#I wasn’t expecting a lengthy hair color discussion

[kitsnicket]

I thought she was blond in canon in the book?

The text doesn’t specify. It just says her hair is long and messy/tangled and there’s pencils in it.

The TPP front cover she’s got reddish hair (an online color picker called it “rust brown”). TPP interior illustration is black and white but considering it’s the same artists for the cover and inside illustrations, I’m willing to bet the light shading is supposed to indicate that reddish color

Kit in the atwq illustrations is blonde

It doesn’t rlly matter tho. Just imagine whatever you want babey!

[is-that-another-soulmate-au]

Me? Combine two soulmate AUs and add in an animal hybrid AU????

Of courze, buckle up buddies this is gonna be a bit if a bumpy ride

Dream soulmate/soulpairs AU/Soulmate Ribbons AU/Animal Hybrid AU

Dream: Basically like last time you cant control when you visit, you cant see them, you cant say your name or where you're from. But this time its a legit group dream. In the dream your soulmate(s) will have a ribbon around them apposed to the simply blurred soulpair(s)

Ribbon/animal hybrid: with the ribbon au it ties in with the animal for the most part. You're born with a ribbon tied around your animal feature, whether it be at the base of a fluffy wolf tail, the end of a cat/lemur tail, at the base of cat ears/bunny ears, on any type of horns. Regardless of where it happens to be tied, it cannot be removed, it can be burnt or singed but it cant be cut or removed. The color of your soulmates nation appears after you meet your them, and you can then see the color of yours around them during dreams

So basically Zuko's 12th birthday he goes to sleep and in his dream there are three people with one surrounded by a pale white ribbon.

"H-hello?" He called out.

"Hi!" A cheery voice called out

"Im assuming you're all.. not my soulmate, because I'm 8" a slightly annoyed young girl called

"Your a soulfriend for me!" A chipper Boys voice broke through, the voice of the bright figure

"Uhm, I know I can't know your names, but I'd like to be able to distinguish between all of you... uhm,"

"Call me Bandit" the younger girl called out

"You can call me Oshi"

"And uhm..."

"I'll call you turtleduck" zuko interrupted him

"What? Why that?"

"Uh, well, I have a turtleduck pond by my home and I like it there, and uh, your my soulmate so..."

"Oh! Uhmm... what should I call you?" The boy paused a moment

"Sunshine? Maybe?"

"Yeah! Sunshine!"

"Alright, so, Bandit, Oshi, Turtleduck, and Sunshine?" Oshi piped in

"Yeah," bandit hummed "by the way, whats a turtle duck?"

"Ill show you one whe-"

"Im blind"

"What? Oh, im sorry, I didnt know. Well, if we ever meet I'll let you hold one. I'm sure it'll get the idea across."

"Youre blind?! That sounds so cool! I bet your other senses are heightened" Oshi chirped at the thought

"Yeah, and so is my bending! I can see with me bending, but im not too good at it yet"

"You're a bender? I dont know if we can find out what kind" Turtleduck mused

"Let me try... im an earthbender!"

"Woah! Cool! So you use earthbending to see?" Zuko questioned

The rest of the dream was fairly blurry to him. He ran to his mom to talk about his dream, going on about Oshi, Bandit and Turt; he shortened turtleduck because well, he wanted to.

They dont meet up until later that year, after his mother had left him he was found crying

"Sunny?" He heard Bandit call out

"Huh!? Oh hey guys, sorry, im fine" he sighed "I- I lost my mom just last week"

They all comforted him and then pulled the conversation to different topics, Turt talking about going hunting with his dad and getting hit wolf tail caught on a fishing line. Bandit talked about her earthbending and how she learned how to use her badger tail to bend as well. Oshi all the while hovered as close as the dream would let her, it felt similar to a motherly protection and he appreciated it greatly.

The next time they saw eachother was about two nights after his banishment he was found pouting but quickly came out it the pout when he heard Turt calling out

"SUNNY! Sunny! Hi! Oh Tui! Hi Bandit! Hi Oshi!"

"Hey Turt!" The girls called out "Sunny, whats got you down?"

He sighed "i left the firenation today"

"Woah woah, hold on, why did you leave- oh were you from there? Why would you leave?" Oshi pried.

"Uhm, I was banished for losing an agni kai against my dad"

"An Agn- thats a firebending duel! Your still just 13!" Turt cried out

"Yeah, well, my dad doesnt care about that, he made sure I'd remember that by burning me, now i have to find the avatar before I can return home"

Their conversation lasted for what felt like several blurry hours. When he woke it was to Iroh walking in with some tea. Zuko shot up and managed to get his blanket caught in his horns "AAAGH!" He growled out "help... please" iroh simply chuckled and untangled the blankets from Zuko's horns

"How was your sleep nephew?" Iroh asked as he started to pour them some tea, handing Zuko his cup.

"I talked to Oshi, Bandit and Turt again" he mumbled while bringing the cup to his lips and blowing some of the steam away.

"Thats good, were you able to discuss your banishment? I'm not sure if the dreams will let you, my soulmate and I have never met nor have we ever left our nations"

"Yeah, I was able to tell them everything, well the banishment and" he motioned to his now healing eye wound.

They had met a few more times over the next three years, Oshi revealing that she has a lion tail that is most certainly not as clumsy as Turt's consistently caught wolf tail.

About a week after Zuko arrived at the southpole and managed to lose the avatar there was another dream

"Sunny!" Turt sounded angry

"Uh, y-yeah?"

"You visited my tribe today" the ribbon around Turt was red

"Oh, uh yeah, I'm sorry. Did I hurt someone, I wasn't trying to, I just needed to grab the avatar"

"YOU DONT NEED THE AVATAR SUNNY!" Turt was fuming "youre chasing the avatar for what? The love of an abusive father?"

"Hes no-

"He is Sunny! I dont know the full extent of it. But if he broke your horn, burnt you, and then BANISHED YOU all for speaking out of turn, then that spells abusive!! That level of abuse and your level of wanting to be back says clearly that you were neglected and abused, what the FUCK Sunny!"

Zuko was frozen but it wasnt silent

"We've been trying to tell you this Sunny, your dad is terrible and you deserve actual love, your uncle is a much better dad than him, and you know it" Oshi piped up

"Yeah, I know but-"

"And! If I ever get my hands on him, it'll be his last day alive. Mark. My. Words" Bandit cracked her knuckles

The dream went on for a while longer with the trio eventually convincing Zuko he shouldn't search for his fathers love by capturing the avater. Turt managed to convince him to join forces with the avatar the next time he saw them. The next time he met up with the avatar was on Kyoshi Island, where he entered the town without his armor or helmet, and instead wearing casual garmets.

"What are you doing here Zuko?" Katara growled at him with the hairs on her tail standing on end. Aang was behind her with his lemur tail flicking angrily.

"Well, im not here to capture you if that's what you think. I came to join you"

"Why would we ever believe that?" Aang's voice was nearly as angry as Katara's

Sokka was beside Katara in a similar stance but had yet to respond

"Well, I honestly don't expect you to believe me, unless any of you happen to be Turt, Oshi or Bandit." He paused "look I was burnt and banished at 13 by my own father just for speaking up in a war meeting about how cruel it was to sacrifice new recruites for a bigger win, and my father sent me out to find the avatar." He sighed "i would have continued but Turt and Oshi managed to help me understand where I was wrong in thinking and made me see just how abusive my dad is"

"Sunny?" Sokka finally spoke but was matched with one of the Kyoshi warriors

"Huh? I mean, yeah they call me that, wait are you Turt?" He then turned to the warrior and saw the lion tail "Oshi!?" He stepped back in a moment of surprise.

"Oh my gods Sunny what the hell!" The wolf and lion laughed

"Wait, Zuko is the Sunny you've been talking about!?" Katara and Aang said in unison.

From there out Zuko was a part of the team. Suki having to stay behind for the time being. The group traveled via Appa or by boat. Katara, Sokka and Iroh having lengthy in depth conversations about waterbending and pai sho. He may or may not have been making an attempt to recruit them both slowly but surely.

When they met Toph she put two and two together so fast. "You're Sunny and Turt!" She exclaimed before they duo could introduce eachother

"Wait! Bandit!" Thay said in unison

"The one and only Blind Bandit!" She said proudly.

After meeting with her Zuko became acquainted with a chaotic good type younger sister as apposed to his own chaotic evil. Toph would often launch herself into his shoulders, grab his horns and say "onward noble dragon steed!!" Which he didnt mind so he never complained much.

Let's fast forward to the desert. While Sokka Aang and Katara went into the library to explore, Zuko and Iroh stayed behind with toph to protect Appa, when the Sand benders arrived while the Library was sinking the two firebenders fought off the sandbenders until the trio emerged and they ran off. Zuko, however had fought practically tooth and nail to keep appa there, dodging sand and blasting fire to distract the benders when they tried to use the sand beneath his feet against him. He collapsed from the exhaustion of not only fighting with a dozen benders in their element, but also the heat of the sun. Iroh on the other hand asked Katara for a bit of water to make sure he didnt collapse as well.

"Zuko!" Aang cried out when he watched Zuko collapse in the sand. They all got back on Appa and made their way out of the dessert.

Not long after they stopped at a small body of water to rest and wash up Appa so he wouldn't be shedding and attracting anyone Zuko taking a hot minute to get his strength back. They were approached by a couple who happened to have a baby on the way and Zuko nudged Aang "we should take them with us, yknow, spread some joy"

So they flew the couple with them to Ba Sing Se with them. They managed to get in to tell the earth king their invasion plan, as well as taking down the dai li with the proof of the drill right outside the wall. Without having the advantage of the Kyoshi disguises Azula didnt manage to gain the upperhand against Ba Sing Se, and in turn she had no idea about the invasion plan. Aang had his crisis at Ember island before the invasion and met the lion turtle just before they had to leave.

When the invasion began Zuko and Aang both went off to the city, Zuko in his blue spirit get up with his swords on his back literally being dangled in the air by Aangs weirdly strong ass tail. When the landed on the roof, it was still a bit until the fire kicked off. So they were dodging fire balls while running towards the palace, however right before they went into the throne room Azula appeared. She went to shoot fire but was shocked to see no fire come out. Aang smirked and bended the earth around her to keep her in place.

They went in to Ozai, Zuko drawing his swords and Aang readying himself to fight a powerful bender who possibly had skills other than bending. But they were met with a practically powerless man who didn't take long to defeat, taking his life wasn't the option, however, Aang knew that, and so he took his bending away, to the absolute awe of Zuko who watched the blinding light for a moment before shielding his eyes.

After the success of the invasion Iroh took the throne when Zuko told him he was simply not ready. However Iroh made a deal with him, he would be firelord for all of 5 years, set the ground work for Zuko and let his nephew take up some studying in the other nations as well as his own to figure out how he would rule after the 5 years were up.

And he did, he gathered as much information from the other nations, all with Sokka joining with him. He spend a year at the south pole, helping rebuild the place, he spend a year at the northpole studying the scrolls available, he spent a year going to each large earth kingdom city, and then he spent his fourth year in the firenation reading every scroll he could. One night while in his room reading through a pile of scrolls he leaned onto Sokka's shoulder for support, but Sokka took the scroll out of his hands "alright enough reading for you tonight, come on little dragon its bedtime"

Sokka's tail was absentmindedly wagging side to side as he helped his soulmate undress and get into more comfortable clothes, of course getting the cloth stuck on those pesky horns a couple times. But soon they were both laying in bed with Zuko resting his cheek against Sokka's chest while Sokka ran his fingers through his hair.

They could stay like this forever. And wouldn't you know it, after Zuko took the throne he proposed to Sokka and the two were soon married, the Wolf and the Dragon.

At the wedding Toph and Suki were the first to show up, bringing gifts, Suki gave them a pair of gold fans, one with a turtleduck on it and the other with a sun on it. Toph on the otherhand had brought a dagger with a dragon carved on the blade and a wolfs head on the handle.

>another marraige wrap up? Of course, its me what else would I do?

[shadowdianne]

You wanted a prompt? The blob has a prompt! Cissamione, if that's OK. Boat ride from Azkaban -- both Narcissa and Hermione were there (the reasons are up to you) and share a Tense ride back. Bring on the angst!! (or don't! Maybe you've hit your head and become The Master of Fluff, who knows!)

Sweet sweet blob, fluff? I don’t know her!

Thanks for the prompt tho, Nara. I hope this one it’s to your liking 😉

PS: Some non-canon thingies going your way. JK can suck it. Also, pre-relationship. (Don’t say I didn’t warn you)

The soggy wood beneath her fingers gave up a fraction of an inch as Hermione grasped into it, eyes lost into the slowly disappearing Azkaban tower, the grey waters lapping mercilessly against the rocking boat that slowly made its way to shore. It didn’t matter how hard or long she stared at her back, however, as she could feel the stormy eyes that had been following her every move ever since she had looked at the enchanted boat with her feet firmly planted into the pebble-covered road that made its sinuous way towards the main entrance of the prison.

She had known what she had agreed to when she had offered up her name when rumors about Narcissa Black being permitted to visit her sister had spread all through the Ministry. Yet, when she had asked for the permit, pulling up the rank her status as one of the Golden Trio gave her, she had felt just as dirty as she now felt the back of her throat to be: as if something had gotten stuck there, a non-said spell, an almost swallowed curse. And now, as the blonde witch kept on looking at her, beyond the sea waters, beyond the invisible set of magical wards they kept on slowly trespassing as they moved away from Azkaban, she felt as if about to implode.

“You don’t need to keep on gloating.”

Narcissa’s voice reached her beyond the sound of the waves as they kept on moving: two witches aboard the only magical way left to reach and return from the dark island. She sounded defeated, tired, and the younger witch pursed her lips at the words, knowing there was very little she could say in order to defend herself. It was, after all, what could be perceived as what she was doing: staring, gloating.

She always had found difficult keeping her mouth shut, however. And knowing she already was halfway into a hopeless discussion couldn’t really make her do it.

“I wasn’t.”

She turned towards the prow of the boat, glancing at Narcissa fully for the first time since they had left the deepest caverns that took their root well beneath ground level back at Azkaban: the humidity of the air visible on the dampened rocky walls. The blonde looked paler than usual, grey tint around her usual ice-like eyes. Back straight, however, hands neatly folded on her lap, the previous Malfoy matriarch still looked very much the nobility-holding title witch she had once been.

A shadow of something close to a sneer colored the rictus on her lips, though, and Hermione couldn’t do anything but roll her shoulders, knowing the conversation they were about to have was long overdue. After all, she had expected to have it such when they first had embarked in that very same boat a few hours prior; with the blindness the still-yet-to-have met up brought with it.

But Narcissa had remained silent then, eyes piercing the horizon rather than Hermione and a part of the brunette had been happy for it. Relieved. It seemed, however, that her luck had run out.

“Don’t even try, I know you insisted on coming, Miss Granger.”

The words didn’t quite hurt as much as the use of her surname. The brunette could remember how their last lengthy conversation had ended: with them waiting, surrounding by press, witches, wizards, mages, as the Lestrange trial started beyond the Wizengamot’s closed doors. She had made a promise, after all. A deal with the devil.

She could remember Narcissa’s eyes then, blue, like gems, as she had tried to feign she wasn’t about to cry with every bit of shame and guilt making them glow with unshed magic. She could remember the way the older witch had broken, like glass against stone, the way she had used her name as she had uttered how she knew it was far too much to ask, for her, who had suffered so much back at Malfoy Manor, for, at least, the ability to be able to visit the dark-haired woman whose fate was already sealed.

And yet, when the resolution had been shared, despite her promise of trying, Hermione had eyed Harry, had eyed Ron, and she had walked away. She hadn’t felt remorse from her decision, but she had seen the eyes, the glances, the magic, the promise taken ahold inside her chest.

Lowering her eyes, she looked back to Narcissa’s fingers, to the way they were pressed together, interlocked, knuckles whiter, magic dribbling through.

“I know you had been insisting on the visit. I wanted…”

She halted there, not knowing what exactly she was supposed to say. She had asked for her being the witch assigned to the task out of a sense of duty she couldn’t quite understand after all. And so, not even explain.

Ron had gurgled out curses when she had shared what Narcissa had asked out of her, with Harry looking at her with that mix of curious and doubtful glimmering its way through his irises. She ought to have felt much more incensed, she had told to herself: the gall the blonde witch possessed of even asking maybe too much for her. Yet, she hadn’t quite reacted to the words, numbness slowly eating her insides while she merely nodded, knowing beforehand she couldn’t really give a straight answer of what she could do.

War wasn’t always about battlefields and dates that became important once they passed: it was the remains what mattered and, by the time of the trials, there were far too much fragmented pieces of her still being rebuilt for her to have been capable of answering the tiniest fraction of a question.

She also knew that Narcissa, deep down, had understood her hesitation. Yet, expecting a logical answer from either of them when Bellatrix was involved was too much on itself. And so, she let her tongue fell flat, firmly between her teeth as she tried to find a way of adding to an already rotten layer of words.

I was concerned.

That was probably the best type of answer, but it implied much more, and Hermione glanced at the foam gathered against the external walls of the boat as the tension kept on mounting: Narcissa’s eyes following her once again. She had, indeed, been concerned. About what could potentially happen to Narcissa, to Bellatrix, to the reunion that had been bound to be difficult from the start.

Because, as they had quickly confirmed, Narcissa’s own necessity of checking that her sister was alright despite her situation, her condemnation, the older Black sister didn’t feel the same. Her screams had followed them both out of the caverns, the expletives as bad as -and even probably worse than- the ones a younger Hermione had once heard in the Black mansion, when she had been little more than a teen and there still had been adults padding the way to war.

She feared what any other mage, any other wizard or witch, would have done with an obviously devastated Narcissa whose divorce had already been long and extraneous enough.

Yet, concern and pity hold the same image when reflected into the Black’s mirror and the brunette knew that it wouldn’t be accepted so she sighed, deeply, while glancing up once more, the shadow of something close to land beginning to extend at Narcissa’s back.

“You had the privilege of a visit. You deserved it.”

It wasn’t much of an explanation and she tensed as Narcissa tilted her head, eyes as piercing as before but a glow of rendition on them. The grey around them had been red before stepping into the boat, the very much mortal and human wardens around the island silently watching as they retrieved their wands from where they had needed to leave them: open mockery and hate on their postures. Hermione knew she should never mention that detail: not in her report, not to anyone else.

Looking away from the brunette for the first time, Narcissa crossed one leg over the other while remaining as upright and as unbothered by the rocky waters as before, pushing the question inside Hermione’s subconscious if she had gotten her clothes magicked in some way.

Ironing lines that weren’t truly there, picking up lint that was indeed invisible, the Black sister sighed, lips pouting for a moment, before she took into Hermione’s form once again.

“And I suppose you are expecting some grateful words due to it.”

The younger witch shook her head. She didn’t deserve them: she had been duplicitous and they both knew it, a way of both shooting the guilt she felt and the words they both had shared during the trials. She wasn’t proud of her decision, but she knew there were worse actions to take.

“But I will ask on being your assigned witch if you ever wish to come back. The permit let you such, if you wished it so.”

And, despite her words, Bellatrix hadn’t said she didn’t want to see her sister anymore so…

The blonde hummed as the boat rocked and stopped, the small bumping motion against the shore the signal they had reached their final destination with more gates to cross until they were considered to be completely clear. Standing, the older woman stepped outside the boat and looked quizzically at Hermione, following her steps while the scent of salt filled their nostrils, seagulls framing her answer.

“I suppose it’s fair. Hermione.”

And so, she turned, her footsteps leaving prints as light as smoke on the wet sand. Her words, however, heavy.

Thank you

[saundraswriting]

Interior Designer Chapter 5: Dinner

SUMMARY:You join the Avengers for dinner, part because you want to and partly because Tony wouldn't take no for an answer. You meet the others who expected to stay at the compound. Steve and Bucky talk. Your work habits make an appearance.

WARNINGS: Bucky and Steve both deal with intense emotions. Also I allude a bit to the reader's backstory. You have been shunned of sorts from a very wealthy family, you were forced to develop skills to better yourself to be of more value to your parents. so there are some references to a sense of familial detachment, I am not writing it as abuse because the reader is well cared for but her parents are hard to please and distant.

NOTES: This is an everyone lives/no one dies, Living in the compound, Non Civil War compliant, No Sokovian Accords AU.

Previous / Next

"No we haven't. My name is F/N :L/N. I just accepted an offer from Ms. Potts to be an Interior decorator for the compound. I'll work with each one of you to decorate and settle your rooms how you like. Then I'll also be in charge of the other living areas of the compound. My official title is Quartermaster of the Avengers." You spoke to everyone, looking at those who you see.

"I am called Vision. This is Wanda Maximoff and her brother Pietro Maximoff." Vison pointed to the two in front of you.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Vision, Ms. Maximoff and Mr. Maximoff." You smiled at the three of them.

"We are roughly the same age, surely you can use our first names." Wanda told you. You nodded in agreement.

"You can just call me anytime, baby." Sam winked at you from his position to your right. His charming smile shrunk ever so slightly at you lack of response. "Huh? You playing hard to get?" His smile gained strength.

"Nope, just got standards, bird-boy." You teased with a wiggle of your eyebrows. Laughter rang around the table, the hardest coming from your left. Steve and Bucky were laughing outright, making pride grow in your chest. You made the team laugh and smile.

"Oh, how you wound me!" Sam clapped a hand to his chest in mock horror.

"She is good. Keep that sense of humor, making fun of Sam is a sure fired way to get on the good side of some people." Steve said.

"Not that I am conceited or anything but I don't need an introduction." Tony said. He was on Sam's right across from Natasha. You shook your head.

"I think not. I have already met you, Captain Rogers, Sargent Barnes, and Mr. Wilson. I also knew Dr. Banner from university. I went to a science classes for color and light theory things. He is a well-rounded source with his 7 Ph.Ds." You smiled fondly at the man at the head of the table. "I know of Mr. Barton and Ms. Romanov. I was very impressed with your abilities during the Battle of New York. I will admit I didn't follow the news avidly after that until D.C and even then very infrequently."

"Call me Clint please." He told you. You smiled and shook your head. 'Maybe one day, you deserve the respect I can give you. But you can call me Y/N.' You signed to him fluently. His eyes widened in surprise and a twinkle lit up his eyes.

"I know half dozen languages fluently. and several less so; French, Spanish, German, Italian, Japanese, Russian, Chinese, Portuguese, Hindu, Greek, ASL." You told everyone, you wanted full transparency on your part. They were the Avengers, least you could do was help them relax around you, let them drop their guard.

"Well, aren't you just full of surprises." Natasha murmured, leaning her head on her hand. She was peering at you closely, examining you. Your honesty only increased her suspicion.

You shrugged, debating on talking about it on night number one. 'full transparency, be honest.'  you thought to yourself. "Many are not by my own doing. I was a member a very haughty family. I was forced to use every opportunity to earn something that could be used to better market myself to the highest bidder. I used everything I was forced to learn to get myself out before I was married off." You spoke to the middle distance, trying to push down the memories of your home life. The emotionlessness of your parents, the words used to make you feel like a burden, the endless hours of schooling, the punishments for being wrong or vocal. You spoke with no emotion, trying not to let through more than what you wanted at the moment. Some things were not meant for dinnertime conversation.

You visibly shook yourself, shifting away from the maudlin thoughts. "I don't mean to be depressing during dinner. I promise, Ms. Romanov, I mean you or your family any harm. I understand your suspicion, it has kept you alive until now." You smiled warmly at the redhead, not bothered by the behavior. She at least had the manners to look sheepishly at you.

Seeing everyone was just about done, there was leftovers. Which was strange to you, you figured they would eat everything. "Why don't you all do your movie thing-team bonding or whatever? I will clean up and make my way to my room. I still have some work I want to work on." You stood up clearing you place setting. Most of the others got up and moved to the living room to discuss options for the nights. You went back to the table, fully intending to clean up but Bucky and Steve both were shaking their heads at you.

"Not happening. Our ma's would be rolling in their graves." Steve said.

"No guest of ours is cleaning up from a meal let alone a dame like you. We got this." Bucky said. They used their immense bulk to block the table from you. Bucky even guiding you past him by the small of your back with his right hand.

You stared at them with narrowed eyes, unsure. "Fine. This is the only time I will tolerate this. I am now an employee, specifically Tony's but by associate yours. I will not accept this forced chivalry laying down. You can't make me." You walked past the table to join the others.

Bucky looked at you with an innocent look on his face, his tired eyes almost ruining it, but you could see his hair was clean and his scruff looked a little better. "Wouldn't dream of it. Now shoo." Bucky nudged you with his flesh hand.

"Good job Bucky. That was well done. Now let's hurry so we can go sit. You handled a full conversation with her exquisitely. Also you initiated touch. That is a lot of progress not just for today but in general." Steve said as they pitched empty cartons.

"I know, I am actually kind of worried. She is able to just make me forget. Like it is just so easy with her to be human. Don't get me wrong, I am tired. She might make it easy but I still have the consequences to deal with. Just since I met her, my thoughts have been racing. I reach out to touch her and forget I killed so many people.. I could hurt her or anyone if I forget a the wrong time." Bucky admitted.

"Yeah, you are human Buck. You need to accept and learn to move on. That is what the therapy is for. You hurt and killed people, yes, but that wasn't you. You aren't the only one here that could hurt her, I could, Sam could, Thor could, especially if we had to work through what you have to. I hate to tell you Bucky, there is no 'I am fixed' moment. You work at it every day all day. Everything takes time. And we all will be here to help you." Steve rested a hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing when he wasn't shrugged off.

The two men finished cleaning up, packing up the leftovers and labeling them. They cleaned the table and put the dishes in the restaurant grade dishwasher. Once done, Steve stood by the living room Buck looking between the couches and the doorway to his room.

"If you want to duck out, no one will judge." Steve said.

"I think I might. I am tired. It has been a long day. I don't want to push it too far." Bucky was apologetic.

"That is perfectly okay. Knowing your limits is important too." Steve said.

"Then yes, I am turning in. I want to end on a high note, not taint my good day by having a bad night. I haven't had human-to-human contact for days and Y/N's comment about not needed to protect you got me twisted up. I need some time to just be." Bucky rubbed the back of his head, not looking at Steve. He was hesitating. Steve waited patiently.

"I don't resent you. I don't resent you because you got bigger. I don't resent you for me falling or moving on. I resent the assholes that made me into their puppet. I resent them from taking 70 years from me to use me like a plaything. I resent them for taking away the things about me that I knew." Bucky's hands were trembling ever so slightly. Steve felt his heart break all over again. "I know mentally-I understand-that you don't need me mother-henning you till the cows come home, I get that. That doesn't mean that I don't miss it. I also know that you are a dumbass punk who has only survived by being lucky. I am trying to relearn a lot of things. Shuri, Wanda and everyone have been more than helpful in re-wiring my brain. The hardest part sometimes is seeing Stevie and Steve at the same time, seeing you then and you now. I was your family then and you went and built one. I don't resent you or hate you, I am a little jealous sure. Of them. Of you." Bucky's eyes were wet again, breath shuddering in his chest. Steve felt his eyes grow wet, vision swimming from tears. He took a deep, shaky breath. He needed Bucky to hear this, to know this.

"James Buchanan Barnes, no matter what. No. Matter. What. You belong next to me. You are my family. They are my family. And if you want, they are your family. We found each other and built this family with our own hands. It won't happen right away. It will take time. Gods, I needed like five years before I got even slightly used to everything. You aren't alone. You'll never be alone again." Steve pulled Bucky into a tight breath-squeezing hug.

Bucky tucked his head into Steve's shoulder and squeezed back. He and Steve muttering soothing words into each other's ear, trying to not cry to hard. "Thank you Steve. For everything." Bucky pulled away after the lengthy hug. "I am definitely going to bed now. Night, punk." Bucky made his way to the entry way of his hallway calling out good nights to the others. They answered in kind-abet distractedly.

"Good night, Sargent Barnes. Sleep well." Your voice was firm and focused. You wanted him to know you meant it.

Steve came into the living room once Bucky left, you stood up right away.

"Y/N." Steve called. You went over. Steve grabbed your hand. "Thank you. Bucky and I had a heart-to-heart, a really nice one. We haven't really talked about anything of importance because I don't want to upset him and he doesn't wasn't to upset me. You helped him through a lot of things today, without even trying. He had been struggling with some of it for while now. You probably know that recovery isn't a straight line." You could see he had been crying, eyes were red and puffy, voice thick.

"I am glad to help. I don't know much about what happened, I felt you were in the right. I do feel bad though because I overstepped boundaries. Even if it helped him in the end. I also certainly didn't mean to trigger him." You help up a hand to stop Steve from speaking. "Captain Rogers, I very much did trigger him in the kitchen this afternoon. He was frozen and distant and crying. Subconsciously, my comment triggered an issue that had been hounding him for a while. It brought a lot to the conscious mind and he needed time to deal with it.

"I won't argue with you. I will tell you for the first time ever, my best friend gave me a hug. I have been waiting 70 plus years for that. He talked to me, about what he has been feeling. I want to thank you. I got parts of him I thought I would never see again. I know-because of you today-Bucky will be just fine." Steve squeezed your hand.

"Just in the span of today? I knew Sargent Barnes would be fine. With a family like yours, there was no doubt." You squeezed back, grinning. "Now, the kitchen is cleaned and I can go back to work." You pulled away but were stopped by Steve lightly yanking your arm.

"Um, No. It is movie time. Not working time." Clint said.

"I am an official SI employee. With a very important job to do. I have to get a head start on it." You tried to get away again. Steve stopped you once more.

"Nope, you didn't sign anything today. You are just a guess for now. So sit down and watch the movie and then if you want you can work again." Steve pulled you down to sit next to him, closer than socially acceptable. Steve knew that you were now one of his. He would protect you and care for you like the family he sees you as. "I hope you know that you are now unofficially a member of my family and I don't take that lightly." Steve whispered into your hair.

You huffed a laugh and relaxed. You and the others watched the movie and it was far from quietly, everyone making comments and jokes. Once it was over the others scattered, you headed back to the table to get some work done. You usually worked late and got up early, so this was not too far from usually. You had some trends that you wanted to research. A favorite designer of yours was releasing a new line of furniture. Time passed, you were switching from laptop, tablet, and notebook. You were focused but could feel yourself fading.

You were debating on pushing harder or trying to find your room when Sargent Barnes came into the kitchen.

"Y/N, you're still up?" He asked grabbing a bottle of water. His hair was in a very messy bun and clothes were rumpled.

You opened you mouth to answer him but were cut off by your own yawn. "Oh, that's how it is." he chuckled. "Come on, lets get you to bed. I am cutting you off for the night." He very carefully shut your laptop with his metal hand. The low lights glinting attractively off the black and gold vibranium.

"My w'rk." You slurred. Bucky looked up and shook his head.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y saved it. She told me that Tony also moved your room next to mine." Bucky placed his flesh hand on your back guiding you down the hallway and to your room. The door opened upon arrival, you stepped in.

"Cheers, Sargent Banres." You stumbled into you room the door cutting off the sight of you. Bucky shook his head again.

"Good night, doll." Bucky walked next door, getting back into bed with a smile on his face.

Previous / Next

*******************************************************************************************

Okay, last update for a while. My vacation ends soon and I am out of pre-witten stuff. Let me know what you are thinking okay?

[nsheetee]

My Only Star

Pairing: Doyoung x Reader Genre: Soulmate AU || Fluff, a dash of Angst Length: 2k Summary: You and Doyoung are linked by Fate’s red string in the most unique way: you can communicate through music before you meet each other for the first time. When you decide to date Kun, a long time friend who helps you get experience in the dating world, Doyoung becomes jealous decides it’s time to finally meet you in person.

a/n: the italicized quotes are from @doietonic ‘s poem “The Only Star.” Credit for the poem goes to them (thank you for letting me use it :’) )

☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆

“At first, I wasn’t so sure whether you’re a sickness or a cure but as time passes by, you were neither- but a star in the sky.”

When you first heard music in your head, you were absolutely frightened. You poked your head up and searched for the source, but when no source could be found you quickly ran to your mother in the next room, straight into her open arms and nuzzled into her warmth, screaming to make the invisible music stop. After you were calmed down and explained the new phenomenon, you could have sworn you were cursed.

It took you months to get used to the new voice in your head, one that you could not control. It felt like a part of your brain was not your own, an unsettling feeling to have to get used to, but something that was forced upon you without choice. You certainly cursed at Fate for the years to come, before you understood how much of a blessing your soulmate tell really was.

Music became more than background noise for you, or something used to calm you down when things got rough; it was now a tool to communicate with your soulmate. If you directly sang, your voices could be heard as clear as day in each other’s head; or if there was enough music playing in the background, you could pick up conversations the other person was having with others around them.

