#shame he turned out to be just a greedy bastard in the end

[teecupangel]

Adding fuel to the fire of COD and AC crossover. Although you don't have modern warfare 1 and 2 reboot (that's okay) I hope you'll get the game soon but I guess stick to cut scenes in YouTube up to you. (I'm the OG anon who requested the Cod x AC, hi, how you been?)

https://youtu.be/g3GPMpevdRQ

That's the link of Phillip graves's betrayal. The detail that his name changes color of his status and same with General Shepherd in an another cut scene and it made me think of Desmond using eagle vision saw him changed color especially this is the moment Philip graves mentioned him as an assassin and the brotherhood in that and the 141 task force + Alejandro and Rudy learned about and you know spice up with angst. I believe Farah makes Desmond possibly go soft on her and treat her like a sister cause her strong personality reminds me of Claudia. I don't know what will be the first impression of Alex to Desmond (They might get along cos they are Americans lol). I want the task force be amazed (Desmond deserves all the positive attention at the dual his hidden blades, hidden gun, parkour and rope dart (Connor definitively knows how) and maybe sharing his wisdom *cough* bleeding effects *cough* of the views and tenants of the creed. Sorry for the long ask. Enjoy my heart emojis for you 💘💝💖💗💓💞💕💟❣️❤️‍🔥❤🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜🤎🖤🩶🤍

All current AC x COD short fics/drabbles: the OG question that started it all together with 2 small drabbles, Desmond and the 141 ‘bonding’

(I’ve been great, nonny, thanks for asking. I did find a cheap mw one but all mwii are still not that cheap. Hahaha. Although, full confession: I watched the scenes with Ghost and Soap in it because they’re my favorite in the og mw so I did see Graves’ betrayal scene XD)

He'll definitely be like "I like this one" with Farah and Alex would be a bit jealous because he is kinda like Farah's yes man. If Desmond is ever going to have a 'recruit' in MW, it'll either be Ramirez and/or Farah. Alex and Desmond would probably be sus over one another because Alex is CIA and Desmond is pretending to be CIA XD

If you're wondering why I answered that first before Graves... weeeelllll...

So I have another confession to make. I had a plan for Graves and Shadow Company (and Shepherd) being Assassins in this fic and now that you asked, I have an excuse to write this scene XD

This will also answer a question from @twitcherpated :

does the 141 ping as blue to Desmond? Gold? Something else?

Have a little fic where I give Graves and Shadow Company more... uuuhhh... I wanna say 'deeper connection'?

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

Desmond knew something was up even before they reached the barricade that had suddenly popped up at the entrance of Los Vaqueros’ base.

Desmond had his Eagle Vision activated the entire ride, more as a precaution than anything else. Alejandro, Soap, and Ghost were as blue as always with Ghost’s blue the most vibrant of them all.

He missed the blues of the rest of 141 and Ramirez’ but they had their own mission to take care of.

And Desmond had been consoling himself with the blues of Graves and Shadow Company.

It was nice…

Being surrounded by blues for once.

Especially by fellow Assassins like Shadow Company.

Which was why the sudden white of their forms just before they reached the gates immediately made Desmond wary.

Something was happening…

And the blues of Shadow Company was now being slowly smothered by the white like some kind of fading gradient.

Desmond followed his team as they got out of the car at the same time Graves and his men came out of theirs but he kept his hands on his ACR, just in case.

Desmond took a step forward to follow Alejandro but stopped when Ghost placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly. Desmond turned to look at Ghost who simply shook his head at him almost unnoticeably while Alejandro loudly asked, “What’s this?”

“This is the immediate future.” Graves answered calmly, his tone having lost all casualness he used to show to 141 and Alejandro, “Step away from the gate.”

“What?” Soap asked with furrowed brows.

“You’re crazy, this is my base.” Alejandro reminded them as he raised his arms briefly.

“It’s not a base. This is a sizeable facility and I admire it.” Graves glanced at Desmond as he announced, “So we’ll be using it as our bureau for this operation.”

Desmond froze at those words while Graves continued, turning his attention back to Alejandro and Soap, “You boys have been relieved. Thank you for your service.”

“No, no, no.” Alejandro immediately spoke with growing fury in his voice, “I don’t tak-”

“Desmond.” Graves cut Alejandro off as he turned to face Desmond, “It’s time for us to do what we’re meant to do, brother.”

Desmond’s eyes widened just as both Soap and Alejandro turned to stare at him.

“What does he mean by that, Desmond?” Soap asked, “Did you know about this?”

“Know about it? He’s part of it.” Graves answered for Desmond and Desmond could only watch in silence as Graves and the Shadow Company around him took off a part of their patch, removing part of the shades and the rook and revealing a black Assassin insignia underneath.

Desmond barely heard Graves’ next words, “He’s been part of it longer than any of us.”

All he could focus on was the words written below the insignia.

Agiamo nell’ombra per service la luce.

‘We work in the dark to serve the light.’

“What does he mean by that, Desmond?” Soap’s voice shook Desmond out of his stupor and he turned to stare at Soap.

“You’re with them?!” Alejandro shouted as he took a step away from Graves and pointed an accusing finger at Desmond.

“Does Shepherd know?” Soap asked as he took a step towards the car.

“Commander Shepherd sends his regards.” Graves answered and they all turned to face him once more. Graves stared at Desmond as he added, “And he told me to remind you…”

“Remember that you are a part of our Brotherhood.” Graves glanced at Soap as he stated, “Not theirs.”

Desmond tightened his grip on his ACR as he finally spoke, “I’m loyal to the Creed…”

“But I am not loyal to any master.” Desmond let go of his ACR and quickly pulled out his USP.45, making everyone raise their main weapon.

“Hold your fire!” Both Graves and Soap ordered when they both realized that Desmond had aimed his sidearm…

At his own temple.

“Desmond…”

“You talk too much, Graves.” Desmond took a step back as he used his left hand to show everyone his hidden blade, “You all know what this does, right?”

Desmond placed his left hand on the side of his neck as he said, “Before anyone gets the idea of shooting my hand off so I can’t fire my gun, all I need to do is twitch and I’ll pierce my own neck.”

“Desmond…” Soap called out as he kept his own gun aimed at Graves’ men.

“Desperate times, Soap.” Desmond said with an obviously fake cheerful tone before glaring at Graves, “So, Graves. Don’t talk, just listen.”

“Shepherd needs me.” Desmond stated, “That’s the only reason why you would go to all this trouble to blow my cover right here and now. You’re trying to turn 141 against me.”

Soap and Alejandro glanced at Desmond but kept quiet.

“Which means you need me to come to you willingly.” Desmond stared at Graves’ impressive poker face.

Then he glanced at the body posture of the men behind Graves.

“It’s Soma.” Desmond realized, “You need me to find Soma…”

Desmond glanced beyond the gates before continuing, “You’ve got confirmation that Soma is in there but you don’t know where. That’s why you need me.”

Graves was quiet for a moment before he stated, “No.”

Desmond frowned at that.

“We’ve retrieved Soma and it’s now en route to General Shepherd’s location.” Graves informed him, lips curving into that cocky smile of his that Desmond had actually liked, “You’re not the only one with Eagle Vision, Desmond.”

“Then why do you need-” Desmond stopped, eyes widening as he realized, “You need me to activate it.”

“Only your genes can activate Soma.” Graves answered with a nod, “According to our research, the power Soma holds can be used as targeted strikes but it needs an Anima to control the strikes.”

“You want me to use Soma to take down the Templars.” Desmond realized, eyes widening even further as he added, “To attack Abstergo facilities!”

“There are innocent people there!” Desmond shouted, “Not everyone in Abstergo are Templars, Graves!”

“And they killed children during the Great Purge!” Graves shouted back, “Do you think they were Assassins too, Desmond?! Do you think everyone the Templars killed during the Great Purge were Assassins?! Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters…”

“The Templars did not give us mercy then, why should we show them mercy now?!” Graves asked as he kept his weapon lowered while taking a step toward Desmond. Alejandro, Soap, and Ghost pointed their guns at Graves but Graves kept his eyes on Desmond, “You weren’t there to see it! You were safe in William Miles’ little Farm!”

“But we…” Graves took a step back and raised his arms as he announced, “We are the shadows that were left behind by that genocide! We are the shadows that will avenge the dead!”

“And you’re the sun that will make us larger than we have ever been.” Graves announced as he offered his hand to Desmond, “This is it, Desmond. This is our time to turn the tide. No more staying in the shadows, no more hiding from Abstergo or the Templars.”

“With you as the Anima…” Graves’ eyes were clear but Desmond could hear the fanaticism in his voice, “We will burn the Templars to the ground once more.”

“Just like Ezio Auditore did in Cappadocia.”

Desmond took a step back as he said, “No.”

Desmond shook his head as he shouted, “No! Cappadocia was a mistake!”

“I won’t do it, Graves.” Desmond stated before staring at the men who all had different shades of blue and white right now behind Graves, “This isn’t our way. This isn’t how our Brotherhood should be.”

“The Brotherhood we have now, William Miles’ Brotherhood, is nothing more than a rat scurrying in the sewers on its own shit!” Graves argued before slowly taking out a white phone from his back pocket.

“What’s that, Graves?!” Soap shouted as he aimed at the phone.

“Relax. I’m making a call to someone Desmond would want to speak to.” Graves said calmly as he pressed the call button before showing the phone to all of them, “Shepherd told me you wouldn’t see reason. That you’re too soft.”

“I was stupid enough to think he’s wrong. That you would have Ezio Auditore’s courage instead.” Graves stated as he glared at Desmond.

“Don’t talk to me about Ezio. I know Ezio more than anyone in the world! He wouldn’t have approved of this!” Desmond shouted, trying to get the men behind Graves to see the truth.

“Ezio Auditore took Rome from Borgia rule by fire and blood.” Shepherd’s voice was heard from the phone and the phone’s screen changed to a video of Shepherd, “And we will take the world back from Abstergo’s control.”

“Shepherd.” Soap growled as he glared at the phone.

“Graves, take everyone in.” Shepherd ordered, “If our Anima does not wish to take his proper place for the sake of the Brotherhood then he will do it for the people he cares about.”

“If you think we’re just going to let you take us-”

“You will.” Shepherd cut Soap off as he said, “Desmond will make sure of it.”

“What?”

“Have you forgotten?” Shepherd asked calmly, “The two transfers in Shadow Company?”

Desmond froze as Shepherd stepped to the side, revealing…

“Shaun! Rebecca!” Desmond shouted as he saw the slumped figures of Shaun and Rebecca tied to the chairs.

“You saved the world once, Desmond.” Shepherd stated and stepped back to the frame of the video once more, “It’s time to save it once more, son.”

The video cut at that and Graves returned the phone to his back pocket. He aimed his gun at Alejandro calmly as he said, “You heard the commander, Desmond. It’s time to come home.”

A tense silence fell on all of them.

Until…

“Take cover!” Ghost ordered and they all reacted immediately, falling to their stomach just as one of the men behind Graves suddenly threw two smoke grenades.

“Left side, go!” Ghost ordered and all of them immediately rolled to the left just as they heard the sounds of gunshots erupting.

“Hold your fire! Find and secure Desmond!” Graves shouted from the smoke and everyone skidded downward. Ghost unpinned one of his grenades and threw it back to the road. One of Graves’ men grabbed it in midair and dropped it to the floor as they jumped off, skidding towards them.

“She’s with us!” Ghost shouted as Soap and Alejandro aimed their gun at the member of Shadow company, “Run! We’ll lose them in the buildings!”

Ghost took point as they all begin to run just as the grenade finally exploded, keeping Graves and his men preoccupied for a few precious seconds.

The Shadow company member with them threw their helmet off and took off their balaclava and Desmond blinked when he recognized the blonde hair and blue eyes.

“Galina!?” Desmond shouted.

“Hello, Desmond.” Galina nodded at him as they continued to run, using the same fake deep American accent he heard from Shadow 1-3. Her next words were spoken in her natural Russian accent, “William Miles told me to tell you if Graves and Shepherd did betray us...”

Galina smirked as she said, “You’re in command, Desmond.”

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

I'm sorry, nonny. I know you wanted bamf! Desmond but this plot point has been on my mind ever since I thought of OG Shepherd knowing about POEs.

(The Italian translation of We work in the dark to serve the light is directly taken from the Italian subs of AC2. If I knew more Italian, I would have changed it to We work in the shadows to serve the light XD)

(At this point, I really should just make a full fic of this crossover XD)

[alishaaxo]

The Green Queen And A Greener Future

Chapter 4

Conversation dwindled slowly as the feast ended. The only sound heard among nobles quiet whispers was the raging anger of King Viserys as his took guidance from Lyonel Strong, in attempt to calm himself from the political headache that is Rhaenyra, absconding from her duties, typical of her, Alicent remarked snidely.

As the sun slowly drifted away, Alicent joined both her father and kingly husband, along with an entourage of nobles, off to hunt while Viserys was stewing in shame and anger.

A hunt where a grand white stag was rumoured to be lingering about, a grand omen for Westeros.

Yet the Hightower Queen knew it was more than that. Her father knew it was more than that. While in the past, Alicent had missed this momentous opportunity. She now knew that if her political faction is able to discover the white stag today, it will set aside a good omen for Aegon and possibly sway nobles to their cause.

More importantly than this, was the fact that this evening was where the most significant turning point in favour of Aegon would occur. After all, this was when King Viserys declared to his wife that his naming of Rhaenyra as heir was a whim, keeping Daemon from the throne. Furthermore, he tells Alicent of his dragon-dream, his faltering in Rhaenyra claims, instead believing that Aegon could truly be the heir he dreamed of

Gossiping with her Ladies-In-Waiting as the men set out to start a fire, Alicent looked onwards to her close cousin Margareys fiery eyes, laying her gaze on Ser Daemion Velaryon, cousin to Laenor Velaryon. Recalling the events of the future, the Hightower women remembered how it was Daemion’s own father Vaemond, who she had allied with. Who ruled over Driftmark for 6 years, only to be replaced by Rhaenyra’s whiny bastard boy Lucerys, who couldn’t even handle ocean waves. Yet neither became Lord, as his uncle, Corlys, ignoring the murder of his blood-brother, preferred to have his bastard rule, if he couldn’t have Rhaenyra’s bastard as heir. Snidely, Alicent remarked on the fact that this beloved bastard of his, Alyn Waters had betrayed his granddaughter Baela, replacing her with her own niece, young enough to be their child. Just like his father, both heinous greedy men, she noted. And just like Viserys.

“Lady Bethany..” She whispered, surprising the young girl fully engrossed in her staring at the fair-haired knight, twirling her hair in admiaration.

“Ah.. I wasn’t doing anything!” She then stammered, hands flailing in exasperation.

“Don’t worry Lady Bethany, every young maiden longs for a handsome knight…”

Intent on denial, the young lady fumbled and flailed around, not wanting to expose her feelings.

Alicent looked onward to the Velaryon man, seeing his eyes flicker in interest in Bethany’s direction “.. and it seems your knight is interested in you.”

Mixed feelings were clear inside the Bracken maiden, pausing her attempt of denial as the incredulity of her knightly crush possibly reciprocating her feelings. “What….”

“Really my Queen, do you mean it?” She replies in shock, as Alicent then quietly instructs her to discreetly take a glance at Daemion Velaryon, who was seemingly mesmerised gazing at Bethany Bracken’s deep mahogany hair and comely figure, blushing red as he observed the Queen and Bethany noticing his intense ogling.

Witnessing youthful maiden and knights falter, showcasing their hearts made Alicent reminiscent of her childhood. Before marrying King Viserys, when she was just Lady Alicent, the companion of the Princess. When she and Rhaenyra would gaze at handsome knights in tourneys, gossiping in the godswood and dreaming of giving their favour to these aforementioned knights.

“The Velaryons will be joining the Royal entourage, hunting along with members of your noble house. You should use this time wisely, I’m sure Ser Daemion would enjoy it.” The Hightower Queen urged, causing a smile to arise on the wilful yet currently shy, Lady Bethany.

Alicent knew duty was important and understood why her father had impressed upon her to become the King’s Queen.

She knew alliances with fellow nobles is necessary, yet she wanted to give maidens, like she once was, any potential of happiness to be in their grasp. And by matchmaking the innocent maiden beside her, willful, wild, alike to Rhaenyra, Alicent’s heart would warm. Knowing that she can give a dutiful girl the opportunity to have an enjoyable life, starting with an enjoyable marriage.

——————————

As the entourage of nobles trekked forward, Lord Jason riding ahead on his noble steed, the infamous Tyrek, he boasted arrogantly about, Alicent smiled inside.

After all, she had successfully created many alliances during Aegon’s nameday. Unlike the untamable Rhaenyra Targaryen, who had further destroyed her reputation. Not only embarrassing herself with her lack of political awareness, but by having a pathetic screaming match with Viserys, and even further, with her absconding and abandoning her duties as heir.

As she stood beside the noble ladies, gossiping and gaining allies amongst the multitude of Lannisters, Velaryons, Arryns, Strongs and more, Alicent watched onward, viewing her husband’s pathetic attempts at hunting.

He may be a King, but he certainly cut no kingly figure.

However, as much as she disliked the man, twice her elder, decaying, breeding her only to abandon her children, Alicent didn’t hate him. As she now was mentally the age of her husband, it felt unfit for her to imagine romancing nobles her physical age, yet mentally young. And gazing at her husband, she could see that, while he was no great Targaryen beauty, alike to the Conquerors and even that rogue, Daemon, King Viserys was still a handsome man. Unlike the deteriorating corpse he became, after The Seven punished him for his misdeeds.

As the night began to end, the only light remaining now derived from blistering flames among a campfire, Alicent firmly walked forward, resting her hand on the bump below her, her baby Helaena. The chances that her dear Aegon had been reborn to her was incredulous and yet Alicent couldn’t help but hope that her other children would return, with the help of the Seven. She even wished for more perhaps, gaining the motherly perspective she never had as a young girl breeding out children for her husband.

As she stumbled over to Viserys, whose gaze was mournfully focused on the flames of brutal fury, Alicent questioned if he was alright, yet knowing deep inside that he wasn’t. After all, this campfire was strongly reminiscent of the Valyrian funeral rites, of which Viserys caused for his previous wife Aemma, after her murdered her callously for a son that did not live for longer than one day.

As they both lingered beside the fire, Viserys finally responded, solemn in his tone. “ You know, I..”

“I named her… to protect the realm from Daemon. She was my only child. I named her out of love because I no longer believed..”

“Believed what, my love?” Alicent spoke, knowing that Viserys’ cause for keeping Rhaenyra as heir was just a precaution-turned guilt-fuelled decision, that stole Aegon’s birthright.

He then sighed deeply, as if unwilling to admit his true thoughts.

“Many in my line have been dragonriders, very few among us have been dreamers. What is the power of a dragon.. next to the power of prophecy?” King Viserys rhetorically questions, after all what saved the Targaryens from the Doom was not their dragons, but rather the dream Daenys had which foretold the calamities which occurred in Old Valyria.

“My King, I must confess..” The Hightower girl spoke softly, using Viserys’ pathetic demand for dreams to manipulate him, after all through the will of the Seven that Alicent had witnessed the future.

“While our babe grows within me, I have begun dreaming visions.”

“I’ve seen a Targaryen man wear the Conqueror’s crown, standing beside his sister-wife he calls Helaena.” Alicent states, inside her thoughts, knowing that this could be the thing which finally shifts Viserys’ pathetic mind on his forsaking of Aegon’s birthright.

Viserys’ figure erupts in shock, interpreting this to mean that Alicent has gained the Targaryen dreamer trait through the child she carries, and recognising that the wife’s name is heavily reminiscent of her dear friend Otto’s late lady wife, Helene.

“When Rhaenyra was a child.. I too had seen that in a dream, as vivid as these flames. The vision you speak of, was one I have known of deeply, haunting my actions for years.”

“I wanted it to be true, for me to be a dreamer. So I poured all my thought and will into it.” He then stutters forward, reluctance exuding from him, as if unable to speak the harsh truth he knows of. “Killing Rhaenyra’s mother in my hope that I was truly a dreamer, and that a male babe born to me would do great things for the Realm.”

“Viserys.” Alicent faintly spoke, in attempt to break him from his solemn rant of guilt.

Regardless of his wife’s words, he continued in his melancholy tirade, “I thought Rhaenyra was the way out of my abyss. And that naming her heir would right my wrongdoings to Aemma and prevent my brother’s reach to the throne.”

“I never imagined that I would remarry, that I would have a son.”

“That I was a hypocrite, after mine own place in society was given to me as a male, yet I wouldn’t give this to my first born son.” Viserys spoke, ending his depressing monologue yet suffice in showcasing to Alicent that her machinations in influencing Viserys had worked, as he had deviated from his past thoughts.

“What if I was wrong?”

Viserys was conflicted. Stuck between doing what was right or to continue festering in his grief, giving Rhaenyra a title she didn’t deserve, all because Aegon wasn’t his beloved Aemma’s son.

“My King.. Viserys, if the gods have granted us our favour, then surely they will guide us to the right path. We just have to look for a sign.” Alicent remarks, stroking her bump in the meanwhile, knowing that Helaena’s dreams, and Viserys’ were a sign for the Gods, that Rhaenyra was unfit for the throne.

——————————

Roaring sounds erupted, grunts and barking alike, mixed into one as the clamouring sounds of treading horses bellowing around. Alicent fondly gathered with ladies, diverting away from the noble men focused on hunting.

As she gossiped with Lady Jeyne Arryn, her Redwyne cousins and Rose Tyrell, Alicent noticed Ser Harwin Strong approach King Viserys.

The infamous “Breakbones” himself.

The man who callously betrayed the Kingdom, breeding bastard boys into Princess Rhaenyra, forsaking his duty for selfish pleasure. And yet while Alicent had hatred for him, her mind was dually overridden with guilt. For Harwin Strong and his strong-minded father were casualties in Alicent’s late attempt at a grasp of power, and how Larys Strong then exploited her yearning for authority into a reason to burn his own kin to death and blame Alicent for it.

As the Strong heir lumbered over to the King a great brown deer, while the carriages stopped momentarily to watch Viserys perform the murder, suddenly a galloping horse intruded into the moment.

As the bellowing horse trotted over, a domineering figure followed swiftly. A knight beckoned himself over toward the entourage, carrying with him a white stag.

The great white hart.

An omen of the Gods.

Her brother fulfilled her task, sneakily finding the white stag before Rhaenyra and Ser Criston, and for that Alicent had great love in her heart. Now her husband should surely abandon his foolish choices.

Perhaps Viserys would perceive this as a sign.

A sign that Aegon was the rightful ruler. To cement the precedence before him, forsake his hypocrisy and supplant Rhaenyra as heir.

“My King! A sign from the Gods!” Retorted nobles basking in the presence of this divine figure.

“The Great White Hart. A good omen for Prince Aegon, Second of his name!” Gwayne erupted as his released the stag from ropes, watching as it walked onwards to Alicent’s direction. Toward both her, and Aegon, carried by a maid.

The stag trekked slowly and bowed at the feet of Alicent in respect.

This was a clear sign Alicent had been chosen by the Gods, even if she engineered this event. After all it was she who had travelled to the past, and nobody else. And she whom the omen of the Gods showed loyalty to.

But perhaps the nobles watching onwards, and Viserys himself, would perceive this to be the omen bowing down toward young Aegon, signifying his place as the righteous heir, chosen by the Gods.

“By the Gods”

“Oh My!”

“Seven Hells!”

Retorts of shock erupted among the entourage of nobles, Jason Lannister and Lord Ormund Hightower especially loud in their exclamations.

“Viserys.. Perhaps this is the sign you have been looking for.” Alicent softly pressed, while gazing back at her father smugly looking at her, impressed at the machinations of his daughter.

No longer a pawn, but now a player in this game of thrones.

A player with the knowledge to win.

And the Gods, real and not real, on her side.

——————————

The Hightower Queen stood unwaveringly, Aegon on her side, as she gossiped and chatted mindlessly alongside the noble ladies of Westeros. Rhea Royce beside her, remarking on her brother Gwayne’s hunting prowess and inquiring on Alicent’s horse-riding capability, a fun hobby of hers in her girlhood which she had abandoned, after being instructed to act like a submissive wife by Viserys.

As nobles continued their chatter, a bloody figure strutted through the camp.

There she was, the Princess of Westeros, in all her arrogance. Riding among her horse, bloodied and battered, as if she was a battle-worn warrior, alike to Visenya Targaryen, when Alicent knew in reality that all she was, was a little girl who abandoned her duties and got caught in the thralls of blood, just alike to her devious uncle, Daemon.

Whispers emerged, snide glances transpired, as all nobility gathered looked beyond at the disruptive force that was Rhaenyra.

Alicent gasped in false shock, “Poor Rhaenyra! How unmaidenly of her to be covered in blood. This is why maidens shouldn’t go off alone. Thank god, Ser Criston was there to save her!”

Alicent snarking loudly, in attempt to demean Rhaenyra’s hunting efforts, after all nobody other than Ser Criston was present with her to verify false rumours, as she abandoned the Royal entourage, shamelessly fleeing from her duties.

Rhea Royce then remarked softly, almost under breath, in great intrigue, “Who’s that man beside the princess?”

“Oh Lady Rhea, that’s Ser Criston Cole, who Queen Alicent mentioned earlier. He most likely saved the unruly Princess from a wild animal.” Lady Delena Redwyne answered, as Alicent looked onwards, invested at the glances Rhea Royce was giving Criston Cole.

Rhaenyra continued her hubristic strut and led herself into the Royal carriage, shutting herself out from the whispers.

Viserys then swiftly followed, fury beckoning inside him. Ending Aegon’s nameday with an upset petty Rhaenyra and disgruntled father.

Alicent passed over Aegon to his maid and subsequently joined her husband in the Royal carriage, embarking on a journey back to Kingslanding.

Carriage culminating in silent fury, as Viserys and his daughter did not speak a word in response to Rhaenyra’s impertinent actions.

Yet the Hightower Queen was happy, among her companions filled with sadness.

As she had gained allies for her children’s livelihoods, and most importantly, she had emphasised the importance of Aegon to her husband.

Surely Viserys must give their son his rightful title as heir by now.

He couldn’t stay a hypocritical coward, ignoring the insolence of Rhaenyra, and finally give Aegon the claim he deserved as firstborn son to the King.

[daddydindjarin]

The Long and Winding Road Part II: Mississippi

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no physical description of the Reader given) 

Rating: 18+ Mature 

Wordcount: 2875 

Summary: You hit your must see spots in Mississippi, and you fight back every bit of attraction to this broad stranger that you can. It’s a losing battle. 

A/N: What can I say, this is wholly self indulgent. And un-beta’d. Lemme know if you see any glaring errors!  Dividers by @firefly-graphics! Thank you especially to the discord besties and @the-ginger-hedge-witch​ for listening to my panic over actually writing something more than a one-shot, and for all the great tips. Especially the road trip ideas. 

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Frankie couldn’t figure her out.

He had spent years in the military, interacting with people from all walks of life. From the rich kids following in their parent’s footsteps, to fresh faced kids straight from high school looking for a naïve hope at an opportunity to build a better future than the past they had, most people were the same. They were greedy, self-serving, and usually just bastards with a hidden agenda. He counted himself among them, from the jobs he took for money, to nights spent high on cocaine and the touch of someone who he could pretend he loved for a few hours.

But this woman…

He glanced over at her from the driver’s seat, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly as the first thing he saw were her feet propped up on the dashboard, the long line of her bare legs tucked up to rest her journal on her knees. Her hair was pulled back away from her face so the wind didn’t blow it all over the place, and she was humming along to Stevie Nicks’ dulcet tones crooning from the radio.

They had been traveling for two days, stopping at every whim she had. An afternoon was spent in St. Augustine and Ponte Vedra, touring the light house, and walking the beach. The morning saw them in Savannah, Georgia, eating breakfast along the marshes. True to her word, he paid for nothing, even with a neat $15,000 burning a hole in his pocket. She purchased every meal, snacks, drinks, and even offered to buy souvenirs for Gabriela. The first night, she offered to sleep in the Jeep instead of the popup rooftop tent on the Jeep’s roof, which he turned down almost immediately. They had argued back and forth, with her stubbornly reminding him that he was the one driving, and needed a good night’s sleep, so they finally came to an agreement just to share the small space.

“We’re both adults,” she had said, rifling through the small suitcase in the backseat. “We can share a bed.”

“Yeah,” he agreed finally, realizing her stubbornness would win out in the end, “that’s fine. I’ve slept in worse places.”

She laughed, starting the climb up to the tent, “Careful what you speak into the universe. Maybe I snore, and you’re in for a rough night.”

Frankie barked out a laugh, “I doubt it’ll be worse than some of the guys I’ve bunked down with.”

It was worse.

She didn’t snore, although she did talk in her sleep, trying to have a conversation with no one for the better part of the night. But even that was nothing compared to the way he woke up with her wrapped around him like a lifeline, her face buried in his chest. They had started off back to back, pushed as far to the edges of the pallet as they could get, and sometime between drifting off while talking about their favorite songs, and the sun rising, they had wound up in the center of the tent, his arms wrapped around her, and her leg thrown over his. She had managed to push her covers off of her, but then sought the warmth that Frankie gave off in her sleep.

Frankie had quickly and quietly extracted himself from her hold before scrambling down the ladder, the brisk autumn air doing nothing to calm his heart or other parts of his anatomy that was all too aware that a gorgeous woman was feet away, and had been in close proximity. The shame burned at the back of his neck, but he found himself wanting to return to the tent, and curl back up to sleep in her arms.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since then, even as they were well on their way into Alabama. He chalked it up to proximity and loneliness, only having his hand for company the last few months as he stayed clean, determined to do right by his kid, even if that meant suffering through the withdrawals and the craving to lose himself and his memories in a drug that offered nothing but forgetting and despair at the end of the high.

She, on the other hand, didn’t seem to know about their nighttime encounter. She was happily watching the trees as they drove and would occasionally look down to her journal to scribble something down, a sentence here, a doodle there. He had seen her press a wild flower into the pages in Talladega  National Forest, and use it as a coaster for tea in Tuscaloosa. She carried it with her everywhere, fishing it out of her bag for reasons unknown to him, sometimes to scrawl a reminder, and other times spending a few moments writing before smiling up at him, telling him she was ready to move on.

She was an enigma to him, altruistic and kind to everyone they ran into. She really did spend most of her time looking at the things she was interested in, not concerned with taking photos of the view, even as she offered to take his photo for him, which he usually declined, except on the rare occasion he found a chance to send a photo of himself with a giant swordfish in Savannah to Pope, captioned, “finally found the fish you said you had on the line when you pulled that boot.”

He received a middle finger emoji as a response.

He had expected a lot of chatter as they drove, one of the reasons he had tallied in the “con” section of why he should take this job. It ranked fairly low on the list however, and the payload far outweighed any reason he could give to skip out on the opportunity. He was surprised though, when the first six hours had passed only interrupted by her humming, and the occasional request to stop somewhere. It wasn’t as if it was an awkward silence that you can chalk up to being in a confined space with a literal stranger, but instead a comfortable atmosphere where no words were really needed. He didn’t want to think about the fact that this was the most peaceful he had felt in a while, and instead turned the volume up on the radio, tapping his fingers along to Como La Flor.

You had three missed texts from Alyssa, checking in to make sure that Benny’s pilot friend hadn’t actually killed you on day one of the road trip, and you made a mental note to text her back at the next stop. You knew if you tried to read too much while in the car, you’d be hit with a migraine, and you didn’t feel like having Frankie pull over just so you could get sick this early into the trip.

Speaking of Frankie…

You peeked over at him, watching his head bop along to the music, and you could feel the smile straining against your lips as you whipped your head back around to watching the passing trees. It was crazy how attracted to him you were. From his long eyelashes framing those deep puppy dog eyes, to his plump lips that you had to force yourself not to watch as he spoke, you knew that you were quickly developing a crush on him. Which was normal you reminded yourself for the umpteenth time. It was normal to be attracted to someone. It didn’t mean you had to act on it. And there wasn’t a chance of anything happening really. The trip was only three months long, and then you’d be leaving, so it was pointless to even think about romance.

This wasn’t a 90s rom com. This was the trip of a lifetime, and you were going to enjoy the time you had left on it, not spend it worrying about Francisco Morales and his dumb cowlick that he thought was well hidden under that Standard Oil baseball cap.

Passing under the exit sign for Columbus, Alabama, you checked your map again, looking for anything that caught your eyes. “Oh!” you exclaimed, tapping the map. “You should take this exit!”

Frankie imperceptibly turned his head to look at where you were pointing on the map, an eyebrow raised. “Tupelo?”

“Yeah! Have you ever been?”

“Probably passed through there once or twice, but I don’t think we ever stopped,” he replied, rubbing a hand on his jaw. He hadn’t shaved in the last few days, you had noticed, and you wondered what the short whiskers would feel like under your fingers. “Why d’you want to stop there?”

You really didn’t have reason, other than, “I hear they have good honey. And wasn’t Elvis born there?”

Frankie chuckled, but dutifully took the exit onto I-45. “Well, let’s go get you some of that honey, but if you’re wanting to see the king, we need to head to Memphis.”

You made a note on the map, studying it for a moment longer. “I do want to see Memphis, but I think it would be smart, and probably more efficient to hit the south, and then kind of zig zag before heading north?” Your fingers danced in the air, mimicking the zigzag pattern to make your point.

He nodded. “That makes sense. Is there anything on that “must list” of yours for the south that we need to make sure we do?”

He remembered. You beamed at his words, almost laughing that such a small thing could make you so happy. “There are a few, actually.” Tucking loose piece of hair behind your ear, you pulled out your journal, flipping through the pages. “Since we’re heading into Mississippi, I want to check out Rowan Oak. Tishomingo State Park would be nice to visit too. Dunn’s Falls is on the list, but I feel like we might be going around our ass to scratch our elbow with that one.”

Frankie shrugged, glancing over at you. “A little extra mileage never hurt anybody. Besides,” he continued, “if it’s on your “must list,” we must go see it.”

His sincerity was palpable, and you wanted to cry. The one thing you had been dreading with finding a glorified chauffer was that they would talk you out of some of the things you wanted to do because it would be such a long and winding route to see everything on your list. Well, that and possibly being killed before your time, but mostly complaining. Frankie never once complained, following your every whim with good humor. He didn’t ask many questions after your first meeting, which you appreciated more than you could say. Like you said, the whys weren’t important now. It was just the doing that mattered.

“Thank you,” you finally said, looking back out the window so he wouldn’t see if any stray tears made their way down your cheeks.

You didn’t see his answer nod, or the way the tips of his ears turned pink as you headed toward Tupelo.  

Tupelo had seen them to honey and biscuits, as well as a stop at the birthplace of Elvis. You had convinced Frankie to take a picture touching the statue’s hand like a crying teenage girl, which he did with a roll of his eyes, but you know he sent the picture to someone in his phone named “Pope.”

You wound your way across the state to Rowan Oak, your heart fluttering at the smell of Cedar in the air as you and Frankie walked along the grounds. You got lost in the concentric garden, finding the large magnolia in the center an hour later, taking a break under the sprawling branches for a few moments.

“How old do you think this tree is?” you asked, your eyes closed as you leaned against the tree, the bark digging into your back, and the sound of birds nesting in the trees lulling you into a calmness.

“Dunno,” Frankie said from his spot beside you, shoulders touching just enough that you could feel the burn of him. “Doubt they’d let us cut it down to count the rings.”

