#volcov

[a-wild-things-rambles]

wooo! love as consumption!!

warning- i have written this in three sessions, while ill with covid, with a concussion that i had to got to two different hospitals for,and then whacking it in words spell n grammar check

warnings: violence, dubiously consentual violence???(one of them is possesed and made the other one hurt them) not realy that sexual in theory other than a kiss but loooottt of violence? idk. this is fuked up and im not in my right mind and if i dont publish it now im never gonna get rid of it

"Cut me open, love"

"Take the knife, cut me, tear me"

Volkov’s eyes were solid gold, and red could sense the blood turning to the precious metal, magic spreading through there loves body.

wide eyes begging for their blood to be shed

Volcov tugged them down

"I’ll tell you a secret. it has to be you"

"Juno-"

"no. she couldn’t come back from it,"

Volkov’s tone tuned forceful

"Remember, you and I are the monsters"

"I can’t hurt you" a truth that was crumbling before reds eyes, a false promise, hollow even as they believed it

"You can if I will it." a pause, and then golden eyes glowed from within, a threat and a promise "you can do anything if I will it"

the danger. the tightrope, kissing and loving with a knife to their throat, an axe waiting to fall. red was used to the rush that came from the blade being close. but this wasn’t it. this was hollow

"I don’t want that. they don’t want that." regret, almost. *almost*

"Which are you now?" a question they knew would go unanswered, but they both had their lines and parts to play

"Someone you love. someone who wants you to use that knife."

"And if I don’t?"

"You will. willingly or not. the fates decree it." the metallic ring to the voice on the last words. set their heat a-ring with fear like a bell

"What if I pull a you. I shed the yoke and all that."

"I was given that privilege, you." and this looked like it hurt Volcov to say "you don’t get to do that. the fates will not bend to anyone’s whims but their own"

"And yours?"

"I am their daughter, I am their failure, they do not bend to my whims but my sword"

"And you will yield to my blade"

"And I will yield to you"

"I don’t want to do this"

"Liar. blood is how we love. consumption is our nature. we the monsters"

grip the knife. unbutton Volkov’s shirt. look at their pleased smile. don’t think about how it’s wrong. don’t look at the golden eyes. red accepted sharing Volcov with others long ago. but not like this.

pretend you’re at home. pretend the eyes on you are Juno. pretend this all a game. pretend you have a choice.

pretend that some part of them doesn’t enjoy the cut of the blade, the gold welling up, to see Volkov’s coy smile break into a grin, the arc of their back, begging for the knife, the pain.

feel the flesh part, feel the lack of bone, put your hands in and spread wide, watch the gold stain your hands, marvel at how beautiful you both look, watch the beating of their heart.

forget that you’re killing them. forget that they may not survive

take the knife, cut the veins. hold it, cup it.

hold your loves heart in your hands.

stare at it. almost in shock

watch as Volcov takes a finger, swipes it through the blood on their chest, then reaches towards red, and runs their blood-soaked finger over reds lips

"I almost forgot how good you looked in gold" Volcov practically purred

ignore the fact that your eyes are as wide as they can be. ignore how-

and Volcov slams up into them, lips locking on reds, blood trickling into reds mouth, and oh how it tastes so good.

one hand holding Volkov’s heart trapped between them, they use the other to stabilise them both, drowning out the world around with the metallic bitterness of blood and the noise of blood on flesh.

revel in the taste of your lovers lifeblood on your lips, the two of you becoming one, the monster insides chains of nicety dissolved by the golden acid revelling in the violence.

they always said that the line between love and hate was a knifes edge, often existing simultaneously, but lovemaking and violence... well let it never be said Volcov dint teach them anything.

thoughts wonder away from flesh and blood to the wet muscle in their hands, how might a seers heart taste? they had devoured many a mortal, but rarely one so touched by higher beings. [never one so loved by them]

would the love sweeten the flesh? or would the holiness sting as the flesh was consumed, still. a small price to pay for the ultimate way of being one with another.

[cellythefloshie]

;; Treat You Right Chapter Fifteen of the Road Wife Series

Table of Contents 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 11  | 12  |  13  | 14 | 15

Summary: The Tampa Bay Lighting take a quick single-game road trip to Dallas, and with your empty calendar you're finally able to address what happened between you and Tony. NOTE: Surprises bitches (I say endearingly)! I'm dropping this early. The boys need all the support I can give them today. So this will just have to do. Kinks & TW: sex work, dry humping, hickeys/marking, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, went pretty vanilla with this one, more feelings than we are used to. Word Count: 7700+

TAGLIST: @equallyshaw , @charles11700 , @starshine-hockey-girl , @swissboyhisch , @wingedwheelprxncess , @luvmmarner , @fandomrejects

The team remained in Tampa for only a brief time after their longest road trip of the season. They were granted five days at home, just long enough to play Nashville in a short series of two games where each team was left with a single win. Then the team took the skies again, arriving in Dallas for a single game. They had arrived mid-day after a brief 2-hour flight. The single-game road trip had almost been enough to have you staying behind in Tampa as the team had planned to fly home after the game, but when the team was forced to book rooms for the night at a Dallas hotel that had started to feel more like home than your own appointment you had packed your bags and met the team on the tarmac. 

With the late landing giving you only a few hours before the game, your calendar was clear. Not a single appointment was on your calendar for the duration of the trip, and while it left you feeling they had wasted a seat on the plane on you, your company was always welcome. Especially as it came to be game time and you retired to the suite that looked over the rink. It was a box reserved for the Lightning organization, with enough seats for their social media team as well as the players that were scratched for the night. It wasn’t very often you enjoyed the company of the players during game time, the demands of keeping up appearances often consumed you. So you welcomed the opportunity to get to know those who were scratched or occupied the taxi squad. That night, Volcov, Alex Barre-Boulet, Gemel Smith, Luke Schenn, Andreas Borgman, Ben Thomas, and Chris Gibson occupied the suite. You sat among them with your laptop open on the table, casually working as the game played out below. 

The first period was a quiet one. With the expedition of a single goal at 3:55 scored by Brayden Point, his 11th of the season was assisted by Palat and Cirelli. Not even a single penalty was called. It may have been one of the quickest periods of hockey you had watched. 

The game really came to life in the second period as it was kicked off with an interference call against Palat. The Bolts were successful in the penalty kill, and minutes later the Stars themselves took a penalty for delay of game as they sent the puck over the glass. The Bolts were unsuccessful in their power play as well. It wasn’t long before the Stars tied the game with a goal of their own. A power-play goal was scored by Miro Heiskanan after Cal Foote had hooked Alexander Rudulov. It looked as if the game may go into the second intermission 1-1, but before the period could come to an end Mathieu Joseph had given the Bolts a 2-1 with assists from Maroon and Colton. 

It left morale high and the taxi squad boys rowdy as they stood up from their seats to indulge themselves in refreshments and conversation - but they could only be entertained by themselves for so long. 

Feeling an arm drape over the back of your chair you looked away from your computer screen and up to the player that was casually demanding your attention with the careful graze of his large hand against your back. You were greeted with the sweet smirk of Luke Schenn as his thumb traced circles around your back absentmindedly, “We’re going to head down to the locker room for the intermission, check in on the boys, hype them up for the third. Did you want to come?”