Once you and your soulmate learned the ins and outs of your tell, you started to talk to each other through simple and quiet melodies. You had nightly singing sessions with your soulmate; you sung out of your window and to the moon in hopes of not waking up the rest of the people who were sleeping in your home. The conversations were not deep or lengthy, awkwardness keeping certain details from being shared, but the connection between the two of you could be felt deep in both of your hearts.

Your soulmate’s name is Doyoung; his voice reminded you of spun silk and steamed milk and everything that is nice to the senses. Even at a young age, Doyoung had an amazing talent of singing and it only improved as he grew up, you had the pleasure of experiencing this talent bloom first hand. His voice became your new music: it calms you down on the nights that you could not sleep due to anxiety, stress, or just a bad case of the toss-and-turns. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only person who would listen to you and your troubles.

You got to know him through his absentminded singing while he was working or doing homework, while he was cleaning his house to the point of it being spotless, and while he was relaxing with a cup of tea on his balcony. It felt backwards to you: knowing someone through their personality first rather than through the basic facts like what they did for a living, what their favorite color was, and what they looked like.

Doyoung got to know your persistence and hard-working nature when he would hear you practice the piano almost every single night. Some practice sessions ended in success, but some ended in distress; Doyoung admired how you would always get back behind the piano the next day and work out the problems. Sometimes, when you added your voice to your playing, Doyoung would stop whatever he was doing and just listen. He wondered how you looked when you played the piano and sang. Did you close your eyes? Did you tilt your head in an attempt to get some tricky notes out? He so badly wanted to know- to see with his own eyes.

If only Doyoung had spoken out about wanting to see you in person, maybe things could have been different. You and Doyoung never actually knew how physically close you were to each other; how many times you had walked passed each other on the streets, or stood in line behind each other at the bookstore, or rode the same bus at the same time. Since the location of your residence was not something either of you brought up (either being too shy to bring it up first, or maybe scared of what reality this new information could bring,) the fake distance you created between each other made you become each other's star in the sky: unreachable, but not a feature to be overlooked.

“I didn’t realize that you were there, I’ve always thought that some stars were rare. So, I loved the moon even if it was hard to reach.”

When you got a boyfriend, Doyoung became confused. Here was his literal soulmate, the person made for him, being intimate with someone else. It made him want to rip out the part of his head that was made specially for you, maybe then he could stop hearing your cheerful laughter towards someone who wasn’t him. Doyoung knew in the end it would be him that you would end up with, but he couldn’t help getting a bit insecure.

Kun was an amazing person, of course you would date him. He was funny, caring, and a long time friend. Although he has his own soulmate and you have yours, you both decided to create this arrangement for the purpose of getting experience in the dating world before meeting your soulmates in person. It was honestly relaxing to be able to go through things like your first date with Kun- he made it light-hearted and you felt more experienced coming out of it.  

When you discussed this arrangement with Doyoung, he was now not only confused but slightly territorial, especially when you started talking about Kun during your nightly chats with the moon. You would sing about how you did this and that with Kun, how Kun made this amazing pasta a few days ago, how Kun got your favorite flowers for you, Kun this, Kun that, Kun. Doyoung was sure you didn’t mean to rub the relationship in his nose; he couldn’t help but feel isolated and forgotten. He is your soulmate, you are his. He didn’t care how experienced or inexperienced you were when you met him, he just wanted you in his life and he wanted Kun out of it.

“Then a star like you came and fell and as if you had this spell- a spell which made me realize things- things that I did not know only you could bring.”

The warm grass tickled your toes as you sat bare-foot on a blanket in the park; like a sunflower, your head tilted up to the sun and caught it’s rays as they shone down. The band currently on the make-shift stage in front of you was sending beautiful music towards your direction, you couldn’t help but close your eyes and absolutely fall in love with the moment. It took you awhile to realize that the same music in front of you was repeating in your head, but your eyes popped open in shock when you did. You turned your head around, looking at the other concert-goers for anyone who looked like your soulmate, which you thought would be impossible since you’ve never seen him before.

And yet, when your eyes met with a pair of dark, raven-like ones for the first time, you knew. This is Doyoung. You had no idea what to expect, but he exceeded anything you could ever think of. Your feet picked you off of the grass and you made your way to where he was standing on the concrete behind the rest of the audience. When you reached him, your throat felt narrow from the nerves in your stomach.

“D-Doyoung?” You asked timidly, sending a small, empty prayer that this was him.

“Y/N.” He answered, and you sighed at how much his live voice sounded like the one that you are so used to hearing in your head.

“You opened my heart to something new, and that was about loving you. You are the star that can connect with me just like the constellations being looked at by the sea. You’ll always be my only star.”

Getting to know Doyoung in real life was different than getting to know him through your soulmate tell. Maybe it was something about the added senses of touch and sight that made him feel more real. Being with Doyoung was different than being with Kun; with Kun you had to try and find the things you liked about him, but with Doyoung, the things you fell in love with came to you.

Like when you shared your first kiss on the doorstep of your home one night, and Doyoung couldn’t look at you before he did it. You gently took hold of his jaw, turned him to you, and then leaned forward. You didn’t feel like each other’s star in the sky, you felt like you were finally connected, finally together. Lips meshing together and warmth seeping between both of you. You shamelessly wondered if Fate took her time in making sure you and Doyoung were absolutely perfect for each other.

Or once you and Doyoung moved in together, you found out how he had to drink coffee in the morning to function and it doesn’t matter who you are, you don’t talk to him until he’s had his coffee. The first morning spent with Doyoung felt more like a nightmare, you couldn’t figure out what you did wrong to make him glare at you the way he did. When you learned about his addiction to the heavenly bitter caffeine, you wanted to show a small act of compromise. You started bringing Doyoung his coffee in bed with a kiss on his messy bed hair and a delicate “good morning” to stir him out of his sleep. The mornings he wakes up to the smell of coffee just the way he likes it and your body next to his were some of the greatest mornings of his life.

Or how he would sing in the shower, his voice echoing off the tile walls to reach your ears in the bedroom. His singing skills seemed to only improve as time went on, and the acoustics in the bathroom made you lean your ear against the door, trying to block out the echo of his song in your head. You liked hearing Doyoung’s authentic voice nowadays rather than the copy that was in your head. One day, when you convince Doyoung to let you join him in the shower, he coyly sings melodies into your wet, bare shoulder and laughs through the lyrics as you massaged the shampoo through his hair. Yes, hearing Doyoung’s voice live was one of your new favorite simplicities in life.

Or when you try to fall asleep but something in your head just isn’t letting you, Doyoung wraps you tightly in his hold and hums you into a blissful sleep. Although it’s an amazing feeling to fall asleep to, it’s even better when you wake up to him still beside you, tracing patterns on the skin of your waist and pushing the hair out of your eyes. No words shared, barely-awake glaces at one another that Doyoung forgets as he falls back asleep, but you wouldn’t give up these moments for the whole world.

It was ridiculously easy to forget about everyone and everything with Doyoung around, he lifted you up and secured you down. He was a trusted ally and a place you could go when you felt like everyone else was against you. He is your soulmate, and loving him is as easy as loving the stars if they were all in the palm of your hand. As for Doyoung- he got what he wanted: to be the only one that mattered to you, and to have the simplicity of hearing you in real life, next to him, was enough. For once being each other’s unreachable star, it was pleasantly sweet to now be each other’s only star.

[nurfhurdur]

Hard Enough Left Modern AU

Because I miss Ruth

There hadn't been activity on that particular channel in weeks. Every few days Emily would log on, only to be dissapointed to see that nothing had changed. The only activity being comments from other viewers asking when to expect another video.

It had gotten to the point where she had checked to make sure she was still subscribed, and she edited her settings to make sure she'd get a notification the next time there was anything uploaded. It was another three weeks after that, that she had checked the time on her phone to see the banner across the screen.

Rushing through the last of her course work, she threw her backpack on the floor and reached for her tablet. She tapped a fingernail against the screen impatiently as YouTube finally loaded, hitting pause quickly so she could dig her headphones out of the nightstand drawer.

She'd binged Ruth's videos in the span of a few days. She didn't know how girls on YouTube did it, especially with a DIY channel. Starting back from the first videos posted a few years before, the video quality had improved, the girl's editing had improved, and she'd become more comfortable in front of a camera. From cooking, and baking, to personal desk size succulent gardens, or organizing and purging a closet, somehow the girl had made a name for herself on the internet and the most mundane of tasks seemed more interesting when discussed and explained on this girl's channel.

Comfortable in her bed, she finally pressed play and tilted her head as the personalized graphic of a constellation came on screen, which the girl had done a tutorial on also....

When did she have the time to do all this?

She was pulled from her thoughts, and rather startled, to see an exhausted looking version of the girl who ran the channel. Ruth's dark hair was pulled in to a messy bun, circles under her eyes and she looked like she hadn't taken the time to get out of her pajamas. What was most startling, was what looked like a medical oxygen tube beneath her nose.

Looking up into the camera, she waved vaguely with her usual greeting before continuing.

"I've never really shared this, because I never had any reason to-" She held up the small tank of oxygen sitting beside her and grinned flatly. "-but now I do.....so today's video is a bit of a PSA."

Her expression dulled and she stared at the screen a moment. "Get out of the shot."

"I'm not in the shot," came a low response from the corner.

Ruth addressed the camera again. "I have help today."

A few clips were edited in of Ruth and....was that Jesse Hudson?

The Piston Cup driver?

The two were figuring out where to stage Ruth's things, and Ruth watched in exasperation before telling him to leave her stuff alone and let her do it.

"I'm just trying to help."

"This isn't my first video or anything-....no, leave the tank there-"

"Wh-"

"Because that's where I keep it when I'm working here-"

The clip cut back to Ruth's slightly more professional expression and she reached for the camera. "For those of you who keep up, yes, that was Jesse Hudson. Jesse, say hello."

"Hey." He muttered with a glance up from his phone.

"We're twins. Before you flood my inbox, I'm older, it's not that exciting to have a celebrity sibling and-....." Ruth paused and stared at the screen again. "Did you just kick the footboard of my bed?"

Just barely in the frame, Jesse's Nikes could be seen as he kicked off from the bed again, spinning the chair slowly. "Yeah, cause you lie."

"I do not lie. You're- you know what, this is my video, and I'm not spending ages editing it so now the world can see how sulky you are."

The chair rolled further in to frame and Jesse only shrugged a shoulder before going back to his phone.

Ruth took a slow breath, for effect or because she needed it, it was hard to tell, before launching in to a lengthy explanation of why she had been absent for so long.

"I don't have an actual diagnosis, no one can give me a specific name for it-"

The more she spoke, the more emotional the video became. The natural lighting of her bedroom made the video a little surreal, the way it picked up the threatening shine in the girl's eyes wasn't staged, or planned, or even wanted. It was apparent that a portion had been cut. She looked like she had been crying, and instead of lazing in the background, Jesse was sitting beside her at her desk, chin rested on his hand as he looked between her and the screen silently.

"Some of you wonder how I have time to do any of this, some of you are very rude in your questioning of how I have time-"

The clip had been edited again and a more composed looking Ruth stared at the camera before speaking and glancing over her shoulder. "Our older brother thought there was a problem and I'm sure Jesse is getting lectured for something...."

She'd edited captions in, and color coded them for each brother. They appeared at the bottom of the screen while she made a show of her impatience on camera.

"Can you for once in your life-"

"She asked me to help-"

Ruth made eye contact with the camera a moment before continuing, explaining that her illness started back in the early 2000s. Doctors had originally treated her for bronchitis, then walking pneumonia. X-rays, blood tests, screenings and different antibiotics had all been tried with only mininal results. There was the possibility of an autoimmune disorder but they hadn't started that round of tests yet.

"I don't always have an oxygen tank, this is a bit of a new development...." She eyed the small cylinder beside her and it was obvious to see that she was still trying to wrap her head around it. With a shaky and watery smile she looked back at the camera.

"It's extremely hard to be looked at the way people do when you have something like this basically tied to your side."

She ignored her twins' return to his chair beside her.

"For some it's an insulin pump, for me it's an oxygen tank, for others it's chronic pain. We know we have it, while the general public tends to look at us like we're looking for sympathy or leaching the system. Just because it's an invisible disease doesn't mean it isn't there."

She looked at her brother before leaning back in her computer chair. Drawing her knee up, she wrapped an arm around it.

"Where had we gone the other day? Was it the grocery store-"

"Doctor appointment."

"Oh, yeah. It was." Ruth frowned. "I've been issued a handicap sign for the mirror of my car....they haven't sent the new license plate yet. I didn't even want to use it but it was a really bad day for me. My family convinced me to use it to park as close as possible, and then wanted to get me a wheel chair."

She pursed her lips, taking a moment to gather her thoughts and looked in to the camera.

"Some middle aged woman came right up to me and told me she thought it was horrible that I would do such a thing for a closer space. That as a young woman in my twenties, I was more than capable of walking the extra hundred feet and had no right to be using my grandparents' issued sign like that."

She looked away from the camera and swiped a tear from her eye. Barely seen on camera, it looked like Jesse might have nudged her chair with his foot.

"I was so upset I showed her my signature on the back, and then my driver's license. Just because I'm in my twenties doesn't mean-"

She shook her head and sighed while rubbing her forehead.

"It's hard enough for people like myself to be so restricted when we're supposed to be 'enjoying our youth'...don't be that person. Just.....take a moment to realize that we're not always how we appear. It's a smack of pride to even have to use that handicap sign. I just stared at it hanging from the rearview mirror, convincing myself not to take it back down for some complete stranger to then treat me that way?"

"That was the appointment they gave you the tank." Jesse muttered lowly.

"It was." She agreed. "Like that wasn't a hard pill to swallow already...."

There was a brief pause, and it was obvious she was mentally shaking herself. She diverted the topic somewhat, sitting up straighter and getting composed.

"So that's where all my time comes from. This started as a hobby a few years ago and because of you-" she gestured to the screen. "-faithfull viewers and subscribers, I've networked with a few different small businesses, I work from home. I have my Etsy shop, I've been able to review different products and be sponsored by those companies. If you haven't visited, be sure to check the links in the description. There's my Etsy shop, Instagram, Twitter, and links to my favourite channels."

As an afterthought, she added. "Maybe I'll do more videos on this, I'm not really sure. Leave your thoughts in the comments."

It was her usual send off, but for some reason it meant so much more after a fifteen minute video explaining something so personal.

"Remember guys, there's always a reason to smile. Until next time."

The personalized LittleDipperCo. appeared on screen alongside the subscribe button and list of links before the next video in the playlist began to buffer.

She hit cancel and set the tablet aside, trying to digest the last fifteen minutes. She'd ordered from the Etsy shop, LittleDipperCo. before and had recieved a little handwritten note alongside all the little items she'd ordered.

Stickers, bookmarks, a personalized mug for her dad, the earrings she was currently wearing....because she'd ordered so much and had been so patient, Ruth had added a few small items and a personal thank you card.

She was her favorite shop, there was something unique about LittleDipperCo.-creations by RuthAnne- that had always stood out to her.

Grabbing her tablet, she went back to find the link and glanced up at her open doorway in surprise when her brother appeared.

"Did you see what he's saying about me?"

"What who is saying-"

"Hudson thinks he's being funny-"

"Get off of Twitter, Alexander."

Alex held his phone up and read the time stamp. "An hour and a half ago-"

Emily glanced back at the upload time of Ruth's video. It was only about half an hour old.

Jesse Hudson was apparently roasting her brother in that video.

She blinked a few times and hid a smirk, busying herself with reaching for a hair tie. "Don't you have some kind of conference to get ready for?"

Another alert popped up as he made a show of leaving her doorway and Emily shook her head while clicking the link.

Let's lighten the mood! PSA- BLOOPERS AND REAL TALK.

[vmheadquarters]

We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected!

Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Chapter Thirteen of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @scandalpantsstuff​. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.14 from @Lorie03 -tag, you’re it!

—————————————————————————————————— CHAPTER THIRTEEN by @scandalpantsstuff​

With her feet spread apart and arms crossed, Gia was the picture of a petulant five-year-old. “Why don’t you ask if the rest of us have ideas? It’s not the Logan and Veronica show, you know.”

From the floor, Casey groaned as he indulged in a lengthy stretch. True to form, he either didn’t notice or didn’t care when the move pulled the blankets off Alexis. “Sure it is. We’re the faceless background characters, forced to watch these two make out and discuss their issues until we’re all killed off, one by one. What are we, three down with that cop, Walter, and the computer chick?”

Anger heated up Veronica’s neck and made her hands tremble, though it could also have been low blood sugar. The squeeze Logan gave her shoulder served as a bolstering reminder he was on her side. “Wallace and Mac aren’t dead, just not here. Besides, didn’t you vote me in charge? You’re all alive, aren’t you?”

“For now,” Luke said as he walked over from adding wood to the fire. “But I’m open to hearing from the rest of the chorus. What’s your idea Gia?”

“I...” Gia pushed a lock of wet hair out her eyes, and threw up her hands. “That’s so not the point!”

“Anyone else?” Veronica glared at every conscious member of their slumber party massacre, gratified when each of their eyes shifted from hers. “Darling,” she snarled, tempering her tone when she turned to Logan, adorably sleep-tousled and slouching next to her. “I believe you had the floor.”

“Thanks, dearest. I was just wondering if anyone noticed,” his hand waved a swirl in the air before pointing to the early sunlight coming through the windows. “That it stopped snowing during the night.”

While those standing turned to see, Carrie pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked it for a signal, before putting it away, disgusted. Casey, Jen, and Duncan crawled out of their beds while Cole, Norris, Susan, Kimmy and Alexis slept on, oblivious.

Logan pointed around the room. “Duncan’s been sailing since he was five. Half of us have spent entire summers cruising, and I don’t need to remind any of you of what happens when Carrie gets behind the wheel of a speedboat.”

Appreciative chuckles rounded the room while Carrie smirked, pleased with herself. “The Coast Guard totally overreacted. But what’s that ferry go? Twenty, thirty knots? I can handle that.”

“Sweet!” Dick grabbed the edge of a mattress, dumping Cole on the floor, then moved to do the same to the others. “Get up. Trolley off Murder Island leaves in five!”

Under his breath, Veronica heard Logan mutter, “It’s a boat, Dick.” He cut through the cacophony of excited chatter around them with a two fingered whistle. “Not so fast.”

“Right.” Veronica grabbed his hand and squeezed. “We’ve still got people missing. Carrie, Casey, and Duncan, use the ship’s radio. Call for help, and then search for the captain. Gia, Luke, Cole, go look for Wallace and Mac. Dick,” Veronica handed him a key. “There’s a pantry somewhere. Get everyone else up and find food while Logan and I discuss a small matter with Jen.” Seeing him point to himself, she added, “And Norris.”

“I thought we were leaving?”

Logan used the hand gripping hers to pull her closer, and answered while Veronica reached for her patience. “Once we have everyone and are done dealing with the cops, Dick. But do you think Veronica gets nicer when she’s hungry?”

One glance at Veronica had Dick swallowing deeply before he moved to help Alexis up and called for everyone to follow him to the kitchen. “Stick together,” Veronica yelled after them.

They waited until everyone had gone outside to put on coats and boots. Once it was just the four of them, Veronica turned to Norris. “What’s up?”

“It’s just,” he glanced at Jen. “It doesn’t seem that important right now, but that picture you found in my hand yesterday? I didn’t put it there.”

“Who did?”

He shrugged. “I just got set up when I heard footsteps. Someone put the picture in my fingers, I heard a scream, and then you guys were there.”

“It wasn’t you?” she asked Jen.

“I’d already left for the house, to look for you guys.”

Veronica nodded. “Thanks, Norris. If you think of anything else, let me know. In the meantime,” she felt the smarm of a smile settle onto her face. “Jen, let’s start with who else you’ve got stashed on this island.”

“There’s no one.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that.”

Jen rolled her mascara-blurred eyes and reached back to twist her curly hair into a knot as she took a step closer to Norris. “A bunch of spoiled rich kids and a stocked bar? If they solved two murders it would be a miracle.”

“Norris,” Veronica nodded his way. “Want to chime in here?”

“Hey, it’s Jen’s gig.”

Logan scoffed. “Nice try, but at the cottage you said you and Duncan were the only ones planned for yesterday. So who’s today?”

Norris glanced down at Jen. His coloring paled and his voice sounded apologetic as he spoke to the floor instead of them. “I’m just a paid player.”

To their right, Dick came in from the kitchen, the rest of the group behind him. He gripped a Costco-sized box of Pop Tarts in his hands.

“You found the food?” Veronica asked, her stomach letting out a loud growl. For the first time in her life, she felt gratitude to Dick. Logan plucked the foil package easily out of the air when Dick threw it lopsided, and handed it to Veronica.

Kimmy gave her a bitchy sneer. “Yeah, bossy, downstairs. Your secret pantry is past the pool—there’s also a whole caterer’s kitchen, with a full walk-in freezer. I prefer to not eat food that’s stored with a body, though. Or,” she wrinkled her nose at the Pop Tarts, “carbs.”

Halfway through tearing the foil with her teeth, Veronica stopped. “A body? Who was it?”

Susan answered, her voice quiet and hands shaking. “A sheet covered everything but her feet. We didn’t look.”

“How do you know it’s a she?”

“Her toenails are painted, some kind of lime green.”

“Oh my god,” Kimmy rolled her eyes. “So hideous.”

Veronica glanced at Jen, whose mouth was open in shock. When she saw Veronica looking at her, she snapped her lips shut and shook her head as worry filled her mind. Logan’s eyes met hers, and Veronica saw her own fear reflected there. Mac?

From the left, the front door flew open so hard it smacked against the wall. Wallace, Carrie, Casey, and Duncan, ran in, and Wallace grabbed Veronica’s arm with a hand that was ice cold. Before he could speak Carrie said it for him. “Someone sunk the boats. We were barely down the path when we saw the ferry’s antennae and the sailboat’s masts sticking out of the water.”

Casey looked at Wallace. “And this guy running back from there. Weren’t you, Wilson?”

Sparing a second to glance witheringly at Casey, Wallace shook his head. “I’m not a damn volleyball.” His grip tightened on Veronica’s arm. “That’s not the worst of it, V.”

[mattzerella-sticks]

Breathe, a Supernatural Coda (Sam/Rowena, minor Dean/Castiel) by mattzerella_sticks

With the barrier weakening and the townspeople antsier with every day, the Winchester brothers find it hard to focus on anything that isn't the problem at hand. Sam tries to escape for a little while, but while his body was separated from everyone, his mind stayed in the heart of the gymnasium.

Can a witch spell it out for him that the world isn't burdened on his shoulders? And will Sam listen?

As a child, Sam never enjoyed being called into the principal’s office. The fear went far beyond any normal, high achiever’s life. The long walk from his classroom allowed every possibility to enter his mind, never any good. Extended periods of contact meant more chances he had to slip up and say something he shouldn’t. The wrong answer could lead to an avalanche of problems that would seriously affect the course of Sam’s life. At times he nearly went blue in the face, only able to breathe when the door closed behind him and he was free.

The same unsettledness followed him now as he uses the high school’s principal’s office to pause from the terror unfolding around them. He rests his elbows on the desk, hands cradling his head. Hoping that if he tries hard enough that Sam could wake up from the awful nightmare of the past few weeks. Where God wasn’t the bad guy, his brother and best friend weren’t fighting, and they hadn’t lost anyone.

Blinking open his eyes he sees only scattered papers and plans for renovating the school’s locker rooms.

Sam sighs, leaning back in the plush chair. Someone knocks on the door. He groans softly, scrubbing a tired hand across his face. “Come in.”

Rowena opens the door, peeking her head in. “Are office hours still applicable, professor?”

The joke cuts through the dense fog of worry and forces a wry chuckle from him. “I’m surprised you even know what office hours are.”

“I went on a few dates with a professor. Real bookworm he was, but he sure did know how to…” She fans her face, leaving the reigns of the sentence in Sam’s hands to take it where he pleases.

He leaves it on the side of the road.

“Y’know,” she continues, stepping further into the room, “This kind of suits you… “

“What does?”

“The academic life.” Rowena’s grin curls like her hair, both fiery colors. “Sitting behind a desk, papers and books scattered about… although you’d look more the part with some glasses. And your jacket needs a few patches at the elbows…”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Rowena…”

“Now don’t take that tone with me Samuel,” she lilts, “I might still carry with me some of my old schoolgirl charm, but I don’t require a lecture. It’s been forever since I’ve been a bad girl and…” Her gaze rakes over him like scalding coals. “And I’m not sure you can come up with a fittingpunishment at the moment.”

The implication rolls over him, sweeping through his body. His cheeks heat up, a healthy blush staining his cheeks. A dry rock lodges itself in his throat that won’t budge against his most powerful swallow. Sam’s hands twitch with the need to act so he starts playing with the papers on the desk, organizing them. He ignores the tent pitching in his jeans, rolling the chair further under the desk to better hide his lower half.

Rowena’s expression doesn’t falter, and the only clue she offers into her mind is a spark of violet exploding behind her eyes like fireworks. Enjoying the boiling cauldron she dropped Sam in. She struts closer, running her fingers along the edge of the desk.

“So,” she says, “how are you holding up?”

He freezes. The shift away from her teasing should be a welcome relief, yet he cannot help his spine stiffening. His hands stop fiddling, a stack of papers in his grip. Sam stares at them instead of the risk that comes from dipping his gaze upwards. Afraid that only one glance could shatter his makeshift dam.

It’s not the time. For now, Sam has to keep everything locked away until they close the hellmouth. Or when they find and kill Chuck. Whichever happens first. Only then will he allow himself the chance to fall apart.

He can breathe when he leaves the room.

Rowena clucks her tongue, Sam’s silence too lengthy. “You don’t have to play the brooding hero type, Samuel,” she chides, “Not with me.” Her touch hovers by his shoulder, slowly falling towards it.

Sam clears his throat, spinning around in the chair. Standing, he asks, “I thought you liked it, though?”

“Excuse me?”

“The brooding hero,” he continues, pacing the room, “strong, won’t show his pain… ready with a quick quip or two…” Sam grimaces, “Like Ketch.”

“Oh,” she says, “so that’s what this is about, then?”

“What?”

“Y’know jealousy is very unbecoming on you, Samuel,” Rowena says, each clack of her heel on the linoleum bringing her closer. “I would have figured you’d understand me and Ketch were only playing …”

A knot in his gut, formed after watching them ‘play’ the first time, twists around once more. “Didn’t look that way to me,” he mumbles.

Sighing, Rowena closes the rest of the distance between them. “I didn’t think there’d be any harm in flirting. It’s not every day you run into the man who set you free from an underground prison facility in England. Besides, it’s not like there’s a man in my life who I can play with… at the moment.” She dangles an opportunity on a fishing line for him. Sam regretfully declines, unable to accept without guilt clawing at his lungs.

“Pretty rotten time for flirting,” he says instead, “with the threat of the world ending at any second?”

“If I waited for the world to end, I'd never have time for anything let alone flirt,” she scoffs. “Multitasking never got anyone killed.”

“Neither has prioritizing.”

“I do plenty of that as well.” Sam finally faces Rowena, meeting her expectant smirk with a sullen gaze. “The fact that it’s my own needs over everyone else’s makes no difference.”

Sam attempts a smile, however nothing exists inside him light enough to lift the corners of his mouth. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of thinking like that.”

“Maybe if some people did they wouldn’t have to hide away in high school principal’s offices, would they?”

Frowning is second nature. “I’m not hiding.”

“You were only sitting in a room by yourself in the opposite side of the building, away from the gymnasium,” she says, “ Right . Now, I’ve entertained your attempted distractions long enough. We should discuss what’s really bothering you.”

Sam goes down swinging. “Why don’t you think it was only my jealousy?”

Rowena’s smile falls into a more genuine size as she hugged herself. “Because while I entertain the idea that I’m the star of the show from time to time, I’m self-aware enough to know when the stage lights are burning too bright for me .”

The mistake happened when he turned around. He knew what would happen yet Sam locked eyes with her anyway. Without a word Rowena entranced him, her arched brow like a hex bag. Gaze searching through him like he was one of her spell books. The crazy part, Sam realized, was how safe he felt under her scrutiny. That the dead languages of his emotions were plain English to the Highland witch. How they shared a common tongue despite obvious differences.

Drowning is difficult when someone hands you a life preserver.

Sam shudders. “It’s not important… the ghosts, Hell …”

“It is important, Sam,” Rowena tells him, barely an inch of space between them. She squeezes his shoulder, “ You’re important. We’re in this together… keeping your pain all bottled up won’t help anyone , let alone yourself .”

He gasps for breath, crumpling. Rowena catches him, guiding him towards the ground. She combs her fingers through his hair, whispering spells of encouragement as Sam expunges all the darkness twisting inside of him. From the horrifying realization that God was never on their side to saying goodbye to Kevin, and every nasty bump on the road.

They sit like that, against a nearby bookshelf. Sam’s long legs spread in front of him and Rowena curled at his side. His head rests on his shoulder, nose tucked in so it brushes her neck every now and then.

“...Dean, Dean might look like he’s doing okay but I know he’s not,” Sam says, “I can’t give him something else to deal with. I should be able to handle all of this on my own. I have but I’m… I’m so tired. Everyone’s looking for me to have answers - I mean I was the one who shot God . Everything after that I’ve been… I’ve just been winging.”

Rowena hums, nails scratching at his scalp. Each swipe sends a warm shiver skittering down his neck. “You’re really good at improvising then.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Sam scoffs, “Firing the Equalizer was spur of the moment. I was… I was so angry. For Jack. For Dean and Cas. For… for me and every shitty thing that happened to me. All because someone was watching my life like I was a fucking Kardashian.”

“What I know about your life, God deserves more than a shoulder wound.” The hand not lost in his hair brushes his shoulder wound. Sam winces at the slight contact. “But then you wouldn’t be here would you, with us. With me .”

“I like being with you.” Sam’s heart skips a beat, the admission slipping past him while distracted by Rowena’s voice and the scent of her perfume. She stills. Sam cranes his neck a few inches so he can sneak a glimpse of her face. Nothing escapes from the mask of indifference she swiftly plastered over her expressions. He looks deeper, and sees a burst of violet that causes his heart to recover and beat twice as fast.

“Your shoulder wound, Sam,” she starts, “May I see it?”

He nods, leaning as far away as he can while staying in her orbit. Sam shucks the jacket, and then unbuttons his shirt fully. His fingers paused at the third button. He could easily pull the fabric to show the rotting flesh. But then the fourth button came undone, and then the fifth, the sixth and all the rest. Slowly he removed his shirt and laid it atop the jacket.

Rowena licks her lips, huffing a breathy laugh. She adjusts herself to better face him, staring at his wound. The spark of magic resting within her, surging briefly throughout their conversation, completely awakens as she inspects the hole. Violet energy suffuses the natural hazel. Lightning pricks at his wound and he bites his lip to keep from groaning. The hardened skin puckers while the energy courses inside it. Seconds pass until finally the sparks stop and Sam tastes blood in my mouth.

“That’s powerful magic,” she sighs, “I’m sorry there’s not much I can do for that.”

Sam musters a smile, reaching forward. He holds her wrist, guiding her hand closer until it presses on his wound. Unlike every other time where a slight pressure or strong breeze would cause pain to flare, her touch brings a rushing calmness. “You’ve already done so much.”

Rowena goes to speak, but nothing escapes her lips. The quietness of the room has its own magic charging the air. Anticipation and possibility combining to create an energy so intoxicating Sam finds himself following without thought.

They kiss, a simple peck at first. After that, though, they quickly succumb to the raging heat burning inside both of them.

Rowena’s hand in his hair tugs on his locks while the other shifts over his heart, tracing the defined muscles. Sam helps her with her own clothes, tearing at her jacket and blouse. When he finds himself tracing skin Sam pulls away to look at Rowena. Gaze at what he imagined for so long, fill in the blanks he never knew. Like how she had a mole above her right hip and a scar tracing her left collar bone. The lacy, black bra he assumed would be under her clothes seemed better than anything he fantasized.

She gasps for breath, smiling. “Like what you see, Samuel?”

“Of course.”

“Well then let’s not waste any time,” she says, guiding him towards the floor, “I’d rather do this before the world ends.”

Sam laughs. An inappropriate gesture, he knows, but the mirth bubbles up so easily at the throwaway comment. Rowena chuckles as well, and between their joy Sam regrets not giving into his attraction sooner. He shakes it away. Not willing to dampen the mood with his own thoughts. Instead he unclasps Rowena’s bra and flings it to the side.

He surges upwards to steal a kiss while flipping them around. In her daze, Sam breaks their embrace and instead captures one of her nipples in his mouth. Sam runs his tongue across it, scraping it with his teeth. With how Rowena claws at his head, Sam knows she enjoys it. Her moans become throatier as he adds his fingers, tweaking the other nipple, leaving neither abandoned.

“Aggressive are you?” she asks, “I would have figured you’d be a sensitive lover…”

Sam pauses, sucking on the nipple until he pops off it. “Is that a problem?”

