#In the last images you can see i stopped doing cell shading

[mint-silver]

I’m back with even more art from over the course of a week! These are yet again for events going on in multiple groups I’m in! and this isn’t even all of the work, it’s just the ones that are shaded and have backgrounds. My favourite out of these is the first image! :D

[whatanoof]

A Push in the Right Direction

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader

Word Count: ~7.6k

Warnings: fluff, smut, swearing, sexual tension, rough sex, sex pollen so by default it's dubcon, pining

Summary: Healing injured patients? Psh, easy stuff. Force healing? A little more tricky. Confessing your crush to your very close friend? Damn near impossible until a flower bush shoves you in the right direction.

A/N: Happy birthday my friend @marvelassassin221b!! I hope you are staying safe, and that your birthday will bring happiness and wisdom to your life. It's been a blessing talking to you and laughing at memes together <3 Thank you for giving me the push to get this fic done and posted, I couldn't have done it without you. Enjoy some of our favorite redhead Jedi ;)

You’ve always been terrible with directions. Like, it’s a miracle you haven’t gotten lost in more dangerous settings, but even your Jedi Master used to shake their head when you had survival exercises in your Padawan years. Greez too, makes comments about how atrocious you are at navigation. You hadn’t been allowed back to the holomap since a disastrous set of directions landed the Mantis on the more unfriendly side of the Outer Rim.

But even with all of your shortcomings at mapping, you have a solid crisis mode. You need to have one as a medic. It’s not a good idea to freeze when a patient is bleeding out on the ground in front of you, there is only one way that is going to end, and it’s not going to be a happy ending. Under pressure, all of the unsureness that surfaces during your attempts at navigation vanishes, and your body is moving before your mind even consciously thinks to. It’s your zen mode, almost your place of meditation, where you give into the inner instinct and allow the Force to guide you through the process. Too bad you can’t reach that state in any situation other than emergencies, maybe you would be able to navigate your moves in confessing a crush.

You had met Cal Kestis on Bracca. He’d cut his hand open on a jagged edge of wall paneling, and Prauf brought him to you, one of the few healers among the scrappers. You couldn’t tell what exactly it was that gave him away to you, but the instant his eyes met yours, you knew where he had come from.

Of course, you waited until Prauf had gone back to work to reveal yourself. Healing through the Force decreases the chance of infection, is painless, and is essentially instantaneous. While your normal supplies would have done the trick, the drama queen in you realized this would be the perfect way to show Cal he wasn’t alone. Force healing is tricky, but you’d had a surprising knack for it ever since your youngling years. The Order had trained you up in the way of Force healing and given you the tools to take advantage of your aptitudes. Cal’s face had been priceless when you simply waved your hand over his, and the wound closed within seconds.

There was a certain comfort in knowing you weren’t alone. Admittedly, in the long years after the Purge, you’d toyed with the idea that you had been the only Jedi to escape. Those had been dark days, where you could barely scrape together the energy to forage for food and water, laughing that the Jedi Order would die with a single Padawan who had lost her lightsaber along with everything she had known.

But then Cal stumbled into your little cordoned off area. You’d become close friends from that moment to the day Prauf died and the Ninth Sister shoved you both off of the cliff and onto the freight train below. The Mantis crew was surprised, to say the least. They had gotten reports of a single Jedi wreaking havoc on Bracca. But they welcomed you aboard and you had become the team medic, patching up Cal when he got back from missions and finding time in between to try and recover the Force abilities you had lost to time.

---

“Hey.” You look up from your work. Medical supplies lie strewn across the floor of your part of the room, bandages unwound and your meager supply of medication stacked methodically in the corner.

Cal looks down at you from the doorway, a streak of something across his cheekbone. You want to wipe it off, but you just smile back, “Welcome back. Find anything cool?”

His happy grin only widens, “You’ll have to come and find out.”

“What?”

He beckons you towards the main hull, “Come on!”

Cere and Greez are already there and seated around the meal table, and BD is perched on the table, chirruping animatedly as if talking to Cere. You take your place with them, noting the empty chair to your right. Merrin is back on Dathomir, searching for ancient texts about Nightsister magic and rituals. She’s been gone for several days, but you still find yourself seeking out her snarky comments and cool confidence.

“Okay.” Cal stands at the head of the table, rubbing his hands together in a way that makes him seem as if he is playing the adult. “I’m willing to bet you're all wondering why I’ve called you here today…”

“Spit it out Cal, you woke me up from a nap for this.” Greez eyes the redhead grumpily, and you fight to hide a grin. Cere also looks mildly amused, if slightly impatient.

Cal rolls his eyes, but continues, “Cordova left a message, saying something very valuable to our quest is locked in a vault in the Zeffo caves. I found the vault today and it matches Cordova’s description, but we need two Force users to access it.” He nudges BD, and the little droid projects an image of the vault door. It’s massive, with gold decorations swirling across it, and two obvious indents in the ground on either side for said Force users.

Everyone’s gazes flit to Merrin’s empty chair. It’s without question she would have been the best fit for this mission. Her combat style complements Cal’s perfectly, and Cere is still hesitant to use the Force.

Realization strikes you, and you glance up to see everyone’s eyes are now trained on you. You begin to shake your head. “That’s a bad idea--”

“We’ll be fine. I’ll lead us directly to the vault. I have my saber, and you have your Force healing. Worst case scenario, you have to patch me up in the field.” That is definitely not the worst case scenario, but there are no other options. This mission is time-sensitive, and you can’t wait for Merrin to get back from Dathomir.

You fix him with a stern glare. “I will come. But--” You hold up a hand when Cal opens his mouth. “You have to stick with me. No disappearing and popping out to scare me, because I will get lost We go in, and we get out.“

“I wouldn--” Cal protests.

“You would.” You snap.

“Yeah, he would.” Cere agrees.

“Sounds like something you would do.” Greez nods.

BD beeps cheerily from its place in the center of the table, clearly in agreement with you.

Cal shuts his mouth with an audible pop, and you cross your arms while staring him down. Yes he would.

“I need BD back here on the ship. I’m running diagnostics on the navigation programming, and I can’t do it alone.” Cere speaks up.

Cal hesitates. You understand; he never goes on missions without BD. The two are a package deal, but everything needs to be running at peak efficiency before you go to the Fort Inquisitorius. And there’s no way you’re willing to deal with a navigation error en route.

You speak up, “Yeah, it will be fine.”

Cal looks at you, “We need BD to unlock a shortcut. What happened to in and out?”

You wave him off, “We’ll take the scenic route. Cere needs BD back here, and we can manage without. We’ll have our comm units, it will be fine.”

---

Do you know that saying, “Famous last words?”

Yeah. You hadn’t realized just how famous those last words could be. It started when Cal realized he’d left his comm unit on the ship in the charging port. But it was fine, because you had yours. Until you dropped it into a puddle after tripping over a tree root.

The scenic route involved passing through the outskirts of a forest, and the terrain was a little trickier than you had been prepared to handle, obviously. So, commless and armed with a single lightsaber and two shared brain cells, you travel towards the entrance to the Zeffo caves.

A flower bush catches your eye. Its leaves are a shocking shade of red, with gorgeous blue flowers that seem to call you over to them. Cal keeps walking even as you stop and reach for the bush. You pluck the flower in the fullest bloom and turn it over in your hand, admiring the veins of deeper azure spider webbing across the petals.

Cal says your name behind you, “We have to keep moving if we’re going to get back before dark.”

Turning to face your companion, you tuck the blossom behind his ear and step back to admire how the blue contrasts against his hair. The word slips out almost without you noticing. “Cute.”

It’s almost comical how quickly his face blooms red. “Guh--”

“It’s a good look.” You reassure him quickly. “Adorable. Pretty. Cute.”

“--Thanks!” He ducks past you to the bush. “I’m just going to grab a seedling for Greez. He’ll like this one.” Cal grabs one of the large pods and breaks it open, removing a seed and sticking it into the pouch on his harness. “Okay, ready.”

But you’re distracted by the red pollen that explodes in a cloud around his head, dusting him with a fine mist that leaves scarlet traces on his face and shoulders. “What’s that?” You step forward and run a finger across Cal’s poncho, collecting the dust and rubbing it between your fingertips. You hesitate, then raise your hand to your face to smell the substance. The sickly sweet scent and underlying current of spicy musk sticks in your lungs. The back of your throat tickles, and you sneeze.

An echoing sneeze draws your attention. Cal leans against the flowering bush, one arm clamped over his nose as he sneezes over and over again. He glances up at you, coughing with watery eyes, “Wha--”

A spike of dread pierces through you. ‘Stars, was it poison?’ He won’t stop coughing, a dry rattle as his body tries in vain to purge the intruding red dust. You fall to your knees beside him. Panic fills your mind, blotting out logic and reason and you place your hands on his body, intent on Force healing him even though you don’t know what is wrong with him. Then, just as suddenly as the coughing started, it stops and silence rings through the trees.

“Cal!”

You're shoving your hand underneath his poncho in an instant to feel for his heartbeat. You hold your breath. You can’t feel a pulse. You scramble to rip his poncho off completely, dragging it over his limp shoulders and head. You shove your fingers against his throat again. There!

His heartbeat flutters delicately, beating a rapid tattoo against your fingertips. You allow yourself to breath. He’s alive. But his pulse is fast, too fast. You rip open his tunic, though you’re not entirely certain what it is you’re searching for.

Just as your fingers brush over his skin, Cal bolts upright with a gasp. “Wh-- where...?”

You swear you almost pass out from the relief that slaps you across the face. “Stars, I thought you were dead. I’m so sorry about the flower bu-- mmm!”

Cal smashes his lips onto yours, pushing you onto your back with the sheer force of the kiss. His tongue dips into your mouth, searching and probing and damnit you can’t breathe when he’s this close to you, this desperate. His hips jerk against yours with an unpracticed, aborted motion, dragging a very prominent erection against your body that makes you jerk back in surprise.

You push him away from him for a second, propping yourself up on your elbows as you search his face for some indication of… you don’t know what. But this isn’t like him. “Cal, what--?”

“Need you.” He groans, his hands roaming over your body without fear or shame and inspiring a wave of pleasure as he squeezes your breasts. “Maker, you feel so good. Smell so good.” You bite back a moan. This really isn’t the time, not in the middle of an Imperial occupied forest. But to be completely honest, he feels really good too.

You’d imagined this before. Well, not these exact circumstances, but the idea of being under Cal. You’d imagined the feeling of his hands scraping over your skin and squeezing your body wherever he would like. You’d imagined his lips on yours, and other places for sure. But you’d really only ever been able to envision Cal as a gentle lover, all quiet moans and hesitant movements and unsure expressions. But this rougher side? You moan raggedly against Cal’s mouth as he shoves a thigh between your legs, rubbing up against your clothed sex. This is amazing.

Streaks of heat flash through your body, converging between your legs. Everything is amplified, the sounds around you, the grass beneath your knees, the blueness of the sky overhead. But it all seems to pale when your attention lands on Cal, who’s more flushed than earlier. You feel the heat beneath your skin too, but he’s got to have it worse right now, because you’re not the one sweating like you’re stranded on a desert planet. Maker, the pollen was some kind of--

His name escapes your lips in a tiny whisper that morphs into a moan halfway through. You allow your head to fall back, and it thunks against the spongy moss across the ground, knocking you back to the present. Cal’s lost in you, his nose buried in the crook of your neck as he ruts weakly against your thigh.

You shake off the haze clouding your mind, crisis mode kicking into full gear. You have no comms, one horny Jedi, and a completely hopeless sense of direction. “Cal. We have to move.”

He whines high in the back of his throat. “No.” It’s almost pleading, but there is an undercurrent of steel that makes you pause.

“Cal. We’re out in the open. Troopers co-- could--” Stars, you can feel the lust pumping under your skin, so close to the surface that it could burst out at any second. But fear hovers on the edge of your mind, pressing in and suppressing the need to jump Cal and reminding you of the certain torture and death that would occur if you were caught.

Cal doesn’t seem to have any of the same restraints as you. His fingers are carding through your hair, “Just wanna feel you. Maybe more.” His teeth latch into your neck, and the dull pain pierces through the haze more firmly.

He got dosed more heavily with the pollen. You resist the urge to curse as you gently detangle from Cal and sit up, biting back a sigh of relief as his teeth leave your skin. “We have to find shelter.” You begin to look around, but all you can see is the forest. You need something better, a place where you can figure out what exactly is wrong with Cal. You try to stand.

“Noooo…” This isn’t going to work. You actually do curse this time. How are you supposed to find effective shelter while dragging a full grown man around hostile territory without compromising stealth, all while your libido is cottoning to the edge of your mind, clouding your judgment?

“Come here…” Cal’s arm wraps around your neck, dragging you back down to the ground even as you try to stand. Okay that’s enough.

“You’ll forgive me later, Cal.” You press your thumb to his forehead and concentrate. His skin is dry and burning to your touch, and your brow scrunches. That’s going to be an issue. You reach to tap into the Force, but you pause. Your Force connection is… foggy. That’s the only way you can describe it in words, but it’s muted and dimmer than usual.

Your Jedi Master taught you a metaphor for using the Force: a barrier exists between you and access to the Force. It’s a wall, and your mind must become like a sharpened sword to pierce through and reach the Force. You can feel the barrier, just as always, but it’s like a second layer exists around it. If the normal barrier is made of thin glass, the new layer is crafted from paper; it’s strange, and thicker than usual, but still easily pierced with extra… force if you can say that without making yourself laugh at the pun. You summon the strength and press your mental sword forward through the barrier.

Rest. Cal’s eyes roll back in his head and he falls asleep with a gentle exhale. He relaxes against you, and you relax in turn when you see the pained lines smooth out of his forehead. Jedi healing includes your own personal anesthesia on demand. It will keep him under for a little bit, though you can’t tell what kind of effect the pollen will have on the Force sleep.

Through some feat of the stars themselves, you struggle to your feet. Cal’s arm is looped around your neck, and you want nothing more than to just sink down to the ground again and give into the weakness and lust pulling at your legs, coaxing you to collapse and take your pleasure. And stars, Cal’s heavier than you expected him to be.

But you shake yourself awake. Can’t get distracted. You glance at Cal’s drooping head. He’s been strong for you this entire time. The least you can do is be strong now and find some shelter. But where?

Voices filter through the trees, and your head jerks up towards the sources.

“Yeah, she told me to take the bucket off, or she would charge the full payment and…” Stormtroopers. Kriffing hell.

“Come on.” You hiss underneath your breath. You gather your legs underneath your body and push. Your muscles scream in pain, but they ultimately obey and you stumble to your feet and begin to move away from the approaching voices. Cal is dead weight over your shoulders, pulling and urging you to rest. It would be so easy to give in, to sink back to the ground and let Cal do what he wants.

The trees blur together as you move through the forest. The stormtroopers’ voices are getting louder and you grit your teeth. You don’t know their patrol route. How are you going to avoid them? All you can do is place one foot in front of the other. Then the mossy ground turns to stone underneath your feet, and you slow. Caves. Perfect.

You hurry inside, fatigued legs forgotten in your relief. There’s a bend directly beyond the mouth of the cave, and you gently lay Cal against the wall. You’re completely hidden from anyone looking from the entrance. You sit opposite him, your head falling forward to sag against your chest. Now what?

Your comm unit is busted, and Cal’s is sitting back on the Mantis, so you can’t contact the crew. You hold a hand to Cal’s forehead. His temperature is getting worse. You don’t know what infected him, so your Force healing is out of the question. The only bright spot is you’re pretty sure the stormtroopers won’t find you. They’re not exactly recruited for their brains, and you’ll be able to sense their muted Force signatures if they get close.

Speaking of…

You trail off, contemplating Cal’s unconscious face. His head sags against the rock wall and there’s a line of drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth. His brow is finally relaxed, his breathing deep and even and it strikes you that this is the most peaceful you’ve ever seen him.

You reach out through the Force. It has become a habit for you, Merrin, and Cal to find peace in each others’ Force signature. Whether nightmares or difficult missions, the others would be there as a silent comfort.

Merrin’s is a mixture of whites and creams swirling against a dark maroon background. When she uses her Force magic, there is an unmistakable green tinge through it. Hers is powerful, with a sense of underlying safety in her strength. True to form, Merrin has been a protector figure in the Mantis.

But Cal’s is more diverse, a blend of warm colors against a grey background with blue tinging the edge. But while the colors are chaotic, Cal keeps a firm hold on his Force presence at all times, never allowing it to surge violently from emotion. He does not suppress it completely anymore, but you know he has the ability to make it nearly disappear from the senses of another Force user. You should know, because you can do the same. Merrin grew up without fear of having to hide her Force sensitivity, but you and Cal survived the Purge. You both have firm grasps of your thoughts and emotions projected through the Force. So in Cal, you found a kindred spirit that understands you better than almost any other person in the galaxy could. You’ve become more familiar with his presence than even your Master’s before the Purge.

But now, your brow furrows as you search for his Force presence over and over, pushing into every crevice of the surrounding environment without violating his privacy. You’re not mistaken. It’s gone, almost as if he has been turned into a droid before your eyes. Every living thing has a Force presence, no matter how minute. But Cal’s comforting whirl of light is gone, vanished as though he is no longer connected to the--

Cal’s eyes fly open and he sits forward with a quiet gasp. You jump. It’s worn off then. You secure his body with the Force, holding him loosely so as not to cause any lasting damage. You would have to tackle the Force connection problems later.

“I need you to focus.” He pushes against the bonds with a whimper, and you bite your lip as you struggle to hold him still.

“Cal!” Your Force bind tightens, and he stills with a grunt. “Talk to me. Fight through it.”

He shakes his head, eyes screwed shut. “Hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“Every-- ah! Everything. Can’t-- can’t th-think. Only thing-- makes it better… you.”

What? Your concentration lapses and the bonds loose. He lunges forward and buries his nose into your neck again, inhaling you as his hands scrabble at your clothes. “Hurts less with you. Smell so good--soft. Please?”

Stars, you can’t think straight with him touching you like this. You bite back a moan as his hands roughly squeeze your breasts through your shirt. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to give in. Just for a little. Indulge, and then you can figure out a way back to the Mantis. Then Cal raises your shirt and licks a long stripe up your neck, and that’s all the convincing you need.

You melt into his mouth, your hands running under his shirt and harness. His chest is just as feverishly hot as his forehead, but you can’t bring yourself to care when he swings a leg over yours so he’s hovering over you, knees planted on either side of your body. His hands shove your shirt over your head before setting to work on the button of your pants. You raise your hips to allow him to pull your pants under your butt. Your own hands yank at his clothes, silently begging him to strip with you.

But he doesn’t. He kneels between your legs and pulls your underwear to the side, exposing your wet folds.

“Cal--!” You’re cut off as he drags his tongue over your pussy, flicking against your clit at the end. Your stomach muscles contract, and it’s all you can do to keep quiet as he licks deep into your core.

---

The world is blurred. It’s like something crawled into his head and messed with his brain, dragging his focus away from more important issues… he can’t seem to remember right now. He can’t even feel the Force. His connection is compromised, the colors of the world are off, and there’s this bone deep ache within his body urging him closer to you. And as he’s drinking in your taste, the pain subsides and he can breathe again.

What is this? What’s happening to him? It has to be the pollen, it has to be its effect on his body, that’s why he’s lost all control over his mind and self. It’s why he can’t hold himself back from your body and you.

You’re all he can focus on; you’re so beautiful writhing under him as he tastes you. He’s never done this before. He can’t figure out why he hasn’t done this sooner, because you taste amazing right now and how you sound as he slides his tongue through your folds is doing things to him that he’s never experienced before.

His hips are dragging against the floor unintentionally. The friction of his dick against the rough material of his pants is a small slice of heaven, and he whimpers at the pure electricity spreading down his spine. He doesn’t want this to end so soon, but his body is shoving him towards the edge of release and the relief he knows is going to come with it.

---

A moan keens high in the back of your throat as Cal’s mouth presses against your soaked core. It’s sloppy and clumsy, but Maker if he doesn’t make up for it with enthusiasm. The only sounds coming from him are tiny moans and grunts and you shudder as his fingers dig into the pillowy flesh of your thighs, leveraging them apart and holding them there firmly. Of their own will, your hips roll up into his face, chasing after his touch.

You’re completely unprepared for Cal to growl when you do so. His grip tightens, and you squeak as your thighs are spread even farther apart and his mouth completely envelopes your clit.

Is this what heaven feels like? You can barely manage coherent thought when his tongue is devastating you like this, but thequestion rotates around your lust dumb brain as your toes curl and your back arches. Your release rushes up and sweeps you away, your core clenching as waves of pleasure wash over your body. You hear Cal whine as you cum, and you hear your own moans as you ride out your orgasm.

---

Stars, why hadn’t he done this sooner? The sounds that he’s pulling out of you right now could make him come in his pants on the spot, and the taste of your release has him rutting against the ground all the more insistently as he chases his own high.

But he doesn’t want to come in his pants, he wants to be inside of you. He wants you, your body squeezing tight around him, to feel the wetness seeping around his tongue rather than tasting it, even if it tastes divine.

He grabs your hips and yanks you down so your crotch is flush to his. He nearly loses his mind when your soaked core meets the bulge in his pants. Fuck, he thought he could wait, but he can’t.

But--something is still off with the world’s coloring. Where is the Force? The comforting pressure is gone from the back of his mind, the constant reminder of balance that keeps him in tune with his emotions and surroundings. Panic edges around the perimeter of his mind. In an act of desperation, he reaches for the Force, searching for the whispers of memories that accompany his world. They’re gone. Where did they go?

You whisper his name again, and this time his eyes meet yours.

---

You watch Cal carefully. He’s flushed, trembling as he hovers over your body, hands bare centimeters away from your skin. His eyes are desperate, and you can feel the pain in them as clearly as if it was your own. A bead of sweat tracks down his temple to soak into the collar of his harness, and he fumbles to rip the rest of his clothing off, discarding it on the floor as though it burned against his flesh.

“Cal.” He looks back at you. “Take what you need.”

It’s all the permission he needs. Relief and something else flashes through his eyes before he looks back down and fumbles with his pants fastening. His cock is flushed dark red, and his hands tremble as he pulls it out of his pants, jaw clenched as he lines up with your entrance. He slides into you with a bone-deep sigh of relief, and you cry out at the stretch. Every inch sparks pure electricity up your spine, and your eyes roll back in your head. He bottoms out, and for a heart stopping moment you feel a connection to him you couldn’t describe in words. Your hips roll against his, grinding the head of his cock up against something heavenly. Light explodes behind your eyes at the movement, arching your back and curling your toes.

Cal chokes, a beautiful sound you’ve only heard a few times before; the one that sounds like its been pulled from the deepest parts of his being, like he’s just ascended to another plane above the physical. It’s gorgeous and so insanely hot you’re completely unprepared for his sudden movement when he lunges forward.

Cal’s hand shoots out and presses against your neck, effectively pinning your upper body to the hard ground. You inhale shakily through your nose, but his grip does nothing more than hold you. You can still breathe, but the pressure on your throat sends a shock of heat between your legs with the reminder of the control you just relinquished.

“Stop that.” His other arm slams onto the stone beside your head, and your eyes lock. Cal’s pupils are blown, so dark you can almost see your reflection in the dim light of the cave as he glares down at you.

He doesn’t give you time to respond before he drags his hips away from yours, inch by painstaking inch and rocks back into your body with an easy roll of his hips. He exhales gently as he bottoms back out inside of you, a low moan rumbling out of his throat when he reaches that same depth within your heat.

It’s the eye of a storm; a hurricane you hadn’t known you’d entered. He rocks back and forth again, only there’s fractionally more force and speed to the motion this time. Again, and your body shakes with the force. Another, and you have to bite your lip to stifle the scream when he slams back into your body. It’s like the tide, coming in gradually, but more and more with each passing moment. The force swells, each thrust pushing into you a little harder and making your body shake a little more with each thrust.

A shuddering groan rumbles out of him as he finds the rhythm. The hand not pressed delicately around your throat slams down on the rock next to your head. When you look up towards the cave ceiling, Cal’s flushed skin and tousled hair fills your vision.

His hair, which is usually swept out of his eyes. Cal’s hair has always been so well cared for, usually brushed and slicked back so it doesn’t dangle in his eyes. Now, it’s soaked with sweat and falling into his face as he stares down at you like you’re the only star in the sky.

---

Take what you need? Holy stars, he can barely think enough to comprehend it, but some inner part of him aches at the sentence.

As soon as he realized his heart jumped every time you smiled at something, or that his brain short circuited at the sound of your laugh, he’d sworn he would keep it under wraps. He’d promised himself he would wait until after the galaxy finishes imploding and collapsing around your heads. The first time he’d jerked off to the idea of your body, he vowed to satisfy himself with his hand until it was safe. He’d wait until after the holocron is safe and there’s nothing to worry about, because relationships are messy and complicated and--

Fuck, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about that promise, because how can he regret being balls deep in you while you’re whining and squirming underneath him, when you look at him with such trust even as he pins you to the floor by your throat? His eyes gravitate to the mark on your neck, red and irritated with the indent of his teeth, and he feels his cock twitch even as he continues to pound into you. He likes that.

The promise didn’t keep his eyes from wandering to your face at any opportunity. It didn’t prevent the pressure in his chest from growing over the weeks and months. It definitely didn’t keep Cere and Greez from noticing, and that was a conversation he would rather have scrubbed from his mind.

Take what you need. That one sentence is spinning his world on its metaphorical finger. Take what you need. As if he didn’t want it, but he needed to do it. In all honesty, it had really felt like he was going to die. The burning in his throat that caused the coughing fit, then the racing heart and the overheating; he thought he wasn’t going to make it unless he--

Well, unless he fucked you.

But even if he needs it, he wants it even more, had wanted it for too long. But everytime an opportunity presented itself, he pulled back. He remembers how he threw away the flowers he gathered on the mission instead of bringing them back to you on the Mantis. He remembers every time he denied spending time with you, because his emotions were too raw and close to the surface, and he couldn’t predict his control over his own tongue. Because he didn’t think he could have handled it if you didn’t want him back.

But you had offered to help. Maybe you’d wanted it too, because the whole galaxy could be shoving you in one direction and you would defy it. Nothing can make you do anything you didn’t want to, and that applies to Cal Kestis too.

---

Your orgasm swells up sharp and sudden, gripping you in its claws and shoving you into the attack of muscle spasms and searing pleasure that punches into your abdomen. Your body arches, accidentally hitting your head against the ground.

Cal’s rhythm stutters and his hips jerk forward. His hand leaves your throat as he drops to his forearms. His head drops down to press against yours gently, even as he whimpers and continues to grind forward into your soaking heat.

“Fuck.” Cal gasps, eyelids fluttering rapidly. “Fuck. ‘M gonna cum.”

There’s no time to respond before he’s drawing up and tensing against you. His hips piston in and out once, then he’s cumming and all you can do is lie there and take it. Fuck that’s hot.

You can feel him spilling into you, every warm spurt of cum and every twitch of his cock as he spends himself. Even better is the drawn out groan that trails into his upper register, ending in a tiny whimper. The tension drains out of his face and he sags down, sweaty skin pressed against yours. His arms wrap around your body and he hoists your limp body up as he rolls over. He sits against the wall of the cave, seating you on his lap, cock still firmly buried inside you.

You allow your head to sag back against his shoulder, relishing in the feeling of his body pressed so closely to yours. His hand paws weakly at the fabric of your shirt, and you raise your arms to slide it off. It’s better like this, skin to skin contact seems to calm him down. He buries his nose into your bare neck and mumbles something you can’t make out.

You nudge your head against his gently, “Hm?”

“Thank you.” His lips ghost over the delicate juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Thank you thank you thank you...” He continues to mutter the phrase into your skin, tickling your skin as he nuzzles closer to you.

You should say something. Confess, maybe, everything you’ve been hiding. “Cal, I--” You shift slightly, and something feels off. You furrow your brow and glance downwards at your joining point, “Cal are you still hard?”

He props his chin on your shoulder. “Uh--” He thrusts shallowly up into you, and you stifle a whimper. “Ye-yeah. Sorry?”

“N--” You gasp as his cock twitches. “No. Don’t be sorry. Do you need to go again?” Arousal stirs in your core again, burning a slow path through your nerves and reigniting the flames that had dulled to embers. Your breath catches in your chest and you grind your hips back into his.

“I--I think so.” His voice is strained and his breath comes in short gasps next to your ear. “Not-- not as-- as bad though.”

“That--ah!” Cal chooses that exact moment to pick a spot on your neck and latch on. He nips at the skin before soothing it with his tongue. His hands, roughened with callouses from his saber, climbing, and tinkering, scrape over your skin with just the right amount of friction. You bite your bottom lip. “That’s fine. Should I move?”

His hands find your hips and hold you firmly in place. That’s a no then. His hips rock up into yours gently, and you feel your cheeks warm at the wet sounds of your combined release. Cal grunts, “Let me.”

So you do. You lie back against his bare chest and just take what he gives you, whimpering whenever he brushes against that spot inside you that sends electricity up your spine. You’re gripping his arms so hard you’re sure he’s going to have bruises in the shape of your fingers.

---

Stars, you’re fucking perfect. Just lying here and giving yourself to him. He can feel the Force dimly, but it’s there. The pollen is leaving his system as he slowly fucks you on a cave floor in the middle of a dense forest while stormtroopers patrol outside.

You cry out with his next thrust, the head of his cock striking something inside of you that must feel good because you clench around him and--

Did you just come again?

The additional lubrication only increases the lewd squelch with every thrust, the mixture of his cum and yours only making sliding in and out of your channel easier. He can still feel the effects of the pollen at the back of his mind, and it keeps him hard and sensitive as he continues to fuck you.

He’s aware he should be at least a little worried about the implications, starting at the top with how he’s going to complete the mission and ending with what exactly fucking on a cave floor means for your relationship. Somewhere in the middle is the stormtroopers and the pollen, and the oath of the Jedi Order forbidding relationships. But he can’t grasp it.

Even if there are more pressing concerns, all he can do right now is continue pushing his hips up into your soaking core painstakingly slowly. He wants to enjoy this while he can, while he’s able to fool himself that you want him back. Unless…

---

The only solace you could find in the situation was that you could have Cal, even for these few short moments. Because as much as you may want to convince yourself, a tiny voice inside your head keeps whispering: it’s all the pollen. That’s the only reason why he wants you. And you force yourself to believe the voice, because it’s easier to block off any chance for pain and rejection.

But you know you’re in trouble the second Cal opens his mouth. The words are a harsh whisper, rasping out of his dry throat into your ear, “Beautiful. So gorgeous, giving me what I need, what I want.”

You arch against him and stifle the whimper rising in the back of your throat. His mouth is right next to your ear, so there isn’t anywhere for you to escape from the words that rumble into your brain; words you try to convince yourself are empty. You shove your hand against your mouth rather than allow any sound to escape.

He moans, “Want to do this again. Don’t want this to be just once.”

“Th--that--that’s the pollen talking.” You gasp when you feel his fingers graze over your clit, your own hand drifting back to latch into his hair.

Cal hisses when you tug with a little more strength than necessary, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. One hand supports your weight as he moves you up and down on his dick, the other rubbing little circles around your clit. His hips make up for the lost strength everytime they drive up into you at the lowest point of the rhythm, squelching with every thrust.

“Not--not the pollen. All you. All me.”

You blink, all temporarily forgotten when the words register in your hazy mind. “...What?”

“Wanted this. Wanted this for a while.” Cal finds your clit with his fingers, and you can’t prevent the way your legs jerk and your body seizes against his.

Fuck you’re going to cum. If the first orgasm was a flashfire, this one is a slowly simmering blaze. It creeps up slowly, burning a hole through your abdomen, curling around your ribs and inching down your legs. Your eyes roll back, and your head falls back against Cal’s shoulder.

“Cal. I--I thi--” You try to warn him, you really do. But words aren’t forming correctly right now, and it’s all you can do to hunker down and try to prepare yourself for this truly devastating crest that’s preparing to launch you over the edge.

If Cal gets your warning, he doesn’t show it. All he does is turn his head to the side, press a light kiss to your cheek, and groan, “I think I love you.”

Oh shit. Cal’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect if he planned it. Before you can respond, hell, before you can even begin to fucking process that last sentence, you’re coming hard. Maybe it’s the whiff of pollen you got earlier, or the fact that Cal is the one fucking you so sweetly and thoroughly, or the thrill of being mere steps away from discovery, or a combination of all of it, but this orgasm certainly feels like the most intense of your life.

Spasms ripple outward through your belly, curling you up in Cal’s lap as you ride out your high. Your legs straighten and your toes curl and you clamp down hard around Cal’s cock.

Cal shouts raggedly in your ear, pulling your body close. But even as you whimper and shake on the end of his cock, you remember that you can’t make too much sound.

As if he heard you, Cal burrows his face into your shoulder, his teeth once again finding a place in your skin to muffle his voice as he cums deep inside you once more. His body shakes as he spends himself again, the spasms slowly subsiding with every jerk of his hips into yours.

‘I did hear you.’ There’s a tinge of amusement to the nonexistent voice that echoes in your mind, and you relax back against Cal.

‘Feeling better?’ You nudge him back through the Force, revelling in the feeling of his colorful presence swirling around you once again. The pollen has worn off.

He doesn’t say anything in response, only pulls you close with his arms around you. His mind pushes at yours, and you let him in. You’ve done this a million times, usually on the tail end of nighttime panic attacks, but this time is different. This is the most loose he has ever been with his Force presence, and you allow it to fill the empty parts of your mind. Wait, he loves you?

He rushes over you in the same way the tide comes back to land, calming your fear at finally understanding the weight of his last confession. He’s relaxed, and the familiar energy has a new angle to it, a new emotion you hadn’t felt before in another’s Force signature. You grasp it gently, turning it over and admiring it in the eye of your mind. What is it?

The answer rushes to you just as Cal mutters against your skin, “Love.” The same thing you’d been feeling in the pit of your heart every time you looked at Cal, everytime he kept you safe from the nightmares in his arms and stayed with you until morning, every time you made him tea and did maintenance on his gear after a tough mission.

“I love you.”

You blink up at the ceiling of the rock cave, mouth open with the words just on the tip of your tongue. But they won’t come. The words are stuck in your throat, and try as you might, you can’t make yourself say them.

“Hey.” Cal whispers in your ear, and you shut your mouth. “You don’t have to say it back. But you know that I do, and I know a little of what’s going on up here.” His finger taps the side of your head lightly. "You don't have to figure out where to go from here. I'll navigate."

‘Thank you.’ You send the words through the Force, and he acknowledges them. Yeah, you're shit at knowing where to go when it comes to feelings. But at least with Cal, you won't have to worry about getting lost alone. You sit in peaceful silence for a few minutes, before a thought occurs to you.

“Cal.” His name is little more than a weak rasp off your tongue. You clear your throat and try again. “Cal.”

He grunts unintelligibly.

“Don’t bring that seed back to the Mantis.”

A/N: I will be the first to admit that this fic was hard, because I wanted to incorporate some previous feelings into this to make it less dubcon, and I didn't feel that all plot holes were filled. But that didn't make this any less enjoyable for me, and it was fun to explore a new facet of Cal's character.

Thanks for everyone who gave me inspiration and motivation to keep pushing this through the old brain up here. Smut isn't the easiest for me:)

Taglist: @alliterative-albatross

[sinner-as-saint]

King Of My Heart.

Devil!Seb x Reader AU

Run-through: You always used to joke about how if one day you die and go to hell, you would most likely just follow the King of Hell around, annoy him, flirt with him and just be a brat and push his buttons, maybe even sit on his throne for the hell of it. It was always such a funny thought. And then one day, it actually happens…

Themes: devil!seb, somewhat bratty!reader, fluff, smut, mention of death by car accident, grumpy!seb

a/n: yeah, it’s a long fic… many apologies. Also it’s just a fic, don’t take it too seriously :)

Darkness engulfed you. And that was it. Stillness, tranquility and just nothing at all.

You woke up feeling nothing, not even your own weight. As though there was no gravity pulling you down anymore. You blinked a few times, trying to re-orient yourself and figure out where you are. Your mind seemed blank, void of memories.

Think… what’s the last thing you remember?

Fear. Speed. Danger – car crash. You had been in a car crash. So you must be in a hospital. But since when do hospital have vintage furniture, and marble flooring and such nice color themes. You cleared your throat and supported yourself up on your elbows, checking to see what hurt.

But nothing did.

“What kind of a hospital is this?” your memories might be all over the place, but you were sure hospitals didn’t have extravagant chandeliers.

Then a reply came. “It’s not a hospital.” A male voice spoke up, and you turned your head to look at him. He was sat in the corner of the room,.

Ignoring whatever he just said, you shamelessly checked him out. “Oh, you’re the most handsome nurse I’ve ever seen. Damn.” You were a very confident, somewhat inappropriate and shameless person.

He frowned at you, still sat at the velvety cushioned chair in the corner of the room. “I’m not a-“ he cut himself off and sighed loudly. “Look, you died. And you’re in hell.”

“What?”

He groaned and rolled his eyes. “You had a car crash. You didn’t make it. You died in the ambulance, and now you’re here. In hell.” He said it almost monotonously, like he had said it before a million times.

You looked around. Well shit.

“I had low expectations but this is actually kinda pretty, not gonna lie I-“

He cut you off, frowning again in disbelief. “You find out you died and are now in hell and the first thing you have to say is that it’s pretty?” he couldn’t believe it. He was kind of broody to be honest.

You shrugged, sitting up. “You expected me to scream and shout?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, signaling that that was actually the reaction he was expecting. How were you so calm? He could not understand.  

You scoffed. “I’m dead, there’s not much I can do. Besides, I won’t even ask why I’m in hell because let’s face it, I’m-,”

He cut you off again. “Okay.” He said rather bitterly, to shut you up and he stood up and closed the button of his dark suit. He was tall, and really, really handsome. Although, dealing with the fact that you had died seemed like it was no big deal. You couldn’t figure out why.

“Are you like, do you… who are you?” you asked, looking him up and down.

He finished securing his button and turned to face you with a smirk which could kill. “I’m the King of hell.” He said, and walked over to the door, opened it and walked out without another word.

Wow…

“Wait!” you called out as you jumped out of bed, realizing you were still wearing that tight red dress from the club. That’s what you were wearing when you were drunk driving back home. But you didn’t make it home.

The beautiful stranger was tall, so he took longer steps than you did. So you had to jog to catch up to him. You looked around as you did, this place was definitely not what you expected hell to look like. It was all very clean, and well-maintained. Marble flooring and antique furniture, a perfect balance of lights and shadows. It was, like you said earlier, pretty.

“Who takes care of this place? Do you have demon maids who dust and stuff?” you asked, once you managed to catch up with his long strides.

He groaned under his breath and kept walking, without even looking at you.

“Also where did you get all this furniture, you-,”

He finally spoke up, cutting you off.

“Why are you following me?” his tone was just as cold and monotonous as before. He didn’t turn to look at you, nor did he slow down. So you just kept walking beside him along the long hallway.

You shrugged, “I don’t know anyone else here.” You said like it was nothing. He was so tempted to stop and ask you to go back to the room but he didn’t. He wasn’t used to having company. This was all very new to him.

“You don’t know me either.” He spoke, grumpily. Clearly annoyed.

“No, but you were there when I woke up. Were you watching me while I slept?” you asked, genuinely curious.

He sighed, embarrassed at the actual reason why he was in the room when you woke up. “I was just making sure you don’t run off to someplace you aren’t supposed to be. You are reckless as it is” He answered, just as cold and bitter as before.

You smirked. “So you care about me? Didn’t know the Devil has a heart!” you were undoubtedly annoying him.

“I don’t.” he said, still grumpy and broody.

“Don’t care or don’t have a heart?” you asked, really beginning to push his buttons.

“Shut up.” He shut you up and kept walking.

And you kept following him.

“Where are we going?” you asked. And not much to your surprise, he didn’t answer. Well, maybe if you’re the King of Hell, you have the right to be so cold and plainly rude.

So you spoke up again. “Also, what should I call you? Lucifer?”

“No.”

“Satan?”

“No.” he sighed in annoyance.

“Luci? I like Luci.” You were talking to him as though he was your friend, and he wasn’t used to that.

“Stop.” He said, bitterly.

“Choose one then, or I’ll keep going. How about Prince of Darkness? No that’s too long, it’s-“

“Stop it.” he chided.

“Papa Goat? Seriously, tell me w-,”

He cut you off by stopping dead in his tracks and grabbed you by the shoulders, stopping you as well. “Go back to the room. And stop talking to me.” He said, sharply. He stared into your eyes and you were blown away by how pretty his eyes were.

You had spent your whole life thinking the Devil would have horrible red eyes, and red skin, and horns. Yet, here he was. Handsome as hell.

But you weren’t done questioning him yet. Ignoring his furious words, you spoke up again. “Speaking of which, why am I kept there? If this is hell, shouldn’t I be kept in a cell and tortured by your little minions? Or is that all just a myth?”

He stared at you in disbelief. “How dare you question my orders?” part of him was blown away by the confidence and audacity you had.