You snorted. “No, I don’t think they would. William Faulkner would roll over in his grave if they did.” The silence stretched comfortably between you, and you closed your eyes again, the humid air making you sleepy. You may have drifted off under that old tree, because when you blinked your eyes open, Frankie was standing to the side of the trail, and there was a fresh Magnolia bloom in your lap. You smiled softly, taking a petal and pressing it into your journal before joining him, letting him lead the way out of the maze.

You headed back towards Tupelo that night, stopping just outside the city to bunk down, before driving the few hours to Tishomingo. He groaned good naturedly as you pulled on your hiking boots, and followed you onto the trail, but the beauty of the landscape stopped even his joking about the early morning dew. You found ruins and old bridges leading to long abandoned cabins, and Frankie told you of a time he spent overseas in a similar looking abandoned house with his team, and how Benny and Will went through a wall play fighting each other. Your peals of laughter probably scared the local wildlife away, but you didn’t mind, happy to just be privy to stories from Frankie’s past.

You ate lunch beside a waterfall, drinking your tea cold for a lack of hot water. You didn’t mind, to tell the truth, but the face Frankie made assured you he wouldn’t be partaking. He had been eyeing the water for a while now, sweat beading on your foreheads. You stood, slipping your boots and socks off, and he looked up at you, an eyebrow raised. “Whatcha doin?”

Grinning, you took off at a run for the edge pool of water, leaping into it. A shout of alarm went up behind you, drowned out by the rush of water going over your head. You could still hear the roar of the waterfall dumping into the basin above you, and when you popped out of the water taking a gulp of air, Frankie stood on the shore, hands on his hips staring down at you.

“What are you doing?”

You laughed kicking your feet out under you. “Living!” You swam in a circle, sighing at the cool water. “Come in!”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so, Chiflada!”

You pouted, “Oh, come on, Francisco! The water feels great!” You pushed your arm forward, splashing him with water, and he yelped, jumping back. “Don’t be such a chicken!”

Frankie laughed, wrenching his shirt over his head, “Oh, you asked for it!” He lunged into the water and you reeled back, screaming in delight as his long arms reached for you. You danced out of his reach, splashing him with water as you went. Frankie roared at you, pushing forward in the water to wrap his arms around you. You pushed at his chest, squealing, and laughing as his fingers danced along your ribs. His laughter rumbled through his chest and rippled across your skin, lighting up his face.

“I give, I give!” you laughed, spluttered around the hair in your face. “You’re King of the Water!”

“Damn right,” he replied, grinning at you, and you suddenly realized how close the two of you were, chest to chest, only your clothes between you. You were acutely aware of the cold water pebbling your nipples against his chest, and you felt your face heating up from the proximity of this broad man. He was looking at you, his eyes soft, and you could feel yourself internally panicking.

He could sense your trepidation, and slowly released you, his kind eyes catching yours as you backed away from him, breathing hard. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “I’m fine. Just out of breath.” The lie came easily enough, and you hid behind and easy grin. “Told you the water felt nice though.”

Groaning, he leaned back slightly, looking up at the waterfall, “Yeah, but now we have to hike back to the Jeep in wet clothes. And it’s still hot.”

“Come on, Fly Boy, where’s your sense of adventure?” You questioned him, thanking everything that your racing heart was starting to come under control.

“Trust me, Chiflada, I’ve had enough adventures to last a lifetime.”

You mulled over his words, pulling yourself out of the water and then offering him your hand. “Well, that may be true, but you’ve never had one with someone like me.”

He took your hand, squeezing it gently as he pulled himself up next to you, close enough again for you to see the freckles across his strong nose. “No,” he agreed, speaking softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you.”

You blushed, turning away quickly to gather your things, your heart rate picking up again. You’d think about this more later, when the night was still, and the clothes you were wearing were hung on a line to dry in the hot Mississippi night air. When you’d be able to feel him at your back, and for the first time regret the short time you had left.

←Previous  Next→

[ayazure]

❆ ❞ I swear I'll only make you cry

Genre : Kaeya x gn! reader angst

Warnings : hurt, toxic relationship, arguments , curses

It starts with a distant, nostalgic past. A past where everything ends up with the rapid beating of the heart. Where thoughts were nothing but full of purity and joy. Where love for you was a refresh of your innocence. You knew, even deep within your desperation that you'd do anything to travel back to those times.

The wind blows, carrying the essence of the dandelions. As if that wasn't the daily atmosphere of mondstadt. Even though it occurs daily, you loved every single whispers of the wind. Roaming around every nook and cranny of mondstadt with the same wind calmed your senses.

At times, you also found yourself walking further and never stopping until you arrive at Starsnatch cliff. You would be too immersed in the moment that your ears turn deaf to the surroundings.

"You'll fall, watch out !"

A faint, repeated yell can be heard in the background, although, you were too busy gazing upon the scenery to notice it. As seconds pass by, it gradually became louder, thus, reaching your ears.

With that, you only realized that you were almost at the edge of the cliff. An inch of movement would cause you to fall. The sight from below caused you too panic, seemingly close to losing your balance. Not until the owner of the voice catches you.

The favonius cavalry captain was quick to his feet, aiding you immediately. His hands on your waist, holding you close to his own form. With a worrisome face.

Too bad his hands were on someone else's waist now. His expression was sly and greedy, not similar to the one the showed you in your moment of life and death.

That nostalgic moment you kept coming back to, now became something that made your stomach churn. The sight before you ruined it afterall. You were getting used to it and it wasn't a good thing.

He collects girls like his fancy 'pirate' treasures. Everyday, a different girl has her arms wrapped around his own. Your heart shatters like any normal reaction to such disloyalty.

The first time you confronted him was a disappointment in of itself because he denied your existence completely. He and his fling turned to any corner just for the sake of getting rid of you. The moment he returned to your house, he was drunk. The second confrontation left you with fear because he almost ceased you with his vision.

That happened every single day after that confrontation. He always came home drunk as you lie in your bed helpless, scared, angry. You wanted to scream your heart out in anguish. You thought that he was now a bastard with no shame.

A different day came, he comes home as usual but he wasn't drunk. It was a perfect timing because you were near the door cleaning. Truthfully, you were planning to pack and leave silently but since an opportunity came, you decided to give your anger another chance.

The moment he was done taking off his shoes your palm lands hardly across his face. A resounding smack echoed throughout the hallway. A hint of angry red is visible on his slapped cheek.

He breathes out for a second before meeting your eyes solemnly–which was out of character now. "Ah, I was waiting for this moment to come" That comment of his infuriated you greatly.

"Waiting?! You were waiting for me to lose my patience? For me to lose everything I felt for you just for you to utter a single word about your actions?" You let out, as emotions pour onto every word you said, tears also break free.

"I.." Maybe he was supposed to say sorry but looking at the situation now, he knows his apology won't patch up the wound in your heart.

"Yeah don't even think about apologizing. Your actions were too shitty that.. just let me go, I'm more than happy to be away from you" You heaved a heavy sigh, your tears not having the initiative to halt in any way.

Kaeya reaches out to dry them but you slap his hand away, still unaccepting. "Why would you dry them now? The tears that you caused.. The tears I shed because of you" You question for the purpose of being defensive.

"Y/n, I'm aware that I'm unforgivable. I want to change for you but I can't stay faithful" Kaeya says and he made you even more mad than you already are again.

"Then let's stop" You announce, never holding back. You carry your suitcase which was thankfully prepared beforehand. It wasn't everything but they're necessary.

The love between you both drifts apart.

Breaking it off abruptly like a separated puzzle – the only difference is that, it will never be fixed nor completed again. You know that deep within your aching heart. Only time would heal everything. Only Kaeya would know whether he would want to change. And only you would know the exact moment you moved on.

Is it possible to be heartbroken from your own work? Even though I feel this way, I think I'm still lacking in terms of writing.. Let me know your feedbacks T^T

Inspired by : Cry by CAS

[absolutepokemontrash]

The Brothers and Side Characters Play Ticket To Ride

Guess who just had a family game night and decided this would be a good idea? Meeeeee!

Last Minute Road/Track Buyer (Lucifer)

This smug son of a bitch doesn’t even complete his trip cards. He just amasses a massive deck of cards and then buys all of the five and six roads, effectively messing up everyone’s strategies.

Luci would have a good poker face if it weren’t for how giddy he gets when he sees the hope drain from his opponents faces as he takes the coveted fifteen point six road.

His main colour is black because he’s an emo bitch.

Lucifer can and Lucifer will take that two road you need to connect your trains, thus ruining everyone’s lives.

He basks in the chaos and rage like a god before Beel tells him that he’s eaten all the game night chips.

He’ll win sometimes, but his lack of trip cards will often be his downfall. Lucifer is just here to fuck everyone over.

FUCK YOU! DON’T YOU DARE TAKE THAT CARD- (Mammon)

Mammon’s greedy little heart sank when he heard that Monopoly had been passed over for family game night, but he caught onto the rules of Ticket to Ride very quickly.

Being the gambler he is, Mammon’s poker face is completely god-tier… except when he has all the cards needed to make his road or someone else takes the cards he needs.

Levi is often the main culprit and fights have started over this.

He argues with the rules a lot if he thinks they’re stupid, this gives Satan a migraine.

Mammon doesn’t save his cards, the moment he has all the ones he needs, he’s buying his road, which is good at the beginning, but often leads to him ending up with no cards by the end.

He is SO insufferable when he wins, please beat him so we don’t have to hear him gloat like an asshole.

Rule-Whore (Leviathan)

“That’s against the rules!” “You can’t have more than three wild cards in the draw pile!” “You need to take three trip cards!”

…so annoying…

Levi is such a rule whore he’ll try and take the instructions from Satan, which will usually result in Levi getting socked in the jaw.

He mains blue because obviously.

Levi tends to plan out his route ahead of time, but he makes it too obvious and his roads end up getting sniped, thus rendering all the cards he had amassed completely useless.

He gets super iffy about his trains being in perfect formation both on and off the board.

Beat his ass for being annoying.

Ha! I’ve Planned for This- Aw Fuck…(Satan)

You fool, you stupid human, Satan had planned out his route ten years before the first turn even happened!

All he has to do now is- DID LUCIFER JUST SNIPE HIS FUCKING ROAD?!

…he’s cool, he’s calm. He can work around this. Satan just has to get the cards he needs- SON OF A BITCH MAMMON WHY’D YOU TAKE BOTH THE ORANGES?!

Worried about your asshole fellow players not giving you your points? Fret not, Satan has everyone’s points memorized and will adjust accordingly. He’s winning this fair and square.

Satan manages to win pretty frequently solely because he picks up so many trip cards and completes a good chunk of them.

Satan mains green because I said so.

Annoying Spectator (Asmodeus)

For the love of God Asmo, you aren’t even playing! Shut up and go away!

He leans over people’s shoulders and criticizes their choices like the world’s most annoying guardian angel… or demon.

“Pick up red.” “Asmo, piss off.” “I’m just trying to help, Belphie! Look, Mammon’s gone and taken your road!” “I DIDN’T EVEN NEED THAT ONE!”

When Asmo does play, he doesn’t play well at all, he just has the worst luck with cards and has the worst poker face.

If someone just took a card that Asmo needed, they are going to get glared at from across the table.

Almost never wins, but when he does, he’s INSUFFERABLE.

“It’s so nice to have the family together :)” (Beel)

Sweet man is just happy everyone’s together, he’s also happy about the multiple party size bags of chips that are on the table.

Beel builds his roads from point A to point B, no fancy skipping or strategies. This often serves him quite well because he can just shift where he’s going on the fly.

Though, he does get confused on where some of the locations are, he’ll end up accidentally cheating and looking at people’s cards when he leans over to see the whole board to try and find out where TF he’s going.

He tries to complete every trip card he has, and he mostly succeeds at that, buuuuut he never thinks to pick up more, which is his downfall.

He mains red, because Duh.

Overall, Beel’s a surprisingly formidable opponent, his resting bitch face serves him well.

“*Snrk* H-huh? What the fuck… what’d I knock over? Where am I? Whose turn is it?” (Belphie)

This little shit- THIS LITTLE BASTARD FUCKS EVERYTHING UP. He falls asleep and when anyone wakes him up for his turn, he “accidentally” knocks everyone’s trains off the board.

He’s doing terribly. Don’t help him.

Belphie loses motivation the moment someone ruins his carefully formulated plan, and making a new one’s too much work so… *snore*

He takes what he can get with the trip cards, he’ll complete the smaller ones and kind of eyeball the big ones and make it up as he goes along if everything goes to shit.

If Belphie gets bored, he’ll purposefully break the rules just to piss of Levi and Satan. He’s a little goblin…

Belphie wins when he puts the work in… which is never.

…Wait what? (Diavolo)

Diavolo is literally the worst at this game at first. He’s picking up two wild cards when he’s not supposed to, he’s buying roads when it’s not his turn, he somehow messed up the points, ugh…

He gets really confused about the rules, he’ll often interrupt people mid-turn to ask a question that spirals into a long explanation.

But when he finally understands the game… May the demon king have mercy on your souls…

He goes from zero to hero and crushes everyone without fail.

It doesn’t matter if he had shitty luck in the beginning because he’s come back to completely ruin your entire route.

Oh, Solomon needed that road? Too bad. It belongs to Diavolo now. Give him his fucking points.

Peace between the realms can wait, he’s got noobs to pwn.

The Wise Mentor (Barbatos)

Barbatos can see the future, he’s cheating by default.

When he sort of… turns off his powers, people still think he’s cheating because he’s just that good at guessing where people need to go and crushing their hopes and dreams.

Except for Luke. Barbatos is teaching him how to be as brutal a player as he is. He will not crush Luke.

As good a player as Barbatos is, one bad trip card will crush his entire strategy. This may be the one time you hear him swear.

It’s a very quiet “son of a bitch..”

Cheater. Asshole. Fight instigator. (Solomon)

Okay who the fuck invited this guy?

Better question, who the fuck let him be in charge of the cards?

Solomon cheats and lies about it, all with a smile on his face. Think you caught him? No you didn’t.

He peeks at cards before he grabs them, gives people the worst possible ones for what they’re doing, AND he gets potato chip grease all over the cards!

When he’s no my allowed to cheat, Solomon’s only half decent at the game overall. Luck is usually on his side, but sometimes luck isn’t enough.

0/10 kick his shifty ass out.

“No, stop,” *Pulls out popcorn* “Don’t fight, oh no.” (Simeon)

Fucking Simeon… he sits back and watches the fight even though he knows he can stop it.

When he’s playing the actual game, he’s pretty average, but when he gets on a roll, oh boy…

He doesn’t snipe roads on purpose, but he’s gotta get where he’s going. Sorry not sorry, may the good lord bless your loser ass.

Sexy shoulder-man’s poker face isn’t anything special, it’s 5/7 overall.

Simeon’s fatal flaw is that he picks up cards only when he needs them, he doesn’t plan ahead, so it’s super easy to swipe the cards he needs before his turn.

He is nice enough to move everyone’s points for them^.^ so he’s better than the rest of those dirty sinners.

“NO PLEASE I NEED THAT ROAD-” (Luke)

So you know how everyone is an awful person? This is proven whenever the gang plays Ticket to Ride with Luke.

Luke demands/begs that no one takes the roads he needs and almost no one listens.

It’s heartbreaking to watch please give the little angel a hug.

But listen, listen, after a bit, Luke gets scary good at the game and very close to winning. His little victory dance is so fucking cute 10/10.

But oh my… it appears that Luke has one tiny road he needs to connect his trains… it would be a shame if Lucifer just… took that.

Luke gets petty, he just puts his hand over the spot and refuses to move it. This goes on for like five minutes until Levi brings up that it’s not even Lucifer’s turn.

Gasp! Hope! It’s Solomon’s turn- HE TOOK THE FUCKING ROAD.

…betrayal.

Luke’s moving out. He can’t go back to Purgatory Hall. He’s going to become the little Victorian street urchin he was destined to become. He is packing his little rucksack and fleeing from this household.

————

I love family game nights… all of you should get together with your family and your squad and break out some board games. Just not Monopoly. Anything but Monopoly…

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS DAYLIGHT Vol.5 Sakamaki Kanato [TRACK 5 + EPILOGUE]

Original title: 窓の向こうに & エピローグ

Source: Diabolik Lovers Daylight Vol. 5 Sakamaki Kanato

Audio: Here (Huge thank you to @filthyhelplessworld​ for providing the audio!)

Seiyuu: Kaji Yuki

Translator’s note: Oh my gosh. What a rollercoaster of emotions! As much as I really enjoyed the final track because I’m a sucker for these kind of sappy romantic plots, I do think that it almost felt...out of place? I found myself thinking ‘Is this really Kanato!?’ more than once. :p It’s a welcome change in my book, but I can imagine that people who love Kanato, might feel a little scammed because this is almost an entirely different character? I think Rejet might have realized this as well because then you start listening to the bonus track/epilogue and it’s just like SURPRISE! Little bastard is back. >3 I guess this confirms that the secret track doesn’t necessarily take place ‘after’ the main story, but gives you some extra content from a random point within the overall Daylight timeline.

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5 + Epilogue

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 5: On the Other Side of the Window

( Afterwards, thanks to Reiji’s successful treatment, I did not have to lose the person most precious to me. According to his explanation, the potion she ingested was one of Reiji’s works-in-progress. While she must have been convinced it would kill her, the truth is somewhat different. The drug will stop the person's heart as long as they wish to die. On the other hand, once they regain their will to live, their wish will be granted. It was a drug capable of manipulating life and death. 

Once he finished with this explanation, Reiji explained that he had been looking for a test subject and eventually settled on her after she came to him seeking advice regarding the abnormal behavior of her heart. I assume I must have happened to witness that exact conversation back then. )

*Rustle*

[01:04] “You must not. Stay in bed, okay? If you want a drink I will go get you something and feed it to you.”

You shake your head.

“If you’re not thirsty, then what’s the matter? You can tell me anything.”

You explain.

“Get mad at you? And why would I do that? I’m so happy to see you alive…! I want to do anything for your sake, you know?”

You smile and tell him you just want the two of you to be together. 

“...! All I need to do...is stay by your side? ...I-I feel the same way!”

He grabs your hand.

[01:53] “Honestly, the fact I’m able to hold your hand again like this...It feels like a miracle to me. I truly...truly am so relieved. I think I finally realize how valuable you and your life are. ー And what it means to have to part one day. ...As well as that it is something unavoidable.”

You frown.

[02:32] “I didn’t want to accept that all humans are fated to die one day. However, now I realize just how selfish that was of me. Death is something which occurs. I will accept that. No matter how sad that may be, right now, all I want to do is make sure that every second we spend together up until that day is worth it. I’ll be there with you, the whole way through.”

You thank him.

“You warned me from the very beginning. ...I’m so sorry I refused to listen to your words. Can you...forgive me?”

You nod.

[03:32] “Hah...I’m so glad…”

You smile at him. 

“You will...accept me as well, won’t you?”

You expose your neck.

“Since you exposed your neck, you basically...Hah. I guess you can tell that I’m craving your blood even during a time like this, huh?”

You nod.

[04:10] “The stronger my feelings for you grow, the more thirsty I become. However, I don’t want that. I no longer want to make you suffー”

You embrace him.

“...When you hug me this close, I won’t be able to stop myself…”

You tell him he doesn’t need to.

“...You will accept me regardless, won’t you?”

*Rustle*

[04:54] “Please rest assured. I will show to you that I’m capable of suppressing these urges, even if it means having to hurt myself.”

You tell Kanato you don’t want to see him hurt. 

“So please...Can you close your eyes for a couple of seconds?”

You close your eyes.

“...Mmh.”

*Smooch*

“This is all I need.”

You hesitate. 

[05:34] “No, it is. I always feel a little sad that I can’t show you just how fulfilled my heart feels right now. ...Above all, right now...Mm.”

*Smooch*

“I want to continue kissing you right now. I feel like that will satisfy me more than sucking your blood. ...Is that too much to ask?”

You give him permission.

“Mm…”

*Smooch*

[06:18] “This is the first time I realized that there’s something other than blood capable of making me feel satisfied.”

*Chirp chirp*

“...Right, there is something I want to show you. I will carry you to the window sill, okay?”

*Rustle rustle*

“...Come on, hang on tight.”

*Rustle*

Kanato carries you to the window.

[06:56] “Listen...I’ve been thinking. This whole time, you’ve always accepted me ー and the fact I’m a Vampire. Therefore, it’s my turn now.”

He opens the curtains.

*Rattle*

*Chirp chirp chip*

He opens the window and breathes in the air.

[07:23] “This is...the world you’ve lived in. The sky...is so very blue. ーー It’s beautiful. I’ve never felt this way my whole life. You are the one who taught me this. Thank you.”

*Smooch*

[08:01] “Say? Let’s be together forever, okay? ...Even if your life comes to an end one day, I promise you I will be there by your side when you take your final breath. I will watch over you until the bitter end, without looking away even once. I don’t mind being left behind by myself. As long as I can cry...with you in mind. Mm…”

*Smooch*

Track 6: Epilogue

*Cling*

Kanato enters the torture chamber.

*Creaaaaak*

*Rustle*

“Hahn...Nn…”

*Cling cling*

*Gulp*

“...Keep still!”

You protest.

[00:41] “Fufu...You’re only making it hurt more by fighting back. All I need to do is suck your blood after all. It’s so obvious you just want to drown in the pleasure as well. Fufufu...You’re so easy to read. Mm…”

*Sluuuuurp*

“Hahn…However...I wonder how long that obedience will last? Why don’t we take this opportunity to put it to the test?”

You open your mouth to protest. 

[01:24] “Don’t talk. Who gave you permission to speak? From now on, you should only do exactly as I say. If you understand...Let’s see...I suppose I’ll have you get on all fours on the floor to start out?”

You hesitate.

“Come on, hurry up!”

*Cling cling*

[01:56] “Hahaha...What a lovely view...Ah, why don’t you show me exactly where you want my fangs?”

*Cling*

“Your throat? That’s all? ...You should be a little more honest with yourself. It should help you feel better as well. ...Come on!”

You confess. 

[02:31] “Hah...Heeh~? Now that’s rather bold of you. I am somewhat surprised you hold such desires in your heart. You are more greedy than I thought.”

You cover your face in shame.

“Don’t hide it! ...I honestly do not dislike seeing you like this.”

Kanato approaches.

“Well then…”

*Rustle*

[03:04] “Let me give you your reward.”

He bites you.

*Sluuuurp*

“Fufu...~”

ーー THE END ーー

[alvhiedeir]

Title: Is that all you got?

Pairing: Indra x gn!reader

Tw: drinking, mention of sex within influence (both of them are so nonconsensual?), Language, nsfw-ish

Note: I literally typed this without drafts before sleeping so not proofread

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!"

When did things go wrong? There where many, many bad choices made last night. Which exactly, was the question.

Maybe when you agreed to go drinking with the other gods, something that you rarely do? But it has been a stressful few many days for you and drinking one or two might help with it.

Or maybe that's when things went downhill. Rather than one or two, you drunk maybe half the club's worth of alcohol. That sounded exaggerated but that's what the hungover felt like. After your first one, your friends' encouragement and teasing lead you to down one more.

And another.

And another.

And another.

'Till you can't tell what's louder, the roar of the crowd egging you on or your own laughter echoing around as you danced a little to provocatively.

Maybe that's what lead a certain Indian god to approach your drunken self.

Eyes droopy but mischievous, lips tugging into a smirk as you pulled him close to your body. Hips swaying just the right way to get him intoxicated but pulling away just as fast with a cheeky laugh.

And he doesn't seemed to mind your little game.

Oh no.

He loved it.

The ever so diligent and modest you, playfully messing with him. With lips painted with red and seduction, who in their right mind won't take the bait.

And so he played with you.

Hands on your hips and back, calloused hands tracing the skin revealed by your clothes. Just imaging how pretty it would look all bruised and covered by his marks. When you pull away laughing, he would follow, his own chuckles leaving his lips in a low tone.

Maybe this wasn't the sole reason for your predicament. But you're sure as hell this was a vital point.

Especially after your little game, you found yourself pressed against an empty hallway. The sound of the party nothing but a gentle him in the background as he stared at you, eyes ever so impatient.

He pressed his head closer to your, breath smelling thick of alcohol and cigarettes. His tongue darts out to lick his drying lips, all the while his eyes stared at yours.

Then he closed the gap.

Ah, maybe this was your worst decision of the night.

You were drunk. He was drunk. But rather than doing what any rational person - god if you will - would do, you didn't push him away and said this wasn't right. That you shouldn't.

Oh no.

You wrapped your hands around his neck, pulling him closer, deeper as it already is. Tongue seeking out his own to dance with. Greedy and hungry, you kissed back with such vigor as he did.

He held your head with one hand and the other claimed a spot on your back, pulling your body closer. Molding your body to fit his, wanting to feel every inch that you had to offer.

And you just laid yourself on a silver platter.

With a tug of his hair, you pulled back from the kiss. Your eyes took focus on his face, and shit. Was it just the lighting or he always this pretty?

His hair was a mess as per usual but both his eyes were clear for you to admire. It held a perfect amount of hunger, lust and admiration just enough to make your excitement to grow. But what got your legs shaking was his lips. Bruised and swollen from your bitting and beautifully decorated by your red lipstick. With each gasping breath he took, you can't help but to think how nice of a color it is to him.

And how he would look covered in it.

You made many bad turns this evening but this was the icing on the cake.

Swipping your tongue across your lips, you leaned forward to his ear. Teasingly taking the lobe between your teeth before whispering lowly,

"Is that all you got, Indra?"

And believe me, you have no idea what he can do.

So as you try to scurry to find you clothes scattered across the room (whose room you did not bother asking nor thinking as it will just intensify your own embarrassment), you can't help but curse at yourself.

"Fuck where are my underwear?!"

The ruffling of the bed sheets made you freeze on the spot. Head turning ever so slowly towards the sleeping figure on the bed, you almost let out a sigh of relief as he settled back into sleep after turning.

"Damn, looks like I'm going commando today."

You tried to look as presentable as possible before turning to leave but the memories of last night made you stop.

Was it just because of the lighting?

Curiosity will truly kill the cat.

As silent as your panicked self can be, you tiptoed to the bed and and looked at the god laying on his back, one arm on his head the other hidden under the blanket.

With all the courage that you (shouldn't) have, you peeled the cover away just above his waist and you had to say. Being drunk didn't deter your idea a pretty.

He did look pretty with those red marks.

With your curiosity satisfied, with a pounding heart you did your walk of shame with the only difference is that you're running.

And you thought that was the end?

Karma's a bitch and life loves drama.

And it's just so happen that you're their new favorite show.

A week passed after your little escapade, and let's us say you had to walk the long way over just to avoid a certain somebody. Even going as far as hiding in a closet for a solid 10 minutes.

And the one moment you had your guard down, he just happen to be there.

Against you.

Pinning you once again.

In broad daylight.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck"

"Look who it is."

His voice was both amused and taunting. His larger frame towering over you as he lean closer, the memories of that night resurfacing, along with the red ess of your cheeks.

He laughs when he notices the color on your face. His one visible eye filled with humour as he watch you try to push yourself deeper against the wall, as if it can swallow you.

"Why are you embarrassed now when you said and did a lot more than-"

"Indra!"

He barked put a laugh at your loud response, your cheeks tainting into am even darker shade at your own volume.

"I'm just here to ask two things, don't worry." Your eyes were weary but none the less nodded for him to continue.

And you probably shouldn't of didn't want to turn into a tomato.

"Is this your's?"

In his hands, he held up a black underwear, the one you left in a hurry to leave, unceremoniously twirling it in his finger that anyone walking by can see.

Your hands shoot out to grab the offending garment in his hands but he held it further from your reach. He smirked as you ended up leaning against his chest, face once again a few centimeters away from his own. And when you tried to pulled back he already had an arm wrapped around your waist, effectively cutting away your chance of escaping.

Sly bastard.

"Damnit Indra! Give that back!"

He smirked, a low laugh escaping his lips.

Sly, sexy bastard.

"I'll give it back, I just have another question."

You tried to reach for your garments once again but he led it higher and started twirling it again. One wrong move and it can fly away into the floor and someone might just-

"Fine! Fine! Ask your stupid question!"

You can hear your own pride shattering in the background but you swallowed to shards and stared at him.

He laughed again, and you swore if he laughed one more time you're going to throw hands.

"Calling it stupid is kind of mean."

"Just say it."

He smirked at your snarky reply, eyes starring at you so intently that your wounded pride almost let you whine.

He lead down his head, pushing you, once again on the wall. One arm on you waist, the other - still holding the blasted underwear - burried in your hair, holding it so that it stayed looking at him.

The same position the two of you were in before.

He swiped his tongue out licking his lips, all the while staring into you with those eyes. And for a moment it seemed like you two were back in that club. He slowly pressed his face besides your's, taking your earlobe between his teeth. His gentle nibbling making it harder to suppress the shaking of your body.

After a while, he released your ear, only to whisper lowly. Hot breath blowing against it.

"Is that all you got?"

This is a bad, bad idea.

But without the alcohol this time you had nothing to blame but yourself as you pulled him closer, eager to get another taste.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

The timing of this whole thing with the campaign is pretty amazing, as it turns out. In the middle of absolute work hell and attempts to sort out my general apartment/living situation, a little while ago I entered a fic into the /r/CurseOfStrahd second annual fanfic contest. It was one of my attempts to kind of write out and process the way our own run through the module went, stretch out some poor, suffering, unused writing muscles, and it was also super duper self-indulgent. So I'm very, very proud to say it won first place amidst some really great competition, and super happy to rep my best girl Ez.

Summary: In the aftermath of Strahd's destruction and the not-quite-loss of her mentor, Ezmerelda d'Avenir sets out to tie up loose ends and lay some ghosts to rest, and continues carving out a path for herself in the Domains of Dread.

Word count: 9999, as there was a 10k limit. I had fun.

Rating/Warnings: T, with canon-typical violence, and dealing with death and loss in a general gothic horror setting. Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd module.

---

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

Being a compendium of successes, failures, tricks, and warnings relating to detecting, tracking, fighting, and ultimately destroying undead, fiends, lycanthropes, and assorted monstrosities.

-

1.1. Introductory remarks

Their ride back to town is a quiet one. The silence is broken only once they are sitting, their hunting and travelling gear half-unpacked and strewn about, in the library just above van Richten's herbalist shop.

"Were we in any other profession, this would be a cause for celebration," van Richten's lips twist into a bittersweet wisp of a smile, and he pushes a warm cup of tea into her hands. "A demonstration of pride in an apprentice's first job well done, for all to see and revel in."

Ezmerelda tries to look up at him and meet his gaze properly, but her shoulders, her head, her eyes all feel too heavy. A leaden weight seems to have settled on every bit of her. She is tired, bone-deep, but the very thought of lying down and closing her eyes to attempt to sleep fills her with disgust and no small amount of dread. She knows exactly what she will see. The man, just on the cusp of middle age, entirely unremarkable at first... features quickly twisting into a mask of monstrous hunger, then to wide-eyed horror, and, finally, resorting to desperate pleas for mercy as the stake hits home and his screeching form dissolves to ash. 

It feels like the ash still coats the back of her mouth. The tea smells of strong herbs, with just a whiff of something even stronger that van Richten must have snuck in from the liquor cabinet. Her hands clench around the cup, and a burning need to justify and defend herself drives her to finally speak up.

"I was ready," she insists. "I am ready."

"I know," van Richten replies, softly, sadly.

The tea scalds her tongue, but she drinks it anyway.

---

Getting up from the damp, cold floor of the tomb again feels like an impossibility. She can barely keep her head above the ground, eyes stinging with a mixture of blood and sweat and the glare of pure, magical sunlight. The clawed gashes on her ribcage burn with every weak, hard-won breath, and a metallic taste coats the back of her tongue.

But she is not done yet. She has one last lightning bolt left in her, and Strahd and his dusk elf lackey are so beautifully, perfectly aligned. Ezmerelda can't keep her lips from curling up into a smirk as she raises an arm and mutters her incantation, feeling that familiar tickle of static rising all around her.

She holds on, builds it up as much as she can, teeth grinding together, ears buzzing - until she can hold on no longer, and the energy flies from her, the flash near-blinding, the roar of accompanying thunder ringing in her ears.

She sees it hit home, the first traces of foggy vapour swirling around Strahd's convulsing form, and a beautiful satisfaction fills her. 

Then, she lets herself go.

An instant or an eternity later someone is shaking her into jarring and painful wakefulness, jostling her head against the rough floor. Her mouth is filled with the bitter aftertaste of a potion, and she grimaces as she feels the familiar residue on her lips and chin.

"Fine, fine, old man, relax, I'm up," she manages, slurring the words, struggling to blink her eyes open and into focus. "I'm awake. Stop it."

But it's not him.

It is Ireena, wide-eyed gaze somehow growing wider still at her words. The reason for this becomes abundantly and agonisingly clear as she points to somewhere behind Ezmerelda... to where Rudolph van Richten lies, very pale and very still, a greater and more profound calm upon him than she has ever witnessed.

"No."

She didn't even see him fall.

"Why didn't you help him?" Ezmerelda knocks the empty potion bottle away, and it clatters loudly against the stone, finally finding rest near a streak of dark ashes. "What are you waiting for, what--"

"I tried. It was... it's too late," Ireena whispers, "I'm sorry." 

Ezmerelda feels shame flood her immediately at the misaimed anger. "No. No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I just-- wait." Awareness of just where they are and what they were in the middle of doing suddenly overwhelms her, and she feels panic crawl up her spine. "Is it over? Did you stake that bastard once and for all?"

Ireena nods, mouth curling in visible distaste. "I did, just like you said to. Your last hit - it was enough to force him to turn into mist, and then, when... when he reformed in the coffin, I did it."

The relief Ezmerelda feels at that is so bitter it burns. "I missed it, then," she murmurs, and feels ridiculous immediately afterwards. Ireena shakes her head, and helps her sit up.

She allows herself a few precious moments of rest against the cold, damp wall of the crypt, eyes painfully locked on van Richten's still, still form. As soon as she feels half-capable of moving, she all but drags herself to his side. Feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything at all to help her disbelieve what is plainly before her eyes.

She finds no such thing. He's dead, and it feels like a stake through her own heart. After all her efforts, after getting into Barovia just to get the damned foolish old man off his self-destructive warpath and out, only to lose him now, to fail right at the end...

A pale shimmer falls over the scene before her, like a curtain right before her eyes. Ezmerelda blinks and shakes her head, but can't make it go away. She reaches up, and--

Erasmus all but swoops down to be face to face with her.

It takes her a moment to properly grasp what she is seeing. Erasmus. Somehow still there, his ghostly form hovering over his father's body. Gesturing at her wildly, pointing down at something, and, finally, using his ectoplasmic paint to draw... a circle within a circle, hanging in mid-air.

She follows his wordless instructions to the best of her current ability and, with some painfully suppressed reluctance, looks down at van Richten. And there on his finger is a ring that was certainly not there before.

Erasmus seems insistent and quite unusually agitated, so Ezmerelda takes the ring, trying not to register the coldness of the hand it was on, and puts it on numbly, feeling utterly beyond thought.

Suddenly, cutting through the fog that seems to have descended upon her mind, bubbling up like an idea from her own consciousness, a thought - a voice. A familiar voice.

'Ezmerelda? Ah. I see. Well, that could have gone decidedly better.'

