#also hope he gets to wear as much silk and velvet and satin and wear his hats and scarves !!!!!!!!!!!!!

[bbbrianjones]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRIAN JONES [28TH FEB 1942]

"I can talk about almost any subject. Lots of reporters say I’m an interviewer’s dream. But it’s on travel that I like to talk about. There are hundreds of places all over the world that I’ve always wanted to see. Egypt’s Pyramids, Sydney Harbour, Honolulu, the North Pole. I could name lots more. If I ever get the time and the money I’d like to seek out every corner of the earth." - Brian Jones

[ageofnations]

Seams of Gold (NSFW)

josh kiszka x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY!!!! unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it up plz!), spanking (once lmao), little hair pulling, praise kink, slight degredation, edging if you squint

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: this is the first bit of complete smut i’ve done and i don’t know how i feel about it so plz be nice. I just couldn’t get this image out of my head…especially since he wore it THREE times (so far). anyways, hope you enjoy! (Also this is not my picture!)

You felt dirty.

You felt like a little kid doing exactly what their mother warned them not to do.

It was a silly thing to feel such a thrill about, but Josh had made you promise not to open his concert closet. You had complained and whined about how much you loved his jumpsuits, that you wanted to see them up close and away from the bright lights of the stage, but he was adamant about it.

You were to not come near them.

He made some bullshit excuse of having his jumpsuits for future shows in the closet and how he didn’t want to ruin the surprise for you before you saw them on stage. He knew he was lying, though. He didn’t even keep those jumpsuits in his personal closet space until after he at least wore them once. He himself wasn’t positive as to why he made the rule, but you went along with it to make him happy.

That was, until today.

He and the boys were all hanging with each other and their families, celebrating the return to their home state and the start of a new tour. You had opted to stay behind since you got to see him essentially any time that you pleased. The hustle and bustle of the night prior, the show in Kalamazoo, had exhausted you, so you planned to use the time to recharge.

You were laying down in nothing but one of your favorite robes, one made of lavender silk. You chose comfort while reading a book Josh had bought you, rejecting the idea of confining clothing. No matter how hard you tried to focus on the book in your hand, though, you were incredibly distracted by Josh’s closet. It seemed to have a type of magnetic energy to it. It was almost calling to you, persuading you to open it and quiet your curiosities. You couldn’t stay away if you tried. You didn’t fight the urge too hard, though.

Now, you stood in front of the open doors, running your fingers across the colorful array of satin and crushed velvet. The colors were all more vibrant than they appeared on stage, and you admired how each one had its own unique and intricate design. You were especially drawn to the one from the night before. The jumpsuits from the previous tour were beautiful, but you had seen many videos and pictures of them from the fans and photographers. This one, though, was still fresh.

The vibrant gold embodied the exact aura of Josh, and you thought about how perfect it was for the opening night. The appliques were arranged throughout the fabric in just all the right spots. You imagined Josh in front of you wearing the suit, you running your hands down his chest and around to grab his hips. The suit itself was beautiful, but the duster is really what caught your eye.

You were slightly disappointed that Josh hadn’t worn it longer during the show. He looked so elegant, like a king of sorts. You hadn’t noticed the details in the fabric until now, and you were growing more and more curious about how it felt to wear it.

You checked the time to see that Josh was set to be home in around 30 minutes. You had plenty of time.

You made quick work to slip out of the robe you were wearing, but you paid extra time retrieving the sheer fabric from it’s hanger. You were afraid to mess up the delicate article, and you wanted to be sure you could cover your tracks when you were done.

The cool air on your now completely exposed skin sent chills down your spine. You could feel your nipples harden and goosebumps spread across your body. You clutched the gold fabric to your face, inhaling the smell of Josh and detergent, and wished that you could live in this feeling forever. You turned to look at yourself at the full body mirror behind you and slowly walked to it. You held the piece up to your naked frame and smiled at how the gold looked even better against your complexion. The designer had outdone themself with this, and you couldn’t wait to see what else Josh had picked for the tour.

You carefully slipped your arms into the sleeves one at a time. The sheer fabric did little to protect you from the chill in the air. The butterflies in your stomach grew as you were not only breaking Josh’s rule, but completely going against them. You blushed as your mind wandered to what he would say, or do, if he caught you.

You met the reflection of your frame in the mirror. You did a little spin for yourself, feeling as if you were a child playing dress up. You twisted and turned to admire your appearance with a smug grin. This duster looked like it belonged to royalty, and it even made you feel as if you were royalty while wearing it.

“Looks like you’ve had your nose where it shouldn’t have been.”

