#the mind of a pilot (musings)

[adriancatrin]

it’s so wild to me that outside of the old ba sing se caverns, no one in the gaang once brings up zukos scar. it’s kinda sweet in a way i guess when sokka refers to him in season 2 as a freak with a “ponytail” and not scar, but it’s still just odd

[sshoujo-ais]

according to recently leaked internal gamefreak data, skyla is hispanic

neat!

[mazzy-rockstar]

Filmbros Galore: the full playlist

Another week of great music done. For those who didn't enjoy, I'm sorry. For those who did enjoy, here's the link to the full playlist! As usual, if you have songs you think would fit, let me know and I'll add them!

[kayjaywrites]

Like Bugs in a Rug: Chapter One

Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.

Chapter Word Count: 6,350 Chapter Music Inspo: End of It - Friday Pilots Club

Chapter Content Warnings: fluff, some cursing, one bed trope, awkward but wholesome communication, AFAB Reader, Reader (You), some details about Reader's appearance but overall vague, canon plot spoilers as this is canon compliant-ish, reader low key being thirsty for Azzie

Note: Hello! Welcome to my first fic in like 10 years! This idea came about when I was having a hard time falling back asleep. I sometimes draft fanfiction when i'm trying to sleep. I don't often remember the plots come morning, but the memory of this one remained intact enough for me to jot down. I’m thinking this update is gonna be the longest chapter because it's both prologue and the first chapter, but I have terrible self control with word count limits. So I guess we’ll see what the next chapters bring, but they may be shorter!

Enjoy me 2am fugue state musings, there are likely typos~

XxXx

Prologue

It was all worth it. The decades of patience and silent suffering. The centuries of loneliness paying off just as you lost hope of ever leaving The Court of Nightmares. You and your father, Kier, expected a typical visit from the Inner Circle. The High Lord would threaten your father to keep him in line, you’d go unnoticed in the back of the throne room monitoring the interaction. Just like every other time they visited.

Except, the High Lord and his Inner Circle asked about you like you were the reason behind their visit. You had clocked the visit as odd as soon as only Rhysand, Feyre, and Mor arrived. The absence of both The General & Shadowsinger at the same time a rarity. Despite being related to Rhysand and Mor, you didn’t think they knew your name, so when they asked Kier about you, by name, your heart damn near fell out of your ass.

They wanted you to leave Hewn City to work with them. A Courtier of the Night Court, working alongside Nesta, Lady Death herself, of all people. They wanted you to start immediately now that the war with Hybern was over. Relations between Courts were strained, and upon learning of your talent, the High Lord deemed it a waste for you to be hidden away down here. He and the Inner Circle believed you did not belong in The Court of Nightmares. To anyone else, having the High Lord speak so highly of your child would have been an honor.

It was the most furious you’d ever seen Kier. Which was saying something. His emotions grew volatile in a blink of an eye, outraged by the absolute gall of the High Lord. How dare he come to his city and tell him that you weren’t meeting your full potential down here? At some point Kier stood up, snarling at Rhysand and the others like a wild animal. Kier, so lost in his anger, let his mental shields falter. Just for a second, but it was more than enough time for your powers to draw his wayward thoughts to you, like a magnet, his unspoken intentions seeped into your own mind. You were always terrible at blocking him out when he got like that.

Power. Kier's thoughts whispered to you. A spy for him in the Inner Circle.

It disgusted you how predictable your father was, his intentions were always about how he could best use you for his own gain. It was the driving force behind your excessive training habits, desperate to protect yourself from the toxicity of his intentions. The more you failed at keeping him out, the more you hated him, and by default hated yourself.

Rhysand was right, you were wasted down here, and it wasn’t that your father didn’t see that, he didn’t care. He wasn’t furious with the High Lord for taking another daughter away from him, he was mad about losing a tool.

Well, your father could rot down here alone for all you cared.

You felt a lot of things in that moment. Intimidated by the prospect of working with Nesta, unsure of Mor’s morals and the rumors surrounding her, apprehensive of Rhysand and Feyre’s power, and not to mention all the unknown dynamics between the rest of the Inner Circle. But, despite all that uncertainty, you did not feel nervous about leaving Hewn City with them.

The first task Kier ever appointed you was to report on Rhysand and his Inner Circle’s intentions every time they visited. Either they all had flawless control over their mental shields, or their icy behavior was an act from the beginning. You never dared to share your suspicions with Kier, your father only wanted ammo for his hate, and he never took kindly to evidence that didn’t support his biases against High Lord Rhysand.

It felt a little too much like blind faith and a hunch for you to be 100% comfortable with the decision, but you decided to put your trust in these strangers anyway.

You would take the job.

Not to be a spy for Kier.

Not out of some duty to your High Lord or older sister.

It was time to live your life for you. Consequences be damned.

But, the focus of this story was not about moving to Velaris with Mor and getting to know the Inner Circle. It wasn’t about how much you rock as a diplomat for the Night Court. It wasn’t about how good it felt the first time sunlight touched your skin upon leaving the underground city. It wasn’t even about how you and Nesta became best friends. However good those stories may be.

However, this story is about Azriel Shadowsinger, and how the mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, fell head over heels for you without you ever picking up on it. Yeah, that’s right, the girl who struggled to control her talent for hearing unspoken intentions never puzzled the pieces together. For literal years everyone else in the godforsaken room could tell the Spymaster was in love with you, except for you.

...one year and a couple months later....

It all started with an argument with Rhysand a few assignments into your career as the Night Court Courtier. You felt like you could handle traveling between Courts without needing an escort, especially if you’d be meeting up with Nesta at the destination anyway. Rhysand did not agree, basically threatening to ground you if you didn’t allow someone to accompany you.

That was how Azriel had become your full-time travel partner. Rhysand appointed Azriel as an additional escort in case Nesta was pulled away.

You’d take this to your grave before ever admitting it, but Rhysand wasn’t wrong to be worried. There had been a good number of times where just that had happened. Nesta would be working the other side of the room, and having Azriel lingering nearby eased your nerves. Prythian was a vast Realm, and Rhys had been right in worrying about your adjustment.

It didn’t take too long for you to adapt once you had visited all the different Courts a few times. Yet, Azriel continued to go out of his way to accompany you to events. The first obvious sign of his affections for you came a little over a year into your career.

The event was in a small Day Court town on the border of the Night Court, just under a day’s travel from Velaris on foot. Home to one of the libraries hit hardest by Amarantha’s looting, the entire town was celebrating the return of a sizable chunk of the stolen volumes. The gala was advertised to be a quaint dinner and cocktail hour. You suspected that scholars and book enthusiasts would be the bulk of those present. Although interested in going, Rhysand had High Lord duties to attend to that involved Nesta and the other Archeron sisters in the Summer Court. With a promise to fill everyone in on anything of interest, you packed a small overnight bag and waited for Mor to arrive home. You never developed the ability to winnow, so you needed someone to bring you.

Fussing with your hair in one of the numerous mirrors decorating Mor’s walls, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. Your time in Velaris, just over two years, had already begun to sooth a deep sadness you hadn’t realized had settled under your skin. It was obvious in the gentle way you gazed at your reflection, the healthy flush of your cheeks, and the warmth of your thoughts. Velaris looked good on you, and as you smoothed a hand down the shimmery sapphire blue fabric of the dress that clung to your curves, you thought the new formalwear looked good on you too.

Giddiness bubbled up in you at the idea of modeling the new dress for Mor. The excitement felt foreign still, after spending centuries believing Mor didn’t care to know her own little sister. You never thought you’d ever get the chance to gush over dresses with her. Kier hated everything Mor represented, and was cruel to her in ways that made you feel lucky in a perverse way. Your father may have manipulated and alienated you, filling your head with lies about your older sister, but it was never public. Kier made sure everyone in the Court of Nightmares knew that Mor was a useless whore and a traitor.

When Mor became a core member of the Inner Circle, and Rhysand put her in charge of Hewn City, you would wait for her to acknowledge you during her visits. Decades turned into a century, but the same hope would always rise up when Mor was due for a visit, only to be crushed when she ignored you. She never paid you a second of her time, just a fleeting look in passing as if you were another spectator. Knowing that she wasn’t ignoring you out of ill intent stung more, because you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her.

Kier may be your father, but that didn’t mean you had to be a fan of his intentions. You never believe the rumors he spread about Mor.

And then, the big reveal came. It turned out that to Mor, you were just another spectator. Mor didn’t know she had a younger sister at all. Keir hid you so well that no one realized you were related to him. A detail that made you feel so small when it came to light. You were just the shy woman in the background, taught to be pleasant when spoken to, a pretty little wallflower the rest of the time.

Later, when you asked about who first realized your identity, you got mixed accounts from the Inner Circle. Rhysand insisted that it was he who put the pieces together first. Stating that it came to him suddenly after Azriel submitted a report from a surveillance mission detailing an overheard conversation between you and Kier about your talents. Rhysand claimed that your powers reminded him of a variation of Mor’s. The rest of the Inner Circle credited Feyre for noting the resemblance between you, Kier, and The Morrigan the first time she noticed you loitering at the back of a council meeting.

When the truth was confirmed, and you agreed to go with them, Mor wept. She vowed to never leave you alone in The Court of Nightmares ever again, even for a second. That promise was your first experience with making a deal in the Night Court. Your clear surprise at the intricate tattoo that branded itself over the center of your sternum clued Mor, Rhysand, and Feyre in on how out of touch you were with common lore from your own Court. Mor wasted no time in winnowing you out of there after that. The both of you had heard enough of Keir’s nasty sneers and low-blow comments to last a lifetime.

Now, Mor’s cozy little home was also your cozy little home, if not a bit tight for two people. If someone asked you a decade ago if you thought you’d ever have a relationship with Mor you would advise them to seek out a healer.

And yet there you were, vibrating with things to tell her, anticipating her arrival with an almost goofy grin when…Azriel of all people winnowed into the living room.

Perplexed, but not totally disappointed, “Oh!” you said, clearly taken aback. “I was expecting Mor.”

Azriel huffed a low chuckle, dimples bracketing his amused half-smile. “Sorry to disappoint.”

You looked him over, dark circles under his eyes, droopy eyelids, posture leaning forward in a slight slouch. “Az, didn’t you just return from a long mission? Why aren’t you resting?”

“Wanted to escort you to the Day Court Library Gala, of course.”

The tenderness in his voice had warmth bubbling up from your chest. “That is very kind,” you started, making sure to meet his gaze so he knew you meant it, “but you look so tired, Az. I’ve visited the Day Court a bunch of times now and only need someone to winnow me there. As much as I enjoy having you accompany me to these things, I don’t want you to stretch yourself thin on my account. I’ve got this.”

“I know you’ve got this,” came his immediate reply, “as you’ve pointed out I’ve been gone for a few weeks. What if I offered to escort you because I missed you, hm?”

Despite yourself you felt a flush of heat in your cheeks at his teasing. You refused to use your powers on anyone in the inner circle, unwilling to violate their privacy without explicit consent. But you didn’t need your powers to read Azriel’s sincerity. It made it hard to meet his gaze, you turned back to running your fingers through your hair in the mirror, taking a moment to compose yourself. “Well alright then, I don’t think I can do anything more to tame my hair, we should be off then.”

You felt Azriel at your back, a gloved hand coming up to gently grasp your elbow, guiding your arm down as his hand trailed down the bare skin of your forearm to hold yours, turning you to face him. “Stop fussing, you look stunning, this dress is new, right? I think the color suits you.”

You smiled. “Thank you, I suppose you would like this color, now that I’m thinking about it,” with your free hand you held up the skirt of the floor length dress to the siphon on his wrist, marveling at the color match, “it looks like I did it on purpose.”

He hummed in acknowledgement as he pulled you closer into an almost embrace. “We should go now. Wouldn’t want to miss the opening speeches.”

You suppressed a shudder. Definitely from the way his breath tickled your ear, and not from the way his voice sounded as he tucked you into his chest. “You hate opening speeches.” You pointed out, remembering all the times he complained about how boring they were.

“I do, but you like them.” You’d never said as much aloud, but you did enjoy listening to people talk about things they were passionate about, and opening speeches tended to be just that. Of course the Spymaster had noticed.

If Azriel saw your smile before you hid your face against his leather-clad pec he didn’t let on. You pulled your hands free and looped your arms around his middle, clasping your fingers together under the base of his wings.

“I’m ready then, thank you for coming with me.” Your voice was muffled, unwilling to tilt your head up to talk to him in case your maddening blush was there. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you winnowed with Az, your whole face would go cherry red. Something Cassian never failed to poke fun at whenever he witnessed it.

Azriel wrapped his arms tightly around you, your body now flush to his. You focused on the sound of his wings rustling as he tucked them in closer. Anything to distract from the way your pulse spiked when you felt his lips brush against the crown of your head, his hold on you gentle, yet firm and protective as darkness folded around the both of you.

XxXx

Neither you nor Azriel realized the issue with your room reservation until much too late. Upon arrival in The Day Court the both of you hurried to the event. The gala wrapped up around midnight, and like most of the other guests staying in town, you and Azriel retired back to the nearby Inn. With your strappy heels in hand and a pleasant buzz from the alcohol, you felt positively bubbly. Paused in front of your room, you let Azriel rummage through the small black purse at your side for the key. After almost leading them into the wrong room, Azriel took it upon himself to find the correct room and unlock the door.

Minutes later you were still trying to suppress a smile at how Azriel reacted with such mortification when he realized you’d led them to the wrong room. The mental image of the great Shadowsinger so frantic in his efforts to stop you from further jostling the doorknob, had you letting out a laugh before you could stop it.