She feels tears welling up in her eyes, an unstoppable burning in her chest. She wants to laugh until she can't breathe, or sob her lungs raw. 

Instead, she sits back against the cool stone wall. As the adrenaline wears off, she becomes more aware of the extent of her injuries: the sting where foul claws raked across her midsection and upwards; the burns of magical fire on her palms. She fishes out the last potion from her pocket, and downs it in one greedy gulp. The relief is near-instant.

Her faculties at least somewhat returned to her, she opts for a laugh as she recognises the ring for what it is. Ireena looks at her with some concern, but Ezmerelda waves it away.

"A ring of mind shielding. Protect the mind, and store the soul, should the worst happen. Of course you of all people would come so prepared."

Ezmerelda twists the ring on her finger, marvels at the detailed engraving.

"Should I... we could... there's ways. To get you back. I mean..." 

She trails off, and there is a brief pause before the voice in her mind pipes up again. 'No. No, I think, at long last, it is time for me to stop. And rest.' 

Even though her entire being wishes to rail against this, to insist on the need for Rudolph van Richten to exist, and protest the injustice (just when she'd gotten him back!), Ezmerelda manages, barely, a soft, "I understand." 

'There is still some work to do before that, though, no? Loose ends for us to take care of before, well...' 

That, she feels far more comfortable with. It almost comes as a relief. "Yes, of course. First order of business, we will sit down, and we will work out a plan. And we will stick to that plan." 

There is a soft chuckle in her mind. 

"What's so funny? You love plans." 

She imagines, in better, happier days, the old man - only slightly less old - shaking his head at her with a long-suffering smile. 

'Thank you for humoring me, is all I'll say. Now, go handle things here properly and finish up, while I think of a list of priorities for us. Miss Kolyana is waiting for you.' 

-

1.2. A brief reflection on personal experience

Ezmerelda is pulled into a room, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slams shut, and she almost stumbles as she is suddenly released.

"What in all the realms are you doing here?" The colourful half-elf carnival master hisses at her in a voice decidedly unlike the one he was just using in the downstairs taproom. Now that they are close, she can see the magical disguise of the Great Rictavio is utterly impeccable, but the eyes... the eyes are unmistakable. 

They are also flooded with the closest thing to panic Ezmerelda has ever seen in them.

"I'm here to help you. You don't stand a chance on your own."

"How did you find me?"

Ezmerelda shrugs noncommittally, and doesn't look behind him. "I have my ways."

He shakes his head. "That isn't good enough. If his agents - and there are many, I assure you! - catch even a whiff--"

She finally glances at the ghostly form of Erasmus, just barely visible over Rictavio's shoulder, unable to be perceived by the one man he wishes he could reach out to and reassure. He meets her eyes and holds his finger up to his lips.

"I recognised your horse," she says, at long last. 

"Dear Drusilla? Oh..." Rictavio seems to almost deflate at that, though his nervous pacing doesn't slow. 

Erasmus' visage shows what has to be gratitude, or relief, or both. Then he closes his eyes, seemingly tired, and the shimmering remnants of him disappear from view. 

"Damned stubborn, foolish girl..." Rictavio moves deftly around the small room, securing the shutters on its single window, locking the door from the inside, gaze darting around wildly. Then he reaches up and removes his hat, and Rudolph van Richten, looking more old and more worn than Ezmerelda was perhaps ever prepared to see, stands in his place.

"I had a plan, you know," he sighs, tossing the hat onto the bed. "One that I can now no doubt forget about entirely."

"There's no time for your endless preparation and planning. Any waiting game we try to play is a losing one. There's a young woman who desperately needs our help, a legendary weapon to be found, and there's a monster to hunt, feeding on an entire land. I've been to the castle, scouted out--" 

"You've done what?" 

Ezmerelda doesn't look at him and chooses to pace a small circle around the room herself. "The castle. Ravenloft. Getting in was a breeze - getting out was the hard part." She suppresses a brief shudder at the memory of her invisibility spell running out and Strahd's eyes boring directly into hers, as if he'd known she was there all along. "But, well, I managed. And more importantly, I found a way into his crypt."

Van Richten sits down on the bed, rubbing circles into his forehead.

"Ezmerelda, you can't be here." His voice sounds pained, almost. "You know you are not safe near me. My curse--" 

"Sincerely, fuck your curse," Ezmerelda spits. "After all these years, it can wait a few days before striking. Can't be worse than what will happen to both of us and anyone involved if we can't manage to work together on this. We have to. I tried, by myself, but..." 

She tries not to dwell on the terribly brief confrontation, the bite of the cold, cold grasp that seemed to steal the very life out of her, and her rather desperate escape.

"Ezmerelda," van Richten starts again, then pauses, and just looks at her - a long, heavy look. "Why?"

"There are still people who care about your well-being," she replies simply and softly, "no matter what you may believe." 

Then she straightens her shoulders and allows the steel back into her voice. "So listen to me. We are going to stake that devil in his lair, and we are going to get out of this cursed land. Together."

For once, he doesn't argue.

---

Their lord and master may be gone, but there are plenty of foul things still crawling around Castle Ravenloft - and occasionally crawling out of it as well.

How lucky for the Village of Barovia, then, to have a monster hunter visiting.

"...so I think that should do it for that particular area of the barracks," Ezmerelda flicks a stray bit of zombie gunk off of her bracer, then casts an apologetic look at Ireena. "But who knows what else he has buried under there."

Ireena Kolyana, the girl haunted, hunted, and tormented by the vampire, deciding she's had enough of running, turning on him and wielding a sword of pure sunlight against him. Poetic justice, if Ezmerelda fancied herself a poet.

Ireena Kolyana, looking exhausted in a very different way, now caught up in burgomaster duties, barely finding time in her overstuffed schedule to hear about the results of Ezmerelda's latest expedition to the castle.

"You know," Ezmerelda begins, eyeing the stacks of papers and growing chaos on the desk between them, "if you ever get really tired of this, and miss life on the road..." she nods towards the window, and the wagon just outside it. "I have room for one more. And could always use a deft hand with a sword." 

Ireena smiles, but the sadness underpinning it is palpable. "I can't, not now at least. There is too much to take care of here. And without Ismark..." a shadow falls briefly over her face, then she visibly forces it back. "Some day, maybe. I would honestly love to." 

Ezmerelda nods, then moves to stand up, and holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, you have time for a walk. A minute to escort me out and say goodbye, at least."

Ireena chuckles quietly and shakes her head, but pushes away from the desk and takes the proffered arm. 

The sunlight is bright, tempered only by a wisp of white cloud here and there. Ezmerelda feels a light pull on her arm as Ireena stops on the threshold of the house for just a fraction of a moment. The hesitation is brief, barely noticeable, but the pause as if needing to catch her breath and the subsequent dawning joy - pure, almost radiant by itself - as the sunlight hits her skin--

Ezmerelda realises she's staring, blinks, and makes herself look away.

Their stroll is indeed brief, and as soon as they turn the corner and reach the parked wagon, Ireena sighs and stands half-ready to hurry back to her office and her duties.

"Hey," Ezmerelda puts what she hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know you can handle all of this. Never doubt that." 

This wins her a sincere smile. "Thank you."

Knowing there's no more point in delaying, Ezmerelda pulls away, moves to arrange her things around the wagon and prepare to leave. 

"The offer stands," she says as she climbs into the driver's seat. "Keep it in mind."

"Maybe next time," Ireena replies with another sad smile. But then she pauses for a moment, almost as if thinking something over. Then she darts in quickly, and kisses Ezmerelda's cheek.

"Don't stay away too long," she says, quietly, then draws away again. Ezmerelda nods her agreement, and takes up the reins of her conjured horses.

Ireena waves her goodbye, and stands, looking on, bathed in sunlight. 

And then the road turns, and she disappears from Ezmerelda's view.

'Well.'

"Shut up." Ezmerelda can feel her face burning. "Absolutely no need to read into things." 

'You know I mean no offense. I only want the best for you.' 

"I am perfectly fine," Ezmerelda grumbles. "Besides, this is the last thing she needs right now." 

'You don't know that. Ask her sometime, perhaps, to tell you herself. Too many people have assumed too much about that young lady, I think. Myself included.' 

"Oh, what do you know..."

There is a distinct sensation of stinging grief, never quite healed, as the voice comes again. 'You seem to forget I was young once. In love once. More... than once. And though it never ended well, like few things in my life did, the only thing I have ever regretted was not acting sooner. And regret is...' 

"... the enemy of progress. I know." Ezmerelda sighs, the old man's oft-repeated saying rattling around in her mind as she snaps the reins and takes them down the road westward. "Maybe next time."

-

1.3. Materials and methods, an overview

Her balance is off still, but the past few weeks have brought incredible improvement. She flicks her rapier upwards, then lunges - back, forth, back, forth, fully and properly bearing weight on her right side in the training yard for the first time in months. The new prosthetic is truly a work of art and a masterful display of craftsmanship. Ezmerelda feels almost giddy at the sensation of ducking and weaving under the wooden limbs of the training dummy, feinting deftly, ignoring the burn in her arm and shoulder. The maneuvers are not yet close to her peak speed and fluidity and elegance, not after the long, arduous recovery she is only now reaching the end of. But it is all so very, very promising.

It also brings to mind - because how could it not, when for the better part of the past half-year she has had more time to think, and remember, and reflect than in her entire life? - van Richten's drills. He was always far more of a theoretician than practitioner of swordfighting, but he was certainly no slouch with a blade. The precision and perfection of form he insisted on instilling in her initially seemed to clash with her more free, improvisational, off-the-cuff approach, but ended up blending with it to great effect in ways that occasionally surprised them both.

She goes through attack patterns he's drilled into her and realises she misses him, the cantankerous old man and all his frustrating ways, and suddenly finds herself fervently wishing she wasn't doing this alone. She spares a moment to imagine the amount of fussing over her he would likely have insisted on, with his overprotective bedside manner that she used to chafe and scoff at whenever one of their hunts went badly for her. She thinks of all the lovely, fleeting drawings Erasmus would have made for her.

Her next step is careless, thoughtless, distracted, and as a result only a little off. The lunge is misaimed, unbalanced, and her knee twists unpleasantly. For the briefest flash of a moment she could swear she can feel the teeth sinking in again, and the horrible tearing.

Ezmerelda winces, fingers clenched around the rapier's handle, knuckles white. Her teeth grit as the wave of pain subsides so very, very slowly, but doesn't quite go away. She remembers, belatedly, that she has an audience.

"Ah, almost there," she calls back to the artisan eagerly awaiting her feedback, voice forcefully kept steady, without turning to face them, and taps her rapier on the metal plating running up from the heel. "We'll need to make another slight adjustment to the ankle joint, I think. But this is definitely and by far the best one yet. Let me get some more practice first, and we can go over the details in the afternoon."

Ezmerelda doesn't wait to see if her words are acknowledged. She hefts the rapier back up.

---

Before she reaches the first crossroads west of Vallaki, she turns the wagon south and into the woods.

"I have some unfinished business of my own to settle first," Ezmerelda states very matter-of-factly, preempting any interrogation from the ring's general direction.

The wagon trail to the top of the hill is easier to navigate than ever, and the camp is abuzz with activity, as it usually is. But this time the feel of it all is a bit different.

Ezmerelda knows it well; the air of a caravan packing up to leave.

Arabelle sees her weaving through the horses, strolling towards the large central tent, and darts towards her immediately, then freezes not three feet away. Ezmerelda can tell plain as the new Barovian day that she is torn between looking dignified and throwing herself at her in a hug.

So she crouches down and opens her arms first, and is almost knocked over when Arabelle rushes in. 

"I want to show you something I've been practicing," Arabelle whispers conspiratorially, "but you'll need to lend me a dagger."

Ezmerelda's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she obliges the girl after only a moment's contemplation, still crouched down and one arm around her narrow shoulders.

The dagger is one of the smaller ones she usually keeps concealed, but even so it seems far too large in Arabelle's hands. Nevertheless, in a few surprisingly dextrous motions with only a couple of moments of hesitation, she seems to make it disappear - then produces it again as if out of thin air.

"Huh. Impressive. Did your uncle teach you that little trick?"

Arabelle nods, but her pride is palpable. "Papa was so mad! He says that both him and you are a bad influence and I am far too young to be handling blades."

"There's no such thing," Ezmerelda scoffs, but motions for her dagger back and tucks it away safely. "Where is your father? I wanted to speak with him."

"Luvash is busy," another voice cuts in cooly, and Arrigal steps out of the fading, scarce shadows, somehow slipping under her notice even with the bright streams of sunlight all around. "But you can speak with me."

Ezmerelda stands up slowly, and can see him sizing her up.

"Run along now, Arabelle," Arrigal says in a much warmer tone of voice, but without taking his eyes off Ezmerelda for even a moment.

Arabelle gives her one last look as she turns to leave, and Ezmerelda tries to give her a reassuring smile - but then she realises Arabelle doesn't seem concerned or reluctant or... anything at all. She seems supremely calm, and not seven years old at all.

Arrigal steps forward and, even as uncannily quiet as he always is, it startles her back into the moment. Then, he reaches out a hand.

Ezmerelda meets his gaze, steps forward, and takes it. The handshake is firm, and she smirks. "Looks like you backed the losing side, cousin."

The term of address rolls off her tongue with some bite of irony in it. Arrigal inclines his head in acknowledgement. "You can't say it wasn't a fairly sure bet. A matter of survival, of course. We do what we must to keep our people safe. But," and he draws a bit closer, as if letting her in on a secret. "I'm glad he didn't send me after you."

Ezmerelda nods, and decides she isn't in the mood for a debate. "You know, so am I. I would have hated having to kill you. Instead, here you are, in an excellent position for a little introspection, changing your ways... much better this way, isn't it?"

He shakes his head with a grin, and finally lets go of her hand. "You are a menace. But we follow the traditions, and you have a place here. Where are you going?"

"Borca," she says, and pointedly doesn't elaborate further.

Arrigal laughs. "Off to more of your grim business right away! Well, one has to admire your tenacity. You can stay, of course, and leave with us tomorrow. We will share the road at least part of the way."

So Ezmerelda stays, and exchanges news of recent caravan routes and planned Mist-traversal with Luvash. The fire roars to life as the sun sets. Tales are told, and she contributes some of her own.

"Regale us, cousin," Arrigal says, grinning wolf-sharp, arms open wide as if to encompass the entire camp, "with the story of the fall of the devil Strahd." 

Arabelle is a delight, as always. The truce with Arrigal, if it can be called that, is uneasy, but holds. The ring is quiet.

Arabelle insists on riding with her in the morning ("You did fish her out of that lake... brought her back to us," Luvash grumbles. "I suppose there's no harm... I'll have none of that monster-hunting nonsense, though!"). Her delight at the summoned magical horses is palpable, even as she tries to hide it. Ezmerelda gives her the reins until they need to enter the Mists, and is only slightly surprised to see her managing well, with just a few pointers here and there.

The whole way, Arabelle demands stories of her and van Richten's exploits very matter-of-factly - interrogates, almost, at times. Her eyes are large, intent, focused, as Ezmerelda obliges, for hours. 

"I knew you would win," Arabelle says at one point, breaking a rare longer stretch of silence between them. "Uncle didn't want to listen to me, but I knew."

Ezmerelda looks at her, matches her seriousness. "I hope he will learn to listen, one day soon."

-

1.4. Common pitfalls

Ezmerelda inches back to consciousness more than wakes, and hisses as she almost reflexively tries and fails to sit up. She recognises her own bed in the former guest room above the herbalist shop, but the details of how she got there are fuzzy at best, completely absent at worst. She is, however, very aware of a merciless pounding in her head and that she has most certainly just pulled some fresh stitches.

A swirl of colourful ectoplasm greets her when she next opens her eyes, Erasmus' fleeting but always lovely and cheerful greetings hovering above her.

Well. Ezmerelda forces a pained smile at him, knowing that if he is here, his father cannot be far, and--

Ah. Familiar footsteps on the stairs, and the distinct creak of the second one from the top, as Rudolph van Richten enters the room with uncanny timing. 

He doesn't seem to be surprised to see her awake as he gives her a quick look-over, even as concern and frustration clearly war on his face.

"I thought we had reached an agreement," he begins at last, very deliberately calmly.

Ezmerelda doesn't reply.

"I thought," he continues with that same calm tone, "that we had made a plan. That was my distinct impression of our last conversation."

Ezmerelda clenches her teeth, then grinds out, "I couldn't just stand by and let that beast--"

"You could have voiced your disagreements with the plan and brought your concerns to me, instead of running off on your own in the middle of the night," van Richten is clearly struggling to keep his voice level. "You almost died."

"Fine, I am voicing my disagreements. We know it's a wereboar. Just go at it with our silvered weapons, set up an ambush where we found its lair... why wait? Why give it more chances to hurt people?"

"To be absolutely certain we have all the information. That we have looked at it from every angle, that we have not overlooked a crucial detail. Minimise its chances to hurt us."

"But by then it might have mauled half the village to death, or worse!"

Van Richten's gaze on her is sharp. "And if we get ourselves pointlessly killed, are the villagers any safer for our hasty, brash, ill-thought sacrifice?"

"Hasty, brash, and ill-thought. Fine, if that’s how it is, how you think of me," Ezmerelda throws her hands up, and wishes she could march off, slamming a door shut behind her for good measure, as childish as the thought makes her feel.

Van Richten sighs deeply, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her bed. Ezmerelda recognises it as one from downstairs, and feels a small stab of guilt at the thought of him setting up a vigil at her bedside.

"We can't go rushing in on half-checked information," van Richten begins, after a brief silence, looking down at his hands. "We can't, because... because I have done that, in the past. And people - good, brave, dedicated people who chose to stand against evil, people who trusted me - died as a result."

"I have been wrong," he continues, still not looking up. "I have followed faulty sources without the due diligence of thorough enough vetting. I have overlooked things, and I have lost many. I will not and cannot allow that to happen again. We have to be careful, patient, and vigilant, always."

"I'm not advocating for blindly rushing in," Ezmerelda protests, "I'm merely--"

"I won't have you on my soul as well. I have far too many already."

"And I won't have any more innocents on mine! We had all the relevant information two days ago. Four people could have been alive today if we had acted on time. We were right."

"And what about when you aren't, Ezmerelda? What about when you aren't?"

Ezmerelda looks him right in the eyes, steely. "Then I will make sure I am the one who pays the price for my own mistakes."

"Oh," van Richten smiles sadly, "If only that were possible."

---

The letter arrives just as she is preparing, to her great relief, to leave Port-à-Lucine for good. It is hand-delivered by an ostentatiously dressed man in a stylised fox mask, entirely - and Ezmerelda feels her lips curl in annoyance - unassuming and usual for the land of outrageous pretense that is Dementlieu. The way he seems to disappear in the moment it takes for her to glance down at what he has thrust into her hands is also something Ezmerelda finds hard to marvel at anymore.

Overjoyed to be able to return to the relative privacy and safety of her wagon, she tosses away her old harlequin mask in the sincere hopes of never having to put the damn thing on again. Then she throws herself on the bed and focuses on tearing into the sealed envelope, absorbing its mysterious contents.

After she reaches the end of the letter's brief text, she stays very still for a long while.

'Not a name I thought I would see again, if I am to be honest,' van Richten's voice comes slowly, sounding very wary.

Ezmerelda breathes out a frustrated sigh, an unidentifiable jumble of feelings warring in her chest and burning up her throat. She tries to reply several times, then stops, and closes her eyes. Collects herself, at least somewhat, and decides to focus on the practical. "How do we even know this isn't a forgery, or some sort of trap?"

'We don't. But it is a loose end I, for one, am not prepared to simply overlook.'

"She's tried before, but I never... I don't have time for this right now, I--," she throws the letter and the shredded envelope onto the chest at her bedside, and runs an annoyed hand through her hair, again, and again, and again. Thinking, or at least trying to. 

'We have time. You and I both know it's not time that is the problem.'

They are nearing the end of their planned journey, finishing up their business with Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgwick's latest investigations and bidding farewell to Dementlieu. And then it was supposed to be on to Mordent, to call in at the Mordentshire shop briefly, and afterwards to Darkon - to Rivalis, and the villages surrounding the old Richten estate. Some ghouls to fight off, wraiths to purge, ghosts to lay to rest, to help the villagers out, before... well. They'll come to that when they do.

Ezmerelda can't deny the detour would only be a brief one.

"A 'loose end'," she huffs. "Really."

'I am just trying to help you. Don't waste years of your life like I have, either bitter or wondering or fleeing. Confront your - our - past, at least this part. Lay it to rest, if you can.'

"The past does not lie behind us. It is part of what we are, and part of what we always will be," Ezmerelda recites, then sighs again. "Old Vistani saying."

A moment of silence. 'Make sure it is a good part, then.'

-

Ezmerelda's memory of her mother feels... not fuzzy, but perhaps a bit tweaked and twisted over the years, more by feelings overtaking it than by any fault of recall. The images of what she remembers and what now stands before her don't match, but have a strange, dissonant overlap, leaving visible in the centre a woman Ezmerelda could almost, almost imagine seeing in the mirror. One she hoped to never see again after that night of wordless parting, many years ago. 

Years of imprisonment seem to have been surprisingly kind to Madame Irena Radanavich. She has wormed her way into some kind of favour with someone powerful here, no doubt, as has always been her utterly unscrupulous way. The cell is clearly a formality, more of an office than anything, a parlour for receiving agents and lackeys, as well as bosses. There is even a chair - a worn, old wooden frame with faded red upholstery - placed a little ways away from the bars, facing them. Ezmerelda also gets a distinct impression that the guard standing in the corner is not there for any visitor's safety or protection.

The woman in the cell seems to light up the moment she sets eyes on Ezmerelda strolling into the cell space with a pretense of casualness.

"My, how you've grown! My, and yet-- oh, darling," concern seems to flood her face and voice, and - there, a subtle, wry twist - Ezmerelda thinks she catches a false, even mocking undertone to it. A flash, and it’s gone, and perhaps she merely imagined it, or even wanted it to be there, an ache for some semblance of simplicity to box this woman in. "There's both more and less of you than last time I saw you." 

"Really?" Ezmerelda scoffs, and almost wants to laugh. "All those tales I've heard of your vicious, clever, insidious scheming, and that's the best you can come up with?" She crosses her arms, and clicks her metal heel against the floor loudly. "Not an angle you can use against me, I'm afraid. Try again." 

"You wound me!" A dramatic hand placed over her chest. "Treating your own mother like that, who has never had anything but your best interests at heart. Who you've never even come to visit."

Ezmerelda slips the opened letter through the bars, letting it land on the hewn stone on the other side. Then she moves to sit down on the solitary chair.

"I'm only here because I got your letter."

"Oh! Good. My dearest Ezmerelda, I was--"

"I am here to tell you I want you to leave me alone," Ezmerelda continues, acting as if she hasn't heard a word. "For good. Forget I exist, preferably. I want nothing to do with you, and I never will. And the only thing I might want to do with your plotting and scheming is foiling it, so it is in your best interest to leave me out of it all. And van Richten..." 

The saccharine smile dips down, almost into a scowl. "And here I'd heard you'd finally seen sense and parted ways with that old fool." 

"You hear much, I see," Ezmerelda replies, cooly.

"I have my ways. My sources. People loyal to me, who have yet to abandon me."

Ezmerelda feels the swipe like an airy almost-cut of a dagger that just barely misses. "Well, here's something new for you, then. Something your little web-weaving spiders seem to have missed. You'll be happy to hear he's dead." 

"And right away you come back to me! Time to end your silly games, eh, Ezme? Good, good. A start--" 

"You have no right to call me that," Ezmerelda cuts her off, rapidly losing her will to restrain herself.

"Come now, dear. That's no way to talk to your mother, your own flesh and blood. It's about time we set all this nonsense aside, don't you think? Your family--" 

"You're no family of mine." 

"Please," she scoffs loudly. "You sound like an angry child. And... oh, really, what kind of name is 'd'Avenir' even?"

"My name," Ezmerelda replies, perfectly matter-of-fact, and refuses to even entertain further discussion of the matter.

"I wonder how you'll do," Madame Radanavich smiles, but this time the threatening edge is obvious, pretense briefly abandoned, "all alone. Playing your little games of pretend with your make-believe name. You'll come crawling back to me yet." 

Ezmerelda finds herself thinking of Erasmus, and almost believes she can see him, out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to think of what this confrontation might be bringing back for him. Thinks of the Martikovs welcoming her with open arms and offering shelter even in the darkest and dourest and most dangerous of days; thinks of Ireena with the sunsword and an entire wealth of feeling tangled in a tired, relieved smile somehow brighter than the blazing sunlight itself. Of nights around the fire in the camp outside Vallaki, and little Arabelle pulling on her coat, extorting promises of lessons in both swordfighting and divining. Of Arthur Sedgwick and his honest, caring eyes, and his patient instruction in properly using a flintlock, as his husband gleefully offers detailed scientific explanations of the weapon's workings from the side. She twists the ring on her finger.

"I'm not alone," Ezmerelda says simply, and feels resolute steel pouring back. She stops to consider her next words more carefully.

"I watched your actions and your curse destroy a good man's life. But I want you to know that you wanted to take from him, and in the end you took from me, the daughter you profess to care about so much. And now you crow at me about flesh and blood and expect me to, what? Beg you to let me come back? Back to what? A mouldy cell and as short a leash as the current master feels like giving you?"

"Bold words for one given to following an old wretch around like a sad pup, even as he keeps trying to kick you away," Radanavich sneers, then shifts back to sad pity in the blink of an eye. "Oh, yes, my dear, it's so very tragic... I've heard it all. Look at you - you're wasted on him."

"Oh?" Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow cooly, clamps down on the sting to her pride and the deliberate scrape against old wounds, and almost wanting to scream you are the reason he feared that daring to care about someone would be a death sentence for them. "And what would you prefer to be using me for?"

"How dare you! After all I've done for our family, while you throw your lot in with the man who killed your brother and imprisoned your mother!"

Ezmerelda feels suddenly tired, more than anything. "You know he did no such thing. And I've done very well for myself, despite you." 

"Have you, now? What price have you paid for your... profession? What has it cost you already?" 

"Nothing I wouldn't be ready to pay ten times over if it meant ensuring the safety of an innocent, or beating back those such as you. You still don't understand," Ezmerelda just smiles sadly, allowing only the slightest undercurrent of danger. "I'm neither lost, nor settling for anything, nor desperately grasping at a chance, nor tragically misguided. This is what I want. This-- this cause, this fight, this is exactly what I was meant to do. And I am very, very good at it."

"Oh, Ezmerelda, if excitement and adventure and glory is what you are after, I know of much that you could do! So many causes that your... talents... would be an excellent match for. You do have a certain reputation, and I know several highly influential actors who'd know exactly where to put your skills to use, no matter how they were acquired. You could do so well for yourself! Rise right to the top of the ranks in the blink of an eye, become truly great."

Ezmerelda shakes her head, and sighs, and moves to get up from the sad, solitary seat. 

"Ezmerelda--"

She quickly turns towards the bars and leans in, baring her teeth and grinning widely. "I killed the devil Strahd," Ezmerelda smirks at the look of shock she gets in response. "I think your petty schemes are a little below me, don't you?" 

She turns to leave, not waiting for a response. The guard leans back in his corner as she moves away from the bars, waving him off.

"Oh, do feel free to let your masters know," she tosses over her shoulder nonchalantly as she makes her way out. "Though I have to say I haven't really looked into whose lapdog you are nowadays." 

Ezmerelda hears a frustrated growl behind her as the sickeningly sweet, pleasant mask falls for good. As the door slams shut behind her, she doesn't look back.

She lets the noise of the city drown out her thoughts as she slowly makes her way back to her wagon, more than ready to be on her way elsewhere. Until, after a while, a familiar voice comes swimming up through her mind.

'How do you feel?' 

"I don't know," Ezmerelda murmurs, after a long silence. "Ask me tomorrow."

-

1.5. Notes on useful classification and categorisation

As she finishes rattling off the information she's gathered on a series of apparent annis hag encounters that van Richten asked her for, he looks-- well, 'impressed' is the only word Ezmerelda can think of to describe it.

In the ensuing moment of quiet, he takes off his spectacles, fidgets with them briefly, polishes off a smudge with his handkerchief. Then, he looks her right in the eye. "You, girl, are a veritable sponge."

Ezmerelda flashes him a smug smile, then remembers the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention. She clears her throat, and begins, with uncharacteristic hesitance. "I've also been looking into some... other things. Another way I can contribute, I think." 

The only reply is a raised eyebrow, so Ezmerelda steels herself and decides to go forward with her planned demonstration. She quells the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and instead focuses on the points of her own fingers as they trace well-practiced patterns in the air. With a final flick and a quick mutter of the incantation she's quietly recited so, so many nights in her room when she was supposed to be asleep, the very air around her right hand shimmers with heat. A few tense moments later, a small mote of flame appears in her palm.

Ezmerelda bites back an exclamation of joy at the success, tries to keep her expression fairly neutral, and looks to van Richten expectantly.

His eyebrows are, very amusingly, trying to climb into his hairline. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?"

She lets the little flame dance between her hands, casually skip from one to the other, flickering giddily, and feels an odd sense of relief wash over her.

"I saw it in one of your books. Almost by accident, and it... it just made a lot of sense to me, even just skimming over it. So I thought, why not? If I could get a handle on a few of the spells, I could complement your arsenal quite well. Bring more to the fight."

Van Richten nods, but there is a wary undertone to his words. "As long as you aren't making any ill-advised deals and pacts - which, I'll remind you--"

"-- are all of them. I know. Don't worry. I'm only interested in things I can glean by myself."

"Well, I'm not much of an arcane practitioner, though I am quite familiar with a lot of theory. I'm afraid I won't be able to provide any elaborate training or instruction--"

"That's fine," Ezmerelda rushes to say. "I can continue like this. The research, the books - it's..." 

She trails off, not quite knowing how and what to explain. Arcane magic is fascinating, surprisingly enjoyable, and strikes a deeply satisfying balance between being hard-won and feeling like it comes naturally to her. 

It also feels... hers.

"It's very engaging material," she finishes after a little while. She moves to close her fist and extinguish the tiny fire, but something stops her at the very last moment.

"Indeed," van Richten replies simply, and gets up from his seat. "Well, I do need to go tend to the shop, but rest assured we will discuss the tactical applications of this later today." 

Just as he is out the study door and about to start down the stairs, he pauses, and turns back to look at her, a bright and sincere smile on his face. "Very well done, Ezmerelda."

The flame flickers, ready to fly from her fingers, bursting with potential.

"Thank you," she murmurs long after he is gone.

---

It is deep nighttime when Ezmerelda shakes off the last tendrils of the Mists and sets eyes on the cliffs of Mordentshire. The wagon's wheels clatter over rain-slick cobblestones as she navigates the still-familiar streets of the seemingly unchanging harbour town. The cold sea wind makes her tighten her coat around herself, to very little avail. 

She can't say she's missed the weather.

By the time she spies the sign neatly painted with the words Herbalist - Dr. Rudolph van Richten, she feels soaked through and entirely miserable, and spends only a moment giving the place a quick look-over.

The shop is in fine shape - if she didn't know better, Ezmerelda could easily believe its owner closed it up for the night and left just yesterday. The wolfsbane and garlic in the planters underneath each window are flourishing. She makes a mental note to make her first order of business in the morning calling in on the neighbors and discussing further arrangements with Mrs. Polk, in whose capable hands van Richten has been leaving things for years.

In the meantime, she fervently hopes for dry clothes and a workable fireplace.

A quick rummage between two bushy wolfsbane plants - the second and third one on the right - produces a spare key, and Ezmerelda remembers with mild amusement her shock at this mundane weakness in van Richten's usually impeccable and overthought defenses, years ago.

"Keys," he'd looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, "are hardly a problem for things that truly want to harm me."

The little bell chimes as she opens the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the very precisely placed full-length mirror just opposite the entrance, she wastes no time before going upstairs. The second stair from the top creaks its old, familiar reassurance.

Ezmerelda enters the room that used to be hers, in between harrowing hunting trips and trying adventures, during her years training with van Richten. It doesn't seem to have changed much - nor does it seem to be in use as anything but spare storage space.

She does her best not to think about how empty and quiet the house is, or how she's never truly been alone in it. Instead, she hangs up her coat, rolls up her shirt sleeves, unpacks some of her things, and, by the time she gets a proper fire going, realises sleep is the very last thing she feels like doing. Her eyes alight on the small desk in the corner, and she instead decides to do something she hasn't in a while.

She sits down to write. 

First, Ezmerelda takes off the ring and sets it aside, muttering a quick good night, Doctor under her breath. Then she takes out some of her collection, observations accumulated over the years - jotted down on everything from thick parchment to old wrapping paper. Combining it with the wealth of van Richten's remaining material and into something eventually coherent will no doubt be a challenge, but a challenge is not something Ezmerelda d'Avenir has ever shied away from.

It is just haphazard, quick notes on anything of consequence that comes to mind at first, carried by an odd nervous energy. A more systematic approach will have to come at some later point.

While knowledge is a key weapon in any hunter's arsenal, honing one's body as well as mind is absolutely necessary, she writes, tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a way that often drove van Richten to distraction. Many of the creatures of the night become, in their cursed states, inhumanly strong, and in such instances one must be particularly careful of engaging them in close quarters, for even the greatest strongman would be at a disadvantage.

However, not all of these encounters need be solved by violence. Many ghosts 

She pauses, pen slowly dripping ink onto the half-filled page before her, and sees Erasmus out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to face him, and for once in their long and unusual life-and-afterlife-spanning acquaintance, she finds she can't quite read him.

Many ghosts are held in their in-between existence due to unfinished business. Tethered to some regret or incomplete task from their mortal lives, they seek resolution and closure. Many hauntings can thus be resolved by investigation, and what I must term a primarily sympathetic approach. Of course, one must also always be wary and on the lookout for deliberately misguiding spectres who seek to play upon one's pity.

The first signs of dawn creep into the room by the time she has moved on from ghosts to wraiths to trying to sort out her notes about creatures that lurk underwater - old notes that have been, to her chagrin, very appropriately and unsalvageably waterlogged.

Ezmerelda manages to light another candle just before her current one sputters out, and rubs at her tired eyes. Then she pauses, gazing idly at the ink stains on her fingers.

She reaches over for a new page, setting her current work aside. There is something else she wants and needs to write, something other than dry facts or hopefully helpful guidelines. The first few sentences come in fits and starts, but soon enough she finds them flowing out of her pen almost of their own accord.

What I would like to make clear is that this is not an inherently bad place. The lands themselves can be beautiful - wondrous, even. Worth living in, and worth fighting for. And the people who live in them do not deserve to live in fear. I, and many others, could simply leave for some better, tamer prospects, yes - but then what? Nothing is gained if we merely surrender an entire world, a collection of lands so fantastically varied and so full of promise, to a cruel, merciless, hungry night. It can't all be abandoned as collateral damage in a great punishment intended for a horrible few. I can't, and won't, allow this to happen.

Maybe the foes are overwhelming, and the fight endless. But a life saved is a life saved. A victory is a victory. One innocent snatched away from a grim fate, one tendril of darkness beaten back - that is enough. But only if we persist at it, day after day after day. And evil may be impossible to ever completely destroy, but it is far weaker and less widespread than it could and doubtlessly wants to be, in at least some small part thanks to our continued efforts.

