#the ocean is whispering but reception is poor

[keeps-ache]

hehe. crackling

[venstm]

Touya  Todoroki  is  synonymous  with  the  epithet  of  murderer,  disfigured  skin  steeped  in  sanguine,  blanched  eyes  gazing  through  him  as  the  advent  of  death  washes  over  them.  He  doesn’t  dither  when  he  slaughters,  there’s  no  burden  upon  his  withered  heart  as  skin  becomes  brittle,  blackened,  as  the  lambent  whisper  of  fire  devours  them  down  to  their  bare,  hideous  bones.  He  has  become  the  herald  of  his  father’s  demise  and  the  wisps  of  putrid,  black  smoke  and  the  incandescence  of  blue  fire  are  portents  of  it.  He’ll  tow  Hawks  below  the  tumultuous  surface  of  his  dark,  black  ocean  and  drown  him  and  the  hero  knows  it,  still,  with  every  ounce  of  impudence  in  him  he  courts  death  without  a  slither  of  remorse.  It’s  one  of  the  myriad  of  reasons  his  touch  doesn’t  relent,  how  reverent  it  turns  when  that  lethal  blade  rests  against  his  throat,  prickles  of  imminent  pain  surging  alongside  a  thrumming,  incessant  anticipation. 

Hawks  was  assigned  to  monitor  them,  determine  when  their  machinations  turned  into  momentum,  once  they  began  executing  the  boss’  orders  it  would  be  time  to  intercept  them.  Surely  they  had  foreseen  this,  their  golden  -  instrument’s  purpose  divulging  long  before  they  had  wanted.  Was  this  not  a  loss  ?  the  control  that  they  so  desperately  sought  dissipating  between  their  fingers.  There’s  no  remorse  within  Dabi,  not  for  fucking  him,  nor  whatever  these  convoluted  feelings  they  kept  falling  into  had  become.  He  wasn’t  the  sort  of  person  to  indulge  useless  sentiments  like  that.

❝  did’ya  find  anythin’  interestin  ?  looking  into  me  ?  ❞  he  murmurs,  every  edge  of  him  is  honed  for  slaughter  but  his  tone  is  fond,  the  hunger  in  his  gaze  a  traitor.  He  knows  Hawks’ veneration for  his  father,  hollow  and  inane,  only  someone  from  the  peripheries  could  delude  themselves  into  believing  he  was  any  sort  of  hero.  Offering  salvation  to  the  dregs  of  society,  those  who  dwelled  beneath  the  veil  of  good  and  evil  but  not  being  able  to spare  his  eldest  son  from  his  looming  death,  it  was  farcical.  Perhaps  every  encounter  with  him  was  laden  with  that  quality,  so  disparate  that  nothing  as  ambiguous  as  love  could  save  them.  Does  he  covet  death  ?  want  to  be  buried  a  second  time  alongside  that  long-forgotten  son  ?  with  their  origins  effaced  from  the  books,  disregarded  by  those  who  should  have  cared  enough  to  remember,  was  it  really  that  poor  of  an  end  ? 

❝  My  shitty  dad  did  shitty  things  to  his  kids,  can’t  believe  you’re  that  surprised  by  it.  ❞  each  kiss  is  imbued  with  fear,  anger,  sorrow,  a  coalescence  of  every  fragment  of  emotion  left  between  them.  It  was  as  if  for  a  transient  moment  Keigo  was  permitted  to  glean  some  truth,  witness  what  festered  beneath  the  husk  of  burning  ire,  the  pyre  of  sinew  and  bone  and  hatred.  Someone  had  to  know  the  truth,  anyone  had  to  know  the  truth,  it  was  laughable  that  it  would  be  him  who  was  the  first.  Dabi’s  mouth  is  chaste,  his  hands  buried  now  beneath  that  mantle  of  crimson  plumage,  caressing  the  tenuous  bone  beneath,  coaxing  him  to  make  more  of  those  pleasing,  receptive  sounds.  ❝  connected  by  that  shitty  fuckin’  blood,  we’re  the  same.  ❞  As  Hawks  seeks  comfort  he  seeks  friction,  to  remind  him  of  the  carnality  that  irrevocably  linked  them  to  one  another,  he’s  welcomed  into  the  villain’s  lap  with  an  urgency  that  hinted  at  impatience.  Would  he  take  him  here  ?  where  moments  prior  he  was  wholly  convinced  the  hero  might  cut  his  shitty  life  short  ?  the  taste  of  cigarettes  on  their  tongues,  the  searing  impression  of  his  lust  as  potent  as  the  resentment  that  set  his  heart  alight. that  expression  is  better,  is  all  he  can  think  as  that  blithe,  alluring  smirk  curls  at  his  lips,  the  remnants  of  fear  and  suspicion  waning  in  the  wake  of  it.  Hawks  looked  the  best  when  his  gilded  irises  were  cast  black  by  the  severe  cut  of  his  pupils,  closer  to  a  predatory  bird  than  hero. 

❝   hah,  guess  i  can  ask  nicely  this  once,  since  you  seem  so  settled  on  it.  ❞  with  his  head  tilted  back,  an  intermittent  pause  between  ruinous  kisses  he  smiles,  it’s  a  derisive  showing  of  teeth,  amusement  wicked  as  it  etches  itself  into  his  features.  ❝  call  me  by  my actual name,  I  want  to  hear  it  from  that  pretty  mouth  of  yours.  ❞  for  as  obsessed  as  the  misguided  hero  was  he  was  just  as  sick,  wanting  nothing  more  than  to  hear  that  dead  name  upon  his  tongue.  ❝  not  gonna  make  me  beg,  are  you  ?  ❞

YAWNING,  AGONIZING,  PAINFUL  ABLUTION  IN  BLUE  FLAME  is  what  awaits  hawks  at  the  end  of  this  road.  he  knows  that  now  -  sees  it  clearly  as  day.  hawks  also  knew  that  he  was  not  an  innocent  soul.  he'd  killed  more  beings  than  he  could  count  at  the  commissions  behest,  turned  off  his  soul  in  ways  decrepit  of  humanity.  choice  was  not  something  that  had  ever  been  granted  to  him  -  and  it  was  almost  a  mockery,  the  way  dabi  laid  choices  out  before  him  that  weren't  really  choices  at  all.  he  wonders  if  he  would  be  more  sane  about  this  if  they  hadn't  fallen  into  bed.  wonders  if  he'd  resisted  this  horrible,  burgeoning  softness  and  attraction  for  a  man  that  did  nothing  but  bite  until  he  bled,  if  keigo  takami  would've  been  unearthed  still.  he  supposed  it  doesn't  matter.  not  really.  keigo  had  died  a  miserable,  lonely  child  -  with  barely  an  ounce  of  love  to  show  for  it.

his  mother  had  given  him  away,  huh?

despite  the  danger,  despite  hawks'  bird  heart  pattering  a  mile  a  minute,  dabi's  proximity  is  electrifying.  the  closeness  of  their  bodies  -  the  shared  heat.  he  tastes  the  tang  of  smoke  -  smells  the  sex  they'd  had  only  hours  prior,  and  even  lets  his  wings  warble  beneath  dabi's  fingertips  without  a  second  thought.  he  yearns  to  kiss  again,  to  sink  back  against  his  mouth  but  that  singular  feather  can  taste  the  thrum  of  his  pulse,  and  raptor's  gaze  drinks  in  every  fleck  of  ice  blue  in  those  beautiful,  beautiful  eyes  -  framed  by  long,  luxurious  white  lashes.  hawks'  breath  hitches.  his  head  tilting,  and  he  knocks  their  noses  together  just  a  bit,  golden  lashes  fluttering  along  his  cheeks.  ❝ i'll  admit,  hot  stuff  - ❞   his  voice  is  a  whisper,  strained,  ❝ you're  smarter  than  i  give  you  credit  for. ❞  a  soft  moan  pierces  the  air,  and  he's  not  abashed  by  it,  dabi's  firm  grip  between  his  wings  causing  the  appendages  to  rustle,  his  nearly  bare  body  pressing  even  closer.  inhale.  exhale.  don't  let  dabi  lead  this  dance.

so  hawks  doesn't.

the  feather  turns  silken  within  a  moment,  fluttering  between  them  the  same  moment  his  taloned  hand  rests  upon  a  scarred  shoulder.  hawks'  head  tilts  further,  eyes  shutting  as  lips  brush  to  lips  -  and  he  speaks  through  silken,  disastrous  caresses.  ❝ in  my  nightstand  drawer  -  there  are  three  unlabeled  files. ❞  press  after  press,  as  if  despite  everything  -  he  knew  no  other  way  to  cope  with  this,  with  dabi  now  knowing  every  inch  of  him,  even  the  ones  he  thought  he'd  killed.  ❝ all  are  unresolved  cases  of  men  your  age...  but  none  of  them  are  actually  you.  no,  in  fact,  i  had  thrown  out  your  true  identity  as  an  option  when  i'd  first  started  my  research.  because  there  was  no  way...  there  was  no  way  in  hell,  endeavor  would've... ❞

the  bird  shifts  a  bit,  wiggling  against  dabi's  lap  until  he  straddles  him  now,  as  their  lips  brush  together  again,  and  his  wings  stretch  outwards,  before  rustling  in  -  intent  on  more  touching,  despite  everything.  ❝ but  then  i  looked  at  his  eyes  and... ❞   oh  he  plays  with  fire  now  and  he  knows  it,  taloned  index  finger  forms  a  hook  and  moves  beneath  dabi's  head  to  tilt  his  chin  up  -  so  hawks  could  peer  into  those  aforementioned  eyes  and  make  a  noncommittal  noise.  instead  of  uttering  something  soft  though,  the  hero  lets  his  face  cut  into  a  vicious  smirk,  and  he  huffs  a  bitter  laugh.  ❝ if  you  wanted  me  to  call  you  todoroki  in  bed,  all  you  had  to  do  was  ask... ❞  golden  gleam,  predator's  gaze  slit  into  pupils,  sharp  fangs  ravenous  betwixt  kiss  stained  lips  as  he  murmurs  his  next  word  like  a  hymn:

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ ⸻  touya. ❞

[thesoftestirises]

playing with fire ii

♡ pairing : aemond x reader ♡ rating : 18+ ♡ word count : 2.4k ♡ warnings: violence, talks of d wording and k wording, stockholm syndrome, threatening the people you love, forced marriage, dubcon (how can someone really consent in an environment like this?) ♡ summary : To most of Westeros, you are the dangerous leader of an antimonarchist   rebellion. To Prince Aemond, you are both the bane of his existence  and  the object of all his desires. ♡ an :  sorry for the wait! i’ve been super busy with life and work lately. but the comments on this fic really kicked my ass into gear so i wrote this for you guys <3 i’m hoping to establish a regular cadence with these chapters. anyways, thanks for reading

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Perhaps when you were much younger, you would have dreamed of a wedding like this.

Of a ceremony housed in a grand castle hall, decorated with bouquets of gladioluses as blue as the ocean. Of a reception with finely dressed servants handing out slices of white cake made of the finest imported sugar in the world. Of being a vision laced into a pretty blush pink gown with hand embroidered flowers along the hem.

A wedding fit for a princess.

You picked at a loose thread on the ostentatious lace tablecloth in front of you, avoiding eye contact with all the lords and ladies who had come to congratulate you on your marriage. There was no reason to feign pleasantries with them. You knew what they were thinking, it was evident in their tone when they addressed you.

They saw you as an ungrateful, sullen peasant girl who did not realize her fortune in marrying so dizzyingly high above her station. Were you not complaining about being poor? Was that not the root cause behind you kicking up a fuss with the smallfolk? Encouraging them not to pay taxes and telling young men to feign illness to avoid being drafted into their wars?

Prince Aemond should have had your head for your treason. But his highness was kind and merciful, and decided to take your maidenhead instead. You should be thankful. You would live in a fine castle, wear the most elegant of fashions, and never have to want for anything. Was that not what peasants dreamed of? Well, here it was. Presented undeservingly.

These high borns didn’t understand you. They didn’t want to. You were a political forest fire, dangerous and meant to be doused as soon as possible. They wanted to believe that elevating your station would placate you. They could not be more wrong, but you were hardly concerned with their opinions.

Your gaze shifted to the darkest corner of the hall and locked onto the table banished farthest from your place of honor at the front.

The smallfolk stood out almost painfully in the sea of polished nobility. Unlike the genteel mannered lords and ladies around them, they scarfed down all the food at their table and stuffed their pockets with as many leftovers as they could fit, ignoring the disgusted looks they were receiving. Their hair was ungroomed and their clothing soiled. They were, predictably, wholly unprepared to comport themselves in a manner befitting such a formal occasion. In most instances, smallfolk wouldn’t have even been given the pleasure of breathing near the guest list of a royal wedding reception.

But Prince Aemond had decided to break from tradition and make an exception. In his graciousness and generosity, he pardoned all the prisoners who had been arrested for rioting in exchange for their attendance at your wedding.

In between bites of their food, they would glance up at you. Their eyes would take in the sparkling sapphires in your hair, the handcrafted dress you wore, and the prince sitting beside you.

They would see that you had become one of them.

You could see the words on their lips as they whispered to each other. Was this what you had wanted all along? Power? Wealth? Was this what they had risked their lives for? It seemed that you were just the same as the highborns without the breeding to show for it.

There was no way the smallfolk would ever trust you again, not after they watched you marry the second prince without a word of protest during the ceremony. They didn’t know Aemond had threatened to take his damnable beast to the skies and raze the village you were born in to ashes if you didn’t cooperate in front of the septa. They only knew what they had seen, and they believed they had bared witness to the prince laying his lips on yours in the Great Sept of Baelor. They did not see Aemond smirking at you and carefully angling his head to obscure the congregation’s view of your faces when you were prompted to kiss him. They had no idea this whole wedding was a farce designed to discredit you and bind you to a man who saw you as little more than a toy.

You hated to admit it, but Aemond had been tactical and clever in destroying not only your legitimacy, but the legitimacy of your entire movement. To any onlooker, it appeared you abandoned your calls to end the monarchy to join it instead. Whoever attempted to reestablish your movement would face intense scrutiny of doing the same. It would take years, if not decades, to find a leader who could rebuild the momentum.

“You’re making our wedding look like a funeral procession, dear wife.”

You turned your head to Aemond. Your husband now, you supposed. The corners of his lips were pulled upwards in that horrible, self satisfied smirk he always seemed to wear around you.

You sighed, swirling the glass of wine in front of you, but not taking a sip. You were consciously objecting to eating anything at this sham ceremony. “It is a funeral. I am mourning the loss of my autonomy.”

Aemond huffed out a little laugh and shook his head. “Do you ever tire of playing the victim?”

“Do you ever tire of playing the tyrant?” You shot back.

“No,” Aemond said before placing his arm around the back of your chair and leaning in to whisper into your ear. “But if it would please you, I could certainly try my hand at playing the knight in shining armor again. I do remember how you moaned for me then.”

A rush of heat spread across your face as your mouth parted in shock. “I do not recall an event in which I ever moaned for you. You are mistaken.”

“Am I? Do you want to reenact our first meeting and see if it stirs up any old memories that may be lurking about?”

“N-no!”

“Pity. Next time then,” he said, removing his arm.

You waited a few moments before breaking the silence again. “So? What now?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Aemond asked as he busied himself with slicing into the steak on the plate in front of him.

“You’ve won, you’ve delegitimized me. What are your plans now? We are wed inextricably.”

“I already said,” he replied in a casual tone, not bothering to look at you. “I will have you.”

“And I have already said that I would rather pull my toenails out individually. So I ask again, what are your plans?”

“I am the second prince, my dear princess. I have no other plans.”

“Truly? You have no ambitions aside from bedding me?” You asked, raising a brow.

Aemond turned to you, his pale blue eye searching your face before finally landing on your lips. “None that are more worthy.”

“What about the City Watch that you lead? Do you not have an interest in reducing crime? Or education? You studied philosophy, do you not think the children of the smallfolk would benefit from the same? Or perhaps you could help the struggling farmers in the lower villages? The last harvest was difficult and meager. They are barely able to feed themselves, and yet the nobles of King’s Landing throw lavish parties every day. Surely there is something you could spare from the stores?”

Aemond pressed his lips together in a failed effort to hide his amusement. “Are you attempting to radicalize your husband, little fox?”

“I’m attempting to suggest that you use your power to help your people,” you said, your voice laced with annoyance.

“I have no interest in helping them. I am not their king.”

“Does one have to be king in order to want to help others? What of love? Are they not just as human as you?”

Aemond pursed his lips and nodded. He took a butter knife from the table into his hands and flipped it once, the hilt of the blade rolling neatly around his fingers before landing in his palm. “I see my apathy deeply concerns you, but I have no desire to play political games that do not benefit me. Anything I do, any positive impact I make, will all be attributed to my drunken brother who is barely lucid on his best day. I will not begrudge my duties, but I will not be made to do his. That is Aegon’s responsibility.”

“I see,” you said quietly. “You wanted to be king.”

Aemond shot you a sharp look. “Careful, little fox. You’re treading very dangerous territory. I advise you to turn back now.”

You briefly pondered asking him if there was a part of him that wished for his brother’s demise. If he had ever contemplated being the cause. But you knew that line of questioning was essentially treason, and you were not keen to be executed over curiosity. Not now when all the work you had done to help the smallfolk was unraveled. You refused to meet the gods without making some kind of improvement in lives of your fellow people.

But you had no power in this place. You may be addressed as a princess, but everyone knew you were a lowborn seditionist. Even if you were not, your only role in this society is to bear children and be something pretty for your husband to look at. Highborn women were not meant to have political ambitions.

You paused and considered Aemond. “What if we made an exchange?”

“What kind of an exchange?” He asked, his tone bored as he fiddled with the napkin on his lap.

You took a deep breath and dropped your gaze to his hands. His long, elegant fingers that were laced with silvery scars and calluses from years of training with the sword. The slightly red fingertips that you knew to be ice cold.

“My body for your cooperation.”

Aemond barked out an amused laugh, drawing stares from the lords who sat closest to you. “You’d whore yourself out to me for the smallfolk to be given table scraps?”

You closed your eyes for a second before nodding resolutely. “Yes, I would.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened as he looked at you. “How far would you go?”

“I’d do anything you wanted.”

“If I wanted you to wrap your pretty lips around my cock?”

“I’d do it.”

“If I wanted to fondle your breasts and smear your nipples with my seed?”

“I’d let you.”

“If I wanted to fuck you on this table for everyone to see?” He asked, gesturing to the hall around him.

There had to have been at least five hundred people in attendance. Five hundred pairs of eyes to witness humiliation worse than what you’d already been through at the hands of Aemond earlier today. At least four score of those eyes belonged to people who had been arrested for acting on your orders. And yet.

“I’d submit to it.”

Aemond tilted his head, his gaze penetrating yours in a way that made you feel as if he was reading your mind. He reached a palm out to you and cupped your jaw. He stroked his thumb over your cheekbone, his cool fingertips grazing over your skin. You shivered at the touch, but did not move.

“Interesting,” he said, before removing his hand and returning his attention to his plate. “But I cannot accept your offer.”

“What?” You asked after a beat, knitting your brows together. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“No. I want you to give yourself to me willingly, not begrudgingly.”

“I don’t understand.”

Aemond pressed his lips together in an imitation of a smile and shook his head. “You are offering to part your legs for me while laying back and thinking of Westeros. What I want from you is different.”

He moved his hand from the table to rest on your knee, drawing a gasp from your lips. You looked at him sharply as he ran his fingertips over your clothed leg, dipping between the folds of fabric and brushing along your sensitive inner thighs. An unfamiliar, pleasant heat began to brew in the pit of your stomach as a response to his touch. You shifted in your seat and looked down, watching Aemond’s deft fingers slide closer to your heat.

“I want you to seek out my kiss. To fantasize about my touch. For your cunt to drip at the mere thought of me,” he said, leaning in close enough for you to taste his mint flavored breath on your tongue. “I want you to surrender to me out of desire, not obligation.”

Your eyes skimmed over his face, the sharpness of his prominent nose, the curl on his cupid’s bow shaped mouth. “Why? Most other lords don’t mind fucking reluctant wives.”

“I am not like them. And neither are you,” he said, leaning back. “You will either give yourself to me willingly or not at all.”

You sighed, relaxing your posture as he retreated from your space. “I fear we will both die virgins at this rate.”

Aemond chuckled, reaching for his glass of wine. “You will, not I.”

You rolled your eyes and looked away. “Of course.”

“I was actually quite surprised to hear from the Maesters that you are still in tact. Pleased, of course, but surprised nonetheless.”

“As you are probably aware, I did not have time for romantic entanglements.”

He hummed quietly and mused. “Even now, your priority is your cause.”

“My priority is the people,” you said unflinchingly. “They deserve to live full and free lives without fear or intimidation.”

“And you believe this would be achieved by abolishing the monarchy?” He asked as raised his brows.

“Yes,” you answered. “I do not believe the people can be free when they have to live at the whim of a ruling class born to the position. They could be thrown into war at a moment’s notice, lose the rights to their land, or be forced into bed by threat of death.”

Aemond tilted his head down and considered your argument for a moment before speaking again. “Say you did manage to abolish the monarchy. What do you suppose would happen without a leader? Without a king who could command a dragon? There would be chaos. Foreign invasions. People would suffer more than they do now.”

“We are not under any threat of foreign invasion,” you argued. “The Free Cities are in no position to start a war. The Triarchy’s coffers are completely empty from funding the fighting in the Stepstones. Dorne has been significantly weakened by repeated attempts at invasion over the last century. Any other enemy would have a wide expanse of ocean to contend with. It is true that there would be a transitionary period in which there would be no formal leader, but I do not believe it would be as chaotic as you are imagining.”

Aemond smiled and shook his head. “You are an idealist if you truly believe that.”

“There are worse things to be.”

“Few that are as deadly.”

A laugh slipped out from your lips before you could think to stop it. When you remembered what, or rather who, you were smiling at, the amusement dropped swiftly. But the damage was done, and Aemond was examining you with an unreadable gaze. You straightened up in your seat and busied yourself with smoothing out your dress and pointedly avoiding meeting his eye.

After a moment, Aemond spoke again.

“I will see what I can do about the table scraps.”

He then stood from his seat, paid his respects to his brother and sister, and swept away from the hall without so much as looking at you.

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[arminty7]

𝘚𝘸𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘦

Mermaid!Jungkook x Reader [Part 3]

Trapped in this life of expensive wine and judgemental eyes Y/N met an unusual lady who offered her a job at an aquarium a few towns away. Despite being hesitant and uncertain for the future she decided to take the offer as it was her only way out, not knowing that many dangers might come her way.

Jungkook swam his way through the small tunnel in wonder. He didn’t realise what he was ‘walking’ into as he took the entire night to explore a tunnel. He thought it might lead to you, how naive. It is only when he heard the piercing sound of drilling from the small tunnel entrance did he know what was happening, he was trapped. With that, his instincts took over.

Chapter: #3 Swimming in Wine

Words: 4843

Warnings: Mild Swearing // Fluff // Eventual Smut? Idk maybe depends // Jungkook obsessive // Evil Namjoon (im sorry guys) // It might be a little messed up.

AN - It's been a while. I know. 

© arminty7 2020 - All rights reserved.

This work shall not be copied, reproduced, translated and/or modified in any way without my permission. In a case where this might happen, legal action will be taken as it would be a criminal act under the law and breaching these terms. Upon reading my work you are acknowledging that this work is mine and that you know the consequences if this work is copied, reproduced, translated and/or modified in any way without my permission.

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It was early in the morning when the sun started to creep its way into the room. You were sitting on your bed and surprisingly enough, you were already awake. You never used to be such an early bird, but throughout these past few nights, you would wake up drenched in sweat. No matter how hard you tried you couldn't stop thinking about the incident on the cliff. Upon sleeping, you could almost feel the arms of the creature wrapped around you, like its haunting touch has placed a permanent mark on you. When thinking about it more deeply, it felt human to you. The arms of a human, but its touch too deeply pressed on your skin: the coldness you felt, reached down to your bones. It was like death was clinging onto you, with you as its life source.  

 "Hey Y/N? You up?" You heard a whisper and you saw Julie poking her head through the door as she opened it slightly. You look over at her with a relaxed expression and a soft smile.  

"Yeah, I'm already up. Did you want to go and get a coffee near the waterfront before dropping me off to work?" You stand up from your bed and start fixing the blankets and pillows. 

 "Yeah that sounds like a good idea, let me go get my bag and we can leave soon." She spoke as she left the room, closing the door but not all the way. 

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Looking out onto the ocean, it felt calm today. Although the tranquillity that you felt while looking out onto the shore exhibited a chaotic kind of peace. The calm before the storm. You could feel it, the anger of the waves crashing down and the freeing nature of the water wanting to come out. But it held restraint, it couldn't do anything even if it tried. Something was missing but you didn't know what. All you knew was that the feeling you had felt when looking out towards the ocean, changed somehow. The calm waters seemed too good to be true.

 You sat there at the coffee shop across from the beach near where you work. The smell of sea-salt and fish mixed with coffee seemed like a horrible combination, but the locals were used to it. You found comfort in the idea that you might get used to it too. The coffee that you held in your hands was hot against the cool air. You sipped your coffee while waiting for Julie to come back with her usual morning cravings of insatiable sweet pastries. 

 “So, tell me. Have you made any work friends? Any of them cute?” Julie sat down across from you, taking you away from your thoughts. You looked over at her and chuckled, rolling your eyes.

“I have made some friends, not many but hopefully that will change in time” You smiled slightly looking out at the ocean again, feeling yourself get distracted but not with anything in particular. "Well it’s your first day today so make sure to stay on your toes, but don't overwork yourself," Julie spoke while her mouth is full of sweet dough-like pastries, more focused on the icing coating the top of her lips, not realising that you have been spacing out this entire time. 

Thankfully you're good at multi-tasking and you chuckle at her comment, "It’s funny, people keep forgetting that I have worked at an aquarium before you know? It's not that much of a big deal." You sip your coffee but immediately placed it back down on the table, it was too sweet.

You look at your watch, realising its time to go. Plus, you would rather be at work than trying to have a normal conversation with her, you know she's trying but she's not your caretaker or mother, she doesn't need to try so hard.

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As you walk through the entrance of the Aquarium you could immediately feel the difference in atmosphere from the other day. The busy environment that you knew so well back home at the aquarium suddenly felt familiar. The buzzing sounds of life engulfed the reception as many families and residents were chatting away while waiting in line. Kids nagging at their parents and young couples looking at each other lovingly while waiting in line.  There were not many people though as it was early, and it wasn't officially open for another 30 minutes. 

You walked past them towards the reception and saw Seokjin who looked busy talking to the people in line. He glanced over at you and he made an expression as if he remembered something.

"Ah Y/N, Jimin told me to tell you to wait for him at the food court at the bar. You'll be working with him today. Taehyung is meant to be here, but he called in sick". You nodded, silently chuckling to yourself as Taehyung probably just called in sick because he was "too busy" or had some "emergency". While in reality, he's probably watching a new season of a drama he recently got addicted to. 

You head your way to the food court after you say goodbye to Seokjin. It seemed quiet in the food court but simultaneously busy as workers prepared for the day. You could see some workers running around in their little cafes or tourist shops as you walk towards the main bar. You could hear your heels hit the glassy floor, echoing as it bounced off the wall of the gigantic room. 

The bar had no one in it. You suppose it didn't open till later in the day. It was weird to you, you have never seen an Aquarium that had a bar before. Mind you, you never really travelled anywhere so you wouldn't know if it's a common thing to have at Aquariums. 

You sat on the stool, looking at the giant tank circling the entire food court, acting as a wall around the large room. You tried to look through it to see how far it went but all you could see was the light blue ocean that seemed almost endless. Some small school fish could also be seen swimming in the tank. It felt as though you were in the middle of the ocean. All alone. 

In contrast to the light blue colour that is seen throughout the rest of the room, the small tank that was built into the wall behind the bar looked darker and overgrown. It was a very small square tank that resembled a small window. You could barely see through it, a thick layer of algae covering the glass, it looked so dark in there. Maybe it was connected to another section of the aquarium, perhaps it even descended underground?

You shivered and looked around the food court, were you being watched? You could feel the sudden nervousness tingling throughout your body.

