#Reality pushing at the surface so hard that that surface starts to bend.... Hes terrifying bc a) Huge. But also b) you can feel reality

[siirkaian]

Stardust refuses to take control UNLESS its banning Moonshine from doing something

[nochuvalencia]

𝐁 𝐁 𝐇 𝐌 𝐌 - jjk

I was basically inspired by these ^^^ pics of jk bc wow hot hi

⚠️ ALSO QUICK DISCLAIMER :: this is my first fanfic on here so it might be terrible but enjoy anyway. ⚠️

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 :: reader x crimeboss!jk

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 :: bitch you better have his money.

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 :: ABSOLUTE SMUTTY FILTH heh angst too ig

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 :: 11.9k

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 :: long haired tatted jk, that’s it, that’s the warning, uh kinda sketchy plot hsjsjsj, WOW ANGST ASF at the beginning tho, dub!con towards the middle don’t hurt me, fuck or die ig, gunplay????? yeah????? jks BLATANT OVERUSE of pet names, dacryphillia, major-ish character death, describing the injuries on a dead body, jk has a sir kink ig??? um excessive over exaggerated choking bc jks hands yum, explicit seggs, rough jk, he’s kinda mean, dom!jk, sub!reader, oral m&f receiving (facefucking on both ends), coochie sniff if you squint, coochie slaps if u squint too, spanking, OVERSTIMULATION, unprotected seggs, degradation, he calls her a bitch once idk, other bad names, praise too ig, jk gives an ultimatum, SLIGHT aftercare, he kinda like switches from flirty to murderous like a bunch of times it’s kinda weird, jk has an impossibly huge shlong obv, contemplating death, super mature themes, reader is a BIG fucking crybaby, overuse of the word fuck, corruption kink at the end if u squint super hard, also DUB!CON in case you didn’t see it, at this point I should just write what it doesn’t have

“If you’re not out of my house in 3.4 seconds, I'm dragging you out by the testicles” you uttered, your alarmingly calm voice laced with raw brutality as hot tears cascaded down your burning cheeks, your arm outstretched and pointed toward the blinding light of the hallway that contrasted with your dark bedroom. You said nothing more, with your eyes trained angrily at one of the four blank tan walls nearby, not possibly being able to bear speaking to or sparing a glance into the eyes of a cheating whore. The woman you had just caught him with scurried past you wearily, a terrified and confused glint in her eyes as she passed your frigid frame sans underwear, with her sparkly silver pumps dangling from her fingers and a wrinkly silver dress hanging limply from the clutches of her other hand. The man in question shuffled cautiously around the bed, clutching the exposed parts of his body and approaching you with extreme hesitation and outstretched hands, as if trying to calm the already blazing flames of your fury. He laid a cold, rough hand on your shoulder squeezing softly, a motion that once brought you comfort but only added the all consuming hatred that bubbled up inside you akin to ravenous bile filling up the pit of your belly. “Did you not hear what I said? Get out.” You spat, glossy eyes still pointed toward anything but him.

“____ please” he croaked, like the slimy frog he truly was, his voice dripping in false agony which only neared you closer to the brink of undoubtedly committing an act of extreme violence against that man. “Please baby it wasn’t-'' you blanked. He was about to make an excuse. A stupid, rediculous, horrible, completely false excuse which you had absolutely no patience to hear. So you snapped, harshly shrugging your shoulder and sending his arm flying back to his side. He stepped back, ceasing his incessant chatter as he stared at you, a surprised expression painting his “pained” features. He wasn’t accustomed to you acting like this, you were never one to raise your voice or act out in any sort of way so he stood there, eyes widened in dumbfounded silence and you took this chance, bending down, scooping up as much of his discarded clothing as you possibly could and throwing it in his face, your rage bubbling over into something much more carnal as you inhaled deeply through your nose.

“Shut the fuck up and leave!” He scrambled to catch as many clothes as he could and was taken aback by your abrupt outburst. He stood silent once again though this time, he was making the face he often made when forcing himself to cry. It was the face he made around his mother to get out of family responsibilities. The face he made around his friends when guilt tripping them into buying him drinks, and now he's using it for you. To guilt you into taking pity on his pathetic actions which merely was the catalyst for your unforgiving violence. In an instant you were behind him, heaving him out of the door with your bare hands, pushing with all your might, using the immense pain coursing through your limbs as motivation to drive his beefy frame further and further out of the bedroom, down the hallway, into the living room and closer to the door yelling “I said leave! Leave! Now!” Pushing harder and harder with every word you choked out. The tears began to flow faster, clouding and distorting your vision as your face contorted into an expression of pure anguish until finally, he was forced out of the open doorway and into the main hallway of your apartment building. You promptly slammed the door in his face and the only thought traveling though your mind was ‘thank god she left that door open’ because you wouldn’t have been able to force him through it otherwise.

You stood silently for a few seconds, back to the door, face still slick with tears as the cool wood on your back shook senselessly with every beat of his fist and muffled shout of his voice crying phrases like “____ open the fuking door!” , “this is my apartment too baby come on” and other variations of the sort. Your mind was empty while you remained there, letting the harsh reality sink in like the slowest molasses. You allowed that man, that pig, to take 10 years of your life. 10 years of your prime. 10 years that you'll never get back no matter how much you beg and plead for it. Come to think of it, you had shaped your entire life around him. His influence was there no matter how much you wished it wasn’t. His residue staining your life like the blackest ink of which you would never be able to rid yourself. At the surfacing of these thoughts, you’d finally broke down and cried, like ugly cried. Broken heaves and sobs escaped your throat until you felt like you were suffocating as you slid down the door, not caring if he heard your wails and whines of torment on the other side of the polished mahogany. You actually hoped he did hear, you wanted him to hear the anguish and grief he put you through. You wanted him to hear you cry out all of your attachment and love for him until there was none left, so he knows the tears flowing from your body hold all of the affection you harbor for him. All ten years of attraction flowing out in a gigantic tsunami of grief that can only end in a new start.

Your mind played through all the memories, and the small amount of good times you had with each other while you sobbed mercilessly, also coming to the realization that he never did anything for you. Ever since you were 14 you’d been changing everything about yourself for him, while he merely lived his life, dragging you along like a supportive little puppy and rewarding you with cheap token gifts and mediocre sex once in a blue moon.

He wanted to attend university in your hometown so you abandoned your dream school, which accepted you, to attend a closer college. He made the decision to study abroad, so you had to drop everything and move to Australia for him. He wanted to wait to have kids so you froze your fucking eggs for him. He got a great new job at a large company in Asia, so you dropped everything again and moved to South Korea. You learned Korean for him. You have the same friends as him. You even cut a few family members off because he was “uncomfy” around them. He wouldn’t even go down on you because it also made him ‘uncomfy’, which should’ve been a red flag from the start. You did all of this bullshit in the haze of love. The promise that he’d reciprocate all of it in affection and adoration, which he didn’t, and now you’re sitting in your living room bawling your brains out because you were too lovestruck to see the signs.

After sobbing hysterically for what seemed like hours, you’d sat limply in front of your door, slouching back onto it as if it were a plush armchair and staring blankly into space, your mind completely empty. Feeling overwhelmed and exhausted beyond belief, you leaned forward, groaning in anguish as your tired muscles cried out in distress after being immobile for more than four hours. Crawling over to the couch, you tiredly flung your nearly paralyzed body onto the soft cushions with a sigh, not even bothering to pull the fluffy throw blanket over your body as your entire frame began to steadily shut down. Before your eyes completely shut, you caught a glimpse of the clock perched on the wooden tv stand which read 11:11 and scoffing quietly as you thought to yourself, ‘I thought that was supposed to mean good luck’ and you gave in to the delicious expanse of slumber.

You were startled awake by the incessant pounding of your now ex-boyfriends fist on the door, again. For the past 4 days since you’d forced him out, he’d show up outside your door at the ass crack of dawn just banging on the door profusely, as if that would persuade you to open it an inch. He had a schedule, he’d come at 5am, before he went off to work, then at 12:30 on his lunch break, then again at 9:45 just to make you miserable before you went to bed. You’re actually surprised the neighbors haven’t complained to the landlords yet. You tossed the blanket off of your sticky body, kicking and thrashing wildly due to the annoyance caused by that nuisance.

You cried more times than you can count during these last 4 days, especially during the times he would attempt to win you over with sappy shit like “baby, you’re my everything, you’re all i’ve ever wanted”, the lyrics to one of your favorite songs or, “you’re my forever ____, you can’t just throw 10 years away babe” to which you cried about for 3 hours after he’d said it, after realizing that he actually wasted 10 fucking years of your life. Anger bubbled up in the pit of your stomach as you listened to the repetitive banging of his fist and at this point you had enough and came to the decision it was finally time to pack his shit. Stomping into the living room, you grabbed a necessary box of bags that sat on the coffee table in the center of the room, figuring you were ready to use it. With a final nod of your head, you marched into your shared bedroom and opened all of the cabinets and drawers that contained the plethora of his belongings and flinging them on the floor, grabbing the box of xl trash bags you’d snagged on your march in here and started tossing things in left and right, not caring about the brand name or the state of the fabric or anything for that matter. All you saw was red as your eyes welled up with tears for the first and probably not last time that day.

“I can’t do this” you sobbed out, voice hoarse as you fell to your knees, ignoring the rugburn that was soon to form on those areas as your shoulders shook with every harsh breath you took. You had been dreading this task. Dreading it only for its significance that once you packed all his things and tossed them out, your relationship would be truly over. You definitely didn’t want him back but this would be the first time you’ve been alone in 10+ years and you were not certain you were prepared for that let alone wanting it. Inhaling shakily, you sniffed, ridding your face of any moisture as you cleared your throat and walked back into the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of chardonnay from your anniversary that fell on the week prior and venturing back into the closet to resume your task. You weren’t much of a drinker but for this task, you’d need a bottle or two.

A few hours later, he’d finally went off to work and you sat in the doorway of the closet, drunkenly dressed in the wedding gown you were made to be wed in this summer still combing through all of his clothing and tossing them messily into a bag that laid open on the floor beside you. You took a swig from the bottle, hissing softly at the satisfying burn that seared it’s way down your throat and rubbing at your puffy eyes with the knuckle of your index finger. The closet was mostly bare, except for a rack with some of his clothes and one rack of semi-expensive clothing his cheap ass reluctantly purchased for you and you glanced around, catching a glimpse of some ugly floral fabric in the corner of the small space. Getting on your hands and knees you reached a limp hand out, taking hold of the horrendous fabric and dragging it out with a groan, eyes wide at the surprising heft of the object in your hand.

It was a pillowcase. A pillowcase full of something brick shaped. You raised an eyebrow quizzically before reaching into the bag and pulling out a fat stack of cash. Taking a sharp intake of breath you paused, staring blankly at the wrapped wad in your hand and cocking your head to the side. You peeked over into the bag after a few minutes, eyes popping out of your skull as they feasted on more huge stacks of money. It was Korean currency but there had to be at least 250k USD worth in the entire sack. You furrowed your brows, tossing the money back into the pillowcase forcefully as a tornado of thoughts whirled in your mind. Had he been saving behind your back? Was he planning on getting rich then eventually hanging you out to dry for some younger girl? How long has he had all of this? Where the fuck did it all come from?

You looked back at the money then back at the corner you found it in, squinting as you spotted some more ugly purple fabric. Crawling behind the clothing earnestly, you managed to fish out 4 more pillowcases full of money. You stifled a laugh, having never been in the presence of so much currency, you guessed it had to be more than 1 million dollars. You smiled for the first time in 4 days, lips curling up into a wide joy filled expression as you dumped all of the money onto the rugged floor of the closet. With all of the alcohol coursing through your veins, (almost a whole bottle) you didn’t hesitate to grab the biggest tote bag you own and stuff as much money as it could hold inside. You figured it was the least he could do after cheating on you.

He deserved to pay, and you obviously deserved a raise.

It was a full on shopping spree. After throwing all of his shit into bags, you tossed them outside your door and left with as much money as you could carry before he could come back on his lunch break. You even came back to get some more money, just to go out and spend it again. To say you splurged would be an understatement, you spent almost half of the money on clothes, shoes, a hair and makeup appointment, a manicure, a new car, and you even paid rent for six months after taking his name off the lease.

So here you were, struggling up the stairs as quick as you could, due to the fact that it was 9:30 and you were trying to avoid seeing him at his 9:45 visit. Your feet screamed in agony in your new jimmy choo pumps, because you’d been on them all day, and you had at least six shopping bags hanging from each arm, all full with an assortment of gaudy items such as shoe boxes, makeup products, and clothing. You had finally reached the door after a while, smiling at the absence of his bags which meant he took them and swiftly unlocked the door, clamoring in and tiredly dropping the bags in your hands. With a sigh, you locked the door, running a hand through your freshly styled hair as you rid your face of the designer sunglasses that shielded it. Kicking off your shoes, you hummed gratifyingly at the pleasurable feeling of bare feet and shuffled over to your couch, plopping down on the end cushion groggily.

A soft buzz in your back pocket caught your attention as you carefully fished out the new phone you purchased and unlocked it with your perfectly manicured fingers, raising an eyebrow quizzically as the texts rolled in, ‘i thought i blocked him’ you thought, preparing to do it a second time before a few texts caught your attention and you froze on the spot, chuckling heartlessly at his words.

+82 2 2263 5950 : whose car is in our parking spot?

+82 2 2263 5950 : did you already move on?

+82 2 2263 5950 : wow whore

You rolled your eyes, wondering where he attained the gaul to accuse you of a feat such as that. Calling you a whore as if that name isn’t suitable for himself. Even more so than you. You decided to text him back, feeding off of an unknown source of confidence as your fingers furiously tapped along the screen.

me : it’s my car asshole

me : bought it with the money u left me

me :thx baby <3

+82 2 2263 5950 : what money?

me : the money in the closet you didn’t bother telling me abt u dumb fuck

+82 2 2263 5950 : don’t use that money

me : why should i listen to you?

me : you aren’t my bf

+82 2 2263 5950 : no seriously ____ don’t use that money wtf is wrong with u

me : already did bye babe

You blocked him as quickly as you could, face burning with absolute anger as you tossed your phone on the cushion beside you. Who is he to tell you what you could or couldn’t do? You had come to the decision then and there that you wouldn't let him treat you like a child. He wasn’t your dad. Thanks to him you barely speak to your dad. The only thought going through your mind at the time was ‘fuck him.’ Before you could delve into your thoughts any further, it started. His incessant pounding on the door. Again. Although, this time it was much more frantic, desperate. He was much louder with his pathetic pleas and whines, crying out “please don’t use that money!”, “Listen to me god damn it!”, “___ open the fucking door now!” But you stood your ground, ignoring him once again as you did for the past few days.

Just to escape the racket of his wails of desperation, you retreated to your room, slipping on one of his expensive balenciaga sweatshirts you kept for yourself and climbing into the cool blankets, burying yourself under the plush fabric and folding your pillow over your ears. You knew this would be the longest night of your life..

And you were correct, It was the longest night of your life. He never truly got the memo that you would not be coming out to communicate with him so he finally left at around 1:30 in the morning. You had slept horribly, tossing and turning as the aftermath of his cries and pleads left a print on your mind and tormented you at all hours of the night, you didn’t manage to get any real sleep until around eight and woke up a mere five hours later in a state of confusion. It was well past noon and yet it was silent, you had woken up of your own volition, not because of some crazy man outside of your apartment screaming like a banshee. In due time, you had come to the conclusion that he had finally given up and gone about his day without banging on his ex-girlfriend's apartment door like an idiot at all hours of the day.

This theory was almost set in your mind until you heard a knock. Groaning violently, you stared up at your ceiling, eyebrows furrowed as you erased that theory from the whiteboard in your cortex. Fully prepared to ignore the person at the door, you rolled over to your side until another knock was heard. This wasn’t him. This couldn’t be him. The knocks were way too soft, they lacked an element of urgency, desperation. They were simply just way too calm. So, you sat up, swinging your legs over and reluctantly standing up, before making your way into the living room to be greeted with another knock and a smooth male voice calling out. “Miss ___ ___?”

You glanced wearily though your peep hole to be met with a tall male, dressed in a blue and white uniform. “Looks like a cop. He called the fucking cops on me, shit.” you whispered to yourself, voice small as you held onto the door handle. Figuring it’d be worse to make him wait, you opened the door, being met with the warm, dimpled smile, of the decorated individual. “Yes, i”m ____” you respond, shoving your hands into the pockets of your sweatshirt and looking everywhere but him, which probably seems more suspicious than anything but you were too riddled with anxiety to care. The officer clutched a navy blue manilla folder in his hand and opened it promptly in order to sift through its contents.

“Hi, i’m officer Kim.” he breathed out, calmly bowing and resuming his apparent spiel, “do you know this man?” he pondered, raising an eyebrow quizzically as he pulled a photo from his folder with calloused fingers and lifted it, spinning it around to face you. Your eyes widened slightly upon being shown a picture of your ex and you nodded hesitantly.

“He’s my ex boyfriend- well ex fiance I guess.” you responded, voice barely audible as your mind raced faster than the speed of sound. You asked yourself what he could’ve done that was bad enough for the police to show up at your door. Maybe you had been too harsh on him and he had gotten into one to many bar fights, maybe he robbed a bank at gunpoint, maybe he stole some old lady’s car and filled it with off brand mayonnaise before he returned it. All your questions- all your thoughts stopped as Officer Kim responded, running a tired hand through his hair.

“He passed, earlier today.” he paused, giving you time to digest things and you froze, staring at his face blankly as your mind processed what you had just been told and you hummed questioningly, your throat becoming tight with realization. “It happened around five this morning,” he paused again as you stood in complete silence. Sure you hated him but you’d never wish death upon another person, especially him. You hate him now but you were in love with him once too. You hate him now but, he was the closest person in your life. He was all of your firsts, your fiance, your best friend. You thought you wouldn’t be able to get all of that back because of the breakup but now you truly can never get any of it back, because he’s dead. Then, you started to cry, for the hundredth time this week but this one was different. You weren’t crying because you missed him, or wanted him to come back like all the other times, as horrible as it sounds. You were crying because you felt bad. Because of his short life that was ripped from him by the unforgiving hand of death. You weren’t crying because of him, you were crying for him. A hand on your shoulder interrupted your sobs and you wiped your face, glancing up at the culprit with glassy eyes. “I’m so sorry for your loss...” he paused, giving you a few moments to breathe as he rubbed your shoulder comfortingly before speaking again, “but we have an idea of who did it, it would be helpful if you just came down to the station with me for some questioning.” he asked softly as the shaking sobs and whimpers that came from your body slowed to a halt and you nodded.

“Yeah, uh. Let me just go get dressed.” You muttered, smiling up at him softly and shuffling back to your room to prepare. The longest night of your life was about to turn into the longest day.

And you were correct again as you stood in front of your apartment door after the absolute, and I cannot stress this enough, longest day of your life. Your ex was murdered, brutally, and they made sure to go over all of the gory details with you while you were at the precinct, they even took you to see his body, which made you cry because it was mangled almost beyond recognition and you were horrified. Apparently, he had been tortured for hours, which explained all the bruises, gashes, and burn marks on his body, strangled, thus the huge ring shaped mark around his neck, and dumped into a river, which made his body all pruny and wrinkled. You had spent 10 long hours at the police precinct and it was now nearing midnight as you fished your keys from your pocket in order to unlock the door. Inserting your key, you jiggle it around in the lock for a minute before realizing it was already unlocked initially. Figuring you had left it unlocked accidentally in your depressed haze, you pushed your way into your apartment and locked it promptly, pressing your forehead into the cool wood of the door. You sighed softly, relaxing only for a minute as you absorbed your surroundings before freezing as you heard the rhythmic tapping of someone's foot.

“Long day huh?” the voice was deep, one you hadn’t heard before as you remained facing the door, your grip of the handle tightening until your knuckles turned white. He spoke again, “you must be ____.” he murmured softly, sending a terrified shudder down your spine. “I’ve been wanting to meet you but he said you were off limits. You know, he talks about you a lot-...” he stopped himself as if realizing something, “well talked, I mean.” the man mused, an ominous chuckle flowing from his mouth.

“Who are you?” you rasped, attempting to conceal any cowardice but blinking your eyes harshly as your voice broke. You vaguely hoped this was one of your ex’s friends coming to visit, at an odd hour of the night, sitting ominously in the dark of your apartment waiting for you to come home just to say hi but the chances of that actuality was very slim.

“None of your business” the man retorted, a smirk evident in his ominous tone. “Now, let’s get down to business little dove,” you furrowed your brows at the nickname. You had never been called a nickname, especially by a man who randomly just snuck into your apartment one night. Your ex only ever called you baby or babe so little dove was different for you. It seemed endearing in the worst type of way. “I want the rest of my money.” he paused, “I found half of it in a closet here, and he said you might know where the rest is.” he paused again, only this time a sound is heard, a metal rattling of some sort that ricochets off of the walls of the apartment like a stray jumping bean in a pill case. Then it hits you, he has a gun, and he just shook it as if he intends to use it. . “Don’t make me ask again sweetheart.” Your eyes widen and well up as your head falls down, knowing you're going to die today and you take a deep breath, telling yourself you’d be ready for whatever happens so you decide, if you’re gonna die, you should at least know the name of the man that’s gonna kill you so you scrape together every last drop of confidence you can muster and ask once more.

“I said, w-who are yo-” you choked out, in an attempt to hold onto the last shred of your dignity as you blinked back the tears threatening to fall from your glassy eyes. However, your small shred of confidence is promptly ripped from your grasp as the man cuts you off mid sentence, slamming his gun down onto a hard surface with a loud clatter. You jolt, crying out softly as the tears you’d been holding back with all your might fall onto the ground before you.

“I said none of your fucking business bitch where’s my fucking money.” he spat, his sinister tone draing a choked sob from your thoat as you realized, you wouldn’t be getting anything you wanted today. “Answer me” he said, alarmingly calm as the sound of him cocking his gun travels directly to your mind.

“I spent it” you muttered between your soft hiccups and stiffened slightly upon hearing a heavy footstep approach you, then another footstep, and another, and another until they cease, and you can feel the man's warm breath raising the hair on the back of your neck. All your readiness for whatever happens and willingness to die flies out of the window as you lean your head on the door once more, taking a shaky breath as you begin to plead, aware of how pathetic you sound and part of the reason why you have such a strong urge to cry harder. “Please don’t kill me” you whined desperately as you feel the cold metal of the gun barrel resting on your shoulder.

“Relax little dove” he whispered, his lips brushing the back of your ear and sending a chill rushing through the entire expanse of your body. “Just find a way to pay me back and we’re even,” he continued calmly, his raspy voice reverberating in your eardrums as you think through what he just said carefully. You gasp and sniffle, shaking your head softly and lifting it slowly from the wooden door frame.

“I-” you stopped, taking a deep breath and preparing yourself as much as you could for his response then opened your mouth to continue. “I don’t have that kind of money” you whispered hesitantly, shutting your eyes tightly, allowing nothing to escape but the numerous tears that fell to the ground in anticipation of his actions. There was an eerie silence as he contemplated your words before he abruptly turned away, lifting the gun from your shoulder and holstering it in the waistband of his jeans, causing you to let out a wavering breath you’d been holding that entire time. His hand traveled back up, taking refuge on your left shoulder as the other hand made its way up your right arm, the warmth setting your skin aflame and sending a shockwave of warmth coursing through your body.

“There is another way you could pay me back.” his velvet voice rasped, stressing the word ‘another’ in a way that you immediately understood his insinuation and you took a sharp intake of air, bracing yourself for what he was about to say next. But he didn’t say anything for a moment, letting his hands do the talking for him as he gripped your arms softly, using his hands to spin you around and face him. You whirled around, yelping in surprise but stopping when you were met with the most exquisite, carnivorous brown eyes you had ever seen in your life that were accompanied by full pink lips and a tousled bunch of fluffy black hair you just wanted to run your hands through. Even in the darkness of night, the moonlight streaming through the kitchen window illuminated the room enough for you to trail your eyes down his face and get a vivid idea of what he’d look like with illumination.

Yummy as fuck.

Your eyes began to wander down to his exposed collarbone and before they could travel any lower, his fingers roughly grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze upward until you met his borderline cannibalistic gaze, which crushed you into nothing. He cocked his head to the side, a mischievous glint in his eyes as the corner of his lips turn upward slightly. “He was always bragging about you… saying,” he speaks, his sultry tone lulling you into a state of compliance as he spoke, “you’re such a good fuck,” he continues, placing his left hand gently on your waist and stepping even closer, if that’s possible, his soft breath hitting your face with every word as he speaks. “Your sweet little cunt is so tight” he glances down at your lips, running his thumb over your bottom lip “your mouth feels like heaven” he pauses again, running his hand down to hold the side of your neck softly to which you gasp “maybe i’d like a demonstration little dove.” he smiles, a twisted horrifying smile that snaps you out of his seductive trance and back to reality as your eyes widen and you pull yourself quickly out of his hold, running over to the couch and bracing yourself on it.

“No” you cry out, out of breath for some reason as you swallow thickly and shake your head. “No, I'll find a way to pay you back, I promise.” you plead, praying he wasn’t going to kill you on the spot and that he hadn’t noticed your blatant ogling. He probably did but at this point you didn’t care, you just wanted him gone.

“Whatever you say sweetheart” he replied, emitting a dark chuckle “call me if you change your mind, my number’s in your phone” he opened the front door and you glanced back at him, noticing the way his all black attire contrasts with his tan skin, and most of all, you notice the full sleeve of tattoos that ran down his right arm. Heat crawled up to your face as you realized you were gawking again and you nodded in response, feeling unable to form the words to respond with. He only uttered the words “you have a week.” before the door slammed and you were left alone in the dark.

You ran your fingers along the side of your neck where the aftermath of his touch lingered like a searing residue. No one had ever touched you like that, especially your ex. He was the man that took your virginity and was the man there for every time after so you’d become accustomed to his textbook missionary vanilla sex that left you touch starved and unfinished every. single. time. But you’d finish yourself off each time, feeling bad because you thought he was trying his hardest and truly didn’t understand how to please women. But as time went on, you realized he didn’t care about your pleasure and too enveloped in his own release to ever worry about your needs, but were too deep in love with him to care.

Your thoughts were interrupted when your phone went off to signal a text and upon picking it up there were two text messages from an unknown number that sent a shiver down your spine which read.

+82 2 5284 8735 : don’t try to run

+82 2 5284 8735 : we’ll hunt you down little dove

“Can’t you just take the shit back?” You questioned frantically, clutching the phone by your head until your knuckles turned white, rolling your eyes tiredly when you got no response. “They hung up, great” you deadpanned, plopping onto the couch you had been pacing in front of. It has been 6 days since the man showed up and you were running out of time and hadn’t slept in two days, your mind running frantically with the thought of him coming back to see you nearly empty handed. Well, not exactly empty handed. You had managed to get 253k of the whopping +400k dollars you had spent of his money and after not being able to return the car, manicure, hair appointment, rent, and a bunch of clothes and shoes, you were manic. Some might even say a bit crazy. Many of the stores and the dealership knew you by name because of the amount of times you called them. You dropped your phone into your lap, burying your face in your hands and wishing someone was here to console you through this but the only person you knew even remotely enough to offer any consolation was your ex. You wish he was alive so you could punch that bitch in the face and ask him what kind of shit he got himself into because the man that paid you a visit was most definitely not from corporate.

You sat for a silent minute deliberating if you should text the mystery man and take him up on his offer. You had asked yourself, is it really worth your life? Were you really going to die because you didn’t want to sleep with the hot guy you stole money from? The answer at first was yes because you still had your pride intact then but now, you had been starting to second guess your confidence in getting all the money back. After all, the deadline is tomorrow. You still had your hesitations, the only man who has ever seen you in such a lewd nature was your ex. You didn’t know if you were ready for sex with another person, even if he was the hottest man you’d ever seen. But, against your better nature, you convinced yourself that your ex was gone and this was bound to happen sooner or later, so why not sooner?

You grabbed your phone in earnest before anything inside you could convince you to stop and unlocked it, opening the messages for his number and typing out your text, hitting send before any sort of regret had the chance to sink in.

me : i’ll take your offer

me : this is ____ btw

You placed your phone down on the couch cushions beside you and chewed nervously on the not so fresh manicure that was still on your nails. To your surprise, his reply came in quickly and you frantically reached for your phone as the dings came rolling in.

+82 2 5284 8735 : i know who you are

+82 2 5284 8735 : i'll be there in 20

+82 2 5284 8735 : be ready sweetheart

Your heart thumped restlessly as you shot up from your seat shouting “twenty minutes?!” and you cried out nervously. You hadn’t even seen his face in good lighting and you didn't know his name so you’d basically be fucking a complete stranger which scared you enough as it is but the fact that that stranger held you at gunpoint merely a week prior is what scared you shitless.

In the limited time that he gave you, you decided to freshen up a bit so you hopped in the shower. Your first shower in a few days after your psychotic state worsened. Humming in bliss, you relished in the feeling of the scalding water flowing over your skin as you took your time washing , shaving, and singing, in an attempt to rid yourself of the horrendous nerves that overtook your senses. After reluctantly stepping out of the steamy oasis, you’d decided on a white lingerie set you had gotten yourself for christmas but never got to wear for anyone because your significant other was always “working” or too tired/busy to take the time of day for you. Pairing the set with a matching white silk robe and not bothering to wear any shoes because you’re in your own house, you slicked your lips in a thick coat of gloss and applied some mascara and eyeliner to your tired eyes just to spruce up a bit. You figured, if you put effort into your appearance, then maybe he’d spare your life after the sex. You stared at yourself in the mirror, tying your robe, smacking your glossed lips together and ogling your appearance before a soft knocking was heard from the living room. “He’s here” you told yourself with a deep shaky breath as you vacated the bathroom and slowly ventured toward the door.

You stood silently before the front door, contemplating whether this was a mistake or if it was too late to turn back. As much as you hated to admit, there was no logical solution to your problem that was in compliance with any standing laws. Heck, what you were doing was probably illegal in everywhere but Las Vegas so you had no other choice than to twist the handle, open the door and stare up at the most alluring man you had ever laid eyes on. You ran your eyes all over his body, studying him, his features, his gorgeous eyes, impeccable nose, plush lips, smooth hair, and strong arms that lead to a presumed strong chest hidden under his plain white tee. He noticed you blatantly checking him out to which he placed a finger on your chin, lifting your face up so your eyes met and making you watch as he rolled his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it for a moment. Oh how you wished that was your lip.

“You ready little dove?” he asked, his tone seductive and smooth like chocolate as he walked closer to you, closing the door behind him and backing you up until you stood patiently before the couch staring up at him, a wistful glint in your eyes as you nodded. He reached up, using a finger to push your robe off of your right shoulder and cocking his head quizzically. “All dressed up just for me?” he pondered, his eyes trained on the white lace peeking out from under the robe. You nodded, to which he gripped your chin roughly, furrowing his eyebrows at your response. “Use your words sweetheart” he warned, loosening his grip so you could speak in affirmation.

“Yes…” your voice trailed off, thinking of what to call him, as you still didn’t know his name, so you addressed him as you would any man you didn’t know, “yes, sir. I dressed up just for you” you concluded, your voice barely greater than a whisper as the corners of his lips turned up. He let out an animalistic growl at the name you gave for him, obviously satisfied and moved his hand from your chin to grip the back of your neck promptly.

“It’s Jungkook, but sir will do nicely” he basically growled before latching onto your lips with carnal aggressiveness. You whined heartily into his mouth as his tongue slipped deftly into yours and intertwined with yours, causing your mind to fall into a haze as he coiled his arm around your waist, bringing your body flush against his toned frame. You reached up with shaky hands, fumbling with his shirt, eager to get it off of him and gaze upon the expanse of his abdomen. His lips detached for a moment, giving you the chance to pull his shirt over his head, which he gladly obliged and lifted his hands over his head, swiftly resuming their positions when his shirt formed a pile on the floor beside you. You leaned back in, attempting to capture his lips in another phenomenal kiss but he pulled back, leaving you to chase him and whine when you ultimately lose, to which he laughs mischievously, taking his hands off of your body and toying with the silk tie on the front of your robe.

“How do you want it baby?” he pondered, the new nickname sending shivers down your spine as you glanced at him quizzically, as if asking what he meant. He chuckled softly, tugging at the ribbon and opening your robe as he brought his hands up, carefully sliding it down your arms and bending down so his face was level with your collarbone. He placed a gentle kiss there, leaving fire in the wake of his lips as he spoke, his breath cooling the seared flesh, “would you like me to be gentle?” he asked leaving more hot kisses along the expanse of your shoulder and neck, drawing salacious sounds from your parted lips as he brought his hand up to rest at the base of your neck. “Or…” he paused, sliding his hand up and increasing the intensity of his grip on your throat, restricting the blood flow to your brain as your mind became hazy and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. “Do you want me to be rough?” he continued, lifting his head to watch your face as he loosened his grip. “It’s your choice little dove.”

You were elated, ecstatic and a little disappointed when he loosened his grip on your neck. Your ex was always into sex that lindered toward the vanilla side, as mentioned before, so he would never think to try anything like choking, which always intrigued you just a little bit. You wished you would have experienced other styles of love before you met him but you didn't, and this was your chance to try them out now. Your fingers travelled up, lightly grazing over that hand that was tightly wrapped around your neck. Whining quietly you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, biting it softly as your other hand came up and wrapped around Jungkook’s forearm.

“I wanna try it rough” you mumbled, eyes closing as you relished in the hazy feeling this restriction gave you which only heightened as he tightened his grip.

“Perfect.” he groaned out almost inaudibly as he pulled your face to his, colliding your lips in the roughest, most passion filled kiss you’d ever experienced. He devoured your mouth with gluttonous amusement, his grip on your airway never wavering for a moment as he tongued you down, his carnal need prevalent and present in the thick air of the room. You reached up, completing a task you’d been wanting to do for days, tangling your hand in the messy black mass that fell upon his head, and relishing in the soft feeling of his waves. Then he detached from your lips and moved away, forcing your hands to fall from his hair and onto his broad shoulders, which, while pleasurable to touch, didn’t even come close to frolicking your fingers through his locks. He moved his hand from your neck to your shoulder, to which you whined with a small pout, missing the new contact as he chuckled at your eagerness. He stared at your lips, before leaning down and capturing your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down on it voraciously before he spoke. “Do you want me to put this slutty little mouth of yours to use little dove?” he asked, pulling back as if waiting for an answer, to which you obliged.

“Yes sir” You answered quite honestly in fact, as you felt all your hesitation and weariness about this task slip away. “Please put my mouth to use.” you pleaded, staring up at him, a wanton expression on your soft features.

“You’re so good for me .” he whispered, his soft breath fanning your face as you nodded in agreement, “such an obedient little dove, hmm?” he asked, to which you nodded once again, a bit more frantically this time as you awaited his cue. He used the hand on your shoulder to abruptly push you down with a small yelp so you were seated on the black leather couch behind you, the colder leather contrasting the burning lust in your entire body as you looked up at him. “Get to work slut.” Your eyes widened at the name. Maybe it was supposed to be an insult or he just liked calling you that but you couldn’t help the gargantuan wave of slick that coated your panties at the moment.

You looked down, a bit above eye level with his crotch as you reached up to palm him through his faded blue jeans. His scent was tantalizing, musky, and you couldn't get enough as you stared up at him through your eyelashes, your lips slightly parted as you gazed in awe. He gave you a warning glance, as if scolding you for teasing him for this long and you unzipped his pants. He held out his hand, as if to stop you before reaching behind his pants and pulling his gun from the back of his jeans. Your eyes widened, gaze now trained on the firearm in his hand, a horrified expression on your face as you ceased all actions. Which he noticed, peering down at you, a horrifying smile etched on his godlike features as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Relax darling, I won’t kill you,” he purred, reaching down and weaving the fingers of his free hand into the roots of your hair, grabbing and pulling back roughly so you have no other choice but to meet his dark eyes. “We’re only just getting started.” he lowered the gun, pressing the muzzle into the underside of your jaw, the cold metal like ice against your scalding skin. However, you felt no need to cry, felt no need to fear for your life even as this gun was pressed to your neck, aimed to kill, because you knew he wouldn’t do it. Through the dark facade and ominous gaze in his eyes there was something else that made you trust his inability to kill you. You realized you were enjoying the thrill, the excitement of putting your life in his hands. So, you did what any crazy bitch would do in this situation, you breathed out deeply, relaxing your shoulders and slouching yourself down to push your neck further onto the tip of the gun with a mischievous smile. Jungkook stared down at you in awe, running his tongue on the inside of his cheek and taking his gun off of your neck before tossing it over to the end of the couch behind you.

Resuming your actions with a shaky breath, you tugged his pants down until they fell to his ankles and placed your hands on the sides of his underwear clad hips. You might’ve been inexperienced in his style of fucking but you sure knew how to give a good blowjob, so you got to work, placing open mouthed kisses to his clothed appendage. You looked up at him once more seeing the lust clouded haze that filled his deep brown eyes. After a bit of teasing, you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his underwear, pulling it down in a seductively slow manner as you allowed his needy cock to spring free, and you stared up at it with a gasp.

It was huge.

