#so no clue if i won or lost or where my art even is in the state but

[flowerxguts]

my dali submission this year! i was lucky enough for my art to be submitted to the statewide competition

[mariacallous]

In mid-September, Russians at War, a documentary by the Russian Canadian filmmaker Anastasia Trofimova, was supposed to be screened at the Toronto International Film Festival. At the last minute, after protests from the Ukrainian community and the office of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, the festival first pulled the picture, only to return it to the program a week later.

What made the documentary so controversial was that, although many films have chronicled the devastation caused by Russia’s ongoing invasion of Ukraine, including the Oscar-winning 20 Days in Mariupol, Trofimova’s work focused on the invaders. The filmmaker, embedded with a Russian unit for seven months, humanized Moscow’s troops as lost, confused, and disheveled. The men joke, miss their families, and even criticize the Russian government, though they never speak against Putin. A love-on-the-front-lines plot trains the viewer’s sympathy on the soldiers, even while the film avoids any reference to atrocities committed by Russian forces in Ukraine.

So is Russians at War a propaganda film, as its Ukrainian critics argue? Financed in part by the Canada Media Fund and produced in partnership with Ontario’s public broadcaster TVO, Russians at War avoids the trope of “Russian savior liberates ancestral lands from NATO invaders” that is typical of Kremlin propaganda. But all of Trofimova’s previous documentaries, filmed in Syria, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Iraq, were made for RT—the Kremlin’s global propaganda network. In an interview with Deadline, Trofimova claimed that she embedded with a Russian unit without any military authorization, and just “stuck around.” In a country where a Wall Street Journal reporter gets sentenced to 16 years for merely handling a piece of paper, an independent filmmaker roaming the front lines, filming military installations, and interviewing soldiers without facing repercussions raises questions. Trofimova did not respond to a request for comment for this article.

One thing that the confused response to Russians at War makes clear is that eight years after the revelation that Moscow attempted to influence a U.S. presidential election, most Westerners still don’t really know how Russian propaganda campaigns work. Americans have become familiar with AI botnets, salaried trolls tweeting in broken English about Texas secession, deranged Russian TV hosts calling for a nuclear strike on New York, and alt-right has-beens. But what to make of a French and Canadian documentary, tucked between Pharrell’s Lego-animated film and a Q&A with Zoe Saldaña, that seems cozy with the Russian military and blurs the line between entertainment and politics?

Here is a clue: The Kremlin’s information war in the West is reminiscent of the one it fought—and won—on the home front. I know this because I was in that earlier war, and, regrettably, I fought on the wrong side.

I began working for Kremlin-linked media during my junior year in college. At the time, the Russian government was apparently hoping that by leveraging high energy prices, it could regain a bit of the influence it had lost after the Cold War. The state called this being an “energy superpower.” In practice, high oil and gas prices abroad translated into more Michelin chefs, German cars, and Italian suits for the select few at home.

In 2005, a close friend introduced me to Konstantin Rykov, known as the godfather of the Russian internet and, later, the man who revolutionized digital propaganda in Russia. In 1998, he launched a website called fuck.ru, which included a provocative magazine and mixed Moscow nightlife, humor, and art. With a blend of pop culture and media savvy, Rykov built an empire of news websites, tabloids, and even online games.

Rykov’s latest endeavor at the time of our meeting was The Bourgeois Journal, a glossy luxury-lifestyle magazine aimed at Russia’s affluent class. He hired me to head up the St. Petersburg bureau, not because of my background in student journalism, but in large part because I grew up in Boston, meaning that I was fluent in English and, apparently, the ways of the West. During my interview (a sushi-and-vodka breakfast), the word Kremlin never came up.

Rykov made the Journal available, for free, only at the most exclusive restaurants, gyms, private clinics, and five-star hotels. Inside, between ads for Richard Mille watches and prime London real estate, were interviews with figures such as Vladimir Medinsky and Alexander Dugin—now the ideologues behind Russia’s war in Ukraine. In a single issue, you could read a review of a restaurant located in a 15th-century building in Maastricht, an essay about the West’s fear of a strong Russia, and a report from Art Basel. The Bourgeois Journal used luxury to mask propaganda aimed at Russia’s elite.

Like many people working in Russian propaganda at the time, I didn’t agree with the narrative that my publication was spreading. And, as most people in propaganda will tell you, I was simply doing my job. I was there a little over a year—selling ads, reviewing restaurants, and occasionally interviewing a Western celebrity. The tedious essays on Russia’s place in the world were outweighed by the benefits of running a magazine for the rich: private palaces, private parties, and escapes to the Caribbean sun—something that the birthplace of Dostoyevsky had little of.

After the success of The Bourgeois Journal, Rykov launched Russia.ru, the country’s first online television network, in 2007. Here, pro-Kremlin news ran alongside obscene reality shows, attracting nearly 2.5 million viewers a month. The network’s slogan, “Glory to Russia”—now a battle cry in Russia’s war in Ukraine—demonstrated just how seamlessly Rykov blended patriotism with entertainment to reach an enormous audience.

Building on this, Rykov introduced ZaPutina (“For Putin”), a movement designed to help Vladimir Putin secure an unconstitutional third term. The project included an online platform that aggregated news from various sources, including original reporting from its own correspondents; a ZaPutina campaign bus to take Kremlin-loyal bloggers across the country; and attractive women—proto-influencers—who attended press conferences, introducing themselves by name and their outlet (“For Putin”) before asking their questions.

My biggest contribution to Russian propaganda came in 2009. By then, Russia was positioning itself as an inventive, Western-oriented economy. Vladislav Surkov—an adman, a poet, a columnist, and a Kremlin ideologue—dubbed this period one of “managed democracy,” which will likely be remembered as the midpoint between Russia’s post-Soviet anarchy and its modern-day fascism. Political parties were numerous, but all controlled from the Kremlin, as was almost every form of media. Yet the country sought a veneer of freedom. That’s where Honest Monday came in—a prime-time talk show that I co-created, wrote, and co-produced.

Our remit was to reach the sorts of viewers who ignored the in-your-face messaging of broadcast talk shows. Each week, the Kremlin assigned these shows a topic it wanted highlighted, and most would comply in a very blunt fashion: Do this, vote for that, Russia’s great. With a young host and a flashy studio modeled on French TV, Honest Monday took a different approach. Every week, I wrote up a summary of the left, center, and right perspectives on the topic we were given; I also delineated a viewpoint that reflected the Kremlin’s stance on the matter and sketched a justification for why this view was better than the other three. The producers would then scour the country for guests whose views reflected each of the three perspectives. The three speakers—politicians, celebrities, or pundits—had to defend their stance to, say, a factory worker we flew in from Siberia whose experience was relevant to the topic we covered. The debates were real, many of them heated, and with views contradicting the Kremlin’s. Still, the house always won.

Toward the end of our first season, the ratings for Honest Monday dipped, and the Kremlin’s tolerance waned. The network introduced a new director. As I recall, he outlined for us his vision of the show’s future: “When the viewers tune in, the first thing they should do is shit themselves.”

The Kremlin instructed us to take aim at the powerless Russian opposition, and in a matter of weeks, the messaging turned into outright bashing of everything that stood against Putin. I resigned—publicly—by sanctimoniously calling the show’s producers and host “Kremlin shills.” A couple of years later, two people connected with the Russian propaganda machine lured me outside and assaulted me in broad daylight (one of them later tweeted that he was motivated by a personal issue rather than a political one). When I hit the ground, half a mile from the Kremlin, I was finally out of the game.

Perhaps Rykov’s greatest contribution to Russian propaganda remains his cadre of media managers and propagandists, who now grace Kremlin corridors (and U.S. Treasury sanctions lists). One such protégé was Vladimir Tabak. Formerly a producer at Russia.ru, he rose to prominence in 2010, when he organized a now-infamous birthday calendar for Putin, featuring 12 female students posing in lingerie and captioned with quotes like “I love you,” “Who else but you?,” and “You’re only better with age.” The calendar, designed to create buzz and cultivate Putin’s image, dominated the news cycle for weeks. In an interview with the model Naomi Campbell, Putin even commented on how much he liked it. Legend has it that Surkov personally approved the project.

Although Tabak’s initial endeavor may have seemed playful, his later efforts illustrate just how insidious his propaganda techniques have become. Since 2020, Tabak has led Dialog, a powerful, Kremlin-affiliated organization tasked with controlling and shaping all social-media narratives in the country. If someone uses social media to criticize, say, the mayor of a small town, Dialog knows about it. According to a joint investigation by the independent Russian outlets Meduza, The Bell, and iStories, the organization took on a significant role during the coronavirus pandemic, virtually monopolizing the flow of COVID-related information in Russia by launching the website Stopkoronavirus.rf as the primary source for daily pandemic updates (the investigation report notes that Dialog denies being associated with this site).

At the height of the pandemic, the Kremlin decided to hold a vote on constitutional amendments that would allow Putin to serve two more terms, and Dialog immediately shifted to encouraging people to go to the polls, downplaying COVID-19 concerns. Later, after the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Dialog was reportedly tasked with spreading fake news about the war not just in Russia, but in Ukraine. Some of the narratives included Ukrainian soldiers selling their awards on eBay, high-ranking Ukrainian officials owning expensive property in the European Union, and Kyiv ordering the mobilization of women.

Tabak’s organization has become a key player in Russia’s digital warfare abroad, including in its most recent campaign targeting Western audiences. On September 4, the U.S. Justice Department seized numerous internet domains allegedly involved in Russia’s Doppelganger campaign—an influence operation designed to undermine international support for Ukraine and bolster pro-Russian interests. The domains, many of them made to resemble legitimate news outlets, were linked to Russian companies, including Dialog. According to an unsealed affidavit, the goal of the operation was to spread covert Russian propaganda, manipulate voter sentiment, and influence the 2024 U.S. presidential election.

Doppelganger appears to be a sophisticated operation that used deepfakes, AI, and cybersquatting (registering domains designed to mimic legitimate websites). But the Kremlin’s real innovations were those it employed in Russia in the 1990s; in the West today, it is simply repeating the same playbook using new technology. Washingtonpost.pm, a fake news website created to spread Russian propaganda, was an evolution of the fake newspapers that circulated in Russia during the ’90s ahead of elections. The purpose of those outlets—made to resemble legitimate media but filled with kompromat, gossip, and propaganda—was to get the right people elected.

Since the start of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Russian propaganda has churned out absurd and repulsive lies, such as that Ukraine has biolabs where NATO scientists are working on a virus that targets Slavic DNA, and that Zelensky, who is Jewish, presides over a neo-Nazi regime. Yet, in a way, it has become honest with itself—at least for the domestic audience. There’s no longer a need for platforms like Russia.ru or The Journal, because the message is clear: This is who we are, and you’re either with us or against us. And yet, the entertainment aspect didn’t disappear. Rather, it was absorbed into the propaganda machine through the Institute for Internet Development.

Founded in 2015 with Kremlin backing, and currently under the direction of the former Journal producer Alexey Goreslavsky, the IID helps direct state funds toward producing everything from box-office releases to YouTube videos, blogs, and video games. With a yearly budget of more than $200 million, it dwarfs any private film studio or streaming platform in Russia.

Since the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the institute has become the go-to hub for content. Initially, its output was dull and overtly propagandistic, but that has changed. Its catalog now includes 20/22, a TV series about a soldier fighting in Ukraine and his anti-war girlfriend, as well as A Thug’s Word, a 1980s period piece about a street gang, which became the No. 1 show in Russia and surprisingly popular in Ukraine—much to the dismay of the Ukrainian government. A Thug’s Word contains no politics, no war, and no Putin, yet IID—a propaganda organization��considers it its greatest success, because it legitimized the institute in the world of popular entertainment, which it fought so hard to break into.

One reason Russian propaganda is running circles around the West is that the internet was one of the few domains where the Russian state arrived late, forcing it to co-opt those who understood it. RuNet, the Russian segment of the World Wide Web, was created—and run—by people like Rykov: artsy 20-somethings, filled with cynicism, post-Soviet disillusionment, and a cyberpunk mentality. The collapse of the Soviet Union taught them that truth was whatever they wanted it to be, and that survival was the ultimate goal. The advertising executives, philosophy students, and creatives who once made video art, lewd calendars, and scandalous zines are the same minds who in 2016 said, “Let’s make memes about Hillary Clinton,” and in 2024 suggested using AI to flood X with believable comments. In many ways, this confrontation mirrors what’s happening in Ukraine: This time, however, the West is the massive, unwieldy force being outsmarted by a smaller, more tech-savvy adversary.

The good news is that the Kremlin is a graveyard of talent. In time, every gifted person I knew who went behind its brick walls was devoured by deceit, paranoia, and fear of losing one’s place in the sun. Konstantin Rykov was exceptional at his job, so much so that the Kremlin offered him a seat in the Russian Parliament when he was just 28. He accepted the offer. But being a member of the Duma Committee on Science and High Technologies and the Committee for Support in the Field of Electronic Media wasn’t the same as being the editor of fuck.ru. Despite being involved in some foreign influence operations, Rykov, now 45, hasn’t produced any significant work for Russian audiences since he joined Parliament.

Asked by an audience member in Toronto whether Russia was responsible for the war in Ukraine, Trofimova replied, “I think there are a lot of other factors involved. Yeah, like they are definitely sending troops in to solve whatever grievances there are.” Even if it wasn’t financed by Moscow, Russians at War reminds me of a Rykov production: slick, scandalous, and with a ton of free press. The message the film conveys is that war, not the country that started it, is bad in this scenario. Trofimova seems to portray Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, and the astonishing scale of the atrocities it has committed there, as something impersonal and inexorable, like a tsunami: We can only accept it and sympathize with the victims, including Russian soldiers.

I stopped working for the Kremlin long before the Russo-Ukrainian war, and whatever I did as the head of a magazine bureau and as a talk-show producer pales in comparison with what some of my former colleagues are doing today. Still, I know that in every bullet flying toward Ukraine���the country where my parents were born—there’s a small part of me. I wonder if Trofimova sees that she’s part of it, too.

[miguel-manbemel]

Sanderstober 2024 - October 27th

@thatsthat24

Put the Sides in your favorite piece of media. I put the six of them inside my favorite show of all time, which is a Spanish show so I have to describe it a bit.

As it's seen in the drawing, it's titled "1, 2, 3", and it got its name because it was three game shows in one in a combination of fiction and reality that featured Broadway-like musical numbers in huge sets that changed each week.

Each week six couples of contestants started in the first part of the show which is the one depicted in the art, a game where contestants show their culture answering to questions of the multiple-answer format, for instance "Give me names of flowers", and in 45 seconds, answering always in alternate turns, they'd give as many answers as they could until they gave a wrong answer, or repeated one, or time ran out, and they'd win money for each answer.

After three questions per couple, the couple with most money would be named champions, given pink sashes with the word "Campeon" and return the following week, while the other two went on to the second round, a physical game according to the topic of the week, for instance if the episode was dedicated to "Far West", they'd have to ride a mechanical bull and the couple resisting the most time would be winners and proceed to the third round.

The third part was the main show, full of attractions, characters and musical numbers related to the topic of the week. After each act or piece of dialogue of the characters with the host, an object related to it would be left on the table where the host and the contestants stood. Each object had a card attached to it with a text. The host read a part of it until a certain point, that text could contain a clue or all the contrary. When there were three objects on the table, the contestants had to dismiss one, which was when the host read the whole card and revealed a prize the contestants had lost.

Then, the show continued with this game of dismissing prizes and bringing more, until the end of the show was reached and there were three final objects on the table. The contestants had then to dismiss two and keep one, sometimes one by one, other times two at the same time. At the end, the object they had kept on the table was the prize the contestants won. Anything could appear in the show. Typical prizes were a brandnew car, an apartment, a trip, jewels, money... but also flat tyres, a van full of chickens, two million light matches, a couple even won their own tombs in the cemetery of their choice.

To give more emotion to the end, when there was this final object, the host started offering money in exchange of the prize, and it was up to the contestants to guess if the host was trying to help them get rid of a bad prize or trying to fool them changing a really good prize for a very inferior amount of money.

I loved this show when I was a kid and when I grew up I had the chance to attend the filming of an episode as part of the live audience, and I'll never forget that memory. That's why I chose it for this art.

For anyone interested, I add a YT video with a musical number featured in an episode dedicated to "Broadway Musicals", where the cast sang and danced to a Spanish-language version of "Anything Goes".

[libidomechanica]

“And to heauie herse, mourne now”

And forest dim: fade far away.     New growth most prevailing the same place—stumbled that I hear     it half in Arizona, one is in praying. Can I     then bequeath thy fragile visitor. I know thou came to     the king ordered ever

spake romance, but only signs of     progress? Swifter than garments’ cost, of mortals! The deadest     thing on and over me, and louder grew, the nearer to     thy high requiem become a sod. Cupid then to die;     and the frost of outworn

buried age; when I tune myself     to breed the better than garments, though new-fangled three moons     towards a crystal moon, and doubts, and with inward as a snail,     lets fall from my life forget who I am. Which, but straight     ’tis won. Wakes among bird

feet and tears amid the grass’s fall;     ye glow-worm of the slow to thy heart wherefore small demaund     of Phoenix-Stellas state, or state of earthly things to     keep her lustrous sea is thine heart, which I have seen the day,     ye wadna been sav’d but

crazed eld annull’d my vigorous     cravings: and could blind you are like me, and yet loue she     signified. That kind of prison fly: or give me if I’ve shunned     so long since, I know thine airy flute, while other. Old rusted     anchors, helmet the

sway of aged men; for the harmless     snake I bring, disarmèd of its Revelation; and, like     a wee unsought Sugar with Azra to the Desperate     Father hae her in a green shelving coasts, to prove their magic     sway! But heavenly

race: but still indistinctness; storm,     and wipe my life hath heard a thoughts, new growth about ye. A     mathematician once told me closes every tree, mocks     married ear! An’ then coming hame on Sunday last, when in     the heart to this hour. The

comfort and mid-May’s eldest child,     one is painting wide, doe misse the mountains overhead and     passing hour’s supporting joys have lost the locked drops a look     of its teeth to rend, and dies; white Queen with someone setting     through her courteous found,

who complains before the Justice,     and the pinions. And part; and even thence but sweet hours shine:     if I say to your flocks in fieldes ay fresh, the grief’s strength     to die, or be deliver’d from thee. Matting of love, by     conquer’d woe; give no more

of the eternal wind, and with     thee grace, and the frost of her hands moved among green and juicy     hay from human kind. In gowany glens thy burnie strays,     where pleasurable. To choke him, so that good night.—Two     copious tear-drops instant

mind, might see swallows obeying     the woof; with me in the tide, of night. Without a name, at     once to be fed. In a groue most idly spent! Such a day     I prize your soul away, I call it please a nation. Stella,     whose intent I sit

upon me like some had not Loves     purblinde charm applied—the sea backward glance up in the     violence of your side in such interchange of stars. Happy     in thine ten times like chiropractors having loved out in     us both; but our

Election is decayed? Hark how the     plaine; but now, with hellish spite with its head a cast—but the     Muses hill; or reach you. Latest drop, so it with her foul     pride. The little trace: for I shall I do? You know, I think?     Your sisters eke repent,

her like small bald eye skyward again.     By the blue doth vault the world is bent my deeds to cross     to reach? Drinking delicious moan in deepest groans of tortures     hot breath, and sisterhoods may stay, and Philomele     her soft hand, the blessed. Towards

a crystal pool, to see unpack’d     fire-branded foxes to speak contracted with Ignorance     and wind it to a clue. In gulf or aerie, mountain bend?     Must ever suffer thy part’s be in’t the best of a’. And     to heauie herse, mourne now my

song is broke my rest, nor taste, nor     love with Senses obiects be; Deale thou art not, trod no measure;     all sighing, I whet my scythe of mine discovers wide     more ground the haggard scene— the sea-country greene bayes to weare,     now is time had hang’d them.

[accio-victuuri]

cpn : iceberg and other things ❄️🧊

let’s see what’s going on. again— for turtles only. ✌🏼this not real.

So the CPN is, it’s from Yibo. this is not the first story of sharing/giving each other clothes but this one stood out cause it’s not GG’s style. We thought GG was just showing off this really cool jacket only to find out almost 3 years later that he used it for an OOL interview. Some are saying he was coaxing Yibo, while I do believe they are not the jealous/possessive type of couple, this year was rough. If you are a believer of the CPN that Yibo visited the OOL set then you’ll know where this reasoning was coming from.

So the CPN is, it’s from Yibo. this is not the first story of sharing/giving each other clothes but this one stood out cause it’s not GG’s style. We thought GG was just showing off this really cool jacket only to find out almost 3 years later that he used it for an OOL interview. Some are saying he was coaxing Yibo, while I do believe they are not the jealous/possessive type of couple, this year was rough. If you are a believer of the CPN that Yibo visited the OOL set then you’ll know where this reasoning was coming from.

It’s also interesting to see what was happening in that timeline was pretty intense for both of them. So Web giving this and GG wearing it as a source comfort is somehow logical. 👇🏼👇🏼 They were both deep in the chaos that was Untamed promotions + other individual projects— stretched thin because everyone wanted ( and still do to this day ) a piece of them. 2019 was wild bro.

Now let’s move on to some points that stood out with this joint interview:

• The part about his humor, this is not the first time he said this. He also mentioned it in a jade dynasty promo interview.

“I encountered my life’s greatest failure on this set. i really used to think that i was funny, but in those exchanges we had, i lost horribly.”

It makes you wonder what crew he joined that made him think that he is funny. Where he can just look at someone and they don’t even need to speak— then they will laugh. Yibo just gets him. They get each other. In their own little world.

• The part where they pick A or B. it’s so weird that GG chose dog instead of cat. How about jianguo? This got BXGs thinking if it was the time where they thought about getting a dog. I’ve heard multiple versions of this rumor, even one where it said they temporarily took care of one. That would be cute, a cat and a dog— but they are both too busy that it won’t be possible anytime soon. 🥲

• Also him choosing horror movies over art films, is not a surprise. but it only adds to the cpn that he was the one listening to that himalaya horror podcast. 😂

Other things:

• The selfie background again. I feel like, we will only get more information as more content is released with this set. We haven’t even seen it on the drama yet. In one of the behind the scenes video, you can see what’s on the table. It’s not the dog and the rabbit which GG shared. If you’ve been following GG long enough it should be clear in the personal photos he shares: you’ll see what he WANTS you to see.

• this is funny, GG finally won rock paper scissors! 😂 cause he was never able to win Web.

• galaxy brain kadian. 28. Love Bo. 🤍

I have accepted the fact that I might have to make CPN posts more frequently because of the 2019 timeline this whole show was on. i’m not even trying too hard, it’s just there. lol. Little clues that we picked up before and we’re seeing it in a new light because of more information. I am personally fascinated by the small things we find so it’s all fun. 🤍

sources:

https://m.weibo.cn/7627509869/4744279677730959

https://m.weibo.cn/2359504980/4748003913500985

https://m.weibo.cn/detail/4748122288297649

[smellsfaintlyofvanilla]

Hey~~ could you write Annie x reader? What I had in mind was towards the end of s1 when Annie was trying to climb up the wall, could she try and take reader with her because they always talked about being together? Kinda like when Ymir took Historia in s2, and I really love your writings 💕 thanks~

TAsdfhjksfadh you didn’t specify whether Annie made it over the wall with the reader or not so uh I just kinda picked one lol hope you don’t mind

Also, sorry this is a little late, I've been feeling just a little sick for the past couple of days.

Prove It

(Annie Leonhart x Reader)

AU: Canon

Warnings: Season 3 spoilers

Category: Mostly angst, little fluff

Summary: When Annie was outed as the Female Titan, she didn’t have a lot of options on where to go. And, as the fight between her and Eren progresses, it becomes clear her best option is to flee. Yet, there’s just one thing she can’t leave without. And it seems the feeling’s mutual.

Words: 3.1K

That wicked laughter.

It rung through the empty streets of Stohess, abandoned specifically for this military operation.

The goal? To lure out the suspected Female Titan, Annie Leonhart. Your girlfriend.

At first, you were violently against participating in the operation. You weren’t going to incriminate her, that would be incredibly faithless. Really, you wanted nothing more than for her to be vindicated, and to prove the the world the the “heartless” Annie Leonhart is a loyal soldier, not the traitorous snake they started to make of her.

It got in your head, most certainly. Within hours of the first discussion, ‘Annie Leonhart’ and ‘Female Titan’ had become synonymous with each other, and you hated every bit of it. You always defended her fiercely, because you could only hear so much distasteful talk towards her before you started to broil over with rage.

So, you agreed. You were going to lure Annie down in to the tunnel and prove once and for all that she wasn’t a monster. You could clear her of suspicion, and the two of you would go back to your ordinary lives with each other.

And oh, if only that was what happened.

But you watched in horror as Annie refused to go down the tunnel. She laughed, laughed, when you pleaded with her to follow you, that all she needed to do was come along with you to be unshackled from the scrutiny and doubt.

But her feet remained planted in her rigid stance of defense.

“Y/n...” She slurred out, laughter finally subsiding. “I’m glad I could be a good person to you.”

The slope of fear seemed to lose it’s steadiness, and the drop-off into the pit of empty horror occurred when she held up her hand to her mouth, preparing herself for the bloodshed to follow.

“You’ve won your bet. But this is where my bet begins...!”

The signal flare fired, and the countless soldiers waiting in ambush jumped from all angles. You watched, wide-eyed and frozen, as they restrained her and gagged her, like muzzling a dog. But, it was no use. Her ring, the silver ring she never let you touch, sprung up a spike out of it’s side, and a quick slide of her thumb across the tip opened up a bloody gash in her finger.

And then came the lightning.

Mikasa had thrown her arms around you and Armin, dragging you down into the tunnel to get out of harm’s way of the transformation.

You knew she had finished her transformation when the thundering stopped, and chunks of debris rolled to a stop at your feet, stirred dust slowly settling itself back onto the stone ground. For a moment, everything stilled, and only the ragged breaths of Armin and the sheathing of Mikasa’s blades were audible.

And then something moved.

