 

You shake your head. You're glancing away, because even remembering kissing him is enough to make your heart pound, enough to tempt you to pull him in again. Viktor tilts you back towards him, his finger lightly tapping your jaw. 

"Hm- Breathtaking?" He muses, "Better than you could have dreamed?" 

The brief lilt of confidence he embodies, words smooth as they're carried on his accent, pleasantly reminds you of when he was younger. Far too composed, and eager to prove himself. He follows it through, coaxing you forwards with a palm to your side. You're gentle; most of your weight, you support yourself, until Viktor pulls you down, patiently and decidedly guiding you to settle against his lap. 

"You know," You're cooing, head tilted, "That sounds an awful lot like a confession." 

You can see each subtle heave of Viktor's chest, expanding with every long breath he takes in. It's a tight fit. His stool is barely wide enough to accommodate himself, let alone you. His brace presses into the back of your leg just slightly: jutting metal, protruding bolts. The spread of his thighs leaves you with a small amount of space, but still forces your body to press awfully close to his. 

You're in the perfect position to witness every detail of his face. His tired eyes, the curve of his jaw, the slant of his nose. His thick brows pinch slightly, forming a faux pout, and you reach up. You brush your thumb from his temple to his brow, relishing in the instant softening of his expression. 

"Perhaps it is one. Or, actually-" Viktor hums, inquisitive. "It contains the potential to be one, if I decided to elaborate." 

"Oh? Enlighten me." 

A pause. Viktor bites the inside of his cheek as he ruminates, and your fingertips push fluffy strands of hair from his face to tuck behind his ears. 

"For so long, I… ached to be close to you." His tone is calm, temperate. It twists a shiver up your spine, cool and heaven-sent. His palm trails and caresses your face; a lesson in restraint, as he tries to stop himself from pulling you in once more. "It was a pipe dream. I assumed I was… too late." 

"I thought- I was sure you didn't-" Your shoulders grow tense and the bridge of your nose knots up, you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger and pull it away to admire the resounding curl. "Since when?" 

Viktor exhales. "We have been effectively inseparable since the day we met, I am certain you still remember when the Undercity kids would laugh and- and make jabs at my obvious crush. But, you are searching for something specific. In that case, there is one instance." 

This time, you don't have to ask him to elaborate. 

A palm tracing down the column of your neck, idle yet admiring, Viktor takes one more steady, deep breath. "It was the Progress Day after we had finalized the Hexgates. The council's afterparty was… stifling. I was fortunate to have convinced you to attend. You wore such gorgeous attire. Jayce commented, stated I was unable to take my eyes off of you. I denied it. In hindsight, it was more than obvious." 

The party was hardly your usual scene. Viktor was always the one who wound up convincing you to attend every Progress Day. 

He'd mention you should vouch for your contributions, try to mingle. You were fine with dressing up for an hour or two, but all of the drinking and fraternizing — you found the presentations about new technology to be interesting, but everything to happen afterwards was tiring, to put it bluntly. 

The occasion then was more special than most, though. There was a difference in the way Viktor asked you, sounding hopeful and stress-bound. It seemed important to him, and so it was doubly precious to you. 

"I joined you on the balcony, once I was able to shake the flocks of investors." Viktor continues, thinking, thumbing through all of the details, "You'd been saving a cocktail for me all night, if you remember. Something made with rum- apple cider, I believe." 

Viktor recalls overhearing several of your conversations. Your excitement to show off what you invented together was palpable. You made the room shine, he thinks. He watched you go on and on, when you thought he wasn't listening, assuming he was busy with his own consultations. Viktor zoned out of them, truly. Once the day's festivities are over, the rich folk of Piltover are more interested in finances than progress. 

Your words were so kind. Viktor is amazing, have you met him yet? Every sponsor and socialite would know your partner to be intelligent, inventive, incredible. He doesn't compare. It's funny, how Viktor saw the same qualities in you. 

For most of the night, you were separated; Viktor was busy with the swarm of fancy patrons, all of Piltover's finest hoping to get the latest gossip on what the partner to the Man of Progress would come up with next. Luckily, the both of you chose the same hideaway to try and escape the crowd. 

"I had been waiting for such a moment- to speak with you. You offered me your congratulations. Complimented me, on my performance of the short speech you helped me to memorize. And… so clearly, I remember you said, 'I'm so proud, Viktor. But I knew you could do this.'" 

I knew you could. No underestimations, never a doubt in his potential. You believed in him, even when no-one else did. When there weren't eager investors and a fawning council, just you and him, the suffocating smog of the Undercity, and his foolish dreams. Within the gaps in between, your praises sung as loud, unbidden, echoing strums. 

He supposes he's going to have to ask again for your faith, just one more time. 

Viktor's gaze stays focused down, for a moment. Contemplative, emotional. 

"I almost kissed you right then." He glances up to you, finally. "But-" He hums, then sighs, "There were benefactors still lingering just beyond the balcony, some of which already decided to inquire extensively about my personal life. I would have hated for our first kiss to incite such a scene." 

Viktor admires the tender kindling of gentleness on your face. Slightly pained, despite the hints of softness. It's his cue to find your cheek, to hold you close and oh-so softly like he did from the start; the cliff before the waterfall, his first step in to drown with you. 

Nothing will ever return to simplicity. But Viktor refuses to regret this, decides he should face it head on. Every building conflict, these budding emotions, the remnants of how your lips felt on his; tenderly unforgettable, a crucial step that he refuses to forget. 

You can feel the slight tremble to his fingers, the calluses on his palm — 

"Vik-" 

"I need to have your trust." 

Your eyes widen. 

"Viktor," You're starting again, "You already do- you always have. I don't want you to hesitate, you can-" 

"No, no, the Hexcore," Viktor corrects. He takes a quick glance between you, and the shifting runes of his project's surface. Glowing and fluctuating, a marvel even when it is dormant. "There is much I have not yet told the council. Nor Jayce, nor you." 

A newfound flicker of conviction blazes behind his sun-bound eyes. A brightened enthusiasm to solve any puzzle he's presented with, a key twisted into a door that he never thought would open. 

Your gaze is curious, attentive, then clearly conflicted, and he feels his jaw start to tighten. In spite, he continues, speaks with his entire chest, even though his hands tremor at the thought, and his voice is much too soft and broken and he hates the sound it makes when it's breaking — 

"You are the one thing I cannot lose." Viktor holds your face lovingly, captures you in a statue-like state of devotion, as he fights against the gnawing roughness at the back of his throat. "I believe I can solve this, but I need to know that to any end, you will follow. Please." 

It's something he's already sure of, against the faint threads of doubt in his mind. Of course you would, if he was the one to ask. The both of you are knit together as endlessly as the lines that connect the constellations, he just needs to hear you say it. 

You offer him a weakened smile, your touch brushing the curve of his face like fingertips would caress the arch of a flower's petal. "Do what you think is right. I trust you." 

Viktor softens. 

There's bittersweet catharsis in finally admitting the truth, along with an endless chasm threatening to swallow him whole — and for now, for the rest of the night, at least, he wants nothing more than to fall in with you. 

"My love," He murmurs; he draws you close, with the pull of the sea to the moon. He dares to press one more faint kiss to your cheek, despite knowing how infinitely difficult it will be to pull away. "My inspiration," A kiss to the opposite cheek, then. "My little spark." 

The lab remains quiet, dark, save for the low hum, and the glowing orbit of the Hexcore. Viktor leans his head against your chest, relaxes further once you begin gently toying with his hair. And finally, fully, he allows his heavy eyes to close. 

[pseudowho]

Thinking about Takuma Ino, who becomes a father so young when you fall unexpectedly pregnant. Thinking about the fear in your eyes, the shaking hands going to hold each other's, the positive test clasped between them. The way Takuma reassures you; "it's okay, it's okay, I always wanted to be a dad...sure, not this soon-- but we'll be fine. Better than fine, we'll be great."

The way Takuma goes for a walk that night, after you've cried yourself to sleep, crouching down in an alleyway with his beanie'd head in his hands, wondering how he could possibly ever be a good father. Wanting to marry you, to do things 'right', but afraid you'd think he only wanted to marry you because of the pregnancy.

The way Takuma arrives on his mother's doorstep (the mother who raised him alone, young, single) in the dead of night, pale-faced. The way his mother holds him as he cries and apologises at the dining room table, his face in her robed chest. The way she cups his face, and stares into his eyes; "we can do this, together, the right way. You're a good boy. Now be a good man."

The way Takuma learns to be a father, from his mother, who was his whole world. The way Takuma works himself to the bone, squirrelling money away, booking in with estate agents to go and view your first home together in a way that makes your hormonal heart clench.

The way Takuma's head hits the pillow, weary after working all night, then comes straight up again as he hears you vomiting in the bathroom, kneeling behind you to stroke your hair back, holding you gently round the waist on the tiled floor; "attagirl...it'll be better soon, right? Toughest girl I know. Doin' such a great job."

The way Takuma takes up embroidery, buying cheap plain clothes for the baby, because he can't afford much, but adding small artistic touches of beauty; a frog with a toadstool hat, a little trailing succulent vine, a shooting star.

The way Takuma is bright and excited; there for every scan, every class, every milestone. The way Takuma puts on a brave face. The way Takuma hides in the staffroom at work, his head in his hands, creaking under the weight of responsibility. The way he feels a strong hand clasp his shoulder, a beige suit, a blue shirt, a leopard print tie at the corner of his eye; "I know you're going to say no...but I'd like to buy a gift. For both of you. For the baby."

The way Takuma feels so ashamed for accepting help; the way a crib, a beautiful buggy, a snug and safe car seat, all gradually arrive at your new home. The way he tries to insist on paying Nanami Kento back. Nanami naturally refuses, pretends to be inordinately interested in his newspaper.

The way Takuma can't help but buy the baby a few beanies. The way you retaliate by buying an outfit that looks just like Ino's. He is thrilled.

The way Takuma's embroidery has advanced so well, he makes four little Auspicious Beasts to hang from a mobile above the crib.

The way Takuma paints beautiful, geometric, zany black and white shapes on the wall in the baby's bedroom; "They only see black, white and red at first babe. Neat, right?"

The way Takuma is pale throughout your labour, his eyes feverish, your pain so much harder than any battle he's ever been to. The way his tears hit him in a huge whooshing breath, a head-holding groan of relief when his baby son is placed on your chest, wet and crying, a little angry clenched face. The way Takuma rests his cheek on his arm at the top of your bed, gazing down and sniffling as his son holds his finger.

The way Takuma takes you both home, proud, woefully in love, still wondering how he's ever going to grow up and be a man, without realising he's already so much more of a man than so many others in this world.

Thinking about young dad Takuma Ino.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine Part 7

Office Bae. The finale.

At AECOM, we believe infrastructure creates opportunity for everyone—uplifting communities, improving access and sustaining our planet. We’re committed to managing our business with the utmost responsibility and to always strive for better—be that reducing emissions, creating social value or diversifying our senior leadership and workforce. We understand both the urgency of the changes facing our society and our responsibility to act in an impactful and enduring way. We’re leading the change towards a more sustainable and equitable future, partnering with those who want to make a positive difference in the world…

Michelle Jones shared a look with Bret Stevenson behind the scenes, seemingly pleased with their new CFO holding down the company. He talked with such poise and intellect. The satin peak lapels of his classic tuxedo glistened beneath the geometric chandelier with crystal accents. He’s leaning against the bar, a whiskey in his hand, eyes twinkling. He’s putting on the charm, smiling, and looking damn good doing it. Michelle watched him closely, her eyes sweeping over his body, taking in the way his tuxedo is tailored perfectly to fit his well-built physique.

“Good choice, Bret. Honestly, having a fresh, young face for our company. He’s quintessential. Not to mention how handsome he is,” Michelle said.

Michelle Jones is a member of the AECOM board, giving direction to Bret Stevenson. She passes along shareholder input and is a part of an oversight system with some controlling power. Michelle, dressed in a champagne-colored slip dress and Rene Caovilla heeled sandals, grabs her glass of wine from the bar and proceeds over to him, a slight smile on her lips. The volume of her layered, sleek brown hair bounced with each strut. The topaz color of her skin appeared golden beneath the lights.

“Excuse me, is it alright if I steal this brilliant man away for a second?”

Erik Stevens looked over at Michelle with a smirk before shaking the hand of the man that he’d been conversing with. Erik took his place in front of Michelle, his gaze locked with hers.

“How do you like the cocktail party?” Michelle questions before a smile stretched across her generous and sensuous lips.

“It’s cool, I’ve been to plenty of these so I know what to expect.”

“I bet you’re excited to spend some time in your new office space.”

The corner of her glossy lips is upturned and eager. Erik’s forehead puckered and then his eyes glanced over her shoulder.

“There she is…baby, what was the hold up?”

Michelle scrutinized you. She followed Erik’s arm wrapping around your waist, observing the way his fingertips rubbed you there in small circles.

“Michelle, this is my beautiful date, my baby girl, Y/N.”

“Oh,” Michelle extended her hand to shake Y/N’s, “What a pleasant surprise! I didn’t know you brought a date. Nice to meet you.”

“Yes,” Y/N’s eyes sized Michelle up, “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

She looked enticing. The red dress she wore has a sultry deep plunge neckline with clever draping that compliments her curves. It’s mid length just below the knee for an elegant, balanced look and a cinched waist with long sleeves. Her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail with long, flowing curly extensions. Gold hoops accented her ears and her feet are covered in patent so-kate pumps.

“We were just talking about how boring cocktail parties are,” Michelle added, “Same shit every single year,” she whispered.

“Well, it’s my first company cocktail event and I’m excited.” Y/N said before grabbing Erik by the chin, both of them sharing a smile.

“I think you’re gonna love it even more towards the end,” Erik spoke against your lips with a pleasantly rough voice.

Michelle could take a hint when it was time to make her exit, so she grabbed her wine glass and sauntered away to mingle.

“There, she’s gone. It’s really that simple.”

“You came in at the perfect time, beautiful. Listen, thank you for accompanying me tonight. It feels good to finally be able to show you off. You don’t deserve to be hidden, baby…”

“And miss my baby’s special evening as the new CFO?! You crazy?!” Y/N playfully shoves him, “I wasn’t going to sit at home in my sweats while you hold it down by yourself.”

“Damn,” Erik cracked a smile, “See, that’s why I love you.”

“Seriously, E. I’m always gonna be there. I love you too…”

Y/N loved a man who’s always sweet to you. Always wants a kiss, isn’t afraid to grab her hand or wrap his arms around her in public. Quick to show her off as his girl proudly. The slow jazz music set the mood perfectly as Erik guided Y/N over to his table. There are a few familiar faces that she recognizes and she waves to them on passing.

“That’s where I plan to make my speech tonight. Right there,” Erik’s hand points to an empty stage with a large banner with the AECOM company slogan.

“Are you nervous?”

Erik peered down above her, pushing in her seat like the gentleman he was before he took his place next to her.

“I only ask because I can tell. Baby…you got this.”

Erik glanced around the room and then his eyes fell to his lap where her hand grabbed his. He hummed quietly, a small smile gracing his lips before he took her hand, bringing it to his lips, and kissing her on her knuckles.

“I know, I just…don’t want to get up there and fuck it up, you know?”

“You are good at improvising. Half of these motherfuckers in here can’t keep up with you, E. You can talk circles around them. Don’t be so hard on yourself…”

Erik rubs the back of his neck, “I can’t flake. I gotta show them who Erik Stevens is.”

“There you go. That’s exactly what you have to do. Bret sees potential in you. I see potential in you.”

Erik studied Y/N’s face before leaning in to meet her soft lips. Y/N fell into his kiss, both of their lips moving in rhythm. The kiss became heated and it quickly turned hungry as her tongue roamed in his mouth. Erik slowly pulled away, his eyes blazing.

“If we start, we will not stop.” His voice is gentle and unhurried.

“But do we have to stop?” Y/N tried to kiss him again, but his hand is on the back of her neck now, rubbing there softly, staring deeply into her eyes.

“Yeah. Unless you want me to put you on this table.”

____________

“This young man here…”

Bret Stevenson pointed to Erik from the stage, a spotlight moving across the crowd to ignite Erik’s table. Applause grew and Erik stood from his seat, one hand smoothing down the front of his tux jacket while the other waved to the people cheering him on.

“There’s so much I can say about him. Great financial foresight, excellent communication skills, confidence, a deeply rooted understanding of business and the natural aura of a leader. I couldn’t have chosen a better man to work alongside me. Everyone, please, let’s welcome our new CFO to the stage!”

Some hooted and hollered, others clapped loud and proud. Y/N gave Erik’s hand an affectionate squeeze before watching him go. That smile with those adorable dimples was just as bright as the lights overhead. Y/N stood from her seat, eyes glossy and a proud smile. Erik stood before Bret and they shared a firm handshake with a pat on the shoulder. Now, he’s alone at the glass podium with a small angled microphone. The applause dies down and everyone takes their seats. Waiters began to circulate with champagne flutes bubbling a golden hue. Y/N wasn’t concerned with that, her man is up on that stage.

“Wow,” Erik’s eyes danced around the room, “last time I was up here, I accepted awards for my work with the company. Now, I’m the CFO. It’s still so surreal. I’ve been given this opportunity to really shape the company’s agenda. Ensure a strong financial performance. AECOM always stood for something great to me. I’m a philanthropist myself and to be able to improve the world—I couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity. There is always room for improvement and I want to evolve as the company evolves. Look beyond what’s in front of me…”

Behind Erik, there is an enormous projector screen with a slideshow displayed. Each slide of photos is presenting Erik hard at work. Some photos show him out on business trips working within the environment hands on. Other photos show how dapper he is in his suits. There is even a photo that Y/N remembered being a part of during a department potluck.

“There are so many people I would love to thank for the opportunity and just being there. Bret, Jason Thomas, Barry Rowan, Monica Bradley. Thank you so much for everything. I’m looking forward to the next step in my career. It is an honor and a privilege to be here today and to be your new leader alongside Bret. I don’t know everyone in this room, but from speaking to so many new people that are a part of this company, you all do such amazing work. I grew up in Oakland and I was teased as a kid for being a nerd and wanting to improve my environment. None of that stopped me from becoming the man I am today…”

Y/N remembers the long talks late at night with Erik, his head in her lap with her fingers combing through his locs. He spoke so highly of his parents, both of which are no longer here. Y/N giggled when he walked down memory lane, reminiscing on the science fairs and the solar system that he built in his room. His first telescope. How much he enjoyed going fishing. How his mother loved to plant and she always dreamed of having a greenhouse. He could have easily fallen prey to the streets but he saw past that. He saw his potential. He wasn’t going to live up to the stereotype of a black man.

“…So thank you, AECOM. Thank you for believing in me. I won’t let you down.”

Applause broke the silence within the grand room and photographers lined up to capture the moment. Shortly after, Erik left the stage and joined Y/N at the table. After a few more speeches, the food began to arrive. Honey garlic glazed salmon, roasted red potatoes, grilled asparagus, rotisserie chicken, dirty rice, and oven roasted vegetable medley. Y/N was never left with an empty glass of champagne and the food was delicious. Towards the end of the meal, Bret stood up to say a few words, thanking everyone for coming. He couldn’t go without mentioning Erik again. Her eyes sparkled with ardor every time he smiled.

Erik felt it necessary to say a few final words to end the meal and even though he looked confident, her hand placed on his could feel the tremors. Y/N interlocked her fingers with his to calm him and he squeezed in response. What else did he have to say that was so hard to put into words?

“I forgot to mention that I would not have been able to get through my busy work days and even the Alaska trip without my beautiful woman, Y/N.”

Y/N bashfully smiled and prepared herself for what comes next. He was going to gush about her for the entire room.

“This woman is so hard-working. She shares the same amount of passion and concern about the environment as much as I do. She actually helped me out with several speeches of mine, one of which ended up with a famous quote in the New York Times. ‘The time to answer the greatest challenge of our existence on this planet is now. You can make history or be vilified by it.’”

Erik ushered for Y/N to stand with him. She smiles despite her very own nervous jitters and takes his hand.

“I fell in love with her the first day I laid my eyes on her. To have a woman who not only shares the same passion as you but someone who is caring, driven, fun, smart, and—and just such a good person. I know this has nothing to do with AECOM at the moment but I feel like she deserves her flowers. Please, let’s make a toast to Y/N.”

Everyone at the table and throughout the room picked up their new glasses of champagne and stood from their seats. Y/N did the same, never taking her eyes away from Erik. He held her piercing gaze as well.

“To Y/N, and a wonderful future with you. To traveling the world together, spending nights beneath the stars, watching the sunset from a mountain top, collecting seashells on the beach. This is to you…”

Y/N sipped from her glass and after three sips, she couldn’t control the tears streaming from her eyes. For a second, she thought he would pop the big question.

—————

It’s been a long week for Erik. No one said it would be easy. It’s strange waking up after a good night's sleep and not going into work. Y/N would be lucky to catch Erik before he left for work but the 800 thread count of his sheets and the TEMPUR-Cloud pillows had you sleeping in until 11 AM. She yawned and stretched her arms above her head before grabbing Erik’s T-shirt with the logo for his nonprofit organization embroidered on it. Y/N works alongside him as an environmental and climate change activist.

Fashion has always been a passion of hers. One of her proudest achievements is being able to collaborate with sustainable clothing brands such as Colored Organics and Everlane while also creating lifestyle and travel content. Y/N took a look at her phone and realized that today is the day she’s supposed to meet up with Regina to show her around the new home Erik surprised her with a week ago. He always wanted a home with contemporary architecture with an eco-feel and a roof garden. What he didn’t know was that she secretly had a greenhouse built in the yard in remembrance of his mother. Speaking of Regina, she was currently calling Y/N.

“Are we still on for today?”

She finally gets out of bed, careful not to trip over a few moving boxes.

“Yeah, I’m just getting out of bed. Why don’t you just meet me there? I may be ten minutes late.” Y/N said.

“So that means no lunch on the way?”

“Just pick me up something and I’ll meet you there. My good friend that’s finalizing Erik’s surprise wants me to have a final look at things.”

“I can’t wait to see what she came up with! Your man has been running around this company with his assistants following behind. How does he do it?”

“Because he was born to lead. I’m sure he’s got it all together. He doesn’t talk about work much when he comes home. It’s always how much he misses me and I’m always spoiled with his attention.”

“You’re living the dream you’ve always wanted. I bet Eric with the C is miserable.”

“Serves him right…I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the speech he gave about me.”

“What did he say?!”

“Basically how much I’ve helped him through the stress of work and how amazing I am and how in love he is with me. I cried a little because I wanted to hold it together.”

“And he didn’t propose?!! What is he waiting on?!!”

“Maybe that wasn’t the time. Whenever it happens, it’s an automatic yes.”

“Awww! I can’t wait for the day! Anyway, I’ll see you soon, girl…”

After her brisk shower and other early morning hygiene rituals, she get dressed in a matching lounge set colored sage, slipping her feet in a pair of Ugg Tasman slippers, making sure she had the remaining boxes packed in the back of her new white BMW X3. On the way over, stuck in traffic, she decided to call Erik’s work phone—a second cell phone that he purchased strictly for the job. His personal cell is always stored away for emergencies or non job related things but he hadn’t picked up the times she attempted to reach him. It rang three times before he finally answered.

“Hey, beautiful. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you. I just got off of a zoom call and it looks like I’ll be traveling again soon.”

“Hello, handsome. I just wanted to hear your voice and let you know that I’m headed over to the house. Where are you traveling to this time?”

“It’s a small thing that will happen multiple times but I’m going to Australia. Remember I was telling you about how AECOM is expanding internationally? Well, we want to partner with environmentalists there to help with the wildfires. It’s a start but it’s a lot of work—thanks Sarah—sorry baby—”

“Listen, no worries. We can talk more when you get home. I love you.”

“I hate getting off the phone with you. I love you too. I’ll see you later.”

Erik blew you a kiss through the phone before hanging up.

__________

“I need it rented out for the evening and I need a nice dinner set up as well. The finest champagne for my beautiful girl. Don’t mess this up for me either, tonight is special…”

Erik paced his office while talking into his Bluetooth, the only time he had to finalize the romantic evening he had planned for you two. When he was a child, he remembered his parents' proposal. It was a trip to the zoo in the evening around Christmas, and his dad got down on one knee on a bridge decorated with colorful lights to propose to his mom. Erik had so many ideas of how he wanted to ask for your hand in marriage. Beneath the stars on a camping trip. On the Alaska trip. In your new home. He finally decided on taking you to your favorite childhood place and he had an elaborate evening of fine dining setup that will end surrounded by the beauty. This proposal plan is definitely his favorite out of all the options he could choose from. Erik and his photographer friend arranged a shoot first, then planned on having the proposal somewhere in the middle of it all. Erik loved the intimate and tranquil vibe of it all.

A part of him knew you would say yes. He could only hope you would. Erik could only see you wearing his ring and having his last name. It took him a long time to get here. Once a playboy until you walked into his life. He had come to realize that you are the most important person in the world to him. Erik cracked a smile as he imagined the blinding ring that will be on your finger, so eye-catching like a billboard announcing to everyone he knows and everyone you’re gonna know, that this woman is mine. She owns my heart. Erik is so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed one of his assistants enter his office. She lightly tapped him on his broad shoulder and Erik brought his eyes down to Sarah with a tablet in her hand and what Erik guessed was his information about funding for upcoming events.

“Should I come back, Mr. Stevens?” She spoke with caution.

“No, show me,” Erik leaned over to get a good look, Sarah taking a safe step back so she wouldn’t be caught taking a sniff of his vanilla teakwood cologne.

“It’s just some estimates on what we expect to spend. Are all the numbers good?”

Erik’s dark eyes studied the many zeros and while he agreed to most, a few unnecessary purchases bothered him, especially since he specifically spoke to Michelle about it.”

“Sarah, could you ask Miss Jones to come to my office please?”

“Yes, Sir,” Sarah sauntered out of Erik’s office.

Five minutes passed and Michelle Jones walked in dressed in a forest green maxi skirt with a black blouse and black pumps on her feet. Her usual silky straight hair is pulled back into a french twist with some strands framing the squareness of her face. She allowed his frosted glass door to close before walking towards his desk to take a seat across from him.

“Michelle, did you go over the final funding for the AECOM partnership event? It’s a few numbers that aren’t adding up.”

“I figured we could use some extra money to make the event more interesting. I mean, we’re sitting on a lot here, Erik. What’s wrong with a little bit more luxury? Gifts for the partners, a layout of fine dining—”

“We did that already. Do you understand how much it’s going to cost alone to get the resources and technology together for the Alaska deal and whatever else we have going on?”

Michelle remained silent and folded her arms across her chest defiantly. This isn’t the first time since Erik was made CFO that Michelle made decisions without consulting with him first. She may have walked all over the former CFO, but Erik wasn’t having it.

“…I’m talking millions of dollars, Michelle. I’m not saying we can’t have fun, but play time comes after.”

“Fine. I’ll make the changes and have one of your secretaries show you the new costs, okay?”

“That’s all I wanted. Thank you.”

Erik adjusted the collar of his tailored suit jacket and stood from his seat, walking to his door and like the gentleman he is, held it open for Michelle. She gave him one final look before walking out.

___________

“Ten minutes, huh?”

Y/N stepped out of her car with a roll of her eyes at Regina’s words. She walked the pathway that led to their gorgeous new home and accepted a green smoothie from her work bestie.

“Traffic is a bitch this time of the day, girl. Thanks for coming!” Y/N smiled at Regina.

“I wouldn’t miss it even if I tried! I’m probably more excited than you!”

Spread across an expansive double lot on Stone Canyon Road sat their colonial Mediterranean home. It exudes elegance and old world charm. The estate is a perfect retreat from the city with ample space for both entertaining and the everyday routines of life. Y/N opened the door and allowed Regina to enter first. She was immediately blown away. The striking entryway sweeps you into an expansive, airy living room with dramatic windows overlooking the lushly landscaped backyard.

