#soft like silk while expecting knives in the back

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi! I would love to see your version of Malec with the ridiculous amount of hidden weapons stored in various places on a person. The idea of Magnus undressing Alec & coming across a ludicrous amount of weapons, pleases me immensely. Then the idea of Magnus starting to wear weapons for Alec? Chef's kiss. Pretty please? Thank you!

it mostly follows along that vein and i hope you enjoy it

this is set in feral sweetness, like honeycomb

<3 lumine

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There is the slightest hint of a smirk on Alexander’s face as he approaches and Magnus wonders at what his mischief his love is dabbling in tonight.

This is meant to be an auspicious eve and while Magnus knows Alexander won’t do anything to jeopardize the ritual, he still finds himself suspicious in the way where he expects Alexander is going to surprise him.

In good ways of course.

Alexander stops just before the alter and meets Magnus’ unglamoured eyes with amorous devotion.

“I surrender myself to Magnus Bane. That the protection and defense of my own life be offered to his own hand. That my weapons will now be used to defend him, to protect him from all enemies and dangers.”

Alexander had told Magnus that he won’t be summoning any of his weapons during the ceremony.

No, he will wear them and offer them with his own hand and deed.

Now, standing before the witnesses gathered it’s clear that Alexander isn’t wearing clothes made of fine silk and cottons and linens.

Alexander is wearing the very finest of his hunting gear.

The leather is sleek and it ripples as the glow of floating golden lanterns dapples it with light. Magnus has only seen Alexander dressed like this once before and it was when his darling had been called through portals to a rift across the world. The buckles are dark, made of dark metals to better blend into the shadows.

Knee high boots made of soft but durable demon hide that are as dark as ichor and button even as they curve to his calves perfectly.

Alexander stands before them all and slowly takes off his jacket and Magnus loses his breath in delight even as he waves away those arounds concern at seeing Alexander’s weapons.

The quiver and bow are already laid out on the alter and two rows of throwing daggers follow along with a sword from each thigh.

For a moment Magnus thinks that’s it, and then Alexander is uncoiling a bullwhip from his waist and bending to pull out two small daggers from his left boot and a row of long thin needles from his right. The thin bands of metal around his wrist turn out to be an adamas garrote and there is a hint of a smirk on Alexander’s cheeks as he pulls out a set of adamas-plated knuckles with little spikes on them from an extra strap on his thigh holsters.

Likewise are a pair of fingerless gloves with small plates of adamas sewn across the knuckles.

Then Alexander begins unbuckling a harness from his back.

It holds eight more throwing knives and another hilt that tucks itself into the hollow of Alec’s back. As if that weren’t enough — because it is and Magnus is wondering how Alexander runs with this much weight even with the trans-formative properties of adamas — and then Alexander is laying out what is clearly an adamas lockpick set.

After that he’s not nearly as surprised as he should be when it turns out there is an expandable staff of adamas attached to Alexander’s quiver. Or that the bow and drawstring itself are also created from runed adamas.

There is a moment there when Magnus is sure that they’re done, and then Alexander also sets down his stele and then goes to take off his shoes.

“Darling, surely you don’t have more knives in there?” Magnus murmurs, quiet and trying for humor but truly he’s too baffled. It was strange enough to see Alexander have as many weapons as needed just by a thought, it’s almost worse watching him shed weapons as if they are a second skin and he a molting snake.

“No, I got all of those.” Alexander assures him with a soft smile that the closest of the witnessing warlocks seems shocked by. Magnus can understand as Alexander’s ardor turns his face gentle and besotted. “But my boots are adamas tipped and the soles are lined with spikes. Considering I’ve kicked through a demons chest before, I think they probably count as weapons.”

“By all means—” Magnus murmurs even though he’s now aching to taste the calluses of Alexander’s training against his tongue and feel the evidence of Alexander’s competency beneath his hands.

It’s even sweeter, realizing that Alexander purposefully strapped on so many weapons with the understanding that he was offering them all up in defense of Magnus.

Next is a small blowdart and pouch and finally, Alexander sets down his stele.

There is a telling gleam to his gaze and Magnus knows that despite the show of weaponry, this still isn’t the whole of what Alexander is capable of. However it’s enough to honor Magnus and Magnus understands the desire to keep behind a few secrets. Especially as he does the same.

“Someday I’m going to disarm you myself.” Magnus promises quietly and the only sign that Alexander’s heard and likes the vow is the tight bob of his throat as he swallows.

It’s a small victory in of itself and Magnus brushes a kiss against Alexander’s cheek even as he steps forward to make a show of accepting the small armory offered.

[lunarthecorvus]

My Kanej headcanon

Kanej fluff. That's the summary

Do not take this seriously. This is just a headcanon plotline word vomit, I am not a writer. (This hc is like a year or two after CK)

Wylan and Jesper invite Kaz and Inej to an event. Kaz first says that he is not going, but after Inej arrives back from a voyage (at this point, she already has an invite). Kaz meets her in a dark alley by docks, and they melt into each other. They talk about the event they've been invited to, and Kaz says he's not going.

This disappointed Inej as she wanted to be a 'normal couple' for a night, but she hid her disappointment and had to go back to unload the Wraith.

Later, Inej arrives at Kaz's attic and is still trying to. He picks up that something is not right and asks her if she's alright. She paces around, looking down at the ground, and admits that she wanted to go to the event with him and be 'normal' even just for a night.

During this time, Kaz gets up from his desk and stands in front of Inej, and lays a light hand on her shoulder. Inej is taken out of her nervous daze and Kaz is staring at her with such a soft and loving look. He cups her face in his hand (they have secret signals to let each other know that they're good with the touch) and plants a kiss on her forehead. He says quietly to her that he would always love to spend any time with her event or no event. Inej glances up and him and presses her lips to his.

Inej and Kaz get ready at the Van Eck mansion. Kaz is ready first and wears a black suit with a dark red suli silk waistcoast with little black stitching and a matching red tie. He stands with Jesper, waiting by the door for Wylan and Inej, Jesper is vibrating with excited energy.

At some point, Jesper looks at Kaz and says that his hair looks too clean, and so Jesper impulsively messes Kaz's hair. As soon as Jesper does this, he grabs his arms and twists it a bit to the point where Jesper bends over, but while he's doing that, Kaz feels the air change and looks up to see Inej in a matching dark red suli silk jumpsuit with long flowing sleeves and a black shawl over her shoulders which is expected to have at least 7 knives hidden somewhere on her.

Kaz stands there staring at Inej, not even attempting to hide his obvious gape at her like she's the only person who exists. Jesper makes a noise, and he realises that he's still twisting his arm. Kaz, let's go, and Jesper lets out a huff, saying something about how that's what it would take.

When Inej gets a look at Kaz, she's loves the way the suit fits his sharp edges, and discovers at his dishevelled hair she loves so much, especially when she wakes up in the morning and looks over to see him, she cherishes those times. Inej welcomes his look at her. She doesn't feel violated, and she met his look.

There will be a part 2 with the event. It was meant to be about that, but I got distracted by the side plot :)

[emeraldwaves]

Title: Lighter  Damen x Laurent Rating:  E (NSFW)   Word Count: 3,361

AO3 For @keephiminthebox HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Summary:

Laurent expects his crown to be heavier than it is, but when Damen looks at him, everything feels lighter. They share the weight together.

Full fic below cut, or on AO3 :)

The rays from the sun trickle into the room, lighting up the marble floors with oranges, reds and yellows, like flames licking closer and closer to their bed. It’s not the color, however, that startles Laurent. No, it’s the glistening of the crown that sits atop the mirrored dresser. The golden starburst tips catch the morning beams and it shimmers, making his eyes squint. Laurent buries his face against the pillow.

It’s not like he doesn’t have options. He can turn his face away from the crown and stare at something, or rather, someone far more attractive. The King of Akielos is right where he belongs, asleep next to him. Damen isn’t a delicate sleeper, by any means. One of his bare legs, thick and muscular, is draped over the edge of the blanket. His broad, tan chest rises and falls with each breath, his mouth open, dried drool coating the edge of his cheek where it trickled out of his mouth during the evening. It’s an unsightly look for a king, and Laurent can’t help the small smirk which pulls across his lips. Damen pulls his gaze, like Laurent can’t imagine looking at anyone or anything else but him. A scoff slips from his nose while he stares at his lover.

Husband to be, perhaps. They haven’t discussed that, and quite frankly, Laurent doesn’t want to be the first one to suggest anything of the sort. Damen, the sentimental fool that he is, will certainly bring it up sooner or later. Laurent had once told Damen his line would end with him, and he meant it. There is no one else he wishes to take as a lover, no woman he wishes to attempt to impregnate.

Wrinkling his nose at the thought, he halts his mind, thoughts getting away from him. He’s been trying to stop himself more lately, now that things are calm. There is no reason for Laurent to think of his next move at every turn. The storm has passed, and at the Summer Palace, Laurent felt the sun on his skin, kissing and burning the darkness out of him. Schemes and mind games filled with twists and back-stabbing knives no longer needed to be in the forefront of his mind.

Besides, there were far too many things to think about after they worked so hard to take back their respective thrones.

First, Damen needed healing, then, they began to put the new kyroi in place, and now… Laurent could feel the crown behind him, like a shadow encroaching on the bath of sunlight they slept in.

Laurent had Ascended. Last night with Damen by his side, the crown had been placed upon his brow. He couldn’t remember a time he had squeezed Damen’s hand so hard, his thick fingers feeling like small kindling he could snap in half.

Slowly turning his head, his eyes find the crown once more. It hasn’t moved, it sits upon the dresser, foreboding, waiting for Laurent to pick it up and place it upon his brow himself this time. Admittedly, he hasn’t touched it yet with his own fingers. During the Ascension, it was crowned on his head, and then upon returning to their private quarters, Damen had removed it, placing it down in front of the small mirror. It had been forgotten easily after that, Damen falling into Laurent so beautifully, as he always did. It was impossible to think of anything when Damen’s pupils were blown wide, staring at Laurent like he was a never-ending feast he could never get enough of. Laurent adored Damen’s gluttony.

With a soft sigh, Laurent pushes himself up, letting his legs dangle over the side of their bed. Damen doesn’t move, a rock surrounded by soft, cushy pillows and silk sheets. He’s a difficult man to stir, especially after a particularly long night of love making.

Standing, Laurent reaches down to pull a small chiton over his head. He never expected to get used to such revealing clothes, but he finds he likes the ease of it with Damen. Making his way over to the dresser, he pulls out the small bench and takes a seat. He pulls one bare leg up toward his chest, draping his arm over his knee. His fingers gently stroke over the marble surface, barely grazing the edge. He would need to reach forward just a bit to grab the crown. It’s odd, the way he feels like he shouldn’t.

The crown is his, in all senses of the word. He and Damen struggled through so much to achieve this. It was a birthright, Laurent the last living member of his family. This particular crown was designed for him, his brow. When it had been placed there, it was a perfect fit. Starburst designs decorated the front, and a blue jewel sits directly in the center. It’s golden, sparkling, and beautiful. It is for him, and yet…

For the first part of his life, Laurent never expected to wear a crown of such elegance. As a Prince, his was meant to be far less intricate, as to not upstage the King, his father, and then later, his brother. The moment they were killed, however, the crown was passed to him, something Laurent wasn’t ready for, he wasn’t certain he would ever be.

And yet, here it is, sitting before him, waiting to find its home atop his head. It was never meant to belong to him. It should’ve been Auguste’s burden to bear, and now the weight is his, and his alone.

No.

Flicking his blue gaze back toward the bed, he stares at Damen, still enjoying his beauty rest. Laurent is no longer alone. No one proved that to him better than Damen. They would bear the weights of their crowns together as they navigated their way through their new alliance, joining their countries as they had joined their hearts and bodies; their very souls merging.

Laurent sucks in a small breath and reaches forward, letting his foot drop to the ground. His palms are hot as he wraps them around the golden crown. Slowly, he picks it up, the gentle scrape of the metal against the surface makes his heart throb. It is heavier than he anticipates, but he lifts it high and slowly lowers it onto his brow, settling it against his blond hair.

Pulling his hands away, he stares at himself in the mirror. There are pieces of Auguste he has always seen in himself, but especially now as a grown adult, he can’t escape the ghost of his brother in his features on his face. Their slender cheekbones, their sky blue eyes, their masculine jawlines, the similarities are obvious now that Laurent is a man. As much as he spent his formative years planning for this moment, he feels entirely unprepared. Auguste had classes, training, educating, things Laurent had too, but far later. He only hopes he wears the crown as well as his brother would have.

His reflection makes him think he will, a small smile on his lips as he adjusts his spine to sit up straight. Auguste would be proud of how regal he was, but would probably tease him for it, too. His bookish little brother, now a man wearing the crown.

From here on out, Laurent would wear it with honor, with pride. He would stand with Damen, creating a new world together, one he is certain his brother would’ve been proud of.

“It suits you.”

Damen’s voice makes Laurent jump, turning around to face him. He folds his arms across his chest, immediately swallowing his surprise. “Look who finally decided to join the world of the living this morning,” Laurent says.

Laurent curls his fingers around the base of the crown and begins to lift it up until Damen says, “Oh, don’t take it off on my account.” He pushes himself up on one arm, silks draping over his body.

Laurent snorts, lowering the crown back down onto his brow. “Alright then.”

Damen takes a moment, drinking Laurent in with his eyes. He does this all the time, and if he thinks Laurent doesn’t notice, well, he’s more of a fool than Laurent initially thought. It’s amazing though, how Damen can look at him like he’s seeing him over and over for the very first time, like he’s never seen his eyes, his lips, his chest. He always looks so amazed as though Laurent has gifted him with something new every morning. Damen’s smile is crooked, lazily staring at Laurent sitting on the bench in front of him. He chuckles, finally moving forward on the bed while he stretches up. “I like to think of it as my crown, too. We worked so hard to procure it.”

“Oh?” Laurent asks, raising an eyebrow. “And what about your crown? Should I consider that one mine as well?”

“Of course,” Damen says, standing up, completely naked in front of Laurent. He’s not sure if he’ll ever grow used to how unbothered Damen is by nakedness, with himself, with Laurent. Laurent watches Damen saunter slowly over to the bench, his tired steps waking up as he approaches.

Thick fingers reach down, gently stroking over Laurent’s jaw. “I mean it,” Damen whispers, his voice still husky from sleep. “You look beautiful, my King.” Laurent can’t count how many times Damen has told him this fact, but it makes his heart tremble and his stomach drop every time.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Laurent breathes out finally, slowly rising to be closer to him. It’s a strange thing, knowing he needs Damen, knowing he wants nothing more than to be close to him. Before, it made anger churn in his stomach, and now, it flutters, tingling. Now, they’re the same.

Brother-killers. Lovers. Kings.

Selfishly, Laurent prefers when Damen initiates kisses, so he stands, waiting, chin tilted up toward the man he loves. Damen takes his time, as he always does, taking all of Laurent in, getting his silent permission as he cups his cheeks and slowly brings their lips together. It’s tender, gentle and loving, Damen surprising Laurent every time. He holds Laurent’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over his pale, smooth skin and Laurent tries not to melt against the hot, wet, familiar lips.

Damen opens his mouth and starts to take Laurent in, kissing him with desire as his mind and body wake up. “My King,” he breathes out slowly, his lips brushing against Laurent’s as he speaks the words.

“My King,” Laurent repeats the shared title, and he can’t help but smirk against Damen’s lips as an idea blossoms in his head. “Or should I say… Exalted,” he whispers, in Akielon, the language becoming less and less foreign on his tongue.

The breath that exits Damen’s lips is a hot shuddering one. It tickles Laurent’s lips and Damen’s hands immediately fall to Laurent’s waist, gripping him tightly. “Again,” he says.

Draping his arms over Damen’s shoulders, his hands play with the soft, brown curls that tickle the back of Damen’s neck. His blue eyes meet his lover’s browns. “Will you have your King, Exalted?” The sentence is a mix of Veretian and Akielon, the mingling of their languages only the beginning of their joining cultures.

“I love how you wear that crown,” Damen purrs in Akielon, pushing Laurent back against the dresser. His hips wiggle, feeling the heat building, a bead of sweat rolling down his lower back.

“I’m glad,” Laurent smirks, whispering as he pushes up to have their lips meet once more. Damen’s lips are such a familiar taste now, the hint of spice alway coating the tip of his tongue. It heats Laurent’s mouth, sends flames down his spine, like lightning shocking all of his limbs, making him tremble against Damen.

Damen’s hands grip his waist; he holds Laurent but doesn’t trap him. It’s disgusting how gentle this man is with him, like he’s fragile, ready to shatter at any moment. He only moves harder or faster when Laurent demands it of him, allowing Damen to push through comfort. He never thought he would be here, desiring someone, desperate to let someone inside and see through the barest parts of him. His soul and body are quickly stripped down, naked and on display for Damen and Damen alone.

Their tongues slide together, wet and sensual. It deepens then, as it always does, Damen diving into the corners of Laurent’s mouth. He explores like he’s never tasted Laurent before, as though everything is new and exciting. Damen drinks down the small moans and sighs that slip from Laurent’s mouth, his cock hardening with the thrill of taking his lover yet again. It is so easy to get Damen excited, Laurent has found an odd amount of pride in that fact.

Damen hoists him onto the dresser, thick hands pulling at Laurent’s thighs, fingers digging into his flesh as he drags him to the edge. Damen rests his head against Laurent’s shoulder, cock hard as he starts to roll his hips up. The head of his length buries under Laurent’s chiton, their cocks rubbing together.

Panting, Laurent cards his fingers through Damen’s dark hair. What a beautiful man Damen is, Laurent can’t remember the last time he saw someone so stunning. Before, it infuriated him that the man who took his brother’s life could be so handsome, so charming, so kind.

“I want you,” Damen says, like he’s confessing a secret to

By now they’ve shared each other’s bodies in a variety of ways, hard, desperate, needy, Laurent privy to so many flavors of Damen. His favorite is always slow and tender, loving; something Laurent never believed was possible when it came to sex.

After grabbing some oil off the dresser, Damen slips his hand down, tilting Laurent’s hips back enough for him to circle a finger around his hole. It slips in with ease now, Laurent used to the sensation. It’s warm and thick, but not as thick as when they’re fully connected. “You’re still stretched from last night,” Damen points out, his brown eyes glistening with need as he peers up at Laurent.

“Well,” Laurent breathes, “my ass was rarely without your cock last night.”

Damen smirks at that, like he’s proud of where he laid himself the night before. “Good,” he mutters, planting kisses on Laurent’s shoulder, two of his fingers pressing inside of him. “That’s where it belongs.”

Resisting the urge to laugh, Laurent jolts when Damen curls his fingers deep, brushing against Laurent’s most sensitive nerves. Damen slowly works him open, though he doesn’t really need to. His cock would fit. After a few hours of sleep, Laurent still feels open, ready to accept him. Perhaps his body is simply used to Damen, Laurent certainly wouldn’t mind that.

The fingers work him open slowly. Damen’s talented at this, getting Laurent to open up and be his true self around him. There’s something about Damen, like he’s constantly standing, arms wide, just waiting for Laurent to press against him. He falls for it every time. Infuriating before, but now…

There are so many things that are different now.

“Please,” Laurent whispers, no longer afraid to give in to the sensation, the needs and desires his body craves.

"Yes,” Damen replies softly, stroking his palms over Laurents legs to help him wrap around his waist. His palms spread over Laurent’s ass cheeks, pushing his back against the dresser and spreading him wide, thrusting inside. Damen shakes, and he starts to roll his hips slowly. It’s a deep fuck, Damen’s full length penetrating him completely, pushing everything inside of him all at once.

Laurent sighs, letting his head fall back, and he knows this is what sex should feel like. His mind is swimming, going white, and he loves not being able to think when Damen is inside of him like this. There are no thoughts, just his lover, and how good this feels. He’s forgotten about his crown; it sits, unmoving on his head, a background decoration, not important when Damen has consumed him.

He hooks his ankles together, bouncing slightly against Damen, moving with the slow roll of his hips. They grunt together, moaning, a hint of morning in their voices. Admittedly, they did this for a while last night, and their movements now are filled with their lack of sleep. Laurent wraps his arms around Damen’s neck and growls softly, leaning in to kiss him again.

Behind him, the dresser rattles with each thrust, barely moving. Laurent tilts his head, loving the tingling sensation of Damen’s lips against his neck. Those kisses are his favorite, the ones against the tender skin of his neck. They shoot right down to his stomach, fluttering in his belly like butterflies dancing through a spring breeze.

“Damen,” he moans, “Exalted.” Laurent likes using this title, feeling the shudder of Damen’s hips when his cock twitches inside of him.

“Laurent,” he breathes out, “you can’t just say that.”

“Oh?” he teases, rubbing his fingers over the vertebrae of Damen’s spine. “I suppose I’ll have to say it more.”

“Only if you want it to end.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Laurent pants.

Damen rolls his hips slowly, and Laurent hums, enjoying the way their bodies slot together, heated, yet sexy. Laurent always turned his nose up at the idea of romance, of having a sexual encounter like this. His experience had been little, minus the horrible things he witnessed as both a child and adult in the Vere court. They were rather open about their sexual endeavors putting on displays filled with false sounds and fake expressions, and while Laurent didn’t mind being open with Damen, he never saw the appeal before. Damen is different, Damen makes it real. The only person who deserves to have Laurent like this is Damen. No one else.

The thought alone makes him reach an edge. Damen thrusts deeply again, grunting when Laurent clenches around him. “I… Damen,” he moans deeply, kissing him as he spends himself, his body trembling through the release.

With a few heavier thrusts, and a bit more aggression, Damen is finishing too, lazily moving his hips even as his cock begins to soften. It’s possible he’ll get hard like this again, inside of Laurent. He wouldn’t mind, he could have Damen resting inside of him like this forever; it’s comfortable.

“I love you,” Damen whispers, pecking kisses against Laurent’s now drying lips.

The words aren’t the first time Damen has said such a thing, but it still makes Laurent’s heart skip a beat. He swallows, nodding, thinking about all the times he’s said those words. At one point, he’s certain he told his uncle that as a child. A farce. Even his parents, while they loved Laurent and his brother, it was different. Auguste had been the one Laurent had felt the most love from besides Damen. Auguste would’ve given him the world, and in that sense, Laurent knows Auguste would, ironically, approve of Damen.

“I love you, too,” Laurent whispers back, smiling at Damen. There’s no one else he will ever say that to.

“You know,” Damen mutters, pulling back to stare. “No one has come to get us, perhaps we could steal a few more minutes in bed.”

Laurent smiles. That sounds more than wonderful. Soon, someone will come to steal them away for the laundry list of tasks which need to be done, most of which will not be completed in one day. But for now, a bit longer alone with Damen sounds heavenly. “Perfect,” he says, hopping off the dresser, the crown slipping forward on his forehead. “Ah-” he gasps, and adjusts it, starting to take it off.

“Leave it,” Damen says, taking his hand as he starts to lead him back to the bed.

Turning around, Laurent catches his reflection in the mirror and he smiles at what he sees. Damen’s fingers are slotted between his own, thumbs brushing Laurent’s pale knuckles. Laurent’s crown is a bit lopsided still, but it does suit him, like Damen said. Giving Damen’s hand a squeeze, he nods. “Alright.” Laurent finds the crown is already lighter.

[ohlovxr]

missing him || matt murdock x fem!reader

between his day and night jobs fighting crime, you tend to miss your boyfriend every once in a while

words: 1.7k

cw: fem!reader, unprotected p in v sex, choking (not really but hand on neck and a bit of squeezing so)

masterlist

Matt was greeted with the sound of a sniffle as he entered the apartment. Undoing the ropes that wrapped around his hands to the length of his forearm, he stepped into through the entrance to the shared bedroom and gauged the way you shuffled underneath the sheets, tightening your hold on them as you turned your back to him.

“I know you’re awake.” His brows furrowed underneath his mask when he heard you whine lowly and click your tongue, unravelling the last of the rope. “What’s wrong, honey?”

He pulled his mask off as he made it over to your side of the bed, resting it onto the bedside table before crouching down to your level. He pressed his forehead against the side of yours that wasn’t shoved into the pillow with the rest of the side of your face, his nose bumping lightly into yours, and you whined softly. His hair was a mess. With one eye, you glared at him because the bit of hair that fell onto your both tickled you and was damp with sweat.

“Hey,” his voice was soft as he nuzzled his forehead against yours despite the way you continued your little glare.

And despite the fact that you used the silk sheet over you as a pseudo barrier against him in your anger, you let his hand slowly pull it down. He laughed breathlessly when he’d pulled the sheet as far as your torso and gauged the fact that your arms were crossed stubbornly.

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation to your angrily crossed arms. Under the weight of his attention, you found yourself caving for the moment and grumbled, “It’s only one a.m., shouldn’t you still be out protecting your city?”

Matt let his head fall as he laughed again at the way you deepened your voice to mock him, knowing your words weren’t spiteful but a reflection of the fact that you just wanted attention.

He pulled the sheet off the rest of the way and grabbed your arm to pull you up until you were sitting on the bed with your legs hung over the edge in front of him. Somewhere in between, his mind became clouded with your scent and the realization that you weren’t wearing any underwear.

Meanwhile, whilst a smirk crossed his face, you found yourself increasingly distracted with his squatting form in front of you. His body through the thin black shirt he wore - one that you complained about one too many times regardless of how perfectly it clung to him because it provided no protection against the numerous knives and guns the criminals he goes up against don - made breathing suddenly harder. His muscular thighs that bumped against your naked calves only made your mouth water.

“Oh, honey,” he cooed as he ran his thumb over your bare thigh, his other hand playing teasingly with the hem of the large shirt you wore, “Did you miss me? Is that it?”

Both his hands grasped at your thighs when no response came, the scent of your arousal hitting his nose harder than before as he pulled your legs apart. He swiped a finger through your wet folds and pulled a shudder from you as he spoke, “C’mon, don’t be stubborn, sweetheart. It’s not like you.”

You whined when his thumb began circling your clit as he gave you an expectant look. The grip you had on the sheets underneath you only tightened as the sensation overwhelmed you.

It’s not hard to give into him. It’s never hard. In fact, it’s dangerously easy. “Yeah,” you said softly, “I just miss you, Matty.”

“I’ve been so busy, haven’t I?” His thumb continued rubbing whimper-inducing circles into your clit, so quick to begin twitching with sensitivity so long without attention, as he cooed against your lips. His other hand left your thigh to push a strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your neck and letting his thumb run over your jaw. “Haven’t been able to give my girl the attention she deserves, have I?”

He chuckled lowly when you eagerly hummed in agreement. You brought your hands up to rest on his shoulders before you spoke breathlessly against his lips, “I need you so bad,” you whined and squeezed the muscle that padded his shoulders when a sharp course of pleasure ran through you, “Please, please, please-”

Your begging was cut off by soft shushes and a whispered, “I know, honey, don’t worry,” before Matt was trailing slow kisses from your lips to your cheeks to your nose to where he stopped at your forehead. He murmured, “I’ll take care of you.”

The cry of protest that left your lips when he pulled away from you and stood up quickly died off as you watched him begin to undo his belt. You didn’t get so far as to watch him pull his cock from his confines as much as you did see him pull the belt from the loops before he’d asked something of you.

“Turn around, baby.” When you didn’t comply with his soft spoken words, too distracted by his form hovering over you, his tone got firmer. “Hands and knees. Now, sweetheart.”

At that, a small “‘kay” escaped your lips as you turned, settling yourself down on your hands and knees. “Ass up high for me.” You heard his voice from behind you. Your brows furrowed as you tried to figure out when he’d made his way over from beside the bed. All the same, you put your weight down on your forearms and let your cheek rest against the soft sheets. You felt the shirt you wore slide up your midriff as you propped your ass up higher. A low “attagirl” fell from his lips and you flushed at the praise, pussy clenching desperately around nothing.

The bed quickly shifted with Matt’s weight and you jolted in surprise when both his cock slid through your slick folds and the rough demin of his pants scratched against the back of your thighs. His hands palmed at your ass and spread you open for him, your lips parting with a wet sound that had a chuckle escaping him. The way you whined a distressed “daddy” and attempted to push back against him when he let his cock prod at your soaked entrance only spurred him on. “Oh, poor girl. You just need to have this pretty pussy filled up, huh? Didn’t have to do a single thing and you’re already so wet and ready for it.”

You didn’t have the chance to refute his usual condescension before his cock pushed past your entrance, welcoming the burning and toe curling sensation that came with the way his cock stretched you open.

A whine escaped your lips as you tried to move your hips, having completely disregarded the fact that you needed to adjust to his size. His hands gripped at your waist and kept your upper half pinned to the soft bed. “You need a minute,” he reprimanded you.

“Please move, daddy,” you softly cried out to him, begging him as you tried once more to move your hips yet once more standing no chance against his strong hold, “‘m fine, I promise.”

He only clicked his tongue and shushed you softly, “It’s for your own good honey.”

A sigh of relief escaped you and your walls clung to him when he finally pulled out and thrusted back in, starting with a pace that was slow and deep and hard. Whimpers fell from your lips as his balls slapped against your clit with every thrust that followed.

“There you go, sweetheart.” He pulled a cry from your parted lips with a sharp, fluid thrust. He ran a hand over the heated skin of your lower back. “Feel good, honey?” he chuckled knowingly as you squirmed under his touch and whimpered in response, feeling your pussy tighten around him.

It wasn’t long before he let your body fall onto the bed and draped himself over you. His thrusts turned into low grinding and you could feel every inch of him filling you up - and you swore you could feel his cock throbbing between your swollen walls.

“That’s my good girl,” Matt’s lips connected with your temple as he murmured to you, bringing one hand up to cradle the front of your neck, his fingers flexing lightly over the pressure points, and sliding the other between your body and the bed to toy with your sensitive clit, “Taking me so well. ‘S like you were made for me, huh?”

