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[moonsglare]

ever so often, arlecchino finds you outside in the house's sprawling garden surrounded by the children. at any point, you could be showing them any manner of creature you've somehow managed to grab (gently, of course). just the past week it was a crimson finch that had accidentally flown into the window, and before that it was some lizard (green horned, she can almost hear you say indignantly) that had unfortunately not managed to scurry away from you in time. the children all watch with rapt interest as you cradle the little critter in your palms, softly relaying the assortment of miscellaneous facts you have stored somewhere in that brain of yours. it's an endearing sight, and one that arlecchino indulges in whenever she has the time, or feels the fatigue of staring at inane documents press against the backs of her eyes.

today, however, she watches sat beneath the shade of a willow tree, one leg crossed over the other and fingers curled around the handle of her teacup. it is a rare day of reprieve, and she spends it here in the mild fontainian mediterranean sun, her typical uniform shed in favor of a billowy white shirt and slim-fitting, high-waisted breeches. something has piqued yours and the children's interest, and all of you gather near the garden wall. she can hear the children whisper excitedly as you crouch down, and then they gasp as you stand up.

she raises a brow in interest herself. whatever it is your holding, it seems a little larger than your usual finds. however, with the crowd of children around you, it's difficult for her to actually see what it is you're holding. you spare her a glance over your shoulder, then a minute tilt of your head. a wordless invitation; come. and she does, easily, a thorny bloom to the sun, setting her teacup down with barely a sound and rising to her feet. her heels have been traded for something more casual, and her typical imposing stature has reduced somewhat--though the children still obediently part when she approaches.

"anything of note?" she asks. she studies your face carefully; from the curl of your lip to the creases at the corners of your eyes to the slope of your brow. of all things, she finds it is mischief that inhabits your expression, and she mentally prepares herself for whatever ridiculously endearing thing you're about to show her.

that 'ridiculously endearing thing', as it turns out, happens to be a rabbit--a rather plush, black-and white rabbit, sitting perfectly content in your arms. you're supporting the creature with one hand beneath its chest and the other beneath its hind legs, holding it close to you. some of the children gently pet the downy fur along its back, and the rabbit's black-tipped ears twitch in response, almost pleased.

"we found a little guest beneath the hedge line," you answer, glancing down affectionately at the creature. "the children were hoping they'd be allowed to keep it."

arlecchino snorts. "the children, or you?"

"rude," you shoot back, though the smile on your lips is still present. "come now, we've already thought of a name."

"is that so?" she drawls, her eyes narrowing a fraction at the rabbit. its own eyes, previously closed in contentment, open, and almost seem to challenge her. her fingers twitch behind her back.

"it is," you say, and there's a lightness to your tone that arlecchino knows is a harbinger of some form of mischief. her eyes meet yours, and they gleam with mirth. arlecchino wonders if the sun is ever envious of the way it is outshone. "would you like to hear it?"

she sighs, looking away. "proceed."

"thumper seems rather cute, no?" you answer innocently, batting your lashes, and internally arlecchino cringes. thumper. a name from a popular children's book, one that even a woman as cruel as the former knave would keep in stock in her library. a name, famously, that was attributed to the companion of the book's titular character, bambi.

bambi, which was also the name of the spider she once had as a child.

you notice her brief foray back into her memories, and draw her back with a soft laugh. thumper's ear twitches, and the little beast nuzzles closer against your chest. "no? well, we could always name him after you. you both seem to look quite alike, wouldn't you say? hm, how about per--"

"thumper is fine," arlecchino cuts you off, exasperation underlining her tone. there is an almost-scowl on her face, though the relaxed line of her shoulders gives away her true feelings. "the... creature, can stay. so long as it is properly cared for."

the children whoop and cheer, and your eyes soften into a thankful, tender look. thumper, now thoroughly loafing in your arms, wags his stubby little tail. perhaps he is somewhat cute, arlecchino muses, extending a hand to smooth down his fur--

--only for the traitorous little beast to lean away, cracking open an eye to glare almost witheringly at her. you coo as he presses close, and arlecchino's eye twitches. she doesn't know if rabbits have the capacity to make smug expressions, but she's willing to swear upon the tsaritsa's name that the damn creature is making that exact expression at her right now.

in hindsight, it's been a while since she's had rabbit stew.

[rannie-moon]

I can do a lot in 15 2 minutes!

synopsis: during enhypen’s desire : unleash showcase, heran is picked for a chaotic handcuffed relay—complete with cherry stem tying, card stacking, and one final surprise task with the crowd chanting jungwon’s name, things quickly spiral into playful tension and public flustering (for both of them). cherry-related implications are made. a cherry is fed. jungwon may or may not hide in her shoulder by the end. chaos ensues.

masterlist | wattpad

the showcase had been going well so far—a little too well. the members were in high spirits, the audience was on fire, screaming at practically everything that happened on stage, and heran had nearly passed out laughing a total of three times already.

the vibe of the event was meant to be sensual. she, however, was currently feeling anything but.

at that exact moment, she was curled over between jungwon and sunghoon, one hand clapped over her mouth, shoulders shaking silently. sunoo had just tried to take a selfie while bouncing on a mini trampoline for his mission. the image of his mid-air hair and blurred face would be burned into her mind forever.

her laughter subsided just enough for her to sit up again, cheeks pink, still trying to breathe through the occasional wheeze of a giggle.

and of course—right when she thought she could recover, her peace was ruined.

she looked like a disaster—but at least a very well-dressed one.

fitted black cardigan buttoned perfectly over a crisp, tight white button-up. the slim black tie at her throat was neatly knotted. sleeves rolled casually to her elbows, tailored black slacks hugging her frame just right, and black knee-high boots that clicked sharply whenever she moved. her deep red hair cascaded down her back, soft waves framing her flushed face.

“heran, you look like you’re having fun,” the MC teased lightly, smiling wide.

heran’s expression dropped instantly—comically so.

the audience cracked up. jungwon smirked next to her, leaning slightly away as if to dodge the incoming storm. sunghoon choked on a laugh, clapping his thigh once.

the contrast of her calm tone and the flush on her cheeks had the crowd screaming again.

without missing a beat, she lifted her mic with a practiced ease, coolly raising it to her lips.

“I’m just trying to ignore my fatigue,” she said airily, even as her voice was faintly breathless from laughter.

the lights dimmed, a playful suspense jingle filling the venue. the spin-wheel animation flickered onto the screen, cycling through the remaining members’ names.

the MC chuckled knowingly. “ah, professional. I see.”

she nodded, turning toward the massive LED screen behind them. “well, let’s see if we can keep you awake with the next mission, hmm? Fingers crossed it’s something fun.”

the pointer stopped on her name.

and right on cue—

💥 HERAN 💥

the crowd immediately squealed, a chorus of high-pitched cheers echoing through the hall. the members, who had been lounging comfortably, suddenly straightened up, eyes wide with gleeful curiosity.

jungwon subtly glanced her way, noting how she absently wiped under her eyes to get rid of the laugh tears. a tiny smile played at his lips—she really was hopeless sometimes. she picked her song, and the screen flickered again.

then—

💥 MISSION: HANDCUFFED DESIRE RELAY 💥

“OH NO—” sunoo practically shrieked.

heran blinked.

her members erupted.

"and I thought mine was bad," jay teased. "good luck with the restraints."

“of course it’s me,” she said into the mic, earning another wave of cheers.

staff members rolled a prepared table onto center stage. the audience collectively leaned forward.

the MC grinned. “you’ll have two minutes to complete as many of these tasks as possible—handcuffed, of course. and your final task—” she glanced at the box of paper. “—will be decided through the box.”

everyone’s eyes shifted to the items being set down:

— handcuffs

— a bowl of glossy cherries

— a neat stack of playing cards

— a pair of chopsticks with a bowl of ping pong balls

— a small box with folded slips of paper

heran nodded once, eyes flicking over the table in front of her. every item, every task. her mind was already mapping the sequence. This wasn’t about looking good anymore—it was a game.

and everyone on that stage knew: heran had a competitive streak.

her only thought in that moment was simple, focused:

how am I going to win?

the MC grinned, gesturing toward the lineup of objects.

“here’s your relay, heran. listen carefully.”

“first, you’ll need to tie the stem of a cherry using only your tongue—” the MC began. the fans immediately screamed. the members hollered.

the crowd hushed.

heran tilted her head slightly, still watching the table like it was a puzzle to crack.

heran gave the audience a quick, sarcastic thumbs up, causing another round of laughter.

“next—stack a small pyramid with these playing cards.”

“after that, use the chopsticks to transfer these ping pong balls into this bowl.”

she squinted slightly, already strategizing.

“finally—” the MC’s smile grew wider. “you’ll select a task from this mystery box of paper slips for your last challenge. we’ll see what fate has in store for you.”

the audience roared.

heran’s lips twitched into a smirk.

a staff member approached, handing her the pair of sleek silver handcuffs. she fiddled with them in her hands, walking over to jungwon who already set his mic down to help her.

the fans lost it.

while the boys debated about how quickly they'd be able to complete the relay, jungwon stood slowly, eyes briefly flicking to heran’s wrists as she positioned herself in front of him, hands ready for him. his usual calm face was in place—but his ears were already turning pink.

his hands gently took the cuffs, clicking one side around her left wrist. his touch was careful, fingers brushing her skin—whether on purpose or not, heran didn’t dare guess.

he glanced up to meet her gaze briefly before fastening the other cuff. the room was noisy but his voice was quiet, just for her:

“too tight?”

his lips quirked upward—barely noticeable. then heran turned back to the audience, her attention fixed on her wrists and how the chain stopped her from moving much. but Sunghoon caught the tiny smile on his face and grinned knowingly.

his thumb hovered, ready to adjust it.

heran blinked, momentarily forgetting what she was supposed to be doing.

she shook her head, voice low.

“nope, I'm good.”

the MC clapped her hands. “alright! heran, ready?”

the buzzer sounded.

heran flexed her fingers against the metal once, twice—her confidence sliding back into place like a well-worn glove.

“I don't really have a choice, so yeah."

heran approached the table, handcuffs clinking softly as she reached for the first task—the bowl of glossy cherries.

the timer flashed to life.

2:00. the countdown began.

“she’s not gonna tie it, no way,” sunghoon announced confidently from behind her.

“fifty bucks she can’t,” jay added with a smirk.

sunoo chimed in brightly, “this looks like torture. I’d fail at the first step.”

heeseung laughed. “they look good though. can we eat them after she’s done?”

the audience was screaming already—half in encouragement, half in sheer chaos.

heran tuned them all out. eyes narrowing slightly, she plucked a cherry by the stem, popped it into her mouth, and tilted her head, her focus razor-sharp.

six seconds.

the members were still talking when she pulled the cherry out—leaving behind a perfectly tied stem resting between her teeth with a smug little grin.

the audience absolutely lost it.

“WHAT—” jake choked on a laugh.

“HUH?!” heeseung leaned forward, eyes wide.

“did she just—” sunoo gaped.

even jungwon blinked once, twice—his expression unreadable, except for the slight crease between his brows as he watched her set the stem delicately onto the plate and move on without a single word.

1:44 left.

she paused, eyes narrowing again.

next: the cards.

heran wasted no time, her cuffed hands moving with impressive precision. the first two levels of the pyramid went up fast—until one sudden wobble drew an audible gasp from the crowd.

heran wasted no time.

her cuffed hands moved with impressive precision, her fingers nimble and light despite the clinking metal between her wrists.

1:25 left.

the first level of the pyramid went up fast.

the second—steady, controlled.

an audible gasp rippled through the crowd.

then—a sudden wobble.

a single card trembled precariously on the edge.

heran froze, eyes narrowing again, tongue poking out between her lips in pure concentration.

she was not about to lose to a deck of cards.

from behind her, however—chaos.

“FALL, FALL, FALL!” ni-ki shrieked, fanning his hands dramatically from his seat.

jay joined in immediately. “come on, gravity, do your thing!”

sunghoon snickered, doing the same—mimicking a storm blowing through the air.

the audience roared.

she let out a loud, frustrated laugh, twisting to glare at them over her shoulder.

“can you all chill out?!” she yelped through her laughter, shoulders shaking. “you’re worse than the mission!”

jungwon, though, was still watching quietly from his seat—a small amused smile tugging at his lips as he observed her determination.

1:05 left.

with a deep breath and an exaggerated shake of her head, heran turned back to the cards, blocking out the noise.

“focus, focus, focus,” she whispered to herself.

she carefully adjusted the trembling piece—steady now. her fingers flew again.

pyramid complete.

final card.

she hovered for half a second—dramatic effect, of course—then lowered it slowly into place.

heran shot her arms up in a mini victory pose, cuffs jingling loudly.

the arena erupted.

“NO WAY—” heeseung groaned, collapsing into jay’s shoulder.

“I'm not even surprised anymore,” sunghoon muttered, clapping with the crowd.

heran beamed and gave an exaggerated little bow—a flourish of her cuffed hands—before pivoting right into the next task.

she eyed the first ball like a sworn enemy.

ping pong balls.

chopsticks in hand.

she gasped, catching it on the first try—but the ball wobbled dangerously as she lifted it.

“TENSE,” jake said dramatically.

“son’t drop it!” heeseung called out, not helping at all.

heran sucked in a breath, carefully guiding the ball toward the bowl—boop. success.

“one down, let’s go!” she cheered herself on.

the crowd joined in, counting with her:

0:45 left.

“TWO!”

boop.

“THREE!”

boop.

the MC called out excitedly. “final one! heran, hurry!”

she dashed over to the small box on the table, her cuffs clinking with every move. snatching a slip of paper, she unfolded it fast—eyes flickering over the words.

her brows lifted—a little smile forming before she bit it back.

the crowd exploded—screaming even before she looked up.

she turned the paper toward her members, voice carrying.

“tie a necktie… on a member of your choice.”

heran was already laughing, the sound bright and unrestrained as she clapped once.

“WONNIE!”

“JUNGWON JUNGWON JUNGWON—”

"PICK JUNGWON!"

turning toward him with a teasing grin, she pointed with her cuffed hands. “hurry up—you heard the people! come on!”

jungwon’s head snapped up, wide-eyed—like a deer in headlights.

for a half-second, he didn’t move—his shoulders rising with a sharp breath as the entire venue’s focus slammed onto him.

with a small, helpless smile and pink already blooming at the tips of his ears, jungwon stood.

“GO JUNGWON GO!” jay hollered.

sunoo cackled, smacking ni-ki on the arm. “HE’S GONNA MALFUNCTION!”

and that’s when everyone remembered—he was already wearing a tie. a sleek black tie tucked neatly into his crisp suit.

“OH—HE’S GOTTA TAKE IT OFF FIRST—” jake pointed out, practically vibrating in his seat.

jungwon brought one hand up—almost awkwardly self-conscious—fingers hooking around the knot of his tie.

the screams hit another decibel.

phones shot into the air.

he still wasn’t moving fast enough.

heran, still laughing, called out playfully.

“you’re wasting my time here. move!”

she was half bouncing on her heels now—the cuffs rattling excitedly with her movement.

without thinking, heran stepped forward and grabbed the tie itself, giving it a sharp playful tug that yanked him toward her.

the crowd absolutely exploded.

jungwon stumbled forward with a strangled breath, eyes wide, blushing hard. his fingers barely caught the knot again as he looked at her helplessly.

“you’re gonna make me lose this thing! handsome but too slow, come on—” she teased, voice low but bright with adrenaline.

the tie finally slipped free of his collar—he handed it over awkwardly, avoiding her gaze, his hands a little shaky.

the cuffs made her movements sloppy—she struggled, brows furrowed, arms crossing awkwardly against his chest.

she grabbed it fast, already reaching up toward his neck.

he froze again as she stepped in—close. too close.

“stay still, stay still—” she muttered under her breath.

jungwon was trying.

but his hands hovered at his sides, twitching, fingers half-curled—aching to settle on her waist out of habit, out of comfort. but they couldn’t. not here.

his breathing was uneven now—he couldn’t look at her face, not like this. not when she was this close, this unbothered, and the entire arena was watching.

heran struggled a bit more, lip caught between her teeth in focus.

The cuffed chain pulled taut across his chest as she leaned in again.

he nearly choked.

then—without thinking, without realizing—heran whispered just loud enough for him to hear:

“you’re really bad at pretending you’re not in love with me right now.”

the tips of his ears burned crimson—his hands fully fidgeting now, his gaze flying straight to the floor, lips parting like he wanted to say something—but nothing came out.

jay howled. “that boy’s about to short-circuit.”

sunghoon laughed, eyes shining. “If he turns any redder he’ll match her hair.”

meanwhile, heran kept working quickly, trying to form a decent knot despite the cuffs clinking and her heart racing too fast now.

her own cheeks were warm—but she grinned in triumph when she tugged the knot tight and patted his chest.

the crowd screamed.

she raised her cuffed wrists with a bright grin.

“mission complete.”

members were cackling.

the MC clapped, visibly impressed. “I can’t believe you actually did it—especially the cherry! wow—alright, as promised—”

she reached over to the small stand beside her and picked up the tiny silver key. “here’s your freedom.”

as soon as the MC handed the key to heran, pure chaos erupted behind her.

“I need to try the cherry.” jake launched himself out of his seat toward the table.

heeseung followed close behind. “there’s no way—she did that in six seconds, cheater.”

heran couldn’t help it. she bent forward, shoulders shaking with laughter, the key clutched in her cuffed hands as her members devolved into a full-on fruit battle onstage.

sunghoon and sunoo were already shoulder to shoulder, arguing as they grabbed cherries.

“you take that one—mine has a longer stem, I’m taking this one!”

“yah, we’re trying for science, not competition!”

but then her eyes flicked sideways—to him.

jungwon hadn’t moved.

he sat perfectly still in his chair, posture neat, legs crossed, hands resting on his thighs—like if he so much as twitched, the world would notice. his head was tilted down, a shy smile curving his lips, ears still pink. every few seconds his gaze would flick toward her—and just as quickly snap away.

he looked like he was seriously rethinking every decision he’d ever made.

heran bit her lip, something warm stirring in her chest.

even with her heart still racing from the relay, she felt this tiny pocket of calm between them—a thread that had tightened with every second he’d been standing in front of her, helping with her cuffs.

she placed the key gently in his palm, her cuffed wrists lifting between them.

she padded back over toward him, hair swaying lightly against her back. she stopped just in front of him and leaned down slightly, voice playful but soft:

"earth to jungwon.”

a little pause, watching the way his gaze flicked upward toward her, wide and blinking. “mind helping me out?”

for a beat, he just looked at the key, the smallest laugh escaping him through his nose—half amused, half resigned. then, finally—finally—he looked up at her properly.

and smiled.

then—he shifted.

not the practiced camera smile, not the polite fanservice one.

a quiet, soft smile that reached all the way to his eyes.

he parted his legs just slightly where he sat on the stool, leaving enough space in front of him, then gave her a gentle tug by the chain of the cuffs—subtle but sure—pulling her a step closer into the space between his knees.

her breath caught for a second. she shot him a look, playful but sharp.

but his fingers were already moving—deft and careful now—sliding the key into the first lock.

his grin widened, ears still pink.

“you’re so annoying sometimes,” he said, voice warm and teasing, low enough that only she would catch it beneath the din of the crowd.

jungwon’s fingers hesitated for the faintest second—but then he exhaled a small laugh again, shaking his head as if trying to steady himself.

heran tilted her head, her own smile tugging at her lips.

“I was under a lot of pressure okay, I didn't mean to ruin your street cred."

he caught her wrist gently to steady it before reaching for the second.

click.

first cuff popped open.

up this close, heran could hear the way his breathing wasn’t quite even—see the way his lashes fluttered when he glanced up at her from under them. his voice was quieter now, the earlier teasing laced with something softer. “please warn me next time. I'd like to prepare for my heart attack in advance.”

the corners of jungwon’s mouth twitched upward—barely, but there. His fingers finally turned the key in the second lock.

she rolled her eyes at his line, though her smile was quick and fond.

“yes, sir.”

again, his hands lingered—one settling briefly at the inside of her wrist, thumb brushing over her skin in a way that might’ve looked casual to anyone else, but wasn’t.

click.

second cuff popped open.

but neither of them moved just yet, as if locked in this suspended space between their little world and the chaos around them—until:

heran could feel her pulse thrum beneath his touch.

so could he, probably.

“apparently being able to tie a cherry with your tongue means you’re a good kisser.”

sunghoon’s voice floated in from across the stage, completely unbothered, still hunched over the table with a cherry stem between his teeth.

“hyung, you can’t just say that!” ni-ki added, both scandalized and clearly intrigued.

“HYUNG!” sunoo practically screamed, face already in his hands as the crowd burst into shrieks.

jay, grinning, lifted to speak into his mic. “well then. I guess heran’s got another talent to add to the list.”

the entire audience went feral, members either hollering or hiding their faces.

but she wasn’t done.

heran—still standing in front of jungwon—snorted, shaking her head as she finally straightened.

“you guys are insane.”

with a playful glint in her eye, she sauntered casually over to the table, plucked three cherries from the bowl—moving with deliberate calm while the others kept bickering over the new “fact” sunghoon had shared.

then—without a word—she padded back to jungwon, who was still on the stool, trying valiantly to look composed even as his ears stayed a steady shade of pink.

she stopped right in front of him again, one cherry swinging between her fingers by the stem. “you wanna try?”

jungwon stared at the cherry stem dangling between her fingers like it was some kind of trap—one he was absolutely about to walk into.

his lips parted in disbelief. “are you serious right now?”

heran’s smile deepened. “dead serious.”

she leaned in ever so slightly, swinging the cherry once like a pendulum. “come on, for science, remember?”

with a dramatic sigh that didn’t match the way his smile twitched at the corners, jungwon took the cherry from her fingers.

the crowd roared with anticipation.

from the table, jay shouted, “please try, I think these cherries are rigged.”

heeseung nearly choked on his own stem from laughter.

“fine,” he muttered—still pink, still fighting a laugh—as he popped it in his mouth.

heran stepped back, arms crossed, watching with an exaggerated air of judgment. “no pressure. just everyone you know is watching.”

“gee, thanks.” his words came out muffled, the stem already between his teeth.

he worked at it silently, brows furrowed in concentration, while the crowd counted down dramatically like it was the olympics.

“ten… nine…”

“give him some room to breathe!” sunoo said into his mic, still half hiding.

and sure enough—perfect knot.

but then—barely ten seconds in—jungwon pulled the stem out of his mouth with a quiet, innocent:

“…did I do it?”

a beat of stunned silence.

the crowd screamed.

ni-ki yelled something incoherent in disbelief.

heran’s jaw dropped.

she blinked once. twice. then burst out laughing.

their laughter blended together in that shared, breathless joy—the kind only found in rare, unscripted moments like this.

“are you kidding me?!” she laughed, reaching for a high-five.

jungwon—grinning now, eyes bright and a little wild—smacked his palm against hers with a satisfying slap.

“guess that’s your new party trick,” she said, still giggling.

jungwon leaned in just slightly, voice low, lips brushing close to her ear: “should I be worried how good I am at that?”

heran’s brows shot up at his words—heat flickering under her skin.

before he could even think of a comeback, she snatched another cherry from her palm and—without hesitation—popped it straight into his mouth to shut him up.

but she recovered fast, eyes narrowing with mock warning.

“okay,” she said, fighting a grin, voice dry—too dry to be convincing.

“stop talking.”

the crowd screeched, despite not being able to hear what they were talking about.

jungwon froze for half a second, blinking in surprise—cherry stem poking out from between his lips—then absolutely burst out laughing against it, eyes crinkling, the kind of full, unguarded laugh that shook his shoulders.

unable to resist, and completely caught in the moment, he leaned forward, still chuckling, and let his head drop right against her shoulder.

heran stilled for a beat—heart stuttering.

then her smile softened, almost instinctively tilting her head toward his as her cuff-free hands hovered awkwardly, not sure whether to hold him or just laugh along.

from across the stage, jay practically yelled into his mic. "okay, break it up!"

later that night, back at the dorm, chaos had not subsided. If anything—it had only gotten worse.

It had started with Sunoo.

he was sprawled across the couch in a pose of exaggerated leisure, phone pressed to his ear, legs kicking idly in the air. his voice, smooth and grave, cut through the hum of the room: “babe, listen—do you think I’m a good kisser?”

the shriek on the other end was instantaneous and piercing. “WHAT?!”

the dorm dissolved into howls.

sunghoon, half-lying on the floor with a crumpled bag of chips beside him, scrambled for his own phone. “wait, that’s actually genius—dude, move over—”

“no point,” heeseung muttered darkly, tossing a mangled cherry stem onto the table. “none of us could tie it. I’m doomed.”

jay was already pacing, jaw tight, phone glued to his ear. “no, sweetheart, it’s not weird, it was for the showcase. yes, with cherries. No—honey, seriously, everyone was doing it—”

ni-ki had simply given up. He lay on the floor, pillow over his face, groaning into the fabric. “this is the dumbest conversation we’ve ever had.”

and amid the chaos—laughing too hard to bother intervening—sat heran and jungwon, curled up together on the couch by the window.

they had drifted there naturally as the others unraveled, drawn to the quieter corner where the windows stood cracked open to the summer night.

heran sat with her knees drawn beneath her chin, one arm draped lazily across the back of the couch. beside her, jungwon sat cross-legged, phone in hand, he was doom-scrolling through fan posts. clips of tonight’s showcase were already circulating with alarming speed.

a soft groan escaped him, half-buried in the sleeve of his hoodie. “oh no. nope. nope. why did I say that. why did I say that.”

heran tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. “which part?”

he turned his phone toward her with a faint grimace. the screen was frozen on one particular clip—him sitting on the stool, her standing between his legs, cherry swinging tauntingly from her fingers.

the screams from the crowd were near deafening even through the tiny speakers.

jungwon let his head fall back with a dramatic sigh. “I’m never living this down.”

heran laughed softly, bumping her shoulder against his. “you’ll survive.”

“barely.” he peeked at her from beneath his sleeve, the faintest trace of a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. “and you didn’t help. at all.”

she gave him a sly look. “what, with the ‘you wanna try’ line?”

he groaned again, dragging his sleeve further over his face. “exactly.”

heran shrugged her shoulders, voice light as air. "It was just a question.”

a helpless sound escaped jungwon before he collapsed sideways, head landing in her lap with a soft thud.

she blinked—then laughed, fingers finding their way instinctively into his hair. she combed through the fine strands slowly, absently, her touch gentle and rhythmic.

“wow,” she teased, voice low with a smile. “one cherry and you’re ruined.”