Y/N started giving Regina a tour. The library provides a comfortable retreat to seek quiet while the formal dining room is at once grand and welcoming, making it easy to keep both families and guests connected over the dinner table. On the second floor, the elegantly-appointed primary suite closes off to the outside world, creating a sense of serenity and sanctuary. Many of the rooms feature clear glass French doors that open onto the verdant yard, which is filled with unique water features and mature trees that provide shade and greenery, making the estate the ideal place for both entertaining and peace. A home fitting for an environmental engineer.

Y/N ended the tour in the kitchen where Regina sat their Vietnamese food on the counter top. Y/N opened their wine cellar to grab a bottle of Chateau Suduiraut Sauternes 2016. She retrieved three wine glasses that were brand new and a corkscrew. A faint knock on the front door alerted Y/N to her friend, Sylvia’s arrival. She excused herself to open the door. Regina took that moment to uncork the wine and she filled the glasses almost to the rim.

“Hello Hello!”

Sylvia walked in with a friendly smile and bright, hazel eyes. She had a head full of loose, curly, brown hair with blonde highlights, and a tall, petite frame. She reached out to shake Regina’s hand and sat her YSL bag down on the counter.

“Are you excited? I bet you are, thank you,” Sylvia accepted her glass of wine, “I can’t wait for you to see it. I can’t wait for Erik to see it. He’s gonna flip out!”

“Y/N got herself a good one,” Regina tilted her glass of wine, “Good guys always finish first! Ain’t no last over here!”

“I hear that,” Sylvia responded, “Your momma love him?”

“Does she,” Y/N groaned, “She’s obsessed with Erik. She calls him more than me nowadays. He says she reminds him of his mother. I love that for him…”

“And your dad?”

Y/N couldn’t contain her giggles, “They are like two peas in a pod! You know how dads can be at first, but I was pleasantly surprised at my father! Joe hated Eric with the C.”

“Let’s toast. To a future with happiness and unconditional love…respect…kindness. Let’s toast to our black girl joy! And our love for our friend here. Y/N, we love you! We’re so happy for you! This home is beautiful! To Y/N!”

“To Y/N!” Sylvia raised her glass.

The three ladies clinked glasses and drank down some of the wine.

“Whew! This is good and smooth.” Sylvia said.

“Plenty to go around,” Y/N replied, “Now…the moment I’ve been waiting for. Lead the way, Sylvia!”

Sylvia couldn’t contain her laughter. She’d been working on this design for a while now. They walked out into the expansive yard and Y/N kept her eyes shut while holding Regina’s hand. Her footsteps halted and Regina’s audible gasp made her stomach churn with excitement.

“Okay…open your eyes.”

Y/N’s eyes slowly opened and the grip she held on her wine glass slipped.

________

Erik Stevens made sure to smooth the stress lines from his face before exiting his car within their four-car garage. He loosened his tie and released a deep sigh filled with frustration. Work has been kicking his fine ass. He didn’t realize his job as CFO would require a lot of cleanup. He had a long list of chores to do on top of prepping for his Australia trip. He’d just gotten news that some partners from Australia want to move forward with the in person meeting as soon as next week.

Erik had his proposal set within the next week. Now, he had to rearrange his plans and he hated last minute adjustments. He entered their magnificent home to the smell of good cooking and his mouth instantly watered. He hadn’t realized until now how hungry he was. Erik took off his dress shoes and hung his suit jacket, making his way towards the kitchen. There, he came face-to-face with a wondrous sight.

Y/N was removing a dish of mac and cheese from the oven that sizzled to perfection. She carefully sat it down on the stovetop and removed the oven mitts from her hands. Erik’s eyes took a lustrous tour of her body dressed in a black dress that was sheer and form-fitting. She even had on his favorite pair of heels. Those YSL Logo-Heeled Sandals in black patent. She looked up and almost jumped out of her brown skin from being startled.

“Erik! Baby, you scared me,” Y/N laughed, turning down the music she had been playing from her phone, “When did you get in?”

“Just now,” Erik walked up to her and dipped his head to kiss her forehead then her glossy lips, “Sorry I scared you…damn, baby girl…you look amazing.”

Erik twirled Y/N so he could get a good 360 of his woman. He wasn’t expecting a dinner and the dessert before him.

“I’m gettin’ fed tonight, huh, sexy?” Erik said with a bite of his bottom lip.

Y/N giggled, “All you can eat. Better save some room after all this food I made!”

“Baby,” Erik rolled the sleeves of his white button up shirt to his elbows, “You know I can put it away…”

He circled his arms around her waist and started peppering soft kisses along her neck. Y/N felt a flutter in her belly from the sensation of his pillowy-soft lips. The smell of Jasmine and vanilla on her neck caused him to nibble on her flesh. The sound of her soft breath shot straight to his big dick.

“Behave, daddy. Dinner first…”

“Dinner can wait,” Erik cuffed her ass in his hand with his face pressed against her neck, “You shouldn’t be this damn fine…”

“I want you to eat, daddy. You can have all of me all over this house after I show you your surprise…”

Erik paused. He peeled his lips from her delicious skin to stare at the side of her face.

“What surprise?”

“Just…a little something I’ve been planning…”

She escaped his attention by grabbing plates and silverware to set the dining table. Erik watched her with a curious brow raised. He didn’t like surprises.

“You’ll know after you eat, okay? Wash your hands and have a seat.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Erik went to the sink to clean his hands and after drying them he made his way towards the dining room. Y/N entered shortly after with his plate and a glass of red wine. The aroma of the smothered beef short rib, smoked kale, and mac and cheese caused his stomach to grumble. Y/N placed a napkin in his lap and kissed his cheek before sauntering away to grab her own. Erik didn’t waste time digging into his food. Y/N returned and she sat across from him with a content smile on her face.

“Good?” She questioned while forking some of her smoked greens.

“Good ain’t even the word, “Erik chewed his food and grabbed his wine to wash it down, “Shit is bangin’.”

“Thank you. How was work today?”

Erik’s left brow ticked up, “Too much to talk about. But there is an update on the Australia trip. I gotta leave by the end of next week.”

“Why?”

“The partners want to rush the process. My guess is they are testing us. Tryna see if we’re the right fit for the change they're advocating for. There’s a lot of flooding going on in the Southeast…bush fires…”

“How about the climate control program here in America? Before I left I remember that was going into effect.” Y/N said.

“Yes…that’s another thing that’s keeping me busy…and I’ve been trying to figure out how to divide duties. How am I supposed to control funding AND travel? It’s a lot…”

Y/N reached a hand across the table to calm Erik. The tension in his shoulders settled and he looked across the table at her with restless eyes.

“You’re the right man for the job, Erik. Brent wouldn’t have chosen anyone else. I’m proud of you and I believe in you, baby. Take it slow. None of this is going to happen overnight. It’s all a process…”

Erik raised her hand to his lips and placed a firm kiss there. She always knew how to calm him down.

“I hate bringing work stress home to you…”

“I mean…you could always take it out on me. You know I love it when you do it, daddy.” Y/N replied with a smile.

His eyes glinted with desire at her words.

“Come with me to Australia, Y/N.”

“Really?”

“Hell yeah. Why not? You don’t understand how hard it’s been since you left, baby girl. My assistants have been driving me nuts and Michelle—”

“What about Michelle?”

Erik watched Y/N’s face harden.

“…she’s been doing the opposite of what I expect her to do. I had to pull her into my office today about the monetary situation with this fundraiser we’re putting together.”

“Do I need to come up there?”

Erik chuckled. He knew Y/N would. Memories of Connie, Demetria, and Nicole popped into his head. He didn’t want Michelle to feel his future wife’s wrath.

“No, I got it under control. I don’t want you stressing about her. She knows I’m not the one to be played with.” Erik said.

“As long as she stays in her place…”

Erik gave Y/N a dimpled smirk, “So feisty…”

They continued to eat and Erik listened to Y/N talk about her non-profit he helped her form. He watched her with a transfixed smile and loving eyes.

“…it’s coming along so well. We’re working on clothes for kids now. I have to show you some of the designs.”

“I can’t wait to see them,” Erik ate the last bit of his mac and cheese before leaning back and patting his belly.

“Full already, daddy?”

Erik cut his eyes at her.

“Fed and happy not full. I still got room.”

Y/N got up to clean off the table and she had to stop Erik from trying to help her. She instructed him to stay put. Erik waited impatiently for her return and when she did come back, she had a blindfold in her hand and a cheeky smile.

“It’s time for that surprise…”

“Ahh, shit.”

Y/N laughed at Erik’s expression of confusion before walking up behind him. She placed the blindfold over his eyes and smoothed her hands down his shoulder before whispering in his ear. His chest heaved up and down from her voice.

“Are you ready?”

“More than ready…”

Y/N took Erik by the hand and he stood up from his seat. He allowed Y/N to guide him, his mind working to figure out what this surprise could be and where they were going. Soon, he could feel fresh air against his body and that’s when he realized they’d gone outside.

“Where are you taking me, Y/N?”

“Shhhh! Almost there…”

Their footsteps came to a stop. Y/N let go of Erik’s hand and he used his sense of hearing to track her movements. Eventually, she wrapped her arms around him.

“Before I take your blindfold off, I just wanted to say…I love you. I’ve been thinking about doing this for you for some time now…and a good friend of mine came through for me and put together something special. As hard as you work, you deserve a treat too. I know you don’t like surprises but..I know for a fact you’ll love this one…before I take the blindfold off, I want you to keep your eyes closed. Can you do that for me, daddy?”

“Yes…”

It had to be something meaningful. Y/N slipped his blindfold off and Erik kept his eyes closed.

“Open your eyes!”

His cognac eyes snapped open and Y/N witnessed the biggest smile appear across his face. His hands went in his hair. He took two steps forward, and he kept staring at her with disbelief at what he was staring at.

Sylvia designed two Gothic Arch Greenhouses. One is a garden room and the other is a modern retreat. The well-made conservatory was uniquely designed to cater to Erik’s needs. The shape matched and complimented the layout of their new home. It had an aluminum exterior with a wooden interior in Spanish cedar wood. It housed a vast selection of decorative elements and greenery.

“Baby…what the fuck? When did you—when did you have the time—”

Erik was speechless. Y/N couldn’t contain her excitement. She was overjoyed by Erik’s reaction.

“Go on! Go inside!”

Erik walked into the garden section of the greenhouse like a kid in a candy store. Y/N gave him room to explore. He named all the greenery, flowers, and succulents, amazed at what Y/N put together for him.

“I have my own greenhouse…this is so wild…”

“I made sure to have all of your mother’s favorites planted…”

Erik nodded his head, “I see…”

He actually stopped to smell the flowers. Y/N followed him around the garden relishing in his silence. She knew he was remembering his mother. All the stories of their little greenhouse.

“Got the well-drained, rocky, sandy soil…these hydrangeas look exactly how I remembered…gotta make sure we water them regularly…peace lilies! She loved these…”

Erik paused to gaze out at the many beautiful flowers and plants. Y/N settled next to him and Erik wrapped a hand around her waist.

“I don’t even have the words to describe how thankful I am to have you in my life…this is such a special gift…”

“Anything for you…you still gotta see the other side.”

Y/N opened a door that led them straight into the other side of the greenhouse. It was the perfect outdoor lounge area to retreat to on a hot day. Erik especially loved the interior design. He could come out and have a beer while admiring the nature surrounding him. He would propose to Y/N right now if he could. Erik picked her up and gave her a passionate, fiery kiss with some tongue. He stumbled over to one of the sofas and made her sit side saddle on his lap as he continued tonguing her down.

Erik was on a roll. She tried slowing him down by touching his face and pulling back a bit. Y/N looked at him with deep desire and love. Erik’s chest heaved up and down like he was trying to catch his breath. He wanted Y/N bad.

“You’re going to Australia with me. It’s not a request. I need you there…”

“Okay—” Erik stopped her from talking with his lips. She melted into his frenzied kisses again.

"You’re going crazy, aren’t you?" she asked with a chuckle, but his hands were on her nape pushing her head back to him so his mouth could continue ravaging hers.

His heightened sexual need flowed into her and when their lips separated for a moment, Erik groaned so hard she thought he was in pain. Their mouths collided again and Y/N whimpered while Erik grunted from the mewling sounds coming from her as their necks shifted from left to right for a while. When Erik started sucking on her tongue, his hand reached up and clutched at her breast and his touch made her squirm in his lap.

“You keep moving on my dick like that…Keep it up.” Erik warned.

“It’s your fault, I could cum right now just from your kisses,” Y/N whispered against his lips.

“That pussy wet? I wanna feel that wet pussy…”

His hand snaked up her dress and he slipped her thong aside to feel just how wet she was. He groaned and his eyes rolled shut. Y/N loved that look on his face. She loved that her pussy made him look and feel so desperate. Erik strokes her clit to a nice, hard bud and then he slipped a finger down to tease her opening. He tapped it with his middle finger and her back arched. Curling two fingers, he pushed up inside of her deeply, drowning her moans with his lips.

“Tight fuckin’ pussy…”

His words were punctuated with each stroke of his long, thick digits in her creamy cavern. Y/N buried her face into his neck, moaning weakly and inhaling the scent of his cologne. She could hear her pussy making noise around his middle and ring finger. She just knew she was making a mess all over him.

“Daddy gon’ fuck you real good…you deserve it baby…you deserve all of it.”

“Erik!” Y/N gasped, “Right there…”

“You ain’t gotta tell me this wet puss cumming. Just do that shit…do it…do it…do it…”

“Oh my gosh!”

Y/N’s chest thrust out and Erik licked her sweaty neck. She kept squirming all over his erection. That movement made him pry her legs open further. He reached up under her dress and pulled hard on her thong. She felt it rip in his hands and he lifted her up from his lap. Y/N stood up as he fumbled with his belt and the zipper on his pants. His tapered locs fell over his forehead making him look more powerful and sexy. She could feel the frustration coming from him when he couldn't get his pants unfastened quick enough.

When he finally released his stiffness, he shoved her dress up higher on her hips and didn't even give her a chance to think before he was making her sink her pussy down on him. Hands full of ass, Y/N wrapping an arm around his shoulders with her other hand fisting the front of his shirt, he thrust up into her, drilling her pussy ferociously. She bounced in his lap and threw her head back with a bite of her lip.

Erik needed to get up in her better. He twirled her on his dick so she could straddle his waist. Y/N gripped the back of the sofa, the straps of her dress falling from her shoulders. Erik pushed her dress down further and yanked her strapless bra down, titties swaying from the force. He latched onto a nipple while one hand wrapped her braids around his fist for leverage, causing her neck to extend. He started beating that pussy up again.

Erik popped a titty out of his mouth, "I couldn't wait for this dinner to be over, girl. Looking at you in this fuckin’ dress...I needed to be in my pussy," he said.

“Erik…fuuckkkkk…”

Each and every time he craved her the same as the first encounter. Y/N felt her lower back pop each time his dick thrusted up deep. She dug her nails into the back of the sofa harder. He feasted on her titties so good she was seeing the galaxy.

“Can’t…take…it…”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Erik barked out, “Ima make you take it.”

Y/N’s walls clenched up tight and she froze above him in suspended ecstasy. Her body shuddered against Erik’s solid chest and he slowed down his movements to give her a second to recover.

“I’m not finished with you yet.”

Erik maneuvered Y/N onto her back and stood to remove his shirt and pants. Fully naked, body built and ready to fuck, he spread her legs at an odd angle and got down to eat her pussy. Erik wasted no time sucking on her clit. He sucked away as much cream as he could. Y/N dug her heels into his back and sat up to grab his hair. She watched him with a mixture of awe and delight eat her pussy. He had his whole mouth between her folds working overtime to make her cum in his mouth.

“Daddy…feels so good…huhhhuuhhhh! Keep doing it like that!” Y/N cried out.

She could hear his incessant slurping. She could feel his big lips. That skillful tongue. Her eyes crossed and her mouth dropped open.

“Mhm…mhm…”

That’s all he said. He didn’t have to say anything else. Y/N was creaming in his mouth. She almost scalped Erik with how hard she pulled on his hair. Erik removed his face from her sweet pussy and when he stood up his dick looked longer and thicker from her position on the sofa. Y/N sat up and took Erik’s big dick in her mouth hungrily.

“Damn, baby girl…”

He still had remnants of her pussy juice on his mouth and his facial hair. Each breath he took he could smell her pussy on his upper lip. It kept him bricked up in her jaws. She sucked all ten inches and tugged on his balls with her pussy spread open and titties out. Erik slapped her pussy lips so he could hear that wet and gushy sound he loved.

“That’s right, suck daddy up like that. Lookin’ real sexy with dick down your throat, girl. Ima gloss them pretty lips up with my fuckin’ nut…”

All he could think about was making her his wife. She was the total package. She was slurping him up so good Erik had to shake his head. Shit felt amazing. His pretty little slut. The girl he worked hard to make his.

“I love you so much, baby…uhuhhhhhhghh—”

Three more sucks and Erik’s dick was pulsating and spitting into her throat. His hips flexed with his release and Y/N’s sultry eyes connected with his. Erik’s lips poked out and his brows snapped together from the intensity of his release.

It was time to take this shit to their new bed and break it in.

Erik helped Y/N up and she undressed, leaving their clothes on the sofa in the greenhouse. They walked with Erik pressed against her back and his lips attacking her neck. She still had her heels on. Good. He loved the way it made her legs look. They made it inside and Erik stopped her just before they could reach the stairs. He pressed her back against the wall and started kissing her again. Y/N dragged her nails down Erik’s sweaty biceps. Erik pulled away reluctantly and then he rubbed her lips with his thumb before placing it in her mouth to suck.

“You ready for daddy to fuck you some more?”

“Mhm,” Y/N replied with a nod of her head while chewing on her bottom lip.

Y/N pushed away from him weakly and she started climbing the stairs. She looked back at him with those come-fuck-me-eyes and Erik raked his eyes up and down that body. He couldn’t take it. His dick was bouncing between his legs all hard. Erik caught up to her and Y/N gasped.

This man was about to dig her guts out on the steps. They didn’t even make it to the bed. The sight of her walking on wobbly legs and that big ass in his face he had to listen to what his dick wanted. It wanted more pussy. Erik gripped her waist and placed her on the steps.

She just let him get his pussy. He pushed her knees back and thrust into her pussy with her back digging into the steps. It was skin slapping, hard pounding. Y/N weakly grabbed at Erik’s arms but his constant motion had her losing her grip.

“I’m fucking this pussy up!” Erik growled in her ear, “Pussy just swallowing my dick all up…that’s why I can’t pull out now…”

“FUUUCK!”

“Damn, tugging on this dick…yanking on this pole like that…nasty bitch…”

Y/N drew in a sharp breath as her body convulsed with her release. Erik with his undeniable strength picked Y/N up and as he climbed the stairs he bounced her on his dick. Her toes curled and a series of emotions painted her face. Shock, lust, dumbfounded. He was screwing her brains out. They finally made it inside the room and Erik didn’t even bother turning on the lights. The light from the hall was enough. Erik’s dick slipped out of her and he put Y/N on her stomach.

“Bring that ass up…you know how I like it, baby girl. I told you I’m fucking you good tonight…”

“Umph,” Y/N arched her back. She could feel her pussy lips quivering with anticipation, “Like this, daddy?”

“Uh-huhhh,” Erik popped her on the ass, “Just like that. And keep that ass there. Don’t make me fuckin’ mad…”

“I won’t!”

Erik spread her cheeks and used his hips to sink inside. He went in nice and slow so she could feel every…single…inch.

“Oooh!”

“Yep,” Erik did it again, causing her pussy to queef, “It’s long ain’t it?”

“Fucking YES! So damn big! I love this big dick!”

“Show me you love it. Bring that pussy down on this dick.”

Y/N gripped the sheets and started fucking him. She threw it back and cried into the sheets. Erik would pop her cheeks if she didn’t go all the way down. He would even thrust forward to meet her backwards strokes if she didn’t behave. A sharp, single thrust that had her begging for him to stop.

“Cream all over this dick, lemme see it…good…fuckin’…girl…such a good girl…”

“Erik…”

Y/N froze with her climax. Her brain was fuzzy and she didn’t know if she had more left to give. Erik rubbed her cheeks and then he dragged his hands up to grab her by the hips. His thrusts increased to a back-breaking pace.

“Look at me…”

Y/N looked back at Erik.

“I love you.”

“I–lo–love you–too—UHH!”

“My nuts tight, baby…I’m finna nut in you—”

Erik pulled Y/N into his body, grabbed her neck from the front, and buried his face into her hair while he clapped them cheeks. Her eyes crossed and her mouth dropped open. He moaned into her hair, the type of moans to cum to.

“Uhhh…huhhh…ughhh…ahhhh…mmm…”

He sounded so damn sexy. Hips pistoning out of control, Erik painted her tight walls with his cum. When the tremors wore off, he slipped out of her and fell back against the bed. Y/N snuggled closer to him and rested her head against his sweaty chest. She stared down at Erik’s dick with their mixture of fluids. He rubbed on her sweaty back.

“You weren’t playing with me,” Y/N said with a grin.

“You know how I do, baby…I get you right every time.”

“Yes you do…”

——————

One Week Later:

They traveled across the Great Victoria Desert that stretched from eastern West Australia to the western half of South Australia, making it Australia’s largest desert. It’s a sand-ridge desert with many low, frequently tangled sand dunes and lunettes bordering playa lakes. There are few creeks and rocky outcroppings. Gibber plans can also be found. Eucalypt open woodlands, mulga woodlands, and acacia shrublands, are among the vegetation types found in the Great Victoria Desert. Habitats have largely remained undisturbed. Animals such as desert skinks, sand goanna, and hornbills occupied the desert among other things.

Four desert ATV’s traveled in sync towards their destination. Erik Stevens with a black bandanna on his head, aviator shades shielding his eyes from swirling sand, stood up in his seat, taking in the view. He was dressed in a washed-blue Henley with khaki cargo pants and steel toe, Timberland hiking boots in a brown color. Y/N sat with a desert scarf covering her braids and face, shades over her eyes. She wore a long-sleeve, fitted white top with camouflage cargos that hugged her hips and ass. She had a pair of HOKA hiking boots on her feet in a teal color. She gazed out over the vast area, happy that she came along.

“Alright there, bloke?!”

A fellow environmentalist named Parker was controlling the ATV to their destination. Parker had sandy brown hair and forest green eyes. Erik replied with a thumbs up and a smile.

“Your lady?!”

Erik looked down at Y/N to check on her. She lifted her shades and winked at him playfully.

“She’s perfect!” Erik replied.

“Almost there! Ten minutes!”

“You seeing all this, baby?!”

“Yeah!” Y/N shouted.

It was beautiful. She was going to enjoy this. Bret was in the first ATV with his mistress; Jane and the other two ATV’s were packed with other engineers including Michelle. They finally arrived in an area filled with tents. Their ATV slowed to a dirt, swirling stop and Erik jumped out. He opened Y/N’s door and helped her out. Erik led her towards the area and Y/N watched the others exiting their vehicles. She noticed Michelle straight away. She was wearing a form-fitting leotard in a sage color. She was too busy shaking her curls out because of the sand. Something must have touched her arm—some insect. She leaped away and started squealing. Y/N giggled to herself.

Stupid bitch.

“How was the ride over?”

One of the new environmental engineers that replaced Connie; Aaron, was walking over to Erik. He’s the youngest of the bunch and Erik spoke about him a lot. He said he reminded him of how he was. Aaron was tall and lanky with a curly fro and light-brown eyes. His wide grin was enough to let Y/N know that he had a good time.

“Great! Really great!” Aaron replied.

“My CFO, are you ready?”

Bret approached Erik and shook his hand firmly. Jane lingered in the background on her phone and Michelle stood beside Bret, her eyes giving Y/N a quick once over.

“All ready, boss. Let’s get to it.”

Bret held his hand out to Y/N, “Nice to see you again, beautiful. This guy still treating you right?”

“Oh, yeah! Nothing to worry about, “ Y/N squeezed Erik’s hand affectionately.

They all walked towards the area and a short, pudgy man with balding hair dressed like he was ready to wrestle crocodiles and a tall, fair-skinned biracial woman with close-cropped hair wearing a denim top with denim shorts, a bandanna around her neck, and hiking boots on her feet waved to them.

“Arvo! Welcome to Australia! I’m Jeanie,” she walked down a line shaking all their hands.

“And I’m Robert.”

“Let’s talk shop! I have a tent set up here with beverages and snacks until you all get back to your resort.”

Y/N followed closely behind Erik into a tent with fans circulating. She exhaled a longing breath that she would be able to cool down. Everyone got settled and introduced themselves to others in the room before getting down to business. Erik got up to present with Bret to the group. They had an entire presentation layout and Bret allowed Erik to have the floor.

“Hundreds of fires burnt, mainly in the southeast of the country, until about May of 2020. The most severe is happening as of recent, in 2022, peaking from December to January. The fires burnt an estimated 24.3 million hectares, destroying over three-thousand buildings, and killed almost one hundred people. AECOM is aware of the natural disasters happening here in Australia. Including the most recent—flooding. We would love to extend our support and partner with you on future projects. You’ve seen our constant pursuit in rebuilding Sudan and other parts of Africa. Allow us to pitch a hand at making sure the surrounding habitats and wildlife are safe…”

Erik had this knack for captivating an audience. It didn’t take long for the Australian environmentalists to be on board. This was much smoother than their Alaska trip. Erik opened the floor for questions, and he answered each one honestly and intelligently. Y/N found herself falling back into old habits of writing down important information. After all, he didn’t bring his new assistant. They took a break from working hard to mingle. Y/N helped herself to some Aussie Bites and water, taking a seat at an empty table while Erik did his thing.

“Mind if I join you…”

Y/N glanced up at Michelle and Jane making themselves comfortable at Y/N’s table.

Then what was the point in asking?

“Sure,” Y/N replied dryly.

“How’s everything, Y/N? Been good?” Jane asked.

“Yeah. Finally getting to do what I love and make a difference, you know?”

“What exactly do you do?” Michelle questions.

“I have a non-profit for environmental impact. I designed different clothes and partnered with other eco-friendly brands to boost my work…”

“How interesting. I’m sure Erik is pleased. Mr. Carbon Footprint…”

Y/N internally cringed at that nickname.

“If you don’t mind me asking…did you two hook up while you were working at AECOM?”

Jane looked at Y/N out the corner of her eye. She knew not to chime in. She was currently fucking the CEO. Just had his offspring three months prior.

“I do mind actually.” Y/N quipped.

Michelle narrowed her eyes threateningly. Jane could sense the tension.

“Y/N, I love your nails, very pretty,” Jane pointed to Y/N’s almond-shaped pinky-nude nails.

“Thanks, Jane.”

She could tell that Michelle was jealous. Envious of her relationship with Erik. A bitter bitch.

“I’ll see yall around,” Y/N stood up when she noticed Erik was ready to get back to work.

After another hour of planning their short work trip, they all hopped back into their designated ATV’s and made their way back to the resort. Y/N couldn’t wait to take a long bath and snuggle beneath the luxury sheets.

“Today and tomorrow will be work days for me. On our last day here, I have something special planned for us.”

Y/N leaned into Erik while they were on their ride back to the resort.

“A surprise?! All for me?!” Y/N replied with a giddy smile.

“All for you! It’s a surprise though. No guessing.”

“Unlike you, I adore surprises.”

It took them a total of forty minutes to get back and when they did Y/N didn’t waste time leaving the ATV. She was covered in sand and her skin felt itchy. They were staying at the Crowne Plaza Adelaide—a contemporary haven located in the city’s vibrant East End. It had spectacular views of the city and the famed Adelaide Hills from South Australia’s tallest building. Their things were taken in on trolleys while everyone checked in. It felt good to walk in and not have to sneak around.

“We have a King premium with a city view…”

Y/N accepted her keycard and Erik insisted that he could take their belongings to the room. They both took the elevators to one of the top floors and Y/N made her way to the room to hold the door open for Erik.

“This is nice…”

Their suite gave them a glorious view of the dazzling city. There’s a walk-in shower, with other hotel amenities and the bed looked nice and cozy with lots of space.

“How do you like it so far? You think we got a shot?”

