#she hides between the bookshelves until you come into the room

[binah-beloved]

Binyah 👍 you agree

i agree. Binyah excellent

[hllywdwhre]

The Hunt

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader

Summary: Spicy hide-and-seek with Tommy

Word count: 1350

Warnings: Hunter/prey dynamic, maybe CNC? She fights back but everything is consensual, use of ‘pet’ as a pet name but no pet play, inaccurate description of the floor plan of the library (leave me alone), mild bondage, spanking, rough sex, p in v, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it)

Notes: before I got the promotion and all hell broke loose with Helene’s bitch ass coming through, this was going to be part of my kinktober😌enjoy, sluts

Your heart pounded in your ears as you tried as quietly as possible to move throughout the massive manor. Tommy had given you a two minute head start to try and hide from him, but you knew he would eventually find you, and you both eagerly awaited it and longed not to be caught.

The longer he had to look, the better it would be for both of you.

There was something about knowing he was looking for you. About knowing that when he found you, he was going to make you scream.

You heard the sound of the door opening down the hallway and tensed. You were hidden in one of the spare bedrooms’ closets and under a pile of old blankets resting in the corner.

As you heard the rest of the doors open and shut and heard his footsteps grow nearer to you, you couldn’t help but focus on the sounds of your own breathing, forcing your breath to come out silently despite the adrenaline making you want to take deep gasps.

“Come on out, pet. You know you can’t hide from me forever,” Tommy called to you.

The door opened to the room you were in and you held your breath, freezing completely when the closet door opened.

To your surprise, he didn’t look under the blankets and shut the closet door. You waited until you heard him begin to look in other rooms before daring to step out of your hiding spot.

Without making a noise, you made your way out of the closet and peaked under the door of the bedroom, trying to see if you could see any sign of him. When you saw him step into his office, you quietly opened the door and took off towards the library.

As you stepped inside, you left the door cracked. It was a give away as to where you were (for now), but the sound of the door closing was even more damning. You didn’t allow yourself too much time to think of where to hide, instead running to the opposite corner of the room. You grabbed a pillow from the little sofa near the fireplace before hiding behind the very last row of bookshelves that lined the room. The shelves were about three feet high, meaning you had to crouch down behind them to remain hidden, but you would be able to see Tommy as he walked past them.

“You’re getting sloppy, pet. You left the door open,” Tommy suddenly called as he stepped into the room. “It’s like you want me to find you,” he taunted.

You didn’t reply and kept your breathing as even as possible, peaking your head around one of the corners to watch as he walked through the rows of books, looking down each row of them.

When he was about three rows away from you, you threw the pillow like a frisbee to the opposite side of the room and took a few moments of him investigating the cause of the sound to crawl past the rows of books he had already looked down and hiding in between two of them.

It was when you heard the sound of his shoes and then heard nothing that your heart dropped. He had taken off his shoes to muffle the sound of his footsteps, meaning you would have to risk actually looking back to get some sign of where he was at.

You peaked around one corner and didn’t see him at all.

Suddenly, a hand came down over your mouth at the same time that you heard his voice whisper in your ear, “Nice try.”

You began trying to squirm out of his grip as his arm wrapped around your waist and picked you up. You didn’t even use half of your strength to try and fight him. You only wanted to irritate him more, not risk truly hurting either of you.

“That cunt is mine now, pet,” he growled out, roughly forcing you over the edge of the bookshelf and pinning your hands behind your back.

The bookshelves were just high enough that you couldn’t get any traction on any of the shelves or the floor, but that didn’t stop your petulant squirming.

A rough slap landed on your ass, causing you to freeze long enough for Tommy to lift your skirt over your hips and trail his fingers along your cunt.

“No panties and you’re soaking wet, yet you’re trying so hard to get away from me,” he teased before his touch was gone and you heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled. “Now, you’re going to take my cock like a good little whore since you made me chase you all over this godforsaken manor and lay you over the bookshelf, understood?”

You bit your lip to hide a smirk and tried squirming under him again, only to be met with two more quick slaps to your ass that caused you to whimper. As soon as your motions faltered, he lifted one of your legs and placed it over the edge of the bookshelf, then pushed inside you in one quick motion.

“Fuck!” You yelped and moaned out all at once. The stretch burned, but you were wet enough just from the chase that it didn’t truly hurt.

Tommy gave you no time to adjust before he was pounding into you with abandon. He kept a tight grip on your wrists that were still locked in his hands and a grip on your thigh that was over the edge of the bookshelf, using them to keep you in place. With a slight change of the angle of his hips, you were moaning loudly underneath him and he was chuckling above you.

“Good girl,” he praised, “take my cock like you were meant to do.”

You clenched around him at the praise and felt his hand move from your thigh and his fingers go to your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts and causing your moans to turn to desperate whimpers.

“Fought and hid so well for what? I can feel the way you already want to cum around me,” he taunted, causing a small bit of embarrassment to fill you at just how quickly he had managed to get you to the edge already.

“Please, Tommy, can I cum?” You begged. The coil in the pit of your stomach grew tighter and you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer.

“Go ahead,” he said easily, “but I’m not stopping until I finish, too, pet.” As if to punctuate his point, the speed of his thrusts picked up and he made sure to hit that spot inside you every time.

You gave in to the pleasure, knowing he was going to keep going but not being able to hold yourself back. Your nails dug into the palms of your hand and the only thing that fell from your lips was a symphony of curses and his name.

With your orgasm taken care of, Tommy began focusing on his own pleasure, letting his thrusts become reckless and sloppy as he chased his own high.

Your whimpers, moans, and the way you said his name at the onslaught of pleasure only spurred him on and it was moments later that you could feel his release spilling inside of you.

He dropped your hands and both of his came to either side of you while his head dropped to the center of your back. You could feel his heavy breaths trail down your back and a slow trail of kisses going down your spine.

“Nice trick with the pillow,” he complimented with a slight chuckle, pulling you into his arms bridal style. “Next time, don’t turn your back to me.”

You let out a small chuckle of your own and rested your head on his chest.

“I already have my next route planned,” you promised.

[lilyswritings]

called it !

synopsis: academic rivals to lovers with jordan li. need i say more?

author’s note: i watched gen v lastt fall and fell absolutely head over heels for jordan li, and ever since then i've had the brainrot of thinking non-stop about academic rivals/enemies to lovers with them, and.... well, anyway, here's the result of that! took me a ridiculously long amoung of time so i hope you guys enjoy — it's actually my birthday today, so here's my birthday gift to you all! <3 also, in case the powers get confusing i figured i would explain ahead of time lol : reader’s powers are energy absorption/redistribution — when skin on skin contact is made, reader can absorb energy from others, and can redistribute it through blasts of energy/heightened strength <3

wordcount: 4,390.... buckle in, i'm insane.

Jordan Li x Reader

"God, they are so fucking annoying." You grumble, sinking lower into your chair as you watch Jordan Li tug some pretty new freshman into one of the rows of bookshelves, signature smirk plastered on their lips as they seek somewhere private. The freshman giggles and blinks up at them with big doe eyes as they disappear behind the stacks, and you roll your eyes dramatically. "Like, get a room, am I right?"

It's insufferable.

Your table is suddenly quiet, too quiet, and when you look back over at your friends they're exchanging sideways glances with each other, lips pressed together. "Okay, what's up with you two?" You demand, exasperated, and Emma shrugs, biting her lip.

"Sounds like someone's jealous." The last word comes out in a sing-song voice and your mouth drops open, aghast.

"What? Why the hell would I be—?" You sputter, glancing between them, and Marie raises her eyebrows at you.

"Oh, come on, it's like you two are... Magnetic, or something. They walk by, you watch, you enter a room, they appear moments later. It's kind of sweet." Marie tucks a braid behind her ear as she talks, brown eyes blinking at you.

"Uh, no, no no —" You're flailing, taken completely aback by what your friends are saying. Okay, fine, you might have had a crush on Jordan for a good two years at this point, but it's not like you ogle them whenever they're in the room with you, or, well—

Okay, so maybe you do, but they definitely aren't ogling back at you, and that's what matters. "That's so entirely not what's happening here."

It's no secret on campus that you and Jordan don't like each other — ever since Brink decided to hire you as another teaching assistant for him, Jordan has taken every possible chance to fuck with you, and vice versa.

A stack of papers you graded for Brink will disappear only to helpfully be found by Jordan a day later, filed in the 'wrong place' — you know damn well you filed them correctly — or you'll swoop in and pick up Brink's coffee order before Jordan has the chance to, smiling widely at your boss when he tells you that you always get his order 'just right'.

Yes, it's petty, but they started it. They can't stand not being Brink's favourite anymore, so they take it out on you. You, in turn, wreak your own little havoc on their life, having attempted the agreeable and polite route first, only to be scoffed at and ignored at every turn — so, if they want to play it like this, then so be it.

Marie and Emma sneak a glance at each other again and you scoff. "Oh my god! Seriously, you guys! That's so not what's going on there, and— I don't even know where you got that idea in the first place."

"Okay, sure, whatever you say." Marie holds up her hands in a surrendering motion, reaching down to pick her pen back up, and you nod, glad that they're finally dropping the matter, until you look back up and catch your blonde friend peering over her laptop at you, a mischievous look in her big blue eyes.

"It's adorable, though, really, that you think you're hiding it." Emma tacks on unhelpfully, and you toss your pencil at her, her ensuing giggle only succeeding in riling you up even more.

"You guys are way off base." You finally muster up your composure enough to retort, gaze focused firmly on the assignment in front of you. "They're the bane of my existence."

You do, however, sneak a sly glance up as Jordan and their cute little companion exit the bookshelves, smirking, and you can't suppress your nose scrunching up at the sight of their hand resting on the curve of the freshman's back.

So annoying, you think, turning back to write your paper, completely missing the knowing glance exchanged between your friends as Jordan peeks over their shoulder at you right before leaving the library.

A few days later, you find yourself in the training room, trying to channel your frustration into something productive. The poor defenseless sparring dummy in front of you is taking the brunt of your anger, but the real source of your irritation is fueled by an interaction you had with Jordan earlier that day.

It was during your Combat Tactics class, a course where you and Jordan are both top students, constantly trying to outdo each other. The two of you had been paired up for a demonstration, something that tends to bring out the worst streak of competitiveness in the both of you.

The exercise was supposed to be a simple takedown — no powers involved — but of course, nothing’s simple when it comes to you and Jordan. The instructor had barely finished explaining the guidelines when Jordan had shifted to their female form, quick as lightning, darting towards you to try and catch you off guard.

You barely managed to counter, blindsided, briefly side stepping out of their path, but before you knew it, Jordan had doubled down, shifting into their male form and using their superior strength to pin you against the mat.

“Too slow." They’d taunted, dark eyes glimmering with victory as they leaned down, keeping you immobilized.

Your blood had boiled at the sound of their smug tone, and with a surge of your power, your eyes had lit up and blasted a bright light in their face, managing to flip the situation and pin them beneath you. You smirked as you leaned down, eyes still aglow, and caught Jordan looking at you with something that could almost be construed as admiration.

Your instructor's voice cut through the tension, telling you off for using your powers, and your heart dropped as she informed you that you'd failed the exercise.

The smirk on Jordan’s face as they got up told you everything — you might have won the round, but they’d gotten under your skin and made you fuck up in front of a teacher.

“Tough luck.” They’d said, acting as if they had no part in what just happened, and your brow furrowed.

“It wasn’t luck,” You’d shot back, your voice low and tense. “You goaded me into that.”

Jordan had simply shrugged, a smug smile on their face as they backed out of the room, an action that lit your blood on fire.

Now, as you throw yet another punch at the dummy, you can’t stop replaying the way they’d looked at you — like they were enjoying pushing your buttons and causing you to fuck up in front of the whole class. It drives you crazy, the way they always manage to get a rise out of you, no matter how hard you try to keep your cool.

There's a gust of air that alerts you to the opening of the door to the training room behind you, and you don’t even need to look to know it’s them.

Jordan saunters into the room, their presence filling the space with that same infuriating confidence as they quirk an eyebrow at you, dark hair pulled into a low ponytail and workout clothes on that leave nothing to the imagination about their feminine form.

God, focus.

“Still working on that form, rookie?” They quip as they lean against a pillar, their tone light but with an undercurrent of smugness that makes your teeth clench.

“The form that beat you earlier?” You retort, not bothering to hide the edge in your voice as you raise an eyebrow at them.

Jordan smirks, clearly amused. “Should I be impressed that you're winning the fight against the inanimate object?" They push off the pillar and saunter closer. “You know, if you want to get better, you should train with something that can actually fight back.”

You narrow your eyes at them, knowing full well this is just another one of their games. “Thanks, but I don’t need your help.”

“Scared you’ll lose?”

“Scared you’ll get your ass handed to you again.” You retort, your competitive streak flaring up.

Jordan’s eyes gleam with a challenge, and before you know it, they’ve beckoned you into the ring with them. Your heart thuds in your chest, adrenaline already raised from the tension of the earlier fight and your sparring before they’d arriver.

They cock their head at you, raising an eyebrow, and you grit your teeth. As soon as they go to land a blow on you, your hand latches around their wrist, your powers kicking in as you begin to draw energy from them. 

Your eyes start to glow, alerting them to your move, and they tug their arm away from you and blast you with a beam of light, something you just barely duck out of the path of. You manage to shift your weight and throw a punch back at them, but they switch forms at the last second and it your fist lands on what feels like a concrete wall. 

  The sparring match lasts a while, an intense match where neither of you are willing to back down first. Jordan is quick, but when in their masculine form you’re faster, landing blows that surprise even yourself. But Jordan catches on to some of your moves and soon the match devolves into a close-quarters struggle.

At one point, you find yourself beneath them, their hands locked around your wrists, pinning you to the ground, dark eyes locked on yours. The proximity is overwhelming, and for a split second, something shifts in the air between you. 

You can see the glint in their eyes, a mix of triumph and something else — something that makes your heart pound in a way that has nothing to do with the fight. Their eyes dart down your face, their grip on your wrists faltering, and you take seize your chance to tug out a hand and latch onto their wrist, absorbing some of their energy and temporarily breaking their super strength advantage over you. 

With that burst of energy you maneuver out from under them and roll away, getting back on your feet.

Jordan’s eyebrows are raised when they stand back up, seemingly impressed as they look down at their hands, clearly feeling weaker than usual. “Not bad, rookie.” 

“Was that a compliment?” You smirk, and their own lips curve in response.

“Was that a smile?” They gasp dramatically, and you force your face to go blank again as you spin on your heel to leave, finding it harder to keep the smile off your face.

“Don’t get used to it.” You shoot back as you leave the gym, but your words hold no venom and you miss the bright smile that cracks open Jordan’s face as you disappear down the corridor.

Three days later, Brink announces that he wants you and Jordan to work together to plan an upcoming fundraiser for Godolkin, much to Jordan's dismay. Normally, this sort of thing would be left entirely up to Jordan, but for some reason Brink wanted you in on it as well.

Which leads to now — you, stood in front of your locker, attempting to get in contact with Jordan for the umpteenth time. They're throwing a tantrum at having to share the project with you, and it's really starting to piss you off. You try their phone again, cursing when you get voicemail yet again.

"Look, Jordan, this wasn't my decision, so stop punishing me for it. It's what Brink wants, and we have got to get together to start planning. This is my fifth time calling," You tack on, getting irritated. "Pick up the fucking phone, you're acting like a child. You can't ignore me forever." You finish, ending the call with an exasperated sigh.

You curse again, your eyes beginning to glow faintly as your anger begins to get the best of you, but you take a calming breath and will your eyes to fade back to normal. Making a scene in the hallway isn't going to help anyone. You've just about calmed yourself down when you spot a familiar head of black hair a few feet down the hallway and your mouth drops open when you spot Jordan and their friends.

"Motherfucker..." You curse, the visual confirmation that they are indeed ignoring you relighting your anger.

"Jordan." You call after them, brows furrowing as they begin to disappear down the busy hallway. You scoff as you continue after them, irritated by being lured into a chase. "Jordan!"

You know they can hear you when they half-turn their head and shift into their female form, now shorter than most of the crowd, causing you to lose sight of them and pissing you off even more as they continue their brisk pace down the hallway.

You stand on your tiptoes, trying to get a good look at them again, when someone grabs your arm and roughly tugs you towards them. When you look up, your eyes land on campus sleazebag Rufus, a smug smile plastered on his face, and your eyes glow immediately at the sight of him.

"Nice light show." He snarks, stepping into your personal space, and your hands begin to emit light as well, your built-up anger from the day coming to a head.

"Fuck off." You would hope your building powers make him get the memo, but he just steps closer to you, effectively backing you into a locker with nowhere to go.

"Do you also light up when, you know..." His eyes dart down the length of your body and your nose scrunches in disgust as you tug your arm, trying to get out of his grip, but his stupid advanced strength means he keeps a firm grip on you.

You open your mouth to tell him where he can shove it, when—

"Back the fuck up." Jordan seems to materialize at your side, suddenly almost a foot taller in their male form, glower plastered to their face. Rufus' smug expression drops, definitely not prepared to go head to head with the second ranked supe at God U.

"Yeah, whatever." Rufus scoffs, dropping your arm and practically high-tailing it away, leaving you rubbing at the spot on your arm where he was holding you.

Once he's gone, Jordan turns back to you, peering down at you with crossed arms. "You good?" Their dark eyes search yours, and you roll your eyes dramatically in response.

"Oh, so now you're not ignoring me?" They look taken aback, and you take the opportunity to plant your hands on your hips.

"I wasn't ignoring you, I was busy."

You scoff. "Too busy to check your phone?"

"Whatever." They turn to walk away, and you can't help yourself from opening your mouth again.

"I didn't need your help, by the way. I was handling that just fine."

They stop, facing you again and folding their arms together, one dark eyebrow quirked. "Sure you were."

"I was! I didn't need you to swoop in, Number Two. I'm not some civilian in distress."

"Yeah, well, you're lucky he didn't get into your head and fuck with it."

"Oh, please. If he'd even tried I would have blasted his ass all the way to the Vought-A-Burger." At that, you spot their mouth curl up at the edges, a sight that makes warmth fill your stomach.

Just as they open their mouth again, their dark eyes land on something behind you and their mouth clamps shut. You spin to find Emma and Marie approaching, the two women glancing between you and Jordan and you can practically smell the avalanche of teasing you're about to endure.

"I'll text you." Jordan nods as they practically spin on their heel and disappear, and you purse your lips together just as Emma appears in front of you, jaw dropped in a dramatic expression as she turns to watch Jordan leave.

"They'll 'text you'?" Marie quotes, eyes wide, and you roll your eyes.

"For an assignment from Brink. Seriously, quit it. It's not what you think." Right as you're in the middle of scolding her for her assumption, your phone pings, and when you glance at the lit-up screen, a text from Jordan awaits you —

Lunch tomorrow?

Your lips twist into a smile before you can help it and right as you realize your mistake your phone is snatched out of your hand. Emma gasps, turning the phone towards Marie whose eyes light up as she reads the text on the screen.

"You liiiiike them, you wanna kiiiiiiss them." Emma teases, her voice lilting in a sing-song tone, and you snatch your phone back out of her hand.

"What are you, twelve?" You roll your eyes, but there's definitely a flush rising to your cheeks, one that neither of your friends lets go unnoticed.

"I knew this was going to happen, I just didn't think it would be so soon." Marie comments, and you groan, knowing the two of them are never going to let this go.

Lunch the next day does not go as planned.

Brink, at the last minute, decides to tag along and 'listen in' to your brainstorming session, nullifying the brief camaraderie sparked between you and Jordan the day before. Sitting opposite them in an empty classroom, going over details for the fundraiser, it’s been nothing but tension from the start — you figure that their switch up in attitude it due to their role as Brink's TA, their competitiveness just can't let things be.