Your heart dropped with the grin that you were wearing. You snapped your head to see Josh leaning in the doorway of your bedroom. You hadn’t heard the front door open or close. You were supposed to still have a little bit of time before he came home. Confusion mixed with embarrassment in your expression. Josh, however, kept his normal smirk as he let his eyes gloss over your body.

“What? Are you not happy to see me?” Josh’s unusually low tone caused even more goosebumps to adorn your skin.

“Josh, I was just-”

He shook his head and began to walk to you. “No, I know what you were doing, baby. Exactly what I told you not to do.” The confidence that he exuded became even more intoxicating as he finally reached you. He caressed your jaw with his right hand and gently positioned his left hand on your hip. “You don’t like to listen, do you?”

You felt your cheeks pinken again and let your head drop from embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

He placed a quick kiss on your forehead and moved his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck. His fingers laced in your hair as he set his chin on top of your head. He pulled you closer to him, and you wrapped your arms around his waist. “It’s okay, my love. I can’t be upset with you when I knew it would happen sooner or later.”

You look back up at him. He didn’t seem mad or annoyed in the least bit. The smile on his face implied endearment with a hint of pride. “Besides,” he started again. “You look absolutely incredible.” His left hand dropped to give you a pat on your ass, and he gave you a proper kiss on the lips. You untangled yourself from him with a quiet giggle. He turned to walk to his open closet.

“So you promise you’re not mad at me?” You asked sheepishly.

He laughed. “Of course I’m not mad, baby,” he assured as he closed the closet doors. “But I am gonna need you to keep that on while I fuck you to remind you who’s in charge.”

Your eyes widen at Josh’s statement. You felt your knees buck, and you would’ve fell if you didn’t catch yourself. It seemed as if he had completely flipped a switch within you. You could feel your core aching with desire. He turned back to face you. His eyes were dark and glazed over. He nodded to the bed, giving you a silent demand.

You obliged immediately, and took your place at the edge of the bed on your knees with your hands on your thighs, facing Josh as he walked back to you. He snaked his hand to the back of your neck again. You looked up at him through your lashes and smiled at how gorgeous he looked. He lightly tugged your hair with an endearing smile in response. You enjoyed the sweet moments such as these, but you couldn’t help but anticipate what was to come.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” Josh rasped.

You nodded, unable to form a coherent response.

“Words, baby. Use your words,” he tsked.

It was easier said than done. The excitement bubbling within you made your skin feel electrified. You wanted nothing but for him to stop with the teasing, but you decided to play along. “Yes, Josh. I’ll be good.”

Josh hummed, pleased with your response. He released his grip on your hair, but brought his hand to the top of your head to run his fingers across your skull. The way he was touching you and looking at you, as if you were an idol that deserved to be worshipped, made your mouth water. You reached out to undo his belt, but he quickly smacked your hands away, a dramatic contrast in how he had been treating you. You frowned at him and whined.

“None of that, Y/N. You’ve had your fun.” He leaned down to be at eye level with you. His hands returned to both of your cheeks, cupping them gently. His eyes softened with his demeanor. “I want to get straight to it, if you’ll let me.”

You give your consent with an enthusiastic nod before you remember his need for a verbal response. “Josh please-”

“Turn around. Ass up, mama,” he interupted. His hot and cold attitude kept you on your toes, not knowing what to expect. You rarely got to see Josh’s dominant side, so you were pleased that you had gotten yourself in this predicament. You quickly turn around and comply with his commands. You were careful to not mess up the sheer duster still wrapped around you as you moved.

You could hear the shuffling of Josh undressing behind you, and it pained you to not do it yourself. Taking your time with undressing him had always been one of your favorite parts. You loved to kiss every inch of his body, loving every bit of it as it was unveiled to you. You could tell he didn’t feel like waiting since he took the task upon himself.

You felt him hike the duster up to your hips, your ass now completely exposed to him. He inched closer to you, and you could feel the warm breath against your core. You held your breath in anticipation. You longed to feel his mouth devour you, but he didn’t give you that satisfaction. You heard a low chuckle, which caused more air to prick your heat.

You whined at him again, tears forming from frustration. “Josh, please.”

He groaned and placed a deep kiss on your heat, but pulled away almost immediately. You chased the contact by pressing your hips towards him. He strengthens his grip on your waist and holds you in place. “You sound so pretty begging for me like that, baby.” He goes lower and licks a single stripe down your folds. “But I promise I will make you feel good. No need to worry.”

The bed dipped behind you as Josh potisioned himself on the mattress. He gathered the duster to one side and held the fabric in place with one hand. You grinned at the thought of him getting his mic fixed during the performance, holding the fabric in the same place on his body. If only you knew then what was to come less than 24 hours later.