“I do. They seem on board with it all. I believe they will accept your offer.” Y/N replied encouragingly.

“I hope so. I worked hard on this. Bret was ready to pull the plug but I pushed him to keep going.”

Y/N wrapped her arms around Erik and rest her chin on his chest, staring up into his cognac eyes fringed with thick lashes.

“You got this, daddy…you always do. You’re the best thing to ever happen to AECOM. Bret wouldn’t be able to function without you. You could be the CEO and really show ‘em how it’s done…”

“Hmm, CEO, huh?” Erik cracked a dimpled smile.

“The best CEO. You’d take this company to soaring heights. You’d be a legend…”

Erik peered into Y/N’s eyes longingly. He lowered his head and kissed her, smiling against her lips.

“Shower,” Y/N tried to pull away from Erik but he had a tight hold on her, “We’re filthy!”

“Okay…”

Y/N got undressed and trekked that beautiful body into the bathroom with a seducing sway of her hips. Erik waited until she turned on the shower before opening one of his bags. He grabbed a black velvet box and checked to make sure she wasn’t in sight before opening it. Erik stared down at a white gold halo engagement ring with a 0.76 carat diamond. He studied it carefully to make sure it didn’t have any damage to it from travel.

A nervous sensation formed at the pit of his gut. He shut the box softly and then he released a shaky breath before turning to place the ring back in his bag.

“Erik?—”

He shot up from his bag quickly. Y/N was standing in the doorway in her naked glory, staring at Erik with a skeptical eye.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. All good. Just grabbing some briefs and a tank to throw on afterwards…”

“Oh, you won’t be needing that daddy,” Y/N gave him a sly smirk, “I want some dick.”

Erik’s eyes roamed her body. Her words had his dick chubbing up quick. He quickly removed his clothes and rushed into the bathroom.

—————

After two days of lackluster activity, it was finally their last day in Australia and the day of Y/N’s surprise. Erik made a room service order for breakfast instead of meeting Bret and the others downstairs. Their second day in Australia required a lot of touring and outdoor activity. Y/N joined them on the first half of the day, but Erik asked her to stay behind until he got back. He set up an entire day of relaxation for her. She went to the spa, and had a personal driver take her out for a bit of shopping and lunch. When Erik returned, they ordered food into the suite and sat in bed naked while watching Love Island.

Y/N was still sound asleep when their breakfast arrived. Erik grabbed their cart of food and set it up on a table for them to enjoy. He stepped over her designer shopping bags and returned to bed, climbing in carefully. Y/N’s serene face glowed in the morning sun that peeked through the slightly drawn curtains, bohemian knotless braids scattered across the pillow. Erik smiled, brushing his knuckles against her warm cheek. She was beautiful beyond words.Y/N stirred and stretched her limbs. Erik felt her lashes flutter against his chest before she let out a gentle sigh.

“Morning,” she murmured against his solid chest.

“Morning, Angel,” Erik leaned in to kiss her cheek, “I ordered us breakfast.

“Thank you.”

Y/N finally opened her eyes and looked up at Erik.

“Waking up to your face every morning just does something to me,” Y/N said.

Erik stroked Y/N’s bare arm, “I’m happy to have that effect on you…”

Y/N giggled before sitting up fully. She was naked beneath the sheets. Erik stole a kiss from her before climbing out of bed. Y/N excused herself to the bathroom and earned a slap to the ass while she brushed past Erik. It didn't take Y/N long to return. She was wearing her robe open. They tucked into their food and Y/N looked across the table at Erik with a questioning look on her face. He didn’t realize how hard he’d been staring at her.

“Erik, what’s up with you?”

He knew what was up with him but he couldn’t say at the moment.

“I’m just…happy to be here with you. I love you.”

“Aww, love you too, babe.”

Erik tried to settle his nerves while eating. He swore he wouldn’t be nervous about the proposal. But the reality of it all, and seeing this beautiful woman in front of him, he couldn’t calm down. In his heart, he knew she would say yes.

“Erik, did you hear me?”

“…huh?”

Y/N forked some of her eggs, “Are you worried about the Australia deal?”

“…Ever since I became CFO, I’ve done nothing but worry.”

“I’m gonna have to fix that…”

Y/N took a sip of her orange juice and stood up, making her way over to Erik. Erik watched her drop down on her knees in front of him, fumbling with his briefs. She looked up at him with a smirk.

“Take these off.” She whispered.

Erik chuckled before raising his hips, lowering his briefs. He was semi-hard and hanging over his balls. Y/N gripped him and started slowly stroking him to full capacity. She never took her eyes off of him. Erik’s eyes remained locked on hers.

“When I first laid eyes on you…when you walked into that office…something told me you were special…and I was correct…”

Erik parted his lips, revealing his tongue that swiped his bottom lip.

“I would watch you from my cubicle…peeking at you while you talked through your Bluetooth…played with your Rubik's cube…pace back and forth while studying your paperwork…I started developing a little crush on you…”

Erik had never been told any of this. His dick evolved in her hand in a matter of seconds. Veins protruding, tip seeping precum, and shaft rigid.

“…but I knew that it wasn’t right…I knew I shouldn’t have those thoughts…but the more we connected, the more I wanted to see what it would be like to kiss you…and touch you…” Y/N stroked his tip with her thumb, “I’m so happy that you felt the same…I just wish it was you first and not him…”

Y/N peppered soft kisses along his dick. Erik closed his eyes and savored the feeling of her soft lips on his hard dick. One of his hands rose to stroke her head. She started moaning with each kiss. Erik opened his eyes and watched Y/N sink her tight lips around him. Erik gripped the arms of the chair to control the urge to force her head down on his dick.

“Fuck…baby…that feels so good…”

His feet slid across the carpet. His pecs jumped. He dragged his teeth across his bottom lip. The slow sucking had him in a whirlwind. She was showing him with that talented throat of hers just how much she loved him. Their eyes connected and Erik almost bust on her uvula with that look she gave him. Such a nasty girl.

His brows knitted together each time she would focus on his tip. He was so close. She increased her pace and Erik couldn’t take it anymore. He palmed the back of her head and bounced her slutty mouth on his big dick. The gawk gawk gawk gawk grew louder and louder. Erik bit down hard on his pouty bottom lip, quads flexing and hips levitating from the chair.

“Fuck baby…dats it…uhhhhhh…drink this nut…drink this nut down…..huuuuuuuhhhhhh….”

Y/N emptied him like a insatiable woman. No cum left behind. She sat back and licked her lips. Erik held his dick at the base and watched Y/N tongue away a trail of cum from his tip.

“I needed that bad,” Erik threw his head back and laughed.

“I know you did!”

Y/N stood up and Erik grabbed her hand, pulling her onto his lap. He tongue kissed her nice and sloppy. That had her pussy good and wet, he knew that for sure.

“My turn.” Erik whispered.

He picked her up and placed her on her back on the bed. Y/N spread her thighs and then with one hand she stroked her clit to tease him. Erik crawled up onto the bed and Y/N pressed her foot against his chest. Erik playfully nibbled on her toes and his teeth grazed up her leg until he was situated between her thighs and staring into her wet flower. He strong-armed her legs to keep them out of his way, and then he used his tongue to savor her taste. Y/N threaded her fingers through his tapered locs.

“Eat that pussy…yes…”

Erik flicked her clit with his tongue at just the right angle that had Y/N squeezing his head with her thighs. Erik forced her thighs open and with furrowed brows and his eyes closed in bliss, he sucked and licked all over her puss. Y/N wiggled beneath his attack to her folds.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, ERIK!”

Her nipples were hard, her clit twitched against his tongue, she looked pleasantly ruined. Erik added two fingers and sucked her clit into his mouth while finger-fucking her. Y/N sat up on her elbows to watch him. He looked up at her, watching her come undone. She moaned so angelic it was music to his ears. Her legs quaked from her orgasm and Erik kissed her pussy.

“Good girl…”

He made his way up to her and before he reached her lips, he sucked on her nipples. Y/N hooked her leg beneath his and forced him onto his back. Erik looked up at her with wide eyes. She reached down and pointed his dick at her pussy. Erik popped her on the ass.

“Get down on this dick…”

Y/N turned reverse cowgirl so Erik could have a better view. She threw her braids over her shoulder, looked back at Erik, and sank that good pussy down on his big dick. Erik was dizzy from the up and down motion of her ass. Her cheeks clapped against his hips. She moaned and talked her shit, taking what’s hers. What will be hers forever.

“You fuck this dick, baby. Get yours…”

“This my big, fuckin’ dick…”

“Show me…keep showing daddy…good girl..”

“Uhuh, I’m your good girl…no other bitch can fuck you like I can—”

“Gahdamn, baby…”

Erik gave her two appreciative slaps to her cheeks. She was correct. Ain’t no other like her.

“I can feel that dick getting bigger in me…pressing against my walls…you wanna cum?”

Erik groaned, “Make me cum.”

“What do I get for making daddy’s big dick cum? Do I get a present?”

You’re getting a ring on your finger and a baby in your womb fucking with me.

“Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you want…fuck…I’m close…”

Y/N bounced harder. Erik’s body seized up. He extended his neck and grunted deeply. Erik’s dick pulsated deep within her, covering every ounce of that lethal pussy with milky-white jizz. He was spent. She wore his ass out. Y/N leaned forward so Erik’s dick could slip out. He watched her push his cum out that wet ass pussy and he almost fucked her again.

“Nasty bitch…”

Y/N giggled, turning to lay next to Erik.

“The food is probably cold…”

“We’ll microwave it in a minute…let me rest my eyes…”

——————l

They sat in the back of a chauffeured car on the way to their surprise destination. Erik gripped Y/N’s hand tightly, admiring how beautiful she looked in one of the new dresses she purchased. It was an emerald green, strapless, ruffled fringe dress. She wore the Van Cleef and Apels earring, necklace, and bracelet set he purchased for her birthday. His favorite heels were on her feet and so was an anklet with his name on it. She covered her beautiful brown skin with a body shimmer that glittered in the light.

Erik wore a Ralph Lauren tailored velvet suit jacket in emerald with a white button down and a black bow tie and black slacks. Dior Derby dress shoes were on his feet, and he accessorized with a custom made Eliantte diamond watch and pinky rings. His locs were braided back—Y/N did it for him. Y/N remained blindfolded the entire ride. They arrived to take a jet and Erik hopped out, jogging around to open Y/N’s door for her. He held his hand out for her to take and she grabbed it.

He removed her blindfold and Y/N opened her eyes, staring at a personal jet. It was one of the best in Australia.

“Erik?!!! A jet?!!! Where are you taking me?!!!”

Erik smiled at her excitement. He grabbed her hand to stop her movements, leading her over towards the jet. He had her climb on first so he could make sure she didn’t fall. They settled in their seats and while the pilot prepared for take off, an attendant sauntered over to fill their glasses with champagne. Y/N stared across at Erik with glee.

“This is bringing back memories…”

Erik laughed, “Some of the best memories we’ve created. I don’t know though…tonight might top that…”

Y/N squinted her eyes at Erik.

“What do you have planned, Sir?”

“Drink your champagne.”

Y/N poured her lip, reaching for her drink.

“How long till we get there?”

“About an hour. Hour and a half…”

They stared down from the clouds at Australia below. Erik needed the distraction. He was too tense. Y/N kept him calm with her stories. He loved listening to her talk. They were descending after an hour and fifteen and Erik had to take a deep, calming breath. His jaw tensed as he unbuckled himself. He made sure Y/N was straight before they both exited the jet. Another car was waiting for them.

They entered the SUV and Erik made sure to put her blindfold back on before stealing a kiss. He squeezed her hand affectionately, staring out the window. His heart pounded against his rib cage. He could feel his hands sweating and shaking slightly. Y/N didn’t question it thankfully. The SUV slowed to a stop outside of their destination. Erik exited the car and held a hand up to the driver, stopping him from opening Y/N’s door. They left the car and Erik pressed forward, pausing directly in front of the entrance to their memorable evening.

“Okay…we’re here.”

Erik looks down at Y/N, taking her in before removing the blindfold.

“Open your eyes.”

She opened them on his command, and her hands went up to cover her mouth in shock. She stared at him with wide, shiny eyes. Erik smiled down at her fondly. There were people holding the doors open for them to enter.

“Erik…the aquarium?! We’re having dinner here?! This is so cool!”

She jumped up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Erik wrapped his arms around her waist, swaying her from side-to-side. He closed his eyes and planted a kiss on her neck.

Erik reserved the entire AQWA Aquarium in Western Australia. One of the best in Australia with an underground journey along their coastline. It has stunning exhibits and iconic creatures. Erik rented out the entire dining area for the evening and booked a photographer. They climbed the stairs carefully, greeting the workers at the door. Y/N took in everything with a bright smile.

They were given a guide to take them throughout certain areas before they had dinner. Y/N held Erik’s hand, stroking it with her thumb. He looked down at her and she met his gaze with loving eyes. It was an aquatic paradise. So many marine animals and colors. Y/N pressed her face closer to the glass, eyes wide and filled with thrill. Erik admired the way the motion of the water created patterns against her brown skin. He couldn’t wait to travel the world with her. His fingers grazed the ring box in his pocket with anticipation the further they traveled.

They made a pit stop at a gift shop and Erik purchased a large, dolphin stuffed animal for her as a souvenir. After an hour and some minutes, they finally entered the dining area. It was a large, undersea restaurant located sixteen feet below sea level. They would be able to enjoy their meal with 180–degree panoramic views of the water above them. Erik pulled out Y/N’s seat directly next to the glass so she could have a closer view. It was a fine dining experience to remember.

“This menu has a lot of seafood on it.” Y/N jokes.

“Says the woman who loves crab legs and salmon.”

“Sorry fishies,” Y/N whispered, “You’re just so GOODT.”

“Finger-licking good,” Erik added with a chef’s kiss.

They enjoyed lobster bisque, crab bites, and shrimp cocktail before their main dishes arrived.

“Let’s toast,” Erik raised his wine glass, “To many memories with you. To traveling the world. To love.”

“Here! Here!”

They clinked glasses and both of them watched each other take a sip.

Their plates of sizzling fish with roasted vegetables and red potatoes arrived. Y/N snapped photos of her plate before taking a bite. It was delicious.

“I love how intimate this is. When did you even have the time to do all of this?”

“I make a way. Took care of it before the trip.” Erik responded.

“You never cease to amaze me, Erik.”

“That’s the plan,” Erik elevated a single brow at her.

“I love you,” Y/N spoke softly.

Erik gave her a half-dimpled smile, “I love you too, baby.”

They finished their meal and Erik made his cue and a photographer was waiting to come out after the final act. Erik shifted in his seat, praying that everything worked out how he planned. He had to draw her attention to the glass.

“Look at all these pretty fish…”

Y/N gazed out at the fish swimming. The photographer started recording the encounter. Erik kept his finger to the glass, pointing at random fish to keep her attention. Music started playing, a saxophone rendition of Whitney Houston’s Saving All My Love For You. Y/N swayed in her seat, singing along to the love song. Erik watched her with glossy eyes.

“Baby, baby, look…”

He pointed to a diver making his way towards them. Y/N’s eyes bugged out in shock. The diver settled in front of her underwater. They waved their hand to her, and Y/N waved back. De’Ree I’m Kissing You started playing. Y/N giggled at the choice of song, since Romeo and Juliet was one of her favorite movies and the scene where Romeo looks at Juliet through the fish tank makes her cry. The diver pulled out a peace of paper, Y/N trying to make out what it said.

Erik watched her with a penetrating stare. The paper unfolded and the words were clear as day.

Y/N L/N Will You Marry Me?

She looked at Erik across that table. Her hands shot up to cover her mouth first. Erik stood as the song began to fade out, making his way towards her. The photographer drew in closer, Erik dropping down on one knee. Y/N gripped the arm of the dining chair with one hand while the other covered her mouth, eyes flooded with tears and shoulders slightly bouncing as she cried.

Where are you now?

Where are you now?

‘Cause I’m kissing you

I’m kissing you, oh…

“Erik…oh my god,” Y/N sobbed, “oh my god…”

He opened the box. Y/N weeped harder. Erik lowered his head to wipe his own eyes.

Marry me, Y/N,” he blurts out with a shaky voice.

“Erik…” She was in pure disbelief. Even after he expressed to her countless times how much he loved her. The song replaying again made the moment more beautiful.

“…Because I love you,” he says, staring up at her and taking her hand in his, “and I want to go to sleep with you every night and wake up seein’ your face every morning. I want you to be the mother of my children, I want to see the world with you. I want to climb mountains with you and be challenged by you, I want to argue with you just so we can have crazy, hot, makeup sex…”

Y/N laughed at that last part as her tears fell. She was so stunned that all she could do was stare down at him on his knee, the white gold halo engagement ring with a 0.76 carat diamond brilliantly blinding her.

“…Marry me, because without you I’d be lost….and because I love your family like they’re my own…and because you’re my best friend and I want to grow old with you.” He starts tearing up, and it’s shocking because she’s never seen him cry. “Marry me, Y/N, because all I could ever think about since the Alaska trip was making you my wife. Say yes, Y/N.”

Y/N was blown away by the shock of it all. The big rock that he was proposing to her with, his meaningful words, how she was not expecting such a beautiful and heartfelt moment. She’d loved aquariums since she was a kid. Erik took careful consideration into making sure it was all perfect for her. To have a man like this in her life…she burst with happiness and tears leaked from her eyes even more. Y/N covered her face with both hands and bent forward, body shaking from the uncontrollable crying she was doing.

She could go on and on about how amazing Erik is; her Office Bae. He set the tone. He stepped up when her ex couldn’t even do that after so much time together.

He defended, protected, encouraged, and would carry the planet on his back for her. She finally removed her hands from her face, makeup still intact thankfully. Y/N straightened herself and fanned her eyes to control the tears. Erik stared up at her with tears in his eyes and a smile.

“HELL YES!!!!!!!”

Y/N jumped up and down, spun around, threw her arms up. Erik finally stood up and he couldn’t contain his joyful laughter. She held her hand out and he gently took her delicate hand in his, the breathtaking ring sliding down her fourth finger, a perfect fit like Cinderella’s glass slipper. He’s her Prince Charming.

“YES! YES! YES! YES!”

Throwing her arms over his shoulders, Erik’s arms circled her waist and he spun her around like a princess in fairytale endings. The photographer worked overtime snapping photos. Y/N stretched her hand out to admire the engagement ring, a cheesy smile on her face. She was all teeth and gums. Erik peppered kisses along her cheek while still holding her up off of the floor.

“I love you so much, I’m so fucking happy that you said yes,” Erik spoke with a hushed tone.

“It was always going to be a yes, baby! I’m so happy you came into my life…”

Erik finally put her down and he watched her admire and gawk at the size of the diamond. He chucked at her shocked expression, unable to keep his hands to himself. He gripped her waist, pulled her closer, and kissed her forehead.

“To forever with you…” Y/N said, looking up at him with a smile, “I love you, baby.”

Y/N grabbed his face and Erik leaned down, kissing her passionately. His tongue smoothed over hers in a sensual dance. Hearts racing, they both smile against each other's lips. She couldn’t wait to start their life together.

Mrs. Stevens had a ring to it.

Where are you now?

Where are you now?

‘Cause I’m kissing you

I’m kissing you, oh….

@hearteyes-for-killmonger @imagining-greatness @chaneajoyyy @uzumaki-rebellion @lisayourworries @ratedbadgal @bombshellbre95 @cancerianprincess @dameshaemonique @6lack-1otus @thickemadame @thickeeparker @stinkalinkkkk @ehniki @electrixt @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @bxolux @sweet2krazee @seyven89 @ispywithmylileye @geemamii @unbotheredblackchild @nubianbabee @adoreesun @blackpinup22 @nayaxwrites @cocoa-puffs @dersha89 @honeytoffee @thickianaaaa @modelmemoirs @why-wait-4-eventually @queenfaithmarie @angelicniah @soulfulbeauty19 @aijha @novaniskye @callmemckenzieee @blowmymbackout @lahuttor @momobaby227 @blackerthings @kenbieee @princessxotwod @palmstreesallday @kokokonako @coolfancyone @soulsparker @richgirlaesthetics

[schoenpepper]

Mwah!

Intro: Your way of love is spontaneous and loud, and your boyfriend is probably dying (affectionate).

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, not proofread

A/N: Sup. This is a request. K bye.

edit: totally forgot to tag mb i thought this was anonymous haha @fsh1

Masterlist

“What’s this?”

You glance at the large circular item in your hands. Sure the cake is a bit burnt, and the strawberries were a little more geometric than the hearts you had tried to shape them to be, but it’s not unrecognizable, is it? “It’s a strawberry shortcake,” you answer with a smile, “you like these, right? I made it myself.”

Riddle hesitantly accepts, but not without another question. “What is it for?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s the occasion?”

You laugh and move closer to him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. He’s bright red, clearly flustered, and he shyly looks away as he raises the plate up to cover his face. “Riddle,” you whisper softly, “I don’t need an occasion to show my love for you.”

The housewarden of Heartslabyul cannot deal with random acts of love very well.

Especially if you do it in public.

He’ll reprimand you with a blush and claim something or the other is against the rules.

And as such, the best way to deal with him is to do all those things in the confines of his or your room. Somewhere away from the eyes of the public.

Unfortunately for him, that doesn’t exactly fall under “spontaneity”, does it?

Well, if you insist…

He’s a bit too whipped, for lack of a better word, to actually stop you.

Your hands cup his cheeks so lovingly while you’re seated on his lap, peppering his face with butterfly kisses. Try as he might, Azul can’t find it in himself to push you away. He’s almost shaking in embarrassment with the way you’re acting…

And because the two of you aren’t alone.

From another corner of his office, the twins are snickering and whispering among themselves, whereas his “client” is nervously averting his gaze from your scandalous behavior in between the eels. Azul puts his hands on your shoulders and asks with a trembling smile, “My dear, we’re quite busy here. Is there anything you require of me?”

You grin and shake your head, “Nope! I just missed you, that’s all.”

Your words are punctuated with another kiss to his lips.

Have you ever seen someone so embarrassed and shy that they physically collapse?

Dear, you will soon if you don’t stop barging into his meetings and flirting with him as if there was nobody else there.

Please have mercy on this poor soul.

His right hand man has gathered enough blackmail to last a lifetime.

(Jade wants you to continue, please, don’t stop on his account or his camera’s)

Azul isn’t very used to such flashy, random displays of affection.

But if it’s you…he supposes he can try to adapt. He’d rather not change you or your wondrous nature.

“Hold still, darling.”

You can’t follow Vil’s words—you follow the rush of adrenaline that zips through your veins and you move to kiss him, smearing the lipstick he’d just applied to your freshly moisturized lips. Your boyfriend looks at you exasperatedly while his vice housewarden (whom you did not know was in the room with you) is clapping and spouting nonsense.

“And which part of hold still did you not understand?” Vil raises an eyebrow.

“All of it,” you reply cheekily while wrapping your arms around him, “I feel like kissing you lots today. Is that bad?”

He huffs and rolls his eyes, but the slightest hint of a smile creeps up on his lips.

You’ll have to be a little more restrained, paparazzi’s always breathing down his neck and he can’t have the two of you be some after-dinner talk for others.

But in more private locations where he’s absolutely sure you’re alone, he’ll indulge you readily.

You can’t exactly control your PDA though, so Vil gets himself accustomed to magical disguises for outings.

Something about his favorite shade of lipstick makes you want to smudge it with a kiss.

It’s smudge proof, but keep trying.

Vil rarely gets flustered, but catch him when he’s super off guard and you can do it.

[jisungsdaydreamer]

Dress

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

SYNOPSIS When Minho buys a really ugly dress for you, but you don't want to hurt his feelings.

Pairing: Lee Know x fem!reader Genre: established relationship, fluff Warnings: none :) Word Count: 1.4k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

“Honey, I got you a surprise!”

You immediately toss aside the book you were reading and practically leap off the couch at the sound of Minho’s voice. You love surprises. Your husband enters the room with a tired look on his face, but nevertheless, he smiles lovingly at you, holding out a cute beige-colored shopping bag to you.

“I stopped by the store after work,” Minho explains, sitting down next to you as he loosens his tie.

You pause while pulling out the sparkly tissue paper at the top of the bag, touched. You know how busy Minho is these days, and the fact that he took time out of his day to get you something made you melt. “Aw, Min. You’re so sweet.”

The tips of Minho’s ears turn pink, like they always did whenever you praise him. “Look inside the bag!”

You tear through the wrapping paper, your fingertips meeting something soft. Intrigued, you pull the mystery item out excitedly, only to realize that it is the absolutely ugliest dress that you have ever set eyes on. For a moment, you just stare at it, surprised in the worst possible way.

“So? What do you think?” 

Minho’s eager voice snaps you out of your mini reverie. You gulp, racking your head for something to say. “Oh! Urm…”

His face falls. “Do you not like it?”

You shake your head vigorously. “No! I’m just so… amazed! You normally never buy clothes for me.”

Minho grins. “I know. But hey, maybe there can be two fashionistas in the family now.”

“Yeah, definitely!” You swallow, hoping he doesn’t see right through you.

Satisfied, he tilts his head towards your bedroom. “You should try it on!”

Defeated, you turn and trudge to your bedroom. Once you’re inside, you quickly pull off your favorite pajamas and change into the dress. Minho enters the room as you step into the mirror, and you truly have to clench your jaw to keep the horrified gasp that nearly escapes you.

The dress is an insult to fashion, if you’re being honest. The geometric pattern sporting an unflattering shade of orange makes you feel like a pumpkin. It looks like a shapeless blob on you, the swaths of fabric pooling unflatteringly at your waist. The knitted design is scratchy on your skin, making it incredibly uncomfortable. And to make everything worse, you catch the number on the price tag, and you want to faint.

Clearing your throat, you glance to your side over at Minho, who gazes wordlessly into the mirror at your reflection. “How do I look?”

He shakes his head softly, genuinely awestruck. “Beautiful. Just beautiful.”

You have an idea or two of what you really think you look like, but you plaster on a fake smile, hoping you’re selling it. “You’re the best husband ever.”

“I saw it in the store, and thought it would look so pretty on you.” Minho beams proudly, and he looks so innocent that you feel your heart break a little in guilt.

“Minho, baby.” You place a hand on his shoulder. “You really didn’t have to.”

He pouts. “But Changbin is hosting dinner tomorrow, and I wanted you to have something nice to wear.”

So what other option do you have than to thank him and give him a little kiss? You would wear that god-awful dress to Chanbin’s party for everyone to see, rather than hurt Minho’s feelings, right? Definitely.

“Y/N, Minho! Come on in!” Changbin opens the door, welcoming you into his home.

You don’t miss his expression of shock as he lets you in, but ever the gracious host, Changbin smoothly covers it up with a smile and hugs you both. As you and Minho walk into the living room, where all of the guests are mingling over cocktails. You get similar looks from the others, but you glance over at Minho worriedly, hoping he doesn’t notice. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to, joining in on the conversation and laughing at someone’s joke.

You inhale and let yourself relax, searching the crowd for Hyunjin and Jisung, your two good friends. You spy Jisung loitering by the dessert table, discreetly piling brownies into napkins and tucking them into his pockets for later.

“Sneaking extra brownies, are we?” You creep up behind him, making him yelp and nearly drop his brownie. 

“Seriously—” Jisung looks over at you, prepared to shoot a comeback at you when he halts. “What in the world are you wearing?”

You roll your eyes. “A dress, okay? Minho got it for me.”

“Oh.” 

“Is there something you want to say, Jisung?”

He stuffs the brownie into his mouth to obviously conceal his laughter, but you don’t miss the faint smirk on his face. “Nothing.”

You give up. “Where’s Hyunjin?”

“Late, as usual.” Jisung swallows his brownie before eyeing the mini pizza bagels at the end of the table. “I’ll be right back.”

You turn and look for Minho, finding him chatting with Seungmin. Seungmin finishes refilling his wine glass and exits the kitchen, and Minho takes the chance to slip his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“Enjoying the party?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You nod, taking a sip of Minho’s drink. “Mhm.”