You maintained his icy stare, “Same way you dare watch me sleep. Now answer me.” You sassed. He frowned and let go of your shoulders, letting his hands drop back to his sides.

“I am the King, I don’t have to answer to anyone. Let alone a human soul. Now keep your little mouth shut, and get back to your room.” he spoke, slowly and bitterly.

You scoffed. “Fine, your Majesty.” You mocked him by doing a little bow. And he immediately started walking away. “But this conversation isn’t done yet.” You shouted after him, but he walked away as fast as he could, pretending he couldn’t hear you.

What would he say to you? He would be a little embarrassed to tell you the truth, but even he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it from you for too long. You sure were a brat, but you weren’t stupid. You were catching on already.

He tried to set the thoughts of you aside as he went about his duties as the King of Hell, yet each time, the image of you asleep on the bed would force their way into his mind. He has never felt like this in… forever.

He almost smiled to himself at the thought of you and how you ran that little mouth of yours. You were entertaining. A brat, but entertaining. He hadn’t meant to be so cold, and so rude. But he was the Devil, being gentle wasn’t his forte.

 You thought of him too, as you laid in the soft bed, looking up at the chandelier right above the bed. For a moment, you thought if this drops down on me, I’ll probably die on the spot.

Then you realized, well good thing I’m already dead.

You tried hard to feel bad for not being alive anymore, but there was no sense of sadness. You just felt light. You weren’t necessarily happy about being in Hell, but if this is it then you weren’t complaining.

You thought of the handsome Devil, and immediately a smirk formed on your face. You remembered how you would always tell people that you were sure you had the talent to annoy even Satan. And today, you proved it.

There was something about him which, surprisingly, didn’t make you want to run away in fear and hide from him. You remembered how he had held you by the shoulders earlier, and how warm his touch had been – a complete contrast to his bitter words and icy blue eyes.

You drifted off to sleep with a faint smile, and the thought of broody blue eyes on your mind; mindlessly concocting ways on how you could pester him more.

 -

The King was on his throne, barking orders and watching over his dark kingdom when you showed up, at the stairs which led to his majestic throne. You stood at the end of the stairs, looking up at him with a smirk and mischief in your eyes.

He looked down at you and raised an eyebrow, silently asking you to behave and not make a scene in front of all those in the room.

You looked around the spacious room and spotted many smirking faces. All dressed in black, guess that was a code here in Hell. And here you were, in your little red dress. The room was everything one can imagine how the Devil’s lair would look like. Quite dark, and shadowy. Shades of red here and there, but mainly just black. And there he sat, high up on his throne. Looking as arrogant and handsome as yesterday.

Without a second thought, you started walking up the stairs which led to him. Seeing you were coming up towards him, the King flicked his hand slightly and ordered everyone to leave the room. He didn’t want them all to endure your antics.

You stopped right in front of him and smiled. “Scoot over.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, confused and surprised. “Pardon?”

You chuckled. “Oh, a Devil with manners! I said scoot over, I wanna sit.” You repeated and he blinked a couple of times, frowning at your words.

“You want to… sit on my throne?” he had been around for so long, but no one – until today – had ever asked him to scoot over so they could sit on his throne. He was very much surprised at your audacity.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Would you like me to shout it out? Because trust me, I can d-,”

He cut you off by reaching out, grabbing your hand and pulling you onto his lap. He secured one arm around you and sighed. He figured it would be less embarrassing to have you on his lap rather than scooting over and sharing his beloved throne.

You were the one who was surprised this time. “Well, you know I usually wait a while before getting on a guy’s lap, but oh well.” You shrugged and made yourself comfortable on his lap. “You’re so warm.” You pointed out and snuggled closer to him.

He gently pushed you away. “Behave.” He muttered, still grumpy as yesterday.

You scoffed, smirking. “Or what? You’ll punish me?” you asked, forgetting for a moment that you were talking to the Devil. The King of Hell, and not some guy you met at a club.

He groaned. “If you keep behaving like this, yes. With pleasure.” He answered, unintentionally staring down at the low cut of your dress, before quickly peeling his eyes off you.

You giggled. “Ooh, kinky. I like it.” you commented and he groaned again.

“Stop it.” he muttered under his breath; as though he was so done with you. But he wasn’t pushing you off his lap yet, so maybe he wasn’t that annoyed. Not yet.

 For the next while, you bombarded him with questions. Questions he had answered many, many times before. So all of his replies were monotonous, and he sounded like being here with you was the last thing he wanted to do. But even in his grumpy mood, he wasn’t asking you to leave.

He didn’t know why. He had been alone for so long, that having the company of someone else seemed like the kind of luxury he could rarely afford. Even if it was the company of a brat, who wouldn’t behave at all.

“So if you’re the King of Hell, then does Hades exist?” you asked, curious to know. Despite being somewhat annoyed, he had been answering all your questions without complaining.

“Yes.”

You got all wide eyed and excited. “And Cerberus?”

“Yes.” Came the monotonous reply.

“Have you met them?” you asked, not dropping the topic.

He sighed and leaned back in his seat, with you still sat up straight on his thighs. “I’ve been around for millennia. I have met everyone and everything.” He answered, closing his eyes momentarily.

You were genuinely amazed.

“But how do you and Hades exist at the same time? I don’t get it.”

He groaned, “Like how you are a grown woman, yet act like a child at the same time.” He sassed, opening his eyes to give you a smug look.

You gasped at his reply and got off his lap abruptly. “You, sir, are rude.”

He smirked at your reaction. “Are you going to leave me alone and let me do my job now?” he asked, sounding like he was enjoying this.

You didn’t answer him. You just turned around and walked down the stairs and disappeared into the long corridor which would lead you to the room where you slept. Guess that was your room now. During one of your many banters earlier, you had brought it up again; asking him why you were being kept there and treated rather nicely. And as expected, he didn’t answer.

But you knew you were going to get it out of him sooner or later.

 Once in your room, you realized that there was nothing to do here, even in this grand bedroom. You weren’t alive, so you didn’t feel hunger or thirst. You inspected the bathroom, and found a large tub. Well, might as well take a bath.

You rummaged through the wardrobes, and drawers. You found everything a woman could need in there. And you were beginning to wonder, was your arrival pre-planned?

You could ask the arrogant, handsome King. But you knew he would never tell you. So you pushed all those thoughts aside and took a nice, long and warm bath.

-

On his way to his room, at the end of the day, the King thought of you. He walked down the long corridor, and heard nothing but the echo of his footsteps as he went. He hated it; the loneliness. He caught himself smiling faintly as he thought of you, and how perfectly you fit in his lap earlier.

He wanted to hold you close for a while longer, but then a sense of guilt washed over him. Because he wasn’t too sure that you would still act the same around him if you knew the whole truth. He figured perhaps that was the reason he was always so unintentionally cold towards you.

His smile slowly diminished as he entered his room.

He closed the door behind him and heard a giggle. He closed his eyes for a moment and groaned. “What are you doing in my room?” he asked, turning around slowly to find you sat on the edge of his bed. Wearing his clothes. “And why are you in my clothes?”

You rolled your eyes at him pulled your legs up, sitting criss cross on his bed. “Relax, your Majesty. I’m just borrowing a shirt and sweatpants. Which, by the way, you don’t seem like a sweatpants kinda guy. You look like you sleep in your dark suits.”

He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground for a moment before looking back up at you. “Well, if you’re done judging me. Do you mind getting out of my room?”

You shrugged. “Nah, I’m comfortable.” You spoke and let your body fall back onto his bed. You heard him walking around, but you couldn’t see him. “We need a name for you.” you said after some moments of silence.

“No we don’t.” as expected, he argued back.

Ignoring him, you searched for a name mentally. “See, if I saw you in the streets I would think that you were an Adrian, or maybe a Josh. How about Christopher?”

“No.”

You supported yourself up on your elbows and watched him as he poured himself a drink. “You also look like a Sebastian.”

He didn’t say anything, he simply turned around and glared at you. You smirked.

“Sebastian it is then.” You made that decision all on your own. “Hey Seb, make me a drink as well.”

He rolled his eyes at you and turned back around to the mini bar he had in his room. Although grumpy still, he made you a drink and brought it over to you. You remained sat in his bed as he handed you the glass.

You were about to thank him rather sarcastically when your gaze fell on a closed door, right beside the mini bar. You pointed towards the door, “What secrets are you hiding in there, your Majesty?” you asked, and took a sip of the liquor while he turned around to look at the locked door.

He turned to look at you again. He bent down a little and gently, but firmly, held your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He stared into your eyes with his stormy blue ones, and you immediately ran out of things to say. His stare was intense, and it pulled you under his spell.

“I know you’re not good with rules. And you hate being obedient with a passion. But I need you to understand one thing, never go beyond those doors. Break this one rule, and there will be consequences. And they won’t be pretty.” He spoke calmly.

With no ounce of anger or authority in his voice. Just overly calm. His words embedded into your brain and his tone was so low that it sent a tingle dancing down your spine.

“Did I make myself clear?” he asked, still staring into your eyes.

You nodded.

He gave you a faint smile. “Good girl.”

And then you had to pretend that him calling you a ‘good girl’ didn’t sent your mind straight to the gutter. It took you a few seconds to recover from his words and his brief touch, and once you did; you went back to being your bratty, borderline annoying self.

“Hey Seb?”

He hadn’t gotten used to the new name yet, so it took his a few seconds to process and answer. “What?” he spoke up from a couch, not far from his bed. Which was where you were sat, comfortably as though it were your own.

“Did it hurt?” you were about to use the cheesiest pick up line ever created on the Devil himself.

“Hurt when?” he asked with a frown, as if he was also preparing himself for whatever bullshit was about to fall out of your mouth.

You smirked. “When you fell from Heaven.”

And you laughed at the disgusted face he made.

 You ended up spending quite some time in his room. Annoying him with your useless questions, and nonsense talks. He put up with it though, he put up with you. He gave you faint smiles at times, whenever you said something funny. But overall, he remained his grumpy self.

You eventually left his room, and turned in for the night; giving him a goodnight kiss on the cheek. And he wasn’t expecting it so he remained frozen for a while.

You giggled at his reaction. “You totally like me.” You sassed as you walked out of his room.

 He thought about what you said to him, before you left, as he laid in bed at night. Another faint smile formed on his face.

He did like you. He just had a terrible way of showing it.

 -

For you, the greatest temptation was to do what was forbidden. It was just naturally embedded in you; the urge to do something you’ve been strictly told not to.

And although for the next few days, or who knows how long because time worked funny here, you hung out with Seb, and annoyed him and got most of your entertainment by pushing his buttons. You followed him everywhere, like a lost puppy basically. And he made you feel tingly and warm at times. Yet, you couldn’t get rid of what he had said the other day.

What could be behind those doors? What did he not want you to see?

Besides, you were really beginning to wonder about why you were here, and what your purpose was. Sure, you had been no saint on earth. And it wasn’t a big surprise that you were not here in hell. But why were you being treated differently? Why weren’t you in a dark, damp and cold cell?

 Then one day, you set off to find the answers to some of your questions. Seb was sat on his throne, in the dark, majestic room. And you sneaked into his room. You knew it was a terrible, terrible idea. But you had nothing to lose, right?

You were dead, and in Hell. What’s the worst that could happen?

You entered his room, and walked over to the door beside the mini bar. There was no locks, nothing. Perhaps, his orders were enough to keep people out of his room. But of course, you had the reputation of never being able to abide by the rules.

You pushed open the door and it creaked a little as it opened. You peaked inside and couldn’t figure out what you were looking at. You turned around and took one good look at his empty room, and turned back around to enter the forbidden room.

It was much more shadowy than there was light. As you stepped further in, you were amazed at what you were looking at. It seemed like a dream, but there was a pair of large, feathery wings enclosed in a glass cage. Some of the white feathers were on the bottom, some stained; brownish in color. You pressed your palm against the glass and admired the wings.

Was this why he had asked you not to step in here? Because of the cut off wings?

You looked around, more intently – desperately trying to find out why he asked you to stay out of this room. And then you saw it.

There were pictures. Of you. Pinned to the wall.

Pictures of you at university parties; getting wasted, pictures of you and your group of friends smoking weed and having edibles. Pictures of you at the strip club, and basically every bad things you’ve ever done in your life. There were even pictures of you taken at the club, on the day of the accident.

You were frozen in place. Only your eyes moved from picture to picture. He had been watching you? But why? And who even took these pictures?

You were trying to take in all of this, trying to process and understand it all when you heard a voice speak up from behind you.

“I thought we agreed on one rule.” He spoke up.

Speak of the Devil…

You turned around slowly, still in somewhat of a shock. “Why do you have my pictures?” you asked, ignoring what he said.

He sighed and looked down for a moment, before looking back up at you. “Why are you in here, when I strictly told you to stay away? Is it so hard to listen?” his demeanor changed. He wasn’t grumpy or pretending to be annoyed like always. He was angry. But something told you there was something else he was hiding beneath the anger.

And you were a little scared of the look on his face at the moment. But you persisted. “Why are my pictures here? Even on the day I died, I…” you trailed off and involuntarily, a thought flashed in your mind. “Did you kill me? On purpose?” you asked.

He frowned. “What? No!” he was getting more and more irritated. “I told you there would be consequences if you stepped in here.”

You couldn’t believe him. “Screw you! Why do you have my pictures? Who took them? You psycho-,”

He cut you off by grabbing you and backing you against the wall and pinning both your hands above your head. He leaned in dangerously close to you, his eyes began changing color; getting either dark red or black.

“Enough! You will not disrespect me, I am the King!” his voice wasn’t velvety smooth anymore, it was gruff and scary. His grip tightened around your wrists. “One fucking rule, why don’t you ever fucking listen?” he growled.

Your eyes watered at his tone. “Just because I treat you well, and let you do what you want doesn’t mean you won’t be punished when you overstep a line! Would you rather I send you to the dungeons, huh? Where they’ll rip you apart and put you back together over and over again?!” he was frantic, growling in his gruff voice which made you tremble.

This wasn’t the grumpy man who liked having you on his lap while he sat on his throne. This wasn’t the one who had been indirectly complimenting you these past few days, making you feel all warm and tingly. This wasn’t the one who would actually take the time and answer all your questions, even when they got repetitive.

This wasn’t him. This was the Devil humans were scared of. This was the Devil in all the folklore and myths.

You tried hard to hold back the sob, but it escaped your lips anyway. The hot tears fell down your cheeks as well. “No, please.” You sobbed.

He let go of you abruptly. Lowering his eyes to the ground. “Get out of here. Go!” he yelled again and you took off running.

 The minute you left the room, sobbing on your way out – he felt terrible. So terrible. He hadn’t meant to be so rude, or scare you away. He just didn’t want you to see all this, and hate him. But he was short tempered. And he couldn’t help it.

Fuck…

 You didn’t stop running until you reached your room. You slammed the door shut behind you and leaned against it, sobbing with your face into your hands. He was the Devil, for fuck’s sake. You should have never thought that he would ever be your friend.

He was the King of Hell, he was incapable of warmth. You should’ve known that. Yet, somewhere deep within you, you felt something for him. You didn’t know what it was, but each time he’d pull you onto his lap, or brush his hands against yours, you felt something. And you couldn’t understand why. You couldn’t understand anything. The pictures… your pictures, why were they here?

-

 He couldn’t sleep that night. Not when he had been so mean to you earlier. Not even alcohol was helping. Technically, he could never get drunk but he liked the taste. But even that wasn’t helping today.

So, after much overthinking and cursing himself for how he acted earlier, he set off to find you. He couldn’t deal with the burden anymore, so he decided he would just tell you the truth today.

He found you in your room, because there was nowhere else you could go. He knew you weren’t sleeping because the shape of your body moved under the covers upon his entrance. He sighed, this was his doing.

You were always so bubbly and talkative, so silence from you really hurt him. But he realized he was wrong, and he had to apologize. No matter what.

He cleared his throat, awkwardly. He didn’t know how to apologize to someone. He never had to, never wanted to. He never actually cared enough before. But now he did.

“I know you’re not sleeping.” He said, walking further into the room.

But all he got as a response was silence. He sighed, he was indeed expecting silent treatment from you. He deserved it, he had been ruthless earlier.

“I came to apologize.” He spoke up again, and took a seat at the edge of your bed. He had his back to you so he didn’t see when you lowered the blanket just a little and peaked at him with a frown. The Devil was apologizing? But before he noticed, you hid under the blanket again.

“Go away.” You said, as bitterly as you could. Your voice sounded muffled by the blanket, but he didn’t move an inch.

He sighed and shook his head at himself, and his stupidity and his lack of control over his anger. “I know you’re mad at me. You have every right to be. I just… I need you to hear me out. Please.” He sounded genuinely sorry.

Your silence suggested that you wanted him to go on. So he did. “I’ve been watching you. Since way before the accident.” He confessed.

You were shocked, under the blanket. “You creep.” You commented; your voice still muffled by the blanket.

He scoffed under his breath. “I’ve been called worse things.” He said, a faint sense of melancholy in his words. You caught it immediately.

You pulled the blanket down a little and saw that he still had his back to you. “So you’ve been stalking me?” you asked. And since the sound of your voice was clearer this time, he turned to look at you immediately. And he found you frowning at him.

At least you weren’t crying like earlier.

He lowered his eyes for a moment. “I’ve been… tempting you to sin. In every way I could.” He chose his words carefully, he didn’t want to ruin this anymore.

You scoffed, loudly. “Did you kill me as well?”

He groaned. “No. No I would never do that. Your… accident was predestined from even before you were born.”

You were quiet for a little while, looking at him and thinking how the hell you even ended up here, in this exact situation. “Why are my pictures in that room? And why were you stalking me?”

He was quick to correct you. “Not stalk, watch over you.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Okay, guardian freaking angel. Why though?”

He sighed. “I’m… I’m lonely.” He replied, finally voicing out the feelings he had tried so hard to conceal.

And you didn’t mean to, but you couldn’t help it. At his words, you wheezed uncontrollably. And he turned to give you a look which only made you laugh harder. He sighed and waited for your laughter fit to be over.

“So, you want me to be your little girlfriend? That’s why you have my pictures in your secret room?” you smirked. And just like that, your mood switched back to how you usually were.

He shook his head in disbelief. “Are you ever serious?”

“How can I be? I just found out Satan has been watching me all my life and probably has a little crush on me.” You raised an eyebrow at him, smirking still.

He playfully glared at you. “I needed you here with me. So I made sure you committed enough sins to… earn a place in hell, but not enough so that you would be kept in a cell and tortured.” Now that he said it out loud, he realized how selfish he was. “I know that sounds wrong, but I… I needed someone.” He lowered his eyes again, unable to face you. “I’m sorry.”

You took a few moments to process what he said to you, and took it all in. Were you mad? Not really. Did you wish he’d just tell you that from the start? Yes.

“You think I’m selfish.” He stated.

And you were quick to give him an answer this time. “No.” he looked up at you at the sound of your voice. “I know what it feels like to be lonely.” And just to clarify, you added, “I’m not mad at you.”

When he gazed into your eyes after that last exchange, something shifted. Something changed, in a good way. That warm and tingly feeling was back again.

You did have another question though, “Why did you act like you hated me in the beginning then?”

He thought over it and eventually told you the truth. “I thought, like everyone else, you would be scared of me. And that you would push me away, and I’d have to earn your trust and affection.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “But you were… absolutely shameless. I didn’t know how to act.”

Your eyes widened at his confession. “Ouch.”

“Not that it’s a bad thing, really. You’re perfect.” He truly thought so.

Meanwhile, his mood swings were giving you a whiplash. “So you liked me so much that you paved my way to hell, so I could be with you?” you asked, all of a sudden with a serious face. “You’ve been impatiently waiting for me to die, huh?”

He groaned. “Don’t say it like that. I-,”

You cut him off, smirking. “Chill, I’m kidding. Life wasn’t sunshine and rainbows on earth either. I’m not saying I’m glad I’m dead. I’m not saying I’m mad. I just wished you’d tell me all this on the first day.” You paused for a moment, then added, “Were you scared I would reject you?” you had a smirk on.

He muttered something under his breath. And closed his eyes momentarily, smiling faintly at how easily your mood switched to a better one.

“Why me?” you asked, another burning question of yours.

He nearly broke into a full smile at that question. Why you… he had asked himself that very question so many times now. But he never got an answer. It was always unclear, and it’s not like he needed a reason to like you. He just did.

“I don’t know. I knew you weren’t going to be on earth for long, and I’ve liked you since the moment I first saw you.” he gave you a cheesy reply and smirked softly. So soft that one might mistake it to be a smile.

You chuckled. “Yeah? And when was that?” Part of you was all cocky and confident at what you were hearing. Most girls would run away if they found out Satan has a crush on them, but not you. You were slightly twisted like that.

“When you went skinny dipping on your 21st birthday.” He answered like it was no big deal.

Your jaw dropped. “Dude… gross. You’re such a perv!” you said, smiling up at him. For some reasons, you didn’t mind it.

He shrugged. “Well, I am the Devil.” He said with a smirk.

You noticed how the tension which was present when he first walked into the room, had now disappeared. Unknowingly, both of you had inched closer to each other. You were within arm’s reach from him. You felt warm. You felt sparks flying between the two of you – ones that you had hoped to feel with another person your entire life, but never did until now.

“Still, you watched me while I was naked? Disgusting.” You said with a playful smirk on your face.

He scoffed. “Am I now? What about all those times you scrutinized my pictures and discussed my anatomy in complete details with your friends? Who was disgusting then?”

You almost blushed at the tone he used. He sounded like he knew he had full power over you.

“That wasn’t- I didn’t know you were real. Besides, that’s eavesdropping. Very rude.” You argued, like always.

He turned his body some more, facing you better. He reached out and gently caressed your face. His knuckles lightly grazing your skin. “No, not eavesdropping. Just making sure my girl is alright at all times.” He answered, softly looking into your eyes.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Your girl, huh?”

He smirked. “Why, won’t you be mine?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. You were mean to me earlier.” You said, purposely just to mess with him.

He groaned. “I’m sorry. I truly am. I mean it.” he sighed. “I… I got scared. I thought you would hate me.” He confessed.

You lifted the blanket off you and scooted towards him. You wrapped your arms around him from behind and placed your chin on his shoulder.

“Anything else you’re hiding from me? Any weird satanic ritual you conducted to summon me? Any goat sacrifices?” you asked, nuzzling his neck.

He smiled.

“No, none.” He replied, gently placing his hand on top of yours around his torso.

“And get rid of the pictures. It’s a little weird.” you said, pushing your face into the side of his neck.

“I will. I promise,” he turned his head to look at you. “I only kept them because I missed you.” he murmured softly.

You chuckled. “Still. Creepy.”

“You’re in Hell, what do you expect?”

 The banter went on for a while. And he sometimes got grumpy and groaned at your words, but he always had the perfect comeback.

“So… you like, like me? For real?” you asked, teasing him. Mainly because you liked how he looked anytime he tried to fight back a smile.

Only this time, he didn’t fight it. He genuinely smiled. “I more than like you.”

You giggled. “You’re a dork.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “That, I’ve never been called before.” He gave you another faint smile and stared into your eyes with his icy blue ones.

His eyes momentarily glanced down at your lips, then back up to your eyes. He began leaning in, without thinking much about it. You leaned in as well, and your lips met in the middle. And they felt just like you expected them to; warm and soft. Irresistible.

His kiss was gentle at first, he waited to see if you had any objections. But seeing you had none, he tilted his head to the side and deepened the kiss. He lifted his body off the bed slightly, turning around and lowering your body down on the bed and hovered above you.

Your hands reached out to cup his face while one of his warm hands mindlessly slipped under your shirt and caressed your skin along your side. He kissed you feverishly; pushing his tongue past your lips and stroking the top of your mouth. You moaned quietly and he pulled away for a second, letting you breathe before he leaned in again to kiss your skin.

He kissed along your jaw, and down to your neck. His lips were warm and soft as they peppered your skin with kisses, making you instinctively tilt your neck to give him an easier access to your skin. He smirked against your skin when he felt you squirm under him.

But then he stopped abruptly, pulled away and stared into your eyes again. “I… you’re really okay with this, right?” he sounded not so confident anymore.

You smiled and gently caressed his face. “You’re a little weird, a little broody and a bit of an arrogant prick. Not to mention you stalked me and made me a shrine in your secret little room.” you pointed out and he groaned in shame and hid his face into the crook of your neck. You laughed. “But that’s alright. I’ve been shameless, inappropriate and annoying as well. We’re one hell of a pair, you know like the King and Queen of Gotham city.”

“Like who?”

You sighed and muttered a ‘never mind’ under your breath.

He chuckled against you skin and then kissed his way back up to your lips. A soft, unexpected moan left your lips as he slipped his hand under the oversized shirt you were wearing (his shirt which you stole) and inched higher and higher up your leg, and caressed your inner thigh. He smirked when you moaned and he kept going. He leaned in to kiss your jaw and down your neck; his stubble brushing against your skin gently.

His knuckles brushed against the front of the underwear you were wearing; flimsy and serving no purpose because he could feel how wet you were through it.

“You really want me, huh?” he spoke against your skin, cocky as always; his lips hovering over the corner of your mouth.

He slipped his hand past your underwear and touched your wet folds, his two fingers circling around your clit for a bit. He smirked as you moaned when he pushed a finger past your entrance. Then another and started gently pumping them in and out of you. He placed his thumb on your clit and brushed it occasionally while he pumped his fingers in and out of you; your wetness dripping and smearing all over his hand.

You moaned out loud when his fingers touched you in all the right places; curling just right and massaging your walls perfectly. He searched your eyes again for any negative signs.

You whimpered and moaned each time his fingers brushed against your walls, and the sounds you made alone were enough to make him want to ravish and devour you even more. He reached out and wrapped his hand around your throat; squeezing just a little. His breath was just as ragged as yours; his lips inches away from yours.

He sped up again; his fingers stroking your walls perfectly and increasing the sweet, almost agonizing pressure forming in between your hips. You felt a rush and a warmth washing over you; you felt his lips kiss down your body. Each feathery touch of his mouth drove you wild, and the only thing you could focus on was his hands and mouth on your body.

You felt him dragging his lips across your skin and down until he reached your core. He kissed his way around it and eventually pulled his fingers out of you and pulled down your underwear; getting rid of them and placed his mouth right where his fingers had been.

He slipped his tongue past your wet folds, teasing your entrance relentlessly. Occasionally, he’d bite and tease the skin around your clit but he’d eventually get back to where you wanted him the most. He wrapped his hands around your thighs, locking you in his tight grip, leaving you no other choice but to endure his sweet assault.

The wet sounds his mouth made against your dripping core was downright filthy, and so was the moans coming out of you. Your hands slid into his hair, and you tugged on it gently as he ate you out like his life depended on it.

His tongue lapped up all that you gave him and he pushed his fingers into you again; slowly pumped in and out of you as his tongue flicked your sensitive clit.

You soon felt the familiar pressure forming in between your hips. He flicked his tongue over your entrance rapidly and soon, you came undone with a loud moan. A series of cuss words left your lips like a chant as your back arched off the bed. You squirmed under his touch and he watched in awe how your pretty face frowned in pleasure.

You gently cradled his face in your hands as he kissed his way back up your body. You noticed the dampness on his face and how it coated his chin and his lips. The sight of it was filthy enough to make you come again. He kissed you again, hungrily.

You sensed it then, the change in his demeanor. His kiss was slightly more rough and demanding than earlier. And while you focused on his lips against yours, he grabbed your shirt at the neckline and ripped it open. You gasped through the kiss, but he just smirked and threw the torn fabric somewhere behind you and ran his hands down your back; cupping your ass and pulling you closer.

His hands touched you wherever he could; your breasts, your waist – leaving trails of goose bumps wherever his fingers touched your skin. The cold tip of his nose ran along your throat and up to your ear, where he whispered all his obscene thoughts, making you blush. And you couldn’t help but notice how many times he mentioned how much he needed you.

He did indeed, need you. With you, he didn’t feel cold and alone. He felt warm and alive. He felt powerful with you by his side, yet he knew that he was ready to drop to his knees and surrender to you, if you ever just asked him to. He would do anything for you.

“Hey,” he gently grabbed your chin and looked deep into your eyes after he got rid of his clothes, and after you were done admiring the work of art his body was. “Tell me if it hurts.” He whispered, lips dangerously close to yours.

With a slow, steady push, he inserted his length into you. You shuddered as you felt all of him, his beard tickled your skin as he kissed your lips repeatedly and told you how good you were doing. You hissed when he fully penetrated you, the thickness of his length stretched you to your maximum and you were gasping as he filled you to the brim.  

He gave you a quick moment to get used to his size, you whimpered and whined and felt your walls clenching around him. When you kissed him, slowly brushing his lower lip with your tongue, he took it as a sign which meant it was okay for him to move. You heard his ragged breaths as he removed himself out and pushed himself back into you again.

He sped up just a little, rocking his hips against yours and his hand reached up to wrap around your neck gently. He stared into your eyes, speeding up into you again. “Fuck… you feel so good...” his voice cracked by the end and he closed his eyes and bit down on his lip as he slipped in and out of you with ease. He leaned in to kiss your open mouth, shamelessly shoving his tongue past your parted lips and stroking the top of your mouth.

You felt all of him; his warm mouth against yours, the prominent vein along his cock, and his throbbing red tip and it brushed against your walls each time he rocked into your wet heat. He moved faster; your clit occasionally rubbing against the hairy base of his abdomen and adding to the pleasurable sensation.

He tapped your thigh, letting you know that he wanted your legs around his waist because that gave him a better angle. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he pounded into you relentlessly. You moaned again as he bit and licked the skin beneath your jaw, all while slamming into you relentlessly; stretching you out and pounding into you like his life depended on it.

His toned body rubbed against yours; your breasts pressed against his torso and he placed his forehead on top of yours. The simple gesture was so sweet and so intimate that suddenly, you didn’t want to let him go. You wanted him, here, with you.

You felt your walls clench around him, and tightening around his thick member; making him swear out loud. He panted against your lips, occasionally kissing you as he gripped your jaw with his hand. He didn’t slow down as you felt your orgasm wash over you, he kept pounding into you as your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came – hard.  

You whimpered at how he kept pounding into you even after you came, and your face burned as you felt the knot forming again right at your core. Seb growled and bit down on your shoulder to keep himself from making any loud noises while he fucked you. He grabbed both your hands and pinned them down on the bed, above your head.

He was relentless, as though each moan, each mewl which left your lips only encouraged him to get more and more rough. He panted and groaned at how good you felt and shamelessly told you about it; whispering against your skin about how perfect you felt around him – wet and warm all for him.

You moaned as you felt your second release approaching while the first was weakening. Your legs were numb, and your body moved along with his like a rag doll; yet, you wanted more of what he had to give. You craved him. And he craved more of you.

“Cum for me,” he murmured at the side of your mouth as he very gently squeezed the side of your throat. But hard enough to make you lose your mind. A rush coursed through your veins as you felt your mind clouding with lust again. His large frame hovering above you as he tightened his grip around your throat just a little more.

He bit down on your lip as you lifted your hips to meet his thrust; chasing your release. Your body trembled under him as you came again; gushing out around his cock while he still pounded relentlessly into you before slowing down again. You felt him quicken his pace as he chased his own orgasm.

He groaned and whispered your name quite a few times before coming undone; buried deep within you – growling and mumbling swear words under his breath. His warm cum shot at your walls and trickled out of you when he carefully removed his length from your entrance and laid down next to you on the bed.

“I need you. I need you here with me.” He mumbled, pulling you closer and kissing your forehead.

You smiled and snuggled up to his side, his body heat wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. He wrapped his arms around you again and tucked your head under his chin; none of you minding the nudity.

“I want to be here with you.” you replied, then added, “I mean it’s not like I have much of a choice really, just don’t get all bat shit crazy on me like earlier, and get me some clothes and I need some m-,”

He cut you off by grabbing your face and pressing his lips to yours; shutting you up with a kiss. He deepened the kiss, pulling you closer and caressed your face softly.

“Don’t start already. We have all of eternity to argue.” He mumbled and rolled on top of you, pushing his face into the crook of your neck.

You giggled and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and kissing the top of his head.

Well, who knew your love story would begin in afterlife? And that the King of Hell would end up stealing your heart…

---

Devil!Seb Tag List:

@multifanloves

@sensationalistsblog

@thedarkplume​

@anarchyandchaos2713​

@reebgirl13​

@x-abi-sharp-x​

@fafulous​

@fanngirl19​

@sweetlittlegingy​

@whyamiheredotcom

@saintsebastian-stan​

@jukeboxbabyyy

@learisa​

@lexiii100100​

@fivesosbucky​

@great-goddess-of-sin

@dhliwayo

@yourenotreadyforus

@peppermintfairy

@nikishadow

@missrandomista

@calspalkira

@virtualenemygalaxy

@shucking-randomness

@herfaithfuldiaries

@xacx8

@buckyandsebastian

@crazyandanonymous4u

@buckys-plums3

@anxi-tea-d-epresso

Seb Tag List:

@virgoroses

@oliviastan17

@moshymosh

@great-goddess-of-sin

@richhdesire

@nd1998sc

@theoralpha

@nostalgic-bucky

@harrysperfectdimple

@gabypatd

@amirahiddleston

@unknown-salvatore

@1111zxc

@glossierfairy

@charlieferret

@winterboobear11

@heyitsmeimdead

@fultimefangirl

@almond-butter @chontellaa @tyranneosaurus @maggotzombie 

Permanent Tag List:

@softboibarnes

@grayxswan

@buckybarnesatemyheart

@amazonianbeauty

@destiel-artemis

@starkerhowlter

@unlikelycandylove

@the-omni-princess

@saharzek

@ladymidnightt

@honeyydippaa

@imsonick

@fafulous

@thewolf-and-thesheep

@irespostthingsiwanttoseelater

@observantgal

@lokilvrr

@sebastian-i-stan

@siriusjohnpotter

@fckdeusername

@msruchita

@cupids-quiver

@sebabestianstan101

@sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

@https-bucky

@nostalgic-bucky

@chontellaa

@minetticatinwonderland

@sexytholland

@thefridgeismybestie

@neerness

@itsnotevaitsiva

@matsumama

@uhh-katie-griffiths

@papersstark

@tt-nikithakppr

@heartislubbingdubbing

@vapingisntmything

@curtainlover

@ahappylilybug2019

@givinggoodvibes

@kaetastic

@mandi616

@xinyourdreamsx

@yoongi-little-kitten

@marvelouspottering

@unlikelygalaxygiver

@scuzmunkie

@hailmary-yramliah

@morrellica

@ravenesque

@mrsbarneswillseeyounow

@ariesmadness97

@dyanna-corona

@elementoffire1988

@joannie95

@psychicforest

@nsfwsebbie

@marshyrebelcloud

@enigma-xlii

@notyourtypicalrose

@yeahhemmings-

@xbuckxnastyx

@partlybcarnes

@blindedbyyourgrace17

@mommyloveslittles

@just-a-littlebit-of-everything

@cal-ifornication

@marvelismysafezone

@thedarkplume

@unicornslothfish

@squirrelacorngliterfarts

@sberumenm

@stuckybarton

@sweetlittlegingy

@crazymexicanfangirl

@fandomunited4

@teetles-and-other-stuff

@cashewsaremyfavorite

@brokensunflowersworld

@thesumofmychoices

@ya-lyublu-tebya

@rynabarnesrogers-reading

@phantom-solider

@marvelrose

@lostinspace33

@reniescarlett

@tardisin221bst

@shakespeareanqueer

@dreams-in-blxck

@jenn0755

@stangirl-fangirl264

@jesseswartzwelder

@lokigonnakmsforbucky

@isabelrichards

@dibsonamericasass

@bookish-shristi

@gabbie-is-sad

@breatheeagainnnn

@mannls

@everything-is-awesomesauce

@miraclesoflove

@infinityexe

@sebbysstangirl

@supernaturaldean67

@starstar1012

@saliarheva

@peaceinourtime82

@yikes-buckybarnes

@goodgodimaweirdperson

@nickyl316h

@tdbooth

@james-buchanan-bcrnes

@babyyysucc

@supernatural-fanfic

@buckybarnesplumwhore

@aesthetical-bucky

@nickyl316h

@aroyaldarknessblr

@fizzahocleirigh @adolesences @nightlygiggless @snugglemedaddy @lighttomydark @lemonadygirl 

Everything Tag List:

@charmed-asylum

@ravenmoore14

@stangirl-fangirl264

@xbuckxnastyx

@starkerhowlter

@fafulous

@smolandrare-coffee-bean

@alexxcorona113

@heartislubbingdubbing

@buggy-blogs

@livsheph

@tt-nikithakppr

@chowder200

@curlyhairedandconfused

@beckloves

@inez-lannister-stark-martell

@amantedelcalcio

@reniescarlett

@yourdearest-love

@siriusjohnpotter

@scarygoodgirl

@ladymidnightt

@unlikelycandylove

@fentybucky

@marshyrebelcloud

@talk-geek-to-me

@tasteslikeblueberries

@the-jer-bear

@aynaraxas

@dreams-in-blxck

@Socksracoon10

@moony-tonks-lupin

@anncutamarica

@secretlyactivated

@xoxabs88xox

@noirwarrior20

@chrisevansgirl

@Starydreamer

@shutup-sorry

@sofutostuff

@coconutqueen21

@precious-starkerr

@bangtan-serendipity

@swoonhui

@mayumiirenetheodora

@fvithsxo

@sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

@sambucky8

@marvelrose 

@morrellica

@mrsbarneswillseeyounow

@thewitchysoldier

@gogokeener

@fivesosbucky

@trop-mango

@grayxswan

@rvgrsbrns

@buckysegerton

@tonib666

@el-lizzie

@wintersswidow

@snazzyjazzyjayy

@enigma-xlii

@ii-ir-ii

@marvelousell

@angel-spidey

@the-omni-princess

@nsfwsebbie

@ahappylilybug2019

@babyboyjames

@stonerosedheart

@amirahiddleston

@sebastianstanbuckybarnes

@grincheveryday

@lauratang

@krazycags01

@teetles-and-other-stuff

@fckdeusername

@momobaby227

@unknown-salvatore

@lokigonnakmsforbucky

@mushyjellybeans

@gabypatd

@burninmatches

@socksracoon10

@wimpydummy

@emilykjhgsj

@cadence-on-beat

@rae-deation

@polireader

@caitlin-b-cls

@vousfleurdelys

@theunwantedomega

@xmaslightsandmarvelfics

@widowsbarnes

@nostalgic-bucky

@reann-loves-sebstan

@wolfernyx

@bellascrap

@thecurlsofgod

@briarrose125

@xoxabs88xox

@cherryslibrary

@kenzieam

@captainamerica-is-bae

@nightlygiggless

@threepupsinapuddle

@avengersbiggestfanever

@joannie95

@jukeboxbabbyyy

@buckys-plums3

@littlemisskosmix

@andreasworlsboring101

@imaslutforcaptainamerica

@fanngirl19

@xoasalxo

@thomasthetankson

@rita-tlr

@lestersglitterglue

@lost-in-the-stars03

@hailmary-yramliah

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Inyez

Rating: NSFW Length: 5331 Pairing: Male Bat Creature x Male Reader (both cis)

xxx

Winter comes early up in the mountains, but I'm used to that. I like to sit by my living room windows and look down into the valley where I work, enjoying the way the city lights give the snow a warm glow. I figure myself lucky; I come from a happy family, I have a good career in a field I love, and I've managed to make a home out of the old observatory that sits like a squat little guardian at the top of a hill twenty minutes from the city.

My job gives me incredibly flexible hours, so I work whenever I'm awake and sleep whenever I want to. I've ended up with a mostly vespertine sleep schedule, which means I get to watch the sunset while I break for lunch. I'm a workaholic, though, so this "break" usually means that I step away from active work and focus on replying to emails from clients or looking up resources and reference images for my latest project as the sun goes down, and this time is no different.

I don't even notice the dark settling around me until I realise that I've been squinting at my laptop for the past half hour, and by then, the only source of light is its screen. I have outdoor lights, sure, and there's a street lamp or two on the way up the hill, but they amount to nothing unless they're on or nearby. I sigh and close my laptop to give my eyes a break, waiting for my vision to adjust properly to the lack of light around me.

I'm just contemplating making myself another cup of coffee when the window beside me explodes, and I have no qualms with admitting that despite being over six feet tall, I scream like a frightened squirrel. Instinct takes over and I find myself taking shelter behind my chair, waiting for the glass to settle before I risk peering around it. Adrenaline has made my vision sharper faster, but there's only so much I can make out in the darkness. I know I heard something heavy hit the floor after the crash, but nothing moves in the shadows, so I take the risk and scuttle over to the nearest switch plate to flick the lights on.

There's blood on what's left of the window and the scattered glass, and wide smears of it left in skid marks across the floorboards. Whatever has bled on my flooring is crumpled halfway behind my couch between me and my kitchen, cutting me off from any makeshift weapons I could use to defend myself. I creep around the other end of the couch with all the exaggerated stealth of a cartoon cat burglar, getting my first real look at the thing. It's dark and huge—about the size of a very large dog, at least—and even as my fingers grope for something to defend myself with, I don't take my eyes off of it for a second.