He stroked himself a few times and lined himself up with your entrance. He paused. ��You okay, mama?”

You smiled at his thoughtfulness. “More than okay,” you answer.

He bent down to place a quick kiss to your spine before lining himself up again. He slowly pressed into you with a sigh. You clutched the comforter under you as you felt him fill you up completely, the sweet burning sensation that you had begun to crave. He paused so you could get used to the feeling again, his left hand rubbing and squeezing any bit of you that he could to soothe you.

You blindly reached behind you to grab his wandering hand and squeeze it, giving Josh the green light to start moving.

His rhythm was painstakingly slow to begin with, but he kept his word to make it feel good. You could feel every curve and vein as he thrusted slow and deep. The sounds escaping you both, plus the smacks of your skin coming in contact was anything but pure. You knew that the grip he had on your hips would cause bruises, but you didn’t mind at all. In fact, picturing yourself with marks from times like these with him only made you more aroused. You decided to rut your hips against his to allow a deeper angle.

Josh let out another groan and quickened his pace. “You’re gonna ruin me if you keep on with that, Y/N,” he warned. “You feel so good.” He let go of the fabric in his hand and opted to grab your hair instead. You moaned as you started to feel your climax building, sooner than you had hoped.

“You’re close, I can feel it,” he whispered behind you. “You’re already gripping so hard, baby.”

Your eyes roll back. “Fuck, Josh. I’m gonna-”

Just before you could finish your sentence and your climb to the peak, Josh pulled out completely. You shudder at the complete loss of contact. You snap your head furiously to look at him while he held a cocky grin. “What the hell, Josh?”

He gave a hard smack on your ass, making you moan through your frustration. “Don’t get mad at me baby. You’re the one breaking rules here.”

His comment made you blush and remember exactly why you were in this predicament in the first place. You had almost forgotten that you were wearing a piece of his outfit. He lowered himself to your ear and moved your hair to the other side of your face. His breath tickled your neck as he whispered, “Now ride me like the good little slut you are.”

The dirty words leaving the mouth of the angel that was your boyfriend made you gasp, but you enjoyed this side of him. You swiftly climbed on top of him once he laid on his back, still careful to not ruin the gold duster. You wasted very little time on theatrics, you simply wanted to continue chasing that high that Josh had denied you.

You both sighed as you sank down onto him. He placed his hands under his head in a carefree manner, but you knew it was paining him not to touch you. You put your hands against his chest to steady yourself as you began to move. The rocking motion of your hips allowed your clit to deliciously rub against Josh, bringing your climax back faster than ever.

“Good girl,” he purred. “Good fucking girl.” The raspiness of his voice as he praised you sounded like sweet and heavenly hymns.

He finally lifted his hands from behind his head and reached under the duster to play with your breasts. He lightly pinched your nipples between his fingers, making you let out a small yelp as you continued your movements against him. He seemed pleased with himself for causing such a reaction from you.

“You like that, sweet girl? You like using my cock to fuck yourself?”

You bit your lip and nodded. He grabbed your hips again and decided to take charge once more. He lifted you slightly and began thrusting himself into you at an unrelenting pace. You tip your head back and moan obscenly loud at the new sensation, but just as he had done before, he stopped.

Your head snapped down at him again as you tried, and failed, to moved your hips against his. His grip had you locked in place. “Look at me while I’m fucking you, or I’m not gonna let you finish at all.” You nod in understanding, and he slowly began to thrust into you again. You attempted to keep the eye contact, but with the increasing speed and sight of Josh panting under you, you felt them slowly close again.

Just as promised, Josh slowed his thrusts again. “I’m serious, mama.”

You take a deep breath and meet his gaze again. He gives you a loving smile before continuing his thrusts, faster than before.

You could feel your jaw go slack and hands claw at his chest as he continued to pound you. He moved his hands from your hips back to your ass, but kept the same grasp as he had before. This new hold allowed him to incorporate the rocking motion you had used while he thrusted. Your eyes fluttered again, but you didn’t dare close them again.

“Josh, I’m close,” you stuttered out.

He groaned. “I know baby. Me too.” He let go with one hand and started to rub your clit as he thrusted. “Let go for me.”

Before he could finish his statement, you tipped over the edge. You felt fireworks and flowers bloom. You felt waves crash and winds blow. Your climax enveloped your senses and had you reciting every praise and curse known to man, which caused Josh do do the same. You felt him finishing inside of you within a few final thrusts. You both were a panting mess as you came down from it all. You rolled off of him with a slight hiss at the sensation.