“On the contrary… I like it when things get, ah - rough .”

He grins, expression darkening slightly. “There’s no other way I know how to do it.”

Continuing tracing shapes and letters onto her nipples, Sam goes through the Latin and the Enochian alphabet before continuing. Sam kisses across her stomach, pooling a slew of them above her pants.

Rowena sighs. “Will you hurry up already?”

Sam grins against her skin, biting at the beauty mark and causing her to yelp. “Let’s see how long we can make this last without the world imploding.”

“ This doesn’t sound like the Sam Winchester from ten minutes ago.”

“You’re right,” he smirks, unbuttoning her slacks, “thank… I, ah… don’t know how to finish that now that I know God’s a dick?”

“You could always thank Satan?” They both shudder. “Right, never mind. Carry on with what you were doing.”

“Gladly.”

Sam plays with her pants, inching the waistband down her hips. Dragging the process out infinitely. When they reach her knees Sam switches over to the matching panty set and pulls them lower as well. Blunt nails tracing her legs and leaving a trail of goosebumps. With both garments pooled at her knees, Sam finally finishes undressing her.

He crawls forward until he’s eye level with her pussy, framed by her ginger bramble. “You look so beautiful…”

“I know,” she says, “so hurry up and use that mouth for other things besides pointless chatter.” Her leg hooks over his shoulder and urges his mouth closer. Sam chuckles, allowing Rowena to push him until he’s buried.

Sam kisses her pussy, tongue lapping at her folds. He creates his own magic by spelling runes into Rowena, the effects rippling across her body. She rakes her fingers deeply into his hair enough that he feels the strands arcing on their return trip.

Like biting into a ripe apple, juices trickle down the sides of his mouth. His grip on her thighs tightened as he squeezes more pleasure out of her. He continues eating her pussy, pushing Rowena closer to the edge of her climax. Grinding on the floor to work his own stiff dick, feels precum dampen and stick to his boxers.

His release doesn’t matter at the moment. Right now he hears Rowena’s breath hitch, can sense her tumbling over the edge.

“Oh, Samuel this is… this is… I think I’m going to - ah… ah ah !”

Her legs nearly snap his neck, Sam reacting at the last second to bend with the pressure. Rowena twitches with her orgasm, riding the high until she floats back towards the Earth. She pants while Sam cleans the remnants of her release.Wipes at his mouth and licks the cum from his hand.

Resting on his knees Sam towers over her, jeans uncomfortable. Rowena rises on her elbows, panting. “That was amazing Samuel,” she sighs, wiping her brow, “You make love like a rottweiler …”

Sam rolls his eyes. He shifts in his pants, adjusting his crotch.

Rowena smirks. “You need a hand?”

He chuckles, unbuckling his belt and sliding it free. “If you’re offering?”

“I’ve always wanted to see what you looked like down there,” she says, licking her lips, “thanks for making a girl’s dreams come true.”

“I wouldn’t say this is a dream come true,” he chides, slapping her roaming hands away, “consider this your… punishment .”

She pauses, catching his gaze. Her face splits in two with a wide grin. “Oh, professor… for you I’ll take any punishment you can throw .”

“We have the time,” he says, “the world’s not ending tonight.”

“Aye, not if we have anything to do about it…”

Sam kisses her again, breathing in the life Rowena so easily gives. His shoulders weight less with her arms around them, and he feels younger than ever between her legs. No one can write an amazing night like this, and in this office with Rowena Sam is more confident that Chuck is powerless to stop them.

There’s no doubt they can do this.

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

Dean finds Belphegor and Castiel in the breakroom, arguing near the white board. He doesn’t see the person he was actually looking for. Before he can sneak away, however, Castiel catches his gaze and traps him with his gaze. Even under the ugly anger swirling inside of him, each time Dean glimpses the otherworldly blue his heart trips over itself.

But then Belphegor notices his appearance and traipses all over their moment. “Dean,” he says, smirking, “what’cha doin’ here buddy?”

Ignoring the nickname, he addresses the question to Castiel. “Looking for Sam. You seen him?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Sorry, I haven’t seen him in the past few hours.”

Dean nods, ready to turn on his heel. Belphegor coughs, though, drawing his attention. “What?”

“I might know where ol’ Sam is.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean shifts to face the demon impersonating his son. Glares into his reflection on the sunglasses and asks, “You want to share with the class?”

Belphegor shrugs. “Don’t know if I should. Seemed very personal when I stumbled in on them.”

Frowning, he steps closer. “Stumbled in on what ?”

“Y’know the redheaded witch?” he asks, “Well I was cruising the halls of this school, trying to find something to do - it’s so boring here. Anyway I heard moans and was like ‘awesome!’ I mean, sneaking away for a little action while all of this is going on? Sign me up. Except when I walked over to ask if I could join I recognized the voices and, well… let’s just say Sam is probably indisposed for the rest of the night.”

Dean blanches, regret oozing like bleach across his mind in an attempt to forget he heard that. Castiel looks as worse for wear, face tucked away to hide his blush.

“Sounds like they were having fun ,” Belphegor continues, “I think they broke something, too. As I was leaving there was this crash and -”

“Enough,” Dean shushes him, “Or I’ll carry out Ketch’s contract.”

“Someone’s got a stick up their ass,” Belphegor mutters, crossing his arms, “Maybe you wouldn’t be so pissed if you were getting some like your brother.”

“Please,” he scoffs, “there’s no time for any of that.”

“I’m sure there’s a line of people ready to help if you only asked.”

“And what, you’re at the front of the line?”

“I’m sure that belongs to Castiel.”

Dean tenses, every muscle in his body collapsing into itself. Quickly he darts his gaze over to Castiel to find his angel’s eyes wide and staring at him. Every instinct tells him to look away yet he cannot.

His mouth catches on almost immediately. “You’re ridiculous,” he scoffs, “He… he and I - we ain’t like that.”

“Oh, sure ,” Belphegor says, “then I must be crazy. I mean - ‘What about all of this is real? We are’. There’s nothing romantic about that.”

Castiel glares. “You were spying on us?”

“I was passing by!”

“Out!”

“So I can’t stay and watch?”

“ Out !” Together they cast the demon from the room, waiting until he closes the door behind him to relax. Even then it’s not by much.

Dean shuffles in place, aware of the heavy weight on his back from Castiel watching him. He faces the door as he speaks. “He was probably saying whatever to annoy us,” he says, “it’s no secret that we’re… not on good terms.”

Castiel sighs. “I know.”

“I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable,” Dean tells him, “if the thought of me having feelings for you - like that - uh…”

“Dean…”

He knows that tone. There’s a power hidden inside that melts Dean’s resolve and begs him to drift further. To give into the burning passion inside his heart and damn the consequences. Follow his instincts and make everything up as he goes along.

Dean escapes before the spell fully hits. His jelly-like legs power forward towards the exit. “I’m gonna make another patrol,” he says, knocking his knee against the door as he opens. Hissing, he carries on his departure. The pain faintly playing in the background of his mind. “If you see Sam tell him that.”

Castiel tried calling for him again. Dean wouldn’t stop running until he was far enough away he couldn’t hear his angel’s voice. Then he slumps against the wall, cursing himself.

As much as he wanted to believe Castiel’s words, there was no point. He was an angel, part of Chuck’s domain. As he learned Chuck never gives them anything for free. Whatever ‘real’ existed between him and Castiel was not truly so. It was a gift from Chuck that he could easily take back. A lie that once tasted sweet only leaves a bitter reminder for Dean that nothing golden lasts forever in his hands.

Pushing away from the wall, Dean moves towards the exit.

“Close the hellmouth, and then I can deal with… all of that,” he mumbles, “Or maybe after Chuck… or never. Not at all…”

[vadaschiquita]

Chiquita | Ch. 4

Chapter 3

How had she ended up here?  What exactly had been the sequence of events that had led to this moment?  If she could go back in time and forewarn her past self into making sure this didn’t happen, she would.

She grunted to the air, tightening her coat jacket around her torso.  Who had advised her to walk instead of accepting the ride he had offered in the first place?  No.  She was already in dangerous waters after so easily and freely agreeing to the mother’s proposition without inhibition, care, or thought.  She had just said yes.  Plain and simple.

It all started when she sent out her reading list to those who were struggling a little bit with their reading material.  Sofía had been one of them.  She knew how to read and when she would put her mind to it, she would read beautifully, but when it came to speed and literary accuracy, she would fumble just a little bit.  Mariana hadn’t meant for neither of her students to felt singled out, but she wanted all of them to pass on to the second grade without their teacher correcting them after every other word.

She had sent out letters to the parents of the few students, asking them to read with them, ask questions, and at whatever opportunity they had, to allow for them to read.  Whether it was subtitles of their favorite show, a billboard with a lengthy message, the menu at their favorite restaurant, or an abandoned magazine at the doctor’s office, they needed to be reading more.  The next morning, Sofía had given her the messages notebook she’d asked the students to carry and in it was a letter from Valentina Ramirez.  She had asked for a meeting later on in the week and not knowing what about, Mariana had agreed.

Now here she was, on her way to Valentina’s apartment to tutor Sofía with her reading. The Christmas break had just started and she was to be there twice a week for two hours, attempting to get some extra time with the girl.

She sighed when she finally reached the building door.  She pushed it open and shivered, her body thanking her for finally awarding it with some warmth.  The walk to the building hadn’t been half as bad as she thought; it was the cold that had made it unbearable.  She stuck her hand in her coat pocket, pulling out a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it, Apt 7G. She stuck the piece of paper inside once more and walked towards the elevator.

In the main foyer of the building were two guys, murmuring to their selves, but she paid them no mind.  They were probably tenants, no biggie.  She stepped inside the elevator, riding up to the seventh floor.  She stepped out into the hallway, following the letters to the right as they ascended into the alphabet.  Outside of 7G were three more men and she stopped in her tracks.  This wasn’t Valentina’s apartment; this was Nevada’s home.

She clicked her tongue and sighed in exasperation, rolling her eyes as one of the guys smirked at her.  She raised her brows and shook her head with attitude, when the shortest of the three knocked on the door.  She heard Nevada shout from the inside and he opened the door, signaling with his eyes for her to enter.  She scoffed, sidestepping one of the men in her way.  

She crossed the threshold and walked down the entrance hall into a beautifully decorated foyer that opened into the dining and living room.  To her right it was the kitchen, in a beautiful color scheme of a pale, dusty blue, and white.

She sighed, when she saw him strut through the open area.  Does he always dress in all black? She sized him up, watching him strut towards her, “What am I doing here, Nevada?”

He snorted, walking past her to reach his kitchen, “You’re here to tutor my princesa.”

“Yea, I thought I was doing that in herhome, not yours.”

“Does it matter where you are?”

Mariana sighed, “To me it does.”

Nevada had his back turned, sifting through his cabinets for whatever he was looking for, “You want a drink?”

Mariana scratched her brow, “Wasn’t it you that said something about giving their back when you’re speaking to someone?”

Nevada chuckled, nodding slightly, “So, is that a yes?”

She sighed, removing her coat and placing it on the white leather bench in the foyer area. She ripped her beanie off her head, running a hand through her tussled mane, and pressing her fingers to her scalp to ease the dull ache that had begun forming, “Yea, sure.  Whatever.”

She hugged her torso, flexing her jaw to avoid her from lashing out at the man when the door opened and down came the running feet of Sofía.  Once the hallway opened into the open area where Mariana stood, Nevada turned with a scowl, reaching the end of the kitchen in two quick strides.

“Princesa, what have I told you about running?” he said sharply, causing Mariana to wince.

The girl looked down at her shoes, “Sorry, tío.  Mami said we were late.”

Nevada hummed, easing his expression when he patted his cheek with his forefinger, bending forward so that the girl could press her small lips to his bearded jaw. Sofía giggled and turned to her teacher, sitting on the floor to remove her shoes.

“All right, Sofía.  I brought some reading material and some reading comprehension sheets as well.  Did you work on the sheets I gave you before school ended?”

The girl nodded, running a hand down her cheek to rid of any hair stuck to her face, “Yes.  Tío asked since when do teachers give homework for Christmas.”

“¡Oye!” Nevada hissed from the kitchen.

Mariana lifted her gaze to Nevada’s, “So, Sofía, dinner table?”

The girl had stood and removed her backpack, shaking her head, “No, dinner table is for business talking and special dinners; homework on the coffee table.”

Mariana nodded bashfully, turning on her heel when Sofía tugged on her hand, signaling for her shoes.  She looked up, watching Nevada bite his lip and chuckle.  She shook her head, beginning to toe off her boots.

She and Sofía sat near the coffee table of Nevada’s beautifully lit living room. For a man with such a filthy job, an equally filthy mouth, and just a knack for filth in general, he kept a pretty spotless home.  She was in awe.  He had brought her coffee and she had quirked an eyebrow, thinking that when he offered her a drink he had meant something in the alcoholic scale.  She narrowed her eyes at his back, bringing the mug to her lips to taste the warm liquid.

He had retired to his room to come out a few moments later dressed and with a deep frown on his forehead.  He sauntered to the door, allowing his men to file in.  They rounded the table, some sitting, and some standing.  As she worked with Sofía, helping with the worksheet in front of her, the men go rowdier and rowdier.  Alternating from English to Spanish and back again.

Sales.

Product.

Warehouses.

Girls.

Corners.

Never once utilizing their inside voices when discussing whatever it was they were discussing just a few feet away from a six year old.

Mariana rubbed her temples, rolling her eyes, and gaining a stifled giggle from Sofía. How exactly was she supposed to concentrate on helping his niece if he kept banging the wooden table and shouting out profanities?  She shook her head, resting her forehead on her hand when she groaned.

“Miss Santos?” Mariana hummed.  “May I go to the bathroom?”

Mariana snickered, dropping her hand to the coffee table, “Sofía, you don’t have to ask. This is your house.”

The girl smiled, “Well, you are my teacher still.”

Mariana rolled her eyes playfully, “Yes, sweetheart, go ahead.”

Mariana watched as the girl made a run to the restroom, “Que camines, ¡coño!”

“Sorry!” Sofía shouted over her shoulder, easing down to a trot.

Mariana and Nevada locked eyes and he smirked, sending a wink her way.  She scoffed, rolling her eyes, and adjusting her legs to shift her position on the floor.  Once Sofía returned, they resumed with the tutoring, and it was as if Nevada being there with his men had only exacerbated Mariana’s patience.

She could deal with rowdy kids, talking loudly, and over each other, but when it came to grown men, her patience had been running thin.  She ran her fingers through her hair, growling, “Hey!”  The sudden silence that ran through the apartment was bone chilling, “Would it kill you to whisper?”

Nevada pressed his lips together, his jaw muscles making a show of the sudden anger flaring.  His men looked between Mariana and him, waiting for Nevada’s reaction.  He wrapped his hand around his glass tumbler, “Pucho, we’ll finish this tonight.  No quiero a nadie en el pasillo.”

The guy he addressed stood—smirking towards Mariana—and when he turned, they all got up and followed him out.  Nevada waited until the door had shut and then waited several beats more before he stood.

Suddenly Mariana realized what she had done.  What she had said and to whom she had addressed in such an out of character manner, “N—Nevada, I—I’m so sorry.”

“Princesa, go to your room,” he calmly spoke to Sofía.  The girl stood and started to run when she caught the green of her uncle’s eyes.

Mariana shivered at the fire behind his glare.  She knew she had fucked up.  Why did I ever agree to this, she thought nervously, “I’m so sorry, Nevada. I never meant to d—”

“You’re still talking,” he said, standing a few inches away from the coffee table, right in between the gap the sofa and the chaise sectional created.

She sighed, pushing herself up with the help of the coffee table, “I—I’ll go.”

She fidgeted with her thumbs and Nevada couldn’t help but find the action completely endearing.  The last thing he wanted was for her to be scared into submission, yet he couldn’t help in finding her adorable.  He had no doubt she was a complete badass.  

How could she not be one?  She was here.  Hiding from her ex and still standing up to him.  She tried to keep up with the façade, but he knew that she was a little bit intrigued by him.  It was his job.  He knew; even when she tried so hard to make him believe the opposite.

Strong women. Real strong women had always been Nevada’s downfall, but in the end, his need to keep up with what was expected of him had been too much for them and they had not been able to weather the storm that was Trujillo and his business.

He could feel the difference in her.  She was not a coward; it was why she was standing here in front of him.  True, she had her head bowed to him, but that was not in submission he realized, that was out of… respect?  He smiled his half smile, taking a step forward when he saw her socked feet twitch.  She was holding her ground, firmly.

“Chiquita,” he said in his silk-like voice.  She tipped her chin, looking at him through her lashes when she noticed he was mere centimeters from her.  He grabbed her chin, feeling her urge to snap her head from his grasp, “If you wanted quiet, all you had to do was ask.”

Her fingers relaxed at her sides, her fists releasing her thumbs when she crossed her arms. She raised her brows and he grinned, “Would that had really worked?”

She was looking straight at him, straight through him, and he had to take a step back before she could feel his thumping heart, “Still leaving?” he asked instead.

She cleared her throat and lowered her arms, “Y—Yea, I think that’s wise.  I’ll just—”

“Leave that, Sofía will clean up her mess.”

She didn’t argue and turned, taking a quick step towards her boots.  Nevada hummed as he admired her backside.  Leave it to him to respect you as an individual yet still find a way to deprecate you.  She smirked, thankful that her back was to him.  She knelt, placing a knee to the ground and leaning over her bended knee to tie her boots.  She repeated the motion on the opposite leg, giving a small moan when her knees complained, as she stood straight.

“Miguel will take you home.”

She turned, adjusting her coat, “Nevada—”

“Still talking,” he sat on his couch, lifting his legs to the coffee table.  “That wasn’t a request.”

Mariana scoffed, her anger returning in full force, “I’m not one of your… whores!  You don’t tell me what I can and cannot do.”

Nevada dropped his legs, leaning forward to the cigar box at the edge of the table. He opened it, fishing a crafted cigar out, and running his long fingers down its shape.  He turned his head over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes at her, “I just did.”

As quickly as she had dropped her jaw, he had turned and avoided her presence.  He had leaned back and propped his feet back up on the coffee table.  She seethed, glaring furiously at the side of his head.  Not that he could see, but she stood rooted to her spot.  

How dare he!

She scoffed once more and turned, stomping out of the apartment, and when she reached outside she thought of shutting the door properly, bringing it gently to a stop, instead she opted for when her mother worked her nerves as a teenager, slamming it shut, making it rattle on its jamb.  She snickered, traveling down the elevator.  When it opened she looked at Nevada’s men, all sporting amused grins. She rolled her eyes and stepped out of the metal contraption, walking towards the main door.

She turned, “Which one of you is Miguel?”

Miguel and the man named Pucho stepped forward.  Miguel nodded at Mariana and started towards the door.  Mariana quirked an eyebrow, she didn’t need two men driving her anywhere.  She really didn’t want none of them driving her home, but she knew that the latter would be walking home in the cold and still have them follow her in the car a couple of steps behind whilst still being in the car.

“Whoa,”—she held up her hands in front the men—“Pucho, right?  Nevada needs you.”

The man quirked an eyebrow and looked at Miguel, having a silent conversation with their eyes.  Pucho turned, winking at Mariana as he pressed the button to the elevator.  Pucho didn’t take long before he was entering Nevada’s home, calling out for him.  The squeals died on Sofía’s lips when Nevada noticed him there.

“The hell are you doing here?”

Pucho opened and closed his mouth, doing a half turn, “She said you needed me.”

Nevada smirked, “I don’t.”

                                                    ***

“That was really good, Sofía!” Mariana praised the girl. “You’ve been practicing, I see.”

Sofía nodded, shifting on her bottom, “Tío made me read a bunch of letters for him.”

Mariana looked up, glancing at the dinner table where Nevada sat with Pucho and a man in a suit, “Did he?”

Mariana missed the girl’s answer, as she was too busy gawking at Nevada.  He was sat on the same chair he had been the last time she had been there.  He only wore his black undershirt, and how the shirt hugged his biceps had Mariana completely unfocused.

They had been speaking loudly—again—and Mariana just looked up, banged her elbow against the coffee table, and Nevada was quick to understand, smirking as he told Pucho and the man in the suit to shut the fuck up.

He knew he was being watched and he reveled in the feel of it.  Mariana had been watching him ever since she walked in through the door.  She had been busy removing her boots, but when she heard him walk in, she turned, colliding with a bare-chested Nevada.  His upper body was sturdy and warm.  Her fingers were fanned across beautiful tanned flesh covered in dark hair and Mariana didn’t know what to do with the body in front of her.

His hands had found her hips effortlessly, steadying her stumbling body.  He could feel her warm breath against his skin and he reveled in the proximity her body had with his.  He could have her in his arms every night for the rest of his life, no ifs, ands, or buts.  She felt right, and she fit perfectly tucked underneath his chin.  They stood like this: him reveling in the feel of her body pressed against his and her too stunned to move away from his warm embrace.

Even now, Mariana could feel the warmth that coursed through Nevada’s skin against her front.

How was he so warm?

How was he so strong?

What comfort could those arms bring to her?

She would never know.  She wouldn’t ever find out.  She had made a promise and though she continuously struggled, she really was trying. Her need and intrigue was winning her out and soon enough, she wasn’t going to be able to once again say ‘no’ to him. His body had felt so good… he had smelled deliciously enticing… his embrace was so warm and welcoming, and as she trailed her gaze from his naked chest down to where the wisps of hair became scarcer and scarcer she could tell that he lacked underwear.

She was startled out of her reverie when Sofía shook her forearm, “What?” she stumbled, looking down at the girl and back up at Nevada whom in turn had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“What is this word?”

“Scurried.”

Sofía scrunched her face up, just like Mariana imagined she did when presented with something she didn’t like, and she giggled, “It sounds like ‘scared’.”

Mariana smiled, “Almost, and that can actually help you remember the word,” the girl knitted her brows and pouted her lips.  “People scurry when they’re scared.”

Sofía’s face lit up and she smiled, “Like the street rats!”

Mariana snorted, “Yes, like the street rats.”

She shook her head and allowed for Sofía to continue working on her worksheet.  They didn’t have much time left and thankfully, they had used their time accordingly.  Sofía was a brilliant kid and she had let her mother know as much.  Nevada would roll his eyes, seemingly tired of the praise yet he couldn’t stop the glint in his eyes.  He was there, every Tuesday and Thursday with Mariana and his niece.  He wanted her close by and since she wouldn’t… acquiesce to a public outing, a private—all right, semi-private—one would do.

Nina was there to pick up her daughter, thanking Mariana in the process.  She stood, gathering the colorful pens she had brought for today’s lesson and standing them on the coffee table to align them beautifully.  

She stood, tucking her hair behind her ear, “Done?”

She snapped her head up, watching as Nevada slipped a button-up shirt on, “Y—Yes, I’ll be out o—”

“About time! Vamos Pucho, que estamos tarde.”

“¿Tarde?” Mariana asked with a face, “Tarde for what?”

Nevada finished buttoning his shirt, leaving the first four undone, and smirked at her, “Avanza,” he said evenly, breezing past her.

Mariana faltered for a few seconds, but was snapped into the now when Nevada whistled at her.  He was ushering her on, snapping his fingers, and shouting for her to pick up the pace.  

She was… beyond confused to what was happening, but she knew that he wouldn’t allow for questioning.  She scrambled to pick up her boots and backpack, hugging everything to her front as she nearly struggled to keep up with Nevada’s fast pace.

She shot a glance behind her, where Pucho and the man in the suit walked in unison. What was the rush?  Where were they going?  Why was Pucho not running to be behind Nevada?

The elevator opened its doors and he sauntered in, sighing in exasperation when he noticed she weren’t there, “Chiquita!”

“Stop calling me that,” she mumbled, catching her breath as the elevator doors squeezed her shoulders and jostled open once again.

He snickered, placing his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, and leaning against the elevator wall.  Mariana took this time to slip her boots on; it was obvious for her that Nevada waited for no one.  

Clearly! 

Pucho and the suited man were nowhere to be found in that small elevator, yet she had no doubt that Pucho would make it before Nevada and her downstairs if he knew what was good for him.

The elevator dinged and jolted as it came to a stop on the first floor.  When it opened, Pucho was leaning against the opposite wall, looking down at his phone.  Nevada stepped out and then followed Mariana with a quick step of her feet. On the curb were three SUVs lined, the men patiently waiting on the inside.

Nevada opened the back door to the middle SUV and he waited.  Mariana raised her brows, nonplussed by the action.  Nevada smacked his teeth, reaching for her forearm and pulling her towards the backseat, “Móntate, chica que estamos tarde.”

Mariana managed her calf-like legs and eased on the back seat, scuttling across the seat when Nevada pushed on her shoulder.  The door closed behind Nevada and then Pucho was sitting on the passenger side, telling Miguel an address.

It dawned on Mariana that he already knew where she lived, but that was not her address, “Nev—”

“Tranquilita que we’re just making a pit stop,” he said without turning to look at her. She huffed, slamming her back against the seat, “Eh, ¿qué pasa?”

Mariana clicked her tongue loudly, crossing her arms over her stomach.  Nevada turned to regard her, and if she didn’t look like such a petulant child he would’ve told Miguel to drop her off first, but as punishment—and to get what he wanted—he would make her sit there and wait until he was done with what he needed to do.  He bit his lip, eyeing the pout of her plump lips, the way she would flex her fingers, and the small indentation her cheek had made as she chewed on the inside of her mouth.

She was livid, beyond pissed at this point, but Nevada couldn’t help but chuckle.  He was enjoying this, how could he not?

They arrived at a warehouse fairly quickly and Mariana shifted on her seat, uncrossing her leg and unfolding her arms.  She saw as Miguel handed Pucho a gun that he stashed in the glove compartment and she raised her brow.  What the hell was Nevada doing?

“Nevada,” she leaned forward, turning her head to give him a concerning look.  His eyes were shielded by the darkness of his shades.

“Ten minutes,” he said before Pucho opened his door.

“Wait, I—” her words died on her lips when the door closed behind Nevada’s back.  “I don’t want to be here.”

She growled in frustration, slumping back against the seat as her hand ran through her hair.  

This is why she preferred walking to being escorted by Nevada and his men.  

This is why Jess had warned her to stay away from him.  

This is why she had been hesitant in the first place.  

She’d had enough danger in her life to smell it from a mile away yet she found herself in awkward positions and inexplicable predicaments ever since she met Nevada Ramirez.

She sighed, there wasn’t anything she could do now, could she?  No.  All she had to do now was wait for Nevada to saunter back out like he had promised—ten minutes.

She sent a prayer above, this wasn’t how she should die.  Not after surviving the fists of her ex-boyfriend, being on an impromptu ride along was notthe way she was to go.

Two minutes went by.  Five minutes after that.  Almost nearing the ten-minute mark when two of his men came out of the warehouse and got in the two other SUVs across the street and drove away.  Her stomach sunk.  This wasn’t right.  This didn’t feel right.

Nevada always had a handful of men with him at all times posted anywhere and everywhere. You couldn’t have known where they were if Nevada himself told you where they were, so them walking out of the warehouse without the rest of the gang or Nevada at sight definitely made her uncomfortable.

She bit her lip, bouncing her leg as she thought of a plan.  If this were an ambush, Nevada wouldn’t have known and as much as she didn’t care for the guy, the principal here is what mattered. Those two had betrayed him.

She could’ve gone.  Opened the door with her belongings and walked away, but Nevada would find her, where would she go?  She could hide for a little bit, but what would happen when Tuesday came again? No, that was a temporary solution—an ineffective temporary solution at that.  Mariana sighed and closed her eyes, there was one other solution: go in there and break Nevada free of this mess.

She stood, leaning over the center console to reach the glove compartment.  As she pulled on the lever, the door gave and there it was, staring back at her.  She grabbed the handgun and stashed it between it her jeans and back, sitting down to slide down the opposite side and open the door.  She had no chance to wear her coat before leaving Nevada’s and she had no chance to do so now.  Her long-sleeve turtleneck would have to do now.

She crossed the street, making sure no one was out and watching her approach the building. She found her way inside, weaving through old car parts, boxes, cars, guns?  She could feel her thumping heart slam against her ribcage; she needed to get ahold of herself if she wanted to make it out of here alive.

She heard it then, the sharpness of the voices, the screaming in Spanish and… Italian? What the hell was going on?

She looked through the door’s small glass window, watching a man pointing a small revolver right between Nevada’s brows.  He smirked first, letting his smirk deepen into a smile, taunting the yelling man in front of him.  He was poised; a hand around a glass filled with wine, his other arm perched over the back of his chair.  His gold chain glimmered with the light and from where she stood; she could see his chest hair peek above the collar of his t-shirt and dress shirt.

Focus!  She scolded her, now was notthe time to be pining over Nevada.  Now or any other time!

Mariana backed away from the door, pulling the gun from behind her.  She released the magazine, feeling it fall into her opposite hand: loaded.  She slid it back and felt it lock in place.  She eyed for the safety, making sure it was in place.  The last thing she needed was a tragedy happening all because she wanted to play hero.  

She closed her eyes, remembering her training, and steadying her breathing. She slid the gun between her jeans and her skin, tugging at her shirt so that it could cover it, and she pushed the door open, schooling her features to effectively convey what she wanted.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Chiquita.”

Mariana eyed the men in the room, all pointing a gun at another.  She could tell who were Nevada’s men and who was not by what they wore, and of course, she knew them by now.  Not by name, but by face.

“I want to go home, Nevada.  Now!”

Nevada narrowed his stare at her, attempting to figure out what exactly was her game plan here, “Mami, I’m kind of tied up here,” he smiled wryly.

“Who are you?” the man pointing the gun at Nevada spoke.

Mariana glared at the man, turning her eyes to Nevada again, “You said ten minutes.”

Nevada sighed, “Well, Jimmy here had other plans, Chiquita.  What do you want me to do?”

“To fucking take me home,” she sneered, watching as Nevada tried his best to not lose control.

“Hey, doll, we’re in the middle of something here.  Why don’t you, uh, go back to where it is you crawled out of, and I’m sure one of my men can take care of… whatever it is he’s paying you,” Jimmy said and Mariana could hear the mock drip from his voice.

Her eyes were trained on Nevada’s green ones and she knew then that whatever this was, it was not going to end up with her or Nevada walking off into the distance. Someone had to relinquish power and from the looks of it, Nevada wasn’t it.  She needed to shift the power dynamic here.  Nevada wasthe one sitting with a gun trained to his face.

“Hey, doll!”

Mariana rolled her eyes, folding her right arm behind her back and pulling the gun out of her jeans.  She pointed it at Jimmy, “Call me doll one more time and it’ll be you in a pretty display box.”

Nevada stood in haste, smiling wryly with arms up in defense, “Mari,” he said tentatively.

Mariana’s eyes shifted to Nevada’s and back to Jimmy’s, “Uh, uh… sweetheart, are you sure you know what you’re doing there?”

Mariana half-cocked her head, lowering her arm, and eyeing the piece with scrutiny. She rotated her wrist for dramatic effect, shrugging in the process.  She cleared her throat, utilizing her thumb to ease off the security, and cocking the barrel with her opposite hand.  She raised her hand, pointing it directly at Jimmy once more, “Still insulting my intelligence?”

Jimmy scoffed and Nevada took a step a forward, “Chiquita, I’ll take you home, just hand me the gun.”

Nevada continued to take steps forward, eyeing her closely, “Listen to your thug… doll,” Jimmy quirked his lip, causing Nevada to stop in his tracks.

He looked in her eyes, watching the fire and annoyance burn bright, but he saw her hesitance as well.  He shifted his eyes to above her shoulder, watching as Pucho locked eyes with him momentarily, he tipped his chin slightly, dropping his hands by his side. Within seconds the commotion that had broken out had damn neared given whiplash to Mariana.

Nevada’s fist had connected with Jimmy Mucci’s temple, sending all of the men into a fight.  Everything spun around and suddenly Mariana had been swept up, nearly dragged out of the room by a pair of strong hands.  Shots rung out, men cried out in pain, bodies thumped on the ground, and there was no sight of Nevada as they whisked her out of the warehouse.  Her hand had gone limp, was she still holding the gun?

Mariana mewled, feeling pressure across her abdomen, “What the fuck?” growled one of the men.

She was thrown back into Nevada’s SUV when Miguel and Pucho revved the engine. Mariana was still in a daze yet she couldn’t place the dull ache on her stomach, it was only when she tried to breathe deeply that everything clicked.  Someone’s elbow had connected with her stomach and had sent her tumbling to the ground.  She coughed, heaving deeply in a struggle to catch her breath.

Pucho looked back at her, “Deep breaths, mamasita.  It’s gonna hurt, but deep breaths.”

Mariana did as bidden and Pucho had been right, it hurt like hell, but it worked. Her coughs eased and her watery eyes seemed to focus on everything surrounding her when Nevada hopped in the SUV.

