#Like the shine on her skirt that I added? I had no idea how to do that in my own art until now

[ivefallenfor2andicantgetup]

Imagine posting things that aren’t just specifically and only for yourself.

[kozachenko]

[Click image for better quality]

I FIGURED OUT A WAY TO FUCKING MAKE THE IMAGE SMALLER FOR POSTING ON TUMBLR WITHOUT SACRIFICING THE ACTUAL QUALITY OF THE IMAGE OH MY GOD

Ok so, what I did is go into the clip studio paint file, make a new file, copy and paste the group in the original file, merge everything, get rid of the extra stuff outside of the canvas, and then make the flattened image smaller and crop the canvas. Once you have that, export it and you're done. This helps maintain the actual quality of the image and also helps shrink the file size down to something actually postable (if anyone has a better way of doing this please tell me)

[Edit]: Ok I guess posting something to Tumblr just naturally compresses the image a bit more somehow because I'm looking at it now and zooming in too much makes it a bit blurry so I'm still gonna have to futz around with image quality for future pieces oof

Artist's Note:

I'm so glad I figured out a way to do this because I like working on a big canvas so I can get as much detail in as I possibly can. Only problems are how laggy it gets while drawing lol.

I had an idea for a drawing with Reimu and Zanmu because I really like thinking about their potential dynamic a lot. I also wanted an excuse to draw Zanmu again but in my normal rendering style because last time I drew her she was in my more sketchy style with generally flat colours so I wanted to draw her again. Speaking of, looking at the sketch for this is a jumpscare that I never enjoy seeing, like, man am I glad I didn't use those for my final piece.

Also about her spear. I was originally gonna make it like the ones she had in game, but it kinda threw off the whole piece. It was too big, too blue, and too flat, so I just went "fuck it" and gave her a different one instead. My headcanon justifying this is that the ones she uses in game are for danmaku battles whereas in any other fight she just uses a proper yari, or she still uses the yari and just makes it all glowy to power it up, maybe both lol. I pulled as much inspiration as I could from Sengoku era spears, and even put in some blue into the decorative part of the spear and also added a little skull to pay tribute to the original spear. Also, in my research I saw some art of izanami and izanagi making japan and saw that the yari izanagi has had a little decorative tassley thingy on it so I took some inspo from that and just made it one of Zanmu's tassles (Idk when that art was from or if the spear was still accurate to Sengoku period Japan but hey, probably the same reasons Eirin puts little bow ties on her arrows, it's just for personalization purposes).

I love rendering hair and clothes so much omg, while I like the super curly hair Zanmu, the longer, wavier hair suits her better for this drawing (I imagine it only does that like how Ghibli characters hair moves when they feel angry lol). I love making Zanmu's hair all messy and crazy, as well as giving her grey hairs, this woman has aged like a fine wine. Also, if the hem on the ends of her sleeves, top of her shirt, and her pants look like gold to you, that's because it is! It's fairly light so she's not collapsing under the weight, but it's gold! (I don't care how impractical it is, it's just cool). Not the undershirt though, it's made of a gold fabric. I had a cute idea with Reimu's hair to make it have a red shine to it. I also changed up Reimu's outfit so it isn't just a blob of red. I like it a lot when Reimu's skirt and outfit is segmented into different layers, so I wanted to incorporate that.

I tried to draw their hands differently as well, but IDK how noticeable that is. Also, I am super happy with how the side profiles for the two of them turned out, I used to struggle a lot with how to make the side profile of a character actually look like the character, so I'm really happy that they actually look like themselves.

Also added in the tree and rocks in the background as an homage to Zanmu's character art in Touhou 19, just because I was getting kinda stumped on what to do with the background lol.

In terms of a story idea with Reimu and Zanmu, idk why but the potential plotline of Zanmu wanting to ascend to godhood is so fascinating to me. Like, it is very possible that if she just convinced everyone she was a god (which would be very easy for her to do), she would become one in a heartbeat. Also, if she were to become a god, with her ability to return stuff to nothing, could she hypothetically get similar abilities to (Jojo Part 5 spoiler btw) GER? Like, idk about the death timeloop stuff, but the concept has been haunting me every night as I have been trying to find loopholes in GER's ability for a while now ( for no reason in particular). Back to the main topic, I imagine that she would probably tell Reimu that if she were to become a god she would take over the Hakurei shrine since the god there might as well be dead, and Reimu just says to her, "Over my dead body bitch." Like, I have no idea how to summarize their dynamic but like, it's the type of hero-villain dynamic where the phrase "We're not so different, you and I" would definitely be a phrase said during a fight. I think that if another IN style game were to release, Reimu and Zanmu would be in a team together. They could also have an interesting mentor and pupil kind of dynamic. Can you tell that Zanmu has been charging my mind rent these part few months? Like, instead of living in my head rent free, she kinda just uno reversed the whole situation and now she's the one charging me rent. What happens if I get evicted from my own brain? Actually, scratch that, I don't think I wanna know.

[shinyrhinestones]

A feminine side

Summary: Penelope, Derek and Spencer choose to dress up.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader.

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff.

Category: Oneshot.

———————————————————————

"Come on, Spencer. You're gonna look absolutely wonderful" Penelope squeaked as she was digging through piles of clothing she had already went through, but now was scattered on the floor to have a better perspective of all the clothing. "Okay, how about this one?" Penelope held up a beautiful dress as Derek sat on the floor going through the clothing trying to see what would look good on the shy boy they had decided to hold hostage. He was already holding a bunch of blouses, skirts and whatever Penelope had thrown at him. "Can we stop going through Y/Ns things?" Spencer complained, and threw the clothing into the wide open closet. Penelope had whined and begged for the boys to do a little fashion show for her. Not only could it be fun and hilarious to see these men in womens attire, but since they didn't have much to do in the place there were in temporarily, they had to be inventive. They were in a Beach House not far from the ocean, but they had already been out and had know locked themselves inside of their friends bedroom.

Penelope, Derek, Spencer, Y/N, Elle and JJ were the ones who had agreed to the trip. Now, they were in Y/Ns room, while Y/N was out grocery shopping with JJ. Elle was somewhere in the house, but the boys and the girl didn't really pay attention to that in the moment. It wasn't long after they left, that Penelope came up with the idea, and dragged the boys with her. The sun was shining through the window, as it was slowly going down. The window was open, so any noises were more evident than before. Like seagulls, birds and the waves from the ocean. It was quite hot that day, but the temperature had died down as it was now evening."Spencer, Derek is gonna dress up too. Come on, it's fun" Penelope almost whined, as she threw a dress at Spencer. Spencer flinched and grabbed it as it hit his face. He sighed, and looked over at the other man in the bedroom. Derek chuckled, as he himself grabbed a dress. Penelope turned around and closed her eyes "I won't look, I promise" Penelope stated, but of course Derek came with a flirty remark. "I won't mind, babygirl" Spencer rolled his eyes, while Penelope giggled. The boys undressed, to put on the feminine clothing. As they were finally dressed, Penelope turned around and instantly smiled widely at what she had made the boys do.

Penelope went over to the CD player that came with the house, as she put on a CD. Penelope had dressed herself in some clothing you could see a superstar wearing on stage. But the most significant was the black boa-like thing she had draped around her shoulders and the purple sunglasses that were big, looking like they came from the 70s. But just because it looked like something from the 70s, doesn't mean it was ugly. Penelope looked good in her outfit even if it was silly. The boys were dressed like they came out of Bratz, with their boots, skirts and graphic t-shirts. What Penelope had done to adjust their outfit, was tightening the t-shirts and adding sunglasses aswell. Yes, they looked ridiculous. But with the confidence Penelope and Derek held, it came off as cool. However, Spencer was pulling down the skirt he was wearing, holding his hands close to his body. His hands roamed over his outfit, feeling the material and the rhinestones attached to the t-shirt. He took off the sunglasses and looked at the other two. They were putting on their own little show for no one, as the beat of music could be felt through the hardwood floor. Penelope sung along, while Derek was cheering her on. Penelope grabbed onto Spencer and made him join in.

The music, singing and laughing had been to loud for them to hear the front door open and close. It wasn't until the doorknob to the bedroom turned, as Y/N tried to get in. Her eyebrows furrowed, and grabbed onto the door with her other hand to maybe push it open. Her other hand tried opening it again, but it was locked. It simply wouldn't open. She banged on the door, and tried over and over again to open it. Penelope, Derek and Spencer all stood in shock. For a moment Spencer got scared, but then his whole mood changed. he sat down on the bed, so he could take the high boots off with out falling. He threw the sunglasses on the double bed, and immediately grabbed his own clothing. His breathing was unsteady, and his palms grew sweaty. Penelope giggled, and went over to the white door. "Don't panic!" She whisper yelled, after she had stopped the music. She unlocked the door, and right away the door flung open, as the very confused woman stood in the doorway to her temporary room. Her eyes widened at the sight infront of her, her arms falling to her sides. "Wh..What?" She let out a breathy chuckle at the crazy sight infront of her. Two men dressed up in womens clothing, and a woman aswell. But in her clothing. In her very own stuff. "Why are you dressed like this?" She questioned, gesturing to all of them. Spencer sighed, and refused to look at the shocked woman in the doorway. But when she started laughing, Spencer looked up. Her laugh was like a melody playing through out the room. His breathing became steady again, as his heart was beating faster. He tried to hide his smile, turning it into a smirk. "How rude of you. You didn't even think of involving me" She rolled her eyes, as her body pressed up against the side of the doorway. Suddenly two more women stood in the doorway, laughing at all three of them. Elle walked over to Spencer, and walked around him to analyse his outfit. Spencers cheeks and neck grew a faint red. "Wow, Spencer, you look good" She laughed along. Spencer left the room, hiding himself from all of you in his own. He wasn't upset, but he was a little embarrased about his crush seeing him in her clothes, women clothes.

Derek and Penelope got dressed in their clothing aswell, and left it there. A sweet light hearted memory was it all it was now. But Spencer was still embarrased. Y/N reassured him it wasn't anything to be so embarrased about, she thought it was sweet, funny and cute.

"Why does it bother you?" She asked calmly, standing in the middle of Spencers room. "Because you saw me in girls clothes, and it was yours!" The tall dark haired man complained. "Mhm.." She stared at him with no particular expression, with crossed arms. "So would it be embarrassing for me, if I wore some of your clothing?" She suggested. Spencer scoffed and rolled his eyes. "That's not the same." He answered without daring to even look at her. "Why?" His voice got lower as he tried to explain. But Y/N couldn't hear him at all, so she turned around and opened the closet doors wide open. She started grabbing one of his cardigans and put it on. "Does it fit me?" She posed for him, before looking behind her again to dive deeper into the closet. He stood up, and softly and carefully held onto her shoulder. She looked back at him, staring into his eyes that were now so close. She could see every emotion go through those eyes, as he let go of her again. "You're silly" He chuckled feeling a warm rush of adrenaline run through him, at the sight of his crush in his cardigan. "Mhmm...not as silly as you earlier" She giggled, and took off the cardigan leaving the starstruck boy in his room. He held onto the cardigan, making the garment have a whole new meaning to it. He smiled, and shoved the cardigan back in it's place.

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

[awkwaamo]

So, in the process of trying to get my partner into one of my childhood favorites, Winx Club, the brain gremlins took hold of me and I am now in the process of creating a rewrite. Not the entirety of canon, but definitely the first three seasons and throwing in some extra stuff from other seasons that I really enjoyed as well as some of my own personal flair.

That being said, a rewrite obviously has to come with redesigns and I have literally just finished up everyone's first transformation

Layla, or Aisha, is up first! I did really enjoy her original design (honestly, they're all wonderful) but it just wasn't going to work for my AU. Considering she's from a planet that is dominated by water, as well as being related to actual mermaids, I absolutely had to add in more mermaid traits. So we have wings that look and act similar to dorsal fins in the water which makes her an exceptionally fast swimmer, almost on par with her cousins. Then, of course, I had to include shells in there. The shells that function as her heels are angel wing shells and a horn snail shell.

Musa, oh Musa. Her original was lovely but it just didn't have enough punk inspiration. Luckily I was more than happy to provide a little in the form of shorts and a half skirt on top of wonderful boots with buckles. I did keep the sheer centerpiece though because I really wanted to pay some respect to the original. Also, and this is just my personal opinion, space buns are superior. My shining glory of this design has to be the wings, though. The bass clefs are wonderful but to top it all off I had to add the CD shine. It was a necessity. Also, if you haven't noticed the fact that her arm accessories mirror Layla/Aisha's, now is the time to notice. SoundWave will be a thing in this AU.

Flora needed more green! She deserves a little green considering she's a nature fairy and how else would I incorporate it other than vines? Especially considering she uses vine attacks all the time! Also that rose inspired skirt was a pain to do but so worth it. If anyone deserves a rose skirt, it's Flora.

While I do love Tecna, her original always felt like it was missing something so, after some scrolling through sci-fi stuff, I added the cropped jacket to it and more green for her as well. The ear piece actually extends into a helmet with a retractable visor, I'll probably post another image with it on full display another time.

Another thing to add is that there is a criminal shortage of Flora x Tecna content to the point that I haven't even seen a fun little ship name for them. So, I'll just be using BioTech.

Getting right into Stella's redesign, starting with the wings! I did like her original wings but with her being the fairy of the sun I kind of just spread them out similar to the way rays of light look. As for her outfit, I really wanted to add onto the ethereal kind of look with gorgeous drapery similar to what you see in depictions of goddesses but with a modern twist! Hence the underbust and other additions.

Bloom but much more draconian. As she deserved considering she's the keeper of the dragon fire. Dragon wings. Dragon scales. Need I say more? Yes, actually. Her boots are more armor like, which was fun but not the best part. The silver chains, the necklace, the gemstones. They're made to be a mirror to Stella's because SolarFlare is absolutely iconic. They deserve each other so much and it is my mission to highlight this fact.

I have so much planned for this AU. So many ideas that I've already noted down and places I want to go with this, I can't wait to get started.

And I literally just realized that this AU needs an actual name, so I'm going to go with Psyche. The reasons why will become clear later. 💜

[dragoncxv360]

My second colouring page for @maudiemoods dca colouring book. Didn’t think I’d get it done in time ‘cause my mood was wonky and I have surgery in a week but I did it! I’m super happy with how this came out, it looks so cute!

[Image ID: a digital drawing of Sundrop and Moondrop from fnaf. Both are organic instead of robots.

Sundrop is pregnant and wearing a long sleeve red sweater with a high collar and a dull greyish brown see through skirt with black flowers on it in a pattern. On Sundrop's right hand (left hand for the viewer) is a gold wedding ring. She is also wearing a silver, cresent moon shaped necklace. Sundrop's eyes are pale purple and her eyeshadow is a slightly darker purple. There are small eyebags under her eyes. Her face is pale yellow on one side and pale orange on the other side. Her hands are pale yellow and grey. She has large medium pinkish orange cheeks. Her face is framed by petal like rays which are a medium orange at the base and a pale orange at the tip (in a gradiant).

Moondrop is wearing a baggy lilac sweater with a wide collar, baggy white pants with light blue stars on them, and a medium blue hat with white stars on it and a white rim and white puff ball on the end of it. On Moondrop's right hand (left hand for the viewer) is a gold ring which matches Sundrop's. His face is a very pale grey on one side and dark purple on the other side. His hands are very pale grey and light purple. One of his eyes is open and is a pale yellow. That same eye has medium yellow eyeshadow. There are dark eyebags under his eye. His other eye has 3 long scars over it and is shut.

Sundrop is drawn in a 3 quarter view holding a daisy in one hand and reaching back to cup Moondrop's cheek in the other hand. She has her head turned to the viewer's left, looking at Moondrop with a small smile on her face which shows her teeth. Moondrop is standing behind her with his head resting against her hand. He is hugging her from behind with both his hands on her belly and he is looking up at her with a small closed mouth smile on his face.

In the first picture they are both surounded by leaves and the sky is blue with some white clouds. There is faint yellow beams of light shining down on them. In the second picture the background is a medium pink and there is no added lighting. End ID]

I hope I did that ID right

Some fun facts under the cut:

Their wedding rings are on their right hands ‘cause I messed up in the sketch (I have a hard time telling left from right :P) and I decided to keep it ‘cause I liked it better and sometimes gay couples wear their rings on their right hands.

The moon necklace Sundrop is wearing has a matching sun necklace that fits inside it that Moondrop wears. This was an idea I had back in 2019 or 2020 actually for my ocs Pinky and Luca, but it eventually got scrapped when i rewrote the story for the millionth time.

Sundrop and Moondrop are lesbians in this (Sundrop is an nonbinary gal and goes by she/they, Moondrop is intersex and agender and goes by he/they/she/it)

Sundrop and Moondrop are also dating Eclipse and Nova and they are one big gay disaster polycule XD

But yeah, I’m super super happy with this and I genuinely felt like I was gonna cry tears of joy when i finished it ‘cause looking at it makes me so happy

[hellowhisperingstars]

Chapter Fourteen: The Court Date

Summary: Finally back in Hawkins you talk to Dan about everything that happened and a surprise guest shows up to support you at court.

Pairing: Rockstar/Bar Owner!Eddie Munson x Baker!Reader

Words: 7.1K

Warnings: 18+, Y/N used, sensual undressing, legal/court talk, cussing, abusive parents, dom/sub dynamics, I think that's it. Please let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: One more chapter after this one! It's going to be the epilogue! I hope you liked this one sorry it's taken so long to get out. I hit a wall really hard when it came to writing and it took me longer then I would have liked to get back up but here it is! I have no idea how the court system works so if anything is wrong let me know!

Likes, comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! <3

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! I will be double checking if you have your age in your bios! AGELESS OR BLANK BLOGS WILL NOT BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST!

Previous - Masterlist - Forward

By the time the four of you got back to Hawkins you were passed out on Eddie’s chest as he hugged you close. His eyes closed, completely at ease. He felt like he could breathe easier knowing that you were right here and not stuck far away from him anymore.

Dan eased his car into the parking lot of Hellfire and pulled into a spot at the front. Looking into his rearview mirror he gave Eddie a small nod when his eyes opened when he turned the car off. “We’re here.”

Nodding Eddie rubbing his hand up and down your back briskly, his face hiding in your hair. “Baby. Gotta wake up. We’re home.”

You mumbled in your sleep before squinting your eyes open and lifting yourself up a little to look around. In your post sleep haze it took you a few seconds to recognize the area and soon a bright smile lit up your face. You were at the bar. You could finally relax now. Sighing, you leaned your forehead against his chest listening to his deep chuckle.

“Come on,” Eddie said with a smile. “Let’s get you inside.”

Nodding, you sat up and eased back onto the bench seat to let him get into an easier position so he could open the door and you smiled as he held his hand out for you, his rings shining in the sunlight, once he was standing in the parking lot. Slipping your hand into his you let him help you out of the car, only tripping over your skirt once but Eddie caught you around your waist before you even hit the ground.

“Woah, easy baby.” Eddie laughed while he helped you stand. “Drink any of that church wine while you were in there?”

Giving him a look you rolled your eyes. “You’re so funny.”

“I know.” Chuckling, Eddie closed the door behind you and took your hand to walk you into the bar. As soon as the doors opened you were attacked by Robin, Lizzy, and Ada who had been pacing the bar waiting for you to get back. The rest of the band lounging around trying not to look worried, but Eddie would see the relief on their faces when they saw you.

The three girls were talking at once as they hugged you, holding your face in their hands, pulling at the skirt of your dress telling you how pretty it was, it was so loud and overwhelming but it made you laugh. Turning you looked over at Ada who was crying a little and you hugged her close to you. “I was so scared you weren’t coming back.”

“So was I.” You said quietly. Pulling away from her you held her by the shoulders. “How’s Tiff? Marty and Emma? A-a-and the bakery?”

“Fine,” Ada nodded with a smile. She was so damn happy to see you. “They are all just fine.”

“Good, good.” You nod with your own smile before you pull her close again. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“Ladies,” Eddie said gently, “I hate to break this up but Y/N really needs to get out of that dress.”

“Oh my god, yes please.” You sighed and leaned back from Ada’s hug. “This is so fucking tight.”

“Come on baby,” Eddie said, holding his hand out for you again. “Let's get you more comfortable.”

“I’ll see you guys later.” You promised as you took Eddie’s hand and let him lead you up the stairs, your skirt in one hand so you wouldn’t trip as you took the steps one by one.

You give Ruby a quiet hello when you pass her frame and follow Eddie to his apartment door. He unlocked it quickly and let you inside. It was exactly the same, a little messier, but it felt so good to be somewhere familiar. Dropping your skirt you looked over your shoulder at Eddie as he closed the door. 

Coming up behind you he kisses your bare shoulder. “You look beautiful in this, you know?”

“You should have seen the monstrosity that Mrs. Malloy wanted me to wear,” You laughed a little. “That was straight out of Gone with the Wind. Evelyn told her I would love it. It was awful.”

“Oh I’m sure you looked lovely.” Eddie laughed a little as he started to untie the corset back of the dress, he struggled with the knot at the bottom, his usual nibble fingers failing him. “Jesus, who tied this thing, the Marquis De Sade?”

“Evelyn,” You shrugged. Your hand moving to the bottom of the bodice on the dress to try and hold it in place as he struggled. “I yelled at her this morning in the hotel and I think she purposely over tightened it to get back at me.”

Eddie stopped for a moment and blinked at you with a smile spreading over his lips. “You… yelled at her?”

Looking over your shoulder at him you nodded, proud of yourself for your one moment of strength. “She was nitpicking me about literally everything so I told her to shut up and asked if she always had to be the most miserable person in the room. Then I told her that she and my dad deserved each other because they were both assholes.”

The metalhead let out a laugh and dropped the tie in his hand to grab your waist, pulling your back to his chest, his arms moving around you to hug you to him. “I am so damn proud of you.”

You giggled a little happy that you made him proud. “You should have seen her face. She had absolutely no comeback for it.”

Chuckling, Eddie kissed the back of your head before he pushed you forward again gently so he could get you out of the dress. He struggled for a few more minutes until he let out a frustrated sound. “Are you attached to this dress?”

“No,” You said, shaking your head, a sound caught your attention and when you looked over your shoulder again, a pocket knife had materialized in Eddie’s hand and when he noticed you looking he winked before he started to cut away the knot at the bottom of the corset ties. “Did you have that the whole time?”

“I always carry one with me.” He said tossing the knot he cut off onto the coffee table before he closed the knife and slipped it back into his pocket. Slowly he started to pull the jagged ends through the little loops until it reached the top where he pulled it out completely tossing it to the side. He watched as you let the dress slip down off your frame to land in a puddle on the ground around your ankles and when he looked up he felt the breath stall in his lungs. You were standing in a pure white lingerie set and heels, you looked stunning and god damn if those little lacy panties didn’t give him some very dirty thoughts. He felt the crotch area of his jeans get just a little bit tighter. ‘Focus!’ He yelled at himself and shook his head free of his thoughts. There would be time for that later, right now he just wanted to get you comfortable.

Stepping out of the dress on the floor you turned to look at Eddie as he watched you move, his eyes never leaving you. “What?” You laugh a little. “You act like you’ve never seen me in lingerie before.”

“I just…” Stepping around the dress on the floor Eddie reached up and cupped your cheeks with his warm hands. “You look so… fuck..”

He kissed you then, his plush lips pressing against yours and you giggled a little into him. You loved his kisses. This one started sweet and slow, the two of you finding each other again until you felt needy and pushed up taking the kiss deeper. You nipped at his lower lip making him smile into the kiss.

“Needy little thing.” He said as he broke the kiss bumping your nose with his. Looking into your eyes he cocked his head to the side watching you for a moment. You looked so relaxed. 

“You look happy.” You asked, looking up at him. You could practically see the hearts in his eyes.

“I am sweetheart." He nodded his head, his hand coming up to push the hair that fell into your face away. "You make me happy and I’m so fucking happy to have you home.”

You smiled up at him before your face fell a little. “I'm sorry I didn’t tell you about what happened with my father. He’s cruel and would have ruined you.” 

“Baby you don't need to apologize. You were scared. And given the situation I understand.” He soothed. “But we do need to talk about you breaking a rule.”

“What rule?!” You asked, your eyes wide with shock.

“Rule number two. Communication. Our relationship only works if we talk to each other. I can't fix something if you don't tell me what’s wrong.”

You looked away guiltily, you knew what he was getting at. You didn’t stop to think or talk, you just reacted. You pushed him away to save him. Glancing back up at him you bit your lip for a moment. “You gonna punish me?”

“No. I think you’ve been through enough. But we are going to talk about it after I take this sexy little number off you and you talk to Dan,” He said, as he caressed your cheek with the back of his fingers. “And I’m going to take my time doing it while you watch every second of it. Do not take your eyes off me.”

You nod with wide eyes as he walks you backwards, pushing you down onto the bed, a smile spreading across his face when you bounced a little and watched while you laid back looking up at him. He noticed that you didn't answer properly but he let it slide this once. Your eyes never strayed from his face as he knelt down and pulled your white heels from your feet tossing them one after the other towards your dress with one hand, the other one never leaving your calf, his fingers kneading the muscles under your nylon covered skin. You giggled when he turned back to you leaning forward to kiss up your left leg to the pale blue garter that sat circling your thigh, his eyes made contact with yours as he grabbed the frilly little thing with his teeth and pulled it down your leg and off, letting it hang from his teeth before pulling it from his mouth and tossing it behind him.

For the next few minutes you sat back watching as Eddie took his time undressing you, unclipping the suspenders from your thigh high nylons to pull those down, then moving to pull the white lace panties from your body. You gasp, eyes closing when he places a kiss right on your mound, followed by a small slap to your thigh that brings your attention back to him. A tiny correction. “Eyes on me baby.”

“Sorry, Sir.” You answered breathlessly as he leaned over you again to pull the garter belt off, you lifted your hips to help him pull it over your ass, you watched when he tossed it behind him to join your other items of clothing. He’s back in seconds gripping your thighs before he manhandles you in a way that you love so he could flip you over, a laugh leaving you as you try to look over your shoulder at him, making sure he’s always in your line of sight less you get another correction. 

“Look at you,” He smirked, your gazes connecting again as he kneaded the fat of your ass with his calloused fingers. “Such a good girl, keeping your eyes where they're supposed to be.” 

The praise heats you up and you bite your lip, your body jolting to the side a bit when he starts to untie the laces on the back of this corset. You felt your lungs start to expand easier as he loosened it and you let out a little moan of relief when he’s finished. “Holy shit, I can breathe.”

“I’ll have to tie you into one properly some day.” Eddie laughed as manhandles you once more so you are laying on your back your eyes still on him as he pops open the busk on the front of your corset the little metal rings opening one by one until he’s able to toss both sides away from your body with a flick of his wrists. He stopped for a moment as he looked at your chest, there between your naked breasts sat your collar. 

“It never left my side since the night you gave it to me.” You muttered watching him. 

He smiled then, a bright shit eating grin, his fingers traced the little stone pick where it sat on your sternum before taking it in between his fingers to lift it up, the warm chain still sitting on your heated skin. “I think it's time to put this where it belongs… don't you?”

“Yes, Sir.” You nodded your own smile just as bright when he took your hand and pulled you into a sitting position. Slowly you slipped off the bed to kneel at his feet, your hands sitting prettily on the tops of your thighs, palms up towards the ceiling. A familiar position that he had taught you months ago. Usually your eyes would be on the ground but he never told you to stop looking at him so you didn’t look down. 

“Good girl. Eyes straight ahead.” He smiled as brushed his hand over your hair as he moved behind you, you heard him fiddle with the necklace before he lowered it past your vision and then set it around your neck, you could hear the little snick when the clasp closed into place. It landed just below the hollow of your throat, the stone pick still warm from you and Eddie handling it. 

You smiled as you felt his hands move from your shoulders around to the front of your throat, one hand moving up to cup under your chin, while the other touched the stone as it passed on its way down to your breasts, his fingers giving your nipple a good pinch that made you squeak. The whole time you stared straight ahead like he instructed. Giving him control was easy, you trusted him to have your best interests at heart. You looked up at him when he used your jaw to bring your head back to lean against his clothed crotch, a sigh of contentment leaving you when he kissed your forehead. 

“Let's get you dressed.” He whispered against your skin as he leaned up and moved around you, holding his hands out for you to take so he could help you stand and he pulled your naked form close to him when you were on your feet again. He hummed as his hands roamed up and down your back. He wanted to do so much more but he knew Dan needed to ask you questions so he pulled himself away looking like it physically hurt to do so, his pout making you giggle. “Okay, shit, okay. Dressed, gotta get you dressed, can’t have you talking to Dan naked.”

You laughed at his flustered mumbling as he moved to the dresser under the window pulling open the drawer that held your clothes and grabbed two items. Just a shirt and a pair of sleep shorts. You bit your lip when he came back over to you the shirt thrown over his shoulder as he held out the shorts for you to step into. “No panties?”

“You know the rules,” He smirked. “No pants in my house but since we need to talk to someone you need to have pants on.”

“Sounds reasonable.” You laugh and let him dress you. Lifting your arms in the air so he could pull the shirt over your head. Once your head and arms went through the holes he tugged the shirt down over your soft stomach and pecked you on the lips making you giggle again. 

“I love you.” He says, cupping your cheeks in his hands again.

“I love you too.” You smiled back at him.

“Get comfy,” He said as he kissed your forehead once more before he moved around you, slapping you on the ass as he walked to head out the door. “I’m going to get Dan.”

“‘Kay,” You nodded and turned to start to pick up wedding attire that Eddie had so meticulously pulled off you draping it across the chair in the living room before you moved into the bathroom to wash away the makeup from your face and do something with your hair now that you have no need for the pretty wedding style. Plus it was giving you a headache. You heard Eddie and Dan come back in a few minutes later as you were drying your face. Moving out of the bathroom you smiled a little at the two men as Dan got settled at the small dining room table in Eddie’s kitchen. 

“Feeling better?” Dan asked now that you had the time to get more comfortable. 

“Yeah, thank you.” You nod as you move to sit on the bed again your legs crossed under you so you could grab one of his pillows and cuddle up to it. “I have a bit of a headache though, not sure if that’s from all that crap they put in my hair or the fact that I haven’t eaten much today.”

Eddie made a face at you before he moved into his bathroom to get you some pills and then went into the kitchen to get you some water. “You should have told me sooner, babe.”

“You were a little busy.” You laughed, smiling at him when he handed you the items. 

“I’ll make you some food.” He said petting your hair for a moment as Dan continued to set up a recorder on the table with a notepad in front of him. 

Dan clicked on the recorder and nodded at you. “Whenever you’re ready. Tell me everything.”

Taking a deep breath you took the pills and got up from the bed moving to sit in front of Dan at the table so the recorder could pick up your voice better. Putting the cup of water on the table you wiped your hands on your legs as you prepared to tell your side of the story. “Okay. I met the Malloy family at a business party my dad threw last summer…”

For hours you sat at that table with Eddie and Dan telling them everything that happened since you met the Malloy’s and your fathers demands of you. You took a break to eat a small bit of the meal that Eddie made for you, you wanted to eat more for Eddie but you could only stomach a few bites before you felt sick. You were hoping this shit would end quickly now that you were in a safe place with your rockstar. The retelling stopped once more at Dan’s request to have Steve join you to get his side of things since he met the Malloy’s at the New Years Party. 

You watched Eddie’s reaction to your words and you felt awful when you got to the part where you broke up and why. His jaw tensed and his fists clenched on the table, it made you get out of your seat and walk over to him letting him pull you onto his lap for comfort, his or yours you weren't sure but you loved the closeness of him. The heat from his body made you feel sleepy but you needed to stay awake if you wanted to give Dan all the answers he needed to help your case.  

“Blackmail, coercion, forced marriage, and to top it all off false imprisonment.” Dan sighed as he took notes. “That’s a hell of a list, that’s also not including all the dirt I found on your dad. There’s bribery, tampering with private records, and a slew of other things.”

Letting out a low whistle Steve sat back in his chair, "At least he didn’t fuck with your inheritance from Nana.”

“Not much he could do with pearls.” You shrugged

“Not the pearls,” Steve said leaning forward again to look at you with his brows furrowed as confusion showed on his face. “The money.”

It was your turn to look confused as you leaned forward on Eddie’s lap, his hands falling to your waist. “What money?”

“The money Nana left you.” 

Shaking your head you looked around at the three men. “I didn’t get any money. Dad told me the only thing willed to me was the pearls and that’s it.”

“I knew something was fucked when he showed up to the reading without you.” Steve shook his head. “It was at Nana’s lawyer’s office in Indianapolis. Nana left both of us a nice chunk of change.”

“Good thing is once a will is read it becomes public record,” Dan sighed as he made a new note to his paper. “If what you said is true we can also get him on withholding of inheritance.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh as you stood up and walked around the kitchen for a moment. Your hand sitting linked together on the top of your head as you tried to calm down. “This just keeps getting better doesn’t it?”

Getting up from the table Eddie followed you into the kitchen so he could grab your hips and pull you to him. “Don’t worry babe. We’ll get you your inheritance. All of it.”

Shaking your head you gave him a sad look. “I’m not worried about the money. I don’t care about the money. I’m just so fucking tired of finding out the new ways my dad was controlling me or the things around me.”

“I know it’s frustrating,” Eddie sighed, wrapping his arms around you so you could lean your head on his chest. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

“We have more than enough to get your father on. I need to do a little more research into the Malloy’s but I can only imagine they are just as crooked as he is.” Dan looked up, giving you a small shrug. “No offense.”