It was a weird feeling that came upon you, an icy cold feeling of loneliness like the air had suddenly shifted. The voices of the other workers in the food court were drifting away and you were slowly slipping away from reality. An alluring voice crept into your ear, singing an enchanting but hypnotising harmony. Somehow you could sense that it wasn't one of the workers for the voice sounded too angelic, too sweet to even be real. Your bones were chilled as you sensed the familiar feeling of cold strong arms enveloping around your waistline and chest as if you were reliving the moment by the cliff. You could physically feel it, its touch… his touch. Closing your eyes, you could feel the cold sharp wind from that moment above the water as it brushed against your cheeks. The creature’s hot breath giving you some type of warmth in the moment, yet it felt unknown to you. Mortality was clutching you in its hands, but you felt so safe. Like it was saving you despite drowning you at the same time. 

You shook your head, awaking from the trance that you were in. Glancing back over at the tank behind the bar and you saw a dark figure in the water. It stayed there looking through the algae ridden glass. You could only see a face, black and blue scales on its cheekbones and jaw. It looked human, but at the same time, you knew it wasn't. Its alluring golden eyes, shining in the water, staring into your own. Its eyes were soulless. 

By the time you blinked, it was gone.

You stood up, wanting to go closer to the small tank behind the bar. Making your way behind the bar, you were stopped by a strong hand pulling your shoulder back. "What are you doing here?" You turned to see a man who held your shoulder with a firm grip, his eyes staring straight into yours.

Oh, if looks could kill.

"I uhh.." Your mind went blank as you stepped back a bit, away from the man. He looked annoyed while you struggled to let the words out. By this time, you forgot what just happened moments ago.

"Answer my question" He spoke quietly but sternly, letting go of your shoulder but moving a step closer to make sure you can't run away. 

"I was waiting for-" 

"Yoongi-Hyung, what are you doing?? Leave the poor girl alone, you'll give her a heart attack" You sighed in relief as you saw Jimin walk up to the bar. 

'You know this girl?" He spoke in a serious tone, you remembered what Taehyung said earlier about the Bartender, I guess this is him.

Jimin nodded, leaning on the bar. "Her name is Y/N, she's the new recruit Hoseok was telling us about" Jimin looks over at you with a charming smile while you take the opportunity to escape the bar and onto Jimin's side. 

Yoongi looked at you and then back at Jimin, "well get outta here will you, the aquarium opens up soon”.  

You nodded and Jimin just smirks before looking over at you "Come on Y/N, we have a busy day ahead of us" He stands up, grabbing your hand, giving you his signature smile before leading you out of the food court and down the hall.

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Third Person POV

"I can't believe we are opening up the aquarium a day after we caught it, what if it escapes?!" Hoseok looked down at the ground continuously tapping his foot on the ground as he leaned on the bookshelf in the office. Namjoon sat there in the chair in front of him. 

"Don't worry, it can't escape" Namjoon reassured him and then continued. 

"We have reason to believe it got stuck in an old tunnel filled with water that was built throughout the aquarium. We constructed the tunnel ages ago for the public and we were going to add glass windows to it, so you can look through the tunnel. However, the construction wasn't going as planned and we halted the idea." 

"So, it's just swimming in a small tunnel throughout the aquarium walls with no way out? Like a maze? In pitch-black darkness?" Hoseok widened his eyes, he never heard of such a thing. 

"You have nothing to worry about, the tunnel that he swam through to get in the aquarium was connected to the ocean, but we blocked it off as soon as we found out he swam in it. He's stuck in there." 

"Are you certain? Have you swum through the tunnel yourself? How do you know there's no other way he can reach the other aquariums for the public to see?" Hoseok said, his voice raised. He walked up to the front of the desk, his hands crossed, Namjoon could sense his doubt radiating off of him. 

"Before this place was opened to the public, I got some divers to check it out, it has no pockets or windows. It's pitch black down there" he tried to reassure Hoseok again. Namjoon looked up at Hoseok and he nodded, uncrossing his arms. 

"Let's hope he doesn't go too crazy down there, we'll have to get him out soon." He continued, "Oh, by the way, Jackson called. He said yes to the deal." Hoseok 

"Good. We will prepare the creature for transport soon".  

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It was a busy day. 

You sat off to the side as Jimin stood in his wetsuit on the platform of the dolphin's tank. He had a big smile stretched across his face as he instructed the dolphins while the crowd watched from the bleachers. With every flick of his hand, the dolphins would jump up in the air and the echoes of cheering would fill the small arena. You had a bucket of fish with you and you watched as each dolphin would come up to you after doing a trick. You sat on the side of the tank, you were visible to the public eye, but they weren't paying attention to you. It was sad really, you knew what went on in aquariums. How ironic that you want to be free yourself when working at an establishment that rejects freedom. You looked at the next dolphin that swam your way, it seemed weaker than the others. You went closer to the tank and sat on the edge. It slowly swam up to you, it was at that very moment that you saw a gash stretched out on its back. It wasn't bleeding, and you could easily see that it’s been there for a while.

You looked up at Jimin in worry although he didn't take notice. He held the microphone as he catered to the audience. You looked back at the dolphin and reached a fish from the bucket. Perhaps it was self-inflicted somehow. You heard that stuff can happen in aquariums. You watched the dolphin gently swim away, back down into the water, following the strict routine that was given to them before the show. 

After the show ended, you still couldn't get that dolphin out of your head. Its empty expression in its eyes is still burned in your mind. All the hope and optimism you once associated with dolphins was now gone. 

You stood there in the tiny tin room out the back of the aquarium near the dolphin tank, cleaning buckets of fish that were now empty. Jimin left you and went to go help another co-worker and gave you the task of cleaning out buckets that radiated the smell of decaying fish. You remember the innocent smile he gave you when he asked you for this little favour. It was your job, you couldn't say no - and he knew that. 

"Thanks, Y/N! I owe you" Jimin yelled out, waving his hand as he ran off. 

It was around 4 pm when you finished cleaning. Your body felt tired from the long day and you and Jimin were headed to the bar.

As you stepped into the food court the feeling you had before suddenly crept through your body. You shivered, and a sudden feeling of dread came upon you. It was weird, you didn't even think about the incident after it happened. Like you suddenly forgot about it. But now, as you slowly walk up towards the bar, you felt a chill encompassed around your bones. 

Jimin sat down on the stool on the bar and placed a hand under his chin. He looked up at Yoongi with a smirk, "So, how's business?". Yoongi took a glance up at the both of you and looked back down again, wiping the bar down. 

"It was pretty slow today. It was weird, I expected more people to come" Yoongi said quietly. You sat down next to Jimin and crossed your arms over the bar, letting your head rest gently on your arms. 

"Hey, I just cleaned that" Yoongi looked over at you but after the day you had, you couldn't care less. You replied with a monotone "sorry" but stayed in your current position. He could tell that you were tired and surprisingly enough, he didn't push it. 

"So, you remember that key I gave to you right? The one I found?" Jimin straightened up at Yoongi's words and looked over at you for a split second. 

"Yeah I remember, what about it?" Yoongi sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well I need it back" Jimin looked confused, "but I thought you found it, that it had no meaning to you. That's why you gave it to me in the first place"

Yoongi sighed, "To be honest it was actually Hoseok's. I was curious to know what it's for, so I gave it to you. I didn't realise you wouldn't tell me after you found out. Still, after all these years, you haven't told me! To think, I was the one who gave you the key in the first place". Yoongi grabbed a glass from under the bar and shoved some ice in it before filling it up with apple juice. He passed it to you as if to tell you that he still remembers that you're here.

Jimin rolled his eyes, "Yeah, you gave me the key because you were too lazy to figure it out on your own". 

"The point is, I need it. Where is it?" Yoongi looked somewhat anxious as he wiped down the bar for the third time. 

Jimin shrugs, reaching his arm over to take your drink from the table that you haven't touched.

It’s too sweet. He sipped it casually and looked over at you before landing his eyes towards Yoongi again. "I don't know, I threw it away, I found no use for it". 

Yoongi crossed his arms frowned, "that's bullshit, you are lying, and you know it, you've always been a bad liar". Yoongi then looks at you, your arms still crossed as you lay your head there, if they didn't know any better, they would have assumed you were asleep. Except you laid there, silently listening. 

Jimin then also frowns, "look I don't know what to tell you, it's been years since you gave me that thing. The truth is, I lost it." Jimin looks up at Yoongi but Yoongi scoffs. 

"So, you threw it away or lost it? Come on Jimin, just give it to me, I know you have it". Yoongi looked right through Jimin's eyes, you looked over at both of them, you could tell there was tension in the air. 

Jimin was silent and Yoongi sighed grabbing the drink that you obviously weren’t going to finish and pouring it into the sink before placing the glass in the dishwasher under the bar. 

Yoongi spoke quietly but you could tell that his words held a lot of weight, "Promise me". 

Jimin looked up, "I don't get why you are so obsessed with this key, I don't even have it!" 

"Promise me that you don't have it" Yoongi looked at him, his facial expression was the look of hurt more than anything. You could tell that there was more to this than what Yoongi was letting on. You sat there next to them, waiting for Jimin to spill the beans about giving the key to you.

Jimin was hesitant for a second before strongly responding, "I promise I don't have it." Yoongi stood there silent before nodding, mumbling a soft "sorry" under his lips before going back to cleaning the bar, even though he already finished. 

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"I can't believe you lied for me," You spoke as you walked around the dolphin tank outside, Jimin walking beside you.

"I didn't lie. I don't have it. You do." Jimin smiled at you brightly, although you could tell that something was bothering him. You both kept walking before Jimin looked at his watch, "I'm sorry I got to go, feel free to stay here as long as you want, Namjoon doesn't mind us staying after hours. Although you do realise our shift ended an hour ago, right?" Jimin smiled brightly as he looked down at you, his eyes shining in the moonlight. 

You chuckled, "Yes I knew, I just like your company. Thanks for being there for me. I haven't known you long, but you made me feel comfortable on my first day" You smiled, it seemed like you and Jimin were going to become really good friends. 

"I'll always be here Y/N... Anyways I'll see you at work tomorrow yeah? Have a nice night" Jimin waved goodbye and walked away. 

You sighed, reaching for the key from your pocket. 

"Might as well check it out while I still can?" You thought. 

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It was late, really late and you found yourself questioning Jimin's earlier statement about being allowed here after hours. You wandered through the halls of the aquarium, following the directions Jimin and Taehyung showed you last time, careful not to make any loud noises to gain any attention. 

The halls were cold, and you could hear were the sounds of your heels tapping against the hard floor. While walking, you felt your chest become heavy, looking around you started to hear weird sounds coming from the walls. You shrugged it off however, you've been in aquariums long enough to know that it could be anything and that it's never completely quiet. 

Finally reaching your destination you head down the metal steps. You've never been to this part of the building apart from when Jimin and Taehyung took you, you suppose it's for private personnel only. Continuing down the steps you reach the door to the moonpool, the sounds of water can be heard dripping and sloshing from behind. Inserting the keys and turning the metal handle you slowly walked inside. It was darker than the last time you saw it. What was surprising was the glow worms on the roof of the moonpool illuminating the moonpool and stone walls that surrounded it. You didn't see them during the day. They were beautiful.

Walking along the gravel towards the moonpool, you took off shoes your socks and placed your backpack next to the moonpool. You sat on the edge, dipping your legs in as you rolled up your pants, so they don't get wet. You closed your eyes, feeling the water reach up to your kneecaps. The water was lukewarm, and the smell of sea salt radiating off of it. 

What a long day. 

If you were being honest, all of this was too much for you. You never thought you would say this, but you miss home. You miss Marina's cooking and weirdly enough, you miss your mother. She hasn't called, even texted since you left. You felt like you thought this would be different, the people here are nice but every so often you get reminded about the flaws of this world, the treatment of animals, – the dolphin – the uneasiness you felt about Julie and her intentions. Even Jimin and Yoongi, you didn’t want to cause a fight between them because of some stupid key.

The water had suddenly started to turn cold, starting from your feet you feel a rush of icy water spread to your knees, eliminating any prior warmth you felt. The dripping stopped, the sloshing of the water halted. You opened your eyes curiously to see a figure from the other side of the moonpool staring right at you. You looked right in its eyes. Time stopped, and you could barely see anything else but the wide golden piercing gaze of the creature. You sat there frozen in place. You don't know how long you stayed like this for, but it took a while to realise what was happening. It didn't say a word, but you could tell by its knowing facial expression that it somehow knows who you are. Looking down in the now murky water you could see an outline of a human’s body, his muscles and broad shoulders prominent underneath the dark blue scales that stretched over its torso. You continued to examine the long outline of a tale - a big tale at that - with the front looking slimy however you could guess that the back of the tale was sharp enough to cut through any piece of flesh that it would encounter. One aspect of the creature that seemed almost beautiful were some parts of his scales that were brighter than others, acting as a highlighter around his cheekbones and arms. 

You didn't want to make any sudden movements, frightened that the creature would drag you under. Eat you. Kill you. You decided that it was now or never and spoke quietly under your breath, looking back up at its eyes that never left yours. "Hi, my name is Y/N". Your breath was shaky, and your lips were dry. 

"It probably can't even understand you," You thought to yourself. 

The creature stopped staring into your eyes and lowered its focus to your legs that were swaying in the water. You shivered, the cold air getting to you. Goosebumps appeared on your legs and arms and you could have sworn you sore the remnant of a smirk that appeared on its lips. 

You suddenly had an idea. 

Carefully, you looked up at the creature, "I'm just going to grab something out from my backpack, okay?" Slowly you stretched your arm out towards your backpack while maintaining eye contact with the creature. The creature stayed still, however you knocked something metal in your bag and it made a loud noise that echoed throughout the moonpool. The creature’s facial expression turned darker and it went full force towards you, grabbing your calves as it didn't let you go. It was close to your face, its golden eyes peering into yours as you could feel its grip and claws on your legs tighten, its body between your thighs leaning in on you. You breathed in slowly, feeling almost petrified, but somehow you knew the creature didn't mean any harm. It looked over at your hand that was inside your backpack. You waited a few seconds before slowly, lifting your hand out of the bag, to reveal a container of prawns that was meant to be your lunch today. 

The creature's grip loosened from your calves as it watched you open the container, taking a prawn before slowly reaching over to the creature's lips. One of its hands let go of your calf as it held your hand, guiding it towards its lips before it opened its mouth biting the prawns head off. You looked at the creature, a little startled. Its teeth were sharper than a normal human, like razors. In fact, you looked closely at the details of the creature's face, noticing the similarities to that of a human. Everything was the same except for the scales on the sides of his face, neck and on his cheekbones. The outline of his eyes was darker though, making his golden eyes brighter than usual. It had brown locks of hair, wet but you could see it was starting to dry. He resembled a male in his 20s.

He finished the prawn quickly and looked back at the container, wanting more. You spoke softly, "have more if you would like". 

He looked down at your hand and then back up at you as if it was asking you to feed him again. His grip on one of your calves was softer and you could feel his thumb running circles over your calf. You grabbed another prawn, reaching over to his lips as he was careful not to cut your fingers with his teeth as he ate the prawn. 

You sat there, feeding him the rest as he grew more comfortable around you. His hand reached out of the water towards the gravel next to your thigh as he spelled out the words "Jungkook" on the gravel. 

"Jungkook?" You questioned, "is that your name?". Jungkook looked up at you before placing his hand on your thigh. 

"Yes", he answered. Your eyes widen in shock, you didn't think he could understand you. You frowned and asked him curiously, "could you understand me this whole time?". 

He smirked slightly, "I'm not the best at this human language but yes, yes I could" He looked up at you, his eyes shining. You frowned, feeling a little messed around with since he could have at least answered you the many times you spoke to him. But then again you understood, he doesn't know you, and you don't know him. 

His grip on your calf and thigh tightened as he started to pull you in the water. You freaked, holding on to the edge of the moonpool. "Wait, wait, wait! I can't get these clothes wet and I uhh, have to get going soon..." Jungkook frowned but stopped pulling. He let go of you. 

"Promise me you'll come back?" He looked at you with a sad expression, lowering himself in the water. 

You looked down at him as you took your legs out of the water and grabbed your bag with your shoes and socks.

"I promise"

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AN: I know I haven’t updated, but I do really wanna update more. I feel like this chapter was a good one, give me some feedback? :)

tags:  @mjlock​

[little-red-beret]

Hey gang I made a Promare fic if anyone has seen that! It’s my obsession atm so here ya go:

Galo Thymos woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs drifting through the loft and smiled. Today was a special day, and he was already being surprised. He wandered into the kitchen to find Lio in a loose shirt and boxers holding a frypan over a hand omitting a small blossom of pink flames. Lio glanced up from his cooking and a small smile spread across his face.

“Is our stove broken?” Galo asked.

“I haven’t been using my flames enough, they’re getting restless.” Lio explained.

They sat together at the dining table, eating at a leisurely pace with no job to be at all weekend. The only place they had to be was at an island resort much later in the day for a long awaited holiday.

“Have you finished packing?” Lio checked.

“Are you kidding, I finished that last night!” Galo answered as he passionately devoured Lio’s cooking.

“No, you haven’t, your swimsuit was still in the draw this morning.” Lio pointed out.

“Right!” Galo noted. “This is going to be so fun! We’ll go swimming! In the sea! And we’ll play volleyball on the beach! And we’ll eat so much food! There’s a couples’ dance class at the resort, too!”

“Can you even dance?”

“Wanna see?”

“No, you’ll hurt my eyes.”

Galo grabbed a pillow off a couch close behind him and threw it at Lio’s head.

They finished packing and set off after breakfast, Galo in a straw hat and colourful button up shirt, Lio in his usual all-black getup. The bus trip to the ferry terminal was sunny and Galo was buzzing with excitement. He and Lio rested their heads on each other’s shoulders, staring contently out the window. The ferry terminal was like another world. Lio squinted against the wind that blew his hair in his face. The waves were capped with foam, and clouds lined the horizon.

“Did you check the weather before you planned this trip?” Lio asked, staring apprehensively at the port.

“No, why would I?” Galo shrugged. Lio took out his phone and opened the weather app. Whatever he saw caused him to literally burst into flames. Travellers around them screamed and hurried to put space between them. Somewhere in the terminal a child started crying.

“It says there are storms all weekend, you idiot!” Lio cried, showing Galo the neat row of lightning symbols on his phone.

“Cool it, firebug!” Galo whispered, glancing around nervously. “It’s just a little surprise! Besides, weather reports are never accurate, anyway!”

“You really don’t think ahead, huh.” Lio muttered bitterly, taking a deep breath and vanishing the fire.

“It’ll be fun, I promise! You know I’ll always find a way to make things fun!”

Lio glared at his lover, but the longer he glared, the harder it got to suppress the smile breaking out across his face.

“Let’s get going, then.” He took Galo’s hand and they continued towards the ferry.

The ferry ride was terribly rough. Galo marvelled at the view from the railing the entire time, eyes glued to the sea.

“Look at that wave!” He exclaimed, just as he had for every other wave. “Ooh, that one is like ‘whoosh’!” He wiggled his hands about in imitation. Lio was resting his head on the railing beside him instead of actually looking. “Are you good, Lio?”

Lio uttered a tiny moan as a response.

“Are you getting seasick?” Galo fretted, lightly placing a hand on his back. Lio nodded against the railing.

“Honestly, I don’t do well with motion....” he muttered weakly.

“It’s okay, we’ll be there soon!” Galo assured him, watching the overcast island in the distance.

Lio didn’t speak a single word after Galo’s reassurances, nor did he move. The clouds only got darker and the waves taller as they neared the island. Galo put a hand over Lio’s and felt how tightly it gripped the railing. He kept his hand there to ground him and continued his ongoing ocean commentary on the view Lio was missing.

When the boat docked, Lio finally straightened, looking incredibly pale and delicate.

“You really don’t look like you’re hanging in there...” Galo worried, squeezing his lover’s hand tightly.

“I’ll be fine, I just need to lie down for a bit when we get to the hotel.” Lio insisted bravely.

The second they stepped off the ferry, it began to pour rain. Galo burst into laughter at their misfortune.

“Now you look stupid in your beach outfit.” Lio remarked wryly, and Galo laughed even harder. Lio smiled weakly and snuggled into Galo’s arm. They walked quickly to a taxi queue, eager to escape the rain as soon as possible.

Much to Galo’s horror, the taxi took them swerving through a windy mountain range where they could barely see through the heavy rain. He helplessly watched Lio’s complexion begin to match his hair as their journey progressed. Every few minutes he offered hushed reassurances that they were almost there, stroking Lio’s hand with his thumb. Lio’s hand began to tremble beneath his as they were pulling into the grand driveway of the resort.

They were dropped off and elegantly suited doormen took their suitcases for them. Galo stared at the luxurious decor in awe. The staircase leading into the hotel was marble topped with a red carpet. Gold accents lined the doors and windows. Then Lio tore away to the nearby gardens, collapsing next to a rose bush in the rain.

“Oh, no...” Galo muttered. Lio sat there rigidly with a hand pressed to his mouth. “I’ll get us checked in!” He called, figuring it would make Lio’s life easier and that he would still be there when he got back.

Sure enough, Lio was still kneeling by the rose bush every time Galo glanced out the panoramic reception window while he waited in the queue. Even after they were checked in and Galo had been handed the key card, Lio still hadn’t moved. Galo stood by the window and watched in concern as Lio sat there getting drenched by the rain. He noticed a woman in a white sundress a metre from him staring wistfully at the miserable weather. Evidently, he wasn’t the only one who didn’t believe in reading weather reports.

“Great beach weather, huh!” Galo joked, always eager to lighten the mood.

“I have a boyfriend.” The woman responded flatly.

“Me too!” Galo beamed, pointing to the small man kneeling in the garden. “He’s about to throw up.” Right on cue, Lio’s back arched and he produced a vile torrent of sick. “Oop, that’s my cue to leave!”

Galo joined Lio in the rain, dashing over to make sure he was okay.

“Poor sweetie!” He cried, crouching in the wet grass beside his lover. Lio was shaking violently on all fours. Galo patted his back as he brought up another stream of sick, retching loudly. They were fortunate that the rain softened the awful process a bit, muffling the sounds and washing away the mess as it was made. “That’s the way, get it all up, Lio!”

Lio belched and heaved up the last of his breakfast. He convulsed and gagged helplessly as his stomach continued trying to rid itself of its perceived poison.

“Good job!” Galo encouraged. After endlessly gagging for a few more minutes, Lio finally sat back on his heels, letting the rain pour down his face for a moment. Then he slumped against Galo and buried his face in his shoulder. Galo took him into his arms. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re good.” Lio trembled in his arms. Whether it was from the vomiting or if he was crying, he wasn’t sure, but he held him all the same. “Poor baby!” he cooed.

Eventually, Galo convinced Lio to come inside. They dripped trails of water all the way to their hotel room, shivering and worn out from the cold in each other’s arms. They changed into dry clothes, and then Lio ignited pink flames in his palms.

“Lio, not here, you’ll set off the smoke alarms!” Galo scolded.

“It’s warm.” Lio defended.

Galo sat against the headboard of the queen sized bed and opened his arms. “You know what else is warm?” he prompted. Lio let the flames flare up for a moment, but ultimately chose to climb into Galo’s arms and snuggle against him.

“How are you feeling?” Galo asked, resting his chin on top of Lio’s damp hair.

“A lot better, but I need a nap.” he mumbled into Galo’s chest.

“We can take a nap together!” Galo declared.

“Sounds fun...”

Galo stroked his hair tenderly.

“Of all the people to be stuck indoors with, I’m glad it’s you... idiot...” Lio murmured, setting his heart ablaze once again. On second thought, everything Lio did made him glow inside several times per day.

“Me too.” Galo said, enjoying the rare moment of profoundness from his normally shy lover. They spent that afternoon nestled together and fell asleep to the sound of the rain.

[heli0s-writes]

all in the weight (gentle, we fall)

Summary: A stretched night in Wakanda with you, Bucky, and the truth.

A/N: Smut, angst, & soft White Wolf Bucky. 1.8k words.

Written for @the-omni-princess​‘s 1k writing challenge! Congratulations again and thank you so much for hosting!  My prompt was: “The real lover is the man who can thrill you just by touching your head or smiling into your eyes — or just by staring into space.” -Marilyn Monroe

The title is a lyric from Justin Nozuka’s All I Need.

It’s these moments that enchant you the most. When your heart quivers, all pumped full-- one single hair of a stretch away from bursting, blood rushing too hard and fast, chest unwilling to compromise with the swell.

Galvanized by him.

His warm right hand and fingertips. His pulse steadying itself in measured breaths. His pretty, pretty, eyes, staring into some unknown expanse.

It's in these moments-- when he’s suspended, weightless and floating with his back against the bed, lost in the sweet drift of a comedown-- that you meet the truth.

Grey-blue casts over his features, allowing you only slivers of piercing eyelashes, cuts of his cheek’s sharp terrain, that blessed dip in his chin, a reprieve. Haloed in a fleeting corona when the light surfaces again and smatters through the curtain, his long shadow falls on you, touched with quiet. You trace his outline with a finger, igniting the silver streak of his body. It stirs him back to you.

“Yes, lover?”

Lover. What a word.

Bucky smiles, lips still slick with impatient kisses, licked just on this side of red and raw. Hungry again and changing course, curving into the way you reflexively press against him. A roguish, lingering look before he asks,

“What do you want of me?”

Your palm pursues a dip of muscle, marble carved into man, unmade and made again at long last. 

“What will you give me?”

A quick and lambent glance of that tepid ocean as he ponders. Playful tides lap each other in delay, lap your feet and ankles, seafoam mist cool and sweet just like him.

“Everything.”

Tidal waves crash upon his admission. Electricity and salt and moonlight breaking on their crests, moment turning quick and hot. Bucky moves into a better position, rocking the mat beneath as he shifts, one leg hooking over you, forearm skimming down your sternum. The two of you slick in a sheen of sweat, skin gliding over skin.

You laugh, a sharp breath of disbelief sheltering unspoken joy, hand swatting uselessly at his head.

“Can’t help it. Want you to have it all,” hastened breath on your bare shoulder followed by caresses from that noble nose at the incline of your collarbone. Then his strong brow, willow-wisps of hair a little damp at the roots in pursuit for more of you—grazing the gradual slope of your breast, kissing a nipple, then lower to where your very heartbeat springs forward to find him, too.

Protests evaporate like ocean spray.

Your hands are back on him when he gets to your belly. Sultry and kiss-bruised lips on fire as he presses them your waist and hips, and it’s a wonder how he still can.

You quake a little, pre-trembling with anticipation when he maps a roadway down your thigh, following veins and silver lines of a stretched surface. He twists from your hold, pushes your hands away until you’re grasping at the bed.  

He loves it like this most. Your whimpers, his attention. Doting. Slow. Stretched.

It’s been midnight all day, feels like. A perpetual polar night, permissive of a time when eternity lies tucked inside the thin cotton sheet currently gathered over his back, dropping low.

Bucky hums between your knees, bristled jaw agonizing sensitive skin and your toes curl tightly at the thought of his tickling fingertips. A shuddering breath takes flight when you whine. So, he relents and rises, blanket falling away completely and the both of you are open in the dim inky blue—chilled, until he brackets you in with his right arm on the other side of your shoulder.

“If you let me,” Raspy and low, whispered into your ear and your very soul trembles with the hanging promise of his words. “I’ll love you, honey,” a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Love you good,” a kiss to your neck where the pulse jumps along, “Love you best.”

A flick of his tongue to the hollow of your collarbones, knee spreading your thighs open. Bucky smiles when he looks at you, “Love you again and again.”

The vibration of his voice tumbles into your ears and down the length of your spine, spinning the weight in your stomach into a typhoon.

Silent permission in the form of your repositioning, facing him fully now, chest to chest on your side, admiring each other with adjusted night vision eyes, kept safe from the world beyond this carapace of his body over yours.

Fingers make their way between your thighs, above his knee, sinking slow and soft into the swollen flesh well-loved many times this morning—afternoon, evening—by him. You’re tender, shuddering, sore. Toeing the edge of breaking completely into pieces.

Soft moans and damp gasps, he works his way into you, fingers first. One, then two, then three because he’s captivated by the way you unravel for him so quickly. Doesn’t even care about himself most times, even though you plead with me, Bucky, come with me. It’s too sweet to simply watch you.

He moves them cleverly-- ring over middle while his pointer gently strokes. Then, they shuffle like tumblers in a lock, spreading and retreating, and your fists clench against his chest, knuckles rapping on his collar.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, “Feel good, honey?”

You do. Oh, you do, and he knows. He knows everything about you. Your eyes ask again for his length—the feeling of him inside of you. The sacred moment when two yield into one and Bucky dissolves you completely.