“¡Dale, dale, dale!” Miguel pressed on the gas pedal, jolting the SUV forward. Nevada was clapping and howling, seemingly amused by the antics and the outcome of the meeting.  He shouted boisterously and shook Pucho by his shoulders, “That’s how you fucking do it!” He took a moment to regard Mariana, folded over her self, “Maldita loca, what the hell possessed you to go in all gung-ho in there?”

Mariana struggled to catch her breath and coughed once again.  She felt Nevada’s hand between her shoulder blades and she shook him off, using her arm to swat him away, “Don’t fucking touch me,” she seethed, coughing mercilessly in the process.

“Mari—” he moved to touch her arm.

Mariana swatted her arm, landing a blow to Nevada’s chest, “Don’t f—”

Nevada pinched her cheeks with his right hand whilst his left one gripped at her nape, “You and that fucking tone...”

Her breathing was shallow, her eyes speeding across his face.  The position felt familiar yet she didn’t feel as degraded and demoralized as she had felt with her ex.  He wasn’t doing this to… cheapen her, he was doing this lovingly almost.  His grip on her was stern yet soft, just like his grip on her neck.

Mariana whimpered and he eased his hold, “¿Te vas a calmar?” she nodded.  Nevada dropped the hand at her face, “I’m going to take you home and you’re going to let me look at your stomach, ¿me entiendes?”

“Sí,” she whispered, lowering her head.

[oghoneytryst]

xx.

where harry hides his true feelings behind a thoughtful birthday card.

a/n: in which I should be working on requests but instead this pops out.

a piece inspired by this post. enjoy!

-

When y/n spots a sealed pink envelope crammed between the usual bills and coupons hoarding her small mailbox, she is nothing short of bemused. Only during special occasions, such as her birthday or the holidays, is y/n ever lucky enough to be the recipient of a precious Hallmark card. Otherwise, it is expected of her dreary mail to lack such a colorful and ominous surprise as the one currently cradled in her hands.

Her curious eyes do a quick scan over the back of the envelope, and she notices the return address missing from the top left corner. In its space occupies the name MICK GREENBERG written in sloppy capital letters, two kissy x’s residing just beneath it.

Strange, y/n thinks to herself. She doesn’t seem to recall ever meeting a Mick before, much less a Mick Greenberg who evidently fancies sending thoughtful letters rather than halfhearted texts. Perhaps the card is not meant for her after all, given that she also does not recall ever giving her address to a stranger such as Mick.

Y/n considers taking the pretty envelope back down to give to her landlord in case it is meant for somebody else, but laziness makes her decide against it when she reaches the remaining steps to her floor. While attempting to unlock the front door to her apartment, telling herself that she will turn it in first thing in the morning, her soft eyes catch a glimpse of the scribbling done at the center.

It is then that everything begins to make sense.

With a soft sigh escaping her two lips, y/n twists the key in the lock and shuffles inside her living area. The distant sound of nails clattering along the floorboards brings a smile to her face.

“Hey, precious,” she coos to Ruben, the hyperactive border terrier circling around her feet.

Carelessly tossing her bag to the floor, y/n trudges over to the couch, unbothered by the sheds of dog hair littering the cushions. She pats twice on her lap, motioning for her pet to join her as her new discovery burns in the back of her mind.

RUBEN Y/L/N. The envelope is addressed to her dog, who she ever-so-proudly can recall has a birthday coming up in the next few days. She’s certain that Mick Greenberg is also aware of this momentous occasion, but y/n prefers to allude to Harry by his given name than by his songwriting pseudonym.

A laugh escapes her. It’s been almost a year since their unfortunate parting, where both of them had been so desperately in love but neither had been capable of finding time for the other. It was a decision that had been concluded after a countless number of difficult hours-long discussions, but it had been mutual nonetheless. To accept the end of their relationship meant the separated pair had to suffer through their respective painful months of mourning and tears, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t fair to hold onto something that felt so distant and permuted. Y/n is only grateful that no bad blood has surged between them.

That isn’t to say that the two still keep in contact with each other. Y/n hasn’t spoken to Harry since the night before he was to embark on his world tour, wishing him the best of luck and sealing the end of their relationship.

Almost a year later, Harry is sending a birthday card to the rescue dog they had adopted together.

Y/n knows she shouldn’t open it. Nothing beneficial could possibly come from opening the envelope, unless Harry had been considerate enough to get Ruben a gift card to splurge on new toys at the pet store.

It’s worth taking a peak.

Slipping her finger through the small opening at the side of the seal, y/n rips open the flap in an unorderly manner. She takes the short-lived opportunity to play with Ruben, a silly expression painting over her face as she very slowly slides the card out from its paper packaging.

“Wow, lookie here, Ruben,” y/n exclaims, presenting the front of the birthday card to her tail-wagging dog. “It almost looks like you, bubs!”

Ruben barks at the picture of his look-alike printed over the face of the card, except his twin sports a decorative party hat and has confetti all around him.

Without noticing the bulkiness of the card, y/n is surprised when a slightly heavier item falls from the inside. “Sick,” she whispers, grabbing ahold of the glossy gift card that has fallen onto the couch.

She rushes to place the gift card back into the regular card for safekeeping, but pauses when she notices the entire inside marked with a scrawling of continuous ink. Trailing the pads of her finger down the lengthy handwritten note, y/n becomes at war with her mind and her heart about whether or not she should proceed to read it.

“Dammit, Harry,” she seethes, admitting defeat once she sinks deeper into the back of the couch and softly rubs at her dog’s wavy fur. With an attempt to clear her throat, y/n reads: “Dear Ruben...” 

I know it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, but I’m sending you this gift to let you know that I haven’t forgotten about you. I want to write this to wish you a happy birthday! I can’t even imagine how much you must’ve grown since I last saw you, but I know you’re not a pup anymore. I can’t hold you in my single hand anymore, but you’re never too big to hold in my heart.

Please tell your mom not to roll her eyes when she reads that.

Y/n rolls her eyes a second time, only a few sentences into the letter. 

I hope this card has gotten to you safely because I don’t know how I would feel if some stranger were to read all of the sweet moments we once shared. To me, they are special, and they should be a secret that only we know. Not because I am afraid to show the world how much I love you, but because there are some things that should only be for us.

So where do I begin, little lad? Should I start with the day your mum and I first fell in love with you at the animal rescue center, that one Tuesday evening? You took a straight wee on me, don’t think I’ve forgotten. I had to throw that sweater away, but you had fit so nicely in the sleeve, so I cut it off and let you nap in it. I know you’ve outgrown it, but I still have it safe with me. Maybe you can sleep with it one day.

I think back to those times when we stayed at home, relaxing on the couch as we stared at the telly. I really enjoyed cuddling with you, bud. You’re very soft and warm and you helped the bad dreams go away. And those times you’d make me laugh, when you gave me a kiss early in the morning before I was on my way to wherever I was off to that day, our silly fights that we always overcame ... I will remember those the most.

Creased lines appear on y/n’s forehead from her incertitude in Harry’s words. Though he is addressing Ruben very clearly in the letter, she has a gut-feeling that he means something else with the recollection of their memories. Perhaps it is because these moments he has shared with Ruben are moments he has also shared with her. 

There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think of you. I promise, even on the other side of the world, I smile knowing that you are happy and healthy, little lad. Thank you for that. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay with you, but I know your mum is giving you enough love from the both of us. I miss you. I love you. I hope you have the best birthday. Please continue to look after your mum and care for her. Be there for her like you were for me.

See you when I see you,

Dad xx 

Y/n’s voice trails off at the two x’s that match the ones inked on the envelope. There is a silence in the air that follows, one that y/n feels very strangely about. Ruben notices his mother’s uneasy state and jumps up from his spot on the couch. Standing on his hind legs, he leans his front paws against his mother’s arm and sniffles at the stray tears that have absentmindedly fallen.

Y/n lets out a weary laugh, wipes away her tears, and shoves the card back in its pretty pink envelope. “Wow, Ruben. I don’t even get letters that long for my birthday. You must be really special to daddy, huh?”

Scooping the loving dog in her arms, she buries her face in the comforting fur and ponders about the words echoing in her mind.

There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think of you.

Later that night, y/n is wrapped up in the sheets of her bed. Ruben snoozes lightly at her side and the night sky ages to an early, early morning; 1:22, to be exact, but y/n has not been able find solace in her sleep.

Instead, she stares at her phone screen, scrunching her face at the one contact she never even thought about deleting.

HARRY : message | call

Her fingertip lingers over the message icon, her teeth nervously gnawing at her lips until tiny bits of skin tear away. She doesn’t know where in the world he is, which continent he could be exploring as she disputes with herself, but she knows that the unsettling feeling in her stomach will not go away until she acknowledges his sweet letter.

So, she takes her chances and composes a text message.

to: HARRY

Ruben says thank you for the card.

Sent. Y/n locks her phone right after, dropping the device on her stomach to palm at her eyes harshly. Is it fair of him to have reached out to her in the manner that he had and pretend as if it were so innocent?  She knows that it is not. He must have known how her conscious would eat at her until she had no choice back to reach back.

The faint ding! that resonates from her phone nearly makes y/n choke on the pure air.

from: HARRY

I’m glad to hear that.

Tell Ruben not to go too crazy at the pet store.

Air shoots out from y/n’s nose in the form of a silent makeshift laugh. She smiles at the message and is relieved that she didn’t have to wait hours upon hours for his response.

to: HARRY

ok lol.

The word read followed by the time 2:27 AM instantly appears beneath her minuscule message. She feels her chest tighten. There is something peculiar in knowing that wherever it is Harry may be, she knows that he stares at his phone screen, reading over the same nervous messages as she does.

to: HARRY

Ruben says he misses you.

Sent. The read receipt once again appears below her message. She doesn’t know what she wants to gain from sending such a straightforward message. She doesn’t even know why she advances with the miles-long conversation, but the three dots appearing on the bottom of the screen as an indication of his typing makes her heart drop down to her tummy for the first time in nearly a year. 

from: HARRY

I miss you too. xx

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero and @magic713m

Chapter Seven The Slug Club

Harry was burning up inside, but he didn’t know who to talk to about it. He knew, with absolute certainty, that Draco had been up to no good at Knockturn Alley, and he also knew he could not talk to anyone about it.

Harry’s parents worried about him constantly and he could not imagine a worse way to break their trust than by slipping away under the Invisibility Cloak to Knockturn Alley.

Actually, he could imagine one thing. He could have run off to face Voldemort alone without telling anyone. He imagined that would be worse than sneaking off to stalk Draco Malfoy, but probably not much.

James and Lily didn’t even know that Harry had run into Draco at all. Sirius had said nothing of the incident in Madam Malkin’s — Harry figured it was to spare himself the embarrassment of recounting an encounter with Narcissa, but he wasn’t sure. They hadn’t talked about it.

The Potters hadn’t talked about much that had happened in Diagon Alley, actually.

Hagrid had been assigned as their additional security, and it was he and Sirius who had taken Harry to get school supplies with his friends while James and Lily had gone shopping for James’s eye. Harry was glad for an opportunity to spend time with his friends, and glad they didn’t expect him to join him while they found a replacement eye for James. Harry was not sure he could have handled that guilt.

So James and Lily did not talk about their shopping trip, and Harry did not talk about his. The best they could do was discuss some of the exciting products they’d seen at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. James and Sirius had insisted to Fred and George that a “Marauders” line could be worked in, and Fred and George said they would be happy to receive potential product from those who had, in a way, been their muses.

But that brief moment was one bright spot on an overall very bleak summer.

Remus had left as soon as he was well enough to Apparate. He hadn’t gone with them to Diagon Alley, which, while not strange, was disappointing. Harry wondered if he would come back at the end of the month for the next full moon. It would be nice to have Remus there to see him off to Hogwarts, as he had every year before, full moon permitting.

Harry found himself wishing he could confide his concerns about Draco in Remus, more than anyone else in his family. James and Lily would worry, as they always did, as they had to as his parents, and scold him for running off. Sirius might be safe to tell, but Sirius tended to overreact, and might tell James and Lily. But Remus would let Harry talk, keep a level head, and ask the right questions to help Harry truly understand what he, Ron, Neville, and Hermione had seen.

The cloak hadn’t totally covered all four of them — it fell to their knees — but Harry was fairly confident they hadn’t been seen. Knockturn Alley had enough nooks and crannies to duck into to avoid being caught. Unfortunately, though they hadn’t been seen, they hadn’t seen very much themselves, as Hermione had been very quick to point out.

“Anyone can purchase from Borgin and Burke’s without making it about You-Know-Who,” she’d said.

Harry had wanted to argue that yes, anyone could, but anyone who was purchasing from Burke was highly suspicious by default, but that was when James and Lily had approached to ask if he was ready to leave, and he hadn’t been able to finish his conversation with his friends.

He was disappointed about that on a second count as well: he’d hoped he could tell them the prophecy. The more Harry thought about it, the more he knew he needed to share his secret with Ron, Hermione, and Neville. Diagon Alley just hadn’t provided him with a good opportunity. He hoped the Hogwarts Express might work better.

The morning of September first arrived much sooner than Harry had expected. He was at once eager to get back to school with his friends and nervous to leave his parents. He’d enjoyed being home with them, all guilt and secrets aside, and he worried what trouble they would get into when he and Neville weren’t at home.

Harry, while packing up his things, recalled a lengthy letter his father had sent him during his second year. James had described the struggle of being in hiding, unable to help, but doing it because they knew it was what they needed to do to keep Harry safe. Harry felt like going to Hogwarts was like going into hiding, disappearing into Dumbledore’s protection. He imagined the irony of asking his mum to write every day, and told himself he couldn’t worry about his parents. Worrying wasn’t actually helpful.

Getting to King’s Cross Station was more work than it ever had been before. Harry remembered the year Regulus Black had first escaped Azkaban, when his family had stayed at the Leaky Cauldron to be escorted from there. This time, the Potters — and Sirius and Neville — simply Floo’ed straight to the Leaky Cauldron on September first, and were met by the Longbottoms and two Aurors.

“Cedric!” Harry said in surprise.

“Williamson,” James said, and shook the other Auror’s hand.

Williamson wore a nicely tailored red velvet suit, and had long white hair tied back in a ponytail. He shook James and Lily’s hands with equally strong grips. “Mr. and Mrs. Potter. A pleasure.” He did not sound especially pleased. “Did you have a smooth trip?” he asked, and quirked a thick white eyebrow.

“Smooth as a puffskein’s fluff,” Lily answered.

Harry wondered for a moment if his mother had mixed up a Muggle phrase with a wizard phrase, but Williamson nodded once, and they were off. It hadn’t been a silly phrase — it had been a code.

Once outside, they ran into Frank and Alice Longbottom, who were similarly given a question and responded with a slightly odd answer.

“Weather holding?” Williamson asked.

“Tight as a grindylow’s grip,” Frank had answered, then hugged Neville tightly.

Alice kissed his forehead and led him to a black car with tinted windows. “We’ll head to King’s Cross in style,” she said, and together, all nine of them climbed inside the magically expanded Muggle automobile.

“Alright?” Cedric asked as he slipped into the seat beside Harry. “Haven’t heard from you.”

“Alright,” Harry said. “Been busy. Sirius has been teaching me Healers’ stuff.”

Cedric looked impressed.

“What about you?” Harry asked. “I thought you don’t get dangerous missions while training.”

“I get the public missions,” Cedric said, “and escorting Harry Potter to King’s Cross is very public. It’s a good thing these windows are tinted, or we might end up on the front page of The Daily Prophet as the Ministry’s gold star partners. We’ll have to be careful when we get to the station.”

King’s Cross was as crowded as ever, and Harry could see Aurors walking across the station, some in robes, some in Muggle plain clothes. He recognized a few, like the Prewett brothers, and a woman in an eye-patch that he’d met just before his trial last year — Marcy, maybe?

“I wore it better,” James grunted as they swept past her and towards the back of the train, where Harry could see Ron and Hermione waving to him.

James had purchased a monocle in Diagon Alley, since glasses over a glass eye was arguably redundant, but he didn’t wear it much. He still preferred his glasses, which ultimately helped to hide the fact that one of his eyes no longer moved with the other. The color in each eye, at least, was identical, thanks to Sirius’s excellent transfiguration work. At a passing glance, James looked no different. It was only if Harry tried to hold his father’s gaze for too long that his stomach turned with guilt.

“No sign of Tonks,” Sirius said, glancing around.

“She’s on another assignment,” Cedric said. Despite his warning about The Daily Prophet, he’d stayed with the Potters, while Williamson melted into the crowd, keeping the platform safe alongside the other Aurors.

Lily kissed Harry’s cheek. “You’ll be safe.”

Harry wondered if she was trying to reassure him or herself.

“You too, Mum.” Harry hugged her. It wasn’t their first hug since he’d found out about the prophecy, but it was the first hug that Harry truly meant, in all its length and tightness. He did not want to let his mother go. She squeezed back, harder than she had all summer, and Harry felt some of the weight in his chest lighten. At least she wasn’t still suffering the effects of Bellatrix’s fiery curse, if she could give and receive such rib-crushing embraces.

Harry blinked back tears, determined not to cry in front of all these people, in front of his friends, in front of Cedric. Now, on the brink of saying goodbye to his parents for four months, all of his bitterness and guilt felt ridiculous and childish. There were so many bigger things to worry about.

When he and Lily finally separated, James clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll see you for Quidditch, yeah? Wouldn’t miss your first game as Captain for the world.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. End of November.”

He recounted. Three months. In three months he would see his parents, and he would know they were safe once again.

“You’ll kick Slytherin’s ass,” Sirius said.

Harry forced himself to grin, and started to ask if Remus would be there, but he cut the question off before it reached his tongue. Remus hadn’t come home for the full moon this past week. He’d said he was spending it with other werewolves. They’d all hoped it was true, and if it was, Harry wasn’t sure Quidditch games would be an option for Remus this year.

“Maybe I’ll get stationed at Hogwarts that day,” Cedric said. “Be nice to catch a Quidditch match again.”

“That’d be great,” Harry said.

The train whistle blew. Harry gave another round of hasty hugs, as did Neville, and they hurried to the back of the train.

Their reunion with Ron and Hermione was full of hugs, but unfortunately brief. Harry was just about to ask if they could find a private car — he was slowly working up the courage to tell them the prophecy — when Hermione apologized, but she and Ron had to go to the prefect’s meeting.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Alright.”

“We won’t be too long,” Ron said. “Long as the new Head Boy and Girl don’t drawl on half as long as what’s-his-name did.”

“His name was Troy,” Hermione snapped. “We just saw him a few months ago — how could you already forget it?”

Ron shrugged, and his snappy response was lost as he and Hermione disappeared down the carriage.

Neville looked at Harry, as if Harry was the one who was going to find them an empty carriage. Well, he’d certainly do his best.

Harry slipped past a trio of girls who seemed to be gaping like they’d caught Viktor Krum in a locker room, and it wasn’t until Harry moved past them and they turned that he realized they were gaping at him. Harry took a moment to register that they were unreasonably short and hurried along with Neville.

They bumped into another girl, eyes just as wide as the ones they had passed, but hers were far more dreamy.

“Luna,” Harry said, surprised by the relief in his voice.

“Hi, Harry,” she smiled. “Hi, Neville.”

Harry glanced over her shoulder, but she seemed to be alone. “Ginny’s not with you?” and he was again surprised by the disappointment as he said it.

“Haven’t seen her,” Luna said. “I expect she’s gone off to find Dean Thomas, though.”

“Right.” Dean Thomas. Her boyfriend. Of course. That was alright, Harry told himself. He hadn’t exactly planned on sharing the prophecy with Ginny anyway, and he really hadn’t considered telling Luna, even if the two of them had gone with him to the Department of Mysteries.

“Well, how are you, Luna?” Harry asked, and started checking for empty compartments as they walked. He did his best to avoid eye contact with everyone in the corridors. He felt like a basilisk, petrifying everyone into stillness if he looked at them too long. He ignored the heat rushing to his cheeks and focused on Luna’s answer.

“Very well, thank you.” She followed closely on his heels, and the way people looked away as she stared at them made Harry not mind how close she was.

Finally, Harry opened the door to an empty compartment, and he ushered Luna and Neville inside.

“Blimey, Harry,” Neville said as he closed the door behind them. “They’re all staring at us because we’re with you.”

“You were both at the Ministry, too,” Harry said. “We were all in the Prophet.”

Neville scrunched up his nose and took Trevor out of his pocket. “I suppose, but I don’t think that’s why people are staring at —”

Whatever Neville was going to explain was lost as Trevor leaped from his hand and onto the floor.

Luna lifted her feet so Neville could scramble for Trevor, and put a pair of bright pink whimsical glasses on her face. Her grey eyes vanished behind iridescent lenses.

“Will we continue the D.A. this year?” she asked, in a tone that suggested their secret, rule-breaking, anti-Ministry organization was as casual as getting together for tea once a week.

Harry shrugged. “No point now that we’ve got rid of Umbridge, is there?” He wondered what sort of a teacher Slughorn would be like. He thought of how the man appreciated his comforts and wondered if he wouldn’t be any better than Umbridge. No, because Lily at least had liked him, on some level, so he couldn’t be as bad as Umbridge. He certainly couldn’t give out detentions that carved bloody words into the back of your hand.

“I liked the D.A.,” Neville said from beneath the train seat, still digging around for Trevor.

“I liked the D.A., too,” Luna said, though her eyes were on the copy of the Quibbler in her hands. “It was like having friends.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he should comfort Luna for such a pitiful statement, or laugh because it was a little bit funny. Before he could decide if he needed to reassure her or tease her, a high-pitched giggle that was definitely not Hermione or Ginny came from the other side of the compartment door.

“No you ask him,” a girl’s voice said.

“No you,” said another.

Harry ran through the list of girls he knew and drew a blank. He could not tell who was on the other side of the door, not until one of the girls shouldered it open.

She had long, dark curls that framed her face attractively, and a strong jaw that reminded Harry a bit of Cedric’s. Her lips were fuller, though, and her nose smaller, and her smile far more ambitious.

“Hi, Harry.” She spoke loudly, and her full lips pulled back into a wide smile. “I’m Romilda, Romilda Vane. Why don’t you join us in our compartment? You don’t have to sit with —” She put her hand to her mouth to hide it from Luna and mouthed, “them.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, all his initial assumption that she was attractive burned out in just seven words. Neville was halfway under a seat, and Luna looked like a Muggle Christmas tree and been turned inside out and then flipped right way around again, but this was exactly where Harry wanted to be.

“They’re my friends,” he said, perhaps more coldly than he’d meant to.

Romilda Vane blinked. “Oh. Okay.” And she and her giggling friends left.

“People expect you to have cooler friends than us,” said Luna.

“You are cool,” Harry said, with no hesitation in addressing Luna’s unusual statement this time. He knew it was sulky, but he folded his arms and sank into his seat. He kept his back to the window into the corridor, hoping people might not notice him. “They didn’t come to the Ministry and fight off a dozen Death Eaters with me.”

Neville extricated Trevor from a dust bunny and sat back on the seat. “We didn’t face him though. You did.”

Harry was not keen on remembering his fight with Voldemort. He had a feeling that, now that he knew the prophecy, the next time he faced the Dark Lord would be his last — whether it was his end, or Voldemort’s. It was a silly feeling. He was the Boy Who Lived, who had faced Voldemort not just as an infant, but several times since. None of them had been pleasant encounters, but Harry had survived each one. Who was to say when his and Voldemort’s last encounter would be?

But somewhere in his gut he knew he didn’t have many chances left.

He considered telling Luna and Neville the prophecy right there, just blurting it out in the carriage. But Luna was brutally honest, and Harry wasn’t sure he could take that response just now. And she might repeat it to someone else. At least it was unlikely they’d take her seriously.

“Harry’s the Chosen One, you know,” she might say to another girl in Ravenclaw, or whoever it was Luna was friends with when she wasn’t with the D.A.

And the other girl might reply, “Sure, Luna, whatever you say,” and go on with her day as if Luna had merely told her that onions sprouting from the ears was a sure sign of rain approaching.

Still, Harry bit his tongue. He would wait until at least Hermione and Ron were here. He wondered if he told Luna, should he tell Ginny? But she was with Dean, and it wouldn’t be fair to put her in that kind of a spot, to have a secret from Dean because Harry had asked…

Harry didn’t let himself finish that thought. Instead, he told himself that if Luna and Ginny were included in the small circle of people who knew the prophecy, it would be because they had gone to the Ministry with him, which meant that Pearl Lais also ought to be included, wherever she was, and at that point, Harry decided he would just share it with Ron, Hermione, and Neville. Ron and Hermione were his best friends, and Neville was slowly becoming one.

“Alright, Harry?” Neville asked.

“What?”

“You disappeared for a moment. My dad does that sometimes — everything okay?”

Harry shook his head. “Sorry. Yeah, lost in thought, I guess.”

“Wrackspurts,” said Luna, a sympathy in her voice, like Harry had said he’d sprouted a large pimple instead of wondering in his own head.

“What?” Harry said, again.

“A Wrackspurt — they’re invisible. They float in through your ears and make your brain go all fuzzy. I thought I felt one zooming around in here.”

Harry and Neville each raised an eyebrow as Luna waved her hand in front of her face and about her ears like she was trying to swat a small bird out of the air, sort of like Crookshanks or Puck might.

Finally, around midday, Hermione and Ron arrived at their carriage. Ron immediately sank into the seat across from Harry and said, “I’m starving. Wish the trolley lady would hurry up.”

Hermione gave Ron a brief glance, full of distaste, then smiled at Harry and Neville. “Did you have a good rest of the summer?”

“It was very quiet,” said Neville, with a sideways glance at Harry. Neville had missed the noisiest part of summer: Sirius and Remus’s very loud fight when Remus left, but Harry had told him about it. It had been hard not to. Sirius had been in a foul mood for nearly two weeks. It didn’t clear up until Tonks visited for dinner, and she had finally been the one to talk him out of it.

“More or less,” Harry agreed. He might feel comfortable sharing the situation about Remus and Tonks with Ron and Hermione, but not with Luna. Remus’s furry little problem had become public knowledge just two years ago, thanks to Snape, but that didn’t mean it was discussed with people outside the family. He couldn’t talk about things happening at home any more than he could talk about the prophecy. Harry wasn’t sure what to say.

Thankfully, he was spared by Ron.

“Our summer wasn’t quiet — Mum was a nightmare with Fleur around. Can’t understand why. She’s so annoyed with their wedding plans.”

“She just thinks they’ve rushed things, is all,” said Hermione.

“They’ve been dating a year — they met at the Triwizard Tournament. That’s plenty of time.”

“To marry someone?” Hermione looked scandalized.

Ron rolled his eyes. “It was nice to get out to Diagon Alley and see you guys. Oh — speaking of Malfoy, guess who’s not doing prefect duty?”

Harry sat up straight and stared at Ron. “What’s he doing?”

Ron shrugged. “Nothing. Just sitting with the Slytherins. Not like him, is it? He loves to be out there bullying first years with his shiny prefect badge.”

“Maybe he’s gotten nicer,” said Neville. “Maybe now that his dad’s in jail, he and his mum are better.”

But Neville had been in Madam Malkin’s with them. Neville knew Malfoy hadn’t changed. And Harry thought that if his father had been taken to Azkaban, he wouldn’t be feeling too kind to the people who put him there.

“What do you think he’s doing?” Harry asked.

Hermione refused to indulge the suspicion in Harry’s voice. “Slacking off,” she said. “Not everything Malfoy does is nefarious. Maybe Prefect feels like a step down from Inquisitorial Squad.”

“Maybe he’s bragging to his friends about his new friend Greyback,” Harry said. That part of the conversation they’d overheard still irked him. He’d turned that name over and over, wondering why it was familiar. Finally, he’d asked James about it a week later and James had nearly dropped the bundle of linens he’d been carrying downstairs to wash.

“Where’d you hear about him?” James had asked.

“Er — someone mentioned him when we were in Diagon Alley. I just overheard it.”

James had glanced around the hall nervously, but Harry didn’t know who he was checking for, or why Greyback was some sort of secret.

“He’s not a good person, Harry. He — he’s a werewolf, and not a safe one.”

“You mean not like Remus?”

“He’s the werewolf who bit Remus.”

Harry had needed time to process that information. Though it added color to Malfoy’s conversation, he hadn’t written about it to Ron or Hermione. He had found himself unable to put to paper the tragedy that had made Remus Lupin, especially in the middle of this particular summer, when Remus’s condition was such a central part of the family’s collective worries.

“Did you find out who Greyback is?” Hermione asked keenly.

“Works with Voldemort,” Harry said, casually as he could, and ignored Neville’s shiver. “So if we needed any more proof that Malfoy —”

Harry stopped suddenly, remember what Malfoy had been doing when he had brought up Greyback. He had rolled up the sleeves of his robes and shown Borgin something on his arm, then threatened Borgin with Greyback. Greyback, the werewolf, who had been brought into the Death Eaters’ fold as one of their many tools of blackmail, and something on Malfoy’s right arm.

“He’s a Death Eater,” Harry said. “Malfoy’s a Death Eater, and he was showing Borgin his Dark Mark.”

Harry saw the protest on Hermione’s face before her mouth even opened. “Harry, he wouldn’t —”

“His dad was a Death Eater, and he’s just replaced him! Why else would he show Borgin his arm? What else would make Borgin listen to Malfoy like that?”

Ron shook his head. “Malfoy’s sixteen, mate, same as us. What would You-Know-Who be thinking, bringing Malfoy into something like that?”

But they hadn’t fought Voldemort. Harry didn’t think Voldemort would consider Malfoy’s age a deterrent.

“If he was, wouldn’t he be going off on dark missions?” asked Neville. “But he’s here on the train, going to school, same as us.”

“Unless his mission is at Hogwarts,” said Harry.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look that said, “He’s clearly gone mad, but how do we tell him gently?”

“It makes sense,” Harry insisted.

“I think Harry’s right,” said Luna, as absently as ever. “You-Know-Who must be after the mounds of glowing garox gold buried beneath Hogwarts. The founders hid it when they built the school.”

Hermione’s raised eyebrow told Harry that it wasn’t wise to be in the same camp as Luna Lovegood. It only deterred Harry a little bit.

“I don’t think Voldemort is after gold, but I bet Malfoy —”

The door opened, and for some reason, Harry felt disappointment when he saw the young girl in the doorway. He didn’t know who he had expected, but he’d hoped it would be someone else. Someone he knew.

The small girl, no older than twelve, certainly seemed to have expected him. “Harry P-Potter? And Neville Longbottom?” she asked.

“Yeah?” Harry tried not to be annoyed with her. It wasn’t her fault his face was plastered all over The Daily Prophet each week. She couldn’t help the flush in her cheeks.

She held out two scrolls, tied with purple ribbons that looked like velvet. Harry thought the velvet should have been a giveaway, like it was familiar in a way he should understand, but he couldn’t. He accepted one of the scrolls.

Neville, face wide with bewilderment, took the scroll from her.

Ron, impatiently, demanded, “What is it?” as Harry unfurled it. Fortunately, it didn’t take long to read.

“An invitation,” Harry said.

Harry, I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C. Sincerely, Professor H. E. F. Slughorn

“To what?” asked Ron.

“From whom?” asked Hermione.

“Professor Slughorn,” Harry said. “I mentioned him, right?”

Hermione nodded. Ron frowned.

“What do you think he wants with us?” asked Neville.

“I guess lunch,” Harry said, though he remembered Dumbledore’s warning about collecting students. But if Neville had been invited, why not Ron and Hermione? Was it just because he was a Longbottom?

Harry grabbed his bag and, as was beginning to be a habit, checked for his Invisibility Cloak. He’d carried it with him whenever he and his father went into the garden. He’d carried it with him when they went to Diagon Alley. And still, on the Hogwarts Express, he planned to carry it with him. Dumbledore had said to keep it on him at all times, so he did. Harry wondered if he could even put it to some good use.

“Let’s see if we can spy on Malfoy as we pass his compartment,” Harry said as he and Neville left, but that plan was useless. The corridor was too crowded. It was one thing to slip down Knockturn Alley, where people slunk around the edges and avoiding bumping into anyone was fairly easy. It was another to try to navigate the packed hallway of the Hogwarts Express.

As he and Neville headed for compartment C, Harry found himself wishing he could use his Invisibility Cloak for a second reason: to avoid everyone’s stares.

It wasn’t just girls whispering and giggling, and it wasn’t just first and second years gaping. The latter, Harry was fairly used to. Colin and Dennis Creevey had made sure Harry was familiar with that. This year, everyone stared. The first and second years, the third and fourth years, even the seventh years and the sixth years, who had known Harry all this time, stared. Harry didn’t need to know what they were thinking. The question was on each of their faces: “Is he the Chosen One to defeat Voldemort?”