“It’s not funny.” He grumbled as he swung the wooden door to your room open, leading you inside. You were on the verge of poking fun at him some more when you caught a glimpse of the interior layout. Right, you had RSVP’d expecting to attend the gala alone. The realization sobered you up real fast.

The room was small, burgundy curtains concealing a sizable window, antique desk with tourist flyers stacked in a neat pile on top. A queen sized, four post bed situated in the middle of the room.

“I’ll take the floor—” Azriel started saying.

But you interrupted him. “—you should have the bed.”

“Absolutely not, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady sleep on the floor while I hogged the whole bed.” He nodded, as if the conversation was over, and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at him.

“There’s not even enough space on the floor for you to stretch out Az. The room is basically only bed. It’s fine, I can use my extra clothes—”

You inhaled sharply, tensing at the thought of your overnight bag, left forgotten back at Mor's apartment. Your eyes darted to Azriel, meeting his gaze out of the corner of your eye, and you knew you didn’t need to say anything about it as he scoffed under his breath.

“You forgot your bag.” He observed.

Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair, your tight dress feeling like it was constricting around your chest as you contemplated sleeping in it. “I did indeed forget my bag.”

“We could just go back, we don’t have to stay here for the night.” Azriel pointed out, but the thought of cutting the trip short caused a ripple of disappointment to drop in your stomach.

“Or,” he continued with a hint of amusement, “I have an undershirt beneath my leathers. I changed before I met you at Mor’s, so it’s relatively clean. I was going to sleep in it tonight, but I would sacrifice my shirt for you if it meant you’d stop frowning like that.”

If you thought you were anxious before, Azriel’s suggestion sent your anxiety through the roof. You had always found Azriel attractive, even when you were still living in Hewn City. Who wouldn’t? That attraction grew into a bit of a crush when you first arrived in Velaris. He treated you with such care as you adjusted to living above ground, quiet, patient, and thoughtful.

Once it was apparent that you would be working closely with him you shut that shit down. You and him had spent a lot of time traveling together the last few years, always with separate sleeping arrangements, and never sharing clothing. You went out of your way to respect his privacy, give him space, all in hopes of being someone he one day could trust, like how you trusted him.

You could handle one night, sharing a bed, borrowing his shirt. That wouldn’t totally backfire on you in any way, right? Nodding to yourself once, you tried for an air of confidence as you talked around the nerves that have bloomed in your chest.

“Okay,” you agreed, “but if I change into your shirt you definitely can’t take the floor. I won’t let you sleep shirtless on the ground while I’m all tucked in and cozy in bed. I’ll only take up a sliver of it by myself anyway.”

He opened his mouth to object, his intentions written in the way his brow furrowed at you. But you barreled on anyway, “So, we share the bed tonight. Are you comfortable with that?”

His mouth snapped shut, eyes studying you for a tense moment as if you may be tricking him. You clasped your hands together in front of you, the longer you waited for him to respond the clammier your palms felt. Each second felt like an eternity and in no time at all you found yourself scrambling for a way to play off your idea as a joke.

Of course he wouldn’t want to share a bed with you. What in the world had you been thinking?

Maybe you could blame it on that deliciously fizzy drink you downed before leaving the gala, say you weren’t in your right mind. Pretend to not remember in the morning, as if this wasn’t going to be a moment you cringe about decades later. Would you be able to just laugh it off? Would Azriel be chill enough to let you live this down? You were probably so screwed.

He was still a little tense, but just before your panic truly took root Azriel began to nod his head like he...agreed with you?

“Yes, I think that is the most logical solution. The bed can definitely fit two.” Azriel finally said, and you tried to keep yourself from gaping at his response. But your surprise must have been all over your face because he went on to say, “I didn’t suggest it myself because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Wiping your hands down the front of your dress did little to help with the sweat. The pit that had been taking form in your stomach churned, your dread morphing into jittery nerves.

Then, as if you weren’t having a nervous breakdown right in front of him, the handsome lunatic started striping his leathers off. Dept hands tossing his gloves to the desk, he unclasped the chest pieces of his leathers, they fell to the floor with a thud. Then, the promised black undershirt was up over his head, and you were drinking in all his tattoos and corded muscles like you were a tactless teenager instead of a 300+ year old female.

A flash of movement from him, and you flinched when his shirt hit you square in the face. It was so big it draped over your head. You made a disgruntled noise, ignoring how delicious the shirt smelled as you removed it from your face, “Hey—!”

“If you’re done gawking at me like you’ve never seen a shirtless male, you can get ready for bed first.” He headed further into the room, collecting his chest piece off the floor and approaching the desk to place it with his gloves. He turned to face you, his butt propped against the desk as he gestured to the door his wingspan had been blocking from view. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, flexing his biceps, and you almost swooned at the sight. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Your fist tightened around the shirt, fighting the urge to toss it back at him out of spite. Embarrassment felt like hot iron under your skin, so instead you snapped your attention to the door he had pointed out–the bathroom. You knew you’d averted your gaze much too fast to seem unaffected by him. He chuckled, and you glowered at him as his head tilted to the side, watching you with a bemused expression. He looked about ready to comment further, but you waved him off with faux-annoyance and an exaggerated roll of your eyes. Clutching his shirt close to your chest, you escaped into the bathroom.

Subtle.

Pressing your back to the door, it closed under your weight. You paused there for a moment to focus on your breathing, your frazzled mind going a mile a minute. This was all so far out of your comfort zone, it wasn’t even funny. You never had to deal with handsome males in The Court of Nightmares, Kier didn’t let you socialize long enough for it to even be on your radar. Dating hadn’t quite made your list of top priorities upon arriving in Velaris either.

What little experience you did have was with a male named Allistair. You’d met him at Rita’s within your first year above ground. It was a fling of sorts that lasted a few months before you decided casual dating wasn’t for you. He was a perfectly adequate lover. At least you think he was. He was also your only lover. A nice enough companion as you acclimated to your new life. The times you had been intimate with that male had left you feeling…bereft. Seeing Allistair shirtless had been nothing like seeing Azriel shirtless.

And Azriel calling you out for ogling him so blatantly? Mother have mercy.

So now you were just expected to fall asleep next to him wearing his shirt after that? The situation almost made you want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The last thing you wanted was to draw his suspicion by loitering against the door for too much longer, so you moved to the sink. Maybe splashing lukewarm water on your face would reveal that this had all been a weird ass nightmare.

Cupping water into your face a couple more times, you took in the smeared makeup dripping down your face in the mirror. Definitely not a dream.

Azriel was going to think you were in love with him for fucksake.

Snatching the nearby hand towel from the rack on the wall you soaked it, and got to work on scrubbing your face clean. You had to have a little more faith in Azriel. He wouldn’t let a single weird moment ruin over a year of amicable teamwork. But your personal relationship with him felt fragile to you at best. You can't let some tattoos and abs mess up what you considered to be the most solid friendship you’d made among the Inner Circle.

So what if he was hot as hell? You could co-exist with attractive people, it was legit a part of your job. You could salvage the situation, just change out of the dress you accidentally matched to the colors of his siphons, put his shirt on that smelled so strongly of him it gave you a headrush, and face him like you hadn't just been drooling over his naked chest.

You know, simple.

The hem of his t-shirt landed just above your knees, and the comfort you found in it was criminal. The black fabric was very soft and so baggy that you worried the wing slits in the back would shift forward in your sleep. It could reveal a little more than what you’d considered 'tasteful side boob'.

Resisting the urge to fuss in the mirror (because it wasn't like you were trying to look cute for anyone, right?), you exited the bathroom clean faced and a bit more settled than when you had entered.

Your bravado, however, was short lived. Azriel faced away from you in only his underwear, the rest of his leathers added to the pile on the desk. He was organizing his various knives on the bedside table closest to the main door.

He looked over his shoulder at you. Totally not catching you checking out his butt in the tight underpants. Cauldron boil you. Would it be weird if you marched yourself back into the bathroom to try the whole “not affected by sexy, almost nude Illyrian warrior” thing again?

Azriel inhaled sharply, and you snuck a glance at him. His attention was back on his knives, but there was a tension to him, almost like he was brooding. There might have been a light blush over his cheeks, but you felt weird analyzing him anymore than you already had out of habit. You clocked the change in his body language for what it was the instant he saw you in his shirt. Clenched jaw, tense shoulders, spine ramrod straight, wide eyed before averting his gaze, elevated heart rate–classic signs of attraction. Reactions he clearly didn’t want you to notice.

"I'm taking this side." He informed almost absently, patting the mattress. Leaving you with the window side.

You wandered to the desk to avoid observing him further, wishing that you could turn off the part of you that always seemed to be prying for more information. And then you felt it, his thoughts getting louder, his emotions growing wilder, reaching out to you. You slammed your mental shields up hard, a gross feeling taking root when it was too late.

Protect. Azriel’s intentions conveyed to you. Protect. Comfort. Provide. Here you were invading his private thoughts without his knowledge, while he was concerned with your wellbeing. What was the point of all that effort Rhysand put into teaching you how to better control your mental shields? It never worked when you needed it most. The failure stung, and you had to busy yourself with folding your dress in a neat square so you had something to keep your hands from shaking.

It was quiet for too long, and you struggled with recalling what he had said to you before you’d lost control. Something about the bed. "Sounds good to me." You decide on saying, placing your dress next to his leathers.

Azriel didn’t seem to find your reply out of the ordinary. Small mercies.

"I'll be out in a few minutes, then." His voice was rougher than before, and it sent chills down your spine. As soon as you heard the bathroom door click shut you scurried into bed. You couldn’t get under the covers fast enough, pulling the blankets up to your neck with a hefty sigh of relief.

It felt awesome to be laying down after such a long evening on your feet. Too bad you couldn’t enjoy it more, instead drowning under waves of shame. Maybe you’d never get a full handle on your powers. Maybe the Mother was teaching you a lesson in this life? You couldn’t fathom what the moral could be. You wanted more than anything to be able to mind your business.

You wished you could turn your brain off. Alas, even your guilt couldn’t stop you from reflecting and organizing what you’d just observed. Not only had you heard his intentions, but you also felt them. Unlike the sweet warmth of his thoughts, his gaze had felt like desire and bad decisions.

He didn’t seem like he was actively seeking to bed you. You reasoned that you were also an available female wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties. You could only imagine how all of that must have chafed against his Illyrian instincts. Rhysand had once mentioned that Illyrians were possessive and protective at best, controlling and jealous at their worst.

Surely those possessive instincts were what you were picking up on, then. You were covered in his scent after all. That was the only logical explanation for his reaction, his instincts were telling him to protect you because you were vulnerable and wearing his clothing. Even if it didn’t quite sound right to you, it was the only explanation you were willing to entertain. You were barely friends, there was no way Azriel wanted to court you. The thought sent a fleeting pang of disappointment through you that you refused to examine.

Whatever. There wasn’t anything you could do to make the situation less messy right now. You were exhausted, and stewing on scenarios that would never amount to anything real was unlike you.

Snuggling further into the sheets, you decided it was best to just pretend you hadn’t noticed shit. The damage was done, Azriel wasn’t dumb, he at least knew he had flustered you. You weren’t going to draw any more attention to that tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever. Everything about this night was a fluke.

Azriel returned from the bathroom, and you kept your focus on fluffing your pillows. Sitting up you tossed an extra pillow onto the floor, and you could feel as soon as his eyes landed on you that some of his…instincts…were still acting up. You pulled the comforter back up to your neck as he got into bed next to you. Turning on your side to face him you were determined to be normal. No more awkward gawking allowed tonight.

He stretched his arms up above his head, his joints popping a million times as he groaned in relief. You couldn't help chuckling at him, the fearsome Shadowsinger of the Night Court, doing something so mundane.

Scooting further onto the bed, Azriel rolled over to meet your gaze, his wings tucked close to his back as he settled. Most of his wingspan spilled over the side of the bed anyway. He surveyed you, eyes lingering along your tired but genuine smile, and you saw the stern tenseness slowly leave his body. "You sure you're comfortable with this?" He asked.

Your smile turned a tad warmer. This male was just so kind, so different from what you knew in Hewn City. "I am, I trust you Azriel." It was the truth. You didn't have friends growing up, and although you may have a long way to go before Azriel truly called you his friend, you considered him a dear (sexy) friend.

Your words seem to settle something in him, and you could have sworn you saw something almost affectionate flash across his face. You blink, and it's gone, but the fuzzy feeling it left in your chest remained.

Like he sensed your mushy thoughts, he ruined the moment. "So I have to ask you something, it’s serious.”

Your brows raised in bemused interest, the scenario with him wishing to court you snapping to the forefront of your mind again. He’d always been very attentive to you, but in a worried protective way. You’d never picked up on any romantic intentions from him before, and he’s not the type to make a decision like that on a whim. The chance was small, but you couldn’t 100% rule out him wanting to ask you out. Could you say no to him? Would you even want to say no? You’d never considered this as an option before!

He held your gaze, as if for dramatic effect and then with the seriousness of a top notch spymaster he asked you, “You have seen a shirtless male before...right?"

Maybe it was a mistake to consider this male kind, he was a menace all along.

You had never rolled your eyes so hard at someone. Unbelievable.

Turning away from him with enough force to toss your hair in his face, you are rewarded with the sound of his indignant grunt.

"Can you turn the light off please?" You snap, unable to rein in your annoyance. Unsettled by how it tasted almost like rejection.

"You didn't answer my question." He goaded, and you fell right for it.

"Yeah, because it's a silly question." You fire back.

He hummed at your response, "Doesn't seem like you think it's a silly question."

You would rather swallow your own tongue than admit to Azriel that you’d seen shirtless males, but he had been the first you’d enjoyed seeing shirtless.

Done with the line of questioning, you blindly flung your arm back, swatting at him. He startled at the contact, and he exhaled a scoff when you didn't stop flopping your arm at him after the first blow.