Josh immediately wrapped you in his arms. “You okay baby?” He asked. You gave him a nod, still unable to catch your breath. “You did so good for me.” He kissed your head and began to stroke your hair.

You giggled and snuggled against him the best you could. “I should break rules more often. I liked playing dress-up.”

Josh gave his signature boisterous laugh. “You do look really good in my clothes.” He gave you another kiss. “I’m gonna go start us a bath.” He unwrapped himself from your embrace and began walking to your bathroom. You couldn’t help but watch his figure as you also got up from your place on the bed.

“Oh and put that thing in the washer!” Josh called over his shoulder. You could hear the smile hidden in his voice as he finished with, “I think I’m gonna wear it again tomorrow.”

[brattyfics]

— until we meet again, preciosa

PAIRING || bishop losa x black!ofc, miguel galindo x black!ofc (mentioned)

SUMMARY || She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

TAGS || angst, unresolved feelings, not a hea, mentions of toxic relationships, sex (referenced).

WORD COUNT || 1.6k

Shadowy clouds hang overhead, blocking out the warming glow of the Sun. Raindrops pelt the roof above, drumming a beat of their own before pooling down to the concrete paved streets below. Isis watches stray droplets gather on the tall windows for several moments before stepping out onto the covered balcony. It felt colder than usual inside the three-story, Spanish-style shophouse, but outside it’s the opposite-- balmy, earthy. The air is heavy with humidity, so she has to take deep breaths, but she doesn’t enjoy it any less. Invigoration comes with the rain, brings hope for new beginnings, renews faith for the hopeless.

Down below, people dart between vendors to continue their shopping as the rain lightens. Colorful rays spring from puddles up towards the sky. A pair of young siblings splash each other while their mother sells delicious smelling tamales wrapped in banana leaves. Another young woman peddles gold necklaces, praying candles, and other little knick-knacks to the tourists of Sonora. Everybody has to make a living, including Isis.

She spends her days stroking the strings of a guitar or the keys of her piano, helping patrons of the music shop in between. The ground floor of the shophouse boasts string instruments and an extensive collection of vinyl records. After hours, she makes money hosting private piano lessons. She performs at the Discoteca down the street on weekends, fueling her passion for music almost 24/7 except when Preciosa is closed for ‘maintenance’.

Overstock merchandise and whatever else the Mayans’ Motorcycle Clubs needs to store clutters the second floor. Don’t ask, don’t tell is her motto, so whenever they come to the shop, she simply flips the sign to closed. There’s no point in fighting it. Besides, El Presidente always makes it a bearable, if not pleasant, experience. Bishop had called ahead to warn her that he was bringing Hank, Angel, and the new prospect, Angel’s baby brother, along. She could hear them bumping around, a noisy reminder that her shop only thrived because of the illegal deals happening in the back.

“Why don’t you put all that time and energy into something that’ll get you somewhere?” Being a musician wasn’t an acceptable career in her mother’s eyes, so the woman took every chance she could to crush her daughter’s dreams. “Nobody wants to hear all that noise!” Staring out into the street, she can’t help but wonder where she would’ve ended up if her mother had been supportive. Maybe she could have been a star rising to the top of Billboard charts or someone who worked behind the scenes, writing songs, singing demos. She had the skill set. Yes, her path would have been much different.

Isis had stood front and center, crooning out an old school blues song at a hole-in-the-wall spot when Miguel Galindo first laid eyes on her. It was a chance meeting, one that felt like fate at the time because dive bars weren’t his scene. The owner was a business associate who decided to try his hand at being a restaurateur; Miguel had been kind enough to come out and support. When he caught sight of her shapely frame in a slinky, satin number, he insisted on being introduced.

Miguel stood out in a crowd, wearing a tailored button-down, dark dress pants, and an expensive pair of Italian leather shoes. His salt and pepper beard groomed to perfection, hair gelled so that no strand was out of place. The moment she’d looked into his eyes, she was caught in his web. His masculine scent drew her in like honey to a bee. His charisma held her attention. Miguel sweet-talked her all night, insisting Isis sit next to him, eat h’orderves, and drink overpriced champagne. She obliged. Who could say no to that face? He used their close proximity to reel her in like a fish on a hook, leaning down to whisper in her ear. You’re beautiful. He told her. You have such a smooth, seductive tone. You should be performing for bigger crowds. Have you ever thought about branching out? He told her everything her mother never had, so she was a lamb to the slaughter.

For months, Miguel had treated her like his very own LifeSize doll to play with. He took her on shopping sprees, kept her draped in silk and lace. Isis didn’t think of herself as materialistic, but she couldn’t deny being showered in gifts felt splendid. He was always so tender, handling her delicately as his newest prized possession. As time went on, she became more like an ornament. Something for him to marvel at when he felt like it and then hide away the rest of the time. But nothing was worse than him leaving her to harden after he was finished molding her like clay. She asked for more—time, commitment, only for him to do the opposite.