Minho looks down at you. “I’ll bet you’re getting a lot of compliments on your dress.”

“So many.” You flick an imaginary piece of lint off of said dress. You hate lying to him. 

Minho frowns, noticing how you’re avoiding his eyes, and opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Hyunjin waltzes in, two hours after the party began.

You take the opportunity to change the subject. “Fashionably late, Hyunjin?”

“Yes, but I can’t say the same for you, Y/N.” Hyunjin bursts into laughter. “Where did you get that dress? It’s actually hideous.”

Usually, you wouldn’t mind such a comment coming from Hyunjin, because this kind of teasing banter was a normal exchange between you both. However, this time, Minho is the one who is responsible for your outfit.

And from the way the smile fades from Minho’s face, he is also listening. “What?”

You glare at Hyunjin. “No, it’s not.”

Hyunjin snickers, still not getting the hint. “You know damn well—”

“Y/N said she loved it.” Minho steps in, looking equal parts confused and upset. “I bought it for her yesterday.”

Hyunjin shuts up at last, finally realizing why you are shooting daggers at him with your eyes. “Ohhh. I was just kidding, Minho. Please don’t murder me.”

With that, Hyunjin quickly bolts out of the kitchen, leaving you and Minho alone. You peek over at Minho, only to see him sadly looking down at the floor. 

“Min…”

“I knew you hated it.” Minho puts his glass in the sink and walks out. With a frustrated groan, you follow after him, only to catch him in a very deep one-way conversation with Jisung, who just chews on his food while watching Minho rapidly ramble about cars. You understand that Minho is mortified and doesn’t want to talk to you, so you go back to Hyunjin, who has wandered into Changbin’s home gym and is messing with the weights. 

For the rest of the evening, there’s this tension you can’t name between you and Minho, and you both don’t exchange any words. When it’s time to leave, you both say goodbye to everyone before getting into your car. For a few minutes, there’s an awkward silence as Minho drives and stares straight ahead, not looking at you even once. Once you arrive at home, Minho parks, and you prepare to get down out of the car, but Minho speaks up. 

“I wish you just told me that you didn’t like the dress. Then I wouldn’t have been so embarrassed,” Minho says softly.

You sigh. “I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings, and you were so excited.”

“You should have been honest.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

Minho stays quiet for a moment, and you think he’s still disappointed, but then he looks over at you, a small grin on his face. “I’m sorry too. When you opened it I realized it really was so ugly, but I was too stubborn to admit it.”

You chuckle, relieved. “Maybe leave clothes shopping to me. You’re good at so many other things.”

“I agree. I can’t be too perfect, after all.” Minho winks at you playfully.

With an amused smile, you lean over and kiss your husband. His fashion sense may not be incredible, but you love him just the way he is.

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

TAGLIST @hamburgers101 @chansburgah @ajxreads @hash2013 @pixigreen @ana-marais98 @ohish @chizumiyoshi @lilydaisyyy @jetblackbelle @143hyunes

Network: @kflixnet

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

[sagethegaywitch]

Dimensions: Savanaclaw

Male reader

TW: twisted ankle, knocked unconscious, yandere behavior, memory erasing

Genre: yandere

Here's the link for my other Dimensions: Twisted Wonderland Overblots works.

The story will take place in the Pride Lands of Tanzania, the one from the original “The Lion King” that the Savanaclaw dorm is based on.  As the overblot eats away at the characters, they start to resemble and act more like the Disney characters they are based on.  The reader will be called Y/N and Simba, and they will be a lion hybrid.

f/f = favorite food

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

An uncomfortable heat prickles on your skin as a bright light burns your eyelids.  You groan, but just turn over on your side, trying to shade yourself from the unforgiving sunlight.

You’re only startled awake when a hand shakes your shoulder and a voice says, “Get up.”

You open your eyes and bolt upright as you come face-to-face with an unfamiliar man.  He has sunkissed skin and dark long hair with braided portions, but the most jarring fact is that he has lion ears on the top of his head.  He’s wearing mostly black clothing with a fur neckline and a loose gray skirt with an orange scarf wrapped around his waist (Leona will be wearing his overblot outfit), but you’re also focused on the tail that swishes behind him in irritation and the orange glow of his left eye.

“Gosh, I thought you went ahead and got yourself killed,” he mutters with disdain and disinterest in his voice, but it doesn’t quite match the concern that flashed in his eyes for a second.

You look around to see that you’re at the bottom of a dusty gorge, but you can’t remember how you got there.  You look up at the other male and he just looks at you expectantly, like he wants an explanation.

“I’m sorry, I-I don’t remember what happened,” you tell him as you continue to look around for anything familiar.

You look down at yourself, and you’re dressed in puffy brown pants with geometric orange details and a dark yellow smock that has red designs along the edges.  You feel uncomfortable in them, like they’re not your usual wear, but you brush it off when the other male grabs your chin and makes you look into his eyes.  He turns your head to each side before ruffling through your hair a bit, probably looking for a head injury of some kind.

“There's no lump or blood, but you don’t remember what happened?” he asks.

You shake your head and he nods before asking if you remember who he is.  You scrounge your memory for anything involving the familiar male, but a pounding headache stops you from digging further.  You shake your head and he lets out a low hum before nodding to himself and tells you his name is Leona.

“Well, Simba, we better get you back home,” he says before kneeling on the floor.  “Get on my back, cub.”

You hesitantly approach him and climb onto his back, and he hoists you up before starting the trek up the gorge.  He puts in little effort as he scales the edge, but you’re too concerned about why he called you that Simba.  Somehow you know it’s not your name, but you just can't seem to recall what you used to be called.  When he reaches the top of the gorge, you expect to be let down, but he continues to walk toward a large rock structure in the distance.  As you near the rocks, you can see other animal hybrids, like lions and hyenas, wandering around, but they all pause and make way for Leona as he gets closer.  You almost jump off Leona’s back when a loud voice exclaims loudly by your ear and you quickly turn your head to see a shorter male with hyena characteristics.  You observe him as he laughs at your reaction, and you notice the brown shirt he wears, the black leather jacket, the dark pants, and a seemingly signature yellow scarf around his neck.

“Where were you, Simba?” the newcomer asks as he ruffles your hair.  “Even Leona was worried.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Ruggie,” Leona growls, walking a bit faster to get away from the hyena.

Ruggie laughs again, settling in a steady jog to keep up with Leona’s longer legs.  Ruggie tries to make conversation with you, talking about a blue bird that he tried to hunt earlier to the different animals he saw at the water fountains today.  Leona only starts to slow down a bit when he approaches a very lavish looking white clay mansion.  There are hyena guards stationed at the entrance, but they take a quick glance at Leona and Ruggie before letting them inside.  You're carried through the carpeted hallways of the building, and you get a better view of the town you're in as you pass the large glassless windows that line the exterior walls.  You're brought to a moderately sized room, and Leona unceremoniously dumps you on the soft bed in the center of the room.  The blankets are soft but somehow scratchy at the same time, and you almost go flying as Leona flops down next to you.  He lays on his side and pulls your back to his chest before you feel something wet on your head.

"Ah!  What are you doing?" you exclaim as you thrash in his hold and try to see what he's doing.

"Hold still, you're filthy," he mutters as he holds onto you tighter and continues grooming you.

You only then realize that he's licking you like a lion would a new born cub, but it's also when you realize he's not licking your head.  You jolt upright, startling Leona and Ruggie, who quietly made himself comfortable in the corner of the room, as you grasp at your head.  You feel fluffy ears in your hands and you yelp as they twitch when you poke them.  You quickly grab at your tailbone, surprised to find a wagging tail that lazily swishes side-to-side.

"What's wrong with you?" Ruggie asks, his tone judgemental and teasing.

You don't really know what's wrong.  These people seem to know you, but you can't remember them and you can't recall ever having lion parts attached to your body.

"I-I don't know.  I don't remember anything," you stutter out truthfully.

"Did you hit your head?" Ruggie asks as he approaches the bed and grabs your head to check your scalp.

"I already checked, he's fine," Leona yawns before grabbing you back from Ruggie.  "Let's take a nap, Simba.  You don't need to worry about anything, you're with your pride, we'll take care of you."

His voice somehow calms your nerves as he cuddles behind you, holding onto you like a body pillow.  You manage to slow your breathing and all the excitement from earlier causes you to feel sleepy as you close your eyes and quickly fall asleep.

~

You wake up to someone shaking you awake, and as you sleepily blink your eyes open, you smell some delicious food.  You fully open your eyes to see Ruggie smiling down at you as he pulls his hand away from your shoulder.

"Good evening!  I brought some food," Ruggie exclaims before gesturing to a trolley filled with plates covered with meat.

You're so distracted by the smell that you didn't notice a wolf hybrid wearing something similar to Ruggie standing beside the trolley until he moves and passes you a plate.  You quietly thank him before looking down at the roasted pork neatly placed and decorated on the plate.

"Don't be afraid of him," Ruggie tells you, sensing your discomfort.  "Jack may look scary, but he's harmless."

You nod and offer the much taller male a small smile before Leona's voice behind you causes you to turn your head.

"Oh, Jack, you're back," he comments offhandly, holding out his hand for his plate.  "I thought you were talking more time off to spend at home."

"I did, but that was two weeks ago, my vacation ended already," Jack says bluntly as he hands Leona a plate before giving one to Ruggie and taking one for himself.

"Right.  Well, Jack this is Simba, Simba this is Jack, my bodyguard," Leona gestures as he digs into his meal.

Jack gives you an acknowledging nod before eating his dinner.  You're about to use the knife to cut into the pork, but you're quickly stopped by Ruggie who says that children should not play with sharp objects.

"But I'm not a child," you object, but you're quickly shushed by Leona who also comments you're still too young to properly take care of yourself.

You find yourself watching Ruggie cut your food into bite sized chunks and he helps feed you by holding the fork up to your mouth.  You grumpily take the food, not wanting to starve, but you're still not happy about the situation.  After you've cleared your dinner, Leona asks Jack to take you out to get some fresh air.  Unlike Leona, Jack lets you walk by yourself as he guides you out of the room and down a hallway to an open balcony.  The wind breezes past your face as you soak in the night air.  The sun was scorching hot earlier, so the dark sky feels cool against your skin.  You gaze up at the clearly visible stars, something you know you were unable to do in your past, and enjoy trying to find or make constellations.

"The stars tell the tales of those who have passed one," Jack suddenly speaks, his harsh sounding voice startling you.

He looks at you for approval to continue as he points out a constellation that resembles fire, "That's Falena, Leona's older brother who was king before Leona was.  He passed recently in a wildebeest stampede.  The fire represents his red hair and his bold personality."

You gaze up at the formation again, watching as the stars twinkle and wink back at you.  Jack points out a few more prominent constellations and gives you a brief history lesson before you shiver in the cold air, the smock doing nothing to keep you warm.  Jack notices your shiver form and slowly edges towards you before wrapping you in his arms.  He seemed unaffected by the cold probably because he lives here, but you two watch the stars some more, even catching a few shooting stars before your yawn interrupts the peace.

"Ready to go back to Leona?" he asks and you rub your eyes and nod your head.

You follow him as he guides you back to the room you were resting in earlier to find it empty.  Jack reassures you Leona is probably out doing some kingly business and will be back soon.  He offers you a good night before leaving you alone in the dimly lit room.  You stumble over to the bed and flop onto it, almost falling asleep instantly.

~

In the morning, a random sunbeam from the window shines in your eyes, forcing you to wake up and try to reposition yourself, cuddling closer into your warm blankets.  A chuckle causes you to lazily open your eyes and gaze up at the owner of the sound, and you quickly push Leona away, coming to the realization that he was the blanket you thought you were using to warm yourself.

“Sleep well?” Leona smirks, his tail swishing with amusement behind him.

You nod but look away in defiance as he offers you a rare smile, “Let’s go find Ruggie so we can get some lunch.”

“Lunch?” you ask, wondering why breakfast didn’t come before lunch.

“You slept through the morning.  It’s like 12:45pm,” Leona says.  “But it’s fine, we can do whatever we want.”

You seem hesitant as you get out of bed, worried that your oversleeping might have caused him to miss out on some important king stuff.  You follow Leona through the door and you see Jack standing guard and holding the door open for you.  You give him a thankful nod as he closes the door and trails behind you as Leona guides you down the hallway, somehow still yawning and looking tired.  At the entrance of the mansion, Ruggie is sitting on the stairs, seemingly waiting for something.

“What are you doing here?  I thought you had business this afternoon,” Leona comments, causing Ruggie to spin around and stand up.

“I took care of it this morning,” Ruggie shrugs as he leaps over to you.  “Good afternoon, Simba, I bet you’re hungry.”

You want to shake your head, not wanting to be a burden, but your growling stomach betrays you, causing Ruggie’s smile to grow.

“Don’t worry, I got you covered.  I’ll take you to the Farmer’s Market in town and I’ll buy you something to eat,” Ruggie offers, grabbing onto your hand and dragging you down the stairs.

“Just bring him home safely,” Leona tells Ruggie before pausing to think.  “In fact, Jack, you go with them.”

“Will you be alright by yourself?” Jack asks Leona, but he only receives a shrug as Leona walks back into the building, another servant telling him he has a meeting of some sort.

Jack jogs to catch up with you and Ruggie, and settles into a steady pace a few steps behind you two.  Ruggie rambles about some cool stalls he saw earlier that he wants to take you to after you’ve eaten as you walk past a few other hybrids wandering around town.  Finally arriving at the Farmer’s Market, you can see stalls lined up in a large plaza, colorful signs and banners advertising their products, and people yelling and encouraging the customers to visit their stall for the best sales.  You’re overwhelmed by multiple smells, all of them making your stomach grumble and drool starts to form in the corner of your mouth.  Ruggie laughs at your face before letting you look around the market to see what catches your eye.  Eventually, you find a stall that sells f/f, and you linger in front of it as Ruggie and Jack come back with their own food.

“Want some?” Ruggie asks as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet.

“It’s okay, it’s too expensive.  I’d feel bad making you pay for it,” you let him know as you try to leave the stall and find a cheaper alternative.

“Who said it’s my money?” Ruggie snickers as he goes up to the booth and orders your food.

You look at Jack for answers and he sighs before responding, “It’s Leona’s wallet.  You shouldn’t feel too bad, Leona’s the king, he has plenty of money.”

You still feel a bit guilty and Ruggie skips back with your food and hands it over to you.  You all move towards a nearby wooden table to eat your food, and you quietly look around the market, soaking in the experience.  The noisy environment and the good food reminds you of something else, like a noisy cafeteria or school, but you just can’t seem to pinpoint it.  You all finish your food, and Jack walks off to buy some dessert, returning with some cookies that he lets you munch on as Ruggie shows you around the merchandise stalls.  From clothing, herbs, bags, jewelry, and more, Ruggie makes constant comments about how certain things would look great on you.  Finally, while you’re distracted with holding a gray shawl up to Jack, saying it would suit him, Ruggie sneaks behind your back with a gift in hand.

“You shouldn’t have,” you exclaim.

“Don’t fuss, it’s my treat.  Consider it a welcome back present,” Ruggie objects as he passes you a drawstring bag.

You take the bag and gingerly pull apart the strings to reveal a beaded necklace with a golden lion emblem of dangling from the center.

“Oh my gosh!  It’s gorgeous,” you tell him as Jack helps you put it on.

“I knew you’d look great in it,” Ruggie smiles.

As you admire the necklace for a bit longer in the setting sun, Jack makes a comment that you all should return home soon.  You skip along, in a much better mood and definitely more comfortable with your friends, and you can’t help but to be excited to rediscover this land.  Returning to the mansion, you let the others know that you’re still full from lunch so you won’t be joining them for dinner.  Ruggie nods and runs off to find Leona while Jack offers to walk you back to your room.  You two enjoy a comfortable silence as you walk, and he offers you a head pat and wishes you a good night as you enter the room and close the door behind you.  You feel safe knowing he’s standing watch outside, and you quickly zone out and fall asleep on the soft bed under the warm covers.

~

You're startled awake in the middle of the night by an odd scratching noise.  You sit up in the bed, noting that Leona has not returned, and you sort of miss the warm presence of Leona’s body.  You scan the room, seeing nothing out of place but suddenly, a chair gets pushed forward.  You let out a yelp as you notice glowing blue eyes staring at you from under the moving chair.

“Human, is that you?” the eyes ask.

“Wh-What are you?” you question, your voice barely above a whisper.

“It is you!” the eyes exclaim as they get out from under the chair and under a beam of moonlight.

You can see clearly now that the eyes actually belong to a weird gray cat thing that has fiery blue ears.  It’s not a human-animal hybrid, but it walks on two legs as it hops onto your bed and approaches you.

“What happened to you?  Did they do this to you?” Grim asks as he pokes at your stiff tail and alert lion ears.

“No, I’ve always been like this,” you respond, more confused as the cat continues to talk.  “Who are you?”

“Who am I?!  You’ve forgotten about the Great Grim!” the cat bursts out, but he quickly notices his volume and switches to an angry whisper.  “What is going on with you Y/N?”

Y/N.  The voice rings a bell in your head and you’re suddenly thinking clearer than ever.  Your name is not SImba, it’s Y/N.  You’re also not a lion hybrid, you’re a magicless human that goes to Night Raven College.  You fell into the Savanaclaw dorm when the mirrors shattered during a school-wide overblot event.

“Grim…I remember you,” you start slowly, taking time to process this new information.  “I’m Y/N, and we need to get out of here.”

“Exactly, glad we’re on the same page.  They’ve been tracking me down all day,” Grim shivers at the idea, but he’s happy he’s finally gotten you back.

“We can’t go out the door, Jack’s outside,” you murmur, rubbing your chin as you try to think of another way out.

“I came through the window.  This room is on the second floor, but you can walk across the first floor roof and jump down,” Grim informs you, gesturing to the open window.

You walk over and take a peak, seeing the roof right under your window sill.  You throw both legs over the edge, sitting on the window sill when an abrupt knock alerts the both of you to the door of your room.

“Simba, are you okay in there?  I hear yelling,” Jack’s voice asks as the doorknob starts to turn.

“Go!” Grim urges as he frantically pushes you over the edge and you let out a scream as you slide down.

You barely manage to grab onto the edge of the roof as you almost slide off.  There is an uncomfortable stretch in your arm as you support your and Grim’s weight.  As you let go to land safely on the nearby ground, you make eye contact with Ruggie who has paused in the conveniently placed first floor window right in front of you.

“Simba?” he says in disbelief his eyes wide as he watches you fall.

You land roughly on the floor, feeling a sudden pain in your ankle causing you to cry out.

“Get up, we have to run!” Grim declares he helps you stand up.

You can only take one step before collapsing, the pain in your ankle is too great.  Grim notices the issue and grabs a nearby stick, instructing you to use it as a crutch.  You know you have to leave, so you push through the pain, tears prickling in the corner of your eyes as you try to get as far away from the mansion as possible.  Unluckily for you, Ruggie was able to alert Jack of what was happening, and you’re suddenly tackled to the floor again.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” Jack growls in your ear, as he holds you and Grim down by the back of your neck.

Your face presses roughly into the dry and sandy ground as you hear Ruggie’s frantic voice and angry footsteps come closer.

“Thank the Sevens you’re okay,” Ruggie pants as he crouches down to your levels and inspects you for any major injuries.  “Though we’ll have to take care of that ankle, it’s swelling already.”

“On the other hand, I’m very disappointed in you,” Leona’s voice says as he crouches down next to Ruggie.  “We gave you all you could ever ask for, and this is how you repay us?”

“Just let us go, Leona, we need to fight off the overblot and report to Crowley,” you desperately plead, but Leona shakes his head and reaches for the stick you were using to walk.

“I don’t think so,” he tells you, menacingly hitting the stick into the palm of his hand.  “You’re meant to be Simba, my Simba.”

Those are the last things you hear before the stick comes crashing down on your head, rendering you unconscious.

~

A constant pounding on the back of your head awakens you from a deep slumber, and you groan as you toss and turn in the plush bed.  You open your eyes, momentarily blinded by the bright light that shines through the window.  You try to lift yourself out of bed, but the pain in your head has you crying out and falling back down.  Your noise of discomfort must have alerted the people waiting outside because the door opens and reveals three hybrids.

“How are you feeling?” the wolf hybrid asks, standing at the foot of your bed.

“My head hurts real bad, Jack,” you tell him truthfully, the name flowing off your tongue with ease.

“Well that’s what happens when you take a nasty tumble down a gorge,” the hyena scolds the lie flowing easily as he lifts up the blanket at your feet and shows you your bandaged ankle.  “Plus a pretty nasty twisted ankle.”

“But you’re back home now, you’re safe here,” the lion speaks, sitting down next to your head.  “Don’t worry, we will take good care of you from now on.”

Leona leans down and swipes the stray hairs out of your face before kissing your forehead, “We’ll protect you and keep you safe from all the dangers of the world.”

“Welcome to the pride, Simba.”

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Abandon All Hope...

Masterlist pt 1

Masterlist pt 2

Underneath the lowest of the highway overpass, an old man gets out of an expensive car, digs a hole in the dirt and gravel, buries a box, and stands up. "Mr. Pendleton, I presume." A British voice said and Pendleton turns around to see a man who wasn't there before.

"Name's Crowley." The man introduced. "In my negotiations I was, uh, dealing with a very young, attractive, uh, lady." Pendleton said. "Yes. I know. But you, piggy bank, you are a big fish, and I wanted to do you the honor of sealing this deal personally." Crowley said. "She said the deal would be sealed with a kiss." Pendleton said, nervously. "That's right." Crowley said and Pendleton stares at him.

Crowley grins. "No, I mean, she said—I don't—" Pendleton stammers. "Your choice. You can cling to six decades of deep-seated homophobia, or give it up and get a complete bailout for your bank's ridiculous incompetence." Crowley said as he gets up in Pendleton's personal space.

"There are just things that I—" Pendleton said.

"Going once." Crowley said.

"I don't think so—"

"Going twice."

"All right! All right." Pendleton shouts and Crowley pulls him in. "No—" Pendleton pleads but Crowley kisses him anyway. Meanwhile Castiel is observing from a distance, on the phone. "Got him." Castiel said then a moment later, Crowley releases Pendleton. 

"The demon Crowley is making a deal; even as we speak, it's—going—down." Castiel said to Dean. "Going down? Right. Okay, Huggy Bear, just don't lose him." Dean tells him and Sam and (y/n), who were leaning against the Impala, turn to look at him. "I won't lose him." Castiel assures.

"Damn you." Pendleton growls at Crowley once he's released. Then he turns to walk back to his car. "Enjoy the obscene wealth. See you in ten years." Crowley said then he fiddles with a cell phone while he walks, then vanishes. Castiel follows him, vanishing as well.

"I followed him. It's not far, but—it's layered in Enochian warding magic." Castiel said but then he sees that the wall is covered in blue-white geometric designs. "I can't get in." He tells Dean. "That's okay, you did great. We'll take it from here." Dean assures him and he hangs up, then they load up and drive off.

That night, a young woman in evening dress approaches the gate and presses a button on the intercom. "Hello?" The voice said. "Hello. My car broke down. I—I need some help." The woman said. "I'll be down in a minute." The male voice said and the woman turns around to wait, it's Jo.

The gates swing open and two men approach her. "Evening, pretty lady. Get yourself on in here." One of the men said. "I just need to make a call." Jo tells them. "You don't need to call anyone, baby." The man said then he glances back at his partner. "We're the only help you're ever gonna need." He said. 

"You know what? I think I should wait by my car." Jo said and she turns to go. The first man grabs her shoulder; his eyes go black. "We said, get your ass in here." He demanded and Jo shakes him loose and flattens him. The second man is stabbed through the neck with Ruby's knife, held by Sam. He stabs the first man too.

"Nice work, Jo." Dean tells her. "Thanks." She said and (y/n) hands her a bag. Then Jo pulls out wire cutters. "Okay. Shall we?" She asked and they nod.

Crowley is watching his film when the electricity cuts out. He leaves the room. "It's Crowley, right?" (y/n) said and he turns to see Sam, Dean and (y/n) standing in a room. "So. The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew finally found me. Took you long enough." Crowley said as Sam holds Ruby's knife and Dean and (y/n) hold a shotgun each.

Crowley approaches, stopping when he sees his rug is rumpled. He looks underneath and sees a devil's trap has been drawn on the bottom of the rug. "Do you have any idea how much this rug cost?" Crowley asked them, angrily, then three men grab Sam, Dean and (y/n) from behind, disarming them and pinning their arms.

Crowley holds up the Colt. "This is it, right? This is what it's all about." Crowley said then he aims the gun at Dean, then adjusts his aim and shoots the three men. "We need to talk. Privately." Crowley said then he leads the trio into another room.

"What the hell is this?" Dean asked him. "Do you know how deep I could have buried this thing?" Crowley asked as he waves a hand; the door slams shut. "There's no reason you or anyone should know this even exists, except that I told you." Crowley said. "You told us." Sam said, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Rumors, innuendo, sent out on the grapevine." Crowley said.

"Why? Why tell us anything?" (Y/n) asked and Crowley aims at Dean again. "I want you to take this thing to Lucifer and empty it into his face." Crowley said. "Uh-huh, okay, and why exactly would you want the devil dead?" Dean asked him, confused. "It's called—" Crowley said as he puts the gun down. "Survival. Well, I forgot you three at best are functioning morons—" 

"You're functioning...morons..." Dean said, weakly. "Nice comeback, Dean." (Y/n) mutters but loud enough for Dean to hear. "Lucifer isn't a demon, remember? He's an angel. An angel famous for his hatred of humankind. To him, you're just filthy bags of pus. If that's the way he feels about you, what can he think about us?" Crowley asked. "But he created you." Sam said.

"To him, we're just servants. Cannon fodder. If Lucifer manages to exterminate humankind, we're next. So, help me, huh? Let's all go back to simpler, better times, back to when we could all follow our natures. I'm in sales, dammit! So what do you say if I give you this thing, and you go kill the devil?" Crowley said as he holds out the Colt, handle first. The boys and (y/n) glance at each other as Crowley wiggles the gun.

Sam hesitantly reaches out to take it. "Great." Sam said. "Great." Crowley said. "You wouldn't happen to know where the devil is, by chance, would you?" (Y/n) asked him. "Thursday, birdies tell me, there's an appointment in Carthage, Missouri." Crowley replied and Sam and (y/n) glance at each other then at Dean, who nods.

"Great." Sam said then he puts the barrel between Crowley's eyes and pulls the trigger. It clicks. Sam stares, surprised; Crowley stares back, impassive. "Oh, yeah, right, you'll probably need some more ammunition." Crowley said and he goes into his desk.

"Oh, uh, excuse me for asking, but aren't you kind of signing your own death warrant? I mean, what happens to you if we go up against the devil and lose?" Dean asked him. "Number one, he's going to wipe us all out anyway. Two, after you leave here, I go on an extended vacation to all points nowhere. And three, how about you don't miss, okay! Morons!" Crowley shouts and he throws a box at Dean, who catches it. It's the bullets for the Colt. 

Dean looks up only to see Crowley was gone. "Nice guy." (Y/n) said, sarcastically, as Sam sighs.

On a table, there was five full shot glasses in a row next to a row of three upside-down shot glasses, a gap, and a full shot glass. Another glass is placed upside-down in the gap. JO drinks from a beer bottle while Ellen drains the fifth and puts it back upside-down.

"All right, big boy." She said to Castiel. "Well." Castiel said as he sits in front of the shot glasses. Then he begins to drain all five of his in a row. Ellen stares. "I think I'm starting to feel something." Castiel said. Jo gawks and grins while Ellen pours five more shot glasses then looks over at Ariel, who was sitting next to Castiel.

"Okay, girlie. Your turn." Ellen said as Ariel looks at the shotglasses with worry. "Uh...what is this again?" Ariel asked Ellen. "Whiskey." Ellen replied and Ariel stares at the glasses for a moment then takes the first shot glass and downs the drink. Her face scrunches up at the taste of the drink, making Jo and Ellen laugh, before she takes the next four shots.