He caught your wrist, stilling your flailing. "Fine, fine, I'll drop it," He let go of your wrist, “for now.”

You shifted to burrow further into your pillows, totally not dwelling on how his big hand wrapped around your wrist made you feel dainty. The texture of his scars hadn’t made your heart skip a beat either. Nope. Not at all.

"Could you shut the light off please." You asked again with more venom than you intended. It bothered you how easy this male could get under your skin. He wasn’t even trying.

You felt his weight shifting, the bed frame squeaking a bit as he moved. "Anything for you, Princess." He shuffled a little more, and then the light went off, casting the both of you in darkness.

The nickname made you grimace into your pillow. No one had ever called you that before, and you really didn’t want it to catch on.

You felt him return to the position on his side facing you. Some moments passed in loud silence, and although you were the one that let the conversation drop, the residual tension in the room was killing you. There was no way you would be able to fall asleep, and you would bet that Azriel was stewing in the tension too.

"Az?" You whispered. His response was quick like he’d been waiting on edge for you to speak, "Yes?"

"Goodnight." And you found yourself meaning it. You hoped he got some sleep tonight despite the turmoil he had so effortlessly sowed in your stomach with his teasing. The prick.

You could practically hear the mischief in his voice. "Sleep well, princess."

Ugh. Your stomach coiled, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Very dangerous. It was an inappropriate reaction, and you wrote it off as stress. However as hard as you wished to forget it, you wouldn’t be forgetting how Azriel had made you feel that night anytime soon.

Even your racing thoughts couldn’t stop sleep from finding you, putting you out of your misery.

And if you woke up to the sounds of song birds that morning, your face pressed against Azriel's neck, your body sprawled atop him while he slept on his back, then that was your business. No one would know if you relished being in his arms a few minutes longer than necessary. You wouldn’t confirm nor deny if one of his hands had looped through a wing hole of his borrowed shirt, his fingers resting just under your breast.

And so what if it had been the best sleep you'd gotten since leaving Hewn City. And if Azriel seemed more well rested than usual on your return to the Night Court, you certainly didn't notice that either.

XxXx

Next Chapter

[daddy-kinard]

a relatively unimaginative little thing for @bucktommypositivityweek prompt scenes from a fire truck

It’s not the first time they’ve responded to the same call as the 217 engine working ground support, but it doesn’t happen often. Buck thinks this is only the fourth time since Harbor station came to mean something more to him than any other, and two of those times he knew Tommy wasn’t even on shift. Today though, today Tommy’s working, which means probably Tommy’s here. Buck feels his heartbeat pick up in anticipation before their engine has even rolled to a stop, parked up right next to the one branded 217. It hadn’t sounded like the sort of call that would have any of their lives in imminent danger, but Buck knows as well as anyone how quickly that can change.

Thankfully, things don’t escalate any further than expected, and as they start winding down operations the knot of anxiety in Buck’s gut loosens to its baseline - he’ll never be completely calm when he knows Tommy’s out there, trying his utmost to stay safe, to make it back home - to their home - of course, but putting his life at risk nonetheless - and he wonders whether he’ll maybe get the chance to see him before they have to leave.

He’s repacking their gear when he feels a body behind him. The space is tight in between the trucks, and when a hand lands on his hip, he’s about to apologise, to try to squeeze out of the way so whoever it is can pass, when a warm, familiar, voice speaks, right in close to his ear.

“Bobby said I’d find you here.”

“Firefighter Kinard.” Buck smiles as he lets himself be spun around, until he’s face to face with blue eyes that sparkle back at him.

“That’s Firefighter Pilot Kinard, I’ll have you know.”

“Hmm,” Buck muses, pretends to consider it, “you know, I can think of something else I’d rather call you” he lowers his voice to barely above a whisper, “Daddy.”

Buck swears he can see Tommy’s eyes darken in the moment before all 200-something pounds of him is pressing Buck back against the hard metal of the engine. Their lips meet and Tommy kisses him deeply, hungrily, his hand coming up to tangle in Buck’s curls, angling his head the way he wants. Buck goes easily, willingly. He rocks his hips into Tommy’s, wanting more, even though there’s only so much he can feel with two layers of turnouts in between them. He lets Tommy’s mouth wander, to his jaw, to his pulse point, the scrape of teeth and stubble making Buck moan his name softly.

“God, you’re a troublemaker, aren’t you kid?” Tommy huffs as he pulls back.

Images of stolen firetrucks, of being caught with his dick out on the roof of the station, of the countless times he’d given out his number to women on calls, of the few times he’d asked for one of theirs, of an ill-advised appearance at a basketball game, of a soot-covered face in a hospital bathroom mirror, flash through Buck’s mind. A decade’s worth of trouble, now, and he wouldn’t trade where it’s eventually led him for anything. He can’t keep the smile off his face as he snakes one arm beneath Tommy’s coat, resting against his sweaty lower back, to pull him closer for one last kiss.

“Don’t tell me that wasn’t what you came here for?”

Tommy holds up both his hands.

“Alright, alright, busted.” He laughs. “Couldn’t last until tomorrow without kissing my hot boyfriend.” Buck feels his cheeks heat up, turns out there are certain things that don’t get old no matter how many times he hears them.

“118, we’re heading out.” Buck assumes the crackle of Bobby’s voice over the radio is a deliberate warning so he and Tommy can avoid being caught by their co-workers in some compromising position, and he might be peeved if there hadn’t been precedent. Instead, by the time Buck’s team start appearing, the only evidence of their not-quite-PG activities is the state of Buck’s hair - he’ll blame the helmet if anyone dares question it.

“See you at home?”

“Of course. Love you.”

“Love you more, be safe.” He studiously ignores the exaggerated gagging sound Eddie’s making from behind him as Tommy presses one last, chaste, kiss to his cheek.

“Be safer.”

Buck swings himself up into the truck.

“Thanks, Cap.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Buck.” Bobby replies with a smile.

[diazsdimples]

hi james <3 make em swoon prompt: hugging them from behind for bucktommy

Hi Nolan!!! As you wish 🫡

Something Buck was really learning to love about having a firefighter boyfriend was how well he fit in at the station with the 118.

Granted, it helped that Tommy knew Hen, Bobby and Chimney from way back when he was a probie himself, and can provide banter with Eddie that even rivals Buck's level of teasing, but it still takes Buck by surprise at just how perfectly he nestled into their little family.

The first time Tommy came over to surprise Buck, he'd been leaning against the outside wall of the station when the engine had pulled in after responding to a 2 alarm fire. He'd had his arms crossed over his chest, with that indulgent "god you're adorable, Evan" smile on his face as Buck had dropped down from the passenger seat and strode over to him, burying his face in Tommy's shoulder.

Times after that included Bobby secretly inviting him over for lunch with the station on the 4th of July after Buck had lamented about spending their first holiday apart, Tommy showing up with breakfast after a long, arduous night shift, and Tommy hiding in a storage closet late in the evening during one of Buck's 24 hour shifts, grabbing Buck as he walked past and pulling him in for a mind-blowing fuck while the rest of the station slept.

And Buck - well Buck was pretty sure he hadn't been happier in all his life. Whenever he saw Tommy playing pool with Hen, or sparring with Eddie, or battling Chimney on the XBOX, his heart would flutter, like it had become a butterfly and grown wings, and ready to beat out of his chest. It just felt so... perfect.

It had been a couple of days since he and Tommy had seen one another, and Buck was missing him. They'd exchanged texts and facetimed a couple of times but it wasn't the same as having Tommy's arms around him, or feeling Tommy press soft kisses against his neck. He missed that physical contact.

"You seem a little down today, man," Eddie muses as he and Buck chop vegetables in the kitchen. Bobby had ordered 3 finely diced carrots and some chopped celery sticks to make part of tonight's dinner, and had put Eddie in charge, with Buck's supervision.

Buck looks up from where he's been systematically shredding the end of a celery stick with surprise. "Really? I-I'm fine, I swear."

Eddie raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. Not that Buck's entirely surprised; his best friend could scope out a change in Buck's mood before it even happens. He'd be stupid to think he could hide anything from Eddie.

"Uh, sure you are. Nothing to do with the fact that you're missing a certain 6'2 muscular pilot, hmm?"

Buck blushes, the red heat creeping up his cheeks, and he quickly drops his eyes back to the celery in front of him, trying desperately not to meet Eddie's eyes.

"That obvious, huh?"

Eddie laughs, a sound that Buck had heard so rarely over the last year and now can't seem to go a day without hearing, and pats Buck on the shoulder. "Just a little bit, yeah. I mean, you've been moping around the station the last few days, and everytime your phone buzzes, you practically pounce on it to see if it's him."

Buck's blush deepens, and he shoves the half-shredded celery stick back onto the chopping board, dropping his head into his hands. "I miss him," he says, his voice small.

Eddie softens a little, and reaches up to grasp Buck's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze.

"Yeah, I'll bet," he says sympathetically. He puts the carrot back on the chopping board with a sigh. "Hey I left something downstairs, mind if you keep doing this? I'll be right back."

Buck rolls his eyes, familiar with Eddie's get-out-of-cooking tactics.

"Yeah, whatever. I'll finish it for us."

Eddie gives him a big grin and claps his shoulder again.

"Lifesaver. Be right back!"

And with that, he's crossing the loft and taking the stairs two at a time, footsteps echoing through the firehouse. Buck shakes his head and chuckles to himself. He's pretty sure Eddie would rather step on a thousand Legos than ever help prepare dinner.

With a small shake of his head, Buck continues to chop the celery and carrots, throwing them into a small bowl together. He's been doing it for a few minutes when he hears footsteps behind him. Assuming it's Eddie, Buck doesn't turn around, and continues to chop.

"You find what you were looking for?"

"Oh, I think I did."

A deep, gravelly voice fills Buck's ears as a pair of thick, strong arms circles his waist, and Buck's heart leaps instantly as he recognises the smell of Tommy's cologne.

"Tommy? What are you doing here?!" Buck exclaims, putting down the knife and lacing his fingers with Tommy's. Tommy rests his head on Buck's shoulder, pressing small kisses into the skin just above Buck's uniform shirt.

"Thought I'd stop by and surprise you, baby. I missed you. Eddie helped me organise it."

Buck grins widely and turns in Tommy's arms, leaning forward and pressing their lips together in a deep, searing kiss. His arms wrap around Tommy's neck and he tugs him closer, revelling in the feel of Tommy's hands resting against the small of his back, holding him steady.

After a moment, they break apart, and Buck leans their foreheads together, a wide, beaming smile on his face.

"God, I've missed you," he murmurs. "This is the best surprise."

Tommy smiles back at him, rubbing their noses together.

"Yeah, I missed you too, Ev. It's good to see you."

He gives Buck one last peck on the lips, and then releases him, turning his attention to the celery and carrots Buck had been chopping. He picks one up between his thumb and forefinger, scruitinising it with mock-intensity.

"So, what you making?"

Tagging bucktommy friends

@theotherbuckley @bidisasterevankinard @watchyourbuck @neverevan @hippolotamus

@wikiangela @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @jesuisici33 @emilybahu @detectivehorror

@disasterstans @ioncedreamedaflower @bandluvr97 (mutuals pls lmk if you want to be tagged in Bucktommy stuff, I haven't quite scoped out who's okay with them and who isn't)

[writingoddess1125]

Is That English?

Team 141 + Alejandro reacting to a American with a HEAVY Texan accent

Your Codename: Gigs aka Giggles

Watching a TV show and got the idea 💡

If you can guess the show I got the idea from you get a cookie 🍪

Support me on Ko-Fi! Helps me make more stories

"This is dangerous" Price muttered, even for him this was a heavy mission. Especially if it ment going after Graves- Kate nodded in agreement, the debrief had been a tough one and it didn't look very positive either..

"You're right- but it seems like this is possible with one hell of a pilot" Kate said with a knowing smirk, Price chuckling at this as the rest of the team listened in.

"I take it you have someone in mind?" Kate smiled, looking at her watch.

"Should be here in a few minutes. Let's head out" She said, The 5 men following closely behind her as they could see a chopper heading their way already.

"Best Pilot I've ever meet- Despite some quirks, is a seasoned one who can defend not only themsleves but the entire team" Kate said with a smirk, Ghost raising a brow at this.

Price took a puff of his cigar with a raised a knowing look at the wording. "Quirks?"

Kate didn't say more than that, instead waving down the chopper that was approaching the group.

The group of men standing there to see this mystery pilot that was so highly praised. The chopper lowered and some light shouting could be heard as their pilot made their appearance.

Stepping out and all the boys couldnt help but stare in surprise- walking toward them with a bright Kool-Aid smile was a young women, pretty as the day was long and like Aphrodite had taken a mighty fine time sculpting her too. Price blinked in surprise, such a chipper young women who looked as fresh faced as a new born baby was their seasoned dangerous pilot?

"Fuckin hell" Ghost muttered, clearly not impressed or amused- it was hard to tell.

Once she approached Price held out his hand, ever the gentleman.

"Good meeting ya lass, Captian Price" He said as he held his hand out, once again another surprise of the strong grip and the firm shake.

"How y'all doin, Pi'lot (Y/N)- But Igo' by Gigs sir" Ghost this time coughed as he turned away, most likely the closest he got to a laugh as there was a blink from Price and his face scrunched.

"Wanna run that by me again Lass?"

She laughed at his bewildered face and lack of understanding.

"Gigs Sir, For Giggles. I'm ya Pi'lot sir"

"I got absolute'y no idea what the fuck she's saying- What magical language is th's?.." Gaz said, clearly speaking what the others were thinking as Soap just blinked trying to wrap his head around what was being said.

(Y/N) gave them a deadpan look- "Fuckin' Brit" She grumbled.