“Yeah, ye-yes,” you sobbed out as his cock brushed over your g-spot and pulled a groan from his lips as you clenched around him, “‘was made for you, daddy, just for you.”

Soon, the room was filled with nothing but the lewd sound of his cock splitting you open - the squelching of your pussy taking him deep and the smack of his denim clad hips against the fat of your ass - and the echoing of little uh uh uh’s falling from your lips with every deep thrust that mixed with his moans and grunts of effort.

“That’s right, honey,” his low thrusts sped up as he cooed into your ear, rolling your clit between his fingers. Your cunt clenched around him tighter than before and he groaned, “Come on, cum for me, baby. Lemme feel you.”

The deep seated heat in your stomach boiled over and your vision blurred as you came around his cock, his hand squeezing your throat lightly and his hard thrusts unrelenting as he guided you through it.

It’s after the spasming of your cunt around him comes less intensely that he’s burying himself deeply and pouring his cum into your depths, his cock throbbing and balls twitching against your clit with each spurt. His low moan is muffled by where his lips were pressed messily against your flushed cheek.

You craned your neck in his direction once his grinding came to a stop and pressed your lips to his for a series of little pecks. You could feel the way his lips formed a little smile against yours before he murmured into them, “Still missing me?”

And despite the little ache in your body and the now crushing feeling of his body over yours, there’s only ever one answer you could give to such a question.

“Always.”

[world-of-fire-and-flight]

Mirth's Ebenezer: Part 10

A/N: Y’all. It’s official: this series has taken the title of “my longest series” from Love Letters (bonus chapters/outtakes excluded)✨

Warnings: swearing, argument, some hostility, vague threat, worry, anxiety,

My Masterlist | Taglist Info | Mirth’s Ebenezer series

“Welcome to our home away from home!” Superhero said, waving her inside before she’d even grabbed her bags from her car.

Glancing over at him standing in the utility room door and grinning at her, Mirth rolled her eyes. “I’ll admit it’s a pretty house and not at all what I’d expected from the whole ‘this is house arrest babysitting duty,’ but you’re way too happy to be here.”

“Who says I’m not happy because there’s finally another sane human being here,” Superhero said, stepping down into the garage to help her unload the car.

Mirth laughed. Swatting their arm, she hauled her duffle bag out of the trunk. “Oh, come on, he’s not that bad. You’ve just never drank his eggnog. It’s like all alcohol!”

Superhero cringed. “Must you remind me of your bonding time over Christmas?”

“It wasn’t bonding time,” Mirth growled. “It was my civic duty…more or less.”

Shutting her trunk, Superhero raised their brow. “Cut the crap. I know you had to claim ‘civic duty’ and all that for Whitmire, but was it really?”

“I don’t know…” Mirth shifted on her feet, biting her lip. “Maybe it was both. It was my first Christmas alone, okay? You know holidays are meant—”

“‘To be spent with people you care about,’ I know.” They led the way toward the utility room and into the house. “I’ve heard your motto. Maybe next year I won’t work Christmas so you won’t have to celebrate alone—or with a criminal.”

“You’d be more than welcome,” Mirth laughed, “but I’m hoping my family won’t be scattered to the wind come Christmas. You should really come and celebrate with us, give yourself a break.”

Superhero kicked the door shut behind them. “You know I don’t do big family gatherings…or gatherings.”

“It’ll be fun!” Mirth grinned. “And you don’t have to interact, you could just be your usual grumpy self but with other people around!”

Shaking their head, Superhero brushed past her. Mirth thought she saw a soft smile on their face, but knew they’d never admit to it. She followed after him, taking in the lightly decorated hallway with surprise. She’d expected bare walls and gray paint, but this house was anything but. Sure, it was only a generic painting here, a warm cream on the walls, and a shelving unit with a vase and some silk flowers there, but it made Mirth think that maybe the next three years weren’t going to be so bad after all.

“You really know how to tug at someone’s heartstrings.”

“I thought you didn’t have one, Supes,” Mirth teased, “I mean it’s very hard to tell under the whole ‘brooding hero with an immense sense of duty and justice coursing through their veins’ vibe you’ve got going on.”

Passing by another opening, Mirth saw that it was a sitting room with a large T.V. and a sectional couch.

A sectional couch, with a villain sitting upside down on it while he stared at the ceiling.

“Oh hey, Mirth,” Baron said, turning his head to glance over at them.

“Uh hi?” Mirth didn’t know what to make of him. And not just because of his chosen position, but because it was the first time she’d seen him without a mask. She glanced over at Superhero beside her. He only shrugged, as if he’d accepted the fact that this was to be their life for the next three years. “What are you doing?”

“Superhero hid the remote and there isn’t a single tool in this place that I can access.”

Murmuring to Superhero, she blinked. “You hid the remote?”

“I wasn’t watching another [Network] movie even if he held a knife to my throat,” they whispered back.

“The knives are with the tools!” Baron sat up, swinging his legs to the side and back to the floor. “And so are the forks and the spoons, and do you know how difficult it was to find a snack that didn’t require waking you up for a utensil last night?”

“No, actually, I wouldn’t know because you did wake me up when the alarm went off after too many failed passcode attempts on the supply closet door!” Superhero set down the duffle bag he’d been carrying and stalked over to Baron.

Standing toe-to-toe with each other, Mirth shook her head, watching as Superhero jabbed a finger at Baron’s chest. Sighing, she listened to them bicker back and forth with each other. And in that single moment, any hope for the next three years and living peacefully in this beautiful home evaporated.

“Right, well if you two are fine here, then I’m gonna go get settled,” she called over their raised voices.

Both heads snapped in her direction, their fight pausing mid-sentence. Superhero straightened, their features easing. They took a step away from Baron and turned toward her, opening their mouth to say something, but Baron spoke first.

“We thought you should have the master bedroom.”

Mirth’s brow raised in question.

“Yeah, so you wouldn’t have to share the hall bath with one of us,” Superhero added.

“Is that the only thing you two could agree on?” Mirth asked, setting her bag down and putting her hands on her hips.

Glancing at each other, the two seemed to have a non-committal conversation.

“No?” Superhero said more in question than in answer.

“Yeah, no,” Baron tried to explain, “I’m sure we agreed on something else, right, Superhero?” Snapping his fingers, Baron’s eyes sparked with remembrance. “That thing! We agreed on that thing, with the…”

“Yeah, the thing,” Superhero said, staring at Baron like he’d lost his mind. Looking back at her, Superhero started forward, “Come on, I’ll show you the—”

“I can find it myself,” Mirth said. “You two need to figure out how to live with each other in the next ten minutes, or…well I’m not sure exactly, but neither of you are gonna like it once I figure it out.”

Baron smiled, obviously trying not to laugh. “You’re such a hero. How are you honestly so good?”

Mirth groaned, nearly stomping her foot. Grabbing her bag, she didn’t dignify that with a response and stalked down the hallway.

*

Watching her go, Baron let out a shaky breath. He’d never really seen Mirth angry before, and if that was the extent of it, he didn’t think he had anything to really worry about.

“Don’t look so happy,” Superhero muttered. “If she’s genuinely angry at us, it won’t be good.”

Baron glanced at him, tilting his head. “I don’t think that’s what I’d consider anger, but okay, Supes.”

Whirling on him, Superhero glared at him. “One, we’re not friends. Don’t call me ‘Supes.’ And two, you’ve never seen what happens when Mirth gets angry. It’s subtle, but it’ll tear you down and gut you before she’s ready to forgive you.”

Baron couldn’t picture it being any worse than what he’d been through already. He was about to say as much, but Superhero stomped out of the sitting room, turning the opposite way from where Mirth had gone.

He didn’t think they’d done anything all that bad. People fight, they exchange words, they argue, so what?

Humming to himself, Baron decided he was going to get to the bottom of this before it became a bigger issue…and to hopefully avoid whatever possible fate Superhero seemed to fear.

Quickly making his way upstairs, Baron stopped before the closed door to Mirth’s bedroom. Inside, he could hear the light sounds of someone rummaging through the room. Nestled amongst the sliding of drawers and soft thuds or the twinkle of the room’s more delicate furnishings, he could hear Mirth muttering incoherently to herself.

His lips quirked into a small smile. Finally raising his hand to knock on the door, Baron prayed he’d figure out what to say in the time between Mirth heard his knocking and when she responded to him.

“I don’t care what you want, just go away!” she called through the door.

“But you don’t even know if it’s me or Supes,” Baron responded.

Utter silence echoed from the room now. Baron waited for some sort of acknowledgement, biting the inside of his cheek.

“You have a habit of showing up at my door at the worst possible times, do you know that?” Mirth’s voice was quieter now, though she sounded as though she stood just on the other side of the door.

“Why is this time bad?” he asked. Guilt wormed its way through his gut. His heart seemed to circulate the emotion through his whole body.

Mirth yanked open the door. Blinking, Baron took a step back, having not anticipated the door opening anytime soon. The anger and irritation he expected to see on her face didn’t show, and instead Mirth had a calm expression masking the tension of her features and the fire blazing in her eyes.

“Do you really not realize?” she asked. Baron opened his mouth to reply, but Mirth carried on. He shrank back as she answered the obliviously rhetorical question. “It hasn’t even been a day and you and Superhero can’t stand each other, pulling petty tricks or pranks on each other, and for what gain? You’re stuck here, they’re stuck here, and I’m stuck with you two. How are we supposed to do this for the next three years if I can’t even take a day without one of you calling me up and asking when I’ll be back? How are we supposed to make a schedule or learn to live with each other if you two aren’t willing to adapt?

“And that’s not even touching the fact that the Agency is essentially declaring war on Supervillain by investigating his spy within the Agency, or the fact that you’re going to help us in finding them.” She stopped, sucking in a huge breath before rambling on. Baron listened, trying furiously to understand what she was talking about, but all he could think about was the fact that this was the first time Mirth had ever shown any sign of insecurity to him, and he didn’t know how to handle that or give her any semblance of assurance. “And what if Supervillain finds the safehouse? What are we supposed to do then? Or what if—”

“Mirth,” Baron interrupted quietly, “it’s fine, okay?”

She looked at him, as if seeing him standing before her for the first time. Blinking hard, she took a deep breath.

Baron shook his head as he saw her plaster on a tense smile. “No, don’t just pretend you aren’t worried or that me telling you everything’s fine actually makes you feel better. I know that’s bullshit.”

“It’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?” she said, huffing a humorless laugh. “I’m sorry, I just completely unloaded on you, I just have all this going on in my head and…having you two fighting constantly in the background is something I don’t want to have to worry about or be caught in the middle of.”

“Okay, then I’ll stop,” he promised. “Even though Supes is an easy target, if we have other things to worry about, I can refrain from my favorite past time.”

This time, Mirth laughed. Baron’s heart clenched. An idea sparked in his head. Eagerness quickly flooded his veins.

“Take your time and get settled,” he said, already turning away. Mirth’s brows drew together in confusion. “And come downstairs when you’re ready, I have an idea!”

“What sort of idea?” she called after him.

Smirking, he replied over his shoulder, “You’ll see!”

Part 11 Taglist: @feline17ff, @selene-stories, @violetcancerian, @kaiwewi

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 6.

Summary: Ransom and you attend a wake for his great-nanna Wanetta, with the rest of his family. The knives are out, and they’re sharp…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So here it is, the penultimate chapter to this series! One more to go post this, plus an epilogue. I can’t believe it’s almost over…

Word Count: 9.5k (oops)

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 5

 You'd managed to get through Christmas fairly well. The days leading up, Ransom had been a little suspiciously sneaky but you didn't give it a second thought, really. Things between you and your captor were more than amicable, they were pleasant. But, despite the cohabitation and this new found demeanour in him, Ransom wasn't above reminding you that you were still under his eye. And under his eye you were indeed, all day long. He watched you as you read, as you cooked, as you wrote in your journal. Oddly, not once showing interest in your musings but working away on his own. 

Christmas morning, the two of you had spent a few lazy hours in bed, Ransom waking you with kisses over your bare skin, stripped down and tired from the evening before where he worked you over until you couldn't move, crying out his name near midnight, his breathless, tired voice telling you 'Merry Christmas' before he slept. After an easy egg and toast breakfast, the two of you were sitting around the lounge, the fire burning, the tree lit, soft music played in the background, watching a fresh layer of snow falling outside. You were reading Dickens' holiday classic, aloud while Ransom sat next to you, idling running a long index finger over your neck in slow and soft, up and down strokes, listening to you. Suddenly he'd stopped and removed the book from your hands. 

"I have something for you," he said, a slight eagerness to his tone. He slipped away for a brief moment, pulling a box, intricately wrapped, clearly not by himself, from under the tree. You'd never noticed it there, not once and you wondered when he'd put it there or if he'd hidden it in the very spot this whole time. 

The red leather box sat heavy in your hand as you read the gold inscription on the top. With an unsteady breath, you lifted the hinged lid and hitched your breath at what sat inside. A white gold necklace, with two interlocking rings in a signature Cartier design glistened back at you. The screw motifs which were set in ideal oval shaped rings studded with diamonds that twinkled in the light sat snuggly inside against black velvet.

You were stunned. The gesture far too expensive and in your mind inappropriate. But you also thought it was absolutely gorgeous, and you wondered how he'd come up with such an expensive idea. You'd not mentioned anything of the sort in your time together, in fact, you hadn't had jewellery on bar your ball studs in your ears now.

You looked up from the delicate piece and your eyes met expectant ones. "It's beautiful," you spoke softly. "Thank you."

"Let me put it on you," he sat next you whilst taking the box from your hands. He gently pulled it away from the box and unclasped it, settling it around your neck as you moved your hair out of the way, thin tendrils framing your face. Your robe slipped off your shoulder and you felt his soft lips against your skin, down your neck and along your shoulder. "Let me see you," he spoke softly.

You turned in his direction and you saw the way he admired the way the piece sat across your chest, the silk robe you were wearing over your barely-there nightgown gaping open. As his eyes blatantly roved down between the valley of your breasts your own flicked across his casual, lazy-Christmas morning form, his broad chest and shoulders clad in a white thermal, sweats hung low on his hips.

"Perfect," he whispered, leaning towards you.

You were not a bought woman, no; you were his victim, his roommate, his co-habitant, his lover, his partner, his... Oh for Christ's sake you could go on with the labels that did or didn't make sense, were mutual or not, had or didn't carry the weight of a proper explanation. Right now, you were going through the motions and emotions.

"I like it, a lot, thank you again," you replied as his lips grew closer to yours. "I've never had such an expensive gift before."

His lips ghosted over yours, "There's plenty more where that came from, Sweetheart."

The implication of his words had hit you like a freight train as you realised just how many more ‘occasions’ he was planning on the pair of you spending together. New Year, Easter, Spring Break, your birthday, his birthday, summer, Memorial Day. It sparked so many conflicting opinions within you that you were glad of the distraction when he moved, his fingers delicate as he undid the ties of your robe and led you down on the rug before his lips had traced a path down your body and soon he’d had you crying his name, sheer bliss coursing through your veins.

Later that day, you'd made dinner for him, a reminder of how Christmas used to be when Wanetta and his Grandmother shared the festivities. After the quiet meal, he had expected you to join him for a shower, no doubt as pay back for him going down on you earlier. When you'd respectfully declined stating you needed to wash the dishes, he sneered and sulked off. You'd made sure that when he was gone long enough, you were able to get things set up for your gift. Now was the time to show Ransom how gifts of meaning and purpose were to be given and hopefully received. Not that it was going to make a blind bit of difference to your situation, not in the grand scheme of things anyway. You'd finished cleaning and putting everything away and headed into the lounge where you stoked the fire and then made your way back into the kitchen for your supplies. The hot cocoa burning hot, the slices of bread, tongs and a small serving of butter, complete with freshly blended cinnamon sugar. You knew he would come find you when you were not waiting in the bedroom for him. If Ransom Drysdale was anything, it was a creature of expectation and habit. You'd heard him coming down the stairs, that one spot with a creak carrying his footfall. You straightened up your things, setting up the tongs and tray of treats nicely before covering them with a cloth napkin, standing between the coffee table and the fireplace, and waited on baited breath for the tirade you thought was coming. He had turned the corner, his face stern with evident hard lines, his bare chest on display, hair still wet from the shower. You could smell him as he entered the doorway, that scent that you'd soon come to realize made you heady and needy. You waved him over, a hunt of excitement to your tone, "come on, come sit." “I don’t want to sit, Sweetheart, I want you like I had you before dinner. Crying my name with you under me.” He stood just inside the doorway, with his arms folded across his chest, sweats hung low on his hips. He wore no shirt just to entice you, but you weren't giving in so easily.  "I'll say your name as many times as you want, but first, I need to give you my gift." You chose then to look at him with big eyes, sincere yet seductive. 

It was a stare off between the two of you, he not budging and you popping your hip out to one side as you folded your arms over your chest. He had his fun, now you wanted to enjoy something and gift giving brought you joy. 

Like a child told to apologize for hitting another, he hung his head and sulked over. You could tell it pained him to obey your request. But you again saw through his facade. You knew this meant far more to him than anything he'd ever received.

But he'd never tell you that. Not that you thought anyway. “Oh stop being so you, Ransom, for just five minutes.” You snorted exasperatedly at his petulant nature. “It’s Christmas.” With a roll of his eyes that would make any toddler jealous, he took to his knees sitting on his heels. With a smirk, you joined him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, "Merry Christmas, Ransom." You pulled the napkin off the tray revealing the contents of your gift. His eyes moved over the tray, first seeing the mugs of cocoa, topped with whipped cream that was beginning to melt into the warm liquid. The tongs, the bread, the small pinch bowls of cinnamon sugar and the soft butter. With his mind occupied, you managed to grab a throw and wrap it around the two of you. He blinked, and you could see that he was fighting the smirk that was threatening to cross his handsome face. “Toast?” He finally asked and you nodded, smiling. "I couldn't go get you something, not that it mattered, so this was the next best thing." A flicker of something darkened his face, and for a moment you thought you saw regret flash in his eyes, just like the day he had marked your face but as soon as it had appeared it was gone. "Just enjoy it, even if you can't say anything about it, just...." you shrugged, "remember." That night, after the toast with cinnamon butter and cocoa from scratch were shared, he had his way with you, delightfully slow, once more by the fire, you again crying out his name and he yours, over and over again. By the time he finished, you were both boneless and breathless, his body covering yours until he rolled over and the two of you slept by the fire, wrapped up in each other's arms, the heavy throw around your naked bodies.

Christmas had been nice. Maybe, somewhat enjoyable, you'd admitted to yourself. Of course, the wrench of not seeing your family had weighed like a stone in your gut, compounded by the fact that thanks to the lie you’d been forced to tell Blanc, they thought this was your choice. That you were staying away from them because you wanted to, when nothing could be further from the truth. You missed your mom and dad goofing around over presents, still trying to tell your now well grown-up sister and you Santa had been. You ached for the usual family politics that manifested when your uncles and aunts descended for dinner. You longed for your sister to be complaining about how fat she was going to get…

"We have to go," Ransom’s deep baritone caught you completely off guard, making you jump as you stood staring out of the large French windows over the garden from the master suite.

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, taking a deep breath to centre yourself, your heart racing at the speed of light from your fright. You took a glance at yourself in the mirror above the fireplace and found yourself wishing you’d done a better job at covering up the ugly scab and green bruising on your face.

You followed Ransom in his tan coat, pin striped slacks and a black cashmere sweater as he strode from the room. You felt nervous, anxious, scared. This was the first time you were leaving the house in two months. He led you to the garage where you started walking to the SUV he'd taken you in but he stopped you short, calling out to you, "not this time, Sweetheart." He stood at the passenger door to his vintage BMW. You swallowed and walked towards the door he was holding open for you. Wordlessly, you sank into the passenger seat and reached for your belt. Pulling it across your lap, you adjusted the pencil skirt and blouse you'd tucked into so as not to wrinkle it, your soft black peacoat bluky in your seat. The car roared to life, throbbing beneath you, the hum of the engine might, in other circumstances, have excited you. But now, the only thing filling you was dread. The first time you’re out of your "castle", and it's to go to a wake, for Wanetta Thrombey.

Go figure. ***** The silence in the car was stifling. Every so often Ransom stole a glance at Y/N to find her simply staring out of the window, at one stage reaching up to wipe her eye. He didn’t say anything, but he wasn’t an idiot. Over Christmas he’d caught her numerous time completely zoned out, as if she was somewhere else, just like she had been moments before they had left. And whilst she’d done her best to keep her tears and attitude at bay, she’d been clipped with him a number of times which he’d simply let slide and instead of reminding her about her attitude, he’d pressed her to tell him what was wrong. She’d quietly admitted that she missed her family, something Ransom simply couldn’t understand, so in the spirit of their recent candid openness, he’d asked her bluntly why she needed them so much when he gave her everything she could possibly ever want. At that she had snorted, and taken great pains to explain to him that just because he failed to understand something didn’t make it any less valid of a feeling to someone else and then she’d deftly changed the subject, and he’d allowed the conversation to steer elsewhere.

And now, the first time she’d been anywhere but the inside of his house and strictly the garden for months, they were headed to spend time with his shit-head family. The irony was staggering when you considered it. He eased his beloved beemer onto the main road and pushed his foot down on the gas, weaving himself in and out of the light traffic obnoxiously fast. But he wasn’t known for his patience, he had somewhere to be and in his mind; the faster he got there the faster he could leave, keen to spend as little time with his family as possible. About halfway into the journey, Ransom felt that familiar cold feeling in his stomach as he pulled off the freeway and on to one of the smaller roads. He could drive this journey with his eyes closed but it was the first time he’d been back to the mansion since... well, since IT had all gone down. The more he thought about it, the more agitated he could feel himself getting, his hands gripping the steering wheel of the car with a force that made his knuckles white. He was jolted however, with the feeling of a hand on his arm and his head turned slightly to see Y/N looking at him. She didn’t say anything, and no sooner had he registered her touch she moved her hand dropping it back into her lap, eyes focussed downwards as his turned back to the road. He swallowed, that familiar and uncomfortable feeling of remorse once more washing over him. Despite everything he had done to her, she was still voluntarily lending him comfort. 

Ten minutes later, he swung up the tree-lined driveway, his heart pounding in his chest. His jaw set hard as the mansion came into view, and low and behold his mother, standing on the front steps, a cigarette between her fingers as she exasperatedly texted on her phone. A meek voice came from the seat beside him, "its going to be okay." But he couldn't decipher if she were talking to him or herself. He cut the engine, his hands still on the wheel as he sighed and hung his head, before he turned to her. “I don’t need to warn you about trying anything do I?” He asked, ignoring her effort to placate him. "No," she replied quietly. “Good.” He reached out and gently gripped her chin between his thumb and finger, pressing as soft kiss to her lips, the action as much for him as it was for the benefit of his mother who was watching the pair of them. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”  He gracefully unfolded himself from the driver’s side, shutting the door behind him and strode to the front of his car, waiting for Y/N to catch up. Her face was set, an expression he’d seen countless times before when she’d been fearful and acting under duress. He watched as she took a deep breath and drew back her shoulders whilst he reached for her hand. Obediently, she took it and together they strode towards the large wooden door, his mother watching them as they approached "You're late," Linda scoffed.

He paid her no mind and pulled Y/N along his side. “I’m sure Nanna won’t mind too much, you know, on account of her being dead.” He retorted sardonically.

You stood by his side, your eyes watching Linda and she turned her attention to you, her eyes narrowing a little, a strange expression on her features, almost as if she was sussing you out. But, as her eyes flicked to your injured cheek before they darted to Ransom who still had a possessive grip around your hand you realised with horror it wasn’t you she was suspicious of. It was the bruise on your face, more so how it had gotten there.

You cleared your throat. “Funny thing,” you gestured to it and her eyes snapped to yours, “too much Scotch and I tripped. Face first into the corner of my vanity."

Okay, so it wasn’t a complete lie…but you still felt sick to your stomach at how quickly you’d jumped to his defence.

“Sure.” Linda arched an eyebrow.

“What exactly are you getting at, Mother?” Ransom looked at her, his jaw set and Linda rolled her eyes, taking a drag of her cigarette.

“Nothing really, I just find it extremely odd that you get an interview with this girl to clear your name and she ends up in your bed, only after she’s done a complete hatchet job on all of us first.” She dropped her cigarette end to the floor before she looked at him shrewdly.

“For which she published an apology.” Ransom’s voice was flat and carried an undertone of annoyance to which Linda paid no attention.

“Because you’re really the type to forgive and forget so easily.” She scoffed as Ransom gave a dramatic sigh as his mother continued, her head now turning to you. “You know, I could hardly believe it when Blanc told us you were with him, and then I saw you with my own eyes and now here you are again…“

“What do you mean, when Blanc told you?” Ransom frowned as his hand contracted almost painfully around yours, a warning no doubt to remain silent. His mother had hit the nail on the head, proving that she knew her son a lot better than you, and no doubt he, had bothered to give her credit for.

“Her disappearance was all over the news, more so because they’d linked it to that god-awful cretin of an actor, Lucas Lee.” She turned back to look at him. “But, no sooner had they done that he was cleared thanks to a cast-iron alibi and low and behold, a few weeks later Blanc turns up.” Linda raised her brows, her gaze fixed on Ransom. “I told him where to find you-“

“Gee, thanks.” Ransom drawled and she glared at him, before he rolled his eyes and gestured with his hand for her to continue.

“And obviously he did as he came back a day or so later, saying that to his surprise you-“ her eyes flicked to yours then and you swallowed “-were seemingly there, of your own accord.”

“I erm,” you fumbled on your words and felt Ransom let go of your hand, his palm warm as it now rested between your shoulder blades. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for another lie, one that this time you’d spun before and you shrugged, licking your lips. “I'll tell you the same thing I told him. I came to realize that despite my scathing feature, Ransom intrigued me. I wanted to get to know him more. One thing led to another and I figured if we kept our relationship quiet for a while, I'd save myself the spit on my face from my family and people like you.”

“People like me?” Linda arched a brow, her lips quirking up at one side. “

“I didn’t mean…” You shook your head, quickly taking a deep breath. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“A tad, but I’ve had worse.” Linda’s eyes twinkled with something that looked like amusement as she reached into her pocket for her packet of cigarettes. “But, what I don’t understand is, why let your family believe you were missing, dead even?”

“I, well, I was under a lot of pressure at work, and everything just got too much and needed to escape, from everything. Ransom told me to stay with him for a while to get some head space and I didn’t mean to cause anyone any hurt or upset and-“

You stopped dead as you felt Ransom curl his hand round the back of your neck, giving a squeeze in warning. You were rambling.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Sweetheart,” his voice was softly spoken as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “it’s none of her business.”

Linda looked at you for a moment, before she turned to her son and shrugged, popping another cigarette into her mouth. “I’ve long since given up trying to understand anything you did.”

“Well, like the judge said,” Ransom moved, his hand now on the base of your spine as he turned and guided you to the large door of the house, “not of sound mind.”

In the spacious drawing room, the rest of the family was gathered around. There were no others at the wake, Wanetta having outlived everyone she knew.�� You knew Ransom would offer no introductions, but that wasn’t an issue, you knew everyone anyway from your extensive research into this fucked up family. The fire burned in the background, and Ransom’s father, Richard, lounged in an arm-chair, a young woman who you presumed to be the au-pair Ransom talked about with disdain, perched on his lap. Walt was perched in another arm-chair, his wife Donna stood behind him, clutching a half drunk glass of wine, their son Jacob absent from the room. Marta and Meg were perched on the couch with Joni flitting about, a crunch from a carrot stick heard from across the room. You walked in and immediately felt the daggers in your skin as all eyes turned towards you. The knives were out and you swallowed, adjusting your sleeve, feeling Ransom's presence behind you.

“Here…” you felt Ransom’s hands gently pulling on the shoulders of your coat and he slipped it from your body, gently pressing another kiss to your cheek. You turned to look at him, offering him a small smile before he moved to hang the coat up on the stand at the far side of the room.

“Y/N, right?” Marta was the first one to speak as she stood up, and you nodded, not bothering to ask how she knew your name. It was a given she’d have read the article, and it was also a given thanks to the conversation moment’s ago with Linda, that the rest of the family had also been briefed on the fact you were ‘with’ Ransom. What clearly hadn’t’ been anticipated from the not-so-covert surprised glances that were being shared, was that he would have brought you today. “Can I get you a drink?” She continued and you smiled.

“Please, erm, a wine would be great.”

“Red or white?”

“She prefers white.” Ransom spoke and Marta’s eyes darted to his. You instantly felt his entire body language stiffen and you turned to him, the distaste evident on his face, his entire aura radiating utter disdain and bitterness.

Marta simply took a deep breath, her expression flat, but her eyes fierce as they remained in a silent stand-off.

“Can’t she speak for herself?” Meg scoffed and Ransom pulled his eyes away from Marta, turning his glare to his cousin.

“Is explaining what a lady prefers to drink considered sexist as well now or…”

“He’s right,” You jumped in quickly, smiling at Marta. “White is great, thanks.”

Marta nodded.

“Hugh?” She looked at Ransom and you blinked at the use of that name and then realised, of course, she’d once upon a time been the help. That said, you knew she was saying it simply because she wanted to, not that her status required it and there was an amused look on Ransom’s face as he turned to her.

“Beer.”

You rolled your eyes to yourself at his lack of manners, but from the expression on Marta’s face she’d been expecting it, and to be honest, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t been. Her lips curled into a sarcastic grin as she turned and headed out.

“You should try it, Donna. It’s got camomile and lavender in. I swear by it.” Your ears then picking up on a conversation between Walt, Donna and Joni and you turned your head towards them, Ransom’s arm curled round your waist, hand resting heavy on your hip. Joni bit down on the carrot stick she was holding with a flourish of her hands. “It’s my favourite thing FLAM have done.”