“stopppp,” came his muffled voice against her thigh.

around them, the dorm buzzed on.

jake had migrated to the corner, phone now on speaker as he dramatically pleaded with someone on the other end. “chae, please, it was just a cherry. I swear this isn’t about kissing technique—”

sunoo was now fully sprawled across the floor, pillow clutched to his chest. “no, I failed. Miserably. Do you still love me?”

heeseung and sunghoon continued their pacing war, arguing furiously over whether certain cherry stems were “defective.” n-ki remained unmoving, phone on his chest, eyes closed in quiet despair.

but heran barely heard any of it.

her focus was wholly on the boy curled into her lap—one arm looped around her thigh, face pressed into the soft fabric of her pants. his breath was warm where it ghosted against her skin, his body so still now except for the faint shifts when she teased him.

“why are you so shy today?” her voice was gentle now, threaded with affection. she brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, smiling down at him. “seriously—it’s cute but—” she leaned in slightly, voice dipping, eyes glimmering. “you can’t even look me in the eye.”

another groan, deeper this time, as jungwon burrowed even further, arm tightening instinctively around her.

heran laughed softly, warmth blooming in her chest.

“wonnie,” she whispered, voice velvet-smooth, her fingers moving in slow circles across his shoulder. “how am I supposed to kiss you if you can’t even look at me?”

that—that—undid him.

a soft, helpless whine escaped him, muffled fully into her lap.

heran bit her lip to keep from outright giggling, her fingertips continuing their lazy, teasing rhythm. the contrast between her playful words and her gentle touch seemed to unravel him entirely.

after a long moment, a raspy, half-muffled voice emerged against her skin: “you’re evil.”

she smiled. “hm, I know.”

finally—finally—hetilted his head just enough to peek up at her.

his eyes were wide and glassy, cheeks blooming with warmth beneath dark lashes. His lips parted slightly—then closed again with a tiny, soundless breath.

heran looked down at him fondly, brushing her thumb along the curve of his jaw. “...still can’t look at me, huh?”

he exhaled softly—half laugh, half surrender—then closed his eyes, arms tightening in a silent plea for mercy.

across the room, jay’s voice rang out, utterly unbothered: “guys, I asked haewon. she says tying a cherry stem doesn’t mean anything. but like should I practice?.”

“PRACTICE WHAT?!” ni-ki shrieked, voice cracking with indignation.

sunoo flailed dramatically on the floor. “she thinks I’m a BAD KISSER!” (ari didn't say anything remotely close to that, he was just being dramatic)

at that, jungwon groaned again—this time with more amusement than embarrassment—as he buried his face deeper into heran’s lap, soft laughter shaking through his shoulders.

heran shook her head, a quiet laugh rising in her throat, her hand smoothing over his back.

the dorm was still alive with noise and chaos—laughter, arguments, voices layered one over the other.

but here—tucked into their small corner of the couch—everything felt quieter.

just limbs tangled together, breath soft between them, hearts thrumming in tandem beneath the noise. and one cherry-stained moment neither of them would be forgetting anytime soon.

taglist: @angie-x3@deluluscenarios @chaeryyeongz @akitoshi39i@sparklydoll444 @yunjiiin @kaitieskidmore97 @yb763@reibelhearts @enhaverse713586

[beckyninja]

So Close

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Setting typical violence

Description: The Avenging Son wreaks havoc, and the Reader learns her cousin has even darker secrets to reveal.

You guys are gonna hate me for this one. 😈

Remember to read the previous parts of this series on my Masterlist. And feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the Taglist!

Ping! Ping! Ping!

Each pulse of the receiver felt like the prodding of an electro-baton. 

Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!

Hiis eyes remained fixed on the battleship looming large through the Command Deck’s viewports,but  his mind tracked the movements of every single individual scurrying around him. Techpriests interfacing with the great cogitators, TerraNovan technicians typing furiously on their slim little dataslates, vox operators relaying order. Only his genesons remained still, though his practiced gaze saw the tiny flexes that marked them ready for action. 

The deck was alive with motion. Yet every living soul seemed trapped in viscous fluid compared with the speed of his thoughts.

Theoretical: You are alive and held captive aboard that voidship.

Practical: I will rescue her.

Theoretical: You are dead and the transmission is false.

Practical: I will avenge her.

He clenched his gauntlets, careful not to crush the little machine holding all his fragile hopes. 

“My Lord?”

He turned his head a fraction of an inch to one side.

Captain Takahashi looked worse for wear. Dark bruises bloomed beneath bloodshot eyes. He’d watched her guide his Navigator through the Wards, an experience even those without eidetic memories were unlikely to forget.

The Macragge’s Honor had groaned and shuddered like a wounded beast as the TerraNovan delivered rapid-fire instructions to psyker and helmsman alike. Every instant it seemed the mighty voidship would rattle apart at the seams. The command crew had clung to their stations in silent terror. Reports had come from other departments of those unable to maintain such composure, breaking down into whimpering balls or running through the corridors, shrieking prayers to the Emperor.

Even his gene-sons had felt the strain. He remembered the stifled groans coming from within Sicarius’s helm.

Any other circumstances and he might have felt compassion. As it was, he’d stood like a monolith, legs splayed, willing his struggling flagship through the maelstrom with every ounce of his being.

The stillness when they’d made it through had been what nearly bowled him over. The Navigator had collapsed into a twitching pile of elongated limbs and been carried to the Apothecarion. Captain Takahashi had stood, leaning against a nearby cogitator with her single trembling arm.

Only then had the vox operator reported that none of the rest of the fleet had made it. The Macragge’s Honor stood alone.

“In all likelihood they were spat back out into Imperial space once the connection was broken.” The Captain murmured. 

He nodded. Eyes still fixed on the approaching battleship.

“They’ve seen us by now.”

Another nod. 

“My Lord,” Sicarius spoke from his place, everpresent, just behind and to the side, “shall I give the order?”

Guilliman spoke for the first time. “Yes.”

Everyone on the bridge heard the Commander’s bellow. “Open fire!”

Guilliman felt the near imperceptible shudder and watched trails of light rocket toward the TerraNovan battleship. 

“The officer’s quarters are nowhere near the engines or shield generators.” He heard Captain Takahashi mutter, half to herself. “She’ll be safe.”

Horrifying theoreticals raced through his mind with renewed rapidity. He gritted his teeth.

Be alive. Please. 

***

“What the fuck?!” 

Frenzy’s metallic squawk came just as the walls and floor around them shook violently. Distant booms rolled down the corridor, lumens flickered and went out, soon replaced by the glowing red of emergency lighting. Klaxons screamed.

Tarchus braced himself. “Missile strike.”

“Gee, y’think?” The torso of his companion’s mech pivoted toward him, enough for him to see her disgruntled expression. “Who’s shooting at us?”

Tarchus was grateful for the restoration of his armor and helmet. He’d been told the grin of an Astartes was a fearsome thing to behold. 

“I recognize the sound. Imperial ordinance.”

“You sure?”

Her ability to read his body language astounded him as she glanced at him and backed up a step, metal hands raised. “Never mind! Jeez. Touchy, aren’t you?”

He’d grown used to her rhetorical questions. “They will have targeted the engines.”

“And the shield generator, if they’re smart. Not that I’m saying they’re not smart! Fuck. And I thought you were scary without your armor.” A snort. “Do you ever not radiate menace?” 

“No.” Her eyes narrowed, and he huffed in annoyance. “I jest.”

“Sure you do.” She muttered. “Well, enlighten me, Big Guy. What’s standard Imperial protocol here?”

“The next strike will be against your cloaking device, as it poses the greatest-”

Another boom. Another shake, this one more violent and prolonged. 

“Fuck.” The TerraNovan snarled. “How in the Void did they make it through the Wards, anyway?”

He swiveled his helmet toward her in silent question.

She waved a metal appendage dismissively. “I’ll explain later. Safe to say at least someone from the Princess’s ship must’ve survived. Especially since they seem to know exactly where to hit!”

“Will this crew return fire?”

Through her mech’s viewport, her face grew grim. “In case you haven’t noticed, buddy, the Predator’s not exactly fully crewed at the moment.”

“We have encountered a significant lack of resistance since the armory.”

“She’s been in orbital docking at HQ since the Bugs busted her up good.” The two of them continued their march through the trembling corridors. “Ol’ Vicky was in such a rush to get out here he barely had time to gather a skeleton crew. That means most of the systems are being run by computers that had the shit kicked out of them not six months ago.” 

Tarchus remained silent, running theoreticals and practicals. “If an attacker wished to board, how would they do so?”

A huff. “I’d pop straight through the main hangar doors. Armor’s thinnest there. Problem is, that’s where most of the fighting crew’s likely to be. Well, there, and wherever the void Vicky’s got himself to.”

“How far is the hangar?”

“A few klicks, if we took this elevator.”

He stopped. She took several steps past him before turning back.

“The Void are you doing?”

“My brothers will arrive soon, if they have not already.”

“Your- fuck.” She glared at him. “You’re just gonna abandon her?”

“Never.” He growled, and she flinched. “We will have a greater chance of success if we link up with the boarding party.”

“Yeah? Well I say that’s just gonna waste time. We have to get to the Princess now!”

“Theoretical: we go on alone. Practical: whatever forces the traitor has at his personal command slow us down long enough for him to re-capture the Lady.”

Uncertainty passed over her face.

“Alternative theoretical: we join my brothers in the hangar. Alternative practical: as a combined force, we deliver the Emperor’s wrath to whoever stands in our way and cut through to the Lady at a significantly increased rate of speed. The Codex states that-”

She rolled her eyes and cut him off. “I swear, you’ve brought that void-damned Codex up at least a dozen times since we left the armory. Fuck! Do you always talk like this?”

He felt his facial muscles twitching at her disrespect. “Yes.”

“Another example of Astartes’ humor?”

He tightened his grip on his bolter. “Lieutenant-”

“I know, I know. Fine. We’ll do it your way. You’ve got, what, a century or so more of experience than me anyway, right?” 

“Over two centuries.”

“Damn. Ok, old man.” She hefted the cannon she appropriated from the armory and grinned. “At least that means I’ll get to use this baby sooner. Let’s go bring some, what did you call it? Emperor’s wrath!”

Tarchus followed her into the elevator, annoyance at being called “old” overshadowing a lingering sense of doubt.

***

“What-?! HOW?!”

You hid your smile as Victor throttled the mercenary who’d delivered the news of the Imperials’ arrival. Pressing a hand over the ring tucked into your bodice, you thanked the Light for its provision.

I’m here, Roboute. 

“Lord Heir,” the giant sergeant who never seemed far from your cousin’s side drawled, “what are your orders?”

Victor released the messenger, who fell back against a wall, gasping. Spittle coated your cousin’s lips and chin. His eyes darted from side to side like a trapped animal. 

“I… I don’t….” Then, suddenly, he cocked his head as if listening to something. “I… yes. Yes!” 

He rounded on the messenger once more. “Go. Have my personal yacht made ready. NOW!”

The man bobbed his head and ran.

The sergeant smirked. “We’re abandoning the Predator, then?”

“We are, Alroy. She’s served me well, but the old hulk’s on her last legs anyway.” He jerked his chin back toward the blood-spattered communication station. “Relay orders to the crew that the invaders are to be resisted at all costs. Tell them… oh, I don’t care. That reinforcements are on the way, or something. Whatever you need to keep them fighting.”

A slow, cruel smile crept across Sgt. Alroy’s face. “Just like Pangea, eh?”

Both men seemed almost to have forgotten you, crouched against the wall. But you couldn’t hold back a gasp at the name. Your cousin’s eyes snapped back to you.

“Ah, so you haven’t been kept entirely sheltered, have you? Granny told you of my great victory?”

Your mind raced. Pangea. A planetoid on the very edge of TerraNovan space, hailed as a triumph of the new terraforming technology. The videos broadcasted throughout the homeworld showed starry-eyed colonists, giddy with the thrill only a brand new colony can bring. A bright spot in your Grandmother’s otherwise dark reign.

One of the only times I ever saw her genuinely smile.

You wondered if the colonists were ever told how thin the Wards were in that corner of space. You doubted it. Maybe no one knew.

Until the Tyranids attacked.

“Pangea. Such a pretty little morsel.” Victor’s eyes took on a feverish gleam. “I was so confident, you know? So sure in my battleship and fleet. We’d put down rebellions, slaughtered orks in their thousands. We were invincible!”

His laugh sent chills down your spine.

“Grandmother told me the colony was lost.” You whispered.

“We fought hard. We hurt them badly. But it wasn’t enough. They were unrelenting. And they knew so much. Not the animals we thought.” His voice dropped to a rasp. “I had to make a sacrifice.”

Your blood ran cold. “Pangea. Oh, Light.”

“You should have seen the little colonists.” He giggled. “So brave, so proud. Embodying the TerraNovan ideal. They believed me when I said I’d be back with help.”

Horror mingled with rage and you stood to your full height. “You told us they blew the planetary reactor. We built memorials, called them heroes!” You stabbed a finger into his chest. “Did you even try to save any of them before you destroyed the colony, Victor?”

His gaze finally held yours. What you saw sent an electric shock through every nerve in your body.

“You didn’t destroy the colony.”

“Clever little cousin,” he purred, “I’ll never underestimate your intelligence again. No, no. I didn’t destroy Pangea.” He leaned in until you felt his rancid breath on the side of your face. “I made a deal.”

“Does… Grandmother know?”

His incredulous laugh answered you.

“Lord Heir.” Sergeant Alroy stepped away from the computer. “The order is given.”

“Good.”

“The Imperials have breached the hangar bay. From what I could make out before the transmission cut off, Guilliman is leading them.”

Your cousin gave a shocked chuckle. “He’s proven more tenacious than I thought. And for what? A little bastard bitch?” He snorted. “Still, time to leave, quickly.” 

“We’ll make for HQ?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“He will follow.”

“Yes, I suspect he will. The timetable will have to be accelerated, but our… new allies… should be recovered enough by the time they arrive.” Victor cackled. “Oh, to see the smug superiority wiped off your fiance’s face when he realizes, sweet cousin!”

All this you heard in a frozen haze. The scope of Victor’s lies… the depths of his betrayal… of his delusion….

And no one knows but me. No one knows!

The Sergeant stepped out of the communications room. Victor turned to speak to him.

They thought you a scared little rabbit. But rabbits were quick.

With a bound, you were back inside the room. Your hand hit the door controls, shutting it in Victor’s shocked face. Grabbing the bloodied knife from the floor, you thrust it hard into the locking mechanism. Circuits sparked as the door jammed. 

Dead eyes stared up at you from the floor. The mercenary you’d killed. The brave Ensign who’d died for you. Blood, so much blood.

Only a merest prelude of the oceans to be spilled if you didn’t act.

“Time to be what they all think I am.” You murmured as you took a seat before the transmitter.

***

The burning blade swung in arcs of flame and blood. Dozens died with each swing. Like insects.

For insects they were, in the eyes of The Avenging Son.

“My Lord!” Sicarius’s voice reached him as if from a great distance. “Wait!”

He did not. He would not. Doors not meant for the breadth of his armored shoulders burst asunder before him. Bodies crunched beneath his feet, alongside discarded weaponry. The enemy fled.

The growl that came from his throat would have sounded more at home in the maw of a Space Wolf. 

Where are you, my love? 

“My Lord!” A restraining hand on his arm. “Forgive me, but-”

He shook off Sicarius’s gauntlet with a snarl.

To his credit, the Commander held his ground. “We’ve located Brother Tarchus, my Lord.”

The red haze faded long enough for his analytical mind to function once more. 

Julian Tarchus, the Ultramarine I sent to guard her. He lives!

“Take me to him.”

He followed Sicarius through corridors his gene-son navigated with difficulty. The Primarch had to bend nearly double, pauldrons and halo scraping along the walls and ceiling with every step. He noticed grooves already carved into the metal.

How far ahead did I charge?

His rational mind berated him for his foolishness in outdistancing his guard. His hearts screamed at him to continue.

It had taken all of three minutes and fifteen seconds for the TerraNovan mercenaries to break formation when he leapt from the still hovering Thunderhawk. He remembered pursuing, not even bothering to fire his heavy bolter. Just slashing without thought.

It had been… cathartic.

A helm he’d never thought to see again appeared before him. Guilliman felt a pang of guilt. So focused had he been on you, that he hadn’t spared your bodyguard a single thought.

“My son.”

Tarchus knelt. “My Lord!”

Beside him, a machine the likes of which he’d never seen before also dropped to one metallic knee. “What is this?”

A hiss of air, and a hatch opened to reveal a disheveled young woman seated at the machine’s controls. She stared at the center of his chest, mouth agape.

Tarchus spoke. “This is Fren- Lt. Calderon, my Lord. A fellow prisoner aboard this voidship. She is loyal to the Lady.” He hesitated a moment. “She saved my life.”

Guilliman nodded to the woman. “My thanks, Lieutenant.”

“Holy fuck,” was the only response.

Sicarius huffed. “Of all the disrespectful-”

Guilliman’s raised hand silenced him. “Enough. Tarchus, is the Lady still….” the word caught in his throat.

Tarchus met his eyes. “She is, my Lord. She has commandeered a communications hub in the upper decks. The Lieutenant and I made contact and were approaching when we heard of your arrival.”

Relief almost weakened his knees.

Alive. 

And so… very… close!

A thought struck him. “You deviated from your path to come here, Tarchus.”

The Ultramarine’s face tightened. “The Codex dictates-”

Guilliman kept his tone calm and measured. “Damn the Codex to the Warp.” 

Every Ultramarine in his retinue stiffened. Something that might have been a hysterical snicker came from the TerraNovan lieutenant.

Tarchus bowed his head. “Forgive me, my Lord.”

“If she remains safe, I shall.” He glanced at the Lieutenant, wiping the smile from her face. “You know the way?”

“Y-yeah?”

His glare was enough to have her pushing buttons and raising her mech to its feet, hatch closing once more. Just before it locked into place, he heard her mutter.

“Holy fucking fuck!”

Sicarius spoke again. “We should send scouts ahead, my Lord.”

Tarchus shook his head. “Unnecessary.” He looked at the carnage throughout the hangar. “This ship is operating with minimal crew, as difficult as that is to believe. The majority of its defensive forces seem to have been in this hangar. What remains will pose little threat.”

Guilliman felt his anger toward his son ease slightly. “Then we move as one, en force.”

“Let me lead the way, my Lord.” Tarchus stood, face eager. “Let me-”

“No.” Guilliman turned to the woman and her strange machine. “Go. I will follow.”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” 

The Primarch and Ultramarines made their way through the all but empty ship. Guilliman gritted his teeth at the glacial pace. Already his fingers ached to draw his blade. The walls and ceiling seemed to close in around him, as if holding him back, the whole ship an obstacle to overcome.

Where are you? Where are you?

He fought the urge to demand how far they were like an impatient child.

He fought the urge to tear through the confining metal with blade and gauntlet alone.

He fought the urge to chase down and slaughter each fleeing baseline they encountered.

He fought a losing battle.

Just as he felt he must charge ahead or burst, a message came through his vox receiver.

“Lord Guilliman.”

“Captain Takahashi.”

“We’re receiving an all-frequency transmission from the Predator. It is the Lady Heir!”

Both hearts leapt into his throat. “Patch it through.”

And then, your voice. 

Oh… Throne….

It flowed over him like cool water. It burned like fire. Soothing and stimulating. Everything… and not nearly enough. If you knew how you could break him with a word…. When this was over, he’d make sure you knew. 

Only slowly did the actual words register.

“...call to arms! People of TerraNova, you have been deceived. My cousin is no war hero, but a traitor. And not only of our people, but of all humanity.”

The terrified determination in your words filled him with equal parts pride and horror. Theoreticals and practicals began their unstoppable cascade once more as you brought the sordid truth to light.

“No longer as the Lady Heir do I call upon you, no longer as your Princess in the Tower,  but as your Matron Uncrowned. Military, merchant, and civilian alike. In every voidship that can bear soldiers or arms. Come to these coordinates and ally with the Lord Guilliman, your Patron To Be. We must eradicate this evil before it can take root and spread among us.”

Guilliman had heard speeches beyond count. Speeches full of evocative language designed to manipulate. But the sweet sincerity in your words roused something in him he’d thought long dead.

“We are TerraNova, we are the heirs of Humanity That Was. United with our stalwart brothers and sisters of the Imperium, we will prevail. Light guide us all.”

A long pause, and then….

“Roboute, if you can hear me, I love-”

The transmission died.

He didn’t think. He whirled upon the TerraNovan lieutenant and she understood.

“Not far now!” 

Her machine burst into a thunderous sprint all but drowned out by the pounding of his own sabatons.

A sobbing groan tore from his chest as they reached the broken door of the communications room. The sight of blood almost deprived him of his sanity, until he realized neither body resembled you. Then,in the brief moment of stillness, a soft scuffle from far up the corridor.

He pursued, cursing the ever tightening corridors that clutched at him, cursing his unwieldy armor, cursing everything and everyone….

…but you.

The air he dragged into his lungs bore the faintest trace of your scent now. 

So close.

Fleeing footsteps around the next bend.

So close!

The hiss of a door closing.

SO CLOSE!

Ripping through metal he burst into the smaller hangar just in time to see…

You.

Bruised, bloodied, clothing torn. Your cousin’s arm wrapped around your throat as he dragged you up the ramp of a hovering voidship. 

“Roboute!”

Before Guilliman’s very eyes your cousin dragged your head back and covered your mouth in a savage mockery of a kiss. Then the ramp closed and the ship’s engines flared, sending it soaring out into the black.

So close….

Guilliman activated his vox.

“Hear me, you motherless bastard. I will find you. I will drown everything you send against me in blood to take her from you. And then I will crush you… with my bare hands.”

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[theshipsong]

x drake x dom f!reader, cw: dubcon bondage, impact play, degradation, blowjob. canon au, takes place roughly during elbaph. companion to this fic. reader is in cross guild, formerly of the hawkins pirates, and implicitly racialized. wc: 3k | est. 11 min read

⸺

"What did you do?"

Drake woke in the Marine GS Hospital to Prince Grus slapping a densely printed flyer onto his side table. As his bleary eyes adjusted, he recognized the garish color scheme of Cross Guild's updated bounty announcement, the new dread of every Marine base. At the top was none other than Rear Admiral X Drake in his pirate regalia, with the five crown rating reserved for vice admirals. Bizarrely, he felt the corner of his mouth turn up in a grin.

"I relayed some news."

Drake, Grus, and Kujaku were the highest ranked members of SWORD, which officially answered to no one and followed no orders, so it was down to them to hold each other to account. Of course no one stopped Drake's partial-Zoan rampage on the hospital ship or warned him he was endangering his cover en route to Karai Bari.

His bounty, to his knowledge the first issued to a fellow pirate with a pre-existing price from the Marines, confirmed your position within Cross Guild.

"I read the med vessel's log. You took a detour."

"Seems you already know."

It was the closest Drake had gotten to apologizing to a fallen comrade's widow, but Hawkins was no Marine, and you were no wife.

"That, and those folders you have under your pillow." Drake felt a frankly pubescent blush rise to his cheeks. It was your slim file paired with a longer one on the Hawkins Pirates, of which the Marine—through Drake's intel—only recently confirmed you'd been a part. "Is she Wanoan? What news could you have for her?"

(You were darker than the women of Wano, your eyes subtly rounder, and Drake understood with perfect clarity how Hawkins was unmoved in the bathhouse after years at your side.)

"...if Cross Guild has some tie to that country, you should make an official report."

"You'll read for yourself soon."

Grus whistled. "Rest up, rear admiral."

"Rear admiral." Drake returned his short, joking salute even after Grus turned his back to leave.

The toll that Onigashima took on Drake's body was bad enough, but you reopened the wound in his neck left by the CP0 agent and broke his nose, a purely cosmetic change that wouldn't have bothered the scarred man if he wasn't suddenly self-conscious of being attractive. Not to women in general, but you. He decided to take it as a gift.

Besides these battle tokens, Drake was exhausted from two years under Kaidou and many more in deep cover. He should take this time to rest and take refuge in one of the Navy's most secure facilities, but part of him was relieved. Of course the ambiguity of his position meant he could change allegiances with the tide like he had in Onigashima, but if he as good as confirmed Cross Guild's—and Hawkins'—charge that he was "a Navy man," he could be free. Or a little less burdened. The problem was it gave him no reason to see you besides pursuit.

The sharp allure of your grief made Drake wonder how many siren's songs were elegies. He'd wanted to hold you despite meeting you that day. He wanted to promise you things he didn't have, like tender last words from Basil Hawkins, or a peaceful life he couldn't know held any appeal to you.

SWORD was the only unit in all the World Government capable of challenging an emperor like Buggy. They were stretched thin as it was trying to capture the other Warlords, and Drake now, bizarrely, thrilled at the duty before him. He'd take in Dracule Mihawk, return Sir Crocodile to Impel Down, and see you.

Rather than risk a repeat of Amazon Lilly, Drake opted for a battle at sea. Cross Guild's hideous flagship was on the move throughout Buggy's territory and expanding into that formerly held by Big Mom outside of Totto Land. Reconnaissance revealed Crocodile and Mihawk alternated captaincy as the other stayed behind to defend Karai Bari, while Buggy rarely appeared above deck, despite the masthead. Regardless of who had command of the Big Top Blaster, you were always aboard.

A captured former member of the Hawkins Pirates filled in gaps that their late captain didn't exactly rush to share with Drake in Wano. You were the crew's navigator with a strong preference for celestial navigation, something out of fashion for both the Navy and pirates who respectively relied on Vegapunk's radar technology and log compasses, and you left shortly after the Paramount War, when Hawkins entered the New World.

Cross Guild's ship had an observatory below the crow's nest. Drake was tempted to call you a princess in a tower, but you'd been sighted excising Crocodile's hook from Buggy's shirt collar, mediating between the men like you belonged there. Like you were happy.

Just like Drake told you your first love died, he'd take this crew from you, too.

It was after weeks of careful observation by the Navy's most discreet units, submarine and sailing ships alike, and two months since Koby's rescue from Hachinosu that Drake made his move. The Big Top Blaster left Karai Bari in the morning with Mihawk in command. If the soldiers Drake borrowed were cowed by the Marine Hunter, they didn't show it. He wanted to take the former warlords alive, and if Drake sank the ship, Mihawk could swim. As could you, Drake confirmed repeatedly with your former crewmate—"She's the only one Hawkins let save him from drowning"—unless you ate a Devil Fruit in the last two years.

Drake was astern a warship far, far away when he fell to his knees along with every other sailor on deck, and waves of utter despair worse than any he'd felt in battle hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Perona," he heard a low, dry voice say. "I thought you packed the sea prism cuffs."

"You know I hate touching those!" a high voice, much higher than yours, shot back.

"Keep him down, then."

Drake felt a boot knock into his hip, and saw the sky and Dracule Mihawk's plumed hat as the swordsman stepped on his shoulder, hard. Another rush of dread swept through him before Mihawk unceremoniously dumped him overboard, not into the sea but a small boat no one had ever reported travelling at the Big Top Blaster's side that could only be Mihawk's personal vessel.