You didn’t really know what qualifies as huge because the only dick you’ve ever had was around 6 inches on a good day but this alluring appendage swinging before your face had to be at least 9 inches long and you wondered how the fuck you were going to fit it all in your mouth let alone your pussy, which was already aching for it. Your mouth involuntarily opened wider in anticipation of his delicious dick inside and you grabbed the base, with two hands, drawing a hiss from the man that stood over you as he kicked off his shoes and the rest of the clothing that pooled around his feet. You licked teasingly up the sides of his dick, stopping at the tip to swirl your tongue around it, and catching some salty precum when you did. You glanced up at him and he looked absolutely furious in the best sort of way. Frustrated to the max as you teased him mercilessly, only spending meere fleeting moments at the spots which needed the most attention.

Then he snapped, taking you by surprise and using his hand that was still tangled in your hair to hold you still while he shoved his cock in your mouth. You tried to gasp but it merely came out as a small strangled whimper that was cut off as his length reached that back of your throat. You moved your hands to the sides of his hips once again, bracing yourself as he slowly pulled his member out of your mouth, most likely winding up for another thrust. He propelled his hips forward once again, stuffing not nearly all of his cock into your mouth, as his tip grazed the back of your throat. The feeling of him completely filling your mouth had you livid, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you moaned, the vibrations reverberating onto his appendage which drew a salacious moan from his plush parted pink lips.

“Fuck, your mouth feels like heaven.” he moaned out, then he started to fuck your face, tears pooling in your eyes while his dick basically hit the back of your throat with every harsh stroke of his hips as he gripped on your hair tighter. After one particularly hard thrust, he held his length down your throat as tears rolled down your cheeks and you gagged around him. He took his cock out of your mouth, to which you gasped, swallowing the spit that pooled in your mouth with an aroused groan.

“Tastes so good.” you mumbled, not possibly being able to get enough as he shoved his cock back into your mouth and fucked your throat relentlessly. The tension building in you was too much to bear and your need to cum only heightened as his actions resumed. You arched your back slightly, pushing your clothed clit into the black leather cushions of the couch as you gyrated into it slowly, praying he wouldn’t notice and would be too invested in fucking your throat to realize.

You were wrong. He noticed immediately.

He halted all movements, taking his cock from your throat and grabbing your neck harshly, to which you gasped, whimpering as he pulled you up to stand in front of him, cock slapping the front of your body as you stared at his face in anticipation of his actions. You could imagine what you looked like right now swollen glossy lips, and tear stains running down your face because you didn’t bother to wear your waterproof mascara. You never needed it any other time so you figured why would you need it now. Oh how wrong you were.

“Dirty little dove, trying to get off on the couch because you want me that bad?” he rasped, nearing closer to your face with each word and you nodded frantically, basically begging him to do something, anything. “Words” he barked, drawing a cry from your lips as you thought of what to say.

“I want your cock, please sir.” you begged, before he groaned hungrily and captured your lips in a ravenous kiss, taking you by surprise. No one had ever kissed you after they’d fucked your throat before so why would he do it. You didn’t dwell on that thought for too long before melting into his touch and wrapping your arms around his neck. Jungkook took his free hand, trailing it around your body to unclasp the back of your bra, your eyes going wide at the skillful ease of his fingers. He snatched the white lace clothing off of your frame, tossing it to the other side of the room and reaching back up to cup one of your soft breasts in his hand, flicking the nipple with his index finger and making you sigh satisfactorily into his mouth. He leaned forward, taking you with him as he lowered both of you back onto the couch, settling himself between your newly opened legs and never breaking the kiss. He unlatched his hand from your neck, trailing it down your body as the other hand continued to knead your breast skillfully. His burning touch slowly ventured further and further down your abdomen until he reached the band of your panties and abruptly tore the thin while lace from your body to your dismay and discarding it on the floor beside him. You whined sadly, as those had been your favorite pair of underwear but barely had any sort of time to grieve as you felt two rough fingers dip into the wetness of your slit, trailing them up and stopping right over the spot you needed him to be at, pulling a moan from your still swollen lips.

He began kissing a trail down your body, stopping for a mere moment to suck on the pert bud of your free breast before resuming his path of destruction. He moved his hands to settle on the inner sides of your thighs, spreading them apart and sighing as he got a glimpse of the treasure between them. Your eyes widened upon realizing his destination as you scooched away, holding a handful of his tousled black hair in an attempt to grab his attention.

“I-…” you paused, chewing on your bottom lip and thinking of how to word your statement. “i’ve never asked anyone to do that for me before, so y- you don’t have to do it.” you stuttered wearily as the nerves set in. No one’s face had ever been remotely close to your womanhood and the thought of it sent a chill down your spine as you released his hair from your grasp. You wondered what it would even be like. He glanced up at you, eyes dilated as he chuckled, a dark chuckle that made you shiver as he tightened his grip on your thighs, yanking you closer to his face and taking a deep drag of your scent once you were close enough.

“Oh baby I want to” he basically moaned out, licking his lips and glancing down at your glistening slit, the corners of his lips turning up in a hungry smile. You raised an eyebrow, asking yourself ‘why the fuck would he want to do that?’, and ‘isn’t this for my pleasure?’, but all your concerns were answered once he spoke again. “I can’t wait to make you writhe on my tongue little dove” he muttered, causing your cheeks to burn with the intensity of a thousand suns as he talked into your soaking entrance. “... make you beg and cry without even using my cock.” he continued, releasing your left thigh from his grip as he placed a hand on your pubic mound, lowering his thumb and slowly beginning to circle your clit eliciting a loud wail from you. “You think, if I had the power to turn you into a messy little whore all for me just by using my mouth, I wouldn’t use it at any chance I could?” He asked and you whined, nodding as your hips stuttered up in desperate need of more friction. “It’s all about power baby, and I have it all here” he groaned, watching you clench pathetic around nothing.

Then, he finally gave you what you wanted. His hand resumed its grip on your thigh, forcing it away from the other as his thumb was swiftly replaced by his warm tongue licking up and down your wet sex. You moaned, placing your shaky hands on the mounds of your chest, toying with your nipples just to add to the pleasurable sensations he was creating with his tongue. This feeling was unlike any ecstasy you had ever felt and you never wanted it to stop. His tongue slipped deftly into your soaked entrance twisting and turning skillfully as you keened loudly. His warm wet appendage swirling around your wet cavern was the best feeling in the entire world and you knew if he continued ravaging you at this pace, you’d cum in no time. But, you needed this release. You needed to let go of all this pent up sexual frustration you didn’t even know you harbored. You needed to experience your first orgasm in months, if not years, that wasn’t self inflicted and you hoped and prayed with all your heart that it would come soon.

He switched his focus,, moving his tongue up to play with your aching clit and slipping two fingers into your formerly empty hole with a deep groan that reverberated through your core like a powerful vibrator which only intensified your moans and cries of pleasure. You looked down on yourself to see the delicious sight of him devouring your cunt ruthlessly, the sight alone almost tipping you over the edge as you brought your hands up, covering your eyes while you neared completion.

“Jungkook you’re gonna make me cum.” you called out, an exasperated cry leaving your lips when your impending orgasm was painfully ripped away from you as all his motion stopped. You uncovered your eyes, about to stare down when your body jolted, a harsh sting being felt directly on your clit, sending a wave of warmth barreling through your entire body. Then you understood, he slapped you, and you peered down at him, your eyes glassy due to the orgasm that was ripped from your grasp.

“Who? said you can cum.” he deadpanned menacingly, staring up at you through hooded eyes as you leaned your head back tiredly, realizing the error in your words and prepared to beg, just like he said you would.

“Sir” you cried, holding your arms limply over your head as you continued to plead. “Sir please, please make me cum.” you begged mercilessly, a tear of relief sliding down your cheek as he resumed his assault on your core, attacking at a steady pace and retrieving the all too familiar knot that formed in the pit of your stomach. You reached up, grabbing the edge of the couch with an iron grip, your knuckles turning white as your hips began circling on his face, your clit rubbing against his tongue with every movement and venturing you closer to your sweet release.”Please don’t stop sir, oh my god” you whined loudly, fucking his face relentlessly as you chased your high, nearing it more and more with each thrust of your hips until he finally pushed you off the brink of ecstasy, a scream leaving your lips as Jungkook continued his unrelenting attack on your pained pussy.

You rode out your high, writhing and panting before him, his pace never faltering, his fingers never slowing, his tongue never relenting and it soon became too much. The euphoric delirium quickly turned into madness as you barreled down the path into overstimulation. You wailed pathetically, thrashing under his hold as the pleasurable pain consumed your body and you could barely form a coherent sentence but you persevered, scraping all the coherent thoughts you could muster and turning them into tangible words that sat on the tip of your tongue, ready to be spoken. “Sir please, it's too much!” you cried to which Jungkook finally let up, slowing his pace to a halt and sitting back.

“Oh my god that was so fucking hot” he growled before sucking on his glossy fingers and cleaning around his mouth with his skilled tongue as he gazed amusedly upon your exhausted body. But he was nowhere near done with you. This fact made apparent when he stood and wrapped an arm around your hip, lifting your limp body and turning you over with ease, positioning you so your face was pressed into the now warm couch cushion and your ass was raised high into the air before him. His eyes rolled at the view of your swollen cunt bent over for him and he gave it a light smack, eliciting a pained, but tired yelp from you as he chuckled muttering “you’re going to drive me crazy little dove.” under his breath.

He crouched down, coming face to lips with your abused cunt as he wrapped his arms around your bent bottom, lacing his fingers together as they rested at the arch of your back and dragging his nose up the tortured path of your slit, drawing whines and cries of overstimulation from your wiggling frame as you tried to get away from the punishing menace that was his face. “No, please. I can't take anymore, it's too much.” You whimpered, your voice muffled as you leaned your face into the couch tiredly to which he obliged, reluctantly, as he stood, grabbing his neglected dick in hand and pointing it toward your pink entrance.

“I can’t wait to stretch your pretty little pussy ____.” he purred and you moaned at the sound of your name slipping off of his tongue like the creamiest butter. He dragged his tip along your swollen clit, abusing it again for what seemed like the millionth time that day as he covered his girth in your slick, a guttural groan emitting from the back of his throat. Then, abruptly, he sunk into your slippery cavern, barely all the way in but you’d never felt so full in your entire life as he pushed forward slowly, filling you up and providing you with the most delicious stretch you’d ever felt. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you whined, a desperate whine that you could barely register was your own voice as he pushed his length completely inside of you, his head falling back and your name, rolling off of his tongue once again.

After barely giving you time to adjust to his alarming size, he reeled his hips back before slamming into you again, and again, and again, over and over again until he was fucking you at an unrelenting speed you barely knew was possible to achieve. Suffering from the overwhelming pleasure he forced you to endure, you shut your eyes tight, crying out in strangled indulgence as you grasped onto the fluffy throw blanket strewn lazily over the couch in front of you. You relished in the sting of his girth, staring ahead blankly with glassy eyes as he rammed into you with a punishing speed and black mascara filled tears streamed down your cheeks.

You knew you were about to cum soon, again, only due to the all too familiar feeling accumulating in the pit of your belly. Jungkook reached down, placing a hand on your shoulder blade and pressing your chest further into the couch while he drilled into you, moaning and cursing at the feeling of you flexing deliciously around his cock. He felt you were close, so he moved his hand, snaking it around your waist and trailing his other hand to assume its position around your neck, hoisting you up so your back was arched against his abdomen and you had no choice but to stare up at him as he talked down on you, never slowing the snapping of his hips for a wavering moment.

“You’ve never been fucked this good have you?” he teased through clenched teeth as he leaned down, sucking and marking all over the expanse of your neck with grunts and growls of pleasure. You were way too fucked out to even think about the words to form a coherent sentence, barely being able to form whimpered versions of ‘mhm’ after he questioned you but he was having none of that. He unraveled his hand from your waist, tightening his grip on your throat and landing a hard slap to your left asscheek, drawing a shrill shriek from the depths of your throat as he warned in your ear. “Words little dove” he slapped you again, “how many times do I have to fucking warn you.” he concluded, landing another harsh smack to your abused flesh as you whimpered.

“You’re the best I’ve ever had, I’m such a slut for you sir.” You sobbed out, “please let me cum, please fuck” you whined, drawing out your words and you reached back, tangling both hands in his unruly mop of hair as he split you open, moaning directly in your ear which in itself, was a thing that could make you cum on the spot.

“Cum then.” He said obviously, as if it was the most simple response, only it was this simple command that shoved you off the precipice of ecstasy for a second time. The feeling that bloomed deep in your stomach soon blossomed into a full blown orgasm that racked through your body quickly, leaving nothing but white hot pleasure in its wake as your legs trembled viciously, with one last loud cry of Jungkook’s name. But, he still did not falter, his pace quickening as he neared his own climax, the speed both too much and not nearly enough at the same time. You reached back, attempting to push him and escape the all consuming pleasure torturing your body like a blazing fire but your hands were caught quickly by Jungkook’s hands which crossed them tightly and held them behind your back, resuming his attack.

You shook your head, letting it hang as your tears fell freely onto the couch before you, his moans and groans of ecstasy increasing in volume and frequency as he neared his own climax, his hips faltering in their pace for the first time in a while as he worked to his own release. In what seemed like an instant, he released the most beautiful, salacious, strangled moan you had ever heard, pulling himself out of your soaked cunt, and painting the surface of your ass with his white hot ropes of cum. He finally let you go after a moment, watching as you fell limply to the couch, laying face down, panting exhaustively, your arms still crossed limply behind your back as he smirked down at your fucked out frame. He left you alone for just a bit, coming back but a few moments later before you felt the sore skin of your asscheeks being wiped off with what felt like a warm hand towel. You were relieved he had the respect to clean his mess, it made you respect him just a little bit more as a person but you were way too tired to dwell on the subject any longer.

“You did so good for me little dove” he cooed, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it as he placed a sweet chaste kiss on your lower back, caressing his hand up the side of your body. A simple touch that lacked any sort of sexual aspects, it felt comforting and you sighed, leaning further into the soft couch as you heard him begin to put his clothing on. You felt a pang of distress, seeing as you were more of a fuck and cuddle kind of girl, but you really hadn’t expected him to stay so why’d you feel the need to ask him to. Pushing the feeling deep inside your gut, you sighed deeply as he walked in front of you to bend forward and grab his gun that laid discarded on the opposite side of your couch, also grabbing the throw blanket beside it and tossing it over your naked frame before thinking about something. “So,” he started, tucking his gun in the back of his pants and humming, “I’m thinking that was worth about, hmm 50k” he started. You vaguely understood what he was saying and knew you’d flip out once you were conscious enough to truly comprehend his words. “I’ll keep in touch.” He said, pulling his shirt down and smiling deviously at you as you uttered a hoarse ‘huh?’ To which he answered simply, “if I wanna come collect some more money” and he spun on his heels, opening your door and sauntering out of the threshold.

When he got into the hallway, Jungkook burst into a wide smile, satisfied with the encounter he made today. He entered this agreement fully prepared to either fuck you once and take the money you’d earned back or just fuck you and kill you, but once he’d had a taste, he was insatiable. You were flawless, your compliance was impeccable. The way you obeyed him, begged for him, the way you tasted, the way you felt, the way you looked. There was no way he could ever get enough and is probably the reason he kept overstimulating you like a frat boy with a bruised ego. There was no way he was gonna just let go of an absolute gem like you, so he made his excuse, a plan. Everytime you fuck him, you pay back a portion of the money. He was so tempted to tell you this session was only worth $100 just as an excuse to come back over and over and over until he had his fill, but he kept his composure, giving you hope that you’d ever be free of his grasp. Jungkook for once was extremely ecstatic, elated, excited to ruin you even more than he already had and he was dead set on making you want him just as much as he craved you no matter what it took. Though he was pretty sure you already did.

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Not Really There (AHIT oneshot)

Summary :

"If there was a higher being watching him from afar… Then it had to be the cruellest being in the universe. Staring into the pond, Moonjumper’s eyes were fixed on a familiar face, one he had known for a few years now.

Berry."

Moonjumper suffers from the loneliness the Horizon offers him... Until he discovers a new ability, allowing him to appear in the real world. Except... It doesn't go well.

Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/31866103

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Hello people, new one shot ! It's one of the birthday gifts I made for @habijob for her AU, @queens-nightmare !

Two others will come after this one, making a three part series of one shots (the series will be called "Loneliness and Helplessness") ! I hope you'll like them ! In any case, I had a lot of fun writing them.

Read the one shot under the "read more" ! Happy reading !

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If there was a higher being watching him from afar… Then it had to be the cruellest being in the universe. Staring into the pond, Moonjumper’s eyes were fixed on a familiar face, one he had known for a few years now.

Berry.

Oh, Moonjumper had had a lot of friends in the course of his existence, but he never forgot them. All of them had different personalities, appearance, humor and, well… Things that made them special in their own way. One of those things was dreams. Every human’s dream was different from one another, and this could be said for all the kids Moonjumper had been bonded to. For some, their dreams were about painting, reading, fighting, playing dolls or hide-and-seek… And, for Berry, it was Space. Of course, just like all the other times, Moonjumper’s outfit had been influenced by his “host”’s dream, making him wear a starry cloak and planet-like bracelets. This wasn’t a bad one, to be fair… He had had worse, he could say that much, so here he was pretty lucky.

Although, in another regard… He wasn’t.

Stuck in this lonely place, the dream being couldn’t do anything but look at the outside world through a window, one he couldn’t open. This was frustrating, no, unbearable. It was like being starched and seeing a bottle of water in the desert… Only to find out that it was impossible to uncork at all.

Today –or, however, he could refer to the passage of time in such an awful, unchanging place-… Yeah, today was one of those times where Moonjumper’s loneliness was at its peak. Being able to see his dear friend outside but not being able to talk to him, to even just being… Seen at all! This was horrible, terrible and extremely cruel.

This wasn’t fair.

Out of frustration, the dream being put both of his hands on the “pond“, his only window showing him the outside world. Pushing with all of his strength, Moonjumper groaned, his frustration growing stronger and stronger as this did nothing at all. The pond was not moving, was not letting him go through. Why did it have to be that way?

-“Come on!” he whined, desperate for contact, any type of contact: “Why can’t I leave?” He pounded on the window, shutting his eyes hard for a moment, still trying to push… But nothing worked. No matter how hard he was trying to get out, no matter how hopeless he was, no matter how unfair this situation was… The pond still remained the same: unmoving… And still locked.

A wave of melancholy hit him at the realization, and he let himself lie down on the pond, his face turned to Berry and all of his other friends he could see outside. Friends… Who could touch him, who could actually talk to him.

Friends he knew existed.

Tears swelled up in his eyes as he couldn’t look away, a mix of negative feelings washing over him. Jealousy, despair, hopelessness, anger, frustration… The more he watched Berry having fun with people who could really be there with them, the more unbearable it became. And yet… Yet, he kept watching, envying these children so, so much.

They were free, they weren’t as lonely as he was… Oh, what he would give to be in their shoes! If only he could leave that hellish place…

-“Just once…” he begged, his voice breaking as he started to cry. He was feeling so miserable…

He closed his eyes again, letting his mask knock on the pond- the closest he would ever get to freedom, surely-. This was torture, just pure torture! Why did he have to go through this? What did he do to deserve such an horrifying fate?!

-“Please…?” he asked softly, knowing fully well that the pond wasn’t sentient in any way, that no one but him could hear his plea… And yet, he couldn’t help but still try. Still, unsurprisingly… Nothing happened. The world remained the exact same, silent and lonely, without any possible exit.

Moonjumper cried for a while, his tears falling onto the window but never going through- just like him. Why did it have to be this way? Why?! This wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair!!

Fuelled by a wave of fury, the dream being started to push on the pond once again. He didn’t want to stay here any longer; he wanted to be out, out of this world!! He hated it, loathed it so much! The anger kept growing and growing, getting more intense as seconds passed. He didn’t want this!!

-“JUST… ONCE!” he screamed to the pond, his fingers bending from how much he was pushing on the flat, inert surface. One would have expected this to end in the exact same way than his previous attempts… However, something else happened.

Something… Moonjumper had never experienced before.

An unknown feeling enveloped him and he sensed his consciousness leaving his body. He felt… Empty, in a way, but it didn’t feel so bad, just… Weird. It happened quickly, though for the dream being, it felt like it lasted a few minutes at least. This was… Such a strange sensation and, as soon as he was able to… He opened his eyes, his curiosity washing away his despair and fury. What… What had happened?

A blinding light made it hard for him to distinguish anything for a few seconds. Confusion filled his mind- wait, what? Why, what- what could possibly be producing so much light? There wasn’t anything like that in the Horizon! However, after a moment, the dream being was able to discern colors, shapes… And, soon enough, people.

Real, actual people. Right in front of him. But this wasn’t what stroke Moonjumper the most- no, far from it. His eyes fell on a very familiar face.

His friend’s face, who was looking at him!

-“Berry!” he exclaimed, as his eyes widened from the surprise. Moonjumper was… Out? But… How? What had happened? How had he escaped the Horizon? Still, his attention focused back on the child and his friends, who were all looking at him, something Moonjumper had longed for years. New tears appeared in his eyes, as his wish had come true. Joy and happiness hit him like a wave- finally, finally he was free, he was out, and… His friend was there, looking at him, actually seeing him!

And yet… There was something wrong, very wrong going on.

-“Moon-Moonjumper?! You’re real!” gasped the kid, his eyes fixed on the dream being. But contrary to the latter’s expression, there was no delight on his face, no relief in it. Instead… Instead, there was fear. Berry wasn’t looking at him like he was facing a friend. It seemed like he was staring at a monster.

Just as the realization fell on Moonjumper’s mind, Berry and his friends crawled away from him, terrified expressions visible on their face. Before he was able to say anything, the kids started to run, as if their life depended on it. The dream being was unable to look away, too dumbstruck to move either. Wait, no… No, this wasn’t supposed to go this way, no…!

-“Berry?” he called out to his friend who was no longer there, almost talking to himself instead. His tears of joy gave way to ones of sadness again. A twisted smile appeared on his face as a wave of despair engulfed him again, one that was so, so much stronger than anything he had ever felt before. He had wished to leave his prison so much that he didn’t even expect it to go wrong.

And the look in Berry’s eyes, the way the other stared at him, horrified… This sight was now carved in Moonjumper’s mind, like something he would never, ever forget in his immortal existence.

-“Why are you running…?” his voice broke- and he just couldn’t contain his sorrow anymore. New tears pushed the previous ones, making them roll down his mask, as the dream being held his head tightly between his hands. His cries became louder and louder, misery and melancholy crushing him. He had thought being lonely was awful… But this was nothing compared to this. Compared to having his friend looking at him like a monster, to having his friend running away from him!

Why?! Why did it have to go this way?!

His emotions were getting more and more uncontrollable and, before he noticed it, his presence in the outside world started to get… Rather unstable, strange particles floating around him, their number increasing as seconds passed. His stress was getting so strong that he felt his grip on reality slip for a short moment. It felt just like what he had experienced before, his sense of reality disappearing… Although, it still felt different. His vision turned black, and he started to feel full again, just like he had always been in the past. And, when he opened his eyes… He was back there.

Back in the Horizon, back in this nightmarish place, back in this… Prison.

His eyes widened, and his sobs stopped for a moment as he looked around him, anguish filling him again as he was forced to realize that… He was not outside anymore.

-“No… No, no, no!” he screamed, his distress more than audible. Why, why?! Why was he back here?! He had been free just a minute ago- his eyes glanced back to the pond. Panic and anger grew inside him, and he floated closer to it, pounding his fists on it.

-“Why?!” he yelled, both livid and hopeless: “Why ?!” he repeated.

Why letting him out… Only to have him experience such a terrible rejection, and bring him back here afterwards? How could fate be so cruel to him when all he had wanted to was to interact with a friend! Nothing more!

Why making him suffer like this?! Was his imprisonment not enough?! Was his eternal loneliness not enough?!

Moonjumper let himself sink down, lying on the pond just like before… Though, now, he couldn’t look through it. He just… Couldn’t anymore. All he could see, as he kept his eyes closed, was Berry’s terror. He kept crying, his sobs echoing all around with no one to hear him at all.

Could it be that… He had never really been out there at all…?

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Oh my, someone really is feeling sad over there, now that's a shame :)c I'm sure everything will get better in the next two !!!! ...... :)

[that-one-fandom-vore-blog]

Accidental Vore 👀

OH I LOVE THIS OKAY BUCKLE UP! May or may not turn this idea into a full fic later. Thanks for the request!

In her defense, it hadn’t seemed like trying to steal a cupful of beer from Adam was a bad idea at the time. It wasn’t like he would’ve noticed. After all, his cup was so damn big, and right fucking there— he’d barely even touched it, and it wasn’t like the massive lightweight would miss the half sip of liquid it would take to fill Kelly’s own cup, right? He’d left the cup unattended, too, on a rickety coffee table, next to a rather easy-to-climb looking stack of books.

It was damn near foolproof.

Damn near being the key part of her little plan. She should’ve seen it coming. She had never been much of a planner— and while close to shitfaced? Her limited decision making skills only slipped further from her grasp.

How the hell was she supposed to have known that he’d drank just enough that she wouldn’t be able to skim her cup over the top without all but doing a yoga pose? How was she she supposed to have predicted that some drunken fuck was going to pick that exact moment to bump the table? She’d barely even managed to cry out before she’d tumbled completely into the barely sipped at cup, the lukewarm liquid sloshing around her in a way that was nothing short of uncomfortable. Shit. Her phone was in her pocket.

This wasn’t something she’d planned for.

All of those thoughts of being able to get back to the party at hand completely left her the second she dipped fully under. This was bad. This was actually really bad. It wasn’t like she couldn’t swim or anything like that, but as she scrabbled uselessly at the sides of the cup, nails dragging across the plastic, she was starting to realize that getting in had been the easy part. Getting out was going to be a fucking ordeal.

Shit.

Taking a moment to properly breathe— it wasn’t like she was drowning (not that drowning in a cup of cheap beer wasn’t a pretty stellar sounding way to go out)— but she needed to think clearly. She just needed to tip the damn thing over, or maybe get someone’s attention... no. That wouldn’t work. The music was thumping through the floor with a volume that was sure to deafen anybody listening in— hell, even the people on the other side of the giant’s neighborhood weren’t going to be exempt from hearing damage.

Tipping it seemed risky, too. It was all the way up on a table, and if she fell from that height, she could end up with some broken bones for sure, but what other option—

The cup jolted. Kelly barely managed to get in another breath of air before she was submerged again, the disorienting sensation of being lifted whilst in a cup not entirely lost on her. It made her insides feel like water. Her kicks seemed to do no good against the rocking motions at all. Gravity didn’t even feel like it had a constant pull— shifting and changing every couple of seconds.

When she reached the surface again, she gave a loud gasp, looking up at—

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh hell fucking no.

There was no mistaking that stupid mess of halfway curly hair, nor the blue baseball cap hiding the worst of it. Shit.

Sputtering for a moment, trying to find her words, Kelly opened her mouth to call out, to cuss at him, to do anything other than uselessly flounder around like she was, but—

Her words caught in her throat.

She’d never found Adam to be scary. She’d met scary giants before, she knew what they were like, but Adam? Adam was on the opposite end of the spectrum. He was a dork. A total and complete loser. One of the few games he could play was checkers, he couldn’t hold his liquor, and he was disgustingly sappy when it came to one Samantha Brown. None of those things were scary— nothing about him was— but as Kelly felt gravity shifting again, tipping her forward—

She was terrified.

Unable to do so much as scream, Kelly was forced to watch as a mixture of fear and alcohol made everything seem slow despite the fact that it was still happening far too quickly for her to stop.

Having Adam pick up the cup was fine— but Kelly had forgotten one thing. What people do with cups at parties.

A set of jaws were opening up to greet her, the alcohol she was soaked with eagerly pushing her forward and toward them. The gleam of teeth were hard to ignore, but beyond that, she could see the damp surface of his tongue, and in the very back, the dark passage of his throat.

She was stunned speechless, though when the wet noise of a swallow caused the level of liquid around her to drop considerably, suddenly, everything seemed to snap back to a proper speed. “SHIT!”

Her cry went unheard. Her legs kicked out frantically in an attempt to keep her from slipping any further— fuck, why had he picked now to start drinking? Breaths coming in quick, sharp bursts, she tried desperately to gather enough air to cry out to him to stop, but it seemed that every time she took a breath in, it was stolen from her by fear, stolen until—

One of her hands clipped up against his teeth.

“ADAM!”

A blast of hot air— his breath— hit her face. Something faintly warm and wet sagged under her weight, and when she went to scrabble against it, it only flexed and forced her forward with a torrent of alcohol that suddenly seemed like it hadn’t been worth trying to get.

No.

“ADAM— A-ADAM, WAIT! ADAM, IT’S KELLY! IT’S ME!”

This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be—

The sensations alone were enough to make Kelly painfully aware that it was happening. All of it. She was fully in his mouth. Her heart was thrumming in her ears, loud and unrelenting in its frenzied rhythm, though it was muffled by an all-encompassing gulp.

Kelly fought hard, but in the end, it only forced her into his throat faster. The muscles around her rippled and squashed her little form without pause, and certainly without slowing. Another heavy swallow forced her deeper, and although she was squirming as hard as she could manage— it didn’t feel like enough. It wasn’t enough.

Gasping for air in the tight confines, Kelly kicked against the downward pull, the noises of her cries completely drowned out by the thundering sound of his heartbeat. She could feel it around her at this proximity, and it only served to make her aware that her seconds had to be numbered. Her clock was running out of sand. Out of all the ways to go out, swallowed by her best friend’s boyfriend wasn’t one she’d even considered, but the possibility was quickly becoming a reality.

A reality that was made worse the second she splashed into his stomach, the sudden drop enough to make her suck in a breath of stale air. Her back connected with a slick, soft surface that she all but slid down before she was reunited with the lukewarm beer that she’d been so concerned about drowning in.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t see. It was pitch black— maybe for the better— in Adam’s belly, and try as she might not to open her eyes and confirm her fears, she knew it didn’t matter. Fear kept her glued to the spot as another swallow from above brought down more shitty alcohol that soaked her to the bone.

It was only when a low, deep gurgle sounded that Kelly found enough energy to attempt standing. It wasn’t worth it. She couldn’t keep herself upright for more than a second— the fleshy walls around her bending under her weight and sending her to her knees. Could he feel this? Did he even know he’d—

God, she couldn’t even think it.

“ADAM!” She tried, her hoarse voice ringing out in her new, living prison. “THIS ISN’T FUCKING FUNNY! LET ME— SP-SPIT ME OUT!” Would he hear her? Would he care if he did? Kelly didn’t know, but at the sound of another heavy gulp, she knew one thing for certain. She was not going out like some fucking snack.

With a terrified, guttural cry, she flung herself at the nearest wall and dug her fingers in. Hard.

He gagged. She heard it from where she was, heard a couple of choking noises that only egged her to attempt continuing until her space was suddenly folded in half. No. Fuck. Fuck! This couldn’t— was this digestion starting? Panic surged through her, and when she ended up flat on her rear in a puddle of liquor, she kicked as hard as she could against the intruding force, hoping, praying that he’d—

“I f-feel kinda... kinda sick... give me a... minute...”

The words buzzed through her, vibrating the fleshy confines she was trapped in. He’d felt it. Good. The fucker had felt it— felt her best efforts, though before she could attempt adding to them, everything started to sway and churn. His footsteps were unsteady. Lurching. Struggling not to get any more wet than she already was, Kelly gasped for breath at every chance she got, borderline hyperventilating.

It was only when the rocking of his footsteps stopped and the music seemed quieter than it had been that something around her shifted, probing at her— his fingers from the outside.

She wasted no time in slamming her weight hard against them and giving a shout. “ADAM!”

If the noise of his breath hitching above her didn’t tell her that he’d heard, his reaction sure did. “Kell—“ he started to say, though he interrupted himself with a hiccup that made everything jolt in place.

“YES, IT’S FUCKING ME! YOU’RE SUCH AN ASSHOLE, YOU KNOW THAT?” Her voice was wobbling as she slammed her fist against where she’d felt his hesitant touch. Fuck how scared he’d sounded. Fuck the noise of his racing heart. Kelly wasn’t going to stop. “YOU FUCKING ATE ME! I— YOU DIDN’T— I TRIED TO STOP YOU AND YOU JUST—“ She broke off into a borderline wail. What little traction she had gained left her when she threw herself against his hand once again, leaving her to collapse in a trembling mees.

“Shit,” came his voice around her, “I didn’t— I didn’t know, I didn’t— oh, fuck— I th-thought I tasted something funny but I didn’t even think that it was—“ He hiccuped again. Kelly winced as everything sloshed in the dark and weakly hammered her fist against his hand again.

“You’re SUCH a fucking ASSHOLE!” Despite the fact that she couldn’t see anything, she glared upward as though he’d feel it. “You— I thought I was going to—“

“You’re n-not, I... I didn’t even— Kelly, are you hurt? D-Did I— did I bite you or some shit?”

Kelly opened her mouth to spit absolute venom his way, though she was stopped by a new sensation. The walls around her were trembling, which meant that... Adam was too. Fuck. Biting back the remarks, Kelly shook her head despite knowing that he couldn’t see it. “No. I’m fine, except for the fact that you fucking swallowed me.”

It was more sarcastic than truly angry. When he pushed at her again, she bit her lip and pressed back.

Silence fell, save for the noises echoing around Kelly in the dark, and not just from the stomach holding her. Adam’s heatbeat and breathing were painfully audible, still a little too fast to be considered calm. God. He was fucking panicked.

For reasons she couldn’t quite place, the thought made her giggle. She could feel Adam’s confusion all around her in the form of tenseness and a questioning prod, but it only made her laugh harder. Her back slid down one of the walls. Was it panic setting in? Probably. All the adrenaline was leaving her as her body went slack, save for the gales of laughter that were wracking her frame.

“Kelly, what— what’s so funny? I— I ate you! I— th-that isn’t okay, it’s not—“

“First off,” Kelly wheezed, “you drank me, dipshit, and second...”

She paused to get her breath back before finishing, barely able to contain her somewhat frenzied giggles. “What the fuck are we gonna tell Sam?”

[ks-caster]

The Future is Infinite (Chapter 7)

Start || Previous

Chapter-specific warnings: Mild suicidal ideation

“Slow down,” the man who’d been introduced a few minutes ago as Nick Fury demanded, “and start from the beginning.” Octavia resisted the urge to scratch her still-healing burns as Natasha and T’Challa took turns catching the man up on what had been happening with Thanos. According to Bruce (after he’d bravely suppressed a gag at seeing the state of her body) she was healing up at a phenomenal rate, and should be back up to 100% by the end of tomorrow. 

She had taken that as an official release from medical, and had grit her teeth through a painful and ill-advised shower, pulled on another pair of soft pants and a shirt, and had wandered into the introduction and briefing of the former director of SHIELD. She figured it wouldn’t hurt to listen in, if only to get caught up on everyone’s names.

“Shortly thereafter,” Thor was jumping in, “Thanos attacked my ship, carrying the remainder of Asgard’s people as refugees. He slaughtered about half of our number; the other half escaped in pods. While Loki, Hulk and I held them off…”

According to both Wong and Tony, Strange was going to lose it when he woke up and found out that they’d prioritized saving his life over retrieving the time stone. Octavia’s mind replayed those moments over and over, trying to find another angle she could have swung her sword or a way she could have caught up with the fleeing wizard. While she didn’t regret the decision to choose the life of a comrade in arms over an inanimate object, she did know how bad of a thing it was for Thanos to have it. Particularly if the wizard Mordo could use it the same as Strange had.

“...While Wanda was trying to destroy it - we almost lost Vision,” Natasha continued. “If the ship from Phyra hadn’t shown up when it did…”

Steve had looked like he was going to either hug her or cry when he’d caught sight of her upon her return. She’d made a joke about Venus being too hot for a vacation, and when it fell flat, reminded him that the infinity stone made her able to heal. Eventually she’d managed to push off some of the attention on Peter, pointing out how he’d bravely saved her and Valkyrie at the last moment. 

Tony had alternated between worried scolding and beaming pride, and something about the way he and Steve no longer flinched at each other’s presences made her think that someone had forced them to come to an understanding. Maybe it was Shuri, she thought tiredly. She was just glad it hadn’t been her this time.

“And you must be Miss Blake,” the woman who had come with Fury addressed her, holding out a hand to shake. Octavia took it. “Maria Hill, former agent of SHIELD, current hero-wrangler with Stark Industries.”

“Octavia Blake,” she responded, “current human infinity stone.” 

“What abilities does it give you?” Fury asked, somehow managing to look like he was staring her down both with his eye and the patch on his left side.

“So far, I can survive having my ribcage crushed by a titan, and a walk on the surface of Venus; if someone touches me and I don’t want them to, they get thrown across the room” she listed tiredly. “And bonus, when I wish that the floor would open up and swallow me, it actually does.” She focused hard on staying where she was, not wanting to accidentally give a practical demonstration right then and there.

“So in general, not a combatant,” Fury summed up. Half the room raised hands and voices to correct him. Octavia smirked while Fury raised an eyebrow, first at the room at large, and then at her.

“Untrained, then,” Fury corrected himself. Octavia inclined her head, allowing that.

“You happen to have a course available at SHIELD?” she checked, half sarcastic, half wondering what resources they might have. “How to use your infinity stone in 10 days or less?”

“A course, no,” Fury shook his head. “But,” he added thoughtfully, “I do know someone with experience in that area.”

“Actually, so do I,” Rocket realized aloud. Everyone turned to look at him. “Well, not a lot of experience.” he backtracked quickly. “And he can’t do it anymore. But he did pretty good for himself at the time. And he needs something to do anyway.”