"Now that I understood" Soap laughed, Grinning from ear to ear at the pretty lady.

"No that right here is a Texan- Know them well" Alejandro said with a chuckle, stepping forward.

"Alejandro, I take it your from Texas Señora?" He said and she grinned widely, roughly patting his shoulder in affection.

"Damn straight"

"Texas? This we hearin now is a texas accent? Youre speaking English" Ghost mused, defiently never meeting someone with such a thick one. Gigs grinning at him and nodding.

"Thats right skully, red blooded engl'sh and all" She said with a wink at him making Gaz choke a laugh.

"Now Boys. We got us some baddi's to catch! No dilly dal!" She said with a laugh, clapping her hands in excitement as she ran off to load up the chopper to get the boys to their next mission.

Soap chuckled at this as he watched her walk away, staring at the sway of her ass, Only in America is seemed. Looking up at Ghost and the rest as he held his hands up-

"Ah think a'm into it"

[storiedhistories]

Karl and Kara have always had an easy camaraderie, and the crazy frakkin' circumstances they found themselves in hadn't changed that. Truth be told, Kara was one of his best friends; he could always count on her to have his back, and he hoped she knew that he'd always have hers.

She smokes and he leans back in his chair, one long leg propped up on the chair next to him, a bottle in his hand. They were both indulging in vices when they shouldn't be, and he takes a long pull from the bottle as he considers her question.

There are some days he misses a lot of things. Breathing fresh air, feeling the rain on his face, going for a run around a real neighbourhood. But then there are other days it's hard to remember what life was like, before. This has been their reality for so long, and it showed no signs of changing.

But still, it's hard to argue that real beds were a perk of life in the colonies, when you didn't have to spend every night in your rack, with those things that passed for mattresses on board your ship.

"Can't argue with that," he said softly, glancing over at her. They'd gone over this footage countless times already, but he knows nothing he can say will sway her. So instead he sits, nursing his one bottle while she smokes, talking about times that are long passed.

"Restaurants," he says after a moment, and he offers her a lopsided little smile. "Even a kitchen we could just sneak into whenever we wanted, like when we were in flight school." Helo pauses and adds, "Never thought I'd miss the days when I had to cook for myself." They don't even have the illusion of choice, not anymore; you ate what you were given, and you were grateful to be alive.

He blows out a breath, shaking his head. "Sometimes it's hard to remember much before all this," he admits. Though he expects it's more difficult for the people who were on board right when the attacks happened; he'd been on Caprica for a while and they had still been on board ships. "Think we're ever gonna find Earth?" The old man had said he knew where it was, and while Karl trusted Adama…., it seemed like a pipe dream.

“WHAT ABOUT IT D’YOU MISS MOST? Life before, I mean.” The Cylons. The attack.

Kara takes a long drag of her cigar. It’s her second of the night. She should slow down, but she already knows she won’t. Cost an arm and a leg nowadays, now that it’s all gone to shit. Or a lucky hand in a triad game against one Gaius frakkin’ Baltar. A flick of her wrist. Ash falls, slow and quiet. Lee’d have her ass for smoking in the pilot ready room. But Lee’s not here. No one is, except Karl and Kara and the last bit of footage from one of Kara’s Viper pilots-to-be, playing over and over in front of them. It’s from six days ago.

Endless stars; Cylon raider; panicked comms; crash. Endless stars; Cylon raider; panicked comms; crash. Kara rubs at her eyes. 

“Right now I miss real frakkin’ beds.”

@storiedhistories​ for helo.​

[gloryofroses19]

The Force of a Curl

Major John ‘Bucky’ Egan was hungover, wet and missing a shoe. Hungover because those boys in the 389th challenged him to a drinking contest, wet because his mother stopped pestering him to take umbrellas when he was twelve years old and missing a shoe because of that damned English mud. 

If the boys could see him now, Bucky thought, shaking his head. He could practically hear Curt and Buck’s laugh all the way from the US. 

Sighing loudly as the storm increased, the pilot moved to pick up his shoe. But as his fingers brushed the shoe, the Major was shocked to find that the rain had stopped. No, not stopped he amended noticing the umbrella extended above his head.

“Are you alright, Major?” Asked a feminine voice conveying a mixture of concern and thinly veiled amusement. 

While he had only been at Thorpe Abbots for two days, John Egan recognized the woman before him. Lieutenant [last name] was a notable figure to many. To most on the base, she was the pretty faced WAC lieutenant included in the upper brass briefings. To Bucky Egan, she was a puzzle he wanted to solve. Though their interactions had been limited to a short introduction and shared proximity during meetings, he already knew she was beautiful, smart, calm and confident. Even when facing the asinine questioning of Colonel Huglin. However, this interaction was offering something entirely new… 

Standing to his full height, John ran a hand through his hair. Whether it was because of the rain or self consciousness of being caught in this position by her was something he’d never tell.

“Oh, I’m doing great, Lieutenant. Just enjoying the feeling of the ground.” Shooting her a confident smile despite his sorry state.

“Just with one foot?” Raising an eyebrow, [y/n] struggled to keep the laugh from escaping. “Guess you pilots really do forget what it’s like to be on solid ground. Bit of advice then, try to avoid the puddles. They’re deeper than they seem.”  [y/n] teased as the Major moved to rescue his shoe from the mud. 

“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” He responded airly feeling his grasp on the situation slip. With no teasing retort brewing on his mind, the pilot was left feeling mollified by the teasing glint in her gaze. 

Raising the umbrella to adjust for the height difference, [y/n] watched transfixed as a stray curl fell in front of his eye. He really was a handsome sight to behold [y/n] mused as his hand brushed hers to take the umbrella from her grasp. 

If anyone were to pass by them, the pair offered the illusion of intimacy and familiarity through their shared laughter and proximity. However, an illusion was just an illusion unless perceptions were altered. 

“You been here long?” Like in any small town, she had heard of the new Major before she met. His singing alone had reached her ears before she entered the pub two nights prior. Though his voice was loud and brash when singing, the deep Midwestern baritone during conversation was far more pleasing. “I hope you’ve fared better with the mud than I have, Lieutenant ''. 

“5 months and yes I have,” [y/n] began before pausing to giggle at a memory, “but two weeks in being here I…”  Looking up into those inquisitive cerulean eyes, [y/n] stopped herself from continuing. Clearing her throat, she reminded herself that he wasn’t just any handsome man, he was a Major. And therefore, it was probably best to not inform her superior of some slight trouble that happened to find her. “Nevermind, sir”. 

Noticing the tone of professionalism that blended into her dulcet tones, John frowned. He had heard this tone before, it was how she responded to him when he introduced himself and when she spoke during the Brass meetings. 

“No, don't give me sir, I don’t want sir. I’m soaked and missing a shoe, rank’s off. Call me Bucky or I’ll even take John.” He liked this version more, because there’s nothing he loved more than someone he could laugh with. Even if it was at his own expense as Bucky Egan wasn’t a man who took himself too seriously. 

“Come on, can’t leave me hanging like that. You’ve seen me at my lowest, it’s only fair that you share as well.” He countered, his determination to get her to smile at him again unwavering. To further emphasize his point, he wiggled his sock clad foot hoping to get another laugh. 

She could see why many were transfixed by the new Major on the base, he carried himself with a genial ease that was both disarming and charming. 

Deciding she might as well dig her own grave, she relented with a sigh. “Two weeks in I got locked in the enlisted men’s mess hall on an unnecessary errand for Colonel Huglin.”

Eyes crinkling in delight, John took in her deadpan delivery that was obviously a pass fake to her underlying embarrassment. “How’d you get out?” John asked in response, knowing it would be a worthwhile story. 

“As the metaphor goes, when one door closes another one opens. Namely a window in the back of the kitchen.” She remarked casually as if any rational person’s first idea would be to climb through a window. 

Laughing in warm boisterous bursts, Bucky’s gaze was unwavering and full of affection and intrigue. 

The implication of his gaze was enough to make any girl flustered, [y/n] included. Deciding to busy herself with pointing in the opposite direction, she hoped to quell the butterflies. “Can I walk you somewhere, Major?” 

“How chivalrous of you.” He responded softly, with a matching grin. Watching the rain drops land on her otherwise pristine uniform, he stepped forward. Leaning closer, he was captivated by the teasing curl of her lips. 

“Well if being one shoe down and soaked doesn’t make you a damsel in distress then I’m not sure what else would.” 

With the way she was smiling at him, he wouldn’t mind being saved by her again, John thought. “Well you got me there. Walk me to my billet kind knight?”

Up until this point in the war, her mindset had firmly been 'loose lips sink ships’. No unnecessary comments or connections or else her heart would be broken. However, watching that damn curl fall across his face, [y/n] knew she had lost this battle. And if she was so easily defeated by Major John Egan then she feared for the poor unsuspecting Germans. 

“Lead the way, Fly Boy.”

[shadowsndaisies]

hangman meets 'thena

wc: 1.7k

synopsis: word is, there's a new pilot on board carrier air wing nine, and she flies for the VFA-14, the Tophatters.

main masterlist

athena-verse master post

a/n: the highly requested hangman and athena meet blurb, let me know what else you'd like to see from this universe, especially things that exist outside the storyline. or even if you just want more of certain characters. This serves as a precursory understanding to Jake and Athena, it probably doesn't answer every question about them, but it might help you see their foundation a bit better. but special shoutout to @djs8891 @tgmreader @rory-cakes and @fanreader75 for asking specifically about hangman and athenas dynamic (mentions at the end as well)

You’d heard of him, everyone active had. The only active aviator with a confirmed kill, never mind that your dad had two.

Hangman was exactly what you expected if you were honest.

Phoenix, who had taken an instant liking to you as soon as you’d been reassigned to the Tophatters, had filled you in on all the Lemoore gossip. Phoenix flew with the VFA-41, the Black Aces, also based out of Lemoore, and in fact, on the same carrier as you, Commander, Carrier Air Wing Nine. Her first order of business was getting you caught up on the carrier, that included learning the players, and while she was happy to introduce you to different Naval officers, the only one she warned against was Hangman.

Someone really should have told her that at your core, you were your father’s daughter.

Let it be known, you did not go looking for him. He appeared in all his Ken Doll Aviator glory as you were doing a morning check on your F/A 18E. Apparently he also flew an F/A 18E, ‘Nix on the other hand had an F/A 18F, as she normally flew with a WSO.

He approached, full of cocky attitude, and maybe it was all the years being raised by both Ice and Mav, but when he spoke it was like you could understand him just as fluently as you did with them. You could see where Nat was coming from with “honestly, Athena, Hangman in two words? Texan Douchewad.”

“Well, Howdy, darlin’, scuttlebutt was that there was a new girl on board, glad to meet you, name’s Hangman,” was his introduction.

You couldn’t help the smirk when he said girl, “Isn’t the hallmark of a proper southern boy, that he’s, well, proper?” you shoot back, eye brow quirked. “I’m a woman, not a girl.”

It was fun, watching the way his smirk melted, how his brow furrowed, as he tried to catch up.

“You-”

“Phoenix gave me a run down, but to be honest, I’ve always preferred forming my own perceptions,” you shrug, as you continue your check.

As you brush past him, you aren’t surprised to hear him following after you. “Ah, so my reputation precedes me then?” he muses, and you can see the way he uses his charm and humor to cover, a shield of bravado, too bad he didn’t realize you were raised by bravado.

“Not exactly, though I did see your plaque at Top Gun, to be fair, I saw Phoenix’s too,” you shrug again.

“So you’re the fresh blood, huh?” he prompts, and finally you turn and smile at him.

“I guess fresh blood is better than being called new girl. Name’s Athena, you’d do well to use it,” you tell him, smile in place.

“Athena? As in th4e Greek goddess of war and wisdom?” he asks, brows furrowed down.

“That’s the one,” you nod, moving to check the landing gear.

“Athena as in, the Naval Aviator who climbed through the ranks and had two separate stations before she went to Top Gun?” he follows up and you turn.

You turn to face Hangman, and now your brows are pulled, “How’d you know that?”

“I keep tabs on things that pique my interest,” he shrugs, and your lip curls on the end. “Rumor was you had Admirals arguing over who got you under their command…”

“Nice to meet you Hangman,” you decide finally, climbing back from under the plane, and offering him your hand.

“Pleasure’s mine, Miss Athena,” he smirks back. “It true your old man flew too?” he tacks the question on as he shakes your hand.

You can see it in his eyes, nepotism, you know it’s where is brain’s gone. It’s like you couldn’t escape it, everyone assumed that’s how you got as far as you have, as quick as you have. They were wrong.

“Yeah, mostly f-14s though, nothing with the juice of my baby,” you straight up lie, so what if your dad was still flying? So what if he was probably flying f/a-18s or something experimental? No one but you needed the specifics, and you’re pretty sure it wouldn’t help you fight against the nepo-baby claims. Too bad no one realized how much of a detriment being attached to Maverick actually was. It made most of the higher ups uneasy about taking you on, unsure if you’d inherited your father’s need for speed and reckless streak, you had, but you were just better than him at keeping it in check, if Ice taught you anything, it was that — “ice cold, kiddo, no mistakes.”

“Must’ve been nice, having a leg up like that,” he’s still smiling as he talks down at you.

You match his smile and catch the flicker of confusion in his eyes as you walk up closer to him. “It was, see, it prepared me for a lifetime of dealing with cocky naval aviators and their inflated sense of bubble wrap bravado.”

“That all?” he presses, staring down at you, the two of you now face to face, staring hard at each other, but you caught the little twitch of his eye at your term.

“No,” you smirk before turning and walking away, “but I’ve got a hop to prep for, see you around Hangman.”