“You guys go on ahead, I’ve got to wrap some things up,” you assured him with a smile of your own. 

“You work too hard,” he punctuated the sentence with your name, his hand stroking over the breadth of a single shoulder before giving it a gentle squeeze, “we won’t be long.”

“I’ll be here,” you assured him and watched as the boys left, leaving you alone in the box suite. For a short time, you let yourself become enthralled by your screen. You made quick work of your task before you closed the laptop and tucked it away in its bag. Now, you could really enjoy the rest of your night. You abandoned the barstool-like chair that had been set at one of the cocktail tables and indulged in the mini bar and snacks that were left in the suite. You knew you really shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t let it go to waste. With refreshments in hand, you found a more comfortable seat along the edge of the suite. The comfort was welcome as you nearly melted into your seat. Your head leaned back against the seat, your eyes falling shut as you took in a heavy relaxed breath and took in the sounds that were as close as you were going to get to silence: the chatter of the fans in attendance and the entertainment played up on the jumbotron. And while it was loud, one thing was louder: the voice of a stranger. 

“You’re new.”

Their words left you lurching in your seat, your drink spilling over your lap as you dropped it to reach for the armrest. Your heart thundered in your chest as you tried to recover your drink, putting it aside before you turned towards the source of the sound. In the doorway of the suite was none other than Tyler Seguin. 

“And you’re lost,” you quipped from your seat and made no effort to make any formal introductions with your unexpected visitor.

Seguin had been on the Stars Injured Reserve list since the end of the 2020-2021 season having torn the labrum in his hip sometime during the playoff run - the playoffs that had the Bolts hoisting the cup for the first time since 2004. While Seguin had been very much out of the spotlight during his recovery, it didn’t seem to stop him from being there for his team off the ice. He stood in the doorway dressed in a burgundy suit that left you feeling underdressed even though you too were dressed in business attire. Your eyes were drawn to it, and how his blazar opened as she reached a hand up to brace himself against the top of the door frame. It left you to admire how his tie had become loose as the night had gone on, and his shirt was loose fitting as he had come to unbutton the one button that would have left it tight across his chest and his tie hung loose and lazily over his chest.

Tyler wasn’t dressed for business, that portion of his night had ended, and now he was looking to cause trouble and it had led him to you - but something told you that it wasn’t you that he had been looking for. 

“I have to say, not many people complain when I walk into a room,” Tyler was charming and witty as he left the doorway and made his way into the suite. He grazed over the refreshments, picking up a sweet snack for himself on his way to the row of seats you occupied, more specifically the seat right beside you. “The last girl, Ella, she was much more welcoming…”

Ella. The slip of the woman’s name from his lips and repeated, echoed, haunted each of your thoughts as they raced through your mind. Not once before had you heard this time, and yet it made your skin crawl. Your mind spirals further when you let yourself really hear what Seguin had just said. The last girl. When you joined the media team, you had been filling a void, one that had been vacated at the end of the 2018-2019 season. Surely, Seguin was referring to the young woman who once worked for the media team - but one thought did not leave you: Had Ella been the first wife? 

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your heart pounding in your chest so hard you could hear it up into your ears as you reached down to grip the armrest tightly. Against your fingers, you could feel the warmth of Seguin’s body as he made himself comfortable. He spread his legs so that he could slouch casually as if he had sat beside you many times before, and he went as far as to have his knee come to rest against your own. You shifted away at the touch, but it only left him smiling - and that smile only seemed to grow as he leaned closer to you as if he had something to say, but you didn’t let him speak, not yet. 

“Don’t you have someone else you can entertain?” you bit out, and you felt the warmth of his laughter against your cheek. 

“Just doing my rounds, it’s good publicity-”

“It’s good publicity to bother the visitor’s media team?” You challenged him, letting your gaze meet his for the first time since he had sat down. His features were uncomfortably close. Every breath that escaped him could be felt on your face, and you could see every detail of his face from the warmth of his eyes to the quirk of his smile that told you that this man was more trouble than you could allow. Seguin was easily one of the most sought-after men in the NHL, and you had his undelivered attention. It made you uncomfortable in all the best ways, and you hated it - and what you hated more was the fact that any other woman would have killed to be in your position. 

“No this, this was just the last spot on my stop. A courtesy stop really, because it’s usually a group of boring men in here taking notes, wanting to ask too many questions - but the Bolts,” his low laughter punctuated his sentence as he dropped his voice into a low, alluring whisper, “they like to keep an attractive staff… I must say, you’re ever more pretty than the last one - though, she was a lot more fun.”

You held your breath as you felt Seguin's warmth encroach on you, his fit frame leaning in slightly over the armrest that divided you. Then came the touch of his hand on the collar of your shirt, tugging it away just enough for his thick fingers to drag over the sensitive mark on your neck that had been left there by Brayden during your flight to Detroit on the last road trip. 

“Though, they seem to be having their fun with you…” his words sent a shiver down your spine as your suspicions seemed to be all but confirmed. Whoever Ella was, wife or not, Seguin had taken a liking to her. She was the reason he was in this booth, with his suit relaxed and oozing with charm. If it had been another time, another place, it might have worked on you - but you were loyal to the team, and part of the team was walking right back through the suite door. 

“You seem to be lost, Seguin,” came Luke’s voice after the shuffling of footsteps. 

It drew your eyes back to the taxi squad, the sight of them bringing you a moment of relief. You’d never been happier to see them and it brought a smile to your features. As you smiled, Tyler laughed. He was far from intimidated by the likes of them, and instead of retreating he was leaning in to whisper in your ear to confirm all of your suspicions. “If you find that you’re up for a little fun after you take care of your boys tonight, give me a call.” 

Your smile faded as you felt his hand graze up against yours, his hot touch lingering for but a moment as he handed off a slip of paper to you. You didn’t need to look at it to know that his number was written across it. You balled it up in your fist, your gaze hardening as he stood up from his seat, satisfied. His message had been delivered, and with his unwanted audience, it was time for him to leave. 

“Enjoy the rest of the game boys,” Tyler gave them a cocky wave on his way out the door, but the boys paid no mind to him. 

The taxi squad had already turned all their attention to Luke, who lingered the closest to the doorway to make sure Seguin didn’t try to linger. He went as far as to look out into the hallway before looking back at his teammates, the clock that counted down the intermission, and at you before he was calling the shots.

“Volcov, Boulet - run downstairs, you’ve got a few before the period starts. Get the captain’s attention and let him know what happens,” the rush of words from his lips only fueled the feeling of urgency that bubbled in the depths of your stomach. 

It had you pushing yourself out of your seat and crossing your arms over your chest nervously. Then, you approached Luke who was turning his back on Volkov and Barre-Boulet. and turning his attention to you, “Hey,” his words were softly spoken as he reached out with both hands to take hold of your arms carefully, “you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you assured him, but your grip on the paper was growing tighter as you cast your glance downwards and spoke, “I tried to get him to leave…”

Your arms were left void of the heat of his touch as Luke reached up and took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His gentle hold tilted your head back, his guidance forcing you to look up at him as he towered over you. Luke had never been an intimidating guy, and that didn’t change as he looked down at you with nothing but reassurance in his eyes. 

