#the noise i made when i saw the price on steam. i was not expecting 10 dollars. oh my god.

[waywardsalt]

this has been a good year for new games for me, ironically bc i had a shit time with totk and was able to better recognize what i like. totk is a game i have not touched since beating it, while every other game i have played this year have be considerably better and just. idk good experiences

so some reflection on the games i played for the first time this year that i really liked!

i played fire emblem engage this year- i literally forgot that that happened this year, i've only been counting games since totk, and i've played some good fuckin games after totk, but i honestly had a good silly time with fe engage. the music is great, the story is a bit flat and hammy at times but was still engaging (hah) and i was pleasantly surprised by the development of the main character, and it was pretty hard even on an easy difficulty, which each map sometimes taking an hour to get through as the story progressed. plus i can't deny that the referneces to other fe games with the emblem rings was a cool selling point, i'm not too familiar with the other fe games and it was interesting to see some of the characters from them. loading into lucina's paralogue and instantly recognizing the map layout and music got to me pretty good as someone who was introduced into the series by awakening. it was great!

i played persona 5 royal after totk and. what a fucking palette cleanser it's one of the best games i have ever played and i've... somewhat liveblogged my first playthrough and snippets of my second, it's fantastic (not flawless tbf) and just a lot of fun. the music is great holy shit and it was also just a great story to experience, with some interesting messaging throughout with the confidant stuff and the things brought up by the third semester. i didn't even initally get persona 5 with the intention to play it myself, it was for my sibling, who played it once and put it down and hasn't touched it since while i picked it up on a whim and was hooked by the music and style and gameplay and... holy shit it's so good. i don't even mind okumura's palace too much.

i managed to get myself a copy of kid icarus uprising (and also got the guide book by accident, don't ask, it's helpful anyways), and... they sure did make a third person shooter on the 3ds and it sure does. Handle. in all honestly the controls are kind of a mess but the game feels really good to play when you get a handle on them, even if i keep accidentally sending pit falling to his death in the ground segments because just moving him is a bit rough. the game is also surprisingly hard, and i wouldn't just chalk it up to the controls, and the music (esp the tracks for the air segments and the way its timed to the game events... ugh) is fantastic, and what i've seen of the story and characters so far is charming! i have only gotten up to past chapter 9 out of... 30? because each chapter is fairly long and... those controls. it's great!

i also managed to get my hands on shin megami tensei iv! i first found it through the fantastic soundtrack, played the first through hours after it failing to boot a few times and getting fucking destroyed by the earliest enemies because holy shit this game will beat you into the ground if you try, and was like 'hm i wonder why they went with that specific sound for a lot of the ost' and then got to fucking tokyo and i. i do not know a lot abt smt iv's story and i'm grateful. getting to tokyo was a bit internal 'holy SHIT' moment and i am so desperate to figure out what the fuck is going on with this story and world it's really fascinating. i haven't progressed the story in a while even through i know where to go just because i'm trying to level flynn and my demons and do side quests because i am not going to underestimate any new encounter ever it's fantastic.

did i start playing clangen this year? i might have. it's good. it's fun. i've played it on voice call with my friend a few times. i'm currently hooked on starting with 1 apprentice and 1 kit like a lot of people are doing on here, building cool stories based on it. it's neat.

that's (probably) all of the new games i've played (and enjoyed) this year so far, but i found out that fallout: new vegas is ten fucking dollars on steam (20 with all of the dlc) and i might have to give that a shot after tracking down a bunch of mods to keep it from crashing, and just from what i've seen of people talking about it, it sounds like a game i really need to try either this year or sometime next year. i'm mostly still just floored that it's less than thirty dollars.

[subjectnr8]

SoapxGhost pt4

"Warmin' yer hands"

“Where’s Soap?”

The lips of Price formed a hard line as he seemed to frown at Ghost’s question, like he had been expecting it but did not want to hear it. It had been 3 days since Ghost woke up with a feisty fever. In the last 3 days, the nurse came by every now and then to bring meds and do a routinely checkup. And in this time, neither Soap nor Gaz showed up to wish Ghost well.

Don’t get him wrong, Ghost hated to play the victims role, neither did he like to dwell in self-pity. (Except during some night watch shifts, but that was something else.) But it was very unusual for Soap not to show up at all. It was worrying, and the way Price acted whenever Ghost brought the Sergeant up did not ease Ghost’s overthinking mind.

Did something happen? Did they even know that he was sick? Where were they? Was Johnny ok?

“He is fine, son. Don’t-“

“I didn’t ask if he was ok. Where is he? And Gaz? All of them, for that matter.” Ghost could not muster up the strength to yell, his voice nothing but a low grumble of frustration. The soreness made his words sound rough. It reminded him of Soap and how his accent seemed to thicken when out of breath. More of a growling than actual human words.

Price cleared his throat and bit down on the inside of his cheek. He was evaluating the situation. Frustrated sick Simon Riley could only hold his gaze. Ghost would have insisted further, going on Price’ nerve until he would have his answers. But Simon was more patient, more trustful.

The gravelly voice of the captain was more soothing than Simon had expected it to be. He sounded defeated as he said that both Soap and Gaz were here at the base. They had been sent out on a seeming quick mission the day Ghost had gotten sick. There were complications, miscommunication to be exact and the team had gotten under fire. The mission resulted in a success but their target had stocked up on weapons and explosives, severely injuring the team. Including Soap and Gaz.

“A grenade set off too close to their cover.”

Simon had expected Price to fidget around, to be uncomfortable and stressed repeating the incident. But he had underestimated his captain, as Price was still talking in his soothing voice.

He tried to break it to Simon gently.

A hot wave rushed through Simon’s body. His heart dropped. Unable to blame it on either fever or anxiety, all Simon could do was stare at his superior. Price, with his gentle eyes and soothing voice. The stupid father figure Simon secretly always saw in him. With his stupid bucket hat.

“Don’t worry, son. Both are fine, but I ordered them to stay at the infirmary for a few more days. It was a quiet violent blow they have taken.” His brown beard jumped slightly as he pressed his lips into a thin smile. “But you know them. Most resilient muppets ever.” He huffed a laugh and shook his head, standing up with a slap to his thighs. “You can imagine the rant I had to endure as soon as Soap had found out you’re sick and he wasn’t allowed to leave bed.”

Simon just nodded, smiling softly. The short shock had knocked out the air of him, but his friends were fine. They were alive, gods, they probably got on Price’s nerves whenever he paid them a visit. The thick Scottish accent and Gaz’ sarcasm was the perfect mix to drive someone insane. They always got their way, specially Soap.

It pained Simon on how much he missed the angry, Scottish noises every time something did not go according to plan. According to Soaps plan, at least.

“I’ll get going now. I hope I eased your mind?” With one hand around the doorknob, Price looked at Simon with a raised eyebrow. Another nod. Simon swallowed down his anxiety while his throat scratched in the most unpleasant way possible. “Thanks, Price.��

He had been alone for at least two hours now. While Price had left, a nurse pushed past him to bring Ghost another pot of steaming tea. Sipping on said tea, Ghost had snuggled himself between pillows and blankets to watch a replay of last week’s football match.

England had been out a few weeks ago but that did not kill Simon’s interest, on the contrary. He was trying to figure out if the world cup was a faux where only the richest would win, OR if the teams had to merely rely on their skills.

Soap used to play football as well. A goalie to be exact. Sometimes between missions Soap would digress and talk about how the sport brings people together and is wonderful for teambuilding. He would continue to rant about certain matches, his accent getting so bad Ghost had to hold back his amusement.

Sometimes he did not understand a single word Soap was saying. Soap had to be reminded a lot to “just speak English, please”. Especially when Soap was led by raw emotion. Most of the time it was gentle bantering where he lost himself in his playfulness, but apparently Soap’s accent gets horribly bad when he’s mad.

Ghost had not witnessed Soap losing his marbles yet, Gaz on the other hand has. Multiple times. And he was making sure Ghost would know every detail, once Johnny only saw red. Soap, for some reason unknown, never spoke about his outbursts. Which made Gaz even more talkative.

“Don’t forget he has an entire room for himself! I swear he must be sucking Price good if he gets such special treatment!”

“You're doing my nut in!” Johnny’s fist slammed down on the cheap wooden table. Suddenly, the cafeteria went silent. The buzzing of conversations  from just seconds ago had died down, wide eyes staring at Soap was all that’s left. But Soap didn’t care. All he cared about was that group of rookies sitting across his table. They were looking at him, afraid for an obvious reason.

Ghost couldn’t imagine Soap angry, but according to Gaz he had been furious. “Downright terrifying. I thought he would smash his head in! For a second it seemed he was switched out with some angry pit bull!” Ghost still wished he had witnessed this himself, but if he was honest, the rookies wouldn’t have done it if he would have been present.

Gaz had seemed so excited to tell Ghost about what had happened a week after Hasan has been KIA. They still sometimes talk about it, mostly to annoy Soap with.

Soap had jumped up from his seat, fist starting to prickle with pain. He stared the rookies down, waiting for them to say something. To repeat what they just had joked about. What they just had said about Ghost. Simon. “Yer bums oot the windae! Dae ye even have a clue o' who he is? Or whit he has done?”

Gaz placed a hand on his back, a weak attempt to calm the Scotsman down. Soap had jerked away from the calming gesture, instead making his way over to the rookies. They seemed terrified, panic spreading on their table as Soap closed the distance between them with slow steps. He breathed in deeply to try and calm his mind. He stops, leaning down a little as he stared the guy down who started all the ranting. Trying his best to calm his anger, his next words were slow and deep, silent. But he knew the rookies understood him loud and clear. “Watch yer pumpin' mouth before I will make ye shut it forever.”

He placed a hand on the jaw of the frightened man, squeezing. “Am I clear?” Slow, rough words. Soap’s plan had worked out exactly like he hoped, as the rookie nodded his head harshly. Voice cracking, nothing more than a silent whimpering as the Scot nearly crushed his jaw. “Sir, yes, Sir!”

Ghost chuckled to himself at the thought of a furious Soap. The entire thing naturally flattered him greatly and he even spoke his thanks to the Sergeant once he got the chance. He didn’t expect his friends to stand up for him but Johnny did it either way. Without hesitation, not expecting any recognition. He apparently was just doing the right thing.

“Is there something like an English-to-Scottish Translator?” It had made Ghost choke back a laughter. Gaz just smirked as he threw the question into the room. Obviously, Soap got into trouble for making suck a ruckus, but Price had such a big soft spot for Soap, the penalty he ended up with what could’ve been consider nothing.

“I want you to create a schedule for our rookies. Laps, stretching, workout. Seems like you make a good drill sergeant. Now it’s time for you to shine.” Price smirked, crossing his arms as Soap’s cheeks warmed.

Simon’s gaze wandered over his room’s door. He scratched his chin, a few stubbles making themselves present. Would anyone notice if he quickly left his room to find his friends? Before overthinking, he snatched his mask from the bedside table and wobbly stood up from his bed. Once he left the warmth of his sheets an immediate shiver ran through his body. Goosebumps littering his skin.  

“Fucking-” Ghost pulled his mask over his face and grabbed one of his lighter blankets. He threw it over his shoulders and made slow, yet steady, steps towards the door. It would be a quick visit, but he wanted to see him them.

A knock. Ghost froze in his track. His hand barely above the doorknob as the door slowly creaked open.

part 5 is ready for youuu

[dreamyjoons]

Our ‘Get Along’ Shirt - pjm

⇢ another day, another endless round of you and Jimin bickering. It’s never ending, all-consuming, and your friends have had enough. Namjoon decides to end it once and for all - with help from a shirt for squabbling toddlers.

Genre/warnings: smut, 18+! ‘enemies’-to-lovers, swearing, semi-public smut, mutual masturbation, fingering, honestly at this point a sweat kink, multiple orgasms, light choking, some spitting, unprotected sex, creampie.

Words: 14.2k lol

A/N: well hello! I’m back baby, and to celebrate i had to exorcise some Jimin demons. Did i talk about him sweating a lot? Yes. Did i use my favourite pic of him for the header? Also yes. Don’t @ me, i already know. I hope you enjoy!!!

"You're so wrong about this, it's actually kind of embarrassing."

"No you're wrong, only an idiot would think the way you do."

"Guys, no one - and I really mean this - no one cares about what kind of cups you need for beer pong. You've been arguing this for like twenty minutes now." Hoseok huffs, sitting back into the couch.

"Eighteen minutes." Namjoon sighs, tipping back his cup and gulping down its contents.

"But solo cups are far superior-"

"Jimin, they aren't!" You snap, dragging your glare away from his rolling eyes, deciding you never wanna look at him ever again.

"Please stop." Jungkook sighs, slipping off the chair beside Hoseok. His eyes flick between you before scanning the rest of the people in the room, slowly moving to the thump of the music. "Gonna find Yoongi and Tae." He mumbles before disappearing through the mass of bodies.

You'd been at the house party for less than three minutes before you and Jimin found a reason to have an argument. At first, it was how late you were - even though you found out he only got there five minutes before you. Then when you commented on the music choices to Yoongi, he found a way to disagree - despite you both knowing he loved the artist. On and on it went. Now here you were; Namjoon and Hoseok on the couch watching you both with bored expressions, Jin tuned out and typing rapidly on his phone beside them. Jimin stood to your left, and you made sure to keep him totally out of your sight.

But it was getting harder to hear him, thankfully. And he was losing steam. The house was crowded and loud, lively dancers everywhere and the smell of alcohol rich in the air. It was already way too hot out, but being stuffed inside at this party was causing everyone to sweat. You could see condensation forming on the walls.

The house was huge and expensively decorated, belonging to some producer friend of Namjoon. Marbled floors met white walls, a rug carpet covering the floor that made you wince when you thought about the price. It was sprawling and full of a ridiculous number rooms. Yet still, people had to squeeze between the spaces, excuses and polite taps lost in the fury of heat and confinement.

You held your can to your forehead to cool yourself down but it had grown warm waiting for you and Jimin to finish your current spout. You grimace but take a sip anyway - at least if you get a buzz you can ignore him for a little. You felt a pit of guilt at making Jungkook leave. But you were riled up, and you couldn't back down. Not to Jimin.

You saw Jimin tip his head back to drink out of the corner of your eye, but you daren't look at him. He was as insufferable as he was hot as hell, and not just in temperature.

However, you had managed to take a better look at him earlier in the night. His beige silk shirt was already sticking to his skin, tucked into tight jeans blacker than you had ever seen. Who wears silk to a house party? The necklace that he always wore sat just below his collarbones, and you're reminded of all the times you've wanted to throttle him with that damn chain. He'd been pushing his dark hair back all night - you could tell by how it fell about his face, silky strands falling into his eyes. Was he wearing some kind of lipgloss too? You grumble into your drink. He was too pretty for his own good.

At first the sparring was fun. There was an attraction there, on your part at least. It was spicy, something hot and fast, a way to see how compatible you were. Maybe you had some feelings for him. Possibly, potentially.

But over time it devolved. It felt like he'd say things just to get a rise out of you, to draw your attention into a battle with him. And now here you were, bitterly avoiding the man's existence.

"God, why is it so hot here?" Jin gasps, blotting his face with his sleeve.

"Probably haven't got the air con on." Jimin shrugs, taking a swig from his glass.

"It's on-" You start, eyes flicking to where you thought you could see a vent in the ceiling. It was open, so you assumed it would be on - it had to be.

"I highly doubt that."

Jimin gives you the look he always does - where he tilts his head back and stares into your soul. His plump lips part, tongue pressed behind his teeth, goading you into his trap. He gets his way every time.

"Why would they not have it on? It's burning hot even without a house full of people."

"Then it's clearly a crappy unit." He shrugs, but his words are quick and his eyes are still intensely focused on you.

"Jimin have you seen the rest of this house? Don't be dumb-"

"Shut up!"

You and Jimin spin to your friends who had all shouted in unison. The ones who could still stand to be around you both arguing, anyway. Several of the dancers that were nearby stopped to look at the exclamation but slowly drifted back into the music - albeit before taking a step further away from your group.

"Enough. I'm gonna put an end to this once and for all." Namjoon gets to his feet and strides away with purpose, standing a head above nearly everyone in the crowd.

You shiftily look at Jimin before silently waiting for Namjoon to return, confusion thick in your brain. You awkwardly chewed on your lip as the seconds ticked by, before finally he stalks back, his bag under his arm.

He throws himself back into his seat, flips open the top of his bag and rifles through.

Finally he pulls out a heap of bright yellow material, and with a small noise, he dumps his bag beside him before bolting up. He unravels the material and holds it up to you, grin growing on his face.

It takes you a few seconds to focus on what he is holding out to you and Jimin - but when you realise, you gasp.

"'Our get along shirt'? Namjoon you've gotta be joking." you splutter, scanning the shirt.

It was a sickly yellow, 'our get along shirt' printed on it in what appeared to be black glitter. It could probably fit both you and Jimin in it, maybe Yoongi could slip in too. It looked somewhat roomy, but that was not the point.

"What?" Jimin asks, lips parted as he stares into the glitter.

"You're both gonna wear it and get over whatever bullshit is going on here." Namjoon says so casually, as if he was asking the time or giving directions. But you saw the seriousness in the minute movements of his face. The clench on his jaw, the hardiness of his eyes.

"We're adults Namjoon, you can't expect us to wear that." Jimin's face had gone into a full blush, but his frown was deep as he stared at Namjoon.

"You are both gonna wear it."

"No-" You shout, but Namjoon pointedly huffs at you, and you take the hint.

"Put the shirt on. By the end of the night, either one of you will have killed the other or you have this sorted out. Because if not, you'll end up pushing us all away. For good." Namjoon finishes with a sigh, the depth of his gaze so severe it confirms that he isn’t playing with you.

You look behind him at Jin and Hoseok, and the direction in which Jungkook had walked away. Jin and Hoseok looked deadly serious, no hint of a smile or a cackle of laughter like you'd expect.

He had a point. You knew it. But it was so hard - Jimin couldn't let things lie, and you couldn't back away from a fight when it was him you were fighting. But to see others dropping out from around you...

"Hand over the shirt."

You spin to stare at Jimin. His face was tight, jaw set and eyebrows drawn. It had dawned on him too, just how far this had gone. But he obviously didn't like the idea of it, and neither did you.

"Fine but if I do kill him I’m taking you all down with me as accessories." You sigh, reaching forward and taking the shirt from Namjoon.

“How long have you had this, Joon?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

“Long enough.”

You turn it in your hands and with a deep breath, you pull the shirt over your head, sticking your arm through the sleeve and head through the collar. Your left arm hangs loosely in the shirt, and you begin to fret about what you should do with it. Maybe you should just stick it in your pocket? You don't wanna brush anything-

Before you could follow that train of thought, Jimin tugs you and the shirt towards him. You follow, gulping thickly. He casts one last look at Namjoon before putting his head under the bottom of the shirt. within seconds his head is through the collar, his shoulder bumping yours as he tries to get comfortable.

The air is thick around you, the extra warmth of him being so close to you making the heat rise on your face. You were strongly aware of every microscopic move he makes, your senses keenly aware of his proximity. He lets out a harsh sigh, and you feel the breath ripple over the collar and down the shirt. A pout settles on his lips, glossy and wholly enticing - and entirely too close.

His face was inches from yours, shoulders stuck rigidly together as you subtly wrestle for space. The shirt was obviously made for kids, and much smaller than you had originally anticipated. Two kids would be able to almost comfortably stand side by side. You and Jimin had barely enough excess shirt, but the collar was far too small. His hand grazes mercilessly across your thigh, the hardness of his rings pressing into the material of your jeans.

You hear a click of a camera, and your attention snaps up to see Hoseok taking a photo of you both on his phone. With both you and Jimin glaring at him, he snaps another and giggles.

"One for Jungkook." He grins, before flipping his phone to you.

Instinctively you step forward to look, but the lack of space drags Jimin along with you. He crashes into your back, a steadying hand reaching out for your hip, a strangled grunt by your ear. You choke on your breath, and weakly tug at the collar as if it was the cause of your shock.

His hand is warm, the heat pulsating from his palm across your hip. If you weren't sweating before, you definitely were now. You shuffle back a little, easing the tension in the shirt that tugged tightly against you. Jimin brings up a hand and anxiously pushes his hair back from his face, his jaw set so sharply you could cut your finger on it.

"Well, there's bound to be a few teething problems but I'm sure you'll both work it out." Namjoon smiles, eyes bright and full of mischief. "Come on boys, let's give them some space."

You give Namjoon the fiercest glare you could muster before he walks away, but all he does is chuckle at you. Hoseok waves brightly whilst Jin merely winks - until soon all that remained was you and Jimin, hot, flustered and already tired of it all.

"Okay, now that they're gone-" Jimin mutters, twisting in the shirt so that his back was against you. You shuffle back as not to touch him, your mind a hazy hot mess.

Your hand dances threateningly close to his ass so you snatch it up to your chest, staring at the ceiling and holding back an agonised groan.

He brings his hands up and after a few seconds you hear a loud rip.

You snap your head to him to see that he'd ripped the collar almost to the end of the shoulder, giving you more space. You let out a breath and you both adapted to the space, but his shoulder was still brushing you. At least his face was at a less dangerous distance from yours now.

"Do... you wanna sit?" He asks quietly, A faint pinky blush crossing his cheeks. You forced your eyes away, determined not to be distracted.

"Jimin, Namjoon's gonna flip about the shirt."

"No he won't-"

"Yes, he will-"

"Ah, can we just sit?."

You huff, weighing his words before silently nodding, moving forward slowly to give him time to get his brain in gear. He stepped behind you and you shuffled around so that you wouldn't be sat under him.

"Okay sit." You order, and to your surprise he followed your words. You both crash back into the couch, his arms pressing back against you, his legs spread and pressed against yours.

You sit, the silence stretching. You finally get the smell of his cologne, the silk of his shirt sleeve brushing against your arm. It was filling your senses, and though it had only been seconds, this was stretching for an eternity.

And there were all those emotions you felt towards him, rushing to the surface, bubbling beneath your skin.

"Okay this is dumb, why are we doing this?" You grumble, slamming your head back against the cushions, desperate to be away from his heady scent.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes, so you pointedly avoid meeting his gaze.

"Because we don't want to lose our friends." His voice is low, the cogs turning in his head.

"Yes I know that, but why do we have to 'sort our problems' from inside the same damn t-shirt?" You snap.

"I... don't know. But I'm not gonna lose friends. Them or you - so get used to being stuck in this shirt with me."He purses his lips in thought, but you’re struck by his words.

"Well it's you who's stuck in here with me." You snark, unable to stop yourself before you say it.

He huffs out a laugh through his nose, and you can’t help but smile. You finally meet his eyes, and like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, he snaps his eyes away.

“So we have to like… work on our problems?”

“Apparently.” He murmurs, throwing himself back into the seat.  

The temperature feels ten times hotter than when you weren’t sharing clothing. Your hair sticks to your skin and you shift uncomfortably. Everywhere you touched him felt like it was on fire, every sensor in your body and edge and firing. You force yourself to breathe, in and out. Park Jimin was not going to get the better of you.

But he seemed affected too.

His swallows are thick, adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp. You could see his ringed finger tapping in his leg whilst his other hand was pushing back his hair a little more aggressively than usual.

“So uh…” He starts, but tapers off when you look at him.

“Yeah?”

The seconds tick on, the gap between you non-existent. You avert your eyes and try to focus on the crowd that swirls around you.

You couldn’t help but notice the fact that things were going well. No issues were being resolved per se, but you hadn’t fought properly for a few minutes. And for you both, that was progress. Even if every word that comes to your mind flights away, leaving the silence to stretch.

“Maybe-”

“How about-”

You both blurt words at the same time, letting out an embarrassed laugh as you squarely avoid looking at each other. The music seems louder, making it harder to think about anything that wasn’t directly in your senses. Essentially you were stuck in a Jimin lockdown.

“You go.”

“Oh, I was just going to say I’m gonna need a drink or two for this.” you confess, heat burning across your face.

“That’s… Not a bad idea actually. Let’s go to the kitchen.” Jimin rushes, a little too enthusiastically. It seems like he’s a little on edge too.

Without thinking he tries to stand up, causing you to get ruffled inside the shirt as he staggers to his feet. You’re ripped through the collar of the shirt, your face getting knocked into his hip. Your eyes widen and your breath catches in your throat as he’s slingshotted back into the chair beside you. Your head reemerges through the hole, leaving your hair vigorously disheveled.

“I-, I’m sorry!” He grits, a reddish blush bursting across his cheeks.

You bring up your hand inside the shirt to touch it to your face whilst the other tries to right whatever mess your hair had become.

“It’s fine, just, we gotta move as one.” You mumble, flicking your gaze at him.

“Agh, this isn’t gonna be easy.” He sighs, shuffling to the edge of the chair.

You take a deep breath and follow his lead. You put a tentative hand on the couch to shuffle yourself to the edge, but jimin had the same idea. He puts his hands on top of yours, but instantly snatches it back. He mumbles to himself before turning and giving you a nod. With a steadying breath you both move, almost effortlessly getting off the couch together. It takes you by surprise at how straightforward that was, until the clatter of a noise reaches your ears over the din of the music.

Following the rattle of the noise you look down, only to watch your phone skittering across the floor.

“Oh, shit.” You murmur, watching it stop out of reach. “Jimin, my phone!”

He follows your gaze to where it lays on the floor, narrowly avoiding being stepped on by dancers. Your heart flutters as people step around it, totally unaware.

“Go, go!” He mutters, placing the palm of his hand at the bottom of your back, steering you towards it.

You flush as you’re pushed through, stopping just above it. You’re both jostled by the people around you as you stand guard above your phone. People were dancing dangerously close to it,and all it would take is one drunken fool to stamp on it or you for this to end in disaster.

“Okay let’s drop, carefully this time!” you order, but Jimin scoffs at you.

“I’m trying to be careful!”

“Just don't thrash me about again, that would be nice-”

“I’m not doing it on purpose! I can if you want me to-”

“Oh my god, stop, just bend over and help me!”

“That sounds dirt-”

He starts, but before you let him manifest that in your mind you start to crouch, the force pulling him down to bump his chest into your back. The heat of him crashing into you is instant, an insatiable warmth that spreads in contact. He puts a stabilising hand on your hips as his breath rolls across the back of your neck. A shiver trickles down your body despite trying to hold it back.

“What did you do that for?” He grunts, his mouth closer to your ear as he tries to rebalance himself.

“Y- you’re taking too long trying to argue!”

He presses himself off your back and shuffles down beside you. You finally get crouched on the floor, tentative hands placed on the sticky surface to stop you from toppling over. Jimin crouches next to you, his body facing yours with his leg behind you, tight against your back. It was hard to stay focused with him pressed against you like that, but you know he was just trying to stay stable. So why were you blushing so hard?

Carefully you reach out, your fingers just brushing the edge of the phone. You’re just able to get your fingers over the edge when you’re slammed from the side. Your phone is knocked out of your reach once more as you’re thrown onto Jimin, both of you landing in a tangled heap.

You let out a yelp as you’re falling, the impact to the side of you bristling with shock. His back hits the floor and you land awkwardly, right on top of him.

“Watch what you’re doing, you moron!” Jimin snaps after your head slaps onto his shoulder.

Your heart slams erratically against your chest, his words stinging. You’d come to blows many more times than you can imagine, but he’d never spoken to you in that way, not ever.

“God, I’m sorry.” you murmur, pressing yourself up off his chest, your face practically aflame.

“What? Oh, no no, not you! Whichever idiot smacked into you. Are you alright?“ He asks, his fingers gently gripping your chin and turning you gently in his hands.

Your eyes are wide as he stares at you, your fingers twitching on the silk covering his chest. Once he’s satisfied that you’re okay, he softly releases you. You bring your gaze back to his, beads of sweat rolling down your face.

Jimin looks down to his hand and back up to you after realising what he had just done, before he clenches his fist closed and puts it down to his side. His forehead is creased, his face burning bright.

“We should… ah, should get your phone.” His voice is low, barely audible above the music. But you hear him all the same, stealing your hand back from his chest.

You swallow thickly, stabilizing yourself as you crouched back on your own two feet. Your phone isn’t too far out of reach, but just beyond the touch of your fingertips. You strain, tugging Jimin along behind you. His throat is pulled against your shoulder, but it was no good, you still needed the stretch.

“Hold on.” You mumble, slipping your head out from underneath the collar.

You keep your arm inside the shirt sleeve for plausible deniability - you’d never be able to lie to Namjoon if he asks if you stayed in. But you pull your head out from the bottom of the shirt and reach out, gripping your phone and snatching it up. You shove it in your deepest pocket of your jeans and pat it, relieved.

You crawl back to Jimin and try to climb back into the shirt. He throws the bottom over your head and you push it through - only to slam your head into his arm.

“Ah, sorry!” You yelp, trying to push yourself past him.

He tries to guide your head back up through the collar but manages to get his rings caught in your hair. You yelp at the tug, your hands flying up to untangle him.

“Sorry, sorry!” He shouts, bringing his other hands up to slide his rings off altogether.

Once they’re off his fingers it’s easier to free your hair. With the rings tucked safely in his pocket and with gentle easing, Jimin moves your head up to the collar of the shirt. You rapidly brush your hair out of your face and look at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s flustered, roughly pushing the hair that sticks to his sweaty forehead back. His lips are parted and his eyes are fixed away from you.

Briefly, the thought of just running away from him crossed your mind. There’d be no more issues if you never saw his face again. No more embarrassment! Of course it was a silly idea, but it would be better than getting the opportunity to make yourself look like an idiot again.

You huff out a breath, blotting your damp forehead with the back of your hand. Your brush with the floor had left your clothes feeling sticky, and your brush against Jimin had set everything else on fire. You needed some fresh ai-

“It’s too hot for this, I need some air.” Jimin shifts in his spot, gesturing to the backdoor that was through the kitchen and blocked by a thick group of party goers. You follow the direction he points and nod enthusiastically.

“I wanna grab some water too.” You murmur. Ignoring his presence.

The people that stood between the cloying heat that you and Jimin were trapped in and the cooler climate outside were dense. You’d have to fight through, but the reward of fresher air to clear your head of Jimin was too tantalising.

With a look at Jimin, he motions with his hand for you to proceed. You roll your eyes at the gesture but you take a cautious step forward, slow and deliberate.

You started pushing your way through, bodies warm and fluid as you tried to champion the way. Jimin got ganged much closer to you, practically pressing into your back as you moved. You focus on finding a path ahead, ignoring the beads of sweat that form in your hairline.

Something had changed between you. This is the closest you had been together, the most you had touched, the longest you had been alone. And you wanted to hate it. You certainly hated how messy he must think you are. But you didn’t. A trickle of something different slides down your body, all your attention focused on his hand on you.

The music changes to something even louder and riles the crowd up. With a swell of movements in the dancers you’re sent flying, knocked by some erratic dancer’s elbow. With the force of the shirt Jimin is dragged with you, crashing into your back and pinballing you against another person.

Subconsciously you turn back to him - but as soon as you’re pressed together, you realise how big a mistake that was.