Mihawk kept a cruel boot between Drake's shoulders, pressing the Marine's chest into the hull as he coldly bisected the warship and odd, feminine laughter bubbled in the air. Drake should have felt horror at the fate of his comrades, but his thoughts raced through sorry, I'm sorry for failing, for leaving him there, for coming here, for being born with such speed and acuity he almost missed the boat he was in being raised portside of the Big Top Blaster.

Another set of boots climbed into the boat where it hung from the davit. Drake felt the weight of stone handcuffs land on his back below Mihawk's foot, and slim fingers locking them in place.

He'd only spoken to you for a few moments those months ago, but his body knew your smooth, throaty timbre.

"Rear Admiral," you greeted as Mihawk dragged him to his feet. Your eyes briefly flicked up to his, an incredible distance that made Drake wonder, obscenely, how he dared dream of tasting you. "Who gets the bounty if we're the ones to capture him?"

Mihawk chuckled. "Like you need the money."

"You did most of the work."

"But," Mihawk said, "he's only back for you. Aren't you, Diez?"

Drake winced at his father's name, and tried his best to avoid looking at your face as the shorter man somehow kept his posture uncomfortably straight. He still had tears in the corners of his eyes, whether from Mihawk's strength or the despondence he'd been hit with. You looked him up and down, your gaze dragging down his bare chest and lower. To his humiliation, his blood followed you like a magnet, and—you blushed.

So damn pretty.

You ignored Mihawk's comment, ordering Buggy's men take Drake to a room below the fo'c'sle that could have been the captain's quarters, for all he knew, dimly lit by only a small pothole through which he could see men's shoes walk along, how it peeked onto the quarterdeck. In addition to the sea prism cuffs, they bound him to a too-small chair with ropes beaded in sea prism stone, and he had to splay his long legs to get anything resembling comfortable with the throbbing ache between his thighs. You closed the door to the passageway with your hip, and his eyes adjusted to the dark to see you leaning against it with your arms crossed.

"You'll want to compose yourself before anyone else notices," you said mildly.

What a euphemism.

The half-dark only refined Drake's other senses. He could hear you breathe like it was against his neck. He could smell your perfume like he was buried in you. He was so aware of you his skin burned.

He grunted. A rude response, but all he could do not to say anything.

"I'm so curious what part of all this does it for you," you continued. "Mihawk's very handsome."

Despite it all, he laughed. A short bark, more of a cough, but a laugh.

"Now," you said. "Would you like to meet your other captors—" plural captors other than Crocodile? "—after making a mess, or do you want some help?"

Help. "The price?" he said.

"Let's just add it to your tab."

"As if you get nothing out of it."

"Like?"

"Humiliating a Marine. Shooting the messenger."

"You think I hold grudges?" you said. "If anything, I should thank you. Though, of course, he's alive."

Hawkins survived? It was almost enough to shame Drake into composure, as you said, but then—

"W-what are you doing?"

You'd closed the distance while he was stunned silent at your revelation. Seated as he was and in such an inadequate chair, you were nearly eye level. You kept your hands primly behind your back, but you bit your lip as you studied his face, and if there was more light he knew he could look down your shirt.

"Just remembering what I'm working with."

There was absolutely nothing immodest about your attire, but to Drake you might well have been naked, how the spices of your perfume filled his nostrils besides your clean, natural sweat, which even now he thought of licking from every inch of you.

"Say the word, rear admiral."

"Please."

Your grin in the half-light was feline, and he knew more than ever that he was prey even as you sank to your knees. He could have cum just from your elegant hand ghosting over his belt buckle, how carefully you only touched the belt and his pants' button and fly, and he groaned aloud at the lightened pressure.

"What is your proper title?" you murmured as you nudged the fabric down, and he hissed. "Rear admiral, captain—"

"Does it matter?" he rasped.

"I like giving men their due."

"Whatever you want, please—"

He choked as you swatted his bulge through his boxers.

"Such a pretty sound," you cooed, and repeated the motion more gently. Drake groaned.

"R-rear admiral is fine."

You licked your lips, audibly. "Kind of a mouthful."

Siren, he thought as you finally dragged his underwear down. His heavy cock sprang free, leaking and proud against his bare stomach. You exhaled through your nose, an almost-laugh.

"What?" He was so sensitive in every sense of the word.

"I almost made an awful pun, is all," you said as you scooted yourself closer, your hands on his splayed thighs, bound at an awkward width by his partial undress. Your breath danced across his skin. "Why 'Red Flag'? Little piggie playing pirate," you went on, and he knew his neck and chest blushed so furiously he had to look on fire. "If that's not bad enough, you have to court class war."

"You talk like a revolutionary."

"So do you. So did you."

With that, you trailed your dominant hand to the head of his cock and spread the not insubstantial precum from his slit with your thumb, slowly massaging it down his length. Drake threw his head back, his groan echoing off the underdeck for every sailor to know what sort of torture he was experiencing, but he didn't care. Until—

Smack!

Your open palm connected directly to the underside of his cock. He futilely thrashed his head as if he had enough range of motion to muffle his shout of pain in his shoulder, tears stinging his eyes.

"I thought these sounds were for me," you said lowly.

"Yes, ma'am." It slipped through his gritted teeth before he could stop it.

"Good boy." You returned to your ministrations, soothing the impact with firm stokes, his cock only leaking more precum from your cruelty. Drake was transfixed watching your hand move, its long fingers curled just so, the contrast of his red, angry skin and pale thighs to yours, slow, sure movements that kept him on a knife's edge. He wasn't convinced you wanted him to get off at all, and surrendering that to you was...

"Feels g-good, ma'am."

"Yeah?" Drake noticed you shift your weight, like you rubbed your thighs together. "That's sweet of you to say. But what are we doing about this?" The callused pads of your left fingers traced his balls, and his breath hitched at the different texture.

"You decide, ma'am." You preened at that, and to his shock, you leaned in close and licked one into your mouth. "Oh my god—" Through the partial darkness, your eyes shone with mischief and curiosity, like he was your toy, and you continued your strokes as you played with him with your tongue and lips. "You don't have to—"

You withdrew, and he whined at the total loss of contact, your hot mouth, your warm hands.

"I'm doing you a favor, aren't I?" You slapped him again, above his sensitive balls now wet with your saliva, and he groaned, too loudly. "Huh?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he whispered.

You leaned forward, blinking up at him in a way that would look submissive if his hands weren't cuffed. Drake almost cried at the wet kiss you planted on his sore dick.

"Are you gonna cum for me?" you said. "Drain these pretty balls for me?" Another kiss, lower. "Isn't it embarrassing, rear admiral? Needing a pirate to help you cum."

"Just you," he admitted, closing his eyes.

"Just—?" Despite what must pass for Mihawk's teasing earlier, your eyes were wide with surprise.

"Of course, ma'am." Drake would seize this chance to tell you, no matter how desperate, delusional it made him look. "You have no idea what you did to me."

"Made you stupid, based on this mission you've failed." You were panting, on your knees, but still in control, and he couldn't say he never imagined being interrogated like this. "What was your plan?"

"C-capture—" Your devilish little tongue licked a stripe from his balls to his thick cockhead, and he stuttered. "Capture former Warlord Dracule Mihawk at sea."

You laughed, low and velvet. "Idiot."

And when you slurped your lips around him and drew him to the back of your throat, Drake knew you were his punishment for that hubris. You fisted the length that didn't fit, still longer than the width of your palm, and stroked his balls with your other hand. He whimpered at the grip of your tight throat, a vice rather than the sting of your slaps, and you let yourself gag before you pulled off for air.

"You still don't have a bounty," Drake said, and tears sparkled in your lashline as as you recovered yourself, still working him with your hands. "I was going to take you alive and hide you from Crocodile somewhere."

"Like a wife." With that, you spat on his cock, not for any lubricant but to show what you thought of that. "Is that what Diez Drake wants? A quiet life. A cumdump wife."

"No!" But he was lying. He'd never dreamed of leaving the Navy until the day he broke your heart, and you broke his nose.

You rolled your eyes. "Let's not forget our task here, rear—" The rest of his title was garbled on the hot, wet lick of your taking him again, with renewed purpose. Drake knew he wouldn't last with the visions from painkiller-induced daydreams you'd revived, of taking you from piracy whether you wanted it or not, filling you with his seed day and night, worshiping and punishing you like he doubted someone as austere as Basil Hawkins or someone as selfish as Crocodile did. Because you weren't real to him until now, just a beautiful would-be widow his mind turned like a doll, but the real you—

Was ruthless. Ate him up like the animal he was supposed to be. You had your own ideas of him and were unimpressed, but still swallowed his thick cock down your throat almost like you liked him, along with its load of hot, thick cum. You coughed around him from the sheer volume, but gamely continued to gulp. Some spilled out the corners of your lips, and you left it there as you smiled up at him, almost innocently.

"Better?"

Drake nodded stupidly.

"I said—" You stood and yanked the lapels of his coat harshly. "Better, rear admiral?"

"…Yes, ma'am." Inanely, he inclined his head, in a salute or a bow.

And to his bewilderment, you kissed his nose. "I'm ahead of you here," you murmured, tender for the first time. "Taking you away from the Marine. Aren't I?"

Drake couldn't help his smile.

[edenspoem]

YES PLEASE. BLOCKBUSTER ELLIE?? 90’s?? SIGN ME UP. WHERE DO I PUT MY NAME??😖😖🙏

- 🩵

a/n + cw; OMGG AN EMOJI ANON i haven't seen you guys in a hot minute, but YESSS BLOCKBUSTER ELLIE!! specifically x customer reader. it's a cute duo! and let me relay why from my very scrambled 3 am jot-down. was going to make this a blurb, but it better translates through something more structured. ++ SFW! kinda mean!reader tbh (but ellie likes that), very fluffy you might squeet, quickly written, awkwardness, ellie being a nerd. [first pic from amoaeIIie on pinterest]

Imagine Ellie, in her blockbuster getup, leaning her butt into the edge of the register counter, jamming to whatever is playing on her hand-me-down walkman; earsbuds in, eyes downcast, head bopping slowing - soundly unaware of you awaiting service on your over-due rental. "Hello?" your volume divides the soft ambiance of the store, but it isn't enough to rope Ellie's mindspace from the clouds. Calling out again, "Hell-looh?" you extend beyond the cash register and wave your hand - nothing, nada.

How the hell has this girl not gotten her ass fired yet?

After numerous roadblocks, a brazen last resort comes into play. You cut around the counter briefly to take things into your own hands (literally) because you have not the time, nor the patience, for her slacking off.

Beryl eyes drop sharply to the walkman in her pants pocket when a single earbud is spooled from her ear, assuming it fell - but to her surprise, it hung low from your finger, and a glance above that finger was your face. Risen of one brow, flat-lined of your lips; impatient.

And her entire focus blanks out when you begin to speak, curtly and satirically, "Hey, I know busting out your Dad's old walkman in public makes you feel cool and whatnot, but you're on the clock." handing the slim cord back over to a stunned girl, flushed behind the pop of her freckles. Maybe your tone of voice sent her higher into the clouds, past a coven of angels, because her lips part narrowly and remain still for a single second - save two or three. Or maybe it's 'cause you specified it as her 'Dad's' which was.. spot on.

And whatever excuse she had quickly cherry-picked for you, hesitated audibly in her throat before it split from it, "O-Oh, right, shit sorry - was about to end my shift n' thought the store was empty. My bad." scrambling to stuff the other earplug in her pocket and avert all attention to you. Very eagerly.

"Looks like you've got a late fee on this one.." her pitch pummeled deeper, and coarser as she concentrates on the clunky screen she hunches slightly to use. Scrunching the freckles of her face together, hogging the blue-lit screen. Poor girl probably forgot her glasses at home. "Annnd are you looking to rent the sequel?" she peeks her auburn head from the screen and holds up the cased movie, tracing her index over the plastic cleft, tapping twice. "To this - it has a second part."

There's no denying it: she is cute - and guilt rolls your guts around for being so snippy and sullen to her earlier. But based on her demeanor growing enthused the second she saw what movie you had in hand - she doesn't seem to care a hoot.

"Out of stock," replied you, indifferent-sounding - and strking; crossed arms, bent knee, stiffly-standing. Comparable to a millpond. "Guess I won't be the only person with late fees." you take a breath to jest, shaking loose strands of hair from your eyes.

"Haha," you're no world-class comedian; that joke wasn't all that funny, but the need to hurl any affirming noise at you, was necessary. Relenting to reflex. What can she say? Love at first sight! "Yeah, that seems like the agenda these days," Ellie sighs out, molding the plump of her lip under her teeth and reshapes it into a dorky smirk. Isn't she just a sweet chocolate-box of adorability?

"Hmm, bummer."

That hum and word trips into her ears, knocking some brain-cog, and an idea limns her features; they glow wide. "Actually - um, I've got a copy of the sequel at my place. Technically it's my Dad's, but.." her pitch fluctuates, mindlessly thumbing the case between two fiddly hands. "Maybe you can - if you want, not pressuring you or anything - come over?" she throws a pointed thumb backwards, motioning a potential future. "Watch it? If you weren't planning on watching it with somebody else."

Slick trick to seeing if you're single; of course you'd watch movies with your boyfriend - or girlfriend.

"Hmmm.." you hummed longer this time, and this time it admitted the mushrooming of an almost aggravating anticipation in her belly. Like you meant to torture her with 'hmms' and nothing but 'hmms' as your answer hung high in cloudy abeyance, until, "What's the name on your tag - ah, Ellie."

"Yeah?"

"Ellie," you confirm her name twice, and speak it to enthrall her full-scale attention. Made it sound fucking sugary sweet, through a swirly whisper and a twist of your head. "If you can give me a discount, or a full wipe on that late fee, then yes. It's a date."

Light panic ensues. "Date?" she croaks and laughs it off, "I mean - pshh, guess that's one way to put it." backtracking to her hunched, elbows-on-the-counter pose.

"You put it that way."

"Yeah, I just.. didn't wanna admit that." immediately, she uncurls her spine again, relaxing her muscles to somewhat peer at you. "Sure. No more fees." Rounded eyes lost - adamant on indirectly staring at you and the space below you, because Goddess forbid a stroke of idiocy flickers through her while gawking at you.

The store runs dead-quiet in the background of your conversation, leading you to one golden question. "Your shift over after this?"

Oh damn, her cheeks are pink. "Uh-huh," bet she's oblivious to that red-hot beam nearly bursting the seams to her face, too. Nasal lines fold as a severe smile tugs, shadowed by her bent thumb poking at it. "Takin' my car?"

And that's how you pick up girls at a video store in the 90s - the Ellie Williams way.

this isn't even the full idea

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

HBCU CONFESSIONS.

Part Four

One entire month.

Valencia wanted nothing to do with Erik. He had come to terms with that after many failed attempts at trying to talk to her. She blocked him, she hadn’t been active on the blog in weeks since her last message, and every time he would see her around campus or in the dorms, she would turn a blind eye or walk in the opposite direction. She even stopped studying in the library to avoid him. And the thing is, she didn’t look sad, hurt, or angry. She walked around campus with a pep in her step and she smiled brightly.

Moving on wasn’t hard for her apparently. Erik can respect that. He fucked up, even if he hadn’t intended to. He didn’t plan on rekindling anything with Jeanette. EVER. At D9 parties, it’s a routine to get a sexy dance from a SOROR, but Erik didn’t expect to be the chosen one. She hopped up in his arms and locked her legs around him in a vice grip. His brothers circled him and cheered him on. Erik dropped her and she went in for a kiss. Valencia was gone within two seconds.

She hadn’t seen the part where Erik laid into Jeanette’s ass about that. Everyone thought it was hilarious. He was pissed. The dancing, he could have told her no, which he knows he fucked up on, but that kiss was unexpected and DEFINITELY not what he wanted. He apologized many times, tried speaking to her in person, and even asked her roommate, Brielle, to relay a message to her. Her socials were private and she didn’t accept outside messages from people she didn’t follow.

He wasn’t going to invade her personal space and corner her. She wanted to be left alone, he’ll give her that. No more texts, no more blog messages, no more trying to talk to her in person. He wished her well although he still really liked her. He really wanted another shot. But it would take a lot of work because Valencia would not let up. Erik respected that. He loved it actually. Maybe he needed the wake up call. He’s so used to things being easy. Nothing challenged him. But this? She wouldn’t budge.

After an exhausting class, Erik decided to make a stop at Andrea’s office and get some insight from his friend. On his way there, James was leaving her office. He was in the middle of fixing his tie and looking really sneaky. Erik snorted and shook his head. It was obvious what they were doing in there. James turned towards Erik’s direction and he smiled. They dabbed and bro hugged.

“You lookin’ stressed, my nigga. What’s good?” James questions with a chuckle.

“Lady trouble,” Erik replied with a monotone voice.

“You? Lady trouble? Since when?”

“Since now, fool.”

James didn’t believe that for a second.

“Not Mr. Suave himself. Listen,” James clapped Erik on the shoulder, “Whoever it is, she’ll come around, bruh.”

“I can never take you serious, Yo’” Erik shakes his head with a smirk, “Drea still in there? Should I giver her some time or?”

Erik jokingly pointed to the door causing James to crack up.

“Knock first.”

James backed away, saluting Erik before making his way down the hall.

“Come in!”

Erik twisted the knob and peeked his head around the door cautiously.

“Is it safe to enter, or do you still need some time?”

“Erik!”

He laughed before opening the door further. Andrea was in the middle of fluffing her voluminous hair into a ponytail. She cut her eyes at Erik and gave him a look. He sauntered over to her desk, pulled out the chair, and proceeded to take a seat while cuffing the crotch of his slim fit slacks.

“What can I do for you, best friend?”

Andrea folded her hands on her desk, tapping into her professor energy.

“I figured I could come to you for some advice. Before we get into that though,” Erik sat back in his seat, folded his arms across his sturdy chest, and arched a brow, “I see things are moving along with you and Jay.”

“They are,” Andrea cleared her throat, “Rather nicely actually…”

“And all that worrying was for nothing. I told you it would work out, girl.”

“Thank you for being so supportive!” Andrea replied with an overzealous tone, “Enough about me. What’s going on?”

“…Valencia.”

Andrea sat up straighter. A smile slowly crept up her face.

“I know that you know that I KNOW,” Erik pointed his finger like Denzel, “who my crush is.”

Andrea chuckles, “Of course I know. Don’t I use the blog too? I saw what she sent weeks ago…”

Erik propped his elbows up on her desk.

“Tell me I fucked up.” Erik said.

“You fucked up. And Jeanette is a fucking nuisance.”

Erik exhaled, “The car wash is tomorrow afternoon. She’s gonna be there—”

“Then tell that ho to leave you alone, Erik! You know it’s harder for me to get buck because I work here and I can lose my job, but she needs a reality check. I mean…did you want to get back with her?—”

“Hell nah. I wasn’t expecting all of that. I’m interested in Valencia. I wanna make it right so we can continue getting to know each other.”

Andrea raised both of her brows and grabbed her drink tumbler, sipping her tea. Erik gave her a strange look.

“And yet you allowed that girl to throw herself all over you in front of her.”

“I didn’t allow—okay, okay…I should have been more proactive in stopping her. I see that now. What should I do?”

Erik was desperate. If nothing else worked, he would leave her be for good this time. He was tired of the mental turmoil. One second he wants to leave her be, next second he’s trying to figure out how to win her back. This shit was driving him crazy. He had this on top of school to worry about.

“You’re known to be that guy, right? And you’re such a romantic, right? Romanticize her. Do it for everyone to see. Be your most vulnerable self. Show her that you will do anything to get her back.”

Erik drummed his fingers against her desk and twisted his thick lips in deep thought.

“…All I’m saying is, she’s a really nice girl. She’s such a sweetie pie. She didn’t deserve that mess. Do whatever you gotta do, Daka, seriously. I like you with her,” Andrea smiles, “I want this to actually work.”

Erik bowed his head and smiled. Even that knowledge made him feel like complete shit. Even after she told him how she’d been mistreated in past relationships. Andrea was right, he needed to go all out with his approach to this.

_______

It’s an abnormally hot day, the sun beating down on all those melanated bodies in the parking lot. Erik makes his way over to his group, shirtless and wearing athletic shorts that showed off his muscular legs. He wore Adidas slides on his feet, polarized aviator sunglasses, and purple paint streaks beneath his eyes like a proud Que Dog. Three Omega branded scars were on his right bicep.

His chest and toned stomach with skin golden brown made the gold chain hanging around his neck pop. Throwing up the hooks in greeting, his Bruhz handed him a bucket full of sudsy water and a sponge. Today was the yearly charity carwash. They hosted the event at a local lot in Houston and booked a DJ, grilled food, and offered pouch drinks. All sororities and fraternities from TSU banned together. The turnout was always big, and cars were already lining up.

"Where the hell is Isaiah?" Erik protests.

A fellow Omega, Travis, shrugged his shoulders.

"He already in hot water with the shit that happened last weekend. He keep this shit up, he's getting cut."

Erik slaps hands with all his boys, even men from other fraternaties, grinning excitedly to be at the function. Just then, Isaiah came strolling over wearing nothing but purple basketball shorts, his Nike slides on his feet with a gold fanny pack with his letters on it hanging loosely across his chest. He had a crisp line-up and all like he'd just gotten out of the barber chair.

Erik inclines his head, pulling his sunglasses off and approaching the neophyte, "You're late, Static. Get your narrow ass over there and help those cars."

Erik shoved the soapy bucket and sponge in his hands.

"Chill, Poet, I had to grab some supporters," Isaiah tilts his head and jerks his thumb behind him, a group of pretty women in a neon green Jeep Wrangler waving over at them from their open window. They honked their horn and shook their titties at them.

"Hi, Poet! you lookin' real good!" One of the girls shouted.

Erik couldn't help that he was good-looking. He's a tall man with caramel skin that was a shade darker due to the southern heat. His athletic shorts hung low off of his hips and gave anybody that looked hard enough a preview of what was beneath. He was a walking thirst-trapper.

"See? they want you, Poet," Isaiah slapped his chest with the back of his hand, "I'm lookin' out for you."

Erik put his shades back on and walked away, Isaiah throwing his hands up.

Andrea and her line sisters were wearing fitted tanktops with their soro colors and letters on it. They had black biker shorts on and different types of black sandals. The Zetas wore their soro t-shirts and little denim shorts. Majority of the ladies were mostly covered up but when the AKAs arrived, it was a scene straight from ATL. Bikini tops and booty shorts. Andrea shared a look with her sisters and rolled her eyes. It was known for the AKAs to pop out and do the most, which made them the popular ones. Jeanette wore a pink bikini with her bundles in a ponytail covered with an AKA trucker hat.

Erik locked eyes with her through his sunglasses and Jeanette blew a kiss at him. Ignoring her, Erik jumps in to help, motioning for the next car to pull up. A middle-aged black woman with her toddler in the backset gave Erik heart eyes out of the window of her Honda Odyssey. Erik gave her a smirk, sponge and bucket in his hands.

"How much to clean my whip, handsome?"

"Twenty dollars, ma'am."

"Here you go..."

The lady boldly slipped the twenty in Erik's waistband. He shakes his head, Ignoring the laughter from everybody who caught that. He placed the money in a collection bucket before cleaning her car off.

"Get it extra clean for me baby!" She shouted with a wide smile.

While Erik cleaned, a Zeta walked over offering free water and the option to park and grab some cookout food or a mixed drink pouch. Erik grabbed the hose when he was finished and the woman rolled up her windows so he could rinse it down. When he was done, his shorts were soaked. He knew that it was only a matter of time before his big boy made an appearance. The woman drove off and Erik motioned for the next car. Erik spotted Isaiah running game so he whistled, Isaiah turning in his direction.

"Static, you better get to work boy! making your brothers look bad! us Nupe's are known for being clean!" A Kappa brother teased.

"Nah, G, we ain't letting a dirty dawg show us up! Poet! you better get yah boy in line! making ya'll look worse than he already did!"

Erik shot a pointed look at Isaiah. Isaiah walked over and got back to work, motioning for an all-black, 2019 Ford Focus to pull forward. Meanwhile, Erik took a water break and after drinking it all down, he used the hose on mist to spray his body. He could feel eyes on him and when he looked up, Jeanette was eye-fucking him while sucking on a Bomb Pop, the cherry lime of the popsicle dripping to her chest from her sloppy slurping. She made her way over and Erik shot a glance at Andrea.

"This is the first time in weeks that I've been this close to you," Jeanette licked her popsicle, "You avoiding me again?"

Erik threw a towel over his shoulder and shut his eyes before opening them to stare down at Jeanette.

"You're not still upset about that kiss are you?"

"I am. Because you don't know when to chill the fuck out." Erik argued.

He walked around her and Jeanette marched right after him. He waved his hand for a car to pull forward and they rolled their window down. The driver handed Erik some money and he placed it in his pocket before cleaning the car off.

"You act like what we had wasn't real! you said so yourself that we could make it work again. Or did you forget?!"

Erik agressively scrubbed the car, his annoyance towards Jeanette growing, "I never said that shit to you. You wasn't thinking about none of that with that nigga dick in your mouth." Erik quipped.

Jeanette and the driver had to look at Erik in disbelief that he even said that. Jeanette was so shocked that she dropped her popsicle. Erik continued cleaning the car like he didn’t just say what he said.

“Fuck you! I wasn’t going to wait around, Erik! Don’t act like you weren’t doing whatever it was you were doing!”

“I wasn’t though,” Erik glanced back at her over his sweaty shoulder, “Look, I’m not doing this with you. Why don’t you pitch in and help.”

Jeanette was fuming. She stomped away, grabbing the water hose out of a soro’s hand, turning it on the highest pressure before spraying Erik in his back. He flinched and dropped the bucket and sponge. He turned to her with rage. That was painful, especially since he hadn’t expected it.

“THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, GIRL!”

Erik really wanted to call her a bitch but he had to bite his tongue. She laughed right alongside her AKA sisters. Others snickered and laughed as well, not fully comprehending that Erik was seriously angry.

“What? You deserved it, Erik!” Jeanette yelled.

Erik grabbed an extra hose and sprayed the car down. He shook his head and flared his nostrils, heart thumping in his chest. When he finished, he walked over to Andrea and the other Deltas. She met him halfway and he turned for her to examine his back. The water hoses were attached to a fire hydrant. She could see that the middle of his back was bright red and irritated. James strolled over to look as well.

“You good, E?” James questioned.

“Jeanette is doing too fucking much. Look at her.”

Three pairs of eyes fell on Jeanette twerking on the hood of some guys car. It worked, because he gave her fifty dollars instead of twenty.

“I’ll be aight. She just needs to stay far the fuck away from me.” Erik spoke angrily.

“I’m here if you need me,” Andrea said.

Erik walked away and picked up his sponge and bucket. After refilling the bucket, he made his way back over. He kept cutting his eyes at Jeanette. He wanted his lick back for that. So much for ignoring her. Taking the bucket, while her back was turned, Erik dumped it over her head. She screeched and flailed her arms.