“I think a good idea could be a silent auction. Maybe we could get some of the alumni to donate—” You begin, but Jordan cuts you off with a scoff, and you narrow your eyes at them across the room.

“Silent auctions are so overdone. We need something newer, something more exciting for the donors.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, keeping your gaze fixed on them. “Silent auctions bring in a lot of money, which is kind of the point. And it’s not about excitement, it’s about class.”

Jordan smirks. “Class doesn’t have to be boring.”

The tension is palpable, and Brink’s eyes dart between the two of you, clearly amused by the back-and-forth. “Why don’t you both try to combine your ideas? Maybe add something 'exciting' to the silent auction?”

“Fine,” You say through gritted teeth, glaring at Jordan. “How about... We let people bid on experiences instead of items? Like a day with a famous supe, or… A tour of a Vought movie set.” 

Jordan nods slowly, almost as if they’re surprised by the suggestion. “That could work…”

You share a brief, almost reluctant, moment of agreement before the tension returns, both of you battling for Brink’s approval over the smaller details still left to work out.

A week later, the day of the fundraiser finally arrives, and you find yourself swept away in organizing the final details right up until the event begins. The halls of Godolkin are flooded by well-dressed snobs, both supe and human alike, and you lose yourself amongst the crowd, ensuring everything runs as smoothly as possible.

You find yourself in an outfit entirely out of your comfort zone, both fitting the upscale theming of the event, as well as highlighting your best features. You can thank Emma and Marie for this one — they'd practically squealed when you'd tried it on, insisting you buy it. You’ve received more than a few compliments, but the one person whose approval you’re secretly hoping for has also been lost to the crowd, and you haven't managed to spot them yet.

You finally find a moment to duck out as Brinkerhoff takes over and starts the auction, and you find yourself slipping outside, needing a moment to breathe after the chaos. The cool night air is a welcome relief, and you lean against the brick wall to catch your breath.

There's a shift in the atmosphere, the subtle awareness that comes when someone’s eyes are on you. You turn your head and your eyes fall on Jordan, standing near the entrance, their dark gaze locked on you.

For the barest of moments, they remain frozen, eyes widened slightly — your heart stutters a beat when you notice the way they're taking in the sight of you, something dark and admiring in their gaze.

A flush of warmth spreads through you like wildfire, paired with a simmering satisfaction at knowing that you've caught the untouchable Jordan Li off guard, and even rendered them speechless. They make a quick recovery, but the way they begin to approach you feels — different. Changed.

"You... You look good." They swallow, nodding as they approach you, and your lips twist into a smile at their awkwardness. You can't blame them, though, as your mouth dries out when you get a good look at them in a tailored suit, dark and figure-hugging, with a dangerous plunge in the front.

“You too." You nod, attempting and failing to recover smoothly. "Came to gloat?" It's easier to slip into your well-worn rivalry, and after Brink celebrated Jordan in front of most of the party earlier tonight, you figured they'd be feeling rather smug about finally winning over you in a way that mattered.

“Actually, no.” They say, gaze falling to the floor, voice unusually soft. "I don't think that was fair — and also, to say, well. Thank you. This went off without a hitch, and... That's because of you. It's been... Good to work with you."

You blink, entirely taken aback by the compliment. “I mean, we both made it happen,” You admit, glancing at them. “You had some good ideas too.” You throw in a tease at the end, for good measure.

They huff out a laugh, their gaze coming back up to meet yours, an unexpected intensity there, before they take a casual step closer. “You always have to get the last word in, don't you?"

"Someone's gotta keep you humble." You retort, cheeks flushing as they step even closer, and they roll their eyes dramatically.

"If you would just listen for a moment..." Another step, and your breath hitches entirely. "I've enjoyed spending time with you. Even if you're a pain in the ass sometimes."

Despite the rising intensity between you, you find yourself retorting anyway. "I'm a pain in the ass? What about all the times you—" They raise an eyebrow, and your brain seems to finally catch up, noting that they are now standing barely two feet in front of you.

“Christ, rookie, you ever gonna let me finish?” Jordan curses, eyebrow raised, stepping even closer into your space, and your breath hitches as you fully catch on.

“Oh- oh.”

“Oh.” They mimic, dragging their hand up your side to rest on your hip.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” Their voice is barely more than a whisper as they lean in, and you nod, unwilling to risk ruining this. "Yes, you're a pain in the ass," They mutter, their voice low. "But I've been an idiot as well."

"How so?" You utter, heart still stuttering in your chest as you glance between their eyes and their lips. Your line of sight doesn't go unnoticed, and Jordan's lips tug into a knowing smirk.

Jordan's dark eyes drop to the ground for a moment, smirk dropping as they tuck a strand of hair behind their ear. “I think I’ve been using this... Rivalry, or whatever, as an excuse to keep my distance from you."

At this, your brows furrow, still intensely aware of their hand on your hip and your proximity to each other, but their words confuse you. "Why do you need an excuse to keep your distance from me?"

A scoff from their lips. "Jesus, you are gonna make me spell it out. Well... Because I wasn’t sure how to deal with how I feel about you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the realization hits. “How you feel about me?”

Jordan nods, their expression softening. "I've never liked someone this much, and you act like you wish I would drop off the face of the planet half the time, and.... Well, it’s been driving me crazy..”

You stare at them, trying to process what you’ve just heard. You can practically hear Marie and Emma screaming in your ear "I told you so!", after you've spent your whole time at Godolkin pining for someone you thought you'd never have a chance with, only to prove they've been doing the same thing.

“We're both fucking idiots." You confirm, a breathy laugh escaping your lips, your hand coming up to hover in front of your mouth incredulously.

Jordan chuckles, the sound light and genuine, their eyebrows raising as they take in your reaction. “Does this mean you don't actually hate —”

Before they can finish, you close the narrow distance between you, your heart pounding in your chest as your lips seal against theirs. It’s excited and awkward and tentative at first, but when Jordan responds by deepening the kiss, the tension between you melts away and you find yourself wrapping your arms around their neck, pressing your body into them as months of heated exchanges come to a culmination.

When you finally pull back for breath, the two of you panting softly, still enveloped in each other's arms, you let out a soft laugh that Jordan echoes.

“Guess we were both wrong.” They utter, leaning down to seal their lips against yours again briefly, their eyes shining with something new, something real. “And I guess this was a good time for me to have been wrong for the first time ever.”

You laugh out loud, shoving at their shoulder, feeling weightless in this moment.

Your phone pings in your pocket, and you sigh, reluctantly pulling it from a hidden pocket in your outfit — believe it or not, you're still technically at your job, and if Brink needs you, you need to be available. "Sorry." You utter to Jordan, before opening the text you'd received and gasping.

"Motherfucker!" Your head whips around to glare into the darkness, bright screen of your phone illuminated by a blurry photo of you and Jordan mid-kiss, sent by Marie in your groupchat.

The text underneath from Emma reads simply,

'Called it!'

[flamingpudding]

DPxDC Family Week June 19 (Day 2)

Prompt: Siblings | Play

A/N: All I gotta say is this was heavily inspired by Wayne Family Adventures. I think I focused more no the Play prompt than Siblings, either way please enjoy my Day 2 contribution :D

AO3 Link: DPxDC Family Week Contributions

Danny was in a tricky situation. He carefully checked his surroundings as he crouched behind a bookshelves to reload. The Meta Alliance was off the table. Duke got taken out by Dick. He had seen Damian hunting down Tim earlier, muttering something about using the same trick again despite his warning. Jason was still wandering the halls in search of him loudly offering Danny a new Alliance promising that he wouldn't be shot on sight. He had lost sight of Cass earlier but he knew Steph was hiding on the second floor waiting for Jason to take revenge.

When Dick had come to him and Jazz earlier that day Danny did not expect for the oldest Wayne to hand them each a paintball gun with a wide grin. Only for them to suggest taking part in a game they played every year called Assassin. It was apparently a secret from Bruce that only the children of Bruce Wayne aka Batman took part in.

He had been suspicious of it at first, Jazz and him had only joined the Family for a couple of months now and Dick had suggested they join the game as a bonding experience between siblings with the rest of the family. When Danny didn't let up on his suspicious staring he also offered that it was a way to train and test Danny's stealth against his new siblings.

Only partly convinced, at least in Danny's case, they had joined. The moment they entered the sitting room everyone else was in, Harper, last year's winner according to the others, decided to start with a special alliance to ease Jazz into the game. Only for her to get accidentally taken out. She had made the mistake of forming the alliance with all the girls including Jazz, without prior information that till then only Danny had been privileged to with how often his own sister had souped him. To Harper's credit, she didn't know about the bad aim his sister inherited from their dad. The girl alliance got pretty quickly dissolved then and the Fanton siblings formed a new one, since Danny knew best how bad of a shot Jazz was.

Though Danny additionally had the one with Duke until he got taken out. They honestly had thought that with their Meta-powers they could overwhelm the others. Hell they were a power duo on patrols, this should have been easy. That was until Dick got Duke and Duke in all the dramatic sibling fashion 'died' in a distracting way that made Dick and Danny laugh only for the Ghost to then escape.

"AH FUCK!" Looks like Jason got taken out now too from the sounds of it. Danny didn't stay to find out who took the revenant out. He went invisible and phased through the wall behind him and floated up a floor through it. Carefully to avoid Bruce as well as Alfred so that the two adults shouldn't grow suspicious. Suddenly there was rusting behind him and Danny turned around quickly. He was still invisible so aside from Duke no one should be able to see him right now.

"I know you're here Danny. Show yourself."

"You're wearing your mask with heat-vision?" The question came out before he could help himself as he stared at Tim. Both his hands raised as he held them up, showing that he meant no harm, his paintball gun in his right hand pointing at the ceiling for extra measures while Tim was grinning at him with his gun pointed at Danny.

"Your body temperature is lower than the average human one, especially when you use your powers. It's the easiest way to find you since it was decided that both you and Duke were allowed to use them."

"I see." Danny nodded along. "I take it, you want to take me out right now?"

"If you don't agree to my proposal. Help me take out Damian and Cass."

Danny hummed thinking about it for a second before he noticed movement from the corner of the hall. He grinned, shrugging with his shoulders. "I would but… sorry maybe next time!"

He let himself fall through the floor as Tim cried out, blue splotches on his back appearing. Danny barely missed getting shot too as he fell onto the first floor. An orange splatter left on the wall at the height his chest had been mere seconds ago. Cass standing at the end of the hall as they made one final eye contact before he completely disappeared from sight through the floor.

But he did not get a second of rest as he fell into one of the down stairs sitting rooms. The moment he was through the ceiling and made eye contact with a stunned but then grinning assailant. He flipped to the side barely dodging the colorful rounds shot at him and aimed his own gun. Ten shots, nine missing but the last one finally got his target's leg.

"Gotcha!" He cheered as he floated down grinning brightly at Dick.

"Not bad baby ghost. I didn't expect you and Jazz to be this good. Sure you guys didn't have formal training?" Inspecting his leg the elder smiled, happy at seeing Danny enjoying himself this freely. He still remembered the first month in which Danny barely spoke to anyone aside from his sister. Dick had been a bit worried when he asked the Fanton kids to join their game but he was glad that he did now. The Fantons had come a long way and it appeared that they finally saw the rest of the Waynes as siblings too.

"No, everything is self thought. Though, Jazz hitting Harper was totally an accident considering she had been aiming at-" Their phones buzzed and both each took their own out. Dick whistled. "Baby bird took out Steph. So now it's only you, Jazz, Dami and Cass left. Looks like this year's game will even be over before patrol starts."

"Did it take longer last year?"

Dick nodded. "It went right into patrol time. But maybe it's getting over faster this year because everyone is at the Manor." He didn't mention that he had specifically asked the others to not draw out the game too long. Despite the couple of months, Danny and Jazz were still new to Gotham and the family and they both didn't need distractions during patrol and support.

"Speaking of being at the Manor. Why hasn't Alfred said anything about the paint splatters yet? He is omnipresent, I thought he would be the first to notice." The halfa tilted his head in light confusion. Really with the way Alfred always knew what was going on in the Manor Danny had long since expected for the butler to gather them all to give them a stern talking about playing with paintball guns inside the building.

"It's fine as long as we clean up after ourselves." He raised an eyebrow and Dick rubbed his neck nervously. "And as long as we don't go overboard and damage anything permanently. Besides, sometimes Alfred even ends up joining in on these games to teach us a lesson or to get back at us for all the grief we gave him with injuries in the past."

Danny raised a suspicious eyebrow. "He… won't just do that this time, will he?"

"Nope, but we should clean up here before Bruce comes back. It also helps that most of us only shoot when we are sure that we will hit the others and not something else." Danny nodded, muttering an embarrassed 'sorry' remembering how he let more than one shot lose at his targets. Dick only chuckled, patting his head and offering a cloth piece to wipe the paint from the wall.

Once it was clean Danny gave a grinning Dick a little finger salute before going invisible again and leaving the room. There were only four players left. He wouldn't be able to find Cass but he could try and take out Daimien. Choosing to be as silent as possible Danny used his ghost powers to also float. He turned off his ghostly powers as he came across Bruce and Tim by the stairs. The man was asking Tim about the paint on his neck that he must have splattered there when Cass had taken him out earlier.

"Damian and I got into a disagreement when I passed his atelier earlier. He threw one of his paint brushes at me like a dart."

"Damian wouldn't just do that because of a simple disagreement. What sort of argument did you two get into this time, for it to art out like this?"

Danny frowned slightly. The others never had mentioned what would happen if Bruce found out. He hid his gun on his back under his hoodie.

"Hi Bruce, I think someone must have pissed him off at school. He threw one at me too, when I asked him what got him into a sour mood." Danny decided to add to the lie. Really the youngest stabbiness was a really nice trait that made these lies even more believable. Tim gave him a thumbs up for the support hidden from Bruce's eyes.

"Hello Danny. Maybe I should have a talk with Damian. I cannot have him bring another knife to school again." The man muttered with a sigh as he walked away from them. Tim and Danny grinned at each other before once again Danny saluted before making his way back to the second floor. He had a feeling that he would find Damian or Cass up there.

Hearing voices by the end of the hall where Damian's Atelier was, Danny decided to try and be sneaky. The door was only a gap wide open, he peaked into the room. It hadn't been long since he had meet Bruce with Tim by the stairs but apparently the man was quick with his actions. In the room were said man and the youngest Wayne, Bruce was apparently trying to get Damian to tell him why he was in a sour mood and hurl his paint brushes at his siblings.

Danny snickered, the man's back was to the door and he grinned the moment Damian noticed him peaking in by the door. He gave the youngest a little bit of a mocking wave with the addition of a wide grin as Damian scowled. Bruce apparently took it that Damian did not like the reinforced rule of no knives at school.

Still grinning the ghost boy pulled his gun from the back and aimed it through the door carefully so that Bruce wouldn't notice him. Damian was now flat out glaring deadly at him, daring him to do it in the presence of his father. Waiting for the right time Danny watched Bruce and when the man appeared to look at something at his side he fired a shot. Hitting the youngest square in the chest who quickly despite his deadly glare turned towards one of his unfinished pieces and grabbed some of his art supplies to explain that color splatter as a lapse of his own judgment and frustration of the topic they were discussing.

Danny definitely knew he would be paying for this action later. Damian wasn't as stabby with him like he was with others thanks to Danny's ghostly powers, but that only meant that the youngest was creative in other ways to get back at the halfa. Though right now it only mattered to Danny that he was able to get two of the bat-kids out of the game with no formal training. That grin was whiped of his face when he felt a short sting on his back and his head whipped around to see Cass behind him smiling brightly.

"Lacking situational awareness."

"Okay yea, that was my bad." Letting out a sight he admitted defeat as he in a bout of dramatic essence chose to lay flat on the ground only lifting his head a little to face an amused Cass. Taking out his phone he proceeded to text the group that he had taken out Damian but in return got taken out by Cass. Looks like Cass would be the winner this year, he commented into the chat.

"Finally found you Danny!" Looking up stunned as well as hearing shuffling towards the door from the Atelier Danny looked up to see Jazz standing by the end of the hall now her paintball gun aimed at Danny as Cass dived to the side away from him. Right, his sister was still in the game!

"Let me handle this!"

"Wait Jazz!"

Too late his sister fired multiple shots and in a feat the half ghost honestly thought impossible, the projectiles ricochet off of decorations, leaving small splatters of paint behind them everywhere. The door next to him opened and Danny stared wide eyes up at Bruce and Damian.

"What is going on-"

-splat-

At the end of the day Cass was declared the winner while Jazz was declared the honorary winner by being the first one to ever hit Bruce Wayne aka Batman square in the face with a paintball gun.

Though the siblings all got a stern talking to from the man for playing Assassin inside the Manor as well as Alfreds disappointed look™ that was followed by an amused smile whenever the butler side eyed Bruce. The smiles and looks all the siblings exchanged promised that next year's game would be filled with revenge plans. Maybe till then Jazz's aim would become better with the shooting classes Bruce decided to sign her up for with a knowing smile.

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XXVI

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds /

Lucien could barely hold back his smile. 

Elain was close to his side, pressed against him so that only her skirts were between them. Her one hand was holding onto his own, their fingers linked together and inseparable, while the other was clutching his arm comfortably. She was telling him about Nesta and Feyre, how the two always argued because they were so similar. There was a sparkle in her brown eyes, a brightness that only came when she spoke about those who she loved. 

Beautiful. 

Lucien found his mate particularly stunning when she was unworried and at ease. Loose curls escaped the confines of her braid, and he had to fight the urge to hook the strands of hair behind her pointed ears.

“Do you think that’s why you and Eris don’t get along?” She asked innocently, genuine curiosity clear as she tilted her chin to look up at him. “You’re too much alike?”

Lucien cringed, knowing he had wrinkled his nose in displeasure. He could scarcely remember the last time anyone had compared him with any of his brothers. “Don’t offend me,” he mumbled. 

Elain laughed, the sound as lovely as daybreak. It echoed prettily in the empty corridors of the Forest House, ringing around them just as surely as it did in Lucien’s mind for moments after she had stopped. 

Lucien shook his head with a frown as he remembered that they were walking to the study Eris had claimed as his own decades before he had even been born. He could still recall hiding among the neatly organised bookshelves, escaping to the cosy space even when Beron’s eldest son was not home. “I still can’t believe you told him.” 

Eris had suggested that Elain try and release some of the pent up magic, claiming it was dangerous to do so with no training. While Lucien actually agreed, he was still not sure how he felt about his brother’s steadily increasing involvement in their lives. In two days, they would be back in Velaris, the business with the wedding finally over. He secretly hoped Eris would drop the subject after their departure. Lucien, in any case, could not imagine the Autumn Court male going to the Hewn City despite the promise he had made to work on Elain’s abilities until she became more confident.  

She shrugged, hardly concerned. “I foresee he’ll be a great help to us.” There was a restrained amusement to her words, the feeling trickling down the bond so Lucien could easily sense that she was merely teasing. 

“The number of jokes at your disposal is unmatched,” he said, knocking his shoulder playfully into her side. 

Elain grinned up at him, her dark eyebrow raised in challenge. She opened her full lips to respond, but her expression quickly transformed into one of concern. She pulled him to a stop, her head turning in the opposite direction. 

Lucien was immediately alert, trusting her instincts just as well as his own. His muscles tensed as his ears caught the low sound of shouts coming from the hallway leading to the throne room. 

“What’s happening?” She asked, just above a whisper. He could practically see her analysing the situation, weighing what she knew about Autumn and those that lived within the confines of the Forest House. 

Assassination attempt. 

The thought crashed around in Lucien’s skull for a moment, the familiarity of the feeling returning, a reminder of his past. It had happened before, enough so that Eris had taught him to sleep with his bed pushed to a wall, to ensure that his back was never exposed. He had to get Elain away, wanted to winnow her somewhere she would be safe but had no idea if there was a place secure enough within the court. 