Thus, Preciosa was born. A way for him to placate her and later make it easier for the M.C. to make him money.

“Just a few more minutes, and we’ll be out your way.” Isis jumped at the sound, turning away from the street to see Bishop. She hadn’t heard him come outside; didn’t expect him to venture up into her personal space.

Isis’ smile rarely reached her eyes, Bishop noticed. He stepped forward, holding a velvet box that felt heavier than it was. Her fingertips tickled him as he passed it over. Diamonds surrounded in white gold gleamed as the clouds cleared away for the Sun. Even Bishop could admit the set was gorgeous, but she didn’t look impressed. He hated being Galindo’s delivery boy, watching the way her face fell when the gifts she received became increasingly impersonal with each week. Not long ago, he’d also been tasked with passing along handwritten love notes or antique music sheets that she caressed like she would a lover’s skin.

“Thank you.”

She couldn’t hide her disappointment from him. Not for lack of trying-- Miguel always reminded her, appearances were everything. Smile. Don’t make me look bad. But Bishop watched her closely, knew her tells. Despite every nerve in his brain urging him to walk away, he steps forward to stand next to her. His calloused hands rest on the balcony’s edge next to her delicate pair, brown in varying tones of sepia and mahogany contrasting against the white paint.

Bishop feels the heat of her eyes on his frame, but he doesn’t let himself respond. Sharing this moment, a quick breath of fresh air will have to be enough. But she’s all around him, smelling of florals and sweet spices. He can’t think. He fumbles with his pockets in search of a cigarette. “You mind?” She shakes her head but is otherwise silent. Still watching him as he smokes; the way he takes long, steady pulls, cradling the stick between his full lips and then between his strong, veined fingers. She would bet her last dollar that he was an expert at other things involving his fingers and mouth.

When his hand drops again, she links her pinky with his, hesitant but exploratory.

Bishop looks at her, really looks at her like he sees her. It’s nice to be seen, especially when you’re the princess locked up far, far away from everyone you’ve ever known. She’s a black girl from Texas living in Sonora for goodness’ sake. This is no life, and she knows it. Several moments pass where neither can look away, both weighing their desires with the potential consequences.

With a deep breath in, she musters up the courage to ask Bishop what she’s been wanting to for months.

“Stay?”

Her heart feels like it might just explode while she waits for a response.

Bishop drops his head to his chest, cursing under his breath. “Fuck.” If Miguel ever found out… But he already knew what his answer would be. He’d been waiting for the invitation. The heated looks they exchanged, the way her fingers lingered on his when he passed her something. That damned pout she wore when Miguel forgot to send a flower arrangement-- she had no idea Bishop had been the one buying the flowers for some time now. No matter what mood she was in, fresh flowers always brightened her day. He loved watching that lonely look transform into something more lively, curious as she marveled over his choice for the week. He went for variety, slowly learning what she loved and what she just liked; her favorite color, favorite scent.

The subtle tension between them, he wasn’t even certain she noticed. The cash and the bling could’ve blinded her to all other men. But it didn’t.

When the Sun had gone down several hours later, and the guys were gone, Bishop redressed. Belt buckling with a clink, leather sliding over his shoulders easily. He let himself take one last look at her wrapped up in a poofy comforter set. The mustard-yellow velvet complimented her skin in the best way, bringing out a gold undertone. Her eyes seem to have brightened as well. He couldn’t resist leaning over to stroke her sweaty skin. Dark coils stuck to her beautiful face, frizzy in some parts from when she rode him, sweat escaping from her pores, flat in the others from when he laid her on her back and hooked her legs over her shoulders.

He wants to stay, to prop himself up against the intricately carved wood headboard and hold her in his lap while they whisper sweet nothing to each other, but he can’t.

She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

NOTES || This fic and the collage above was inspired by @isisafrofairy’s gorgeous moodboard! Also, the wonderful “Until we meet again, preciosa” line is hers as well. This is my thank you for the moodboard you made for me. I really leaned on the pictures you used for inspiration and I think I managed to capture/include each element. It was so hard not to ruin the surprise, but I was able to shut tf up for once 😂 I’m really proud of how this turned out, and hopefully you enjoy it just as much! Also, I realize the moodboard had nothing to do with Miguel but he lives in my head rent-free apparently 🥴

GENERAL TAGLIST || @woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus @sparklemichele @luckyharley1903 @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @amorestevens​

MAYANS M.C. TAGLIST || @cant-decide-at-this-moment

[luniellar]

The Union: Chapter Two - Sebastian Stan X Chris Evans X Reader

Summary: This fictional story takes place between the three kingdoms that hold great power in the untouchable lands located in Europe. Despite the modern developments in the other countries, these three kingdoms, Callisto, Europa and Io, exist hidden from the rest of the world and embrace the cultural customs shared for centuries from the early human civilizations.