Stomach to stomach, his face is barely an inch or two from yours. His fingers wrap around your wrist, chest rising and falling as you stare at him.

The sweat that had rolled down his face had reached his throat, dropping down the column and hovering at his apple. The minutest of smirks pulls at his lips, and you realise you’ve been caught.  

He swallows, purposely. The bead rolls the rest of the way down his throat, dropping below his necklace before disappearing down the neckline of his shirt. The silk was clinging to his skin in the heat, and it took every ounce of dignity you had not to look down. You could see in your periphery, and that was more than enough. The man was hot, in every sense.

Your eyes flick back up, a different kind of heat burning up your face. You anxiously lick your lips, eyes finally meeting his. He has an eyebrow propped, a smugness radiating that let your blood boil. But his gaze drops to your mouth, watching your tongue gloss across your lip before looking back up. You can feel his breath hit your chest as his cheeks flushed more than they ever had. Now you were the one to have an audience.

Maybe this was it - the answer. You just needed a moment for everything to click, you could reach an understanding! It had nothing to do with how his stare left you feeling like you could burst in every way possible. Or that his pupils seemed to be blown wide, big enough for you to swim in. His fingers were hot against your wrist, and it felt almost as if his pinky was tracing the tiniest circles into your skin-

“I need the bathroom.”

The words are blurted loudly in your face, and for a moment you forget what reality is.

“I- what?”

“Bathroom. Gotta go. Bathroom stuff.” Jimin splutters.

Before you can respond - not that you knew how to -  he turns from you. His hand still holds your wrist as he pulls you through the crowd, uncaring as to who he pushes aside. All you can do is stare at the back of his hair and be lead.

“Jimin what the hell?!” You yell, ignoring the glares of the nosy partiers.

Your voice is lost, muffled by loud music and Jimin's deaf focus. You finally break free from the throng of people but your journey doesn't end. You're being whipped past busy rooms until you hit the staircase. The odd person watches you in fascination, some even snickering at what was written so plainly in glitter on the shirt. you felt your face burn, and make a silent note to fight Namjoon at the soonest opportunity.

He begins scurrying up the staircase, and with your wrist still firmly in his iron grip, you're soon flying up behind him. He casts a shifty look behind him to check you were still attached, his face flushed but his eyes focused. You have to remember to regulate your breathing.

"God, careful!" You snap, almost stumbling on the top step.

He doesn't acknowledge that he hears you, but then he slows for a second before darting down the winding corridor. He rushes into one of the rooms, a sprawling guest bedroom, before finally letting your wrist drop from his grip. It was almost bigger than your entire place, with an ensuite and even a door leading out to a balcony.

You close the door behind you before Jimin drags you towards the ensuite. Once he's at the open door he pulls his arms through the sleeve and slips out from the shirt. You know you're in the privacy of a bedroom but you suddenly get nervous, eyes turning to the bedroom door.

"We're gonna get in trouble." You murmur. Namjoon is a mind reader, you’d stake your life on it - he'll know you're separated and find you.

"You gotta relax. We're not gonna be spotted through floors and walls. Unless you wanna come in here with me?" He asks, that trademark smirk pulling at his lips. Your stomach flutters, but it is a relief to have a flash of the jimin who pushes your buttons back.

"I -wha- no! Just hurry up, god." You splutter, turning your back to him.

"I won't be long."

With that he saunters back, his cheeks blown out as he sighs, and finally closes the door for some sweet separation. You step back and move to the balcony - the door was unlocked so you push it open and finally breathe.

The air is still warm, but instant relief from being cooped up inside with Jimin washes over you. You close your eyes and soak up the moment of peace, the shirt hanging off your solitary frame.

Your brain was barely processing the situation you were both in. It was enough being stuck in the same item of clothing as someone, but with Jimin? It was hard.

But then again, it was also easy. It was too easy to get wrapped up in him, to be so close, to let yourself be taken with him. It was a place you had hoped to be before, and somewhere you couldn’t go.

You and Jimin were tumultuous. You weren’t sure why it had to be that way. It’s not like either of you were toxic or nasty people - so why did you have to make a stand on everything? Why does every time you stand off with him make the hairs on your neck stand up, make your heart beat so fast in your chest you swear he could hear it?

Maybe it was because you did, after all this time, like him.  

You're snapped out of your thoughts by an erratic knocking at the door. You dart your eyes to it as if you could see through the solid wood, your heart in your throat.

"Y/N? Jimin? You there?" Namjoon calls through the door, and you swear under your breath.

"One second!" You cry, scrambling back from the door and scurry to the ensuite.

"Jimin! Open up!" You whisper at him, your voice a hurried rasp.

"What?"

"I'm coming in!" You wait a few seconds just in case, and then finally throw the door open.

"Y?N!" Jimin yells, scrambling back against the basin.

He was standing with his silk shirt in his hands, His lips parted in shock as he stares at you. His chest was heaving, the faintest glimmer of abs visible behind the thin fabric. Your face was burning almost as much as his, your jaw dropping. His hair was tousled, strands covering his wide eyes as he stared at you.

"Wh... Why are you topless?" Your breath is barely above a whisper as you fight to keep your eyes on his face.

"It's so hot!”

“I’m hot! Do you see me taking my clothes off?” You rush, using every ounce of restraint in your body to not lick your lips.

The thought of you and Jimin taking your clothes off together flashed through your mind and you internally screamed at yourself. This was not the time to unpack that, though you’d be lying if you said the thought hadn’t crossed your mind before.

“Wah- uh, you... I was trying to cool dow- why are you barging in here?!" He rushes, taking a hasty step towards you. To have to sort through your frazzled thoughts before you remember why you were there in the first place.

"Namjoon! He's at the door!" As if to accentuate your point, Namjoon raps on the door again, calling out to you both.

"Agh!" Jimin cries, rushing forward and grabbing the hem of the shirt you still wore.

He begins to get into it as he pushes you towards the door. You could feel the horror fill your veins as the heat of his body slips in beside you, his hand at the small of your back as he guides you. Your arm brushes against his bare hip, the skin hot and smooth. You snatch your arm up and hold it against your chest as if burned and ignore the rapid change in your breathing.

"Why haven't you put your shirt on?!" You whisper, but he just huffs.

"To save time, Now show me your pretty smile and let's get rid of him so I can get dressed." Jimin's hand is on the door, and all you can do is stare at him, eyes wild.

"My wha-"

The door flies open, but you're still staring at Jimin. Pretty...?

"Well hello." Namjoon is leant against the doorframe, arms crossed as he gives you both a crooked grin. His eyes flicker to the room behind you, his eyes landing on the bed just beyond you both.

"Just needed the bathroom." Jimin rushes, hand once again settling in his hair.

"I didn't ask." His voice is light, but his eyes are fierce as he scans you both thoroughly.

"You were thinking about it, though." Jimin mutters. He tries to cross his arms at Namjoon, but with one arm under the shirt and one over he soon drops it. Your gaze was still stuck on him though. Pretty?

"How's the shirt working out, you both talking?" Namjoon asks, and you finally snap your attention to him. He's already watching you and raises an eyebrow. You scramble to stamp down your emotions, despite every nerve in your body sizzling.

"Oh yeah, we’re the best of friends now, right JimJam?" Your voice is bubblegum sweet, giving Jimin the goofiest smile you could muster.

"Totally! We've been braiding our hair and sharing juicy stories. We're basically besties."

Jimin beams at Namjoon, before stepping close and wrapping an arm around your waist to hug you. It was all part of the charade, of course. But as you're pulled back against his chest, you swear your heart could explode. His hand sits lightly on your hip, his every breath rolling down your neck. It didn’t matter that the move was practically hidden under the shirt.

"Yeah..." you laugh, but it's more of a choke as you pat his hand over the shirt and avoid meeting Namjoon's probing gaze.

Jimin clears his throat awkwardly behind you, his finger twitching on your hip. The heat between you swealters, every inch of your skin electric against his body.

Namjoon's eyes flick between you. You could see his thoughts brewing but they never pass his lips. Instead you and Jimin wait, his hands singeing your skin where they rested, his bare chest like fire against you.

"Well, I can see you're obviously working on something. But until you're actually convincing, you can stay in that shirt." He shrugs, grin widening across his face. With a final flick of his eyes, he pushes off the door frame and heads back towards the stairs.

"This is ridiculous Namjoon!" You yell at his back, crossing your arms across your stomach.

"Maybe - but you're both still wearing it." He smirks back over his shoulder.

You yell incoherent words at his back before huffing out a breath. Your fingers twitch in anger, putting a stubborn hand on your hip, the skin hot under your touch.

Faintly you realise the contact isn’t registering on your hip, and it isn’t until Jimin loosens his grip on you that you realise your hand had been resting on his. His hands fall from your body as he shuffles away, swallowing a throaty gulp.

You couldn’t look at him. It was all fun and games to begin with- oh, who were you kidding? This had been sucky, but something had shifted. You needed air, a chance to breathe, to not be tethered to the man that seems to haunt you.

“Need air.” Your voice a rasp as you step back into the room.

Jimin barely shuts the bedroom door before you’re marching to the balcony, not caring about whether you drag him along or not. Once you’re outside you heave in a breath, letting the air fill your lungs.

“That was too close.” You murmur, fiddling with the hem of the shirt.

“How was I supposed to know Namjoon would be keeping tabs?”

“I’m not blaming you Jimin! Why are you making this into an argument too?” You snap, your eyes fixed on the treeline on the edge of the property.

You feel him wriggling aggressively next to you, only to look back and see him climbing out of the shirt. You watch in horror as he slips out from under the sickly yellow material, keeping his bare back to you.

“What are you doing?” You yelp, scanning over the edge of the balcony for any sight of your friends. They couldn’t see you apart, they would never trust either of you again.

“What are we doing?”

“We’re meant to be working this out from inside the same ugly shirt-”

“No not right now. I mean, kind of. I just… Why did we let it get this far?”

You let his words hang in the air, your thoughts scattered. The thump of the music below drifts up to you, the mass of partygoers that stood out in the gardens laughing and chatting loudly. It seemed a world away from the tension that fills the air between you and Jimin.

He turns back to you with a look on his face so intense you can’t place it. But you could tell he was tightly wound - his shoulders were squared and his jaw was tight. He avoids making eye contact with you for as long as he can. But when he finally does, it was too easy to get lost in what you see there.

“We just argue, I guess.” you shrug, averting your eyes from his chest and stomach. This wasn’t the time to be fawning over him. It was hard - he was beautiful, there was no escape from that. It’s one of a million reasons you had liked him in the first place.

“You can't tell me you’re happy with that explanation.” He huffs, crossing his arms.

“Of course I’m not but what do you want me to say? You don’t like me, you’ve made that plain enough. Not everyone gets along.”

You bite your lip, admitting the words you’d been too scared to think out loud. But when you hear a faint gasp, your eyes shoot up to his face. His lips are parted, a look of abject shock written on his delicate features.

I d- I do like you.” His voice is so quiet you can barely hear him. But you do, and the words strike deep.

You can’t open yourself up to this right now. Namjoon will find a way to know that you’re both separated, and the rest of the guys will drift away. You want to be civil with Jimin, not have your entire soul bared open to him. You couldn’t survive that.

“Can you please put your shirt back on?” You mumble, your eyes laser-focused imploringly on his face, but he doesn't hear you, barrelling on.

“It’s not like I enjoy arguing with you!”

“Then why are you making it so difficult?” Your voice cracks, the hurt of your never ending battles threatening to surface.

“Do you know how hard it is to get your attention-“ he starts, his fast flow of words immediately cut off as he gawks at you, delicate fingers slamming over his lips.

“What?” You blurt, processing his words.

“No no, nothing! Forget it.” he shakes his hands at you, eyes wide and face blushing a deep pink.

“Jimin! What do you mean, get my attention?”

“I… yeah. We’re always with the guys, I guess I didn’t know how else to get you to focus on me.”

“Why?” Your voice is faint, a million thoughts crashing in your head.

“No, forget it!”

“Jimin!”

“Ah, I like you, okay?”

The air around you thickens, the distance between you a thousand miles yet still too close. Your heart thumps rapidly in your chest, your eyes wide as saucers and your skin prickled with goosebumps.

“You- huh?”

“I… like you. A lot. It happened pretty quickly.” He sighs, running a shaky hand through his hair.

"Why have you never told me?"

"Because it's humiliating as hell?" He laughs bitterly, his eyes darting to anywhere but you.

"Jimin..."

"No seriously. If I had told you, you'd reject me because why wouldn't you? All we do is argue."

"You think I'd reject you?" You ask, voice quiet as you step closer to him. His gaze finally snaps back to you at your movement.

"I mean, I... yeah?"

He runs a hand roughly over his face, turning his back to you. He looks so flawless in the moonlight. But he always looked flawless to you. Watching him fret like this was something so alien to you, but so human, so Jimin. You couldn’t let him suffer these feelings alone.

"Well, I wouldn't have." You mumble.

“You- what?”

Your brain scrambles, your heart hammering in your throat. He stares at you, wide eyes and chest heaving as if he was winded. Swallowing thickly you press on, despite the fear that churns in your gut.

“I wouldn’t reject you, Jimin. I… uh. I like you too.” You fiddle awkwardly with the hem of the stupid shirt.

The whole scenario had you feeling like a girl going through a childhood crush again. Though last time you had a crush on a boy who was fighting with you, you punched him in the nose. It was doubtful that would work this time around-

“Jimin?” You ask, watching as he shrinks back on himself.

You watch as he breathes, his chest rising and falling, the rapidly cooling night air raising goosebumps across his skin. It was hard to keep your brain on track.

After a moment he meets your gaze with a softness so potent it was enough to choke you.

In two steps he was on you, his lips crashing against yours. Your entire body threatens to shut down, the shock rippling through you. Before you even had a second to comprehend how good his lips felt against yours he pulls back, fear in his eyes as he worries.

You know then what you want. Who you want. You wondered why you wasted so long arguing to get it.

With your blood thrashing violently in your veins you reach your hands out to his face, caressing the smooth skin of his cheek before you surge forwards. The feel of the gloss on his lips smudges as you let yourself be consumed, the slightest hint of cherry seeping in.

Kissing Park Jimin. You. You’re kissing him. Your eyes slam shut as you sink into him, electricity crackling on your skin.

With no doubt in his mind at all Jimin slides his hands to your hips, fingers curling into the shirt as he moves you back, pushing you into the wall. You moan into his kiss, and he smirks against your lips. To trip him up you press the kiss deeper, letting the tip of your tongue dance at his pretty lips, wanting to taste him.

He does you one better, turning the tides and pressing the kiss back to you, tongue flicking to you.

Just like normal, you weren’t one to back down from Jimin.

Letting a hand move into his silken hair, you brush it back the way you’d seen him do a thousand times. But instead of letting your hands fall out of the soft locks, you let the strands wind around your fingers and give it a tug.

Jimin lets out a low groan, breaking the kiss to pant against your lips. Pride flows through you, but so did a sense of admiration - it was something you wanted to hear from that pretty mouth over and over.

“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Y/N.” He whispers, tugging sharply on the shirt so that your body was flat against his.

You try to not let the gasp from you come out too loud, the lines of his body startlingly apparent as you’re pressed together.

“You think that scares me?”

At your words he smiles. It spreads slowly, but soon his whole face is alight, brightness shining out of him. With his fingers at the hem of the massive shirt, he gives you a filthy giggle before kneeling and slipping himself inside of the material.

“What are you doing?” You yelp, feeling the familiar sensation of being stuck in the stupid shirt with him again. But it was different too, it wasn’t suffocating like before.

His head popped back up through the ripped collar, grin still annoyingly plastered across his face.

“Shouldn’t you be trying to get me out of this shirt, Park Jimin?” You whisper, breathless as he presses you back against the wall.

“I can’t deny that you have too many clothes on.” He smirks, delicate fingers sliding up your shirt to rest on your hot skin. “But there’s something… ah, satisfying about having you in this shirt.”

“Seriously?”

“What’s the matter Y/N, don’t think you can handle it?” His fingers circle agonisingly slow on your hips, a mischievous glint catching in his eye. He knows you so well.

“You’re gonna be the one who can’t handle it.”

“Prove it.”

You almost growl at him as he presses your buttons, but the burning in you meets the heat in your stomach. You need him more than ever.

You pull him back against you by the hair, crushing your lips together once more. He moans into you, nails pressing into your hips as your lips collide. You roll your hips against him, the fire in your veins white hot as he stutters against you. He breaks your kiss to gasp needily, eyes shut tight as your stomach brushes against the bulge in his tight jeans.

His eyes finally open, unfocused and swimming. But after a second he fixes his gaze on you, determined. A flicker of anticipation fills you, awaiting retribution.

His fingers move from your skin to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up until you have to help him. The shirt you were sharing was making it difficult, and you start to regret ever letting him get his way. But as soon as you are free he presses back into you, his hot skin flush against yours, his fingers idly tracing the straps of your bra.

Just with the gentle brush of his fingertips he nudges the straps down your arms, goosebumps rising along his trail. He presses his lips to your cheek, pecking slow, soft kisses across your cheekbone as he moves towards your ear. You sigh as his mouth moves lower, plump lips pressing dainty kisses down your neck. With you swept up, his hands move behind you and unclip your bra.

A gasp passes your lips while his own are still planted at your neck, sucking on a soft spot there. Your bra slides off your body, landing with a quiet thud on the floor of the balcony.

His fingers find their way back to your hips, slowly caressing their way up. An excited shiver catches you, and you feel him laugh against your skin. His warm hands find your breasts, thumbs rubbing over the soft skin before finding your nipples.

You suck in a breath as he kisses back up your neck. He pauses to capture your lips again, lulling you into him as his thumbs brush out across your nipples.

With your staccato breathing he smirks once more into your skin. Not one to ever be outmanoeuvred by Jimin, you decide it’s time to flip the switch.

You purposefully run your fingers down his stomach, featherlight and teasing. He hitches his breath, mouth detaching from your neck as he waits, anticipating your every move. His hot breath rolls down your neck, rippling off your chest. You hide a smirk in his hair and focus on your goal.

Letting your fingers rest on his belt buckle - no doubt something obnoxiously expensive - you begin to undo him as slow as you possibly could. You slide it off, inching it so little that you could feel him get restless against you.

“You’re a nightmare.” He whispers, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

“I’m just savouring the moment.” You offer softly, the soft clinks of the buckle resting against his thigh.

“You’ll pay if you tease me like this.” His voice is high, airy. The voice of a man in complete control - though you knew that was far from the truth.

“Mm, sure Jimin.” You smirk, bringing a hand up between you to his face.

You angle him back up to kiss you, which he does with ferocity. You smile into him, the power to provoke him rich in your veins.

Your hand sinks back to his belt, and with him distracted you pull it off him fast, dumping it somewhere on the floor and popping the button of his jeans. He gasps into your kiss, fingers automatically flexing across your breasts. You hold your reaction to yourself, intent on giving nothing away until you are ready.

You tug down his zipper, pressing it back onto him so he feels the teeth unclipping against his boxers. You knew they were gonna be some annoyingly expensive brand too, but the thought of getting him to ruin them for you was intoxicating. He leans his forehead against yours, the desperation rising his face palpable.

With a sharp tug you drop his jeans to his mid-thigh before moving your fingers back to him, running teasingly around his waistband. You didn’t have to look under the shirt to know his boxers were tented, his erection straining against the fabric. You dip a finger just below his waistband, tracing along the lines of his hips. He lets out a choked breath, hips subconsciously bucking into you.

“Y/N…”

“What?” You ask sweetly, moving your fingers to brush along his pubic bone. Your knuckles barely graze the base of his shaft, but he lets out a murmur of swear words as his eyes flicker.

Not one to be overshadowed for long, Jimin lets his hands drop to your hips and immediately flies to your zipper. He presses his crotch into you, and you feel just how hard he is for you. With a flapping mouth you watch him, challenging eyebrow raised.

Everything was a game. One that you were intent on winning.

Plucking at your courage, you slide a hand back down, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock. His hips stutter in your hand, a gush of air forcing out of his lungs.

He felt good in your hand - really good. Firm skin, warm and pulsing in your hand. You experimentally ran a finger along his underside, tracing the vein all the way to his tip. He lets himself go then, head thrown back, eyes tightly clasped. A low groan rumbles from his throat, his fingers stilling on your zip.

“Feel good?” You whisper, pressing your lips to his.

“Ah, mm…” Is all he can manage as his head falls back.

He’s totally lost in your touch, and you’d barely started. A ripple of excitement darts through you, the sight of having Park Jimin needy and in your hands was too powerful to overlook.

A small giggle falls from your lips, the tiniest of noises. But it’s enough to spur him back to reality with his dark eyes finally refocusing on you.

He takes a breath to center himself before pulling down your jeans slowly. You feel the material slide over your hips and sit above your knees. Your panties quickly follow, thrust down faster than you can blink.

He lets a hand drag back up your thigh, running across to where you want his hand the most. Your touch on him falters as anticipation runs through your body. Ever so slowly he lets a finger stroke across your slit, barely grazing your skin. You wrap your free arm over his shoulder, taking a grip of his soft hair.

He smiles at you, and you let your eyes drag across his face. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth at your scrutiny. You can’t help but admire him: the way his lipgloss is smudged up across his cupid’s bow, the sweat that seemed to be dribbling so aesthetically down his sharp jaw, the blown out pupils of his deep eyes. Your breath catches in your throat as you soak him in - and that’s when he decides to strike.

He slips his fingers between your folds, feeling how wet you are for him, before sliding his fingers up to your clit. He applies only the slightest bit of pressure but it’s enough to have you gasping at his touch. He lets out a soft moan as he feels you, letting his fingers move in the tiniest circles.

You slowly rock your hips on his fingers, knotting your own in his hair. You instinctively flex your hand only to have his hips instinctively thrust his cock into your hand.

Deciding to move things on just a little, you move back just enough to see his cock in your hand. His eyes flutter open at your movements, only to blow wide when he sees a trail of spit drop from your lips onto his tip. You catch it with your thumb and rub it into his tip, rolling it down his length.

A low moan leaves him, his free hand coming up to wipe your bottom lip ever so delicately. You meet his eyes, a fire burning there just for you. He drags you into a kiss, his hand scrunching in your hair.

His hand start to move again, circling you and getting into a slow rhythm on your clit. You moan into his kiss, starting your movements too until both of you were breathless messes.

The kisses became scattered and sloppier as you both let your hands work. The delicate touch of his fingers was enough to blur your vision, and your firm grip that was growing in speed on his length rendered him weak in your hands.

His own hand moves deftly, nimble fingers moving between circling your needy clit to running through your wetness. His jaw slackens each time he feels how wet you are for him, pride drifting somewhere in his lust-blown eyes.

Jimin is slick under your grasp, rock hard as you twist up and down his length. Staggered gasps fall from his lips, getting more and more careless as you drag him higher.

His circling gets a little more pressure, and it’s enough to send your head lulling back, barely able to focus on the task literally in hand. You returned his zeal, putting an extra squeeze on his length. The choke that passes his lips sends pride through your already thrashing veins. His face twitches; his forehead creases, pretty lips part slightly further, eyebrows jolt. You know he’s close, and you have the power in your hands.

But he has you, too. The pressure pulsing from your core builds, your eyes slamming shut as you're barely able to form words. You can feel it rising, teetering on the edge of something good-

-until he jerks his fingers from you. You whimper at the loss of his fingers, orgasms skittering disappointingly away from you. Your eyes open as you snap your bereft gaze to him.

“Fuck, Y/N, too quick-“ he murmurs, grabbing hold of your wrist and gently pulling your hand of his throbbing cock.

“Jimin?”

He’s fully flushed, strands of silken hair stuck to his forehead. His chest rises and falls rapidly with his chest, eyes wild.

“I don’t wanna cum just yet.”

“What if I wanted you to-“

“Don’t argue with me on this,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your lips. But then his voice drops low, lips pulled into a deadly smirk. “I have to make you cum first.”

You barely have a second to swallow down a gasp before you’re pulled from the wall to crash against his lips.

You hold him against you with the collar of the shirt you were still trapped in, matching his energy as he kisses you desperately. Your hands are held tight against his chest, his cock resting teasingly against your stomach.

His hands let go of you to grab your hips, steering your towards the edge of the balcony.

Once you're spun he pushes you gently, bending you over to lean against the railing. Forgetting that you’re stuck in the same damn shirt, he gets yanked down with you, body flush against your back. He lets out a tiny giggle into the back of your neck and it’s as if your heart could stop from the sound.

The cool of the metal railing presses into your chest, hands bracing it through the shirt. You look to the party happening below, guests hovering out in the garden to escape the heat of the sweaty party. You were pretty well out of sight - as long as nobody looked up.

“There’s quite a few people down there.” Jimin’s lips are by your ear, making the hairs on your neck stand on end.

“Don’t think you can make me loud enough? That’s a shame.” You smirk, unable to stop teasing him.

“You’re gonna regret those words baby.”

The pet name strikes deep within you. It’s perfect coming from Jimin, warmth radiating across your body. And you couldn’t blame that one on the heat.

Jimin presses his body onto your back, thick erection settling just above your cheeks. You feel the heat of his hand smooth from your thigh round to the front of you. He takes a few swipes across your clit to make you jerk beneath him before his fingers drift further back.

He swirls a finger around your waiting hole, agonizingly slow. You gasp at him, pushing your hips back into him. His shaft brushes against your cheeks and you can hear him suck in a desperate breath. Spurred on by his own need, he dips his finger gradually inside.

It’s slow, pushing past his knuckle until his finger sits inside you. You feel your walls pulse around him, desperate for more. His hand stills, taking his time to pepper kisses behind your ear. He nips playfully at your lobe, taking his sweet time with each movement.

You know he’s doing it to make you suffer. And god were you suffering, using every ounce of restraint to not whine for him.

Slowly he turns his finger so it sits better inside of you. The graze of his knuckle causes you to moan, and you feel him smirk into your skin.

“That’s what I was waiting for.”

He slowly begins to pump into you. It’s instantly better than his stationary finger, but still agonizingly slow. You needed him, harder and faster.

“Jimin…” you whine, pushing your rear back into him. He tuts into your ear, stilling his fingers.

“You need to let go, Y/N. I’ve got you.” He punctuates his point by kissing a trail along your shoulder.

You bite your lip, his words hitting a little deeper than just him getting you off. You always had to be in control of yourself around Jimin - you had to win, had to be alert. You couldn’t let your emotions get hold of you.

But it was all out in the open now. He knew how you felt - and he feels the same too. Maybe you can let go, just a little. It didn’t mean you had to start losing arguments any time soon, though.

You nod, turning your head to where he was pressing kisses into your skin. He beams at you, eyes scrunching as he surges up to catch your lips.

His movements cause his thumb to brush across your clit, and you moan wantonly into him. He pulls away to peer over the balcony, the loud noise escaping you both. You follow his gaze, but you’d drawn no attention. Not yet anyway-

He looks back at you and winks, the move cheeky and completely Jimin but he silences by pulling his finger almost completely out of you. Your jaw drops at the sensation, but just as quickly he pushes it back inside you, as far as he can go.

You bite the collar of the shirt to muffle your noise. His skin was still hot against yours, a sheen of sweat building on your forehead as you focused on him.

Mercifully he begins to fuck his finger in you, curling inside you. You inhale sharply through your nose, eyes shut tight as you let yourself go.

He carries on for a few more pups before he lets a second finger coat in your wetness. On the next thrust into you, he gently presses in a second finger, and you feel yourself clamp down at the stretch. Jimin keeps pressing kisses against your skin, but he gets breathless, his own erection pressing tauntingly at your back.

He sits his fingers for just a few seconds, letting you get used to him before he works them back out of you. In and out, in and out. He’s slow again, teasing you to the point of madness. You groan in frustration, but it was just what he was waiting for.

He thrusts his fingers deep into you, fucking you fast. Your hips roll to meet his pumps, the drag of him inside you delicious.

He brings up two fingers to your lips, and instinctively you take them into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digits. You make sure to meet his eye as you run your tip up the crack between his fingers, eliciting a groan from him and a buck of his hips against you.

He pulls them from your mouth and moves them between your legs. His fingers find your clit, and to match the rhythm that he was fingering into you, he begins to circle your needy bud.

It pushes you over the edge, almost literally. You cling onto the balcony as you’re thrust into it, Jimin sucking marks into your neck. You groan, the contact all over your body making you weak. The wet noises that surround you are pure sin, making you bite down on your lip. Jimin groans into your skin, teeth sinking softly into your shoulder as his fingers work fast.

“Fuck!” You yelp as his fingers brush your soft spot inside.

You slap a hand over your mouth as you stare down into the garden below, fear icy in your veins as you hope you’re not spotted.

Jimin doesn’t stop though. He hides his head in your neck, thrusting his fingers faster now that he knows your weak spot.

A few people below scan around them for the source of the swearing, but thankfully none of them think to look up. You bite your lip, eyes closing as you let yourself fall back into Jimin.

“That was a close one, huh?” He whispers, a lilt of a giggle in his voice.

“Shut up.” You murmur, voice cracking as he circles your clit so well you almost see stars.

“That’s no way to talk to the man who’s got two fingers deep in your-“

“Fuck, Jimin please!” You gasp, his next words dancing at the front of your mind.

The circles on your clit get defter, pressure hitting you just right as your hips start to roll uncontrollably. You grip tightly at the railing, unable to stop the flow of moans that echo from you. Being spotted from below is less important as you can feel your orgasm rising, your legs feeling weak underneath you.

Your skin prickles from the heat generating between your bodies, Jimin’s hot breath rolling across your neck as you flush harder.

“I’m gonna...” you whimper, your words lost to pleasure.

“Cum baby, all over my fingers.” His whisper sends shivers through you, a welcome change to the heat that dribbles down your temples.

He curls his fingers on every thrust to bring you closer to the precipice. You push back against him furiously, riding his fingers and your knuckles turn white on the railings. You feel it coil in your stomach, and you know you’re so close.

“Let go Y/N.” He whispers, breath ragged from exertion, but still peppering your marked skin with tiny kisses. You screw your eyes shut as you embody his words, letting yourself give in to the feeling.

“Jimin!”

Your orgasm crashes around you, a litany of swear words moan from your lips. Your walls clench down on Jimin’s fingers, twitching under his fingertips. You slam your hand over your mouth as your moans subside, wide eyes scanning the crowd below.

Heads turn in your direction, and before you can begin to scramble Jimin pulls you back from the balcony to stand flush against him. Your heart pounds in your chest, but the thrill that runs through your veins is undeniable.

He finally pulls his fingers out of you, the gush of wetness and noise make your face heat up. He wraps that arm across your chest and holds you against him, a wide grin wrinkling his eyes. You kiss him, soft and delicate, plump lips locking with yours.

Once you pull back he grins again, before moving the fingers that were in you towards his lips. your mouth parts as you watch him slip the digits inside, taking his time to suck off the taste of you. A light whimper leaves you as you watch him finally slide them out from between your lips with a pop, devilish glint in his eye.

Witha shiver you turn in his grip, pushing him firmly back against the wall.