“None taken.” You sighed cuddling into Eddie’s warmth. Now that everything was starting to settle down for the moment, at least until you had to go to court, you felt… sad. This was your dad. The man who helped bring you into this world, who raised you (for the most part), who was supposed to love you, and he was making your life a living hell. For what? A business deal? All to keep his partners happy. But what about you? Shouldn’t he care if you were happy? Yeah he said what he was doing would put you in a good spot financially but why couldn’t he see that you didn’t need all that? You felt like a broken record, just repeating the same questions to yourself over and over again. Tears welled in your eyes before you buried your face into Eddie’s chest to hide them from the others. 

Eddie felt your shoulders shake a little and he hugged you closer before looking over at Dan and Steve. “I think we’re done for today.”

Dan looked up from his notes to see you hiding in Eddie’s chest and nodded his head moving his hand to turn off the recorder. “I agree. I have a lot to work with and we should be able to get a date for the case soon.”

Steve stood from the table and wandered over to you and Eddie, his hand going between your shoulders. “Let me know if you guys need anything, okay?”

You nodded your head listening to Dan pack up as he spoke to Eddie and you looked up at your Dom when you heard the door shut behind Dan and Steve. “I’m sorry. I -”

“Don’t be sorry.” Eddie said, shaking his head. His hands rubbing up and down your back. “Today was a lot. You need more time to decompress, let’s just sit on the couch and watch some TV, yeah?”

“Please?” You asked, nodding a little as he stepped back from you, his hand never leaving yours as he pulled you towards the couch. Together you got comfortable, Eddie sitting in the corner of the sofa, his legs stretched out to sit on top of the coffee table and you laid down with your head in his lap as you watched some show you didn’t really pay attention to while Eddie played with the ends of your hair. 

After a few days of hanging around the bar catching up with everyone you were finally able to convince Eddie to take you back to the bakery. You wanted to go home and sleep in your own bed. You felt excited as you walked through the back doors into the kitchen of your shop. Jumping a little when Tiffany dropped the empty pan she was holding onto the counter with a loud clang before she crossed the room to tackle you into a hug. You could feel her shoulders shaking as she cried. Hugging her back you looked over at a smiling Ada from where she was leaning on the kitchen island. Marty and Emma rushed in from the front of the shop to see what all the commotion was and yelled in excitement when they saw you. 

Eddie closed the door behind himself both as he walked into the kitchen with a smile on his own face as he watched the friends reunite. He leaned against the counter by the door with his hands in his pockets while he took in the bakery. Everything looked normal. That was good. You would need a little bit of normal as you settled back into your routine. 

You laughed as you took turns hugging everyone in the shop and while that was happening Eddie moved around you with his hand on the small of your back as he made his way upstairs to check if your apartment had been messed with while you were away. Once he was satisfied that everything was fine, he left your apartment to join you in the kitchen, making a mental note to get a new door knob and keys for your apartment just in case your father had copies made. When he walked down the stairs and saw you at the corkboard looking at the orders trying to choose which one to do he smiled even more. He loved you so damn much it was nice to see you back in your element. 

Taking a seat at the little lunch table in front of your office Eddie just watched you move around your kitchen back to business as usual. He could sit there and watch you bake forever.

You spent your time in the bakery making orders, restocking the displays in the front, listening to music, and laughing with your friends as you fell back into the rhythm of the kitchen. You, Ada, and Tiffany moving around each other in a dance that you had practiced for years. Every once in a while you stopped to grab Eddie a coffee or a treat before you went upstairs to make lunch for the two of you. 

Later that night after dinner you found yourself sitting on the floor between Eddie’s legs, your head resting on his thigh, his fingers playing the ends of your hair as you watched TV when his phone rang. You looked up as he lifted his hips and pulled his cell from the back pocket of his pants. He took a moment to look at the caller before he answered it. “Hey Dan.”

You perked up then, crawling up onto the couch to sit by Eddie, leaning your head close to the phone to try to hear what was being said. Eddie chuckled quietly at you and pulled the phone away to put it on loudspeaker. “-by the end of the month.”

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” He asked, looking over at you. You looked nervous, your lower lip was pulled tight between your teeth. Lifting the hand not holding the phone he used his thumb to pull your lip back out before you hurt yourself.

“I said that Peter Malloy was going to represent himself, his father, and Y/N’s father but since he has his license in Chicago he can’t represent anyone in Indianapolis. So they hired William Powell. Now he’s good but I'm better. We spoke to a judge today and we were able to get a date for the end of the month. That gives us more than enough time to prepare.”

Sighing, you nod your head and lean back against the couch. Eddie watched you as he spoke to Dan some more about the case.

“One more thing,” Dan said before he hung up. “I looked into Peter some more and he has a long history of sexual harassment towards women and from what the others I spoke to in Chicago have to say there is a possibility of evidence tampering. But since his father is who he is it’s all been swept under the rug with a good amount of money exchanged. I’m going to try my hardest to get him disbarred. And if we succeed, there’s a possibility that most, if not all, of the cases he’s ever won will end up being reopened to go over any evidence that could have been messed with. He pretty much fucked himself.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie said, blinking at the phone. 

While Eddie and Dan continued to talk, you took a breath, a headache started to throb dully in your head as you thought about all the other women Peter might have done this too and you felt sick to your stomach. Of course your father would give you to a man who has a history this fucked up. Getting up you pointed to your room and left Eddie on the couch after he nodded. You needed some time to think a bit. 

Eddie watched you move, turning his phone off speaker and bringing it back up to his ear. “Yeah, yeah, okay. You’ll let us know when you have an exact date?”

Flopping down onto your bed you listened to the rest of the conversation before Eddie hung up and joined you in the room. Laying down on the bed next to you Eddie placed his hand on the small of your back. “You okay baby?”

“Once this is over I will be.” You nodded your head before you turned over to look at him. “I’m so just so tired Eddie. My dad almost successfully sold me off to a man who has had god knows how many sexual harrassment suits against him.”

“I know I sound like a broken record,” Eddie started as he brought his forehead to yours. “But it’s going to be okay. I’ll be right there with you the whole time, and if you need me too I will make good on my promise to fight your dad if it comes to that. I’m not scared of punching an old guy out.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. 

The end of the month rolled around faster than you were ready for and the morning of your court date was here. Your leg bounced and you couldn’t help but pick at the skin around your nails as you watched the buildings of Indianapolis fly by while Eddie drove you both to the courthouse. Was this smart? Suing your own fucking father? What could this possibly even prove?

Anxiety coursed through you and you jumped about a foot in the air when Eddie placed his hand on yours to keep you from picking. “Deep breaths, baby.”

Nodding you took a few breathes, watching Eddie turn the wheel into the parking lot of the courthouse. No more time to panic, it was the end of the line. Together you and Eddie stepped from the car, seeing that the rest of the band, Lizzy, and Robin were there waiting for you at the stairs to the courthouse with Ada and Tiffany. You had closed the bakery for the day so you didn’t have to worry about it while this was happening. 

Cocking your head to the side you looked around the grounds of the courthouse before looking over at Robin when you got close enough. “Where’s Steve?”

“He’s on his way. He had an errand to run.” Robin smiled a bit and looked at Ada who just nodded.

“Don’t worry. He’ll be here.” Ada nodded as she stroked your arm a little. “Let’s head inside.”

Hand in hand with Eddie, your group walked into the building together and up the stairs to the second floor, meeting up with Dan who was standing outside the courtroom door looking immaculate in his three piece suit and a briefcase. 

“Morning.” You mumbled as you stood just to the side of him.

“Good morning everyone.” He smiled, patting Eddie on his shoulder and then putting his hand on your head in a comforting way. “Are you ready?”

“No. But I have to be.” You shrugged as you looked around. Hoping that your father or Peter weren’t coming up behind you. 

“It'll be okay. Let me run you through what's going to happen in there,” He said as he started explaining everything to you, what would happen in the courtroom, where everyone would sit, what would be said on his part and so on. It was all confusing but he gave you a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. Everything will work out. You have one hell of a support system.”

“Y/N?” 

At the sound of your name you looked up and felt your breath stop in your throat. Your mom stood in the hallway just a little ways away tears in her eyes as she looked at you. Steve stood behind her a bit looking pleased with himself, his hands in his pockets.

“Mama.” You muttered as you left the group quickly to hug your mother. Her arms felt safe as she hugged you close. “How? What… What are you doing here?”

“Eddie called me.” She said as she squeezed you tightly. “I needed to be here for you.”

Leaning back you looked at her for the first time in a few years, she looked good. Healthy. Smiling, you let her wipe the tears from under your eyes as she held your face, her eyes studying you just as you were her. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.” Your mother whispered as she tried to hold back her own tears. 

Shaking your head you pulled her back into a hug. “It’s okay. I’m okay. This will all be over soon.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie called out, smiling over at the two of you. He didn’t want to interrupt your moment with your mom but you were needed, plus she would be here a few days you had time to catch up later. “It’s time.”

Looking over your shoulder you nodded and together with your mom you walked towards the group Steve following the two of you towards them. Once in front of Dan you looked up at him and squared your shoulder. You could do this. Your family was here, your friends, everyone you needed. Nodding, you took a deep breath. “Let’s win this case.”

“That’s the spirit.” Dan said with a grin and opened the door gesturing for you to enter first. 

One by one you all filed into the courtroom, your head held high as you and Dan moved to take a seat at one table, the older man pulling your chair out for you before getting all his material ready for the case, the others sat in the pews behind the little gate on your side of the room. 

A chill went up your spine as the door opened again and you could physically feel the room shift when your father, Oscar, and the Malloy’s entered and took their places. A sharp yelping noise made you turn to look over your shoulder to see a surprised Evelyn staring at your mother before she got a grip and took her own seat on your fathers side of the room.

Looking back at your mom she gave you an unimpressed look with a roll of her eyes that made you stifle a giggle before you turned back around.

It wasn’t long after that when the bailiff entered the room, along with all the other courthouse personnel that would be here today and once they were all set the bailiff stepped forward. “All rise! Court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Howard Stone, presiding!”

“Here we go.” Dan said quietly to you as the two of you stood. 

The judge walked into the room with a file folder under his arm, you watched him set the papers down before he took his own seat getting his area set up. Moving the microphone close to his lips he looked up at all of you. “Please be seated. Today we are hearing the case of L/N vs. L/N. Let's begin.”

For the next few hours you sat there at that table listening to Dan and your fathers lawyer battle it out on how this whole thing went down. Your fathers lawyer tried to paint you as an alcoholic, selfish, naive child who needed her father to intervene to set her on the right track. That you had agreed to dating and marrying Peter. He made sure to emphasize that you could not take care of yourself so you needed help. That Eddie was only hurting you and moving you down the wrong path. How the Malloy’s were a safer, sturdier, and smarter choice for you. He was only doing what he did to protect you. Somehow no matter how much time they had to get their case ready, and no matter how Mr. Powell worded things, you felt like your fathers lawyer was very unprepared.

But Dan. He blew all of that out of the water. Thank fuck for Dan. He was prepared. Dan painted you in the best light ever. He told the judge of your accomplishments, of your business that you had started from the ground up with your friend, how you were a well adjusted young adult capable of taking care of herself and making her own choices. There were character statements, paper trails, evidence of your fathers record tampering, a copy of your grandmother's will that showed he purposely withheld your inheritance, and all that he could find on how he blackmailed you. How he used all that to trap you far away from your home and coerced you into marrying Peter, who by the way had his father pay to sweep his own misconduct of sexual harassment and evidence tampering under the rug many times, by threatening the man you really loved. He threw in how he tried to ruin Eddie's career with these slanderous claims against him. He even asked for an order of protection.

In the end the judge looked incredibly unimpressed by your fathers arguments and sided with you. He demanded your father give you the inheritance that you were owed, a nice chunk of change for any distress he had caused, along with one hell of a hefty fine, and a mandatory thirty days in jail, after he got his affairs in order of course, plus the judge granted the protection order. With one bang of the gravel it was over. You had won and you were finally free of your father. 

You knew with your fathers status in the community it meant that he wouldn't get much of a punishment and even though it bothered you, you tried to let it go. Your father was red in the face with anger. He wanted to yell at you, you could tell but he had been embarrassed enough today, he didn't need to add to that by losing his temper in public.

You hugged Dan after the judge left the room. You couldn't thank him enough and the smile he gave you washed away all rest of the anxiety you had in your body. It was as you were leaving the courthouse that there was a brief moment when you and your father locked eyes as you walked towards the steps towards the parking lot. You weren't sure what you were looking for… remorse? Love? But whatever it was it wasn't there. He narrowed his eyes at you but you held your head high, he wasn't so scary now. He was just a sad little man who needed to bully his way into getting what he wanted. You looked away as Eddie gestured you down the stairs away from the courthouse and your father with his hand on the small of your back. You knew as soon as you left you would never see him again, and you were okay with that. 

You had two more court dates for your cases against the Malloy’s and you won those too. They were ordered to pay you a gross amount of money for mental and emotional distress and you were granted another order of protection from them as well. Now neither your father or the Malloy’s could come within a hundred feet of you.

Later you found out that Peter ended up being disbarred and could no longer practice law, and Dan had been right, most of his cases were reopened to look for evidence tampering. And once again, even after all of the fines, Mr. Malloy paid to keep his son out of jail. The Malloy name was currently being dragged through the mud.

It was a few days later as you were sitting outside of a little bistro with Eddie, your mom, and Wayne that it finally hit you. You were free. There were no more threats, no more waiting for the other shoe to drop, just nothing but peace and quiet. You looked at Eddie as he laughed at something your mom had said, he had made all this happen. He never let you down, not once. Leaning over to him you kissed him on the cheek. 

Eddie looked up at you with his normal goofy smile. Moving his arm around the back of your chair he pulled you closer and you melted into him.

He had been right. Everything was okay.

Tag List: @eddiesprincess86 @haylaansmi @micheledawn1975 @chloe-6123 @wendyfawcett

[lullabyes22-blog]

Mal de Mer - Ch: 3 - Treasure (Part I)

Summary:

A high-seas honeymoon. Two adversaries, bound by matrimony. A future full of peril and possibility. And a word that neither enjoys adding to their lexicon: Compromise.

War was simpler business…

Part of the 'Forward But Never Forget/XOXO' AU. Can be read as a standalone series.

Thank you for the graphics @lipsticksandmolotovs<3

Mal de Mer on AO3

Mal de Mer on FFnet

CHAPTER

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII

꧁꧂

How can you just leave me standing? Alone in a world that's so cold Maybe I'm just too demanding Maybe I'm just like my father, too bold?

~ "When Doves Cry" - Prince

The SS Woe Betide's promenade deck is a study in sun-drenched elegance.

The broad stretch of honey-gold planks is polished to a high shine. Floor-to-ceiling windows run the length of the walkway, their glass etched with sunburst motifs. Behind the glass, the water is dappled into a spray of gold and diamonds. The waves, rolling in drowsy combers of lapis lazuli and sapphire, call to mind a treasurebox tipped sideways: all its secrets spilling across the seabed.

A pirate's dream come true.

Silco’s outfit fits right in. He's clad in a loose red shirt with the sleeves rolled to the forearms. A worsted black waistcoat, long and narrow, drapes his angular shoulders and sways with his stride. His trousers, matching the jacket, are tailored in the style of sailor's breeches: unpleated, and tapering at the calves.  A pair of scuffed boots, pointed at the toes, complete the ensemble.

The effect is flattering, but ruthlessly functional. He looks ready to cross the gangplank to a pirate's cutter.

His smile, when he glances sidelong at Mel, is piratical too: full of teeth, and no good intent. 

"My dear," he drawls, "I asked you to lose the chiffon."

"This," Mel says, "is tulle."

"The difference?"

"A world of it."

"And yet the effect's the same."

His scrutiny is a physical paring down. Mel, not a woman given to blushes, feels a smarting heat. 

There is, she tells herself, nothing wrong with her day-gown. It's the plainest in her wardrobe. A square-necked cream frock, the hem ending at mid-calf. The bodice is a high-waisted, empire-line affair. The only adornments are the delicate golden embroidery edging the diaphanous sleeves. It's a demure look: a far cry from the haute-couture she usually favors—the ones Silco dubs Vehicles of Voyeurism. Even her calfskin boots, ankle-length and plain, are the closest she's got to seafaring. She'd chosen them, and the matching leather belt, for their durability.

Whatever her husband's plans, she'd rather not lose a pair of Tanzanite-studded Manolovas to the briny depths.

Silco, head tilted, appraises her footwear. "Are those Topside's idea of boots?"

"They're called oxfords." 

"They're a disgrace."

"You're not a shoemaker!" Exasperated, Mel smooths out her skirts. "I've never seen a pair like yours before. And my father was an admiral."

"You mean, mercenary."

"My point is: I have spent a lifetime on ships. I know seamen's boots. Those—" she gestures at Silco's, "—are anything but."

"They're Fissure-boots. We call them 'kickers'." He rotates his ankle to show her the sole. "The undersides are covered in rivets. For grip. They're useful for slippery surfaces. But if you snag them on a rail, or trip over a hatch cover, you can slip them off in three shakes of a rat's tail. All the better to run."

"Run from what?"

A ghost of a smile. "What do you think?"

"Enforcers."

"Enforcers aren't the only disasters belowground. Temblors. Fires. Cave-ins. We have all sorts." Musingly, he regards his boots. "Running's a way of life for us."

Mel thinks of her first descent into the Fissures. The smoke-clogged streets that denied visibility. The gaping pits of rubble that threatened each step. The clammy grip of moisture that slicked each surface. Everywhere she'd looked, she’d seen the endless scars of Topside's neglect. Afterward, the waft of destruction had clung to her skin. Like the phantom sensation of Silco's hand on hers, and the insinuating thread of his voice in her ear:

"Watch your step. Rough roads in Zaun."

She'd wondered how the Fissurefolk withstood their lot. Their suffering seemed unendurable: the weight of it, the sheer, crushing tragedy. No matter where her thoughts turned, it was always there: the knowledge that her city, the jewel of Progress, had been rotting away below her feet.

The people, trapped beneath, dying by degrees.

In those days, she'd been unnerved by that strange and alien world. Unnerved, too, by Silco. The duality of him was at once alluring and repulsive. His elegance was a facade, as thin as the film of iridescent oil floating on Zaun's waters.  Beneath, there was nothing but a ravenous dark. 

 And yet, she'd found herself returning. To the dark, and to him. And each time, the city's alienness seemed to peel away. The Fissurefolk, in all their idiosyncrasies, morphed from feral enigmas to fellow human beings. Even Silco, for all his unsettling contradictions, went from a terrible specter to a thrilling challenge.

A man, with his own stories. His own heartbreaks.

Bit by bit, his world had become hers. He'd made it so: with colorful tales about the murals peeking between the subterranean ruins at Factorywood. With sips of fizzy green lager brewed in the sunless cellars beneath the catacombs in Entresol. With strolls, arm-in-arm, along the pyrite studded rock formations that rimmed the shantytowns in the Sumps. He'd taught her the dances popular among the Fissurefolk—the Sumpside Waltz, the Drainpipe Fandango, the Lazy River Lope—and the meanings behind their twists and turns. He'd invited her to the most surreal festivals—the Equinox Feast, the Night of the Veiled Lady—and imparted the significance behind their customs.  He'd fed her delicacies from the food carts dotting the street corners—spiced mushroom stew, glazed eel, pickled beets—and shared the recipes behind their unique flavors.

And all the while, his voice had woven a spell. The longer she’d listened, the less Zaun seemed a hellhole, but a hidden gem. Each facet, a winking, ever-shifting kaleidoscope of human life—one as rich as any jewelbox in Piltover's Ecliptic Vaults.

Treasure, Mel thinks, isn't always gold.

"Perhaps," she dares, "I'll buy myself a pair of 'kickers'."

His brow quirks. "You'd be in for a rude surprise."

"Oh?"

"Our best boots are cobbled at the Commercia Fantastica. All the way down in the Black Lanes. You'd never find your way out."

"You'll show me."

"Will I?" His mismatched eyes take on a shrewd gleam. "And how will you compensate me?"

"By being your wife."

"Is that the new currency, now?"

"The press certainly say so."

Her mind is already sketching out a blueprint. She'll speak to one of her contacts in the publishing industry: a gazetteer of Fissure origins.  They'll contrive a series: maybe a pictorial. All the splendor of the Commercia Fantastica, faithfully rendered in glossy print. Piltover's glitterati will have their first glimpse into the heart of Zaun's manufacturing district. It will be a reminder that their cornucopia—be it custom-made or uniform—does not issue from an orifice hidden in clouds of smut. It materializes from an epicenter of artisanship: a beating, booming, pulsating hub.

One that's only a hop, skip, and jump away.

If previous efforts are a litmus for success, then one photograph of Mel in the latest 'kickers' will spark a stampede for the bootsellers' doors. In the surge, the adjacent markets will benefit: textiles, silversmiths and jewelers. And once the novelty wears off, the lull will be a soft landing for honest Fissure tradesmen eager to partner with Piltover's guilds. The latter, inured to the mercurial whims of high fashion, will now demand durability rather than design.  And the former, accustomed to the rigors belowground, will find the Piltover's middle-class an easier breed to please.

All that's necessary is a few photographs, and a dash of goodwill.

A small price, Mel thinks, for shared prosperity.

"You are," Silco says, with a degree of wryness, "scheming."

"Takes one to know one."

"I never scheme. I merely plan ahead."

"Same difference."

"Scheming requires an adversary. Planning, a vision."

"And what's yours?"

A corner of his mouth curls. "Good try."

Mel sighs. He is always maddeningly closemouthed about his agenda. It will take more than pretty prattle to pry the details loose. The only clues she can glean are from his choice of attire—and his critique of her boots.

Whatever his plan, it involves getting their feet wet.

Mel is wary. But she knows better than to fill the silence with futile queries. He proffers his arm; she takes it. Together, they stroll down the promenade deck. After a week confined to the cabin, the sea air is a heady tonic. The loose weave of her dress is a kiss against her skin.  She is still lit up like a klieg-light: her body hot and hyperaware after the morning's exertions. 

She seldom, as rule, makes love in the daytime. To her way of thinking, the act, in sunlight, loses some of its artistry. Everything reduced to the crudest mechanics. Every flaw in full relief. Even Jayce had been his loveliest in the twilight. All shadow, all suggestion.

With Silco, daylight is fast becoming her favorite hour.  Like the sun-warmed vista, she is all sensation.

Speculatively, Mel steals him a glance.  If it weren't the height of lunacy, she'd consider dragging him straight back to bed. To hell with the guests. To hell with his plans. They can return to their suite, and bolt the door. Spend the rest of the day, and the night, and the next morning, in a state of well-earned debauchery.

But the set of Silco's features warns her that's a losing battle. 

It's not tension, exactly. More a dark anticipation. Like the way he'd looked, at Zaun's Riverside Harbor, when they'd first met. He'd known then that Zaun would drag itself out of the depths. And Mel, meeting his eyes, had known too.

He'd been certain then. Now, the certainty is a riptide. And Mel, who's never been swept off her feet, can't help but be tugged along.

She's grateful for her boots. She suspects she'll need the grip.

They cross the promenade. Silco’s stroll is measured: a mark of ownership rather than a man marking time. Barely a week's span, and the ship is already seems to belong to him.  The crew, at his barest footfall, leap to attention. Even the Captain, an irascible old seadog, treats him with a distance verging on deference. Mel remembers the same phenomenon on her father's ship: the Cry Havoc. His crew were seasoned hands: calloused minds with checkered pasts. They'd spent a lifetime at sea, and encountered their fair share of the unfathomable. They were also superstitious, and possessed a healthy fear of the uncanny.

Silco, a figment of the fathoms, is uncanny through and through.

In a different life, Mel fancies, he'd be the silhouette idling on sharp rocks, his smoky voice pitched to wooing: Come, come, and never be lonely again.

Her husband, in this one, catches the eye of a passing steward. A nod is all it takes: the man turns on his heel and disappears belowdeck.

"Where is he going?" Mel asks.

"To fetch something."

"Fetch what?"

"What I've asked him to."

Another nod at a nearby sailor. The man hastens to the foredeck. There, Mel can hear a skiff—one of Piltover's quicksilvers—revving its engines. Readying to go where, Mel cannot begin to guess. They're miles off the coast. The nearest harbor—the Wuju port—is three hours away.

Unless Silco means to sail his guests directly to shore, his destination is a mystery.

Then again, she thinks, isn’t it always?

His palm cups her elbow. "Mel."

She stirs from her reverie. "What?"

"I have a request."

"A request?"

"Yes."

His hand, settling on her hip, guides her to a halt. He's not smiling. But there's a heat in his stare. It's not an easy heat to name. It's not desire, or even hunger. It's something deeper: a pull it takes everything to resist.

 "You must," he says, "make me a promise."

"You expect me to make promises, when you won't tell me a thing?"

"Only this: you're in for a surprise or two."

"Silco—"

"I've a plan. Not a pretty one. And it'll mean a bit of rough sailing. But what's true of storms is true of marriage." His mouth twitches. "There's no winners. Only survivors."

"You aren't doing a good job at selling this."

"I'm not trying to sell it. I'm only telling you that, when we're out there—in the ballroom, on the high sea—don't run."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because it's instinct. Trenchers run for survival. It's in our blood. Medardas run from loss. It's in yours." His eyes search hers. "I don't fault your blood. I only ask you to remember.  When the winds start picking up, and the waters get choppy, your instinct will be to take cover. But the storm's not what you think. And if you're going to stay on course, you can't retreat. You have to see this through." His thumb strokes her hipbone. "Promise."

"Even if you run us aground?"

"Do you think you've married a fool?"

"Do you think you're married to one?"

Their stares lock. The silence is charged. It is not challenge, but a quiet recognition of each others' roles. She is not a woman to expose herself to the raw elements. He is not a man to sit back and let the tides dictate his course.  Their relationship has been a negotiation, from the first to the last. Each taking a turn at the helm, and then trading it away.

Now, he's asking her to—what?

Trade, or give it up?

"If," Mel says, "there's a danger—"

"There isn't."

"But you believe I'll run."

"Not you. But the woman in there—" he tips his chin toward the ballroom, "—isn't the one who waxes poetic about painting me nude in the sunlight. She's a Medarda first, second, and last. And a Medarda always has an escape route."

"The woman in there—" Mel follows his chin, and sees, through the frosted glass, a knot of swaying silhouettes, "—is a Medarda by birth. She's married to you by choice. And I can't keep my promise, if I don't know what that choice means."

"Then I'll ask again." His eyes hold hers. "Trust me."

"Trust you? Or the man who's warned me not to run?"

"That's the point."

"Is it?"

"Trust that, whatever happens, the man you've married is the same man in that ballroom." His palm spans the small of her back. "I've no alter egos, Mel. Just moments where I show teeth, and moments where I hide them. And right now, I've a great deal to hide. But the endgame is the same as your schemes for my city: a step toward something greater."

"For Zaun, and Piltover?"

"I wouldn't put it that way."

"How would you put it?"

His mouth, mere inches from hers, crooks. "Compromise."

Mel's pulse skitters.

It's a hard bargain to swallow. A harder choice to make. And she, who's made a fine art of tipping the scales, knows that both are equally vital, if this union is to have a prayer of survival. And yet the urge to break away, to force a confrontation, is surging.

She's used to his obliqueness. She's not, and will never, be used to his unpredictability.

When he says Don't run, he means Hold your ground. When he says Surprise, he means Beware.

And when he says Compromise, he means, in his own words: Survive.

Then he says, "Trust me."

Which, she's learning, is his shorthand for, Trust yourself.

Mel's mouth pinches. Trust. Doubt. These are two sides of the same coin. His past, and hers, laid bare without veils. Moments like this, she's reminded of the enormous gamble she's taken by marrying him. She knows, from her own experience, how quickly trust can curdle into the opposite. And she knows, too, that doubt can devour the sturdiest edifice.

It had, after all, devoured her parents' marriage.

Ambessa Medarda, no sentimentalist, had not married for love. Her choice was pragmatic, and it was prudent. From a broad swathe of suitors, ranging from bluebloods to brutes, she'd selected Mel's father, a swarthy, scarred captain from the Targonian Isles. Known, simply, as Aziz, he'd possessed a devious head for deals, and a deft tongue for wooing. His clan were descended from a line of seafaring mercenaries. Over the centuries, they'd carved a bloody path on a shifting sea of wars, alliances, and compromises.

Aziz had met Ambessa during a trading venture. It had been, by all accounts, an explosive collision.

Ambessa had admired the way he squared his debts with a bladesman's exacting precision, and wielded his real blade with a cutthroat's clarity. He, in turn, was taken by her ruthless pragmatism, and her cold-eyed resolve.

There'd been no need, in the end, to seek approval from either clan. The match was mutually advantageous: her riches, and his ships, would forge a dynasty.

Theirs was not, by any metric, a love-match. Yet Mel remembers the heat, the intensity, and the sheer physicality of her parents' union. With Aziz, Ambessa became, despite her hardness, a creature of feeling. And Aziz, for all his wily ways, became a man of sentiment.

They'd quarreled often, publicly. They'd butted heads over business, and brawled over trifles. But they'd also made up in the same fashion: two titans, clashing in a storm.

Mel, since girlhood, knew never to knock on her parents' bedchamber door when she heard raised voices.

She'd witnessed the aftermath, once. After a particularly savage row, Ambessa had stormed from their marital suite, and headed for the stables. Aziz, stalking soundlessly after, had caught up with her halfway there. In the middle of the courtyard, they'd fought anew. Aziz, seizing her waist, had swung her in. Ambessa, kicking out, had knocked his legs from under him. Together, they'd fallen into the thatch of wildflowers behind the copse of cypress trees.

Their cries were not, Mel had realized with a dawning horror, cries of pain.

They'd been so preoccupied, they hadn't noticed her creeping closer. They'd not seen her stare, through the screen of foliage, as their fierce struggles devolved into a fiercer embrace. And as they did, a surreal alchemy took place: Ambessa, all wildfire and iron, began to melt. Aziz, all seaspray and stone, began to yield.

Mel, unable to tear her eyes away, saw the exact moment they transformed. A moment before, they'd been two warring elements. A moment later, they were one. And the power of it, the raw, unmitigated passion: it was a force beyond the comprehension of an eight-year-old girl.

That day, Mel sometimes thinks, is when she'd learnt that the strongest forces can be unmade by desire.

Love, fear, fury: they were not, as she'd childishly believed, discrete entities. They were all part of a single current, ebbing and flowing, and changing course with the tides.

Later, much later, her parents had subsided into a languid sprawl. Ambessa's head, pillowed on her husband's shoulder. Aziz's fingers, stirring through his wife's curls. Their bodies, twined, were a study in drowsy contentment.

"Never leave me," Aziz had whispered.

"Why should I," Ambessa had purred, "when I've already cut out your heart?"

"That you have. Now, it's yours."

Ambessa's lips, curving, had found his throat. "Then remember, Schatze, I'll do worse to any woman who dares to claim it."

Schatze.

That was her private designation for him. Treasure.

Her one and only.

And she'd meant it, Mel thinks now. Meant it in the way a warrior, who's seen a thousand battles, will fight her last. She'd fought him, and he'd fought her, and they'd taken shelter in each other. Over and over. For twenty years, their marriage was the stuff of legend: a dynastic alliance, and a private whirlwind. They'd begotten two children, lost two more before birth, and spawned a military empire.

Until their union, with the same suddenness as their collision, came undone.

Aziz had, during one of Ambessa's war-campaigns, chosen a mistress. This, in itself, was not unheard of. The men of the Targonian line were notoriously philandering, and the woman of the Medarda clan were notoriously pragmatic. Ambessa, who'd not only kept her own paramours, but had changed them with the frequency of a Piltovan noblewoman changing her gloves, had never begrudged her husband his dalliances. She'd even handpicked a few herself, including the mistress Aziz so doted upon.

The choice had proven fatal.

She was a pretty thing, Mel remembers. Pale as a lily, and shrewd as a serpent. She'd beguiled Aziz with her beauty, and bound him with her wits. In the span of months, her hold on him grew implacable. By the time Ambessa, returning from a year-long absence, realized what had happened, the damage was done.

She'd discovered Aziz gone, along with three-fifths of their battleships.

Ambessa was not a woman prone to tears. Now, her fury was a black inferno. She'd raged, and she'd razed, and she'd sworn to see the mistress decapitated, with her golden head on a pike. Her pursuit of the wayward pair had been relentless, and the carnage, legendary. She'd burnt villages to the ground. She'd sunk fleets to the bottom of the sea.

And when, finally, she'd had the chance to close her fist around her husband's neck... it was too late.

Aziz had succumbed to a tropical fever. He'd been bedridden and delirious when his ship was waylaid by Ambessa's fleet. The mistress, by then, had already fled with whatever riches she could carry. 

When Ambessa had stormed into her husband's cabin, Aziz, on the verge of death, had mustered a crooked smile.

"My lioness," he'd rasped, "have you come to finish the job?"

Ambessa's fury, like a house of cards, had collapsed at the sight of him. She'd flung her scimitar aside, and fallen to her knees at her husband's bedside. His ramblings—of repentance, of devotion, of the children he'd left behind—had been shushed by her kisses. The entire night, she'd sat vigil, cajoling and bargaining and finally, begging.

To no avail.

Aziz had perished at dawn. He'd died, as he'd lived, with a smile on his lips.

For Ambessa, the fearsome general who'd won a hundred battles, this was the first true defeat. But she'd not wept, or wailed, or rent her hair. She'd only kissed Aziz's forehead, and smoothed his lids shut. Then, with a composure born of pure iron, she'd ordered his body laid out onto a wooden funeral bier, and floated out to sea, before it was set ablaze in the Targonian custom with five dozen flaming arrows.

When the sun had set, and the smoke had dissipated, she'd hefted her scimitar and turned her eyes to the horizon.