Your name slipped over his tongue as smooth as velvet then he spoke, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Someone should have been here-”

“You guys didn’t know he would be coming by, he’s on their long-term injured reserve…” As you spoke Luke traced his thumb along the angles of your chin and jaw slowly, his touch distracting as you tried to reassure him in return, “He wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“And he won’t be back,” Volkov cut in as he and Barre-Boulet returned to the suite. 

“You guys reach the captain?” Luke hummed as he let his hands fall from the smooth skin of your features. 

“He knows. The whole bench knows.”

“Good, that might just be the fire they needed to get through the game,” Luke nodded and moved to take his seat as the third period began behind him - but you didn’t let him get too far. 

“Wait-” Your hand was quick to reach out for his, your careful hold transferring the slip of paper from your hold to his, “take this, I don’t want it.” 

Luke took the slip from you, spreading out its wrinkles and its fold and taking in the sight of the numbers written in a messy scrawl. You had gripped it so tightly it threatened to rip under the stroke of his thumb, not that it would have mattered if it had as Luke was quick to dispose of it in the trash. 

“You would think the man’s run out of women in Dallas if he’s gotta come in here and try to steal our girl,” Luke tries to put you at ease with a semblance of a joke, his arm coming to drape around your shoulders to guide you back to your seat. Together you sat with the rest of the taxi squad and watched as the third period unfolded on the ice below. 

To start the period, it had been evenly matched with each team having their opportunities to get more points on the board - but the goaltenders were quick to snuff out any attempt. It was near halfway through the period when frustrations festered and the Bolts took a bench minor for too many men. It left you on the edge of your seat, your hand reaching out to squeeze Luke’s knee each time the Stars had a semblance of a scoring chance. You were put at ease when the boys pulled through and killed the penalty and later drew one from the Stars when Colton took a stick up high. It was on that power play the Bolts went up 3-1 with a goal from the Captain himself. He had heard the message back in the locker room and had sent one himself. They were determined to win. 

The efforts, however, almost seemed for not as the Stars were quick to come back in the final three minutes of the game with goals from Benn and Rudalov. The 3-3 score going into overtime left a sinking feeling in your stomach. Each passing second filled you with anxiety. The boys needed to win. Not for the standings. Not because it was a rematch of the previous year's Stanley Cup Final, but because of the message they were trying to send. 

Overtime wouldn’t be enough for the two teams that had become one of the season’s biggest rivalries, as after five minutes of play the score remained the same. The game would be sent to a shootout. 

Your anxieties only grew as you stood up from your seat and leaned up against the edge of the suite. You couldn’t just sit back and enjoy the game, not when sitting still felt impossible. You watched as the ice was cleared and the players took their seats on the bench. One by one they would take the ice, and up first, Jason Robertson. He was their rookie, and a hell of a good one too, which is why it didn’t surprise you when the puck met the back of the net almost effortlessly. With that goal, your stomach sank, your gaze flashing towards the squad in your company as they watched from their seats as Tampa sent out their first skater. 

“Ross?” You hadn’t meant to let his name slip from your lips at the sight of him down on the ice. You knew all too well that this was his first-ever shoot-out attempt with the team, and that in no way put you at ease. Cooper should have been sending out Pointer, Stamkos, or Killorn - the big guns when it came to your shoot-out, and yet Cooper was choosing to send out the rookie. No one would really know how he would make such an attempt, and with being as new to the league as he was the only players that would know his style of player were his teammates. 

You found yourself holding your breath as Ross skated in from center ice. His movements were quick, smooth, and effortless and his puck too found the back of the net. There was no containing your excitement at that moment as you shot up and let out a cheer that you were sure could be heard down on the benches as the rest of the 3,000 in attendance had been rendered to silence. 

The shootout would require three more shooters. First, the Stars sent out Pavelski whose shot would be saved. Then, the Bolts sent out Pointer whose shot would give the team the 2-1 advantage over the Stars going into who would be their final shooter. Rudalov would take the ice only to his a for his attempt to be snuffed out by Vasilevsky. 

It was a game worth celebrating, and yet as the hour drew late in the comfort of your hotel room you did not receive a single notification. It left you sprawled out across the bed, expression perplexed, as you pulled up your calendar and scrolled through the hours. Not a single appointment was scheduled, not that you could blame them. The team would be on a flight home come morning and the players returned to their wives before noon. 

Back during the lengthy 11-day road trip, that had you visiting 3 different cities, you wouldn’t have complained about getting to go to bed alone. Tonight, however, your mind threatened to spiral down the depths of the rabbit hole that was Ella, and you didn’t want to sleep alone. 

Your fingers were quick to fall on your contacts, your thumb scrolling through the players in your phone who were merely identified by their jersey number. Lips curled up into a tired smile as your thumb selected contact #71 and typed out a quick message: You still up?

The mere appearance of the ellipses as he typed was enough to have you moving for your bag that rested untouched in the armchair by the door. You didn’t need to dig through it to find what you were looking for, Cirelli’s sweatshirt had been the last thing you packed leaving it resting on top. You had been meaning to get it back to him but hadn’t yet found the opportunity - until now. Pulling it on over your head, you moved out into the hallway, and with a quick glance down at your phone you knew which room was your destination. 

You kept your head down as you moved through the hall, your strides quick and quiet as you snuck down the hall to Cirelli’s room. You didn’t have to knock when you arrived as Cirelli was waiting on the other side to ensure you weren’t waiting out in the hallway. While the two of you weren’t breaking any rules, you both acted with caution - especially since this was the first time you would be alone with him since the incident at the practice facility twenty days prior. 

It was all you could think about at the sight of him as the hotel room door was shut behind you. Its lock engaging was a mere echo in your mind as your eyes became fixated on the grasp of his hands around the handle. You thought of his hands often, an invading thought of how they felt tracing along your body, holding you, guiding you, fucking you. You hesitated in the doorway, your mind a mess as your hands balled the end of the too-long sleeves in your fists in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. Even Tony’s words were lost on you, and it was the touch of his hand against your arm that pulled you back to reality. 

“Everything okay?” Tony raised a brow, his large hand giving your tricep and careful squeeze. 

“Yeah, I’m great actually,” you smiled up at him and directed your dazed stare up at his features. You must have caught him just before bed, his hair was a mess and he stood in nothing more than a pair of loose lounge pants. “My calendar is clear, and I was hoping that maybe we could watch a movie or something like we used to…”

Tony’s touch left you, his hand raising to card through his thick curls as he glanced back towards his bed and the tv, “you get comfy, I’ll get it all set up,” he smiled in return before taking his lazy strides towards the television, “what do you want to watch?”

“I’m not picky, really,” you assured him as you crawled up the length of his bed and settled yourself among the comfort of the pillows. You left them for but a moment to place your phone face down on the bedside table, but when you returned to their comfort you snuggled down into them. Your lips came to pout slightly when their scent was still reminiscent of the detergent used by the hotel and nothing like Tony's. It was one of the downsides of only being in the hotel for a single night. 

“Then you’re getting a Netflix classic,” he smirked, putting on one of the platform's most popular comedy series. You were sure Tony had probably seen each of their episodes many times, but it would be the perfect background noise. 