A dour prospect? Perhaps, for some. Ezmerelda smirks to herself, and gazes down at her veritable manifesto, and thinks back to that cell in Il Aluk. 

What better life is there to lead? None, for her.

I, for one, don't intend to give up anytime soon. I hope that in you, dear reader, I can find one of like mind. And perhaps one day we shall find ourselves standing together.

She lights another candle, and continues.

-

1.6. Conclusions and remarks on future work

She clenches her hands as she steps into the sitting room that morning, decisions made after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. As if fate is conspiring against her, the first thing she sees is Erasmus, hovering over his father's shoulder. He turns to face her as soon as he notices her, a bright smile he saves just for her on his pale, ghostly face. She knows what a struggle it is for him to manifest this way, how much it takes out of him. The thought of his precious few minutes today being this... 

It takes immense effort to speak up, interrupting van Richten's apparent focus on the post strewn about the table in front of him.

"I think... I think it's time for me to go."

"Go? Where?" He blinks, looking up from his papers.

Ezmerelda swallows, but hesitates only for a moment. "I don't know," she answers, chin tilted up, almost proud. "But I know we can't go on like this. I don't want to go on like this."

They butt heads and scrape against each other constantly. Chafe and grate and, and, and. She can't remember the last time they agreed on even the most cursory thing. It has reached a level where she fears his presence will become intolerable, and anything binding the two of them together become irreparably soured and tainted.

She refuses to allow this to happen.

Erasmus has drawn a coin. Two sides. He indulges in a small, semi-teasing pantomime, pointing at the two of them as his shimmering, ectoplasmic drawings hover briefly before vanishing like so much smoke, and Ezmerelda shakes her head sadly.

"I don't want to come to resent you, that is all. I don't think I could bear it if I did."

"If you think it for the best, by all means," van Richten says simply, and leaves it at that. He never turns to fully look at her. There is an undercurrent to his voice Ezmerelda can't quite place - something deeply tired, and far more complicated than plain sadness.

It rains heavily that morning as she sets off, as if the world itself wants her to rethink this. The muddy road squelches almost threateningly under her horse's hooves as she leads him forward.

Van Richten doesn't come out to see her off.

"I'll miss you," she breathes to herself, and half-hopes it somehow reaches both of the companions she is leaving behind. But she has only the rain and her horse's steady trot on the trail for company. 

It is quiet.

---

Finally, the familiar mists of Darkon, and the countryside of Rivalis, lie before them. The inevitable, at a familiar estate fallen into quite a state of disrepair. 

'No, leave it be,' van Richten said, at her hesitantly presented idea of including returning Richten House to at least some of its former glory on their list of unfinished business and loose ends.

Still, this is where he wanted to come. At the end.

Ezmerelda never saw it in its prime. She was a mere child then, kept well away from her family's machinations. Until she was (inevitably, irrevocably) drawn in, her fate forever entangled with that of the van Richten family. But even now, in all its disrepair, rich traces of what the gardens, the orchard, and the house itself used to be permeate the atmosphere, like ghosts themselves.

She walks across the hills of the grounds, all the way around the mansion to the family cemetery. She slows as she moves up to the two most recent graves, so easy to find, and thinks, briefly, of the body van Richten insisted on being burned before they left Barovia, just in case. 

Just in case, she agreed, knowing all he knew about what foul magic and foul intentions could do to physical remains in the wrong hands, and built him a pyre.

The headstones before her are simple but elegant, as is the tidily engraved lettering on them.

Ingrid van Richten

Erasmus van Richten

'Well, here we are.' For a disembodied voice softly projecting into her mind, almost as through a mild haze or over some great distance, it is one of the heaviest things Ezmerelda has ever heard.

'A few words, if I may,' van Richten's request comes, gentle, and she nods, finding herself oddly wordless.

'I am so proud of you,' he begins, and the ferocity of it almost startles her. 'I hope you know this, always. If I have ever made you doubt this, as I pushed you away - I am sorry. I regret many things in my life, as one does, no matter what I like to say - but most of all I regret that I didn't tell you this sooner. 

You are the best of my life. But more than that, you have grown far beyond me, into a finer person than most could dream of being. And I am sorry I wasn't there for you, that you had to do so much of it on your own. But know that when I see you... I couldn't be happier, or more in awe.' 

There is a very brief pause, and then the voice softens again.

'I love you as my own, and am deeply honoured you would consider me, and that I get to consider you, family.' 

Ezmerelda swallows once, twice, struggles, then finally lets her tears fall freely. 

'Look at you. You don't need me anymore. And I can only hope your legend will far surpass anything I have ever done - there is so much ahead of you! Your light stands so very bright against the darkness. But I am glad, so very glad - selfishly, perhaps - that we were there together, at the end.' 

"So am I," she manages a whisper. "Love you too, old man." 

'Now I suppose it is time for me to go.' 

Erasmus looks at her, bittersweet pouring from him in waves, and he gives a small nod. His form flickers, and then disappears, and Ezmerelda knows she will never see him again.

She knows how the ring works, too. The soul within it can choose to depart whenever it wants to. She knows she doesn't need to do anything - that she couldn't, even if she wanted to. It brings with it a strange sort of peace. 

Ezmerelda inclines her head. "I hope you see them soon." Tell Erasmus I'll miss him, she wishes she could say. 

She spins the now-inert ring around on her finger, a habit she will need to break. She wants to tear it off, and throw it as far away from herself as she can. She wants to never take it off as long as she lives. 

A soft rain starts up, and Ezmerelda feels oddly grateful for the feel of it on her face, even as she knows there is no one here but her.

It is quiet.

---

With gratitude to the notes and tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Rudolph van Richten, whose guidance and wealth of knowledge have proved invaluable on countless occasions, and whose friendship changed the course of my life more than once.

[chanluster]

non ducor duco | {m}

oneshot | historical! au | gang! au | 15.2k words 

“The most notorious gang leader in Victorian London can gouge out the eyes of men, steal from the corrupted rich, and terrify an entire city, but cannot figure out a few complicated feelings with you.”

s u m m a r y >> the leader of the sons of seoul, the wanted criminal mastermind, christopher bang, has the courage to commit any deed save for confronting you, his most trusted accomplice, about his feelings. however, when opportunity arises, in the shape of an invitation to a grand seasonal ball, to take down his fated enemy, he takes you to the heart of a lavish estate, both of you unaware of actions that occur inside, and after the mission.

w a r n i n g s >> gonna be using chris instead of chan cause it’s set in 1860s london, chan is a dom of course, jisung and changbin are dumb and dumber, are also massive cockblockers, some cliché scenes cause i’m a sucker for them, sexual! tension!, gore, foul language, making out, dirty talk, aggressiveness, semi-public fingering, unprotected sex (stay safe homies!!), oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, chan has a thing for being called his korean name, whack spelling for ‘cum’ as ‘come’ cause technically that word didn’t exist in 1860s, there is a plot so there will be build up

a / n > > so i went way over the 10k originally planned lmfaoooo but i hope y’all enjoy this oneshot! i worked my ass off on it and hopefully y’all can appreciate gang leader chan in 1860s london cause honestly i’m a 100% whore for that concept

back to masterlist

IT WAS A UNIVERSAL LAW THAT ONE MUST NEVER FUCK WITH CHRISTOPHER BANG. EVER.

Whatever charge you may have against him, it must be withdrawn. Whatever he had done to you — robbed you, murdered your son, destroyed your entire existence — it did not matter. There were always limits, and trying to challenge this specific criminal would only result in your undoing.

It seemed the target, cornered before you and the very man himself, did not fully understand this order.

Chris Bang, in all his midnight suited glory, took a step towards the cowering man, the ends of his longcoat trailing him in the air. His gloved hands locked behind his back, a grave curve of his lips as he addressed his next victim. “Mr. Shaw, we know you have the documents.”

This said Mr Shaw hastily shook his head, raising his hands in immediate surrender. “Please, Mr. Bang,” he whimpered. “I have no inkling of what you speak of!”

“Don’t you dare lie!” You interjected, sliding out your knife, pointing it towards him. “We received reports of you. Don’t you dare forget the monthly checks we’ve sent for its safekeeping!”

“I was taking care of it, Miss!” He backed further, until the wall of his office stopped his escape. “They came to the office though.”

“Who did?!” You demanded, but the way Chris’s hand fisted in irritancy answered your question.

The Mayor had taken their shares. Once again, the tyrant had robbed them off their fortune. 

“Mr. Shaw,” the man beside you started. The raw, dark matter in his voice had the owner’s eyes widening in pure fear. “Who was it specifically?”

“A really large man, about seven foot for sure…God, he had cuts all over his face, slight stubble,” he answered, knees slightly shaking. “Please, Mr. Bang, I have a family, children who have not grown—”

“Why is it that whenever man is at his weakest he mentions his loved ones?” A few stray locks escaped from Chris’ raked hair, caressing the ragged scar from his brow down to his cheek. “Why do you think that I’ll suddenly take pity because you have others who will mourn your existence?”

These questions had the man collapsing, leaning completely against the wall for support. You stole a glance at Chris, wondering if he was now capable of extracting the very souls from men. “Do not keep toying with me, Shaw,” he warned, leaning in slightly. “I know you have information.”

A soft, helpless whine escaped from the owner of the building. “Then-they'll kill me,” he mumbled, looking up at the criminal with desperation. It was a shame that never worked on a man with no sympathy.

“I can kill you too,” Chris countered, and in a flash a sleek, pocket knife appeared in his gloved hand, and hovered it right under Shaw’s chin. “So how about you tell me what you know, and I can prolong your imminent end, hmm? Does that seem fair enough?”

You almost felt sorry for the man. “H-his men…” tears formed in his eyes. “His men kept calling him Carter.”

“Brilliant,” you muttered. ‘Scar’ Carter, the Mayor’s link to the crime world, the dirty dealings of London. Carter, the lapdog of the socialites. The most irritating, disgusting son of a bitch you had ever encountered.

“I see.” The knife stayed, caressing the manager’s skin. “Now I know they’re to sell the documents. The bastard is greedy.

“Question is, Shaw, where is the transaction going to take place?”

Dear God, the man looked as if he was about to piss his trousers. “The ball.” He tried to gulp, but felt the curve of the blade. “The Mayor’s brother is holding a masquerade ball in a few days, and Carter already had a client. They’re going to do the dealing there, I swear on my children!”

A harsh scoff emitted from the criminal. “You better hope for the sake of your sons that you aren’t lying.” 

“Did you get the invitations?” You asked, eyes darting around the dirtied room, the messy desks and chairs lopsided from your searching. 

“Yes, yes!” He pointed to a set of drawers. “There are two in there!”

You walked towards the destination, opening the drawers and sure enough, finding the gold-edged enveloped, addressed to Shaw and his wife. “Are your names inside too?”

“No, just the envelope, but that is not important! I promise!”

You pocketed the invitations inside your coat pocket, joining your leader’s side again. Chris, after a minute of heart-wrenching silence, stood up, freeing Shaw’s neck from the knife, sliding it within his belt.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” His eyes were still upon the man when he said, “Let us return.”

The both of you were ready to leave when you heard Shaw’s sudden protests.

“The Sons of Seoul, everybody!” He declared, almost hysterically. “Coming in, fucking everything up, and leaving as if nothing had ever happened!”

Chris paused in his tracks, a quiet stillness passing over his whole figure. 

“What are you going to do now, Mr. Bang?” He hissed, slowly sliding up. “Are you going to infiltrate the biggest ball of the season? Create a bloodbath on the dance floor? It’s what you love to do so ardently, no?”

You heard the harsh spit smack on the office floor. “Stop meddling with the business of the British socialites. Go back to the gutter you crawled out of.” The next words overflowed with hatred. “Go back to where you really came from, you slit-eyed prick.”

Your eyes flashed in shock, swerving around to see the raging expression on Shaw’s beady little face. Fisting your hands, you were ready to knock him out when you felt the man beside you move.

Chris whirled around, eyes promising a horrifying future as he pounced upon the manager.

A yelp was heard as Chris’ fingers dug at the corner of Shaw's eyes, and relished the cries of terror as with a roar of his own, he squeezed with his thumb and forefinger, swelling the balls of vision from their sockets. With a loud pop! the two eyes tore from their origins, gooey residue trailing down his face as Christopher Bang palmed the two organs in his hands.

He observed his victim bellowing in pain as he fell to his knees, hands covering his bloodied sockets. A ghostly smirk accompanied his lips. "Better slit-eyes than none at all."

You had to suppress the severe shivers that threatened to break your stance. 

Shaw broke the universal law. His undoing was inevitable.

He flung the eyes upon the owner, and turned on his heel, eerily cool as he walked out of the office, blood and goo still on his black gloves. Not a hair ruffled upon his pretty head. 

You spared a look at the victim, crying out in infinite pain, hands on his sockets still. “Do not fuck with Christopher Bang,” was all you said, before following the devil out of the building.

The afternoon London heat hit you as you exited the offices, Chris waiting as he examined the filthy streets surrounding you. People of all classes strolled by, beggars on the street asking for two-pence, children selling newspapers down the corners, and carriages riding away on the wide roads. The man still did not clean his gloves from the mess, and you pointed this out as you arrived at his side.

“It does not bother me,” he waved you off, but you brought out your leather skin.

“Bring your hands out,” you ordered. 

Chris scowled. “I said I’m alright,___.” He began walking forwards, towards your humble abode, not far away from your starting point. “Besides, whoever strolls past us, they’ll second guess their evil intentions against us.” You glanced over the strange looking fellows, scattered across the roads. “Shows I am not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “Dirty pig.”

You felt daggers glaring into you. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” you said, turning a corner, already catching sight of the docks. “I expect this behaviour from Jisung. Perhaps even Changbin, but not from you.”

“Enough with this,” the man ordered, irritancy clear in his voice. Grumbling, you walked beside him in silence, the Thames entering your vision. You wished it would have radiated a rich, clear blue body of water, but from the stench which even reached your nose, it would be impossible. The river, a dump for the sewers, the rubbish disposed daily, was a toxic mass of water, and the cause of thousands dying from drinking its contents. When you first joined the Sons you nearly drank from the river, being saved only by Chris’ rough hand slapping the cup away. You remembered you received a harsh scolding from him that day, immediately providing you with clean water after to quench your thirst. 

A small smile curved onto your lips at the memory.

“Hand it over.”

You perked your head up to see his filthy, gloved hands out. “What is it?” You asked. 

“The water.”An irritated sigh escaped him. “I’ll clean the bloody gloves.” 

Your smile grew as you handed him the leather skin. “But only because I don’t ever want to be associated with Jisung and Changbin,” he added, and you only laughed, watching the man rub the mess off his attire as you both arrived at the docks.

The first sounds heard were not of the boats bellowing at port, nor the waves lapping in underneath the stilts. 

No, all you were welcomed with was a string of curses, spat by Seo Changbin.

“You fucking bastard, how dare you—”

“Here we go again,” you caught Chris muttering, who quickened his pace, thundering to where the two of his sidemen fought, caught in a scrap.

Han Jisung’s whines were carried through the river air, burning into your eardrums. “Bin, no, I said I’m sorry—!”

When you caught up to Chris, he opened his mouth, exasperation clear in his voice. “Boys!” He exclaimed.

Immediately the fighting ceased. The boys addressed, Changbin atop Jisung, ready to throw the final punch, turned back to see his leader scowling. Jisung let out a yelp, throwing the former from him and scrambling to his feet. Changbin followed suit, a little more slowly after rubbing his side in agony.

“Why the fuck,” Chris started, pointer finger darting between his two men, “Are you both fighting again?”

Changbin, fixing his ruined locks with his hand, shot his best friend a glare. “He took my fucking scones again.” He groaned, much too loud. “God, I specifically stored them in a place where no one would find them, but this greedy pig still managed to snuff them out!”

Jisung, a slender and more comical figure, crossed his arms, raising his chin in stubbornness. “I did not see a bloody name on them! Tell me Bin,” he matched his opponent’s stare. “Did you write down your name with blood-red ink across the scones? Because I certainly did not see the words Seo Changbin scrawled on the surface!”

“Argh!” The elder of the two turned his raging gaze towards the leader, who was watching his subordinates with slight distaste. “Chris, permission to cut off his tongue for being the bane of my existence?!”

Chris only stepped past them, heading for the big wooden table situated near the gang’s warehouse. The sounds of ships sailing in the dirty waters thrummed to the port, shouting heard all around over new, imported goods. “Another time, Changbin,” he only said, bringing out a chair and sitting down, propping an ankle over a knee. “I have encountered enough organ slicing for the day.”

Jisung’s face twisted in awed curiosity, settling himself down beside Chris. “Without me?” he let out a disappointed whine, turning to you. “I trusted you, at least!”

“I was surprised myself, Ji,” you argued, raising a hand towards the aloof man as you sat opposite your friend. “I didn’t know Chris gouged out Shaw’s eyes until they were in his hand!”

“You truly are a selfish man,” Changbin complained, plopping himself on the last seat. “Alway keeping the fun for yourself and ____.”

You did not really know why your face flushed a little at his charge, but you made sure to whack Changbin in the gut, earning a pained groan from the boy.

Chris locked his hands upon the table. “Well, gentlemen, then it is time for you to join in on the entertainment.”

The two boys exchanged confused glances. On cue, you brought out the pair of invitations within your coat pocket, tossing them to the table. “The Mayor’s brother is holding a ball,” you explained, rolling your eyes at the boys tearing open the envelopes, yanking out the oblong, cartridge paper, details inked with a precise hand. “Since it does not have names, anyone can enter the estate.”

Jisung let out an excited yell, grabbing onto Changbin’s arm. “Binnie, we can actually have some fun!”

“Not so fast, boys,” Chris said, tightening his gloves. “The invitations are not yours.”

Changbin’s face immediately fell. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

The elder held out a finger, silencing the complaints, but not the quiet grumbling of his members. “As I was saying,” he continued, hands interlocking once more, “____ and I will use the invitations to get inside, with the two of you as our bodyguards.”

“Marvellous!” Jisung exclaimed, sarcasm practically dripping on his words. “Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic!”

“Jisung,” Chris warned, “How about you clean the shit off the docks instead?”

“Chan,” you murmured, causing him to glance at you. His sour expression almost softened at the word, the name which only few have ever said to him. You pondered at the time the two boys, sat to your right, tried teasing him with this name, and nearly earned an ass-beating. You, on the other hand, rather liked the way the name sounded on your tongue. 

Perhaps, you wished dearly, he liked the way it sounded on your tongue too.

The man, after a pause, averted his eyes from you, focusing them on his comrades. “You both can still enjoy the festivities, but you have to keep a low profile, because while ____ and I are socialising and distracting the guests, you both need to find Carter.”

“Is he at the party too?” Changbin propped his elbows on the table. “Lord above, I’ve been wanting to kick his arse for a while.”

“So you both just frivol away, then?” Jisung whined. “I want to drink and dance!”

“And you both will,” Chris persisted. “We all will keep a lookout for Carter and his dealings, and if any of us find him first, you report to me. At my signal, you and Changbin will break through their trade. I will be behind you as long as I slip away without anyone discovering our motives.”

You look to your leader. “There’s another problem.”

The three all turned to you. “If we are to go to the most lavish ball of the season, we certainly need to dress for it.” Suddenly, you sounded like a little girl when you pointed out, “I do not have a gown to wear for the evening.”

An eyebrow raised upon Chan’s face, while Changbin and Jisung snickered, puckering their lips. “Aww, poor little ____ has no lace to woo the rich men!”

You made to slap the pair’s arms and narrowly missed, glaring. “As if you animals have any decent attire to wear for the ball! When was the last time you wore a proper tailcoat?”

That was enough for their teasing to cease, but Changbin was adamant. “Don’t throw me in with Jisung! He doesn't even bother to shower!”

“Oi, you bastard!”

The pair were ready to fight once more when Chris cleared his throat.

“You’re right,____.”

A glance at the man who said it. “I have only seen you in stealth gear and rags, the first time I met you.” He leaned back in his creaking chair. “Perhaps it is time to flower you up a little.”

Jisung and Changbin were about to chuckle once again when you shot them a dirty look.

“I will order evening attire tomorrow,” Chris decided. “They will arrive on the day of the ball, which is adequate enough timing. 

“Now,” he declared, standing. “Are we all aware of what we have to do?”

The two boys turned sheepishly to you, who sighed and addressed the leader. “You and I attend the ball with these two fools as our bodyguards—”

“Hey!”

“____!”

“We maintain a believable facade and enjoy ourselves while also looking out for Carter and the documents. Once we find out where he is, Changbin and Jisung take him away, and we slip out of the party unnoticed.”

Chris, after a pause, nodded, a ghost of a smile upon his lips. “Good girl.”

And just like that, he left the table, your eyes a little wide and heart a little raced. 

When Chris retreated into the warehouse, the two boys turned their malicious gazes towards you, smirking much too wide for your liking.

“Do not,” you snapped, cheeks burning deeper, earning a smattering of laughter from the bastards.

“Whatever you say, good girl,” Changbin simpered, Jisung repeating the damned endearment until you hastily stood from your chair.

You rewarded them both with your middle finger before storming back into another warehouse, Chris’ words still engraved in your mind.

Just as Christopher Bang had predicted, the new attire arrived on the day of the ball. 

More planning had been explained, more additions to the grand scheme of the evening which was mere hours away. The gang was ready, but you can never be perfectly anticipated for any ideas gone amiss.

You even taught Jisung and Changbin to dance, ranging from the Polka to the Viennese Waltz, which was popular amongst high society in the growing years of Queen Victoria’s reign. They were terrible at the start, both of them always falling on each other, but with hard effort they learned quickly, almost perfecting the art of leading your partner on the ballroom floor.

You had not bothered asking the other if he wished to learn. There was something about him which made you think that he could do anything. Not once had he ever doubted your theory.

It was as if there was nothing in the world he could not know like the back of his gloved hand.

Thoughts like these were what filled you with such awe for him. Such deep-rooted pride that you worked under this man. Those thoughts did, however, curve into darker corners — when his midnight-lined eyes and raven figure haunted you in restless nights. 

You aggressively shook your head, swinging your legs over the dock. Sitting upon the wood, you watched the sun descend slowly, the stark yellows and whites of the sky beginning to darken. Ships docked and stayed, men with their filthy language and filthier intentions flocked outside, and strange women with too-tight corsets and lips too rosey, smirking at the newcomers, carrying out their own ways of living.

Sometimes, you’d watch this run-down life move on in this exact same spot, thanking the lucky stars for not being one of the boys with the weights on their backs, nor the girls with the untied top corsets. You thanked the same man, who brought you out of that hell, giving you the chance to fight all this wrong embedded in London. 

You also thanked him, especially that day, for calling you that endearment. 

God. The man was a criminal, yet you were the one being imprisoned. 

“____!”

You turned, heaving to your feet when you see Jisung running to you, packages in his hands. “Your gown’s inside!” He exclaimed, gummy smile lighting up his entire face. 

Throwing you the box, you caught it just before it flew into the Thames, shooting the boy a wary glare. “Careful,” you said, looking over the silk ribbon tied into a perfect bow upon the middle. Although there were greater happinesses in life, small ones such as new dresses had you in near giggles.

“I’ve got my very own tailcoat now,” Jisung yelled, ripping open the packaging, about to whip out his new clothing when you waved him to stop.

“Do it inside, Ji, or you’ll ruin your outfit!”

“Trust him to fuck up a perfectly new suit before trying it on,” Changbin’s voice drawled through the dock, who held a box of his own. “Also, the boss is saying to quit dallying and start dressing!”

You obliged, holding onto your box tenderly as you entered a little building beside the main warehouse, consisting of everyone’s rooms and privies. Your eyes glanced to Chris’ bedroom door before pushing open the door to yours, stepping inside to the small, yet decorated space, filled with a board of knives and bows displayed upon one wall and an erratic strokes of paint brushed along the textured surfaces, courtesy of Jisung and Changbin’s lack of motivation to finish your room. An undone bed was tucked into the corner, and a large mirror stood on its curled railing in the other corner, revealing yourself, hands underneath the package.

The sun fell further, sky being painted with dark oranges and purple and pinks, staining your bedroom the colours of soft autumn as you put your package on the bed, untying the ribbon and unboxing the whole treat. 

The first glance of the dress had you smiling in pure incitement.

You brought the dress out of its box, letting it trail free right down to your toes, holding it to arm’s length to examine the details : it was a mysterious, dark red, a colour which instantly attracted attention within the golds of the ballroom. The neck line was low, dipping just enough to tempt until it swelled over for the openings for the arms, black ruffles on the fabric to accentuate off shoulders. The intricate, midnight detail was stitched to perfection, creating a network of swirls upon the bodice before flaring out into the wider skirts. Dear God, you had never seen such an exquisite dress on any noble lady in this damned city.

Your smile grew a little wider. Christopher Bang, once again, has not disappointed. 

You turned it on it’s back, mouth parting in surprise at the silk lacing, undone and trailing down the dress, waiting to be tied and admired. Realising that we’re you to wear this, the entire ball would see your back half-exposed. Even the man you’re to be escorted with.

The thought alone made your insides sing. 

Chris had ordered this dress. He knew what he was acquiring for you, what he asked you to dare. 

Well, you were happy to oblige. Something within you wished to see his eyes blaze at you in the gown.

Closing the curtains of your room, you quickly lit up a metallic lamp, orange light leaking onto your dresser and walls.  Setting the source upon a stool, you began shedding your coat, tossing it on the bed before going to the dresser.

You spent about ten minutes on your hair, lifting locks upward and curling them into a messy bun. You brought out clips of pearls, attaching them at the back of your hair, letting the few stray curls bounce along your ears and neck.

After finishing your hair you began shedding your clothing, excitement rushing in your gut at the thought of wearing the ballgown. When you were adorned in nothing but your underthings, you grabbed onto the arms of the new dress, entering one leg into the opening before sliding the other. You raised the gown, fitting the bodice upon yourself and the short sleeves cuffing just under your shoulders. 

Looking over your shoulder at the back, it was bare before the mirror, saving your rear only with a small dip which was edged with more black lace. The laces for tightening the back still hung uselessly, begging to be entangled with their partners.

And you tried to oblige. You truly did, straining your hands behind your back and trying your hardest to tie the laces with the opposites, of creating a pattern adequate enough for the ball and announce your preparation. Unfortunately for you, your fingers refused to assist you that moment in the evening. 

Letting out an irritated sigh, you called for your friends.

“Jisung!” you shouted, hands endeavouring still. “Changbin!”

Your back still to the door, you waited for the two fools to arrive, but no one came. Again, you called their names, but to no avail, only silence answering you.

“I swear to the Lord,” you muttered, arms now starting to hurt from the stretching. You were about to bring the warehouse down with your roar when you heard the door quietly creak open, the sound of boots emitting against the floor. 

“Ah, finally,” you began as you turned around, hands clutching the bodice of the dress, ready to be irritated by your comrades when all words abandoned your tongue.

There, standing by the door, in all his midnight-tainted glory, was Chris Bang.

You hated how your eyes widened at the sight of him. 

The man always took care of his appearance, but that evening he had truly outdone himself - His infamous woollen longcoat was hung over his arm, exposing his black tailcoat, shining slightly in the flickering lamp light. His waistcoat underneath fit snug, and his white cravat tie peaked just above the lapels, caressing his Adam’s apple. His raven locks were slicked back, a few stray flyaways drooping over his forehead. The gloves were worn still, skin never exposed.

You caught his eyes flicker, something within stirring at seeing you, holding onto your dress in case it fell to the floor. The prolonging silence was shattered when you forced yourself to speak.

“Chris,” you said, because his name was the first thing, the only thing you could comprehend.

He, too, inhaled, slowly. “Jisung and Changbin...they’re outside, so they could not hear.”

“Oh.” 

Another round of silence. God, you wished you could just say something to him, anything which wasn’t a single syllable—

“____.”

You snapped into focus. “Yes?”

“Why did you call them?”

Blinking, you stumbled, “I, I just needed help with…” your hand gestured to your back. “...with the laces.”

There was an indecipherable undertone in his next words. “You could have called me.”

“You’re here now.”

Again. The world-heavy pause upon the both of you. 

A few more seconds ticked by when Chris set his coat upon the dresser chair. His eyes never left yours.

“Turn around.”

You dragged your gaze away from his as you complied, baring your back before him, laces dangling. His footsteps sounded from behind you, and his presence was felt, large and magnetic.

Leather sliding from skin, you sensed his eyes on you, taking in your illuminated skin. You had the greatest urge to shiver, but suppressed it, waiting for his next move.

A small breath hitched in your throat when Chris grabbed onto the first pair of laces and tugged them back, pulling you to him. 

Almost too conveniently, your rear backed against his crotch, and a minute noise escaped you before putting some distance between you two again. You instantly regretted the action, already missing the mere caress of what lay underneath his trousers.

“Stop fidgeting,____,” he ordered, and you immediately stilled, the tug still adamant at your back. Almost disgraceful how quickly you listened to him.

Slowly, he tied the first bow, right to the small of your back. When he started on the second, though, the first touch of his fingers against your back threw you off guard.

You should have expected this. You should have known from the start of his task that his fingers would graze your skin but each caress was like a lick of fire, threatening to singe the skin. Your breath caught in your throat, each time Chris touched you.

Those damned fingers skirted upwards, tying up the laces with such delicacy it nearly softened your stance, if only you didn’t notice his growing warmth. You realised with no small amount of pleasure that he, too, was possibly flustered.

Christopher Bang. Flustered over a girl.

You almost gasped when his hands brought a few stray curls over your shoulder, the dip of your neck exposed as he began the final bow of your gown. The process was excruciatingly slow, each little caress enough for you to turn around and—

And what?

How you desperately wanted to find out. 

Sensing the ribbon curling upon your neck, you understood. 

“It is done,” he whispered, and you shifted at the sigh which kissed your skin. God, he was so close, you were scared that if you turned around his lips—

You did not need to worry when you felt strong hands grip your shoulders, whirling you around in a sudden fashion. Your eyes widened at the close proximity of his face, his beautiful fucking face, and the warm, slender hands on your naked shoulders.

“Chan,” you let yourself say, and you swore the criminal’s eyes darkened. His grip on you tightened.

Perhaps he would have closed the distance, saved you from desperation when someone knocked on the goddamn door.

“___?!”

“Hurry up, the carriage is waiting!”

“Women, honestly—!”

You yelped at the sound of your friends bellowing behind the door. Even Chris looked a little surprised, a slight tick in his jaw as the noise grew louder.

Grabbing onto your skirts, you thundered towards the door, furrowing your brows as you twisted the knob, opening to see the same two idiots, shooting you irritated glares. 

“Is Miss Fancy-Shmancy finally ready?” Changbin drawled, propping a hand upon his hip, tails of his coat dangling behind him.

“Madame certainly took her time,” Jisung went on, sauntering into your bedroom without a care. “Might as well not attend the ball at all—”

His incessant rambling was instantly ceased when he saw Chris standing before you, putting on his gloves. His face was impassive as ever, save for the jaw still tightened.

“Oh, Chris,” he said, and started backing away to the door. “The carriage is outside.”

“Let us go, then,” he only replied as he grabbed his longcoat, strolling out of your bedroom, leaving your skin tingling and heart confused.

Changbin watched Chris exit the building, turning to you with a raised brow. “What was the Mr. Thorns-up-his-arse doing in your room?”

You scoffed at the nickname, picking up the invitations from the dresser. “He was just helping me.”

Jisung’s lips curved into a smirk. “Helping you…?”

“Stop it!” You demanded, but both of the boys could see the blush on your cheeks, even from the dim lamp light. 

“Come on, now,____,” Changbin said, holding out an arm, and hitting Jisung’s arm to do the same. “Let us follow Chris before he shouts at us for keeping you here.”

“Don’t say such things,” you cooed, looping your arms with the two boys. “He will kill you outright instead.”

Laughter emitted from the two, leading you out of the room, down the halls and soon the building.

The carriage was waiting at the entrance of the dock, horses neighing softly at your arrival. Jisung opened the carriage door, letting you climb inside. Chris, inside already, held out a hand, you taking it as he had you sit beside him. His hard figure brushed against your shoulders, reminding you of his fingers on your back not too long ago.

Just like that, you slumped against the seating. That man was truly going to be the death of you.

When the two boys scrambled inside, Chris’ hand thudded against the roof, indicating it to start riding. The carriage obliged to his command. 

The small, interwoven streets widened as the carriage rode upon the main roads, going faster with each signal of Chris’ hand. The inside was alive with Jisung gloating shamelessly over his checkered waistcoat, with Changbin giving reassurances for his “ugly face ruining the clothing.” You laughed at every jab the two threw at each other, but would tense at the erratic touches Chris’ knee would send with every shake of the vehicle. Although the many layers of skirts cushioned these brushes, the blood rushing to your cheeks was evidence enough - everything he did made you so unhinged.

Soon, the big roads led from filthy, back-to-back housing to larger homes, the further the dirty central city strayed from you. A few touches of countryside teased your view when you saw mansions, estates the size of neighbourhoods gracing the surroundings. The carriage began to slow down, as more people adorned in fine attire entered your window view, no doubt going to the same destination as the gang.

The most illuminated estate welcomed you as the carriage stopped right before its vast, colourful gardens, smattering of couples taking intimate walks along the hedges. Chris, noticing the destination, opened the door, Changbin following suit. As the former got out he held out his hand to you. Surprised by his sudden manners, you took his hand, stepping down from the carriage, careful of your skirts as they brushed against the pavement. Jisung and Changbin were right beside you, uttering the driver to come back within a couple of hours.

“Now,” Chris began, bringing your hand to his arm. “You both stay behind me and ____. You wouldn’t need invitations if you both act like our bodyguards.”

“Right behind you, boss,” Jisung chanted, counting his knives inside his coat pockets. Changbin took one of the weapons from him, sliding it up his trouser sleeve, securing it with a leather ankle strap. 

“Right.” the gang all looked at each other, silent understanding passing between all of you.

“Let’s ruffle some rich feathers.”

With your hand still on his arm, the leader of the Sons of Seoul led his gang inside of the massive estate. 

Guards at the entrance shot you grave looks as they stopped you. “Invitations,” they said. You obliged, bringing out the golden paper. They looked over, convinced, and gave them back to you.

You and Chris were about to enter when Jisung and Changbin were stopped behind you. “Protection,” Chris said, but the guards were unconvinced. 

“They need invitations too,” was their answer.

Dread, slight yet present, began to fill your stomach. Has the mission failed before it could even begin?

“I suggest you let them in, too,” Chris only said, black eyes piercing the two men with a glare. “Or my friend hosting this party will hear of this inconvenience.”

That seemed to stir the guards, for they said nothing more, letting your friends enter the estate. Jisung and Changbin made sure to smirk at the men before sauntering inside behind you.

Your eyes, upon stepping inside the main hall, were welcomed with paradise. 

Gold. gold upon gold was painted, lined, moulded everywhere, upon the walls, on the floor, on the painted ceiling, hypnotising you with its kaleidoscopic pattern. Swirls of white and silver journeyed along the walls, and the floor bore solid treasures, sculpted into the ground and shining exquisitely from the chandelier lighting. Hundreds of lords and ladies, businessmen and escorts populated the manor, either being moved by the orchestral band, dancing, helping themselves to food from the lines of dishes or simply mingling among others.

It was the chaos of the rich. A place you didn’t quite fit in.

You stole a glance at the man beside you. Even though he looked contained as ever, you felt his arm tightening all over. Perhaps he knew he did not belong in this world either.