There are a thousand and one ways a Medarda avenges a slight.

Aziz's mistress would learn them all.

And soon.

Ambessa's troops had cornered the woman, in a tiny port town along the southern coast. By then, she'd spent every last coin she'd stolen from her dead lover, and had nothing left to offer in her defense. Not that coin would've made a difference. When Ambessa, flanked by her honor-guard, arrived at the tavern where her quarry was hiding, there'd been no mercy, and no negotiation. The woman, bound and gagged, was dragged to the center of town, and flung at the feet of her former benefactress.

"For my Schatze," Ambessa had vowed, "I'll make this slow."

And she did.

In front of the entire town, she'd cut out the woman's tongue, and plucked out her eyes. She'd hacked her fingers and her toes. She'd flayed her skin, and slit open her chest. And as the woman's life bled out, Ambessa had at last carved out her heart.

It was, in its ghastly way, a fitting recompense.

In the years afterward, Ambessa had grown harder. More ruthless. The light that once shone in her eyes—that strange, fierce light, whenever she'd looked at her husband—had flickered, and faded away. She'd gone on to wage numberless wars. She'd had lovers by the score.  She'd built a legacy, and an empire.

But her husband, she never replaced.

Schatze.

She'd still call him that, whenever she reminisced. The endearment was its own admission; the sentiment, its own confession.

Ambessa Medarda did not marry for love. But she'd loved, and lost, nonetheless.

Schatze.

Mel, in the heart of herself, knows the word. It is worth its weight in gold—and the poorest possible investment. Men, as a rule, are faithless. Even the ones who seem, in the sunlight, like perfect princelings. And sharks, as a law, never stop swimming. Even if the water's blue for miles.

To trust one is to invite hurt. And to trust the other is to invite teeth.

Mel knows the price of a life-bitten heart.

And yet, in the depths of passion, she trusts Silco with hers.

Because, in the afterglow, languid and spent, she sometimes calls him Schatze, too.

Now, Mel meets Silco's stare. His eyes, even at their softest, hold an edge. But she senses no hidden blade. Only his palm, cradling the base of her spine. Only his body, a hairsbreadth from hers. And his words, in the space between: Trust me.

A choice, not a compromise.

Mel, slowly, nods.

"You'd better deliver,” she says. “I'm not sure my boots can handle anything worse than the waves."

"If you'd heeded my advice—"

"Don't."

Her tone brooks no argument. In turn, his humor melts.

He steps back, and bows. It's not a courtly gesture. It's like a wolf acknowledging a packmate. Mel, who's seen a hundred bows, is surprised by the sincerity of this one. It's a subtle, almost invisible dip. But she sees, in its execution, trust.

He, who is never truly vulnerable, is exposing the nape of his neck.

"Shall we?" He straightens with a small smile. "The parasites await."

"The parasites are our guests." Mel slips her hand into the crook of his elbow. "I hope you're ready to play the host."

His smile grows "Are you forgetting who I am?"

He stalks toward the ballroom door. His shadow, elongated by the sunlight, is a knife.

And Mel, her heart suddenly in her throat, knows this: She cannot run.

Even if, by a sudden inexplicable compulsion, she wants to.

The ballroom is an idyll of Art Deco delights.

A high vaulted ceiling, inlaid with mosaics of sea-nymphs, arches overhead. A chandelier, dangling like a glittering pendulum, sends a nimbus of refracted light across each polished surface.  The floor is a checkered parquet, alternating in shades of teak and rosewood. In the far-corner, a circular bar-island of carved cherrywood serves an array of spirits. A sunken dancefloor, honeycombed in a tessellation of rose marble, is ringed by a quartet of brass-trimmed alcoves. Inside, frosted glass windows, edged with intricate filigree patterns, frame different views of the blue horizon. 

Waitstaff bustle with trays of champagne flutes and silver-domed trays of hors d'oeuvres. The guests, in their daytime finery, are milling about. All seem mystified by the ship's anchorage. No doubt whispers have already begun stirring: mutiny, sabotage, ransom.

At Silco and Mel's entrance, heads swivel. The conversation eddies into silence.  

Mel thinks: It's like the moment before a battle.

She gives herself a quick mental inventory. Dress: immaculate. Persona: impeccable. Expression: impassive.

A soldier, Ambessa liked to say, is only as good as their armor.

Silco's hand, finding hers, imparts a squeeze: Ready?

Mel squeezes back. Always.

Then, falling away, they diverge to different ends of the room.

It is their formula: tried and true. He hates to be tethered. She hates to be steered. So they meet, and part, and find each other again. Two ships crossing the same sea, with a hundred currents swirling beneath.

And between them: the fulcrum of their cities' fates.

Silco drifts soundlessly to the bar. The crowd parts as he crosses. Mel, watching, marvels at the smoothness of his gait. His body, like a blade, cuts its way implacably through the tide.  Peeling it back, layer by layer, until all the pretense fall away. She notes who shrinks back, who stands their ground, who dares to come closer.  In their body-language, she reads volumes: curiosity, contempt, caution.

The Eye of Zaun has that effect. Even among the constellations of power, he exudes his own. It's nothing to do with size or swagger. It is simply that his presence, in any room, becomes a gravity well.  The most ambitious—eager for a taste of danger—drift closer. The most prudent—wary of his reputation—keep their distance.

Silco, in turn, exudes a usual glacial calm: his eyes taking in everything and giving away nothing. 

In that, Mel thinks, he is nothing like Jayce.

Jayce, a born idealist, radiated human warmth. It was a private foible and a public asset: his shining smile and his sheer, stubborn, indomitable belief in Progress.  In the beginning, Mel had been charmed his capacity for optimism. As his business partner, she'd seen the way his earnest goodwill thawed the frostiest investors. As his lover, she'd been seduced by his sheer, unabashed passion.

In a world of tepid greys, Jayce was abrash, exuberant burst of brightness. And his ardor was a gift that kept giving. He'd brought color back into Mel's life. He'd given her a glimpse of the world as it could be, not as it was: a place of endless possibility.

If they only had the will to grasp it.

She'd taken a gamble on him. And at every step, he'd rewarded her. He'd made her smile. He'd made her think. He'd made her want to be more than she was: more daring, more defiant, more dauntless. And she'd made him stronger, in turn. She'd guided him through the slippery labyrinth of politics, tempered his bullheaded choices with cool pragmatism, and steered him, on occasion, from complete disaster.

With her, he'd believed anything was possible. With him, she'd felt the same.  A perfect balance of ambition, beauty, and intellect.

The Golden Couple, the press had dubbed them.

But Jayce, for all his merits, was not a man to cut his own path. He'd never known the grinding ache of a hunger weaned by birthright. Never felt the keenness of the knife, twisting, with a mother's silence. Never known a world where privilege was not a promise kept, but a golden garotte around the throat.

For the Medardas, the ethos of power was not glory. It was survival. That was what the bloodline was bred for, and what it demanded: the need to claw its way to the apogee, and stay there.

But every apogee, a voice whispers, needs a nadir.

There is no peak without the abyss. And every climb is a fall, waiting to happen.

Jayce, born into a life of ease, never understood. And the brightness of his dream, pure and perfect, became Mel's blind spot. She'd seen the world, and their place in it: a vast, glorious expanse of the unimaginable. He'd stand by her, and she'd stand up for him, and together, they'd forge a new era.

Until, in the worst way, they had.

Their city ruptured. Their dream, in shreds. Their bond, an ash-pit.

Mel accepts the glass of pineapple juice a passing steward offers. Sipping, she thinks once more of Jayce: his easygoing smile, his boundless idealism.  Then she lets the golden memories fall away in favor of what is right in front of her: the man she'd found at the bottom of that ash-pit.

And he, finding her, had shown her a different dream. A darker one: bleeding and yet never dying. Two cities, joined, against all odds.

Rising, by any means necessary.

Their eyes meet across the room. Silco, in conversation with a sparse clutch of older men, is watching her with a quiet intensity. Under his scrutiny, she feels like a gemstone held up to the light. Like she did this morning: caught, and pinned, and in a state of sublime surrender.

A curl at the corner of his mouth says: I see you.

Mel lifts her glass in a mock-toast.

Enjoy the show.

Smiling, she steps into the fray.

If Silco is the gravity well, Mel is the sun. The moment she materializes, the atmosphere transforms: a gloriole of life. The silence swirls into animated chatter. The guests, like celestial bodies, align into orbit. A chorus of well-wishes rises: Mel, darling, how are you feeling? — Councilor Medarda, how splendid to see you on your feet!—My dearest Melusine! At last, you've emerged!

Mel, her smile calibrated to dazzle, accepts their tributes with grace. In diplomacy, timing is everything. And she, every word fine-tuned for maximum impact, knows how to walk the line between approachability and allure.  One moment she's regaling the group with a quip that dissolves them into gales of laughter. The next, she's demurring a bold overture with an artful pivot and a cool flutter of lashes.

It's an old song, and she's a seasoned player. Human emotions are a string quartet. She's learned, since girlhood, that her talent lies in knowing the right string to pluck. A smile to coax a dowager's taut cadences into a cello's mellow depth. A murmur to set off a young man's somber oboe into a high-spirited spill of arpeggios. A touch to elicit, from an aging general's lascivious violin, a full, rich chord of rapture.

And Mel: the maestra. Coaxing melody from dissonance, and bringing the whole ensemble into harmony.

Now, she plucks the closest string in reach:  the Demacian dignitary's wife. The woman's a social stalwart: moneyed, magpie-eyed, and a moralist of the first degree. Paired with a penchant for petty gossip, she is the chief purveyor of the aristocracy's scandal-mill. 

But her pedigree is a goldmine, and her support is a vital step toward Zaun's ascent into the global spotlight.

Mel, accordingly, makes her the target of a subtle campaign.

"Lady Dennings," she says, with a radiant smile. "How lovely to see you."

"Mel!" Lady Dennings, her peacock fan a blur of emerald and azure, flutters over. "By the Protector! What a fright you gave us! A week belowdeck—and nary a glimpse above!"

"I do apologize for the alarm."

"Alarm? My dear, we believed you were at death's door! And your husband, that dreadful man! He made a jape of it! Every evening, our queries about your health were met with a different tale." The fan flutters faster. "First, you were abed with ague. Then: bitten by a viper. And then—the final outrage—you were abducted by pirates!"

"Oh," Mel says, and can't quite stop the smile from curling,

"Oh? Mel, is that all you can say?"

"What else would you have me say?"

"Acknowledgment! The man's a rapscallion—and a devil!"

Mel's eyes go guilelessly round. "Devil?"

"Of the highest order!" The fan snaps shut, and the falsetto drops. "The word is, he forcibly confined you to your berth for six nights! All to conduct an infernal Fissure ritual. The bride, stripped and bound as a sacrifice to the dark gods. Then—" a shudder, "—a barbaric consummation. Is it true, my dear? Tell me it's not. Tell me you've not been brutalized in some pagan sacrament!"

Mel hides a smile behind the rim of her glass. Her mind conjures a vision of Silco, in a dark cloak, looming over her bound and naked body. The glow of his bad eye: a fire opal offset by a dozen low-burning candles.

The scenario is not, she admits, without its unholy thrill.

But the Dennings are a devoutly religious clan. Like the rest of Demacia, their stance on magic is unequivocally condemnatory. If they had their way, all practitioners of the arcane would be hung, drawn, and quartered. Even the mention of the subject is enough to provoke an apoplexy.

No doubt, during Mel's weeklong absence, Lady Dennings' imagination—and tongue—have been running rampant. Her mind, already primed to find fault with the union, will seize upon the most sordid scrap. In the process, she inadvertently reveals how little she understands of Zaun.

Or, indeed, what transpires in the privacy of the marital bedchamber.

The Dennings own marriage of a year, if Elora's reports are true, has gone unconsummated. Whether it's due to her husband's crippling bashfulness, or her own pie-eyed prudishness, is an open question. This voyage, at the behest of the Dennings patriarch, is a final bid for the pair to prove their mettle. A successful coupling—an heir—would seal a lucrative merger between their clans. Whereas a failure on both counts would see them disinherited.

Lord and Lady Dennings, on borrowed time, feel each bell-toll keenly. A pity they cannot share the same cabin together without squabbling incessantly.

Silco, possessing no surfeit of sympathy for prudish quirks and provincial qualms, has summed up the couple's predicament thus:

"Two virgins, and not a lick of sense between them."

It's a brutally sound assessment. But not, Mel thinks, without a measure of pity.

It must be excruciating to suffer the weight of a parent's expectations in such a private sphere. Not to mention the public mortification, should the failure come to light.  

Fortunately, Mel's mind has sketched out a satisfactory solution.

Somberly, she says, "It's true."

"Dear heavens! You mean—?!"

"Bound to the bedframe, with a length of silk." Mel circles a finger along the rim of her glass. "But not for reasons you imagine."

Lady Dennings, eyes wide, is already imagining a great deal. "Gracious, Mel! What was he thinking?"

"Chiefly, of my safety."

"Safety—yes!" Lady Dennings clasps one of Mel's hands in both her own. "Zaunite men are a barbaric lot! Look at their women: all pinched cheeks and blackened eyes. They're beasts, by any other name. The notion that a darling such as yourself—" another shudder, "—locked in a cabin, and subjected to deflowering...!"

Mel's eyebrows wing skyward. In her ear, she can practically hear Silco's drawl:

What, precisely, am I deflowering? Your left nostril? The right's seen its share of traffic.

Taking another sip of juice, she stifles her snort.  The Demacian peerage hold such archaic notions about chastity.  Silco, if he ever caught wind, would take fiendish delight in dismantling them.

Fortunately, Silco is elsewhere. And Mel, more fortuitously, has the perfect string to pluck.

"My dear Lady Dennings," she chides gently. "You must put aside those scurrilous pamphlets." 

"Scurrilous?"

"The ones from the gutter-press. Written, I wager, after a tankard of rotgut. I hear the stories, myself: the Fissurefolk, sacrificing virgins to demigods. Drinking the blood of newborn babes. Really, it's too much. One would think, given the scope of their enterprise, that their hours would be better employed." A sip of juice, sweet on the tongue. "They should write, instead, of Zaun's many wonders."

"Wonders?"

"Their herbal tinctures, for one." Her tone, perfectly balanced between soothing and secretive, reels the woman in. "You see, I'd been struck with a terrible fever. Sweats, delirium, and the most excruciating chills. If I hadn't been bed-bound, I might have taken a tumble down the stairs. Or flung myself into the sea."

"By the Light! And he—what, locked you up?"

"As a precaution. Nothing more.  Mine was a rather stubborn malady. After five days' vigil, Silco took it upon himself to brew a concoction. A tea, of sorts. Boiled from powdered red clover. Quite astringent, but most effective." Mel sighs. "I haven't felt so well-rested in years."

It did not occur in exactly that fashion. Mel was too woozy to summon the particulars. All she recalls is Silco's shadow looming in. A cup's rim, steaming, pressed to her lips. A bracing tang, and the slow, steady, searing drip down her throat.

She'd succumbed to sleep right after. But she'd awoken much refreshed, and lucid.

When she'd queried him, Silco had shrugged: It's a tonic for the blood. Fire it up, and sweat the fever out.

With the smallest of smirks:  Good for firing up the loins, too.

Lady Dennings is listening raptly. "He tended to you, personally?"

"Like a physician. Only sweeter." A wistful sigh. "It's a rare man who'll kneel at his lady's bedside." She doesn't, in fact, recall much kneeling. But every good story needs a spin. Diplomacy's bedrock is built on well-told fiction. "Truly, the tales of Zaunite men as brutes are wildly untrue.  In their own way, they're quite..." A delicate pause, "... devoted."

"Oh, indeed?"

"I dare not divulge too much. Modesty compels me. But..." Mel's register drops. "... I will say this: Zaunites may lack the polish of a Piltovan gentleman. But they more than make up for it with the... ardor... of their pursuit."

Lady Dennings' mouth forms a perfect 'O.' "Gracious!"

"Gracious? No. Gratifying? Certainly." Mel's lips curve. "And gratifyingly often."

Lady Dennings turns a telling shade of carnation. "Dear me. That's—how intriguing!"

"Isn't it?" Another sip, and a deeper smile. "The Fissures, I find, have much to teach us. I've only just begun my lessons. But I've made such fascinating discoveries. Did you know, for instance, that powdered red clover, steeped in tea, has an aphrodisiacal effect?"

"An aphro—really?"

"Really. It's quite potent. In fact, it can be used as an antidote for..." Then, as if remembering herself. "But forgive me. This is no place to discuss such a delicate subject. I must beg your discretion."

Lady Dennings, fan fluttering, has gone from carnation to crimson. There is, as Mel suspected, a great deal of pent-up frustration simmering below that prissy surface.

Mel makes her move: a single strum, and a long, sustained note of intimacy.

"If you're amenable," she murmurs, "I'll share more details with you. Perhaps over a quiet tea? Just us girls."

"I—yes! Of course! Red clover, you say?"

"A singular plant. It grows at the edges of the Fissure cliffs.  Many a scholar has written of the benefits." A conspiratorial dip of lashes. "You and your lord husband may find the taste a revelation."

"My, erm, husband," Lady Dennings stammers, "is quite—" fan dangling limply, "—fastidious."

"Then, my dear, it is high time he was reacquainted with his reckless youth."

"Oh, Mel, do you truly think...?"

"I shall do better." Mel imparts a light squeeze to the woman's arm. "I will send a gift with you: a small satchel, for your bedchamber. Try a spoonful, with two glasses of cold water. One for yourself. And the other, to share." A significant silence, then a final pluck. "The results, I promise, will be expeditious."

Lady Dennings' eyes take on a hopeful gleam. "How expeditious?"   

"Let's just say: by the summer's end, you'll be celebrating more than your wedding anniversary."

It works like a charm. Lady Dennings, clutching Mel's hands, exclaims, "My dear girl, you're a dove! I shall owe you a thousand favors!"

"None required." Mel's smile is sunshine through clouds. "Consider it a gift, from a dear friend."

"You darling thing! We shall have a girl's talk tonight. And afterward—" a flushing glance toward her husband, stoop-shouldered and sour-faced in the corner, "—why, we'll see what comes."

With luck, him, and you too, Mel thinks.

"Tonight, then," she says. "I'll have a basket sent up to your cabin. But remember—ssh. It is a private affair." Her fingertip, pressed playfully to her lips, earns a titillated twinkle. "Now, if you'll pardon me. I must catch up with the others."

"Oh, of course! I shan't hold you up." Lady Dennings' fan resumes its flutter. Her thoughts, plainly, are palpitating elsewhere. "And do send up the basket! I cannot wait!"

Mel, her work done, glides off.

One down, she thinks, sipping her drink. A half-dozen to go.

Red clover's effects are not, in fact, a fiction. Mel, during her research into Zaun's history, has read volumes on the subject. And experienced, firsthand, its efficacy.

She'd shared a spoonful with Jayce, back when they were together. Purely for research reasons, of course. She'd only given him a mouthful, and he'd been wild to have her—so much, she'd ended up with her dress in shreds, one slipper dangling from the ceiling fan, and the other flung straight through the window.

Afterward, Jayce had apologized shamefacedly. Mel, secretly charmed, had assured him the fault was hers.

They'd never touched the stuff again. But Mel has not forgotten.

By tonight, she suspects, neither will Lady and Lord Dennings. With luck, a little Dennings-to-be will soon be in the picture, courtesy of Mel's powdered charity. Mel, in turn, will have gained a pocketful of Dennings coin, and the political currency to bargain with Demacian traders for red clover as a mass-market commodity.

Soon, word will spread. The Fissures are in possession of miracles, in potentia.

Zaun's economy could use a healthy boost. And Piltover, by proxy, will feel the benefit.

Marriage: by any other name.

Satisfied, Mel's focus shifts to the next string.   

The string, as luck would have it, sails her way. Cevila, wife of the Piltovan exchequer: a statuesque ice-eyed blond who'd made Mel's life an unending misery back in her salad days as an emigree. A native Piltovan with close ties to House Ferros, she prides herself on her pedigree, her purse-strings, and her impeccable taste—or, in Mel's private reckoning, her impeccable lack thereof.

Since Mel's ascent into the corridors of power, Cevila's kept up an endless siege under a guise of cordiality. Barbs couched in a show of sisterhood; favors Mel cannot deny without close allies feeling snubbed; invitations she cannot refuse without offending the very people she seeks to woo.

It's a tedious dance. But Cevila's rank confers her with gravitas among the glitterati. Her opinion, when solicited, is considered gospel. 

Mel, the Madonna of Piltover, cannot afford to play the sinner.

"Cevila," she greets airily. "How are you faring?"

"Oh, my dove! Better, now that I see you're in fine fettle. But how peaked you look! It must be that frock. Quite lovely, but rather..." A critical once-over, "... plain."

Mel's smile, soft as a cat's paw, hides claws. "The style is from East Shurima.  A gift from the Sadja clan."

"Is it? That explains it. They're a droll set. All silks and scarabs. They'd wrap themselves in the city's flag, if they thought it'd give them airs." A barely-there squeeze of Mel's elbow. "No offense, my darling. I know you're a patroness of theirs."

Mel, noting the dig, pivots. "Whereas you, in your plumage, are a bird of paradise."

In fact, she resembles a harpy. The Ferros features, chipped from granite, accord the face a certain regal grandeur. But Cevila, with her penchant for feathered ostentation, has a way of transforming even the most sober attire into avian excess.

Today, she's swathed in a plum silk sheath studded with gold-chased amethysts. A matching choker, its collar encrusted with citrines, enfolds her neck. Her hair, lacquered within an inch of its life, is a helmet of pale yellow, and adorned with a nest's worth of diamond-and-pearl pinfeathers.

Mel, taking in the effect, feels an odd pang. The last time she'd worn such an extravagance of gems, it had been on the heels of her split with Jayce. Her mind had been in disarray. Her sartorial choices, likewise. Each dress, shimmering, had been a salve: a reminder that no matter how her heart ached, the rest of her could still shine.

Now, taking in Cevila's glitter, her mind pieces together a new puzzle.

"Your husband must be so proud," Mel says, "to have you on his arm."

"He is, yes." Cevila's grip, on her elbow, tightens a fraction. It's a tell, and Mel tucks it away. "Of course, his pride is not all that's on his arm."

I would doubt that, Mel thinks.

She already has the measure of Cevila's husband: a man twice her age, and whose sole claim to fame, apart from a family name two centuries old, is mediocrity incarnate. He'd married the ferocious Cevila purely for the prestige of the Ferros title She'd been, to pardon the pun, a feather in his cap.

Privately, it's no secret that his tastes run younger and far less discerning. Of late, he's been spotted frequenting the entertainment district of Zaun's Boundary Markets. More specifically, an establishment hosting two Shuriman-born dancers—brothers by blood, and by the rumor mill, bedmates.

Cevila is far from blind to her husband's proclivities. Mel, who's witnessed their tête-à-têtes at society gatherings, has noticed the strain behind their smiles. Two strangers, trapped in the same gilded cage. According to Elora's reports, she's making preparations to serve him with divorce papers. Once the split is finalized, she'll set her sights on a new target: younger, better-connected, and more importantly, better-funded.

The roster is long, and the contenders many.  Even Jayce, the poor dear, is rumored to be on her radar. 

Cevila's eye, however, is not on matrimonial bliss. Her goal is to secure enough funds to purchase a mining seam in the Fissures' southwest quadrant. Its yield is substantial: pure platinum and gold. To claim it, she's leveraged everything from her family's connections to a cadre of solicitors—to no avail.

Silco, rebuffing every overture, has made plain that the land is not for sale.

The refusal, in Cevila's view, is a personal slight. And Mel, as her chief adversary, has become a natural target.

"It is truly good to see you well," Cevila says, with a talonlike grip on Mel's elbow. "I was concerned, of course. But it was your husband who most needed a watchful eye. Why, a lesser man would've taken succor at the nearest port-of-call."

Mel, inwardly translating Harpy to Buzzard, smiles. "A lesser man, yes. Mine stayed firmly anchored."

"And decidedly taciturn! He wouldn't even deign to give an update." The twin flintlocks of her eyes turn Silco's way. "You'd think he was in mourning. His beloved, or his bachelorhood—it's difficult to say which."

Mel has yet to see Silco grieve anything beyond an errant hangnail. Cevila's remarks, as ever, serve no purpose beyond baiting her.

Taking the proffered string, Mel plays it for all its worth. "My husband is a man of few words." At least, when his tongue's occupied elsewhere. "As it is, he's accustomed to livelier pastimes. Compared to Zaun's vibrancy, a week at sea is a veritable lull." A sip, and a sigh. "Confined company does make a dull time of it."

The subtext is subtle, but unmistakable. Cevila, in her plumage, bristles.

"Confined—or refined? His manners are decent enough. But pedigree's the real test." Her chin cuts a scornful arc. "The Fissures, after all, are a pestilence pit." Then, catching herself. "I mean no disrespect, my dove. Marriage factors more than sentiment for our stripe, as we both know. One plays the hand one’s dealt. But we're women of the world, are we not? We both understand the value of preserving a legacy." Her eyes pass, speculatively, over Mel's belly. "And the consequences, should our choice fail to meet it."

The stab is plain: Silco, Fissure-born, is exemplary of his breed. Filth, mud, scum. Any child, a byproduct of that union, will bear the taint. A taint that will spread to Piltover's streets. To the halls of the High Council. To the very heart of the City of Progress.

Mel's fingers flex on the stem of her glass.  A thousand old slights, she'll bear with aplomb. But this, the freshest insult, makes her see red.

For a moment, she understands Ambessa's warpath. The primal urge, to defend at any cost. Mel has spent a lifetime keeping a lid on her own fire. But her mother's blood runs true. The anger is a hissing spark, ready to ignite. If she were a Medarda of the old guard, she would carve her name straight through Cevila's heart.

Up ahead, Silco is still slouched by the bar. Lighting a cigarette, he taps out the spent match. Behind the leisurely ribbons of smoke, his scarred profile is all insouciant angles. But Mel feels his focus like a hot brand. He has been listening, too. Not with his ears, but his eyes.  

And Cevila could find herself on the wrong side of a scope.

That decides Mel.

A Medarda's wrath is legendary. But a Zaunite's is fatal. Between their cities, there have been enough bloodbaths.

Diplomacy, and not daggers, must prevail.

So she smiles, and tugs on a subtler string.

"Legacy, yes." A slow sip of juice. "My husband and I have discussed it. In particular, provisions for the future."

"Provisions?" Cevila's keen eyes dart between Mel and the bar. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Only that the winds of change are never gentle. And when they blow, fortunes can shift." She swirls her drink. "I always caution my fellow Councilors against complacency. Or ill-advised investments in foreign ventures. A single declaration of war, and the trade-lines go dry. A few misplaced funds, and the whole enterprise goes belly-up. We must keep our assets, well, closer to home."

"Home?" Cevila repeats, astute as ever. "Or Zaun?"

"Zaun is our sister city. As it stands, her prospects are excellent. But Silco believes, and I concur, in strengthening our individual portfolios. Piltover, for instance, has ample potential for growth in the manufacturing sector. With Hextech, we have the means to revolutionize the market." Musingly, "In turn, Zaun has her mines, and the wisdom, age old, to refine their yield."

At the mention of the mines, a covetous gleam kindles in Cevila's eye. "The mines. Yes."

"Recently, the Fissure seams, thanks to diligent labor, have hit the motherlode. Soon, the output will be tripled. Even quadrupled." The morsel dangles: a succulent cut of red meat. Then: "Naturally, Silco is determined to keep the wealth concentrated in the hands of those who labored for it."

Cevila is brought up short. "In a matter of wages?"

"Oh, nothing so crass.  The miners' guild is a collective. Their assets are held in trust, for the benefit of the whole. Older seams, owned by barons, are likewise protected. But Silco believes in safeguarding his city's long-term interest. To that end, the Zaun’s recently enacted a decree for the lifelong preservation of the mines."

Suddenly, Cevila's feathers are a-quiver.  "I—I'm not quite sure I follow."

"Then allow me to clarify. For the last century, the Fissures have been a free-for-all. Foreign hands, ours and otherwise, have scooped up whatever they could. They've left the remainder in chaos. A dozen factions, battling each other for scraps. It's been a waste of resources. And, frankly, a waste of life." Her fingertips clink across the stem of her glass: a percussive counterpoint to the silence. "The Cabinet's new policy aims to restore a sense of order. No longer will foreign backers have unfettered access to the veins. Only Fissureborns—guilds or barons—will hold title to their respective stakes. All the proceeds will remain local, and invested in the betterment of the people. The clause will be embedded into the deeds. In perpetuity."

"Perpetuity?"

"Forever and a day." Mel goes solemn. "As my mother likes to say: Blood will always out. Only the children of born Zaunites will inherit the mines.  And those children, should the time come, shall have the final say in who holds ownership." 

"But Mel! Surely the Council cannot condone—"

"Dear Cevila. The Council's writ does not extend to Zaun. The Fissures, by Treaty, are a sovereign state." A grateful sigh. "I suppose it's a rare stroke of luck. By wedding a man of Fissure birth, I will enjoy greater access than most. And our children, by default, shall have the deepest roots."  She meets Cevila's eyes over the rim of her glass. "A legacy, as you say."

Cevila seems to have forgotten how to breathe. A small mercy: her talon has retracted from Mel's elbow.

"This is—well." With effort, she finds her composure. "This is unexpected news."

"Isn't it?" Mel, smiling, sets down her drink. She's dangled the lure, then snatched it away. Cevila, chewing on her loss, is now primed for any scrap. "Naturally, in wake of this decree, the demand for Fissure stones has begun skyrocketing. Do you happen to own any, Cevila? Perhaps a pendant or a bauble?"

Cevila rallies a smile. It's a ghastly effort. "I, ah, have a ring or two."

"Lovely. Their worth is about to treble. Do you remember my necklace? The blue diamond-drop?" 

"Vividly." 

"It was a gift. Designed by the artisans in the Boundary Markets. Their craftsmanship is second to none." A calculated pause. "If you're amenable, I'll speak to the artisan's guild. We can summon one of their agents to my apartments. Then, perhaps, commission a set?"

The gleam in Cevila's eyes brightens. "You—you'd do that? My dove, I couldn't possibly accept—"

"Nonsense. You are, after all, one of my closest friends. And the artisan's guild are a lovely group. They are headed by a close ally of Silco's. A Zaunite, and a first-rate entrepreneur. His family are descended from the ancient Oshra Va'Zaun line. Did you know, they once held dominion over the isthmus?"

"I do, yes." Cevila's beak wrinkles. "Until our Wardens cut off their privy purses—" re: confiscated their estates and sold the spoils at auction to foreign investors, "—and the rest were sent packing. Most sold off piles of heirlooms to stay afloat. And what's left are probably riddled with the plague."

"What's left are the mines," Mel corrects. "And Silco's friend, as fortune would have it, inherited much of the old Oshra Va'Zaun stock. He is, as they call them belowground, a gold baron."

Now Cevila's eyes are aglow. "A gold baron, you say?"

"A charming gentleman. Sadly, still unattached. But his means are considerable. And his tastes, exquisite. He is a patron of the arts. A discerning collector. I daresay he'd be an ideal candidate for a lady of your caliber."

For business—or matrimony—Mel doesn't deign to specify. She doesn't need to.

The hook is lodged deep. Cevila, her smile pure gluttony, is already planning her next coup. A Zaunite husband on her string, and gold at her fingertips. 

All it would cost her: pride, prejudice, and a single night's sleep.

"You know," she says, "I do pride myself on an eye for quality."

Mel purrs. "I have every faith that you will come away, well satisfied."

"I believe next month I have an open window. If your schedule can accommodate—"

"I'm sure we can work something out."

"Good. Good. I'll be in touch."  Cevila flicks a glance at Silco. The distaste is tinged with a new layer of intrigue. "And, of course, your husband will be present to broker the introduction?"

Mel lies, smooth as silk, "He'd be delighted."

In fact, she suspects, Silco would rather have his liver cut out. Between Zaun's bigheaded bourgeois and Piltover's self-aggrandizing aristocracy, his tolerance will be sorely tried. But, whatever else, her husband is a pragmatist. A potential trade with House Ferros is too lucrative to dismiss. Better still if it ends with a merger—literal—between Cevila and one of his barons. A symbol of unity—or, at the very least, shared gain.

Marriage: by any name.

Cevila, her high spirits restored, swans off. Pleased, Mel accepts another flute of pineapple juice from a passing steward. She is beginning to feel back in her stride. The crowd, once an unwieldy beast, is now a pliant and responsive chorus.

Serenely, she moves on to the next string. The Piltovan ambassador—an old fusspot fittingly named Hector.

As a high-ranking member of government, the voyage must suffer his presence. But Mel has heard Silco, in the privacy of their suite, wish him more than once to the bottom of the sea. One word on Zaun, and he's off: a diatribe on the perils of a lowborn populace without oversight, the undercity as the mouth of Hell, and Fissurefolk as the demons therein.

Mel, having the measure of his string, has learnt to play it deftly. Usually, she douses his rants with a few drops of sweetened condescension. Other times, she plays the ingenue, and laments his lot in life: a stalwart of the old order, trapped between the twin forces of progress and decay. If neither of those tactics serve, a flash of cleavage is enough to set him off-kilter.

Admittedly, the method is not the noblest. But she will not apologize for keeping a peaceable accord.  

"Lord Hector," she greets serenely. "How wonderful to see you."

"Mel!" The ambassador, ruddy-faced and portly, hauls himself to his feet. A plateful of trifle is hastily abandoned. "My Melusine, what a vision you are!"

"You flatterer." A kiss, pecked airily on his cheek. "I trust you're faring well?"