“OH MY GOD!!!! MY HAIR!!!!!”

Jeanette snatched her hat off and rubbed soap from her face. She turned a rageful gaze towards Erik and he laughed in her face. Laughter echoed across the lot.

“You started it!”

“Awww! Now you’re mad!”

“Get her ass, Poet!”

She pushed Erik and stormed past him to grab a towel. He made a crybaby motion with his hands as if he were rubbing his eyes. Some of her AKA sisters rushed to her aid and they didn’t hesitate to shoot Erik dirty looks. That’ll teach her ass not to fuck with him again. Erik refilled his bucket with a smirk on his face as he watched Jeanette drying her weave. She noticed and gave him the finger. Erik returned the gesture.

Some time went by, everyone working hard and raising money. The next car, Isaiah motioned to pull in and when they did, he recognized them and spoke their name. Erik heard and his head whipped in that direction so fast he could have twisted his neck. His once sour mood was no replaced with anticipation.

“Valencia, what’s up girl?”

Valencia was sitting in the passenger side of Brielle’s white 2019 Nissan Altima. Skai and Cindy were in the backseat. Brielle was wearing a yellow tube dress and her braids down and flipped to the side. She accessorized with octagon-shaped silver hoops and Y2K shades with butterflies.

“Hello,” She gave him a wave before passing him a twenty, “This is my donation.”

Brielle, Skai, and Cindy handed over their money.

“You ladies wanna stick around for some good vibes? Just pull in after I’m done.” Isaiah said.

“Will do. It looks lit out here,” Brielle looked around with a smile.

Isaiah couldn’t stop staring at Valencia. She glanced up at him with a straight face.

“Aren’t you gonna clean the car?” She questioned.

“Yeah but I’m tryna see what’s up—”

“STATIC!”

All four ladies and Isaiah followed their gaze towards the source of the shouting. Erik walked over with his usual gait. He paused in front of Isaiah and pointed to the car behind them.

“Get yo’ ass back there and clean that Jeep pulling in.” Erik ordered.

Isaiah kissed his teeth but before he walked away, he grabbed Valencia’s hand that was dangling out of the car window, kissing it before giving it an affectionate squeeze. She jerked her hand away, staring at him with her nose turned up.

“I love it when you play hard to get, girl!”

Erik put the sponge in the bucket and placed his hand on the hood of the car, leaning in towards the open window to peek inside. He still had his shades on, so Valencia was staring at her reflection through the lenses. She looked visibly tense, toying with her hair and jerking her leg.

“How’s everything, ladies?”

“They all said ‘good’ in unison, all except for Valencia. Erik caught Brielle trying to be discreet with bumping Valencia with her arm. Valencia shifted in her seat.

“…I’m doing great, you?”

This was the most she’d said to him in a month. He parted his lips but no words came out. Erik furrowed his brows and cleared his throat.

“I’m good. Been busy…”

He tapped the hood of the car. If only she were alone.

“…Are you gonna clean us off?” Brielle asked.

The awkward tension between them was palpable.

“Yeah, I gotchu, arms in and roll up the windows tight.”

They did as they were told, Valencia and Erik staring each other down. He went to work sudsing up the sponge and then he started with the back of the car first. He then moved onto the hood of the car, taking his time to get every spot. He walked around to the drivers side to clean the front and back doors and windows, and then he made his way around to the passenger side. Erik scrubbed the back down, then he was right at Valencia’s window again.

She focused her eyes forward while he cleaned but when he made it to the front window, Erik watched as her eyes scanned his body. He titled his head towards her, licked his lips, and flashed her a grin. She quickly averted her gaze to her lap and Brielle’s eyebrows disappeared behind her curly ginger bag. Skai and Cindy were giggling in the backseat. Erik retrieved the hose and started spraying the car down. He stood at the front of the car again, smirking at her through the window.

Erik walked over to Valencia’s side when he finished and Brielle eagerly rolled the window down. Valencia shot her a look and then she turned her attention to Erik who was leaning into the window. Valencia inhaled slowly and then exhaled a shaky breath. Removing his sunglasses, Erik kept his gaze pointed at Valencia. Now, she had no other choice but to look him directly in the eyes.

“…Got you ladies all cleaned up. Why don’t ya’ll stick around for a while? Grab some food, dance a little…”

He was really asking Valencia.

“Oh, we will. Right V?” Skai said.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Brielle replied, fighting the urge to laugh.

Erik waited anxiously for her to speak.

“…sure. We’ll hang out for a little while.” Valencia said.

“Bet. Say less…”

Erik stood at his full height, his lower half in her face. He slowly backed away and Brielle pulled off.

——————

They’d just finished the last few cars and by then the lot was filled with people having a good time. Erik slipped on a cropped golden yellow muscle tee that had Omega Psi Phi printed on the front in purple letters and the fraternity logo in the center. He sipped from a Blue Raspberry drink pouch that had some Hipnotic in it. He took pictures with his bruh’s and other fraternity buddies as well as the ladies

Valencia was leaning against the side of Brielle’s car, drinking a watermelon mixed drink. Erik kept looking over at her, wanting to approach her badly. Jeanette hadn’t bothered him since the hose incident and he was grateful. They were too busy putting on a performance, doing an AKA stroll to entertain people. Like clock work, Isaiah approached Valencia to talk to her and Erik noticed that he had one too many drinks. He kept grabbing Valencia’s arm and Erik could tell that she wasn’t asking for any of that attention.

Erik jogged over and yoked Isaiah up by the collar of his T-shirt. Valencia looked up at Erik with wide eyes. Others started paying attention as well.

“The fuck you doin’, Static?” Erik barked out.

“We were just talking, right, Valencia?”

Isaiah looked at her expectantly. She cut her eyes at him to Erik and then Valencia shoves him out of her way before storming off. Erik let go of Isaiah and pushed him back, causing him to stumble.

“Yo, what the fuck is your problem, Erik?!” Isaiah questioned with frustration.

“You don’t know what no means, nigga? And how much have you been drinking?”

“I only had two drinks, relax. You got a thing for Valencia or something? Every time I try and talk to her, here you come cock-blocking.” Isaiah fired back.

A few Bruhz came over to see what was going on.

“All good?”

“It’s cool. Poet can’t stand it when it ain’t all about him, that’s all,” Isaiah jokes.

Erik cut his eyes at Isaiah, one of their brothers clapping him on the shoulder to calm him down. He tried to get Erik riled up with some barking and goofing around and Erik gave in. The party continued and then the sky turned a deep orange. Erik could see Valencia walking towards a trash can to throw away her plate. It was now or never. Erik walked over towards her with his hands in his pockets and before she could walk away, he took a hold of her hand and she looked up at him.

“Valencia, can we talk? Please?”

“No, Erik—”

“I’m sorry, okay? Look,” Erik let go of her hand, “I know that I fucked up. I should have stopped her from jumping on me like that. The kiss—you ran away so fast you didn’t see how pissed I was that she kissed me. I don’t want her…I wasn’t planning on rekindling anything with Jeanette…”

Valencia looked down at her feet. She kicked at the ground with her arms folded. She finally looked up at him, her eyes searching his. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and feel those lips again. She looked so damn sexy in that dress.

“Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to come thru at Poetry Live tonight? I’m gonna recite some new shit and…I’d really like to see you there. Will you think about it?”

Erik tilted his head down at her. She pondered, her cafe noir eyes looking heavenward. Valencia exhaled, staring up at Erik through her lashes. He waited with bated breath. She parted her full lips to speak.

“I’ll be there.”

Erik cracked a dimpled smile. Valencia gave him a small smile and then a quick once-over before walking away. Erik made it back to his group and he spotted Valencia and her friends leaving. It was definitely a step into the right direction. Erik was happy about that. Andrea made her way over to him with a knowing smile.

“I saw that, Daka. So, is she coming?”

“She’ll be there. I’m a lil’ nervous. Not gonna lie.”

Andrea laughed, “you got this!”

“I just wanna make it right. I want us to get back to how things were, you know? I was just getting to know her in so many ways…”

Erik cut his eyes at Andrea and she stared at him with her mouth agape.

“I BET,” Andrea rolls her eyes.

After another hour, they started to shut things down and it took them another hour to make sure everything was cleaned up before heading out. Erik was exhausted with no time to get rest since he had to get ready for tonight. He made it back to his RA dorm with a sweaty body and tired limbs. Dropping his gym bag onto the floor, he grabbed his towel, rag, soap, and a fresh pair of briefs with a pair of basketball shorts.

In the showers, he cleaned himself off good, thinking about the night to come. Valencia was going to be there, and he hoped that she would give him a second chance. After rinsing off the second round of soap, Erik pat dried his skin and before he exited the shower, he slipped on his briefs and shorts. Towel over his shoulder, he exited the bathroom and made his way down the hall to his room which was a short distance away.

Back inside, he shut his door and turned on some music to get ready to. He took off his shorts and opened his closet to grab an outfit he planned to wear.

Ping.

Erik paused.

That sound could only be from one thing. He took long strides to his lap top on his desk and pulled out the chair. He touched the mouse pad to wake his lap top screen up and then he went straight for Tumblr. There, he clicked on his message thread and his eyes scanned back and forth, reading the words.

ebonygoddess1990s: I know it’s been a while. I’ve gone an entire month not speaking to him. Today I spoke to him for the first time and it reminded me of what happened at that D9 party. He asked me to come to Poetry Live tonight and I’m a little nervous. A part of me wants to forgive him, but the other part of me has trust issues. What should I do?

Erik for the first time didn’t know what to say. He didn’t feel right messaging her. He could simply persuade her into forgiving him, but then that would be manipulation. He slowly closed his laptop and stood up from his seat at the desk.

He was going to make it right as authentically as possible.

————

“How do I look?”

“Girl…you look damn good.”

Brielle snapped her fingers while Valencia did a turn. She was all dressed up herself in a denim dress with platform chunky brown heels and her big, curly ginger hair styled in two Afro puffs.

“He’s gonna love it.” Brielle said.

“…this isn’t for him, it’s for me.”

Brielle rolls her eyes at the ceiling, “Right. Sure.”

They grab their bags and then head out of the dorm room. Skai was going to drive tonight. Cindy and her were waiting in the car. They left the dorms and headed towards the parking lot. There, they spotted Skai and she was talking to Dior. Valencia’s footsteps slowed down and she instantly grew defensive. Brielle looked at her with an equally angry expression.

“Let me go, I’ll see you there…”

Dior looked at Valencia.

“Brielle,” She touched her arm, “Valencia—”

Valencia smacked her hand away. Hard. Dior raised up on her and Brielle leaped between them.

“Let’s get going! Right, Val?” Brielle pleaded.

Brielle looked over at Skai for help. Skai walked towards them and grabbed Dior by the arm.

“Yeah, let me go before I drag this bitch all over the parking lot!” Valencia shouted after Dior.

Dior yanked her arm out of Skai’s grip.

“Awww still mad your crush doesn’t want you?”

“Dior!” Skai yelled, “Chill out!”

Dior put her hands up, “I’m chill. She’s the one that put her fucking hands on me.”

“I should have been put my hands on you!!!!” Valencia screamed.

“THEN WHAT’S GOOD?!” Dior screamed back.

“Just go, Dior,” Skai moved her towards her car.

“I’m going. Just as long as she stays over there.”

Dior backed away to her car with a big grin on her face. There was a girl in passenger seat, laughing at the entire thing. Dior got in her car and drove off. Valencia took meditating breaths while Brielle tried to calm her down.

“She pulled up to my car to talk, Valencia. I wasn’t trying to start trouble,” Skai spoke to her defense.

Brielle ignored Skai. She loved her friend but if she was going to keep being friends with Skai knowing that she didn’t like Valencia and was probably talking shit about her, she had to cut her off too. They all got back into the car, Cindy rubbing Valencia’s shoulder.

She just wanted to have a good night. Megan Thee Stallion Cognac Queen came one and Valencia started rapping the lyrics. She wasn’t going to let that dumb bitch ruin her night.

Her makeup looked good, her outfit is sexy, she felt the hottest she’s ever felt. She felt great. She rolled her window down and as the air whipped across her face, she couldn’t get Erik off of her mind. Valencia couldn’t help but smile to herself. He looked extra scrumptious today. The effort he took into winning her back made her feel good. She wanted him to know that she could easily forget about him and move on.

Erik still tried. This man could have any woman on campus, hell, even his crazy ex girlfriend, and yet he didn’t want her or anyone else but Valencia. She couldn’t control the butterflies. It’s been a month too long. She could only hope that tonight would go right.

“We’re here.”

It was a huge turnout. Brielle parked and they all stepped out. From the outside looking in, Poetry Live was packed like sardines.

“Please tell me Russ saved a table for us,” Cindy said.

“I hope so, because I am not standing.” Brielle said.

They were carded at the door and when they were in the clear, all four of them walked inside. Cindy took the lead, searching the crowded room until she pointed towards a round table with a great view of the stage. They squeezed through people dancing and having a good time with drinks in their hands. Cindy wrapped her arms around her boyfriend’s shoulders and went in for a kiss. Valencia sat her bag on the table and looked around. As she scanned the room, her eyes fell on Erik, sitting at a table with Andrea, James, and a few of their friends.

Valencia’s eyes scanned his body from head to toe. He had a fresh retwist and he was dressed nice with a layered gold chains hanging from his neck and black diamond earrings in his ears. He didn’t have his glasses on tonight, so Valencia could see his onyx eyes more clearly beneath the lights. She shifted in her seat and fiddled with the strap of her bag when he finally looked over at her. They locked eyes and then a slow smirk crept up his lips. She felt hot all over. He waved to her and Valencia returned the gesture. He checked her out from across the room and with an appreciative nod, he mouthed ‘you look amazing’.

Valencia blushes and mouthed ‘thank you’ in response. She reluctantly pulled her gaze away and released a shaky breath. He always makes her so flustered.

“Everyone looks so nice tonight like it’s a special occasion!” Brielle said with a sonorous tone.

“I know! We need drinks!” Cindy declared ecstatically.

“I second that,” Valencia fanned herself.

Their waiter returned and they put their orders in. Valencia looked around the room again and in a booth seat, Jeanette and Dior sat surrounded by their AKA sisters. They were dancing and causing a scene since they needed to be the center of attention at all times.

“SKEE-WEE!!! SKEE-WEE!!!!”

A few Zetas threw up kitty hand signs, Deltas threw up triangles, Sigmas threw up three fingers with their thumb and ring finger down.

Their drinks came and Valencia automatically took sips of her Long Island Iced Tea. She couldn’t stop herself from looking over at Erik’s table again and he was stomping around like a proud Que with his Bruhz Valencia giggled at Erik’s mug. He settled back in his seat and took a sip of his drink.

After some time, the lights in the room went dim and a spot light hit the stage. It was a spotlight with a purple hue. Valencia was nursing her second drink, taking careful sips so she wouldn’t get drunk too fast. She was too busy turning up with her friends to notice that Erik himself took the stage. He walked up to the mic apprehensively, grabbing the pole with one hand while adjusting the mic with his other. The sound of the mic caused everyone to turn their attention towards him.

Valencia looked at him and her smile disappeared from her face and in its place was a nervous look. Erik’s presence on that stage commanded the room to silence. The only sound being that of Usher Dot Com instrumental. Valencia scanned the room, and then her eyes looked towards the stage again.

“Hello…hello…hello. I’m sure most of you know me but I’m gonna introduce myself anyway. My name is Erik. My friends call me E, Daka—that’s short for my middle name, N’Jadaka, and Poet. Uhm,” he placed his hands in his pockets, “It’s been years since I’ve been on this stage. Tonight I have some new shit,” Erik chuckles nervously, taking one hand out of his pocket to run over his locs, “This is for you, Valencia.”

Valencia’s eyes went round like saucers. Her eyebrows shot up as she looked around the table at her friends, all of which were staring back at her with big goofy smiles. One by one, they each pulled a rose from beneath the table and handed it to her. Valencia clutched her chest, the roses placed in front of her on the table rendering her speechless. Others stood from their tables and walked over, handing her red roses painted with glitter.

“W—What?” She accepted another rose, “I can’t believe…”

After the last person, Andrea, handed her a rose. Valencia had a full bouquet in her hand. She wanted to cry. This was the most beautiful thing a guy has ever done for her. And it wasn’t over. She looked up at Erik with glossy eyes. He smirked at her and gave her a wink.

Valencia…

I'm sorry for what I've done

I'm sorry for who I've been

Sorry for where its gone

So sorry to lose a friend

I’m sorry I kiss your plump lips in my sleep

So sorry I can’t get you off my mind

As I lose myself and find myself

I’m sorry if I wonder do I ever cross your mind

So hypnotizing…

Your soft voice and bashfully beautiful gaze

I’m sorry we’re apart

I’m not sorry I’m falling for you though

Forgive me if I can’t help that I want you

Forgive me…

If I stumble and fall.

Too clumsy…and my words do not form as I wish

So let me kiss you and let my lips paint for you

All that I feel in my heart.

Let my hands touch again…and my mouth again…

Erik paused. The suspense of his words blanketing the room. Valencia drew her bottom lip into her mouth. She could never…would never forget how his mouth felt on her pussy. Saying that on stage in front of everyone…

Every rose I gave to you

I hope brings a smile to you face

Inside each rose is a piece of my soul

So Valencia

I want your trust more than anything

Baby girl

It was a bad decision

And now I want you here

So please take me back

'Cause I need you right now

Vulnerable words from your Poet…

Erik backed away from the mic, and instead of snaps, everyone clapped. There was a standing ovation. Erik exited the stage and walked over to Valencia. She stood up and tears rolled down her cheeks. She opened her arms and Erik pulled her in for a tight hug. He pulled away and Valencia surprised with a kiss to the cheek. It didn’t matter if it was the lips or the cheek, he was happy as hell.

“This is so much—Erik, thank you,” Valencia blotched her eyes dry.

“Anything to put a smile on your face again,” Erik said.

————

Valencia returned to her dorm room with a smile and her bouquet of roses pressed against her chest tightly. That was the sweetest most sincere thing any guy has ever done for her. She liked Erik even more. Brielle decided to stay with Skai for the night and Valencia was grateful because she needed to process this alone. The fact that her friends even knew what was going to happen all this time and they didn’t give her a hint amazed her.

Valencia sat on her bed to take off her shoes. As she did, she looked at the selfies she took with Erik before she left. Her phone vibrated and she noticed it was a text from Erik. She unblocked him on the ride over. Valencia read his text and she instantly smiled.

Erik: care for a night swim?

Valencia knew that he would be texting her. He whispered to her that he planned to send her a text with a surprise later. So, he wanted to go swimming? Valencia smiled at her phone as she texted a reply.

Valencia: absolutely ☺️

Erik: Cool. I’ll meet you there. Bring a change of clothes 😈

Valencia shot up from bed and headed towards her closet. She opened a drawer that stored all of her bikinis and found an orange one. A pink body con, a thong, sandals, and a few pieces of jewelry went into a bag. She quickly undressed and put the bikini on with Erik’s hoodie on top. She slipped on a pair of slides and grabbed her bag, phone, and keys. She made her way over to the pool and when she got there, Erik was nowhere to be found. She shot him a quick text message outside of the entrance to the pool.

Valencia: Where are you?

Erik: One second

The door opened and Erik was dressed in a pair of blue swim shorts that hugged his thighs. He was shirtless and still rocking the gold chains. His locs were in his face, almost long enough to cover his eyes. He opened the door further and Valencia slipped inside. The luminescent swimming pool looked calm and lonesome. The blue hue created the same glow around them. The tiny ripples created a specular reflection across their bodies as they dress closer.

Placing her bag down, Valencia took off the hoodie and sat it on a bench. She stepped out of her slides and walked over towards Erik. His eyes roamed her body, and then he licked his lips. Valencia sat down on the edge of the pool and Erik joined her. Their feet slipped into the water and it felt warm. She turned to look at him before timidly avoiding his gaze to stare down at the water. Erik didn’t take his eyes off of her.

“That was beautiful, Erik.” Her voice echoed as she spoke.

“Thank you. It wasn’t my best but…It was definitely my most vulnerable.” Erik said.

“Well, I thought it was heartfelt and sweet. How the hell did you get everyone to go along with it?”

Erik laughs, “The car wash? I pretty much went around and asked every one if they wanted to participate. The roses were planted there beneath the tables.”

“Very clever,” Valencia giggles.

“I knew you weren’t gonna let me off the hook that easily, and for that…I thank you.”

Valencia looked up at him through her lashes.

“…I’m happy we can start off where we left off.” Erik said.

“Me too…I did miss you…I just….I have major trust issues.”

Erik shrugged, “I get it. You ain’t gotta explain that to me.”

Valencia tucked her chin and smiled.

“The water looks good,” Valencia stood up, “I’m getting in. Are you coming?”

“Yeah.”

She stepped into the pool from the ladder and backstroked towards the deep end. Erik swam over towards her, water splashing on Valencia. She giggled, splashing Erik back even though it wasn’t intentional that he got water in her face. Back and forth they played water tag.

“Okay! Stop!” Valencia shielded her face, “Truce!”

“You givin’ up that easily, girl?” Erik teases.

“Yes, I am. You’re stronger.” Valencia said.

“Am I?”

Erik swam over and picked Valencia up. She squealed before Erik tossed her playfully, Valencia going under. She reappeared, smoothing her braids from her face. Erik laughed at her attempt to glare at him. It was cute. They circled each other, staring each other down. Valencia broke the eye contact first. Erik inched closer. They paddled their arms and propelled their legs to stay afloat. Erik looked so delicious. Valencia couldn’t help but to reach up and smooth his locs back from his eyes.

“…You’re so handsome,” Valencia shyly looked at him.

“And you’re so beautiful.” Erik replied.

The sound of his voice bouncing off of the walls shot straight to her pussy.

“I want to kiss you…” Erik whispered.

Valencia turned away from Erik. He watched her go under, swimming away from him. Erik followed and took in a breath before going beneath the water. He swam, following her until she turned his way, still under water. She broke the surface and Erik was right there, centimeters away from her face. They stared into each other’s eyes and then Valencia’s back hit the edge of the pool. Erik trapped her there. Water dripped from his hair and made his lashes look wet and curled.

“…Can I kiss you?”

Valencia looked from his lips to his eyes. She slowly nodded her head and Erik closed the space between them, his lips crashing into hers desperately. He yearned for her lips. Erik grunted against her lips. Valencia opened up and Erik swiped his tongue across her teeth. Valencia draped her arms over his shoulders and Erik gripped the edge of the pool harder. His chest and crotch were pressed snuggly against Valencia’s body.

Their heads swiveled from left to right, tongues dancing, their lips moved together in a sloppy manner. It was hot, sexy, steamy, and passionate all at the same time. Valencia wrapped her thighs around Erik and he took that opportunity to pick her up. They moved towards the center of the pool and after sucking each other’s faces off for minutes, Erik came up for air. That didn’t stop him from kissing her. His lips were on her neck now.

“Mmmm,” Valencia moaned.

His lips kissed the tops of her breasts and between them. He looked her in the eyes while doing it. She knew what he wanted. Valencia slowly grabs one of Erik’s large hands and guides it to her bikini strings. He didn’t take his eyes off of hers as his fingers pulled, the top falling from her chest. Erik’s eyes dropped down to admire them. B-cup, perky, with perfect nipples and areolas. Deep brown and tasty.

“Damn, baby,” Erik whispered, “Fucking beautiful…”

His lips were on hers again and then he broke the kiss, lifting her up more so that her breasts were in his face practically. Staring up at her, Erik wrapped his thick lips around her left nipple and started sucking. That sensation was a tickle that went straight to her pussy. Her clit jumped, her inner thighs gripped him tighter, and her breathing became uneven.

Erik took his time sucking each nipple. They were so stiff and begging for attention. The sensation of his warm mouth and soft lips did that. She couldn’t watch him doing it anymore, it was too much. She instead moaned towards the ceiling with her eyes shut. Now, his tongue flicked her nipples. Valencia looked down with her beautiful mouth parted, tiny breaths of pleasure from between her lips. She loved that he took attention to her breasts. Her ex would suck a nipple for only ten seconds. Isaiah didn’t even care to do it.

Another box checked off her list.

“Erik…”

He lightly nibbled with his teeth on the tips of her nipples. She gripped his shoulders tightly. He dragged his tongue and lips all over her areolas like a starved man. Valencia couldn’t take it anymore. She tried to move her chest away from Erik’s mouth but he wouldn’t stop. Her body tensed up and she started to panic. What the hell was happening?

“Unh…Erik…uh—uh—uhhhhh—”

Her body trembles, as if the water ran cold. He pressed his face between her breasts and exhaled. Did she just experience an orgasm from nipple play? A wetness that didn’t come from the water made her pussy hot and sticky. Erik looked up at her with a smirk and Valencia couldn’t help but giggle.

“That was intense and out of my control.” she spoke breathlessly.

“Didn’t I tell you I can be your first of many things, beautiful?”

“Yes,” Valencia bites her lip. “Getting freaky in a pool is definitely something I’ve never done.”

“Hmm,” Erik brought her down so that they were face to face, “Getting your pussy ate pool side sounds amazing right now, don’t you think?”

Erik’s hand came down to sit between Valencia’s legs. He cupped her pussy in his hand over her bikini bottoms and slowly rubbed up and down. His thick digits applied pressure to her clit and he could feel her piercing. Valencia closed her eyes and parted her lips.

“Nah…look at me…”

She took her time opening her eyes. When she did, she was staring into Erik’s eyes.

“I still have those panties…”

She shuddered. Yes, her used thong from a month ago.

“They still smell amazing by the way.”

A sly smirk painted his thick lips. She looked away. She couldn’t believe this man still had them! That was the nastiest thing and she loved it.

“…what do you do with them?” Valencia asked with a small voice.

“Well…I sit them on my face and I just…beat my dick whenever I think about you…”

Her face grew hot and she shifted in his embrace but Erik made sure she didn’t move. His hand rubbing up and down felt so good. Valencia started circling her hips while his hand rubbed. He chuckled at her and that Que tongue teased her.

“I guess you can say I’m obsessed. I need a new pair to add to my collection…”

“What else are you obsessed with…sexually?”

Valencia had to chew on her bottom lip to control the tremors. He started rubbing her clit in a circle with his finger tips.

“I have fetishes and kinks…bondage…voyeurism…exhibitionism…toe-sucking…that’s just to name a few.”

Valencia is familiar with BDSM but she’d never experienced any of it. He has a foot fetish and that’s something she always found interesting. She’s very ticklish, so she hoped Erik wouldn’t do that to her. She wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“How about you?”

Valencia blinked away from him, “Uhm…well I do have some kinks for some things—I’ve never tried—it’s not as hot as yours though.”

Erik cocked his head. They floated towards the edge of the pool again and Erik sat her down. He stood between her legs and looked up at her eagerly.

“You can still tell me,” Erik said with a reassuring voice.