I approach the wounded creature with a skillet in one hand and a broom in the other, using the broom handle to prod gingerly at the thing that seems to be bleeding out on my living room floor. The first few pokes don't garner any reactions from the beast, and so I grow bolder, sending a silent prayer up to whatever gods might be listening that the thing doesn't have rabies or worse. I feel myself grimace as I lift one large, leathery wing to see more of the creature, only to snatch the broom handle back and away.

Whatever it was was awake, and it had been staring right at me with large, luminous eyes.

It takes me several seconds to work up the courage to repeat the action, and only then do I notice that those eyes are dazed and unfocused, shock settling in as blood dribbles down along its flat face. The creature murmurs when I prod it again—nothing I understand, but definitely something meant to be words—and that's when I realise that the thing on my floor is not a what, but a who. I swear and pace in my kitchen while keeping the thing well within sight at all times, but eventually my conscience wins out; I can't just let them bleed to death in front of me. Even knowing this, I know I don’t have the skills for what I need to do, so I pull an earpiece on and dial my cousin on my cell phone, grimacing when I glance at the time on my oven.

The phone rings a few times before there’s a shuffling on the other end, and then her groggy voice mumbles, “Hello?”

“Hey, Maraia,” I say, taking my first aid kit from beneath my sink and slipping a chef’s knife into my belt just in case. “I need your help.”

“Cuz? Do you know what time it is? I just got to bed an hour ago!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s an emergency.”

I hear more shuffling, and then Maraia’s voice is much more alert. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Some sort of bat crashed through my window,” I say, hurrying over with my first aid kit and kneeling in the blood beside the lump on my floor. “It’s hurt real bad. Blood everywhere. It won’t make it to the vet if I don’t do something now.”

“You’re treating a wild animal?!”

“Maraia. It’s dying!”

“Fuck,” my cousin mutters, slipping back into her role as an ER nurse. “You owe me. Okay, tell me what you see.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, and try to turn off my anxiety as I listen to her expertise. First and foremost, I rush to apply pressure to a particularly ugly wound on the creature’s pelvis and thigh, cleaning and bandaging it up as best as I can once I’ve stopped the majority of the bleeding. This is about when I bump into the creature's, er, fiddly bits, barely hidden by a thick patch of fur. I work around them as I wrap him up in long bandages.

Per Maraia’s guidance, I check the creature's eyes and find wide, fixed pupils that indicate significant head trauma; it doesn't seem like he can see me, or even sense that I'm here. Still, I speak softly to him as I work, carefully picking glass and small twigs from open wounds and doing my best to clean and close them with a combination of butterfly closures and careful stitches. He whimpers and whines very softly when the discomfort is too great, but for the most part he hardly makes any sound at all, which Maraia and I agree is more worrying than if the creature were screeching and struggling with all his might.

Finally, after what feels like hours, I sit back on my legs with a sigh, certain that I’ve gotten to every wound that there is to be found. “I don’t think I can move it,” I say to Maraia, wiping my shaking hands clean with antibacterial wipes. “Not without popping something open.”

“You can’t keep it there with you,” she replies, using the same stern, reasonable tone that she uses on her children and patients. “Bats have rabies. What if it bites you?”

“I don’t think it can. I don’t even know if it will survive the night. For all I know, it’s haemorrhaging somewhere and this will all be for nothing.”

“All the more reason for you to take it to a vet! They can treat it there, maybe put it down if they have to. Whatever they decide will be better than what you can do at home.”

“I know,” I murmur, packing away my supplies. “Thanks, Raia. I’ll take care of it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Maraia sighs, and I can hear her exhaustion creeping back into her voice when she says, “Alright. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will. Sorry for waking you.”

“Oh, bull,” Maraia scoffs. “You were scared and came to me. That’s a good thing. Love you, kiddo.”

I can’t help but smile, despite my weariness. “Love you, too,” I say, and hang up once we’ve said our goodbyes. It would be cruel to leave this poor creature on my living room floor, so I haul my inflatable mattress out of storage and set it up in my bedroom, grateful for the large amount of floor space in the converted observatory. I check on my guest several times during the time it takes the bed to inflate, and then I carry him into my bedroom, careful not to jostle him too much when I place him on the air mattress.

I watch the shallow rise and fall of the creature’s chest for a moment before I look up into his elongated face, taking in his small, black, dog-like nose and the sharp teeth that I can see peeking out from behind parted lips. Two large, velvety ears poke up from the thick fur on his head, motionless in his unconsciousness.

From what I can tell, whatever this creature is appears to be around four feet tall, with long curled toes on each slender, delicate foot and sharp claws on the tips of his hairless fingers. He's barrel-chested from the musculature needed to support both arms and wings, with a slightly narrower waist and wide hips that lead to lithe, muscular legs. The majority of his body is covered in a short, dense layer of dark russet fur over deep brown skin, perhaps a shade or two darker than mine.

Whatever he is, I've read enough books and watched enough movies to know with certainty that I can't take him anywhere—not without possibly endangering him further. The last thing I want is this creature ending up dissected in a lab somewhere, or worse. I scrub my hands over my face and get up to go clean my living room, taking one last glance at the creature in my bedroom before closing the door behind me as quietly as I can.

The first night is harrowing. Batty—as I've taken to calling my guest in my head—has his first of three seizures shortly after I finish taping garbage bags over the hole in my window. I drop the duct tape and run to him when he lets out an unearthly wail, all of the air in his lungs being forced out by seizing muscles. There's nothing I can do but make sure that he doesn't hurt himself further, sitting vigil beside him until his convulsions die down and praying that he'll still draw breath when they're over.

He's unconscious for the entirety of the next day, so thoroughly insensate that I risk calling out a repairman to replace the broken window so that the cold stops seeping in. Other than supervising the appointment, I hardly dare to leave Batty's side, taking my laptop into my bedroom to do as much work there as I possibly can. I clean him up when he messes himself in his sleep, though I worry about him dying of dehydration. To prevent this, I pulse ice cubes in my blender and carefully feed him ice chips at first, being mindful of his body temperature by keeping him thoroughly bundled in blankets.

By the third day, Batty makes as if to swallow, and I drip water into his mouth in an effort to keep him hydrated. I don't know what he eats, so I climb into my car and make the drive into the city, buying a variety of potted baby foods with what I'm sure is a wild look in my eyes that keeps the cashier from attempting any small talk with me. I make it back to the observatory in record time, and though Batty doesn't stir when I waft different foods under his nose, I still manage to coax him into swallowing mixtures of meat and vegetables.

He runs a temperature that night, and I spend most of the early morning hours before dawn wiping him down with a cool cloth and stroking my fingers along his brow when he starts to shiver and mumble in his sleep. His fever finally breaks the following afternoon, and in the fading light of sunset, his eyes crack open. He's still exhausted and disoriented, though, so he only blinks sluggishly at me when I ask him gentle questions, eventually fading back into unconsciousness again. I figure it's progress.

Batty recovers slowly. For a long time, I only hear his voice when he mumbles in his sleep or when he whimpers as I tend to his wounds. Eventually, he begins to communicate with me using little humming noises, or he summons me from other parts of the house with plaintive chirps that break my heart. I carry him into the bathroom and find that he's fascinated by the toilet after startling at the sound of the first flush, though that's nothing compared to his awe when I decide to show off the shower. He's visibly disappointed when I deny his peeping requests to be carried under its spray, but he seems to understand when I explain that we should wait for his stitches to come out.

He gets a little stronger every day. After a couple of weeks, he's able to sit up for short periods of time as long as he's propped up with pillows. He holds his water bottle by himself a few days after that. Eating still takes more coordination than he's capable of, at least when it comes to utensils, but he's happy enough to nibble at the fruits I cut up for him. I take him out to the living room with me when he’s well enough, and there I play nature documentaries for him and keep him warm as the snow falls outside. He stares at the television in reverent silence when the voice of David Attenborough warbles through my speakers, and he spends the majority of the day curled around a couch cushion in a nest of blankets.

I learn that he’s as omnivorous as I’d hoped he’d be, and so I go to the store and get him a few different meats. I cook them with little to no seasoning at first, feeding him like one would a dog, but it isn’t long before he begins showing interest in my own meals, too. This urges me to start buying healthier food for myself; I figure that if I wouldn’t feed it to Batty for fear of his health, I probably shouldn’t be eating it, either. That doesn’t stop me from indulging in the odd treat, and his face when he tastes my favourite soft drink is priceless before he spits it out in shock, smacking his lips and looking at the bottle as though it’s bitten him.

“What?” I chuckle, taking the bottle from his hands and offering him a cloth. “Don’t like the fizz?”

“‘Fizz’?” Batty echoes, and I nearly drop the bottle before I can get the cap on.

“You can talk?” I ask, and I feel my eyes widen when he nods. “All this time?”

Batty hesitantly shakes his head, claws gently scratching at the cloth on his lap. “Don’t know,” he slowly replies, brows furrowing over his big, dark eyes. “I remember some. It’s hard.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him, reaching out to stroke between his ears in a way I’ve learned soothes him. “You took a bad blow to the head. I’m sorry that I couldn’t take you to someone who could treat you better. I didn’t want someone bad getting their hands on you.”

Batty nods his understanding, sighing deeply and nosing up into my palm to guide my hand along his muzzle. “Wanted to say all this time,” he murmurs, his soft, fluting voice growing weaker. “Thank you.”

I smile; my heart warms. “I’m just glad that you’re okay. I’ll take care of you for as long as it takes. Do you have a name?”

He frowns again, briefly closing his eyes. “Inyez.”

“Inyez,” I murmur, testing the name in my mouth and finding it fitting. I introduce myself in turn.

Inyez’s face relaxes into a small, sleepy smile. He echoes my name, and doesn’t resist when I tuck him back under the covers.

“Rest,” I whisper, brushing my fingertips between Inyez’s eyes. They flutter closed and don’t open again as he lets exhaustion pull him under, and I turn down the lights to let him fall asleep to the sound of whale song.

Once I know that Inyez can speak with me, I go a little bonkers with the need to provide enrichment for my guest. It’s been a while since I’ve had the company with which to play games, so I’m at once overwhelmed and exhilarated when I stand in front of the tabletop game section of the city mall’s toy store. I grab classics like Jenga and Parcheesi, but I also pick up games like Tokaido, Wingspan, and Betrayal at House on the Hill. Inyez fawns over the beautiful illustrations and pretty trinkets needed to play each of the games, and he’s held rapt by the game mechanics and advancements.

I can’t help but mirror his delighted smiles, watching him delicately place tokens on the boards with his slender fingers. The furrow in his brow as he puts together jigsaw puzzles is incredibly endearing, and he’s quick to summon me from where I’m working to show me his accomplishments. “Come!” he cries. “Hurry, come see!” My name on his tongue is the sweetest sound to my ears, and I look forward to hearing it in that cheerful tone throughout the day.

I buy an extension for the desk in my office and give Inyez his own space while I work, though more often than not, he ends up watching my monitors at my elbow, marveling at my work and asking countless questions. At his urging, I show him my digital portfolio, where I have most of my character designs, logos, and even a few structural blueprints and landscapes.

“Where is this?” he asks, hardly daring to tap my monitor screen with a claw.

“Nowhere,” I say, enlarging the image so that he can drink in the details. “Nowhere real, anyway. It’s a fantasy world.”

Inyez frowns. “A fantasy world? But it looks so real.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Well, I specialise in realism. There’s a lot of research that goes into it.”

Inyez doesn’t look entirely mollified by this response, but he subsides for the most part, only murmuring, “You even got the horns right.”

I turn my head to look down at him where he’s resting his cheek against my arm. “The dragon’s?”

“Yes.”

I can’t hold back my surprise. “There are dragons? They’re real?”

Inyez looks up at me, and I briefly get lost in his eyes. “Of course they are. They’re rare, though. Rarer than most everything else.”

“Rarer than you?”

Inyez bares his tiny sharp teeth at me in a cheeky little grin. “No. I’m one of a kind.”

I laugh, helplessly charmed. “That you are. Maybe I’ll draw you sometime.”

Inyez’s mouth drops open, eyes growing wider until I can just about see the whites. “Would you really? Me?”

“Why not?” I pull up a new canvas on my illustration programme, sketching up a quick little scene from the memory of looking down into his upturned face. He gasps softly at my side and shifts to cling to my shirt, murmuring in his strange language and making soft little cooing noises as I add colour and detail.

“Do I really look like that?” he breathes, looking from my face to the screen and back.

“Mhm.” I zoom in on the eyes, adding depth and highlights before moving to adjust the shape and fullness of the lips. Inyez goes very quiet for a few minutes as he watches the portrait come to life, only stirring to place his hand at the crook of my elbow to call my attention back to him. “What is it?”

“Do you really think I am so lovely?” asks Inyez, voice very soft and gaze shy.

I’m grateful for my dark skin as I feel warmth creep up into my face. “I do. You’re very beautiful.”

Inyez scoffs, but I can tell that he’s flustered. “You’ve only met one of us. Who are you to say that?”

“Sometimes one is enough,” I murmur, gently stroking Inyez’s small chin with a crooked finger. He makes an odd little twittering noise and hides behind his wings, and I feel my heart flutter wildly in my chest. I'm falling for this creature, I realise, and I can't bring myself to care; as far as I'm concerned, Inyez is the best thing to happen to me in a long time.

“Where do you go when you get into that terrible thing?” Inyez murmurs some nights later when we’re cuddled on the couch, his head on a pillow in my lap and my fingers gently stroking his head.

“In the car? To the city, mostly. To get food and toilet paper and other supplies.”

Inyez shifts to look up at me, confused. “You get food in that noisy place?”

I nod, brushing my hand along his cheek. “Everything we’ve eaten here, I’ve bought there.”

“But it doesn’t smell.”

“Smell?”

“The city. It smells, but the food doesn’t.”

I feel myself frown in thought. “Probably because a lot of it is washed and kept in clean places, or in airtight packaging.”

“I smell,” Inyez mumbles unhappily, tucking himself up in his wings. “When may I wash?”

I hum thoughtfully, rubbing one of his velvety ears between my fingers in a way that he likes. “Probably tonight, if we’re careful. If you really feel that bad.”

“I do.” Big, dark eyes look up from my lap, beseeching. “I don’t want to smell anymore. I want to be clean.”

“Alright,” I say, shifting to gather him up in my arms and carry him to the bathroom. “As long as we don’t scrub too hard or get your wounds too wet. I’ll still need to clean and redress them after we’re done.”

“You’ll wash me?” asks Inyez, a note of excitement in his voice. “Like lovers do! Could we be lovers?”

I can’t help but laugh, startled at the sudden change in conversation; I distract myself by fiddling with the shower controls. “We could be,” I reasonably reply, “if we both felt the same about one another.”

“Then we can,” says Inyez as he slips under the spray, cooing softly at the water’s warmth. “You think I’m lovely, and I think you’re lovely, too. It’s really that simple.”

“Is it?” I ask, dubious, even as I pull my clothing off and over my head to join him.

“Why does it have to be complicated? Is it more for humans? Is it not enough to feel safe and happy and goodness when I look at you? It’s like my heart has bitten a big, juicy apricot—it’s full of sweetness and the juice is overflowing!”

“A heart-apricot?” I chuckle, shaking my head at the silliness of the comparison. “Well, I’ll try to find you an apricot next time I’m in town.”

“Would you?” asks Inyez, burrowing against my chest and sighing. “I’d like that. I like you. Can that be enough?”

I run my hands carefully between his wings, earning myself a sleepy little burble. “I think it can.” I curb my enthusiastic reaction to this new turn of events and focus on gently cleaning Inyez’s fur to his satisfaction, and then I blow dry him until he’s warm and redress his wounds. By the time I carry him to bed—my bed, our bed—he’s limp as a noodle and snoring softly in his exhaustion, and I take great pleasure in tucking him in so that he’s safe and sound.

The next morning, I am kissed awake. That night, we kiss until we drift to sleep. Kisses and affection make up the bulk of my ‘duties’ as Inyez’s lover, and I take to the task of keeping him satisfied with relish. For his part, Inyez is content to groom me seemingly at random, running his small, clawed fingers delicately through my hair and humming to himself as he does so. I get a little less work done, but I don’t mind it if it’s to see Inyez so pleased with himself when he’s decided I’m primped to perfection.

It’s another couple of days before I give Inyez the all-clear to fly after his injuries have healed for a couple of months. We have to wait until nightfall until he takes to the air, but then he’s a dark blur against a darkening sky until I cannot see him at all. It makes me breathless when I realise that he’s lost to the night—what if, I think, he decides right then that he prefers the night and its freedoms to me? What if he misses his family, his friends, his former life. When he lands in front of me, panting and exhilarated and beautiful, I wrap him into my arms and crush him to my chest, burying my face against the side of his neck.

“What’s happened?” he asks, petting fretfully at my face and hair. “What’s wrong? Did you think I’d not come back?”

“Yes,” I say, and the word chokes me, making me realise that I’m crying.

“Oh, sweet one,” Inyez coos, wrapping me in his wings as best as he can. “I would never. Why would I? I am fed and loved and pampered, and you are a very good snuggler. You don’t even have fur, but you are very warm! Why would I leave, mm? Tell me.”

“I don’t know.” I laugh damply. “Missing your family. Your friends.”

“I’ll visit my family when my body is stronger,” Inyez tells me, tutting softly and nosing at my ear. “They deserve to know where I am, and they can come and visit us when the spring comes. They’ll be jealous of my roost and my mate.”

“Am I that?” I ask, sniffling and pulling away to look down into Inyez’s eyes. Inyez turns his face away, however, and I recognise that he is shy.

“You could be,” he murmurs, “but it’s not official yet. To do that, we have to—well, have sex. Hopefully more than once.”

“Do you want to?” I ask him, stroking between his wings so that they relax and rustle softly.

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” Inyez says all in a gust, looking up at me plaintively. “I’ve been wanting to have sex with you for days. Weeks, maybe.”

I can’t help but laugh again. “You could have asked.”

“I could have.” Inyez pouts. “You would have said no, because of my wounds. You treat me like I’m fragile.”

“You are fragile, in comparison. But you’re right, I would have denied you. Now I won’t. So, ask.”

Big eyes blink up at me from that small, furry face, hopeful to their core. “Really? You’ll be my mate?”

I can feel myself grinning. “I’ll be your mate.”

Inyez wriggles against me, clutching at my clothing with a sudden fervour. “Mine?”

“Yours,” I assure him, drawing him against me and carrying him back up into the observatory. The next few minutes are a blur as we leave my clothing strewn across the apartment in a trail that leads to the bed, and I manage to find a bottle of lube I haven’t touched in months but mercifully has enough for at least a round or two.

Preparation happens before all else. Normally, this is the part where I would begin to lose interest because my previous partners have treated it like a means to an end, but Inyez is so sensitive and receptive that every little touch I give him sends him into a fluttering little tizzy on the bed. His prick is slick and red when it hardens out of its sheath, tapered at the end and thicker at the base. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I play with it with a careful touch that seems to frustrate and overwhelm the small creature beneath me in equal measure.

I drink Inyez in as he squeaks and squirms with my fingers inside him, watching his claws tear tiny little holes in the sheets as he grips them in his hands and trembles like a taut bowstring. When I finally push into him, he makes a noise like an exultation, and I fight to keep myself from coming right there and then when he wraps his legs around my hips and digs his feet into my ass to drive me in deeper. He wants more of me and I give until there’s nothing left to give, letting him adjust for a moment before I take up a rhythm that rocks the bed against the wall.

I need him, too, and I tell him so as I fuck him down into the mattress, listening to him mew and moan and say my name in a way more beautiful than any I’ve heard yet. He clings to the headboard when I roll him over onto his stomach, breathless and gasping raggedly, wings trembling like they’re weathering a storm.

“There!” he cries when I angle my hips a certain way, one of his hands diving between himself and the sheets to pump away at his hard, leaking cock. “Oh, please, there! There!”

“You want it?” I ask, and I hardly recognise my own voice, so low and guttural it is.

“Yes, gods, I want it,” Inyez mewns, almost sobbing with his need. “I’m close. I’m gonna—I’m—Please—“

“Tell me you’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay!” Inyez squeaks, not a hint of hesitation in his desperate tones. “I’ll stay, I’ll stay, I’ll never leave this roost! I swear!”

“Yes,” I growl, pushing my chest down against his back and reaching a crescendo that makes the headboard hammer against the wall. I come so hard and so suddenly that it feels like I get pulled inside out from the toes on up, and my vision whites out to the sound of Inyez wailing beneath me. When I come around, we’re tangled together in the sheets and I have him on top of me, both of us panting heavily and both of my hands buried into the soft, downy fur at the small of Inyez’s back.

“Christ,” says Inyez, and I choke on a laugh, turning my head to cough.

“That’s not an expletive.”

Inyez grunts. “You use it like one.”

I laugh. “That’s fair.”

Inyez takes a long moment to gather his thoughts, stroking the skin of my torso with careful fingers. “Would you be willing to meet my family?”

I blink up at the ceiling. “Of course. How many of them are there?”

“I have six brothers and eight sisters. I’m fifth down in the birthing line.”

My eyes bulge. “How old is the youngest?”

“Tiisa? She’s six months old. The oldest is in her forties.” I can feel Inyez smother a smile against my chest. “Mother says she’s done for now. We don’t quite believe her.”

I laugh, shaking my head up at the ceiling. “I would offer them shelter for the winter, but I don’t think they’d all fit in here.”

“Oh, Mother would hate it here,” Inyez chuckles. “It would be much too quiet for her liking. She likes life with the roost. I’ve always preferred quiet. This roost is perfect for us.”

Us. The word makes my heart swell, and I bury a smile against the top of Inyez’s head. “We’ll figure something out for their visit.”

“Mm,” hums Inyez, sighing softly before he sits up and smiles impishly down at me in the darkness.

“What?”

“Again.”

“Again?” I laugh, wrapping my hands around Inyez’s hips as they begin to rock and wriggle on my lap. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Your monster,” Inyez smugly coos, kissing my chest right over my heart.

[twistedtummies2]

A Feline Valentine (Che’NyaXReader; Stuffing)

HUZZAH! It took me writing well into the night last night, but I was able to complete my Valentine’s Day Special after all! Hope you all enjoy! :D

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

Six o’ clock. Tea Time. You really wondered (with a sigh) how Riddle got along so well with your boyfriend at times like this. Granted, you loved the fluffy-eared gremlin to bits, but if there was one thing he never seemed to care about… …Well…actually…he cared about very little. It was probably part of why Riddle didn’t dislike him for going to Royal Sword instead of Night Raven; the Cheshire Cat was by no means a hero…but he was also by no means a villain. And he was certainly by no means punctual. You paced around the table you had set up in the Tea Garden of Heartslabyul. In the light of the golden afternoon, you paused to look around. You had to admit, you’d always found Heartslabyul to be one of the most beautiful dorms; if the historic Rose Garden owned by the Queen of Hearts was even half as beautiful as the one Riddle Rosehearts and his pack maintained, it still would have been perfectly enchanting. It was an unseasonably warm afternoon, but with a light breeze that whistled through and cooled it pleasantly to a perfect temperature. The heart-shaped topiary sculptures and vibrant red roses that poked from the great green hedge rows were the perfect natural decoration for a day like today…only helped by the special scarlet paper lanterns that had been strung up, in place of the usual blue and yellow. The paper was patterned with images of hearts. Similarly, instead of the black, red, and white bunting that was usually set out, you had purposefully selected pink and purple flag streamers, which lightly fluttered and flapped in the delicate wind. You frowned as you looked back to the table; you were actually starting to feel a little worried. You’d taken a lot of time to prepare this occasion. Riddle had even allowed you to make use of his personal table; he claimed it was due to Rule 214, but he never explained WHAT Rule 214 was, so you didn’t know why that was. You checked your cell phone to see the time; it was now a couple minutes past six, you still found no sign of hide nor hair from him. You bit your lip as you stuffed your phone back in your pocket; had something happened to him? Even on a day like today, when everyone was spending time with their special someone (presuming they had one), Night Raven had plenty of troublemakers out and about…and while your beau was no pushover, especially for the “pompous, pampered little princes” who stayed in the Dorms of Royal Sword Academy, you didn’t want to risk he’d run into beasts somewhat fiercer than himself. He only had eight lives left, after all. “Come on, kitten,” you mumbled to yourself, tapping your foot with impatient nervousness. “Where are you…?” “Twaaaas brillig, and the slithy Toves did gyre and gimble in the waaabe. All mimzyyyy were the Borogoves, and the Mome Raths outgraaabe!”

You knew that strange, up-and-down, melodic voice, naturally. You knew that song, too, and therefore knew who was singing it. You glanced about curiously, but you saw nothing; this wasn’t surprising, however. Your boyfriend from Night Raven’s rival college had a habit of being non-corporeal. “Che’Nya?” you called out, then smirked. “You might as well show yourself, that ‘ghostly singing’ thing isn’t as impressive as you think it is.” A pouting meow was heard, from seemingly everywhere at all. “I thought you liked my singing. In fact, I thought you said it was The Cat’s Meow!” You blinked dully. “Those puns are going to get you in trouble, you know that, don’t you?” you droned. “I suppose it ‘hiss’ possible.” “That one,” you snapped out, lifting a finger in emphasis. “That one was ‘Meowsy.’” “Awwww, my little bunny is making cat puns now, too!” crooned the voice of the Cheshire neko. “I’m so proud!” You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I learned from the best,” you drawled, waving a hand dismissively. “Now come on out!” A pause. No response. “I’m waiting!” you called out, louder. Right on cue, you felt a tap on your right shoulder. You turned…and spotted nothing. Then came a tap on your left shoulder. You rolled your eyes, turned again…and once more spotted nothing. Then you started to turn around…and found yourself almost eyeball-to-eyeball with two large, glowing, golden eyes. “BOO!” “GYAH!” You yelped and jumped about six inches into the air, catching yourself on a nearby chair as you stared up at the disembodied head floating before you, a few feet above the surface of an empty table. The head giggled in a high-pitched, half-hysterical way; an unhinged but not necessarily dangerous sort of laugh, followed by a teasing grin filled with many large, sharp white teeth. “Gotcha! Nya!” sing-songed the fair-skinned face of your beau, his purple ears twitching where they sprouted from under his equally purple-haired head. A faint jingle came from the ears, courtesy of the little brass piercings shaped like signposts in each. You blinked…then frowned, blushing a bit at being caught off guard so easily. “Very funny,” you grumbled. “I thought it was!” chirruped the Cheshire Cat-Boy, his head spinning in place a full three-hundred-sixty degrees. You quivered. “How do you do that?” you muttered. “A good meow-gician never reveals his secrets!” “A GOOD magician,” you responded dryly, “Would be on time and not make such terrible jokes.” “Well, then it’s a good thing I’m not one of those!” “…Yet you won’t reveal your secrets anyway.” “Nya-ope!” “…Your jokes just get worse from here, don’t they?” Your boyfriend giggled and rolled his eyes, then his head swooped forward. You went stiff as he sniffed at your hair, and his head began to orbit around your own. It was an unsettling feeling, and you squirmed a bit, blushing as he meowed and leaned close, the lone head nuzzling your cheek as you heard the big kitty purr. “Awww…no need to be so mean, my little bun-bun,” he crooned…then licked your cheek and rumbled as he added in a whisper: “It makes you taste less sweet, you know.” You blushed bright red, and he giggled more. “Awww, bunny-bun is so cuuute when they’re flustered!” he mewed, and once again came around to your front. “Don’t worry, my little rabbit! This big kitty won’t gobble you up! Today, anyway.” “That’s a shame…” “Hm? Nya? What was that?” “Nothing, nothing,” you said, shaking your head, then tilted it as you added: “Can you make your whole self visible? It’s…weird chatting with a talking head.” You had a feeling your significant other shrugged, but since you couldn’t see his shoulders at that point, you weren’t sure. In any event, slowly but surely, the physical body of Alchemi Alchemivich Pinka – alias, Che’Nya the Cheshire Cat – finally began to fade into view. He looked the same as he always did: dressed in a white dress shirt that was several sizes two big, under which he wore a pink-and-purple-striped t-shirt. A ring with the image of a smiling cat’s head was on one of his fingers, each of which ended in short-but-sharp claws, painted the same shade of purple as his hair. A matching purple belt held up the blue jeans he wore; it bore a silver buckle, and the words “Can You Stand on Your Head?” stitched into it with silver thread. All over the legs of his blue jeans were various colored patches, resembling mushrooms, trees, and Mome Raths – strange creatures that inhabited the realm of the Queen of Hearts. Purple boots with black laces were on his feet; they were decorated in gold chains with pendants that spelled the phrases “This Way” and “That Way.” Your boyfriend smiled and blinked his huge yellow eyes. His two canine teeth stuck out from his mouth, and with his large eyes and the way he cocked his head, you couldn’t help but smile; he really did look so much like a big, curious kitten, bushy purple-and-pink-striped tail swishing behind him and all. “Can I ask you a question, Bunny?” he mewed, as he hopped down and sat the wrong way on a chair. “Sure,” you nodded. “Oh, good!” grinned Che’Nya. A pause. “…So?” “So what?” “What was it?” “What was what?” “The question!” “What question?” “The one you just asked!” “I asked a question?” “Yes, you asked if you could ask a question!” “Well, then I already asked you a question, didn’t I? In fact, I think I just asked…” He tilted his head and counted on his fingers. “…Six! A half dozen questions! Now, isn’t that great? OOH! That one makes lucky number seven!” “But…that…that doesn’t…!” Che’Nya grinned and placed his head in his hands, his chin against the back of the chair, eyes half-lidded. Try me, bunny, his smile seemed to say. Go ahead. You blinked…then grumbled and reached out, booping him on the nose. Che’Nya’s smile fell. He blinked…then sneezed, and pouted as he covered his nose. “Heeeey, no booping!” he meowed, childishly. “Then stop talking in circles.” “I don’t talk in circles,” he smirked. “I talk in squares, triangles, occasionally hexagons, and even a few parallelograms, but NEVER circles!” “You’re impossible.” “Hardly,” Che’Nya chuckled. “I do believe in Six Impossible Things before breakfast each morning, though…then I usually go out and eat them.” He winked and licked his lips as he added: “For instance…Thing Number Five this morning was believing I had the best little human in the world as my S-O. Now, doesn’t that seem impossible?” You blinked. “…I can’t tell if that was a compliment or not.” “Then I have done my job,” Che’Nya said. So saying, the Cheshire Cat got up from the chair and hugged you close. You froze up, not expecting the sudden show of affection…but when he started nuzzling your neck and purring, you smiled and returned the hug. “You may be impossible…but you’re MY kind of impossible,” you whispered. “Awww…bunnyyyyy, you’ll make me blush,” mumbled Che’Nya. “Then I’ll have done MY job,” you teased. Che’Nya giggled. “Touche! Nya!” he sang out, then pulled back and grinned at you excitedly, tail twitching as he clapped his hands. “Oh! Oh! I almost forgot! I wanna show you a trick! Can I, can I? Huh?” You chuckled and smiled; his exuberance never ceased to make you grin almost as widely as he could. Almost. Aside from maybe the Leech Twins, no one could smile as wide as the Cheshire Cat…and certainly no one could do so and NOT make it absolutely mortifying to behold. “Sure,” you said, and sat down on a chair, figuring the big event could wait till after he’d gotten it out of his system. “Go ahead, kitty.” Che’Nya let out a “squee” of delight, then made a show of clearing his throat. He then adopted a dramatic pose and waggled his fingers as he tugged on his baggy white sleeves. “Nothing up my sleeves!” he declared…then reached out with one hand. “But something back here…” You smirked and rolled your eyes as he reached behind your ear; this was an old trick, you knew how it- “Boop!” You let out a mousey squeak as suddenly something bopped your nose…then blinked as you realized, instead of a coin, he had pulled what appeared to be a golden pocket watch, tied to a matching gold chain, and had gently tapped your nose with it. Che’Nya grinned as he then lowered the watch into your waiting hands. You blinked as you looked at the gold watch; the outside was etched with your name, and when you flipped it open, the ticking watch hands inside were designed to look like Che’Nya himself (as the minute hand), with you as the hour hand…chasing him with a newspaper. You blinked…then looked up. The catboy’s eyes were very wide, and he was fidgeting anxiously. “Nya? Do you like it?” he meowed, sounding more nervous than you felt he wanted to show. “I…I do! It’s…it’s lovely!” you chuckled, and chastised yourself for using a word like “lovely,” before going on: “How did you get it? Did you…make it?” “Nope. But I have a friend who actually makes clocks and watches. He’s a bunny – actual bunny, not just cute-bunny-like-human, the way you are.” He took a moment to smirk at your blush before going on. “He gave me a discount, so I asked him to make that for me, custom. Oh! And there’s more!” Che’Nya added, and reached into the pocket of his jeans, sticking out his tongue as he focused on trying to fish something out. It took him several tries; he pulled out a yo-yo, a bag of jelly beans, a teacup, and a kitchen sink (you were NOT going to ask), before finally finding what he was looking for. “Aha! Purr-fect!” he exclaimed, and smiled as he handed over a large paper card. It looked like an oversized Ace of Hearts. Curious, you took the card, and realized it opened up; a greeting card. You looked at the words written inside; they were written over an image of a huge, cat-toothed smile. You read them aloud. “Keep Smiling, Bunny. Happy Valentine’s Day.” You looked up; Che’Nya’s eyes were very, very wide again, once again looking anxious and eager. You smiled and stood on tip-toe, kissing him on the nose. He mewed and you chuckled. “Thanks, kitty. I appreciate it a lot.” “Hey, it’s Valentine’s Day,” Che’Nya smiled back, swishing his tail happily as his ears twitched again, once again making the piercings tingle like little bells. “I would be a pretty meow-sy boyfriend if I didn’t get you a gift and a card.” “Now you’re just stealing MY puns, that’s plagiarism.” “I think you mean…” Che’Nya paused…then blinked…and tilted his head. He mouthed a few silent nothings to himself…then shrugged. “Never mind. I can’t think of a pun with that. There’s glory for you!” You crinkled your nose, and remarked, “I don’t know what you mean by glory.” “Of course you don’t, till I tell you,” Che’Nya sniffed, and explained: “When I said ‘glory,’ I meant ‘there’s a tough puzzle for you.’” “…Um…glory doesn’t mean ‘a tough puzzle’ though.” “When I choose a word,” Che’Nya responded, sagely, “It means precisely what I choose it to mean. Neither more nor less.” “Yeah, but the question is whether or not you can make a word mean-” You were stopped by Che’Nya placing a finger on your lips. His smile was indulgent, as if he were talking to a child. “The question,” he said, gently, “Is which is to be the Master. That’s all.” You were much too puzzled to respond to that properly…so you instead reached out and gave the mischievous kitten a tickling poke in the tummy. Che’Nya mewed and giggled backing up and placing his hands on his belly to protect it. “H-Hey! No! No tickling!” he meowed, blushing a bit. You smirked triumphantly…but your triumph was short lived, as the moment was broken by a deep, gurgling rumble from the belly you had just poked. GRRROOORRRLLLLBG… “Oooh,” murmured Che’Nya, wincing a bit and giving a more strained sort of smile as he scratched the back of his head with one hand, the other clutching his belly more tightly. “H-Heh…I think you woke up my tummy. I, um…I might have skipped lunch today…” “Awww, poor kitty,” you cooed, teasingly, then grinned back. “Well, thankfully, I asked you over here because I have my own Valentine’s Day gift for you.” Che’Nya’s ears perked up and he smiled wider, yellow eyes brightening. “Nya? You did? How purr-fectly wonderful of you, bunny-bun!” he sang, clapping his hands together in joy, and looking around. “Where is it? What is it? Show me, show me!” A twinkle was in your eye that might have made the Cheshire Cat proud as you stepped aside and gestured to the long table under a tree in the Tea Garden. Che’Nya stepped forward to inspect the table…then stopped in place, eyes widening all the more at what he saw. You chuckled as you looked to the fruits of your labors: with help from Trey, you’d gotten quite the little feast prepared. Half of it was store bought, the other half homemade. Given the spirit of Valentine’s Day, it was a feast that was sugar saturated: the only things not involving a great deal of saccharine sweetness were a basket of chicken tenders from Che’Nya’s favorite restaurant, and a Salmon Filet that you had gotten from the Mostro Lounge. Of course, Che’Nya’s love of tuna was renowned (right on par with Grim’s taste for it), so you had to have tuna at the table…but in the spirit of the holiday, you’d taken a different route than usual. Trey and yourself had looked up a recipe for CANDIED tuna: strips of the fish cured with salt, pepper, and maple sugar. From that point on, everything was sugary: a box of gourmet chocolates and a vase of chocolate roses were obvious must-haves for a Valentine’s meal. Vanilla cupcakes with purple hearts made in icing were also prepared, set beside a box of marshmallow bluebirds. A carton of Neopolitan ice cream was on the opposite side of the cupcakes…and last, but certainly not least, the favorite food of EVERYONE in Heartslabyul, and second only to fish and poultry for Che’Nya’s tastes: strawberry tarts, crisply cooked, and so fresh they were still steaming. You looked back to Che’Nya; his expression reminded you of a meme of a kitten looking at Christmas Tree lights for the first time, and you couldn’t keep the soft “d’awww” that escaped from you. “Like what you see?” you checked. Che’Nya blinked…then looked back at you. “You do know all that sugar is going to go to my hips, right?” “You say that as if it would discourage me.” Che’Nya smirked, and this time HE tapped YOUR nose. “Naughty-naughty, funny bunny,” he sing-songed. You blushed and grumbled to yourself as you brushed his hand away. Che’Nya sniggered, then made a show of cracking his knuckles and neck as he strutted towards the table, big bushy tail whisking about behind him. “Well…you know what they say: time to take the tiger by the horns.” You started to agree…then paused when you actually digested (no pun intended) that saying. “Wait…that’s not-” “ITADAKIMASU!” meowed Che’Nya, as he hopped into his seat at the table…and without so much as another word, grabbed hold of the cupcakes and began to eat. Ten cupcakes had been placed upon a plate, organized into a heart shape. The Cheshire Neko snatched up one of them and, without even the slightest ado (nor any sense of decorum) stuffed the entire cupcake into his mouth. NOMPH! You watched, wide-eyed and very still, as Che’Nya’s cheeks bulged with the cupcake inside his mouth; his eyes closed as he chewed slowly – GRUM, GRUM, GRUM – tail swishing, the look on his face like that of a very happy kitten as he purred softly at the flavor…then – GRULPH! – swallowed the cupcake whole. He licked some crumbs off his cheeks…then, his jaws opened wide again – wider than many would think should be physically possible – fangs parting as he began to shovel the remaining nine cupcakes into his mouth at record-breaking speed. CHOMPH-NOMPH-GROMPH-HROMPH…! You slowly began to approach the table, watching with something approaching awe as the half-cat tore through the pastries like famine was fast approaching. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen your kitty eat so much and so fast, and you knew it was only the beginning…but that never made it any less phenomenal. Between himself and some in Savanaclaw, you wondered if it was just a cat thing to be a living bottomless pit…though while some in that dorm preferred tons and tons of meat, Che’Nya was more well-known for his sweet tooth, when it came to his appetite. The cupcakes had soon been guzzled; Che’Nya next turned his attention to the chocolate roses, there were three in the vase. He plucked one free, and began to untie the wrapping around the chocolate bulb in thin strips… “Hmmm…my bunny loves me…he hates me not…he loves me…he hates me not…” You smiled as you pulled up a seat beside him and kissed the hand holding the rose playfully. “Either one works,” you shrugged cheerily. Che’Nya let out a giggle, and finished unwrapping the rose…before popping the chocolate into his mouth. He smirked around his closed mouth, winked…and then – SCHLUPK! – pulled the rose free. Only the plastic stem, wrapped in green paper, came out…he had managed to ingest the entire piece of chocolate. Che’Nya rumbled and moaned around a closed mouth; you watched as his right cheek bulged, and then his left, as he swirled the chocolate around, letting it melt in his mouth for a few moments…then, he swallowed faintly – GLURK – and you watched as his throat rippled every so slightly, Adam’s Apple rising and falling subtly, as he let the melted chocolate trickle down his throat. “Mmmmm,” he murmured, as he plucked a second rose up. “Roses are red, violets are blue, chocolate is tasty…” He paused…then you let out an “eep!” of surprise as he leaned forward and licked the very tip of your nose. “…And so are yooouuu,” he sang, with a big, teasing smile. You blushed and half-heartedly swiped at his ears. He cackled and dodged, then chomped down on the second rose. You heard his teeth saw through the chocolate before he swallowed, then treated the third and final rose in much the same manner. This was evidently enough sweetness for the catboy, at least for the start, because the next item he selected was the salmon filet. As he pulled it closer, you reached to helpfully grab a couple of plastic utensils from a box you’d provided… …Then stopped short as the cat tilted his head back, and lifted the entire filet up over his head. His jaws fell wide open, tongue rolling out like a red carpet…before he dropped the pinkish-red fish meat in and slurped it up noisily before swallowing it all in one bite. SCHLUGULP! You watched, eyes tracing the bulge the salmon made in the Cheshire Cat’s throat as it slithered down his esophagus, before dropping past his chest, and vanishing into the belly behind his shirt. The shirt fit very loosely, so you couldn’t tell what it was like behind the garment…which only made you feel a bit disappointed… …No matter. Very soon, that would be changing. “Ahhhhh…tasty fishy!” chirruped Che’Nya, and blinked his big yellow eyes at you, one ear flicking as he asked: “Did you get anything to drink?” You nodded and held up a finger in a “one moment” gesture, before reaching under the table; you pulled out three large bottles, each containing three liters of cherry soda. Che’Nya clapped his knuckles together his grin widening and eyes all but sparkling at the sight. “Oh, YAY! My favorite flavor! Thank you, bunny-bun!” “Don’t mention it,” you chuckled, and cracked open the bottle for him. The playful feline made grabby-hands at you as you offered him the bottle, which he wasted no time in placing to his lips as he began to chug down the bubbling, fizzing, dark red liquid within. GLUG, GLUG, GLUG… With every swallow Che’Nya took, his neck bobbed and pulsed, the super-sweet, tangy soda pop gushing down his gullet almost by the cup-full. You admitted it was slightly surprising that cherry was Che’Nya’s favorite soft drink; based on color, you would have presumed he’d prefer grape. But then again, the Cheshire Cat was nothing if not frequently surprising. As the soda sloshed down his throat, your eye fell towards the feline’s abdomen again; you could actually hear the fruity beverage dropping down, cascading like a waterfall into his burbling belly. Finally, you saw a sight that made your heart sing and brought pinkness to your cheeks once more: that baggy, ill-fitting white shirt began to became more taut and stretched around the middle of the Cheshire Cat’s lean, lithe midsection. It was finally starting to press out… …And it must have been by quite an amount, because as soon as he finished off the bottle, pulling it away with a somewhat dramatic “Pah!” and tossing it away (one of you would pick it up later; littering was against Rule Thirty-One), he grunted and reached down, adjusting his belt and loosening his waistband, sighing as his stomach no doubt sagged from the weight within… …If that knowledge didn’t make you blush enough, what happened next as the pressure was released slightly did. “BRRRRRUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRP!” the Cheshire catboy burped, surprisingly long and loud for such a slippery creature. He blinked, seemingly surprised at the volume and power of the eruption, one ear flicking…then laughed childishly. “Hoo hoo hoo! I think my tummy’s getting a little bit bubbly,” he cooed, then smirked at you and reached out, taking one of your wrists. “Hmmm…c’mere…feel.” Even if you had wanted to resist, the firm grasp on your wrist denied you that privilege. So, instead, you scooted closer…and blushed more than ever as Che’Nya managed to lift up the veritable blanket of his oversized white shirt…revealing to you the pale, silky skin of his normally concave belly, now swollen by a few solid inches till it looked like he had swallowed a small melon or some sort of ball. The Cheshire Cat meowed softly as he guided your hand to his belly…and then released your wrist as your fingertips, and then your palm, rested over the curve of his midsection. His belly was textured softer than velvet, warm as a heated pillow. When you pressed upon it, it gave ever so slightly under your pressure. Che’Nya hiccuped and then stifled another burp, catching it in his cheeks… “HIC-MMMRRRRRLLLLPH…phoosh.” …Before teasingly blowing the gas right in your face. You coughed and blushed, tears springing to your eyes as Che’Nya smirked lazily at you. “…C-Cat Breath,” you gasped out. “You know you love it,” cooed Che’Nya, licking his fangs and winking…then giggled as he lifted one arm. “Hey, check this out…” He waggled his fingers…and, before your very eyes, the hand that had been there wasn’t there any more. There was no flash of light, no puff of smoke; one second the hand was there, the next, it wasn’t. “Nothing up my sleeves again!” he sang out. You rolled your eyes…then yelped, momentarily allowing your hand to leave his belly (which you instantly regretted, perhaps more than you cared to admit aloud), as the hand reappeared, floating in mid-air, and holding the basket of chicken strips. You looked from the hand and the basket, and back up to Che’Nya…who, with his one remaining hand, gave you the biggest, widest “kitty eyes” he could…and then pointed into his mouth. “Feed me?” he meowed, innocently. …You couldn’t decide if that was cute, attractive, or both. You decided on both, and nodded with a wide smile, taking the basket from Che’Nya’s…disembodied…floating…hand (yeah, having the Cheshire Cat for a boyfriend was WEIRD sometimes), and placed it in your lap as you adjusted your chair. Che’Nya “recalled” his hand (it vanished from thin air and reappeared back in place at the end of his arm), and happily wiggled as he reclined slightly in the well-padded throne Riddle usually occupied. You dimly imagined Riddle complaining about cat shedding all over his cushions, and couldn’t help but snicker as you lifted one of the crispy, perfectly seasoned tenders from the basket. “Open wide,” you said. Che’Nya was only too happy to oblige, closing his eyes and letting his mouth fall open expectantly. You could have sworn a puff of steam came from his salivating jaws as he did so…you opted not to comment on it, for numerous reasons. You blushed as you had a very good look at the deep red, saliva-dripping interior of his maw, framed by pointed white fangs, including those two elongated canines that had a tendency to stick out in an (adorable) overbite…fangs that were primed to cut and rip into anything that got too close and tasted delicious… You quivered, suddenly imagining yourself being dangled over that wide maw like a mouse…and shook your head quickly to clear it before holding the chicken strip over his mouth. Your lips quirked as you saw his nose twitch in a decidedly catlike way, ears pricking up happily as he no doubt smelled the spices and seasonings used in the batter to bread the tenders. Without any further ceremony, you let the chicken tender drop…and Che’Nya quickly scarfed it up in three fast bites, like a cat snarfing down a very fat rodent. He rumbled pleasantly, sighing through his nose as he chewed, teeth piercing into the juicy white meat…before – GRULP! – swallowing it down in one bite. Your eyes followed the lump in Che’Nya’s throat as it vanished…and you let out a soft squeak as the cat let out a low, rumbling burp, once again right in your face. “Uuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrp…hoo-hoo, excuse me…more, please!” You didn’t have to be told twice. One by one, you fed the boy with the catlike ears all of the chicken tenders. There were eight in total; the first four, Che’Nya chewed up happily…but with the last rest, he didn’t seem to chew at all, wolfing them down (ironically for a big cat) and swallowing them whole. Hot, moist breath pelted your face, steadily smelling more and more strong as you added food to the organic cauldron deep within the catboy’s core. As you watched him scarf down the last chicken strip, and put away the empty basket, the purple-and-pink tail of the felid hybrid swirled out and swept up the heart-shaped box of gourmet chocolates you had chosen, and carefully desposited it into your hands. You smiled and opened the box. “Any you would like first?” you said, offering to show him the contents…but Che’Nya shook his head, looking quite excited. “Surprise me!” he meowed happily. You chuckled and looked into the box briefly, trying to decide…before plucking up the chocolate of choice: a simple mini-bar drizzled with a spiral of white chocolate. Che’Nya stuck out his tongue, and you blushed as you placed the chocolate onto the tongue directly…then yelped, barely having time to pull your fingers away before the tongue retracted and the sharp teeth snapped shut. Che’Nya chewed a few times and purred. “Mmmmm,” he murmured, and swallowed before commenting: “GULP…orange crème! Yummy! More, more!” You smiled wider, and, just as you had with the chicken strips, began to feed the big kitty one chocolate at a time. The orange crème was followed by one of raspberry crème, which was then followed up by caramel, then nougat, then a chocolate truffle… GLUPP-GLUPP-GLUPP… The purple-and-pink-haired catboy happily swallowed each chocolate, purring pleasantly as each morsel was placed inside his mouth and sent rolling down his neck and into his stomach, melting into cream and pooling in his tummy, which gurgled in a happy, high-pitched sort of way as the sugary, milky confections plopped half-solid into the pit. Every so often, his slippery, sloppy, somewhat sandpapery tongue would brush against your fingers, slurping over your hands…the first couple of times, this MIGHT have been accidental…but after the third slurp, you caught the hungry gleam in his golden eyes, and knew it wasn’t. There were two dozen chocolates in the box; two of each kind available. Ironically, the last chocolate you gave to Che’Nya turned out to be identical to the first: an orange crème-filled morsel drizzled with white chocolate in a spiral shape. You reached out to place it in his open maw… NOMPH! “YEH?!” You yelped in surprise and instinctively tried to pull back…and blushed when a playful growl and firm resistance met your efforts. You felt as if steam might be pouring from your cheeks, as Che’Nya had somehow managed to wrap his mouth around your entire hand. You felt his tongue slurp over your fingers as he suckled on you with a deep rumble; you barely even noticed the moment when the chocolate was flicked away and sent tumbling down his throat to join the rest in his guts. Finally, Che’Nya released you – after what was probably less than a minute, but felt like more than an hour – and you absent-mindedly wiped your hand clean with a napkin. Che’Nya licked and smacked his lips, before letting out a short, sharp sort of belch. “BRUPK! Mph…yum-meow!” he declared, snickering at his horrible pun. You blinked slowly. “…Are you referring to the chocolate, or me?” you asked, dryly. Che’Nya grinned and winked. “Yes.” God dang this teasing cat. You grumbled and tried to bap him on the nose…only to swat at thin air as his head disappeared from his shoulders. Just as you registered this anomaly, you nearly jumped a foot in the air as a loud, abrasive noise blasted like an airhorn in your ears from behind you. “BOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAP!” “GAH! D-Don’t…don’t DO that!” You panted, startled and blushing all at once. The belly of the headless body of Che’Nya bounced as his disembodied head spun around in mid-air, laughing good-naturedly. “Sorry, sorry!” he chuckled out, and winked teasingly. “No need to LOSE YOUR HEAD about things.” You grumbled and huffed, trying to show him you were ABSOLUTELY mad at him, yes, totally. He blinked, and meowed…then his floating head nuzzled your shoulder. To anyone else, this would have been surreal and disturbing. To you…at this point, it was just Sunday. “Will you feed me those bluebirds if I say I’m sorry?” he mewed, glancing towards the marshmallow birds and giving you his most innocent eyes. You blinked at him…then smiled, and scratched him behind his ears. He purred happily, a cheery smile on his face at the attention. “Sure,” you said, in a warm, simple voice. There was a pause. “Well?” “Nya?” Che’Nya murmured opening his eyes as his head pulled away and floated just out of reach. “Well what?” “Say you’re sorry!” “I already did!” he grinned happily. Your mouth opened and closed a few times…but you finally just gave up, throwing your hands up and half-sighing, half-chuckling before reaching for the marshmallow birds. Che’Nya smirked triumphantly, and his head flipped clear over yours before landing back in its proper place atop his neck, fingers drumming over his already bloated tummy, which inched out further and further… You opened the box of candy bluebirds; there were only a half dozen of them in total. Feeling rather playful yourself now, you mouthed the word “Catch” to your half-cat boyfriend, and lifted one of the marshmallow treats, preparing to throw it. Che’Nya nodded, catching onto what you were thinking instantly, and opened his mouth. You thus tossed the six birds – once again, one by one – into his mouth.