"Oh, the usual. Tallying the votes. Calculating the ledgers. Nothing a bit of good food can't fix." He casts a mournful eye at the trifle. "A pity the chef won't let me near the kitchens. If I could only get my hands on the caramel sauce for the mousse—"

"Now, now, Lord Hector." Mel's index finger ticks playfully. "We'd end up with a shortage."

"I'd not hoard the stuff, my girl! I'd only sample." The woebegone look is as patently false as his bawdy wink. "Sample liberally."

"Really, Lord Hector. You are shameless." Coyly, Mel tucks a dangling curl behind her ear. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were angling for a different dessert."

"Only if you're game, my dear. Though rumor has it—” Another wink, “you've already had a nibble."  

"Why, Lord Hector. Whatever are you insinuating?"

"You and that husband of yours. I'm told you were cooped up, the pair of you. Six nights, and a locked door." He chortles. "If there was no nibbling, I'll eat my hat. Is it true you'd come down with ague, or was the whole business a bedtime story?"

Mel puts on an abashed smile. "Oh, I was bedbound. But it was quite a dull affair. Fever, delirium, the works."

"Frightful! But your man looked after you, did he?" The wink becomes a leer. "Or was it he that left you bedridden? They say Zaunites are half-rabid, the lot of them. And yours, my dear, has a pack of knives for teeth. If I were you, I'd have been frightened out of my wits."

It's a vulgar turn, but Mel knows when to play her hand. "You're incorrigible, Lord Hector. My husband is the picture of civility." Her voice drops meaningfully. "And watching us as we speak."

A hasty glance over Lord Hector's shoulder confirms the fact. Silco, slouched with the remnants of his cigarette, is observing their exchange. His features project boredom. But his focus is keenly honed. Mel has the distinct sense that if Hector so much as breathed a lecherous sigh her way, he'd find himself staring down the barrel of a pistol.

Hector, wisely, does not test the theory.

"Well, well," he says, and clears his throat. But his manner, with Mel, becomes a good deal more circumspect. "He's a watchful sort, isn't he? But that's no surprise. The Fissures are a foul pit. It takes a hard head, or a harder fist, to survive. Why, I had a letter from my cousin last month. She was telling me how her youngest, a delicate little thing, crossed the Bridge and fell ill!"

"Of Grey Lung?"

"Heavens, no! Just the sniffles. But, mark my words, the next epidemic will be upon us soon! I still recall, in the summer of sixty-three, when the harbor was beset with the Ash Plague. Hundreds of souls, lost in a matter of days. If not for the Council's swift action, and the timely quarantine, we might've all perished!"

Mel hides her frown.

She's done her research. The Ash Plague had, in fact, claimed thousands rather than hundreds. A majority of its victims were from the Undercity. And the Council, for all its posturing, had done little to address the root cause: the filth-encrusted streets, the sewage-bloated canals, the slums packed like sardines in a tin.

The quarantine, too, was little better than a farce. Fissurefolk, sickly and suffering, were barricaded belowground. Anyone who dared defy the order faced immediate arrest. The result was a public health catastrophe.  Topside, the epidemic's spread was halted swift;y. Belowground, it raged like wildfire, and took the young, the weak, the elderly.

Mel remembers Silco, once, describing the aftermath:  Bodies piled up like driftwood. Flies swarming so thick, they formed clouds.

The smell of death in every breath.

The story is a stark contrast to the Council's sanitized narrative: the triumph of science over superstition, under Piltover's noble hand.

But in Zaun, the truth will not be silenced. The scars, never erased.

 Mel, her juice gone tasteless, thinks: If I'd not met Silco, I'd still be in the dark.

"Dear Hector," she says, mildly. "The Ash Plague was decades ago. Why revive old fears?"

"Revive? Fie! The fears, my girl, like the Fissures' insalubrious air, are ever present! My own wife, last time she braved those wretched streets, came a hair's breadth from death!"

"Death?"

"She nearly fell down a manhole! And you know what happened next?" Hector shudders. "Her high-heel got caught, and she tumbled into the muck. She had to toss the whole lot! Why, it was a nightmare. It took three stout-hearted men and a crowbar to pry her free." 

Mel's eyes meet Silco's across the room. Silco’s lips barely twitch.

He’d been present during that absurdist tableau. In fact, he'd paid the very men who'd pulled Hector's wife free. The woman, a shrill-voiced dumpling with a penchant for frills, had been too busy shrieking to thank her saviors. Afterward, though, she'd found herself recounting the narrow save with a breathless lilt. Perhaps, Mel suspects, it was all that close handling by the stout-hearted men.

Since the Crowbar Incident, as it has come to be known, Lady Hector has developed a powerful fascination with the Fissures.  Indeed, Mel suspects the only reason she's prodded her husband to invite himself to this cruise is to gather juicy tidbits about Zaun.

Her ardent curiosity, paired with Hector's fecklessness, are twin chords of opportunity. Ones that, plucked just so, will make for a profitable duet.

So Mel takes a slow sip, and lets a sympathetic smile play.

"How dreadful. But, I daresay, you and your wife will fare better now."

"Oh?"

"Zaun has developed a reputable network of guides and concierges. They know all the best districts."

"All the best?"

"I've visited them personally." She names several: a jeweler's, a chocolatier's, a clothier's. "All within a short walk along the Promenade. Your little grandson, Remi, will adore the chocolatier's wares. Truffles in the shapes of beetles. Marzipan worms. And a lovely caramelized-pear confection." Her eyes pass from the plateful of trifle to Hector's portly belly. "You, too, would enjoy a liberal sampling."

Stirred, Hector leans in. "Well, I'll be. And these shops are safe?"

"Perfectly. Travelers from Piltover and abroad flock to them. The shopkeepers, I promise, are courtesy itself."

"And, I take it, the security is sound?"

"Every shop is guarded by a retinue of trained blackguards. The streets, paved and clean, are kept free of footpads. House Medarda often hosts private soirées at the Promenade. I've never once been accosted by a ruffian—much less a rat." A pat, fond and wholly fabricated, to Hector's shoulder. "You needn't fear, dear Hector. Zaun, these days, is the very model of civilized conduct."

Hector warms visibly. "Ah, well, if it's good enough for you, what's this old curmudgeon to worry about? I'll speak to my wife. She's awfully keen to, ah, venture farther afield. She's always been a curious sort." A wink. "A bit like you, eh?" His hand, clumsily, covers hers. "Tell me. If I were to visit, could you arrange a private tour?"

Mel, who'd predicted the turn, delicately extracts her hand. "Shame on you, Lord Hector. I'm a married woman." The implication being: were she unattached, her answer would've been very different. "But if it's a personal guide you seek, I have just the one." Mel names a service: the same one Silco's crew employs. "They'll arrange tours at your convenience."

"Splendid, splendid! You, ah, must tell me more about the clothiers. A few new shirts are just the thing." Another glance at Silco, now sizing him up with a more speculative eye. "Your Trencher dresses sharp, I'll give him that. Perhaps he'll spare me a tip or two. He is a Fissureborn, after all. He must know all the best garment districts."

"Oh, he does."

In fact, the identity of Silco's tailor is a closely guarded secret. The man, a wizened Shuriman refugee, has his workshop hidden away in the depths of the Commercia Fantastica. He sews, by hand, each article of clothing to the customer's measure. Silco has two-dozen suits from him, in varying shades and cuts. Black with merlot accents, charcoal grey with blue-green brocade, two-toned midnight blue with silver embroidery.

The styles are all distinctly Zaunite. Tailored to Silco's lean frame, they evoke a serpent's sinuous grace. They are also remarkably versatile. Mel has watched them transform him, chameleonlike, from a sleek statesman to a shadowy specter, and back again.

But more than statements of sartorial flair, they serve a brute utility. The fabrics are Fissure textile: light, flexible, and impervious to damp. In a pinch, they serve as body armor: a sleeve with a cleverly-crafted sheath for a concealed blade; a snug little pouch, discreetly cut into the waistcoat, for a smoke-pellet; a garotte, lined along the edge of a cravat, to slit a stranger's throat.

Mel recalls, at a Topside gala before their engagement, the sight of Silco, turned out in formalwear: a simple black suit with a white silk pocket square. The cut was, for all its sleek simplicity, more durable than appearance suggested. She'd learned firsthand when Silco, strolling arm-in-arm with her through the night-gardens, had been waylaid by an Enforcer who'd demanded to see his identification.

Whether out of a superabundance of caution, or a bigot's crude compulsion, Mel still isn't sure.

She'd moved to intercede. But Silco had checked her with the barest skim of fingertips at her wrist. Addressing the Enforcer with politeness, but not a jot of respect, he'd asked if he looked like a trespasser. The Enforcer shot back that he looked like a cutthroat.

Silco, never one to pass up a chance for roleplaying, had obliged by nearly slitting the man's throat. 

The officer, a greenhorn, had plainly not been expecting a real knife to materialize at his jugular. In his shock, he’d dropped his truncheon and hightailed it. Mel, amused and appalled in equal measure, had turned to Silco, a chastisement on her lips.

Only to find herself scooped up into his arms, then carried up a trellis and out of sight.

They'd spent the rest of the evening, astride the rooftop's shingles, discussing trade. The only time Silco's hands had strayed from her waist was to light a cigarette. Or to cup her cheek. Or to tilt her face up to his.  Meanwhile, seven stories below, a contingent of officers had frantically been sounding the alarm to outcries of highwaymen and abduction. 

When the hounds had arrived on the scene, Silco had scoffed so hard, he'd nearly fallen down the eaves. Mel, not wishing him to break his neck, had clung tightly. Somewhere between the third kiss and the fourth, she'd decided to tug him closer. He'd ended up treating her to what Zaunites called 'The Penthouse Plus'—making love right on the gritty shingles, her dress hiked up around her waist and his coat spread out beneath them.

The giddy thrill had opened her lungs. Only his mouth on hers, drinking her cries, had kept her silent.  

Afterward, smooth as a conjurer's trick, Silco had slipped them both downstairs and back into the garden. The search, by then, was over. The Enforcers, their bluster gone, had been reduced to scouring the hedges. Silco, his eyes dark with devious glee, had strolled casually past them, and into the ballroom, to fetch himself and Mel a plateful of dessert.

It had proved the scandal of the summer. Councilor Medarda, swept off at knifepoint in the middle of a gala. Then, miraculously, reappearing hours later: no worse for wear, and a good deal more cheerful, arm-in-arm with her assailant.

Whose suit, it should be noted, was perfectly intact. No rips, wrinkles, or even a rumpled lapel.

Afterward, Mel had summoned the rookie officer, and his Captain, into her office. A blistering dressing-down on misconduct was meted out. The officer had insulted her guest, and by extension, the goodwill between Zaun and Piltover. When she'd reintroduced Silco as her fiancé, the rookie's mortification was palpable.

Silco had taken the opportunity to renew his acquaintance: not with knife against the jugular, but with a smile twice as sharp, and a firm handshake that promised, without words, a fate worse than death if the man dared call him a crook again.

But afterward, alone in her chambers, Mel had found herself thinking: This is what his life has been.

Fighting to keep the ground under his feet.

And even now, at the zenith of his power, there was no place for him Topside. No welcome in these hallowed halls.  This, he'd told her, was why Zaun existed. To ensure no other Fissure child had to suffer what he had. And for him, the fight was not over. The world, not won.

Not until the last sliver of his city, and its people, were secure.

Smoothing the memory away, Mel summons a smile. "I'll do you one better, Lord Hector. Why don't we arrange an outing? You, your wife, Silco and myself. We'll tour the most exquisite spots at the Promenade. You will see that the Fissures are no hellmouth. And my husband will have the honor of escorting us, to ensure the journey is a comfortable one."

Hector's kneejerk distaste yields to temptation. Beneath his condemnation of Zaun lurks an avid desire: to sample the city's exotic otherness. Mel has seen it before, in the eyes of her fellow Councillors: a yearning for the novel, inverted into show-offish censure.

As though by damning Zaun's vices, they can exalt their own.

"We-ell," Hector relents, "if he can spare the time, I believe we could squeeze in a quick outing. It'd be, ah, good to get a lay of the land." His hand, again, gropes clumsily for hers. "A bit of a reconnaissance mission, eh? Always good to keep an ear to the ground." A third, utterly shameless, wink. "And one's eyes on the goods."

Mel, inwardly rolling her own, keeps her smile fixed. "Yours, Lord Hector, are a pair no lady could deny." Then: "You ought to return yours to the trifle. I do believe it's melting."

Lord Hector's wink falls askew. "Oh, drat! I'd best fetch another plate!"

Excusing himself, he bustles off. Mel, taking stock of her success, finishes off her drink.

A few discordant strings, but the symphony is well underway.  Soon, Piltover's entire social circuit will change its tune. That is, in sum, the spirit of this voyage.  Gathering allies. Making connections. Creating new opportunities, and exploiting old ones. Hecter's not the only guest with a taste for the unusual. Nor Cevila and the Dennings the only ones whose purse-strings, tugged the right way, will yield a hefty haul.

In time, Mel will cultivate them all.

And they, in turn, will cultivate Zaun's and Piltover's interests. 

Marriage: by any other name.

Then she hears, to the thunder of boots, a bark: "Medarda!"

Mel stifles a sigh.

It is the Noxian envoy—a damnable brute by the name of Garlen. The man is a wolf of the worst kind: festooned in blood-red, and slavering for a kill. A high-ranking brigadier of Noxus's military, he's spent his career subjugating swathes of the Ionian continent. Now, as part of a political alliance between Noxus and Piltover, he's been dispatched as a 'liaison'.

His actual duties, as far as Mel can discern, are to make a nuisance of himself. Negotiating with him is like wrestling a hound: an exercise in futility. Her gift for subtlety is met with brash disparagement. Her cleverness, dismissed as flirtatious banter.  And if she has the misfortune of sharing his company alone, he's liable to start groping. More than once, she's resorted to employing armed sentries, to dissuade his wandering hands.

In truth, the only thing keeping him from her throat is Ambessa.

The brigadier, knowing the threat of the General's retribution, is careful not to overstep. But his ambition is as deep-rooted as his lechery. He's keen to establish a foothold in Piltover. Mel, as a Councilor, makes an appealing target. Not only does she have access to the High Council's ear, but also to the coffers of the Medarda clan.

Once, to Mel's eternal dismay, he’d gotten drunk at a press junket, and dared to propose marriage to her before the cameras. A fortnight before her wedding, no less. Her fiancé—after a tiresome tirade on his low birth, his physique, his unsuitability—he'd threatened to disembowel on the spot.

Silco, who relished the pretext to make an ass out of anyone, had proposed a simpler solution: a duel to first blood.

It had been, in Sevika's blunt retelling, Like a fucking slaughterhouse.

Garlen was an able swordsman. But he’d underestimated Zaun's spirit of ruthless ingenuity. He'd walked in believing the fight was in his favor. Silco, in ten minutes, had turned the belief on its head. Then, he'd reduced the duel to a carnival sideshow.  First, he'd blinded his opponent with a faceful of sludge from the streets. Then, with a well-placed boot, he'd sent the Noxian envoy skidding into a gutter. Finally, as a coup de grace, he'd whipped out a switchblade and stabbed him. The blow, to the meat of Garlen's thigh, had nearly severed an artery.

Garlen, howling bloody murder, had been hauled away by his guards. He'd spent the rest of the week in Zaun's infirmary. The next morning, he'd boarded the ferry back to Piltover: tail tucked between his legs.

And his pride, as the Undercity saying goes, In a shit-stained shoe.

Since the incident, Garlen's been cautious about antagonizing Silco in public. But his contempt for the city is undiminished. His attitude toward Mel, accordingly, is one of open scorn. To him, she is the weakest link in the Medarda chain.

A pretty little chit, who, when the going gets tough, will cave to the strongest bidder.

The irony is not lost on Mel. Were she truly a spineless chit, she'd have sold herself a long time ago. And, likely, to a man like Garlen.  A dynastic marriage was a common means of doubling her clan's prosperity. But the prospect of a lifetime wrangling the brutish lout—enduring his crude lusts and his insufferable temper—was abhorrent. She'd never have consented to it, unless by force.

Silco, whatever else, has always respected her separateness. And his ambition to walk with her—not behind her or in front—is equal to her own. Their combined will is a potent force. One that will, in time, forge a brighter future.

For Mel, that is worth every sacrifice.

In her ear, Jayce's voice intrudes: a forlorn query in lieu of farewell.

"Even love?"

"Medarda," Garlen barks, louder. "I've got a bone to pick with you."

Mel's smile becomes an airtight lock. "Bones, Sir Galen? Aren't we feeding you enough?"

"What's the reason we've anchored off-course?" He sweeps a thick arm at the motionless horizon. "I was told we'd reach the Ionian coast before noon. The sun's almost overhead. If I don't make landfall by sundown, my troops will be wondering if I've gone missing." 

 "Surely you can wait another hour?"

"An hour? The blazes are we wasting an hour for? If we're going to float in the middle of nowhere, at least make it worth my time!" Leering, he slaps his thigh. "How about a floor-show? You look fit for one, all tarted up in that handkerchief. Why don't you sing me a song or two?"

Mel's features remain smooth. "You have, I'm afraid, mistaken me for a canary. But if you're keen for music, our orchestra would happily oblige."

"Feh. A bunch of prissy string-pullers? What use are they? Give me a proper band: men with brass pipes, and war-drums, and a real beat! Then I'll show you a performance." Garlen's eyes take their time crawling down Mel's body. "You'll see how a proper Noxian can make the ground shake."

Her countrymen, Mel thinks, are such a tiresome lot. Especially the military set. "On a ship, Sir Garlen, we call that seasickness."

"And this damn delay? What'd you call that?"

"A detour."

"Detour?" Garlen's bristly brows merge like thunderheads. "On whose blasted order?"

"Mine."

Silco materializes as if risen up from the depths.

The sunlight, white and warm, dapples the air. Yet the plunge in temperature is palpable.  It is, Mel thinks, not unlike two polarities—the dark and the light—aligning at once. A disorienting sensation, the first time it’d occurred: Silco stepping into her path, and the world tilting off its axis.

The guests, huddling closer, murmur warily. Cevila's face, heavily rouged, is a shade paler.  Lady Dennings' fan is a blur. Hector's gulp is audible. The rest of the party are paralyzed in place. All except Garlen, who has the temerity to laugh.

It's more bark than bite. He's already felt Silco's blade once. He won't tempt his teeth.

"Well, well," he sneers. "The blushing bridegroom."

"Sir Garlen," Silco returns, with a small nod. "Good of you to join us."

"I wasn't given a choice! We're supposed to be on land, not floating like a piece of flotsam."

"You're welcome to swim."

"Swim? To the Ionian strait? You're out of your mind!" Garlen strides closer, crowding Silco's space. The man is a foot taller, and twice as broad. Still, Mel notes that he stays out of striking distance. For a braggart, he's no fool. "I know you Trenchers know no qualms about playing hooky. But the rest of us have a schedule to keep. So get this ship back on course. Now."

Silco’s stare is inscrutable. "In time."

"Time? I'm a busy man. I don't have time to sit around on this damn tub!" Garlen squints suspiciously. "Unless you've hijacked this ship? ‘Cause if it's a ransom you're angling for—"

Silco’s smile is a gleam of serrated teeth. "Sir Garlen. I'm in the business of politics, not piracy."

"Hah! As if the distinction makes a difference."

Now the gleam is sharper. "I suppose it doesn't." He turns to the rest of the party. His low cadence rolls over the room like fog. "Allow me to explain. The delay is due to a last-minute excursion. We'll resume our course by early nightfall. But first, a short trip to the southern reef. A treasure hunt."

Garlen's confusion is writ large. "Treasure?"

"Enough, I'm sure, to satisfy everyone's appetite." His stare passes, one by one, over the assembled guests. "Ionia. Demacia. Shurima. Noxus." And, finally, alighting on Mel. "Piltover."

There is a susurrus of whispers. Mel, bemused, keeps the mask in place. He'd never mentioned her city was tied to this game.  Is he testing her? Challenging her?

Or—impossibility of impossibilities—bidding her to play along?

Silco goes on, "I wonder, Sir Garlen. Have you sailed this route before?"

Garlen, bristling: "I know the waters well. I've fought battles on every stretch of these seas."

"Won, too, I expect. You are a celebrated soldier. But an explorer?" A tip of the chin. "There's a difference."

"And what would that be?"

"As Councilor Medarda says, a world of it. Of course, she is referring to chiffon versus tulle. But the principle stands." A half-lidded smile. "One's for concealment. The other for transparency."

Garlen cuts in, "If you're trying to make a point, make it quick."

"My point is only this: if you've sailed the southern waters, you'll notice a peculiarity. The Ionian Strait, on Piltover's maps, is thirteen degrees north of this point. Zaun's maps, however, place it further west. A curious discrepancy. Have you considered the reason?"

"Why the blazes would I care about Zaun's maps? Noxian charts are the only ones worth a damn."

The barest nod. "Fair point. That's the charm of maps. They're carved out by conquerors. Every chart tells a story, depending on the hand that draws it. And every chart, in its way, reveals a truth—or at least a version of it. Noxus, as the reigning authority of these waters, will always be partial to its own perspective. Piltover, as a close ally, tends to lean." A beat. "Zaun’s maps tell a different story."

"Ha!" Garlen's fist thuds the closest table. "A story about slime and scum, no doubt."

"A story about survival," Silco rejoins. "About claiming a space where none existed. At least, not on paper."

A crook of his finger, and the steward from earlier rushes up. His arms are laden with rolled-up sheafs paper. Charts, Mel realizes. The largest, unfurled on the table, is marked in different colors: a web of seaways, straits and currents. Mel, scanning it, notes a discrepancy in the dimensions: the Ionian Strait appears much narrower on Piltover's cartography, whereas Zaun's chart, drawn with exacting care, depicts it as twice its width. A series of X's, in a serpentine pattern, lead from the southern reefs up to the coastline of Zaun. The same path is absent from Piltover's chart.

Silco's fingertip traces a trail marked in indigo. "This is the shortest route from Piltover's coast. We'll reach Wuju by today if we cut across here." His nail, tapping the indigo line, cuts right. "This, however, is the shortest path according to Zaun's navigation."

"Bullshit!" Garlen says. "There is no path there! That's a damned dead-end!"

Silco regards him steadily. "Is it?"

"You're wasting our time! There's nothing there except shoals!"

Garlen's disdain is tangible: a seething red cloud. Silco, immune to sulfurous fumes, only shrugs. "Shoals, yes. Or seamounts from thousands of years ago. Many, with extensive deposits of minerals. Silver, copper, lead. Even diamonds."

Garlen barks a laugh. "And you Trenchers found this how? By sniffing up the coal dust?"

Silco, unperturbed, spreads the chart with both hands. The chandelier's rays sheen his pomaded hair like a raven's wing. Beneath, his eyes are two blots of ink. "Zaun's seafaring charts, Sir Garlen, date to antiquity. In fact, most cartographers claim they're as old as the Shuriman empire—which makes them, by definition, prehistoric.  Once our city was a corollary of Shurima. Known as Oshra Va'Zaun, the City of the Sun Gates. Its routes stretched from eastern to western waters. Zaun, as its inheritor, maintains the same routes: one that, on Piltover's maps, don't even exist."

A chill tiptoes down Mel's spine.  He'd never told her any of this. Had never even alluded to such knowledge. And the way he phrases it, with such calm certainty, suggests this is no revelation.

He's known about these seamounts for a long time.

"You are," she hears Cevila interject, "speaking in hypotheticals."

"Hardly. Our seafaring charts date from centuries ago. But Zaun's current naval fleet is a vital force. Since our independence, we've updated all the ancient routes—noting, of course, changes in currents and wind patterns. Our Exploration & Survey Corps have established a nautical corridor, with dry docks along every port from Zaun to South Shurima. We've also discovered new channels and navigable passages. Some take advantage of rip current systems.  Others, thanks to hidden glyphs carved in the seabed, allow vessels outfitted with the right gems to sail directly to a corresponding outpost, between one blink and the next."

The crowd lapse into shock. Silco's voice—low-pitched, hypnotic—paints a vivid picture: a labyrinth of channels, each with a corresponding rune: a pathway between impossible places.

"You're saying," Hector dares, "they are like Piltover's Hex-Gates?"

"They function on similar principles. But their purpose is different. Piltover's Gates link distant ports for trade and communication. Ours link distant outposts for transport and protection."

"P-Protection?" Lady Dennings sputters. "From what?"

"War," Silco says bluntly.

"What?!"

"Civil upheavals. Foreign invasions. Call it what you will. Oshra Va’Zaun was a rich city. They did well to anticipate the worst. But for Zaun, the primary use of these routes is trade." His finger climbs homeward, to the northernmost rune. "This point, for example, leads straight to a small islet on Zaun's outskirts. It was once known as Smuggler's Cove. Now, it's called the Iron Pearl. A Free Trade Zone, where foreign goods will not be charged customs duties for transiting or storing."

There is a stir. Mel, scanning the crowd, feels a trickle of misgiving. Piltover, for decades, has had a hammerlock on premium exports. Trade taxed by the ounce. Goods vetted by bureaucratic oversight. Permits, stamped in triplicate, and revoked at the Council's whims. All to protect her city-state's reputation and interests.

Now, Silco proposes a rival haven. A Free Trade Zone, where foreign goods may come and go—unshackled by Piltover's red tape.

A new axis of commerce. And, Mel realizes, a double-edged sword.

If Piltover consents to the Iron Pearl's operation, it will grant greater her city access to foreign markets, and reduce import costs. But the arrangement also poses a threat: a competing port, under Zaun's governance, which will draw ships and revenue away from the City of Progress. Their status as the preeminent exporter will be—

Not erased, but halved.

Marriage: by any other name.

The guests are buzzing. Some with excitement; others with disbelief.

Hector echoes, "A Free Trade Zone..."

"It's been operating since Zaun's independence," Silco says. "Now we're in the process of expanding its capacity. The endeavor has taken years. A neutral zone, with an established route to any destination within a thousand leagues, with minimal delay. Better still, goods from anywhere in Runeterra can be stored and transited, for a modest tithe." He pauses. "All that's required is that our waters be respected. Along with the sovereign rights of our vessels."

Silence falls, heavy with implication.

Garlen, apoplectic, erupts, "Respect, hell! This is Noxian territory you're crossing!"

"Not on your maps. Nor on Piltover's." Silco regards him evenly. "Only on ours."

"Those waters, Trencher, are Noxian by right of conquest!"

"Not according to our Treaty with Piltover. These waters were ceded to us in exchange for recognition of our Independence." Silco eyes Mel sidelong. "The agreement, I believe, remains binding."

Garlen's fists curl like meat hooks. "You dare challenge our navy?"

"Breaching these waters without our permission is not a challenge. It's an act of trespass. As Zaun's ally, Piltover would be duty-bound to aid us in its defense." Silco's fingertip, tracing the Noxian routes, gently taps the demarcations. "Candidly, we'd rather not resort to childish games. Zaun welcomes Noxus' goodwill. Should your vessels wish to use our routes, you'll be issued proper credentials. You'll be charged reasonable fees for port-of-call. Your cargo will not be subject to scrutiny. In all ways, you'd be our honored guests. Provided—" His good eye slits, "—you extend us the same courtesy in return."

It is politely phrased, and delivered in the mildest tones. But the threat, its edge honed fine, cuts like a switchblade.

Garlen's face goes as red as his garb. "This is preposterous!"

"Is it? Zaun's treaty with Piltover was written with the consent of both parties. In the presence of diplomatic envoys. Noxus was among them. If your nation had a grievance, I'm sure they'd have taken issue. But the accord, I believe, is still in force."

"This is a damnable plot!" Garlen pivots to Mel. "Medarda, this is insanity! I demand you put a stop to this!"

Mel is stricken. But she is careful to let nothing show. Her mind races to mitigate the thunderheads swelling on the horizon. Noxian fury. International incident. Piltover caught in the middle. And Zaun, at the crux.

Trust me, Silco had said.

And now, it comes to this: her city caught between a rock and a hard place.

Fury sparks in Mel's chest. Half adrenalized burn-off, at finally having a concrete threat to face. Half slow-building horror, at confronting Silco’s cleverness in action. The man who, in one fell swoop, has backed her into a corner—while painting the entire thing in shades of diplomatic nicety.

Now, he is watching her.  Waiting—for what?

Then it hits her.

Waiting for me to run.

Run—the way she’d run the first night of their voyage. Run—by staying when she should've sided with him. Run—by choosing to smooth the waters, rather than spread ripples in her wake.

Run, run, run—and this is the consequence.

Mel, reeling, takes a breath. In a sense, Silco has done exactly what he'd warned: revealed a truth that cannot be refuted. Piltover's maps are, indeed, inaccurate: the product of outdated colonialism. The waters, ceded to Zaun by Treaty, are indeed theirs—as much as the treasures that lie beneath.

And, Mel realizes, Silco's maneuver has a third layer: a sly subcurrent.

He is establishing that Zaun, by virtue of charting prowess, as an entity equal to Piltover. But also adjacent to it. Not a rival, but an ally. A peer that cannot be overlooked—because its interests are too closely tied to her city's.

It is the flipside of matrimony: a give-and-take. One of substance rather than sentiment.

Except Mel cannot forgive the blindside.

Inside, rage fizzles. Her fingers curl. She nearly seizes the nearest champagne bottle, and lobs it at Silco’s head. He deserves no less. He deserves worse. The bastard. He’d planned this since the night they’d fought. To corner her in full view of her guests. To make her prove her mettle. To demand that she take a leap.

Or else, show to the world that her vows are hollow.

Seething, Mel thinks, I will make him pay.

Then, inhaling, she steps forward.

"Sir Garlen," she says. "My husband is correct. These waters belong to Zaun."

Garlen is nearly purple; a ripe plum ready to burst. "You're siding with this rat?!"

"I am stating a fact. Zaun cannot, without jeopardizing its sovereignty, rescind the right to self-governance. And Piltover cannot, without forfeiting its good standing, repudiate that agreement. To do so would violate the laws ironclad between us." Her stare locks with the warlord's. "In sum, it is not a matter of sides. Only jurisdiction. The question is, how do you, as Noxus' envoy, plan to navigate these waters?"

Garlen's jaw works. Before he can fire off the next volley, Mel lays a cautioning hand on his arm.

"Before you reply, I suggest considering the future gains. Your nation is, at present, embroiled in a number of wars.  Zaun, as a future ally, is offering to facilitate the transport of supplies—to and from Noxus's frontlines. Piltover, meanwhile, is willing to reopen discussions of a trade alliance." Beneath her lashes, Mel casts a winsome glance. "The question is, do you, as Noxus's representative, intend to pursue these opportunities?"

Garlen, a petrified bull, seems caught between charging or cowing. But, for all his bluster, the man's no fool.

"You," he growls, "are a conniving hell-bitch."

Undaunted, Mel offers a smile. "A Medarda, after all."

The warlord's teeth gnash. But his rage, though still hot, is no longer a blaze. More an ember, sullenly seething.

"So." A snort. "We're at an impasse."

Silco, at last, stirs.

"Hardly."

Rolling up the charts, he returns them to the steward. A single nod, and the man, in tandem with the staff, begin distributing life vests among the crowd. Bewildered, the guests receive the gear. Each is the same color: Zaun's trademark cadmium green.

Mel, accepting hers, is astonished by the weight. The fabric appears lined with something like lead. Runes, their meaning unknown, are stitched into the seams of the fabric.

"Impasse," Silco says, already shrugging into his own vest, "is a poor word for it." He turns to the crowd, a wary sea of faces. "I believe we are, at last, on the same page."

Hector, handling his vest with jittery fingertips, dares, "Are we—going for a swim?"

Silco smiles.

Mel feels, again, that vertiginous sensation. The world, tilting. As if currents, beneath the surface, are stirring.

And the only thing left to cling to, is the man who's dragging her down.

"Swim? No." Silco's smile spreads. "We're off on a treasure hunt."

[practically-an-x-man]

"What is a 'slay queen', and why did they just call me that?"

Prompt idea for you

Oooooh this is an Eris prompt if I've ever seen one

____ This Time It's Not So Literal

Word Count: 1.5k Content Warnings: none really, it's pretty cute ____

"This goes against everything I stand for," Eris grumbled, his fingers twitching for his spear. He didn't have it with him, regrettably, and their restless fingers found the fabric of their skirt instead.

"You look great, though," Rick offered, glancing down from their right side. Eris shrugged, fighting hard not to feel uncomfortable with the clothing.

She ran her hands down the front of her sundress, smoothing down the fabric. It was dark red, the color of old blood, and the fabric rippled loosely around her legs as she walked. His arms were bare, showing off their array of freckles and scars. At least it had pockets. He had a knife, only about three inches long and sheathed in a leather case, tucked into one of them.

God, he wanted his spear.

"A thousand years, and I've never worn a dress for longer than a few minutes," he muttered, "I guarantee it."

"I'll have to take your word for it." Rick said, a faint smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, "You don't like dresses?"

"It's not that I don't like them, I just..." Eris huffed, taking loose fistfuls of their skirt for emphasis, "How the hell are you supposed to fight in this? I mean, it's got movement, but there's just so much fabric. It gets in the way, someone could grab it... it's a hazard. It's just as bad as wearing a cape."

"Point of today's that we shouldn't have to do any fighting," Rick pointed out, "Besides, I'm sure you'll just cut that skirt off if we happen to run into something."

"Damn right I will."

"Besides, all I said was to pick a disguise," he added a moment later, "Why pick a dress if you don't want to wear it?"

"Because it's pretty," Eris sighed, taking an extra step to make the fabric ripple a little more dramatically, "And I didn't think it through at the time."