“My option is on the other side of the galaxy,” Fury shrugged. “It’ll take her some time to get here.”

“Mine’s holed up in his room down the hall,” Rocket responded.

-0-

Peter Quill was a horrible teacher. 

First, he had no idea what he was doing. His experience was limited to two days living on a planet that was also his biological father (she wasn’t 100% clear on the details there and wasn’t sure she wanted to be). While his ability to control his surroundings sounded a lot like the descriptions she’d gotten of the reality stone’s powers, he understood them about as much as she did - which wasn’t much. 

He also insisted on expressing himself in metaphors based on a culture that Octavia had no context for, and didn’t become at all discouraged by her blank looks and complete lack of understanding. 

“Once again,” she growled, “I don’t know what the force is, or how to use it, I’ve never heard of Krypton, my name isn’t Daniel-san, and I still don’t understand why the thing you want me to do with the power of the universe is bend a spoon.” She held the piece of cutlery up and waved it back and forth between her fingers, thinking that she could easily bend the metal with only her hands. Hardly a god-like feat.

“Look,” Quill growled right back, “the only time you’ve been able to use it is when you were emotional - you wanted to fall through the floor, you didn’t want the King Panther dude to touch you, you were upset and lashed out. Now when I had my powers, they were tied into my emotions too - you don’t fly the arrow with your head,” he choked off, and Octavia bit down on the inner corner of her lips to try to prevent a scowl.

“I don’t know that one either,” she sighed, but stopped there, noticing that he was tearing up. Rocket had warned that he wasn’t terribly stable - his girlfriend had been killed by Thanos hours before he’d landed on Earth. He’d also described the man as funny, irreverent, friendly, and kind of an idiot. A good friend.

Like Jasper, she thought, heart twisting as he tried to make another joke to smooth over whatever he’d been saying about arrows.

“So what you’re saying with all of this is I need to get emotional,” she summed up.

“Not exactly,” he sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyes, ostensibly in frustration, but clearly also to remove the evidence that he’d started crying. “According to Thor, when his ex had it, it protected her when she felt she was in danger. Now the times you described that you used it, you were in danger too - or thought you were. But you’re not in danger here in this room.”

“So I need to… recreate what I was feeling at the time that I used it to defend myself,” she summed up.

“Yes, exactly,” Quill exclaimed. Octavia could feel herself shrinking on the inside. That toxic combination of fear and despair wasn’t something she wanted to relive.

“And you’re absolutely sure that this is the only way?”

“I’m absolutely sure that this is the only way I know of,” he responded, flinging his arms wide, “since I was only a damn deity for about two days, and I’ve only had my hands on an infinity stone for about thirty seconds. And I barely survived both of those things.” He gave her a confused, awed, pitying look with which she was becoming familiar as the people of Terra-Earth learned the various things she’d survived.

“Something something evolutionary next step ,” she said, waving the spoon dismissively. Then she glared at the curved metal, willing it to bend - for the hundredth time that morning, but this time focusing on the fear and pain she’d been feeling when she ran from the medical wing. 

The spoon glinted defiantly at her, a perfect, smooth curve. 

She forced herself to go back into the darkest recesses of her head, tracing the thoughts lurking at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to flood in and consume her if she let her guard down.

Functionally immortal. She’d gone from comfortably courting death, knowing that her final rest was on its way and having faith in all the good that would do her people, to possibly never being released from this life. She’d never see Ethan again. Or Jasper. Or Lincoln. Or her mom. And her people would never truly be free of The Dark Year. The last of the human race wasn’t even the last - just an abandoned test colony. It had all been for nothing, she’d given up her soul for nothing… 

“-Tavia! Octavia, geez, stop! Stop!” Her eyes snapped to Quill’s wide, terrified ones. The spoon stood, perfect and unbothered by her inner turmoil.

“What?” she began to demand, irritated that this man would demand she tear herself apart with emotional pain only to interrupt her before it did any good.

“I think maybe your problem is less about power, and more about… aim,” he explained quietly, pointing off to the side. Turning her head first one way, then the other, Octavia found her eyes going just as wide as his had. 

The columns supporting the room’s roof had all bent down, doubling over in response to her command. She glanced up, noting the red mist holding up the ceiling, and then following the long tail streaming off of it to its source of Wanda Maximoff’s hand.

“Nice catch,” Quill thanked the woman as he stood and dusted bits of plaster off of himself.

Octavia exhaled slowly, making a concentrated effort to calm herself down.

She was accustomed to power. She was accustomed to scaring people.

She was not accustomed to being unable to control those things.

‘The sword doesn’t care what you meant,’ she remembered coldly admonishing Illian, lifetimes ago. ‘It just cuts.’ This power was far more destructive than a sword or a gun, and for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure if she could stop herself.

“Hey,” Natasha greeted them from the doorway, and three heads swiveled in her direction. “Strange is awake.”

“Awesome,” Quill responded dryly, “he can take over as Mr. Miyagi.”

“About that,” the red-haired agent sighed. “There’s been a complication.”

-0-

“Mordo’s spell was intended to remove his magic at the source,” Wong was explaining as they arrived. “Thanks to Octavia’s timely intervention, he didn’t succeed, but the damage is extensive - and it seems to have reset his memories back to June, 2016.”

“Look, Mr… whatever your name was,” Strange was trying to growl, his hands shaking even more uncontrollably than usual as his voice cracked. “I don’t know who the hell you people are or how I got here, but if someone could quit talking about magical miracle bullshit for ten seconds and call a real hospital, that would be great.”

“I take it June 2016 is prior to him becoming the master wizard we all know and loathe?” Tony sighed, pressing a half-full glass of something brown to his temple.

“Right before,” Wong confirmed. “The last thing he remembers is going to look for Pangborn. We think that that since Mordo’s spell was meant to remove his magic, and said magic is obtained through study and practice, he had to suppress the relevant memories..” 

“What the hell kind of hospital allows this many visitors to pile in at once?” Strange grumbled. “What country is this? And who’s in charge here?”

“Well that’s an unfortunate twist,” Octavia sighed, scrubbing her hands down her face as Shuri introduced herself and started to talk about chemical memories and a bunch of other scientific stuff that the warrior didn’t pretend to understand. They were short one time stone, one wizard, and she still didn’t have a competent teacher. 

Fear froze through her at the familiar thought that she might be on her own in this, carrying a power she neither wanted nor fully understood, again. Was it too much to ask of the universe that she not be alone to carry such a burden? She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing deeply as Wong had instructed her to do when she felt her mind start to slip down that path. 

In, out, Strange’s voice was relieved as he began to realize that Shuri really actually did know what she was talking about.

In, out, this wasn’t her earth, there was no more bunker, no more Blodreina.

In, out, Tony and Steve were discussing how this would affect their plan in low, stressed voices.

In, out, she just needed someone who understood this, who knew what the hell they were doing, she needed she needed she needed she needed so hard that the universe was warping around that need.

She swallowed, clenching her fists against her forehead. Too much, too much power, too much need.

In, out, Rocket was quite vocal about how screwed they were now. Strange was quite vocal - and in a much higher register - about the fact that a raccoon was talking.

In, out, she could feel the power flowing through her, infinity crying out to infinity, the whole universe beneath the soles of her shoes and more, answering her call as it had every time she’d felt cornered and afraid so far. 

Her heart pounded, once, twice. 

Their hearts pounded, once, twice.

In, out, a green-skinned woman was waking up, breathing herself for the first time in a long time, blinking in confusion at the light coming in through Quill’s window as she threw back the curtains and stared at the city below, trying to get her bearings… 

“Octavia!” The hands on her were Wong’s and she realized that she could feel the stone’s power about to throw him off, and reined the impulse in with an iron will, the same as she had the impulses to murder and maim so many times when she was queen. She felt the power rising against her, but she opened her eyes, aiming her fist at the window and letting the burst of red power shatter it. Wong’s hands left her shoulders out of sensible caution - not because she’d hurt him. 

Progress.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this,” she commented blandly.

“So the light show and broken window were on purpose?” Rocket snorted.

“That window could withstand a missile blast,” one of the red-armored warriors who followed the princess around said, her eyebrows up. “If that was on purpose, I’d hate to see an accident.”

“Who the hell gave me LSD?” Strange choked.

“Some guy named Mordo,” Octavia responded flippantly, “I’m sure Wong can fill you in. Rocket, Nebula, with me please.” She turned and walked out of the room, knowing and not knowing where she was going all at once. She felt the stone singing beneath her skin, felt another pulling at her, felt a third pricking at the edge of her consciousness, wanting to wake...

“Uh, where are we going?” Rocket demanded, standing up from all-fours after he’d caught up. 

“Quill’s room I think,” Octavia responded, turning left and descending a flight of stairs.

“Why?” Nebula shot back, not trying to disguise the irritation and disgust in her tone. Octavia threw open the door to the guest hallway, and came face to face with the green woman, dressed in what were probably Quill’s spare clothes, holding two halves of a broken stand lamp like batons. For a long moment, no one spoke. No one moved. No one breathed.

The poles clattered to the floor as Nebula flung herself at her sister.

To Be Continued... 

[yminie]

after hours | jung hoseok (m)

pairing: Hoseok x Reader genre/warnings: retail!au, nonidol!au, manager!hoseok, worker!mc, tension, smut, protected sex for once, this is honestly pretty mild lol. Words: 5.3k summary: It’s no secret your manager is very, very good looking. So what can be expected of you when you spend one too many nights locked up on your own with him?

a/n: Happy Hope Day! Just a little something to celebrate our sunshine! Enjoy <3

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

You were never going to admit it, couldn’t possibly, no matter how many times your best friend called you out, nor how many times you’d overhear female customers whispering between themselves just how handsome and sexy Jung Hoseok was. You were never going to give in, never going to stoop so low as to actually admit to yourself –let alone anybody else– just how damn attractive he was.

Because he was your manager, and even entertaining the idea of how toned you’d noticed his arms to be, or how strong and thick his legs looked when he pushed you aside to lift the boxes that were too heavy.  You could never, ever, ever get involved with him.

“What’s the big deal? You guys are together every day, spending lots of alone time after hours – it’d be way too easy! Besides, Jung Hoseok is the hottest piece of ass this shopping centre’s seen since that Mr Bubble Butt that works down at the cafe!” Your best friend within the mall, Tiffany, badgers you again, and had you not known first hand these tables weren’t cleaned nearly as well as they should be, you might’ve just banged your head along the fake marble surface. “C’mon, _____, do it for us thirsty girls! We’re all dying to know what he’s like in bed–”

“Oh, my god.” This time your head does fall forward, luckily onto your folded arms, and you groan once more into your skin as Tiffany throws back her head a laughs, holding a french fry between her teeth. “You’re really not gonna drop this are you? He’s my manager, Tiff. That’s like, the most conflict of interest I could possibly get!”

“Hey, you’re not banging him for a promotion! Though if that’s how it ends up being I won’t judge you for it! Girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.” You glare up at her when you finally lift your head, fingers twitching with the urge to pinch her and instead pinching the straw to your smoothie as you turn your hateful gaze to the table in front of you.

“You’re officially insane, you know?” She merely shrugs, teeth-filled grin not dimming in the slightest even after she tears the fry in half and chews smugly.

Because she knows. She knows you’re not immune to the delicious sight that is Jung Hoseok, and she’s always seen right through your guise to the struggle you have every time the boy in question gets a little too close or bends over a little to directly in front of you. Because even the strongest woman couldn’t help the way her knees get a little weak when he sweeps his soft hair back from his forehead, or tilts his jaw and rubs at his chin, deep in thought.

“I hope you remember what I said in four hours, when there's not a soul in the centre to hear you–” You almost hiss, turning your head so fast your neck starts to burn with pain, and her smile grows, eyes flickering somewhere back behind you to where you know Hoseok is standing serving a customer.

“I hope you choke.” All you hear is her laugh ringing out as you turn on your heel and stride back into the store, completely bypassing Hoseok where he’s chatting casually with a regular, also ignoring the confused glance he gives to your flushed cheeks.

Your bag hits the shelf out the back with more force than necessary, rattling the fixtures as you huff and pull a deep breath into your lungs, running your fingers through your hair and away from your face as you try to calm down. You shouldn’t be so worked up over just a little bit of teasing, just as much as you shouldn’t be thinking about the reality of her words, knowing just how close to the truth they truly are.

This is very, very bad.

__________

“Hey can you close the doors now? There’s no one out there so we might as well get a start on this VM change.” You hum your agreement, putting down the box of stock you’d grabbed from out the back beside the counter and walking slowly to the front of the store. The wheels of the racks rattle as you pull them in out of the way of the door, and when you look up in the midst of bringing the roller door down, you spot Tiffany doing the same right across the way. Her grin is only what could be called shit-eating, and you feel your eye twitching as she lifts a hand to twinkle her fingers at you.

“Don't work too hard now, you two!” Your stare quickly drops down into a glare even more firey than the one she’d been given earlier, but all she does is smile wider.

“Easy for you say!” You barely hide the way you jump in surprise at Hoseok’s sudden appearance at your side, hands casually tucked into his pockets as he grins across at her, yet once glance at Tiffany lets you know she’d spotted your little jerk.

“Have a great night!” Hoseok waves at her farewell just as the roller door lowers over his face, and now all that’s to be seen is rough silhouettes through the meshed metal, though you don’t need to see her to know she’s still grinning.

“Lucky her, huh?” You blink out of your daze to find yourself still with your hand on the key in the auto lock, and for a second you struggle as you try to remove it before it slips free. “Too bad we’re stuck here for another few hours.

“Yeah, ha, too bad.” You follow him once he turns on his heel, awash in a cloud of his cologne as you walk behind him back to the desk, and the smell only gets stronger as the both of you lean in and take a look at the clothing display on the screen. It wasn’t a big change, new seasonal far more straightforward than a sale setup, and in no time the two of you are moving about, both with your own section to complete in order to make the process a little faster.

“Hey, can you pass me that bar?” You grab the metal rod before taking a glance, standing from where you’re crouched in front of a box of stock with a groan, but when you look up you have to force yourself not to gasp in awe.

Hoseok is stood at the top of a ladder, one foot a rung higher where he’s stepped down to reach for the bar in your hands better, and the position only serves to make his behind look rounded and thick, solid in the same way his thigh is pushing at his chino pants, and suddenly the thought of a similar view with a few less clothes flashes in your mind.

You cough, averting your eyes as he slips the bar from your hand and turns back to his task, and for a moment you stand with a distracted mind as you look unseeing down at the box in front of you. This was entirely too inappropriate, ogling your boss like he’s a piece of meat, regardless of how meaty his muscly legs looked–

“You good, _____? You’re looking a little flushed.” Now you do gasp, jumping away from his sudden hand on your arm too fast to see where you’re going, and it’s with a yelp you start to fall, feet tripping over the box before you as you flounder for something to grab onto. Hoseok yells too, an indistinct noise you can only guess to be distress as he makes a grab for you, and for one terrifying second you think you’re truly going to bust your skull on the floor and bleed to death, all over the imaginary visual of your boss’ naked lower body.

But his grip on your waist doesn’t falter, only his feet, and after a few stumbling steps where you’re both fighting to stay upright, you finally land on something far softer and more safe, a squeak pushing through your throat when Hoseok lands right on top of you.

You don’t want to say his crotch is pressed right between your legs...but his crotch is pressed right between your legs. A short table of tshirts and the like had cushioned your fall, though the piles were a little too uneven to be called comfortable, and for a few moments you simply lay there, gasping for air as you soak in the feeling of Hoseok’s warmth above you, and you can feel the heat of his breath where he’s panting in tandem against your shoulder.

Damn it.

“Shit, you okay?” Hoseok pushes himself upright in the blink of an eye, and you quickly realise one of your legs had been curled around his hip in the mess of the fall. You shook upright, still sitting on the table as you pat down your hair frantically and try to ignore the way your skin is burning, you cheeks in embarrassment, and the rest of you in arousal.

Because nothing could deny just how good his body felt slotted so perfectly against yours, how well he’d fit between your thighs like he was made to be there, and how close to the real thing you’d really just gotten a taste of.

You were so screwed.

“Y-Yeah I’m all good.” You can’t find it within yourself to look up at him even though he’s stood right in front of you. Every piece of your being is screaming for you to launch yourself at him and never let him escape, but you know that’s not reality, and as you push yourself to stand you make a point of stepping away from him a little, just to avoid the temptation his nearness might invoke. “S-Sorry, that was dumb, um. I’ll go grab the rest of those boxes while you finish the display.”

Hoseok is silent for a while. Not responding as you walk away, not speaking when you do as you’d said, walking back and forth with boxes, and not speaking when you start to set up the new stuff in your section. The only noise in the store is the quiet music he’d let continue playing through the speakers overhead and the tapping of his feet on the metal rungs of the ladder as he goes up and down, quietly humming to himself along with some of the tunes as he works.

Almost fifteen minutes passes in this way, the two of you strung up in a tense silence as you both work quietly among yourselves, but the silence is deafening, and all you want is for him to break it with some of his silly noises or another funny story about a customer he’d had come in this week. You’re almost scared at his silence, seeing a guy normally to lighthearted and upbeat slip into such a mask of seriousness, and you can’t help but feel it’s all your fault.

If only you were more professional, more focused on your job than being caught up in Hoseok’s looks, nothing would’ve happened. And you’d never have felt the scorching imprint of his hands on his skin and his hips burning permanent invisible indents on the insides of your thighs.

“_____.” You jump again, lost in your thoughts as you stand in the back room staring blankly at the wall with your lip between your teeth. You turn around quickly to find Hoseok standing in the door frame, eyebrow quirked as he watches you with a smile, and you clear your throat with a rosy hue coming back through your cheeks. “Are you done out there? The wall looks done, looks really good.”

You can’t deny the way his small praise makes your chest swell, and you could’ve sworn he’d seen it with the ways his eyes glimmer, taking a step further into the back room and now fully filling the doorway. “Yeah, all done.”

“We’re finished a little earlier than I’d thought then, that’s good.” You have no room to back away as he walks even closer, arm reaching past you so closely you can feel the warmth of his skin as he grabs the long cardboard tube beside you. “Bring the extenders and help me put up these signs.”

You follow him dutifully, two extending poles in hand in order to reach high enough to hook the new signage onto the ceiling, and in sync you both lift the old poster from the first window and lay it gently to the side, hooking the bars on the rings for the new one and reaching up to attach it to the ceiling. It goes up with practiced ease, though the way you’re stretching up is causing a slight complaint in your lower back after standing on your feet all day prior, and soon you’re both shuffling to repeat the same on the other side of the shop.

You both stand back to admire your work for a moment, the signage now in place meaning the store is finally put together and the display is complete. Hoseok walks back to the computer to double check any further changes you might need to make, and while he does so you start to tidy up, moving all the empty boxes and bags of plastic back out into the back room to be thrown out in the morning. You find a few metal bars in an empty box that Hoseok must have been using, and you quickly locate their home as you reach up to put them in a box on a higher shelf.

Only now you’re struggling, the ache in your back sharpening like you’re pinching a muscle, and you have to drop back to the flat of your foot and stand straight for a moment, making a small noise of complaint as you rub at your lower back slowly.

“Here, let me help.” You stiffen up once more as the warm of Hoseok’s body returns suddenly, this time at your back as he reaches up to take the bars from your hand and hook them over the edge of the box and inside. He’s not touching you on purpose, you know, hands falling back still by his side, but your entire body breaks out in goosebumps at his proximity alone. You’ve both grown very quiet again, frozen in place with the slightest brush of his breath on the back of your neck, and it’s not until the brush of your backside against the buckle of his belt as you start to melt against him that you both come to, you with a slight whimper that sends your cheeks flaming and him with a slight gasp.

“I-I–” You flounder for something to say, spinning on your heel and stepping back as far as you can to make distance between the two of you. You can feel his eyes on you, not doubt disgusted at the way you’d rubbed yourself against him when he’d purely been trying to help. “I’m sorry, I–”

“Do you have any idea how hard you make this for me?” His voice isn’t what you’d expected, sounding somewhat choked with a roughness that makes your muscles twitch with the need to shudder. You finally lift your gaze to find him staring deep into you, eyes ablaze and lips parted as he almost pants for air, and you find yourself reacting akin, heart beating fast in your chest. “How tempting you are day in, day out?”

“Ho-Hoseok?” You’re still ashamed with the way your body is reacting to him, knees growing weak and lungs breathless as he takes another step towards you, and you can feel your thighs shaking as you press them together, arousal flooding you faster than ever before.

“I try so hard to keep myself away, to respect what’s expected of me and to stick to the rules.” His eyes squeeze shut as though he felt actual pain, and your throat works around a swallow as you realise in an epiphany exactly what it is he’s saying. “Living with this guilt that I’m so fucking attracted to my employee that I can barely keep my head every time she’s around. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

Hoseok is daring you, you can feel it. His words and his gaze are pulling at your self control, pushing you to confess just how badly you want him and everything he could give you.

And now, with the possibility dangled so close in front of your face that you can almost taste him already, you can’t help yourself.

“Yes.” Hoseok freezes, eyes blowing a little wider before he realises the weight of your words, and then his next step forward is a little bigger, a little more threatening as his eyes narrow like a predator looking at its next meal. “Yes, I do.”

“Tell me you don’t want this.” He takes another step, one that has you stepping back in response, but now you’ve no where to go, the shelf behind you digging into your lower back as you meet the end of the room behind you.

“I don’t want to.” Your voice is nothing more than a whisper

“Fuck.”

Hoseok collides with you so hard you bounce off the shelf and into his chest before he presses you back into it, hands buried in the back of your hair as his lips glide against yours, and the taste of his kisses on your tongue fill you like a breath of fresh air. You can’t help but moan, finally giving in to the sordid urges you’d always suppressed and leaving your body weak as he pulls you even tighter against him, right hand sliding down your back to grip your hip tightly.

The pressure of his kiss has your back curving over the shelf, and in turn has your hips extending forwards to press against his own, and you can finally feel just how badly you’ve affected him without even knowing it. Hoseok’s length already feels fully erect, a thick, generous curve pushing incessantly on the inside of his zipper, and you can’t curb the temptation to shift your hips from side to side to tease him with the pressure of your lower stomach.

This pulls a grunt out of him that you feel reverberating through your lips against his and down your spine, settling in place in the ache between your thighs as his hold on your hips shifts to the more generous flesh. He holds your thigh so tight you don’t doubt there to be bruises left behind, and just the thought of his marks on your body as you rolling your torso against him once more with a moan.

Quickly, the way you both pant into each others mouths isn’t enough, and you’re the one to dislodge your mouths as you fall into his chest, forehead meeting his shoulder as you realise how tightly you’re gripping his biceps and shift your hands instead to stroke down his chest. You can feel every ridge of toned muscle lying beneath his shirt, the fabric doing nothing to hide just how firm he feels under your palm, and you can feel his muscles bulge and flex as his torso stretches with pleasure under your touch.

His mouth has quickly moved on to your shoulder, wet lips leaving glistening trails over your skin as he follows the curve of your shoulder up your neck and to the lobe of your ear where he noisily sucks and nips against your flesh, leaving goosebumps in his wake that tingle when his other hand drops to the buttons at the front of your shirt. He wastes no time, flicking each button open with ease as you remove your hands from his chest to lean back against the shelf with the risk of your knees buckling under the intensity of his ministrations.

The moment the curve of your cleavage is exposed, Hoseok draws back with a deep groan in his throat akin to a growl, and your lashes flutter as you look up only to find him staring down at you already. His eyes are the darkest you’ve ever seen them, brown burning black as he watches your expression carefully, and when your shirt is finally completely open and beginning to fall down your shoulders, he finally releases you from his stare to dip his head and mouth along the edge of your bra with his swollen, cherry red lips.

“Ah!” You can't help but gasp as he laves his tongue along your sensitive skin, dipping just under the cup of your bra to tease at your flesh, and your hands instantly abandon your own stability to twist your fingers into his hair and keep him in place. Hoseok doesn’t mind at all, hands holding you tight around the waist before sliding around to the curve in your spine, and soon they’re lifting to the clip fixed in the middle of your back, only needing a few seconds until the fabric falls lax against your chest.

Your hands drop from his hair to the collar of his shirt, body shaking through a shudder as his fingertips run up the length of your spine where your bra had earlier covered, and it takes barely more than a tug for him to understand your wants. Not bothering with the buttons of his own shirt, he simply releases you to dip his head forward and pull the fabric over his head to be added to the pile on the floor.

Now when he presses against you, it’s skin against skin and you can truly feel how hot his body is burning under your touch. The lights in the backroom are a little dim, not quite lighting the space enough to let you truly appreciate the delicacy that it Jung Hoseok’s body, but he doesn’t give you a chance to worry about it. Quick fingertips ease the straps of your bra down your arms and after only a moment’s hesitation on your part, you let your arms drop and hear the thud of your bra meeting the floor.

“Jesus.” Hoseok whispers like reference on your skin, the soft give of your flesh dimpling under his teeth as he sucks just above the pert rosy bud tightening in the centre of your breast, purely for the sake of marking you up, and you egg him on with a breathy moan as you arch your back even further. “You’re killing me, _____.”

“Ung–hhngk!” You can’t even find the power to reply as his tongue curls around the nub, teasing the tip into complete hardness before his sucks your flesh into his mouth greedily and releases it a few seconds later with a childish pop!

“That’s it, baby. Moan for me.” And who are you to deny such a request through the lips of an angel in the flesh?

“H-Hob–ah!” You jump in his hold as his hand comes up unexpectedly to pinch at your other nipple, and you twist and convulse as each shot of intensity pulses tenfold between your hips. And you know he’s feeling it too, the way his hips continue to roll and press the thick, hot bulge between his own not going unnoticed even as you start to lose your grip on reality under his tongue.

You’re already losing your mind, the slow burn of months of tension all coming to fruition at once, and you can already tell if he doesn't get inside you in the next minute you’re going to combust before he’s even touches between your thighs.

“N-No more!” Your voice is little more than a pitiful whimper as you tug at his hair to ease him from your now swollen nipples, and he instantly straightens with wide eyes trained on your face, hands dropping back down to your waist. He thinks you want him to stop, but he couldn’t be more wrong.

Your hands shake as you pull at his belt with a whine, frantic to finally get your hands on his length and after a few moments of your struggles Hoseok finally interjects a hand to help you with the clasp before allowing you the honours of sliding down the zipper, and once the heat of his arousal is exposed, you instantly pull him from the confines of his briefs and give him a generous stroke.

He’s so much better than you could’ve imagined, no so big you fear the pain of such a tight fit but long and thick enough in your hand that you already know how well he’s going to hit all the places you need him to. Glancing up through your lashes as you push your loosely closed fist back down his length you watch with saliva pooling on your tongue as his eyelids start to droop and his head falls back to expose his throat as he give a deep groan of pleasure. His hold on your waist tightens as he reveres in your touch for just a few moments longer before his head falls forward once again and he leans down to press his forehead to yours.

“Fuck, I don’t have any condoms.” Heartbreak is the only thing comparable to the disappointment you feel for the few seconds it takes you to remember your own little stash, and you simply tilt your head to press your lips to his gently for a second or two.

“My bag, get my bag.” His eyes are alight with confusion as he reaches behind himself to grab for your belongings, and you can feel the beginnings of another scalding blush working across your cheeks. “Don’t judge me.”

You pull the little foil packet you’d been searching for from a small pocket on the inside of your bag, holding it up into the light, and for a few moments he only stares. But then his lips stretch across the biggest smile you’ve ever received from him, and his fingers a plucking the little square from between your fingertips in the same second he’s leaning in to kiss you. “I wouldn’t dare, baby.”

Preening at the pet name as he presses you just as tightly to the shelf as before, you moan into his mouth as tongue glides over your lower lip, fingers doing the same along your waistband before slipping under the sides to ease your pants down your hips. You quickly reach down to help him as he pushes the fabric down to your thighs and leaves it all in a scrunched up mess just above your knees, keeping you in place,

You can’t help but gasp as Hoseok spins you with ease and pressed himself against your bare back while you brace yourself against the shelf with heavy pants for air escaping you. Your heart is beating a hundred miles an hour, and you can feel yourself starting to tremble as the weeping tip of his length slips over the curve of your ass. Hoseok hisses at the contact, hands cupping your backside as he thrusts automatically against your flesh a second time, but the desire to be inside you finally is too strong, and he quickly leans back to tear open the condom packet and slip the latex over his length.

“Shit, baby. Arch your back for me, that’s it. Look at that fucking ass.” Words you’d never dreamt of hearing start to pour from between Hoseok’s lips, and you moan as he tilts your hips ever further, thumbs on your asscheeks pulling your flesh away to nestle the engorged tip of his length against the spot you desire him most. And the first brush of his tip against your entrance effects you so greatly, Hoseok having you so highly strung in such a short amount of time, that you instantly push back onto his length without a thought, and leave yourself crying out as his length slips inside easily. “Fucking hell!”

“O–Oh, Hobi–iihngk!” He cant help himself, the slightest parting of your warmth far too good to resist, and within moments you’re entirely impaled on his length as he buries his face into the back of your neck, hips twitching with the effort it takes to stay still. But you’re grateful for his attentiveness, because you’re sure if you starts fucking into you any faster, you’re going to detonate completely.

“You feel so much–ah! Better than I imagined, sweet thing.” His words are mumbled, words pressed hard against your skin with his lips, and you’re not entirely sure you were meant to hear him at all, because soon you can’t hear a single thing.

Hoseok’s hips piston forwards faster than you’d ever thought possible, and your knees knock together as you fight for your own place, hands scrabbling on the shelf in front of you before finally planting against the wall as you push back to meet him gently, and you do your best to muffle your whines against your arm even as the blood rushing through your ears renders you deaf. You can’t hear it, but you know you’re being too loud.

“F-Fuck, _____.” Hoseok is groaning a little too loud as well, and you have to remind yourself you’re at too high a risk of being caught. And so you reach back and twist your fingers into Hoseok’s hair and pull him forwards until you can fit his lips against your, effectively shutting you both up for the most part.

“Mmh! Mmh! Mmh!” The sweet, gasping moans you let out with every thrust of his length into your core is uncontrollable, each slap of his hips against your ass accentuated by the little sighs and moans you let out, and feeling the way you moan against his lips only drives Hoseok wilder, hips snapping forwards after his hands drop to pull you into place over his length.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last.” Hoseok pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, and in the next breath he’s pressing his lips to yours even tighter as his fingers slip from your hip to the apex of your thighs. The first brush of his fingers over your clitoris has you jerking away from the sheer sensitivity before you slowly melt into the shelf before you, unable to feel the way the wood digs into your ribs as you arch your back even more for him. And then he hits it.

The thick ridge of his tip catches on the little bundle of nerves hidden deep inside your core, and as his fingers tease back the hood of your clit to rub tight circles around the little sensitive pearl, you feel your walls and upper body convulse uncontrollably. The way he teases each spot perfectly, his grinding in his own special way as you clench around him tight not only driving him closer to his own release but allowing his head to heavily graze that same little special spot over and over. Everything about his movements is perfect, and with one last pinch to your clit as he presses his swollen lips against the curve of your neck, along with a deep groan of your name as his shaft starts to pulse and swell, you cum harder than you’ve been able to in a long time.

“F–uh! Ah–nnggk!” Hoseok’s hand slaps down over your mouth as you throw your head back with a wail, walls fluttering as each wave of your high rolls through you. Your hips push back, slapping even harder against Hoseok’s as you chase the pleasure his throbbing length is bringing you, but he scrambles for the control of your hips as he cries out into your neck, barely muffled by the skin beneath your ear – and then you feel it.

The deep, throbbing pulse of his length as shot after shot of his release escapes him, and you briefly wish you’d forgone the condom just to be able to feel the way his orgasm could’ve coated you from the inside out.

You’d messed up so bad. But it felt so fucking good.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

17 with obiyuki pls!

Promptsare currently closed while I catch up. I will announce when I am open! :)

17. Needing to kiss to hide from bad guys

Content warning: Involuntary intoxication, dubiousconsent, and lots of kissing. Also, lime!

The brain is a brilliant, amazing, and terrifyingthing, filled with synapsis that connect and fire, who’s entire purpose it to bring to the forefrontof your mind the most… trivial of details when you need it the least andteasingly withholding the most important of facts of a mystery when you need them the most.

Never is that more apparent than when she is at herstupidest. Never is that more real than in the seconds before she most surelywill die.

Not that she’s an expert. Or anything.

—–

There’s the lift, the weightlessness, the fall. Thesquawk of outrage just as stone gives way to nothing, gravity giving way toreality as the earth comes closer. Closer still-

Grandpa, she squealed, her laughter floating with her as sheleft the safety of his hands. There’s the blue of the Tanbarunian sky, thepattern of her skirt – pink stripes and lemon yellow – as the wind catches, theway the leaves rustled in the apple tree above. Grandpa, catch me!

He’s not here. Not anymore. No one is here to catchher. Not from this height-

And the water swallows her up, just like it swallowedup the smooth green stone that meant life, that meant justice for Kihal andPopo and all the others, and Shirayuki sinks. Down and down and down- deeperthan she ever has before- touching bottom before kicking herself back to thesurface-

“Miss!”

Grandpa wasn’t there to catch her anymore. But he at least sent someone to fall with her.

~ ~ ~

“It’s beautiful,” she sighs, wistful, as the planes ofLaxdo disappear behind them. It’s not that Tanbarun didn’t have snow, but itfell so far away. While the city might occasionally dust with frost, theclosest she had ever been to real, actual snow was- was books. Illustrations inthe storybooks of her childhood, and then, later, in thick dusty tomesillustrating the first flowers breaking through mountain snowpack in theSpring. “It’s a shame we have to leave so soon.”

She’s never known a snort to be kind, so she returns the gesture with a glare. “Youdisagree, I take it?”

The cut of his mouth as he grabs hold of her arm issharp and secretive. “Oh Miss,” he drawls, pulling her astride his horse. “Iwould be happy never seeing a single flake of snow again.”

It would be a shame to see him buried under it.

There’s little warning but the tremble of earth, theway the fat little puffs that had been chirping so happily in the trees above suddenly flee with a panicked song, but she catches it before he does. The roll of snow, first alittle, then a lot-

It’s dangerous!

And all she can think – all that she knows – is thathe could be hurt. That the snow would take him under, tumble him beneath it,knock him out cold and then- then she would be alone. Out here. Digging withgloved hands until they were soaked through and she could no longer feel herfingers, searching for him and searching some more and never- never finding himbecause it had taken him so far beneath it.

So she- she just-

Pushes.

“I could’ve avoiding that on my own, Miss!”

For once, she’s not the one that has to be rescued.

~ ~ ~

It’sdangerous. Zen says quietly,bending in close while Izana looks on. Her heart jerks uncomfortably, skintightening in anticipation and eyes darting from Zen’s lips to the King’s eyes. Viande is the city of spies.

The tilt of the Kings mouth is strange, the light inhis eyes even more so when he adds, Canals, Zen. It’s the city of canals.

Would that she listened to the both.

——

Well, aside from present company, she supposes she’s a betterexpert than most.

Breath stings her throat, heart pounding behind hereyes, she runs as fast as Obi’s weight will allow. The alleyway behind them is as dark as the alleyway before them, littlepinpricks of candles illuminating the faces of the gods that watch so passivelyas they dart past. Would that they reach out, that they point the way tosafety or where she might get Obi help, but they just… look on. And she doesnot linger. 

Above them, the stars are blotted out, the windows onthe second and third stories shuttered tight, and the pitch makes thesecobblestoned streets more treacherous than normal. Slick with rain, she slideson them, catching herself against walls but never – not once – letting go ofhis hand. The shadows almost stole him from her once. She was not going togive them a second chance.

It’s only because she’s paying attention, that she’sleft to dully wonder how, stoned out of his mind, he’s able to move more silentlythan her, that she catches the clap of her shoes turn dull. They thud againstwood for one step, two, before she sees the shine of a buoy on dark water.

Skidding to a stop, she hovers just at the edge of thedock, her terrified reflection staring back at her, before a solid mass ofmuscle and bone slams into her from behind. Her skirts fly over the dark water,reflection coming closer and a scream caught in her throat when an arm latchesaround her middle so hard that she knows she’ll bruise.

Obi leans back, bringing her with him, and they bothland on their seats with a groan.

“Miss,” he slurs, his heart pounding against her spine. “Be careful.”

Boots beat a drum on cobblestones, echoing off the narrowalleyways, and she doesn’t have time to panic. Eyes adjusting to the barelights of the canal, she takes in the long shapes of the gondolas thuddinggently against the dock. Their bodies, so shiny and clever in the light, are nothing but shallow shadows in the dark. But they are covered well enough with long bolts offabric. Maybe enough to hide a body or two.

Turning, Shirayuki wraps her arms around Obi, hooking herlegs around his waist and rolls. Obiis all limb, and it’s like pulling taffy, hard at first but then his musclesstretch, resist, and then go lax at all once, letting her bend them to herwill. They land with a dull thud in the bottom of the boat.

He’s entirely unhelpful, giggling madly on top of her.

“Shh,” he holds his fingers over his lips, like sheisn’t the quietest one among them for once. He sounds positively gleeful whenhe adds, “They’re going to kill us.And if they don’t, Master will. Maybe His Majesty, too. Can you be killed threetimes?”

Right. Still no help from this quarter. 