Sam, (y/n) and Dean are sitting at opposite sides of Bobby's desk, all of them with beer bottles. "It's gotta be a trap, right?" Sam asked. "Sam Winchester, having trust issues with a demon. Well, better late than never." Dean said and (y/n) giggles. "Thank you again for your continued support." Sam said, sarcastically. "You're welcome." Dean said and the trio clink their bottles and drink.

"You know, trap or no trap, we got a snowball's chance, we gotta take it, right?" (Y/n) said to the boys. "Yeah, I suppose." Sam said. "Besides, I'm not sure it is a trap. Check it out. I mean, Carthage is lit up like a Christmas tree with Revelation omens. And look at this." (Y/n) said as she pushes some papers at the boys. "There's been six missing persons reported, in town, since Sunday. I think the devil's there." She said. "Okay." Sam said and Dean looks up at him.

"Look, when you think about it...you can't come with." Dean said and Sam rolls his eyes. "Dean." He groans. "Look, (y/n) and I go against Satan and screw the pooch, okay. We've lost two game pieces. That we can take. But if you're there, then we are handing the devil's vessel right over to him. That's not smart." Dean said.

"Since when have we ever done anything smart?" Sam asked. "I'm serious, Sam." Dean argues. "So am I." Sam said, firmly. "He's right, Dean. Haven't we learned a damn thing? If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it together." (Y/n) said and the trio share a look for a long moment before Dean looks away first. "Okay. But it's a stupid frigging idea." Dean grumbles.

Then he looks past Sam, his attention caught by Castiel, Ariel, Ellen, and Jo. Sam and (y/n) look too. "Boy, talk about stupid ideas." Sam said. "Good God. True, that." (Y/n) said and she looks down at her hands then back up towards Jo, who got up to the refrigerator. "Excuse me, boys." (Y/n) said as she gets up and goes over to Jo.

"Hey, Jo." (Y/n) said as she meets up with Jo. "Hey, (y/n)." Jo greets as she turns to her. "Hey...I-I wanted to say...I know the last time we really met was...when I was possessed..." (y/n) said and Jo waves her hand, vaguely. "Hey, like you said, you were possessed. You couldn't help it." Jo said. “I know. But sometimes I can still see myself. See my hands around you as Meg assaulted you. That’s a memory that’s impossible to forget. (y/n) said.

Jo looks at (y/n), turns away to grab a beer and offers it to her. “Let’s make some new memories then.” She said, smirking. (Y/n) looks at the beer and smiles, accepting it.

“I know it might sound strange, but that night was the best thing that could have happen to me.” Jo said, as she takes another beer for herself. “How?” (Y/n) asked, very puzzled on how that horrible night could be a good thing. “It helped me take this life more seriously. I’m not that amateur with a bunch of half-baked romantic notions anymore.” Jo said and (y/n) nodded. “Yeah, I noticed.” She said. 

“I could have sat around, feeling sorry for myself and let other feel pity for me. But that’s not what my Dad would do. He wouldn’t let that horrible experience label him for the rest of his life. He would do his best to stop it from happening to anyone else. I guess in a way, it also made me feel closer to him.” Jo explained.

(Y/n) nodded as she starts thinking of her own father. “I’ll drink that.” She said, holding her beer out to Jo. Jo smiles and they tap their beers together for a toast and swig them. The two girls talk and laugh amongst each other then Jo goes to join Ellen, Castiel and Ariel and (y/n) smiles, feeling like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders.

She leans against the counter and, mindlessly, drinks her beer when she felt a presence next to her. She turns her head to see Dean next to her. "Hey." he greets. "Hey." She greets back. "What were you and Jo talking about?" Dean asked her. "Oh, I just...needed to talk to her about some stuff. Something to get off of my chest." (Y/n) replied. "Oh...okay." Dean mutters and he grabs another beer bottle, opens it and drinks it.

"So. Dangerous mission tomorrow. Guess it's time to eat, drink, and, you know, make merry." Dean said and (y/n) raises her eyes, suspiciously, to him. "Are you giving me the last-night-on-earth speech?" She asked him.

"What?" Dean asked.

"What?" (y/n) asked back.

"No." Dean said then the two share a laugh and (y/n) looks away from him, taking another swig of beer. "If I was, would, uh, would that work?" Dean asked her and (y/n) scoffs out a small laugh then she looks back at Dean, a suggestive glint in her eyes. Dean raises an eyebrow at her as she sets her beer bottle down on the counter, on her left, and takes a few small steps towards him.

She then wraps her arms around his neck and he sets his bottle on the counter and places his hands on her waist, a smile on his face. She leans up and kisses him, but this kiss was a bit different. It was slow and sensual. It was also loving.

Dean wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her closer to him as they deepen the kiss. Then (y/n), slowly and reluctantly, pulls away from the kiss and cups his face in her hands. "There's more where that came from, big guy. But...you're just gonna have to wait til later tonight." She whispered, seductively, to him.

Dean felt a pleasurable chill go down his spine as she said these words. "You really know how to mess with me, you know that?" Dean growls, lowly, to her and she giggles. "Well, I gotta keep you on your toes, Winchester." She said and she winks at him. Dean stares into her (e/c) eyes and gives her a loving smile before he leans down and gives her another kiss.

"Everybody get in here! It's time for the lineup. Usual suspects in the corner." Bobby calls out and Dean and (y/n) break the kiss then their embrace and they walk over to the walkway door to the study room, where everyone was standing.

"Oh come on, Bobby. Nobody wants their picture taken." Ellen groans. "Hear, hear." Sam said. "Shut up. You're drinking my beer." Bobby said as he finishes fiddling with a camera on a tripod.

Then he rolls his wheelchair back. "Anyway, I'm gonna need something to remember your sorry asses by." Bobby said as everyone is in the room and getting into position. Castiel stands, then Ariel next to him and then Sam, Dean and (y/n). Ellen and Jo stand in front of Sam and Bobby rolls up next to Jo. 

"Ha! Always good to have an optimist around." Ellen jokes as Sam places his right arm around Ariel's shoulder and his left arm around Dean. Dean places his right hand on Sam's shoulder and wraps his left arm around (y/n)'s waist and (y/n) places her left hand on Bobby's shoulder and her right arm around Dean's waist. All of them begin to smile.

"Bobby's right. Tomorrow we hunt the devil. This is our last night on Earth." Castiel said and all the smiles disappear. "Way to bring down the mood, Cas." (Y/n) snarks just before the camera flashes, taking their picture.

The next day, the Impala drives in the town, followed by another car. Behind them were billboards that said Anti-God is Anti-American on an American flag back ground. Many missing posters are tacked on some poles. Sam and (y/n) both have hands out the windows, phones in hand.

"You getting a signal?" Sam asked (y/n) as Dean drives. "No, nothing. Nice and spooky." (y/n) said and Dean waves the other car up next to him, Ellen is driving, Jo shotgun. "Place seem a little empty to you?" Ellen asked Dean. "We're gonna go check out the PD. You guys stay here, see if you can find anybody." Dean tells them. "Okay." Ellen said and Dean drives off.

Ellen parks and Jo gets out then turns to look at Castiel and Ariel in the back seat. "Ever heard of a door handle?" Jo asked them. "Of course we have." Ariel said then her and Castiel stand outside the car. They look around; the street is deserted except for the four of them.

"What is it, guys?" Ellen asked Cas and Ariel. "This town's not empty." Castiel said as he and Ariel could see that the town is filled with dozens of old white men in suits, all standing still, attention fixed on something in the distance. "Reapers." Castiel said.

"Reapers? As in more than one?" Ellen asked them. "They only gather like this at times of great catastrophe. Chicago Fire, San Francisco Quake, Pompeii." Ariel said and Castiel looks around. "Excuse us, we need to find out why they're here." Castiel said and he and Ariel walk off, pausing to look at the nearest reaper, who ignores them.

Jo and Ellen look at each other as Castiel's and Ariel’s attention is caught by a Reaper inside a building who turns away from the window, the first of the dozens to show any signs of life. The building's marquee reads "JESUS SAVES".

Castiel and Ariel appear inside the building at that window. They come down the corridor and enter a room. "Hello, brother and sister." A voice said and then there was a white light.

Ellen and Jo are back in their car and they come to a stop next to Dean, Sam and (y/n). "Station's empty." Dean said. "So's everything else." Jo said. "Have you seen Cas and Ariel?" Ellen asked the trio. "What? They were with you." Sam said, confused. "Nope. They went after the reapers." Ellen said.

"Reapers?" Dean said, shocked.

"They saw reapers? Where?" (Y/n) asked the girls. "Well, kind of everywhere." Jo said and Dean, Sam and (y/n) look at each other with worry and concern.

The room is dark, lit mostly by firelight. Castiel and Ariel are standing in the center of a ring of fire. Then they notice the other person in the room. "Lucifer." Castiel and Ariel said as he walks up to them. "So I take it you two are here with the Winchesters and (l/n)." Lucifer said. "We came alone." Ariel said and Lucifer smiles at her.

"Loyalty. Such a nice quality to see in this day and age." Lucifer said and he stares at Ariel. "My dear sister. It is so good to see you." Lucifer said. "Likewise." Ariel growls as she glares at her older brother. "I'm told you and...Castiel, right?" Lucifer said as he looks at Cas, who glares at him. 

"Anyway, I'm told that you and Castiel came here in an automobile." Lucifer said. "Yes." Cas and Ariel said. "What was that like?" Lucifer asked them. "Um. Slow. Confining." Castiel explains. "What a peculiar thing you are." Lucifer said as he stares at Castiel but Ariel stares at her brother and noticed that he doesn't look healthy. It looked like he had burns on his face.

"What's wrong with your vessel?" Ariel asked him. "Yes. Um. Nick is wearing a bit thin, I'm afraid. He can't contain me forever, so—" Lucifer said. "You—" Castiel said and he steps forward but Ariel stops him so he doesn't step into the fire. "You are not taking Sam Winchester. We won't let you." Castiel said, firmly. "Castiel. Ariel. I don't understand why you two are fighting me, of all the angels." Lucifer said.

"You really have to ask?" Castiel asked him. "I rebelled, I was cast out. You, Castiel, rebelled, you were cast out. Almost all of heaven wants to see me dead, and if they succeed, guess what? You're their new public enemy number one. We're on the same side, like it or not, so why not just serve your own best interests? Which in this case just happen to be mine?" Lucifer asked. "I'll die first." Castiel said. "I suppose you will." Lucifer said then he looks at his sister.

“Ariel. I have to say I’m a little curious about your story. From what I remember you were always such a good little sister. Staying quite and in your place like Dad and Michael wanted.” Lucifer said, almost mockingly. “I grew up. Got tired of all the family drama and went sightseeing instead.” Ariel replied. “But then you came back from what I’ve heard. You rebelled against heaven and against dear Michael. And all for three of the most broke humans on the planet.” Lucifer said.

“Broken is not the word I would use to describe them. They are rough around the edges and have made mistake. But they learn from them and grow. Micheal and the rest of heaven are so close minded, that they won’t stop to question their actions. Believing whatever sacrifices they make will be justified in the end. Sam, Dean, (y/n), I’ve gotten to know them, hear their stories, see what drives them. They’ve each taught me valuable lessons.” Ariel explained.

Lucifer scoffs at this. “What could these humans possibly teach you?” He asked. “Many wonderful things actually. (Y/n), she stood by the brothers side through all the good and bad. Her loyalty is remarkable and her faith in both of them is inspiring. Most humans or even angels for that matter, wouldn’t have the brothers’ back after the gates of hell or breaking the final seal. I’m honored to be considered her friend.” Ariel explained.

Lucifer continued listening, with a bored expression. “Her lover, Dean, is one of the most resilient fighters I’ve seen. He has truly been through terrible things that would make any other human bitter and hateful. And yet, he’s fighting for this whole world. For billions of people he doesn’t even know. It’s extraordinary.” Ariel continues and Lucifer fake yawns, not really seeming to care.

“Finally your vessel, Sam, the boy with the demon blood. He’s taught me the most important lesson of all. Him being your vessel, the demon blood, everything that doesn’t make him normal. It’s all considered evil and yet he chooses to do good instead. Even after freeing you from the cage and dooming the world, he fights. He’s doing everything in his power to stop you and make up for the terrible mistake he has done. The angels say he is evil but his choices show he is truly good. They all are.” Ariel finishes.

“Are you done?” Lucifer asked, unfazed by everything she has just said. “You won’t win, Lucifer. Not when the Winchesters and (l/n) are still on the board. Love is what drives them and that will be you’re downfall.” Ariel said, passionately.

Lucifer stares at her for a few moments before smirking, almost reminisce to her talk with Gabriel. “Have to say sis, it’s good that you found your voice. When the time comes, I’ll look forward to putting your theory to the test. Even if it’s delusional.” He said.

Ellen, Dean, (y/n), Sam, and Jo are walking, shotguns in hands and looking around for trouble. "Well, this is great, been in town twenty minutes and already lost the two angels up our sleeve." Dean said. "You think, uh, you think Lucifer got them?" (y/n) asked him, worried. "I don't know what else to think." Dean said, honestly.

"There you are." a female voice said and they all turn to see a familiar woman. "Meg." Sam said. "Shouldn't have come here, boys." Meg said. "Hell, I could say the same thing for you." Dean said and he aims the Colt at Meg. "Didn't come here alone, Deano." Meg said and something splashes in a puddle near Meg's feet; the sounds of dogs growling and barking.

Sam, Ellen, (y/n), and Jo glance around for the source of the noise; so does Dean, but he pretends he's not afraid. "Hellhounds." Dean grumbles. "Yeah, Dean. Your favorite. Come on, boys. My father wants to see you." Meg said to the gang. "I think we'll pass, thanks." (Y/n) said, glaring at the woman. "Your call. You can make this easy or you can make it really, really hard." Meg said.

Dean looks back and Ellen nods. "When have you known us to ever make anything easy?" Dean asked Meg. She shakes her head but Dean shifts his aim and fires; blood spurts from the hellhound next to Meg's feet. "Run!" Sam shouts and they take off.

But then a hellhound tackles Dean and (y/n) and Jo look back. "Dean!" (Y/n) screams, fearfully. "Girls, stay back!" Dean shouts at her and Jo but the two girls raise their shotguns and fire in Dean’s direction. Ellen and Sam stop running as Jo and (y/n) keep firing, knocking the hellhound further and further back.

That is until another hellhound knocks Jo down. "No!" Ellen shouts, as her and Sam run back to them, and (y/n) turns and goes to fire at the hellhound on Jo but not before it shreds Jo's side, making her scream in pain. Sam and Ellen help (y/n) firing at the hellhound while Dean scoops Jo up and runs past Sam, Ellen and (y/n).

Dean heads for one of the nearest stores, Ellen goes ahead to open the door, and Sam and (y/n) stay back to keep shooting. Inside the store, Dena leans Jo against the counter and she begins to whimper. "Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, breathe now—" Ellen said to Jo as Sam and (y/n) get inside and Sam chains the doors shut. "Okay." Sam said. "Guys, need some help here!" Ellen cries as the boys and (y/n) grab bags of rock salt.

"Go go go—" (y/n) said and they slit the bags open and frantically line the doorway and windows. Ellen peels Jo's hand away from the injury and it spurts out blood. Sam, (y/n) and Dean stare and Ellen looks over her shoulder at them, horrified.

"Gonna be all right." Ellen assures Jo as (y/n) finished bandaging Jo up. Sam then hands a bowl to Ellen. "Thank you." Ellen said and (y/n) stands up then her and Sam go over to Dean, who is fiddling with something electronic. "How's she holding up?" Dean asked the two and (y/n) gives him a look of worry while Sam clears his throat.

"Salt lines are holding up?" He asked Dean. "Safe for now." Dean said. "Safer. Trapped like rats." Sam grumbles. "Hey, you heard Meg. Her father's here. This is our one shot, Sammy. We gotta take it, no matter what." Dean said and there was a long pause.

"Here we go." Dean said. "Sam, some help here, please?" Ellen asked and Sam goes to help as Dean's gadget squeals. (Y/n) looks over at Ellen, Sam and Jo and couldn't help but feel her heart breaking as she sees the state that Jo is in.

"The number you dialed is unavailable. Please try your call again." The automated voice said through Bobby's phone. "Damn it, boys." Bobby growls as he sits in the kitchen area of his home. But then he hears static coming from the study room. He wheels over and moves a book off a CB radio.

"K C 5 Fox Delta Oscar, come in." Dean's voice said through the radio and Bobby picks up the mouthpiece. "K C 5 Fox Delta Oscar, go ahead." Bobby said. "Bobby, it's Dean. We got problems." Dean said and Bobby sighs and looks heavenward. "It's okay, boy. That's why I'm here." He assures.

"Is everyone all right?" Bobby asked. "No. It's—it's—it's Jo. Bobby, it's pretty bad." Dean said, upset. "Okay. Copy that. So now we figure out what we do next." Bobby said. "Bobby, I don't think she's—" Dean stops and lets out a heavy sigh while (y/n) had her arms wrapped around herself, looking down at her feet.

"I said, what do we do next, Dean?" Bobby asked, trying to get his mind straight. Dean leans his head on his hand for a moment. "Right. Okay, right." Dean said. "Now, tell me what you got." Bobby said and Dean explains all of what happened.

"Before they went missing, did Cas and Ariel say how many reapers?" Bobby asked after a few minutes. "I don't—he said a lot of things, I guess. Does the number matter?" Dean asked, annoyed. "Devil's in the details, Dean." Bobby replied and then Ellen taps Dean on the shoulder with one bloody hand. Dean then holds up the microphone to her. "Bobby, it's Ellen. The way they were looking, the number of places Castiel's and Ariel’s eyes went, I'd say we're talking over a dozen reapers, probably more." Ellen informed.

"I don't like the sound of that." Bobby mutters. "Nobody likes the sound of that, Bobby, but what—wh—what does that sound like?" Dean asked him. "It sounds like death, son. I think Satan's in town to work a ritual." Bobby said as he turns pages in his book to one marked with a Post-it that reads Seventh Seal. "I think he's planning to unleash Death." Bobby said.

"You mean, like, as in this dude and taxes are the only sure thing?" Dean asked, jokingly. "As in Death. The horseman. The pale rider in the flesh." Bobby said. "Unleash? I mean, hasn't Death been tromping all over the place? Hell, I've died several times myself." Dean said. "Not this guy. This is—this is the angel of death. Big daddy reaper. They keep this guy chained in a box six hundred feet under. Last time they hauled him up, Noah was building a boat. That's why the place is crawling with reapers. They're waiting on the big boss to show." Bobby said and Dean rolls his head, in annoyance, as if they didn't have enough on their plates.

"You have any other good news?" Dean asks him. "In a manner of speaking." Bobby said as he closes the book, a large leather-bound Holy Bible, and turns to another one that's already open to a page headed The Battle of Carthage. "I been researching Carthage since you've been gone, trying to suss out what the devil might want there. What you just said drops the last piece of the puzzle in place. The angel of death must be brought into this world at midnight through a place of awful carnage. Now, back during the Civil War, there was a battle in Carthage. A battle so intense the soldiers called it the Battle of Hellhole." Bobby said.

"Where'd the massacre go down?" Dean asks. "On the land of William Jasper's farm." Bobby said.

Meanwhile, Castiel and Ariel are still in the ring of fire and Lucifer is still watching them until Meg enters. "I got the Winchesters and (l/n) pinned down. For now, at least. What should I do with them?" Meg asked Lucifer. "Leave them alone." He tells her and Meg looks at him, surprised.

"I—I'm sorry, but are you sure? Shouldn't we—" Meg stammers but Lucifer walks up to Meg. "Trust me, child. Everything happens for a reason." He tells her as he strokes Mef's face. Castiel and Ariel look around until Castiel sees a pipe bolted to the wall, he nudges Ariel and does a small nod to the pipe and Ariel looks up at it then nods at him.

Then Lucifer turns to the angels. "Well, Castiel, Ariel you two have some time. Time to change your mind?" Lucifer asked them.

"That's my girl, you're okay, honey—" Ellen whispers to Jo as she kneels down to her. Sam, Dean and (y/n) were several feet away. "Now we know where the devil's gonna be, we know when, and we have the Colt." Dean said. "Yeah. We just have to get past eight or so hellhounds and get to the farm by midnight." Sam said. "Yeah, and that's after we get Jo and Ellen the hell out of town." said Dean. "Won't be easy." (Y/n) said as she looks between the boys.

"Stretcher?" Dean asked them. "I'll see what we got." Sam said and he turns to go look but then Jo speaks up. "Stop. Guys, stop." She said and Ellen looks between Sam, Dean, (y/n) and Jo. "Can we, uh, be realistic about this, please?" Jo said as the trio walk over to her. "Uh! I can't move my legs. I can't be moved. My guts are being held in by an ace bandage. We gotta—we gotta get our priorities straight here." Jo said and the boys and (y/n) share a look then back at Jo.

"Number one, I'm not going anywhere." Jo said and Ellen shakes her head. "Joanna Beth, you stop talking like that." She demanded. "Mom. I can't fight. I can't walk. But I can do something. We got propane, wiring, rock salt, iron nails, everything we need." Jo tells her.

"Everything we need?" Sam asked. "To build a bomb, Sam." Jo said and (y/n)'s eyes widen at this. "No. Jo, no." (Y/n) said, shaking her head. "You got another plan? You got any other plan? Those are hellhounds out there, (y/n). They've got all of our scents. Those bitches will never stop coming after you. We let the dogs in, you guys hit the roof, make a break for the building next over. I can wait here with my finger on the button, rip those mutts a new one. Or at least get you a few minutes' head start, anyway." Jo said.

"No, I—I won't let you." Ellen said, shaking with tears. "This is why we're here, right?" Jo asked and Ellen shakes her head, crying. "If I can get us a shot on the devil—Guys, we have to take it." Jo said. "No!" Ellen shouts and she looks up at Dean and (y/n).

"That's not—" she cries. "Mom. This might literally be your last chance to treat me like an adult. Might wanna take it?" Jo said, smiling, and Ellen starts sobbing. "You heard her. Get to work." Ellen said to the trio and they grab their materials and assemble the bombs, filling them with nails and rock salt for shrapnel.

Night had fallen when Sam take Jo's hand for a minute while Dean strings the wire to the button Jo will hold. "Okay, this is it. I'll see you on the other side. Probably sooner than later." Dean said. "Make it later." Jo said, smiling, and Dean puts the button in Jo's hand as Jo cries. He then gives a quick kiss on the top of her head and he stands up while (y/n) kneels down to her.

"Guess, we gotta put a hold on making new memories." Jo jokes as (y/n) gives her a look of sympathy. "Jo...I'm..." (y/n) said and Jo shakes her head. "Don't...don't apologize..." Jo said to her and (Y/n) frowns. “You know what you can do?” Jo asked. “What?“ (Y/n) asked. “You can get out of here and kick this apocalypse in the ass for me. And after that you go on to live a full life, alright?” Jo said.

(Y/n) scoffs. “You know in this line of work, there’s a high likely chance that won’t happen.” She said. “Be the exception then.” Jo said and (Y/n) smiles, tearfully. “I’ll try my best.” She said. Jo smiles and, weakly, held up her free hand, which (Y/n) takes. “You and Dean take care of each other, okay?” Jo said, faintly. (Y/n) nodded, tears falling down her face. “We will. I promise.” She said and Jo smiles, weakly, and (y/n) stands up.

Then Ellen comes back to sit by Jo. They watch each other for a moment and Ellen smiles. "Mom, no." Jo said to her. "Somebody's gotta let them in. Like you said, you're not moving. You got me, Jo. And you're right, this is important." Ellen said and Jo nods.

"But I will not leave you here alone." Ellen said then she looks up at the trio. "Get going now, you three." She said. "Ellen—" (y/n) said, tearfully, to her but Ellen shakes her head. "I said go." Ellen said and the trio exchange looks before they start to walk away.

"And like Jo said." Ellen said and they turn back to them. "Kick it in the ass. Don't miss." Ellen said and Dean and (y/n) nod before them and Sam head for their exit. Ellen unchains the doors, sweeps away the salt line, opens the propane tanks, and sits back down with Jo, hugging her.

"I will always love you, baby." She whispers to her then she looks back at Jo, who had stopped moving. "Honey?" She asked but no response. "Jo—" Ellen whispers, devastated, then she begins to sob. "It's okay, it's okay." She cries and she kisses Jo on the head. "That's my good girl." She whispers then the doors burst open. Ellen looks as two hellhounds slam into the open doors.

Sam runs across the fire escape, Dean and (y/n) right behind, then Sam goes down the ladder and Dean follows then he stops and wait for (y/n), who jumps down next to him from the ladder. They hurry down the alley.

A hellhound blows Ellen's hair as she hold Jo's finger against the button and forces a grin. "You can go straight back to hell, you ugly bitch!" she yells, savagely.

The hardware store explodes which makes Sam, Dean and (y/n) stop to watch it blow. (Y/n) places a hand over her mouth as tears build up in her eyes as the fire engulfs the building. Dean places a hand on her shoulder and she turns her head to look at him, lowering her hand from her mouth. He strokes her cheek as she closes her eyes, tears falling down, then he takes her hand and they begin to run, Sam right next to them.

The trio sneak through bushes and sees dozens of men stand in the field, attention on something out of sight. "Guess we know what happened to some of the townspeople." Dean said. "Okay." Sam said. "Okay." Dean and (y/n) said, in unison.

"Last words?" Sam asked the two. "I think I'm good." Dean said. "Yeah. Me too." Sam said. "Well, I'll say this real quick." (Y/n) said and the boys look at her. "No matter how this turns out...I love you guys." She said and the boys look at her. "Love you too." Dean and Sam said and she smiles.

"I guess I do have one thing to say. And that is...Thanks for always being here, (y/n)." Sam said and (y/n) nods. "Don't mention it." She said and she looks over at Dean, who looks down and takes a deep breath. "Well...if there was anyone I was gonna a go down with, I'm glad it's you two." Dean said and Sam and (y/n) smile and they share a look before Dean clears his throat. "Here goes nothing." He said and they begin to walk.

Lucifer was filling a hole up when Sam comes up behind him. "Hey!" he shouts, readying a shotgun. Lucifer turns and drops the shovel. "You wanted to see me?" Sam yells. "Oh, Sam, you don't need that gun here. You know I'd never hurt you. Not really." Lucifer said. "Yeah? Well, I'd hurt you." Dean said as he and (y/n) come up.

Dean then points the Colt at Lucifer, point-blank to the forehead. "So suck it." Dean growls and he fires the gun and Lucifer collapses. None of the men do anything as Dean, Sam and (y/n) watch the corpse for a minute.

But then Lucifer inhales and shifts position. "Owww..." he groans as he stands up and Sam looks on, horrified. "Where did you get that?" Lucifer asked before he punches Dean, who flies into a tree. "DEAN!" (Y/n) screams as her and Sam watch Dean land on the ground. 

"Now, where were we?" Lucifer asked as he turns to Sam while (y/n) runs over to Dean, checking his pulse. "Don't feel too bad, Sam. There's only five things in all of creation that that gun can't kill, and I just happen to be one of them. But if you give me a minute, I'm almost done." Lucifer said, leaning against his shovel, as Sam runs over to (y/n).

"You know, I don't suppose you'd just say yes here and now?" Lucifer asked and Sam turns to glare at him. "End this whole tiresome discussion? That's crazy, right?" Lucifer asked. "It's never gonna happen!" Sam spat as Lucifer goes back to filling his hole. "Oh, I don't know, Sam. I think it will. I think it'll happen soon. Within six months. And I think it'll happen in Detroit." Lucifer said.

"You listen to me, you son of a bitch. I'm gonna kill you myself, you understand me? I'm going to rip your heart out!" Sam yells at him, angrily. "That's good, Sam. You keep fanning that fire in your belly. All that pent-up rage. I'm gonna need it." Lucifer informs and Sam calms down, looks down at (y/n), who looked worried and horrified, before he turns to look around at the men, who are still doing nothing. 