The bed shifted as Tony climbed into his spot beside you, and the two of you were quick to fall into old habits. His arm wrapped around you without a thought, its strength drawing you closer as the familiar jingle of the show filled the room. You could feel his thumb stroking over its familiar path along the length of your arm that was concealed by his sweater and as you snuggled a little bit closer you could feel his every breath. The warmth of his body in turn warmed you, and soon you found yourself snuggling in just a little bit closer - your hand was on his chest and you draped a single leg over his. His body was a familiar comfort, one that you hadn’t realized you had missed until he was consuming every single one of your senses but your tongue - and you were ready to change that. Leaning your head back you smiled up at Tony who was quick to meet your gaze. This wasn’t the same look you had given him all those nights ago in Nashville. There was no nervousness, no shame, and no reason for him to think he wasn’t allowed to kiss you. Yet, Tony hesitated. 

Raising his hand, Tony stroked over the smoke skiing off your cheek, his head shaking slowly from side to side as he let out a heavy breath that became your name on his lips. It sent a sinking feeling deep in your stomach, one that had you pulling away from his hold and pushing up to kneel in front of him on the bed. 

“What’s wrong, Tony?”

Your mouth went dry with worry, your hands slipping into the sleeves of his sweater that you wore just enough to grip at the fabric. It was a simple act to try to keep your mind from racing as your studied Tony’s features - but it was failing. You couldn’t stop your thoughts from sliding into worry. Had Tony decided that having any kind of relationship with you was too much? 

“I want to talk to you about what happened,” his words were heavy, and you didn’t need an explanation to know what exactly he was speaking to. While you have that conversation in the hallway back in Chicago, Tony wanted to talk about your fight and the events that led to the two of you being caught by Cooper. 

“There’s nothing to talk about-” You tried to shrug it off, but Tony was insistent.

“Don’t say that,” he sighed, his hand coming up to rake through his dark curls, “I’m not proud of what I did that day, and I need you to know that. I shouldn’t have done what I did that day - should have said what I said. I don’t want to sit here and make excuses but it’s fucking hard to sit back and watch this all happen. Watching you run off to your appointments with the rest of the time, and then there’s you and Ross-” Tony looked away when he said his teammate's name, a heavy breath shaking through his body as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. 

“I know this isn’t the most ideal situation to be in,” you sighed, a hand reaching out for his carefully before giving it a reassuring squeeze, “and I wish that it didn’t have to be this way, and I understand if you don’t want to do this anymore-”

“No, no,” he spoke quickly yet softly, “that’s not- fuck that. I tried being distant after what we did and it didn’t make it any easier. I still had to sit back and watch it all happen, but worst of all I had to watch as you did everything we did together with someone else.” His head lulled forward, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he gripped your hand a little tighter, “I’m glad you’re here tonight, and I really am sorry for what I did. It wasn’t right-”

“Then make it right, Tony,” you told him firmly, and for a moment there was only silence that hung between you as his warm gaze raised to meet your own. 

It was a silence that left you biting your lip as you leaned in a little closer to him, his hand coming back up to rest on your cheek as he moved away from the support of the headboard. His hand guided you in a little closer, and he was meeting you halfway as his lips came down on yours as if it were the first time back in Nashville again. It was a feather-light kiss, his lips dragging over yours slowly and coaxing a gasp from your lips. The kiss had been gentle, but it was only the beginning. The moment you reciprocated the kiss, Tony’s hands found your hips and pulled you into his lap. 

You straddled him, your hands seeking out anything to clutch onto. Fingertips dragged over the muscles of his chest, and up over his shoulders. You didn’t stop until your fingers were knitted in the thick strands of his curls, tugging his neck back just enough to coax him into parting his lips further to allow you to taste his tongue. That alone was not enough to satisfy you, but instead only left you craving more of him. You didn’t have to tell Tony that, not with your words anyway. He could feel it in the motions of your body as you stroked down the back of his neck with the tips of your fingers, and how your lips began to roll in a slow rhythm against his thighs. With each rotation of your hips, the friction between your clothed core and his thigh sent a shockwave of pleasure through your body, but it wouldn’t be enough to leave you satisfied. 

Tony’s grip tightened on your hips, his fingers dragging in as he drew your hips forward so you rested higher on his lap - and it was there you could feel him between your legs. Stiff and ready for you, yet Tony didn’t rush things. He guided you over him slowly, the eagerness of his cock pressing up into you as he kissed you deeply, slowly, without haste. Tony had a hunger for you, but he was going to enjoy you like a satisfying meal instead of a late-night binge that would only leave you with an insatiable hunger for more. 

When your body had fallen into the rhythm set out by his guidance, Tony’s hands began to wander. His touch moved over your waist, wrinkling his sweater as he pushed it up. The friction between the fabrics had your shirt peeling off with it as you listed your hands up and pulled back from his lips just enough for Tony to remove the layers from your body. The rush of your fabric over your ears was almost enough to disorient you as your head was already spinning with pleasure, and it left you whining as Tony’s lips failed to return to yours. With your skin exposed to him now, Tony wanted to explore it. 

His mouth was on your neck when his strong-armed wrapped around you, hoisting you up from his lap to lay you out on the bed. Tony moved with you, his lips never once leaving your skin. He placed slow and sloppy open-mouthed kisses along the angle of your neck, leaving a hot trail of saliva to be cooled by the air as his mouth made its descent. Down your body his mouth travelled, his lips embracing your body with his careful kiss. They had first graced your collarbone, following its subtle angle down to the swell of your breast. He lingered there, focusing on one and then the other to assure he would leave his mark before kissing down between their valley and over the gore of your bra. From there he peppered kisses down the length of your stomach and only stopped when he hit the waistline of your pants. 

It was there he hesitated, leaning his head back just enough to look up at you through the curls that had fallen down into his face - silently asking you for permission to continue on the off chance that you wanted him to stop. You nodded quickly in response, your own hands going to your pants to push them from your body as Tony made quick work of his own clothes. They were tossed into a heap on the floor with your own, before he was back in the bed and finding his place between your thighs. Tony braced himself over you, his hand pressing firm into the mattress beside your head as he reached the other down between your legs. Two fingers brushed over your clit, a teasing graze that left your hips wiggling, before they traced over your entryway that was slick with your need for him. You watched as his jaw slacked at just how effortlessly he was able to slide two fingers into your core with your arousal, a ghost of a moan on his lips as he coaxed one from your own lips. 

Each plunge of his fingers inside your cunt was enough to leave you reeling, your teeth coming down to bite at your lower lip until it throbbed. You needed to be quiet. Your calendar was empty, and if anyone overheard you, there would be far too many questions to answer - but it was quickly becoming too much to contain. With both hands you reached up, your careful touch meeting his face as you guided him back down to your lips. As they met in a slow, opened-mouth kiss, you used it to muffle the moan that had so desperately wanted to escape. 

“Tony,” you muttered his name softly against his lips before your words became a begging plea, “Tony, please. I want to come around your cock, not your fingers-” 

Tony shuttered between your legs at your words, and he released a heavy breath that washed over your face in a blossom of heat. His lips were left to merely graze yours as he ease your fingers from your core. You held his gaze as you felt him working between your legs to grasp at his cock and soon he was dragging the head of his cock up and down the slick arousal of your cunt. He guided it up and down, then up and down again before he was guiding his cock inside you with his hand and the careful pressure of his hips. His fingers had primed you, and yet his cock continued to spread your walls with his careful thrust. Tony had thrust into you abruptly like he had the first time he had fucked you. No, this time he was gentle as he guided his cock in merely halfway. It was then he began his careful thrusts, easing himself in another inch at a time as your core allowed. 