They were approaching a fountain, spitting jets of water high into the air, and Eris hopped up easily onto the low concrete wall surrounding it. If nothing else, it was a lovely day for espionage, and a lovely park to spend it in. The grass was green and the sun was high, and their dress seemed to shine like a jewel when it caught the right light. He kept finding Rick's eyes on him- much more than usual, for whatever reason.

She walked along the edge of the fountain with loose, casual steps, letting her eyes scan the scene ahead of her. Rick was squinting. Eris wasn't. Her eyes were a lot darker than his were, after all. She was built for bright summer days like this. Under the warm sunlight, her skin practically glowed.

"He's on the other side of the park," he said, his voice light and casual, "Down by the water. Feeding the ducks."

"Hm. Looks like we'll be having ourselves a little picnic, then," Rick replied, lifting the basket in his other hand, "If we want to be close enough to listen, that is. Good thing I came prepared."

"I'm starting to think this is all by design," Eris said, their smile flashing bright as they looked down at him. Standing on the edge of the fountain, it was one of the rare occasions she stood taller than him. The backsplash of the water sent a cool, gentle mist over her skin, and she allowed herself to bask into the feeling for a moment or two.

"Yeah? What design's that?"

"I think our target's a ruse." he said in the same faintly amused tone of voice, "I think you set this up so you could court me."

"It's a very real target, darlin'. Straight from Waller's list." Rick responded, glancing from Eris down to the other side of the park, "The fact that I opted to catch him here, though... alright, maybe that was me."

He lifted his free hand up to them, palm up in invitation. Eris just stared at it for a moment or two.

"Rick Flag, are you seriously suggesting I hold your hand?"

"We're s'posed to be a couple."

"We are a couple." Eris pointed out with a shrug, "By most modern definitions. Aren't we?"

"I mean we're s'posed to look like a couple." he corrected, though his fingers twitched like he was about to withdraw his hand. It did look a little awkward there, held up in an unacknowledged invitation like that. Rick shrugged. "I'll let go if it looks like there'll be a fight. I promise."

It was the same reason she wasn't very fond of hugs. One hand devoted to holding onto someone else's was one hand out of use in an emergency. Or even worse - not that they thought they were in danger of this with Rick - that someone could get a more dangerous hold on her, like a bear hug with a knife to her throat, with just a well-timed tug. Besides, he was on their right side- their dominant side. The side where her only weapon was tucked into her pocket.

It was... unsafe.

Eris sighed and placed her hand in his own. Rick beamed so brightly it looked like a second sun. It made something flutter deep within her.

Still holding Rick's hand, he hopped off the edge of the fountain and smiled at the way it made his skirt float out around him. His feet hit the ground, sandals scratching against the pavement, and they couldn't resist twirling themself around Rick's hand. It made their dress flare out, rippling like soft red flower petals on the surface of a pond.

"Slay, queen!" A passer-by called out, drawing Eris' eye. The stranger was tall, with multicolored hair and a panting terrier on a leash trotting out ahead of them. Eris' brow furrowed, and she tilted her head at the stranger, but they'd already shifted focus.

"Rick?"

"Hm?"

"What is a 'slay queen', and why did they just call me that?" Eris asked, rather bluntly. Rick let out a strained cough, poorly disguising a laugh.

"It's a good thing, doll. It, ah, it means they like your dress." he said, clearly biting back a smile, "That was kind of cute, that thing you did there."

Their expression darkened at his use of the word cute, but Rick seemed undeterred. He reached over, managing some kind of... maneuver that ended with his arm across Eris' shoulders, and lightly tugged her in against his side. It was far too smooth for him to be annoyed. The clever moves always got him.

"You're not allowed to be so charming, cowboy." they told him. They could feel Rick chuckle from beside them.

"Yeah? Why not?"

"It's... unbecoming of me."

"Unbecoming?" he teased, "I know you know more modern slang than that."

"Sometimes the old words work best." Eris pointed out, then twisted around to press their knuckle into the space between his ribs. It couldn't have hurt, but it made Rick squirm a little. "And you're changing the subject."

"Which is?"

"Which is stop it." she huffed, "I think you're starting to forget who I am."

"You are a thousand-year-old metahuman who claims to be war incarnate, and I believe it. You've got so much blood on your hands, you could make your own damn ocean. I didn't forget that, hon," Rick said, then shrugged, "I just don't care. Believe it or not, wartime, you're not the first bloodthirsty meta I've spent time with."

"You're gonna regret that when you get your throat slit before your fortieth birthday."

"I'm forty-three." he drawled, then fired her another bright grin, "And maybe I'll live to be ninety, and you'll be holdin' my hand at my deathbed when I kick it. You'd made a pretty last sight, doll, I gotta say."

Eris scoffed and ducked their head, refusing to let him see the way they flushed.

"I thought I told you to stop that."

"I thought you'd learned by now that I don't listen," Rick fired back, grinning at her. The sun brought out a few different colors in his eyes, their usual muddy gold-hazel blooming into a surprisingly vivid green around the edges. Eris held his gaze for a moment or two longer than she really needed to. She always thought he had such interesting eyes. Almost.... lion-like, in a way.

Rick's arm tightened around their shoulders in a bizarre little side-hug. Shit. He'd noticed the staring. He didn't seem to care, but he'd noticed.

"Where's the target?" Eris muttered, craning his neck to look past Rick's broad frame. He thought he saw a glimmer of amusement pass over Rick's face, but it was gone with the mention of the mission at hand.

"Still feeding the ducks," he replied, then lifted the basket still held loosely in his other hand, "Should we get on with our picnic, then?"

[sokkas-first-fangirl]

Well, I’m officially off work sick, at least tomorrow. So fingers crossed I’ll get a chapter of “How Bright You Burn” finished! In any case, have a sneak peek

Mirabel had never been shopping with her sisters. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true; she’d been shopping with them, but Mamí was always with them. The shopping trips were never very long, not unless they were preparing for one of their birthdays and you could always count on the villagers to try and ask Luisa for a favour.

Today was very different. Isabela had grabbed hold of Mirabel and Luisa right after breakfast, her eyes shining.

“Wanna go shopping?” she asked. “I need a new dress.” She held out her frilly, soft pink skirts, her nose wrinkling. “Something...Brighter.” She looked at Mirabel and added, “And maybe with some embroidery?”

Mirabel was instantly hooked.

“Embroidery?” she asked hopefully. She was never allowed touch Isa’s things before! 

“Please,” Isa said. That was still weird, but in a good way; Isabela actually talked to her now, and thanked her for things. She liked Mirabel’s ideas for plants and watched her sew or embroider curiously.

“I don’t know much about dresses,” Luisa said, rubbing her arm. “I don’t know how much help I can be.”

“We can all get new dresses,” Isabela said. She began to pull them towards the doors. Casita rattled its floor tiles and one of the potted plants bounced. “We’ll give each other tips, okay?”

“Er...Okay,” Luisa said with a shy smile. “But then I have to go to the fields and finish fixing that new barn, and Osvaldo’s cartwheels are all crooked- I don’t know what he did, but the cart won’t go in a straight line anymore! And then I need to double-check the fence on the donkey pens and...” She babbled on and on, listing her chores. Mirabel’s eyebrows rose higher and higher. Jeez, talk about a packed schedule. 

Isabela’s nose wrinkled again, but she didn’t say a word. She just kept a firm hold on their hands, pulling them along with her. Mirabel kept looking at the streaks of blue and yellow pollen in her sister’s hair and the vines wrapped around her forearms. She liked them better than Isabela’s usual look; it was more colourful, even if Abuela looked like she was going to have a heart-attack.

Mirabel had the feeling a lot of people would react like Abuela had.

She didn’t have long to wait; the walk to town was short and, sure enough, all eyes were on them. On Isabela.

Here we go, Mirabel thought grimly. But hey, eyes on the prize! She just needed to stay focused on the promised new dresses and think of ideas for embroidery. 

She thought Isa looked cool. Who cared what a bunch of adults thought? They weren’t even their parents, so they didn’t get a say.

[photog-crafty]

If this Hakuchou could tell stories, they would fill a library. This motorcycle was my flesh and blood for years. I had other bikes for stunting, yes, but this one was my daily driver as nothing could match its speed. My friends even raced me with helicopters, following the same courses Forza Horizon style, and it was neck-and-neck every time. What really made the Hakuchou so engaging was that it lived and died by its wheelie. Unlike a car that merely had a gas pedal, the Hakuchou made use of an intricacy of the game engine to go much faster by popping a wheelie, making it almost like a turbo boost. Learning how to read traffic and keep that boost active as much as possible was a game unto itself, which made seeing those 170+ MPH numbers on the speed challenge leaderboards all the more satisfying.

The armless era was a formulative time in my GTA character's career, and I earned a bit of infamy among our crew for rocking the gimmick so hard. It was only proper that I had a car to represent it. This Coquette Classic used a glitch that made the entire rear half of the car completely invisible, aside from the exhaust pipes and taillights, making it the perfect candidate to match the invisible arms meme. it always got smiles, chuckles, and headscratches whenever it showed up at the downtown car meets.

This Fugitive here was my very first car when I began playing GTA on the PC. I still love it to this day. It may not be flashy or conventionally appealing, but loud and gruff V8 sedans are my weakness. Eight years later, she's still shining and purring just like she did when I picked her up off the streets.

The first car I ever bought in GTA, all the way back on Xbox 360 in October of 2013, was a Voltic. The car itself was lost to bugs in the transfer process, but its spirit lives on through this second model. I didn't drive it often after migrating to PC, but the hours upon hours spent racing to earn the money to buy the original will always stick with me.

In a similar vein, this Ruiner symbolizes the first car I ever owned in GTA. The Ruiner was my main car in GTA IV, so when I saw it in GTA V and Online, I flew right back to my old baby. This one was added to the collection shortly after I started playing on PC and it has all the mods I missed out on on 360, like the crazy Shakotan exhausts and exposed intercooler. It's fun for me to compare it to the other Ruiners in my collection and see how much my tastes have changed.

Poetically, my GTA career was bookended by Ruiners. One of the vehicles that released as things were winding down was the Ruiner ZZ-8, and I was delighted to see it because I've got an equally soft spot for fourth-gen F-bodies. The ZZ-8 leaned a little closer to the Firebird with its snout and beehive taillights, but it wasn't too hard to doll it up to resemble a Camaro with the '97-'98 factory Bright Purple Metallic paint. As long as I don't have to change the spark plugs myself, I'm happy.

Normally I don't really dig the small and cute cars, but the modern Fiat 500s are charming to me, especially with their take on dog dish wheels. I tried to customize this Brioso R/A to look like one, but those unremovable carbon skirts put the kibosh on that idea. You win some, you lose some.

The Schafter V12 was already an amazing car, but they released an armored version at the same time with almost identical performance. I couldn't help buying both and giving the armored one a more subdued look to contrast the regular version's bold white. It wasn't quite as stable as the Baller, but the extra protection nonetheless came in handy more than once.

Since the game never had a '72 Riviera, I had to cope with a '65 in the form of the Buccaneer. This one has an unpurchaseable worn paint finish with a crew color glitched into one of the fields in order to keep the classic look while resembling some Rivieras I've seen photos of.

The Rocoto is one of those unassuming street cars I had to pounce on once I knew what it was based on. Volkswagens are mostly alien to me, but their cars from the 2000s with luxuriously oversized engines like the Phaeton W12 and the Passat W8 make me absolutely giddy, and the Rocoto is related to the first-gen Touareg which had the option for a V10 turbodiesel. It wasn't quite as fast or as torque-loaded as its VW analog, but it was close enough to tick the boxes for my obsession.

[lys1]

Congratulations! You waited so patiently <3 This is another Asra x fem!reader for you. NSFW. 5218 words. 

Playing With Potions

—————

The late spring morning air was warming up to be a balmy 75 degrees. You had your skirt pulled down and up, tucked in the back of the waistband, forming makeshift shorts. The shop was somewhat quiet, yet the din from the streets made its nimble way through the open windows.

You descend the ladder to the box of ingredients you were unpacking. They had come in the previous evening and Asra had promptly asked you to “organize them later”. Of course you said yes, the two of you shared this shop after all, and the work that came with it.

Asra himself was bustling behind the counter, sweeping the wooden floors free of the dust and fallen ingredients. He stops momentarily to pick up his cup of tea and take a long sip. The jasmine tea's steam billows into his face as he sighs with content pleasure.

The floorboards creak as you step down and Asra looks over at you, gaze soft. "How's the supplies look, dear?" He asks curiously, returning the cup to it’s coaster.

"Ah," you muse, counting the small containers in your hands. "Looks like we will be all set on lizard toes for a while, I think our supply captain read 1000 instead of 100." You can't help but chuckle, it couldn't be helped, at least you wouldn’t have to order more for a while.

Asra's eyes open a little wider, "oh my." He laughs, "I suppose we won’t". He sets his broom to rest against the counter and bare feet pad over to you, his deep-purple eyes examining the products.

You feel his hand settle on your waist subconsciously; a side effect of being close to one another. You breathe in lightly, smelling the sweet scent of coconut and honied biscuits wash over you. Asra's breakfast choice was apparent.

"Mm," you say, turning so the two of you were face to face. "You smell delicious."

Asra smiles, box in his hand now a little less important. "Care for a taste?" He teases, eyes falling to your parted lips. He sets his lizard toes aside and joins his other hand at your waist. You look up at him through your eyelashes and nod.

He is a mere millimeter from sealing the gap between you when the bell of the shop jingles merrily.

"Ah jeez," you huff good in good nature. "I forgot we have jobs and responsibilities."

Asra laughs at your obvious disappointment and steals a small peck. "Unfortunately, we have to eat somehow." He then turns away and walks back to the counter to greet the customer.

The man is short and has a little round face. He looks extraordinarily nervous, and this catches your attention. Yours and Asra's shop is well known in the city and the townsfolk trust their magicians. You hadn't seen anyone come in here looking so nervous, and maybe even a little embarrassed.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Asra asks charmingly, resuming his position behind the counter. Briefly you let yourself admire how nice he looks, comfortable in his shop and expertise, before turning back to the box you were supposed to be dealing with. Not, however, letting your ears miss the conversation.

"I," the man starts, already fumbling with his words. "I, well look. I need help." He finishes plainly, nervously clutching his shirt between his pudgy hands.

Asra smiles kindly, "many do." He says, tilting his head and examining his new client. "Are you here for a card reading? Need to get some answers?"

The man groans as though he is already exhausted with the conversation. "No, I already know what I need. I have the answers. I've heard about this place. The ways you can help people. I live an hour out of the market and I made this trip just to see you."

"We're flattered, for sure." Asra says calmly, you can hear slight annoyance in his tone from all the ambiguity. The visitor is none the wiser though. "To help you though," Asra continues. "I'll need to know what you need."

"Alright I need a potion," the man finally reveals. "One that will help me... with performance." His cheeks are redder than a bell pepper in the sun.

Asra raises a white eyebrow, "performance? Are you an actor?"

"No!" The man's voice came out in a strangled whisper, obviously trying to keep it down. You roll your eyes, chancing a glance over your shoulder. The shop floor wasn't that big, of course you were going to hear everything.

"No," he said again, this time a little more composed. "What I mean is... my sex life performance." The truth comes out. Your visitor wipes his forehead with a dirty rag from his pocket. "My wife and I well.. we've hit a slump," he explains. "And I've heard of potions that can help with that kind of thing. Stuff that will completely change the game." His eyes are shining now, imaging life post-performance potion.

Asra looks uncertain at best. "I see," he starts, shooting you a glance. "That.. does exists. But it takes awhile to make. And the price isn't cheap either."

You shove the last of the crow feathers into their designated drawer while listening. You have never heard of such a potion, but you were also still learning. Asra sounds a little unsure though.

"Price isn't an issue," the man sounds desperate. "I'll pay anything."

Asra sighs, he feels bad for the man wringing his hands before him, practically crying for a cure. "Alright," he finally concedes. "I'll make it, but you'll have to come back in the morning. This kind of thing takes all evening to brew."

Your customer nods vigorously, "I can wait." He says. "Tomorrow morning, yes! I'll be here!" His excitement apparent, he bows a few times while backing out of the door, tripping over his own feet.

The door closes with a sharp bang and the bell rings furiously. Asra blows air out of his mouth so that itf ruffles the curls between his eyes.

"Well," he says after a moment. "A sex performance enhancing potion was not what I was expecting to make today." He rubs his temples, eyes closed and looking thoughtful.

You grin at him from the shelf as you pick up the empty shipping box and rest it on your hip. "That's quite the name, I've never heard of a potion like that."

Asra laughs and opens his beautiful eyes to look at you. "Yes, you'll have to forgive me for not teaching you that kind of magic, it's not the.. safest." He ends uncertainly. "I don't even know how this guy found out about it. It's not talked about much amongst us magicians.. and it's certainly not a common one."

Immediately more questions than your mouth can keep up with flood your brain. "So how did you find out about it? And why isn't it safe?" You ask the two more important ones, eyes following Asra as he finds a piece of paper and quill to use.

He dips his quill in the register's ink well and starts scratching down what you presumed to be ingredients. "I've been studying magic for years, my love." He says simply, "and before you ask, no I haven't used it on myself." He looks up at you, mischief dancing in his pretty eyes. "I'd like to think my sex game is up to par." He adds innocently, licking his lips seductively when your ears tinge pink.

You brush imaginary dirt off your shirt sleeves and huff. "I suppose it's pretty good." You mumble. It almost feels like a lie to just describe it as "pretty good" but Asra doesn't need you to stroke his ego right now. You do that enough falling to pieces beneath him every night.

Asra is well aware of your attempt to keep him humble and laughs lightly. "And to answer your other question," he says, turning back to his ingredient list, "messing with ones body like this can be dangerous. You have to be very precise."

You nod as he explains, it makes sense.

Potions are always brewed in pots over a magic fire so you put yourself to work, removing a medium sized iron pot from a hook on the wall and carrying it to a fire stand. Asra is busy himself, opening various drawers and adding seemingly random ingredients to a basket he has looped over his arm. Iris petals, newt eyeball, and some shimmering gold flakes. You smile watching him, your gorgeous magician; smart and able.

In no time at all Asra has a bubbling pot of sweet smelling liquid stirring before him. You stand beside him, observing curiously.

"Why are you wearing gloves?" You ask, taking note of the large leather gloves that clad all the way up your lover's forearm.

Asra continues to stir and looks over at you, happy to hear your eagerness to learn. "I can't risk even a drop of this touching my skin. It's so strong, and will immediately absorb into anyone's skin, leaving them..." He shakes his head and trails off, amused. "That's why it has to brew so long, to burn off some of the potency."

Your mouth opens in amazement, taken aback by the idea. This is the real deal you decide, stepping back a couple inches in precaution. After watching the potion bubble for a couple more minutes you stretch and grab the watering can sitting by the floor of the door.

"I'm going to water the plants," you inform Asra, waving your hand briefly until the can is full of cool, crisp water. Gods knows there are at least three dozen inside and outside of the shop.

Asra is humming in confirmation that he heard you as you open the shop door to the plants hanging outside. You don't get very far before you're blindsided by a streak of purple darting through your legs.

Escape!

"Faust?!" You yelp, dancing around the squirming snake as she winds her way under and into the open shop. A loud, booming bark makes you jump again. This time a large hound dog is rounding the tight corner from the side street and barreling full speed towards you.

All hell breaks loose. The water can is up in the air, crashing wildly into the side of the building. You are thrown back onto the dusty floor and a mass of fur and teeth race past you, paying no mind to your yelling.

Help!

Faust is racing around the floor, narrowly avoiding the jaws of the angry dog she seemed to have aggravated. There's a large crash from inside and you cringe, hearing bottles break and wood crunch. You look back, scared at what you might find.

The shop is a disaster, papers strewn, vials broken, and potion pot toppled. Asra is groaning on the floor, obviously doing no better than the rest. You glance at him worriedly, taking quick notice of the potion he had been making spilled everywhere, even on him.

You snap your fingers and the dog's growl, who was cornering Faust by the bookshelf, turns into a whimper as you lift him up with your magic. "I'm sorry pooch," you sigh, "but we can't have you eating our friend." With a wave of your wrist the hound is out the door and down the street in an instant. The hinges creak and bell rings as the door is once again closed to outside.

Thank you!

Faust wriggles happily, red eyes glowing in relief. You guess she got up to some trouble with the local fauna. She slithers up the stairs quickly, leaving you to look around at the ruined shop.

"Ah, fuck," Asra's words cut through your thoughts like a knife. He's laying flat on the floor, chest heaving as though he just ran a marathon. Sweat glistens on his tan skin, covering him from head to toe.

You step over the broken bottles and kneel at his side. "My love?" You ask, unsure of what to do. It was obvious what had happened, it didn't take an expert. The potion that was supposed to be for your customer was now soaked into Asra's glowing skin.

Asra opens his eyes and you swallow hard. You know that look, and it nearly makes you start trembling where you sit. Lust is prevalent, clouding Asra's eyes until they're a dark amethyst color.

"You-" you start to speak but are cut off by Asra sitting up abruptly. His face is close to yours and his breath washes over your lips, hot and wanton. He looks positively desperate, just the sight of you sitting before him doing wonders.

"Please," Asra's voice comes out low and husky, he watches your chest rise and fall quickly as a result. "Can I please have you, right now."

You could almost call him asking like that soft and innocent, if it wasn't for the raw, hungry look he was giving you. His eyes were traveling everywhere across your body, leaving an invisible line that you could almost feel burning into your skin. Your lips parted and you let out a soft gasp, the power that kind of look had over you was astonishing. You shifted your legs under you subtly, feeling the result of the hot atmosphere low in your stomach.

"Tsk, tsk," you had to tease for a moment. "Closing the shop at midday for some fucking?" You reach up and cup Asra's cheek, feigning uncertainty. His skin on your fingertips burns white hot and you have to hide your amazement.

Asra's eyes narrow, he knew you too well. With a quick flick of his wrist you hear the deadbolt on the door slide into place. It's only a second later and both of his hands have found a place on either side of your hips.

"Why do you torment me?" he asks, pulling you close so your legs straddle him. "Can't you see I'm getting enough of that from this damn mistake of a potion?" His words are almost shaky, as though he can barely speak anymore. He presses his hips up to meet yours, and a soft sigh escapes his lips as he finally gets a little friction.

You dig your nails into his shoulders and gasp, the feeling of Asra so obviously in need is enough to make anyone go wild.

You can't resist grinding down lightly and Asra's eyes practically roll back at the sensation. "How can I say no to such a pretty face," you whisper, completely in love with his reaction.

That was enough for Asra and without added words he gathers you up in his strong arms and lifts you both. Your head falls back pleasurably when his lips find your neck. It only takes a few quick steps on his part to bring the two of you into the plush back room.

The purple cushions lining the cozy futon sink in gently as your back hits the mattress. The room has a slight pleasing haze as sandalwood incense burns at the table. The smell washes over your senses and a new wave of sensuality comes over the room.

Asra's hands hold you firmly as his lips continue to press lovingly into your skin. He hovers over you, one leg pressed between your legs, causing your hips to involuntarily move along his thigh.

"I need you out of these clothes," Asra groans, lips being stopped at your chest where your shirt has suddenly become a hindrance. He's already tugging at the hem, untucking the loose fabric from your waistband. You raise yourself to your elbows and help him pull the shirt over your head. At once it is thrown over Asra's shoulder and his eyes are set on your bare skin, drinking in the sight of his lover.

You smile at his admiration and lay back again, stretching your arms above your head and arching your back. You feel his hands on your stomach, traveling up to rest on your breasts. Your skin prickles with desire, flesh lighting on fire from his ministrations.

"How did I get so lucky," he breathes out, looking down at you with a look filled with love and passion. He rests the tips of his fingers on your nipples and swirls them lightly, leaving you to twist in torturous pleasure beneath his touch. "Everything about you is beautiful." Asra continues to flatter, lowering his head so his curls tickle your stomach. He licks a long line from the dip of your hip up to the valley between your breasts.

After a few moments of tasting your supple skin he moves his hands to the top of your skirt and tugs. You lift your hips in compliance and the fabric slides down your legs easily. Asra licks his lips as your body is finally fully presented to him.

"I could feast on you," he announces, voice lowered with need. "And I wouldn't go hungry in a lifetime." These words he whispers into your inner thigh, they tickle your skin softly.

You watch with bated breath as the man before you adores his lover. It's hard to keep your moans controlled as you feel his sinfully good tongue lick you in a way that can only be described as ecstasy.

Asra shifts into a more comfortable position, lying on his stomach and he brings your legs to lay comfortably over his shoulders. You shudder as you feel his hot breath flutter over your dripping slit. He doesn't waste anymore time and lowers his face to enjoy you.

Your thighs squeeze his head lightly as your body arches in response. Asra is devouring you as though you were a feast and it was the only meal he is to have in a lifetime. He grips your legs tightly to keep you from moving and covers your slit with his mouth, sucking for a moment on the tight nub at the top. He groans happily into your skin before moving down to lick your hole.

"Oh please, yes," you run your trembling hand through his hair and raise your hips up to meet his greedy mouth. He laps short, quick strokes first, stimulating you into madness.

After a moment he slows his tongue down to swirl languidly, looking up at you. You make eye contact and groan at the erotic scene of him eating you out. "That mouth of yours is too skilled for its own good," you whisper, fingers digging into his scalp, trying desperately to savor every swipe of his tongue.

Asra smiles against your folds. "I live to make you feel good, my dear." He says, pausing a moment. "You intoxicate me. Your smell, your taste. I couldn't get enough even if I had all the time in the world." He presses his lips on each one of your thighs with hot, open mouth kisses.

You blush at his words, feeling amazing under his praise. "Come here," you command softly, pulling on Asra's hair lightly to guide him back up your body. He kisses every inch of skin he passes before finally reaching your lips.

"Mm," he hums, taking your face in his hands. "But these lips, are like the finest honey in Vesuvia." He lifts your head so your mouths meet. It's a hot and feverish kiss, full of staggering amounts of love.

You press your body into his and relish in the feeling of kissing Asra. Your mouths are opened to one another and your tongues meet in fiery unison. While you enjoy the kiss you allow your hands to roam. Your fingers find his shirt buttons and you start to undo them as best you can, only a little distracted. It takes just a minute and you sigh happily into his mouth when you finally remove the annoying clothing.

You part a moment to admire the divinity of his body; prostrated before you. He was calling himself the lucky one, but you could probably make a pretty good argument for it being the other way around. He looked absolutely glorious in the hazy glow of the room.

As you reach for the waistband of his pants and rest your fingers playfully on the skin above it Asra breaks out in goosebumps at the fluttering feel of your touch.

"Ah," he breaths out, raising himself to his knees and closing his eyes. Clearly, he's enjoying the attention finally being on him.

"You are the one with the potion affecting them." You say, drawing a line from one hip to another. "It'd almost be criminal to ignore you for any longer." Your eyes fall to the bulge straining under Asra's pants, just begging to be free. A smile plays across your lips as his breaths quickens significantly.

"I.. wouldn't complain." He finally manages to say in a strained tone.

You smile, maybe a little too satisfied, and hook your fingers under the band. "I know." You chuckle, pulling. The trousers catch a moment on Asra's hardened length before slipping down to his knees. You take time to admire the sight before you, licking your lips. Asra is panting slightly, looking down at you lustfully as your eyes graze over him.

He grabs your head on either side and looks into your eyes. "Please," is all he can croak out.

You swallow thickly and you feel yourself dampen even more at his begging words. “I’d like nothing more" you say; need dripping heavily from your words. You lean forward and kiss the tip of his leaking slit lightly. Asra's body shivers with pleasure when your soft lips meet his aching shaft.

You take a breath before closing your mouth around his tip. Your cheeks hollow and you suck in deeply, enjoying the small sounds of pleasure emitting from Asra's lips. He groans even deeper as you finally swallow down his whole length, tip sliding down the back of your throat.

"Ah fuck, baby," he stutters through gritted teeth, fingers threading through your hair. He thrusts into your mouth without hesitation, reveling in the way you feel around him. The pace is fast and vicious, leaving no time for extra room for breathing.

You choke back your gasps and feel the involuntary tears prick at the corners or your eyes. Your hands fall to your sides as you let Asra use your mouth how he pleased. Licentious noises ring around the room as he sinks his member into your mouth relentlessly, moaning at each stroke and the salacious feelings that come over him.

His grip tightens in your hair as he pounds into your face. You open your mouth as widely as you can and take him in, ignoring the slight pain of labored breathing. The feeling of being used so mercilessly is intoxicating, and you close your eyes, enjoying the pleasure that overtakes you.

With a loud pop he pulls out of your drooling mouth, leaving you to be the one groaning in disappointment.

"I'm sorry love," he huffs dazedly, need heavy on his features. "But if I don't stop this now I'm cumming in your mouth."

"That doesn't sound so bad," you complain, sticking your tongue out so Asra can view how much you want it. His eyes darken considerably and he looks ready to break.

He takes a breath in sharply, steadying himself before holding your face gently in his hand. "As much as I want you fuck your face, that pussy of yours I know is dripping for me and I have to comply." He chuckles, running his thumb along your lip.

You whimper at his words, practically climaxing at the suggestion. You meet his eyes in a needy manner and nod. "Oh, Asra," you start, already seeing excitement flit across his face at the mention of his name. "I want you more than I can even describe to you."

To this Asra inhales sharply, thumb still hooked in your mouth. "Tell me how you want me," he says, barely able to contain his own desire.

"I want you to fuck me from behind," you begin, knowing exactly how to please his ears. "I'm going to cry and moan, and beg you for relief but you will know better." His eyes widen in ecstasy but you continue anyway. "I want you to give everything you can to me, without holding back."

Asra seems to snap right in front of you. His features immediately seem to plead for consolation. "You'll get what you ask for." He growls, fingers tightening in your mouth. You lick his thumb seductively and the action throws him over the edge.

Asra's hands fly to your waist and hold you firmly, you're flipped over; ass to the heavens greeting him. He swallows at the sight and digs both palms into the flesh, enjoying the feeling immensely. "So needy and ready for me," he groans, finger finding your entrance and slipping in easily. You gulp at the warmth of having fingers enter you. Asra is unrelenting and curls them cruelly against your walls.

"Just fuck me already!" You cry, unable to hide your desires anymore. You hear Asra laugh behind you, yet despite this you know he is dying to sink himself into you.

"Alright, alright." He concedes, taking your hips in his hands. "If you insist."

You feel his tip slide against your slit and shudder, craving the feeling of him inside you. It doesn't take more than a moment before you feel him start to enter you. You lay your head down, turning your face so you can watch Asra take you from behind.

His lips are parted in a silent moan as he relishes in the feeling of your walls around him. You sigh softly as he fully sheaths himself in you, a small tremor passing over your body from the pleasure. One moment, two moments pass as you both bask in the feeling of being connected.

"Give me your hands," he commands, slowly sliding in and out of you, giving no care to his agonizingly slow pace. Soft gasps are falling from your lips as you try to register his request.

Carefully, you cross your arms behind your back. It's no use to keep the blush at bay as you take in the dirty scene. Your face is pressed to the pillows, unable to move much as Asra takes your wrists and pins them to your back. Your ass is raised in the air to meet his rhythmic thrusting.

Asra grips one of your thighs with a free hand and quickens the pace a little. Your eyes shut tightly as your body responds. You can feel his tip hit deep inside of you with each snap of his hips. It's unrelenting and you have to catch yourself from begging for more.

You feel the fingers around your wrist tighten a bit as Asra's breathing speeds up behind you. You know that he's set on giving you as much painfully slow torture as he can manage himself, but you also know that potion is working against him. There's nothing he wants more than to let go and pound you into the mattress.

"Baby," you choke out, words bouncing along with your bodies. "I know you want to fuck me so good right now." Your voice is deep with seduction. "Please just fill me up like I know you want to." You finish your plea, watching his face with satisfaction. His eyes are darkened with desire. He takes just a few more strokes before slowly to a stop inside you.

"You asked for it," he warns. He only takes a moment to let go of your wrists and flips your body so you're facing him. He cages you in on either side and licks his lips as he stares into your eyes. His hungry mouth meets yours in a kiss full of fire. You can melt into it for only a second before you feel him grab your hips and pull you flush against him; Your cries drowned by his lips as he sets an erratic pace, skin meeting with loud slaps.

"Fucking hell," he groans, still kissing you between words. "You feel like heaven on earth. You're so hot, and I can feel your insides squeezing me." He explains, hot breath falling over your face. Your cheeks burn at his descriptions.

You loop your arms around his neck and press your chest into his. Your skin meets, shining with sweat and burning from love. Asra presses back, savoring the feeling of your nipples brushing against his.

You start to feel that familiar blossom of unreleased pleasure pool in your lower stomach. Asra's shaft is hitting you just right, sending jolts of satisfaction right to your core.

"Oh-" you stop and whine pleasantly when he shifts angles. "Fuck. Please yes, don't stop!" Your arms drop and nails dip into his biceps and you grit your teeth from the hot delight searing through your body.

"I couldn't even If i wanted to," Asra answers, words strained as his grasp on himself starts to crumble. His breath is leaving his lips in short pants now and you can almost see the resolve to hold on slip away before your eyes.

He falls into you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and thrusts into you with all of the strength he can muster. You bury your face in his neck and take hold of his hair. You can feel Asra's body shuddering to not let go.

You bring your lips to his ear and bite his lobe. "Won't you come for me sweetheart? Please empty yourself in me." You whisper.

Asra takes in a sharp breath and you hear him choke at your words. They were enough to push him over the edge and he rams into you with a low, strangled cry.

Your head falls back and your mouth opens in a silent scream as Asra lets himself go in you. Your legs shake violently of their own accord as you feel your orgasm wash over you, leaving your body in euphoric fire.