The torches flared around them, bright as the sun, and stayed that way. Lucien balanced Elain as she stumbled with a sudden yelp in her effort to move further from the walls. Embers fell to the stone floors like shooting stars, disappearing almost as soon as they had flickered to life. 

The raw burst of power was one Lucien would have known anywhere. He had, after all, learned how to wield his own abilities at Eris’s side. 

Realisation dawned on him, slower than dripping honey. The shouts continued to travel down the empty hall, and he easily identified the distinct voice of each of his brothers. “If I ask you to stay here, will you?” He addressed his mate, trying to keep the concern from his tone, but failing miserably. 

Elain pressed her lips together, shaking her head slightly, a charming dimple appearing on her pale cheek. “Not a chance.” 

Lucien sighed. He had expected her answer, but was still worried about her well-being. “Just promise you’ll keep your distance.” If Elain was anything like her sisters, he figured she would despise being kept far from the commotion. 

She squeezed his hand to reassure him. “I promise.” It would have been too much to ask for his brothers to be on their best behaviour for a fortnight, Lucien thought coldly. They began to walk once again, this time in the direction of the continued shouts. 

Stay close. 

Lucien hoped the message came across clearly on the bridge between their souls. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Elain, but he knew the trust built between them would have crumbled had he forbidden her from coming with him. As they approached, the muffled shouts became easier to understand, and when they finally turned the corner, they could do nothing but pause and watch.

Eris was loud, his words an angry snarl. “Consider for a moment how easy it would be for me to kill you both and simply be done with this.” He was standing in the middle of Ronan and Felix, using his body to separate them. Taller than both, the span of his arms ensured they stayed away from one another. 

Despite being a courtier and much smaller in size than Ronan, Felix lunged. Lucien sensed Elain’s confusion down the bond, her feelings mirroring his own. He had assumed the two were on good terms, had even witnessed as much during their short time in Autumn. While he knew nothing ever stayed the same in the Forest House, he was surprised by the swift moving game everyone played. 

Eris shoved Felix away roughly, stopping the younger male in his tracks, ensuring that a physical altercation did not begin. 

“Stay out of it,” Felix spat, expression murderous. He whirled on their eldest brother, directing his anger at him instead. Lucien could tell that Eris preferred it, could practically see the way he adjusted his stance in anticipation for things to quickly turn into a more violent direction. 

“Can’t you see he’s itching for a fight, brother.” Ronan called, a slur to his words. It took Lucien a moment to realise that he must have been drunk. “Perhaps he needs to learn a lesson.” 

Felix smiled, looking every bit a snake with fangs. He ran a hand over the sleeve of his opposite arm, a flash of silver appearing at the cuff, a silent message.

Eris seemed to have spotted it just as Lucien had, his entire body pulled taut. He looked like a warrior as he straightened his shoulders. “Enough,” he snapped, flames in his amber eyes, embers falling from the tips of his fingers. On most occasions, the tone would have frightened the rest of his brothers into yielding, but whatever had begun the argument was not so easily settled.  

“Fuck off,” Felix clipped, stepping around Eris and right into Ronan’s line of sight. 

Callum suddenly appeared next to Lucien, winnowing into the space effortlessly. Elain turned to look at him, but he did not even spare her a glance. He sighed loudly, rubbing a hand over his face, the action tired. “What could it be this time?” 

Lucien shook his head, watching the scene continue to unfold in front of him. No weapons had yet been drawn, but the threat was there. 

“Should we do something?” Elain wondered quietly, more to herself than to him and Callum. 

Lucien bit his lip, considering. “We might just make it worse,” he said, knowing from experience how volatile fights between his siblings could become. 

No sooner had the words left his mouth, Ronan threw a wicked stream of fire at Felix, the power strong enough to make the younger male shift on his feet. There were no burns, no fabric singed. It was clearly a warning, one that had Callum inching closer. 

Callum approached the small group just in time for Felix’s answering magic to fly by him, hitting a decorative vase. It fell to the floor and shattered, tiny pieces dusting the stone like snowflakes. Almost like the toll of a bell ringing before a blood duel, the sound had each of his brothers springing into action. 

Lucien watched as Eris was caught in the middle of both Felix and Ronan. The way they hit each other was brutal, and no amount of Callum pulling on any of them was enough to end the fight.

There was more yelling as Eris tried to convince them to stop, but their voices rose over the sound, arguing about something Lucien had no context for. He tried to catch onto any key words, but was unable to piece a clear picture together. 

“Stay here,” Lucien mumbled, stepping away from Elain. She held onto his shirtsleeve, and he added a quick, “please.”

“I don’t think—”

Lucien did not wait for her to finish, winnowing into the fray. She would have asked him not to intervene, and he would not have been able to refuse her. The wind was quickly knocked out of him as Callum was shoved backwards right into his chest, an elbow catching him in the ribs. There was no time for apologies as they all attempted to find purchase on the nearest clothing item, pulling and trying to create distance between Felix and Ronan. 

Lucien heard Elain call out his name, glad that she still remained far, that she had not attempted to move closer for a better look. His relief was short-lived as Felix twisted, throwing all of his body weight at him. 

“You shouldn’t have come back,” Felix hissed as they fell to the ground in a tangled heap. It was low enough that no one else would have heard, the words making Lucien uneasy. 

Exile. 

Felix had been a vicious child, cunning and manipulative and always eager to impress their father. While he and Lucien had been close in age, a few short years separating them, they had never gotten along. The constant comparison had forged competition between them, ensuring that they were never allies. 

Lucien moved roughly, his shoulder hitting Felix so hard he drew blood. The copper scent lingered in the air as he scrambled to his feet, breathing ragged.

Felix stayed on the ground, a scarlet trail falling from his nose and running over his lips. It gave him a wild impression, fire flickering in his gaze. “You bastard,” he snarled, the insult venomous falling from his mouth. Lucien flinched, his eye whirring.

“Enough.” 

The word fell over Lucien, echoing in the space. It was the direct order of a High Lord and there was no other choice but to listen. 

Lucien watched as Felix paled, noticing how the sound of Ronan fighting with Eris stopped immediately. He turned to see their father standing next to Elain, a crown made of oak leaves resting on his chestnut coloured hair. His mate looked small, her hands curled into fists at her sides. She was obviously worried, but she stayed frozen in place, hardly recoiling at the power leaking from the ancient creature near her. 

When it was obvious that he held each of his sons’ attention, he turned a sharp gaze on Felix. “Is that any way to speak when a lady is present?” 

His brother’s lip curled up in anger, as though he were ready to argue. There was blood on his teeth, giving him the appearance of a predator. Beron raised a hand, stopping him before he even started. “Is it, Felix?”

Everyone held their breath, an unnatural silence in the corridor. Lucien’s eyes flicked between the two males and his mate, wondering what he might do if the situation became explosive. “No,” his brother uttered, the word strained, like it was being pulled out of him against his will. 

Eris moved, the shift small, but Beron saw it from the corner of his eye. Their father shot him a withering glare, warning evident in the tight pull of his mouth. “Where are your manners, child?” 

Felix bristled at the insult. Lucien could see him weighing the idea of his punishment, considering how angry Beron was to determine his choice. “You have my apologies, lady,” he said, a restrained anger in his tone. He dipped his chin mechanically, a mockery of a bow. 

Elain stayed still, looking like the statues of Day, regal and unbothered. Her silence added to the tense atmosphere as they all waited to see what Beron would say next. 

Their father simply nodded. “Leave the fighting until our guests are gone,” he ordered. There was collective relief amongst Lucien and his brothers as they realised there would be no further punishment. The humiliation seemed to be enough for Beron, a testament perhaps to him being in a good mood. 

The High Lord winnowed without a word, snuffing all of the torches in the hall. Plunged into a few short moments of darkness left Lucien disoriented, he barely realised that Eris was standing behind him. The fires were lit easily, and he could not decide which one of his brothers had done so. He barely gave it any thought, not when Elain ran to him, skirts in hand, her eyes wide with worry.

Lucien half saw as Felix swatted Callum’s outstretched hand, refusing any help and getting up inelegantly. Blood had stained the collar of his brother’s shirt, and for a moment guilt flooded his senses. 

Felix spat onto the floor, scarlet smattering the pale stone, before he marched away. There were dancing embers flowing behind him, Callum following at a safe distance. 

You shouldn’t have come back.

Lucien pushed Felix’s words to the back of his mind, focusing on the comforting hand Eris placed on his shoulder. The gesture was more kindness than he had received from his eldest brother in centuries, but the warmth from his palm was gone quickly as Eris moved towards Ronan. 

Elain grabbed onto Lucien’s wrist, the contact enough to settle his rapidly beating heart. She tucked herself into his chest, letting him wrap an arm around her waist. He glanced at his remaining brothers, keeping his mate close. 

“You should have stayed in Night,” Ronan said gruffly, straightening his jacket. 

It was unclear to Lucien whether the comment was directed at him or Elain.

[talesofesther]

is it too late to call you mine? | ch 2

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Summary: In Sebastian's prettiest dreams, you'd wear a gown of a color that matched his tie, he'd take your hand and dance all night until morning came. But those dreams felt like a farfetched reality. Would you even consider going with him? As more than a friend?

A/N: Right I lied before, we're gonna have one more chapter for this story after this one lol. Written for @spaceyaceface's HL Writing Challenge. Hope you guys like it. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 1 here

"One would think that with a library of this size, the school would have more books about this," you mumbled under your breath, brushing your hand over the cover of the thick book to rid it of the dust.

Hogwarts library had to be one of the most enchanting libraries you've ever been to; with its tall dark wooden bookshelves, high windows, spiral stairs leading up to the second floor, paintings, warm orange lighting, and desks and armchairs scattered about for each student to read to their heart's content—it all made you adore spending hours in here. It was common for Sebastian to join you, you'd both sit together and exchange thoughts about the books you've been reading until Madam Scribner had to kick you out so you'd be back in your common rooms before curfew.

Today, however, you were alone; skimming between stacks of books which were mostly forgotten and had a layer of dust covering them.

The Yule Ball was less than a week away, and it only just occurred to you that you didn't know the first thing about dancing. At least not the kind of formal dancing that one does at an event like this, with a partner.

You stared down at the book in your hands for a few long seconds before closing your eyes with a sigh.

Praying that the single book you managed to find would help you, you turned around to make your way to Madam Scribner's desk so she could check out the book for you. Once you rounded a corner, however, you bumped straight into something firm and warm, a startled oof escaping your lips as your feet lost their balance.

Only it wasn't something, it was someone. Gentle hands quickly took hold of both your elbows so you wouldn't end up falling to the floor. When you finally looked up, you were met with a familiar array of freckles and a dazzling grin.

"Picking up a new book? Without me?" Sebastian slowly pried his hands from you, his dark eyes giving a quick glance up and down before he laid one palm over his chest; "I'm wounded."

You chuckled, your knuckles going white around the book because of how close he was standing. "I'm not picking up a new book… Well, I am," you hesitated, "but you won't be interested in this one, I'm sure."

Sebastian raised a curious eyebrow at you, the golden candlelights of the library shaping the outlines of his face and highlighting the auburn of his hair to perfection. "Oh? And what book might that be?"

You bit at the inside of your cheek, not directly answering him but loosening your grip on the book ever so slightly. There wasn't a thing you could hide from him anyway.

Reaching a hand out, Sebastian tilted the book away from where you held it against your chest, coming to stand right beside you so he could properly read what was on the cover. And you could suddenly feel the warmth radiating from his body; his shoulder brushing yours and raising goosebumps on your skin while your lungs already lacked air. You could hate Sebastian for the obvious effect he has on you.

"Dancing techniques through the ages?" Sebastian read the title of the book out loud, and when he turned to look at you, the expression on his face was nearly comical, "are you even interested in that?"

You gave him what was half a smile and half a grimace, hugging the book closer to your chest again and taking half a step away from him. If you weren't so flustered you probably would've noticed the slight bit of hurt that flashed through his eyes because of your movement. "Yes?" You tried, and then groaned, "not really, but I kind of have to read it."

"Why? I don't remember us having any classes on dancing," Sebastian shrugged, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his pants.

"Yeah, I know, I know," you sighed, then closed your eyes as you spoke, much quieter; "it's because of the Ball."

"The… Ball? Why would you-" Sebastian cut himself off when he finally understood, he hesitated, his plump lips hovering for just a second, "oh, you don't-"

"No, I don't know how to dance," you huffed, feeling your cheeks immediately warming up. You avoided Sebastian's eyes then. There was really no reason to feel ashamed, dancing wasn't a skill everyone was expected to have. Yet, you couldn't help but feel at least a little self-conscious under the gaze of those dark eyes.

"And you expect to learn that from a book?" The smile could be heard clearly in Sebastian's voice; not mocking, at least not your lack of skill, maybe just your choice of a solution.

You glanced up at him again, raising your eyebrows as if to say; 'yeah, what of it?'.

An amused chuckle stumbled past his lips just before his cheek molded back to that smirk of his. "It's like learning to duel by reading a book about it. Doesn't work."

More often than not, Sebastian frustrated you to no end. It was just his luck that he looked damn good while doing it. "How else am I supposed to learn anything about it, Sebastian? The Ball is in less than a week." You argued, dropping the book on top of the nearest table as you grew restless.

Sebastian stayed quiet for a few beats, his lower lip stuck between his teeth as he apparently mulled over his next words. "I could teach you… If you'd like."

He refused to look you straight in the eye as he spoke, and you doubt you'd ever heard him sound this… timid. Hesitant. Changing his weight from one foot to the other as he picked at a loose thread on his sweater while waiting for your answer.

Sebastian was nervous.

"You know how to dance?" You were surprised at how your own voice sounded somewhat shy. The thought of Sebastian teaching you—his hands holding you close, guiding your movements; his body close to yours, personal space forgotten—made you feel all warm.

Sebastian hummed, his teasing smile making an appearance again, "you pick up a thing or two if you attend enough parties. I could teach you the basics at least, you won't be completely at a loss of what to do then."

You breathed in deeply, pursing your lips as you nodded. "Alright." It was a much better option than just reading a book about it anyway.

"Alright," Sebastian repeated after you, his throat working through a gulp, "meet me near the Undercroft entrance after curfew tonight."

"Not in the Undercroft?" You frowned.

"Not quite," his sultry voice kissed your ears, "no music in the Undercroft, after all."

── ·❆· ──

The hallways of the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower were completely empty as you walked, the pristine tiles reflecting each of your steps. It was past 10 PM and the moon was high in the sky, you could only hope you wouldn't run into any of the ghosts… again.

Sebastian waited for you with his back leaning against the wall near the Undercroft, just as he said. His arms were crossed over his chest as his foot tapped the ground rhythmically. He perked up once he laid eyes on you, a gentle and sincere smile coming to his lips.

"Ready for some dance lessons, my lady?" He asked in an over-the-top courteous voice that got you endearingly rolling your eyes.

"As I'll ever be," you smiled softly then, feeling your hands growing a bit sweaty, "thank you for doing this, by the way."

Sebastian only shook his head, his own smile still playing on his lips. He avoided your eyes, "don't mention it," he told you quietly, before pushing himself off the wall and walking past you, "come on then."

You followed Sebastian up the stairs, trailing behind him until a gentle, familiar classical tune reached your ears. He lead you to the enchanted violins and cello that were constantly playing in the tower, and now you finally understood why he said 'not in the Undercroft'.

"I suppose it's close enough to what will be playing in the Ball," Sebastian gestured to the enchanted instruments.

You chuckled, taking half a step closer to him, "clever."

As the soft melody swirled around you, the air seemed to shift between you and Sebastian. Different from the usual commotion during the day, the DADA tower was entirely too calm tonight; dimly lit as it was bathed in various shades of golden coming from the candlelights that reflected against the polished floor, completely devoid of any presence save for you and him—what once reminded you of Professor Hecat's assignments, now felt like a private ballroom, tailor-made to hold this moment alone.

Sebastian cleared his throat. You wondered if he felt the shift too. "Right so, in a dance, you'll want to be as relaxed as possible, trying to move in sync with your partner," he told you, "I doubt that-" he hesitated then, words seemingly heavy on his tongue, "I doubt that Weasley is much of a dancer, so if you know a basic waltz it should be more than enough."

There was something about the way the candlelights shone against Sebastian's features, all soft and pretty, turning his expression into something akin to adoration. For you.

Your heart was suddenly in your throat. Sebastian's stare was almost too much. You'd gladly drown in that 'too much'. It holds you hostage, pierces like the afternoon sun.

"May I?" He asked, one hand outstretched, waiting for your permission to hold your waist.

You only nodded, not trusting your voice.

Sebastian looked as nervous as you felt, and you didn't want to dwell on why that was. Not now.

With a delicacy only you had the privilege of knowing, Sebastian placed a hand on your waist; the other finding your own hand so he could intertwine your fingers with his. His chest was a hair's width away from touching yours.

Your free hand came to rest on his shoulder then, as if your souls were always meant to be this entangled. You refused to look him straight in the eyes, praying that he wouldn't feel the shaking of your fingers when you squeezed his hand.

"Relax," Sebastian whispered, his voice so close to your ear that it sent shivers down your spine.

But the shaking of the syllables betrayed his own statement. Sebastian's hand on your waist tightened its grip, as his mind drowned in the possibility of you and him. Here, in this fraction of a moment, with your heartbeat following the rhythm of his own, the dream felt almost within reach.

You didn't know, but every minute with you was torture for him. Every minute you dangled something in front of him, something he knew was unattainable.

Every minute that you weren’t his was another droplet from his bleeding heart.

"What now?" you breathed suddenly, quiet as to not break the peaceful bubble around you, yet still startling him back to reality.

Several emotions were swimming behind Sebastian's eyes then, too many for you to put a finger in any of them. A soft blush formed under his freckles, barely noticeable against the faint candlelights.

But you saw it. There was a beat before either of you said anything, a beat where you just looked at each other, wondering whether the other person’s feeling the same way.

"Right, it's not hard," Sebastian straightened in his posture, adjusting your joined hands as he took one deep breath, "just try to follow me, slowly, from one side to another."

Surprisingly, Sebastian was quite a skilled dancer. At first, he did most of the work, guiding your body through each step and turn, getting you comfortable until you were aware enough to follow him quicker and on your own. And you found that it was easy to follow him; your feet, hips, and hands complemented his movements as if you were one.

You weren't sure how long it had been, all you knew was that Sebastian's hands were warm on you, your body feeling as light as a feather as you waltzed around the empty tower. Any tension any of you had felt before was long gone now. Sebastian's smile was soft and his chuckles were a music better than the one of the enchanted violins. Your soul moved in tandem with his and your bold hands pulled his body closer to yours.

If anyone were to glance, you two could easily be mistaken for the dancing ghosts that sometimes appeared around the castle.

"I think it's safe to say you're a natural," Sebastian said in between laughs, amused at the way you were dragging him around now.

You felt the squeeze of his hand on your waist, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine. "It's much more fun than I thought it would be," you told him, just a little breathless. "But I had a good teacher too, I suppose," you teased, tilting your head with a smirk.

You let go of his shoulder then, allowing him to twirl you around and then straight back into his arms. This simple night turned into a moment you'd be happy to live in forever.

Sebastian's own smile gets a little loose and gone when you do this—staying too close, smiling at him, touching—but you seem oblivious to it.

Whatever the future may hold, he was happy to say you were his; if only for this night.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 3 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Sebastian’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us @auxiliare @arawai

[mrsjavierp]

Where you belong?

Chapter 11 - Hell and Back

Javier Peña x latin!f!reader

Summary: Running away from life as you always knew to start a new position as Head Chief on a DEA Office, far away, on Colombia. There, you'll face violence, as you never thought you could. There, you'll meet Javier Peña, your stubborn agent...