The grim understanding was cut off when Changbin’s shrill gulp sounded from behind you.

“Scones!”

The man immediately dashed towards the food section, earning blatant laughter from his friends as Jisung stepped beside Chris. “Once he’s done stuffing himself, we’ll get into positions.” He skirted his eyes over the buzzing crowd. “I have already spotted some of Carter’s men in different corners of the hall, so we can see where they’re going to go.”

“Any signs of Carter?” you asked, already feeling suggestive eyes on your body, the dark red curves of your figure. 

“He’ll show himself soon,” Chris promised, beginning to take a step forward. “The bastard thrives in attention.” He turned to Jisung. “Make yourself scarce.”

He then saw Changbin making himself much too comfortable with the jam scones rapidly declining in his wake. “And for God’s sake, control Changbin.”

Jisung shook his head, mocking a salute before strolling to his friend. You and him were left to your own activities, and soon you felt the tug of his body, leading you further into the hall.

You looked up to see him scouring the room. His brows furrowed slightly, that stiffness felt underneath your fingertips. “Chris,” you called to him, and were answered with an uncertain stare.

“I’m alright,” he said, walking along the lines of the dance floor, looking away when he gave you the false assurance. 

You did not know what was going on. In other missions his composure would never falter — this was what he was so notorious for, being calm despite the anarchy around him. Never before had you seen him so tense.

“Stop it.”

You blinked back into reality. “What?”

“You’re doing it again,” he hissed, raking his hand through his hair. “Looking at me that way. Like I’m about to snap.”

A pout formed on your lips, looking up at him underneath your lashes. “I can sense you’re distressed.” You squeezed his arm in comfort. “I cannot help if I worry for you, Chris.” 

With small surprise, you found him soften, only slightly. “I just…” he sighed in exasperation. “I hate parties.”

You understood the connotations. Wealthy parties. The men and women who throw them. 

“And I, too,” you agreed, earning a soft snort from the man. Your heart warmed a little at the sound, and thankfully the tension faded between the two of you, not necessarily from each other but from the socialites around you.

Your heart, however, received no such rest, beating much too loud for your liking. 

The two of you took another turn of the room before a low, arrogant drawl paused you both in your tracks.

“Mr Christopher Bang.”

You and your leader both sighed simultaneously. 

Turning, you tilted your head upwards to none other than ‘Scar’ Carter, smirking ridiculously down at the the two of you. He was something out of a children’s book, the grotesque villains with wanned skin and beady looks, ready to pounce and make you disappear without you ever realising. Although young, he looked to be in his mid-forties, unkept locks and curled moustache, being played by his fingers. 

He held out his other hand, extending the smile to the man beside you. “Always a goddamned blessing to see you.”

Chris assessed his hand for a moment before he let go of your grip on his arm, slipping off his gloves. His own olive coloured hands were roughened, no doubt from years of manual labour. He took Carter’s hand, shaking the greeting in place, and the latter turned his enemy’s hold, looking over at the new image inked upon the hand.

“What is this, Chrissy?” He mused, the nickname causing the said-man’s lips to twitch. “Some flowery poetry?”

Your eyes strayed to what he meant; just under his thumb, where the joint began, was a tattoo, inked deeply in a cursive hand. It was a phrase you had never knew the meaning of, nor had you asked, but the Latin was beautiful on his textured skin.

NON DUCOR DUCO.

“Not poetry, Carter,” he only said, tracing his sole tattoo with a finger. “But something I live by.”

Despite Carter towering over the man, Chris Bang pinned him with a piercing glare. His signature phantom smile appeared on his lips. 

“I am not led. I lead.”

The giant’s shit-eating grin faltered. You could not help but let a small chuckle escape at his reaction. 

And maybe you shouldn’t have shown amusement, because when he focused his animalistic gaze upon you, you had the sudden urge to hold onto the man beside you again.

“Ah, Miss ____,” he jeered, mocking a deep bow which you did not return. “Chris’ little...protégée.”

He then held out his hand to you, and you knew it was not to shake the gnarled fingers. “Would you do me the honour of dancing with you?”

You scoffed, anger bubbling within your veins. How dare he even ask you, after all the trouble he had caused for the gang? Smirking as if it was all a little game.

Your mouth parted, ready to reject him outright when a warm hand settled on your back. 

Chris’ fingers stroked the exposed skin, skirting over the lacing, and despite the heavenly feeling, you knew what this signal really meant. 

Distraction. This would be the perfect opportunity to divert Carter’s attention while Chris joined in the other’s search. Listening to the instrumental, you realised that would spare them another five minutes.

Reigning in your fury, you offered the bastard a thin-lipped smile before taking his hand, already missing the mere touch of another seconds before.

Carter led you to the dance floor among the other dancers, you hardly radiating the same enthusiasm as the others accompanying you. The man’s other hand, one still holding yours, snaked around your waist, and you hated how it felt against your back, pure distaste staining your features as he tried to impersonate the idle lace curling that Chris did.

As if it physically hurt, you propped a hand upon his shoulder, and when the music began, the game started.

The giant kept ogling at you as the sly grin appeared on his lips. “I must say, I am very envious of Chris.”

You matched his stare. “Of course you would,” you only said, trying your best to sound like your leader, who was an embodiment of calmness. “You can never be the man Chris is.”

“Oh, I did not mean by what he is, my lady,” he corrected. “I meant by what he has.”

He pulled you to him, much to close, and you hissed as the fingers behind you played on your back. “He is much too lucky to possess a creature like you, Miss ____.”

Good God. If he endeavoured to make you as uncomfortable as possible, then he was doing a splendid job. You regretted ever listening to Chris, but for the plan, you will do what is necessary.

As if on cue, you felt dark, piercing eyes on you. By the little hairs which stood at the back of your neck, there was no doubt who watched over you, murmuring progress with Jisung as he sipped wine on a tightly held flute. 

“Tell me, sweet,” he began once more, making you lose your thoughts, turning about the room as the music went on. “Why do you work for a man like him?”

You sighed at the question. Truly this man did not know how to initiate small talk. “Why is that any of your concern?”

“Because I’ve seen you in action,” he answered, and you could not mistake the awe that threatened to expose in his voice. “You have incredible potential, my lady, and it pains me that Chris does not use you properly. You waste your efforts in a silly gang.”

His condescending speech made you dig his nails in his hand. “Careful, Carter,” you seethed, watching his face crumple in pain from your action. “The silly gang you speak of will not hesitate to obliterate your entire organisation. And neither will I.”

Rage flashed in his eyes as he grinned at your claim. “I doubt the esteemed Christopher Bang would even let you participate,” he drawled, grazing his fingers against your back. “You being his whore is enough for him.”

You parted your mouth in slight shock. The reaction quickly evaporated with pure, unadulterated fury. A lot of people speculate your true relationship with Chris, but your own demeaning always struck deep. How dare people think that you only have the power you have because you slept with the greatest criminal in the city? 

With your head raging, you sent your low heel down upon Carter’s boot, a yelp escaping the man as his dancing faltered, grip on you loosening. Fortunately for you, the orchestra smoothed their music to a close, and small applause rang around the room, you joining as you smiled at Carter’s slight groaning.

When the giant looked at you again, all his arrogance was gone, instead a face of wrath. “You bitch-”

You were sure he was going to strike, despite hundreds in the ballroom. Even your smug demeanour dampened when you saw his bear-like hand raise when its journey was paused.

Ceased completely as Chris’ hand wrapped around Carter’s wrists.

Your leader’s smile was sharp, like a decorated dagger. “Are you already creating a scene, just when you finished the first dance?”

Carter, dumbfounded by his enemy’s sudden presence, waved off the foreign grip on his hand. “You are never going to find the documents,” he crowed, glaring at the two of you.

Chris, the magnificent bastard, only kept his magnetic smirk as he took your hand, enveloping his fingers with yours. “We shall see about that,” he promised, and dipped his head in adieu, turning on his heel and taking you with him. 

You felt your heart flutter when his grip on you stayed, even when Carter stomped off into the crowd. “Bastard,” you hissed. A hum of agreement followed. 

Soon, music began to play a sensual tune, and you looked to the couples joining in the main circle of the floor. You made to leave that area when you felt the man refused to be led. 

You looked back, noticing an uncertain emotion swirling in his eyes. “The dance is about to begin.”

“So?” he merely said, hands still clasping yours. The people around you began to take positions. 

“Chris,” you got out. “You do not dance.”

A small smile enveloped his mouth at the claim. He answered in wrapping a hand around you, making you suck in a breath. You caught sight of the tattoo inked on his skin as he raised his hold on. NON DUCOR DUCO.

I am not led. I lead.

“You’re right,” he admitted. As the first tune of the violin settled in the ballroom, the man took a step. “But I let it slide on special occasions.”

You did not reply, only staring at him as you happily let him turn you about the dance floor.

Your assumptions were correct - Chris Bang was a wonderful dancer. The man already possessed a natural smoothness in his usual movement, but the way he led you across the room gave fluidity another meaning entirely. His hand on your back was an anchor to reality, keeping you from dreaming away in the skies above, and his fingers, interlocked with yours, were a silent promise that he was never letting you go. 

You were so caught up in your fantasies that you did not hear what Chris said until he called your name. 

“____.”

You perked up, raising your brows. “Yes?

“Did Carter say anything to you?” His fingers on your exposed skin began to caress you, and it took a lot within you to stay calm. “You were seething while you both danced.”

Oh, so he was watching you. The information didn’t help your nerves. “He was being his usual, charming self,” you drawled, careful of your feet. 

He paused a bit at your unhelpful answer. “I see,” he got out, index curling with the ribbon of your back. You let out a shuddered breath, not going unnoticed by the man. 

You changed the subject, focusing on the mission. “Are Jisung and Changbin still searching for the documents?”

Chris, on the note, twirled you delicately, and brought you back into his arms. “They have discovered the hideout, and have taken down half the men,” he informed, and you sighed in relief. “They’ll find what we’re looking for soon.”

“I hope so, too,” you murmured, listening to the music ascend in its pitch. 

So much finery radiated in this room. As your eyes drifted to the surroundings once more, you became slightly envious of the family fortunate enough to reside in this estate, and drink in the liquid gold splattered everywhere in the vast hall. Complaints were heard from a rather nasty woman, who screamed at a young servant for spilling wine on her oh so expensive dress, and the jewellery which glittered upon necks and ears. 

This. you hated this. Despised the wealth which accumulated in this ball, this entire neighbourhood. Not months ago you were about to die from the lack of food in your stomach. No doubt these people simply relished another one of these many balls, occurring every season.

It was the only reason the Sons of Seoul existed in the first place. To battle the ranks of the rich, and establish a sense of justice which had long faded from London.

Perhaps Chris sensed your growing disgust at the environment, for he sighed. “I hate these people.”

You nearly smiled at how similar you both think.

His touches still had you nearing closer to him as he continued, “I hate how everyone here can simply enjoy themselves without a care in the world. I hate the Mayor for letting this chaos happen as he sits back on his arse, corruption spiking under his office.”

His anger grew. “I hate that pig-headed prick Carter and all the trouble he’s brought me. I hate that he stole those documents and constantly fucks with me as if we two had not crawled out of the same hellhole.

“And God,” he snapped, pure venom now lacing his tongue, “I hate how he was touching you as if you were no one but his.”

Your eyes widened at the confession.

He groaned out in frustration, fingers tightening on your hand. “I hate how Jisung and Changbin walked in on us this evening. Despise that the moment I was about to close the distance they burst through the door, leaving me helpless. And I hate feeling helpless.”

You did not know what to say, what words to comfort him with. Not when you were thinking the exact same thing, and felt the exact same agitation, particularly at your core.

The man leaned in, eyes heavy lidded. “You know what I hate the most, ____?”

Gulping, you let out a little, “What?” afraid of what he was going to reveal.

His tongue ran along his bottom lip, fingers continuing their teasing.

“I-” he seethed, gripping your back tightly. “Fuck, I hate how ravishing you look in that dress.”

You parted your mouth in shock, blushing the colour of roses. “Why do you hate that?” you only asked, breath almost lost in your lungs as your blood began to thrum beneath your skin.

His eyes lost all dreamy light when a small curve enveloped his lips. “Because, my dear ____,” he muttered hoarsely, each breath ragged, “It makes me think of all the things I want to do to you.”

The strong hand on his back was felt much more, fingers playing with the laces of your dress. You nearly cried out in front of a hundred people over their idle play, and his bold, bold statement.

Chris relished in your whimpering reaction. “Aren’t you going to ask me?” he whispered, leaning in till his mouth hovered near your ear. “Do you not want to know what I wish to do to you?”

“What,” you rasped out, grip tightening over his neck. “What are you going to do?”

His husky chuckling nearly sent you over the edge. “I’ll find a nice little space, away from Carter and all these people,” he began, breath caressing your skin. “Then I’ll kiss you slowly, like so.” he pressed a chaste kiss underneath your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “These hands of mine will roam all over, but they will gladly trail up your legs, ____.

“And God, when my hands stop at your sopping cunt, I’ll make it cry with my fingers.” He drummed his fingers on your back. “One.” Tap. “Two.” Tap. “Three of them.” Tap. “Perhaps you’d like more.”

You whined into his shoulder, feet stumbling as you clung onto him tighter. “M-more,” you pleaded quietly, so careful to keep dancing, move along to the music. 

“Of course you would,” he only cooed in your ear, and you were scared you would collapse over his words. “Luckily for you, I wouldn’t be finished with you either.”

Your hand, clasped in his his, squeezed at his words. “Chris, please—”

“Yes, just like that,” the man mused, whirling you on the dance floor. “Just like that, you’ll beg me to send you over the edge, but I won’t let you be satisfied so easily.” 

On God and all his subjects, if he did not cease his filth you were going to come onto the floor by his mere words. You could tell Chris noticed, almost reading your mind as the ghost of a smirk widened. “Already afraid, love?”

Love. 

Dear, fucking God.

“You see, ____,” he muttered, leading you to the final round of the song, the steps of the dance going faster. “I won’t let you be satiated with just my fingers.”

And as he broke his hold on you, twirling you with his tattooed hand, he pulled you to him, one last time, crushing you against his granite chest. 

His eyes bore into yours when the last string of the violin wailed around the hall. All you could see was pure, unadulterated desire.

“I will have you writhing with my cock.”

Your eyes never left Chris’ as the music finally came to a close, gaze blurring at the dark promise. Applause scattered around the ballroom, yet your hands stayed upon his arm, the other enveloped in his.

You caught the words once more under his thumb. NON DUCOR DUCO.

Indeed you do.

“Chris,” you breathed out, waiting for him to let you go. He did no such thing.

Feeling a few suspicious eyes on you, your feet backed away from the man, hands escaping the feeling he emitted underneath your touch. 

A whine threatened to escape you when you saw his desire had not dampened. His hands shook, only slightly, and your stomach erupted into a million butterflies, journeying lower and lower. 

You wanted him. You wanted him so badly you feared you would faint on the dance floor. 

Excusing yourself, you hastened your footsteps, sending a few smiles to passerbys as you picked up a flute of champagne, hurrying down long hallways, catching a few couples leaning towards each other. When you found a grand wooden cabinet beside another door, no doubt a guest room, you slumped next to it, breathing loud and ragged, too affected by a certain man’s eyes and the hidden intentions underneath. You drank the entire champagne in one gulp, propping the flute on a servant’s tray as he rushed by.

“____!”

Gasping, you turned to the source of the voice. The voice which filled you with such unexplainable hunger you had to clench your thighs as it drew nearer.

Footsteps thudded against the carpet, and you squirmed at the sight of Chris Bang, storming towards you with a ferocity which had your knees near buckling.

“Where,” he began, voice an octave lower as he stood not a foot from you, smacking his hands against the wall, caging you with his presence. “Were you trying to lead me?”

“Somewhere where they cannot see us,” you responded, excitement clear in your voice. The ballroom chatter was still within your range, so technically, anyone could wonder down these halls, look over the cabinet and catch you both. 

The throbbing inside you didn’t particularly care. 

“And what do you want me to do,____,” he murmured, and his voice was glazed with pure lust,  “Which the world cannot see?”

“I…” slight shame tried to course through your body but the overflowing desire was too strong. Not when your tongue was not afraid to voice what was in your heart the moment you first saw him. “I want you to do all those things you said. I want you to ruin me.”

And perhaps that was all he needed, when Christopher Bang pressed his lips against yours and answered your prayers.

He was instantly rewarded with your surprised whine, drowned out by the movement of his mouth as his hands left the wall, holding onto your face. His thumbs caressed your cheeks as he led the fiery kiss, opening your mouth to let the little noises escape.

“Chris,” you tried to rasp out, but his lips refused once more as he tilted your head, gaining full access and truly discovering the sheer pleasure oozing from the swell of your lips. God, he had gone through every experience which gave him a sense of thrill, but the kiss he shared with you brought him a new, foreign high — as if he tried the drugs he had seen on the streets for the first time, and becoming addicted on the first dose. 

You broke the kiss, gasping for air as the two of you shared a carnal gaze, chests rising at an unsteady rhythm. Chris was ruthless, only sparing you for a few seconds before pouncing back in on your mouth, this time tongue playing along, asking to be let inside and slide along the inner workings. You would have been a fool to refuse him.

The moment you opened your lips for him his tongue slithered inside, sliding it along the roof of your mouth, while his hands left your face and instead gripped onto your waist, driving you further against the wall, snuffing out any distance which dared come between you and him.

A slightly moan bubbled within your throat when he began to roughen your lips, capturing your tongue before closing the seam of your mouth within his own, repeating the action until you didn’t know whether you were sane or absolutely fucking crazy.

You were sure straight after when one of his hands began sliding down. Down. He hurriedly broke the kiss, letting out an angry groan at the never ending skirts which met with his fingers. “Fuck this dress,” he cursed as he descended a little, peppering kisses upon the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, trailing until he found the hem of your skirts.

Bunching them up with his one hand, he lifted the fabric, baring your legs to the dimmed chandelier light from the main hall. His hand trailed right up to your core, a single layer hiding it from Chris’ fingers. The poor, soaked fabric could not ever compete, when the criminal, with a single finger as he scattered kisses upon your face, hooked under the lacey underwear, sliding it down your thighs. So much desperation lurked he did not even bother to slide it down to your ankles,  a chuckle rasping out of him as his fingers skimmed your upper thighs to find them dripping with the suppressed arousal.

“My poor, poor, darling,” he whispered in a menacing tone, the other hand caressing your face, “Couldn’t contain yourself for me?”

“Ch-chan,” you heard yourself say, because at this point your soul was not present, probably lurking in seventh heaven where this man was taking you. 

Hearing his name on your slurred mouth only had him plunging the first finger inside you. 

You let out an obscenely loud moan, which was immediately followed by hushing. “Don’t make a sound,” he demanded, smiling slyly at your whimpering, “Or else I stop. Understand?”

You could not nod fast enough, and he huffed out a laugh before sliding the second finger in, rubbing against your slit, drawing circles upon your throbbing skin, testing the rather sticky waters of you and your fucked out state. 

Satisfied, he delved the two fingers in deeper, pulsating against your walls until they hit a certain spot which had you crying out in pleasure. Chris’ heavy lidded warning flashed in his eyes.

You nearly cried when he began to slide his fingers out over your moaning, your hand immediately stopping him from pulling out further. “Ch-Chan,” you pleaded, pleaded like the whores you heard on the docks, but you didn’t care, did not give a single fuck when those fingers needed to be inside you again. “Chan, please, I’m sorry—”

“One more fuck up, ____, and these—” his fingers plunged back into you once more, hitching you upwards with the sheer force, “—will be back out.”

Nodding hastily, you left your hand on his wrist. Chris continued to work so deliciously inside you that it took every ounce of strength left in you not to bring the manor down with your moaning. The whimpering could not be contained, but the criminal let that slide, finding great contentment every time you begged for more.

He curled his slender fingers, acquainting himself with that same bloody spot which had you seeing stars. Your hands gripped onto his neck for stability, nails digging into his shirt. How you wanted it off, along with all the damned layers he adorned.

The way he played with your sweet spot had you feeling heavy, a pleasured ball of pain forming at your lower back. You knew you were being led to an edge, an edge you could not, did not want to escape, and when you pulled away from Chris, looking into his eyes, he instantly understood.

“Oh my, love,” he simpered, his free hand thumbing your cheek. “Does someone want to get fucked against the wall? When I’m not even finished with them yet?”

Tears lined your eyes, cunt throbbing almost painfully around his fingers. “Chan, I’m going to—ah!” you cut off, closing your eyes as you barely held on to your last grips of sanity. “Chan.”

Your weakened, fucked out demeanour had the most dangerous man in London fearing for his own senses. He wished nothing more than you screaming his name for the whole city to hear, and with you, looking at him like that…

Oh, he was definitely going to drive you over the edge.

Christopher Bang nearly carried out his promise when a shrill call interrupted you two. 

“CHRIS! ____!”

“WHERE ARE YOU—?”

Your lust-glazed stare cracked as you blinked. “Chan,” you said his name, but the man let out an enraged roar. You felt the hollow emptiness when those golden fingers were pulled out of you, sticky residue coating his skin. The footsteps grew closer, the volume of the shouting increasing. 

Chris brought out a white handkerchief, cleaning your mess on his fingers rather aggressively. “I’m going to fucking kill them,” he guttered out, making your legs tremble. To your utmost misery you felt the orgasm, so close before, fading from existence, and you made a silent vow to break Jisung and Changbin’s legs the moment all of this was over.

Speaking of the Devil, the two hastened, opening all doors and closing them till the two stumbled upon the both of you, infuriated and worryingly turned on.

Changbin looked at the deflated expression on both of yours faces. “Chris? ____?” His eyes narrowed, trying to work out the reasons for the slight electric atmosphere he suddenly entered in. “Are you both...alright?”

“Perfectly,” the man answered in a ragged hiss, sliding on his gloves again, smoothing over his raven locks. “Now why the fuck are you both here?”

The two boys did not understand their leader’s anger. Choosing to let the snipe slide, Jisung said, “We’ve caught Carter.”

That seemed to send you and Chris back in reality. Well, not really, when your core still throbbed, the pleasure fading with each passing second.

“Where is he?” Chris flattened out his coat. “Where are the documents?”

Changbin brought out a small file from inside his waistcoat, holding it out for the former. “Right here.”

Chris took the file, skimming through the contents. His previously angered expression relaxed, just a fraction, and he held onto it as he set his powerful gaze on you all. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The four of you managed to slip away easily, you trying your hardest to fix yourself after the whole fiasco in the hallway. Your heart was still running a mile per minute, refusing to calm as your mind relived the events. The original carriage which you all arrived in was now accompanied with another one, with a dark figure hunched over from the window’s view.

“We threw the giant fucker in another carriage,” Changbin said, laughing as he recalled the takedown with Jisung. “Man could not believe he was failing!”

Chris ignored his story, turning to you all as he stood before Carter’s carriage. “You three, take the free one,” he ordered, his eyes rooted on you. “I will journey home with him.”

“But Chris,” you began, taking a step towards him, “Let me come with you.”

You caught a glimpse of the desire which swirled in his eyes, not long ago, and perhaps that was why he held your arm in his now gloved hand. 

“Go,” he only said. “I have a few things to say to him alone.”

After letting you go, nodding at the boys behind you, Chris Bang stepped inside the first carriage, slamming the door shut. The metal wheels screeched as the whole thing began to move, accelerating away.

You watched the carriage fade from view, Jisung and Changbin stepping beside you.

“What happened, ____?” the former asked, the other trying to comfort you with his gaze. 

Silence was their only answer, as you turned on your heel, climbing inside your designated ride and watched the stars twinkle from the window.

The two members of the gang really tried their best.

As you all journeyed home without your leader, the pair told their tale of how they took down Carter and his men, Jisung adding exaggerated gasps as Changbin demonstrated each kill he thrust upon his victims. You offered them a few laughs, giving them your attention, but really your mind was somewhere else, specifically a midnight-tainted criminal who nearly brought you your undoing.

You were insane. Insane as you thought of him, insane as you remembered how wonderfully he had you writhing over him, just by his fingers. The mindless pondering alone had your cunt pulsating, and you deserved an award for how unaffected you acted with your friends. 

Soon, the carriage slowed to a stop, and you perked up, not realising you had already arrived home. 

You waited for the boys to exit before you stepped out of the carriage, the only light on the docks emitting from lamps and the night sky, reflected on the surface of the river. The first carriage was already there when your feet met the concrete floor, and when you turned to the man who reigned in your mind he had his signature expression, an aloof distaste as he walked over to his gang. 

“Jisung, Changbin,” he called, and the boys responded. “Lock the carriage door,” he ordered, jerking his chin towards his transport. “We will bring him out in the morning.”

“Chris, should we not throw him in the cellar?” Changbin glared at Carter’s direction. “Bastard might escape.”

He only slid his hands in his pockets, you catching the dried blood on his gloves. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, striking a step towards the building. “He’s not going to disturb us tonight. I can promise you that.”

Jisung cursed low along with you, only watching the man walk back to the bedrooms. Bidding goodnight to your friends, you followed Chris’ trail, opening the door and stepping inside the hallway.

You saw him before his bedroom door, bringing out a rusted key. His eyes slid to you as your feet brought you to your entrance. You looked back, waiting as Chris unlocked his room and began to enter.

He turned back, something dark and twisted still lurking in his eyes.

You waited, so patiently at the words you wished to hear, of him finally ruining you.

Instead, you received something else entirely.

“Goodnight, ____.”

And closed the door behind him.

Your heart dropped. 

Fell to the floor, and shattered under the criminal’s bloodied boots. 

The light of the hallway flickered as you stood rooted to the doorway, eyes staring at Chris’ door as if looking at it hard enough would get him to change his mind.

What did you know. The man is not led by exterior forces. Only by his own will.

When you gathered up the strength to the slam the door shut, you slumped against the wood, hating yourself for the tears which threatened to break the lines of your eyes. This was pathetic — utterly disgusting that you were about to cry over his decision.

But you could not help it. You were so enraptured by him. Hell, you were ready to throw yourself in the fires of damnation for him, as he whispered filth all the while rutting against you. Why had that suddenly changed?

“Argh!” You screamed, stomping over to the lamp, light now long extinguished. You relit it’s spark, illuminating the room once more, and set it on the stool before recklessly plucking out the pearls in your hair, a few tears daring to trail down your cheeks. 

Fuck him. Fuck him for making you so rattled. Fuck him for having that effect on you.

You looked into your mirror and cursing yourself for the disheveled appearance. Again, the consequences for letting yourself fall for him.

“To hell with you Bang Chan,” you cursed. 

You were about to untie your dress when your bedroom door was nearly ripped off its hinges. 

Flinching, you grabbed the dagger on your dresser, raised to cut down whoever stupid enough to barge in on an assassin at midnight.

You were met with Christopher Bang. 

And the disorder he brought with him.

Chaos reigned in his figure; his tousled locks, his star-struck expression, his rolled-up sleeves and his pandemonic eyes, all working together and against each other to create the man you had never seen in your life. 

Good God. What had happened to him?

“Chan?” You got out, dagger now brought down. He said not a single word in response as he slammed the door shut, hard enough for the entirety of London to hear. 

Instead, he imprisoned you with his stare, almost giving you his chaos. The chaos you had always shared with him since the moment he picked you off the streets.

No, he said not one word — only took the steps needed to march towards you. You could only watch with widening eyes when he grabbed your face in his rugged hands and collided his lips against yours. 

You did not even hesitate to comply, hands grabbing onto his shirt, pulling him as close as you possibly could, so afraid that he would disappear from your grip if you dared let go. With the way he moved his mouth along yours, however, already opening up the familiar workings, you had a feeling he was not going to abandon you now.

When he broke away, breathing already erratic, his hands slid down to your neck, thumbs caressing the length of your throat. “I couldn’t,” he started, and he was sprinkling kisses all over your face. “I couldn’t leave.”

“I was scared, Chan,” you confessed, fisting the material harder. “I thought you truly did.”

His eyes focused on you. Within the turmoil, there was a promise. “Never,” he whispered, leaning in. “Never again.”

And suddenly his lips were on you, and the desperation was so rooted he nearly stole the very breath from your lungs. The sheer intensity, the longing implied broke your heart to the point you attached yourself to him, wrapping your arms around him and refusing to ever let him go.

The rather soft kiss began to heat up, as Chris broke the seam of your lips, swirling your tongue in his, already receiving incoherent praise from deep down your throat, making the man smile against his lips as he continued. 

His hands slid further down, right to the small of your back, where he began to untie all the little bows he created for you at the dawn of the evening, the little touches of fire singeing you still. It was fascinating how effortlessly he loosened all the laces, fingers sliding through the patterns until one by one they fluttered down, until the dark red dress slackened around your chest. 

A small gasp escaped you as Chris, while creating a trail of kisses down your jaw, right down to your neck, grabs the dress from your sides, hitching it down until it falls to the floor. Leaving you practically naked save for the scraps covering your dangerously soiled underwear. 

Chris paused from his ravishing, taking a much too long look at your skin, glowing from the lamp light, and before he could stare any longer you brought your arms to your chest, suddenly becoming a little too embarassed to let him see you at your most vulnerable. 

The supposedly unfeeling criminal, however, nearly broke into a smile at your flustered nature, and grabbed onto your wrists, opening the lock to your breasts, peaked by his actions, and the thought of what was to come.

The soiled underwear was about to drip at this point.

“You’re exquisite,” was all he said, making you almost burst into tears at the praise. You pressed a long, heart shattering kiss upon his mouth, and he responded perfectly, hands sliding to your naked waist, each drum of his fingers like a tug towards a dangerous edge. 

Things began to take a turn, open mouthed kisses being plastered on the skin of your throat as the man pushed you back, further and further until the back of your knees hit the bed, stopping you in his tracks. His grip on your waist directed downwards, planting you on the mattress as his mouth descended to your collarbone, down and down until he licked your peaked nipple in a way that had you moaning obscenely loud. His husky chuckle resonated along your skin, still not pausing his trail until he hit the end of the dip of your cunt, barricaded by the fabric. 

The moment he looked up at you, that alone made you nearly undo yourself. By the increasing volume of your breathing, Chris seemed to realise so too.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he got out, watching you whimper at each touch caressing your hips. “Already about to come when I haven’t even done anything?”

“Ch-Chan,” you pleaded, wishing for those damned fingers of his to plunge inside of you. The son of a bitch was taking his time, making you wait knowing it pained you to stay like this. “Chan—”

His name on your tongue had him gritting his teeth, hands on each of your side grabbing onto your lace, and sliding your underwear down, all the way till it fell free from your legs and threw it across the room, forgotten when Chris parted his mouth at the moistened treasure between your legs. 

Those roughened hands steeled their grip on your thighs, pulling you closer till you sat right on the edge of the bed, cunt mere inches from his face. You could not even comprehend the insanity of this situation, that the hidden fantasies you dreamed of shamelessly were morphing into reality right before your eyes.

“So, so pretty,” he murmured, blowing a little air on your slick folds, earning himself a sucked in breath from his truly. “So pretty and wet, and all because of me.”

You let out a ragged breath, words of filth sounding so foreign on his tongue. It was not like he didn’t talk like the sailors living near you on the docks, but these dirty words and dirtier intentions, now all directed at you, made you feel so flustered, in a wondrous way you could not possibly describe. All you wanted was for him to keep singing this filth till you blacked out.

Chris, with the force of his hands, spread your thighs a little wider, and without warning broke his tongue from the seam of his lips, planting it upon your slit and moving it slowly over the surface.

That alone made you cry out in ecstasy.

But that was only a test, a taking on of foreign surroundings before truly welcoming himself, and by God, did he welcome himself in as more than a guest, when that tongue slid deeper and performed strokes which had you seeing all the stars in the universe. 

What was first slow teasing then became a starved hunt, tongue relishing in the sweet arousal you emitted, lapping it up brazenly as if he had been wanting to do this for a long, long time. Your blubbering grew louder with every lick, fisting the sheets behind you with such ferocity you were sure they’d tear. 

And if that wasn’t painstakingly enough, the man spread your legs a little wider, his tattooed hand, two fingers out, sliding straight inside you, making you mewl at the way they tightened they walls they journeyed in. Curling, just like they did earlier in the evening, they took their time finding the certain little spot which had you bringing the house down with your cries. 

“Ch-Chan, please, please, I’m going to—AH!” You rasped out, when the said-criminal found the sweet little undoing of yours and stroked your fingers along the sensitive spot, making that bundle of pleasure resonating in your back appear once more, like a low throbbing begging to be released.

His tongue had not given you any breaks, still working ruthlessly along your clit and you cried for him to give you that sweet release, to just let you come but he had not let you be satisfied this easily. No, he wanted you writhing underneath him, wanted the final ruination to be from underneath his trousers, angered as it outlined against his leather.

You craned your head back, screaming out his name because you knew all else had abandoned you. “Chan!” Looking down, his mouth very much occupied with your cunt. Your orgasm was reaching, was on the very edge, and if he kept working on you like this he was on his way to taste the consequences of his actions.

Something about that image made you want it as a reality with a worryingly strong intensity. 

“Chan, I’m going to—” you were about to warn but were interrupted by a squeeze of your thigh, done by yours truly as if he knew. And as if he knew, the two fingers began pumping much faster, harmonising along with his tongue, and the two actions at once, fucking you with that rapidity was so pleasurable that, with the first earth-shattering cry of the night, you were driven over the edge, releasing your orgasm straight into the criminal’s face.

You felt the work of his fingers slow down, along with his tongue, that with one, final lick, he retreated from your cunt, fingers still inside you as they comforted your aching core with slow, soothing strokes. 

When he looked up at you, though, with your residue mostly upon his mouth, scattered on his cheeks, and basically a bit of everywhere, that sight alone nearly caused you to come all over again. 

Perhaps that was his intentions. 

Because when he licked his lips clean of your mess, ever so slowly, as if enjoying your orgasm like a man starved, you instantly saw in his eyes that this night was not over yet. 

“Already so good, so wonderful,” he mused, slipping his fingers out, both hands now resting on your thighs. “Coming so quick even though I had been saving for the last.”

You knew exactly what he meant, but still had the nerve to ask, “The last?”

He raised a groomed brow, and that gesture was so breathtaking, more so when he raised himself slightly, so he knelt eye-level to you. “Don’t act oblivious, love,” he mused, leaving your thighs to your disappointment, but quickly diminishing when his fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt, slowly popping upon, each patch of skin being revealed like a show of your own. “We both know this isn’t how it’s going to end.”

Shivers crawled down your spine, but you only watched as the man finished undoing his shirt, peeling it off of him and throwing it amongst the other clothing. You nearly let spit trail down your chin at the sheer finery of his muscle alone, sharpened at his arms, his chest all the way down to his v-line, which dipped dangerously low. With no small amount of pride, you also noticed the large, angry outline of Chris’ cock, begging to be set free. 

The man caught you blatantly staring, and a shit-eating grin twisted his glistening lips. “You may do the honours if you’re so keen.”

Blushing, you mumbled a shut up, but was captured by Chris’ lips, tasting your own arousal on his tongue, as his grip on you led you further into the bed, while you fumbled on the buttons of his trousers, popping them open one by one when you broke from the kiss, your turn to shower him with more along the veiny expanse of his neck as you pulled his trousers down, tossing them among the pile.

When you saw the slight-stained underwear of his, you felt the familiar throbbing again, so affected by how you affected him. Noticing your apparent pride, he pressed his lips upon you in a searing kiss, peeling off any last scrap of clothing and forgetting that too among the other clothing.