Harry was grateful when they finally arrived at compartment Compartment C. At least Slughorn’s fawning would be different than everyone’s gaping stares. Unfortunately, the gaping stares weren’t over.

“Harry, m’boy!” Slughorn said as Harry opened the door. The large man stood, nearly filling the corridor, and shook Harry’s hand.

Behind him were several other students, and each one’s eyes widened in surprise as Harry stepped into the compartment — all except one.

Ginny Weasley was squashed into the corner, and she smiled at Harry and Neville.

As Harry shook Slughorn’s hand and looked around the compartment, he saw a couple other familiar faces: Blaise Zabini from Slytherin, who was in Harry’s year, though Harry was not sure they had ever exchanged a word, and Cormac McLaggen, a seventh-year Gryffindor who Harry knew only by reputation.

The third was a seventh-year Harry had never met, who Slughorn introduced as “Marcus Belby, I don’t know if you’ve ever — no? — well, at least this charming lady tells me she knows you,” and he gestured to Ginny.

Harry and Neville took the only two seats available and Slughorn settled into his own seat, piled with additional velvet cushions. Those, coupled with his velvet robes, made him look like he was the same sofa he had transformed himself into the night Harry had met him.

“Well, now, this is most pleasant,” Slughorn said as he put a napkin over his lap. “A chance to get to know you all better. Here, take a napkin. I’ve packed my own lunch; the trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on the licorice wands, and a poor old man’s digestive system isn’t quite up to such things…. Pheasant, Belby?”

Slughorn chatted with each of them in turn, and Harry quickly discovered how Slughorn went about “collecting” his students. Slughorn pressed Belby about a famous uncle who had invented the Wolfsbane Potion, and when Belby admitted he hardly spoke to his uncle, Slughorn moved onto McLaggen. McLaggen, whose uncle was well-known in Ministry circles that included the new Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, and who McLaggen was very close with, was doted on by Slughorn for the rest of the lunch. Zabini had been brought in because he had a wealthy mother who moved through pureblood society and had been widowed more times than anyone ought to be. Neville was interrogated about his parents’ work with the Ministry and their connections with Scrimgeour.

The more Slughorn interrogated each student, the more Harry wondered why Ginny was here. Harry loved the Weasleys, but they didn’t have any Ministry connections or claims to the sort of greatness that Slughorn admired.

“And now,” Slughorn’s voice trilled with excitement, and his thick mustache quivered with his breath, “Harry Potter! Where to begin? I feel I barely scratched the surface when we met over the summer! ‘The Chosen One,’ they’re calling you now!”

Harry smiled awkwardly and recalled his conversation with Dumbledore. Dumbledore had warned him that Slughorn would try to collect him, to influence him. Dumbledore had not given him any advice on how to avoid Slughorn.

“Of course,” Slughorn continued, “there have been rumors for years. . . . I remember when — well — after that terrible night — Lily — James — and you survived — and the word was that you must have powers beyond the ordinary —”

Zabini cleared his throat, poorly masking a derisive snort.

“Yeah, Zabini,” Ginny snapped suddenly, though she’d been quiet for the entire lunch, “because you’re so talented — at posing.”

“Oh dear!” Slughorn laughed as if Ginny had only been poking fun. Harry understood very quickly what James and Sirius had meant when they’d said Slughorn was very easy to have fun with.

“You want to be careful, Blaise!” Slughorn continued. “I saw this young lady perform the most marvelous Bat-Bogey Hex as I was passing her carriage! I wouldn’t cross her!”

Harry smiled at Ginny, hoping she understood he was both grateful and impressed.

“Anyway,” Slughorn turned back to Harry, “such rumors this summer. Of course, one doesn’t know what to believe, the Prophet has been known to print inaccuracies, make mistakes — but there seems little doubt, given the number of witnesses, that there was quite a disturbance at the Ministry and that you were there in the thick of it all!”

Harry could not see any sense in denying that he had been there. It was all over the Prophet, so he merely shrugged.

Slughorn’s smile was wider than his mustache. “So modest, so modest, no wonder Dumbledore is so fond — you were there, then? But the rest of the stories — so sensational, of course, one doesn’t know quite what to believe — this fabled prophecy, for instance —”

“We never heard a prophecy,” Neville interrupted.

“That’s right,” Ginny said. “Neville and I were both there too, and all this ‘Chosen One’ rubbish is just the Prophet making things up as usual.”

“You were both there too, were you?” Slughorn looked between Ginny and Neville, waiting for them to share more details, but they did not. Harry was more grateful than ever for his friends, and reconsidered his plan to keep the prophecy from Ginny.

Slughorn’s excitement faltered when neither Ginny nor Neville volunteered more information about the fight at the Ministry. “Yes, well,” he dabbed the pheasant grease out of his mustache with his napkin, “it is true that the Prophet often exaggerates, of course. I remember dear Gwenog telling me — Gwenog Jones, I mean, of course, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies —”

Slughorn continued sharing stories of his past students, all who went on to fame or positions of power. They’d been members of what Slughorn called, “The Slug Club.”

Harry had not known there was someone who could talk more than Hermione, and at least when Hermione talked it was about something that wasn’t herself. Slughorn occasionally asked the students questions, but none of it was information Harry wanted to volunteer. Giving up information about himself made Harry feel like he was handing over strings of web to a spider, and giving Slughorn pieces to tug on. He hated every minute of it, and understood another reason his parents had been so determined to keep the prophecy secret.

Harry searched desperately for some polite way to extricate himself from the extended lunch, but the opportunity never seemed to arise. It wasn’t until the sunlight streamed red into the cabin, hardly a sliver on the horizon, that Slughorn seemed to realize the late hour.

“Good gracious, it’s getting dark already! I didn’t notice that they’d lit the lamps! You’d better go and change into your robes, all of you. McLaggen, you must drop by and borrow that book on nogtails. Harry, Blaise — any time you’re passing. Same goes for you, miss,” he smiled widely at Ginny. “Well, off you go, off you go!”

Zabini pushed past Harry, Ginny, and Neville to be the first down the corridor. Ginny, Neville and Harry weren’t far behind him. McLaggen and Belby seemed content to linger, which told Harry all he needed to know about the two of them.

“I’m glad that’s over,” Neville mumbled as they followed after Zabini. “Strange man, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is a bit.” Harry felt as distant as Luna as he watched Zabini stalk down the hall. A part of a plan was forming in his mind, just the pieces of one. “How come you ended up in there, Ginny?”

“He saw me hex Zacharias Smith,” she said. “You remember that idiot from Hufflepuff who was in the D.A.? He kept on and on asking about what happened at the Ministry and in the end he annoyed me so much I hexed him — when Slughorn came in I thought I was going to get detention, but he just thought it was a really good hex and invited me to lunch! Mad, eh?”

“Better reason for inviting someone than because their mother’s famous,” Harry said, though he wondered how much of his parents’ fame influenced his invitation, “or because their uncle —” Harry stopped as the half-formed planned reached its conclusion. He knew what he had to do.

“I’ll see you two later.” Harry yanked his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag and threw it over his head.

“But what’re you — ?” Neville asked.

“Later!” Harry hissed, and hurried after Zabini. The train rattling down the tracks masked Harry’s footsteps, and most students had found compartments to change into their robes before arriving at Hogwarts. Harry’s approach was unimpeded, but there was no way he could slip into the compartment behind Zabini so easily.

Zabini slid the door open and closed it as soon as he had stepped through, slamming it into Harry’s foot. Harry bit down a yelp as Zabini smashed the door into his foot again.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Zabini asked irritably.

Harry shoved the door open. The force of it threw Zabini into Goyle’s lap. As Zabini went tumbling, Harry slipped into the compartment, stepped onto an empty seat, and pulled himself up onto the luggage rack. Harry worried that his trainers may have slipped out from the cloak when he slid up, but Goyle and Zabini made such a commotion he thought he was safe. Still, he didn’t like the way Malfoy’s eyes stared up at the luggage rack from his half-lying half-sitting position. Even as Goyle slammed the door shut, Zabini slunk into his own seat, and Malfoy settled his head back onto Pansy Parkinson’s lap, Malfoy’s eyes lingered on the exact spot Harry was hiding.

Harry pulled the edges of the cloak tighter, though he was sure he was completely hidden.

Without taking his eyes off of Harry’s hiding spot, Malfoy asked, “So, Zabini,” said Malfoy, “what did Slughorn want?”

“Just trying to make up to well-connected people.” Zabini, too, did not look at Malfoy as he answered. Instead he was still glaring at Goyle, as if the door fiasco was Goyle’s fault. “Not that he managed to find many.”

Malfoy frowned up at the ceiling. “Who else had he invited?”

“McLaggen from Gryffindor,” said Zabini.

Malfoy’s frown turned to a slightly impressed sneer. “Oh yeah, his uncle’s big in the Ministry,”

“— someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw —”

Pansy paused her reverent stroking of Malfoy’s hair. “Not him, he’s a prat!”

“— and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl,” finished Zabini.

Malfoy sat up and half-snarled. “He invited Longbottom?”

“Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there.” Zabini turned to look out the window, making his disinterest in Neville plain.

“What’s Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?”

Zabini shrugged. “His parents are famous Aurors.”

“Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at ‘the Chosen One,’” Malfoy growled, “but that Weasley girl! What’s so special about her?”

“A lot of boys like her,” Pansy said. Her eyes were on Malfoy, and her hand still hovered in the air, waiting for him to return to her lap. “Even you think she’s good-looking, don’t you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!”

“I wouldn’t touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like,” Zabini snapped.

Pansy smiled and Malfoy lowered himself back into her lap. She resumed running her fingers through his hair, as if he were a cat on her lap.

“Well, I pity Slughorn’s taste,” Malfoy said. “Maybe he’s going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn’t heard I’m on the train, or —”

“I wouldn’t bank on an invitation,” said Zabini. “He asked me about Nott’s father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry he didn’t look happy, and Nott didn’t get an invitation, did he? I don’t think Slughorn’s interested in Death Eaters.”

Malfoy’s normally pale face was flushed with anger, but he forced a laugh out anyway. “Well, who cares what he’s interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher.” As if to emphasize how little he cared, Malfoy yawned. “I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what’s it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?”

Pansy’s hand dropped from Malfoy’s hair to her seat. She frowned down at him and snapped, “What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?”

“Well, you never know,” Malfoy said in his usual drawl. “I might have — er — moved on to bigger and better things.”

Harry’s heart raced. He resisted the urge to shift closer; he could see and hear everything just fine, but he worried he would miss what Malfoy was truly up to. He held his breath.

Crabbe and Goyle stared at Malfoy as if they could not imagine anything bigger and better than harassing first years at Hogwarts. Zabini even quirked an eyebrow at Malfoy.

Pansy’s voice was hardly a whisper as she said, “Do you mean… Him?”

Malfoy did not answer her. “Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don’t see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it, when the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care about how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone’s got? Of course he isn’t. It’ll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown.”

Harry remembered the loyalty Bellatrix had shown to Voldemort even as she’d been sentenced to life in Azkaban. She was the only one he saved. She was also Draco’s aunt, and maybe Draco had learned a thing or two from her.

“And you think you’ll be able to do something for him?” Zabini said with a snort. “Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?”

Malfoy scowled back. “I’ve just said, haven’t I? Maybe he doesn’t care if I’m qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn’t something that you need to be qualified for.”

Crabbe and Goyle were still gaping. Whatever Malfoy was talking about was news to them. That surprised Harry. He’d always imagined that, stupid as they were, Malfoy still confided in them. He remembered the Christmas Eve years ago when he and Ron had impersonated Crabbe and Goyle and snuck into the Slytherin common room. Malfoy had spoken openly and freely with them. This must have been very secretive indeed for Malfoy to brag so vaguely to friends he traditionally confided in.

Pansy brushed a wisp of hair from Malfoy’s forehead and stared at him with wonder. Zabini seemed to be the only one left who thought Malfoy was spouting fantasies.

“I can see Hogwarts,” Malfoy said, and sat up, though he looked loathe to take the attention off of himself. “We’d better get our robes on.”

Harry glanced out the window and indeed, he saw that the lights of Hogwarts castle glistened on the horizon, despite the foggy evening. He looked back at Malfoy and failed to notice Goyle reach up for his trunk. The heavy baggage hit Harry on the head as Goyle yanked it down and Harry struggled to stifle a yelp. Malfoy’s eyes darted keenly to the empty space and Harry held his breath once more.

He was not afraid of Malfoy in the least — Harry had faced thirteen Death Eaters just months ago. He’d watched them torture Neville and Cedric, and that wasn’t the first time he’d watched Cedric be tortured. Malfoy was nothing compared to Voldemort. Still, he didn’t relish being discovered spying by a band of Slytherins.

Carefully, though his head still throbbed from the blow, Harry drew his wand from his jeans.

Malfoy did not stare at the space long. He dressed in his robes like the others. The train had begun to slow, but Harry could not leave until the compartment was empty. He wished fervently that Malfoy and his friends would head to the corridors, wait at the doors to be the first ones off the train. But sixth years were hardly so eager. The corridors packed with second, third, and a few fourth years as the shoved each other to be the first onto the platform, the first to the carriages, as if they could reach the feast faster. The sixth and seventh years knew better than to fight the crowds.

The train halted as the Slytherins finished putting on what looked like winter cloaks. Harry squinted out the window, but from his vantage point he couldn’t tell how cold the platform looked. Finally, Goyle opened the door and shoved his way into the crowded corridor. Crabbe was not far behind him. Zabini and Pansy waited at the door a moment until the crowd had thinned, then Zabini left. Pansy turned back and held her hand out to Draco.

“You go on,” Malfoy said. “I just want to check something.”

Harry could not hold his breath any more than he already was. His heart, he found, could race a little faster.

Malfoy drew the blinds and turned to his trunk. Harry struggled to see what Malfoy was digging out of his trunk — could it be the object that needed mending?

Malfoy turned suddenly and said, “Petrificus Totalus!” and pointed his wand at Harry.

Harry fell to the ground on top of his cloak. His body was frozen in the position he’d been crouched in and panic surged through Harry as he realized he was completely helpless, unable to move, to even twitch his fingers.

Malfoy kicked Harry’s wand from his hand. “I thought so,” he said. The smile on his face was thin and cold. “I heard Goyle’s trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back. You didn’t hear anything I care about, Potter, but while I’ve got you here….”

Malfoy raised his foot and brought it down on Harry’s face.

It was a strange sensation, to feel pain, to feel blood dripping from his nose, and to be unable to react. Harry could not shout, he could not flinch, he could not hold the wound and stanch the bleeding. He wondered if this was how Cedric had felt as Pyrites had cut him open while he was under the Silencing Charm.

“That’s from my father,” Malfoy said. “Now, let’s see.” Malfoy yanked the cloak out from beneath Harry and let it fall on top of him. “I don’t reckon they’ll find you until the train’s back in London. See you around, Potter. Or not.”

Malfoy made sure to get one more stomp on Harry’s hand as he left the compartment.

[vex-bittys]

Those Unreachable Stars: A Yanderetale Story (part 33)

WARNING: All parts of this fanfic will be tagged NSFW even if they do not contain NSFW content because the overall theme of Yanderetale is NSFW.

Contains: language, sexual content, non-consensual voyeurism, sexual manipulation

Yanton represented everything that YanYan aspired to be (and secretly feared that he never would be). The robot possessed an abundance of riches and respect, the two things that YanYan valued above all else. Instead of his usual jealousy, YanYan hero-worshipped the handsome robot. He would do anything that Yanton asked, and on this video chat, Yanton was asking for all of the things that YanYan always yearned to do for him.

“Did you get the package I sent you?” asked Yanton is a voice of molten gold and decadent chocolate.

“YES.” YanYan tried not to sound too eager, but the predatory smile on Yanton’s face let him know that the TV personality had him right where he wanted him. It didn’t bother YanYan in the slightest; when the robot celebrity had picked him out of the crowd at one of his rare in-person appearances, it had been a dream come true, regardless of Yanton’s intentions.

“Good, then we can get started. Bend over on your chair and lift up that skirt for me.”

The request didn’t surprise YanYan. After all, he had opened the package the moment it arrived, and the contents made the purpose of this video call perfectly clear. YanYan accepted the invitation to a “private video chat” and everything that entailed as implied by Yanton’s gift. With a playful smirk, YanYan obeyed his idol’s orders, turning around, bending over, and lifting the ruffled edge of his skirt past his hips to show off a carefully chosen pair of panties, filled out nicely by his ecto-body.

“Do those panties… match my shirt?” Yanton laughed with the superiority of a very large dog allowing a very small kitten to pounce on him. YanYan blushed. He’d chosen the pattern based on Yanton’s favorite shirt. “Pull them aside and show me your tight little hole.”

Once again, YanYan obeyed, hooking a slim phalange around the fabric of the panties and tugging them aside to expose the curves of his asscheeks and his waiting asshole. He’d anticipated this moment since he saw the sex toy in the box with instructions to wear a skirt and panties. Yanton, usually the performer, wanted a show, and YanYan would happily provide it for him.

Yanton tsked. “That toy will never fit unless you prepare yourself,” he purred magnanimous, yet still somehow sinister. “Use your fingers darling.” As YanYan circled his asshole seductively with his phalanges, Yanton surreptitiously clicked the broadcast button on his computer screen. Now his faithful audience would all be privy to the skeleton’s sexual depravity.

YanYan dipped one finger inside of his entrance and gasped. He rarely allowed others to fuck him, and his hole was almost painfully tight. Working the finger in and out slowly helped stretch the opening, but barely. Remembering the size of the dildo in the box, YanYan increased his speed. Yanton hadn’t sent any lube.

“One finger isn’t going to do it if you want the toy to fit,” said Yanton with feigned concern. The look of discomfort on YanYan’s face prompted him to add: “You could try spitting on them to lube them up.”

YanYan hated the thought of using his own saliva as lube, but he desperately craved Yanton’s attention and approval. The benefits outweighed his disgust, and he spat on his fingers then slowly worked to insert them into his ass.

“Spread yourself open for me, darling. Just like that.” Yanton chuckled silently. His ratings skyrocketed as the skeleton monster scissored his asshole open for what he believed to be an audience of one. The pathetic idiot was fulfilling his dream of becoming an Undernet sensation, and he didn’t even know it.

The initial pain of penetration faded away, and YanYan could finally settle in to enjoying the anal fingering. Yanton could have any monster he wanted in the entire Underground, and he chose YanYan, wanted him sexually if this video chat was any indication. The narcissistic skeleton pictured it all in his head: going to the club on Yanton’s arm, making out at a private table, stumbling, giggling into a resort suite in the wee hours of the morning for a lengthy and passionate night of wild sex…

“Good job, darling, now use the toy.” Yanton used the term of endearment in place of the skeleton’s name because he honestly couldn’t remember it, but the poor sucker couldn’t get enough of it and eagerly followed Yanton’s every instruction. “Pretend it’s me fucking you, hard and fast. Just like that!”

YanYan moaned as he worked the toy in and out of his asshole. He sank into the fantasy of a tryst with Yanton, fucking himself harder and faster every time the voice from the computer called for it.

A wide smile split Yanton’s metallic features, sincere but bone-chilling. YanYan’s voice screamed his name from the voice chat, and likes poured in from his loyal and lecherous followers to congratulate him on his successful manipulation of the sycophantic skeleton.

YanYan never suspected a thing.

Cap stared open-mouthed at the monsters milling around outside of Muffet’s brothel. Scantily clad monsters beckoned to him, blowing kisses and making bedroom eyes in his direction, but other monsters leered and advanced on him menacingly, only holding back because of his size. Cap’s wide, innocent eyes and skull adorned with brightly colored stickers made him a target for one and all, regardless of their intentions.

A female monster with wavy midnight blue hair and piercing golden eyes approached him. She looked similar to a skeleton monster with strange, opaque ecto-flesh. Cap reached out a finger to poke the odd magic, but she dodged him with practiced ease.

“It’s so rare to see skeleton monsters,” she said with a smile. Cap liked the idea of being rare. It meant he was special! “Can I help you with something?”

Her question reminded him that he’d been sent here on an errand for YanYan. He didn’t want to disappoint YanYan and risk being punished. Besides, Brassy needed his medication! Cap couldn’t afford to let himself be distracted.

“I’m here to pick up medicine for my boyfriend, Brassberry.”

I don’t know what I expected the huge skeleton monster to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. This skeleton didn’t just know Sans; he was dating Sans! The revelation blindsided me, but it also explained a lot. Why would Sans keep spending time with me when he had a new boyfriend to devote himself to?

I tried not to feel bitter. I wanted to be happy for Sans, I really did. Sans and I weren’t together. We had never been together, so why did my heart squeeze at this strange skeleton’s casual statement? To avoid making things awkward, I started walking towards Muffet’s office, gesturing for him to follow me.

It’s not that I had been holding Sans’ medicine hostage or anything. Honestly! Nobody called to arrange a delivery, so I had no reason to take it to the house. I expected Sans to stop by and pick it up sooner or later if I just waited long enough. He would need the medication eventually, I thought. Somehow, he had still managed to avoid seeing me, and I ended up discovering the reason why secondhand from his unsuspecting new boyfriend.

When I handed the huge skeleton the packet of Sans’ medications, he swept me into a crushing hug, thanking me over and over and making me regret my less than welcoming thoughts towards him. This monster had a sweetness about him that would actually be good for Sans, and I couldn’t fault him for finding someone to love in this crazy world.

“I didn’t get your name,” I prompted him, contrite.

“YanYan calls me Captain Skittles.” Of course that arrogant skeleton would give this skeleton an unkind name, though he didn’t seem at all concerned about it. “You can call me Cap though!”

“Well, Cap, I’m very happy to hear about you and Sa- Brassberry,” I told him with a smile that became sincere when Cap’s face lit up.

“You know Brassy?” he asked excitedly.

“Yeah, we’re-” I paused. What were Sans and I, exactly? “-friends.” Cap didn’t notice my hesitation. He just kept right on babbling excitedly about how happy he was to meet one of Brassy’s friends. He even invited me to the house for one of their movie nights.

I remembered movie nights with Sans, and I doubted they would bear even the slightest resemblance to my memories if I became the third wheel at one. “I’d have to check with Sans,” I replied evasively. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to discuss anything involving Cap with Sans at the moment. I needed to collect my thoughts and sort out my emotions first.

Cap pouted. His orange and blue puppy dog eyes were hard to resist, and somehow I found myself agreeing to the plan. Cap hugged me again, chasing away any lingering doubts about my decision. I may still have my hangups about Sans, but I already hated the idea of disappointing this gentle giant.

Still, a familiar but nameless dread uncoiled in my stomach at the thought of visiting the skeleton brothers’ house in Snowdin again. I never knew why, but even walking past the house gave me chills, like something evil lurked there, waiting to be awakened.

PREV | INDEX | NEXT

[airyravenmaid]

No One Can Rewrite The Stars

How can we rewrite the stars?

Say that the world can be ours

Tonight

@lightisdays2k​

Lightis Week 2018, Day 04: Free Day (Altissia)

This is actually one of a few snippets I’ve written for my Final Fantasy Versus XV crossover AU (aptly named in homage to XV’s original title when it was still part of the same series as XIII, though that’s where the similarities to Versus XIII end). It didn’t really feel “sad” enough for me to post it for tomorrow’s event, so I used the freebie day instead! Based of course on the song “Rewrite The Stars” from “The Greatest Showman”, and is a fic version of the actual song parody I wrote for it. Hope you all like! 💘

Just keep running. That’s what she commanded her relentless feet to do without disobedience. The blue soles of her gradient-flowing mud brown boots heated along the friction, but that hardly came anywhere close to wearing Lightning out. What seemed to really be responsible for dragging the ex-Guardian Corps sergeant down was the very motivation that caused her to sprint through the night-lit, but glowing Altissia and as far away from where the gondolas were as possible.

Lightning made it to some random empty building, seating herself and gripping both sides of her head with her elbows propped on her thighs. What she’d just gone through may not have outwardly been a disaster, but how she felt about it was an entirely different story. And the main issue’s name?

It was none other than “Noctis Lucis Caelum”.

“I agree to one day of sightseeing, and he goes and tells me that,” Lightning growled, frustration using itself as a spiked shield against more difficult feelings. “An easy little boat ride must be too hard to ask for.”

Why did things between them have to change, anyways? She never asked for things to get complicated beyond a lengthy escort roadtrip mission to where they were now. Okay, maybe it was inevitable that she’d wind up growing fond of the Lucians; distancing herself from people while stuck with them for long enough with the notion she wouldn’t come to care for them she’d learned centuries back in Cocoon was unrealistic.

Lightning wasn’t nearly as against it now like previously in her life. Befriending the four didn’t seem to bother her too much, but the result of getting to know more of Noctis of all of them was where things took quite the worst turn. True, Lucis’ prince could still stand to be more mature quite often in her eyes (“You still pick out the veggies in your food? Just how old are you?” “20.” “Huh. Could’ve fooled me.”), but for her to fall for someone she never thought would be so humble and surprisingly empathetic of a lonely upbringing turned parentless adulthood she could say was one of the rare things she never expected to occur in her life.

And now, there Lightning found herself stuck. Stuck dealing with her strange first love for someone she initially wanted nothing to do with, and vice-versa. To rub more salt in her unwanted new wound, the prince had just made it even harder to deal with than before. Wherever she’d left Noct, Lightning hoped she wouldn’t be found by him or anyone. Not like this, now or ever.

“Claire! There you are.”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Wonderful. Well, she for one wasn’t in the mood to deal with “His Royal Highness”, so she turned her back bullishly and ignored him. But, that wasn’t enough to deter Noctis one bit. Lightning could tell he wasn’t going to leave until he got at least a word in, something she kept quiet to prevent to her best ability because Etro knows she was not in the mood to so much as look at him tonight.

“What’s wrong?” Noctis still bothered asking, following her averting eyes. “I can’t know unless you talk to me, you know.”

“Better leave it at that, then,” Lightning sneered, still refusing him much attention.

“You know I can’t and aren’t gonna.” Noctis in defiance took a seat next to Lightning, the woman having given up on turning around like a fussy child mad at their parent for sending them to time out. “Ready to talk?”

“There’s nothing up for discussing ‘cause nothing’s wrong.”

“Has anyone told you you’re one of the worst liars I’ve ever met? If there was nothing bothering you, you wouldn’t have stormed off from the gondola in a sudden huff.”

“Well, the boat did come to our stop. Can’t stay there forever.”

“Claire…”

“Alright, fine! You were honest with me, so I’ll do it back by asking you something!” Lightning jumped onto her feet, looking at Noctis with balled fists as he got up and maintained eye contact with her angry pair. “Why did you say that to me back there? Why?”

“What? You mean ‘I like you’?” Just repeating it sent Lightning’s heart flinching, her cheeks fighting not to match her hair color. “I said what I did because I meant it. And judging by you almost kissing me back there, saying you don’t feel the same would be a complete lie.”

“So what?! Like I give a damn on how I feel! That’s not important here, Noctis!” Lightning strode a few steps from Noctis, arms folded and chin tucked to her racing chest in conflicted frustration. “Maybe try not asking what’s wrong when you’re trying to pull someone into a possible scandal.”

“A scandal? Why would I be trying to start a scandal?”

“Think a little harder than you are right now. The boy encouraged so badly to marry someone more important as a symbol of the peace going and fooling around with another woman is bound to get a handful of people talking. Especially if said ‘other woman’ was only asked to help take him here and nothing else.”

Hmm, okay, now that Lightning was explaining herself a little more, it started to make sense where she was coming from. Even though Noctis’ engagement to Luna was technically called off due to unfortunate circumstances involving the genuineness of Niflheim’s so-called “peace treaty”, to marry her wasn’t something he’d ever be against the thought of. However, he was equally sure of the fact that he’d also come to love Lightning (or, Claire, as her beautiful secret real name turned out to be) just as much, a girl he never thought would be a kindred spirit to him in any actual number of years.

Though he’d have previously much rather cut his line after catching the whopper of a lifetime than let her know that, tonight changed everything. Noctis did the one thing he never thought he’d be able to and spoke up about his feelings, and he’d be damned if he was going to let that all be for naught. Especially so considering his affection was proven to be not-so one-sided as the others hinted at quite a few times prior. No, it was either try and get through to the otherwise impervious ex-soldier, or risk a worse result coming true from not bothering.

“I get why you think that,” Noctis reasoned. “But, I’m technically not engaged anymore, so it’s not like I’m dragging you into some kinda affair.”

“Even if that’s true, you know better than to make things harder between us anyways,” Lightning argued. “And this little thing you’re trying to do? It’s only getting you off-course, so do me a favor and cut it out.”

“But…” Noctis walked in front of Lightning and stayed there when she tried leaving again, wanting nothing more than for her to hear him out all the way. “If I like you, and you like me, then there shouldn’t be an issue.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Noct, and you know it. Nothing can happen between us without some kind of trouble getting in the way.”

“Hey, nothing in the world’s without its roadblocks. Especially since I figured you of all people didn’t give a damn about what someone else says for you to do or be.”

“This is different! Don’t compare me being smart enough not to let the world try and kill me with some… stupid little crush! This is less that and more ‘don’t do anything stupid to make yourself look like a fool because you couldn’t learn a little self-control’.”

Lightning let out a frustrated growl, storming out of the building and out to Altissia’s more impressive outer scenery telling Noctis not to follow her or he’d “seriously regret it”. Being the only other person who could successfully out-stubborn her, however, the prince pursued who and what his heart wanted. The 21-year old with pink hair looked just about fed up with him, trudging down the stairs of the area both of them were just in.

“Give up,” Lightning hissed.

“Not until you stop lying to yourself,” Noctis spat back. “Or if you won’t do that, then tell me what about this is making things so hard. At least give me that.”

Lightning stopped where her feet remained, her anger cooling somewhere close to her default level-headed stoicism, but now turned to Noctis with a noticeably sad glint in her eyes. “...Whatever you’re probably thinking is true, but for once, just wake up and think about it. The minute you think you have everything worked out, something always goes wrong to correct that. Someone like you and someone like me? It’s a recipe for disaster just waiting to happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that we both need to stick to what’s important and only that. You taking the throne back and marrying Lady Lunafreya as planned, and me sticking to my own duties until I can finally go back to the ones waiting for me back home.” She strode over, leaning against one of the glass tables on her white-gloved palm and staring her sullen reflection in the eyes. As much as it pained her to actually love someone she wasn’t meant to, there was for once nothing she could do to fight it without paying a price that she wasn’t willing to. “That’s our best plan, and it’s not gonna be any different.”

“Plans can always change.” Noctis again followed her, putting his hand on her resting one and getting her to look at him as if demanding a good answer without her usual hint of volatility. “Like I said before; ‘one night could be just what we need’.”

“How could you say that? Aren’t you worried of what’s gonna go wrong?”

“Things have been going wrong for me before I even hit puberty. I think whatever fate’s got to throw at me, it can and I wouldn’t even be shocked.”

Lightning scoffed and rolled her eyes, a part of her swallowing the slight inner temptation to laugh at how broad Noctis could be. She found herself crossing over and making her way up the stairs to the bridge overlooking one of Altissia’s many vast canals, the platform decorated with many lights not unlike that of buzzing fireflies flashing under the night sky like stars. Unsurprised that Noctis was close behind her, Lightning didn’t react until she’d realized neither had released the other’s hand.

“Now for my question to you, Claire,” Noctis started, his other hand cupping her warmed cheek. “Do you want this?”

Lightning hesitated to answer for a few seconds, but then grabbed onto Noctis’ wrist very gently and looked him right in the eyes to answer truthfully. “...More than I could ever say.”

“Then for just this one night at least, let’s have our own say in where we can go.”

Against her staunch judgement for once, Lightning took Noctis’ face in her own hands when his arms wrapped themselves around her waist after they both got to the other side of the bridge together. He did release her a bit following that, but now took ahold of her hand in his non-gloved one to twirl her to a two arms-long distance and returning forward to be close to her again. For their shared moment, all seemed in tune with the universe. Noctis and Lightning let themselves connect by their foreheads, now able to lovingly stare into the other’s differently shaded blue eyes while the small distance between them seemed to slowly close…

Both eyes were closed when it happened, but forgoing the forbidding world around them, the two lovers sealed their lips together tenderly. Noctis’ hands rested on her hips, and Lightning’s hands grasping his shoulders not wanting to let go. A few long moments into the kiss, though, her eyes fluttered open and widened with a cold splash of reality to the face. She quickly pulled right away from Noctis, hands gripping her arms and turning her back on him to walk a distance more.

“It’s true, I want you,” Lightning confessed, now more somber as opposed to irritated. “...But, in more ways than one, I just can’t have you. Don’t go against your duties, Noctis, because I’m not going against mine anytime soon.”