You are the daughter of the Europa Kingdom led by your father, King Jovian. This year you reached the fruitful age of 21, meaning that it’s finally time to fulfill your duty as the princess of Kingdom Europa. The arranged marriage between Kingdom Europa and Kingdom Callisto has been something that your father planned for a long time to finally bring peace between the three kingdoms. Whether you like it or not, you are the key piece to it all. King Stan of Callisto is who you will be sharing the honor of the arranged marriage. He is known by all as a man of savage fighting nature and very few words. You know there is no hope wishing for the passionate love your father and mother shared, but will you be able to bring peace to this land to fulfill your father’s last wishes?  

Link: Prologue | 1 | 2

Warnings: SMUT (18+ WARNING) & Language

Word Count: 1.8K

“Damn it,” he muttered. “You have no idea how long I waited for you.”

You pulled apart from his forehead in confusion. He continued to hold your hands against his lips. But as you looked up, he looked down at you meeting in the middle.

“You waited for me?” You confronted him and he made a shy smile back.

“I did.”

You waited for more.

“I waited three years for this moment. We were supposed to get married when you turned 18, but your father begged me to have you stay with him longer,” he admitted. “I don’t blame him, you are a beautiful sight to treasure.”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you felt the heat from your cheeks radiate around your body from the unexpected compliment. The sight of his body didn’t help with any of the feelings you were feeling right now. You wanted to kiss him again.

“I didn’t know…” You trailed off and he gently let your hand go.

“You really don’t leave that Castle of yours. I couldn’t even catch glimpses of my bride before the wedding.”

“I heard you were busy… I had no reason to be out if it wasn’t Europa business.”

“Is it bad if I admitted that I’m strangely turned on by that comment?”

You chuckled and he genuinely smiled at you. It was strange to see a hard exterior like his smile with so much heart. If they didn’t meet under these circumstances, what would it have been like? Would a guy like him even given you a chance?

“Yes, my king. That is quite strange,” you replied and he nodded.

“You can call me Sebastian,” he replied. “In return, I will also call you by your first name.”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“I think you forgot that I was the King here.”

As you exchanged banter with him the space between you and him became non-existent. He looked down and moved the loose curls from your face. He gently kissed your forehead, cheeks, lips, chin, jaw and made his way to your neck. His stubble grazed on your exposed skin as he sucked in your skin with his teeth. A soft moan escaped your lips. He pulled away to admire the tender marking he left on your skin.

“Are you ready to do this?” He asked cautiously.

You came into this thinking that it was duty, but now your heart was desiring more. You wanted this more than you thought you did.

You nodded in response.

“You have to tell me,” he hesitated. “Once we start, I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Yes. I want this.” You replied back, slightly scared of the words that left your mouth.

His bluish-green eyes got dark with lust as he started to tear the reception gown with his bare hands. The dress fell into pieces without any resistance against his strength. You watched as his biceps flexed effortlessly as the diamonds from your dress scattered across the carpet.

The cold air felt nice against your hot skin as you stood in front of him in a lacey white bra and matching panties. You watched him as he placed his against your skin for the first time. His warm, calloused hands grazed against your arms and traced the sides of your body with fire in his eyes. You were starting to realize what he meant by how he couldn’t stop himself.

In one motion, he picked you up and moved you to the bed. He pushed against you with his body until you were completely laying down on the satin sheets. His body was stretched over yours with one knee on the bed. He skillfully unclipped your bra and bowed his head and started to kiss your breasts. Another surprise moan escaped your lips as he moved on your nipple. You didn’t realize how sensitive your nipple was until he started to nibble on them with his teeth. Your reflexes went wild underneath his body and he quickly held your body in place with a firm grip.

“Relax,” he said in between the kisses on your nipples. “You need to relax.”

“Ah-” One moan after another escaped your lips as you gripped onto the sheets. Then, you felt a strange sensation between your thighs. His finger traced the wet outline of your panties before pushing a finger inside. Unfamiliar wet sounds came as he slowly moved his finger in and out.

“Mm, you are so wet.”

You couldn’t describe this feeling. There was a strange sensation of pain and bliss mixed together as he used his finger to explore your insides. Several times, you tried to push his hand away when it hurt more than it felt good, but he continued on until you felt all your muscles tense up and with a loud scream everything released.