Asra's lips immediately find yours as you ride out your orgasms together. You kiss him passionately, all of your senses in overdrive. His kisses are soft, and sweet, a clear declaration of his love. Happiness rushes in like a flood as you enjoy the afterglow. After a minute Asra removes himself from you and joins you in laying down, sides still heaving from the activities.

"My dear, how I love you." He says with a smile, running his fingers in slow, soft circles on your stomach.

You turn on your side and look into his eyes. He looked content, and his cheeks were dimpled from his growing grin.

"I love you too," you return, hand falling into his. His skin was still warm. The two of you lay there for a while, out of breath and simply enjoying the presence of one another.

Eventually, Asra sits up and looks down at you with humor in his eyes. "Well, I think I can tell our buyer that we did an extensive review of his product and it does, in fact, work."

Your face breaks into a smile and you laugh at Asra's words. "Oh goodie, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear all about it."

[closedafterdark]

Two Way Ticket

Lee Saerom & Noh Jisun x Male Reader

9441 words

categories: smut, oral, mommy kink

Read on AFF

Eight months have passed since your rendezvous with Gyuri. Nakyung made sure to keep you and Saerom well informed about the clinic’s subsequent move and how her boss was coping. You were thankful she was able to be there for Gyuri during difficult times. Things between you and Saerom were beginning to get a lot more serious: from opening a joint bank account to purchasing your first car together. Even her dog Yeoreum has grown accustomed to you, often spending time on your lap more - something that has made your girlfriend jealous on more than one occasion.

With each passing day, Saerom’s beauty continued to flourish. You wanted to preserve these memories - bringing your camera each time you two went out, something she didn’t seem to mind at all. Saerom knew how to perfectly blend simplicity with confident elegance. She chose to embrace the warmer weather by wearing a simple white crop top that showed off the curvature of her breasts and abs that were the result of many long hours at the gym. Her skirt was brown with what splatter marks decorating it. It ended just slightly below her cute buttcheeks, showing off her long, creamy muscular legs. Her white fuzzy coat appeared out of place, yet perfectly complemented her outfit at the same time. Saerom’s chosen accessories to complete the look were large pearl earrings and a necklace you gifted her on your very first anniversary together. Garnering the stares from men and women alike, you were proud to call Saerom your girlfriend.

Leading you by the hand, you passed many alleyways and streets. Telling you to trust her, you could tell Saerom was smiling through her homemade mask as her eyes formed inverted half crescents. With the two of you continuing on, you noticed two large bright red doors which led to red staircases below and artificial grass on either side. It looked like the establishment was still stuck in Christmas while the rest of the area were enjoying a fine spring May afternoon. Letting go of Saerom’s hand, you stopped and wanted to take a photograph. Not even a second after you had taken a third photo, she grabs the camera from you and wags her finger. Wearing the lens straps on her neck, she takes your hand once more and gives you a firm squeeze. The two of you walk for several more minutes until you finally reach your destination.

--

The aroma of coffee and baked pastries filled your noses as you arrived at Saerom’s favorite cafe. She discovered it after the two of you first decided to live together and moved to a new neighborhood. Due to being a regular customer, the entire staff knew who she was - all of them greeting her warmly before subsequently doing the same to you. Deciding to strike up a conversation with a few of the baristas, you took the opportunity to take her bag and find a table for the two of you. With most already being occupied, you luckily managed to find one that was mostly secluded. It was almost hidden in a sense, probably a spot most employees go to for peace and quiet. You took out your phone and began going through it, looking to pass time. Opening the photo app allowed you to view the candid shots you captured of your girlfriend. You stood firm on your belief that no camera lens could truly capture Saerom’s beauty.

The first photoset was one you took of Saerom at a bookstore. She was casually flipping through the pages of a book you didn’t get a chance to ask her the title of. The mole just below her left eye was something you found extremely cute - if concentrations of pigment-producing cells could be classified as such. Her smoky eyeshadow complimented her complexion wonderfully, making her eyes stand out even more. The next photoset was at a high-end boutique, with Saerom emerging from the curtains as she presents yet another outfit to you. At that point, you had lost count of just how many she tried on. Saerom said it seemed like you didn’t care when you said she looked beautiful in all of them - but it was true. She could be wearing a plastic bag with holes for sleeves and you would still choose her over anyone else.

You smiled, thinking about how her smile instantly made your day. While you were busy enhancing the photos to look for minor details to edit, Saerom sat down next to you.

“What are you looking at, baby?” she asked you before taking your phone. Saerom swipes through the pictures with her index finger, nodding after seeing each one. Once she returned the phone to you, you noticed a mischievous look in her eyes.

“I know that look.”

“What look?”

“You know what look.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, baby.” Saerom said, biting the tip of her finger while her left hand gently began rubbing your thigh. Any sort of pretense about her intentions was put to rest as her other hand placed the restaurant pager on the table. The two of you made eye contact and there was no mistaking it: her beautiful deep brown eyes were now clouded amber pools of lust and desire. You were thankful no one was nearby as Saerom squeezed her breast, releasing an erotic moan while she continued massaging your thigh.

“We’re in public, babe. We could get caught.”

“Maybe we should…” she teased as she leaned closer towards you and used both hands to grab the hemline of your joggers and boxers underneath before pulling them down. You moaned as the cool air from above felt wonderful on your newly exposed cock. Saerom eyed it hungrily as she leaned down and released a small collection of spit onto it. Knowing how needy you already were she decided to tease you even more by puckering her lips and placed a lust-filled kiss onto your tip, causing it to twitch slightly.

With one smooth swipe of her tongue across the palm of her left hand, Saerom wraps her long, slender fingers into a fist around your base with a firm grip. The warmth of it causes your shaft to throb, earning a soft smile from her. Planting a quick peck on your lips, she slowly begins stroking your cock.

You let out a loud sigh of relief as the built up pressure inside your chest was being released with every up and down motion of her hand. Saerom bit the tip of her finger once again as she stroked you, feeling you leak all over her fingers when she ran her thumb across your slit. 

Sexual acts in public places was nothing new to you both - yet it made you equally nervous and aroused as if it was the very first time. It all started with almost getting caught in your car at the beach parking lot one night when the security guard strolling by shined a flashlight through the windows. Then it was Saerom giving you a blowjob inside a women’s fitting room stall. You most certainly couldn’t forget bending her over the sink of a public restroom of a black tie required restaurant. But with most of the places so far, there was at least some semblance of privacy. This was a trendy cafe frequented by many, anyone could walk by and see your girlfriend stroking your cock without a care in the world.

“How about we make a deal, baby.” Saerom said in a lust-filled tone as her thumb continued to massage your tip.

“Deal? W-What d-deal?”

“If you can last mommy stroking your cock and not cumming before our order is ready, you can fuck mommy’s ass, baby.” Saerom whispered into your ear. Your eyes widened as you looked at your girlfriend’s naughty smirk of satisfaction. She had been teasing you with the proposition of entering her other hole for some time now, only allowing you to slide yourself in between her tight, round cheeks. The way she made it sound so forbidden made you want it even more. Your eyes involuntarily closed as the pleasure began to overwhelm your senses.

Saerom gradually began to increase in speed, encouraged by your moans and the way your cock throbbed in her hand. The mixture of her spit and your precum allowed her to go even faster, creating the familiar delicious sound of wet flesh. She counted five seconds silently before slowing back down, teasing you. Saerom had plenty of experience - knowing just what you liked. Which usually meant euphoric bliss on your part; except for when she wanted to take her time and edge you until the tipping point before bringing you back down to reality.

This went on several more times, each increasingly frustrating than the last. She giggled the entire time, enjoying watching you squirm and be helpless under her control. Your mental resistance was well beyond broken - at this point, it was all about endurance and resistance. You were determined not to let Saerom win. Not this time.

… Or so you thought. Saerom knew you weren’t going down so easily without a fight, which caused her to pull out her secret weapon. Grabbing your right hand, she led you up her smooth, creamy thighs all the way until your fingers began to feel heat radiating between her legs. You gulped as you knew where your hand was, like an adventurer finding a treasure chest. Using two fingers, you swiped in front of it, unsurprised to find out Saerom wasn’t wearing any underwear. She loved wearing skimpy thongs or modest panties that usually ended up bunched between her perfect ass cheeks, but eventually chose to forego it due to how many times you ripped them off her body. There was one time she bought an extremely expensive pair as a gift for your birthday, the thin piece of cloth not even making it thirty seconds in before it was tossed to a faraway corner of her bedroom.

Knowing it was a trap but going for it anyway, your two fingers found their way to her moist folds. Feeling your girlfriend leaking as well, you slowly inserted them inside her. Saerom moaned loudly as you entered her, her walls clenching you tightly, refusing to let go. You decided to up the ante, rubbing your thumb in a counterclockwise motion on her clit. It was now a war of nerves - both of you trying to get the other to orgasm first. But as expected, it was a losing battle. Saerom added more spit onto your cock and stroked you even faster, gripping your shaft tightly. You tried to distract her by pushing your fingers even deeper, but all it earned you was her pussy tightening.

“Cum for mommy, baby.”

That was all it took for you to reach your orgasm as you felt your abdomen tighten. You grunted loudly as your hips jerked and you exploded in Saerom’s hand. Your first few ropes could be heard hitting the underside of the table as you felt it land back onto her fingers and your thighs as you continued to release more and more thick, hot semen. Saerom made sure to continue stroking your sensitive cock, determined to drain you as much as possible.

The restaurant pager’s lights began to light up in a clockwise motion before vibrating on top of the table, signaling your order was ready and your subsequent failure to endure Saerom’s deal. She gives your cock a few more strokes, causing it to release small aftershocks as you recover from your intense orgasm. You struggled to catch your breath as you could feel beads of sweat form on your forehead. Once Saerom’s motions winded down and her tight grip on your cock was released, she raised her hand and stretched her fingers out to show you how messy your load for her was. She admired her work for a few seconds before cleaning it off with a napkin. She tilts her head slightly and moves closer to you, letting her lips meet yours as she gives you a deep kiss.

“You did so well, baby. It’s really a shame though - this nice, thick load would’ve tasted so good going down mommy’s throat. Or leaking down my thighs as we walk out of here.”

--

Saerom hated spending money at the movie theater's concession stand. Often calling it overpriced garbage, she always made sure to sneak in snacks inside her purse. Today was no different as she told the cafe employees to carefully wrap the baked goods. The movie theater was fairly empty - due to it being a weekday as well as not many movies being released. Saerom handled everything, from purchasing the tickets to picking out your reserved seats. With your fingers interlocked together, she leads you through the hallway and inside the theater. The two of you arrived just as the pre-movie commercials were about to end. Once Saerom handed you the movie tickets, you shined your phone flashlight on it.

“Babe, this movie is from like two months ago. We watched it at home.” you said.

“I know.” she simply replied, snuggling closer to you.

“Then why are we watching it again?”

“Because…” she said as her mischievous fingers found their way back onto the hemline of your joggers. “We aren’t going to be watching the movie.”

You should’ve seen it coming when Saerom chose the extra wide seats that seemed to be geared towards couples. She gave you a deep kiss on your lips before descending towards your lower body. Helping her out by removing your shirt, her eyes never wavered from yours. Your cock that was trapped inside the cloth prison was finally released, hitting her cheek. She laughs, licking her lips as she removes the pesky clothing completely off you and spreads your legs apart. Saerom watched every muscle in your face react as she blew hot air on your cock. You moaned the moment her hand made contact, using the same painfully slow pace she did at the cafe. While her left hand is busy taking care of your cock, her right fondled your balls - giving each a firm yet not too hard squeeze. She teases you by repeatedly lowering her head each time you think she will finally take you in her mouth, only to fake out at the last moment and continue to stroke you. She gave the tip of your cock a quick smooch to remove some of the leaking precum, something that only increased your frustration. Deciding you have had enough, she finally parted her lips and took you inside her mouth.

Saerom’s mouth was extremely warm and wet thanks to her built up spit. She strokes your cock as the first few inches enter her orifice before removing her hand and placing it onto your thighs. You felt like you were laying on a marshmallow, about to sink deeper and deeper into the chair. The only thing you saw was a soft ball of hair as she was  bobbing her head up and down, eliciting satisfied moans and lust-filled grunts from you as your cock was getting thoroughly covered. Saerom loved giving you blowjobs as much as you enjoyed receiving them, the feeling of you throbbing needily inside her mouth felt like a sudden rush of dopamine for her. She always enjoyed having complete control over you.

“Fuck, mommy…” you moaned. Saerom took her time, wanting you to savor every sensation as she swirled her tongue around your tip before making long strokes up and down the length of your shaft. Saerom looked up at you, satisfied to see your eyes closed from her sinful act. Having decided she prolonged teasing you enough, she went to work - sucking your cock deeper and faster. As her head took in more of your shaft, her tongue flickered along your underside. Eventually she reached your base as her lips gripped onto your cock and refused to let go. Her head bobbed in a wonderfully fast rhythm that teetered the edge of getting you to climax quickly and being just enough to leave you wanting more. Having had enough practice during the course of your relationship, Saerom was a master at deepthroating cock. The sounds of you reaching the back of her throat echoed inside the empty movie theater. It was like a symphony for your ears as you mustered the willpower to look down and stroke her head softly, pushing away several loose strands of hair. 

Saerom regretfully withdrew her mouth from your cock once she began running out of air. You were released from the velvety smooth walls with a satisfied hum from her, thin strands of saliva are connecting you and her mouth as you see several spit suds formed on her pretty lips. Your cock was glistening due to light emanating from the movie screen hitting it, causing the both of you to smile at each other. She spits once more on your cock, applying a copious amount all over your shaft. You rubbed her cheeks with your thumb softly, Saerom giving your tip another chaste kiss.

“Here comes your favorite part, baby.” Saerom said as she tapped your cock on her tongue a few times, causing her eyes to form crescents at you in anticipation.

Knowing just what she wanted, you grabbed onto both sides of her head and pushed yourself into her mouth. Moaning from the extreme pleasure, you wasted no time by roughly bobbing her head up and down. Saerom’s bright, lust-filled eyes widened with delight as she gags from you taking control. Her eyes began to water as she hungrily accepted your throbbing, needy cock. She didn’t even need to talk for you to know your girlfriend was enjoying this from the sounds being emitted as she gargled a mouthful of cock. Her nails dug into your thighs painfully as she moved your body to come closer to her. You obliged, closing the distance as you grip onto her hair and made a makeshift ponytail, holding it tightly as you fuck her mouth even rougher than before. Her tongue and uvula vibrated on your shaft, adding another layer of stimulation as your girlfriend was taking your cock to her heart’s desire.

All sense of time was put to the wayside as you both savored the moment. You regretfully let go of Saerom’s head when she began tapping on your thighs. She coughs, catching her breath as drool spilled out of her mouth and began dripping from her chin onto your balls below. Saerom was a disheveled mess, the hard work she put into her hair and makeup were no longer visible. She runs her lips along your length, kissing it until she reaches the tip before doing the same on the other side. She spit on your cock once more, the all too familiar squelchy sounds you were used to hearing rang through both of your ears as she slowly stroked you.

“Look at my baby being so rough. Did you like using mommy’s throat?” she asked rhetorically, knowing full well what your answer would be. Feasting her eyes upon your cock, Saerom pondered what to do next. Giving your tip a few licks before twirling her tongue in a clockwise motion, you noticed a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

The two of you quickly removed your clothing, discarding it along the various empty seats nearby. Saerom gave your tip a deep kiss before turning around, letting you admire her beautifully sculpted backside. The result of many long hours at the gym and a serious training regimen, it made the already divine Saerom even more unreal. Your hands naturally went to her round, supple bottom. You gave each cheek a firm squeeze, earning a giggle from your girlfriend. Saerom moaned erotically once the palm of your hand made contact with the soft flesh.

She was on her hands and knees in front of you - waiting for the very thing you two enjoyed most. You grabbed your shaft and slid your tip up and down Saerom’s folds, feeling how drenched her needy pussy was. Having had enough of your teasing, she pushed her body against you, allowing you to enter.

“Fuck…” the two of you breathlessly moaned as Saerom’s insanely tight walls squeezed the life out of you and gripped onto your cock. Her wet cavern felt wonderful as you pushed yourself slowly inside her.

“B-Baby, you feel so good inside mommy…” Saerom moaned as you closed your eyes and savored this wonderful feeling. It was Saerom’s favorite position - and thankfully, yours as well. You allowed her time to adjust to your cock as her walls clinged onto you for dear life.

You started off slow, wanting the both of you to prolong the moment. You gave her several weak thrusts as you held onto Saerom’s wide hips. Gradually building up the pace from the initial comfortable rhythm, Saerom’s moans and wordless gaps began to steadily increase in volume. She was hot, wet, and tight - all things that never changed despite the two of you taking pleasure in each other’s bodies almost every single day. She took pride in suffocating your cock to the point where it started to hurt. Whether it be her mouth or her pussy, Saerom knew how to make the most of her wonderful body. The natural lubrication from her juices allowed you to eventually move in and out of her with relative ease.

“Fuck… Fuck mommy harder, baby.” Saerom whined.

“What does mommy want?” you asked, giving her butt harsh slaps on both cheeks.

“O-Oh, fuck! Fuck mommy harder!” She screamed. Grabbing Saerom’s toned arms, you held onto her wrists delicately, causing her body to raise upwards for support as your hips thrusted inside her pussy. The sounds of flesh against flesh filled the empty movie theater, making the video in front of you rendered obsolete compared to the true main event. You felt her clench her walls against your shaft as you fucked your girlfriend harder like she wished.

The sounds of Saerom’s plump ass smacking against your lower body turned you on even more, causing you to go harder and deeper inside her. The sight of her cheeks clapping together was sort of hypnotizing - as if mocking you that your current pace was still not enough. Her pussy continues to tighten deliciously around you as you kiss her sweaty back.

“You’re making mommy feel so good, baby!” Saerom said in a half scream, half moan. Every word was dripping with pure desire and lust. You released your hold on her wrists, causing her body to plop onto the theather’s leather-bound chair. This didn’t last long, however, as you grabbed onto Saerom’s long, beautiful hair and formed a makeshift ponytail. While her raven colored locks flowed freely like cascading waterfalls - of which earned her many compliments from friends and coworkers alike, Saerom always explained she wanted to try something new. The real reason she grew it out was she enjoyed having it pulled during sex. Especially in your current position behind her.

With one hand holding her hair, your other gripped tightly on her shoulder. You were afraid you were being a bit too rough and would leave a bruise, but the way her pussy tightened around you along with the clouded, lust-filled look she gave you was all you needed. You were quick right away, thrusting into Saerom without any sort of build up. This temporarily startled her, before the familiar sounds of wet flesh, her needy screams, and the movie in the background having become nothing more than an afterthought all combined to create a wonderful symphony of pleasure as you fucked your girlfriend until she announces the end was near.

“B-Baby… M-Mommy’s going to cum.” she managed to say in between your thrusts.

You went even faster and deeper - wanting to do everything you could in order for Saerom to chase her euphoric high. It doesn’t take very long until she does so, Saerom screaming the loudest she has so far as you feel her pussy pulsating around your cock as it tightens and suffocates you. Her juices flood your shaft as her body shakes, she certainly would have collapsed if not for you supporting her upper body. You felt her begin to leak profusely, staining your thighs, balls and the leather below. Each wave of pleasure coursed through your body as you give her several more weak thrusts in order to allow her to ride out her orgasm.

You grab one of Saerom’s breasts, squeezing it gently as you pull her hair softly and lay down on your back, allowing her to rest on top of you. The both of you are heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. Saerom manages to weakly turn her head to its side as your lips meet hers. Each kiss was soft, full of satisfaction. Once you opened your eyes, you noticed hers were glazed over - returning to the beautiful amber color you always found yourself lost in. You held onto her hips and turned Saerom over so that your bodies were facing each other. Despite the exhaustion, her lower body began to grind itself against yours.

“Baby, you didn’t cum yet.” Saerom pouted. You felt her drenched folds coating your tip once more. It seemed once was never enough for her.

Saerom removed her body off you and got up on wobbly legs, grabbing your hands and helping you stand up. She gave the tip of your cock another kiss, sucking on it lightly before parting her lips and taking you inside her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down quickly, taking you all the way down to your base. You groaned as she tried her best to giggle through a mouth full of cock, the very action causing your underside to vibrate and add on another layer of pleasure. Her lips were sealed tight as the sounds of her slobbering all over your cock helped your fast approaching orgasm arrive even quicker.

“Fuck, mommy. I’m going to cum.” you announced as you felt a knot inside of you.

Saerom released your cock with a loud pop as she used her left hand to stroke you quickly, the lubrication of her mouth and juices helping make the task relatively easy. Saerom’s big, beautiful eyes looked right back at yours - eager for you to feel the same way you made her feel not even mere minutes ago. Your breaths became more shallow as she helped you reach your tipping point.

You weren’t even able to announce to Saerom that your orgasm arrived. You moaned loudly as your cock throbbed in her hand and you exploded all over her beautiful face. Thick ropes of cum are released in impressive speed as it paints her forehead. The next few land near her right eye, causing her to involuntarily close it. She continued stroking your length as you continued to release spurt after spurt of hot, thick semen. With the final two ropes landing on her cheek and her awaiting tongue, you felt all of the built up tension and pressure being released from your body as Saerom drains your balls dry. You opened your eyes and were surprised to see just how much you came on her face.

Saerom giggled as she cleans the leftover cum dribbling out of your slit, bobbing her head a few more times for good measure. She allowed you to admire your work, her chest heaving as she puckered her lips and blew a kiss at you. The two of you managed to finish just as the lights above turned on and the end credits of the film were starting to play. Saerom uses her fingers to trace all the spots she felt your load dripping down her face and puts it in her mouth.

“You taste so yummy, baby.” Saerom said. “Looks like mommy’s diet has been working out after all.”

The two of you quickly got dressed and hurried out of the theater before the cleaning employees arrived.

--

For about a month now, Saerom got you onto a strict regimen. Making you cut out “useless” carbs, sugar, red meats - basically all of the foods you enjoyed. Knowing you would whine or complain, she always shut you up by implementing a no sex rule or edging you everyday until you complied. She had everything fully planned out down to the minute. It wasn’t easy, or fun, but the results spoke for themselves. You begrudgingly admit it was working… especially in regards to your increased sexual stamina.

After a quick change of clothes at home, the two of you are going to visit one of Saerom’s friends. She never said who - always wanting to keep things a mystery until the very last moment. Saerom held your hand tightly as the two of you entered the gym. Normally the unmistakable scent of sweat and loud grunts would be heard. But this particular gym was completely empty - not a soul in sight. You and Saerom sat at a nearby table. Asking her why you two were here instead of your usual gym, you hear a door near the weight rack open.

“Oppa! Unnie!”

You looked up and smiled. Noh Jisun - Saerom’s former roommate and someone you were quite close to who was as much of a fanatic about the gym as she was. The last time you saw her, her hair was much longer with a fringe style to cover her forehead. This time, her shoulder length hair was a deeper shade of brown. She styled it in a way that it parted more towards the left side of her head. She wore a simple outfit of a black v-neck shirt, gray leggings that complemented her curvy figure nicely, black socks, and a black and white windbreaker. She ran towards the two of you and hugged Saerom immediately. Your girlfriend reciprocated, happy to see her after so long. A few minutes later, she let go and turned to you.

“Hi, oppa.” Jisun said, smiling. You returned her smile and gave her a hug as well. She pulled you in tightly - you forgot how much she loved giving hugs. She left your embrace slightly before moving her head close to your ear.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun today.”

The hairs on the back of your neck raised as her words tingled inside your ear. It was a technique you heard many times early on during your relationship with Saerom. Jisun quickly became popular in an online community, with many tuning in to her videos and occasional livestreams. You never understood the appeal of people wanting to listen to someone whisper the entire time but respected Jisun making the most out of a niche demographic.

“What brings you guys over here?” Jisun asked.

“We wanted to visit and see how you were doing.” Saerom replied.

“It seems like you’re doing pretty well for yourself, Jisun.”

“I guess you can say that.” Jisun said, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “The ASMR community loves my videos. I was able to save up enough to open up this place.”

“That’s so great!” Saerom said. “Look baby, she even has the weights you like!”

Looking to the direction your girlfriend was pointing at, you noticed differently colored plates of various sizes. While gradually being able to increase how much you could lift, you also enjoyed mixing the colors together. Not a single weight was out of place - something you personally didn’t enjoy seeing at your regular gym.

Saerom interlocks her fingers with yours. You smiled - she always knew how to calm you down whenever you felt anxious. Briefly looking at Jisun, you noticed a slight glimpse of anger in her eyes. Before you could say anything, Saerom pulled you along.

The tour of the gym was rather quick - Jisun quickly cycled through each of the machines as well as the rest area filled with goodies to indulge on. Upon reaching the Pilates room, Saerom wrapped her arms around your waist as she looked up at you lovingly.

“Isn’t this place great, baby? I’m so proud of Jisun.”

“Y-Yeah, really great.”

“I just remembered. I’ve been so busy lately I forgot to plan out the couple’s workouts like you asked. Sorry, unnie.” Jisun cutely said, pouting and looking down.

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Saerom said cheerfully. “Would you be able to help out oppa though?”

“Sure! I’d love to.” Jisun said, looking at you with a mischievous smirk.

“Oppa’s been complaining about feeling stiff. I was hoping you could make sure every inch of him is relaxed.” “Every inch?” Jisun repeated, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Really make sure oppa releases all of the tension built up lately.” “Oh... I’ll have no problem doing that, unnie.” Jisun continued to tease by forming her cute small left hand into a fist and displaying a jerking off motion while miming her cheek being full.

Giving you a quick peck on the lips, Saerom puts on her headphones and goes to a nearby treadmill. You watched your girlfriend’s wide hips sway with each step as her plump ass jiggles, causing you to sigh loudly as you could feel yourself slightly hardening.

Feeling a hand cup your crotch is what brought you out of your daydream due to staring at your girlfriend’s lower body. You looked down at the owner of said hand and felt the breath taken away from you as Jisun squeezed a bit harder this time. Bringing her right hand to your face, you noticed the cute woman you were used to seeing was gone. Replacing her glazed over eyes was a look you know all too well.

“So, unnie wants me to help you feel relaxed? That’s no problem at all.” Jisun said in a sensual whisper, each word dripping with a honey-like tone. She unzipped her windbreaker, letting you see the outline of her breasts through the loose fitting v-neck shirt.

“Mommy will take good care of you, oppa.” She continued, untying the drawstring of your joggers.

“M-Mommy?”

“Don’t act surprised.” Jisun said, still maintaining her whisper-like tone. “I know unnie has been making you call her that ever since you would visit our old apartment.”

You were surprised to see this side of Jisun. The Jisun you remembered was conservative, someone who didn’t have much self-confidence and felt comfortable playing video games or being in front of a computer screen. It seemed being independent did wonders for her.

“Maybe mommy should take care of your lower body first, how does that sound?”

Yanking both your joggers and the underwear underneath, Jisun slowly descends into a kneeling position between your legs. Your cock is now exposed to the cool breeze coming from the air conditioning. It is a wonderful feeling, causing you to twitch slightly.

“Not bad… I can see why unnie liked having you over so much.” she said, her eyes trying to soak up as much of you as possible. Licking her lips hungrily, she grabs ahold of your base and gives you slow, agonizing licks until she reaches your tip. You instinctively closed your eyes, letting out a soft moan.

“Fuck…”

Jisun dragged her wet tongue on the underside of your shaft, painting a long stripe on the exposed flesh. When she reaches your tip, her tongue swirls around it, causing you to moan even more. Collecting the precum that is beginning to dribble out of your slit, she sucks on it lightly before replacing it with a generous amount of saliva. Using her tongue once more, she spreads it across every inch. You look down and see Jisun methodically lathering your cock until it is glistening from the overhead lighting. Once she is satisfied, she grips your shaft firmly and slowly begins stroking you.

She employs a familiar technique: counterclockwise motions and smooth up and down strokes. You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, feeling the pleasure her wonderful small hand was providing you. Her hand moves up and down with ease thanks to her saliva. Your moans increase in volume the longer she continues.

“You like when mommy strokes your cock, don’t you baby?”

“It-It’s o-okay…” you replied, knowing full well you were lying.

“Hmph.” Jisun pouted, running her thumb across your slit. “Maybe this will change your mind.”

Slapping her cheeks with your hard cock, you felt Jisun blowing hot air onto your tip, causing you to throb in her hand. She lets out a giggle and kisses the tip of your cock before lining you in front of her mouth. With a simple part of her lips, you release a heavy breath as she engulfs your cock. 

Your hands hold onto the wall behind you as the pressure begins to build up, causing your eyes to close shut. Your moans continue as Jisun slowly bobs her head up and down. She takes the top half of your cock into her warm, wet mouth - each time sending waves of lust and pleasure coursing through your body. You feel her tongue dragging across the underside of your shaft. Forcing your eyes open, you look down and take in the fact that Saerom’s former roommate, Jisun was currently on her knees and looking at you while pleasuring you in a way you would have never imagined.

“Mommy, fuck… that feels so fucking good.” you moaned as your body was hypnotized by Jisun sucking your cock. You felt every muscle in your body relaxing as your cock was inside her hollowed mouth. Taking the initiative, you run your fingers through her dark brown locks before palming the back of her head. Jisun looks up at you and smiles through a mouthful of cock, happy you are enjoying every moment of her sinful act. Your hand follows along to her bobbing motions, guiding her rhythm before she temporarily retreats her mouth’s wonderful hold on you. Spitting a copious amount of saliva built up onto your shaft, she looks at you seductively as she slaps her bright pink tongue with your cock.

You looked out to see Saerom diligently exercising on the treadmill. All you could think about was how sweaty her back has become, and how good it would be to suck on her damp skin as you fuck her from behind. This, of course, does not go unnoticed by Jisun who pinches your inner thigh and causes you to slightly wince in pain as you see her slowly begin to remove her clothing.

“Mommy hasn’t been fucked in months and I am not going to let this opportunity go to waste.” Jisun said, as she removed her socks and slid her body hugging leggings down, revealing her creamy legs and wonderfully thick thighs. She makes a show of removing her shirt, leaving her in only a red lace bra and panty set. Despite feeling more self-confident, there is a hint of shyness from Jisun as she is mostly exposed to you for the very first time.

You always considered her to have a nice figure - but running her own gym and having a strict training regimen made the curvy parts of her body even more noticeable. The delicious line of her cleavage was enticing - you wanted nothing more than to bury your face in it. Jisun notices this and smiles.

“Now, now, baby. We don’t want unnie to hear mommy making you feel good, now do we?” Jisun said, placing a finger on her lips. It felt like a preemptive warning, a calm before the pleasure-induced storm. Stroking your cock several times in preparation, she opens her bra slightly in order to allow you in between her soft flesh. A soft moan escapes her lips as she wraps your shaft with her warm, perfect tits.

“Fuck, mommy...” you groaned softly, trying your best not to be too loud from the pressure quickly that striked you light a lightning bolt as Jisun takes you in and out of her hot cleavage. You were thankful Saerom wasn’t too close by and especially that she wore headphones as the sound of her treadmill helped mask the squelching sounds coming from Jisun’s tits moving up and down your cock. You sighed in content and looked down, seeing her push her breasts together against your shaft and squeezed you even tighter.

“Baby…” she moaned as she moved her large, soft flesh onto you. “You’re so hard for mommy.”

Jisun’s eyes were captivating - her soft voice causing your entire body to tingle as her breasts continued to wrap themselves tightly around your cock. Her cute features were replaced with pure lust and desire, currently focused on satisfying you. The tip and upper part of your cock constantly poked in and out between her soft flesh. Each thrust was delicious, wet and hot. Jisun was the master of pure seduction: each time you felt you were at your tipping point, she slowed down. After several minutes of teasing, she removes her heavy breasts from your cock.

“I don’t want you cumming just yet, baby.” Jisun said. “First, you have to make mommy feel good too.”

Removing the last of her clothing, you almost drooled as you finally saw Jisun fully naked. Not giving you ample time to admire her body, she leads you to one of the yoga mats nearby, pushing you gently on your back. She straddles your lap, rubbing her splayed lips on your cock. You moaned, feeling how wet she already was turned you on even more. She then dismounts your body and repositions herself, hovering just above your face. As your hands were about to hold onto her hips, she stopped you.

“No no no, bad boy. It’s rude to touch mommy without permission.”

She lowered her body just enough for you to feel the heat radiating from between her legs. It looked so soft, inviting. Jisun could sense your anxiousness as you squirmed underneath her.

“You want to eat mommy’s pussy don’t you, baby?” Jisun nonchalantly asked. 

“Well… there’s somewhere else I’d rather you eat instead.”

Lowering herself fully, you grabbed her plump ass, grabbing two handfuls of each cheek and squeezing as hard as you could. This caused Jisun to moan as your mouth met her forbidden orifice. You kissed her heavenly soft skin, parting her cheeks as your tongue painted the outer rim.

“Baby…” Jisun moaned as her tight muscles began to unclench and allow your tongue deeper entry. Satisfied with your minimal work so far, you continued to stimulate her asshole. Spreading her cheeks apart even more, you pushed your tongue inside her puckered hole.

Jisun is quickly overwhelmed by all of her senses being overstimulated at once, as you feel her juices slowly leaking out of her pussy and staining her thighs and your neck below. You swirl your tongue inside her ass, just as she did when she was sucking your cock. Each contact sent multiple shocks of pleasure coursing through her body. Despite Jisun getting progressively louder the longer you were buried inside her, both of you have little regard for anything else, only focusing on each other. She pushes her pillowy soft ass against you even more, frantically trying to chase her own pleasure.