He hisses lightly as his back hits it, and hisses louder as you're bungied in the shirt against him. He lets out a laugh and you do the same as you right yourself. But you can't keep yourself away from him as your lips are on his again. You flick your tongue at his, the taste of you on him.

“Wanna be inside you...” he whispers between kisses, his hot fingers idling their way up and down your sides. You groan at his words, nodding dreamily at him.

“God, yes please.” you sigh, feeling his lips trace kisses along your jaw.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” He smiles against your skin, grabbing you by the hips and spinning you both.

He pushes you back against the wall, the bite of the wood pressing into your skin.

“I’ve never heard you so passive.” He laughs, thumb and finger coming up to gently grip your chin. You grin at him, a flutter in your stomach.

“Don’t get used to it Park Jimin.”

He tips his head back to laugh, a pinky flush hot on his cheeks. All you can do is watch in awe, soak him in as he glows in the moonlight. But then he looks back down at you with the stars in his eyes and you realise that, yes - this is what you had wanted all along.

You bring his lips crashing back down to yours, letting your fingers knot in his dark hair and you touch him, drink him in. The silken strands flit through your fingers, and you idly think to yourself about him running his own hands through it. You can see why he does it now.

His thumb strokes across your chin, gently pulling your face from his. You open your eyes to look at him, the flush on his face even brighter.

“Ready?”

“Give it your best shot.” you smile, peppering his jaw with kisses.

You’re stopped in your tracks when he hoists one of your legs over his hip, a teasing eyebrow raised at you. Not to be bested, you hook your leg over his ass and pull him against you. You feel his erection sit against your stomach, hard and leaking onto your skin.

He takes hold of himself and strokes across your wet slit, coating himself. A withered sigh escapes your lips as you watch his frown deepen. His face contorts as he concentrates, teasing himself just as much as he was you. You lean forward to let a trail of spit fall from your lips and drip down onto him, coating his cock even more. You don’t know what possessed you to do it again, but the way he stuttered in a gasp made it well worth it.

Then with an agonisingly slow pace, he begins to press himself just inside you. Your mind clears, all that you can see and feel is Jimin. You had waited long enough.

A wimpery sigh strangles from you, Jimin pressing against your walls until he is fully seated in you. He was so warm, stretching you in all the right places, as close to you as he could physically be.

You give him an encouraging squeeze with your leg. He takes the hint and slowly starts to pull out of you, hair flopping in front of his eyes as he looks down to watch himself pull out of you. The drag of him is good, too good, as you let a warble of noises fall out of your mouth. He doesn't seem to mind though, his focus transfixed elsewhere.

"Jimin..." you whisper, fingers digging into his skin as he slowly begins to reach a rhythm.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, any mischievous glint in him gone. He was a man on a mission now, aiming to make you feel as good as possible. You could feel that in every stroke, the way he let you feel the length of him drag almost fully out before he pushes back inside you.

You start to roll your hips back at him, determined to not let him have all the fun. The tentative thrust of your hips had his head snap up to you, a fresh sheen of sweat glowing on his skin. You try to play it off coolly - another attempt to throw him off his game - but he squeezes your ass cheeks and holds himself deep in you, and your resolve melts away.

"Don't start something you can't finish." He smirks, and despite the need to fight him bubbling in you, you tip your head back and laugh.

"I guess that applies to both of us." You smile, pressing forward to kiss his lips softly. "Now fuck me Park Jimin, or we're really gonna have a fight on our hands."

He laughs against your lips, a gentle bubble that rises from his chest. But he takes on your words, pressing you hardest against the wall and hiking your leg higher.

He only goes slow for a few thrusts, getting a feel for you before he decides to ramp it up further. 'Typical Jimin' seems to float through your head, but you just grip him tighter, moving to meet his thrusts. You wanted to savour how full he made you feel for as long as possible.

His speed picks up, a hand moving to the underside of your raised legs and digs in deep. You let your own hands slide to his hair, keeping hold of the soft locks as he starts to hit harder inside you.

The sound of your skin making contact seems to echo loudly, and you barely spare a thought to people below working out what the noise was. You didn't care if they heard any more.

It was so hot inside the shirt together, and you could feel beads of sweat rolling down your chin and down your neck. This definitely wasn't helping the heat problem at all, but there was nothing on earth that would make you stop.  The edges of Jimin's hair were getting damper, and with every tug of his hair he let his head fall back into your touch. His throat was bared to you, salty beads dribbling down his hot skin.

You murmur a series of curses as you watched him, the thrum of him being underneath you almost unbelievable.

But then he pulls out a power move.

With fast thrusts he rolls his hips, his cock dragging almost perfectly across your soft spot inside, and all your senses seem to leave you. He repeatedly manages to hit your spot and you are sure he is planning to end you, it was the only way to explain it. Death by good dick, you could see it now.

"Fuck fuck fuck." you repeat like a mantra, The wet slaps that echoes just adding to the sensation.

"Wanna turn you." He mutters breathlessly, and a part of you is glad he's also feeling so affected.

You can't seem to vocalise an answer so you nod emphatically, unhitching your leg from its vice-like grip around him. He pulls out of you and you almost complain, but then his hands are on your hips.

He spins you and presses you against the wall, lifting your leg up and lining himself back inside you again. You're practically dripping for him, so it doesn't take much for him to push back inside. You push your ass back into his thrusts making his movements stutter, and with a playful squeeze he whines behind you.

A small smirk picks up on your lips as you roll your hips back at him, starting him out of his stupor and back to where you need him.

He pounds his hips into you and you have to steady yourself against the wall. The shirt bunches awkwardly, caught in your grip as the rough wood of the wall digs into your skin. Jimin presses his front against your back, the hotness of his skin pricking against your own.

An arm slides around your waist, guiding you, holding you steady as he ferociously fucks into you. His other arm settles across your chest, his fingers clenching across your collarbone. His mouth is by your ear, ragged breaths blowing across the taut collar of the shirt and hitting the warmth of your body.

“Y/N.” Jimin groans, the lilt in his voice uneven as his hips crash into yours.

Your entire body was tingling, the pleasure from your core and the bite of the wall against your bare skin a fight for your senses. You could feel perspiration form on your forehead making your hair stick to you awkwardly but it didn't matter.

Jimin filled you in every way. The hot touch from his fingertips on your waist and across your chest, the heat of his stomach at the base of your back, the soft moans that he sings by your ears.

"That's it, baby." He groans, his fingers curling onto your skin.

The hand that he has sat on your waist slinks across your stomach to reach between your legs, letting his fingers circle your throbbing clit. The pressure makes your eyes slam shut, letting your head fall back onto Jimin's shoulder behind you.

A small single laugh falls from his lips, but your inevitable clench off your walls around him cuts it short. He thrusts a little harder, rocking you against the wall. You have to brace yourself as he fills you repeatedly, his athletic hips working overtime.

The hand that has been pressed to your chest finds its way to your throat, holding just below your jaw. You let out a moan as you cover his hand with yours, pressing his fingers into your throat.

"Shit..." He gasps, his hips stuttering.

"I bet you've been wanting to strangle me for ages." You rush, voice cracking as he circles your clit a little harder.

"Only when I've thought about fucking you."

The moan that leaves you is barely human. In fact, you were barely human any more. you were turning to putty on his cock and under his fingers. It wasn't going to be long until you reached your peak.

His fingers press into your throat under your guidance, the delicious bite making your vision slowly pool. You gasp, shivers tingling down your body. He lets up his grip a little to let your blood flow one more, your body practically vibrating from stimulation.

"Close, Jimin..." you whine, rocking your ass back into him.

"Let loose for me, Y/N." He whispers, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear.

He lets out one last surge of energy, fucking into you and rubbing your clit with a renewed vigour. you throw yourself back at him without care, chasing the high he was leading to you.

With a few more pumps and circles on your clit, you come undone.

Your body pulses on him, clenching down hard as your orgasm crashes through you. Your fingernails dig into his hand and the wall, a strangled cry of his name bursting from you. You cum hard on him, helping him finally reach his peak too - you could tell by the way his hips stuttered, the way he throbbed inside you.

"Cum, Jimin." you whimper, rocking your throbbing core on him.

He doesn't hold back, pumping a few stuttery thrusts into you as he cums. He fills you, gasping against your ear as your walls milk him dry. He thrusts until he can’t anymore, slowing his hips as the fullness inside of you trickles out past his length.

Both of your movements slowly lull to a stop. Jimin holds your body close against him, ragged breath hot against your ear. Your skin is prickled from the heat but you nestle into him anyway.

He finally pulls his softening length from inside you, a small dribble of your combined juices trickle down causing shivers to cover your body.

Turning your head you smile at him, slightly out of breath and dewy. The sight of him is godly: Messy hair sticking to his damp forehead, a pretty red blush spreading across his cheeks, plushy lips parted and sucking in breaths. He smirks back, a lazy grin growing. He moves closer and kisses you, gentle brushes of his lips against yours.

His hand that sat on your throat moved to stroke your cheek, and you let your hands thread in his hair as your kiss trails off into small pecks.

The air is different around you. It’s still hot, swirling close and untempered. But there’s something else too - a coolness, an understanding. A person behind the battle lines. Someone you could lean on, and someone who could keep up with you in an argument.

You pull back from him and look at him, his eyes slightly starry and his lips swollen from all they had been doing. With a soft smile you rub your thumb across his cupid’s bow, wiping off the last of his lipgloss.

“We should probably go downstairs, right? We don’t want Namjoon sticking that long neck of his out here.” Jimin whispers, his eyes finally focusing on you.

You nod, but not before pressing one last soft kiss to his lips. Now you’ve started, there was nothing in the world that could stop you from peppering him.

“Yeah.” You sigh, voice cracking slightly.

But neither of you move, both unwilling to be the first to break apart.

“I don’t want to leave here either.” He smirks, but it’s softer. Not the smirk he throws out to purposely disarm you, though it still has that effect on you.

“Where do we go from here though?”

“I guess we’ll have to work that out. Maybe we can discuss it if you let me take you out tomorrow?” He asks, eyes darting over your face for an answer.

Excitement crackles through you, electricity rippling through your head to the end of your fingertips. A smile rises on your face, and you can see the relief flow through Jimin.

“I’d love to.”

“Perfect. Now, let’s go and rub in the guy’s faces how well we’re getting on.” He laughs, his eyes crinkling.

He kisses you one last time, hard and fast, satiated for now. With that you finally separate, Pulling your clothes back on before facing each other again.

The shirt felt big now. Too big.

You couldn’t get close enough to him. You both head for the door when you feel Jimin’s fingers interlock with yours. Your entire body flushes as you open the door to the bedroom, the wall of heat from the house hitting you both.

You’re both undeterred though, determined to find your friends. You pull him down the stairs, not caring at who stares at you both in the sickly shirt. The house felt hotter, a visible mist descending over the sea of people.

You find them where they last left you, congregating around the couch. When you stop in front of them with Jimin in tow, they all take it upon themselves to scrutinise you. It was quiet for a long while, and you could feel your resolve buckling. You didn’t want them to see through you, see what happened. But you wanted them to know that things would be okay. For all of you.

You can only imagine how you looked. Out of breath and flustered, both of your hair messy and fully damp. They couldn’t see your hands knotted together inside the shirt, but they didn’t need to. The demeanor change between you both must have been glaringly obvious.

“How’s it going?” Namjoon asks, glaring between you.

“Good, we, uh. We’re getting on. Yeah.” you smile awkwardly, completely lost on why you were being so suspicious. You had more guts than that!

“That was smooth.” Jimin grins. He was worlds away from you, utterly content and calm.

“Oh my god, shut up.” You roll your eyes, but give his hands an extra squeeze under the shirt.

“Where have you guys been? I haven’t seen you all night.” Jungkook asks with wide innocent eyes, and for a moment you feel like if he knew what had just been happening he would have been tainted.

“Oh, just… exploring.” Jimin smirks, and you fight the urge to pinch him. Who knew this would go to his head?

Well, you knew. You shouldn’t be surprised at all.

“About time.” Jin sighs, eyes still glued to his phone. The others laugh and throw in their agreements.

“What?” you and Jimin both yell, eyes scanning your ‘friends’ suspiciously.

“We knew you both liked each other. It got a bit weird towards the end there but we knew you’d work it out - or Namjoon would.” Hoseok shrugs, but his face is bright as he grins at you both.

“The shirt was a bit of a, well… drastic option.” Namjoon's smile was crooked, but his eyes were bright as he grinned at you.

“Oh… I don’t know what to say.” You murmur, heat creeping across your face again.

Jimin, however, throws his head back and laughs, slapping a hand on his chest for good measure. You stare up at him in shock, but you can’t help the smile that grows on your face. He was infectious. And your friends understood. You feel a tightness unfurl in your stomach.

“Well, it worked out. It worked out really well. I mean just so so good-”

“Jimin, shut up!”  You gasp, eyes wide as he winks at Namjoon.

Well, it’s good to know that the fire is still there between you. He was still impossibly infuriating and unendingly Jimin - but it was all for you. And it was only the start.

“Sorry baby.” He whispers as he lets go of your hand to wrap his arm around your waist pulling you into his side. You flush at the move in front of the others, but easily melt into his side. You had been waiting for this, after all.

“I’m glad.” smiles Namjoon, warm eyes flicking over you both in the stained and rumpled ugly item of clothing. “Maybe we should burn the shirt, though. Just for hygienic reasons.”

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 5)

This is pretty par for the course as far as some slightly horny bits but no actual horniness. Still, if that squicks you, read with caution. 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, (here) Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

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The next few days of Geralt’s marriage didn’t fare much better than the first. He and Jaskier were truly an ill match. Sure, the young man was charming, not even Geralt was immune to his wiles, and he was certainly easy on the eyes, but he’d never met someone as annoying as Jaskier.

Jaskier could talk a mile a minute, and the less Geralt talked, the more Jaskier did. This rankled. Geralt had learned that talking less was supposed to encourage less conversation, but clearly Jaskier hadn’t grasped that.

Far worse than the talking was the singing. Singing, humming, tapping, even playing his lute, Jaskier was always doing something. It was like riding beside a musical whirlwind, with the added penalty that at least a whirlwind wouldn’t know lyrics.

It wasn’t totally Jaskier, Geralt knew. They were riding hard to get as far from Lettenhove as possible, and the weather hadn’t let up. It had rained for almost five days, steady, drenching rain, with never enough time to get dry. They went to bed damp and woke up damper. Their socks were moist, their hair sopping. Jaskier was pouting because he couldn’t play his lute and somehow that made him more talkative. Despite the springtime, the rain was cold and sometimes he had to pause mid chatter to shiver. All this, made Geralt’s mood go south. Worse, he always hated parting from his brothers. There were so few of them, the first days without them were hard. 

And he had to deal with some spoiled little rich boy.

That wasn’t being fair to Jaskier, he rarely acted spoiled, not  really spoiled. It was, however, intensely clear that he was used to comfort and they were not, right now, comfortable. He didn’t complain too much about things Geralt couldn’t change, like the weather, apart from the odd sniffle about all his clothes being wet. He did beg to stay in an inn though. 

That bothered Geralt too. They really had little money, and here the lad was trying to get Geralt to spend it on something they didn’t need. He’d survived rain before.

That thought gave Geralt pause. Of course he’d survived rain before, but had Jaskier? It was unlikely. Days and nights of being slightly damp and chilly weren’t good for humans, they tended to get things. Like chest infections. And pneumonia. 

Geralt spared a glance at the figure riding, hunched, beside him.

Unfortunately, Jaskier seemed to take this as an invitation. 

“I can’t wait to get to Oxenfurt,” he said. “I have this friend, Essi, I think you’d love her. She’d certainly love to meet you, and she’s quite pretty, so even if you won’t tell me your stories perhaps you’d tell them to her.”

Was there a hint of bitterness there?

“Anyway,” Jaskier continued. “She wouldn’t be frightened of you in the least, I know because one time we were drunk... well, I was drunk and she was tipsy, and this man came up, really rough looking type you know? And I was raised to be polite so I ask him his business...”

Geralt stopped paying much attention. If the bard could manage that much, all in one breath, he was fine. Jaskier continued, all about this Essi character and a man trying to mug them in an alley. Apparently the girl had kicked him in the rattle and flute so hard he’d thrown up.

“And there’s this great pub,” Jaskier was saying, gesturing broadly with one hand and flinging raindrops into Geralt’s face. “It’s called the King’s Boots, dunno why, but it’s got good ale. Like, really good, not the swill you probably get in these little backwater towns. Pretty barmaids, too, if that takes you fancy.”

There it was again, that odd little inflection.

“It took my fancy, when I was a student there, of course. They weren’t terribly interested in me but, well, I began studying there at fifteen. Really, I still had spots. I wasn’t the catch you see before you now.”

Geralt didn’t deign to respond. Whether or not Jaskier was a catch wasn’t something he was going to weigh in on. 

Even if he definitely had an opinion.

That was maybe the worst of it all. In spite of the constant noise and restless intrusion into Geralt’s life and routine, he did like Jaskier. That was good, considering they were married, but he wanted to kiss Jaskier, at least once. Just to try it out. That was bad because their marriage was about a half inch from being a sham. Married in name only.

“What sort of ladies do you get?” Jaskier was asking. “I mean, it’s obvious you never have any trouble finding partners.”

Geralt thought of a woman in the woods, of Blaviken, of blood. 

“Shut up.”

“No really, Geralt,” Jaskier whinged. “I wan’t to know. Queens and mages? Legendary beauties.”

“Prostitutes.”

“Ah, legendary beauties it is then.”

“I don’t know about legendary,” Geralt said, cursing himself as he did so for encouraging this inane line of questioning. “But they were beautiful enough. For a price.”

“Ah the ladies and gentlemen of negotiable affection will forever have a place in my heart,” Jaskier sighed. Geralt wasn’t about to hear Jaskier’s sexual history in any capacity. For his sanity, he decided to shut the conversation down.

“I expect they’re the only ones willing to touch you.”

Shit. That one had been too harsh. He didn’t mean it, surely men and women and people all fell at Jaskier’s feet with even a glimpse of his smile. He must know he’s attractive.

Jaskier barely spoke the rest of the day. He wasn’t even pouting, exactly. Just...quiet. 

They made camp under cover of some trees. The thick canapy leant enough dryness that Geralt could build a big fire and they hung their clothes over some low branches to dry. Out of the corner of his eye Geralt saw Jaskier take the basilisk leather from his pack and stroke a hand over it, which was strange. The material simply didn’t absorb water and needed no care.

Perhaps he just...liked it. It was a nice thought, sitting sort of warm and heavy in Geralt’s stomach, like a good meat pie. Jaskier liked his gift. Of course, he’d known that, back the day they’d met. That actually, apart from Jaskier’s father, hadn’t been too bad of a day.

Geralt thought about that day as he hunted wild game for their supper. He snagged a pheasant, a male, because it was mating season, and remembered how nervous he’d been, how at ease Jaskier had seemed. Perhaps it was because Jaskier had likely always known it would be, at least somewhat, a political match. Geralt had never thought there’d be a match at all.

Back at camp Jaskier had water boiling and was sitting in front of the roaring fire in just his trousers and chemise, even his socks so damp as to need a good drying. Geralt set the game to boil with a few wild carrots for a stew and sat beside him, feeling his hair finally begin to dry.

“This didn’t start out bad,” he said. He meant them, of course, and he meant it as a sort of apology, even if he knew it was woefully lacking. He just didn’t know what to say. Somehow, Jaskier’s mind must have been running along the same track.

It’s alright. You never wanted to get married to me.”

No, Geralt thought but didn’t say. I never wanted to get married. It has nothing to do with you. There’s nothing at all the matter with you. I’m just a grumpy bastard and we’re not a good fit.

A little voice in the back of Geralt’s head said, ‘you could be. If you let yourself, you could fit’. It sounded unnervingly like Eskel.

The truth was, if it had been anyone besides Jaskier, especially any noble, Geralt may have hated all this more. Jaskier liked nice clothes and clean appearances, but he wasn’t vain. He liked nice things but wasn’t greedy. He craved praise but wasn’t prideful, disliked many things but wasn’t hateful. Compared to the thieving, conniving, small minded nobles Geralt knew, he was unlike them all. 

He was definitely unlike his father. 

Jaskier played his slow tune on his lute. It was comforting and almost familiar, just background music. Geralt stirred the pot, breaking up some larger chunks of meat with the spoon. 

Maybe this would fix some things. They’d be dry, with hot food. That could fix a lot.

“Geralt,” Jaskier asked. “Can I sing?” 

Damn. Well, it was weird the lad was asking for permission, but Geralt didn’t like the idea of controlling the man’s voice, no matter how often he told him to ‘shut up’. Somehow it didn’t feel the same.

“Whatever,” he said.

Jaskier sang lowly, voice pitched at the edge of human hearing. Geralt wasn’t a human, of course, and could hear it clear as day. It was a folk song he’d heard before, a tragedy about a young woman who’s love left and she drowned herself.

It didn’t seem fitting. Jaskier was so lively. Geralt prayed he hadn’t fucked up enought that he’d dampened the bards spirit. 

“Do you know The Chandler’s Wife?” Geralt asked when Jaskier’s song was done.

“That one, with the” Jaskier clicked his fingers three times, mimicking the snapping or tapping that happened in the song.

“Hmmm,” Geralt confirmed, nudging the contents of the pot.

Jaskier began to play. It was a bawdy song, with tapping substituted where innuendo would be. It was simple and cheerful and short, and by the time it was finished they both had steaming bowls of stew. 

“Of all the songs you could have asked for,” Jaskier said, blowing on his stew. “I never would have picked that one.”

“Lambert’s favorite,” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier chuckled. “Makes sense, seems like his sort of song.” He took a large spoonful of stew and groaned in delight. Geralt very emphatically did not pay attention to that sound in any way at all.

“I expect you miss them,” Jaskier said.

“Some,” Geralt didn’t want to talk about it, so he focused on shoveling stew in to his mouth instead. Jaskier got the hint. He just settled one tentative hand on Geralt’s shoulder for a second, then went back to eating. He may as well have pressed a brand to Geralt’s skin.

That night, in their separate bedrolls in mostly dry and fire warmed clothes, Geralt could still feel Jaskier’s palm against him. 

There was another reason, Geralt knew, for his over-grumpiness. It was guilt. Mostly he was alright, but hearing Jaskier chatter excitedly about Oxenfurt and all the things they could do together there...ate at him. 

Jaskier had said he didn’t want to be left. Gotten rid of, had been his phrasing. And Geralt was going to. This rain had just been proof, though. Next time it could be pneumonia or hypothermia. The boy shouldn’t be out here. 

It didn’t help Geralt sleep much better. Jaskier had also used the phrase ‘abandon’. 

-- -- *-- --

The next village had a monster problem. 

“Drowners, what do they do?”

“They drown people, Jaskier.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “No, I meant, what do they look like--”

“Ugly.”

Another eye roll. “And how do they do it. Do they spin like an alligator? Do they sink claws in and pull...?”

“The second one,” Geralt said, sharpening his sword. He figured they were far enough from Lettenhove that whatever political turmoil Vesemir had unleashed wasn’t going to catch them too soon. 

“I can’t wait. Do they have scales? Fins? Are they slimy like frogs?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, finally paying attention. “What do you mean ‘you can’t wait?”

“I get to see you in action! Heroic witcher risks his life for helpless townspeople, it’s all very...Galahad.”

“Galahad?”

“Yes Geralt, he’s only the most famous hero written about in the last three hundred years,” Jaskier said. He was gesturing broadly, the way he always did when talking about literature. Geralt settled in for a rant. 

“You know, ‘my strength is as the strength of ten becasuer my heart is pure,’?” That was Jaskier’s quoting voice.

“Never heard it,” Geralt grunted.

“That’s okay, it’s about this hero who’s good and saves everybody. You’re better than him anyway because you’re real.”

“I’m...better than a mythical hero.”

“I mean...yeah,” Jaskier said like it was obvious. “Everyone knows flaws make a character better. You’re totally hot with a heart of gold, score. Very classic. But also,” Jaskier turned to him grinning. “You’re emotionally constipated and smell like onion.”

“You said heroics a few days ago.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, whatever, that’s what’ll go in the songs. Best of all is that you’re a witcher. Nobody likes witchers but that can change. You’ll be a tragic hero!”

“Tragic?”

“That hair is, do you ever brush it?

“We’re getting away from the point,” Geralt said, resisting the urge to swipe his fingers through his hair. “You aren’t going to see me fight.”

“What, you can’t just leave me at camp!”

No, no he absolutely couldn’t just leave Jaskier at camp. There could be assassins, wolves, anything.

“We’ll get a room at the inn.”

“Really? Oh Geralt, a real bed would be so nice, there’s been this crick in my neck, but you’re not leaving me in an inn room either.”

“You could perform.”

“Excellent bait, but no.”

“Jaskier, please. You need to stay in town,” Geralt was pleading. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been pleading. Probably when he was trying to convince Vesemir not to marry him off for the betterment of witcherkind.

“I want to see you fight!” 

“It’s dangerous!.”

“You fight tons of these, right? I’ll stay super far away.”

“You could still get hurt, something goes wrong and you’ll get hurt! Humans are...soft.”

Jaskier tilted his chin up defiantly. Because they were the same height this wasn’t exactly necessary, but it gave Geralt a better view of his simply devastating eyes which was...not helping.

“I have the perfect plan,” Jaskier said. Were there silver flecks in his eyes? In this light Geralt was almost certain there were.

“I’ll stay back,” Jaskier was saying. “Any distance you want so long as I still get a reasonably good view. And I’ll wear the basilisk doublet.”

It was a good idea. Jaskier would stay back, the doublet would keep him safe. 

Geralt might get another chance to be smiled at byJaskier.

Doublets. Doublets, doublets doublets. Think about the doublet. 

“That would only keep your chest and arms safe.”

Jaskier smirked and patted a hand on Geralt’s chest, causing his slow heart to speed up just a little. “Are you going to let a drowner get to me? Get to my head, Geralt? My pretty face?” Jaskier pouted and Geralt’s stomach flipped over.

“Fine,” Geralt grunted. “You can come along.”

Jaskier looked very fine, all buttoned up in his basilisk leather doublet, and he was surprisingly quiet. This area of the forest was silent. and the ground was soft and slightly damp underfoot. They were near the Pontar river, which they would follow the rest of the way to Oxenfurt.

Here and there Geralt could see signs of human activity, but thankfully no humans in the area. Signs of woodcutters, likely the ill-fated ones who’d discovered the drowner’s pond in the first place, were scattered about. 

They came within view of the pond. More swamp, really. It was so covered in green algae that it looked like some sort of oddly paved floor. It was as still as glass. Geralt took Jaskier’s--surprisingly strong--shoulder in one large hand and steered the boy to a log that he deemed was sufficiently far to be safe. Then he drew his sword.

Drowners weren’t hard to fight, and here in this little pond there were just two, skinny and hungry. Geralt felt relief flood him as he realized that he wouldn’t even need his potions. He didn’t want Jaskier to finally understand what a monster he was. Geralt was enjoying putting off that realization as long as possible. He was also enjoying being a noble hero, likened to this Galahad character, who sounded alright if a bit boring. 

Geralt rolled his shoulders. He didn’t need to, but it looked nice and Jaskier was looking. The first drowner was close, now, trying to sneak through the algae, but Geralt’s vision was much better than its. He waited until the wretched thing lunged. 

The slash of the drowner’s long claws missed Geralt narrowly, but he hadn’t been worried. He pivoted, working on years of instinct. This was who he was. Here he was on much safer ground than with courting and castles. He was a witcher, and fighting monster’s was what he was trained, and to some extent built, for. 

The first slash didn’t kill the drowner, instead lopping off the arm that had so recently threatened to claw his eyes out. Then, with a clever twist of his wrist he sent his blade back the other direction, lopping off the head. It had taken all of a second from the point of the drowner’s lunge. 

It’s companion was slinking up, ready to attack as well but Geralt didn’t need time to recharge. His senses honed in, he felt his pupils dilate to take in the low light coming between the trees and he leapt.

No normal man could have made the leap that sent him over the drowner’s shoulder and onto the shore behind. It hadn’t been the full length of the pond, but rather a diagonal leap that gave him just enough time as the creature spun around. Geralt brought his sword down and cleaved the thing in two.

“Holy shit.”

Geralt looked up, not even breathing hard.

Jaskier was still in his spot on the log. Unlike Geralt, he was breathing hard. There was a flush across the tops of his cheeks, pretty and pink, and his eyes were wide. Even from his spot across the pond Geralt could see the dark pupils and the blue of his irises. 

Gerals severed the heads and warned Jaskier that he was removing the brains for his potions. His response was a squeaked ‘okay’. 

Damn. Had he scared the lad? He didn’t smell scared. Geralt wasn’t sure what Jaskier did smell like. 

He took the brains quickly and packaged them, then slung the heads of the drowner’s from Roach’s saddle. 

Thunderbolt, Jaskier’s horse, had been left at the inn. Inaccurately named, the creature, despite his large size, was docile, gentle, and prone to startling. 

Geralt dipped his hands in the scummy water and dried them on his pants to at least get off the worst of the gunk.

“Well?” he asked Jaskier.

“Wow,” the man said, stepping closer. “That was quick, too.”

Geralt grunted. “Only two.” He didn’t bother mounting up, leading Jaskier and Roach out of the forest and back towards town. 

Jaskier’s heart still sounded like it was going a little fast.

“Frightened?” Geralt asked. The lad smelled like adrenaline and...oh.

“No, just...exhilarated I suppose. I’ve never seen a battle like it.”

Jaskier smelled aroused. Now that Geralt had realized what it was it was all he could smell. The scent clogged his nose and set his brain in a pink, fuzzy cloud. Did Jaskier think...? Would he want..?

Except, of course not. Everyone knew you could get sort of adrenaline high. Plenty of young warriors got a little...stiff after a battle. And being nineteen, Jaskier probably got, got in that situation, with a light breeze. 

He was looking up at Geralt like he’d personally hung the moon, though. No one had ever, as long as he could remember, looked at him that way. There is a certain kind of beauty that comes with being kind to someone, Geralt knew. He hadn’t often seen it. Eskel had scars across his face that were frightening even to some other witchers but his friendship and care towards Geralt always blurred those over.

Now, in this fetid, swamp of a forest, Jaskier was developing that special beauty to Geralt as well. 

He was loud and talked all the time, even now that he seemed to have regained his wits he was chattering about what he’d write. His voice sounded less harsh in Geralt’s ears, though. Because Jaskier thought Geralt was special, and that made him special in return. 

They made it back to the inn, with a brief stop at the alderman’s house, muddy to the knee, although that wasn’t new. Geralt was also somewhat bloodspattered, which was horrible and wasn’t winning him favors with the townsfolk. 

“Got a room?” he asked the innkeeper, a bent old man that Geralt could probably lift on one finger. As is the wont of many smart inkeepers, there was a taproom on the first floor of the inn, and he was industriously cleaning mugs. 

“One,” the man said. “One room, one bed. No prostitutes, them ladies’ gotta do business elsewhere.”Geralt nodded and handed over the coin. 