“…okay…I consider myself to be a size queen.”

Erik lifted a single brow.

“Do you know what that means—”

“I do. You prefer big dicks. Bigger than average dicks.”

It was the way he said that. Valencia couldn’t look him in the eye after that. Erik laughs.

“Sexual partners with bigger dicks…coming from you, that’s…not what I expected.”

“What did you expect then?”

“DD/LG. Sex talk…you know size queens take dick, right?”

Erik emphasized dick strongly.

“I know,” Valencia looked away shyly.

“Aight,” Erik smiled playfully at her, “What else?”

“…I feel like I have an oral fixation…”

“Me too. I definitely do,” Erik chuckled.

He reached up to stroke between her legs. She shut her thighs and trapped his hand there.

“Spread your legs, Valencia…”

She did as she was told.

“Bring your feet up and open wider…”

She leaned back and carefully brought her legs up one-by-one. Her pussy was sitting phat between her legs from that position. Erik got closer, taking his thick fingers to push her panties to the side. What he saw blew his mind. Her wetness had a slimy consistency to it that connected to her bikini bottom. She was ready for some dick and his mouth. He used his thumb to peel back her outer lip and the more he did, the more it leaked.

“Fuck…you should see this…you’re so fucking wet, girl…”

Valencia scooted her hips towards the edge and Erik used his tongue to swipe between her outer lips. Valencia placed a hand on the back of his head. He was slurping and sucking at the same time. Anything to get all of that tasty stuff in his mouth. He flicked his tongue up between her folds and the sensation caused her clit to ache in the best way.

“Yes…mmm…Erik, that feels so good…I missed your mouth…”

That was music to his ears. She could hear him smacking his lips and the sound of his wet tongue.

“Daddy…yes…please don’t stop…make me cum…”

Pushing her thighs back, Erik did just that. He didn’t stop. He sucked that bejeweled clit into his mouth and sucked to his heart’s desire and it tugged on Valencia’s heartstrings. She had his locs in her fist. Her wet braids fell over her face. Her naked chest thrust forward. It was the most erotic thing.

“Oh my gosh!”

Her body spasmed and Erik dipped his tongue into her entrance so he could catch it all. Every drop needed to be on his tongue. Valencia pushed his head away and sat up. Erik shook his locs from his eyes and licked her sticky sweetness from his lips.

“We need to take this shit to my room now…I can’t do what I wanna do to you here…”

Valencia knew she was in trouble. He gave her this look and she just knew.

————

They entered the Omega Psi Phi house and Erik shut the door softly. Hand in hand, they crept up the stairs and when they both made it to the top landing, Erik led Valencia down the hall to his right. Majority of the house was still out for the evening. His room door was the most decorated out of the ones at the end of this hall. He took out his keys from his hoodie pocket and opened his door. Valencia slipped inside first and then Erik came in right behind her before shutting his door and locking it again. The room was cloaked in darkness with a little light from the streetlights outside peeking through the blinds. Erik took her bag from her and she could see his silhouette moving towards a desk.

He flicked on a lamp and adjusted the lighting so that it was dim. A yellow ambiance filled one corner of the room and the area where the bed resided was 80% dark. Valencia thought it was the perfect glow for what was about to go down. Erik proceeded to take his laptop out of his book bag and Valencia made herself comfortable on his bed. It was neatly made and fluffy. Some music played and Valencia figured it was to muffle the noises they were about to make but one thing about her, if it feels good, she can’t keep quiet.

Erik took off his hoodie and T-shirt. He stood in front of her with a bare chest and shorts on. They took a quick rinse after swimming. Valencia removed Erik’s hoodie from her body and her panties. She kicked off her slides and went to shield her body with her legs. Erik walked up to her on his bed and while his eyes looked down at her, he slowly peeled his shorts off. Valencia watched his movements with a steady gaze.

She could see that he was well groomed down there. When his dick bobbed out, she went still with speechlessness. It was thick, long, and veiny with heavy balls to match. Shaft the color of hickory and the tip reminded her of cinnamon. Something you would see in a porno. She’d never seen a dick this big in person. That’s all she had to compare it to. Valencia didn’t even want to venture a guess as to how big he is. Tonight was going to be the night where she explored her size queen fantasies.

“You’re so big…”

Valencia wrapped her small hand around him. Her fingers barely touched. She didn’t want to look scared, but she was. She replaced her shocked expression with a flirty smile. Erik reached down and caressed her chin. She knew what he wanted. She wished she’d practiced for this. She wanted to impress this man badly with skills she didn’t possess. Sure, she could give head, but would he enjoy it?

“Valencia.”

She was knocked out of her daze. Sitting up on her knees, she leaned forward while gently stroking him. Valencia would dart her eyes up at him timidly while his fat dick was in her face. So much dick.

Don’t chicken out, she thought.

“Go on, don’t act all shy, get a taste.”

Valencia let go of his shaft to push her braids back over her shoulders. Erik helped her by taking her braids into his fist loosely.

“Thank you,” She took him into her grasp again.

Fear flashed before her eyes and Erik used his thumb to stroke her chin again.

“C’mon, don’t be scared. Not with lips like that…”

She giggled nervously. Valencia leaned in and flicked her tongue along the tip of his dick like she was testing the waters. Erik’s grunt made her kiss his tip with her juicy lips.

“Stop teasing me and suck this dick.”

Valencia opened her mouth and Erik tugged on her braids so she could look up at him. She shut her eyes while sucking his wide tip into her mouth. That action alone made her jaws sore.

“Open your eyes, Valencia,” Erik tugged on her hair, “What I say?”

He was starting to show his dominance more and more. Valencia blinked up at him, the view from her position a sight for sore eyes. That body and that face with that big dick in her hand was all too much. She sank her lips deeper, and Erik exhaled a longing breath.

“You got a tight ass throat, ma…”

Valencia popped her lips off.

“I’m sorry—”

“Nothing to apologize about, baby. Put that mouth back on daddy’s dick.”

She did as she was told.

“There you go, put some more in there…”

She squeezed her thumb and breathed through her nose. A technique she’d learned about but never really used. She wasn’t a throat goat but she’d never had to challenge herself until she met Erik.

“Good girl…mmm.”

She added more spit to her sucking. There was no way she was going to fit all of him in her mouth. Valencia stroked him like she was grinding pepper with one hand while she sucked whatever she could.

“Look at you, all that being scared and you sucking it just like I like it…nice and slow…lots of spit…such a nasty girl.”

Erik licked his lips at her and his eyes were low. He kept making these grunting noises in his throat. She loved it so much.

“Those lips…feel so good on my dick, baby…”

Erik did something she wasn’t prepared for. He thrust his hips forward a little and more of his dick sank down her throat. Valencia gagged and her body jerked away from the feeling. Spit was hanging from her mouth and she looked up at him with wet eyes.

“Did I tell you to stop sucking?”

“N–no,” Valencia sniffled.

Erik tapped her lips with his dick.

“Open your mouth.”

Panic set in. She opened up and Erik had a hand on the back of her head and one on her throat. He started fucking her mouth slow. Valencia placed a hand on his thigh to try and control him. A knock suddenly came to Erik’s door and not once did he stop.

“Poet! Me and the rest of the guys were going out for drinks. You wanna roll out, dog?”

“Nah! I’m good. I’ll see ya’ll tomorrow!”

Erik bites down on his bottom lip when her lips popped off. He rubbed his dick along her lips, dribbling her lips with his tip before whispering for her to open the fuck up.

“Aight! We’ll catch up!”

When the coast was clear, Erik groaned.

“When I cum don’t you come up off this dick, you hear me?”

“Mhm,” Valencia couldn’t use her mouth at the moment to reply. Only sounds.

She sucked and sucked and her jaws ached but she was determined to make him cum. She was doing so well and Erik was loving it so much. He started moaning and saying her name. She felt in control. With a deep inhale, she took a chance and relaxed the back of her throat, twitching it around his tip.

“Shit, here it comes—”

Valencia sat still with Erik’s dick between her jaws. She could feel him throbbing with his release. He came in her mouth and it was thick and warm. She swallowed quickly, careful not to choke. It was a lot. She wasn’t surprised, with a dick that big and balls that heavy, it was expected. She came up for air and wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand. Erik twirled one of her nipples while bending over to kiss her lips. Tongue and all.

“You did so good, baby.” Erik whispered against her lips.

“You liked it? I wanted to make it good for you.”

“You made me cum didn’t you? I was tryna hold back but I couldn’t control it. I wonder what that pussy gonna do to me…”

“The same,” Valencia boldly replied.

“Yeah? That pussy gon’ make this dick bust too?”

“Mhm,” She jerked him while chewing on her bottom lip and staring him in his eyes with all the strength she could muster.

“You better hope I don’t bust in you…”

Erik tongues Valencia down again. His words fluttered in her mind. She was on birh control but she’d never let a guy do it. Isaiah drunkenly told her that he wanted to cream pie her, but he was wearing a condom. Erik planned to fuck her raw.

“Come sit on my face.”

Erik climbed into his bed and propped his pillows up. When he was settled, Valencia threw her leg over him and Erik popped her on that bubble booty with a hard slap.

“Turn the other way…just like that…”

She turned her back towards his face while her ass and pussy sat inches away from his mouth.

“Arch that back, girl.” Erik commanded with another smack to her ass.

Valencia did as she was told and Erik spread her cheeks . He didn’t waste time tongue-fucking her wet hole and slurping up her clit. Valencia clawed the sheets and started grinding her pussy along the length of Erik’s tongue. He spit on her pussy and sucked it back up over and over. Her eyes crossed like she was losing consciousness.

“OOH!, Erik, fuck, I’m gonna cum already!”

Erik whacked her across the ass through her release. He was showing a roughness with her that overwhelmed her. Valencia didn’t have time to recover when Erik sat up and positioned her on her back. He loomed over her and his lips pressed firmly against hers. She could feel his thick fingers between her thighs, stroking her pussy before slowly sinking two fingers deep.

“Uh—”

“I gotta make sure I open you up for this dick, girl,” Erik whispered.

His fingers pumped in and out of her. He was knuckle deep and torturing her spot. Valencia turned her face away and Erik attacked her neck. The obscene noises her pussy made was similar to squelching. She felt that from head to toe. Erik’s continuous nasty talk in her ear with a husky voice had her whimpering.

“This my pussy, Valencia?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t wait to fuck you…”

She felt a flutter in her belly from his words. His anxiousness let her know that she was going to take it all over his bed.

“Ima be in that pussy every way I can…you’re so pretty…you have the best pussy, babygirl…My dick is so hard…”

She could feel his stiffness on her inner thigh. Rigidly tapping her.

“I’ve been waiting for this shit…”

“Daddy—”

“You wanna cum? That pussy cumming again?”

“Yes—”

“Tell me whatchu want…open your mouth and tell me. All that shy shit is over wit’ you know what time it is.”

“…can I cum, please, daddy?”

She clawed his back. The more he continued to finger-fuck her, the harder it became to hold it in. She felt a sensation and she was afraid she was going to urinate. It was so intense, Valencia couldn’t fight it.

“Erik, Erik, Erik!”

“Gimme that shit.”

A stream of liquid similar to a fountain stained the sheets. It was too powerful and the more he fingered, the more she did it. She’d never ever squirted before.

“Oh my gosh,” Valencia tried to catch her breath, “I squirted…I’m sorry, I made a mess.”

She shielded her face with her hands in embarrassment. Erik moved her hands away and showed her his messy fingers before sucking on them.

“You can squirt, you can cream, I want all of that shit. Don’t ever be embarrassed about what this body can do. I’m so crazy about you…”

Erik pecked her lips and she could taste herself. He sat up on his knees and spread her thighs. Valencia hitched her breath when he started spanking her pussy with the tip of his dick.

“…A fat puss and a fat dick…you know what time it is, right?”

Valencia nodded her head with a pout of her lips.

“I’ll go nice and steady, okay?”

Erik kissed her inner left thigh before he gripped the base of his dick in one hand, gliding it between her folds before the wide tip of his thick pipe sat at her entrance eagerly. She watched as his chest moved up and down and his eyes focused on his movements. His eyes drifted up her body to rest on her face.

“It’s gonna feel so good…you’ll be begging me not to stop…”

She brought both of her arms up and her hands squeezed the pillow beneath her head. She tried to steady her breathing, but when Erik finally thrust forward, she lost her cool.

“Shit,” she squeezed her eyes shut, “It’s too much…”

The tip popped in and instantly she clenched him. Erik groaned. The snugness around his tip felt so fucking food. He needed more.

“Ima give you more…fuck, Valencia, pussy tight as fuck…”

He had his hands on the back of her thighs and both of them watched as he fed her pussy more fat dick.

“I’m tryna behave but all I wanna do is dig yo’ shit out.”

He gave her this look that told her ‘I’m ready to go berserk’ he would stop to give her a second to adjust and then more filled her up. She threw her head back and moaned. Erik had half of his dick in there.

“Look at me, talk to me…”

He withdrew his hips and Valencia’s eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open.

“Tell me where I’m at…”

“You’re in my pussyyyyyyy!”

Tears rolled down into her hairline. The sensation was so intense. She couldn’t even describe how wet she was. She felt so full.

“I’m finna’ go harder. You ready?”

Valencia had panick in her eyes. Erik kissed his teeth. He was impatient and with her good pussy wrapped around his dick she better get ready.

“Be a big girl and take it…own it and take it, ma.”

“…okay.”

Erik dropped that dick off in her all the way now and Valencia cried out. He leaned over her body causing her hips to lift from the bed. He put his fist into the mattress and the momentum of his thrusting went faster and faster. She didn’t know what to do.

“Yes,” Erik whispered, “I’m in this pussy now. hmm…”

“Unh—”

It felt so intense and so amazing. Erik sat up so he could look her in the eyes. He drew his bottom lip into his mouth and delivered sharp thrusts while staring her down. She was completely ruined and all he did was fuck her and look at her.

“I c–c–can’t hold it—”

“FUUCK—”

Her orgasm rocked through her body. Erik slipped out and she exhaled a shaky breath.

“Look…”

She sat up on her elbows. His dick was coated in cum and brick hard. Erik looked at her through his locs, a teasing smirk on his face. He was on her again, not even telling her how he wanted her. Instead, he positioned her with her face down and ass up. He fixed her arch, adjusted her legs, and then with two large hands on her ass cheeks, he pointed his tip at her opening and bam! He was back in like he never left.

“Keep that arch. What the fuck did I say?”

“Okay!” Valencia bowed her back, “Do I need to do it more?”

Erik didn’t respond with words, he fixed her himself and then spanked her ass.

“Ouch,” it stung so hard, “daddy that hurts..”

He kissed her cheeks and she whimpered.

“It wouldn’t hurt so much if you listen to what I say. Stay just like that.”

Erik’s dick went in and out. Each time it would go in, her pussy would queef. So much creamy mess. She felt it in her lower belly, it created intense pressure to the bottom of her pussy, her body quaked out of her control. So many different sensations hitting her at once.

“Mhm, you look so good right now…”

Valencia looked back at Erik.

“It’s s–s–so deep….” Valencia stuttered.

“I know, baby, but you’re doing so well, pretty girl…now daddy gotta bust it open some more…”

With just his hips, Erik showed her a good time. When he wanted to play back shots, he didn’t want you running and pushing him away. Her ass ricocheted off his hips and all she could do was grip the sheets and moan so loud it bounced off of the walls. She couldn’t do anything about the intense sensations.

“DADDY! OH MY GOD! ITS SO BIG! ITS SO BIG, DADDY! OH MY GOSH! ERIK! ERIK! ERIK!”

“Don’t push me away,” Erik locked her wrist behind her back as he barked out his command, “FUCK!”

He slowed down and Valencia tried to catch her breath. She didn’t want him to slow down. She wanted more dick. How was it possible to want more when she couldn’t even take it in this position?

“There you go…there you go. You fucking me back? Oh, so now you ain’t scared of this dick?”

Valencia threw it back on him and Erik stood there watching her with unblinking eyes and his mouth hanging open.

“Didn’t I tell you I would have you on this dick? Didn’t I fuckin’ tell you that?” Erik slapped her ass, “You showing out, girl. Fat pussy takin’ it like a real size queen.”

She looked back at him and licked her lips.

“Can you beat it up, daddy?”

Valencia was talking her shit. Erik pounded her pussy out.

“UHHHH SHIT!” She yelled.

Valencia sat up and Erik placed a hand around her neck from the front.

“Right there! Please don’t stop!” She begged.

Pound after pound. Her body seized up.

“You ain’t gotta tell me, baby, I feel that pussy…don’t hold back, give me what I want, wet up this fuckin’ dick!”

“YES!”

Erik slipped out and Valencia fell flat against the bed. She rolled over and stared up at Erik before reaching her arms out. He chuckled, picking her up and then she wrapped her legs around him snuggly.

“You want me to fuck you in the air?”

She nodded her head and bashfully smiled at him.

“I’ve always wanted to be picked up during sex. I wanna see how it feels…”

“I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Erik lined himself up and dropped her down on his dick. He palmed her ass and forced her down on his big dick, bouncing her up and down at a leisurely pace so she could feel it from the tip to the balls. Erik dipped his hips and Valencia had her arms wrapped around his neck.

“Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!” That’s all she could do. Moan and live in the moment.

Erik pressed his forehead against hers. She took in a sharp breath.

“I’m so close, this pussy gon’ make me cum so hard, fuck, gahdamn, shit, this wet pussy…tight, wet, gushy pussy—”

“I’M CUMMING FOR YOU!” Valencia declared.

“Cum on this fucking dick!”

Valencia came so damn hard. It was an out of body experience. She clung to Erik tightly and he sat on the bed and bounced her in his lap. Her words ran through his mind.

“Daddy! I wanna have your baby!”

“Valencia—”

Erik’s balls tightened and his shaft throbbed and twitched the same time her walls clenched him.

“Ima fucking nut—FUCK—”

He lifted her off of his dick and she was on her knees fast, sucking him clean. Erik sat back on his elbows and his body twitched. Spurt after spurt of his thick cum covered her lips and dripped onto her breasts. She jerked him while sucking on his tip.

“Unh, mmm, huhhhh, uhhhhh, fuckkkk….”

He was too sensitive. He grabbed his dick from her and sat up. Valencia licked her lips and tried to clean herself off. She peeked up at him and gave him a small smile followed by a giggle.

“I can’t believe I said that.”

She laughed it off, trying her best to conceal her embarrassment. She was so caught up in the moment. She covered her face and Erik moved her hands away. He helped her to her feet and sat her in his lap.

“Forget I said that.” She looked down into her lap, “That was amazing…”

Erik tilted her head up and stared into her eyes.

“I don’t want to forget it. And you need to stop feeling so ashamed. Shit, I almost gave you that baby.”

They both laughed. Valencia pressed her face into Erik’s neck.

“…you might experience a lot of emotions. It’s intense…”

“I’m so happy I got to experience it with you.”

Erik kissed Valencia on the forehead.

“Me too, baby girl. And I want more moments with you.”

Erik pulled the sheets back and he laid back against his pillow with Valencia snuggled close to him.

“You wore a nigga out…”

Valencia giggled.

“I could go for round two…”

———

@goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @hearteyes-for-killmonger @imagining-greatness @chaneajoyyy @uzumaki-rebellion @theeblackmedusa @lisayourworries @ratedbadgal @bombshellbre95 @cecereads209 @cancerianprincess @dameshaemonique @6lack-1otus @thickemadame @thickeeparker @stinkalinkkkk @ehniki @electrixit @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @bakarisprxncess @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @bxolux @sweet2krazee @bluesole16 @seyven89 @ispywithmylileye @geemamii @unbotheredblackchild @nubianbabee @adoreesun @blackpinup22 @nayaxwrites @cocoa-puffs @dersha89 @honeytoffee @thickianaaaa @modelmemoirs @why-wait-4-eventually @queenfaithmarie @angelicniah @soulfulbeauty19 @aijha @novaniskye @princessxotwod @callmemckenzieee @blowmymbackout @lahuttor @momobaby227 @blackerthings @kenbieee @palmstreesallday @kokokonako @coolfancyone @soulsparker @richgirlaesthetics @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @beautybyfire @abluesforlyssa @xo-goldengirl @mbakuetshurisprincess @4ftwonder @raysunshine78 @sensitivelegend @sourbabynaee @gotbeefbitch-blog @efonteno @akimi-youngblood @badassdoll @shyblackgurl @childishgambinaax @teheeboo @skylahb @gigafaex @readingaddict1290 @circeaphoenix @xsweetdellzx @carewornblackgirl @queengodiva619 @certifiedlesbianbaddie @jamaicanqueenaa

[writeyouin]

TF-One Megatron (D-16) X Reader - The Creature From Another World Chapter 2 Sample

A/N - This is a rough draft, and I just thought I'd share a bit of it. Even made a nice lil GIF for it since those are still slim pickings

Megatron held you as per your request. He didn’t know why you wanted to be up, only that you did and he was only too happy to comply, and that he had to hold onto that feeling. You were the only thing he had left to bring any shred of joy. Everything else what a toxic poison coursing through his body, leaving only hate and anger.

You stood in Megatron’s palm, trying to see the D-16 you knew before. He used to laugh and relay stories back and forth to Orion. Now, he mostly frowned. His optics were a violent red, leaving no trace of the warm amber glow his eyes used to have.

You reached out to touch him, you hand falling to his chassis where a brand new Megatronus insignia had been branded into him, covering over the one Sentinel had burned him with. He had claimed the symbol, owning it for the new Decepticon army.

Megatron vented a soft gust of warm air, wondering what you were thinking as you pawed at his insignia. He wished that you could see it as the symbol of a new age as it was supposed to be, but he guessed that you would always remember the one that Sentinel had marred him with.

---

After disappearing on his life-changing quest with Orion, D-16 had worried about you, but he figured that the other miners would take care of you. Then, when they had been told that Orion and he had died, they had apparently panicked, scared that they wouldn’t be able to help you leave the planet since they were the lower class. So, one of them had taken you to Sentinel, explaining what you were and coming up with a cover story for how you had gotten to Cybertron.

Sentinel, having guessed that you were once a Quintesson prisoner, pretended to believe the story, and reassured the bot that he would see that his top-bots found you a way home.

After that, he kept you prisoner in a gilded cage, his pet now since you wouldn’t give him any information.

When D-16 and the High Guard were captured, you met D-16’s eyes and he became even more furious, wondering how you had gotten there and what Sentinel had done to him. Before that, you already admired D-16, but your admiration turned to complete adoration and contrarily, fear as he kept standing up in the face of adversity. He wouldn’t be kept down, no matter what they did to him. You cried a lot that day but you didn’t scream or do anything to draw attention to yourself, afraid that if you did, Sentinel would torture D-16 further.

[moon-ttokki-x]

rose part 2 - lee minho

pairing: lee minho x reader

summary: you and lee minho, the smartest student on campus, get unexpectedly paired up to work on an assignment

genre: less angsty, mutual pining, college!au, happy ending hehe

a/n: yayy part 2. dividers by @kodaswrld

⛓️ prompts: 17. "Why are you looking at me like that?" / 28. "You're looking at me like that again."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist | part 1

The next few days are rather awkward.

You avoid Minho as much as humanly possible; more than once he tries to approach you in the corridors, though unsurely, and you find yourself ducking into the next hallway or stopping to talk to someone so that he won't.

Not that you don't want him to approach. Part of you misses talking to him, though most of what came out of his mouth was teasing remarks and judgmental comments. But he does it in a way that lets you know he doesn't mean it.

You know he doesn't mean it, but after you messed up those few days ago, you're beginning to wonder if he might in the future.

You find yourself glancing his way during lectures, subconsciously reaching for your phone to text him before you take control of yourself and tear your gaze away, shove your phone into a drawer. Keeping distance is the best thing to do right now, even if you do miss him.

But still...

Minho and his pretty necklace, his pretty lopsided smile, although it's rare. But it makes it all the more special. It makes him all the more special.

The part of you yearning to see him wonders if there's a slim chance that he reciprocates what you've begun to find yourself feeling, and it tells you to go and find Minho, talk to him, work things out. Maybe you could play it off, say you were on something, plead that you were tired or that there had just been something on his face.

Which is why you had touched it in the first place, though it was on a whim. You'd stroked those precious few strands out of his eyes, touched his pretty mouth on a whim, your fingers brushing against the perfect mask that Lee Minho never lets slip.

The professor calls your name suddenly and you shoot upright, having previously been slouching on your hand, staring down the rows of lecture seats. He shouts out a question and panic seizes your gut like a vice.

"Y/n, what's the answer to question eight?"

Your eyes flit over the screen at the front; you haven't been listening and none of it makes sense. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, and you feel the gazes of other people becoming more prominent by the minute.

Your gaze catches Minho's by chance; he's sitting at the very front of the lecture hall as per usual, all of his materials lined up meticulously neat on the desks. He mouths an answer to you, subtly holding up three fingers.

"Option three," you blurt out. It must be the right answer because the professor turns away, moving onto the next question. You sag back into your seat with relief.

Minho is still looking at you.

You steal a glance at him again, hoping that he's not looking, but he is. You make to look away in haste but not before you see him point to his notebook, gesturing to you and then back at his book.

Staring down at your own folders and papers, you take your black notebook from under the haphazard mess and flip through it. Minho turns back to the front just as a slip of paper falls from between the pages.

You unfold it. Minho's neat, looping handwriting inks the paper in blue.

Meet me at the library at five o clock.

Absolutely not, you think. You toss the paper onto your desk and lean back. There's no way you're going. You might just come up with an excuse and relay it to someone so you don't have to show up. You look back down at Minho's note. It's fallen the other way and there's writing on the other side. You peer closer.

And don't even think about disappearing or making up an excuse. Come on, Y/n. You're not that busy a person.

You roll your eyes, even though you're smiling. He knows, and the realisation doesn't hit you as hard in the gut as you thought it would have.

Five o clock it is.

☆☆☆

When you enter the library, you know exactly where to go; Minho's usual spot is always the far corner, several long tables and chairs tucked behind the shelves. As someone who spends a lot of time in the library to begin with, you've often seen Minho by himself at one of the long tables, with his knees tucked neatly over one another as he reads, or his head bent in concentration as he studies.

You make your way there now; and sure enough, there he is. He's sitting perfectly upright, his posture immaculate. Your back hurts just thinking about sitting the way he does.

Yet again, the only movement is coming from his wrist as he writes something in his books, just like he did when you were at his dorm. He doesn't look up as you approach, hovering near the table unsurely. Like he's a wild animal to be tamed.

He is a little bit, you think.

"Minho..." You begin hesitantly, if not only to announce your presence.

"Hello, Y/n," he says quietly. He sets his pen down in one movement and looks up at you. Like he doesn't have energy to spare, so he's mindful of every move. "Sit down."

You laugh nervously as you collapse into a chair near him, one seat away from where he is. You are a walking tornado in the pristine museum that is Lee Minho.