Groaning, she pushesat his shoulders and he goes easily, legs tangling impossibly in the fabricthat was supposed to be their hiding spot. So that plan is out. Scrambling uphim, Shirayuki stretches over the edge of the boat, fingers pinching hopelesslyaround the knot tethering the boat. This really- it’s Obi’s forte, but shetries. Even with Obi groaning beneath her, steadying her thighs with his facepressed into her belly, she tries. But they’re shaking too badly.

A passing wave sneaks under their little ship andShirayuki sways with it, landing a yelp on Obi’s lap.

“What was that?”

The sound of a strange man should send her into a panic. But she does’t have time and- and Obi’s face is- very close. Eyes wide, pupils blown wideand mouth parted, with his heart pounding a rapid rhythm beneath her palm, she- she shakes herself, grabbing hold of those stupid leatherstraps of his and using them to haul his body where she needs him. Propping him in thecorner, his head falls back with a soft groan.

“Miss,” he breathes, grasping at her hips as she liftsherself to see. “Miss, get down.”

There are shapes moving in the dark. Unfriendlyshapes, heading straight towards them.

Drawing her lip between her teeth, she looks againtowards the brackish water that shimmers with buoy light and mist, that swaysthe boat, then back down at the man who is bracketed between her thighs. He’stoo broad, and she’s too heavily dressed. Even if she had time to strip down toher chemise, she’s never been that good of a swimmer-

“Miss,” he breathes again. Her eyes focus on him, andonly now she notices the way his chest heaves beneath hers, and her mind startspiecing together symptoms.

Elevated resting heart rate, dilated pupils, rapidbreathing-

They must have slipped him an accelerant. In hisdrink. In his food. Maybe even a contact drug to the skin-

Obi’s tongue flicks his lower lip and her breathcatches. This is- is not a good time to be thinking about something like this.

“Come here,” he pants.

“Obi?” she mutters, confused, when his hand finds theback of her head, urging her down.

At the touch of warm skin to her lips, her hands splayout in surprise and- Oh. Oh. 

He wants- he’s trying to- Wait, now?!

Obi pats her frozen arm once and, oh- she gets it now. Bothher arms wrap slide around his neck, anchoring him to her and his hand dropsdown to flex at her thigh. It’s- it’s nice, more than a little bit, and Obi’s lips are far softer than she imagined that they might be. So she tiltsher head, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss a little more. And it’s just apress, a flick, really, of her tongue to his lower lip, but Obi bleats like adying sheep, stiffening in her arms.

“Shh, shhh,” she whispers against him, tightening her holdon him and smoothing one hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.Just- pretend? For a moment?”

Air shutters out of him, whining in her arms, and thenhe drags her down onto his lap. Already her thighs had framed his, but now her skirtsruck up to her hips, baring the line of her stockings to cool air and mist, andit’s- it’s thrilling and a little dangerous, so she draws his lower lip betweenher teeth and bites. Gently bites. But it draws such a sound from him-

Obi’s always been a good actor, but he’s doing a far better job at pretending than shethought he could.

Both his hands splay over her ass, and she whimpersinto his mouth when he drags her forward, until she’s flush against-

Oh. Oh!

Right. There must be… some aphrodisiatic element to whateverdrug they slipped him.

Gasping into his mouth, she shifts, proud of the groanit draws from him. It makes him wilder, more unhinged, his hands no longercareful but demanding, meeting her tongue with his and sliding it across theroof of her mouth.

Another wave rocks the gondola, pressing him to her,and she squirms in his lap, opening up even further to him. Each surge presseshim to her in new and better ways. Some are nearly too much, others areperfect, sharp bursts of pleasure, and yet others are so faint that itleaves her hips chasing his.

His hands drag away from her ass, tangling with thepins in her hair, pulling strands tight and she- god help her- she moans, driving down, again and again, pleasuring her bodywith his. Obi’s mouth drops from hers, instead landing open and wet against hercollarbone. Little breathy whimpers fan across her chest, his fingers touchingevery bit of exposed skin he can find. When his tongue finds her neck, lipswrapping around flesh and sucking, herhead falls back to her shoulders, and she cries out-

“Hey!”

Shirayuki starts, and would have fallen from his lapwere he not holding tight to her spread thighs, had his mouth not teased theshoulder of her gown to fall enough to expose her left breast. His mouth isstill there and she opens hers to- to yell. To scream. To say somethingthat would distract them, but then he draws her nipple between his teeth andall that comes out is a tortured groan.

Laughter drifts across the water, and she wish she hadit in her to scold him.

“Better quiet your Miss,” one of the shadows jeers. “Gondolierscharge extra if they catch you.”

She might die. She might simply die, but Obi justraised one hand in a wobbly thumbs up, mouth not leaving her skin for even asecond, and she tips to the side, onto her back with his legs spread indecentlywide around Obi’s hips. The way pleasure jolts through her when he lands on topof her is really- it’s not fair.

But whatever Obi was planning, it seems to work. Itearns them some whistles, some more laughter, and an older voice saying, “Comeon, boys. We’re not gonna finish this job by catching a show.”

They lay there, hearts pounding, breath ragged, as footsteps slowly fade away. Obi’s breath is damp and hot against her skinbut he’s- he’s not doing anything but panting anymore. It takes a momentto realize that her fingers have tangled in his hair, that her breasts arecold, but she- she aches all the waythrough to her toes, and she wishes she had a way to say keep going. She wishesshe had a way to say stop.

Obi draws back from her, his grin a shaky thing as helooks down on her.

“Always trouble, Miss,” he laughs, voice high, before hiseyes roll back in his head and he promptly faints.

[princessamericachavez]

In Too Deep

So I had to write a drabble for @ozziyo‘s wonderful art. Hope this is alright:

Things were already looking bad when they got caught in the middle of a storm in the open sea, they were looking terrible when a pirate ship came out of nowhere and tried to board them in the middle of the chaos, they were looking downright awful when a hungry Kraken got added into the mix, but even then they were holding their own well enough, fighting back the monster and the attackers with everything they had. Caleb’s fireballs were the final straw that got the Kraken to give up on their ship and settle for the pirate vessel that hadn’t fared so well against its death grip. 

And then, of course, things managed to get even worse.

As their enemy’s ship is dragged into the ocean, its hooks, grappled to the Mighty Nein’s, tense and begin dragging them along. The whole thing tips over to the right and as he slips towards the railing, Fjord finds himself cursing against whatever deity has a vendetta against them. He accuses the hit of the wood against his ribs and huffs, trying to recover. The others aren’t doing much better. Beau is the only one that managed to maintain her balance somehow, the others are trying to hold on to whatever they can to keep themselves to slip into the stormy waters.

“We gotta free those hooks before we tip over!” He shouts at the others from the bridge. 

“On it!” Jester and Yasha both move towards the hooks on sync and begin working on the first of the tense metal hooks. 

Distracted, Fjord barely manages to dodge the blade falling on him. He rolls over and catches only a small cut to his cheekbone. The pirate before him strikes again, eyes gone mad with panic. He’s desperate to survive, to take whatever he can from them instead of joining his crewmates. That kind of desperation is dangerous. Fjord takes a jab to his leg but manages to kick the man off of him, enough to brace himself for the next attack.

“Why won’t they give up?!” Beau groans, from afar, as she catches an arrow. “You’re screwed, man! Stop attacking!”

The three remaining pirates don’t seem to be listening to her, but the Nein can handle them for now.

“C’mon, one more hook!” He hears Jester shouts, sees her move from the corner of his eye, along with Yasha. 

That’s good. The sooner they are freed, the faster they can get the hell out of here.

He prepares to send an eldritch blast towards his attacker when a large shadow flies over his head. He barely manages to dodge as the tentacle swings over their ship.

“Watch out!” Nott shouts from somewhere in the shadows near Caleb.

Before Fjord can figure out what she means, the ship takes a hard hit. The deck shakes, everything tumbles to the right and Fjord barely manages to hold on to the railing to keep himself from toppling over. Then, the ship rocks back with the same violence and he falls to his knees, thrown off balance. 

Hooks are off. Better get the hell out of here before-

“Fuck!” Beau’s loud voice carries even over the loud thunder above them. 

From the floor, Fjord glances over towards the deck and feels his blood run cold. The grappling hooks are gone, alright, along with a good chunk of railing exactly where Jester’d been standing a moment ago. Next to it, Yasha is getting back on her feet and glancing at the water with rage.

No. Fjord stands up, glances around the deck searching for a familiar blue form. No. He looks down at the water where the Kraken and the ship disappeared. Fuck no.

He takes off running. The man he was facing manages to slice a cut across his ribs but he doesn’t stop until he reaches the impacted area of the ship. He jumps. As he falls towards the water, he can hear Beauregard screaming his name, but there’s no going back now. All he can think is he’s not gonna let Jester drown down there like he did. 

As his body hits the freezing water, it takes him a moment to take in his surroundings. There are pieces of wood, armor, crates, and bodies floating around him and, for a moment, he finds himself back in the night when Vandrin’s ship sunk. He relives the panic taking over his body, the water burning his lungs, his consciousness sinking into the darkness... 

Focus, Fjord. He holds on tighter to the falchion and looks around. Several feet below him, Jester is getting dragged further down by a giant tentacle that she’s uselessly trying to cut free from with her ax. He swims as quickly as he can towards her and, as soon as he’s close enough, he takes a swing at it with his falchion. The magical weapon manages to do what her’s couldn’t and leave a deep slice on the Kraken’s skin. 

Jester makes a sound by his side, looking surprised and terrified. Fjord holds on to her so that he won’t lose her as the monster drags her deeper in, and she grabs on to him in return with a desperately tight grip. Fjord slices down again and again and, with every attack, the tentacle seems closer to give in. Then, tightening her hold of him, Jester reaches down to touch it with her palm and speaks. He can’t hear the words underwater, only see the bubbles leaving her mouth and her hand light up with a spell that sends a dark shock through the appendices holding her. The creature’s screech rumbles through the water as it finally let’s go of Jester and retreats into the darkness with its much bigger prey. 

Immediately, both of them start swimming up towards the surface, but a couple seconds later he notices Jester’s movements becoming jerkier and desperate. That’s when it hits him that casting that spell must have left her without air. She’s drowning. 

Shit. Fjord reaches for her, grabs her by the waist and begins pulling her up as fast as he can, praying whatever magical advantage his armor gives him will be enough for both of them. It’s an exhausting emersion that gets worse when Jester goes limb in his grip. Desperation twists his insides as he pushes past the pain of his wounds and the horror of his memories until they finally break the surface. 

Fjord gasps for air, hears Jester do the same by his side. He takes one quick look at her, both breathing heavily... but alive. He doesn’t risk speaking —breathing is hard enough in the wild sea—, he focuses on keeping them both afloat and getting to their ship. Jester helps him as much as she can, but he doesn’t let go of her out of fear of losing her to the current. 

“There they are!” Beau shouts looking down at them as they approach them. 

“Here!” Caleb runs over and throws a long rope their way. 

Fjord grips it and ties it around Jester’s waist.

“But, Fjord-”

“I’m good. I’ve got my armor,” he replies matter-of-factly without meeting her eyes. “You go first. I’m right behind you.”

“O- okay,” she mumbles, and he can barely hear her over the storm but he can feel the hesitation in her voice. He makes himself meet her eyes and give her a tight smile, hoping it’ll reassure her. It works like magic. Doubt disappears of her face, replaced by blind faith. She gives him one nod, then he gives the rope two tugs.

“Pull!” Yasha roars somewhere above their heads, the rope tenses, then slowly start raising Jester towards the deck. Fjord keeps an eye on her until she’s pulled in safely. 

The rope falls again and he repeats the process mechanically, ignoring the way the grip around his ribs makes the battle wounds flare up with blinding pain. He represses a groan and grits his teeth. Several hands reach out for him when he’s high enough and pull him over to the deck, where he rolls over on his back and finally breathes out. 

“Fjord! Are you alright?!” Jester kneels over him, hair dripping wet and windswept by the storm around them. 

“M’good, Jester,” he assures her, sitting up, but the sudden stab of pain across his torso betrays him, making him wince. It’s harder to ignore the pain now that they are safe. Now that she’s safe.

“Fjord, you’re hurt!” Jester cries, looking him over, kneeling so close that he can feel her shake. 

“Jester, it’s okay just-”

“Why did you do that?!” Her voice shakes, as she reaches down to touch his wounds. 

“Jester,” he puts his hand over hers to steady her.

He can’t tell if the droplets dripping down her cheeks are tears or sea water. She’s still breathing heavily, shaken and scared... but she’s worried about him. She nearly drowns down there, and she’s more worried over a few slashes on him than that. 

“It’s okay. I’ll heal you, just let me-”

“Jester.”

She finally looks up and that’s when Fjord realizes something has changed. The second she fell over was the exact moment when he knew that losing her was not an option, that he’d drown himself before letting that happen, that the choice was not even a choice at all, because the answer would be the someone time after time. The answer would always be: her.

“Fjord, really I should heal you before-”

He bends over and steals a kiss from her lips.

It happens like it never has before, naturally, like his body has no other option in that second than to satisfy the urge to fill her mouth against his. By the time his brain catches up to his feelings, he’s about to pull away and apologize, but her free hand comes up to caress his neck and Jester pulls him in deeper. A groan escapes Fjord’s throat as he reciprocates with renewed excitement and for a single moment, nothing else exists: no enemies, no gods, no storms. 

“Uh, guys?” Reality comes crashing back down on them when Beau interrupts. “We kinda still really gotta get out of here.”

Fjord pulls away quickly, suddenly realizing what he... what they just did, in front of everyone else. The Mighty Nein are looking down at them with expressions that range from mortified awkwardness to smug satisfaction. 

“Right, uh-” He clears his throat. “Right. We should.”

“Yeah. Yeah. We should. Uh. Yes. Yes, let’s do,” Jester, to his surprise, is every bit the mumbling mess he is. Her cheeks are flushed dark blue and a smile dances sheepishly on the corner of her lips. 

A wave of relief washes over him as her familiar magic closes his wounds, right before she pulls away.

“Thanks,” he manages to say, sending her a smile that she returns before rushing away to help the others.

It still takes Fjord a full minute to recover, before he realizes that they need him to sail and jumps back to his feet. Perhaps whatever deity has been playing with his destiny has finally decided to let him catch a break.

[cutegirlmayra]

alright this is super angsty, but would you consider doing a prompt where amy dies? and sonic is holding her in his arms as she loses consciousness and i'm in an angsty mood i'm so sorry

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

WHY!? I mean, don’t you want a happy ending!? I can’t live without closure and this would literally destroy the souls of hopeful shippers, WHY??? (-laughing while crying-) I don’t wanna make people sad with no resolution, oohh….

Trust me, this is gonna hurt me as much as it’s gonna hurt you.

Is it okay if…. I keep something for closure? Just a little smackerel of a something? To lighten the blow?

Y-you’ll thank me later. (hopefully lol I’m just trying to avoid horrific SADNESS. I mean, I know you want to feel human and see Sonic show intense emotion but- COME ON! This is sad stuff! lol)

Prompt:

Amy stared down at the emerald.

Her hammer had rested on it’s tilted tip, lowered by it.

It was the last surviving Chaos Emerald…

Having been fought horrifically over by an alien race and her own planet’s heroes… Amy knew that they wouldn’t stop till they’ve destroyed the very things they feared most.

However, with each Chaos Emerald destroyed, the backlash of Chaos’s uncontrolled fury would erase that individual who destroyed it from existence.

And she meant… all of existence.

She saw the terrifying power above her. Eggman’s forces were parading the skies with an all-out defensive strategy to at least push off the invading alien battleships. It was an armed military, kamikazing down to her planet to destroy their lives to keep anything from overpowering their extraterrestrial empire.

With Shadow having hidden the last… but the earth being rent in the earth, the sky turning black with war, and the land covered in ashes from Chaos’s painful struggle to live…

She looked down at the stone.

Just a piece of rock, housing the most powerful essence in all the galaxies… in all the realms…

If only Eggman hadn’t made contact with them. Asked them to use their astounding tactical intelligence to defeat Sonic… And if only he hadn’t mentioned Super Sonic…

She realized that if the last emerald fell… Sonic and Eggman’s forces could still take down the alien race… they wouldn’t be so focused on keeping ultimate power… and Chaos might just unleash his full fury on the aliens…

Though it would mean sacrifice.

Still…

She looked down at the emerald.

Everyone was growing tried. This silly rock. This stupid piece of stone was ruining her and her friends lives! Everyone who lived here… was suffering because an alien race wanted to harness a power they couldn’t control. Each time they destroyed one, trying to absorb its power into their super-technologies… they would become nonexistent. Forever… doesn’t just mean the future. It can also mean the entirety of the past…

Amy shook her head down. What was she thinking? Sure. With everyone worrying about just taking the enemy down, they wouldn’t put all their efforts into protecting a power source that wasn’t even needed.

Everyone seemed selfish… wanting to keep the greatest power source alive.

But Sonic… he wouldn’t think that way… would he?

She looked back at the dulled edges and sliced curvature of the emerald… it’s green, sleek surface with the scratches of ages…

She hated it suddenly.

Her nostrils flaring.

But then, as she lifted her hammer up, she hesitated.

She squinted her eyes shut and looked away, on the verge of tears.

She loved this world…

She wanted to keep the emeralds too. Even one could help Sonic…

But Sonic didn’t need the emeralds.

She glared back at the cold piece of earth.

Her mouth formed a deep frown of conviction.

He always had the power to do what’s right. Even when no one else could.

She rose her hammer directly over her head and readjusted her legs to stand firmly in front of the fallen emerald.

If Chaos is rampant, Sonic will find a way to defeat the aliens and calm down Chaos. Knuckles can reseal him, like his ancestors before him. He said he could… but it was a last resort.

The aliens would gain confidence once it was gone… but she believed Sonic and her friends could do it.

Even Eggman…

She suddenly started crying.

She didn’t want to die.

She didn’t want to be erased from existence, from the past and the future, and have everyone forget who she was.

When the first emerald broke, no one noticed… it was like there was always 6 emeralds.

Then the second one broke, but no one batted an eye. 5 made sense.

Then 4… to 3… people couldn’t understand why, but the universe felt out of order. Like something was going terribly wrong.

‘…The dimensions split and our friends from other realms came to help us… we were gonna be okay… but then… the aliens began to notice something was off. They couldn’t exactly understand why, but they knew something, or someone, was missing from their folds. If I disappear… does that mean Sonic and the others won’t remember me? But if I don’t exist… or never had before existed… it could be dangerous. Tails warned that the aliens histories must have been changed, and using Chaos control to go back in time and see the emeralds shatter… it was the only way we knew how life was before this happen. Chaos shielded us… when the 2nd emerald broke. That’s how we knew the universe was falling apart. But I’m just simple Amy Rose! If I die… If I die nothing would change… it wouldn’t matter… I can’t lie like this.’

Amy dipped her head and cried. Unable to convince herself that erasing her existence wouldn’t cause any real, significant change.

‘Every life’s important but-!’ Amy shook her head, refocusing. ‘But this life has served its cause! I will do anything to help Sonic! Even if that means..’

‘breaking his heart!’

Her hammer swung true. The world rippled as the sky turned into the northern lights, parallel to each other as all the universes could look through the cracks from the emerald and see one another… each fighting their own version of the catastrophe.

She first saw herselves… all from multiple timelines… different and alternate realities she didn’t recognize.

They all slowly turned, stumbling back as if they’d just been stabbed in the chest, and looked at her with fear and betrayal in their eyes.

Amy couldn’t look at all of them long.

She swung her head away, and cracked the emerald further.

Up in the sky, Sonic could see his classic self suddenly slam down on the spaceship’s surface, twitching.

“Little me!” he cried out, getting down to aid him before looking to see another him slam to the ground.

“Something’s wrong!” The other Sonic called out, struggling to get up. “Gravity isn’t working… ah!” he felt the push fall heavily down on him again.

“What’s going on..?” Sonic got up, looking over the side of the ship.

“Huh? What’s with the light show?” The lights were like a fabric being shaken up and down, lightly trailing the black sky and giving it some color and greater light.

It was hard to tell if it was day or night… but the alien invasion wasn’t holding off much…

Sonic turned to glare at them. “They don’t let up… even when their own realities are shifting.” He felt the surge of impact the ship’s exterior was taking from the alien battleships fire. He kept his balance and grabbed a passing alien fighter-ship. Knocking out the pilot, he tossed him, grunting with the punch. “I’ll take this, thanks!”

‘I gotta find out what’s going on down there… isn’t someone watching the emerald?’

He tried to figure out the odd controls, before lifting his hands, one by one, up and down off the controls to try and figure out the mechanics.

Unable to comprehend, he jumped out of the cockpit and positioned himself like a surfer on the tail-end of the fighter ship till it entered orbit.

That’s when he saw her.

That’s when he saw it.

Her final blow struck the emerald, causing the whole of the different dimensions, universes, and times to crash into one of the triangular planes of existence.

Classic, Boom, Comics,… so many splits that rippled through time and finally fragmented below the main surviving universe…. Modern.

Amy felt her consciousness start to leave her. Small, glowing flakes of her being started to fly off and glow out of sight. Flickering like her life, they made her look like she was softly burning into ashes…

She found the light… strangely terrifying… but also easy to go numb into.

As she closed her eyes, thinking of everything she wished to say to everyone… the emeralds pieces floated up as Chaos’s power began to backlash her.

She felt her body forced to bend back, then arch forward, as it was ripping into her life.

She then heard his voice.

“AMMMY!!!!”

She let her eyelids lightly drift up to see better.

Through the light, she saw Sonic dive down, arms outstretched towards her.

He didn’t look mad.

He didn’t look terribly sad either.

He looked…

Worried.

He was always trying to keep her safe… heh, funny the tables could change so drastically…

“I… I just hope you find someone to love you, Sonic…” She smiled, seeing his body get caught up in the light and float him in his spot.

Realizing the strange shift, he looked down and realized the whole of that spot around them was a pillar of light. Having witnessed through chaos control what happened to the last alien that broke the 2nd emerald, Sonic’s eyes jolted up in absolute terror.

Without voicing anything, he squirmed and tried to move through the light, not voicing any complaint other than his struggles to reach her.

“..A.. Amy!” he finally let something lose, but Amy could hear his voice-crack, and the sound nearly destroyed her before Chaos had the chance to.

She gripped her heart.

“Please don’t… I chose this. Now you can fight the aliens without just playing on the defensive. You can win now, Sonic. You have everything else to protect. They still haven’t won.”

“…Amy!”

She found herself surprised, opening her eyes fully to see his frantic and unyielding struggle to get to her. Through his odd ‘swimming’ of sorts towards her, the light was being manipulated and he was, in fact, moving closer to her.

She shouldn’t be surprised he was fighting to still save her, or maybe even be with her,… but she knew there was no hope of saving her now.

Half her body had formed into light and was being taken up in the pillar… only a half of her face and body were still intact.

“Sonic…” her eyes shook in love for him. “I hope this time… you can find it in your heart to love too.”

“Grrk!” His body froze a second, as if her words penetrated his concentration.

“You’re not going anywhere!” He suddenly cried out, moving faster as his feet sped through the air. “You’re coming with me!”

He tightened his fists and closed his eyes, propelling himself through sheer willpower towards her.

Finally, he got close enough…

“Amy!” He reached out, grabbing what was left of her being.

The second he pulled himself forward, Chaos got disrupted, and a huge lift up captured both of them in its wake.

The world started to fall apart, as Eggman and his other him started to teleport as if time and space weren’t existence to the ground, crashing and looking up to see their spaceship fading in and out of known reality.

“Blast it all!” Eggman cursed upwards, seeing the two other Sonics looking down and start to fade as well. “He can’t die! If he falls, then we’ll all die too! Sonic is the reason we’re all still in this cursed universe!” He slammed his hands down the earth, being on his stomach… “Everything falls on him!”

“… But… wouldn’t it be better if Chaos takes him too? We’d win something for a change!” The other Eggman, his Classic self, looked up after thinking.

Eggman shook his head, his shoulders bouncing as he held back tears. “You old fool… Sonic’s… he’s everything to every world…” his tears started to float upwards.

“This world is dying and falling apart because the central life source of all order is being destroyed. If Sonic goes, the main Sonic, then we’ll all go with it!”

Sonic was plunged down, away from the light source taking Amy, who had already lost consciousness. “S…Sonic….” Only an arm and half her face remained.

“NO!” Sonic grabbed a fragment of the broken Emerald, and zoomed back up through the pillar of light. He jumped into the path of Chaos power, feeling himself rip away and leaving what was left of Amy unharmed.

His eye twitched, feeling memories being destroyed simultaneously as his body began to flake off in little ashes of light.

“He’s halting the process of her being erased… causing all of us to suffer instead of just one.” Eggman retorted as he looked up, seeing Sonic’s mouth open and head dip at the pain.

He then swung his body up, closing his mouth to try and keep it together, fighting against it.

“He’s a fool…” Eggman stated…

“We’re all fools..” Classic Eggman hung his head, seeing the spaceship fail and the aliens start to disappear one by one… then the universes as each emerald shard broke into further pieces and turned into light.

“…We’ve split ourselves to the whims of so many designs and ideas…” Classic Eggman looked over the expanse of all the crippling universes. “Time and time again… loved, rejected, remade. An endless cycle and for what? Trying to look good in front of critics on the small, square screens in their living rooms.”

“What?” Eggman turned to Classic, who laughed and smiled.

“Nevermind, you. First, let’s do what must be done!” He turned to Sonic. “We need that emerald shard!”

Sonic refused to step aside and let the last piece of Amy die, and so, the Eggmans, with the help of Tails, got the emerald from him and got another Sonic to use Chaos control.

With the small sliver of hope left, they used Chaos’s last amount of harnessed energy to go back in time to the exact moment the other Eggman contacted the alien race.

Stopping him, they fled out of existence.

The northern lights whipped and spiraled around Chaos’s ultimate form being unleashed from the now non-existence Master Emerald, and before the entirety of the combined universes were destroyed, they sucked into him and stopped him from his ultimate revenge.

-After the great light that restored balance to the universes-

Sonic was running, carefree as usual through the nature-trimmed scenery and life of his world, before feeling an awful spark of light burst in his chest.

“Ah!” he gripped the area and swerved on his figure-eight step.

He skid to a halt before looking down, flexing his hand and then looking confused.

“…What was…” He felt a profound need to check on Amy… “That..?”

Worried, and with a strange sense of purpose, Sonic burst towards Amy’s home.

As if by no accident, she was home and about to cook something before startled by a fierce set of knocks on the door.

“W-who’s that?” She wasn’t expecting Sonic to impatiently walk in after she opened the door and look around, surveying her home as if expecting trouble.

“Sonic..!” She exclaimed, happy to see him. “….Sonic?” she then lost some of her enthusiasm by his strange behavior. “What-?” she stepped forward before he turned around and embraced her.

“…..Sorry.” he pulled away, and put his hands to his hips, looking away. “That was… strangely involuntary.”

Amy blinked her eyes, so he continued as he tried to hide away his shame at the random action.

“I.. Um…” he fought with the truth, and how much to tell her about the strange burst of light from his chest…

He scratched his nose and hid his whole face, not daring to allow her to see the faint shy pink under his eyes and on the very tips of his muzzle… “I just felt a really deep longing to… to see you.”

“…Pfft!” she tried to keep her mouth shut.

He flinched, and with total embarrassment, refused to turn back and look her in the eyes.

“Ah-ha-ha-ha! Can that happen more often?” Amy laughed, just letting out the pent-up surprise she had felt, before waving to him to stop acting so estranged and look back at her. “Honestly, I thought for a second you had a nightmare or something.”

“…It felt similar to that… I guess.” He looked down at his chest.

“Well! I’m glad you were worried about me. Even enough so to come check on me. Makes a girl feel special, you know? Hehe!” She cutely put her hands behind her, resisting the urge to make a marriage proposal, seeing as he was pretty overcome at the moment…

Sonic moved the couch, faintly hearing Amy mention something about dinner being made anyway, before his mind flashed to a fading memory…

He saw himself holding Amy, his head dipped with tears, teeth grinding against each other. He heard the deafening cry of his head lifting back and declaring her name again and again in hysteria. It was as if he was repeating it to not forget it.

But as the body he clung to disappeared in light, his breath caught off and he closed his mouth, unable to remember the name he was begging not to go away.

The Sonic looked strange, as if not truly himself…

The image faded into light as this Sonic rose his head back into his reality.

The last thing Sonic could remember was Amy asking him if he was spacing out, and him trying to play it off as just a ‘spur of the moment’ ordeal…

Amy bought it well enough… but all through dinner he was silent. Relishing in her voice. Her company soothing him for some unknown reason. And then…

Feeling like a thousand thanks, from small whispers all throughout the galaxy…. We’re thanking him for not stepping aside.

“…Strange.” Sonic finally spoke, still chewing some ham from his sandwich.

“Huh?” Amy peeked up, about to take a bite of her own meal.

“Hmm?” He blinked to her again.

“Ugh… Soooonic… Are you ignoring me again?”

He swallowed, smiling sheepishly.

“Ohhh!!! You really need to learn to listen when you’re so silent! Geez!” she puffed up the side of her cheek. “After bursting in here acting like I had died or something, you’d think you’d act a little more considerate!”

Amy jolted at his chair scooting back with a sharp noise that pierced the air, and his hand smashing down on the table.

“No! Anything but that!”

….The sound rippled through time itself.

Amy stared… “I.. I was just joking.” Her ears bent back slightly…

‘W…Where did that come from?’

Sonic thought as his eyes shook.

Amy then gasped.

“Sonic!” she cried out.

“You’re crying!”

(This coincides with my ‘Sonic universes’ theory and idea I mentioned in another prompt. I’m sorry, but I needed my closure lol! -cries-)

[ultrakeystotheheartblog]

I Should Know Better By Now (Requested with Peter)

Hi, I love your works! I was hoping if you could please do a Peter Hale 6b story? The reader Scott or Stiles' sister. Thanks anyways :)

A/N: Hello! I hope you enjoy it :)  ♥ The reader is a human in this one.

Warnings: Violence, swearing, and implied sexual content. Oh, and there’s some angst that I should probably mention too, but I also added in some fluff. So, no worries.

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

There should've been something there, you think in frustration, how were they always so far ahead of you? Ahead of Scott and the others?

What were you missing?

You walk the darkened hallways of the school in thought, passing by the boy's locker room on your way to the front entrance. You notice the tough smell of diesel and burnt rubber hanging in the air, the smells stronger at this point and more obvious here, until you felt a pulsing nausea creep up on you. You pause, tilting your head as you glance around you, and walk backwards towards the slowly closing locker room door. Your hand shoots to out to stop its path and you can't help but peer in curiously. You squint through the semi darkness, seeing him standing with his back to the door. 

He peels off his shirt and lays it on the bench in front of him. The moonlight that pours through the windows splashes across his body in a haunting glow that draws your eyes across the lines of his torso. He pauses as if he's listening to something, muscles in his back moving as he tenses for a brief moment. And then he goes back to undressing, shrugging down his pants to leave him in a pair of simple black boxers. You step to stand in the threshold of the room, the smell out in the hall intensifying, and you take in the ashy residue on his skin and hair. You crinkle your nose and lean casually against the door frame, arms crossed.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Exactly." He says without turning around, nose in the air as he glances sideways into the darkness. You realize that he’d known it was you before you'd even spoken, and you snort at his answer.

"What, hell? That's a little dramatic, don't you think?"

He bends, picking up his pants from the floor to lay them next to his shirt on the bench, and then he reaches for a folded towel to his right. He slings it around his neck, waving his hand in the air as if dismissing the very notion of drama. "Is it dramatic to watch my money blow away into the night like the smoking embers of my very rapidly decreasing patience? While I lie in wait until the perfect time arises when I can carry out my swift and justifiably cruel--abet completely satisfying--revenge?"    

"Yeah."

"Point taken."  He turns to you now, smirking when he sees your eyes dart down his body and back up again. "What are you doing here?" He drawls.

You shrug and tear your eyes away from him, glancing over your shoulder and into the hallway behind you. "I was checking out Monroe's office."

"In the dead of night?"

You look back to him with a heavy sigh, "Yes, in the dead of night."

"Alone? In Beacon Hills?" He questions further, taking a few steps towards you. "With half a city of bloodthirsty hunters, most of which have exceptionally happy trigger fingers and enough fire power to level absolutely everything that gets in their way?"

You push off the door frame and step closer to him in the room, straying much closer than you think he considered you'd go. He tenses at how near you are, his gaze flicking over your face. You skin tingles where it moves, and you reach up to brush away ash from his hair.

"They're not very worried about humans." You say offhandedly.

He catches your wrist, lowering your arm from his hair but not letting go. "What about the fear-causing demon from hell? Do you think that it's just going to leave you alone because you're human?"

You lean closer to him, voice low. "It hasn't come after me yet."

He loosens his hold, mouth twitching up as if he were about to smile when he very clearly hears the increasing flutter of your heart. "For a smart girl, you have to realize that thrill-seeking never has a very good outcome." You find that you're unsure if he means your night escapade or spending time with him, but the warmth and teasing in his voice makes it hard to think straight.

"Why do you care?"

He shrugs and pulls away from you, lips pressing together into a thin line. His tone is the tiniest bit defensive underneath the calm. "I don't. I'm just stating facts at this point." He looks surprised as his reaction though, shaking his head as if to clear it of unwanted thoughts.

"Mm-hmm." You roll your eyes at his evasiveness and step away from him, intentionally brushing your arm against his as you walk towards his clothes on the bench. You pick up his shirt to look at it more closely, eyebrows silently raising as you take in the singed edges and holes littered throughout it. You clear your throat. "Anyway there wasn't anything in her office that could help us. It's clean."

He watches you, eyes piercing even in the dark. "Just our luck."

"So."

"So?"

"Are you going to tell me what actually happened to you?" You say, dangling his shirt in front of him for emphasis. He regards you for a moment, before reaching out to steal his shirt back from you. He balls it up in his hands and tosses it to the bench again.

"My car exploded." He replies simply.

"Your...car?"

"An expensive car. Two, actually. Two Shelby 1000 Cobras--"

You hold up your hands in front of you and desperately wave at him to stop, body shaking as you try and contain your laughter. "Okay, okay, I know. I was kidding."

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, "What?"

"I ran into the others before I came to find you." You explain, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. His disgruntled expression makes it hard to appear more serious. "Malia told me."

He scoffs and turns to stride towards the showers in the room, voice echoing as he disappears around a row of lockers.

"And you came to find me...why?"

"I like teasing you." You reveal as you follow him, hearing the amusement in your own voice. He reaches into the first shower to turn on the water, spinning to face you with a smirk. He slowly removes the towel hanging around his neck and deposits it on another bench closer to the shower, eyes never leaving yours. He steps closer to you and you blink in surprise as he starts to walk you back at an unhurried pace, hands at your hips.

"That, I know." He says quietly, the growl in his tone dangerous, edging on the side of carnal. Your breath catches as pleasured shivers rack down your spine.

You feel your face heat up as your back hits the surface of a locker. The cold metal ca be felt easily through your shirt and it helps to calm your spinning mind, keeping you anchored in reality so you don't get too lost in his presence. His gaze is heated and burns your skin where it lands, his eyes trailing slowly over every inch of your body. He braces one arms against the locker behind you and leans forward, dipping his head down until his nose is practically brushing yours.

You almost lean into him, mouth so close to touching his, and your body practically aches with the desire that pounds through you. You’re sure he can smell it--hear your heart thumping out of your chest through the patter of water raining down against the tiles of the shower. His smirk grows all the more smug, hold tightening on your hips. 

Your hands shoot out to press against his bare chest, his skin warm beneath your palms. The vibrations of a growl start there at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed in a pleased expression. It takes all of your will power to push back against him ever so slightly, halting his movements. His eyes snap open to stare down at you, and you look back into the icy blue glow of his eyes.

" Peter--no. We talked about this." You manage to sputter out. The glow in his eyes dims and he frowns, clearing his throat as he steps away from you immediately. You close your eyes and will away the irritating disappointment you feel at the loss of his touch. He doesn't look at you again, his expression neutral, tone cold and indifferent. It prickles with hurt in a way that makes you wince. It took a lot for him to be so open and raw in front of you--in front of anyone.

"Right." He says, turning away from you to drop his boxers. You look away and swallow hard, walking back around the row of lockers to leave him alone as he slips into the shower. The flirting was nice, you decided that a long time ago, until it went too far once. Neither of you really knew how to react afterwards, unsure what it meant, or if the lingering sexual feelings would turn into something more--something different and totally terrifying. You were never good with communication in the first place. And Peter....definitely not. But you'd promised yourself and each other that you wouldn't get too attached, returning to harmless flirting. Though it seems you'd both just lied out of your asses.

It's less than 20 minutes later when your hear the shower stop. He comes around the corner, running the towel through his dripping hair. His skin is clean and the smell has lessened considerably, and you see that he's dressed in his boxers again. He seems surprised to see you leaning back against the lockers, a bundle of clothes held tightly against your chest. You give him a small smile and hold them out to him. A sort of peace offering. 

His eyes dart from you to the clothes, seeming hesitant and confused which is unusual for him, and he sniffs, reaching out to take them from you. It's a clean shirt and jeans, a jacket too, that you'd dug up from the lost and found. He drops the damp towel to the bench and shrugs on the jeans first, sitting to tie up his scuffed boots, and then finally pulling the shirt over his head. He rubs his hands together and asks in a disinterested manner.