Warnings (to the whole fic): +18!, MDNI!, age gap, angst, smut, cheating, last relationships, prostitution, violence, dub-con, drug dealing - Narcos Universe, bad spanish, english is my second language, use of Y/N and Y/LN. No physical description of the reader, only clothes (sometimes). The POVs are shifting between reader (first person and Narrator in 3rd person)

(If I forgot anything, tell me, pls!)

Word Count: 2,8k

A/N: I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, loves! so much happened: i started a new job, i'm studying again, so i'm on crazy hours... anyway, i just hope you like it!

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

Tag: @creedslove | @pedrostories | @mjoee13 | @immyowndefender | @iamsherlocked-1998 | @pedroswife69 | @szde8-blog |

Narrator’s POV

After you busted out of your own office, your mind was rushing, thinking about what to do, people to alert. Ben was, indeed, dangerous, and he had help getting out.

Who's help was the most important and dangerous thing to know.

It had to be big.

Javier counted up until 10 and went up to look for you.

When Javier started to get closer to his and Steve's desk, Steve said:

“Archive room, Peña. But hey, I need to talk to you later.”

Javier just nodded, not being able to relate what Steve meant by that.

As Javier stepped into the messy room, it looked like a messy library.

“Missed me?” - a female voice called Javi, as random hands tried to grab him.

“What the fuck!” - He yelled, dodging the touch. The lights were off, he didn't see who touched him at first, but he knew it wasn't you: the perfume was wrong.

“Oh, Javi, it's me, Valerie… I missed you…” - her voice was making both of you sick. You were jealous, Javi was nauseated.

She tried to kiss him again, but he took a step back.

“Don't touch me, Valerie. Back the hell off!”

You were hidden in the back, hugging your file, hearing Valerie and Javier.

You didn't know what to do, so you waited. You took a breath, calming yourself down.

Your mind was going crazy enough.

“Was there anyone who he didn't sleep with? Oh fuck!” - you thought.

“But Javi…” - her whine annoyed both of you. If you rolled your eyes, Javier probably did the same.

“Valerie, leave me the hell alone! You were a quicky in this archive room. Don't flatter yourself.” - Javier were really fucking rude with her.

You heard steps in heels leaving and the door shutting.

You almost wished to see her face.

“Cariño, I know you're here. I'm not leaving until you act like a goddamn grown-up!” - Javier yelled at you.

“I don't wanna talk, Peña. Not now. I don't wanna say or do anything I might regret.” - You continued to hide.

“Cariño, don't make me find you. You're not gonna like me when I'm mad.” - his tone seemed serious. - “I know I went behind your back, but so did you. It's your last chance to appear.”

You didn't move.

“Your funeral, cariño. Ready or not, here I go…” - He spoke to the darkness.

It felt like a sick joke to you: play hide and seek with Javier.

God, you wish you could kill him.

You had two options: escape the archive room and, by all means, escape once more of Javier or let him catch you.

You scoffed low.

“As if I'd let you win, Peña… Come and get me.” - You thought.

You both started a kind of hunt: you had to get out through the door and Javier had to catch you before it. The room was poorly illuminated by hot, weak yellow lights, while filled with bookshelves and file storage cabinets.

And lots of paper, of course.

You could almost feel Javier get too close sometimes, when you realized: your heels were the ones to blame - clapping on the floor, telling on you.

You took them off, fast and as quietly as you could, and tiptoed around the room, like a kitten.

“Cariño, you can't hide forever… If not now, it's gonna be way worse when I have time to plan on what to do.” - He spoke again, in a way that mixed pain and pleasure, like only Javier knew how.

It went straight to your folds, as if he was just right next.

Any sound seemed like a loud noise and you were trying so hard to keep it down… It all felt like a labyrinth, messing up your senses.

Even breathing was loud.

Your muscles tensed up, you really felt like a prey, a little bunny being hunted by a wolf.

God knows Javier wouldn't have mercy on you. And you needed to buy time.

For a moment, you felt you could run to the door, felt hope that Javier would only hear the door closing and you could escape.

And you did: you ran, but as you arrived at the door, you felt Javier’s hands on your waist, holding you against him.

And as on the first night, you were pressed on the door, facing him. Your file and your shoes were all over the floor.

You could feel his hot breath on you, his body tensed as he touched you. Javier’s blood was boiling with rage and desire.

“Gotcha, cariño… You're gonna hear me, whether you like it or not." - He whispered in your ear.

You tried to move your body, but Javier turned your back to him, held your hands tight and threw his body on you, making it even harder for you to do anything.

Truth be told, he manhandled you like he would do to a criminal.

“Peña, we're here for too long, we need to get out…” - You were nervous, your mind struggling to make a point, while he held you and you could smell his perfume mixed with his scent and sweat, his dick going even harder in your ass. - “It's been too long already, people will talk… We can talk about it later, at my place…” - you're trying to make a deal.

But your voice was barely a whisper.

“No, cariño. You had your shot.” - Javier grunted. - “I'm done with your running away. I'm gonna make my point now, and you're going to pay attention. Are we clear?”

You swallowed hard and nodded positively.

He pinned you with his hips, pissed. You could feel his length getting harder and bigger. Unconsciously, you arched your back like a cat, letting him go further.

Be damned the moment you decided to use pants.

“Words, cariño… Are you gonna listen to me?”

“Yeah, Peña, I'll listen.” - your voice was still low and weak.

It's not like you had a choice, anyway.

“No, cariño, I'm not Peña now. Do it over.”

Javier, for the first time, was being ruthless against you.

“Yes, Javi, I'll listen.”

“See? You really can be a good girl when you want to… Now, here's the thing: We're gonna discuss it in more detail, but, for now, I'm gonna sum it up. I know a little about you and your ex… I know he was a dirty cop, I know you arrested him. Yes, to me, that note was a threat, since we discovered together that he's out. That's what I know. Yes, I went behind your back and talked to Joe about it, I called him. And yes, before we found out about Ben, I was jealous. It's been two months and I already feel like you're mine.” - His tone was low and deep. He said those words, and you wanted to believe him, but you were afraid.

“Peña, I…”

His grip tightened around your fists.

“No, cariño, I'm not Peña now.” - He repeated.

“Javi, come on… I need to get back to work.” - neither you could convince yourself.

“We'll be back in a few, cariño. First things first… Tell me you understood what I said.”

“I did, Javi.” - You continued to feel him getting under your skin. - “Javi, please…”

“Good girl, cariño… Do you believe me?”

His question was sincere. He needed you to believe him.

And as much as your brain insisted you didn't, your heart responded for you:

“I do. I wish I didn't, but I do.”

He also believed you. Javier knew how hard it was for you to admit it, and he would take it under consideration when he punishes you.

His grip loses a bit, so he could hold you with just one of his hands and grab your hair.

God, if you could, you would kill him: you were supposed to be mad, not horny… You could feel your core getting even wetter.

“You're, indeed, such a good girl when you wanna be, cariño…” - he had such a husky voice. It went straight to your folds, as your pussy clenched over nothing. - “After our shift today, I'm going to your place, with a good bottle and an even better cigar. And we're gonna actually have a full conversation about it. Be home at 7.”

You gulped, overwhelmed and sensitive.

“Yes, Javi.”

Javier let go of you, slowly. He got on his knees, just like the first time, as you turned to look at him.

You wanted him to do what he did best: make you cum.

He picked up your heels, put them on your feet, one by one, calmly. He picked up your file, got up, handed to you and said:

“You can go now.” - He got up and kept a friendly distance, as if you never touched each other.

“Why are you so far away, you're not even kissing me goodbye?” - you complained, feeling empty without his touch.

“I'm not touching you again, at least not until we walk through this.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed, and left for your office, banging the door.

At 18:55, you were already at home, ready and waiting for Javier.

“That bastard…” - you cursed Javier.

You spent the whole day rubbing your thighs against each other, craving for Javier. Unholy be that man, who not only teased you in that archive room, but during the day, saying things in a way that kept you still throbbing… Your mind played with his words, his discreet, yet noticed by you, looks, lightly touches that no other human being would suspect.

At seven o'clock sharp, Javier knocked at your door. As you opened the door, he was holding an incredible bottle of whiskey and your favorite cigar.

“Are you gonna let me in?” - he asked, with a playful tone that, right now, you were hating.

“That depends, Peña… Where you want to come in?”- your words had the same tone he used the whole day.

He raised his eyebrows and responded:

“For now? At your apartment, cariño.”

You take a step back and let him in.

At that point, he knew where you kept your things, so he just went to the kitchen cabinet and picked up the scotch glasses and your ashtray.

You observed Javier, it was kinda funny how he just belonged there.

It felt right.

Bother line painful right.

“There you go, cariño. It's probably older than you, this one.” - He handed you a scotch glass, and raised his. - “A toast?”

“To?”

“Solving things up.”

You toasted with him, in silence.

Your mind was still rushing from all that had happened.

“So… Who's gonna start?” - Javier asked as you sat down on the couch.

“I'll, Javi. I gotta warn you, it's bad.”

Javier took a deep breath and held your hand.

“I'm here, cariño. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you.”

“Okay, Javi… Leave the questions to the end, please. I promise that I'll do my best to answer.”

Javier just nodded.

“My parents never wanted me to be a cop, but never prohibited me as well. They wanted me to be a lawyer or an ADA, whatever. I joined the academy at the same time as college. It was intense, but I knew I was at the right place. I met Ben as soon as I got into the academy. He was already an officer, just before he got promoted to be a detective. As we both know, the drug war is going nuts in the whole US… I was transferred to the DEA.”

You take a sip, as Javier observed you.

“Ben and I…” - you took a deep breath. - “We were an okay couple: people seemed to like us and I liked him. We had a normal life: dates, our families liked us and each other. Nothing alarming… But something always felt… Wrong. Ben never used the word “slut”, but his comments were things like: “why do you wanna try these things? Who fucked you like that?” Or “why do you need a vibrator, I'm not good enough for you?”... In such a mean tone, making me feel bad for having curiosity or desire.”

“Fucking asshole…” - Javier scoffed.

“Until I started an investigation among prostitutes and cicarios that traced all back here to Colombia. Ben wanted me to let him join the investigation, but I couldn't. He wasn't DEA… As it got bigger, we had a closed door operation… Looking back, the rumors started just after… I remember the looks, the pitty, the gossip.” - You scoffed, mocking yourself.

“Cariño…”

“Joe told you, didn't he?”

Javier just nodded.

“ ‘She's such a good cop, but can't even notice what's happening under her nose’ or ‘if he's doing this, probably isn't getting any at home’... but my favorite was ‘she probably knows and ignores it. A woman shouldn't be a cop.’... I only found out about it later. And Ben was so fake…” - your voice had a bitter tone. - “He pretended to support me. He wanted to know how it was going… He said he didn't mind me getting home late and leaving early. He knew it was temporary, that we were meant to be for life… God, how stupid was I…”

Javier tried to hug me, but I raised my hand, holding him back a bit.

“Until the investigation was always traced back to the same NYPD… Ben's station, by the way… Cops were involved, FBI got involved.”

Javi raised his eyebrows, knowing what that meant.

“Weeks later, the day to bust into the main brothel arrived. The adrenaline was so intense inside my veins… My gut was weird, like it was preparing me. We busted in, silent, aiming to the main office. I asked to lock all the “clients” room, arrested the main cicario, it was so satisfying… The clients tried to escape, but couldn't. Joe and I invaded Ben's room, by coincidence, it was the closest to the office. Joe arrested the prostitute and I slapped Ben's face. Joe knew better than saying anything. We had a fight, he tried to be violent to me… But I held him, my rage and frustration gave me the strength. When I showed up with him, everyone was in shock… We took everybody to the station to book'em, but the stupid rookie didn't search Ben properly, and he had a knife. The cicarios all had a specific signature knife, and as Ben was one of them, the cartel gave him one. I interrogated him, it escalated to a physical fight, when Joel and the others came in, he had stabbed me… but not before I gave him a few too…” - You laughed, a bit ironic.

“Joe didn't tell me he stabbed you, Y/N…”

“He feels guilty for it. He was supposed to be there with me, but I didn't let him.” - I responded.

I finally picked my file on the table and showed him a few pictures, investigation, data and records.

“Remember I said to you my brother is an ADA? He was the one who did the trial. It became a family matter… My brother sold himself to the devil to be the prosecutor on this case and it worked. I don't know what he did nor who he sucked up to, but it worked… Ben was convicted, but I don't know how or why he got out.”

“Fuck, cariño…” - Javier didn’t know what to do or what to say.

“I talked to him earlier, they all know, the FBI is protecting everyone's family. If I had to bet, the FBI is investigating something about the US’ judiciary and Ben is the bait.”

In an impulsive act, Javier hugged you, as if he was going to protect you from everything and everyone. His hand went to your scar, caressing it, his hand under your shirt.

You closed your eyes, feeling his soft touch, your eyes watering.

“You never asked about my scar…” - you said.

“Since you told me it was a field scar, I kinda just let it be.” - Javier admitted. - “Now that I know the story… I fucking hate your ex… More than when I talked to Joe.”

You giggle.

Javier caressed your face, played with your hair, like you're gonna break.

“Javi, I'm not a fragile little thing…” - You complained, while he was drying your tears.

“I know…” - He said, holding your cheek, looking deeply in your eyes. He knew you weren't, but he wanted and needed to take care of you.

You, in the other way, needed to feel alive again. You needed to make it hurt.

You needed Javier to make it hurt again.

“Javi...” - you started, with your eyes closed, almost purring. - “Make it go away, please.”

“Cariño, what do you mean?” - he asked, still holding your face in his hands.

“I need to feel alive again, Javi. Make me forget about everything… Make me hurt, please. Like that night, when we got back together.” - You put your hands on his, holding them.

“Cariño…”

“Please, Javi, please…” - You beg, looking at him, desperate.

Next

[bitchywitchyvibes666]

Brains and books

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

This was Spencer's favourite time of day, when the library was at its quietest and the sun was casting a gentle glow over the old almost gothic structure. Spencer sat in the furthest corner of the old stone building, away from the few people that lingered in the space that made up the main room, his head bowed slightly to focus on the hardback book that rested against his legs that were clad in pale brown slacks. His attention was completely taken in by the inked words that sat atop pages that were stained with age, it was only when a flash of red flickered past the top of the pages that his attention was finally gifted to something other than ink and paper.

His brown eyes flicking up over the top of the spin of his book, his brows furrowing slightly when he was only face with the endless rows of dark brown that made up the wooden bookshelves that were home to more books than most people could fathom. His head finally lifting so he could take a proper look around him, his eyes traveling between shelves until he landed on a river of crimson that seemed to almost glow in the streams of morning sun that streamed in from the large windows.

The mass of blood coloured hair was attacked to a person, a woman to be more precise, a woman who stood with her head tilted as far back a she could to look at the books that lined the wooden displays. She was short, shorter than average and much shorter than Spencer, if he had to say he'd give an estimate of around 5 foot to maybe 5 one or two.

God he felt creepy as he allowed his eyes to wonder across the landscape that was this stranger, his brown eyes focused on her hair and flicker to the way her pale right hand reached up to push it away from her face every couple of minutes. From the angle he was sitting he couldn't quite see her face, only peaks her small portions of her profile whenever she pushed her hair away before stubborn strands fell back into place.

Her skin was pale, almost too pale, had Spencer wondering if maybe she was sick or had a condition such as anaemia. He could see small flickers of blacks and red on her wrist whenever she moved her hair, tattoo maybe and Spencer couldn't help but wonder of what and if it ha some significant meaning to her. He watched the glint of her ring, that adorned her middle finger with a golden band and a small green gem, as she reached her hand up towards a book on a higher shelf before she paused. Spencer's head tilting ever so slightly to the side as he waited to see why she stopped when suddenly, blue met brown.

Balloon flowers. That's what shade of blue that her eyes reminded him off, he'd seen them once in a book and had been memorised by just how blue the flower naturally was. Her eyes were large but not unsettlingly so, more like a doll rather than a bug like most people would think but her nose was small and sat perfectly straight n the centre of her face. Her cheeks were rounded and slightly chubby but it wasn't unattractive on her, her lips were plump and seemed it be stained a natural red that was shined with what looked like a sticky gloss.

She was attractive, at least to Spencer, even with her rosy cheeks and the slight acne that marked her pale face. She was cute and pretty all at the same time and oh god he was still staring at her. He cleared his throat too hide the awkwardness that filled his veins as he quickly averted his eyes back to his book, trying desperately to focus on that and not the soft foot steps coming his way.

"I'm so sorry but do you think you could help me?"

Those words were spoken in a quiet whisper by his left, the Scottish accent clinging to every word that left gloss stained lips. Spencer could hear his heart beating against his ribs as he lifted his head slowly to look at her, his eyes meeting a set of white teeth sinking into sensitive red flesh as she nervously chewed her lower lip.

"Y-you just....you're taller than me and I'm struggling a bit, I'm so sorry for bothering you"

Spencer could sense the nervous before he heard them, the slight stutter and the way she seemed so genuine in her apology just made her all the cuter in Spencer's mind. He parted his lips as he tried to think of a way to reply, Spencer had never been this distracted by the way someone looked before but if she didn't put even the divine to shame especially up close.

All he could do was nod before he was putting his book down on the oak table in front of him and pulling himself out of the old arm chair he'd found home in while he read. He could still feel her presents as she trailed behind him while he walked towards the book shelf that had been stood in front of. Cherry blossom, that was the scent of her perfume, it was faint but stuck in Spencer's nose like he wanted to suffocate in it.

He cocked his head over his shoulder, waiting for her to tell him what book she had wanted. Of course he had a faint idea due to how long he had watched her but that would be creepy and he wanted to hear her voice again. Spencer would of thought he was having a heart attack if he didn't know any better when she smiled, it lit up her entire face and made the colour of her eyes almost see lighter and god he'd do anything to see it again.

He followed the slender manicured finger a she pointed to the one she had wanted, her nails were painted a pale pink with small bows by the cuticles. She had pointed to an old first addition of Edgar Allen Poe's poems, a book that had feature more of his almost romantic style poems. He could feel the way her eyes trailed over his arm and stayed focused on his hand as he reached up and pulled the book carefully from its home.

Their hands brushed as Spencer turned to fully face her and hand over the book but Spencer kept a slight grip on it as he felt her wrapped around the hardback, his brown eyes staring into hers as her blue eyes met his with confusion.

"Spencer, my name is Spencer...."

[agattthaa]

Promise?

Paring: Beckett Harrington/Eli (F!MC)

Word Count: 1.544

Summary: In the middle of what could be the end of everything, the only thing she could trust was Beckett.

I miss him so impossibly much, so I am posting this old thing.

The heavy door closed behind her back and she simply stood still while Beckett paced around the room, looking at the large bookcases searching for god knows what.

She didn't need to know him as well as she did to know that he was doing his best to hide what he was feeling and she didn't want to think about the fact that he was doing it for her.

He was always like that ever since she knew him. Always trying to hide anything negative that could ever come from him. Any defect, any weakness, any bad feeling.

Once he had told her that Katrina was a very positive person, always being optimistic in face of any difficulty, and that it was something that his parents deeply appreciated and complemented her about.

Either she was a saint or Becketts's family really was perfect, that she didn't know, what she did know was that he was about to create a hole in the ground considering how much he paced around those bookshelves.

Surely books were capable of teaching very important things, but Eli really doubted that he would find a “How to defeat a psychopath child murdered 101” in this small room, or anywhere really.

He turned around to look at her when she gave a tired sigh, more nervous than he had been the entire night, which only made her sigh deeper.

-You are going to make a hole in the ground, Beckett. Just sit down.

-I just need to find a book that can perhaps help us, Eli. Everything is alright.

She simply pointed towards the big armchair, looking at him, almost pleading.

-Please.