And by God, when Chris Bang’s cock escaped from his underthings your mouth actually watered at the sheer size it bore. Husky laughter resonated in your ears, and you flushed the colour of blood when he caught you staring much too audaciously than he would have imagined. 

“Already fantasising about my cock?” He slurred, the tattooed hand curling stray hairs from your sweat-slick, flushed face. The way you scrunched your nose, clearly flustered by his comment, melted his stone cold heart, as he caressed your cheeks with his fingers. 

You did not answer him, only whispering his name along his skin, waiting and waiting for the man to drive that force home inside you. “Chan,” you murmured, and the name you kept saying like a religious chant, like it was the only word that mattered, was what brought him to grip his cock, directing it against your entrance, the still slick folds which grew more wet every time the tip caressed the sensitive skin. “Chan, please—”

“Please what?” He demanded, demanded because he needed to hear you precisely want you wanted. The words he practically prayed would be on your tongue the moment he kissed you for the first time this evening.

Obliging him was like second nature. “Please fuck me, Chan,” you breathed out, holding onto his shoulders, knowing you were going to need a hell of a good grip for what was about to arrive. “Please, just ruin me with your cock.”

A malicious smile curled upon his lips. “Good, good girl,” he purred, and began the descend which you dreamed of the very first night you realised you were ridiculously attracted to him.

His cock slid inside you, and with a soul-wrenching whine, was perfectly snug as the journey went on, and on, and on, until you were certain you could not take anymore, despite the man retaining a few inches. He was slow at first, making sure you were not going to be pained by this action. Although your nails dug into the granite muscle of his shoulders, you only egged him on. “M-more,” you only said, and he readily obliged, until you felt him all around you in your body, as if he had filled you up to the brim. 

“Ready?” He asked, and when you nodded, he rested his forehead against yours as gently, he began to pull out. 

You nearly whined at the lack of inches filling you up, but then he brought his cock back in, creating this hypnotic rhythm which was so unimaginably ethereal you felt yourself float amongst the clouds. Each thrust out and thrust in was a drive in and out of reality, with Chris Bang holding the tether of your survival, pulling you in and out of his mercy. 

Gradually, he began to fasten, panting as his drove into you with more force, and when the momentum hardened, you felt your soul leave your body. His cock created wonders for you, having you scream in unimaginable pleasure, and driving your nails into his back was not enough, your lewd moaning not enough given to his sheer skill, his pure simplicity in bringing his cock back and front which had you seeing stars. Hell, Christopher Bang showed you undiscovered universes, leading you across galaxies and unfamiliar cosmos, each thrust in a different vision, and when he lifted your leg a little higher for more access, you feared that you would wake the whole docks with your groaning, for this criminal, this heartless criminal provided you with the whole universe with the simple strokes of his cock inside you, and all you could offer him were screams. 

Even your reactions were pure Beethoven to his ears, relishing in your fucked out state as he gave you all he asked, driving you to the edge of the world. You, finally, clashed your lips against his, offering him sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over his face and neck, and that alone had him greeting his teeth, knowing his own release was near. You were going to die if he was not given the same pleasure as you, so you reacted with each of his touches, each of his thrusts, him practically pistoning you upon this bed which very much would break. 

“Ch...Chan…” you grated out, eyes blurring, vision completely fucked, “I’m...I-I—”

“I—fuck,” he too got out, for your last love mark painted onto to the curve of his neck nearly had him ruined. “I’m going to come, too, love—”

“Chan!” You whined, because the throbbing was there, and was so close that if the man did not send that last thrust home then it was all for nothing, everything that had ever happened will all be for nothing.

But he listened. The man who did not listen to anyone or anything listened, and pounded his cock so hard in approval that it had you crying out to the cosmos as you finally let go, orgasm spilling out from whatever space the residue could find between his cock. Your own release had Chris groaning louder than he had even done this entire time, praising you unconditionally, until the filth was cut off by a low curse, with his own release barrelling into you, some joining your spilled mess upon the sheets.

Chris let out a shuddering breath, slowly crossing his movement inside you. Carefully, when you stopped digging your nails into his shoulders, he pulled out, reaching for the blanket untouched and bringing it over you and him before collapsing beside you. Both of you breathed as if you had held your oxygen for a thousand years, chests rising unevenly. 

A silence hung over you two, heavy yet not uncomfortable, lingering in your bedroom. Chris sat up a little, using your pillows behind him as comfort as he raked his hair back, sweat-slick all over, much like you. You held the blanket right up to your chest, hair in disarray, much like your heart. The poor organ threatened to collapse at the events.

Sneakily, you caught a glance at the greatest criminal in London, staring off at the distance, mouth set in a concentrated line. He looked dashing even in his post-sex state, the lines of his chest still stark against his sweat. You truly had never seen a man this beautiful in your life. 

He turned his head to you, catching your staring, and when you tried to look away he captured his chin with his fingers, making you meet his fierce stare. Although dark, the lust had satiated, and instead held passive affection. Well, you hoped it did.

“Why do you still look away?” He demanded in a low, tired voice.

You tried to slide your gaze to the lamp, but was too bewitched by his midnight eyes. “Because you’re beautiful, Chan,” you answered, feeling the blood rush to your face. 

He cocked his head, damp curls sticking to his face. “You say that as if you are not,” he countered. 

You did not say anything then. Even so, he received your answer. 

“____,” he said in a low tone. The grip on your chin loosened, and the hand went to your cheeks, cupping your face. “You are truly flawless. Don’t make me have to make you believe that.”

A small smile hinted at your lips. “And what if I still don’t?”

His answering smirk sent butterflies tumbling once again. After a moment, as if hesitating, he then snaked his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. You were surprised when his one hand fully encircled you, while the other hand, the tattooed hand, rested upon your head, stroking your hair with his slender fingers. You did not pull away, was never going to, only wrapping your arm across his chest. 

It was the first time you had ever seen Christopher Bang hug someone in his life.

“Chan?” You asked.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you get that tattoo?”

He paused for a minute, never ceasing his fingers intertwined in your locks. After a small sigh, which you felt beneath your own fingertips, he said, “It is simply something I live by. 

“Non ducor duco. No one will lead me, love. Only myself.”

You pondered over the roots of this phrase, of the significance for the man you lay with. 

“Good,” you said after a while. “I wouldn’t want anyone leading you either.”

With that, you gave into the soothing movement of Chris’ fingers, working lazily in your hair. And while you dozed off to sleep, the criminal mastermind of the biggest city in the world pondered some more, specifically over his motto.

NON DUCOR DUCO. A phrase which had stayed true for so long no one could ever change it.

But after tonight, as you slowly dozed off under Chris’ caresses, he wondered whether there isn’t one person he wouldn’t mind being led by. 

And as he stole a soft glance at the specific person beside him, he knew. 

He knew that although he will be led by no man, there is one woman who he would, to his own shock, happily be led for. 

So, with that new, and slightly terrifying revelation, Christopher Bang went to sleep, knowing that someone had fucked with him and gotten away. 

And he was willingly going to let it happen. 

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

Love of my life, could you write for me some beautiful geraskier? There's a prompt; the story is taking place first few days after Jaskier meet Geralt and decided to stick with him. Geralt wasn't very found of it and was more annoyed when he had to save the bard from monster (Jaskier probably is being more dramatic about it then he should be) and/or some people that didn't like the preformet and they happened to be more violent then others. Jaskier is sorry about those actions of course, but Geralt is still pissed of until Geralt gets into trouble (u chose how dangerous ❤️) and now it's Jaskier role to save him (spoiler; they'll be fine at the end) and from then Geralt isn't that sceptical about the bard.

Sorry for any language errors. Have a great day!

Hello darling! I know its been like... thirty thousand years since you sent me this prompt so... sorry for the wait? I hope it lives up to expectations if you didn’t completely forget you sent it 😅😅😅

-

Geralt sighed as Jaskier sent another wink toward the pretty barmaid. The pretty barmaid that was very obviously married to the rather large man sitting at the bar. Staring angrily at Jaskier.

The pair had been travelling together for about a week at this point, Jaskier proving to be a rather persistent type of mold that Geralt just couldn’t quite manage to get rid of. Geralt’s fondness for his new travelling companion was rather limited. The man was useful on occasion but really it was starting to seem like he was far more trouble than he was worth.

Jaskier strummed his lute one last time, sending another provocative wink in the direction of the barmaid. Just as he swung his lute strap over his head and bent down to place the instrument in its case, the large man from the bar stood up, making his was over to Jaskier, lumbering intimidatingly.

Sighing, Geralt stood from his seat. Really, one of these days, he would need to let Jaskier get his ass beat to a pulp. Maybe that would teach him to be more careful in choosing his bedmates. Or at least a bit more discreet about it.

Geralt felt rage run through him as the man approached Jaskier from behind and lifted his arm, ready to strike. Geralt reached out and grabbed the man’s arm, spinning him around, “Would you really hit a man with his back turned?” he growled out. The man paled visibly and stepped back. He was probably used to being the largest man in the room, but not with Geralt there. He shook his head, not uttering a word, and made his way back over to the bar, his head down. The barmaid was blushing a bright shade of red.

Geralt turned to look back as Jaskier who was staring at him in shock, “Thank you! I didn’t even hear him come up behind me. Surely, he couldn’t have been that offended by my set. Everyone else appreciated it!”

Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the upper arm, ushering the bard up the stairs, “Geralt? Geralt! What is going on?”

Geralt growled, “Shut up. He was trying to hit you because you were winking at his wife.”

“His wife?”

“The barmaid.”

Jaskier was quiet for a beat, “Ohhh… I didn’t realize that was her husband.”

“But you knew she was married.”

“Well, sure. But it wasn’t a happy marriage by any means so if I could offer her a night of ple-”

Geralt shoved Jaskier through the door to their shared room, “Go to sleep. At least you don’t tend to cause fights with your snores.”

-

“Okay, no, I’m not listening to this anymore.”

Geralt pressed a hand to his temple, already feeling the headache beginning. He had told the bard to remain quiet and not interrupt his negotiations. This particular alderman was known to shortchange him, always arguing that Geralt didn’t actually do what he said or claiming that it wasn’t worth the price Geralt was demanding. The price that he and Geralt had agreed upon prior to Geralt taking the contract. And so, he hadn’t wanted Jaskier getting in the way and making things worse.

“Jaskier,” He said sharply, but the bard in question simply waved one hand dismissively, not even looking at Geralt.

“Alderman, you agreed upon a price. Pay the price.” He placed his hands on his hips, staring the alderman down haughtily.

The man sputtered, “I’ll not have you interfering with my business, bard.”

“Oh, well in that case, I’ll keep my comments to myself for now and instead relay them to the headmaster when I next pass through Oxenfurt.”

The man stared at Jaskier coldly, “And what would that matter to me?”

Jaskier shook his head, shrugging, “Nothing, I don’t suppose. I’m sure that a well-respected professor who graduated with honors and is a personal friend with the headmaster speaking ill of an alderman certainly wouldn’t affect that particular towns chances for hosting the upcoming bardic event.”

The man paled slightly, “And how would you know if I were trying to host that?”

“Well, I have won that particular competition that last five years so I suppose it would make some sense that they would ask my opinion. I hear that the towns that host it often see a great increase in profits after. It must be a great boon to the town. It would be a shame if the town were to lose that because their alderman was a greedy bastard who went back on his word.”

The alderman grunted, yanking a bag of coin out of his desk and throwing it angrily at the bard, “There. Now leave, and don’t you dare speak word of this to anyone at Oxenfurt.”

Jaskier weighed the bag thoughtfully, the coins inside clinking, “No worries, I won’t mention what a stingy bastard you are. Although I will tell them about the rest of my time here. Come along, Geralt.” Jaskier smiled a rather sinister grin at the alderman before turning on his heel and walking out triumphantly.

-

Back in their room, Geralt counted out the coins carefully, finding 50 more ducats than he had asked for. He looked up at Jaskier curiously, “Why did you do that?”

Jaskier looked up at Geralt, blinking slowly as if it took him a moment to understand what Geralt was talking about, “He was being difficult, and I had a way to speed things along.”

“I didn’t need your help,” Geralt grunted.

“Of course you didn’t. But I gave it anyway.”

Geralt frowned, he didn’t understand the bard sometimes. Ever, really. He just gave freely, help and kindness just flung about, wherever he could give it. It wasn’t something Geralt was used to.

“Why?” Geralt finally asked, his eyes meeting Jaskier’s own.

Jaskier shrugged, “You’ve been good to me, Geralt. Let me do you kindness in return.”

Geralt couldn’t imagine Jaskier ever being anything but kind. Although… “Did you really mean it when you told the alderman you could ruin his chances at hosting the competition?”

Jaskier hummed, a satisfied smirk on his face, “I did. And, seeing as I don’t have anything nice to say about this shit hole, I can guarantee he won’t be happy when the decision is announced.”

Geralt let out a surprised chuckle, it seemed that the bard really did have teeth.

-

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[all-things-fic]

Stay Still

A/N: Welcome to another day in quarantine. Here’s part two of Quarantine Harry which I wasn’t expecting to happen, to be honest with you all. Hopefully it lives up to any expectations. As always, stay safe and let me know what you think! Loads of love to you all.

Shout out as always to people I have pestered with this one. @waitingfortwilight for always being the ultimate babe, @harryfeatgaga for being hype woman of the century, @huccimermaidshirts for telling it to me how it is and @haute-romance-quotidienne for fuelling fantasy and possibly making it so we could get a part three!

Enjoy everyone! .x

***

You frowned softly at the intrusion of the morning light against your eyelids. The sound of a soft whistle hit your ears as you slowly roused for another day in quarantine. The sound of the bathroom tap shutting off brought a sense of stillness after Harry had brushed his teeth and washed his hands.

Keeping your eyes closed you heard the way Harry tip-toed around your bedroom, his feet heavy against the flooring regardless of how much he tried to overcompensate in trying to be as quiet as possible. 

A small smile pulled at your lips as you imagined him acting like some drunken teenager trying not to wake his parents as he entered the house after a night out; worse for wear and not interested in being read the riot act for not sensibly drinking.

The sheets next to your feet felt heavier than usual, before suddenly becoming lighter again. You heard the rustle of clothing, followed by a light grunt from Harry as he got dressed at the end of your bed.

Head pushed through the neck of his hoodie, Harry fixed the hood on the clothing item before walking the short distance to the drawers that housed his undergarments and socks. 

The sound of the wood sliding against the draw hinges caused you to cringe, before you bit away your smile as he whispered ‘shit, shit, shit’ quickly in succession due to how unsuccessful he was in not being noisy.

Turning around, Harry saw the way the sheets moved, the up and down of your shoulders letting him know you were laughing at the awful job he was doing. 

“‘S that you laughing at me over there?” 

Harry’s deep morning voice broke through the sleep-filled silence. He stood, still at the end of the bed, looking down the length of your body and willing you to pop your head up to look at him.

“Can see your shoulders moving under the sheets y’know?”

Still hidden by a mound of sheets and luxurious duvet, he heard your less than impressed response. “You’re so shit at being quiet.”

“Who even said that ‘m trying,” he scoffed, trying to pass off his clumsiness as something he had planned, letting his feet take him over to the other side of your bed. To his side.

You felt the familiar dip to the bed, and as he sat down you rolled over to your opposite side to be greeted with the expanse of his back. A soft groan left Harry’s lips as he leaned down to pull on his socks, you guessed his socks simply from the way you heard the band snap against his calves.

When he sat back up straight, you watched as he stretched up and rolled his neck to the side, left and right.

You weren’t prepared for his stare when he turned his head quickly to his right, looking over his shoulder at you. God, he was so frustratingly handsome. 

Over the last couple of days, you’d watched Harry relax in a way that you’d yet to completely get to enjoy. His hair had grown to a length that had your fingers itching to braid at the locks sitting at the top of his head, his facial hair becoming darker, the thicker it got with each passing day that was crossed off on the kitchen calendar. 

And his body. Where did you begin? 

He had confessed to you a couple of nights ago he was considering getting a lock for the fridge. The two of you for some unknown reason falling into a fit of giggles after he’d said it as you lay along the couch together. 

It was something to do with the desperation in his voice when he’d confessed his lack of self control. The rant he’d gone on about how much bread he was eating and how he knew he was ‘just being a greedy bastard’ but he couldn’t help it. 

The thing was, he was working out with it too. You knew that simply because you’d spent far too many hours of the day telling him to ‘shift these bloody weights’ as you stubbed your toe for the fifth time in the space of a week. 

He definitely was putting you to shame. 

Quarantine really was working out for him. His thighs spoke for themselves, and you were sure one day he was going to split the shorts he appeared to be pouring himself into each morning to either do a weights or HIIT session in the middle of the lounge, or the garden if he fancied a change in setting. 

The only thing you had found yourself lifting had been the fork that housed carb after carb. Pasta and potatoes mainly.

You were also lifting liquids to your lips too, staying hydrated was key in quarantine. And luckily for you the cases of wine and champagne that had gone untouched at your wedding towards the latter end of the previous year were buried in the garage of a house that you hadn’t ever thought you’d call home. Lack of flight paths back home and the closing of borders had changed that thought for you however. 

Burying yourself deeper in the pillow beneath the side of your face, you watched Harry as he softly smiled taking in your less than impressed expression.

“Woken up on the wrong side of the bed or summat?” He teased, watching the way your expression scrunched up at him and his annoying love of early mornings.

“It’s not my fault someone kept me up half the night-“

“Didn’t ‘ear yer complaining last night,” his voice teetered off, eyebrows raised.

“Well, ‘m complaining now,” you pushed out your bottom lip, challenging him in a petulant way.

He laughed down his nose, shaking his head as he reached up to pick at the strings of his hoodie. Chin tilted up to the ceiling, you heard the way his tone of voice changed to a strain as he concentrated on tying his usual bow at his neck.

It was almost like he thought of himself as some form of present. 

“‘Av at it then,” he encouraged you to bitch at him with whatever it was that had made you moody. “Eating into m’workout time so best be a good’en.”

“Piss off, you’re not even interested,” you scowled at him, knocking away at his hand as it reached out to touch you.

“Oi,” he frowned. “Don’t do tha’, don’t be like that.”

“‘M not being like anything.” 

Harry’s eyes hardened as they looked at you, holding your gaze with his. You didn’t dare look away or crack a smile, even when you saw his lips start twitching as he found amusement in your childlike pouting. 

Before you knew it, Harry had twisted his body so he was leaning over you, his presence welcomed rather than intimidating. His forearm pressed into the pillow at the side of your head as his free hand brushed at your slightly wild bed head. 

“Gimme a kiss,” he muttered, his lips close to yours. You shook your head, with a small frown thrown at him. “Really gonna let me leave wi’out one?”

You hummed “‘s what you deserve.”

“‘S what I deserve? Me? What ‘ave I done?” He questioned. “You ‘ad a bad dream ‘bout me or summat?”

The silence that lingered after his question had you blushing under his gaze, as you focused anywhere but his eyes. 

“Wha’ did I do this time?” He chuckled, feeling you shift in the soft hold of his arm. “Sorry that dream me is a bit of a knob’ead, I’ll ‘av a word.” 

“You better,” you huffed. 

“‘S as good as done, ‘f you let me have tha’ kiss,” he whispered, leaning in and pressing his face against the skin of your cheek. 

His attempt at bribery meant he had basically won you over the minute he rubbed his lips down your chin and jaw, the feel of his beard harsher against your sensitive morning skin that still held its warmth from your nights sleep.

“Harry,” you giggled, wanting to curse yourself out at how you had buckled under him. Body tense as your head dipped into the pillow below as you tried to get away from the tickle of his facial hair.

Mouth pressed to your neck, Harry chuckled before opening his lips and leaving a gentle suckle against your pulse point while your fingers wove into his longer than usual hair. He knew he had you in the palm of his hand.

Your voice was breathy when it next spoke to him, velvety and happy as he nudged his nose lovingly along your skin. “Stop being a daft git.”

“Know exactly what would sort you out,” he whispered in return, making his way back up to your lips. “Come an’ hike wi’me,” he drawled, watching the way your eyes lulled to a hooded gaze. 

You started to groan as Harry left a soft but pert peck to your lips. “‘M leaving in five,” he said, hand sliding down your back that was covered in your duvet. “Up yer get, meet you downstairs.”

The jolt of his hand against your bum, two swift and dull claps against the duvet material surprised you, before he pushed his body up and swiftly left your bedroom ready to start a new day.

***

You didn’t like the message that was on his hat.

You hated even more so that you were letting it bother you. 

The horrible 70s font of ‘free and easy’ was unnecessarily winding you up. This man was a married man. Hardly the correct message to be portraying. 

Eyes watched as Harry walked heavily in front of you, attacking the hill that you were both climbing, you lingered behind him. 

His legs, the muscles in them we’re enticing to you but only in a way that was winding you up. How was he so fucking tanned already? His skin was so weathered that it always managed to piss you off at just how quickly he became a lovely shade of golden. His legs tanned better than yours did. In fact his everything tanned better than you did. His everything in general was doing better than yours.

Here you were once again being irritable. Frowning at anything and everything. Snappy but unable to figure out why. He was always so happy, you know? And you loved it, you really did but sometimes it was too much. 

California had many a hiking spot. The knowledge of making it easily one of the best things about the place. Anything else, you could do without, but the hiking was always worth the struggle it took to even convince you to take part in the first place.

The sound of the gravel beneath your trainers, the sun beating down onto your skin, you watched as Harry’s trainer clad feet started to turn to you as he began to halt his pace.

Huffing and puffing your way behind Harry, you watched the way he tugged at the straps of his backpack and trekked along the desert like ground beneath your feet.

Looking up at him, you saw him move his sunglasses off his eyes and you swore if he placed them on top of the peak of his hat you were going to divorce him. Luckily, for him, he didn’t. 

Sunglasses folded in his hand, you squinted up at him and waited for whatever it was he was going to say. “Told you, you should’ve brought a hat,” he shouted down to you, his voice carrying as you were surrounded by nothing but open space.

“I’m fine, just need to keep hydrated,” you held your water bottle up to him.

“You sure? You’re so slow-“

Before you could stop yourself you snapped at his teasing, “I’m social distancing, Harry!”

His eyes were wide from your response, his lips rolling into his mouth as he looked on at you harshly pulling open the lid of your water bottle and taking a large sip of your drink.

“Alright,” he dragged the word, his tone pitched slightly higher. “Like a bear wi’a sore head this morning, aren’t ya?”

“‘M beginning to think dream you is a lot better than real-life you,” you spoke, eyes refusing to look at him as you checked to see if anyone was around while you. 

“‘S not true,” he softly responded, walking back down the hill to be closer to you. You knew he was right as well. “What’s up with you?”

Again you stubbornly took a sip of your water and squinted in the sunlight. “Darlin’,” Harry coaxed. “D’ya think-“

“No,” you stopped him before he could even begin to let his head carry himself away down the rabbit hole of baby talk. The baby talk that had been planted by his mother to begin with, the one thing that he had previously been trying to nip in the bud. 

He was back to being amused again, you knew before you even chanced a glance at him from the corner of your vision. 

The smile he wore was fleeting, barely there but reassuring all the same. Just one look in your eyes, properly, made him aware of the rush of uncertainty you had felt about the whole thing.

“Alright, ‘s fine either way though. Just so you know.” 

***

Had your husband always been this hot or was it because he was about to feed you?

That was a question that was more and more frequently popping into your head with each passing day.

By the time you’d gotten back home from hiking, you were edging closer to lunch time and the growling of your stomach meant your mood was only going to get worse. If that were even possible.

You’d taken great delight in letting Harry know that no uplifting endorphins had found their way into your body after spending just under two hours, including the time you’d hiked and the time you’d been stuck in California traffic.

He had done nothing more than take every single thing you had thrown at him, as he wrapped his hand around yours and kissed at your knuckles affectionately.

Now you sat on the island counter in your kitchen, legs lightly swinging as you watched Harry boil pasta and simultaneously let your meat simmer away.

Next to you sat a glass of white wine, taunting. Harry’s wine was half-drank on the kitchen side as he talked through some tour logistics with Jeff. It felt like a massive elephant in the room. There was no denial.

Harry had picked your favourite wine, made this big deal about putting a ridiculous amount of effort in cooking lunch when usually the two opted for some picky foods of breads, meats and salad, given the hotter weather than you were used to at this time of year.

You warmed thinking about the trouble that he was going to but it wasn’t enough to shake the way you felt on edge with nerves.

“Speak to you tomorrow, mate,” he chuckled. “Stay safe, tell Glenne I’m sorry she’s stuck inside with you.”

A small smile played on your lips as you heard expletives through the other line from Jeff, before Harry cut him off.

Phone tossed to the side, the noise of sliding it along the counter filled your ears before Harry spoke over the noise of his cooking, “Even he’s pissed of wi’me. Got it in stereo at home from the wife and from m’mate.”

You knew he was joking from the glance he threw at you as he stood in front of you, before reaching to his right for his glass of wine. Your eyes were drawn to his Adam’s Apple as he swallowed, wine glass clinking down before he spun around to walk to you.

As you admired him, you smiled thinking about how he’d yet to take a shower. Instead he’d let you go and enjoy the first soak of the day, underneath the steamy hot water.

“Legs,” he commented, requesting you lift them up straight so he could get to the cutlery drawer that you were covering.

You did so, feeling his right hand wrap gently underneath your one calf to help you keep them up. His left hand pulled at the draw, the rattle of the metal knives, forks and spoons, sounding heavily into the room.

He plucked up a fork easily, pushing the draw back into its place with his hip.

“I do appreciate you, you know?” You questioned, watching the way he lingered close to you. You watched him, messy hair in his eyes and knotted to high heaven. “Sorry for being in your ear all day,” you continued, eyes careful as you looked at Harry.

“Can’t quite hear yer over the cooking,” he mused. “Wha’ was tha’?”

“You heard me fine.”

He smiled, repeating your words back to you. Humming happily, eyebrows slightly raise, “I heard you just fine.”

Arms boxing you in, Harry’s shoulders were hunched as he stood between your legs. “Gonna let me have tha’ kiss now?”

“You’ve had plenty-“

“Not a proper ‘un,” he protested, enjoying the feel of your fingers brushing back his hair out of his eyes. Face wincing as you tried to remove any of the knots from his chestnut brown strands.

“Need to do something about this,” you spoke wistfully, changing the subject, eyes concentrating on your fingers as they continued to comb through his hair, taking it away from covering his expressive, as ever, face.

“We’re not at that stage in quarantine where we start having to cut me hair, no chance,” he deadpanned, his eyes enjoying the way your expression lightened with his lack of desire to your addition to the conversation.

“Reckon I could give you a lovely bowl cut,” you shot back, realising how quiet he had gone on you. Softly slowing the movements of your fingers, you let your eyes drop down to meet his gentle gaze. “What?” you asked, voice barely there, his expression very pleasing to your eye as his hair softly fell in a middle parting, tousled and very nineties.

“‘Seem a bit happier, hm,” he acknowledged, enjoying the way your hands had moved from his hand now to rest lightly at the sides of his neck. “Not fancy your wine?”

And just like that nerves swirled in your stomach again.

You scrunched your nose up at him, giving him a soft shake of your head. His eyes brightened and you knew exactly what he was thinking. You hated that you were thinking it too.

“Think I’m late too,” you admitted, seeing the way his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath in. His chest heaved, before he blew out the most happy sigh.

“‘S fine,” he responded.

“Don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

“You’re not.”

“If you could see your face,” you shook your head, dropping your hands away from his neck.

“If I could see my face, what?” He jutted out his lips in question, his hands gently clasping yours and lifting them to wrap around the back of his neck this time.

“How you’re looking at me-“

“How I always look at you,” he mumbled. “Like you hung the fuckin’ moon. Stop worrying.”

Running your tongue across your teeth, you took in a deep breath. “Stop it,” Harry warned, the two words clipped, his hands setting themselves to the top of your thighs. “We’re just prepping a nice lunch, gonna eat it out on the patio, in the sun-“

“I don’t even think we’ve got a test lying around here, if we’d have been in London-“

“Baby,” he cut you off.

You swallowed heavily.

“When you think about it, this couldn’t have come at a worse time-“

He spoke your name harshly as he cut you off, his face hardening at your words. Nervously chewing on your bottom lip, you fidgeted under his gaze. “I didn’t, I don’t mean it how it sounds,” you knocked your head back so your eyes met the ceiling of your kitchen.

You could feel him scrutinising you. His gaze never fleeting as he watched you come to terms with all the possibilities.

“I mean, we aren’t even going to be able to get to a doctor. They aren’t seeing anyone right now and-“

“And we don’t even know if we are,” he soothed, reaching for your face and wanting your eyes back on his. He hated the worry that had stolen this moment from you. The shy giggles and nervous rambles, around passionate kisses and lingering pecks that usually were part of any pregnancy talk between the two of you.

But I think I want to be, you thought, eyes glossy as they looked at Harry. Leaning forward, he welcomed your weight as you rested against him. With a heaved sighed you spoke, “God, I could really use that glass of wine right now.”

***

The record player in your lounge was the only thing keeping you sane at this point in the afternoon. The soft hum of Billy Joel playing around the room on the lowest volume, enough to keep you out of your own head.

There was something about songs that were piano heavy that managed to instantly soothe you. 

It had felt like forever since Harry had slipped away from you as you stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing off your empty plates before placing them into the dishwasher. Your eyes glancing over at him just in time to watch him pull off his sweat laced t-shirt, tugging the collar upwards and revealing his broadening back.

Since then all you had heard alongside the crooning of your favourite record was the sound of the shower running, the occasional croon also leaving Harry’s throat slightly drowned out by the sound of running water. 

As you sat, head tilted against the back of your couch, a soft smile hit your lips when you heard the water shut off. Not long after the soft, low singing voice of Harry filtered through your landing and downstairs.  

The sentimental softness in that moment had you sinking further into your hoodie and pressing your nose into its neckline. You couldn’t help but smile as you heard how heavy footed Harry was being upstairs, a harsh contrast in comparison to the softness of his singing voice.

“‘S one of your faves, this one innit?” You heard his voice boom, cutting through the peace and quiet that had formed of its own accord after he’d dragged himself upstairs. You loved it when he commented on songs you liked. 

Eyes closed, you imagined him leaning over the banister on the landing and shouting down the stairs to you in conversation between the floors of your home.

Choosing not to answer, you continued to mutter under your breath the lyrics and tried to ignore the havoc Harry was making upstairs in your bathroom. 

There was a loud crash upstairs, before you heard a delayed curse of ‘bollocks’ from Harry. 

His voice suddenly became clear as he shouted down, “‘s fine, nothing’s broken just knocked off some stuff of the ledge. Definitely not watching it leak everywhere right now.”

Your mother used to always tell you she used to count to ten with your father. Now you understood what she meant in saying that. 

Men really liked meddling when they were bored. You were used to it by now. Pick your battles. Let it be like water off a duck's back. 

Continuing to try and tune him out, you listened carefully as he pottered around upstairs. It wasn’t much after that you heard him descend down your stairs, and pad his way through your house into your lounge. 

Harry stood in the doorway, watching as you sat with your eyes closed, trying to find some form of stillness. Softly clearing his throat, he kept his one hand behind his back while the other clasped tightly at the white towel that sat against his waist.

Eyes fluttering, you knocked your head slightly to your left and stayed quiet as you took the vision in front of you.

One thing that always amazed you about Harry was the way that he managed to almost fill the entirety of a doorway but never look menacing. His body was broader, the pecs of his chest more defined. The hair between them darker regardless of how he’d been shirtless in the sun. You took delight in that cause that meant his chest hair was getting thicker. 

You eyed him, spending time on enjoying his rounded tummy and how much he was clinging on for dear life to the towel. 

“No big towels left in the airing cupboard,” his voice broke your shared silence, causing you to sweep your eyes back up to his face. “Think you need to do some laundry.”

The smarmy, amused expression after his comment, made you shake your head. “You’ve got hands as well, you know?” 

He didn’t answer your question, continuing to let the wet strands of his hair drip over his face and down his naked chest. “If you stand in the middle of the doorway any longer people will think we’ve got a flasher in our home.”

The frown that pulled onto his face made the smallest amount of laughter leave your chest. 

“‘Ere,” he lazily spoke, throwing an item onto your coffee table. The noise of it sliding along the wood pulled your eyes away from watching him and onto the item that he had just gently thrown. “Just found this hidin’ at the back of the cupboard under the sink.”

That explained what all the knocking was.

Barely lifting your head to take in the item, you already knew what he was referring to. Eyes back on him, you watched as he fidgeted with his towel again. This time, opening the item slightly wider than necessary as he pulled it tighter around his thickening body and folded it in to keep itself together.

Turning his back to face you, you watched as he tried to drop his body down onto your couch. You made a noise of disapproval, seeing him still in a hunched over position. Harry turned his eyes to look at you over his right shoulder. His stare asked you what the problem was.

“You’re all wet,” you lightly screeched at him, watching him softly roll his eyes and twist his body to plonk himself down onto the coffee table opposite you instead.

In the silence, Harry once again began to pull at the towel at his waist. “For god sake,” you whispered, “put it away, will you?”

“‘S wha’ ‘m trying to do,” he argued in return, as he fidgeted with the white cotton and tried to cover his modesty. “Christ, you could just keep your eyes up ‘ere.”

“What’s happening here,” you joked, lifting up your foot from where it sat perched on the coffee table and poking at his stomach with it. His stomach really was rounding out and you found yourself loving it, any comment you were making simply out of pestering affection. “That’ll be those twenty trips a day to the fridge.” 

“I’m possibly eating for two but I won’t know without the test,” he deadpanned, reaching up with both his hands and brushing back his wet and heavy hair. You smiled when it fell back in his after he pressed his forearms into his thighs, wanting to lean forward to get closer to you.

He wasn’t trying to conceal himself at all, his man spread the biggest you’d seen from him for a while. The towel gaped more than ever. 

“Like you need anymore of excuse,” you responded, flashing him a false smile. You watched as he pressed his tongue to the corner of his mouth, trying to stop his laugh at you jokingly commenting again on his quarantine eating habits. 

“‘S not very nice is it, that? To the potential father of your unborn child.”

You howled at that one, head falling back against the couch. “Potential father,” you squealed. “I’ve not been holed up in the house shagging anyone else, have I?” 

Your laughter was too much. His silence said it all. There was no doubt a scowl over his features as you laughed at him.

“Dunno? Have you?” He sulked as he spoke back, annoyed you’d got one over him. “Might’ve done, this house is bloody massive.”

Letting your laughter die down, you pressed your lips together as you looked at him. Swinging your legs down you leaned in, squeezing his chin and jaw in one hand.

You melted at how pouty his lips became, his cheeks smushed as you pecked at his lips.

“One man, that’s it.”

He hummed, as you dropped your forehead to him. “Must have decent swimmers.” 

“Swear to god,” you muttered under your breath, causing him to breathily chuckle.

This was the man you’d chosen to marry. 

***

His back faced you as he slept. The dim light from the early morning seeping into your room from the slight crack that had been left in your curtains, thanks to the way Harry had poorly pulled them together the night before. 

The sound of Harry’s deep breathing had your eyes lulling as you continued to allow them to roam over the expanse of his bare back and tousled hair. 

Hazy eyes tried their best to zone in on Harry’s figure as he lay sleeping. It was nice to wake up before him, to get the opportunity to admire him at your own pace rather than peeking a glance his way as he whooshed through the room like a tornado like every other morning. 