"Is there another reason why you're still here?"

You sigh--ignoring the way he avoids your gaze--and step towards him. "You're staying this time....aren't you?"

"Why do you care?" He questions smoothly, mimicking your tone from earlier. He stands to shrug on his new jacket.

"Because we need everyone to help if we're going to get through this. Even you."  

"For the sake of civility, I am going to take that as a compliment."

"Sure."

He tugs on the lapels of his jacket, pulling it forward to settle more nicely over his frame, and he spins to face you, clapping his hands together in front of him to continue. "And as much as I appreciate this cozy little...reunion, I have places to be. Revenge to plan, people to kill. The usual Friday night."

"You have to be doing this for another reason than avenging your stupid, over priced cars." You snap angrily. There's a strange flicker of emotion that dances across his face. It's hard to discern at first, something unsure--maybe sad. It's gone as quickly as it appears though, a shadow of the arrogance and apathy that leaves him so closed off to others left in its place. His tone is biting, any traces of warmth you'd felt earlier gone as he walks past you towards the door.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"This is your home, your daughter's home. And mine." You remind him heatedly, surging forward to grip his arm and spin him back to face you. "Doesn't that mean anything? Don't you want to fight for it?"

He doesn't pull away to your surprise, his hand lifting to cover yours. The hardness in his eyes softens just the slightest as you stare at him expectantly,  and he huffs in frustration. "You have too much faith in me."

"It's called having hope."

You reach up with your other hand. Your fingers gently graze the skin of his neck to cup the side of his face, thumb sweeping in feather light touches across the hard lines of his jaw. You feel the muscles jump there, as he clenches his jaw and closes his eyes. He breathes out deeply through his nose as if he's collecting himself, and ever so slightly leans into your touch. His hand lifts from yours to touch the one at his face instead, curling his fingers around it.

"It stopped being my home a long time ago."

He draws your hand away and steps back from you, your grip on his arm broken as the fabric of his jacket is ripped back from your fingers. He looks away from you again, lips twitching as if he wants to say something more. But he turns briskly, striding from the locker room and into the hallway.

Hell no.

Your body begins to shake in anger at his apathy, and you march into the hallway after him, voice cracking as call after him.

"Look, like it or not, you're a Hale. Derek once said that protecting the city--the people here--is what they did." You tell him. He stops a few feet away, rounding on you with an expression parts livid and significantly bitter. His eyes glint dangerously like the killer you hadn't seen in a long while--no warmth, no fondness, a strange hallow laughter catching in his throat.

"Did. They're all gone--dead."

"Not all of them." You retort, narrowing your eyes at him when he just continues to stare back at you. There's a shadow of something like astonishment in the tiny widening of his eyes, and you smile just as bitterly back at him. "But look who I'm talking too. I should know better by now--you've only ever cared about yourself."

His tone is sharp as he growls, "Self-preservation, sweetheart. It's one hell of a motivator."

You shake your head at him, at a loss for words for the first time since you'd known him, and you stalk down the hallway. You make damn sure to bump his shoulder with yours as you pass him, refusing to look back when he says your name quietly--hesitantly. And you blink back sudden tears, leaving him standing there as you hurriedly sweep into another darkened hallway.

Alone.

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

"Look at him." Deputy Farrell mutters, staring into the fogged up glass of the Eichen House cell. "You think he's dying?" He asks, raising his voice. He sounds unsure and just the slightest bit concerned, speaking to the other two deputies staring in as well from beside him.

"Not likely." The Sheriff says as he strolls into the entrance of the room, and all three turn to look in surprise as he continues. "It's not that easy to kill a Hellhound." He adds more smugly, casually walking towards them. The three deputies step away from the glass window to stand in a line near the cell's door, bracing themselves for whatever was coming, hands hovering over their holstered guns. The Sheriff doesn't even hesitate, "You know that's what he's called, right? I mean, if you're gonna wander into this world....you might as well have all the information."

You chuckle humourlessly, hands in your jacket pockets as you lean in the doorway your father had just walked through. "I don't think they do, Dad." You chirp.

Farrell glances from you to the Sheriff, gritting his teeth when he finally draws out his gun to point it at him. He's gripping it with both hands, a slight tremble starting in his fingers as he clears his throat. "Nobody here wants to get hurt."

Your father stops in his path and stares down the barrel, eyes sliding up to Farrell with a calculating glint. "Then put your gun down, Deputy." He pauses, sounding unworried even when the other two deputies lift their guns as well. "You're not gonna shoot me."

Farrell stands his ground, "We're not gonna let you take him out of here either."

"I don't know about that." Your father answers coolly, gaze sliding across each deputy as he straightens. "There's only three of you."

"Not really a fair fight." You add from the door.

Farrell has the audacity to chuckle, his gun lowering before he completely re-holsters it. "She's right, Stilinski." He says in a tone both amused and patronizing. You roll your eyes and straighten, stepping into the room before shutting the door behind you with a soft click. You squint at him then, jerking your chin to indicate the three of them as you lean back against it.

"I meant for you, idiot."

Farrell glares at you and goes to speak, but your father holds up a hand to silence him, and Farrell's mouth clamps shut again. The deputy blinks in shock at the look of pure indignation on the Sheriff's face, and you can't help but snicker from the back.

"Sheriff." Your father insists with a bite, stepping forward again until he's right in front of Farrell. "You refer to me by my proper title...Deputy." He says, stressing his title just as patronizingly.

Farrell grins despite the continuing shake in his hands, cocking his head as he looks up at the Sheriff. "What are you, like, 60?" Your father narrows his eyes ever so slightly.

"Well shit, Farrell." You call out in amusement, and the deputy turns to look at you, grin drooping at as you smirk at him. "And your day was going so well."

"What--"

Your father lunges forward to uppercut him in the face. Farrell stumbles back, until he hits the solid mesh on the doors that close off the section behind him, hand clamped to his nose and mouth. One of the other deputies makes the mistake of grabbing his shoulder from behind, and your father's hand shoots up over it to trap the deputy there. He throws his own arm out to wrap around the deputy's arm, lifting up at the poor man's elbow to incapacitate him. 

Your father harshly pushes the deputy's face away and looks to his left, kicking the third oncoming deputy back into the metal door of Jordan's cell. That deputy knocks his head--hard--and groans, slumping to the ground. Your father brings his foot down on the leg of the deputy he's still holding, forcing him down to one knee before he throws him aside, slamming the man's face into the concrete wall.

Your father whirls to face Farrell then, who swings at him immediately. He dodges the deputy the first time, jerking back out of his reach, but get's struck in the nose at the second swing. Your father staggers and spins back, kicking him square in the chest. Farrell goes stumbling back against the doors again, and before he can move your father jumps up to kick him back a second time with more force. 

Farrell's back hits the wire mesh harder than the first time, and he slides down to the ground winded. Your father is breathing heavily, looking around at the deputies as they groan and struggle to get back to their feet. Farrell's nose is bloody like the Sheriff's and they're clutching various body parts, faces drawn in pain. Your father looks to you across the room with a smile, and you nod, grinning at him proudly in return.

"The three of you--" He begins, turning to unclasp the lock and slide open the heavy metal door of Jordan's cell, the door squeaking as it slams back against the frame. "--help Deputy Parrish to his feet and get him out of there."

"Yes, sir." Farrell replies. Your father stares him down and doesn't move, standing in the cell doorway as he waits for a more correct response. Farrell clears his throat, "Sheriff." He amends.

Your father nods, seeming pleased, and steps aside to let the deputies enter the cell. He supervises them as they half carry Jordan out, and you frown at the state he's in; shaking and struggling to breathe, skin and hair frosting over, frost clinging to his clothes. You feel the vibration of your cell phone in your back pocket and fumble for it, squinting at the new text message. You can't help but gap and nearly bounce in place at the news, a surge of excitement running through you. You walk towards your father quickly, patting Jordan on his shoulder as he's hoisted past you.

"Dad?" You ask quietly, a small smile playing on your lips.

He arches an eyebrow at you, "What is it?"

"I got a text from Stiles. He came back to Beacon Hills to help--with Derek."

Your father takes a moment to let that sink in, eyes widening in barely concealed shock, before a wide smile swells across his face. His hands go to his hips as he glances at Jordan, who is already standing on his own when the deputies lead him from the room, the frost melting away from his hair and skin as a fiery warmth radiates from him.

"I'm starting to like our odds again."

You nod, flashing him the text on your phone's screen. "He says that Scott figured out a way to stop this thing, and he wants me to meet him at the school. Apparently all we needed was a little mountain ash."

"Be careful, (Y/N)"

"I will. Besides, I'm a Stilinski, what could go wrong?"

Your father drops his hand onto your shoulder and squeezes it gently, a look of exasperation on his face. "That did not make me feel any better."

"It wasn't meant too." You say with a laugh, pressing a hurried peck to his cheek before backing up towards the door. You lift your hand to wave. "Love you."

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

You see him hurrying to the side of the school as you slip from your car in the parking lot, sliding out a metal bat from the bag on your back seat. You run to follow him around the building, and he turns in surprise as you skirt around the corner and launch yourself into his arms. He barely has enough time to save the glass jar in his hands by raising it above your head, just as your arm slides around his middle to give him a quick squeeze. He laughs as he transfers the jar to rest underneath his armpit, squeezing you back in a wonky sort of half hug with his freed arm, his hand pressed to your upper back. You pull pack after a moment and give him a hard jab to his arm, struggling to stay serious and not just grin like an idiot.

"You should call more often, dingus. Dad was one step away from tracking you down in Virginia to throttle you in person. You're lucky I was here taking a sabbatical from work to talk him down." You tell him lowly, mouth quirking up into a smirk as Stiles winces and shakes out his arm.

"Thank you for that by the way." He says, and you hear the double meaning laced in the sincerity of his tone, detecting an edge of sarcasm that you'd dearly missed. Maybe you'd punched him a little too hard. Nevertheless, you smile at him in amusement.

"Anytime."

He tries to look irritated, but you see a small smile twitching at the corners of his lips. His eyes dart down to the glint of silver dangling by your side, the moonlight catching the shiny, metal material easily.

"Is that my bat?" He asks in disbelief, gesturing to it with a flourish of his hand. You glance down at it and nod, lifting it up into his vision so he can better see it in the dark.

"Yeah. I borrowed it from Mason." You say casually, shrugging at the sullen expression on his face.

"What the hell happened to it?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

You run your fingers over the crudely melted edges of Halwyn's hand prints etched into its body, peeking up at Stiles with an apologetic look. "It was a Hellhound."

"Parrish?" He demands unhappily.

"Another Hellhound." You amend, a teasing lilt to your voice. He seems to only become more increasingly confused though, eyebrows shooting up as he processes the new information. He shakes his head after a moment, squinting at you almost accusingly.

"I'm sorry what? There are two of them now?"

You hesitate, "No...not exactly."

"I'm so lost."

"It's a long story that I'll have to explain to you much later." You say more seriously, remembering that you'd spotted more than one familiar black truck parked in a corner of the parking lot. Hunters. You turn your brother to face the doors of the school.

Stiles pouts, eyeing the stick of metal in your hands as you move to stand beside him. "I loved that bat."

You roll your eyes, poking him lightly in the side with it. "Focus." You caution him. He sighs but nods in agreement, cradling the jar of mountain ash to his chest as follows you into the school.

You don't get more than a few feet, a wave of disorienting terror enveloping the both of you, before you freeze at the beginning of the hall. Stiles bounces into you from behind with a quiet yelp. He peers around you and pales, eyes trailing over the lone stone figure just ahead, ghostly and rigid in the dim light. You step closer to the figure, one hand lifting in the air as if to touch him. But it hangs there, unsure as you lose yourself in the churning dismay of your spinning mind, fear like lead in your chest.

"Oh my god. Peter." You whisper.

Everything you remember being mad about before seems so small now, out of reach and as frozen and as useless as stone. What had been the last thing you said to him? That can't have been it. Not when he makes you feel so much without even trying, not when you still have so much to say to that arrogant bastard--Stiles reaches out to take your hand, drawing it down from the air. He squeezes it in comfort as his gaze flickers between you and Peter with a strange, dawning realization. He doesn't look too happy, but doesn't remark about the obvious connection there, for which you're grateful for. Instead, he turns you away slightly, so that you can only see the figure in your peripheral.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)." He says gently, shaking the jar of mountain ash in his hands for emphasis. "But we need to find Scott. Before it's too late."

"Right." You answer quickly, blinking back tears you hadn't realized where coming until now. You rub at your eyes and try to think. "Uh, okay, it's the final battle. Where would Scott lead it in the school?"

"Somewhere large enough to fight if it came down to it."

"Somewhere with places to hide." You add, avoiding looking directly at Peter as you turn to walk further down the hall and into another, eyes flitting from the classroom door to classroom door. Stiles trails behind you.

"The cafeteria." He offers.

You stop in front of a small set of stairs for the second floor, shaking your head at the suggestion. "Somewhere with better places to hide. Less open--"

You turn to each other in unison.

"The library." You both exclaim, a little too loud.

Whoops.

There's the sudden sound of running footsteps on the stairs. Stiles grips your arm before you can raise the bat in defense, dragging you to the closest classroom, which happens to be a few, maybe four, lockers down from the stairs. You both slip inside, and you pull the door closed behind you as silently as you can, flinching at the soft click. The sound seems amplified in the empty room. Stiles pushes down on your shoulder with one hand and you follow his direction without a word, stooping down to duck under the window in the door. You lean back against it with him and freeze. 

The hurried footsteps pass the door once as you unconsciously hold your breath, then a second time as the person retraces their path back towards the stairs. Both you and Stiles both raise your heads to peek carefully out the little meshed window, to see that it's a man dressed in black, a rifle slung over his shoulder. His back is to the classroom as he mills around by the bottom of the stairs. It's easy to hear the man's low voice as he grumbles quietly into a walkie-talkie, mouth pressed to the speaker. Stiles must realize that it's a hunter at the same time that you do, and he pulls you back down with him.

"Oh, you've got to be freaking kidding me." He mutters under his breath. You shift the bat to rest up against your shoulder, still crouched low to the ground as your lift your hand to grasp the handle of the door. Your palms are sweating as you take a steadying breath. Stiles' hand shoots up to grab your wrist before you can press down on the handle, cutting you an incredulous look. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Taking out some frustrations" You say simply, punctuating your words by waving the bat in a tiny circle above your head. You jerk your chin to the opposite side of the hallway through the door, eyes trailing over to look at him seriously. "When I open the door, go--take the mountain ash to Scott."

Stiles scoffs, narrowing his eyes at you. "You're out of your mind if you think I'm gonna just leave you here."

"I'm being practical."

"Or stupid."

"Maybe. But I'm also the oldest--"

He gawks at you, voice fast and annoyed. "Oh my god, you're seriously bringing that up right now--"

You bump his body with your shoulder, cutting him off before he can say anything else. "--so trust me, and don't fight me on this. Super Stilinskis to the rescue, right?" You remind him softly, flashing him a tiny smile. He hesitates, staring at you. A flicker of emotion dances on his face, one that tells you he definitely remembers those words from when you were younger and used to play together at the station. Tiny super heroes wanting nothing more than to follow in their father's footsteps.

His hold on your hand loosens, and he glances down at the jar curled in the crook of his arm. His eyes dart back to you and he nods at last, voice cracking as he holds his head high.

"Right."

You nod, rising up a little to look through the window again. The hunter is still turned away and you press down on the handle, the door creaking open the tiniest sliver. You hold it there and turn to your little brother, steadying yourself once again.

"Go, Stiles. I've got you." You tell him.

He smiles, "I know."  

You shift back and Stiles takes your place in front of the door. He sucks in a breath, body tensing, and quietly counts back from three. At one, he shoves the door open with his shoulder, scrambling to his feet as he bursts through the door and careens to the side, dashing down the hall away from the hunter. You let the door close back on you slightly, catching it from shutting all the way with your fingers. The man yells as he sees Stiles, shuffling forward in a few long strides until he's just in front of the door, fumbling with his rifle. He raises it up, pointing it directly at your brother. 

You swing open the door hard, knocking the man forward so harshly that he staggers, unable to get a shot off as Stiles disappears completely around the bend up ahead. The man grunts and rounds on you as you step out of the classroom, bat raised. He reaches for his gun again, but you sneer at him and crack your boot against his shin, the hunter dropping to his knee with bulging eyes and a bitterly barked fuck. You wind back and slam the bat into the side of his face, his head snapping to the side, a splatter of blood spit from his mouth as he gasps. His eyes roll back as he falls sideways and slumps against the wall with a groan of pain.

"Stay away from my brother, asshole." You conclude, twirling the bat proudly in your hand. You spin as more footsteps echo from the stairs, two more hunters appearing as they hop down the last few steps to take in the situation, brows furrowed in confusion. They lift their guns and you back up further down the hall, hands raised as you wave at them, gesturing to the opposite branching hallway from the one Stiles had taken,  "I'm gonna start running now. That way, actually. Feel free to follow."

The first shot misses you--just barely--bursting into the plaster of the wall beside you. You yelp, spinning to dart towards the other hallway, ducking into it as the hunters start shooting at you more wildly. You have them follow you for a little while, twisting in and out of the school's winding hallways until you find yourself huddled behind a row of lockers, folding your limbs into the tiny space at the side. Before they can find you, the hunters get a call at the beginning of the hall, the static of their walkie-talkies filling the eerie silence of the school.

But you don't hear them answer it.

Instead, there's the shattering roar of a creature. It's primal and angry in its reverberation as it carries into the hall--a snarl like a wolf, you realize--and you flinch, blows that sounded like fighting rising in the ringing of your ears. As a final growl rips through the air, you peer around the end locker. There's one lone man standing in a ring of unconscious hunters. Small clouds of dust from his jacket rise and hang in the air when he casually sweeps the dirt from his shoulders. He throws down the rifle in his hands, kicking it so that it slides across the floor. 

You stumble from your hiding place in a moment of excited shock, and his head lifts quickly to stare at you, cold blue eyes shining through the dust before dimming. You laugh in relief as he turns fully towards you, his expression shifting through an array of emotions in a matter of seconds. Surprise. Confusion. The smallest flicker of worry. And irritation--that one you're most used too.

"Peter! You're okay." You say happily, pride swelling in your chest. Stiles did it.

Peter stalks towards you, eyebrows furrowed and gaze burning. He comes to stand incredibly close, nostrils flaring as his eyes dart over your body swiftly, and you realize with a surge of warmth that he's checking for injuries. His eyes snap to yours.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Helping. Like everyone else." You retort, eyeing the smudges of dirt on his skin.

Peter sighs and grips the bat dangling by your side, drawing your arm up as he lifts it with a pointed glance. "And you decided to use a metal bat against an artillery of gunfire?" He asks sarcastically, tugging to pluck it from your grasp. Before you can react, he tosses it in an indifferent manner over his shoulder, the ringing sound of metal striking ceramic tile making you wince.

"Hey!" You exclaim in outrage, trying to peer around him to find it, but he just shifts to block your vision. You huff, "You know what? I would think someone who very nearly died tonight would at least be a little grateful."

"Grateful." He deadpans, hands going to his hips.

"Yeah. That certain someones would risk their lives for you and their friends."

"Mm-hmm. No one in their right minds would risk their lives for me."

"Are you sure? " You question heatedly, mimicking his position with an arch of your eyebrow. Peter's mouth twitches in one of his barely there half smiles, and he pulls you to him without a response, crushing you to his chest. You wrap your arms around his middle after a moment of surprise, body relaxing against his. "Did you get revenge for your stupid cars?" You mumble against the fabric of his jacket.

"No." He merely says, voice rumbling in his chest. You lift your head, squinting up at him in suspicion.

"Why not? I thought they were important to you."

"Not the most important things it seems."

You nod in understanding, "Malia." You clarify for him. Peter stares at you, a flash of realization in his gaze that makes you curious.

"Among others." He drawls, looking away for a moment. "I think you were right." He adds, sounding less than happy to be admitting it. You hum teasingly.

"You'll have to be more specific."

Peter rolls his eyes at that, "About stepping up. Protecting my...home."

"What changed your mind?"

"Well, the near death experience for starters. I seem to have a lot of those." He begins cynically, voice softening as cocks his head, eyes locked on your face. "And a funny little human who's foolishly brave and devilishly perceptive. And who always manages to get under my skin, no matter what I do."

"In a good way?" You ask innocently, pressing your lips together to keep from smiling. He lifts your chin, smirking as he dips his head down, gaze shifting to your lips.

"Mostly." He murmurs, closing the distance with a kiss.

Bastard.

[alexbrockart]

Gargoyle Process

This painting started from a sketch in 2015 that I didn't touch for a bout a year, then came back to after ruminating on it on and off over that lapse. It's loosely centered around this legend of the walled city of Agartha, and the guarding demons and djinn that would keep the unworthy from entering. 

Here I sketched out the environment surrounding the figure and arranged the composition a bit. I wanted the environment to have a sort of Mediterranean feel to it, almost classical ancient Greek/Roman with a little hint of tropical. I ended up changing the perspective quite a bit because I wanted to paint in a lot of texture in the landscape of the background, and also wanted to drive home a feeling of the figure standing on a really high wall far above the ground below. So I raised the horizon line almost to the top of the canvas and redid a lot of the figure to fit in with a more top down perspective.

Here you can see the new perspective and wings, and my attempt at dumping colors all over the place that I felt gave off the feeling I wanted for the piece, which was a sort of bright and sunny warm day in the afternoon, soon approaching the golden hour.

Here's some images that I felt captured the mood and lighting I wanted to portray

Let the render fest begin! As I was painting the torso my power supply for my computer started crapping out and it was pretty terrifying to paint for fear of losing work. I had finished just about the entire torso and arms when it crashed when I tried to save it, and had to do it over, about 5 hours of work. The second version definitely came out better though. I threw in a crazy weird mandala-lever-table-mechanism I thought would be interesting but ended up chucking it for the sake of time and it threw off the composition a bit. It's inspired by this talk I listened to about the physicist Wolfgang Pauli and his therapy sessions with C. G. Jung. From what I remember, through deep trance or in a dream, Pauli saw this mandala that represented perfect rationality and other dimensions or concepts like increments of time integrated into each other. The idea was to sort of have the Gargoyle in control of one of the levers, hinting that your perception of reality may be manipulated or something along those lines. I mostly wanted an excuse to make a shiny 3D object and render it so that I could have perfect shiny reflection in the painting. I got my jollies in that regard with the mace that I replaced this mandala with. 

Here's the talk and a picture of the mandala: 

Here's some of the references for the skin and torso. In the old master painting with the man pointing toward the sky I really liked the way their skin looked really pale in some parts and very tan or oily/dirty in others and tried to replicate that effect on the figure with a sort of red-grayish green and a more yellow green. I imagine there being less callous spots that would be lighter and more "juicy" like when the skin is stretched it'll lighten up in those areas, kind of like when some plastic bends it gets lighter in those spots that are really stretched out. It's sort of an effect or look that produces a sensation that I wanted to portray and think looks cool and not much more. 

Here's about where I had gotten before I lost my file to the dark lords of psd corruption. Lots of rendering and minute fiddling, pulling and pushing forms and moving around muscles underneath the skin. Reference is a lifesaver when it comes to anatomy, or anything really, but especially anatomy because of how complex it is and how easy it is for people (who all have bodies) to recognize when something is off. I remember this is where I really felt like I was going somewhere with the painting and it had some potential. 

Got the rest of the human parts nailed down. I almost went fully Egyptian with his undergarments but decided against it. I found out the name for this type of clothing though, "shendyt" if you ever need to know that. Lots of challenging but enjoyable intricacies worked out here. If I could give a tip on picking color it would be to learn how to really feel it out. If you try to do this with only your intellect and calculate every aspect of surface color and lighting and reflection you mostly end up getting in your own way (not that this isn't important). If you can grab a color that feels ok and run with it you're better off than being indecisive and worrying that the color isn't perfectly accurate.  Make a choice and observe the result. What happens when you lay that color next to the others, how does it feel deep down in your gut and heart. What does it need more of? It's like tasting pudding, when you put it on your tongue and smack it around in your mouth how does it taste? What would make it taste more like the most perfect pudding you can imagine? You also have to have good taste to make things that taste good. 

Focused heavily on the wings and tree here. I took a big leap with the dappled lighting and just went for it. I knew it would be really hard to make it look realistic and it kind of became abstracted, but I learned a lot. After having finished it I've seen multiple images that would have been much better reference for the dappled lighting than what I used, but such is life. In place of accurate lighting effects I had fun making cool shapes and swirlies. I tried to create an effect similar to some sort of vectoring of light blobs where their outer edge sort of merges with the nearby blobs, similar to when you squint your eyes and look at lights out of focus. On the upper/outer edges of the wings I tried to pull of the effect of something being in shadow on a sunny day and heavily reflecting the blue of the sky. Since that surface isn't being blown out by sunlight you can really see other ambient light sources reflecting on it. 

I darkened the shindyt loin cloth by plopping a multiply layer over it and touching it up a bit. I though the lightness of the previous color was attracting a little too much attention and contrast. But when I look at it now I almost like it better.

I also tried to get down some of the awesome patterning on eucalyptus trees that I see here around town. They're some of the coolest looking trees in my opinion and really wanted to capture that dramatic contrast of values and colors they have on them along with the smooth swirly lumps. This tree was extremely difficult and I redid it at least once. I still don't think I pulled off the look I was going for with it but I like it in it's own right. 

Here's the bottom before and after the redo. I really wanted to pull off a section of surface that's lit evenly but has two different values/surface materials and have it look cohesive. This was a pain but I'm starting to come around to the idea of doing stuff over even if it's really close to what you want or it feels like too much work. It almost always comes out better.

I also had a friend help out and do a paintover to try and tie up the values which explains the darkened corner on the ground. Much more moody and dramatic. He also taught me this technique to strategically adjust the levels with brush strokes using a mask.

Create a levels adjustment layer. Depending on how you want to adjust the levels (lights, darks or midtones) move the sliders around to a spot you like, and this is the awesome part is it doesn't have to affect the whole image, so you can pick an area you want to change the levels of, adjust accordingly, and target that spot. To do this click on the blank white square (red X) and paint bucket it fully black, then go back to the levels adjustments (click on the layer name or graph square) and start painting or lassoing in white in the spot that you wanted changed. This helps a TON.

More progress! I started experiment with texture in the background by making some brushes and messing with them. I was really inspired by the way Craig Mullins can pull off seemingly intricate detail with abstract shapes and textures and wanted to try something similar. Maybe next time lol. I was also inspired by Dean Cornwell and looking at his work for the texture on the ground, trying to make nice big juicy blobs of paint that almost look like clumps of mud or stones. I also really had fun with trying to make a compelling pattern that was still in perspective. For the background I was looking at the Walter Everett painting above a lot, trying to get a beautiful harmony of really light values and colors, having forms be defined with only hue and not much value change at all. It's really hard to pull off. 

I went nuts on the background. I replaced the original idea of a golden glittering canyon with a more earthy and gradient filled landscape. I also tweaked the values much brighter, which I think I darkened back down later. I was heavily inspired by Whit Brachna and had at least one of his paintings open the entire time I was working on the background. 

These are some of my all time favorite paintings. Just look at them, gotdang. 

3D mace! Mostly inspired by spiky black metal aesthetic. I made a very rough (but that's really all I needed) model of the mace in Cinema 4D. The most tedious part was obviously all the spikes. There's probably a way you could pull them out of the sphere in 2 seconds but I'm not versed enough to avoid tediously scooting each individual spike one at a time. I then took it into ZBrush and just scrubbed it over with a cool texture brush that gave it a bunch of amazing details that you can't even see in the painting. I tried to set up a scenario in C4D that was as close to the painting as I could muster to get the lighting right. I copied a bunch of disc tubes to try and replicate leaves and branches. Since the figures hand, and most of his upper body was cast in shadow I tried to strategically place some "leaves" over the top half of the mace. 

I messed with a bunch of different surface materials and render settings and ended up going with the shiniest one, heh. 

Here it is before and after being painted on, very minute adjustments. 

I'd say the rest is pretty straightforward and can't really think of any extraordinary advice except maybe doing more quick studies of your weak spots. I'm realizing I could get a lot of benefit from doing a higher quantity of less elaborate stuff to really improve more. 

  I really hoped this helped and if there's anything you'd like me to elaborate on or that you felt was left out please don't hesitate to ask!

Here's some meaty juice for you. I made a 2000px tall resolution gif of all the process images which is included in the .zip, containing over 30 of the aforementioned 2000px res process pics, some full resolution (8000px) crops of the final image, and a few other random in progress shots. And finally here's the full resolution (8000px) final .jpg, the final .psd file (2000px), and my brush presets. Enjoy!

I'm not sure how to export your presets as new brushes and you may already need the .abr file for the presets to work, so if you have any tips on that let me know. Most of the brushes I use are straight from other sets or slightly tweaked and saved as a preset. 

Anyway, I think this will conclude this massive post. I truly hope it's helpful, or at the very least mildly interesting. Thanks for reading!

[hiraeth-doux]

A Road Paved In Gold (6/?)

Summary: In Steve’s memory, the seconds, and minutes, and hours of that day blurred into one endless moment of aching uncertainty and bone-chilling fear, but if his calculations were correct, his watch stopped ticking at the exact moment when his plane had gone up in flames.

Steve Trevor was never meant to die in the sky above Belgium for the reasons much bigger than he could ever imagine, and when he didn't, it seemed like a miracle.

However, surviving came with a price that changed the course of his life, making him wonder if he deserved it.

A/N: This is my favourite chapter so far, it was so much fun to work on, and I hope you’ll enjoy it as much :) Thank you for the amazing feedback and all the love, I appreciate it beyond words!  

AO3 |  Fanfiction.net

Themyscira, 1945

There were two drastically different Themysciras that lived in Steve’s mind, the images of them often clashing with one another.

One was of his lungs full of water, burning as he struggled to get free from the death grip of the metal carcass of the plane, his mind on fire with panic and fear; of the hands pulling him out to the surface and the face seared into his memory for a hundred lifetimes; of the sand and blood and trying to hold the rifle in the hands that were slippery with salt and sweat, his heart beating so hard and fast that the sound of it was swallowing the gunshots; of the burning lasso that stripped him of his will and pulled the words he swore to never say aloud out of his mouth; of thinking he was never going to leave the caves with glowing water alive.

This Themyscira left him filled with trepidation and jittery nervousness, the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach making Steve’s pulse stutter.

But the other one… The other one was bright and colourful and filled with Diana’s stories of happiness and sadness and small mischiefs, often whispered in the dark, under the cover of the night, in response to his, “Tell me…” The place made of dreams that went beyond his imagination. The place of her aspirations and small secrets, and he could almost smell the ocean and feel the breeze on his face when she spoke of it, mesmerized and transfixed by unmasked affection in Diana’s voice, by the mental images of her as a little girl, a stubborn teenager, a young woman, always on the verge of breaking a rule, bending the world to her will.

“I was a handful,” she admitted once with a small laugh.

“Really?” Steve raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, earning a playful bump of her shoulder against his. “I would’ve never guessed.”

And now he was about to see the third version of the island – the combination of the two, he supposed. A whole new experience of his own.

“Your Majesty,” Steve cleared his throat when Diana stepped out of her mother’s embrace and Hippolyta’s gaze moved past her daughter and fixed on him, still lingering on the dock, not quite certain about the protocol.

He was suddenly overcome with the urge to bow, or at the very least curtsy, very aware by the moment of being surrounded by half a dozen Amazon warriors, undoubtedly the best ones here, considering that they were selected to escort the Queen herself. If anything, it was quite a surprise he hadn’t been tired up the second he’d stepped off the boat. A good kind of surprise.

They didn’t look threatening, though. Curious, he figured, but Steve had to admit that he wouldn’t be half as okay with their scrutiny without Diana’s reassuring presence. There was something about knowing that any of these women could behead him without batting an eye that made him more self-conscious than he’d ever been, perhaps. It was one thing, after all, to end up here by accident, and something else entirely to come back by choice.  

And then there was the Queen herself whose expression remained unreadable, but there was a twinkle of something in her eyes, something akin recognition, if not appreciation that he couldn’t quite place, and maybe it was just the light, or a great deal of wishful thinking on Steve’s part, but he could have sworn that her lips twitched ever so slightly, forming into a small smile that she didn’t quite manage to hold back.

She glanced at Diana then, for just a flicker of a moment, and nodded with an impassive, “Very well,” which made him realize that he was barely breathing all this time

Diana smiled at him, her hand brushed against Steve’s for a moment as the two of them followed Hippolyta and her guards back to the city.

---

It was bigger than Steve remembered, more populated than the first time he'd traveled the streets toward the castle and the throne room, and more elaborately built than he could recall, and he wondered if it had something to do with the fact that he was slightly less worried about his well-being this time around, his concern lying with something far more terrifying than death.

“You look… rather stunned,” Diana steered her horse closer to his and leaned over to Steve, entertained by his blunt gawking.

He tore his gaze away from a row of houses to the left from him. “I’m starting to understand how you must have felt when you first came to England,” he confessed, feeling the almost palpable curiosity of the women on the streets around them, each and every gaze seemingly glued to him. The attention was making him feel exposed, bare even when he was fully clothed.

“You’ve been here before,” she reminded him, trying and failing to swallow her laughter, clearly pleased with herself.

Steve smirked. He loved the way she looked here – less guarded, more relaxed, and it made him wonder if Diana was even aware of this transformation, which was not surprising, but no less notable nonetheless. In his world, even though she had infinite advantage over anything and everything, she was on alert more often than not. Here, there was no need for that.

The list of the things he couldn’t give her was growing exponentially, but he pushed the thought away.

“As a prisoner, not a—a trophy,” he pointed out.

“Is what you think you are?” She inquired, an eyebrow arched.

Steve flashed a cheeky smile at her. “Am I not?”

The war had ended a few months ago, and even though Steve thought she would insist on coming over straight away, Diana wanted to stay back to see the resolution of it all, help however she could, and to a certain degree, he was relieved by that. The truth was, even though he knew that he’d gladly follow her to the gates of hell and beyond, the idea of getting closer to the answers that he knew would change everything one way or another was equally thrilling and terrifying.

There were times when he wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t want to know, and part of him didn’t. The part that wanted to keep holding on to what passed for normalcy these days. However, it didn’t seem fair to them both, and whatever it was, whatever they could possibly learn here, he knew that Diana had the right to know it too, if only because it she needed to be aware of what exactly she was signing up for with him.

They were waiting for them on the beach, the Queen and her warriors, when their boat broke through the barrier that surrounded the island, leaving the grey sky of the stormy Atlantic behind, greeted by the bright sun and turquoise waters and the air that smelled of jasmine on the other side of it. Like they knew that he and Diana would come. Like it went beyond any doubt.

Standing on the deck of the boat next to Diana whose gaze was glued to the approaching shore, Steve reached for her hand and weaved his fingers through hers. “You’re nervous,” he said – a statement, not a question.

She shook her head and squeezed his hand. “No, I’m not. Are you?”

“Should I be? Are they going to go for my throat?”

Diana glanced at him, “Not straight away.”

“That’s reassuring,” he snorted. And whispered, “It’s gonna be okay,” into her hair, uncertain if he was saying it for her sake or his own.

And now he was being paraded – there was no word for it – through the city, and he could feel the gazes of everyone on the island on him, a little thrilling, a little unnerving, if Steve was honest with himself. It was still beyond him how they remained hidden for the entirety of their existence, safe and sheltered, and he wondered if maybe the Mayans – and a dozen other civilizations - were also tucked away somewhere, far from the reach of the world that could destroy them in a heartbeat because it seemed to be the one thing that the people knew how to do best.

Diana caught him watching her. “There’s nothing I can promise,” she said once more – an echo of their conversation from a few weeks back, when his broken bones stopped bothering him as much, when the reality clicked back into place, somewhat, and she explained to him that if there was a chance that Ares had anything to do with what had happened to Steve, even though she wasn’t quite sure how, the Amazons would know more about it than anyone else. However, it wasn’t something that she could guarantee.

“I know. You mentioned that,” he nodded, pulling a little on the reins to stay with her. His smile softened. “I never asked you to.”

“It’s just… I wouldn’t want to have dragged you all the way here for nothing.” She shook her head.

Steve scoffed. “I wouldn’t call that dragging. I was the first one to hop on that boat, no? Besides, the weather in London was starting to get dreary.”

She smirked. “Well, it’s good to know that you can be so easily pleased.”

He chose not to respond to that in public. 

---

Steve wasn’t quite certain where the rest of the day went, but one moment he was being shown around and introduced to an infinite number of women whose names and faces started to blur before his eyes no matter how hard he tried to keep track of them while also attempting to read their body language and take notice of social clues, endless corridors of the palace that he’d only seen from below before snaking before him like a maze, and then suddenly it was night, and he was alone in ‘his quarters’, as Queen Hippolyta put it when she asked one of her guard ladies to escort him here, and once the door closed behind him – not locked, he made sure - it was suddenly so quiet that it almost hurt.

The room was spacious and if a little impersonal, luxurious in every sense of the word and not a step but a whole staircase above the last lodging he’d had here. A tall window was overlooking the town below that gleamed with thousands of lights, and above it, the sky was jet-black and splattered with myriads of stars, and together, they made him feel like he was floating in space, suspended between constellations.