…

He finds you in the Mess later that day. You’d just returned from morning drills with your squad, and was eating with Phoenix.

“Ladies,” he greets, setting his own tray down in the seat opposite you.

“And I’ve officially lost my appetite,” Phoenix decided, standing up. “Athena, I’ll catch you later, I’d say it’s nice to see you, Bagman, but we know better,” she states, grabbing her tray, patting your shoulder and walking away.

“You sure know how to clear a room, Hangman,” you note, eyes flicking to Phoenix over Hangman’s shoulder, Nat was clearing her tray and pauses to look back and roll her eyes dramatically as she looks at Hangman’s back.

Your lip twitches and you lift your glass of water to cover up the smile threatening to split your lips.

“Bubble wrap bravado,” Hangman repeats back to you, echoing your statement from yesterday.

“What about it?” you challenge.

“Explain it to me,” it’s not a question, not in how it’s phrased, but you understand that he is asking.

“Protective to an extent, easier to pop than you think, so long as you apply the pressure properly. Problem is, everyone knows when it does, it’s usually a bit loud,” you explain, and he seems so incredibly focused on you.

You didn’t mind the hyper-focus though, you’d coined the term a long time ago. It had originally been for a different boy, one with a temper, but who you’d watched grow up. Ice had thought it an apt descriptor, he’d even taken it to describe a few officer’s he’d interacted with over the years.

“Hmm,” he hums, eyes glued to yours.

“You disagree?” you ask.

“No. I think you hit it on the head,” he admits and your lips curl up just the slightest bit, at least he seemed honest… cock sure and stubborn too, but honest.

“A naval aviator for a father was a lot of things, Hangman,” you admit, hesitating for a moment, deciding how much you wanted to say. “It was limited time, and firm goodbyes. It was getting behind a yoke for the first time when I was 12. It was learning ranks at the same time I was learning how to do multiplication,” you say, and you study how his expression changed which each revelation. “Having a Naval Aviator for a father might have given me a home field advantage, but that’s all it did. The rest, the wings, the assignments, I earned those,” you tell him seriously.

“Sure you did,” he nods along condescendingly, but his eyes betray his curiosity, and for now, that was enough for you.

You smile again at him, though this time it is a bit sour. “You don’t believe me, that’s fine, fair even, to be skeptical. But you should know, you’re gonna eat crow when you realize how wrong you were,” you tell him seriously, before standing up with your plate and glass, and walking away.

…

You get your chance to prove him wrong just a few days later when the Tophatters get assigned to a drill with both of the other squadrons on board the carrier, the Black Aces, and the Vigilantes. Meaning both Nat and Jake are in the air with you.

After is the first time Jake looks at you with something other than cocky contempt. As if seeing you fly up close resolved some of his concerns, but there’s still something there. He was waiting for the other shoe, too bad no one told him that you’d had both feet firmly on the ground since you signed your life to the Unites States Naval Services.

You get paired with him about a month and a half later for a cover assignment for an emergency evac of a SEAL team.

Normally assignments were set within squads, but it was an emergency evac and the carrier was docked. You and Jake had been the closest to the carrier at the time who were qualified, and so you were the two who were sent off. You flew south into South America, and while a lot of the details were later labeled as redacted, Jake never questioned your ability after. Nor should he. You saved his life.

He did however decide that meant you were friends, much to the immense annoyance of one Natasha Trace.

Considering the entire mission had been classified and redacted, you weren’t able to explain a lot of it to her, but when Jake started choosing his words a little more carefully she did her best not to start anything either. When he started sitting with you in the mess, she eyed him carefully. And when he started following you around in any downtime that lined up, she kept her mouth shut.

She found a new case study in the two of you, the outward and obvious differences between Hangman with Athena, and Hangman without. Her eyes jumping from how easily you let your guard down with him, and how utterly soft Hangman could be when he thought no one was paying attention.

Natasha, to her credit, had tried, desperately tried, to get more information out of you regarding your budding friendship, but all you would ever offer was a simple, “people tend to be more complex than what meets the eye, ‘Nix, I’m proof of that. So is he, and so are you.”

She decided then and there, you had way too much tact and patience, and maybe, just maybe, that was what Hangman needed.

...

everything: @butterfly-skinnylegend

athena’s tags: @omgbrianab @smoothdogsgirl @bazellawriz @sbrewer21 @inky-sun @djs8891 @rory-cakes @geeksareunique @je6291 @whoismurphyslaw @kee-0-kee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @thespillingvoid @youdontknowe @burningcoffeecupp @mrsevans90

...

[tagsecretsanta]

From @coco9728

From @coco9728 to @pareidoliaonthemove

Secret

Virgil stood in his father’s… (Virgil mentally cursed himself) Scott’s! office.

It was a sort of foreign place…he felt like he knew the room like the back of his hand, yet at the same time it was a complete mystery. He didn’t know how Scott could spend so much time in here, he practically lives in here when not out on any missions. He himself could only count on one hand the number of times he’d been in here since…7 years now since Dad had gone missing. Virgil mentally shook himself to stop his mind from going down that dark tunnel of thoughts, again…

Why was he here again?...Oh yeah! Virgil walked behind the desk and opened several draws. Since Scott had badly cut his leg open on some debris from a flood when out on a mission two days ago and didn’t seek medical attention straight away…the flood water had gotten into the cut and caused a severe infection, taking the pilot down hard…So now, whilst Scott’s in the infirmary with both Alan and Gordon babysitting him just in case, though It would be a miracle if Scott had enough strength to sit up in bed, let along walk out the door.

John had sent him to Dad’s (arrrgh not again) Scott’s! office, to fetch some Tracy Industries paperwork needed for the next TI meeting this afternoon. He was thankful for John’s sacrifice in going into all these meetings in place of Scott. He definitely wouldn’t want to go.

Virgil sighed as he continued to rummage through the papers in the draws. Secretly, he was kind of glad that Scott had ended up in the infirmary. He desperately needs the rest after back-to-back missions all week and endless TI business to attend to. It seems that the only way he will ever let himself rest is if he’s forced to. A.k.a. the infected leg at the moment. Virgil muttered under his breath, ‘’Irresponsible brother, why can’t you see how not looking after yourself is not only affecting you, but everyone else as well!’’

Sighing and giving up on his search for now, Virgil took a seat in the office chair behind the desk. If Dad and Scott could find comfort in this chair then maybe he could too. Virgil lent back in the chair. ‘’Woah, Oof!’’ and accidentally tipped the chair backwards in the process, causing both him and the chair to end up on the floor… ‘’I guess the chair wasn’t designed for someone with broad shoulders like me.’’ He sighed.

From his new position on the floor, Virgil began to survey the room…it just seemed like too much effort to get up right at this moment…Everything in the room was neatly organized, not a single sheet of paper on the desk or book on the shelf was out of place. ‘’Wow, and I thought I was bad for being organized.’’ he mused.

He continued to survey the room, mentally counting the endless number of books, folders and papers that would be hiding in the many cabinets and shelves around the room. Though paper is a rare sight these days. Everything is usually stored digitally in holoprojector files. However, for important papers and documents about TI and IR, physical copies rather than digital are still safer with the number of hackers and AI around these days.

Sighing tiredly, he let his eyes roam around the room once more. He started tracing the textured lines of the wooden shelf, he always liked the look of oak wood…Then he noticed the amount of dust adorning each shelf. ‘’Damn.’’ Looking around the room all the furniture was dusty from this angle. Grandma would not be pleased. He really should bring a duster in here next time…

Suddenly, a small glint of light coming from somewhere under Scott’s desk in the middle of the room caught his eye. Getting up onto his hands and knees, Virgil crawled under the desk until he found what had caught his attention…On the underside of the desk in the far back corner was a small round silver button.

‘’That’s odd, I didn’t know that was there.’’ Virgil said in surprise. He thought for a minute…It must be IR related for a start because it’s hidden…but what for?...’’hmmm.’’ It probably just activates an emergency shut down procedure of some sort…though I really can’t think what for, we made it a rule that everyone knows and memorises where all emergency activation buttons, codes, switches, panels (the lot) are located around the island…so why don’t I know about this particular button if that’s the case…maybe it doesn’t do anything important…it must just activate something boring like a pop up cup holder on top of the desk…but then why hide the button under the desk where it’s hard to reach…

Thinking, what’s the worst that could happen. Eventually curiosity took the better of him and Virgil quickly pressed the button.

…

Nothing happened.

A beat of silence.

Another.

Then finally the button changed colour from silver to red. With tiny writing appearing on its surface saying, ‘Access Denied’. Then a couple of seconds later, it changed back to silver.

 ‘’Oh!’’ Virgil said in surprise. Why does the button have our standard IR recognition software?...It must do something fairly important then…but then, why didn’t anyone tell me about it?...and why don’t I have access…who does?...

‘’Ah Ha!’’ suddenly Virgil new what to do…

Crawling out from under the desk and standing up, he looked on top of the desk and found what he was looking for. The old holoprojector attached to the desktop. Now thinking of Parker’s old trick, Virgil reached into the desks top draw and pulled out the packet of gum he knew Scott liked to keep there. Opening the packet, he popped one into his mouth. ‘’Bleh!’’ It took all of Virgil’s self-control not to spit it back out again. ‘’Apple pie flavour, ewe!’’

Taking a minute to chew the gum he then popped it back out of his mouth and carefully proceeded to lift Scott’s fingerprints of the holoprojector by pressing the gum against its activation panel…However. What he didn’t account for, was to accidentally activate the projector. He only had a second’s warning to throw the gum back into the open draw before John appeared in front of him.

…

After a few moments of silence John was the first to talk. ‘’Are you alright Virgil?’’

Virgil brushed down his shirt to give himself a second to compose himself…A sudden remembrance as to why he was in the office in the first place. ‘’Ummm yep I’m fine, was just wondering where exactly the paperwork is in here, I uh can’t find it.’’

John rose a questioning eyebrow. ‘’It should be in the bottom right draw, that’s what Scott said earlier…’’

Virgil quickly bent down and opened said drawer to take a look. ‘’Ah yes, here it is…ummm thankyou John…’’ He put the papers on the desk.

John frowned at him but didn’t say anything. ‘’No problem…I’m down in the hangers now prepping Tracy Two for flight, I’ll see you down here in a minute.’’ And with that John cut the call.

‘’Few!’’ Virgil wiped the non-existent sweat of his forehead. ‘’That was close.’’ Then he paused…wait…why am I hiding this from John?...It’s just a small button...I could ask him what it does!...but then, does John know about it?...and If he does, then why hasn’t he told me about it?...

Wanting answers to his ever-growing list of questions. Virgil proceeded to grab the gum and got back down on his hands and knees before crawling under the desk once again. Placing the gum over his own finger with the copied fingerprinted side facing outwards. He then stretched his hand towards the button. Before pausing centimetres away…Why did he feel so stupid all of a sudden…Virgil outwardly laughed at himself. Here he was sitting under a desk, gum on his finger as he stared at a simple small button…It’s probably just some dumb prank Gordon had come up with…though it is clever Virgil would give him that…but then…Gordon hasn’t been in the office since…Actually, I can’t remember the last time Gordon had ever been in here…so…unlikely to be prank…but then…what is it doing here?…and why do I need to know what it does so badly?...

Then before he could think twice he had pressed the button.

…

To Virgil, the silence seemed to last a lifetime. Though in reality it was only seconds.

Then something happened.

It worked; the button lit up green before its entire cover flipped up to reveal a small silver control switch hidden underneath.

‘’Oh, come on!’’ he groaned…Now this is odd…Virgil stared at the switch suddenly fearful of its existence…First fingerprint recognition, then a protective cover for a hidden control switch…and don’t forget the fact that this is hidden on the underside of the desk…in the office of all places…What does this switch do to need so much protection?…It must be still active…I mean I got this far…Though that was using Scott’s fingerprints…And why does Scott have access using the fingerprint recognition, but I don’t?…But before Virgil could make another thought the holoprojector on top of the desk connected again.

‘’Virgil?’’

Oh no, it was John again.

‘’Virgil, where are you?’’

Virgil got out from under the desk and stood up to get back into viewing range of the holoprojector. ‘’Here John...just ummm…checking the desks legs…I thought one may be wobbly or something.’’ God he hated lying, and he knew he wasn’t good at it either.

John looked sceptical. ‘’Oooook…well I have to go within the next ten minutes so…can you bring me the papers now…I kind of need them.’’

Virgil mentally cursed himself, of course! How had he forgotten about John and his TI meeting in New York. That’s why he was in the office in the first place, to get the paperwork John needed. ‘’Yep, I’ll be right there bro.’’ And with that Virgil quickly cut the call. Ok so John was definitely going to have questions now. Quickly going about putting everything in the office back to the way it was before he came in. Virgil then grabbed the desired paperwork off the desk and raced out of the room to meet John. The hidden mystery under the desk completely forgotten.

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

moving slowly on a fast lane | cl16, cs55

charles leclerc x original female character x carlos sainz jr [+18]

🏁 synopsis: If you ask her, Katie will tell you she’s a motorsports enthusiast and that she works as a model. However, the world has given her various labels – fangirl, groupie, escort, you name it. Regardless of the terminology used, the undeniable truth is that women like her play a crucial role in the industry. Every race weekend, she is there not just to be entertained but to contribute to the entertainment, whether it's by being a pretty face at exclusive parties or by providing more intimate company for the pilots. warnings: smut; loss of virginity; threesome; age gap; misdescription of f1 behind the scenes (W.c. 2K)

| listen to the playlist |

PART I — GROUPIE LOVE

“Because you’re different.” Carlos explains, not really looking at her.

Charles, his head resting on her lap, winces at the response, quietly disagreeing with his teammate's answer. The trio, as usual, lies together on a king-sized bed in a luxury hotel.