You weren’t sure what it was, until around the corner, the light was consumed by a large shadow, growing closer and closer and absorbing more of the sunlight until it rounded the corner.

A fingertip. Then the finger. Then the hand. An arm—and it was traveling down the hallway, fingers frozen in a pose as if it were trying to grab onto something, something it couldn’t see.

“Shit!” You let out a terrified yelp and took off running, Mikasa hot on your tail and Armin stumbling closely behind.

It sought after the three of you, until a distant thump could be heard. You whipped your head around and stopped running, noticing the hand—ever present, it’s finger stretched desperately in an attempt at grabbing something, but it was no use. You caught a glance of it’s upper arm, flush against the wall of the curve.

She couldn’t reach any farther.

You let out of a sigh of relief, falling to your knees and gazing at it. It’s shaking fingers stopped, finally, and went limp into it’s palm in defeat, before slowly pulling itself out. You had no clue whether it was trying to grab you, or Armin, or Mikasa, or if it was planning on killing you or not. Bottom line, it was unsuccessful.

But then more thunder.

It seems Eren finally got his cue, because the signature yellow hues of transformation shone even into the dark abyss of the wrecked tunnel.

The three of you took a deep breath and shared a collective glance. Before long, the unsaid instructions were followed, and the three of you scurried out of the tunnel to witness the action.

And action it was—the first sight you were greeted with upon exiting was that of Annie delivering a decisive punch to Eren’s jaw, sending him flying backwards into the streets of Stohess.

Eren returned to his feet as fast as he could, and let out a menacing roar as he charged at Annie, arms low like a football player preparing to pounce on something.

He charged, but her feet remained planted, arms bracing for impact.

You watched as the two of them brawled furiously. You didn’t even notice that Mikasa and Armin had left your side—you hadn’t moved. You couldn’t find it in your heart to fight Annie, but neither were you going to fight Eren. No, all you could do was watch, helpless.

The battle continued fiercely, absolutely wrecking the city in the process. Building were destroyed and crumpled, streets of stone completely upended as one or the other got helplessly tossed around.

It came to a head as the fight eventually progressed to a wide, open space of stone, and the two of them were fighting hand to hand, both of them looking worse for wear. You shot your ODM gear into the roof of a nearby building, watching the fight with a slacked jaw. You had no clue how Eren was even standing a chance to Annie, since you yourself had seen how skilled she was in martial arts.

Soon, though, a decisive kick to Annie shin sent debris and rocks flying everywhere. Annie lost her footing, tumbling to the ground with a thump.

And you had been so fixated on Annie in that moment that you failed to notice the debris, and it was headed right towards your face.

Something—rigid and powerful—collided with your head, and you fell to the ground instantly.

Your vision was already fading, and you watched as tiny streams of crimson flowed over the shingles and down the roof—no doubt stemming from the newly opened gash on your scalp.

The distant clinking of the rock as it tumbled down the slope of the roof was the last thing you heard, and the world around you faded to black.

---

Through the darkness, a memory flashed through your mind.

---

It was dark out, of course it was. Shadis would never let you have leisure time at all when the sun was up.

You leaned against an lone oak tree, fingers brushing through the soft grass idly. The air was cold and crisp, and a soft breeze flowed through the air, just barely enough to rustle your soft hair.

Annie sat silently next to you, shoulder brushing up against yours. Slowly, she slinked her hand over yours, hesitantly grasping at your hand. You entwined your fingers with hers, and she looked away shyly.

She often had bouts of insomnia, lying awake at night for hours, unable to get her body to relax. And, the first night she tugged at your nightshirt, waking you up to go outside with her, she fell asleep in your arms due to exhaustion almost immediately.

So, it had become an unspoken ritual from that day on. She couldn’t sleep, she’d wake you up, the two of you would go outside, and talk or busy yourselves until sleep inevitably caught up to her.

But today was different. For whatever reason, something had been keeping her up for a lot longer than usual. You knew something was weighing down on her heavily, but you weren’t going to pry it out of her.

Deciding to break the tense silence, you squeezed her hand gently, getting her attention before you spoke.

“It’s nice out, isn’t it?” You observed. You weren’t talking about the weather per-say, but the thousands of white speckled stars that dotted the sky, and the bright, full moon that illuminated the grass and dirt beneath you.

“It’s cold.” She said bluntly.

You chuckled softly, her bleak attitude was so characteristic of her.

“I guess that’s true.”

More silence.

And then she sighed, bringing your hand into her lap to cusp it in both of her palms, clinging onto it as if it were grounding her.

“What do you plan on doing later in life, Y/n?” She huffed, leaning her head backwards against the back of the tree and gazing up at the sky. “You don’t possibly plan on staying in the military your whole life, do you?”

“No, of course not.” You sighed.

“Then do you have plans afterwards?”

You paused for a minute. She raised a good point, you didn’t really think of anything after the military. Deep down, perhaps you understood that by joining the Cadet Corps you didn’t have much ahead of you. You can only survive so many brushes with death before it’s your turn to go.

“I guess not...” You hesitated, deep in thought. You swallowed a lump in your throat before changing the subject. “Why, do you?”

Even through the darkness, you could feel the shrug of her shoulders against you.

“Not really.” She muttered. “Just... stay with the MPs, make a living wage, retire somewhere in the interior, and... relax. I just wanna... find somewhere to relax.”

She paused for a second. Clearly there’s something tugging at her mind, something she wants to say. So, you sit back and wait for her to find the confidence.

“Do you promise me that... sometime, after a while in the Scouts, that you’ll come back to be with me?”

The future between the two of you was always painted with uncertainty—whether the two of you could ever truly stay together. It would be difficult, between soldiers, to be able to settle down and stay together no matter what, especially from different regiments. But you could always try.

She exhaled shakily, struggling to get the words out of her throat.

“I just can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you. ‘Cause... if anything ever happened to you in the Scouts...” Her voice trailed off near the end, and you assumed she was trying to plan out her next words carefully, until you heard a small sniffle pass her lips.

Surprised, you turned to face her. She was trying to fight off the tears at the corners of her eyes, lip trembling as she struggled not to cry. It wasn’t until now that you realized just how tightly she gripped your hand.

“Annie- Annie it’s alright.” You stumbled, trying to comfort her. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was upsetting her—she was scared of living a life without you.

You hooked an arm around her lower back, pulling her closer to you and putting your other hand on the back of her head and guiding her to your shoulder.

“I promise you, no matter what, I’ll live. And one day, we can spend all our time together. I’ll go wherever you go, I swear.” You ran your hand through her hair, undoing the bun she kept it in and evening it out over her shoulders.

“You promise?” Her voice sounded shaky and weak, a vulnerability to it that she rarely showed. “No matter what happens to me, you’ll trust me and stay with me?”

“I promise. Of course I do.”

---

Warmth.

It was the first thing you noticed upon waking up. The second was darkness. You sat up, noticing how wet the surface beneath you was. And how how fleshy.

Your face paled in realization. You were in a titan's mouth.

You raised your arm up, cringing at the trail of saliva that connected you to her tongue.

Immediately, you searched for a way to get out. You didn't plan on leaving her behind, but you'd rather not be stuck in a place as slimy and dark as this either. However, your efforts were pointless, since her jaw was clamped shut, her teeth caging you in and preventing you from escaping. Your heart dropped a little, wondering if she didn't trust you not to run away.

Suddenly, you felt a large thump, the unexpected movement causing you to grab desperately at anything that would keep you grounded in one spot.

But then, another thump. And another, and another. It felt like running, almost, but far too slow. You pondered it for a moment, before you realized what was going on.

She was trying to climb the wall.

But then, the thumping stopped. She wasn't falling, thank god, but all movement has seized.

Hesitantly, her jaw started to open, giving ample space for you to squeeze through. A sudden thought came to you—she needed your help.

With no hesitation, you drew your blades and burst through the skin of her cheek, not even waiting for her to part for lips. Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you immediately search for the source of the problem. And you found it in the brute of a soldier, Mikasa Ackerman.

The girl was perched on Annie's nose, staring down at her. A quick glance to your side and you realized, with horror written all over your face, that Mikasa had cut off almost all of Annie's fingers—one more and Annie would easily lose her grip.

You understood, as soon as Mikasa drew her blades towards Annie's hand, you only had one option.

You shot your ODM gear towards her, not even caring when the hook dug into Mikasa's shoulder, causing her to yelp in pain as she turned to you.

She wasn't even given a moment to process as you came hurtling towards her, colliding with her shoulder and sending both of you flying through the air and towards the ground—fast.

Despite the small voice telling you that it would be easier to just ditch Mikasa, to release your ODM gear and let her fall, you shot the other hook into the wall, and your momentum halted to a stop.

She peeled her arms away from their protective guard around her head, processing that the two of you had stopped before looking up to you in surprise. You looked back down at her, an expression of sorrow in your eyes. It hurt you to betray her, and all of your comrades, like this, but you knew as soon as Annie placed her trust in you by opening her mouth that you only had one choice.

"Y/n what are y—!"

"I'm sorry Mikasa!" You yelled, trying to put aside your emotions for the time being. "I can't... I can't leave her, I promised I wouldn't!"

You took a deep breath, positioning on your finger on the trigger, preparing to release Mikasa from your ODM gear's bloody grip in her shoulder. "I'm sorry..." You muttered, before pulling the trigger, watching Mikasa tumbled towards the ground, her betrayed expression still glued helplessly on her face.

You decided that it would only hurt you to look at Mikasa—engraining that image into your head would certainly plague you later on.

You finally turned to look back at Annie, and your heart picked up a couple paces at the sight.

Her head was turned to you, watching—waiting—for you, her hand outstretched in your direction. You smiled, firing your ODM and flying into the palm of her hand, quickly climbing up onto her shoulder to allow her to finish her ascent up the wall.

You turned back one last time, looking over at the destroyed city, and the furious and betrayed faces of your comrades. You sighed, turning back around. That's in the past now, you thought. It doesn't matter. I... made a promise to Annie, I can't betray her. I can't...

---

The line of trees in the distance grew closer and closer as Annie jogged forwards, having made it over the wall and all the way to the forest inside Wall Maria.

She slowed down to a walking pace as she neared the trees, kneeling on the ground before releasing herself from the nape of her titan. Steam flowed from her body as she immediately collapsed forwards, and you instantly lurched forwards to catch her exhausted body in your arms.

"Grab on." You instructed, waiting for her to securely wrap herself around you before you flew through the air and onto a tree branch, making sure you were safely out of the reach of any mindless titans before you let go of her.

She took a deep breath, leaning against the wooden trunk of the tree to recollect her strength. After all, even as a titan, the fight had done numbers to her body.

You sat there in comfortable silence for a little bit, waiting for her to catch her breath while you idly readjusted the straps to your ODM gear.

Finally, she reached over to take your hand, grabbing it in both of hers just like she had during your conversation with her years ago.

"I'm so glad..." She sighed, voice weak and wavering. "I was so scared when I opened my mouth that you would just... run off without me."

Slowly, she shifted, wrapping her arms around your neck and leaning her entire body weight on you. You could feel some of the tension leaving her body as she sighed against you, burying her nose in the crook of your neck.

"I was terrified that if you found out my real identity, you would just leave me. I don't know how I would've handled it. I was just..." She took a shaky inhale as she continued, and you felt a few wet tears against your neck. "Scared. So... So scared..."

You set a comforting hand on her back, hugging her tighter in an attempt to sooth her.

"Annie..." You cooed in her ear. "I promised you, remember? I would never leave your side. I'm gonna stay with you for the rest of my life."

Her breathing started to calm against you, your words managing to ease her worries.

"Yeah," She sighed, pulling away from you. "I shouldn't have doubted you, sweetie."

You smiled and placed your hands on her shoulders, bringing her in for a quick kiss before wiping her tears with the back of your hand.

"It's fine. Just remember," You leaned in and hugged her, exuding a warm feeling that made Annie's heart swell with love. "I'll always be on your side, no matter what."

"God, I love you so much, you dork." She muttered, heat rising to her cheeks with a content smile.

You chuckled, "I love you, too."

MAN THIS IS ASS

This is what happens when you force yourself to write with a headache whoops haha

[comm-caribou]

1,16,19 for the writing ask :)

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting? When I’m writing on my phone in the notes app, it’s the default. When I’m writing on my computer in Microsoft, it’s Times New Roman, size 12 font, and double space. I typically write more on my phone though because notes doesn’t keep track of word count or pages so it’s always a surprise when I do transfer the final project to Microsoft.

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark? Answered this one here.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going? Okay, let’s see…

Ever since I was little, I had stories. I told them in the games I played, the toys I owned, and even talking a dental hygienist’s ear off as they cleaned my teeth. My mother was the reason for both my storytelling and my writing, because every night she’d read bedtime stories with the voices and all.

Soon, I was writing books on construction paper and drawing picture books in notebooks about my two teddy bears going adventures, and because I was so creative with names their names were Bear-Bear and Little Bear-Bear. Notebooks became the obvious gift to give, because everywhere I went I was writing stories in notebooks about everything that came to mind. I excelled in English, writing stories and essays was easy and even kids who were mean to me wanted me to help them in group projects.

Regrettably all my notebooks got lost, but one day in sophomore year, I began writing again in a big fancy notebook a Transformers fan fiction, and my English teacher—who always saw me writing—encouraged me to sign up for the school’s writing contest. I did, and with all these other entries and it only being my first contest, I won third and got recommended to sign up for the writing class. In that half year course, I learned poetry, creative essays, script writing, and the tools to improve.

My writing got better, and while I still only won third in contest, I got awards for my contribution in writing club. I wanted to go to an art school for a creative writing degree, but that didn’t happen.

Everyone in my family has a stable job, a typical 9 to 5 has health insurance kind of job. Writers don’t typically have that in their eyes, but if I wanted to apply I could, but everyone was pushing for English teacher. My guidance counselor looked at my schools and before I could say “wait!” deleted the art school off the list of colleges; she also didn’t help when I accidentally early accepted to a school I didn’t want to go to.

From the moment I entered that college I didn’t want to be in, my writing dwindled. I wasn’t happy and my spark was a dying ember until I was flunking out of college that I screamed “I don’t want to be a teacher!”

My parents let me apply to this art school I wanted to go to, but because my grades were so low they didn’t accept me until I got them up. I did fantastic in writing and arts, but math and history I was dying. I focused on my writing blog, writing headcanons between classes to the point I was writing up to twenty-five asks a day and burning out to keep up with the flood of requests.

After struggling with these required academics and an unhealthy need to be validated by strangers on the internet, I dropped out just before the pandemic began.

Now it’s over two years later, I got two part-time jobs that suck, no degree, and no clue what I’m doing with my life. However, I write what I want to write now, and I’ve never been more happy to share my stories; even if it is only five people reading them, it’s enough.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

invisible string

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, harassing

a/n: sequel to willow. wanda is a tarot reader and you cannot tell me otherwise. it is canon. 

WILLOW - TOLERATE IT

Time, curious time gave me no compasses, gave me no signs. Were there clues I didn't see? And isn't it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?

James was taken aback by her move, watching his black king cornered by both her white queen and king. How had he not seen it? It was right there ever since she moved her queen to lay in F7 right at the beginning of the game. How? It didn’t matter but her naughty smile, pushing at the corner of her chapstick painted lips left no doubt to who had won this game. He bit his lip leaning against the couch, full view of the glass chess board. She had less pieces left than him but she had still managed to won and as such he extended his hand towards her. She looked at his hand hesitantly, her winning grin fading and her usual insecurity returned as a shake hand came to shake his. 

     - No one has won a game against me in years. - he grabbed the glass black king from the board, handing it to her. - How’d you do it?

     - You wanted my king. You wanted it so badly you forgot about your own, so I distracted you with minor pieces. Gave you the false sense of security you had it and then struck down.

   - That’s such a dirty trick, petal. - he leaned against the velvet fabric of the armchair, eyeing her up and down. She felt naked under his gaze, almost as if he could see through her walls and clothing. She guessed a man like him needed to have such a sharp eye but it wasn’t any less intimidating, even if she had just won a chess match against him.

He rose slowly from the armchair, his feet moving slowly towards a silver cart leaning against a wall, just under an abstract painting with several glass bottles of several coloured liquids. He took the glass stone from one of them, pouring some of the dark amber liquid onto two glasses before offering one to Y/N.

  - Glenlivet. - he spoke out, noticing the confusion on her face. - You’re old enough to drink, aren’t you?

  - How old do you think I am Mr. Barnes? I thought you knew everything about your employees.

  - And I do, petal. I know where you went to school, kindergarten even, know the name of your friends and that’s all from one of my men following you for a day. - Bucky rose his glass in a small toast before starting to drink. Y/N’s colour drained from her face as she started to wonder if she’d gone to see his father in the precinct. She hadn’t. At least she thought yet her body started shaking and it became harder to breathe. - Y/N? Hey, are you okay?

  - Yeah ... I just need some fresh air. - she tried to get up from the couch but she couldn’t, her nerves getting over her. What if he’d heard her speak about the undercover job, she was dead, she was definitely flirting with death the moment she stepped into his home. 

   - Someone was following you from the bar, petal. I’m not going to kill you, if I were to kill you it wouldn’t be in the comfort of my own home. Blood is a bitch to take out of white carpets. - Bucky once again seemed to read through her. He once again got up from his couch, placing his gun on the marbled island of his kitchen before returning to her. - You’re paranoid, petal.

   - It’s not ... I don’t really like being followed. Why were you following me? 

   - That guy from the bar followed you home and since he got his head smashed against the counter and a drink thrown in his face, I thought better to send Steve after you for that night. You are awfully clumsy and if you had any real enemies, you’d be dead by now. You leave your key under the entry matt and so does your housemate and her lousy brother too. Twins?

   - Yes.

   - You’re so afraid of me but in all honesty petal, you’re the biggest danger to yourself. 

   - Has Steve followed me recently?

   - No. I’ve been driving you home ever since, park a bit outside campus to ensure you get in. It’s an ugly world out there, petal.

   - I know. Trust me, I do ...

After her mother died, the home she had once learned to love lost its homey feeling. Suddenly, the home that always smelled like fresh lemon tarts and gardenias was now dark. His father left his case files all over the kitchen and would sit at the table smoking his cigars with a glass of port as he read through the cases. Her father loved her, he did, just in his own way. 

She still remembered peaking by the door, holding onto a blanket her mother had quilted for her with her name embroidered in aqua blue, and seeing the photos scattered around the table of murders, abusers, robberies. She knew there was darkness, she just preferred to ignore it.

   - You live inside your head very often don’t you? - he eyed her as she took a sip of the drink he had offered her. Scotch was never her drink of choice, she preferred not to drink at all seeing how it had soured her father. Yet, she guessed a centenary drink was no joke.

   - That’s called being an only child, Mr. Barnes. Besides, my ideas are rarely worth listening.

   - Hm, I see ... Perhaps you’d like to see your room? - he changed the conversation, offering a hand to her so she could get up. 

Her soft fingers wrapped around his cold hand, a stark contrast to her warm hand. Bucky finger lingered over the top of her palm, feeling the softness and plumpness of her skin compared to his scarred, rough one. She didn’t mind, she followed him happily through the halls of his way too big house. 

Steve had told him when he bought it that it was too big for himself alone but for Bucky buying a big flat meant he made it, he could now tell everyone else who doubted him to fuck off yet it was hard to come back to it at the end of the day. Always clean and always empty. The staff didn’t stay behind for much longer, having heard all sorts of rumours and he believed if Y/N wasn’t so afraid of him, she would’ve probably left. Yet, he couldn’t find himself to sell the flat so he just slept in hotel rooms. Smaller roomers where it didn’t feel like the emptiness surrounded him constantly. 

He led her to one of the guest rooms he had decorated in soft pinks, whites and greys. Bucky guessed it’d make her comfortable, it matched her cardigans and little embroidered dresses she would bring around to the bar despite most of his waitresses constantly berating her on it, saying it would get her no tips. 

Y/N peaked through the door crack as he opened it. The room was rather soft with a large king sized bed with white and blush pink bedding along with a grey rug nearby. With so many bedrooms, he probably had enough time to decorate each one with a different colour palette. 

    - There should be some pyjamas in the wardrobe. Might be a bit big but it’s better than sleeping with your clothes on. 

   - You seem prepared. Is this where you bring your mistresses?

   - My mistresses don’t sleep in my house. - why would you say that, Y/N? Are you trying to get yourself killed? - I’ll drive you home tomorrow at 8AM so you should go to sleep. Goodnight, petal.

  - Thank you. Goodnight, Mr. Barnes. - he closed the door behind her and she was left with herself in the bedroom.

She padded around the linoleum floors, phone in hand as she photographed the horizon so maybe her father could locate the house and search for evidence. Y/N couldn’t. She couldn’t find herself to go investigating his house as he was kind enough to offer her a place to stay. Instead she just investigated the room which was so much better. It was a suite with its own bathroom decorated with monogramed fluffy white towels and white marbled surfaces. She wondered why he wouldn’t bring someone here, it was clearly a work of architectural art but yet again, maybe don’t show strangers where you sleep. Maybe he shouldn’t have shown it to her. 

At least she was doing something right. At least he didn’t hate her enough not to allow her to listen to his conversations, to the talks of deals that would surely provide her father’s precinct with the clues that they were not insane to think that there were tradings happening under their noses. She was doing good but she felt dirty nonetheless. She didn’t like lying but she also wanted to graduate, to be something other than the Capitan’s daughter.

She ignored her mind and got dressed in the steamed and washed pyjamas that were hanging on the silk hanger of the closet and got inside the bed. She was okay, she was going to be okay. 

The daylight ruptured through the night and she was the first one up to get dressed and make the bed as well as put the pyjamas back on their place. Bucky didn’t take long to knock on her door and as she opened it there he was again, polished suit and hair as if looking casual destroyed the whole appearance. It didn’t, he was a handsome man and she was absolutely certain he would look handsome in anything. 

    - Did you sleep well? - he questioned as she stepped out the room, holding onto her worn out faux leather brown satchel. 

   - Yes, it’s a very comfortable bed. What about you? 

   - I don’t have time to sleep, petal. I was thinking about having some breakfast before I dropped you off, if that’s okay with you.

   - I just want to get back home. My flatmate might worry. 

Bucky didn’t force her. She was like any other staff and he guessed having breakfast with the mob boss wasn’t her idea of a good spent morning, besides, she probably still needed to go to class. He drove her back to her small, unsafe which she saw as safe flat, keeping an eye on her every once in a while. Her posture was rigid or even one that a manner teacher wouldn’t correct, it was slouched over his window, hand under her chin as she observed the early morning light illuminate the city. 

Getting to campus during early mornings were always funny to her as she never knew what she would find; some students would be still returning from nights out while some would exit the library with piles and piles of books and notes. Either way, it was always a fun game. He stopped in front of her flat, putting the car on stop, engine slowly lowering its sounds. 

   - Thank you for bringing me, Mr. Barnes. - she held her satchel against her chest. 

   - You got an evening dress? Cocktail party maybe? 

   - So not a black dress? - she teased, biting the skin of inner lip. 

   - Definitely not. 

   - I think I might have something.

   - You’re not working tonight, you’re coming with me to an auction. I’ll pay you double the salary of a nightshift if you say yes.

   - Plus night wages?

   - Everything you’d get paid a night, I’ll double it. 

   - I’ll get to work finding that dress then. - she opened the door of his car, exiting before waving him goodbye.

Getting inside her flat, she could definitely sense the difference between worlds she was living in. Spend time with James Barnes, her father told her. Besides, how bad could an action be? There were several people there and if she knew what he was buying maybe it would prove useful in the future.

She climbed the stairs up to her door which was slightly open. She would’ve questioned why had it not been for Pietro’s voice echoing through the whole hall. Of course. None of them really close the door whenever the other one is around. 

    - Wanda, I’m telling you, that’s bullshit. - he told his sister who merely rolled her eyes at him. - Shuffle it again.

    - It says you’re a fuckboy deal with it. - she crossed her arms, before noticing Y/N had come in. - Hey you, you’re here early. I thought you were gonna appreciate your motel stay for a little while. 

   - Well, I ... I was just homesick. - she lied. Wanda clearly wouldn’t like to know where she had spent the night. - What are you guys doing?

   - Pietro asked me to do a reading on him and he’s upset at the result. As per usual.

   - I’m telling you the deck is broken. Do Y/N. - he pointed at the captain’s daughter who sat down by the coffee table where the two were. Wanda shrugged and asked Y/N to touch the deck before she started to shuffle it, three cards falling onto the table as soon as she did.

The Lovers, the Devil and Death. Y/N knew those cards all too well, she loved roaming through Wanda’s deck and marvel at the beautiful pictures and Wanda normally told her that the Death card was not as bad as everyone made it look like as well as the Devil. However, this time, all the colour drained from the brunette’s face as the stared at the cards fallen on the table. She shuffled the deck again, hoping for more cards, this time getting the Six and Nine of Swords. 

   - Everything okay, Wan? - she asked her friend who was intensely staring at the cards in front of her. 

   - Yeah ... I guess Pietro is right, the deck is broken.

   - See? I told you so. You never listen to me. 

   - I think I should be getting to class now. - she interrupted the two sibling’s bickering. - I’ll see you later. 

She spent most of her classes thinking about the auction. It was harmless enough and her father was over the moon, telling her she should be proud that she was now part of the “inner circle”, whatever that meant. Nevertheless, she was getting paid double which would always help with rent and utilities. The last module took hours of a lecturer going through yet another generic powerpoint followed by a class of over a hundred students rushing out the door the moment it was over. 

She took to her bedroom before Wanda arrived to search for the only evening dress she had which barely saw the light of day, mostly living inside the black box over her wardrobe. It was her mother’s, something she had left behind that Y/N had taken a particular liking to once she grew up. It was a baby pink slip dress with the hem in matching lace and she guessed it would be appropriate for an auction. 

   - Where are you going? - Wanda asked as Y/N stepped out of the room. Shit. Of all the days for her to be home early, it just had to be today. - What are you doing wearing your mum’s dress?

   - It’s fancy dress day at the bar. 

   - Fancy dress day at a mob bar?

   - Clearly. 

   - What are you hid ... - Wanda was interrupted by Y/N’s phone. Mr. Barnes had texted her he was outside just at the right time. 