"You know, I'm surprised you didn't go under given you're no longer receiving Dad's money.” Walt interjected and Joni rolled her eyes.

“Shows how much attention you pay, Walt. When I released that new line of bath-bombs and candles, sales, like literally, went through the roof.”

“Bath-bombs?” Walt frowned.

“Yeah, they’re like little cakes if you will of dried soap and fragranced that you drop into a-“

“I know what they are.” Walt rolled his eyes as Marta appeared, handing you your drink which you took with a thanks. “I was commenting on the fact you said you’d launched a new line.”

“Oh, yeah.” Joni munched her carrot stick some more. “I got the idea from Gwyneth Paltrow when she released that candle scented like her vagina.” At that you choked on your drink and hastily avoided looking at anyone in the room as various groans and loud protests from the males hit your ears.

At that point Linda walked back into the room and sat down in a chair not far from where you were sat and she smoothed down her trousers before she peered up at Ransom.

“How’s the book coming along?” She asked, peering from over the top of her wine glass as she sipped from it.

“Fine.” Ransoms shrugged. “Few little blocks here and there but I’ll work through them. Granddad always told me sometimes it pays to take a step back and pause, ideas often come when you’re not expecting them.”

Linda smiled, and you were pleased to see that, for once, it appeared genuine, as if she was actually looking at her son with something more than ambivalence. And then, the moment was ruined as Meg burst out laughing.

“You’re writing a book? What’s it called? ‘Ransom’s Guide To Being An Asshole’?” She snorted and Ransom took a deep breath.

“Eat shit.”

“Original.” Meg replied drily rolling her eyes, “you know, I'm jealous of all the people that haven't met you.” She stated as her eyes turned to you. “Seriously, what the fuck do you see in him? Why on earth anyone would ever want to be in the same room with him, let alone share his bed is completely beyond me.”

“Tell me, Meg, when was the last time you got laid?” Ransom turned to her, a smirk on his face. “And your dildo doesn’t count.” “Fuck you, you fucking prick.” Meg seethed before she turned to look at you, her face angry. “You know, it must be serious if he’s bringing you here; he normally just keeps his fuck buddies on speed dial.”

“And throws the money on the mattress.” Walt mumbled.

At that, Ransom tensed and he turned his face towards his Uncle, his nostrils flaring. But before he had time to answer back, Richard let out a derisive snort and Ransom instead turned his head to his father.

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Ransom shot back, “Tell me, how much do you pay the barely legal whore sat on your lap?” 

“You little shit.” Richard spat as the poor woman in question shifted uncomfortably, her mouth falling open as the insult Ransom had shot at her registered.

You stood stock still, a warm and uncomfortable feeling washing over you as the family continued to bicker. You could feel a headache coming; this was becoming too much for you to cope with. 

“Oh for God’s sake.” Linda groaned, almost lazily from her spot on the chair. “Is it too much to ask that one of our family deaths goes by without starting another feud?”

"Oh that's rich, coming from you!” Richard, turned to her. Linda met her ex-husband’s glare with a completely blank expression on her face, before she scoffed.

“Why are you wearing those ridiculous glasses?” She demanded, referring to the spectacles that adorned Richard’s face, the style being something you would attribute to Harry Potter.

“So I can see.”

“You never needed glasses in the entire thirty-four years we were married.” She scoffed.

“I did.” Richard shrugged, a snarky grin curling at one side of his mouth and you instantly recognised that expression as being one Ransom sported a lot. “Just preferred it when I couldn’t see your face.”

Linda’s mouth dropped open and you felt yourself bristle as you took a breath.

“Are you actually gonna let your dad say that to your mom?” You glanced up at Ransom. His head turned slowly towards you and the expression of anger on his face at being called out made your blood run cold. You recoiled a little and your eyes immediately darted to the floor.

“Sorry.” You whispered.

"This is fun," Jacob snickered as he, from out of nowhere, waltzed into the room and took a seat in the corner of the bay window, never once looking up from his phone. “Ransom once more manages to spark an argument.”

“Y/N meet Jacob, the poster child for the pro-choice movement.” Ransom gestured to the teenager in front of you who merely rolled his eyes as both Walt and Donna began to yell and hurl insults back at Ransom.

“Says the guy whose birth certificate is an apology letter from the condom factory.” The teen mumbled back.

“Ooh, good one, which one of your alt-right, KKK loving buddies did you learn that from?” Ransom quipped, and in a quick change of decorum, the room erupted with slander and jabs being shouted and tossed about, most of the commotion being pointed at Ransom.

It was a cacophony of noise and sound, which infiltrated your head, making your brain buzz and crackle like the wick of a dynamite stick and it was too much. After months of quiet with no one to listen or talk to bar Ransom, it was overwhelming and you felt sick.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need some air.” You mumbled, seizing the chance, as he was distracted.

You made your way into the hallway where you stood, your back leaning against the dark wooden panelling, taking huge gasps of air. Your chest hurt, your head was spinning and your legs burned but those deep breaths didn’t help. Your hand slapped against your chest, hoping to ebb the sting. Soon, lightheaded, and with a slight spin to the space around you, you felt a cool hand on your shoulder through your blouse. Your head turned and you saw a sweet pair of eyes looking at you with worry.

“Let’s get you some real air, come on,” it was Marta, coming to your aide.

She took you outside, to a covered patio, with wicker furniture and heating lamps. The rush of cold air hit your flushed skin and a different sting erupted through your lungs as the bite of winter’s breath filled you.

“Here.” The young woman handed you a tartan blanket, which you took with a grateful look, still not quite able to form any words. She helped you sit down on one of the chairs and made sure the blanket was snug around your shoulders as she took a seat opposite you.

“They’re a little overwhelming, but you get used to it,” she rubbed a small hand up and down your back.

You just looked at her, your eyes watering as you came down from your panic. You had no desire to get used to it, to any of it, but as per anything in this fucked up situation, you were no doubt going to have to, like it or not. 

The breaths you took became longer, deeper, the peak of panic now steadying out leaving you feeling shaky and exposed.

“I’m sorry, that was…”

“You don’t have to apologise. With what’s happening inside, this is normal.” Marta softly smiled with a chuckle. “I’d be worried if they weren’t screaming at each other.”

“Can I ask you something?” You looked at her, speaking softly.

“Of course.” She replied, just as hushed.

“Why did you do it? Have everyone over? You don’t owe them anything.”

The former nurse rubbed her palms on her pants, “well, it’s what Wanetta wanted. She sorta came with the house and it was her last wish, for the family to come together. I think she thought after everything that happened something might have changed?” Marta shook her head at the audacity of the sound of it. “She didn’t say much more, but Allan had given me her will and that’s all it read. Things would remain the same but she wanted them here after she was cremated, for a final goodbye.”

“I admire her optimism.” You stated flatly and Marta laughed before she gave a heavy sigh, a sad smile on her face.

“Well, she loved them, not that any of them cared, not in years. The only one I ever noticed take mind of her out of want and not duty was Ransom.” She kept her eyes on yours as she spoke, genuine care coming from the sound of her. “But that was before…when he…with Harlan.”

You glanced away, not totally surprised but still a little shocked so to speak that someone else had noticed there was a little shred of humanity buried underneath all his asshole bravado. You leaned forward on your thighs, elbows resting there as your hands wrung together, a nervous habit you’d recently developed.

“Can I ask YOU something?” Marta wondered. You nodded, your stomach knotting, hoping I wasn’t what you suddenly thought it could be. “You’ve spent time with Ransom. I read your article and your apology. Do you believe all of this? The not of sound mind?” Her eyes were sorrowful but held a glare of contempt at the circumstance.

“Uh…” you started but the opening of the patio door caught both of your attentions and the man in question stepped outside, your coat in his hands.

“I was worried,” he stated, opening your coat for you as you automatically stood to receive the gesture. You had no doubt his worry was genuine, but whether it was for you or what you may or may not have revealed was another question.

“I needed some air,” you admitted, “Marta came to my rescue.”

“One man alone can be pretty dumb sometimes, but for real bona fide stupidity there ain't nothing can beat teamwork.” Ransom quipped in reference to the chaos of the family being together, chaos he narcissistically enjoyed partaking in.

You looked up at those daring blue eyes, “Mark Twain.”

He quirked a brow in agreement before his eyes flicked to Marta and then back to you. “Was I interrupting something, Sweetheart?”

There it was, that warning tone in his voice. You were on thin ice. You stuffed your hands into your peacoat pocket and shook your head.

“No.” You cleared your throat as you held his gaze. “Like I said, I just needed some air.”

As he stood there, his eyes searching hers he took a deep breath as she gazed back up at him, fear simmering within those deep globes. Ransom reached out, pulling her to him, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “As long as that’s all it was.”

Recognising his comment for what it was, half concern and half warning, she nodded against his chest. Without so much as another glance at Marta, he turned, his arm looped possessively over her shoulders as he led her back inside. He walked slowly down the hallway, stooping slightly to speak into her ear. “From now on, you don’t leave my sight, you got that?”

“Yeah, okay.” She whispered and nodded.

“Good girl,” he smiled, tipping her face up with on finger under her chin, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

*****

The next hour or so passed reasonably uneventfully. Ransom was careful to keep as much distance between him, Y/N and the rest of the assholes in the room as possible. When the buffet was served, he watched as she picked at the plate of food she had selected, not eating a terrible amount. She’d gone in on herself again, and he found himself a little disappointed if truth be told.

“We’ll leave soon.” He turned to her and she looked at him, “you’ve behaved today, I’m impressed.”

At that she rolled her eyes. “Is going back to that fucking house supposed to be a reward or something?”

At that Ransom felt a surge of anger and he glared at her, the nerve in his jaw twitching. “Don’t push me, sweetheart.” His voice was low, and a growl but to his surprise, instead of recoiling at his outward hostility and warning she simply sat up straight, her shoulders squaring and met him with a filthy look of her own.

“Fuck you.” She spat.

“Oh we already played that game.” His lip curled back in a snarl. “Several times.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Walt leaned forward a little to pick up something off one of the plates on the table by Ransom and he took a breath, his eyes still trained on Y/N before he turned to his uncle.

“Are you not dead yet?”

“Do you have to talk to everyone like that?” Joni sighed. “God, Ransom.”

“Well I thought the guys who bust his leg might have caught up with him by now, no such luck.” Ransom shrugged.

“Listen here you little shit,” Walt leaned over the table, but no sooner had he done that he suddenly began coughing on whatever food he had in his mouth.

“I’m listening.” Ransom quipped as Walt continued to splutter, Donna hastily hitting him on the back.

Jacob, who wasn’t even looking at the table, too engrossed in his phone, then spoke. “What did you eat, Dad? Wasn’t anything he gave you was it? I mean he did kill Grandpa so I wouldn’t put it past him to poison you either.”

A deadly silence spread across the room as Ransom took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on his cousin, his hand clenching into fists. Besides him, Y/N let out a shaky breath and her head turned to look at him but he didn’t meet her eyes. Instead he leaned back in his chair and when he spoke next, his voice was icy.

“Not of sound mind.”

“Yeah, we heard. Loaf of bullshit if you ask me, but then again an expensive lawyer can get you off most things these days.” Walt snarled.

“Enough!” Linda yelled, her hand smacking on the table. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Besides him, Y/N had begun to tremble, and Ransom glanced at her to see she was taking deep breaths, her chest heaving, face stony as she stared at the wall opposite, where a picture of his Nanna Wanetta was hung.

“Oh shut up Linda!” Walt turned to her. “Everyone here knows he’s guilty as sin, even you! Why the fuck he’s even here is beyond me. And as for you...” He turned to Y/N and she gave a start, her eyes flicking to him. “You might as well quit while you’re ahead as there ain’t no gold to be digging for. She got it all.” He pointed his fork at Marta and then that was it. Y/N let out a hell of frustration, standing up that quickly her chair tumbled to the ground behind her, the plate clattering to the floor by her feet.

“You think I’m with him for his money?” He glared at Walt, the entire room silent as all eyes focussed on her. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea. I’m with him because I have-“

At that Ransom’s hand shot out and curled round her wrist, his grip tight in warning and she jerked away from him, glaring down at him with a fire in her eyes he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“The whole lot of you are fucked in the head.” She tapped her temple with her forefinger. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my entire life. You’re nothing but a bunch of self-entitled, narcissistic assholes. After everything you've been through, you can’t even find it in your cold dead hearts to come together honour a member of your family that died without reducing the entire event to some kind of sick, twisted game of one-upmanship. Each and every one of you are all about yourselves, and what you can do to out accomplish the other. As far as I’m concerned each one of you can fuck off and die. You disgust me." 

She took a deep breath, running her hands over her face before she turned on her heel and stormed from the room.

Ransom blinked, watched her leave, a slam of the door behind her. He stood there for a brief moment, processing what had just happened. He looked back to his family with a smug shrug and at that he headed quickly after Y/N, his mother's obnoxious and loudly over dramatic gasp bouncing off his back as he too slammed the front door.

****

It was your turn to stand there and act like a petulant child as you leaned against the hood of the Beemer, cares and all fucks be damned. You were tired, you were angry and God damn down right fed up with this entire family and their bullshit. You didn't even make eye contact with him as Ransom as he approached the car. You simply moved to your door, slipped in as he did and waited for him to start the car. You felt his eyes in him, heard him open his mouth to say something but rather he just took in a breath and started the engine. You sat there, your arms crossed over your chest, knees at an angle, pointed towards your door, away from him.

A rumble of a chuckle escaped his chest, "Oh Sweetheart, that was really something."

"Just drive," you spat out, turning your head to him in annoyance. Now he didn't find you amusing, this new air of confidence about you. He cleared his throat and looked at you with a stern gaze.

"Careful, Y/N," he warned, pulling around the drive to the long road before the main. You didn't care. You raised your brows as if you were silently emphasizing your demand, it was not a request, even in the slightest.

The bare trees and snow covered ground began flying by your window, clearly Ransom laying the pedal to the floor as you shook your head.

"What the hell was even the point of going today? It was blatantly obvious that they didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be there. If you wanted to mourn Wanetta, we could have done it from the confines of the prison you like to keep me in. Or was this just another shitty way for you to torture me? Huh? Was that amusing to you, Hugh, making me spend an afternoon with your fucked up family, whom you hate, when you’re keeping me from mine? God, you really are a twisted son of a bitch.”

Your tirade set his skin on fire, you could see the tinge of red flushing his skin as he white knuckled the wheel, his hand on the gear shift squeezing the hell out of it as you spoke. Then very quickly you felt your body lurch forward as he slammed on the breaks. "What the fuck did you just say?"

“What, are you deaf?” You blazed. “I asked why we were there? I mean I thought we were going to pay respects to your Great-Nanna, because stupid me actually believed that you felt something, you know, some kind of sorrow that she was gone, and I actually felt sorry for you at first when we got in there, and they were unloading all their vile little opinions and digging in at you and-“

"Now you listen to me you little bitch," he spat, cutting you off. "I didn’t ask for, nor do I need your pity. I don’t care what my family say to me, or think about me. And I certainly don’t care what they think or say about you”

“Oh my god, you are…” You shook your head, looking out of the window, taking a deep breath. “This isn’t pity, Ransom.”

“No, because that’s what it sounds like.” He seethed, his hands curling round the steering wheel.

“Of course it does.” You scoffed. “Because that’s probably all you’ve ever felt towards anyone else isn’t it? Pity, because they’re never going to be as good as you, or have the things you have. Well you might be rich in money terms but fuck, in everything else you’re a pauper. Have you ever truly empathised with someone? Like have even once fully understood what someone else feels? Their sorrow, their happiness, their joy?”

“What the fuck are you getting at?”

You sighed, considering your options. You knew what you wanted to tell him-that the fact he wasn’t loved as a child left him incapable of the simple emotions normal people met, but he was calling you out. And now, it was play it soft or rip it off like a band-aid…

And despite the feeling of foreboding washing over you, you chose the latter. You were tired of playing his mind games, tired of this whole situation. And whatever fucked up punishment he was going to inflict on you, well, it couldn’t be worse than anything he’d already done, you’d take it.

“You don't know how to be happy, or how to love Ransom, because you've never seen it. You've never experienced it. You just breeze through life thinking you can take what you want when you want, and it doesn't work like that.”

 “You’re starting to really piss me off. If I wanted a therapy session, I’d pay for one.” He snarled, “Shut the fuck up.”

“See, this is what I mean!” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You just asked me to elaborate, so I did, and know because I’m saying something that you don’t like or don’t wanna hear, you’re resorting to being an asshole.  Every time I think I’m getting through to you, I…” You fell silent, swallowing as he glared at you, nostrils flaring and you took a deep sigh, knowing that this was pointless. “You know what, forget it. I shouldn’t-“

“No, you clearly got something to say, so go on. Say it.”

“What, so you can punish me when we��get back for pissing you off some more?”

At that his face faltered and he took a deep breath, hanging his head. When he raised it again to look at you, his face was softer and he looked out of the windscreen, licking his lips. “I’m not…gonna punish you, okay.”

“How do I know?” You whispered, shaking your head. “How can I trust that you’re not just gonna lock me back in that damned basement and come down when you want to fuck me and-“ “Because I’m not!” His voice rose. “I don’t want you down there anymore. So I’ll ask again, you think you know so much about how to love,” he framed the word with his fingers, "then tell me what you think it means.”

“Fine, you wanna know…I’ll tell you. It's going on dates, it’s fun, its surprising, it’s feeling like you can’t breathe if the person you are in love with leaves you. It’s not about owning them or breaking them or how much you buy a person or throwing money at them, it’s showing them you know how they are, that you understand what they appreciate and what they need and what they want, a lot of times without being told.” You took a deep breath, watching his face, his expression never faltering. “Love is something that can't always be explained. It's that feeling of family, of having your person. Someone your heart and soul changes for, grows with. Love is a mother's hug or kiss goodnight, a father's ball landing in your mitt with a joyful laugh and smile. Love isn't forced or taken. It's given and received. It's...."

"Fresh hot cocoa on a rainy day when you have nothing left in a world that hates you,” he spoke softly, and when you realized what he'd said it stopped your thoughts cold. Did that mean what you thought it meant? That he loved you?

You were lost for words, but before you could protest and tell him he was wrong, he sighed and looked at you.

“You asked me before why I brought you today. That’s why. Because they hate me. And you make me feel fucking safe around those pieces of shit.” Your breath caught in your throat whilst your mind raced for how to respond. The tension and suspense filled the air about the two of you. You stared at him, his eyes soft, expectant, darting over your features with a bouncing worry. The reaction time between his words and your next move was merely a minute but you had quickly found a way to capitalize on this moment. You threw your belt off and kicked your heels off in the process, moving over the gear shift and the centre console into his lap, the center seam of your skirt tearing as you straddled him. "Wha...." his words were cut off by your lips on his, your palms over his softly shaven face, fingertips sliding into the hair behind his ears. Immediately, your tongue slipped deep inside his mouth, lolling around with his. His hands found your waist and gave you a squeeze. You came to your knees as best you could in the small space and continued to kiss him while trying to inch your skirt higher. He'd guessed what you were trying to do and you felt his hands move from your waist to the tops of your thighs, fingers trailing down quickly to the hem of your skirt, lifting it to above the curve of your ass where it bunched. He didn’t ask or question your sudden burst of confidence or seeming desire, just as you’d banked on, instead he was quite happy to go with it, as usual always ready to fuck you any which way he could. Your hands trailed over the soft material of his sweater and down to the end of it, where it met the top of his slacks. You lifted the clothing slightly to ghost over his skin causing him to flinch before your finger tips found the button and zip of his flies. That maddeningly smug smirk spread across his face and your lips crashed back to his, a furious clash of teeth and tongue, your hands still fumbling with his pants. He was half hard before you even got him free, no doubt from the heated exchange the two of you had to get to here. As you palmed his girth in your hand, your brain switched from playing him to wanton need, a basic primal instinct of desperation to release the toxic stress your body held. His big hand and thick fingers trailed over your hip, your ass, down your thigh and finally cupped your heat and a deep ferrral growl emitted from his chest as he'd realized you'd worn nothing under that skirt. He dipped two fingers inside you straight away and you cried out, "fuck" as your body bent back away from him, keening at the feeling. “Fuck, baby, you’ve had nothing on under here all day?” His fingers curled inside of you and you groaned, your head rolling back as your hips pushed forward, thrusting against his hand. You couldn't use your words, you looked down at him with your pupils blown and your bottom lip between your teeth. You gave him a squeeze instead and he quickly lurched you into the steering wheel with his chest, his fingers falling away and both hands tearing your blouse open, buttons flying that will never be found. His nose tucked between the valley of your breasts and he inhaled between your fleshy mounds, his tongue dipping against the underside of your thin bra. His hands each palming an ass cheek and squeezing so hard, it delightfully stung. With what little space the two of you had to move, Ransom pulled you down into his lap, the need to feel you wrapped around him dangerously feral. It took no time for that single motion to get his head then every inch of his shaft deep inside you. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good," he ground out. He didn't care the mess she would make or the way he'd cum so hard he'd leak out of her, no, he wanted to fuck her senseless and that's exactly what he'd do. His heels cemented themselves into the footwell of the car as his hips jutted upward, her body curling in on him. “Harder, please Ransom.” Her voice croaked as she begged him and with a growl that was animalistic his hips picked up their pace as he rutted up into her quickly and harshly.  His mouth devoured the tops of her breasts, nipping at her nipples through the material of the lace that covered them while her fingers scratched at the back of his neck, tugging at his hair. In contrast to the cold winter conditions outside, the air inside his beloved car was now hot, fast steaming up the windows, drops of condensation trickling down towards the door sill a perfect mirror image of the sweat that was now sliding down the hollow of her throat and beading on his brow. He could feel her walls begin to squeeze him tighter and tighter with each thrust. His hands curled round her hips, pulling her down onto him as he leaned back, raising his ass off the seat slightly, spearing up into her as deep as he could. "Ransom," you started to shake senselessly, you were crashing fast and hard and there was no slowing down. "Fuck, baby, just like that," you'd heard him say over the blood that rushed to your ears, deafening you, as you came, gripping him like a vice. Your body gave way as your hands sought purchase to ground yourself from entirely collapsing, finding the lapel of his camel coat, white knuckling it with one hand while the other slapped against the damp window which felt like melting ice against your heated palm. A noise burst from your mouth, a half scream, half choked wail, a sound you weren’t sure you’d ever made before and you opened your eyes to see Ransom’s icy blue’s locked onto yours, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth. His voracious pace continued until the end when he came with a primal growl,  his hips raising off the seat far enough to jolt your head against the roof of the car. You felt him fill you, the warmth of his seed settling deep inside, and then some. The air was heavy with the sound of panting as the pair of you came down from the intensity of the moment, The both of you desperately trying to breathe despite the humidity. Your hands curled over Ransom's shoulders as he sagged back in the seat, his hands smoothing up the outside of your thighs. You swallowed hard as his eyes focused on yours. You leaned forward and kissed him slowly, softly, his mouth and body languidly responding. Pulling back slightly, you kept your forehead pressed to his, and took a deep breath before you went straight in for the kill, the reason you’d instigated this entire fuck, to capitalise once more on a seeming chink in his armour. "You said you feel safe with me." He stilled underneath you, his hands gentle as they now rest on your hips and his eyes locked onto yours, widening as he realised his admission. "Do you want me to feel safe with you? To trust you?" You continued, not giving him a moment to deny it. He nodded slowly in reply. "Prove it," you stated. "How?" His voice was croaky as he cleared his throat, a slight frown furrowed his brow. "I want to see my family again." He looked at you, and you kept your eyes locked on his, a challenge to him to make good on his word, gambling on him actually wanting you to trust him as he had taken great pains to demonstrate through various means over the past few weeks. This was it, the moment where you would find out exactly what he truly wanted- someone to love and trust him, or someone to fear and obey him. He let out a slow breath through his nose and his eyes flicked over your shoulder before they returned to yours and he gave you an almost imperceptible nod.  But a nod nonetheless. “Okay.”

**** Part 7

[vidalinav]

Nessian Week Day 2: Gifts (Part 2)

Summary: Cassian likes Nesta’s night gowns... and buying her things. Swear this is not a sugarbaby AU. It just sounds like it. 

You can thank @arinbelle and @simpingfornestaarcheron for this. They threatened me with knives. 

~

Nesta’s on the armchair when he gives her his gift. She’s already reading a book, and he can tell she’s surprised to see another one resting on his palm. 

“What’s this?” She asks, “It’s not my birthday.” 

Cassian only smirks, looking to wear she traces the cover, and where she traces his hands holding the book as if his skin is more precious than paper. “Does it need to be your birthday for me to give you gifts?” 

Nesta raises a too heavy shoulder for him gifting her a book. But he’s long since heard this argument she gives. He knows her all too well. 

“I haven’t gotten you anything,” she says as if the words might make it take him back. There’s disdain in her voice and Cassian knows it’s for herself. For the lack of love she thinks he’ll find by her actions. 

Cassian thinks no such thing. Nesta loves with her whole heart, so achingly overflowing. She rubs at his wrist without so much as a thought, as if it might soothe some pain in him. But the pain is in her, and so Cassian rushes to absolve her of her misguided guilt. “I don’t give you things, expecting anything in return. I get you thinks because I want to.” 

"But you’ve gotten me so many things lately.” 

Nesta’s right about that. Cassian is endlessly giving her gifts. He can’t stop, it seems. He goes into the city and they pass by a window, and something about that bag reminds him of Nesta. Something about that bike seems like Nesta. Something about that candle smells like Nesta. He passes restaurants and bakeries, and all around he sees food Nesta might try. He goes walks through the city, and he thinks of all the places Nesta would like. 

She never leaves his mind and when he’s spent the day with his friends, meetings turning into dinner, Cassian thinks of Nesta then, too. He stops by the bookstore, because what else screams Nesta Archeron, but a smutty book? He peruses the titles and finds the raunchiest he can find. Cover and all. 

That’s what he gives her to absolve himself of his guilt. For being away for so long, for not asking if she wants to come with, or go somewhere else. That’s what she holds in her lap. Something to ease them both. 

She sets the other book on the side table, and Cassian recognizes the title. One of her favorites she keeps re-reading. Nesta takes the book, flipping to the inside cover. Even the description is tantalizing. Cassian flips to some random page in the store and it has him wanting to read the words to her, or... have her read the words to him. He can only imagine what they can do with all that description. 

“You brought me a romance?” Nesta only looks up at him, blinking those long lashes and furrowing her neat brows. “How did you know which one to choose?” 

She purses her lips and Cassian focuses on the color. A dark shade of pink from where she bites. Nesta always bites them when she reads. A bad habit of hers.

But it’s the color that Cassian holds on to. How nicely it contrasts with her skin, the sweet freckles dotted across her shoulders from when she trains. Her shoulders are bare, except for two tiny straps. Such flimsy things to pull and tug. Still he wants to kiss at them like he does every night. Such an engrained, important routine.  

“You think I don’t know your tastes?” Cassian snorts. “I picked the one with the male that looked most like me. See.” He points to the cover, where there’s indeed a muscled male, with long dark hair. Cassian’s hair is shorter and his ears aren’t pointy and his muscles are much more defined, but it’ll do for Nesta’s fantasies. 

Nesta scrunches her nose and Cassian wants to kiss their too. Everything about her is tooth-rotting sweet. 

“You’re full of yourself,” she says. 

“And you haven’t said thank you,” he taunts. He uses the voice he knows annoys her. Casually chastising. A voice he knows also makes her blush. Maybe that makes her irritated, too, how much he affects her without trying. Cassian uses that tone well, and he uses it often. 

Cassian raises a brow, waiting for her response, but his mate waves a hand, half-dismissive, half-haughty. All manners of insecurity tucked away. This is the Nesta he knows so well. He knows the other parts of her, too. But this is the one he fans the flames to, the one who makes him light up with mischief. “I didn’t ask for the gift.” 

Cassian almost tuts, shaking his head. “But you like it. Page 103 has something in there we should try.” He tucks a stray piece of hair that falls forward, and he makes sure to brush his hands across her neck. “He takes his whole fist and he--” 

“Stop!” Nesta calls. “Fine, I like the gift. Please don’t give me anymore details.” 

Cassian smiles, a wide victorious grin. “And that means?”

Nesta scoffs, “thank you, Cassian.” 

“A please and a thank you, what will the world do?” He kisses her head, suddenly serious. He can smell lavender and peppermint tea and just her scent alone makes him want to hold her close. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. 

Cassian moves to sit on the side of the armchair. His plan is for Nesta to move, to make room for him as she so often does. Another part of their routine. The chair is big enough for them both. Perhaps they can read the book to each other, exchange word for every smoldering word. 

Nesta doesn’t budge from the seat. She begins to read and Cassian coughs, shuffling on the tiny arm space. He nudges against her shoulder, but Nesta simply continues. She doesn’t even smile up at his antics, give him a glare because he irritates her. She reads and she ignores him. 

“You haven’t gotten me anything,” Cassian complains.  

Nesta huffs, “you just said you didn’t give me things to receive anything back.” 

She barely lifts her eyes off the page as she tells him that and something about the way she looks at the book annoys him, has him wanting to reach for it and take it back, throw it out the window if he has to. 

“I can think of more than a few ways to thank me,” he goads. 

Nesta rolls her eyes, “All you think about is sex.” 

Cassian doesn’t disagree. Especially not when she begins biting at her lip as she reads. “Yes, but that’s all you think about, too.” 

He gestures to the book in her lap as proof and Nesta squints at him as if he needs to come up with better evidence.

“No,” she argues, “I’m currently thinking about how long it will take me to read this... I might be up all night.” She flips to another page. “You just got me something new to read and you were just going on about manners, I’d think it rude to not first enjoy my gift.”