And he simply followed the instructions, as always, unable to deny any of her requests. She simply followed him, sitting down sideways on his legs and burying her head on the juncture between his neck and his shoulder, slowly breathing him in.

-We should be getting ready.

She took her head from it’s hiding place when she heard his voice, the sadness crept into her face until she saw the red tinting his cheeks.

-Do you not like it? Should I get up?

His only answer at that moment was to place his hand on the small of her back and pull her closer to him, making her give him a smirk and making his cheeks almost maroon.

Perhaps they should have changed before going there, her dress was not making her very comfortable while she was almost laying on his legs, her torso completely rested on his and her legs above the armchair’s arms. Still, the way he softly ran his fingers up and down her back gave her all the comfort she could ever need.

-I will never not like having you on my arms, Eli. I just believe one of those books are bound to help us. Even if there's just a magick that helps to calm you down a little, I know that I have actually done something good.

-There’s no need for any spells or anything of the sort. You are calming me down just fine. -He placed his hand on her cheek, making her rest her face into it almost like a cat, closing her eyes and completely leaning into his touch. -I don't think you understand how much you mean to me, Beckett.

-That's utter nonsense. If anything, it's more likely you are the one unaware.

-Then tell me.

-Eli…

She opened her eyes, honey golden meeting metal gray. She could see that he didn't want to talk about it, at least not now, because she could see his eyes apprehensivily looking towards the bookcases and into her eyes again. He leaned forward, kissing her on her small elevation on her nose a little under the middle point between her eyes.

-Do you not wish to talk about it when we come back? It'll be another reason to return.

She placed her hand on his face, rubbing her thumb against his cheeks and counting his freckles, maybe for the last time.

-I don't know if we'll have the opportunity to talk about this after now. -She placed her thumb over his lips when she noticed that he was about to interrupt her. -He is the most powerful attuned in the world. Capable of controlling life and death. It would be too optimistic of me to assume that we'd simply win that easily over him. That's why I have something to ask you.

She looked deeply into his eyes, her finger still on his lips, but she was no loger leaning against him. Now her back was perfectly aligned and straight. He simply nodded to her making her give him a sad smile.

-I will do my very best to kill that psycho and comeback. But if I'm unable to, I want you to grab Atlas and our friends and run.

He looked at her completely unsettled and shaked his head, taking her hand from his face and holding it on hers.

-Do you take me as such a weak man that I'll watch the woman I love dying and then ran away?

She wanted to cry. To melt on his arms. To run away from all of this. She wished to wake up from that nightmare. To wake up on her bed covered by her thinck blankets and by him while she listened Atlas very loud snores coming from Shreya's room.

But she couldn't.

She'd never know peace until that man was dead, and Zeph needed them. It was her fault he was taken and she would pay for it.

-No. I think you are the strongest and most resourceful besides Atlas and me. But there's one thing that you are more than the two of us. Logical, rational and the one more capable of keeping your feelings in check. Atlas isn't. If I die, that will break her. That's why I am asking you that. Because you are the one I love, the one I trust the most, the one who also has a sister that he loves. That's why I'm asking you to save my little sister, my only blood family who's alive, and the friends that we love so much. Please, Beckett. Please.

His eyes glistened with tears that he refused to let run. The ones that carried grief for the woman that was still breathing into his arms.

He kissed her face all around. Her forehead, her eyes, her temple, her cheeks and her lips before pulling apart to look into her eyes.

-You will survive, Eli Russel Sollaris. We will finish the year and my grades will be so much bigger than yours that you will loose you spot as favorite from all the professors. -She let out a wet laugh to that, clearly remembering his face when Professor Englund called her his favorite student in front of him. -Then we'll get our vacation and I'll get myself one of those tuneless cephphones so we can talk during the entire summer, because I cannot even stand the thought of spending a day on my life not hearing your voice. I will introduce you to my family and I also want to meet yours, because anyone important to you is also important to me. Then we will comeback to here, and I'll hold you hand and kiss you all the time and put curses to anyone that looks at you for too long. And I will sleep every single day with you on my arms and wake up to your kisses. Forever.

The tears streamed down her face, and he kissed every single one of them away while the smile on her lips came back to life. The first time it had happened ever since Zephyr had been taken.

-That sounded too much like a proposal for two people that are not even dating yet, Harrington.

He smirked at her, rubbing his thumb on her cheek.

-Funny you saying that, because a little bird told me that you called me your boyfriend in front of some students in Professor Kontos’ class.

-Would you say that little bird is about 1.63cm tall and insanely rich?

-I would say that that little bird said that you were almost green with jealousy and that the little bird was scared that you were going to throw a fireball at someone.

-Nonsense, I only do that to you.

He let out a loud laugh, hugging her closer to him and rubbing his nose against her cheek.

-You should know that you have no reason to be jealous. That I am completely yours. Your friend. Your boyfriend. Anything you want from me Eli. Anything.

She rested herself on him again, placing her head on his shoulder and sighing.

-Do you promise then?

His silence only lasted a couple seconds, but it felt like an eternity. The entire room felt cold as he sighed and rested his own head above hers.

-I promise you, Eli. I promise that… if it gets down to it, I'll comply to your wish.

She smiled to herself, knowing that he couldn't see it, and hugged him closer.

-I love you, nerd.

-And I love you a lot more, my sunlight.

And then, they parted towards an inescapable future.

[blindvogel]