“Bathouse in town?” he asked. They followed the old inkeeper’s directions to the edge of town, near the river. 

“I can’t wait for a good bed,” Jaskier said. “But I think I’m looking forward to this bath even more. I think my dirt has dirt on it, and my hair is disgusting. Yours too, will you let me wash it?”

Geralt wasn’t listening, also looking forward to the bath. He hummed in response.

“I hope it’s hot,” Jaskier continued. “No, hotter than that, I hope it’s boiling. I want to feel like a carrot in a stew pot when I get in.”

“You’d be a turnip,” Geralt said without thinking.

Jaskier sniffed. “And you’d be an onion.”

Geralt almost chuckled at that. The only reason he didn’t was that, at this moment, it was probably almost true. They both smelled pretty ripe. Jaskier had been correct, too, about there being layers to the grime. Geralt could almost peel himself. Like an onion.

“Anyway, I think I’d be something special, like a dash of pepper or, oh! I’d be a tomato.”

That caught Geralt off guard. 

“What.”

“A tomato, when they’re cooked just right so they almost burst when you cut into them and the juice explodes all over your mouth.”

Geralt wasn’t going to think about any juices of any kind exploding all over anyone’s mouth. Especially not Jaskier’s mouth, with it’s pink lips and clever, wicked tongue that darted out from time to time to wet them. 

“Don’t you think so, Geralt, aren’t I a tomato?”

“Hmmm.”

Jaskier did it again! It was liable to take Geralt’s sanity, the sight of him wetting his chapped lips like that. Maybe if he didn’t speak so much, worse, if he didn’t bite those lips so much, they wouldn’t be so chapped. For some reason Geralt had an insane desire to smear ointment across Jaskier’s lips with his own fingers. 

They would feel so soft.

Geralt paid the bath house attendant and they followed directions to a separate area in the low, stone building, where they could strip off and have a sort of sponge bath. This was of course so that they didn’t get dirt and monster guts in the bath, and was done with each in their own little three-walled wooden stall. Geralt had to call for a second bucket of water to get the guts from his hair. 

Sufficiently scrubbed, he stepped out into the main baths. Only then did he realize the crucial fault in his plan. They were open plan baths. Jaskier was beside him wearing nothing but a towel. Geralt, likewise in a towel, began to sweat. 

He kept his eyes firmly forward and cursed his excellent witchery peripheral vision because he could see...see Jaskier. Dark chest hair, soft and slightly damp. The way a droplet of water trailed from the back of his hair and down his neck, wetting tender skin.

Fuck. 

Jaskier walked towards the bath as if nothing was amiss. Of course, nothing was amiss, they were just two traveling companions. Having a bath. For Melitele’s sake they were married, even.

Geralt saw Jaskier’s foot hit a wet patch and the young man’s steps faltered, sliding a little. Geralt caught him with all his witcher speed, feeling Jaskier collide with his chest. Those blue eyes again, and yes, definitely silver in them. 

Jaskier was blushing, whether from proximity or steam, Geralt didn’t know. He leaned in. Jaskier’s tongue wet those inviting lips again. 

“You missed a spot on your cheek,” Geralt said, drawing back. He hadn’t been sure it wasn’t just a freckle, but it was definitely a bit of dirt. Jaskier sighed.

“Better get in and wash it off, then.”

Why did he sound dissapointed?

Geralt looked away as Jaskier released his towel and slid into the water, doing the same and waiting a second until he was absolutely sure it was safe to look. Jaskier had his head tilted back to rest against the floor, where the bath was sunk into the ground. Geralt sat next to him on the little ledge and let the warmth hit his muscles. It wasn’t boiling as Jaskier had hoped, but it was warm and lovely. The day’s fight hadn’t set any ache into Geralt’s muscles, but the days of sitting tensed up about Jaskier had, and he let them drift away.

Next to him Jaskier hummed contentedly and Geralt couldn’t help but agree. They lingered, not speaking, in the warm baths until they were truly pruny. Geralt neatly had to drag Jaskier out, but couldn’t risk Jaskier becoming too drowsy and drowning. 

They toweled off and redressed and were back at the inn in time for supper and for Jaskier to play. 

Geralt sat in the back of the small taproom, glowering about at anyone who looked like they might get close. He would have gladly gone up to their room and not bothered but Jaskier was performing. He couldn’t leave the bard there, where anyone could attack him, or ply him with too much alcohol and rob him or worse. Besides, he was curious.

Jaskier was capable, in an odd sort of way that was so far different from what Geralt was used to, but he was good at things. There was nothing he tried that he seemed to be terribly bad at. Geralt wasn’t a good judge of music, but he wanted to see if this applied to performing.

As he’d suspected, it did. Jaskier was masterful. Not only was his music top notch, but all his energy, the liveliness, the live wire electricity of him was directed when he performed. Normally, all that energy seemed to make Jaskier’s thoughts and actions a little disorganized, almost mess. Here, in this dingy little tavern, it made him radiant. Every eye was watching, every gaze enthralled, at least for a short time. If Geralt’s medallion hadn’t lain still on his chest he would have called it magic. 

It was incredibly sexy. This was Jaskier in his element, fierce and confident and wearing the doublet Geralt had given him. 

That struck a strange little shiver down Geralt’s spine. A piece of Geralt, prancing about, tied to Jaskier. The gift of the wolves of Kaer Morhen shimmered and twisted with his movements, the black pearl buttons catching dim light. Every eye was on Jaskier, some more salaciously than others, but Geralt couldn’t have cared less. He wouldn’t have cared even if someone had kissed Jaskier there and then. Geralt had no claim to Jaskier like that, they were only married in name. But they were married, and somehow Jaskier so proudly wearing that doublet meant more than a kiss ever could.

A little part in the back of Geralt’s brain wondered if he could have a kiss and Jaskier wearing the doublet, but that was silly.

Geralt went out to see Roach briefly when the performance was over. The applause was too much for his ears and his head, but ran back in when he heard the shouts. 

Three men had Jaskier against a wall, looking furious, and Jaskier looked angrier than they were. 

“Let him go,” Geralt growled, hand going for his sword...which was upstairs in their room. 

Fuck.

The men turned to him, all holding knives that were only knives because no one let swords get that jagged. 

“Your whore here,” one of them said with a shrug towards Jaskier. “Was telling us all how we shouldn’t talk shit about you witchers.”

“Yeah,” sneared another man with rotten teeth and even more rotten breath. “Got all righteous.” He stepped forward, raising his knife. “Said we ought to be thankful.

Geralt felt his muscles tense, gearing for a fight he really, really didn’t want to have.

“I think we oughta show you our ‘gratitude’,” said the third man.

“Or I can show you the door to the next world,” a voice purred. It was Jaskier.

“What is poking into your kidney, or thereabouts,” the bard continued. “Is a fish knife, I believe. I picked it up off the table. It’s pretty sharp, so I wouldn’t recommend moving very quickly. I would recommend, if you like to keep living, dropping your weapons, all three of you, and just walking away.”

The man’s compatriots looked at Jaskier in confusion. Jaskier pressed the knife in just a hair’s breadth further. 

“Do it,” growled the man currently held hostage. Three knives clattered on the floor. 

“Very good,” Jaskier purred in a voice that was both menacing and sent electric signals all the way down Geralt’s spine. “I can see you’re the brains of the outfit. Now apologize to my friend.”

“Wha..?”

Jaskier twitched his knife hand. “Apologize. To. My. Friend.”

“I’mverysorrymisterwitcher,” the man said, all in one breath. 

“Good, and?”

“And...and thank you for getting rid of the monsters?” said the man, hesitantly. Jaskier let down the knife. 

“Scram,” he said. The three toughs fled.

“A fish knife?” Geralt asked, trying not to focus on how spine tinglingly sexy that had been.

Jaskier shrugged. “I don’t keep weapons on me usually. Shall we go to bed?”

Bed turned out to be an overstatement. It was pretty much a cot, and a very slim one at that, but neither of them were going to sleep on the rough floorboards so they squished in together. 

Jaskier snuggled up to Geralt with contented little humming noises and laid his head on his chest. In the corner, in the moonlight from the window, Geralt could see the basilisk leather doublet where it lay on Jaskier’s pack. It would be a shame, he thought, wrapping his arms around Jaskier to keep him from tipping entirely out of the narrow bed. To part from his husband in Oxenfurt. 

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Tag List!

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Supposed to be tagged and weren’t? Is your tag listed but not actually linked? I’m having some trouble, so let me know!

[bangteamhyuk]

Moving On

Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Angst, Producer! Min Yoongi

Warning: mentions of sex, angst, contains heavy argument (One Shot)

Word count: 3,850k

Synopsis: You went back with Yoongi to your old apartment before moving on to the next. While cleaning, fixing, and rummaging all of the things inside, you two began to reminisce your life when you were still building your dreams together. Until he saw his old broken piano, then reality hits the two of you.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” you tried to catch your breath after rushing on to the stairs. Three floors were pretty tough for someone bringing cleaning tools, while hoping not to disappoint the person who was waiting for you for half an hour on the other end.

Yoongi turned around and crouched down a bit to see if you are fine “It’s okay. I’m sure you have reasons” He took the broomstick from your hand and put it together with the big vacuum cleaner he was holding. He paused for a moment and smiled at the sight of a white but clear oval diamond ring you were wearing. Your engagement rings.

You quickly blushed and turned away, flustered at the sight of Yoongi smiling at you. “Bunch of Min residents. Still cracks me up” you chuckled at the stick figure faces of you and Yoongi looking mean as the welcome door mat.

“Yeah, you thought of that” he pulled out the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door.

“But you were the one who drew those faces, Yoongi Matisse” you remarked as you fixed your hair. He scoffed as he put on his hairband.

“Ready to clean our stuff?” he asked. You nodded.

Yoongi went inside first and opened the curtain from the window on the front, giving light inside the studio apartment that were filled with dusts and memories. You followed. You turned around to see cobwebs around the table occupied with pictures, knick-knacks from all the travel you two had been, and even crumpled grocery receipts hidden on the side.

“5 good years huh?” you spoke, brushing your finger on the table to see how much dirt occurred over the years.

“Uhuh, 5 good years, and now we’re ready to move out Y/N” he replied.

“Look if we put the couch on the center, our visitor might think we’re bunch of couch potatoes. First impression last babe” you reasoned, as you sat beside Yoongi on the bare wooden floor of the room.

He shook his head “Y/N, I’m just saying that we needed to be reminded that it’s okay to rest once we get home, that’s why I was thinking that the couch should be there. Besides are we really going to admit and entertain guess here?” he gave you one tough argument that was hard not to consider.

“Ok fine, but what if I’m feeling a little frisky and want to do it while we watch TV? And then a burglar came from the door, right?” you turn to look at him with conviction in your eyes then continued “All I’m trying to say is that, putting it on the center have its disadvantage. Would you want your dick to be seen by a stranger, worse to a voyeur burglar?” you raised your arms and pointed it with your open palms at a non-existent couch against the other side of the empty room.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth in disgust “I can’t believe hearing this poor argument just to convince me in putting…” he paused then sighed “Fine, let’s put the TV and couch on the right side and the dinner table at the center” he conceded.

“Happy girlfriend equals happy life” you smiled at your victory. Yoongi turned to you and smiled dryly. You chuckled.

“We’re going to build our dreams here…” he spoke softly while staring at the open window in the midst of vacant space between the two of you. You stared at him and lingered for a moment.

“Yes, we will” you smiled, as you turned to stare at the open window as well, filling the bareness of the room with all your hopes and dreams together, as you closed your eyes.

“Achoo!” you sneezed as you open your eyes again, while patting the dusted couch and pulling the cushion seats out. Yoongi was mopping the hardwood floor, while you on the other hand was preparing to vacuum the old couch. Suddenly you saw something, you didn’t expect.

“Ugh Yoongi!” you burst into laughter. “What?” Yoongi quickly went towards you on the old couch as you pulled out something hidden underneath the seat.

“Your dried out condom! Ugh, gross!” you exclaimed as he grinned showing you his gummy smile that you love so dearly “I told you to put them to the trash, every time! Ugh! Good thing I found it before we sell these…” your face turned sour as you held on its tip and quickly tossed it on to the trash bin. “You know what, I think we should hand them over to the cleaners first before selling them. It’s been unused for 2 years…”

“You know for 5 years since we planned to put furniture on our place, I just realized we had a really great time with that couch” he stressed the world ‘really’ which made you blushed immediately, and well a bit annoyed at the same time. “Not once did we had any visitor, not even that voyeur burglar you were talking about” he raised one of his eye brow and smirked.

You quickly pulled out the dusted pillow and threw at him. “What? I’m just saying it wouldn’t matter if we put it on the center or not.” he laughed.

“Okay, Nostradamus. Let’s get back to business. I have book signing to attend to later” you turned your back to continue cleaning the couch while you heard him chuckle once more and resumed to mop the floor.

“What’s this surprise?” you tried to reach out for something, while Yoongi was making sure you can’t see anything through the blindfold.

“Take another two steps to the front. Here. Great. Now! The big reveal!” he slowly opened the blindfold as he showed you his D-I-Y wooden desk situated beside the apartment’s lone window.

“Happy birthday Y/N!” You gasped. “You made these? Even the succulents on the desk?” you hurriedly went to your new work desk and examined everything over and underneath it. You opened one of the drawers and saw a 20-dollar cat design fountain pen you’ve been eyeing for weeks in the department store “Yoongi, thank you!” you held it to your chest.

“Well, I did the wood work but not the succulents. I just..” he scratched the back of his neck. “add that for a little touch, you know, something to ease your stress when writing stories”

You quickly ran up to him for a kiss. “Yoongi, thank you! I love it! I love you!” he grinned.

“Can you kiss me again? Maybe deepen it?” you obliged, but parted for a second. “But if my work space is on the window then… where is yours?” you asked.

He shrugs. “I can stay at our bed. I mean, I’m sure you don’t make much sound when your busy so it’s okay. I just needed a laptop and my guitar to make music” you smiled weakly. “It’s really okay babe, it’s a win-win situation. Look at this way, if you put my workspace near the window, I might include unnecessary noise from the outside. This is great!” he hugged you tight, assuring you that all is well.

“We’ll make our dreams happen in this apartment, you and I” he kissed your forehead, reminding you that you are not alone in this city trying to make it big one day. “I’m here for you always Y/N”

“I’ll always be here for you too Yoongi. We will definitely make it happen” you closed your eyes, and rest your head on his chest. You two stayed like that for a while.

“How much do you think this desk would cost?” you tap the pen on your cheek.

“I deserve a $200 for this!” he pointed at the desk. “It took me a day to figure out how to assemble everything, and I had to scratch each side with a small sandpaper for an hour Y/N! An hour! Just so you wouldn’t get hurt over its sharp edges. So yes, I demand a $200 refund for this!” he raised his eyebrow to show you how much he protests at the thought of not being able to find a just compensation for his hard work.

“But Yoongi, it’s been used for over 3 years and unused for over 2, so expect it has some scratches around and the faint smell of old wood, so $100?” you examined the whole piece, while waiting for Yoongi to agree

He closed his eyes and shook his head “175!”

“150? Last price” you faced him.

“Fine. 150” he sighed, finally agreeing to the unjust price. You then wrote the price on the note pad.

Yoongi crouched down and rummaged through the piles of things on the floor, left untouched for 2 years and saw something familiar.

“Yoongi, what if we include the chair and then we can ask for $200 deal—” you stopped midway as you saw Yoongi pulled out his electric piano, all broken.

“Open the box babe!” you watched him open the huge ribbon and tore out the wrapper on the floor. You went to the table and refilled two glasses with cheap wine.

“Oh babe, you don’t have to” he gently pulled the brand new portable electric piano from the box.

“Happy 3rd anniversary!” you handed over his share of wine. As he pulled you down to where he sat, and you fell on his lap. “Oops, careful the wine might---”  He didn’t even let you finish when he kissed you hard just to show you how grateful he was for the gift.

“Mmm…” you chuckled as you parted from the kiss and turn to the piano. You brushed your fingertips at the piano keys and smile “The greatest song of all time will be made here, in this piano. I’m claiming it!”

He hugged you tight as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “I definitely will. I love you so much!”

“You know, we can still have that fixed and sell it for…”

“No!” he exclaimed sternly. “I’ll keep it” he looked down; a bit embarrassed at his quick reaction.

You looked away, unsure what to say. You thought it was useless to keep something old and broken, but you guess it’s better that way. To let him keep a piece of you, the old you that he once knew.

“Congratulation’s Min Yoongi!” you popped the party pooper from the front door surprising Yoongi.

“Didn’t you see the live steam? The song I produced didn’t won” he closed the door and tossed the key to table.

“Doesn’t matter, the real winner is at home now! Yay!” you blew the party horn from his side, playfully tickling his ears. He brushed it down and pulled himself away, clearly annoyed.

You followed him still “It was great! The KMA failed to recognize it this year, who knows the next song you produ--- ”

“I don’t care about next year, or the next, and the next after that! It’s been 3 years, Y/N. 3 years since we’ve moved here and where has it gotten us? Nowhere!” he snapped.

You opened your mouth but quickly withdrew as you knew that saying anything further might make him more upset. “Baby, I…” you pulled him for a hug and gently stroke his back. “I understand how frustrated you are…” he shook his head and gently stepped away.

“No, you don’t. It’s easy for you to say, having a stable office job while you write as a hobby. But I only know how to produce music, it’s the only job I know! You don’t get to know, because you don’t have to rely for an award to know how good or shitty your stories are!” he snapped in anger.

You bit your lips and tried to process the situation, hoping you’ll say something to make him feel okay “Yoongi, I’m sorry that I don’t get to know that, but you know that I didn’t have much choice, but if I could I wanted to write full-time and you know that… We needed something on our table and---”

“So, it’s my fault now? That doing pizza delivery as part-time is not enough?” he didn’t even let you finished.

“I’m not saying that!” you finally cried, as you wiped your eyes with the back of your hands in frustration.

“Well then, tell me what? Because I find it hard to convince myself that it is not what you meant” he gave a sarcastic chuckle.

“Yoongi, why are we doing this? I’m just trying to help. Didn’t you say we’re going to make our dreams come true in this city, in this place, together!?”

“Well, you’re not helping, and clearly it isn’t happening.” He looked away as he took the opened bottle of wine you left on the table and chugged on it.

You looked to the ceiling and let out a long sigh “You know, I tried. For 3 years…” you nodded to yourself as you stared at the ceiling for a moment then at Yoongi. “I’ve seen you struggled. I’ve seen you succeed. I’ve seen you at your best and your worst. I saw you strive hard than anyone can in making songs, several of it! It was great, and I’m not just saying it because you’re my boyfriend but because I believe in you Yoongi. I believe in you, because I love you. I trust you no matter what, I trust that you’ll make it happen… Make US happen!” you paused.

“…But the way that’s been going lately? The way you pushed me aside, not wanting to talk things over. Having more arguments with you each day. Aren’t you tired? Instead of growing together, we’re just…growing apart!” you continued, shutting your eyes to the cold reality. You took a deep breath and pulled a glass from the kitchen sink and filled it water. You drank a glass full of it, hoping it’ll drown down the pain. He fell silent.

“You know what? Let’s…” you sighed at the thought “Break-up” you took your spare key and your bag hanging from the wall.

“Fine, leave!” he hit something aimlessly and heard a shriek of mismatched melody from the electric piano. You turned your back to see it, the electric piano you bought for him, broken and damaged. Like the way you and Yoongi are…

Silence.

You cleared your throat and began writing notes on your pad.

“When’s the wedding?” he turned to you while you sat a far from him.

“Next year, June 1st” you replied softly, resisting to look his way.

“Park Jimin’s a good guy…” he smiled weakly.

“He is.” You nodded. Then silence.

The only thing that broke the monotony of stillness between you and Yoongi within those four walls, was the sudden sound of a person knocking on the door from the other side. Yoongi slowly stood up, and went to the door to open and see who it was.

“Well, speak of the devil” he bit his lip and smiled at him. He wasn’t bitter or anything, in fact his smile was sincere after seeing what was in front of him, a genuine smile from you upon seeing the person you love, even if it was not him any longer.

He thought how bittersweet it was, to be someone looking through a window from the outside looking in, because he once knew what it feels like to be the source of your happiness. That smile he vividly recalls, even when he closed his eyes. Every outline, every mole, everything about you, he commits to memory even now that you’re gone.

“Are you ready for your book signing love?” Jimin chuckled.

“Did you get me food on the way?” you narrowed your prying eyes towards Jimin

He nodded “Cheeseburger with double patties, no onions but with extra pickles” he tilts his head to have you scoot over to his side.

You grinned, as you took your purse and ran towards Jimin. “See you tomorrow then? For the contract signing with Mrs. Song?” you turned your back to remind Yoongi.

Yoongi nods. “This apartment is already sold, so we just need our signatures to seal all deals”

“Mm, well, thanks. Congratulations by the way for winning KMA and MAMA for 2 consecutive years” you smiled.

“Well, the performer has a big participation to it too” he turned towards Jimin, as he shyly smiled and shook his head. “Hyung, really it’s the best music of all time!”

He raised his shoulder and looked at the dusted piano left on the floor “Not nearly, no…”

“Guess we’ll see each other around?” Jimin smiled as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Yeah, see you” Yoongi smiled and watched you two leave.

Jimin helped you with your seatbelt as he pulled out something from the backseat.

“Iced Café Latte with grainy sugar for my beloved fiancé” he handed out

“How come you always knew the perfect time I want my coffee?” he shrugs.

“I’ve gotten some information” he winks at you and started the engine.

“Hyung, there you are. I’ve been looking for you” Jimin sat beside Yoongi under a cherry blossom outside their music studio office.

“It’s break time and it’s spring, when can I have my peace?” he turned away, looking annoyed.

“Well, I’ve been thinking if we can add more lyrics to this verse? And…” Yoongi’s phone suddenly rang to notify a text, as Jimin’s eyes widened when he saw his phone glow, displaying a photo of you that Yoongi took when you two were still together. “You know Y/N?”

“Yeah, why?” Yoongi tilt his head, clearly confused as to why Jimin knew who you are.

“But he’s my girlfriend, hyung!” he stood up, almost as if ready to fight.

“Well, um, this awkward” he squint his eyes, unbothered at Jimin’s reaction “I didn’t know really that you are…” he opened his mouth then withdrew, finding words how to explain the situation “I don’t know how to say this to you but, he’s my ex”

The two of them, chatted for a while, agreeing on things that annoys Jimin and the things you used to annoy Yoongi.

“Do you still love her?” Jimin turned to Yoongi, his face sullen, hoping that he would like to hear Yoongi’s answer from his query.

He breathed hard “You know kid, you’ll never stop loving a person even if they’re gone. Even if you were left by time, leaving you to oblivion, making you a faint memory from that person. You just don’t” he took his coffee from the vending machine that was sitting on his side and drank before he continued.

“But that doesn’t mean you want that person to be there for you forever. Knowing that she’s happy, well even more happy without me by his side, that’s more than enough. Isn’t that what love is supposed to be? Even when it doesn’t feel like romance, it changes into something, something that transcends beyond it. I can’t explain kid, but you’ll understand it someday” he turned to Jimin, hoping he didn’t touch a nerve that would make him angry.

“I really love her, hyung. My manager’s pretty upset about this whole relationship situation but I couldn’t care anymore. If they find out about us or not, I don’t care!  I’d rather admit the truth than deny and hurt her, she doesn’t deserve that. I just, I feel like she’s the one even when she’s moody and all” Jimin shyly confessed.

Yoongi nods “Jimin, you should know several things so you could avoid argument with Y/N. First, of all never underestimate her love for coffee. Never.” He straightened his palm to emphasize his statement.

“She loves coffee first thing in the morning, do not talk to her without her having a coffee yet, under any circumstance. Well, unless you don’t want a great day ahead of you, you could, but I do not recommend it all. Speaking of coffee, she would want one after having a stressful day or any stressful situation she was in. But this is important, take note, she likes sweet coffee and bitter ones on the morning.”

Jimin listened to him attentively as Yoongi continued “If she writes story, she’ll want you to read it from start to end. Do it and be honest, she hates mediocre comments so you have to be tedious about reading it. She loves it when you ask, so that’s a tip. If you fail to read everything, you can ask her. Oh, but be careful about your questions, because she’ll know when you didn’t read it all and she’ll be really upset”

Yoongi chuckled upon remembering how you love to eat unlimited BBQs “She also loves meat, like seriously a lot! So treat her to BBQs every often or else she’ll get moody for a month. She’s a heavy drinker too, so ready your liver and try to keep up with her. And lastly, never end the day without telling her how you truly feel, she’ll appreciate it, whatever it is that’s on your mind tell her. I can see the way she looks at you in that picture” he peered through Jimin’s phone on the side which was glowing due to several notifications “because that was how she used to look at me too. I bet she’ll understand you. She now loves you Jimin.”

It was already night time when Yoongi finished cleaning the room and putting everything that you two wanted to sell inside a big box. Yoongi looks at the broken piano and stared at it for a moment “I guess the greatest song of all time were never made” he stood up, picked it up and took it with him, as walked towards the door way.

He looked at the empty room, one last time “This place still smells like us, let’s not forget this scent wherever we are” he spoke softly to himself and turned the lights off.

He closed the door and saw the doormat again.

“Bunch of Min residents” you drew on the doormat. He chuckled “That’s pretty witty, wait let me add a little touch” he took the marker from you and drew your faces which made you two laughed even harder.

“This is a masterpiece! We need everyone to see this!” you quickly went to the door and put it on the entryway.

Yoongi smiled as he watched you from the couch and sighed at the thought of wanting to be with you forever. He just knew from that moment on you were the one.

He rolled the mat from the floor and tossed it to the nearest trash bin.

He knew it was too late for regrets, but at the same time he knew it was for the better. Whatever happened in the past brought you two to where you are all supposed to be now: Happy, contented but apart.

All the memories, your hopes and dreams that you two shared together, are now gone. Cleaned to make room for another one.

He looked at the door and smiled weakly “Ijen, Annyeong (Goodbye now)” and left.

Let’s move Goodbye to this place, that we grew attached to Let’s move Now to a higher place While taking the last box out of the empty room I looked back for a moment Times we cried and laughed Goodbye now

Moving On- BTS

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for getting here. Hope you’ll also like the spin-off series for this: Seesaw (Teaser)

[crossroadsfossil]

Warm Tea, Deep Sleep

Summary: Dabi read once that dreams are your brains’ way of preparing you for the next crisis. In his experience, nightmares are the price to pay for surviving. Dabi wonders what Hawks’ nightmares are about.

Prompt: Sharing a cup of tea

Tags: Established relationship, murky canon timeline, comfort can be found in a mug of tea, comfort can be found in a lovers arms, Hawks makes bird noises,

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31221101

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

“What are you doing up?”

Hawks froze at the sound of Dabi’s voice, the remaining feathers of his wings fluffing up in alarm.

Dabi said remaining feathers because Hawks shed most of his the moment he arrived home. There was a box next to the door and everything. Hawks had looked like an old western debutant shedding a coat, shucking his feathers off with a well-practiced movement. They landed in the box with a thud. He couldn’t hold his laughter in at that point, and it had given him away. There was just something inherently funny about watching a wingspan of over fourteen feet shrink down to a one of sixteen inches, if you rounded up. It made Hawks look more like something you would expect to see on a cartoon character. The fact that they expanded when startled didn’t help with the cartoon comparison.

Bright and predatory eyes flicked over to where Dabi is curled up on the balcony. He’d pulled one of Hawks’ armchairs out so he could smoke without setting off the fire alarms again.

As soon as Hawks realized it was him, his entire posture relaxed - wings turning small and sleek again and eyes turning almost warm. Almost. There was still something haunted in those eyes that made them a little distant, a little less human.

“Oh, you know. Glass of water.” Hawks said, trying to play off the nighttime excursion. Dabi raised an eyebrow.

“You keep like six bottles of water next to your bed.”

He didn’t know if it was Hawks being efficient, smart, or attempting to be lazy, but the hero always had bottles of water, a few snack bars, and plenty of painkillers in a small box that was either next to or slid under the bed, depending on how recently he’d restocked or accessed it.

“... I wanted a snack.”

Now both of his eyebrows were raised, and he took a long drag off of his cigarette, staring Hawks down. Hawks’ shoulders slumped, and he started running a hand through his hair in one of the few stress gestures the hero allowed himself. Dabi had joked about the self-preening thing once and tellingly, Hawks hadn’t corrected him. It left something unpleasant curling in his stomach.

“It doesn’t matter.” Hawks finally said, turning to head back into the bedroom. Dabi stayed where he was, not sure if there was a silent invitation to join Hawks or not. He didn’t think there was, and so stayed where he was. He didn’t return to watching the city, instead focusing on listening to the apartment, trying to hear what was going on in the bedroom.

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

“You okay birdie?” Dabi asked.

Hawks’ wings didn’t fluff up as much this time; just a brief flare of being startled before they smoothed down. Hawks didn’t even look his way, just stopped his path towards the kitchen and rested a hand on the couch. His nails dug into the fabric - not quite a stress grip but definitely something Hawks was using to ground himself.

Dabi wouldn’t call himself the most clever out of the league, but he was one of the most observant. Sure, some of the others had particular things they were more observant about, but for sheer breadth, Dabi saw the most. He could put together a lot of details, slotting them together like a puzzle piece, even if there were half a dozen different puzzles on the table.

The one shaped like Hawks was missing almost as many pieces as Compress’, but Dabi had enough of the center and edge pieces to get a decent idea of the picture. Or at least, a decent enough idea that he could anticipate behaviour.

“Come here, birdie.” Dabi said. Hawks looked up, a flicker of confusion on his face at how soft Dabi’s tone was. If the bird was close enough, he’d be tempted to smack him upside the back of the head. He could be soft. Just because Hawks hadn’t been on the receiving end didn’t mean Dabi was incapable. Dabi just didn’t ever see Hawks needing any softness. That was not what they liked about each other. Neither were soft, neither wore kid gloves. They snapped and bit and scratched and hissed out their differences and their agreements with sharp edged words and gestures. The bird had talons and Dabi liked seeing them, just as much as the bird liked stretching them.

Hawks approached, stopping next to the armchair Dabi was curled up in. Dabi leaned forward, stubbing out his cigarette in a nearby mug. As he leaned back, he caught Hawks’ wrist and tugged the bird down so that he landed in the chair next to Dabi. It was a tight squeeze, but the hero didn’t complain as Dabi pushed and shoved Hawks until they fit together comfortably, although as soon as Dabi was finished, Hawks wiggled until his face was tucked against the side of Dabi’s neck, his hands resting on one of Dabi’s wrists. One of Hawks’ thumbs kept brushing over one of the staples beneath it, back and forth like a worry stone. He was gentle, so Dabi didn’t feel the need to stop it.

He did, however, reach with his free hand to pick up an insulated mug that he’d placed beside the armchair hours earlier. The movement prompted a brief noise of complaint from Hawks before one of inquiry- a chirping note, as Dabi handed him the mug.

“What?”

“Tea. I always find it helps after nightmares.”