"What did you do? What did you do to this town?" Sam asked him. "Oh, I was very generous with this town. One demon for every able-bodied man." Lucifer replied. "And the rest of them?" Sam asked and Lucifer pauses. "In there. I know, it's awful, but these horsemen are so demanding. So it was women and children first. I know what you must think of me, Sam. But I have to do this. I have to. You of all people should understand." He said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked and Lucifer drops the shovel. "I was a son. A brother, like you, a younger brother, and I had an older brother who I loved. Idolized, in fact. And one day I went to him and I begged him to stand with me, and Michael—Michael turned on me. Called me a freak. A monster. And then he beat me down. All because I was different. Because I had a mind of my own. Tell me something, Sam. Any of this sound familiar?" Lucifer asked. Sam glares at him while (y/n) was looking back and forth between them, as she cradled Dean in her arms.

"Anyway. You'll have to excuse me. Midnight is calling and I have a ritual to finish. Don't go anywhere. Not that you could if you would." Lucifer said and Sam goes over to (y/n) and Dean. "Is he..?" Sam started to ask when Dean starts to stir. "Oh thank God." (Y/n) said as she buries her face in his short hair while Lucifer turns to his hole and chants, then turns to his demons.

"Now repeat after me. We offer up our lives, blood, souls—" he said. "We offer up our lives, blood, souls—" the demons recite. "To complete this tribute." Lucifer said. "To complete this tribute." The demons said and one by one the demons flash gold and fall over, dead. Sam, (y/n) and Dean stare and Lucifer looks at them. "What? They're just demons." He said, shrugging.

Back at the abandoned building, a bolt on the pipe in the wall is spinning. Castiel and Ariel are still in the fire ring while Meg watches them. "You seem pleased." Castiel said. "We're gonna win. Can you feel it? You cloud-hopping pansies lost the whole damn universe. Lucifer's gonna take over heaven. We're going to heaven, Clarence." Meg said. "Strange, because we heard a different theory from a demon named Crowley." Castiel said and Meg frowns

"You don't know Crowley." Meg growls. "He believes Lucifer is just using demons to achieve an end, and that, once he does, he'll destroy you all." Ariel said. "You're wrong. Lucifer is the father of our race. Our creator. Your god may be a deadbeat. Mine—mine walks the earth." Meg said.

At that moment, Castiel gets the bolt loose and pulls the pipe free of the wall. It slams Meg through the fire int Castiel's arms. He presses his palm to Meg's forehead but nothing happens and Meg laughs. "You can't gank demons, can you? You're cut off from the home office and you ain't got the juice. So what can you do, you impotent sap?" Meg sneers and before Ariel could do anything, Castiel says. "I can do this."

He leans closer as if to kiss Meg, then throws her down across the fire. She screams, in pain, and Cas and Ariel walk out across her back.

Lucifer stares at the mass grave while Sam stares at Lucifer. Dean and (y/n) glances between them just as the ground rumbles. Castiel and Ariel appear next to Sam, Dean and (y/n) and both of them hold a finger to their lips. Lucifer turns and to see all of them are gone. Then he walks forward. "Oh, hello, Death." He greets.

Back at Bobby's house, the glasses from Ellen, Ariel’s and Castiel's drinking competition were still on the table. The TV was on, showing a tornado; the captions read STATE OF EMERGENCY, Paulding County and KOUA 16. "Just received an update that the governor has declared a state of emergency for Paulding County, including the towns of Marion, Fetterville, and Carthage. The storm system has reportedly touched off a number of tornadoes in the area." The news reporter said while Sam, Dean, (y/n) and Bobby are gathered around the fireplace.

Bobby holds a copy of the photograph taken the night before as the news reporter continues. "Death tolls have yet to be estimated, but state officials expect the loss of life and property to be staggering."

Bobby leans forward and drops the picture into the flames and they all watch it burn.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @ellie-andthemachine

[thestalwartheart]

The Weekend WIP

Here's a fic that may or may not be happening. It's Arthur/Eames (hello Inception fandom!), and the summary goes like this:

Yesterday, if anyone were to have asked Eames about nightmares, he'd have told them he stopped dreaming a long time ago. Today, he might say something different. Or: Eames watches, and waits, as Arthur puts everything on the line for Dom Cobb.

Long snippet under the cut!

The first time Eames meets the twisted facsimile of Mal in a dream, he’s in a maze. It’s neat. Geometric. All the art between the hedges is modern and monochromatic. Anyone could tell it’s one of Arthur’s builds because it has no flair at all. Still, it does the trick well enough. The job is small time, and Eames does it as a favour to Cobb, to whom he owes a few favours. Eames dislikes owing. He prefers being owed.

As soon as Eames turns around the maze’s final hedge and reaches the centre, he loses the ability to hold his forge.

Because there is Mal. Beautiful, charismatic, red-lipped Mal, dressed in a floor-length black gown and looking very much not dead.

And she’s putting out her cigarette on Arthur’s jaw.

Eames is not a forgetful man, but even still. He will be a man wasted, a drooling two-hundred-year-old breathing corpse who has forgotten even his own name before he forgets the twist of pain on Arthur’s face. Even then, he suspects he’ll remember.

Immediately, Eames shoots Arthur in the head to wake him up, then he shoots himself. He wakes up regretting that he hadn’t got a shot in at Cobb.

But it’s Arthur he opens his eyes to. Bloody Arthur, who’s already halfway across the empty warehouse, rolling his sleeves down and pretending like everything is still running smoothly. Even when he’s dishevelled, Arthur is neat. His sleeves aren’t just rolled up; they might as well be pressed. His face is blank. He’s never had many tells. It is, after all, the point of a point man to take the stress of the job and contain it—to absorb it, like foam rubber does to sound, and never let it back out again—and Arthur, oh, Arthur’s the best at what he does. Even before he started working with Cobb that was true. Now, it’s indisputable.

Only the slight downturn to Arthur’s mouth tells Eames something is off. Eames experiences a visceral urge to shake Arthur by the shoulders until something else comes loose.

Unprofessional, that.

Instead, he removes his cannula and watches as Arthur sucks at the bloodied pinprick on his arm.

“Thanks,” says Arthur.

“Arthur.”

Arthur ignores him.

“Arthur,” he repeats slowly. “Darling.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Arthur marches off to the bathroom, and Eames watches as he does. His eyes dart to the same spot on Arthur’s jaw where Mal’s cigarette left its mark in the dream. There’s nothing there. Clean-shaven Arthur. Aftershaved Arthur. Stick-up-the-arse Arthur. He’s as spotless as he ever was.

Beside Eames, Cobb wakes up. Eames doesn’t look at him. Can’t. If he looks at Cobb, he’ll feel sorry for the bastard, and he’s too full of fury for that.

“Now, wasn’t that interesting?” he asks blithely. Instead of answering, Cobb lurches to the side of his chair and throws up.

There’s trouble, thinks Eames. There’s a lot of trouble.

Unfortunately for everyone, the trouble persists all day. Cobb retains a glazed, far-away look about him. It’s the look of a man who’d do anything, anything at all, to be back in that dream, standing next to the woman he loved. Eames isn’t unsympathetic. Few might believe it, but he’s a romantic man by nature. He knows the power of a good woman. He knows what love can do to a man. Eames may never have managed to hold onto it for long—love is always slipping through his fingers, always in a different city, in a different time—but he’s no stranger to it. He’s worried precisely because he knows what it can do.

No, even Arthur won’t be able to take care of this. Eames has seen better men than Dom fucking Cobb give in to temptation.

In the end, he’s right. It’s two very long years of trouble.

[polutrope]

#15 feign love Maeglin/Idril Gondolin

Thank you -- this one was a stumper! But I do like a challenge. I have given it my best shot, I hope you like ambiguity and unresolved emotions. 

From this prompt list. 

On the escape from Gondolin, Idril struggles to make sense of her relationship with Maeglin. 850 words. Rated G. Mention of canonical character deaths.

* * *

Idril’s shoulders ache. She does not know how long they have been walking when she becomes aware of it, but now she can think of nothing but the weight of Eärendil straining the muscles of her arms.

She strokes back fine locks of golden hair from her son’s forehead. “Do you think you can walk for a bit, my jewel?”

His blue eyes are wide but unseeing, as if he is forcing himself awake to avoid the darkness. He shakes his head. 

Meleth draws up beside them. “I can carry him a while, lady,” the nurse offers. 

The woman is already burdened with packs, heavy with far too many of Eärendil’s things that Idril could not bear to leave behind. Useless things, toys and trinkets that will serve no purpose on the road, if they even make it beyond the passage’s issue from the mountain.  

“No, thank you, Meleth,” Idril says, and hoists Eärendil onto her hip. 

Her gaze is pulled back over her shoulder at the long line of followers. She hopes to see Tuor moving among them, but the line disappears behind a bend in the rock. For now, she has only the resolute beat of her heart to assure her that she will not have to face their uncertain future alone. 

In an effort to keep her mind occupied, Idril catalogues the items in Meleth’s pack. 

A blanket woven by Nordhil, wife of Duilin, who was not there when they descended into the ground while Gondolin cracked and rattled and hissed above them. Idril suspects she chose instead to fall with the city when she learned of her husband’s death. 

A model of the Mindon Eldaliéva, made by Turgon, carved from aspen that grew high on the slopes of the Echoriath, and gilded with gold from deep within the veins of the mountains. When set out at night, a gem set in its tower, cut and given life by Enerdhil, catches the light of the stars and gleams white.

Idril squeezes her eyes shut to dam her tears. What good had she thought it would do to carry all these memories out of the wreckage! She blinks again, but the thoughts march on. 

The last of Eärendil’s things Idril packed was a cloth bag filled with many tiny blocks of various materials—wood, bronze, steel, polished stone—that could be fit together to create gates and towers, castles and bridges; and, for which they were not intended but which her son liked best, abstract geometric forms evoking the shapes of birds and beasts. Eärendil spent hours with those blocks spread out over the floor, happily chattering to himself, assembling and reassembling.

They had been a gift from Maeglin on her son’s sixth begetting day. He had kneeled on the floor beside his little cousin as Eärendil dumped the trinkets on the floor; smiled when Eärendil gasped and squealed in wonder and excitement; returned the child’s embrace when he, bouncing on his tiptoes, threw his arms around his shoulders.

How Idril had wanted to believe that Maeglin’s love was true, and generous, and kind. Of Eärendil, of Gondolin, of its people, of its King—of her. 

But it had all been pretence. From the day that Maeglin had lost a mother at the hands of a father; lost that father at the hands of an uncle; lost, to his mind, all kin but her, it had been but a pretence and a balm for the yawning emptiness in his heart. And all that emptiness, he reserved for her. 

It was too much to ask of a single person—but even then Idril might have filled it. She had been tempted. Whether out of pity or loneliness or in rebellion against her dreams, she had been tempted. But Idril, too young when the tale began to enter it as an actor herself, had been audience to the defeat of a people who had set out to defy doom. She would not. She was obedient to the wisdom of both heart and mind. 

She was obedient to the canker of foreboding in her heart that she carried with her, silently, through the years.

Memory has her clutched now in its grip. She is brought back to that moment on the walls of the city, the horror of not knowing which of her husband or child or kinsman would be the first to fall onto the rocks below.

Maeglin has her pierced with his keen eyes. “Ever didst thou feign to love me!” he cries.

Then he falls.

Dredged back up from memory, the words strike her now hard and with precision, as his words ever did. Had she? Did her silence make her no less guilty of pretending than he?

“Ammë?” Eärendil’s voice pulls her back, and she realises she is clutching him too tightly to her side. She loosens her hold.

“Yes, love?” Idril murmurs. 

“I can walk for a bit now.”

She smiles back at him and sets him down, closing her hand protectively around his. Steels herself against questions.

Later, perhaps, there will be time. For now, they press on through the mountain. 

* * *

On AO3

Meleth is the nurse of Earendil named in The Fall of Gondolin. Nordhil I made up. Enerdhil is the jewelsmith who, in one version of the story, made the Elessar. Yes, Maeglin created a LEGO prototype.

This has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for a while because, like Idril, I have been unable to make sense of this relationship in a way that doesn't make one or both of them look really bad, which I didn't want to do. So I decided to just wrap it up and keep it ambiguous.

[missy-0-piink]

LMAOAOAO yes that"s why i said that, yokomizo flashbacks

Bro?? 🤨

I’m afraid I don’t see it 😔

If you did ask him to choke you, this is what would happen:

TW: PANIC ATTACK, PTSD FLASHBACK, HURT/COMFORT

————

You had asked him to do it

And he loves you too much to deny you, especially when you give him those puppy dog eyes

And the way you were ecstatic when he hesitantly agreed?

God, he felt like he had to

He softly wrapped his hand around your throat, far from enough to actually achieve the desired affect

You urged him to go further, pushing down on his had

And he obliged

But when the first choked out noise you made escaped you?

He froze, face going pale and he started hyperventilating

He ripped his hand away from your throat like it had burned him, bringing it up to cover the lower part of his face as he stared at you in fear

Not fearing you, but fearing himself

You quickly sat up, reaching a hand out to place on his shoulder, but he didn’t react

“No!” He sobbed violently, curling in on himself, wide eyes staring at something not in reality, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, m’sorry, imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry-“

“Mushi!” You said slightly loud, trying to snap him out of it

Little did you know, that nickname only brought back memories this time, sad memories

“Yokomizo! Please don’t go! I’m so sorry” he choked out, almost wailing his late friends name, hands pulling at his hair as tears streamed down his face

You felt so guilty, you shouldn’t have asked

He never told you how he killed his friend, but now you could guess

You started rubbing slow circles into his shoulder, trying to ground him,

“Mushitarou, it me, (name). You’re here, in our bedroom, not there,” you said gently, right near his ear,

He blinked, still breathing heavily and sobbing, but less intensely by the minute and seeming to slowly come to

“look, can you feel me touching your shoulder?” You asked, and he nodded slowly, you then gently brought his hand away from his face and to the fluffy blankets on the bed (courtesy of you) , “what does this feel like?”

“It-it’s the blanket-“ his breath hitched, “- you b-bought”

“Yeah, you always hate it because the fluff gets on your clothes” you chuckle,

He seemed to at least be able to tell what room he’s in, but you still had to be slow and careful,

“Look around the room, tell me what you see” you ask softly

“There-there’s-“ he gasped, “-there’s you,”

“Good,” you chuckled, surprised , “what else?”

“And there’s… t-the nightstand?”

“Mhm, what about the sheets, what colours are they?”

“Grey and white..” he said,

Good, you thought

His voice and breathing were becoming more stable, his shaking slowly subsiding

“What about the patterns?” You asked

“Some… some kind geometric design” he said, studying the sheets he didn’t spare so much as a glance to before

“Good… do you feel a bit better?” You question, worried

“Yeah…” he says, turning his head away from you, “I’m sorry… I-“

Before he could say another word, you grabbed him by his chin and turned his face towards you

His eyes were red rimmed, still glassy, but the tears have stopped

He looked shameful

“Don’t!” You say sternly, “it wasn’t your fault, and it’s ok. Sometimes, things like this happen”

“But I- should have told you! I’ve now ruined ruined your view of me!” He says, a hysterical edge to his voice

“You didn’t ‘have’ to tell me anything!” You say, “you’re not required to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with, and you haven’t ruined anything! If anything, this just brings us closer together”

“H-how haven’t I ruined anything? I’ve made a fool of myself!” He asks, dumbfounded. Surely seeing him this weak made you think he was pathetic?

“If we didn’t like what society deems the darkest, and most vulnerable parts of each other, then would it really be love at all?” You say to him

in this moment, with the way you were looking at him? Full of adoration?he thinks you could preach anything to him and he’d believe it

You pull him in for a hug, which he gladly melts into,

“I’m sorry that this brought up those memories,” you say regretfully, “do you… want to talk about it?”

His voice is unsure when he answers, “if it’s alright with you… I’d rather not”

“Of course!” You reply happily, “well then, maybe we should continue that show we were watching the other day!”

“Yeah” he says,

He thinks- no, he knows- he’ll love you forever

[chickenparm]

Governed by the Flesh (Copia/Reader)

the things i do out of love for my friends.....

anyway merry christmas here's some Ghost(the band, not the hot military man) sacrilege that i drive-by dropped in the parm palace ghost channel like a week ago to feed the simps @ink-and-dagger had to help me tag this cause i just call him "red guy"

---

Copia/gn!Reader 1,147 Words - NSFW Blasphemy, blowjobs, deep-throating, finger-sucking, oral fixation

---

Stained-glass shimmers above. The moon, full and heavy, casts just enough light to send beams to the congregation of two down below. Panes of red, white, grey, all leave geometric shapes across the floor that would draw your eyes on any given evening if not for the man that waits patiently for your approach. 

One, two, three steps leaves you within arm’s reach, a respectable distance from amused eyes and glimmering regalia. To the left and right, framing him with all his divinity on display, standing sconces flicker across gemstones and gold threaded through heavy crimson fabric. The chalice in his hands seems lacklustre compared to the radiance of your Cardinal.

Pink darts out, wetting his lips in preparation for the simple exchange. 

“The Body of Christ.”

“Amen.” You murmur in response, a reflex manifest from a thousand, thousand repetitions of this very ritual. Parting your lips, your tongue slides from behind teeth that had been grit moments before in an effort to control your physical reactions to the heaviness of incense and intent in the air. 

Refusing to look away from mismatched eyes lest his expectations be dashed into disappointment at your failure, you miss that the fingers that come to rest on your tongue are dreadfully empty of the Eucharist that should have accompanied his arrival. Instead, the flavor is of worn leather, laced with the crumbs of what might have been. 

The weight is enough to push the soft underside of your tongue into your bottom teeth, harsh to the point of tasting iron. There’s no instinct to pull away from him; it’d been ground out of you like sandpaper to the softest of wood. The ultimate trust he demands from you is the only real request he makes - everything else is an afterthought, a byproduct of interwoven ideals.

When your eyelids flutter, your jaw dropping to its widest at his behest, that is when his fingers move further. The smooth drag of leather is sweet, even as your taste buds grow used to the exquisiteness of his insistence. Only when his folded third and fourth fingers bump your chin do you allow your mouth to close around the digits he’s offered you. 

Long fingers press dangerously close to the back of your throat, curved against the rear of your tongue, as if he were reaching inside for whatever he pleased to extract from you. Your heart, your bones, your very soul if he demanded it be reaped from you. 

“‘The generous will themselves be blessed, for they share their food with the poor.’” His fingers retract just enough to allow your tongue freedom of movement, an expectation for you to dutifully answer that which you’ve been asked. “Is my Body to your liking, cara?”

Your response, muffled as it is, is loud and clear. “Yes, your eminence.”

The wet slide of his fingers fills the room, echoing off arching columns and shining windows. At their exit, he drags them down your chin, leaving two parallel trails of your saliva across your skin as if he were marking you for sacrifice. The loss of his hand is felt for only a moment before his palm curls at your shoulder, pressing firmly to direct you to your knees. 

“The Body is received. But what of the Blood, hm?”

Direct, with expectation laced through it, even as your mind feels thick and muddled. With shaking hands, you reach to the folds of his garments in search of what he withholds from you. Those very hands are snatched at the wrists, the chalice of Eucharist tumbling to the floor and scattering its contents across the floor. 

The sound of little wafers tumbling down the stairs at your back nearly drowns out the hiss between your teeth as he grips at you. The manacles of his fingers are stronger than any steel, holding you in place while he admonishes your greed. “The Body and Blood are given, not taken.”

“I’m sorry, Car-”

“Hush now, cara.” Your wrists are released to swing down to your sides, shoulders back and head tilted to implore him for mercy that he hoards in abundance with a greed of his own. Frugal as he is with his forgiveness, he nonetheless curls his thumb and forefinger about your chin and pulls your mouth open once more. 

A tilt of his head, appraising your supplication, he releases you from your guilt. “Your impatience isn’t counted among your vices. It is… a compliment that you are constrained by your eagerness to please. Follow the rules, and your worship will have room to grow, yes?”

A little nod, a quirk of his lips, his free hand moving to where you’d been attempting to intrude. The means to your end is upon you, passing over your extended tongue just as his fingers had done. Whatever he had taken during his exploration, it is returned tenfold as your lips wrap around his cock. 

The throb on your tongue is his appreciation for your efforts, though you’ve learned your lesson and wait for him to gift you with his Body, his Blood, his Soul, his Divinity.

Fingers still wet with your saliva wind into your hair, gripping tightly and holding you steady for the intrusion. Inch by inch until it grows harder to breathe around him, he only stops when your lips press against the base of his cock, throat spasming in objection to him, even as every other piece of your being begs him to find a way further.

The air tastes heady as he pulls back, allowing you to heave it into your lungs before he snatches your freedom away once again. The pace is slow, allowing you to grow used to the shape and feel of the Cardinal from the tip of your tongue to the back of your throat. When you catch his pace, it changes as swiftly - faster, shallower, grinding until your nose is pressed against his pubic bone harshly. 

“‘The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace.’” His voice quakes, a mixture of exertion and pleasure lacing each consonant and vowel lovingly. A statement is made that you’re unable to answer, barely coherent enough to comprehend, as the unholiness of the universe is concentrated in this very instance of space and time. “I will govern you, cara. But it’s neither life nor peace that I bring to you. It is chaos and death, sublime rapture of absolute hedonism.”

And it takes everything in your very being to answer him, fingers scrabbling at the frayed edges of your sanity to craft a single muffled, “Amen” around the length of his cock in your throat, on your tongue, stretching your lips. 

The tense of his hand in your hair is all the warning you receive as he finds his rapture in you. 

[labellefleur-sauvage]

And All That Jazz

for @abraxos-and-ataraxia for the 2022 @acotargiftexchange! Happy Holidays and I hope you enjoy!

Summary: The city's lights gleamed in Nesta Archerons eyes, and all she saw was opportunity.

It’s the Roaring 20s in the bustling city of Prythia, and Nesta wants to live her life according to her own desires - whatever the consequences. When she collides with the city’s most dangerous mob boss, she discovers that jazz and whiskey can lead to a criminally passionate night.

Rating: E

Word Count: 9.6K

Read On AO3

“Nesta, hurry up! I want to get there early enough to get good seats!”

Emerie’s voice carried through Nesta’s thin bedroom door, punctuated by two loud bangs of her fist. Nesta cursed to herself as the sound of her friend’s footsteps faded down their boarding house's long, winding staircase. She was still getting ready - her makeup box was open and its contents strewn everywhere on her bed, along with several of her crumpled dresses that she had been trying on and agonizing over before deciding on her current outfit. 

Looking at herself in the small mirror propped on her desk top, Nesta smiled. She was quite pleased with how she had managed to stretch the few extra dollars she tucked away to complete her look for the evening: a second-hand, drop waist, sleeveless forest green knee length dress with a scandalous V-neck that showed off her collarbones and the swells of her breasts. Nearly the entirety of her lean, strong back was exposed. She had thrown on a thin double looped silver necklace that fell to the top of her chest and complimented her blue-gray eyes nicely. It was something she would have never dared to wear before.

What she was most excited to show off, however, was her new haircut. If her grandmother were still alive, she would probably have a heart attack at what Nesta had done to her hair. Gone was her gorgeous golden-brown hair she had been forbidden to cut by her mother and grandmother; in its place was a sleek bob that fell to mid-cheek. It highlighted her sharp cheekbones and the graceful line of her strong jaw. 

She gazed at herself in the mirror. If she were to go home and visit her sisters, would they recognize her? Not just her new hair, but her growing confidence, her new excitement for life? If he were still alive, she doubted her father would notice her. By the end of his life, alcohol had taken over his existence. It may even be for the best that he had already passed - Prohibition would have driven him insane, or some illegal liquor would have poisoned him to an early grave.

She gave herself a little shake - she was going out with her friends to have fun, and she wouldn’t let her miserable upbringing ruin that. She had just finished applying a touch of blush to her cheeks and putting on a pair of opal earrings when Emerie’s voice cut through the air. “We’re leaving in two minutes, with or without you!”

Quickly applying her favorite blood red lipstick to her plump lips, throwing on a pair of low heels and grabbing her beaded clutch, Nesta thundered down the steps. Waiting at the bottom in the foyer of their boarding house were Gwyn and Emerie. Upon seeing Nesta, Gwyn whistled. “I can see why it took you so long to get ready.”

She was one to talk, Nesta thought. Gwyn wore a loose, ankle length gown with beaded floral designs that matched her teal eyes perfectly and made her auburn hair pop. Her arms were bare, and the gown’s drop waist was accented by a large bow on the side of her body. Her long, shining hair was curled past her shoulders and kept out of her face by a feathered headband. 

By Gwyn’s side, Emerie looked equally as wonderful. She wore a long, black, beaded gown with matching black heels. The beads across her gown were sewn in various geometric patterns, highlighting her trim build. She had a faux fur shawl around her shoulders and her black hair was done in perfect finger waves. 

“Come on,” Emerie said, taking her friends by the hand and leading them outside. “I told the singer tonight we’d be there and I want to get front row seats.”

Gwyn looped her arms through her two friends’ arms. “You’re very interested in this performer,” she said, a corner of her mouth lifting. “Friend of yours?”

“Acquaintance,” Emerie replied instantly, her dark cheeks reddening. 

“Good,” Gwyn cheerfully said. “I know Nesta and I are your only friends.”

Nesta couldn’t help but laugh. She had moved to the large, bustling city of Prythia, friendless and nearly penniless, her only prospect a typist job she had found in the help wanted section of her local paper. Gwyn and Emerie were new in town as well and had started the same day as her and by lucky happenstance, found their employer had put them all together in the same boarding house just a ten minute walk from work. 

Their boarding house was also within convenient walking distance to several social gathering places. Until tonight, the three of them had safely stuck to the theaters and social parlors people their age visited, but being in the city for just over a year had made them bored and bold. Someone had told Emerie about a small speakeasy tucked in the basement of a corner store and the three of them had decided to expand their social outings. 

If grandmother could see me now , Nesta thought viciously. Her grandmother had been a domineering hag to Nesta, controlling nearly every aspect of her life until she died when Nesta was fourteen. By the time her father had passed away a year ago, only a few years after her mother, Nesta had decided that she was done living by anyone else’s standards and ideas. She was going to make her own decisions and live her life how she saw fit, regardless of the consequences. 

Finally, they turned onto the main street of Prythia’s entertainment district, and Nesta was awed, like she was every time she stepped out into the tempting darkness of the city. Here were people - women - wearing what they wanted, doing what they wanted, without overbearing parents or a man nearby to police their every action and word. A lone woman in a pair of tall heels and a luxurious fur coat passed by the three of them, confidently making her way down the street towards a brightly lit marquee. 

She wanted that. She wanted that woman's confidence and freedom, her poise and elegance. The city's lights gleamed in Nesta Archeron’s eyes, and all she saw was opportunity.

XXX

Eris Vanserra didn’t trust anyone but himself with a straight razor. In his line of business, literally baring his throat was more likely than not to get him killed, so his father had taught him how to shave and trim himself early. He enjoyed the simple routine of shaving: showering, lathering his neck and face, and slowly, bit by bit, moving that deadly straight edge against the most sensitive and crucial bit of skin on his body. He always took his time, making sure to get every stray hair on his chin and neck. Appearances mattered, and he couldn’t present himself as the most distinguished and powerful crime boss in Prythia with a scruffy neck.

Tonight had been a bloody one, and he was still simmering with annoyance that he wasn’t able to get ready for the evening in the comfort of his sprawling wooded estate outside the city but instead had to shower, dress, and shave in the small apartment above his front just a block off the city’s entertainment district. The business with his newest - and now dead - business associate had taken much longer than he thought it would. His still-bloodied gloves laid at the side of the washbasin he was using to shave. His knuckles were rapidly bruising and already ached.

Eris had just finished wiping any remaining soap off his face when two loud knocks pounded on the door. 

“It’s been thirty minutes, Mr. Vanserra.”

“Thank you, Vince,” Eris replied smoothly. 