The last part of the modern AU. Kamari and Emmrich deal with the fallout of the museum incident. (And I realize that I basically wrote Varric's Angels.) Either way, this was fun.

~~~

Just a piece in the game (Part 3 of 3) (Part 1 ) (Part 2)

Thankfully they finally come to a stop in front of a dark blue door set in one of the older buildings in the area and Emmrich pulls out a ring of keys to let them both in. She follows him up a set of stairs, cursing herself that she didn’t consider adding knee-pads to her general kit - she’d definitely be in far less pain now, and then through another door. Down a neat hallway, thick carpet on the floor that swallows any noise, and then finally into a cozy living room. Under different circumstances Kamari would be curious and look around but instead her eyes fall directly on the couch positioned at a perfect angle to the fireplace, and she makes a beeline for it.  “Sorry for the lack of decorum,” she sighs as she lowers herself onto the couch, relieved to finally get off her feet.  “No need to apologize. Please make yourself comfortable.” Emmrich hovers in the middle of the room for a moment before striding off through another doorway into an adjacent room. It gives Kamari the possibility to finally take a look around. Aside from the couch and the fireplace, his living room has several floor to ceiling bookshelves that are absolutely stuffed. If she were to check, she bets they are sorted both alphabetically and by topics. A real human skull sits on the mantelpiece. It probably has a name, like Manfred or something similar. 

At that moment Emmrich returns and she notices that he has divested himself of all the jewelry she is so used to seeing him with. She somehow never considered that they would come off, and it’s strangely intimate to see his arms and fingers bare. He sits down next to her on the couch, wearing an expression that she used to call his Professional Professor face.   “Let me take care of your injuries before I ask you more questions. It’s the least I should do given- given that I’m responsible for all of them.”  Ah. The quiet self-reproach in his voice tells her that the carefully neutral look on his face is only there to hide his concern from both of them.  He gestures at her knees first and Kamari notices that she has been absently rubbing them with her hands after she sat. With a small nod she pulls up the fabric of her trouser legs until it is bunched up above her knees, revealing bruises already blooming on both of them. She’s glad she won’t be able to see what her back looks like at the moment.  Gently he turns her towards him so that he can place both hands on her knees, palms pressed carefully to her bruised skin. Emmrich’s magic isn’t uncomfortable per se but Kamari still finds herself needing a distraction from the sensation before she thinks too hard about what it is that is setting her on edge. Or focuses too much on his face, the way his lips turn or his eyes soften when he looks down at her.

“What do you want to know?” she asks. After a moment of silence, he speaks up. “Was trying to steal the Disk really the only option? Is this what you do now?”  There is no judgment in his tone, or at least not yet. Kamari can understand that this is something that bothers him to think about given what she was doing before her life trajectory changed so drastically.  “Both you and I know that a newly discovered artifact of historical importance would never come up for sale, and that security at the Necropolis really needs improvement. Sometimes there are very few options that are more palatable.”  He sighs and nods as he pulls his hands away from her knees, sitting back.  “I wish it weren’t so.” “We both do. It’s not a part of the job I enjoy.” “But the outcome justifies the means?” His face is serious now as he regards her. Kamari shrugs lightly, immediately regrets the movement and winces. “No. There is quite a gap between justification and having to do it anyway because the alternative is worse.” They look at each other for a long moment before Emmrich’s eyes crinkle when he smiles.  “I’m glad you haven’t changed in the past years either,” he echoes her words from earlier. Then he adds, “Now turn around and let me look at your back.”

She does as she’s told, conscious to reposition her whole body rather than twisting around. Emmrich carefully takes off the jacket he had draped over her shoulders earlier, and Kamari sighs and pulls her shirt over her head. It hurts and when she sees the tear and burn in the fabric now lying over her knees she’s not surprised when she hears him inhale sharply. A second later it occurs to her that it might also have something to do with the wide expanse of skin she just exposed and the urge to just sink into the floor or combust with embarrassment hits her. “Damn, I liked that shirt,” she murmurs to distract herself, and maybe hopefully also him. Emmrich doesn’t respond for a moment and Kamari has to stop herself from turning around and inadvertently hurting herself and flashing him, more than she already has. Eventually she feels his palms on her back, hesitant at first and then more firmly pressed against her skin.  “I am so sorry, Kamari. This isn’t going to be pleasant.” It definitely doesn’t hurt as much as when the Veilfire whip had hit her but she still gasps in pain before pressing her lips together firmly while the skin on her back begins to knit together. After only a brief period of time that still feels like eons she hears soft words of encouragement and praise and focuses on those, willing herself not to think of the ache in her back.

“This won’t take long, I promise. You’re doing so well. Just another moment. Almost done. So well… you’re doing so well.” Then the pain fades into discomfort and finally just the warmth of Emmrich’s hands on her back remains. She lets out a shaky breath.  “Well done, my dear.” Kamari doesn’t reply. She doesn’t know how. But he doesn’t seem to notice, thankfully, and continues on still in that same soft voice as his hands gently move to her side to lay on her bruised ribs. “I wish I could have helped instead of getting you-” “Emmrich, don’t,” she interrupts him sharply. “I’d much rather it be me than you.” Silence follows those words and equal parts of her want to see his face and are glad that she’s got her back to him.  “I’d much rather it be me than you as well. I fear we are at an impasse here.”  Oh why must he be so- so infuriatingly sweet, reminding her of what she had been sad to leave behind when she departed Nevarra.  “Close your eyes,” she says. “Pardon?” “Close your eyes, Emmrich. Please.” She lets a second pass before first turning her head, then fully turning around when she sees he has his eyes closed, hands folded in his lap. There’s a furrow in his brow and his lips are pressed together as if he’s holding back from saying something. So before she worries herself out of acting on her instinct, Kamari leans forward and wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. She feels him lock up for just a moment, hears his breath hitch. Then his arms wind around her, tentatively at first and then firmly until she’s pulled against him.

Neither of them speaks while the moment settles in around them, warm and comfortable and somehow familiar despite being new. Kamari leans her head against his and feels his chin settle on her shoulder.  “With the Disk gone you have no reason to stay any longer, am I correct?” he finally asks quietly.  She really wishes it were different but he has the right of it. It was never the plan to stay beyond a day or two at most and with her mission a failure… “I have to report back and then we’ll likely attempt to figure out what to do about the situation, if we can. I’m sorry I can’t stay.” He hums thoughtfully in response and falls silent again. As the stress of the night finally starts to drain from her body it also leaves her tired, her eyelids drooping. She should try to get a few hours of sleep if possible. Both of them should. “Can I trouble you for one of your shirts?”  He clears his throat. “Ah. Yes. Of course… my eyes are closed.” Kamari smiles as she pulls away even if he cannot see it and returns to her previous position with her back to him, pulling her ruined shirt to her chest.

“You can open them,” she lets him know and then hears him get up and walk out of the room. There is the muffled noise of a drawer being opened and then closed and then his footsteps return. She feels the brush of fabric against her shoulder and reaches over to accept it gratefully. It’s too big for her, of course. When she pulls the shirt over she has to push the sleeves up before she can close a handful of buttons to attain some form of decency.  When she stands and turns, Emmrich is a few paces away with his back to her. Ever the gentleman. A blanket is in his hands and Kamari already knows what he is about to suggest, and she is not having any of it. She crosses the distance between them in quick strides and takes the blanket from his hands before he can react. Emmrich spins around to face her as she presses the blanket to her chest and smiles. He sighs. “You’re not going to let me be a good host, are you?” he asks, a little exasperated.  “I’m not taking your bed from you.” She wouldn’t be able to sleep but he doesn’t need to know that. “You’ll still be here in the morning?” He tries to sound casual but she can tell that this is the crux of the issue. She had not realized that it had mattered this much to him. Perhaps she should have.  “I promise, Emmrich. I will see you in the morning.”  He nods and finally his lips tug into a tiny smile. “Good night, Kamari.” When he is gone back into his room, she pulls off her boots and sock and curls up on the couch. So many things happened tonight that she doesn’t even try to process them, it would keep her up until the morning. Instead she closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing like Harding had taught her and moments later she’s fast asleep.

Kamari is awoken by an insistent knocking on the apartment door and sits up, rubbing her eyes groggily as Emmrich rushes past her, in the process of throwing a robe over his pajamas as he heads for the door. Of course he wears a robe, she thinks and smiles to herself. From her position on the couch she cannot see into the hallway, which also means she cannot be seen. However she can hear voices. Two, aside from Emmrich. Police officers informing Emmrich about the break-in into the museum - and his exhibition specifically. Emmrich’s voice is too low for her to understand what he is saying but she can hear in his tone that he’s nervous.  Kamari chides herself for not preparing him for this possibility and quickly gets off the couch. He needs an intervention before the cops get suspicious.  She takes off her trousers and tousles her hair, opens enough buttons to strategically pull his shirt off a shoulder and takes a deep breath. Then she puts on a sleepy smile and pads down the corridor, sliding into the doorway next to Emmrich and wrapping an arm around his waist. 

There are indeed two officers outside his door both of whom turn to look at her and she gives them a cheeky smile.  “Is everything alright?” she asks, keeping her voice light and airy. She can practically see the thoughts in their head form as they take her in - Emmrich’s shirt and seemingly only that, her hair just enough of a mess, voice sleepy - and draw exactly the conclusion that she wants them to get to, entirely explaining Emmrich’s behavior.  “No need to worry, miss. It’s just a routine visit, we had to inform the Professor about an occurrence in the museum. We shall leave you to your morning.”  Kamari gives them the slyest smile. “Why thank you. You have a wonderful day too, officers.” They depart and Emmrich closes the door at which point she releases her hold on him and steps back.  “Sorry, I should have prepared you for that. Clearly they don’t think you are involved but I should have- Emmrich? Are you listening?” He is looking at her with a carefully blank expression and she needs a second before she catches on. “Oh. Sorry. Give me a second.”  She retreats into the living room and quickly pulls on her pants, righting the shirt and buttoning it up before pulling her hair into a loose bun. When she notes that Emmrich has followed her, she sends him another apologetic smile. 

“It’s not that I- don’t appreciate it but a word of warning next time would not go amiss so I can act the part.” He doesn’t look upset or flustered, there’s just that look again that she can’t place. Kamari shakes her head and laughs. “No, I think that went quite well.” At that he walks over to her and takes her hand in both of his, lifts it up to his lips. A kiss, pressed softly to her knuckles, then a second one as he holds her gaze with his. She feels a little bit like her spirit has just left her body, just a little faint. “Let me just get dressed. I assume you want to leave before they decide to come back after all.” She can only nod and watch him walk back into his bedroom. The many layers of Emmrich Volkarin. Kamari shakes herself into moving after a moment and finishes getting dressed herself, putting on her boots, tucking his shirt in and into place so that it looks far more intentional rather than just borrowed. By the time she has tidied up after herself - she’s a good guest, or aspires to be at least - Emmrich returns, dressed and with a carpet bag in hand. She blinks. “You- you want to come-?” Her voice doesn’t want to obey her. “I want to help. You said you’ll need to follow up on the artifact and- well, clearly you need someone to patch you up given the apparent dangers-” He doesn’t get much further into his little speech that he had clearly prepared just like the bag, as Kamari crosses the room and pulls him down by the lapels of his coat and kisses him. She should have done that sooner, should have done so many things sooner but she’s not going to waste this chance now. A heartbeat later there is a thud of the bag hitting the floor and Emmrich’s arms are around her again as he reciprocates the kiss.  She pulls away after a moment, fighting a smile in a losing battle with herself, and has to clear her throat. “Okay, let’s go then.”

She leads him in a slightly roundabout way to her hiding hole where her own bag is stashed, and where an Eluvian is waiting. His hand firmly in hers she leads him through, into a stone room and to Varric’s voice echoing in greeting from a little speaker. “Oh Rook, you’re back. And you brought help. That’s good, we need all the help that we can get. Come up. Bellara made breakfast, and we can start the briefing.” “Rook?” Emmrich looks at her quizzically. She shrugs. “In the grand scheme of things I am just a piece in the game.”

[kitsuneregin]

Adore You 2 (Suagr Daddy! Yandere! Mingi x Black! Reader)

Warning: Extreme Violence, Racist/Misogynist  comment, Non Consensual kiss, Non consensual touching/holding

Sorry for any mistakes

You sit on your bed reading a random book you had picked from the bookshelf in the living room. It had already been a week since you got picked up by Mr. Song and became his sugar baby, to say it’s been easy was a complete lie, Mr. song is a intimidating and stand offish. He either hides in his office in his penthouse or he’s off to a meeting, you felt like you were living with a ghost...or you were the ghost. The only time you would see him was at dinner where he made it a requirement to eat with him. 

However you couldn’t really complain either, your life had taken a complete 180 as you were no longer wandering the streets of Seoul looking for food or a comfy place to sleep. You now stayed in a lush and lavish penthouse, you were served hand and foot, you got to go shopping as much as you please and even where you pleased, you were the happiest you could be. A knock came from your door as you allowed the maid to enter, “Mr. Song requests for you to meet him in his office” she said. You were shocked, Mr. Song’s office was off limits unless he called for you. You timidly walk to his large in home office as the black and gold doors loom over you, you knock twice “Come in” a gruff voice answered, you entered the office.

Large Oak bookshelves lined the walls, a large window gave a fantastic view of Seoul, a couple of movie posters laid framed against the wall notably Star Wars, Jurassic Park, and Train to Busan. At the center of the room was Mr. Song sitting at a large black desk doing paper work, his reading glasses sat on the tip of his nose, his lips curled downward, his forehead crinkled in a frown. “You called for me?” you speak up, “Rule #3...speak when spoken to” asshole. You stayed quiet till Mr. Song looked at you, he folded his hands together and said “You’re attending with me to a gala tonight” Mr.Song pulled out one of his many money filled bank cards “get a nice gown, not too flashy, and get your nails and hair did...I don’t care how much you spend” You walk up to him and take the card.

You hop from dress shop to dress shop looking through various gowns, you finally pick a sapphire blue dress adorned in jewels a low cut revealing heavy cleavage. You get your nails and hair fixed as you head back to the penthouse, you spend almost a damn hour getting the dress on as you tried to keep your hair in it’s best shape. You slip on black heels as you walk out of your room to see Mr. Song in a all black suit his hair combed back, he was fixing his silver cufflinks. “Is she re-” Mr.Song looked at you his eyes widened at your image as you look to the floor blushing. Mr. Song cleared his throat as he looked away “Right let’s go” he said.

The gala was a giant fancy meeting between rich old men and young heirs, Mr.Song ignored you mostly as you latched on his arm and were dragged around from business man to business man. It wasn’t until you met his actual friends that you were acknowledged “Mingi who’s this gorgeous women you have with you” one of them asked, he was the same height as Mr.Song and had a puppy aura around him “She’s my fiance” you froze, he didn’t mention anything about pretending to be engaged. “Really? The Song Mingi is settling down?” another cackled his laugh similar to that red monster from a children’s puppet show. “Hush now Wooyung, I’m happy to see Mingi engaged after...his last one” the third friend with bird like features said. “To properly introduce ourselves, I’m Seonghwa Ceo of Shinestar makeup, this wooyoung Ceo and founder of Wommy entertainment studio, and this is Yunho heir to Jeong financial group” You smile and nod at the men “Where are the others?” Mr. Song asked. 

“Hongjoong is in Japan for a meeting, Yeosang is celebrating his anniversary with his wife, San is in the Bahamas, and Jongho just didn’t show up” Seonghwa explained. “If I told them about Mingi’s new plaything they would be here no doubt” Wooyoung smiled eyeing you up and down, you felt self conscious as you remember your cleavage was showing heavily. Mr. Song picked up at your body language and cleared his throat. “Go get us some drinks” Mr. Song ordered as you nodded and left. You reached the bar and ordered, as you were waiting for your drink, you though back on what Seonghwa said, there was another sugar baby before you...is that why Mr. Song is so thorough on you knowing everything about him.

You shake your head as a man stands next to you “Are you alone?” he asked eyeing you up and down, biting his lower lip. He made it no secret he wanted something from you, you stiffen up and give him a cold look. “No...I’m here with my fiance” you answer. The man laughs at your remark “Fiance? You? No man in his right mind would propose to you...you’re not....the right image” he said. You were offended, so what if you’re biracial, you were just as much a native Korean as anyone else. The drinks were plopped down next to you, you eye the man and grab the liquor. You turn to walk away but the man grabs your waist, “Hold on now, how much are you getting paid? I can pay you more, just meet me in the private room in the back” the man’s hand slid up your waist as his fingers slipped between your breast, your hands were full and you didn’t want to cause a scene. 

He placed his lips on your neck his hot breath itching your skin. You grimace as the man displayed this disgusting display, and no one helped you. “Let me go” you snarl at the man. His liquor scented breath burned your nose as he breathily laughed “You have no say in what I do”.

“But I do” Mr. Song growls as he walks up to the man, “Let my fiance go...” Mr.Song says lowly his eyes dark and unreading. “This thing is your fiance?” Mr. Song clenched his fist “She is now let her go” the man scoffed and shoved you away. “Do yourself a favor and have her get some breast implants, too flat” Mr. Song grabbed one of the drink glasses and dumped the drink on the floor. Mr. Song grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him out of view. You nervously walk back to Mr. Song’s friends as they notice your frightened look. “Where’s Mingi?” Seonghwa asked, “He dragged this guy who was harassing me some where...I’m not sure where” you explain.

Yunho picked up on the issue and excused himself  as he wandered the building looking for his friend. Yunho checked each empty room till he heard muffled yelling. Yunho ran in to see Mingi pressing his foot on the guy his face bruised and bloody. The man had a glass cup in his mouth as it look like it would break at any moment, “Mingi...” Yunho sighed, Mingi held his hand up “You really thought it was a smart idea to sexually harass my girl? Even if I didn’t catch it, I would have found out one way or another” Mingi snarled pressing harder on the guys face. “Mingi let him go...” Yunho said easing himself closer to his best friend, “This prick was touching what belongs to me” Mingi snapped, Yunho knew too many people were around to clean up this mess he needed to get himself and Mingi out of there. 

“Listen your girl-” “Y/N...her name is Y/N” Yunho sighed in frustration “Y/N...is by herself scared right now...you need to go and comfort her...I’ll take care of this prick” Yunho negotiated, Mingi stared at the man before scoffing and stepping off him. Mingi wiped his bloody shoes on the man and fixed himself walking away. Yunho look back on the man and sighed “Dumbass” 

You sit in the car quietly as Mr. Song looks out the window, you wanted to say something...anything but you were too scared to do so. “Never wear that dress or any similar type dress again, do you understand me?” Mr. Song said, you nodded silently. Mr. Song banged the window next to him “Speak” he commanded “Yes Mr. Song” you say lowly. 

You walk back to your room your head down in shame as you strip yourself of the dress and heels, you sit in the shower the memory of that pervert lingering around, his gross grimy hands on you, his disgusting breath filling your nose. You whimper as you scrub your skin clean of that filling, you take in deep breaths of the vanilla scented body wash to clear your sinuses. Your whimpering turns into sobs as you can’t escape the feeling and smell. Outside Mingi listens to your crying his heart wrenching at the sound but his blood boiling with anger. Mingi placed his hand on the door “Don’t worry my baby...I’ll fix it” 

[bullet-prooflove]

Safe Haven: Joe Velasco x Reader

Tagging: @plaidbooks   @misscharlielulu   @witches-unruly-heart    @kimm4710   @ednastvincent   @storiesofsvu   @magic-multicolored-miracle  @rosaliedepp    @cycat4077     @crazy4chickennuggets   @cixrosie      @themisunderstoodblackswan   @im-just-a-mississippi-girl​

Companion Piece to ​ When in Rome

Your home was different from the way that Joe had imagined it. From experience the majority of his fellow officers seemed to live in apartments unless they had a family, you however lived in a petite bungalow in a picturesque, family orientated area of Queens.

Despite the fact it was late you had still left the porch light on for him and Joe appreciated that. There was a darkness in the street that would have made him feel uneasy if he didn't have the two cops sitting in the off-duty police car at his back. Somewhere in New York Ruiz was stalking around in the shadows and he wondered when he would finally come face to face with the man that he had put away five years ago.

It had taken three deaths in the past thirty-six hours for Joe to realise who the killer was and even sharing the identity left a bad taste in his mouth. The things that Ruiz had done were horrific, they were snapshot images in his mind that haunted his dreams over the years. Most of the time he was certain he had come to terms with seeing the Lambert's tortured bodies however it was always the kid that got him. He could never forget the gnawing sickness he felt when the coroner had reeled off the list of injuries like a grotesque check list.

His footsteps seemed to echo as he took each step up to your ivory front door and reached for the gold-coloured knocker just below the window. After he had told the Captain the story she had instantly placed him under protective custody. The plan had been to remove him from the case and to hide Joe in a safe house so the other man couldn't touch him. That hadn't sat well with Joe and both Benson and himself had gotten into one of the worst arguments he had had in his entire life, he had been in danger of being written up for ignoring a direct order until you had stepped in to smooth over the situation. You had offered up your home as a safe haven, as a cop you had adequate security and there would be a cop in the house as well as outside the house to ensure Joe’s safety. That way Joe could work on the case and have someone to bounce ideas off whilst removing the security concerns around him. Amongst the three of you that had been agreed as the best option and here he was outside your door with his black holdall clasped in his hands. It would only be for a few days he told himself. Just until he managed to catch Ruiz.

It took a few seconds for you to open the door, he could the twisting of each and every lock as you undid them all one by one. Apparently, you hadn't been kidding when it came to your security, he wondered if that was anything to do with your previous experiences. You gestured for him to enter before you shut and locked the door behind him.

The inside of your home was intriguing to him. He hadn't known that you liked to read, which was evident from the beech wood bookshelves crammed filled with books of all shapes and sizes. He took in the well-loved sofa sat in front of your flatscreen TV, an PS4 tucked neatly underneath it. There was bedding stacked on the left-hand cushion of the sofa along with neatly folded sweat pants and a black t shirt. Your firearm was sitting ready on the hand-crafted coffee table between the TV and the sofa.

"You are far too big for the couch." You informed him as you caught him looking down at the pile of clothes in confusion. "And protocol says I need to be between you and whatever is coming through that door. You've got fresh bedding in my room, and I hope you brought your own pyjamas."

There was a lilt of humour in your voice and Joe found himself smiling despite the current circumstances.

"I thought I mentioned that I only sleep nude." he informed you with a teasing shrug before dropping down onto the couch with his holdall and rubbing his weary features with his hands.

"Hey if you wanna fight Ruiz bare assed that is up to you." You said rolling your eyes skyward. "I prefer to have something between me and the bad guy."

Joe tilted his head so that his green eyes bored into yours. You could feel the war that was waging inside of him, the unbridled fury that he wanted to unleash upon Ruiz. It was a vengeful desire one that you had experienced yourself. One that you had paid the price for, and you knew it chewed at your gut like a monster, eating you up until you were forced to act. That was one of the reasons you were taking the couch, you wouldn't put it past Joe to try and sneak out and put a bullet in Ruiz’s head. Sadly, for him the only way in and out of your place was through the front door and you were a very light sleeper.

"So, what did you do?" You asked him bluntly. "I know it's not something you wanted to say in front of the Captain. You’re acting like you deserve this, like it's your fault."

"Is this an interrogation?" Joe asked you, his voice betraying the agitation he was trying to mask underneath the surface. "Do you think I'm dirty?"

"No Jose." You said lowering your tone in an attempt to diffuse his misplaced anger. "I don't think you’re dirty, but I do think your carrying something around with you, something that's eating you up inside."

"Did you do it?" Joe asked you suddenly, you wondered if your thoughts were reflected on your face as you seated yourself in the reading chair, your hands pressed between your knees. "Did you kill him because of what he did to your partner?"

There was a moment for you, one that was pivotal. You could act in self-preservation and deny even knowing what he was talking about or you could tell the truth and that was what Joe needed right now. He needed to know he wasn't alone with this feeling.

"Yes." You told him stoically. "He wanted to kill me... but I killed him first. There are consequences. Ones that even I couldn't foresee."

You reached forward your fingertips coming to rest on the white manilla envelop that had arrived a few days ago. You pushed it towards him, urging him to pick it up. Joe did as he was requested, removing a small stack of stapled paperwork and briefly reading through the first page.

"His family are suing you for wrongful death." Joe uttered as he placed the assortment of paperwork back down on the coffee table.

"They couldn't take it to criminal court so this another way for them to get even." You told Joe with the shrug of your shoulders. "What I did I have to live with. Right now, you may think what you’re doing is just and righteous, but it isn't. It haunts you, the guilt creeps up on you and before you realise it you start to become self-destructive."

"You think that's what I'm doing?" Joe asked you. "You think I'm going to self-destruct?"

"You tell me." You responded. "You want to take on a guy that wants to kill you and that outmatches you in every single way on your own. You tell me that doesn't sound like a death sentence."

Joe rubbed his hands together as he bowed his head. His teeth gnawed at his lower lip as he took your words into consideration. They didn't change what he wanted to do, what he needed to do.

You could tell you'd lost the battle.

"Don't do it alone." you requested, pressing your hands between your knees. "If you go after him, make sure someone's got your back."

Joe said nothing, he simply rose to his feet grasped his holdall and disappeared you’re your bedroom closing the door quietly behind him.

Love Joe Velasco? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[littlewitchthatwrites]

Cauldron Part 4