Che’Nya did not close his mouth nor swallow till all six of the marshmallow goodies were dropped into his craw…then, and only then, did he shut his jaws tight. He chewed three times, grinding away at the squishy, spongy stuff…and then swallowed it all in one go. GLULP! A thick, round, distention formed in Che’Nya’s neck. He grunted and thumped his chest as it passed behind his ribcage…then sighed and patted his belly, which let out a deep “glort” as the food was dropped into place. “Oof…nya…I think I need to wash that one down,” he mumbled, and grabbed hold of the second bottle of cherry soda himself. He cracked it open, paused to allow the pressurized air to settle…then unscrewed the cap and rapidly began to swill down all three liters. His Adam’s Apple bobbed and bounced as if suspended in tumultuous water… GLUG, GLUG, GLUG…! You listened to the sound of the soda pouring down into the Cheshire hybrid’s belly. GLORSH, GLORSH, GLORSH…your mind began to wander, conjuring up a mental picture of what it must have been like inside that swollen stomach, as it continued to expand, creaking against the waistband of the cat’s trousers, the pulled-up shirt draped over its upper curve. Dark…swampy…slimy…smelly…the walls ever moving, always working to stir up the contents of the beast-man’s bowels…you imagined being squeezed in-between them, the soda pouring down over your head as the stomach growled hungrily in your ears… …The rumbling belch from your boyfriend snapped you out of it. “GWWWUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRP! Ahhhh…you chose the BEST soda, bunny!” Alchemi smiled widely, tail flipping happily behind him as he grunted and once again adjusted his belt, groaning with relief as his gut was allowed more breathing room. “Ooof…I’m feeling kinda heavy now…mmmmrrrrroooowwwwl…” “I’m not surprised,” you mumbled, eying that engorged stomach, which was now bigger than a basketball, tightly compressed behind the waistband of the kitty-boy’s patched pants. Your fingers twitched and fidgeted, but you somehow restrained yourself, watching as Che’Nya rubbed over his belly himself, claws lightly brushing against his sensitive, supple skin… “Oooooh…soooo full already,” he half-moaned, half-purred. “I can feel it all getting sloshed and churned around in there…” He patted the side of his belly and hiccuped before sighing and going on. “HIC! Ohhhh…all that sugar’s making my tummy feel all hot and heavy, too…I might not have much money, but I’m gonna be a literal ‘fat cat’ when it’s all done, I know it…” “One can only hope.” “Nya?” “Nothing, nothing,” you said, shaking your head…then reached for the dish of candied tuna strips, holding it out with a hopeful smile. “Sure you don’t have room for more?” Che’Nya blinked; one of his ears flickered and he leaned close, innocently sniffing at the dish; his gut let out a powerful, NEEDY roar as the scent of maple and that wonderful fishy odor all cats seemed to like teased his tastebuds. He licked the very tips of his jagged teeth. “…Well…no, I don’t have any room,” he admitted. You turned your head down, a little disappointed…not only because you wanted to see your boyfriend even more stuffed than usual, but because you’d really been looking forward to him trying the tuna… …But your spirits were lifted when Che’Nya added, “But I think I can fit more in my belly. Always space for tasty fishies!” “But…you just said you don’t have any room.” “I don’t,” the Cat sniffed, somewhat snootily, and gestured about with his ring hand. “We are here in the great outdoors, and there are no rooms out here! MY room isn’t even at this CAMPUS, so therefore, I can’t have it. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t space…” He poked his belly with one finger; it wobbled. “…In. Here.” You squirmed a bit and let out a whimpery noise…which you immediately covered up with a cough. Che’Nya tilted his head, as if confused by your reaction…but you waved him off and simply offered the plate again. “Whatever…go ahead and dig in, you silly kitty.” “I can’t dig without a shovel; I’d get dirt under my claws!” pouted Che’Nya. You responded by giving his belly a light shove…which resulted in him grunting and burping crudely out the side of his mouth. “Mph…BWWWOOOORRRRRK! Heeey, not nice!” he huffed, brushing the burp aside. “Actually, that sounded VERY nice to me,” you muttered. Che’Nya’s face immediately became a smirk, and he playfully tousled your hair. You swatted at his hands with a half-hearted sneer, and he chuckled before finally beginning to eat the candied tuna, picking it up two strips at a time and dropping them into his wide open mouth. He growled, the caramelized coating on the fish creating a sweet-and-salty taste that ignited his tastebuds, making the feline’s golden eyes roll in his head as he crunched them up like pieces of bacon – MUNCH, MUNCH, MUNCH – before swallowing and chomping down on two more slices. There were eight pieces of candied tuna, just as there had been eight pieces of chicken. After four rounds, Che’Nya put the empty plate down on the table, and purred as he licked and sucked on the fingers of his other hand. “Mmmmm…sooooo tasty,” he crooned, and grinned widely at you. “One of the best things I’ve ever tasted! It’s purrrrrrr-fect! Can I have more of that? Pleeeaaase?” “Some other time,” you chuckled, smiling very wide at the exuberance of the kittenish imp, and pointed to the table. “There are still two more courses left.” Che’Nya nodded, and hummed thoughtfully, one hand scratching his chin, and the other scratching his “slorshing” belly as he tried to decide between the tarts and the carton of Neopolitan ice cream. “Hmmmm,” he murmured…then, seemingly out of nowhere, summoned a silver coin into his hand and looked to you. “Quick! Heads or tails?” “Uhhh…h-heads?” you exclaimed, taken off guard. Che’Nya flipped the coin and caught it again, checking it quickly. “Well?” He looked to you…smirked…and you blinked as his head AND his tail both disappeared. “That,” his disembodied voice answered, “Would be telling.” So saying, his tail suddenly reappeared, and tickled your nose. You sneezed and glared half-heartedly as his head returned with a laugh, and he reached for the ice cream, as well as a plastic spoon. He opened the carton, dropping the lid onto the table…then smirked at you as he scooped up a spoonful from the strawberry side of the carton. “Nya…THIS is ‘digging in,’ funny bunny,” he winked…and proceeded to shovel the ice cream at record-breaking speed into his mouth, arm practically a blur as he gobbled up the cool, creamy dessert dish… GLOMPH-GRULPH-NOMPH-MRULPH…! Globs of ice cream chased each other down the Cheshire Cat’s gullet as he guzzled it up as fast as he could; it was like his esophagus had become a cooled conveyor belt. Idly, you marveled at how he didn’t seem to get brain freeze from slurping it up so rapidly. Che’Nya alternated between the three flavors in a rhythmic pattern: strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, chocolate…he chowed down, lapping up the melted cream like a cat might lap up milk before continuing to virtually inhale the more solid stuff. He soon finished a quarter of the carton…then half…then two thirds… “Guh…oooof…fffaaahhhhaaaa…” Che’Nya panted, dropping the spoon into the empty carton, and then dropping that into the grass at his feet. He panted, clutching his belly with one hand as the ice cream sat heavily in his belly; his guts sounded like a processing vat at a factory, stirring and swirling the thick mush within, thickened by the sweet, cold cream he’d pumped down into the pit. “BLLLLUUUUUURRRRRRRLLLLLLLLUUUUUUUGLP!” he belted out, and sighed deeply. “Nyaaaaa…tummy’s sooooo – HIC-URP! – so gurgly…I feel – HIC! – so heavy…” You were red as a strawberry as you glanced between Che’Nya’s face and his belly. He seemed to know what you were thinking, as he looked to you with his widest, most innocent, most pleading “kitty eyes” and mewed sweetly. “Tummy rubs?” was all he said. That was all the invitation your twitching fingers needed, as you had to hold yourself back from lunging at his bloated gut. You reached towards his waistband; he rumbled curiously as you unfastened his belt, and then the button of his pants… ZZZRRRIIIP! BLORGSH! “NYYYYYYYYYYAAAAOOOOORRRRRRUUUUUUUUUEEEHHHUUURRRRRRRP! Ahhhhhh…sooooo GOOD…” Your eyes widened as Che’Nya’s belly poured out like a huge ball of dough into his lap, completely freed from restraints, surging forth from under the draped portion of his baggy white shirt. His navel was stretched into a tight ellipse, and you felt your heart pound faster in your chest as you looked upon the bloated mass of his middle. “…Eeee…eeeeeeeeeeeeee…” “Awwww…bunny liiiiikes?” Che’Nya breathed out, eyes half-lidded as he grinned at your expression and let out a giggle; his gut sloshed and jostled with his mirth. “C’mon, bunny-bunny…it’s nya-ot gonna rub itself…” Once again, you needed no further invitation. Your hands soon found their way to the warm, soft belly one of them had been pressed to earlier, and you began to tend to your boyfriend’s big, bulbous belly. Across the silken surface, your fingers caressed the softest, most tender portions of the belly of the beast-boy, and kneaded and massaged at the tenser areas. You let your hand wander to the side of the burgeoning belly, the size of a large medicine ball, and gave it a few hearty pats; each little slap made a satisfying thump, like smacking the sides of a ripened gourd. Che’Nya meowed and purred deeply; for several moments, he didn’t move or say a word, eyes closed as he just enjoyed the wonderful gut rubs you were giving him: a gift almost as good, if not better, than the bountiful, super-saccharine feast you had prepared. He lay limp and totally relaxed, crooning and meowing a few times as you scritched and scratched at the upper curve and the sides of his globular gut…being pampered was soooo good… …Then his nose twitched…and he opened one yellow eye. The glimmering golden iris smoldered like a dying candle as he eyed the last dish on the table. An arm draped over your shoulder, momentarily stopping you…and you watched as Che’Nya pointed with his other arm at the strawberry tarts. There were five of them arranged on the plate in a neat little array. He said nothing, but simply pointed into his open mouth, then poked his giant belly with one finger. You smiled, nodded, and paused to grab the plate. You placed it upon his gut…and with one hand gently rubbing back and forth over the center-part of his gastric globe, you used the other to feed him the tarts. The first tart was finished in just two bites…but after that, the cat ate more slowly. His teeth sank into the crispy, warm, buttery crust and pulled away the strawberry filling within with a growl as he chewed steadily before GULPing down huge mouthfuls…but the mouthfuls came with greater gaps between them. The feline breathed more heavily, even letting out little keening sounds as he went on: the second disappeared into his guts in another two bites, though more widely spaced out…but the third went down in three bites. The fourth went down in four…and, at last, the fifth and final tart was eaten in a number of bites that matched the pattern. Che’Nya licked his chops, lapping up some stray crumbs…then coughed and grimaced. “That…th-that last one was…a little dry,” he panted out, clearly finding it harder to breathe from the sheer weight in his bowels. You nodded and reached for the final bottle of soda, offering it to him. Che’Nya eyed it almost distrustfully, very much like a spoiled pet cat not sure what to make of a new brand of cat food…then shrugged and took the triple-liter, cracking it open and slugging it down as he had the two before. GLUG…GLUG…GLUG… The half-cat drank more slowly as he began to drain the final three-liter of strong-and-sweet cherry soda. You watched as it flooded down his gullet in waves. Unable to contain your flustered curiosity, you carefully lowered your head, and rested it upon the belly of the beast-man like it was your own pillow. The first thing that registered was the wonderful warmth of your kitty-cat’s body…then, you could hear the gurgles, louder than ever. The splashing noises as soda slushed down into bubbling mire, making it froth more than ever as the muscular contractions swished the fluid and sludge inside. You closed your eyes, and you could almost imagine those sounds surrounding you…the borborygmi a peculiar lullaby, making you feel as if you could melt away and forget your problems… …Not literally, of course. You were kinky, not suicidal. And besides, while Che’Nya may not have been the most heroic student of Royal Sword…the fact he chose that over Night Raven said something about his ethical viewpoints. With some, like Leona Kingscholar or Floyd Leech, you had no clue if their threats to devour and digest you were truly jokes or not. With Che’Nya, there was always that safety blanket: he really was just a big, fluffy kitten at heart. “Gruh!” grunted said fluffy kitten, as he polished off the last of the cherry soda…and you could actually hear the gases in his belly ROAR as it rumbled deeply before a HUGE eruption sounded off just above you. “BYYYUUUUUUUUHHHHHHUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLPK!” Che’Nya sighed deeply and let out a long, moaning meow before speaking: “That…was…a GOOD meal..mmmmmmmaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh…” You smiled and gave his bloated tummy a chaste kiss. He mewled and wiggled a bit under you, gut sloshing and bobbling more as a result. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, kitty-cat,” you said, and nuzzled against his belly lovingly. “Mmmm…I think I’m enjoying my own way right now…heh heh…” Che’Nya gave a lazy, languid smirk…and rested a hand over your head. He didn’t press down, didn’t exert any force at all…he just let it rest there. That was fine. You were in no hurry to move your head away from his pillowy, plumpened gut. “So…how do you feel?” you asked, tracing circles around his belly button. “Satisied?” Che’Nya growled deeply; you swore you could hear his toes curl in his boots. “I feel – HUUUURRRRP! – ohhhhh…I feel like I ate away one of my eight remaining lives…” He slurped over his lips and added with a low, bubbling belch: “Worth it.” You chuckled and moved your hand down towards the underside of his gut; the softest, warmest, most sensitive part of his belly. He gasped sharply…then sighed, melting at your touch as you carefully moved your hand with a feather-light sensitivity over that region. “Nyaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaa…so THAT’S why you’re my favorite human,” he mumbled out, slurringly. You sniggered and gave the underside the very softest of pats, biting your lip and pressing into it slightly, just to feel how very, very warm and tender it was. “I try,” you said, simply, and paused before adding: “It helps that you’re my favorite kitty.” “Well, I’m clever and adorable, so I better be.” You smirked, and responded by giving his gut a shake and saying: “Well, you’re not very humble.” “BUUUUURRRRRRP! Ahhhh…humble is not in a cat’s vocabulary,” Che’Nya responded with a shrug. “Or have you ever known a cat that didn’t show some level of vanity?” You felt this could not easily be denied, so you just decided to stick your finger in his navel and move it around in there to distract him. Che’Nya’s eyes fluttered closed and his tongue flopped from his jaws. He panted heavily, tail flopping limp as he relaxed all the more. “Ooooooooh…bunny? Have I ever told you you’re the Cat’s Meow?” “On many occasions,” you answered, choosing not to remind him he’d used that joke already, too. “Mmmm…well…telling you one more time won’t hurt,” Che’Nya murmured with another shrug, twining his fingers in your hair. You rolled your eyes with a loving smile. There was a pause. “…Thank you.” “Nya? For…mph…for what, my bunny?” “The pocket watch. And…and for just being you. Every greedy, confusing, fun, silly, wonderful thing that is you. I…sometimes feel like, since we’re from different schools, so I can’t see you as often as I like, you may not realize how much I-” The hand in your hair gently lifted your head…and the other hand placed a finger on your lips. Che’Nya smiled with a half-lidded, affectionate light in his eyes. “I realize, bunny. I realize,” he said, simply. Those were all the words you needed, and you gave him a peck on the cheek. He blushed and mewed before letting go of your hair and letting out a deep yawn. “Nya…I think I need a catnap…wake me up before it gets dark, so we can clean up. I don’t want Riddle to have a cow…or a horse…or any other farmyard animal. They’d make an awful mess…” You rolled your eyes, but said you would. “Rest easy, my kitty…and Happy Valentine’s Day.” Che’Nya smiled, but he didn’t say Happy Valentine’s Day back. His eyes had closed, and he had already fallen asleep…but the warmth in his smile, the way his arm tightened around you protectively and possessively, and the lustrous purr that thrummed through his core, said everything for him. You smiled just as warmly, then shook your head with amusement and closed your own eyes as you rested your head happily against his sugar-laden stomach once more. “Heh…asleep within seconds. I guess that’s a cat thing, too…”

 The End

[blushing-starker]

Insanity brings me truth and you

can you guess what Peter's doing to not be understood by the guards?

It's not easy, being crazy. There are expectations to run away from, a bar to limbo under, a specific number of people one has to betray and scar. The unknowable becomes knowable, so you have to skirt the edge of that Venn diagram very carefully. Or very recklessly. Either way, it's a complex thing except for when it's not. Jesus, how infuriating to think about. The point is, the paradox that crazies carry on their shoulders? It's a fucking hassle, a tricky one and Peter is tired of it.

He sighs, lets gravity bend him backward, legs slipping dangerously off the blanket he's hung as a hammock inside his cell. Act like a psycho and you're predictable, don't act like an ax wielding murderer and whoops! Predictable. It's the downside of being insane; you leave the weary capitalist consumer mask out in the world, probably set that shit on fire and make yourself sick with the fumes. But you just replace it with the one labelled 'danger to society' and get forced to play along with that. He did what he did to avoid the world and its predetermined fate, its standards.

Peter closes his eyes, thinks of the nauseating smell on his left. Rupert, the guard that dared graze him while he came back from the shower naked, has a broken nose thanks to Ned and his loyalty to him. The idiot barely cleans the open wound and the whole cell reeks of pus because of it. He does the math of how long it's been going on for and shudders in disgust. His bare calves slip a little more.

An inhale near the front of his cage. Slow, but controlled. Not the usual. Thank God for a circus family and heightened senses.

The doctor is paying attention to him.

"Doctor Stark. Gnittor gnihtemos llems ouy nac?" Rupert grumbles from his perch on the second floor, curses a hare brained psycho that's incomprehensible. Peter hums, pleased to know that after ten months, nine days, twelve hours, and...

Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on sinking deeper into nothing, into a yawning void. The blanket shakes and his thighs are starting to tremble. Blood is rushing to his head, veins most likely beginning to protrude. Irrelevant.

His favorite guard Stan wears a Swiss watch his wife got for him on their fortieth anniversary. It sings to him now, smooth and cool like a river. A skipping stone is thrown, tic, a fish heads towards the sound, toc. Above all the other stimuli in the room, the watch announces itself. Ten fifteen.

Ten months, nine days, twelve hours and twenty minutes into a game, his tiny gnat still hasn't caught on. Not like the charming doctor. He sees him then, behind closed eyelids, as clearly as a sweet nightmare. Tall, taller than Peter, but less strong. Wide shoulders that morph into a slim waist and a delectable ass he aches to sink his teeth into. Shapely calves from running, curiously delicate looking ankles.

Down and back again. A full head of dark hair with a dusting of silver. Dangerously clever mouth, what his aunt would call a noble nose. Agreeable cheekbones. Piercing eyes that tear his walls down, rip apart the bricks and mortar until he's scrambling on the other side, desperately, clumsily attempting to reinforce them for the millionth time. Those eyes saw the trick, the mirror reflection on his second day here, Peter offhandedly talking in reverse with Ned when they passed the new doctor. A dark gaze had pinned him in place, a spider fixed in place with its own silk against the cold dissection table.

Ned had rambled on, Peter had met a worthy playmate and the doctor had seen all he needed in that eternally prolonged glance. That very afternoon, a psychiatrist signed on as his very own voyeur.

Doctor Stark seems to be as interested in cutting him open to peek inside as Peter is in taking a dagger and comparing their hearts. He does this a lot; wonders how fate and the absence of lucky fate led them here. On opposite sides of a prison when perhaps it should be the other way around. Or perhaps there should only be Peter and Doctor Stark.

He feels himself falling, plummeting ever downward into fantasies and hazy dreams. It's not until the good doctor sharply calls out his name that he realizes he's also plummeting towards the floor. Now, MJ had warned him; had specifically said that the hammock being ten feet off the concrete ground was a bad idea. Ned had said he'd be fine and Peter loves the guy, ok? He has to do everything he can so that his best friend wins a bet over his other best friend.

Peter slightly regrets that when he's forced to arch his body backward, flip right side up in order to hit the floor on his feet instead of his face. The impact chokes the air right out of him, shakes his bones, but he doesn't react. Cracks his neck and that's all. Most of the guards were kind, some shade of understanding. They weren't harmless, though. He knows what he looks like, knows how many hours these men are cooped up with the scum of the earth.

"To answer your question," Peter leaps onto the bars of his cell, slithers higher than any sane person would and somersaults off the vertical slits, sinks into his trustworthy hammock with its trustworthy knots (MJ and Ned had tied them, one each), "yes, I do. It's less potent this time."

He stills, frowns. "How? There haven't been any changes. External or internal." No need to act like the Mad Hatter when the conversation could be had normally. Quicker and more reliable with meanings. But the doctor pauses, enunciates his next words slowly.

"Ti koot uoy erom emit yadot." God, he loved hearing Doctor Stark talk that carefully and smoothly. It was as comforting as it was uncomfortable. (He and sex don't particularly get along. It's like a headache that comes and goes; with the right medicine it can dissipate and evolve into something soothing, pleasant. With the majority of medicine, it blossoms into pain and soreness, a dry throat clogged by a thick syrup that won't leave him be no matter how much water MJ and Ned encourage him to drink. Peter isn't yet completely certain which side of his scale the doctor falls on, but he's guessing it's likely the first.)

(The man seemed to live in the grey areas; fitting that with this, too, he'd reside in the in between.)

The reverse effect is in play and he grins, genuine and wide, when he catches it. "Monsters are visiting more frequently, taking up space in the light." His nightmares had intensified recently, and they're starting to accompany him even in moments Peter knows are real; shapes drifting by the corner of his eye. As a coping tactic, he rips parts of his nails off. Not entirely, just the corners. His mind could concoct lots of things, but in his dreams his hands are always pristine.

(He hasn't caught up with it, hasn't noticed that although his nightmares have a clearness to them, a bright intensity, Peter can't shift enough focus to realize his hands aren't his own. They never are. But he usually has more pressing bodies to deal with than the good doctor's.)

Another pause, this one being done by Tony Stark, doctor and healer of men, instead of Doctor Stark, curious keeper of deranged souls. "I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe this will help." Peter peers over the edge of the grey hammock, watches with interest as the doctor approaches his cell with a glass bottle of clear liquid sloshing inside. The other man stops an inch away from the bars, looks up at Peter.

There's a slow tension simmering between them, something as thick and addictive as honey. There's scientific curiosity, a desire to seek out and maybe comprehend the unknown lurking inside their mirror image, as other and as alike as oneself. But there is also a gleam of something he's afraid of acknowledging in Doctor Stark's eyes. A madness once tucked away steadily unraveling itself with each glance they share.

Peter returns the look, unblinking and thinking. " 'If you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.' " A lesson Nietzsche offered to those wise enough, sane enough to live blind.

The doctor raises an eyebrow, is otherwise still. Sometimes, if Peter considers their current predicament for too long, his grasp on his masks loosens, and the Spider begins to spin its deadly thread round and round its very own body. He sees a guard exchange money with a partner; the crazy quota has, he guesses, been filled for the week. And they had such a nice streak going on, too. Oh, well. This web is unavoidable anyways.

He pitches himself forward, is the one who controls the descent instead of gravity this time. Letting the air rush up to meet him, he inhales, tastes a distinct sharpness around him. Crouching, Peter takes it all in, every last detail. Looks, really looks, at the doctor and suspects.

As if he were none the wiser, he calmly heads to the front of the cell. Meets the doctor at the divide and wonders what it'll be. Wonders if he'll rise higher than ash and flame, an acrobat testing the fates by flying just seconds ahead of death. Doctor Stark hands him the bottle and he can see now, tiny pieces of lavender. A distraction for the guards. "That should keep the monsters in the dark. Use it before you got to sleep and tuck away your hair."

Like a schoolgirl with a crush, he self consciously brings a hand to his curls. They're getting a bit long, but the warden only allows haircuts once a month or two. "I don't have anything to use." Digging into his lab coat, the other man retrieves a single black stick.

Well, to everyone else it's a hair pin. Peter knows the truth though, can see it and smell it and very nearly touch it. As it is, he gently plucks the items out of elegant hands and refuses to look at them. Looking draws attention. Doctor Stark gazes at his face, eyes flickering in a rehearsed way around his own, but not into them. That's alright, he understands.

"The lack of movement around your face should also help." The question of why is out before he can reel it in and act as a sane, normal person. Christ, he could handle crazy, not rude. He would have to practice being in control so as not to slip up when the doctor is around. Said doctor cocks his head, doesn't have to do anything more for Peter to get the message: go on, ask the devil why he made the deal.

Peter B Parker does not back down when intrigued. "Why are you helping me sleep better?"

Why help me escape?

"It's my duty." Three words. Not the explicit declaration of affection typical, normal, dull people receive from an admirer or partner. Not a grand proclamation of wanting what the heart wants, or a sonnet regarding the connection between star crossed paramours. Simple, short, concise; enough to turn to religion, to sanctity and salvation if it means hearing it again. He'd do anything, including putting on a discarded mask from his past if it gets him what he desires. Peter would suffer through sanity for this man. He would if it means hearing what sounds silent to those around them.

You're my duty. Whatever happens tonight, Doctor Stark believes it's his duty to see it through. To see him through, in a way.

"Why would you accept?" Ah, silly doc thinking any of his principles have changed since the first time they met, since the first time he brought fire to life and gave death in return. Peter smiles, brings forth the prisoner that had not seen the light of day in almost a decade.

(His uncle often said Peter's greatest gift to the world was his smile, his true smile. His aunt said it was the final move needed to capture a king and make him his pawn.)

"Why, doc, you know I hate to be bored." Call him a psycho, a freak, a sick, pitiful creature. Call him anything and everything and maybe those words would ring true. But Peter will never allow himself to be bored, not when there's so much fun to be had. Especially with a doctor as crazy as he is. "This looks...promising."

" 'He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.' " The first part of Nietzsche's warning.

"Nietzsche didn't understand; those who fought monsters were already fated to become what they struggled to defeat. They believed salvation could be found by killing the monsters outside, but all they did was feed the ones inside."

Anthony Stark, the truest version, grins at him, all glinting eyes, sharp teeth and a crooked smile. Peter Parker, armed with a match, gasoline and soon to be glass shards, grins right back. In this instant, being crazy isn't such a hassle. After all, he has someone to share the crazy with now.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Quarantine: A Love Story {11}

Chris Evans x Reader Mini Series

Warning: Cursing, Plot, Angst, Scorching Slow Burn, Tease

Words: 6.2k

Note: Okay, so this ask/request came in and I was all prepped to write it as a one shot, but I had so many separate ideas that sprang to mind for it and from it. As of right now, I am going to play this one by ear. Hell, I might just keep writing it as long as we’re all in our quarantine/self-isolation. So, it might be one part every week, or I might change it. I honestly have no idea, so let’s start with calling it a mini-series and see where it goes. Thank you anon for the request, hope it’s cool I tweak, twist and stretch this out. 