It's summer in Latin America, and they're wearing light clothes. The windows are wide open, and the gentle tropical breeze is getting Katie agitated. Yet, it's all in vain because Carlos doesn't even move his eyes from the TV, watching a random tennis match.

Carlos and Charles label moments like these as 'teambuilding,' and usually, Katie is very good at getting them both in a good mood – calm and tranquil. But not today. Today, it's Katie herself who needs calming down.

For the past year, every race weekend, Katie wears her prized credentials like a badge of honor. In no time, despite being quite young and new to the scene, Katie seamlessly transitioned from a wide-eyed newbie to a face you couldn't miss. It wasn't a difficult feat, considering she has an unforgettable face with killer feminine features and a confident personality that could give the racers a run for their money.

Her presence in the paddock has transcended mere fandom – she's not just there to watch anymore, in a way, she became an essential part of the spectacle.

Things are still all rainbows and sunshine for Katie. Her life has turned into a never-ending road trip, always traveling with a team. The pilots still appreciate her – she’s still their untarnished muse – and she hasn't lost the thrill of the fast lane.

But Katie has been around long enough to see that feeling change in other women – the ones who've been on the circuit for ages, who've seen it all and maybe gotten a bit tired of the whole thing. It's hard for her to even picture herself in that spot, to imagine life being any different from what it is now.

Especially during the Canadian Grand Prix, that's when someone special took notice of Katie. An insider from Ferrari, whose name shall remain confidential; a person with a lot of influence within the team and whose role is not entirely undisclosed. This insider handed Katie a golden ticket: credentials and an invitation to join them on the road. 

No longer having to jump from bus to bus, Katie arrived with the Ferrari roadies. The sound of tools clinking as the crew was setting up everything for the upcoming race created a magical symphony. In that moment, as a witness of the behind-the-scenes hustle and with the anticipation building up for the race, the thought of ever going home doesn't cross her mind.

"I just want to help," she whines.

They're in Mexico now, and it's Katie's first time in the country. But for their first day, Charles and Carlos decided to stay in, saying they needed to concentrate. For Katie, witnessing moments like these were a job, the reason she felt like a part of the circuit. She would linger in the center of the bed, offering words of encouragement or simply watching a movie together. Sometimes there would be other girls in the room, sometimes it was just her. Regardless, things never ventured further from that.

“No, you’re bored. And that’s dangerous, honestly.” Carlos stands firm on his answer.

It’s not like he’s not interested in what she’s offering, or that he hasn’t thought about it – it’s the reason why she’s asking that’s bothering him. Charles, on the other hand, has been waiting months for an excuse. But he had a deal with his teammates and a commitment in maintaining the appearances; so he kept his mouth shut, trying to appear as if he was agreeing with everything being said.

“Then entertain me.” Katie asks.

Maybe it's the uninspiring color of the walls or the constant thud of the tennis ball from the TV, but Katie is genuinely bored.

“Begging is not a good look on you.” Carlos says, finally turning to look at her. He playfully flicks her forehead, but there's a fire in his eyes that Katie takes mental note of, a memory she'll save to use against him eventually.

PART II — GASOLINE

The soft hum of a distant air conditioner mingles with the rhythmic clinking of ice cubes in a near-empty bar. The bartender, wiping down the counter, shoots a casual nod in their direction. Katie sits on a stool, a cold drink in her hand, condensation leaving delicate droplets on the polished surface.

Emily leans on the bar, an easy smile playing on her lips. The bar stools around them remain unoccupied and the only soundtrack is the soft chatter between friends and the occasional clink of glasses.

Emily was Katie's first friend in the racing world, and their connection came from their shared love for fast cars. Emily, being a couple years older and having a couple years more experience in the racing scene, became a sort of guide for Katie. So, when Katie talked about feeling unsure, Emily felt like she had to share some advice. Their talk wasn't just a casual chat; it was a mentorship.

“Baby girl, just be completely yourself. Be yourself to the fullest, unapologetically you." Emily declares. “Everything we do here is for love. Don’t worry, Artemis will forgive you.”

Katie, wearing her trademark graphic t-shirt and mini skirt, watches as the ice in her drink slowly melts under the Mexican heat. At 19, she's a college dropout who left her family behind to chase the adrenaline-soaked circuits of F1.

But being a young impressionable woman in this testosterone-charged arena came with its own set of challenges. She feels herself staring at the edge of an abyss, ready to jump, but held back by the fear of the unknown. The realization settles in – once she takes that leap, there's no turning back.

Emily, carrying the confidence of someone who took that jump long ago, continues, "And I know it feels like women are not allowed to love. Every time we're passionate about something, no matter how we express it, we end up as the punchline to some misogynist joke. Even if I wasn't sleeping with these guys, people would still treat me like I was. They already made up their minds about me long before they met me." Emily shares. She’s talking about the scrutiny they face, especially within the high-stakes world of the paddock, is a reality they've grown accustomed to. The lingering gazes of multi-millionaires, the subtle condescension in their voices – it's all part of the package. “And we’re not even getting paid!”

PART III — DARK NECESSITIES

It’s only in Vegas that she manages to put her plan into action. Getting Charles alone in a room is easier than she imagined. There are no distractions here – no photoshoots, no interviews, no fans asking for autographs –, no one’s watching. The city’s energy seems to fade and they are completely isolated in a hotel room.

The night unfolds in the heart of Sin City, the stakes are high, and in the quietude of the hotel room, Katie wonders if she's playing her cards right.

For a moment, Katie sheds the layers of her public persona, existing only as a woman whose body burns with an unmistakable yearning for the man before her; a woman with desires as palpable as the heat radiating through the room.

Charles breaks the silence that hangs between them. "Katie," he murmurs, his eyes locked onto hers, "are you sure?"

Katie, her gaze unwavering, listens to his words, simply nods. A silent affirmation, a surrender.

"Good girl," Charles whispers, his fingers gently brushing her hair behind her ears. His lips trail down her cheek, seeking the softness of her neck. In this moment, he's attempting to play the part of a gentleman, aware that this is Katie's first time. His breath, a subtle inhale, captures the scent of vanilla on her skin.

She feels a vulnerability she never felt before. Her body reacts instinctively, welcoming him as a lover. She has been waiting for this moment for too long.

“You’re gonna let me touch you, hm?” Charles's voice is muffled as he gently kisses her throat. “You’re going to let me be your first?”

A combination of trust and apprehension lingers within her.

“Yes. Yes.” Katie gasps. She leaves behind any trace of inhibition left and is ready to let him do whatever he wants to her.

Charles, driven by a mix of desire and curiosity, is eager to explore and to taste every inch of her. He takes her to bed and slowly takes off her shirt and bra, kissing her shoulder and leaving little bites along the way. He traces the curves of her breasts with the tip of his tongue, making her euphoric, arousing her even further – making her fully realize just how much she craves his touch. Charles captures her nipple between his teeth, gently sucking on it until it becomes erect under his touch.

He lets his hand slide, under her mini skirt and on top of her panties. Feeling the warmth of his hand on her clothed wet core, Katie lets out a sigh. For her it feels like it takes forever until they’re both naked and Charles has his head buried in between her legs. His lips touch her clit and he’s patient with his kisses, enjoying her innocent taste as much as he can. Charles drags his tongue through the length of her slit, parting her lips with his fingers and sending shivers throughout her entire body.

Charles takes his sweet time opening her up. The neon glow from the outside world seeps through the curtains; as the night deepens, the city pulses with life, unaware of the affair unfolding within the walls of the hotel room.

For a brief moment, everything fades away and Katie’s breathing accelerates, her hips buck involuntarily against his fingers.

“Don’t stop!” Katie urges, desperate to reach her climax. She surrenders to pleasure, moaning loudly as Charles’s tongue explores her more sensitive area.

That’s when they hear a knock on the door. Followed by another. Whoever is outside starts incessantly banging their fist against the wooden door. Startled, they exchange a brief, wide-eyed glance.

“Who is it?” Charles calls out, his voice tinged with irritation; Katie remains wrapped in the bedsheet.

Without receiving an answer, the door swings open, revealing Carlos's stern expression. His eyes flicker between Charles and Katie, registering the scene before him.

"What the hell, Charles?" Sainz's voice carries a mix of frustration and disappointment. 

Katie feels a sense of exposure, caught between the two men. Leclerc, caught off guard, stammers in response, "Carlos, I... I didn't think you'd mind. It's just..."

Carlos's gaze intensifies, his disappointment morphing into a subtle betrayal. "We had an agreement," he says, his voice strained. "You weren't supposed to do anything without me." Carlos's eyes shift to Katie, his demeanor changing to one of confidence and dominance. "And you, young lady," he asserts, "you got what you wanted?"

"Not yet," Katie answers, a spark of defiance in her eyes. The tension in the room escalates, the air thick with desire. She notices Carlos eyes lingering on her exposed body. It feels empowering, intoxicating. The anticipation turns her arousal to a fever pitch.

“I want to watch.” Carlos states boldly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Since you decided you wanted to do this without me, at least be kind enough to let me watch.”

Katie doesn’t feel like she has a choice, her body has already decided what it wants. Charles lets out a quiet laugh, trying not to appear overly assured in this unexpected turn of events. He wraps his arm around Katie, pulling her closer. Her heartbeat quickens. When Charles reaches for her hand, she takes it, her eyes never leaving Carlos’s face. The pleasure pulsing through her is intense. Carlos moves and positions himself beside them. A second later, there is the unmistakable sound of Carlos's belt buckle being undone. He slips himself free.

Her attention turns back to Charles, who’s preparing himself to finally give her what she wants. She leans in to kiss him, inviting him deeper. Carlos’s eyes stay fixed on Katie as he watches Charles slip into position. Charles’s breath is hot on her ear, filled with lust and excitement. Her muscles are still tight from her lack of experience, but soon, she relaxes and lets go. 

He enters slowly, savoring each moment. Charles moans softly, eyes closing as he holds her close.  She bites down on her lip, managing to hold back her cries of ecstasy. This is her first time, so it hurts slightly, but also brings such blissful sensations that she can barely contain herself. The anticipation builds until, finally, she can take no more. "Charles," she whispers, reaching up to grasp his neck. Charles wraps his arm tightly around her waist, gently holding her in place. 

Her entire body shakes as her orgasm hits, her release ripping through her. When she comes down from the high, she hears Carlos exhale loudly. He doesn't move, only watches her in admiration.

She opens her eyes and looks up. Instinctively, Katie leans forward to take his member into her mouth. She enjoys every moment of his warm girth sliding down her throat. Charles continues to fuck her troughout it. She sucks harder, with passion, like she was made for this.  She realizes that, actually, she was. 

And with that realization, Carlos spills himself on her soft mouth. She pulls away from him, his seed dripping down her chin. She closes her eyes and returns her attention to Charles, still buried deep inside her, just in time for his release – he comes with a growl, guttural, moaning in her ear. 

Afterwards, they lie in bed together, recovering. Charles strokes her hair as Carlos cuddles with her. Charles gives her a gentle smile.  "You're really something special, you know that?" He whispers. 

[meli-writes]

Mechismo - No. 04 /// Hit List

(First) / (Previous)

The broken war-machine falls to its knees, embroidered with a hot-white trim in the three perfect holes of its precious, now-former, systems; spilled out, as black smoke, except for its heart.

That falls out after.

“Hey. Princess,” you say to her, brass hard-but-hollow, the used shells her imperial-blonde hair rushes into, as she breathes into the dirt pushed underneath painted nails, as boots tread on them before she can reach for her pistol.

“You,” she snarls, twisting on bent limbs. “Fucking asshole I’ll— Hey!”

You hoist her up at an elbow, till her few, furious trembles collapse into a copacetic dangle and watch a local, mouse-analogous species squeeze itself under some muddy shrapnel.

“Princess”, you mutter, “you wanna live. So you’re gonna yield to me, okay?” And that’s rhetorical, because ‘deathwish’ isn’t in her—

“Not a chance in His hells,” she shrieks, kneeing herself free, and reaches — not for her holster, which is still full — but for your face. Crack! You catch it after, bring it behind her back to lock in re-used, disposable cuffs. “I can… I can take care of myself,” she protests.

“I know. That’s the problem — I won’t let you hurt my people.” You yank her back, till she trips and is left leaning on you, “Now yield.”

“No,” she squeals, “why would I ever trust you again?”

You trusted me?

Fuck, Princess. You’re dense as tungsten-tips.

You baulk at her, unseen from behind, and reswallow the budding softness before she feels it, “Cos these guys will bleed you out for fun. And I’ll let them, if I have to.”

There’s a wet shuffle-over-fallen-log, the familiar pitter-patter of light, temperate rain on plastic poncho. Another hunter who’ll see her in a moment. So you rock her around, without mind to the furious look painted like camo on her face, and take her at the small of her back — and pull her into a kiss.

“Fuck— it really is,” the hunter starts to mutter, before the words catch in his throat.

You know him; too new not to take it by-the-book, not too dumb not to listen to you when it counts. “Sir, what’s happening?” he asks.

You have to make this count.

“What? She’s a pretty thing, ain’t she?” you muse, as if you’ve pinned her to the wall for nabbing extra rations, and not—

He’s got his rifle over his shoulder; tall-as-him, rounds as big as her cock; is too drilled to not be gentle with it. He’d seize up if you drew on him, and it’d take him too long to respond in kind. “I had a thing with her back in the royal college.”

“Uh huh — before you betrayed me,” she cuts in, and you will her to shut-up and wonder if she still loves fingers squib-loaded down her throat.

“Before they realised I was a saboteur, Princess,” you remind her, though her eyes look the same as the first time she realised it. “We were never on the same side.”