“You’re making mommy feel so good, baby.” Jisun said, feeling your mouth and tongue drench her inner asshole with your saliva.

Gripping onto her asscheeks even harder, you move your face from side to side. This causes Jisun to scream loudly as another wave of stimulation is added to her rapidly sensitive body. She is beginning to lose control of her senses as your tongue thrusts deep inside her asshole.

“Baby… oh my- fuck!”

She arches her back completely straight as you remove one hand from her asscheek and move your way between her thick thighs. Easily finding her clit, you rubbed it with the pad of your thumb. Doing your best to keep her from bucking her hips uncontrollably, you stimulate Jisun on both parts of her lower body.

“Baby… that feels so good. That feels so good. I-I’m gonna cum!” Desperation could be heard in Jisun’s voice as you continued to provide her with the pleasure she hadn’t received in so long. Each flick of your tongue caused her to tilt her head back. You knew it wouldn’t be much longer - rubbing your thumb on her clit furiously as you squeezed her asscheek and buried your tongue as deep as it could go.

“Baby, mommy’s cumming!” Jisun screamed as she finally succumbed to her orgasm. Her hips bucked wildly as you struggled to hold her in place. Your tongue was firmly lodged inside her asshole, doing its best to not let go as long, sultry moans escape her beautifully soft lips. Her thighs are stained with her sweet nectar, causing it to dribble down onto your chin and neck. Her orgasm lasts for several minutes, repeated aftershocks causing her sensitive body to rub itself against your face.

“H-Holy shit, baby.” Jisun said once the both of you felt her body finally return to normal. She buried your face deeper inside one last time before finally dismounting. Each heave of her chest allowed you to see her large breasts move up and down. A thin layer of sweat formed on her body as she smiled at you sweetly.

“Has unnie let you fuck her thighs before?” She asked.

You shook your head.

“Guess that’s another thing mommy will help you out with.” Jisun said as she helped you to your feet.

She spit on your cock several times to help lubricate it once more. The two of you are now facing each other. Jisun strokes your shaft back to full hardness before rubbing it against her inner thighs. They instinctively sandwich your shaft as the mixture of her saliva and nectar from her orgasm allow you to slip in between. Both of you let out a satisfied moan as your cock grinds against Jisun’s lips and her delicious thighs.

Her thighs were the perfect mix of muscular and thick. They possessed a unique softness to them, with Saerom’s being mostly muscular as you felt her slowly leaking onto your cock once again. Fucking her breasts was certainly enjoyable, but her thighs were thick, wide - and warm. Your newfound appreciation for Jisun’s body helped stimulate you even more as the two of you kissed each other. Your cock was nuzzled comfortably underneath her hot walls as you squeezed her asscheeks once more. This helped you increase your pace, her natural wetness allowing your cock to glide between her suffocatingly thick thighs. Jisun’s body was taking the euphoric feeling of outercourse to new heights - the two of you moaning in each other’s mouths. You savored the feeling of her creamy thighs and ass jiggling against your body with each thrust. The tip of your cock grazes her cheeks while your balls bounce against each side of her thighs wildly. The two of you could feel the pressure building up inside. You take this opportunity to gradually lower the speed of your thrusts, both of you disconnecting from each other’s lips as you press your foreheads together and breathe heavily.

“Y-You’ll fuck mommy now, won’t you baby?” Jisun pleaded. Her eyes contained a soft sadness to them, desperation in her voice.

Jisun wraps her muscular legs around your torso and causes you to fall back onto the yoga mat. Making sure she wasn’t too rough, she smiled as she straddled your lap. The lust-filled gaze on her face causes you to gulp in slight nervousness as she takes your hard shaft in her hand, stroking you before impaling herself on your cock.

Her tight walls hugged your cock instantly. Her hips meet yours, causing Jisun to release an erotic moan at the feeling of being filled. She arches her body in the same manner she did when you were eating her ass, taking you in and out of her wanton body. Your hard cock slides at a pace with zero regard for you or your comfort.

Jisun braces herself on your chest by firmly planting her hands, creating the wonderful side effect of her breasts being pressed together, giving you a delicious looking sight of the very same cleavage that made you salivate when from her earlier titfuck. Jisun’s breasts bounced up and down hypnotically as she rode you. Her previously glazed over eyes were now replaced with a determined, almost angry look. She seemed to be working out the frustration and anger that built up from her time as Saerom’s roommate, using your cock as an outlet with each thrust of her hips.

She bit her lower lip seductively, doubling as a way to prevent herself from moaning or gasping too loud and letting Saerom hear what was going on.

“D-Do you know how much you turned me on, oppa?” Jisun asked as she slammed her body up and down your cock. “How wet I got hearing you fuck Saerom unnie? How hearing you call her mommy made me want you to call me that too?”

Her moans quickly turn into loud screams that echo throughout the room as you relish in the fact that her pussy was even tighter than Saerom’s. Both of you soon find a comfortable rhythm as Jisun grabs your hands  and interlocks them with her own. As she slams her body on yours harder and harder, her eyes roll to the back of her head from how your cock causes her to lose control of her senses. Her mouth is agape, letting noiseless screams of pleasure escape as the sound of wet skin loudly colliding with wet skin helps create a harmonious wave of euphoria. Jisun’s butt rubs against your thighs as your balls touch her lower pussy lips.

“Fuck! Just like that, baby.” Jisun yells in between bounces. “Harder. Keep fucking mommy harder!”

Your worries about Saerom hearing you both were a distant afterthought as you could only focus on the beautiful woman enjoying herself on top of you. With her hands now returning to being firmly placed on your chest for support, you begin squeezing her large tits, marveling at how heavy, yet soft they were. You squeeze both at the same time, pinching her erect nipples before giving each a firm slap.

“Holy shit…” Jisun erotically screamed. “Slap mommy’s tits again!”

You granted her demand, giving each several slaps as you alternated between slapping and rubbing the tender skin.

Jisun’s body shook with pleasure - her breathing became more erratic as the sensations of stimulating her breasts and pussy were causing her to go insane. The moment the tip of your cock reached a certain spot deep inside, Jisun screamed loudly and kept you buried into her hilt. Her body tenses up as she feels an overwhelming sense of pleasure flow from the top of her head to her toes, causing them to curl up. Her body shook violently as you felt your cock flooded by her juices. Her second orgasm was a lot stronger -  hitting with such force that it almost pushed your cock out of her body.

You bounced Jisun on your cock slowly several more times as the aftershocks of her orgasm continued to occur. Her muscles gradually loosen up and she looks at you with a fully satisfied smile, her eyes glazed over in satisfaction. She leans down and captures your lips, thanking you for making her feel good. 

You temporarily retreat from her freshly fucked pussy, causing Jisun to whimper as she gets on her hands and knees on the yoga mat.

“Fuck mommy’s ass, baby.”

Each word was dripping with pure lust and a desire to be filled.

Grabbing Jisun’s toned arms, you pushed her face onto the mat. You slapped her soft butt cheeks a few times with your cock, teasing her by sliding your cock between her cheeks. While you got a taste of it earlier, Saerom’s constant teasing about entering her other hole made Jisun’s wish for you to fuck her there all the more enticing. She moaned at your initial penetration into the tight muscle, her warm cavern constricting you.

“Fuck…” she moaned into the mat.

“Mommy’s ass is so tight.” you said, slowly thrusting in and out of her hole.

Her warm walls squeezed your cock painfully, arousing you even more. You thrusted into her slowly, yet deeply. Her asscheeks rippled from the force each time it collided with your torso. While you so desperately wanted to savor the moment, you knew it wouldn’t be long before your orgasm would be too much to suppress. Knowing this, you picked up the pace and held onto Jisun’s arms tightly as you fucked her from behind.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!” She managed to scream between each thrust. The two of you were sweating heavily as you worked together to help you achieve the same bliss you have given her.

You gritted your teeth - fucking Jisun as hard as you could. Your orgasm could be felt throughout your entire body when it finally arrived. You thrusted deep inside her, moaning loudly as her walls wrapped tightly around your cock, pulsating as you released thick, hot semen inside her ass. Jisun came immediately right after, her climax less intense than earlier, but feeling just as good.

“That was… holy fuck...” Jisun weakly said as she tried her best to recover. “I need to get fucked like this again.”

You turned her around and kissed each other on the lips, breathing a sigh of relief as you ran your fingers through her hair. The two of you were so exhausted and focused on one another you failed to hear the door open.

“Well, well, well.”

The two of you panicked and saw Saerom staring at you both with her arms crossed, tapping her foot as she witnessed the aftermath of what just happened.

“M-Mommy, I c-can explain…”

“You finished your workout that quickly?” Jisun asked.

“How could I not when your screams filled the entire gym.”

Saerom got on her knees and brought her index finger to your chin, tilting your head up slightly. You were terrified, watching as her big beautiful eyes met yours.

“You know better than to fuck someone else without mommy’s permission.” Saerom said. “Though I will admit it was pretty hot, baby.”

“How much did you hear?” you asked.

“Why don’t you find out yourself?” she said, putting her headphones on your ears. Expecting to hear something, anything - you were surprised to learn there was nothing at all.

“Mommy heard everything, baby.”

Saerom wasted no time peeling each layer of clothing off her body, causing your cock to throb at the sight of your naked girlfriend before you. She massages her breasts, moaning as she pinches her nipples.

“Jisun.”

“Y-Yes, mommy?”

“Why don’t we both make him feel good?”

“I have just the thing to help us out.” Jisun said. Reaching into the pocket of her windbreaker, she pulls out a clear plastic bottle. She squeezes a generous amount on Saerom’s breasts, with Saerom reciprocating the favor to Jisun. Both of them have a wicked glint in their eyes as they lather your cock with it as well. Stroking you to make sure you were evenly covered, both women got on opposite sides of you.

Pushing their breasts together, they sandwich your cock in between. Having experienced being trapped by each chest separately, there were no words to describe how it felt when they both rubbed themselves against you. The friction their tits created was heavenly as the wet flesh covered your cock, only allowing your tip to be visible.

“Like that, baby?” Saerom asked.

“You like mommy’s tits more, don’t you baby?” Jisun asked, moaning as her nipples brushed against Saerom’s.

“Oh, please.” Saerom said, rolling her eyes. “Your tits aren’t that great.”

“I bet I can get more of his cum on my tits than yours.”

“You’re going to regret saying that.” Saerom said as she picked up the pace. Both pairs of breasts began to squeeze and massage your cock, trapping it in between the warmth of their heavenly flesh. 

It was the end to a perfect, stamina draining day. You only hoped this wouldn’t be the last time Saerom and you would be visiting Jisun’s gym.

--

An unlocked phone vibrated, signaling a new message arrived. Attached was a picture of a woman flashing a peace sign to the camera against a beige background with her looking slightly sultry.

[10:00 PM]: Oppa! I’m coming to visit! See you soon! 🧡

[angryschnauzer]

Castle Under The Stars

Summary: You always worry when its a full moon and your husband is away on assignment, but this full moon is different as he comes home to be with you. Will it be for good? And just how much fun can two werewolves get up to during the full moon when they have a child to look after?

A continuation of Moonlight On The Sand

Pairing: Werewolf Captain Syverson x Werewolf Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Werewolves, Breeding, Breeding Kink.

Typos are free range and organic, allowed to run wild and free. I do not operate a tag list but if you follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, you’ll get an alert each time i post something new. Past works can also be found there.

Castle Under The Stars

You stepped out onto the back porch and propped the door open with a boot, the warm summer's breeze blowing softly at the net curtains on the kitchen windows, bringing in the scent of the roses in from the garden. Wiping your hands on your apron before hanging it on the little hook by the door, you grabbed your garden shears and flower basket, and headed out with bare feet onto the cool grass. The windows of your cabin all stood open, allowing the warm breeze to flow through the house, but also so you could hear if your little one cried from his nursery.

Quietly you stood and let the breeze push your light skirt against your legs as you carefully selected roses from the overloaded bushes. Small clouds skidded across the night sky, and for a moment you turned your face to feel the soft moonlight on your skin. The reflection of the sun's rays on its surface from orbit made your skin prickle, as if someone was pouring champagne over your limbs, but that was as far as your transformation would go, with the exception of the ring of fire in your irises.

You had been Sixteen when you had been turned. On a geology camping field trip, nature had literally callen and as you’d been in the bushes relieving yourself that’s when the lupine had got you. It took a few months to realise what had happened, and it was only when your monthly period bleed coincided with a full moon did you turn. With irregular cycles through your teens and early twenties, you probably only turned twice, maybe three times a year, but eventually you got used to it.

It had however been a bit of a shock to your new husband, Sy, when you had turned for the first time. He’d knocked you up on the first day he met you, so it took a good 11 months before your cycle had come back, two months after the birth of your precious baby boy. That first night had been a challenge; dealing with a newborn whilst both parents were howling at the moon, however you were thankful that Edith who lived in the cabin down the lane knew of these things, and upon hearing the howling had rushed over in her nightgown. 

Since then Edith had been like a surrogate mother and grandmother, as it turned out her late husband had the lupine tendencies too. Your deployment had ended whilst you were on maternity leave and you’d chosen to leave the Army entirely rather than take a desk job. Sy was special ops and in the middle of another deployment, but you had no idea when that would finish because of the nature of his assignment. Looking up at the moon you wondered where he was, hoping he was coping with the full moon and his monthly transformation. You weren’t ashamed to admit you actually really enjoyed when he was at home for a full moon; he was even more attentive and the sex was mind blowing. Standard sex with Sy left you bow legged and exhausted, but with the added power of the moon… well, it was out of this world and you’d had orgasms so strong you’d actually passed out a couple of times. 

The sounds of the occasional truck on the highway a couple of hundred feet away sporadically filled the night, and you thought about that time Sy had driven out to the lake with you and you’d spent the night fucking under the moonlight in the flatbed which he’d covered with blankets and throw pillows. You’d been seven months pregnant but good god it was some of the best sex you’d ever had. 

As you shifted to reach a particularly large rose you could feel your panties stick to you, just the thought of Sy was making you wet and ready. You wished you knew when he would be home, taking matters into your own hands wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the real thing from the man you loved.

Just then you heard a pair of owls hooting in the distance, a truck on the highway honking its horn, so you didn’t notice the sound of tyres on the long grassy driveway that ran up the hill to the cabin. Humming to yourself you were running your fingertips over the soft petals of a trailing white rose when the first hint of his scent reached you on the wind. It made you stop and doubt yourself, before it hit again and you felt the heat in the pit of your stomach bloom. Dropping the basket and shears on the grass you ran to the front of the cabin, the breeze catching at your skirts before you finally saw him, standing at the open gate to the garden, his large duffel hanging from his shoulder, the fire in his eyes as he finally saw you.

“Sy!”

He let the bag drop to the floor as you ran into his arms, launching yourself at him, your legs were wrapped around his thick waist as you kissed him. His deep laugh as you peppered his face with soft kisses, the tears of happiness rolling down your cheeks;

“I’m here Darlin’” he practically growled, and that’s when you remembered the moon.

Pulling back you looked him in the eyes, the golden ring of fire matching your own, and as he took long strides across the grass you felt the coupling connection again, just like that first night in the desert. 

He set you down on the lawn, laying you softly on the grass as he pressed open mouthed kisses down your neck. Grasping the front of your dress he let out a growl as he ripped the garment clean in two, humming his appreciation at your swollen breasts where you were still breastfeeding and soft belly, before your soaked panties met the same fate as your dress. His lips continued their path down your body, until he reached the apex of your thighs and inhaled deeply, his eyes shining bright in the moonlight before he dived in and licked a wide stripe through your soaked folds. There under the soft caress of the moon’s rays your lupine husband pulled the first of many orgasms from your body that night, surrounded by the wild calls of nature and the overwhelming scent of the roses. 

-

Sitting at the kitchen table, the morning sunlight streamed in through the windows as you flipped the pancakes on the skillet, smiling as you watched your two boys have breakfast. Michael sat in his high chair, babbling away as Sy seemingly understood every word of gibberish that came from his son’s lips. 

Sliding the pancakes onto a plate, you set it down on the table before you felt a strong arm around your waist and Sy pulled you across his lap, his massive hands smoothing over your bare thighs where all you wore were panties and his t-shirt;

“Steady there Darlin, making me want more than just pancakes for breakfast if you’re walkin’ around in just this”

Just then there was a knock at the screen door, all three of you turning to see Edith smiling and waving from the other side;

“Edith! Come in girl, been looking forward to seeing ya!” Sy called out, a huge grin on his face that got even bigger when he spied the basket she was carrying covered in a red and white checkered napkin.

You reluctantly climbed off your husband's lap, excusing yourself to quickly grab your robe as Sy and Edith talked;

“Big Sy, i knew it was your truck that rumbled past my cabin last night”

“Was indeed, home with my girl and my little man” he paused as Edith set the basket onto the table; “Those aren’t….?”

“They sure are” she pulled the napkin up and underneath were her famous peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies.

Sy quickly pulled one from the basket and snapped it in two, handing half to Michael who happily chewed on the freshly baked treat.

“Hmmmnnnn, Edith, i could get used to these”

“You staying this time Sy?”

“I sure am Edith”

“Does she know?”

“Nope, wanna surprise her later”

“Moon’ll be up again tonight, you want me to watch Mikey?”

Just then you walked into the room, catching the last of the conversation;

“Are you sure?”

Edith stood and smiled, rubbing a finger over Michael’s chubby little cheek;

“Absolutely, why don’t I drop by after he’s had his supper?”

-

Setting Edith up with everything she would need for an evening of watching Jeopardy as your son slept peacefully in his crib, you grabbed the picnic basket and blanket and gave Michael a kiss, before stepping out into the night air. Sy had already taken off, with the moon rising before sundown he got antsy, but he would meet you at the lake. He’d set everything up ready, and just told you to drive his truck down, he’d set off on foot earlier, wanting to burn some energy in the calmness of nature.

The truck's tyres crunched on the gravel as you parked up, the lake a still mirror for the pink purple skyline as the sun set behind the mountains in the distance. But none of those were what you were looking at, no, what drew your attention was your husband quietly sitting on a rock at the shoreline, his boots resting beside him as he let his feet cool in the waters. With your sandals left in the truck you walked across the soft sand before reaching the shoreline, sitting beside him as he wrapped his big arm around your shoulders.

“Sy, what are you thinking about?”

He looked at you, his smile warm as his eyes shone amber in the low light;

“Lots of things Darlin… how lucky i am to have you in my life, how i don’t think i could have coped with what happened if it hadn’t been for you”

“Oh Sy…” your eyes watered; “I love you so much”

“I love you too Darlin. You and Mikey are my world…” he paused, poignantly; “There’s something else i wanna tell ya Darlin…”

For a moment you heart sank, dreading what he was going to say;

“Sy…”

“Ya know how Walt’s construction business is expanding and he needs a new site manager?”

“What?” whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that

“Well, i got a surprise…” he pulled you onto his lap, his hands resting on your ass; “I’m done with the Army”

“No! You’d better not be fibbing…” your eyes were full to the brim, nervous tears threatening to spill

“Not fibbing… i’m done. Wanted to keep it a surprise until i knew for sure that the assignment was completed”

Crying happy tears you wrapped your arms around your husbands shoulders, burying your face in his neck as you sobbed joyfully that he wasn’t going away again. 

When you had finally settled down and Sy had reassured you for the 10th time that it was definitely true, he was definitely staying home for good, the pair of you stood and started to walk along the shore of the lake barefoot, the warm sand beneath your feet as you clasped your hand around his.

The gentle sound of the water coupled with the feel of your skin touching his calmed Sy, even though the moon was out high above the pair of you, he didn’t feel the need to turn, the sense of utter contentment a balm on his soul. As you had rounded the lake he stumbled on a pebble, and in turn a giggle escaped your lips. Steadying himself he smirked and kicked at the water, splashing you a little as you let out a shriek at the cool water hitting your warm skin. Retaliating you splashed him a little more than you were expecting, soaking one side of his cargo shorts and he paused and looked at you with a feral smile spreading across his lips;

“Oh, now you’re in for it Darlin…”

Your legs carried you as you ran through the surf, knowing Sy would eventually catch you, yet the thrill was in the chase. You could hear his heavy footfalls gaining on you, but you had the advantage of being light on your feet and made a sharp turn into the woodland, the soft grass beneath your feet dry and coarse. You realised he wasn’t behind you and you slowed, turning to try and figure out where he went, when suddenly he emerged from the bushes, his eyes glowing amber in the darkness and he tackled you to the ground, yet somehow managed to turn your bodies so you were on top of him;

“Gotcha!”

He pulled you down so he could kiss you, turning your bodies until he was on top, shifting his knees so he could nestle between your thighs. Your skirt had rucked up in the tussle, and the harsh brush of his shorts against the soft skin of your thighs had your hips bucking up against him, eager for friction as your arousal grew. With the quick fumbling of eager hands you were both soon naked, Sy kneeling between your spread thighs to take in the sight of you, your nipples hard and your arousal a sheen between your legs. Grabbing your hips he pulled you up his thighs, your back arched and your shoulders still on the ground as he thrust into you, spearing your flesh with his own and you both let out a howl of pleasure. 

Sy couldn’t tear his gaze away from where your bodies were joined, watching each time he pulled out and saw your juices glistening on his shaft, or how your cunt stretched open as he pushed this fat dick back into you, parting your walls and you cried out in pleasure. He fucked you like the feral beast he was, claiming his mate and catching the tell tale scent that drove him wild;

“Fuck, you’re ripe… gonna breed you and give you another pup. Thought i caught the scent last night but now i know for sure… can’t wait to see your belly round and your tits even fuller…”

He drove into your fertile body, feeling you cum around him yet he pounded through your orgasm knowing your cervix would be wide open now that you had cum and ready to take his seed. You were whimpering in his grasp, desperate for more but overwhelmed at the same time; 

“Sy… please… please put a baby in me…”

“Almost… there… Darlin’...” he grunted through thrusts, before his body went rigid and he threw his head back, filling your womb with pump after pump of his thick seed, a broad smile on his face as he even held you in place knowing that gravity would help get every last drop of cum through your cervix and flood your fertile ground. 

When he had finally finished coming he carefully settled the two of you onto the soft grass, holding you tight as your bodies were still joined, knowing that he would stay hard for another two or three goes. By the time he would be finished your bodies would be battered and bruised from the intensity of your lovemaking, yet the power of the moon would ensure by morning you would be healed, no outwardly visible signs that the feral carnality of the nights pleasures left behind, even if it meant you’d be sitting down tenderly on a cushion for the following 48 hours. 

It was well into the early hours when the pair of you finally limped back to Sy’s truck, resting your head on his shoulder as he carefully drove home, the moon having set early thanks to its cycle. 

When you arrived back at the cabin Edith was having a cigarette on the porch, the baby monitor resting on the rail next to her;

“Got it outta your systems?” she grinned as she took one last drag before crushing it in a plant pot of sand that sat at the doorway. 

“For tonight” Sy smirked as he carried you bridal style up the steps of the porch; “Can we book ya for tomorrow night too?”

“Sure thing Big Sy, but you’ll owe me”

“I’ll come fix the drainpipe around your porch once the full moon has passed”

“Deal… you’re a good-un” the old woman smiled as she grabbed her keys and slid the baby monitor into your lap as you quietly snoozed in your husbands arms; “It’ll be a girl this time”

Sy’s eyes went wide;

“How do you…?”

“I just know Sweetheart… my husband wasn’t the only one that’d turn ya’know…”

Sy held you as he watched the old woman make her way down the grassy lane to her cabin;

“She’s full o’ surprises is that one…” he looked down at you and pressed a kiss to your cheek, before catching the screen door with his booted foot; “Lets get you to bed for some rest… gotta recharge for tomorrow night… maybe make it twins…”

You shifted in his grasp;

“That’s not how it works” you mumbled sleepily, a smile on your face, but the truth was neither of you knew how it worked when you were lupine… really, anything could happen.

[clareguilty]

A Tainted Rescue Part 2

hello! i cannot escape my own terrible ideas! Have more Heisenberg porn! Karl Heisenberg/Maiden Rating: Explicit | WARNING: dark content, explicit smut, big sexy evil guy doing bad things Word Count: ~2500

Lord Heisenberg lifted the maiden into his carriage and pulled her onto his lap as the mechanical horse took off away from the castle. She shook and cried in his arms, whimpering with every rattle of the wheels on the unpaved path to the Lord's domain.

"You're safe now," he promised her. "I'm going to take good care of you."

She clung to him, face buried in his chest as he ran his hand up and down her back in a slow, steady rhythm. Her breathing began to even out and her sobs turned to sporadic hiccups the farther they traveled from that horrid castle.

Lord Heisenberg was extremely proud of himself. He had managed to pull one over on Alcina all while getting a delightful new toy to play with. She was so precious, so perfect. He would have to make sure to spoil her rotten.

Just outside of the factory grounds, covered in overgrown plants, a small stone staircase led up to Lord Heisenberg’s house. He helped the maiden up the worn steps, holding branches out of the way as they ducked through the overgrowth. 

“I never actually use this place,” he explained. “I spend most of my time in the factory. But that’s no place for you. Now I finally have someone to come home to.” He kissed her knuckles as he led her across the threshold.

The lights were electric, and they turned on at a wave of the Lord’s hand. He chuckled at the maiden's awestruck expression.

The house was a mess, dusty and cluttered. It must have been months since the Lord actually stayed there. Narrow and tucked into the hillside, the two story was smaller than Lady Beneviento’s villa but still larger than almost any of the houses of the village. 

“Heh,” he laughed wryly. “Looks like this place needs a lot of work.”

He led the maiden up the stairs and to the main chamber. The room was sparsely furnished with just a low double bed, a wardrobe, and a writing desk piled high with books and papers and the same scrap metal that seemed to appear throughout the Lord’s domain. It was nothing like the opulent and immaculate rooms of the castle.

The maiden let Lord Heisenberg push her to a seat on the bed. He knelt in front of her, squeezing her jaw in one hand and forcing her to look him in the eyes. 

“I may not be as fucked as my witch of a sister, but let me make one thing clear. I am not above killing you. You will stay out of my factory. Understand?”

The maiden whimpered, tears once again threatening to spill over her cheeks. “Yes, My Lord.”

He released her jaw and patted her cheek lightly. “Good girl.” He shucked off his coat and draped it over the back of the desk chair. His hat and glasses were quick to follow. He sat beside her on the bed and unlaced his boots.

The maiden removed her own shoes -- the only things she wore that were intact. Her stockings were shredded, as were her skirts. She didn’t even have any drawers on anymore. The front of her dress was ripped down to her stomach, and she tugged the fabric over her shoulders and out from under her until it fell in a puddle on the floor. She was naked and bruised and marked. She felt filthy, used, ruined. But that was what the Lord said was needed to save her. If he hadn’t done what he had, she would be dead at the hands of the Mistress.

The Lord must have seen her numbness, her distress, because he pulled her into his chest and smoothed a hand over her hair. “Hey now,” he whispered. “She can’t touch you here. I’d like to see her try.” He sounded as if he would welcome the fight. “Let me make you feel good.”

He laid the maiden on her back and nudged her thighs apart so he could kneel between her legs. The sight of the damage he had done at the castle brought a smile to his face, and he pressed his fingers into the bruises that were blooming across her thighs.

With no preamble, he pressed two fingers inside of her, crooking them and stretching her open. The maiden whined and gripped the linens with white knuckles. The Lord was only spurred on by her reaction and added a third finger. He loved the way she tightened around him, and longed to feel it on his cock again.

Despite her inexperience, it was no time at all before she was dripping just from the motions of his fingers. He made sure to bring her right to the brink of pleasure, holding her just on that precipice as he pulled his cock from his pants and lined himself up.

He pressed into her slowly, lifting her hips to meet his and bracing himself over her on the bed. She was trapped beneath him, nearly bent in half as his cock split her open once more. It felt even deeper than before, and she couldn’t hold back her high, breathy whines as he began to move. He moaned as he drove his cock into her harder and harder on each stroke.

“You feel amazing. So soft. So tight. You’re all mine. Just for me.”

“All yours,” the maiden repeated. “Just for you.”

“Oh, you’re so perfect,” he groaned. “She didn’t deserve you. She could never have made you feel like this. Come for me. Come on my cock.”

He reached between them to rub her clit, determined to watch her eyes flutter shut and the moans that tumbled from her lips as she came undone around him.

And it was spectacular. She was so precious. To think she had never known pleasure like this before. He was going to be everything for her. Her saviour. Her king.

She clung to him as she came, shuddering and gasping as he forced her through the blinding orgasm. He continued to fuck her, determined to find his own end as well, but he noticed she was barely responsive. Poor thing, probably passed out from the pleasure.

The Lord didn’t let that stop him as he buried himself inside of her to the hilt. He loved watching his cock sink into her, splitting her open and twitching inside of her. He came to the sight of it, filling her as deeply as possible and rocking his hips as she tightened around him once more. Even unconscious, he was able to make her feel good.

Finally satisfied with his claim, he pulled out and arranged the maiden to lay beside him. “You need your rest. Tomorrow I’ll figure out what to do with you.”

-

Life with Lord Heisenberg was nothing like serving at Castle Dimitrescu. The Lord was crass and informal, just as quick tempered as his ‘sister’ but never directed at the maiden.

No. The maiden was given special privileges. She was his prized possession, swiped right out from under Alcina’s claws, and he loved to spoil her and dote on her.

He had never had a pet like her before. All of his own creations and gifts from Mother Miranda were mindless and bloodthirsty and horrific. But the maiden, she was beautiful and sweet. She was so devoted to him, her savior. He had freed her, given her everything, and now she lived to serve him.

Her new life was one of endless pleasure and indulgence. The Lord fucked her and filled her and marked her as his own. He loved to ruin her, to claim her. She was so precious, trapped in that castle and hidden away from the world. He wanted to show her every filthy experience she had missed.

She fit so perfectly around his cock, so warm and tight and responsive. He enjoyed her moans and gasps of pleasure just as much as he enjoyed finishing inside her.

He didn’t know he was capable of such softness. He was rough when he fucked her, sure to bite her and mark her. Bruising handprints blooming over her skin after he took her to bed. But he was also gentle with her at times. Praise and thanks and kisses to her hairline. There was a different kind of satisfaction to seeing her smile.

-

The maiden bowed her head as she offered Lord Heisenberg a glass of whiskey late one evening. He had been away at the factory for much of the previous days occupied by his work. The drink was a warm welcome. “Thank you, buttercup,” he pulled her into his lap. “I have something for you.”

He took a gulp from the glass before setting it aside and fishing around in his pockets.

“Aha! Here!” He procured two thick shining bands in his palms. They looked small in his grasp but were still a few inches in diameter.

The Lord grabbed the maiden’s hands. The metal rings levitated before closing around her wrists, fastening as though they were soldered together.

“They’re beautiful,” she breathed, twisting her wrists this way and that to admire the jewelry. “Thank you, My Lord.”

“Now everyone will know who you belong to,” he trailed kisses from her temple to her jaw.

The maiden giggled. “I don’t think there was any doubt of that before.” She was constantly covered in his marks, in his come. He loved to claim her as his in every possible way.

He would fill her until his seed was dripping down her thighs, smeared over her chest and her lips. Make her come until the only thing she knew was his name. He had found all her limits and he knew just how to push past them.

And now he had his steel on her.

She nuzzled against his chest, overwhelmed by the gift. No one at that wretched castle had ever shown her such kindness. Her lips peppered the skin where his shirt was unbuttoned, hands wandering over his chest and arms. She was still so uncertain about her desires. Alcina had certainly done a good job of brainwashing her.

But he had his own conditioning to do. So he whispered encouragement as she slipped between his knees and unfastened his belt. She was flushed and uncoordinated as she pulled his cock free from his pants. “Thank you,” she whispered again before wrapping her lips around him.

She was a good cocksucker, an eager learner and quick to respond to him. She had very quickly grown addicted to him, and he lived for it. Every time he would return from the depths of the factory, she was there craving his attention and his touch.

Now she was even more desperate. He had neglected her in favor of his work, and he regretted it when he saw how uncertain she had become. He would have to train her to handle his long absences. He certainly couldn’t trust anyone to watch over her while he was gone. She was too precious, they would corrupt her. Still, he enjoyed how she couldn’t seem to get enough of him, how dependent she was.

Lord Heisenberg relaxed and sipped his whiskey as she stroked and sucked his cock. He felt so powerful with the maiden on her knees before him. It made him crave more.

After several minutes, when his cock was shining from her lips and she was glassy eyed with lust between his knees, he cradled her head in one of his hands and pulled her onto his cock as deep as she could go. She submitted willingly, moaning at the way his fingers dug into her scalp.

He fucked her face, rough and deep, admiring the way tears spilled over her cheeks and spit dripped down her chin. Her obedience only turned him on more, and he came with a groan, pulling out before he could spill everything down her throat.

She was a filthy mess, come and spit smeared over her swollen lips. She cleaned his cock and blinked up at him expectantly.

“That’s a good girl.” He smiled as she melted at his words. One of her own hands had slipped beneath her skirts and she rocked down against it with a breathy moan. “Needy little thing, aren’t you? Can you wait for me? I promise I’ll give you a treat soon.”

The maiden immediately did as she was told, pulling her slick fingertips from beneath her dress.

“What do you say we wash up and call it a night?” He pulled her to her feet, leading her upstairs to the washroom.

The maiden had been delighted to find that the enormous bath upstairs -- though still smaller that Mistress Dimitrescu’s -- had taps that would run the water directly into the tub. A device of the Lord’s own creation heated the water along the way so that it steamed as it splashed into the porcelain basin. The maiden undressed the Lord with enthusiastic reverence, running her hands over his skin as she pulled his shirt from his broad shoulders. He slipped into the steaming water and sighed.