“I was just trying to get closer to them. If we don't get closer we’ll never be able to get the job done.” Asher groaned.

The three hunters walked out of their school building where a sleek black car was waiting for them at the back of the parking lot. "Well, you were taking too long. And why do you get to have all the fun?" Bianca crossed her arms and slid into the car right next to Asher. Asher said nothing as they drove. They passed shops and houses, cute little neighborhoods where people lived completely unaware of the danger they were in. Living in blissful ignorance to what monsters were creeping around their lovely town. They drove until they pulled up to an open metal gate that towered into the misty autumn sky. The house that towered behind it was beautiful but old. It was completely over grown, covered by weeds and vines. The locals called it La Casa de Brujas. The house had an alarmingly strange history and it showed. People usually stayed away from this house. It was a hunting ground for beings of the supernatural. Teenagers go there to see if the legends are true and if they come back at all, they never want to go back to that house again. It stood tall just under the tall red and gold trees. The white chipped paint was spooky enough but that didn't stop the three of them from going inside. It wasn't just a house though, it was a mansion.  Ash could imagine the parties that would take place in the large hall. Large, full of life and light (he hoped). He could imagine all the women in beautiful gowns, being held close by their dance partners, spinning gracefully to elegant music. But now it was just an old, dusty tomb of history and memories.

The cracked marble floor was no longer glossy, covered in leaves and dust, but soon enough it would be restored to its former glory. In exactly a week, from midnight to midnight, the ghouls and ghosts would gather in the large hall. At that moment the line between the living and dead would break, all the monsters would stop hiding, and their family name would be known as more than just fiction. Heros, they would call them. What is myth will become real and all other hunters would bow under the name Van Helsing.

 “Well, I couldn't have a party here but that’s just my opinion.” Ash’s little brother said.

“Damien, will you stop messing around and come help us scout?” Bianca’s voice was just above a whisper but the annoyance still rattled in her voice. Damien let out a scoff and crossed his arms. “What are we even supposed to be looking for? This place is a dump. No one has been in here for centuries.” Asher rolled his eyes at his little brother and continued walking into the large ballroom. The windows were blown in resulting in a glass-covered floor. Chandeliers hung low, leaves and debris littered the ground, and there wasn't a single clean spot. It was all dark, dead, and empty. Just when they were about to quit and head back empty-handed, Bianca was gone.

Asher’s call almost echoed up stairs to the second story internal balcony that lined the room and had pictures and bookshelves covering every inch of the walls. Asher and Damien ran up the stairs to find her eyes glued to a thick page of a heavy book. It was about the width of Asher’s leg but she could hold it just fine. She was completely enamored by the picture of a crown on the top of a woman’s head. She was pale and boney but had eyes the color of rubies.

 Her hair was delicately braided and placed over her shoulder, her lips parted just the slightest bit with the corners turned up into a smirk. On her head was a beautiful crown made of white crystals and small purple flowers. They were held together by a silver circlet and little black beads about the size of berries. “Ash, doesn't this look like the portrait that your dad has in his study?”  Asher took the book and shoved it into her bag. “We need to get back to town, it's getting dark.” His warm fingers laced with hers sending a shock up her arm and behind her cheeks. The hairs on her arms stood straight up at the feeling. They ran back outside and the second they got to the porch the heavy doors slowly closed themselves with a large, booming, slam. “Let’s get this book back to your dad.” Bianca tried not to run away from the house. She walked fast, maintaining her tall confident image. Asher smirked at the small quiver in her voice.

[onepiecc]

Cosima had settled in for the night changing out of the dress into her evening gown after taking a hot bath to help calm her nerves. If her hunch was correct then Cyrus would probably come visit her later tonight to talk about what had happened that evening at the birthday party because she left after saying the final word and with her performance it would have called into question everything she stated. That was why among the gifts, she had some special ones she would send with him tonight if he came. The queen was sitting by the window reading a book in the low lights until she heard the door open, her gaze shifting towards the king. She placed the book down and quickly stood up folding her arms across her chest to help calm her nerves as her heart was racing inside of her chest. She was quiet and did not say a single thing as he spoke, but her violet eyes did narrow as she took in his comments and questions. 

When he talked about rudeness, a huff of laughter escaped her lips as she watched him take her hand to place a kiss on the top of it. “I have slit throats for those that have barged into my room without a proper appointment for less.” He was trying to make a point and threatening to crush her kingdom, but she could not show any weakness now and quickly withdrew her hand from his embrace. “I will speak what my intentions are as I have nothing to hide. I’ve expanded my kingdom and I want protection. So what kingdom has the strongest military power closest to me?” She started to move from the window to walk across the room towards the bookshelves not looking at the male as she was finally given a chance to speak. He wanted answers, she would happily provide them. “However, I’m not looking for a mere guard dog. I want something more fierce like a wolf that will help me devour sheep.” Pausing in her tracks, she glanced over her shoulder smiling at him. “Plus here is something about me you must understand darling, if something is in my way, like my own family then I will not hesitate to take them out for being weak.” 

The queen started to walk closer to the male even though he was much taller than her, she paused right against his looking up at him. Her arms touched his clothing as she smiled wide with a glee as she spoke in a cold venomous tone. “I’m looking for a wolf to devour these sheep with me. I want to be a part of your pack, which grants me your protection and power. By your side, I will tear the throats of the shepherds who stand against us as we feast upon the sheep. I want to secure my place by your side, even if it’s not equal. I’m not looking to dull your fangs and claws, in fact I want to sharpen them.” Her fingers had been tracing random shapes and doodles across his chest as she spoke, but suddenly she grabbed the collar of his cloak to pull his face closer to hers. When he was more eye level, she whispered softly in his ear.

“I want to make sure everything I built in my kingdom doesn’t come to ruin. When this empire is built, I want to rule my original territory without your influence. You are welcome to have a person stay in my kingdom to report everything back to you. I want a strong heir to take over when I am gone. I will stay out of your reign if you allow me to continue mine as it is. I want us to work together to shape the world as we desire. I am far from benevolent as I want to see the other kingdoms crushed under my heel. With you by my side I can obtain this ambition.” Her violet eyes looked at him intensely as her hands slowly lifted their way up his chest to snake themselves around his neck. Cosima was willing to do whatever it took to secure her place. “If you want my loyalty, I will gladly give it for your protection. I will give you my worship, in exchange for the heads of our enemies. I’m not looking for your heart nor love, but everything else you have.”

The female leaned in extremely close to his face almost as if she was going to give into the tension between them for a passionate kiss. However, she just sweetly smiled before stepping away with a soft chuckle before twirling like a playful fae creature. She made her way over towards the corner of the room with a large crate that was well hidden behind a curtain. Cosima had moved the cloth enough where he could see the wooden crate before placing her hand on the top of it as she slowly walked to the door. “However, the night is getting late and I need to be heading to bed. Still, I hope my answers have given you much to consider. Please take this last gift I have for you for the evening as I believe this was best opened alone. You are welcome to open it before you go. Until next time, your highness.” By the time she finished speaking, the female was halfway out the door, but gave him a bow before exiting the room to retire to her bedchambers.

Inside of the crate was a very special gift. When the top was removed, inside was a bunch of ice mana gems to keep the contents inside cold which were all the heads of all the noblemen and the royal family of the Dreonate Kingdom. The queen’s head had a special note attached written out about maybe sending the princess home to the Oprowyth Kingdom as this was all the remains of her. There was also the crown prize of the Dreonate Kingdom which was a magical dagger that was said to have been forged from a dragon’s heart and had magical properties. Cosima knew that confirming her statements might take a while so she had brought her own proof and treasures that were useless to her. She hoped Cyrus might have more use for these spoilers then she did.

Cyrus watched her leave, the light from the chandeliers reflecting off her crystal heels, each step echoing louder than the whispers that filled the hall. The smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth was not one of amusement but of genuine, simmering interest. Her words had struck a chord, roused something buried deep within him. It had been years since anyone dared challenge him this way, dared match him in their ambition, and even longer since someone had the audacity to do it in front of his own court. The murmurs of the nobles grew louder, filling the silence she left behind. They were buzzing like flies, whispering about the boldness of this foreign queen, the madness she must possess to confront him in such a manner. But all he could think of was how perfectly their ambitions intertwined—how her claim over the Dreonate Kingdom and her understanding of the Oprowyth Kingdom’s weakness made her more than just another power-hungry monarch. She was an opportunity, a door to an empire that could stretch across continents. And she knew it.

“Silence,” Cyrus commanded, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. Instantly, the hall fell quiet, every eye turning to him, every breath held in anticipation. He remained seated, his fingers tapping idly against the arm of his throne, the sound echoing as he considered her words. “It seems we have a guest who knows not only how to make an entrance but also how to leave an impression.” He stood, and the room seemed to shrink, the weight of his presence filling every corner, every shadow. “This… alliance that she speaks of, this ambition she claims to possess…” His voice trailed off as he began to descend the steps of the dais, moving through the crowd as they parted before him. “There have been many who’ve stood before me, seeking to gain my favor, to whisper sweet promises of power and riches, only to falter when faced with the reality of what it means to stand by my side.”

He stopped, turning to face his court, his eyes sharp, gleaming with a fierce, unyielding light. “But this one,” he gestured toward the door Cosima had exited, “this one does not whisper. She commands. And I, for one, find myself..intrigued.” The nobles exchanged nervous glances, unsure of how to react to their king’s words. Cyrus let the silence stretch, savoring the unease, the fear, before a faint smile curved his lips once more. “Have her claims investigated,” he commanded sharply. “Every word, every detail. If she speaks the truth, then we may have a matter worth discussing. If she lies…” His smile vanished, replaced by a cold, predatory stare. “I will see to it that her kingdom burns for daring to insult me.” He turned to his trusted advisor, who stood nearby, and nodded. “Prepare my chambers. I will meet her before the night ends.” With that, he swept out of the hall, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow, leaving his court to murmur in the wake of his departure.

[sometime later]

Cyrus moved with the silent, deliberate steps of a predator closing in on its prey, each stride echoing the authority and power that had come to define him. As he entered the dimly lit room, his eyes traced every detail of the space—taking in the flickering glow of the fire, the way the shadows danced across the walls, and how Cosima stood by the window, waiting. It was as if she was anticipating him, unyielding in her stance, despite the unease he knew she must feel. It brought a dark, twisted satisfaction to him. Closing the door behind him, Cyrus took a moment to relish the stillness, the air thick with the remnants of the tension that had brewed in the ballroom earlier. He could still hear the gasps, the murmurs, the disbelief that had erupted among the nobles when she made her bold declaration. He found himself savoring it, rolling it over in his mind, just as he now savored the sight of her standing before him—a woman who dared to look him in the eye, unflinching.

“Quite the show you put on back there,” he remarked, his tone deceptively calm as he moved further into the room, the leather of his gloves creaking with each subtle flex of his fingers. He allowed the silence to stretch once more, watching as her frame remained still, waiting for him to continue. “Many would call it foolish, to challenge me so openly, to declare such intentions in front of an audience that waits for nothing more than to see me tear apart those who overstep.”

He paused by a small table, resting a hand on its edge, and tapped his fingers against the wood, a slow, rhythmic sound that mirrored the ticking of a clock. “You are aware of my history, are you not?” His voice dropped low, his gaze sharpening as he turned it fully upon her. “Of how I’ve dealt with those who sought to stand in my way? Men who thought themselves worthy of power, of taking something from me?” His lips curled back, revealing a hint of teeth, an unspoken threat hanging in the air. “They learned their lessons—though most of them didn’t live long enough to benefit from it.” He took another step closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow that seemed to swallow the light. “Yet, here you are, daring to speak of alliances, of marriage, of ruling at my side. And you expect me to believe that this is anything more than another attempt to gain power over me?” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing with an almost feral intensity. “You must understand that I have crushed kingdoms for less.”

The king halted, a sharp, disdainful click of his tongue echoing through the silence as he stepped in front of her. One hand slid down to seize hers, his grip deceptively gentle but with an unmistakable undertone of control, lifting it slowly. “Ah… where are my manners?” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery, his gaze burning into hers. “I often forget that not everything has to be about… business.” His lips brushed against the back of her hand, a kiss that was both a mockery of chivalry and a reminder of his power, lingering just long enough to send a shiver through the air. His eyes remained locked on hers, unwavering, piercing through any facade. “Don’t mistake this for kindness,” he whispered, his voice a low growl, “for even a beast can feign gentleness before it strikes.” Cyrus straightened, the ghost of his kiss still lingering on her skin as he released her hand with deliberate slowness as if savoring the moment. His eyes never left hers, narrowing with a mix of amusement and menace. “Now, my lady, sweet Lady Cosima…” he drawled, his voice a dangerous purr that hung in the air like the calm before a storm.

“While my advisors verify the truth of your words,” Cyrus continued, his tone smooth yet edged with danger, “what else do you wish to discuss?” He tilted his head, feigning a curiosity that barely concealed the predator lurking beneath. “Let’s entertain, for a moment, this notion of marriage,” he drawled, his gaze never wavering. “Would you seek to involve yourself in my council, to whisper suggestions on which kingdoms I should crush next? Or perhaps you'd wish to make your mark in the courts?"

His voice dropped lower, more intimate yet filled with venom. “And tell me, would you expect me to grant you your own territories to rule? To let you play at being the benevolent empress while I carve through our enemies? Or perhaps you envision us as partners, building an empire side by side, spilling blood together until every kingdom bows before us.” Cyrus paused, hands clasping behind his back loosely. “If you were my Queen, would you be content to share my throne, my bed, my ambitions? Or would you dare to reach for more, thinking yourself capable of taming the very beast you’ve sought to chain?”A dark chuckle escaping his lips. “Because make no mistake, Cosima—if we were to wed, there would be no equality. I would expect loyalty, absolute and unwavering. And in return, I would give you power beyond your wildest dreams… if you could survive long enough to wield it.” He paused, his eyes flickering with a dangerous glint. “So, my lady, tell me… what role do you imagine for yourself in this empire you dream of?"

[chachadelight]

𝑻𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝑴𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑯𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒆 | Part 2

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 1 | 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 2

𝕽𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 & 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: NSFW 18+ , No actual smut but smutty references, violence (against female OC), blood, toxic relationship, swearing, ANGST, No use of Y/N

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Here is part 2!! Big warning for this fic in general is that this relationship starts out very rough. It is angsty and it is toxic and you have been warned it can get abusive. Reader and Tangerine are killers and are inherently bad people who do bad things. So they're not exactly the loving type. So don't be surprised if they fuck with each other physically and mentally.

Tags: @marialikescherries @st1nkyf4rtboy

𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Tangerine x Fem!Assassin!Reader

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 4.3k

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Tangerine doesn't love, he can't. He knows that. So why does she make him feel the way she does and why does it piss him off so much?

𝔹𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤 & 𝔹𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤

Walking through the hotel lobby together was probably the least inconspicuous thing that the three of them could be doing and the trio looking out of place was the least that could be said. They were a strange mix of people, with two of them covered in blood, not all belonging to then. Tangerine was utterly dishevelled. His tie long gone, shirt unbuttoned, trousers stained and ruined. Damsel’s dress ripped in several pieces, a fragment of it tied not only around her arm and shoulder but also taking residence wrapped around Tangerine’s solid, injured thigh. All three of them had blank, unimpressed expressions across their face as they crossed the foyer. Clearly tired and done with the night.

The hotel was nice, not overtly extravagant but the kind of place you would need to flash enough cash to get a decent room out of. The dark wooden floors were polished to perfection, a strip of red carpet running down the expanse of the lobby. The furniture was lined with gold and was clearly outdated however would be considered lavish and therefore valuable, adding to the vintage feel of the place as a whole. Walls decorated with old paintings and lined with dark wood bookshelves that were stacked with books dusting with age. If Tangerine wasn’t half dead, he would have made a note to himself to come down here later to take a pick of one the old books.

She sauntered out in front out them having had offered for the twins to come to her safe house inside the Hollyvale Hotel, a place she often frequented when she had a job around the area. Tangerine had a clear limp as he walked, gritting his teeth with every painful step as to keep any noise hinting at his discomfort to come out. Damsel noted the way the receptionist stared at them and the few sporadic bell boys struggling to keep their heads down as they finally reached the front desk, yet she kept her stern, mascara smudged eyes on the receptionist.

Tangerine frowned as he peered between her and the man, not failing to notice his concerned expression and folded hands that failed to hide his subtle shaking. He did not speak however as Damsel reached into the front of her dress, pulling out a sizeable wad of cash between her fingers. She slammed it onto the counter to which the man gently slid it to himself and exchanged it with a single key card with the numbers ‘704’. In a silent exchange she took the card and slipped it between her breasts and began walking away. Tangerine raised a brow, swearing he saw her smirk before he turned to leave.

The elevator ride was quiet as the trio stood in utter silence. Damsel’s face never changed, if she was angry or annoyed, she definitely did not let on. Tangerine wandered if she was still furious at him and Lemon messing with her job and the argument they shared inside the car. He kept his mouth shut however until they all emptied the elevator and made their way to the hotel room.

She slid the key card into the card slot and with a single beep she swung the door open, and they all trailed inside. Both Lemon and Tangerine made their way into the room first, alert, and immediately searching their surroundings to ensure they were safe. The room was larger than Tangerine could have thought. A small hallway that led to a sizeable living room that looked nothing like the lobby downstairs. Much more modern furniture and décor furnishing the room. If he turned towards the left of the living room, that’s where he supposed the bedroom and bathroom would be.

Lemon flicked open the white chiffon curtains at the other end of the apartment across the living room, quickly taking a peak out of the oversized window only to be met with the view of the city below, cars filling the traffic jammed streets.

“Pff, bloody London traffic”. Lemon broke the nauseating silence between the trio, causing both Tangerine and Damsel to look up with frowns.

Lemon looked at the two and raised his brows, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips as he let his shoulders slump. “Right well…I’m fuckin’ starvin’ so”. He started making his way back towards the door. “Did you want anything’?” He paused, hand on the handle.

All he was met with was the death stares of the other pair, both silently standing at opposite sides of the room. “Awesome, Tangerine I know what you like and you-“He pointed to Damsel, her brow raising at that. “I feel like you’re a fish n’ chip kinda’ girl”. Before she could even open her mouth to retort Lemon was out the door, making sure to slam it before he left.

Great

She thought to herself. Now she was left with the absolute psycho who has decided to name himself after a fucking fruit. ‘Tangerine’. What kind of stupid fucking name was that? And now as he started to take of his suit jacket and began unbuttoning the vest he still had on, she really started to wonder why she ever offered the twins to come stay at her safe house in the first place. Had it perhaps been the fact there was a moment in between fighting Tangerine she had gotten lost in those ungodly blue eyes and the way he smiled at the fact that she had almost killed him. A man who grinned at her attempt to maim him. Nothing she had ever experienced before.

“Don’t get any blood on the floor. Or do, I don’t give a fuck, you’ll pay for it”. She made a noise similar to that of disgust as she started to unzip the back of her dress, turning away from the man across the room as she let the fabric drop to the floor around her feet. She was left bare save the black pair of panties she donned before attending the gala, and a thigh holster still wrapped securely in place. What she didn’t see whilst turned around was how Tangerine had turned his head at her voice, gaze locked on her bare back as she undressed. His eyes scoured the length of her, taking in the large tattoo that slid along her spine and disappeared into the waistband of her panties. Black words written in what seemed to be Russian, a phrase or sentence of some sort that twitched as her back muscles tensed with every movement. There were scars and faded marks etched along her skin, each one probably carrying its very own story.

Tangerine swallowed, unable to break away as his eyes met with the curve of her arse and led to her toned, muscular legs. A body designed to kill. He thought.

He was finally pulled away from his trance once Damsel had pulled a simple white tank top that she had taken out of a black duffel bag over her torso, promptly covering her bare upper half before turning to face a bewildered Tangerine.

“Like what you see fruit boy?” She called out, fingers clicking in the air as if she were attempting to grab a child’s attention.

Tangerine rolled his eyes as he begun taking off his watch. “Don’t be so full of yourself sweetheart”. He smiled to himself at that, carefully placing the golden watch on the nearest table, his gaze trailing up to the small kitchenette adjacent to the bedroom door.

“You think you’re so irresistible, don’t you?”

“I absolutely do”.

She scoffed; arms crossed over her chest. Her arm was coated with dried blood, she must have been in so much pain, but her expression or demeanour showed naught. “I bet no woman has ever turned you down before”.

Tangerine stood his ground as she started to move closer to him. Those perfect hips swaying the same way they did when he first met her hours prior at the gala. “Sounds accurate to me love, now what’s your point aye?”

She eyed him carefully. Making sure she had enough distance between them as she crept closer to him. She couldn’t quite figure him out completely, but what she did know was that Tangerine was an arsehole. He was narcissistic yet he was smart and was able to make well calculated decisions. He would have had to at some point in his life to be this successful.

“My point is Tangerine…” She cooed, his name slipping over her turn sinfully. “That there must be something about you that isn’t all of this”. She stepped closer now, her arms opening for her to gesture to Tangerine’s figure.

He looked down at himself before looking back up at her with a brow raised. “What’s that sposed’ to mean?”

“Charming, handsome, macho, not a care in this world…” Her voice had dropped an octave now, her eyes darkening and a sinister smirk spreading over her lips. “I can read you like a book Tangerine”. She said his name like that again, like it was the most sinful word she could ever speak.

“Stop saying it like that and what the fuck are you on about?” He was getting annoyed with her now and she could see that in his eyes. The way he started to fiddle about with frustration, unsure of where to keep his hands and arms as she simply stared him down with that sick smile on her still red lips.

“You… a poor little boy. Unwanted by his parents”.

Tangerine’s eyes widened at that, a single eye twitching. How can she know that?

“You stop that now”.

She did the opposite. She knew she was on the right track, and it only egged her on.

“Unloved by everyone. So much so that they simply gave him up, not bothered to deal with him. The burden of an unwanted child”.

“I fucking mean it”. He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Hated even by his foster parents…not just one, but every single one of them”.

By the look in Tangerine’s eyes, she knew she had struck a deep-rooted nerve. How she knew this? Well, she didn’t. Damsel had grown skilled in the art of reading people and when it came to Tangerine, she simply took a guess, and judging by the way he has reacted she knew she was right. She took joy in breaking down his walls, kicking them in until she could wrap her cold little hands around the shrivelled part of him that he hides with his manly bravado. He had fucked up her job and made her look like an amateur. She’d be lucky if she even got paid half of what she had originally asked for.

“Weak and useless and kicked around all his life. You developed this bullshit bravado act and fuck your way through any whore you can get your hands on”.

“I’m fucking warnin’ you for the last time, I swear to god. You’re bein’ a right fuckin’ brat I tell ya’”.

Damsel dared to take one final step closer to him until she was toe to toe with him. She was grinning now, the title ‘brat’ only encouraging her to keep it all up. She took that work with pride, going straight to her head. Gazing up from beneath her lashes she swore she could hear his heart pounding out of his chest, his eyes wide with fury and his breath heavy through his nose.

“I wonder if your brother knows how fucking pathetic you are”.

It was when the mention of Lemon slipped from her mouth that Tangerine final snapped. To bring him into whatever this was; was Tangerine’s last straw. Without hesitation he grabbed her forcefully by the neck, spun around and slammed her against the wall. A gasp left her lips as all the air from her chest escaped her completely from the impact. Tangerine growled angrily as his fingers curled tighter around her throat, the feeling of her struggling under his grasp giving him a small amount of satisfaction.

“I told you to shut your filthy fucking brat mouth”. Damsel reached up, weakly clawing at Tangerine’s hand before gripping his wrist in a desperate attempt to get him to let go. He had taken her so much by surprise that she hadn’t had the strength to fight against him, especially with her injured arm. A small, strained nose left her throat, her face beginning to turn red due to the lack of oxygen, the blood rushing to her head.

“Sorry love what was that? I can’t quite hear you; you’ll have to speak up”.