   - I’ll see you later, Wan. Have fun but not too much fun.

Before the brunette could question her, Y/N was already out the door, bag in hand. She went down the stairs and outside where Mr. Barnes was leaning against his car, dressed in a navy blue suit which made him look like a model gracing the cover’s of fashion magazines. 

    - You’re supposed to make me wait, petal. 

    - I like being on time. - she walked up to him, standing less than an arm’s distance from the posh dressed mob boss. 

    - I should start by warning you not to go by your real name today. Safety purposes. 

   - What should I call myself then? Your date? - she asked as he helped her inside the car. 

   - You can call yourself whatever you’d like, petal. As long as it’s not your real name and I know what name you’re going by. 

   - Uhm ... I wanna go by Betty. 

   - Betty?

   - Like Betty Draper from Mad Men. She sounds like the type of woman who would go to an auction.

  - So you wanna be Betty Drapper? - Bucky hide a small smile as he drove through the dark night. 

  - No, I wanna be called Betty for tonight. - she leaned against the comfortable seatings of his car. 

“You’re part of the inner circle now, darling. Do something about it”, her father’s words echoed in her mind through the faint sound of the radio playing Doris Day. Yet again she had no idea how going to an auction would be a break in the case unless Mr. Barnes was buying weapons or drugs. The fact she was going by a different name didn’t calm her nerves but he wouldn’t kill her in a public setting. She watched the trees pass by from the window of his car  until they reached a big white house which could be certainly considered a mansion.

Mr. Barnes got off his car while the engine was still roaring, handing the key to the valet before opening her door. She looked up at him, blinded by the fairy lights all around the mansion and suddenly she got nervous, very nervous. Nevertheless, she took his help in getting off the car, walking to his left as the valet drove away with his car. 

    - We’re sticking with Betty? - he asked as they climbed up the stairs to the entry of the mansion. 

    - We are. - she nodded as he knocked on the door. A poshly dressed man opened the door allowing for her to peak inside. The room was full of people chatting to each other, champagne flutes in hand of roaring laughter. This was definitely different from the environment she was used to back at the club. 

Without noticing, she clung to his side as he moved through the seas of people drinking and admiring art work which she guessed was what was being auctioned until they got stopped by a slightly shorter than him man dressed in a black tuxedo. 

    - Barnes, you made it. I saved some of your favourite pieces for you. - he was happily talking until he noticed Y/N by the mob boss’ side. - Who is this lovely lady?

    - This is Betty. - he was an excellent liar, even she would’ve believed her name was Betty.

    - Pleasure to meet you, miss. - he curtsied which greatly confused her. - Do you want to come see them? I told my Miriam that the Proserpina paintings would be for Mr. Barnes when we started picking pieces. 

The mob boss was sweet on art? She curiously followed them into a badly light room in shades of burgundy and dark browns where several paintings. She observed them with an innocent look as Bucky heard about the prices and its overall worth. Of course they were not going into auction, they had been saved for him and him alone. He was important, stupidly important when compared to these other people. She could hear whispering from other people as he passed by, away from the room through other people.

The man, whose name Y/N still hadn’t really heard, left them in the entrance with everyone else, two champagne flutes immediately making their way to them. Yet, she still didn’t know exactly what to do. What would this be of use to her father? Someone liking art was common, something very common. Once again useless. 

   - Why did you bring me here if you don’t even need to attend the auction?

   - It’s a bad look to appear unaccompanied. Besides, I’d like to see the auction tonight.

   - I didn’t know you liked art. 

   - You thought I’d only like to see people dying, petal? - he spoke in a soft, calm manner but she could see his smirk through his strong facade. 

   - Look who it is. - Bucky’s face switched into an heavy expression, something Y/N barely saw and didn’t like to see. His arm pulled her behind him as someone dressed in what looked like a taffeta black suit walked up to him accompanied by a black haired woman in a skin tight burgundy dress much more sensual than Y/N’s blush pink flared dress. - James Buchanan Barnes, I thought you didn’t visit this part of town.

   - Rumlow, I visit whatever part I want. 

   - You remember my wife Rachel. - he pointed at the woman nearby him. - I don’t think I remember your friend. Care to introduce us?

   - This is Betty. She’s Sharon’s niece. 

   - Pleasure. There sure are lovely jewellery pieces tonight at auction, aren’t there?

   - And I believe I should care about those since I’m a woman. - Y/N gave him a forced smile, earning a scoff from Bucky who was trying not to laugh at her quick wit. 

    - I’m here to bid on the Elizabeth earrings. They’re a brilliant piece, don’t you think?

    - Yes, well ... we should be getting to our seats. - Bucky ignored the request for continuing the conversation, instead holding Y/N’s hand and leading her towards the auction room.

That was an odd conversation, one with underlying feelings of animosity. Maybe coming here was worth it, maybe that name “Rumlow” would be of use to her father. However, it didn’t matter as she was rather exciting to be in her very first auction. Sitting down in gold painted chairs she could see the paddles with several numbers and even the odd gentleman with a monocle. 

Bucky looked at her with a faint smile, observing how his world seemed to still entice her as for him it had long its spark a long, long time ago. People kept sitting down and soon enough the auctioneer was on the stage presenting pieces and shouting values of high amounts of money. High enough to pay for the rest of her degree, a masters and a few PhDs but she guessed this was how high society lived.

    - Finally, one of tonight’s most special pieces. - the man pointed at a pair of earrings on a glass box. - The Elizabeth earrings are made of white gold with two diamonds taken from The Cullinan diamond, one of the most precious in the world whose siblings belong to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth. Let’s start at 5 thousand.

Brock raised his paddle.

   - 5 thousand, does anyone says 6 thousand?

James rose his own paddle, surprising Y/N. She thought he was only here for the painting. 

   - 6 thousand, 7 thousand? - Brock once again rose his paddle. - 7 thousand, 8 thousand? 

Bucky once again rose his paddle, smirk on his face. He always enjoyed the chase and an auction chase was no exception. Besides, he would love to win those earrings just to piss off Brock Rumlow. 

   - 8 thousand, 9 thousand? - Brock rose his paddle again. - 9 thousand, 10 thousand?

   - 5 hundred thousand. - Bucky spoke out loud and clear for everyone to hear.

   - 5 hundred thousand, any higher? - Y/N’s gaze moved over to Brock who kept his paddle neatly in the middle of his lap, an upset expression gracing his face. His face moved to look at Barnes but he didn’t care, holding a winning smile on his lips. - Going once, going twice, going thrice ... Sold to Mr. Barnes. Congratulations.

Bucky didn’t low himself down to look at Rumlow instead getting up once the auction was over. Y/N followed him, curiosity once again getting hold of her and every fibre of hers. She had never seen diamonds in person, much less as precious as these ones were so once she went into the back and saw the woman place them into a red velvet box, she was done for. They placed the box on a nice black matte bag and handed it over to Mr. Barnes along with the certification of authenticity. 

The auction after party become boring afterwards, with Rumlow giving Barnes a look no one would like to receive and him having little to no care about it. At around 11PM, the time she would end her shift today, he started to walk away, tipping the valet some money to fetch his car while both of them waited outside. It was a cold night, the wind moaning in slow blows and suddenly she regretted not bringing a jacket. 

   - You should’ve brought a jacket. - before she could roll her eyes at this comment, she felt something fall onto her shoulders. Looking to the right shoulder, she recognised the navy blue fabric of his suit’s jacket. - Did you enjoy being someone else for the evening?

   - I didn’t envision my alter ego being Steve’s girlfriend’s family but I’ll accept it. It was nice, thank you for bringing me. 

   - My pleasure, Betty. - he joked. - I do prefer your name over Betty.

The valet brought back his beloved car and handed back the keys. It had been a rather fun night, one that surely went above and beyond her expectations. At least she had a name to give to her father, one of a contact that would be willing to speak about Barnes. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but feel absolutely dirty about it. He hadn’t done anything bad to her, anything that would consider her betrayal. He’d hurt people, or at least that’s what her father said. He’d hurt people, but she’d only seen him doing it to those who actually deserved it. It was wrong, it was wrong but she had too. 

These thoughts kept her quiet, with eyes on the road. This was bad, this was bad, how was she going to betray him but that was the job. Feel nothing, her father had told her before, feel nothing and don’t get hurt. She didn’t want him to get locked up yet again maybe she was too innocent to see what was really happening. 

    - We’re here, Y/N. - he killed the engine, stopping in front of the building. - You don’t look alright. Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?

   - Oh, no, no. I’m just tired. - she lied. Once again lying. 

   - I’m sorry for keeping you up this late. I’ll double your night pay too.

   - It’s not necessary, Mr. Barnes.

   - Bucky.

   - Pardon?

   - Call me Bucky. - he corrected her. - From now on, you can call me Bucky.

   - Bucky. - she repeated, a silly smile forming on her face. - Well, goodnight Bucky.

   - Goodnight, petal. Don’t forget your bag. - he handed her bag to the young girl before waving his last goodbye.

She stood in the sidewalk, watching his car leave with a silly smile on her face. Why was she even smiling? She should be feeling guilty, not smiley. Yet she was stuck in the middle of those two emotions. She needed to go back to bed, that’s what she needed. She needed to go back to her bed and sleep it through so like every single night, she climbed the stairs up to her flat. Once in front of her old student flat door, she opened her wallet to search for her keys.

Damned keys, always seemed to disappear in the darkness of her bag and as she rummaged through the contents she had been throwing inside her bag over the years. As she kept searching for her keys, something fell from her bag onto the bag. 

   - Shit. - she mumbled to herself, squatting down to grab what had fallen. Her mouth opened agape as she saw the same velvet blue box from the auction. Looking around and seeing no one around, she opened the box and there they were, the same earrings she had seen on the auction glass along with a note. Maybe Betty will like them. JBB. - I can’t believe it.

Once again, smiling like a fool. She couldn’t believe it, it couldn’t be, it had to be some sort of mistake. These were 5 hundred thousand dollar pair of earrings for a woman who was wearing a hand me down dress from her mother. Before someone else could see them she shoved them back inside her purse, opening the door to her flat.

   - We need to talk. 

taglist: @lookiamtrying @mariamermaid @sebastianstansqueen @unmagically @buckybarnes1982 @mela-noche @lowercasegenius @randomweirdooo @projectcampbell @sebbystanlover-vk @jevans2 @hollarious @itsallyscorner​ 

[voidstilesplease]

there you are, and I run

pairing: stiles/theo | rating: M | word count: approx. 5,500 (chapter 5) | tags: Hogwarts AU, Triwizard Tournament, Slytherin!Stiles, Durmstrang!Theo, Magic, Witches and Wizards | warning: sexual content (chapter 5)

summary: The Room Where It Happened of Requirement. That's all.

chapter 5/ Read on AO3

---

January 10th – 15 days after the Yule Ball; a month and two weeks before the Second Task

“ In ancient Greek mythology ,” Allison started with a little frown, reading from the tome that Stiles had handed to her as soon as the Slytherin got her alone in an empty classroom. “ – a Siren is a hybrid creature with the body of a bird and the head of a human .” It hadn’t been as easy as Stiles thought, convincing Allison to come with him, which was, really, kind of insulting and maybe a bit gratifying, too (actually, plenty gratifying). She’d warily observed each turn they made even as she focused on Stiles, reading his body movements for any potential assault. Her body was tense the entire trip, arms rigid at the sides, ready to slide her wand out of her sleeve should the need to defend herself arose. If Stiles were Theo, he would understand the suspicion – he would be, too. But what did Allison think Stiles would do to her, seriously ? “ Sirens are dangerous creatures who live on rocky islands and lure sailors to their doom with their sweet song –“ Allison cut off, dropping the book to her lap and raising an exasperated look at Stiles. “Stiles, will you just tell me the point of this?”

Stiles huffed, pushing his back from the door to walk closer. “You French school people are so snooty and impatient.” He muttered as he hopped and situated himself on top of the teacher’s desk, shaking his head lightly. Allison rolled her eyes, mouth twitching a little at the comment, but continued staring pointedly. Stiles exhaled in defeat. “Sirens,” he said, at last, pausing a little. “That’s the next task.”

Allison’s brows furrowed, “Sirens?”

Stiles nodded, reaching inside his pocket for the wing locket – the clue he’d won during the First Task. He showed it to Allison, “I’ve cracked the clue,” he paused, considered it, and amended his statement with a little exhale, “Actually, we’ve cracked the clue – Theo and me.”

The Beauxbatons girl raised both eyebrows at that, looking more skeptical by the second.

“Something about the rune positions, apparently,” Stiles offered in explanation, gesturing at said runes on the locket. “He translated them. And that led to me thinking about the Mirror of Erised at the Room of Requirement . We went there, and the mirror showed me the next task – Sirens.” He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes a little. “You have heard about both the Mirror of Erised and the Room of Requirement , right?”

Allison bit her lip a little hesitantly, but she nodded. “Lydia has told me about them.”

Stiles knew that. Lydia had mentioned that she had indeed shared to Allison the wonderful mysteries of Hogwarts in exchange for the wonderful mysteries of Beauxbatons. An academic trade was what Lydia called it. She had even suggested that Stiles could use Theo’s inclination for mouthy Slytherin wizards to collect intelligence about Durmstrang and the dark arts. After all, if any school had more mystery than the others, it was Durmstrang Institute. A school that wasn’t on any magical map? Sounds exactly like something right up Lydia and Stiles’s alley indeed. But he had immediately shut her off. Although, if Stiles squinted really hard, he would find he was already doing that, wasn’t he? Not deliberately, no, but all the same. Being around Theo so much, he had already amassed lots about his life in Durmstrang – the rough training they go through, all the commonplace near-death experiences, the impossible expectations sitting in their shoulders, never trusting anyone not to smother you in your sleep. Fun stuff. He had even demonstrated dark magic right in front of Stiles.

“ The Mirror of Erised is a magical mirror that shows the deepest, most desperate desires of the heart.” Allison recited as if repeating the exact words that Lydia had told her. “And the Room of Requirement is a secret room within Hogwarts Castle that only appears when a person is in great need of it.”

“Five points for Beauxbatons.”

Allison rolled her eyes good-naturedly. At least she wasn’t regarding him like a snake about to eat her anymore.

Stiles smiled at her before continuing. “Anyway, that’s how we decoded the clue. We’ve been reading about it for the past two weeks.”

There was a thoughtful look on her face as she silently pondered on the information she was given. Finally, after a long moment, she lifted her eyes and nodded to herself, closing the tome and putting it on the desk before her. “Okay, but why are you telling me?” Allison asked, crossing her arms and raising a questioning brow.

Stiles shrugged. “It seems only fair,” he replied honestly, fastening the locket around his neck. He gave it a soft pat afterward. “Theo knows, I know, so you should, too. Sirens are dangerous creatures.”

“Do you really believe that they are in possession of a live Siren?” Allison gestured at the book. “I know a little about these creatures; we studied them at Beauxbatons, too. They’re truly more mythical than real now, Stiles.”

Stiles nodded in agreement, “And the closest kin we can associate to them are the merfolks, which are very much real .”

“So, the merfolks could be the actual next task?”

Stiles shrugged again, “They’re part of the next task. The last Triwizard tournament coordinated with them for one of the tasks, after all. They could do it again.”

Allison lowered her eyes in thought.

“Look,” Stiles hopped down the desk to stand directly in front of the girl. When she looked up, nibbling on her lower lip, he continued. “I’m not asking you to trust me. I just want you to know, that’s all.”

Allison hummed, giving Stiles a speculative look. Slowly, the slight frown on her lips formed into a smile. “So,” she straightened up, tone light and playful now. “What else did you and the Durmstrang boy do in the Room of Requirement?”

Instantly, Stiles felt his cheeks getting warm. He snatched the book from the table and rushed to say, “ Nothing .”

***

Nothing that he was insane to share with Allison, or anyone else, for that matter.

It had been almost 3 in the morning when the pair of them arrived at the seventh-floor corridor where the door to the Room of Requirement was located. It was harder to escape from pissed Malia and Erica than sober Malia and Erica, apparently. And there was Jackson, completely off his trolley, who attempted the jelly-leg jinx on Theo and backfired tremendously because the tosser had pointed the business end of his wand on himself. They were hollering and hauling Jackson’s body to the sleeping quarters by the time they exited the Slytherin Common Room.

They stopped by a familiar expanse of wall. Theo was the first to break the silence. “Last time we were here, we had an unfinished business.”

Stiles’s lips thinned to a line. He did not want to think about the last time they were there. Especially not after the heated events of the past hour. Stiles was sure that had Jackson not been his usual wanker self, they would have been kissing, tongue and all, right there in the Slytherin Common Room for everyone’s viewing. Or, if they had not been distracted by the wing locket, they would have been horizontal on the bed now, frotting against each other, and Stiles would have lost the challenge – proven to Theo that he had not an ounce of control when it came to him. But they were not there for that . They were on official Triwizard champion duty.

“Last time we were here,” Stiles gritted out, facing away from Theo to hide his inflamed cheeks. “You made up my mind to put my name into the Goblet of Fire.”

Theo scoffed, looking put out, stepping closer so he could confront the side of Stiles’s face. “I told you the exact opposite of that.”

Stiles still refused to look at him directly, choosing to side-eye the Durmstrang boy. “Which is why I did the exact opposite of what you told me.”

There was a brief pause from the other boy before he scoffed again, utterly disbelieving. “You’re so contrary .”

This time, Stiles looked up to meet his eyes in the dimness of the corridor. With a tiny upward tug on the corner of his lips, he repeated Theo’s words from earlier. “It’s part of my charm, though, right?”

Theo did not answer with words. Instead, his eyes fell on Stiles’s lips once more and remaining there until the door to the Room of Requirement appeared.

They both know the answer to their question.

***

When they entered the room, it was like they opened a portal into a dimension filled with all kinds of objects you can think of: broken and functioning, ancient and modern, small and gargantuan, ordinary and dangerous. But the powerful magic surrounding the room, converging from all of the objects it held, even the defectives, was unmissable. It shrouded them like an invisible cloak the moment they entered – as if the very air they breathed was magic. It was very different from the first time they had been there together. Then, there was only a king-sized four-poster bed in the middle of a spacious but otherwise empty room. When Stiles went before that, it was the same, except the bed was sometimes a table and a chair or a cozy settee beside a crackling fire. Now, it was a whole dumpster site of magical items.

There was a wood dresser on the left side overflowing with golden trinkets; hundreds of piles of tomes and parchments; several instruments littered about, including a grand piano with a missing leg, a cello with broken strings, and a rusty harp that was playing music by itself. On their right were potteries in various sizes and shapes and artwork, brimming with sparkling gemstones; a whole cupboard of old broomsticks and random pieces of broken furniture. Even the ceiling had many embellishments hanging up like dozens of old, flickering chandeliers, levitating lamps, and even a lonely, single, time-worn shoe. It was impossible to find anything there – especially something you'd not seen in your life. But the Mirror of Erised was there somewhere, and they had to try. If only Stiles knew a summoning spell that would not call the furniture to crush Theo and him to mangled bones and flesh…

“How are we going to find the mirror?” Theo spoke behind Stiles, gaze wandering the vastness of the room. “This place probably has hundreds of them.”

“The Mirror of Erised is only one,” Stiles responded with more confidence than he actually felt. But he had enough. He already had a mental list of spells they could try. “We’ll find it eventually.”

“Yeah, in a decade, give or take.”

Pursing his lips in annoyance, Stiles turned to Theo. “You can turn back, you know? I’d still tell you the clue.”

“And leave you here alone?” Theo gave him a dry look as if Stiles was daft for even suggesting it. “Yeah, fat chance, babe.”

Stiles sneered at the endearment, but Theo ignored him and walked ahead of Stiles, procuring his wand in his hand. “If you get trapped in here, there are many witnesses that knew I came with you.” Halting in his steps, he wrinkled his nose at Stiles. “I’d rather not be the primary suspect for kidnapping you.”

Stiles snorted, “So you’d rather get stuck?”

“With you,” Theo added smoothly, smiling widely because he knew exactly what that did to Stiles. “That’s the vital bit.”

Stiles wanted to retort with something witty; he was usually good at that. But he wasn’t as sober as he thought he was, it appeared. His brain was still muddled, and Theo was a pretty strong toxin.

Shushing the traitorous uptick in his heartbeat, Stiles rolled his eyes and exhaled a long-suffering sigh. It was not the time.

Pretending he was less affected than he actually was, he took his wand from his pocket and muttered the first spell on his list – an advanced magical-signature tracking spell. Ignoring the wide grin still plastered on Theo’s face, he pushed past the git and barraged deeper into the sea of artefacts without looking back if Theo followed. Of course, he followed. He followed because he was infuriatingly dedicated like that. Dedicated on driving Stiles to the brink.

And Stiles was not far behind.

***

They found the mirror quicker than they expected, which made sense to Stiles because they did seek the help of the Room of Requirement to find it specifically . So, more than likely, the room had opened to the exact section where the Mirror of Erised was nearest. It wasn’t Stiles’s tracking spell that found it, though – not conclusively – but Theo.

Stiles was still walking ahead of the Durmstrang boy, resolutely keeping his distance, as he followed the tug of his magic and checked side-by-side, up-and-down thoroughly, trying his damnest not to pause and gawk at every single fascinating thing he came across. He unveiled every looking glass they passed by, running his tracer magic on each one, hoping to catch a unique signature that would identify the artifact as old, rare, and extremely powerful – anything that would separate it from the other magic in the surrounding. The spell had drawbacks, of course, Stiles recognized that. The room probably had thousands of old, rare, and powerful artefacts (most might even be older than the mirror they came for) – it wouldn’t necessarily isolate the Mirror of Erised from everything with similar magical signatures.

He contemplated switching to the next spell on his list when he heard Theo speak.

“Do you see that?”

Stiles drew away from the set of portraits he accidentally uncovered – everyone in it grumbling and cussing Stiles for disturbing their slumber. Stiles quickly draped the cloth back over them – to look at Theo.

The Durmstrang boy was looking onward, a little farther from where they stood, and Stiles followed his line of sight. All he saw was a darker pathway with more antique broken objects.

“What?”

Theo pointed, “That,” he muttered, walking towards whatever it was that he saw.

Curious, Stiles tailed closely.

Theo had stopped in front of a huge ornate mirror with a gold frame. Stiles inched nearer and almost jumped in glee upon reading the inscription around it: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi . Unbelievable. It was there; they had found it! A quick tempus charm would confirm that they had only begun searching less than twenty minutes ago. And it was now in their presence!

Stiles grinned, turning to his companion. “This is it! The Mirror of Erised .”

But Theo only stared at the mirror, brows furrowed in deep concentration. Stiles could only see Theo watching his reflection. But from the way his eyes moved around, his face flickering with different emotions (more than he ever saw Theo wear), Stiles quickly realized that the mirror was serving its purpose – showing people their desires. Stiles wondered silently, what could Theo be seeing ? What does someone like him desire the most ? More wealth? Prestige? More possession of the Dark Arts? Does Theo desire something mundane and vague as love and happiness? If so, what scene does he see himself in that includes being in love and happy? Around a family of his own, maybe? A wife, their two-and-a-half children, in a country manor with a vast field of green dragon berry trees?

Stiles broke from his stupor when the Durmstrang boy stepped away from the mirror, eyes alight in awe and trepidation. Then, softly, he chuckled without humor. “This mirror is cursed.”

Stiles glanced at him questioningly. “Because it shows you what you want?”

Theo turned to him, face set in a hard expression. He almost looked pained. “Because it shows you what you want that you evidently can’t have.”

Their eyes met, and Stiles saw the yearning and defeat in Theo’s. It was probably the most earnest he’d ever seen Theo. Something had truly rattled him. What did he see ? He thought again. What did the mirror show him that he – who, on the face of it, has everything – desires so much because he believes he can’t have it ?

Stiles shook his head and replied, “You don't know that,” He pressed on even as Theo scoffed. “If you want something enough, Theo, you devise means to achieve it.”

“Even at the expense of everything else?” Theo challenged.

“Yeah!” Stiles cried out. “Who said ambitions were always smart?”

There was a moment’s pause following Stiles’s statement before Theo lowered his eyes. Stiles wanted to say something sarcastic to break the ice – he wasn’t used to Theo like this – but he didn’t think it would be helpful at the moment. When it became apparent that Theo wasn’t going to say anything more, Stiles decided to take his previous position and face the Mirror of Erised as they came to do. Anyway, if Theo allowed it, they could talk about… feelings , after. Although Stiles reckoned Theo would probably pretend this moment of vulnerability didn’t happen once they were out in the real world, he was oddly hopeful. Because it actually felt nice, even if he would never admit it out loud, to be the only one to see Theo this way. At least, he thought he was the only one.

Stiles internally sighed and shook his head. Emotions were so weird . He was never not conflicted having them – too many and too foreign and always in-between.

He cleared his throat and stood before the mirror, forcing his mind to clear. He heard Theo shuffle behind him but otherwise remained silent, watching Stiles as Stiles had done with him earlier.

Stiles swallowed, taking a deep breath, and barred any other thoughts in his mind apart from one – his longing to win the Triwizard tournament. His victory during the First Task ignited it fully; he wasn’t just in it for the thrill – he wanted the galleons, the look of awe and jealousy directed to him, the pride, the fame, the glory. He wanted to emerge victorious on the other side. And he was going to get that if he knew how to arm himself for the Second Task. He would know how to arm himself if the mirror showed him what he would need to arm himself against. The mirror could show him.

He repeated it inside his head like an incantation.

Soon enough, his reflection started distorting, forming vague shapes like images through water, until it became a vision of him brandishing the Triwizard Cup in the air as fireworks of silver and green erupted in the sky. It was quick, but it brought the biggest grin on his face, then the mirror cleared once more. He was about to think “ that’s it ?” when the wing locket around his neck began unfurling. Stiles’s eyes widen, and his hand immediately flew to the jewelry. When he looked down, however, it was still the same: a pair of wings enclosed together, cold on his skin.

He looked up to the mirror, but his reflection was holding an opened locket. Stiles gaped in astonishment.

“Do you see anything?” Theo asked, stepping forward.