“This what you want?” He sighs, moving on top now, pushing himself between your legs, his half-knotted hair falling apart and caging your faces together with their soft strands. You lean your cheek against them, bite your lip just a little at him, keep at bay all the words you really want to say.

Strong and velvet, easily slick with wet from how he’s coaxed you open, he slides in. All the way. All the way and you feel it up to your chest. That swell. That hurt. That consummate loving. Water and blood, and the throb of him rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. His voice, quaking just a little bit, simmering low and then broken, shattered with love.

“God. Baby,” he pleads, “Christ. Fuck. Honey,” the ramblings of a man far gone. Hips rolling this way and that, bucking slow but steady, and hard, too, his pelvis flush against yours with each contact. Your fingertips dig gently to anchor yourself inside his sea, raging hot.

You swallow his voice, his rhythm, let the saltwater sear your lungs, still greedy for more because you need him just the same way—open, taken, devastated, crawled inside your ribcage, nesting within your heartbeat, branded onto your soul.

“Take all of me, lover,” Bucky whispers, “Want you to have it all.”

Lover.

And what a lover he is.

As instantaneous as it arrived, there is submergence. Drowning. Unforgiving tides plunging you into the deep—frantic pockets of what’s left of your breath bubbling overhead and encasing his name. He holds fast one final time, kissing your crumbling mouth, quivering, worrying, lips plump and ripe with overwork—red and receptive and ready. All of you and all of him folding in over each other, dashing yourselves onto the rocks of an undoing so complete you burst apart. And then, Bucky plummets, too, shuddering and wrecked and entirely yours just like he wanted.

-

The long spell of interrupted time strikes some unknown hour. Both of you have purposely lost count of the minutes, yet it still chimes an insolent reminder with every exhale he breathes into the dark. Bucky blinks slowly at the ceiling, tallies the reedy scores of thatch and chews on the skin of his lip.

It’s these moment that hurt the most. When he does nothing but exist unwaveringly on the shoreline edge of your reality and fantasy, blue and unhurried. You, enraptured. Him, endless. There is nothing to do but stare, watching his eyes ebb and flow, adrift in the increasingly tangible tomorrow.

“You said I could have everything,” you lament against his cold left side, against that frigid alien metal, flint grey and threaded with gold. Reinforced and strong like how he feels again with its attachment. You wish you could care for it the way he does, but you know its arrival summons his departure. So there is only righteous spite.

Bucky presses his lips to your shoulder before he tugs the curtain aside, letting the evening dusk pour in with cricket song and briny lake mist. Up now, he sits face turned out toward the field, his bare back lined with the imprint of laid-in sheets, creases tracing cracked webbed patterns of peach flesh.

His silence breaks you anew, heavy chest pulsating with terrors only imagination can conjure about the unknown. Rivers flood wide paths down your cheeks, depositing heavy droplets along your jaw, collecting unsaid sorrows.

“Stay with me,” you cry, “Let me keep you.”

He steers the torrent with that horrible left arm, a poor impostor compared to the phantom space you loved even in absence. Bucky tangles his legs with yours, pulls you halfway into his lap, kisses you until your tears find a new home along the generous line of his mouth. He soothes you with his touch, but his eyes are far away.

And it is here where you suffer the truth.

As you’ve always known about him-- ever since first meeting him in the Golden City where the sunlight turned threads of his burnished chestnut hair amber; ever since touching him, tracing the arteries of his pale right arm up to his shoulder like following a pathway home; ever since loving him, engraving a space for him, recovering him from what he believes of himself—the truth, is this:

You don’t care about what he is made of, what he is made for, or what he will be made to do.

But, you are not Bucky, who wants a place carved on the battlefield because he holds onto the notion of repentance and duty. You are not the King, you are not Steve Rogers. You are not the world that broke him or the world that wants him broken again.

And, you know, as you’ve always known.

You cannot keep him.

 “Bucky,” you follow his gaze out into the field beneath a waning moon’s light, “Come back to me.”

Silver beams outline his face as he turns. Lashes so pretty you could trace them one by one. Cheeks holding onto a few final rosy blooms from when he came apart in your arms. Lips parted, chafed by the most desperate love. Eyes in a gentle fall, downwelling with fatigue and the weight of your trembling heart.

He smiles and the entire world could weep.

He knows. He knows everything.

“I will,” Bucky says, calm and endless and blue like the Pacific itself, “I will.”

-

perm tags: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes @crist1216 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs @pinknerdpanda @xoxabs88xox @imsoft-barnes @momc95 @typicalangel @wretchedgoddess @readeity​ @iwannasail @ya-lyublu-tebya @geeksareunique @wildefire @satanxklaus @jhangelface0523 @wkemeup @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ Just A Little (Integra Hellsing)

Genre: Comedy, Romance, Suggestive 16+ ☁

Word Count: 1,821 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Integra ☁

World: Hellsing ☁

Prompt: TFR’s Writing Prompts #105

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“Y/N,”

You glanced over your shoulder at Walter.

“Sir Integra wishes to see you,” he stated, his hands folded behind his back.

You set the book down that you were reading and stood, following the older male to Integra’s office. He knocked on the door, waiting for her signal before stepping inside and bowing. She dismissed him, not looking up from the paper she was reading. He left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Walter said you wanted to see me,” you approached her desk, stuffing your hands into your pockets.

Integra glanced up, her blue eyes narrowing at you. “You’re coming with me,”

You held back a smirk as you leaned forward. “I’ll follow you to the ends of Earth and back, Sir Integra.”

She signed her name at the bottom of the paper before standing up. Her shoulder bumped yours as she walked past and you followed her without a word. You weren’t sure what she needed you for, but you didn’t really care, either. As long as you got to fight and protect her, you’d tackle any job.

Most of the time, Alucard was the one who got to do the fighting. He was always there, acting like a knight in blood-red armor. It annoyed you to no end, and you relished the few times you got to prove your loyalty to her.

She led you outside where a car was idling, waiting for you both. You pulled the back door open for her, letting her slide into the car before following in after her.

“When we arrive,” Integra started, pulling a cigar from her pocket and lighting it. “You’re not to attack under any circumstance.”

Your body tensed at the order. “Sir, are you sure that’s a good id – ”

“That’s an order, Y/N.” She narrowed her eyes at you, exhaling smoke as she spoke. “No matter what they say or do, your orders are to absolute.”

You slid down in your seat a bit. “Yes, Sir Integra.”

“Don’t pout,” she chided, but her voice was softer than it had been moments before.

“I’m not pouting,” you mumbled, folding your arms over your chest.

She sighed, wondering if it was a bad idea to bring you along.

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When the car pulled up to the large building on the opposite end of the city, you stepped outside, holding the door open for Integra. She stepped out and headed for the building, you at her heels. The guards at the door hesitated, eyeing her longer than you would have liked before finally letting the two of you through.

The doors opened into a large room with a waiting area in the corner near the door. The reception desk was in the center with doors on either side. The elevator was on the left with a security guard standing nearby.

Integra stepped up to the desk. “I have an appointment with Francois Spencer.”

‘What a stupid name,’ you thought, your lips twitching up as you pictured the person in your mind.

The lady at the desk smiled, turning to the phone and ringing up Francois. She informed him of his guests before thanking him and hanging up the phone. “You can proceed to the twenty-fifth floor. His office is the first door on the left.”

Without thanking her, Integra headed for the elevator. The security guard had already pressed the button, so it arrived just as she stepped in front of the closed doors.

‘Man, why’s it so hot in this building?’ you scowled at your reflection in the closed door, tugging at your tie.

She glanced at you but said nothing as she stepped out of the elevator. The first door on the left was cracked open and you could hear a voice coming from inside.

“Mou, I can’t believe the nerve of some people. To think that someone as ugly as her would turn me down! Don’t you agree, Muneki?”

“Of course, sir. She is a fool.”

“Right? I’m the most gorgeous man that ever existed!”

Your eye twitched, your body slouching forward. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me…’

Integra sent you a glare – a warning to be on your best behavior and you stood up straight, fixing your tie. She knocked on the door. Shuffling could be heard before it swung open, revealing a frail-looking old man that you assumed was Muneki.

He smiled, tiredly, the wrinkles on his skin deepening. “Please, come in.”

Your eye twitched again when you saw Francois. He was a tall and thin man, his body covered in colorful and excentric articles of clothing. The shirt he wore was made of purple silk, the same color as his hair, but the shirt had a yellow duck pattern. His pants were far too tight, clinging to his stick legs. The front of his shirt was tucked in behind a belt buckle emblazoned with a duck, deep gold in color. Multiple rings were on his fingers. His black eyes shined with confidence.

‘What the hell…’

“Integra!” He swayed over, grabbing her hands in his own. Your body tensed at the action, but her orders rung out in your head, rooting you to the spot. She didn’t seem happy about her personal space being invaded, but she said nothing on the topic. “You’re looking as ravishing as ever!”

You rolled your eyes. ‘I bet this guy is a closet perv,’

As if sensing your thoughts, his gaze snapped over to you. He got a smug look as he looked you over. “Who is this?”

“Y/N. I work for Sir Integra as a bodyguard,” you responded through gritted teeth. Your fists were begging you to punch him, but you exorcised what little bit of restraint you had.

“You? A bodyguard?” he laughed, throwing his head back. “What can you protect her from? A mosquito?”

Your fists clenched tightly, nails digging into your skin. ‘I wanna kill him, I wanna kill him, I wanna feckin’ murder him!’

“Integra, you must let me introduce you to some… better-suited people for that role.” He released her hands and sat in the plush armchair, crossing one leg over the other. “Have a seat, we can catch up over tea!”

“I’m not here to catch up,” she responded, coldly. It was obvious he was working her nerves too. Still, she took a seat on the couch in front of him, lighting up a cigar. You moved closer, standing beside the couch. “Do you have the information I asked for or not?”

“Of course I do!” He snapped his fingers before holding his hand out expectantly. Muneki shuffled over to the desk at the back of the room as fast as his body would allow, placing a folder in his master’s hand.

You frowned as the old man wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘Poor guy. This fool is working him to death,’ You moved closer, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Can I punch him now? Just one good one to the face.”

“No,”

Francois smirked as his eyes bounced between the two of you, “The real question is, what are you willing to give me the information?”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “You will be paid handsomely for your contribution,”

“Please, I’m one of the wealthiest men in all of England! No, I want something more… personal.” He leaned forward, resting his hand on her knee.

Your eye twitched, nails digging harder until they broke the skin. “Are you absolutely sure I can’t punch him in the face?”

“Denied,”

“What if I just, you know, break his nose a little?”

His hand crept up farther. “Don’t be a prude, Integra. If you insist, your weak little slave can watch~”

“Y/N,” she called, her voice as cold as ice as she stared daggers into the man.

“Yes, Sir Integra?”

“Permission granted,”

Your face split into a sadistic grin as you lept over the couch, rearing your fist back before slamming it into his face. You felt the cracking of bone before you heard it. He tumbled back out of the chair, hitting the floor with a cry of pain.

“You crazy bitch!” he cried out, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the blood that poured out of his broken nose.

“If you ever put your filthy hands on my Integra again I’ll break every goddamn bone in your body, twice!” You grinned, stomping your boot on the ground.

He jumped at the action. “M-Muneki, get her!”

“Heh?” your gaze snapped over to the man.

He was smiling, but it looked tired and forced. He bowed so low you thought he might fall over. “I apologize for my master’s behavior,”

“Don’t apologize, you old fool!” He cried, clutching his nose. “I-I feel faint! Muneki I’m dying!!”

“Please stop being so dramatic, sir…”

“Dumbass,” you scoffed, picking up the folder he had dropped. You acted like you were gonna hit him again and he squeaked, folding into himself like a scared child. “What a joke!”

Integra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she stood. You followed her without having to be told, pausing to look back at the old man as he helped Francois to his feet. You felt bad for him, but there was nothing you could do. You stepped onto the elevator, holding the folder beneath your arm.

You cleared your throat, closing your eyes to avoid her gaze. “Well, that was fun.”

You could feel her pointed look. She clicked her tongue. “You have some nerve,”

“Come on, you said I could – ”

“I never gave you permission to profess that I belong to you,”

“Oh, that…” you grinned, leaning closer to her, your fingers gently tugging on the ends of her blonde hair. “But Sir Integra, it’s true, isn’t it?”

She humphed, not answering as she folded her arms over her chest.

Adrenaline still pumping through your veins, you moved to stand in front of her, leaning your head down until your lips hovered over hers. Your eyes searched her blue ones for any warning, but there was none. Her lips were soft, tasting like nicotine and honey. You let one arm slip under her coat, hand resting on her lower back as your free hand slammed down on the emergency stop button. The elevator lurched to a stop between floors.

Your lips trailed kisses to her neck and you tugged at her collar to get more access.

“How imprudent,” she murmured but made no move to stop you.

“What can I say?” you pressed a kiss to the skin beneath her ear, pressing your body against hers. “You drive me crazy~”

She grabbed the back of your neck, locking eyes with you. You could see the shimmer of amusement lingering in those ocean blue eyes. “You better not disappoint, Y/N.”

You smirked, fingers tugging at the waistline of her pants. “Is that an order?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Your wish is my command, Sir Integra Hellsing.”

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[the-jade-cross]

The Lannister Wolf - Part 4 Chapter 2

Evelyn felt like those eavesdropping intruders who hide in the shadows and are the ones who hear and see all and magically spring from the crowd to reveal the deep dark truth that no one but the murderer knew. She sat perched like a gargoyle atop a high ledge of the keep of Kings landing. If she had bothered to measure the climb that she had made three hours prior when no one was awake, she would have discovered that the perch was roughly two hundred feet above the unsuspecting wedding party that was taking place below in the gentle shade of the decorated courtyard. Even at this height with her enhanced hearing on the off-switch Evelyn could hear the bratty whines of Joffrey and the screeching complaints of his mother.

Evelyn tried to block out there aggravating and bloodcurdling voices but do too who everyone was talking to, her options of conversations to eavesdrop on were limited to either Cersei and Jeffrey, Maya reprimanding her brother for making cute eyes at Oberyn Martell , her voice laced with jealousy or Nanteza glumly trying to convince Lillia to join in on the dancing. Evelyn knew that something was coming, and she needed to ensure that at least one of the girls knew that something would transpire in the next few minutes.

She selected her target as Maya since there was a perfectly shaped carnation flower lying on the table near the girl, a gift of goodwill that Loras had requested Maya deliver to Lillia but knowing the blonde’s response, the Tyrell girl had purposely forgotten such a request. Evelyn concentrated her acute site on the tauntingly purple flower. Didn't Loras know by now that Lillia despised purple?

She imagined the flower gradually burning, beginning at the long green stem and trailing up before began to eat at each pedal from the route to the tip before it crumpled into a pile of black ash. Evelyn resisted the urge to smirk when Maya squeaked at the sight of the burning flower and hastily doused it. The poor blossom was 3/4 burnt already. Maya was distracted by a certain Prince, so her reaction time was off.

The red-haired girl lifted her ocean blue eyes and looked around, already knowing that Evelyn was close by due to the Stark girls earlier visit to the brothel where she had a chat with Maya. The girl stopped her searching when her eyes landed on the dark shape of Evelyn crouched among the pigeons and doves like a demon among Angels ... a Wolf among Lions... Winter among the summer. Maya's eyes widened before she looked around to make sure no one was nearby before she whispered something that only Evelyn's keen ears could detect.

“what you had said earlier about something happening ... it is going to happen soon isn't it?”

In response to the girl’s question, Evelyn relit the carnation on fire before Maya doused it once more.

“I'll take that as a yes. You said there would be drastic effects because of this… event. Is there a way to prevent any terribly drastic effects? After Stannis’s murder and what happened to your family, if there is another thunder story, it will not just be cats and dogs pelting from the skies but arrows and blood. The world is already on the brink of a worldwide war. All the scale needs are another gram to tip the scale.” Mya muttered, disguising her moving lips behind an Apple she held poised.

In response the carnation caught fire again and Maya groaned as she lifted the flower and placed it in her full wineglass to keep it from catching fire again . “Okay I get it. Just let the flower be! It's already as dead as a rock!”

The words were barely out of maya's mouth when Cersei ear ripping voice screeched like a vulture that had found a dead carcass ... But this scratch was that a vulture finding a carcass without meat. Evelyn watched as Maya, Lillia and Nanteza left their feet and like a gazelle, Lillia moved to the side of the fallen Joffrey who was going purple in the face and it was crowded by a shocked and horrified Jaime and screaming Cersei. Evelyn proudly watched as Lillia used the lessons of Lynn had given her via the pinnacle on how to draw poison from the body using certain crushed herbs shoved into the oral cavity . Sadly, for Joffrey, his throat had already closed due to the poison and he vomited the concoction up much to Cersei’s despair for her screams intensified tenfold.

Evelyn gnawed her lip in thought as she drowned out the sounds. Who could have poisoned Joffrey? A number of people to be honest but exactly who had taken the chance? She froze in her thoughts when she spied the dark outline of Zinzi in the trees. The wolf had taken the opportunity of a distracted reception to check on her mistress. Evelyn observed that the wolf had begun doing this routine more recently whenever Evelyn was gone for more than three hours.

At first Evelyn thought it was because something had happened to Robb or Calum but after rushing back to camp several times in the past only to find the two boys content or sound asleep, she realized that the wolf was more concerned about Evelyn being on her own amongst people who were out to end her. The wolf must know how to tell time for Evelyn had been gone precisely three hours and five minutes. Evelyn noticed too late that while Cersei was screeching murderous accusations at her youngest brother that could have blown her head off if it wasn’t screwed on so tight, Jaime had scanned the place for any sign of suspicious faces or activity, only for his sharp eyes to notice Zinzi.

Evelyn groaned. If it had been Chance or Ace, there would be no reason for Jaime to suspect Evelyn’s unnoticed presence, only the possible presence of the Warlock. But Zinzi was a dead giveaway of a girl who was supposed to be dead, practically Evelyn’s existence and fake death written in black fur and sharp teeth. Evelyn heard Jaime’s breathing hitch and his heart sped up. His eyes remained glued on the oversized mutt before he blinked heavily as if to check to see if he was dreaming. Zinzi decided to make a timely exit and was gone with a flip of her tail before Jaime opened his eyes.

Evelyn didn’t even hear Maya mutter something about Tyrion’s trial as her heart thudded in her chest. She had hoped to sneak into Kings Landing, do what needed to be done and disappear into the darkness, Evelyn Stark Lannister’s death still the “truth” and her survival a “lie”… but now, a certain Lannister would be thinking a little too hard about the fact that if the Warlock appeared shortly after Evelyn Stark’s signature direwolf made an untimely appearance, who’s to say that the mysteriously female Warlock was not somehow related to one particularly missing Evelyn Stark Lannister who’s body had still not been found?

********

“Evelyn, we have a teensy-weensy problem,” Nanteza reported, cringing at the unamused look on fiery Evelyn’s face.

the girls had snuck into Maya's room directly after Tyrion’s hearing and since they had no other way of getting the girls attention other than summoning her via the pinnacle, they found themselves locked inside the room trying to keep their voices down.

“teensy weensy!?” Lillia squeaked, “more like a macho enormous! Prince Oberyn has agreed to champion Tyrion in the fight to the death battle against the mountain! It is a death wish!”

Evelyn’s previously skeptical stance soon relaxed into an almost sorrowful slump and she pinched the bridge of her nose, “I am not surprised. Oberyn Martell has had blood on his mind for that Clegane and monster since he murdered his sister. But knowing the mountain’s prowess in battle and Prince Oberyn’s fury it is not going to end well.”

“ this was the effects that you were talking about isn't it?” Maya asked, crossing her arms and thought.

Evelyn nodded, “ no amount of persuasion will sway Oberyn, so we need to make sure that the mountain does not do him in. Lillia you need to talk to the High Sparrow. They will be judging the fight. Make sure he is unaware of Cersei’s selection of champion . Lead him to believe that she selected … I don't know... a Knight who would stand no chance against the Prince. That way the High Sparrow will already be irritated with her and will not be as likely to vote in the mountain’s favor. Next, Maya, you still know how to bend the water in humans’ bodies right ?”

Maya smirked and nodded , “it tends to come in handy occasionally.”

Evelyn nodded pleased, “if the mountain were to mysteriously try to cheat during the fight by drawing out an unannounced and unauthorized second weapon, the fight will naturally forfeit over to Oberyn and Tyrion.” Evelyn instructed.

“ that's cheating,” Lillia muttered even though she was rather liking the direction that this plan was headed.

Evelyn glowered, “Cersei already cheated by selecting a monster who cheated death when his head should have exploded on its own for his crimes.”

The three girls nodded in silent agreement. “but what if something were to go wrong?” Nanteza asked, “ to keep anyone from suspecting interference on our part, we cannot have the mountain sheet unless Oberyn has the upper hand and who is to say that he will not kill the Prince before then?”

Evelyn nodded, “at that point Tyrion and Oberyn would have already won the fight so should anyone in favor of Tyrion step in to put a few scrapes on the Mount and wouldn't forfeit the match.” the girl observed.

“But Evelyn,” Maya whispered, “ Sir Jaime saw Zinzi! If he sees the mysterious Warlock, female warrior, whom he already once suspected of being his long-lost wife, he will put two and two together and find out for sure that it is you beneath the mask.”

Lillia gasped, “Jaime saw Zinzi !? Why didn't you tell us about this? Why do you never tell me these things!?”

Everyone shook her head, “that is beside the point... Jaime suspected me of being … me? How did he come to that suspicion? I was very careful to disguise my voice, I did not say anything suspicious, and he did not even see my eyes or hair!”

Maya shrugged, “apparently Jaime is a whole lot smarter than Oberyn is. He did not even recognize me in a mask with my red hair and blue eyes on display. Apparently, Tommen had mentioned how the Warlock's personality was similar to yours and Jamie has been so desperate to find you that he'll believe anything if it means that you're alive... even the truth believes it or not.”

Evelyn shook her head, “ then it is a definite probability that he will discover who I am... But there is no way around it. I suppose I owe it to him to at least know that I am alive and well... ”

“but what if he says something to Cersei and she realizes that you're not dead!? he and Cersei may not be very close anymore, but they are still family.” Nanteza voiced, chewing her fingernail in anxiousness .

Evelyn sighed and ground her teeth until Lillia finally spoke in such a serious and confident voice that the girls have expected her to be mad .

“I'll do it ... I'll talk to Jamie.”

Evelyn frowned, “and tell him what Lillia? That his wife is in fact alive and is this creepy dark fire wizard who roams the wild poking her nose into events that she shouldn't?”

Lillia grinned, “exactly that. Tell him that you are alive and well but much safer away from Kings Landing and presumably dead . I'll explain that everyone must think that you are dead, or you will be in danger. Jamie is your husband Evelyn and damn all hell if he doesn't love you with every fiber of his being. He will keep you a secret if it means you being safe.”

Maya and Nanteza's eyes had widened at the girl’s colorful choice of words while Evelyn smiled , “OK Lils. I'll let you do it... but do it directly after the fight. That means you need to sit beside him and not leave his side until you explain it... we can't risk anyone overhearing even a mumble from him or I will have every termite of Cersei’s on my back.”

Lillia nodded and smiled, pleased to have a very devious and satisfyingly romantic duty to do for her top ship couple.

Nanteza lifted her arms, prepared to break the connection between them and Evelyn when Maya left into action.

“wait! If Lillia must stay with Jamie, who will help you deal with amount and if things go awry?”

Nanteza raised her hand but Lillia chirped up first, “wait... when the mountain mysteriously cheats, we should be sure that the High Sparrow is within earshot of Cersei. Knowing her she will curse something vile when it happens and that will add some icing to the cake and urged the High Sparrow to ensure Tyrion’s release . The High Sparrow is not exactly fond of Cersei.”

Maya nodded, “not only that when the fight is over, who is to say that Cersei did not already hire an assassin to slit Tyrion’s throat in case the mountain last? She is too clever for that. we need to get Tyrion out of there right away .”

Evelyn calmed her agreement, “ in that case, Lillia is on Jamie duty, Nanteza be sure that the winds are just right so that the High Sparrow can hear some juice and be sure to protect and watch over Tyrion. What is the point of winning the fight for him if a crossbowman kills him halfway through? And Maya... you will have the undeniable honor of helping me keep Cersei bursting with fury and protecting your Prince Charming!”

Maya grumbled, “he is not my Prince Charming...”

Lillia giggled, “ you seem to be singing a very different song when you two had a late-night rendezvous in the garden and then that flirting session at the wedding banquet!”

“it was not a rendezvous! You two devils set me up! And I was not flirting. He was being a pain in the ass, and I was proving my point to him.” Maya retorted firmly.

Nanteza grinned, “yeah totally. Telling him all about your childhood crush blossom budding into a lovely carnation.”

Maya sneered, “Speaking of carnations. Lillia...”

The blonde glowered, “ if you mention either purple, carnation or Loras, I will kill you.”

[poppunkdee]

Running

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Latina!reader.        AO3 

Warnings: Explicit (no smut but there's violence and mentions of death) some angst and unrequited love? let me know if I should add any other warnings. 

Word Count:14.7k

A/N: Guys this is my first try at writing Frankie and honestly it was supposed to be just a tiny angsty thing and it became this monster retelling of the entire movie! So honestly read at your own risk! 

The beat of the music felt like it was still beating within your chest even now that you’ve stepped out of the reception hall and onto the balcony overlooking the ocean. The full moon bathed you, and the waves crashing below you, in a soft white glow. The night was perfect. You suppose that's why they chose this place, you would have too if it had been you. The hem of your dress rippled in the wind against your ankles, the slit along your left leg billowed open for a second before someone joined you. Your dress trapped between you and the man standing on your left. His warmth radiated through your leg giving your chilled body a respite from the goosebumps that had made themselves comfortable on your skin.

“South America, huh?” You finally ask after a few minutes of silence. “Think that's the answer?” You take another sip from your drink. The alcohol does nothing to warm you up, just keeping you in that numb state that you’ve held yourself in since the beginning of the day. The heavy weight of your heart was a bit less of a burden with the coursing hot liquor thrumming through your veins.

The silence passes long enough that you thought he wasn’t going to respond. He finally set his glass down on the railing, his drink sloshing a bit. “There’s nothing left for me here.” He finally whispers quietly enough that you thought it was more to himself than to you, his head bowed down a bit, a sigh leaving his body as if against his will. A few more seconds pass, the part of your dress that wasn’t trapped, moving with the breeze. The music slowed down inside and you knew there was no way you could go back in there, years of working in the most dangerous situations, but a wedding had you wondering how to pull off a hard out. “I could use a friend out there, Tweets.” He finally says as he shifts his body to look at you, your dress rippling in the wind once more now that it wasn’t trapped, those goosebumps reappearing on your skin. You can tell he’s trying to persuade you with the use of your callsign. A name Frankie had given you after the team discovered your twitter account where you would live tweet movies while drunk.

You mirror his movements to meet his gaze, “You’ve got friends here” you look back down at your drink. Your fingers lightly tracing the rim of the cup as you let out a whisper, “Friends that need you.”

He releases a long breath and looks back towards the door separating the both of you from the celebration that should have been filling you with happiness. A happiness you can't seem to muster when your hearts are breaking with every kiss within those walls, “You and I both know we don’t have shit here. Not anymore.” He sucks his tongue against his teeth, the noise lost with the wind and the crash of the waves below you. “Not now.”

With a slight huff you finally give him a good look. His combed hair had lost its integrity after he ran his hands through it all day. His blue dress shirt was loose around his waist, almost pulling free from where he had tucked it onto his pants, a dark spot along his back where sweat had pooled after dancing throughout the night. To everyone else he was the perfect best man, dancing and smiling, his toast was beautiful. But you knew him, you knew that his smiles never managed to reach his eyes, you knew that the tears he shed at the end of his toast weren’t just due to the happiness he felt for his friend, but also due to the heartbreak that the woman he loves was now married to his best friend. You were sure that he could see the exact same in your own eyes.

The team was well aware of your feelings for the groom, how you had finally found the courage to tell him how you felt. The cheers they gave you at the booth you all shared when you announced that you were finally going to tell him, only for him to show up with a date, a girl who looked vaguely familiar. The team gave you sad pats on the back at the end of that night. Telling you it probably won’t last, don’t give up hope. Then, six months later when Frankie announced the engagement you and Pope had gotten equally trashed, that night he let you know that he and Vanessa had been sleeping together before your last tour, and how she refused to see him when the team returned stateside despite him confessing his feelings to her. She had moved on, the tour had gone on longer than she expected and she had moved on. What surprised them both was that she had moved on with someone from his team. Santiago had only thought about getting back home to her, but she had slipped through his fingers during the team’s deployment. Frankie met her through a dating app, letting her know that he was retiring soon. Santi couldn’t blame her, just as much as he couldn’t blame his friend for falling in love with her. Now, you both found each other taking refuge on a balcony at the wedding of the two people you both loved.