Soon, Tony had fallen into a steady rhythm, his thrust slow and firm as he plunged into your core until he was balls deep. He took his time with you, his thrusts not hesitant but meticulous as were the rest of his caresses and kisses as he fucked you. Tony refused to lose control, to fall into the brash emotion of jealousy that had consumed him all those days ago when he had taken you for the first time. The graze of his touch, and strokes of his tongue each one of them had been selfless as he was driving to the brink of pleasure. This was how he wanted to fuck you for the first time, so sweet and tenderly, and he wasn’t going to stop until you were quivering around his cock. 

Careful hands guided your legs up from the bed and let them wrap around his hips with ease. A low moan quaked through your body as he was able to ease in a little deeper now, and it left you digging your heels into his lower back. Your hips rolled to meet his every thrust and your head lulled back almost dreamily into the mattress that the pleasures of his cock began to consume you - but it wasn’t until you watched his own expression begin to falter. Tony’s blinks became long, and his breathing a little more laboured as his own climax began to wash over him - and you could feel him trying to resist. His thrusts became inconsistent and shallow and his eyes shut tight as he did all he could to fight it, but the touch of your hand against his cheek was quick to coax his eyes back open. 

He stared down at you with an almost dazed look, his expression soft as the pressure of your heels guided him back inside you fully. “Don’t hold back, Tony,” you muttered, “I don’t have to be first,” your words were a reassuring breath as you flexed your core around him. 

While your words softened his face once more, you could still feel the hesitation in each thrust. “Tony, I’m so close,” you did your best to encourage him, and your words weren’t untruthful. His every touch was bringing you closer and closer, your core on the very edge of your climax but it was craving one thing; “I want to feel it - I want to feel you come, Tony. Fill me up Tony, I’m yours-”

Your words were broken by a moan as Tony gripped your hips and thrust into you quickly. His pace hastened and he thrust in deeper than he had all night and he didn’t slow, not even as his cock began to twitch with pleasure and flooded your core with his cum. You could feel it as it consumed your core in waves, and oozed down along his cock as he fucked his own cum from you. It was the final push you needed to be thrown over the edge. Your legs began to tremble, your ankles locking to keep your legs from slipping down from his hips. Your body was consumed by your every uneven breath as you threw your head back into the mattress and your walls throbbed with pleasure around his cock, desperate to keep every bit of him inside you. 

It was a pleasure that left you both smiling, Tony coming down to place playful kisses along your lips as you both plummeted from the highs of pleasure. It coaxed soft laughter from your lips as he eased himself from you, and came to lay beside you on the bed, the kisses never seizing but instead travelling over your cheeks and neck. It was only when Tony became consumed by the scent of you that he buried his face in your neck and let himself relish in it. You welcomed the feeling of his hot breath as it washed over your skin, the warmth aiding in bringing you calm and the threat of sleep was rapidly approaching. 

Your head lulled into his carefully, your cheek resting against his soft curls as you took in a deep breath of your own. You wanted to fall asleep like that, with his body intertwined with yours - “Tony,” you hummed out, “can I sleep here tonight?”

Drawing back, Tony looked down at you with a soft expression, “of course you can.”

His hand came up to stroke your cheek slowly, and it felt as if it were just you and Tony in the world - and that you didn’t have 21 other men who needed your love and affection - and you intended to take advantage of every moment of it. 

“I’m just gonna get cleaned up, and we should get some sleep, we have a flight early in the morning,” you told him softly as you pulled away from him, and your body protested the cold of the room in an instant. You wanted his touch, his warmth. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you reached over and picked up his sweater from the floor. It didn’t quite smell like him anymore, but it would keep you warm enough until you could crawl back into his bed. “I’ll just be a minute,” you assured and disappeared into the bathroom. 

You let the water run and you used the bathroom, letting the temperature of the water reach what you liked before you washed your hands and splashed your face. It was a desperate attempt at your nightly routine that you had left behind in your room - but this would be sufficient enough, especially when you had Tony and sleep waiting for you - but when you returned to the main room Tony was not in the bed. 

Brow furrowed as you looked from the bed to the tv screen that had gone black and finally to the bedroom door Tony stood dressed in his lounge pants and his back to you. You hadn’t heard a knock on the door, and you had half the mind to retreat back into the bedroom to hopefully go unseen but that idea was completely abandoned when Tony turned back to look at you, giving you a complete view of the player that stood beyond the door in the hallway: Ross. 

He stood there almost awkwardly, his face absent of the smile that would send butterflies into your stomach. Instead, he wore a look of concern and in his hands, he held his phone the screen bright for Tony to see. 

“What is going on?” you bit out in a harsh whisper as you moved into the main room and towards the door with little regard for the fact that you weren’t wearing any pants and that the remnants of Tony had begun to drip down the inside of your thighs. 

You moved straight for the doorway, Tony moving out of your way as you reached out to take Ross by the arm. You tugged Ross into the privacy of the hotel room, assuring that the door closed firmly behind him. It was only then you reached for the phone, the screen almost blinding against your tired eyes. In big bold letters it had become clear as to why he had come looking for you, he had an appointment. 

“Ross, this isn’t funny,” you sighed as you let your thumb drag down over the details of the appointment. He hadn’t made it from himself, why would he? He had no wife or girlfriend waiting for him back home, he didn’t need anyone’s permission to spend a night with you. No, this appointment was made only minutes ago on the captain's orders. 

“I didn’t even know you were here,” Ross admitted, his words soft almost apologetic as he looked between you and Tony, “I was here to-”

“Ask for my permission?” Cirelli cut in, his voice pushing the edge of hostility. 

“To tell you I wasn’t going to go through with it,” Ross clarified. 

Tony shook his head slowly, a low laugh erupting from his throat as he leaned up against the wall to put some distance between him and Ross. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about you, if you don’t do this-” He cut himself off as he raised a hand to run over his jaw, he didn’t like what he was about to say. 

“What are you trying to say, Tony?” You pressed gently. 

“You need to keep your appointment with Ross, and the captain needs to hear it.”

“Cirelli-” Ross started to protest, but you cut him off with your own. 

“He’s right, Ross. The two of you have been at odds since the moment you got here because of me. You’re part of this team, and you don’t seem to be going anywhere. He needs to know that the two of you are willing to put everything behind you, and the only way he’s going to be able to see that is for this to happen.”

Your words hung heavily in the air as you moved from the doorway to the heap of clothes on the floor. You sorted through them quickly, pulling on your panties and your bottoms before grabbing your phone from the bedside table. Standing there, you looked down at your phone as you held it in your hands, your eyes fixated on the calendar notification that was meant to inform you of your appointment with Ross. Taking a steady breath, you found your composure and returned to the doorway where Ross waited almost anxiously. 

He offered you a crooked smile as you returned to him, but his eyes were quick to return to Tony, “Are you sure? I don’t need to do this man-”

“I’m sure,” it was only with Tony’s assurance that a spark of excitement returned to Ross’ features, his lips quirking up at the corners. He wanted you, but he had been trying to put his teammate first. It almost brought Tony’ to laughter once more, his head shaking slowly, “you could at least try to hide the fact that you’re not disappointed.”