All those years ago, it was only jokingly that he referred to Themyscira as ‘Paradise Island’, and mostly because his own experience here was far from heavenly, but he could see it now, see how it could suck you right in, the serenity of the place transfixing, addictive in the way that he couldn’t quite put his finger on just yet. It was everything that his world wasn’t. The gentle lapping of the waves against the shore a mile away from the castle and the cries of seagulls somewhat softened by the wind were the only sounds in the stillness of the night. The breeze felt warm and fresh on his face, carrying the smell of the ocean mixed with floral notes and the scent of lamp oils, and for the first time in a very long time, Steve Trevor felt at peace with himself.

Whatever Diana thought they could find here, it was worth the trip; it was worth not feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders for however long it lasted.

She was fading in and out of his line of sight all day before disappearing altogether, and he had no way of finding her now short of asking someone for help. The idea left Steve a little more unsettled than he liked, and in the end, he decided to wait till the morning, not wanting to wander the labyrinth that this place was on his own, and even less thrilled by the thought of running into someone.

However different Diana felt in his version of reality, at least she wasn’t an entirely different species that stood out like a sore thumb.

They’d fed him, too, Steve had to give them that. Not long ago. He distinctly remembered being offered a plate of something that didn’t look familiar in any way; remembered eating without really registering the taste, but the time seemed warped here somehow, which he wrote off to the excitement of the new place. He pulled his watch out of the pocket of his pants. It was a little past midnight now, they’d arrived less than 12 hours ago. And yet, it felt like he managed to live a few months’ worth of life in that time, his mind reeling.

He thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep, too wired for that, but the moment his head touched the pillow that smelled faintly of fresh linen and the sun, his eyes started to droop, his head fuzzy in the comfortable, over-exhausted way that was like a blanket wrapped around his brain.

But it was when Steve started to drift off that the door to the room opened soundlessly, and he’d miss it completely had it not been for a flicker of light from the hallway breaking through the fog in his head, pulling him back to the surface again. For a second, he thought that he’d imagined the dark figure that slipped inside, but then the sheets covering him shifted as someone moved across the bed.

She smelled of the sea and something that lingered in the periphery of his attention during their time on the boat, like flowers and scented oil, and his heartbeat escalated by the moment.

Diana threw her leg over his hip, her hands pressed into the pillow on either side of his head, and he reached for her, his hands siding up her back, along the leather of her armour and toward her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

“Hey,” he breathed out.

“Hi,” she whispered back, and bumped her nose playfully against his before kissing him properly, her lips soft and warm, and it took Steve a moment to realize that the low groan of appreciation was actually coming from him.

“What are you -- Should you be here?” He breathed out. She was making it very hard for him to think.

“Would you like me to leave?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper against his skin.

Steve swallowed, her fingers flexing on her skin, skimming over her shoulder-blades. “God, don’t even joke about it.”

“It is customary for the guests to have their own chambers,” Diana murmured with a smile, kissing her way along his jaw, “but no one is under the illusion that we’re not together, in that way.”

Steve framed her face with her hands, his eyes fastened on hers and his sleepiness nowhere to be found anymore. “Okay, here’s an idea - we don’t talk about your family for a while, and then you can tell me all about them. How ‘bout that?”

She grinned at him, “Deal.”

And then she kissed him again, slowly and deeply, lips parting against his and luring him into the dark depths of consuming pleasure. Steve pushed his hands into her hair, tugging her closer, allowing her to coax a growl of need out of him, her mouth curved into a victorious smile against his.

He missed her, missed being with her like that, the closeness not obstructed by anything but the need to savour every moment, every electric touch of their hands moving over one another’s bodies. Between his recovery and the war that wore them out and several days on the boat in the middle of the stormy sea, it was starting to feel like he hadn’t touched her in years. The wanting ricocheted through him, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, settling in his lower belly and making his body hum with pure, unrestrained desire.

“I missed you,” Diana whispered as if reading his mind, her mouth hot on his skin, and he thought he might evaporate in her arms.

Steve’s fingers strummed along her back, skimming over her armour. “This needs to go,” he murmured.

She smiled and pulled away, straddling his thighs as her hand reached for the clasps keeping the snug leather in place. He sat up too, his palm cupped over her face, his mouth fitted to hers, drinking her, his heartbeat a rapid staccato and his desire fully known. Diana’s breath hitched – an intoxicating sound -when his hand slid up her thigh and toward the skirt of her garment, and she caught his wrist, guiding him to the familiar straps, allowing him to peel her armour off, unwrapping her one layer after another.

Hungry as he was, he took his time, kissing every inch of the exposed skin with deliberate precision until there was nothing else untended and Diana’s eyes were black and wild. Her armour fell to the floor without a sound and he lifted his arms to let her pull his undershirt over his head, her fingers smoothing down his rumpled hair.

“Don’t laugh at my bedhead,” Steve muttered hoarsely, his lips latching on her collarbone and moving down toward her breast, palms splayed over her back.

“I love your bedhead,” she promised.  

She pulled away, earning a low noise of protest, and then, a hand pressed into his chest, she pushed him back, and Steve complied if a little hesitantly, lying down and looking up at her quizzically, his chest heaving under her palm, under her control and blinded by the exhilaration of that feeling. Diana leaned in, capturing his mouth with hers, her hair a veil of black, tickling his chest.

“Let me…” she whispered so softly he almost missed it, her lips moving down his throat, peppering a path down his chest with small, purposeful kisses.

“Diana,” he started, a plea and a warning.

“I love you,” she murmured, kissing his sternum, her fingers tugging at the belt of his pants – did he not take them off? He couldn’t remember.

His eyes dropped shut and he sucked in a shaky breath, allowing her to do anything, everything, the fire shooting from his core to the tips of his fingers, making his blood feel like molten gold, his mind spiraling into nothingness where there was nothing but him and her, and the bliss the likes of which Steve didn’t know existed.

His awareness tunneled, the desire achingly sweet, the need for more growing exponentially with every moment, each touch of her hands electrifying, and he was uncertain if it’d be worse if she stopped or kept going.

“Stay with me,” Diana whispered, shifting to hover over him, and he looked up slowly to find her watching him, her lips curled into a wicked smile.

Steve’s hands flexed on her hips, desperate and needy, and she leaned in, kissing him again, swallowing a guttural moan that ripped from deep inside him when she took him in on a single slide, his hips snapping up to fill her to the brim, her gasp resonating through him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, savouring the warm, languid sensation, their breaths ragged and short, and Jesus Chris, he loved her so much.

“You will be the death of me,” Steve muttered, his hand tangled in her hair and his heart fluttering so fast he could barely breathe.

He tried to see her eyes, but it was too dark, and he was too distracted by her body, the feeling of her everywhere around him, and he wanted…

She pulled away, hands flat on his chest, moving slowly above him, half-teasing him, half-adamant to make it last, bringing him close with every rock and then going back to a more measured tempo, her gaze locked on his, and in the silver moonlight she look ethereal, entirely unearthly. Steve’s fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs, holding on to whatever he could reach, following her lead, the familiar dance of their bodies as easy as breathing.

Over the course of his life, Steve wondered more than once what it was that pushed people to fight for peace, for their lives; what was the essence of self-preservation when giving up was so much easier, so much simpler in many ways. He knew it now, saw it in Diana’s face. Belonging. Solace in the arms of the loved one. It was worth everything. Her face streaked with silver light and shadows was blissful, happy, holding all the promises that transcended words.

Close now, so close…

Her breathing grew short, her movements more erratic, and Steve’s grip on her tightened as he sat them up, Diana in his lap, a new angle leaving them both beathless. One hand on the small of her back, he buried his face into her neck as she wound her arms around him, his mouth finding that spot behind her ear that worked like magic. Diana’s hands dug into his shoulders, sliding over his back and gripping the hair at the nape of his neck, the soft whispers peppered with his name and the words in languages he couldn’t understand making him shiver with every inhale.

“It’s okay,” she murmured into his ear, and the sound of her voice pushed Steve over the edge.

His release seared through him and into her, muttered words morphing into a groan when she went limp in his arms, her lips dancing over his skin, a shower of affection.

Arms wrapped tightly around Diana, Steve fell back on the sheets, taking her with him, her hands stroking his face as she was murmuring something that drowned in the deafening blood rush in his ears, his bones liquefied in the best way imaginable, and his mind spiralling into nothingness and bliss.

“I love you,” her voice registered with him, faint but there, her fingers framing his face, her forehead pressed to his.

And he wondered once again if this kind of longing could ever fade, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind with certainty that the answered was no.

---

This would not be the worst way to go, Steve thought, stretched out on his back, the world nothing but a kaleidoscope of light around him. His breath was nowhere to be found still, and he was quite certain that his heartbeat was loud enough to be heard by everyone for miles around them (and he refused to think of any other sounds that might or might not have been audible because at some point he simply stopped caring). Although the fact that no one broke down the damned door and barged in was rather promising.

His eyes drifted shut and he swallowed, trying to find his thoughts, anything that would prove he was still corporeal and not an abstract concept floating through time and space.

From the get go, Steve was hesitant to surrender to Diana’s ministration, his own pleasure in pleasing her, in knowing that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, adamant to prove that he wasn’t ‘unnecessary’, the fear still lingering in the back of his mind no matter how many times she promised him that there was no need for it, not since their first night together.

However, his reservations aside, it was out-of-this-world incredible to give in to her, no price too dear.

“Am I dead?” Steve rasped when his ability to form coherent sentences returned, somewhat surprised to feel the breeze spilling in through the open window cool against his heated skin.

Stretched alongside him, a lazy smile on her face, Diana giggled. She pulled a thin sheet over them and shifted to press closer to him. “Far from it,” she ducked her head to brush a kiss to his shoulder, his collarbone, earning a quiet curse in response. His whole body felt like an exposed nerve, like any touch could cause him to spontaneously combust. Again – not the worst way to go.

“Where on earth did you learn that… that thing that you did?” Steve asked, his lips twitching, finally founding it in him to crank one eye open, and then another.

She propped up on her elbow, her head resting on the heel of her hand, eyeing him with amusement and smug satisfaction. “That would be volume 11,” she informed him nonchalantly.

Steve chocked on his breath and let out a strangled groan that made her laugh.

Right. The treatises on bodily pleasure.

“Jesus…” His arm curled around her waist. “Can I flip through them? At least some of them? Strictly for educational purposes.”

“Educational, huh?” She echoed, grinning. “How about I… ah, provide a demonstration?”

His cheeks grew hot, and even in the dark, Steve knew that it couldn’t have possibly escaped her attention. She was unapologetic about her wants and needs, never hesitating to follow her desires, and he loved her even more for that, even though her ability to make him turn red to the tip of his ears made Steve feel like he was walking on thin ice more often than not, never knowing when he might drown.

“Pease tell me I’m not going to get killed for doing what we just did with the daughter of the Queen.” His voice was small and rather miserable even to his own ears.

“I’m not sure it’s an offence, but let me go find out,” Diana responded with a feigned frown and even started to pull away from him with enough determination to make his heart skip a beat.

Steve caught her by the wrist and tugged her back to him, a flicker of panic flashing across his face. “Don’t…. it’s not funny.”

“Don’t you trust me to keep you safe?” She asked, one eyebrow arched.

“How can I trust someone whom I’ve been begging for mercy not half an hour ago?” Steve countered.

Her smile widened. “Fair point.”

“I don’t… I don’t want you to think that you have to keep me safe,” he added softly, seriously.

“I know.” She kissed him on the chest.

Steve felt the curve of her smile against his skin. “What?” He asked.

Diana looked up, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Someone told me today that you look at me like I’m your sun and stars when I’m not looking,” she responded, struggling to keep her grin at bay, her voice low like she was sharing a secret.

“That is not true,” Steve shook his head, his face solemn.

She tilted her head to her shoulder, “Is it not?”

“No.” He finger slid under her chin, his gaze holding hers. “That’s how I always look at you, whether or not you see it.” He drew her to him, brushing a feather light kiss to her brow.

“Mm-hm,” she hummed.

Steve traced his thumb along her chin. “I love you, princess.”

The corners of her mouth tugged up. “No one here calls me that,” she informed him.

“Huh? What do they call you?”

“Diana. My mother… she made sure that I always understood that being her daughter was a responsibility, not a privilege. That I was not above everyone else simply because of who I was. I’ve always been more on display, my victories as well as my mistakes never going unnoticed.” Her fingers were tracing the line of an old scar on his shoulder as she spoke, her tone a mixture of wistfulness and contemplation. “It was an honour to be brought up the way I was, though.”

Steve ran his hand absently up and down her spine. “So, no special treatment then? There goes my dream of being a royalty.”

Diana draped her arm over his chest and rested her chin on the back of her hand, watching him in the moonlight. “Maybe a little,” she admitted. “But I was raised to be a warrior first and everything else second.”

He studied her for a long moment, his hand playing with a strand of her hair. “You’re staying, right? Here, with me?”

“Mm, would you want me to?” She pulled away from him just far enough to trail her hand along his chest and down his stomach, a feather-light touch that earned her a muttered curse and a sharp inhale.

“Oh god,” Steve breathed out. “I don’t think I can...”

She laughed softly and traced her finger over his cheek. “You’re tired. Sleep.”   

He swallowed. “Not exactly what I meant.”

“I know.” She leaned in to kiss him. “We can get back to that later.”

“Stay,” he repeated, just in case, the idea of waking up alone unsettling at best. To this point, all of this felt more like a dream in and of itself. She was his anchor, and Steve liked it that way.

“I will,” she scooted closer to him, resting her head on his chest, one leg draped over one of his - a possessive gesture that he loved to no end – and let out a long breath, melting into the warmth of his body.

“Diana?” He asked quietly, clinging to the thin film of consciousness, already teetering on the brink of wakefulness.

“Mm?”

“Does it bother them that I’m here?”

She stayed quiet for a while, her finger drawing slow patterns on his skin. “Not that you’re here, but your being here is the change that is… strange. Unheard of.” He could hear a small smile in her voice. “They are curious, some of them never saw a person from your world before, especially a man.” A pause. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Because I’m with you?” He stroked her hair absently.

“Because we’re not the enemy.”

---

It was odd – familiar and new at the same time.

To Diana, Themyscira always was a solid constant, stillness in the ever-changing chaos, and there was comfort in that. The kind of comfort that she couldn’t find anywhere else. This was a place where she could catch her breath if needed be, where she could find herself again.

But with Steve there, she couldn’t help but feel the two of her worlds colliding, much like the way the stars were born when the galaxies rammed into one another, all explosions and light and something new and beautiful at the end of it. Nothing had changed and yet everything was different, and she could feel her universe tilt and shift and spin in the opposite direction, the suddenness of it leaving her with a sense of vertigo.

In her mind, Themyscira belonged only to her, the way the memories of his past were only Steve’s, and then seemingly out of nowhere he was poking his nose into every room of the palace, and having an affinity for her horse because he was the fastest apparently, and getting beetroot red at the attention from her mother’s guards and the villagers that he was not accustomed to, somewhat unsure whether he should be flattered or terrified. The kitchen ladies were in love with him, Diana could see that much, and seemingly on a mission to fatten him up, she suspected. She even caught him more once trying to show them how an omelette was supposed to be made or something of that kind.

Standing in the kitchen door with her arms crossed over her chest and her shoulder propped against the stone wall, Diana watched him explain something to the same women that allowed her as a little girl to have dessert before dinner when her mother wasn’t looking, his voice too soft for her to hear what he was saying. And they were listening with intense curiosity, hanging on to his every word and eyeing him like he was a museum rarity. And already, she could hardly remember this place without him. It made no sense, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it, but watching him now, engaged in stirring something in a huge pot while making the cooks laugh at his jokes, made her chest tighten with warmth and affection she never knew she was capable of feeling. Never knew they even existed inside her.

Steve looked up then and spotted her, comically puzzled, a spoon in his mouth and a wordless What? spoken only with his raised eyebrows.

Diana laughed, unable to hold it back. It was kind of incredible how only a few moments ago she thought she couldn’t love him more, and yet…

“I’m taking it this is not a social visit,” Hippolyta noted a few days later when they were standing above the training field, Diana’s gaze darting between the vast expanse of the ocean beyond it and a small figure that was trying and epically failing to keep up with the warriors who had thousands of years of training on him.

Steve had asked her earlier if he could have a taste of what the majority of Diana’s life was like before he’d literally fallen from the sky. If nothing else, Diana thought it was highly entertaining to watch him try with enviable determination to do what everyone else was doing.

“I wanted to…” she started, wincing a little when Artemis easily knocked him off the wooden platform like it was nothing, and he landed on the soft grass with a groan and a wince. “That must hurt,” Diana noted, struggling not to smile. She glanced at her mother. “I wanted you to meet. Without the soldiers. Without death. I wanted you to see him for what he really is.”

Hippolyta’s eyes swept over the warriors, still unaccustomed to not seeing her sister among them.

“You don’t need my approval,” she said.

Not an accusation or a reproach. A simple fact.

“He wouldn’t be here if you disapproved,” Diana noted. She was certain that Hippolyta wouldn’t let Steve set his foot on the island if she was against his presence here, not for her daughter, not for anyone else. Her eyes shifted toward Menalippe who was holding to the side of the field, guarded and openly displeased over the man’s presence. Hippolyta’s gaze followed Diana’s. “She will never forgive him. For what happened on the beach, for Antiope.”

“She can forgive anything to anyone for you,” Hippolyta replied without a trace of doubt in her voice. “Give her time. It wasn’t easy on anyone.”

It wasn’t, Diana thought. On her mother more than anyone. To lose a sister and a child in a span of a few days must have taken its toll on her even though there was nothing about her now that betrayed it. Still, Diana had felt a pang of guilt before, when she was leaving that first time, and she was still feeling it now.

“I know.” For a long moment, the silence between them was only interrupted by the clanking of swords and hollers of excitement and protest, softened by the wind. “Something happened to him,” Diana added quietly after a while. “On the night when Ares died. Something that his people don’t have an explanation for. Steve was meant to die then, and once again, not long ago.” She turned to Hippolyta. “When I came back here, after the war, you told me something about him coming back for a reason… I thought you might be able to tell me more.”

Hippolyta flinched a little when Steve failed to deflect another blow, choosing to roll away from an attack, her features softening momentarily.

“You look happy,” she noted without turning to her daughter.

“I am,” Diana admitted.  

“I don’t want to take that away from you.” Hippolyta’s voice grew rueful. “That’s the thing about the truth, Diana… once it’s out, you can never take it back.”

“It’s not my life and not my decision to make,” Diana murmured. “And it can’t be worse than not knowing.”

Below them, Steve looked up and saw her, his hand rising to wave at her. She could see his smile even from over a hundred feet away, his eyes squinted against the glare of the sun – a moment before he landed face-first on the ground, that is. He was going to regret this later, she mused, but there was something in seeing him try that was beyond endearing. It occurred to her then that to Steve, this also must have felt like a clash of two realities that were meant to run parallel to one another but never cross paths.

They were together in this.

“He seems like a good man.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Diana’s mouth. “Might be the best of them all.”

After a few long moments, Hippolyta nodded, and the decision was made.

---

“No, really, what is it?” Steve asked a few hours later when they found their way to the underground pools that gleamed faintly in the dark.

Diana insisted they come here, saying that his bruised and battered body would thank him later, and Steve knew better than to object, finding the idea of healing after being tossed around like a rag doll undeniably appealing. That, and maybe the whole joined bathing thing, but that wasn’t exactly the point, or so he tried to pretend as he followed Diana down the already familiar steps to the caverns underneath the castle, their footsteps echoing under the domed ceiling.

Sitting neck-deep in the water now, his back resting against the rough stone wall of the pool and Diana’s – against his chest as he cradled her close to him, he ran his hand along the surface, his fingers leaving a trail of blue light behind.

She laughed her throaty laugh that made goosebumps rise on Steve’s skin.

“It’s magic,” she responded, and he couldn’t tell if she was being serious or merely teasing him. God knew, both were equally possible.

“No, I mean, there’s got to be—are those some microorganisms that do that?” He pressed, wrapping his arms loosely around her, seeping in her warmth, all velvet and silk against his skin.

Diana turned her head and kissed his bicep. “Does it matter?”

“My inquisitive mind can’t deal with not knowing,” he deadpanned, and she burst out laughing. “What?” Steve demanded, mock-offended.

“You come here and you still don’t believe in magic?” She shook her head, her hair gathered in a messy twist on the top of her head brushing against his cheek.

“I believe in you,” he chuckled. “Close enough.”

She looked up and locked her gaze with his, her lips curved into a small smile. “That’s very generous of you.”

“Isn’t that what you said when…” he trailed off, feeling his face grow hot, and cleared his throat, struggling to keep the self-indulging grin at bay. She shouldn’t have looked as triumphant as she did, but, Jesus, the woman sure knew how to keep him on his toes without even trying, and how eagerly he was swallowing every bait and stepping into every trap. Steve let out a long breath and brushed a kiss to her hair. “You think you want to stay here?”

“In the water? Sure, why not.”

“Not here here.”

“On Themyscira?” Diana asked, running her fingertips along his forearm. She closed her hand over his and laced their fingers together. “No, we can’t. You can’t.”

“I can’t?” Steve frowned, trying to remember if it was mentioned that his visit had an expiration date. Were they going to haul him off and toss him into the ocean?

“Wouldn’t you miss your world?” She leaned back against him.

The tightness in his chest eased instantly. His lips curved humourlessly, and for once, he was glad that Diana couldn’t see it. What was there to miss? Death and destruction and uncertainty, her presence the only light in his life that mattered. He couldn’t lose her, not again.

“You’re my world,” he whispered into her ear, his grip on her tightening like she could slip out of his grasp if he didn’t hold fast.

“I’m serious,” Diana pressed.

“Me, too.” He wasn’t sure that he was until the words came out of his mouth, and then suddenly, it seemed like the most logical, the most natural decision. So long as she wanted him, he didn’t care about the technicalities. If she asked him to move to the moon, he’d simply start packing, no questions asked. “If you want to stay, we’ll stay. It’ll probably be a while before using me as a punching bag will stop being fun for your… are you all related somehow?”

Her thumb was running over his knuckles. Steve felt her amusement. “No.”

“Oh, well, for your friends and family, then.”

“How bad is it?” Diana asked, tilting her head to nuzzle into his jaw.

He grimaced a little. “I might have to skip walking for a while. Or moving in general. And a person doesn’t need both of their kidneys anyway, right?”

“I’ll ask them to go easy on you,” she promised sympathetically.

“Don’t,” he blurted out, horrified. “I’d rather have bruised ribs than a bruised ego. Besides—”

“Diana.”

A woman – Aella, Steve thought, what with the names still blurring a bit in his mind – was standing at the mouth of the cave, and he nearly went underwater in surprise, more self-aware and flustered than he was comfortable with and unable to help it.

Diana straightened up and turned around, not particularly concerned, judging by her body language. If the other woman cared about the intimacy of the situation she’d walked in on, she didn’t show it, either. Unlike the notorious spy who should probably have a better poker face, naked or not, and Steve hated himself for it.   

“The Queen wants to see you. Now.”

“What about?” Diana asked.

But to that, Aella only shook her head – either unaware, or choosing to let the Queen deal with it herself.

Nevertheless, Diana nodded and pulled herself up from the water. “I’ll be right over.”

She stepped out of the pool and reached for the sheet that was meant to serve as a towel lying folded near where she’d left her armour earlier to dry herself off. Steve tried not to stare. Their lack of any kind of self-consciousness was still catching him off guard even now, after all these years. Even after being around Diana long enough to stop being surprised by anything, least of all nudity and her ease about it. It still felt uncomfortable somehow to look at her lithe form in the presence of another person despite knowing her body better than her knew his own.

Yeah, okay, maybe that was the problem, he thought.

Aella’s eyes flickered toward him.

“And your… guest,” she added, making Steve wish he’d gone through with the ‘waiting at the bottom of the pool’ plan as he wanted from the start, concerned not so much about his nakedness, per se, as about a rather prominent bite mark on his shoulder, courtesy of Diana after they’d gotten a little carried away the previous night, and this was exactly the kind of information that he didn’t want to share with anyone. Let alone with the people who might or might not be having some sort of family connection to the woman he was sleeping with. It was like walking blindfolded on a minefield, never knowing which step could be his last one. Here – literally so.

“We’ll be there in a minute,” Diana promised nonchalantly, and after that, Aella finally left and Steve exhaled at last. There was simply no way he would have gotten out of the pool otherwise. Still, his eyes remained on the entrance to the cave for another moment. “You need help standing up?” Diana smirked. “Steve?”

He snapped his head around, biting back a question about maybe having some doors installed here and there. “Hm? What? No.”

He scrambled up to his feet with much less grace than Diana a minute ago, and she handed him a spare sheet, already busy putting on her armour. For a long moment, he allowed his gaze to linger on her body, sliding slowly up her calves and along her infinitely long legs, following the movements of her hands, every motion graceful and deliberate, like a well-choreographed dance as she affixed the bodice and the skirt in place, the wisps of hair that escaped her twist coiling at the nape of her neck.

God only knew how he resisted the urge to touch them, trace his fingertips along her skin.

Diana looked up, a silent question in her eyes pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Is everything okay?” Steve asked, gaze darting toward the entrance to the cave.

“Yes.” Her features softened, and she stepped toward him when he still didn’t move. Her palm curled over his jaw as she kissed him, chasing his concerns away. “Yes,” she repeated, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “I would suggest you put something on now,” she added, smiling. “I don’t think my mother wold appreciate this,” her finger trailed down his chest, making Steve suck in his breath and wish that the audience with the Queen wasn’t on the agenda, “as much as I do.”

---

Queen Hippolyta was standing by the fire place when Steve followed Diana into her chambers, looking at the flames, her face a mask of dancing shadows.

“Long ago—long before your time,” she started without turning to Diana who paused behind her mother, “Zeus left us a prophecy about a daughter of god who was destined to change the man’s world. She was meant to be taken away by the sky vessel to save mankind. At the time, it meant nothing to any of us. And then you were born, Diana.”

Steve grew still.

He had never been here before, his eyes darting from Diana to her mother to the lavish furnishings of what looked like a study leading to the bedroom in the back, to Hippolyta again, his mind reeling. it took him a moment too long to notice Menalippe who was standing in the back, pointedly not looking at anyone in particular. She was perhaps the only person apart from Diana and Hippolyta who Steve could single out at a glance, and he figured that the almost palpable hostility radiating off her was the reason for that.

He dragged his gaze away from her, lest she notice him staring. Who know where that might go?

“I didn’t think much about it until…” Hippolyta continued when no on spoke, and then trailed off, her jaw clenched against the words she didn’t want to say. Steve could feel the effort she put into looking straight ahead without turning to her daughter.

“But we didn’t leave by--” Steve spoke and cut himself off.

Semantics.

It was a ‘sky vessel’ that brought him here. He figured that for the gods, the details didn’t matter.

Not that anyone seemed to hear him regardless.

“Captain Trevor was meant to come here; it was his destiny as much as it was yours to leave, Diana.” The Queen looked so stiff it seemed like she could snap in half any second, her voice tight. “He didn’t die on the night you defeated Ares because he was not supposed to. Not yet.”

“I don’t understand…” Diana was staring at her mother who finally turned around slowly, a frown lodged between her eyebrows and her mouth working soundlessly as she tried to put her messy thoughts into words.  

“Am I immortal?” Steve asked from behind her, the whole conversation so surreal it sounded half absurd, half insane, the very notion of fate being used in this context entirely ludicrous.

Hippolyta’s gaze shifted to him. “No,” she shook her head. “You will go when your time comes.”

Which would be…? he wanted to prod, the question rolling on his tongue, but the words tasted foul in his mouth somehow, and the answer was something he decidedly didn’t want to hear, even if there was one. And so he clamped his mouth shut and pressed his lips together for good measure, his escalated heartbeat and the heavy smell of incense making him dizzy.

It made sense, he guessed. As much as anything could make sense in the world where the women living on a secluded island referred to gods like it wasn’t a big deal, like one could walk into this room any moment now. Which probably wasn’t that much of a stretch, come to think of it. If nothing else, Diana was the daughter of one after all.

Although it hardly made Hippolyta’s words any less outlandish, impossible.

“So, what does it mean, exactly?” He asked not without caution.

Hippolyta raised her chin, her eyes assessing him. “You’re alive,” was all she said before turning to Diana. She shook her head. “I suppose this answer should suffice.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Diana asked, her face a mask, her voice barely betraying the hurt. One had to know her well to hear it.

Hippolyta’s eyes flickered toward Menalippe who still resembled a statue, her shoulders so tense it must have hurt. “I didn’t make the connection until after it happened. And then you were gone.”

“But I came back, and you still said nothing.”

There was accusation and betrayal to Diana’s tone, and suddenly, Steve felt like an intruder, wishing he could simply sneak out and let them finish the conversation without the prying eyes, or ears, in his case. It wasn’t like anything that were to be said from this moment on could make him unhear what he’d already learned. Whether or not he believed it was another story altogether, but they might need to take one step at a time.

“And you refused to speak of anything that happened to you in man’s world,” her mother added. “At the time… I thought it didn’t matter anymore.” Her features softened, the line of her mouth less sharp, and when she spoke to Diana again, her eyes flickered toward Steve. “You’re happy, you said so yourself. Must you question the will of gods, Diana? Captain Trevor lived because you needed him to.”

“But… why?”

“You tell me.”

Diana glanced at Steve as well, and then nodded, more in acknowledgement than gratitude, he could practically hear the wheels in her mind turn. Her hands balled into fists and then uncurled slowly.  

“It’s late,” Hippolyta said after a few moments when the silence hanging between them grew too heavy. “I believe you had an eventful day.” And maybe Steve was only imagining it, but he had a distinct suspicion that she was speaking of his fighting misadventures, and hopefully not whatever happened in the caves.

Come to think, he was in luck that Hippolyta had other people to carry her messages for her.

Diana nodded again and looked away from her mother. “Yes, we should… I will see you in the morning.”

“And, Diana?” Hippolyta’s voice called after them when Steve already pulled the door open, both of them stopping in their tracks. “I arranged for Captain’s belongings to be moved to your chambers. For everyone’s convenience.”

---  

“Well, this was… informative,” Steve breathed out when the door to Diana’s room closed behind them and leaned against it, rubbing his forehead as if he could physically rearrange his thoughts, somehow having more questions than before the conversation with the Queen.

Diana walked over to the vanity table and started to unfasten her bracelets, her fingers pulling at the buckles automatically with sure, practiced moves. He watched her in silence, her back rigid and her lips pressed together, the sharp outline of her profile seemingly etched from a piece of granite.

“Do you think it’s real at all?” She asked after a long moment, her voice hollow somehow.

He grimaced a little and ran his hand over his hair, not quite certain that he’d actually heard what he thought he heard, and maybe asking Hippolyta to repeat it all, and slower this time, wasn’t that bad an idea. “Well, from my perspective, the whole notion of fate…”

“No,” she interjected, placing her bracelets down next to her hairbrush, still not looking at him, “I mean us. You and me. Is it real or are we just following that path because it was laid out before us?”

Steve’s pulse stuttered. He swallowed and then pushed off the door, stepping toward her and stopping again, trying to hear how it all sounded to her as he racked his brain for something to say and coming up empty. For the second time in less than an hour, he felt dizzy from the enormity of something that he didn’t know how to process

Of course, it was real. It was the realest thing that ever happened to him.

“I don’t know what brought me here, a coincidence or something that was predestined long before either of us existed,” Steve said at last, “but I never had to fall in love you. Nothing… no gods could make it happen against my will.”

Diana looked up then, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her face a storm of emotions – doubt, confusion, disbelief, all mixed into one until there was a hurricane raging in her eyes.

“Do you really believe that?”

Cold fear trickled down his spine as he watched her, struggling to ignore the panic churning inside him. “Do you not? You think it’d be different if you knew? You think it’s different now? Now that you know…” he trailed off.

“No, Steve, never,” she responded without hesitation and ran an unsteady hand through her hair, her eyes begging him to understand. “I’m just… I’m tired of those half lies. And…” she offered him a small, sad smile. “It would’ve been nice to have a heads-up before I knew what it’s like to watch you die and think I’d never see you again, however it all works.”

He rubbed his cheek, his skin prickly with stubble. “Yeah, maybe for that.”

If anything, Steve thought, he should be the scared one, considering that ‘his time’ was hardly a definitive measure, and technically, he could probably drop dead any moment if some higher power decided that he’d served his purpose, whatever it was. It was a peculiar feeling though, to know that the overwhelming amount of new information left him numb to the ramifications of… whatever happened to him. He wasn’t sure that he believed Hippolyta, the very idea of destiny sounding utterly ludicrous in his mind, but there was nothing else, no other explanation he could hold on to.

And then he remembered something…

“You told your mother that you were happy,” he noted, hoping he didn’t sound as self-satisfied as he felt, his voice dropping and his smile getting less strained, less uncertain.

Diana allowed her lips to stretch wider, concerned lines on her face smoothing out. She trailed her fingers along the marble surface of her vanity table before turning to him, even the line of her shoulders relaxing before Steve’s eyes.

“It’s never been a secret, has it?” She pointed out.

“Yes, but…” he cleared his throat, certain that saying anything else would be begging for praise. There was nothing in all of creation that could explain this, them, and the fact that he somehow got someone like her to love him. It never ceased to amazing Steve, and he knew that it never would. His eyes skittered around for a second before fastening on hers again. “That story, the prophecy…” it felt odd to say it, and he wondered if she heard it, his skepticism that he simply couldn’t help, at least for now. “It changes nothing, Diana. You’re still everything to me. You’re my whole universe.”

She glanced away and he stepped toward her, hands framing her face, lifting it until their eyes met again. “C’mere,” Steve leaned his forehead to hers for a moment before brushing a kiss to it. “I mean it, every word.” Her fingers closed around fistfuls of his shirt as Steve pulled her to him. He let out a slow breath. “Let’s go to bed, okay? It’s late and I feel like someone beat me with a stick. Which I’m pretty sure is exactly what happened.”

A faint smile touched Diana’s lips. “At least I get to sleep in my own bed for once.”

“I didn’t hear you complain last night, or the five before that,” Steve countered, feeling the mood change, the air around them less charged by the second.

He helped her take her armour off, as familiar with it by now as she was. He slipped the long gown over her head, making her laugh – “I’m not a child, Steve,” - and stripped down to his undershirt and boxers before crawling into bed next to her, bone-tired. Diana rolled over to curl into him, her breathing already deep and relaxed, and Steve felt the tension lift off him. She kissed him before tucking her head under his chin, her body nestled into his.

“Are you okay?” She asked softly. “I know it’s a lot—it’s not what I expected to hear.”

“Yeah.” He wasn’t. He wasn’t sure that he was but okay was not the word for that. However… “Your mother is right. Being alive should be enough, no?”

“I can’t imagine it being otherwise.” 

“You really refused to speak of me?” Steve breathed out after a pause, unsure if he actually said it out loud until she responded.

“I missed you. It hurt,” Diana admitted, and then, “A universe, really?” She murmured into his shirt.

He pecked her on the crown of her head, finally allowing his eyes to drop shut. “All the stars and galaxies and everything else,” he agreed, his mind slipping into a deep, dreamless slumber.

---

There had to be a map of this place, Steve decided the following day as he took another turn and instead of seeing a familiar staircase he was actually looking for, he ended up in yet another corridor. How big was this place, exactly? Maybe he could start on something while he was still here, map out the basics to maybe avoid getting lost for a dozen more times, and having to pretend that he was just ‘having a look around’ if someone asked.

This morning, he woke up to Diana already dressed and on the way to the door, her hair pulled into a tight braid, and he had no idea how she managed to look so radiant and awake this early in the morning when the sun barely inched over the horizon, the air still pleasantly cool, hours away from stifling humidity he was surprisingly getting used to. Yet, she was so beautiful it all but took his breath away.

“Stay,” he murmured when she leaned over to kiss him a good morning.

She smiled, brushing her hand through his hair. “Sleep. I will get them to bring you some food.”

“Or… we could eat it together,” he offered, stealing another quick kiss.

“I’ll see you later,” she promised, pulling away from him, and Steve could probably think of a million other ways for them to spend this morning, but instead he rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in her pillow that smelled like sunshine and Diana, and her laugh was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep again, warm in the early-morning sunlight and lulled by the whisper of the sea.

But that was a few hours ago, and the breakfast came and went, and eventually, he figured out that she was most likely taking advantage of being able to train properly while they were here – he proved being an enthusiastic but rather useless sparring partner for someone of her caliber and, well, strength, experience, endurance, and the list could go on for quite a while. His own muscles still ached from yesterday, and even though he was certain that no permanent internal damage was inflicted, Steve decided to steer clear of the training field for the time being.

Hence, trying to find the library that Diana mentioned the other day and that he, after everything she’d told him about this place, couldn’t wait to sneak a peek at. Also, without her, Steve wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, and after the last night’s conversation, he had too much on his mind and an endless urge to block it out for now.

Diana had explained to him earlier where to find the library and the throne room, which he requested out of sheer curiosity, however, it clearly wasn’t detailed enough.

Steve was starting to think of going back where he came from, and maybe starting again – provided he could do that without getting even more stranded. And it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. Maybe he could swing by the kitchen as well, he mused. They always had some treats for him, and he appreciated the company even if half of the residents of the castle still looked at him like he was some otherworldly creature.

Truth be told, half the time he felt that way.

And then he stopped short, caught off-guard when Hippolyta rounded the corner, followed by two women who walked half a step behind her in a perfect formation.