“Flight leaves in two days” he breaks the silence again. This time picking up his glass, his drink sloshing a bit more forcefully letting you know he was drunk enough to face the party again, turning back towards the building he added, “You know where to find me.”

“Santi” you say just before he opens the door leading back into the reception, his fingers still on the door handle, “I’ll miss you.”

You lasted two weeks. Two weeks after Frankie and Vanessa returned from their honeymoon. The night you bought your one way ticket to South America felt worse than the wedding. It was another fight night. Fight night was exclusively team nights, the guys gave you so much shit when you brought a date once. The poor guy was unable to keep up with the jokes at his expense, but was sharp enough to know that he wasn’t welcome. He left halfway into the night and you never heard from him again. So when Frankie showed up with Vanessa your heart felt like someone was giving it a tight little squeeze. Even Will didn’t bring Monica, his finance, along to fight nights. The feeling returned with a vengeance when Benny gave her a bear hug and that goofy grin of his when she cheered him on. You decided that maybe two beers wasn’t going to be enough to get you through the night. The rest of the night passed by in a blur of loud cheers, the sounds of men beating the shit out of each other, Frankie’s voice when he yelled out his support to Benny, and the laughs he let out when Vanessa would whisper something into his ear. Benny took three hits that drew blood, but your bleeding heart ached with a hurt you had never been trained to ignore. It was when Vanessa leaned into Frankie’s body and he placed a soft kiss on her forehead when you decided that enough was enough. Pope was right, there was nothing left for you here. Will made sure to drive you home, he helped you climb up the stairs to your apartment. Once inside and making sure you sat you down on your couch without toppling over, he shuffled over to grab a glass of water from your kitchen.

“You can’t do this forever you know.” His soft words reached you as he handed you the glass of water and sat down on your coffee table facing you.

He didn’t have to elaborate for you to know where he was going with this conversation. “I know” was all you managed to choke out, a tear rolling down your cheek. You take a gulp of water to try to calm your emotions. Jesus you’ve been trained to keep them in check yet here you are, drunk and breaking down, because your fucking broken heart couldn’t take it anymore. “I know, but I-” you cut yourself off when a sob claws its way out of you. “Will I-” you try to speak again but after the first one made its way out you had no way to control the rest of the tears that began to pour out of you.

“Hey, hey come here.” Will moved to sit next to you, a bit awkwardly. Although the team saw you as a younger sister, Pope was always the one you seeked when it came to stuff like this. Yet, he still wrapped his arms around you as you buried your face into his chest and finally let go. You have no idea how long he held you like that, but he kept you close until your sobs subsided into hiccups and and your tears had stopped soaking his hoodie. Your heart had taken a beating that night that you weren’t sure you would ever recover from.

“I think Pope could use a friend” You break the silence that fell between the two of you. His chest moved as he released a deep sigh. You sort of expected him to scold you about running away. Instead he released you and handed you the glass of water that had been forgotten on the coffee table.

Waiting until you finished the glass of water Will finally asked, “You sure about that, Tweets?” His tone was gentle, as if he was afraid that you would start crying again. You briefly wondered if he was always this uncomfortable with crying women. Shaking the thought from you head you will yourself back to the conversation.

“Yeah.” You took a deep breath and released it along with a stray sob, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Will, Monica, and Benny helped you store a few belongings into a storage shed later that weekend. Handing Benny a copy of the key to the shed and the keys to your now empty apartment, you gave him a tight hug and a; “Don’t let them hit you too hard, Benny” before climbing out of his car and walking into the airport.

The next week you and Pope were planning a tactical raid of a house connected to a major cartel.

-----

“No.” Your voice was hard when Pope had outlined his plan to ask the team for help once Yovanna had finally given him the location of Lorea. “I don’t want them to be involved.”

“It's been three years.” Pope sighed. With one look at your face he started again, “Fine, I can ask them to just come down for the recce, just three days, then we hand it over to the agency and everyone can go home again.”

“You and I both know you want them for the full op.” You nibble on your bottom lip as you look over the plan again. He was right, you hate it but he was right, you need the team for this. You’ve both been here too long, chasing down clues and people that got you nowhere, and dealing with corrupt police officers. Sure you’ve both bent some of your own rules, telling yourselves the good outweighed the bad. Taking money from people you knew you shouldn’t, but you’ve survived. Three years and you haven’t been murdered in the streets, yet. Finally you had a chance to bring down Lorea and you were afraid that seeing one particular teammate might bring back feelings you were sure you had dealt with in the past three years? No you told yourself this is bigger than you. “Fine, but I’m not going back to ask them.” You agree swiftly and begin to walk towards the door of his apartment. His voice makes you pause when you’re halfway to the door.

Pope calls out your name, you know he's about to say something you’re not sure you’re going to like, Pope hardly uses your name unless he wants you to listen. Like a scolded child, you choose not to look back at him letting him continue talking to your back, “I only need one pilot, I don't have to ask the whole team.”

Pope was looking out for you, you know that, but something dark inside you made you want to punch him for implying that the reason you didn’t want to involve the team was because you were scared of seeing Frankie again. Yes, you were apprehensive about it, but you weren’t about to risk an op going wrong just to save yourself from seeing someone you had worked so hard to get over. Lorea was one lucky son of a bitch for evading your efforts for so long but he was not going to continue getting away with this shit anymore, not when you finally had his location. “Call the fucking team, Garcia” was all that you said to him before walking out.

-----

“How are we doing up here?” Pope asks when he feels the chopper struggling as it keeps gaining altitude.

You give Santiago a look that he reads in a second. Tom had been pissing you off since before he implied that Yovanna was a loose end that needed to be clipped, and despite being well aware of your anger he kept prodding at you as you helped Fish pilot the chopper. If the boys saw you as a little sister, Tom saw you as the annoying one that had to be dragged everywhere in order to keep mom happy. These past three years had let you forget how much the man managed to get under your skin.

“How ‘bout you give them space to do what they need to, yeah?” Pope taps his shoulder and gestures towards the seat he had just vacated as he speaks to Tom.

“I’m good here.” Tom replied in the same hard tone he uses to give orders. You roll your eyes at the tone, Redfly was quick to take the lead when it came to the team. Even if this plan was outlined to go smoothly by yourself and Pope before he got greedy.

Santiago looks like he wants to push Tom over to the seat, but thinks better of it and directs his next words at you, “Do you think we can make it over?’ just as the lowest ridge gets closer and closer.

“I don’t know” You reply, keeping your grip on the joystick in front of you steady. You’ve flown over this section of the sky several times in the past three years. Flying out here to catch the sunset brought you peace that you’ve only shared with one other person. However today your heart felt heavy as you soared over the jungle. The man you had shared this with was no longer by your side, and the one that was, well running from daydreams with him was the reason you found yourself here in the first place.

“Fish?” Tom asks, as if your assessment was not good enough. You roll your eyes at his words. Just because you had only flown for the last tour the team was active didn’t mean you were any less skilled of a pilot.

Frankie doesn’t blink an eye when he replies, “Tweets is right, I’m not sure” Just as he says that the engine makes a noise that you and Fish both know is never a good sign.

“Alright, baby alright” Fish tells the chopper as it begins to shake harder and the engine whines. You know you should be paying more attention to the struggling bird, but when he talks to the helicopter in that raspy whisper you can’t help but think about how it would feel to have him say those words to you. You never cared for your name, but if he whispered it to you like that...well, that thought left you slightly breathless. “Come on now.” You shake your head internally, now is not the time! You can tell from his voice that his focus is fully on the task at hand. His tunnel vision has sucked him in and he sounds like he's determined to make it over the ridge out of sheer force of will.

“Fish” You warn as a loud beeping begins giving you warning signs of redlining, the joystick in your hands vibrating with the efforts of the engine. “Fish, we’re redlining!” you press more urgently as the beeping becomes more insistent. Behind you you hear Pope telling the others to strap in.

“It's close though.” Frankie says as he ignores the beeps and your warnings just as the ridge expands below you. His voice had an almost calm demeanor, one that you just could not fathom with the panic that was beginning to bubble within your chest.

“FISH!” You yell when the chopper gives another unforgiving bump.

“It’s too much weight, its too much fucking weight” Frankie finally concedes lifting his voice above the whine of the engine, his focus no longer on the ridge but on you as you look up at him in alarm, the crease between his brows finally allows the panic into your chest to spread. “We’re never gonna make it!” His grip on the joystick makes his knuckles white, and the vein in his neck jutting out a bit as he growls out that last bit. You briefly wonder what it would feel like to run your tongue along that vein.

Jesus, snap out of it!

Tom appears behind you again, this time you're glad for his interruption, “What does that mean?”

“It means we’re losing fucking money” Fish replies as the joystick he holds begins to vibrate with the same force as the one you’re holding on to.

“You wanna leave $50 million in the middle of the fucking jungle?” Tom asks incredulously.

“You wanna get to the ocean?” Frankie replies without missing a beat, looking over at Tom with an eyebrow raised as if asking him to challenge him. Frankie was always the calm, level headed one on the team so when he gave anyone that look he meant business.

Pope intervenes before you could add to the fire, “Alright, go do it!” he calls into the back letting Benny and Will know that you have to lose weight in order to get things back to normal.

You can hear shuffling in the back and the sound of the wind whipping through the cabin as the others throw duffles out of the main cabin. You look over at Frankie as you chew your bottom lip from the stress, his eyes reflecting the same worry as he meets your gaze. You're not sure if its the adrenaline or the look he gives you, but you feel a shiver run through your body with the weight of his eyes. As soon as a few duffles are thrown out you can feel the vibrations on your joystick lower in intensity, and the bird rises just a bit from the loss of weight. Feeling like you physically have to pull yourself away from Frankie’s gaze your eyes survey the gages across the console.

“How is she feeling now?” Pope’s voice carries towards you and Frankie.

“Better!” You shout over the noise of the ramp closing.

“Come on!” Frankie begins to mutter under his breath in that whisper once again, “Come on.”

“Fish we-” you’re about to warn him that your joy stick began to vibrate again when you get a glimpse of the ocean. The sun reflects off the water, giving off a mesmerizing effect as the waves ripple across the surface. For a moment you let the view warm your insides, sending a wave of calm through your body. You’re about 100 meters away from the ridge when the gearbox gives out.

“THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?!” Will’s voice rings in your ears along with the rapid beeping within the cockpit and Frankie’s groan as he pulls on the joystick so that you don’t lose control and fall into a spin. You blink rapidly as you’re pulled back to the cockpit. The bird was losing altitude, alarms were blaring and the joystick in your hands was getting harder and harder to keep steady.

“We should land, we should land now!” Frankie tells you as the jungle gets closer with every second. At this point your heart feels like it might fall out of your butt. Despite all the crazy situations you’ve been in while miles up in the air, a failing bird was always one of your biggest fears.

“Copy that!” You reply as you start preparing for a crash land and quickly think back to the area you had just flown over, looking for a valley in the thick jungle. The panic you had felt before when Fish had seemed so determined was gone, your adrenaline rushing through your body like it would when you had to pick up the men from a hard out. Your nimble fingers began to attend all the proper switches while your right hand kept the joystick you held steady. All while your eyes darted across the jungle below you looking for a flat surface.

“Crash land here and we all die!” Tom yells at you when he sees you preparing for a landing.

Ignoring him you call out, “There should be a farmer's field on the other side of that ridge, we passed it on the way up!”

“I remember it!” Frankie says as he tries to maneuver the rapidly failing bird.

Just as the bird made it over the ridge the gearbox gave another awful groan and two more alarms began to wail within the cockpit.

“We need to lose the money” You tell Frankie over the headset.

Tom looks at you both as if you’ve lost your minds. But before you can yell at him Frankie beats you to it, “LOSE THE MONEY OR WE ALL DIE!” He shouts past Tom and into the cabin his adam's apple bobbing with the effort of shouting over the noise within the cockpit. “Hit the external release” he continues to shout as Tom begins to strap himself into the seat Pope had offered him earlier.

“It didn’t work!” you hear Pope shout from within the cabin. Your adrenaline rush had you calculating the outcome of keeping the bag below you and you did not like the odds.

“There should be a manual override!” Frankie instructs as you both begin to sweat from the exertion of trying to keep the bird in the air long enough to drop the load so that everyone will have a chance of surviving the hard landing. Behind you there is more shouting and then the groan of the bird when the bag is finally released. The second the bag is dropped the joystick in your grip jumps up from the lack of weight holding it down, and you vaguely hear Fish curse.

“FUCK, I GOTTA JUMP” Benny’s voice is almost lost in the chaos that ensues after the chopper jerks to the left as Frankie tries to circle around the field where he was attempting to land. The joystick in your hand gave an awful jerk that ripped it from your hands. Your heart felt like it had jumped out of your chest for a second as your fingers tried reaching for it once more, although gravity pulled you away from it with the way the bird tipped.

“Bad landing” Fish grunted out. You were on the verge of responding with a sarcastic reply, when another sudden pull jerked you forward and back, causing you to hit your head. You vaguely hear Frankie call your name before you pass out.

---

You’ve had quite enough of the bickering the team has kept up since the crash. The tension in the air was so thick it felt suffocating. That’s why you had chosen to sit a bit further away from the rest of the team when stopping for the night. Pope’s question about who shot first had begun to fester between him and Tom and you knew it was a matter of time before the two of them would be at eachothers throats. On top of that the pouring rain was not helping with anyone’s mood. Although you desperately wanted to build one, you knew that a fire would attract unwanted attention, so you kept quiet. Deciding instead to keep your thoughts on the noise of the rain pattering against the vegetation, rather than on the cold seeping into your bones.

“You okay?” Frankie’s voice drifted over to you as he sat down next to you.

“Yeah” you paused, “Well, no, but I will be.” You tell him knowing that there was no way you could hide the emotions that were bubbling up in your chest from your expressive eyes. The guys had trained for this, they knew how to push past their emotions during a crisis. They had lived to see their way out of many failed missions. You however had managed to stay a safe distance away. Your skills as a sharpshooter allowed you to stay at a distance, and later when you gained your pilots license, you were only ever in the line of fire when dropping them off on a mission or picking them up once they had reached a rendezvous point. Sure your time out here had kept you in a state of perpetual danger, but your ops lasted at most three hours, then you could deal with the aftermath in your apartment with your late boyfriend or later with Santi when he wasn’t curled up with Yovanna. This was different, you had trained for this years ago, but you’ve been out of practice and it was starting to get to you.

Frankie nodded at you, understanding clearly in his eyes, “You and Pope make a pretty great team.” he changes the subject as he hands you an MRE. “He told me you two have been doing a good job of looking out for each other these past few years.”

You stir the contents of the MRE together, thinking about how you’d thought you’d left this gunk behind when your team was retired. “Before Yovanna, he and I were all we had out here.” You tell him as you scoop out a bit of the gunk and shovel it into your mouth. Despite your hatred of the stuff it tasted like heaven after hiking through the jungle all day.

“Can I ask you something?” Frankie asks after a few minutes of watching you eat.

You swallow the bite you just took and meet his eyes. His soft brown eyes, peering at you from under his cap, have a question you were afraid of facing since Pope told you he intended to bring the team down. A question you had been running from for three years. You wanted to say no, to shut it down and tell him you didn’t want to talk about anything at the moment. You knew he would sit there in silence with you, that he won’t pry if you choose to not to let him. But you also knew that it wasn’t fair to him, two of his closest friends moved just after one of the most important chapters of his life, he deserved an explanation. “What is it, Cat?”

“Why’d you leave?” He asks softly, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer but he had to ask. “I know why Pope left, but why did you follow? If he and-” he paused as if trying to reach for the right words, “I thought you two would have…” his voice trails off, but his implication lingered in the air.

“Pope offered me a job.” You start, then decide he deserves the full truth instead of half truths, and if Santiago had come clean about why he left, you could too. “I couldn’t stay for the same reason Pope couldn’t,” you finally say when the MRE envelope was empty. “I thought I could, I thought it would pass, that I could truly go on with life like I had before, but it hurt too much to see the person I loved find happiness with someone else.” You kept your eyes fixed on the envelope, your fidgety hands had started folding it down. “So I ran, Pope offered me an out and I took it. Eventually, he and Yovanna found each other, and I...I found purpose within the job.” You decide he doesn’t need to know about the man you fell in love with and lost within the first year you had lived here. “I’m sorry for not saying goodbye, I took the cowards way out. I know that, but after...I just knew I couldn’t stay.” You fell silent after your mumbled explanation. Half expecting him to shuffle away now that you all but told him that the reason you left was because you were in love with him.

After what felt like an eternity, his hands reached out to stop yours from fidgeting with the envelope. He plucked the small folded packaging from your fingertips and wrapped his warm hands over your smaller ones. “I’m sorry-” he began, using that soft, but firm tone of voice he used when he wanted to make sure you were listening, but he didn’t get much out before the conversation the rest of the team was having drifted over and made you both turn towards the rest of the group, his hands leaving yours. However, it was then that you noticed his left hand was bare. A tan that should have been on his forefinger was missing, and for a brief second your brain was struggling to remember if his wedding band had been missing since he and the rest of the team arrived, or if he removed it for the op.

“We’re dancing with the Devil now” Benny’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts. Shaking your head at the dangerous path your mind was taking, you look up to hear Frankie’s reply.

“Dancing?” He had scoffed out, “We were dancing when we got on a plane to come down here. I would call this full intercourse.”

Benny chuckled at the way Fish reacted to his statement. Looking over with concern when his brother grunted out a noise of agreement as he made himself comfortable...well, as comfortable as he can get on a rock with a bullet wound on his abdomen. “How you doing, bud?” He asked his older brother.

“Golden.” Will let out as he closed his eyes.

“Here.” Benny offered his brother a mango that he had grabbed from the village where the team had crashed.

“You’re a good man Benny.” Will tells his brother as he accepts the mango, “We’re a dying breed boys.” He chuckles giving you a wink.

“No, we’re not” Benny argues, “The world is always going to need someone to go door to door to hold the line.”

“Cops go door to door to hold the line” Will returns, “We were warriors.”

“Well, it's hard to remember that sometimes.” Benny shoots back, you don't miss the way Frankie’s hand clenched into a fist. The same one that was holding yours not too long ago. The same one that was missing a ring.

“Yeah it is” He chimes in after he manages to unclench his fist and slides his open palms against his legs as he leans forward and rests his forearms on his thighs, pulling his body into a hunched position.

“What are you talking about?” Will asks him when he sees Frankie poke out from the ridge in his new position.

“I was too quick on the trigger. You know it, and I know it.” Frankie tells him, his fingers fidgeting with one another as he berates himself for the shots fired at the crash site. You want to pull his hands back towards you once more, but he’s pulled himself away from you and you don’t want to overstep. “I killed those people.” He lets out, anguish coating his words.

“No, you didn't,” Benny says, “We all did.” You nodded in agreement along with Will. Your fidget with the strap of your gun. It’s been a while since you’ve had to sleep with it strapped to your chest. Sure your handgun was always by your bedside, but this was different. Here with adrenaline running through your blood and the fear of being discovered made that section of your brain click back into focus where you shot first and asked questions later. The army gave you many skills, but sometimes you wonder what life might have been like if you had chosen a different path, one that didn’t require you to know how to make a clean shot from a mile away. Maybe you might be able to sleep through the night.

You spend the rest of the night taking shifts watching the camp as everyone sleeps. Your shift is shared with Will and he’s quick to catch you up on what you’ve missed back home. From Benny finally moving out of your apartment last year, Monica finishing her degree, to the new gym he and Benny have been training in.

“Finally tied the knot then?” You ask when your conversation lulls into a bit of silence and you’re dangerously close to nodding off.

Will smiles as he plays with the band around his finger, “Yeah, Monica told me her engagement ring was turning green on her finger and threatened to ask for a new one if I didn’t hurry up and take her to a chapel.” He chuckles at the face you gave him.

“Don’t tell me you two eloped?” your eyes wide as you realize what he was saying.

“Hey, it was her idea!” He chuckles as he raises his hands up as if surrendering, “Said she was tired of saving up for a dream wedding. So we took a weekend off and got hitched at the white chapel in Vegas. Figured if it was good enough for celebrities it was good enough for us.” He shrugged his shoulders, his smile faltering a bit when the movement caused discomfort on his wound.

“You two are amazing.” You laugh, thinking about how Monica would absolutely match Will’s spontaneity and jump on a plane to get married. “I miss her.” You let out in a voice dripping with sleep. You missed all of them, even if Tom always managed to get under your skin, you missed your boys.

“What about you, hot shot?” Will’s voice makes you peel your eyes open, “Is there another hot informant we might meet once we make it to the ocean?”

You want to laugh at Will’s wording, the team was not going to get information about Yovanna from you. “Nah, mine-” You let out a soft sigh, “No, mine wasn’t as lucky.”

“Oh shit, sorry, I didn’t know.” He said quickly when he noticed the far off look in your eyes.

“It’s alright, Will.” You pull your jacket closer to your body as you settle into the rock you were leaning into. “I was shit at keeping in touch, wasn’t I?” you ask.

Will looked up at you, “No one blames you.” He jutted out his chin in your direction as if asking you to continue.

With a smile you tell him, “He wasn’t an informant, he was actually part of the tactical team we worked with.” You explain, remembering the man who helped stitch your heart back together. His warm smiles and the way he would hold you tight after an op went sideways. A soft smile spread across your face. You weren’t a stranger to death, hell your career choice was proof of that. So remembering your past partner with fond memories and burying yourself in finding Lorea was one way to cope with the loss.

“So you’ve got a type huh?” He teases while wagging his eyebrows towards Frankie’s sleeping form. “Teammates” he mouths the word, as if the sleeping team might overhear your conversation. “I know you're a couple months older than Benny, but then age never seemed to bother you, so don’t go breaking my little brother’s heart.” He adds with a shit eating grin.

Laughing you shoot him a half hearted glare. “You cannot tease me, William.” You say, “Don’t forget that you had a bad habit of dating blondes before you found Monica.”

“Hey, hey didn’t you have blonde hair for a while?” He shoots back giving you one of his goofy grins, you flip him a bird in response. Oh yes, you missed your boys dearly.

“Shut up!” You try to glare at him but your laughter overtakes you.

“Alright, fine I’ll take over your shift if y’all won’t shut up and let us sleep.” Benny’s voice cuts through your laughter.

“Shit sorry, Benny.” You let out when you were finally able to get your giggles under control.

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t go falling in love with me.” He says with a grin.

You roll your eyes at them both when they start laughing anew. Huffing out that you were getting some much needed sleep, you lean further into the rock behind you and close your eyes. Missing the dark brown eyes tracking your movements.

---

The next two days were brutal on your feet. The jungle was unforgiving and even more so when you had to cross a river and continue hiking in wet clothing, you felt horrible that the animals you bought at the village were forced to continue walking while carrying wet packs. Although, it was too dangerous to stop and dry off by a fire, so you kept your complaints to yourself. By the evening of the second day tempers were running short and the trail was getting even more dangerous when you reached a ridge that changed the landscape into a rocky terrain.

The side of the ridge was dangerous. The trail was narrow and the drop was steep should you lose your footing. You had your eyes on the ground focusing where your next step would be and making sure your mule was staying on the side closest to the rocky wall.

“Stop pushing man, it's steep up here.” You hear Benny’s voice up ahead, Pope was leading the group with Tom, Benny, Will, you and Frankie taking the rear.

“Obviously, Man. We are on the side of a fucking mountain.” You hear William’s heated reply to his brother.

“Just shut up and concentrate! Jesus Christ!” You hear Frankie yell out behind you. Much closer than you thought he was, giving you a start. Your mule felt your moment of panic and made a soft whining noise.

“Come, on. Just go.” Will says as he stops in front of you causing you to place a soft hand on the nose of your mule, signaling to stop.

“Fuck you!” You hear Benny reply. You can feel the tension between the two brothers, wishing you had taken the spot between them so that you could have defused the situation.

“Oh really?” Will’s shout causes your mule to startle once more, giving a loud huff and pulling away from you. You quickly try to calm the animal down by gently tugging on the rope you held in your hand, and trying to reach out to pet his nose again. The animal, however, refused to calm down. It’s shrieks of fear got louder as the shouting between Benny and Will got louder. Eventually Tom’s voice joined, but you were too busy trying to calm down your mule to focus on what was being said.

Frankie noticed that your mule was retreating and you heard his low. “Whoa, Whoa” when it bumped into him behind you. Then, “Oh shit.”

The animal had tried to step back further but after sensing Frankie behind it, it tried stepping to the side, missing the ridge and slipping down. You felt the burn of the rope as it quickly slipped through your fist. You had been gripping the rope so tightly that for a second the weight brought you to your knees before you let go completely. The mule let out an awful screaming noise as it fell to its death. Leaving everyone in a tense silence as you look over the ridge where an explosion of cash puffed up as the mule and the cash made impact with the rocks below you. You hear an exasperated laugh as you kneel there looking down with wide eyes. “What the fuck are you laughing at?” You hear the words before you realize they left your lips.

“That was a living animal man.” Pope’s voice drifts into the air as you stumble back on to your feet. Frankie shuffled close to you, giving you a hand up.

“It could have been any one of us that went over,” Tom starts in a sarcastic tone, “and y’all worried about the fucking donkey?”

“You need to get your shit straight here, man.” You hear Pope’s response.

“What?” Tom replies. While the two are shouting at each other Frankie shuffles closer to you, helping you get on your feet once more and carefully dusting your hands of the pebbles that were embedded in your palms. “Me?”

“Yeah, you” You surprise Frankie when it was you who answered Tom instead of Pope. His fingers pausing what they were doing as he looks at you shouting in the direction of Tom.

“Don’t point your fingers at me!” Tom yells back at you. Frankie's fingers give your hand a squeeze. You know he's telling you to stand down, but you're too heated up to stop. Will and Benny share a silent look as the shouting is directed towards you. Tom and you might have passive aggressive arguments but he has never yelled at you like that. You hardly realize that Frankie has handed you the rope for his own mule. He begins to make his way towards Tom, knowing you're not going to heed his warning and stop yelling.

“You’re the only reason we are in this mess!” You continue. You sweep your arm out, the one that isn’t holding the rope, and gesture towards the situation that you all find yourselves in. Pope gives you a nod in agreement.

“Oh? How the fuck is that?” Tom asks you sarcastically, the ire in his voice evident as he yells at you from his position at the top of the trail.

After three years of taking care of eachother Pope’s anger rose when Tom turned on you. His reply was in a bitingly cold tone, “Don’t talk to her like that! You’re the one that had to grab every dollar you could get your hands on, didn’t you?”

“Both of you could have gotten Lorea two months ago! We didn’t have to be here, if you knew how to do your jobs right!” Tom spits back at both of you.

“Alright!” you hear Pope reply and push forward, seemingly done fighting with Tom.

“Fucking bullshit!” Tom yells after him.

“We are all on the hook, are we not?” Frankie asks Tom his voice strong and low, he has reached Tom at this point, his palm raised towards him. “Stop it!” He says in a raised voice, driving his point further.

“Fucking horse!” Tom grits out as his horse whines at the shouting.

“Stop it!” Frankie tells him again, this time his voice carries.

“Fine. Fine!’ Tom agrees when he sees the look Frankie gives him.

“We’re not picking at the fucking scab right now okay?” Frankie tells Tom now that he has his attention. “One foot in front of the other alright? Lets go.” He commands lifting an eyebrow when Tom looks like he might say something else to you. You stand your ground head held high in an almost challenging manner. “Jesus Christ.” Frankie mutters as Tom finally turns back around and continues following Santiago, who was further up the trail.

You, Benny, and Will exchange glances, the brothers deciding to give up whatever argument they had between themselves and began walking when Frankie gave them another wave of his hand to keep them going. Determined now to get off the side of a deadly mountain.

---

About two hours later as Frankie is scaring off the animals and you’re sitting on top of the ridge with Tom you decide you have to talk out your differences. It’s been a hard mission for everyone and it wasn’t fair to throw those words in Tom’s face. Not when he had a point, it could have been anyone of you that fell with that mule. With the way the rope pulled you and stung your hands, you remember it could have been you.

“Look, I talked a lot of shit back there. I didn’t mean that.” You say in between hard puffs of breath. You had after all just finished lugging over 100 bags of cash over a rocky ridge.