Ross could only manage a soft chuckle in response, his hand raising to rub modestly over the back of his neck. He could only play coy for so long. 

“You are trouble, Ross Colton,” you told him firmly, tossing your phone at him before you turned to Tony and took him in your arms. You held him tight, your face resting against his chest as he craned to place a sweet kiss on the top of your head, “good night, Tony.”

“Good night,” he sighed your name into your hair before he let you go, his own hand reaching out to get the door for you and Ross. He watched as you both moved out into the hallway, but you had only made it a few steps before he was calling out after his teammate. The pair held a long glance, Tony’s softened expression meeting Colton’s which had grown bright at the prospect of getting to spend his night with you. Tony’s words were heavy and strained as he spoke out one last time before he could let you both go, “Colton, you treat her right.”

[prophetofthemuse]

Mister Volcov do you want to hear my cool facts about anything and everything I find interesting?

Of course dear! I am an amazing listener 💕

[inseasofgreen]

Random ask: What inspired your username?

Secret Juno Lore Unlocked!!

It's actually the title of my oldest wip to date. (well I only have 3 right now but still) Let me see if I can dig up the old cover I designed

Familia Ante Omnia (often shortened to just Familia) is my first born child. Though I still do plan on finishing it, it's quite the labor of love. It's a crime fiction trilogy following Matteo Sasso-Volcov and his destruction of the New York under world after multiple betrayals from his family. the first book being in seas of green (i know the cover says other wise lol it's an old cover)

Someday I'll give it it's time in the sun like POTO is getting, but it's much harder to write for me. Thus I need to take steps back from it. If therapy came in a book, this one is for sure the one that heals me the most.

[georgegraphys]

Erling and Oscar 🥹🥹 My Norwegian duo

© William Volcov

[stradarecords]

TRINIDADIAN DEEP / GUIDANCE EP : ROUGH HOUSE ROSIE (12") 【再入荷！】Ron TrentのレーベルFuture VisionやVolcovのNeroli等からのリリースで知られるアーティストTrinidadian DeepがドイツのレーベルRough House Rosieから12インチを���リース！パーカッシヴなRon Trent直系のトラックにオルガン・ソロが渋いA1を筆頭に、ファンの期待を裏切らないオーガニックなスピリチュアル・ディープ・ハウスを展開！ #TrinidadianDeep #RoughHouseRosie #deephouse #house #12inch #strddeephouse #strd12inch #vinyl#record#stradarecords#dj#vinyljunkies#kobe#motomachi#strada#recordshop#recordstore#神戸レコード#元町レコード#レコード店#レコード#アナログ https://www.stradarecords.com/shop/item/16615/index.php (at Strada Records) https://www.instagram.com/p/CotMydLPlLw/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[teevanlote]

Volcov Space Studios in Norwich England Nov 30 2024 T shirt

Here’s the product description for the Volcov Space Studios in Norwich, England, Nov 30, 2024 T-Shirt with the link included:

Volcov Space Studios in Norwich, England, Nov 30, 2024 T-Shirt

Commemorate an unforgettable event with the Volcov Space Studios in Norwich, England, Nov 30, 2024 T-Shirt. Ideal for fans of Volcov and electronic music, this tee celebrates a special moment in time, offering a stylish way to remember the event.

Product Description: Crafted from soft, breathable cotton, this shirt combines comfort and style. Featuring an eye-catching design inspired by the Volcov performance at Space Studios in Norwich, this t-shirt is perfect for music lovers who want to carry a piece of the experience with them.

Design Highlights: The design features bold graphics that capture the spirit of the event, with the Volcov name and the iconic Space Studios branding. The date, Nov 30, 2024, is prominently displayed, making this t-shirt a timeless memento for anyone who attended or is a fan of the event.

Why You’ll Love It: This t-shirt not only offers comfort but also serves as a wearable memory of an exciting moment in the music world. It’s perfect for music fans looking to express their passion for Volcov and the iconic Space Studios performance.

Product Details:

Material: 100% soft, breathable cotton.

Fit Type: Classic unisex fit.

Design: Bold graphics with Volcov branding and the Space Studios event details.

Occasion: Great for concerts, music events, or as a collector’s item.

Care Instructions: Machine washable for easy maintenance.

Get Yours Today! Order your Volcov Space Studios in Norwich, England, Nov 30, 2024 T-Shirt now at Telotee and explore more music-inspired apparel on the Telotee homepage.

Let me know if you need any adjustments!

[bladiwear]

(vía "UFC 310 Muhammad vs Rakhmonov" Essential T-Shirt for Sale by BladiWear)

#ufc 310, # ufc, # conor # mcgregor, # Muhammad, # Rakhmonov, # pantoja, # ultimatefightingchampionship, # asakura, # gane, # logoufc, # luque, # volcov, # ufcfightnight, # diaz, # ufcchampion

[tvindek]

Manhattanhenge occurs at about the same time on two consecutive days in May and again in July. Usually the dates fall around Memorial Day and a week or so after Independence Day (Photograph: William Volcov)

[trendingnewsbite]

Whoopi Goldberg Gives Sunny Hostin A Lap Dance Live On ‘The View’

View gallery Image Credit: William Volcov/Marion Curtis/StarPix for The Paley Center NY/Shutterstock Starting the week off strong! Whoopi Goldberg busted some moves during a hot topic discussion on The View on Monday, May 22. During a discussion about people cheating at bachelor and bachelorette parties, Sunny Hostin revealed that she didn’t really know what a lap dance looked like, and Whoopi…

[tonipires]

17ª Mostra Anual de Fotojornalismo ARFOC-SP Projeção inaugura exposição virtual, que reúne as imagens que marcaram 2022   Em sua 17ª edição a Associação de Repórteres Fotográficos e Cinematográficos no Estado de São Paulo, apresenta a Mostra Anual de Fotojornalismo, composta por 73 imagens, 6 ensaios e 6 reportagens em vídeo, produzidos por 51 de seus associados. Essa edição será realizada de modo virtual, disponível no site da entidade e por meio de uma projeção no Minhocão, adaptando novos formatos para das exposições da ARFOC-SP. O público ainda poderá conhecer o trabalho de dois fotojornalistas que ganharam destaque na edição desse ano: Yan Boechat, eleito ‘profissional do ano’ pelo destaque na cobertura da guerra na Ucrânia, e pela série de reportagens que denunciaram a história dos trabalhadores do Nepal, que morreram durante a construção dos estádios da Copa do Mundo do Qatar. E uma homenagem a Antônio Gaudério, um dos grandes mestres do nosso Fotojornalismo, que merece nosso reconhecimento.     REALIZAÇÃO ARFOC-SP CURADORIA 
Ale Cabral, Luiz Fernando Menezes, Marcos Muzi, Mônica Zarattini, e Toni Pires   PARTICIPANTES Adriana Spaca · Adriano Machado · Ale Frata · Alexandre Schneider · Amanda Perobelli · André Penner · Antônio Gaudério · Apu Gomes · Avener Prado · Bruno Kelly · Bruno Motta · Caio Guatelli Carla Carniel · Claudia Martini · Cesar Greco · Danilo Verpa · Edmar Barros · Eduardo Anizelli · Eduardo Carmim · Ettore Chiereguini · Felipe Beltrame · Grasiela Gonzaga · Isaac Fontana · Joca Duarte · Karime Xavier · Lalo de Almeida · Leonardo Benassatto · Léo Pinheiro · Levi Bianco · Maira Erlich · Marcelo Machado de Melo · Marcelo Chello · Marco Galvão · Marx Vasconcelos · Mathilde Missioneiro · Maurício Rummens · Michael Dantas · Paulo Pinto · Raphael Alves · Reinaldo Canato · Ricardo Nogueira · Ricardo Stuckert · Roberto Sungi · Tarso Sarraf · Thomaz Vita Neto · Tiago Queiroz · Ueslei Marcelino · Wander Roberto · Wilian Oliveira · William Volcov · Yan Boechat       SERVIÇO 
Mega Projeção da 17ª Mostra ARFOC-SP 
Abertura: Domingo, 05/03, das 19h30 às 22h Elevado João Goulart (Minhocão) Acesso pela rampa ao lado do Metrô Marechal Deodoro (em Elevado João Goulart - Minhocão) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpU-DH_rg43/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[a-wild-things-rambles]