The smell of your newly washed bed sheets was alluring as you lay against your soft mattress, almost too alluring. 

A faint snore left Harry causing you to softly smile as you saw the way his week had somehow managed to catch up with him. He’d done this thing where he’d taken it upon himself, to make himself work. He couldn’t tour, that was out of his control. And you knew that regardless of how much he tried to play it off, he was struggling with how he couldn’t change it. 

Probably why he was throwing himself at every radio station possible.

Part of you was jealous that he was still sleeping, but the other felt warm in knowing he was allowing himself to switch off for this long today. That his work had been forgone and he was allowing himself to rest. 

The last couple of days had been strange as you had become hyper-aware of your body and how it felt, the way in which it was reacting to smell and taste. To the touch of your husband. 

And touch you he had. Harry was always tactile but as the potential news that you could be having a baby had made him even more so. His hands never really left you. 

They were against your thigh when you sat close to him as you ate your breakfast together every morning. Fingers usually softly cupped around your thigh, sometimes trapped between both thighs if he thought he was being funny in dragging his hand higher up your leg in an outdoor setting. 

That would usually drag a lazily, morning laugh from him. Pleased with his flirtatious antagonising. 

Fingers would gently take to playing with yours in the evening, as Harry seemed to master the art in eating his evening dinner with just one hand. Gone was the use of a knife, as he would tilt his fork to the side to cut through whatever food you had cooked that evening. 

The fork would even clatter against the plate to allow him to reach for his evening tipple of choice, rather than break how he was holding your hand, which was usually your left. 

You’d noted he was still so enamoured by your wedding band which had joined your engagement ring. He usually would find himself gently plucking at the cushion cut diamond to make sure it was sitting central on your finger.  

In this moment as you lay in bed, you supposed him taking time to touch you was his way to stay grounded. He’d been outrageously busy since your hike just three days earlier, more for someone who was in lockdown and made his living by singing music live. 

The work was a blessing in disguise though as it had drawn his attention away from the pregnancy test that had found its place back under the bathroom sink, connected to your room. 

It had allowed you to get out of your head for the last seventy-two hours. Breeze around like the newlyweds that you were, still basking sickeningly in how amazed you were by everything the other was doing.

It was hard not to get in your head now, though. 

Laying awake and in a dream-like state, you always felt your body’s sensitivities more so when you had first woken up. It was one of the things that made morning sex your favourite. 

But your body sensitivity seemed to linger more so now than ever. It didn’t make itself known solely in the morning. It was around when you took the chance to lay in the morning sun just before it peaked at midday. 

You’d found that your skin became itchy, a form of prickly heat spreading over you, a lot quicker now and while it wasn’t something new your worry was already heightened tenfold since the pregnancy suggestion had even become a thing. 

The first time it had happened, and you’d become irritated Wednesday, you cursed at your body for playing some sort of sick April Fools trick on your with it being the first day of the new month. 

Harry’s deep chuckle against the soft skin of your shoulder hadn’t done anything to soothe you. “Just sit in the shade, grab one of m’old shirts and lounge in summat loose,” he had suggested a couple of days earlier. 

You’d panicked at the time, regardless of his calm demeanour when hours later the red dots on your skin had remained, “I just don’t understand where this small rash has come from.”

“Where?” He’d set his tone, “Lemme ‘ave a look.”

From where he stood behind you, you shifted your - his - baggy dress shirt from where it was loosely buttoned up and draped over your body. His chin was resting against your shoulder as he looked down your shirt, catching sight of the light sprinkle of red dots on your skin.

“Looks like prickly heat t’me,” he hummed, knowing just how itchy heat rash could get. “Come take a cool bath wi’me, it’ll help.” 

That cool bath had helped, a lot actually. 

But away from your thoughts, in the present moment, the cool bath that had previously soothed you wouldn’t help this time. This sensitivity was the kind that had you wincing when clothes ran against you. 

To put it bluntly, your tits were hurting. 

There were no two ways about it. 

And you didn’t even need to google how that linked to pregnancy because you knew it was a symptom women often had in their first trimester. However you’d had that symptom before and you and Harry were still baby-less.

It didn’t stop the anxiousness that flowed through you, however.

Could be solved by you taking the test though, couldn’t it? 

That thought wasn’t wrong. Yet, it was scary. 

It would change your life in two ways. Either you were going to become parents or it would make you realise you wanted to become parents. A sense of happiness while splintered with apprehension would either be your feelings of choice, or simple and unbridled disappointment would linger.  

Harry’s deeper snore had you blinking yourself out of your blurring stare and let him come back into focus. 

Wouldn’t hurt taking a test would it? It’s not like you were officially doing it without him. If you kept the door open as you peed, he would basically have been right there with you. 

It would stop you thinking irrationally about the pains in your chest anyway. 

Releasing a nervous sigh, you reached out towards Harry and softly touched his bare back. His back that was broadening more and more as quarantine went on. Fingertips lightly tracing at his skin, before your fingers slid up and wove through the hair at the nape of his neck.

You scratched lightly, before pausing when Harry’s breathing patterned changed. All movement from you froze, waiting for him to let you know if he was still sleeping. Instead of waking, you saw the way his body sank back down to relax into the mattress once more.

This noise of contentment left his lips in his sleep, Harry rolling further onto his tummy and pressing his face deeper into his pillow. 

He was practically telling you to piss off and leave him be, even in his sleep.

Your hand, from his new position naturally fell away from his head as he was just a little bit out of reach now. 

Taking that as a sign to get up and do what you’d been putting off for long enough, you slipped gently out from underneath the duvet. 

A sense of sadness flew over you as the sleepy warmth of your bed fell away from your body while you walked around the bed and closer to the bathroom.

Eyes dropping down to your bed, you took in Harry’s face that was less than elegant as he slept. Mouth slightly ajar, his pouty lips were still framed with his thickening beard and a light divot sat between his shaped eyebrows. You fought against the urge to reach out for him and smooth out the disruption to the otherwise even contour of his forehead. 

Footsteps sounded loud to your ears but were nothing more than soft pats as you turned to your left and entered your bathroom.

You felt nervous about shutting the door, not wanting anything to wake Harry in that moment. Leaving it ajar to avoid the click it would make as it connected to the doorframe, you bent at the knees and pulled at the cupboard door.

Sleepy eyes landed in the box that had become familiar with you now, slightly shaking hands reaching out for the item and pulling it towards you.

Standing, you - for some reason - couldn’t bring your eyes up to take a look at yourself in the mirror that practically covered the entirety of your sink and hand washing station. 

The edges of the box had become quite worn which was hardly surprising given how many times it had been passed between you and Harry on that last day of March. 

You didn’t need the instructions. There was no point reaching for them. Instead you went straight for one of the two pregnancy tests that sat wrapped inside and pressed your legs together.

You needed the toilet, of course you did. You’d just woken up. It wasn’t going to be an issue. And that was part of the problem as you stood in your stark white bathroom.

It wasn’t pretty, was it? Anything about pregnancy, you were sure wasn’t going to be airy fairy. The fact you were likely to get pee on your hand in order for you to find out in the first place, summed it up pretty well.

Breathing deeply, you hated the negativity you were forcing yourself to feel as a way to combat your anxiety. Swallowing, you lifted your eyes cautiously to take in your figure.

Wild hair met your eyes first, followed by an incredibly creased white shirt of which the sleeves half swamped your hand. You liked being engulfed in an item of Harry’s clothing, however. It was so hard to come by when you’d first started dating, up until the latter years where he’d taken it upon himself to bulk his body up for tour.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, you rucked up the bottom of the dress shirt and turned to sit on the toilet, clenching your eyes together as you placed the test where it needed to go.

And then you went for it.

How else were you supposed to describe it.

Not that you would ever need to describe this part to anyone. No one ever talked about this part.

Lifting the stick out from between your legs, you pressed it onto the counter to the side and sorted yourself out. Toilet flushed and hands washed, you cringed when the faucet created a noise louder than you wanted but it was out of your control.

Drying your hands you frowned at the faint call of your name, not sure if you were imagining it. Hand wrapped around the door, you pulled it open and caught sight of Harry gently looking at you.

He looked partly disoriented, blinking quickly before he set his gaze on yours. The softest smile you had sworn to have seen grace his face, since you had walked up the aisle to him, met your stare. 

Not a word was spoken as he raised his left hand out for you to take, his right arm tucked securely underneath his pillow and he lay down.

“Come get back in back,” he mumbled. “‘S early innit.”

The bathroom light was turned off before you could even say ‘pregnancy test’. The item swamped in darkness as you shut the door and gently walked to your waiting husband. 

Eyes dropping from his you noticed the way he’d folded down the covers so they sat against his lower abdomen. The span of his upper body on show for you to see. 

“‘S late,” you corrected him when you were stood next to his side of the bed. Hand in his, Harry pulled it and gently placed it against his face, eyes slowly shutting when you found his hair and gently wove your fingers through his unruly waves. 

“Refuse to believe it,” he mumbled into your wrist, lifting his head slightly from his pillow to kiss your skin. 

“Why? Cause it makes you lazy bones,” you softly laughed, it turning into a squeal as he pulled you down to him, legs straddling either side of his body. 

“‘S ‘nough out of you,” he hummed, chin dropping to his chest as he reached up to brush your fallen hair out of your eyes. 

You let your eyes flutter shut as you felt the way the pads of his fingers gently skimmed across your face. His gentle touch tickled your skin, a smattering of goosebumps lining in the wake of his touch as he showered you with affection.  

You had no other choice but to press yourself down onto him, as he lay against the mattress. 

“Bloody obsessed wi’you,” Harry confessed, his eyelids hooded as his vision of you blurred and any light in the room was taken from him from your hair curtaining around your both. “I’d do some foolish fuckin’ things for you.” 

“Would you?” 

“Yeah,” he chuckled, voice low. “Surely you know it an’all.”

“Might do,” you felt the way his lips pulled up into a smile, your lips resting against his rounded cheek. “Might not.”

“You fuckin’ do,” he groaned, head knocking back causing your lips to fall further down his face, “Would give you the clothes off my back, would give you anything.”

“That’s a loaded statement, sure you don’t want to retract it.”

He shook his head, swallowing as he said, “Do with me what you want, doll.”

The rawness to his voice as he spoke had you brushing your nose against his beard, the tickle of his hair something you had grown used to over the never ending days. 

He turned his head waiting for you, the sound of his softly gasped name falling off your lips and straight onto his as he hummed happily in return. His hands brushed your hair behind you again as it continued to get in the way. 

Breathing heavy against his lips, he smiled when you pulled him closer to you, squashing your noses together as you devoured him. A hum low, in the back of his throat, as you slowed. A confidence warmed you, fingers carding through his hair and gently pulling at his chestnut locks to create a gap between the two of you.

He tried to nudge forward to reclaim your lips, but you stopped his movement with a commanding, “Stay still.”

His jaw clenched, before you soothed the back of your fingers over it. Harry wasn’t always used to you taking charge in any situation, especially not in bed anyway. Not all the time and not with such an authoritarian tone anyway. Usually you played it lightly, a flirtatious push and pull between you both.

“Said I can do what I want with you,” you hummed, watching the way his nostrils flared as his breath picked up. “Gonna take my time-“

You ducked your head, lips sucking his skin the minute they came into contact with the light dusting of his beard that scattered down his throat.

“Never usually get to take my time with my husband,” you trailed off, teeth naughtily grazing at the top of his rounded pecs. He’s usually far too greedy, you though, keeping it to yourself. 

Harry’s breathing was heavy now, his chest expanding as he tried to anticipate what was to come. His stomach tensed as your hands got lower. 

“Your husband,” he emphasised. 

“Know this is your favourite,” you watched him bend his left arm behind his head, raising his head slightly as he looked up at you sitting in his lap.

An amused chuckle reverberated through him. “If it’s with you, yeah, it’s my favourite.”

You dropped your eyes to his right hand as it came up to fiddle with the buttons on his dress shirt. Whilst there weren’t many buttoned up, he still couldn’t see as much of you as he would have liked. 

As he unbuttoned, from the bottom up, you began to rock your bare nether region against Harry’s pubic bone, before you pushed back some more and came into contact with the sensitive and wet head of his heavy and waiting cock. 

“Mm, found it,” he breathed, biting down on his bottom lip and tilting his chin upwards, eyes peering down his nose at you. “Tha’s what you wanted.” 

You knew you should’ve been mad at the way he wasn’t doing what you had asked but there was something about how his right hand sprawled it’s way across your stomach as you rolled yourself messily on top of him. How it had just stayed there, resting, warmly. 

With hooded gazed, you watched the way his bottom lip bounced away from his teeth, tongue enticing licking at the luscious pinkness and shining up at you. 

“‘S tha’ look for?”

Frown etched between your brows, you appreciatively gasped as you felt the way his cock tucked between your folds as you humped against his wetness.

You were looking at him whatever way you were, because you were obsessed with him too. 

Harry slowly pushed himself up, so you were chest to chest now. His lips bumped clumsily to rest on your chin, hand sliding around from your stomach and down your back before gripping at the top of your bum cheeks to keep you to him. 

“Glowing, y’know tha’,” he huskily mouthed against your jawline, your head slowly tipping backwards and starting to show the expanse of your heaving chest to him.

Eyes dropping down, he quickly glanced at your boobs, how they pushed against the material of his shirt and how rounded they looked. Definitely looked bigger to him.  

He knew he should stop himself, but he couldn’t. He was dying to strip you of the clothing item so he could get a proper look at you. 

His hands travel back up the span of your back, nails catching against the cotton of his shirt. You felt him start to bunch the item up as you slowly brought your head back up, just in time to catch the way he set his jaw as he pulled at the final button of the shirt to make it fall open.

That button ripped away from the fabric, lost somewhere forever, mixed between the sheets until you would find it sometime later next week and it would pull you back to the memory of this time you’d had sex. 

Harry’s head was already tilted back, his mouth now slightly ajar and lips still shining and pouty. Regardless of how much desire filled his face, you could tell he was waiting for you to tell him off. 

He was being too handsy for someone who had been told to stay still. 

“You’re not listening to me,” your soft whines were met with this breathy laugh down Harry’s nose. 

The silence between you was short before his deep voice said, “Can’t help wanting to have a proper look at you.”

Your bum pushed back into his hands as a response, gliding easily against him regardless of how he held your center snug to his crotch. 

“I’m getting hot,” you admitted, the cotton shirt becoming nothing more of a nuisance as it rustled around you. “This is getting in the way.”

Knowing you’d need help to pull the item off, Harry’s hand found their way to the middle of the shirt, slowly peeling the fabric away from your body. 

He heard you suck in a breath through your teeth, the wince cutting through the room as he helped you remove the shirt you had picked to sleep in. Hair cascading down your back, you felt him sit up further, pulling your face to his, as he cupped the back of your neck. Shirt long thrown to the bottom of the bed. 

“What was tha’?” His question was half lost against your cheek, his hands sliding down your nude back again, his grip strong as his palms found your arse and pulled you tight to him. He tugged you closer to him, a groan of lustful appreciation omitting from his throat.

“Bit tender, this morning,” you whispered, head dropping back as Harry pressed his softly smiling lips against the skin of your clavicle. “Stop it.”

“‘M sayin’ nothin’,” he spoke with a sing-y lilt, far to pleased with himself, softly lifting up and pressing his forehead to your collarbone. “Gonna have to suck on summat else if they’re hurting.”

“Haven’t done that in a while,” you mused, lips lifting as he hummed in agreement. 

“Not since the full beard came in,” he wistfully replied. “Come and sit on my face.” 

“Harry-“

“Alright, I’ll get back in m’box,” he jested. “Want you that way before I shave it off, at least once. At least-“ he trailed off when you took his mouth with yours again. 

It never got old feeling him between your legs, and the two of you just staying like that. Kissing heavily like teenagers and neither of you making the first move. 

“Don’t always get what we want.”

“I’ve done alright so far-“ he chuckled when you stilled against him, annoyed at how he had an answer for everything. 

Wrapping his arms securely around your back, you felt him lower the two of your back down to your bed. Forearms resting in the sea of pillows, you gripped at the side of his face, “why won’t you just let me have my way?”

“‘S fun like this,” he whispered, keeping his mouth hot and heavy against yours as he breathed. 

“You’re just spoiling it for yourself,” you tried to reason with him.

“Believe me I’m not,” he groaned, feeling you start to brush your aching centre over him once more, “I’m driving myself mad with want. Know you are too, know you’re gagging for me.” 

You whimpered at his suggestion, breathing getting heavier by the second as you desperately rocked against him in slow, purposeful rubs. 

“Darling, just put me in,” he dropped his eyes to look at the rock of your hips, “Have the real thing, have it properly, go on.”

His lazy but deep tone was too much to say no to as you lined him up at your aching warmth. 

“Fuck yea,” he bit down on his bottom lip, breathing heavily through his nose. His voice was spent, as he let his mouth hang open, dry and desperate for him to swallow. “Take me,” he barely murmured, as you felt his tip sit at your entrance.

“God,” his worn out voice sounded, his clammy hands moving to rest underneath your nicely raised bum cheeks , “Take me. All of me.” 

And just like that he was proved right, you were gagging for him. 

His length slipped easily inside you as you sat down upon him and released a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding out in one almighty pant. 

You didn’t waste much time once he was inside, leaning your body back and placing your left hand on the top of Harry’s thickening thighs for support, this mass of hair cascading down your back, the tips tickling at the tops of his knees.

Creating a 45-degree angle with the use of his legs, you put yourself on show from him immediately. You both knew this angle helped target you in all the right places, while still giving you ample control over the speed and depth of the thrusts. 

You’d gotten exactly what you wanted. 

It hadn’t gone unnoticed with Harry how your reclined position was an obvious invitation for him to stroke away at your clit. However, he found himself far too mesmerised by the way your body looked above him to bring himself to do anything but watch.

Your body had changed since he’d last taken you this way, or let you take him. He wasn’t sure where the power lay now and he didn’t care; not in the slightest.

You’d blossomed nicely, a bit more for him to grab onto since your wedding and he found himself flushing at how he could been fucking you like this and you be pregnant with his child.

He was convinced you were. Your boobs heaved above you, bigger than he’d ever seen them and he could’ve sworn you tummy was slightly more rounded than before. His gaze was getting lower, hands fighting with themselves where to go first and eyes trying to help him make the right decision. 

As they dropped, he swallowed heavily. You had started to get hairy, a sign of laziness but also of being comfortable. He remembered so vividly the first time he’d taken you when you hadn’t shaved, and you weren’t as brazen to share it with him as you were now.

“Look at you shagging me,” he hoarsely caught your attention as your right hand moved from where it was pressed against his stomach and swiped up your own body to smoothly bring your hair around to your front. “Tits look incredible.” 

His head dipped back as he saw your desperate expression as you brought your head up to sit your body up straight. Your adopted rhythm had been more of a rub and roll of your hips, rather than a drop and grind. It was almost as if the minute you had taken him inside, you didn’t want him to leave. 

“‘M dying to play with ‘em,” he confessed, his hands coming up to your sides, before stroking back down. His hand cracked against your bum without warning, as you rocked forward with more fervour. “Fuck me, go on. Please keep fuckin’ me, don’t stop.”

His voice was choked and as you looked down at him, his lust filled hooded stare was waiting for your frowning expression, as your hands found his chest and softly slid up to his neck.

They rested there lightly, until you saw Harry raise his chin upwards to open the expanse of his neck and throat to you. He looked alluring like this, lying beneath you and exploring something you’d yet to discuss together.

You lightly stroked your thumb against the center of his throat, feeling the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed. The feel of it causing you to panic, your hand starting to retract. How did you even know this was what he wanted? Just cause he had shown your more of his neck, didn’t mean anything. 

Before you could get too far away, you felt him gently take your hand and encourage you to keep exploring. His eyes were dark with arousal as he whimpered up at you. The stubble that lightly decorated the underside of his chin was more than taunting enough; never mind anything else.

“You want that?

“Want everything wi’you, do it properly,” he pressed heavily against your hand, jaw clenching before your eyes were greeted with his falling shut and his mouth hanging open. A wanton moan, fell off his lips. “Use me.” 

Keeping your eyes on his face you saw the way it began to flush with colour as your took away his ease to breathe.

The stifled groan of approval that left his lips as you rolled your hips up and dropped back down onto him with a clap of your thighs meeting, caused the most shit-eating grin you’d ever seen him wear, to pull up onto his lips. 

The leverage you had changed from digging your fingers into his throat. The position allowed you to press yourself hard down onto his cock, so much so that you could’ve sworn it was the deepest he had ever been. 

You stayed that way for a while, the echo of your skin clapping together as your thighs began to burn. His hand smoothed over your skin and gripped at your hips to encourage you to not give in. 

“My wife, pleasing me,” the roughness to his words, voice broken as you let his neck go but kept your hand there. “Doing as she’s told.”

You fell forward and brought your lips to his, his laugh at his previous statement mingling with yours. He knew he’d pissed you off saying that, a self confessed wind up merchant. He definitely didn’t wear the trousers here and he knew it. 

“Remember where my hand is,” you faux-threatened, soft raise to your brows. 

“Darling, you've had me by the balls since I first clapped eyes on you. Having me by the throat is nothing.” 

Now it was your turn to be smug. To drop your hips down upon him again and hear him submit a groan confirming his willingness to please you just as much. 

You felt yourself fluttering around him and it took everything within Harry not to hold you to him and just thrust upwards, giving you what you both wanted. 

He liked that you had wanted to drag it out, to roll your hips over his this entire time and let your clit rub against his pelvic bone on every thrust. He wanted you to get it how you wanted, to hold out for you and have you draw his release out of him. 

The whine that left your throat as you cupped around his neck and brought his face back to yours had him muttering words of approval that you couldn’t decipher. He knew you liked that, when you couldn’t quite figure out what filthy things he was saying to you to try and get you there. 

A playful mystery which summed the two of you up perfectly. 

“God, I love you,” you desperately gasped, face flushed and feeling clammy from your exertion.

“D’yer?” He roughly spoke. “You love fucking me, hm?” 

“No, I love you,” you whimpered at him, breathing deeply and eyes wide. “Say you love me.”

He chuckled at your sense of needy showing itself, “‘course I love you.”

He softly smiled when he saw how blissful your face fell, his hand finding the back of your head and holding you to him. “Love having sex with you too, hm. Fuckin’ love it.” 

You hips pressed down onto his as roughly as they could, a mixture of your arousal and his everywhere inside your thighs. Back and forth you moved in quick succession, panting matching how much you wanted it.

“Love it when you get like this, all messy and desperate for me. ‘S not like you, usually so put together and so good.”

“‘M so dirty for you-“

He groaned louder, feeling himself somehow press deeper in you. “Mhm,” he agreed against your jaw. “Yea, you are. Gonna come for me?”

“Dunno, ‘m thinking about it,” you smiled before fluttering around him and dropping your hips again. “Yes,” the motion of your hips started to get quicker once more. 

“Don’t stop this time,” he quickly whispered, pushing his chin up and catching his lips with you. “Want you all over me.”

As your movements got more abrupt the sound of the mattress beneath you made itself known. The rustling sounds of sheets, a tangled mess against your merged together limbs, spurred you on.

He knew how much you loved the sound of the mattress like this, really showed how heavy you were going at it. 

His awe for you was written all over his face as he looked at you. “Bit more baby,” he clenched his teeth, pushing up into you for the first time since you’d taken control. “Let me help you, hm?”

As he brought his hands down against your cheeks and hips, he pulled you down onto his strong thrust up causing you to reach for his face. “Come on, come on,” he whispered, sweat running down his temple and disappearing into his hairline.

The minute your mouth fell against his he knew he had you. Pliant as ever. You felt slack everywhere than around him. Tight and then gently fluttering teasingly around him. 

And he knew was done for. 

“Keep going, bit more,” he encouraged, just needing you to press down once more to meet him. When you obliged him, he spoke, “That’s my girl, yeah.”

Pulled down hard onto his pelvis, Harry vocalised how grateful he was. Pushing in further each time you squeezed and let him have it. So physically deep you don’t know where he ended and you began. 

He loved how you fell against him, shaking arms wrapping around you and holding you gently to him; keeping your face tucked against his sweaty neck. The two of you shook against each other, allowing your unsteady breath to even itself out.

As you felt him begin to soften before your legs, you shifted your body slightly, Harry mewling at the loss of contact as he slipped out of you.  

He nudged his nose into your hair, enjoying how the two of you were taking time to stay close. 

“Come share a bath wi’me,” he mumbled against your cheek. Feeling you shake your head, no. “No?”

“I don’t want another go,” you mentioned

He chuckled, “I don’t wanna shag you, I wanna treat you to summat.” 

“But I’m tired-“

“Yeah, ‘s hard putting all the work in, in’it.”

His statement caused you to bury your face into his neck even deeper. “Tell you what,” he hummed. “How ‘bout if I run the bath and you get to lie here while I do it? Sound better?”

“Yeah,” you childishly responded.

“‘Kay,” he hummed, amused, “Gotta let me out first.”

Not happy in the slightest at how you had to move, you gently rolled away from Harry and moved onto your stomach. Face pressed into his pillow, turned away from Harry he took his opportunity to run his eyes down your body.

The dip between your shoulder blades, how soft your skin looked to the naked eye, never mind felt to the touch. He couldn’t resist dropping forward, choosing to climb over your body rather than slip off the bed by his side and walk around. 

“Think you should take that test,” he murmured, into your sweaty shoulder, as you lay sprawled out facing away from him.

“Why?” You asked, question weary and voice slightly wetter than usual. You already had taken it. 

“Just think you should,” he happily hummed, nose running against the curve of your shoulder. “Call it a hunch, husband’s intuition.”

When he was met with silence, he decided to throw out a comment he knew would he incite a reaction from you. “Thinking of taking the bike out later.” 

His motorcycle, which had definitely seen better days, was absolutely not something you wanted him going near. Regardless of how attractive he looked on the bloody thing. 

“Are you trying to start an argument?” You mumbled your question, half of it lost against the pillow. 

“Alright I’m going,” he replied, hanging half over your body. The way he chose to climb over you, caused you to press your face into your pillow to hide your smile.

“D’ya want bubbles or not?” He asked, standing in the doorway of your bathroom, and looking over his shoulder. You stared at him, feeling a sense of nervousness swallow you. “Baby-“

“Sorry,” you blinked softly. “Surprise me.”

He lingered, trying to see if you were okay, before he turned to enter your bathroom. Door kept open, you could see his bare arse as held any over the tub to push the plug in and turned to look at something to add to your bath.

The sound of bottle shuffling around filled you ears before he asked, “We’ve got the muscle relaxant one of you-“ 

He’d seen it. The way he’d stopped talking let you know.

The shuffle of his feet was heard before he appeared at the doorway again. “What’s this?”

“What’s it look like?” You nervously replied, not even letting your eyes move to the item in his fingers. 

His softness of his face had you sinking into the bed, further than you thought possible. “Have a look, ‘s it say?” You asked him, watching his eyes blink before he turned to look at the item and read over what he had already seen once more to be completely sure.  

Harry blew out this sigh. The kind that really caused his body to move down. “What do you want it to say?” He asked, voice deep. 

You hated how his expression was so hard to read. Usually he was so expressive that he tended to give himself away, not this time. 

You saw him flick off the light in your bathroom, feet carrying him to you and letting his knee dip into the bottom of the mattress. Eyes following his every move, you dropped them down to his hand and saw the way that you clenched the item in his grasp.

The longer he took to let you know what the outcome off your test, was the worst you began to feel. His eyes were shining when they met yours again, them taking in the worry etched upon your face. 

“You’re making me nervous, stop it-“ you let your eyes flit between his as he silently crawled over you. “Harry, seriously-“

Dropping his nose to yours, he breathed out a happy laugh. This close lipped smile brushing its way into his lips as he let his lips hover over you.

“Let’s go take that bath together, Mommy.”

***

Excited to hear all your thoughts! Thank you for reading .x

[sopewriters]

his.

pairing: god!yoongi x reader

genre: literally just Filth

words: 1.9k

warning(s): cheating, referenced bondage, mild exhibitionism, degradation, mild humiliation, D/s, toxic relationship (if any)

“Well, isn’t this a lovely sight for sore eyes?”

You shiver from the heat of his gaze as it lights on you, setting your skin aflame and making you arch your back with aching need. The cords that wrap snug around your wrists keep you in place – tethered to the headboard of your bed, exactly where he wants you.

You bite your lip to muffle the whimper that threatens to slip free at the sight of his lips curved into a pretty smirk. You can’t – no one should be allowed to hear you. Not when you’re doing something so shameful.

“What sort of thoughts are running through your pretty head, I wonder?” His eyes narrow, and the sight makes another rush of heat flood you – this time rushing in between your legs. You rub your thighs together, a little mewl slipping from your lips as you feel how slick they are.

How long has he kept you like this, helpless and vulnerable to his suggestions? Unable to keep yourself from listening to him detail exactly how pretty you would look straddling his cock, how your lips belong on it, worshipping it? You don’t know, and you don’t particularly care either – you just need.

Insatiable little slut.

You are, and that isn’t even the worst of it.

“Y-Yoongi,” you whisper, tugging at your bindings as you struggle to reach him, to touch. “Please, Yoongi, please—”

“So soon?” Yoongi’s perched at the end of your bed, resting his cheek on his knee as he watches you, watches how you reach for him so pleadingly, so beautifully with a flush high on your cheeks. Watches your lips tremble as they shape around his name. “I didn’t think you’d have it in you. You really have no shame, do you?”

All too suddenly, he’s straddling your hips, pinning your throat to the mattress as he leans in close – achingly close to kissing you, so close – only to brush his lips over the lobe of your ear. “Going so far as to beg for another man while your husband lies beside you. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

You tremble in his grasp as he increases the pressure around your neck and your pussy throbs, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as darkness steeps into your vision. You embrace it wholly, but it’s all too much, and he hasn’t even touched you – hasn’t even let you feel his cool fingers against your heated folds yet.

“Have you even heard a single word I’ve said?” Yoongi’s saying as you gasp desperately for air, unable to summon a response. “Ah, your poor husband – he isn’t even awake to see his wife getting fucked by the very man he hates.”

He smiles sharply, then, and it’s a terrible thing – cruel and sharp – but all it does is make you want. Perhaps, weeks ago, you would have felt nothing but guilt for betraying he who lies beside you, but you can’t think of anyone beyond the god pinning you down.

“Mm, he shouldn’t have drunk so much, don’t you agree?” Yoongi murmurs, smirking down at you; both of you know he wasn’t drunk. It was you who mixed sleeping powder into his tea, after all. “Maybe he could have stopped me from making you mine.”

You’re already his, though.

“Tonight, I’ll take you back with me,” he purrs, enchanting, compelling. Your heart races from the sheer anticipation, eyes growing wide at what he implies. “I’ll fuck you into the mattress and drag you to my chambers while you still drip with my cum. And your dear husband won’t know until it’s too late.”

It is too late.

His lips press against your throat as he murmurs, “You’re already my perfect little whore.”

“Yes,” you gasp desperately as he bites down into your skin so deep – deep enough to break your skin and stain his lips red – as he finally presses his fingers into you, two at once. He doesn’t need to prepare you any further – he’s acquainted himself with your sweet little pussy over the weeks, after all – but he loves the power he holds over you, reducing you to nothing more than a hole to fuck with just his fingers.

He rules over you; your body, your mind, your soul – and you can’t escape him. You don’t want to.

He doesn’t need to ask; you can read the look in his eyes, thighs parting for him easily as he fucks you on his fingers, makes you squirm and gasp and moan in your bed. As he tilts your head to the side so you can see your husband’s sleeping visage as Yoongi slides into you, stretching your tight little hole as it accepts him.

“Greedy, greedy,” he tuts as you can your hips upward to take in more of him, smiling amusedly at you as you crane your neck for a kiss. “You know the rules, slut.”

You do. It’s the only boundary he’s ever set – he can choke you as much as he wants, on his cock or otherwise. He can play with your pussy until it’s raw and sensitive, he can fuck your throat until it aches, can fuck you right beside your own husband—

But he won’t ever kiss you. Won’t ever let your lips touch his, for all you’ve been aching for it. His eyes glimmer at every attempt, lips curving almost sweetly at you as he denies you again and again. And, pathetic as it makes you feel, you’re still drawn to him, helpless.

But you revel in the helplessness. He makes you.

“Moan as loud as you need,” Yoongi chuckles mirthfully, eyes roving over your face and taking in the flickers of pleasure that flit across it. Your wrists sting from how hard you’ve been tugging at them, wanting to touch, needing it. “He deserves to hear how good I’m making you feel right now.”

You clench tighter around him at the thought, eyes tracing helplessly over your husband’s features as Yoongi folds your legs back to your chest, making you feel so small as he bears his weight on you, fucking into you with sharp thrusts.

Your vision blanks out when he rolls his hips just right and you can’t hold back your voice any longer, sobbing out in pleasure as he locks onto his target and makes sure to let his cock strike at that perfect angle. It makes your hands tremble with the effort not to scrabble against each other as you’re forced to stay still; forced to accept whatever he chooses to do with you.

And, terrible as it may be, it makes you burn.

“You know what to do,” he smirks down at you, pleased at how you tremble for him, sing for him. He loves how needy you get, the closer you are to your release – loves that he can command you to do what he wants with the crook of his fingers. And when you’re like this, drunk on lust, on the pleasure he bestows upon you, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

And that includes tearing your pride to tatters with your own two hands.

“Please,” you beg shamelessly, unable to stop yourself; you need it so bad. Already, you squeeze around the god’s – around your god’s – cock at the thought of being fucked full of his cum, feeling his warmth in you. “Please, fill me up – need to cum, please, f-fuck!”

Yoongi smiles down at you, and the sight is nearly enough to have you cum on the spot – and he knows it. He knows how much you love that look on his face; the tiniest curve of his lips that belies his true fondness, his possessiveness. You’re his, in every sense of the word, and he treats you as such.

“You can do better than that, surely.” He chides gently, and you shake your head desperately when he pauses in his thrusts, unable to help the whine that leaves your lips at how empty you feel without him inside you. “I’ve taught you what you need to say; my greedy little whore can speak her mind around me.”

You bite down on your lips to stop a sob from ripping out of your throat, though a single touch is enough to have the tears streaming down your cheeks. You’re shivering from the pleasure, the sparks dancing up your skin from how sensitive you are from having been subject to this god’s whims for so long.

“Please, please, please,” you sob and it’s worth it, seeing the pride on his face as he hears your voice breaking around the words – you’ve put that expression on his face – and it’s more than enough to bolster you on. “Please let me – a-ah – let me feel good p-please, want my pussy fucked nice and full of your cum Y-Yoongi, I—”

You break off, keening when he touches your clit properly, rolling it carelessly between his fingers as he rolls his hips against yours.

“Perfect,” he shivers in visible pleasure at the naked want on your face – it fuels him, makes him feel nothing short of victorious, high on the thrill of claiming his prize so openly. “What a perfect little cockslut – you’ve never felt satisfied with this bastard’s tiny dick anyway, but you have an actual cock to worship from now on, and you like that much better anyway.”

He isn’t asking you – he’s telling you how you feel – but the thought sends a bolt of heat through you and you nod shamelessly at what he says, hips canting upwards so his cock will nudge deeper into you with every thrust. He notices this, of course, but he says nothing – just permits with a curious tilt of his mouth.