Noctis opened his mouth to try and say something to her, but Lightning had already run off with a crumbling heart to find the other three and forget the undeserved moment of guilty peace between her and him. His own heart, on the other hand, fell almost as heavily as he had for her. Ultimately giving up once she was too far from his lowering reach, Noctis sighed. This time, he didn’t follow Lightning. He may have also wanted to find their friends, but to go after someone who just wasn’t going to slow down for him would just be an endless chase.

He looked up at the night sky. The stars were beautiful that night for sure. But Noctis knew they weren’t going to rearrange themselves for him or anyone who also desired so anytime soon either.

[winetae]

⇾ money shot (m)

↳ in a pornographic movie, refers to the sequence in which the male actor ejaculates onto his partner’s body.

⇁ female reader x yoongi

⇁ smut || pornstar!au

⇁ dom!yoongi, submissive!reader, verbal humiliation, spanking, roleplay, rough sex, cum play, dirty talk, this is porn ok and everything is consensual

⇁10.9k pwp 

. . . 

“Don’t look so put off. Min Yoongi’s indisputably one of the best in the industry. He’s extremely professional and experienced—and handsome to boot. You’ll be in the very best hands. He rarely works with newbies, so consider yourself special.”

↳ or ; the author just really wanted to write a pornstar!au but got carried away;;

a/n; in no way is this story meant to depict the real life working conditions of adult film stars. contains inaccuracies ! + i couldn’t have written The smut scene w/o my #1 perv ilu

(!!) pls re-read the warnings !! may contain triggering content. roleplay includes portrayal of a not so ethical or appropriate relationship (teacher/student) and the verbal humiliation makes use of degrading names/slut shaming, so please don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable !! 

(!!) if your name is mj stay away from this fic !! also if ur jordan’s sister stop reading smut khkjh

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In front of you, a manila folder was slammed down onto the table's wooden surface, the sudden movement making your cup of coffee wobble dangerously. You cupped the drink between your cold hands, intent on not letting a drop of your 5.79 dollar purchase go to waste. Only once the liquid had stopped sloshing around did you bother to greet your agent with a cordial nod.

Dressed in an all black, pressed suit and with his hair combed back, he seemed ready to head off into a business meeting, not discuss your next adult film project over a cup of coffee. Choosing to skip over the small talk, he leaned forward on his elbows and waited for you to take the folder and peer into its contents.

You spared it a cursory glance, not expecting much from its uninteresting appearance. Still, you decided to humor him—after all, Seokjin wouldn’t have called you out to meet in person if it wasn’t urgent. Unless legal paperwork was involved, your usual means of communication with the self-proclaimed Important Man was limited to phone calls and e-mails.

“Your first big movie,” was what he said in lieu of greeting, a proud smile pulling at his lips. You relaxed somewhat. He looked visibly pleased with himself which could only mean good news for you. “Now, no need to thank me...but I did pull a few strings to land you this job.”

“Uh-oh.” You stared hard at him, trying to detect the underlying message behind his words. Knowing him, ‘pulling a few strings’ could mean anything from calling in a favor to giving the director a blowjob in the back of his car between shoots. He was that kind of agent.

Seokjin shrugged, choosing not to put your worries to rest. “I know the casting director well—we were in the same frat. We catch up from time to time and when he mentioned he was looking for a fresh face, I immediately recommended you. They reviewed your portfolio and really liked those test shots we took of you two weeks ago.”

Your mind drifted back to the two hour long photoshoot that had taken place in Seokjin’s friend’s villa. Judging by the way the place was decked out to look like a pimp crib, you were half convinced that it was owned by a seedy nightclub owner or something of the sort. You were probably not too far off from the truth but all talks of shady property owners aside, the house served as a spacious and luxurious backdrop for your swimwear shoot. The concept of the day was ‘slutty trophy wife’. No added photo filters or retouching had been needed to make your skin look perfectly slick and shiny; your body had been waxed smooth and slicked down with baby oil—your tiny bikini basically just an accessory.

At the time, you had grumbled and complained about the set-up, cursing the burnt-red color that had appeared on your skin after posing provocatively by the poolside in the blistering heat. Your skin had needed a week to recover from all of the consequent peeling and redness and you had been obliged to cancel some of your schedules. Some things just couldn’t be fixed with makeup... And no one would pay money to see a girl with a bright red, flaky nose giving head. But all of that trouble had been well worth it if the finished pictures had gotten you such a coveted job in the end.

He gestured to the file in your hands, “You’ll be working with Min Yoongi.”

“Eh? Min Yoongi?”

Certain you had misunderstood, there was no use concealing your incredulity. Min Yoongi’s name held so much power on its own—the mere mention of it was enough to have you straighten your back. Surely this had to be a joke of some kind, right? The entire thing was just so absurd; it felt too good to be true. Frankly speaking, Yoongi was way out of your league. You hadn’t even been in the industry for very long...yet someone deemed you fit enough to work with a big gun?

You eyed the corners of the quaint coffee shop with suspicion. You tried to spot any hidden cameras, fully expecting a crew from MTV to bust out from the shadows at any moment and unveil the prank.

Seokjin let out a sigh, disappointed by your lack of enthusiasm. “Don’t look so put off. This time, you—or rather I—struck gold. Min Yoongi’s indisputably one of the best in the industry. He’s extremely professional and experienced—and handsome to boot. You’ll be in the very best hands. He rarely works with newbies, so consider yourself special.”

“I’m not put off,” you were quick to defend. “I’m just... I’m having a hard time believing any of this is real right now. Can you blame me?”

“Well believe it. Why do you look so surprised? There’s a reason people would open their wallets to see you on film. You’re very photogenic, you look great on film. Lots of people have hot bodies and pretty faces, but not many give off the same energy as you.”  

You watched him plop in a third cube of sugar into his black coffee, not thinking much of his compliments. The thing about Seokjin was that he knew exactly what to say—the well-timed flattery basically second nature to him. At first, you couldn’t help but be charmed, however you soon came to realize that you were just one of the many people his sweet-talk had an effect on. Seokjin had absolutely no qualms using the same lines and buttery tone with anyone he met, and after seeing the way he operated, everything about him seemed too rehearsed and contrived to be genuine.

Seokjin waited until all the sweetness had dissolved into his drink before continuing, “You know that we always advise against filming anal and DP scenes right away for a reason. It's hard to make a living off of porn because people naturally tend to lose interest once they’ve seen everything you have to offer. Over time, talents tend to lose their shine. Being in the industry changes you. Doesn’t matter if they’re the best actor out there, the dead fish eyes will always give them away... It’s like they’re not really present during the scene, you know what I mean? If the performer is bored, so is their audience. If the audience is bored, no one will be willing to hire them anymore.” 

“Well isn’t that lovely,” you intoned drily, silently contemplating your own fate. How long would it take before you eventually became that jaded? What a bleak future to look forward to.

“I’m just being honest,” he raised his shoulders, his ever-present smile dimming a little. “It’s better to be honest about this. I don’t have any time to be spewing any inspirational bullshit. And you shouldn’t listen to anyone who tries to feed you that crap, either. You should always know what you’re signing up for.”

You supposed there was some merit to his words. Even if he was heavy-handed with his praises, he had never painted you an idyllic picture of the adult film industry. Before signing the contract with your agency, they had made sure that you had known exactly what you were putting on the line, what you were risking. You had never ventured into this world with false hopes; they had made it quite clear that if you didn’t make it big within the first few years, it would be hard to find your footing in an industry that was constantly on the lookout for new talents. Considering how the average span of a porn star’s career was less than three years, you understood the pressure to cement your name before your time was up. Building a solid fanbase was crucial if you wanted to survive as a porn star.

With this thought weighing on your conscious, you regretted not showing more gratitude to your agent... Without him, you probably would still be filming low quality videos that you tried to pass off as artsy. Seokjin had been a huge help in launching your career. He was basically fetching you deals left and right that no rookie without connections could ever get. In the past, you had been eager to seize these chances before they slipped away.

This time, however, you couldn’t shake off the mix of feelings that churned in the pit of your stomach as your eyes skimmed over Min Yoongi’s long list of impressive credentials and accolades. On the one hand, you were excited about being granted this huge opportunity right off the bat because being partnered with a renowned porn star meant that you got to ride off his fame. It meant getting more exposure, which was something you certainly wouldn’t refuse. (Only a fool would turn this offer down!)

On paper, it wasn’t that all different from any of your previous jobs—show up, get your makeup done, take your clothes off, get fucked, maybe fake an orgasm or two. Yet, for some ridiculous reason, you couldn’t help but feel strangely inadequate for the job. Nervousness crept up your spine the longer you let your gaze sweep over his lengthy résumé. Shooting with someone with this kind of reputation also meant that if you fucked up, everyone else would know about it the next day. The industry was a lot smaller than it appeared to be from the outside. One mishap could have you spending the rest of your career trying to erase the label you had inadvertently earned on set.

It wasn’t that you lacked confidence in your skills. You gave a mean blowjob and your pussy was nice to look at. Because your body was your bread and butter, you dieted and worked out daily in order to ensure you stayed in the best shape.   Maybe it was vain of you to proclaim, but you looked good on camera, especially with your clothes off. And it wasn’t like you lacked any experience, either. You had filmed your fair share of pornography, so you knew you were able to keep the public interested, if the rising views during the weekly cam sessions were any indication of your popularity. But the stakes wouldn’t be the same this time and that was what scared you.

Perhaps Seokjin sensed your distress because he offered you an encouraging smile, his whitened teeth on display. “You’ll do great. If I didn’t think you would make it big, I wouldn’t waste my time on you. I always put my eggs in the right basket so I’m confident that this will go well. This isn’t going to be some seedy shoot filmed on a three hundred dollar budget. They’re pulling out all the stops for this one... The director is hoping this will win him another AVN award this year but we’ll see. Don’t mention it if you see him, by the way. He’s a bit sensitive and it’s best not to step on his toes too much.”

All you could do was nod, distracted by other, more worrying thoughts. Were you ready to actually go through with this? Would you be able to do a good job? What if you somehow messed up? You stopped yourself from continuing this line of thought. That would be counter-productive. It really wasn’t like you to doubt yourself this much but the minute your agent had dropped Min Yoongi’s name, you had been putting everything into question.

Seokjin held your gaze, his eyebrow raised expectantly as he waited for your inner ramblings to cease.

“Now, if you could just review the terms of the contract before signing and we’ll be all set.”

You stared at the dotted line, pen in hand. Seokjin hadn’t hired a fool. It didn’t take very long to finish signing all the legal paperwork.

Despite your initial fretting, you were excited to finally be part of something so big. The production cost for this movie was noticeably more significant than any of your past works put together. That meant better filming equipment, better filming locations, better actors. The more you thought about it, the more convinced you were that this would be your breakthrough role. This movie could potentially change your life and help you make a name for yourself.

It became all the more apparent that your key to success would be working with Min Yoongi.

Before this, you had only heard about him in passing—his name one you had overheard whispered by the gossiping hair and makeup staff, one that you saw plastered on the covers of glossy magazines and online news articles. You had seen printouts of his face on the front of a handful of film posters that lined up the walls of your agency’s building. He was someone you knew of, someone you knew about, but you had never experienced this burning curiosity to know about him before today.

With so much at stake, you decided to do your homework. You did your research, watching his interviews on YouTube and searching his name up on various web portals. Through the pieces of information you had gathered by watching his interviews, he seemed like a calm, collected man—completely different from the image you initially had of him. His cockiness wasn’t showcased through self-praises and obvious boasting; but rather by the way he coolly and confidently answered the blunt questions hurled at him from prejudiced interviewers. Never had he flinched or faltered; never had he let anyone intimidate him with twisted questions intended to cause controversy.

It was his cold, no-nonsense kind of behavior which led you to wonder: what sort of person was he like to work with? Without the firsthand experience, the only way you could find out was by personally purchasing a movie he starred in. Which you did—for research purposes only, of course. There was no shame in wondering what your partner looked like in action or how he worked once the camera started rolling, right?

Watching his movie meant that you were taking your job seriously, you reasoned  Seokjin had assured you over and over again that you would be in good hands, but what weight did his words have when he wasn’t the one getting spanked in front of a filming crew? You just wanted to know what sex with this man would be like. What was it exactly that you had to look forward to?

You set up your laptop and made sure everything was plugged in properly (the last thing you wanted was for your computer screen to black out during the good bits). Pillows propped behind you, you wriggled around beneath your fleece blanket until you found a comfortable position.

The movie you had picked out was supposed to be on the tamer side of his porn filmography. You had selected it in the hope that it would ease you into things. It was a typical let's-fuck-the-babysitter scenario so you didn't really expect much. Scenarios like these were predictable because they had been done so many times before. How much would you be willing to bet that it followed the cunnilingus+sex on the couch+blowjob formula? But with how popular he was, you didn’t really know what to expect anymore... What made him so different from the rest? A part of you was worried he had a monster dick or something equally impossible to recover from. Guys with huge dicks always made it difficult to keep up your filming schedule and a good fuck was never worth that setback.

Laptop nestled in your lap, you pressed play. The screen of your laptop lit up, signaling the start of the movie, and you held your breath as you finally got to see what all the fuss was about.

The first thing you were immediately struck by was how incredibly handsome he was. Even though his female partner was no less attractive, your eyes couldn’t help but stay glued on him. You could tell just by the way he carried himself and the way he spoke that he was very confident and self-assured. He never looked away from his partner, his lids heavy and eyes dark with the promise of more to come. You couldn't look away; his simple presence demanded you pay him attention.

The more you watched, the more you understood why people when wild for him; his charisma coupled with his experience had evidently made his career long-lasting and successful. Surprisingly, any line he delivered sounded convincing. He made a cheesy, over-the-top porn script sound hot. How the hell? You put the volume up, your earphones picking up the slightest noise—every rustle of the sheets, every sigh of pleasure from the girl, and every slick and obscene noise coming from her pussy as Yoongi thrust into her were loud enough for you to believe you were there as it happened.

You weren’t exactly sure when, but your eyes had fallen closed somewhere along the way. The audio in your ears helped fuel the lewd scenarios you conjured up in your mind; it wasn’t hard to imagine yourself in the place of his female counterpart, Yoongi working his hips against yours, his heavy breathing tickling your ears as you moaned out his name. Sliding your hand beneath the waistband of your panties, you were barely surprised to find yourself already damp with arousal. You carefully circled a finger around your entrance, coating the digit with your fluids until it was lubricated enough to slip in.

Quickly, you built up a steady rhythm. Your finger tried to mimic the pace he had set—each thrust inside your wet pussy a weak imitation of what his hardened length would feel like inside of you. One finger wasn't nearly enough to satisfy the growing need that pulsed between your legs. You eased in a second digit next to the first, feeling your walls stretch to accommodate the newest intrusion. Breathing out a sigh, you kicked your head back as you worked yourself to a frenzy, letting the loud sounds flowing through your earbuds lull you into a trance.

“Such a good pussy.” The wet, squelching noises almost drowned out his groan of appreciation. You mewled in response and spread your legs wider as if to urge him deeper, but it was no use. Your fingers couldn’t bring you the same satisfaction that his thick cock would. Squeezing in a third finger, you tried to imagine him working his hips against yours, his lean body sticky with sweat as he filled you up to the brim with every thrust. “Hear that? You take my cock so well, baby.”

"So fucking—tight." He growled out, the primal sound loud in your ears. Lust coursed through your veins and you could feel it burn, melting away any of your inhibitions. Sucked deep in your fantasy, you could vividly picture his pink lips curling into a smirk as he watched you slowly start to unravel before him.

Tears stung your eyes. You arched your back, hips rutting against your hand, as you tried to alleviate the burning ache within you. Your fingers twisted around, rubbing your walls, searching for that sensitive spot inside of you. But your efforts were futile—from the angle you were sitting in, your fingers couldn’t quite reach it, no matter how much you tried. Forehead shiny with perspiration, you keened in frustration, too wound up to continue. You wanted to cum so badly that it hurt. Desperately horny, you changed your course action, circling at your swollen clit instead with renewed determination.

The first slide against your nub was electrifying and your entire body shuddered, overcome with pleasure. The obscene sounds from the video blended in with your own soundtrack. Breathless and dizzy with want, you failed to register that the moans spilling from your mouth were echoes of Yoongi’s name. Your pleas for release grew louder as the fire inside your lower belly erupted into an inferno. 

"I can feel you around me, fuck, you gonna cum soon, baby? Yeah? Gonna cum all over my cock?" Yoongi whispered harshly into the crook of your ear, his heavy breathing sending shivers down your back. “Fucking cum.”

His name on your lips, you threw your head back as the band inside you snapped, your body his to command. Trembling all over from the force of your orgasm, you clenched your eyes closed as you tried to prolong your trance. If you imagined hard enough, you could feel his hot breath fan your skin, his fingers bruise your hips as he kept you still. 

Yoongi’s voice echoed inside of your head long after the aftershocks of your orgasm had waned, haunting and promising all at once.

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It took another useless glance at the clock to confirm that you were early. You were filming the second sex scene today. The first scene had been filmed already and you hadn’t run into any complications. Your male co-star’s dirty talk could have been better, but his handsome face and skilled tongue had made up for it. You could still remember the delicious stretch of his long fingers inside of you, and how his deep baritone voice growled in your ear as he fucked you pressed up against a window. Off camera, he had been nice and easy-going, cracking the occasional joke between takes.

With how great things had turned out yesterday, you were anticipating today’s scene almost as much as your character was. Today you were filming the scene with Min Yoongi—the grand finale, the climax of all climaxes. The Big Nut. Makeup and hair done, you had already filmed your intro video and were now killing time before the actual shoot began.

Better early than late, you tried to console yourself. Waiting around like this made you jittery; the amount of caffeine pumping through your veins filled you with a burst of energy you found hard to keep under control. It wasn’t even noon and your daily dose of coffee had already been exceeded. You bounced your leg up and down, the constant fidgeting giving away how nervous you really were.

You tried to distract yourself by reading over the film script, ignoring how your fingers trembled slightly like a chronic smoker who hadn’t gotten their fix.

The movie was scheduled to run for one hour or so, with two sex scenes filmed in two different locations with different actors. The scenario was your cliché go-to porn plot in which you would be playing the role of a naughty student who gets caught fucking someone after school hours by her teacher. Punishment ensues. You fuck your feelings out. The end.

Well, that was definitely something you could handle, you thought to yourself as you leafed through the script. Although there had been more lines to memorize than you were used to, you had confidently assured your agent that you would be able to do it. You were glad that your two years hanging out in the theater club back in high school wouldn’t be for nothing... It was a shame that you could only showcase your acting skills in a porn movie because you knew a lot of people would skip over the plot and jump straight to the filth. During the last few days, the mediocre porn dialogue had become your bible, your bedside book that you read religiously before going to sleep. You had read it over so often, you were confident that you could recite every line in your sleep.

A polite cough interrupted your pre-show pep talk.

You looked up, not expecting to meet Min Yoongi’s gaze. Blinking, you took in his features, not realizing that you were blatantly staring. Who could blame you, though? There was something so virile about Yoongi that had you doing a double take. He exuded masculinity with every step he took towards you. Something inside you clenched. 

“____?” He called your name, gaze flicking over your features in turn. He took a seat opposite of you and holding out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you smiled as sweetly as you could. His grip was strong and secure, his touch cold. 

“Hm.” He let out a noncommittal sound while he perused a file on his lap. You recognized the papers Seokjin had typed up beforehand, your name headlining one of them, but your attention was quickly diverted.

Your eyes were instantly drawn to his long and elegant looking fingers, the veins in his hands prominent whenever he flipped a page over absentmindedly. It was strange seeing them in person... Just the other night, you had been salivating over the thought of them inside you, thrusting and curling with expert precision and unwavering focus, every movement intended to coax a moan of pleasure from your lips. You had seen how lethal they could be through the screen of your laptop... Now you were going to be experiencing those skills firsthand. The thought sent a rush of excitement through your body.

“I’ve taken note of your hard limits.” His smooth baritone tone snapped you back to attention. “The scene doesn’t require we go that far anyway, but just in case you get too uncomfortable with anything, your safe word is ‘cobbler’, correct?”

“Yes.” You gave a short nod, your neck stiff as you tried not to break eye contact. 

“Have you read through my form?”

“I have, Mr. Min.”

A snort escaped him then, his lips curling into the kind of smile that bordered on a smirk. “No need to be so formal. You can call me by my name outside of a scene.”

“Yoongi, then.” Your hands felt clammy all of a sudden and you wiped your palms on your skirt, hoping that he wouldn’t notice your incessant fidgeting. The glint in his eyes indicated that you weren’t nearly as successful in masking your nervousness as you would have liked. You didn’t even know why you felt so antsy. This wasn’t your first time meeting an attractive porn star. Yesterday’s shoot with Taehyung had gone without a hitch. So why were you getting so worked up now? You weren’t eighteen and impressionable anymore.

His gaze swept over your body, interrupting your line of thought. You felt it brush over your delicate throat, your supple curves, your bare legs. The scrutiny made the surface of your skin heat up, your legs clench together. 

“Ah, I’m looking forward to working with you.” A ghost of a smirk crossed his features. For a moment, you believed it to be a product of your imagination, but he shot you a wink as he got up to his feet, the action suggestive enough to have you swallow thickly. 

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In retrospect, maybe it was a good thing you were nervous—it made your acting a lot more believable. You wrung your hands together, head bowed in a show of contrition.

"While Mr. Jung and I don't see eye to eye on a number of subjects, some of his methods of punishment have been very enlightening—albeit a tad primitive.” He regarded you with detached interest, his eyes sweeping over your figure. His impassive stare made you fidget in your seat, the scratchy material of your skirt rubbing against your thighs. “I could just let you off with a detention slip, but students like you need to be put back in their place."

Yoongi was so good at this, his tone convincing enough to have you believe in his words. For a moment, you let yourself pretend that all of this was real—that you had really acted up when you weren’t supposed to and that he was now going to punish you for your misbehavior. It was so easy to slip into your role when he appeared so serious and forbidding.

"Bend over."

He punctuated his command by tapping his ruler against his wooden desk, his tongue clucking in a show of impatience when you refused to move. You licked your dry lips, silently wishing you could have a glass of cool water to quench your sudden thirst.

"A-are you serious?" you croaked, finally remembering the lines you had memorized.

"I assure you, I am not the type to joke around."

With his arms crossed, he looked every bit like the imposing figure he was playing as. Gulping audibly, you slowly gathered to your feet. You kept your gaze trained on the polished floorboards, making sure to avoid his probing stare.

"I find that corporal punishment works wonders on troublesome students like yourself. Writing lines for an hour hardly has the same impact." Above you, his low chuckle could be heard. Goosebumps raised to attention as your eyes fluttered to a close.

“Skirt up. Let me see that ass.”

“S-sir.”

“You had no qualms flashing me your filthy cunt the other day. Up, now.”

You hurried to obey, his stern tone jolting you into action. Your fingers reached behind you, hiking the material of the skirt high enough so that your skin was exposed to the cool air. Behind you, Yoongi patted your cheek in mock praise before deftly fitting the hem of your skirt into the band of your waistline so as to keep the fabric in place.

Not expecting him to kick your feet wider apart, you barely managed to stifle your yelp of surprise. You attempted to anchor yourself by clutching the sides of the desk, your legs now stretched too widely apart to be considered decent behavior. The position you were in was humiliating, intended to make you feel vulnerable and exposed.

“Good.”

The single word had your pulse race. His praise felt like a physical caress, and you closed you eyes to let the feeling wash over you.

“Now tell me.” Yoongi’s voice was now deceptively smooth and you knew right away that he was toying with you. “How many misdemeanors was that in one night, hmm?”

You blinked, suddenly remembering that you were supposed to be portraying a misbehaving student. Cursing your lack of focus, your mouth opened as you tried to recall the script. When you took too long to answer, Yoongi went on with the scene, sidestepping your blunder.

“Too many,” he supplied with a sigh, sounding disappointed; whether it was with you for forgetting your lines or with your character, you weren’t sure. Either way, the remorseful look on your face wasn’t extremely hard to fake. You felt nervous again, wondering how well you would be able to perform today.

With an easy yank, your panties fell to the ground, leaving you even more indecently exposed than before. As Yoongi crouched down to peel them off of your body completely, any worries you might have had didn’t seem of much importance anymore. What mattered was the touch of his fingers on the backs of your thighs—cold against your burning skin.

"I wish you could see yourself right now." He mocked, voice laced with something akin to smugness. You felt his hot breath tickle the insides of your knee, the sensation almost enough to make them buckle. "Skirt up, legs spread wide open... So wet and ready for a nice cock between your thighs, isn’t that right?”

The bright lights from overhead spotlighted the acute shame and arousal that raged within you. Both coalesced into one intense emotion that reduced you to a big puddle of desire. You weren't sure if it was his husky tone or the shocking amount of filth that spewed from his lips, but you felt the coil in your stomach tighten with each word leaking into your ear. Your heart raced wildly in your chest, your hands hanging uselessly by your head. His words made you want to hide your face behind your arms, but you knew that wasn’t an option—not when a camera was intent on capturing every shift of your expression.

Your lack of response didn’t seem to deter him for he continued on, merciless with his interrogation.

“Is this turning you on? Do you like being reminded how desperate you are to be stuffed full?"

Every question left you short of breath—you felt each of them like physical thrusts that made the crux of your thighs ache with a need to be filled up. A heavy haze muddled your thoughts. All you could focus on was the throbbing in your core; all you could here was his voice crooning obscenities in the crook of your ear.

"I can see your tight hole clench.” Yoongi let out a disbelieving laugh, the derisive sound making your cheeks bloom pink with embarrassment.

The flush that adorned your cheeks only darkened further when you realized the camera probably had a perfect, unobstructed view of your sopping center. You could only imagine what the sight would look like on screen—your inner thighs glistening from your slick, your lower lips slightly swollen and flushed pink from your obvious arousal. With the way you were bent over the desk, presenting yourself willingly to his hungry stare, you had no doubts that you looked like an expensive dessert ready to be devoured.

"Y-Yoongi, please..." Eyes glassy, you felt yourself clench again as you imagined his dark eyes drinking in the sight of you bent over, wet and ready for him.

"Don't talk to me so informally," he scolded, pinching the inside of your thigh as punishment. A yelp escaped your parted lips—not because it was painful but because you felt a sting of pleasure zap straight to your bundle of nerves like an electric shock. “Address me properly.”

It was easy to give in if it meant you would get what you wanted. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Now, let’s start this again.” Holding your breath in anticipation for what was to come, you struggled to stay still in the position he wanted even though your knees ached. How long were you expected to stay like this? It probably hadn’t been very long, maybe five minutes at the most, but you could already feel the muscles in your thighs straining. “When I ask you a question, I expect a verbal response, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” Thankfully your voice was stable this time. He patted one of your exposed cheeks in praise, the little slap enough to have you wanting more.

Your legs were so spread out that you didn’t notice you were making a mess on the floor until Yoongi brought attention to the drops that spotted the wood, "I'm not even touching you and you're making a mess. What? Pretty boy Kim Taehyung fail to get you off?"

"Maybe he would have if you hadn't interrupted," you bit out, true to the script. Frustration seeped into your every word, but it was more directed at yourself for getting so aroused by his words and actions. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so affected; usually you had to play it up a lot more for the cameras but this time you barely registered the filming crew that stood a few feet away.

"I don't need to touch your dirty cunt for you to cum," he huffed. Although you couldn’t see his expression, you could picture his stare hardening and his lips thinning into a straight line. "You’re soiling my office right now and all it took was for you to offer your pussy to me. You’re proving to be quite the slut tonight. I think I’ll leave you like this, legs open, empty and aching for cock, as your punishment.”

"Wait—no, please!” The desperation in your voice was alarmingly real. You could feel your eyes well with tears of frustration because the prospect of being denied release was simply too cruel to fathom. You didn’t know how long you would be able to endure having nothing filling you up. In every one of your past films, the scene had always had minimal foreplay and little to no plot. Normally at the 5 minute mark, you would have already swallowed his dick down your throat... You weren’t used to having this drag on for so long. Never before had you felt this engaged while shooting a porn scene. 

"I don't want you to beg. I want you to apologize—no, to grovel."

Shameless, you whimpered, “I'm sorry. I'm so—please, I'm sorry.”

His hand crashed down on your burning skin with a resounding smack. The unexpected force behind the swat ripped a cry from your throat, the sound raw and primal. Your eyes watered as you panted, breath cut short when he brought his hand down on the opposite cheek.

"And what exactly are you sorry for, slut?"

The hands soothing over the sting contrasted with the unforgiving edge in his voice. You suddenly remembered what Seokjin had said, that you were in capable hands. You believed these words, trusting Yoongi to make the right decisions.

"I'm sorry for sneaking out past curfew."

"What else?"

"I'm sorry for... Sorry for behaving indecently with Taehyung."

"Not specific enough," he chided, his rebuke underscored by a harsh slapping noise. 

"I'm sorry! Please, ah, I'm sorry we were kissing. Sorry for letting him—nhh—touch me." With every new admission, he delivered a firm spank to your reddening cheeks. The blows weren’t hard enough to really hurt, but the repeated swats onto your sensitive skin would probably leave a blooming bruise. You couldn’t wait to see the visible reminder of your punishment, the red mark from his hand his personal brand of ownership.

"And where did he dare touch you?" Yoongi’s lips curled into a scowl, his voice low and dangerous.

"My breasts. B-but only over my vest," you were quick to add after sensing Yoongi's form tense over you. "And my—my thighs..." You were desperately trying to remember the lines of the script you had practiced so hard to memorize, but the exact wording kept escaping you with every firm swat of his hand against the globes of your ass.

Yoongi's deafening silence urged you to finish your confession. He rubbed circles over your stinging skin with the palms of his hands, squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers as he waited for you to resume talking. 

Taking a shuddering breath, you obliged him, "He—he filled my pussy up with his f-fingers..."

"Did he? And did you enjoy that? Did you like having his long fingers fuck your greedy hole?" He reached down and delved a hand between your legs as he spoke. With a skilled index finger, he ran it across your wet lips tentatively to gauge how ready you were for him. Pausing at your entrance, he swirled his finger around, coating it in your copious amount of arousal. Just one finger was not nearly close enough to the friction you craved. You bucked your hips in response, silently beckoning him for more, as if that would somehow convince him to put an end to the teasing. 

Immediately, he chastised you by smacking your sopping wet center. Arching your back, you felt all the air leave your lungs with a drawn out whimper. Echoes of pleasure vibrated throughout your body, from your head to your very toes. Your clit throbbed, swollen with arousal. The tingling sensations made your inner walls clamp down and you found yourself wishing not for the first time for his cock to fill you up. 

“Answer me.” Yoongi hissed between his teeth—a warning you didn’t dare ignore.

"Y-yes, yes, I did," you finally responded after struggling to remember the initial question. 

"Is that all? Was that all he put inside of you?”

“No.” With a swipe of your tongue, you licked your dry lips. 

“No?”

The one word question was enough to know that he wasn’t going to let it go until you elaborated your answer. You squirmed in his hold, your heart pounding as you finally admitted what he wanted to know. “He put his cock in-inside me.”

“You let him fuck you?” The incredulity that colored his tone sounded so genuine you almost believed his act. You shuddered. “I should’ve known a dirty little slut like you wouldn’t be able to keep her legs shut.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Please, p-please fu—” You gulped, your throat dry.

“Speak up, girl!” He snapped, slapping the palm of his hand over your slick center. As soon as his fingers hit your clit, you felt your back arching and your sensitive nipples rub up against the hard, wooden surface of the desk. The searing pain hit all of your nerve endings, effectively rendering you speechless. Meanwhile, your hips futilely chased after his punishing touch, hoping to finally get the satisfaction you were craving for. "Tell me, do you like getting humiliated? I'm trying to punish you but you seem to be enjoying this far too much. I thought that a girl like you would need a firm hand to get her act together, but I think that you need more than that, don’t you?"

"Answer me.” Yoongi punctuated his command with another smack to your lower lips, the sudden blow leaving you dizzy and bereft of coherency.

"Yes—ah fuck, sir please!" Gasping, the feeling of the harsh sting shot straight to your swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves like an electric shock. For a short second, your mind felt blissfully blank as the zap of pleasure traveled through your entire body from one extremity to another. "Please touch me, I need to come!"

"I can see that.” He laughed, spreading out your cheeks out so he could have a better look at the proof of your shame. “Your hole keeps clenching, asking for fingers...or perhaps it needs a nice, thick cock? Hm?"

A whimper left your lips before you could think of subduing it. The thought of finally having him buried deep inside of you was nearly too much to bear. From the way you were bent over and spread wide open, you were basically offering yourself to him. All he had to do was take what was his.

“Please fuck me now,” you moaned, hoping that he would douse the fire between your legs. The need for friction was so unbearable you thought that you would burst at the seams. You tried to undulate your hips in a silent plea for more but his left hand kept you pinned down and immobile to the table.