“Don’t worry about it.” Tom says shaking his head as if begging you not to bring it up any longer. Normally you would have just dropped it there, but call it your guilt for disappearing or your closest brush with death you wanted to make sure this time you cleared the air. “No, no its...this is on me. I could have talked Pope out of calling the team down here. But I didn’t, I knew it wasn’t just a recce and yet I let him bring you down here with only that information.” You take another breath, and Tom takes advantage of the pause to cut you off.

“No. I’m on the hook for this. You know? It is what it is.” Tom tells you as you hear Pope climb up next to you both.

Having caught the end of your conversation he interjects. “I am a bit of a dick, you know?” Giving you a tap on your leg so you can move out of the way he looks at Tom and says, “it is what it is, but also, Tweets is right. Sorry about earlier.”

Tom gives a small laugh agreeing with him as he gives you a hand while you climb over a boulder to move out of the way. Giving your hand a gentle squeeze before he lets go entirely. You know in his own way Tom has forgiven you both, you only hope that later, he can forgive himself.

After everyone has made it over the ridge and you’ve managed to pile the bags in a semicircle you pull out the last MRE envelopes in your pack. Handing one to each of the men, “It's mangoes only after this, boys.” You tell them as they each take an envelope.

“You could freeze an eskimos asshole out here.” Will says as he settles down to lean against the bags.

“I demand a fire.” Benny grunts out as he sits between Pope and Tom.

You laugh at the absurdity of Will’s statement. Shaking your head you decide that one argument was enough for today, no need to tell him that the Inuit people of the north wouldn’t agree with his word choice.

“We cold camp.” Will tells his brother as the group begins to settle in for the night.

Benny, ever the trouble maker reaches for one of the bags. Curious you watch his movements, as he pulls out a wad of bills and lights it on fire. “Fuck you.” he says holding the wad of cash looking directly at Will. “This is my ‘fuck you’ money.” Pope lets out a laugh next to you, his shoulders bumping into you gently.

“Dude what the fuck are you doing?” Will asks his brother as Benny waves the money torch in front of him, the warmth reaching you even with Santiago sitting between the two of you.

With a chuckle Tom answers for him, “Not enough men to carry all this money so we might as well be warm.” That was all Benny needed to keep going. He placed the bill in the center of the semi circle and reached for more, lighting it up as well.

“Jesus Christ” Frankie says on the other side of you, laughing at the absurdity of watching money go up in flames.

“Este loco” Santiago says, elbowing you as a smile finally appears on your face once you feel the warmth reach you.

Will looks apprehensive, at the growing flame. When suddenly Tom stands, opens a suitcase and throws the entire contents into the flame. Watching the bundles light up the boys begin laughing a bit harder.

“That’s a fire!’ Benny exclaims as the warmth begins to creep up your bodies. Will still looking apprehensive refuses to join in the laughter but does scoot a bit closer to feel the warmth radiating from the center.

Once you see that the boys look adequately warm you lean back against the bags and fight the edges of sleep. You still haven’t agreed to who will keep watch for the first half of the night and you don’t want to fall asleep without knowing what time you should be up.

“Rest your eyes, I’ve got your six.” Frankie tells you leaning back to lay against the bags next to you, his hand coming down to rest on your knee. “I’ve got the first shift.” He answers the question left unsaid. With a smile in his direction you rest your head on his shoulder and drift off. You’re asleep before you can feel his arm wrap around you and pull you closer.

----

About halfway through the next day you’ve made what seems like less progress than the days before. The rocky terrain has made it harder to move the bags. Despite your best efforts to make the process go faster you hate that the team is so exposed in certain areas. Just as you were about to ask how many bags you still had to get through in order to change your positions, you hear the unmistakable sound of a gunshot ricocheting against one of the boulders.

The team drops below various rocks within seconds. The sound of two more shots echo through the air and you climb around the boulder, you were crouched under, pulling your weapon into position and using the scope to focus on the ridge above you.

“Fuck!” You can’t tell who yelled out but you hear more, “Shit, shit shit!” below you where the boys had been lined up throwing the bags down.

“I’m hit!’ You hear Benny shout somewhere below you. Quickly you follow his voice and push the scope above his position trying to follow the trajectory of a bullet from his position.

“Benny you alright?” Will shouts.

“Yeah I’m fine, just grazed my shoulder!”

You catch Pope’s eye from your position, and send him a hand signal. You’ve got eyes on one of them. Nodding his head Pope lets you know he’ll draw fire so that you can get a clear shot.

“Shooter’s up on the ridgeline!” Pope shouts. The men don’t have to be told twice, they aim towards the ridge as you continue to creep up. Pope starts climbing the ridge on the other side, while Frankie begins to climb up towards you.

Shots keep raining down on your team as you climb up your side of the trail, just as you’re about to yell out and give away your position Tom shouts up, “Since they like me so much let me draw out their fire, Pope, Will, try to flank either sides, make sure there’s not another!”

Deciding you can count on the others to make sure there's not another, you find a good spot to take a shot at the person above you. Looking through your scope and waiting for the shooter to pop out again. Sure enough after the men below you pause their shots to take on their new position a head pops out and you take your shot. Clean hit.

“Got one!” You shout as you look down to where Frankie was following you, to let him know you've got him. Although when you see him, you notice he's lifting his gun in your direction, but you're too late. As you spin back around in the direction Frankie is aiming, time seems to slow down. Above you you see the kid from the village, the one that refused to let Tom through, how did you miss him? He’s wearing a goddamn yellow shirt for Christsake! His gun was aimed in your direction, but you knew it wouldn't be a deadly blow from that position. That should have motivated you to get in position faster, to swing your rifle forward just a bit faster instead of what happened. You later think that you should have tipped just a little bit forward, then the bullet would have hit your vest, a bruise or even a broken rib would have been better than what happened. But you didn’t lean forward and it didn’t hit your vest. Instead you watched as the bullet grazed the outside of your right arm and then you heard the thump behind you. A single shot was heard after and then silence.

“RED! Tom!” The shouts were raw emotion as they clawed their way out of you. You attempt to scramble off the boulder towards the one where Tom was laying out on. Benny got to him first, you had struggled to climb down when your arm was refusing to hold your weight as you made your way towards Tom. Frankie was right behind you.

“Tom! Come on, Tom!’ Benny cried as he pulled Tom into an upright position. But you could tell from the bullet hole, that Tom was gone. You stood there shocked with your left hand grabbing your arm. You hardly felt the blood that was quickly staining your fingers until Will pushed past you to get to Tom and his brother.

Pope reached you next seeing Tom’s body he pulled off his cap and let out a whispered “Fuck’ next to you. You were still in shock. Death was no stranger, your last romantic partner died during one of your raids gone wrong. Yet here you were, still as a statue unable to feel the pain of your own injury as you stared at Tom’s body and the Miller brothers crying over your fallen teammate.

“Lets get him wrapped up we need to keep moving.” Will finally says as he pulls himself back up and directs his words up at you and Pope. You vaguely remember your motor skills and nod your head agreeing with him. It's not safe here, you’re too exposed.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Benny cries from the floor. “You’re a heartless son of a bitch!” He yells at his brother, refusing to let go of Tom’s body.

“It was your little fire that got him fucking killed!” William spits back at his brother, his voice lifting into a shout. After a beat Benny launched himself at his brother, throwing failing punches and pinning him against another boulder.

“Stop this shit, STOP THIS SHIT!” Pope yells as he pulls Benny off his brother with a grunt. His shout as he pushes past you breaks you out of your daze. Pulling yourself together you reach them and insert yourself between the two, using your weight to keep Will from retaliating with any punches now that his brother was successfully pulled away from him.

“Fuck you Benny, FUCK YOU!” Will shouted over your head as you struggled to press your weight against him. Your arm was searing with pain, but you held your ground. You knew you wouldn’t be able to hold him too long and the way you can feel his chest rising you knew he had enough fight left inside him to push you off. Thankfully Frankie reached you in time to pull Will further back. Between the both of you, you managed to get Will to sit down on the rock behind him.

“It wasn’t the fire that gave us away!’ Santiago’s voice carried. “That kid was from the village. He’s been tracking us for days. He obviously wanted a clear shot at Tom. He wanted him.” Pope says emphasizing his point when he pulls you over and points out your wounded arm. “He had a clearer shot of Tweets, but he chose him.” You hiss lightly when your hand comes back up to check on the torn skin. “We do have to get the fuck out of here, and we are taking all that money with us!” Pope points at the duffles, now sitting below you. “Tom’s family deserves it!’ his voice cracks as he says that last bit. “And so do we.” Taking a deep gulp his voice evens out once more, “Alright let's wrap him up. We carry him down.”

Frankie is the first to move and begins pulling Tom’s gun off his body and switching the safety on. You decide that your arm injury can wait while you help. Tom needs to be wrapped up. Once Tom's body has been wrapped and has joined the bags at the bottom of the rocky landscape you sit down on a pile of bags.

"Let me." Frankie holds up a med kit as he kneels next to you.

"Thanks, Cat." you mumble out as he begins to pull out a syringe and gauze, "Wait, use mine." You begin to tap down your pockets noticing that your own med kit was missing. You don't recall using it.

"Umm...I already used it to patch up the cuts you had from the crash." Frankie tells you as he struggles to roll up your sleeve.

"Oh." You didn't even realize your cuts from the landing had been that bad. But then again you weren't exactly conscious for a bit after the rough landing. "Here, wait." You stop Frankie's movements and decide to help him reach your wound by removing your jacket and the shirt. You weren't expecting the look from Pope as you pulled the long sleeve shirt off your right arm, you ignored him, its not like you were stripping off everything, you still had another tank top under.  

"Yeah." Frankie cleared his throat, "That's...easier." His voice came out in that raspy tone of his that made your skin tingle. You couldn't keep your eyes off his hands as they carefully inserted the syringe into your arm. "Sorry." Frankie let out when he saw your skin lift up with gooseflesh.

"It's fine." You almost didn't hear your own words as they slipped past your lips. Your eyes tracing his face now that he was focused on cleaning up your arm and wrapping your arm with the gauze and medical tape. You smile to yourself when you realize his hat has survived the trip. His curls poked out from under his cap, his face had a coat of dirt. The cut on his own face was starting to scab and another angry red scratch was poking out near the collar of jacket. Without thinking you lift your left hand and trace the scratch, "You didn't patch up your..." Your voice trailed off when you realized his eyes were staring back up at you. His soft ministrations on your arm had stopped and you suddenly felt a flush of heat rush up to your face. What were you thinking? You can't just reach out an touch him! "S-Sorry!" you quickly stammer out and pull away from him.

"I-" Frankie's eyes won't leave your face, the heat of embarrassment must be obvious. "It's...It's alright." He finally lets out, in that raspy voice of his. At that point you don't even know if the heat you're sure is radiating through your skin is from embarrassment or from desire.

You don't know if your glad or annoyed at the throat clearing from one of the guys behind you. It manages to break the trance you had fallen into as you stared into Frankie's eyes. Had they always been that soft? Mentally shaking yourself you quickly begin pulling your arm into the sleeve of your shirt, now that Frankie has let go. You're so caught up in buttoning up your shirt you miss the way Pope wags his eyebrows at Frankie as he walks back towards them.

---- As night falls once more you start assessing the amount of days you’ve been on the mountain. The boat waiting for you had been waiting five days, if it was still waiting. Looking down from where you stood you can see a few lights twinkling within the reflection of the ocean.

“How late are we to catch the boat?” Santiago asks you as he meets you after dropping the last of the bags by the pile next to you.

“About five days.”

“Jesus, you think he’s still there?”

“I can’t see shit.” This time it was Will who replied instead of you, his binoculars dropping from his face. Standing up he continues, “We need to get one of us down there. Think one of you can make it? There and back?” he asks the team as you all look over towards the ocean.

“I’ll go” Benny pipes up before anyone else can say anything.

“Your spanish sucks, Benny.”

“I got it.” Benny says as he picks up his gun and checks his ammunition.

“You sure?” Pope asks. “Three?”

“Yeah.” Benny’s determination is evident on his face.

“You’re looking for the Hijo Prodigo” Santiago says as he hands Benny the map the team has been using.

With a nod Benny takes the map and begins walking.

“Benny, watch your six.” You call out after him.

He turns at the sound of your voice. You’ve been relatively quiet since the moment you and Frankie shared. “You watch yours.” He calls back, before continuing his trek down towards the ocean.

With a thud you finally let yourself sit on top of the bags at your feet. Wincing at the sting of the movement you pull the strap of your gun over your shoulder and make yourself comfortable. Benny will be a while might as well catch a bit of sleep, you’re most likely going to be reaching the ocean overnight.

With a huff you hear Santiago behind you, “Alright guess I’ll take first watch.”

You swear you haven’t been asleep more than an hour or two when you’re awoken to Frankie’s voice cutting through the silence.

“I’m going to say something. Are you listening?” His voice held that commanding tone that you knew never to interrupt.

“Yeah.” You hear Santiago reply. Wondering if you woke up halfway through a conversation or if it just started, you didn’t know if you should be listening too.

“We gotta get back on our game. Enough of this. It stops now. You understand?”

“Copy that.” Santiago replies dryly.

So it was a conversation between the two of them. Even so, you felt a bit scolded. It was your fault too that the team was down here. Deciding that Pope shouldn’t have to hold all the blame you pipe up with a, “Yes, Sir.”

Will lets out a soft laugh, and Frankie sighs out a “Good.” before falling silent.

The silence after is cut short by Will’s question, “How many people do you think you’ve killed?”

You furrow your brow, that’s not at all what you expected to hear from Will. It seems that neither did Frankie, because he asked, “What?” in a somewhat surprised tone.

“You heard me.”

“As many as I had to.” Frankie’s voice sounds rough.

“Why would you ever want to know that?” This time it was Pope who asked.

“Forty-three.” Was the unexpected response from Will.

“Jesus Christ!” both you and Frankie exclaim at the same time.

“Confirmed.”

“You keep count of everything, huh?” Pope responds.

“Yup.”

“How’s your sleep?” Frankie asks.

“I guess better than it should be.”

With that hollow answer you get up from where you had been sitting and make your way to Will. Despite everything you’ve seen and been through you can’t help your bleeding heart from making an appearance. Settling back down next to him you whisper. “I’ve got your six. Get some sleep.”

Will looks over at you trying to figure out if you were saying it to hurt him. Whatever he found in your expressive eyes made him lift his hand from his gun and tap your knee twice before returning it to his gun and closing his eyes.

"Seventy-nine." You whisper into the night, you were a good shot and an even better sniper. Remembering that number was going to keep you up tonight.

----

You heard him before you saw him. Gun pulled up and trained in his direction when he finally popped up behind a rock.

“Whoa, it's just me.” Benny made a show to put his hands up in surrender. With a grunt you push down your gun. You’d been on edge throughout your entire shift on watch.“You alright?”

After a brief nod to answer your question Benny debriefs, “The boat’s there. I gave him half the money. I hope he waits.” As he reaches you the others get up. “I didn’t go into town, but it looks like whoever is in charge there has a...kindergarten army that’s looking for us.” He rips off his pack and gun and lets them drop to the floor once he’s in the middle of the circle you had formed with the bags.

“How many of them?” Will asks.

“Two or three pros, 20 heavily armed teenagers.”

“What about the next town over?” Frankie’s voice cracks from disuse.

“It’s over a 100 miles to the south.” Pope replies.

“I’m sure they have every town covered anyway.” Will shakes his head.

“Must be what's left of Lorea’s guys.” You find your voice again, thinking out loud. “Or...It wasn’t just his money we stole.”

“So we go through them.” Pope says his hands on his hips as if saying that's that.

“Through them?”

“What, do you mean we just mow them all down?” Frankie’s tone hints that that is not at all what he would be doing.

“What's the alternative here?” Pope shrugs his hands still firmly set on his hips.

“I’m not prepared to wipe out every teenager in that town.” Will speaks up, “Just to get through with this cargo.” he gestures at the bags stacked around you.

“This cargo?” Santiago points at the bags. “What about that cargo?” he yells as he points towards Tom’s wrapped body. “Would you do it for him?” You knew that tone of voice. You knew where this was going, you tried shaking your head at him but he continued anyways, “Tom died for this money, and we’re not leaving this country without it!”

Benny snapped, “He didn’t die for that money, he died because of it!” Pope turned his back on the group, running his hand over his face and walking a few paces away. Benny turned to the rest of the group, “They are just kids, man. Can’t we just carry it out through the dark?”

“It’s over 100 bags, man. There's no way.” Will tells his brother.

“Let me talk to him.” You finally found your voice again.

Without waiting for them to answer you, you trudge up towards Pope. Stopping when you can reach out and place your hand on his elbow. “Benny says these are kids, Santi.”

With a few quick shakes of his head Pope looks at you, “I can’t believe...I can’t believe I let this happen.” he struggles to find his words.

“We did.” you remind him squeezing his elbow, “The team came down to support us because we asked them to.” You fight down the little voice inside your head that sets the blame of Tom’s death on you, this was about Santi not you, you can deal with your own guilt later. Right now you had to get the surviving members of the team out of here. You know you won’t be able to handle it if another one of them...

“Yeah… Yeah but I thought- I thought we could do this!”

“Yeah. We both did.” You look down at your shoes to blink away your emotions, “And we got what we deserved.” With a deep breath you force yourself to look up at him. “Santi, we did some awful shit down here when it was just you and I. But we kept telling ourselves it was okay because the end justified the means. Yet, here we are hauling our brother’s body out of the fucking mountains.” Your voice cracks at the mention of Tom. “Santi, we have to get everyone else out, we won’t be able to live with ourselves if we risk another life for this dirty money.” You give his elbow another squeeze when he doesn’t answer right away.

“Yeah...Yeah your right.” Pope looks at you for a second, and just as you start turning on your heel to rejoin the group he stops you. “Just in case…”

“No.”

“No, really.” This time he's the one squeezing your arm, letting you know he won’t let go until he says his piece, “He’s been in love with you for much longer than you have been with him.” You look at Pope with wide eyes, knowing exactly who he was talking about but needing more information. Thankfully he keeps going, “Vanessa left before their one year anniversary, he wasn’t very forthcoming with why, just that she was gone. I know you hate my meddling when it comes to these things, but he’s still in love with you. Don’t let him get away this time.”

With that Pope turns and walks towards the others and you can hear him talking to the group again. But you're frozen in that position. Your hand was still in the air from when it was sitting on Pope’s elbow. A million questions were flying through your head, but most of all you were struck with the one thought that you had to get the fuck out of here before you could begin to ask any of those questions. Dropping your hand you turn to rejoin the group.

“We just have to get Tom home.” Will was saying when you joined them. Benny gave you an odd look, but you just shook your head at him as if your heart wasn’t just singing with hope, as Will finished with, “that’s all that matters.”

“How are we gonna do that?”

“We keep carrying him down.” You find your voice in time to contribute with the conversation at hand, even if your thoughts are chaos within your skull.

“I agree with Tweets.” Pope piped up, “We fill our day packs with...With whatever we can carry and that's it.”

“What do we do with the rest of it?” Benny asks once more.

------

“Put him down for a second.” You hear one of the boys say behind you when you put your fist up in the air. Your gun is pulled up in position. Due to the wound on your arm you’ve been point guard, your gun held steady in front of you, making sure to clear a path towards the ocean as the others carried Tom’s body behind you. Benny left the group about thirty minutes prior, to make sure the boat didn’t take off without the team, once the horizon began to turn pink with the rising sun.

You hear Frankie whisper your name in that raspy tone that made your tummy flip then, “What is it?” as he joins you with his gun also pulled up into position. You motion in the direction of the truck you noticed peeking out of the tall grass.

With a nod, he begins to creep forward. Your height helps hide you within the grass, one of your advantages as point guard, but Frankie was almost a head taller and when he stepped closer to the truck the lights turned on, momentarily blinding you, “Fuck!” you let out a curse as you crouch lower and grip your gun a bit tighter.

“Stop!”

“Manos Arriba!” [Hands up!]

“Wait, espera espera espera!” [Wait, wait, wait!] you hear Santiago’s voice towards the side of the truck, While you and Frankie had gone towards the front of the truck Pope had flanked behind it. Catching the teenager, with a rifle that looked too at home in his skinny arms, off guard. “Oye, Hermanito, ¡ten cuidado con esa arma! No me apunte.” [Hey, man. Careful with that gun, don’t point it at me!] Pope lowered his pistol as he began to talk to the kid.

Your finger on the trigger is twitching at the way the kid is gripping the rifle. Any other day you wouldn’t hesitate to do the same as Pope, but you’ve lost too much already, your heart feels like it might fall out of your butt any minute, and you keep your scope on the kid in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye you see Frankie making his way towards the drivers side of the truck.

“I speak english!” The kid yells, “What’s in the bag? What is that?” he gestures towards Tom’s body with his gun.

“That’s our friend” Will’s voice is just a bit to your left. Your focus is still on the gun the kid keeps failing about in the air. “He’s dead.”

“I call Boss” The kid says, you can see the fear in his eyes as the team continues to take small steps closer to him.

“No, No, ¡No hagas eso!” [Don’t do that!] You yell out at the kid, aiming the scope on your gun towards the kid’s leg. The kid looks in your direction, it seems your voice took him by surprise, not expecting a woman behind the automatic weapon that was trained on him. “Contigo no tenemos ningún problema. Right guys?” [I have no problem with you.]

“No problem.” Will answers, as Pope gets closer his open palms facing the kid, too close for your comfort. Your finger leaving the trigger guard and getting dangerously close to the trigger once more.

“I’m taking the shot.” You hear the words leave you, but you’ve closed off the part of you that would have done what Pope is doing. The instinct to survive taking over. Frankie looks at you from his position to your right and gives you a miniscule nod.

“NO!” Pope shouts one of his palms facing you this time. “No, don’t do that!”

You let out a frustrated groan, your finger lightly squeezing your trigger, not enough to release a bullet, but you know if the kid makes one abrupt movement he’ll drop. Thankfully you don’t have to. With a swift push, Pope knocks the gun out of the kid’s hand. However you were so focused on the gun that you didn’t notice the finger the kid was pushing down on the walkie until he shouted, “Habla 16! 16 necesito ayuda!” [This is 16, I need backup!] as the force of Pope’s push made him hit the ground.

“Pendejo!” [Asshole!] You growl out at the kid, as Pope pulls him up to his feet and pins him down against the hood of the truck.

“¿Dónde están las llaves?” [Where are the keys?] Frankie grunts out as he lowers his gun and begins to rifle through the cab of the truck.

“No se, me dejaron solamente con el coche y el radio.” [I don’t know, they just left me with the truck and the radio!] The kid struggles to breathe as Pope keeps his arm around the kid’s throat.

“FUCK!” You hear Frankie’s frustrated yell inside the cab.

“Seguro?” [You sure?] Pope asks the kid as he and William begin to zip tie the kid’s hands and feet together.

“16, 16 estás ahí?” [16, 16 are you there?] The walkie on the floor lets out.

With a huff you kick the radio into the grass and walk over to Tom’s body hauling his torso up you begin dragging him closer to the truck. Feeling the weight lift considerably once Will reaches you and helps you haul him into the bed of the truck. Just as Frankie managed to get the engine running.

“Yes! Fuck Yes!’ Pope slaps his hands against the hood of the car, as you jump into the flatbed and take a position behind Frankie. “Lets move lets get outta here!” Pope shouts at no one in particular seeing as he was the only one, other than the kid, not in the truck.

“Shit his radio!” You tell the guys realizing your mistake you jump out of the flatbed and retrieve the radio, from where it was in the grass.

“Un consejo,” [A piece of advice.] Santiago's voice drifts up from where you grab the radio, “Alejate de esos hombres.” [Get away from those men.]

“Did you just give the kid money?” You ask him, almost angry that Pope was being so reckless when you’re in hot water.

“Let’s move!” Frankie’s voice cuts through the tension between you and Pope, “Vamos! Los dos!” [Go, both of you.]

Rushing back to the truck you hop back into position behind Frankie and Pope takes the seat next to him as the truck jerks into gear. You grab onto the bar above you as the unforgiving dunes force you and Will to bounce within the back.

“Did you just give that fucking kid money?” Frankie berates Pope as soon as the truck you're in begins moving towards the ocean with more speed. “We should have killed the kid the minute he saw our faces.”

“We are not killing anymore people!”

“I’m telling you right now if we get to that beach and Ben isn’t there. I’m fucking killing people!”

“He’ll be there, alright!” Will cuts off the arguing that is going on within the cab of the truck.

“Fuck!” You yell out as a truck collides with the one your in.

“Tweets! The fuck you waiting for!” You hear Frankie yell at you when he pulls the truck back into a straight line.

You answer him with a squeeze of your trigger, your shots hitting their mark into the cab of the truck that was trying to collide with you again. “Drive, Fish!” you spit out as the truck following you stops moving, and another comes towards you.

“¡Miren, nos pegaron! Cuidado se van para la playa!” [Look they hit us! They are headed towards the beach!] The voices coming from the radio you have clipped on your belt.

“Oh, shit!”

“GO, GO, GO!” Will’s shout competes with the sound of the gear shifting. “What are they saying?”

“More are coming.” You notice that he’s out of rounds, handing him the pistol you have strapped to your thigh Will takes it and aims at the new jeep that spun around and began to chase you. “There’s two vehicles!” You shout behind you into the cabin as you train your gun at the one gaining on your right. Will was shooting at the one to your left.

“Alright, it should open up onto the beach any minute.” Pope says as he flashes a light on the map.

“Tweets, Shoot!” Frankie yells as you see the truck full of kids gaining on you. “Shoot the driver! I know you can! Take the fucking shot!”

With a deep breath you squeeze your trigger once more, but this time you're aiming at the front tire, deciding Pope is right. After looking at those kids, you know you won’t be able to sleep for a while if you mow them all down.

“Despacio que nos están disparando!” [Slow down they are shooting at us!] The voices on the radio keep shouting orders to the trucks behind you, urging them to slow down, but keep you within sight. “Quedense atras!” [Fall back!] Fruitless really, you hit your mark and watch as one of them spins out into the grass the second vehicle stopping.

“Nice!” Will gives you a grin when he realizes that it was your shot that spun out the truck.

“Eyes up!” Two more trucks meet you. However, these two begin shooting at you and before you can reciprocate fire, Frankie starts swerving through the grass to avoid being hit.

“Where are they?”

“Left! Left!”

Just as Will’s shout makes you turn your body, you feel the impact of the truck as Frankie slams into its side. Without taking proper aim you let out a few shots and watch as the truck flips over and a burst of fire lifts from the cab.

“Watch out!” Pope shouts as the other truck begins raining fire in your direction.

“All right here’s the beach!” Will’s deep voice reaches your ears, a small bud of hope blossoms in your chest. We just need to get to the beach.

“Where is he? Do you see him?” You shout your heart thumping hard against your chest as you keep your gun trained on the truck that has fallen a bit behind you.

“No, but the cove where we have to meet him is about a mile up this beach!” Pope yells.

You’re panicking once more, a mile? The truck that was behind you disappeared when it swerved behind a dune. Leaving you and Will searching the beach. The sound of an engine revving makes you point your gun at a dune to your left and you see the truck pop up closer to you than you expected. A woman in the back gave you an awful smile before shooting at you with a small handgun.

“Fuck!” You squeeze your trigger but your shots miss as Frankie swerves once more, her shots dangerously close to your head.

“Tweets! Kill them! Just kill them!” Frankie’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts of a close call, determined not to add to your numbers, you to take careful aim of the tires once more. They are just kids, you remind yourself even though those last few shots could have been fatal had Fish not swerved.

Will shouts “There he is!” somewhere to your left, but you’re focused on your targets. First you hit the tire on the driver’s side of the truck and then you hit the exposed radiator. Making the truck come to a complete stop. With a sigh you twist around and look over towards the beach where you see Benny waving from a small boat.

“Over the dune!” Pope shouts, as the truck catches air and Frankie drives it into the water. The water quickly fills up the cabin as Fish and Pope jump out. You shove your gun down as you begin to wade through the water and help Will with Tom’s body.

“Here.” Frankie’s rough voice reaches your ears as you swim towards him. He helps you haul Tom’s body onto the boat, and then gives you a push as you throw one leg over the side and pull yourself up as well.

You still hear the gunshots the teenagers are shooting, but Frankie had pulled you under him as the boat sped away, shielding you from harm with his own body.

"Cat" You mumble against his arm, "Fish its okay." You try again when his arms won't release you.