Vince was one of Eris’s most trusted bodyguards. He had been part of the Vanserra crime family since his father ran their bootlegging operation, but he was entirely loyal to Eris, thanks in no small part to Eris paying off a large amount of his debt and bringing his family from their shithole hovel in the continent to Prythia. That loyalty paid off in spades when Vince helped Eris murder his father, Beron, making Eris the new head of the Vanserra syndicate and its territory, lovingly called the Autumn Court.

The Autumn Court covered nearly the entire southern half of Prythia, including the coveted financial and entertainment districts. He had several speakeasies spread throughout his territory, along with gambling and drug dens. He was blackmailing most of the city’s politicians, and most recently discovered the mayor had a secret mistress and child tucked away in the town of Velaris on the coast. He hadn’t yet decided what he wanted from the mayor in order for that to remain hushed up. His men freely burgled stores and warehouses in areas held by other syndicates. At least half of the city’s police force was financed by Vanserra money, including the Chief of Police. 

All the while, Eris Vanserra governed his Court from his throne built of illicit crimes and the bodies of those who tried to get in his way. 

“How is the Forest House looking, Vince?” Eris called through the door.

He wanted to spend the night checking in on his newest speakeasy in the city, The Forest House, in the building’s basement. The Forest House occupied the lowest level, then his corner store - a front for The Forest House, used to legally move his illegal money - on the main level, with his personal apartment and storage on the upper floors. Tonight was the first night their new bootlegged whisky - aged on Eris’s own estate - was available to the public, and all he wanted to do after this long and shitty day was grab a glass, sit in a booth in the Forest House, and find a woman to spend the evening with.

To do that, however, he needed to get dressed. Eris decided on a cobalt blue form-fitting suit jacket and matching pants that clung to his muscled body with a deep green tie that paired well with his flaming hair and amber eyes. He combed his short hair back and applied just enough product to keep it in place. 

“Busy,” Vince’s slightly muffled voice answered through the door. “Lots of women.”

Eris grinned, a predator ready to begin the hunt. “Perfect.” 

XXX

The Forest House was already hopping by the time Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie walked in. After speaking the password - “Orange Hounds” - to the burly men standing in the shadows of the alley entrance to the building, they were ushered in and led directly downstairs to a large open barroom. 

Deep brown wood panels covered the walls, creating a sumptuous and rich feeling in the space. A long, fully-stocked bar was along the left side of the room, with individual booths around the walls and smaller tables placed in the center of the room. The large, well-lit stage was positioned in the right corner of the room, with a dance floor directly in front of the stage. 

Despite apparently being new, the space was crowded: dozens of people were mixing and talking, sitting at tables and waiting for drinks at the bar. Nesta felt a flush of excitement travel through her body - confidence and ease oozed from the strangers around her, and she was part of this secret, select group of people who were, in their own ways, taking charge of their wants and desires. A woman in an even shorter dress than Nesta’s was leaning into a man at the bar, her lips dangerously close to the man’s throat, as she talked to him. Nesta watched as the woman plant her lips on the man’s neck and move up and up and up -

Beside her, Gwyn and Emerie appeared equally as taken in with their surroundings. Gwyn had a blush on her cheeks that ran down her chest, and Emerie was staring, wide eyed, at a blonde woman in a tight fitting red dress that had appeared on the stage and was beginning to set up some equipment.

“Let’s get a table!” Emerie squeaked, pulling her friends towards a round table near the stage. The woman setting up saw Emerie, grinned, and winked.

“The mystery singer confirmed,” Gwyn murmured to Nesta. “How do you think they met?”

“Maybe the department store Emerie works at on the weekends.” Emerie had swiftly abandoned Gwyn and Nesta and was talking in hushed, excited tones to the woman on the stage. With a smile and lingering touch to Emerie’s wrist, the woman disappeared behind the stage, and Emerie came back to the table.

“That’s Mor.” Emerie was breathless and grinning.

“I see why you were so excited to get here for good seats,” Gwyn said.

“Let’s get our drinks sorted before she starts.” Emerie was looking towards the bar, craning her neck at the line.

“You two stay here, I’ll get drinks,” Nesta volunteered. “My treat. What do you want?”

After getting their drink orders - a gin rickey for Emerie, and a bee’s knees for Gwyn - Nesta moved through the crowd of sharp-dressed men and women to the bar. She found an open spot and leaned on the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention. 

The bartender turned towards Nesta, and his eyes snagged on her cleavage before snapping to her face, where a sultry grin awaited him. A corner of his mouth twitched up as he walked over. 

“What can I get you, ma'am?”

“A gin rickey, a bee's knees and… what do you recommend?” Nesta leaned even further over the bar and practically purred the question in the bartender’s ear. He shivered slightly.

“We’re just uncasking our own special aged whiskey tonight. Would you like a sample?”

Nodding, Nesta watched as he poured a sliver of a shimmering, amber liquid in a small glass and handed it over. She took a sip. Instant warmth, like a low simmering fire, spread through her chest and migrated to her limbs. Hints of spices - cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla - danced on her tongue, followed by a smokiness that reminded her of childhood campfires her father would make for her and her sisters. The warmth stayed in her chest as she signed in pleasure at the whiskey.

“I hope a glass neat isn’t too expensive, because I don’t think I could drink anything else.”

“For you, my dear, it’s on the house,” a deep voice said in her ear. 

Whipping her head to the side, Nesta came face to face with perhaps the most handsome man she had ever seen. Amber eyes, just like the whiskey she had drank, bored into her own eyes just a few inches away. He had a smooth, slim face without a touch of facial hair - just how Nesta preferred her men. His short red hair was combed back from his face, showing off his sharp cheekbones and full lips that smirked at her. The blush she had applied to her cheeks earlier that evening couldn’t compare to the real warmth gracing her face as the two openly stared at each other. 

“I was hoping for a favorable reaction to our new whiskey tonight,” the man continued, straightening to his full height from where he was leaning on the bar. “Based on your reaction, it must be rather good.”

Nesta took a slight stuttering breath. “It’s exceptional,” she said, looking up at the man through hooded eyes. The heat in this man’s eyes suddenly made her bold and daring, more so than she had expected of herself. “Though I think I need one more taste, to see if it lives up to my high standards.”

“Just one taste?” The man leaned down to brush his lips against the shell of her ear, one of his large hands skimming her waist. The breath was knocked out of Nesta’s body, and she hoped the man couldn’t hear the loud beating of her heart over the din of the room. “Perhaps you could join me later for a private tasting, just the two of us.”

Nesta trembled with excitement. Just like that, an opportunity to do what she wanted, to rebel, with no one around to tell her no or judge her, fell into her lap. And how fortunate at what a handsome opportunity he was. 

“Just a whiskey tasting though, right?”

“And whatever else we’d like to sample.” Those mesmerizing eyes dipped down to her blood red lips before returning to her eyes. 

Although she wasn’t the most experienced young lady, Nesta had flirted and teased enough men to recognize the emotions swirling in the man’s eyes: hunger and desire. She knew her own eyes mirrored his, couldn’t hide the yearning and sheer want she was feeling for this unknown yet hypnotic man. 

She didn’t know who he was and had certainly never seen him before tonight. Based on his familiarity with the staff, Nesta figured perhaps he too worked here, or was an investor of some kind in the operation. The idea of not knowing anything about the man in front of her and openly flirting with him would have shocked a younger version of herself that had spent her entire life in the safe, sleepy town of Velaris on the coast. If her grandmother could see her at this moment, she would have slapped her and dragged her out of the building, called her all manner of horrible names, and vowed to never let her out of her sight for as long as she lived. 

Her grandmother and the old version of Nesta were dead, though, no longer around to command Nesta how to live and caution her from straying from the proper path. 

The man in front of her only made her feel rash and excited, like she wanted to push herself to be as different from her past self that her grandmother had tried to mold and break.  

“Charles,” the man said, addressing the bartender without taking his eyes off Nesta’s face, “drinks are on the house this evening for…?”

“Nesta. Nesta Archeron.”

Taking her hand and kissing her knuckles, the man murmured, “Well met, Nesta Archeron. I believe I’ll be seeing you by the end of the night.”

Taking his own glass of whiskey, the man nodded before turning away and disappearing into the crowd. Heart hammering in her chest, she grinned. She felt reckless with power and warm from her whiskey, and she knew, based on the ache between her legs, she’d be seeing more of the flame-haired man later in the evening. 

XXX

As soon as Eris entered the Forest House, he knew exactly how this night was going to end: between the trembling thighs of the gorgeous woman sampling a bit of his whisky with a nearly orgasmic look on her face. 

Seeing her rapture, her quiet, sensual enjoyment of just a touch of whiskey, brought Eris the closest he’d ever been to having a religious experience. There was no explanation other than God himself as to how this exquisite angel in the most daring green dress had come to grace the Forest House this particular evening.

Quietly sidling up to her, he’d just heard the woman ask the price of the whiskey and state she couldn’t drink anything else when he quietly leaned down and whispered, “For you, my dear, it’s on the house.”

He heard her breath hitch and watched as a slight blush graced the apples of her cheeks. Eris wanted to sweep his gaze down, see how far that blush traveled, but her eyes - those eyes - pinned him like a bug to a collector’s board. 

Eris was no stranger to female attention. Even here, as he had walked in and made a beeline for the bar, he had felt dozens of eyes on him: from men sizing him up or talking in hushed voices of who he was, or women calculating how they could grab his attention. No other woman could compare to her, however. He would either be spending the night with the mystery woman at the bar or with his own hand and a glass of whiskey. 

She bantered and flirted with him so easily, it was like she was made for him. Based on her choice of attire, maybe she was. The dark green of her dress matched his tie exactly, and he noted with interest how good in general she looked in green - his family’s main color. 

The dress was loose on her, as was the style of all women’s dresses at the moment as it was much better for dancing. The deep neckline of her dress showed off her impressive cleavage, and he imagined his lips trailing down her collarbones to her peaked nipples, sucking them into his mouth -

She was talking. “Just one taste?” he answered back. Eris couldn’t help himself - he leaned down towards her ear and suggested they should spend time alone together by the end of the night, touching the soft indent of her waist. This was his most blatant gamble. She could very well decide he was being too forward and walk away, especially if she only came here to drink and dance. He would respect her wishes if she wanted that; he’d walk away right now, his cock already half-hard in his trousers, with nothing more than the snippets of a flirty conversation to stroke himself to later tonight. 

But he knew deep down that part of what attracted him to her was her resolution. Her eyes met his, and they sparked with challenge, determination, and lust. “Just a whiskey tasting though, right?” she said, batting her eyelashes as she trembled with excitement and want, and Eris knew he would be worshiping her body all night long.

He paid for all her drinks for the evening - it was the least he could do, and he was genuinely pleased that she enjoyed his whiskey. More importantly, he learned her name - Nesta Archeron. He savored the taste of her name like he would savor this whiskey, or the taste of the wetness he’d find between her legs later this evening.

With a parting kiss to her hand and a nod, he turned around and walked to his reserved booth in the corner of the room, where he could observe all the goings-on of the Forest House in relative seclusion and quiet. 

“Everything alright, Mr. Vanserra?” Like smoke, Vince materialized out of nowhere. 

Eris’s sharp eyes watched as Nesta rejoined her two friends at their table near the stage. They each took a sip of their drinks. Nesta’s eyes fluttered close as she sipped her whiskey, and Eris grinned.

“Yes, Vince. Everything is fine.”

XXX

“Who was that?” 

Nesta was unsurprised that she had come back to an ambush. She had been gone long enough that no doubt Gwyn and Emerie had looked for her and seen more than they were anticipating.

“The man who’s paying for our drinks this evening,” Nesta replied. 

“What’s his name?” Emerie asked. Gwyn was craning her neck left and right, even resorting to standing up and using her considerable height to try to look for the red haired man. Pulling her back down to her seat, Nesta hissed, “Stop it! You’re not being very subtle!”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” Gwyn shot back, still looking around her. “I can’t see him. With that hair, it shouldn’t be that hard to find him. Plus, us redheads are always aware of each other, ya know, since there’s not that many of us. It’s kind of like a telepathic connection.”

Nesta and Emerie exchanged a brief glance before bursting into laughter. Gwyn joined in, snorting into her drink, earning a few stares from several women at the next table over. 

“But really,” Emerie pressed on. “Who was that?”

“I… didn’t actually get his name.”

“And yet he’s still paying for our drinks for the evening? Did you even thank him?”

“Geez, mom, sorry I forgot to thank the mysterious and handsome drink benefactor while we were flirting with each other,” Nesta groaned, though she realized with a guilty start that she did neglect to thank him for the free drinks. “I’m sure I’ll see him before we leave tonight.”

“How much of him will you be seeing?” Gwyn perked up, her teal eyes sparkling with excitement. “He was very handsome - “

“Gwyn!”

“ - and he looked like he wanted to eat you,” she finished with relish, taking a dainty sip of her drink. 

Nesta blushed. Needing to deflect her friend’s attention off her, she said, “Like Mor onstage wasn’t looking at Emerie the same way?”

Mission accomplished. It was Emerie’s turn to flush and stutter, claiming they were just here to support her friend at one of her singing gigs. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Gwyn interrupted, grinning at each of them. “Let’s not worry about all that. Let’s listen to music, dance, and have as many free drinks as we can handle. Speaking of,” she said, standing up and pointing at Emerie. “I’m already done with this drink and want to try what she’s having. Anyone need anything?”

By the time Gwyn had returned with her second drink, the crowd had thinned as everyone crammed into booths and tables in anticipation of Mor starting her set. Finally the band appeared on stage, taking their positions at their instruments: trumpets, trombones, and saxophones, a drum set, even a piano tucked away in the corner. Emerie clapped when Mor came on the stage, and without even an introduction, the band started. 

From the opening beats of Irving Aaronson’s Let’s Misbehave , one of Nesta’s favorites, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to stop herself from joining the dancefloor before too long. The musicians were extremely talented - whoever had brought them in had clearly only wanted the best Prythia had to offer. Mor’s voice rang out strong, steady and smooth. She didn’t just sing, she interacted with the crowd and got them even more worked up the longer she performed.

By the time the band moved onto Swanee, Gwyn had dragged Nesta and Emerie to the dancefloor with a laugh, joining a throng of young people and couples. Nesta had always loved dancing. Her grandmother had insisted she have some type of dance training, and it was the only thing from her she was thankful to her grandmother for. She loved dancing the waltz with a partner, or dancing a carefree version of the Charleston in a crowd. 

The three of them danced, only stopping to take hurried sips of their drinks. Nesta felt a slight sheen of sweat on her grinning face, feeling happier than she had in a long time.

“Alright, everyone,” Mor announced into the microphone. Her voice was decadent and sultry, despite having been singing for nearly thirty minutes. “I need a break, so we’re gonna slow things down a bit.” 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Emerie said without looking at either her or Gwyn, making her way over to Mor, who had just stepped off the stage. 

Gwyn snorted. “Yeah, I bet she’ll be back real soon. I’m going to get another drink - want anything?”

“I’m just going to sit down for a bit,” Nesta replied. She had only taken a few steps towards their table when a warm hand gently grabbed her elbow.

“I was hoping you’d have one more dance in you for me,” a deep voice murmured in her ear. A chill went down her spine and she met the blazing eyes of her red haired man.

XXX

Nesta Archeron was a force of nature. 

Eris’s eyes were glued to her as the night progressed, watching her with her friends as she listened to the band and Mor’s singing, and as she danced happily on the dancefloor.

She was wild and strong-willed, clearly caring and close with her friends, and happiest while on a dancefloor. She was much too good for him. 

It only made him want her more.

After what seemed like an age, Mor announced she was taking a break. Nesta and her friends disbanded, one to rush off to talk to Mor - interesting - and the other to grab another drink. Quickly moving from his booth, he had just managed to wrap a gentle hand around her elbow before she left the dance floor.

“I was hoping you’d have one more dance in you for me,” he said. Immediately he felt her stiffen slightly, and a tremor ran through her body. Her blue-gray eyes slowly met his. Her face was flushed, whether from her dancing or the whiskey making its way through her body, or perhaps both.

The opening trumpet to Louis Armstrong’s West End Blues rang out sharp and strong through the room. Nesta held out her hand as the trumpet slowed, and a clarinet, trombone, and piano joined along in a perfect cacophony of slow jazz.

“Lucky for you, I love dancing and never tire of it,” Nesta said as he took her offered hand in his and placed a hand on her waist, her remaining hand landing on his shoulder as they began to move. Around them, a few other couples were softly swaying to the steady beats of the song, but Nesta only had eyes for him .

This close to her, Eris could smell Nesta’s perfume - surprisingly luscious and rich, with spiced undertones. He wondered where she applied it and if it would taste as good as it smelled on her. 

“Lucky for me indeed. Are you having a good evening here?” 

“Very much so. I realized I never thanked you for the whiskey and drinks, nor asked for your name, Mister…?”

“Vanserra. Eris Vanserra.”

Her smile dipped. Good, Eris thought. This one is smart enough to know about me and be at least a little afraid. 

Just as quickly as her smile dropped from those plush red lips, it reappeared in force. “Well, Mr. Eris Vanserra - “ Eris had to suppress the shiver that ran down his spine and ended straight at his cock at her sultry voice, “ - thank you for your generous hospitality this evening. It was terribly rude of me to not thank you for your kindness earlier.”

“Think nothing of it. It was rude of me to not tell you how magnificent you look tonight.” She smiled bashfully and ducked her head, sweeping her hair behind an ear. “And your hair looks equally as lovely.”

That was the right thing to say. She beamed up at him as they continued swaying to the music, and Eris’s heart stumbled at the sight of the sheer happiness on her face.

“Thank you,” she said, before the minx he had been flirty with all evening reappeared. Wetting her lips and batting her eyes, she gazed up at him. ”There must be something I can do to repay you for your generosity.” 

His filthy mind immediately thought of those red lips wrapped around his cock, leaving a brand of her lipstick around its base. “There’s nothing to repay. The whiskey tasting still stands though.”

They continued swaying to the slow, steady beat of the music. Feeling adventurous, wanting to see her move and feel more of her lush body in his arms, Eris spun Nesta in a tight circle, bringing her even closer to his body. Her hand not already in his found itself planted firmly on the hard planes of his chest. He hoped she couldn’t feel how fast his heart was beating.

“And what if I want more than just a taste?”

Oh, she was a fiery one, this woman. 

“What if you can’t handle any more than just a taste?”

The hand on his chest suddenly moved to the back of his neck. Pulling him down closer to herself, Nesta raised herself on the tips of her toes and whispered in his ear, “I think you’ll find that I can handle quite a bit,” as she placed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

Eris leaned down to kiss her, devour her, but she pulled away, lust and excitement shining in her eyes. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation in private? I’m curious if your lips taste as good as your whiskey.”

He groaned. All the blood in his body rushed to his hardening cock; he felt lightheaded with desire. “Tease,” he murmured, as he subtly tried to adjust himself in his pants. 

“I just need to find my friends - “

“Your friends are as occupied as you are,” Eris noted. Her dark-skinned friend was still with Mor, softly swaying in each other's arms in a dark corner next to the stage. The redhead was vividly talking to a tall, dark man at the bar - one of the mayor’s underlings, Eris noted. No doubt running reconnaissance or trying to be a spy for the mayor or some other bullshit. 

Nesta bit her lip, and Eris found himself irrationally jealous of her teeth. “They’ll be worried about me-“

“I’ll make sure they know who you’re with, that I’ll get you home safe, and even make sure they get home safe tonight,” Eris replied smoothly. He made eye contact with Vince over Nesta’s shoulder, motioning towards each of her friends. Nodding, he started making his way towards the woman dancing with Mor.

Nesta stared unblinkingly into Eris’s eyes, searching his face for any deception. She’d find none - he was too wound up, too enthralled in her snare to do anything that required the willpower to actively deceive her. 

“I could do with another glass of whiskey,” she said huskily. Eris grinned, and, still holding her hand, led her out of the Forest House. 

XXX

Eris Vanserra.

Eris Vanserra.

She had flirted and danced with and nearly kissed Eris Vanserra, and now she was being led to his private rooms for a whiskey tasting. Alone. Just the two of them.

When she had first moved to Prythia, the owner of their boarding house gave them a quick rundown of who really controlled the city. Different crime families commanded different sections of the city, and their boarding house was squarely in the Autumn Court, run by the Vanserra syndicate. “Whatever you do,” she had warned Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie on their first day, “stay away from the Vanserra family for your own good.”

Well, that certainly hadn’t worked out. She heard whispers at work - someone’s brother suddenly disappearing or men trying their hand at bootlegging found dead in the street, their corpses riddled with bullets. Nothing ever seemed to come of it: no stories in the papers or a police investigation opened. The name Vanserra always floated around these events, and she had finally found herself in the crosshairs of its leader. 

And she was willingly walking into his den alone. 

Nesta wasn’t an idiot and knew what Eris wanted. Did she want that? She stumbled and nearly tripped on a stair. Is this really who she was? She heard her grandmother’s shrill voice in her head scream about her reputation, her propriety, how she didn’t raise Nesta to be a loose harlot -

“Nesta?”

Eris was a step above her, still holding her hand. He was looking back at her with a raised eyebrow, as if he could see the battle that was currently raging in her brain.

Nesta took a steadying breath, then another, and realized she didn’t want to stop. She wanted to spend time with Eris, she wanted to kiss him and touch him and see where the night took them. For once, she wanted to make her own decisions and do something she wanted with her own damn life. 

“I’m fine,” she replied with a soft smile. “Just a bit of a stumble.”

He continued leading her up the staircase, stopping as they reached the landing outside a sturdy locked door. He pulled her close and placed a kiss on her knuckles. 

“I'd be a terrible host if you got hurt while you were here,” he said, ghosting his lips over her wrist. “I’d have to kiss all your injuries away.” 

She shivered. “Is this your apartment?” her voice squeaked.

Chuckling, he withdrew a heavy key from his pocket and slotted it in the keyhole. With a sharp twist and a click, the door opened, and he led her inside. 

Nesta was expecting something similar to the decor of the Forest House below. Instead, she found herself in an open Art Deco-inspired space. One corner was dominated with floor to ceiling bookshelves, cut neatly around a tiled fireplace and a built-in liquor cabinet. A pair of plush armchairs were centered by the fireplace with a low table between them. A basic kitchen was tucked in the other corner. The rectangular space was dominated by several large windows that took up most of the back wall of the room. Centered between the windows was a large wooden writing desk. 

Eris turned on a lamp in the fireplace sitting area and opened the glass front of the liquor cabinet. “I have several whiskeys we can try, even a few imported varieties from the continent if you’d like to try one of those.”

“I’ll take whatever you’re drinking,” she said, moving over to look at the books jammed in the bookcase. There were a lot of nonfiction titles, and she gazed uninterestedly at the spines until she found a small section of books she recognized. 

“You read Sellyn Drake?”

He snorted. “Those are courtesy of my mother, who brought them over so she’d have something to do when she visits.”

“You should give them a chance. They’re not half bad and certainly help me relax and unwind,” Nesta said suggestively. Eris’s eyebrows shot up. “And who knows, maybe you can learn something.”

“I highly doubt there’s anything in those romance books I don’t already know.” His voice had gone an octave deeper as he handed Nesta a glass tumbler filled with a burnished gold whiskey. She swirled the drink inches from her face, taking a deep whiff of its fragrant scent: malty grain, peat, and ending with a slight sweetness.  

“Hybernian whiskey,” Eris said, studying Nesta’s reaction to the drink. “Easily some of the best whiskey in the world, its taste is unparalleled. I’m curious if you’ll like it better neat or tasting it on my lips?”

One of Nesta’s eyebrows and the corner of her mouth both lifted up as she stared at Eris with lust-darkened eyes. Clinking their glasses together, she sat down and took a deep sip from her glass.

Immediately, the whiskey’s smoky flavor coated her tongue. She rolled it around her mouth, letting all the flavors come into focus, one by one: nuttiness like almonds, charred wood from the barrel it was aged in, vanilla, and caramel. Each new flavor complimented each other wonderfully. She wasn’t aware that whiskey, or any alcohol, could taste this good. 

It was sublime. 

She sighed happily, letting her neck fall back against the chair. “This is much better than your whiskey.”

Eris barked a laugh. Nesta noted how the skin around his eyes crinkled and how his smile transformed his face. “You're not wrong - they’re much better equipped at the moment to make superior whiskey than us.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, each content to enjoy their drinks. After taking a particularly long sip, Eris stood up and walked back to the liquor cabinet. He opened a drawer and withdrew a wooden box, setting it on the low table between the two chairs. 

“Would you like a cigar?” he said, opening the box to reveal a dozen long, perfectly rolled and formed cigars. “They pair especially well with the whiskey.”

Nesta hummed. “Perhaps not an entire one to myself. I’d be alright just taking a few puffs from yours.”

He chose a brown cigar with a dark green wrapper. Cutting and lighting the cigar with practiced hands and taking a deep drag, Eris released the smoke in a long stream. “Have you ever smoked anything? Cigarettes, menthols?”

Nesta moved to sit on the arm of his chair. The cigar smoke smelt like leather and old library books. Combined with the whiskey, it made her head swim. “I’ve smoked a few cigarettes, though certainly nothing as… big as this cigar.”

By the hitch in his breathing, Nesta knew he understood her perfectly. Taking another drag, Eris lifted the cigar to her lips. “Suck,” he said softly, his eyes intent on hers. 

Eris was still holding the cigar when she wrapped her lips around it and took a slight inhale. His eyes were transfixed on her mouth. She kept it in her mouth for a moment, tasting it like her whiskey. 

She tilted her head back and looked down at Eris through heavy-eyes as she exhaled. His mouth was slightly open, his breathing harsher than it was just a moment before.

“It seems you had no problem handling something as large as a cigar,” he murmured. One of his large hands touched her knee and began moving slowly up her thigh. “Do you think you could take more?”

“And what could be bigger than a cigar?” Nesta’s voice cracked slightly. She tried to focus solely on Eris’s eyes but his hand was making its way up and up and up her thigh, dangerously close to where she was so wet. 

“I could show you, if you’d like.” 

This was it - one final out from Eris. It was nice of him to provide it, but he didn’t need to; Nesta’s mind was made up the first time she had laid eyes on him hours before. 

“Show me then, unless you’re all talk and no game.”

The hand that was on her thigh, so close to her center - Don’t stop! she wanted to scream - suddenly left her thigh moved to the back of her head, where his fingers threaded her hair to pull her down to his mouth. At the first touch of his plush lips on hers, Nesta knew no one could ever compare. His lips were as soft as they looked, and he devoured her like a patient predator waiting for his prey.

His lips moved against hers seamlessly, like they each already knew what the other liked. The cigar dangled precariously in one his hands, while his other hand that was on her head moved to squeeze her hip; Nesta gasped, and Eris took the opportunity to sweep his tongue in her mouth. 

She could taste the whiskey and cigar on his breath: smokey and rich, it complemented Eris as well as his custom suit. Nesta nipped his bottom lip, and Eris’s breath hitched. He suddenly sat upright and practically threw the cigar in his hand on an ashtray as he gripped her hips and hauled her body over his on the chair so she was straddling him. Nesta didn’t wait before leaning down to plant her mouth over his.

His hands moved to her waist, softly squeezing her body, and she gasped above him. Her hands were on his shoulders, and she enjoyed being able to freely touch and feel the man underneath her. His shoulders were muscled and broad, and his thighs were spread wide under her. She lightly scratched his scalp and tugged on his short hair, delightfully surprised at the small moan he let out. 

Nesta felt drunk on her discovery that Eris apparently didn’t mind a bit of pain with his pleasure. Her smugness was short-lived when he gripped her waist and forced her down at the same time he lifted his hips up and she felt his arousal through the thin material of her underwear. She gasped as he continued grinding her over his clothed cock, staring at her with an intensity she’d never seen from any man. 

“I can’t wait to get my lips all over your body,” he whispered, sounding wrecked. He shoved her dress up her thighs so it bunched around her waist and groaned as he stared at her panty-clad pussy grind against the large bulge in his pants. 

“No time like the present.” Nesta tried to sound cool, confident, but knew her voice was breathy and desperate.