The maiden slipped out of her own clothes and climbed in as well. She lathered soap in her hands and set to work washing them both, massaging the tension from his muscles with her skilled fingers. What more could he possibly ask for?

He could tell how needy she was as she rinsed them clean. Her breaths were quick and short, skin flushed all the way down her chest and up to her ears. If they hadn’t already been in the water he was sure she would be dripping with arousal.

The Lord was tempted to try out his his new trick, but he wanted to wait for the perfect time. So instead he teased the poor girl with his fingers. She slumped against him, begging and pleading as he gave her everything just shy of what she needed.

He pulled her from the tub, drying both of them just enough before dragging her to bed. Laying back and pulling her on top of him, he grabbed her hips and ground her pussy against his length. 

“Please,” she gasped. She looked so cute, begging for his cock. He lined himself up and pulled her all the way down until her hips met his. The shock of being filled so suddenly, stretched around him, made her scream.

He lifted her easily, using her like a doll for his pleasure. She slumped forward over his chest as he moved her hips however he liked. Her broken gasps and moans of pleasure were like music to his ears. He wanted to break her, to see her totally undone by his hand.

She came around his cock twice before he finally pulled her all the way onto him and pumped her full. Even though his body was exhausted from his orgasm, he wasn’t yet sated. Some strange desire still pulled at him. He had already gifted her with the bracelets he had yet to use, but maybe there were other toys to be made in his workshop.

She would be perfect for him.

[uelden]

Vanity Fair interview translated

Just a side note before the actual translation; I don't know why, but instead of reporting the full questions and answers in full as she should, the journalist decided to report only summarized fragments of what Måneskin said and patch these fragments up into messy clusters. She also worded a couple phrases in a very confusing way (and yes, she's fully Italian). In short, she did quite a poor job, so the final shape of the interview is not that good. I didn't expect top-tier journalism from Vanity Fair but ffs. You'll see what I mean.

I translated it as it is, adding just a couple footnotes to give you insight on Italian pop culture references.

Translation under the cut

Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

by Lavinia Farnese, 09 June 2021

"True justice is being judged for what you do and not for what you are." The ones who are convinced of this are Damiano, Victoria, Ethan and Thomas who, by being the emblem of a generation that is finally free, refuse labels and conformism. In life, in love and on the stage. Where, maybe precisely because of this, they're winning everything

With the still unexpected (first place at Sanremo Festival) and the incredible (triumph at Eurovision) in their eyes, Måneskin are on the sofa of the house-studio they rented - to resume writing songs and rehearsing them - like you are after a won battle: lying in a calm and unreal silence, alert and a bit irreverent, happy.

In the garden there's the tennis table and the pool, the light of summer when it's starting and calming the country all around, and it filters inside from the large windows, and it goes onto the shining black of Ethan's hair, which blends with Thomas' eye shadow and the butterfly he has tattooed oh his naked forearm, which completes the picture of Victoria's golden crucifix hanging between neck and tank top and ends on the black nail polish of Damiano's stretched hands.

It's a human fresco, a Theatre of wrath [translator's note: "Teatro d'ira"] - to call it with the title of their latest album, a platinum record already - where their flaunted 20 years of age, their irregular femininity and virility are grown into proud and challenging custom, a pop glam rock generational manifesto of hard-earned liberties in a finally-unconditional expression of the self.

To watch them from any angle and from another age is to think that a great love will be born in those who'll understand: this new way of being in the world, the true and sovereign realm they hold where "diversity=exceptionality", the power of the artistic and cultural revolution of which they are healthy carriers in establishing in all lyrics and gestures the right to live according to one's own nature past the "people (who) talk, the people (who) unfortunately talk, and don't know what the fuck they're talking about." [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

We go where we're afloat, where the air isn't gone. [tn: journalist's own variation on "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

Miley Cyrus says hi – The numbers of a phenomenon

"The streams of Zitti e buoni are growing by the second, and they bring us above Muse, at the top of English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. Followers almost tripled, in the post-Rotterdam period (from 1,4 to 3,3 millions, ed.) Contagious and universal folly: t-shirts and merchandising sold out in 10 minutes. Like the records, the tickets for a tour that keeps adding dates and expanding over geographic maps. They're contacting us even from some festivals were The Rolling Stones went." Thomas

"After the pretextual controversy over cocaine that France built against us, later disproven by my drug test, some graffiti popped up in Spain depicting me as a “No drugs” poster guy. Some tweets made us laugh: "Congratulations, Italy! I've never been more certain that four people have had sex with each other." Miley Cyrus started following us -You're great. -You guys are greater." Damiano

From the garage to the stars – Story of a flight

"It was only 2016, and we played in restaurants, in the streets, in via del Corso. Damiano without even a microphone, Thomas' guitar with wonky strings, Ethan was drumming on a cajón. During Rome highschools' sit-ins (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first confirmations and half-hours of celebrity, playing among those who criticized us and those who went "wow they're really cool." One of the rare times when they would have paid us – 50 euros each – we gave the money to the next band in the lineup so that they would make us play in their spot, later in the day, when there would have been more people. We had already realized how things worked. Visibility mattered more than money. And we still think that." Victoria

The intimacy of rock – Choice of a genre

"Music allows us the miracle of extending to others some very personal and private topics, sometimes even difficult and thorny ones. They are and they remain deeply your own, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage that is alike a delivery, they find a place in you as well, a processing of them. You overcome them, you accept them. One second it's something aggressive, the next it's a ballad. Cathartic». Damiano

Against panic – The stage as therapy

"I've suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it's an issue I've worked on thanks to a psychotherapy course, my friends and my family. Playing helped me in not letting myself be paralyzed by my fears, not making myself limited in my private and professional life. I've learned to accept, to live with this side of myself. I don't hide it. I don't feel ashamed of it." Victoria

Analysis as necessity – Relying on someone saves you

"This belief that only madmen go to the psychologist is a widespread ignorance. No-one's born learned. [tn: common Italian saying] And it's often hard to understand the very reason why we're here, let alone the origin and direction of our desires. It's a long and legitimate journey towards lucidity, a kind of backing to become transparent." Damiano

Being out of our minds – But different from them [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

"When you feel a strong passion towards something that is not a canonical job but an artistic language, that already puts you on a level of anomaly, which is not superior or inferior to other people, but it puts you in the position of the one who breaks the mold and also works at a loss, the one who sustains great risks while trying to do something that who knows if it will take you anywhere. "Why do it if it doesn't pay?". You want to give this dream of yours an aesthetic, but it becomes "You're dressing so weird! You must be gay!" - now that I'm 22 I laugh about it, but when I was 17 it had an effect on me, too." Damiano

The beauty of uniqueness – Of believing in it and defending it

"And I mean, at the end of the day if we're all different it's not because we want be alternative but because, really, no-one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty." Ethan

Fluid sexuality – Pride is freedom

"Heels for men that like themselves in them, kisses among ourselves, we have an open, extended mind, and we're proud of it. The horizons become vast, past the oppression of conservative families. With the information on the web knowledge becomes greater and with it the possibility that minorities will be less and less minorities, because the majority will be less of a majority. This way we'll make insults and bullying grow quieter. If social media get to a village of 50 souls and reveal to a girl who's afraid of the dark that someone has felt her same fear, then there's no reason to give a name to that fear, to mark it with labels which also limit and restrict. Definitions always had this effect on me. You shouldn't even consider the gender when judging someone, let alone their orientation." Victoria

Sexism – A culture to be dismantled

"Emma [tn: Emma Marrone, Italian singer] drops the bomb: “At Eurovision when I was there they massacred me for a pair of shorts, while they said nothing to Damiano – bare-chested and in heels.” The easy judgment against women is more fierce, constant, debasing (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool while Vic is a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader while Vic is despotic and a pain in the ass who reached success because she's hot.) As a male I'm privileged, the abuse I get is not comparable to those a woman has to live through, the comments over my aesthetic are centered only on my aesthetic and don't insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thought in a systematic way. It happened though to find myself standing with a woman who while pulling me to herself to take a selfie, started licking my face out of the blue... I mean, what the hell do you want? Who asked you? Consent exists, and it's due." Damiano

Grow yourself – The only commandment

"To me conformism is the opposite of education [tn: could also mean "politeness"] and is the asphyxia of expression. I fortunately never endured heavy bullying, heavy enough for the the judgement of others to change me. But the mold of the small crumbs of bullying I got and of the kind of aggression that scars is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and likes dolls you have to let me do what I like. I was a kid who wanted to keep his hair long and played with Barbie. As a teen, my friends looked at my hair: " You have to find a girl with short hair to be at your side." My grandparents took away my dolls: "Stop it, they're not for you." Ethan

"When I was six I was already sick of them, the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things that were typically defined as girly, and all around me they mocked me because I went skateboarding, I played soccer, I didn't wear skirts, I was giving myself the chance to be as I wished. I endured it a little, I suffered a little, but I had courage, and now thanks to that courage I know that I could have gotten even much more hurt, otherwise I would have left to others the most important choice: the one about myself." Victoria

Love in progress – Music, girlfriends

"I've been married to music for the last 20 years. I can't wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary." Ethan

"Everyone makes their own experiences, sometimes it goes well, sometimes it goes wrong, but it's always not anybody's business." Thomas

"When I first felt feelings and attraction towards a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage of going beyond the limitations I had put for myself. For society being heterosexual is the norm and so you often define yourself in that way automatically, depriving yourself of the freedom to live many shades and faces of love. Once I overcame the initial insecurity of having to call into question my certainties I've lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone." Victoria

"I had paparazzi at my door every day and night. So, after four years of relationship, I revealed her name. I still have paparazzi at my door every day and nigh, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore." Damiano

The worth of the group – Phenomenology of protection

"The true engagement though, the true family is among ourselves, our band. We've believed in it since day zero, even before we called ourselves Måneskin (Moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon on the flier for the first concert we ever did. We share everything, even the pain for the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because of racism. [tn: I think the journalist asked them their opinion about Seid Visin's death, which was a current events topic in Italy, and then pasted it syntaxically in the middle of Thomas' answer, which was not a great move] A group is what we all should be: stay united and not back down an inch in the face of oppression that is generated by a distorted view of diversity." Thomas

I'm not of the right age – Like Gigliola [tn: Gigliola Cinquetti won Eurovision with her song "Non ho l'età", which means "I'm not of the right age"]

"Before you the only one who won both Sanremo and Eurovision on the same year was Cinquetti (1964). If there's anything I feel I'm not of the right age for? No, honestly no. Maybe having children. Regarding children I'll be honest: I'm not of the right age." Damiano

Having touched the sky – The fears that remain

"We're more than inside the dream, we're in the conquered dream. When you fly high there's the risk of plummeting and hurting yourself, but we'll work hard not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - a bit pretentiously - reassures us rather than scaring us." Damiano

[demoneyesanddamagedsouls]

One Way Or Another

Pairing: Baron Helmut Zemo x F!Reader

Warnings: Helmut Zemo (He needs his own warning), canon typical violence, weapons, smutttt, unprotected sex, piv sex, FATWS spoilers

Summary: Helmut Zemo is someone you just can’t seem to figure out. But is this mysterious man more than meets the eye? What happens when the two of you are thrown into close quarters...

A/N: Ok this is my first Zemo fic I hope y’all enjoy! Let me know if you want me to make this more than one part I feel like I could definitely make more chapters if anyone is interested!

Word Count: 4.2k 

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Kätzchen – kitten (german)

The evening was cool, the breeze from the water surrounding the island of Madripoor whipped through your hair as your cheeks and ears blushed red at the sharp sting of the frigid air. You leaned lightly on the cool steel railing of the large balcony admiring the incredible view from Sharon’s apartment in the heart of the island. The whole city was alight in an incredible neon glow, every building shining a different colour, the reflections of light bouncing off the water surrounding the island making the whole metropolis glitter against the deep black of the night sky. 

The breathtaking scene in front of you easily rivalled some of the incredible stolen art which resided inside the apartment in amongst the clamour of the party. Music drifting from the boom of the speakers out of the ajar door that led to the outside space, the thin glass muffling the heavy noise but not barring the gentle vibrations of the bass that ran through the floor and up your legs.

It had been a long day, the five of you had managed to extract some information about Karli from the elusive Dr Nagel and you were all ready to set out the next day, excluding Sharon of course due to the price on her head. So tonight, they had decided to enjoy themselves. Sharon had already had a party to auction off some of the art planned weeks in advance, so the timing lined up perfectly, giving you all the opportunity to let go and enjoy yourselves before you were thrown into the heat of battle once more. 

You certainly had been enjoying Sharon’s extensive liquor stash, letting the boys pour you drinks throughout the evening, enough that you were feeling a soft buzz of alcohol running through your veins, while your belly warmed itself with the final dregs of a dark spiced liquor which swirled around the glass you held in your fingers that you couldn’t quite remember the name of. You sighed softly, your breath puffing out in front of you in the cool night air, as you simply enjoy the stillness of the moment.

Not a second later, as if you had summoned him purely through the power of thought, you hear the door behind you creak slightly as more of the muffled music begins to pour out of the opened door frame. You hear him walk up to you, the heels of his boots clicking on the crisp stone tiles of the balcony as he approaches you. Feeling the heat of his gaze as if it were a physical touch as he traces the outline of your form with his eyes, moving up the thin stiletto of your patent black heels, up the exposed skin of your calves, your thighs, the soft curve of your ass hidden underneath the short black skirt of your skin tight dress, finally landing his gaze on the soft plush of your cheek as he stands next to you, mirroring your same stance, leaning across the balcony railing. 

You turn to look at him, Helmut Zemo, the man who had been working with you and the boys to help take down the super soldier Flag Smashers. He was wrapped in a lucious black fur trimmed coat; the luxurious fabric draped over his strong shoulders broadening his physique making him look more imposing. All you could think was how broad he would look caging you in underneath his torso in the soft plush of his bedsheets. Beneath the striking coat rested a maroon turtleneck which adorned his torso tapering down to the silver buckle of his belt which secured the slim black slacks which hugged the strong muscle of his legs. You can’t help but envision his strong thighs pressed against the back of yours as he rails you from behind. Fuck. You shake your head attempting to break your train of thought, a hard task when all you can feel is his warm breath tickling the exposed skin of your neck.

You shudder gently at the feeling, which he mistakes for a shiver against the brisk wind, quickly moving to remove his jacket and place it over your shoulders. Suddenly your senses are full of him all at once, the warmth of his body heat that he had created in the jacket, the delicious smell of his cologne filling your nostrils. The gesture is sweet and caring only serving to further confuse you. You had no idea what to make of this man beside you. You couldn’t decide if you should hate him after all the terrible things he’d done, the people he had killed, the violence he had inflicted or, if you should look at him with fresh eyes, as a man who had changed and learnt from his mistakes. The man you had witnessed firsthand here in Madripoor. You knew you couldn’t trust him. Not completely. But something about him lured you in, a burning curiosity to find out what his mysterious persona hid beneath the surface.

Not a single word had passed between you in the minutes that he had come to stand beside you. The air crackled around you both with an unsaid tension thickening the space between you like a fog descending across a field in the early morning. You knew you were staring but you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away from the soft expression that rested in the features of his face, a mixture of concern and curiosity as he looked you over. His gaze rested on yours, holding eye contact with you, as he waited for you to say something, his eyes darting down to the soft plush of your lips as you finally managed to form some words to break the silence. Your filter substantially diluted by the strength of the alcohol you had consumed.

“I just can’t seem to figure you out Zemo.” You say, eyebrows quirked in a questioning manner as you analyse the features of his face. Trying to read his expression as he looks back up catching your gaze in his.

“What’s there to figure out Kätzchen?” He smirks, a teasing quality to his voice as he looks down at you.

You sigh in frustration, narrowing your eyes as if to articulate how you were studying him and his reactions as you spoke, lips moving slowly as you dragged out your words, giving them emphasis, “This whole broody mysterious but sweet thing you have going is not fooling me… I can’t decide if I should hate you or like you.”

He pauses, mulling over your words, “Why not a bit of both?” Quirking his eyebrow as he responds, a close-lipped lopsided grin spreading across his cheeks as you roll your eyes at his retort.

Resigning to the fact that you weren’t going to learn anything by talking his ear off with these probing questions. You lean back removing your elbows from the railing, standing upright once more, still not quite as tall as Zemo even in your reasonably high heels. Pulling Zemo’s warm coat off your shoulders, you grip the gorgeous fur trim as you pass it back to him, shivering slightly at the briskness of the outside air as the soft wool leaves your skin.

“Shall we go back inside and join the party then?” You say eyebrows raised, determined to enjoy the rest of your evening, trying to move past your complete inability to read the man in front of you.

“Let’s, little one. I’ll make you another drink.” He says smiling softly, slipping his coat back on and gesturing to the door with an extended arm.

You pass him your empty glass and strut forward past him and back into the electric energy of the party. Moving through the crowds of people socialising and looking over the beautiful artworks, you make your way through the dim blue light of the room to the illuminated tiles of the dance floor. The space was teeming with people moving to the music swaying in the strobe lights as the upbeat rhythm of a sultry song permeated the air. Washing over you like wave of movement, your body starts to move to the music, the familiar melody causing you to break out into a blissed out smile as you sway your hips to the passion filled lyrics.

Looking around the space as you gyrate to the music, you catch a glimpse of Zemo from behind the bar pouring a semi clear liquid into lovely matching crystal glasses resting on the bench top. He must have felt you watching him because in that moment he flicks his gaze up directly at you, catching you watching him. For some reason you feel drawn to him, knowing how much trouble he is, how dangerous he is. You’ve seen him kill with your own eyes. And yet you can’t help the strong attraction to him, his danger mixed with the softness he showed you. You didn’t even know if he was interested in you like that. But fuck were you interested in him. Throwing your inhibitions to the wind thanks to the bit of liquid courage you had been consuming you hold his gaze, continuing to dance, moving seductively as you sway your hips to the music running your hands over your body.

Tracing your own form with gentle fingertips, you close your eyes for a moment as you bite your bottom lip, enjoying the sensation of your caresses. Blinking as the light of the dance floor floods your vision once more you realise that Zemo had disappeared into the chaos of the crowd. You spin around looking for him, worried that you’d scared him away with your forwardness, suddenly coming face to face with that very grin you had been searching out. Zemo looked down at you, watching your lips form a small ‘o’ in surprise at his proximity as he extended his hand, the drink he had made you resting in his calloused palm. A broad smile breaks across your face as you take the crystal glass out of his hand brushing your fingers purposefully across his skin.

“Turkish Delight,” he whispers just loud enough for you to hear, “Irresistible.” A quiet confidence lingering in the air around him as it always did.

You pull the glass up to your lips, closing your eyes once more as you take a deep sip relishing in the delicious taste of rosewater and sugar mixed with the sharp tang of vodka flooding your taste buds. You let out a satisfied moan as you pull the glass away from your lips, looking back up at Zemo through your dark lashes and you catch him tense up slightly at the sound that had just escaped your lips.

The mood shifts as the next song starts to play, a slower melody with a deep baritone voice filling your ears from the speakers. You turn towards the speakers, trying to focus on recognising the song which sounded so familiar, when suddenly you feel an arm wrap around your waist pulling you swiftly into the warmth of the body behind you. Zemo had pulled you flush against him, your back resting against his warm torso, as he gently sipped his matching drink. You are swept up in the feeling of him against your back the feel of his arm over your waist, his splayed hand pressing against your lower stomach, the heat of his palm seeping into your skin through the thin material of your dress, making your cheeks flush a bright red at the effect he was having on you. The two of you sway slowly to the rhythm, your hips resting against his as your ass gently rocked against his thighs, his warm breaths ghosting the shell of your ear, making your skin prickle as he began to softly whisper the lyrics of the song into your ear.

“What's your name?... Who's your daddy?... Is he rich like me?... Has he taken… Any time… To show you what you need to live?” His sultry voice echoes through your head and desire begins to pool in your lower belly. The flush on your cheeks only growing redder as the words resonate with you. Your eyes drift closed as you soak up every part of the moment, letting it fill your senses, the scent of him, the heat radiating off his strong chest, the suggestive words he had whispered into your ear echoing and reverberating as you become lost in that moment in time. It felt as if everything was moving in slow motion, everything was him.

Your eyes are jarred open quickly as you hear the smash of glass nearby as one of Sharon’s drunk guests decides to pick a fight with another and a brawl breaks out on the dance floor. So quickly that you can barely register what is happening. In a state of shock, you look around trying to figure out what to do when Zemo quickly pushes you out of the way of a fist flying towards your face. He grunts slightly at the effort and you hear both of your crystal glasses smashing against the hard tiled floor as he rushes you into a small room just out of reach of the commotion. Still in a state of shock your finally register what was happening. You had been swiftly pulled out of harm’s way and into the small butler’s kitchen tucked away behind the main living space where the party that you had been attending, which had broken out into a full-on brawl, had been located. You suddenly take in the situation you were in, pressed up against the wall behind the door frame caged in behind the broad body of Zemo. He was crowding his body in front of yours out of instinct as he heard guns fire in the adjacent room.

All you can feel is his body pressed against you, protecting you from harm. You watch him as he eyes the doorway listening to the commotion outside, his features strained in focus as he listened out for any action moving in your direction. All you could think in that moment was that this man who was supposed to be dangerous, supposed to be evil, supposed to be the bad guy, had probably just saved your life and was determined to protect you even if it meant him getting hurt or even killed in the process. That was entirely evident in the way he had pulled you out of the crossfire and was currently using his own body to shield you from any impending damage. And fuck if that didn’t make your body heat up with desire and arousal flood your panties.

The attraction that had been mounting between you had just culminated in the ultimate grand gesture and you realised you could not bring yourself to tear your eyes away from him, half of his face illuminated by the soft moonlight streaming in through the door frame as you gazed at him completely entranced.

“Zemo…” you whisper as you trace the sharp angle of his jaw with a delicate finger.

“Kätzchen?” He whips around suddenly at the sound of your voice, panic riddled across his features. “Is something wrong little one? Are you hurt?”

“No no… but you are.” You whisper as you continue tracing his jaw to the place where you realise the man’s fist had collided with his face. The one he had pushed you out of the way of and instead, he had received the blow that probably would have cracked your nose. He winces slightly under your touch and you pinch his chin between your thumb and forefinger, pulling him down to your eye line to analyse the small bruise that was forming at the base of his jawline. He watches you from the corner of his eye as his breathing hitches, scarcely moving as you caress his skin. Tracing the gentle outline of a forming bruise as you feel his searing gaze burn into you, watching your pursed lips and your worried eyes. You run a soothing hand over the bruise, holding his cheek and his jaw in your soft palm as you look back into his eyes.

“Thank you for protecting me.” You whisper with bated breath as you hold his gaze.

His eyes flicking down to your lips as you speak, unable to stop himself. Entranced by the proximity and the way you were touching him, the way your chest heaved in front of him just brushing against his torso. Suddenly he was on you, lips slanting over yours tentative at first, questioning, but as soon as you responded in kind, melting into his touch, the kiss became more bruising, desperate, ravenous. You moaned into his mouth as he ran a hand through the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you even closer. He took this as an opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue. The two of you tangling together as you both explored the warmth behind each other’s lips. His other hand running down the small of your back to grab at the luscious curve of your backside as you ran your hands across the firmness of his chest.

You both pulled apart gasping for breath. Small plumes of air mingling together in the dark of the room. You shouldn’t be doing this, you knew who Zemo was and yet you couldn’t help yourself, you were so excited, turned on even, by the danger, the mystery of the man.

He shook his head at you and whispered breathily, “I’m trouble little one…”

You look into his warm brown eyes slowly turning as black as the shadow of the room. Smirking back at him, the glint of mischief in your pupils evident as you respond, “I like trouble.”

His gaze becomes predatory as your words sink in. Removing the hand from your neck he quickly slams the door closed and locks it behind him taking all the light out of the room apart from a small sliver of moonlight coming in through a skylight above. He pushes you against the wall once more and hungrily slants his lips across yours, capturing you in a delicious but messy kiss, filled with passion and craving. He moves slowly from your lips, down across your jaw and then attaches himself to the pulse point of your neck, biting gently at the soft skin as you moan out in pleasure at the small sharp pain. He wraps his hands around your thighs and lifts you up, holding you against the wall. You respond in kind, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around the crook of his neck, pulling his lips to yours with a sharp tug of his hair. Holding you carefully, his hands wrapped around the muscle of your thighs, he walks you over to the kitchen counter on the other side of the room, sliding you gently onto the cool marble.

He pulls away once more, admiring your already dishevelled state, chest heaving as you catch your breath, drawing attention to the swell of your breasts, your slightly mussed hair falling across the glistening skin of your cheek, the skirt of your dress which had ridden up to reveal a glimpse of your lacy black panties. Fuck you were gorgeous.

“Are you sure you want this Kätzchen?” he says as he regains his own breath.

“Fuck yes I do.” Any inhibition you may have had earlier disappeared, as quick as the sound of the outside world had as soon as the door closed.

Moving slowly towards your figure, he reaches out to the silver press studs that run down your dress, starting at the top of your chest. You let out a small gasp as he touches the visible skin, slowly exposing the matching black lace bra beneath as he undoes the clasps slowly, the metallic clicks the only noise in the room apart from your shallow breathing. He grins up at you completely enthralled by how you were responding to him. He undoes enough clasps to fully reveal your bra and your chest. His movements are that of a man possessed as he traces the swell of your breasts with delicate fingers, leaving prickles of heat in the wake of their touch.

“So delicate, like a rose in full bloom.” He murmured, voice silken as he followed the trail of his fingers with his gaze.

He brings his hands to the front of your dress and pulls it open, one button at a time, the rhythmic click of the clasps bursting was a melody to your ears. Slowly exposing the rest of your body to him as your dress falls off your shoulders, you swiftly pull the rest of the fabric off your wrists, letting it pool around you on the kitchen counter. He slowly makes his way to the crook of your back to unclasp your bra. He makes quick work of the hooks and pulls the thin piece of fabric off you, exposing your chest completely to him. Massaging and squeezing at your breasts, his warm palms feeling exquisite on your nipples, hard in the cold air of the evening and from his ravenous attentions. 

Moving his hands lower, he grips onto your hips with a bruising force, moving his head down to your chest, taking one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking languidly on your pebbled nipple, dragging his teeth across it nibbling lightly making you arch yourself into him, desperate for more. You wanted his mouth all over your skin, everywhere he could reach, his attentions are ravenous as he places a particularly cutting bite to your nipple then swiftly switching his attentions to your other breast, leaving a trail of delicate bites across your collarbone in his wake. You keen into his caresses as he begins to move slowly upwards, marking up your chest, your collarbone, and finally your neck with small red bruises made by his teeth. You revelled in the delicious pain of it, the arousal in your panties starting to drip down your thighs at the feeling of his teeth dragging over your skin.

“You look so beautiful like this, all marked up, showing everyone that you’re mine…” he whispers against your skin, “I wonder how your boys would feel about that…” confidence and lust dripping from his words as he watches you react to him. 

You whimper as he moves his hand down to your cunt, pressing against you with two fingers against the thin lace material, feeling how you had soaked through the fabric.

“It seems you like it too, Kätzchen.” His tongue languishing over every syllable of the little nickname he’d given you as he tugged your soaking panties down your thighs so that they dropped onto the cool stone floor.

You were now completely exposed to him as he stood in front of you fully clothed. You paw at his chest, feeling his strong torso beneath the fabric as you tugged at the lapel of the jacket, slowly dragging it over his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor to join your panties. Understanding your silent plea he pulls the top beneath over his head, revealing his toned yet soft torso to your eager hands. You run your fingers over his skin, tracing the small outlines of his figure with light caresses as you make your way down to the silver buckle of his belt. Deft fingers making quick work of the clasp then making your way to the buttons of his pants with just as much eagerness.

“Zemo… please.” You whine needily. Your craving getting the better of you. You needed him to touch you, needed him to fuck you, needed him to fill up every one of your senses.

He loved the sound of you begging, mesmerised by your desperate touches as you yank the fabric of his slacks along with his boxers down his legs, his member springing free and resting against his stomach.

You lean forward, watching him as you wrap your fingers experimentally around his shaft, swiping your thumb over the tip, red and leaking with small beads of precome.

He batted your hand away, his gaze burning into yours, “I want to feel you Prinzessin.” You nod your head trying to communicate how much you want that as well, unable to form the words under his devouring gaze. Gripping the backs of your thighs, he pulls you to the edge of the kitchen bench, letting the fabric of your dress drop to the floor amongst the other discarded garments. Your bare skin tingles against the cool marble and you draw in a sharp breath at the change in temperature which touches your most sensitive areas. Spreading your legs with exploratory fingers, he admires your form, taking in your soft skin dappled in the small red marks littered across your body.

“All mine…” He whispers as he slots himself between your thighs. Lining himself up at your dripping entrance. 

“Zemo please… please fuck me.” You whimper, desperate to feel more of him. 

Gripping onto your hips with bruising fingers he pushes into you, slowly and carefully. You gasp out as you feel every ridge and vein as he thrusts into you. He starts at a gentle pace, relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around his length. He fills you up incredibly and you can’t help the noises that escape your throat. 

“Fuck Z-Zemo you feel so fucking good.” You moan out.

You wrap your thighs around his waist begging with your body language for him to go faster, to fuck you until you cant think. He moans at your words and the feeling of your soft skin wrapped around him. The deep guttural noise that had fallen from his lips mixed with the obscene sound of flesh smacking together was intoxicating. 

He moves his hand, pulling at the crook of your knee, changing the angle of your body so he can reach an even deeper spot inside you as he increases his pace to a more intense rhythm. The new position makes you throw your head back in ecstasy as he thrusts into you, giving him the opportunity to lean down and pull your nipple into his mouth with his teeth. You arch your back into his touch, moaning as he assaults your senses with the feeling of him deep inside you and his warm mouth on your skin.

He holds your hip with bruising fingers as he palms at your breast with the other hand. You slowly pull his hand further up wanting him to replicate the grip he had on your hip around your throat. He groaned as you placed his fingers around your throat giving it an experimental squeeze under your guidance. You felt your walls clench around him as his fingers sunk gently into your neck cutting off your breathing ever so slightly.

“Fuck that made you even wetter Kätzchen…” he murmured, entranced by you and the way you reacted to him, “I want you to come for me little one, come all over my cock. I want to feel you come undone for me. SIng for me, little songbird.” He whispered, warm breath fanning the side of your cheek as he tightened his grip on your throat while his other hand snaked down in between the two of you, thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit. 

You relished in the feeling of his fingers, completely overwhelmed by the incredible sensations as you gripped onto the muscles of his back and his bicep, digging your nails in harshly as he plunged into you with bruising force. 

His filthy words ringing in your ear, his cock hitting the back of your cervix just at the right spot, his thumb working continuously on your clit as black spots started to form behind your eyes from his tight grip around the column of your throat. All of it together makes you completely fall apart beneath him, crying out as you ride out the earth shattering orgasm. He moves his hands to your back, tightly holding you upright as he fucks you through your aftershocks, hitting you deep and making you cry out at the oversensitivity. His hips start to stutter as he feels your velvet walls flutter around him, holding his cock in a vice like grip as your whimpers reach his ears. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your shoulder as his orgasm hits him, thrusting slowly as he comes hard, painting your walls with his release. His moans echo in your ears as he fills you up deliciously and all you can feel is him. His body pressed against yours, chest heaving as you both attempt to regain your breath.

Zemo pulls out slowly and you whimper at the loss. Looking down at you, skin slick with a light sheen of sweat as you gazed up at him with hazy eyes, you were slowly coming back down to earth from your high. Gently pushing a stray hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear, he smiles, expression soft and warm as he smiles down at you. 

As your vision slowly clears Zemo’s handsome face comes back into focus and you return his soft smile with your own. He has a small flick of stray hair resting on his forehead, his usual clean cut presentation ruined by your roaming hands. You spot some of the fingernail marks you had left across his upper arms and bite your lip, excited by the idea of leaving your own marks on him. 

“I think hate and like make a pretty good combination, don’t you agree little one?” He says as he traces the plethora of marks across your warm skin, running gentle fingers across the small bruises forming across your chest and around your neck. 

You blush at his words as he repeats your earlier sentiment, suddenly becoming shy under his fervent gaze. Helping you off the kitchen counter slowly he holds you gently, keeping you upright as you regain your balance on shaky legs. Zemo grabs a small wash cloth from the other side of the kitchen, soaking it in warm water and quickly bringing it over to clean up the mess between your legs. You smile at the gentle, caring nature he was displaying. 

After cleaning himself up he pulls on his boxers and trousers, looking over at you as he sees you reach for your lacy undergarments. Reaching out, he grabs your wrist as you clutch your panties and bra. 

“Don’t put these back on Kätzchen… I-I want you to walk out of here without them.” He murmurs with lust blown eyes as he pulls your dress off the floor and begins to dress you in it, “I want to be the only one to know that all you wear underneath that tight fabric are... my marks…”

You shiver under his touch as he buttons up the front of your dress. Picking up his coat he gently wraps it around your shoulders, letting the fur rest around the soft skin of your neck as the soft outlines of his grip begin to appear on your throat. “There we go, my little songbird. hidden... only for me…” he says as he strokes the lapel next to your cheek, straightening the fabric.

 You watch him as he pulls the top back over his head and combs his hair back into position out of his face. Grinning up at him you say, voice sultry and warm, “Maybe I’ll see you later Zemo.”

“If that is what you wish little one… how could I say no to such a good girl...” He whispers in your ear as he suddenly disappears out the door, smirking with a confidence only he could pull off. 

You feel desire lick up in your belly again at his quiet promise. This man would be the death of you… one way or another...