Hawks didn’t say anything, although he did pry the lid off, sniffing at the liquid before tentatively bringing it up. Instead of sipping it, he just brought it up and stuck his tongue in it. Another chirp, this time of surprise.

“It’s still warm!”

“Fire quirk, dumbass.”

“Fuck off.”

“Can’t. There’s a bird trapping me.”

The edge of his lips twitched as Hawks let out a snort of amusement. The next several minutes were filled with the soft sound of Hawks drinking the offered tea. It was slow, entirely unlike Hawks’ usual method of consuming liquids, which always seemed like a competition to him on who could finish their drink the fastest. One of these days, Hawks was going to choke and Dabi was going to laugh at him.

He almost startled as he felt the cup press insistently against his cheek. Hawks was staring at him, that odd pinprick-pupil thing he did whenever the bird instincts ran a little too close to the surface.

Normally he only really saw it when the hero was fighting, occasionally when fucking, and most often when Toga was playing keep away with food from the Nakano station bakery. If there was one thing to set everyone in the league against her, it was stealing the bag that Hawks had brought to share because although she was seventeen, close to eighteen, she was still a small gremlin child sometimes.

Hawks pushed the mug at Dabi again.

He had no idea what was up with the man, but he took the mug, sipping it at. His nose wrinkled as he realized it was now cold. Apparently, he’d been lost in his thoughts longer than he realized. He heated up his free hand, letting the mug warm until the liquid wasn’t tepid. It wasn’t steaming by any lengths, but it was warm enough to be tolerable.

He took another sip before handing it back to Hawks.

Back and forth they passed the mug until it was empty. He went to set it down beside the armchair, but several of Hawks’ smaller feathers detached and swept it out of his hand and off into the apartment. He watched them disappear into the darkness, no doubt heading towards the kitchen sink.

He intended to watch them return. He didn’t, because Hawks was nuzzling against the side of his neck again, almost trying to curl even closer.

Dabi sighed and, because it felt right, nuzzled back. There was a warm warble from the hero and then it was quiet again, or as quiet as the city ever got. He didn’t realize when the Hero had fallen asleep in his lap, but between one thought and another, he realized that Hawks had.

He also realized that the fingers of one hand were tangled with Hawks’.

He gave them a squeeze and tilted his head back against the chair. It was like cats. Once they were in your lap, it was illegal to move. It wouldn’t be comfortable for either of them come morning, but he’d slept in worse places.

And honestly, having Hawks in his lap and resting peacefully and without nightmares?

There was something very satisfying about that.

[drcrushers]

name: in the midst of winter status: unfinished hades/persephone, angst/hurt/comfort i wrote this a while ago, and i don’t have immediate plans to finish it but thought y’all might like to read it! featuring hades in his favorite two moods: ‘i love my wife’ & ‘i will kill everyone in this room and then myself’.

Hadestown was a symphony, a loud and endless orchestra of assembly lines and pickaxes. It had lessened - slightly - and there were now voices that joined in, singing songs he couldn't recognize. The poet's doing. They were remembering, not just mindlessly working and toiling away. Trying, Hades had promised. So he was. And organizing the city into something more functional and less tyrannical had been the first step of it. The wall would come next, and so on. Dismantling everything pain-stakingly brick by single brick. Things would be better. Could be better. He just had to keep the constant mindset that his wife would come home. No more doubt - granted, his not-so-new union leader kept reminding him, as needed.

He'd hoped to have a decent amount of progress done on it to show Persephone when she returned; two less than harsh winters had gone by and the world was easing back into rhythm one season at a time. 

He exchanged letters with his wife while she was up top, and they were learning how to work again. They'd started sharing a bed again, those soft touches and warm looks from their early years returning now that they were both trying. The world tried with them. Things were better. The symphony had changed. 

But as Hades sat in his office pouring over ledgers, something about the symphony beyond the shutters was off. He couldn’t place how or why, but something set his teeth on edge and wormed beneath his skin like an itch unscratched. 

A shrill whistle in the distance.

The train was running too fast.

Since the building of the thing it had run a steady pace along the tracks, ferrying souls from one life into the next. There was never any true rush; the dead weren't going anywhere, after all. The great machine chugged and hissed and belched clouds of steam, but it had always run it's average pace and the world had continued to spin as it always did. Even when things had been out of rhythm the train had been a constant - even if Hades had the tendencies to commandeer it to his use far too early at the end of the summer. 

The whistle called again, the earth shook, and the train was still going too fast. A great concern that prompted Hades to leave his office and set out for the platform to see it's arrival, eager to see just what the hell was so damned important that the machine was straining under the speed at which it hurtled toward the underworld. Not that they had ever had an issue of derailment, it seemed pointless to strain the machine; if the engine broke, it meant repairs which meant labor, time, and money. He was going to have a few words with Charon when he stepped off the thing. 

The transport pulled to a halt at the platform with a great hiss of steam and smoke and noise. Hades frowned, brows drawing together in the middle of his forehead. There was only one car attached to the train, which did not bode well. The only time Charon hauled one train was when Persephone went up top or came down below, and it was the middle of (an albeit very long) summer. Something wasn't right. Something heavy and sick settled into the pit of his belly like a great stone. Voices echoed in over the din of the underworld, three of them, singing harmonies he couldn't quite hear. Gritting his teeth, he shoved them out of his mind. Damned Fates. 

The heavy rock in his stomach settled further when he saw who had stepped off the train onto the platform. 

"Hermes.” 

It wasn’t so much as the man himself as it was his appearance. In all the time Hades had known his nephew, Hermes had nary a hair out of place. He put great care into his appearance for numerous reasons (most of which Hades never cared to know). Usually all slick and silver and sporting his usual, leisurely smile. The Hermes standing before him now, however, was anything but. He was missing his suit jacket, which was alarming at best - but he could see stains at the cuffs that were a deep, purplish-red and a rather terrifyingly large spot of gold at his breast. His hands were clenched at his sides, white-knuckled and the usual rosy pallor to Hermes’ face was completely gone.

“I’ll explain on the train.” Hermes said quietly, his voice lacking it’s usual melody and tone. He felt his chest tighten, and he knew without a second of a doubt that whatever had brought Hermes barreling into his realm had to do with Persephone. He knew. 

He only hoped that the golden ichor staining Hermes’ shirt did not belong to his wife. 

There was work to be done, contracts to be signed, ledgers to check - but Hades put every notion of them out of his mind and climbed onto the train. Hermes followed and he was barely in the door before the great engine lurched and was off again, cranking up to full speed before either of them could find proper footing. A rock had settled deep in his gut, heavy and weighted and almost painful. 

“I knew you’d have a fit if I sent a note.” Now that he could see him closer, Hades could see the dark circles under his eyes, the set to his brow and muscle jumping in his jaw. He looked frazzled, to say the least, which did not settle the uneasy storm brewing in Hades’ gut. 

“Our girl - “ Hermes pressed his lips tightly together, moving toward the bar cart that had once been Persephone’s favorite. “Ain’t good; wouldn’t have come here otherwise.”

“Tell me what happened.” Hades could feel his voice rather than hear it; his blood already seemed to pound in his ears, roaring louder than the engine in the train. His chest tightened again, watching with a furrowed brow as Hermes poured himself a drink and gestured to the bottle, trying to offer him one as well. He jerked his head. “Tell me what happened to my wife.”

“You gotta promise to keep a level head -”

“I’m going to level your head off your shoulders in a damned minute.” Hades warned lowly, his voice more gravel than anything. His chest rumbled when he spoke, a dangerous sign of impending anger and rage and anything else he could drag up from the depths. While Hades knew his marriage was strained still, Persephone was his world. Without hesitation he’d throw the whole lot of his underworld into the pits of Tartarus if it meant keeping her. He was not an overly emotional man - until it came to her. Yes, he was a disaster at showing affection as of late. Yes, they hadn’t exactly been eye to eye. Things were tense, struggling, but that melody - it had returned at the hands of a poet with a voice of the gods themselves. 

A promise to try again would mean nothing if Persephone was lost to him. 

Dead gods did not frequent the underworld. 

If she was dead, truly, he would feel it. Wouldn’t it? They’d been married far too long, he’d grown accustomed to her presence, her essence in his life. If it suddenly disappeared - even from the world above - he knows he’d feel it. Right?

Damn, he felt sick and Hermes hadn’t even said anything - which was alarming enough. 

“She’s in rough shape. She put up one hell of a fight; sure you can guess this blood ain’t exactly mine. The idiots thought she’d come with ‘em willingly and they were more than wrong. She ain’t been conscious long enough to get a full story, but we’ve got the ones responsible. She tried to make me promise not to come and get ya, uncle.”

“Someone attacked her?” 

“Not at first, but it turned into that. Tried to kidnap her. Or see if she’d go off with ‘em. Two mortal men, morons that they are. She resisted, o’ course. They made to steal her and drugged her drink to do it. Tried to carry her off and tie her up - reckon they didn’t do much of a job doin’ it cause our girl wasn’t havin’ it. Knives drawn to try and force her to do - well, what mortal men usually do, and that only pissed her off more. She was out of it, but - well, I expect it wasn’t too pretty, given how those two turned out lookin’.” Hermes drained his glass, and poured another. Hades was fighting the sickening slime that felt as if it’d settled in his gut. Persephone, attacked. By mortals. Assaulted. Worse. 

And he hadn’t been there to protect her. Keep her safe, as he’d promised the first day they met in the garden. He’s broken a lot of those promises and paid the price for it - but keeping her safe had been one of the last few he’d kept. Now it was shattered. By two mortals. 

He didn’t want to comment on Hermes’ remark about her not wanting him to find out. To be there. His heart did an uncomfortable flip in his chest. Why wouldn’t she want him there? Persephone was his life. Everything, wrapped in the beauty of the sun and stars themselves. Why would he not come to her side if she was injured? Not to mention unleash the fires of Tartarus itself in punishment to the two responsible for it? Anger slithered through the guilt and boiled beneath his skin hotly. No one disrespected his Queen. Even if they’d been on uneven ground, he and Persephone were trying again. That had been the promise. Had she reconsidered by not wanting him at her side? Would she turn him away? Gods - the more he dwelled on it, the more the anger and guilt fought for control. Hermes had gone silent to sip at his drink and study Hades, the gaze he could feel on him even after he turned away from his nephew. 

Couldn’t the damn train go any faster?

He felt the shift between realms, the invisible barrier that separated the underworld from the mortal realm. It made the hair on his arm stand on end, rippling up to the nape of his neck. Uncomfortably. He didn’t like being in the mortal realm for work or for other purposes - he’d made that clear in his time one way or the other. Most of all to his wife, which was a thought that didn’t sit well with him either. He couldn’t be assed to go up and visit her, even when she asked. Too much work, he’d cited. Can’t get away. 

Wasn’t much of a realm if it couldn’t run itself for a day without him, she’d replied. Even if they’d been trying again after the saga of the poet and the songbird, it didn’t mean things were perfect. He wanted to build a better home for her to come back to in the winter. To surprise her - which is why he’d been so set on working. It was harder to disassemble a city and a wall than it was to build it. But what use was the damn place if Persephone couldn’t come home at all? Attacked. His wife had been attacked.

In all their years together, he’d never had such a feeling. Persephone had never been in danger during their marriage. How could a god be in danger with their power, their wisdom? 

Hades had faced the idea of losing his wife through divorce, but at least she’d be alive. Well. Perhaps happy, unshackled from him. He’d never faced the idea of her death. It was impossible. She couldn’t die. She was the goddess of life, vibrant and beautiful and thriving in any environment. 

Except, she could die. Anything living could. Wither like a flower under the worst frosts. 

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Hermes didn’t speak, leaving him to his terrible, twisting thoughts edged on by the harmonizing voices in his ear. With the sickness in his gut came a great and awful anger, rolling like some of his brother’s tsunamis through his boiling blood. Heat rose to his skin, fingers curling into his palms against his face and digging in until he couldn’t feel the sting of his own nails anymore. The white-hot rage burned brighter than any sun ever thought of. The fires of Tartarus itself resided in his chest, and would not be quelled. 

Death would be too good for the mortals who had dared to touch his wife. Persephone was his by law and by right and by every-other-fucking-rule in the universe. Not some tiger to be taught and tamed. No, they would face fates worse than death by the time he got his hands on them.

The voices in his ear only seemed to encourage the sudden fury and ire.

They had hurt his wife. By the time he finished with the mortals, they would only wish Hades had hurt them in return. No one could or would take Persephone from him not now and not again --

And Hades stopped, thoughts stuttering for a moment. 

Persephone did not belong to him. She was fierce all her own, not a bird to be caged. He had learned that - albeit begrudgingly. Capable of defending herself and any under her wing. And it was true, she was not a trophy to be displayed or a tiger to be caught and tamed, most especially by him. That, in essence, had been his downfall. Thinking Persephone belonged to him and belonged to the realm. 

She chose to love him. To give up her life, at first. Would she be happy if Demeter had simply let go? Let her be happy as a permanent resident of the underworld, the dread queen for eternity? Hades wanted her to be - more than anything. Persephone brought life to the underworld in a natural way he could not. And when he tried, it looked artificial and wrong and unnatural; her voice sings out loudest above the trio of old women, harsh and critical of the world he thought he’d build for her. Coax her down from her home in the sky to roost below. Make her happy.

That’s all he wanted in the end. Persephone, happy. With him. That he would be enough for her.

How stupid he’d been in thinking that bullshit. He was enough, she’d told him so. Promised it. And he’d doubted her. Not trusted her.

Hades thought he might grovel at her feet when he saw her next, but it only dragged his mind back to the present situation at hand. The guilt returned, the fury swallowing him whole. The inside of the train was cast in a dark, shaded red through his vision. 

“Uncle, you’re gonna burn a hole in that seat and cuss me when you realise it.” Hermes’ voice drew him into some fraction of reality. Hades looked down; he’d grabbed a hold of the bench cushion beneath him and the fabric was smoking vaguely beneath his palms. He released his hold with a low growl, standing swiftly in favor of pacing the aisle down the middle of the train car. Contemplating how he could so easily rip the mortal realm apart just because he could, in retribution for the sins of two morons. Raze the land and strip it all back until the earth was raw and cracked and bleeding rivers of magma. 

Sometimes, Hades wondered if he was so different from his father after all.

Of course he wouldn’t destroy Gaia, Hades was better than that. So he liked to think. Fire and brimstone and all that be damned. He would if Persephone asked him to, though. He knew he’d do just about anything she asked. Try to. Assuming what she wanted had been the mistake, too. What if he’d done something so foolish? If he were his father, it wouldn’t take a second thought to level everything and rebuild it to his liking because he thought Persephone would like it. 

The train finally began to slow and Hades felt the knot in his gut tighten again. He had wanted to see her sooner rather than later, but not like this. Anything but like this. 

It was strange, the platform being devoid of life.

The weather was strange; a dense fog had settled near the ground, but he could tell by the way it crunched beneath his feet that a snap frost had settled in, crisping the grass and flora in a way he was only used to seeing done when Demeter threw her usual seasonal tantrum. The sky itself was overcast, dark and stormy as if it might open up and pour on them at any moment. And yet, beneath it all, the world was still steadfastly green and alive. The oxymoron wasn’t lost on him as he made quick work of the path between the platform and where he knew Demeter’s place to be - for his wife would be there, without a doubt. Hermes said nothing of his quick steps, just followed half a step behind with those lips pressed into a thin line. 

Trees were in bloom, but not for long; flowers almost frozen in time among the frost and fog. The world was in a deep unbalance and it made his pace quicken.

Surely if Persephone had - if she had died, he’d know. Surely.

As Demeter’s house came into view through the hazy air, he could only imagine the state of the garden behind the place. He didn’t want to consider it, or the implications. Would Persephone have to stay up top longer to recover? To make sure the mortals didn’t starve? Would she demand it? Hades wasn’t sure he’d be able to give it to her - frankly he wasn’t keen on letting her out of his sight as soon as he set his sights on her again. To know she was certainly safe at all times; she would understand. 

(Except, deep down, he knew she absolutely wouldn’t).

The porch steps didn’t even have time to creak beneath his weight as he took them two at a time. Ignoring the rust color smear of blood on the railing. The door opened before he could touch it and for the first time in a while, Hades was met with the face of his sister.

Time had changed Demeter much as it had him. She hadn’t gone full white just yet, but she’d soon be a beautiful, silvery gray. The eyes of their mother, her lips set into a thin line, and wrinkles in her brow that weren’t just an expression, but set permanently there from repeated motion. She was a head shorter than him, close to his wife’s height. He recalled her looking slightly more put together at their last face-to-face interaction compared to the dressing robe she had belted at her waist now, feet bare beneath.

“You can’t -”

“You tell me I can’t be here and we’ll have a problem.” He rumbled, cutting across her before she could finish. A mistake, the way her eyes darkened.

“You can’t see her yet you damned fool. Let me get a word in edge-wise next time and you can save that glare for someone who deserves it.” Demeter replied sharply, but stepped aside to grant him and Hermes entrance. She didn’t look pleased to do it, frankly, and Hades couldn’t blame her - though he couldn’t tell if the expression on her face was due to his appearance, or the attack on her daughter. Both, perhaps. Hades didn’t care one way or the other. His intentions were clear, and he made for the stairs the second his eyes briefly adjusted to the dim light of the interior. 

“What the hell did I just say?” Demeter hissed, grabbing his sleeve sharply to stop him. “She’s in enough pain without you addin’ to it right now. She’s restin’, and doesn’t need your stubborn fool of a self bargin’ in.”

“That’s my wife.”

“And that’s my daughter. Don’t pull the relative card, ‘cause I guarantee I can match you tit for tat, brother.” Demeter said, voice sharp. An edge to it he hadn’t heard or noticed before. There was a darkness under her eyes that told him she hadn’t rested in some time. “Bad enough you been sendin’ her up here winter after winter late and her nearly in tears. I don’t know what the hell y’all are doin’ down there to hurt her --.”

“I promised to wait for her.” Hades rumbled, cutting his sister off - again, a mistake, but she didn’t immediately try and rebute. “And I did. And I will. But like hell I’m standin’ down here while she’s up there hurt. I’m gonna see her, and then I’m gonna come down here and we’re gonna talk about the ones responsible.” The last was said far more darkly - a promise, not a threat. Hades shot a look to Hermes, who had stood by silently. “And if you’re that worried ‘bout our marriage, I’m sure the old gossip here can fill ya in if he ain’t already ‘bout what’s changed. Not that it’s your business anyway.”

Demeter made a noise that wasn’t quite a word, but had lessened her grip enough on Hades’ sleeve for him to jerk free. 

“I’m the one who told Hermes to come get you and you’re makin’ me regret it real bad, Hades.” Demeter gathered herself enough to speak again, voice low. Not unlike Persephone’s when she was furious with him. That did give him pause, however - to know Demeter had sent for him. Not exactly something she was known for.

“I appreciate the thought.” He ground out. He’d deal with her likely wrath later, but it wasn’t something high on his priority list even if she’d done the decent thing and made Hermes come for him. For now, Hades had one goal in mind and that was seeing his wife, ensuring she was safe and would recover. He’d been facing his sister’s wrath for centuries, and it would be no different to him now. “If she’s asleep, I won’t wake her. I just need to see her.”

I need to see she’s alive and safe with my own two eyes.

Demeter didn’t stop him this time when Hades ascended the stairs. They creaked beneath his steps too, not unlike the porch ones. The entire house was worn and old and well lived in, a far cry opposite of his home below. Before Persephone, the place had been desolate and cold and just to his tastes. After their marriage she’d attempted to breathe life into the place, make it more lived in - but it was difficult to keep houseplants alive and remember to dust when Hades had so much work on his shoulders. Realms did not run themselves. Eventually she’d stopped trying, around the time the drinking had started. He’d eventually had to hire on a few shades as household staff just to keep the place tidy so he didn’t have to hear Persephone loudly complaining when she returned home. 

He shoved those thoughts from his mind.

Past. In the past. All of it had to stay in the past. They were moving forward. Winter promises to be made true in the spring. Hardest thing he’d ever fucking done, waiting for that six month mark to get there and he was still up top early anyway. That, and trying to figure out how to rip everything he’d built in the past decades. Hadestown couldn’t run the way it was, that much had been made clear. But he’d also learned a lesson - as much as he wanted to surprise his wife with something as big as factories or mines being closed down, he knew it would be far wiser to wait for her return. To build the realm into something together, a place to be something than everlasting hell for any and all. 

Future thoughts. For a future when Persephone would return home, perfectly alive and well.

The door to her room was cracked, first on the left. He remembered which one because there was a great tree outside her window she used to climb down in the middle of the night to sneak away and meet him for a midnight tryst those first summers apart. For a moment, Hades felt nervous. Anxious. Afraid. For no real reason, in truth, except that he feared what might be on the other side. 

He shoved that down too, and carefully slipped into the room.

Things had not changed in Persephone’s room. So he thought; he’d never actually been inside. Like the rest of the house it was well lived in, with a worn, wooden wardrobe instead of a closet where the drawers were a bit crooked and likely didn’t open easy anymore. A mirror hung above another dresser was littered with scrap of makeup, some small bits of jewelry that he only vaguely recognized, and several small plants that were so lush they were nearly spilling out of their pots. He could imagine the sun streaming in through the windows but with the strange haze outside that day, beyond the glass was simply gray. The paint on the window ledges was peeling a bit, the white chips similar but not quite the same as the wall color. Eclectic, but cozy. 

In the midst of it all beneath a patterned quilt on the bed, lay his wife. 

As Demeter had said, she was sleeping. Fitfully, given the small furrow to her brow. Her hair was plastered across the pillow and he could see soft flecks of gold within the ringlets - ichor, transferred from whatever wounds hiding beneath that quilt. Her face had lost some color to it, which made the purplish bruise at her temple stand out even more. Her hands were on top of the quilt and he could see the bandages that covered a good portion of her hands, wrists, and arms - knife wounds, if he had to guess without peeling back the bandages. Her lip was busted too, angry and red. The more Hades took in of her, the more fury that built into his gut like a bonfire roaring to reach the sky. 

He rested a hand against the bedpost, gripping it tightly to keep himself grounded. There was something entirely unsettling about seeing her like this, to know he had failed in protecting her. Sure she’d been hurt before - small things, nothing serious except the times they’d lost their children before they’d been more than a flicker of life. Even then she had not looked nearly so . . . so . . - Hades felt his chest tighten fiercely. Painfully. Not quite in a panic, but not quite relief. 

Gods.

Mindful of his steps, Hades carefully moved to the side of the bed. Persephone didn’t stir. Not that he wanted her to - she needed rest. But he couldn’t help himself to reach out and brush the back of his fingers across her cheek, desperate to feel her warmth for himself. She looked too much like a corpse without the color to her face and the rise and fall of her chest hidden by the quilt. His heart leapt into his throat when her head turned a fraction, her lids twitching before he was graced with the sight of those dark honeyed eyes. Galaxies resides in those eyes, endless and infinite and beautiful. He’d told her as much before, but not often enough. 

“You’re early.” She whispers as her eyes seemed to adjust to take in his appearance. There was a strange cloud to her voice, a slight haze to her expression that reminded him of the fog outside. Then he remembered what Hermes had said - her drink had been drugged. “I missed ya.” He murmured lowly. She blinked slowly a few times and shifted slightly; he didn’t miss the way she grimaced when she tried to grab the blanket with her wrapped hands. Hades silently moved to help her, adjusting her cover in what he hoped was the way she wanted. All his words seemed to have died in his throat, heavy and sticky and unsaid. 

“You didn’t have to come.” She broke the quiet silence again. “I told ‘em -.”

“I know you told ‘em, and I’m here anyway.” Hades shuffled for a moment, uncertain. Like a damned fool. He’d come all this way and he felt like a nuisance more than anything. She hadn’t wanted to see him. Hadn’t wanted him to know. Hadn’t -

“I’m glad you did.”

Hades swallowed thickly, and nodded once - business like. Then he thought better of it and sat down on the very edge of the bed. Not quite crowding her space, but close enough he could reach out and gentle cradle one of her bandaged hands in his own. He was careful, mindful that it felt like he was holding a piece of glass. Persephone never was a fragile soul, but something about the bandages made him hesitant. Worried he’d hurt her. He’d done enough of that, as of late. 

“I didn’t want you to worry.” Persephone continued, cheek pressed against her pillow to look at him. Her fingers twitched in his own, and he brought them to rest in his lap. “Knew I’d find out sooner or later. Would rather be here. Make sure you’re okay.” Hades replied, brushing his thumb gentle over the roughened edges of the bandages at her hand. As a goddess it wouldn’t take long for her to heal, but seeing the injuries - well, it set his teeth on edge. Even if her wounds would only sustain a few hours, it was enough to remind him how very easily he could lose her. Something that did not sit well with him, not at all. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Wasn’t asleep.” She supplied with a sigh heavier than most. “Just tired.”

“Then you oughta be restin’.”

“Suppose you’ve come to take me home to do that.”

Hades, who had been studying her hand in his lap with quiet contentment, lifted his head to meet her gaze. It was a bit clearer now, not crowded by a haze of sleep and whatever drug. His lips pressed into a thin line. He could easily say yes, and scoop her up to carry her back down below without another word. Who could stop him? Demeter, Hermes? Persephone? None of them. He’d feel better having her down below to keep an eye on, to ensure there wouldn’t be lingering effects or a second attempt by some other moron mortals who stepped out of line - shades couldn’t hurt Persephone the way their mortal counterparts could.

“No.” He said simply. “I made my promise. I’ll keep it. I just . . . I needed to see ya, after Hermes told me. I wanted . . . wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Her brows furrowed for a moment as if she didn’t understand. 

“You came to visit?”

“Reckon so.” He murmured. “Should’ve done it sooner. Didn’t know if you wanted me to or not though. Wish I had - could’ve been here to protect you.”

“Don’t you start that self-blamin’ bull, Hades.” Persephone warned in a tone stronger than what he thought her currently capable of. “Ain’t your fault.”

“I promised -”

“And you kept your promise.” She huffed. “You can’t expect me not to get scraped up. I defended myself. You ain’t gotta hover over me and protect me at any given second.”

“No, but I want to. You’re . . . you’re my wife. I’m meant to keep you safe. Happy. Reckon I’ve fucked that up enough that I wanted to keep what promises I could.”

Persephone’s lips twitched. 

“You really ain’t gonna take me back now?”

“I promised to wait. I will. Long . . . long as you come home when you do.”

Persephone’s expression softened.

“Don’t I always?” He felt her fingers tighten briefly in his own, a small flex that meant the world. He gently lifted her bandaged fingers to his lips to press several small kisses to them, lips lingering against her skin. 

“I thought I’d lost you.” He whispered into the silence that had settled again, adjusting into a more comfortable position on the edge of the bed. Persephone shifted too, offering more room that he dare not yet take. Some part of him still assumed she’d come to any sort of sense and kick him out - but that wasn’t what they were doing. They were trying. Supposed to be. 

“Can’t get rid of me that easy, husband.” Persephone gave the slightest flicker of a smile that made the rock in his chest melt. Seeing that smile meant she was okay, in his mind. She’d be just fine. Of course if he lingered for a while to make sure of it  - well, that was neither here nor there. 

“Good.”

“Now you gonna get in this bed with me?”

Hades blinked. Persephone shuffled around, wincing, but continued until she had left a decent amount of space open on the bed (which, was impressive given the size of the bed). She looked expectant, and it took Hades a moment to understand her intent. 

“I - d’you really want that?”

“Do it before I change my mind. I’ve had a bad damn day.”

Hades hesitated, but didn’t disobey. Shifting awkwardly, he moved to lay in the space she had offered. It was a tighter squeeze, but Persephone didn’t seem bothered. Instead, she rolled onto her side and pressed herself against his chest before he could even adjust. It had been some time since they’d shared a bed, much less been close as this. Yet, it seemed there had been no time at all that had passed in that time. Hades allowed himself the freedom of wrapping an arm gingerly around his wife - and she did not protest. 

“I missed you.” She murmured, voice muffled against his chest. “You’re still on my shitlist, but I’ve missed you.”

Hades chuckled faintly, and pressed a kiss to her hair. 

“Wouldn’t expect anythin’ less, lover.”

“Stay, then? I know you’re gonna go and have your meltdown at the two idiots but - stay for a while, here?”

[enithinggoes]

Wanderer’s Refuge, chapter 2: caught red-handed

Agatha and Ursa knew they wouldn’t be able to stay flying for long, by morning they were already starting to feel hungry and thirsty, so Ursa pointed them to a nearby town she’d heard of so they could get supplies and maybe some maps of the country, they brought the train down as they approached and parked it hidden in a small clearing, then the girls went together into town, looking to find some means to get by just for the near future, as luck would have it, a very important opportunity was waiting just around the corner…

A young red haired man who preferred to go just by his first name was leaning against a wall, gathering his thoughts. He had the plan, he had the smarts, he had the stuff, he just needed the extra hands, someone desperate enough to take the risks and not ask about a big cut…

“We’re gonna need a way to make money.” Said Ursa, pushing Agatha’s wheelchair along the busy streets “and I don’t think people are gonna be super keen on hiring two teenagers that came out of nowhere.”

The man reacted instantly upon hearing them, “Perfect!”, and pushed himself off the wall, catching the coin he was flipping with a flourish and quickly turning to the girls and extending a gloved hand, he wore a dapper suit and a cheeky smile. “Good morning, young ladies! Haven’t seen you around here, are you two looking for a quick job?”

Agatha was a bit stunned by this sudden encounter, so it was all she could do to put her hand out, which the young man vigorously shook.

“Who are you and what the hell do you want with us?” said Ursa, clearly on edge.

“The name’s Lawrence, and there’s no need to be so rude. I want to take you two to lunch, my treat; I know this great place downtown. There, we can discuss a way you can both make 100 shillings in less than a week.”

The two girls glanced at each other, this man was twelve kinds of shady, but 200 total pounds was enough for not only basic supplies, but probably a few mattresses and an ice box, maybe even some coal(they hypothesized that maybe giving the train’s engine some steam might make Agatha less tired from flying).

“We’ll talk over lunch, but we do reserve the right to back out even if you pay for us!” Ursa answered, eyeing Lawrence suspiciously

“Of course, of course. Right this way, then!” The redhead did something close to a twirl turning back and leading them quickly down an alley.

At the restaurant, Lawrence had impeccable table manners, even better than Agatha’s, and definitely than Ursa’s, who was scarfing down an expensive cut of beef when he asked “So, I’ve told you ladies my name, it would be rude if you didn’t give me yours.”

“I’m Agatha Clarke, it’s a pleasure to meet you. And this is Ursa Martin,” said the white-haired girl, Ursa just mumbled in agreement while still chewing.

“Now, an illustrious coal baron, mr. Robert Evans, is coming to town with an entourage to visit the local mines, which have been drying up for a few decades. And I’d wager, with proper prestidigitation we can make a deal with him that shall be quite lucrative for us.” Lawrence explained with a devilish smile.

“So you’re a scammer.” Ursa said matter-of-factly.

“I prefer to think of myself as a merchant that really knows how to make a sale.” He said, entirely unperturbed.