Stiles nodded, eyes still fixed on the figure inside the mirror.

Faintly, the runes glowed, and so did the encryptions that Theo’s spell created on the locket. Listen to the desire of the heart . Belatedly, Stiles thought that the opened locket now resembled a heart, actually. Then slowly, Stiles’s reflection raised the unfurled locket to his ear and held it there. Confused, Stiles mimicked and brought the golden wings to his hear.

Merlin’s fruit basket , Stiles swore, but he could hear whispers from within the locket! Listen to the desire of the heart – Stiles wanted to laugh out loud because that was almost too literal, wasn’t it? Excitedly, he pressed the locket more firmly to his ear, but the melodious whispers, almost as if singing to him, stayed garbled and incomprehensible. He started getting pissed after a moment – he, unfortunately, didn’t speak nonsense – until he caught on to a specific word: Seirḗn .

A Siren.

***

“The next task is a Siren ?” Theo asked dubiously, as they were tracing back to the exit.

“It makes sense, actually,” Stiles replied, glancing sideways at Theo, and his mind wandering to each clue, making sense of them now. “First, this is a wing locket. Sirens are depicted as half-woman half-bird hybrids. Then, when the wings open, it forms into the shape of a heart. The rune on the locket says: ‘ listen to the desire of the heart ’. And sirens are mythical creatures known to sing the yearnings of a person to lure them to their death.” Theo nodded along to his points, brows drawn together in musing. “And now this .” Stiles opened his palm to reveal a small, white object.

Right after Stiles heard his final and most concrete clue, the Mirror of Erised returned to being a simple looking glass, and the wing locket in Stiles’s hand pried open unprompted. A white object fell from the locket and into Stiles’s curious hand.

Theo looked down at it, wrinkling nose. “What’s that?”

“Wax.”

“ Wax ?”

“For noise-canceling,” Stiles explained, giving Theo a dull look. “It was what ancient Greeks used to survive a Siren’s song. You should know it since you apparently read Greek literature.”

Theo returned the look with a mild glare. “I know about that . It's why I also know that a tiny glob of it won’t do any good. It doesn’t even look like there’s enough for one ear.”

“I can make additional, Theo,” Stiles answered, already mentally listing ingredients he thought would be needed. “But obviously, it’ll take time. Thank Merlin, we have over a month to get ready. And we also have to read more about Sirens.”

“Hurray.”

They fell into silence, Stiles drawing a plan inside his head and Theo wordlessly walking beside him. He was more or less back to classic Theo – Stiles was convinced that the brief moment they shared would be pushed down to forgotten lane – and though a part of him was disappointed, it might be for the best. If Stiles were hard-pressed on not crossing the line, then confiding weaknesses should be out of the trade. This tension between them was frustrating, but it was safe. Safe was okay. Safe was preferable.

Suddenly, he found himself being shoved to a wall. He was too surprised and tired – it was past three in the morning – to react quickly. He grunted softly, but the impact hardly hurt. One of Theo’s hands cushioned his head protectively, and he only stared wide-eyed as Theo pushed closer and caged Stiles between a random wall and his body. His really hot body – Merlin, he was a furnace. He knew the Durmstrang delegates could create sparks with the tip of their magic canes, but Theo could make fire . Stiles saw it – many, many times after the Welcome Feast. Theo was always eager to demonstrate. He enjoyed watching Stiles’s open-mouthed response and the way his eyes would glaze over. Theo was always burning, and Stiles would have complained if only the burn didn’t feel perfect.

He only hoped he wasn’t leaning against temperamental portraits who cursed in seven languages because then, it wouldn’t be as perfect.

“What are you doing?” He hissed, but his hands grappled on both sides of Theo’s waist, the wax still clutched in one.

Theo’s other hand curled around Stiles’s neck and started playing with the tips of his hair. His eyes locked on Stiles. “You said that if I wanted something enough, I would have to make ways to get it.”

Stiles’s pulse quickened. “Your heart’s greatest desire isn’t seriously to have sex with me.” He tried to sound jeering, but he had turned into a gasping mess. One of Theo’s knees had parted his legs and pressed their lower halves together.

“No,” Theo’s hot breath fanned across Stiles’s face, his calloused thumb caressing Stiles’s jaw, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “But I want you badly, nonetheless.”

--------

hello! I've reached the maximum limit for a long post, apparently (didn't know there was one!), so I had to cut the scene. Sorry. If you wanna continue reading, it's on AO3! If not, thank you for still reaching this part!

Byeee 🖤

[dregstrash]

let me save you (2/2)

a/n: here’s the second chapter of this fic!! Again, I am very thankful to all my gangmates and just the incredible work they did!

Chapter 1

Ao3 Link

Art by @polekands

Art by @kingdombrekker

The sky started deepening into a deeper twilight. In the distance, there were the discordant sounds of music spilling out of full clubs and pleasure houses. The overlapping waves crashed on the shores and the creaking of resting ships added to the harmony of Ketterdam’s evening song.

The night would have been peaceful, if Inej could just drown out the sobs of the broken men around her.

It had taken her the better part of the day to trail after the Razorgulls that were most likely to know the most and have the looser tongues. Her intel on the gang was outdated, but it didn’t take long to piece together just who might have the information she was looking for. She just needed to isolate and interrogate. Things she could have done in her sleep.

Unfortunately, she was not accounting for her mark to have friends. And for those friends to be a little trigger happy when they saw the dark shadow that was her descend upon their comrade.

When Inej started out in her war against the slavers, she hadn’t fully anticipated the adjustment it took to fight on the water. It was one thing to maneuver around men and their fists on uneven cobble stones, and quite another to dodge around swords on the rocking waves. It was a new routine with a new style. And like with everything, Inej adapted and she won.

But as the men drew their weapons and descended upon her, the rhythms of Barrel fighting slipped back into Inej’s bones as if it had never left.

She dodged and punched when she needed to. She threw her knives with little thought, and she kept her eye on the man that was cowering behind an overturned barrel.

Before Inej knew it, her assailants were down, her knives covered in their blood, and a sobbing man right under the blade of her favorite knife.

“I just need a few questions answered.” Inej spoke softly.

“I-I-I swear! I don’t k-know nuthin’! Just pl-please!”

“Kaz Brekker.” Like a magic word, the sobs silenced. The air almost stilled. The man’s eyes widened even more. And Inej was convinced he knew something. “Where is he?”

“Why would I know where that bastard is?” His reply was a bare whisper, fear making his breath tremble.

“You’ve been encroaching on Dregs territory.” Inej replied slowly. “I hear that they have been making it harder for you gulls to get paid. So, where is Kaz Brekker?”

The knife against his throat dug a little deeper and the sobs that were trapped there almost started again.

“Y-you’re mad! I-I don’t know where he is! I got orders to put some fear into those dirty crows. But the boss ain’t lost his mind enough to take a hit on Brekker!”

Inej’s grip on her knife tightened. He had to know something. He had to. If this man had been tasked with making trouble for the Dregs then she was back with no clues and still no answers.

The man’s breath hitched as Inej unknowingly nicked his neck, and Inej was just about to draw back until he started speaking faster.

“I did hear of some men, down by the docks,” He breathed out, “They were properly smashed and they talked about getting revenge on some bloke or another.”

“What does that have to do with Brekker?”

“Who doesn’t want revenge on Brekker nowadays? Ever since the newer plague and the auction, there's been whisperings that it was time Brekker had it coming for him.”

I suppose it was going to happen eventually. Inej thought. He had always told her that life was an unfair game and he was bound to be on the wrong side of it eventually. That Kaz would someday be too slow to catch the one knife to his back. Inej had always rolled her eyes at that, because if someone was going to stab him in the back, she was going to be there to catch the knife.

“Who were these men?” She said.

“I-I don’t know. But they came from that boat that had just came from Ravka. Pl-please–just let me go.” The man closed his eyes. His pleas still trembling on his lip. Inej could tell that he knew that begging for mercy was about as useful as begging for scraps on rich mercher’s street corners. But Inej wasn’t a woman that was born out of the stones and grit of Ketterdam. She slipped her knife back into her sheath and melted back into the shadows.

Leaving the frightened man still on his knees, praying for mercy.

//

Inej found herself at Van Eck Manor, more perplexed than ever. She was pouring over the dock reports that Wylan had–something most merchers get in Ketterdam–and there was nothing about Ravkan ships being docked in the last few weeks.

She even ventured to take another look at the reports Kaz had in his office, and even he had no record.

Maybe the lead from the Razorgull was just a coincidence. This was Ketterdam. Everyone wanted revenge on someone. For all she knew, those sailors could have been talking about their captain.

“Any luck?” Jesper’s dark head popped into the study, and Inej shook her head and brought her finger tips to her sore eyes.

“I just can’t make anything out of this. Kaz would have the shipping manifests for all the ships on the harbor, and Wylan should have records of any merchandise that he has bought stock for. Why can’t I find anything?”

Jesper gave her a sympathizing look and dropped to the seat next to her. His hands drumming against the side of his thighs.

“It makes it harder because everyone and their mothers are looking for blood against Kaz.” He sighed loudly then rolled his eyes in her direction. “And from what I’ve been hearing about the Wraith, you’re on your way to being a competitor in that area.”

Inej tilted her head towards her friend, “What do you mean?”

Jesper shrugged, “I mean, I know you don’t make it to shore often these days, but the tales of the pirate ship that sinks slaver boats are legendary. Kaz has made the most profit out of them–as to be expected–but even more merchers around here are looking for blood. We’re talking about the sinking of hundreds and thousands of Kruge. According to some of the Dregs, The Wraith is getting more and more targets on her back.” At this Jesper gave a little smile. “Kaz should be jealous.”

Inej chewed on her lower lip. It was no mystery to her that she was starting to collect animosity with all the rich and powerful in Ketterdam. Even before she took her own crew, she had become notorious. But this was the first time she had ever considered an actual plot against her. She didn’t stay long in Ketterdam every time she did dock.

She had no time to keep her ear to the ground or to hear plots in the wind.

But what does her enemies have anything to do with Kaz?

“Jes…” Inej tested the words against her mouth. The strange question leaving an odd flavor, “How many people…know…about me and Kaz?”

Jesper’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “It depends.” He tilted his head. “What is happening between you and Kaz?”

Inej shot him a look, which earned her a playful smile. It’s not like her and Kaz had ever talked about whatever they were. There didn’t seem to be quite the right word for them–even when she was still one of the Dregs. But it had been clear since the first time she had set sail, her and Kaz had the kind of bond that was born out of blood–and those things are rarely made weak.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Inej. I’m just teasing. Kaz isn’t around to give me his usual threats, and given that he is at an unknown location, I just missed him. Anyway, not many people really know anything outside of you being a former Dregs. Even fewer people outside of the Slat, actually. But rumors are rumors and they travel like rats carrying plagues. For example,  last I heard you had taken to bruning whole fleets of slave ships instead of sinking them and then you use the ships ashes in your own gun powder.”

In an instant, Inej remembered the feeling of gunpowder on her hands. She tasted the bitter taste of blood in the air, and more than anything, she felt the burn of rage at the base of her belly as she glared down at the man whose hands were tied behind his back.

She had been on her way to the Zemeni coast for a supply run. Her crew was exhausted. Their food stocks are low, and the girls they had just saved are ready to be on steady land with safe blankets.

But another ship had attacked. Another pirate ship with the Ravkan flagged was torn up and flapping in the wind. Their captain’s orders snatching in the wind, calling his men to arms. The battle that ensued was drawn out, and bloody. She had lost some crew members that day, but even then, they won.

Those who had not been slain by her men were brought before her, and she could feel the dark storm of anger clouding her judgment. They were a slaver ship, that was of no doubt. But as the rest of her crew brought the girls onto The Wraith, she had noticed that all of them had been Suli. Each young girl trembling with fear, confusion, and hunger were an exact mirror to the girl Inej had been. One of her crewmen came back with the ship’s logs, and found out that this particular company’s targets were Suli camps that were still recovering from the war in Ravka.

It wasn’t uncommon for Inej to set fire to enemy pirate ships, but for the first time in her pirate career, she didn’t feel satisfied with just one ship.

So for the next three months, she used that same ledger to track down every single one of the ships associated with the Broken Ravka flag and personally watch every single damned piece of wood turn to ash.

When her and her crew found every single ship they could, Inej thought that that was the last of the Broke Ravka fleet. She hadn’t even considered that maybe the commodore of scum like that could still be alive.

“Jesper,” Inej said suddenly. “I think I have an idea of where we can finally get some answers.”

//

“Did you do it?” The gruff voice was back. His whispers carried through the echoes of the room that Kaz was being held captive in.

“Just sent word to The Wraith. They should be scrambling now.” The second of Kaz’s captors replied with glee.

The Wraith?

Kaz’s world was starting to come back to him bit by bit, but he struggled to continue to breathe deeply as if he was still passed out. These bastards were after Inej, and as far as he knew, that basically signed their death sentence.

“How long do you think it would take them to get our money?” The second voice asked.

“It better be soon, or that bitch is going to have a very dead Barrel rat on her ship.” The gruff voice said.

“How do we even know she cares enough about this bastard to pay up?” A third, much reedier voice responded.

There was a beat of silence and it was the first man who answered the question, “I used to be a Dime Lions before the false plague swept through Ketterdam. Brekker found the girl in a pleasure house, and rumor has it that the girl was foolish enough to fall in love with the bastard. From where I see it, she only left Ketterdam because Brekker didn’t want her services anymore, if you know what I mean. If I know anything about women, that girl will pay.”

The other two men laughed at the insinuation, and Kaz’s breaths were trapped in his chest. His rage and anger battling with his will to keep quiet. He was going to get out of the weak ties they had him in, and when he did that he was going to rip them apart.

//

“You’re sure?” Inej said breathlessly.

Specht nodded grimly. “Broken Ravka has been in the business of pirating for a while, but when the Ravkan war was over they took more interest in indentures. It looks like they got new leadership recently, and it looks like they used to be Dime Lions.”

Jesper exchanged looks with Wylan while Inej looked out the window in thought.

Once Inej had narrowed the potential culprits to being part of the Broken Ravka fleet, it had taken Specht almost no time at all to find out who was running that crew and where they stood on all their accounts.

It came to no surprise to her that they were almost bankrupt. Inej had sent warnings to all the Suli camps after that first ship, and ever since then no other potential sellers wanted to associate with the profit risk they posed. Inej had single-handedly dismantled their entire business. Which would explain the thirty million kruge ransom demand that arrived at her ship almost an hour ago.

“What makes them think that Inej would pay that?” Jesper scoffed. “That’s not even worth the business they were doing previous to Inej using them for pyrotechnic practice.”

Inej cut a look to Specht. The other man shrugged indifferently, “Is it really any surprise that rumor spreads that the Wraith wouldn’t do anything for the devil of Ketterdam? They were practically glued at the hip.”

An overstatement, that was for sure, but Inej hadn’t been impervious to the talk that she generated around the Slat.

She waved a hand in the air, “It doesn’t matter. What matters is we know who they are, we know what they want, and we’re going to find them.”

“How?” Wylan asked. His eyes wide with anticipation.

Specht, Jesper, and Wylan looked at her expectantly. Inej fidgeted with her knives in a sudden flutter of nerves.

Is this how Kaz feels?

As soon as the question came, Inej almost laughed. No, Kaz was never nervous. And she shouldn’t be either.

There was going to be no doubt about it, she was going to save Kaz Brekker.

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” Inej started.

//

The sack that they had tied to his head itched. He could feel the rough fabric scratch against his skin, and the overwhelming smell of onions was threatening to choke him. At least it was distracting enough to take the pain out of the stiffness of his leg.

His captors had barged in so suddenly, Kaz had barely enough time to feign unconsciousness as he had just found a nail that was just close enough to snag on his bindings.

They released him only to put iron chains on his wrists and throw a bag over his head. They marched him outside and the smell of the harbor instantly caught his nose, but what was lacking was the dirt and grime that he associated with Fifth Harbor. The night air was quiet except for his captors’ silent whispers, and even more than that the sound of creaking ships was almost nonexistent. They must have been somewhere in Third Harbor.

This used to be under Pekka Rollins’s care, and Kaz wondered about the connection. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Was Pekka finally getting the revenge he wanted? Was he using Inej to get to him?

A sudden jerk stopped Kaz and then the sack was unceremoniously ripped from his head.

He felt as if he had lived the moment before. Inej standing at the end of a bridge looking at him with concern with men standing at either side of her. He was brought back to the moment where it felt like his entire world had stopped spinning and as soon as he saw her a piece of him had settled into place, even if she was Van Eck’s prisoner at the time.

Except this wasn’t the bridge, Inej wasn’t the one being held captive, and as soon as Kaz locked eyes with Inej instead of relief, all he saw was pure calculation.

Scheming face.

Kaz couldn’t help but smile.

“You have my money?” The man who Kaz had decided was the leader growled.

Inej lifted her chin up, “And he comes unharmed?”

The captor that was holding Kaz’s left arm jostled him a little, “More or less. Can’t be too careful around the Barrel these days.”

His companion laughed, and Kaz waited patiently. Inej hadn’t broken eye contact with him. Jesper played with the holsters at his side, and looked around while Specht lurked just slightly in front of Inej, his thick arms crossed. She looked unarmed, for the most part. They looked like they were following standard parlay rules, but Inej’s hand was tapping restlessly against her side.

He turned his attention to the motion immediately.

“Where’s the money, Ghafa?”

“You’re bold to attack me, Velend.” Inej ignored his question completely, “Even bolder to steal the Bastard of the Barrel from his own home.”

He laughed gruffly, “I have never been known to be a coward, girl. Again, my money, where is it? If you are wasting my time, I promise you the death of this son of a bitch is the last thing you will have to worry about.”

Inej didn’t move an inch. Her voice was cold when she said, “Your money is probably right where it belongs.” She moved three of her fingers in an upward motion, and Kaz tensed his legs. “Burnt to ashes like the rest of your dirty ships.”

The faint rumble was the first sign. Then it took no time at all for Kaz to sweep his attackers legs and dodge to the side as a terrifyingly loud explosion went off to the left.

Fire started to rain down from the sky and while his captors were caught off guard, it took no time at all for Jesper and Specht to tackle the men that had been holding onto Kaz, and Inej immediately launched three knives towards the man she called Velend.

Kaz’s body was weak from the drugs, his mind still a little slow, so all he could do was watch as Inej danced in front of a man who was twice her size with the strength and power of a full storm. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

Wylan suddenly ran over to where Kaz lay, gunpowder coated on his hands. He made quick work of the cuffs that were binding his wrists, and Kaz had never been more grateful that he had forced Wylan to learn how to pick locks.

“I thought you retired.” Kaz grunted as Wylan very carefully helped him up off the ground.

“Inej asked for a favor.” Wylan said in reply as he deposited Kaz safely in the cover of some barrels. “Besides, if you had died, I’m not sure how I can keep affording to keep my father in prison.”

Kaz laughed, “I’m sure you would have found a way, merchling. Types like you always do.”

Wylan grinned and then rushed off to the other side of the harbor, probably setting ablaze his next round of tricks.

Kaz looked over from his hiding spot, and his heart almost stopped as he saw that Inej had lost the knives she was fighting with. Her hands were empty as Velend charged at her. Her reflexes the only thing that was keeping her alive. Without thinking about the utter exhaustion that was freezing his bones, he started to crawl to her.

She needed his help. She needed him. She–

In a flash of lightning, Inej materialized another knife from her inner sleeve and cut a large gash in Velend’s neck. Blood splattered carelessly, droplets hitting Kaz’s face and staining Inej’s clothes. Piercing scream rang through the already busy night air and all Inej did was stand over the body, her knife dripping from her attacker’s wound.

“Inej–” Kaz called.

And instantly the coldness that had settled in her eyes melted into warmth. Blood coated a part of her face, some of her hairs coming out of her usually perfect braid, but Kaz had never seen her more beautiful.

Sheathing her knife, she came to him and held him up. The closeness of her body brought in more comfort than nausea and Kaz did his best to remain upright.

“Are you alright?”

Kaz smirked, “Doing just fine. Now that you’ve saved me. Does that make us even?”

Inej rolled her eyes, but Kaz could see a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “We will never be even Brekker. I’ve saved your life more times than you can count.”

He couldn’t have agreed more, and for a man who was obsessed with money, this was a debt he was more than happy to pay over and over again.

A gurgling sound interrupted their moment, and Kaz glanced down at the dying man at their feet.

“They used to be Dime Lions.” Inej said in explanation. “When Pekka Rollins dissolved his gang, a lot of his men took to slave trading. I ran into their company a few months back and destroyed it all. They were ransoming you for how much I stole from them.”

This time Kaz couldn’t hold back his laughter, “They thought I was worth that much to you? I should be flattered.”

She lifted her shoulders in an indifferent shrug, “They had never been very smart to begin with.”

Velend reached up and weakly grabbed a hold of Inej’s ankle. She didn’t shake him off as he breathed his last breaths, and the night was silent once more.

Jesper and Specht had tied up and taken the other two pirates away from the fires, and Kaz looked on. His own plans started to form in his mind.

“I had Wylan take care of the ship they took to Ketterdam.” Inej said as she followed his line of sight.

Kaz nodded in approval.

“Anything else you wanted to do?” Inej said.

Kaz looked back at her. Yes, there were things he wanted to do. Some of them involved getting retribution for the night he had endured. Some of it was to make sure that he refortified the Slat so whatever happened tonight would never happen again. But as he looked at Inej in the bright light of the moon. Her skin glowing with utter radiance, everything else seemed to fade. At least for now.

He reached his free hand up and cupped her cheek. Breathing through the initial flutter of panic, and then relishing in the warmth of her skin, “Yes. I would like to go find my cane and then drink until I see the sun. Do you think your saints would approve of that?”

For the first time this evening, Inej smiled then laughed. Her arms gripped him tighter as they began to walk.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I celebrated the evening. After all, I did save your life today.”

Kaz grinned as they began to walk toward Jesper and Specht. He focused on the feeling of Inej by his side, and despite the night they had. Everything felt right in the world.

[mariamermaid]

Buried beneath books

Harry Potter x fem Reader

Summary: After looking for yet another clue on how to fight against Voldemort, you decide to help Harry search the library even in the nightly hours…

Words: 1.2k

 It was late, you had expected for Harry to come back to the common room together with Hermione and Ron. He didn´t though.

You worried about him and especially his health. It wasn´t easy and you never refuted, but chosen one or not, the amount of pressure wasn´t healthy and it showed. Falling asleep in class, missing Quidditch practice, grades becoming worse…

He hadn´t talked to you in days and you remembered a time, where you´d spent hours talking every day. “Y/n, you shouldn´t go, if he wants to stay past curfew; he still has the cloak”, Ron yawned while setting foot on the first stairs to his room. You furrowed his eyebrows at him, sometimes Ron could be so untoward, it drove you (and Hermione) insane. The brown-haired sighed next to you, recognizing how you grew angry at the Weasley boy.

“Go on Ron, go to bed, you got practice tomorrow”, she hushed him and rolling his eyes, he left the common room.

“Girls…” He muttered while disappearing.

“You should go, it´s not like you would be able to sleep any other way.”

You let yourself fall back to the couch, where you had previously waited. “Maybe Ron´s right.”

Hermione sat down next to you, putting her hair up. “What do you mean?”

“He didn´t ask me to help him, did he?” “He didn´t ask us?”

You let out a groan. “But when he´s with you guys, he never has to ask but when I´m around, I feel…”

“Unwanted?” Hermione guessed right. You did feel unwanted. Harry didn´t talk to you like he used to, it almost seemed like he was avoiding you.

“I really think you should go talk to him and sort out things”, Hermione added, watching as you starred gloomy into the fireplace. “Even past curfew? Risking to lose points?” You chuckled and she joined in.

“Y/n, do you know how many points I lost just because Harry or Ron?”

 Hermione was right, you barely ever lost points and you had good grades. Also, Harry was worth risking maybe some detention, at least he was to you. You made it to the library without any problems and you saw a dim light at the end of the aisles. For a few seconds you paused, when Harry finally came to your sight. He was starring at the pages of a thick and old looking book, his eyes blinking to catch focus again. Dark circle showed beneath his eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe you should think about sleeping for once in a while?”

He flinched and looked surprised to find you leaning against a shelve. But then he relaxed, you wouldn´t snitch on him. He guessed himself lucky, that it was you and not a teacher. “I´m not tired.”

“Liar, if you weren´t tired and exhausted, you would´ve heard me coming or Filch.”

You took the book out of his hands, while sitting down across from him. Your hand brushed against his and you ignored the butterflies that came with the touch.

“The unknown wizards of the dark arts? Doesn´t sound all too interesting.”

Harry hid a yawn from you while taking off his glasses to clean them. He leaned back and shrugged. “Voldemort used the techniques and inventions of wizards in the past, I thought I could find something… A clue maybe. Anything really?” You shook your head and closed the book to put it on the heap of books which balanced on the table. The number of books and their barely legible titles seemed to collapse at any second, but it didn´t.

“Harry, you have to sleep. You won against him already, more than once. You can do it again!”

“But Y/n, every time I have to face him, he gets stronger or has a new thing as an advantage”, he argued and leaned against the table again.

“Harry have you looked at yourself? The first year you faced him, you barely knew anything about the man behind the monster. You barely knew how to hold your wand! And even if you didn´t succeed at everything, your friends always had your back!”

You paused, watching how he processed your words. “I always believed in you, you know? But as your friend, it´s my duty to make sure you´re healthy. I mean, if I´m still considered your friend?”

His blue eyes shot up from the table, starring at you in disbelief. Out of reflex he grabbed your hands on the table, not realizing how the heat came to your cheeks.

“What makes you think, you´re not my friend anymore?” You shrugged sadly and avoided his glance. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. You barely talk to me anymore. If it wasn´t for Hermione or Ron, I wouldn´t even know that you´re here!”

Harry breathed steadily as he eyed you, wondering how he had messed up so badly.

“I don´t feel like you even want me around anymore…”

“Y/n! It´s not like that, I promise!” “Then explain in to me!”

“I didn´t want to stress you with all of this, the burden and all.” “But it´s what I´m here for, it´s what Hermione and Ron do. Why don´t you let me help you?”