“Never on mine,” she hisses, her own heart fallen out too. “Trying to fake your own death and blaming it on me…”

You would fill into the silence, And it would’ve kept you away, and, Still you found me, if you weren’t aware of the audience, so stuff yourself with unload pride, “Offered to take you with me, didn’t I?”

She looks like she’s gonna cook-off, “You don’t know what I was—”

“Sir,” he reminds, and you look at him; realise he is gentle, because his rifle is kick-stood on the ground and you didn’t hear that. His hand rests on his holster, “She’s on the hit list.”

Pilots to be put down. Machines to scorch, so no one else can use them.

Pilots like assassins, in their bonded semi-mechs; merchant third-sons with an insecurity to smother in bodies and merc hires; and ex-noble fuck-ups with nothing left but what they can prove.

Pilots like her, who’ve seen the gun and are nuzzling into your shoulder so deep you can hear the little killer’s loose heart pressed between your chest and hers.

“Look— Fuck— I— I yield,” she whimpers.

You run a hand up her back, to rake through her hair and tip her back.

“Then scrap the mech,” you say past her, looking in her eyes and slipping to her that same fear, before swelling viciously upon her desperate sweetness, “I’m not done with this one.”

---

(Masterpost) / (Next)

[swifty-fox]

writing prompt request: buck/bucky or rosielemmons & domesticity - muse a rests chin on muse b’s shoulder to read/see what they’re holding

congrats on ur fic !! 💕 /solittles

this is so old but thak youuu ee

sorry i wrote them slow dancing im in a fluffy mood

if you were the only girl in the world

"sometimes when I feel bad, and things look blue..."

Gale taps his pencil against the paper in front of him and tries to decide if this was a sad song.

"I wish a girl I had… say one like you. Someone within my heart to build a throne"

He's sat on the sofa, feet tucked up underneath him like a child and trying to headache himself through the sort of mathematical problems that left even him feeling stupid. Bucky's supposed to be in the kitchen cooking a roast, but Gale isn't sure how much singing a slab of beef really needs in the cooking process. He's been banned, regardless of the signing, because the mess John left behind every time he cooked left Gale twitchy and irritable. He doesn't think it's hard to clean as one goes, but John thought it was faster to do it all at once.

"And what if you need something that's dirty?"

"Then I'll wash that one."

The singing draws nearer, bringing with it the smell of woodsy cologne and cigarettes.

"If you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy," John croons.

Gale looks up to find him leaning in the doorway, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows and hair flopping out of its careful gel from steam. He looked good, looked healthy and whole and Gale thinks maybe five years out they were getting somewhere close to okay.

He recognizes the song now, an old Great War ditty that he'd heard crooned from open saloons and bars as a child.

"Bucky," He sighs, hunching over his work defensively, "I told you I'm all yours after supper."

John smiles at him, sweet and broad and eye-crinkling guileless and Gale isn't fooled by the beast underneath for a single second.

"Nothing-" He slides around the sofa and holds a hand out for Gale to take with a challenging smirk, "-else would matter in the world today, we would go on loving in the same old way."

His voice was still awful, but when it was less quiet and booming there was almost a melody to it, something Gale found pleasant if he were pressed to admit. Maybe it was rose-colored affection, maybe John just loved him enough to make the words sound good.

Gale takes John's hand but he makes sure to sigh at him enough to show his reluctance but John presses a bristly kiss to his cheek on the tug up and places his hand at a respectful spot on his waist and gets them swaying.

"A garden of Eden, just made for two," John says, leading him around their small living room, "with nothing to mar our joy."

Sometimes they bicker about it with their hands and their steps, who was leading. Nothing beyond playful, but they were both pilots both left-seaters and giving up the yoke wasn't something they did without good reason. But tonight Gale is content to give it over to John, starving for any moment where the other man's eyes were bright and clear and present. Better every year.

"I would say such wonderful things to you, there would be such wonderful things to do."

John gives over the lead to him, passing it off flawlessly and Gale sways them as John nuzzles his way into his shoulder.

"If you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy."

"Think those guys on base know you're such a softie?" Gale asks.

John scoffs, pulling back and freeing Gale back to his seat, "They think I'm somewhere between God and Captain America himself. I don't think it's even crossed their minds."

Gale hums, adjusts himself as John wraps arms around his waist, chin hooking over his shoulder to peer down at the paper.

"It's done wonders to heal your issue with humility"

"mm," John's lips press against his neck, "You're off by two numbers."

Gale pauses and then squints, curving his mouth into a crooked smile.

"So I am."

[lostloveletters]

Love Like an Ache in the Jaw (John Brady x OC)

Summary: Kate "Woody" Woodward isn't quite sure what to make of love when she's finally got it, presented to her with unwavering devotion by the freshly promoted Captain John Brady.

Note: This is an expanded version of With a Rose Between Your Teeth (Is That Blood in Your Mouth for Me?) Title comes from Sweet Dreams, TN by The Last Shadow Puppets. Also, a million thanks to Kara @karasnonsense99 for letting me ramble about these two all the time ilysm🖤 Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies. Depictions of blood. Sexually explicit content involving oral sex (m. receiving).

The shining double bars on his collar said it all, catching the sunlight as he walked over to her on the tarmac. Unprecedented pride bubbled up in Woody’s stomach at the sight of him, and for a careless moment, she allowed it to boil over into a congratulatory kiss on his cheek. John didn’t protest, his hands on her waist, kissing her as best as he could with his lips pulled into a smile. Whispered about going out that night to celebrate. Not alone. Never alone, but typically with good enough company that she didn’t mind.

They were joined by most of his crew, guys she’d gotten to know well enough by virtue of hanging around John, but she managed to talk Darla into coming along when Holly declined her invitation, a regretful tiredness in her smile when she insisted Woody go out without her. But her fellow mechanic was fun, if not a little rowdy—perfect for a night of celebrating.

In all honesty, the night panned out to be a bit tamer than she’d been expecting. She zoned out from Hoerr and Hambone’s argument over whether Rita Hayworth or Betty Grable had better legs. John didn’t hesitate to input his preference for Hayworth, something Woody occasionally teased him about, asking if she should dye her hair red just to watch his ears burn the same color. Always muttered something about liking her the best, taking her into his arms and kissing her as if she needed the reassurance she wouldn’t lose him to the likes of the bombshell actress.

No, the conversation being held behind them caught her attention, a man musing at the billiards table over finding someone to play eight-ball with, having just been paid and ready to supplement his payday. Her fingers twitched as she brought her cigarette to her lips, inhaling as her mind raced. She’d played plenty stateside, back when she was still going by Kate.

Woody wasn’t sure what the hell he meant by quid, but her serpentine confidence slithered over the necessity of understanding exactly how much was on the table. When the car business was slow, hustling pool had been her next best bet. Good enough that she was sure even after two years of eschewing such habits, she would come out on top. 

She turned around in her seat, and before she could stop herself, said, “I’ll play you.”

An RAF pilot and his buddies. They shared incredulous looks, snickering amongst themselves until one chuckled, “That would hardly be a fair game.”

“Double it.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

The corners of her lips twitched, and she snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray in the middle of the table as she stood up. “Whatever you’re betting, double it, if you’re so sure.”

The voices at the table fell to a hush, and she felt John’s fingers brush the small of her back through her blouse, as if to give her an out if she wanted. Too late. She let the beast rear its ugly head, forked tongue and all, as she stared down the pilot. He relented, holding out the pool cue for her. Probably figured it’d be an easy win. Line his pockets with her misguided cockiness.

Woody grabbed the cue. Watched with curiosity as they set up the rack, placing the eight ball at the foot instead of in the middle. Licked her lips as she realized there may have been differences in the way the British played than how she was used to, but she wasn’t about to betray her own ignorance by asking what exactly the rules were.

Instead, with a deceptively bored-sounding self assurance asked, “So am I stripes or solids?”

He considered her for a moment. “Stripes.” Motioned to the table. “Ladies first.”

She scoffed, cooly rolling her eyes at his false chivalry as she leaned over to break the rack. Spared a glance at John, his arms folded across his chest, watching her with an intensity that nearly sent a shiver down her spine. She hit the cue ball, sending stripes and solids across the felted table.

Standing up straight, she followed the striped ten as it rolled into a corner pocket. Missed the next one, but so did the pilot, and it was her turn again. She made up for her sloppy performance with nine and twelve in another corner pocket. 

Woody stalked around the table and leaned over in front of John, making a bit more of a show than was necessary in shifting her hips to make the hit. Fourteen in the middle pocket. Looked over at him, the slightest smile on her face when they locked eyes. Everything else faded into the background, white noise and static compared to the way he was looking at her. 

Acutely aware of his attention, drinking in the sight of her as she leaned over every so often, deliberately biting her lip or sticking her tongue between her teeth just to see his reaction, playing a different game entirely by the time she hit all of the stripes into the pockets, finally finishing off the eight ball.

Darla laughed. “Goddamn Woody, I didn’t know you could play like that.��

“She must’ve cheated somehow,” the pilot said dismissively to his friends, as if she weren’t even there.

“Jesus Christ, these guys,” Hambone muttered.

“There’s no way she could have cheated,” John said. “Be a man and pay up.”

“Or what?”

Woody shot him a glare, leaning against the cue. “Or I’ll shove this up your—”

It happened so fast. Too fast. Before she could even blink, a wad of spit landed on her face. 

John grabbed Woody’s shoulder, pushing her behind him. Scraping chairs and mangled shouts drowned out the music playing from the jukebox. She wiped the spit off of her cheek with the back of her hand, cringing as she shook it out. Her stomach sank. Why the fuck did she say that? Lost herself for just a minute, let herself be the person she tried to leave behind in San Francisco, and it all went to shit, like everything Kate touched tended to do at some point.

Her eyes frantically searched for John in the fight that erupted. The sinking feeling in her stomach warped into something else entirely at the sight of him, taking a punch to his jaw before throwing a solid one in return. Always found guys who fought for their girls teeming with unearned bravado, something to prove. But John’s bravado had been wholly earned. Proved himself with his promotion to Captain, which he was putting in jeopardy on her behalf. More than that, it looked good on him.

Still, she wouldn't let him bear the brunt of her mistake if she could help it. She shuffled forward, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the face as she grabbed his arm.

“John, come on! He’s an idiot!”

She practically had to wrestle him away from the chaos and into the bathroom. A cramped space with peeling paint and a naked lightbulb that almost didn’t let her close the door behind them until she forced it shut.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

Water poured freely from the faucet. She watched as he splashed some in his mouth, swishing it between puffed up cheeks. 

“People might think we’re in love or something.”

He spit into the sink. Water pink with blood pooled at the rusty drain. It dripped from his chin as he stared her down with blown out pupils, reflecting her own unspoken desire. “We are.”

She reached out and wiped his chin with the pad of her thumb. Glanced at the glistening residue on her finger before sticking it in her mouth, letting the faint coppery taste settle sweetly on her tongue. 

“Yeah. We are.” 

And all at once she was consumed by it, the fiery desolation of being loved and loving in return. Made her skin burn, feel more alive than she had in months. No wonder it made people go crazy. Like him, her calm and collected pilot who suddenly didn’t hesitate to throw punches over a woman with no honor to defend except for the fact that he loved her. 

He loved her.

She kissed him with a ferocity that forced him to grip the sink to keep himself steady. The faint traces of blood still in his mouth sent an almost vampiric fervor through her. Brought her hand up to his neck and felt the way his Adam’s apple bobbed at her touch. Always privately lamented that she couldn’t mark up his throat the way she desperately wanted to, sink her teeth into him and let everyone know he was hers.

She wanted more of him. Always more. Lowered her hands to unbuckle his belt.

“Sweetheart, what are you—”

“Got that handsome face of yours roughed up over me,” she rasped, pressing her lips to his jaw as she unzipped his pants. “‘S the least I can do, Johnny.”

He uttered a low ‘fuck’ as he watched her drop to her knees in the tight space. Nuzzled her nose against his crotch, the dim lighting nearly concealing the playful smile that's spread across her lips. She pulled his pants and underwear down to his knees. He swallowed roughly, licking his lips in anticipation. 

She spit into her palm, then took his cock in her hand, wet and calloused as she pumped his length. Pressed a kiss to his head before wrapping her lips around it, her tongue warm and inviting. He threaded his fingers through her hair, his blunt nails scratching against her scalp. 

She watched him intently, his face contorting with pleasure as she took more of him in her mouth. Noticed with obsessive observation what made him moan louder or tug on her hair a little harder. All of the noises he made echoed in the cramped space, and only served to drive her wild, give her more motivation to bring him to climax. 

Her fingernails pressed crescent-shaped marks into his thighs when he thrust in her mouth. Didn’t matter that her jaw started to ache a little, lips were probably swollen and puffy. She wanted him to feel good, to know how much he meant to her, to use the memory of her on her knees in any fantasy he conjured up for himself in his private moments. She wanted to be it for him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he forced out, his voice low and gravelly. “I’m close.”

She choked a bit when he thrust harder, the tip of his cock hitting the back of her throat. It twitched against her tongue, pulsing and veiny, his length almost too much for her to handle when he came, her name falling from his lips like a prayer though she was the one on her knees.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised as she swallowed his cum, fondly stroking her messy blonde hair. “Such a good fucking girl.” Her body purred at his words, claiming her with a gentle ownership she keened at the thought of. 

She figured she loved him for much longer than just that night, except she hadn’t realized because it felt so different from the way other people described it. Not particularly soft or sweet, but it made her feel powerful, alive.  Like staring down everything she feared and finally feeling able to conquer it all instead of running—she was so damn tired of running.

He offered his hand, pulling her up from the floor. His lips brushed her cheek, adoration pouring from the simple gesture of affection. “I love you,” he whispered against her warm skin.