“Alright, I’m down to scam a coal baron, what’s the game?”

“I’m glad you’ve asked, partner.”

Over the next few days, Lawrence brought the girls over to where he’d been staying, it was a small hotel room, surprising considering the apparent quality of his suit, Ursa had to carry Agatha’s chair up, since there were only stairs. There, he showed them a few large bags of oddly shaped rocks he’d collected plus some soot-based paint, “made it myself!” he commented with a wink.

They spent their time painting the rocks very thoroughly to look as much like coal as possible, while putting them out to dry, Agatha innocently asked “Sir Lawrence, I hope you don’t mind but why do you keep all your belongings in bags and pouches, is there something wrong with the room’s lockers?”

“Well, you see, I just like to keep my things close at hand.” The red-haired man seemed bashful, like that was only half an answer, still, Agatha didn’t want to pry. “You’re a very wholesome woman, aren’t you? I was actually a bit worried you’d be against my business model.”

“Well, you see, sir, I don’t think a baron of anything is going to be hurting for money anytime soon. And we don’t have many options in the present moment.” Agatha avoided mentioning she was already, by all accounts, a criminal.

 Lawrence put his knuckle to his chin and said “I see, I guess I misjudged you a little. Well, then we’d best get back to work, we have some rehearsing to do!” He felt like he understood her a bit more, but cut the conversation short, he didn’t like getting too attached to his “coworkers”

The three of them slept in Lawrence’s cramped room, Agatha and Ursa wanting to avoid the hassle of moving back to the train and the possibility of revealing their magical artifice, who knows how Lawrence could react?

The guests shared a sleeping bag of his cuddled together on the floor, while Lawrence rested on his bed, never taking off his gloves or turning his back to the door.

When a total of 5 days had passed, the final preparations were made in the morning and the three headed close to the city’s entrance, when they saw a man in a strikingly black suit accompanied by three burly lads, his eyes and nose turned slightly upwards as he strode, Ursa and Lawrence, both wearing dirty overalls, walked down onto the street, shouting at each other.

“Ya can’t sell those, those are all that’s left of Pa!” said Ursa, faking the accent people imagined miners to have.

“Well he worked himself ta death findin’ these so we could live a decent life!” retorted Lawrence, carrying a large, metal bucket full of painted pebbles.

“We could take over this whole town if ya just worked in that mine for a few more weeks!” she grabbed onto Lawrence’s shoulders, shaking him.

“We ain’t gonna be alive for more weeks if Ah don’t sell these!” He pushed her away, purposefully letting the rocks shake and make noise inside the bucket.

The baron’s bodyguards were about to push the two away from his path when, with an elegant, but firm hit of his cane onto the sidewalk, he commanded them to stop. Lawrence and Ursa turned to face him, feigning surprise.

“Now now, there’s no need for such vulgarism. Young man, would you kindly show me what you’re holding there?” He spoke to Lawrence slowly, like one speaks to a child.

As Ursa pretended to hold Lawrence back, he proudly showed the contents of the bucket, saying “This is what Pa used to call ‘charboné eterinow’, said he’d heard of it when he was young like me, burns as long as ya like, it does.”

“’Charbon eternél’, hmm, the eternal coal” Mr. Evans was clearly proud of his french, “could you show it to me in action?”

Lawrence put the bucket on the floor, smiling widely as he bragged “of course, mistah! Let me just get it burnin’ real quick” he took a little flask of moonshine from his pocket and let some drip onto the inside of the bucket, before setting it on fire with a simple tinderbox and quickly removing his hand before the flames flared to life.

“Easy there!” He quickly leaned back, his hands hovering at the sides of the bucket as they watched the flames cover the entirety of the bottom of the bucket, making the rocks hard to even look without feeling pain in one’s eyes.

Ursa was very nervous about this step, in theory, there should be nothing stopping the flame from fizzling out once all the alcohol was consumed, but Lawrence had assured her he “had a plan”. Lo and behold, the fire didn’t go out, instead it flared beautifully up, almost burning the coal baron’s clothes as it seemed to reach towards his eyes before stabilizing inside the bucket.

Whatever it was that Lawrence had done, it seemed that he was quite anxious too, as he stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth in concentration and quickly started to sweat, thought that might have been from the heat, while his hands hovered near the bucket for more than two minutes before he quickly turned it upside down, fast enough for none of the rocks to go flying.

  “That should put it out in a few” said Lawrence, holding the bucket while the oxygen from the bucket depleted until he raised it up to reveal the still perfectly intact rocks underneath.

“See! Not one bit a wear n’ tear! Pretty special, right?” Lawrence turned looked up towards Robert Evans.

The coal baron hid his amazement by biting his lip and muttered “Special indeed.”

“Well, waddaya think? Pa told us these would be worth a fortune, how’s 600 sound?” Lawrence named a tall price, all part of negotiations.

“No, no, this is certainly impressive, but 600 is too much for a novelty, I’ll be generous with you and give you 300.”

“That’s a done deal!” The men shook hands, and after the money was exchanged, he paid Ursa and said he still had “some details to deal with really quick” so she and Agatha could go back to the room or wherever they wanted now.

Ursa met up with Agatha nearby, and excitedly told her about how the plan had worked, how they had enough money now to buy the things they would need to live for a while. Agatha asked about Lawrence, but Ursa said they shouldn’t expect him to hang around for long after the job, he was clearly a man with no interest in roots, ready to leave at any time.

“Guess that doesn’t make him very different from us.” Agatha commented with a sympathetic smile.

“huh… guess not.” Commented Ursa, made somewhat aware of her cynicism.

Meanwhile, Lawrence was making the “real” part of this plan come to fruition, he brought mr. Evans(at his request), to the “source” of the “charbon eternél”. A field of bare stone around a dark cave, were he’d half-buried, just conspicuously enough, dozens of painted rocks just like the ones in the bucket he carried, he counted on the baron’s arrogance to make him believe Lawrence wouldn’t see the potential something like a “mine of ever-burning coal” could have to completely destroy the current state of the economy.

“Here it is mister, this is where Pa found ‘em, spent 25 years looking for ‘em, he did.” Lawrence said, pointing around the area on the outskirts of town.

“I see,” said Robert Evans, “the site of such an interesting find should definitely be preserved, would you be willing to sell it to me for about 500 pounds?”

“Fahve hundred! Why that’s too kind, sir! I’d love to give it to you, I’ve been trying to get off this town and make it in the big city.” Lawrence rapidly shook Evans’ hand, keeping up the farce that he was the one being tricked with a lower value than this could really be worth, his plan had worked perfectly.

Lawrence went back to his room, with a score like this, 600 pounds all to himself, he really should take the chance to exit the scene as quick as he could, before anyone caught on and came to ask him for refunds.

He put his suit back on and gathered his things, his clothes, his sleeping bag, his toothbrush, his switchblade, any trace of the time he’d spent here, the only thing he left behind was a note with “good luck out there, don’t look for me.” For the people who had been his roommates for the last week, he pushed a pang of guilt at giving them such a small share of the score and just disappearing without a word away with the thought that this was just “the game”, and he’d just learned to play it well.

Lawrence thought a bit about where he could go now, probably somewhere with a big market and lots of gullible tourists. Yeah, that’d be good for a few more months, maybe even a year and a half.

After picking out a town south of where he was, he bought his ticket and waited inside the station, it would still a few hours until the train he’d booked came, but he didn’t want to risk any unfavorable encounters by walking around outside.

Unfortunately that didn’t stop two burly men, who he recognized as the coal baron’s bodyguards, from coming up to him and telling him to get up and come with them. Ok, a little snag, nowhere to just run away, no trains for a long time, but it’s fine, he can weasel his way out of this.

They brought him into an alleyway, where he met mr. Robert Evans again, he didn’t seem upset, but was definitely not friendly, as soon as Lawrence saw him, he started saying “I can explain,”.

“So,” interrupted the baron, “It appears to me you were not fully honest with your description of this ‘ever-burning coal’, were you?” He showed one of the painted rocks with a part broken off, showing the gray center.

“Alright, you got me, I was trying to pull one over on you, you’ve gotta know it’s a common thing around here, that’s the game, and you won! I’ll pay you back with 50% extra, promise.”

The coal baron took a step forward, smirking at Lawrence dropping the façade he’d adopted when speaking to him. “I see, but I think I have a better idea of how you could… reward me for this “win”. Would you mind telling me how you got that fire to keep burning that long?”

“It was the alcohol!” Lawrence sputtered out, “I-it is mixed with a slower burning substance that kept it bright longer!”

“Seize his hands, please.” The two bodyguards grabbed onto Lawrence’s arms, he was shoved to the ground, bruising his chin and getting his arms held behind his back, his left glove was pulled off, revealing crimson-red fingers.

“Ah, the devil’s hand, I suspected it when I noticed your gloves were the only thing you wore on both occasions where we met, so I think I know a way you can repay me even better:” Evans put his foot on top of Lawrence’s head, pressing it to the floor. “You see, I happen to know there’s a 500 pound reward for capturing your kind, dead or alive, so along with taking back the money you stole from me, I’ll be making quite a big profit.

Lawrence tried to look forward, find something he could do to escape, at the end of the alleyway, he could just barely see two girls in new clothes, one of them in a wheelchair, maybe it was Agatha and Ursa! They could help him, right? No, he left them before, and maybe they even knew he’d lowballed them, why would they risk their lives for someone like him?

“Anything to say for yourself, monster? Aren’t you gonna squirm some more? Or can you at least face death like a man”

He couldn’t find anything, after all, he’d tried everything before, nobody ever listened, ever saw him like a person after knowing what his hands meant, they called him a living timebomb, a danger to society, he’d grown used to it by now, he could try to burn them all to death, become fitting of his description, use this supposed power that had made him a target all his life…

Before he could finish weighing if he’d rather risk trying to escape while they dragged him to the local precinct or give up on trying to subvert their judgment of him by just leaning into the raging fire, the weight over his body suddenly disappeared as Ursa launched her whole body with a burst of steam it into Robert Evans, her elbow connecting with his back and the force throwing him into his bodyguards and knocking them off their feet.

“Can you run?” she crouched down and asked him while untying his wrists.

“Certainly better than the alternative.” Lawrence answered, already getting up onto his knees and putting his gloves back on.

They ran out of the alley and Lawrence followed Ursa as she wheeled Agatha out of town and towards the nearby woods, he didn’t know where they were going but if they had a route to get away from here it certainly beat staying.

When they came to a clearing, the young man had a hard time believing what he saw, a two wagon train in the middle of a forest.

“Get in!” Said Ursa, lifting Agatha’s chair onto the train as Lawrence followed them inside

“I don’t know if I can give it liftoff, last time we were already in the air when it manifested.” Agatha went to the train’s caboose and lifted herself to the conductor’s chair, focusing on visualizing the train in flight as she’d seen before. The train started moving as its tracks began to form, but it couldn’t quite accelerate quick enough to beat the upwards incline, the boiler made a roaring noise, like a starved tiger crying out in rage.

“Shit, I forgot to get any actual coal while we were out!” said Ursa, looking for something flammable she could part with, maybe they’d have enough time before someone came for Lawrence to go out and cut down some trees.

Lawrence clutched his own arms, hesitating a bit to do something he knew would be an unnecessary risk, but he owed at least some help to these people, right? “You’ve already collected the necessary water for the boiler right?”

“Yes, we’ve even already filled it, we just need a flame to light it,” replied Agatha, still concentrating on trying to move the train through her sheer will.

Lawrence pulled back his sleeves, he didn’t want to burn them with an effort this large, he extended his hands into the boiler and flames entirely engulfed the inside of it, barely licking at his forearms. The heat quickly started transforming the water in the boiler into steam, launching the train into motion forwards and upwards.

Agatha and Ursa stared at Lawrence’s hands, marveling at the beauty of the flames and their incredible power before Agatha had to focus on guiding her machine and Ursa had to hold on to avoid falling over from the sudden acceleration.

 After they’d picked up some good altitude and speed, Lawrence pulled his hands out of the boiler and turned to look out the window, seeing the world from above for the first time, right here, it felt like nobody could hurt him, no one could look down or him or hunt him down for a strange birthmark he never asked for, it was beautiful.

“So…” He turned to Agatha, “how long can I stay here, could you at least drop me off at the next town you come to?”

“Oh.” Agatha didn’t turn away from the blue sky she was plowing through, “You may leave if you’d like, sir, but you’re welcome to stay as well.”

Lawrence did a double-take, why would anybody take this risk? Put their own lives at stake sheltering a man who could never not be a target for the rest of his life? “Really”

Ursa came up to him, tapping him on the shoulder, “yeah man, we’re not throwing you back out there.” She pointed at the town, now tiny from the window of the train.

Lawrence smiled, putting his forearm in front of his eyes, maybe to shelter them from the sun, or to shelter himself from showing his watery eyes.

“Thank you.”

[beyondtheciouds]

.29.

Part 2 of 3

The ground was leaden with frozen leaves; frosted from the frigid air outside the greenhouse. The sky was mint and blue; a hint of sun peeking out of the snow filled clouds. Birds of all sorts clung to the damaged statues; overhearing and hidden among the ice coated vegetation.

The faint keystrokes of a piano lingered in the air; the aching melody curling and spearing like serpents around the dead rosebuds along the briar patches in the old gardens; a private melancholy sonata on the wind meant for her.

Lucie listened patiently; intently to the tune. She imagined herself in a fairytale, the princess scrambling to save her true love.

This was a mistake. Matthew was a mistake.

Winter had come without greetings from the North and Lucie shivered, watching her breath steam the clear glass of Jesse's casket. She looked down, forlorn at the undisturbed sleeping prince. Impossible or not, she was going to try to save him too. "Please?"

"No, Lucie."

"But Jamie," Lucie said, forcing her voice to be steady instead of the whiney voice she had often used as a child, "Grace knows what spells are going to work. Trust me. "

James was not pleased. It wasn't that he didn't trust his sister; it was more like he dreaded giving her permission. He knew he was watching a tornado. Soon it would pick up speed and spin out of control and she'd end up like their taid. Marks stripped; exiled.

James couldn't bare the thought of Lucie no longer a Shadowhunter; of her leaving their family and friends. He felt the slow propel of protectiveness flounder for a second before he fell back to earth. "No."

"Why not?" Came the response from Lucie; a whiney shrill sound that immediately made him feel twelve again.

James distinctly eyed the casket albeit wearily before shaking his head at his sister, his hands grapling at the tie around his neck; loosening. "I really don't believe that this is good idea."

Matthew huffed in the corner of the cramped room like he'd been listening. His fingers; swollen and bruised had been playing with several dead leaves on one of Tatiana's mysterious herb plants. His chest heaved in and out under his thick coal coat like he needed to catch his temper. Shade covered his gold hair and eyebrows; sunlight hidden with a wool cap. His green eyes seemed to glow neon against the shadow of the witchlight Lucie held. "No good will come of this, mark my words Lu. You should just let go and bury him so Belial is unable to use his body."

"Good idea," Cordelia said as she tossed her long, maroon braid over her shoulder. She was inclined to agree with the boys more often these days. She sighed and moved away from Matthew's side. She slipped by Christopher to stand next to James.

In her haste, she brushed Matthew's thigh with her hand and a deep blush flushed his face at the loose touch.

The longing glance Matthew flashed her didn't escape either Herondale's attention.

Cordelia crossed her arms and her velvet gloves slipped down exposing her everlasting toned tan skin. She rolled up the arm of her winter coat and adjusted the sleeve of her thick dress underneath.

Lucie could tell right away Cordelia wasn't going to budge.

"He's right, Lucie.. and you know it. This is dangerous territory, even for you. I mean, the obvious is that you could both be exiled for resurrection by the Clave. Would you risk your family; your life for a Blackthorn?" Cordelia asked, frustration unmasked in her voice.

Grace rolled her eyes at the dramatic display Cordelia was putting on. Did she really care about being a Shadowhunter? No.

Grace couldn't help but imagine a life where everything didn't revolve around killing demons for the greater good of mankind. She expected Lucie felt the same. "I am well aware, Cordelia of our plight. Thank you for your exhausted opinion. "

Grace scowled at Cordelia when she smiled unkindly. The two girls turned and stared at Lucie, expecting her answer.

Neither side was budging.

Lucie pursed her lips, unwilling to contradict her brother or Grace. She didn't need to say anything really, her face said it all. "Well, I...."

"Why isn't this glass box frozen? By my calculations this should be covered with ice." Christopher furrowed his eyebrows and interrupted Lucie. He was focused as he leaned down, close to the glass to get a closer look at the body within. His lavender eyes were serious as they darted up and down the length of the coffin. "Are you sure he's dead Luce? He doesn't look dead to me. Perhaps I could open the casket and check his vital signs? Grace do you want to open it for me, please?"

Thomas shuffled his feet anxiously. James stared pointedly at the casket.

Thomas caught James's hint and feigned a look of horror as Grace glared sharply at Christopher.

Thomas descretly elbowed Christopher in the rib cage before he heard a scratching noise. His hazel eyes hesitated before he glanced to the doorway.

What Thomas saw should have shocked him, but it didn't. He saw a shadow shaped figure creep into the crowded the room of the greenhouse; ink seeping into the cracks in the ceiling as if it were merely paper. Thomas tugged on Christopher's arm, exasperated. "Kit! Kit! Look!"

Christopher looked up, but it was obvious to Thomas this shadow creature was invisible to the others.

"I don't see anything!" Christopher said.

Silently the monster's red demon eyes sinisterly glowed in the dark following Thomas's every move with a curtain of curiosity that was overwhelming. Thomas shivered as the demon watched and loomed over the friends like a dark thunder cloud; gauging their session.

The demon watched until it grew frustrated.

Thomas made a gagging sound as shadowy hands aburptly flung out; fingers decorated with claws Thomas imagined were made of daggers wrapped tight around his neck.

Grace groaned, watching James with an iron glare. Christopher clutched his side; a delayed response. Thomas gasped for air, his face turning purple.

Lucie gasped and Cordelia screamed. "Thomas!?"

Thomas pointed to his neck and fainted as the demon laughed; hideously long and released him.

James leaped up and his hands grabbed Thomas around the waist before they both hit the ground.

Grace was still staring at James, shock wrecking her placid face. It was apparent she was ignoring the hyperventilating Thomas. She frowned and glanced tentatively at Lucie instead of getting involved.

Cordelia was on her knees and bent over Thomas, telling him to breathe. James was sitting on the dirt floor. Thomas's eyes fluttered, his head rolling from side to side in James's hands. Matthew was muttering at Cordelia's ear. His hands gesturing obviously to the frightened Lucie.

"You don't have to help me. I can resurrect my brother, myself." Grace said stiffly, swallowing her pride. She needed Lucie. Needed her power and she promised Belial she could persuade Lucie. She put on her hopeless act.

Lucie frowned, not realizing the baby inside her was a life insurance policy to a prince of Hell. Her blue eyes were looking away from Thomas now that his breathing was under control. Her gaze slipped to Jesse's face behind the glass.

She promised him. A promise made under a full moon. A promise not to be broken so she had to smash that glass coffin no matter what the price. "Yes I do," she said quietly. "Grace, you don't deserve my help but I owe your brother a debt I could only hope to repay."

Cordelia and James both looked up simultaneously. Their faces were white as Bridget's sheets. Lucie couldn't look at them as their voices said, "What are you talking about?"

Matthew frowned; his face falling like a star. This was yet another secret Lucie kept from him in a series of lies between the pair. "Yes, Luce. Please. Do tell."

Grace grabbed Lucie's arm swiftly as she opened her mouth to explain but she knew it was too late.

She had put her foot on her mouth and the baby inside kicked her in the kidney to send the point home.

Grace's gray eyes were ice cold as her long fingernails dug into the sleeve of Lucie's heavy winter coat. "What did Jesse give you?"

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course, chapter 6) Till the bone

.-.-.

Piglet’s will to keep Ivar alive turned out to be relentless. Her guard was high up as she crossed her makeshift line, skittish as a deer; dark eyes large and breath shallow, lips slightly ajar. She nearly dropped the steaming content of her cup when Ivar was caught by another coughing fit. 

It would have earned her a mocking laugh from Ivar’s side, were it not for the lack of strength to lift his head up. Lucidity was an ability he no longer possessed. There was a Mara riding his chest; the demonic creature made his chest heavy; entangled his lungs and riddled his sleep with nightmares. Panic rose in waves between the moments of regaining consciousness and drifting back into the Mara’s realm of nightmares. 

“Mother?”Ivar muttered when hands tenderly lifted his head to rest on comforting thighs, “I’m sorry, I should have never abandoned you.” Ivar’s voice was nothing more than a whimper, “father’s death… I should have died too.” 

His quivering lips were pressed around a wooden rim and scalding hot water was forced down his throat. The smell and taste was ferocious, that of strong herbaceous. Ivar gagged and fought, but the fever had burned away all his strength. 

Feebly, he arched his head to the side, but those tender hands were ruthless; merging his head in between strong thighs and pinching his nose until Ivar nearly choked and gasped for air. 

This cruel ritual became a routine of four times a day. Ivar was being force fed a variety of soups; broth with seasonal vegetables, soaked pieces of bread and herbs. Every waking moment was a struggle; his phlegm filled lungs were desperate for oxygen and the fever continued to scorch his body and ravaged his mind. At times he saw his mother’s morose eyes behind the dark lashes of Piglet. Every shadow seemed to be possessed by feathered creatures, their gurgling croaks keeping Ivar on edge and petrified. It took Ivar six days to fight off the Mara and regain enough strength to slap the wooden bowl away from his face.

Piglet took that statement of defiance as her cue to retreat back behind the line. Her care however did not lessen; for reasons unknown to Ivar she was dedicated to nurture him back to health. It was one of the things that occupied Ivar’s thoughts. Tit for tat, in life no-one does anything without getting something in return. Ivar’s sickly condition was not doing her any favours. The Giant would come by every day to inspect the coughing patient, to see if he was worth all the time and trouble. The Giant would not leave out any occasion to either bark or spit at Piglet; who’d obediently make herself as small as possible and simply take full blame for Ivar’s slow recovery. She wore the bruises of Ivar’s dreadful healing process and spent half her ration on him. She must be starving herself so Ivar could gain back little of his strength. “Stupid thrall, if you’d know what I’d do to you if I wasn’t shackled,” Ivar sneered at her as he picked on his bread; it tasted stale, but everything was better then a howling stomach. Piglet sat across from him against the wall, petting a lamb, it’s wool such a contrast to her dark arms. The lamb’s wobbly legs were still nascent and thin, but functioning well. As it’s mother bleated and the youngster squirmed to get free. Unbalanced, the lamb hobbled back to the motherly call. Ivar stared at the little legs, each one a spindle of bones and skin. Ivar channeled down to his own legs, the similarities were not to be missed. The only difference was that the legs of the lamb were able to carry its body weight with ease. 

Ivar’s legs were useless and deformed, twisted in odd angles due to erupting spasms and stiffness. He used to fracture them when he was a child, how could he not with so many older brothers, eager to fight and frolic, as all kids do. All kids, but Ivar, because his physical condition would not allow him to. He hated his lower body for it; the lack of muscles made his bones stick out, the skin of his shin bones translucent and delicate from being shielded off by his braces. Some of his toes were crooked and repulsive to look at. His lower body; everything from the waist down, was useless and ugly. And if he survived, he’d cut it all off. 

  Ivar noticed Piglet watching him stare at his own deformities. She did that a lot, ogling at him from the curtains of her headscarf. It pissed him off greatly. If looks could kill, Piglet would be halfway to Valhalla, or whatever afterlife her religion offered. His scowl formed a toothy smile on Piglet’s face. Cunningly, she redrew her makeshift line on the floor with the heel of her foot, regarding her safety. “Hamar,” she addressed him, while sitting down Indian-styled. From a hidden pocket, she retrieved a handful of dumpy bones. Ivar recognised them as knucklebones from a sheep as Piglet dropped the bones on the dusty floor. Unimpressed, Ivar stared at the bones and then back up at her. It did not lessen her enthusiasm; teeth glinting as her smile grew wider. Picking up one of the bones she let her thumb rub over the smooth upper side. 

“Wahid,” she spoke, holding up her index finger. She then pointed at three bones, all with their stubby sides up. 

“Arbe,” she held up four fingers. “Sitta,” she pointed at the remaining knucklebone, with it’s ear-shaped side up and showed Ivar six fingers. “Wahid, arbe, sitta,” Piglet held up her fingers with every word and drew tally marks with her other hand on the dusty floor. “Tiseat eashar.” She was teaching him a game, one quite familiar with the game he knew as tali; the difference was that her game added up all different sides, while tali’s rule was to throw and catch the bones in various manners.

Now that she got his undivided attention, Piglet hastily recollected the bones, but froze as her fingers crossed the makeshift line to pick up the last one. She held her breath and scanned over his on-edge demeanor. She left the knucklebone that had crossed the safety border and placed the recollected ones along the line. “You want me to play games with you?” Ivar scoffed, wondering if the savage lost her mind or will to live. Did she seriously think he’d consider participating in any way that might make them appear as equals? “Then why don’t you come a little closer?” Ivar purred innocently and motioned her with his index and middle finger to come closer, “c’mon, I’m not a threat,” the words escaped his lips sweet as honey.” Bowing forwards, Ivar lay his hand on his stiff legs, “I am but a cripple,” extracting his arms he held up his palms and nudged his chin towards the knucklebones. “If you want me to play, you need me to get the dices, c’mon now,” he cooed. Piglet remained marble, indecisive as a startled deer, her muscles grew tense, all set to flee if provoked. “Come closer, so I can gut you like the little piglet you are!” The last set of words turned into a low growl and Ivar launched his body forwards, hands trained to adjust to the unevenness of the ground. His legs however curled up due to the pain coming from his knees, they’d still had to get used to the inevitable scraping over the floor. 

Piglet yelped and faltered back, cowering away into the corner near the door. The whimpering response of his useless attack was pleasing Ivar, although his shackles had embedded themselves into the skin of his ankles, tearing open old cuts; he roared in victory. Piglet covered her mouth with her hands as Ivar puffed out his chest and screamed again. A wooden bowl, chunks of dirty, rocks, everything within arms reach was lifted and thrust into her direction. 

Piglet managed to use her wrists as a shield and shrank further away from him. The madness erupting within the barn startled the animals and Ivar’s raging sounds were joined with the panicked bleating of the cattle. The noises alerted the masters and once the keys were turned, Ivar’s outburst came to a sudden end. 

Two peasants overpowered him with ease, his upper body still weakened due to hunger and overcoming pneumonia. “Don’t you dare touch me, pathetic human beings! I am a prince!” Ivar yapped and tried to sink his teeth into the wrist of one of the men. He managed to tear open his opponent’s sleeve, but the small triumph came with a terrible price. The Giant merged in between the two peasants and stomped his foot down onto Ivar’s right bicep. The immense pressure on his upper limb casted out Ivar’s rage and brought him back exactly where he was; an insignificant slave, trampled down by it’s master. Powerless, utterly and completely powerless against the men who enslaved him.

An eel slithered from his stomach up to his lungs, it’s skin touched by ice and Ivar choked up. 

In slow motion, the Giant craned his axe up, all the way over his shoulders. The man’s dead grey eyes did not focus on the fear stricken eyes of his victim, but on Ivar’s right wrist. Ivar felt his jaw drop and the eel must have eaten his tongue; because no words came out to express his pleads. To please stop, to please I’ll do anything, because if he’d lose his right hand, his entire life from this moment on, would be useless. The eel’s tail clutched his chest and slithered itself around his heart, as the Giant’s axe struck down. A crack of splintering bones silenced all sounds within the shed and Ivar felt bile rising up his throat while his trousers soaked in his own piss. 

Ivar expected pain, reflectively he clenched his teeth and squeezed his tear-ridden eyes shut. Bracing himself for the upcoming smell of blood, the sight of his own right hands spasming detached from his body on the floor and for fire to merge through every never of his wrist. 

But none of that came and laughter filled up the room. When Ivar dared to peek through his lashes, he saw the three men tower over him, nudging one another towards Ivar’s pathetic squirming state and piss stained trousers. The Giant’s axe rested upon his shoulder, it’s blade still impeccably clean.  

Ivar’s head snapped to the right side of his body. His right hand was balled into a fist, but still very much attached to his wrist. Beside him, laid a wooden bowl, split perfectly into two. 

The Giant’s bouldering laugh stopped abruptly and he brought the tip of his axe down to Ivar’s throat, applying just enough pressure to tear his skin. Ivar did not need to learn Dietsc to understand the meaning behind the Giant’s words as the man started to speak. The message was clear: obey, or lose a limb. And Ivar did something uncharacteristic; he nodded and surrendered. It was not worth losing either his right hand or his life. Not like this, not with him and his opponent in a state like this. 

Ivar cradled his right hand tightly to his chest, curling up into a ball while his shoulders shrugged from grief. He’d given every bit of his willpower to remain strong, keep his head up as all Ragnarsons would. But this was simply too much. He was entirely alone in this godforsaken place, with only a wildling as a witness of his breakdown. 

.-.-.

A/N: A show of hands if you thought Ivar was going to lose his. I think this chapter was the beginning of the end. Sure, ever since being sold as a slave, Ivar grew hungry. And cold. And hurt. But I think in this chapter he realised quite brutally how absolutely powerless he is. How his life lost it’s value, completely.

Oh and the Mara, again I took a dive into Scandinavian folklore. The Mara is a demonic creature believed to be the bringer of nightmares. With Ivar’s fever and hallucinations it seemed like the perfect creature to summon up.  Please share your thoughts, I’d love to know what you think of the story. xoxoxo Nukyster 

The tagged:  @xbellaxcarolinax @youbloodymadgenius @saldelys @shannygoatgruff @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @readsalot73 https://lauraaan182.tumblr.com/ @lauraaan182

[5lazarus]

Nonsexual acts of intimacy - (1) Taking a bath together, while (2) reading a book together

as soon as I got this I saw a quodo post so you’re getting some unholy quark bathing in odo while odo reads a bodice ripper and I cannot tell if I’m ashamed or gleeful that I wrote this going to crosspost to AO3 here

Quark knows he can be anywhere. Warily he removes his towel and steps into the hot spring. Odo could even be the water, the man’s got no boundaries in the heights and depths of his obsession. Quark hisses at the heat, but sinks into the pool slowly. His eyes dart around, searching for wrong-way currents. The pool ripples as it should, and Quark is almost disappointed. He would have liked to catch him out.