I hope you guys enjoy this. Thank you for reading as always!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

**Images NOT My own. 2nd, 3rd, & 4th found Via Pinterest**

Previous Chapters:  Q1 |  Q2 |  Q3 |  Q4 |  Q5 |  Q6 |  Q7 |  Q8 |  Q9 | Q10 |

~~~~~~~~~~~

-Quarantine: Week Seven & A Half –

“I’m glad that you guys are doing okay, mom. Tell dad not to go on those walks with Mr. Beardsley. Tell him to stay his ass home,” you badgered.

 “You know that man does what he wants. The other day he was in the backyard building some abomination he calls a bird palace. Y/N, he made a three-story house for a bird,” your mother informed. You couldn’t help but laugh.

 “I sent you the picture. Look.”

 You put your cell on speaker and looked at the new message with the photo attached. The most hideous creation appeared on the screen. It was lopsided and looked like it had every board out of place.

“Oh, my goodness.”

 “Do you see? Then he had the nerve to ask me if he should paint it to make it more appealing.” You busted out laughing then. There was no way you could have held it in. All you could imagine was this atrocity painted yellow, blue, or even red.

 “I didn’t know what to tell him. He worked for hours on it,” your mother went on.

 “So, what did you go with?” The line was silent for a while before she sighed.

 “I told him to paint the damn thing rainbow colored. Told him it would attract more birds that way.”

 The two of you laughed together, not bothering to care how loud you were. After a few minutes, the two of you quieted down. You needed a good laugh.

 “How are you, darling?”

 “I’m fine, mom. Things are quiet as the world passes me by.”

 “So dramatic. Glad to see nothing has changed from when you were a child.”

 Rolling your eyes, you took a sip of your Arnold palmer and leaned back in the lounge beach chair. It was another beautiful day. Mother nature was laughing. While most of the world was locked away, unable to fully enjoy the great outdoors, she was serving Spring goals with upper seventy degree and sunny weather days. You were lucky to be near a beach and able to take advantage of it.

 “I’m not dramatic, I’m--,”

 “Just spirited, yeah, yeah yeah,” your mother filled in echoing the same words the same way you’d said them since you were six.

 “I don’t appreciate the shade, mom!”

 “Girl, watch your tone.” Pressing your lips together, you got your head on right. Your mother would slap you into next month if you played with her wrong.

 “What’s wrong? Is it Chris? Did he look at you and roll his eyes again?” She snickered, and you rolled your eyes again. She was always teasing you about the way you complained about Chris.

 “That boy is clearly head over heels in love with you. Anyone with one half good eye can see that.”

 “You don’t know what you’re talking about, mom.”

 “The hell I don’t. I am a woman too, Y/N. I know what a man looks like when he’s got it bad. I’ve been married to one for the last thirty-four years.”

 Taking another sip from your glass, you burrowed deeper into the chair and watched the waves roll onto the sand. The water was a lot calmer now in the afternoon than it had been earlier this morning, you thought.

 “All right, since you want to play dumb, and blind,” your mother sighed out.

 “Actually, mom, I have a question. Did you have Chris promise to stay away from me or something along those lines?”

 “Why would I do something like that?”

 “I don’t know, you tell me.”

 “I don’t know. Okay, wait—he has the reputation of being a ladies man.”

 “You mean a whore?”

 “Y/N!”

 “In twenty-twenty, we call people what they are. We don’t sugar coat. He has a reputation for being a whore.”

 “He’s a man, an unmarried one at that. He has no reason to be celibate. You also need to remember that just because someone appears to be living one way doesn’t mean that is really what it is,” your mother attempted to reason.

 “What does that mean?”

 “He could be sleeping around but doesn’t want to.”

 You snorted and shook your head. “So he’s being forced to sleep with every blonde, brunette, and occasional redhead he comes across?”

 You shook your head, realizing you were actually getting angry about it.

 “You sound jealous, babygirl. Jealous women aren’t attractive, plus your jealousy gives away how you really feel about him.”

 “Feel? Whatever mom. I don’t feel anything.”

 “Okay. Just remember the lies we tell will always be revealed.”

 You hated when she tapped into her ancestral priestess side and read you like a book. You knew you were lying. You knew you didn’t feel nothing. You felt something alright, but at the moment, you didn’t know just what it was.

 “To answer your question, no, I didn’t make him promise anything.”

 “Then who would?”

 “Maybe Scott. They’re brothers, and he knows Chris through and through. Maybe he was trying to protect you from becoming yet another notch.”

 You thought about her words. It was possible. Honestly, Scott was raising to the top of your list the more you thought about it. It felt like something he would do to protect you. The only thing you couldn’t understand was why he felt the need to make him promise. From the very beginning, everyone has always thought Chris just didn’t like you. The way he acted toward you and spoke about you did not scream that Scott had something to worry about. Since there was no evidence to how Chris felt, then why would Scott make him promise something like that, you wondered.

 “Can I take this conversation as you having ended things with that other one?”

 Groaning, your head went back to Charles. Things with him were still up in the air. When you made a break from someone, there was nothing left suspended. You made a quick, clean break, usually disappearing without a trace. Everything was just weird. Part of you felt as if you were being too cold with him and that you should give him a genuine chance. Then when you thought that, Chris’s face popped into your head as a reason not to. It was like there was this war inside of you between two guys.

 “The other one is—focusing on himself right now.”

 “Ah, you kept your wall up, and he got frostbite from being left out in the cold, and he gave you an ultimatum.”

 “I hate when you do that.”

 “Don’t hate the player, gate the game. Honey--,” your mother began before you cut her off.

 “I don’t want to hear it, mom. Not now.”

 “Okay. You’re an adult, old enough to make your own decisions and mistakes. You don’t need your mother’s wise years of experience and words to help guide your way so you don’t make as many mistakes as others would. I understand.”

 This was the guilt trip no one had mastered like your mother. She could guilt you with so little. Sighing loudly, you finished off the glass. “Fine, mom, go ahead. Priestess me.”

 “Maybe use this quarantine time to figure out why you’ve always cared so much what Chris Evans thought of you. Think about what it is you want from your life—for your life. What’s important, babygirl? Maybe the way you’ve lived these last years is not the most conducive to getting what you really want. Maybe you need to open up, lower those walls, give people a chance instead of expecting them to disappoint and hurt you, pull them closer instead of pushing them away. Take a chance on what you really want.”

 You sat there letting her words resonate. You knew she knew what she was talking about, and you knew it was all coming from a place of love, but it didn’t stop the feeling of being attacked. You hated when she was right.

 “You’ve always liked Chris. This is what this is about,” you accused.

 “That is not true. I don’t care that every time I’ve met him, he’s been respectful, kind, and sincere. I don’t care that every Christmas he sends us a gift, and every New Year a card. I don’t care that he also does the same for our birthdays and anniversaries. I don’t care that he’s shown to be a good man despite his philandering ways.”

 “Wait, wait, wait. He’s what?”

 “What?”

 “Mom. He’s sent you guys gifts and cards?”

 “Yeah, I thought you knew. He also comes by and checks on us from time to time when he’s in town and calls when he’s out of town sometimes,” your mother revealed.

 You were floored. You didn’t know any of this. Your head began to spin, making you feel like you’d put more than a few ounces of rum in the glass. The ringing in your ears did nothing to help matters. All you could hear was your mother’s confession echoing in your head.

 “Y/N! Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

 You took a few shaky breathes and did your best to calm down. “I’m fine. I just—I didn’t know any of that.”

 “Oh. So he’s been doing all this in secret and not to impress you?”

 You rubbed your forehead and pinched your nose bridge.

 “That means that Air B&B in Los Angeles your father and I stayed at when we went on vacation last year was probably not just a normal Air B&B.”

 “What?”

 “He set it up for us, said he got a great deal and took care of everything. It was beautiful. Do you think it was his house?”

 You remembered that trip. Your parents sent you picture after picture of the view and the interior of the house. You wanted to go back to them now and play detective.

 “Oh my god. I had no idea about any of this.”

 “Now that you know, what’re you going to do with it?”

 Again, your eyes went back to the water, and in seconds, you’d zoned out. “I’ll call you tomorrow, mom. Call me if anything. I love you.”

 You sat there for several long minutes just allowing the conversation to swirl in your head. When the words quieted, and your internal freak out settled you scrolled through your phone to the pictures you’d saved because you liked the décor. It took a few minutes, but when you found the set, you sat there zooming in to the max to analyze every inch of the picture. Nothing gave it away to be Chris’s house. Nothing pointed to it not being a run of the mill Air B&B. It was very nice, though. In the last picture, you zoomed in and saw something in the wall that could have been a picture of Chris and his siblings when they were younger, but from the picture, it was blurry, and you really couldn’t make it out. You could have latched on to that and deduced it was his house, but you were scared to face that fact.

 For the last three years, while he was being a world-class asshole to you, he was being a prince to your parents. You couldn’t wrap your head around his strategy. If he liked you the way he professed what in his mind said the way to get you was to be a dick to you but make your parents fall in love. It made no sense.

 When you finally got up from the chair, the sun was beginning to make its descent behind the horizon. You had maybe an hour before nightfall. You intended to go back to the guesthouse to shower and just mellow out, but your legs decided to walk. When you looked around, you were surrounded by trees and greenery. You had no idea where you were or how long you’d been walking or in what direction you walked. After spinning around a few times, you noticed the worn path before you.

 “Where the hell am I?”

 Continuing forward, you followed the path that looked like feet had traveled plenty of times. The further you walked, the less condensed the trees and bushes became, and the more your curiosity rose. After another ten or so minutes, you came to a thicket before you that looked to block your path, but upon more observation, you saw the worn path you’d been walking on continued underneath it. There was something behind it.

 You pushed at the bushes that were entwined within branches and were shocked when it gave way easier than you expected. They parted like a gate. It was a gate. Before your eyes was the quaintest structure you’d ever seen.

 “Holy shit!”

 You stood there, marveling at the tiny house in front of you. Tiny wasn’t even the right word for it. The tiny house trend applied to school buses or shipping containers, not this. This looked like an off the grid, half house, or treehouse. You didn’t know what the fuck you were looking at. You continued walking forward while spinning around to take in your surroundings. The entire area was quarantined off with tall, thick bushes, trees, branches, and vines. It was incredible.

 The more you looked around, the more you fell under its spell. It was beautiful and one with nature. When you got close enough to the house, you could see scratch marks on the deck. You knew they were from Dodger. This must have been where Chris disappeared to. Stepping onto the deck, you took notice of the two Adirondack chairs, one blue the other red. Trailing your fingertips across them, you continued walking around. Every detail and item you saw, you could picture him either using it or sitting on it.

When you got to the door, you contemplated if you should go inside. This was not your property. You were snooping. It wasn’t right, but your curiosity again won out. When you turned the knob, it moved. It wasn’t locked. You stepped over the threshold and gaped at the space. It wasn’t as big as the big house, but it was in no means cramped. The wooden floors and walls gave you a feeling of comfort. Everything laid around screamed down to earth. It was the vibe Chris always gave off when he wasn’t being a dick.

 You looked around what was the living room, and then made your way to a galley kitchen that screamed man. It had the necessities, a stovetop, fridge, dishwasher, a conventional oven, and a sink. The butcher’s block countertop gave you the idea it had been used often. As you made your way through the dwelling, you took notice of a small bathroom that had no luxury, a toilet, a tub, a sink, and an incredible view. When you made it to what you knew was the bedroom, his scent bombarded you. It was the same scent from his bedroom in the house, pine, fresh air, fragrant wood, chocolate, hops, and something that you still hadn’t been able to pinpoint in all the years you’d known him.

 You wandered around the room, looking at everything you saw. The things in here looked a lot more personal than of that was in his room before. You saw a signed baseball, family pictures, empty bottles of beer, toiletries, and papers that were strewn around. It took every ounce of strength to ignore the bed in the room no matter how loud it called your name. You wanted to roll around in his sheets and wrap yourself in them, but you knew if you did that, you’d probably never get out of the bed. Without being able to control yourself, you approached it, climbing the few steps to it and touched one of the plaid shirts that were resting at the foot of the bed.

 “Don’t do it, Y/N.” As soon as the words left your mouth, the head ignored them and did just what you’d said not to. You took in a deep whiff of his shirt and moaned. Fuck, it smelled so good that your mouth actually watered. Disgustedly you threw the shirt and stomped out of the room, cursing his name.

 The more you saw, the more you liked, and the more you liked, the more you wanted to see him in it. You wanted to watch as he cooked in the kitchen, watch as he sat in the Adirondack chair, wanted to watch as he drank bottle after bottle of beer while sitting in that leather chair with a book or his laptop. You wanted to watch how he fit in that tub; it seemed impossible. You wanted more than you’d wanted in months, years—ever.

 You opened the fridge and took out one of the many bottles of beer and hit it on the side of the butcher block countertop and took several healthy gulps. When you brought it back down, what you saw took your breath away. The view of the sun setting was breathtaking. You walked out to the front deck and sat in one of the chairs and just watched mother nature’s artwork across her natural canvas.

 Before you knew it, you’d watched the sky turn from beautiful hues of purple, orange, pink and red to a navy color with specks of white. You couldn’t get over how the stars were so bright here. You were so lost in the view that when you heard Chris’s voice, you actually jumped.

 “Shit!” Your scream was loud, and before you knew it, you’d flung the bottle at him.

 “Woah!” You heard it shatter, and Dodger burst into a flurry of howls. You clasped your hands over your mouth in shock.

 “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

 “Jesus, they should have signed you to the Dodgers, maybe we’d have won more,” Chris teased.

 “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeated. Chris ticked his tongue, signaling Dodger to calm down. Like the good pup he was, he came to Chris’s side and sat then pranced over to you to lick across your cheek.

 “Hi, Dodger. How are you, boy? I’m sorry I scared you.” As if he was saying he accepted your apology, he continued licking at your face.

 “What’re you doing here? How’d you find this place?”

 His questions were serious ones. You avoided his eyes and focused on Dodger, hoping he wasn’t too angry at your trespassing.

 “Uh—well, see what had happened was—I was walking and not really paying attention, and I just—found it.”

 “Just found it? It’s a ways away from the main house. How’d you even know which direction to walk?”

 “I didn’t. I’m telling the truth, I didn’t make a plan to walk this way, I was wandering and came across it.”

 Chris didn’t speak again for a little while, but you could feel his eyes on you. Risking it, you glanced at him, and sure enough, his eyes were on you. “And you helped yourself to a beer.”

 “Yeah. I’m sorry. I know it was an invasion of your privacy and trespassing. I’m sorry.” He didn’t speak, but his eyes looked cold. He was angry.

 “Look, I’ll go. I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry to impose.” You stuttered as you got to your feet and began walking to the same thicket you’d walked through.

 After a few quick steps, he called your name.

 “It’s okay, Chris,” you answered without stopping or looking back.

 “Go get her, Dodge.” Dodger barked and tramped to you, blocking your path, hopping up on his hind legs to gently claw at your abdomen.

 “Down Dodger.”

 Ignoring you, Dodger kept clawing at you before he got hold of a piece of your shirt pulling you back toward the house. Your protests didn’t matter, and you were actually pretty surprised with how strong he was. He’d been taking it easy on you this whole time. When he was back beside Chris, he let you go and circled the two of you before he sat blocking your path to your escape.

 “Good boy,” Chris muttered, scratching behind his ear. “I’m sorry if I came off terse, I was just surprised. I wasn’t expecting to see you sitting on my deck.”

 “No, you have no reason to apologize. I understand. This is your place. I should have turned my ass around a long time ago. No wonder you’re mad.”

 “Y/N, shut up. I’m not mad. Surprised. Come on.” Chris walked ahead of you onto the deck and toward the door with Dodger on his heels. When he realized you weren’t following him and Dodger, he stopped and looked to you.

 “What’s the problem?”

 “Uh—nothing.”

 “Aren’t you coming?”

 “I wasn’t—planning to,” you responded.

 “Come on. It’s dinner time. Let me feed you.”

 That was all it took for your mind to go into the gutter and your eyes to drop to his crotch. He must have known too because his hips jutted forward. You had to bite your tongue extra hard, not to say what you really wanted to say.

“Jesus, you’re killing me,” Chris grunted before he walked inside, leaving the door open for you.

 Like an idiot, you stood there. You didn’t know what to do. If you went inside, you were worried you’d do something you couldn’t take back. He didn’t come back out or say anything else. After about ten minutes, you slowly walked inside and closed the door behind you. The coast was clear. You walked more in and around the corner and saw Chris in the kitchen with his back turned busy making whatever dinner was.

 “Took you long enough. That’s yours,” he said as he turned and slopped two rounded meat circles on the stovetop. It instantly sizzled and smoked. Beside the stovetop, you saw an opened bottle of beer. It was like he knew you’d come in.

 “If you took any longer, it would have gotten warm. There’s nothing worse than warm beer.”

 “Really? I could think of plenty of things,” you responded before you took a swig.

 “Like what?” Chris plopped two more meat circles on the stovetop to add to the sizzle.

 Monetarily lowering the bottle, you said the first thing that came to mind. “Blue Balls.”

 Once he heard it, he looked at you. There was amusement in his eyes, but his lips were not giving anything away.

“Oh, so you’ve had blue balls.”

 “What you think women can’t get blue balls? We can.”

 “And you’ve had it?”

 “Have you?” Your counter question had him scoffing before he took a long gulp from his beer.

 “I’m a man in his thirties, of course, I’ve had blue balls,” he admitted.

 You finished your beer, hoping it would stop you from asking a highly personal question.

 “How many burgers usually fill you up?”

 You hopped onto the island and crossed your legs. “How many fill you up?”

 “I’m a big boy,” Chris began.

 “I’ve heard.”

 His smile was an embarrassed one. He looked away from you and to the stovetop to focus on the burgers. You watched him add three more meat circles to it and watched on as he tended to them. When he sprinkled several seasonings on the patties, you smiled. There were plenty of people who didn’t season burger meat with anything but salt and pepper. He’d gone far beyond salt and pepper; you were relieved. In no time, the house filled up with the smell of juicy burgers. Your belly rumbled, bringing his attention back to you.

 “Hungry, huh.”

 “More than you’ll ever know.” The two of you stared for a few long moments before he looked away.

 “Since I know you don’t do a salad with your burgers, if you open the freezer drawer, you’ll find some onion rings. Think you can manage popping them in the oven?”

 Obliging him, you did as he asked. The two of you moved around the galley kitchen together. His body was tight, and it looked like he was taking extra care not to bounce you. Every time you got close to touching him, he slinked away from you, creating more space. The first and second time he did it, you found it interesting. By the ninth and tenth, you were amused and ready to tease the shit out of him.

 Noticing his bottle was empty, you bent inside the fridge and took two more out. When you handed him the opened bottle, you peered into his eyes flirtatiously. You didn’t know why but something about him brought out your flirtatious side. You wanted to tease him and make him beg for you. When he took the bottle, he took a sip while keeping his eyes on you. The only reason he looked away was the scent of the burgers charring too quickly.

 The sound of the conventional oven’s bell had you slinking past him grazing his body with your hip. You heard him hiss out felt his body tense. He was easy, you thought. Once you’d taken the onion rings out, you brought them to the back deck, ensuring to play up the sway of your hips. When you walked back, Chris looked to you.

 “These are practically done,” he informed.

 “Then you need a plate.” You walked behind him toward one of the cupboards. “Which one?”

 “The one on top,” Chris answered.

 You reached to the top but still couldn’t reach the platter that was there. After a few moments of struggle, you heard a scoff.

 “Too short?” You felt his presence before you felt him. The heat of his body was an unexpected but welcomed feeling. “Don’t worry, I got you,” Chris whispered before his body pressed against your back.

 A sigh escaped you that ended on a groan. Then you felt his crotch press against your ass. Your eyes closed, and you bent just a little, so your ass pressed more prominently against him. Chris’s groan was the clue you needed to know he liked what he felt. Neither of you moved. You both just froze and relished the feel of your bodies pressed together in this new way. You felt his beard tickle the exposed skin of the nape of your neck, and you’d never wanted someone to bite and mark you as much as you wanted it now. He didn’t bite you, though. You waited and waited, but still, the dull ache of his bite never came. He did press his lips to your ear. You heard him take a deep breath before he spoke.

 “You’re not the only one who can tease, Y/N.” It was a guttural whisper that lingered in the air as long as his body lingered against yours. You were sure your panties were flooded, and that was when he moved from you, leaving you with an ache between your legs you knew was going to bother you all night. You looked up, and the platter was gone.

 “Maybe you can grab the beers and meet on the deck,” Chris suggested as he walked away, leaving you in the kitchen with your desires.

 When you walked out back, you had two six-packs of beer in one hand and a bottle of whiskey you’d found on one of the shelves. Chris wasn’t there, and your grumpy ass didn’t care. Wasting no time, you popped the cork of the whiskey and poured yourself a glass full before you knocked it back. The burn was excruciating but wonderful. It distracted you from the ache in another place.

The two of you ate in mostly silence. Your thoughts were miles away, thinking of what happened in the kitchen and how easily he’d turned the tables on you. When your mind wandered to your conversation with your mother from earlier, you decided to bring it up.

 “Why didn’t you ever tell me you check in on my parents and send them gifts and cards?”

 Chris slowed his chew no doubt using the extra time to think of what he was going to say. After almost a minute, he swallowed.

 “It’s not a big deal. I was brought up to be respectful.”

 “Respectful is answering yes ma’am and no sir. What you’ve been doing goes above and beyond. Why do you do it?”

 “Why?”

 “Yeah. Everyone does everything for a reason. What was your angle?”

 Chris scoffed and shook his head, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he put onion ring after onion ring in his mouth as he stared at you. The fact that he wasn’t answering was getting to you, and he knew it. His smirk appeared.

 “Well?”

 “Who hurt you, Y/N?”

 Your jaw dropped. It was an unexpected question. “What?”

 “You heard me. Who hurt you? What was his name so I can find him and beat his ass.”

 “No one—no one hurt me.”

 “Bullshit. There is no way you’re like this for no reason,” Chris countered.

 “Like what?”

 “So distrustful, so skeptical or everyone.”

 “How do you know it’s of everyone and not just you?” Chris stopped mid-chew and stared at you.

 “Okay. Is it just me you’re like this with? Are you like this with him?”

 You knew he meant Charles. He always referred to Charles as “him.”

 “None of your business,” you retorted. Chris snorted.

 “Nah, you’re like this with him too. So, who hurt you?”

 Feeling naked and vulnerable, you poured another glass of the whiskey and gulped it. This was not a conversation you wanted to have.

 “Okay. I didn’t have an angle. I like your parents; I respect your parents. I wanted to do some nice things for them. I was able, so I did.”

 “Just like the Air B&B?”

 He nodded, confirming it. “Look, if I overstepped, tell me. I’ll stop.”

 You thought about it for a few moments and sighed. “It’s fine. I’m sorry for being a bitch. I just—I appreciate you looking out for them.”

 Chris studied you then nodded. The silence between you stretched for minutes.

 “So it wasn’t my parents who made you promise to stay away from me. That leaves Scott or someone else in your family.”

 Chris sighed and leaned back. “It doesn’t matter.”

 “It does,” you countered.

 “Why? What does it matter? You hate me, end of story. Me promising to stay away from you means nothing because staying away from you would have been inevitable,” Chris ranted.

 “I never said I hate you.”

 “You sure act like it.”

 That stung, but it was true. You did act like you hated him. In hindsight, you saw it was your defense mechanism. If he hated you, you’d hate him right back that way, it didn’t matter how he treated you; you wouldn’t feel any way about it. That was all biting you in the ass now.

 “Three years, huh,” you broke the silence with.

 “Three years,” Chris repeated.

 “This is bizarre.”

 “Why?”

 “All this time I’ve thought things were one way when they were the opposite,” you explained.

 “If you don’t hate me, what do you feel?”

 Staring at him, you swirled the glass and thought about just what it was you felt. You knew attraction and desire were in there, but you didn’t know what else. You gulped down the rest of the whiskey and chased it with your beer and groaned.

 “I don’t know what I feel, Chris. That’s a problem for me. I always know what I feel. I always know what I want. I have no clue right now. It’s like I’m out of control. I hate being out of control. I want all the control.”

 “What will make you feel like you have the control?”

 “The fuck if I know. I was doing fine thinking you were a dick, and now I don’t think you’re a dick. I don’t know what to think when I think of you anymore. This doesn’t even matter because you’re supposed to stay away from me anyway.” You stood and walked across the deck, facing your back to him while staring out to the darkness in the trees.

 “It’s the hardest promise to keep. You have no idea. For the last three years, I’ve wanted to do the opposite. I’ve wanted you in so many moments. I was at a premiere a few months ago, and I wanted you to be there with me. I’m lying in my bed, and I imagine what it would be like if you were laying next to me. I’m grocery shopping and think about you doing it with me. I see you in so many moments, and I want you in too many of them.”

 Holy shit, you thought. In less than two minutes, he’d managed to take your breath away. You turned, and there he was, less than two feet from you.

 “Holy shit, Chris,” you whispered.

 “I know, that was heavy, but it is just a fraction of what’s going on in my head, in my--.” Clenching his jaw, he looked away from you to the deck floor to shuffle his feet.

 “This is new for me, Y/N. It’s new, and it’s only with you.”

 As if someone was pulling at the invisible string between you, both of you drifted to each other, closing the space there. Your faces were now inches apart, and with every passing second, those inches disappeared until your foreheads were pressed together.

 “Fuck it, I’m going to break this promise,” Chris whispered before his lips crashed to yours.

 It was like an “aha” moment. As soon as your lips touched, the wind picked up and blew ferociously around you and through the trees. The kiss was an exploratory one, a timid one—one that reeked of apprehensiveness and fear. Both of you were reluctant to cross the line, but you both knew the line was going to be so far behind you in a matter of seconds. That was the definition of inevitable.

 The kiss intensified, and soon the fight was between your lips. You both were battling for control over the other, and neither of you was letting up and giving in. When you heard his deep moan, yours was unleashed seconds later. Chris’s hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against him before his other hand clasped the base of your skull to kiss you more fervently.

 Before you knew it, you’d backed him to the picnic table you were just eating on and had pressed his back to it. When you climbed onto the table and straddled him, Chris groaned and pulled at your hair, making you moan louder and want more from him. The way he kissed you had you feeling as if you’d just woken up from a long sleep, a sleep that had held you captive for far too long. You were famished. As your hips began to grind on him, Chris groaned loudly, sat up, stood, and turned you to the table. With your legs wrapped around his back, Chris grabbed your exposed thigh and squeezed before he pulled you to the edge of the table. You now felt his need, and you were ready.

 When your hands dropped to his pants to undo them, he allowed you. Once you’d unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and was ready to dip your hand inside, Chris groaned and pulled away from you.

 “Mmm, no.”

 “What!”

 “Jesus fucking Christ.”

 “Come here,” you bartered.

 He looked like he was weak as he took a few steps to you, but before you could touch him, he pulled away again.

 “Wait, wait, wait.” You spread your legs wider, tired of waiting. Chris’s eyes dropped to your opened legs, and the clench of his jaw returned, only this time the context was different.

 “Y/N,” Chris whined, but he came closer until you laced your fingers behind his neck and plastered your lips to his. This time you took control of the kiss, you dictated how much he got and as you swirled your tongue around his then sucked it you felt his defiance give way until he was again kissing you with as much urgency as you kissed him.

 “Take off your pants,” you whispered against his lips. He groaned his response, but he didn’t move to obey.

 “Take—them—off—daddy.” Again, he groaned, and you felt him grip the back of your neck before his hand moved to your throat to gently hold you there.

 “Say it again.” His voice was gruff as your eyes locked.

 “Daddy.” Everything in his eyes spoke of a dangerous desire, one that you wanted all parts of.

 “Not like this, Y/N,” Chris whispered, pressing his forehead to yours.

 “What?”

 “You don’t want me like this. You don’t deserve this.”

 “This? Deserve?” Chris kissed you again and continued to suck the air from your lungs while replacing it with unadulterated desire.

 “You deserve better than this. Let me give it to you.”

 You looked at him, half confused as to what he was hinting at and even more confused why he was talking and not stripping.

 “Chris--,” you began before he pulled away yet again.

 “Let me be better for you—with you.”

 “How?”

 “A date,” Chris announced.

 “A date? In quarantine? What?”

 “Let me worry about it. Let me wine you and dine you and show you how you should feel about me,” Chris proposed. You sat there horny and unable to think past what you wanted between your thighs.

 “Fuck, Chris. Are you really saying no to this—to me?”

 “Trust me; I can’t believe I’m saying this or even doing this. I don’t know what the hell has gotten into me. I just know I don’t want to just—,” Chris said as he moved his hands around, hoping you got the gist. “Ya know, it feels wrong with you. I want to do this right; I want to do right by you.”

 “And a date is doing right?”

 “It’s a start,” Chris added.

 You were speechless. You were also out of your depth here with him. He was blowing your mind and going against every preconceived notion you’d had of him from rumors and internet sites and even stories from Scott and your friends. You didn’t know the man standing before you.

 “What do you say?”

 You covered your face with your hands and rubbed it hoping to clear away the haze that seemed reluctant to go away. “Fine.”

 “Okay, fine.” His smile was beautiful, so beautiful it did things to you that had your belly doing backflips.

 “Fuck,” you whispered.

 “Come on, let me walk you back.”

 You rolled your eyes half hating him, but you allowed him to walk you back.

 The entire walk you were miles away thinking about what almost happened and what you still wanted to happen. When Chris said good night at the door of the guesthouse, he lingered in the doorway, clearly questioning his resolve to leave. The way he looked at you made your skin tingle and your heart race. One man definitely shouldn’t have this much power over women. He was like pure sex on a walking stick. You wanted him more than you’d ever wanted anyone before him—including Charles. That thought was enough for you to run for the hills, but thanks to the wetness between your legs, you remained there and tempted him to give in. When he sighed and dipped his head, you knew he wasn’t going to.

 “Good night, Y/N.” Chris came closer and kissed your forehead before he walked off. Deep down you knew it was going to be a restless and painful night. When you closed the door, you pressed your back on it and groaned out.

 “Motherfucker! I want to fuck my best friend’s brother.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: 

@chaneajoyyy @sonjashuterbugjohnson @disneysdarlingdiva @bellaamor88 @toniilaney @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @ajspencer1892 @ashanti-notthesinger @90sinspiredgirl @titty-teetee @evemej @areubeingserved @theskullgoddess @caramara3 @champagnesugamama @minton131 @pananegra @scoop93535 @try-n-pronounce-it @dumbchick @behindthesehazeleyes27 @blackmissfrizzle @nervousninjatheorist @dangerouslovefanfic  @surmya1907 @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @thinkxlovexloud @chris-butt @swinchestersgirl @momobaby227 @alyxkbrl @angrybirdcr @d1ff3r3nt-b34uty-official @twinx007 @a-dizzle777 @ab-baybay @patzammit @kreolemami @aysha1447 @cutewylie @disaster-rose @wondersofdreaming @lo-cheu @livinglifeformemyselfandi @magdelen69 @snowpiercer21 @renfrewscorner @thevelvetseries @mery-be @hakunalive4eva @anandalambert @youurkryptonite @mizcaptainphoenix @bobbdylann @emilykjhgsj @littlepreciousangel @ssaarroonn @thummbelina @sweetlittlegingy @art-estrange @torntaltos @rynabarnesrogers @rororo06 @anotherblackfangirl @bernie-k @theonewithherheadintheclouds @hista-girl  @coldmuffinbanditshoe @jennmurawski13 @deathstroke-terminated-deez-guts @maxcullen @shadyskit @someone-really-bored @thejemersoninferno @itsallyscorner @cristinagronk16 @shakemeupthanks-blog @acciolove724 @straightforwardly @zsuzstyina @acevansss @evansgirl7 @jovanaprime @deadlymistress24 @sunkissedebony97 @turn-thy-paige @amelatonin @nerdybitchpudding @amennariee @likesfairytales @maverickabull @est1887 @periodtcevans @thotti3par7on @vintageembrace @produtofchina @jd-now-jq @winchwm @jesseswartzwelder @pivictorious @anat2507 @euh-say-what-now @raveviolet @rdjparker @actorinfluence @sadishdelray @041802 @ljstraightnochaser @priya212 @evermcfearless @tashawar @dwights-new-plague @renfrewscorner @baby-iyania @euphoric05  @thelilbutifulthings @winterboobear11 @awaywithtime​ @problackasfwilson @brownskinafro @miss-jackson500 @siempremamita  @theladybiers @evermcfearless @ibe-erynn @marvelatthis30 @kailyndavillier @literaturefeen @richonne4life @ani808 @scifi-fantasist @mizzzpink @creolemimi @cessamjrmr @disconectedswift @i-lie-here-charmed @bamakakechick @captainchrisstan @martinafigoli @almosttherebunot @letsdothemostermash @spxcecxramxl @queenwinchester27 @chrisevansfanfic @thejeneralvicinity @doublesidedscoobysnacks @sophiealiice @imaslutforcaptainamerica @redhairedfeistynerd  @mirmirmur @nico-diangelo-grey @ibe-erynn @amazonian-strap-queen @cookinggurl43 @jasmindaughteroftheworld @letsdothemonstermash @almosttherebutnot @munteanhore @blackgurlkillinit @madixii @cessamjrmr @smediumsmeatbae

***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.

[wiypt-writes]

Leave No One Behind

Ch1: You Gotta Have A Plan Co-Written with @icanfeelastormbrewing​

Chapter Summary: After returning from Sudan following their arrest, Sam and Ari go their separate ways…but Ari just can’t let things go. He needs a plan to break the refugees he left in the camp out. And he comes up with a plan so ridiculous that it just might work. That is, if he can pull together the right team.

Unfortunately he knows that the 2 people he probably needs and wants there the most, are going to be the toughest to convince. After all, they are siblings…

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words.

Chapter Pairings:  Ari Levinson x OFC Hannah Horowitz

A/N: Now, we believe from what research and reviews tell us, that RSDR takes place basically between 1979 and 1982 (the real Operation Brothers upon which it is based upon ran until 1984). To keep this as historically factual as possible, we have done all the research we can find on Mossad, the history of the Jewish people in the 40s through 80s…the rest is purely down to our imagination.

If anything is factually wrong, we mean no offence. Chalk it down to slight creative license and take this for what it is- a work of fiction.

“Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes, that call me on and on across the universe…”  Across the Universe by the Beatles

Leave No One Behind Masterlist // Main Masterlist

 March 1979

Ari Levinson was a man who very rarely liked to sit still. He’d been the same as a boy, always needing to be doing something. And right now, even in a dark, sweaty, smelly cell in Sudan he was no different. Using the bars in the roof that gave them the only light and air into the area, he was doing pull ups, counting his way up to 100. When he finished his reps he dropped down with a sigh and made his way over to sit by Sammy who was leaning against the wall.

Ari glanced over at his friend, his fellow agent who simply looked at him without saying a word, and then looked away, both of them glancing up as Kabede, their in-country contact so to speak, walked over and sat besides Sammy.

“I heard the guards talking.” he said softly in his thick, African accent as Ari sat, his arms hanging over his knees. “They think we are smugglers. We need to get out of here.”

“Mr. Guy Thomas.” one of the guards called. All 3 of them exchanged a look, before Ari stood up and made his way to the cell door.

“You called?” he asked.

“You, and your friends…” the guard said, gun slung over his shoulder “You come with me…”

They did as they were told and were ushered into a small room, where they were unceremoniously handed their gear and told they were free to go. Ari did nothing but smile at Sammy, who rolled his eyes, because it was a knowing joke between everyone who ever ran a mission with Ari that he could fall in pig shit and come out smelling like roses.

Ari fished a packet of cigarettes out of his back pack, along with his shades and slipped them onto his eyes. He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out into the sun, lighting his cigarette as he went. He paused for a moment, looking at the man who was leaning against a blue car, watching him. He jerked his head and Ari stepped towards him.  

“And you are?” Ari asked, eyeing him up.

“I'm the reason you're out of there.” The man said, pushing himself off the car. Ari exchanged a look with Sammy as the man continued “Walton Bowen, American.”

“No shit.” Sammy said, his eyes still on the man as Ari shook his hand.

“Yeah?” Walton looked at him before he moved to shake his hand too “Cultural attaché, the embassy in Khartoum.”

“Oh. Well, you must have your hands full, considering the flourishing cultural scene in Sudan.” Ari said, the sarcasm evident in his tone and Walton gave a little laugh.

“Not nearly as flourishing as you with your anthropology studies, I'm sure.” Walton said, his voice level but Ari could detect the note of disbelief he carried. “We got a call from DC, you gents had gotten yourselves into a bit of a pickle.”

As Ari kept his eyes on the man and his face straight, besides him Sammy pointed

“Is that our stuff in the back of your car?”

Ari looked at Sammy then round to the car as Walton nodded.

“Yes, it is.  I'm sorry about the hasty packing…” he said, gesturing to the car “…but I know you have a flight in less than five hours to London.”

Ari snorted, shaking his head a little. Of course we do, damned it Ethan.

“Where are you off to after that, boys?” Walton continued.

Ari didn’t reply, instead he chuckled, and turned from the man, walking over to where Kabede was stood a few feet away.

“Looks like they're calling me back. Are you gonna be okay?” Ari asked

“Yes” Kabede assured him “I will bring more families.”

“We'll find a better way.” Ari nodded, giving the man a friendly embrace, patting him on the back before he turned around and walked back towards Walton and Sammy.

“Hope you got my toothbrush…” he said, not stopping as he passed them both and made his way to the car. “It’s new.”

After a few hours layover in London, they were called to a desk and given tickets for a flight back to Isreal for an hour later.  Ari fell asleep before the taxi down the runway had even finished and awoke a few hours later, stretching and ordering himself a beer. Before much longer the plane began it’s descent into Ben Guiron Airport and Ari let out a sigh. He knew he should be glad to be home, but he wasn’t. He hated leaving a job half done. But he wouldn’t deny he was looking forward to a shower. He felt disgusting, looked disgusting, smelt disgusting. Thank fuck Ethan had the sense to book an entire row out for him and Sammy each.

They cleared customs easily and were met by a driver who waved them over to a car.

“Home?” The man asked Ari as he took his bags from him to take them to the trunk. .

“Office.” Ari corrected, as he wrenched open the passenger door of the car. “You coming?” he asked Sammy as he sat down.

“Nah. Nah, I'm going back home.” Sammy looked at him.

“What?” Ari said, frowning as he got back out, leaning on the roof of the car.

“Back to the clinic.” Sammy said with a small smile.

Ari looked around, before he shut the door and walked over to Sammy, his mouth open in surprise.

What the hell are you talking about?” he asked gently.

“I called Ethan back in London, got a message to Hannah. She’s picking me up.” Sammy said taking a deep breath “I'm done.”

Sammy moved to pull Ari into an embrace, which Ari returned, albeit it a little half- heartedly as he was still reeling from Sammy’s revelation.

“Why?” he asked, patting Sammy on the back.

“I love you, man.” Sammy said, pulling away “You're a lucky guy. But when the luck runs out, then... you gotta have a plan, and you never have one. So... I'm out. “

Sammy looked around.

“You're out?” Ari said flatly, his eyebrows raising.

“I'm out.”

“Sammy.” Ari said gently as Sam turned away. He paused and turned to face Ari again, smiling.

“Goodbye, my friend.”

Sam quickly walked away down towards the pick-up area outside the terminal, as Ari called his name again, a little louder, but he ignored him.

Ari sighed and looked upwards, wiping a hand over his face before he glanced at Sam’s retreating back just in time to see a flurry of dark, wavy hair rushing towards him. Ari continued to observe from a distance as Sammy hugged his sister back, her face pressed into the side of his neck, Sammy gently rubbing at her back. When he finally let her go, Ari finally got a look at her and he had to smile. The last time he had seen Hannah had been almost 3 years ago, at her husband Andy’s funeral and Ari was pleased to see she looked better than she had that day. Her hair was longer, her cheeks were fuller again, no longer hollow with grief. Her skin was darker, more tanned...she looked healthy, back to her vivacious self along with, he hoped, that spark that bounced in her deep blue eyes, Eyes he knew so well.

He had first met Hannah through Sammy when she was 17, and he was 24. He had liked her from the off, despite being 7 years older than her and there’d been a spark, there was no denying that. But for various reasons, despite a 3 month long sort of fling, it hadn’t worked out. He’d backed off, instead admiring her from afar, constantly telling himself he was too old and no good for her, and then he had met Sarah. Their relationship at first had been based on total, physical attraction and had been a total whirlwind. They had married later that same year after discovering Sarah was pregnant, Ari wanting to do the right thing by her. Their daughter Maya was born 7 months later and for the first 4 years, he had to admit he’d been happy.

Meanwhile, Hannah had started dating another one of their agents and friends, Andy Horowitz. They’d married too and then sadly mere months after they had married Andy had been killed on a mission they’d been running some 3 years ago, a mission Ari had been in charge of.

Hannah said she didn’t blame Ari, but he’d seen it written on every inch of her pretty face. She’d hardly been able to look him in the eyes since Andy’s death, and as a result he had made no effort to reach out in the 3 years since Andy’s funeral. Which he knew was a selfish, shitty thing to do on his behalf, as they’d all been so close, family close even, but Hannah had always worn her heart on her sleeve and he couldn’t face the turmoil and heartbreak she was emanating.

Sammy assured him she didn’t hold him at fault, not really and that she was just upset, compounded  by the fact she hadn’t been there and was only hearing everything 2nd hand. But still, it did nothing to assuage Ari’s guilt. Andy’s life cut so tragically short, and Hannah left widowed at such a young age…

The driver’s voice shook Ari out of his thoughts, and when his eyes focussed again he realised he was staring at nothing. Hannah and Sammy both long gone. With a nod to the man he climbed back in the car and they set off for HQ.

**** "You're pissed." Sammy told his sister, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Hanna didn't answer. She stared at the license plate of the car right before them as if it was the magic combination to some sort of treasure chest. She was avoiding looking at her brother. Of course she was pissed, that was out of the question, but she didn't want to discuss that in the middle of the early evening exasperating traffic. Why was the way out of the airport always so crammed with cars?

Sammy turned to look at her and read the signs like an open book. White knuckles from the intensity with which her hands where holding the steering wheel, furrowed brow and a twitch of the mouth where she was biting the inside of her right cheek. He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You are pissed. I can tell, Hannah."

"No, I'm not" she replied trying to sound as convincing as possible and hit the car horn three times. "Oh, come on! We all have places to be!"

"Yes, you are. And honking the horn while in a traffic jam won't get you anywhere quicker, you know that?" Sammy said raising an eyebrow at her sudden outburst.