She looked at him with a desperate gaze as she started to whack at his chest with a closed fist. It did absolutely nothing to sway Tangerine as he kept his hand at her throat. “Not a lot to say now hey?”

Damsel was growing weary from the lack of oxygen, her vision beginning to blur and darkness slowly making its way into her line of sight. She let out one last burst of energy as she brought her knee up, landing it square against Tangerine’s nether regions and causing him to cuss out in agony.

“Fuck!” He immediately let her go as he keeled down in excruciating pain. Damsel had fallen to her knees, gasping for air as she clawed at her throat, choking, and sputtering all over the place, wondering if she’d ever be able to catch her breath properly.

“Fucking bitch!” Tangerine called out as he cupped his balls in one hand whilst the other pointed an accusatory finger.

She gasped one last time, sucking in as much air as she could as she stomped her way over to a suffering Tangerine. “You almost fucking killed me you bastard!” She raised an open palm and landed an Earth-shattering slap to Tangerine’s face that was so out of place it stopped him dead in his tracks.

Tangerine cupped his quickly reddening cheek before slowly turning to look at her. At this moment all he could feel was the intense stinging against his cheek and the burn of her gaze as she stood there staring at him in nothing else but a stained wide beater and black panties. He could feel nothing else. Not even the bullet hole in his thigh was comparing to the way the slap and her stare combined felt in that moment. That hit was the most personal of the night. She had broken him down on purpose, found his weakness and dissected him like a demented child with a rat’s corpse. Yet here he was, almost guilty that he had laid a hand on her.

“You’re just like every other fucking man out there”. She stared at him as if he were the most monstrous being on the planet and for some reason this hurt him. There had been countless times men and women alike had looked at him like this but for some reason coming from her it felt terrible. Tangerine noticed fresh blood trickling down her arm, droplets forming at her fingertips and threatening to fall at any point. The wounds had obviously opened up again during the struggle.

“You’re bleeding”. His voice was soft. Way softer than either himself or Damsel could expect. Tangerine lowered his hand from his face and locked eyes with her once more, finding it hard to keep eye contact.

“No fucking shit”.

He frowned slightly as he reached towards her. She immediately slapped his arm away, refusing to let him touch her. “Don’t you fucking touch me”.

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He didn’t listen to her, quickly grabbing a hold of her wrists and forcing her to stand still. Damsel’s face twisted with utter distaste to this and tried to fight his hold. To no avail he held her in place.

“Stop being a brat and just stand fucking still and let me help you”. His voice dropped multiple octaves, a gravel in his tone as his fingers tightened around her wrists. Her eyes blew wide open at his command, pure rage still boiling inside her but something else lay within her for a sudden chill to surge through her body, prompting her to still within an instant. She searched his gaze for some sort of explanation for his sudden need to heal her, but she couldn’t find a single hint anywhere within those blue eyes. So, she stopped struggling, her tense body relaxing in an instant.

“Are you going to let me help you?” He asked, eyes never leaving her own as she flicked through every racing thought in her head. When she took too long, he clicked his tongue and shook her by the wrists. “Are you!?”

All she could do was nod her head softly once, unable to form any other words as Tangerine did nothing after that but begin leading her to the bedroom, through to the ensuite bathroom. His grip had lessened on her wrists at this point as they both entered the dimly lit room.

He had let go of her wrists long enough to enable her to move towards the sink, looking up at the mirror for a moment and catching a glimpse of him in the reflection. She paused; eyes boring into his own. What did she do wrong for her to run into him? Everything was going her way at every moment and there wasn’t a single day or job where things didn’t go her way. Her fingers curled against the edge of the sink, her gaze flicking to the way her blood stained the porcelain. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to stitch her own wounds yet the thought of him helping her, seeing her at one of her most vulnerable states was still unbearable after what he had just done to her. She had her fair share of terrible men in her life, far too many to count. Far too many stories she’d rather not share.

“Turn around”. He spoke suddenly, pulling her from her thought. She did as he asked, not bothering to speak back as she leaned herself against the sink, her gaze refusing to meet his again. “Where’s your first aid?” She pointed to the cabinet behind him to which he opened and took out a dark green box. Tangerine let out a puff through is nose as he laid out the box’s contents, sifting through before he finally pulled out the needle and thread.

He noticed the way she refused to look at him now and he frowned, knowing well what had caused her to do so. He felt somewhat guilty about it however remained indignant at the way she had spoken about him moments prior. Perhaps she didn’t deserve to be choked out for it but that is how Tangerine operated. He didn’t really have a place inside him for tenderness or patience, and that meant creating meaningful relationships was not his forte. Excluding with his brother.

Tangerine reached up slowly to begin unravelling the soiled fabric from Damsel’s arm, careful to pull slowly as some of the blood had dried and crusted to her skin. He paused for a moment when she flinched, his gaze flicking up to her to see her reaction. When she didn’t say or do anything he continued until both the bullet wound and cut were visible to him. He examined her arm briefly. They were sizeable and deep wounds and no doubt needed multiple stitches.

“Jesus…really did a number on you didn’t I”. She let out a breath from her nose that sounded of amusement, yet she still refused to look at him. “This is going to hurt love”.

“Shut the fuck up and sew me up arsehole”. She spat impatiently.

Tangerine didn’t react to her outburst and took it as his signal to get things going. He brought the needle up to her arm and used one hand to prop under it to keep her steady. Lining up the point of the needle with her cut first, he gently but purposefully pushed it into her skin. Damsel hissed at the first push of the needle, screwing her eyes shut and squeezing the edge of the sink. The pain was unpleasant but not unfamiliar. The countless scars across her skin reminded her of that every day.

“Sorry”. His voice was soft as he made the second stitch, the needle pushing through a particularly sensitive spot that caused her to suddenly latch onto the white shirt he still had on, gripping the fabric roughly as to cope with the pain.

“Fuck! Gentle…!” Tangerine looked up to the spot she had clung onto, a small smile on his lips as he continued to sew up the wound, he had been guilty of.

“What? Don’t like it a little rough sometimes?” He grinned at her and only became more prideful once she snapped her eyes to him angrily. He had gotten her to look at him.

She noticed the look on his face and scoffed, a smile matching his growing on her face. “Always do”. Tangerine kept his smirk and shook his head at her.  He tied off the last stitch, yet he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. The way she looked back at him now, eye to eye. They were so close, and he had only just realised it then.  

“You’re a fuckin’ strange one love”. Tangerine kept his voice low, his hand still wrapped around her arm gently. He watched her smile again and something inside him churned. She had a beautiful smile he thought. Not as wicked as he once thought before.

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He smiled at her like she was beautiful, and it made her feel ill. No one usually smiled at her like that unless they were sleazy men wanting her purely for her body and nothing else. Perhaps Tangerine could be the same, but the way his fingers gripped at her skin and how gently he sewed up her wounds told a different story. There was something so insanely intimate about this interaction that was so much more than even if he had her pressed to a wall and fucked her senseless. Damsel grimaced at the thought of it. The last thing she could ever need is to be cared about or care for anyone else. There was no room for it in her line of work. Not to mention she had tried it once before, and what did she get out of it? Nothing but heartbreak and a giant scar on her leg to prove it.

Yet here he was, inches from her body. His chest was pressed against her side, his body firm against her. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of his musk and it was all so nauseating. Maybe it was the blood loss, but her senses were in an overdrive at him being so close to her. He was still in his shirt but it was heavily unbuttoned now, revealing the tanned chest beneath. Soft curls of hair decorating his muscled chest and a gold pendant swaying temptingly against his skin. No doubt a piece of great importance to him that she knew he would never confide in her. Everything within her screamed and clawed out to tell her to get away. Yet she remained. Some voice telling her to stay. The same voice who had probably told the twins to come back with her. She hadn’t even felt him stitch her bullet wound to the point he had finished and was now locking eyes with her once more.

They stood in silence. He was hunched over slightly, and this caused their faces to remain only inches apart. “You should shower”. His breath fanned across her face, her eyes fluttering softly at his tone.

“I’m sure you’d enjoy that”. She retorted, her sarcasm failing to reach her expression. The dazed look on her face betraying her.

He smirked and stood up straight, pulling her briefly from her haze. “Up”. She listened with only a moment of hesitation; black stained eyes looking up at him as he pulled the tank top from her gently. She stood bare in front of him then and she didn’t miss how his gaze fell onto the sight of her bare breasts. He half expected him to jump her there, yet he didn’t. Instead, he spun around and turned the shower on, his hand floating beneath the stream of water until he deemed the temperature appropriately warm. Turning back around he stepped closer to her again, the smell of him brining yet another wave of nausea to her. Tangerine leaned down until his lips pressed against her ear causing her eyes to flutter shut once more.

“Get in before I change my mind and get in with you”. With that he pulled away from her and headed for the door, leaving her alone without looking back.

Damsel opened her eyes and watched him leave, her chest rising and falling heavily. She listened to the way her heart thrummed and sneered. Fucker. As if she would have let him.

Yet she would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t thought about it. But she knew that it would have been the worst idea.

....................................................................................................................

Tangerine let out the biggest breath as he closed the bathroom door, unaware of just how hard he had been holding it in the whole time he had been with her. The intimacy of the whole interaction, how close he had gotten to her. The feel of her skin against his own, burning every inch of him. The swell of her breasts and the look in her eyes as she watched his every move had him on fire. To say he was turned on was putting it in the mildest way possible. He could feel himself straining uncomfortably against his trousers and started to wonder if he should barge back in and take her right there against the shower wall. The mere thought of it had him twitching, aching horrifically to find out how she might feel wrapped around him. How warm her walls must be, how wild and lustfully she could ride him if he could just get his hands on her.

He was going to need a cold shower.

Tangerine advised himself against it, however. Initiating that with her would undeniably end badly. Usually, he would never turn down the opportunity to fuck a gorgeous woman however this one was different. Something told him this was not the last time he was going to see her. Not because they may cross paths but because Tangerine knew he would subconsciously try to see her again. And that in itself was a very, very bad thing.

[cassandraclare]

The Whispering Room: James’ POV

Here it is finally — James’ POV of the Whispering Room scene from Chain of Gold. I wanted to wait until Chain of Iron was released to give more people a chance to read the book, and also because what we learn in COI does inform the scene. I hope you enjoy!

*art by Cassandra Jean

Cortana wove with her words, underlining each one with steel. She turned as her sword turned, and her body curved and moved like water or fire, like a river under an infinity of stars. It was beautiful—she was beautiful, but it was not a distant beauty. It was a beauty that lived and breathed and reached out with its hands to crush James’s chest and make him breathless. — Chain of Gold

James had felt a strange emotion when Daisy first took the stage at the Hell Ruelle. It was a mix of several feelings...

worry on her behalf, annoyance at Kellington, curiosity, and admiration for her bravery and poise. It was unfair of these Bohemians to force her to caper for them, and, he thought, a bit insulting to Shadowhunters in general. He supposed that Matthew had given them a rather unusual view of what the Nephilim were like in such circumstances.

And then she had begun to dance. And suddenly she was not Daisy, his old friend. She was Cordelia, whose name meant heart, whose every gesture was fire. Every earthly worry he’d had had been swept out of his mind. He was conscious only of Cordelia, whirling back and forth across the small stage. Cortana danced around her, shedding light like embers. The dull glow of the lamps illuminated her body, describing her every movement, her every curve as she danced. Her scarlet hair whipped around her in time to the music, and the golden light of the lamps in the Ruelle slipped across her skin, slow and hot, like beads of honey. The cadences of her voice, rising and falling, seemed to weave a cage of silken thread about her audience, and James was no exception.

Later, James would think it was odd that he had not compared her to Grace. Grace had never entered his mind at all. Cordelia danced, and by the end of her performance, James’s entire life had been disassembled and put back together in a new and different shape. He was conscious of Matthew, beside him, also staring as the crowd cheered, his sharp cheekbones flushed. He looked dazed; James couldn’t blame him.

Cordelia descended the stage and slipped through the crowd to come back to them, blushing at the looks and murmured comments she was drawing from the audience now. James could see the desire in the eyes that followed her. Everyone wanted her. He felt a dull fury. They had no right. They did not know Cordelia. She was more than just that dance.

When she reached them she let out a long breath of relief and smiled. She glowed with the exercise of dancing. Sweat beaded along her collarbones, shimmered between her breasts. Her eyes were bright as Cortana’s blade, strapped to her back.

“Bloody hell,” Matthew exclaimed.  “What was that?”

A look of uncertainty crossed Cordelia’s face. James said, “It was a fairy tale, Math,” and Matthew nodded. His dark green eyes searched Cordelia’s face, as if looking for the key to a locked room he had only just discovered.

Cordelia looked uncertain. James couldn’t bear that. She’d been magnificent; she should know it. But he couldn’t say that, of course. It would only make her self-conscious.

“Well done, Cordelia,” James said instead; when he unfolded his arms; his wrist hurt and he wondered if he’d been clenching his hands.

Cordelia. He hadn’t called her Daisy, and she looked a little surprised. It seemed inappropriate, somehow. Daisy was Lucie’s friend, the Merry Thieves’ compatriot; he found it a smaller name than she deserved. Cordelia, though—she had been a queen, hadn’t she? Queen Cordelia, daughter of Leir, ruler of Britain before the Romans had ever landed on those shores. Like Boadicea, a legendary warrior queen. A blazing white fire behind fathomless black eyes.

“Anna has disappeared with Hypatia,” James said, noting the empty settee, “so I would call your distraction a success.”

Cordelia’s lips twitched into a smile. “How long does a seduction usually last?”

“Depends if you do it properly,” Matthew said, with a wink. James felt it as a spark of relief, a bit of lightness amid the feeling that something heavy was sitting on his chest.

“Well, I hope for Hypatia’s sake Anna does it properly,” James said. He registered, with the reflexes of a parabatai, that Matthew had gone still next to him, and wondered what was wrong. “Yet for our sake, I hope she hurries it up.”

All hint of Matthew’s jocular tone from before was gone. “Both of you,” he said urgently. “Listen.”

Did he mean all the muttering about Shadowhunters? Was he only noticing it now? It had followed them since they came into the place. But when James followed Matthew’s gaze, he found Kellington staring with an expression of vexation, not at them but at the door. All questions were answered as through the door came Charles Fairchild, looking around him with a haughty expression. He looked like was about to raid the place; so much for whatever work Matthew and Anna had done for Downworlder-Shadowhunter relations here.

Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Charles,” he sighed. “By the Angel, what is he doing here?”

Charles was, James thought, probably looking for them. He was making his way through the crowd and gazing around him. Luckily for them, the crowd was not interested in letting him through, and he was moving very slowly.

“We should go,” James said. “But we can’t leave Anna.”

In one way, at least, Charles’s arrival was helpful; it threw a bucket of cold water on the roiling heat that had gripped James’s heart since Cordelia had begun her dance. Back to the matter at hand: a demon, a Pyxis, a plan.

“You two run and hide yourselves,” Matthew said, still keeping his eyes on his brother. “Charles will go off his head if he sees you here.”

“But what about you?” said Cordelia.

Matthew shrugged, but James could see the tension in his jaw and his shoulders. “He’s used to this kind of thing from me. I’ll deal with Charles.”

Not for the first time, James wished that his parabatai wasn’t in such a hurry to sacrifice his own reputation. He exchanged a long look with Matthew, but Matthew was sure, and determined, and his desire to rush into his own humiliation was an issue that would have to wait. Nodding, he turned and caught Cordelia’s hand with his own. “This way,” he said, and she nodded back in acknowledgement. As he pulled them into the crowd he heard Matthew’s voice calling, “Charles!” in a hearty tone of pleasant, if entirely false, welcome.

James didn’t know his way around the place, and the crowd made orientating himself even more difficult, but after some trial and error he and Cordelia managed to get behind Kellington and slip into a corridor leading away. This wasn’t safe in itself, since from the main chamber one would have a clear view down the entire corridor. In fact, they were temporarily more exposed than before, and James’s hope for the hallway to take a quick turn or to contain large statuary to hide behind was quickly dashed. He continued to hold onto Cordelia’s hand, not that he needed to; she seemed to know her way better than he did.

Partway down the corridor, James caught sight of an open door — its silver plaque labeling it the entrance to THE WHISPERING ROOM. Swiftly he drew Cordelia inside, out of sight. He slammed the door behind them, causing a loud noise, but he thought it couldn’t possibly be heard over the crowd in the main chamber. Only then did he release Cordelia’s hand and take stock of their surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, but not cold: a scented fire burned in the grate, filling the space with the smell of sandalwood and roses. It was a study, he guessed, based on the gigantic walnut desk against the wall and the bookshelves opposite, but it was too richly decorated to be solely a place for studious contemplation. Phoenix feathers and dragon scales danced across the gilded wallpaper; there were no windows, but the walls were hung with patterned tapestries, the floor covered with a rug so thick James felt his boots sink into it as he moved further into the room.

Cordelia had leaned her back against the wall next to the door. Her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, full breaths, calming herself down. Cortana gleamed gold over her shoulder; the firelight gleamed a deeper gold on her skin, which seemed to take and hold its warmth. James curled his fingers in against his palm.

He wanted to touch her. He half-turned away, pretending to study the books on the wall. Any other time, he would have been fascinated by the titles. Now they seemed distant, neither immediate nor imporant. He could have sworn he heard his own heart hammering. He said, “Where did you learn to dance like that?” surprising himself with the roughness of his own voice.

His gaze snapped back to Cordelia as she opened her eyes and gave a little shrug. There was something magical about the dress she wore: it followed the shape of her own body rather than the shape of corsetry or whalebone petticoats. It slid softly against her skin as she moved, just as her dark red hair tickled the bare skin of her throat, her shoulders. “I had a dance instructor in Paris. My mother believed that learning to dance aided in learning grace in battle.”

The word grace pierced James like an icicle. He could not quite picture Grace at the moment, it was true; could not quite envision her face. He had given Grace his heart — that was an immutable fact, something he knew as he knew that two plus two equaled four. But he had to admit that at the moment his heart did not feel given. It felt like a thrumming machine inside his chest, pumping blood and heat.

“That dance,” Cordelia added with a quirk of her soft mouth that struck James like a blow to the stomach, “was forbidden to be taught to unmarried ladies. But my dance instructor did not care.”

“Well,” James said, keeping his voice steady with practiced control, “thank the Angel you were there. Matthew and I could certainly not have pulled off that dance on our own.”

Cordelia turned away from him, the smile still on her face, as though she were keeping it secret from him. She trailed her hand along the top of Hypatia’s desk. At one end was a stack of papers held down by a large copper bowl of fruit, and she brought her hand up to trace its rim.

James may have been distracted beyond the capacity for distraction he’d known before, but he was still a Shadowhunter. “Be careful,” he said warningly. “I suspect that is faerie fruit. It has no effect on warlocks—no magical effect, at least. But on humans…”

Cordelia pulled her hand back as though stung. “Surely it does not harm you if you do not eat it.”

“Oh, it does not. But I have met those who have tasted it. The say the more you have of it, the more you want, and the more you ache when you can…have no more.”

Cordelia was looking at him now, and though it took a great summoning of courage, he returned her gaze. In her dark eyes the silver and blue flames of the fireplace danced. James could not catch his breath. He had never felt this before, this breathlessness. It was like pain, but with a sweet, sharp edge. Like licking honey from a knife. He said, in a low voice, “And yet. I have always thought…is not knowing what it tastes like just another form of torture? The torture of wondering?”

The door shook on his hinges suddenly, making a clatter that made both he and Cordelia jerk their heads around to look at it. The knob was starting to turn.

Cordelia paled. “We’re not meant to be in here —“

James’s world closed down to just this: Cordelia was here, she was with him, and she looked frightened. He would do anything to stop that look on her face. He caught her in his arms, and the relief was incredible — he had not realized how much he wanted to be touching her until he was. Until he was holding her, and her strength and warmth and softness were all pressed against him, and her face was so beautiful it hurt, and her lips were parted in surprise and without another thought he kissed them.

He could feel her sharp intake of breath with his hands, clasped together at her lower back. She gasped, but did not draw back, or away — he thought he would have died if she had — she leaned into him, her full lips opening under his. She was kissing him back. He tasted honey, smelled jasmine and smoke. His hand slid up her warm cheek and into the soft fall of her hair.

Time stopped.

Cordelia’s arms were around his neck. Her lush mouth opened a little against his, and the kiss deepened. He moved his hand to the back of her neck to bring her closer. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and he couldn’t help it; he moaned, and felt her tremble against him.

Very far away, a voice chuckled and the door closed with a soft click. This whole thing had been intended as a ruse, he knew, for the benefit of whomever was trying to get into the Whispering Room. Probably some Ruelle attendees, Downworlders most likely, who had snuck off for a rendez-vous.

Ruse accomplished, then. With intense regret, James drew back from Cordelia. Her hand, warm and soft and wonderful, was against his neck; her fingers stroked his pale white scar. Her eyes were fixed at the level of his shoulder. He could hear himself say her name — Daisy, my Daisy — instead of responding, she whispered, “I think more people are coming.”

He knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t care. He knew what she was saying: that she was asking and giving permission at once. All James’ life, he had struggled for control: control over his sudden falls into shadow, control over the dark world he could see, that was invisible to everyone else. He had worked and fought and trained for control every day, and for the first time in as long as he could remember it deserted him.

The walls he had put up burned to the ground in an instant as he caught Cordelia to him. He groaned against her mouth, his hands slipping over the silk of her dress, the hot satin of her skin. He undid the strap that held Cortana, got rid of it somehow — carefully, he hoped — and let himself fall back into delirium.

He did not ask himself why he had never felt desire like this before. He could not. He was lost in the feel of her, the incline of her waist, the flare of her hips, the rise and fall of her chest as she gasped. They were kissing wildly, uncontrolled; they fetched up against the desk, Cordelia’s back to it.

Her body bent backward in an impossible arch, her hands going behind her to brace herself. Her eyes half-closed, her head fell back, revealing the bare column of her throat. He pressed his lips there, eliciting a gasp of surprised pleasure.

His hands trailed up the sleek material of her dress — he could feel the heat of her skin through it — from her waist to the neckline of her gown. His palms followed her curves until the tips of his fingers were pressing into the bare bronze skin just above the neckline of her dress. She was sleek and soft and hot all at the same time, like nothing else he’d ever touched. He heard her whimper; she was saying his name, and his heart beat in time with her words: James, James, Jamie please.

The please undid him; shrugging off his frock coat, he caught hold of her around the waist, lifting her until she was perched on the edge of the desk. The material of her dress bunched around her knees, her thighs, as she took hold of his shirt by the starched front and kissed him. His mouth drove against hers, hot and demanding, even as he clambered onto the desk after her. She reached up her arms for him and he sank down on top of her, bracing his weight with a hand above her head.

He paused, just for a moment, looking down at her. Her scarlet hair fanned out across the desk, her eyes glazed, her full lips red from kissing. He was cradled by her body, her legs on either side of his hips, her skirt rucked up nearly to her waist. She wrapped her long, bare legs around him and he shuddered. What was in him, what he wanted, was inchoate but insistant, a force he’d never known. A yearning like hot wires in his blood, the pain-pleasurable ache of unbearable wanting that drove him to kiss her again, kiss her harder. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling at it as he kissed her breasts, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin until she gave a low scream and clutched at him with desperate hands.

He sank down against her and kissed her, hot and deep and hard. She arched into the kiss, her breath coming in gasps. He felt her through the thinner material of his shirt: the heat of her, the swell of her breasts against his chest, her hands smoothing over his chest, his sides.

His hands aching to touch her in kind, to find out what she liked, what made her gasp, and do it again and again . . . Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing. He’d known desire before; so he remembered, so he had believed. It turned out he had stepped into a puddle and thought it was the sea. As Cordelia moved in his arms, as her lips, he realized there was a depth to desire he hadn’t even guessed at: that it was more than just desperation, but joy and need and wanting and being wanted back. It was a fever dream, his hands sliding up under the heavy satin of her skirts, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the soft sounds of her pleasure as she urged him closer, urged him onward, the desk seeming to spin beneath them.

He heard, as if at a great distance, the sound of the door opening. He lifted his head, saw the slim fair-hared figure in the doorway. Ice washed through his veins. Cordelia stiffened, began to scramble to sit up. No, he thought, but he couldn’t stop her, couldn’t blame her. It — whatever it had been — was over.

He slid off the desk. Already the fever was vanishing, that feeling —the glorious freedom from the burden of his own will — receding. Grasping at his control, he drew it around himself,  reaching for his coat, turning to calmly meet the gaze of his parabatai.

“James?” Matthew said.