“Never needed him anyway,” you say breathlessly, tugging harder at your restraints so you can lean into his touch, run your hands over his perfect form in turn, but you know he won’t let you go – not unless that’s what he wants. “Oh, y-your cock s’all I ever wanted, thank you, thank you, thank you—”

You don’t even realize why you’ve seized up, tears falling down your cheeks as you tremble all over, heated inside out – not until Yoongi chuckles and wipes curiously at the damp skin. “Moved to tears, are we? Did you really want to cum that bad, you little whore?”

And with growing shame you realize that he’s exactly right – you can feel it, the unnatural dampness between your legs – you’ve gone and squirted over him, over a deity. Yoongi can probably pick up on your fear, because his cock twitches inside you – and despite yourself you squeeze hard around him.

“M’sorry,” you slur weakly, wrists falling limp as he reaches out, touches your cheek with inquisitive fingers, runs them over your parted lips. Your head is spinning, and you’re so tired.

He hums noncommittally. “For being such a useless slut for cock? There’s no need to apologize for being yourself, so don’t preoccupy yourself with that.”

“For now—” He leans over and runs a hand over your forehead, through your hair. “Sleep.”

It’s laced with a firm command, and you’ve already lost. Before you can even think to respond, your eyes flutter, slowly falling shut. But, even as your vision blurs, you’re unable look away from him. You’re his, after all.

Your chest rises and falls slowly, a picture of tranquility. He appraises you, dark eyes glinting. Yes. You’ll take wonderfully to your new home. And if you don’t—

Well. 

A few more days spent in his bed will be enough to thoroughly convince you.

written by: midnight

[drakenology]

so umm could you please possibly do one of being in love triangle with todoroki and bakugou where todoroki is a childhood friend while bakugou is a new classmate btw thankx and by the end you should have done it with both of them (not at the same time) thank you

IM SOOO SORRY I’M JUST SEEING THIS HONEY!

i gotchu baby! this is actually scandalous i like how you think. this ones for you on the double.

Just Can’t Choose- Bakugo x Todoroki x Fem!Reader

warnings: smut, cussing, angst, fluff, love triangle, cheating??

author’s note: so i got no notifs for this ask and it’s so old i’m so sorry this took me so long. here’s to my first ask! this one’s gonna be long

Todoroki and you were as thick as theives when you were kids. Still to this day you were inseparable even enrolling in the same school together. You think back to your first day at UA. Shoto was so excited when he found out you were going to be at his side throughout highschool just like in middle school.

“This is going to be great! Our first day at UA! Are you excited, Shoto?” You ask, jumping up and down while holding Todoroki’s shoulders. He laughs softly and nods.

“Yeah. I can’t believe we made it. I got a recommendation but you earned your spot here. Congrats.” He said. You smile and hug him tightly, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the school’s entrance like an excited child.

You were always the more energetic one out of the two of you. You remember Shoto being really shy and he mostly kept to himself, never speaking too much simply nodding or shaking his head to communicate. But with your help he eventually came out of his shell and you two have been best friends ever since.

You both approach class 1-A and sit a row away from each other, you waving at him from across the room. Todoroki blushed and waved back to you as class began. You were hardly paying attention to whatever the teacher was talking about, scribbling x’s and o’s in your notebook and daydreaming about you and Shoto. Suddenly you drop your pencil, hunching to pick it up when and pair of strong legs block your way. You look up to see a spiky headed blonde dream boat looking down at you with a fiery annoyance in his eyes.

“Outta my way.” He said gruffly, causing your stomach to churn at the deep and gravely sound of his voice. You gulp, unable to say anything as your heart practically beat outside your chest. Who was he?

It’s now your third year at UA and both you and Todoroki’s bond grew stronger, a friendship turning into seemingly unrequited feelings over the years. You couldn’t help but have this love for Todoroki having known him for so long. He just seemed to always know what you were thinking. You knew deep down he was your twin flame.

“Y/N? You’re daydreaming again. Did you hear what I said?” Todoroki asked. You snap out of your deep thought and look Todoroki in his heterochromia eyes, almost melting at his gaze even though he was only asking you a question. You were studying together in the school’s library, a tradition you two shared since middle school. Todoroki was really smart and you weren’t the perfect student so he always helped you. You owed most of your good test scores to him.

“Y-yeah. Sorry.” You said looking down at your notebook. Todoroki tutored you a little more until you heard a familiar voice ring in your ears.

“Oi, Y/N. The hell are you doin with icy hot?” Bakugo said, leaning against the desk you and Shoto were sitting at causing Shoto to groan in annoyance.

“What she’s doing is studying, idiot.” Todoroki said clutching his pencil, slowly turning it to ice as he gripped it tightly.

“Tch.. whatever. As I was saying, y/n. Why study with this dweeb when you could come hang with me instead, huh?” Katsuki said, leaning in close to your face as he grabbed your chin to make you face him. You were so flustered you couldn’t look away, freezing at his touch. Shoto was furious but he’d never let you know that. If he did, then you’d know his true feelings for you and it seemed like Bakugo had you wrapped around his dirty fucking finger.

“U-um.. sure..? Lemme just finish up with Shoto, Katsuki.” You say, avoiding Bakugo’s crimson gaze. You fidget in your seat a little as he releases your chin and agrees to wait for tou outside the library.

“Five minutes, or I’m coming to get you.” He said as he walked away. You sit in front of Shoto, embarrassed and now confused. You couldn’t deny your feelings for him but you also couldn’t help but be swooned by Bakugo. It was something about his crassness and his ability to say whatever was on his mind. He was so honest and open and he didn’t give a damn about what people thought of him. That confidence was such a turn on.

“Don’t let me stop you. Enjoy your date.” Todoroki feigning a tease while forcing a smile, deep down inside screaming and breaking Bakugo’s neck for touching you and taking you away from him.

You laugh it off, assuring him it’s not a date although you were unsure of that fact yourself. You grab your stuff and walk out to meet with Bakugo, Todoroki watching you leave with sadness written across his face.

“Where are we going anyways, ‘Suki?” You ask innocently, clutching the straps of your backpack as you followed Bakugo to his car. Bakugo opened the door for you and let you in the car before shutting it and walking to the driver’s side.

“I don’t know. To be honest I didn’t think this far. I guess we can go get hot pot, whaddaya say?” Bakugo suggests. You cheer and turn on the radio as Bakugo laughs and drives to his favorite hot spot place, eager to share this place with you.

Bakugo may not admit it directly, but he was smitten with you. He had been since the first year at UA when you bumped into his legs trying to grab your pencil off the floor. He couldn’t help be stare at the back of your head in class since he sat behind you and wonder what you like to do in your spare time. He loved that you were such a good hearted person, unable to find a negative bone in your body. Bakugo admired your positive disposition and he kinda wished he could be as sweet as you. If only he could find the strength to tell you how he felt.

After a long night of laughter and story telling you both finish your food. You sigh and lean back in the seat of the booth you sat in, groaning at the fullness of your stomach as Bakugo burping loudly.

“Ready to go?” He asked, as if he didn’t just belch. You giggle and nod, reaching into your bag for your wallet to help pay.

“The hell are you doin’? I got it. Tch..” Bakugo said as if he was irritated that you were willing to lay your half for the food.

“Thank.. you?” You said with confusion. Was he glad to pay or just annoyed. You could never tell with Bakugo. He was a riddle that you wanted to desperately solve. After Bakugo paid for the food you both walk outside to make your way to the car. You chat to him on and on about how much food you ate and how good it was until he suddenly stopped walking.

“W-what is it, ‘Suki?” You ask. Bakugo doesn’t answer. He instead pulls you into a passionate kiss, sending lightning bolts all throughout your body as you instinctively kiss him back. Fuck, what were you thinking? What about Todoroki? You can’t just ignore what you feel for him while fraternizing with Bakugo. Even if he was strong. And handsome. And a great fucking kisser. You moan as he deepened the kiss, pinning you against the car as he ran his hands up your body.

“This is what you wanted, huh?” Bakugo asked between this kiss. “Tired of that icy hot bastard, aren’t ya?” You freeze when he mentioned Todoroki, wanting to defend him but you’re so drunk on Bakugo’s touch you just stare dumbly at Bakugo’s smirking face.

“I-I.. I’m not dating Todoroki.” You admit, looking down at your feet feeling some kind of shame.

“Perfect. Then you’re mine.” Bakugo said darkly.

You tense up as he pulled you in to kiss him again. You hesitate and start to kiss him back. Bakugo pulls away breifly to open the back seat and lead you inside, crawling on top of you as he reached inside your uniform shirt. You squeal at his sudden movement, unsure if you can go through with this at first. But when Katsuki starts expertly leaving kisses on your neck all worry left your mind, sinking into the pleasure you were receiving as you grab at Bakugo’s pants to signal him to take them off.

“I knew you wanted me. Just as much I want you.” Katsuki says breathlessly. You moan in response as he unbuttoned the uniform shirt you wore, pulling your breasts from your bra as he suckled on your now swollen nubs. You start to clench, wetness sopping through your panties as Bakugo worked you over. He reached his hand under your skirt and felt the wetness seeping through your panties with a satisfied smirk. He pulled them aside and teasingly ran his fingers up and down your dripping slit.

“Heh. I haven’t even done anything. So fucking needy.” He mocked causing you cover your face as you blushed.

Sliding two of his thick digits into your soaking wet hole, he kept his eyes locked onto yours, you rolling your eyes to the back of your head in sheer bliss. You were overwhelmed with a feeling of guilt and shame but also pure euphoric pleasure, almost never wanting this feeling to end. The knot in your stomach tightened as Bakugo pumped his fingers in and out of your greedy pussy with purpose causing you to jolt and shake beneath him.

“S-Suki I’m-“ you’re interrupted by your orgasm crashing through your body, moans filling his car as you whine under him. Bakugo smirks and takes his finger out of you to lick them clean, kissing you to have you taste your own juices on his lips. You mewl, coming down from your high as Bakugo pulls out his dick.

“My turn, sweetheart.” He smirks.

After the intense and sloppy fucking you just received in the back of Katsuki’s car, he drives you home. The windows were still foggy from the heat you both excuded during the session and you lazily drew hearts and smiley faces in the fog with your finger. You were in bliss but at the same time you couldn’t help but feel like you made a terrible choice. Still, Todoroki had never told you how he felt about you so you doubt he’ll care. Still, you felt as if you cheated on him even though you weren’t even together. You feel your phone vibrate on your lap as Bakugo pulled up to your front door.

“See ya ‘round, kitten.” Katsuki says, pulling you into a goodbye kiss. You kiss him back with a small frown and get out of the car and check your phone. You freeze as Bakugo pulls away, reading the text you got from

“❄️ half n half 🔥”

“SOS.” It read. It was late and you should probably get inside and go to bed but Shoto needed you. You rush to Todoroki’s house, calling him to let him know you’re outside without alerting his sleeping family. Shortly, Shoto walks outside and stands in front of you.

“So.” He said coldly.

“So...?” You say nervously.

“Do you know what time it is? And you’re just getting home. Don’t tell me you forgot we share locations with each other. I watched you all night.” Todoroki says, gesturing to your disheveled uniform. Shit. Busted. You look down at your feet.

“Look. I don’t even wanna know what happened between you and that bastard today. I could fucking kill him.” Todoroki says, fire forming as he balls his hands into fists. You take a step back from him, knowing that when Shoto gets angry he gets pissed.

“W-What are you talking about?” You asked, unable to look him in the eyes as you lie to his face.

“Don’t. Do not insult my intelligence by lying to my fucking face, Y/N. You were with Bakugo all night. And now you show up here with your uniform all messed up and hanging off your body.” Shoto says sternly, the fire growing bigger as he gets angrier. Shoto was furious. Not only did Bakugo take your attention from him earlier today but he now knows you slept with him before he could. He couldn’t be more fucking angry right now.

“What do you care!? I’m not your girlfriend. All this time we’ve spent together and you never once told me how you felt about me. So why do you care, Todo!?” You yell.

“Because I love you, you fucking idiot!” Todoroki yelled back, shocking you into silence.“Yeah. I said it. I love you. I always have. And I always will. And just knowing that he touched you, was inside you; it infuriates me. What is it about him, huh?! What does he have that I don’t!?”

You stare at Todoroki as hot tears stream down his face in utter betrayl. He knows it’s selfish for him to even be upset with you being as he’s never confessed his feelings until it was ultimately too late, but he couldn’t help it. His love for you consumed him and he’ll be damned if he let you be swiped from under his nose without a fight.

“T-Todo.. I-I love you too. I always loved you. What happened with Bakugo just.. it was in the heat of the moment. If I knew how you felt I would have never even touch him. I wanted to be with you for so long and I-“

Todoroki shuts you up with a feverish kiss. You kiss him back immediately, wanting this for so long. That spark you looked for in Bakugo was strong with Shoto, the world seeming to freeze as you held each other in the snow as you kissed. Your arms slightly burned as Todoroki’s hands were still hot to the touch, him making them cold to numb the pain before you blistered. You start to cry within the kiss, Todoroki shushing you in between the kisses as you comforted you.

“I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry.” You plead as he kissed you, pulling him impossibly closer to you as you sob.

“Don’t be. I love you anyway.”

I hope you liked this! I typed this up just for you. Forgive me for responding so late 🥺.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis is a series that looks at villains across various media in the hopes of coming to something of a consensus on the overall quality of the character. Are they performed well? Do they enrich the narrative? Are their motives fleshed out? Are they voiced by Tim Curry and thus a sex icon? 

There are a lot of important questions that I look into, but ultimately, Psycho Analysis boils down to asking one simple little question: How bad can a character be?

Thankfully, there’s one villain who decided to answer that question for me... in song form.

Psycho Analysis: The Once-ler

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Yeah, I’m finally talking about everyone’s favorite greedy bastard who, back in some of the darkest days of Tumblr history, ended up being the premier sexyman on the website. People were thirsting over this twiggy weirdo, acting as if he were God’s gift to women and shipping him with alternate versions of himself. Much like the movie he’s from, he is now incredibly hard to take seriously.

But hey, speaking of alternate versions of himself, I’m going to be covering him from the original book and the animated short film as well. Might as well just knock it all out of the park at once, right? Now let’s see how ba-a-a-ad this guy can be.

Motivation/Goals: The Once-ler is all about biggering. He’s making thneeds (things that everyone needs) and he is gonna stop at nothing to craft these things. Not even the power of the Lorax, Danny DeVito or otherwise, is going to stay his hand from getting that sweet, soft Truffula fluff to make his wares. This is ultimately a little unrealistic, at least for the Illumination version; if Danny DeVito asked me not to do something, I’d listen, no questions asked.

Performance: In the animated special, Bob Holt does double duty, as he is portraying both Once-ler and the title character. It works really well for what they’re going for, and the double casting is interesting because it highlights the ultimate role of the Lorax as the Once-ler’s conscience given form.

In the film, Ed Helms portrays the Once-ler, and he’s fine. He’s certainly better casting than Audrey, but that’s not particularly saying much considering that’s a non-singing Taylor Swift (when Cats is able to utilize Taylor Swift better than your musical, you know there’s trouble). I don’t know, Ed Helms is fun and all, but I’m just not sure his take on the Once-ler is all too compelling overall.

Final Fate: In the original book and the special, the Once-ler wins… but even he realizes it’s a terrible, pointless victory, and all he has achieved is ruin, his family leaving him, his business ultimately collapsing, and the environment permanently damaged. He’s left as a miserable, jaded hermit, broken by the bleak consequences his greedy actions have sown upon the world and only able to tell his story and pass on the last Truffula seed in the hopes that maybe, maybe someday the trees can regrow and the Lorax will return. The Illumination version follows this but then tacks on a happy ending  where the Lorax and Once-ler reunite because as we know ambiguity and bittersweet endings cannot exist in children’s films.

Best Scene: Obviously it’s the scene where he shakes his ass to seduce Jack Frost, in one of the greatest gay romances ever put to film.

Joking aside, it is undoubtedly his villain song. It has become such a meme, but real talk? “How Bad Can I Be” slaps. This is a really good song, probably too good for the movie but you know what, I’ll take it.

Best Quote: HOW BA-A-A-AD CAN I BE? Yes, I’m using a line from his villain song. Sue me.

Final Thoughts & Score: What can one really say about the movie version of the Once-ler that hasn’t already been run into the ground? Well, how about… He’s not too bad, honestly? Like, yes, he has next to nothing to do with his book counterpart and they really go way too far into trying to make a capitalist pig sympathetic… but the animated special from the 70s did that too. I think the Once-ler honestly works better when there is a dash of complexity to him and he isn’t just a simple-minded Captain Planet villain.

Of course, the issue here is that the 70s version took a simpler approach, kind of less is more. The 70s Once-ler brings up some valid points to the Lorax about his work, and the Lorax can’t help but agree that there’s no easy answer while also stressing that the environmental devastation is still really, really bad. It works, it feels complex, and it arguably helps the ultimate point that we need to protect the environment better than even the book did (and I love the book, don’t get me wrong, but its take on the Once-ler is a bit too simple for its own good; it almost runs into the Femme Fatale problem by being a bit too much of a strawman). The movie version has a bit too much going on, especially with his family. His family are much more blatantly evil, greedy, and manipulative, but they’re relegated to the background for much of the film and don’t effect things all that much. The whole narrative would have been infinitely stronger if they were the greater scope villains behind Once-ler and were who needed to be defeated and maybe taught a lesson, but instead they are ignored in favor of someone I’ll address very shortly.

All of this leaves movie Once-ler feeling extremely disjointed, but not irredeemably so. As I said before, his villain song is unironically awesome, and as lame as it is compared to the more haunting, contemplative ending of the book and the special, I’m not so much of a curmudgeon that I didn’t at least smile when he finally reconciled with the Lorax. Ultimately though, him being memed to death really didn’t help his case, but it means I’m not giving the movie version anything less than a 3/10. He might in fact be the best “so bad it’s good” villain ever, or at least up there. He’s just so undeniably enjoyable even if the narrative isn’t making him as complex as it thinks it is. The animated special version gets a 9/10, the book version is a 7/10, and the Once-ler’s family gets a 5/10 for being an interesting concept they sadly do little with, which will now be elaborated on as I follow up on the foreshadowing from the last paragraph...

Psycho Analysis: Aloysius O’Hare

Remember how I said the Once-ler’s family gets ignored in favor of someone else? Here he is, Aloysius O’Hare, one of the absolute lamest villains ever put to screen.

Motivation/Goals: He’s greedy. That’s it. I’m not kidding. He’s just a cartoonish caricature of a rich person, which still makes him a realistic portayal but also makes him boring as sin compared to the wacky dude with a big musical number about how bad he can be.

Performance: Rob Riggle does a decent job, but there’s really not much for him to work with here. This character is a cardboard cutout who exists to be as cartoonishly greedy and evil as possible with no nuance so the kids know who to root against and so that Once-ler doesn’t look bad in comparison.

Final Fate: Look, he’s a blatantly evil corporate villain in a kid’s movie about the environment. Of course he gets defeated and everyone turns on him. What’s especially funny though is that, on the brink of learning his lesson, he rejects any form of redemption and just goes whole hog on being a villain.

Best Scene: I will absolutely give him this: in the face of his ultimate defeat, after having the virtues of trees sung to him and the entire town turning on him, he for a moment contemplates turning over a new leaf… and then absolutely rejects the thought and instead decides being evil is just too much fun, at which point he tries to get everyone back on his side by seeing a funny little song about death while wavedashing. If more shitty villains did this, I don’t think there would be shitty villains.

Best Quote: LET IT DIE, LET IT DIE, LET IT SHRIVEL UP AND DIE! Yes I’m quoting a song again.

Final Thoughts & Score: Look, I’m not gonna mine words here: O’Hare sucks. Big time. He is a prime example of why The Lorax failed as an adaptation. In a story that is dealing with a moral grayness with no easy answers, O’Hare is just a big, blatant target, a dark shade of black in terms of black-and-white morality. He’s like a reject Captain Planet villain with Edna Mode’s haircut.

The movie would have been infinitely better if, instead of him, the Once-ler’s family were in control of the town, and they needed to learn the lesson about saving the trees instead of simply vanishing from the story. They were shown to be overbearing, manipulative, and greedy, and they had a much more personal connection with Once-ler being, you know, his actual family. The fact they abandon him and never really get any sort of comeuppance despite being perhaps the most evil people in the move, egging on Once-ler and taking full advantage of him, makes O’Hare all the more egregious, because there could have been some strong thematic elements that would have tied the film together and made it come off as much less preachy and more nuanced.

But we don’t live in a world where that happened, we live in a world where we got O’Hare. Aside from some genuine hilarity from him at the end, O’Hare really adds very little to the film. I gotta give him a 2/10, but I will say he’s a lot closer to a 3 than he is to a 1; there’s no denying his absolute rejection of learning a moral is absolutely hilarious. I love when villains do that. It’s just a shame those funny moments are wrapped up in something monumentally unimpressive.

[holylulusworld]

Still a bad girl

Summary: Still sneaking around to play the cat burglar you get caught by a certain Avenger again.

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Criminal!Reader

Warnings: language, the reader is a brat, snarky comments, smut, unprotected sex, restraints (ropes), somnophilia (oral female receiving), dirty talk

A/N: Not endgame compliant. Steve is still Nomad!Steve.

Sequel to: Bad Girl

Dividers by @writeyourmindaway​​

“There you are, sweetheart,” snickering you pick the lock of the vitrine. Engrossed in getting the job done you feel a shadow behind you. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Rogers.”

“I knew you would go after Russow to steal his wife’s diamond necklace,” Steve quips, proud on himself he was two steps ahead again. “Just give up and follow me, doll.”

“That bastard sells people, Steve! He’s involved in human trafficking, just like his prissy wife,” you narrow your eyes when Steve tries to grasp for your arm. “I have to hit him where it hurts the most. His greedy wife loves that necklace.”

“Y/N, he’s a dangerous man, doll. Let me get hold of him and take his business down. Tony and Natasha are on it,” Steve offers but you roll your eyes, cracking your neck.

“Whilst they try to reverse the snap? I highly doubt they find the time to help people who suffer meanwhile,” concentrating on picking the lock you ignore Steve is watching you. “No one gives a shit on the poor girls getting sold or anyone else.”

“I do, Y/N. Let me punish Russow and we can go home,” you scoff at the word ‘home’, glaring at Steve who still tries to talk you out of the heist you planned.

“I got no home, Captain Rogers. The first time I lost my home was after the snap. A cold-hearted bastard I paid rent to for over six years kicked me out. I never paid too late, but the snap happened and suddenly, I was a cockroach to him. Then I finally had a new home and you came along. I had to run again, thanks for that.”

“I meant my home, doll. You can home with me,” pleadingly looking at you Steve holds out his hand. “I can still just throw you over my shoulder.”

“That man, he deserves to feel the pain he causes every single day, Steve. How can you stand there and tell me to not steal his wife’s necklace to sell it?” you purse your lips jerking your head toward the large safe opposite Steve. “He makes money by abusing and selling people. I want to help the girls escaping him and the orphanage too. There is an elder lady who will end on the street if she does not pay her landlord.”

“Doll, I’ll do anything to bring him down but please come with me, now,” you can hear tumult outside of the room. “We don’t have time. The team will be here in a few moments and arrest you.”

Just now you recognize the worried look on Steve’s features so you nod, glancing at the necklace one last time. “Another time, beautiful,” you sigh, taking the hand Steve offers.

“Did you come here to save me, Captain Rogers?” giggling you sneak out of the window. Steve does not answer your question, busy to follow you out of the window without getting caught. “Steve?”

“Maybe. I had to protect my bad girl after all,” you would kiss him if not for the messed-up heist. “Now be good and come with me, darling. My bike is over there,” Steve jerks his head toward the bike, and you nod, running toward his vehicle.

“This doesn’t make up for the month without sex, Rogers,” Steve jumps onto the bike, holding out his hand again. “Always the gentleman.”

“That’s not gentlemanlike,” tugging at the ropes holding you to the headboard you curse under your breath. “Steven Grant Rogers! You can’t just undress a girl, eat her out only to restrain her to your fucking bed.”

“You look good on my bed, Y/N,” Steve purrs, running his hands down your back. You shiver at the gentle touch, knowing you are at the mercy of a super-soldier. “Love to watch you squirm for me.”

A slap to your ass later Steve has your full attention. “Maybe I need to tame my little greedy kitty-cat again? I think you need to feel justice in your bones.” You know what comes next, but nothing can ever prepare you for Steve’s cock nudging at your slick entrance.

“You’re justice in rusty armor,” you grin to yourself. You do not have to turn around to know Steve has an angry expression on his face. The way he grips your hips with one rough hand to slide into you tells you the whole story.

“You’re still a bad girl, but you are my bad girl from now on,” the dark undertone let a shiver run down your spine. There is no denying, you love his dominant side. “I’ll play with you tonight and you’ll be my good girl.”

“Good girl my,” you cry out feeling his length spread you open with one harsh stroke. You pant, struggling to keep the noises you want to make for the golden boy down your throat, “ass.”

Shame on you for mewling like a cat in heat, but who gives a fuck when Captain America uses you like a rag doll.

His hips move without giving you time to adjust, one hand forces your head into the cushions, presses hard down your neck whilst his other hand holds your hip in an iron grip. “I think you need to feel me for days.”

“I already feel you,” huffing you try to meet his thrusts, but your body is completely at his mercy. “Boy, you can make a girl feel special.”

“Special, that’s what you are,” Steve smirks hearing the needy whines leave your lips. He is slowing down now, pulling all the way out to enjoy your struggle to breathe when he pushes back in with full force.

“Look at you,” he is pulling out, “such a needy kitten,” and pushes back in, “mine,” and out, and in without breaking a sweat.

Your body slicks for him, almost begs for it to go on or to be over soon. While you moan, struggling against the ropes holding you Steve has a smug grin on his lips.

“Do you want to cum for your Captain?”

“Yes, fucking yes,” you whine, feeling the knot tightening. “Please, baby.”

“How did you call me, doll? I want to hear a proper title,” you grunt, wiggling in his grip. “It’s not that hard.”

“I…,” hating you have to give in to get your release you press your face into the soft pillow, “want to cum, Captain.”

“That’s a good girl, now cum for me,” his hand moves between your legs to rub your clit in slow circles. His touch is tender but the way his hips slam into your ass with raw force let you know he’s still pissed. “Now.”

“I hate,” brain wrecked you whimper his name, followed by insults as the high ripples through your body. Steve’s hot release fills your womb and you groan, exhausted but sated. “you.”

When you slowly wake from a deep slumber there is something wet lapping at your cunt, a low groan followed by two rough hands spreading your legs wider wake you completely as another orgasm wrecks your body.

“Steve,” you throw your head back, feeling his fingers slide into you to feel you pulse around him. “What was that?”

“Breakfast in bed,” grinning Steve looks up at you from between your legs. “I got hungry and didn’t find what I want to eat in the fridge so…I licked your sweet cunt.”

“Steve, what are we doing here?” You cover your eyes with one arm, sighing deeply. “You’re Mr. Justice and I am still a thief.”

“You stole from the rich and gave it to people needing help. The ones no one else tried to help,” Steve gives you a soft smile, placing something cool onto your belly. “I got you something.”

Slowly removing the arm from your eyes you look down your body to see the diamond necklace on your stomach. “How did you get this, Steve?”

“I sneaked out last night and asked Natasha for help,” now a blush creeps into Steve’s cheeks. “I am more the ‘I run through a wall kind of guy’,Nat can pick a lock and things.”

“You went back to get it,” you squeal, grasping the necklace before you throw yourself into Steve’s arms. “You know, this makes you my accomplice, Captain Rogers.”

“I know, doll,” husking the words Steve feels your hand creep into his sweatpants. “Y/N,” hissing your name he watches you lick your lips.

“I think, this screams for the best blowjob ever,” you drop the necklace to fist Steve’s shirt, bringing him down for a dirty kiss.”

“Erm-uh,” someone clears his throat behind Steve’s back, smirking as you do not remove your hand from your lover’s pants. “I hate to disturb you Capsicle but I think Bruce and I had a breakthrough last night. Maybe, just maybe we can undo the blip…”

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[angelmichelangelo]

i’m about five years too late and nobody asked for this except me and i need to just get this out of my brain because it’s 2am so here’s a list of things i wish happened on glee that didn’t HERE WE GO:

- new directions being actual teenagers. just them hanging out. going to group sleepovers. giant study sessions (because school exists in this universe?) like remember in tpp when they were eating lunch together ? that’s what i wanted MORE of. just them being actual friends. a sleepover episode is all i wanted imagine all the abba songs we could have gained from that episode

- a halloween themed episode. the closest to this that we got was the ‘thriller/heads will roll’ mashup which YES was iconic but im greedy and it’s not enough. my idea for a halloween episode is that the gang gets trapped inside the school after staying behind to idk rehearse? or something? and then things get progressively worse as they start to go a little mad, thinking the school is haunted and they split up into pairs trying to find an escape and they think they’re seeing ghosts/someone lurking around the school and they’re getting real spooked but it turns out it’s just sue fucking with them lmao

- kurt and finn being brothers. THE POTENTIAL WAS THERE and sadly after furt we are left with crumbs. why ?? WHY?? little moments like finn saying that he’s driving back home with kurt or them saying they can’t do something because they have a family thing would have been good enough. more scenes of them hanging out in their home with their parents would have been *chefs kiss* but alas. it never happened because glee writers are bastards

- based off my last point: sam actually living at the hudson-hummel house because he actually did live there? but nothing is ever said like what’s the dynamic there why weren’t kurt and sam and finn close if they all lived together for what? like a year? was sam living in the mf shed? did he ever get close to carole and burt?? where tf did he live when everyone went off to college did he just stay in their house lol who knows not me LMAO

- blaine dealing with his trauma ? mental health was never dealt with very well on this show. emma’s ocd was just ignored after she got married or whatever and blaine mentioned his trauma once and then it was ignored until it was mentioned in passing a few seasons later and even he just brushed it off and it was never brought up again like wtf. i have no idea how they wrote a whole episode about hate crime in bash and they never once thought to have blaine and kurt have a single conversation together, let alone a conversation about how they’d both been victims of a hate crime. AND THE ONLY TIME BLAINE DOES MENTION IT IS IN TESTED WHERE ITS JUST USED AS A REASON FOR THEM TO FIGHT AAAAAAAA no wait im calm it’s okay. i just would have liked to have seen kurt and blaine have an emotional moment together in that episode that didn’t include blaine singing and kurt being knocked tf out. just sayin.

- kurt dealing with HIS trauma !! again, glee gets bad points for talking about mental health and it just is crazy that they had so much potential with kurt, ie: depression, anxiety, ocd (kinda?) his bullying, being literally assaulted (i see u ryan murphy taking that whole plot line so loosely mmhm) and then shoehorning in the fact that he was suicidal AT THE SECOND TO LAST EPISODE when they had a whole episode about suicide and they could have mentioned it at any time but ofc they didn’t because the writers just wanted to shove in as much as they could in the flashback episode AYE AYE AYE the potential!!!! oof.

- literally just more tina. jenna ushkowitz is a fantastic actor/singer/preformer and she was criminally underused. i like the episode props because of two reasons: one. everyone switching characters was amazing. and two. some actual tina scenes. even if she.. technically was rachel but also herself or something? either way. i digress

- this is just in general but MORE ABBA AND ALSO THE CARPENTERS and also some sound of music songs would have worked GREAT but they already had like a million songs and as the show progressed they veered away from old songs and more towards popular songs at the time to help chart numbers blah blah blah whatever it’s cool. but also how did they only do a few abba songs that is criminal

- a more fleshed out ending that wasn’t so rushed. like rachel won a tony and everyone else is just? there? why is sam at mr shue’s house ??? how did artie get up the stairs? did quinn graduate from yale? and where tf was kurt and blaine’s child during ‘i lived’ because burt and carole are vibing in the audience and rachel isn’t pregnant so like? is the baby just?? alone somewhere in the wings?! lmao where are u bby girl!! but once again i know they didn’t have the time to do it so idk it’s fine what they did it just sucks we didn’t get more! but again. fanfic exists so yah im all good

- more of blaine’s mum. or mom, in this case i guess. why cast gina gershon and then give her ONE line like ? ik there was a whole deleted script that explained why she was there but i love that up until that point blaine seemed like he genuinely murdered his parents, lived in their big house all alone and when people got suspicious he just told them that they were “out of town” :) either way pam is great i love her and i wish she had more to do in the one episode she was ever in. not even a moment with blaine?? wasted.

- more of cooper anderson, matt boomer is so fucking funny everytime i think of the emotion tornado i bust a lung laughing like it’s so fucking stupid but oh my good i love it. (and if you haven’t watched the special feature of cooper’s transformers audition tape please please watch it because it’s just so funny.) ik he was just a special guest but i wish they got him back for at least the wedding ep but guess my mans was just busy. boo ;(

- going back a couple of points, i wish they’d done a whole episode like props. every actor here just shines when they’re impersonating each other. finn and puck as kurt and blaine is beautiful and quinn and sugar is incredible. also idk why they refused kevin the right to wear the cheerios skirt; they could have put a little more effort into some characters but that’s glee for ya lmao but yeah. a whole episode like that would have been so much fun

- they should have let chris colfer write more episodes. purely for the fact that he wrote with his own bare hands the whole scene where lea michelle’s character gets dragged down a road by dogs. this guy. it’s a shame he only got to write one since he actually did a really good job! i would have loved to have seen what other episode ideas he had :)

- glee in the summer! obviously it only was centred around the school year but after season 3 who honestly gave a shit about the glee club and mckinley lmao i wanna see them in SHORT SHORTS and POOL PARTIES but nope we just got september - june so like rip all my hopes and dreams

- WHAT HAPPENED TO DALTON? bitch just burst into flames ?? and for WHAT?? oh yeah plot convenience smh this is so sad i wish they’d either written something better than “we need the warblers to team up with new directions so uhhh the school burnt down” like. it’s a private school. if the school is gone and they’re just staying at mckinley what are the parents paying for? they’re just cool with sending their kids off to public school now? every adult in this universe has been murdered by these kids, haven’t they? they’re just doing whatever they want jfc

- a wedding was a good episode. ish. and yknow, huge kudos to them because gay marriage wasn’t legal in the us at the time so im less harsh on the fact that they definitely threw up the rainbow flags and made it less about the characters getting married and more so “we have gay characters and look they’re getting married what a concept” but i do wish we could have gotten some more married!klaine since they don’t really have much to do after this understandably but a little moment alone together after the wedding would have been nice :) IT WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE IM TELLING YOU

- get rid of the hummelberry friendship and send mercedes to new york instead. i have nothing else to add to this other than the fact that i mourn the fact that kurt and mercedes went from bffs to just. school mates. this is tragic this is traaaaagic !! and all for more of the rachel berry show smh

- every day i wonder what was going through carmen tibideaux mind when she watched the kurt hummel preform not the boy next door and was like :) and then watched rachel berry have a breakdown on stage and then proceeded to give rachel the spot at nyada and kurt gets payed literal dust. and THEN she had the nerve to tell him it was because his performance had no heart. AND HOW DID ADAM GET IN THIS BABY GOT BACK MOTHERFUCKER?! nyada is a circus school oh my god !!!!! kurt deserved better im telling yall he deserved so much better

there’s so much more i could rant about but im going insane im so tired and i need psychological help after watching glee so im gonna leave it here and say peace out homies it’s been fun but i need to sleep so bad