"No, it won't. But it will keep me from slapping you across your stupid face." she bit back, admitting her irritation.

"Ok." Sammy said preparing for what was about to come slouched on the passenger seat "What's on your mind?"

"Damnit, Sammy. You know full well what's on my mind. You know perfectly fucking well." she hissed without even bothering to look at him.

He sighed and nodded as an only answer. Avoiding his sister's gaze, he turned and looked through the passenger window.

"Yet, there you go again." she resumed after a minute, once she had steadied her voice and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Getting yourself arrested. You could have been killed right there on the spot! I just ...."

"Hey…" Sammy said gently rubbing her thigh "It’s ok. I'm ok, right?"

Hannah nodded and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. There were a few minutes of silence in the car as the traffic resumed and Sammy waited patiently for his sister to get herself together before speaking.

"I spoke to Ethan from London, told him I'm out." Sam said.

"What?" Hannah asked surprised looking at her brother before rapidly turning her eyes to the road ahead.

"That last mission... it was just... I'm done. Can't do it anymore." Sam fumbled with the words while he rubbed the scars on his right hand with his left one.

Hannah looked at her brother again, before she sighed, concern flooding her system.

"What happened Sammy?"  she asked, her tone soft “It must be something bad to make you want to leave it all behind.”

"Nothing. Don't worry about it. It's just… I'm tired of all that shit and need to get out, that's all." Sam replied trying to convince his sister and, most importantly himself, it was the right decision. 

The sight of that woman letting herself drown in the river had taken a toll on him. It haunted him at night and whenever he closed his eyes. He could have done more, he should have saved her, he should have found her under that muddy water and swum with her to safety. But he hadn't been able to and he didn't want to go into another mission where he would lose lives instead of saving them. 

"So, what's the plan?" Hannah asked a moment later trying to snap her brother out from the place he seemed to be lost in.

"The plan is getting home, have a shower, eat something decent and sleep till the new full moon." Sam deadpanned with a faint smile.

"I’d also consider a haircut." Hanna quipped smiling at him. "That mop doesn't suit you, neither does the moustache!"

"Yeah, well. Not much you can do when you're down there and under for six weeks." Sam stated before he smiled at her "You, on the other hand, look great, Han" 

"Well, that's what you get when you shower and wash your clothes. You stink." she said winking at him and he laughed.

"Seriously though, what are you gonna do? “ Hannah asked him after a moments pause “You gotta have a plan."

"That's exactly what I told Ari..." Sammy shrugged and Hannah’s head whipped once more to look at him.

"Ari?" she asked double checking her brother "Was Ari on the mission with you? Actually, don’t bother answering because of course he was..." she trailed off.

"That reckless, lucky son of a bitch who never seems to have a back-up plan." Sam said before lighting a cigarette. “He was there alright.”

"I'd say the man without a plan has some things very well planned." she mused while tapping the steering wheel with her fingers.

"Yeah, well, as I told him I wanna go back to the clinic. If that's ok with you, that is."

"Of course it is Sam. It's our clinic, remember? And we could do with your help, in fact, it would be a blessing. We've been very busy lately." she said excited by the prospect of having her brother with her again. "Mum will be thrilled to hear that.” “How is she?” Sam asked.

“She’s ok.” Hannah said “I’ve been trying to get her to take it easy, consider retiring but…you know what she’s like.” Sammy snorted “Stubborn, opinionated, always thinks she knows best…that’s where you get it from.” Hannah merely raised her eyebrow and smirked a little. “I dare you to tell her that on Sunday…” “Sunday?” “Yeah, she hasn't told you yet but you're coming for lunch." Hannah smirked as Sammy rolled his eyes, smiling fondly “And she won’t take no for an answer.”

***** “Ladies and gentlemen. This afternoon, historic documents concluding the Treaty of Peace between the Arab Republic of Egypt and the State of Israel will be signed…” Ari could hear the reporter on the news growing louder as he strode through the Mossad HQ towards Ethan’s office.

“Is he in?” he asked Ethan’s secretary, not bothering to wait for an answer.

“Wait, don't go in there…”

“Thanks.” he said, ignoring her as he pushed the door open, giving a small annoyed huff of a laugh as he tossed his back pack to his left where it landed with a thud. He then made his way over to the decanter of scotch on the shelves to the right of the room, Ethan not even bothering to look at him from where he was leaning against his desk, his own tumbler in hand, watching the TV, dressed in a crisp black suit and white shirt as always, his tie impeccably knotted.

“The Prime Minister is about to sign the most important peace accord in our lifetime and he can't enjoy it because of some remote tribe of our people getting massacred on a continent no one cares about.” Ethan said a little emotively, his British accent crisp as ever as he took a sip of his drink.

“Well, maybe you should let me do my job instead of pulling me out.”  Ari said, picking up his drink and turning towards the couch at the side of the room.

“Your job includes getting arrested?” Ethan asked, as he stood up straight and turned off the TV. Ari sighed as he slumped on the couch, one leg bent with his foot resting on the low coffee table in front of him “Or is this just another by-product of you being reckless and totally out of control?” he looked at Ari for the first time  since he had walked into the room.

“Sudan. My god, Ari…” Ethan snorted angrily, picking up his decanter to top up the glass. “An enemy country in a perpetual state of... fucked-up-ness. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that hiding refugees in a refugee camp was a pretty brilliant idea.” Ari said simply with no trace of irony, as he scratched at an itch on his side before necked his liquor.

“And how do you propose to get them out of there?” Ethan looked at him.

Ari sighed and placed the empty glass on the side next to the phone “Still working on that.”

“This job pays in migraines.” Ethan shook his head as he crossed the room and topped up Ari’s glass. “You look like shit.” he said, pointing to him with the hand that held the decanter which he placed on the coffee table.

“Thank you.” Ari replied “Smell like shit, too. I was under for six weeks.” he reached for the now once again full glass as Ethan sat on a chair opposite him.

“How's Sarah?” Ethan asked.

Ari looked down, his finger tapping on the rim of the glass before he placed it back on the side and slumped down on the sofa again, his eyes focussing downwards on his thigh as it bent upwards in front of him, his hand hooking underneath it.

“She left me.”

“Your life's a mess.” Ethan stated and Ari simply raised his eyebrows in agreement “Well, maybe this is a blessing in disguise, then.”

“What is?” Ari asked, as Ethan took a drink. “Are you taking me off this?”

“Exfil is going to come up with some alternative plans for the Ethiopians.” Ethan said as Ari tipped is head back with a frustrated sigh, his hands flying out to his side. “Then we'll discuss with the boss how best to move forward.”

“Ethan, don't do that.” Ari pleaded sitting forward “You know those guys are morons, they're gonna waste months on plans that aren't viable.  Months that we don't have. You gotta send me back.”  

“Go home, take a shower, spend some time with the family.”

“Ah Fuck!” Ari sighed, before his voice grew louder and he crossed his arms, taking on the tone and appearance of a sullen child “No.”

“No?” Ethan looked at him “It's done, Ari. You're not going anywhere.”

And that was that. Ethan wasn’t for turning. In the end Ari had stormed out of the office, his mood darkening by the second, and it didn’t get any better when he arrived home to find the place dark, empty and a message from Sarah on the answer phone telling him she’d taken Maya to her parents place.

Her parent’s place in fucking New Jersey

“Spend some time with the family…” Ethan’s words rang around his head as he slumped on the bed, beer in hand looking at the now empty side of the closet that had contained most of Sarah’s clothes.

Yeah, chance would be a fine thing.

**** Ari spent the following days on a semi-comatose state. He kept strict grooming and feeding habits, which was something he quite enjoyed after six weeks of not being able to give much thought to it.  He also took care of the chores now that it was only him at the house and set up a work-out routine to keep his one-track mind occupied and allow himself to physically blow off some steam. 

He was frustrated to say the least. Frustrated at being pulled out by Ethan, who wasn't even willing to reconsider his reinstatement for the time being. And frustrated on how, and it ached to admit, he missed his daughter. He had seen Maya last before leaving for Ethiopia and he had told her, and so had he thought at the time, he would come back home and spend all the time possible with her. But she wasn't there when he came back. 

Surprisingly enough, he didn't miss Sarah or, at least, not in the way he should. He did miss spending time with his family or the feeling of having a family to get back to and Sarah was part of that family. And, to tell the truth, he had never been home in this house alone. And, though he was beginning to come to terms with the fact this was his life going forward, he wasn't sure if he liked it. But, on the other hand he was also relieved. Sarah and he had been strained and fighting for so long before he left for the mission that her leaving had almost been a relief.  And, in a sense, he was glad she had done it before he was the one who had to suggest that maybe they needed to concede things weren't working between them because, frankly, Ari Levinson was a chicken shit when it came to stuff like that

But what Ari wasn't was cut out for the mundane, office life. A couple of weeks later his mind was in a state of turmoil. He took a trip out to New Jersey for a few weeks under Ethan’s instructions where he spent some quality time with Maya and had a very frank discussion with Sarah. The papers she had left him to sign upon his return from Ethiopia were legal documents which would enter them both into a legal period of 2 years separation and upon the conclusion therefore a Divorce would be mutually agreed. There was no way back for the pair of them, and he was relieved that she felt the same way and signed the papers in presence of an attorney who assured him this was the easiest, least messy way to go about things. Sarah had also agreed to return to Tel Aviv at some point as she conceded that keeping Maya at the other side of the ocean wasn’t fair to him or her. But when that would be, she never said.

All in all he wasn’t feeling great when he returned to HQ at the end of April especially when he was told that Exfil had yet to come up with any decent sort of plan. He told Ethan, once again, that they were fucking morons but was told to steer well clear. But Ari had never been one to stay out of things, or pay any attention to his boss when he thought he knew better. Day and night the idea of getting the refugees out of that Sudanese refugee camp was still haunting him. He had to come up with something and it had to be as soon as possible, before those Exfil idiots fucked it up completely. So after weighing up the situation for week or so more, he decided to get on with it off radar. He knew the best way to get Ethan to hear him out would be coming up with a fool-proof plan-something so absurd, far-fetched if you will, that no one would suspect they were smuggling Jewish refugees out of Ethiopia. 

So he did it by stealth, getting on with his normal duties of paper work and communicating with other Intelligence Operatives across the globe playing the co-ordination role Ethan had dumped him in and putting the final touches on the last mission reports he had been doing at Mossad Head Quarters. His day job so to speak.

The night times, however, well, they were his own. And he used them to do a bit of research of his own. 

He tried not to be spotted when he went to the archives department and asked the assistant there for a specific microfilm. Last thing he wanted was Ethan or one of his subordinates sniffing he was up to something. At least not before he could flesh his plan out in order to give a proper presentation to Ethan.

And finally, after an arduous period of research and countless sleepless nights it came to him, one warm night at the end of June. He was examining one map of the area on the computer when he noticed the sea. They could do it, the answer had to be in the sea. Ari felt a sudden surge of optimism and started digging into the different possibilities for a way out through sea instead of land and a feasible cover. His smile reached his eyes when he spotted just what he was looking for and a hunch told him to go for it. 

It took a few days for him to pull everything together and get what he needed, and contact the people he needed. Which was why, early one July morning he was pacing the Comms room, rubbing his beard nervously, ironically dressed in the same clothes he had been in a few days prior when the idea had originally occurred to him. It was funny now, how he didn’t have Sarah pecking his head about his outfits he simply donned his preferred casual clothing to the office, something his single friends at work seemed to do a hell of a lot. Speaking of which, he was feeling stressed out after a heated argument with his estranged wife over the phone earlier that day about him seeing Maya. She had kept her side of the bargain, returning to Tel Aviv, but as a result he’d moved out of the house, renting a two bed apartment not too far from what had been their family home. He’d had regular access and visits to his daughter, which had been fantastic, but tonight he’d been due to take Maya out for dinner. However, Sarah had changed her mind at the last minute, something to do with her work shifts and it being a school night. When he had pointed out that she didn’t give a shit about her school when she took her over to New Jersey for the best part of a month she’d simply called him an asshole and put the phone down. Unable to concentrate on anything he’d gone for a run and returned to the office when it was dark and most of the people had gone, to find there was still no communication waiting for him, to let him know if his plan was going to work.

And then, finally the fax from the Sudanese Tourist Board arrived and he knew he had a great plan. Now, he had to sell it to Ethan and it couldn't wait, despite the ungodly hour…

“Ethan! I have an idea.” Ari said as he climbed the stairs to Ethan’s apartment, backpack over his shoulder, his arms laden with rolled up maps and papers.

“It’s four o'clock in the morning.” Ethan said exasperatedly.

“It's a really good idea.” Ari assured him as he continued up the stairs. Ethan simply stood back as he entered his apartment “Do you always sleep in a silk robe?” Ari asked, turning to look at him before he headed into the living room. Ethan paused for a moment before he followed him in, shutting the door behind him.

Ethan listened patiently as he explained his plan, and for the most part simply nodded. When Ari finished, Ethan leaned back and smiled softly at him, his fingers drumming on the map Ari had spread over the table.

“You know what Ari…” Ethan said, a smile on his face “This is so ludicrous…it might just work…but you’ll need a good team.”

Ari smirked and handed Ethan another piece of paper, watching as his boss scanned down the names of the Agents and former Agents he had identified.

“This…” Ethan looked at him, shaking his head “This is not a team, it’s a recipe for disaster!”

“They’re the best of the best…” Ari shrugged.

"But the Navons?” Ethan looked at Ari, shaking his head in disbelief “You mean you want both of them? Seriously after everything that’s-?”

"Oh, no, my bad…” Ari said, cutting him off and reaching over and scribbling something on the paper as Ethan let out a sigh of relief before he looked up, his eyes twinkling as Ethan let out a groan as he spotted the correction Ari had made to the name. “She’s a Horowitz now..."

**** It took them a week to get all the details fleshed out to a point where Ethan was happy to take it to his superiors. Ari would have done it that same morning he had gone knocking on Ethan’s door but his boss had insisted on details and plans…something Ari wasn’t all that bothered by, preferring to work in the spur of the moment. Still, Ethan had insisted that he wouldn’t be able to sell the idea without answering questions, and had lectured him in great detail on the 5Ps, or 6 Ps in this case…

Proper preparation prevents piss poor performance…

He had to admit, however, Ethan had been right. As he began to spell out his ideas and plans to Isaacs, the Mossad Chief, he found himself being able to speak confidently, not just because he had conviction in his idea, but because he never once found himself lacking the ability to explain.

“The majority are coming in from Gondar and Tigray right there…” Ari said, leaning over from his chair to point at the map which was spread out on the desk. “But we can't land our planes anywhere near there.”

“Why?” Isaacs asked, looking at Ari from where he sat in his chair.

“Derg brought in the Russians and Cubans. It's limiting everyone's mobility. The chance of landing a plane without being noticed is non-existent.” Ari explained “The only way to get a substantial number out is by sea.”

“Ethiopia's practically landlocked.” Isaacs said, leaning forward and gesturing at the map.

Ari nodded in agreement, his hand rubbing at his beard before he looked at Ethan who was sat next to him in the other chair. Ethan inclined his eyes at Isaacs, instructing Ari to continue, so he did.

“But Sudan isn't.”

Isaacs paused from looking at the map and then glanced at Ari to Ethan and then back again.

“Seriously?”

Ari nodded.

Isaacs leaned back. “Something tells me this is going to take a bit longer than a few hours to explain…”

Ethan smiled a little and nodded “You could say that, yes.” “Ok…” Isaacs sighed, reaching for his phone “Let me make a few calls. I need to get my advisors down here…and food.” So that’s what he did. Ari found himself repeating various points again and again to different people as they headed in with various files, paper, pens…and he was getting a little frustrated as the night started to draw in. But he kept calm, taking his lead from Ethan who jumped in whenever he could sense Ari was starting to lose his cool a little, and Ari was thankful for the fact his boss was there.

“How long does it take to get from Sudan to Sinai by boat?” Isaacs asked.

“It takes three days.” Ethan began “You can…” “Just a-- Hold on a sec.” Isaacs said as Ari dropped his hands to his hips, leaning back against the large cupboard he was stood in front of. “Even if this could work, you'd need a team of agents on the ground. A team with international background.” Ethan and Ari exchanged a look, and both nodded at Isaacs as he continued “How are you gonna keep our agents that long inside an enemy state?”

“This is where it gets really good.” Ethan said, nodding at Ari who pulled an aerial shot out of the pack of files he had brought with him. Ari handed it to Isaacs.

“Red Sea Diving Resort. It's a hotel built by an Italian company in the early '70s.” Ari explained as he walked back to his leaning post, arms folded. “Fifty kilometres north of Port Sudan. The Italian company abandoned it five years ago.  Now the Sudanese government is looking to lease it, to boost tourism.”

The room fell silent as Isaacs looked at the photo, his expression perplexed which then morphed into surprise. He looked at Ari, how shifted a little uncomfortably, waiting for him to comment on the idea. Instead Isaacs stood up, and moved to his phone.

“Ask the Defence Minister if he can join us.” he said simply, and Ethan glanced at Ari, giving him a smile.

About twenty minutes later, the Defence Minister a Mr Henry Weiss joined them and listened carefully to what they had to say, Ari explaining once again what the outline of his plan was. It took him another hour, and it felt like he had been explaining this all day. Which, in reality, he had.

“Let me get this straight.” Weiss said, sitting on the edge of the desk as Isaacs sat in the chair behind hit, both hands behind his head as he was flanked by various other people from his agency, all of them watching Ari who was sat perched on another unit to Weiss’ right “You want Mossad, the Israeli intelligence service, to purchase an abandoned hotel from the Sudanese government.”

“Lease, but yeah.” Ari said, nodding, his hand curling around his chin and mouth in an L-shape.

“Abandoned because?”

“Because the area where it's located is lawless. It's controlled by the Hadandawa.” Ari said, and for the first time he started to feel a little less confident.

“By the who?” Weiss looked at him

“It's a Bedouin tribe.” Ari supplied.

“Translates, The Lion Clan” Tellem, one of the military agents stood around the room supplied “Known for cannibalizing their enemies.”

“No…” Ari quickly began to protest as Isaacs glanced at the military agent who had spoken. “That's...” he took a pause and looked at Ethan who shifted and stared at Ari. And Ari knew why, because he hadn’t told any of this to Ethan. “ No, that's... not anymore.” Ari folded his arms in front of him. “Now it's... human trafficking. -Girls to Jedda, that sort of thing—“

“This... just gets better and better.” Ethan looked at Ari.

“So, your idea, just to reiterate…” Weiss drew the attention back to him “Is to send a group of Jews to a Muslim country, to a place where they might get eaten by Bedouins, to run a fake hotel, in order to rescue a group of black Jews who might or might not survive a 1,000-kilometer walk across the desert, to be smuggled out to sea by Israeli Navy Seals to an Israeli ship.”

“Disguised as a petroleum service vessel, yeah.” Ari said, smiling slightly.  

“That's ridiculous.” Tellem said with a sigh.

There was silence around the room. Ari looked up, and could take no read on anyone’s body language. He locked eyes with Ethan who gave him a sympathetic look and he let out a breath shaking his head.

Back to the drawing board.

“Is NATCOR still operational?” Weiss asked suddenly as Ari stood up.

“Yep” Isaacs replied, his eyes on Ari.

“What's NATCOR?” Ari frowned, hands on his hips.

“It's a shore company in Switzerland we use for large transactions.” Isaacs said simply

“How large?” Ari asked, not sure what this had to do with anything.

“Like leasing a hotel.” Isaacs said.

Well, shit!

With a small smile, one that was more from shock than victory he looked at Ethan who eyed him appraisingly.

“How long do you need?” Weiss asked and looked at Isaacs.

“I can pull the strings in NATCOR in a week or so but I need to know how much we need and when for.” Isaacs said, and once again all attention turned to Ari and Ethan.

“We’ll need a couple of months to pull the team together, get everything organised…leasing agreements that sort of thing…” Ethan said, looking at Ari

“Give me 3 months.” Ari nodded in agreement. “Maximum.”

*****

It turns out that the Sudanese Tourism Board play hard ball. 6 weeks it took. 6 fucking weeks to negotiate a price and a timescale. Originally they’d been willing to lease the Diving Resort from the middle of March until, after agreement of a slightly higher price, they had brought the date forward to January. That was still too far away for Ari’s liking, but as Ethan had reminded him if they missed even one cross on a t or a dot on an I, they were done for.

Finally, at the end of August, they had ironed out every crease they could see, and the confirmation that they had been accepted to hire the abandoned resort came through. A week later, at the start of September, Ari left Tel-Aviv again to start his recruiting spree. First stop, a Pan Am plane with destination Belize. 

He was having a coffee and tapping some stray sugar grains on the table surface with his index finger's pad absent-mindedly when his plane was called. His mind went to Maya as he waited in line, boarding pass in hand. He’d spent a lot of time with her over the last week, deliberately, and he knew she understood why he didn’t live with them anymore, but she hadn’t understood why he was going to be going away again. And then, on the last day before he left she had been especially quiet and brooding. Ari had tried to make small conversation with her but had failed and had opted to explain to his daughter why he had to go, as best as he could. She still hadn't reacted as Ari expected and he had to admit defeat. The final blow had come when he had asked Maya about the drawing he was holding of her family, a drawing he was absent from, and she had told her father he wasn't in the picture because he was at work. He hadn’t mentioned it to Sarah, it simply wasn’t worth the hassle.

"You've got to be kidding me" Rachel Reiter said to Ari with a chuckle as she stopped at the end of his row, trolley before her "What are you doing on this flight?" she added impersonating the perfect flight attendant.

"I'd like some tomato juice, please." Ari ordered with a smile.

She served him his tomato juice and sat on the free seat next to him. Ari explained to her he had pulled some strings to find out which flight she would be working. Not that Rachel needed to know. She was perfectly aware of what Ari was capable of and how Mossad worked. Thus, she explained the mission she was on, having scanned the briefcase of a passenger, a PLO accountant. 

Ari spent the following five minutes explaining briefly what the mission he was attempting to recruit her for consisted of.

"Ex is in stable asshole condition. Kids are perfect." Rachel told Ari when he asked about her family.

"And you're ok leaving them for an unknown amount of time?" he asked waiting for the confirmation she was in.

"If we don't do something no one will" was what Ari replied Rachel after she asked him to give her a good enough reason to enrol. And that was more than enough, as she smiled and nodded imperceptibly.

"Tell me one last thing." Rachel said standing up and brushing her skirt. "Who's in Belize?"

"Excuse me?" Ari asked with a poker face.

"I know you Ari. I've been running small missions on flights for the past 5 months, they must have told you. And yet you have chosen exactly this one to come talk to me?" she said whispering as she leaned to grab the tray where the now empty glass of tomato juice lay.

"Wait and see Rachel." he said with a broad smile. "I'll be in touch soon."

*******

It was hot, very hot when, a day later Ari sat at a table in a beach bar in Half Moon Caye waiting for Jake to finish his private lesson. Not exactly a diving one.

"What brings the great Ari Levinson all the way to Belize?" Jake Wolf greeted Ari from the door of the decompression tank, wearing nothing more than a dazzling smile.

"I have a unique mission to offer you." Ari told him "But I'm not gonna offer you anything until you cover yourself up" he joked watching as Jake approached him, arms open to give him a hug.

Jake ignored his friend’s request and after brazenly taking a cigarette out of Ari's packet sat on the chair facing him. Ari explained to Jake that he needed someone with expertise and diving skills for a mission related to what in Jake's words was a bloody genocide no one gives a shit about because it's in Africa.

So when Ari told him that his Prime Minister had decided to give a shit, he was convinced he had gained Jake's adventurous spirit and he would be on board. 

An hour and some beers later, Ari had explained to Jake the mission in detail and they both had caught up on their lives.

"Be ready to be called in in about a month give or take." Ari told Jake who nodded. 

"Why don't you stay a couple of days? Look around you. This is paradise, my friend." Jake said a big grin and open arms pointing at the white sand beach and tropical palm trees.

"I have a flight tomorrow morning." Ari had to refuse his friend’s offer, implying he had still places to be and people to recruit.

"Where to?" Jake asked knowingly.

"Amsterdam." Ari answered before puffing his cigarette. “At least that’s where my next victim was last time I checked…”

Jake just nodded, a faint glimmer of a smile showing, before saying "Then, the night is young. Let's make the most of it before you leave."

******

"You fucked up my lunch, man" Max Rose told Ari after lowering the gun he was pointing at his former mentor.

A mixture of relief and annoyance crossed Max’s face as he waited for Ari to give an explanation as to why was he sat in his arm chair, in the middle of his rented flat in Amsterdam, reading the fucking newspaper with a stupid grin on his stupid face.

"I have a mission for you." Ari said.

"Of course, you have" Max scoffed before hugging him. "But you're buying me lunch if you want me to listen to you."

And that's what they did. Ari knew if you had to win Max over, it had to be around food. After explaining the mission and what Max’s role would be, Ari had one last question and he had deliberately saved it for last when he knew Max would already be on board.

"Max, I need to know you're fine with all this because I need you to be focused. Are you ready to go back down there after Andy?"

"Absolutely." Max said without hesitating. But Ari could see a glint of sadness in his eyes.

"Good." Ari said sympathetically "Then I guess I'll contact you in a month or so." Ari added before he raised his glass to toast for the mission.

***** 4 days later, just over a week after leaving, Ari was back in Tel-Aviv, having saved the discussion he knew was going to be the hardest until last.

He sat in the waiting room of the Ethan Navon Memorial Clinic, a place in which he hadn’t been for easily over 5 years, and was eventually ushered into the Examination Room where the nurse popped a thermometer under his tongue as he sat on the trolley, waiting.

“How can I help you Mr…Aw, fuck me!” Sammy groaned as he looked at Ari who gave him a cheeky smile “What the fuck?  What the fuck are you doing here?” he turned to his nurse “What the fuck is he doing here?”

“Hey, hey, just... Calm down.” Ari said gently, “I need to talk to you. Five minutes.”

Sammy tossed his file and glasses down on to the small equipment trolley and said something to his Nurse. She nodded, making a hasty exit and as Sammy went to close the door it stopped before he could shut it fully and swung fully open again, Hannah stepping into the room, frowning at her brother.

“Sammy? What's going on? I can hear you shouting all the way over in the other room? What’s the…” she trailed off as Sammy nodded towards Ari, her mouth falling open when she saw him “Fuck me…”

"Hey Hannah, how you doing?” Ari gave her a small smile. “You look great by the way."

And he meant it. Her hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck and she was dressed in a simple pencil skirt and blouse, her white doctors coat open.

"What do you want Ari?" she asked softly.

“It's a nice clinic you got.” Ari said, taking the thermometer out of his mouth, ”Save a lot of lives here?

“No. But we don't take any lives either.” Hannah shrugged as Ari took a deep breath, steeping his hands together.

“I know how to get 'em out, Sammy.”

Sam scoffed

“I got a plan.  And it's good.” Ari was almost whispering with excitement as he stood up off the bed.

“Yeah, that's...” Sam looked at his sister, laughing sarcastically “That's what you always say, until everything goes to shit.”

“Right, just hear me out. You don't like what I gotta say, I'm going.”  Hannah and Sammy both exchanged a look as Ari began to pull the documents and details out of his rucksack, standing on the other side of the examination bench.

“Ari…” Hannah began as she stepped forwards, but Sam gently touched her arm and he moved towards Ari, shaking his head.

“Ari, Ari…no…”

“What? You don't wanna hear the plan?”  Ari asked gently.

“Stop.” Sam instructed him.

“You don't wanna hear it? You'd rather be here than in the field?” Ari asked, disbelief in his tone as his voice grew louder.

“Shh!” Hannah instructed the pair of them as Sammy began packing the stuff back into Ari’s backpack for him.

“Why?” Ari pressed “You're the best field doctor I know.”

“I used to be.” Sam said gently “Back when I had two good hands.”  

“Hey, both hands tied behind your back, you're still the best.” Ari said honestly. Sam paused and looked at him for a second, before Ari took a deep breath. “I need you on this one….” he looked over Sammy’s shoulder and locked eyes with Hannah “Both of you.”

She frowned a little, her arms unfolding and dropping to her hips as she studied him.

“I can't do it without you.” Ari finished, diverting his attention back to Sam. Hannah watched her brother who paused for a moment, before he turned and walked past her, opening the door. He glanced back at Ari and said, quite forcefully.

“No.”

Hanna’s gaze dropped to the floor as Ari gave a small sigh “Alright…” and gathered up his belongings “Okay…” She looked up at him as he walked past, and he gave her a pleading look which she met with a passive one of her own as he gave her a sad smile, before he walked out, Sam avoiding his gaze as he did so.

The two siblings stood in silence for a moment before Hannah met Sam’s eyes.

“Oh no…” Sam groaned “Seriously…” “Can it hurt to hear him out?” She asked gently.

“Are you serious? For fucks sake…”Sam groaned. “You are, aren’t you?”

Hannah shrugged. Sam eyed his sister again and then rolled his eyes and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Fine we’ll listen...” Sam said loudly, as he walked into the doorway, leaning out of it as Ari stopped and turned to face him “But only out of curiosity…because I'm still gonna say no.”  

Both siblings ushered Ari to Sam's office, Hannah leading the way. She opened the door to let both men in. 

Ari could smell a familiar scent of vanilla when he walked past Hannah into the room and couldn't help but smile softly at her but she was staring at her feet and didn't notice. He tried to make eye contact with her as she helped Sammy to clear the small round table at the right far corner of the office, but to no avail. He could only catch a glimpse of her long eyelashes where the locks that had fallen off her bun allowed him to. 

It was only when Sam asked him to do what he had to do that she raised her head from the table and her big blue eyes looked directly at his, stopping there for a couple of seconds.  A couple of seconds which Ari hoped had been enough to convey the message he wanted her to get. One second; I'm sorry. Another one; help me out in this.

A couple of seconds later her gaze went to the back pack that hanged from his left shoulder. Battered, colour faded by uncountable missions and frayed at the seams.

"Ever thought of changing that? It could use a bit of a wash?" Hannah asked, her head nodding towards the back pack as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

He looked at it confused and when he returned his eyes to Hannah saw she was smiling.

"It's been with me through thick and thin. Couldn't get rid of it at this point." Ari replied returning the smile and placing the back pack on the table.

"All right, let's get this over with." Sammy urged Ari while he took a lot of documents, photographs and maps out. 

Sam wasn't willing to spend any more second on pleasantries. He knew if he gave Ari the chance, he was bound to dive head first into whatever crazy plan he had come up with this time and the quicker he did that, the quicker he could tell him to piss off.

Thus, Ari spread the documents out and for the following 45 minutes he talked Sam and Hannah through his plan for the mission. He had been more thorough with details and careful with sensitive information as he knew Sam would be a harder nut to crack than Rachel, Jake or Max. Especially if he wanted Hannah in.

Both siblings remained silent during the explanation. Sharing a glance from time to time, but Ari was too excited and focused on trying to explain his plan well to read too much into it. When he finished he put his hands on his hips, blew a strand of hair that had fallen over his forehead and grinned with satisfaction, looking at them expectantly

Sammy, who had his arms crossed, moved a hand to his face rubbing his jaw and his eyes flicked a moment from the documents on the table to his sister. Hannah wasn’t looking at her brother, however, her attention was solely on the information Ari had set out.

"Is that a brochure for the hotel?" she asked as she took a brightly coloured and glossy document which was folded in the middle.

"Yup." he said popping the p.

"You've really given this plenty of thought." she said admiring the brochure as well as the rest of maps and planning documents scattered over the table.

"I have." Ari replied, his eyes pleading with her.

"So, just to be clear, you want us all to play house while smuggling refugees in and then out of fucking Sudan." Sam snorted.

"Basically, yes. And you sound like one of Isaacs' dogs." Ari protested.

Sam was about to bite back when Hannah grabbed his arm to cool him down.

"I think it's a brilliant plan." she said looking from Sam to Ari.

"Yeah, now he's the man with a plan." Sam scoffed and turned to look at her sister "And I don't care what you think, you're not going."

"Are you listening to yourself, Sam?" she said visibly annoyed at her brother’s overprotectiveness "You don't get to say what I am or am not doing. You hear me?"

Ari lowered his head and smiled at Hannah's outburst. She had always been an independent and opinionated girl and that had caught his attention right from the start. And she had turned into the determined and strong-willed gorgeous woman that stood there right in front of him, telling her older brother to basically fuck off. Ari couldn’t help but think how different she was from Sarah, who had become so clingy and demanding over the last few years.

"How do you even plan on getting all this up and running?" Sam asked Ari ignoring his sister.

"I said I’d have the details ironed out and a team assembled in 3 months and that was eight and a half weeks ago now, give or take” he said, looking at Sam then to Hannah “ I've got another three or so weeks to come up with covers for everyone and hand them out for memorizing. If everything goes to plan then we should be ready to deploy in January.”

Sam sighed and looked up at his sister who was busy studying the map, her sharp eyes roving over the details. Ari watched her for a second as she bit her lip before he looked back at Sam.

"I need you in this Sammy. I can't do it without you." he pleaded. Sam gave him a look, before he turned away shaking his head, clearly lost in his conflicting thoughts. Ari then switched his attention to Hannah. "And I need you too, Firefly.” At the use of his nickname for her she looked up, her eyes locking onto Ari’s a faint smile playing on her face as he held her gaze” I know I'm in no position to ask you to come with me. Not after what happened to Andy. But I really need a female doctor to take care of those refugee women."

Hannah visibly faltered at the mention of Andy. She hadn’t expected to hear his name, least of all from Ari's lips. He was really bringing the big guns out. But then again, persuasion tactics aside, it was a good plan and he was right about needing a woman to help out. Sammy had told her what had happened to that woman that had let herself drown on his last mission after they had found her bloodied and bruised by a tree after a vicious rape. It was common for women to be abused like that by the local authorities who persecuted them, and if there was something she could do to help, then Hannah already knew deep down that wouldn't be sitting the mission out. Andy wouldn't have done either and she was willing to bet Sam was already considering taking up Ari's offer. That fucking handsome bastard always got what he wanted. She would know.

"Which dumbasses have you got to agree to it so far?" Sammy asked, moving the discussion swiftly on. He had spotted his sister’s reaction to the mention of her late husband. She’d visibly wavered and Sammy had seen her right hand go straight to her necklace, where she wore her engagement ring and wedding band, an action she always undertook when she was nervous or the memory of Andy hit her. And it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Ari either.

"Jake Wolf, who you know from a few missions, Max and Rachel..." Ari offered, turning to Sam.

"Max?" Hannah asked still fiddling with her necklace, but a look of surprise now on her face “Max agreed?”

Ari nodded smiling at her. He knew she would be in when she heard the name of her best friend. That was the reason he hadn't mentioned the names of the rest of the team along with the explanation and ensuing conversation. It was an ace up his sleeve he hadn’t wanted to play until necessary. And Sammy, good old Sammy, had provided him with the opportunity on a silver plate. A simple list of names, strategically ordered, and the match point was his.

Hannah looked at her brother and gave him a smile, inclining her head slightly, an action Ari knew all too well to be her conceding her agreement. He managed to resist the urge to punch the air in victory, but didn’t fight the smirk that slid across his face as he turned to Sam and asked.

"Are you dumbass enough to jump in?"

**** Chapter 2 Part 1

[ricaffeine]

You’re Much More Handsome

Summary: He shuts his eyes and tries to think about other things—anything other than her head near his dick. A filthy continuation of the scene in Episode Eight where Munyeong lays on Kangtae’s lap.

a/n: (picture credits to the owner) i had a wild imagination with this scene when i first saw it so i hope i served it justice 😏😈 i personally love flustered KT he's adorable hehe. i'm still an amateur in writing smut so let me know what you think! which part is ur favorite??? i’d love to hear ur thoughts! 💗🔥

Her sweltering breath tickles the nape of his neck, like a cackling fire against his skin. Kangtae drowns in the delicious shiver, goosebumps stretch across his body—in a sense that pulls him into sweet bliss. His body tingles from the sensation, aching for it to last. 

A gush of air is then blown into his ear, like a loud alarm blaring his senses, in contrast to the previous warm stir, as if telling him the privilege has ended. He almost jumps in his seat, stuttering with his words.

“A-ah, w-what are you doing?!” He frantically hisses, brushing her away and to his surprise she concedes, crawling back to her approaching pose. She’s staring at him with eagle eyes, hands planted on the red plush cushion, her back is excessively arched as she tormentingly poses her enticing chest. The sight itself makes him want to groan out loud.

Stop it, Kangtae

Munyeong smirks at his predictable reflex—like a frightened cat scrambling for sanity. 

“Your face is red.”

In an instant he flusters at her remark, his wobbly hands almost lose hold of the ragged doll but he catches it with his inhuman speed—almost pricking his finger with the sharp needle. He exasperatedly counters. “What? I’m not—”

Before he can even finish his defence, Munyeong promptly drops onto his lap and instantaneously his mind short circuits. Her head comfortably lays on his groin, and Kangtae feels like all his blood has rushed down south. 

“I’m sleepy.” He hears her say, and air catches in his throat. What does she mean?

He sputters out an automatic response, driving his focus to the wrecked doll. “Go upstairs and sleep.”

Munyeong mumbles, shifting her weight backward to his burgeoning region and he chokes back a moan. Her hand trails up onto his clothed leg, fingernails scratching slightly on the green fabric, hindering his breath once more. “I don’t want to. You’re here.”

You’re here. The words warm his chest and unforgivingly, his lower region as his mind dives into a lucid imagination.

Her soft lips, wet tongue, warm silken skin. 

It’s a hard slap on his thigh that snaps him out of his trance and Kangtae springs like a deer caught in headlights.

“Relax, won’t you?”

Munyeong grumbles as she snuggles into a comfier position. He plans to protest, but knowing that his futile attempt would get him nowhere with her wayward behavior, he surrenders, trying to loosen up the tense muscle as she demanded. Though it refuses to as their intimacy terrifies him. 

Letting out heavy breath, he sets Mangtae aside on the couch arm, planning to fix it later once she’s asleep and he leans on his back. He shuts his eyes and tries to think about other things—anything other than her head near his dick.

Tomorrow’s breakfast, Sangtae’s art supplies that he needs to buy, and the grocery list.

Soon enough exhaustion anchors his body, pulling at his limbs and Kangtae hangs his head back, welcoming it.

Munyeong smiles to herself as she rests on his lap, taking a mental note of the thickness of his thighs, planning to put them to good use one day. His outbreak this afternoon has proven his desire clearer than ever and the reminisce of his jealousy pleases her more than it should. She had gotten a call from Sangin late afternoon, a short while after he angrily stomped away, asking her what on earth she had done to make the composed man lash out at him.

He’s just jealous, she laughed enthusiastically before ending their call despite the wails from the other line. Little did he know he jealousy was riled up over something that was not even alive.

Carefully, she pushes herself off his lap and crawls up his sturdy chest, surprised as she’s met by his unconscious state. Silence fills the study room and Munyeong admires his handsome face. Granted asleep, his features strain tense, brows furrowing and his lips sealed tight—as if he’s scared she’s going to swallow him whole. 

She might as well do it.

Leisurely, she grasps his shoulder for support, hoisting up a little and she presses a firm kiss onto the column of his neck. It’s soft and teasing, and a sly smile curves onto her pink lips as she watches him shudder beneath her. Enjoying his subconscious reaction, Munyeong leans in to trail more on the warm expanse, the fragrance of his soap whiffing into her nose. 

She hums in amusement, warm lips dragging along his velvety skin. In between the state of slumber and awareness, Kangtae tiredly stirs, relishing the tingling sensation before he’s jerked back to reality as he feels something lick behind his ear, sparing hot fire across his body. His eyes snap open, the image of her repletes his sight.

“Munyeong.” Bewildered, he grips both of her shoulders, heat searing through his awakened body and he stares unbelievably at her. 

His growl is enough to catch her focus and she looks up at him, bewitching face painted with deceit innocence.

“I mean,” Munyeong rasped, tracing a finger along his sharp jawline. “You seemed so tense earlier, I thought I'd ease you up.”

Kangtae lets out a quivering breath, puzzled at her sly excuse. By trying to kill him? 

“Also, your dick was sticking into my head," she adds shamelessly and he blushes into a deep shade of red. 

“I-I think I should g-go.” Utterly embarrassed by his arousal, Kangtae attempts to stand up, wobbly legs ready to run back to his room but she pushes him back down, tumbling on top of him. Her warmth radiates around him and he feels like he’s suffocating in sweet disaster, his body lusting for more but his every cell of his brain tells him it’s wrong.

Before he can say anything, Munyeong steals his lips into a fierce kiss and Kangtae feels like he might just stop breathing. 

She doesn’t spare him at all, soft lips persistently moving against his, licking the seams as she demands for his tongue. He protests to cave in, terrified that he’d become more lost in his lust, obliged to push her away but his mind blanks white as soon as her hand slides down to palm his stiff cock—a loud groan falls apart from him and she uses the advantage to dive into his open mouth. 

Her wet tongue licks into his mouth, leaving no corner untouched and Kangtae groans shamefully, completely lost in the new sensation as her hand works on his erection. After a few moments, he feels her pull away and Kangtae, who doesn't remember shutting his eyes, opens them, and sees her angling for his neck. Sucking on a spot that makes his limbs go weak and Munyeong takes another mental note, nipping and grazing until she's pleased with the blushing mark.

“Let me.” Lacing her fingers with the waistband of his pants, she gives him a look, falling down to her knees. Telling him she wasn’t going to stop there and he doesn’t protest when she tugs both of the clothing halfway down. A small gasp leaves her lips as her eyes prey on his rock hard cock—as if it was the best thing she has seen in her life. 

Slowly, she wraps her small hand around his thick shaft, it twitches in her grasp, pulling out a weak moan from him and Munyeong flashes him a smirk.

“See? You're much more handsome.”

He fumes into a deep blush, shy but glinted with pride, tearing away from their stare. In a painfully slow move, her thumb massages at his head, smearing the juices that are already leaking from the angry tip and his answering groan encourages her.