“And what of my gift?” He sings.  

Nesta raises a brow, and it’s that expression that has him burning at the seams. Her hair is down and he wants to comb his fingers through it, pull at it, feel how soft it is... and she’s wearing one of those nightgowns again. 

She always wearing one, even if Nesta will hardly keep it on throughout the night. Cassian never knows what to do with his hands while she’s wearing it and he thinks that Nesta must know. She wears it to entice him. To make him want her more like that’s even possible. 

It’s possible, Cassian finds. 

Her nightgown today is the richest green and her skin glows pale in the moonlight. He aches to trace the sweet swell of her breasts with his tongue. They look so inviting in that silk dress of hers and there’s a bow right at the center. His present to unwrap. 

“I’m very satisfied with you being my present.” He says, his voice so low he can hardly recognize himself. With his thumb, he traces the little ribbon. “Look, you even have the bow.” 

Cassian watches as the blush rises at her chest and he wants to kiss there. He aches to do so, but first he moves to tug the ribbon with his teeth. And when Nesta straightens, her book lowering even further, he nips at her nipples that peak through the fabric. Just how she likes. A little bite and a tug, a little pain to entice her. To make her breath catch in her throat. 

He takes his time with them. Nesta’s breasts are gods given. They deserve his attention. Large enough to fit in his palms. 

But Nesta’s impatient as she always is. 

Cassian leans forward, until he’s practically towering over his mate. She’s so small on that couch and she looks lonely there, all tucked in dark blue. The book lays open where the fabric billows between her legs, but Nesta pays no mind. 

“Now will you let me unwrap my gift?” Cassian grasps her neck, and Nesta gasps but he merely rubs his thumb at her pulse. He can hear it hammering away as Nesta blinks, her eyes so wide and her cheeks so pink and he’s just at the edge of her mouth. 

He thinks he’ll kiss her there, but first... 

Cassian snatches the book from her lap. He holds it above his head as she leaps from the chair. Irate and just a tad too slow.

“Hey!” She scowls, “You overgrown bat! You just got me that book and now you’re bending the pages!” 

“It seems you get distracted easily, sweetheart. We should work on that,” He says. 

But Nesta’s been working on many things and so she lunges for him, wrapping her legs around his waist as she reaches for her book. Cassian merely holds it higher. 

“I mean why read smut when you can experience the real thing?” He offers. Nesta reaches even further, pulling at his shoulders. Cassian moves the book to the other hand, just out of her reach. “I’m always willing.” 

“You’re a horrible person and I hate you.” 

Cassian gasps at that, holding his other hand to his chest. 

“I don’t even want your gifts,” she adds, her eyes burning with fury. 

“Now you’re just asking to be spanked,” Cassian says, shaking his head, “Is that what you want, Nes? I think that was on page 50. It’s a shame you never got to it.”

“You just like to hear yourself talk!” But Nesta looks at him as she blushes, and when he smirks, she wacks him in the chest. “Give me back my book!” 

Cassian merely wraps his arms around her, keeping her steady in his arms. The book is tucked behind her back and Nesta twists to no avail. “How about you read it to me?” 

She hits at his chest again and Cassian laughs. “Fine, I can read it to you, but you should know I’m going to make voices for the characters.” 

“I hate you,” she seethes. 

Cassian only smiles and kisses at her nose. “I love you, too, Nes.” 

~

@arinbelle @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @nestaarcher0n @duskandstarlight @soitsgorgeous @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @thewhelk @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell @lovelynesta @sirendeepity @champanheandluxxury @ladynestaarcheron @moodymelanist @teagoddess99 @spoilersteph @angelic-voice-1997 @bo0kmaster69 @drielecarla @generalnesta @cozycomfyliving08

~

Two fics in one day? So unlike me. 

[kanejfiction]

Hey 👋, I see your taking Kanej fic requests so I was wondering (if you can of course) write one where some creep causes Inej to vanish in the the Crow Club, and she’s trying to fight the memories and the past or somethin’ like that? Thank you so much 😊!

Hey there, I'm so sorry this is so pathetically late- but I tried :) hope you enjoy!

,,,,

Inej had not been to Ketterdam in eight months. Eight months since Kaz Brekker held her hand without gloves, eight months since she knew they may have a future together- a future where she was more than just the Queen of the seas and he was more than just the King of the barrel.

While setting out to save children who would have, possibly suffered the same fate as her, what Inej had not anticipated was- memories. The first time she had ever been on a ship was when she was fourteen, snatched from her parents and shoved into an abyss of unknown darkness.

Captain Ghafa was, of course, still more than capable of taking care of herself. She had, therefore not taken care to send out word that she would be docking in the Ketterdam harbor at night. By the time she was done with her duties with getting the children who came to Ketterdam transport to a safe place and unloading the ship, the moon was high and it was late.

Inej wasn’t concerned about how late it was. The city was still the same under the sole of her feet- even after eight months at sea. She entered the Slat through the front door.

“Wraith!”

“Keep your voice down, Pim.”

“You want me to tell the boss you’re here?”

That. Now that she had not considered. She took two moments to think,

“Yes.”

He looked like a boy getting toffee as he left his post at the door.

Inej walked into the Crow Club, still buzzing with pigeons and unlucky folks who had come to try their luck at Three Men Bramble. The air was thick with the smell of kvas and sweat.

Isn’t this a bit too crowded? Inej thought. But then maybe it was her long months at sea which had destroyed her habit. She walked in. The noise was a collective chatter, some men loud sometimes.

She had no thought about what Kaz would say, or do. Was he the same? Did he change? Did he work on his layers or did he build the walls back up again?

It was not usual for the wraith, or even Inej Ghafa to lose vision of her surroundings even when she was thinking- but this time, she had. And she managed to stop right in front of a big man. A man she recognized. From her past.

“The Suli Lynx, is it? C’mere little lynx”

She wasn’t the lynx anymore, she had come a long way since then. Hadn’t she? The silks were no more on her, it was her fighting gear. But the smell- it was the same smell she used to get from him back then. It was engraved in her memory.

Inej reached for her knives, but even they felt too heavy. She found herself wishing she could disappear into the shadows- so she did the next best thing.

The world started to fade from her view, her breathing came shallow, and she found herself hoping the man did not notice the change. Just like it used to be, back in the menagerie.

Suddenly that smell was gone. There was a loud groan somewhere and the air filled with the smell of cigars.

“Inej.”

Her name, Inej Ghafa, Captain Ghafa, The Wraith. Not the little lynx.

“Inej, look at me.”

Look. Open eyes.

“Open your damn eyes, Inej”

The voice had a rasp. It was familiar. She tried to get her breathing under control, and slowly opened her eyes- only to meet the bitter brown pupils of Kaz Brekker.

“To my room”

And he walked away. He had held her wrist with his gloved hands and now he was walking away. Inej began to wish she’d never come back.

She stood there for a moment, the crowd that had gathered being dispersed by Pim and Anika. His boot disappeared behind the door. She started up the stairs.

---

Hesitating before the door for a moment, she pushed it open. She expected Kaz to have his gloves on, back turned and berating her for not being useful for herself with her knives.

He did stand with his back turned and hands clasped behind, but he did not have gloves on. As soon as Inej clicked the door closed, he relaxed,

“Inej.”

“Kaz”

“You’re back.”

Inej swallowed a lump, “yes”

Unprecedented, he turned, and opened his arms in a low arc, welcoming her for a hug.

Inej was beyond surprised. She stood there for two moments- and then before she knew what she was doing, she was striding across the room and into him.

His arms wrapped around her waist and tightened as she clutched the fabric near his heart.

“Who was that?”

“Someone-” Inej choked, “someone who made me disappear everyday.”

“Do you want me to move away?”

His voice was soft, his smell was familiar and his heartbeat-

“No.” she said, swallowing, “no, Kaz. I want to be home.”

He said nothing, but she felt the briefest brush of his lips against her temple and the slightest tightening of his arms around her.

[yamigooops]

Break My Heart

pairing: oikawa x gn!y/n genre: pure angst warnings: just angst really, I just wanted to write something sad lol words: ~2k

“Tell me you've never loved me Tell me that it wasn't real Just say you've found somebody else I wanna know the way it feels (Break my heart)” - Break My Heart by Hey Violet

a/n - time to break all your hearts, this had me tearing up while writing so hopefully it does the same to you so I'm not the only one hurting >:')

You were done, you’d had more than enough. You lay in bed, alone, for the fourth night in a row, waiting for your boyfriend of two and a half years to come home, and you were sick of it. Reaching over to turn on the light beside the bed, you picked up your phone to check the time. Almost 2 am. He should have been home an hour ago at the very latest.

With a huff, you threw the sheets off your body, sitting up. You rested your forehead in your hands, elbows braced against your knees. What else could you do? You’d told him so many times you’d lost track that he needed to try harder, that you needed more from him if this relationship was going to work. But he always brushed you off, assuring you that things would get better.

But they weren’t.

You sent a text to your best friend, knowing they’d be up at this time anyway, and asked if you could come to spend the night. You wanted him to know how it felt to go to fall asleep in an empty bed, just like you had done so often lately. Receiving an affirmative text from your friend, you rose and started to pack a bag for tomorrow.

Your mind raced. Did he even want to be in this relationship anymore? Did you? He had been putting in the minimum effort as of late, spending the vast majority of his time at training or going out with his friends and teammates. It seemed he had more time for everyone other than you, and you weren’t sure you could take it anymore. You almost wanted him to end it, almost wanted to get in a fight about it just to have him show anything other than nonchalance about the situation.

You had been so lost in your thoughts you hadn’t heard him come in, unaware of his presence until he opened the bedroom door. “Y/N? What are you doing up so late?” The smooth silk of his voice shocked you in the silence of the room, making you whirl around to face him.

There he was, Oikawa, in all his glory. His tanned skin bore a sheen of sweat, and his chocolate hair was mussed, from the wind or something else you had no clue. He looked worn out, though that could have been from practice or going out to the club. You wouldn’t know, since this was the first you’d seen of him since he left this morning to go to practice.

You clutched the sweatshirt you were holding to your chest, subconsciously shrinking back from the tall man. You weren’t expecting him to come home until after you had left, now it would be all that much harder to leave. “Um, hi Oikawa,” you muttered, taking a deep breath. “I’m going over to Y/F/N’s place for the night.” You were surprised you got the words out, almost caving at the thought of getting to spend even a little time with your boyfriend, even if it was at two in the morning.

“Why would you do that?” He cocked his head, looking genuinely confused. A small pout formed on his features, and you could tell he was genuinely a bit upset about it.

“Well, I-“ you broke off, not knowing what to say. “We were talking, and they invited me over, and since you weren’t back yet I thought I would go,” you lied. You weren’t sure why you did though, the angry part of you said you should have just told him flat out that you were upset with him. But the peacemaker in you won out, unwilling to cause a fight where it wasn’t necessary.

“But it’s a weeknight, why wouldn’t you just wait until the weekend? Don’t you have work in the morning?” He set his gym bag down on the bed, unzipping it to remove his dirty clothes from practice.

You gulped, mind flying as you came up with a cover. “They, uh, they’re having a bit of a breakdown right now, I was going to go over help them calm down.” You resumed packing your bag, placing each article of clothing inside carefully as you felt his eyes on your back.

“C’mon,” he whined. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you all week, can’t you just stay? We can cuddle. Usually, you’re asleep by the time I get home, so I’ve been missing out.” The pout was back in full force as he came up behind you to snake his arms around your midriff. He placed a kiss on the back of your head before resting a cheek on your hair.

“Yeah, we’ve barely seen each other all week,” you reiterated, something igniting in your chest. “And whose fault would that be?” The words came out before you could stop them, sharp as knives.

He stiffened against you, arms loosening. “Y/N, I have practice every day but Sundays, you know that,” he replied, a bit defensively.

You pulled out of his grasp, picking up your bag and placing it on the bed. “Yeah, and what about when your practice is over? Hmm? Where do you go then? From 6 to 2 in the morning?” You couldn’t stop the anger from bubbling over, your chest burning with it. Now that you’ve started, you couldn’t stop yourself. “Are you just hanging out with your friends instead of your girlfriend? Are you going out to the clubs?” Your tone was pure venom as angry tears welled in your eyes. Dropping your voice to a whisper, you hissed out the last thought in your mind. “Are you seeing someone else?”

He gaped at you, lips parted and eyes wide as he comprehended what you had said. “Am I- what?!” His voice raised at the end in indignation. “You think I’m cheating on you? You think that’s the kind of man I am?”

“What else am I supposed to think when I’ve gone to bed alone for the last four nights in a row?” You cried, tears blurring your vision. “Torū, I’ve barely seen you at all this week, tell me you wouldn’t be suspicious too!”

He froze, eyebrows coming together slowly. “No, I don’t think I would be,” he defended. “I have quite a bit of faith in you, and it hurts me to know that you have so little in me.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word. You brought your hands up to press the heels into your eyes, hoping to do something to relieve the pressure building behind them.

“My point isn’t to call you a cheater, Torū, all I meant by that was that I have no idea what you’re out doing because you don’t talk to me!” Your voice grew thick with emotion, face growing flush as you raised your arms up to clasp your forearms above your head, eyes still screwed shut.

“Y/N, I’ve just been spending time with the team, that’s all,” he replied exasperatedly, and you heard the soft thump of his clothes falling into the hamper. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been spending enough time with you, but there are other important people in my life besides you!”

His words left you silent, and you opened your eyes to look at the ceiling, head tilting back slightly. The lump in your throat grew, making it unbearable to swallow back the tears that slipped from the corners of your eyes.

“If they’re all so important,” you whispered, “then maybe you don’t need me anymore.” You released your arms, letting them fall to your sides as you came to meet his gaze. The sight almost shattered your heart.

He looked at you like a lost child, mouth agape and hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Were those tears in his eyes? You couldn’t tell from the distance between you. He reached up to run a hand through his hair, letting it rest on the back of his neck. “So… what are you saying Y/N? Hmm? Because I’m not sure at this point,” he breathed, eyes meeting yours and filled with emotion.

You took a moment to get your thoughts in order before responding. “I guess what I’m saying is-” you hesitated, unsure if you should continue. Could you continue with this relationship? Were you happy with him anymore? “I want you to break my heart. It’s already on its last leg and I just need you to cut the last strings because I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

There was a look of pure agony in his eyes. His hands went limp at his sides, and his shoulders fell. “Y/N I-” His voice cracked with emotion. “I don’t think I can do that." He took a step toward you, then another, until he stood just a few inches away, looking like he wanted to wrap his arms around you but refraining. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

All you wanted was rest your head against his chest, cry into the soft fabric of his shirt and act like you were still in love with him. But you couldn’t, not anymore. “I was scared that if I talked to you about it, then that would make it real,” you whispered into the space between, eyes stuck on the collar of his shirt and unable to meet his.

There was a pause, silence overcoming the two of you and thickening the air around you. You could practically hear his brain working to come up with a response that wouldn’t kill you, and you almost broke and fell against him. But you didn’t, couldn’t.

“I don’t think I could ever bring myself to break your heart,” he murmured, words smooth and soft. “But if you need me to cut whatever ties you have left, I’ll do it, even though it kills me. Whatever you need, I’ll do, even if it means I have to lose you.”

It was then that you gathered the courage to meet his eyes, and the moment you did you regretted it. Tears slid down his angled face, shining in the soft light of the lamp. Your heart crumpled, nearly unable to handle the fact that you were doing this to him.

You allowed yourself to reach up and rest your hands on his cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” your thumbs ran beneath his eyes in a useless attempt to wipe away his sadness. “I never want to hurt you, but this just isn’t working anymore, and my heart can’t take it. I’m sorry.”

He leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, eyes shut, and lower lip drawn between his teeth. His hands came to rest lightly on your hips, fingers wrapping into the material of your shirt. “I know, I know,” he assured you softly. “Things haven’t been the best between us lately, I know that now, but still-” Your hands snaked around his neck, effectively pulling him closer. His lips came to press against your forehead, and the feeling almost made you melt into him. “I’ll always love you Y/N, but if you need me to cut ties, I’ll cut them.”

The feeling of his breath against your skin brought on a fresh wave of tears as you nodded. “Thank you, Torū,” you murmured, fingers running through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Thank you for everything, I mean it.”

He sighed, pulling you against his chest as his arms encircled you fully. “I know, Y/N, you’re welcome.”

consider buying me a coffee for exclusive writing

[binniesthighs]

call me babydoll | reader x chan

a/n: cuties!! hehe we’re finally getting...a couple things in this chapter that i’ve been wanting to share sooo bad! i added question marks to some of the tags to make it more of a surprise! i love hearing what ya thought of it! hehe <3 

Five 

Pairing: self insert, (?) x female reader x bang chan 

Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut and angst 

Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, collegestudent!seungmin, royal!minho, informantandclubowner!changbin (loll thats so long), (?)!felix, skz side characters, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, mentions of alcoholic drinks and getting drunk, hehe bit of smut/suggestive content (tags omitted for surprise--nothing crazy to tag tho hehe), maknae line are my sons in this fic, binnie in this fic can fkn take me lol 

CWs: sizable shoot out in public club with several people involved, presumed that people die because of this event, lots blood and other wounds such as gunshot wounds, mentions of drugs (both recreational and hard drugs) mentions of weapons such as knives and guns--the whole scene is violent 

Word count: 8.5k 

Parts 

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE 

“Five years later and I’m still tying your ties, F. Some things never change.” 

Jeongin cracks a smile, simple and cute, much like the man himself even when he has a handgun glued to his hand. 

“It’s still a harder task than some of the stuff that they have us doing. Not gonna lie.” 

You smooth down your partner’s lapels where he’s pinned a small pin of the ticking clock. While others would wear crests, the insignia that bonds you to the younger man is this this small instrument. He’s quiet while he watches you fiddle with his silk blue tie that compliments his snow white hair perfectly. 

“Are you nervous for tonight?” 

Your partner upkeeps his stoic façade the best he can, but tonight there’s something different about him. His silent answer speaks louder than he could ever admit. On the queen sized bed, Seungmin kicks his perfectly shined shoes while flipping through the channels of the TV with a staticky sounding click. Jeongin lightly brushes his hand over the diamond dangling earrings that twinkle as they are supposed to from your ears--likely they’re crystals, not the more expensive jewel. 

“I’m not nervous,” He finally sighs, but there’s a bit of a crack to his voice. “I trust you. And Two. I’m trying to focus on that.” 

“It’ll be fine.” You assure, “White Rabbit must have his own security that would be at his beck and call. If anyone shoots at us, they’re shooting at him. We’re not alone.” 

The young agent nods, then gives a little slap to the college student on the bed. “Get up. We’re leaving. Remember what I showed you?” 

Jeongin draws from the bedside a small handgun. It’s more decorative than protective, but still fires bullets that could save his life. 

“Keep it in your breast pocket. Make sure that no one sees it. We don’t wanna cause a scene.” 

Seungmin’s eyes widen as he feels its weight in his hand. “Got it. I hope I don’t have to use it.” 

“Me too,” You give the youngster a soothing smile. “And remember, don’t tell anyone your name. When you’re in there, your name is S. Better yet, it’s best not to interact with anyone.” 

He nods, then slides it into the thin fabric of his coat. The young man looks considerably more dapper with The Agency’s clothes: a deep purple velvet two piece with silver cufflinks decorated with white roses--another symbol that you’ve grown familiar with. 

The prince saunters up to the bedroom with a slick tap at the opened door. He oozes with regality; not like you expected any less. The royal has dressed himself magnificently without the aid of his help once more: a pure black silk suit with a smart pressed white button up that’s spotless with not one crinkle. The while shirt itself is adorned with two thin silver chains which stretch across his lower torso. At the neck where the shirt meets its last button, there’s a floral brooch: one more more white rose for good measure. 

“Wow!!” Seungmin respectfully bows. “Your Highness, you look--” 

“--I didn’t fuck up the hair, did I?” 

Chan grins as he brings his fingers through his newly colored hair; its much lighter than his dark locks had been before: now a shade of tawny brown. The change to his appearance had come at the request of the palace who suggested that he try to conceal his identity even further as to not arouse suspicion. 

“Handsome as ever, your Highness.” You sneer out the compliment. 

Since the previous night had turned sour, seeing eye to eye with the prince had become harder to do. It was a wild confliction of feelings when you thought more and more of it. With every glance that he would throw in your direction, along with way that he had stared at you all through breakfast, you couldn’t meet him. You felt as if you had borne a wound for him to see, for him to poke at--the secret kind that was best kept to yourself--and he had dug his finger in; he had laughed. 

The prince tilted his head, and you met his eyes for the first time since then. There was a softness about him when you knew that he was inspecting you. You knew you must’ve been overthinking it--and that was what made it so dangerous. 

“Looking stunning as always, Bee. I knew that you would wear that dress well.” 

You let the words, “Thank you,” leave your tongue before toying with the small handbag provided to you. As always, your thigh holster held steady under your dress. 

Four clicks at the suite door sounded, startling nearly everyone in the room, revealing everyone’s nerves which they had denied. 

“That’ll be Lee Minho.” Chan announced. 

Two answered the door in his own costuming. The two men bowed upon meeting, a usual meeting between strangers. The agent lead him to the room, and the royal buttoned his own suit properly. 

“Good evening. It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I’m Lee--” 

“--Minho.” Jeongin dryly cut, “We know who you are.” 

Luckily, you and your partner shared the same apprehension. 

“I’m Fox. You’ve met Bee. The young kid is S, he’s a new agent. The quiet one that let you in is Two.” 

Minho bowed politely with a slight blush. “You weren’t kidding when you said that you were well protected, Your Highness.” 

Chan chuckled in response then clapped the other royal by the back. 

“You look amazing,” Minho said to the prince who shooed him away with a humble hand. 

“You as well.” 

Chan sized up the royal who indeed looked like one. His suit was a simplier charcoal grey with pinstripes with a white undershirt that ruffled at the collar. Not typical of the royals that you knew, he also wore dangling silver earrings that would have never passed the royal standard for professionalism. However, it made sense considering that he had been of a lower rank. 

“Now that we’ve got the formalities out of the way, shall we head out?” Chan put a very obvious hand to the lower back of Lee Minho while checking with the rest of the group. “It’s best not to keep him waiting?” 

Your partner nodded and ushered the group out while giving his body one more pat down to ensure that all concealed weapons were in place. Two checked the assortment of knives tucked discreetly into his own jacket. The man had some kind of wicked and unidentifiable grin while he felt the metal against his fingers. You exited at the rear, feeling a hand tug at your arm. 

“--Bee, I’m sorry about what happened...I’m...I hope that you can understand my motivations as to why I said what I did, it didn’t seem like the right time--” 

“--There will never be a right time.” You tore your arm free. “Your Highness, what happened...that was a mistake on my part. I acted out of line. There will never be a right time because...I’m your guard, and you’re my prince. Do you understand?” 

“But Bee--” 

“--End of discussion,” The words burned in your throat seeing the way that he had looked at you just then, and it was clear that he definitely didn’t understand. 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

You had heard that the White Rabbit had been a prideful man--this was now an indisputable fact once you pulled up to the roaring nightclub set into one of the busiest streets on the avenue in Cairo. Everything about the place was showy and bright and outrageous. It was a miracle that the man hadn’t been caught considering that his home base was as obvious as it was. The entire front of the night club shone with the brilliance of a million stars in a hundred different colors. A giant marquee held the signage with the title of the place, “The Tea Party” coupled with the image of the white rabbit himself--the one from the old movie--a stout little thing with his pocket watch swinging from his paw. His neck was wrapped up in a white ruff, and he wore a frock pattered in red hearts. 

A line stretched from the front entrance for as far as you could see, and clubbers swung their bodies in tune to the muffled sound of the EDM music thumping from inside and throwing cigarette butts to the sidewalk. 

“Do we just walk in?” Seungmin hurriedly asked with nervous hands wrapped around his body. 

“We’re expected, so, yes.” You snaked your arm through Jeongin’s to look even less conspicuous. “Just relax,” You commanded the group lowly. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw the prince slug his arm around Lee Minho who appeared to shrink under the other man’s broad shoulders. 

Two large bouncers stood at the entrance with muscles swelling under their shirts stained pink in areas which you assumed to have been white at some point. 

“Names?” One of them grunted rather than spoke. 

From his pocket, your partner took out his very own pocket watch that had been hidden with the rest of your supplies upon arrival to Cairo. On the opposite side of the watch was engraved the two symbols intertwined: the white rabbit and the the white rose. The two men inspected it, nodded, and opened the door for your small entourage. As soon as you entered the booming central room, you could see Seungmin’s shoulders drop as he relaxed. 

“There should be someone meeting us!” Jeongin yelled over the sound of the white noise leading to the bass drop. Hundreds of clubbers danced with the music, throwing their glasses to the air and howling like animals. You wouldn’t have been surprised if at least half of them had been strung out on the very drugs that the man himself had helped peddle. 

The young agent pulled you closer to him as stumbling bodies passed. 

“They could be here. We have to be on our guard.” 

“Let me watch the prince.” 

Jeongin nodded, letting you recede to the back of the group where Two had tailed. His eye wound hadn’t healed nearly enough, so he opted to wear the sunglasses once more. It was likely that word had spread about the four of you escaped twice--his eye was evidence. From behind the group, you watched the way the the prince’s hand fell down hold Lee Minho by the hip, and the way that his fingers dug in there slightly. As much as you had denied it, seeing them close brought back the very covetous thoughts you tried to keep at bay. 

A slender woman with gorgeous tanned skin pushed her way through the crowd and set her eyes on the white head of your partner. Her dress was even thinner than yours, but she wore it as if it was her second skin. The luxurious red color contrasted perfectly with her dark hair and eyes. 

“Are you Fox?” She asked with a thick accent, and cascaded her hand down the young man’s arm. 

“Y-yes. I am.”

“Bun asked me to bring you to him. I know the way.” 

She let her hand fall into Jeongin’s who whipped his head back to you with dry lips that he wetted immediately. You had expected to have been retrieved by someone a bit stockier than this woman. 

“He’s trying to get our guard down.” Two said suddenly as he reached into his pocket to thumb over his stockpile of metal there. “Don’t you think?” 

The woman took your group near to the corner of the room where bodies didn’t linger for long, but were drawn in the mosh pit in the center. Tables lined these edges which were fashioned into booths with red velvet curtains for privacy to do much more sinister things. The room smelled heavily of pure alcohol spilled by drunk hands and of synthetic fabrics made of cheap plastics. A dozen different fragrances mingled into one dizzying mess: each a scent so different and chemical that it was toxic. 

She walked with a swing to her hips, all the way to a booth that was a bit larger than the others--you could only assume that this must’ve been his booth. The woman gestured for you all to enter before drawing the curtain. At the center of the table, the rabbit’s symbol had been burned into the wood. She wore some kind of thin diamond bracelet which she hovered over the image, causing a winding staircase to pop from the carpeted floor down to a hidden chamber. 

“Take the stairs, and it you’ll see it once you get down there.” 

Your partner have her a curt nod in thanks, then lead the group further down. A soft green and red glow emanated from the space below, also humming with a concealed type of music different from that which was played in the club. From here, it nearly sounded like jazz. 

The corridor under the club was bleak and grey with cement, but wooden crates lined it with stamps on the sides in numerous different languages. Your brain could only fathom where the contents had been before they ended up in this basement. It must have been millions of dollars just sitting undisturbed with enough firepower to blow up the whole building and more. 

“Guns. Military grade and a little more improper,” Minho sighed out. “He must have every model in existence here.” 

“Do you think that he has like...missiles?” Seungmin reached for his small handgun. 

“Ease up S.” You tried to contain your own creeping fear, “Those would be too big to keep down here.” 

“Who says that this is his whole stockpile?” Two deadpanned as he cleaned his glasses. 

At the end of the hall, one more bulky guard stood expressionless with a small sized machine gun ready in his hands. He opened the door without saying much else, letting loose the red and green lights you had seen before, and with it, the putrid smell of expensive drink and marijuana. 

The smaller room was only lit by strobes with multicolored gels, and it was dense with the smoke of many number of drugs and vices. There was a small bar with a bartender with bagged eyes and a swath of women in cocktail dresses and men with ties tugged nearly all the way off their necks with lipstick marks pressed into them. 

A single disco ball spun above their heads, spreading shiny squares all across the room. Even more guards waited in the same uniform, but these ones looked more expensive--likely his own personal detail wearing gaudy chains and wrist watches inlaid with diamonds and crested in real gold. 

“My friends! You were able to make it!” 

The man of the hour spread his legs wide on his leather couch set upon a lion’s coat rug, complete with a head and marble eyes and all. At his sides were two more women more unique than the rest: both of them was breathtakingly gorgeous, one of them jeweled like a queen with a thick gold choker that resembled that which old Egyptian royalty would. Her head was smoothed with no hair at all, but instead intricate and beautiful tattoos decorated her like some kind of otherworldly being. The other woman had a cat-like face with two differently colored eyes; one hazel green and the other icy blue contrasting with her fiery orange hair. 

“Carroll told me that you had a bit of trouble before you got here. I’m glad to see that you were able to get here in one piece. It only seems like things are getting more and more...risky these days. Even for people like us.” 

“We’re not “people like you,” Rabbit.” You pushed to the font of the group. 

The club owner himself was dressed in a purely white fur coat which you presumed to be made of real fur. Considering the material, it must’ve been made from the fur of snow foxes--an interesting choice considering your partner’s persona. The smaller man with a thick and muscled form took off his yellow tinted sunglasses to tuck them into his wildly printed shirt that had tiny buttons doing the work of keeping his chest covered. 

“Babydoll! It’s a pleasure to meet you! I’ve heard all about you. Your reputation precedes you.” He took a rather greedy bite to his lip whilst looking you up and down. The white dress must have been doing it’s job well. 