"I thought as much. What makes you think you deserve mine? Do you honestly think you deserve this cock?” As if to tease you even further, he pressed himself against your exposed backside. Your entire body shuddered as it felt the prominent outline of his erect length through the material of his pants. Even through the layers of fabric, you could tell that he was well endowed. Images of him on screen, feeding his cock to his partner as she begged him to fuck her throat, flashed through your mind. Your mouth watered at the prospect of finally having him in the way that you so desired.

“Please, sir.”

Your mouth was so dry that your plea could barely be heard over the thundering of your heart. Somehow, he had understood your dire need, for he spoke, “Little whores like you should know how to beg for a fucking properly.” His voice was full of disappointment as he stepped away from you. Panicking from the loss of proximity, you hurried to placate him.

“Sir! Please fuck my dirty pussy. Fuck Taehyung’s cum out of my pussy. Please, sir, I’m your slut, only yours, please make your slut cum.”

Your watery plea was met with tense silence, and it was then that you realized that you had said the wrong thing. 

“Up,” he ordered, finally breaking the stifling stillness.

Your reactions were somewhat delayed, dizziness dulling your senses and slowing you down. Still feeling unstable, you gripped the edge of the desk, your knuckles turning white. Blood rushed to your head and you had to wait for a few seconds before the spots of light that danced in your vision faded away.

"Naughty sluts don't wear clothes, do they?"

Even though it was clearly a rhetorical question, you replied anyway, head bowed in shame, "No, sir."

Without waiting for his verbal command, you began to strip yourself of the cheap, white blouse. Subconsciously, you made sure to face one of the cameras as you slowly undid the buttons of your top one by one. Normally, you would be acutely aware of how everyone's attention was focused on you, but the only thing you could focus on this time was Yoongi's predatory stare. It was the minute changes in his expression that gave him away—his pupils were blown wide with lust, his nostrils flaring slightly as he drank the sight of you in—and, of course, the bulge in his slacks that he didn't bother to hide.

Next came the skirt. It hadn't been covering much to begin with, but with the way it was bunched up useless at your hips, you didn't feel any more exposed than you previously did once it came off.

Left in only your lacy bra, you played coy, your fingers just barely keeping the flimsy material held up. This part of the scene hadn't been explicitly discussed beforehand, but many things had deviated from the original script. And since nobody had interrupted the two of you yet, you figured that you were allowed to take a few liberties. Instead of feeling confused and lost from the unpredictability of the events, a strange feeling of excitement surged through you. It didn't feel like you were going through practiced motions; you felt wholly engaged in the present. You only had a vague idea of where this was headed and the element of surprise kept you on your toes.

Yoongi, ever in character, was not amused by your games. He clucked his tongue and narrowed his eyes in warning. Tilting his head as if silently asking you 'do you really want to play this game?’ you finally cowered. Your hands fell to your side along with your last material scrap of decency. There was not a single thread to cover you any longer—Yoongi was free to scrutinize every inch of exposed skin without a barrier to block his view. By slipping off your last item of clothing, you had bent yourself to his will and surrendered your body to him.

“On the desk, on your hands and knees. Ass up and hold yourself open for me.”

You scrambled to comply, not wanting to test his patience. Maybe if this was another day, in another place...but here, right now, you felt yourself follow his lead as if your body was on automatic. 

The position was somehow even more degrading than the previous one. From this angle, Yoongi now had a better view of your drenched pussy. And by holding yourself open for him, you felt like a willing participant to your own humiliation. Perched on all fours atop the piece of furniture, you felt like just another object of decoration—your sole purpose to be used or admired as pleased. 

You felt terribly exposed, but there was no denying the resulting spike of arousal in your stomach. But just as quickly as the burst of desire spiked, it disappeared, leaving you even more sexually frustrated than before.  

"CUT!" the director yelled from somewhere behind you. The sudden reminder that you weren't alone, that this wasn't real, made you flinch. It felt like someone had yanked you straight back to reality without forewarning and you were left confused and disoriented, stuck between the truth and fantasy. "Good, you guys are doing good. Let's take a short break. We need to fix the lighting.”

Film breaks weren’t uncommon but you had been so immersed in the scene that you were slow to react. "Fix her makeup before we prep for the second part," came the second set of instructions. 

Truthfully, you weren't paying attention; too busy steadying your racing heart. A young woman came forward and blotted the sweat at your hairline with a tissue before reapplying a layer of gloss on your lips and retouching your eyeliner. You barely registered her actions, not focused on your surroundings in the least.

"We're going to stick the bulb inside of you now, okay?"

It took several moments for you to understand that they were talking to you. As the words finally registered, you nodded your agreement.

The strange, artificial mixture felt cold inside of your walls. It was probably the usual stuff they used when they shot creampies, you thought distantly, not caring. Every squirt inside of you made your hips twitch in reaction although there was nothing sexy about this; the clinical approach dampened your arousal and gave you time to clear your mind. Your eyebrows knitted together as you patiently waited for the faux semen to fill you up. They made sure not to shoot it deep inside, so you felt it slowly start to ooze out as soon as the assistant stepped away from you. 

"Yoongi, we'll restart from your last line, ‘ass up and hold yourself open for me’, got it? Everyone ready? Scene 2, take 2, aand action!"

Silence fell upon the watching crew members. This way, it was easy to erase their presence and give your attention to Yoongi. 

"Hold yourself open for me." Softly, he whispered, his voice smooth like liquid silk.

You reached behind you, fingers gripping your now sore skin, and held yourself open so that he could inspect your pussy. His hot breath fanned over your backside, and it took all of your strength not to squirm away from his proximity.

"Look how easy you are. Head down, ass up like a bitch in heat."  Every word had you spiraling deeper into submission. You whimpered, low in your throat, the degrading words making you throb, "I bet Taehyung had no trouble at all sliding in this greedy cunt. You probably asked for it, didn't you? Can't live without something filling this hole up."

"Silly slut," he pinched your throbbing clit, ripping a pained yelp from your throat. "Your pussy is mine. Only I get to cum inside. You take my cum, and only when I think you're worthy enough for my seed."

The thought of belonging to him, of having him use you like his own personal plaything, made your body quiver with desire. More than anything, you wanted him to fuck you good, to take what belonged to him. In that moment, you were his. His voice controlled you, his hands disciplined you, his cock would reward you. Every inch of your pleasure belonged to him.

Your mouth watered—a burning thirst raging inside of you. You were more than convinced you would be willing to do anything to douse the ache that ate away at the remaining bits of your sanity. "I only want your cock, sir. No one gives it to me like you, I can only cum with your cum inside of me."

"Get your fingers nice and wet, slut. Get yourself clean and ready for me."

The slippery fluid inside of you felt no different than cold lube. As your fingers pumped in and out of your tight hole, the mixture spilled out of you, staining the insides of your thighs with opaque white. The mess you were making was of little importance—all of your senses were focused instead on your burgeoning orgasm. Yoongi had already wound you up so tightly that you felt the coil inside of you ready to snap at a moment's notice. 

Suddenly you remembered that Yoongi was watching your performance with hawk eyes. Afraid of the consequences you would have to face if you came without permission, you slowed down your movements, hoping he would allow you at least this. 

But no such mercy came. The sharp sting on the side of your right cheek made you lurch forward, your knees sliding against the sleek and polished surface. Yoongi's hands were instantly by your hips, grounding you in place. His strong grip made your worries ebb away; you trusted him to keep you from toppling over onto the ground. 

The stark contrast between Yoongi’s reassuring touch and the hard edge in his tone was startling. "Is all of his cum out yet? No? Then get back to work," he snapped out his command, his hands now spreading your cheeks wide open so that he and the camera could have a perfect view of your messy pussy. “Look how fucking filthy you are, it’s leaking all over. Just how much cock did you take for it to make so much of a mess?”

You could feel your skin heating up again, his lewd commentary setting you aflame with renewed desire. Your fingers worked the cum-colored lube out of your core, every loud squelch picked up by the cameras. Mouth parted; whine after whine escaped from your lips. Your need for release was becoming more unbearable by the second, and you were reaching that point where the consequences of your actions started to matter little.

“Little slut wants to cum?” The mocking lilt in Yoongi’s voice told you he wasn’t going to let you have it easy. Your head lolled forward, resigning yourself to more of what he had in store for you. “You won’t, and want to know why?”

He wound his fingers through your tresses, before yanking hard. Your scalp burned and you had no choice but to tilt your head back and meet his steely stare. From above, he exuded dominance and authority; his icy expression and firm grip in your hair challenging you to not break eye contact. 

“No, sir,” you rasped, finding it hard to form the words with the way your head was bent backwards. 

“You won’t because dirty whores can only cum with a fat cock inside of them, isn’t that right?” He spat, his features twisting almost as if he was disgusted with you. 

But you knew that was far from the truth. After all, you weren’t blind to the way his pupils were dilated—only a thin circle of brown was left, the hunger in his eyes having eclipsed the rest. His nostrils flared when you mewled in response to the humiliation—another visible sign of his arousal. You knew he wanted you, but the problem was that he, unlike you, had perfect control over his desire. 

Try as you might, it was impossible to taper the need pulsing between your thighs. You craved it as much as the air you breathed. 

“I can only cum if I have you inside me,” you sobbed, giving in completely. Any reservations were gone; you knew you would do anything to please this man. Hand still buried in your cunt, you begged, “My pleasure is yours, sir. I’m want—only want your thick cock inside of me, please take what’s yours. I’m yours, just yours. I’m a dirty slut, please u—use me.”

Shivers wracked through your frame when you heard him slide down his zipper. All of your senses were trained on him, your body reacting to even the slightest rustle of clothes. 

“Good slut.” The silken croon made its way to your ears and you closed your eyes, letting the praise wash over you. “Let me see if your cunt’s ready for me.” When Yoongi easily replaced your fingers with his own, you instantly felt the stretch. He crooked his digits inside of you, listening to your needy whimpers with relish. Two fingers quickly became three, the force of his thrusts never slowing down. 

“I’m going to fuck you from behind, slut. But that’s how you like it, don’t you?” You sniffled, not trying to refute the claim. To be taken from behind like some animal in heat, forced to submit to the brunt of his passion... When he phrased it like that, it sounded so humiliating, so degrading. Here you were, bent and kneeling on a desk, your naked ass perked up for his viewing pleasure, just like the common slut he was accusing you of being. “Like a good little bitch.”

You didn’t deny his accusations because you knew it to be true. Your breasts only got this sensitive if you were ovulating or if you were really turned on. And there was no use denying the former, not with the way your cunt was shiny and drenched with your own fluids. 

“Bend over the desk properly if you want to get fucked.” 

Never before had you completed a task with so much enthusiasm. You stretched your limbs out, your feet finding purchase on the ground while your hands gripped the edge of the desk. Excitement pooled in your gut; you had never felt so eager for a fucking before. You were unsure how much time had passed since the start of the shoot, but it somehow felt like lifetimes ago. You had been ready for his cock half a century ago.

It seemed like Yoongi was done dawdling around as well. He eased the tip of his cock inside of you. There was so much of your slick and lube, that it took two, three tries before successfully pushing in. You let out a shaky breath, body shuddering. Above you, Yoongi let out a grunt, his hands kneading your reddened flesh between his fingers. He kept you open for him, his attention fixed on the way your warm walls gripped his head snugly, eager to be fed more. Unable to form coherent words, you clenched around him, attempting to draw him in deeper. 

“A perfect plaything, letting me use her up however I want.” His words cut off into a growl as he bottomed out, his balls slapping against you. Your eyes watered, the girth of his hardened shaft stretching you out deliciously. Sweat beaded at your brow as you struggled to stay still for him, wanting him to use you as he pleased. 

Yoongi started up an easy rhythm, each of his thrusts making you slide across the surface of the desk. You felt stimulated from all over—you stiff nipples rubbed against the polished wood while his cock worked its way inside of you. Expletives intermingled with the occasional praise; and his grunts of satisfaction coaxed out your moans of pleasure. 

“Tell me, can Taehyung fuck you this good?” 

Distantly, you recognized this as a line from the script and your body reacted as if on auto-pilot. “No one can fuck me as good as you.” 

“Is that right? Then why did you let him inside your cunt?” A deep thrust made you choke out a high-pitched moan, the sound slutty even to your own ears. He stayed buried deep inside of you, but you barely had time to catch your breath before he tightened his fingers around your locks and pulled. Using the grip in your hair to guide you into the position he desired, he yanked you upwards, your shaking arms now propping your upper body up. 

“B-because I’m a slut,” you admitted, your head hanging low in shame. You weren’t even sure if it was an act or not, but the words seemed to spur him on even more, his thrusts speeding up once again. “I like having cum inside of me.”

“A cumslut, huh?” You struggled to stay propped up, but every harsh piston of his hips made stability difficult to maintain. “Can’t go without a man’s cum filling you up. You like being a cumdump for men that much?”

“O-only yours, only for you.” 

“That’s right. I own this slutty cunt.” Yoongi brought his mouth close to your ear, his teeth biting your lobe before mouthing down the side of your neck. As he left a trail of hot kisses down the column of your neck, he brought his hands up to cup your breasts, feeling them bounce in his hold with every slap of his hips against your own. You felt his breathing becoming ragged, the sound doing things to your insides.

He sunk his fingers in the supple flesh, probably leaving another set of marks to match the ones on your hips and ass, and used his hold as leverage to fuck into you faster. Every thrust inside you knocked the breath out of you—your desire spiraling to new heights with each whispered word into your ear. The pleasure started to become too much to bear and you clenched around his length to signal your approaching orgasm. 

“You’re gonna cum already? Should’ve known a slut like you wouldn’t be able to control herself when fed the right cock.” He didn’t slow down at all, his cock impaling you over and over again with no reprieve in sight. You knew if he kept this up, you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself back anymore.

“Please sir, let me cum,” you begged, your plea coming out in short pants. You didn’t know which one would give out first—your legs or your arms. The only thing that kept you upright and standing were Yoongi’s hands kneading your breasts and his hips pinning yours to the desk. 

Yoongi released your nipple with a hard tug, the free hand snaking up to your parted mouth. Instinctively, your lips wrapped around the invading digits, sucking it like it would a cock. “So greedy. You don’t get to make the demands here, slut. But I’ll be nice today because you took your spanking so well. Go on then, little slut.”

The fact that you couldn’t even see the fact of the person who was stuffing two of your holes made the fucking so impersonal. A new wave of shame swept over you, and you felt like you could drown in it. Your body thrashed in his hold, a lightning bolt of pleasure zapping through your entire body and making you starry-eyed. Your entire world shrunk, until all you knew was him and the thick cock spearing you open.  

Yoongi’s hips stuttered, his own release in reach. You felt his length twitch inside you but he quickly pulled out, his right hand stroking his slick shaft in furious strokes. You barely registered the first spurt of semen land on your well fucked pussy, the rest of his seed painting your lower lips in fields of white. 

The force of your orgasm wiped you out and you took a few seconds to regain your bearings, eyes still closed, blocking out the outside world.

It took several moments for you to be brought back to reality, spots of light still dancing in your vision whenever you blinked. Your chest heaved from exertion, your eyes watery. Your body felt incredibly light, like you could float away from the ground at any moment like a hot air balloon.

“____?” Someone repeated your name, trying to snap you out of your daze by shaking your shoulders. “Here’s some water.” A set of arms helped you sit up, and a cold glass of water was pushed into your numbed hands. “You did so well! There was no reason to be nervous, I knew you would do great.”

Belatedly, you realized that it was your agent speaking to you. He wrapped your shoulders in a pink, fluffy bathrobe—the soft fabric a welcome comfort. Seokjin showered you in praises, asking if you need anything more, but his voice faded into white noise. Your eyes flitted around the room, restless, searching.

As if feeling the weight of your gaze on him, Yoongi looked up from his phone and smiled at you. Even if his cheeks were flushed pink and his hair matted with sweat, he looked infinitely more composed than you felt. Biting the inside of your cheek, you wondered how you could possibly approach him. 

A faint buzzing pulled you from your train of thought. When you looked down, you saw a message light up the screen of your phone. Your thumb swiped the surface so that the newest message could fill up the entire screen.

 [unknown number] : hey. i cant wait to work with you again ;-)

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[edit: short continuation.]

Although your body was thoroughly sated, there was still an eagerness that hadn’t been completely quashed. You were still drunk off your high, your body now hooked to Yoongi’s touch. You wanted a repeat. Badly.

After the initial swell of elation had ebbed, you steadied your trembling fingers to type out a hurried reply. Thank God for autocorrect was your first coherent thought. You weren’t sure if your inability to spell the simplest of words was because of your stubby thumbs or because Yoongi had fucked every last feeling out of your body, leaving you numb all over. Did it even matter? The end result was the same, either way.

A minute passed. Your thumbs stumbled across the keyboard in your rushed attempt to correctly type out your response. It took another two tries before you finally succeeded in writing a message that was 1) free of spelling mistakes and 2) simultaneously made your intentions obvious (a flirtatious winky face included for good measure). However right before you were about to hit ‘send’, a new set of vibrations put a halt to your actions.

[unknown number] : i’m jimin btw. :) the 2nd AC.

What?

[unknown number] : you look really pretty on camera :)

[unknown number] : and in real life too! not just on camera.

[unknown number] : sorry if i sound so forward. but it’s been a long time sinc—

Your brain screeched to a halt as more messages flooded in, one right after the other.

Jimin…the second assistant cameraman?

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(edit added 12.08)

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ɛ sequel here ! ᴈ

[cristiancapulet]

Confessions [Damian & Cristian]

Who: Cristian Capulet and Damian Fontana.

What: After an evening spent together volunteering, Cristian admits using Damian to make Tybalt jealous a week prior and requests a punishment.

Where: Damian’s apartment.

When: 12/24/18

Damian had rather enjoyed helping out with the festivities at the orphanage. The kids were cute, after all, and it was fun to watch them light up at their presents and treats. Damian remembered how magical Christmas had seemed when he was a child, and it felt good to be able to pay that forward, at least a little. And now, riding in Cristian's car back towards his apartment, Damian was enjoying the quiet little warmth that had settled between them. Cristian was a difficult nut to crack, Damian thought, and that was why it was so particularly pleasing to see him looking actually content. Made him want to reach across the car and touch the submissive's cheek or hair or hand, but Damian kept his hands to himself. No sense ruining a perfectly pleasant moment.

Cristian smiled softly, eyes on the road as he thought over the day's events. He'd always felt a sense of warmth helping with the orphanage, but today-- with Lord Tybalt and Damian, it had been.. something else. Sharing something that meant so much to him had left him feeling more at peace than he'd been in some time. "I know I said it already... But I really appreciated you joining Lord Tybalt and I today... So thanks," he voiced with a short glance towards the Dominant before his gaze returned to the road. They'd be to Damian's shortly, and before he dropped the other off, he felt the desire to offer a bit more about why they'd spent the day there of all places volunteering. "I visit that orphanage annually.. it means a lot to me."

Damian looked over at Cristian when he spoke and smiled warmly. "It was no trouble. I enjoyed it actually." There was something in the way that Cristian looked when he said the orphanage was important to him that made Damian wonder, but he didn't want to pry into a possibly painful past. "I'm glad you asked me to be part of it, then."

Cristian nodded, biting his lip for a moment as he focused on driving a bit before suggesting, "I'm glad. To hear that-- that is. Perhaps it can be an annual thing then that the two of you join me?" As personal as the orphanage felt, he always had the center's best interests at heart and was delighted to improve the holidays for those less fortunate. "No pressure, of course. Lord Tybalt could always choose to donate to a different charity next year," he added lightly, shrugging his shoulders. "It's the next left, correct?"

Damian noticed that Cristian seemed almost hesitant about the topic, and that told Damian just how much it meant to him. "I'd be happy to. It would make a good Christmas tradition. Yeah, next left." He tried not to dread goin up to his apartment alone. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable being alone, but this easy, companionable warmth that had settled between the two of them was extremely pleasant and he didn't like the thought of leaving it behind.

Cristian nodded as they made their way closer to Damian's place, remembering the look of the building and finding it with ease as they got closer. "I'm glad you think so," he replied as he put the car into park. "I've been volunteering a few years there now, and the company's nice." He let silence take them as he put the car into park, hesitating a moment before he turned to face the Dominant directly. "I... I've had some stuff on my mind lately, Sir, and there's something I would like to apologize for. I hate to be a bother on a holiday, but would it perhaps be okay for me to come up so we can chat briefly? I won't stay long-- I'm going to midnight mass tonight anyways."

Damian hesitated to get out of the car, not wanting the quiet moment to end, but then he was forestalled by Cristian. "Apologize?" That was surprising. But there was definitely only one answer to Cristian's request. "Yeah, of course. Come on up."

Cristian was relieved at the other's acceptance, grabbing a small tin and following him as they made their way into the house. "It's... well... I'll just wait till we're inside," he commented softly, not sure how the other would react. He'd had such a nice day though, and it was weighing on him, wanting to be honest with the Dom.

Damian just nodded as he led Cristian inside to the elevator and then into his apartment. It wasn't large, but it was very comfortable, full of warm colors and soft fabrics. The only visible nod to the season was a small decorated Christmas tree on his coffee table. "Do you want a drink?" He wasn't sure where Cristian was going with this, but he wasn't going to hurry the submissive along. He was happy to hang out a while.

Cristian nodded, finding the idea of a drink welcoming and hopefully enough to calm the sudden nerves. He enjoyed getting to know Damian, hoping to continue his growing friendship with the attractive Dominant, versus a purely professional one solely seeing each other st work. Even though he knew it was a bit greedy, he also enjoyed the attention he’d received from the Dominant a month prior. It was almost sad in a way that he knew the Dominant wasn’t one for dating around, but knowing so at least helped him from presuming their hookup was more than it was. “A drink sounds great, thanks,” he commented, setting down the small tin he’d brought with him on a table off to the side. “Whatever you’re having.”

Damian would normally have just had a beer, but it was Christmas Eve. "You like whisky?" He pulled out the bottle Tybalt had given him for Christmas. "Tybalt gave me a bottle of Japanese whisky. I've never had Japanese whisky before. What do you say we try it out?" He got out two tumblers and put an ice cube in each before pouring the aromatic amber liquid. It smelled good, at least.

Cristian shrugged, not much of a whiskey drinker but figuring it was worth tasting and would no doubt help more than a glass of wine or beer might. “Sure, though no much since I’ve gotta drive home please,” he commented, sliding off his coat and moving to sit down in the living room. “Lord Tybalt is who I want to speak about actually.”

Damian nodded and poured Cristian a modest amount, giving himself slightly more, before taking both drinks to the couch. "Oh?" That was surprising, on the face of it, but then again, maybe not so surprising. They both worked with Tybalt, he wasn't an odd topic of conversation for them. Damian just hadn't expected Cristian to bring him up. "Alright. Shoot."

Cristian sighed and swallowed thickly, reaching for the glass with a soft, "Thanks," before taking a drink. "Well.. it's about when you teased me a while back about showing up with that hickey on my neck at work," he began, pausing a rather lengthy moment. It seemed obvious he was admitted just who'd given it, and he found himself in need of another sip. "We uh... well we had a scene. Unexpected... But not the point- the point being well..." He paused again and took another sip, looking rather guilty as he avoided Damian's eyes. "There was discussion beforehand, and I must admit, you were brought up."

Damian cocked his head to the side. "You and Tybalt?" Well that was news. He'd had no idea the hickey had come from Cristian's boss, and his Lord besides. Damian was about to say something about Cristian's usual firm line between work and pleasure, when the submissive went on. Damian's eyes narrowed in confusion. "...You talked about me. Before having sex with him?"

Cristian tensed, feeling even worse at Damian's reaction. He nodded slowly then, confirming, "Well.. yes... He found out that I had submitted to you in November and seemed... jealous? So... I may have provoked him a bit by continuing to uh.. talk about it." He could feel his cheeks were blazing hot, avoiding the other's gaze and quickly adding, "I'm horrifiedby my behavior and extremely sorry for what I did... I hadn't scened since I'd scene you, and I know that's no excuse for what I did... but.. I just wanted you to know that-- and that I'm sorry. I completely understand if you'd never want to scene with me again."

Damian blinked. Tybalt had been jealous? That was definitely a surprise. Not that he hadn't thought Tybalt would be the jealous type, but he'd had no idea it would extend to Cristian, who always seemed so careful to draw a line between work and his social life. But then, he'd crossed it at Damian's prodding, hadn't he? Maybe this wasn't the first time he and Tybalt had crossed this line. Damian sat back, processing for a moment. "Let me get this straight. Tybalt was jealous that I had scened with you. And you... used that, to get him to scene with you?" He didn't like the idea of Cristian and Tybalt having sex, but he knew he had no right to be possessive. But the idea of Cristian talking about him in order to make Tybalt jealous... that rankled a bit. "I... don't really know how to feel about that."

Cristian felt so insanely ashamed he wished he could disappear into the floor. Somewhere. Anyways. "I.. believe so? When I admitted to scening with you, he called me a hypocrite and.. approached me. He'd said it in a way that upset me and I guess.. I just-- the words left my mouth before I realized what I said. I don't even remember what it was specifically now, but I was uh... bragging, Sir. Oh god... I didn't do it to get him to scene with me-- please understand that. I didn't expect him to kiss me when I said it," he admitted. "I just felt.. attacked, I guess. And when Lord Tybalt and I banter.. well, I guess it escalated. I enjoyed it seemed to rile him up, but looking back on it I just feel so ashamed I did that, and ashamed I'd brought you into the mess at all."

Damian took another moment to process what Cristian was telling him. So it hadn't been a deliberate attempt to antagonize Tybalt into sex. Just to antagonize him. Not great, still, but better. After a second, he reached over and put a hand on Cristian's arm. "Hey. It's okay." He could see that this was eating Cristian up, and the more he talked about it, the more wound up he got. "I'm not thrilled about it. Kinda peeved, really. But I'm not angry. You... you're not my sub. I don't get to be mad about who you scene with, and what goes on in those scenes. I'm not thrilled that you pitted me against Tybalt like that. Or that... you used our scene as ammunition to throw at him. That doesn't feel great. But I never needed you to keep our scene a secret. It's okay that Tybalt knows."

Cristian felt his blush spread when Damian reached out, relieved for the touch despite how guilty he felt. A slight tension lifted from his shoulders. The Dominant was attractive and kind-- and even if they remained solely coworkers and the other didn't want to spend time with him again outside of work, he wanted it to be a positive relationship regardless. He valued the other, even if he'd done a poor job of showing it. "I still feel.. Well.. I'm ashamed as I said, Sir. I'd honestly be surprised if you weren't upset. Although it may not seem like it, I highly value our relationship, and know I would have been mortified had someone done the same to me." He paused, throwing back the rest of his drink and setting the glass down as he requested, "And so.. I know it's a holiday, and perhaps not what you had in mind, but... Would you be willing to punish me, Sir? Please?"

Damian was, despite everything, take by surprise again at Cristian's request. He paused for a moment, looking into Cristian's eyes, gauging his expression. But then he nodded. "Yes. I'll punish you for your behavior regarding our relationship, which was disrespectful, and then when I'm done, things between us will go back to the way they were, and there'll be no need to discuss it or apologize anymore. Understand?" He set his glass on the coffee table, still mostly untouched. He wasn't going to drink it now that he knew he'd be administering a punishment. "Your safeword stands, at any point in the punishment. Tell it to me again."

Cristian sighed, nodding as a small, nervous smile appeared for the first time since bringing up the conversation. "Thank you very much, Sir." He felt a slight buzz already from the whiskey as he confirmed, "I typically use the color system, Sir. So for the sake of a punishment, 'Red'"

Damian squeezed Cristian's forearm gently before standing up. "Good. I want you to go into my bedroom, take your clothes off, and kneel on the rug. I'll be there in a minute." He moved away to gather a few things from the kitchen for after the punishment. A bottle of cold water, a package of cookies. He dawdled, giving Cristian time to do as he'd been told, then followed him into the bedroom. He set the things he'd brought for aftercare on the bedside table, looking at Cristian the whole while.

Cristian did as requested and made his way into Damian’s bedroom, briefly thinking back to their first encounter and how drastically different it had been from this. He immediately went to work, removing his clothing piece by piece and draping it over a chair off to the side before moving to the rug, head hung downcast as he waited for the Dom.

Damian moved to stand in front of Cristian and threaded his fingers through the submissive's hair, though he let him keep his head down. It was appropriate for the moment, after all. "I'm going to spank you. I know you have some pain tolerance, but I don't know the extent of it, so I am trusting you to safeword if it's too much, even though I know you probably want to prove to me that you can take a punishment well. I'm trusting you to make sure I don't really hurt you." He stepped back. "Lay on the bed, face down, and fold your arms under your head." He went to his closet and returned with a stiff leather paddle.

Cristian exhaled, relaxing into the Dominant's touch almost immediately. "Of course, Sir." He nodded again as Damian stepped back and Cristian moved onto the bed, trying to remember the last time he'd been punished with a spanking. He typically enjoyed the activity, but knowing the reasoning for it this time was more than enough to not have the same response.

Damian came to stand next to the bed, looking down at Cristian's long, slender form. He was gorgeous, and under different circumstances Damian would be feeling turned on right now. But he was already in a punishment mindset, so arousal wasn't a problem. He was thinking only of what he needed to do, and what kind of reactions he was looking for from Cristian. He set the paddle against Cristian's pale bottom. "Stay as still as you can. If you move, it won't add to you punishment, just go back to this position." He thought about deciding on a number before he started, but he didn't know how many Cristian could take. Better to judge as he went. So, without prelude, he lifted the paddle and brought it down hard across Cristian's ass.

Cristian anxiously waited, arms folded under his head as he spotted Damian and the paddle out of the corner

Cristian anxiously waited, arms folded under his head as he spotted Damian and the paddle out of the corner of his eye. He inhaled audibly, trying to not tense too badly when suddenly he felt the first smack, exhaling with a surprised moan. The tension melted away almost instantly as he felt his body relax a moment later against the sheets and his eyelashes flutter closed.

Damian could see the way Cristian's muscles went slack and knew he'd chosen the right punishment. This wasn't about retribution, after all, since he didn't feel more than a little hurt about Cristian's behavior. This was about catharsis, because Cristian needed it. He built up a rhythm, alternating between cheeks, building an even red across Cristian's bottom. The strikes were mild at first, but built quickly into solid, stinging smack that cracked loudly in the quiet room.

Cristian gasped, repeatedly tensing with each smack only to fall limp into the sheets after. After several hits he felt his ass growing hot and it harder to keep still between hits. His eyes watered slightly as a strangled, tired moan fled his lips after a particularly hard hit. He was faintly aware he was panting softlly, lips parted and fists clenching the sheets below him, mentally counting off each strike since it wasn’t requested verbally.

Damian watched Cristian carefully as he went. He didn't think he was even beginning to near the edge of Cristian's pain tolerance, which was good. He wasn't going to try to push him, not now. This wasn't meant to be a harsh punishment by any means. Once Cristian's ass was a nice, even pink, starting to deepen into red, he paused and ran his hand over Cristian's inflamed skin. "How are you doing?"

Cristian inhaled slowly, focusing on the mixture of pain he felt and overall tension. “I’m okay, Sir. Green... Thank you.”

Damian nodded and took a moment to look over Cristian's body. He didn't seem overly tense. And Damian was always inclined to take a submissive at their word. "Okay." He returned the paddle to Cris's ass, resting it there for a second before resuming the spanking. His strikes were slower now, but harder, actually applying some of his strength now and not just the weight and momentum of the paddle.

Cristian joined the chat 2 hours ago

Cristian moaned shamelessly as he felt the intensity of each hit increase, making the gaps between seem just as short as prior ones. He mentally reminded himself to never piss off the Dominant, surprised by how strong the hits were despite how little effort the other seemed to be exerting. The submissive flinched slightly with each hit before his body went went slack again, panting softly as he continued counting silently in his head. "F-fuck," he cursed under his breath after a particularly strong smack, feeling a mixture of alertness and exhaustion.

Damian paused to touch Cristian's ass again, which was deep red and radiating heat. He knew Cris wasn't at his breaking point yet, probably wasn't even thinking of safewording yet, but Damian's goal here wasn't to reach either of those markers. He didn't want to push Cristian, both because he didn't think the crime, such as it was, merited it, and because this was the first time he'd spanked Cris. You never aim to push boundaries on the first time. He set the paddle back against Cristian's bottom and looked up at his face, which was largely hidden. "Five more. Count them for me." He waited for Cristian show he'd heard, and then gave him the last five. They were fractionally harder than the ones before, but not much, and just as spaced out.

Cristian cried out each hit, surprised but not questioning the comment of only five remaining as he made sure to verbalize each hit as requested. When he finally answered the fifth hit he moaned into the sheets, shifting slightly as he tried to look back towards the Dominant out of the corner of his eye. His cheeks felt almost as warm as his ass, softly adding, "Thank you, Sir," as he focused on his breathing returning to normal.