“Do you want me to stop?” With blurry vision he looks down at her. She’s kneeling in front of him, her tempting mouth perfectly aligned with his pulsing cock and she meets him with a sly gaze. 

Kangtae feels like he might pass out. The world around him seemed to be spinning from her whirlwind of seduction and he could scarcely choke out a word, barely managed to shake his head no.

She’s only teasing him—a playful trial to his self control before she eagerly takes his rock hard tip into her plush lips, sucking lightly and his taste bursts onto her tongue. Kangtae seals his eyes shut, her sensual touch hindering his breathing pace as his hips involuntary buck into her face, surprising her. 

Munyeong hums at his wild reaction before she takes all of him into her warm mouth, going as far as she can take as her tongue flattens against the underside of his veiny shaft.

Kangtae shudders in pleasure, shoving his dick into her mouth like his whole body is on fire. She lets him for a moment before releasing his dick, spit dripping down her chin and she wipes it away. As much as she’s loving his wild reflex, she wants to do it herself.

"Stay still for me, mhm?"

He looks at her with hooded eyes, barely getting out an answer and he feels her soft hand reach for his. His heart swells at the gesture, fingers locked with hers and Kangtae lets her take the lead.

Her determination unveils as she takes him back in her pretty mouth. Alternating between sucking and licking, curling her tongue and her hand strokes the part that can’t fit her mouth. Her eyes never leave him, captivated by the sight—he's collapsed back, body writhing under her hold as he refrains his hips from moving. Incoherent profanities spill from his tight lips. 

"Fuck Munyeong!"

His loud groans sound into the spacious room as she curls her tongue, unable to control himself as Kangtae sloppily jerks into her wet mouth and arousal seeps through her panties. He had really lost control. Munyeong opens wider, aroused by the beastly side of him and she encourages him to use her, softly moaning to herself.

"Fuck fuck I'm-"

His orgasm ripples through him like an earthquake, unexpected and violent as he spasms in his seat. Kangtae dozes off to a sweet ecstasy, pretty moans spilling from his lips, his hand clutching onto hers like his life depends on it. Munyeong emboldens him with a promising grip, hot fluid spurting into her mouth and her lips milk every last drop.

Getting off her knees, she climbs back on to his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. A coy smile plays on her glistening lips as she gazes at his scorching face.

“Did you like it?”

Kangtae gapes at her, pupils blown out as he breathes hard from her endearment. All he can do is muster a shy nod and her smile grows wider, meeting him in a deep kiss.

His strong arms circle around her small waist, pulling her closer and her weight crashes onto his lap, long legs gripping his sides as she grinds her heat onto his bare cock. Her arousal almost drips through the thin material of her panties, rocking her hips into his as she moans into his mouth. the sound tattooed in his memory.

This time he doesn't refrain himself, greedily lapping at her mouth, lingering with the taste of his own release and if possible Kangtae blushes more furiously. No one has ever done that for him, and although the power was in her hands, she had held him with tenderness more than he could ever imagine.

He drowns himself in her paradise, licking relentlessly at her cavern until their exerted lungs burn for air. 

Munyeong pulls back, inhaling sharply and he can see adrenaline gushing behind her eyes. Her hips don't stay still, rubbing the head of his cock against her pulsating clit.

“I want you. All of you.” She whispers, lust dripped in her words and there’s a pause of sentiment. She stalls, dreading for his response. 

“Can you give it to me?”

His breath is caught in his throat as he stares at her, distracted in the delicious touch of their bodies and he chokes out a pleading answer.

“Yes.”

Sighing, Munyeong lifts herself up, scrunching the lower fabric of her dress around her waist, discarding her panties. His jaws are slack as he watches her lower herself, brushing her damp folds with the head of his cock.

Without a warning she takes his breath away, sinking onto his hard cock as her tight walls desperately cling around him. Munyeong moans in relief. She had been longing for this, for weeks she had solely relied on her own fingers to sate her hungry desire, exclusively sparked by him, and their reality reminds her that her dreams could never compare to this.

Kangtae grips at her hips, doing everything he can from thrusting into her like a mad man but he feels like it’s getting more difficult by the second. 

They rock languidly into each other,hips rolling in a luscious rhythm that sends both of them into a spiral of bliss. Munyeong whimpers helplessly, rolling and grinding onto his cock. He fills her perfectly, greater than any man has ever had. His hands are everywhere, her breasts, hips, and neck, begging for more. 

Munyeong places her hands onto his broad chest, beginning to ride him, tight walls clenching around air before she slams back down to him, hissing at the unbelievable pleasure. Their moans resound into the room, filled with the sound of their skin smacking and Kangtae’s eyes are strained at the obscene view. His cock disappearing into her hot pussy before reappearing once more in the filthiest rhythm. 

She whines his name, spewing curses into his ear and his hips instinctively smack up to meet hers. 

For a split second, his mind revisits the man from today’s afternoon, enraged at that bastard’s audacity to even touch her and Kangtae holds her even tighter in his arms, closing the gap between their chests and he can feel her taut nipples peek through the cotton of their clothes. Munyeong falls weak in his embrace, threading her hands in his dark locks of hair, shifting her weight back and his thrust bumps into a strange spot. Her body tingles in the new sensation.

“Oh my— Kangtae!”

She cries in pleasure, nails clawing into his back as she buries her head into his neck, panting. Kangtae notes her strange surprise and begins to ram repeatedly at the same spot. Her screams are drowned by his hungry lips, toes vitally curling and she trembles from the attention on the newly discovered spot.

“More more more!”

His thumb brushes past her wet folds, eventually finding her clit and he rubs fervidly, mimicking what he has seen on the internet. His lips find its way to her elegant neck, sucking until it leaves a prominent bruise. Munyeong trembles above him, body scorching from the feverous pleasure and she shatters completely. 

His name cries on her lips like a prayer, her walls squeezing tight around him and he breaks apart shortly. Thick searing streams of cum shooting into her and he grunts her name in the sweetest song.

Breathlessly, she mewls next to his ear, her chin resting on his broad shoulder. After a moment when their breaths falter back to normal, she pulls out of him with slack limbs, missing for his warmth. 

Settling herself on his thighs, Munyeong gazes at him with a devilish grin. 

“I pulled your safety pin.” 

The room stills with quietness and she cups his tender face in her hand, eyes glimmering with triumph as she playfully asks. “Do I get a certificate?”

Resulting to her words, his parched mouth falls open, not knowing what to say and Kangtae stares at her. 

He really had removed his pin. 

Munyeong watches as thoughts scatter behind his dark orbs, splashing colors and pulling him into reality before he emits with laughter. She feels his hand slowly creep up her back, tugging at the zip of her fragile dress and his strong arms draw her back onto him. Their chests collide and he brings a finger to graze her puffy lips.

“You got me. Why would you care about that?”

[sunshinereversed]

𝙙𝙮𝙡𝙖𝙣’𝙨 “𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡”: 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙨

I think it’s eerily prophetic how the song “Flowers on the Wall” (performed by the Statler Brothers) radiates so strongly with Dylan Klebold. The country tune has already been associated with Dylan because it appears in the background of the video where he and Nate are driving to school. But if you really listen to the lyrics and reflect on Dylan’s inner struggles, they coincide strangely well.

Let’s take the very first line of the song.

I keep hearin' you're concerned about my happiness.

The constant ‘Are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay? You seem so down lately’ from his parents, especially Sue, is reflected here. His mother sees that Dylan is ‘moody and irritable,’ often withdrawn, spending time hauled up in his room. She notices the tightness of his voice, which is unlike him, and she offers to make him French toast or an omelet. This must be about something small, she thinks. Yet his sullen demeanor stays as days turn to weeks, and she must ask again in vain, ‘Are you okay?’

But all that thought you're givin' me is conscience, I guess.

It doesn’t even cross Sue’s mind that her son may be unwell. She is simply asking out of concern for him looking unhappy, believing whatever it is will solve itself out. His mother wears her heart on her sleeve, and it pains her to see him so sad. But what can she do if he refuses to talk about it? All she can do is ask and wait for it to pass. He’s a good kid, after all. He’ll do the right thing because she’s worked hard to instill her morals into what he does.

If I were walkin' in your shoes, I wouldn't worry none.

Dylan reassures her repeatedly. ‘I’m only tired. I have a lot of homework. Nothing’s wrong. No one gives me a tough time, I’m 6’4”.’ He wishes she would leave him alone. He thinks she wouldn’t understand; she wouldn’t listen. He tells his parents not to worry. ‘You can trust me,’ he tells his mother one evening after the prom. Dylan goes out of his way to prove that he is the golden child. It works, and they worry none.

While you 'n' your friends are worried about me I'm havin' lots of fun.

Dylan’s social life serves as a mask for what is going on in his mind. He goes over to his friends’ houses, bowls on Friday nights, makes videos after school, plays catch with his dad, and even watches old movies with his mother. He has pictures of good times with friends. Outwardly, he is smiling; life is a dream. This makes his parents rethink their concerns. He’s a happy kid who does normal teenage things. What is there to worry about? He’s assuring those around him that he’s fine.

Now here comes the chorus, which is a bit tricky but makes sense when you consider these things:

Countin' flowers on the wall.

If anyone is familiar with the book The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, this might be a clue. Like the protagonist in the book, Dylan is trapped in his four-walled cell (his bedroom) which is where he does most of his thinking and spiraling downwards. This is where he writes in his journal and vents his frustrations. It’s a toxic environment for his brain. His room is where he cries himself to sleep; hugs his pillow in loneliness; gets drunk by himself. Most importantly, it’s where he blurs fantasy and reality. While not as plainly mad as the poor woman from Gilman’s novel, Dylan is mentally tortured by what he perceives to be ‘an unfair/miserable existence’ and being ‘stuck in humanity.’ He rejects both, and often retreats into his fantasy where he is with his love and away from the world. The ‘flowers on the wall’ symbolizes his own deception of life when he is alone, and might not only symbolize his bedroom, but also his brain.

That don't bother me at all.

Unlike the real world, Dylan very much prefers to live in the fictional one he’s conjured within his mind. It’s his safe place. Paradoxically, his mind is also where he tears himself down and others around him. It’s a poisonous escape. Yet he is already so far gone in that escape, he can’t see the damage he is doing to himself. And he continues to do so, unbothered, and unaware.

Playin' solitaire till dawn with a deck of fifty-one.

‘Playing solitaire’ could be a metaphor symbolizing his isolation and loneliness, his solitude. Solitaire is a single-player game, and Dylan feels alienated most of the time, especially when he is sulking in his room. Thinking, always thinking. Sometimes, as the line implies, until dawn. He is a night owl who cannot sleep because his mind is constantly awake. Playing music, conversing in chats on the computer, formulating poems in his notebooks, doodling, or just thinking (negatively). He oversleeps often because he is up late doing these things. He is alone, in the middle of the night, consumed by his own sadness. Something is missing inside him, and that is why he plays with ‘a deck of fifty-one.’ He thinks a significant other is the thing that is missing, and if he finds her, he will finally be playing with fifty-two cards, figuratively.

Smokin' cigarettes and watchin' Captain Kangaroo.

For Dylan, this is a dichotomy. An everlasting contrast. The balance between two things, lightness, and darkness, good and evil, etc. He’s doing grown-up things like holding a job, applying to colleges, driving a car, and as the lyrics say, smoking cigarettes. Marlboro, preferably. At the same time, Dylan is caught between acting his age and longing for simpler days. This is where ‘watching Captain Kangaroo’ comes in. It’s a kid’s show and is intended for such an audience. Dylan thinks back with nostalgia for his childhood, when life wasn’t full of disappointments, stress, high school bullies, responsibility. He hangs onto items that remind him of his youth: his stuffed koala, origami, classic movies, his trademark baseball cap, his love for fixing old cars with his dad. Dylan is stuck somewhere in the middle of the two, never truly satisfied with one over the other.

Now don't tell me I've nothin' to do.

Again, Dylan tells those around him that he is perfectly fine by engaging in normal teenage things. He hides how depressed he feels. Dylan becomes increasingly irritated the more people ask if he’s okay. The repetition of this line throughout the song is more like a cry for help than a reassurance.

Last night I dressed in tails, pretended I was on the town.

This could symbolize several things, but what comes to my mind is Dylan’s prom night. The fact that he even goes to prom is a pleasant surprise to his parents, confirming that there’s nothing abnormal lurking on the horizon. His father helps him get dressed in his tuxedo, struggles to figure out how the bow tie works, and he pulls his newly washed hair back into a neat ponytail. His mother thinks he looks quite handsome, comparing him to a character in a movie they are both fond of. For a moment, he is just a normal high school kid going to a dance. Nothing out of the boring ordinary.

As long as I can dream it's hard to slow this swinger down.

For one night, at the prom, Dylan pretends this is his life. He is good at blocking out what he considers evil, and Dylan allows himself to enjoy the moment. He’s had a lot of practice at ignoring his pain. If he can retreat into the fantasy he’s created in his mind, he is capable of anything, good or bad. It’s like an out-of-body experience. He’s not there when he’s there. Nothing can stop him. He has two settings at this point, 0 and 100. An unhealthy dreamer can be deadly not only to others, but to the dreamer himself.

So please don't give a thought to me, I'm really doin' fine.

As mentioned previously, Dylan flies under the radar to not be asked about his well-being. He holds out his arms to point to all these social activities he’s engaging in with his friends as if to say ‘Look what I’m doing. I’m fine. Do not worry.’ It’s a cruel deception, and he doesn’t even realize he is being deceived as much as those around him are. Dylan starts to believe what he’s telling others. He doesn’t think he is worth the worry.

You can always find me here; I'm havin' quite a time.

‘Here’ can mean one of several places: his bedroom, his mind, or perhaps his existence. Either way, ‘I’m having quite a time’ is a sarcastic remark. He’s drowning in his harmful thoughts, yet that’s where he feels the safest. It’s his protective shell that he puts up against the world. Dylan entertains the idea over and over in his mind that his love is waiting for him in another existence. No matter where he physically is, he’s ‘always there’, lost in his thoughts.

The chorus repeats. Dylan outwardly seems okay. Left to his own devices, he is not.

It's good to see you, I must go, I know I look a fright.

This is a goodbye. Even though it is a casual farewell, it has deeply painful undertones. He says he didn’t like life too much but hopes he will find peace in the next one. He offers a final goodbye to those he loved, family and friends. ‘It’s good to see you’ displays how detached he feels toward the end. These are no longer people he knows fondly; it was simply good to see them. The thoughts must end, and he must leave before they worsen. Like the lyrics suggest, he doesn’t want to stick around and knows he must go. A big part of his self-esteem had to do with his self-image. The line ‘I know I look a fright’ symbolizes how negatively he thought of his own appearance. Dylan couldn’t see his own attractiveness. He felt awkward due to his height, long facial features, shaggy hair, and the way he dressed.

Anyway, my eyes are not accustomed to this light.

This is the trademark dark sunglasses that Dylan wears almost everywhere. He hides behind them, shielding his tears from the world. The light comes from the sun, and he cannot withstand the same light that others can, a nod to him feeling isolated from humanity. Though he is called the ‘sunshine boy,’ his eyes are not meant for its light. So, he dawns the shades to (metaphorically) keep it out.

And my shoes are not accustomed to this hard concrete.

Unlike the sneakers worn by the jocks at his high school, Dylan sports black combat boots. They are unusual among the other students, but Dylan feels comfortable in them. Again, he separates himself from the rest of humanity. He is not meant for it. He knows he must go somewhere he feels free.

So I must go back to my room and make my day complete.

By the end of the song, it becomes clear that Dylan now lives inside the world he’s created in his mind. It almost becomes odd for him not to retreat there at least once a day if not all the time. But like the final lyrics, he goes to stay there forever and never to return.

The final repetition of the chorus only emphasizes the truth. He was not ‘doing fine’, despite all the work of convincing others the opposite.

The last line loops again before the song ends. The upbeat and happy tune only makes the message more haunting.

Don't tell me I've nothin' to do.

And no one did.

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: that’s pretty knit 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: rurikawa yuki/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 1.9k words, 1 image

𝐚𝐧: yuki birthday month, yuki fic. ahaha i am very direct with my titles again. what’s new? because of the research i did, i’m probably gonna go order some knitting materials online now

Perhaps you spent too much time at the nearest arts and crafts store. For a dozen or so minutes you stood in one spot, unmoving unless someone needed to pass by you, your eyes flitting up and down, left and right as you debated over the different assortments of yarn.

You already had an inkling the different colours would overwhelm you— with so many different colours and different shades each, how could you possibly limit yourself to just one? You didn’t expect to be this troubled with choosing among different yarn weights, too. Why did the store give you 7 different choices? How were you supposed to know if choosing light yarn was better than choosing bulky yarn?

… you seriously should have done more research, but the prospect of finally having free time to visit the shop overshadowed any semblance of rationality you previously possessed.

Look at you now.

Alright, Plan A— scope out the area for the friendliest looking employee and muster up the courage to ask for help, plain and simple.

Except things don’t always go as planned.

When you hear your name come from a voice behind you, it was impossible not to figure out who it was that caught you. You’re just a little bit upset and a little bit tense because of all people to come across at this moment, it had to be Yuki? It’s not that you dislike him, rather it’s because the opposite is true that you found yourself more pressed than you should be.

It was like buying a surprise gift for someone and that exact someone seeing you buy that gift… actually, that was pretty much the situation— the only differing variable being that the gift hasn’t even been created yet.

Seriously, you just had to come across the very person you were planning on making something for?

“Yuki-kun! What are you doing here?”

He gave you a blank stare, as if waiting for you to realise how dumb your question was. Rurikawa Yuki? In a crafts store? Unless you wanted something specific, the answer should have been plenty obvious.

“Hah? I want to buy materials to make clothes, obviously,” he replied, tilting his head to gesture towards his shopping basket filled with various beads, lace, and… were those feathers? Was he just replenishing stock and were those all for one outfit? Curiosity was getting the better of you, mouth already poised to ask a follow-up question before he interrupted you.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you?”

To any deities out there, grant you a smidge of acting prowess, or at the very least the ability to make some half-truths and get away with it.

You awkwardly let out a laugh, your eyes leaving Yuki as they dragged themselves back towards the shelves.

“I’m supposed to make a scarf for someone,” an omission of information, but technically the truth, “but I don’t know which yarn to pick?”

For a few seconds Yuki stared at you with narrowed eyes, ultimately letting out a sigh as he placed his own items on the tiled floor, facing the same direction as you.

“Any colour you want?”

Taking the opportunity to resolve one of your main problems, you quickly told him that he could choose any colour he wanted. Haha, you were so slick getting Yuki to choose the material he’d like the most. If you somehow screwed up the knitting process, at least he’d like the colour, right?

“Didn’t you do any research?” Yuki asked, sifting through the pale pink yarns to look for the appropriate weight.

“Not really,” you admitted sheepishly, “I mean, I just saw the steps were easy enough and decided to give it a try.”

“I-di-ot~” he said in a sing-song voice, but despite the nickname you knew there was underlying affection there somewhere, “one skein of super-bulky yarn would be the easiest to work with, then you probably need a crochet hook and 9 mm knitting needles too…”

You follow the green-haired boy as he moves to a different aisle, picking up the supplies you inevitably would have had trouble choosing between.

“Really, you could have just asked me, if you’re so clueless. I’d help you out.”

“No way!” you suddenly exclaimed, earning yourself front row tickets to Yuki’s look of confusion, “I can do it myself!”

You hoped your sudden outburst didn’t come off as rude, but he seemed to just push the matter away nonchalantly.

“Suddenly getting so loud, what’s with you…” he muttered, dropping the things he picked up for you atop your waiting hands, “but that’s fine. The scarf won’t be as cute as if I helped you, but maybe it’ll turn out decent at least.”

You clutched the materials to your chest, already anticipating being able to prove Yuki wrong. How would he react the moment he knew the person you were knitting something for was him?

“I’ll show it to you when I’m done!” you promised, “I need your seal of approval, after all!”

He’d probably point out any issues regardless, so you just had to make sure you did your absolute best!

Knitting took a lot more effort than you anticipated. First of all, you had to do something called a cast on around the needle? Apparently the wrap cast on was great for beginners, but you weren’t gonna lie— it did take you one whole article from some “The Queen of Yarn” blogspot and one 5 minute YouTube tutorial just to make sure you were on the right track.

One. Slip knot: loop the yarn around your fingers clockwise, the yarn attached to the ball going under the loop, slid off your fingers and slipped onto the needle.

It wasn’t that the steps were particularly difficult. Rather, it was constantly making sure you weren’t accidentally skipping any steps or areas due to not paying too much attention.

Two. Open the loop to make a stitch: hold the empty needle with your dominant hand, and the needle with the slip knot in the other. Slip the empty needle into the first loop— from front to back.

Still, it was difficult to stop your thoughts from wandering— perhaps you should have chosen to listen to some kind of tea spill or podcast or comedy routine or anything with words instead of the LoFi ChillHop live stream playing from your phone. You were going to give Yuki a scarf— then what?

Three. Wrap the yarn: go counter-clockwise, the working yarn sliding between both of the needles.

You had a crush on Yuki, plain and simple, but it’d be embarrassing to just admit it! The amount of courage you had still needed replenishing, what with the amount you used up to just go up to him and try befriending him a couple of months back. What if you confessed, and he decided not only was your scarf ugly, he wouldn’t be friends with you anymore as well?

Four. Turn the stitch: slide the dominant-hand needle from the back to the front of the other needle.

But would it be enough to just pass off the garment as a, “thank you for being my friend” gift? Especially when there was no real occasion, and the hours you put in into making him something— would he question it?

Five. Finish the stitch: slide the dominant-hand needle up so that the first loop on the other needle slides off. Move on to the next loop, do the same thing, repeating until you are out of stitches.

Well, even with all of Yuki’s bluntness, he was still kind so he’d probably still be your friend! It’d still really hurt if he rejected you though, so maybe you should put off implying anything more than platonic between you two for… a while. Maybe it was too soon?

Looking at the progress you made, you were unable to hold in a groan of defeat. The pale pink yarn against the bamboo needle looked pretty and neat; there was an issue though.

One row. You were only able to do one row so far.

Your phone clock said it was still pretty early into the afternoon. Well, a few more hours wouldn’t hurt anything except your hands, right?

A hand therapy site told you that pain brought by needlework was probably due to repetition of motion, bad posture, and or general fatigue. Not gonna lie, you probably fit into all three— the last one maybe more so than others.

How long one took to knit varied— some dedicating days, while others were able to crank out 5 scarves a day. A part of you was proud to be able to procure something presentable and wearable in one sitting.

…

You’re just choosing to omit the fact that that one sitting lasted until 3 am, but what Yuki doesn’t know? Won’t hurt him.

Thanking your singular brain cell right now that you decided to do this project over the weekend instead of during a school day— you’re unsure if you’d even be able to survive at all if you actually had to do maths and stuff the day after.

Deciding to just go with the flow, you found yourself folding the scarf as neatly as you could, gingerly placing it inside a paper bag. After all, you agreed to “have him judge” your creation today.

In all honesty, you thought you had built up the confidence to confess your crush to Yuki. If he reciprocated, good for you! If he didn’t, well, either you take it cooly or go ‘I said I liked you as a friend thing, silly!”

Standing in front of him though, his orange eyes scrutinising the pale pink scarf, made you lose your words, hesitation standing in its stead.

“Garter stitch…”

“What do you think, Yuki-kun?” you asked, peering at the green haired boy curiously as you impatiently awaited his verdict.

“I’m honestly surprised you made something nice,”

“Hey—“

“But for beginner, it’s pretty good,” he complimented, “actually, I can see myself wearing it when it gets colder—“

Even with such simple words, you felt your heart swell in happiness. Not only did he say he liked it, but he even went as far as to say he’d wear it? There were so many ways to get your gratitude across, to tell Yuki your true intentions in ‘asking for his approval’. With all of your options, you went with

“If you like it, it’s yours!”

“Hey, you…”

He looked like he didn’t know how to respond. Actually, you can relate to that because even you’re befuddled by your wording. Didn’t it make it seem like you gifted it to him as an afterthought?

“I mean, well that’s not what I meant,” you hurriedly followed up, “I wanted to give it to you from the start? I didn’t know if it’d be nice though so if you said it was ugly I would’ve hidden it from the world? You said you would wear it though so—“

“This won’t do…” Yuki replied, interrupting your impending rambling. Before you could ask him what he meant, he pulls your hand to lead you inside the dormitories.

Unbeknownst to you, pink the same shade of your... his scarf painted his cheeks. If only the weather was fit for the garment you gave, he’d be able to blame the sudden colour on the cold.

“Come on, I need to get your measurements.”

It was difficult to keep the silly grin off of your face afterwards.

want to order again?

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter VI]

Word count:  4,675

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

______________________________________________

“Renfield,” Count Dracula called. “Wake up.”

The man stirred in his bed, a string of drool escaping his mouth as he changed positions. Count Dracula looked around the room impatiently. When he first came to talk to Renfield, the man had been placed in a padded cell. It seemed now that he had been behaving nicely enough to be transferred to an ordinary room with a bed, a desk and a fenced window. Dracula sat down at the end of the bed and grabbed the man’s ankle. 

“Master!” Renfield shot up awake at once, folding himself up until he was hugging his knees. He laughed nervously, eyes darting around the room. “I-I didn’t call Y/N, I promise you. She came to see me, she did, yes, it was her. Please--”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Renfield drew his eyebrows up and released his own legs. The striped pyjama he had on was too short for him, making him look more like an overgrown child in the Count’s eyes.

“It--it isn’t?” he stammered. 

“I need your opinion on something.”

“Well, of course,” Renfield said, a cheery smile sprouting in his face. “How can I be of service, master?”

Dracula patted the man’s shin the same way someone would do to a dog. 

“Y/N…” he trailed off as the image of her sucking on her own finger popped in his mind. He blinked, trying to clear it off, and stood up. “She…”

A deep frown settled in his face as he paced around the room. 

“She what, sir?” 

Dracula shut his eyes, leaning his head back in concentration.

“She mystifies me,” he spoke in a low voice, more to himself.

“Well--” Renfield started, chuckling nervously again. “How could she possibly mystify you, master? You’ve drank her blood. There are no secrets--”

“Ah, but there are. There must be,” Count Dracula ran his hands through his hair, his mind remained fixated on her face close to his as she teased him endlessly. “She has a power of her own but I haven’t been able to identify what it is yet. She can incite me.”

“Yes,” Renfield drew out slowly. “Y/N has a way of getting into people’s heads.”

Dracula rushed forward, leveling his face with Renfield’s and making the man cringe from him.

“How?” he demanded. “How does she do it?”

“I d-didn’t mean l-literally, master. She knows how to twist words, that’s all I meant.”

“Oh,” he moved away and started pacing again. “It’s more than that, though… Tonight at the museum--”

“Which museum? V&A?”

“Her favourite,” Dracula nodded impatiently. No wonder Renfield would know about her fascination with that particular museum. “The rapture on her face when she walked in,” he smiled, “I thought I had her.”

“She turned the tables on you, didn’t she?” the knowing tone in Renfield’s voice grabbed the Count’s attention. 

“For more than a few seconds, yes,” he exhaled a breath he had no need to hold. “Made me chase her through the museum and fully took control of the situation. I only realised what she’d done after she left.”

“She’s seducing you, master, in your own game of cat and mouse.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that, Renfield,” Dracula snapped. “I am in control, always, but she bewitched me. She must have.”

He wasn't sure if she was Samson or Delilah anymore.

“Earlier today she came to visit me and asked me about how vampire legends might apply to you,” Renfield shook his head and rose his hands to add to the veracity of his words. “I revealed nothing, my lord.”

Dracula narrowed his eyes, pulling his lips down.. 

“Did she, now?”

Renfield nodded solemnly. 

The Count rolled his head on his shoulders. Who was she? What was she to affect him like that? The memories in her blood told nothing of that. He knew she was too headstrong to propose a deal of that nature to him. Now he was finally understanding where her intentions lied. Delilah, indeed.

“Thank you, Renfield. You’ve been quite helpful. I must go pay her a visit.”

  ______________________________________________

Her shower turned off moments after he arrived at her house. It distracted Count Dracula from Lucy’s text message, begging him for another bite. Lucy was addicted enough now that she didn’t care that he had drank from her only a few days ago. While tilting her head back and sinking his teeth in her certainly appealed to the bloodthirsty monster in him, he was curiously more interested in watching Y/N. 

Dracula clicked a button on the mobile’s side and the screen turned off. He slid the device on one of his coat’s deep pockets, feeling the outline of the book Y/N had lent him earlier that night. He retrieved it to look at the bright colours on the cover depicting a giant squid wrapped around a submarine. The memories on her blood weren’t needed for him to know that she loved this book. The pages were yellowed and a bit tattered, much like the cover’s edges, and it smelled like her, albeit one from long long ago. She must have read it dozens of times and yet he couldn’t find anything definitive about the book’s story in her blood. All he could gather were the character’s names, nothing more.

The bathroom’s door opened, deviating his attention from the book. He couldn’t see into her bedroom from where he was sat. Dracula stood up, balancing himself easily on the roof’s edge from the neighbouring house and made his way to a spot where he could get a better view. Beneath him, squared neatly between her house and Diana’s stood the back yard. It was spacious enough to contain a fountain, an old fashioned metal swing and a small vegetable garden. He stopped walking as she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and he knelt on his ankles as to not draw attention. 

Blood rushed hot through her veins, the sound of it nearly as erotic as her seminude body. Teeth elongated inside his mouth, their sharp edges poking at his lips and forcing him to part his mouth. She drew thin curtains, allowing only her silhouette to be seen. Book still in hand, Dracula lept down to the garden to keep her in his sight, landing soundlessly on the grass. 

He waited. 

“Look at me,” he said in the dead of night.

He wanted her to see the red of his gaze. Watch the terror on her face as she realised that the game was over and that she couldn’t beat him. With every drop of her blood, he would make her his.

Glass shattered to his left and Dracula swung his head to see a woman standing in the doorway. He cursed his impulses silently. It wasn’t often that he let himself get so carried away that he failed to pay attention to his surroundings. A cat slipped between the woman’s legs, hopping over the puddle of water and shards, and made a run for the hedges at the back of the property. Wind swept the woman’s silver and pepper away from her face, her hand frozen in front of her body as if she was still holding the glass. 

“Hello, Diana.”

______________________________________________

I woke up with the sound of water. A quick look at the time on my phone made me hop out of bed instantly.

“Shit, I’m late!”

No more dates with a vampire midweek. 

I peeked behind the curtains to check on the weather and to determine what should I wear for the day. Dark and heavy clouds covered the sky which meant I would have to whip out some boots for the storm on the way. A shape on the garden attracted my attention. Diana was standing in the middle of it, staring into nothing as she held a garden hose. A patch of earth beneath my window was soaked with water, like she had been watering that spot for more than a few minutes. I knocked on the window to get her attention but she didn’t react to it. I furrowed my eyebrows. There was no reason for her to water the garden when there was a storm coming. She hardly ever used that hose.

“Di?” I called after opening my window.

She blinked several times and looked up with a weak smile.

“Morning, Y/N.”

“Aren’t you going to work?”

“I’m not feeling very well today so I called in sick.”

“Can I help you with anything?” I asked and she shook her head. “Right. You might consider changing spots or we’re going get a swimming pool there.”

“Oh.” She looked at the wet spot she had been watering and redirected the stream of water to another side of the garden. “I got distracted.”

Satisfied now that I had managed to shake her out of her stupor, I closed my window and hurried to get ready. As I brushed my teeth, I noticed that the bite mark on my neck had a yellow tonality on the skin surrounding the punctures, which were nothing more than scabs now. The only bruising left was from Renfield and it remained a steady shade of purple and blue. I wrapped a wool scarf around my neck to spare people, and myself, from the view. 

A quick look at my phone informed me that it was 7:35am as I flew down the stairs, carrying a pair of boots and a purse. I sat down at the last step of the stairs, fitting each boot on my feet with disregard for the welfare of my toes. Losing a toe would be better than hearing Judge Llewellyn scolding me again for being late. My phone started ringing as I grabbed my briefcase. Cursing under my breath, I opened the front door, trying to balance my purse, briefcase and keys as I answered the phone and stuck it between my cheek and shoulder.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Roger from St Thomas’ Hospital. Can I find a Y/N L/N in this number?”

“This is she,” I replied, stepping out to the street. 

“I’m calling concerning Francis Renfield. You’re listed as his emergency contact.”

I stopped trying to lock my door and shut my eyes, making a silent prayer.

“Is he dead?”

“Dead? No, miss,” he paused and I took a breath. “I’m calling on his behalf. He’s requested for some of his own books. He mentioned that you might be able to get them for him.”

Once I finished locking my door, I hurried down the steps, almost running to the nearby main road.

“Yes, of course. I have a key for his flat. I can-”

“Good. So here’s the list he gave me. Faust by hm huh… Got?--”

“Goethe,” I said impatiently. “I don’t have a pen right now to take note. Take a photo of the list and send it to me. I’ll drop by with the books around 6pm. Thanks, Robert.”

I shook my briefcase wildly to get the attention of a cab on the other side of the road. He braked instantly.

“It’s Roger.”

“Yeah, sorry. Bye!”

______________________________________________

As I went up the lift in St Thomas Hospital, heading for the psych ward, I realised I had successfully gone an entire day without giving Count Dracula much thought. Well. Almost. Now that I had that consideration in mind all I could do was wonder what he had planned for our next date. The prospect of controlling my impulses while near him wasn’t appealing, or dealing with his unbearable charm. Knowing he had no regard for my life didn’t help either. But I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t curious about what he had in store next. 

I closed my hands in fists. It didn’t matter if Renfield wanted to serve him or not. Dracula had taken away his free will and I wouldn’t simply accept that fact and carry on with my life. That had to be more important than my interest in the Count. 

“Do you need help with that?” 

I blinked, suddenly realising that the lift had stopped at my destination. I looked at the woman holding the door open for me and then to the cardboard box brimming with books at my feet.

“If it’s no bother. It isn’t exactly light,” I said.

She nodded once. I pushed the box forward with my feet so we could both take hold of each side. As she reached down, a hospital band slid to her wrist. I frowned as I took note of how pale the woman looked.

“Wait, no,” I began, making the woman look at me. “I shouldn’t bother you with this. You are not-”

“What? Healthy? In the best condition? Doesn’t matter as long as I have strength in this body,” she shot back matter-of-factly. When she smiled I noticed her teeth were slightly bucked. “Being polite won’t stop me from dying. Lead the way.”

She stared at me. 

“Okay,” I conceded, trying to unfurrow my brows. 

We carried the box out of the lift until we reached the nurse’s station beneath a plaque announcing that we were at St Thomas’ psychward. I signaled for us to stop at the station and we put the box down. The hospital band on her wrist had shifted angles and I was able to clearly make out a name as we stood up.

“Van Helsing?” I questioned, unable to conceal my bewilderment.

She glanced at the hospital band and then back at me.

“It’s a Dutch surname,” she explained with a small eye roll as if she was used to that question.

A bandage on the side of her neck drew my attention. What were the odds?

“As in Agatha Van Helsing?” I tried.

“As in Zoe Van Helsing,” she narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that name?”

“I think we might have a friend in common,” I murmured. I fumbled at my scarf, pretending to adjust it so I could grant her a small look on my neck. Risky, but it was the best option for me.

Zoe's eyebrows shot up. Her gaze lingered on my neck after I covered it and I smiled triumphantly. She knew.

“I wouldn’t call him a friend,” she finally said.

“Me neither,” I replied. She smiled back at me, though hesitantly. “Do you have time for a chat?”

She nodded. 

“Let’s do this on my car.”

“Yeah, give me a second.”

I found a post-it inside my purse and scribbled quickly “Deliver to Francis Renfield, patient in the psychward. From Y/N L/N. ” I stuck it to the cover of The Picture of Dorian Gray, the book standing on top of one of the piles, and then gestured for Zoe that we could go. 

I could barely breathe as we took the lift down to the car lot. After analysing Zoe, I wasn’t sure she breathed either. Finding someone else that I could talk to wasn’t the solace I was looking for but it was better than nothing. Taking by Zoe’s words she wasn’t any fonder of Count Dracula than I was. 

We were met with heavy rain once outside the hospital. To our right stood a car lot. Zoe pointed at the largest car in the lot, a black Land Rover parked a few feet from the main entrance. Lowering our heads as a feeble attempt to shield ourselves from the rain, we ran for it. The car beeped twice once we got close to it. I flung open the passenger’s door and threw myself in, followed closely by Zoe on the driver’s side. We closed the doors in unison. Sticking the key in the car’s dashboard, she clicked some buttons next to the steering wheel and hot air started coming from the air system. I ran my hands down my hair, trying to get most of the water out. 

“Count Dracula bit you,” she said simply. I looked at the bandage on her neck. “And me. Although from what I saw from your scar, he wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“No, he wasn’t. Was he trying to kill you ?”

Zoe turned her body on her seat as she plucked up a corner of the bandage and then threw her brown hair back to offer me a better view. The skin around it was as purple as the strangulation mark beneath my jaw. While the outline of teeth was as clear as day on my neck, her wound was a serrated gash with stitches over it that tried to mend it back. 

“Jesus…” I winced. 

“Yes, well. I suppose he treats his future brides to be much better than he treats his victims.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so shocked. It really isn’t that far of a leap and and by the expression on your face, I’d say I’m right.”

“What’s your connection to Agatha?”

“Distant relative. How do you know about her?”

“He told me.”

“Told you? God, you really must be special,” she said and then frowned. “Did he tell you she was a nun?”

“He killed a nun?” I shook my head and waved a hand to dismiss my last words. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Should expect worse from him, frankly.”

“Yes, you should. I would bet he hasn’t told you every little thing about him. He might not show you his worst side, I think.”

“I’m fairly acquainted with it. It’s why I’m here at the hospital. Dracula made a friend of mine his servant,” I grumbled as I ran a finger on the sore line on my neck. “Renfield didn’t take too kindly-”

“Renfield? The lawyer?”

 I blinked.

“Yes. How-” I stopped, piecing it together. It was a leap, much like Zoe had put it, but all things considered, it wasn’t that much of a stretch. “You work for that Foundation, don’t you? The Jonathan Harker Foundation. That’s the only explanation for you knowing both Count Dracula and Renfield. Frank got Dracula out of there. Don’t be so shocked,” I imitated, smiling. “I work with Renfield and sometimes I assist him with his clients. I lucked out.”

“Some luck,” she rose her eyebrows. 

“What stopped him from killing you? Don’t get me wrong but I highly doubt he would just let you go if you had him trapped.”

“I’ve got cancer working on my favour. His appetite doesn’t include that.”

Her skin’s sickly pale shade and her comment at the lift suddenly made sense. Cancer was working against her but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“I wish his appetite didn’t include me,” I scoffed. “But I can’t escape him.”

She shook her head. 

“Not if he’s interested in you. I think the only reason he didn’t murder each and all of us at the Jonathan Harker Foundation is because we weren’t intriguing enough for him,” she paused, creasing her brow. “I don’t want to be invasive but would you mind giving me a few samples?”

“Samples?”

“I’m a doctor. Vampirism is a field that I’m fairly new to and my only test subject is uncooperative. Cancer corrupted most of the scientific evidence on my blood,” she spoke fast, like she was afraid I would leave. “You’re my patient zero.”

I watched her carefully, waiting for a sign; one that told me that she was manipulating me, or waiting for my intuition to tell me something was off, or perhaps for my bond to Count Dracula to finally interfere on his behalf. There was none. Now that I knew who and what she did, I realised how dangerous it was to be sitting in a car with her. Count Dracula had escaped the grasps of the Foundation but not without legal aide, which probably meant Zoe Van Helsing had serious resources to imprison Count Dracula. With a start I realised that she could be my way out of that damned deal I had proposed.

“He’ll definitely kill me if he finds out,” I said with a sigh. “What do you need?”

Zoe grinned, a glint appearing on her tired eyes.

“Blood samples and some tissue from where Dracula bit you, a small piece of scab should do,” she said as she reached in the backseat and pulled an aluminum briefcase. Setting it in her lap, she opened it, casting me a quick glance. “Take off your coat.”

“Oh, we’re doing it now, right.”

I removed my scarf and coat. She made me rest my right elbow on the support pad between us before tying a rubber band above the elbow ditch. Once satisfied, she stuck a needle on me before I could look away, making me emit a small yelp.

“Don’t like having your blood taken?” she chuckled. 

“Not like this,” I responded.

Zoe shot me a look and I grimaced. 

“You liked it when he bit you?” she asked, concentrating now on the vial filling with my blood.

“Can we change the subject?”

“It can help with my research.”

“Are you being serious or just prying?” the question was packed with an anger I hadn’t expected.

“Both,” she shrugged. She changed the full vial for an empty one. When the new one started filling, she stared at me. “Well?”

“Yes. It felt good. More than good, actually. A close second to sex,” I measured how much between my thumb and forefinger on my free hand. Catching the frown and wide eyes in Zoe’s face, I shook my head vigorously. “Not with him. That’s never happening.”

The memory of his body over mine made me shift on my seat. I swallowed dryly.

“Really?”

“Never.”