“Your first orgasm officially belongs to me.”

He got up and quickly lowered his pants and briefs revealing a body part you never saw in person. Today was a day of many first. He was large and hard. You could see the thick veins bulging and eager. He made his way back over you and looked into your eyes. You felt the heat of his part radiating on your lower body.

“This is going to hurt, Y/N. Try to breathe.”

You closed your eyes and you heard him chuckle. His lips and tongue landed on yours as he slowly entered you. You screamed into this mouth and his mouth muffled the sound. Nothing but pain was on your mind as he invaded you with his part. You felt your insides crush as it didn’t know what to do with the foreign invader. You fiercely gripped his wrists as he settled in.

He pulled from the kiss and let out a string of profanities. “Fuck, you are so tight.”

You screamed at him like a deer that’s been shot through the throat. He looked down at you like a hunter admiring his dinner.

“My king,” you begged through the tears forming around your eyes. You felt warm liquid leak from your body. He quickly pulled out to check the crimson liquid that stained the white covers.

“I can’t wait any more…”

He drove his part back inside you as your body reacted like a fish out of water. You were both covered in sweat as he pushed deeper inside you with each thrust. You cried out with each thrust and started to feel lightheaded and exhausted. Tears and sweat dripped down your face. His body was too much to handle. You noticed as his breathing got heavier and harder. Sweat dripped from his body onto yours and his hot breath hit your skin.

“Fuck...”

He grunted as you felt a warm liquid enter your body. You blinked in and out of consciousness as you felt him move out of you and the warm liquid gushed out with him. Your eyelids became heavier and you barely caught his velvet voice somewhere between the real and the dream world.

“Sweet dreams, my queen.”

✧✧✧

Water.

You needed water. Blinking your eyes open, you dragged your body to the edge of the bed and reached your hands out towards the end table. Your hands felt a thin glass cup and you gulped the clear liquid down. Your dry throat rejoiced as the liquid traveled through your body. You felt like you were hit by a truck overnight as your body started to wake up.

Your eyes widened as the memories of last night replayed in your head like a broken film. You quickly searched across the white bed covers to look for the blood stains. You let out a sigh as you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The crisp white sheets looked as if it was new, it even smelled like a field of jasmine flowers.

There was no sight of the King around the suite. You were also wearing a white silk sleep gown that barely covered your body. It was very short and showed off your cleavage. You had no memories of putting this on. Did he put this on you last night?

There was a loud knock on the door and you hastily covered your body with the bed sheets.

“Queen Callisto, are you awake?”

The voice was not familiar to you, but you felt like you had to answer back. The sun was already coming into the room and you could only guess that you overslept.

“Yes! I’m awake!” You blurted back.

“Great, I’m coming in-”

“Wait- What- Hold on!”

The doors swung open before he could hear you finish protesting back otherwise. Duke Evans walked into the room and the moment your eyes met you saw his eyes shift towards the rest of your body. His face turned beet red and immediately turned his back.

“Oh gosh! Um- I’m so sorry!” He said as he stared at the doors with his back faced towards you. “I thought you were awake.”

Could this day start off any more embarrassing? You got up from the bed with the sheets draped over your body.

“No, no. It’s fine! I mean not fine, but I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

“The king is requesting your presence for an early dinner in an hour. He wanted me to drop and see if you were awake so he could send your servants in to get you ready.”

“Yes! I didn’t realize how late it was. Please send them in.”

“Right, I’ll send them in right away.” The Duke fidgeted with the door handles before eventually getting them open. He looked adorable from the back as he grunted like a little kid with his large muscular arms. Was it a requirement that all men of Callisto had to be so muscular and well built? With a loud thud the door busted open and he quickly darted outside.

- - - Evans POV

He stood outside the door of the king’s suite. His mind tortured him as it replayed the image of her innocent, flushed face staring back at him like a deer in headlights. He even remembered her milky skin and dainty fingers as she hugged the bed sheet close.

“Fuck,” he breathed softly.

He didn’t know how he got here. All he knew for certain was that he remembered her, but she didn’t remember him. Pushing his hand through his hair in frustration, he took a deep breath.

His watch vibrated on his wrist with a notification. He tapped on the ear piece in his ear to play the message.

“Was she awake?” Seb asked.

Tapping on his ear comms again, he replied. “Reply to Seb. She’s awake, I’m calling her servants now.” A flat note played confirming the message has been delivered.

He waited for another second at the door before walking off to the servant’s quarters.