"Right. Sorry." He straightens out, he was about to scoot a bit away from you on the small bench when you grab on to his hand and give it a tug. Without thinking too much about it because you know that if you did you'll chicken out, you reach up with your other hand and pull him back.

"Tweets-" You don't really know what he was about to say because with help from the bumpy waves you're propelled forward and your lips bang against his.

Before you could pull away and apologize for the horribly aimed kiss, Frankie has wrapped both arms around you once more, this time though he pulled you on to his lap. One of his arms, wound tight around your waist held you firmly on his lap, while the other snaked up your back allowing his hand to hold the back of your head to tangle his fingers in your hair. His lips were surprisingly soft, with a slow drag of his tongue against your lower lip you opened your own and let him explore you in a way you had fantasied about for years. Distantly you could hear a muttered "Finally" and a whoop that let you know the guys had looked back and seen the two of you. But you were totally lost in the feel of Frankie's lips, the taste of salt as your tongues tasted each other.  

When you finally broke the kiss to breathe, Frankie spoke, "I've waited years for this." His panting breaths tickling your lips, the hand on your neck keeping you close enough that your lips are still brushing against each other, "If you'd have me, I'm yours."

Taking in a gulp of air you brush your lips against his, "And I'm yours."

----

You stared up at the colorful buildings surrounding you as you waited outside of the bank with Will, Benny and Frankie. Your hand is wrapped around Frankie's hands his arms wrapped around you as his chin rests on the top of your head.

“Where to then?” Pope’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“We need to get home.” Will speaks for both himself and his brother.

“You’ll need these.” Pope hands them their passports. You don’t miss the way he holds on to yours and Frankie's as they pat him on the back and leave.

You look expectantly at him when he finally turns around and looks at you and Frankie. A smile breaks out on his face as he takes you both in, standing there like a pair of love sick fools.

“So, are you finally heading home?” Frankie’s question is directed at Pope.

“I...I have a friend in Sydney.” That makes you break out into a smile. You didn't think Pope was really going to find her, not after everything.

“Heard she just came into some money.” You wink at him.

“Yeah, I heard the same rumor.” He reaches out and gives Frankie both your passports but doesn't let them go once Frankie has a grip on them, “Ahora te toca cuidarla.”[It's your turn to take care of her.]

Frankie gives Pope a smile, his eyes crinkling, “Creo que ella me cuidara a mi.” [I think she'll be the one taking care of me]

You feel the way Frankie's arms squeeze you just a bit tighter. As Pope meets your eyes, "Acuerdate lo que te dije." [remember what I told you.]

"Oh, I'm not about to let him get away this time." You say as you give Frankie's arms a slight squeeze, letting him know to let you go so you can give Pope a parting hug.  

“Have fun getting home you two.” Pope says over your head as you pull away from his hug and Frankie reaches over to give him one as well.

“Wait ¡No te vayas tan rápido!” [Not so fast!] You place a hand on his arm to stop hims from leaving as you dig through the bag that's slung over your shoulder, with the other. “Tell Yovanna que le mando saludos.” [I say hi] You slip a piece of paper with coordinates into his palm as you quickly push yourself up on your toes to place a kiss on his cheek. “And thank you, Santi, for everything.” With one last smile, you pull away from him and pull Frankie along with you as you both disappear into the crowded street away from Pope.

“So dinner?” You ask the man you adore.

“Yeah. Yeah dinner sounds good.” Frankie gives you a lopsided grin as you take both your passports from his hand and shove them into your bag.

"Although, I don't mind a few more hours in that hotel room." Frankie's low and raspy voice reaches your ear, his lips brushing it slightly. Your entire body responds to his voice. The sensation of his lips against your skin have you heating up.

"Francisco!" You gasp in mock shock, "How fast do you think we can get there?"

[jupitermelichios]

Smallville S2E23: Exodus

Nothing happens in this episode and then everything happens. Pacing!

Also Lex gets married off screen becuase the writers are wildly misled about which characters their audience is invested in.

Credit to Tom Welling, for 2002 that is some pretty decent screaming at nothing in the hope that it will make sense once the CGI is added in.

So we open with Jor-El speaking to Clark, giving the standard ‘reject the puny humans and join with me’ kryptonian bullshit, and as part of that he makes projections of Lana and the Kents, and a) he made the Lana projection significantly shorter than Kristen Kruek, and b) instead of just turning off the projection when he’s done with it he uses an effect I can only describe as ‘I don’t feel so good Mr El’

Okay on the one hand angry cupboard sex doctor is 100% justified in being angry at Lex admitting he broke into her office at the beginning of the season, but god damn it their relationship was one of the only compelling things in this fucking show!

Two horses. Lana has two horses again. Did she retrieve the one she left in the graveyard in the first episode?! Did she retrieve one of the many many others that fell into plot holes and disappeared between seasons? Although one of them is piebald, and I’m certain we’ve never seen a piebald horse before, so maybe she went and bought one to replace the last eight she abandoned

Oh god, they just made it really explicit the only person Lex has to take relationship advice from is professional sex pest Clark Kent, no wonder he fucked shit up with angry cupboard sex doctor.

Lionel and Clark are completely alone, in an underground cave, and Lionel still feels the need to whisper all his lines, just for the drama of it. God I love Lionel Luthor.

Oh wow, Chloe is wearing a pale pink Cheongsam over flared jeans, which is the single most 2000 thing I have even seen in my life.

So Jor-El is A Lot in this, and his idea of a compelling argument for why Clark should renounce his human family and take over the world is to levitate Clark and burn the superman logo into his chest with lazers, right across his nipples. Which is certainly an arguement.

Ugh I hate that I’m rooting for Lex and angry cupboard sex doctor even though I know Lex is going do a full villain heel-turn any time now, but I’m so fucking invested at this point and there is literally nothing else in this barren wasteland of a show for me to care about, so fuck it, I’m rooting for them anyway

In order to get both Clark’s shiny new superman scar and Pete’s face into shot at the same time, that shot was framed like Pete is thinking about licking Clark’s nipples, which was a Choice

Pete is 100% going to grow up to be the kind of asshole who writes op eds about how anyone can own property if they just try because he inherited a house at sixteen and got a 6 figure salary thanks to nepotism and if lazy poor people tried harder they could do the same

“There’s something I have to do, I can’t tell you what just know it’s for our future” then followed up a “I just want to remember this moment”. I’m assuming Lana now thinks Clark is going on a killing spree, because that’s the kind of thing people only say in movies before they go on killing sprees and/or hand themselves over to the bad guys to be murdered, and tragically Clark cannot be murdered yet because no one evil knows about the kryptonite thing

I hate Jonathan Kent so much but also I am so invested in Lex getting father figures so this whole Jonathan giving him a Kent family traditional wedding gift thing has me very torn

Jesus fuck I hate Chloe Sullivan. She’s apparently shocked and betrayed that Clark IS INTO LANA. We are two fucking seasons into this sickening bullshit and instead of just being sad that the dude she likes is dating someone else, she’s furious and screaming at him that he betrayed her trust. By fancying the person he’s been consistently into since he was like 3 years old

FFS Lex’s fucking wedding happens off screen so we can spend more time on Clark’s absolute fucking bullshit. Oh, and Clark missed his best friend’s wedding. The wedding at which he was supposed to be best man. Because he’s the absolute worst person in the world

So in literally less than 30 seconds with almost no build up, Clark blew up his entire house in an attempt to murder the tech-ghost of his dead bio-dad, nearly killed his parents in a car crash, and caused his mom to have a miscarriage. The rest of the episode is filler with a tiny bit of relationship drama. You know, like a well paced episode of TV!

On that theme, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THE POINT OF THE PREGNANCY SUBPLOT?!!!!!! It’s taken up so much fucking time in this season and the pay off was meaningless. Martha could have had a concussion and it would have achieved the exact same thing without the need for that complete culdesac of a subplot!

So after we skip the wedding entirely, because it’s not like we’ve had five or six episodes build up, we cut to Lex and angry cupboard sex doctor on their private jet drinking champagne on their way to the honey moon, and firstly the editing implies this is happening at the same time as the house blowing up and holy shit I think that might be a record for the quickest wedding ever (and apparently they didn’t bother with a reception), and secondly it’s framed like she’s poisoned Lex and I have absolutely no fucking idea why she would do that

Okay so after the weird “I’m going to do something terrible but it’s for us” dialogue Lana turns up to find Clark standing in the exploded ruins of his house. And then he tells her he did this. And at no point does it occur to her that Clark was clearly making explosives in the basement. I mean, he wasn’t doing that, but literally all evidence points to that. But she’s just like ‘no clark, how could you possibly have caused a massive explosion that’s not a thing humans can do’

So Chloe’s teamed up with Lionel because she’s sad about the shock reveal that when Clark said he fancied Lana he wasn’t lying, and just in case we didn’t realise this was a villain heel-turn, they’ve dressed her in all black, with twice as much make-up as normal, and also made her hair all spikey in a style we haven’t seen since the red kryptonite episode. Subtlety!

Holy shit we’re getting a drug addiction subplot. Why the fuck are we getting a drug addiction subplot?! Who on the writing staff thought they were competent enough to handle that, because whoever it was was so very very wrong

Okay time out, how the fuck tall is Kristen Kruek?! Because over the course of this episode she’s been the same height as Tom Welling, taller than him, barely come up his his nipples, and about a head shorter. I need answers, right the fuck now!

So Clark just dosed himself up on red kryptonite, stole a motobike, and noped the fuck out of the show. Is it too much to hope that he doesn’t come back and the show just continues on without him because I would honestly be so up for that. Chloe and Lana could go back to being cute sisters instead of fighting over a man barely worth spitting for never mind throwing hands with your best friend, the Kents could adopt Lex and then when he’s had some father-son bonding time Lex could then have Jonathan quietly murdered, Martha could marry Lionel… There’s literally no downsides to cutting Clark out of the show.

Okay so apparently angry cupboard sex doctor drugged Lex, waited until the plane was in the air and then she and the pilots fucking parachute jumped out the plane leaving Lex to crash into the ocean and die and like, him stealing medical files from her was fucked up, but I really don’t feel like it was fucked up enough to warrant going full Bane!

[space-blue]

The Escape

Keira ran silently along the dimly lit corridor, her bare feet soundlessly carrying her away from her room. She reached the first corner and halted, holding her shoes, intently listening for potential echoes of steps. All that mattered right now was to not bump into anyone.

She was terrified. It was her second attempt at running away, each time under the suggestion of another little girl. Keira wouldn't mind staying in this institution really, with its large rooms, nice garden and gentle women looking after all the kids… But she was sad. Depressed really; bewildered that her parents could have left her there.

The other girl had told her. "They abandoned you, you know. They abandoned me, you, all of us here were left behind." It had hurt but how could she not be right? Keira's parent's had never been back.

She darted across the intersecting corridors and into a large staircase. She hugged the walls, where the wooden steps creaked the least, and made her way down. Voices echoed, cries in the distance. Keira didn't pay them much attention. When she'd first arrived she had been spooked by how noisy this huge house could be, now she was used to it.

She made it to the ground floor and scuttered to the meeting point, a little recess behind two large recycle bins. No one was there, she'd made it first. The little girl crawled in the tight space and sat down in the dark. Almost immediately doubt flooded her. What if the other girl didn't come? Sara was very determined but also a bit reckless. What if she got caught? If they made it out, would she hold her promise to accompany Keira to her house? Sara said she knew well how to take the subway, and Keira knew at what stop her house was, but two ten years old girl waiting for the first morning subway was going to look weird to adults. She started to fidget, her anxiety rising, speeding her pulse.

But Keira's real fear was about the reception her parents would give her. Would they be glad to see her? Or had they left her here to get rid of her? Sara was lucky, she shared none of her worries, she wasn't trying to find her parents…

"Oh, you're here." Keira jumped at the sound, but it was Sara's voice. "You're late," she replied. "It's okay, we both made it, it's what matters." Sara waited silently as Keira fumbled awkwardly to lace her snickers in the dark. "Did anyone see you?" she asked. "Of course not," Sara answered sharply. She was determined. Nothing would hold her back this time. She wasn't going to lose her shot at escaping by being careless.

The two little girls had few things in common, Sara realised that, and she would have preferred escaping on her own, but she needed help, and Keira was the only one who really shared her interest in the outside world. Most other kids were quite content, with the games, the classes, the hot meals, the easy life. Most of them came from bad families, and having a bit of attention and their own little room was enough to pacify them into total submission. But Sara was having none of that. They could all go to Hell. She wasn't staying in this prison her so-called parents had abandoned her in, and she certainly wasn't going to ever see them again. "I'm ready" Keira whispered. "Good. Let's go then. But you remember right?" Sara put a finger across her lips, her eyes burning in earnest. "Yeah of course..." They shuffled down to the end of the corridor, where a service door opened into a room that featured a vent that led to the property's gardens. Sara had spotted it during a morning break and had found it a bit loose. A first exploration had allowed her to find the other side of the panel. She'd then realised she'd be needing a screwdriver to finish opening the little trap. She had shared her plans with Keira and they had kept an eye out for any tool that could be used to losen the rusty screws. It had taken time, agonising days. But Sara was patient. The low burn of her rage kept her alert and sharp.

Sara took the little screwdriver out of her jeans' back pocket and started getting to work. Keira had been the one who had spotted an instructor fixing a toy for an older kid. She'd followed her around on the pretence of asking questions about homework, and found the drawer were the tool lived, next to tape and scissors. Sara had done the stealing.

"Is it coming lose yet?" Keira asked. Her voice was thick with anxiety. "Let me some space to work, geez!" "Maybe I can help?" Her voice was now almost a moan. Gosh what a mistake to involve her, Sara thought. "Listen, you need to breath, Keira. You can't start crying now. Look, I'm almost done, next we need to make a run for it, I need you to stay with me ok?" She was answered by snivels in the darkness. "Come, help me pull it out," Sara beckoned.

The opening, once cleared, was just big enough for the thin girls to squeeze in. The girls ran away from the lit areas of the garden, away from the buildings and toward the outer walls of the property. Sara felt breathless more from excitement than effort. So close, so close now to freedom.

The alarm came out of nowhere and startled the girls to a panicked stop and a mad scramble.

A knock at the door had John Murray look up from his documents to his wall clock. He hadn't expected to be solicited this late in the night. "Yes, come in." A tired looking nurse entered, her uniform in disarray. "Sorry, Dr Murray..." The doctor took her appearance in and immediately worried that something bad had happened. The young nurse raised her hand in a reassuring gesture, and took the seat he offered her. "What is it Sam?" The nurse exhaled slowly and faced him. "We caught the Collins girl trying to escape again." "Keira Collins?" Murray asked, "alone?" The nurse nodded. "She said it was Sara's idea, like last time."

Dr Murray sat behind his desk heavily and rubbed his eyes. This girl was so much trouble, yet there was no getting angry with her, the poor thing. He reached in his desk's drawers for the K.Collins file. "Can you tell me what happened?" "The guard on duty caught her a few minutes after she triggered the alarm. She put up a big fight until we got her inside the building." This would explain the smeared, crumpled uniform. "Then she broke out in tears and explained Sara's master plan of escape, she's so smart, you should see how she prepared." A grim smile flickered on her face. "It looks like the solo teenage version of Ocean's Eleven." "So you caught Sara, really, but Keira spoke? Sara never communicated directly?" "Exactly. Now she's just crying. She'll need medication..." Murray was already up and opening the doors of his cabinet, fingers carefully picking vial after vial. He was worried. They would have to take special measures after this new incident. Keira's situation was growing worse since she'd been interned full time, but her parents were too irresponsible to be left with the guardianship of who was, ultimately, the most impressive case of split personality disorder any of the St. Absind Hospice's doctors had ever seen in their careers.

~~ June 2015  – Theme : Multiple PoV

[artificialqueens]

Girls Interrupted, Chapter 1: The Institution: 1, Katya: 0 (Vatya) 2/2 - Maeve

A/N: It’s Maeve again! I’m so freaking surprised and overjoyed at the positive reception Girls Interrupted has received. All of you who have such kind things have truly inspired me to keep going on this. I can now say I'm rewatching seasons in the name of research! As always, feedback is welcome. I write because I enjoy it but also so other people can enjoy it, too. So, really, I’d love to hear any feedback or suggestions.

P.S. I’m having so much fun writing the interactions between Katya and the other queens, but I think my favorite part of this chapter is either an especially cheeky Sharon Needles line or the gym teacher/coach that is very loosely based on a straight Santino Rice

This chapter picks up right where the last chapter left off: Violet and Katya’s ice breaker activity…

Fortunately, Violet realized that she would—at the very least—have to cooperate with the menial activity. “Violet,” she supplied cooly.

Katya tried and failed to stifle her laugh. The raven-haired girl looked at her challengingly.

“Tha-that’s a good choice. Very good. I love every color!” Katya stammered as she wrote down Violet’s response. She couldn’t be sure if her partner was filling out her own worksheet, but Katya couldn’t bring herself to care that much. She just wanted this over and done with. Each moment she spent next to the cheerleader made her feel more and more inadequate. Violet was judging her; she felt small enough on her own.

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” Katya continued.

This one Violet was quick to answer, “Literally anywhere but here.”

Her passive face told Katya she wasn’t going to get a better answer. I’ll just put down ‘Everywhere. She loves to travel.’, she resolved. “I think it would be really cool to go to Russia,” Katya offered.

Violet’s eyes left her phone screen. They searched the face of the blonde across the table, traveled down to Katya’s communism-inspired name card, and finally met her partner’s ocean blue eyes. “No?” Her face contorted in mock shock. “Let me guess,” she pandered, “If you could have lunch with any famous person dead or alive, you’d choose Putin.”

“Good guess,” Katya shook her head with amusement, “But it’s actually Maria Bamford.” It was obvious that Violet had no idea who Maria Bamford was. However, a quick glance at the clock told her there wasn’t enough time left in the class for her to go off on another tangent. “What about you, Violet?”

“Dita Von Teese. Next,” she urged.

“What are your favorite TV shows?” Katya continued eagerly, excited that Violet was finally being an active participant.

Violet’s response was almost instant, “Forensic Files and Sex and the City.” Everything about the brunette screamed confidence and certainty—something that came through in everything that she did. Katya wished it were that easy for her.

“I really like Game of Thrones, The Heart She Holler, and Storage Wars: Northern Treasures…..It’s the Canadian version,” Katya trailed off. There was an unspoken ‘and?’ in Violet’s expression, but she couldn’t produce a single reason for why that mattered. But it had mattered. “Anyway…What’s next?” Katya pushed through her embarrassment. “Something I’m good at? Sleeping, I’m good at sleeping. I guess I’m very bendy. Flexible. I can do theater, too…”

“Just put down cheer for me,” Violet ordered without looking up from her own worksheet. The blonde hesitated at the instruction, and Violet let out an impatient huff. “What?”

Katya was quick to apologize, “Sorry, it’s just that I thought you might say something about fashion.” She swallowed thickly. “I’m-I’ve seen you in the halls before, and you look good. Great. Your clothes. You clearly put a lot of effort into your appearance, and I thou—”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Violet spat. “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t pretend like you do.”

The blonde hurriedly scribbled down the word cheer under question five on her page and grabbed both of their papers. “Right. I’ll just go turn these in,” Katya fled the table without a thought. She had clearly angered Violet. Didn’t the popular kids like it when you stroked their egos? Katya wondered. She hadn’t meant to come off as judgemental. It was obvious that they weren’t on the same level, and hopefully Violet would understand that she hadn’t been trying to judge her. She only wanted to get to know the girl better, but she knew know how stupid she’d been to think that possible. No one like Violet would ever waste time on her. Sighing, she placed the two worksheets in a plastic turn-in bin labeled ‘4th’, and made her way back to her desk.

Katya had been disappointed that she had double A Lunch, but the forty minutes were the perfect break before pre-calculus. While it meant she could eat earlier, it also meant that she had no friends to eat with. Ginger and Bianca both had B Lunch. So Katya found herself on the steps of the stairs in the courtyard by the fine arts wing, eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich. There was beauty in the simple things, though, and Katya could appreciate the warmth of the sun and the slight breeze that late morning.

Mrs. Hugh’s room was stuffy. Katya’s funfetti extravaganza was clinging to her yet again, but she couldn’t adjust the fabric too much without disrupting those around her. She wasn’t willing to risk it. Unlike in all her other classes, the blonde always sat front and center in math class. All of the numbers made a mess in her head, and it was easier if she had fewer distractions. No one else felt the same way, though. So when Alaska tumbled in just before the tardy bell, Katya was forced into yet another less than ideal situation.The sunny cheerleader didn’t share that sentiment. Alaska flashed Katya a hundred watt smile and whispered a hello.

Katya didn’t get Alaska. Alaska wasn’t your stereotypical dumb blonde. She struggled in some areas but always kept up with the pack. So she was smarter than she looked? Big deal. What Katya failed to understand was why such a kind, sincere, and smart person would allow herself to be bullied by her peers. The cheer squad clearly didn’t think she had brain cells; Alaska was practically their punching bag from what she’d observed. So why hang around?

Miss Honard, you are an enigma, Katya assessed.

Katya’s continued curiosity over the duration of  Mrs. Hugh’s introductory speech gained her a very important piece of information: if she couldn’t get the lanky blonde out of her head, she was going to have to let her in. And Katya would not be friends with a cheerleader.

Katya praised Marx for the district employee who put Bianca Del Rio in her history class. She and Bianca were unlikely friends—a high school mascot and a theater kid didn’t really run in the same circles—but made an unstoppable duo. Coach A., their teacher seemed to get a kick out of them too.

Bianca was an unexpected constant in Katya’s life. The self-proclaimed bitch was Spartacus, the high school mascot, and the two would never have overlapped if not for their shared love/hate relationship with theater. She was a year younger than Katya but that didn’t stop her from providing Katya with the tough love she needed to keep her head screwed on. Keeping her head on straight was out of the question; Bianca did what she could.

The two girls schlepped over to the far side of the school where the gym was located. Katya, who had made the dumb decision to postpone getting her PE credit for as long, was not looking forward to an entire year of physical activity. Bianca, on the other hand, basically earned herself a double off campus by taking on the role of mascot. And yes, she definitely took pleasure in rubbing the fact in Katya’s face. Sucks to suck.

The other shit thing about a 7th period gym class was that Katya would be in uncomfortably close proximity to the cheerleaders. It felt wrong—almost like she was breaking a nonexistent restraining order. What sick bastard decided the plebs in “team sports” should be forced to observe the pretty girls in peak physical capacity while they drowned in their own sweat? Katya didn’t know the answer, and you certainly couldn’t hold her accountable if they were suddenly beheaded.

One locker and a stack of unisex uniforms later, Katya found herself entertaining the musings of Sharon Needles, resident goth girl.

“‘I look spooky, but I’m really nice,’” Sharon had said when they were assigned lockers next to each other. The witchy teen had a thing for reading people—not that an anxious Katya was hard to see through—and took one look at her and saw a kindred spirit. The funfetti dress and clown shoes didn’t scream normal, either. Katya had been uncharacteristically optimistic about befriending Sharon for all of ten minutes before everything went to shit. Phi Phi O’Hara, Sharon’s mortal enemy, also happened to be in the class.

“I’m surprised you took gym, Party City. Wouldn’t want you to melt in your own sweat.” Phi Phi snarked. The playground bully reclined herself against the row of lockers across from them and examined her nails.

Katya groaned inwardly. Sharon groaned outwardly.

“Fuck off, Phi Phi,” Sharon begged. “Don’t you ever get tired of the sound of your own voice? My ears are bleeding and not in a pleasant way.”

“Eat shit and die, Shar Bear,” Phi Phi called over her shoulder as she skipped off to bother some other poor shmucks.

Phi Phi the schoolyard bully reminded Katya of the villain poodle in one of those Open Season movies. Ironically, that poodle was also named Fifi, which was funny because the poodle was also a boy. Fifi the poodle was groomed like a pretty purse dog and had a little blue bow in his hair. Katya was inclined to take Phi Phi O’Hara—who was not incredibly dissimilar to a trophy pet—just as seriously.

“What crawled up her ass and died?” Katya scrunched up her face.

“If you find out, let me know,” Sharon deadpanned. “I need a smoke.” Katya watched in amusement as the locker room’s resident goth chick removed a pack of Marlboro’s and a lighter from her leather jacket. Sharon caught the blonde’s expression and raised her fist in response. “Fight the system,” she stoically decreed. Katya shrugged as if to say “what can you do?” and gestured for Sharon to walk back to the gym with her.

Their gym class had been banished to the wooden bleachers so the cheerleaders could practice for that Friday’s Back-To-School Pep Rally. The two girls tucked themselves into a far corner on the top row, and Sharon finally lit up.

Coach Rice, who had taken attendance at the beginning of class, had stepped in to assist Coach Calhoun with cheer practice.

Katya and Sharon were fortunate enough to have an unobstructed view of the girls shamelessly throwing themselves at the older man. The majority of the bimbettes were faces she expected: Detox, Roxy, Willam, Courtney, Adore, and Laganja. What she wasn’t expecting, however, was for one Violet Chachki to be the leader of the pack. Stratford’s mean queen never sought out attention, let alone fought for it. Miss Chachki was a one of a kind collectible, and the entire student body knew it. You either wanted her or wanted to be her.

Today, it seemed her flavor of choice was Santino Rice.

Katya udged Sharon with her elbow. “What do you make of that?” She consulted the other girl.

Sharon took a moment to complete her assessment. “I bet a girl that tightly wound is a real screamer in bed,” she answered smoothly. Katya had not been expecting any response of the sort and physically toppled over as she was seized by laughter. Katya’s wheezing drew the attention of those nearby, and Sharon had to hold her cigarette in her mouth so she could flip them off with both hands. They could mind their own fucking business.

Katya was still clinging onto Sharon’s thigh when her fit died down. “You bitch!” She shrieked.

“I’m not wrong,” Sharon defended, taking another long drag from her cigarette. “Ten bucks says she’s hitting on him right now.” In her best Valley Girl impression she crooned, “Oh, Coach Rice, can you help me with my form?”

Katya wasted no time in contributing to the impression. “Can we go to Red Lobster?” The blonde begged in her best Violet-esque bedroom voice.

The absurdity of the request and the thought of Violet, herself, saying those words caused Sharon to half cackle and half choke on her own smoke. Her throaty laugh bounced off of the walls, and this time, it wasn’t just a few pairs of eyes that turned to them.

Uh oh, Katya cringed, busted.

“Sharon Needles, put that shit out and march your ass on over to Assistant Principal Visage’s office!” Coach Rice demanded.

Katya facepalmed hard. What is wrong with you, you stupid whore? She groaned. It’s your fault she’s in deep shit, and she’s never going to speak to you again. The blonde was about to lose herself in an abyss of despair when Sharon’s voice filled the room again.

“Oh no!” Sharon drawled, “Whatever shall I do?” Katya had brought her head up to witness the spectacle and was met with Sharon’s shit-eating grin.

Katya raised her fist in solidarity, referencing Sharon’s anti-establishment words in the locker room. Her spooky new friend shot her a cheeky wink before saluting her corporate whistleblower and unhurriedly leaving the building.

Katya’s eyes left Sharon’s retreating form just in time to catch Violet glaring at her.

The blonde did her best not to worry. It wasn’t like Violet could have known they were talking about her, right?

The bell rang at 3:00, and Katya still hadn’t managed to put the captain of the cheer squad out of her mind. She spent her entire 8th period dodging Bianca’s questions and pleading for some all-knowing entity to tell her just where in life she had gone wrong. Definitely new year, same bullshit. Katya had attempted to begin her junior year with a more optimistic attitude, but after a first day for the history books, she was ready to call it quits.

You win, Stratford, you win. I am but a shell of a man. Woe is the poor soul who dare enter thee, Katya scowled.

The rest of Katya’s will to live vanished when she finally reached her trusty blue Beetle in the junior lot.

“Mother, I am want to commit death,” she muttered.

The cherry red convertible parked next to Katya’s car belonged to none other than Violet Chachki. The bright red exterior was blinding under the afternoon sun, and Katya had to squint to make out faces. A swarm of girls in uniform short skirts and halter tops formed a green and white sea around her only means of escape. Not wanting to engage with Violet for a third time that day, the blonde chose to turn on her heels and pop a squat on the curb.

It was going to be a long year.