“I love you too.”

Woody leaned against the door, catching her breath as John pulled his pants back on. Took a look at himself in the mirror, straightening himself out to appear every bit of the no-nonsense Captain who had her wrapped around his finger. 

Turning around, he gave her a once over, taking in her ragged appearance in comparison.

“Your nylons—“

She looked down, finding a tear at the knee. “I don’t give a damn. Let’s just get outta here, Johnny.”

“You sure?”

“We can sneak out the back and spend the rest of the night alone. They all probably think we left already.”

“Sounds like you have somewhere in mind.”

Woody smiled, turning the knob to crack the door open, checking if anyone would notice the two of them slipping out together. Taking his hand in hers, she gently squeezed it. “I might.”

[naisilla]

The Emperor's New Muse Part .12

Odyssey Kayn x Reader

content: BARE WITNESS TO COSMIC EMPEROR KAYN

There was nothing you could do, you were forced by your own morbid curiosity to watch on as Kayn vanished into the portal. The air falls silent and you wait on baited breath for something to happen.

"We should try to get out of here," Yasuo murmurs as he slowly reaches for the steering.

"I don't think we can." Jinx says pointing out of the window. Outside were thousands of Demaxian ships, all of them training their weapons on you. Great, they're still following the delusional ordinals' orders.

No one dared to move, everyone was still in this tense standoff.

"What should we do?" you whisper to Yasuo.

"I don't know we're stuck with no options" Yasuo whispers back.

"Can't we just blow them all up?" Jinx whines.

"Are you kidding me? We don't have a fraction of the firepower needed to take care of all of them." You shoot back. Jinx groans in disappointment.

There were simply no choices. You were trapped with no way to escape. Any slight movement would attract the Demaxian firepower, and you wouldn't survive the attack. Fighting your way out was not an option either, there was no way the three of you could take down an entire army.

You were stuck in a stalemate, an uncertain waiting game. There was nothing you could do but wait and hope that either the Demaxians would change their mind or something unexpected would happen.

Just how long would this take exactly? surely after a while the Demaxian military would start to question to volidity of their Ordinals orders. Kayn had thrown himself into the ora gate, how big of a red flag for insanity could you get with him? They should be discussing how to run their stupid empire now that two rulers had bit the dust.

"Uh guys I think something is happening" Jinx whispers her elbow nudging your side, bringing your attention to the ora gate, to what Jinx was gesturing towards. Something was indeed happening, something you didn't expect and couldn't quite comprehend.

The inky blackness within its center began to pulse and glow, and you could swear you could see something moving around. It was like looking at an underwater screen, something was constantly shifting and wriggling underneath a dark layer of liquid.

Something was emerging from it and your jaw dropped. "No fucking way."

There was no doubt about it. Kayn had survived whatever unimaginable horror lurked beyond the ora gate. Something was different about him though, he had changed.

His shaved and braided hair had grown out in beautiful whispy tresses, and his skin now had a porcelain completion. A dark dye travels up his arms and swirls around his chest that was now bare with his robes only draped around his lower half. His blue eyes pierced the gaze of everyone around him and with a grand voice he speaks.

"Behold! My subjects! I have returned from the ora gate! I have conquered the dark star! I am, the cosmic Emperor!"

Kayn floats before the entrance of the ora gate with his arms extended in a godly pose.

"Worship me! Bow before your new emperor!" His commanding voice booms through space.

"Holy shit this man is mad!" Jinx exclaims, her hands are gripped into tight fists.

You pay no mind to her comment still slackjawed at the sight. Your attention was focused on the new scythe resting in the Emperor's hand. It no longer had a chunky neon blade or a center of pulsing ora essence. Kayn's scythe was now much more sleek, curved and lightweight with a blue and gold blade. But the ora within its center no longer pulsed with sentience it was vacant and void of life, Rhaast was no more.

How did he defeat Rhaast? What happened within the ora gate? A part of you was relieved that Rhaast had been defeated but that only meant you were stuck with the lesser of two evils.

Your ship begins to move and you whip your head to find Jinx who had taken over the control panel now piloting it towards Kayn. "JINX NO!"

It was too late for you to rush in and intervene, Yasuo looked just as stunned as you as Jinx charged your ship toward the Emperor with its firearms engaged. You duck and flatten yourself to the floor as the thousands of Demaxian ships fire upon you. Your ship miraculously dodges every plasma blast that flies toward you in tight formation.

Yasuo gets to his feet and tries to rip Jinx away from the wheel but in a fit of hysterical strength, she shoves him off. Her lips twisted in a scornful expression, her bare teeth grinding together. Her eyes were wild and trembling as fat tears threatened to spill down her face, her throat was tearing itself with distressed cries of agony. She was dead set on rushing this ship and running through Kayn with it. "YOU BASTARD!" she shrieks. "YOU WILL FUCKING PAY!!"

Kayn stares ahead at you, illuminated by the ships headlights as you rapidly approach him, yet he remains calm and unmoving with a content look present on his face.

You watch as the ship completely rushes through him who remains untouched as he phases through like a ghost. "Still falling for the same tricks Jinx?" Kayn asks with an arrogant tone.

Seething Jinx maneuvers the ship around and opens fire on the Cosmic Emperor who only seems amused as every blast passes through him. Kayn lets out a dark chuckle and appears in your ship standing right before Jinx. She doesn't hesitate and throws everything she has at him, her pistol bullets ricochet across the control panel forcing you and Yasuo to duck and take cover.

Jinx unleashes all of her arsenal, mindlessly emptying her ammunition at Kayn. The emperor remains unaffected no matter what form of attack Jinx hysterically swaps between. She throws her empty pistol at Kayn's head and swaps for her minigun. The control system of the ship and everything else inside gets destroyed as lights flash and alarms blare.

Kayn moves forward with every attack thrown at him phasing through, Kayn is invincible and unstoppable and slowly he's backing Jinx into a corner.

Jinx remains fierce until eventually, her gun clicks onto an empty chamber. Her eyes waver for a moment as she realizes she is completely powerless against Kayn, you can tell that she's about to try something stupid again but with how calm Kayn is you know that the moment she does he will kill her.

"Kayn STOP!" You throw yourself between them with your arms widespread effectively shielding Jinx from Kayn who doesn't seem the slightest bit surprised. His blue eyes only stare into yours where you get lost in the emptiness that sits at the back of his gaze.

"As Cosmic Emperor, you should feel honored to die by my hand." You can hear Yasuo get up but Kayn is quick to make the samurai freeze. "I wouldn't make another move if I were you Captain, unless you want to watch me kill what remains of your crew through inhumane torture." Kayn turns his head back to you and tilts it with a curious hum.

"The one who continues to defy me, despite how futile it is you continue to challenge me. You're either extremely brave or unimaginably foolish." He slowly leans forward, narrowing his eye's slightly as he studies you.

"I want to make you suffer for getting in my way. It is SO tempting to just kill you, but I have better plans for you."

The eerie tension is cut by Yasuo screaming as he rushes towards Kayn who has his his back turned to him. Kayn stares into your eyes not breaking contact for a moment as he shoots out an arm that grabs Yasuo by the throat.

A tired chuckle slips past the Emperor's lips. "Just how many times must I prove my point. THAT YOU ARE POWERLESS AGAINST ME!?" Kayn effortlessly tosses Yasuo aside, sending him flying across the entire cockpit and crashing into the opposite wall.

Yasuo hits the wall with a sickening splat, the force of the impact sends the air rushing out of his lungs as he lays there helplessly on the ground.

The sheer power and strength of Kayn was astounding, he effortlessly tossed aside one of the strongest warriors in the empire with a single motion of his hand.

Kayn continued to calmly look at you, unfazed by anything around him, he was completely untouchable.

His eyes remained locked on yours.

"I think I've been a very gracious man." Kayn reaches for his scythe and places its blade on your neck. "Bow."

You stare back defiantly which visibly strikes a chord for the emperor. "I think you failed to hear me." His scythe is then repositioned behind you, now aimed at Jinx. "I said BOW".

"Don't do it" Jinx mumbles, her fists trembling in fear and anger. "I'd rather die than give this bastard any satisfact- AGHH!" Jinx screams as Kayn swiftly slices through her left shoulder chopping her entire arm off and falls to the ground with a dull thud. Her robotic arm flies to cover the fresh stump as blood begins to spurt.

You let out a cry of horror, your body moves faster than your mind with the instinct to protect her again but your body is held in place by the scythe blade. Jinx's hot blood dripped onto your clavicle.

"On. Your. Knees."

Jinx's whimpers and strained sobs of pain make your knees weak and reluctantly you lower yourself to bow before him. Your body felt hot as you burned with rage that was forced down by the threat of losing Jinx.

From the corner of your vision you could see Jinx's amputated arm, Yasuo was still out cold slumped against the wall. You felt relieved to see his chest rising and falling.

"I'm going to give you a choice" Kayn says in a smooth voice. "What will it be?"...

Your eyes fly open as your heart rate peaks. Your skin shivers under a cold sweat and your hands tremble. Another nightmare, no, a memory of the past.

So much has changed since Kayn opened the Ora gate, your bionic arms now remind you of that. Ora augmentations, a once forbidden practice now made legal to individuals who work in the highest ranks of the Demaxian Empire.

Biohacking your body with modifications was the only way you could make yourself stronger. With Kayn ruling the universe you needed to be in top shape if there was any hope of you standing against him one day.

The Empire has thrived since Kayn's coronation. Now that the entire universe was under his rule there were no other nations or factions to war against.

You haven't heard from Yasuo or Jinx, they managed to escape together and have been on the run ever since. They're somewhere out there, hiding amongst the population undercover or isolated on a barren planet. Whenever you lead a patrol across the planet systems you always kept your eye out for them.

But the two have remained elusive and you hoped that was a good thing.

You had proven Kayn right that you would make an excellent addition to his Locus Armada. Being such a determined fighter helped you climb the ranks after being properly trained. Of course, it was the rage against your Emperor and the plan to one day grow powerful enough to kill him that was your driving force.

Since you were forced to serve in the Locus Armada every aspect of your life was heavily controlled. All hours of the day were made into a schedule which you were to strictly follow.

Every hour of the day was divided into "shifts" where you had to eat, sleep, and train. There was no free time to relax, even showering and skincare were timed and monitored.

Your food was now served and eaten at specific times, each meal was a portion of calculated fats, sugars, carbs and nutrients. Sure every meal was prepared by top quality chefs but you missed the cheap take out from dive bars you and the morning star would pig out on.

Every day was full of endless hours of vigorous training. You were given a personalized exercise regime that you had to complete and as the months went by the goals only got more difficult.

At least now you were a much stronger and skilled fighter compared to the old you. Perhaps your incredible and fast adaptation was the reason why you became an Ordinal yourself so quickly, but a part of you knew that it was because Kayn wanted to keep a closer personal eye on you.

A pale hand snakes around your waist drawing your attention back to the man in your bed. Kayn may have looked to be peacefully asleep but you knew damn well that he was just as alert as you were.

It had started with subtle touches whenever you two were close, you often found his hand slipping to touch your arm or shoulder during conferences. As a high ranking Ordinal let alone the only female Ordinal you forced yourself to bear through it all and act unbothered.

But as the months passed the Emperor only escalated the sexual molestations. You were spending more time reporting directly to Kayn and staying back after meetings everytime Kayn made a move you would always be professional and discreetly turn him down. As if you would ever reciprocate to that bastard.

However, despite your determination to stay reluctant to Kayn's advances eventually the emperor would snap and force you to obey him. To Kayn you were his trophy, the living example of how he became the Cosmic Emperor. You were the only person who continuously got in his way of opening the Ora Gates. Even though he had succeeded you still proved yourself to be an enemy that outsmarted him and always got away somehow.

And now here you were at his mercy, powerless to turn his advances down now that he had you locked in your suite. A new development to your little situationship if you want to call it that.

The emperor had made a habbit of visiting your quarters every night. Ever since you agreed to become enrolled in his royal military you knew every aspect of your being was at his mercy.

It was either that or die.

Hence the new chapter of this "situationship" where your mornings started and ended with sleeping with the Emperor. Eventually, he would let down his guard and that would be the moment you'd put an end to his reign.

As Kayn lay on the bed, his eyes closed as you got up for another identical say of Ordinal duties his mind went back to the series of events leading up till now.

He was well aware that you were plotting to betray him, how could you not after everything he had done? He was very impressed with how patient you have been. To anyone else you were seen as one of Kayn's most loyal Ordinals, someone who worked harder than the rest.

But Kayn knew better, all of this was just an intricate facade. You couldn't fool him, but he'll indulge in this little game of yours.

What bothered Kayn was that you continued to remain stubborn to him. Yes you were his trophy and he enjoyed tormenting you but he expected by now you wouldn't be so spiteful towards him.

Every night when Kayn had you pinned under him or on your knees with your hair in his fist you always glared at him with a burning hatred. No matter how many times he defiled or humiliated you, you remained unbroken.

Why did this irk him? Why was he so bothered by this? He had won so why did it feel like he was still fighting to prove something? Like nothing had changed since the days of the Morningstar.

Kayn didn't want to admit it but he craved for you to feel something else, anything else. He was tired of having you remain indifferent, how dare you continue to deny him the cosmic emperor. You should feel lucky, and grateful even that someone as grand as him would give you such attention.

He knew he was a desirable man, he walked around the palace so freely without a shirt, showing off the toned physique he gained from the countless battles and endless training. He wore only the most expensive and extravagant fashion and took good care of himself. How were you not falling over yourself and begging him to fuck you instead of him needing to force himself onto you every night.

No this wasn't over Kayn wanted you to want him.

And Kayn gets what he wants.

...I know I took forever. Thanks for coming back anyways!