“Your Highness,” Steve muttered, bowing his head on instinct and lowering his eyes. He took a step aside, moving out of the Queen’s way.

He expected a curt nod and an impassive greeting in response before she was on her way, but instead she paused in her tracks, not quite surprised, but considering something.

“Captain. Is everything alright?” She asked after a moment of hesitation.

Steve glanced up. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her, deep respect for the ruler of these people was mixing with slight irritation over what she’d put Diana through with the secrets that could have been avoided so easily.

For a moment, he thought of lying, telling her that he was heading someplace or other, however the idea of being called out on it – and he had a feeling that she’d know – was unsettling.

“Yes, I was just… I think I took the wrong turn,” he admitted in the end, doing his best to stand taller and look more composed than he felt.

Hippolyta studied him for a second, her calm gaze locked with his, then nodded curtly, and Steve thought that this would be the end of their interaction. In all the time he’d spent here, she showed no hostility or animosity toward him, which was probably more than he could ask for, considering that he inadvertently was the reason of the German attack that led to the death of her sister and her daughter’s departure from the island.

Truth be told, Steve wasn’t sure he’d be this generous if he was in her shoes.

Yet, she expressed little to no interest in him, either, and aside from the previous night, they barely said a few words to one another, aside from an occasional greeting. Quite frankly, after he’d seen her stab and behead the German soldiers on that beach, the memory of which was still painfully fresh in his mind, this particular arrangement was fine with him.

Which only made his surprise so much more profound when Hippolyta asked, “Do you have a moment?”

He doubted it was really a question.

“Of course,” he replied nonetheless and she brushed past him, leading the way.

Steve followed her down the corridor and through the tall set of doors into a cavernous room with high ceiling and a massive balcony overlooking the village below and an endless stretch of the brilliant water. He knew that it was impossible to see beyond the barrier that protected the island from the rest of the world, but had that not been the case, he was certain he’d be able to spot Italy, so clear the sky was.

The guards didn’t follow them inside, and for a long moment, it was just him and the Queen, looking at the island from several hundred feet above everyone else.

“I wanted to thank you. For taking good care of my daughter,” Hippolyta said just as he started to believe that the sole reason for her invitation was to show him the view.

Steve shifted form foot to foot, not knowing how to take it. “I’m not sure I do. Diana doesn’t need anyone to take care of her. She is more than capable of doing it herself.”

“I know. But I appreciate it nonetheless.” He saw a faint smile cross her features, fleeting and gone before he knew it. “You don’t believe me,” Hippolyta added. “I don’t expect you to. There’s a reason why my people and yours don’t coexist. Can’t coexist.”

Steve turned her words in his head, silent for a long second. “No, I do believe you.” He wasn’t sure she believed him when he said that, though. “However, there’s more to the story than you told us, I believe that, too.” Was this kind of honestly going to cost him his life, he wondered. “You’re hard to read, you know. And I spent most of my life doing just that to survive.” 

Hippolyta didn’t look at him, her gaze glued to something down below on the beach, and when Steve followed it, he spotted a few figures galloping along the surf, the water spraying from under the hooves of black stallions. Diana among them, unmistakable.

“She was a happy child,” Hippolyta said, and he wasn’t sure for a moment if she was talking to him or to herself. “She had a happy life here. But I have never seen her the way she is when you’re around. It’s like you ignited the light inside her that no one else could.”

I love her, Steve thought, but the words didn’t come out. He swallowed, following the figure below with his eyes, leaned close to the horse’s neck, a tiny spot among half a dozen others, until they disappeared around the outcropping of rocks.

“She told me what happened to you, years ago, and recently, too. Told me that you could have died… should have died, but it didn’t happen. Nothing did, in fact.”

“Luck?” Steve suggested, not sure of there was a question in her words, a foreboding of something terrible settling in his stomach. “I thought you gave us an answer to that mystery already.”

“Luck is for fools,” Hippolyta shook her head. “As for what I said last night… The prophecy is real, and for my people, it’s not an empty sound, regardless of whether it means anything to you or not, but ask yourself this – what was the common denominator in both of the instances when your life was supposed to end?”

She might have as well punched him in the stomach.

Steve’s mouth went dry. “Diana.”

How did he not think of that? Was he that blindsided?

“Only a god can grant life, Captain,” Hippolyta said when Steve didn’t respond. “Diana is the daughter of one.”

She paused, waiting for the information to sink in, and once it did, Steve felt all air whiz out of his body. His fingers dug painfully into the marble railing of the balcony, unsteady all of a sudden on the floor that swayed beneath him.

He turned to Hippolyta slowly, half hoping that she would laugh, tell him she was joking.

She didn’t.

“You mean, she did it?” He asked dumbly. “Diana did it? She… she revived me?” The word tasted odd in his mouth, not quite right, and Steve wished he hadn’t said it.

Hippolyta’s voice softened. “I think Diana wanted you to live so bad that she found the power inside her to make it happen.”

“Is that why I don’t age anymore?”

“You must understand that there had never been anyone like her, maybe never will be again. Her powers, the strength she carried inside her… I don’t think anyone truly know what she is capable of. Not even Diana’ herself.”

Steve’s mouth went dry and his voice was raspy when he spoke. “Does she know? That she… that she’s capable of doing that?”

“I don’t think so. Otherwise she’d try to do more, save the others.”  

There was something about her tone, the way she hesitated to choose her words very carefully and an unmistakable concern that made Steve sick to his stomach.

“Did it do anything to her? Helping me?” He asked softly, his whole body humming like he was going to pass out, like someone suddenly sucked all oxygen out of the room.

Hippolyta stayed quiet for a few seconds too long, allowing only the rustling of the trees in the breeze and the gentle whisper of the surf far below the castle to fill the space between them. He knew the answer then, before she gave sound to it.

“You would probably know that better than me,” she responded when Steve was starting to think that the conversation was over, that maybe she’d figured that he’d put two and two together. That maybe she gave him at least some credit, after all, although the realization had a bittersweet tang to it. “Whether or not she’s gotten weaker.”

He swallowed hard, the bile rising up his throat.

How could he be so stupid?

In Paris, she was power incarnate, anything but weak, but that bloody cut she’d gotten on the glass a few months back, the one that he had to tend to in his hole of an apartment in Berlin… it should have been gone in minutes.

When they were in London, after that time when she went to Germany without him while he was still stuck in the damned hospital, it took her longer to heal than usual, the cuts and bruises lingering on her skin for a few days instead of disappearing within hours. At the time, Steve didn’t think much of it. She was still no match to any human, his own healing painfully slow by comparison. He even joked about how her bones probably couldn’t break at all. Hell, any human would get disintegrated if they attempted to do what she’d done between the First World War and now.

But for her, it was not the same. For her, it had to have been different, had to have felt different.

He never forgot about who Diana was – what she was – not for a moment, but she wasn’t made of glass and steel, her strength tamed around him enough to dim the memories of her ripping through armies like they were nothing. In his arms, she was simply a woman, soft and warm, often needing to remind him that he didn’t have to be so delicate with her and treat her like she could break under his touch. Sometimes, he forgot to remember that her strength was inherent and crucial, that she needed that undercurrent of power surging through her to survive the things that she was putting herself through to save mankind when no one else could or would.

Did this mean that saving him broke her?

“What I do know is that those dreams she’s having,” Hippolyta spoke again when Steve didn’t anything, not needing his answer, “they’re not hers.”

He inhaled sharply. “Mine? Are they mine?”

I’m still doing it to her, hurting her.

“Why are you telling me this?” He asked, the words rolling like dry pebbles in his mouth, choking him. “Why now? Why not last night?”

“Because it’s not about Diana, it’s about you, Captain Trevor.” She pressed her lips together, as if debating whether or not to say more. “I’ve paid a very high price for keeping the truth about Diana’s father from her, and I’m not going to do it again, but this is your life and what you do with this information is up to you.” He could barely hear her through the blood pumping in his ears. “The one thing I want you to remember, Captain, is that Diana would do anything to protect you.”

Steve’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white and his breathing shallow. He inhaled and then exhaled slowly, trying to get a grip on reality again.

“Would it be better for her if I…” he swallowed, hard, “if I wasn’t around?”

Hippolyta turned to him, her face grief-stricken and her eyes tired – the first real emotions she’d let slip since Steve met her.

“Don’t do it,” she shook her head. “Don’t break my daughter’s heart.”

Steve nodded, more to himself than to her. “I’m taking it as a yes,” he muttered, holding her gaze – a boldness he’d never allowed himself before. Not that he had that much to lose now. Jesus Christ…

“It’s not why I told you this.”

“Then why?”

“Because you deserve to know.”

“At this point, I’m not sure I deserve anything,” he breathed out.

She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out, and after a second or two, Steve turned away, his eyes on the brightness of the ocean, and the sun that made it look like someone scattered a handful of diamond along its surface and they were glimmering so blindingly it hurt to look.

He tried to find comfort in the fact that at least Hippolyta didn’t lie to his face, but it felt like a small consolation.

To be continued...

[takadasaiko]

The Fallen Series: What is Real and What Ain’t

FFN II AO3

Series Summary: One-shots following Robert Svane through his journey to becoming the Revenant Bobo Del Rey. Not written in chronological order. Pre-canon through current events in SyFy's Wynonna Earp.

One Shot Summary: Future fic. After Bobo joins the fight against Clootie a spell is cast over Purgatory that forces a person to face their worst fears. 

What is Real and What Ain't

The spell had washed over them, leaving a chill in the air that anyone inclined couldn't ignore. It crept in and around and over, the Earp Curse leaving the area open for it. If it was Bulshar himself that had cast it or he'd found another witch or demon to do his bidding, they wouldn't know until they got to the bottom of it, but from what they'd seen so far, Bobo had a pretty good idea what the spell was, even if not who was directly responsible.

The town was silent, like everyone had gone to hide in their own homes. Good. Let them stay there. It would keep them out of the way. They all knew how Purgatory reacted when terrified, and that seemed to be exactly what this curse did: creep into a person's mind, find what terrified them the most, and bring it forward. The Earps sisters' pet scientist was still in shock from what he had seen. What they'd all seen. That was the worst part of the visions: your deepest fear was played out for anyone around to see it too, putting everything out on the table and laid bare. That was enough to make Bobo want to end this as soon as possible. Long before the spell got to him and put everything he was afraid of on display. There was certainly a list to choose from.

"Whole town's shut in," Doc Holliday announced what they had already suspected. "Not a soul to be seen."

Jeremy cleared his threat, visibly trying to bring himself back around. "So, uh, how do we break this?"

"We find the asshole that cast it and I shoot him in the face," Wynonna said as she twirled Peacemaker. Her eyes shifted over to Bobo. "Any of your people have this kind of ability?"

"No," he answered tightly. Had the air gotten chillier? It felt like it had. That might mean that the person responsible for the spell was closer. A few fears had crept to the surface of his mind, ones that he didn't want to see played out. Waverly dead. Himself back under Bulshar's control. Staring down the barrel of Peacemaker at the end of this, even after he'd chosen to help them….

"Robert."

His name sliced through the still air and drew his attention. He knew that voice. It had been so many years, but he would never forget it. He couldn't. Blue eyes caught sight of the source of the vocalization and another chill swept through him. Not this. He hadn't even been willing to entertain this one.

"Bobo?" Wynonna called his name out, but he couldn't look away. "Who is that?"

"Wyatt," Holliday breathed. It would have been nice it it had been his fear, but Bobo knew it wasn't. It hadn't been the gunslinger's name he'd called.

A hush fell over them as Wyatt Earp approached, looking just like he had the last time Bobo had seen him. His eyes were fixed on the Revenant leader like they were the only two on the street and he couldn't break away. This wasn't real. Wyatt was dead and in the ground. This wasn't real.

Wyatt's gaze swept him up and down, taking in the changes in the man he'd once called friend. Bobo knew them all well enough, and even he knew that it was more than the style of clothing and hair. It was a change in his very being, and Wyatt could see that. He could tell in the way his eyes narrowed, creases appearing at the corners there and between his brows. The silence from him was painful as he studied Bobo, and somehow the Revenant could felt like he was looking straight into whatever tattered pieces remained of his soul. "Wyatt," he managed, the name breaking as it left his lips. He wasn't real. He had to remember that. This wasn't really him, but damn did it look like him. Sound like him.

"Robert, why? Why would you become this?"

"Bobo," Wynonna called from behind him, but her steps were halted.

"He's gotta face it on his own, Darlin'. We all do."

Bobo straightened, pushing back the hurt that Wyatt's expression stirred. "You know damn well why," he growled, his vision tinting red as he felt the hurt bend to anger. "Real or not, you don't get to pass judgement on me, Wyatt. Not when you've been dead and in the ground nearly ninety years and I've been stuck here."

"And what have you done with it, Robert?"

Real or not, it didn't matter. This felt real. He had thought about what he would say to Wyatt if he could have had the chance. Sometimes he imagined his old friend appearing, as broken as Bobo felt, and an apology on his lips as he pulled him in, embracing him and begging forgiveness for all the hell Robert had been through. For him. All for him. Sometimes Bobo forgave him, but on his darker nights as his imagination played the scenario through, he made Wyatt hurt just a little longer. Bobo had. He'd suffered through it all. Now, as he saw that stony expression on the other man's face, that same anger boiled. "Fought the damned war you started," he snarled, straightening a little and stepping forward, motioning as he spoke. "I took the bullet to take Clootie down. I rallied to make sure he stayed in the ground while you rode off. I fought your war, Wyatt."

Wyatt didn't shrink back. He didn't apologize. There was no sympathy in his eyes or in his tone. "And who are you fighting for now, Robert? Leading the very devils I had to put down, standing by as my son and his son and his were murdered. You think you saved Willa? You damned her as surely as you are."

The words cut and Bobo felt himself falter, a sharp breath escaping him and his jaw snapped closed, teeth clicking together. "I did the best I could," he forced out, feeling the anger being overpowered by a need for Wyatt to understand. He'd fought for him. He'd died for him, and when he'd woken up to find himself cursed and amongst his enemies he had dug in and beat back the urge the curse forced on him. He had done what he had to to rise up and keep things as under control as much as possible, making sure that the Revenants didn't run wild and run Purgatory completely into the ground. He'd remained as loyal as he knew how. And Willa…. nothing hurt more than what had happened to Willa. "I did the best I could with what I was given. You weren't here. I'm only one man," he snarled, his voice more desperate than he cared to admit.

"Not even that. You're a demon. You're everything we were fighting against." Wyatt shook his head, disgust written across his features as he turned. "You just weren't cut out for this. Not strong enough. Doc woulda been."

Bobo felt like he'd been dealt a physical blow. "Wyatt." The name escaped him, pained at the expression his old friend had worn and he reached out, trying to grab at the other man's wrist. Real or not didn't matter anymore. The pain was real, and that was enough.

He didn't stop though and Bobo stumbled forward. He was leaving. He was leaving him all over again. "Wyatt!"

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping the forward motion. "It ain't him."

Bobo turned, finding Holliday of all people standing there and he snarled lowly at the man he hated. It didn't phase him, though. Instead he was looking at him with…. understanding? It was a strange expression for John Henry to cast in his direction and Bobo looked away, watching Wyatt's retreating from. "I can still reach him," he mumbled, half to Doc and half to himself. "I can make him see-"

"That ain't Wyatt," Holliday repeated. "This thing… it wants to lead us away. You follow it, and you're done."

"How would you know?" he growled.

"Because I saw him too. When I was looking 'round town. I saw him and he told me he wished I'd stayed in that well. That ain't Wyatt."

Bobo blinked hard, realizing only then that angry tears were starting to cloud his vision. He heard what the other man was saying. He even understood it on a level, but so much of him just needed to make Wyatt see. "I just need him to-"

"He can't. He's gone. He's been gone and we're here. We gotta live with that."

It wasn't comforting. Holliday likely didn't mean for it to be, but it shook him fully back to reality. He looked back to see only an empty street where he had thought he'd seen Wyatt just moments before.

Bobo closed his eyes for a moment, pulling in a steadying breath, and when he opened them again he found several sets of eyes on him including Waverly Earp watching him and she tried for a reassuring smile. His gaze swept over to her sister who squared her shoulders, her chin tilted up. "You with us?" she asked, Peacemaker in her hand, and in that moment she'd never looked more like Wyatt. The real Wyatt, not the one that lingered in Bobo's darkest fears.

"Yeah," he huffed out and she nodded, turning on her heel to continue her march towards the source of the spell, the others falling into step. Wyatt might have left them to clean up the mess, but if he were to place his bet, Bobo was more certain every day that Wynonna would be the one to finish what her great great granddaddy started.

Notes: I've been wanting to write on something that took a look at Bobo's thoughts about Wyatt for a while now, and a conversation brought this around. Brownie points if you can name the quote the one-shot's named after ;)

As always, I'd love to know what you think!

[kpopfanfictrash]

One Shot (VII)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Chanyeol

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 5,814

Summary:  You’re a deadly assassin, hired to kill bad guys. But what if the bad guy doesn’t seem so … bad?

[Part VI]

That’s when the doorknob turns.

You don’t have time to hide. No time to do anything but freeze when George Lee enters the room. His gaze meets yours, more than a little surprised. Then his eyes narrow, sweeping you from head to toe.

“Hey.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “What are you doing in my office?”

Your mind whirls, struggling to think of something to say. Struggling to think of a way out of this.

Adopting you most innocent expression, you take a step forward. “I’m sorry,” you admit, frowning. “But what are you doing in Chanyeol’s office?”

George Lee raises an eyebrow. “Chanyeol’s office? Sweetheart, you’re in the wrong place.” His gaze moves up your body, landing on your face. “Why are you looking for him, anyways?”

“I’m his housekeeper,” you say, forcing your voice to waver. “He forgot a contract I’m supposed to drop off. Isn’t this his office?” You search through your bag, reading off fake numbers. “11401?”

George laughs. “No. I mean, yes – this is 11401. But 11401 is my office and 11501 is Chanyeol’s.” His smile widens. “While you’re here though, why don’t I show you around?”

The tone of his voice makes your skin crawl. “Oh, that’s okay,” you say, allowing your eyes to drop to the floor. “The wrong room – how embarrassing,” you mutter, taking a quick step past him. “I must have heard the receptionist wrong – or maybe she got mixed up. I’m so sorry, I –"

George’s hand finds your arm, turning you to face him. “Don’t go,” he smiles, cocking his head. “We were just getting to know one another.”

Staring back, something inside you tightens. George has that look about him – that greasy, arrogant look you’ve run from your whole life. You need to leave, need to not raise suspicions any more than you already have, but it’s hard when he looks at you in that way. Not in a suspicious way. No, George Lee would never suspect someone like you capable of fooling him.

He’s looking at you like you’re an object. A woman he wants and thinks he deserves. Your own hands tighten into fists as you force a smile. You want to teach him a lesson but you can’t – George needs to think you’re weak and unassuming. It’s the only way to get past him without raising suspicion.

“That’s very nice,” you say, trying to appear flattered. “But if I don’t get this contract to Mr. Park, I’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

George hesitates and for a horrible moment you think he’s going to say no. For a moment he looks at you before suddenly, he drops your arm. “I understand.” Sighing, George takes a step backwards to run a hand over his hair. It’s not the same effect as Chanyeol. “Perhaps I’ll see you again?”

You allow yourself to nod. “I would like that.”

Before he can respond, you leave. Smiling as you walk away, meandering your way down the hall. You walk casually until you reach the elevator and then you allow your face to fall. You can’t appear unnerved yet, even though every muscle in your body screams at you to run.

Once the doors shut, you exhale. Breathing deeply and leaning on the wall. You have to stay calm until you exit the building. There’s still a chance he could find the recorders – still a chance he could put two and two together. Not that you think he will. At least not, right away.

The way George Lee dismissed you, accepting your excuse with so little questioning just strengthens your suspicion that he’s really the one behind this. George is too naïve, too trusting – too used to getting what he wants. He’s exactly the kind of guy who would fall into the wrong hands and not care who he has to hurt to get out.

When the doors open, you exit. Sweeping a glance over your shoulder at the smiling receptionist. Her initial treatment of you still stings and you grimace as you pass. You really should learn to let the little things go – one day that’s going to bite you in the ass. Outside the sun is shining despite the pit in your stomach, growing ever denser as you walk away.

You only have a week to fix this. Seven days to prove Chanyeol is innocent. Hoisting your bag higher, you walk faster. Now you just have to pray that George Lee is arrogant enough to let something slip because if he doesn’t, you’ll have to rethink your plan.

You’d like to think you’re the only player in this field. You’d like to think that if you refuse to kill Chanyeol, no one else will. This isn’t the case, though and you know that if you say no, someone else will say yes. Your one week extension is a boon but it has its limits. You need to consider the possibility that if you don’t find out what’s going on in seven days… Chanyeol will be fair game to someone else.

The stairs down to the subway are dank and musty, filled with people bustling to their next location. You allow yourself to melt into the crowd, carried away into the subway car. There are no seats, so you stand, careful to angle yourself away from the woman pickpocketing multiple tourists around her.

It’s time to face the reality that this time next week, you may find yourself faced with a difficult question. Well, not really a question. You already know you can’t let Chanyeol die – so then the question is, how do you stop it? The subway doors open with a whoosh, allowing the people inside to pour out.

After quickly replacing the four wallets stolen by that pick-pocketer, you step outside the car. Hurrying the three blocks back to your cold apartment and as you switch on the overhead lamp, you set to work. Unplugging wires and dragging your laptop over to the kitchen table.

Your fingers drum on its surface as it warms up and you know that the audio devices are already transmitting –have been since the time you left George’s office. Those recorders will send information directly to your desktop, creating a transcript and flagging key words in the process. From there you can rewind, slow down – whatever you need.

For now, you just listen. Playing the audio at 1.5x speed to catch up to present time. Mostly George Lee is quiet, typing against the backdrop of a space heater. Occasionally he makes a call – just work colleagues or friends. You listen, grimacing at his tone and words.

“I don’t even care, man,” George laughs. “I won’t go if we’re farther than the fifth row.” There’s the sound of a chair creaking and you assume he’s sat down. “Yeah, well tell her to fuck off. It’d be easier to get two seats than three and I don’t want to be your third wheel.”

Wincing, you adjust the volume on your computer.

“Yeah, well I want to go out. So what if she’s your girlfriend – that doesn’t mean you’re married.”

Charming.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight. See you then.”  There’s a click as George Lee hangs up.

Shoving your headphones down, you stand. Pacing a few steps and turning back to the table, fuming. That little prick. You’re so busy cursing you almost miss the text message lighting up your phone on the table.

Entertain me.

You turn sideways to read the words. Plopping back down to smile, pushing your equipment aside.

How? you type.

Sigh. Must I do everything? :)

Okay, fine. Did you know the word procrustean means enforcing uniformity or conformity without regard to natural variation or individuality?

… from now on, I’m choosing the topic

You said anything…

You’re grinning now, running a hand through your hair. You really should put down your phone – should input all the key words you want to flag for recording. But right now…

Okay, I take that back. Tell me a joke.

Oh Sehun in sweatpants.

Hahaha oh god, why that image?

He’s never worn anything but freshly pressed trousers his entire life, I can guarantee

Came out of the womb like that, I’m pretty sure.

In between texts, you glance at the words flashing on your monitor, reading George Lee’s current business call.

Nah, the deck can’t be right. If you go back to slide 14 the total is 8.4M but the totals on slides 24, 25 and 26 only add up to 7.9M. There’s something missing, tell the analyst to go back and look. Mhmm. And fix the formatting at the bottom – there are double numbers here which…

None of this seems suspect, so you return to your phone. Nearly choking at Chanyeol’s next text.

Bring a change of clothing.

Your fingertips find the keyboard.

Why? Are you planning on spilling food on me?

If that will get you out of your clothing then sure, yes.

… I’ll bring my overnight bag

Okay, my meeting is starting. See you at 6? xx

See you at 6

Grinning stupidly, you set your phone back on the table. And flinch at the words scrolling across the screen.

You have to send me the account number. No – shh. I’m at work, you ass. You can’t call me here anymore.

Breath catching, you bend closer. Hardly daring to believe your eyes.

Call me later tonight at home. I don’t want to take calls here. Bye.

Then he hangs up, his office resuming its previous silence. With your exhale release your worries and tension from the past weeks. What George just said wasn’t enough to implicate him but it’s a start. It’s enough for you to sink back into your seat, feeling simultaneously like laughing and crying.

You were trying not to even think about it, but there was a large part of yourself terrified you were in the wrong here. Scared you were allowing your feelings to cloud your judgment, that you were about to let a criminal walk free. Afraid you were falling in love with one.

The sudden shock of your thought makes you blush. Love?

It’s been a while since you’ve even considered that. It feels… right, though. Not for the first time, you wonder how you got here. Sitting up straighter, you drag your laptop forward and continue to type. Highlighting any word you think could be connected with the investigation.

Debt, account, plan, code, transfer, money, bank, funds, funding.

Anything could be a clue. Then you lean back, staring around your apartment. It’s small, cramped. Messy –at odds with your normal demeanor. It’s an odd path that’s led you to your current life and more often than not, you wonder if this is what you truly want.

You like your job.

That’s a lie.

You feel your job is necessary and you know you’re good at it.

Most of the time you lie and say you’re happy. But actually happiness isn’t an emotion you allow yourself to feel. You can’t, because feeling happy means allowing everything else in. Sadness, guilt, the despair which comes from taking another’s life. Even one as evil and messed up as the lives you normally take. Even lives which have taken the lives of many, many others.

Letting Chanyeol in has made all these emotions come rushing back. You sigh, hair falling forward as you drop your face into your hands. No matter what, this is your last job. It’s been a long time that your anger has kept you going. A burning rage fueling this choice of lifestyle. You needed it at first. You needed the cover of night and steel of metal, needed a purpose to pick yourself back up again.

This job allowed you to heal. Keeping others safe from the same fate you had made you feel like somehow your pain was worth it. If you could protect even one other woman from that harm, you felt mitigated in what had been done to you.

The only problem is, you aren’t angry anymore.

The software you track is designed so if any of the trigger words are said, your phone will receive a text. A beep indicating all highlighted words and conversations. You can pull up the entire transcript as well, so there’s really no reason for you to stay at home. Thus, at 5:30 pm, you head out the door. Walk the familiar streets to Chanyeol’s apartment.

The doorman recognizes you, smiling and waving you in. “Hi, Lou!” you greet him.

Over the past few weeks, the two of you grew accustomed to one another. A knot grows in your stomach as you remember the first time you met. Back then, you were Chanyeol’s housekeeper. Not really, though – you were just posing as his housekeeper.

Inside the elevator you have a silent battle with yourself. One part of you wants to tell Chanyeol. Just come clean and admit why you entered his home in the first place. But then there’s a larger, more cowardly part which says no. If you catch George, why does Chanyeol have to know he was in danger? What’s the point of hurting him?

It’s doubtful he’d believe you, anyways. The idea of you being an assassin is ridiculous. And then, even if he did believe you, what then? You can’t expect Chanyeol to accept that you were hired to kill him. You’re death incarnate. A shadow, on the fringes of society. Chanyeol could never love you if he knew – you’re love’s antithesis, after all.

Which is why you shove your guilt into the pit of your stomach as you enter Chanyeol’s apartment. If in one week’s time you can’t prove Chanyeol is innocent, you’ll have to tell him anyways. Because at that point, you’ll be telling him to run. Your stomach sinks and you jump when the door beside you opens.

“Y/N,” Sehun smiles, holding out his hands. “I can take your coat.” He waits for you to slip from the garment, handing it over to him.

“Thank you.”

Sehun nods at your gratitude, leaving the room.

A familiar head pops around the corner. “I thought I heard you,” Chanyeol calls. He’s still dressed in his work clothes, though his jacket is off. The tie is also gone, leaving him with just a few undone buttons at his collar.

You smile at him. “You said 6:00,” you mock frown, walking towards him. “How dare you arrive before then?”

Chanyeol waits until you’re close before bending to kiss you. “Like I said,” he says, pulling back. “I missed you.”

Just this is enough for your knees to waken. You fold against him, allowing your arms to wrap around his waist. “I did, too,” you admit, His body is warm against yours, comforting. The bubble of guilt inside you grows larger.

“So.” Chanyeol disentangles himself to grab your hand in his. “Come watch me cook.”

Laughing, you follow him into the kitchen. “How demanding.”

“Yes, yes.” Chanyeol frowns. “I’m very intimidating. Today I signed a six million dollar contract and brewed my own tea – all before breakfast.”

You snort, then freeze. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, I’m very good at tea-brewing.”

“No, I meant –” Stopping, you shake your head. “You know what, never mind.”

Chanyeol grins, tying an apron around his waist. The sight is comical, his lanky body and muscles behind a floral-printed cloth and when you laugh Chanyeol makes a face, turning towards the stove. “I hope you’re hungry.” In the midst of stirring, he pauses. “I also hope you have no food allergies, since it just occurred to me I didn’t ask.”

You hop up on his bar stool, leaning over the counter. “Luckily, I’m amendable. Meaning – I’m only allergic to cats and pollen.”

At this, Chanyeol winces. “So then my greenhouse isn’t great for you, huh?”

“I’ll take Benadryl,” you say quietly. “Over my dead body are you getting rid of those flowers.”

Chanyeol glances over his shoulder, smiling softly. “Alright.”

He turns back, stirring on top of the stove once more. You watch him, relaxing for the first time in hours. Not even thinking of George Lee – and so of course, this is the time when your phone decides to chime. Loud and annoying, in the exact pattern you programmed it to respond with. Wincing, you glance at the screen.

Fuck.

Yeah, I’m alone – it’s safe to talk. Look, just tell me the code and be done with it. There’s only one more transfer to make and then I’m in the clear, yeah? Wait, what? You want me to stay? Why? Ugh. Fine. I’ll stay until 10:00 but it better be Larkin himself calling. Bye.

The words code and transfer are highlighted in red. Blinking rapidly in the middle of the conversation. You groan, glancing up from your screen to meet Chanyeol’s curious gaze.

His smile falters at your expression. “What’s wrong?”

“How do you know something’s wrong?”

“I can tell,” he muses, tilting his head to one side. “What’s up?” Chanyeol’s gaze is calm and for a moment you remember that this man is the owner of a multi-billion dollar corporation. Famous for being able to see through people, for understanding them. Then Chanyeol shrugs, and this version of himself disappears. “Sorry,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Sometimes I forget that not everyone is out to bullshit me.” He turns, slipping something into his pan. “Anyways, what’s wrong?”

At his words, the smile disappears from your face. He’s not wrong – you are bullshitting him. But you can’t tell him that while he’s still in danger and you’re so close. Pushing your sleeves up, you sigh. “My aunt just texted,” you lie. “There was kind of a situation and I really have to go.”

Chanyeol’s face falls as he turns back to face you. “Oh.”

Standing, you move around the counter. “Can we do a rain check on tonight?” you ask, staring up at him. “I’m so sorry.”

Chanyeol nods, thought his expression is carefully blank. “Sure.”

The sound of his voice kills you, so small and unsure. “Tomorrow night,” you promise. “I swear.”

Chanyeol smiles. “Okay, okay,” he sighs. “Go on – I’ll be fine. We’ll do this tomorrow night.” Grabbing your hand, he kisses it quickly. “I did see you twice today, after all.”

Your eyes glimmer as you turn, scooping your phone into your bag. “That’s true,” you muse, starting your way down his hall. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll stop by for lunch tomorrow.”

The sound of Chanyeol’s spoon clattering to the counter is the last thing you hear.

The second you step foot outside Chanyeol’s building, you move into a jog. Pulling your earbuds free to listen in on George Lee. He said 10:00 pm is the time of this call with someone named Larkin. You’ve already forwarded the transcript of his conversation to your boss, receiving a quick response from him to stay close. They’re looking into things now, tracking down calls and transfers from George Lee’s accounts. They’ll get back to you as soon as there’s concrete evidence Chanyeol is being framed.

Still though, you’re itching to do something. To go to George’s office, make sure he doesn’t get away with this. He can’t get away with this. Thinking quickly, you pull out your phone to send a message to your boss.

Who’s Larkin?

His response back is succinct, to the point. Just like him.

Larkin is the crime ring Chanyeol is suspected of funding. Or George is, depending on what our findings show.

You swallow. So this Larkin is the real enemy. You walk faster, anger flooding your stomach. You understand why the direction of this mission was to kill Chanyeol. Stopping the money trail stops crime much more effectively than killing any one person. But it still seems wrong, that this Larkin would get to continue on while Chanyeol almost died.

Shaking your head, you duck into the wind. Listening harder to the silence of George Lee’s office. Silence interspersed every now and then with the crinkle of papers, tapping of keys to let you know he’s still there. Waiting for a call from Larkin.

Once you reach your apartment, you sprint up the stairs. Slamming your door to drop into your chair. You stare at the green lines on your laptop, visible recordings from George’s office. You check your phone again. Nothing. Why hasn’t your boss called with more directions?

On the other end of your headphones, George Lee spills. You hear the unmistakable splash, the sounds of his cursing and faltering. Then the phone rings and he groans, torn between cleaning and answering the call. Its 10:00 on the dot though, and you listen to George Lee answer the phone.

“Hello?” He sounds agitated. Then sucks in a breath, surprised. “Larkin?”

His tone makes you wonder if George has ever actually spoken with the head of the crime ring before.

“Right, right – sorry. I won’t use your name. Anyways.” George sounds strained and you wonder what’s going on before remembering the spill and realizing he’s probably cleaning. “We need to talk,” George continues. “I don’t think this framing of Chanyeol is such a good idea. I – holy shit.”

Leaning forward, you adjust your headphones. What just happened? Why did George suddenly stop talking? When George Lee starts to swear, you blink in confusion.

On your laptop screen, one of the five green lines go black.

A chill runs down your spine. One of your recording devices has been stopped.

“FUCK.” George’s voice is high-pitched and frantic. “Larkin,” he hisses, completely forgetting to use a code name. “I just found – oh, fuck. Larkin, I think my office is bugged.”

No one from the other end of the line answers. And then you hear harsh words – yelling, but too vague to make out what’s being said. You hear sounds of George standing, pacing. There’s a crash when he overturns a piece of furniture. You still have four more recorders hidden so you can still hear for now. You don’t doubt George will find those too, though.

Another green line disappears on your screen.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Standing, you strain to hear as you scramble for your bag.

“I just remembered.” George is blabbering now, panicked – rightly so. “Chanyeol’s housemaid was here today.”

You freeze in the middle of throwing equipment into your black bag.

“She came here and I didn’t think anything of it, thought she was lost but what if he knows? What if he’s the one who bugged me? Larkin, what if he knows?”

There’s increased mumbling but you’re not listening anymore. Instead you stand, flinging your bag onto your back and steeling your face.

“Okay,” George says. There’s a creak as he falls into his chair. “Okay, fine. Send someone. Whatever. I don’t care. Do what you have to do. Get rid of Park Chanyeol.”      

“Yeah, I think I got them all.”

The last green line goes dark.

Now there’s just a buzzing of static in your ears. You close your eyes, opening them once again with newfound purpose. Over your dead body will they hurt Park Chanyeol.

Your trip back to his apartment is hastened by fear and rage. You don’t enter the lobby, knowing full well Larkin’s men will be expecting this. Now that they know you’re also involved – you’re a target too.

Instead you head to the back alley. Sliding on special gloves and dropping your bag at your feet. Your harness goes around your waist and you aim a special gun at the top of his building. Pausing and squeezing the trigger as a cord flies out. You feel the rope dig into the side of the building and pull once to test its security.

As you start to climb, you ignore the cold wind at your back. Forget the blood pounding through your veins. You focus on the movement, on small, sure steps to blend into the side of the building. Along the way you let out several explicit epithets at Chanyeol just having to live in the Penthouse. He couldn’t have picked the second floor, could he? No, that would have been too easy.

You’re winded when you reach the top, shakily pulling yourself over the ledge to land on the other side. Chanyeol’s greenhouse is tall, dark and silent beneath the moonlight. You crouch behind it, scanning the balcony for other visitors. Larkin’s people won’t have wasted time and your blood runs cold at the thought of Chanyeol already being dead.

But no. You can’t let yourself consider this as an option. That’s when you spot it – the dark, slim shadow slinking down Chanyeol’s hallway. You’re off before you have a chance to think about it, running before you can formulate a solid plan.

You’re not sure how the other man got inside, but it’s hardly important now. The entirety of Chanyeol’s apartment is dark, so you have to assume he’s gone to bed. Thank god he did, because otherwise they probably would have just sent a sniper. One quick shot and that would be that. Instead Larkin sent a ground agent – someone for you to fight. You can do that.

The patio door is locked but that’s not a problem. One quick elbow breaks your way in and you make a mental note to replace this as soon as this is over. Chanyeol should really have better security than a lock which breaks with applied pressure. You slip inside, pausing in the doorway. His cameras are all on but right now that doesn’t matter – what matters is protecting Chanyeol.

The dark shape is right Chanyeol’s bedroom, easing open his door. You break into a run, straining hard but just one look at the distance tells you he’s too far. You’ll never reach him in time.

The man raises his gun, aims.

“HEY, ASSHOLE!”

He turns, surprised by your entrance, and the bullet whizzes harmlessly into a wall. Now you reach him, barreling forward to tackle him to the ground. Elbowing him over the head and knocking him back as your lower body pins him in place. Quickly, you grab his gun. Dismantling it and dropping the clip into your hand.