“Babydoll?” Chan asked with furrowed brows. “What is--who is--?” 

“As does your reputation, Rabbit. I wouldn’t have expected less.” 

The proud man snorted, “I hope this doesn’t mean that you’ve got any...preconceived notions about my lifestyle. Our dear friend Carroll doesn’t seem to.” 

“Of course not.” 

“And you...you must be the Prince of Bulgeun! His Royal Highness Prince Chan of the Crown!” The White Rabbit spread out his arms wide in welcome. “I don’t often get royalty in my club--lots of celebrities and the like.” He leaned over to one of his guards, speaking in Egyptian Arabic and asking for drinks for the group. 

“Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.” Chan bowed deep. 

“So respectful!” The White Rabbit chuckled, “You can all call me Bun. We’re all friends here. And you...who might you be?” Bun pointed a finger at Minho who stepped forward. 

“Baron Lee Minho, of Bulgeun as well.” 

“Ah! And a Baron too! How did I get so lucky to have such honorable company?” Cat-face ticked her long nails against the club owner’s hand slung around her. 

“You know what we’re here for, Rabbit. There’s no need for theatrics.” Jeongin huffed his words out with a confident breath. 

“You’re the one that they call Fox? Rumor has it that you and Carroll have a rather...special...connection?” 

The bartender arrived with drinks, each of them looking expensive with flecks of gold leaf floating on the surface of the clear liquid. Seungmin shot an apprehensive glare once the glasses were left on a small side table. As had been discussed previously, none of your group had picked up a glass. 

The woman with beautiful tattoos stretched a hand down one of the White Rabbit’s thighs, reaching dangerously high between them; just enough to make you flinch from the forward action. 

“Baby, I see that you’re playing a dangerous game towing this Price around, so of course I’m willing to help a friend of my friend. You’re lucky that I’ve got just the intel that you need. Some people just don’t know how to shut their mouths, especially when the get a taste of what I’m selling.” 

“Oh? And what have you been hearing?” 

You eyed a leather chair across from him seeing an opportunity. 

“Your Highness.” You motioned for Chan to sit in the chair next to yours, swinging your legs crossed to peek from the thin white silk in full view for the Rabbit to see. After, you dipped your chin into your palm, just for the purpose of letting the front of your dress fall slightly. The prince remained quiet while taking his seat and spreading his legs out strongly. 

“If it’s compensation that you need Rabbit, the Crown is also willing to make offers for added...persuasion.” 

Chan crossed his fingers in his lap leaning forward. His words were slick and domineering--kingly even. 

“Is that so?” The White Rabbit tugged at his lip with his teeth, “I wasn’t aware.” 

“Double what The Agency is offering. If I like what you say.” 

The club owner scoffed with a grin, “Oh, you’ll like what I say.” Cat-face lifted his drink to his lips, then wiped off the excess off with her finger. Both of the body guards appeared to tense before he spoke and tried to be inconspicuous while they reached for their decorated pieces resting in their waistbands. 

“Hell, I’ll even tell you what they call themselves.” 

In your impatience, you leaned forward, “Who are they?” 

“They’re called The Spades. Some kind of new crime syndicate that’s been fucking up my business and making bargains with my customers. Of course, as you know...I work in a very lucrative business.” 

“Naturally.” 

“They’ve been stockpiling shit like crazy: all kinds of weapons, any kind that you can think of outside of fucking nukes. They’ve even tapped into drugs as well to make extra on the side. I don’t know what it is that they’re doing that makes them so appealing, but suddenly I’m missing out on millions because of those fuckers. They’ve got someone masterminding it all too--some crazed bastard. I’ve been trying to find him ever since they popped up.” He resumed his grasp on both of his women who cuddled into him. 

“Mastermind? The one who’s running the whole operation? You know him?” Both you and your partner locked eyes quick enough for the other man to not take notice. 

“No, one of his cronies. He runs the business. He’s illusive and fucking insane. Someone whispered once that he’s psychotic or something like that. You think that I’m bad...” 

“Who?? Who is he? Where can we find him?” 

“Slow your role there doll, I’m just getting to the good part.” The Rabbit nodded for another sip of his drink. “He’s got several names depending on who you’re talking to. Fucking funnily enough, I’ve heard that he goes by “Hatter,” or more commonly “Joker.” He deals in anything: arms, drugs, sex...and he works for The King.” 

“The King?” Chan butted in with the mention of a royal name. 

“Not your silly little king, prince. The King. The one who runs it all. He tells The Spades what to do. They’re everywhere, taking over every sector in every nation. They’re trying to dismantle it all--every political system, monarchy, presidency...everything. It looks like they’re starting with you, prince. The Spades preach about chaos. Every man for himself...but it’s a lie. Why the hell else would they be stockpiling? They’re trying to take it all over.” 

Seungmin gulped audibly as he sunk to the back of the group. 

“When there’s no more control the ones with the most resources always end up on top.” The young student whispered. 

“This King, do you know who he is?” Jeongin spoke over Seungmin to detract attention from him. 

“Nope.” The White Rabbit swung his legs up on the small coffee table with alligator leather shoes. “I’ve been a little focused on taking down the Joker at the moment, for your information.” 

“What’s your intel on him then? He must know how to get to The King.” Minho pushed to the front of the group right to Chan’s side. “We’re not satisfied with your information yet.” 

The Baron’s sudden demand surprised you: he had been timid before--so you had thought. 

The club owner looked to Chan, keeper of his “persuasion” who nodded to prompt him for more. 

“He’s on some island off Greece. Private. Tight security, the kind that could shoot you out of the sky.” 

“Impressive.” You tutted, feigning confidence once more. “What more do you know?” 

The woman with the bangled necklace whispered something in his ear once peeking at a small old-model cellphone in her hand, brushing her lips over his earlobe. Over the sound system, the jazz music turned sultry, and both women moved to join the other intoxicated clubbers in the back to sway around brass poles. 

“There’s the freckled bastard. He’s the grunt--and the one that’s been chasing you I think. Real nuisance isn’t he? He’s the Knave. Had a few run ins with him myself.” 

You thought back to the gas station and the black SUVs. Between all the shards of glass, it had been hard to make anyone out, but you had figured that he had must’ve been one of the men throwing their bodies out of the windows to shoot. 

The Rabbit chuckled out with some kind of hand signal to his guards. “Knowing him, he could be right outside my door for that matter.” 

Jeongin’s eyes flew open, sending you “the look.” Your time was running out. Judging by the way that you hadn’t noticed that the Rabbit’s women had cleared out the other clubbers from the room, they must’ve known something that you didn’t. The club owner stood up with a languid stretch and cracked his knuckles. 

“We probably don’t have much more time before they come in here guns blazing. Best protect your prince, hm?” 

“Rabbit! You must know something about The King?!” You crossed the room to grab at his frim and fuzzy arm. 

He slyly smiled, amused by your grip, “Like I said doll, no one knows much about him. Your Baron has got it right. Start with the Joker. But...” His grin cracked even wider, “Good luck.” 

Seungmin tugged at Two’s dress coat as the two bulky bodyguards took The Rabbit by the arms to escort him. 

“What's going on??” The young man’s voice cracked with urgency. 

“Ready that gun of yours.” Two said lowly with gritted teeth. 

He strode across the room with his fur coat lazily swaying, then raised the golden rings on his fingers to the air as he exited. He threw his yellow tinted glasses back on, before turning back to your stunned group. 

“I estimate that you’ve got...three minutes? --Oh! And one more thing!” 

The white fabric of your dress swept to the side, revealing your thigh holster which you grabbed at quickly. 

“What?!” 

“Every King’s got his Queen? Does he not?” 

The enigmatic club owner slipped into the shadows of his private room, leaving your group with the sound of clambering feet on the floor above, followed by muffled gunshots. 

“They’re here?” Seungmin readied his small handgun as he was told and looked to the ceiling where the lights flickered from the commotion. “They found us?” 

Two twirled two knives in his hands with a silvery glint. Both of the blades were a bit on the shorter side, but you were certain that he knew how to use them. “They’re always following us.” 

“We need to get out of here.” Lee Minho drew out his own gun concealed by his suit. It was custom with a pearl handle. You had seconds to make out the insignia, but you could make out the shape of what looked like a red rose. “The place must be crawling with them. We need to find the exit.” 

Your partner nodded while taking his own gun. “Stay close, Your Highness. Follow me.”

“Bee?” The prince called your name with a worried cross between his brows. “Give me a gun. Hand-to-hand is nothing against these guys. I’ll stay close. I promise.” 

While he held your eyes earnestly, the way that his chest heaved up and down told you something much different. 

“You can handle it?”

“I can.” 

Jeongin passed him a Glock from the holster strapped behind his shoulders. 

You made your way back through halls lit by hissing fluorescent lights with a white burn to them. The crates of weaponry stretched on and on, adding to your unease knowing what could happen if a bullet were to be fired in this hallway. Thick rats skittered in the dank edges of the hall and weaved between boxes labeled in Spanish. 

“Drugs.” Minho gripped his gun tighter. “From the looks of it, cocaine.” 

Above your heads, a giant boom resounded and dust with drywall fell from the lights that flickered harder. 

“Its a fucking maze down here.” Jeongin tapped at his watch in an attempt to find a schematic of the place. 

The college student wetted his lips. “At least we’re not up there with them.” 

“At least the lead worked out. We know more about these...Spades than we did before. It’s a start.” You tailed the back of the group with careful footsteps and the click of your heels against the cement flooring. 

Another resounding boom echoed followed by the shrill screams of clubbers above. It sounded hellish--you could hear the raw fear in their voices. The music thudded on, likely abandoned by someone running for their life. The Prince’s knuckles turned white holding onto his piece of metal near the front of the group. 

“F, you know the way up?” 

“I-I think. We should be approaching some stairs soon, but there’s nottelling who will be on the other side.” 

Two tore off his sunglasses and shoved them into his breast pocket. “We’ll be damn lucky if they haven’t found the hotel yet. If not, we’ve got to run.” 

“My laptop??” Seungmin whimpered. 

“That damn Chromebook? Don’t worry about it, your life is more important.” Jeongin scoffed. “The Agency can set you up with something even better.” 

“I can’t believe that at a time like this all I can think about is my stupid computer.” The young man shook the thought out of his head. 

“Stairs up ahead.” Jeongin pointed. “Get ready.” 

“Chan?” You pulled at the prince’s trim to his coat. 

“I’m fine Bee. Honestly. I trust you.” He attempted a smile. The same smile, that damned charming one that couldn’t get out of your head. 

Minho looked back to the prince too with worry, it had been the most sincere motion that you had seen him do as of yet. He reached out to squeeze the royal’s shoulder with a soft smile. 

“Don’t go dying on us Your Highness. Think about what that would mean for the kingdom?” He chuckled. 

“I’ll try my best,” The prince returned the gesture. 

Jeongin reached for the metal door handle to the teal green door cracking with paint. The sound of machine guns had grown even louder, followed by the sound of the shells hitting the wooden dance floor. The air was thin where it crept under the door and carried with it the horrid smell of smoking guns and spilled alcohol. 

“Two, Bee, form rank around the group, I’ll lead.” 

Two nodded, popping gum into his mouth and blowing large electric blue bubble. “Can do.” Both of his hands tightened around his blades.  

“One...Two...Three!” 

Time slowed the second that the door opened, and your ears rang with the deathly silence. Bodies to the left and right of you became a blur and they fell to the floor in the silence with their limbs twitching until they didn’t move at all. White collars turned red, as did the white tablecloths of the standing tables. The strobes pranced around the room in a multicolored shower that was as blinding and stained your eyes. 

The men in black suits and leather gloves scattered around the room with their red crests glinting. They shouted commands at eachother, but to you, all you could see was the way that their lips curved and cracked. In front of you, your partner leads with a hand gesture that you had memorized from training, and all of your focus was drawn the the back of the group. The trigger of your gun was cold on your finger: you pulled and pulled not even pausing to feel the way that it fought back against your wrist. The men were sprinting with their own guns tight in their hands, but each of them fell before they could get close. 

Two’s mouth was in a flat line as he threw tiny blades from his hands to the chests of men running across the balconies and hiding from behind tables. He appeared to have an infinite amount in his coat and saved the longer and more lethal ones for close connections, subsequently dipping his own fingers in red. 

The young college student trudged on in the center of the group with his head tucked firmly between his two shoulders. Clear streams of tears fell down his eyes, but he wiped at them furiously between each shot that he took with his small handgun. Next to him, the two royals kept their own heads low aiming shots around them to backup you and your partners. 

Their footsteps came echoing behind you, and you walked backwards, taking aim with one eye squinted, while barking out commands from your mouth that you barely even understood. Your heartbeat bumped in your chest nearly in tune with the thudding 808′s of the music that reverberated in your ears. Each of the Spades moved as if they were shadows over the bodies of the fallen, leaping and jumping, nearly floating over dining tables and sweeping off the glassware and silverware with them as they did so. 

“BEE, I’M ALMOST OUT!” Jeongin screamed to you nearly before reaching the front revolving doors. 

Two tossed another magazine in the young agent’s direction, then threw another dagger with startling accuracy. 

For seconds at a time you could see how Minho’s eyes had narrowed with his aim, and he too met every target exactly where he wanted. You figured that the royal must have trained himself well to have that kind of precision. The way that he appeared perfectly calm was startling: his dark eyes squinted and he turned his body swiftly with little effort. 

“Fuck--I’M OUT OF ROUNDS!” The prince bellowed before ducking under Minho’s arm which immediately swung over him. 

You closed in closer to the group, using your body as a shield for the prince’s back. 

Your partner cast aside fallen chairs and tables in his wake, as one of the thugs charged at him. In response, he threw his gun into his waistband, opting to slung the man with a hurried uppercut that sent him spitting blood to the floor before falling, “We’re almost there! Keep pushing!!” 

“SHIT!!!” Seungmin groaned out before dropping his small gun to the ground, he trembled with his leg dragging behind him, then soon his pants soaked with a dark stain to his slacks. 

“BEE LOOK OUT!!” A voice screamed, seconds before you could register it.

Your head whipped back to the chaos of the club, seeing the “freckled bastard” himself point his decorated riffle at you point blank with a wicked grin on his face. He looked purely evil. There was something about the way that his ears poked, or how his eyes upturned that made him look devilish when his pearly white teeth peeked once he took his shot. He had ashy blonde hair that had strung with sweat over his forehead, and blood wetted the tip of his dress shoes. He cocked his head to the side, as he did too with his gun before the deafening shot cracked through the room. 

You were shocked trying to memorize his face, and frozen in your fear from the barrel of the gun facing you right between the eyes. 

An excruciatingly tight grasp at your arm pulled you to the side before you could react, throwing you to the hardwood floors before whoever it was pulled themselves in front of the bullet. Your vision was rocked when you hit the floor, missing the glass revolving door by centimeters. 

“Y/N!” Your partner screamed, waking you from your haze as the room started to piece back together. “You good?!” 

Another hand grabbed you to your feet before shoving you through the door, lightly slinging your arm around his shoulder before taking your gun from your trembling hand to take a few more shots. You realized it was Two this close, and tiny flecks of red splattered at his neck. 

“Fuck--give me that--” You grabbed the gun from his hand to fire every bullet that was left at the freckled bastard until you couldn’t any more, and the cool of the evening stung at your heaving lungs once your group reached the sidewalk. 

Outside of the venue, clubbers scrambled and ran the streets still shrieking in their fear and tripping over their heeled shoes. 

“Chan?? Chan--where-where’s the prince??” The words spilled from your lips in your pure adrenaline. 

Right behind you only a couple paces away, the prince stood pale with Seungmin holding between them a groaning and gasping Minho who barely held on to the two men. A bullet wound soaked his black suit jacket, and the red crept up to his white frilled collar.” The wound made a hole right in his shoulder with a visible circle. 

Jeongin sprinted to the back of the group looking disheveled himself with sleeves hastily pulled up to his elbows. “Shit--shit!!” 

“S-move aside. MOVE!” You commanded the whimpering young man who gave you Minho’s other arm. You wrapped around his wasit and dragged the heavy weight of the man who had just saved your life. 

The prince dryly smacked his lips then scanned the street for more of the Spades in his daze. 

“Y-you okay?” The words dried up your tongue. 

“Yeah...yeah, I’m fine, are you?” His energy had been drained of him, and his knuckles were also cracked, likely from having to throw punches that you haven’t even seen him take. 

Gunshots echoed further down the street followed by the screeching of wheels and more panicked yells. The chirps of cop cars pulled up to the scene and their husky demands rounded up the escapees in rapid-fire Arabic. 

Jeongin sprinted back with his white hair bouncing to a taxi nearest an intersection. He threw the door open apologizing profusely the best he could before pulling the driver out of the driver’s seat and to the cement. He cursed out loudly in response to which Jeongin tossed out some bills haphazardly to his chest. 

“Get in, GET IN!” He called to your group while tapping on the metal side of the vehicle. 

Both you and the pricne guided the injured royal in to the backseat between you. 

“Minho--Minho, hold on--” Your nervous hands held his pale face in your palms. 

The tear of your dress filled the small compartment, prompting the prince to snatch his hand into the other man’s firmly. 

“Minho--you fucking dumb asshole--you had to go and he the hero didn’t you?” Chan smiled hopefully. 

“Ar-are you alright?” He coughed, “Your Highness?” 

“Shut up.” Chan ruffled his hair with another adoring smile. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.” 

Although it was silk, you used every inch of your dress tear to tie around the baron’s shoulder tightly in an attempt to add pressure to the open wound. 

“Bee--” Minho started with a lazy glare. 

“--Keep talking Minho, look at me. You’re gonna feel sleepy, stay awake. You did great, thank you so much for doing that to me. Thank you.” You grabbed his opposite hand firmly. “I can’t thank you enough.” 

Lee Minho laughed. “Don’t mention it. And--if you wanted me to keep talking...I wanted to tell you that you’re really stunning Bee. How you handled all th-that. I was really impressed.” 

“Hm, I was impressed too.” In his own way, like this, bloodied and a bit delirious, Lee Minho really was as handsome as he let on. 

The taxi car whipped around another corner with wind whipping in the windows and each of your masses jostled in the car as if bumped over the curb. The hotel wasn’t that far from The Tea Party, and you knew that any moment you would reach it, but each second stretched longer and longer. 

“Fox?! We’re not there?” 

“Fuck--Bee, the whole city is crawling with cops, everywhere I turn, they’re on the hunt, The Spades are everywhere I can’t make it back--no doubt they’re already there...” 

In the front seat, Seungmin clung to Two as if his life depended on it as his whole body shook and Two tore his own jacket sleeve to close off the young man’s wound on his leg. 

“Wha-what are we going to do?? S-shit!! Ouch!!!” The young student gritted his teeth in his pain while his leg shook terribly. He sobbed, “It hurts, really, really bad!!” 

“I planned for this.” Jeongin’s eyes flicked in the review mirror to you in the back. “I asked Carroll to set up for us a secondary place if something went down and we couldn’t make it to the hotel. I figured...if anything happened or if they found us--” 

“--Get us there, fucking drive Fox, Minho needs first aid, right fucking now, he’s bleeding too fucking much.” 

“I know, I know!!” 

“How far is it?!” 

“Not far, I promise, twenty minutes--tops.” 

“Make it ten!!!” 

Jeongin floored it, running lights and becoming a stream under the skyscrapers of Cairo. From the small skylight of the taxi, thin clouds streaked in the evening sky and mixed with the glow of the city. Far, far, above your head, you prayed for the first time in years that you could make it in time. 

Seungmin sobbed with puffy eyes from the front seat and writhed, “Hurry! Hurry!” He begged. 

Minho’s head lulled in the backseat as he bled though the white silk binding him. His head bounced back and forth from you to the prince with glossy marbles for eyes that blinked slowly. The prince rested his hand on the baron’s thigh and rubbed calming little circles into it. 

“Minho, you did so well. Look at me.” Chan coaxed, causing the other to smile adorably grim. 

Minho twitched before rolling his head over to the prince. “Your Highness, i-if I may be so bold...I-I’ve got...I’m crush on you.” He finished his sentence with a wrinkled smile. 

You scoffed out with a laugh while making knowing eye contact with the prince who laughed out lightly too. 

“He sounds like someone I know.” You winked at the royal. 

The taxi made one final turn to an alley filled with potholes that jostled each wheel of the car. 

“This is it! Right here!” The young agent whipped into a one car garage hidden into the alley. The darkness of the garage filled the car, and snuffed out all of the light from the street, and even muffled the faint sirens of police as they whizzed past. The night was still full of gunshots, but at least now they sounded far enough away to be safe. 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The safe house was a modest two floored apartment outfitted with the normal security system of The Agency: window locks and cameras in every corner of every room. As expected, each of the rooms was covered in a fine layer of dust, and the old smell hung with flecks of the material stuck on lampshades and wafting in the light. 

Work had been delegated between you and your partners, with the two other men helping treat Seungmin in the second bedroom out of three while you and the prince aided Minho.  

The windows were left open to let in some fresh air, also letting in the faint sounds of the city which still surged with life even late into the night. Still, the smell of the desert came floating into the room with a welcome sense of tranquility. 

The royal lay on the bed with cracked pale lips while you set to work dabbing at his wound gently with gauze, cleaning the area around the bullet wound. Fearful to cause more bleeding, the bullet would stay where it was for a few moments more for another layer of wrapping. The prince remained quiet, passing you materials as needed with hands stained pink from the other man’s blood. 

“How are you feeling?” Chan quietly asked. 

“Hurts like a bitch,” Minho smiled, “You ever been shot before?” 

The prince shook his head. 

“Well, I hope that you never are. Feels like your whole body gets stirred up from the impact and then there’s the sting.” 

Carefully you pulled back the remains of the baron’s shirt while lifting him slightly off the bed. As you swept the fabric from behind him, you noticed the thin red line tracing around his shoulder bade which you figured to be blood at first. 

“What...what’s this?” 

“Oh,” Minho shied, “It’s a tattoo.” 

“You’ve got a tattoo? For a royal?” Chan slicked back Minho’s sweaty locks. “You really are full of surprises.” 

Gently you laid the baron back down to lay with his new wrappings. “What is it?”

He paused, wetting his lips quickly before he spoke. “It’s a red rose. It’s a bit large--I know--not typical for royals. Don’t worry, you’re the only royal that knows that I have it.” 

“Why a red rose?”

 Below you, Minho looked relaxed and calm, beautiful even like this bare-chested under the single lamp-light of the bedroom. 

“Well...you know the significance of symbols and insignias. We’ve all got our own.” He grinned out while playing with the prince’s free hand. 

“I’ve got my white rose, Bee’s got her clock: seems like we’ve all got our own thing.” Chan agreed, watching the way that his fingers interlocked with the other man’s. 

In the opposite bedroom, Seungmin cried out sharply to the tune of Jeongin chuckling out, “I’ve got you, you fucker!” The clink of metal fell into the little bowl they used: the bullet was out of the poor boy. 

You sighed knowing that the damage caused to your group could’ve been much worse, yet you had made a skillful escape. Still, the thought of the bodies littering the floor...the silence that rang in your ears from the pace of it all and how the energy of survival started to wear off...it was truly gruesome. 

“Minho--really, I appreciate you taking a hit for me like that. No one has ever done something like that for me...and you barely know me...” 

The baron smiled, taking your hand in his too. “Like I said, it’s fine. Had I not, you wouldn’t have been able to help us out of there...even if you were dragging my ass for the tail end of it.” 

The breeze flew in with the dusty curtains; just cold enough to make you shiver in your thin dress. 

The prince looked to the both of you, “What happens now?” 

Chan himself was a proper mess: he no longer looked like the perfect vision of regality from the earlier evening. He looked like a man, a regular man, scared, unsure, and confused. His knuckles were cracked...and you had promised that you had never wanted to see him harmed again. 

The prince’s eyes softened, softer than they had been, soft like they had been the evening before when you had broken. 

“We survive. The best we can. We recuperate for a couple days, and ask Carroll what the next steps are. I’d guess it would be Greece then.” 

Minho leaned up with a little grunt to face you. “I’m coming with. I can help. I can be valuable if you need another set of hands on a gun.” 

“I think you mean hand. Your arm is gonna be out of commission for a little while.” 

He smirked, “Still...” 

The sweeping red outline of rose peeked to his shoulder, and you wondered how far it really spread. 

“Bee, I don’t think that I’ve thanked you.” Chan let the words fill earnestly, throwing that same damned smile at you. 

“Chan...you don’t have to thank me. You’re my prince.” 

The royal nodded with a contented little grin that tugged a dimple on the side of his face. You found both men looking at you as such, as if they were waiting, or anticipating the unsaid as you were. 

Somehow, the room turned silent once more: a void quiet enough to hear your heart beating in your ears. 

You bridged the gap, pulling Chan close to you as you pressed your lips against his, using your stained hand to pull his lapel into your body while he melted perfectly into you as he had done before. His mouth tasted slightly like the salt of blood, but that was of no matter to how sweet he was when he gently let himself unfold for you, gasping lightly against you. Chan’s hand reached to your arm to caress the goosebumped skin down, giving you another reason to shiver. You found your own hand tie into his light brown locks and pull deeply at the roots with depths of curiosity and want. Your tongue gently explored his lower lip before teasing right into his mouth which was even warmer than you had imagined it being. 

Your other hand found the torso of Minho: bare and quivering under the touch of your fingertips which traced each muscle there. He let out a drawn out sigh, then drew his own hand down the curve of your body to your hip, finally working it back up over your belly to your breasts thinly protected by the dress. He sat up higher and brought his lips to the fabric, kissing right into your belly with the warmth of his mouth. He paused, giving you moments to crave that same feeling on your lips and prompting you to bow down and indulge yourself in the taste of his mouth too. 

Chan’s hungry hands came tip-toeing over your back as he watched, and slipped one finger under your thin dress strap to pull it down and press kisses to your shoulder. With his other hand, he let it fall down Minho’s back: over the red rose, right to his thigh which he squeezed at firmly: right between the heat of his legs. 

Minho was different from Chan: rougher with his advances, but still addictive in how he would test the corners of your mouth with each kiss more courageous than the last. He ruffled up your torn dress, then let the silk fill up his hands before pulling it in ways to meet your skin with his. Slowly, Chan did the same, edging a hand up to your ass from the frayed bottom of the once-gorgeous dress. 

The bed was just big enough for two, but with this new interlocking of limbs as close as possible, you melded into one. Both you and Chan crept over the man between you, painting the blank canvas of his chest with seething hot lips and biting at the flesh of his skin lightly. Minho’s back arched from the beautiful sensation, causing him to giggle in his euphoria. 

In the middle, you found Chan once more, and held him close, as close as you had wanted for longer than you had admitted. 

“Oh Bee...” He moans into your mouth while releasing all of his glee onto your tongue. 

“Chan, I’m not scared anymore. I don’t even care.” 

The prince shuddered at the thought, and held you back just as tight finding the corners of your dress to pull over your head. 

“Oh my god,” Minho adores you, then reaches out to pull you to his chest. 

This mysterious man, melts for you too, whimpering perfectly between your lips.  Your legs find their way around his thigh to grind at lightly. There's an innocence to his eyes, much like that of the prince: its a kind of blind adoration that you know all too well. His dedication to Chan, and his gesture to you: the thick bandages around his arm: you find your apprehension slipping to nothing. 

Your fingers loop around the white lace of your panties as you kneel above both men, and you swipe your thumb over both of their glistening and trembling lips. 

“Well boys, how about I’ll make both of you mine tonight?” 

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz  @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @cherrychngkyn @bowlofblueberries @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

[justplainwhump]

Surprise

My entry for @nsfwhumptober, set 3. Prompts used: Knives, Suspension, Sensory Deprivation.

Follows directly to [this post] of two people flirting - now they're really hitting it off. And Stephen isn't really prepared for what he'll find in his one-night-stand's bedroom.

[Full scene on Ao3]

Content notes: Lady whump, consentual sex, knives, mild blood, pet whump, multiple whumpers, very dubcon kiss, noncon themes. Whumper PoV.

Hope you enjoy, let me know what you think of them!

Somehow we end up at her place, the past hours nothing more than a thrilling blur of hands, teeth and kisses, of sweat and heated skin, of pain, fight and lust becoming one.

Madeline's bedroom is large yet cozy, dark wood, soft light, tasteful accents with colorful fabrics. She's rich, obviously, but what intrigues me most is the small assortion of elegant knives on her nightstand. As I reach over, she slaps my hand away and rolls on top of me. "Not for you, Stephen", she chides, as her fingers trail one of the long scratches she has left on my back, sending ripples of pain through me. I groan, pain and disappointment mingled in one.

"What for then?", I ask.

She pushes me back into the cushions, her teeth grazing over my chest, while her hand wanders down over my stomach. I feel heat build up under my skin once again. "Wouldn't you like to know?", she purrs. Her hand gently closes around my cock and I can't help but moan.

"I can't", I mumble, shaking my head. She's relentless. "I'm done."

"Giving up already?" She bites down on my nipple, once, hard, and I yelp helplessly. What is it with this woman, that doesn't fail to captivate me?

"No", I groan. "Never. Just -" A soft noise interrupts me, almost like a muffled knock. Not from us, but... close. "What... Did you hear that?"

"Shhh." She shakes her head without looking up, soft hair brushing over my chest, tingling over my skin like electricity, and I let my head fall back. "Don't deflect."

Her grip around my half hard cock tightens and she takes up slow strokes.

I hear it again. A soft thump, coming from our right.

I push her back and she drops to her side with an angry hiss. When I swing my legs over the side of the bed and get up she doesn't try to stop me, though. I feel her gaze on my back as I step over to her large built-in wardrobe and pull open the doors.