Firmly gripping her ass, Eris swiftly stood up. She instinctively locked her legs around his waist as he moved them over to his desk. Kicking his chair out of the way, he lowered her to the wooden surface and kept himself slotted between her legs. 

He leaned over her and tried to kiss her, but Nesta wanted more . Pushing him back slightly, she stood up and began ever so slowly to move her dress’s thin straps down her arms. Nesta kept her eyes on Eris’s the entire time, even as she pushed her dress over her hips so it puddled around her feet, leaving her in only her sheer stockings, heels, underwear and lace brassiere. 

The way Eris was staring at her was nothing short of a predator finding his prey. His pupils were so dilated his eyes were nearly black; his breath was harsh, and the tension in his body looked like it was going to snap like a rubberband. A considerable bulge tented his trousers.

Nesta had never felt more desirable, so wanted. She felt a small thrum of power course through her. Here was one of the most formidable men in all of Prythia, and he was reduced to a near beast at the sight of her half-naked body. Even if nothing else came from this night, she would always remember this small blossom of power and influence she held for a night. 

She deftly unhooked and removed her brassiere with skilled hands, and her underwear quickly followed. She bent over to remove her stockings and shoes when Eris’s rough voice broke through the silence. “Leave them on.”

Grinning like the cat that caught the canary, Nesta stood tall, letting Eris survey her body: her slim, bare shoulders, large breasts with dark nipples, a trim waist that flowed to her hips, and shapely legs and calves. Hopping back on the desk and crossing her legs, Nesta was just about to remark with some quip when he crowded close to her, connecting his lips with hers in a bruising kiss.

“You’re an absolute vision,” he muttered, kissing and biting down her neck to her collarbones. “Let me taste you, please.”

Please. 

In the span of a few minutes, she had him begging her. She felt a little thrill run though her at the control she possessed over this dangerous man. She hummed her consent and moaned softly when his large, warm hands trailed down her body to open her legs up. His lips took a more leisurely route down her body, taking each of her nipples in his mouth and sucking lightly. He left trailing kisses and licks down her body before he lowered himself to his knees between her wide spread legs, shrugging off his suit coat and throwing it away to reveal his broad shoulders. 

The only man Nesta had previously been with was a middling sort of man from her village. Tomas had never deigned to kiss her between her legs, calling it disgusting and beneath him. Nesta had believed him, thinking that men simply didn’t put their lips between women’s legs like men expected women to do to them.

Eris clearly did not hold that view. Licking a broad stripe up her cunt with his tongue, he held her legs wide open as her legs instinctively tried to close around his head. Nesta leaned back on her hands as she let Eris kiss, lick, and suck her folds. The tip of his tongue grazed her clit, and she let out a sharp gasp; looking down at him, she saw triumph in his eyes as a thick finger entered her.

One of Nesta’s hands flew to Eris’s head to tangle in his hair and keep him on her pussy, though based on the ferocity he licked her, it wasn’t needed. A second finger entered her and started thrusting and curling, and he didn't stop as her legs tightened around his head, the heels of her shoes digging into his shoulder blades. She was quietly moaning and gasping and suddenly his thick fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot. His tongue flicked hard against her clit, and she was coming, letting out a loud moan into the silent air. 

Eris had moved his head away from her body and was placing soft kisses to the insides of her thighs. Carefully lowering her thighs off his shoulders, he stood up and captured her lips in a slow, languid kiss that would have taken her breath away if she had had any to begin with. She still faintly tasted the cigar and whiskey but mostly tasted herself on his lips. 

Their slow kissing suddenly turned frantic. Nesta pushed his suspenders off his shoulders and they each worked on getting Eris’s clothes off his body as fast as possible. Soon, Eris was naked, kicking his pants away.

Nesta stared at Eris’s cock. It was large and thick - much bigger than her previous lover. She reached forward and wrapped a hand around his length, moving it up and down and watching Eris’s head fall back, the pale column of his throat exposed. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to lick his cock or his neck first. She swiped a thumb over the dark red tip of him, and he gasped. 

“Do you have - ?”

“Yes,” he said, reading her mind and reaching down to one of his desk drawers and pulling out a condom. 

“Do you often bring women here to fuck them on your desk?” Nesta asked, a challenge in her eyes.

“What if I do?” he replied, rolling the latex down his cock. “Jealous?” He leaned his forehead against hers and rubbed the tip of his cock against her pussy, gathering her wetness against his length. 

“No,” she breathed, reaching down to move his cock to her opening. “Just thinking that you’ll never want to bring another woman up here who isn't me after tonight.”

Grinning savagely, Eris slid inside her in one smooth, hard stroke. Nesta gasped and grasped his hip, silently begging him not to move yet. Eris kept still, letting her adjust to him while he placed small kisses on her neck. A large hand moved to her hip and gripped her, cementing them even further together.

Finally Nesta slightly moved her hips, and Eris withdrew before slowly sliding back in to the hilt. Nesta leaned back on her arms as Eris built a steady rhythm between their bodies. He felt deliciously thick in her; she looked down and saw how she was split wide to accommodate him, her wetness making his cock shine.

“You’re taking me so well,” he murmured, watching where her eyes traveled. “Such a good girl for me.”

She whimpered and tightened around him at his words. No one had ever said such lewd things to her before, especially not while intimate. She leaned her head back and sighed, enjoying the feel of Eris’s cock thrusting into her body and his words sending shivers down her spine.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he groaned. His speed picked up. He pulled her ass closer to the edge of the desk so he could better pound into her soft cunt. “Like you were made for me.”

Nesta could only hang onto the desk and his shoulders as his pace turned punishing. The sound of their wet flesh hitting each other flooded the room, drowned out by their moans and groans. Nesta hadn't been serious when she told Eris he’d never want to bring another woman to his apartment after tonight and had only wanted to rile him up a bit. She realized, however, as his thumb moved to her clit and his hips angled up to hit that sensitive spot inside her, that maybe she hadn’t been joking at all.

“Want you to come on my cock,” he whispered in her ear. “Can you be a good girl for me and come all over me?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Nesta groaned. His thumb on her clit was stroking her just right, and with a particularly well placed hard thrust of his cock, she fell apart. She squeezed her eyes shut and bright stars erupted behind her eyelids. A warmth traveled up her spine and through her limbs, like the whiskey she had drunk earlier, but this was more intense, better. Her legs were trembling and her arms gave way, but Eris was holding her body to his, keeping her supported. 

His eyes were boring into hers with a fiery intensity. A lock of his hair was plastered against his sweaty forehead. Nesta swept his hair away from his face, threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged; with a strangled gasp, Eris came, letting out a loud, deep moan into her shoulder. His powerful hips stuttered against hers, holding her body to his.

They both lay there in silence, collecting their breaths. Nesta had started to think of how she would awkwardly redress and depart for the evening when Eris interrupted her train of thought. “Stay here tonight.”

Nesta blinked. Once, twice. She hadn’t counted on that. She had originally only wanted a bit of fun, a chance to test her newfound freedom and ability to choose whatever she wanted for herself. Did she want to be entangled with Eris Vanserra for any longer than was necessary?

Eris sensed her indecision. “It’s late, and I’ll take you home in the morning. After breakfast,” he said, nipping along her jaw and sending more shivers throughout Nesta’s body.

“I’m going out to lunch with my girlfriends tomorrow.”

“Plenty of time for me to make you breakfast and get reacquainted with you then,” he said, looking at her. He kissed her softly. ���If you don’t want to, I’ll take you home tonight. But you’d be missing out on some excellent coffee I have,” he said, grinning slightly.

Nesta laughed. “Fine, but only for the coffee,” she replied. He withdrew from her with a hiss and helped her off the desk. She rubbed her bottom - she would undoubtedly be a bit sore from where the desk was biting into her soft flesh.

Eris tsked. “Looks like you’re hurt. I said I’d be a terrible host if you were injured while you were here and I’d have to kiss all your injuries away.” He swept her up in his arms. “I’d better get started on kissing that particular injury.” Nesta laughed as Eris carried her to his bedroom, where her laughter turned back into moans before too long.

XXX

Eris had known he would end up between Nesta Archeron’s thighs before the end of the night. What he hadn’t expected, however, was for her to be so intoxicating, so quick-witted, so interesting, that he’d invite her into his bed for the entire evening and morning.

He lay in his bed with her; she was still sleeping after their intense night. Her time spent dancing had strengthened her legs, which he got to experience when she rode him last night, the muscles in her thighs flexing with every sharp swivel of her hips. He gave her legs a break later when he pushed her down and pounded into her from behind, watching her ass bounce against his hips. He had whispered such filthy things to her, things most partners of his shied away from, and she had responded in kind, telling him of all the things she wanted to do to him, how he made her feel.

Eris turned on his side to stare at her. Even after being fucked all night, she was still the most captivating woman he had ever seen. He could already envision her in his life, in his home, in his bed, naked and trembling in his bed sheets, face flushed with pleasure, that wickedly talented mouth gasping and moaning his name. But he could also see more mundane things: her engrossed in a book in his small reading nook with a roaring fire while he worked at his desk, going out to a dancehall together, or going back to his estate outside the city for a more extensive whiskey tasting. 

Eris had rarely thought of finding someone and settling down. He was still young, and most women who wanted him only wanted his name and the perks that came with him. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted that, much less if Nesta would be right for him, but he would at least be willing to spend more time with her and get to know her better.

As if she could hear him thinking about her, she opened her bleary eyes and smiled. “Good morning,” she said, her voice husky with sleep.

“Good morning,” he said, leaning over to cup her jaw and kiss her. She responded so perfectly to him, leaning further into his body. He felt her nipples perk up against his chest and he reached over to grab her hip and move her on top of him -

Before she pushed him away with a shove to his shoulder. He stared wide eyed at her.

“Ah, ah, ah. I believe someone promised me some excellent coffee this morning,” she said primly, rolling out of bed and throwing on one of his shirts. It just barely covered her cute ass, and the sight of her in his clothes nearly short-circuited his entire brain. “I think I need some caffeine right away, especially since you and that big cock of yours kept me awake nearly all night,” she said, winking at him.

Yes, he thought to himself, watching Nesta saunter out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. He most certainly wanted to get to know Nesta Archeron much better.

[kagrena]

34. bauble

Dumac, who is neither a magnificent king nor a decorated general nor even a particularly celebrated diplomat (yet), but is instead a twenty-four year old legal assistant who stands in shadow to his tedious cousin – as instructed – and slinks between soirées in Bzanth-Vvarden's high spires when he is not giving maverick legal advice – which is not as instructed though largely tolerated – has just been given a gift he cannot receive. It's an awkward position.

"I thought... but this was your gift, was it not?" He looks to the gift-giver, who stands upright like a tower but refuses to meet his gaze. "Was it not gifted to you?"

The gift-giver is resolute. "It is a pretty bauble. The sort you like. I have no need of such things."

The 'pretty bauble' in question is, in fact, an ornate geometric hairpiece spun from glass-woven-into-brass by a Bzanthan master crafter. He is almost certain that it was gifted by the Chief of Crafts themselves. It is intricate, stylish, and - yes, exactly the type of 'bauble' he would covet.

It also is inlaid with a ring of Lzrenti sapphires. The sort that would have been impossible to find during the War of the Mountains.

He sighs.

"This is supposed to be a peace offering. A symbol of harmony between our clans. Would you really turn that down?"

"I don't want peace," says the gift-giver. He is reminded, again, that they are just nineteen years old. "Do you believe the Nords care for our petty disputes? We are all just 'dwarves' in their eyes. They'll slaughter us without discrimination."

Dumac steps forward.

"I understand where you're coming from–"

"No, you do not."

Lzrent is now smouldering ash. Bzanth-Vvarden is not.

"You are right," he says, "but if I may – while 'petty' to you, this gesture means something to the elders here. They'll need help seeing your perspective. Play their game a little, and it will be easier to convince them."

They shake their head.

"I have spent six months playing their games, being placated by diplomats at their ridiculous little events. This city is an extravagant shambles. When the Nords come for us–"

They cut themselves off. They try again–

"When the Nords come for us–"

Their hands crunch into balls. Dumac considers reaching out – but thinks better of it.

"Kagrenac–" he begins–

"I almost think I'd be better off raising an army."

It is actually rather easy to imagine Kagrenac, the bold warrior queen, who unites the clans under a single fiery banner. Brazen and coarse and uncompromising, with all the blood on their hands. It is fanciful image, an almost impossible image, and it compels him as much as it makes him want to recoil. They have already been so many things. A refugee. A daughter of one of the Great Scrollkeepers in Clan Lzrent's Grand Library – reduced to ashes by the Nords less than a year ago. They arrived in Vvardenfell with nothing but rags on their back and pure hunger in their eyes. Sponsored by his grandmother in an act of unabashed self-interest, who seeks to apprentice them as an Architect. They are young and stubborn, they sulk during festivities and bicker with people five times their age. His cousin loathes them. Dumac, who has no younger siblings or relatives his age, for his part, well–

"You would be cut down in less than year," he says, simply. "You have no credentials, no family, and most Vvardenfell Clans have no great love for anyone in the Western Mountains. What little you would gather would be destroyed in a matter of minutes."

"It would be better," they snap, "than another year sitting and doing nothing."

"No, it would not." He wishes he could speak like an earthquake. That he could grasp them by the shoulders and shake them to their core. "It would be a year wasted. And what would that honestly achieve? Who would it serve, except your pride?"

They say nothing to this.

"Kagrena, don't waste your life on nothing. You're worth more than that."

They do not move.

Dumac sighs. "I'll take your bauble and even wear it, if it pleases you."

It takes a moment. Then, they shrug, suddenly, an awkward gesture that doesn't fit with their cutting words or their earlier poise. They place the bauble in his hand.

"I think it would suit you," they say quietly.

[parasitesiren]

STATS

NAME. Troy Calypso

BIRTH NAME. [Redacted] Deleon

NICK NAMES. God King Troy

AGE. 22

PROFESSION. God. Cult leader. ECHOnet streamer. Film maker. Video editor. Head of propaganda for the COV.

GENDER. Male. (Trans. Fully post op.)

SEXUALITY. Bisexual, with a preference for women.

FROM. Nekrotafeyo.

CURRENT LOCATION. Pandora.

RELIGION. Tyreen. The Children Of The Vault.

HEIGHT. 6'7"

BODY TYPE. Lanky, thin.

HAIR. Black.

EYES. Icy blue.

COMPLEXION. Brown, but paler/more sickly than his sister.

SCARS. Numerous. Most notably, a large scar down his right side where he's missing an arm.

TATTOOS. CALYPSO across his stomach. Geometric shapes and lines along his lower stomach/hip bones. Some sort of large skull/wings/flames thing on his chest. A skull on his left shoulder. Patterns of stars and wings down his left upper arm and thighs. Thin black lines from the corners of his mouth to his ears. A line from the bottom of his lip to his chin. Red siren tattoos (magical tattoos that manifested when his powers did) along his entire left arm, left side of his neck, and left side of his face. Wings on his pelvis on either side of the base of his dick.

PIERCINGS. Stretched earlobes. Silver dermal piercings; two on each cheek (two under the eyes, two in the hollows of his cheeks overlapping the line tattoos there.) A larger triangle dermal piercing on his chin. Tongue stud. Three large black dermal piercings on his left arm. Three slightly smaller black dermal piercings along the underside of his dick.

PREFERENCES

DRINKS.  The occasional energy drink or occasional cheap booze. Not picky about the booze.

FOOD. No. His underdeveloped digestive system makes it nearly impossible for him to eat; his body doesn't know how to process the food. Liquids are alright, though his body doesn't really absorb many nutrients if he were to drink something like a health smoothie or a protein shake. He gets his nutrients via Tyreen's siren powers.

ANIMALS. Yes. He's never really had a pet, but he'd like to.

MUSIC. Screamo, pop punk, industrial.

MEDIA. Fantasy and adventure books. Any films he can get his hands on.

PLACES. Abandoned buildings turned COV churches, primarily.

DEEPER

THE GOOD. Intelligent. Loyal. Sweet.

THE BAD. Timid. Self-destructive. Jealous. Manipulative. Guarded.

OUTLOOK. Pessimistic.

FEARS. Losing Tyreen. Disappointing Tyreen. Never being good enough.

PHYSICAL HEALTH. It's literally a miracle that he's alive. Miracles do nothing to help with the constant aches and pains.

MENTAL HEALTH. Not much better than his physical health, but new tattoos and sex seem to distract from the symptoms.

SKILLS. Tattoo art. Sketching. Video editing. Good with tech in general.

[garthcelyn]

Risen - A (Unfinished) Version of Chapter One

I'll be real, I don't know how to feel about the direction this is going but hey, it's something.

It was on that planet, at the very edge of the universe, a decade after anything remotely interesting had happened, centuries after the important bits, that the city of Kingshill thrived. The city glimmered in the morning light, its geometric designs of gold and brass cogs shining brightly and its white buildings towering proudly above. The overhead wires crackled with Lancer & Co branded electricity, connecting every house and business and small, forgotten shack to the beauty that was a danger to society, but very good at powering newfangled appliances. Cars and shuttlebuses created by the Godricks of Godrick Gears rushed around to no end through busy streets and polished roads. The same city that was protected by its many soldiers, from those of the military academy to the templars of the twin temples that stood mirrored on opposite ends of this glorious place. A perfect haven, where nothing wrong ever happened. Ever.

In the courtyard of the Temple of Omera, a dog knight lay dying. Flat on her back, her chest a concave broken mess. She wore no armour - that was a first, and now her last. She assumed that when the time came, as it does for all, she would go peacefully and quietly. No such mercy ever came her way.

When the elders dragged her still-wheezing corpse from that patch of evergreen grass, she could not fight. Her eyelids were heavy, eyes staring unfocused into the sky, sending one sloppy glare into Sanctum. Behind her, she left a red carpet across the marble flooring, a snail trail of gore that wouldn’t be her problem.

And there, in the back room semi-used as a mortuary, she lay across the stone table. An altar to her. A bottle pressed to her lips, thick liquid forcing itself down her throat as if it were a living thing. Minutes. An eternity. No time whatsoever. Her chest re-inflated with a violent pop, bones sewing back together, skin mending. She sat up with a start, gasping to fill her semi-fixed lungs, hands grasping at her front, feeling how the skin pulled itself together.

She was alive, and that was awful.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, patting her gently. A rook, one that the humble dog knight knew years ago, though time is a fickle thing that does what it wants. His name was Rutherford, once. If it still was, she could never be sure. A fellow barbaric cocktail of etain and human, big catlike eyes and pointed ears hidden beneath a thick cascading mass of black hair.

“Cooper,” he said, voice low but crackling like a hearth. A warning. “You need to be more careful, if anything happened to you-”

“Well, I can’t die,” she said through blood-stained lips, the sound closer to a gurgle than her voice. Closer to water fighting to flow down a plughole. “Idris would get lonely.”

“Forget about the damn dog for two seconds. You have a duty. To the temple and your squad.”

“You had that duty, once.”

Rutherford huffed, blowing air forcefully through his nose as if he could breathe fire. He couldn’t, Cooper had checked. His big purple eyes regarded her, stared through her, before he sighed once more. “Get some rest, Cooper. You still need it.”

Nails scratched at the door, shaking it on its hinges. A loud whine shattered the air before Rutherford opened the door and let the bounding mass of fluff and muscle.

“Hey puppy!” greeted Cooper, voice raising several uncharacteristic octaves; reaching over to rub the overly large wardog between his drooping ears.

Rutherford clicked his tongue. “It’s not a pet, Cooper. It’s also not allowed within temple walls. Your bond shouldn’t have called him.”

Cooper did not have a bond with Idris, not how she expected. They were not connected in any way, either through magic or some other means. She cared for him and, in return, he cared for her. The very fact that he was allowed to grow up without that link is likely the reason for his size, the largest out of his litter, who looked closer to a lycan tank than a typical wardog. His size, unfortunately, came at both their downfalls.

Despite this, the temple was unaware that she skipped the bonding ritual so many years ago. Now standing at the ripe old age of twenty-one, she didn’t see a reason to do so. “I need to get back to the barracks somehow, yeah? Were you going to carry me? Probably not.”

“Don’t let me catch it in here again.”

“Yes, sir.”

She swung her legs over the edge of the table, Idris instinctively laying down so that she could climb onto his back. Her spine cracked, joints popping, but sore now rather than dead. Digging her fingers into thick black fur, Idris stood and carefully walked out of the room, his colossal body squeezing through the doorway once more.

The grey room was still and cold, and the only sound was the soft chatter of the other Templars. After everything, it was a welcome sight. Nothing could have been more comforting than the straw of her bed that she gained from wearing her old mattress down for the past twelve years. Idris lay beside her, his big head dropping into her lap with a thump. One step away from perfection, that last step being positively ruined by Hawkins, the rampant bitch of the twelfth herself, changing in the corner of her eye.

“Back already?” she called over, torso bared and a white cotton shirt that was practically the same colour as her skin bundled in her hand. “And you brought the mutt. Of course. Weren’t you busy dying?”

“Rutherford gave me ichor.”

“Ah.”

Cooper rolled her eyes. “Don’t get too worked up about it.”

“Oh, I’m not. If anything, I’m more upset that you’re still here.”

“I hate you.”

“Who got the better of you? I’ll buy them a drink.”

Cooper replied rather eloquently with a middle finger in Hawkins’ general direction.

It was Mayburn who spectacularly ruined her chest. A child. A child, who both wielded a hammer and was raised by Cooper herself. A young dog knight who had, actually, had the temple’s bond with her animal. Was it pride that Cooper felt blooming in her chest, that the girl she trained bested her so royally? No. No, it was likely heartburn from where her ribs continued to fuse back into place.

Regardless, she did not want to encourage the ten-year-old to gain a drinking problem. Not just yet.

“I think they’d only fight you.”

“Then I welcome the challenge.”

Cooper snorted, hand flying to her chest as it throbbed. Fingers pressed at the bones beneath, massaging out the flames that grew within her heart. Hawkins cast a look that could only be described as pitiful, or rather, pitying. A horrific thought. Her eyes soft and scrunched, focused on Cooper and only Cooper, before hardening once more before strapping a pauldron onto her otherwise unarmoured self.

“The Bishop wants to talk to you.” A roll of the shoulders. “Talk to us.”

“Now?”

“Get some rest, Lieutenant.”

As the sun set over the city, bathing the land in a warm golden glow, Cooper found herself once more in the chilling breeze that haunted her. She lead Idris back to his pen, back to his pups and pack mates, hand lost in the mass of fur of his front leg. The sun disappeared over the gleaming white buildings, the city’s gold glinting for the last time that day.

She sucked in a long breath, lungs chilling and filling with the scent of old mutts that would have once caused her to gag, was now a strange comfort. The dogs understood her like no other templar. She ushered Idris in, rubbing him between the ears one last time before closing the door and locking it behind her. The last stop before her summons.

In the temple’s backfield, she felt the wind on her face, and was free for a few glorious moments. Free in the chilling air as the day slowly but surely turned to night. Above her inky black ate away at the pinks and ambers, the twin moons still out of sight behind the paint dabs of clouds. Free. Cooper couldn’t say what the word meant.

The inside of the temple was hardly any warmer. The chill followed her in, hiding within her bones and gripping its withered fingers into her skin. In the ribcage of marble, the only thing that resembled home, the world fell silent. There she stood before her greatest foe, the dark wooden doorway to the Bishop’s quarters. Her heart hammered away, stomach rolling. She hadn’t been in that room in many years; she could still feel the desperation of leaving Andrin behind, even all these years later. For him to never return from the Bishop’s lair, buried with the rest. She alone left victorious, a new title to pin on her chest.

She didn’t regret it one bit.

Cooper knocked. The sound echoed down the empty hallway. She mustered her courage and struck again, the sound ringing in her ears. It was this time a muffled voice came from within, words unknown but assumedly a “come in” or “go away”. Gambling, she entered.

Bishop Nyxus sat hunched behind his desk, his back arched in such a way it almost overshadowed his head. The same man who took issue with his shining templar’s posture looked closer to an uncooked shrimp in purple robes than the head of their fine regime. Slowly he raised his head, green eyes staring unblinking at Cooper, pupils slits in the soft lamplight.

“Late, isn’t it, Cub?”

“You wanted to speak with me?”

The Bishop nodded slowly, gesturing towards the seat before him. Cooper sat, unaccustomed to the soft fabric that stretched over its overstuffed form. She fingered at the deep purple velvet of the armrests, rolling the pads across its surface. Soft. Cosy. Not for her, but she indulged nonetheless. He watched her. Looked through her. Searching for something beneath the surface.

“Bonbon?” he asked, finally breaking his unblinking stare. Cooper grabbed one from the little ornate bowl on the desk with very little hesitation and popped it in her mouth. It was awful. Chalky and bitter, like licking at where the stone had began to crumble in the courtyard, or the powder that had accumulated behind the peeling wallpaper of the armoury. It coated her tongue, viscous and sour, and stayed there like her own personal punishment. The Bishop gave a small smile at her struggle. “You died today. Perhaps I should be impressed, that the one you trained has overtaken you so quickly, though I invested a lot into you. You do understand how hard it is to fill our ranks since the war, yes?”

She nodded, despite not understanding at all. The temple was worthy to serve, no matter how curious she was about life outside. Four hundred shills, she cost. She had never seen that much money in her life, wasn’t allowed. Too valuable, Nyxus had told her. That, paired with free room and meals for the past twelve years, was more than she could ever give back. Twelve years. She had been dragged through the temple gates kicking and screaming, a feral little thing; underfed and sharp. She had been placed under Rutherford’s care, and had bitten him plenty of times during those first few weeks. That, too, had been beaten from her, trained from her.

She scarfed another bonbon to fill the silence.

The Bishop poured a glass of red, swirling the liquid around the chalice. “Now, Cooper, you’re better than this. You’ve always been better than this.” Cooper grew warm and uncomfortable, sweat prickling her skin. It was a compliment. She was sure it was a compliment. With a long sip, and a lazy appraisal, the Bishop spoke again. “Make it up to me?”

Cooper nodded without hesitation, sitting forward in her seat, though not daring to touch the desk. An over eager child in adulthood. Her skin itched, burned with the need to please despite it all. She could count on both hands the times she had seen him, spoken to him, in all her years serving the Goddess. A busy man who the Goddess chose as her eyes and ears over the Kingshill temple. Too busy to raise her and too busy to father her, but pushed her forward the best he could. She owed him.

“How?” she croaked out. She cursed herself, swallowing the words like a bitter pill. For the Goddess, she’d do anything. It was only right. “How do I make this right?”

“I would have told you in the morning, though there’s no harm in telling you now.” He sat back in his chair, chalice abandoned and fingers steepled. Still, he watched her. Never once had he taken his gaze off of her. “You’re needed on a search party, as you’re likely aware Prince Kirran is missing, and his siblings have asked for you personally.”

Cooper’s stomach dropped. It twisted and boiled, raging against the flesh it was housed in.

Through gritted teeth she said “of course.” And left it at that, which brought a little smile to Nyxus’ lips.

“You’re our best,” he said like a threat. “I agreed on your behalf, though I will have to send Captain Hawkins alongside you. Should take a few months, and I have something in mind for when you return.”

That something, Cooper hoped was the greatest reward of all; no longer being under Hawkins’ leadership.

“Of course, sir,” she nodded, “anything for the Goddess.”

Nyxus smiled at her now, teeth gleaming like the paste advertisements littered around on posters around the city. Very white, and dripping charisma. “You’re dismissed, my cub. You have a long week ahead.”

After sleeping the day away, it now evaded her. The silver moonlight washed over the barracks, untainted by the stained glass that filled the front half of the temple, barely kept out by heavy purple curtains. There in her once-white shirt that had belonged to at least a dozen templars before her, now drenched due to the warm night air; Cooper wanted to die.

As silently as she could she shifted her legs to the side, pulling on her worn down excuse for shoes, she fled the barracks as she had many nights before. It was something she would have considered herself quite good at, if it wasn’t for the knowledge that Nyxus had given the order to let her leave whenever it fancied her. A perk of training under Stykes Academy, though that in itself was only natural for templars. Despite it all, they had a better training ground.