Ok so you may be thinking I go thru OCS very fast, and/or I just keep making the same guy.

Well the second one is right.

I don't have lots of universes of separate OCS, I have one main oc. They have their themes and story, and I just tweak them depending on what universe I want to throw them in

It's basically a multiverse of this one charecter and their friends.

Each iteration has a media or part of a media it's either set in inspired by or interacts with.

Volcov- the first one I've talked about, a long time ago, was influenced by hellblazer, making me want to go back to my roots [grumpy asholes just trying to get by as life kicks them down]

Alftruda, is inspired by castlevania and it's world of generational trauma and cycles and magic [it's technically set in the games universe but they rarely interact w those characters]

Each new iteration affects the later ones, I can trace back various traits and story elements to the story's they come from.

The weapon is a version of Alftruda, minus the immortality and some of the magic, set place in a FFXIV inspired world [ishgard for the base cause man I love ishgards design]

A newer one I haven't talked about, or better said, a newer interpretation of the same idea, is the jackal/the wolf [another character with a sliding scale of powerful magic to slightly enhanced human]. This character is more inspired by marvels street level comics, and also inner beast, baby. Totally not a major theme in any of my works.

tldr: Basically. It's one character who I put in lots of situations and has lots of variations. Each variation has a main story but I can deviate from it. Most character's also have multiple different versions of the same story. When the story/world changes enough I class them as a separate variation. Most of this is just daydreaming and I change it a lot so it's why it's all fairly fluid. there are also reoccurring side charecters

I'm not planning a novel I'm just playing with my own dolls in other people's sandboxes. And I'm happy with that.

[climb-inej]

🗡 So many names, he'd called her, now foreign to her ears, in one single conversation.

Inej. Tool. Wraith. Spider.

So many names, but in her eyes, he had only ever been Kaz. In all the complexities of his broken soul, he remained whole in that aspect. He was familiarity, potential, both promise and motivation for the achievement of something greater.

And though his face was one that she missed, she was now assured that she could never look upon the shape of it the same way again; His expression, hardened by age, moulded by the bloodied and bruised experiences of the Barrel streets, scarred by a fierce determination that would only bring him closer to his end. The harsh blue of his eyes, burning bright as hellish flames, they same way it had when the scrape of his voice had shamelessly announced the brutal murder of a little boy.

Inej searched for more. Some reminder of what once was. Some remnant of a guilt similar to what she had spotted in his gaze in that fleeting moment when their eyes had met as he watched her being led away from the Crow Club, her hope for freedom shattered at his feet; the moment that he had sworn to not ever welcome. The moment that he had done everything to prevent but nothing to stop.

And now she was back and he spouted curses and insults, daggers of his own.

And he mocked, both her and her Saints, and he seethed and he wanted her dead.

Had she still been the girl in the caravans, she would have cried. Had she still been his Wraith, she might have flinched at the force of such hatred.

But she was neither. She was nothing. So she only let his words sink in, let him take all the shame for them; if he had any left.

Being a Dime Lion was more than enough of a reason to deserve death.

"I see," she said, her mouth suddenly dry, "Is that why your office waits unchanged? A window that has stayed open; as good an invitation as any. To kill or to be killed."

At that, her gaze wavered. Her heartbeat faltered.

You wore those silks, painted your lips the brightest red. Don't act like you weren't practically inviting me in.

The smoothness of your legs, the silk of your hair; it's all as good an invitation as any.

Inej squared her shoulders, forced down the knot in her throat. She had become her own worst fear, and she awoke her every nightmare.

But though he seemed comfortable in assuming her role, shutting her out before her time had come, her job was not yet over.

"You also," she muttered, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "wait unchanged."

She kicked him against the stomach, hopefully fast enough for the contact to not register to him, hard enough to shove him backwards, sending two knives flying before he could regain balance. They pierced into the fabric of his shirt, holding him securely pinned to the wall before the clatter of his dropped cane was even heard.

A moment spent in silence, as if granted mutual aknowledgement of a thing lost.

When Inej finally spoke, she found that it was the most difficult of challenges, to have him in front of her and speak in such a manner.

"Merchants talk," she said, "because they can not be as smart as we are. They talk, and so we knew. Surely you expected us to know."

Another pause, a few silent steps forward.

"About your deal with Marcell Volcov, the illegal cargo that he hired you to preserve, so as to not ruin his own reputation, as it traveled aboard a common schooner from Novyi Zem. The promised payment that you would receive on the condition that the cargo entered Fifth Harbour intact and unnoticed."

Of course she knew. Knowing had been all she could do for years on end.

"Merchants are foolish, Volcov even more so; for having trusted the Dregs, this gang of killers and thieves that, to no one else's surprise, proceeded to steal said cargo and kidnap the merchant himself from his own home, eager for more leverage than they were promised."

Inej still remembered the old man's terror as Rollins's men had dragged him into his office, tied up and gagged, tears running down his face and blood smudged across his jaw.

You poor Ravkan moron, Rollins had chuckled. Things are not as easy as you'd thought they'd be in the Barrel, eh?

It was a simple enough plan.

Steal the cargo, grab the merchant, make Kaz Brekker attend the parley by threatening to blame the merchant's death on him and have him chased down by the stadwatch for the murder of a public figure.

But Inej supposed that Kaz had deduced all of that already.

Though, of course, there was also the other thing.

"The great thing about discarded tools," she corrected, "however replaceable, is that one might think they are too filed down to inflict any more damage."

More silence. Enough to allow space for the distant screaming to be heard.

She dared not look away from him as he stood there, unmoving and wild-eyed. Her own guilt showed through the softest of bitter smiles.

"Kaz," Inej said, nodding towards the harbour, "look."

Even from this limited view that his open window could offer, the sight was clear; a schooner, just outside Ketterdam, ablaze.

It was almost like watching part of some distant dream burn, just like the ship was. Inej considered the idea of it, what could have once been, but it was all much too faint to delve on any longer.