[tadasgay]

the shitty summer camp au you didn’t ask for but definitely deserve

@jilychallenge | vs @diggorye 😘😘😘

prompt: “i got lost on this campground at night and i am so sorry i thought this was my tent and now i’m waking up next to you and um hi this is just a little awkward” camping AU

(originally this was a lot longer but it had to be cut because i couldn’t find it in me to be happy with where it was going. this au rly warrants a 40k word fic written by someone who is not me)

___

The only bad part about summer camp, Lily thinks, is that when your sister decides to call you at one in the morning to ask if you’ve taken her hair straightener with you (to camp) and if you could please stop stealing her stuff (which you haven’t), is that you have to walk around in the dark for ten minutes before you can get even a hint of reception (if you’re lucky). And then, of course, you have to listen to your sister accuse you of taking stuff you don’t even want nor need for another twenty minutes, in the dark, alone, in the middle of nowhere, where anyone could creep up on you, and then the last thing you’ll ever hear as some weirdo without a life artfully murders you is your sister whisper-shouting about how you really need to stop taking her stuff without asking.

Something should be done about this, really.

“Come on, Tuney.” She sighs, one thumb between her brows as if that can single-handedly hold the oncoming wrinkles back. The light outside the tutors’ cabins suddenly seem very far away. “My phone’s about to die. Could we please do this when I’m not standing in a bush?”

She hears Petunia suck air in deeply on the other end through her teeth. “Lily, you’re not seven anymore. You can’t just skirt responsibility every time you get caught doing something wrong.”

“I know that. Which is why if I had stolen your hair straightener, I would have told you already.”

“You’re completely ignoring my point–”

Brightly, Lily goes “okay, bye!” and punctuates it by ending the call.

Let Petunia be mad. It’s much better than Petunia fuming over Lily in a coffin six feet under because she accidentally tripped over a root in the middle of the night and died. They probably wouldn’t find her body for at least six more hours. Rigor mortis would have done all sorts of funky things to her body by then. Think of the children, she telepathically tells Petunia, across all those kilometres, it’s enough to traumatise anyone for life.

There’s enough light from the moon to get her back to the tents. She remembers to dodge the beginnings of a shallow creek just outside the spindly trees she’d been hiding in; to walk around the prickle patch separating Mary’s and Regulus Black’s tents. The grass sighs as a gentle wind passes over it, and she is a shadowy girl, filling the night.

She unzips the opening to her tent as quietly as she can and shimmies over to her designated corner. Her clumsy hand bumps into someone sleeping on top of her sleeping bag in the darkness; she might need to have another word to Dorcas about keeping to her own side in the morning.

She lays down, banishes all thoughts of Petunia and missing hair straighteners, and dreams.

___

She wakes some time before sunrise, or some time quickly after she’d fallen asleep; she’s not too sure. There’s something unusually heavy on her torso, and when she sleepily pushes it off her, she realises that something is not quite right.

James Potter stares at her from her side. There’s enough light from the distant moonlight to see that he’s somewhere between confused and horrified, snatching his arm back like he’s been burned.

“What are you doing here?” She whispers loudly.

“I could ask the same of you.” James retorts.

“I–” Lily starts, looks around the tent, and realises with sudden clarity that she doesn’t need to have a word with Dorcas in the morning. For starters, Dorcas isn’t here. Secondly, there is no way Dorcas got replaced by the sleeping forms of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin Doctor Who style. “I am totally in the wrong tent.”

“How’d you get in here?” Laughter lurks between the letters.

“Through the zipper.”

“Why are you here?” He corrects.

“It’s not like it was intentional.” She whispers hotly. The worst thing she could do right now is wake up the others and be subject to even more humiliation. It’s one thing for James to relay the series of events to his friends, quite another for them to experience it with him.

A quick note about James Potter: calling him a walking headache would be too much of a compliment. He’s committed a long list of atrocities, including kicking a ball at Dorcas on the first day during the welcome party and not apologising; very loudly calling Evan Rosier a ‘gossipy creep’, which is true, but she still wouldn’t have said it to his face in front of everyone; and being very annoyingly attractive from every possible angle.

Their two brief and infrequent interactions had been enough for Lily to understand that he was pretty, and funny, but foolheartedly arrogant, and kind of a total prat. Like, what kind of person won’t stop touching their hair? Or thinks it’s funny to try cover their own friend in craft glue? Don’t they know that trying to get that stuff off is akin to human torture?

She is getting used to living with the unfolding mystery of herself, and being into James Potter is just something she’s going to have to accept.

Once she lives this down.

“Hey, you don’t have to leave.” He goes when she starts to roll herself off the mattress. “McGonagall made Peter clean the kayaks for sneaking into Bertha Jorkins’s tent the other night.”

She makes a face, not that he can see it. “Well, that’s what he gets for trying it on with Bertha and then telling everyone about it.This is entirely a mistake.”

“You wanna explain to her how you got in here in the – what? Middle of the night? What were you doing out there, anyway?”

“If you must know,” her voice is clipped, even in a whisper, “I had an urgent family phone call.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“That’s not important!”

“What is important, though,” he sounds far too earnest, “is that McGonagall will at the very least take your phone off you if you get caught gallivanting between tents in the dark, even if you’re her favourite. So you don’t need to feel bad about staying here. Unless you’re super uncomfortable with it.” He adds quickly, because apparently he’s not as prattish to his core as he’s made himself out to be. “I’ll stay to my own side and everything.”

She ignores the tell-tale beat of her wanting heart. Why does he have to be considerate? Doesn’t he know what he’s doing to her poor, delicate heartstrings? “I don’t think you’re trying to do anything untoward with me. But I can’t ask you to stay on your own side of your bed.”

“Good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering.”

This moment, at age seventeen, with a cute boy in the dark, should be a moment magical enough to fall in love. It isn’t. But it should be.

Really, it’s just extremely awkward.

She swallows, then smiles. “Thanks for not kicking me out of your tent just yet.”

“Any time. I apologise in advance for whatever shit gets stirred in the morning.”

She lies back down, leaving an ample amount of space between them. She’s on the very edge of the top of the sleeping bag, but she’s had worse sleeping arrangements – namely, being slept on top of by Dorcas. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to sleep when her stomach is rolling about like an ocean in a storm, but she’ll certainly try.

Her mouth is dry when she goes, “well, I’d say it’s better than cleaning kayaks.”

“Jesus, would you two shut up?” Sirius says.

___

(Later, Lily will think that a summer romance should go like this:

They fall in love at first sight. It’s meant to be a punch to her plexus, followed by everything you’re meant to feel when you fall in love; like they’re unwinding into each other, like their hearts beat as one, yada yada yada. She is not supposed to trip over her tongue around a cute, brash boy, or get into his tent, or have her friends manipulate them into spending time alone together. She is supposed to be confident and cocksure and charming. She’s meant to dazzle him with her smile and wit.

Later, Lily will think that, perhaps, the whole thing is total bullshit.)

___

PETUNIA: Found it. PETUNA: Antonia from across the road was borrowing it x

[random-contemplations]

So here’s the fanfic, I might write a pt2 if I get round to it. Also sorry the spacing is a bit shit on mobile, I promise it looks better on the desktop version!

Edit: the whole thing is up on my A03 which is random_contemplations if you want to check it out!

[mitch-nom-blog]

REFLECTION -

june 2nd / hostel in la / self

he stumbles into the room that isn’t quite home but may be the third best thing, where the person at reception changes every two months but there are long-term regulars that know him by a name. he doesn’t know how to rent a house but this is the next best thing, where he knows the area like a well-used map, creased in the edges and marked with favourite things.

it’s as close to the word familiar as he ever wants to get, and still, somehow, it gets disrupted.

At first, the room seems like any other, empty and familiar in a way that isn’t difficult to ignore. It is not, however, all that it seems. A figure stirs in the corner of the room, languid and smiling. He approaches Mitch, a perfect mirror reflection of him - or almost. This version of Mitch is not much older but he looks it, his eyes sunken and his cheeks taut. There is dried lipstick on his neck peeking out from under his collar. It looks to be hours old, though the bite right beside it could be days old. Energy, powerful but but almost too rich, radiates off of him even at a distance. The closer he gets, the more faint sounds can be heard around them - the chattering of voices too soft to be understood, music that fades in and out, the intrigue of some kind of party or event. The mirror Mitch takes no note of it. His gaze, slightly glazed over, scans up and down the real Mitch in front of him

he doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see another hallucination. perhaps he’s already fallen asleep, perhaps its salma or aeron, perhaps its another drop of crazy in the ocean he’s been swimming in. he doesn’t blink, just stands there, looks at how close they got it.he doesn’t have any hickeys himself right now, rarer for the past month, doesn’t normally hear voices like this, but the rest, the clothes, the skin taut around his rib cage, the mania lingering in his eyes, he’s a past present future copy, older in the eyes, the hunger of a few years ago, standing here now.

“You poor thing,” he says, his voice light but strained, like any pressure would crack it in two. “I remember you. Still hoping, even if you won’t admit it, that things could change.” Absently he scratches at a spot beneath his rib cage, revealing the extent to which his shirt hangs off his thinning frame. “That something could be permanent.” He laughs, a brittle thing, and looks right at Mitch. “It’s easier if you stop hoping. I know you know that. Don’t you want it to be easier?” His breathing quickens for a moment and he looks as if he’s caught up in a painful memory, but it passes soon enough, and he’s back to smiling again like it never happened. His lips split a little too wide. “I can show you, you know. Show you how much better it is when you just keep everyone out of your head. They can’t hurt you if you don’t let them in. The universe can’t tear you away if you keep your roots to yourself.” He holds out his hand, seemingly unaware of the way it quivers, his fingers and wrist built with hollow bird bones. “Don’t you want to be free of the fear that you’ll end up alone?” 

he hesitates

it hurts, like a bandage ripped off too early, the wound stinging when exposed to the light. each word is like a diamond cutting through the boxes he had hidden his thoughts in, fears that had taken root since fei had picked him up, blossomed when he had been thrown around the world like a rag doll.

to be free of that fear is to be free of any leash and he knows his reflection too well to turn down the offer, to stop the pain that’s been racking through him since the glitch.

he knows it.

he knows the truth, so he takes the hand even as he hates himself for it, but that taste isn’t new, has coated his tongue since he can remember and perhaps freedom can set it free.

Instead of taking him anywhere, the reflection - if that's what he is - pulls Mitch close, wrapping him in his arms. "I know," he coos, brushing his palms over Mitch's back. "I know how you feel. They're going to leave you, you're right. They'll push you out. But that's okay, because you don't need them. I didn't need them, and look at me." He smiles, a brittle thing. "I left. I left them all behind, everyone who ever tried to hold me down. That's the thing about us, Mitch. We're not tethered to the world like they are. We aren't meant to stay put. We don't need to look out for them or anyone else. Just us. Isn't that right?"

he can’t pull away. never knows how to -

how to respond to the foreign sensation of an embrace. he just stiffens, lets the words wash over him even as they compound the truth that the shadows in his dreams whisper to him.

a broken voice and he whispers out “ can’t i enjoy it? while it’s here? it’ll hurt later, anyway, they’ll leave me. of course. i know this, it’s all a lie, but can’t i keep it for now? “

"Why let them hurt you?" He pulls away only far enough to look Mitch in the eye. "You have the ability to leave. You get to choose. They don't get to hurt you just because they think it's fun to play with you when you're shiny and new, and then toss you away as soon as they get bored." He shakes his head, his hands sliding up to cup Mitch's cheeks. "Why bother with people like that? All people are like that. Why bother with any of them? It's not your responsibility."

because i want to lingers on his tongue but he knows that it doesn’t matter, not with the pain of loss he knows is coming.

“ i leave “ 

he can’t meet his own eyes, wonders if his real self is screaming in his sleep.

“ then i don’t have to leave now. right? “ there’s desperation and longing in his voice, weakness he knows will get picked up on.

he doesn’t mind the others thinking that he’s shiny and new, as long as they do play with him, knows that he’d do anything for their attention. but they’re not dropping him, not yet. when it looks like they will then he can leave.

“ i don’t mind “ getting used, getting thrown to the side, as long as he gets a few hours in the warmth. “ it’s better than nothing “ his tone is pleading but he can’t pull away from his own embrace, shame and desperation rooting him to the spot.

"You still have to decide what you do. I left them first." His voice focuses just a little, just enough that he seems more present out of nowhere. "I got tired of getting thrown out, so I left before they could. They told me they needed me, but I knew those were just lies." His smile starts to fade. "Why should anyone else matter, Mitch? It's just you in this world. Nobody else can be counted on. If the world burns, that's not your problem, because they'd all leave you out to fry if they could."

the fading smile strikes fear, that even himself gets tired of being around him. he backtracks, stumbles on his words. “ they don’t, they don’t “

it’s all a lie, but he’d never lied before. one constant of truth and now even that had spiraled away.

“ the world isn’t real it can burn this reality can burn but - “ he stumbles again, wants to be pulled back into that embrace. but -

he likes the heat while it lasts, a frog left in water slowly turns boiling will stay and cook alive. let the world burn let them all burn he just wants that window corner and those pranks and the chaos and the head pats the affirmation the validation while it lasts.

“ the universe only allows me to burn. there’s no other possibility. there’s no happy ending. you’re not a happy ending. you’re me. “ his hands come up to rest around his reflection’s waist.

“ can’t i steal just this little bit of warmth? “

"I'm not a happy ending?" he asks, his brow creasing as he looks at Mitch with faraway eyes again. "I feel happy. I am happy. No one can hurt me. I just hurt them first and I'm fine, in the end. See?" He smiles again, though the expression is off kilter. "You don't need all of that. You don't need them. I know, and I can show you, but you have to want it. Really want it. The only person who can never leave you is yourself, Mitch."

a laugh, sharp and bitter, echoes in the empty room

a happy ending is one where he was never left behind, one where he kept the name he can’t remember, had a family, had a home.

this him, the hickeys and bones and taste of power is too familiar, too of kilter, he can see the reflection of madness in his eyes. “ i don’t have myself “ his brain is someplace, his body elsewhere, cracked at the edges and even his own sanity has left him. “ you’re going to leave me. i’ve left me. what else is there to risk? “

it’s the argument that runs circles around his head even as he falls asleep, what makes him turn up on the lair’s doorstep every morning. why he’s so tired from taking people across the globe, because for once, he’s needed. and he doesn’t care about pain when that pleasure is shooting straight through his spine.

he tugs his reflection closer, close enough to kiss, the motion bruising his hip bone.

“ if you think you’re sane then you really have gone mad “

(tw incest / selfcest)

The reflection makes no move to stop him, hovering so close their identical noses brush. "Magic itself," he offers in a murmur. His hands find Mitch's waist, dig into the flesh there. "Stay with them just for the temporary reprieve and they will take the one thing you have from you. You've seen them bickering. They don't even care about each other. They'd step on each others' throats for power." His spine curves, bending him over Mitch. "You think Jude cares about anything but his own hide? Or Kian with his temper?" His expression doesn't change, languid and a little hazy, but his voice begins to harden. "I don't have to be sane to be fine. I just did what they were going to do to me eventually. How is that wrong? How can it be wrong to put yourself first? You're all you have, even if you don't believe it." 

he tenses, that fear skittering like ice down his back.

magic doesn’t exist, it’s all a lie and yet -

and yet the power around him, those muttering voices, edges of music, that scent of power envelops him and it’s so rich on his tongue that he chokes

gasps, longs to consume.

“ if i leave, “ he whispers, doesn’t know if the false temptation of this power is enough to overcome the warmth of the others. “ if i go, how can i develop it? how can i - how can i have this? “ 

he licks his lips, tastes the air. it’s not wrong, to leave. he’s done it before, a thousand times, climbed out of the windows of houses of people who had offered their home, opened their doors. it’s inevitable, he knows that, he’s done it countless times.

but why does the thought of this time hurt in itself?

He smiles, a vivid thing this time, no fragment of his pride hidden from view. "I can show you everything. There is so much more that you can have, that will keep you safe and warm and better than any of them ever can, or will." He runs the pad of his thumb over Mitch's cheek. "I can't show you now, I don't have the power, but I will be back to bring it to you. I know you don't believe that." He leans forward, resting his forehead against Mitch's. His voice is barely above a whisper. "I know the moment I say I'll come back, you don't believe me. That's okay. I will, and it will be a breath of air for your drowning lungs. Then I will take you with me, away from all the hurt. We don't like to make promises we can't keep, so know when I tell you this - I promise, if you come with me when I return to you, you will never regret it - that it carries weight." 

that smile is like the sun shining down on him, no matter that the other self is a fragment of his imagination, of the world shattering around them.

the temptation, it’s blinding, and he steps closer, his hands tight on his reflection’s hips. safe and warm, it’s too bad it’s all a lie, an illusion. he won’t be coming back, he won’t be able to take him away. but it’s heady, a drug he can’t refuse.

one hand comes up to pull at his reflection’s hair, tight as he finally makes proper eye contact. “ you promise? “ there’s weight in the air, in the words, knows that even the fevered parts of his brain would never commit to something like this. 

he can’t promise back, doesn’t know how to find the truth in the tangled knots of his thoughts but

but -

"I promise." The words are a prayer. He repeats it over and over, his smile growing so fond, so understanding, like the fingers gripping his scalp only bring him joy. "I came here to find you and take you with me, I know how to do it again. You'll always have a choice, of course. When I come back, you can decide not to come with me. It's up to you. But I can only tell you how much you will miss if you make that choice." He arches, his nose nuzzling at the crook of Mitch's neck. "I promise I will be back, and I promise I can give you something so, so much better than what any of them pretend to offer you."

the breath leaves his lungs and his grip softens, turns to carding through his hair in the way that he knows he likes.

its a lie, he knows that, its a lie, and that’s the only truth he’s ever known. but

but he arches his neck to let his other self pull closer, let’s himself fall into the temptation of that lie. not yet, he doesn’t have to make the choice just yet. but one day - when it looks like they’re ready to throw him away, then

- maybe.

“ what are you offering for now? “ he asks, smirking, moving his hands to unbuckle his reflection’s belt.

He mirrors Mitch's expression, a perfect recreation, and brings his chin up to whisper his next words in his ear. "Now? I can give you a taste of what you can have." His grip returns to Mitch's hips, tightens, spins him around and presses him into the wall. The idle, unbodied laughter in the air around them grows louder. They are exact mirror images of one another, right down to the last detail. And just as Mitch would, his reflection is gone before he awakens the next day, though the music lingers, faint and ghostly, and there are glimmers of power still in the air.

[royal-writer]

I Get to Love you

It's a promise I'm making to you: Whatever may come, Your heart I will choose Forever I'm yours Forever I do

- - - -

Another descriptive ns/fw piece with mild dirty talk and consensual very tame light bdsm. Basically Essamon is some horny bastards and I want to experiment with my style some more. Whoops.

Gods, she wished he’d stop pacing in front of her like that. He smelled like distractions; deep woody fragrances, leather, just a fine hint of jasmine and coriander. The seductive aroma wafting off of her husband had her lifting her head as he moved around the room like a caged animal. He’d pitch another log into the chimney stack; momentarily disguising his cologne with the smell of smoke, and then be on the move again. Account books were left stacked on the desk and coffee table with each round, set down with a steady hand. Letters from townsfolk and other territories addressed to them folded over everything in a cascading mountain of articles.

She tisked as he made to pass her again, careful to scoot her paperwork to the side so they wouldn’t be blown off. “Feeling cooped up today, m’lord?” Her hand flattened the parchment that contained a census of the current food stores as she glanced up at him, catching the deep sigh radiating in his chest. Her gaze softened at the frustrated sound, murmuring gently, “Perhaps a break is in order? We could share a snack, or check on if the garden needs tending? I could look over those ledgers for you, if you’d like to step out and stretch your legs? A bit of sword practice, or a walk maybe?”

He snorted with discontent. Changing his walking pattern; which really by now should have left a worn path in the floor, the nobleman skirted between the low table and the sofa to sink down beside her. He expelled a dejected rush of air, dropping his face in his hands as she reached out to him.

“Poor dear,” Essätha comforted, kneading her hands into taut shoulders and down his back. Goodness he was mouth-watering. She wanted to sink her teeth into him; picking up the faint spicy cinnamon she hadn’t noticed before in his after shave. He flexed beneath her touch a few times; the rippling bands of muscles in his back and arms firm beneath her grazing fingertips. He had such a fine sculpted figure; not built like bulky cold marble or too yielding and soft. He was strong in all the right ways, inside and out.

Grabbing the lining of his cloak, she guided the fabric off of his shoulders as he shrugged leisurely to help her. His arms rolled backwards, dumping the apparel onto the couch. She could feel the question of his glance moving to observe her, the onyx of his pupils, the ocean of his iris. She ignored his unasked inquiry to slide her hands beneath the collar of his navy jerkin; palms working against his shoulders in hard circular motions and fingers dipping into his undershirt. Her nails left crests and grooves as they dug into his flesh.

Amon hummed deep in his throat with appreciation. His body shifted; turning from the waist and then scooting across the cushions to better face her. All the while her hands worked; rubbing and palpating into the tension of his body. From his shoulders, alongside his neck, down to his shoulderblades and up again. The stiff fabric of his clothing kept her from sliding her hands further down arms to tease him, much as she wanted to.

“You need rest,” she chided with an unhappy frown. His tension was beginning to evaporate beneath her fingers, easing the strain and pressure in his muscles tight with stress. Essie squinted into his face, watching slowly as the creases of concentration began to magically disappear. His jaw went slack; mouth parting slightly as he dragged air into his nose, and out of his mouth gradually in a relaxed breathing exercise. She grinned with triumph, leaning in to press a kiss against his open-mouth. He startled; grunting as she pulled away with a mischievous giggle.

He reached for her. His eyes darting from her butterscotch golden brown down to her mouth, over her throat, and to her braid which he picked up where it lay on her shoulder. He rubbed the coils between his rough fingers periodically. His gaze was blazing as he returned it back to her face, leaning in close to breathe, “I don’t need rest. I just need you.”

She glided her tongue over her lips slowly. “Sly move,” the noblewoman purred, slithering her hands from beneath his doublet towards his chest. Gods, she was hoping he’d say that. A fiery bolt of intense need shot straight through her loins. With proficient hands, she steadily undid each of the fasteners of his jacket while her touch whispered over him. His jaw clenched in response; adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Hungry but patient, he dropped the tresses of her hair to stroke his broad hands from the nape of her neck down. Light against her waist, rounding her hips, and urging her into his lap.

A heated moan passed his lips. Amon groped her rear, pushing her hungrily forward into the tenting of his slacks. Her sigh came out shaky with desperation as the last clasp snapped open beneath her fingers. Her mind was flying through a turbulent storms; strikes of electricity sizzling through her bones and crackling in her veins. Her breathing hitched as she twisted and turned, panting heavily through a foggy cloud of yearning.

He was an addiction. Intoxicating. The Lord of the Emerald Expanse didn’t need to do anything to garner her attention or spark her appetite. She always wanted him in some fashion. His voice; steady, calm, profound. It was rich like chocolate but could be deep and rumbling as an approaching twister. Intense. His breath, curling the hair against her neck as he exhaled close to her ear. She shivered in response; goosebumps breaking out everywhere. The taste of him; the salt of his skin and texture beneath her mouth that was just him.

And oh gods the feel of him. There was so much to feel, so many edges and hollows she imprinted to memory. The places she could touch that drove him crazy. Tickle his ribcage, slid her digits over hills and down dips and across slants, grip his study limbs, fondle him everywhere. Her heart raced for him even now. The calluses of his hands on her ass, the prick of his teeth grazing her neck, the hair on his chest which she smothered and plundered over as she untucked his shirt. She wanted it all. Every delectable piece of him, always. Her dashing Amon; so handsome, so gentle and polite.

He made her feel alive and worthwhile. He made her feel more then what she was, and what she was capable of. He made her feel attractive at her worst. He believed in her, even when she’d forgotten how. Even when no one else did. He was certainly a sexy man with plenty of attractive qualities, but even the most beautiful man couldn’t keep her heart if it wasn’t for what reflected inside. Amon had values and morals. He was dignified, respectable, chivalrous, and honorable. He was courteous and patient, gentle and brilliant. There was so much beneath the surface of his valiant heroism. He was sensitive, a bit scarred, and perhaps not always as fearless as you could believe. But he was courageous and steadfast; ultimately the most authentic and bravest, most loving beautiful soul she’d ever met.

Even now, grinding his length into her center and sucking on her neck, his action was tender consideration. He could fuck her hard into the sheets until she went cross-eyed and her lungs burned and felt ready to collapse, and he’d still be thoughtful and gentle. Whispering to her sweet nothings, holding her close, seeing to her pleasure and kissing her slowly with satisfaction as they rolled around tiredly when all was done. Everything would feel sore and slick with a crazy dull ache and he’d touch her everywhere; strumming her heartstrings, easing her cramps, soothing her into a peaceful slumber nestled against him.

“Ooohh Amon,” she sighed, gyrating her hips encouragingly against him as he left a dark hickey against her hairline. Her hands were too eager to explore the canvas of his chest. A piece of chiseled craftsmanship. With jerks and tugs at buttons, she opened up his button-up and shoved at his arms. Marvelously receptive and submissive, Amon let go of her ass long enough to allow her peel of his collared shirt and undershirt. She wasted no time in excavating her discovery.

He hissed through clenched teeth sharply as she lapped her tongue over his nipple. With a sassy smile; all bravado and brazen, she repeated the gesture until he grunted, a string of elvish fizzling out. Essie could make out some of it; the fragments of words of endearments and cherished love and lust, but it was difficult to understand in the deep guttural tone. She crooned with appreciation, enjoying his response so much that she scraped a fang against the tip in hopes of hearing it once more, circling her hips back to brush against his.

Another sharp intake. She smirked, roaming her feather-light grazing touch over his chest. His muscles flexed in response. The soft curls of his chest hair beneath her touch and rigid structure of him. Her digits moved lower, inspecting the denser trail that lead beneath his pants. Amon’s breath quickened, rushing against her as she drew his nipple into her mouth to taste him.

“Essätha, Essätha,” he chanted weakly. “Essätha, darling…” With a helpless groan, he pushed his hard-on into her palm. Her lips sucked harder upon his skin and he bucked, a gravely low sound cutting through him and vibrating through his chest. She laughed breathlessly against him, placing tender kisses gently against his torso. Her thumb worked lazily on the strapping of his belt, and her other hand traced the shape of his arms, following the shape of his back, pinching his nipple gently as she moved on scrap her teeth against his other nipple and start again.

Amon’s head fell back roughly against the back of the sofa. Both hands found their way to her bottom and he squeezed her roughly, writhing beneath her touch as she kissed and circled his nipple. She flicked the tip with her tongue and he curved towards her; lifting his hips to grind against her hand. Breathing him in deeply; the spice of his fragrant skin a delicacy, she dropped her head to lave and nibble down the middle of his abs. Her tongue swept over his quivering midsection, her teeth finding a rigid line to sink into gently.

Pawing her way down his build, Essätha finally drifted down to belt buckle where her other hand cupped his erection. She pulled the prongs free, and dragged the strap through the belt frame and loop loosely. “Mercy, my love,” Amon pleaded hoarsely, rotating his hips to feel the her touch beneath the straining bulge of his trousers. Glorious, she thought to herself wickedly. He was begging for relief now as she worked the leather band from his pants, taking her sweet leisurely time. Her mouth, for the meantime, latched on to his shoulder to suck firmly on his flesh.

Essie tossed the belt aside. Her breathing sounded just as ragged as his; rolling over his skin damp from her lewd tongue and drifting lines of sweat. “You taste as amazing as you feel,” she purred, dotting soft kisses against his collarbone. He gasped, fidgeting, nails embedding into her ass as he kneaded her the moment her tongue descended, tracing the carving of his chest in a single stroke south. “I need you,” Amon sputtered shakily. “I’m so hard for you. Nnng, good girl.”

Good girl. Gods, she loved it when he said that, all hot and bothered and needy. Oh she had some plans to be good to him, but not necessarily a good girl. Her breath billowed over the dense pubic hair disappearing into his pants, her eyes turned up to her husband. Heated and smoldering, she took in the fluttering of his half-mast eyes and the jump in his throat as he swallowed deeply. His jawline moved, clenching and unclenching as he caught her studying gaze.

She splayed her hands over his chest like an anchor, and leaned in. Her teeth caught the edge of one button of his pants, and worked it. It popped through the hole and Amon froze, gaping at her with his tongue running hungrily against his lips. Grinning with confidence, she moved on to the next one, aware of just how close she was to his throbbing cock. Shocking how still he could be when she was so close; her air brushing against the flaps of his opened slacks against his undergarment as she gripped the next button. She worked it carefully; an expert lover’s twist and flick, and it snapped open as her nailed raked against his torso and chest hair, lowering as she lifted her head.