I don't know what I've expected.

Not this.

There's a girl in the wardrobe. A young woman, mid twenties, I assume, with shoulder-long white hair, tall and well-muscled, swaying on her toes. Her arms are suspended over her head, to a hook in the ceiling that looks like it was build to serve exactly this purpose. A fitted blindfold covers her eyes, large headphones are sitting on her ears. She's dressed in nothing but a short silken nightgown, shivering in the sudden draft. Her muscles are tense, probably hurting like hell in this position, and her brown skin is littered with shallow cuts.

The knives. Not for me. I get it, now.

"Mistress?", the girl whimpers. Her voice is raw. "I'm sorry, Mistress, forgive me."

I feel like I can't breathe. She's beautiful. A perfect piece of art. Her body. Her pain. Her devotion.

Behind me, Madeline has slipped into a nightgown and stepped in. "You may touch her", she says quietly. "She's very responsive."

I reach out, almost reverently, rest my hand on the girl's neck, her soft, warm skin, trembling under my touch.

"Mistress", she rasps. "Is that you? Please, this isn't you, is it?"

Her breath quickens, almost panicked, but she doesn't move as my hands roam over her body, follow the lines of her scars, wander down her chest, rest on her perfect little breasts.

"Who are you?", she pleads. "Please, don't do this."

I pinch her nipple through the thin silk, and the pained moan that escapes her lips is utmost perfection.

"Who is she?", I mumble to Madeline. "She was made for this, wasn't she?"

"Please, go away!" The girl's voice is becoming desperate, her hands tugging at her restraints with unexpected strength. Of course, it's still in vain. Her mistress seems to know exactly what she's doing.

Madeline's hand reaches past me, gently strokes the girl's cheek. It seems to calm her, instantly, and Madeline smiles softly. "You don't mind me having her?", she asks me. "Some people tend to get overly judgemental."

I shake my head, biting my lip, while my fingers still fondle with the girl's breast. "May I...?"

"Fuck her?", she asks with a cheeky grin. "After you've told me you can't any more, with me? I rather think I'll use her, and let you watch."

She pushes me aside with her shoulder, slides back the girl's headphones. "I'm here, Ira, baby", she mumbles. "All is fine."

"Mistress", the girl says, voice broken with a sob. I suck in a sharp breath. She's delightful.

Madeline casts me a short, knowing glance, before she leans in to kiss the girl's lips. She replies instantly, melting against Madeline, clinging to her with both fervor and despair. "I've missed you so much", the girl weakly mumbles into the kiss. "I didn't want to anger you, I'm so sorry."

"You can make up for that, baby", Madeline whispers, and pulls down the blindfold. "Mistress has a friend over today, and I think he likes you."

The girl squints against the soft light, blinking several times, before her gaze wanders over to me. Her eyes are a fascinating mixture of green and gold, wide with fear, and the slightest bit unfocused. She must be in horrible pain. "Sir", she whispers and casts down her eyes again in a gesture of perfect submission, the only possible, in a position like hers. "At your service."

Madeline has stepped behind me, allowing me to take in the view of the girl fully. I startle, when I feel her fingers close around my cock once more. "Ah, there you are again", she mumbles and kisses my shoulder. "I hoped for just that reaction, honestly. Just keep some of that up for our next round, will you?"

Something is slipped into my hand, cool, ornate metal. As I look down, I recognize one of the knives from the nightstand, silver handle formed of delicately wrought flowers, blade perfectly sharpened.

"Really?", I whisper.

"Mmmhh", Madeline hums and settles on the bed, hand slipping between her legs. "Go on. I've always wanted to share."

The girl in the closet has closed her eyes. A tear is running down the side of her cheek. She's controlling her breath, flat and steady, with the slightest little flutter to it.

"Hello, darling", I say softly, as I step in and carefully rest the blade against the soft skin at the inside of her arm, parallel to a barely healed scar.

The knife cuts into her, easily splits her skin, and the broken little cry that it elicits is all I could've hoped for.

Behind me, I hear Madeline moan. "Go on", she murmurs. "Cut deeper. She can take it."

I lift the knife, adore the small trickle of blood running down the girl's arm. She holds back a sob, trembling underneath my gaze. "Gladly", I mumble.

This is going to be a long night.

[twinklelilstarkey]

Stopping You - Michael Gray [Part 4]

Words: 5.7k+ (WHY DID I MAKE THIS SO LONG!!!)

Summary: Y/N and Polly have dinner with not so liked presences.

Warnings: Consumption of Alcohol. Smoking. Mentions of Cocaine. Swearing, a lot of swearing.

Prologue   Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5

You walk in the Shelby’s betting shop with a hand over your forehead, massaging it in hopes that the pounding would go away with it.

The usual smell of cigarettes hits your lungs and you sigh while closing the front door behind you. Your heels click over the old wood and you drag your aching feet over to the table, where only some members of the Shelby family are sitting.

“Morning” You say when Polly and Arthur look up at you.

The people around the table answer you back and you walk over to Polly, who is already with a cigarette on her lips, slowly letting the smoke leave her system by her mouth. You place a kiss over her cheek and a smile grows in her face.

“How are you, my sweet?” She asks and you smile at her words.

“My head’s pounding, but other than that, ready for business” You whisper only at her and she chuckles, taking the cigarette from between her lips to take a good look at you.

You lean back to stand and walk over to where Finn is sitting, distracted with his new fancy box of cigarettes. You sit down on your usual chair while laying your hand on his neck, scratching his skin lightly with your short nails, grabbing his attention.

“How was your night?” He asks with his usual smirk, looking up at you.

“Boring after you bailed on me because of the blondie” You say with a fake harsh tone and his smirk grows into a smile.

“Is that jealousy, I hear?” He asks and you chuckle, getting Arthur’s and Polly’s attention.

“You would love if it was, wouldn’t you?” You ask, teasingly pushing him away by his shoulder and he laughs out loud.

A toothless smile grows on Polly’s face while watching you two interact and the doors from the other side of the room open, showing the people behind it: Michael and Tommy.

The memories from last night run through your mind and you look away from the younger man to stare at Polly, who looked at him with somewhat adoring eyes.

“Good morning, everyone” Tommy says while taking a cigarette out of his pocket and bringing it to his lips, brushing over them before shoving his hand in his pockets, looking for his lighter. “Michael, take a seat”

Michael does as told, adjusting his long jacket before taking his seat next to his mother, and his eyes lift over to you, making a frown grow on his face right away.

“Wasn’t this meeting family restricted?” He asks and both you and Finn stare up at him.

“Y/N has been involved with family business for over a year, she can be here” Arthur answers, not caring enough to look up at his cousin.

That is enough to make Michael shut his mouth and lean back on his chair, yet he moves his gaze towards you, noticing all the annoyance engraved in it. He, then, stares at his younger cousin and Finn’s expression is slightly more readable than yours, and it just made his presence seem more than hated around the small table.

“We’ll be hosting an event in a few days” Tommy starts, breaking your staring contest before it evolved into anything, “In 12 days to be exact. Y/N, you would be in charge of the whole organization, from the dancers to the inside of my house”

“Dancers?” You ask, lifting your glance over to Tommy.

“Oswald Mosley will be our special guest, as you know very well” He explains, “And he has his attraction for ballet dancers. I’ll give you my contacts for everything that will be necessary”

You nod at his words, already knowing the long list that will be awaiting you, from catering to setting up a team of dancers. You will have a lot to do. A lot more than you wished to.

You lose interest in the whole rest of Tommy’s speech, since you know all about it from previous conversations with him, and also that most of it is for Michael to keep up with where you’re situated, and you look around the table to study everyone’s expressions as they heard all Oswald has done or will do.

Finn is the first one to notice your disinterest in the conversation and tries to ignore it as he tries to memorize most of the information that is being dumped into this room. Michael is next: his eyes follow you as you look at Arthur for a second before looking down at your jacket, starting to play with a button attached to the fabric.

Once Tommy finishes a sentence and starts walking to some corner of the room to begin a new chapter about the day of the event, Michael is totally lost in his thoughts, noticing your now soft features from the lack of attention you’re paying to Tommy’s words.

His mind quickly takes him to where he had been fighting not to be ever since you two talked in the pub. Quite innocent memories of you two.

He studies your face in silence, noticing your slightly parted lips and his eyes drift over to your jaw, noticing a small scar, only visible from the lighting in this one particular room and the angle you’re sitting in.

The scar had come from one of your visits at a family’s home, a mother wasn’t too happy with your visit.

The lady screamed at the top of her lungs for you to leave while saying that her kids were okay, and when you just checking on her younger daughter, she slashed the side of your jaw. It was a quick move that you also flinched away when feeling it, making it smaller than the woman had intended, but it was bloody and surely a cut that would leave a scar.

The woman regrets it severely today, since you are extremely vengeful and experienced with knives.

You look up at Tommy, gaze softer than Michael expected, and you let go of the button from your, not so cheap, jacket.

Polly looks away from her nephew when he starts walking around the table and leans forward on the table to press her used cigarette on the ashtray, gathering both yours and Michael’s attention.

“And that is why we will be making our next move…” Tommy continues, not even noticing that most of the table is not even paying attention to him.

Finn lays his cheek on his fist as his elbow rests on the arm of your chair and you look over at him, taking a look at his messy hair. He must have woken up just a few minutes ago and ran over here, as usual.

Michael’s eyes shift over to Finn and stares at the way you look at the youngest in the room.

(…)

You lean back on your chair as Tommy walks out of the room to grab his ‘book’ with all the people you will need to contact. Finn had run off, to only god knows where, once the meeting was dismissed, so, now, you have to deal with the old people by yourself.

You bring your hands over your temples and start massaging them again, trying to stop the sharp pain before it got worse.

Michael and Polly look over at you for a quick second as they talk all the way back on the doorway of the shop.

“Arthur” You call, making the older man look up from the newspaper laying on the table at the centre, “What do you do to get rid of your headaches?”

“I have my ways”

You lift your head over to him with an annoyed expression.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Anything of mine can be healed by one of two things” he starts, getting Polly’s attention at the doorway, “More alcohol or snow-”

“Y/N is not doing cocaine!” Polly yells, making her voice travel throughout the whole room, making Arthur chuckle and your head pound.

You smile at them, trying not to wince in pain over the loud noise, and stare back at Polly, who is still finishing her conversation with Michael, which looks rather intense.

Tommy’s steps sound from behind you and a stack of papers is set on the table in front of you.

“Your contacts” Tommy says before clearing his throat.

You stare at the amount of phone numbers written down on the pages, all of them with the name of the person you’re intended to talk to and the name of the shop or residence.

“You can talk to Lizzie about most of the things you want to do in my home, but don’t worry too much about it” He says while taking a clean glass cup from the corner table and his bottled whiskey over to his seat.

“Alright” You say in a low voice, grabbing the stack and laying it on your lap to check if you knew some of the places.

“Y/N!” Polly calls over from the doorway, “Come with me!”

You stand up with the papers on your hand and say a quick goodbye to the oldest Shelby brothers, which you were answered with one back.

As you get to Polly and stand beside her by the front door, you notice Michael driving away in his car right as you look out.

“Let’s take care of that headache” Polly says before grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the betting shop with her.

(…)

“I love you, Polly, but it’s a ‘no’ from me” You say while writing down the amount of food the shop, whose owner you just spoke to, could provide.

It has been at least 2 days since that day of the meeting on the betting shop, and you’re still working with all those phone numbers, feeling like you’ll never reach the end of the list.

“Oh, and why is that?” Polly asks, adjusting the silk robe that hugged her body, covered by a thin expensive dress.

You sigh as you scribble your way to the next number on the long list.

“Because,” You start, “I don’t want to be stuck with their presence in a restaurant”

Polly looks at you with a disapproving look, but to no avail since you didn’t even care enough to look up from the papers you’ve been working on the whole day. She walks closer to you and sits down on the couch behind you, since you’re sitting on her carpet.

“Can’t you go, for me?” She asks with a soft tone, “You can ignore them all you want, I won’t care”

You put down your pen and look over your shoulder at her.

“If it was just us, absolutely” You say, “Without a second thought” You add.

Polly takes a deep breath and looks away from you to look at the papers, now filled with words and annotations of amounts of food, flowers and other decorations.

“Is there any way that I can make you go?” She asks, helpless, “Anything I can buy you? Cook or bake for you?”

“You can’t bake, Pol” You say with a smile growing on your face.

“I have my ways” She says, welcoming your smile.

“Are you referring to buying something of the bakery next to the Garrison?” You ask, making her smile drop and her annoyed expression return to her face.

“You used to love that shop”

“And I still do” You say, “But that isn’t enough to make me go through such a horror of a night”

Polly leans back on the couch, feeling like there’s absolutely no way that she will be able to bring you with her, but still not giving up to the fullest. Her mind is still occupied with what would be so good that it would make you want to run towards that restaurant.

Finn, surprisingly, is the first ‘thing’ that came up to mind, but Polly can’t just take the youngest boy, who seems to enjoy Michael’s company as much as you, to an expensive restaurant. Finn would break something expensive or hit Michael in only the first 5 minutes, and probably even at the same time.

She takes a look at you and how you were so quick to go back to work. You drag your tired eyes over the words to check if you didn’t forget to write something down and you grab the phone to contact the next number.

“What if I talked to Tommy so you could have a day off?” Polly asks before you could start dialling the number.

You stay silent, actually considering the offer. A day off is always accepted by you… but is it a fair trade?

“Let me have Friday off and we have a deal” You say.

Polly almost gasps in excitement at your words, while at the same time almost jumps forward to hug you.

She can’t believe that the offer of the having the day off would work, you usually enjoy working, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense.

Finn always has his Friday’s off. How didn’t she think about this sooner?

“I’m going to start getting ready, then” Polly says excitingly with a big smile, while getting up from the couch behind you. “Try to not make us get there so late”

You smile at her words as she walks off to her bedroom and look down at the papers again.

A few more numbers wouldn’t hurt anyone, would they?

(…)

“I can’t believe we’re almost an hour late” Polly shakes her head while you two walk over to the restaurant’s door, “I told you to try to get ready quickly” She continues to scold.

You don’t react to the words much as your eyes look around the street, you were just out of Birmingham, which makes absolutely no sense why there would be a restaurant as busy as this one in the middle of nowhere.

You two step in the restaurant and your eyes almost widen at the inside.

While the outside of this place looks nothing like an expensive restaurant, the interior is just pure luxury.

Polly finishes her conversation with one of the waiters and you two start walking towards the table you were supposed to be sitting an hour ago.

Your eyes land on Michael and Gina, who are both staring at random objects around them.

“I’m so sorry for getting here so late” Polly apologizes while you stand silent behind her.

They are not getting an apology from you. No way in hell.

Their eyes lift over to you two and Gina gives a small (obviously fake) smile to Polly. The waiter puts down two other menus on the table as you move to take your seats.

Polly sits on front of Gina and you almost send her a glare as that meant that you need to sit right in front of Michael. You take off your jacket and lay it over the chair’s back before finally taking your seat.

“What took you so long?” Michael asks his mother, finally opening his mouth.

“Y/N forgot that she had to finish something for work at her office” Polly lies, giving her son a small smile.

She wouldn’t just bluntly say that you’re just a stubborn girl that enjoys seeing him in distress.

“Couldn’t she have finished it tomorrow?” Gina asks, sipping a bit of her wine.

You look up at her and give her your fakest smile.

“She is right here” You answer, making Gina look away from Polly and look at you with a rather shocked expression, “And no, it couldn’t be finished tomorrow”

“What was so urgent about that ‘something’?” Michael asks, making the three women look at him, “I’m sure Tommy wouldn’t care if you gave him anything the next day”

The urge to kick him under the table surges.

“You know how she is, Michael” Polly says with a friendly tone, “Y/N is all about being punctual at all times”

He doesn’t answer as he feels Gina’s gaze of confusion on him. How well does he know you? Was the question that replayed in Gina’s mind.

You lean back on your chair and notice Gina’s expression as if she is more than confused with Polly’s words.

Has Michael actually never said a word about you to her? You wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. Michael has shown more and more how he simply runs away from his problems.

Oh, but you would pay well to see Gina’s reaction to everything you two have shared over your time as lovers.

Michael looks forward, noticing your gaze on Gina and he follows it, meeting his girlfriend’s eyes filled with confusion and slight annoyance over feeling ignored.

Polly ignores the exchange of looks between the trio and opens her menu, starting to read the name of each meal and what each one had.

“If you don’t mind me asking” Gina starts with a soft tone, “And I know that this will sound rude, but… What are you doing here?” She asks, directing her gaze towards you in the last words.

You open your mouth to talk but Polly is quick to answer for you, in fear that you would say something rude back.

“Y/N is like a daughter to me” She explains, making Gina seem even more confused about you.

“Is that since she started working for you?”

You can’t help but smile at how oblivious she is to everything, which is quite intriguing.

Poor thing probably doesn’t even know half of the truth.

“For me?” Polly asks, “For the Peaky Blinders, you mean?”

Gina nods.

“I believe you can say that” Polly says, looking towards you as if to check if you agree, but is met with your smile, making her a bit confused.

“Was that how you met Michael?” Gina asks, intrigued by the conversation, looking towards you.

Gina knew the answer. Michael had said a few days ago at dinner that when he had met you, you were too soft to be a Peaky Blinder.

She is just testing how the story connects on your ends.

“God no” Polly answers for you with a scoff.

Michael stares at the two women in front of him as if they were two bombs about to explode. How much of the truth could you spill before even ordering the food?

The answer is: a lot.

“Michael was the one that introduced her to us” Polly says with a smile as she looks over at her son, who did not smile back, only stared in silence.

“Oh really?” Gina asks, surprised, “Didn’t expect that”

Reality clicked on Polly’s mind as those words aligned with everything that has been asked until now. Her son had lied about you. You. The girl she had welcomed in her arms when he broke her. When Michael, her son, broke: You.

Now she understood your amusement to the whole situation, but she did not imitate it to the slightest. This just infuriated her to the maximum level.

“Had Michael never spoke about Y/N to you?” She asks, opening another door into this conversation.

“No” Gina answers sincerely, “Not until we all had that meeting in that pub, if I remember correctly”

At least that’s the only day he gave her actual answers. He didn’t even answer one of her questions on the day that Polly mentioned you at the train station.

“Interesting” She answers while sending a glare towards her son.

“How so?”

You pull the menu off Polly’s hands to check it while still having the malicious smile on your lips, and Michael’s eyes move over to you, noticing your amusement for the first time.

You look back at him when feeling his stare and your smile gets bigger when noticing his expression.

Michael Gray is scared. How fascinating.

“What’s wrong, Michael?” You ask, looking back down at the menu, “You look a little stressed”

Michael hears your words, letting his mind admire the way his name rolled off your tongue as it did years back, until he remembers that he needs to give you an answer.

“Nothing’s wrong”

You nod at his words and Gina ignores your small interaction to look at Polly.

“What is so wrong of Michael not telling me about Y/N, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Yeah, mom. What’s so wrong about that?” Michael asks, finally entering the conversation.

Polly sighs lightly.

“Nothing is wrong about what you did or didn’t do” Polly says, talking directly to her son, “I just find it extremely hard to believe it, as well as, highly surprising”

“Her existence just isn’t important in my conversations with Gina” He shrugs.

“You know very well that I’m not talking about her existence” Polly says with a disapproving tone, “Gina deserved to at least know something. Especially when you are coming into this place acting like you didn’t do anything wrong”

Your smile falls off your face and so does your rather amused look, it got replaced by a quite serious and broken one.

You lower your eyes to the words written on the menu and continue to act as if you were reading.

Michael bites his tongue and looks away from his mom, almost as if her words wounded him.

Both of your chests moved up and down rapidly as you let out heavy breaths, trying to get control back of your body and mind.

Your minds match the speed of how memories and thoughts passed through, making the situation worsen.

A man stands beside you, making Gina and Polly look up at him.

“What will you be having tonight?”

(…)

You turn the ring on your finger as Polly talks with the waiter about what kind of deserts they have and try to think about something more entertaining.

Gina listens to their conversation silently, since she’s interested in something sweet, while leaning her head over Michael’s shoulder.

You sigh out loud while letting go of the golden ring and scratch the back of your neck.

“I think I’m going home early” You whisper to Polly after leaning closer to her, making her stop talking to look at you.

“Are you okay?” She asks sweetly, with a concerned expression.

“Of course,” You offer a quick smile, “I’m just exhausted, and I need to work tomorrow morning”

You don’t care enough to look at the couple in front of you while getting up from your chair. You throw your long jacket over your shoulders and slide your arms into the sleeves.

“I’ll see you tomorrow” You whisper to Polly, who answers you with a tight smile.

You ignore the couple’s stare and walk off to the front door of the restaurant.

As you wish a goodnight to the workers at the front of the building, Polly sighs when realizing that you must be planning on walking home.

“Fuck” She whispers to herself.

“What?” Michael asks, noticing her concern.

“Y/N is walking home” She says while fighting her urge to roll her eyes in annoyance at herself for forgetting, “You two finish your meal, I’ll go take her home”

As Polly apologizes to the waiter and moves her chair back to stand but Michael is quicker.

“I’ll take her” He says, standing quickly, almost forgetting that Gina’s head was leaning on his shoulder, “You two eat your desserts”

Polly thanks him but as soon as she finishes the sentence, Michael was already out of the door of the restaurant with his jacket in hand.

He stares into one of the sides of the lonely and dark road and looks for you, but you are nowhere to be seen. He turns to the other side and sees you walking off while lighting a cigarette.

“Y/N!” He shouts while walking in quick pace towards you, “Wait up!”

You turn to see who is the crazy man that’s screaming at you and once you do it, you quickly wish you didn’t when you notice Michael running towards you.

“What are you doing?” You ask with the rudest tone you could pull off.

“My mom told me to take you home”

“Well, tell her that I’m grown enough to walk myself home” You scoff, “Go back inside”

He ignores your words and grabs your wrist, pulling you towards the parking lot. You scowl while looking at the back of his head and you can’t help but swear at him in your mind.

You yank your arm back as you reach the car and Michael unlocks the doors.

(…)

Three quarters into the drive you noticed you started wishing to be walking home for the 40th time. Not only was the silence between you uncomfortable enough to make you want to run away, the lack of communication was just the worst of it all.

You still feel very much affected by the beginning of your dinner, which just adds up to the built-up emotions you are hiding from him.

You wake up from your thoughts as Michael parks his car in front of your house and you are quick to try and jump out of the car right in that second.

“Thank you for not telling Gina anything” Michael says, making stop on your moves to look at him.

“What?”

“You could’ve told everything to Gina at the restaurant, but you didn’t. Thank you”

You stay still for at least one good minute and don’t say anything, until you let out a scoff while looking at him dumbfounded.

“You have some fucking nerve” You laugh while nodding, acknowledging the stupidity in his words. “I didn’t do that for you”

You open the door and jump out of the car before he could say anything.

You slam it, just to give your words a little more character, but you tense up in your steps as you hear his door opening as well.

“Oh really? Then why didn’t you tell her then?” He asks, in a loud tone over the distance already between you, “You could’ve ruined me and my relationship right there and then, but you didn’t. Why didn’t you?”

“Because!” You shout while turning around, “You don’t even deserve that from me! You can live your shit relationship filled with lies all you want, Michael, I don’t give enough of a fuck to destroy that for you”

“Seriously?” He asks, walking over to you, “Then why in the fuck did you act all affected by the sight of us together?”

“Are you serious?” You ask, again, dumbfounded by his words, “I’m not affected by your relationship! I’m affected at the mention of what you did TO ME!” You shout at the top of your lungs your last words.

The words echo through your street and Michael’s breathing heavies.

“All of this is because I left you?”

You scoff and turn to walk to your door, ignoring his steps behind you as your chin starts to shake and your eyes to water.

You’re able to unlock your door and slide in your house, but Michael’s foot stops it from closing on his face.

“We’re not done with our conversation” He says while forcing your door open.

You let go of the door, stripping your jacket as you walk to the living room and you try to get hold of your emotions as the tears try to spill over your cheeks.

“Just leave, Michael” You say with a calmer tone, while throwing the jacket to the side, to the couch’s back.

“You hate me this much because I left you?” He ignores what you preciously said.

“Yes” You say, still not looking at him, “Now, can you leave me alone?”

“No” He says, and you hear your front door finally close, meaning that he’s planning in staying for a little bit more time that you wished.

“Michael, please” You say, finally turning around.

Michael looks up at you and frowns a bit at the sight of your red watery eyes and you biting the inside of your cheek.

“Just leave me alone” You plead, this time, “I don’t care for your relationship, for what you do with your life, or what you wish to do with Gina after leaving Birmingham, just please. Leave my house”

“I’m sorry for what I did” He says, a way softer tone than before.

“You aren’t sorry”

“I am”

“No, you are not!” You scream again, making him flinch slightly, “If you were sorry, that apology would’ve been the first thing you told me when we first saw each other. But no, you just decided to rub in the scar how you moved on and got yourself a girlfriend that COULD BE FUCKING PREGNANT!”

Michael looks down at the floor and a sob leaves your mouth. You lay your hand over your mouth to hide the incoming whimpers and sobs.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you as much as I did” He admits.

“No, you didn’t” You agree, “You just wanted me to end that call and live a happy life, right?”

“Yes, actually”

“Well, sorry to inform you, Michael Gray, but that is not how love works” You say, voice cracking at the end, “And anyone with a least 2 braincells would know that”

He stays silent again, leaning over your couch’s back, eyes on the ground as if he’s thinking on what to say next.

“Just tell me one last thing. Why did you do it?” You ask, harshly wiping the tears off your cheeks.

Michael shakes his head, not knowing what to say to you. His chest aches at the sound of your words heavy with sadness and heartbreak, but he swallows the emotions away.

“I don’t know why I did it,” He admits, “It was stupid of me and I regretted it right away”

You grab something on the table beside you and throw it at him.

“STOP FUCKING LYING TO ME!” You shout as Michael ducks under the flying plate that shattered on the wall behind him.

“I am not lying!” He assures, “I am not fucking lying! It hurt me to do that to you and I wanted to call back and apologize, but-”

“But you’re too big of a coward to do it” You finish, “You don’t have the right to come to me and act like you left that conversation hurt like I did, Michael. You didn’t, and you should admit it to yourself”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t be doing this. But what I’m saying is true”

“Even if it is, Michael” You say, walking over closer to him, “That just shows how much of a coward you are. You regretted it, yet you were too big of a cunt to not call back and admit that you were wrong. Your pride was bigger than the pain you felt for what you did. And you only realize it now, almost 2 years later”

You’re right, more than right, you’re spot on, and Michael’s silence just confirmed it for you.

“You broke me to feel 5 seconds of pride of being a single independent man, to then realize that you’re no man at all” You say, mouth full of hatred and arrogance, “That is what you’re sorry about”

“No, that’s not true” He says, standing back on his feet and walking towards you.

“How come?”

“I am sorry for breaking your heart the way I did” He says, “And I am sorry for realizing it so late. I did not mean to ever do this much damage”

You don’t answer, feeling too tired to do it.

“Y/N, please!” He pleads, “God damn it, I am sorry that I did this to you! Please, at least, give us a change to talk this through and understand each other’s side”

“No”

“Pleas-”

“No, Michael! How can you even ask that?” You ask, frowning at him, “Is this all an act to you? You’re acting like I’m so special to you, yet you talked about me in that dinner as I was a simple girl that you met just before leaving for America”

“I never meant it like that”

“Fuck you, Michael. Fuck you and your ‘I didn’t mean to’’s” You say, “Do yourself a favour and leave before you let anymore shit come out of that mouth”

“Y/N-”

“What, Michael? What do you wish to say next?” You ask, almost screaming again, “Are you-”

“Just let me speak for a second!” He shouts, shutting you up, “Gina is the only person I’ve ever talked about you that way. Ever! I just told her that because I was scared of ruining my relationship with her”

“Then just leave, she isn’t here. She’s waiting for you at the restaurant. If she truly is the person that you care for the most, then leave!”

“I don’t care about her, right now” He says loudly, “I’m trying to show you that I still care for you, Y/N. Please, just let me fix this”

“It’s a little too late for that” You say before turning your back to him and walking towards the kitchen.

“Why?”

You turn back to him.

“Because YOU MOVED ON, MICHAEL!” You add, “That is what is hurting your case! How can you still continue to say that you still care for me and that you went through a lot of pain after that call, when you moved on?”

“I moved on to deal with my pain!”

“Just leave”

“Y/N-”

“Leave! Get out of my house, Michael! You have done enough damage already, don’t make it worse. Please!”

Michael shuts his mouth and nods at your words.

“Okay” He whispers.

He turns around and walks past the broken plate on the ground before opening the front door and slamming it on his way out.

You let out a loud sob and you don’t care enough to cover your mouth this time, letting your knees lose their strength and bring you down to the hard cold ground, as you cried in desperation of what just happened.

As your breathing quickens and your sobs get even more uncontrollable, you crawl your way to the house phone, dialling a very familiar number.

“Hello?” Finn’s groggy voice, probably from sleeping, sounds on your ear.

You sniffle and clear your throat before speaking.

“Can you come over?” You ask, your voice cracking at the small question and the memories it brings you, “I need you, right now”

“I’m on my way”

- - - - - - -

This ending hurt to write, ngl.

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[moonlights-inkwell]

“Be Good to Me.” I Whisper. (And you say, “What?” and I say, “Nothing Dear.”)

Summary: Jaskier’s different in Oxenfurt. It’s not a bad thing at all.

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 5,406

A/N: This fic was going to be a super short and indulgent smut fic, but then it took on a life of it’s own and got to be like 5000 words before I even got to the porn, so now it’s gonna be a two parter. Oops. Also, Jaskier’s looking kinda rugged in this fic, mostly cause I was basing his appearence on how Joey looked during the Love Run era and I’m... weak. And yes I gave him glasses. Why? Who knows.