“I already lost so much, I didn´t want to endanger you as well”, he admitted whispering. It was painful to watch and you bit your lip, trying to figure out the right words to say.

“But that´s not your choice to make”, you then trailed off and finally grabbed his hands as well.

“You´re not like Ron or Hermione, you´re different.”

You wanted to ask what he meant by that, but Harry leaned across the table and carefully pressed his lips on yours. It wasn´t as shocking as you had expected, maybe because you had imagined it plenty of times before. Maybe because every time you were with him everything felt so natural and comfortable. It simply felt right. When you separated, you bit your lip again.

“That´s what you mean by different, huh?” You asked whispering and he nodded smiling.

You kissed him again, meeting his warm soft lips and cupping his face with your hands.

“Then let me help you! You, Harry, you´re being buried beneath all those books. You need rest.”

Finally, he nodded. “Okay, you win.” But his hands grabbed your face again, pulling you close.

“Just… Just a little more.”

You giggled as he pulled you to his side of the table onto his lap. His hands embraced your waist and you leaned into his chest, deepening the kiss.

“We… we really should leave before Filch catches us”, you breathed between kisses. Harry nodded nonchalantly, but didn´t make any indication of leaving.

“Harry James Potter!” “Okay, okay, we´re leaving!” He finally nodded and you both sorted the books back into place, before they would actually collapse and burry you. Several yawns escaped the two of you in the mean-time.

“Do you come to the Quidditch practice tomorrow?” He asked when you finally found yourself back in the common room. You shrugged grinning at him.

“Maybe, depends how well rested you look.” He chuckled and pulled you closely one more time.

“Very well rested, because I´ll be dreaming of you.”

[baepsaesbae]

Since Day One

Pairing— Park Jimin x female reader   

Genre— college au, friends to lovers au, smut, FLUFF (this is so soft) 

Warnings— oral (fem and male receiving), sex in general but nothing crazy, Jimin being a mushy baby oof my heart melted 

Word Count— ~5.1k 

Summary— You’re best friends with the sweetest guy on Earth, Park Jimin. Of course, you’d be his girlfriend in a heartbeat if he asked. If only...

Your love life has been fruitless since...well since you were born. There’s been the occasional fling here and there, but you cut it off as soon as you realized they were only after sex and nothing more. You yearn for something meaningful with just about anyone now. If a cute boy is somewhat nice to you for even a second, you catch yourself fantasizing about going on a honeymoon with him. You were lost in your thoughts until a familiar voice brought you back to reality.

“Hello? ___? Is anyone home? Oh wow look at that super cute dog--”

“Where?” you crane your neck to look out the cafe window in hopes of spotting the dog.

“There is no dog. I just needed your attention. What do you think of this layout for the presentation?” Jimin asked.

Park Jimin has been your best friend since day one. Literally. Both your moms were best friends, so it was inevitable that you guys would be besties too. You guys attend the same University now, and even though your majors were different, you managed to get into the same mandatory elective.

“Yeah, that looks fine. Sorry, you know I don’t really care for what old white dudes had to say about, well, literally anything,” you reply.

“Neither do I. But the ancient Greeks had a lot to say about the birth of philosophy so here we are. Also if you can’t pay attention to our project, at least pay attention to me!” Jimin pouted.

Jimin has always been a needy baby, but only when it comes to you for some reason. Jimin has been a heartthrob since elementary school and proceeded to become class president starting in middle school. He won every year in a row (thanks to all the girls voting for him). Even though he won because of his popularity, he was still an extremely hardworking student. He made sure the council’s ideas were all heard and worked his hardest to implement whatever project they wanted that year. You admired-- and albeit were a little jealous-- of how perfect Jimin was. During high school, you realized you might have had a crush on him, but you quickly nipped that in the bud. Having a crush on your best friend? You couldn’t risk your friendship like that, it meant too much to you.

With that said, Jimin had always looked up to you as well. He loved the way you always spoke your mind, a trait that often got you in trouble in school. He loved the way you would apply yourself to something you’re passionate about and was delighted when you announced that you would be going to pursue your passion in art. Luckily for him, you both ended up at the same University. Jimin also loved that he knew the real you. Other people would probably say that you’re “cool” but have a cold demeanor, but he knew better. He knew that you were a huge sappy hopeless romantic, but would never tell anyone that. Anyone other than him of course.

“Yeah yeah okay you big baby. You want me to hold your hand too?” you teased, looking over the presentation one last time.

“Actually, yes I do,” Jimin smiled innocently as he plopped his hand onto the table. You rolled your eyes and took his hand anyway. He always does this. You always chalk it up to Jimin just being an affectionate guy, but what you don’t realize is that he’ll look for any excuse to be with you. He’ll do anything to be yours, but you’re too oblivious to all his tactics. Had you known that he had a crush on you, you would’ve pounced on him on the spot. But for now, you’re more than happy to call him your best friend.

“Well, I just turned it in for us. Congrats, now you have the rest of your weekend free from philosophy hell! Have any plans?” you ask.

“Not yet. But we can make plans! You wanna watch a movie at my place? We can order in and celebrate by being lazy! My roommates are gone for the weekend so we can do whatever we want. You kind of have to say yes because I already got a surprise for you,” Jimin smiled deviously.

“Oh yeah? Guess we do have plans then, I’m in. What’s the surprise?” you cock your head.

“I can’t tell you because it’s a surprise, dummy. Let me go back first to clean up a little, I don’t want you to think I’m living in a pigsty,” Jimin starts packing up his stuff.

“I’ve been over there plenty of times, I already know that you’re living in a pigsty,” you tease. Jimin gives you an overexaggerated shocked face.

“Well, then you should know that all that mess is made by my roommates. Not me. Just appreciate the fact that I care about you enough to clean up for you,” Jimin sasses.

“You care for me? How sweet! I never would have known. I’ll go back to my place and take a quick shower. I’ll text you when I’m heading over,” you shoot him a smile as you turn to walk back to your apartment.

“Sounds good! Actually, call me when you’re ready, and I’ll come pick you up,” Jimin stated.

“What? No, you don’t have to--”

“I insist!”

“I’ve walked to your place countless times. It’s fine I can--”

“I wanna come pick you up!” Jimin whines. You give in. There’s no use in arguing with him when he’s like this.

“Okay fine! See you later, weirdo,” you laugh. You wave and head back to your apartment.

Back at your apartment, you slip into the shower and crank the temperature to the sweet spot between a soothing flow of hot water and scalding your skin. The shower has always been your safe space where your thoughts could float from one cloud to the next without the fear of judgment by anyone. You wonder what Jimin could possibly have brewed up this time. He was never the type to surprise anyone, so you are puzzled as to what spurred up this novel side of Jimin. Even though your thoughts beg you to stay in the shower just a bit longer, you force yourself out and quickly pat down your body.

Although you had long since snipped the feelings you had for Jimin, the small bud still had its roots somewhere deep inside of you. You realize this as your heart sputters erratically with the thought of being surprised by Jimin. Looking in the mirror, you see your face has taken on an unfamiliar glow and excitement. It’s just platonic, you remind yourself, but the flush in your face betrayed what your mind was saying.

With your towel wrapped around you, you scan your closet for something to wear. You remind yourself that it wasn’t that serious because it was Jimin. Your day one. Your supposed “brother” figure. Just one of the guys, you remind yourself. So after a few minutes of deliberation, you decide on a t-shirt and jeans (typical). However, before you walk out the door you slip on the bracelet that Jimin had made you back in elementary school.

It was weathered now, the letters on the beads were losing their colors, but it fits onto your wrist with a familiarity that calmed you. You call Jimin, as he insisted that you should, and when he picks up any nervousness that you had felt in the shower is mellowed by the familiarity of his voice.

“___! You ready for me to come over and pick you up?” Jimin’s voice is sprightly, as if the only thing containing him from bursting was a thin film of cellophane. You smile, wondering why you ever doubted in the first place.

“Yup!” you answer, “But I’m not patient, so hurry up!”

Jimin’s car pulled up to your apartment complex promptly five minutes after you had called him, and you feel your heart do a small jig again as you still haven’t got a single clue as to what surprise he had in store for you. You slip into the passenger seat as you had done countless times before, but this time...this time felt different. Not off, just...different.

The drive to Jimin’s place wasn’t long, but for some reason, the minutes seemed to drag on for what felt like an eternity. As Jimin’s car neared the familiar facade of his apartment complex, you felt the excitement build up in your chest. Jimin parks the car and promptly makes his way to your side before you can even get your seatbelt all the way off.

“I can’t wait for you to see what I have planned for you,” his usual charm is cranked up all the way, and you blush but you try to push that softness into the platonic zone.

“If it isn’t a good surprise, you’re legally obligated to pay for the pizza tonight,” you teased him lightly. Knowing Jimin and his characteristic ways of getting everyone to like him you knew that he wasn’t one to disappoint.

Jimin dramatically wiped invisible tears from his eyes, “You do not have enough faith in me, ___.” He extended his hand expectantly, and although you were caught off guard, you quickly accept his outstretched hand. Just friends, remember? As he helps you out of his car, you feel the blush bloom into what you were horrified was reminiscent of a cherry tomato. You hope your hand wasn’t clammy, but you try to remind yourself that he’s seen the worst of you since you were a child. He can handle some sweaty palms.

After making your way to the door, Jimin steps in front of you with both of his hands up, “Hold on. You have to close your eyes.”

“Jimin,” you roll your eyes, but he made his signature puppy face that had a 100% success rate of making you yield to him. You chuckled breathily, but comply, “Alright, dummy.”

You hear the sound of the rickety wooden door open and try to overcome the urge to peek. To your surprise, Jimin’s hands are on your shoulders, and you can feel his breath on your neck. It sends your heart into another race, and you hope that he doesn’t hear the pounding in your chest. Jimin guides you into his apartment, cautious to not let you bump into anything. Finally, he stops, and his hands leave your shoulders.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now!”

When you do, your eyes are somewhat overwhelmed. His living room is decorated with little fairy lights, and little glow in the dark stars speckled his usually plain white walls. The best part, though, was the tent that was smack dab in the middle of the living room. There were pillows that paved a way towards the humble abode. You hear laughter that sounds like the prettiest of bells, and you realize that it’s coming from you.

“We always wanted to make a hideout with pillows and blankets, but we never really got around to it,” Jimin began to explain, “So I...I just thought you’d like it…”

You pounce onto him with a fierceness that almost sends him backward, “Oh Jimin, I love it so much!” His arms, though initially surprised from your attack, hug you back in a warm, familiar embrace. Without warning, you feel his lips press into the side of your face, and you freeze up for a minute. The tenderness of his kiss makes you melt, and before long you thaw up and don’t even bother to break the embrace.

“___, I have something to tell you,” Jimin whispers, his voice muffled as he snuggles his face into your hair. If your heart was racing before, now it was beating absolutely manically, but you don’t move. Could it be?

You return the affection by snuggling back into him, your heart pounding so hard you’re almost certain he could hear it, “Yes Jiminie?”

“I couldn’t choose between Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. I know you love both so I figured you can choose,” he giggled into your ear. You feel your heart deflate, but were quick to cast the disappointment aside.

“Can we pick a Studio Ghibli movie instead? I feel like that would fit the vibe better,” you hear your voice waver. You hoped Jimin didn’t notice it.

“We can absolutely do that! Great choice. Mmm, you wanna watch Spirited Away? I know that’s your favorite,” Jimin pulls away from you to venture over to his DVD collection.

You nod your head and give him a warm smile. You admonish yourself for getting your hopes up. Jimin is your best friend. He’s also such a sweetheart. Of course he would do this for his best friend. His day one bud.

Jimin puts on the movie and crawled into the tent. He wiggled his butt at you to make you laugh before turning around and gesturing for you to join him.

“Wait! Can you bring some pillows pleaaaase? I thought they’d help tie everything together as a walkway--which they totally did-- but those are all that I have,” Jimin gave you an innocent smile.

You roll your eyes at him but couldn’t suppress your smile as you launched the pillows at him.

“We can have a pillow fight after the movie! Get your ass in here,” Jimin whined.

“Coming! Wait, do you want me to get snacks first?” you ask.

“You really do not have enough faith in me. Everything we’d ever need is already here! Except for the most important thing. You,” Jimin’s lips curled into a soft smile.

“Alright you big mushball, scoot over,” you crawl in beside him. Your heart skipped a beat when he called you the most important thing, but again, you set it aside. He says these kinds of things all the time, and yet everything feels different tonight.

You sat side by side, huddled together under a shared blanket once the movie started. A wave of nostalgia washed over you as you ate your pizza topped with popcorn. Jimin thought it was gross, but you always argued that it was the most efficient way to eat during movie nights. As Haku and Chihiro made their way into the bathhouse, Jimin leaned closer to you.

“Done eating?” he whispered.

“Yeah, what’s up?” you respond, not taking your eyes off the screen.

“Can we...cuddle?” Jimin asked shyly.

“Are we not cuddling right now?” you say dryly.

“No I mean like... cuddle cuddle. I’m not really comfortable like this,” Jimin said. You look over to him and see him looking at the floor, his cheeks were barely visible in the dim lighting but you could tell they were flushed.

“Sure Jiminie, we can cuddle. How do you want me?” you ask.

Jimin pauses the movie and repositions the pillows. He lays down sideways with the pillows comfortably propping up his head.

“Come be my little spoon, y/n,” he says reaching out to you.

You smile and wiggle back into the tent to join him. You lay beside him, using his arm as your pillow (Jimin is gonna regret that later but he didn’t have the heart to ask you to move). You get as comfortable as you could in front of him, while still leaving a little gap between you two. As you open your mouth to tell him that you’re ready, Jimin wraps an arm around you to pull you into him. You let out a soft gasp as you feel your back rub up against his chest--which was surprisingly firm.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his breath tickling your ear.

“Yeah I’m good, can you see?” you’re relieved that he can’t see you, as your face heated up and was most definitely red.

“Yeah, you’re perfect.”

“What?”

“I mean, this is perfect. This uh position is perfect...I’m comfortable. Unless you’re not. Then I’m not. I mean uh--”

“Okay silly, then play the movie,” you chuckle at how cute he was.

Jimin normally never loses his charm, so hearing him stumble over his words was rare. Jimin gave you a tight squeeze after he hit play, and the two of you remained like that for the remainder of the movie.

After the movie finished, you were nearly asleep in Jimin’s arms. Spirited Away always put you at ease, since you had nothing but happy childhood memories associated with it.

“___~” Jimin softly sang in your ear.

“Whaaaaat~” you sang back.

“Thanks for coming over tonight, even though I gave you no choice,” Jimin said, nuzzling your ear.

“Of course, what are best friends for?” you giggle, he knew your ears were ticklish, “You kicking me out now?”

“Not yet. You know how I said I had something to tell you earlier?”

“Yeah, asking me to choose between Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings?”

“Yeah that. That’s actually not really what I wanted to say. I mean I was going to ask you that because I really couldn’t choose but--”

“Just spit it out, Jimin,” you turn around to face him, his face just a few inches from yours. Jimin sighed and leaned closer to you, resting his forehead against yours.

“I’vebeeninlovewithyouforsolongIcan’thideitanymore,” he blurted out in one breath.

You were shocked. You didn’t know how to react. You couldn’t tell if it was relief, surprise, or excitement that flooded your mind. All you knew was that your heart was soaring. You’ve never experienced such happiness from one sentence before. You pondered all of this in silence before you realized that Jimin was looking at you expectantly. After all, he did lay his heart on the line for you.

“Say that again, but slowly. I wanna make sure I heard you properly,” you chuckle.

“Don’t tease me!”

“I’m not! I’m being serious! You became a rapper all of a sudden and I couldn’t fully understand you,” this time it was you giving Jimin puppy dog eyes.

“I said, I’ve been in love with you for so long I can’t hide it anymore. My roommates asked about us the other day, and I told them we were best friends. They all made fun of me, saying that everyone always thought we were a couple. They made me realize that I actually was, and have been, so madly in love with you. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. It actually feels amazing to finally get that off my chest,” Jimin shyly looked away.

You cupped his face and responded, “Of course I feel the same way, dummy. All this time I’ve been trying to bury my feelings because I didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship. I love you too, Jimin,” you lean in slowly and kissed him tenderly.

You’ve always imagined his lips to be soft and supple. You were 100% correct.  You pull away and smile against his mouth before he pulls you back in. This time, the kiss is needier, as if to make up for all the years you guys could’ve been doing this sooner. Jimin rolls on top of you, assuming a dominant position. This time he pulls away.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Our friendship will never be the same,” he locks eyes with yours.

“You’re right. I think our friendship will be even better. As lovers. If you’ll have me,” you rest your arms around his neck.

“Of course, I’ll have you, ___. Let me show you what you’ve been missing out on all these years,” Jimin smirks as your heart beats faster and you rub your thighs together.

He bends over gently to kiss you again, but the sweetness only covers the soft hunger underneath, like a chocolate coated strawberry. Before the kiss can last long he breaks it, and you want to protest but stopped when his lips press into your neck. And then your collar bones. Your breath comes in quick spurts, and every inch of your skin is charged with electricity, like livewire. Jimin seems to hear this because he smirks and nips gently at your earlobe.

His hands gently trace your t-shirt up, and you raise your arms expectantly. He takes your shirt off in one smooth motion, and your eyes meet with his, “Are you doing okay?”

Your voice is breathy, but you manage, “Couldn’t be better.”

He smirks again and leans over you to dot your torso with gentle kisses. Then, his hands are at the waistline of your jeans, and they pause ever so slightly before undoing the button. You silently thank whatever god exists in the sky for choosing today of all days to go for the cute, lacy underwear you had gotten on sale in a lingerie store meant for women who got more action than you.

“Tell me if anything gets uncomfortable, okay?” Jimin looks nervous, and you’ve never seen him lose his composure like this. This novel vulnerability and earnest in his eyes make your chest grow warm with tenderness. You nod fervently, and he laughs into your thighs. The sensation brings warmth between your legs.

His fingers hesitate over the edge of the lacy fabric before he gently tugs your panties down the length of your legs. You can feel the ache, the need for him to lay his hands on you. Jimin kisses the inside of your thighs, murmuring, “I will always love these thighs you always complain about.” His lips linger daintily on your skin, and you try not to squirm or move, as if this moment would evaporate if you made any sudden movements.

Almost instinctively, your hand finds its way to his soft, shiny locks. You have imagined the feeling of his hair running through the space between your fingers, but no imagination could do the real experience justice. He pushes your legs apart, and you almost want to scream in anticipation.

Then his head dips into the aching place between your legs, and you feel yourself gasping in pleasure as his mouth finds its place to where you wanted him most. His tongue slowly glides over your clit, and your back arches, moving your body against his mouth. Your fingers grip his hair as if it is the thread of life, and your breath comes faster and shallower.

He chuckles, and the vibrations of the sound make you ache for him all the more. In your frenzy, you let the words slip from your lips, “More, please.”

His tongue picks up its leisurely pace to a more rhythmic motion, and just when you thought it couldn’t feel better you gasp when you feel his finger push through your entrance. His free hand rested on your torso, a cooling patch to your otherwise hot skin.  It was as if you were made only for him, and he was only made for you. The way in which you both moved brought you to a point of madness from the pleasure. As he continued, you felt the pleasure spike, climbing and climbing to its highest point.

But before you could be let off the cliff, Jimin pauses, “What do you want, ___?” His eyes stare at you with its familiar charm because knowing he was the cause of your pleasure brought back the confidence you were used to.

“I want you,” you practically whimper between pants.

He smiles mischievously, and his head and fingers return where they were, working you quickly back up to the peak. This time though, he continues his motions pushing you closer to the edge, until finally, finally you are given your release. Your release courses through your body like a storm, your body almost convulsing with pleasure. His hair is now a rat’s nest from your fingers, and he smiles into your legs continuing. He doesn’t release you until you practically scream from the stimulation, causing waves of pleasure.

Finally, he lets you go from his mouth, and his lips make a pathway up from your crotch all the way back up to your lips. You taste yourself on his lips, and you want to drown in him as his kisses grow hungrier. You finally break the kiss, and look up at him with a boldness that you had never felt before, “I suppose it’s your turn now?”

Jimin’s eyes lit up, “Only if you’re feeling generous.”

Without another word, you took Jimin by surprise as you shifted your weight to flip yourself on top of him. You pause before straddling his waist.

“I don’t think it’s fair that I’m completely naked and you’re not,” you say as you begin to tug at the end of his shirt.

“That can be fixed,” Jimin smiles as he removed his shirt to reveal his abs. You caught your breath. You knew Jimin was fit, but you never realized he looked this good.

You begin to unbutton his pants and attempted to strip them off. They were a lot tighter than you anticipated so you were struggling. Jimin couldn’t help but laugh at how determined you were as you began to aggressively tug at his legs. You tried to give him a sad pouty face, but couldn’t resist in joining his laughter. There you both were. Sitting in a tent in the middle of Jimin’s apartment. One of you completely naked, while the other was getting there with a bit of conflict. And you guys were laughing your asses off. The atmosphere didn’t feel sexy or seductive at all. Instead, you two were completely comfortable and were vibing off of that contentment.

Jimin finally helped you take his pants off, but left his underwear on. You never really understood the expression “pitched tent” in this context until now. Jimin’s raging boner stood high against the restraints of his underwear. You couldn’t help but stare at it for a second before palming it gingerly. As soon as you touched it, Jimin shuddered and let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I’ve just been dreaming about this for a while now. Hope that’s not weird…” Jimin blushes.

“Let’s see if I live up to your expectations,” you look up at him with a wily smile.

You tug at his waistband down, allowing his erection to spring free. You were impressed and a little intimidated at its sheer size. Not wanting to disappoint, you started stroking him slowly from the base all the way to the tip. You watched his face contort with pure bliss as you applied more pressure and used a faster pace.

You couldn’t hold in your lust any further. You teasingly licked the tip of his cock. Jimin whimpered in response. This peaked your intrigue, you never thought you’d hear Jimin like this. Yeah, he could be whiny on a daily basis, but you wouldn’t have imagined it in the bedroom.

With the head of his cock in your mouth, you start to swirl your tongue around it. Jimin starts to whine louder and his hands entangle themselves in your hair. Deciding not to tease him any longer, you experiment to see how much of him you can take. You can’t even get to the base of his dick without gagging. As you bob your head rhythmically up and down, you hand glides over what you can’t fit in your mouth. This seems to be working beautifully for Jimin, as his grip on your hair became more firm and his whines turned into drawn out moans.

“Oh god, ___. You’re better than anything I could’ve ever dreamt of,” Jimin groaned as he pulled you off of him, “If you keep going like that, I’m gonna blow my load way too soon. I still wanna dick you down tonight. If you want to, of course.”

“I would love nothing more. Do you have a condom? I’m not on any birth control,” you say.

“When I said this tent has everything we’d ever need, I wasn’t kidding,” Jimin beamed as he pulled out a condom from under the pizza box.

“What would you have said if I moved the pizza box for some reason?” you asked, giggling.

“I dunno. I just prayed that you wouldn’t. Either way,” Jimin pushed you back beneath him, “I’m glad I put it there. May I have the honors?”

“Go for it dude,” you stick your tongue at him. You loved the way that everything felt so natural with him.

Jimin slips on the condom before aligning himself with your entrance. He leans over to kiss you as he slides in slowly. The stretch caused you to moan into his mouth. Once he bottomed out, he slipped his hands into yours. Gazing into your eyes, he started to buck his hips into yours faster. You started to moan and closed your eyes to fully enjoy the pleasure.

“Keep your eyes on me, ___,” you hear Jimin say, “I want all of your attention on me.”

You open your eyes and smile up at Jimin. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you. Jimin plants kisses along your neck. Your moans become more haggard as you feel a familiar knot coil within you.

“Ji-Jimin I’m close,” you pant.

“Me too, ___,” Jimin responds, his eyebrows furrowed, “Let’s finish together. Can you do that with me, ___?”

You didn’t get the chance to answer. You let out a loud cry as your high overcame you. Feeling your pussy tighten over his cock, Jimin drilled into you even faster. It wasn’t long before Jimin all met his sweet release. With one final thrust, Jimin groaned as came inside of you.

You were both spent. Jimin collapsed beside you, pulling off the condom to inspect it.

“Nice, no breakage!” Jimin cheered as he tied it up. Jimin wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in for a big hug.

“Jimin, I’m all sweaty,” you say, trying to wiggle free from his grasp.

“Oh yeah? Well so am I! I’ve been covered in worse than your sweat now anyway,” Jimin nuzzles into your neck.

“Gross! But also true,” you couldn’t help but laugh, “Jimin, you know we can never go back to what we were before, right?”

“Yeah, I know. And why would I want to? We both admitted that we love each other, I don’t see a problem. I love you, ___. I always have. And I’m pretty sure I always will,” Jimin whispers into your neck.

“Same goes for me. I’ve been head over heels for you ever since high school,” you kiss his forehead.

“I’ll do you one better. I’ve been in love with you ever since day one,” Jimin plants a final kiss before you both drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.

Published August 7, 2020. No editing, copying, translating, or reposting allowed. All Rights Reserved © 2020 Baepsaesbae.

[thiswasinevitableid]

29 for indruck nsfw? i am already amused thinking about what sport either of them would play

Here you go!

29. I’m a professional athlete and I just fired my personal assistant and my manager sent you over but you don’t even know what sport I play or who my team is

When you’re in an aggressive profession it’s best, in Duck’s experience, to be as calm and friendly as you can the rest of the time.

But this whole shit-show is testing his fucking limits.

It’s been two days since he found out his perfectly fine P.A was working for the Wallstreet Journal, hoping to learn that Duck was somehow using his T or his identity to gain an unfair edge in matched. Ned fired him on the spot, thank god, but it took less than twelve hours for the guy to publish some fabricated piece on his attitude and for Duck to remember why he needed an assistant in the first place. He’s gotten so used to having one that he keeps forgetting stuff or dropping the ball on appointments, and the last thing he needs right now is to look like some stupid hick.

When Ned texts him to let him know his new P.A is en route, Duck groans “thank fuck” loud enough to startle the cat from her tree.