Within Chanyeol’s bedroom come the sounds of him stirring, awakened by the gunshot. Beneath you the man bucks in an attempt to knock you off but you grab his head – slamming him hard enough to daze, but not wound him. “No,” you murmur, tilting your head. “You’re not going anywhere. The police are on their way.”

This is true. On your desperate dash over, you called your boss. Explained the situation as you flat-out sprinted, forwarding the last recorded message onwards. In that conversation George admitted to framing Chanyeol. Point-blank agreed to kill him. There should be no more question as to Chanyeol’s innocence and in response, your boss called in back-up. They were too far away, though – which means you need to hold this man off until they arrive.

Beneath you, he stills. Allowing his head to fall back against the floor. The other assassin wears a black ski mask, a strip of white across his eyes all that’s visible. “You can’t save him,” he laughs. “We’re unstoppable, unbeatable. We’re –"

“Y/N?”

Chanyeol. You hear him enter the hall but don’t look, unwilling to be distracted right now. “Chanyeol,” you say, gritting your teeth. “Stay back.”

Your muscles are strained and you’re starting to wish you’d packed a tranquilizer gun. The cold metal against your hip is your only option right now – but you can’t quite bring yourself to use it. You find yourself not wanting another death on your hands tonight.

Chanyeol steps into your vision. “Y/N, what the fuck is going on?” he demands, his voice low. He sounds calm, but you know he’s probably freaking out.

“I’ll explain later,” you grimace, glancing upwards. The other assassin wriggles beneath you, attempting to move his hand. Finding his head with your hands, you knock him again against the floor. “Right now I’m a little busy.”

Chanyeol’s eyes widen at the sight. He grabs his phone, bringing it to his ear. “I’m calling the police,” he announces. Then pauses, raising an eyebrow. “I should call the police, right? This isn’t some dirty cop?”

Nodding, you shift your weight. Trying to keep your arms from shaking. “They’re already on their way,” you confirm.

Beneath you, the guy is continuing to move. You refocus your attention on him, moving to backhand but recoil at the expression on his face. His eyes are wild, vindictive and it’s then that you notice his hand has worked itself free. In his hand he holds a knife. You gasp, pulling back but before you can, he’s plunged it into your side.

Screaming, you collapse on top of him when the pain slices through you. Somehow keeping your wits about you, you roll off to kick the knife from his grasp. Another kick sends him flying sideways into the table. Chanyeol lunges for the knife before the other man can, staring at it wide-eyed. He stumble towards you, but you hold out at hand.

“Bitch,” you hiss, facing the other assassin.

Your hand is clutching your side, shakily trying to hold yourself together. Blood trickles from the spaces between your fingers. The pain is blinding, vision starting to mist into darkness but you press forward. Focusing on the task at hand: protecting Chanyeol.

When you reach him, you stare down. Dropping to one knee, because you find yourself no longer able to stand. “You won’t get to him,” you whisper, pulling your gun free from your holster. Your blood flows openly now as you clench down on the gun, turning its safety off.

And then you stare at the man, wide-eyed beneath you and find your hands suddenly trembling. Slowly, you lower the gun to your side. Lower it, and then club him over the head with it. The man collapses to the ground before you, suddenly unconscious.

That’s when you let go of your side, gasping as the pain surges through your body. Your red-washed hand finds the floor, struggling to support the weight of your body. Sirens wail in the distance. Chanyeol moves towards you and you stare blankly back, reaching out your hand as your vision fades.

The steady beep of a machine wakes you and for a moment, you think you’re in your apartment. You’re in your kitchen, monitoring George Lee and just happened to fall asleep. But no, you’re lying in a bed.

Blearily, you shove open your eyes. You’re in a hospital. This wakes you, scrambling upright as memories of the last time you woke in a similar position wash over you. You shiver as your heart races, remembering the morning with chilling clarity.

Then your eyes find the chair by the window and your pulse slows, realizing this time is not the same as the last. This time, you’re not alone.

Chanyeol sits slumped in the armchair, long limbs sprawled as he snores. His dark hair falls into his eyes, rising and falling with each breath. After a long moment, your eyes move past him to survey the rest of the room.

Everything is fuzzy, the details of the room slipping through your grasp, so you assume you’re currently on painkillers. That would make sense given the IV in your arm and bandage around your waist. You can’t see it through of the flimsy hospital gown, but can feel the wrappings against your body. Gingerly you poke your side, wincing at the sensation. Moving to lift your sheets when –

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

You start, dropping your covers to meet Chanyeol’s eyes. He’s awake, still collapsed on the chair but alert and focused on you. Staring with a blank expression that conceals any hint of what he’s feeling. Suddenly you’re very aware of how you look. No makeup on, sweaty from surgery. Lying in unflattering lighting in an unflattering room.

“What are you doing here?” Your eyes dart to the door when Chanyeol stands, walking closer. “Who let you in? I’m post-op, you shouldn’t even – “

Chanyeol brushes aside your concerns when he kisses you. Tilting your face to press his lips to yours. His movements are slow, soft and you find yourself melting into him. Reaching forward as his fingers brush your hair away. “Sh,” he murmurs, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “Don’t touch me. You’re not supposed to raise your arms above your waist.”

You snort, surprised at his second kiss. “But,” you blink when he pulls away. “Why are you here?”

Chanyeol takes a seat beside your bed, frowning. “What,” he asks, expression curious, “you think I’d just leave you after you took a knife for me? I’m insulted at your surprisingly low opinion of my character.”

Shakily, you push yourself upwards.

Chanyeol pushes you back down.

“But…” Your eyes wander. “Did they – do you… know?”

Slowly, he nods. “I know.” On top of your bed, Chanyeol’s hand finds yours. “I know that you saved me.”

Staring back, you shake your head. “Chanyeol, I was told to kill you.”

“But you didn’t.” Chanyeol’s gaze is fierce, determined. “Instead, you convinced everyone I was innocent. Found out who was really at fault.” Sadness creeps across Chanyeol’s face and you remember George Lee was once his friend. “And then when my life was truly in danger, you saved me.”

Your breath hitches. “But still –"

Chanyeol shakes his head. “No,” he frowns. “You can’t help what you were asked to do. You can’t help your circumstances – only your actions.”

This gives you pause. But still. “Chanyeol,” you sigh, gaze dropping to your lap. “I’ve killed people.”

“Yes.” Chanyeol’s voice is thoughtful. “They told me how much sorrow you’ve prevented by doing so. How many lives you’ve saved, overall.”

Glancing back up, you wonder if you’re about to cry. It’s probably just the awful mix of exhaustion and relief, pain and painkillers but you’re finding it hard to stay stoic right now. Finding it hard to be strong. Chanyeol’s hands tighten around yours.

“Y/N,” he whispers, hand rising to your face. “I know. Your boss told me everything and if you think for one minute that I’d not want to be with you, I’d like you to think again. Quite frankly, the fact that you even doubted me is a little –"

This time, you’re the one who kisses him. You’re the one who laughs, ignoring the tears threating to spill over. When you pull away, Chanyeol smiles down at you. “Thank you,” you murmur.

“For what?”

“You keep saying that I saved you,” you say, voice quiet. “I rather think it was the other way around.”

Chanyeol’s eyes lighten, his gaze sweeping his face. “Fuck,” he sighs.

You start, glancing around the room. “What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just.” He pauses, looking at you. “I really want to kiss you, but the doctors told me I’m supposed to be gentle.”

A glam enters your eyes and you shrug, interlacing your fingers with his. “Hey,” you grin, leaning forward. “Now that you know who I am – I’d like to see them try and stop me.”

[Master List]

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone who supported this series! This is the end of One Shot - hope you enjoyed the ride 💕

[lancecarr]

Cinematographer Michael Gioulakis on Rendering the Unrelenting Reality of Us

The real horror in Us, director Jordan Peele’s followup to his Oscar-winning and unsettlingly resonant hit Get Out, is the vaporous line between reality and “The Tethered,” shattered mirror images of every human being on earth. The worlds both inhabit in the film are distinct yet intersecting, a liminal space that becomes vivid and terrifying on screen in the hands of the director, actors and crew. The unexpected way Peele tells his story—his steady, saturated images and urbane spaces are the antithesis of the jerky, grainy wildness of The Blair Witch Project—makes for genre-bending watching as we contemplate the existential terror of meeting our own inner monsters gone rogue.

Released in March and on DVD in June, Us and its director are, not surprisingly, enjoying quite a moment this Halloween season. A live experience inspired by the film anchors the annual spookfest at Universal Studios Hollywood’s Halloween Horror Nights and runs through the end of the month. In early October, Peele’s Monkeypaw Productions cut a five-picture, first-look production deal with Universal. And last week, Peele received the John Schlesinger Britannia Award for Excellence in Directing from BAFTA Los Angeles, an honor consistently bestowed on future Oscar nominees and winners including Ava DuVernay, Christopher Nolan, Steve McQueen, Ang Lee and Kathryn Bigelow.

Us cinematographer Michael Gioulakis used Zeiss lenses and the filmic yet precise control of the Alexa Mini and SXT to render the unrelenting reality in each frame after mapping out nearly every sequence via storyboards with Peele. Gioulakis is no stranger to scary cerebral fare: he shot David Robert Mitchell’s breakout horror film It Follows and just wrapped the nine-episode first season of M. Knight Shyamalan’s Apple Original series Servant, premiering Nov. 28. We asked him about the challenges of filming among so much glass and multiple reflective surfaces, especially in near darkness, and how tricky it was to set up and shoot scenes featuring the same set of actors in opposing roles.

StudioDaily: Which was your A camera: the Alexa Mini or the SXT?

Michael Gioulakis: The SXT, but we were flipping back and forth between the two fairly regularly. To me both are the same camera, with the same sensors and codec. The only difference is really in the frame rate. Also, the cards make working with the SXT a little bit easier, in my opinion.

Madison Curry plays young Adelaide in the flashback scenes in the film. Claudette Barius/Universal Pictures

What did you appreciate about both cameras’ form factors for this film in particular?

You know I just like the Alexa in general because of its features and color rendition. The Mini came in particularly handy, however, because we ended up using the DJI Ronin and Ronin 2 rigs a lot. The Ronin 2 is essentially a lightweight gimbal, so a good portion of the film we lived on the Ronin 2 with the Mini on the dolly or off a jib. For a lot of our stage stuff we didn’t even have to lay down track in the hallways and classrooms, we would just pretty much ride on the dolly with the Ronin.

Why did you pair them with the Zeiss Primes?

I always like the cleaner, immersive look of the master primes. I usually shoot on the wider side and they are still pretty flat, even when you get pretty wide. There’s very minimal distortion on it and I find that advantageous.

I love the fact that distortions, so typical in horror films, aren’t part of the story. Instead, reflections are a major motif. How difficult, for example, was it to shoot Lupita Nyong’o through that plate glass window at the vacation house at night?

Jordan had the idea to shoot through the window, so we boarded it in prep and we found a location and built the blocking around that. It was somewhat difficult, just in terms of trying to get the lighting just right, but not particularly tricky to do. 

Lupita Nyong’o brings a ferocity to her dual performance as Adelaide Wilson and Red. Claudette Barius/Universal Pictures

Did storyboarding help you in other ways, especially since the actors are all playing two versions of themselves often in the same scenes? 

Definitely. When I came on to the film Jordan had already started storyboarding and I picked up with him and we continued doing it together during the shoot as well. We ended up storyboarding pretty much the entire film because it was helpful for us creatively to see everything laid out. I really love working that way and I think Jordan really liked working that way, especially being able to see a couple of options on the page and seeing what works best and what felt right. But logistically it seemed necessary given all the big hair and makeup changes, not to mention how the actors had to shift into each different version of their characters. That scheduling factor meant we needed to know who we were seeing at each moment, from the main characters to their alter egos.

How did Peele’s direction help you all through what must have been a very challenging doubling of not just characters but scenes that had to be shot multiple times so the actors could interact with themselves?

Jordan has a pretty unique vision, and the actors were so amazing at every turn. But we were very clear that we were never trying to make a spectacle or a gimmick out of the idea of their being two versions of the same actor in the same frame, so there really are only a handful of shots in the film where they are both on the screen at the same time. Jordan tried to be very careful when those moments were and was very selective. I think that was smart because it was really about just telling the story.

This scene in the family room was one of the more emotionally challenging for both the cast and crew, says Gioulakis. Claudette Barius/Universal Pictures

How tough was it to light a film that mostly takes place at night?

The power goes out at the Wilson’s home fairly early on and stays off for a while, so a good chunk of the film is shot not just at night but in near total darkness. The challenge was trying to find the right kind of light levels and not make it feel like there was any kind of key light on the actor. We wanted to make sure there was a clear motivation to the lighting, so we needed to decide what that motivation is and apply it. I tried not to light the faces too much and rather light the environment. When they are all together for the first time in the family room, however, that was a little bit different and I lit that shot to shot, just because it was such a critical moment. It was always trying to find the right balance between darkness and reading their expressions, which is hard in a lights-off scenario when there’s no logical motivational light source.

The scenes out on the lake are also pretty dark and looked equally tough. Were they?

Yeah, that was pretty challenging. We actually shot that scene during our first week of production, so we started off strong on the water. Again, we tried to simplify as much as possible and we had a lot of discussions on how to do that. I came up with a plan where we had a couple of lighting barges that had some 12 x 20 frames on them and so had some lights pushing through there. We’d turn one off and turn the other one on, depending on which direction we looked. We tried to cheat the directions as much as possible because we only had so many hours of night during each of those days.

Was Winston Duke, in both his roles, in the water or just the stunt double?

Both, but Winston was probably in the water the most!

Jordan Peele, the film’s writer, producer and director, on the subterranean set designed by Ruth De Jong. Claudette Barius/Universal Pictures

What was your favorite place to shoot?

The underpass. I think [production designer] Ruth [De Jong] did such an amazing job with the space. Every single direction and every corner looked beautiful. That was my favorite for sure.

There are some very intense moments in this film. Did you find any of them difficult to get through on set?

I think the family room scene was probably the most difficult emotionally, just in terms of watching the actors occupy such different spaces during their doubled performances. But it’s a very emotional scene to begin with. When Lupita first came on set dressed as Red and did her monologue, it was a pretty amazing moment for all of us.  

  The post Cinematographer Michael Gioulakis on Rendering the Unrelenting Reality of Us appeared first on Studio Daily.

https://www.studiodaily.com/2019/10/cinematographer-michael-gioulakis-rendering-unrelenting-reality-us/

[captivesrp]

Waves crash on the rocks, sending frigid water spraying into the air. Thunder booms and lightning rends the sky as the relentless wind drives sheets of rain to drench everything in their path.

Anwen crouches low on the rocky outcrop, bracing herself against the storm. As lightning streaks across the darkening sky, she sees it—a ship floundering dangerously close to the rocks. On its deck, sailors cling to ropes and desperately strain at the oars as wave after wave crashes over them. Their cries and prayers are swallowed up by the howling gale.

Others have noticed the plight of the vessel. A cluster of figures emerges from the small village of stone huts nestled between the crags and the wilderness. They move as quickly as they can, struggle against the wind and rain, tie ropes as guidelines for the others that follow. Down the crags towards the sea they scramble until they reach a great rock jutting out into the bay. Just then, the ship shudders and twists at an unnatural angle, stuck fast on a shoal. The relentless crash of waves threatens to splinter the ship and sweep its passengers away.

Another crack of lightning illuminates the sky and the party on the shore lets out a cry, for there is another boat out at sea, a small fishing vessel, still under sail. Skimming across the waves, propelled by the force of the wind to an unearthly speed, it sails straight towards the wreck. A lone figure stands in the stern.

Anwen gasps and strains to see more clearly, shielding her face from the stinging rain.

Moments before the new boat collides with the disintegrating ship, it turns sharply, sending spray over the already drenched sailors. But that is not all—a rope snakes out and shimmers in the air. The sailors grasp it and lash it to their mast.

Under the guidance of the lone figure, the little boat navigates the channels between the rocks, drawing ever nearer to the shore. Soon, it passes the foot of the rock where the villagers stand. The free end of the line files through the air, but this time it falls short of its goal. The figure brings the boat about immediately, narrowly missing the dangerous rocks. Thunder rolls again. As the little boat approaches the location of the rope, its knotted end bobbing in the waves, the sailor reaches out fearlessly, far over the side of the boat. Just as it looks like the boat might capsize, the figure seizes the rope, and with a jerk of a line the boat turns and steadies. Once again the boat passes by the great rock, and once again the line flies through the air. This time it reaches its target and the rescuers begin hauling in the slack. Using the rope as a guideline, the sailors stranded on the wreck have a new hope of getting to shore.

As the little ship starts to sail away, the man standing in the stern turns and looks up towards Anwen. Even through the dim light and the storm, she can see his face clearly—strong and brave, eyes shining, wind whipping his hair. Their eyes meet, and Anwen chokes with tears. Every fiber of her being longs to run out over the water to him, and feel his strong arms around her again.

Suddenly the sea before the small ship draws itself up into a dangerously large wave. Anwen tries to call out a warning, but the wind rips her scream from her lips. The towering wave comes crashing down.

*     *     *

With a gasp, Anwen wakes, sitting bolt upright in her tent. She bends over her knees, trembling, heart pounding, the reality of her surroundings slowly seeping into her consciousness. As the roaring waves and wind fade away, the silence of the sleeping camp rings in her ears.

“Are you okay?” Muchadh speaks quietly through the darkness.

Anwen takes a few quivering breaths before responding. “I had a dream . . . about my father.”

“Huh. I thought a dream about your father would have been nicer.”

“There were people caught in a shipwreck and my father was trying to save them.”

“Is that all there is to it? It seems to have upset you a lot more than a dream like that should.”

“There was a giant wave coming and he didn’t see the danger. And it was just so real,” Anwen finishes lamely, wishing Murchadh would be quiet.

Murchadh nods, then adds soberly, “Watching fatal danger coming towards your father is never a fun thing.”

Anwen lies back down, making a pretense of going back to sleep while in fact her mind is still racing, replaying the dream again and again. It really felt like she had seen her father again, and that he had seen her. It seemed so real—like it was more than just a dream. Guessing that Murchadh is still awake, she asks tentatively, “Do you think that dreams can mean something?”

“They definitely can, but the truth is never clear,” Murchadh responds.

Silence descends on their tent again and Anwen rolls over, but sleep eludes her. She has too many questions.

“Do you need to talk about something?” Murchadh must have noticed that she still cannot sleep.

Anwen sifts through the muddle of questions and thoughts circling in her mind and chooses the one that seems easiest to vocalize. “I . . . I wish I could know if he’s safe.”

“Hm,” Murchadh responds sympathetically.

It is a long time before Anwen falls back asleep.

*     *     *

The next day, Anwen’s mind is far from her lessons. She is careful not to show it, though; on the outside, she dutifully listens and does whatever is asked of her, but under the surface her world is in turmoil, both from the dream and her unanswered questions, still swirling in her mind.

What would her father want her to do? She had never really thought about that before—it had just made sense to watch for him at first, and then she could not stop because that would mean that she was giving up hope. But how long could that go on for? It has been two years. What if it is even longer before he comes? What would he think about her still waiting for him like that? Whether she waits or not, it will not change how soon he comes home.

Or if he comes home, a voice in her mind adds. He might never come home, you know.

Frustrated, Anwen shoves the thought into the back of her mind. Of course her father will come home. He is far too skilled to die at sea. Nothing can stop him.

But if nothing can stop him, why isn’t he home yet?

Anwen reels from the unexpected question. She has no answer. Her belief in her father’s ability is so sure that she cannot imagine an obstacle too hard for him to overcome . . .  but then, he should have have been able to make his way home by now.

Another thought uncurls itself and emerges from the darkest corner of her mind. Your father is dead. You are the foolish one for not accepting it a long time ago.

Desperately, Anwen pushes back the thought, but it refuses to go away. Panic rises up inside her. She has never before doubted that her father will return. She will not start now. Yet the little whispers of doubt remain: what if you have been wrong all this time?

When she cannot take it any longer, Anwen banishes her thoughts and questions to the back of her mind and locks them there. Ignoring their protests, she turns her full attention back to the day’s lesson. Slowly, her fear subsides into a dull uneasiness.

The reprieve lasts until she is back at the camp that evening. With the tasks of the day behind her, Anwen finds it difficult to keep avoiding the questions and fears demanding her attention from their prison in the back of her mind. She wanders aimlessly through the captives’ area of the camp for a while, trying to trick her mind into thinking that she is busy. Maybe if she can talk with someone she can distract herself.

Looking around, she sees Alaric walking nearby and decides to go talk to him. She only ever had a chance to talk with him once before, and that had been very short, but it left her wanting to talk to him again. Their paths rarely cross, so there has never really been a chance before now.

“Hello.” She greets Alaric with a smile as she approaches him.

“Hello,” he responds.

Anwen searches her mind for a way to continue the conversation, but all she can find are the questions she is avoiding.

Tell him about it. The thought springs into Anwen’s mind unbidden. She chides herself. That is not the kind of thing you start a conversation with. If that is all she can think of to talk about, she should just go before the silence gets awkward. Without saying anything else, Anwen continues walking. Maybe it will look like she was just passing by, on her way . . . somewhere.

Feeling even more melancholic than before, Anwen continues to wander aimlessly for a while before deciding that she may as well go back to her tent and try to sleep. On the way, her path once again crosses Alaric’s. She greets him again in passing, wishing she could stop and talk to him.

“How are you doing?” Alaric asks quickly, stopping Anwen in her tracks.

The question catches her off guard—she was not expecting him to talk to her. She turns to look at him and the expression on his face says more than his words. Somehow, he knows or suspects the struggle that is going on inside of her, and Anwen feels like he is inviting her to tell him about it. Anwen’s eyes fill with tears. She really does want to talk to someone, and something deep inside her says that Alaric will understand. Cautiously, she sets the questions free from their prison.

“I think my father might be dead. I never let myself think that before.” Anwen looks down, her own honesty frightening her. “He never came home. I watched for him, every day, for two years. Everyone said I was stupid. They said he was dead. But I—I knew they were wrong. They had to be wrong. But now . . . I’m not sure anymore.” She pauses as her voice shakes, then adds quietly, “I miss him so much.” Anwen continues to look at the ground, fear mixing with her other emotions. She had thought Alaric might understand, but now she is terrified that he will not. Finally, she looks up.

Alaric is standing right in front of her and the look on his face is clear—he understands. A wave of relief sweeps over Anwen, and she reaches out her arms to ask for a hug. As she feels Alaric’s strong arms wrap around her she feels safe in a way that she has not felt for a very long time. She starts to cry.

After the tears have passed, Anwen lingers for a while in the calm that only comes after a storm, not wanting to let that moment go.

“Are you okay?” Alaric asks.

“Um, I’m feeling a lot better now,” Anwen responds, stepping back a bit so she can look up. “Thank you.”

Alaric smiles reassuringly, but he also seems agitated, like something is deeply bothering him, too.

Just then Anwen notices a brigand walking towards them. They are probably just passing by, but Anwen remembers Asgell’s warning about attracting unwanted attention. She steps back a little. “I—I guess I should go.” She looks at Alaric for a couple breaths longer, wishing she could know what he is thinking. Then she turns and quickly walks away.

Back in her tent, Anwen has a lot to think about, but her mind finds it hard to stay on one thought for long. Thinking about her father leads to thinking about Alaric. She is thankful for his kindness in letting her cry. She hopes she did not make him feel uncomfortable. Her mind wanders its way back through all of her questions and fears. At least now they do not seem quite as overwhelming.

*     *     *

The next day is taken up with one of the foragers’ rare guiding lessons with Asgell. This time, she is teaching them about different methods of navigation. To Anwen’s great interest, one of the subjects that Asgell briefly covers is navigating by the stars. Anwen quickly tries to find out as much as she can on the subject. Her enthusiasm seems to amuse Asgell, and she answers several of Anwen’s questions before insisting on proceeding with the lesson.

Anwen is hardly able to contain her excitement for the rest of the day. Her father had said he could navigate by the stars, sailing by night on the sea, but the other villagers did not believe him. They never left sight of land and did not dare to sail at night. She had been too young for her father to teach her anything about it, but now it might be possible for her to learn.

That evening, she can hardly wait to talk to Murchadh about it. Finally, once they are both in their tent, she tells him about her day and her desire to learn how to navigate by the stars. To her great excitement, Murchadh agrees to teach her what he has been learning on the subject. Apparently the brigand Fuldryn takes over the guides’ instruction on clear nights to teach them star-charting.

Anwen wants to have her first lesson from Murchadh right then and there, but instead Murchadh has a question for Anwen. He tells her how he and Ffrewgí have been designing a special arm brace that will allow Murchadh to use a bow despite his crippled arm. They had had their first chance to try it out, but it had not worked as planned. Attaching the brace to his arm was a slow, clumsy process, and removing it cleanly afterward had proved to be impossible. In the end they had had to cut it off.

“I know you’re skilled with ropes and making things,” Murchadh concludes, “do you have any suggestions?”

Anwen thinks for a while. “There are a few knots we use for sailing that might help it work better. If I had some rope I could show them to you . . . or do you think I could have a look at it? Then I’d have a better idea of what to suggest.”

“I’ll talk to Asgell and see what I can do.”

*     *     *

Time continues to pass, and once again Anwen settles into the routine of the camp. Early mornings and long days keep her busy and, in and amongst the usual lessons, there are skill challenges to test their learning and lessons from other instructors, which keep the days from becoming monotonous. She continues getting better acquainted with the other children in the foraging group, and Ungant has become quite friendly with them---even teasing with them when Arial is not around to hear him. Anwen’s evenings are spent learning about the stars from Murchadh. She is thankful that she is so busy. It keeps her from thinking too much.

One evening, Anwen is surprised to be approached by Fuldryn.

“Hello, Anwen,” Fuldryn says, “I hear that you have an interest in the stars. Murchadh has been plying me with questions of yours.”

“Um, yes,” Anwen replies, not sure what she thinks about her lessons with Murchadh being brought to Fuldryn’s attention. “My father could navigate by the stars. I want to be able to as well.”

“How would you like to join me for a lesson on star-charting tonight?” Fuldryn’s voice is gentle and inviting.

“I—I would like that very much,” Anwen stammers, trying not to sound too eager.

Fuldryn smiles. “Good. I am always glad to have another eager pupil.”

The light is fading from the sky as Anwen follows Fuldryn away from the camp. They climb a slight slope, heading towards a low fence. Anwen sees Asgell and Murchadh watching them. Anwen is surprised. She had not realized there would be others.

As they approach, Asgell calls out, “Fuldryn, who’s the guest? You didn’t tell me there’d be another kid for me to watch over this evening.”

Anwen sees Ffrewgí beyond the fence, holding a bundle of sticks and rope that must be Murchadh’s archery brace. Fuldryn is explaining how they had asked Anwen to participate in the lessons. Anwen looks from them to Asgell, then decides she is okay to move away to Ffrewgí.

He is surprised and glad to see her, and they work on the brace for a while. Anwen is glad to be able to use her knowledge of ropes again. At her suggestion, they change out the knots for ones that are more suitable, being easier to tighten securely as well as easily loosening again when needed. It does not take long for her feelings of awkwardness to pass as she enjoys working and talking with Ffrewgí again. At one point, when Anwen is engrossed in her work, she looks up and sees Fuldryn watching her with an amused look on their face. Anwen flushes as she wonders whether they are remembering her interview with them, when she had gotten so angry. I trust that you will come to find your time with us rewarding and inspiring, Fuldryn had said. Anwen squirms uncomfortably as she realizes that they had been right. 

Before long, Fuldryn calls Anwen and Ffrewgí over to the rest of the guiding group---she is introduced to a boy named Wyddryr, whom she greets shyly---for the night’s instruction.

Anwen quickly finds that the others are being taught at a level significantly beyond what she has been able to learn from Murchadh, but Asgell takes her aside and helps clarify the basics while Fuldryn attends to the other students. Later, when Asgell is quizzing the others, Fuldryn takes over Anwen’s instruction. They are very knowledgeable and good at teaching, and Anwen is delighted to find that she can ask as many questions as she wants.

Fuldryn may have been right about finding her time rewarding and inspiring, Anwen reflects as she watches their red-brown eyes glimmer in the starlight, but she had been right, too. No matter how much she is able to learn and enjoy herself, it will not change the fact that she was kidnapped. She will never forget that.

*     *     *

One of Anwen's continuing frustrations is how hard their captors make it to interact with the kids from the other groups. She has been able to get to know her own group quite well, but she hardly ever sees Ainsley anymore, since he was taken from their group to join the hunters, and there are other captives that she would like to get to know better, like Ffrewgí, that she hardly ever has a chance to talk to.

One evening as Anwen is eating her usual rations she notices with interest that Alaric is passing by, not far away. Something about his countenance makes her feel like he is deeply troubled or distressed about something. Silently, she watches as he walks out of sight, wishing she could have a chance to talk to him.

Later that evening a damp fog begins to creep over the camp. Anwen is just getting ready to go to her tent when she notices Alaric sitting at the edge of the captives’ complex by himself.

Quietly, Anwen walks over to him, stopping just a couple paces away. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Alaric turns towards her angrily but when he sees her his expression changes. “Sure,” he replies.

Anwen sits beside Alaric in silence. He is clearly preoccupied with something, staring out into the gathering mist with a dark, brooding gaze. After some time has passed, Anwen breaks the silence. “Are you okay?” she asks, then hurries to add, “You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.”

Alaric’s lips press together. “I’m fine. Just thinking about some things.” He turns to Anwen. “How are you holding up?”

Anwen looks at him quietly for a little longer. He is clearly not fine. She wishes she could help him somehow. Her gaze shifts to the deepening fog as she considers how to answer his question. “I had a dream about my father,” she says softly. “There was a great storm and a ship was caught on the rocks.” She looks over at Alaric and explains, “That happened sometimes---the coastline around my village is very treacherous.” Her gaze moves back to the swirling fog, as if within it she can see the shadows of her dream playing out again. “There were people trapped on the shipwreck and my father was sailing his boat, out in the storm, trying to save them. He would do that, too. He sailed in storms, and at night, and out of sight of land. No one else would do that. They said he was reckless, that he would get himself killed one day.” She pauses, saddened. “I dreamed there was a wave, a giant wave, bearing down on him, but he didn’t see the danger. That’s what made the dream so awful. It was like I was really there, but I couldn’t warn him. That’s when I woke up. I’ve been thinking about it a lot since then. That’s when I started to wonder if---maybe---he is dead.” Anwen thinks for a moment, then continues, “But, you know, he was never afraid. Even in my dream he wasn’t afraid. His eyes were shining, just like they did when he would tell us about his latest adventure, before my mother would scold him. I think, even if he knew about the wave, he still wouldn’t have been afraid. Even if he knew he was going to die, he wouldn’t have been afraid. And he still would have tried to save those people.” A deep longing stirs within her to be as brave and fearless as her father. “I want to be like him,” she says quietly, then looks over at Alaric.

Alaric returns her gaze. “Your father must’ve been an incredibly brave man, like one of the heroes in the stories. Anwen, no matter what others say---they don’t know what really happened to him, and neither do we. He could very well be settled far off on the shores of a different land entirely, getting ready to sail back and take you with him.” He smiles at her. “But either way, he would be proud of you, Anwen. You’re strong and kind, and you haven’t let your pain or fear hold you back. It takes an extraordinary person to manage that. He wouldn’t want you to be afraid, either. He would want you to keep going, and not to look back. What those people said, about him being reckless and about how he would get himself killed---well, what do they know?” Alaric continues heatedly, “What great things have they ever done in their lives? I bet they all secretly wished they could sail on the sea like your father did.” He puts his hand gently on Anwen’s shoulder for a few breaths before turning away again.

“Thanks,” Anwen replies, grateful for his kind words. She has never had someone else defend her father like that before. She stares out into the fog, her shoulder still warm from where Alaric’s hand had been. He said her father could still be alive. For so long, she had been the only one saying that.

She looks over at Alaric, who is staring out into the fog, lost in thought, weighed down by some shadow of pain. She wonders about his story, about what has left him so wounded---both inside and outside. It has clearly been more than she has ever gone through. But still, he has been so kind to her. He listened to her, and made her feel like she was not alone. If only she could do the same for him. Yet, wanting to help is not the same as knowing how.

Setting her thoughts aside, Anwen looks around her. Night has fallen now. The fog obscures all signs of the encampment. They are alone in their own little world, surrounded by a dark, swirling sea. 

“This is nice,” Anwen speaks her thought out loud. “It’s kind of like we could be anywhere.” She looks over at Alaric curiously, “If you weren’t here, where would you rather be?”

Alaric seems surprised by the question. “I . . . I don’t really know. What about you?”

Anwen gives a thoughtful frown. “I guess I’d rather be home. It’s strange—while I do miss home, there are also things about it that I really don’t miss. And if I was there, I would miss the people I’ve come to know here.”

Silence descends again.

After a little while, Alaric begins to speak, quietly---almost talking to himself. “About two years ago, my mother and father were killed by bandits who had raided our cottage in the middle of the night.”

Anwen looks over at Alaric. He is staring at the ground, holding his knees to his chest.

He continues, “I was hiding under my bed when I saw them both fall to the floor, barely a pace away from me. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t even breathe. My instincts told me to run, and so I did. It was a bad decision. Before I could even make it out the door, one of them caught me by my arm. I was in a frenzy, and he couldn’t get a good grip on me, so just as I got loose, he began slashing his knife at me. And boy, did he get me good,” Alaric adds bitterly, gesturing to his scarred face. “When I did get away, I ran faster than I ever have in my entire life, and I didn’t look back, not even once.” He pauses, continuing quietly, “I’ve been on the road for two years, just running away from it all, and it still isn’t enough. I think I might be losing my mind. At times, I---”

Alaric stops suddenly as a dark figure looms in the fog before them. Anwen shrinks towards Alaric, eyes wide, as the figure approaches. To Anwen’s surprise, it is Ungant who steps out of the fog. He seems startled to find them sitting there.

“What are you doing?” he says. “You are supposed to be in your tents!”

Anwen scrambles to stand up. “I—I didn’t know it was so late.”

Alaric stands up beside her, and Anwen looks back and forth from him to Ungant. Why did they have to be interrupted just then?

Ungant motions for them to return to their tents. “Go on,” he says. “You’re not in trouble, but you should be in your tents.”

Anwen looks at Alaric one more time, but what can she do? If only she could say something---anything---to communicate to him that she wants to be there for him, that she wants to hear his story, that she wants to help somehow. But there is nothing she can say. She turns and walks quickly back to her tent.

“What’s kept you?” Murchadh asks as Anwen slips silently into their tent.

Anwen is surprised to find that she is shaking. “Talking with Alaric,” she replies, hoping that Murchadh will not ask what they were talking about.

Murchadh smiles. “Nice. How did our captors like it?”

“I don’t think they like it very much. At least it was Ungant who found us. He said we weren’t in trouble.”

“Well, I hope you guys aren’t planning to run away on me,” Murchadh says, smiling.

Run away? Can she not have a conversation with someone without them assuming that she is trying to cause trouble? She was not doing anything wrong, just caring about people. Anger boils within her as she lies down to try to sleep—anger against her captors, against the injustice of it all, more anger than she has felt since she was trapped in the pit. Now, instead of being shut away from the wind and the sky she is being shut away from people---from Alaric, from being able to be there for him.

But strangely, if it had not been for her capture she would not have met Alaric—or any of the captives—in the first place. And she has to be thankful that it was Ungant who found them. If it had been someone else, it could have been a lot worse. Anwen sighs---but why did he have to come just then? What did Alaric mean, he might be losing his mind? Is he going to be okay? What was he about to tell her when he got cut off? She feels the weight of what he has shared with her. How awful, to have his parents murdered like that. No wonder he always seems so haunted, so closed off from the world.

Yet he had decided it was safe to share his story with her. Anwen is so glad he had. She had always felt like he would understand her story; had he felt the same way about her? And she does understand, in some small way, even though he has gone through so much more than she has. There is at least something they share: they have both lost their families.

Anwen had not thought about it in that way before, but the family she knew and loved is gone---forever. Even if her father returns, her mother will stay with Warydd, and her father is too proud to join them. Anwen would have to choose between her mother and her father---a simple choice, but what about Cadi? She is too young to have any memories of their father, and how could someone ask such a young child to leave her mother? That would not be right. Let her stay in the only home she has known, and let her be happy there. It was only because of Anwen that she had any reason to be unhappy in the first place. Anwen’s eyes fill with tears as she wonders if it would be better for Cadi if she were to never return at all.

Silently, Anwen cries—for the family she lost, for the family Alaric lost, for all of the pain that they have been through.

*     *     *

Through the following days, Anwen keeps watching for Alaric, but does not have the opportunity to talk with him again. She continues to study with Murchadh when she can, and one night she gets to have another star-charting lesson—this time with her own training group on one of the rotation days. Murchadh gets to try out his arm brace again, and it works significantly better than it did before, even if it does still need some adjusting. Overall, Anwen is able to enjoy herself fairly well, but as the days pass she also has a growing sense of uneasiness.

One day, the northern sky is heavy with dark, ominous clouds. The approaching storm brings the memory of her dream close to Anwen’s mind. As the day progresses, she cannot ignore her uneasiness anymore. How long is this going to go on? One day, their captors will decide that they have had enough training . . . and then what? Alaric said her father would be proud of her, that he would want her to not be afraid. Whatever happens, she hopes that she can be brave.