They weren’t at Risa, alas. They were at yet another symposium on the economics of the Occupation, at one of Bajor’s better moons. The Nagus wanted a representative, so he went, and Odo followed--“for security reasons,” so he claimed, as if it were possible to broker a transport deal with the Orion Syndicate under so many tense Bajoran eyes. It was more than possible, it was supposed to happen, and it still would--Odo wouldn’t have catch him out, he had delegated the actual contract negotiations to Leeta. When in doubt, send in the shop steward. The union would take a small percentage of the cut, the deal would come off, and he could leverage the money they’d make to argue against the incremental raise they wanted for the next solar year. Holiday bonuses? Quark snorted and sunk his lobes deep into the mineral water. He’d let the Grand Exchequer run bankrupt before capitulating to Rom again. Eyes barely visible over the steaming water, Quark glowered. Odo was afoot and he knew it, and he could not get his back to relax. The water caressed invitingly at all through scrunched-up muscles, but Odo crossed his arms and brooded. Where could the Constable be? He checked the water again, looking for discolorations and weirdly-static ripples. Ferengi had been quasi-crustacean, every primal instinct was screeching at him to watch out, he knew something was there. Quark stood up suddenly. “Odo!” he growled. “I know you’re there, you pervert!” He smirked to himself: that’ll get him. The water split and swirled, and out rose his least favorite goo monster, still forming the facsimile of clothes. Quark rolled his eyes. The man was so buttoned-up he couldn’t even form genitalia, let along a semblance of a chest, or--Quark grinned devilishly--a nipple, if he ever knew what those were. Odo posed, arms crossing, projecting an aura of unbothered authority. Quark stared steadily back, conscious of the fact that he was naked. Odo gazed at a spot beyond Quark’s head. “Quark!” Odo rumbled. “I know you’re up to something.” “Oh, clearly,” Quark said. “I was taking a bath, you weirdo. I could sue you for this, you know. Invasion of privacy and--sexual harassment. I’d like to see the look on Captain Sisko’s face when that brief crosses his desk.” Odo made a disgusted noise. “I was merely...relaxing when you stepped into me.” Quark thought, sounds dirty. He snorted. “And you were just too embarrassed to let me know we were mingling?” Odo put his hands up. “You didn’t give me a chance before--disrobing. I was trying to leave discreetly.” Quark laughed. He was obsessed with him. “Well, leave. Unless you’re enjoying the view. Then I will charge.” He sank back down into the water, grinning. It was good to fluster the Constable, and even better to get him to loosen him up a little. This would be enough blackmail for at least one discount cargo bay rental. If Odo could spit, he would have. “Don’t flatter yourself, Quark.” He sat down at the other end of the pool and pulled out a pad from the undergrowth. Quark raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t been lying, then. He really was too easy to fluster, if just a little nudity got him this inept. That was something he could work with. He just thought he liked more humanoid women, that’s all. “What’re you reading?” Quark asked. Odo sniffed. “Good book?” Quark tried again. Odo made a face, but continued to make a show of reading. He flipped the digital page and hummed to himself, offkey. It was the Internationale. O’Brien had taught Leeta who taught everyone, last week: fucking Federation types. “Do you mind?” Quark demanded. “I’m trying to relax here!” “And I’m trying to read,” Odo retorted. He looked smug, and continued to hum communist propaganda under his breath. Quark scowled. The Federation Labor Council had discontinued use of the song in memorial ceremonies after linking with the Andorian Workers Collective and the Betazed Union Network, but O’Brien and Bashir still sang it when they got particularly rowdy at the bar, especially after Rom won the union drive. It was annoying. Odo knew it was annoying. He was doing it on purpose, and Quark had to get back at him. Quark smirked, a devilish thought swirling. He patted the water’s surface twice. Odo twitched. Quark continued to splash idly. “Quark,” Odo growled. Quark splashed innocently. “What?” “The splashing.” “I have a right to splash,” Quark said. “If you’re humming, I can splash. There’s no law against that.” “There should be,” Odo said. “Being a public nuisance.” Quark traced a spiral in the water, working himself to a rhythm. Odo looked deeply uncomfortable. Just one more try, then, and he’ll be finished. “I’m wondering--” “No.” Quark rolled his eyes, but continued, “I have to wonder, Constable. When you turn to your--goo state, do you blend with the water? How close to me did you get? Because I’m fine with you looking.” He smiled at Odo innocently. “But if you’re touching, well--I’m certain we can arrange a mutually beneficial deal. I’m certain we can hammer something out.” Odo stood up so quickly he stretched and shot up a few inches taller. “I’m going.” He slung himself out of the pool, dropping the pad at the end of the hot spring. Quark cackled. “Oh, don’t be shy!” he called after him. “I’m just having fun.” He watched Odo’s back as he retreated. Quark sunk back into the water, chuckling to himself. He had scored a major victory against the Constable and his prudishness, doubtless he would pay the price. But for now, he was going to rest in his laurels and enjoy his song-free bath. He was curious, though, what was the Constable reading? He swam over and picked up the pad. “Tanner’s Twelve Swingers,” Quark read. “By Lawrence Block. ‘Tanner’s agreed to smuggle a sexy Latvian gymnast—the lost lady love of a heart-sick friend—out of Russia. With the Cold War at its chilliest and the Iron Curtain slammed shut, this will not be easy, especially since everybody in Eastern Europe, it seems, wants to tag along, including a subversive Slav author and the six-year-old heir to the nonexistent Lithuanian throne.’ What the fuck?” Quark put the pad aside. He was expecting a blatant romance novel, not a spy thriller with a slight erotic twist--and a smuggler as the hero. Could it be that Odo was more sympathetic than he thought? “I’ve got to tell Garak about this,” Quark said. “The Major. We can do a holoprogram, spring it on him. As a gift, but monetize it. The latinum, on Bashir alone. And it’s not plagiarism, just business. The Constable’s business!”

[ask-de-writer]

CAPTURED BY THE CLANS : Part 9 of 10 : Science Fiction

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CAPTURED BY THE CLANS

Part 9 of 10

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

18231 words

Copyright 2020 by Glen Ten-Eyck

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  Part 1 is HERE.

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Lezon turned her attention from T’cass alone to include the others.  She told them all, “I was given the task of finding possible ships for your consideration. This morning, I used your comm unit to conduct a rough search.  I stored the results in the file, SHIPS.  The results are tiered by price in Clan Credit.  I am not sure of your resources or I could have done better.”

K’ress and M’rel both thanked Lezon for her work.  They had already learned that T’cass expected Lezon to be treated like a member of the clan, not a slave.  They were truly amused that Lezon had already found the kitchen and set out serving cages with snacks to start their day.

They spent the morning looking over Lezon’s research list.  Even with the end of a war, it was depressingly small.  Less than a hundred appeared to be usable choices.  One was a true antique.

Lezon pointed to the antique. “It is cheap and the information claims that it is flyable.  Even with the cost of a refit, it will come to less than any of the others.  Also, I can get you a discount on the refit.”

Now all three of the others gazed at Lezon as if her fur were falling out in patches.  T’cass pointed out, “No shipyard on the planet will even touch anything over a hundred years old.  Do you have any idea just how old that thing is?”

Lezon nodded, “If I remember my class information from the war correctly, that ship was made about one hundred and seventy-five to one hundred and fifty-six years ago.  If it really is flyable, that’s why we want it.”

M’rel looked at K’ress and remarked, “Perhaps you were right about that psychiatric evaluation.”

T’cass asked, “How can you get a refit if no yard on the planet will do it?”

Lezon pointed out with a smile, “I know the Feront.  It has two ring fusion city ships here for Treaty Commission scrap work.  It has already agreed to do a scrap based refit of this ship, the D’ancer.  We pay for parts at scrap price and it will give me the labor.”

Skeptically, M’rel asked, “Why would it forgo the profit?  Friendship?”

“Partly,” Lezon grinned, “and partly sense of humor.”

All three gazed at Lezon as if they were trying to see inside her skull and figure out what was there.  It was an interesting effort.  T’cass spoke up first, saying, “I know the Feront too, and I never realized that it had a sense of humor.”

Lezon grinned hugely.  “It most definitely does.  Remember when it presented itself to be made a member of the Treaty Commission?  All those gaudy uniforms and titles?  They mean nothing to the Feront. One of its organic units is the same as any other to it.  It was laughing at our rank system, which it still thinks is hilarious.

“That sense of humor worked to our advantage this morning.  While I was on the comm to the Feront, a bureaucrat from the Planetary Resources Committee interrupted our call with a priority override.  The Feront took her call and we switched to one of the twelve empty channels. The Resources Committee changed their call frequency to kick me off again.  She told the Feront that no slave had anything to say that should distract its attention from the needs of the Planetary Government.

“When we could talk again, the Feront told me that the ‘needs of the Planetary Government’ were now firmly placed on its priority list.  Just below mine.”

T’cass suddenly grinned wide herself and exclaimed, “Well managed Conflict!  That is beautiful! Now, explain to me why we want a ship that dates to the earliest days of Inertial Drives.  The spec sheet says that it can generate less than one standard G of acceleration.  That is why that old hulk needs a reaction drive with a huge tank of liquid mass just to get off the ground.  The interstellar fusion ramjet igniter is disassembled and less than half the ship’s volume is habitable.  The power capsule can barely hold enough energy to get us to a close star, let alone the long range trading that we are planning.”

Lezon heard T’cass out, nodding agreement at every point.  When T’cass ran down, she added, “Actually it can’t get out of the system, yet.  It only has liftoff and in-system flight certificates.  What makes it valuable is that it was built to lift off routinely at six G’s of uncompensated acceleration.  It has a nine G red line which includes lateral maneuvers in an atmosphere as well.  Only a System Siege Cruiser or a Battleship can take as much.

“Besides, because it’s such an antique, it’s dirt cheap.  You should get out of the refit to Clan Family Class B Freight with a total cost of Clan Cr 250,000.”

Three heads turned to each other, eyes narrow in calculation.  K’ress started to ask, “Where is all that cargo space coming from?”  She suddenly got it and answered her own question, “The reaction mass tank, of course!  It’s huge!”

The others began to nod in understanding.  “We could at least go and look at it,” they agreed.

On the scrap field, they stood and looked up.  The D’ancer still stood solidly on her landing jacks.  The personnel port near her tail was gaping open.  Lezon left the group and began to critically examine the seals on the port. K’ress joined her followed by T’cass.

The salesperson began to show nervousness and smiled ingratiatingly saying, “Really, now that you’ve looked at this thing, I have several good ships that have current certificates.  They will pay themselves off in only a few years!”

Dryly, M’rel responded, “We saw.  Clan Family Class J Freight.  Way overpriced in this market, too.”  She then called over to them, “What do you think, Guys? Will it make a good amusement park ride?”

The salesperson nearly choked. “You mean to actually fly this thing?  With customers?”

M’rel looked brightly at her and said innocently, “Why your advertisement, dated only two months back, says that it comes with liftoff and In-System Flight Certificates.  With only a little refurbishing of the interior it should make an exciting ride for the kits!  Lots of noise, clouds of steam and an uncompensated three G blastoff to two hundred thousand feet!  I can’t imagine a more exciting ride!  Can you?”  She batted her eyelashes at the salesperson, who was suddenly looking sick.

K’ress poked her head out the port and gestured to the salesperson, “Come in here, please!” she demanded.  Inside, they all climbed the ladder over a hundred feet up to the engine control bay.

The power capsule lay heavy in its cradle.  The big superconducting cables were laying like snakes across the floor, out of their clips and racks.  The case of the Inertial Drive Control Computer was open and cables with empty connectors hung out.  Several boards were clearly missing.  Lezon was busily sorting the boards and components of the ramjet fusion ignitor.

“Madams,” she said deferentially to T’cass and the others, “the advertisement claims that the fusion igniter is complete but disassembled.  This is not true.  The entire ignition injector and initiator are missing.  There are at least three control boards missing as well.”  Without waiting, she swung agilely up the ladder to the control room.

T’cass, M’rel, and K’ress saw Lezon’s tiny ‘thumbs up’ signal as she reported, “Madams, this vessel was misrepresented.  They have claimed In-System and Liftoff certificates.  The entire navigational computer, the detection system and the life support control panel have been removed.”

K’ress turned to the salesperson and addressed her almost compassionately.  “Yanking that stuff proves that this bird was headed for scrap.  At scrap she’s not worth Cr 45,000.  We’ll do you a favor.  We’ll take her for Cr 60,000 but you have to earn that fifteen.

“We supervise all the work. Run us some tests.  Charge the power capsule to ninety gigawatts. Run chill and superconductivity testing on all the cables.  Replace the nav computers and detection system with anything that works well enough for orbital hopping.  Put in any Inertial Drive Controller and program it for a .75 G max push.  Run the Inertial Drive at .75 G for one hour.  Replace the lock seals and pressure test the hull.”

The salesperson saw profit fleeing out the exhaust and started to retort, “Cr 100,000!  That’s saving you ten grand!  Strictly an as is sale at that price.  You want certificates, they’re extra.  Cough up!”  Her eye caught T’cass inputting a connection on her comm.  She had selected for a vision and speaker connection.

Several reptilian heads appeared in the vision field.  Two homed on Lezon and one on T’cass.  The others were looking about at what they could see of the control room. They all spoke at once in the typically polyphonic voice of the Feront, “Friends!  T’cass, I have not seen you since your battle input at M’onafar!  Most clever.  I have made many notes in the Treaty Commission Archive about that battle.  

“I was informed by servant Lezon that you will be buying a ship soon.  Is this it?  Shall I send inspection for T.C. certificates?”

Pleased, T’cass responded, “It is good to see you again, friend Feront.  Yes, this is the vessel. It is advertised with certificates.  The advertisement was forwarded to you under a T.C. seal already.”  The saleswoman made a choking noise.

The scanning heads of the various units of the Feront scrutinized the cabin through the comm field and it responded, “This vessel is presently in violation of its advertised certification.  The fine will be Cr 250,000 if it is presented in this condition.  I hope that the missing equipment is merely out for repair or replacement.”

Desperately, the salesperson said, “Of course!  We are still negotiating on details.  There may be a down grade of certification, for a reduced price, of course!”

Several of the Feront had wandered out of the transmission field and others had wandered in but it spoke seamlessly, “This is reasonable.  How much time is needed for flight certificate issuance?”

Glaring at T’cass, the salesperson said, “About a month.  The vessel is an old one and we need to sure that equipment interfaces are safe.”

The polyphonic voice said, “I will see you in a month’s time, then, unless you call sooner, friends T’cass and servant Lezon.”  The field went snowy blank and faded.  

T’cass folded her comm smiling.  To the salesperson she said, “The way I see it, giving us this ship with the repairs I stated would save you about Cr 190,000.  Still, you have an investment to recoup and some profit to make.  Cr 65,000?”

The salesperson avoided T’cass’ hand as she stalked for the ladder muttering, “We have to go to the office for the paperwork.”

It is hard to sulk while climbing down over a hundred feet of ladder but the salesperson managed it. With ill grace she waited for them to board her flitter for the run to the office.  She tried to shut out Lezon but T’cass simply blocked the flitter door open with her body until Lezon was securely aboard.

In only three weeks the D’ancer was ready for her first liftoff in over sixty years.  The Feront sent four of itself down to conduct the Treaty Commission inspection.  It scattered throughout the ship, testing equipment in skilled claws. After a short time, one of it closed the ports.

“Pressure test,” observed K’ress calmly.  Turning to the salesperson, she said, “Your people did a first rate job.  Second hand parts but all serviceable. Clean mating of new gear and old, too.”

Resigned to the situation, the sales person replied, “Thanks.  It was a dirty trick, getting that thing volunteer to do the inspection right off the bat, that way.  It takes us from two weeks to three months to get the T.C. off their butts and over here.  How come it’s so prompt for you?”

K’ress jerked a thumb at T’cass and Lezon.  “Them.  They both know the Feront and call it just to make small talk.  I gather that they are among the few friends that it has.  It was no coincidence that the Feront sent two fusion ring city ships to this system.  It wanted to talk.  Godesses!  How they talk!  Hours at a time!”

The hatches opened and all four of the Feront hopped out and swarmed down the crew ladder.  Some of it facing M’rel and K’ress, some the salesperson, the Feront pronounced polyphonically, “The vessel, D’ancer, now has certificates installed for assisted reaction drive launch and high orbit work near to inhabited spheres.”

All four of its units turning as one, it descended on T’cass and Lezon like a pile of happy kits. “May I play with your entities again?  I have thought of a possible strategy that may put you to a disadvantage!”

The sales person unbelievingly saw the slave that she’d snubbed so meanly at first meeting, leap to the back of one of the Feront creatures.  She was calling, “T’cass, can we?  It will only delay launch by a few hours!” Wheedlingly she added, “It will help our goodwill with the Feront. That could pay us well.”

M’rel ran it down like an accountant.  “We have pad space paid here for two more days.  The house lease isn’t up for four more days.  A few hours?  Go play, you kits!  Just be here in six hours to lift this clunker into orbit for the rest of its refit.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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[honeymoonjin]

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕟𝕖

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 eventual yoonji x reader, reader x ??? || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 2k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 crack

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 your new roommates may be a little odd, but it’s fine, we’re all only human.... right?

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 cursing, mentions of blood

𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑣 || 𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑡 || 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

many thanks to @jamaisjoons for the gorgeous banner, she really is the best thank you to @honey-boyyoongi​ for beta reading this and helping immensely with storyboarding and brainstorming xx

--

“So: why are you wanting to rent the room here?”

You tilt your head in confusion at the intimidating look the boy across from you is trying to send. “Because… I would like a place to stay?”

He nods with a scoff, eyebrow quirking. “I bet that’s what you want us to believe.”

You blink. “Are you not-? I’m sorry, I thought the ad said you were looking for a roommate. I’m pretty sure this is the right address.”

“Or is it?” He leans forward on the couch, resting an elbow on his grey sweatpant-clad knee. You stare blankly at him as he holds his eyes open, widening them as the lashes flicker. Finally, after a couple of moments of uncomfortable silence, his eyes blink shut for the slightest second and the stern facade drops, him sighing in defeat. “Fine! Okay, you win, you can stay. Rent is one hundred and twenty a week.”

Your attention is caught by the woman sitting next to him, who perks up at this, breaking her apathy to look over in curiosity. “You pay a hundred and twenty every week?” A disbelieving smile stretches across her face as she glances across the young boy to the man on his other side. “Jin, you’re an asshole.”

The third member on the couch shrugs, disturbing the chunky cat that rests its head on his shoulder. “It’s my house. Anyways, Jeanine, was it?”

“Y/n-”

“Margaret, our rules are simple here. Do your share of the cleaning and don’t ask questions. No pets except for Vlad. She’s a vicious hunter and doesn’t like to share.” He pauses for effect, as the tubby grey cat snuffles and readjusts herself, thick paws stretching out. “When she’s… When she’s not asleep,” Jin explains.

Your mouth opens and closes again slowly. The man in the middle senses your unease.

“Great,” he declares dramatically, “you’ve scared her off with Vlad. I told you.”

You knit your eyebrows together. “No, that’s not the problem. I just… You said don’t ask questions but I have, um, several. I don’t even know your names.”

The woman, who had returned to lounging back against the chair of the sofa, sits back up again with an unreadable depth in her black eyes. “Names have power, girl.”

“This is Yoonji,” the boy supplies helpfully, ignoring the hissing noise that comes from the back of the lady’s throat. “I’m Jungkook, and that’s Jin. We’re all super friendly, I promise. And you can ask questions, just not...questions, you know? Like for example if you saw a red superhero suit in my closet you wouldn’t ask me about it just in case I was Spiderman.”

You blink. “Right.”

“I mean, in this case my suit is just for dress-up, I’m not actually Spiderman, but you get me, right? I could be. Does that make sense?”

You pause, unsure how to respond.

Yoonji sighs and raises a perfectly arched brow, her disapproving pout even more prominent with a solid matte layer of the darkest velvet red lipstick. “If I wrote a list of all the things you’ve said that make sense, I’d already be done.” Her gaze flitters to you and you can’t help but gulp in reflex. “Y/n, don’t meddle and we can all coexist here.”

“O-okay, sure, that’s fine. Thank you guys for letting me stay, I really appreciate it.”

Jungkook grins, glancing back and forth happily between his two roommates. “I told you this was a great idea! We’re gonna have so much fun. Let’s do a game night tonight and get to know each other better.”

“Ah!” Jin calls out cheerily, standing with a flourish. “Let’s play Cards Against the Humans, that’s my favorite! I’ll make some jjajangmyeon for us.”

Jungkook bites his lip, staring up at the handsome man, who wears what looks like a very expensive silk bathrobe, patterned with purple flowers. “Jin, are you gonna add… you know?”

“Why else would I eat it? I have to get my five pints a day.” the man declares in a matter-of-fact tone.

Jungkook widens his eyes meaningfully, jerking his head at you, but Jin doesn’t relent. Eventually, Jungkook sighs, and turns to you. “Anyway, Y/n… Can I call you Y/n?”

“That is my name.”

Jungkook ignores his two roommates who both leave out of boredom; Yoonji slinking silently like a cat, disappearing up the stairwell at the back of the house, and Jin hustling down the hallway fast enough so that his robe billows out behind him. “Just sign the lease and I’ll show you around. Jin and Ji like eating dinner before the sun goes down.” He leans in conspiratorially. “They pretend like they’re having an early night, but I totally hear them sneaking out. I think Jin has a penchant for clubbing, and Ji is probably out howling at the moon or something. Or summoning Satan. Who knows. Anyways, I’ll find you a pen to sign. Is a quill okay? We’re out of ballpoints.”

--

As it turns out, your room is on the second floor. The house itself is impressive, an old gothic two-storey refitted with modern facilities and littered with small details that speak to its occupants; unfortunately, it’s too dark for you to make out what any of these things may be.

Heavy curtains are draped across all the visible windows, the same deep red as the carpet, an odd marbling effect across the fabric. There’s a trail of sconces that lead down the corridor below and up the stairwell, fitted with LED lights in the shapes of flames, flickering in an artificial orange glow. You stumble up the stairs, so plushly lined with carpet that not a single step creaks, and blindly follow the white of Jungkook’s baggy t-shirt through an open doorway, swallowed in black before he flicks the lights on.

“Home, sweet home,” he chimes, flourishing an arm to display the modest bedroom. A double bed lies undressed with a pile of folded linen resting at the end of it, the only other furniture being a small nightstand and a dresser with a mirror, covered in an old, discoloured sheet. He gives a weak smile. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but… You’re more than welcome to redecorate however you want. The door to your right is the bathroom, and the one across is Yoonji’s bedroom.”

You blink. “Wait, I- Am I sharing it with her? Your ad said a personal bathroom.”

“Oh, Yoonji doesn’t use the bathroom,” he explains easily, taken off-guard when your face crumples up in disgust. “No! Not like that, she just… There’s an ensuite in her room. She has the master bedroom. Sorry, I should’ve phrased that better.”

You sigh in relief. “Okay, right, that makes sense. So you and Jin are on the first floor?”

“Me, yes. Jin has the basement.” He steps forward, flopping himself onto the bare mattress. Staring at the ceiling, he yawns. “So, what made you pick this place? We ran the ad for almost a year and never had an applicant until you.”

Your eyes widen. “Seriously? I just took it up because it was the only place close to uni I could afford. You really are paying $120 a week? The ad said it was $50 all-inclusive.”

Jungkook’s eyes go cloudy. “Hm. I think Jin and I need to have words.” He sits up and twists his torso to face you, eyebrows narrowed in suspicion, though not directed at you. “What else did this ad say? The other two haven’t let me read it.”

You go to answer, but you’re cut off by a long, primal yell, echoing up the stairs. You turn, staring back through the door way in the direction of the sound. “Are they okay?”

When you turn back, Jungkook has hopped up off of your bed, hitching up his sweatpants and rushing over to the doorway, barreling past you. “Jin says it’s dinnertime,” he calls out as he passes.

“Wha-?” You let the air settle from his sudden absence, taking a moment of silence for yourself. “Holy fuck,” you murmur, “what have I gotten myself into?”

—

Dinner is an awkward affair. You had expected this for the fact that you don’t really know them. You hadn’t expected that it would be because of Jin’s eccentric cooking.

Though he prepared the meal, it’s not him that sits at the head of the table. Yoonji, in a velvet black turtleneck and dark wash jeans, impatiently drumming on the mahogany surface.

You sit to her right, with Jungkook directly across from you staring intently at the bowl of steaming ramen that lies between you. Unsure whether you should make conversation with the two others that seem completely uncaring of your presence, you watch him fall into a near-catatonic state, the only thing that moves is his nostrils flaring at the rich smell.

“Boner petite!” You crane your neck as Jin enters from the kitchen behind you, a frilly apron reading Kiss the Cook! tied securely around his slender waist. In one hand is a plate of cuts of raw beef, the delicate pattern of silver fat marbled through speaking to its price, and in the other is a gravy jug. “Dinner is served.”

“Do you mean bon appetit?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Yoonji. Anyway, here we go. Susan, help yourself.”

You thank him awkwardly, not bothering to correct him on your name again. You stare in confusion at the offerings as he takes his seat beside Jungkook, who’s already descended on the noodles like a man starved. “...Um, do you have a barbecue set or something?”

Jin, tongs gripped around a thick slab, still dripping with blood. “What for?”

“For the meat…” You trail off as he lifts up the dangling strip, resting it in his mouth and sucking out the fluid obscenely, closing his eyes in enjoyment. “Never mind.”

“Jin used to be a real chef, you know,” Jungkook explains cheerily, using his bare fingers to pick out some thinner slivers to add on top of his ramen, “he’s shown us so many fancy foods. Like steak tartare. You want some?”

You try to suppress the shiver that runs through your body at the thought of raw meet squishing between your teeth. “I think I’ll stick with ramen.”

Yoonji tucks her raven-black hair behind her ears, exposing the piercings that run up the length of them. “Come on, Jungkook, don’t hog the meat, you pig.” She wrestles the tray out from underneath his hands and slides it right beside her, delicately plucking off more than half of what remains. “Can you pass the sauce?”

Your attention is drawn back to the other end of the table, where Jin is pouring a thick sauce into his bowl, reddy-brown like a mix between barbecue sauce and chilli.

“What is that?” you question curiously, watching it get passed down to Jungkook - who takes a big helping, wiping the spout with a finger and sucking it off absentmindedly - and finally arrives in Yoongi’s hands, the fine china clinking against the metal of her rings.

“Sauce,” she answers flatly. “What does it look like?”

Jungkook bites his lip, looking sheepish. “It’s, uh, very iron-heavy. Yoonji has anemia. It’s an acquired taste, but it’s good. I used to get sick all the time when I first started having this but now I feel better than ever. Want some? Oh- Yoonji, why didn’t you save any for Y/n?”

“It’s okay,” you assure hurriedly, “really, I’m a, um, I have a low immune system so I won’t, um, risk getting sick.”

“Low immune system, hm?” Yoonji fixes her dark gaze on you as she stirs in the sauce with a single chopstick. “You don’t have HIV, do you? Hep B?”

“N-no.” You frown at her. “I don’t have any diseases or anything.”

“Good to know.” Without further comment, she twirls a thick clump of ramen around her chopsticks and shovels it into her mouth, the dark sauce collecting at the corners of her lips, almost the same shade as her lipstick.

Thankfully, while you don’t have a refined-enough palate like the other three, you greatly enjoy the ramen. Perfectly savoury and moreish, cooked to perfection and with just enough broth to keep them hot while you eat. “I really appreciate you letting me stay,” you announce to the table, “and for cooking this wonderful meal. I’m looking forward to getting to know you guys better!”

--

It’s short, but I really wanted to see how you guys like it! It’s a little different, I know it’s just pure crack atm but I swear we have plot (including feelings, angst, fluff, the works) to come xxx let me know your thoughts!!

[babyloontrash]

Hard (C.H.)

Second part of Wet!

Summary: Calum has some fun time thinking about all the things he would do to the lovely girl his best friend brought home tonight.

Warning: SMUT

Words: 4,2k

Calum was happy for him. He really was. It has been six months since the nasty break up his best friend had endured, and for the longest time, Ashton just kept pitying himself for everything that had happened.

Things began to change for the better only a few weeks ago and Calum couldn’t be prouder of him for putting himself out there. Not only he was glad that his friend was on the path to heal and leave the walking nightmare that was his ex-girlfriend in the past, but living with him has also become much easier since he was way less agitated thanks to finally letting out some steam.

So when Ashton asked him if he would like to go out to get some drinks and possibly pick up girls with him, he didn’t hesitate for even a second.

It was Calum who had spotted her sitting at the table far in the back by herself. There was already a half-empty glass of beer in front of her and she was looking down at her phone, occasionally glancing up to see the people around as if she was expecting someone.

When they joined her, they learnt she had been waiting for a friend. A friend, who had unfortunately decided not to show up... Everything could have gone differently if she had. 

The girl was stunning. It made perfect sense that Ashton took quite a liking in her. 

He wasn’t the only one.

While his friend talked, trying to engage her in a conversation Calum took his sweet time examining every feature on that pretty face. At any other occasion, he would pull out his best tricks and acted as charmingly as ever to get her number. Or even better, to get into her pants.

But not tonight. He knew that Ashton needed this much more than he did, and so he decided to make a quick exit, retreating to the table of some acquaintances he had noticed.

It didn’t mean he didn’t allow his eye to wander back in her direction here and there though. What a nice surprise it was to see those beautiful inquisitive eyes already looking at him when he glanced up from the pool table. 

Calum couldn’t help but feel a little bit of selfish pride bubble inside him.

There she was, with Ashton’s arm wrapped around her shoulders while he talked, and yet her gaze had searched for him. As time passed, he had realized that it was that way more often than not and he smiled at her when their eyes met.

His stomach started to turn in distaste every time he saw that Ashton got closer and he scoffed at himself for feeling something that resembled jealousy way too much. 

He didn’t even know her for fuck’s sake. But man, did he want to. 

Tomorrow morning he would know everything. Ashton was always way too eager to share his experiences. He would tell him how and where they did it, how many times, how much she begged him… All of it.

The final straw was when he watched them leave and Ashton sent him excited thumbs up behind her back and Cal shook his head amusedly at him in return. As his hand fell down to her ass, the grin on Calum’s face disappeared.

“Lucky bastard,” he muttered to himself before going to order another drink.  A nice, attractive woman approached him at the bar, commenting on the urge in which he had downed the alcohol. She seemed older than him, but that has never hurt anything.

They chatted and flirted for a while, but in the end he left the place alone. He was nowhere as desperate to settle for something else than what he really wanted just so his bed wouldn’t be empty tonight. 

Entering their apartment, he wasn’t surprised when he stumbled over a pair of shoes in the middle of the hallway. Their arrival probably wasn’t all that dramatic and passionate though, considering she managed to hang her jacket up carefully.

Calum headed towards his bedroom, undressing in the process.  The flat was completely quiet. It was only when he was passing Ashton’s door that he could hear something and it made him roll his eyes. He had heard those groans way more times than he would like, but he guessed that that’s the price you have to pay when sharing the rent with someone. 

The only good thing was that the noise didn’t reach his room once he had closed the door and so he could sleep no matter how long the two of them would stay at it. 

He needed a shower first. The smell of the cigarettes he had smoked lingered on him and he knew that he wouldn’t fall asleep with this odour irritating his nose and reminding him that he had failed his resolution to stop once again.

After grabbing his night clothes, Calum set out into the hallway again, his strides long and quick so he wouldn’t have to hear any more of what was going on behind the closed door of the other room.

But when a different voice reached his ears, he stopped in the bathroom doorway for a moment.

“I said I wanna be on top. Let me ride you, babe.”