"So, what is this, a therapy session?" You tilt your head at him, trying to break this ice. Shit, this is so awkward.

"No," he says again, matter-of-factly. "You've been avoiding me."

"I haven't," you try feebly.

"All you do is lie, Y/n. To yourself too. Stop it."

His comment cuts you unexpectedly.

It hurts even more because he's right. You lied to him and to yourself. You told yourself that avoiding him was the best thing to do. And in addition, suddenly you're irritated and pissed off because of how calm he is.

"Minho."

His tone softens. "Sorry."

You huff and lean back. It feels like when you were a kid, getting into trouble for talking back.

"Why'd you call me here? You've finished your section of the project, so there's no need for us to work together anymore."

Minho shakes his head. "That's not why I asked you here."

You're quiet. Then, "Why?"

"Y/n, I'm not upset about what happened. It seems you are."

He's talking like a fucking therapist, you think. "I didn't mean to touch you like that, it was just on a whim, I was overtired-"

Minho laughs suddenly, his eyes crinkling. It's a surprisingly pleasant sound. "Did you rehearse that excuse?"

You grumble and attempt to wipe the haughty smile off of your face. He's seeing right through you at every turn. "No."

"Well, does being overtired make people want to be close to each other and touch each others' faces?"

You scoff at him, though your heart is pounding. "No. Stop being stupid."

"I'm not stupid. I'm incredibly smart. And I'm right."

"Sure you are, Min."

You freeze. The nickname slips out almost on habit; countless times during the duration of previous project meetings had you called him that purely to irritate him. At first it was a tease. Now it was almost affectionate.

His usual ticked-off reply doesn't come. He looks at you strangely. Then with a slow, deliberate movement, he gets up and sits down in the chair directly next to you. Several of his papers and pens clatter and drift off the table, but he doesn't flinch, nor notice. He doesn't even blink, his gaze entirely, unbrokenly fixed on you.

You gulp.

"I've had a long day," he says calmly. "I missed my lecture this morning because I was studying for my arts exam, and I wasn't able to talk to you these days either, which made it surprisingly worse. I couldn't sleep last night either."

He says all of this with a pure, almost gentle sort of conviction. Like he's a stranger in an elevator, making a polite comment about the weather to fill the silence. It's raining quite hard today. It's predicted sunnier tomorrow, though.

Your throat is dry and it almost hurts to talk. What do you even say to that?

"Okay."

Minho nods solemnly, the ghost of a lopsided grin on his face. His gaze is implicative, almost a smirk. "I happen to be quite overtired at the moment. Do you know what happens when people are overtired, Y/n? I think you do."

Not for the first time in your life do you curse Lee Minho with the eternal role of 'little shit'.

"No," you whisper, unable to speak any louder. "I don't."

"I told you to stop lying."

"I'm not."

He tilts his head a little more. "You are."

You go silent.

Minho's hand comes up to experimentally touch your cheek. You almost flinch at the unexpected gesture but you force yourself to stay still, not wanting to shatter the charged atmosphere. The pads of his fingers are soft and then he draws them back, bringing them to cover his mouth.

He yawns.

He's doing it on purpose now, you think in exasperation. Trying to make me admit that I wasn't overtired at all when I touched him. Even though he already knows what I was doing.

He leans back in his chair, tilting his head to the other side. At this point he's just teasing. He knows exactly what your intentions are. He's playing it up to frustrate you.

Minho brings one hand to his perfect hair and rifles his fingers through it, gaze never leaving you. He messes it up on purpose and you find yourself almost drawn to him, wanting nothing more to reach out and fix it. His gaze is nothing more than an invitation. At least, that's what you're assuming.

You're so close to him, you could just reach out and brush it away like you did those days ago... so you do. It's as soft as you remember, like pinfeathers between your fingertips, and you card it out of his face in gentle, slow motions, not fixing it completely, busy trying your best to ignore his piercing gaze almost burning through yours.

You hesitantly poke his knee, just checking that he's not an apparition and that this is actually happening. It is. And when you look back up, you feel Minho's presence far closer to you than you did before.

This time, when he tilts his head, it is a gentle question. Yes or no?

You nod shakily.

Minho leans in slowly, eyes flitting to yours, checking every step of the way, before his mouth brushes gently against the curve of your cheekbone. Like a bird's wing brushing your face. Colour floods your cheeks and your face burns rosy as his mouth brushes yours briefly, a little clumsy but full of awkward affection, your eyes closing. Minho presses his forehead to yours for a few seconds and then leans back. You open your eyes.

His hair is a royal mess; you suppose your face is a mirror of his expression. His eyes are still fixed on you, the colour high and flushed on his cheeks, mouth parted. You don't think you've ever seen anything, anyone more beautiful.

Minho has the audacity to grin. To grin.

"I think," he breathes shakily, "that I should be overtired more often."

You let out a shaky laugh. "Yes."

"Y/n?"

"Minho."

"Please stop avoiding me," he says softly. "It was lonely."

You stutter out a response, surprised you're still functioning after he just kissed you. "Okay."

Minho brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. "You know that assignment we were working on together?"

You blink, surprised at the sudden change of subject, but you go along with it. You'd handed in your parts together several days ago; you'd scraped through with a decent mark, and Minho, of course, scored with his usual A+. "Yes?"

Minho actually laughs then and you know instantly that it's a sound you want to hear him make for the rest of your life. "I knew you would struggle with it, so I gave you most of the work so that you'd have to come to me for help. We spent more time together because of it."

Your mouth drops open. "Minho, you didn't."

He grins, poking your cheek. "Told you I'm super smart. I pulled an A+ and a hot partner at the same time."

You kick him in the shin.

a/n bonus: i saw this in the tags and i have to admit i laughed

[seaslugfanclub]

Hi! How you doin? I saw that Clayton and Alameda fell under the "Crush/Romantic feelings" category in one of your previous posts and was wondering if I could request some separate imagines on them? Since there's not much mention of them in your other works (especially Clayton), just to get an idea of what they're like with (Y/N). Please and thank you!

Sure!! I’d love to write more about Clayton, he’s so underrated 😭 Enjoy!

—————————————

Clayton

He’s one of the more… aloof villains of the park. Unlike the others who parade around the park giving backhanded compliments and insulting the elderly, Clayton tends to stay more on the sidelines.

I mean… the only thing he really liked to do was hunt, and he can’t exactly skewer any living creatures at the “happiest place on earth”

Though what he wouldn’t give to make a new coat out of that sardonically scarred lion…

With our beloved park attendant (Y/N), they found a couple ways to get along with him.

(Y/N) asked him about his hunting expeditions and his time in Victorian England

As much as (Y/N) hates the idea of killing for the sake of killing, Clayton can tell one hell of a story. He becomes super animated, hands waving around and voice super loud. He even got Gaston’s attention.

Other villains walked in on both (Y/N) and Gaston sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor as Clayton relayed the tale of his expedition in Peru like it was story time

He LOVES showing off his skills and strength, and what can I say, (Y/N) loves a show

As for the romantic aspect of Clayton and (Y/N)’s relationship, I believe Clayton fell first

Clayton was a man from Victorian England, where it was risqué for a women to show her ankles

Now imagine Clayton seeing (Y/N) in small summer wear attire, it is Florida/California after all…

During one of Clayton’s tantrums, he ended up screaming in (Y/N)’s face. And what did they do? They slapped him across the face, shocking him to silence

No one has ever dared lay a finger on him, and as (Y/N) immediately apologized to him he could only think one thing; “that was hot”

Clayton isn’t used to someone being genuinely interested in his past, and the way that (Y/N) looks at him when he retails his adventures keeps the Englishman up at night

It’s weird, but (Y/N) loves how big Clayton’s hands are, like they take one of his hands and covers their entire face with it, much to Clayton’s embarrassment

(Y/N) is now Clayton’s official backpack, they cling to this man as he walks around the park. Clayton loves showing off his strength and (Y/N) loves being carried

—————————————

Alameda Slim

Cowboy time baby

Alameda is one of the most unknown villains, like no one cares

But (Y/N) does, (Y/N) always tries to get Alameda included with the Villains and park activities

Whenever there’s a big crowd, Alameda always gravitates to (Y/N)

The size difference between them omg

(Y/N) brings Alameda old country music records, he now has a whole milk crate filled with albums

Gives (Y/N) mini concerts, yodeling along to the records

They have movie nights together in the common area watching old westerns! Alameda always interrupts the movie pointing out all the inaccuracies

One time Alameda tried to show (Y/N) how to square dance, and accidentally made them go airborne when he tried to spin them around

(Y/N)’s super curious about Alamedas yodeling, does it only affect cows? They decided to experiment on a bunch of different animals around the park, much to the park goers dismay

Turned out the only other animal effected by yodeling is… pigeons

Alameda ended up running for his life, a horde of hypnotized pigeons chasing after him

(Y/N) ended up having to convince Alameda it was safe to go outside again, after he barricaded himself in his room

Alameda likes to plop his cowboy hat on (Y/N)s head when it gets to hot outside

[dadsbongos]

plan A

I NEVER FUCKING POSTED THIS LMAO i was wondering why nobody reacted to it..... oops

2.2 k words / warnings - pregnancy, prenatal depression, you two shouldn't be together, kind of rushed it was a timed exercise to get back into writing

summary - you go to pick up your boyfriend grant curly from his recent expedition! and boy things have changed since he left.

On your right is a scratched Jeep Liberty; silver, with all the windows down, and dirt caked into the rims. A brown-haired woman with grey streaks woven into her loose bun rests against the hood, both arms are folded. She barely shivers, even in the 5AM fog, and squints ahead as the colorful mutt at her side prances impatiently around both her legs.

Leftward is a nice, smooth, cherry red Charger with both headlights still spotless. A California license plate and brand new tires with not a marr on the tracks. Two slim figures are packed into the front seats. Black hair trails around the woman with a fat rock on her married finger while her husband routinely checks his gold watch every other minute. Their faces are carved with care, brows furrowed in worry.

Stuck at the gate was an old black Honda. A mustachioed man with dark hair and darker eyebags was rifling through his leather wallet while rambling into his phone. Plaid pajamas still wrinkled with sleep. Older hands shook with exhaustion and exasperation as he fought for a chipped ID with his daughter’s name and face on it.

You’re ahead of the rest, parked just a skosh over the neon yellow caution line. In a navy blue SUV bought long before you moved to Cherry Lane with the soda-stained ceiling and dog-haired floor mats as evidence. The dog died just after you moved in, Grant doesn’t drink soda anymore, and you can’t shake off this car no matter how often you complain it’s unreasonable to own. On the brightside, perhaps finally rolling over will solve all those mundane problems plaguing your life.

Nobody waits for Jimmy. You assume you’ll be taking him A.) to his trailer or B.) to your guest room.

Tulpar has long since landed, now is the waiting game for proper shut-down procedure to avoid credit-docking for mishandling machinery. Erasing all evidence of slacking offedness and stir craziness and general messiness. She still hisses with life while the crew buzzes around, most probably crashing against the steel walls to hurry home.

At 5:46AM, Tulpar screeches oddly. Then she beeps in even measures as the boarding door unlocks and clanks open. A long ladder unravels from the way just as that black Honda squeals up behind your crowd.

By now that married couple has flung themselves out of their car, eagerly chirping to each other how they ‘can see him! right there! he’s almost home! i can see him!’ -- your suspicion of them being the new intern’s parents is confirmed instantly. Unsurprisingly, the newest member rushes down first and he clumsily hauls himself and his bags across the vacant lot to meet the two. Cheeks blistering from the cold but he pays it no mind in favor of excitedly relaying the trip.

Next down is nurse Anya. She humbly pauses at the landing and peers around the total of four cars before that gloomy face electrifies. Knuckles whitening around her bags before she bounds toward the black Honda. Cheerfully greeting ‘Papa!’ -also teasing that his pajamas mean he must’ve forgotten again.

Swansea grumbles down and his yippie Jaxson has to be restrained by Mrs. Hotard, which breaks both their stony expressions. She giggles and beckons him over before the dog breaks free. Swansea does speed up, goofy-looking with both arms taken with luggage and shiny new sneakers he doesn’t want to crease. He nods in your direction as he passes before being swept into his wife’s arms. She kisses him once on the cheek. He returns it. They then pour all affection into the squirrely dog at their feet.

Technically, next down should be Jimmy, but every year since making co-pilot he’s been forcing Grant down so he could be last. Which is -technically- a captain’s responsibility, but Grant cares about Jimmy’s feelings more than he fears a supervisor’s wrist-slap.

Not that you can have too much room to complain when it means Grant is just a little sooner to return home.

Even in the cloudy, sun-hiding morning his blonde waves glimmer and those cool blues soak you up before a single syllable pours out.

Affectionately, he murmurs, “You got big,” while curing both hands along the obnoxious bump your stomach has become, “Are they kicking yet?”

“It’s still shy,” you answer with a headshake, hands on your hips while biting back the bark that your back fucking hurts so bad you just want to sit down you already came out here to get him and now he wants to keep you out here in the fucking cold like some asshole.

Release comes in the form of Jimmy Zare, dead-eyed and not even waving before sneering, “Can you really drive like that?��

“Get in and I’ll prove it.”

“I’m not riding in a car with a pregnant bitch driving.”

“I’ll drive,” Grant curbs, gently holding you by the arm like an old lady and opening the door and closing it after you before rounding the front and sliding behind the steering wheel. He glances in the rear view mirror, “Jim’, home?”

Jimmy sighs through his nose in a way very much telling you he does not want to go ‘home’, but nods, “Home.”

Seven months has given Jimmy ample time to plan all the horrible jokes he wanted to make about your pregnancy, but if he spent any of that time wisely he doesn’t have any showmanship. That, or Grant’s reception to his first crack was not as lighthearted as all the other responses Jimmy receives. You can still hear it, the muttering over Grant’s shoulder that your baby will look more like the neighbor than Grant. And you could still see it when you blinked, the brief flash of irritation and bitten cheek before Grant said he loved you and hung up.

Jimmy slides out of Grant’s car without anything beside a shockingly pleasant goodbye.

“Finally us,” Grant sighs, the corners of his lips perky.

“Almost,” you snort and gesture to the tumor expanding your wardrobe lately.

“They’re part of us,” he insists, “Literally. Our DNA together,” he blinks, lashes fluttery, “Isn’t that weird? Our DNA together.”

Grant reaches out tentatively, as uncomfortable as he should be considering he’s been gone nigh a year, and places a hand on your bump. Smoothing his thumb over your swollen belly. He watches the road but all focus is on this mass of cells he can’t even see yet.

“Did you find out the gender?”

“No.”

“Ooh, a surprise?” he raises both brows, politely unquestioning of your coping with the pregnancy since -again- he’s been gone so long.

“Something like that,” every time you would mull over going, or receiving the news something more interesting would happen.

Your friend would quit her job and need soothing, your mother would want to visit, your bread was too toasted so the day was ruined, you slept in past noon so the day was ruined, you couldn’t find the right color shoes for that shirt and you didn’t want to look stupid, your coworker invited you for lunch, and the most common reason of all:

You didn’t really feel like going.

You hadn’t really felt like going to the doctor either.

You’re not totally sure the baby is still--

“Hungry?” Grant offers while pulling into your driveway, sliding a quick smile over, “I can make you something light. Or do you want to go back to bed?”

“Might as well eat.”

Grant leaves you to melt into the couch before wandering into the kitchen. A bottle of white wine sits in the middle of the counter, a couple of glasses clearly missing.

“Did Mom visit?” a stupid question, since he’s sure he already knows the answer.

“Uhhh,” you shrug even though he cannot see it, “A few days ago, probably.”

Grant nods and replaces the wine in the refrigerator, wondering when your mother got so careless with her bottles to leave them in the open. He mentally skips over the packages of salami and chorizo, already knowing better than to suggest cured meats.

“What’s the baby craving?” he asks when inspiration fails to strike.

Again, you shrug, “I want a sandwich. With eggs.”

“Won’t they make you sick?” he pokes around the corner with a pout scarred into his face.

“They don’t.”

“You sure?”

“Grant.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he recedes, both hands in the air like you’ve got a gun pointed at him.

“You’ve been gone the entire time, you know?” you try softening your voice at the very edge, hoping Grant takes the reminder as kindly as he possibly could, “I’ve been taking care of myself the whole time.”

“I know…” a pause fills the room- bulging awkwardly through the arched doorway between your kitchen and living room, “I’ll see what I can do about staying home with you.”

“Now?”

“You and the baby will need me around,” even through walls he sounds as compassionate as you’re certain he means to be, “Especially when you keep getting bigger. Who else will take you to the hospital when you go into labor?”

For a moment, all you can do is blink. Grant is right- who else would take you to the hospital when you go into labor? But…

“But what about after?”

A snicker echoes while eggs fry in an unseen pan, “Baby’s gonna be around for awhile, honey. I can’t retire now.”

Apparently, your dismal silence is too dismal because Grant comes around the corner and urges you up- waddling you into the kitchen with him. Wheeling a dining chair up beside himself and kissing the top of your head when you sit before returning to breakfast. He curses, noticing the soft whites have charred at the very edge and breaks two more into the pan while assuring,

“Those’ll be mine.”

“What about…” you don’t know why, but your eyes start stinging and you need to swallow this hard obtrusive lump in your throat before asking, “What about after it comes out?”

Grant’s brows furrow, contemplation visibly stressing his face while he pops bread into the toaster and melts cheese over your eggs. He gnaws his bottom lip and stares into the blistering pan,

“What do you mean, honey?”

Too selfish, too greedy, too terrible- you already know your question is unbecoming of a future parent. For once, you feel the need to shield the thing inside you and pray it cannot hear you,

“What about me? If you take leave now, won’t they want you back that much sooner? If you’re here now for the baby, I won’t have you after it’s born,” avoiding eye contact, you swallow that same lump and grunt in irritation as it fails to fade, “That’s when I’ll really need you.”

Pursing his lips, Grant ticks his head sideways and fails to find the politest way to say what you already knew he’d say, “Well, hone, someone has to make the money.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“You’ll need me here- !”

“Forget it.”

“No, I want to talk about this. You need- !”

“You’re gonna burn the eggs, just forget it. Do whatever you want.”

“I want to be here.”

The nicest thing you could say is nothing, so you stay quiet.

Grant repeats himself as if that will change anything, “I want to be here.”

You fear he’ll break down at your knees if you remain stoic, so the least you could do is rub his back and murmur gentle ‘i know, i know, baby’s.

“I’m thinking of taking a desk job,” he confesses, “So I can be closer. I don’t want to be away all the time, the baby will resent me for it. That’s how I was with my dad. Never understood why he was gone, so I took it personal. That he didn’t want me.”

“It won’t even remember until it’s three. Maybe. You don’t have to put so much pressure on yourself.”

besides, i’m the one that doesn’t want it and i have to be here

Grant would not find that as funny or relatable as your childless friends, so you decide to save it for your journal later tonight. May as well fill all the pages you can before you’re up at all odd hours.

“I just want to be a good father.”

“You will be.” you’ll have to be.

“You’re so calm,” disbelieving, probably delirious, giggles escape him, “I wish I could be calm.”

“It’s hard not to be calm when I know I’m doing this with you,” is the nicest way to phrase it.

With Grant wanting to be a dad came the relief that you couldn’t possibly fuck this up beyond repair. Grant is good at almost anything he tries (including, apparently, turning dirty talk into a promise).

“You’ve always been there for me,” standing, you massage out the tense burdens in either shoulder, “Catching me when I fall, with you I can do anything. You’ll be great.”

Another thing Grant would not find funny, nor would your childless friends, pops into your mind. Something you aren’t going to scrawl in any journal unless you want to be on a watch:

besides, i’ve already tried to kill it

“As long as I have you, everything will be okay,” you repeat the only thing to bring you comfort during those hours of sickness and aches and regret.

“You’re everything,” Grant beams, holding your distended stomach and pecking your lips, “Thank you.”

Grant returns to cooking your breakfast after another, this time longer, kiss: “Fuck, burned it… these’ll be mine…” and tries for the third time to simply cook eggs.

He’s good at most things when he tries.

[theoppositequeens]

Fandom: The Empyrean (Fourth Wing)

Relationships: Bodhi & Imogen & Eya

Rating: T

Warnings and tags on Ao3. Read here on Ao3.

Me and @ellebellewritesfic have this little challenge of doing drabbles for 7 Taylor Swift songs each for 7 days of Bodhi Week 2025 by @empyreanevents

Written for Bodhi Week 2025 Day 3: Signet Countering. What could be the reason Bodhi manifested a signet blocker? Is it as simple as being useful for the revolution or is there a darker explanation? Title from Eyes Open - Taylor Swift.

nobody comes to save you now

---

It’s a showdown

And nobody comes to save you now

But you’ve got something they don’t

---

Bodhi is sure he, Eya and Imogen are going to die.

They’re surrounded.

It would be almost a fair fight, four against three, if the cadet from First Wing right in front of them wouldn’t have manifested a fire wielding signet just last week, among the first of their year group. It’s barely December, no one else has manifested anything significant, and though Cuir has been channeling to Bodhi for a while, he doesn’t have an inkling of what his signet may be.

He’s never going to find out.

Careful not to move too quickly, he inches in front of Imogen and Eya, though they don’t take the protection his bulk would offer, flanking him boldly instead. They’ve got weapons in hand, Imogen has pulled a pair of wicked-looking daggers, but Bodhi knows that her aim isn’t good. She might hit him, she might not. If she doesn’t, he’ll kill them for sure. If she does, there’s no saying he won’t be quicker, or able to torch them while wounded.

Rushing them will do no good either, as there’s too much distance to cover. They’d be burnt before they got there.

“Look at you,” a woman on the fire-wielder’s right says. Her voice is mocking and sharp. “Cornered like the dogs you are.”

Bodhi chooses not to answer, but Imogen does, playing for time.

“What does that make you?” Imogen snorts, lifting her chin in challenge. “Our scraps? Because I could take you in a fight, Malva, and leave you in bloody tatters for the scavengers to gulp up.”

Sometimes Bodhi wonders how she knows the names of fucking everyone in the Quadrant, when she studiously pretends to ignore all of them. He’d kill to sit in on her gossip sessions with Quinn. They must be vicious.

At least Imogen will die vicious, as she’s always been.

“But this isn’t a fight,” Malva says, her tone gleeful in a way that is truly disturbing. “This is an execution. Look at you, all lined up against the wall.”

They were taken by surprise, and they’ve been backed into a dead end by the fire-wielder. It’s not near any main hallway. The chances of anyone coming across them are slim. Cuir has already relayed a distress call to any other marked ones within Basgiath, but there’s no telling if they’ll get here in time. Most of the second years – Xaden included – are on a fucking land nav course, out of range.

“All neat and orderly,” one of the others chuckles.

“You don’t even have it under fucking control yet, Tristan,” Imogen spits, defiance in every line of her tense body.

Tristan – that’s his name, the fire-wielder – smirks, cocking his head. “Well, I don’t need to have it under control. Just need to create a large enough blaze. And I’ve practiced for this.”

Fuck, that’s sickening.

“Been setting up bonfires by the Iakobos?” Imogen taunts, but Bodhi knows she’s afraid. Knows this is an embodiment of all of their nightmares.

“We aren’t our parents,” Eya tries, her tone soft and conciliatory. Bodhi admires her calm, her obvious attempt to de-escalate and buy them time, but he doubts it will work. “We haven’t betrayed Navarre.”

That’s a lie, but Bodhi isn’t going to tell them.

“You’ll die all the same. They killed my family,” Tristan says. “Why should their families deserve to live?”

Bodhi can see him raising his arms, and despair tries its best to claw up his throat. He feels like he might throw up.

“Calm, my Loyal One,” Cuir urges. “Think.”

But there’s no time to think.

“It’s no dragonfire,” Tristan comments, like he’s truly disappointed he can’t summon up that kind of power. “But it’ll do for traitors. Some kind of poetic justice.”

They’re going to die, all three of them, the same way their parents did. Burnt alive, only this is guaranteed to be a much slower death. The dragonfire that swept over their parents and siblings barely gave them time to scream. It was hot enough to be blue, scorching Bodhi’s face where he stood, hot enough to leave nothing behind.

This won’t be that hot. Tristan has barely got rudimentary control. They’re going to die in pain.

Imogen and Eya.

They’ve been his friends since childhood, both their parents from Aretia, and Bodhi can’t imagine better people to die alongside – except his cousin – but he wishes he was alone. He can take pain. He can take death, even if he’s afraid, especially knowing Cuir has relayed the identities of their attackers and Xaden will hunt them down the second he returns, or someone else will before then. He will be avenged, and these cowards will die.

But his friends.

Bodhi can’t stand the thought of a world without Imogen’s glare and her sharp tongue. A world without Eya’s knowing smile and her heart of gold.

They’ve pressed closer, the women, their shoulders against Bodhi’s, like they are one entity. And they have been, through childhood. Even if their closeness is not the same now, not after years of separation, and they’ve got other friends, they’re still a trio.

Funny, that they were all born in the same month, only days apart, and now they’ll all die on the same day, likely only seconds apart.

At least we weren’t alone, Bodhi thinks. Our mothers were friends, we slept in the same cradles, and we grew up together. We saw them all die together. We survived Threshing together. We bonded dragons together.

"And I will be with you, always," Cuir says. "You can do this.”

It’s a comforting thought.

The flames rise in Tristan’s hands and Imogen throws her first dagger.

It misses.

There’s no time to wait for Imogen to throw the other, because the standoff is broken and the flames are rushing towards them, insidious heat filling the hallway in a blaze. At his side, Eya moves as if to duck, as if to escape, and Bodhi remembers the same instinctual movement in his mother, seconds before her demise. The reflex to flinch from the heat emanating from Codagh’s maw.

No. No. Imogen and Eya won’t share the same fate.

Bodhi refuses to let them die like this.

His hands rise without his own input, as if to shield him from the flames, and as his wrist twists, the deadly heat dies as if all air has been extinguished, its power supply cut off.

There’s no time to ponder what he’s done, no time to process the roar of approval from Cuir in his ears.

Tristan’s eyes widen in fright and surprise before Imogen’s second dagger catches him in the chest. In the next moment, Bodhi is rushing the remaining cadets, and Imogen and Eya are following into the fray.

They come out with broken bones – Eya’s ribs – and a few bloody gashes, but they live.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Old Therebefore 🐍🕊️ | A Six of Crows Imagine

Takes place after the events of S&B S2

My masterlists | Part 2

Characters & Pairings: gang leader!reader x Crows (platonic). Kaz Brekker x reader (slight tension)

content warnings: profanity, mentions of violence and death, typical SOC themes. | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 4k

Premise: it’s not often Kaz Brekker needs assistance to a job involving anyone other than his Crows. Yet, there is always a first. When a job comes involving not only a high cash prize but also chances of coming out alive slim, Kaz accepts it is out of his skill level. So, what does he do? Take a risk by recruiting his top rival since Pekka Rollins was run out of town….she’s got the charm of a snake with a voice of a songbird. 