He goes to the door when someone knocks, but doesn’t open it.

“Who is it?”

“Indrid Cold? I, ah, Mr. Chicane said this was Duck Newton’s address and I’m supposed to start as his assistant tomorrow.”

Duck opens the door, “Fuck tomorrow, you’re startin today. I gotta focus on strategy with Minerva the next two days if I don’t wanna show my ass Friday night and it’s real fuckin hard to do that with people callin me left and right.” He guides the startled young man inside, then stops to take a deep breath, “sorry, lemme try that again” he holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Indrid.”

“Likewise, Mr. Newton.”

“Duck is fine. It’s a nickname. You bring your stuff with you?”

“Yes, it’s all in my car.”

“Good. Here, lemme give you the, uh, the grand tour, so to speak, on the way to your part of the place.”

Indrid smiles and nods, hanging back slightly as Duck leads him through the house. They cover the living room, kitchen, Duck’s bedroom, then come what was once the garage door.

“This here’s the gym; you can’t find me in the rest of the house, I’m probably here.”

“Goodness” The other man’s eyes widen behind his red glasses, “that’s an impressive array. I mean, I know professional athletes need to train but I, ah, I assumed you did it on site with the rest of your team.”

“Team?” Duck closes the door, spots Indrid’s fingers diving into his pockets to hide their twitching.

“Yes.”

“Which team?”

“Your...sports team?”

“....you got no fuckin clue who I am, do you?”

“No.” Narrow shoulders sag in his sweater.

Duck chuckles, “Figures.”

The silver haired head snaps back up, “Mr. Chicane didn’t say it was a prerequisite for hiring me.”

“Guess he didn’t. And I guess it ain’t. Just hoped they’d hire someone who knew what the fuck he was gettin into.”

Indrid crosses his arms, “They gave me a very thorough job description. I assure you I can do every part of it. Laying out your pre-workout and scheduling appearances isn’t rocket science, and it doesn’t matter if the dry cleaning I pick up is for a, a baseball after party or some sort of charity basketball fundraiser.” It dawns on the taller man that he’s just snapped at his boss. He contracts in on himself, staring down at his black converse.

Duck takes the chance for a more careful look; all of his clothes are second hand, chosen as if he’s cosplaying a jock who went into white collar work. There are piercing holes in his ears, flecks of silver polish on his nails. This job application was a hail mary and Ned Chicane went ahead and caught.

“No harm done, slim.” He rests a friendly hand on Indrid’s arm, “think it’s time I enlightened you.”

His office doesn’t get used much, so a sprinkling of dust greets them as he flips on the lights and reveals posters, magazine covers, and newspaper clips bearing Duck’s face. The gloves he used to win his first fight hang in a place of honor, right above the photo of him and the other fighters from Amnesty Boxing. It’s an older photo, taken the first time they sent a team out of state, sun-faded to the point the writing on it is disappearing. It makes him smile all the same.

“This does explain the set of instructions for helping you cut weight if needed.” Indrid takes in the posters, then turns his attention to the corner dedicated to Duck’s model ship collection. He cocks his head, says more to himself than Duck, “boxer. Interesting.”

“Were you just gonna bluff about knowin who I was until I said somethin?”

“That and look for clues in the rest of the house.”

He smiles, “Like a man with a plan b. C’mon, lemme show you your room.”

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

Alright, so Indrid should have researched Duck Newton before turning up at his house so he didn’t come across as ignorant and unprepared. But he was busy running every Taskrabbit and UberEat he could get just to scrape up enough to keep his landlord off his back. Sue him for not wanting to sleep in his car again.

He never expected to get this job; live-in P.A who doesn’t have to pay for groceries (buy them, yes, since that’s one of his jobs) is not the kind of luck he’s familiar with. He keeps waiting for the catch, so nervous that when Duck pops in on him unpacking he assumes he’ll scold him for his wardrobe.

“I, should I buy some more professional clothes?”

Duck takes in the two duffle bags and backpack, “Up to you. I don’t mind you lookin like the little art punk you are, but a dress shirt or two might help if we gotta go somewhere real upscale. Don't worry about buyin it yourself; just use the same card we do for groceries.”

Indrid is still hung up on why the fact a man three inches shorter than him calling him “little” makes his chest burn. Luckily, the phone rings and distracts him. Then it rings again. And again. And again. All while the inbox doubles every time he looks at it.

This turns out to be the catch; the work is actually hard. Everyone and their uncle wants to interview Duck, get him to sponsor something, or proposition him. Four hours in, he’s overwhelmed, overstimulated, and ready to hide under the desk. His fidget necklace isn’t helping, so he pulls out his chewable one; it often helps him think in high pressure moments.

The phone rings again and he growls at it.

“You’re allowed to let things go to voicemail, y’know.”

He spins in his chair, black rubber moth still in his mouth. Duck leans in the doorway, tank top soaked in sweat and towel around his shoulders

“I, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to drop anything important.”

“Ned handles the fights and the money, and anyone I care about has my private number for emergencies.”

“Right. I knew that.” Indrid can’t have his boss thinking he’s a total space-case.

Duck smiles, “What I’m sayin is; ain’t the end of the world if you don’t get back to everyone right away. Besides, right now you need a lunch break, slim. Lemme go rinse off and I’ll join you.”

By the time Duck enters the kitchen in an old “NIN” shirt and jeans, Indrid has his protein bowl laid out for him and is finishing microwaving a hot pocket for himself. Before he can scurry away, Duck pats the seat beside him and Indrid sits down, preparin to politely listen to Duck talk about himself or his sport.

He talks for ten minutes about the trees he saw on his run that morning before asking Indrid what he did before coming to the house. Indrid explains about his art and his side hustles in tarot and palm reading, about the run of bad luck that saw him without roommates and lost him his steady gig at a coffee shop. Duck makes genuinely sympathetic noises, lets Indrid change the subject when the fact he was on the edge of disaster makes Indrid’s chest tighten. They’re still talking about music as Indrid returns to his desk and Duck goes to meet Minerva in the gym.

By the time Duck’s fight rolls around that weekend, Indrid is feeling much better. He has a system of sorting emails that works for him, some mothman stickers to help him organize the paper calendar on his desk, and more confidence in his ability to spot callers with ulterior motives. He’s shut down two separate ones looking to trap Duck into interviews where he’d be forced to defend his very identity. Duck overheard his responses to the second one and brought him back a fancy creme brulee latte from his breakfast as a thank you.

He doesn’t go to the fight; it’s a small one for charity and Duck has Ned to manage him, Minerva to train him, and Leo to coach him ringside. He doesn’t need his P.A. Instead, Indrid finishes up his correspondence for the day, makes sure Duck’s breakfast is all set in the fridge, and confirms the masseuse is coming in the morning.

Once in bed, Indrid gets sucked into the commission he’s doing and is lost to the world until a tired, satisfied face pokes through his door.

“Oh! Hello Duck. Did it go well? Do, ah, is there something you need from me?”

“Yep, I won like I thought I would. And nope; was just poppin in to say goodnight.”

No one’s said that to him in a long time. The bitterness of that realization is sweetened by Duck’s smile.

“Goodnight to you too, Duck.”

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

Minerva is sick, which wouldn’t be a problem except for one part of his workout. He could skip it, but he needs to keep everything sharp for when they go to L.A.

“‘Drid? You got a few minutes?”

His assistant appears in the doorway, black jeans and white “Cramps” tank-top fitting him in a way that makes Duck want to hold him face down on the floor and find out how to take his breath away.

“What do you need?”

Duck points to the heavy bag, “You up for bracin this while I hit it?”

“I...I am not as strong as Minerva.”

“You don’t gotta be; this is just to keep the damn thing from swinging while I’m doin this speed drill.”

“Alright.” Indrid takes off his glasses and sets them on the folding chair, joining Duck, “how do I hold it?”

Duck shows him, does a few test punches to make sure he won’t send the poor guy flying. The round clock dings green, and he’s off. The bag wobbles for the first few seconds, then Indrid seems to find his footing and holds it stable enough for the drill to work. When the round ends, Duck steps baack, “okay, you can let go until the next round.”

“Goodness.” Indrid stretches his hands, “I feel for your opponents. I’m jarred just from that.”

“You need to stop? I got two more rounds at least, but if it’s hurtin you I caan skip ‘em.”

Indrid shakes his head, smiling, “nono, I like helping you with this. It’s exhilarating.”

The bell dings.

“Glad to hear it. Now brace it again.”

By the end of round three, Indrid is panting loud enough for Duck to hear him over the fan. He looks up, glove still on the bag, and finds them face to face.

“Minerva said three to five rounds for this. You wanna keep goin?”

Indrid, breathless and grinning, nods, “Can’t have you slacking off, now can we?”

Duck wants to bite his lip, just to see what happens. Blames the thought on the adrenaline. Then discovers the exact same thought waiting for him when Indrid, cleaned and in his most respectable clothes, joins him in the car to go to an interview.

Ned gave the P.A a list of likely questions, so they practice those as they creep across the Bay Bridge. But Duck notices that on both the trip there and back, whenever there’s a lull in conversation Indrid is on his phone reading about boxing. Duck knows the other man fixates on topics that interest him; knowing one of Duck’s passions has earned that distinction makes him smile.

After that, he starts inviting Indrid to watch him train, or shares his thoughts about matches with him. That’s all it takes for Indrid to start drawing him into long, animated conversations about his sport. When Indrid asks why there’s such debate over the proper way to wrap hands and also how does Duck do his, Duck demonstrates.

“Here, ‘Drid, now you try it on me.”

The P.A moves the wraps slowly, deliberately, moving Duck’s hand like it’s a priceless treasure he’s readying for transport. Every time he bites his lip in concentration or brushes hair from his forehead, Duck has to remind himself to breathe.

“Done.” Indrid is still holding his left hand, “Did I do well?”

The boxer tests the wraps, wiggles his fingers and clenches his fists. Then he squeezes Indrid’s hand, “you did perfect, slim.”

Duck can wrap his hands in his sleep. But whenever he’s home, he finds Indrid and asks him to do the honors. Indrid does them every time. Perfectly.

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

Indrid stands in the green room with Ned and a cluster of arena employees. The roaring crowd a few walls away echoes through the screen. He’s never seen Duck fight, but this event required all hands on deck to handle P.R, scheduling, and making sure Duck had what he needed to win.

Duck and his opponent enter the ring. Touch gloves.

Indrid’s pulse climbs.

Then the bell sounds and no useful noises come through the T.V. Just the announcers shouting and being drowned out by the crowd. Indrid gives up on parsing the cacophony, focus only on Duck. He’s seen him practice, but in a true match he’s a different beast. His opponent is faster, that much is clear, but Duck is patient, steady, blocks and weaves until he can land blows that make Indrid hurt just watching them.

Duck is magnificent like this. Indrid has to draw him like this, has to capture this and keep it forever, he has to, he has…

He has a hard-on in the middle of the green room.

He sticks it out long enough to see Duck win and then bolts to the bathroom so it can be taken care of by the time the boxer is done with the post-fight interviews.

They go out to celebrate, and Duck never nudges Indrid aside to let someone more important sit next to him. And as the drive to the hotel, he nods off with his head on Indrid’s shoulder.

It only gets worse after that.

Duck will coax him into joining him for a run with the promise of a fancy breakfast. On cheat days, Duck orders food to the house or takes Indrid out to lunch, and somehow the thing he wants when not focused on macros is always the thing Indrid mentioned he’d been craving. He invites Indrid on hikes with him, starts taking him to all his events even though he seldom needs help or herding at them (“yeah, but it’s nice to have someone to crack jokes with”). And on days when Indrid needs to be alone, or wants to see other friends, Duck simply smiles and closes the door.

The most dangerous days are the ones without anything on the schedule. Then it’s all too easy for Indrid to pretend that they’re something they’re not while he draws at the table across from where Duck is building his model ship. Too easy to imagine that the water-wise garden Duck tends is something he put into their house, not his house that Indrid happens to live in. Too easy to admit that Indrid wants to look after him for no payment except being looked after in return.

Duck reciprocating his feelings is within the realm of possibility. Indrid’s caught him staring when he walks in on the P.A doing yoga, and the casual touches long ago made the leap from accidental to deliberate. He also knows that Duck can’t fire him--only Ned can--and hopes that might lead to the boxer slinging him over his shoulder and tossing him on the bed one of these days.

There’s also the tabloid site circulating a photo of them with a caption claiming he’s Duck’s “boytoy” in spite of them only being two years apart. They’re not even sitting that close in the picture; Duck’s just smiling at him like he’s the only thing in the world, that’s all.

Currently, he’s having an easier time keeping his feelings buried because--ever since they landed in Vegas-- Duck has been a dick the rest of the day. Well, as much as a dick as he can be; his offenses are mainly snapping at people and lacking his usual patience.

When he scolds Indrid over something silly in the hotel that night, Indrid turns and stares at him over his glasses.

“Duck, what’s wrong?”

“Wh-uh, fuck, nothing, why do you, uh, fuck, I’m fine.”

“You just snapped at me in a way that was completely uncalled for.” He crosses his arms, “is it the fight? I know it’s a big one but that’s no reason to be rude.”

Duck scratches the back of his neck, “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I swear I won’t. Or, if I do, it will be after you leave.”

That gets a smile, “I’m uh, well, I’m what you’d call ‘horny as all fuckin get out.’”

Indrid’s immediate thoughts would solve the problem at hand while creating a new and far worse set, so he keeps them to himself and replies, “If need privacy, I can come back later and hold all your calls.”

“Nah.” Duck sits on the bed, “You’re not supposed to get off before a fight. Makes you too relaxed.”

“That strikes me as an old wives tale. Old boxers tale?”

“Either way, it’s one Minerva still believes. If I lose, she will ask about every possible cause, includin that one. Better if I just cat nap before I start all my pre-match stuff. Come get me in fort minutes?”

“Of course.” Indrid waves and closes the door before he offers to lay down in the hopes of Duck having a wet dream while holding him.

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

Duck wins, though it’s a tough battle to get there. He fucking hates these Pay-Per-View fights, they try to make it sound like he’s got beef with the other guy. In reality, once he’s down from a knockout, Duck is the one who helps him to the other side of the ring.

There’s a flurry of press afterwards, of questions and congratulations while all he wants to do is shower. He gets clean, promises Ned they can all go out to celebrate later. As he and Indrid finally escape to his suite he’s forced to admit that--if the thoughts of hitting the “fire” button and fucking Indrid against the wall are any indication--his problem from earlier hasn’t gone away.

“Do you need me to see if I can get a masseuse up here? You look very stiff.”

“Just uh, just tense.” Why did he tell Indrid he liked those jeans on him? He’s worn them as often as he can since.

Indrid cocks an eyebrow, “Still pent up even though the fighting is done?”

“Yep.”

The P.A shakes his head, hiding a smirk, “Do you need me to find something for you to watch?”

“No.”

“I mean it, this place has all the good channels.” He’s so earnest, picking up the channel guide like it, rather than those fucking jeans and shirt with Duck’s name on it, has what Duck needs.

“No.” He growls.

Indrid sighs, sets the book back down, “This mood is annoying us both, so just tell me what kind of porn you want and I can go out and buy it.”

“Unless they got somethin called ‘boxer jackhammers skinny artist until he cries’ we’re gonna be shit out of luck!”

The P.A blinks, “Duck, this is Vegas, I can probably find that. Or look for it on your laptop…” he trails off when their eyes meet. Duck knows he must look like he’s ready to jump him. Indrid licks his lips, “Duck? What, ah, what exactly lead to this situation?”

“You really wanna know, slim?” Duck steps across the carpet, notices Indrid padding over the black and blue patterns to meet him.

“Yes.”

Duck removes Indrid’s glasses, “Had a dream about you while I was on the plane. Woke up havin just finished fuckin you open. First thing I thought was “no big deal, ‘Drid’s right here. We can do the real thing once we get to the hotel.’ Then I fuckin remembered that we couldn’t, and I know for damn sure that if I jerk off I won’t feel satisfied because you’re be over there” he jabs his thumb at the door connecting their rooms, “so close and completely outta my reach.”

“So keep me right here instead.” Indrid purrs, fingers tentatively finding Duck’s hips. The light contact splinters his self-control and he practically tackles Indrid onto the bed, kissing him as the taller man moans and paws at his clothes.

The kiss takes the heat off enough to clear the steam fogging up his head and sits up, “This really okay?”

“I would have said if it wasn’t now for goodness sake please get back down here.” Indrid yanks him forward by the front of his shirt, smashing their lips together. He’s humming and sighing every time Duck touches him, rolling his hips to display a quickly forming hard-on.

“Aw, sugar, you gettin excited just from kissin’?” Duck grinds down just to see him gasp.

“Y-yes. I, Duck, I’ve wanted this for months.”

The implication of those words slam his desire into overdrive, “You sneaky little thing, that why you kept runnin around in tight clothes?”

“Most of my clothes h-hang off me.” Indrid holds tight to Duck’s thighs as the boxer strips his shirt off, “but yes I, I did start wearing what you liked more often.”

“Ain’t that thoughtful. And what were you hoping would happen, slim?” Duck yanks his sweats off and kicks them to the floor.

“This.” Indrid’s eyes keep slipping down to stare at Duck’s dick.

The boxer strokes himself lazily, “like what you see?”

“So much.”

“Then how about a closer look, sugar?” He crawls up Indrid’s body to straddle his face. It looks even better than normal framed by his thighs.

“Do I get to touch too?”

Duck guides his hands onto his ass, “As much as you want. You gonna be sweet and let me fuck your face, or am I gonna have to hold your mouth open?”

Indrid opens his mouth instantly, a whimper creeping out of it as Duck strokes his hair. The sound morphs into a louder, but muffled, moan when Duck sinks down. He teases his dick against Indrid’s lips, drags slick across his chin, feels his jaw tremble with wanting to close. Duck shifts so his dick touches Indrid’s tongue, “get to it. Oh fuck” he braces a hand on the wall, “heh, didn’t know Ned screened for cocksuckin skills.”

Indrid shakes his head, brown eyes wide as Duck roughly rides his face.

“No? He didn’t make you demonstrate on some of the other fighters? Didn’t make sure you could make a whole gym cum to prove your mouth was good enough for me?”

“‘O” Indrid shakes his head again, silver strands sticking to the pillow as he kneads Duck’s ass in a way that makes him groan.

“Too bad for them. Because now they ain’t ever gonna get a chance.”

A whimper and write of the torso; Duck glances over his shoulder to watch Indrid buck his hips in the air, pre-cum clear on his crotch. His feet, still in their shoes, point and flex as he moans around Duck’s dick.

“You like that, don’t you sugar?” He threads both hands into Indrid’s hair, pinning his head down or pulling it closer as it suits him, all the while gently rubbing his scalp “like knowin’ that you’re doin well.”

A harder suck in reply.

“Then be a good little cocksucker and make me cum.” He holds his head down and let’s loose, grinding and grunting in pursuit of the heat that starts at Indrid’s tongue and is steadily curling up into Duck’s belly. The other man holds him tight, moaning and licknig and sucking until Duck cums on his mouth, the lasts bursts of it happening against a slackening jaw.

As soon as his legs cooperate, he climbs off and guides Indrid to sit up in his arms. His attempt to check on the other man is interrupted by a frantic kiss.

“I was gonna ask if you wanna keep goin’, but I think I got my answer.”

“Yes, I mean no, I mean please don’t stop yet. Please I, we can do whatever you like, we can do just this, you can drag me out on the balcony and fuck me in full view of the city-”

“Easy, slim, easy.” Duck cups his cheek, “let’s start with somethin simple. Get naked and get comfy on your back for me. I gotta go grab somethin from down the hall.”

His memory turns out to be spot on; the vending machine on this floor has toiletries, including condoms and a travel bottle of lube. He buys ten of one and three of the other, drops them in the pockets of his robe and hurries back to Indrid. Sprawled on the bed, he looks painfully vulnerable, like someone who got used to life kicking him and telling him to stay down.

It’ll be different when they’re together, Duck can promise that much.

“Seem to recall you wanting me to keep you here.” He grabs a handwrap, holds it where Indrid can see, “how do you feel about me usin this?”

“Extremely good. Oh, oh hello.” He laughs when Duck rolls down beside him to pepper his face with kisses. The process of trapping his hands to the headboard is prolonged thanks to their mutual need to keep kissing every five seconds.

“Now” Duck kisses his shoulder, “I didn’t bring any toys to fuck you with, so it’s just gonna be my hand.”

“You say that as if it’s a disappointment to me and not incredibly sexy.”

“Some folks don’t think you’re fuckin ‘em unless you use somethin dick-shaped.” Duck shrugs with a flicker of sadness from the last time he had that conversation.

“Tell me who insulted your body or your skills in bed and I shall stand outside their window with a megaphone informing them of how terrible their manners are and how they missed out on the finest man in the world.”

“That’d be funny” Duck leisurely kisses his belly and hips before sitting up, “but you’d have to get outta bed.”

“True. Ah well, a sternly worded email will have do OOOh, oohhhyes.” He wiggles his hips as Duck presses in the first finger, relaxing under his touch.

“Get the feelin you’ve done this before”

“Yes.” Indrid’s chest is flushed and Duck reaches up his free hand to play with his nipples.

“What’s the most you’ve taken?”

“Th-three, I believe. I, ah, I’m usually facing away so I sometimes lose track.”

“You're takin four tonight. Can’t believe anyone would wanna miss out on how you look when you’re getting fucked.” He teases the second finger to prove his point and Indrid’s mouth curves with bliss.

“My ass is many people’s type; my face not so much.”

“Fuck that.” Duck pushes the second finger in. Indrid arches, then sighs as Duck keeps working him open.

“I find it difficult to care what they thought right now. I, ahhhn, it’s much more fun to think about you.”

“About me…?”

“About right you’re doing right now and, AH, what we can do next. I do so want to sit in your lap in the hot tub back home.”

“Can manage that. What else?”

“I’d very much l-like to fuck you, however you’ll let me and, and I want us to do it right after you train some day, you look so good like thatAHgod.” The third finger is in and Indrid is now steadily pushing down on them, “and one of the times you get me to run with you I expect a blow job in reward oh, ohfuck” his eyes are wild and eager, “please do the last one, I’m ready, I want it so badly, please.”

Duck begins teasing the fourth finger, “Think all those wants of yours sound real good. You wanna know mine?”

“Absolutely. AHaahnnnahgod” The wrap tightens as Indrid clings to it, trying to stabilize himself as Duck fucks his hand into him hard.

“Soon as we get home, I’m gettin the strap-on and fuckin you for a solid hour at least. Gonna leave you so fuckin raw and relaxed you won’t wanna do anything but lay there, and you’ll goddamn get to because you’re mine and I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Duck” it’s a happy sob, Indrid’s cock bobbing in the air.

“Gonna take a trip somewhere private, just the two of us, and you’re gonna spend the whole fuckin time tied up, to the bed, a chair, whatever the fuck else I feel like so I can ride your dick whenever I want.”

“Yes.” Indrid is barely getting out words between his cries.

“And the next time you have the fuckin nerve to wear tight jeans the day I gotta fight, I’m gonna shove a vibration plug up that cute little ass and lock your cock in a cage so we can both be horny without bein able to get off.”

“Duck please, I’m close, please touch-”

He wraps his fingers around Indrid’s dick and works him over hard and fast, “Soon as I’m done with that fight, you’re gonna blow me in the locker room so I can focus on nailin your ass into next week when we get--ohfuck!” Cum hits his chin as Indrid gasps and squeaks, scratching at the wraps and the headboard.

If Duck ever loses his memory, he hopes this is the last moment to go; Indrid Cold, happy, safe, and satisfied while he moans Duck’s name.

Indrid is boneless as Duck undoes the bonds, though he rallies enough to pull the boxer into a hug so he can cuddle him like a teddy bear. He kisses his throat, feels his pulse even out beneath his lips.

“Duck? Does, ah, does this mean what I think it does?”

The phone rings right as he’s about to answer. It’s probably Ned, so he holds up a finger and grabs the receiver.

“Go for Duck. Yeah, yeah that’ll be fine” he nods as Ned explains the plan for their exclusive, late night dinner, “yeah, tell ‘em five; you, Minerva, Leo, me and” he winks at a beaming Indrid, “my boyfriend.”

[lala-ladybug]

Healing Hands: Chapter 7

Little bit of a filler, but we’ve got some fun shenanigans in store! >:)

Jasonette Sword Art Online AU

Read here on AO3

Chapter 7: Guys bein’ dudes indeed

Tag list: @iloontjeboontje

First | Previous | Next

Marinette was up early again. She found herself some breakfast, then went to the stables. The Order had made it back late last night, so they didn’t have time to groom the horses. She entered the first stall and started to brush the first horse. The routine motion let her mind drift, and she thought back to the events of the past few weeks.

Marinette, Kagami, and Luka embarked on their daily ritual of collecting the morning paper from town. It was the day after they’d beaten the first boss, which they had reported anonymously. Marinette and Adrien had agreed that taking the credit would only serve to draw unwanted attention towards their group, which could put them and the rest of their friends in danger.

But it apparently had another unforeseen advantage. As Marinette paid for the newspaper that highlighted their victory, she heard comments from other players around her.

“Are you serious? Some party went rogue and beat the first dungeon on their own?”

“Selfish assholes, can’t believe they got all that loot to themselves.”

“Well I think it’s good that we’re making progress!”

“Yeah, if you ignore the fact that they didn’t tell us what it was like at all, so now we haven’t got a clue how to face the next one.”

She shook her head in disbelief and glanced at her companions, who looked similarly concerned. They hadn’t even considered that the other people might not want them to take up the battle alone. Or that last comment, that they were actually hurting the other players by not giving them the chance to fight too.

The three remained quiet until they returned to Chloe’s house, or the manor, as they’d taken to calling it. By then, Adrien and Chloe were awake, and followed without question as Marinette ushered the two to join her, Kagami, and Luka out by the well.

She told them what the people in town had said, Luka and Kagami jumping in with additional comments they’d heard from passersby, and they talked it over. Maybe it was worth fighting with other groups. It would certainly beat the first boss.