Damian looked over at Cristian, meeting his eyes, and smiled softly. "You're welcome," he murmured, and he meant it, not just as the thing that one says in response to thank you, but that Cris really was welcome to have this, to ask for this, any time. Damian set the paddle down on the floor and moved to sit on the bed next to Cristian. "Scoot over," he said, his voice gentle, shifting into aftercare mode. As he sat on the bed with his back to the headboard, Damian tugged Cristian up against him, into his lap, so he could hold him tight against his chest and press a kiss to his temple. "You're forgiven. It's all done."

Cristian hesitated a moment before moving, eyes trained on Damian. He was slightly surprised to see him take a seat directly in front of his own, though he couldn't help but note their position. Dirty thoughts sifted through his mind briefly as the other motioned for him to get close again, wondering just how easy it would be to go down on the Dominant from where he laid. He knew he was too tired at the moment though, and the idea of leaning against Damian's chest was all too inviting. It was with that thought he let the other tug him into his lap and Cristian sighed, resting his weight against the older man's chest. Almost immediately his body relaxed again and he sighed, arms nudging their way around the Dominant's midsection. "S'nice," he mumbled, eyes half-lidded as he let himself enjoy the moment probably more than he should have.

Damian smiled as Cristian relaxed against him, wholly pleased by his reaction. It just felt right to have him here, limp and pliant against Damian's chest. He reached for one of several soft blankets that were always scattered around Damian's bed, never quite tidy, and spread it over Cristian. "Good. Nice was what I was aiming for. I'm told I make an excellent pillow."

Cristian flinched, gasping softly as he felt the blanket's material against his bare ass. He tried not to move much after, wanting to avoid any more discomfort. "You do," he agreed softly. "Sensitive though.. Don't move," he requested with a pout.

Damian was careful not to jostle Cristian as he held him tight, so he didn't make anything touch his inflamed bottom. "You're pouty when you've been punished, huh?" he teased with a fond smile. "Don't worry, I'm not planning on denying you anything you want, you don't need to turn on your puppy eyes." He tipped his head down to kiss Cristian's forehead.

Cristian sighed softly as he felt Damian's lips against his skin, barely holding back a yawn till he'd been left to relax again. "You know," he commented softly, voice filled with the onset of sleep. "There was a moment there where I thought you'd ask me to go down on you after." His voice was cheeky as was a a faint smile even though his eyelashes had fallen closed. "Good position," he added, sleepily rubbing his head against Damian's chest.

Damian chuckled and shook his head. "This was a punishment, not sex," he murmured, though he was aware some people conflated the two. He didn't like to. Especially not when he and Cris were not, in fact, dating, and Cristian had asked for a punishment and said nothing of sex. The last thing Damian wanted was to take advantage of the submissive while in a state of post-punishment vulnerability. Damian leaned back against a pillow and threaded his fingers through Cris's hair. "I'm really... grateful, I guess, but I don't know if that's the right word. Pleased. That you asked me for this. That you trusted me to give you what you felt you needed." His voice was soft and thoughtful and he slowly played with Cristian's silky black hair.

Cristian let out a small whine, retorting, "Doesn't mean it couldn't have turned into that," playfully with another yawn

Cristian: "That feels good," he added. "Glad I trusted you too."

Damian smiled and kept sliding his fingers through Cristian's hair. He liked it too, and it was all the better for knowing it felt nice to Cristian. With his other hand, Damian reached towards the nightstand for the water bottle he'd brought in earlier. He popped up the straw on the lid and held it up to Cristian. "I want you to have some water before you fall asleep on me. I know it was barely a scene, but humor me."

Cristian hummed in agreement, reaching out and tipping the bottle into his mouth for a quick drink without complaint. "Don't let me sleep," he mumbled as he finished, snuggling back into Damian's frame. "Suppose to go to Midnight Mass tonight.. S'Christmas."

Damian had no intentions of keeping Cristian awake. Or letting him leave so soon after a punishment. It wasn't good aftercare. And had nothing whatsoever to do with Damian's desire not to let Cristian move from his lap. "They'll have Mass tomorrow. I'll even go with you in the morning if you want." He set the bottle back on the table and wrapped his arm around Cristian again.

Cristian gave in easily, arms encircling Damian again. "That'd be nice," he gave in, not worrying for once about every little detail-- his phone alarm being set, or the fact he'd have to re-wear clothing. Nothing, except the comfort he felt passing out during aftercare in the other's embrace.

Damian shifted them after a while so Cristian could lay down, but he didn't stop holding him until long after he'd drifted to sleep. Even when Damian got up to get ready for bed and undress to his boxers, he went right back to holding Cristian as soon as he was back in bed. He didn't want to let go.

[wiseabsol]

WA Reviews “Dominion” by Aurelia le, Chapter 7: Redirecting Lightning

Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6383825/7/Dominion

Summary: For the Fire Nation royal siblings, love has always warred with hate. But neither the outward accomplishment of peace nor Azula’s defeat have brought the respite Zuko expected. Will his sister’s plans answer this, or only destroy them both?

Content Warnings: This story contains discussions and depictions of child abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and incest. This story also explores the idea that Zuko’s redemption arc (and his unlearning of abuse) is not as complete as the show suggested, and that Azula is not a sociopath (with the story having a lot of sympathy for her). If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, I would strongly recommend steering clear of this story and my reviews of it.  

Note: Because these were originally posted as chapter reviews/commentaries, I will often be talking to the author in them (though sometimes I will also snarkily address the characters). While I’ve also tried not to spoil later events in the story in these reviews, I would strongly recommend reading through chapter 28 before reading these, just to be safe.

Now on to chapter 7!

CHAPTER 7: REDIRECTING LIGHTNING

Alright, this is it. I have hit chapter seven. I have hit the first benchmark chapter in this story; the one that makes or breaks “Dominion” for readers. Because this is the chapter where Zuko rapes Azula. And I am going to stand by and defend that interpretation, because regardless of how ambiguous the situation seemed to Zuko, I think the authorial intent here is clear if the reader is paying attention. So expect this to be a lengthy review, because I plan to go into depth with that. As for the rating of this story—you upped it to an M rating a long time ago, which I think was appropriate, given that “Dominion,” due to what it’s exploring, really is more of a story for adults than for young teenagers. And you’re completely right about the decision to depict what happens in this chapter, rather than tell us what happened later. No one would have believed it otherwise. Also, I’m curious, but what tropes specifically are you deconstructing where Azula redemption fics are concerned? I haven’t read enough of them to be knowledgeable about that. But onwards with the chapter itself. So Zuko and Azula are facing each other after four years of separation. Zuko notices that Azula has grown up to look like Ursa, which I love, even though this passage is incredibly creepy: “It was that resemblance that struck him most, to see Azula standing there in his mother’s robe. He recognized the elegant swirls embroidered at the neck, the hem she was too short to keep from dragging in the dust. And even if she inherited their father’s sharp chin and slanted eyes, she had Ursa’s hair and painted mouth, and lined her eyes with kohl. It barely occurred to him to wonder where she found cosmetics, when Azula hadn’t stayed here since she was a little girl. His mother’s robe, his mother’s paints…. How in eight years had he never noticed, that she tinted her lips the very same shade?” Let’s unpack that. So the least creepy interpretation of Azula using the same makeup as her mother is that their hair/skin/eye colors are the same, so Ursa’s paints are the ideal shades for Azula to use as well. However, this is clearly meant to unsettle readers, so I do have to wonder if Azula was encouraged to use the same makeup as Ursa by Ozai (or perhaps by Lo and Li) to make her a mini-Ursa in appearance. That or Azula did it unconsciously to emulate her mother/to appeal to her father’s tastes (gags). On the flip side of this, Zuko’s…interest…in Azula looking like Ursa feels Oedipal, which makes something already disturbing even worse. “‘You…came to see me?’ she spoke slower, almost tentatively. ‘Why?’”—Oh baby you’re so hopeful that Zuko came to visit you because he cares about you. “‘I hardly think that /matters/ now, after what you’ve /done/!’ Zuko reproached her, angry not just at her escape anymore, but something he couldn’t even name….”—I don’t know, is it maybe because she grew up to look like your mom and you’re weirdly turned on by that? “‘It matters to me,’ she said simply. And looked sincere as she always did, when she lied.”—Maybe because she’s not lying to you, dumdum. They argue about whether he was helping her or not by putting her into the asylum (he wasn’t), and she definitely wouldn’t have left there if not for her own cunning. Zuko liked having her under his control too much. Zuko then starts patronizing her, telling her she’s dangerous to herself and to other people, which he really isn’t in any position to be saying, since he didn’t see her for years and has no idea what kind of progress she’s made. “He blinked once at her defiance, reminded uncomfortably of another confrontation, one he stood on the other side of.”—You’re more like Ozai than you know, Zuko. Okay, it’s amazing that Azula “banished” her hallucinations. I love how you borrow dialogue from the show and use the repetition for effect like this. I noticed it in “The Road” and in the most recent chapter of “Dominion,” too, where Iroh was concerned. “And suddenly, her letters made a little more sense. Not much, but a little more. ‘You really think,’ he said slowly [ . . . ] ‘I’d keep her from you?’”—You’ve given her no evidence to the contrary, Zuko. “‘You’ll see what you want to see. You always have.’”—Azula’s got your measure, Zuko. Then Azula reveals that she wants to find Ursa, because she thinks that will help her get better (there are strategic reasons for this, too, which we’ll learn later), to which Zuko thinks in response, “And [he] had to make a conscious effort to crush the hope that surged like fire in his veins. The tiny voice of truth that said if anyone could do the impossible, it was Azula.”—Just let her go, Zuko. What do you have to lose from this plan besides Azula? Oh wait. “‘You /hated/ her! You didn’t even /care/ when Dad sent her away!’”—Zuko, did you ever ask how your sister felt about your missing mom? Or did you get so caught up in your own grief that you didn’t? I’d bet money that the latter option is what happened. “Zuko advanced on her in growing anger, but she held her ground. ‘You’re in no position to make demands!’ he reminded her, with a sweep of his hand for added emphasis. ‘A /disgraced/ princess with nothing but an /empty/ title to her name! No money, no power, no friends—’”—Be more of an ass, Zuko, why don’t you? Also Ty Lee exists, in case you’ve forgotten. Azula has a friend in her, even if she has nothing else. “‘It doesn’t /work/ like that anymore!’ he said hotly, fists clenched to match her own. Zuko was nearly close enough to lay hands on her now, and two steps away from trying it. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, /I’m/ not the one who landed in an /asylum/!”—Zuko’s hostility is starting to edge uncomfortably close to violence, in part because he feels like he’s losing his control over the situation. “But the thought of apologizing to Azula was as foreign to him as bending water. He didn’t owe her anything.”—Given later events, this may be the crux of Zuko’s character development: learning to tell Azula that he’s sorry for how he’s treated her and thanking her for the things she’s done for him over the years. Because she has helped him, at risk to herself. “‘So much better to be cruel than crazy, isn’t it?’ she whispered, close enough that Zuko could just glimpse something sad and secret behind her eyes. ‘I should know.’”—Oh baby, you need so many hugs from Ty Lee. So Azula makes a break for it and Zuko thinks, “He made a promise to Mai. And he was a father now, he forced himself to recall.”—It’s interesting to me how detached Zuko is from Lu Ten emotionally at points, while he later desires to have a certain child with him. It occurs to me that his feelings aren’t dissimilar to Ozai’s in that respect. “‘That’s not what you came here for,’ she chided, a familiar promise written in the arch of her brows.”—Well that’s not creepy at all. “‘You never should have turned you back on me.”—Channel Scar more, Azula, why don’t you? Also, I think Zuko misinterprets what she said here—he takes it as more of a threat than it probably is. Azula then asks him why he’s here. “‘To bring you to justice,’ Zuko replied automatically, because he’d said it to himself and other people enough times that that must make it true.”—That’s not how the truth works, Zuko. “‘You need to be tried for your crimes in the war,’ he insisted, ignoring how her teeth ground at the suggestion that what she’d done was wrong. ‘And as soon as you’re sane, you will be.’” Alright, so I looked up what our society defines as war crimes for this. Azula has done the following: “Depriving a prisoner of war of a fair trial,” “Unlawful deportation, confinement or transfer,” and “taking hostages” where the Kyoshi Warriors and the head of Dai Li are concerned. Now here’s what Zuko has done: “Unlawful wanton destruction or appropriation of property,” “directing attacks against civilians,” and “taking hostages.” Azula’s crimes probably wouldn’t be considered unlawful during the time that ATLA takes place—capturing and imprisoning enemy combatants happened on both sides of the war. In addition to this, none of her victims died (presumably the Kyoshi Warriors were hurt, but that happened in combat). Zuko, on the other hand, destroyed peoples’ homes and probably did hurt civilians in the process. It’s little wonder that Azula grits her teeth when Zuko suggests that what she did was worse than what he did. “‘Well if /that/ isn’t an incentive to recover, I don’t know what is.’”—I laughed. “‘Our nation owes it to the world to hold people like /you/ to account.’ ‘People like me….’”—Yeah, I’d be disappointed in my brother, too, if I was Azula. “her voice low and silky”—Azula, this is what people mean about you talking to men in an inappropriate way. I realize you don’t know any better, but this is dangerous for you to be doing, especially to someone who is being aggressive towards you. “And Azula smiled. It was not a nice smile. ‘Five points for good parenting, Zuzu,’ she condescended, turning quite casually to leave. ‘Kids are scared enough of imaginary monsters at that age.’ Her voice fell as she moved off down the hall. ‘How soundly would he sleep, if he knew about /me/?”—So I think she actually felt hurt that Zuko hadn’t told Lu Ten about her yet. His decision to do so probably makes her feel even more isolated from their family. Her trotting out the comparison of herself to a monster is also something Azula tends to do when she’s having moments of insecurity and self-hatred. “her back to him like an invitation”—An invitation to what? Hit her? You’re so gross, Zuko. “‘So why don’t we make a deal? [ . . . ] Leave me alone to find Mother, and I will have nothing more to do with you. Or yours.’”—Take that deal, Zuko. It’s the best offer from her you’re going to get, and at this point, it’s probably the healthiest option for both of you psychologically.

"'If the best I can expect from you is /neglect/'"—It's telling that Azula uses the word "if" here, because it suggests that she would be open to having a better relationship with him, if he was willing to be a better brother to her. "'the best you can expect from me is neglect. Not quite as nice as having me under your /thumb/, to be sure [ . . . ] but don't pretend you wouldn't rather I was gone.'"—She both understands his desires here and doesn't. Zuko wants her close, but he wants her close on his terms. Zuko, in any case, shuts this conversation down by calling her crazy and rejecting her offer, which sets off the fighting between them. "Zuko had the advantage here. And the black look Azula gave him said she knew that he knew."—Let's keep this in mind as we get farther into this altercation. "Azula tumbled painfully end over end through the dust, her short, sharp cries punctuated by the dull thuds of her repeatedly striking the gray stone floor."—And Zuko claims that he doesn't want to hurt her? You'd think the pained noises she's making would pull him up short if that was the case. "'Of course you do'"—See, Azula agrees with me. "'You just don't want to admit that you /can't/!'"—Azula, I get that you're trying to get him to slip up, but if you goad him like this, he could seriously hurt you. "She wanted to knock him unconscious? he considered."—Her plans don't work if you're dead, Zuko. And I don't think she actually wants you dead, either. "Could she mean to take him hostage? [ . . . ] She had to know he would never go along with that."—Because hostages totally get a say in their captivity. Zuko thinks that Azula has a "near-perfect memory," which may be true when she's lucid, but I can't imagine it's true when she's not. "[He] thought back to that one time he'd searched her room"—for hints to where their mother had gone? Then they collide. This is where their fight starts to go off the rails. First, we get the "hug" that isn't a hug, keying us into the fact that something isn't right about the physical contact between them. Then it keeps buildings: "lifting her head so the tip of her nose just brushed his chin." "He stiffened at her closeness. Her body was pressed right against him, leaving little to the imagination. He was probably about to die. So he really should be thinking of anything other than how very thin her robe was." "Her voice was low and almost seductive, her breath hot in his ear."—In short, Zuko is very turned on by this. Random note: Azula is left-handed. I love it. "And Zuko struck her hard across the face."*—Remember when I said I had a theory I was going to get into in this chapter? This is a part of it. Also, Zuko, you are a terrible human being. "Zuko stared in horror first at her and then at the hand he still held before him, as if he suspected it of acting against his will. He hadn't meant to do—How could he—/Why couldn't she just be/ normal? the old resentment drowned out his shock."—Zuko deflects the blame for his violence towards Azula onto her, with the implication being that she deserves this for not being exactly what he wants her to be. This is classic victim-blaming from the abuser. "Zuko grabbed her wrist to jerk her back, and didn't know he burned her until he felt the heat beneath his fingers [ . . . ] and Azula fell against him with a sharp cry that choked off too quickly, as if she were afraid to make a sound."*—We're starting to get hints here at how Azula has been conditioned to respond to abuse. "He barely had time to register this, his hand still gripped her hot and blistered skin"—OUCH!—"when Azula pressed a soft kiss against the side of his neck"*—(Horrified moan.) "His stomach lurched like he stepped off the edge of a precipice, fallen into the gap between who he was before she did this, and now."—Great line. "He still stood in that attitude when her free hand slid under the crossed collar of his crimson shirt. Her fingertips on his skin were electric, and Zuko exhaled a shuddering breath when he remembered to breathe again. She was—Why was she—/What/? [ . . . ] he leaned into her next kiss, and her teeth pulled at the soft skin where his neck joined his shoulder. Her nails began to scratch, he could feel her tense against him…."—She's being physically intimate with him, but her body is tense and she isn't making any verbal indications that she wants this. "/No./ The word cut like morning light through the fog that settled on his mind. He gripped her arms hard to throw her off."—Zuko could have asked her what she was doing here. He doesn't. "If he could catch her gaze, he would know why—He would know what to do. But her eyes were tightly closed as a child's who pretends to be invisible, just because she cannot see. Tears struggled at the corners of them, and she turned her face away when Zuko brought his mouth too close to hers."—SHE IS NOT INTO THIS. SHE IS IN DISTRESS. STOP! But Zuko doesn't stop. "/Such a fucking tease,/ the ugly thought burst into his mind like a damn breaking."—Please excuse me while I throw up at how disgusting that is. "There was nothing she could hide from him, whatever she thought."—Zuko thinks this as he strips her, and I can't help but think that he's never sounded more like Ozai. "Her fingers grasped his collar, and she pressed closer, as if to hide herself against him"*—Again, she's not into this. She's scared. "But Zuko refused her, tore the shirt impatiently from his shoulders and cast it to the gray stone floor, like throwing down a gauntlet."—Another great line. Zuko demands that she look at him (probably like his father has) and this happens: "But Zuko stopped at the face she showed him. Her dark brows drew low over amber eyes that were impenetrable as two stones. The curve of her mouth was as fixed as a painted smile on a porcelain face. She didn't feel anything. /She never did/."—Azula is deep into a dissociative episode at this point. Instead of realizing that something is wrong with her mental state, though, Zuko persists in his belief that something is fundamentally wrong with Azula /as a person/, which dehumanizes her. His lack of empathy for her contributes to what he does next. "Zuko hated that smirk at once, wanted nothing so much as to see it gone. It was wrong, as wrong as everything about her. That was the only motive he could think of to explain why he pressed his mouth to hers."—No. You're doing it because you're turned on. "But the only thought that broke through his haste was that she tasted like blood."—This adds to the association of violence with their intimacy. "He grabbed her arm reflexively and pulled her along, vowing she would not escape him."—We see possessiveness on Zuko's part again. When they actually start to have sex, we also get Zuko's creepy line, "to hold so much power in his hands…," which adds to that feeling of possessiveness and to his objectification of Azula. "He felt her whole body tense up around him, her arms closed about his neck to pull him into the closest thing to a hug they'd shared since there were children."—First, this body language is still screaming that she's not okay with this. Second, that is so, /so wrong/! "Something coiled in his chest and threatened to break, when her breath came so hard and fast he thought she might be having a panic attack."—It's interesting to me that while you noticed this, Zuko, you still didn't STOP OR SAY ANYTHING TO HER! You could have done both of those things, and probably would if you were with anyone but Azula.

"Azula looked over his shoulder, her face turned into the headboard so he couldn't see the awful concentration in it, her breathing strictly controlled. As if she were performing some complicated kata. Her eyes were closed, her mouth set in a pained grimace."—Ugh, "performing some complicated kata" is right. That /is/ how she would think of it. But again, what we're getting here is a conditioned response from her, rather than something she genuinely wants to be doing. Also, as far as her…"performance"…goes, I feel like most people would realize that she's forcing herself through this. She's not acting like she's enjoying it, which I feel would be necessary for Ozai's "honeypot" plan to work. I'm surprised he wouldn't have been more critical of her lack of "passion"…or maybe he was. Azula does think that he was "demanding" in their "training," so maybe he was trying to make her more convincing in the act. That definitely isn't coming across here, though, since she's clearly in pain. "He thought he saw his own anguish in her mouth drawn tight."—What are you talking about, "your anguish," Zuko? "They were the same. They were the same…."—No you are fucking not, Zuko! "'Now you've taken everything from me,' she whispered harshly. 'Is it enough? Will it ever be?'"—So she's snapped out the disassociation for the time being. "'Never,' Zuko breathed."—God, he's such a terrible person. They start struggling again, and we get this incredibly telling passage: "He moved hastily to pin her down, grabbing her arms to restrain her [ . . . ] Without time even for conscious thought, he crushed his mouth against hers, and stole her breath before she could ignite. Azula jolted with surprise and a frantic noise of protest that died in her throat, without voice. Zuko only deepened the kiss, and she wrenched in his grasp, arched beneath him in a last desperate attempt at escape. But he clamped an arm around her waist and gripped the damp hair at the nape of her neck, holding her so tightly against him he left her no room to move."—She's protesting and trying to get away from him. He won't let her. "As if this had been a signal*, she shuddered once and went still, without explanation. If felt enough like surrender that Zuko broke from her, breathing hard, and laid his head against hers, his harsh exhalations stirring dust from the faded covers. He could feel her heart beat much too fast behind her ribs, like a bird breaking itself on the bars of its cage. Zuko wondered, distantly, if there was even more wrong with her than he knew."—First, yes, there is something very wrong with Azula that you aren't aware of at this point, Zuko. Second and much more importantly, /this is where Zuko could have stopped/. Azula is no longer fighting. He could have pulled back and tried to assess the situation. He could have tried to say something to her or tied her up, to capture her like he'd intended. I could almost forgive him for the first rape (you know, despite the fact that he knows what a healthy sexual relationship looks like and should have realized that something was wrong with how Azula was acting), but then this happens: "It was the last coherent thought he managed, before he found himself again in her midst." He rapes her a second time. And he realizes that that what's he's doing, too, even if he doesn't call it rape: "She cried out once, and his stomach twisted with guilt"—he knows what he's doing is wrong—"but he didn't stop, couldn't make out what she screamed before she strangled the sound in her throat, as if she were scared of getting caught."—He keeps going anyway. "She didn't speak again and only held tighter, as certain as Zuko, it seemed, that letting go would mean her death…."*—That has to be one of the most depressing things I've ever read. She felt that way about Ozai too, didn't she? "Her eyes were empty of recognition. Her lips moved silently, forming the same word over and over again. But he couldn't read it."—We know from future chapters that she's saying "father" here. "A deep and visceral horror filled him. She was never this bad before. He did this, he /did/ this…."—Yeah, people don't tend to respond well to being raped, Zuko. So this next section is arguably where Azula rapes Zuko: "Her vacant gaze lit with a predatory gleam, a look he'd seen her wear before, but one he caught more often from his father." "'Aaah-ah! Ngh…' was all the objection Zuko could manage, when she thrust herself aggressively against him. It was too much. He had nothing left to give, and she was hurting him."—He's not into this anymore. He's in physical pain. At the same time, though, I don't think Azula has any control over what she's doing. Her dialogue heavily suggests that she's in another dissociative episode and reliving an encounter she had with Ozai: "'You're mine. You'll /stay/ mine,' she breathed, and her voice sent a shiver down his spine. She didn't even sound like herself. 'You will /bend/ for me, you will /obey/ me.' She punctuated each command with a thrust of her hips, and Zuko's hands on them did little to deter her. 'You'll never tell. /You'll never tell./ And even if you tried,' she faltered here, and had to choke out, 'who would believe you?' Her tears fell on his chest, so hot they almost scalded, when she whispered haltingly, 'Azula always lies. /Azula always/—lies…'"* I'm going to get back to this dialogue in a minute. I'm going to cover the rest of this chapter before I discuss my theory about this. "Frozen with the shock of realization, she looked down on him as if she'd just woken from a nightmare, to find it followed her into the waking world. 'No…' she whispered brokenly, her voice edged with panic."—Yeah, she absolutely wasn't in control of herself the third time they had sex. "But she tore [her hands] from his fingers, her teeth clenched in disgust." "The rest of her trembled with rage."—So here's the thing. While Zucest happens in "Dominion," I don't think that Azula feels any sexual or romantic desire for Zuko. I don't even think that Zuko feels romantic desire for her either (sexual desire, though, absolutely). What they've done obviously disgusts Azula, and Zuko even acknowledges later that what they did was an act of hate. It was also an act of dominance, with both of them, but mostly Zuko, taking the dominant role at different points. But Zuko—who wasn't drugged and who wasn't disassociating—bears more of the responsibility for what happened. Azula wasn't cognizant of her behavior. Zuko was. Which isn't to dismiss the trauma Zuko will feel from this incident later, but I am much less inclined to sympathize with him than with Azula, given the above. And as far as the blame for this encounter goes…while it ultimately leads back to Ozai's abuse of both of his children, I don't feel comfortable saying Zuko that had no agency in this. He made choices here—and one of them was the choice to have sex with his sister when the opportunity arose. And since Azula didn't want him when it happened, that makes Zuko a rapist. "'I missed you,' he offered weakly, too exhausted to realize this was the first time he had admitted it to anyone. Even himself."—That might be one of the saddest things I've ever read.

Zuko falls asleep after this, but Azula does not. This is technically our first scene from Azula's perspective and it is /heartbreaking/: "Azula took five halting steps into the dusty room before she succeeded in tying the sash of her robe with shaking hands, so tightly she could barely breathe. It wasn't nearly tight enough."—She feels violated from what happened. "She had done worse than this, she reminded herself. She had done worse, and lived. She would survive this too."—This makes me wonder just how extensive Ozai's "training" was and I don't think I actually want to know the answer. "Her mouth bent into something resembling a grimace, and her sight blurred with tears. She clenched her hands into fists to forget how Zuko tried to hold them, when she panicked. He was just trying to save his own worthless life, she told herself, bitterly. /It had nothing to do with you. It never did./ Azula had to look down before she realized she had drawn her fists to her chest, as if to shield herself from a blow."—Oh baby I am so, so sorry. I wish I could give you a hug. "The dagger their uncle gave Zuko from his abortive conquest of Ba Sing Se. How much she coveted this once, Azula recalled. But he never meant it for her. And she contemplated putting it to a use he never intended."—I'm pretty sure no jury would convict her if she killed Zuko here. I'm not even sure I would, given the extent of the violence he inflicted on her. But of course, I also know that she won't do it, because, A.) Azula isn't keen on the whole murder thing, B.) The note she wrote was obviously meant for him, and C.) That would end the story too soon. So Zuko gets to keep breathing and I get to keep glaring at him through my computer screen. Alright, so now to get to that theory I've been listing *s for. Here are the specific points again: "And Zuko struck her hard across the face." "Zuko grabbed her wrist to jerk her back, and didn't know he burned her until he felt the heat beneath his fingers [ . . . ] and Azula fell against him with a sharp cry that choked off too quickly, as if she were afraid to make a sound." "He barely has time to register this, his hand still gripped her hot and blistered skin, when Azula pressed a soft kiss against the side of his neck." "Her fingers grasped his collar, and she pressed closer, as if to hide herself against him." "But he clamped an arm around her waist and gripped the damp hair at the nape of her neck, holding her so tightly against him he left her no room to move. As if this had been a signal, she shuddered once and went still, without explanation." "She didn't speak again and only held tighter, as certain as Zuko, it seemed, that letting go would mean her death…." And most importantly: "'You're mine. You'll /stay/ mine,' she breathed, and her voice sent a shiver down his spine. She didn't even sound like herself. 'You will /bend/ for me, you will /obey/ me.' She punctuated each command with a thrust of her hips, and Zuko's hands on them did little to deter her. 'You'll never tell. /You'll never tell./ And even if you tried,' she faltered here, and had to choke out, 'who would believe you?' Her tears fell on his chest, so hot they almost scalded, when she whispered haltingly, 'Azula always lies. /Azula always/—lies….'" I'll start with the dialogue. When I was first reading "Dominion," I thought that this was something that Ozai had said to Azula while he was "training" her. Then I realized just how hostile this dialogue was. "You're mine. You'll /stay/ mine."—This implies that when this was happening, there was a question about whether or not Azula would try to break away from him. Her loyalty, in short, was under question. "You will /bend/ for me, you will /obey/ me."—Azula's obedience was also under question. But what's most telling to me is this: "You'll never tell. /You'll never tell./ And even if you tried, who would believe you?" This, combined with the predatory expression and the aggressive thrusting, gives me the distinct impression that this sexual encounter wasn't "normal" by Ozai and Azula's standards. "You'll never tell" indicates that it's something that Ozai knows Azula will want to do afterwards. As far as the timing goes, this means that there was someone around who she could potentially turn to, which suggests that this happened either before Mai and Ty Lee left originally, or after the trio were reunited. And then there's the /purpose/ behind this—because if Ozai is addressing the possibility that Azula will want to tell someone about what happened afterwards, then he is also acknowledging that what he is doing to her is wrong. Which means that the intent behind this encounter wasn't to "train" Azula—it was to /hurt her./ Why else would he taunt her that there was no one she could go to for help, because no one would believe her? So this is my theory: what we're seeing here isn't a general episode of abuse, but how Ozai punished Azula after Zuko defected. For lying to him, he struck her in the face and split her lip, then burned her. Then the violence turned sexual in nature, though it's unclear who initiated it—it could have been Azula doing it as a defense mechanism, or Ozai doing it to enforce his power/control over her, or a mixture of both. Azula definitely obeyed him, in part due to her conditioning—the grip on the back of her neck is a trigger to get her to comply—and in part due to her genuinely fearing for her life during this encounter. That is what Ozai meant when he said he "made sure [Azula lying to him/disobeying him] would never happen again" and what Azula keeps alluding to when she thinks about the aftermath of Zuko's defection. It also, I suspect, was a contributing factor to the deterioration of her mental state in the last few episodes of the show, because her father not only assaulted her (without any ambiguity about that being was what he was doing, unlike during the other parts of their "training"), but then abandoned her not long afterwards. And here's thing: I only realized the significance of this exchange recently. It's not obvious on the first read through what is happening here, and it's not obvious the fifth time either. Which suggests to me that you, as a writer, were purposefully trying to obscure the contents of Azula's flashback to the readers. The fact that Ozai and Azula alike both avoid going into detail about it later on only adds to this deflection. Which suggests to me that you're planning to reveal the aftermath of Zuko's defection in full later—and that if there is one scene you include that depicts Ozai raping Azula, that scene is going to be it. And why/when would it come up? When Azula is finally being confronted about what Ozai did to her. She will try to defend their "training," but I think this assault will be in the back of her mind, arguing that there was actually something deeply wrong and evil about what Ozai did to her. And as far as your writing style goes, its inclusion would also further your use of "echoing" scenes and dialogue, deepening the impact of chapter seven upon re-read.

Now I'm of mixed feelings where showing Ozai raping Azula is concerned, if it in fact happens. On the one hand, you have never shied away from depicting disturbing material before in "Dominion," and it feels as if not seeing that abuse from Azula's perspective would be a notable absence. On the other hand, showing the aftermath of the abuse is much more important than showing the abuse itself, and showing it risks feeding into reader voyeurism as well. Ultimately, it's up to the writer to decide how much to show or only allude to, but I trust you whichever way you go with this. Now if it turns out I'm wrong about this theory, I'll feel both surprised and embarrassed. I /am/ confident that my interpretations of the sex scenes in this chapter are correct, though. I've been wanting to dissect those scenes for a while now, because there are readers who find the issue of consent in them to be ambiguous (I'm thinking mostly of icewhisker21's discussions of "Dominion," which seem colored by Zucest shipping googles). However, I think it's clear that there was no mutual or positive consent where the sex between Zuko and Azula is concerned, and as such, Azula's later claims that Zuko raped her are completely justified. So that's my lengthy analysis of chapter seven. This will probably be where I leave off until the summer, unless my homework load lightens and I get some time before May. As always, though, thank you for the read! Sincerely, WiseAbsol