Title taken from That Unwanted Animal

Warnings (for Parts 1 and 2): Smut. cock warming. Oral (female and male receiving). Body worship. Female pronouns used/afab genitals described for the Reader. Light Praise Kink. Dom Jaskier. Professor/Lecturer Jaskier.  

You wake, slowly and without much intent, to the sound of singing.  

It’s not uncommon, these days at least, to be woken by music and laughter. It’s a welcome change of pace from your normal life of travel, fighting and pain, all the laughter and music. Oxenfurt is always so lively and full of music and laughter, even now in the coldest and darkest months of the year. You almost resent that it isn’t a permanent fixture of your life. You've never thought yourself a deeply domestic person, but now in Oxenfurt, you feel... content in a way you've never felt before. 

Not knowing, or caring about, the time, you decide it much too early to even consider opening your eyes, and remain beneath the sheets entangled about you. Fingers curling into the soft, treated furs that cover the mattress, you tug the duvet closer to you, and feel the blankets on top of them shift, weighted and soothing all the while. A lazy grin spreads across your face; it’s so warm, a luxury you know all too well you cannot afford to take for granted. Cracking open an eye ever so slightly, you catch sight of a fire, crackling and popping deep within the arch of the fireplace. Bless Oxenfurt, you think tiredly and close your eye once more. A fireplace in the bedchambers, and the living area. You could get used to luxuries like this.

You never considered that you’d ever spend any period of time in Oxenfurt, never mind be wintering there, and while it’s wonderful you cannot help but feel out of place. You’ve never been the sort of person to be wealthy or talented enough for a University of such high esteem; daughter of a seamstress, former barmaid, barely able to hold a tune or paintbrush. But along came Jaskier, wonderful, beautiful Jaskier. With Geralt returning to Kaer Morhen for the winter, your bard had asked you, soft and sweet, to join him at his old place of education. He only needed to ask you once.  

The campus is beautiful, warm and comfortable and full of lively, excited youths, so bewitched by their art and school. You understand it, it’s difficult not to be taken in by the beauty of it all, but one thing keeps you weary; the fact that it’s a place of such overwhelming privilege, the likes of which you’ve had next to no interaction with. You’ve always known Jaskier is a man of luxury: his accent, embroidered doublets and silk chemises advertise it in a way that is out of place on the road traveling with Geralt but are common as muck on campus. Everyone here is like him, rich but seemingly playing at slumming as students, as if they too will be traveling bohemian bards rather than what will undoubtedly actually happen, being taken in by whatever court will have them. He’s different in Oxenfurt, too. Not a bad sort of different, but... unusual. Jaskier, your bard, lover and traveling partner, is wonderful, a giddy and excitable fool, who spends much of your time together teasing and goading, is strangely absent. In his place is... someone else. A professor and an adult. It’s hard to believe your bard, a man who sings often of masturbation and hand-jobs with a smug grin, is a professor. A teacher. He’s smart, you’ve always known that, but it’s easy to forget how bloody intelligent he is.

He plays the fool all too well, well enough that it’s what you think of when you consider him. It’s strange to see him acting so maturely, planning lectures and grading compositions, walking about and advising students, talking about writing and singing techniques. They adore him, it’s written across their faces when you see them together, and the adoration and admiration of him is transferred onto you too. They gape and gawk at you, talking quietly and singing lines from songs that Jaskier had written about you. When you walk together around the halls and cobblestone roads, they rush to you both, mouths full of questions about travel and monsters as well as whatever the hell a cleft or bridge are. It’s so strange. You don’t know how you’re to feel about being watched by these aristocratic students, caught somewhere between hero worship and sideshow attraction. Even in tiny taverns and villages, people look at you as just a girl, aided usually by Geralt’s intimidating frame outshining the various knives you have adorning your figure. The only person who normally stares at you is Jaskier, always in this shocked sort of adoration, as if he can never quite believe that you are real and beside him. It’s sweet and never invasive, always looking but never prying.

You purr softly at the thought of Jaskier, in this delicate daze of being half-asleep, this is perfection, a comfortable, engulfing warmth and softness, resting on top of soft fur with the love of your life in bed beside you. But something isn’t quite right. Jaskier always touches you, something you silently think must come from a lack of human contact as a child, he always has a hand on your bare skin especially while in bed, on your hip, curled about you like you could be snatched away, forehead pressed into your back, or fingers threaded through your hair. But right now? There’s not any such contact, and it makes you roll over in bed, eyes suddenly wide with realisation. Empty.  

It’s expected, but disappointing none the less. During the week he has lectures in the morning, and leaves you to rest as long as you wish before doing whatever you want until his classes end, usually resulting in your traveling about the campus town, meandering by the market and bakery often. It feels childish, but you hate it, you’re too used to waking in his arms and turning about to kiss him awake. It’s horrible to wake without the comforting weight of his arms around you and the combination of warmth and tickling hair from his chest hair against your back.  

“What in the fuck... is that a scale? In the middle of... what is that?” An oh so familiar voice says loudly, which makes you grin. He’s here, even if not in bed with you, there’s no need to wait about for him to return. He sounds scandalised, you can see him in your head, hunched over a pile of papers, brows furrowed into a look of confusion and annoyance. Adorable. You shift up and attempt to get to your feet, faltering slightly at the comfortable warmth of your sex and the dried fluid on your thighs; eyes slide down to take in your naked form. Bed clothes have never been a necessity with someone as insatiable as Jaskier, hell, even normal clothes are barely necessary.  

“What the fuck?” He mutters, the sound of his voice draws you towards the door, but you stop as quickly as you start. There seems something overly presumptuous about walking to him nude, even if you have been in a relationship for years and have seen each other naked more times than you can remember. Stepping forward once more, your eyes slide across the sight of one of Jaskier’s shirts balled up on the floor where it had been tossed to last night. It’s scooped up without much of a second thought and tugged on before turning to look at a mirror; it’s beautiful, silk and embroidered with bluebells, with a high collar, and is left open to expose the inner curves of your breast, the expanse of your stomach and almost all of your legs. It, combined with the slight swell of your lips from relentless kissing last night and sleep tousled hair, makes you feel strangely beautiful. You don’t often feel beautiful, especially having just woken up, so when you rub your face gently with the fabric and breath in the smell of your lover, you feel your nipples stiffen slightly. Lavender and musk and something so entirely Jaskier fill your senses, and you walk out of the bed chambers, smiling softly as the material grazes your thighs as you do so.

Gods above, he’s beautiful. Always is, always has been, but still no matter how long you’ve known him he manages to take your breath away. He’s always had such a boyish face, handsome but soft, fitting easily with the childishness he exudes, but winter has seen that change. With him not performing for the season, and needing to look older than his students, his need to shave and keep up appearances has dissipated somewhat. He’s sitting there in an armchair in front of a desk, all curtains drawn and leaving him illuminated by the fire roaring across from him and the candles littered about the table in front of him, shirtless and resting his now stubbled chin on his hand while his hair, longer than you’ve ever known it, frames his face. You like it longer, and he seems too as well, letting you twist and braid it during the evenings while he strums at his lute in front of the fire and tells stories you don’t believe to be entirely true. He doesn’t look older, but instead more mature, like he had responsibilities that aren’t trying to earn as many coins as possible between stolen kisses and avoiding being swatted at by Geralt. His skin is almost glowing in the candlelight and reflects from the delicate spectacles that rest on the bridge of his nose. It’s alien and familiar all at once, and you smile to yourself at it. He had told you he was full of surprises the first night he kissed you, but this was a surprise you doubt even he could have ever anticipated. You’ve taken to referring to this more grown-up Jaskier as Julian in your mind, just to try and separate the two for your own peace of mind, but it doesn’t seem right now. It’s like looking at another side of a coin or hearing a song and finally paying attention to what the lyrics mean; it’s the same but not, and you worry that maybe you’ve spent your entire relationship with the man before you underestimating him. Reducing him down to beautiful fool and verbose romantic, when he’s always been mature, but felt no need to show it. You know from first-hand experience that being serious in the presence of Geralt always makes the air cold and uncomfortable, but now, away from the Witcher and his overwhelming stoicism, Jaskier can be as serious as he wants without souring anything. It’s refreshing. You never thought you could love him more than you already do; but right now? Bathed in golden light, relaxed and without pretention or any semblance of performance? You could marry him on the spot. You’re hardly a creative like he is, but you could write epics about him; verses about his eyes, sonnets about his cupid's bow, songs about the colour of his hair. He curses in what you assume is elder before pushing his hair away from his eyes, and you have to fight back the urge to run to him and tug it back with a ribbon to keep it from annoying him, and so you stay.

Leaning back against the door, you take him in as best you can and try to dedicate this image of him to memory. Him, soft and comfortable, looking like a real professor, surrounded by the warm brown of the furniture and the golden glow of fire that crackles and pops under the quiet music of him humming whatever is written on the pages, that’s the sort of Jaskier you want to remember. Content. It's a habit you have gotten into since you began courting, trying to keep the most delicate and domestic memories for nights when the traveling gets the most of you, and you wish you could just go home. It’s normally simple things, like when he sleeps in after you, hair haloing around him, long lashes fanning out on his cheeks, or the day when he took you to a field of wild flowers to unwind, and had laughed so loudly the skin about his eyes and bridge of his nose had crinkled like silk moved too quickly, a crown of dandelions and bluebells about his head. He’s so beautiful, and when you’re both old and grey you want to be able to remember just how gorgeous he is. He never truly believes it when you tell him it, as you never believe him when he says how much he believes you to be beautiful. Perhaps it’s why the two of you fit together so well. Insecure fools, finding security in the other’s arms. It takes him a moment or two to glance up from the papers, but as soon as he does, he gapes at you, lips parted and eyes raking across your frame and back up to your face once more. It’s quiet, but you clearly hear the soft gasp that comes from him, which makes you smile sweetly to him and tilt your head to the side.  

“Good Morning, Dandelion.” Your voice is low and scratchy with sleep, pet name rolling easily from your tongue. It feels like a foolish thing to say, but every other thing that had come to mind was hardly better. “What are you doing?” The bard says nothing but grins and pushes himself back into the seat, opening his arms wide gesturing you onto his lap. It’s all the encouragement you need to walk over and clamber onto his lap, his arms wrap about you and tugs you closer still, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Afternoon, Dear Heart. It’s mid-afternoon.” He murmurs into your skin. “You looked so peaceful; I couldn’t be responsible for waking you when you were so blissful. Besides, I had compositions to overlook.” Squirming, you try to turn to look at the sheet music, but Jaskier holds you tighter still, face burrowing even further into the curve where your throat meets shoulder, his words make his lips brush against the sensitive skin, like kisses aborted before truly meeting their destination. “This chemise looks awfully familiar-”

“It looks better on me, Dandelion. Don’t you think?”  

“Everything looks amazing on you, Darling Dear.” He says softly and presses a teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth, and then one to the tip of your nose. “I’m quite sure you could wear rags and still be the most beautiful woman to have ever walked the earth.”  

“Flatterer.” You grin and rest your hands on the thick, downy fluff that covers his chest.

“I thought it sounded nicer than saying everything looks beautiful on you, but...”  

“But what?” You ask when his sentence dawdles to a stop without ending.  

“But I prefer you in nothing at all.” He grins, and despite all the ways his appearance has changed since the two of you arrive, you see your playful, boyish bard once more, all too proud of himself for having found a complimentary way of saying he wants you nude once more. It’s flattering, always will be flattering, that Jaskier loves your body in ways that you never have but you slap his arm playfully, more for your own sake than his; so you can pretend that you didn’t just consider stripping the shirt off to make his grin turn to the same flustered smile it always turns to when you exert any modicum of control over your bedroom activities. For all his experience, and your lack thereof, all it takes is you acting like you know what it is you’re doing to turn your Dandelion into a blushing, nervous mess of a man. The thought of his pink cheeks makes your own flush, and you try to distract yourself.

“What’s the time?”  

“Doesn’t matter in the slightest, Dear Heart. It’s a weekend, and you were so peaceful. I assumed after last night you would need all the rest you could possibly get.” The smug little grin that breaks across his face makes you blush harder. It had been a long night, and the thought of it sends a rush of heat to your sex.  

“O-oh.” You laugh weakly. Jaskier cups your cheek and pulls you into a soft, chaste kiss, the kind that makes your heart stop entirely for a second or two. His lips are softer here, not chapped and chafed by wind and travel, just plush and inviting. Just as you start to melt against him, and a hand travels up to grip his shoulder, he pulls back to glance back at the paper once more, “...Sorry. I must be distracting you-”  

“My favourite kind of distraction, My Love.” He squeezes your hips softly and tilts his head, “And I will never be too busy for you,” He pulls you closer still, chest pressed to chest, to rest his chin on your shoulder, looking to the papers once more. You’re sure it’s accidental, but he drags your bare cunt along his thigh, and you bite back a moan. “Especially seeing as you’re so bloody warm, like a little bed-warmer.”  

“A bed-warmer that you’re ignoring for music?” You tease, and one of his hands slips under the shirt to rest on the warm flesh of your waist as he shakes his head, sending chestnut hair brushing against your cheek, your own hand threading through the hair of his chest.  

“I’m not ignoring you. Gods, no one could ignore you if they tried. I just... I simply have to look over these compositions.” His voice is distant and distracted, he’s a thousand miles away, and you decide to try to be a good little bed-warmer, as he so eloquently put it, trying to stay still and keep him warm. You aren’t sure how long passes before you begin to shift, could be a second or an hour, but Jaskier’s thighs are not the most comfortable resting place you can imagine, so you shift up onto your knees for a second, using the added leverage of height to shift closer towards him, accidentally brushing your hips against his in your search for comfort, but instead only feel a familiar stiffness against your sex. The shock draws a soft gasp from you, and that makes Jaskier chuckle lowly.  

“Oh. I... You. You’re hard.” The words come out breathy and virginal, as if the idea of the man you’re sat atop of being attracted to you is some sort of strange impossibility rather than being obvious. He spends his nights with either his tongue or his cock buried inside you, but were someone to have heard that weak little statement, they would have assumed that You had never been so much as touched before in your life. Jaskier appreciates the absurdity if the chuckle he breathes out is anything to go by at all, you feel him turn his head and then the heat of open-mouthed kisses being pressed to the crook of your neck. Kisses there have always made you feel vulnerable, made worse by seeing what beasts could do if they got their teeth that close to your jugular, but Jaskier isn’t a beast. He’s barely like a man, more like a dream you’ve created for yourself, and he always kisses you there. He must like the vulnerability it makes you feel for the frequency he kisses it.  

“Have been since I saw you in my shirt.” He murmurs, quiet as though it’s a confession of sorts, head shifting slightly to brush his nose across the column of your throat. “It’s quite difficult to not be hard when you look so... Debauched.”  

“Debauched?”  

“As sin, My Love. Fucking... hair wild, neck bruised, tits barely covered... And in my clothes? Melitele, I cannot imagine anything more debauched.”  

“Your cum is dried on my thighs too.” You all but sing out. The reminder is all the encouragement he needs to reach down and trace lute-calloused fingers across the crust of spunk at the top of your legs. They don’t remain there for long, however, travelling up to trace across your slit.  

“And your soaked cunt too.” He says lightly, digits trailing across the seam and gathering as much of the wetness as he can, stopping just above the place where you need him most to bring up the fingers and slot them into his mouth, sucking on them with a purpose. The whine that escapes your mouth isn’t dignified in the slightest, but neither was the way he was dangling exactly what you want in front of you without letting you indulge.

“Don’t tease, Jask-”  

“I’d hardly call this teasing, especially compared to your coming out here in nothing but my shirt-”

“Julian~” You whine weakly. Using his birth name is so uncommon to you that you almost trip over the word, but it achieves some sort of reaction from him. He pulls back and stares at you, a hunger in his eyes as his pupils grow wider and trail down your body, lingering on your cunt for a second longer than the rest of you, then looking up to meet your gaze again. You know his usual lust filled gaze, light and flirtatious and appreciative but this is... hungry. Ravenous, as if he’s been denied you rather than staring at his own handiwork, littered across your body and encouraging his staring.

“No, Dear Heart. I have such a lot of music to review and grade. My students will be disappointed if I don’t do it quickly. So disappointed.” His voice is pointed but you know from the look on his face that he’s playing, with you and himself. A game to see who cracks first, one you have no interest in playing. You have absolutely no interest in making him beg for you, or begging for him, you just want to feel the blissful drag of his cock in and out of you. “Don’t be selfish. You get to have me all year, and these poor things only have my genius to consult for the winter.” Genius. You aren’t entirely sure about that, but watching him speak, all you can think of is him putting his clever mouth to work on you.  

He moves quickly, hands removing themselves from your skin to pick up the papers while his chin returns to your shoulder once more. It's infuriating, so you tug at his chest hair like a petulant child.  

“But you’re hard!” You whine out in utter indignation.  

“I know, Dear Heart. Your cunt is against my cock, of course I’m hard.” Jaskier says slowly, as if talking to a small child. “But, I’m also a professor who needs to overlook my student’s work.” He’s right, you know that he’s right, and it’s hardly as if Jaskier is some brute who leaves your needs ignored but, Gods, you’ve been wet since you saw him, and the thick ridge of his cock against you is hardly helping your situation. “You can feel how much I want to fuck you, Darling. Gods above and below, the things I want to do...” He sounds defeated, and you turn your head to gently peck his cheek. “But, truly, I do need to look at these.” You nod quickly and gnaw at your lip; you aren’t being fair, and you know it.

“Then look at them, Buttercup. I’ll just... keep you warm.” You smile sweetly and he nods then pecks your cheek.  

He’s busy. You know he’s busy, but he's still hard and it isn’t helping your situation. Memories of last night, specifically of how it had felt to sink down on him while his mouth worked about your nipple, comes to mind too which causes your hips to rut against his subconsciously, drawing a growl from the bard. It’s not a noise you know well, coming out when he feels slighted or is especially engrossed in a song, but it sends a rush of heat to your cunt once more and you desperately grind your hips into his again. This is not keeping him warm, your mind chides you, but the feeling of the lacing pressed upward by his tenting trousers rubbing against your clit is enough for you not to care about how you had promised to keep him warm. The only thing you care about right now is chasing the feeling of overwhelming pleasure.

“You... are toying with things beyond your control, Dear Heart.” He murmurs darkly, pulling back to stare at you once more and only serves to intensify the blush that is spread across your cheeks. Beyond your control? Jaskier? The thought makes you giggle.

“I am... I’m just trying to... warm you up.” The words come out stilted and gasped between each circling movement of your hips against his. “You. You said you... were cold. I’m trying to be a good... bed warmer.”  

A good bed warmer? Not at all. You want to be a good partner, a good woman-desperate to feel your lover's cock buried to the hilt inside of you; the blissful stretch that it causes, his hands guiding you gently in your ministrations. Even without his prick being free, you move against him as if it is, hips gyrating and tits bouncing with each movement, you try and pretend that the feeling of coarse lacing against your clitoris is all you need. In all honesty, it almost is, especially when Jaskier gives up all pretence of working and allows his hips to buck up and grips your hips tightly enough to bruise, guiding each circling motion that your hips make. You can almost feel the ridge of his cockhead through his undergarments, and sink down on it enough that the fabric covered tip almost sinks inside of you before you pull back and return to rubbing your sensitive nub against the fabric. All too soon, you feel yourself lifted onto the table and whine, trying to grab at him but stop when you see Jaskier scrabbling with the ties of his under clothes, finally pulling them loose and shoving them to just beneath the delicate curve of his bottom. It’s seldom you get to see him so desperate he can barely undress himself, but you don’t allow yourself to admire that for as long as you should like to, because of what catches your eye. His cock stands freely, the base framed by dark curls that creep up onto his stomach and into the thicket of hair across his chest, which makes your mouth water in a way you don’t understand and never want to. You just know that the thickness and slight curve of his member makes you want to sink to your knees to wrap your lips about the leaking, pink head and listen to the breathless moans that doing so always draws from him, prettier than any song that you’ve ever heard him sing. Without second thought, you try to push yourself off of the table to settle on the floor and take him in your mouth but are tugged unceremoniously back onto Jaskier's lap.  

“But-" You start, only to have Jaskier cut you off before you can voice your complaint.

“Hush.” The firmness of his voice silences you immediately, his hands guide you up to his member before one slides down to the puffy lips of your sex, spreading them before tugging you down onto him. The manoeuvre is hardly ceremonious, but it’s worth it to finally have that which it feels like you’ve been wanting for hours. The sensation of him splitting you open makes you moan loudly, hips returning to their frenzied bucking to try and reach climax, but your enjoyment is short lives seeing as your desperate canting is stopped by the tight grip on your thighs holding you in place.

“Jaskier?”  

“I thought you wanted to be a good bed warmer, Dear Heart.” His voice trills and you still. The way he says good is enough to make your breath hitch and heart falter.  

“I do-" You’d go to the end of the world for the slightest praise from the Bard, and the way you admit to it makes him grin, and cup your cheeks in both hands, trusting you enough not to move simply because you want to be good for him.

“Then be a good little darling and stay still for me, if you would.” All previous dark hunger that had edged his voice is gone, replaced with his usual childishness once more. You almost wouldn’t realise he was doing anything sexual at all were it not for him having just speared you onto himself. The strangeness of the situation makes you clench around him, drawing a moaned out curse from his lips.  

“But you're inside of me-"  

“You just said you wanted to keep me warm, Pet.” He says slowly, as if speaking to an untrained dog, and the newfound pet name is hardly doing much to dissuade that thought from your mind. “But we aren't in bed, and seeing as you made this mess, I suppose being a cock warmer rather than a bed warmer will have to do.” The candidacy with which he says the term makes you blink. Sometimes, you think, Jaskier forgets that he’s the only man you've ever been intimate with, so terms like... cock warmer, that he throws about like they’re nothing brings a nervousness about you. You don’t know what that even means, but it distracts you from the fact he had just implied that him being aroused by you is a ‘mess’.  

“A... cock... warmer.” You say, leaving a good few seconds gap between each word. The uncertainty in your voice is obvious, and the man inside you chuckles slightly and mumbles something to himself that you can’t quite make out, but sounds like ‘corrupting her’.  

“Sorry Darling. Look at me, throwing about terms you don’t know and acting as if you should.” He sounds genuinely apologetic, but there’s a level of something patronising to his words that you’re not sure he even knows is there, yet intrinsically sets off a need to argue within yourself that you’re barely capable of choking back. “I want you to sit here, looking as radiant as you always do... Debauched and in my clothes, my cum dried on you, with my cock inside of you. But. You cannot move.” He says it simply, as if it's a term people should already be acquainted with; factual, like he’s trying to teach you something new, and your core tightens around him. You wonder, dazed, if that is the tone of voice he uses when teaching his pupils about music.  

If so, you might have to sit in on a lecture. Or have him teach you about music in the privacy of your shared chambers, where you can shove a finger or two inside of yourself to alleviate the want that is developing between your thighs.  

“I can't move? But why?” You wanted it to sound inquisitive, but instead your voice comes out as a whine, and Jaskier grins at that.  

“Think of it as a game, Darling. To show who has more resilience to the other. Who will... fall victim to the carnality of being so close, but still not... fully intimate.” He's so confident that it is almost infuriating, made more angering still by the way he gently brushes his lips along yours as he speaks, refusing to fill the gaps and just kiss you. It’s already almost more than you can bare, hand slipping down to rub at the swollen bud not two inches from where his dick is resting inside of you, but feel it pinned to your thigh before you can so much as brush a finger across it.  

“No, no, no, Dear Heart. If this is a game, then that is cheating, no?” You want to slap the smug smile off of his face, or force your tongue into his mouth, either would please you. “You cum from me, or not at all.” And with that, his earlier predatory smile is back in full force, making you shiver. “If you can stay still for me while I mark these compositions then I'll fuck you the way you want me to. That seems a fair deal to me, don’t you think?” He grins, toothy and wide, and you nod wordlessly.  

“Good girl.”  

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 62 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: The assistant gossip network continued to do its thing, while Courtney lived her best life, Sutan offered Violet some wardrobe assistance, and Bianca planned a coming out.

This Chapter: The Galactica Holiday Party has arrived, and not everyone is prepared...

***

“Remember to find your light!”

Gigi turned her head, trying as hard as she could not to squeeze her eyes shut, the studio lights blinding.

“I said find it, not stare into the sun!”

Gigi blushed and moved her head again, doing her best to try and follow the instructions Sutan kept giving her.

They were in a photo studio in the Bronx, Gigi to get her first pictures for her portfolio taken, while Symone had practiced how to shoot in swimwear, her friend now waiting with her phone for Gigi to finish up.

Gigi had watched Symone move around, completely enthralled by how elegant the other model already was, Sutan barely correcting her.

“Straighten your back!” Gigi did as she was told, a pair of black jeans hugging her body, the long sleeved black shirt she was wearing clinging to her arms.

“Excuse me...” The photographer, who had introduced herself as Widow, looked out from behind her camera, “can I do my job in peace?” Widow smiled even though her tone was clearly sassy, her teeth blindingly white, her black box braids collected in a high bun. She was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans, big red earrings hanging from her ears.

“You know what I hired you for,” Sutan smiled back, and Widow rolled her eyes, making Gigi giggle.

“Yes sir, right away sir,” Widow teased.

“Don’t give the models any ideas with your attitude.” Sutan grinned, his sleeves rolled up around his elbows, refocusing on Gigi who had tried to hold the position he had asked for.

“No, not like, you have to be more.” Sutan moved his shoulders, and Gigi tried to copy it. She knew they were doing this shoot so she could get an idea of what she looked like, so she could train what Sutan called her inner photographer, but it was really difficult.

“No, still not right.” Sutan stepped on the set, getting next to Gigi, the scent of his cologne instantly catching her nose. “Your strength is in your lines Gigi, so you have to stand tall. Use those legs of yours,” He smiled, tapping his own left leg and moving it forward, mirroring what Gigi hoped she was doing. “Try this.”

Gigi moved her leg to copy Sutan, her entire center of balance shifting.

“There we go!” Sutan grinned. “Good job. Now hold it, and find your light.”

***

Violet tried to turn to the side, watching her profile in the big mirror on the back wall of the dressing room.

Her and Sutan had each been swept up by a personal shopper the moment they stepped inside Barney’s, Violet whisked away to the woman's clothes department where everything was outrageously expensive and completely new.

Violet was wearing a beautiful red dress, the hemline just off the floor, her cast barely visible if she stood completely still, which suited her perfectly well.

Violet had every plan to get to the Christmas party, sit down, and then hopefully not move again for the rest of the night, Jovan’s offer of bedazzling her crutches still making her shiver.

“So, what do we think?” Violet’s shopper smiled, the woman standing behind her, her pile of rejected dresses four times the size of the approved ones for the upcoming events, but she couldn’t help being extremely critical, not when everything was so stupidly expensive.

“Well…” Violet looked in the mirror. The dress suited her, even though it didn’t sit snugly at her waist, but that wasn’t something a loose loop stitch couldn’t fix so she could undo it again later and hopefully keep the dress longer. It hadn’t been Violet’s intention to lose weight, and if she was being honest, she had actually expected to gain with a broken foot, but it seemed like that hadn’t been the case, her appetite even worse than usual, her pain killers often making it feel like she had knives stabbing her stomach.

“I’ll take it.”

Violet knew that the dress would be approved by Fame, and loved by Sutan, the low neckline and the opportunity for matching underwear always a treat.

***

“Kat? Are you gonna be okay?” Trixie asked, voice soft.

They were sitting in a little cafe across from her doctor’s office. They’d just gotten the official news - she was pregnant, no doubt about it. She’d put on a transparently false, cheerful face while they were there but barely said two words since they’d left, a croissant and mango smoothie sitting in front of her, untouched.

According to the doctor’s best estimate, she was 14 weeks along, which already limited their options, a fairly invasive procedure now the only way to go if they didn’t want the baby.

She looked at him, blue eyes clear, and said, “I don’t know.”

Trixie nodded, taking her hand in his and holding it lightly. He didn’t want to push her too much, could tell that she was in a fragile state of mind.

“Well...I’m here if there’s anything…Anything I can do.”

“Got a flask on you?” she asked drily, then closed her eyes, immediately chagrined. “I’m sorry, that’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny, babe.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, the two of them sitting side by side, their fingers intertwined.

***

Roxy looked up as Courtney rounded the corner from Miss Fame’s office, flashing her a bright smile. She had just gotten yet another delivery--Roxy was fast becoming BFFs with Greg, the Marie Claire office runner.

“Hey Rox! Whatcha got for me?”

“Hi, Court,” Roxy said, eyeing her suspiciously before handing over the bag, wondering why she was so perky today.

Courtney looked inside the bag and saw what Roxy had already - a large black velvet jewelry box.

“Open it,” Roxy said, and Courtney pulled it out, peeking inside before snapping it closed again. “Come on, you’re not gonna show me?”

A smile pulled at Courtney’s lips, and she leaned forward onto the reception desk, voice low, saying, “You wanna know something?”

“Yes, of course!” Roxy perked up. Was Courtney finally about to admit to her affair with Bianca Del Rio? It was gonna be a hell of a lot easier once she didn’t have to pretend to be in the dark anymore.

“You know how I said that I’ve been...uh...seeing someone who works at Marie Claire?”

“Yeah…you gonna tell me who?”

“Well, no,” she said, and off Roxy’s annoyed scoff, added, “But...we’re coming to the party tonight...together.”

“Oh really?” Roxy’s eyebrows shot up. This actually was pretty decent information, given the potential shit storm it could cause. The drama of Miss Fame’s assistant dating one of her best friends, and them showing up together to a company event? Absolutely delicious.