Calum gulped. One foot in the bathroom, the other one still in the hall, he wasn’t sure which way to move.  

There was this tight, uneasy feeling sitting on his chest as he thought about what was going on in there. He didn’t need to hear anything about it to make it even worse and be reminded that it was not him but his best friend who was fucking her right now.

Her voice though… Calum wanted to hear more of that and find out how sweet it must be when she moans.  So he stayed still, his head turned towards Ashton’s door so not a single sound would go unnoticed.

“I just want to have you lie down so I can ride you.  Nice and deep, so slow that you won’t be able to take it and just-”

Calum almost groaned when she said that and his cock twitched in his pants, the fabric suddenly a bit too tight. 

He waited for her to continue, curious to hear what else would roll off that little tongue. However, the only thing he heard was Ashton’s groan. “You look so fucking hot like this.”

“Keep still.”

His jaw almost fell as he stared at the door in disbelief.  “What a fucking idiot.”

He didn’t have enough strength nor patience to stand there, not when the only noise coming out was undoubtedly coming from Ashton.

Stripping down from the rest of the clothes he had on, he tried to wrap his mind around what had just happened. He had never thought of his friend as stupid, but maybe he should update his opinions. No man in his right mind would turn this down. Calum didn’t understand how Ashton’s dick let that happen.

“We would let her do anything she wants to us, wouldn’t we?” He muttered casually towards his own cock once his underwear dropped to the floor.

Finally, he stepped into the shower and washed his body, trying to think of something, anything which would make him soften and relax again.

He wasn’t going to pathetically jack off while his friend was getting laid in the next room.

The friend didn’t deserve and didn’t appreciate the gift he had been given though. That was more than clear now.

He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have let Ashton get her only because he felt sorry for him.

After all, he noticed how she was smiling at him. He fucking knew she liked him, Calum, and yet he let Ashton win her over.

And the worst thing about it all?

The fact that Calum was a good friend/absolute idiot did not ruin only his own night. It ruined hers as well.

Because he genuinely believed that she would enjoy herself much more if she had left with him. Her moans would be filling the hallway right now, and it would be her who wouldn’t be able to handle all the pleasure. 

Thinking about this was the stupidest thing he could do. His dick was not gonna get soft any time soon if the picture of her shaking underneath him was on his mind.

Calum swallowed hard and reached his hand down to his shaft.

When he now knew what that sweet mouth was capable of, considering the dirty words she let out, he could potentially see himself being the one who would be begging for more too.

His eyes closed as he leaned his back against the wet tiles and he imagined her being here with him. She would look so cute down on her knees in front of him. Stroking his thighs and leaving a few red marks on them when her nails would dig way too deep. 

She would use just one of her hands on him for a moment, looking up at him all innocent before she would finally circle her tongue around the tip. With the head of his cock pressing against her lips, she would ask him if he really wants her mouth to wrap around him. The question would be yes. He would do anything to experience that. Even plead.

While blowing him, she wouldn’t stop touching him and would use her hand to caress his balls… Fuck, how nice it would feel when she would take most of his dick into her mouth and then slowly pulled away, sucking hard on him.

He didn’t notice the sounds he let out, not until it echoed through the bathroom, but he simply couldn’t care less in that moment. Continuing to rub himself, Calum imagined how she would lick all over his shaft before turning more of her attention to his sack.

It would take everything inside him not to burst.

Would she realize the effect she had on him? Appreciate the strength he would have to muster up to stop himself from using the hand tangled in her hair and holding her in place so he could just thrust forward and meet the back of her throat? Or would she be completely clueless to how wild were her actions driving him?

Calum almost chuckled at this question. Of course she would know. That little minx would be very well aware of what she was doing and she would enjoy every damn second of it. He could practically see her smiling at him after a loud curse would leave his lips.

That would be the cause of the ultimate downfall; he was sure of it. There were only a few sights hotter than a beautiful girl smiling up at you while she is on her knees and her tongue keeps flicking over the head of your cock. 

Just when her lips would brush against him, he would reach down to grab her arm to pull her up. There was enough playing.

They would make their way out of the shower as quickly as possible so they could go to the bedroom.

He could imagine that his original plan to wait until he has her on his bed would get forgotten as soon as he would see her wet ass jiggle as she would move around.

Her moan would sound so nice in this room when he would press her against the bathroom sink and slip his cock inside her from behind. Squeezing her hip with one hand and reaching the other to touch her breast, pinching the hardened nipple a little.

The thought of her mouth falling open and her eyelids fluttering closed as he would fuck her made him smile. Those warm tight walls wrapping around him. Her nails digging into the skin on his ass, trying to keep him close to her because it just felt so good when he was stretching her cunt like this.

As if he would ever want to pull out of her.

Calum let out a shaky breath. He was jerking off a bit more forcefully now as the sensation that had been building up in his abdomen intensified and moved lower.

“Fuuuck.” The curse word was drawn out and a groan followed. He had stopped touching himself. Not bringing himself over the edge just yet. He was having way too much fun imagining all of this and he didn’t want for it to an end already.

Calum stayed still and stood there for a while, water running down over his body while he slowly worked on getting his breathing back to normal.

When it did, he stroked his length again, hissing at the feeling at first before sighing happily, finding the right rhythm.

They were no longer in the bathroom when he closed his eyes once more.

Now, it was his bedroom and she was already on the bed. Impatiently fidgeting and even rubbing herself as she waited for him to join her.

“Hurry up. Can’t wait to feel you again.” He almost heard her beg, and it made him hold his breath for a moment. His chest raised heavily again only after he had heard her say what exactly it was that she wanted.

She had quite a filthy mouth.

Calum probably wouldn’t have thought of that if it wasn’t for the real suggestion he had accidentally caught earlier.

Filthy or not, he would still love to kiss it. In all honesty, it would excite him even more. While making out with her, he would touch all over her body, causing her to shiver when he would rub over her clit. 

She would roll over on top of him and kiss his neck, licking her way up to his ear. There she would whisper those hot words that had got him into the mess he was in right now.

I just want you to lie down so I can ride you.  Nice and deep, so slow that you won’t be able to take it…

Calum’s head tilted back and his jaw tensed as he forced himself to slow down again.

Right after she would say this, she would sink herself down on him with no initial warning, making him groan into her mouth. Her movements would be so sensual, almost painfully slow and he would be very much aware of all of it, relishing every inch he could feel. 

After a moment he wouldn’t be able to handle it anymore and he would force her hips to move faster before simply thrusting up. When her breathing would become more shallow after he had started rubbing her clit, he would tell her to get off.

Not because he didn’t like this. God no. He just got a different idea for how he would like to have her cum.

As he would make himself comfortable on the pillow, he would motion for her to come closer and soon his head would be straddled by her thighs. He would pull on her hips, getting her core right above his mouth so he could finally get a taste.

She would squeeze the headboard, tug on his hair or play with her nipples. Any of those pictures were hot and everything would be okay as long as she would enjoy herself.

He gasped quietly when he thought of her bucking her hips and riding his face. The sounds she would make then, letting herself go wild as the desperate need for a release overtook her would be absolutely incredible.

Calum wanted her to cum right on his tongue and let him help her ride out her high.

When she would get off of him now, her chest would  be raising heavily and her pretty face would have this sweet post-orgasmic look.

He wouldn’t enjoy it for long. Pushing on her back, he would cause her to fall down onto her forearms and there she would be on all fours.

His cock would slide between her folds that were still wet with her juices and his saliva a few times before he would thrust inside her. He would caress her back, slowly moving up where he would gather her hair into his palm, tugging on it so she would lift her head up and those sheets wouldn’t muffle her voice.

This was Ashton’s favourite position. Calum couldn’t even count all the times he had heard him call himself ‘the king of doggy’ by now. 

What he did remember though was that he hadn’t heard her moan. Not even once.

If she was with him?

Calum smiled to himself. He was sure that with him it would be a completely different story.

He wouldn’t give her a chance to stay quiet. Pressing on her lower back to create an arch and angling his own hips a little, he would make sure that his cock touched and pressed on all the right spots while he was fucking her, giving her ass an occasional spank which made her body jolt.

Calum imagined pulling on her hair a bit tighter and making her lean her back against him. The thrusts would have to slow down slightly and he would have to offer her some support on her wobbly legs but soon he would be sucking a mark in the crook of her neck.

Her whole body would shiver when his hand would sneak to her front and touch the over-sensitive bud. He would remind her not to be quiet so his roommate learns how it is supposed to sound when you fuck a woman before he would let her collapse onto the mattress again.

It took him just one final stroke after this to cum and he waited for a minute or two for the panting to stop before turning the water off and stepping out.

When Calum opened the bathroom door a moment later, not a single sound could be heard anywhere. They were done. Thank God.

Hearing Ashton’s groans would definitely ruin the blissful and calm state he was in now. As he was closing the bedroom door behind him though, he could swear that he heard something like a female moan.

That caught him off guard and didn’t make him happy at all. It didn’t fit into the whole thing he had been thinking of only a moment ago.

His mind must have been playing tricks of him was all.

He rolled around in his bed for a while, planning to go to sleep. Hopefully, his brain would work out some interesting and fun dreams for him. But then his stomach growled, and he sighed out in annoyance. Calum had tried to resist for a good few minutes but a physical urge has won yet again tonight.

There was some rumbling in the kitchen and he considered snacking on the Snickers bar he knew he still had in his backpack somewhere instead. Just so he wouldn’t have to face Ashton after everything that has happened. 

Only it wasn’t Ashton. He realized that pretty quickly. His roommate never worried himself too much with closing the cabinets without a loud slam, no matter the time of a day. 

If it wasn’t him in the kitchen, there was just a one person left.

A person he should maybe try to avoid even more, considering all the dirty things he had her do in his mind.

What if this was his opportunity?

A second chance after he blew the first one in the pub.

Calum didn’t mean to scare her; that was the last thing he wanted. It seemed to have its perk though. When she turned around so swiftly some water splashed on her shirt.

Well, Ashton’s shirt.

But he was going to ignore that. There were more important things to focus on. One of them being the wet fabric clinging to her hard nipple. Calum forced himself to turn his gaze away and began to move as soon as the picture of him grazing his teeth over it appeared on his mind. This was not the best setting to allow his imagination get loose.

Her answer to his offer, if she wanted something to eat definitely surprised him and made him stop in his tracks for a second. 

It would be his pleasure to make sure she gets filled up in a different way, truly.  He didn’t say that out loud, of course, and simply nodded his head with a little smile.

They ate the cereal sitting next to each other on the kitchen counter, their legs touching as they chatted quietly in the dark.

The time on the microwave was 4:32 when he jumped down from the counter. They had spent more than an hour talking and by now they were practically just taking turns yawning as the exhaustion was overcoming them. None of them wanted for this to end though.

“Why haven’t you acted like this before?” She asked him when he turned away from her, cleaning the dirty dishes.

“Why did you just walk away? Left me there with him?”

“He liked you,” Calum explained simply with a small shrug of his shoulders once he was facing her again.

She scoffed a little, shaking her head in disbelief before she turned her face down, adjusting the hem of the shirt on her thighs.

“How was he?” he wondered out of nowhere, causing her to look up.

“Let me explain…,” Calum added, leaning his hands on the counter behind him. 

She had this confused expression on her face and he honestly didn’t blame her. 

Admitting that he wanted to hear that it was bad so he could assure himself that he would take care of her much better was not an option. He needed to talk his way around it. 

“I am asking because Ashton here is getting out of a rough break up. The relationship was hell. It must have been ages since the last time he had good sex and you know that shit can affect you. He still needs to get into it again.”

She listened to him carefully, and his eyes stayed locked on her swaying legs until she spoke out.

“So you are saying I should give him another go? So he can practise and later show me what is he really capable of?” Her brows raised up in curiosity and he noticed the tiny smirk tugging on her mouth.

“I mean… If you want to, I can’t stop you.” He shook his head. “But I wouldn’t go for that if I were you.”

“And why is that?”

“No one deserves to struggle through bad sex. Especially not pretty girls like you.” Calum peeled himself off the counter and took a step closer to her.

She was smiling up at him, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Sounds like a solid point,” she agreed.

“I was already in need for some good fucking. And I think I need it even more now. Something so mind-blowing that I will forget how underwhelming it was tonight. Do you happen to know anyone who could help me with that? Another friend maybe? Someone more experienced this time, of course.”

“I could ask around,” Calum promised with a grin as her leg hooked around his hip and drew him closer to her.

He settled his hands on her thighs and his thumbs rubbed over her soft skin, slowly making the shirt ride up. At the same time, he leaned down to kiss her, finally tasting her lips.

“It’s pretty urgent though….”

“I can feel that,” he muttered against her mouth, which had just opened as she let out a quiet sigh when his hand reached the sweet spot between her legs. The other hand continued higher across her warm skin until it got to her breast.

She brought herself to the edge of the counter and he squeezed harshly the soft flesh in his hand when she lifted her hips and rubbed her bare core against his dick through the fabric.

They were making out passionately, their hips rocking against each other desperately and he was just about to take that damn shirt off when he heard the sound of opening doors.

She didn’t seem to catch it though, too busy with sneaking her hand under the waistband of his pants.

Then Ashton called out her name and she froze, her fingers still wrapped around the base of his cock.

“Fuck,” she cursed quietly, her face still so close that he felt her breath on his lips.

“What do we do?” 

“Just go back to the bedroom. Tell him you went to get yourself a drink. You won’t be even lying,” he breathed out, stealing one more kiss from her before stepping back so she could get down from the counter.

“I am on my way!” she called out, panting softly when they noticed the steps move closer.

She sent him a look over her shoulder before walking away, leaving him alone in the kitchen.

Calum brought his hands up and rubbed his face, huffing out quietly in annoyance. Ashton slept like a log. Always. No matter what was going on around him.

Of course he woke up now though. That was just Calum’s rotten luck. He listened to them interact in the doorway, smirking when he heard her talk about how thirsty she was. The door of Ashton’s room got shut again a moment later and Calum finally allowed himself to curse in full-volume.

He was so close. So close to fucking her. But Ashton just had to ruin it. He has already had her. How was this fair?

Sighing, he looked down at the prominent bulge in his pants. There was a damp stain on the fabric from her juices.

He was rock hard and there was no one to help him with that.

Again.

[beautifullybrokendisgrace]

Welcome To The Neighborhood

Kassidy was no stranger to taking risks in her sexual pleasures, she thought of herself as quite the exhibitionist when the right mood struck. However, since moving into the new house, there wasn’t much of a reason to be concerned with anyone seeing her through the window in the bathroom. Turned out, the gentleman next door had been relocated by his family so they might take care of him better and keep an eye on him in his old age. The “FOR SALE” sign went up, making that at least three on their street since they’d bought theirs, so just like every other house that hadn’t sold yet, she assumed it would be up for a while.

A small add-on bathroom in Kassidy’s bedroom was located on the side of the house and included a rather large window that exposed nearly every square inch. In fact, if the fence wasn’t separating the two “humble abodes” any inhabitant could look through their own window across the void and see far more than they’d bargained for. In light of this discovery soon after moving in and getting settled, as Kassidy would open the window to vent the heat and steam that would accumulate during her showers, she’d fantasize the man who used to occupy the House still lived next door and that she was providing him his own private show. Today was no exception, Kassidy slowly removed her clothing and examined her body in the mirror while the water warmed to the perfect temperature. She ran her fingers over her stomach and back up to her breasts, paying extra attention to her nipples as they began pulsing, nearly begging, to be pinched and pulled. She imagined the man watching her, his cock growing hungry, as she teased him to no end. She slid her hand between her legs and grazed her pussy feeling nothing but heat and her own hungry need evidenced by the slick wetness on her fingers. As her quick fantasy washed over her, she remembered her day was full of errands that couldn’t be postponed any longer. She quickly made her way into the shower and decided she’d have plenty of opportunity any other day to get lost in her fantasy. She didn’t even allow time to tease herself with the shower head as she didn’t trust in her own ability to not let her fall further behind in her schedule, again reminding herself that the showerhead wasn’t going anywhere.

To Kassidy’s surprise and slight pleasure with what felt like no time at all, the “FOR SALE” sign had a “SOLD” adhered to itself and not even two days later it disappeared from the yard completely. Kassidy wondered to herself if her new neighbor might enjoy the private shows she gave, or if the person(s) moving in would even be appropriate to tease. She despised the idea of living next door to some snotty kids that made way to much noise and “lost the ball over the fence” every day. But speak of the devil, to her satisfaction, she became acquainted with the new neighbor shortly thereafter and was pleased that it was not a family with children in tow but an older man around what she would guess was her father’s age. He introduced himself as Paul and explained he was excited to acquire a “fixer upper” at such a nice price and that he wouldn’t actually be moving in until it was livable but that he’d be around often until then, working on things and overseeing the other men he’d hired for help with the property.

Of course the noise that was created by his working on the house wasn’t the best morning soundtrack, however, Kassidy welcomed the noise as proof of a new opportunity to actually seduce her neighbor rather than just fantasize about it. On Kassidy’s way out, Paul caught her, asking about the fence line and mentioning his wanting to replace it, making it taller so that no one could see him ”traipsing through the house or even cooking naked. Kassidy giggled and said that she’d been looking to replace it herself but couldn’t get a hold of the old owners and therefore put it off until later. He exclaimed that he was happy to do it on his own even if they both would benefit. Kassidy thanked him, not realizing how long the fence would actually be down and remembering the window that starred like an open eye into the very bathroom she used as a center stage. This realization slammed into her consciousness the first time she stepped out of the shower the very next day as she was acquainted with no fence and a perfect view into one of the many spaces in Paul’s house. Surely he had peeked into her house, right? Out of simple curiosity or perhaps he was a voyeur and couldn’t help himself.

Over the next few days, Kassidy caught herself lingering in the bathroom much longer than she needed in order to see what was going on next door. Paul had been staying later and later in the evenings and working on nearly every minute piece of the house he could get his hands on. To Kassidy’s surprise, she began enjoying the sounds of his hard labor next door as she’d grown lonely on the street full of houses for sale or neighbors who barely waved let alone actually talk to one another. Kassidy had to work late the night before and decided working from home today would benefit her immensely. She slept in for the first time that she could remember in ages but was woken up from the noise next door. She groaned and for a few seconds hated Paul but then decided she needed to wake up before the day slipped out of her hands. She went into the restroom and splashed water on her face and decided to open the window for the natural light and the nice breeze she anticipated after watching the news before bed the night before. She noticed Paul and saw that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, showing off his body that was better looking than she’d expected. He wiped his brow with his forearm and took a second to catch his breath as he looked outside. Kassidy caught his attention and they made eye contact.

She smiled which caught him off guard as he began to realize her stark naked body on full display for him. She tucked her hair behind her ear and bit her lip. Her hand slowly slid from her ear over her neck and to her breasts. She caressed them while maintaining eye contact with Paul and slowly trailed her other hand down over her stomach between her legs. Paul’s interest was piqued and it even seemed as though he tried moving on his toes in hopes to peer over the inches of house to see where Kassidy’s hand had disappeared to. Kassidy’s breath caught as she discovered her clit and how even the slightest stimulation felt crippling. Her arousal was apparent and left its mark on her fingers so she decided to let him watch as she tasted herself. Her fingers separated her lips and grazed her tongue. As her eyes opened, she allowed a devilish smile to form and she knew she had him, she owned him. He became paralyzed and watched as she pleasured herself wanting her to cum for him. She rubbed two fingers over her clit and then pushed them inside and worked her g-spot til she had to reach out and catch her balance on the windowsill. She looked him deep in the eyes and called out across the space between their home “Paul, please can I cum?” He simply nodded his head and watched as she instantly began to collapse into herself as the waves of pleasure coursed through every inch of her body. He never realized how satisfying it could be to have a woman ask for permission and then watch as her orgasm took hold of her entire being.

As Kassidy regained a bit of her composure she still felt the fire in every nerve ending of her skin. She bit her lip once more and thanked Paul. His response was simple and promising: “next time I make you cum.”

[galfridus1]

Happy Birthday Elizabeth!

Happy Birthday!!! I’ve had a full-on time of it at work the last couple of weeks so this is just a quick thing, with many thanks to @kuronekotchiiiiouu for her brilliant ideas :)

This is set just after King joins the Sins.

“We need to clean this place up.”

Meliodas grinned broadly as Ban shot him a bored look. It was good to be back with the immortal misfit. “Do we have to?” the man groaned as he looked round the room. The Boar Hat was indeed a bit of a mess: the place smelled of sweat and pungent hops, chairs were upturned, the table surfaces were sticky and there was some sort of weird substance in one of the corners, spread out like gloop over the cobbled stone floor. A normal sight for a morning after he and Ban had been at the ale.

Without answering his friend, who was sprawled out like a rag doll over one of the tables, Meliodas sprang to his feet, picking up empty dishes with an energetic clatter, not even caring as Ban winced at the noise. “Everyone has to help, even you King,” he called up to the ceiling, where the fairy was floating loftily on his pillow. King gave a wide yawn, before drifting sedately down to the ground, looking at Meliodas with bleary eyes.

The fairy was evidently on the point of making some sort of a protest when the sound of trotters heralded Hawk’s entrance into the room, his snout held proudly in the air. “Did someone say clean? Way ahead of you!” he snorted before running to the corner and making short work of the mysterious stain. Ban cackled and King turned slightly green as Meliodas resumed his task. “Come on,” the Captain said more sternly to his companions, who were still, he noticed, doing nothing at all.

“What’s going on?” The sound of Diane’s voice at the window made King fall off his pillow. “D-Diane,” mumbled the fairy as his face turned red. “G-good morning.”

“And good morning to you!” Diane said with a bright smile, and Meliodas could not quite suppress his smirk as King’s face grew even redder. “But Captain, why are you cleaning up so early?” Diane asked as she peered into the bar, her head too large to fit through the opening. “Elizabeth’s not even down yet.”

“It’s her birthday. Today. I want to give her a surprise,” Meliodas declared as he started wiping down the surfaces. “I thought we could clean up and throw her a party. You cook, Ban, and make her a cake and I’ll take her to get a present from the nearest village.”

Diane squealed, her face lighting up with a smile, the noise almost drowning out King’s retort. “But why do we have to celebrate her birthday?” asked the fairy. “It’s just a day like any other. It’s meaningless.”

“Humans like celebrating their birthdays.”

Meliodas moved on to the glasses, polishing them with the same cloth he had used to wipe down the tables. He considered changing it, then shrugged his shoulders. The patrons would never know about the shortcuts he took.

“Speak for yourself~” Ban fluted, but he sat up straighter on his stool, pulling his long body off the table. “But I’m in, I guess. I’ll bake her a cake. She is a princess.”

“Come on, King! Please!” Diane whined as she practically quivered with her excitement. “Elizabeth would love a party, I know she would.” King looked at Diane, turning a funny shade of puce before collapsing back onto Chastiefoil, a slight nod his only sign of assent. Meliodas grinned as Ban moved to the kitchen, the sounds of pots and pans clanking together as he worked. Operation party was well and truly underway.

***

Half an hour later, Elizabeth came down the stairs, feeling a cold dread in the very pit of her stomach. How could she have slept in so late? Meliodas was relying on her to be his eyes and ears and now she had failed. She blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the urge to cry, so agitated she nearly missed the sight of her blonde saviour standing at the foot of the stairs.

“Yo!” Meliodas’s face was as sunny as ever, his head cocked a little to one side. “Glad you’re up! You ready to go out? We’re going shopping.”

“Um… okay!” Elizabeth smiled, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt as she looked nervously around the bar. It was a lot cleaner than she had expected. Normally she spent the morning righting the wrongs of the previous evening, wiping down surfaces and straightening furniture before tackling the mountains of washing up the Sins and the bar’s customers generated. But she could see there was nothing for her to do, and that thought made her miserable. It was not until she felt Meliodas’s hand in her own that she looked up and saw that he was still smiling. “Come on,” he said again, and, relenting, she allowed him to tug her out of the Boar Hat.

The pair moved through the countryside, stepping lightly over lush meadows and jumping over brooks. The air was fresh and clean, the smell of grass after rain invigorating her senses almost as much as did talking to the man beside her. Meliodas seemed in an affable mood as he spoke of the places the Boar Hat had traveled, telling her of the dark peace of deep caves and the sight of the sunrise from the peaks of the mountains.

Time passed quickly until they arrived at the village, with its whitewashed walls and roofs of thatched straw. It was almost too perfectly pretty, trails of honeysuckle and ivy crawling lazily over the buildings, almost swallowing some of the shuttered windows. The pair moved through the streets and Elizabeth gazed into the shop windows, laughing as children ran past her, chasing one another in a game. It was very removed from her life in the palace and she was surprised she felt quite so at home.

As they meandered around, Meliodas spent money, in a way that made Elizabeth gasp. The princess raised an eyebrow as her companion paid for an extremely large bunch of flowers, perfect yellow roses and fragrant sprigs of lavender set amidst a sea of green leaves. “They’re beautiful,” she exclaimed as Meliodas handed them to her with a flourish, her cheeks burning red as she stuttered her thanks, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

“They’re for the bar,” Meliodas said proudly as he grinned, his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “They’ll brighten the place up a bit. We need to attract more customers if we’re going to track down the others. Hawk and I cleared up this morning, King and Diane are looking for interesting ingredients and Ban is cooking up a storm. Hopefully that’ll do the trick.”

“Oh! Or course,” Elizabeth said with a smile that covered up the crushing blow she had felt. She wanted so much to be useful, to do anything that would repay Meliodas for his kindness, for his bravery. Swallowing hard, she trailed behind as her companion slipped down the street, procuring bright, red strawberries and thick, yellow cream from the vendors. It was unusual to see him spend so freely and she bit her lip as Meliodas cheerfully handed over fistfuls of gold.

Finally they came to an abrupt stop outside of a small boutique. Elizabeth gazed and gazed at the colourful display of dresses in every style and every fabric imaginable, pressing her hands up against the glass. “Let’s go in,” Meliodas suggested and before Elizabeth could even begin to protest she found herself being pulled into the shop.

“Hey! I’d like to buy a dress for the lady,” Meliodas called and at once a shop assistant had made her way to them and immediately began fussing over Elizabeth, measuring, examining, and finally ushering her over to one of the dressing rooms. There she tried on outfit after outfit. The experience was a little embarrassing but it mostly fun, and soon Elizabeth began to relax. Then all of a sudden the assistant cried, “Oh! Oh my. This is the one!” and the princess let herself be led out of the changing room to stand before Meliodas, who had gone a bit pale.

“D-do you like it?” asked the princess tentatively. She checked her reflection in the full length mirror, and she sucked a quick intake of breath. She had seen herself in formal gowns before but none had made her look quite this radiant.

Meliodas nodded. “You look amazing,” he murmured, before his eyes trailed to the carpeted floor. The shop assistant came over to him and they talked price as Elizabeth stared into the mirror, marvelling at the strange beauty of her reflection. The white gown was fitted and flowing, hugging her curves, the lace pattern of the straps which travelled across her back resembling a pair of dainty wings. “Doesn’t she look like an angel,” the assistant said proudly and Elizabeth saw the colour bleed a little from Meliodas’s cheeks.

“Yeah, wear it home,” Meliodas said with a gulp. “You look… you’re beautiful.”

***

She wanted to ask him about his reaction on their walk back to The Boar Hat, but the pre-prepared sentence which played over and over in her mind kept getting stuck in her throat. They moved in silence, the humming of insects and the faint rustle of leaves in the gentle summer wind failing to drown out the doubt running through Elizabeth’s brain. Would he tell me? she worried to herself as the wandered, or would he just brush me off, like he always does? It was with a heavy heart that she saw the glow of The Boar Hat in the distance, knowing she had forfeited the chance to ask her question.

But her melancholy did not last for long. As they crested a hill and looked down at the bar, Elizabeth let go a low cry. The place was aglow, every lantern lit, the warm light mingling with the golden rays of the setting sun. The outside of the bar was strung with bunting, pink, blue and purple triangles that swayed a little in the breeze. On the ground was spread a large, red and white chequered tablecloth laden with cheese, roasted meat, rosy apples and dark crimson cherries, bread sliced ready with butter placed in a dish at its side. There were also pies and a warm looking stew which rested in a steaming pot atop an old tree stump, and an enormous cake set in the middle of the spread, the tiered confection slathered liberally with icing and cream and decorated with black berries and sugared violets. Elizabeth stared and stared, unable to speak. She had known it was her birthday of course, but had not expected any form of celebration.

“Surprise!” Diane yelled as she bounced excitedly up and down on the balls of her feet, the breeze created enough to make King drift into the branches of an oak tree.

“Yeah, happy birthday princess.” Ban handed Elizabeth a plate, then pulled the cork from a bottle of ale with his teeth. Meliodas handed her the flowers, with a mumbled “Happy birthday,” before shooting off to join Ban in what swiftly turned into a drinking contest. Elizabeth allowed Diane and Hawk to sweep her into the celebrations, blushing a little as they pressed food upon her and cooed over the presents Meliodas had purchased. The air grew colder as the sun sank below the horizon, the cool of the night settling over her skin. Meliodas sprang up to her, pulling a shawl from his bag and draping it carefully over her shoulders. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then flashed her a smile, before shouldering his pack and walking away from the party.

“I’m just going for a walk,” Meliodas called over his shoulder. “Back in a tick.”

“Wha-- where--” Ban staggered a little, then fell down to the ground, his head resting in what was left of the cake. Diane rolled her eyes, then pulled his face from the confection, letting the pig do what he did best and clean up the mess.

Elizabeth turned Ban over onto his side, checking he was comfortable before straightening up. “Um… thank you all so much,” she stuttered as she looked at King and Diane. “This is the best birthday I have ever had. But, um… can I ask? How did you all know it was my birthday?”

“The Captain told us, silly,” Diane said with a grin.

“But… um… how did he know?” asked Elizabeth.

King frowned at this, then floated over to the princess. “Well, we Sins did live in Liones when you were a child,” he said thoughtfully. “The Captain must have remembered. But it does seem unlike him. He doesn’t normally hold on to these sorts of details.”

“Oh, of course!” Elizabeth said, the confusion she had felt fading away. She had felt something odd, some edge of an image, rain pattering down on a gloomy street, a large monolith of a monster standing before her, spear in hand. On hearing King’s explanation she felt her lungs expand, breath coming more easily as the vision drifted to nothing. The Sins had lived in Liones; Sir Meliodas would have known her family; no doubt they had celebrated her birthday before. He would be back soon, and she could always ask…

Meliodas gazed at the landscape before him. The night was cloudless and the silver light of the moon shone with unrelenting clarity on the ground below. The pleasant green of the grass suddenly stopped at the deep scar on the earth he himself had created. “Danafor,” he murmured to himself as he stared into the hole that had swallowed the kingdom he had once called home, and the life he had shared with a beloved holy knight. He swallowed hard, suppressing the sudden wave of fury and pain. Seventeen years had passed, but Liz still burned bright in his hearts, as did the rest of the women he had seen ripped away from him.

“This is the last time, Elizabeth, I promise,” he whispered to the wind as he closed his eyes, blotting out the sight of the dark chasm before him.