Note: so as you can tell by the title of the imagine and song linked, I saw the new hunger games movie (back in November) and literally could not stop thinking about this song/scene. Then of course my hyperfixations like to collide and wallah: here is the end result.

Disclaimer as always: the song and lyrics belong to Suzanne collins and all the SOC characters belong to Leigh Bardugo

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“You know, Kaz, I know better than to question you on most things,” Jesper scanned his surroundings, voice low with slight concern. “But I can’t help but wonder why you’ve decided to drag us to the ‘Snake Pit’ tonight.” The sharpshooter sipped his glass of rum after a close inspection, “mind telling us.” 

Seated around him, Inej, Nina, and Wylan expressions bore the same unease. All on high alert the moment Kaz led them through the doors and down the spiral staircase into the Barrel’s infamous Snake Pit. 

Located deep on the opposite side of the Crow Club, the Snake Pit was an underground bar/club. Home of the legendary crime gang, the Blood Serpents. They’d been around since Kaz was 15, their leader to have been the same age as him. Yet the public knew very little of the notorious boss. Only by their code name. 

The Snake Charmer

Of course, this information made Kaz lose his mind at times. Unable to identify his anonymous rival who’s bested him on multiple occasions. If the opportunity arose, Kaz would pay any amount of kruge to find out who the Snake Charmer was. It’d been well over a decade. His patience was running thin.

Finally, the wait would pay off in the form of a messenger boy. 

Knowing Inej was too recognizable, Kaz sent a young member of the Dregs--who was under the radar to the other gangs--to infiltrate the Snake Pit the week prior. The boy returned hours later to relay a crucial piece of information. Now, Kaz was to test that theory. 

Clutching his cane, the crime boss did not spare a glance to his fellow Crows the second they entered the Pit. Even when they took claim to a rounded booth in a far corner by the bar. His attention was occupied. Analyzing the club and its features. Mentally noting the Blood Serpent members, who were identifiable by their red snake tattoos on their hands. 

One of which was the bartender that served them drinks. A young woman about their age, she wore a maroon pin-stripped 5 piece suit although the blazer was forgone. The tattoo was on full display. Kaz assessed her lingering on him when she pushed the tray of drinks toward Jesper. Likely recognizing him and by default the rest of the Crows. The bartender didn’t say anything after, only giving a nod before moving to the next customer. 

To the other Crows, they thought Kaz’s intense stare on the bartender was either because he thought she was attractive or making note she was just another member of the Serpents. But, what they did not know was Kaz figuring out if she was the Snake Charmer.

“A woman?” he questioned the boy, narrowing his eyes. “You are telling me the Snake Charmer--leader of the Blood Serpents--is a woman and works under the guise of an employee at the Snake Pit. Are you positive?”

The boy nodded profusely, “Yes, Mr. Brekker. I can assure you it was no man singing that song. She sounded like a siren if I must say. She calmed the snakes like it was nothing-- I see why they call her Snake Charmer.”

So a woman was responsible for a lot of Kaz’s failures. Not to mention winning the territory he’d hoped to gain when Pekka was defeated. They’d come to a settled agreement through a middle man. An action that annoyed Kaz. But he knew better than to wage war with the Snake Charmer. 

So far the women in the gang he’s managed to identify besides the bartender were two serving girls, a door bouncer, and two poker dealers. A total of six. Of the men, most of them were standing on the walls and mingling along the floor. 

Bet she didn’t expect him to enter her den. 

The Snake Pit was exactly like what the boy described. Dark wood floors and walls up to the high ceilings. Dangling chandeliers, poker tables, two bars on either side. Booths aligned the walls. The most notable and unique trait, however, was the glass snake enclosure right smack in the middle of the floor. It was cylinder shaped at the bottom, lining the floor to the ceiling where it branched out on either side to resemble a tree. Plants and dirt filled it. 

As did ten serpents. Ranging from tiny garden snakes to a python.  

Jesper cringed when his eyes landed on it. Wylan looked deathly afraid. Nina found it amusing. Inej thought it was fitting. Kaz was pleased to see it. To him, that was ammunition.

Kaz answered Jesper with one word that told the whole story, “Business.” 

“What business could you possibly have with the Snake Charmer?” Inej questioned, hand on her side close to her knives. “Don’t you think we should be discussing the plan?”

“And we are,” Kaz rebutted, leaning into the booth with his gaze set on the enclosure. “We’re here to flush out the Snake Charmer.” 

Jesper choked on his drink, meanwhile Nina and Inej looked at Kaz like he was crazy. “You’re fooling us aren’t you?” “Boss, jokes aren’t really your thing--.” “You’re insane, Kaz, if you believe that’ll happen.”

“You see that enclosure?” He cut off their rambling. All responded with a look of, ‘Of course we see the ginormous Snake habitat in the middle of the club full of our enemies.’ Kaz nodded to it, “we need to destroy it.”

Once again, Jesper choked. This time on his saliva. “You’ve lost it,” he ignored the glare from his boss, “Did going through the fold change you, Kaz? Clearly you’re not actually thinking we let loose a dozen snakes,” he leans forward to whisper, “we don’t even know if they’re venomous. If their bites don’t kill us, surely their owner will.” 

Analyzing Kaz, Inej lowered her tone, “what are you not telling us, Kaz?”

Giving one last scan of his surroundings, Kaz addressed his Crows with the truth of why he brought them to the Snake Pit. “I have a lead on who the owner of this establishment is.” Their reactions were immediate, Kaz continued. “A week ago I sent a young messenger boy here to scout out the place--find anything that could help identify the Serpents boss. During closing he snuck into one of their storage closets,” Kaz attempted to locate said closet, somewhere behind one of the bars. 

Kaz paid close attention to the bartender and the poker dealers. “At some point in the night, one of the snakes got loose. Or,” he turned to Jesper and Inej, “my theory is they use those snakes as a means to get information on people.”

“Great,” Nina sighs, “you want us to free the Serpent's torture method. Well done, Brekker. Excellent plan if I must say.” The heartrender received a glare, but Kaz did not entertain it further.

“As I was saying,” his tone was stern, making the others hold onto any additional comments. “The boy overheard the panic of one of the Serpents. Turns out, the Snake Charmer doesn’t take kindly to her pets being mishandled.”

“I can see why,” Jesper mutters, glancing at the enclosure. 

Kaz gripped his cane, watching the female bouncer approach the bartender and exchange words. “He then heard a woman’s voice. Singing.”

Wylan raised a brow, “Singing?”

“Whatever it was, it calmed the snake. Allowed her to return the animal back to its case. The boy said he heard arguing between a couple members who hoped to clean up their mistake before the boss discovered it.” Kaz shifted in his seat, “didn’t end well for them.”

“Did you get a look at her face?” Kaz peered out his office window, facing the direction of the Snake Pit’s location. Moonlight shining down, almost as though the Saints wanted him to see the building. Behind him, he heard the boy clear his throat.

“No, Sir.” He stuttered, tensing at the sight of Kaz lowering his head. “The door didn’t have any cracks or holes I could see through. I tried looking underneath, but only got a glimpse of their shoes.”

Kaz pinched the bridge of his nose, deep in thought. “What happened after she finished singing? How’d you get out?”

“Once the snake was handled, she ordered them to her office. She sounded….calm, but you know how you just know when someone is masking their anger. That’s how it was when she addressed them.” Kaz hummed, indicating he understood the boy’s implication. Considering he was guilty of such.

“And then?”

“I waited a few minutes until I was sure they were gone. The direction they went sounded like it was the far left of the club--opposite side of the spiral staircase that’s both the entrance and exit. I think there's a secret back entrance where they were because when I came out it was completely empty.”

Kaz found the secret back entrance. Camouflaged as a bookcase. He was able to spot the hinges carefully placed to where the light made it difficult to see them. But Kaz Brekker knew the art of illusion in the back of his hand. 

“This is what’s going to happen,” he became serious. The Crows lean in to hear him while maintaining their alert. “We need to expose those snakes from their enclosure. They’ll be our bait. From there we wait. If my theory is correct, those snakes only answer to their master. Or charmer in this case.” Kaz paused to locate the female workers in the club. “Her act as an employee is a ruse.”

Jesper followed his gaze, once again becoming riddled with unease. “You’re implying the Snake Charmer is either the bouncer who let us in, the gal who served our drinks, the serving girls working the floor or one of the poker dealers?”

“That’s exactly what I’m implying, Jesper.”

“Why would she do that?”

Nina snorted, sipping at her whiskey, “Isn’t it obvious?” she didn’t wait for an answer, “no one would pay a second glance to a worker. They are either too drunk or too naive to assume the pretty bartender or serving girl is the boss of one of Ketterdam’s deadly gangs.” She gestured to the serving girl closest to her. “My money’s on her being the Charmer.”

Jesper scoffed, “no way. To be a ghost and retain anonymity all these years you have to have a great poker face.” He states the obvious, “it’s one of the dealers.” 

Inej rolled her eyes, “are you seriously making this a competition?”

“You don’t think it could be the bouncer?” Wylan asked, scratching the back of his neck to relax the tension he felt. 

“No,” Jesper replied with a wave of a hand, “that would be obvious, don’t you think? Although….,” he rubs his chin, “considering they let us in -- and we know how much you and the Snake Charmer have been rivals so to speak all these years, boss -- you don’t think by letting us through that we walked into some sort of trap?”

Inej immediately straightened, “Jes has a point.” Nina stopped munching on her calamari, waiting for Kaz. She too realized the potential threat.

Kaz, however, remained relaxed. “It’s not the bouncer, but I know the Charmer has already been notified of our presence.” Wylan’s worry intensified.

“What makes you think that?”

“As we’ve been talking I noticed all the women working the club have interacted at some point. Some making it obvious to point us out,” He was referring to the bouncer nodding her head to the one serving girl. “Others are more discreet.” That was to the poker dealer and bartender. 

“And yet,” Jesper groans. “You still want us to make a scene. We are literally in a place crawling with snakes--pun not really intended.” the table rolled his eyes at him, save for Wylan who found the joke amusing. “Point is….you want to unleash the Snake Charmer’s serpents into a club full of innocent people--.”

“Innocent,” Nina scoffed under her breath. 

“What if one of us gets bitten?” Jesper kept his gaze on Kaz with mild concern. “I don’t believe for a second the Snake Charmer will kindly hand over the antidote to save our lives. She’ll take pleasure in watching us suffer a horrible death.” Picturing the scene, the sharpshooter downs the rest of his drink, cringing in the process. “Saints, this is not how I pictured I’d die.”

Kaz rolled his eyes, “No one’s dying today. No mourners.” Everyone glanced at each other.

“No funerals.”

“Right then,” It was time to work. “Here’s what we’ll do….”

A prayer slipped past his lips before Jesper inhaled deeply and let the bullet fly. The sound caused gasps from around him, though he was quick to hide the weapon in its holster before one noticed.

“Who did that?!” came a shout from the bouncer. Patrons were already making their way toward the exit. Not wanting to get caught in a crossfire. 

Jesper occupied himself with his rum, glancing over his shoulder to Inej, who signaled to him the bullet did not penetrate the glass completely. Sighing, he downed the contents, waited until it was clear, and shot again. 

The second bullet hit the glass with a loud clunk. Once again alerting the occupants of the Snake Pit. Many searched themselves for any sign of blood for fear they were shot by an unknown assailant. 

“C’mon,” Jesper whispered, peering at the enclosure. He saw the evidence of his bullet, a chip in the glass near the bottom. If he could time it right, without someone getting in the way, he’d hit the mark. 

Meanwhile employees of the club were trying to calm the crowd, “everyone please remain--.” Another shot rang out, more shouts echoing. Kaz’s patience was running thin. Their door to escape started to close as he noticed the security begin to close in on the Crows. No doubt suspecting they were to blame for the chaos. 

Kaz Brekker coming to the Snake Pit with his most trusted advisors for only a drink? Yeah right.

Then, almost in slow motion, the sound best described as ice cracking filled his ears. All eyes turned to the enclosure. Fear surfacing as they witnessed spiderwebs painting the glass. Then all hell broke loose when the glass gave way, allowing the beasts freedom from their isolation. 

Screams ensued. People climbing from the floors onto tables and chairs. Hissing from the snakes intensified the hysteria. Kaz even found himself moving when the python pivoted in his direction. Jesper of course found himself on top of a chair the moment the glass shattered. Inej was high up on a balcony on the opposite side of the club. How did she get up there? No one knew. Wyalan was close to Jesper. He too found safety on a stool. Nina meanwhile was listening to the heartbeats around here. The number decreased each time a patron made it up the staircase and out the door. 

Seconds passed and no sight of the Snake Charmer. Kaz was getting worried. Fearing the plan was a failure. His worry increased when he found himself scurrying on top of a poker table. Distracted with trying to find the workers he suspected of being the Snake Charmer to realize the cobra had got close to him. Had he not acted fast, the man’s leg would’ve fallen victim to its fangs. Catching Jesper’s eye, they shared the concern evident in their expressions. Wondering just how the fuck they were going to escape the situation. 

Suddenly his prayers were answered in the form of an angelic voice. Causing the screams to disappear…..

“You’re heading for heaven, 

The sweet old hereafter, 

And I’ve got one foot in the door. 

But before I can fly up, 

I’ve loose ends to tie up, 

Right here in The Old Therebefore.”

Heads turned, facing the direction of the sound. Their expressions turned into pure shock. Kaz may have had his suspicions, but it still came as a shock to discover he was right all along. 

Ketterdam’s notorious crime boss, leader of the Blood Serpents….was the Snake Pit’s bartender. 

Walking around the bar, crunching against the glass of broken bottles on the floor from the hysteria of customers fleeing to get away from the snakes, the woman kept her gaze on slithering animals. The hissing continued as she inched closer, however she did not seem fazed at all. Her singing continued.

“I’ll be along, 

When I’ve finished my song, 

When I’ve shut down the band, 

When I’ve played out my hand, 

When I’ve paid all my debts, 

When I have no regrets, 

Right here in The Old Therebefore. 

When nothing is left anymore.”

The hissing got quieter. The animals turning so they were in line with the woman. Slithering slowly but surely toward her. Confirming to everyone she was their master. Their charmer.

Off to the side, a few of the Blood Serpents rushed in with crates. Pushing people aside. Meanwhile the woman got to her knees, leveling down to the snakes who were now moving toward her. Eyes locked, face serious. The Snake Charmer was obviously trying to keep herself together. But Kaz felt the rage seep off of her. 

“I’ll catch you up, 

When I’ve emptied my cup, 

When I’ve worn out my friends, 

When I’ve burned out both ends, 

When I’ve cried all my tears, 

When I’ve conquered my fears, 

Right here in The Old Therebefore. 

When nothing is left anymore.”

The snakes smaller in size slithered up her outstretched arms. Covering both limbs in a tangle of scales. One slithering up to encase her neck, almost like a necklace. The Cobra took claim to her waist. The python circled her, almost like it contemplated joining its fellow serpents. 

Around Kaz, he made out the faint gasps of customers who had yet to depart. Glancing around, he witnessed them all in states of shock and awe. Even his Crows were at a loss of words. 

As was he.

The Snake Charmer’s voice turned strong. Echoing through the entire club as she belted out the next verse. Bringing chills to everyone’s arms.

“I’ll bring the news, 

When I’ve danced off my shoes, 

When my body’s closed down, 

When my boat’s run around, 

When I’ve tallied the score,

 And I’m flat on the floor, 

Right here in The Old Therebefore. 

When nothing is left anymore.”

Rising from the ground, she was covered by the creatures. Her python has wrapped itself around her leg. Its tail was on the floor while its head perched by where the cobra had secured itself on her belt. From the neck down the Snake Charmer was a sight to behold. Revealing why the nickname was not only because she was the leader of a gang filled with snakes. 

It was because she was gifted with the talent of charming their namesake.

Moving toward her subordinates holding crates, no doubt to keep the animals contained, the woman passionately sang the final verse. Giving it all she had. 

“When I’m pure like a dove, 

When I’ve learned how to love.”

Tone dropping, she leaned to lower the snakes into the crates. Gently as though they were newborn babies. Kaz caught her stoke the pythons head, her singing so low it was good the place was dead quiet. 

Right here in The Old Therebefore. 

When nothing is left anymore.”

Finally, after what felt like forever, the snakes were safely stored in the crates. Lids dropping shut with the gang members hurrying from the floor to transport them to another room. No one moved. Any and all eyes focused on the woman in the pinstripe suit. Back turned to the Crows and other patrons, but from the fearful look of her door bouncers, everyone silently prayed they’d make it to the morning. 

Moving her neck in a circle, a low crack from the joints that had been stiff, she slowly turned to face the audience. A clenched jaw and fury in her eyes made it clear what was going through her mind. Especially to Kaz, who was fighting to not look away when she instantly met his gaze.

Oh, she knew alright.

“Well…” the Charmer’s tone sent chills along the Crows' bodies. “You’ve certainly got my attention, Mr. Brekker.” Her spite was evident. Complete rage. Likely planning every means of torture she wished to bestow on her rival and his comrades. 

It was so quiet. So thrilling. Nobody dared to move a muscle. Patrons watching the stare down between the King, and now the unmasked Queen, of the Barrel. It was captivating yet terrifying. Wondering who would make the first move, and if it will end in a blood bath.

Then she snapped, “Everyone out!!” The floor cleared in seconds. Leaving only Serpents and Crows. They knew better than to attempt an escape. Plus the moment their boss addressed Kaz, the Serpents had circled them to prevent any sudden attack. 

Kaz remained composed. Watching closely as the Snake Charmer moved to the bar to pour herself a drink. “Before I kill you, Kaz Brekker, and your little birds too,” she did not look at him, paying attention to the liquid filling the glass. He tightened his jaw. “I want to hear you explain to me why you brought yourselves to my club,” bringing the glass to her lips, she downed half the alcohol in one gulp. Drawing her eyes up to make contact with him, “And destroyed my babies' home.”

Her footsteps echoed, walking toward the center of the floor where Kaz stood. “You’re a smart man.” She took another sip, this time slower. “Not only did you manage to draw me into the light, but you knew exactly how to do so.” A smirk plastered on Kaz’s face. A bold move considering the threat lingering at displaying his smugness to the Serpent Queen. Her lips were in a thin line, “What brings you to my den?”

Straightening his posture, Kaz stepped closer. Their distance is only a mere foot from one another. Making everyone--Crows and Serpents alike--suffocating from the tension between the two. 

“You won’t be killing us tonight, Charmer.” If only he knew her real name. Only having her title felt like she had some reign on him. Superior in a sense. The whole Barrel knew him as Dirtyhands, but Kaz Brekker had his own reputation. For her, people can now put a face to the name Snake Charmer. A beautiful woman with the voice of an angel. So powerful it made snakes bend to her will. 

Also, people would be shaken by the fact the deadly gang leader served them drinks during their visits to the Snake Pit. Hidden in plain sight. Listening to them spill their drunken secrets. 

Kaz leaned closer, the scent of her perfume hitting his nostrils. Jasmine. A flower known to attract snakes. He understood why she wore it. The smell was alluring. As was her presence, but Kaz dismissed the thought as quick as it came. “Doing so will result in you losing an important job I’m willing to negotiate your assistance on. Believe me, the reward is more than generous--enough for the both of us to share.” Now he got her attention, confirmed by the way her head slightly tilted, brow raised. 

“Humor me, Brekker.”

“Have you ever heard of jurda parem?”

[justaragdollysblog]

Can you write an alternate direction of "If I Didn't Walk In"? What if Jax did go to Ragatha about Marybelle instead of cheating on her? What if she confronted Marybelle about the situation while also trying to ease the tensions between them? What if something Marybelle says or does causes Ragatha to stop internalizing? What if she snaps? This is just an idea btw, I just love your fanfics :D

If I Hadn’t Gone In- Alternate Events (not canon to the series)

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I AM SO SORRY i’ve wanted to write and i’ve been busy with work and executive dysfunction has been absolutely kicking my motivation out the window lol!!

i plan to write this and the zooble ask i have as well!

TW: Hurt/Comfort, Suggestive talk, Heated argument, Mentions of verbal harassment

————————————————————————

All was quiet in the main tent, but tension steeped in the air so thickly, one could choke. The cast sit at the long dinner table, simulated food in front of them.

The adventure that day hadn’t been particularly grueling, but it was what happened after the adventure and during the feast, that caused this charged and heavy silence.

It was all because of a relatively new arrival: Marybelle. A tall and slim porcelain wind up ballerina, fair skinned and poised. She had an instant disdain for every circus cast member, but Ragatha and Jax were the unwilling victims.

Ragatha knew what it was like to first get here. The news didn’t ever get easier to relay. Maybe that was why, like every member that arrived after her, she tried to give Marybelle a sense of community and compassion when she spawned in for the first time.

In the first week or so, after the initial shock wore off, the pristine ballerina hadn’t let up on Ragatha. Every glare, every insult soaked in venom, was directed at the rag doll. On the opposite end…was Marybelle giving praise and unwanted attention to Jax.

Jax hadn’t been used to this attention from another girl, or even another member of the circus cast. Him and Ragatha had been together for months now, and he made it clear to the ballerina that she was the only one he ever loved, and he’d never leave her for anyone.

The strange thing was…she didn’t seem deterred.

Before he got with Ragatha, he might’ve accepted the flirtation. But he always felt differently around the rag doll. He could be himself. He didn’t have to be alone, and he could finally let himself love and BE loved.

So, when she blew a kiss at the feast they were currently undergoing, Jax stood up abruptly, slammed his chair against the table, and stomped off. He wasn’t going to cry in front of the others; he did have a reputation to uphold. He wiped frustrated tears and opened Ragatha’s door, burrowing himself in her bed. Her scent calmed his whirling mind down.

Ragatha looked after him in concern and worry. She bit her lip for a second. “I’m gonna go check on him, see you guys in a bit!” She forced a smile to the others, and subsequently to Marybelle.

Zooble rolled their mismatch eyes. “Okay, seriously, this [BOINK] needs to stop. We’re all lonely here, but there’s no point harassing them.” They glared pointedly at her.

Marybelle simply sipped on a glass of digital water. “We have all the time here, right? He’ll come around.” She giggled a little, tinkling bells laced with malice.

Zooble just groaned in annoyance. They’d be there for Ragatha if something happened, but if she wanted to get herself into trouble, there wasn’t much they could do. Everyone eventually went back to their rooms, leaving Marybelle alone at the table.

—

Ragatha felt her heart break at Jax’s angry crying. She knew when he was upset, and she knew he’d be in her room. She liked to do the same thing when she was upset (read as: also burrow in his bed).

She gently creaked her door open. The fairy lights cast a warm and gentle glow in the already cozy room. She slowly and quietly snapped the door shut behind her. Soft footsteps filled the silence as she sat next to Jax on her bed.

He lay, quiet and hiding his face, but Ragatha knew he was crying. She smiled softly, eyes half lidded with affection and gentleness. She didn’t say anything, but started petting his ears like he liked her to do.

His eyes softened and he relaxed his body under her touch. He pressed his head into her hand. Nothing was said for a few minutes, when-

“‘m sorry, Rags…” Mumbled Jax as he felt her finger trace patterns on his furry ears. He didn’t know exactly why he was apologizing; he just thought he should.

Ragatha shook her head slightly. “None of this is your fault, bun.” She whispered, affectionate and tenderness soaking every word. She gently brought her hand to cup his face, gently rubbing circles with her thumb in his fur.

Gods, she knew how to calm him down. Jax sniffled a little. “I just- I don’t want you to think I’d ever…” He didn’t finish it. He couldn’t bring himself to.

Ragatha softly chuckled. “Jax, I trust you. I know you’d never. I know that for a fact. We’re gonna get through this. Maybe I can talk to her!” She suggested.

Jax wiped his eyes again. “Yeah. That sounds good.” He couldn’t help himself but let out a large, toothy yawn. He was already tired, and crying was exhausting to him.

Ragatha laughed, louder this time. She loved his yawns like that. She loved everything about him. “Get some rest, jaxrabbit. I’ll be right here when I’m done, okay?”

He looked up at her with yellow eyes full of love and trust. “‘mkay. Love you, Rags.” His voice cracked a little and he leaned into her hand once more.

Ragatha smiled genuinely. How did she ever get this lucky? “To the sun and back, Jax.” She kissed him gently and lovingly.

—

A few minutes later, his breathing straightened out and small snores escaped him. He was asleep, already splayed out and covering the whole bed. Ragatha squeezed his hand and walked out.

Marybelle was on her way to her room, red ballet shoes forever stuck on pointe glided across the carpet. Ragatha took a deep breath.

“Marybelle? Can we talk?”

She paused, and then shot daggers at Ragatha. “Only if you make it quick.”

Ragatha took another breath. “I know it’s not easy getting here. You can always talk to us, but…it’s making me and Jax a bit uncomfortable with how you’ve been acting toward us…” Ragatha tested the waters with her opening statement. She tried to sound reasonable and pragmatic, but she wasn’t as good at it as Pomni.

Marybelle narrowed her eyes, winged mascara sharp as a knifes edge. She looked her up and down with a flick of her eyes. “I’m just trying to get to know the people I’m stuck with.”

Ragatha could practically feel her patience start to thin. “And there’s nothing wrong with that! Really. It’s just-“

“Just that you know he’d be better off with some prettier.”

Ragatha felt her blood turn to ice and she stopped. “You don’t know anything about him…” Ragatha cursed herself for letting a comment like that show her insecurities. To be truthful, Ragatha had always been insecure about her looks.

“Oh, I don’t need to. It’s obvious. He’s only uncomfortable because he has to hide it in front of you.” She snapped, once again giggling darkly.

She felt her blood metaphorically boil. She clenched and shook her fists. “You don’t know anything about him.” She spat, firmer this time.

Marybelle was full on laughing now. “Face it. Once we’re alone, he’ll forget all about you. I’ll make sure of that.” She dropped her voice to a sultry tone.

Ragatha felt something inside her snap. Just like everyone else, the only thing she tried to do was make everyone happy. Comfortable. She didn’t deserve this. Jax didn’t deserve this.

She approached her, getting in her face. Her voice was as low and as dangerous as it could go. Her voice was sharper than any knife. “You’re not going to get near him, or me, or anyone else. I don’t care if you find the exit and never come back. Stay away from him.”

She was breathing shakily. She loved Jax so much. Past the tough and rude exterior, he loved Ragatha in ways she’d never thought possible. He had been there to defend and protect her countless times.

Now, she was going to protect him.

Marybelle almost looked…scared. Her eyes darted around for a second. She huffed and scoffed. “Fine!” She pushed Ragatha back a bit and stormed off, censors beeping into the distance as she walked away.

Ragatha took a deep breath again. She felt a bit better. Maybe Jax was right about getting her anger out sometimes.