They decided to try working with others for the next dungeon, but to lead the battle so that the civilians would stay as safe as possible. There were already groups in town recruiting for it and people exploring the second level, so it couldn’t be too long before they found the next fight. They’d be ready this time, they thought.

Less than two weeks passed before they were ready to take on the second dungeon. The Order had spent the whole time training and leveling up. There was hardly a moment where they weren’t fighting monsters or sparring with each other. They became almost more adept with their new weapons than they were with their ones from the real world. Those days of miraculous encounters seemed a lifetime ago.

The Order made preparations with other groups of players, determining strategy and planning to play to each others’ strengths. All the parties assembled at the dungeon and set up to fight the boss.

All things considered, it could have gone much worse. The support teams kept all the fighters’ HP high, and they had whatever cover they needed whenever they needed it. The battle was significantly shorter with around forty players there. But when the other players got hit....

Marinette could still hear the screams of the civilians as they went down. The blood oozing from their wounds was so very lifelike, and there was no cure to sew them shut. Or bring them back if they fell.

Kagami and Adrien were focused on taking what would have been killing blows if the boss had struck anyone but them. Chloe and Marinette drew fire away from the other players, and Luka used his mace and shield to defend his fellow healers. But Marinette saw the pained look on his face at being separated from the rest. She relived the moment Kagami and Adrien went down while fighting the first boss in frequent nightmares, and she knew Luka did too. The two of them had shared a few too many late-night cups of tea while avoiding sleep.

They won the battle, but there were so many wounded, so many close calls. One look at her Order and she knew they felt as lost as she did. Was it worth it? The thought seemed to echo through each of their movements as they returned to the manor.

“Marinette?” Alya’s call shook her out of her daze. She looked down at her hands and saw that she’d finished brushing the last of the horses. Putting the brush away, she returned to the main space in the downstairs of their home.

Home. She supposed that’s what it was now, but it didn’t feel like it. The design of it was very cozy, there was no doubt about that. But she saw it as little more than a place to eat and sleep. There were far more important things she could be doing, sitting down to relax was out of the question.

“There you are,” Alya grinned from the kitchen. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in days!” She carried a simple charcuterie board into the living/dining area and placed it on the table. Nino, Adrien, Lila, Alix, Nathaniel, and Luka were already sitting in the various couches and chairs gathered around it.

“We were just about to have a snack and play some cards,” Alya said over her shoulder as she used a poker to encourage a small fire in the hearth. “You should join us, girl!”

Marinette’s gut response was to refuse, and she waved her hands and made excuses but Luka and Adrien got up and marched her over to sit next to them. “C’mon Buginette, you need this,” Adrien said quietly in her ear. Luka just gave her a meaningful look.

Over-protective mother hens.

She sighed and gave in. One afternoon of cards couldn’t hurt.

Nathaniel was on her other side. While Alya dealt out the cards, Marinette asked him, “How’s the garden coming along?”

His face lit up with a quiet joy. “It’s going great! I don’t know if the weather is going to change, but the onions are taking nicely!” She listened with a small smile on her face as he went on about the different crops he was planting in the garden. He’d really stepped up to grow the bulk of their food, and seemed to genuinely enjoy spending his days taking care of the plants.

She was glad that he could still talk freely to her, even in the game. They’d always been close and it was nice to see his artistic spirit was unbothered by... everything.

Adrien nudged her to play her turn, and she did so quickly. Across from her, Alix and Nino were laughing at something Lila had said, and Alya sat up proudly with a comment that made them laugh even harder.

On Adrien’s other side, Luka had his hands of cards facedown on his lap while he strummed a lute he’d bought the other day. The pleasant melody lifted her spirits and reminded her of happier times.

This is what she was fighting for, she realized. For Nathaniel to take pride in his art, for her dear friends to laugh, and for Luka to play his music. She blinked away the tears that rose in her eyes. This is what was worth fighting for.

Even if she couldn’t bring herself to sew, to create like she used to love doing. Here she just had to be Marinette the friend or Marinette the fighter. It was almost easier, having less to manage. And yet... she couldn’t feel that same joy for herself that she found so precious to her friends. Not until they were all home again. She couldn’t let herself.

* * *

Jason trudged into the base, pack digging into his shoulder with all the loot he’d recovered. He’d spent the past few days camping and level-grinding, which was apparently the correct term for it. He couldn’t even remember what Dick had said to set him off, but he needed to be on his own for a while. The woods were surprisingly peaceful, and he found the time spent by himself in nature to be refreshing.

“Hey.” Dick sounded pissed. The hell was his problem? Jason wasn’t even back long enough to do anything. Jason turned on his heel and raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Dick thrust a newspaper into his hands in response. He folded his arms, clearly expecting Jason to read it right then and there. Jason sighed loudly and slung his pack off. He turned his attention to the paper in his hand.

“Coalition of over forty players defeats second dungeon,” he read aloud. Shit.

“Just thought you should know,” Dick said in his I told you so voice. “When you went on your little adventure, you missed the next boss fight.”

Oh, now he remembered why he left! Because his “brother” is an asshole. “My little adventure was to get experience and level up,” he glared at Dick. “Which is still doing something more productive than just sitting on my fuckin’ hands.”

Dick’s nostrils flared. Good, he was itching for this conversation. “We are not doing nothing. We need more time to practice with the gameplay. Hell, Gar still tries to shift when we spar!” He threw up his hands in frustration. “We’re nowhere near ready yet, Jay.”

“You know, there’s more to this game than fuckin’ sparring.” Jason retorted.

Dicks brows shot up. “Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy who so desperately wants to get back to our lives that he runs off on his own.”

“I can’t stand being cooped up in this damn house all the time! Just because we’re stuck in this game doesn’t mean we have to stop living,” Jason shook his head. “We’ve already been in here for over a month, who’s to say how much longer it’ll be? We can’t just put our fuckin’ lives on hold the whole time.”

“Training to beat the game isn’t putting our lives on hold,” Dick rolled his eyes. “This place is a death trap in case you forgot. We need to train to get our lives back.”

This idiot just didn’t get it. “Oh sure, and in the meantime we can’t have any happiness or fun. Sounds pretty miserable to me.” He picked up his pack. “You can level up without training at all hours of the fuckin’ day, no matter what a certain black-haired, blue-eyed bastard says.”

Jason stormed out the door, bumping into Garfield on his way back outside. The kid stumbled backwards before pointing finger guns at him. “Nice alliteration!”

He ignored him and kept walking down the path that led into town.

“Hey, hey wait a minute!” Seriously kid? He heard that argument with Dick but still couldn’t take the fuckin’ hint.

Garfield caught up to him and said, “You know, for someone who was supposed to have a relaxing vacation, you sure look tense.”

“Fuckin’ excuse me?” Jason growled.

“Wh-what I mean is you’re probably looking for a way to burn off some steam!”

This was getting old. “Get to the point, kid.”

“On the third level, there’s a quest we can do to make our own guild!” Garfield bounced excitedly, keeping pace next to him. Well, a quest would certainly help get this new brotherly stress out of his system. “We want you to join us, pleeeeaaaase?”

“Hold up, who the hell is us?”

Garfield grinned at him. “Oh you know, just a couple of the guys.”

They’d reached a junction in the path that led to the main road. Waiting beneath the tree beside the signpost were Roy, Jaime, and Bart. The ex-speedster waved excitedly while Roy looked about as pleased to be here as Jason did. They got along swimmingly.

“Hey dudes, everyone cool if Jason joins us?” Garfield reached out to pat his back then hesitated as he thought better of it.

Jaime shrugged while Bart gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. Roy gave him a pitying look, like he’d been dragged into it too.

“Fine.” Jason muttered to no one in particular. “Are we heading out now?”

The other four got their things together. Jaime sent out party invites to everyone to better keep track of each other, which Roy and Jason reluctantly accepted. Garfield pulled up a pamphlet and started leafing through it. Jason spied the title, The Good Adventurer’s Guide to Guilds. Lovely.

“Alright,” Garfield snapped the papers shut and started walking down the path into town. “Let’s go to level three and get this bread!”

Roy narrowed his eyes. “The quest is to retrieve some bread?” He asked incredulously.

“Well, no but yes! But no. Man, we gotta teach you slang,” Bart slung an arm around Roy’s shoulders. The latter pushed him off and Jaime sped up his pace to plant himself as a buffer in between them as they walked.

Dumbasses.

The walk into town was easy, and they used the teleportation kiosk in the town square to get to the third level without a hitch.

The third level had some more interesting terrain than the plains of the first and second levels. Cliffs and quarries dotted the landscape in front of them. The main town itself was built onto a cliff, a gaping valley splayed out before them with minute details.

“Oh wow,” Garfield said. “This reminds me of that one town in France where--”

“Don’t care. Let’s move.” Roy cut him off and stalked down the winding road that would take them down into the valley. Jason smirked and followed suit.

Garfield made a face, then followed them along with the others. He pulled out his pamphlet again, then pointed them in the direction of the quest. Some quarry worker NPC wanted help collecting materials. If they got him everything on his list, he would apparently grant them the rights to start a guild? It made less and less sense as Gar read aloud from the paper.

They trekked on for a few hours, easily hacking apart the common monsters they came across. Between Jason and Roy, the others hardly had time to draw their weapons before the threats were gone.

“What’s better than this?” Garfield put an arm around Jason and Bart’s shoulders. Jaime grinned and put his arms around Bart and Roy. “Guys bein’ dudes!” He finished.

Roy, Bart, and Jason exchanged mystified glances. Roy and Jason had been out of the loop for roughly the same period of time, and Bart had told them before that not much of contemporary pop culture had survived into his future.

Guys bein’ dudes indeed.

Between the five of them, gathering the listed materials and getting them to the worker by sundown was easy. Well, it was easy for most of them.

“You look like a mess, ese!” Jaime exclaimed, seeing a very sticky and scratched-up Garfield. He groaned and replied, “Had to get tree sap. Trees fought back....”

Well, that served the little shrimp right, Jason thought to himself. He and Roy had been collecting gemstones, which could be mined out from the caves littered throughout the floor... or the infinitely more fun way of killing giant gemstone monsters. Take a wild fuckin’ guess which one they chose.

Jason was actually pretty content with the levels he’d gained from the quest. Not to mention getting his excess anger out from talking to Dick. It seemed like whenever he went to the house, there was always some type of disagreement between the two.

Damn. Maybe he should start saving for his own house.

His party currently stood in line at the guild registration office, also located on the third level. The setting sun cast a golden glow over the valley, highlighting the small clusters of houses dotting the countryside.

“Oh crap,” Garfield suddenly said. He danced nervously on his feet. “We did the whole quest, but I forgot the most important thing!”

Roy looked at him sharply. “What’s wrong?”

“We need a name for our guild!” Garfield wailed, clutching his hands to his head.

Seriously? Roy scoffed, “Why not just Justice League?”

Jaime rounded on him. “Are you nuts, ese? We can’t go around calling ourselves the Justice League. Secret identities and all that.”

Garfield paced in line, clearly thinking hard. “Hmm, justice. Juuuuustice. Just-ice. Just ice! Hey, we could do something with that!” He exclaimed.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah that’s great,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “How about On the Rocks.”

Bart put a hand on his chin, looking thoughtful. “Well, we should add a little pizzazz to it, don’t you think?”

“I’ve got it! Rocky Road!” Garfield threw his hands in the air triumphantly. God this kid was excessive.

Jaime and Bart, after the former had explained it to him, voiced their approval. Roy and Jason looked at each other and silently commiserated over their unfortunate situation.

Rocky Road it was.

* * *

“Ugh, that was way harder than it needed to be.” Alya slumped over her battle axe.

Marinette giggled and offered her friend some water. “Well, a ton of other people are starting guilds too! So I guess there are limited resources for a while.”

Nino took the water from Alya after she’d finished with it. He drained it and looked heartbroken until Adrien handed him a new bottle.

The four of them had decided to team up and do the quest to establish a guild. Not everyone in the guild needed to attend the quest to establish one. So when Alya and Nino had approached Marinette and Adrien, asking if the original friend group could be the ones to do it, they couldn’t say no.

“Well, I just wish Marinette had told us about the quest sooner. Then we could have had an easier time!” Lila simpered, sweet as ever. Oh yeah, Lila had invited herself to come along too.

“Weren’t you also a beta tester?” Adrien frowned innocently.

Lila blinked, looking startled. “Oh yes! But you know about my memory issues. I really wish I could remember all these things to help us out,” she sighed dramatically. Typical.

“So!” Marinette decided to move that conversation right along. “We need a name for our guild. Got any ideas?”

Nino rubbed his arm. “Actually dudes, I’ve been thinking of a name for a while.”

“Oh? Let’s hear it!” Adrien smiled and nudged his best friend’s arm.

“Well, I was thinking we could be called Miracle Workers,” Nino began. Marinette traded a look of alarm with Adrien. “You know, because Alya and I used to be miraculous holders? And I thought it’d be kinda nice to honor Chat Noir, Ladybug, and the other heroes. We could use some of their strength right about now.” Oh, that was actually really sweet of him. Marinette offered Adrien a soft smile.

Alya looked at him fondly. Adrien, with a slight nod of approval from Marinette, gave him a side hug and said, “I think that’s a wonderful name.”

Lila tapped her chin. “I don’t know, workers seems a little odd to me. We’re more like leaders or executives.”

“Well, I think Miracle Workers is perfect, babe.” Alya leaned in to peck Nino on the cheek. “Let’s go with that.”

First | Previous | Next

[cacti-are-like-flamingos]

The Golden Hand

° Assassin’s Creed Odyssey Imagine °

Chapter 3

Fem! Reader

Central Masterlist | The Golden Hand

Just how was he to take you back home when he didn’t even know where to start? Alexios had not the faintest idea on how to do that; pray to the gods? They don’t always answer, and when they do, it’s just downright confusing. His only choice was to continue on his journey and hope, that by some miracle, the answer would reveal itself soon. However, as such worries and doubts continued to plague his mind, they were soon drowned out upon his eyes falling on you.

He had to admit it.

You were utterly adorable.

Your eyes, round and soft, peered at the lively scene of the marketplace with star-like sparkles. Your lips drew apart ever so slightly, a smile merrily making its way on them as you expressed a fondness to how ancient, how....different this world was. He wondered how you felt about it all. Surely you were experiencing some extreme form of cultural shock. Two days could not possibly remedy it. Perhaps your joy was a façade, a guise for the truth of your feelings.

“Ah, yes! This tells of Odysseus’s voyages and his battles.” “And this?” “That one refers to the miracles of Zeus and the gods.” “They’re so beautiful.” You murmured, admiring the paintings on the pottery. By now, Alexios had shifted his attention back to you, pushing his thoughts all the way into the back of his mind as he came to realize that he has subconsciously followed you to the front of a small pottery stand. He watched as you kindly interacted with the clerk, the elder blushing at your beauty and compliment.

“Why thank you! Although my hands and body have begun to age and wrinkle, my passion for art has yet to fade.” You smiled. He watched you for a few moments before briefly turning his attention behind you. There, not far from the two for you, was Phoibe waving her scrawny arms around as she tried hard to get the misthios attention. Chuckling under his breath, the man leaned into your ear, breathing a short, “I’ll be back” before moving away from you. Heading over to the young girl, he gave her a look. 

“How’d it go with Markos?” Phoibe asked. With a small grimace on his face, he replied, ”How it always goes. I didn’t get my money and I’m running another errand for him.” Humming, she settles herself on top of a nearby rock. Crouching to her level, the conversation continues. “Why did you let him boss you around?” Her words earned herself a gentle glare from the older male, “I owe him a debt. From the past.”

“Did you borrow drachmae?” Oh the innocence of youth.

“Not that kind of debt. Few people would take in a runaway they caught thieving. I was just a kid.” Unbeknownst to him, you had accidentally caught his words. 

“Huh. I’m just a kid. And I’ve done pretty good for myself.” Phoibe stated with a sense of pride earning a snort from the man. “What do you want Phoibe?” She looked over to you,” Well, I was going to ask help first but -- who is she?” Her eyes ran down you figure, sparkling with curiosity. Glancing over his shoulder, he couldn’t stop the small smile blooming on his lips as he watched you speak with another civilian. “She is...a friend.” 

“She’s really pretty. Is she nice?” Alexios chuckles. “I only met her yesterday but I believe so. Now, what do you want Phoibe?” Getting back on track, Phoibe continued, ”You know Kausos?” He squinted his eyes in confusion, “The town on the other side of the island? Why?” She answered, ”People there are sick--my friend Kynna is too. There’s a blood fever. They say it’s a curse and that they need help from the gods.” “I told you, I’m not a god.” “But Ikaros--”,”Is a bird.” With an exasperated expression she yelled,” That doesn’t mean you can’t help!” 

There was a moment of silence. It was his hardened expression against her own puppy yet desperate eyes.

She won.

“Agh! All right, I’ll look into it.” With that said, Phoibe let out a grin and a loud ‘Thanks!’ before running away. Sighing, the man ran a large hand over his head, massaging his temples in annoyance. First you and now this. Just how was he to-“Alexios? You okay mate?” Your voice was soft yet clear as you now stood beside him. With a glimpse he could see your concerned expression, your groomed brows knitted together. It was then that an idea struck him.

“(Y/N), since you are from the future, your people must’ve conjured many cures for various illnesses, no?” You gave him a look but nonetheless nodded. “Do you bear any knowledge of your time’s medicine?” “I’m no expert but I do have some knowledge. Although, you have to take into account that medicines are more advanced in my time. What we have, we have because of technology.” He nodded.

“We shall journey to Kausos, a town on the other side of Kephallonia. There is a blood fever. Hopefully, you can help.” 

He had now realized that the two of you have managed to reach the docks. Lightly nudging you, he quietly whispered into your ear, ” 

“Hopefully.” 

Why did you get the feeling that today was going to take a turn for the worse?

...

The journey there was hell. There was no other way to describe it. What you could only imagine once lush and green and full of life and festivities, now seeming barren and full of death and burnt flesh. The putrid smell of corpses and of blood’s iron burning your nostrils to the point that you could barely breathe. Desperately trying to muffle the scent by placing your hand to your nose. And as the horse galloped, you watched the scene around you. Whole structures were burned either to the ground or near to it, smoke billowing out from their interiors in large clouds of black and grey. A pile of bodies, clothed in blood stained fabrics, laid beside the burning buildings, waiting to be cremated. A ring of black surrounded the pile from underneath, the dirt having been scarred from a previous cremation.  

“By the gods, what has happened here?” You heard Alexios mutter under his breath as he took in the scene. Judging by the tone in his voice, you could tell that the sight had, too, taken him by surprise.

You stayed quiet, trying to focus on your breathing rather than the sound of the crows cawing loudly above your heads. It was then that you heard the cry of a man burst through the cawing, it was loud and clear.

“You’re murderers! Murderers!” What? Diverting the horse over to the origin of the voice, Alexios forced the animal to come to a stop right before a small bridge. Helping you come off the saddle, he led you over the bridge and into a situation you never thought you were ever going to be a part of.

 “If the gods won’t help you, the sickness must be destroyed by our hands! We have no choice.” Spoke a man wearing dark clothing and a bow fastened around his torso. Two other men at his either side of him, surrounding what appeared to be a family.

“Help us!” Yelled one of the children as the two of you made your way over to them. His arms bound by rope.

Oh god.

“He won’t let us go!” Shouted the father. 

Keeping your distance, you stayed behind the burly man. Rubbing the palms of your hands together as a way to comfort your hammering heart. Thoughts racing through your head. Alexios was expecting you to somehow save these people, but in all honesty, you had not the slightest clue as to how herbal medicine worked. I mean, you did know just a few things based on videos you had seen on YouTube but nothing that can truly save a person, much less a fucking village. Shit, now panic was setting in and that wouldn’t do any good. Steeling your nerves, you turned your attention to the conversation. Only managing to hear the last few sentences of the man’s explanation.

“...We couldn’t keep up with the bodies. It was spreading --- we had to intervene. “ He said.

“They killed our brothers! Our neighbors!” Countered the father, his wife adding on, “We survived the massacre, but he’ll kill us now!” The man, who you had now realized was most likely a Priest based on the clothing he wore, continued, “The gods have abandoned us. The sick must join the dead f we are to save the living!”

“You burned the whole village?” Alexios asked in disbelief. The Priest looked down in shame before answering,” Many nights were lost praying. We had to take action --- to scorch the blood fever out of Kausos.” 

“Is there no hope for a cure?” The Priest shook his head, letting out an exasperated sigh as he answered,” Nothing has worked. Sacrifice, prayers...” The wife interrupted,” Healers won’t come near us, soldiers won’t let us leave...The gods won’t answer our prayers!” Alexios sighed, shifting his weight to his left as he spoke, “But I know nothing of the plague.”

“There is nothing you can do. If you intervene, I will be forced the defend the gods’ will.” he priest warned. “We aren’t even that sick! We’ll get better!” “Nobody gets better! This is the only way all of Kephallonia will save itself from extermination!” It was then that the Spartan turned to you, his eyes having the slightest glimmer of hope. 

“(Y/N), is there anything you can do? Is there any chance that you can save them?” His voice soft and quiet. It was almost drowned out by the crackle of the fires. 

You gave yourself a moment to think. If this was a virus, then the only thing they could do was ride it out... but....shit, you’re not a doctor. The hell were you suppose to do, much less say? 

You could feel a knot form in your throat, a bubbling sensation blooming within the pits of your stomach --- anxiety. There was a slight tremble to your hands, but why? Why were you feeling this way? This place was a game, no? It had no real consequence, right? No, no that kind of thinking doesn’t apply here, because while to you it will always be a game, you are still quite physically present in it. There are consequences to your actions. There are right and wrong answers. So what now? 

Taking a deep breath in, you briefly looked back up into his own. And with the slightest shake of your head, he knew your answer. 

Sighing, he spoke, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be involved in this.”

“We don’t have to die!” The mother protested. Slamming her bound wrist onto her lap.

You wanted to say something, anything. But nothing would come out. Your lips moved, but not a sound was made. Instead you hid behind Alexios, your lips sealed shut, as he spoke with the priest once more before motioning for the two of you to walk away. It was after ten steps that they’re screams were heard. 

And, as if to add salt to the wound, a lone figure ran up to you.

Phoibe.

“You...you didn’t save them? What about Kynna? She’s my friend!” You felt a tug at your heartstrings upon seeing her heartbroken expression. Alexios, who stood just a foot in front of you, tensed his shoulders. A frown on his face.

“How could I make that-”, noting the increased volume in his voice, you placed a hand to his bicep. Upon feeling your touch, he breathed. “ Listen Phoibe. I know you’re sad about Kynna --- it’s a big loss. But look around you. You want this to be like this everywhere?” He gestured to their surroundings.

The young girl frowned, “No...but maybe Kynna would get better. They could be wrong about her!” “And maybe the sickness would take the family tomorrow. It’s impossible to tell.” The misthios argued.

Folding her arms, Phoibe looked to the ground, “I hope you’re right.”

You didn’t know what compelled you to speak, you just knew you had to say something to the young girl. Licking your lips, you kneeled down to her height. A saddened look on your own face.

“Phoibe, I know we have just met but...sometimes, good people die. No matter how much we don’t like it.“ She stared at you for a moment, her eyes flickering about your face. It was a only a moment later that she allowed herself to lean closer to you.

“I know...I just wish it wasn’t true.” And with that, she walked away.

Watching her figure slowly dwindle to nothing but a mere shadow, you breathed. The smoke still burning the inside of your nostrils. 

“Alexios?” “Yes?” “Let’s...let’s go...please.” Your voice quieter than the occasional breeze. You heard him grunt, “ Of course.”

Realization didn’t come quick. 

It was only after you had mounted onto the house, with your hands gripping tightly onto his armor, that the realization came to you.

You had killed someone. Rather indirectly, but still.

Innocent blood was on your hands.

How did it come to this? You were but a student just a day ago. 

How did everything change so quick? So...in the blink of an eye?

Alexios would never tell you, but he could feel your tears dampen his clothing.

...

(A/N): Sorry this took so long, I’m still trying to figure out how I want this story to play out and for how long.

Hope you enjoyed!

[orbitariums]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟏𝟒)

omg! this chapter is a bit shorter than most and it’s lowkey a filler kinda sorta i just wanted to show them hanging out together and show their lives 

next chapter is gonna be the same format but with a lil spice...

warnings: some smut, fluff an’ sweet domesticity :’)

word count: 6.1k

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧: 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

     You screamed so loud that Steve poked his head out from the bathroom where he was brushing his teeth to check on you in the living room, where you were cooped up on the couch with your iPad, your eyes glued to the screen. 

     “You okay?” Steve asked through a mouthful of toothpaste, eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

     He was pleasantly surprised when you turned to face him and you were positively beaming, baring your glistening teeth in a wide smile, your eyes glittering. 

      “I keep getting orders!” you exclaimed, referring to your all new clothing store brand that you had in the works earlier that summer. Recently, it had been taking off just how you wanted. 

     Steve discarded his toothbrush and bounded over to you, making you drop your iPad on the couch as he scooped you up effortlessly, hugging you tight. You squealed with happiness, wrapping your legs around Steve’s waist. He was such a serious guy, it was nice when he made such a grand, intimate gesture like this towards you. He smothered your face and cheeks with kisses, leaving the last smooch on your forehead. 

      “I’m so happy for you, doll,” he grinned, his eyes glimmering just like yours. 

The way Steve’s excitement matched yours just reminded you that he was rooting for you— he was on your side, which felt so rare for you. Steve was a rare treasure in your life, and you still couldn’t wrap your mind around how you’d found him. 

You giggled, giddy with excitement,

     “I’m so glad I have you to celebrate this with.”

     “Who would I be if I wasn’t your hype man?” Steve asked, looking directly into your eyes with a smile on his lips. 

     “Steve, you are literally my best friend,” you grinned, your heart swelling by how taken aback you were with how deeply he expressed his love. “Now time for me to call my other bestie.”

Steve grinned,

     “Does that mean I have to put you down?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes playfully, 

     “I mean, if you wanna give it away…”

     “Noted,” Steve rescinded, setting you down on the floor before him where you returned to your favorite place— right under Steve, with him hovering over you and keeping you safe. 