She teased him, slipping her fingers into the opening of his trousers. The nobleman stilled. A breathless pause. He hitched for air, groaning the moment her fingertips grazed along the base of his stiff member. His hands, having lost her rear as she dropped lower, went for her shoulders in a bear trap’s vice grip. He whined openly as she dipped her tongue along his navel, into his belly button, and caressed over to his hip to nip the protruding bone.

“Mmmm, I love it when you grab me,” she whispered, kissing her way across his abdomen towards his other hip. He spasmed; cursing in common and elvish as her fingers brushed lower as his legs snapped open wider. She stroked his sack and he gave a sudden and sharp cry as her teeth dragged along his other hip bone, biting gently. “I’m so wet for you, m’lord Amon. You’re a sexy stud, and I want to fuck your handsome cock until you feel boneless and forget how to walk.”

“Ugghhh Essie,” Amon whimpered. He wriggled, shallow huffs of air expelling rapidly from his chest. His butt lifted from the couch as she gripped the leg of his pants, and yanked them part of the way down. Her mouth formed into a frown and she removed her hand from palming his warmed scrotum. He choked with longing, leaving crescent moons on her shoulders with impatience as she tugged his askew clothing down to his boots.

“Climb on my lap, darling. Fuck the formalities, I want to feel you.” His voice was raspy. Stroking a velvety touch along the cords of her neck, he gasped with exhilaration. She hummed, her lashes skimming the top of her cheeks as she forced his shoes off, barely reasoning with the knots or loosening them. They were thrown across the room with a thud, his socks and pants following moments after.

Ignoring the thickness in his imploring voice; the deeply profound want of his faint words, Essätha settled on her knees between his legs. His small clothes were the only barrier between her, and his erection. She raised a lingering smile to beam up at him, dropping kisses along his knees. He groaned, straining as her tongue and teeth joined. Brushing her pillowed lips against his skin, skimming teeth, lapping with her tongue. Her fingers seduced every inch of his sublime figure. Caressing his waist, nudging his legs apart, scrapping along the sensitive raised goosebumps while her eyes locked on to his. She savored each moan that escaped his lips and echoed in the depths of his lungs.

Down his ankles, back up along his shins, and against his knees. She licked the inside of his thigh and he shuddered, rolling her name out with ecstasy. His hips drove forward in an invitation. He was a temptation she couldn’t refuse. Her husband, so fetching and delicious. He was a fantastic lover in every way, but there was so much to appreciate in this view. The trust. The reception. He held to her shoulder with one hand, and gripped the cushions with the other for support, clasping and unclasping his fist from the furniture as he groaned with submission to her dark desires and sinful foreplay.

Her tongue danced over his skin, moving up closer and closer to the edge of his drawers. Amon gyrated his hips, thrusting towards sanctuary. Essätha snickered, drawing spiraling shapes with her fingers over his torso in a sensual, erotic display. “Would you feel better if I kissed your poor, weeping shaft m’lord?”

The flushed color in his face grew darker and deeper. He groaned, mouth-gaping, pupils huge. His mouth closed, and he swallowed before opening again. He was speechless. She cooed at him with pity, placing a kiss along the very edge of the fabric that separated them. Once more, he threw his head back violently into the sofa, growling with frustration. “I’m not hearing an answer,” she chimed, grinning wildly.

“Yes! Yes yes, fine, please- do something-” He choked; a long drawn out gasp staggering out of him as she kissed the head of his erection through his underclothes. She grinned broader as his eyes closed, mouth twisting up and throat flexing with each withheld grunt as she lapped the damp spot on the front of his undergarments from his arousal. The musk of his need was heady and strong.

As he keened for more, Essätha sank slowly back on her knees. Her tongue drew across her lips with suggestive slowness, catching his eyes as they pried open with hopeless abandonment. Moving her hands low, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his drawers, and pulled experimentally. With an arching eyebrow, she dragged his knees together, resting her breasts against them as she whispered low and husky, “I have an idea in mind. In the bedroom, if you want to try it, m’lord Amon.”

“You’re torturing me dear,” Amon complained, his nostrils flaring. But there was no hiding the interest brewing in his gaze, his tongue moving over his own lips now. “What sort of idea? And does it involve you removing any of your damn clothes, too?”

She laughed quietly. “All in good time,” she promised, slowly climbing back up. With a hand placed on either side of his legs; fingers sinking into the fabric of the couch, Essie leaned in to ghost her lips upon his. It’s not enough. He moved nearer; claimed her mouth with his own. It’s all yearning and pleasure. Far from soft; his teeth bruise her lower lip and his tongue claimed her until she quivering. Another stab of her most vulgar desires send a wave through her as she clenched her thighs close together, a moan tumbling from her mouth into his.

He released her from the glorious spell of his lips. Every nerve ending was hyper-aware of the blaze of his mouth, caressing a long line down the side of her neck. Panting heavily, Essie ran her fingers through his beard, up to the side of his face, and cupped his cheeks. The hard calluses of his palms found her blouse and crept beneath, skimming along her pelvis. They moved to her back, tracing an old scar before flattening out.

She pulled away, placing a hand to his forearm firmly to retract the sinful gentleness of his hand claiming her. With a frustrated snarl, Amon placed a tender kiss to her lips. Sweet and soft, gliding his tongue along the seams of her lips until she was relinquished control briefly once more. His hands lingered on her waist a moment longer; massing into her bare skin, before he flopped back into the seat with a pout. His skin was glowing, and his eyes dark with lust and triumph to see her weak-kneed, trying to stand but wavering.

Beckoning him with a pointer finger, Essätha reached down to grasp his hand. He held to her hand, clasping her carefully. As he stood, he placed her hand briefly to his chest, over his heart in a symbolic gesture that made her pulse skip a few beats. He wore the fondest, most adoring smile and it was aimed like a perfect arrow through her heart. With a scarlet blush creeping deeper into her neckline and causing a haze of color to her skin, she chewed on her sore lower lip and tugged at him to follow.

She tripped and narrowly missed a puppy-love fall from glancing over her shoulder at Amon, but he dragged her back into the safety of his chest. With a grin broad and knowing as she inhaled sharply, feeling the bulge in his underclothes against her, Essätha kicked aside the boot she nearly fell over. She scowled at it, head down, and hurried the rest of the way past the disorganized clothes and coffee table brimming with ledgers. Some of the paperwork managed to fall to the floor in their haste to pass, and she quickly kicked the door to their private quarters closed behind them. Let any daring housemaid catch the sounds coming from their room and see Amon’s clothes in the sitting room, and be so brave as to try the coming in.

With more ferocity then she believed to have, she shoved her husband back into the door. He drank her in like a desperate drunk, and they sighed in unison against each other with relief. She moved against him; hips undulating, humping him greedily and grinding into his length. It’d be a lot more comforting to feel the contact of skin against skin, and not the friction of her clothes trying to mask the basking warmth of her sun.

He gripped her back and bottom, smothering her against him. “Mmmmf, my Essie,” he growled possessively, drawing on each syllable. She lunged for him once more. Wanting more; tasting his lips as the back of his head smacked against the hard oak. He groaned for her loudly as her hand squeezed to his, her free one tugging at his black locks roughly to tilt him just the way she wanted him. Enough to deepen the kiss, and weave her tongue carnally against his.

Swiftly and suddenly, Essätha leaned away from him. The cold seems to hit him all at once; his mouth hanging open, a shiver racing down his spine. He unfroze after half a second and reacheed for her once more, trying to gather her close, but she stepped away. With a scolding tut, her finger tapped his lips lightly. Amon didn’t hesitate; puckering his lips to kiss her digit as the soulful depth of his gaze swept over her like a salacious caress. For a moment she’s utterly lost in the fathomed depths; lost in the abyss of his pupil devouring his iris before she remembered herself.

Moving quickly, she stepped over to the nightstand as the nobleman detaches himself from the door. He moved as though in a dreamy romantic state, not quite making it to her by the time she fumbled through, and manages to produce a length of silk, and then a second. They were extra fabric pieces to a scarf she’d made herself for Josephine, and she’d tossed them thoughtlessly into the dresser one day, thinking that maybe one day be of use. Today seemed as good a day as any.

“You intend to tie me up, with those…” His voice was soft, but compelling. A predator lay in wait in his gaze, ready to pounce. Hungry, at the end of his chain, wanting to sink his teeth into flesh and possess her in all the ways that made her scream for him. There was doubt in his regard to the fabric; but a dangerous wanton expression creeping into the tints of color on his features.

She lowered her gaze, biting into her aching lower lip. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

Amon made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. Reaching up to stroke his beard; in a gesture that was comical as it was cute, he gave a slow nod. “Alright,” he agreed, a lazy smile spreading on his face. “What would you have me do, my lady?”

A thrill of eagerness momentarily stole her breath. With a voice more breathless than she intended, Essie indicated with a jerky hand towards the bed, hissing her demand: “Lay down.”

“Commanding,” he murmured, his voice deep and sultry. He moved past her; the smell of him distracting her just as it had before. He took full advantage of her gawking state, brushing his hand against the side of her bosom as he whispered hoarsely, “I like it.”

“Bed,” Essätha ordered, voice cracking. She was going to lose resolve with a look like that. The back of her mind whispered to her, knowing full well he could bring her to that edge again and again until she was howling for it. He could make her scream until she lost her voice, if he wanted to. But this was her game, and she had every intention on seeing it through.

Her beloved Lord Amon sank into the creaking bedframe wordlessly. His eyes said everything the crafty, smug smile of interest of his smile did not. But he wouldn’t be cocky for long (ha). Wearing a seductive smile of her own, she slunk from the end of the bed up to crawl atop of him, and straddle him. He groaned in agony; her clothes still a hindrance as he glided his hands firmly to her sides.

She held out her hand, and he froze. Obedient and silent, but watchful, he placed his hand in her grasp. She twined the rope carefully around his wrist, creating a cuff. Knotting it firmly in place, she gave the material a few jerks and tugs to test its strength. It didn’t fray or split. It wasn’t much of a distraction from the urgent look in Amon’s gaze, or the way he swayed his hips from side to side to try diverting her focus. Which it did. Easily.

Scowling, Essätha leaned over him to tie the other end of the silk to the bedpost. She shifted closer, concentrating on the knot she was making. It proved difficult as Amon breathed heavily against her chest, sitting up enough to skim his nose along her throat. Breathing deeply, he groaned: “You’re beautiful. How long are you going to toy with me like this, darling?”

“Until I’m satisfied,” she retorted, keenly aware of the feverish gasping in her voice. Taking his other wrist, she began the process of looping it and knotting the material like before. Once she leaned in to tie it to the opposite bedpost, her devious little husband tormented her in return. His hips lift; rocking his erection into her crotch as his mouth latched on to a nipple through her shirt.

Cursing shattered words in various tones and languages, Essätha shamelessly rode the shape of his package with a muted whimper. With an internal shiver, she reminded herself of what she wanted to do, and managed to squirm free with a gasp. Sitting back on her knees and far from the proud smirk pinned to the Illiad heir’s face, she gave him a serious glance. No matter how lecherous of an Aphrodite she could pretend to be; raw, aloof, charming, disarming, she was still just as enthralled and drawn to him as he was to her. Her body might want to give in to the immediate gratification of passion; quick and rough or cuddly and soft, but she could wait until she’d gotten her fill of making him lose his mind.

Amon shifted, and the bedpost creaks. He gave a tentative tug on the binding with his arm, and the tension pulled the length taut. His eyes wander from it, to her, and back again as he gave another jerk. His muscle strains, and the silk holds firm as the entire bed rocks from the effort. His eyes dart back to her once again, and his blown pupils consume her whole.

“I quite like this look,” she purred, stroking a hand absently over his chest. The tips of her fingers step across his navel, up his tense abdomen, and to his nipple. She strumed her thumb against him as he groans. “Lord Amon Thomas Illiad, my submissive husband, all tied up just for me,” Essie breathed, leaning in to hover above the heat of his body. “I bet you’d like to be inside me, right now. I bet I could make you orgasm. I wouldn’t even have to do much, would I? Kiss you here,” she pressed her lips softly over his throat. “Maybe here.” Another, over his nipple. “Or here.” Against his rapid heartbeat, and he moaned. “Touch you in just the right places, and you’ll just explode.”

The realization seemed to hit him. Truly trapped; the silk too well-made to rip or tear from his brute strength. He groaned; loud and low, trying to angle himself as much as possible to try brush his length against her. She bent upward just enough to avoid giving him the contact he ached for, and a whine settled in his throat. “Essätha, please,” he begged, dragging in air in short bursts. “Please. I want you. I need you, Ess’. Please.”

Gods, she felt drunk with power. This man; her man, a proud Illiad, praying and beseeching to her. He craved her. He wanted her in ways both filthy and amorous; wrapped around each other, frisking, touching, nuzzling, kissing. She wasn’t so blind and stupid not to see the way people looked at her over the years. She had appeal, if people could get past the random patches of scaly growths on her skin. For Amon her scales weren’t a hindrance. What she was didn’t stop him from pressing his mouth over her every curve and angle as he’d glide his hands over her, embrace her, and whisper words of flattery in her ears as he loved her. There was no greater joy and honor than to hold and love this man.

Or in this case, nothing was more satisfying than to leave him begging for more. Her valiant husband’s gaze coasted over her, and follows the hypnotic gestures of her hands. She smiles slowly, skimming them down the front of her camisole to the hem. Gathering the thin cloth in her hands, she began to drag it slowly up her body. Revealing her stomach; the planes of her belly. It hiked up higher, just beneath her ribcage and then beneath the shape of her small bust. The light against her warm skintones was luminescent, casting a drapery of shadows against her hips and curves.

Amon licked his lips in response, and lurched forward. The wooden frame of the bed protested, and the silks yanked him back into the pillows with a ragged gasp parting his stunned lips. She snickered, flirting her half-mast eyes across his expressive gaping face before flipping the garment the remainder over her breasts, and pulling her head out. With a flick of her arm, she sent the top fluttering off to the floor, her chest rising and falling with her eagerness. It gave the small mounds of her breasts a bit of bounce, which captured his attention for a lengthy intermission.

“Goddess,” the nobleman crooned, giving no indication on if he meant her or a true deity. Judging by the fixated attention of his gaze groping her however, she felt sure she knew the answer. The flush of color in her face heightened in response. Playing her fingers across her collarbone, she grazed lower; momentarily stopping to mold her palm against her breast. Amon heaved for oxygen, sucking in large gulps of air, as her hand relaxed and skimmed lower to her pants.

Bending forward, Essätha reached down to push the fastener through on her slacks, one at a time. She shed them aside, revealing the lace-covered panties beneath. The Briarton Lord let out a noise both miserable and primal. Her movement is slow and cruel; peeling back the dense cloth to show more and more of her supple thighs, all the way down to her knees. She raised her ass in the air, reveling in the way he huffed and wrestled in the restraints to lean forward at the edge for her. Bracing with one hand, she wiggled the apparel down further, and repeated the gesture on the other side until every nude contour is visible, save for the hidden crown of his lust beneath her knickers.

Extending her arm, she dropped her slacks over the side of the bed. A stern squeak emits from the posts as he tugged at them once more. A trace of pity hits her, seeing the strain in his face, in the muscles of his arms, in the pull of his eyes. In the most enamored, awe-struck voice, he managed to speak; his voice husky and deep, “Undergarments. Remove them.”

“I’m sorry, are you commanding me?” she taunted, moving to loom over his struggling form, smiling broadly. Keeping herself aloft with one hand, she used the other to cradle his face. He sighed deeply with enjoyment, nestling his face into her touch. A turn of his face, and he kissed her pulse-point gently, searching her face for a sign of reaction.

He must have found what he wanted, because he grinned. She realized she expression became vulnerable; staring, wanting, a jolt in her heartbeat and mouth parted with flush lips. With a scowl burying her heated need, she snatched her hand back, caressing it instead down his bare chest instead. “Was that a Lord command, a I’m-Your-Husband command, or a I’m-Desperate-To-Be-Fucked command?”

To her delight, he appeared suddenly sheepish. His throat jumped, and he rasped: “My apologies, my love. I demand nothing of you. The shackles, they just…” His voice faded out as she hovered closer. Lightly pressing her lips to his with sympathy, she kissed him softly. Her words breathed against his ear; light as a butterfly’s wings, “Not so easy having no control, is it?” She felt him nod, swallowing thickly once.

In a sign of forgiveness, Essätha leaves sensual kisses across his neck, carefully nipping along his sensitive skin. She stops to lap at his nipple, enjoying the faded growl in the back of his throat as she brushed her breasts to his torso. His chest hair tickled her erogenous zone. Moaning weakly, she traveled over the model of his magnificent chest; suckling and nibbling down to his underwear. There’s a damp spot from the dew of his pre-cum and where her tongue had been earlier. She strips them away; sliding over his body to throw them across the room.

She exhaled, breath fanning over his straining cock. “Gloriousss,” she managed to hiss. Her tongue stroked the inside of his thighs in a single line towards his balls, and he keened with pleasure. Her cheek grazed his rod as she moved up along his leg. She left wet, lewd kisses along his leg; listening to the rapture of his his voice rather than the words in a tongue of elves that made little sense to her.

Shimmying lower down the bed, she anchored her knees for support, and lured her tongue over the head of his cock. His reaction was instantaneous. Amon arched; his hips lifting, and a ragged moan poured out of him in a reverberating tones. Without looking up, she feels the burn of his eyes on the top of her head as her braid falls on his thigh. She encouraged him to nudge his legs wider for her, dragging nails against one leg and taking a steady grasp of the base of his length with the other. Through clenched teeth, her husband draws out a fizzling gasp of hope.

Swirling her tongue along the head of his manhood, she tasted the tangy musk of his desire. Her lips kiss along his slit and she engulfs just the head, sucking lightly. He pulled up like a bow strung too tight; tense, rigid, stiff in the groin as he grunted loudly. The moment he urged his hips up again, requesting more, she retracted; laving her tongue down his shaft and back up again slowly. She paused to leave an open-mouth kiss on the underside of his length before repeating the gesture; smoothly gliding her tongue over the other side of his dick and back up to leave a filthy kiss beneath his leaking slit.

A string of ‘please’s tumbled out of his mouth. Essie offerd him a sinister smirk, casting a glazed look up at his face. He’s more flush than ever. Wriggling into the mattress, he huffed and screws up his mouth with vexation. It’s gone in a flash; parting his mouth into a gratifying cry of euphoria as she dipped her head once more, taking him into her mouth to suck deeply before popping him out with a prurient wet kiss.

“Essätha,” he appealed, twisting his hands to hold the silken lengths. She hummed at his inquiry, lowering herself to lap along the base of his erection. Her tongue darted out against his scrotum; dipped lower and moved along his sack. A whimper escaped the nobleman and he thrust into her hand that still gripped him, wheezing helplessly as she took one ball into her mouth and sucked gently. “More,” he wailed involuntarily.

She was more than eager to please. His reactions were perfect. Yearning and hot. She danced her tongue along the sensitive skin, moving him up and down in her mouth. From one, she moved on to the other; leaving his balls shining with her saliva. Her nose pressed into the base of his cock as she stroked him gently, up and down. His legs trembled with the effort to remain steady, to not plunge himself into fucking her hand and mouth in a sad attempt to finish himself. A ravenous moan of bliss fueled him as he sank into the covers, head lulling, mouth open.

“Good girl,” he gasped, her tongue flicking at the skin along his dick and scrotum. She kissed and licked her way back up his member, listening to the unsteady roughness of his breathing. He groaned as she sucked the tip of his head once more. “Essie, please. Please.”

Gradually, she bobbed her head. Lowering further onto his cock, she takes the girth and weight of him deeper. Her throat flexes, her cheeks hollow, and she sucks him a little tighter the deeper he goes. Amon’s groans grow animalistic with hunger; constant, wild, and passionate. He flexes his hips forward, as far as he’s able, scrambling for more.

In a rhythmic motion, she begins to fuck him. Swallowing the pre-cum leaking from his slit, she moved her lips over him and dipped her tongue along the side. It grazed him; swirling and flattening in different directions. Her hand fists him all the while; clenching and relaxing, moving up and down to caress and bring him higher. She cupped his balls in her other hand, breathing deeply through her nose, and massaged them slowly. He babbles some sweet-nothings, but it’s near impossible to make out in a rush of crude words and whining.

Darting her eyes over him, she appreciated the erotic dance of his hips, the helpless writhing of his body. Perspiration drenched his skin. She relaxed the suction, aiming her tongue to throttle over the head of his hardness before taking him deep once more. His eyes open and close; moving from her to the ceiling, hissing through his teeth. She can make out the slight chaffing against his wrists even from where she was; turning a reddish hue as he struggled against his bonds.

“Close,” he bit out. “M’close.” Another gasp, and he bucked up towards the heat of her mouth engulfing him. She winced; tears momentarily blinding her eyes from the sudden jab to the back of her throat before he settled back into the bed. His length passed the spread of her full lips, and Essätha dragged in a large breath, licking her tongue along the slit of his cock one last time before sitting up. Her jaw ached. She let go of his dick and ballsack slowly to rub along her jawline for a moment. Despite herself, a smile pulled at her aching face, watching her Lord lounge in the sheets, trying to catch his breath with eyes shuttered to the world.

While he was wonderfully preoccupied and trying to regain composure, Essie rolled off of him to crawl further up the bed. She fumbled with the nightstand, producing a condom from its contents. Leaving the drawer open, she ripped open the packet and pitched it. Taking the contents from inside, she rolled the damn thing down his shaft, still slick from her mouth. It fit snuggly in place, right where it should, with the end slightly extended as it should be.

Gripping the edges of her panties, she yanked them off in a single fluid gesture. They fell off the edge of the bed as she slipped forward, straddling her husband by the hips. An ecstatic moan of impatience dragged out of her chest. Amon’s eyes snapped open wide and sudden as she slid down, allowing his cock to glide against her folds wet with want to brush her clitoris.

The entire headboard lurched forward with a defiant shirek. Twisting his wrists, a bellowing sound of remorse filled the room from his lungs as she moved again, a shaky sigh moving past her lips. Gods the pangs of need were torture. She was starving for just a pinch of his love, just a bit of his fiery elation and the taste of his lust. Just a little relief. Her walls clenched against nothing, wanting more as her mouth fell open, that sweet bundle of nerves in her bud blooming as her back arched to move against him once more.

Slamming his head back into the pillow, Amon drove his hips forward maddeningly. “Untie me!” he relented, his eyes catching hers. She blinked sluggishly, lost in the dark colors of his eyes for a moment not comprehending as he turned the cuffs around in his grip. “Essätha. Please. Untie me. I need to touch you.”

Wearing a saucy smile, she inclined over him. “So elaborate for me, my beloved: a blow job doesn’t get you hot and bothered enough to demand being released, but my pussy against your cock does?”

He groaned, gyrating his hips once more to grind his shaft into her clit so her eyes fluttered shut, and she mewled with astonishment. His lips wet his lips, and he groaned softly, “Untie me, Essie. I want to feel you. I want to hold you. I want to participate and please you by the Light of Pelor, please.”

His gaze was rounded with pleading. With a hitch in her breath, she leaned back. The nectar of her want glistened against his erection as she hung just above against his chest, dotting a kiss to his upper collarbone while reaching for his left hand. “You are a sentimental softie, m’lord,” she murmured, unfurling the first knot as she finished close to his ear, making him shiver, “I love it. I love you, m’lord Amon.”

Calm. His scorching eyes slipped over her face with in the soothing silence. She felt a sense of unease; as though she may have been tricked, as her hands worked on the last knot. His free hand moved to her face, brushing frizzy strands of loose hair from her braid aside. He cupped her chin, examined her swollen lip, and stroked his thumb along her jaw. As the silk slackened on his other wrist, he pulled his arm free to hold her cheeks instead. Turning her face, Essie pressed an apologetic kiss to the tender area of his skin, worn from the fabric chafing at his flesh.

“I love you, Essätha Meduza Illiad, my wife,” he rumbled conclusively. He followed her as she pulled away, his lips mirroring over the outline of hers as she panted. Pulling his legs in just enough to offer support as they sat up; her in his lap, he ran his hands down her throat. She trembled beneath the light contact, barely grazing her shoulders and massaging down her curves. He halted as she lifted her hips; kneading her ass and guiding her forward.

Her eyelashes fluttered. Slowly, she sank down on his member. A synchronized set of moans pushed past their lips. The broad hands on her rear smoothed up her back, embracing her close. With a steady thrust, and rotation of his hips, Amon moved deeper. She clenched against his cock, keening pitifully. By all the gods, he felt incredible. She was soaked for him, and he fit so perfectly inside her.

They moved slowly; finding a gradual pace. Feathered kisses lined her jaw, up her cheeks, to her forehead, and over her nose. Essie gasped, gripping his shoulder and his waist while rocking into him. He found her lips. A tender pressure; careful of her inflamed lower lip. His tongue swept against her own as her mouth parted and she shuddered. It was gone too soon. Her head spinning; already dizzy and lightheaded from the waves of heavenly bliss as he moved on to leaves kisses down her throat. Scrapping teeth against her skin, circling his tongue against her sweaty skin.

Amon’s hips bucked firmly up into hers. Throwing her head back, she moaned with ecstasy. With a hand against her back keep her steadily in place, her breasts squished to his chest, Amon edged a hand between them to the juncture of her thighs. His pointer and middle found her clitoris and he circled her nub. Flicking the hood, rubbing her furiously, she ground into his hand and moaned close to his ear. Her fang caught his earlobe and she licked against the shell as he bit her neck gently.

“Darling,” he grunt; honeyed with fondness. He jolted; driving his hips at just the right angle to spark a dangerous fire inside. She whimpered, riding him fast. His groans increased in tempo and strength, and he kissed her vigorously, repeating her name over and over again like a prayer. “Essätha. Essätha. Essätha-”

The nobleman let out a loud groan. She could feel the ripples of him spilling into the rubber as he continued to move. His fingers changed tactics; one barely whispering a coaxing gesture against her sensitive bundle of nerves, and the other tickling just to the side. It was a strange combination, but the sensation worked. She jumped; hissing. Her thighs pressed close, moving against his limp erection. Too close though. It was right there and he cursed; trying to help her chase it-

The world faded, and she toppled into paradise. Screaming his name weakly with release, her walls fluttered and pulsed around his cock. Her climax coated the condom, and dripped on to the sheets as she slumped weakly against her husband’s chest, gasping. His hand retracted from her mound and she quivered once more, resting her head to his shoulder.

Sucking her juices from his fingers, Amon wrapped his arm back around her. She winced as he guided her off of him; a slight burn in her loins. He rolled the condom back up, and ditched the used latex off to the side. His beard rasped against her cheek as he nuzzled her. A kiss pressed to her temple and he flopped back into bed, guiding her with him to lay sprawled out across his torso.

Leaving a delicate, romantic kiss to the underside of his chin, Essätha exhaled heavily with contentment. “That was extraordinary,” she stated quietly, lifting her head to gaze at him with a sultry smile. “Good for you?”

“Fantastic,” he replied, chuckling.

She grinned. “Think you’re ready to go back to work?” she teased.

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, rubbing a hand to the back of her neck, urging her forward. “Now com’ere you, it’s my turn. And I want to kiss all over your gorgeous smiling face, to start with.”

Snickering, Essie climbed closer to the temptation of his crafty grin and tranquil, loving eyes to meet his gentle mouth in an intimate kiss. A strong arm around her, another tucked in the loose curls around her ear where they’d fallen. He breathed her in; kissed her sweet and soft, and whispered a poetic verse in elvish she recognized that made her insides melt. This moment and this man, it was all hers. And as she smiled into the kiss, she knew in the depths of her heart, nothing could possibly make her happier. She found refuge with him. She found home, with him. He took such care of her heart and its misshapen form; and her soul, which some days she still wasn’t sure wasn’t tainted by some blot of darkness.

“I love you,” she muffled against his lips once more. “I love you,” he repeated quietly, caressing her spine. She sighed pleasantly, arching into his touch. With lowered lashes, she allowed herself to be vulnerable. Limp; safe in his arms. The safest place she ever knew. His mouth pressed to the corner of her own and she curled up into him. Nothing to fear touched her here; no doubts, no sorrows. Only happiness. Only him. Her hands slipped over his cheeks, rubbing his beard and gliding up into his hair. She drew him deep into her lungs, kissed him tenderly in return, and did something she’d never done before, until she had him.

She lived. Perfectly happy, lost in the moment, and cradled in the security of his arms. Home, loved, and utterly and totally at peace, with him, her beloved Lord Amon.