She brushed off her dress and approached her room again, slowly opening the door. Jax lay asleep still, somehow even more splayed out than when she left.

She sighed a little and smiled softly at him. She approached the bed and slowly crawled in next to him. As if he could sense her, he relaxed when she got close. She pressed a soft kiss to his neck and cuddled up to him. His chest rumbled with purrs.

She felt her eyelids drooping to the melodic, rhythmic tone. “Goodnight, bun.”

————————————————————————

I hope this is good!!!! IM STILL SO SORRY AB THE WAIT

reblogs are appreciated! see u guys later!

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/ Comfort

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Summary: In the aftermath of Detroit's android revolution, Nines grapples with the complexities of his newfound deviancy. As he seeks to establish his place in a newly transformed society, his resolve is put to the ultimate test when he is paired with Detective Gavin Reed—a notoriously volatile human with a well-established hatred for androids—to investigate a series of murders.

While initial impressions of his partner seem to suggest his reputation is well-deserved, the more time Nines spends with him, the more he is forced to challenge his judgments. As they form an unexpected bond, the RK900 is also pushed to examine truths about himself he would much rather seek to forget. (A Retelling of ‘More Than Our Parts’ from the POV of Nines.)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 4.9K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

The meeting itinerary was crafted to near perfection: anchored in hours of research, built on a sturdy bedrock of logic. While Nines admittedly preferred his partner’s proposal of intelligence extraction via the impact of fists, they had determined the current plan was more constructive. 

Reed had personally extended his blessings to the summary—or ‘liked’ it, amid bouts of digestive upset. An acknowledgement which, as far as he was concerned, was comparable to a standing ovation.

The ‘above-board’ methodology might not immediately gratify, but the reaped benefits would reward the restraint. Securing their first significant lead, in the form of a particularly loathsome accomplice, one Nines anticipated would buckle fast under the weight of formal questioning.

He entered the meeting with a sense of uplift, each step planting crisply on the tiles beneath. His movements were charged with certainty, each narrowing the distance between themselves and the killer. 

That was until Fowler spoke, about five minutes into the presentation. His words edged with ruthless bite, like a chisel splitting through stone:

"So, let me get this straight—you think these killings are somehow connected to this 'Mikey Scott' goon. Someone who, from what I’ve read in your report, probably can’t tie his own shoes." 

The path that had appeared so clear moments prior was harshly impeded. A blockade descended, pushing Nines back, forcing him to contend with its shockwaves.

It was disorientating, but unsurprising. Pushback had been anticipated, cause and effect Nines had observed repeatedly in his short lifespan. An authority figure compelled by the instinct to defend their control, wherever they perceived it being challenged.

Nines remained undeterred, understanding that the obstruction, while irksome, was not insurmountable. Slim pockets of doubt remained on either side, giving him just enough room to manoeuvre. He proceeded calmly, armed with ample munitions for a rebuttal. 

“Scott lied at length during his witness statement. We have a solid hypothesis as to why.” The android slid one of the papers, methodically arranged in front of him, across the desk. “These logs suggest affiliation with a key person, or persons, of interest.”

Fowler glanced down, eyes narrowing as he scanned the contents. His focus quickly soured into a distant contempt, as if the document were written in hieroglyphics. “Of interest to who, exactly? Because if you think this’ll hold up in court, you’ll be laughed out the door. Assuming it even gets that far.”

"I understand it may appear superfluous, but I assure you, it is not. Detective Reed and I agree that the code here is consistent with what we have seen used by our killer thus far. Communication that has been relayed covertly with Mr Scott, with instructions to—"  

A palm was raised, directed stubbornly towards the android, to which he was instructed to halt the explanation. 

"You have a theory, but that’s it. I'm not seeing a shred of proof. You two have been assigned to this case for over a week, and all you've got to show for it is another body. What the Hell have you been doing?"

The gap he had been so carefully skimming suddenly closed around him. Nines found himself squeezed from both sides, faced with pressure that felt unjustly dismissive, almost insulting. Lack of progress stemmed not from an absence of effort, but from a shortage of resources. Evidence that could not be manufactured where it did not exist, of which their superior was well aware. 

The RK refused to concede, bracing to push forward again. A glimmer of light lay ahead, identifiable as the breakthrough he had so ardently pursued. It enticed him, and he reached towards it. Willing the space to open up, until the slivered gleam brushed his fingers—

"—Hey, we've been busting our asses.” 

Reed, by contrast, charged the wall, obstinate and unapologetic. Jerking from his slouched position, he shunted the crumbled remnants of grit from his shoulders. “Where do you get off on telling us what we have and haven't done?" 

This did little to promote amiability in their captain. If anything, it did the opposite. The blockage remained, margins closing at an alarming rate. 

"I'm the one in charge here, Reed.” The older man craned forward, teeth bared in a contemptuous snarl. “You'd do well to remember that."

"Captain." 

In an attempt to de-escalate tensions, Nines gripped the horns of the bull closest in proximity. He placed a hand on Reed’s shoulder, offering assurance, but also encouraging him to back down. Regrettably, this had an unforeseen consequence: a sudden, vicious affront on his equanimity.

The touch was entirely benign, a featherlight grip that barely breached the folds of his jacket, but contact nonetheless. Reed was softer than one might expect, with a gentle warmth and suppleness which surrounded dense muscle. He did not smell overwhelmingly of booze or cigarettes, perhaps too delicate for either following his weekend excursions.

In the absence of this, his odour was…pleasant. Woody, earthy, with just a hint of artificial enhancement in the form of aftershave.

He was not permitted to indulge in it long. Reed recoiled from the hold, snapped back into his chair in a fierce rejection. The momentum jolted Nines from his reverie. Gazing at the space between his fingers, he found himself torn between conflicting sentiments:

Relief and dissatisfaction.

He focused on the former, determined to ensure that at least one of them retained control in the situation, pulling their presentation from the floundering tailspin it had entered. 

The hand was lowered, faster than warranted, and pinned stiffly to his side. With his available arm, he directed back to the forgotten papers. 

"Consider the bigger picture. We are no longer observing the actions of a single madman. This is an organised hate group with a violent modus operandi—one that may prove lethal if ignored.”

"I think it’s you who needs to consider the bigger picture.” Fowler bucked into the words, as though burdened by a weight he trusted the android to understand.

He did. The load was passed vicariously onto his shoulders, pressing down until the ground vanished beneath him. His mind splintered away, unmoored, and he escaped the office.

Nines was back in Anderson’s home, seated in front of the television, as the self-satisfied grin of Teagan Rodgers filled the screen. Her rouged lips parted to unleash a torrent of defamation, sandwiched between insidiously curated statistics.

"This department has already been dragged through the mud. You’re asking me to let you wade deeper so you can test a hunch."

Nines was dumped unceremoniously back into the office, struck by the realisation that understanding and acceptance were not mutually exclusive. The injustice of the circumstances gripped his throat, squeezing like a vice. He felt all the more compelled to continue, hoping that resistance might release him from its intolerable hold.

"It is not a hunch; we have established a link,” he reiterated curtly. “The use of code is synonymous with our suspect profile."

Fowler stared ahead, vehemently insisting on looking anywhere but the desk. Were the circumstances different and the man not his chief, Nines may have forced him. Eventually, his gaze did drop. It was slow and weary, a descent coloured by preemptive dismissal fitting of an irate school teacher.

He snatched the paper from beneath the android's palm and studied its contents. His focus shifted repeatedly, bouncing back and forth, until the sheet was swiftly abandoned and a terse grunt passed from his lips.

"You mean the 7-letter cypher?” The words dripped with condescension, as though Nines had presented him with the solution for a children's word search. “The same code I used to pass notes to my crush in high school?"

The impact of the disrespect was beginning to take its toll. Internal instability loomed, impeding temporal functionality. Nines stubbornly dismissed the warnings, clearing the scope of his HUD with a blink.

"It is not a matter of decryption method. It is the context in which it was used. CLHQ is a code in itself, most likely a location for—"

"Is this seriously the hill you're prepared to die on? A pair of Joe Schmo’s with decoder rings. That's your smoking gun?”

The alerts re-emerged almost immediately, having scarcely had time to disperse. They refused to be dismissed again, circumventing all attempts at manual control. 

“An arrest demands probable cause. Or did you miss that part of your training?”

> WARNING.

> LEVEL OF STRESS:  83%  

> SUGGESTED APPROACH: REDUCTION OR REMOVAL OF HARMFUL STIMULUS. 

A steady glow enveloped his vision, tinting the office an ominous red. He could feel his arms trembling until he pressed them against the table, seeking to steady himself. His knuckles tensed as his nails dug grooves into the underside of the desk.

"We have both evidence and probable cause. Even if we didn't, there’s certainly a basis for reasonable suspicion."  

The RK was reaching his breaking point. He had grown tired of repeating himself, teetering on the brink of wilful defiance. Any semblance of empathy deserted him as he coldly reminded the man of a single, damning truth. "Considering my model, Captain, I ask that you trust my judgement on this."

He did not endure the blow to his pride graciously. His jaw clenched as Fowler retaliated, demanding the android clarify his position. "Are you implying that my judgment isn't enough?"

Nines was struck by a sudden, overwhelming disillusionment with the institution he represented. Something he imagined his more volatile partner faced on a near-daily basis. 

It was no wonder he reacted so adversely to it; the emotion it inspired was torturous. 

> Yes.

He attempted to vocalise the response but found himself unable to do so. The word jammed in his throat before emerging as a weak murmur of static.

"Do not get smart with me—I'm warning you."

"It's not ‘getting smart.’” In his silence, Reed had opted to speak for him. “It is trying to make a point; you just don't wanna hear it."

With the defence, stress levels began to lower, as the intensity of his anger tempered into subdued annoyance. Nines looked between Reed and Fowler, wary of the repercussions that would come from the insubordination. 

He anticipated it would worsen matters, dumping kindling onto an already raging inferno. In a startling rejection of logic, however, the wood proceeded to quell the flames. 

Watching the Captain with greater scrutiny, there was a glimpse of something beyond his contemptuous glower: Hesitation and struggle. Synonymous with a man who understood, but felt obliged to reject this.  

"RK900…” he spoke slowly, syllables drawn by his own disillusionment. “There's a reason I hired you, and it has nothing to do with your model. You have potential, I can see it, but you've been with the department for less than a year. There’s still plenty of time to screw it all up.”

Remorse was forgotten quickly, in favour of a return to personal grievance. Undermining the facade of professionalism, Fowler pointed at Reed, flagrantly outlined as a scapegoat.

"Case in point: I trusted you to keep this genius supervised. What you've done is let him play Choose Your Own Adventure—again." 

"It was a good adventure to pick,” Reed abandoned his chair, the flimsy legs screeching beneath him in shared protest. “We've made fucking progress. Not only are these freaks local, but they're following our investigation. 'Organic + synth'? I mean, come on, it's hardly subtle who they're talking about." 

"Subtle or not, it doesn't prove their involvement in anything. Other than shit-talking police." 

"Jeff, give us a break.” His appeal was strained, caught between a groan and a sigh. “We pay this guy a visit, ask him some questions, and suddenly he's arranging an emergency clan meeting? If he had nothing to hide, he wouldn't be worried."  

"Who says he's worried? 'CLHQ' could stand for anything. Hell, what about the new cafe that's opened up on Renaissance Drive?"

"Coffee Lovers: Harbour Quarter", Nines offered dryly, in an improvised conjecture. As he spoke, however, another—more inferential—hypothesis flashed through his mind. 

He held his tongue, not wishing to ignite the embers of recently tempered flame. There would be opportunities to corroborate his credibility, demonstrating the theory's validity. 

For now, Fowler had responded well to his humouring. He leaned back, feigning familiarity with the fictional establishment as he snapped his fingers. 

"That's the one. Last I checked, it wasn't illegal to meet for coffee. Unless that's something you take a personal issue with?" 

"Are we seriously going to give these bastards a hall pass for all the dangerous and illegal shit they've been saying?” Reed was growing increasingly impassioned—incensed—seen in the ruddy tinge of his cheeks. “I thought inciting violence against androids was a criminal offence.”

Fowler baulked, his grimace weakening with confusion. He was floored, not so much by the surface-level parroting of policy, but by which of the partners had imparted it. 

"...Well shit, look who's finally decided to read up on current legislation."

"Do you even care? Give two shits about all the twisted shit these people might try to do?”

A spark of true passion had emerged, cutting through the haze of long-standing prejudice—the plight of lifeforms distanced and othered, recontextualised through a lens of injustice he comprehended.

Nines was less surprised than he should have been, as logically, it made no sense. Yet, the detective had demonstrated, quite apparently through recent events, his ability to overturn initial assumptions, subverting expectations.

"Since when do you, Reed?"

But there was a limit, withstanding for as long as stubborn internal mechanisms continued to shift. With this, it was rediscovered. 

Reed jerked back, winded, as his remaining argument puffed ineffectually into the air. His stare was paradoxically distant, but sharp with underlying clarity. As if he could see, realized in front of him, a line he had etched meticulously into his mind. Horrified by just how close he had come to crossing it.

Retreat was swift, as he concealed himself beneath a familiar veil of security: denial and deflection. 

"It doesn't matter how I feel. The law is the law; that's all there is to it.”

Amid the slew of intricacies and anomalies Nines had been observing in him, this response proved disappointingly predictable. It inspired dissatisfaction he attempted to conceal, although he sensed his partner had noticed. 

Still avoiding Fowler’s eyeline, his wandering focus had shifted to the unstable sequencing of his LED. A flicker passed through the mossy green, separate in origin from the jumbled reflections of light. It was quiet and solemn, weighted by uncertainty, almost seeming guilty.

It was gone before Nines could verify it, as Reed finally looked to their captain. His stare hardened with renewed resolve as the older man appeared resentful of the confrontation, although he did not dismiss it outright.

Having been bested within the narrow scope of the law and protocol being upheld, he relented, allowing some give. "...We'll look into the activity you've presented. At the very least, we can have the forum shut down. Slap Scott a fine for hate speech.” 

His eyes, which had flitted closed in exasperation, suddenly opened.  A halfhearted attempt was made to stack the printouts, accompanied by a sharp exhale through his nose.

“But you can't let yourself get distracted.” The malformed pile was ushered fractiously towards the partners, as a curt nod directed them to the exit. “The longer you waste time, the more androids die. You have one more week to gather some real leads and evidence. Don't let me down.”

Reed snarled resentfully. He prepared to snatch at the olive branch being extended by Fowler, snapping it in two and hurling it back. Nines, despite personal convictions, intervened before he could do so. 

"Thank you for your consideration, Captain. I assure you, we will not disappoint." 

The detective’s head whipped around as he stared, unflinching. Silently imploring explanation, clarity on why the RK had chosen now, of all moments, to accept defeat. 

As he rose from his seat, Nines offered a subtle nod. It assured Reed that his decision had not come lightly, and that elaboration would follow in due time. 

For now, a tension settled, thick and stifling, between the partners. It was only thinned by the chill that whipped through the hallway, sourced by a partially opened fire escape, at which Reed began charging. 

His shoulders were hunched, burdened by tension, and he was rifling persistently through his pocket. Presumably, he was feeling well enough to desire a cigarette—or had reached a level of aggravation where he no longer cared.

"Why does that old fucker have to be so stubborn? The pieces are there, dammit, if he could just give us a chance to put them together."

"It is undeniably frustrating, but I can understand his position,” Nines admitted. “The Homicide Department has been facing significant scrutiny relating to these crimes. Consensus is that the police are treating the victims as low priority, given they are androids."

"Bullshit."

Reed continued rummaging, moving with greater urgency in every laboured stomp. Scattered tissues and a faded receipt hit the floor before his hand emerged, clutching a battered cardboard box. He pulled an equally misshapen cigarette from its confines, holding it out for inspection like a priceless artefact.

"The bastard killing these bots is tricky. They have no idea how little we've had to work with."

As Nines followed alongside the man, he accessed the most recent version of their case file. Information populated the interface, and he was dismayed by the scant overview. Despite this, he extracted the attached subfolders, scrolling procedurally through the content.

"The lack of forensic evidence is troubling…” He paused, occupied by another detail—something that did prove tangible, defined, throughout the sequence of images. “However, our assailant clearly wants us to follow the trail he is creating. This is more than senseless brutality; it is a game."

"I hate to think what this guy was like as a kid, if this is his idea of a game."

Arriving at the frosted steps out of the precinct, the harshness of the cold was greatly enhanced. Nines adjusted his heating drivers, raising the temperature of his circulating biofluid, combatting the impact.

His partner's preservation measures proved less efficient. A harsh breeze whipped through the open folds of his jacket, which he scrambled to guard himself against. A lighter was fished from his pocket before his arms pinched tight to his chest, and he attempted to coordinate igniting the cigarette with his descent down the concrete.

The distraction was ill-advised, as the worn soles of his sneakers provided very little grip. The rubber squeaked disconcertingly against the ice, to which Nines ensured he kept a close distance.

With one particularly pronounced slip, Reed stalled. Idling on the stairs, he grounded himself on a less icy platform. He then lit the cigarette and attempted to secure a drag.

It was chopped and clumsy, his jaw spasming uncontrollably, as the violent gnashing of his teeth prevented the fumes from escaping. A cough rumbled from within his mouth, which he attempted to play off as the deliberate clearing of his throat. 

Nines, amused by the unnecessary bravado, chuckled in response.

“Don't know what you're laughin’ at…” the human grunted. His lips pulled to the side as a targeted jet of smoke was released through the purse. "It's not my fault I get cold and you don't."

"On the contrary, my biocomponents experience reduced functionality in extreme weather conditions. While I may not face the same physical discomfort, the cold has its impact."

"So stop being an asshole about it then.” He took another drag, deeper into his lungs, released with a lethargic head tilt. “I don't know what works for you androids when you're freezing your balls off, but this works for humans."

The android paused, eyebrow raised, as a sequence of damning physical readings undermined the statement.

"Biologically speaking, it does the opposite,” he explained, the words REDUCED METABOLIC CAPACITY asserting themselves boldly across his interface. “Smoking constricts blood vessels, exacerbating the feelings of cold—you would be better off purchasing gloves. Or a decent winter coat."

A new coat would undoubtedly suit him. Something tailored, fitted to his form, whilst still conforming to his usual style. Perhaps a brown wool blend, or distressed suede with a structured collar. A garment that could serve the practical purpose of retaining heat, but also complement the more inviting aspects of his physique…

"I wish they'd built you with a fucking mute button."

Nines shook his head briskly. The idea was not unappealing, provided this mute function extended to internal dialogue.

“Perhaps it would be best to maintain focus on the investigation.” Skirting past any further wardrobe critique, he redirected the exchange to more pressing concerns. “I have a theory I wish to share with you, relating to the instructions given to Mr Scott…”

> SOURCE PATH: EVIDENCE PROFILE #407

> INSTRUCTIONS (DOUBLE DECRYPTED) —TLLA HA JS OX ZS J → MEET AT CL HQ SL C

> CROSS-REFERENCING INT. FILE: SUSPECT PROFILE

> SELECTING SEARCH CRITERIA — SUBCATEGORY: MOTIVATION

> LOADING RESULTS…

> ALIGNING SOURCE PATH WITH EVIDENCE PROFILE #378 #239

CROSS-REFERENCING COMMERCIAL AND INDUSTRIAL DEVELOPMENTS…

> MEET AT CL HQ SL C

> PARTIAL SOLUTION ESTABLISHED.

> MARGIN OF ERROR 0.5%

“Assuming the code is an anagram, and considering the probable relevance of numerous Detroit-based landmarks and businesses, the prevailing solution is that the letters refer to 'CyberLife Headquarters.”

Reed, who had been studying the piling embers on the end of his smoke, looked up in surprise. He considered the information, brow pinched in concentration, before nodding slowly. 

"...I mean, that makes sense. All the victims are androids—could be some kind of statement." 

> SUSPECT PROFILE 

> ACCESSING SUBCATEGORY: MOTIVATION 

> PERSONAL VENDETTA — PROFESSIONAL AFFILIATION. FIELD: CYBERNETICS. 

> INSUFFICIENT DATA

> UPDATING…

"That is not the only reason for my deduction. Having studied Mr Scott's online behaviour, I thought it only perfunctory to conduct a background check."

"I'm guessing you found something?"

> DECRYPTION OF SOURCE CODE #407

> B.M. SCOTT DISTRIBUTOR CONTACTS, ALLOTTED SHIPMENTS #587 - #3243, RECORDS SPAN 10 YEARS

"Indeed. It would seem our friend has a long history with the company, dating back to early 2028. He found success as an android components trader, issuing supplies to local warehouses. The revolution called for the dissolution of his business, with no new models planned for production…" 

"...so he would have gone bust around the same time CyberLife did," his partner finished. He had begun to descend the steps again, albeit slowly, hanging on every word. His cigarette was forgotten, clasped limply between two fingers.

"It wouldn't be a leap to assume that this resulted in a hefty amount of resentment: not only for Mr Scott, but for his contacts who were also made redundant. Perhaps they have been back in touch." 

 "So what are you thinking? Our killer worked for CyberLife?" 

> GATHERING ADDITIONAL SUPPORTING DATA…

> SOURCE PATH: CRIMINAL ACTIVITIES 

> SYSTEMATIC DISARMING, TERMINATION AND DISASSEMBLY OF VICTIM(S)

> INTIMATE FAMILIARITY WITH CYBERLIFE ANDROIDS BEYOND BREADTH OF PUBLICLY ACCESSIBLE DATA.

"A knowledge of robotics and android manufacture would explain much of the killer's skillset. In all the cases we have investigated thus far, they seemed to have possessed a keen understanding of how to neutralise their victim. Exploiting the MJ100's hearing fault—and winning the trust of the Traci, convincing them that they were a client."

"I wouldn't say those things require a degree in Advanced Cyber Engineering. What's to say Scott couldn't do the same thing?"

"The hearing fault of the MJ100 was only known to affect models of a certain batch. It was not widely publicised. In addition, while a male Traci is not invulnerable, they are built for strength and durability. To take one down single-handedly is an impressive feat." 

> UPDATE COMPLETE. 

Nines felt assured in his conclusion and pleased to merge understanding with his partner. Unfortunately, Reed still seemed to be catching up in certain aspects. 

"...So why didn't you tell Fowler any of this?” Ash, which had amassed at the end of his cigarette, fell to the step in a chalky mound. He discarded what else remained: a blackened stub of paper and tobacco. “For fuck's sake, Nines, it might have helped when we were trying to make our case."

"I outlined my findings in all relevant reports. Perhaps you should review them sometime."

The man expelled an aggrieved groan, albeit unaccompanied by any real protest. "So what gives, then? Why doesn't Fowler want us looking into Scott?"

"He doesn't want the case questioned. Scott’s ties to CyberLife mean nothing unless we can link our killer to the same place."

"Yeah, but with our primary witness now off limits, how are we supposed to track down a suspect? I mean, CyberLife Detroit must’ve had hundreds of engineers. Where do we start looking?"

"Our search needn't extend beyond those terminated within the last few months. Using what we already know about our killer, we can further narrow our list to those fitting the profile."

"How do we get the list in the first place?"

The seeds of a plan, which had been planted as contingency, should Fowler fail to assist them, began to sprout. "Simple, we go to Headquarters directly."

Reed came to a grinding halt. It forced Nines to do the same, avoiding a collision that would have flattened him against the sidewalk. He looked up at the android, his gaze honed sharply, before addressing him with an equally pointed retort:

"I don't know if you've noticed, but CyberLife is in deep shit right now, up to its neck in damage control. They aren't going to make it worse for themselves by implicating former staff."

"What if we weren't seeking to procure names for legal purposes?"

The man continued to stare, strands of comprehension flickering behind his eyes, failing to connect—until suddenly, they did. The cloudy haze lifted, a jolt of understanding slicing through it, as his posture straightened. 

"Are you saying we go undercover?"

"If you are up to the challenge, then yes."

Another jolt, wedged between apprehension and intrigue. "Fowler would never—"

The sentence aborted, severed before it came to fruition. He looked beyond the android, towards the door, still slightly ajar at the top of the stairs. He disembarked the steps quickly, ensuring no lingering coworkers would hear him. Nines was encouraged to do the same, guiding into the parking lot with a pointed usher.

Once they had moved a reasonable distance from the exit, shouldered between two patrol vehicles, Reed felt confident in speaking again:

"I can't believe I'm the one saying this, but we could get in a lot of trouble. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I can assure you, we are unlikely to face any severe disciplinary action… should our actions prove justifiable.” It was a surreal submersion of their roles, with the android being the instigator of a reckless gamble of their personal and professional reputations, albeit one supported by calculated risk.

Curious as it was, the cooperation of his partner would prove advantageous. It would prove highly inconvenient if Reed picked now, of all times, to start complying with the rules. 

And so, he shamelessly appealed to the man’s rebellious sensibilities, countering his reservations with a playful challenge.

"I trust you won't give the game away."

There was silence between them for a moment, as the detective looked torn. Eventually, fascination and excitement won over more mundane compunctions. His shoulders began to tremble, as a snort held in the back of his throat. 

Then, a series of rich vibrations pealed from his lips, filling the air, undermining any attempt to conceal their position.

"You know, when you first joined the force, I had you pegged for a little plastic suck up. But you aren't like that at all, are you? You're a devious shit."

The title did not feel insulting, although it was in a literal sense. There was a playfulness to the delivery that could be easily misinterpreted as genuine fondness.

He responded in kind, lips moving instinctively before he could stop them. "I believe you said it yourself, Detective. I am full of surprises."

Reed laughed again, louder, and Nines experienced brief satisfaction at the approval, before a staggering sense of unease trounced it. The warmth of Reed’s laugh lingered longer than it should have, filling a space Nines hadn't expected to notice.

As the man beamed at him, he picked up on subtle intricacies in the expression. The uncanny sharpness of his canines. How his smile sat lopsided, pulled to one side, forming a dimple in his cheek. The frivolous data was recorded with unwavering meticulousness and committed to his memory banks without conscious instruction.

It was undeniable at this point that events of the previous day had inspired a staggering, irrevocable shift in his perception.

He was inexplicably and hopelessly fixated on the human’s appearance. It was almost reminiscent of the women in RK800’s dismal films. A leading lady, absorbed by every mundane detail of her love interest. As though she were trying to justify his uniqueness, validating why she was so drawn to him specifically.

Whatever Nines was experiencing seemed to share a similar nuance. 

The implications were damning and a dismayed heat began to rise in his cheeks. He did not wish to draw conclusions—far from informed on the subject and lacking the emotional intelligence to understand innately. A realm in which his less ‘advanced’ predecessor effortlessly excelled. 

He required his guidance immediately, no longer willing to extend the luxury of patiently awaiting replies. Nines opened his temporal link to RK800, only to freeze, realising he lacked the needed parameters to define his predicament.

The channel was closed, as he determined it would be easier to address the matter in person.