“Yeah, so...I guess you’ll find out soon enough,” Courtney said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I guess I will,” Roxy agreed, smiling placidly, already typing out a DM to Bob.

***

Fame breathed a sigh of relief as the car pulled up to the hotel she had chosen for the Galactica Christmas Party. The facade was decorated with dripping ice crystals, lights and fake snow making it the winter wonderland she had envisioned. The red carpet had been rolled out, guests already posing for photos and talking to reporters about their clothes, Fame recognizing the signature cameras from E! Network and one of Vogue’s journalists.

She had gotten the confirmation from Shangela that the string quartet had shown up, the musicians hired for the lounge area while the caterers had set up shop in the enchanted forest filled with actual pine trees, the bar carrying a line of gins specifically brewed for the event.

“So,” Patrick lifted an eyebrow, a curious expression on his face. The majority of Fame’s skirt was in her husband's lap since she refused to let the silk anywhere near the bottom of the car. “how are we feeling?”

“Me?” Fame smiled, leaning over to press a kiss against his cheek “Quite content.”

***

“Are you sure I can’t talk you into walking the carpet?”

Sutan looked over at Violet, the two of them on the bottom of the steps leading up to the hotel, Raja and Raven already halfway inside. Raja was in a tight-fitting emerald green suit with a deep cleavage, her hair twisted into a gorgeous updo, while Raven was dressed in a floor length gown in matching green, the two of them looking absolutely stunning together.

“Yes.” The message was clear, and Sutan could feel the tiniest curl of irritation in his stomach. Violet was beyond beautiful, her usually pink nails carefully painted the same red shade as her dress, a tiny purse slung over her shoulders, her black hair curled and spilling over her shoulders and back, her posture perfect even though she was leaning on her crutch, only one of them allowed to come along.

He wanted those pictures of them together, even if it was selfish.

“Lovely eyes-”

“I said no.” Violet’s tone left no room for argument, and Sutan pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath through his nose not to let his irritation win out.

“Sutan,” Violet reached out, gently touching his arm. “This isn’t a you issue, it’s a me issue. I’d love to go up there and be on your arm like a dainty little princess or trophy-”

“What?” Sutan raised an eyebrow. He had never thought of Violet as a princess, or even dainty, the muscles he knew she had and the iron will he had seen her possess over and over again so much more attractive than any trophy girlfriend could be. “That’s not what-”

“I know,” Violet squeezed, underlining her words, “But I’d honestly rather jump into traffic than talk to a single one of those reporters, and risk showing up in any of their publications.”

Sutan snorted, Violet’s dark sense of humor as always getting to him. He knew it also had to do with her relationship to her family, Violet’s choked hospital confession still rumbling around in his head, what little he had managed to piece together telling its clear story of a gossip magazine-obsessed mother, his girlfriend posing for his own mothers old canon camera at Thanksgiving without any issues.

“Okay, but promise me,” Sutan took a step, bringing them closer, his hand finding it’s now familiar place on Violet’s waist, “that I can get one soon.”

“A photo?” Violet raised an eyebrow, their hips almost touching, her free hand on his chest.

“Mmh, just for the two of us.”

“I’ll consider it,” Violet smiled, her fingers gently rearranging his tie, making sure it was sitting completely straight. “If you promise me that we can get a cab home.”

“A cab?” They had arrived with Raja and Raven, a driver coming back to pick all four of them up at the end of the night, “Why?”

“Because you, Mr. Amrull, look fucking fantastic tonight,” Violet looked up at him, a smirk on her lips, “and I wanna make out in the backseat.”

*

“You ready?” Bianca asked, looking over at Courtney as their car pulled up to the curb.

Courtney glanced outside, where a crowd of photographers and reporters were gathered, stomach seizing with the reality of what she was about to do, wondering if it was a mistake. Even walking the carpet with Bianca instead of taking the normal entrance with the rest of the support staff suddenly seemed audacious.

“No,” she admitted, looking back at Bianca apologetically. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Would it help if I told you how absolutely gorgeous you look?” Bianca asked, reaching out to take her hand.

Her outfit for the night was probably the most conservative of all the dresses Dan had pulled for her - a black dress--low cut, but not in a slutty way with a little bow at the front and full circle skirt, paired with a pair of Bianca’s beautiful multicolored Louboutins and simple, classy jewelry--including a glamorous strand of pink pearls that Bianca had sent over earlier in the day.

In spite of her nerves, Courtney couldn’t help but smile a little at the compliment, proud of the care she’d taken with her hair and makeup, hoping to make Bianca proud. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and responded with a cheeky, “Look who’s talking…”

Bianca grinned, and Courtney was once again struck by how fantastic she looked, in a red silk organza cocktail dress, the floaty feminine fabric accentuating her curves perfectly, a deep v-neck giving the perfect peek at her cleavage.

“What if we just stayed in the car for awhile?” Courtney suggested, fluttering her lashes.

“I promise to make it worth your while later, angel.” Bianca squeezed her hand, pulling her in close. “But right now, I’m pretty excited to show you off. So whaddaya say?”

Courtney took a deep breath, the churning in her stomach now a combination of nerves and excitement.

“Okay.”

Bianca signalled to the driver, who quickly got out and walked around to open their door.

“Here we go…” Bianca gave her hand one final squeeze and got out, giving the flashing cameras a polite wave before reaching back in to help her out.

Courtney’s mind was a mess. She suddenly had so many concurrent anxieties, like tripping on the carpet, or being dragged to filth by come gossip rag, or, given how lightheaded she now felt, fainting, here in front of all these people. She tried to steady herself, and Bianca’s arm slid securely around her waist.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry. You look amazing,” Bianca murmured in her ear.

Bianca led her down the carpet--a true professional, posing and smiling, calmly directing Courtney so that she knew where to stand and where to look, chatting jovially with reporters.

“Who’s your date, Bianca?” one of them asked boldly.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Bianca joked back. They’d discussed this ahead of time - better to keep Courtney’s name out of things for the moment, given her job title. Courtney understood, and agreed, and was even a bit relieved. For now, on gossip sites and fashion blogs, she’d just be ‘BDR’s latest blonde,’ and she was very much okay with that. After all, the people that mattered to both of them would know, and that’s what she cared about.

“Well, is it serious?” another piped up.

“You tell me,” Bianca said, and then Courtney really thought she might faint, Bianca pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek as about a billion flashbulbs went off in their faces, murmuring, “You’re doing perfectly, angel.”

She turned to Bianca, gazing at her with breathless admiration, feeling like the luckiest girl in the entire world. And then she took Bianca’s face in her hands and impulsively kissed her, right on the mouth, soft but sure. So what if it was only a fling? Courtney didn’t care anymore--she would remember this high for the rest of her life.

Bianca smiled against her mouth and whispered, “Well, that’ll make headlines...”

“Oops,” Courtney whispered back, both of them giggling.

They broke apart, matching grins on their faces as they looked into each other’s eyes, until Bianca turned back to the sea of paparazzi, now in a frenzy, shouting out questions too fast for Courtney to even process the words.

“That’s enough for you demons!” Bianca called, gently pulling Courtney up the steps, giving one last smiling wave at the top, Courtney’s hand still clasped in hers.

*

“Are you done?”

“Nope!”

Raja hid her grin, her shoulder touching Raven’s as they posed for the camera, her fiancée radiating excitement as she chatted and flirted with the photographers.

Raven had always adored the camera, and if there was a journalist behind it, she was practically in love, getting caught by the paparazzi a treat for her each and every time it happened.

Raja didn’t feel the same thrill, didn’t care as much about showing up in gossip magazines and websites since she had gotten more than enough of that in her youth, but she couldn’t be truly upset when it generated so many great pictures, Raven often looking sexy as sin when she got caught leaving the gym.

“Raja! Over here!”

Raja turned her head, the photographer catching her attention, and that was when she saw them, Bianca coming up a little ways behind her.

Seeing Bianca on a red carpet wasn’t strange, but what was frankly bizarre was the familiar blonde at her side.

Raja had expected Fame’s assistant to be somewhere in the crowd, since it was a company party and a big treat for the staff, but what the fuck was she doing on the red carpet? The support staff was supposed to enter the party through the normal pedestrian entrance.

And then, Bianca put her arm around Courtney’s waist, kissing her cheek as she giggled girlishly.

Oh, fuck.

This was not good. Frankly, Raja wasn’t shocked that Bianca had been messing with Courtney, her behavior at the meeting last week making it painfully obvious that she liked her. But this, this was next level.

Just when she thought it couldn’t get any more embarrassing, Raja witnessed something that made her blood run cold. Courtney grasped Bianca’s face in her hands and kissed her on the lips, causing absolute chaos from the group of paparazzi around them.

“Holy shit.”

“What?” Raven looked up at her, a concerned and confused expression on her beautiful face.

“Wait here.” Raja released Raven, leaving her behind on the carpet, prepared to ambush Bianca the second she got to the doors.

Bianca had done a lot of stupid shit over the years - they all had - and dating bimbos wasn’t a new thing for her, but making out with Fame’s assistant in front of the paparazzi?

That was a new level of braindead, even for her, and Raja had to stop it right now.

*

The moment Bianca stepped off the carpet, she felt someone grab her arm and roughly yank her into the lobby.

“Bianca!” Raja hissed, pulling at her arm. “Come here!”

“Ow!” Bianca laughed at Raja. “Let go of me, you fucking mountain gorilla!”

Just because the woman towered over her was no reason to be intimidated, and it was gonna take a hell of a lot more to bring her down at the moment than Raja looking at her like she was insane.

Beside her, Courtney let out a small gasp, and Raja tried to recover, putting an arm around Bianca’s shoulder and giving Courtney the most sugary-sweet, fakest voice she could manage to say, “Hey there Court, can you give us a minute? I have to chat with Bianca about something important. Great shoes, by the way.”

“Oh...yeah, alright. Um…” Courtney backed away, trying to give them some space. “I’ll just wait over here, then-”

“Perfect!” Raja dragged Bianca to the other end of the lobby, away from any reporters.

“This oughta be good,” Bianca grumbled, though she was still too hyped from the carpet to manage to be truly annoyed.

“What,” Raja pushed Bianca into a corner, inches from her face, her voice filled with venom though her eyes betrayed her geniune concern, “the actual fuck do you think you’re doing, Bianca?!”

“Wanna be more specific?” Bianca asked, tilting her head, an impish smile on her face.

"It's bad enough that you're fucking Fame's assistant, but to parade her around on the red carpet? Without even bothering to give us a heads-up? Are you insane?" Raja’s teeth were clenched, clearly trying to keep her voice down.

"Please. Our relationship has nothing to do with-"

"Relationship? Are you actually calling this a relationship?"

"Yes!" Now, Bianca was starting to get annoyed. Who the fuck did Raja think she was talking to?

"Oy, this is so much worse than I thought,” Raja groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Please don't tell me this is why you bailed on the tasting menu."

"So what if I did?"

"Oh god."

"Fuck you!"

"And what did you expect to happen, Bianca? What's your great master plan with this childish stunt?"

“Well...to be honest, I didn’t know she was gonna kiss me on the carpet,” Bianca admitted, a giggle slipping from her lips. “It was kinda cute, did you see?”

“I...am going to slap you.”

“Come on, Raj. I did give this whole thing a little thought.”

“Really? It doesn’t fucking seem like it!”

“Well, I have. Look, I know she’s gonna be pissed, but I also know she’s not gonna cause a scene in the middle of the party. And then after tonight, she’s got almost a full week to cool off before she has to see me again,” Bianca said, punctuating her statement with a charming smile. Bianca was no idiot. Of course she knew that Fame would be irritated, maybe even angry, but she figured that this was a situation where it would be easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. And besides, if she had to endure her friend’s wrath for awhile in exchange for being free to put her relationship with Courtney out into the open, then so be it.

“That’s what you think will happen?” Raja huffed. “Bianca, please, Fame hasn’t seen you guys yet. If we get Courtney out the back door, we can make an alliance with Patrick to get Fame drunk and unplug the wifi tomorrow so she doesn’t go online. It’ll be like it never happened, and we'll never speak of it again.”

“Raj, listen. I know this might be a real clusterfuck, but I’m willing to accept the consequences.”

“Oh jesus help me.” Raja groaned. “I hope she’s worth it, Bianca.” She pulled away, shaking her head. “I really hope she’s worth it.”

As she walked away, Bianca took a deep breath, looking back across the lobby at Courtney, who was doing a terrible job of trying to look casual, the anxiety on her face clear as day. Bianca sent her a big smile, reaching out a hand, and Courtney rushed toward her.

“Was she mad?” she asked, brows creased with worry.

Bianca cupped her face lightly, stroking her cheek, and promised, “Not at you.”

“Okay.” Courtney bit her lip, and Bianca leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“Shall we?” she asked, gesturing to the ballroom.

“Yeah...in a minute…” Courtney said, immediately adding, “I’m sorry.”

“Take your time, angel. There’s no rush,” Bianca promised. “In fact, if you’d rather get out of here and go somewhere else-”

“No, no, no…” Courtney laughed, taking her hand. “I’m fine. Let’s go in.”

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Night Terrors, pt. 1

WARNING: This story deals with torture flashbacks, several of which are specifically dealing with waterboarding. If these scenes would cause any problems for you, please do not read. I am only basing my portrayal of PTSD on internet research and very little first hand knowledge.

Here it is folks. The two shot that started the current MIC iteration. This was one of my first stories for Modern Inheritance (written in 2016 iirc). As such, it’s not totally in line with the image I have for the series and characters now (Early 2021), but it is a solid baseline and actually pretty damn close. At some point I may rewrite it, but for now, I’m happy with this reminder of changes.)

PART 1 // Part 2

~~~

Arya never really slept well.

True, her sleep got a bit better once they had arrived at Ellesméra, something she was incredibly thankful for, but being able to sleep through every other night without nightmares or a heart pounding night terror ripping her from her waking dreams was still not good enough to be considered ‘sleeping well.’ If it weren’t for those blessed nights of uninterrupted slumber the elf was sure she would be a walking wreck.

So far she had managed to avoid waking anyone else. Islanzadí, surprisingly enough, would occasionally check on her daughter in the middle of the night, and on nights where she found her sitting at the balcony staring at the stars, the queen would join her in silent companionship. It was a sign their relationship was mending, and if Arya was still stuck, mute and fearful, in her dreams, the slender arm that wrapped around her shoulders and soft humming would pull the younger elf from the darker recesses of her mind.

Something about tonight was different, though. As Arya slipped under the comforter on her bed– having finally gotten used to sleeping in it after two weeks of sleeping on a progressively thicker pile of sleeping bags on the floor– she felt a tingle of distant static dart across the pads of her fingers. When she glanced out the doors to the balcony, a far off thunderhead appeared as a purple smear against the orange and pink sunset. Lightning flickered through the cloud, seeming to rent it from corner to corner before it again returned to the color of bruised skin.

'Good. We haven’t had rain in some time.’ The elf thought as she turned on her side and closed her eyes. She tugged the corner of the comforter under her chin and drifted off into her waking dreams, hoping the sway of the tree would lull her into a peaceful sleep.

~

Arya’s waking dreams stuttered. Something had changed in her surroundings, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on until she realized she couldn’t breathe.

Everything felt heavy and damp, especially around her face and definitely over her mouth and nose. It was pitch black and something was clamped over her eyes, shoving her head back against a hard, flat surface. She couldn’t move, no matter how much she internally screamed at her muscles to do so, and with a terrifying jolt she realized she couldn’t breathe either. Warm water gushed into her mouth and flooded her sinuses, panic filling her chest as quickly as the liquid did.

“We can end this here and now, elf.” A cold voice whispered in her ear, and the fall of water against her face halted. The hand over Arya’s eyes lifted and bright light flared across her lids as a sodden cloth was removed. The demon beside the woman let her cough and choke, trying to expel the water in her lungs but unable to while he still pushed her head back with a hand on her clammy forehead. “What say you, hm? A few words are all I want. Speak them to me, and you will be released from this.” He knew she wouldn’t be able to respond, not verbally at least, but that was part of his game. He knew she would never speak.

Using the little leeway he gave her, Arya managed to scowl, spitting water from between her teeth, and shake her head a few millimeters from side to side. Durza sighed mockingly and slapped the wet cloth back down over her face.

“Oh well. Ready to die again, little elf?“

Lightning flashed across Arya’s eyes as she fell from the bed and hit the floor hard, a strangled cry escaping her throat. She scrambled to kick the tangled blanket off of her legs and dove for her pack to rip her sword from where it was tied to the frame.

A clap of thunder rang out as she pulled the blade free just in time to feel her back flare white hot with agony, lines of fire tracing wounds she knew had been healed. It had been weeks since they closed, hadn’t it? Hadn’t it?!

A fist slammed into her side, cracking a rib and sending her to the floor again, sword still clamped in a white knuckled grip.

'Get dressed. Get out of here. Fight.’ The thought was barely registered as Arya scrambled for the combat pants she wore while with the Varden, another line of pain lancing its way up her right arm. For a brief moment, as she struggled to yank the pants on without giving up her sword, she swore she saw blood dripping from her fingers, trailing from a deep gash that revealed the bones and tendons flexing in her forearm.

She dropped her blade for a split second to yank on a standard issue cotton shirt and then snatched the weapon up again. She tore her pistol belt and combat jacket out of her pack, quickly patting the pockets to make sure the pressure bandage and small medkit were still there, and slung both over her arm. Thunder crashed again, followed by a clap of lightning nearby.

Another blow clipped the elf’s shoulder as she dashed for the balcony, nearly shoving her out the open doors before she caught herself on the jamb.

It was raining. Wet spray splashed up into Arya’s face and she recoiled, feeling her throat tighten and her already rapid heartbeat increase. She couldn’t breathe. He chuckled coldly and pushed her off the table with his boot, watching her vomit up water and what little food remained in her stomach as she convulsed on the floor. All that water and yet it still felt as if her lungs were on fire.

Arya could feel another strike coming, another slash from a whip arcing through the damp air. It was either continue facing her invisible attackers or brave the water.

With a savage growl the elf bounded through the doorway and out into the elements, leaping from the balcony to the tier below, the tier below that one, and finally to the ground. She straightened from the crouch she had landed in, then staggered as the raindrops slammed into her back and sent fresh shocks of pain across her skin. The raw wounds– 'How are they open again!'– and exposed nerves registered each and every drop of water as a lightning bolt that seared its way to her brain.

”Giving up so soon? I expected more of you.“ Arya looked up and saw the Shade before her with a mockingly disappointed expression. She bolted to her feet and struck out at his face, only to be thrown against the wall as if she were no more than a child. Stars and lights exploded across her eyes even as she charged him again, refusing to be led like a lamb to slaughter. She fought tooth and nail until he succeeded in pinning her and the whip slammed into her already mutilated back, and the cycle of torture started anew.

And then she was running, sprinting across the elvish capitol, heart pounding in her ears and a knot of terror in her stomach. Everything was wrong, everything was burning. Smoke filled her lungs as she dashed blindly in a direction that, for some inexplicable reason, promised safety.

A bullet suddenly hissed by her ear, cutting through the raindrops with a high-pitched song, then another shot clean through the muscle of her side with a spray of blood. She gasped and stumbled, then spat out the raindrops she had inhaled, coughing as the taste of copper joined the musky flavor of pine smoke. She yanked on her combat jacket, dulling the pain of the raindrops pounding into her skin, and hoped that the woven spider silk plates in the fabric would protect her from any more stray projectiles. 'Where are they coming from? They can’t have gotten here, not in Ellesméra!’

The fire was simply…gone when she slammed into his door, breath coming in quick, painful gasps. The rain still poured down unabated, an explosion renting the night as a cannonbomb detonated behind her and sprayed her wounds with mud. Arya pressed her forehead to the familiar surface and pounded on the door with the pommel of her sword as the ground shook. "Glen!”

There was no answer.

A flash of light to the left made her whip around, looking for the gun from which the muzzle flash had originated, only to feel a blade sink into her stomach.

White hot knives sliced twin, cauterized slits below each one of her ribs. The muscles of her abdomen flexed as she instinctively tried to pull her arms and legs from where they were cuffed to the wall in an attempt to protect her sides and stomach. Durza smiled at her movements, tracing the outline of the toned muscle beneath her tan skin with a finger as he caught her eyes with his. Disgust welled up in her chest, and if she had been able to spit at him she would have. Being without water for two days straight had left her barely able to swallow.

He saw her expression, though, and his smile widened. He leaned forward and pressed his ice-cold forehead to her fevered one, his sharpened teeth glinting in the light cast by the glowing daggers. A bit of horror touched Arya’s heart as she feared the worst. She couldn’t fend off the advances of a Shade, not in the state she was in.

Then she threw back her head and screamed in pain and Durza laughed in glee as the daggers buried themselves halfway to their hilts between her ribs.

The shock sent Arya staggering back to hit the door again. “Glenwing, let me in!” She shouted, kicking the door with her bare heel. “Glen!”

She smelled hot cinnamon mints and burning batteries all interlaced with the pungent scent of motor oil.

And then she realized she could taste them too, and with a jolt she felt a mouth over hers and a weight on her hips and her eyes flared open and she saw him above her. He pulled back and smirked as he wrenched her head to the side by her hair and she immediately coughed up water and blood and bile. “Welcome back to the land of the living, little elf. You need not worry about dying on my watch. Even in the void, you will never escape me.” And he laughed.

Arya let out a choked sob and slid to the ground, her body alight with pain from wounds that should have been nerveless scars and terror that she had never wanted to feel again. “Glen, please…” She leaned against the door, hugging her knees, and beat her head against the wood, trying to chase out the demons in her skull. “Please, I can't–”

There was so much blood. She didn’t even know where he had hit her this time. He had screwed with her perception of pain again, amplifying it until the barest ghost of air on her cheek felt like a hot iron smashing into her face, and set about whipping her with a short bullwhip studded with bits of barbed wire. She had given up on holding in her screams after the first hour and a half. After the fourth she had given up on screaming entirely, her body too weak and her throat too torn to produce sound. And still he cut her and whipped her and kicked her and strangled her, not even asking questions, only seeking to sate the spirits raged within his body.

Then it was black and she tasted the hot cinnamon again, the flavor reminding her of the mints Jörmundur had tried using to curb his smoking after his son was born, and the overwhelming smell of motor oil pervaded her senses. He wasn’t on top of her this time, and she immediately rolled over and dry heaved, spitting and gasping and trying to rid her mouth of the tastes that she now associated with death.

She felt something hot sheeting down the side of her face, hotter than the rain that pounded down inches away. “I can’t…” She whimpered, weakly raising her sword again and knocked the hilt against the door. Pain blossomed on the side of her head, adding the new sensation to the avalanche of agony that was crashing through her battered and bloody body. “I can’t keep…”

A hand grabbed her bruised side– spat blood into his eyes– guard screamed in agony as she slammed her combat boot between his naked legs with a spray of blood– couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, couldn’t taste or smell, it was all silence and nothing– acid sizzled in the trenches of her torn flesh, smelling like cooking meat– knife diving into her stomach over and over, the wounds healing shut after seconds as he methodically stabbed her, grinning like a child at play– pain like that shouldn’t exist– claw shaped iron dipped down– blood, all that blood– his lips on hers as he breathed life into her body again and again to introduce her to new, unimaginable levels of pain–

Arya threw her head back and screamed into the roaring thunder, “Dear spirits, just let me DIE!”

[queenaryastark]

I don’t understand the obsession with basing Arya’s value and importance on whether she likes dresses or not. It’s brought up, often at random, to simplify the character and to “prove” that she’s not able have love or hold a leadership position or do anything other than commit violence. None of these things are dependent on her wearing a dress or not wearing a dress. 

That said, Arya is not a one-dimensional character, but a fully fleshed out, nuanced character that cannot be fit neatly into a type. So many want to put simple labels on the characters like “tomboy” or “girly-girl” and project things onto them based on those labels rather than actually discussing what’s in the books. The novels prove Arya is a lot more complicated than a one-dimensional tomboy stereotype that hates everything the patriarchy has decreed as “girly” on principle. That isn’t how GRRM writes. 

“I don’t wear gowns. You can’t fight in a stupid gown.” – AFFC  

Arya has just escaped an actual warzone and ended up in the care of a death cult. Self-defense is a concern for this traumatized child. And frankly it is difficult to fight in elaborate gowns. Dressing for specific situations is normal. Like wearing leggings, shorts, or sweats when exercising. 

Also, Arya is exaggerating when she says she doesn’t wear gowns since she has them on before and after that statement. In AGOT, she never criticizes dresses. She wears them until she leaves Winterfell to ride south to King’s Landing. While riding south, she wears riding leathers. When she begins training with Syrio, she wears pants. This is about wearing clothing to fit the situation:

Small wonder; she was barefoot and dirty, her hair tangled from the long run through the castle, clad in a jerkin ripped by cat claws and brown roughspun pants hacked off above her scabby knees. You don’t wear skirts and silks when you’re catching cats. – AGOT

When she escapes the Red Keep, she is still wearing the pants she was training in and she gathers the variety of other clothes for practicality  as well: 

Arya recognized silks and satins and velvets she never wore. She might need warm clothes on the kingsroad, though … and besides …

Arya knelt in the dirt among the scattered clothes. She found a heavy woolen cloak, a velvet skirt and a silk tunic and some smallclothes, a dress her mother had embroidered for her, a silver baby bracelet she might sell.- AGOT

Those clothes are all stolen from her while she struggles to survive on the street, so she only has her pants and shirt going forward until she was forced into slavery at Harrenhal, where she is stripped and put into a “scratchy wool shift” or simple dress. After helping the Northerners take Harrenhal, she gets a promotion and a page uniform to match:

In her cell, she stripped to the skin and dressed herself carefully, in two layers of smallclothes, warm stockings, and her cleanest tunic. – ACOK

So she’s probably wearing a pink version of this. She wears that until reaching Acorn Hall where Lady Smallwood puts her in two dresses and a pair of breeches:

And afterward, they insisted she dress herself in girl’s things, brown woolen stockings and a light linen shift, and over that a light green gown with acorns embroidered all over the bodice in brown thread, and more acorns bordering the hem.

——

Lady Smallwood insisted that Arya take another bath, and cut and comb her hair besides; the dress she put her in this time was sort of lilac-colored, and decorated with little baby pearls. The only good thing about it was that it was so delicate that no one could expect her to ride in it. So the next morning as they broke their fast, Lady Smallwood gave her breeches, belt, and tunic to wear, and a brown doeskin jerkin dotted with iron studs.

——

“I’m sorry, my lady.” Arya suddenly felt bad for her, and ashamed. “I’m sorry I tore the acorn dress too. It was pretty.” – ASOS 

Arya can’t stay in the acorn dress because she wrestles with Gendry, which gets the dress dirty and torn, further proving that delicate, elaborate clothing isn’t a good choice for physical activity. The delicate lilac dress proves the same thing, which is why she is given more practical clothes.

Her next costume change comes at a brothel where the workers “dressed her up like one of S*nsa’s dolls in linen and lace”.  One of the patrons of the brothels tried to proposition her until Gendry stopped him. This leads back to the reason why Yoren had her pretending to be a boy in the first place, to make it less likely that men would try to rape her. Note that she is never free from threats of rape while she’s wearing pants, since she is threatened repeatedly before this. Wearing pants just makes it a little less likely. She is back in her breeches and tunic after that until she gets a fresh version of that garb in the House of Black and White, which is in turn followed by a new Faceless Man uniform:

Her servant’s garb was taken away, and she was given a robe to wear, a robe of black and white as buttery soft as the old red blanket she’d once had at Winterfell. Beneath it she wore smallclothes of fine white linen, and a black undertunic that hung down past her knees. – AFFC

From there on, she wears clothes to fit her station in the HOBAW or to fit the role she has taken on, which include simple dresses or the equivalent of dresses:

A long iron knife rode on her right hip, hidden by her cloak, a patched and faded thing of the sort an orphan might wear. Her shoes pinched her toes and her tunic was so threadbare that the wind cut right through it. –AFFC

The clothes she wore were rags, faded and fraying, but warm clean rags for all that. Under them she hid three knives—one in a boot, one up a sleeve, one sheathed at the small of her back. – ADWD

An ugly girl should dress in ugly clothing, she decided, so she chose a stained brown cloak fraying at the hem, a musty green tunic smelling of fish, and a pair of heavy boots. Last of all she palmed her finger knife. – ADWD

She shaved, donned her smallclothes, and slipped a shapeless brown wool dress down over her head. …Her boots were lumps of old brown leather mottled with saltstains and cracked from long wear, her belt a length of hempen rope dyed blue. She knotted it about her waist, and hung a knife on her right hip and a coin pouch on her left. Last of all she threw her cloak across her shoulders. It was a real mummer’s cloak, purple wool lined in red silk, with a hood to keep the rain off, and three secret pockets too. She’d hid some coins in one of those, an iron key in another, a blade in the last. A real blade, not a fruit knife like the one on her hip, but it did not belong to Mercy, no more than her other treasures did. –TWOW

The issue with Arya’s aversion to dresses was due to functionality. As an active girl, most dresses don’t work with the activities she enjoys. As she’s training to take on other roles and using clothing in addition to performance to fill those roles, she’s seeing the benefit of other kinds of outfits in different situations. 

I would also argue that dressing her up in pretty clothes makes her uncomfortable due to the pressure she was put under to conform to the patriarchal restrictions put on women. Her sister and septa bullied her for not fitting those restrictions and her mother held out the possibility of being pretty as a carrot or prize she would receive once she obeyed. 

All of that said, it really doesn’t matter if Arya hates dresses, loves them, makes use of them, or is ambivalent toward them. That’s not something that will impact whether she is loved or if she takes on a position of power. She can effectively administrate no matter what she wears and the kind of people she would love, would love her no matter what she wore.