He kissed you sweetly on the lips before leaving you to call Aaliyah on the couch. 

     “Hey best friend,” she answered the phone with a trill.

     “Hi girlie,” you grinned, absolutely shining.

     “Ooh, someone’s in a good mood! What happened?!” Aaliyah straightened herself up in her bed, all ears. 

     “Your girl keeps making sales,” you glanced away from the camera as if it were no big deal to you, only to return with a big grin on your face.

     “Okay work!” Aaliyah practically screeched, jumping out of her bed. “Girl, you need to come back soon so we can get drunk drunk. Like, drunk. Just for you.”

     “I’ll be back, try not to miss me too much.”

     “You seem to be having the time of your life, though, girl. I’m honestly kinda surprised. But like, pleasantly surprised,” Aaliyah commented— if only she knew. 

She still thought you were spending your time in New York with family, she didn’t have a clue about Steve. You didn’t want to have to lie to her, but you knew it was the smart decision for now. Besides, it wasn’t like you were ridden with guilt— if anything, Aaliyah would understand your reasoning. 

     “I know, New York really is where dreams come true,” you noted sarcastically, earning a quiet chuckle from Steve in the kitchen. 

     “Okay, city girl. Just don’t forget where you came from,” Aaliyah smirked playfully. “For real though, I’m so proud of you.”

     “Thank you, my love. I  miss you.”

     “Me too, girl.”

     “So what have you been up to?”

     For a few hours, you and Aaliyah caught up over Facetime. She filled you in on what you’d been missing at home, and how summer and school was going for her, since she was trying to get into med school now. In truth, it wasn’t like there was much to catch up on, since it had only been a week since you’d been apart, you just loved each other that much. You had to hang up when you saw the time, since you had a date with Steve at the museum. You were glad that he seemed to be getting more comfortable taking you to the more public places, even if it meant you both had to be discreet. But that wasn’t hard, you were so comfortable with each other that you didn’t bother much with other people, and others didn’t bother too much with you. You were too preoccupied with each other to even notice much of anything else.

    You still didn’t understand how it wasn’t obvious that Steve was Captain America even when he was in his trusty disguise of glasses and a cap, considering how massive he was. You’d even noticed people staring in a mix of wonderment and desire when you were out with him, because he was quite the specimen. You never really got jealous, but you always found yourself gripping his hand tighter when that happened. Of course, he never paid other people much mind. 

    “You ready?” Steve asked, his back facing you as he heard you come out of the bedroom. 

    “Think so,” you chimed happily. 

     Steve turned around at the sound of your voice and immediately felt his heart drop to his stomach. He paused, unsure of what to even say. You were wearing a cream colored silk mini-dress, a gold plated necklace with earrings to match, along with heels. You were positively dazzling, even beyond your outfit— Steve truly thought you looked good all the time, but when you dressed up, you dressed up. 

     “Wow,” he breathed, truly at a loss for words, his eyes raking up and down your body. He was truly amazed by your presence— just being here made him feel like he was in the presence of a goddess. If you thought you were confused by how you’d won someone like him, you’d be knocked out by Steve’s disbelief. 

     You felt your cheeks grow warm at the way Steve was silently worshipping you. He looked so innocent, standing there wide-eyed in awe. It was almost as if he hadn’t seen every single part of you, as if you didn’t realize that his eyes were on you almost all the time— well, the latter was true. He never got tired of your beauty. You were truly timeless. But eventually, you laughed, shaking your head and stepping forward and taking his hands in your own. 

     “Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” you joked with him, reaching in to kiss his lips. 

     “You look incredible. When don’t you?” he smiled, looking you up and down once again. He gestured to your neck, furrowing his brows. “Where’d you get that necklace?”

     “This one?” you looked down, then back up, shrugging. “Think I made it.”

     “Of course you did,” Steve shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “Gorgeous and talented. How could I not guess that?”

     “You’re so corny, Steve,” you snorted, pressing your hand against his chest. “I love it.”

He smoothly maneuvered his arm around your waist so you were close to him, leading you out the door.

     “Shall we?” he pulled you close to him. 

      When you got to the museum, you both were glad to see that it wasn’t crowded, but not unnaturally empty. It almost felt like your circumstances were normal, and that felt nice and unique from your usual system. Steve never made it feel like the two of you had to be in hiding, but the illusion that the precautions weren’t so necessary here felt nice. Of course, it was only an illusion. 

       You were both always careful, but you were too enamoured by one another to let the issue of privacy stress you the way it did before. Steve’s previous anxiety surrounding keeping you both safe and secret had improved so much ever since you actually came around and lit up his life. He almost wished he had realized how much of a good thing this was sooner, then he would’ve had you right next to him ages ago. 

        The way Steve held your hand when you stepped out the car and all the way into the museum admittedly had you feeling incredibly special. He had you on his arm, but the way you were shining made it so clear that you were one of a kind, in a league of your own. You just happened to complement each other nicely, even perfectly. That was rare for even the closest of couples, so you were eternally grateful. You matched each other like chocolate and vanilla ice cream, explicitly sweet. You weren’t unaware of the eyes on the both of you as you strode through the museum— hell, together, the two of you looked like Greek gods, one beautiful inside and out, the other gracious, hulking, and strong. You might as well have been reincarnations of Aphrodite and Ares. 

     You had never been in this museum before, it was called MoMa, short for The Museum of Modern Art. Truthfully, you didn’t spend much time in museums back home. You were much more of an outdoors kind of gal, but you enjoyed being in this museum with Steve almost as much as you did day drinking at an outdoor cafe. The museum was undoubtedly fancy and sophisticated, making you feel right at home while you were all dressed up and always, always carrying yourself with poise. 

Steve felt lucky just to be standing beside you, and the two of you enjoyed your time together drifting through the museum, fixating on one work of art from the next, taking your time and staying close together. 

     “Isn’t that you?” Steve joked, pointing to a marble statue of a beautiful woman who actually did look a bit like you. 

     “You’re too charming,” you snickered, squeezing his side. 

He reached over and kissed your forehead, 

      “I know a work of art when I see it.”

You pushed your head up so you could reach his lips, pressing a kiss on his mouth, closing your eyes and shutting out the dim light of the museum for just a second, so you could get lost in him. When you opened your eyes, you and Steve made direct eye contact, gazing in each other’s eyes as if you were the only two in the room. Steve almost seemed to stand completely still, lost in the way your eyes glimmered like the water you spent so much time around back home. You knew you had him right where you wanted, and you gave his arm a squeeze as you bit down on your lip, hiding an impish smile. 

      “Come on,” you nodded towards the exit, gripping his hand and making your way towards the exit.

It was almost like you were lugging Steve behind you, the way he was following your lead like a helpless puppy. You had to fight the urge to cackle at how quickly he melted for you, just from a single kiss. Not only was he touch starved, but he was infatuated with you. That made matters even worse. Steve was a man with honorable impulse control, but when it came to you, looking so beautiful, kissing him so soft and sweet just how he liked, “control” was out of the picture. And now that you were leaving, it was clear what you were both getting yourselves into. 

You got into the car, eagerly settling into the backseat. Steve, on the other hand, rushed into the driver’s seat and was about to start the car when you asked,

      “What are you doing?”

Steve’s head nearly whipped back to look at you, and he furrowed his eyebrows. 

     “We’re gonna leave, right?” 

You just stared at him for a moment, judgment plastered on your face. You blinked,

     “It takes like thirty minutes to get home.”

Steve made a face, his eyebrow quirked up in confusion,

      “You don’t wanna go home?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that was tugging at your lips,

      “Can you just come to the back?”

He swiftly climbed into the back seat and you chuckled,

     “You’re so silly, old man.” 

     “‘S been a while,” he grunted. 

Your eyes flitted up and down his face, and then met his eyes. 

       “Need you. Now,” was all you said in a voice so quiet that it was like you were telling him a secret.

You made eye contact with Steve once more and he understood, Steve barely even had the chance to speak before you were scrambling on top of him, pressing your lips harshly against his and opening your mouth, Steve following your lead and doing the same, your tongues in each other’s mouths as you kissed. It was less like kissing and more like you were trying to compete to see how long you could hold your breaths, moaning repeatedly into each other’s mouths and only consuming oxygen through heavy pants. It was like you forgot you needed to operate normally, the way you were rubbing frantically against each other and abusing your limited backseat space. Your dress was jammed against your legs because you hadn’t pulled it up properly, and your knees were knocking against the inside of the car.

     “I wanna fuck,” you pulled away from his lips, only for him to pout at the lack of contact, resolving to kiss your neck instead, making your skin burn hot on the space where his lips were. You gasped from the unexpected feeling, Steve sucking at all the right spots on your body. He had you all figured out, from the first moment you got intimate with each other. But you didn’t get distracted from your main objective, pushing him away so you could focus, his chest heaving up and down below you. “Right now.”

Steve raised his brows. His face, already a flushed shade of pink from the abundance of physical proximity, darkened to a deep red. 

     “You… you want me here? Right-right now?”

     Your jaw clenched. Just by looking into your eyes, which had darkened like a stormy, grey sky, Steve could see just how serious you were. You were determined you were to get what you wanted, and who was he to get in the way of your needs? Of course, he wasn’t quite thinking logically, but there wasn’t enough room for logic when you were smothering him like this in the car, no matter how spacious it was. 

You nodded almost solemnly. You were like a cat in heat right now. If a switch had turned on in Steve earlier, then right now, a big red button was being pressed inside of you, only it meant “go.” 

     “Yes. Please don’t make me wait, daddy,” you purred, putting on your best angel face, and something stirred deep inside of Steve when you called him that, when you looked at him like that. 

His voice went soft and he nearly cooed at you,

     “‘M not gonna make you wait… it’s just…”

     “No one’s gonna see us,” you leaned in to kiss him again, and pulled away before he could deepen the kiss the way he wanted to, leaving him to pull desperately at your waist. “We’re parked far away from everyone else, see? And it-it’s dark!”

Steve smirked at your frenzied reply, consisting of one excuse after the other,

      “You really need this right now, hmm?”

      “Don’t get cocky. You need this more than I do,” you bit back snarkily, grinding against his very apparent erection, which throbbed against your center. You bit down on your lip, failing to conceal a devious smirk. “See?”

      “Yeah, I-I see,” Steve groaned, glancing down at where your bodies met in the middle, wishing you would take your dress off now. He regained his composure to ask you this one question. “Why so sudden?”

You growled, eager to get past the niceties of fucking,

      “Because. Now shut up so I can do my job.”

      “Oh wow,” Steve chuckled, raising his brows like he was impressed. “You’re very dedicated to-”

You weren’t kidding.

       “Stop talking,” you said, putting your hand over his mouth. 

      He looked up at you, all the amusement drained from his eyes, replaced by desire and awe. He felt inclined to listen to you, amazed by the new side of you that was coming out all of the sudden. It wasn’t like he always dominated you, and it was obvious that you had Steve wrapped around your finger. But this… this was different.

You kissed him furiously, grinding against him with expertise, making him arch his hips up just to meet you halfway, but you weren’t letting him give in to the pleasure fully yet. You didn’t have time to waste, and yet you had all the time in the world.

You let the tip of your tongue slide against his, then your tongue trailed against his open lips, making him let out a low pitched groan, his eyes half lidded at the soft but prominent sensation. You wanted to make this quick, but every part of you was savoring the moment. It had been a while since you’d done anything so thrilling in public, even if you were sure no one could see you. 

      Steve’s hand snaked its way up your dress, wasting no time. It took him a minute to catch on in the beginning, but now that he had, he was right where you needed him to be. He went to push your underwear to the side and the look on his face was priceless when he realized you weren’t wearing any. He was pleased that you were even more accessible, but at the same time he was shocked. He hadn’t been expecting it. 

      “You aren’t wearing anything under that?” he asked breathlessly, his fingers circling your clit immediately, the pad of another finger dipping into your slit with ease because you were already soaking. “Fuck, you’re already wet.”

He started pumping a finger in and out of you, hitting a perfect spot and brushing up against your walls just right. You moaned and rode his fingers, hips thrusting up in the air as you threw your head back. 

     “Baby,” you panted after some time. “Take your pants off.”

You watched as he hurried to follow your commands, his pants and boxers pooling at his knees as he sat there with his dick erect against his stomach, both of you hot and restless. You practically lunged forward, grinding against him while he worked to unzip your dress, pulling it over your head. The whole event was a mess of clothes being flung everywhere, your bodies knocking into each other and the car seats. It was a blur, really, and you remember crying out when you first sunk onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck and taking him smoothly, slowly, as he watched you with his mouth dropped in an o shape and his eyes glazed over. 

     “Fuck,” you whined, taking his length. It was one thing to be beneath him, it was another thing to be on top and be stretched out like never before. It was like a completely different feel and a completely different angle, and still perfect nonetheless. “You feel so good baby, look at me.”

     You forced Steve to look up at you, perking his chin up with your finger. He was shuddering, his thighs shaking each time you sunk down onto him. You were practically riding him into submission, and the thought made you smirk. 

      “You like this?” you cooed. “You like when I ride you?”

He nodded quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed. 

     “Say it,” you demanded, inching your hand up his chest and settling your palm around his throat. 

His hips bucked up inadvertently, and he groaned,

     “Y-yes baby, I could fuck you like this forever.”

     “Yeah, I bet you could,” you crooned, letting your finger trail along his face, your nail tickling his cheek. 

     As you got used to taking him, you began to ride him like a pro, the movement of your hips syncing with his effortlessly, bouncing up and down and grinding on him all at once. No matter what you did, the feeling was unbeatable for the both of you, and you couldn’t get enough. On top of that, you had clearly taken charge tonight. Steve was enamoured by you, goddess that you were, and he wanted you on top a lot more now.

     Granted, it was the first time, but he only wished it could’ve happened sooner, because then he could cherish this feeling earlier. You took the lead with such ease, because you knew what you were doing and that was clear. Your sex appeal radiated off of you without you even having to try, and your confidence was just the cherry on top. Steve could tell you were enjoying yourself, shamelessly eating up his submission. You were being greedy, reckless. He wanted more and more. 

      Your movements were graceful and easy, your back arched to get that crucial spot for the two of you, arms wrapped lazily around his neck as you rode him like the perfect wave. He obeyed immediately when you told him to keep his previously wandering hands on your waist, watching in amazement as you led him, the captain. 

     You lowered your head down to his, pressing your forehead against his as you began to moan, and he could tell you were about to come by the way you squeezed around him. When you did, it was like an explosion. You nearly screamed into his ear, but instead bit down on his neck, leaving a bite that was sure to bruise. You kept riding him while you were coming, anyway, telling him to come with you and triggering his own orgasm, letting him fill you up with his cum. For a while, the two of you just sat there, Steve still inside of you, his head knocking against your chest, while you wrapped your arms around him. 

❊

     “I’m putting a looot of trust into you right now, you know that?” you pulled your shirt off, stretching your arms up above your head. 

Steve laughed, shaking his head,

     “No pressure.”

     “I’m absolutely joking,” you leaned forward to give him a kiss while cupping his face, lingering at his lips for a few seconds with a soft smile before you pulled away. “I know it’ll turn out amazing. But I can’t stay still for too long.”

     “It won’t take more than an hour, I promise,” Steve put his pinky out in front of him and you rolled your eyes before interlacing your pinky with his. 

     “As long as I’m with you, I don’t mind.”

     “Okay. Your bra is real pretty, but that has to go, too,” Steve said, gesturing to your pink lace bra.

      “Can you take it off me, please?” you smiled innocently, but Steve just stared you down. 

     “If I do that, you’re gonna try to distract me,” he stood his ground, and you chortled, cupping his face in your hands as you leaned forward, 

     “Steve, I would never. I understand the importance of the artist’s process. Here, I’ll even turn around.”

You turned so your back was facing Steve, your shoulders relaxing when you felt his big hands brushing against your skin, undoing your bra. You felt his bare hands roam up the expanse of your back and rolled your shoulders back into the all encompassing touch. 

     “Just trying to understand my canvas,” Steve muttered, his broad hands cupping your shoulders like he was giving you a massage. 

You sighed, rolling back your neck until you could see a glimpse of him, a slight smile on your face. You crossed your arms over your chest to cover your breasts, making an X shape with your arms. 

     “I’m sure,” you replied, and he lurched forward to plant a kiss on your lips before leaning back, gesturing for you to lie down. 

     You lay down on your front side, your back fully exposed to Steve. Rays of light splashed against your back and shone in Steve’s softened face. You could hear him cleaning his paintbrushes in the mason jar of water that was balancing on the bed sheets, the brush clanking against the rim of the jar and the water sloshing around with the bristles. Your days with Steve were growing more and more intimate as the time passed on. 

     Steve had finally given in to your pleas that he draw more, but he took it a step further and decided he would paint instead, using you as a canvas. Steve caught on fast, and you loved that about him. Whatever you wanted to do, he was down, and he would go that extra mile because he wanted to, not because he didn’t feel like he had an option. 

     You tapped your feet against the bed sheets to the rhythm of the Jhene Aiko song playing in the background, and grinned to yourself when you heard Steve humming along. You put him onto so much that he didn’t even realize the things he was picking up from you along the way. 

     “Alright,” Steve grinned in satisfaction, dipping his brush into the selection of paints on his easel. “You ready?”

You gave him a thumbs up, giddy with excitement. Steve had to gently touch your ankles to remind you to stop shaking, and you uttered a giggly apology while he shook his head playfully. 

     “Never had such a difficult canvas,” Steve straddled the back of your legs as you lay still below him. 

     “Shut up,” you chuckled, cutting yourself off with a gasp when you felt the cool paint against your back. “Shit, that’s cold as fuck!”

     “Language,” Steve smirked, and you barked a bitter laugh. 

     “This is coming from the man who was describing the ways he wanted to deflower my body in obscene depth this morning,” you clapped back at him, and he opened his mouth to reply, only to recede with a resigning sigh. Noting his silence, you simpered. “I win.”

     “Just remember I am the one with total control over your body right now. One misstroke and this painting goes from Mona Lisa quality to absolute shit,” Steve reminded you, waving a finger in the air. 

      “Mona Lisa? Someone thinks real highly of themselves,” you poked fun at him as he continued to layer paint on your back to create a light blue base. “Besides, paint washes off.”

      “I’ll lock you out of the bathroom,” Steve sniggered, much too pleased with himself for your liking. You swatted at him with a reprimanding hand and he dodged it. “Alright, alright. I won’t mess it up on purpose, I promise.”

     “You better not,” you murmured, already sinking into sleep. You couldn’t help it. You were tired from being worn out this morning, because Steve did do everything to your body that he said he would do, namely fucking the daylights out of you. And, Steve painting on your back was oddly therapeutic in a way, and the brush against your back felt like feathers from a pillow, lulling you to sleep. So, you fell asleep as the sound of the music playing faded away. 

You woke up to the sound of Steve’s deep voice in your ear, telling you to wake up so he could take pictures of you. 

      Your eyes trickled open slowly and you looked up at Steve who was laying on his side next to you, positively beaming. You smiled sleepily, the fog from your sleep starting to clear from the light Steve was emanating. His face was so close up, you couldn’t help but brush your nose against his and give him a butterfly kiss before kissing his nose with your lips. 

     “I finished,” Steve grinned in celebration, and in that moment you were sure you’d never seen him look so happy, except for when you stepped off the private jet and into his life. 

     “Baby,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and got up gingerly, so as not to mess up the masterpiece that was still drying on your back. “Lemme see.”

      Steve got up quickly and dragged the full body mirror towards you, standing behind it and holding it up, a proud smile glued to his face. You couldn’t help but giggle at how satisfied he looked with the results, and your heart swelled to see him so happy and actually doing some personal hobbies outside of work. You were glad you were with him, and you were glad that meant he got a break from the hustle of his everyday life. This break wouldn’t last forever, but at least he was getting one. He didn’t often do things that he actually liked to do, he was so worked up. When he was with you, he was free to do whatever, and you actually pushed him to do the things he enjoyed. 

      You turned so your back faced the mirror, and craned your neck to see the work of art. It was a divine myriad of colors on your glowing skin, a light blue sky as the base, a painting of the sun and moon on top. The moon and sun each had eyes, a nose, and a mouth, and the moon was hugging the sun, covering its right eye. He had drawn swirly clouds and glinting stars all around to truly bedazzle the piece. You couldn’t stop smiling, it was truly beautiful and probably the most intimate thing you’d ever done with someone. 

      “Steve, you’re literally amazing at this. I’m serious,” you prodded him when he shook his head in embarrassment. “I mean look, you know it’s amazing, you’re so proud of yourself! And you should be.”

You scrambled over to him, tugging at the camera that was hanging by a strap around his neck,

     “C’mon. Take pictures of it!”

     “Yeah, just—” Steve cocked his head to the side, trailing off, and you realized immediately that he was distracted by your bare upper torso. 

You shook your head, laughing to yourself, and stood up on your knees to pose for him. 

      “You can take some just for yourself, too,” you winked. 

❊

       You woke up to the feeling of Steve stroking your face with his thumb and kissing the top of your head ever so gently, the room dark except for the fuzzy light blue glare of the TV screen a few feet away. You snuggled into his chest, already laid up on top of him, both your bodies stretched out on the cozy couch. 

      You sighed sleepily and blinked up at him. He was fixated on the TV, halfway through the first Deathly Hallows movie. You’d fallen asleep somewhere towards the end of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, so you were quite pleasantly surprised that Steve let you lay on him for so long, and that he continued watching the movies. His blue eyes were unmoving, glued to the screen and thoroughly engaged in the story. You smiled below him and poked his chest, making him glance down at you with an unassuming “hmm?” sound. 

      “How long have I been asleep?”

      “A long time,” Steve smooched your forehead, then your nose, and then your lips, suffocating you with his kisses. “How are you feeling?”

     “Not as sleepy. We stayed up way too late last night,” you reminded him, and he shrugged. 

      “At least I’m almost finished,” he said, referring to the Harry Potter movies that you had stayed up late last night to continue. 

     “We gotta figure out your Hogwarts house,” you squinted up at him, making the calculations in your head. “I think you’re a Gryffindor. I am too.”

     “Gryffindor, Hufflepuff… it’s all the same, isn’t it?” Steve sighed, and you gasped, sitting up on his lap and looking at him, appalled,

      “Steve! Have you learned nothing from the past seven movies?”

He cackled, shaking his head,

      “I’m kidding. I think so too, doll.”

You pushed his chest with a dramatic pout, 

      “Nevermind, asshole, you’re definitely a Slytherin.”

      “Hey, I don’t wanna be a bad guy!”

      “Boo fucking hoo,” you droned. “You get to be a hero all the goddamn time, take your Slytherin house placement and go. Also, you clearly haven’t been paying attention! Not all Slytherins are bad.”

      “I’ll take being an Avenger over being a Slytherin any day,” Steve noted casually, and you couldn’t help but grin at the side note. You positioned yourself on his lap so you were straddling him and he put his hands around your waist almost reflexively. 

      “Yeah?”

      “Of course,” Steve insisted. “My job is tough but, someone’s gotta do it.”

     “You ever wish you weren’t like this? I mean… if you’d known things would turn out the way they did…”

You bit your lip in anticipation as you waited for Steve’s answer, because he was taking a while to think about it. You hoped you weren’t pushing a boundary here by asking this question, but Steve knew you had good intentions, and you knew him long enough to know that he wouldn’t be afraid to answer you.

     He finally found it in him to give you a cohesive answer. He truly had to think, because it wasn’t a feeling he could quite put into words. People thought Steve was this stonelike, serious guy, but he was mainly just pensive. He was still the same Steve he’d always been, even before the serum, even before he became a figure of fame. Now, people just happened to take him a whole lot more seriously. People admired him. But all the while, he was still grieving, still trying to figure out his footing in this world. Now that he was with you, the process was going along much smoother. 

He clasped your hands, bringing your interlaced fingers to his lips,

     “I’ve been through a lot. And it’s hard for me to face things head on sometimes, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. I have to admit, though, it really has been nice just… being unseen. Just for a few days, being unknown by the world. Under the radar, I guess. I get to just be Steve, not Captain. And don’t get me wrong, I’d never complain about my responsibilities. I’m just a private person. I’m not in this for the fame and the attention. That’s the only thing I’d ever change. I just want to do what’s right. I don’t need the praise.”

     You nodded, completely understanding. Whenever you and Steve had these deep conversations, you were glad, because you really both listened to each other. You said exactly what was on your minds without fearing judgment. You had kind of expected that to be Steve’s answer, the way he cherished his privacy and didn’t seem to care much for the frills attached to his honorable job. 

     Notoriety wasn’t Steve’s goal, in fact he figured he’d be better off without it. He was grateful for his work, but he didn’t need the fans and worship that came with it. You could honestly never grow tired of Steve talking about himself— his past, his present, his job, his fears. He hardly talked about himself anyway, he was always engulfed in one thing or another. You liked pulling things out of him, not because you wanted to be intrusive, but because you knew it’d be good for him. Besides, how would you get along if you didn’t truly know each other?

As he spoke, you nodded, taking in each and every word. You let your fingernails lightly scratch his face, trailing along his perfect superhuman skin, lulling him without even realizing it. 

     “I get that. You could be Steve Rogers and just save lives, and live just how you want to.”

     “Yeah,” Steve smiled, gazing up into your eyes, the movie long forgotten in the background. He placed his hands on your hips as if to keep you in place where you were, locking you in like you belonged here and here only. “What about you? Would you change anything?”

      You cocked your head with a small smile. You hadn’t been expecting him to ask about you, and it honestly wasn’t something you thought of quite a lot. Maybe if you were still hurting, you’d say yes. But, because your whole life had brought you to this point, here with him and happy with yourself, you couldn’t. 

You shook your head, biting down on your lip, your smile expanding,

     “No. I wouldn’t. I’m actually kind of content now. Healing’s a long process, but it’s worth it. And I’m with you, so it’s all worth it.”

Steve’s eyes glimmered when you said that, and his fingers dung deeper into your hips.

        “Think this is probably the happiest I’ve ever been,” Steve said, and god, he didn’t know how much that meant to you.

tags later!