“I’m not judging you, it’s just that you don’t seem to be so sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m just the doctor,” while her expression was dead serious, the mischievous glint in her eyes gave her away. “Did it hurt at first?” I nodded. “And then it felt good?” Another nod. “I’ll test for dopamine and endorphins, as well. Those are our own bodies happy drugs. He might have some in his saliva in order to make it feel pleasurable.”

“Has it occurred to you that it might just be magic?” I asked as she changed vials again.

“Magic? Please. Some things pertaining Count Dracula might be magic but consuming blood is not one of them. Much like some snakes have venom to make it easier to eat their prey, I believe he might have an equivalent to that.”

“Well, did it work on you?”

“What?”

“Did you feel euphoric when he bit you?”

“No. I was terrified,” she replied. I raised my eyebrows at her and she shook her head. “Because it worked on you and not on me doesn’t mean it’s magic. Maybe he has some way of controlling the effect his bite has on people. We’re done with the blood samples. Now for the neck.”

She pulled the needle out and put a cotton pad over the tiny hole on my arm. She rose a vial, a marker pen in hand to write on the label. 

“Y/N L/N,” I provided before she asked. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” she chuckled, scribbling my name on all three vials. Next, she grabbed a pair of tweezers and a smaller vial. “Pull your hair back.”

I obeyed and tipped my head for her. There was a bit of pressure on the wound and then a tiny pinch followed by a burning sensation, making me yelp again.

“God, you’re dramatic,” she muttered. 

I snuck a glance at her and caught her smirk.

“Only a little,” I said, returning to my normal posture as she placed a small piece of skin inside the vial. “What kind of cancer is it?”

“Pancreatic. Death sentence, really. Not many people survive it.”

“How long do you have?”

“I don’t know. It’s stage four. I decided against getting chemo the moment I got the diagnosis because I know it’s basically useless in this case. I’m relying solely on palliative care here at St Thomas Hospital,” she shrugged as she organised all the vials inside the briefcase. “Thank you, Y/N. You’re being great help. How many times has he bit you?”

“Only this once. And not enough to turn me, he says. He would’ve done it again, I think, if I had let him.”

“Let him? ”

I smirked at her disbelief.

“Yes, long story but basically I made him a deal where he’ll only bite me or turn me if I allow him.”

She blinked, mouth slightly agape.

“Why would you do that?”

“When I made that deal I thought I was being clever for bargaining when I was actually just bluffing. I won’t be able to stall for much longer, that much I know. I don’t want to be like him,” my voice trembled and I cleared my throat. “I have dates with him set for the future - don’t ask. If I find a way to distract him, have him at the right place at the right time…” I scrutinized her face with every word, “would you be willing to capture him again?”

She stared at me.

“It might get us both killed.”

“I know.”

She closed the briefcase with a definitive sound.

“I’ll do it but, we’ll need time to plan. I spent over 3 months planning how to get him out of the sea without casualties and we still had plenty of them. I’ll handle that part. He has weaknesses, such as the sun, religious items and diseased blood. Try to find something else to our advantage,” she straightened, raising her chin. “You might have to let him bite you.”

“Thought you would suggest that,” I muttered. “He would probably trust me more. But the minute I let him do it, he’ll know about us plotting against him. He can do this thing when he drinks someone’s blood-”

“I forgot about that. Hell.”

“I’ll keep leading him on until we figure it out,” I assured her with way more confidence than I felt. “What’s so interesting about vampirism to you, anyway?”

Zoe placed the briefcase on the backseat again before answering me.

“How does someone’s body not change in over five centuries? Dracula cut his wrist to let me collect his blood and the wound closed itself right before my eyes. It’s isn’t just magic, Y/N. There is a science to it, there must be.”

I stared at her.

“Five centuries without any disease,” I added as I put on my coat again. “That’s it, isn’t it, Zoe? You think his blood holds the answer to your cure.”

Her frown was deep.

“The Foundation isn’t about me. Curing diseases is one its goals, yes, and I won’t lie to you and say I don’t wish I could be rid of this thing eating me away. But it’s not just it. The world would change if we could isolate all the aspects in his blood-” she shook her head. “I can’t tell you more than that.” She pulled out a mobile phone from her jeans’ back pocket. “Give me your number."

I narrowed my eyes at her. Zoe was reticent enough about the Foundation to make me suspicious. A clandestine operation, Renfield had said. But did I really care? 

“Fine,” I said and recited my number. “Calls only.”

“Agreed, less evidence this way,” she put her mobile back on her pocket. “I’ll call you over the next few days so we can set up a meeting. I’ll need more samples so I can follow up on your case’s progression.”

“Sure,” I said, wrapping my scarf around my neck. “I hope this works.”

She nodded, her fringe swaying to the sides as she did so.

“Me, too. Oh, make sure you take a shower and put your clothes on the washer when you get home. He’ll be able to smell me on you if you don’t.”

I grabbed my things and rolled my eyes. 

“‘Bloodhound’ certainly applies well to him, doesn’t it?” I said.

Zoe was still chuckling when I hopped out of the car and ran from the rain.

 .

.

Taglist: @festering-queen​ @feralstare​ @girlonfireice​ @dreamer2381​ @rheabalaur​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​ @thorin-smokin-shield​ 

I am so sorry if I forgot to anyone... please let me know if I did

[nattspencer]

You finally came

Missy x Reader

Summary: The Reader is trapped and can’t see Missy for a lot of months, until the Time Lady can finally find her beloved.

A/N: English is not my first language, therefore I’m really sorry for any mistakes, let me know about them. Writing this was really fun and I had the opportunity to actually talk and meet who requested it, that was really awesome, you are really awesome, so I really hope you like and that this little thing brightens your day.

Warnings: Mental games, prison, lack of freedom, mention of anxiety and depression.

Word count: 2k

Not my GIF

    The part you miss the most is the sun. Not only the brightness, the warmth, but also the way it paints the sky in orange and pink shades when it dusk and dawn. You miss the sky too, so gorgeously blue, all tones of it, changing slyly throughout the day, so imperceptive to the busy rushy lives below. You remember just laying for hours in the green grass in your childhood just to see the clouds, all different shapes and forms. Not to mention the smells, the fresh air, the leaves, petrichor. It brought you so much peace and you just miss everything.

    It’s just so very dark outside. No moons, no suns, no planets, just the black abism of the universe. It could drive someone mad. Maybe it’s driving you mad, maybe you just can’t see the difference between the telepathic illusions and the reality anymore. Who are you trying to fool? You are mad. Definitely human minds are not made to be frozen in time, or to be tortured by some sadistic maniac, and no, this time you’re not talking about your sadistic maniac, actually, all you desired was to see her face one last time. You’re talking about some other creature, some that you never even saw the face, but it was there, deep on your skull.

    Seems ages ago when it all happened. You and Missy were chased by a platoon of Judoon for months, and no matter what you do, they were always there, every time closer to catch the entire TARDIS with both of you inside. It was on one of these times that they finally got you in their hands. The Time Lady had fried the ship’s dematerialization circuit on the last escape and the spare one was a bit too difectful, she then contacted someone on some market that she didn’t have time to explain quite well to you, but of course, it was a trap. As soon as you got your hands on the piece, you were surrounded by Judoon's troops, all you had time to do was to hit her vortex manipulator, before they blocked it. The very last contact you had with her was though the psychic link she held on you.

    “I’m sorry Missy, I love you.” Seven words. That was all you were allowed to say until they blocked it too.

    There was no escape left, and in a blink of an eye, you were transported to their ship, completely surrendered. Even in such a situation the Time Lady didn’t leave your thoughts, how she could ever live like that, all the chase, all the trouble, there’s no use in both of you getting caught, so you made a decision. She gifted you with all time and space, it’s time for you to give something to her in return. You begged to the rhino creatures to let you serve her sentence, one prison two sentences, quite a good deal to be honest. From far behind  you an ice monotone voice agreed, it seemed to be the contractor, all was set to stone.

    Since then you live between the stone and metal walls, with only a little barred window where you could see the abism of nothing, sometimes you like to just stare at the little distantes spots of stars and try to connect the dots to form images, it was a good way to pass the days. Lights in the ground made the place backlighted and it was almost a bit cozy if it wasn’t all that existed there. You wish your body was working properly, almost all your metabolisms were frozen in time, probably only your brain were still working to keep you conscious, and it took months for you to relearn how to turn off and sleep but still you miss the taste of food. God, what wouldn’t you give for a piece of chocolate.

    As much as sleep makes you forget you’re here and numbs your pain, it also scares you to death. It wasn’t unusual for you to get nightmares, at times it felt that you weren't sleeping at all, the difference between them started to get fuzzy as the days passed by but Missy was present in every single one of them. Sometimes she would just laugh while she breaks all your bones, sometimes she would just spend hours mocking out loud all your flaws, insecurities and talking about how much she contempt you. Sometimes you saw her choking to death, sometimes she killed you, well, this last one stopped occurring these days, maybe they ran out of ideas, there’s a limited amount of ways to kill someone and you think you experienced them all.

    However, sometimes you just pretend she was there, plastic and static like a picture.. You would talk to her about your day, your difficulties, just to see another face around helps, especially that one you loved, although an answer never was expected, it reminded you too much about the nightmares. Sometimes you just imagined her laying with you on the floor of your cell and staring at the roof while you remember all the adventures you had with her, all the time and space, all the creatures, all the running and most of all, all your moments together. Even if you were just a casual sex to her, she was way more to you.

    Another ordinary day passed by, this time the nightmares were harder then the usual and you were afraid of everything. You would be crying if your tears hadn’t dried so long ago, now you were just writing on the wall, it became quite therapeutic thanks to the chalk you held in your pocket, but you only used it when it was really necessary to write your feelings down, too afraid that it could end when you needed the most. Suddenly a noise was heard and a new shadow could be seen by your side. It was happening again. You didn’t dare to look.

    “Y/N?” Missy’s voice called your name and you couldn’t suppress your body from recoling “Y/N!” The sound of her heels getting closer to you was deafening. Your elbows rested on your knees and your hands covered your head turning your body in a tiny little ball of fear. You were ready for the first assault when all it came was a caress stroke on your shoulder, still, you shivered in terror. “Hey baby girl, it’s me, it’s just little old Missy.” a gentile voice spoke.

    “It’s not, you’re not real, she didn’t come for me.” You said in a tiny trembling voice.

    “I did. I was looking for you restlessly, poppet, I finally found you.”

    “You’re just another mind game. What are you gonna do this time? Kill me again? Break all my bones? Tell me how disposable and useless I am? Go ahead, I’m waiting.” You’re getting sick of it, all you suffered wasn’t enough?

    “Oh baby, I’m so sorry about what you’ve been through… it’s all my fault, I shouldn’t let you come with me to that shop. Please look at me.” Her hand danced carefully between your curls. It’s been so long since anyone touched you like that.

    “Please, please go away or ruin me. I can’t take these games anymore. Please don’t give me hope, that’s all I ask.”

    “He’s dead, Vansell is dead, I killed him myself.” Her voice was bitter. “Neither he nor anyone will ever put their hands in a single hair of yours ever again. I promise.” Vansell? You never heard this name before. Finally you glanced at the woman kneeling by your side. “I could feel you know... all your pain, all your misery from our psychic link. I was powerless, completely useless, he blocked all my answers, I couldn’t send anything to you and that killed me. Please Y/N, believe me, I’m here. Truly. We can leave.” She was fully bared before you, no mask, no mocking, that was purely her. Suddenly a smell caught your nose.

    “What smell is it?” You couldn’t contain the question inside your mouth.

    “I-it’s your perfume. It reminded me of you” Her eyes drifted from yours in embarrassment and then it was the first time you allowed yourself to truly look at her. Missy was ruined. Big black bags laid beneath her tired blue eyes, her hair was frizzy and falled roughly from her coiffure, she was almost without any makeup, all seemed to fall out with time. You couldn’t imagine any of that, not the way it is in front of you. 

    “It’s really you?” Your voice was muffled with fear.

    “It’s me, baby girl, we can go home.” The Time Lady’s voice was cotton-candy soft.

    “I’m scared.” You stated frowning.

    “I know you are.”

    “I don’t think I can move. I waited for so long but now I’m just too anxious and terrified to do anything.” It was confusing, your body was confusing.

    “I’ll be by your side. We are going to have very difficult days, but I’ll be there. I got you. I’ll be your safe place, just like you became by when I needed the most.”

    “Y-you don’t have to. Just leave me on the earth, you don’t need a broken pet.” Your heart skipped a beat, you could never be so special to her.

    “The very last thing you said to me was ‘I love you’, let me prove to you that I feel that too. You became way more to be then just a pet, Y/N.”

    “You really came.” There was no doubt, even in your sweetest dream you could imagine that, your self-loathing would never allow you. Finally you let yourself smile, the first one in months.

    “I did. and I’ll always come to you.” Your faces were close, and slowly she leaned over you and met your lips with hers.

    This kiss was definitely different from the others you shared with her. It was slow, delicate, sweet, as if nothing matters to her more then be there with you. Her hands cupped gentilly your face and you could feel her hearts beating fast through her palms. Her tongue danced the most private waltz with yours, showing with every single moviment how much you meant to her. The entire world faded to you, there were no problems, no insecurities, no fears, it was just you and your safe place. Only when you two were complete out of breath your kiss was broken, and she rested her forehead in yours.

    “I can calm you down with a bit of hypnosis and we can go home, how does it sound?”

    “Oh, so you haven’t used it yet.” 

    “No. I would never use it without asking permission. You’re far too important.”

    “Then do it. I want to go home with you.”

    The first nights weren’t easy to go through. You were too afraid to sleep and suddenly realize you’re still on that cell and this wasn’t more than a dream, too afraid to wake up one day and realize that Missy wasn’t there. However, the Time Lady was indeed always there for you, dealing with every single one of your fears, lulling every single one of your nights, helping you with teas and hypnosis whenever it was needed. With time, bit by bit, you were getting back to be yourself again. And then, you asked to see one of the things you missed the most, the sunrise.

    Missy took you to the most marvelous place you ever saw. She was too excited that you wanted to leave the TARDIS and see something that, for her, it needed to be perfect. And it was. Two wonderful suns raised up upon the green valley mountains and warmed your skin, the sky was beautifully painted by orange, red and pink shades like in a masterpiece. The fresh wind blows your hair and fills your lungs with joy. Your favorite Time Lady wrapped her arms between your waist and rested her head on your shoulder standing behind you. Suddenly the realization falled on you, you’re finally free. A great view and your girl, that’s all you could ask for.

    You are free.

[thousandsunnywrites]

How about law meeting a girl who has the same energy as Luffy and tends to touch him in some way all the time, her favorite being ridding on his back. He has long since given up trying to get her to stop, only to find out when he teams up with the straw hats she’s Luffy’s sister by blood. The oldest of Ace Sabo and Luffy.

Law

Law x f!reader; romantic

⤷ a/n: g o l l y this ficlet was a whopping 2.7k words 😭😭i really do love picking on law; also ps this isn’t proofread yet so enjoy the rawness ty

----

“traaafFFFYYYY!” He stumbles forward to balance the sudden weight tossed on his back, hands instinctively grabbing the legs wrapped around him. His life was never like this, until you came around.

It was a regular night in the submarine, Law doing his routinely watch through the sub’s finder. What the hell is that, he zoomed in to get a better view of the blurry image, hm, what is that?

He found a floating bucket under the sea with a tightly sealed lid and a hole carved on the upside with a plastic straw sticking out. Confused and hoping it was some lost gold, he made Bepo fish out the container and check it out. Instead of finding what he hoped to uncover, he discovered a limp body of a young female.

“It’s not breathing, captain! What if it’s been purposely tossed into sea... what if...” his words begin to trail off when the horrid realization of the sea being the graveyard to rest the corpse crossed his mind. He shrieked. They messed with the dead! They’re going to die! He watched too many Asian horror films to know where this is going.

Not before long, Law sighed out of annoyance, moving Bepo’s paw from the right side of the chest to the left, instantly calming down his tremors and leaving the poor bear sheepish.

Footsteps approach Law’s office and busted through the door. Low and behold, it was no other than Penguin and Shachi.

“Cap’n!! What’s wrong? We heard Bepo scream!—” Penguin tugged on Shachi’s sleeve, forcing his attention to the corpse curled in the bucket. Bepo covered both mouths before a squall was ripped from their throats, “Shh... it’s alive.”

“Room,” the iconic blue sphere encapsulates the room as Law unsheathes his Kikoku, “Scan.” The sliver glint of the sword flickered against the blue hue as it perused the physique. Producing no results, he sheathed his sword. “None” was all he could report.

“Oh thank god!” Penguin leaned over the large wooden pail, examining the face of the woman. “She’s kinda cute,” his hand reaches out to caress her cheek. “Mind if I say that I saved her?” He bantered with a sly smile.

“Move outta the way, lemme see!” Shachi shoved Penguin, an instant grin apparent inside his face.

“Stop fucking around.” Law jostled the apologetic duo to hoist majority of the body’s upper half out the bucket. “Bepo-ya, grab the feet”

“Roger!” He saluted before doing as told.

“Pen-ya, Shachi-ya,” their attentions turned to him, responding with a “Yes, boss?”, to which Law replied, “Get out.” As they left, the captain and first mate transfer the patient to the resting ward and laid her on a more comfortable bed.

“Catch some sleep, Bepo-ya.”

“What about you Captain? Who’s gonna watch her if she wakes up?”

“I will. Go ahead and sleep. Lack of sleep isn’t good for your fur.”

Bepo bowed, trusting all will go well since the captain was watching over her, and left to do as told. Meanwhile, Law pulled out a chair and raised his feet atop the bed. It was going to be a long night.

Surely, he must’ve fallen asleep because next thing he knows, he’s the one in bed and his crew bustled in the kitchen. It was a different ruckus this time; it wasn’t the same morning liveliness he knew, no, it was something more like... a party?

He made his way to the kitchen, head slightly pounding due to the loud vibrations bouncing off the walls. Swinging the kitchen door open, he’s faced with a festive bunch surrounding a stranger. Who the hell is she and how’d she infiltrate my ship?

Now on alert, he reached for his sword, preparing to attack but was stopped by his lovable white bear, who had multiple syrup stains resting on his fur. “Captain!!! Look!! She’s awake!!”

Who?

Oh yeah, the bucket girl.

“Yeah man that was suuuuperrrr crazy! I really thought I was gonna die out there!” A guffaw rumbled in the room, the crowd listening intently to what you have to say, “dude there was this big—and I mean big— whirlpool! With nowhere else to go, I just hid in a good ol’ barrel and hoped for the best.”

“Woah, you’re so cool Y/n!” The crew chanted as Law made his way through the crowd, sitting rightfully at his bench, head against his propped up hand.

“Hey, you must be the captain!” You greeted him with a hearty laugh while you reached over to the opposite side to pat his back, unintentionally thrusting his body forward with every rough pat.

“Don’t touch me,” he pulled away and dusted himself off, “I take it you’re better. Any pain?”

Completely ignoring his question, you continued, “Yeah how rude of me, I’m Y/n!!! I’m sorry for intruding so suddenly, it’s just I thought I was gonna die out there because—“

He held up a hand and finished the same sentence you said prior, “Yeah, yeah, there was a whirlpool and you thought you were gonna die, so your pea-sized brain said to stuff yourself in a barrel and hope for the best, yes, I’ve heard it earlier.” He said all in one breath. This amount of stupidity reminded him of a certain captain he was supposed to meet soon.

Instead of feeling offended, a big cackle bursted in the suddenly tense room. “I like you!” Slamming down your fist on his table as a sign of determination, he saw that same look of craze. Oh, how he could never forget that gaze.

“From here on out, I’m your crewmate now.” Cheers erupted from your mates, picking you up in rejoice to congratulate your recruitment.

“No, everyone quiet. You are not a part of my crew. Find yourself another place to loiter in. We don’t accept stowaways here.”

“Yeah no, it’s fine! I’ve been looking for a crew anyways.”

“I am captain of this ship and when I say I will toss you overboard if you insist you’re a Heart Pirate, I will toss you—”

“Y’all I’m hungry, got any food? Preferably meat, yeah?”

“Do not feed her.”

They feed you anyways despite his protests. He didn’t need another one like him on his ship, let alone in his crew.

“By the way, what’s your name Mr. Captain?” A piece of meat was ripped right off the bone. What a slob, Law grit his teeth, and as if I’ll accept her messy behavior. I’m tossing her right off the sub when she’s done.

“It’s Trafalgar Law!” Penguin chimes in, beating the captain to his own introduction. He grunts in annoyance. “Address him as Captain or doctor,” added Bepo.

“MMmmmmm,” your face twisted comically after a brief ponder, “Too boring, how ‘bout Lawsy?”

“No.”

“Trally?”

“Not a chance.”

“Gar.”

“Just shut up, I’m losing brain cells from you. Address me accordingly.”

“Okay, Traffy.” You burped as you chugged down the last of the juice.

Law could only sigh, because even if he threw you overboard, he’d still be stuck with you.

And that’s how it all circles back to Law giving you a ride on his back while walking along in the designated plaza. This is how his normal looks like nowadays. And nowadays, he doesn’t complain, even if he hates being ordered around, he just does it. His crew speculates him having only a soft spot for you, but he denies it every time. It was obvious though.

Today was the day he and Luffy agreed to meet at Dressrosa to take down that son of a bitch named Doflamingo. Everything was going as plan.

“Hey, Tra-guy!” The strawhats called putting from the other end of plaza, stirring a commotion contrasting the daily chatter of the citizens. He scans around and only sees Zoro, Usopp, Robin, Franky out of the troublesome gang. Where’s Luffy?

His grip tightened to hold you in place after your legs thrashed around in excitement, that never leaving irksome grin plastered on your features as always. “Stay still,” he sneered as he forced your legs to settle.

“Woah, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Y/n,” Usopp whispered to Nami, to which she nodded in agreement.

“My, they have gotten quite close,” Robin’s chuckle was covered by her hand.

“Wow!” Franky drawled out, his stance in his usual super pose, “Since when did you two get together?” The glint of his shades gleamed as Law approached.

Law simply responded with a “Never” and carried on with discussing the plan that Luffy and most likely his crew won’t follow suit—but it was worth a shot. Hell, he didn’t even bother to explain it to you, knowing you’d do your own thing anyways like what you were trying to do now.

“Traff, Traff, Traff!” With every chant, you kicked your legs outwards to catch his attention.

“What, what, what.” He propped his arms upwards to readjust your sagging position caused by the sudden movements. The strawhats paused their chatter, noting that the stoic doctor had no sign of vexation on his face. That was a first.

“I’m hungry,” you smooshed his cheeks together. With a lilt, you asked, “Food?”

He casually nods, telling you “Later”, inattentive to the cheek smooshing and now cheek pulling. Nobody said anything, but it was obvious he had a soft spot. I mean, nobody can touch him—let alone his face— like that. If they tried, they’d be in a million pieces.

“Guys!!” The scream approached fast along with a mob of angry citizens following, “Got the meat! Now run!” The strawhat captain zoomed by, dragging the rest of his crew and allies along with him until stopping at a hidden alleyway.

During the time of escape, you hung your head down as Law transferred you from his back to his chest, face-to-face, in one swift motion, so you never caught a glimpse of the runner.

“‘Eyyyy, Tra-guy! Didn’t even notice you’re here!” The man gnawed on his meat while stuffing the leftovers into his big orange bag.

“Glad to see you too, Strawhat-ya,” he greeted back, eyes meeting with yours for a hasty second before trailing his gaze to your relaxed lips. It was intimate, seeing you close to him, bodies pressed together, arms around his neck and waist whilst his rested on the underside of your thighs. You and him always been together since the day he was held at gunpoint to recruit you, so it was normal for him to have some form of physical contact, whether it’d be hand holding to prevent you from straying away or the constant elbow hitting the back of his head while you whistled a verse or two. Giving you piggyback rides was common, so why did his heart start racing? This is what he always did, what was so different that could make him feel heated?

His chain of thoughts broke when you ripped yourself off of him to hug Luffy. “It’s been so long,” the shorter make cried, “I missed you Y/n! So nice seeing you out here! Especially with Tra-guy.” Seemingly impossible, your arms drew him tighter to you. “I missed you Luffy. God, I’m so happy to see you alive, I read all those articles. Really making big moves out there, kiddo.” Dramatic tears flowed out both his and your eyes, basking in the nostalgia and memories you shared.

To you, it was a touching moment; but to others, it was a cloud of confusion.

“Wait, you two know each other?” Usopp’s question dripping in disarray. But, their confusion was unparalleled to Law’s. That’s who you reminded him of—Luffy. He fell in love with someone who’s basically Luffy. He fell in love with Luffy’s sister. He fell in lo— no. No he’s not in love, what is he thinking?

“Huh, that’s a shocker,” Law’s lips were dry, mouth slightly agape as he watched the two monkeys hit it off.

Parting ways as the sun retired for business, Law took you to the hotel he had a reservation for. He was definitely gonna ask about Luffy. Grabbing the keys, it was a nonstop travel to the bedroom. Gotta hand it to Mingo, the bastard is a sick fck but he has some classy taste. The hotel was flooded with the natural shine of the moon, decorations silk and simple to compliment each other and the luxurious smell that was hard to miss.

Immediately upon entering the room, the first thing you checked was the fridge, searching for sweets whilst Law leaned idly against the doorframe as he watched.

“Yes, they have kinder eggs,” you shoved an egg in his field of view, “See?” He lowered your hand away from his face and ran his calloused fingers against his hair. It was a long day today, and he was tired as hell, but in this moment, all he wanted to do was to watch you.

“Want some?” Already munching on the Cadbury you found, you waved your face in front of his to break his daze.

“What?”

You simply pointed and broke off a piece to lay it against his outstretched palm.

“No wonder you seemed familiar to me,” he started, “You’re his sister.” Responding in a hum, he continued, “How did that happen? Sister by blood or by choice?”

“By blood dummy,” you popped a jawbreaker in your mouth, “We grew up together. If Ace and Sabo were being a jackass, I’d beat their ass flat. They were such bad influences! But seemingly in a good way..? They were like brothers to me too, ha, I was kinda like their mom if you really think ‘bout it,” Your mouth stopped sucking as the words you said became more and more sentimental. “I miss them. Ace, Sabo, and Luffy. But I’m happy. I guess it’s just... with everything... it’s nice seeing him alive and laughing. Enjoying life. And happy! Must’ve been hard on him all by himself. Besides, I can’t bear to lose another brother, not again.”

“I understand,” naturally that was his response, being that he could empathize since he did lose a sibling, a mother, and a father—twice— because of people. The world was fucked up. No other words were exchanged, effectively ending that convo.

You dug through the multiple bottles of wine, haphazardly throwing them away to search for more candy. A set of hands joined you on this search, crouching right beside you.

“Seems like you need help.” He offered a tiny, yet genuine, smile, to which you smiled back.

After endless digging, you found a can of whip cream and laughed as you sprayed a heaping load on the doctor’s nose before running around. He chased after you, grunting and hitting his long limbs against the small obstacles you placed, and lost you after he moved said objects to clear the path. You climbed onto the wall and pounced on his back, causing him to fall down completely, the cream crushed against his pointed nose and marbled floor.

“I win,” you sat on him as he struggled like a caught spider underneath your weight.

“Okay, I concede. Get off me.”

You flipped him over so his face was towards the ceiling, which was dark after you turned off the lights, and laid back on his chest. His chest had a subtle, yet rhythmic rise to it and made you fall asleep without trying too hard. You peeped a sigh of content before snoring away.

He admired how peaceful you looked when he wasn’t busy babysitting you. The moonlight doused your features in a soft light, turning even the harsh features into something delicate like a flower. The way your lips parted to let out obnoxious snores, the way your hair is tousled in a perfectly imperfect manner, the way your eyelashes contrast your skin tone, the way how there’s something about this moonlight that makes him wanna just lean down and plant a chaste kiss on your lips.

So he does.

You barely felt it graze against yours.

His hand caressed your hair with feathery light touches and his other brushed against your cheek.

Only the moon knew about the endearing look hidden in Law’s eyes that night; it was that same endearing look that showed he was in love.

[kukukape]

Richard Malik x Operative: The Whistleblower

This the first time I've posted a fic in a while, but I'm excited! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist 😊

Tags: @simping-for-sandayu-oda @luciewarrenx3

•••

Richard had to admit, he'd come up with more... enjoyable plans than this one. He grunted as the Albion thug's knee collided with his stomach, again. Wanker was enjoying this way too much.

His eyes flicked to the camera ever so subtly. Not that the bastard would've noticed, he was too busy trying to decide which way to assault Richard Malik next. But he could see it moving around a bit sporadically, as if its operator were trying to get his attention.

And even in the midst of great pain, he had to fight a smirk. Things were already going accordingly.

"U-ugh!" He grunted as the Albion guard pulled him up by his hair and punched him in the face.

Welp, time to fall back into character.

"I-I'm not who you think I am, I-I swear!"

A slap across the face. Backhanded. Richard had to admit, that hurt his pride more than it did his face.

"You're Malik! A SIRS officer and a leaky fucking twat!" Richard, with his forehead resting against the cold concrete, found himself wanting to smile at his own notoriety.

Malik. That name carried weight in SIRS. In London's infrastructure of justice and security. This scared, begging persona wasn't him. This was a choice.

He was a spy. Slippery, and willing to relinquish his true character for his mission.

His breathing quickened with faux fear as the Albion officer picked him up by the collar, bunching up his silken silver tie amidst the action. "That's not me, I s-swear to god, please- PLEASE-"

---

Angel's heart nearly stopped when Bagley cut the feed. "Fuck…" she whispered. She had half a mind to curl up on the curb and let a grey gloom consume her, but Bagley was too much of a dick to allow that.

"Fuck is right! And fucking dead is what he'll be if you don't hurry," he said in his not-so-robotic deadpan.

Dead. Murdered. Killed?

All words and possibilities that resonated with Angel. She took a deep shaky breath, squeezing the steering wheel of her Atterley. "Drop a pin please, Bags," she said.

"I already did, while you were having a little panic attack."

Instead of meeting his snark with her own, Angel kicked the car into gear, speeding towards the construction site. From first gear to third, then sixth... and she was skidding to a stop by the sidewalk before she knew it.

Her optik buzzed as someone got onto comm. It was Brian, the team's most senior hitman. "Scope the place out before you go in. This could be a trap for all we know, so-"

The soft patters of a silenced P9, followed by two separate cries cut Brian off.

"Angel! Bagley, what's she-"

"She's storming the place like the baboon cousin she is!" Bagley exclaimed, "You know for a spy, she's rather uncovert." Which only said the absolute least.

The bodies were shrouded before the spy moved on, picking off another soldier just as they were turning the corner. A bullet between his eyes before he even knew he was in danger, and cloaked to make his death even less apparent.

Pressed against a corner wall, Angel took her phone out and let the news drone above become her eyes. "Bagley, help me find him," she said urgently.

"There's a closed off room in the back. Try there," he said. Angel jumped from camera to camera, her heart squeezing a bit every time she didn't see Richard.

Just when she was about to crack her phone in her grip, she saw him. Wrists tied, on his knees, gaze trained on the floor as he tried to catch his breath.

Angel knew this picture of him. Years ago, in a dirt-floored cell where they huddled together for just an inch of warmth. The image made her shudder, so forcefully mentally that she did so physically too.

She flinched again when Brian came over the comm. "Alright, there he is. I suggest you take out the rest of the guards before you go in," he said.

From soldier, to spy, and now to soldier again. Angel nodded as she squeezed the hilt of her gun. "I'll get right on it."

---

Richard chewed the inside of his cheek as he stared at the floor. He could feel a pair of eyes on him once again, staring through that same metal lense. He didn't dare turn to look, didn't dare break character.

Until he heard the camera screech, as if it wanted him to turn. And, flinching in surprise, he did.

He looked at the camera, wondering why the DedSec operative who'd come for him wanted to make their presence so known. Richard eyed the camera for a moment, searching for something deeper beyond the blank, metallic lense.

Of course, he found nothing. But just the notion of the operative- who he was all too sure was finally here- trying to communicate you're safe, it's okay, made him want to chuckle.

He gave the camera an acknowleding smirk, and ever so slight tilt of his head.

"AHH!" A soldier just outside screamed.

Richard's head whipped around again, and he heard some indecipherable yelling, along with the heavy footsteps of Albion-approved military boots. Somebody was obviously getting their ass kicked outside, because he only heard one person grunting in pain as limbs connected with their target.

Then silence.

He never really liked the quiet. It meant that nothing was happening, and for Richard, something always had to be happening. He couldn't predict quiet. Couldn't scheme it, outsmart it.

Thank god it didn't last long, before the metal door squealed open and quiet footsteps pittered in.

Richard kept his gaze down, as would a man currently fearing for his life. He'd been that enough times to know how to imitate it.

The 'fwoop' of a knife unsheathing made him flinch genuinely. But a steady, smooth... familiar voice eased him.

"Easy. It's just me," she said. Just me, she said. As if he were supposed to know her.

And he did. Oh lord, he did. And the mixture of fear, anger, regret, and happiness in him was too genuine for somebody so used to lying in the face of everyone short of his mother and father's graves.

The fearful part of him was scared to turn around and look at her as she cut through his restraints easily. But he didn't have a choice really, as she walked around and kneeled in front of him, cupping his face with both hands and searching for any injuries to his visage.

Richard was a confident man. Strong, assured, and decorated from head to toe in awards that highlighted his ingenius.

But he looked like a dumb fish in that moment, his mouth slightly ajar and eyes wide.

"…Angel?" He asked softly as her calloused fingertips subconsciously brushed across his brow, stretching down to touch his jaw.

---

"That's my name," she said dryly as she searched his face, looking anywhere but his eyes. Her hand reached into the pocket on his shirt, where she knew he kept a handkerchief. "Hold still, you look horrible," she said. Not that a handkerchief was gonna fix that, but whatever.

She wiped blood from his jaw, and the bits that had gotten onto his cheek. She chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep more words than necessary from escaping her.

I missed you.

Are you okay?

I know this is a farce, so what are you playing?

All reasonable, but Angel couldn't utter any of them. Because Richard Malik, her friend for all of their youth, her partner in war, her lover for that one night back in college, was right in front of her.

She raked a hand through his hair, which was as close to saying I'm glad you're okay as she was gonna get. And he grabbed her wrist gently.

Brown eyes met a lighter shade. Both of them soft, affectionate, and untrusting.

"You're Dedsec," he said it firmly but quietly. Looking for confirmation. Hoping she'd say no, she just happened to be walking down the street and decided to shoot up a restricted Albion area for shits and giggles.

But she nodded. And a pride she never had while working at SIRS shined in her eyes.

Angel helped him to his feet and cleared her throat. They clearly weren't gonna do the whole "So what've you been up to the past six years?" thing, so she spoke first, "We got the call from you. What was that all about?"

A look of shock passed over Richard's eyes. And Angel could tell what he was thinking. Probably wondering where that smile she always used to greet him with had gone.

But he remembered himself quicklyc straightening his tie with a nervous hand. "I'll upload the intelligence onto an anonymous FTP. You can sort through it-"

"No, I want to hear it from you," Angel cut him off rigidly.

Richard inhaled as his whole "My name is Richard Malik, herdyderdyder," speech was thrown out the window. "I believe I've discovered who Zero-Day really is; rogue SIRS officers from the CT unit who then framed Dedsec for the TOAN bombings."

"Men working under you?" Angel raised one elegant brow. "I always got the impression the CT unit was always fiercely loyal," she commented.

And back to the games they went. This time, for the first time, against each other.

He let out a humorless laugh. "You know how good I am at making enemies," he said, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait, Richard," she said quickly. Angel's hand shot out to grab his arm. He looked down at her in surprise.

…Down at her.

Since when was he so damn tall? And handsome…

No, no, stop it, monkey brain.

"I…" Angel's jaw moved uselessly for a moment, before she simply yanked him into am embrace. Richard made a surprised sound. Way too many surprises for one day for him.

But this one, he could tolerate.

Hesitantly, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders while hers linked around his neck tightly. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, and he could smell the shampoo drifting from her hair. "It's… good to see you again, Angel," he said quietly.

Angel chuckled once, before inhaling sharply and slowly pulling away. Out of his reach once again.

"We'll, uh... check out the info," she said, nodding before moving to step by him. But she paused by the door, then reached back over to him. Richard watched dumbly as she fixed his silver tie, straightening it back up and patting his chest twice. And she smiled.

"You grew up nicely, Richard," she said, before slipping out the door.

Richard stood there dumbly for a moment, a thousand different things racing through his head.

But the one thing that stood out the most was the fact that his plans had definitely just been shaken.

~end~

[kpopfanfictrash]

Drabble: The Lakehouse

Member: Dichotomy!Taehyung

Prompt: A squabble later on in their relationship where Taehyung plays jazz (this got a lot fluffier than I meant it to be.... but OH, WELL)

Rating: R (Taehyung mentions jacking off but like, it’s a memory SO?)

WC: 1,042

↳ part of my 30K milestone drabble game

“We’re lost.”

“We’re not lost.”

“Taehyung.” You shoot him a look. “We’re definitely lost.”

Muttering under his breath, Taehyung reaches out a hand to turn the car’s stereo up. Jazz. You glare at him over the console.

“Taehyung.”

When he refuses to respond, you huff and settle further into your street. The two of you have been on the road for hours, driving north to his middle-of-nowhere lake house. Taehyung used to come here all the time when he was younger – you even tagged along, once or twice. Many memories were made here. Bonfires in the firepit in their backyard, diving contests off the dock, fighting over who took too long in the bathroom in the morning.

It was also the first place you wore a two-piece bathing suit.  

You remember standing in front of the mirror for over an hour before finally gritting your teeth and heading out of the house. Taehyung and Jimin were already down at the lake, horsing around on the inflatable raft tied to the dock. When you sauntered out on the deck – shades on, towel around your waist and a book in hand – Taehyung looked up.

His eyes widening when he saw you, frantically tracing the curves hidden underneath the towel. Looking at him, you undid the knot and let go. You remember his jaw dropping – which was all the leverage Jimin needed to push him into the water. That specific memory sustained you for god-knows how long in high school, knowing Taehyung might not be in love with you – but at least he was floored by the sight of you in a bikini.

Of course, he was into you back then, but you did not know at the time. You do now though, even if occasionally (like now) your stubborn husband drives you absolutely bonkers. Taehyung insisted he would know the way to the lake house (cell service up here is sporadic, at best) and yet, here you are – a half hour past the estimated Waze arrival time and no lake house in sight.

Your headlights provide the only illumination on the back-country road, bugs appearing briefly before smearing themselves on your car. There has not been another human being in sight for miles.

“Let’s pull off,” you suggest, twisting around in your seat. “We can find a gas station, or something and ask where the lake is.”

Taehyung glances sideways. “Are you crazy?” he asks. “The only thing more insane than driving this late at night is pulling into a deserted gas station. Do you want us to die?”

“No, which is why I want to ask for directions.”

“From who? The hitchhiking murderer who awaits at the gas station?”

“Taehyung,” you whine, reaching out to turn the jazz down.

Using the buttons on his steering wheel, he turns it back up.

“Tae!” you laugh, unable to help yourself. The artist he plays is Kenny Burrell – Chitlins Con Carne, one of Taehyung’s favorites. His fingers tap along as he drives, head bobbing along to the beat.

“Will you please just listen to me?” you plead.

“I’m going to get us directions,” he whines, lower lip protruding. “I promise! But there has to a town along this road somewhere, right? I’m not going to just randomly pull off. We’ll get lost even more!”

“More lost than lost? What’s that called?”

“Found?”

“No, you’re thinking of two wrongs make a right.”

“Which they don’t.”

“So, we’re agreed,” you nod, barley hiding your grin. “We ask for directions.”

“Yeah, of course… in the next town.”

“Taehyung!” Unable to hold it in any longer, you crack up. Taehyung grins as well, eyes crinkled behind the black frames of his driving glasses.

“Okay, okay.” Finally relenting, he glances at you. “The next place which looks safe to pull off, I’ll stop and ask directions. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, settling back in your seat. Glancing sideways, you admire his profile in the lights of the car. The air conditioning blows his hair, slightly greasy from all day on the road.

His lips quirk without looking at you. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, turning back to the dash. Far on the horizon, you think you can see lights of a town – maybe Taehyung was right after all, and he is just a ridiculously slow driver.

Reaching out, he closes his hand over yours. His thumb strokes lazily against the stone of your wedding ring and in the corner of your eye, you see Taehyung smiling.

“You know I’m really happy, right?” he murmurs.

“Yeah.” Exhaling lowly, you close your eyes on the seat. “You better be.”

“Oh, I am. I’m excited to finally have you at the lake house all to myself.”

Your lips twist. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“You really don’t remember?”

Opening an eye, you look at him. “Remember what?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen, still watching the road. “Are you serious? Do you really not remember the bikini incident! God, Jimin teased me about that for years. Summer before Junior year, I invited you and Jimin to the lake house and you walked out in a bikini and ruined my life.”

“Oh my god. You’re so dramatic.”

“Am not! Shit, I jacked off so many times to that image.”

“Taehyung!”

“A red bikini, too. With cleavage! You were sixteen! Who let you buy that thing?”

“Taehyung!” you laugh, covering your eyes with both hands. “You’re being so dumb!”

“Damn straight I’m dumb! I waited up every night that week, staring at the door to my bedroom and trying to get up the nerve to walk across the hall. And I never did. I was an idiot,” he adds, voice softening on the last word.

Lowering your hands, you stare at his profile. “Yeah, well. That makes two of us, because – same.”

“Mm. Well, that’s all going to be corrected this weekend. Not letting you out of my sight.”

“Great,” you say, twisting a strand of hair and glancing out the window. Smiling, you watch his reflection when you add, “Because I packed a red bikini in my suitcase.”

Taehyung nearly swerves off the road at the thought. Pressing down on the gas, the car zooms faster down the highway. “Fuck safety,” he mutters. “Where’s the nearest haunted gas station? I need directions.”

   © kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.