She risked a few whispered words of prayer, a moment of mourning for her past self. The sight of ships trailing along the horizon used to make her so happy; now she turned away from even the faintest glimpses of raised sails, burning or otherwise.

She reached for his cane when she stepped away again, grabbing it from the floor and setting it down again, upright, propped up against the furthest corner of the room; Her first subconscious thought was just how much it would have hurt for him to bend down and pick it up himself, cold and damp as the Ketterdam was tonight, in an office with an open window. But then she tried to convince herself again; she had only done it to prevent him from attacking her with it as she turned to go.

"Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, bastard of the Barrel. Overstepping his boundaries. Testing the city's patience."

The potential headlines of Ketterdam newspapers if it came out that the Dregs really had been the ones behind this; if Pekka Rollins's lies prevailed yet again.

Inej reached into her pocket, pulling out a small pouch that she proceeded to pull open, spilling its contents onto Kaz's desk.

Five human teeth, most of them rotten, all of them covered in a thin layer of gold.

Five human teeth, just enough to garner a warning that the merchant was still alive but wouldn't stay so for too long, depending on the choice that would have to follow.

"Kaz Brekker, he did it," she continued. "Perhaps he couldn't help himself. Greed has always been his only God and," a pause, a second of eye contact, "it has stripped him of all shame."

Finally, she turned away.

"Tomorrow night, at ten bells," she said again. "This all could have been prevented had you replaced me sooner. Your new tool wouldn't even have to be any better. It would just have to exist."

🗡 The shadows seemed to breathe in this corner of Ketterdam. They shifted around the hands that scaled across the walls of the Slat, deeming her an intruder rather than welcoming her in.

The bastard still sat scowling at his desk, bad leg propped up and stiff; the pain had always seemed to be particularly bad during damp, cold nights.

The wind blew harsher, as if to shut her out again.

There was no longer a neatly folded blanket waiting for her at the windowsill.

A tool rather than a weapon, he'd said, the word dripping with irony.

Sharpened, used, discarded.

"A tool," spoke the shadows in Inej's voice, suppressing the bitterness of a small laugh. "A tool I might have been; the one most frequently drawn."

Saints forgive me for my pride, she thought, but I will not let you strip me of the lethality that you bestowed upon me yourself.

"Have you deprived yourself of the necessity of me yet? Does your hand feel lighter now that you no longer wield me?"

She was provoking him, she knew, and it was a response fueled by the lingering ache in her heart, something she could not hide or terminate; so she merely ignored it and moved on, for it was not part of tonight's plan.

Her skin crawled with shivers, disgust, familiarity, at the sound of her title as spoken by the seasalt rasp of his voice. Mockery. She narrowed her eyes back at him.

"The Dregs killled five of our own last night."

Five of our own.

The words still tasted stale, felt clumsy at the tip of her tongue.

With her hands clasped behind her back, Inej could feel the weight of what stung torturous beneath her sleeve. On her left forearm, right over the space where the peacock feather had long since faded, lay the symbol of a feral cat curled into a crown.

Inej still scratched at it, left her skin reddened and sore.

They had given her the tattoo the moment she had set foot in the Emerald Palace, eager to claim the loyalty of a prized spider, and Inej had felt like crying. But she hadn't. The Dime Lions were not like the Dregs. It took more than throwing a punch with steel across your knuckles to make them take you seriously, let alone see you as a potential threat.

One day, Inej had thrown a knife into a bruiser's shoulder.

She had expected a harshly-worded warning, some form of punishment, but Rollins had only squeezed her arm, the gesture secure and steady as a father's, and still the touch had sent her hurrying off into her small chamber, chest heaving, throat burning in a panic.

She had received nothing but reassurance with every act of damage that she inflicted upon Rollins's own men, but here she was now, threatening Kaz Brekker for having done the same.

"If this was your way to get our attention, you've earned it. It's clear that targeting those five men in particular was no coincidence. No, those kills were premeditated, and our profit has been reduced because of it. For now."

She breathed in, her face still devoid of all emotion. "Rollins still has to get his cut out of this."

Working for Rollins was luxury. It meant sleeping in a warm bed, waking up to Ravkan delicacies on her nightstand and Zemeni fabrics draped over her chair. But Inej cared not for treats; all she could think about was that her door was so close within reach that someone was able to leave them there in the first place.

Terror lingered, as it was supposed to. Inej had learned to sleep with her eyes half open.

"A parley," she said. "Tomorrow, at ten bells, at the Exchange. He says he is willing to hear about your intention behind all this, negotiate for some mutual gain now that you've risen above the ordinary thugs and thieves."

Their first conversation after months of distance, and it felt a hundred times more alienating.

There were no playful remarks, however rudely worded. No menacing smiles of mutually aknowledged wit.

But there had been a time when Inej really did enjoy Kaz Brekker's company.

Back when they were nothing short of scheming sixteen year olds, bent over maps of merchant estates and stealing paintings from museums after midnight and sharing much-too-bitter tea that they sipped from cracked porcelain cups.

The ache resumed.

"In his words," Inej said, "Some scraps fitting for a Barrel rat like you."

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

hey hey! i'm here i'm queer and i want to know more about your ocs

thank you!!

volcov- was a self insert but has heavily evolved- currently an assassin with a few to many morals to be a villain but is a bit to harsh on those they think deserve it to be a hero, closest thing London has to a vigilante, they also do odd mercenary jobs that take there interest, unfortunately for them i like putting them through lots of trauma, also unfortunately they have the 6th sense and got dragged headfirst into the magic community. a butch autistic lesbian who uses he/they, id say they have a heart of gold but it probably isent there heart,

red- amnesiac demon, identity crises every other Tuesday, flirty bastard, so bad a cooking they once had a one night stand just so they could eat edible food in the morning, unfortunately for them i was betrayed by a friend so they went evil for a bit :)) but im over that so there back to normal and volcov forgave them to the shock of everyone(volcovs vengeful and petty to the bone)

selkie - from a universe where magics a bit more, everywhere, a vengeance spirit of a young woman who was betrayed and drowned on her wedding night, shes over it now, at least after she tore that asshole limb from limb, wanders around helping spirits and people, shes mute but a telapath, dry but killer sense of humor, watch her teeth there sharp

[name pending] - havent quite found a name that fit, shokingly my only oc without a shit family but shes a trans woman of colour growing up in london so, bartender at a queer pub and pillar of the community, but is just as self sacrificing as red and volcov, the bar slowly turned into a supernatural one as well, and every time she complains lightheartedly shes reminded of the "all freak welcome sign" and that it was never specified only human freaks

ok lighting round:

agent- multiverse hopping con man who keeps getting dragged into big conflicts cause they owe jenny sparks, like volcov will try to fight anyone they come across but unlike volcov will probably fail, trans masc and also pretty flirty

queeny- the one no one likes, world in crisis yada yada, stepped up and now rules whats left of her earth in a harsh dictatorship.

sapphire- a star sapphire whos pretty disappointed in her multiversal equivalents and wants to not be dragged into multiversal drama with a bunch of at best morally gray idiots

the crone- what it says on the tin, is mysterious and cryptic and very annoying,

[saevaei]

previous/beginning/next

[cliggomusic]

Listen to Volcov for free: https://music.cliggo.com/artist/9526-Volcov