[qqueenofhades]

Are you still taking prompts? We are thirsty and were hoping for “bite me” in a fivan vampire au. Pretty please? What’s that you say? That’s not on the list you shared? Um, oops? I said we are thirsty! 🤤

Ahaha, okay, I think this is going to do it for the prompts for now. I want to get back to working on PEL, and I have (mostly) given the people what they want. But before you hasten to my inbox to request more of this (which I know the Very Hungry Lot of you will do, and I love you so much for it): do know that this is indeed related to a larger project and this is just the first bit of it.

What is that project? Shh. I am not telling you just yet. It's a secret.

Belgrade, Kingdom of Serbia

June 1896

The summer evening is warm and purple, lit atmospherically by both the older gaslamps and the newfangled electric lights (there is a Serb in New York, a man by the name of Tesla, whose great scientific inventions and experiments with alternating current may soon illuminate the entire world), and the well-dressed crowd flows toward the café in a tide of rustling satin, silk, and velvet, ladies in evening dress and men in top hats and monocles. The establishment is the Golden Cross, in Terazije, a bustling neighborhood just south of Stari Grad, and the attraction is an exhibition of the marvelous moving pictures of the Lumière brothers – the first such show in the Balkans, and indeed outside of Paris, after they were first premiered in great triumph six months ago. Or at least, so it is for most of the attendees tonight. Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky has a different task.

He stands apart from the milling throngs, well dressed in a high-collared coat and silken cravat, dark hair parted ruler-straight and face freshly shaven, a old golden watch tucked in his breast pocket and his shoes polished to a perfect sheen. While the people hurry past almost close enough to jostle him, they have a peculiar difficulty in registering that he is there. They sense something, yes – a cold breath on the back of the neck, a prey animal’s inborn reflex to warily search the shadows – but it never quite clicks. They continue on their way without being troubled in their own sense of reality, or ever realizing who – what – is standing there with them. It is just one of the odd, disjointed experiences that Fedyor has had to come to terms with, in the twenty-two years since he became a vampire.

By habit, he checks the horizon. These summer days are late and long, and Fedyor is still young enough that he can’t tolerate more than a few minutes of sunlight. It has taken years to be able to go out by day at all, half-thinking he had dreamed the waking world, become wholly one with the shadows and the night. When he emerged in the last gasps of afternoon, when he felt the golden warmth on his face for the first time in almost two decades, he wept. It still causes him vestigial pain, but not as much. Not so much that it cannot be borne.

He pulls the slip of paper out of his pocket and checks the name again. Then he puts it back and slips smoothly into the crowd. At the threshold, he feels that faint, telltale twinge, the knowledge of entering another creature’s territory without being explicitly bidden to do so. The Golden Cross belongs to the vampire king of Belgrade, who is rumored to be five hundred years old and a veteran of the Battle of Kosovo in 1389 (which, so far as Fedyor can tell, the Serbs have never gotten over losing to the Turks) and Fedyor is not interested in pissing him off. But therefore it is, by Conclave law, a place where all vampires in the city can freely congregate, so long as they haven’t committed some terrible crime. It also means that Fedyor may find the man he is looking for in here, and not have to cross into enemy turf.

A rich reek of wine and brandy, of hand-cranked ice cream in cut-glass bowls, of ladies’ perfume and men’s cologne, of sweat and starch and thrumming hot blood, rises into Fedyor’s nose as he inhales, as his senses have been honed a hundred times more acutely than what he was previously used to. He searches the crowded room, on high alert for another supernatural. Nothing, at least not thus far. But it is a delicate and fiddly bit of bloodsucker diplomacy for which he is here tonight, having to do with the rumor that a local group of creatures have formed a shadowy secret society called Црна рука, the Black Hand, with the aim of expressly interfering in human politics. This, of course, is strictly against the rules, and they need to be reminded of that fact. Fedyor would very much prefer not to fight an anarchist rebel vampire in the middle of a café crowded with oblivious humans, but the thought crosses his mind that this is an excellent soft target. The eyes of the entire city, the Balkans, the international art community, are fixed on this place tonight. If something went wrong – if the Golden Cross and all the souls within it were blown to smithereens –

Fedyor orders a drink at the bar – he has been promised that one day he will again also be able to eat human food if he craves the taste, but it will not nourish him – and sits down near the back, keeping a sharp eye out. Andre Carr, the Frenchman who has traveled from Lyon as the Lumière brothers’ representative, is setting up the unwieldy projector and barking at his assistants to be careful with the fragile, bulky spools of film, his mustache bristling in agitation. Fedyor gauges the mood of the crowd, the din of their heartbeats, their eager interest, their whispered gossip. Still no other supernaturals that he can sense, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not here. The vampire king and his underlings will have plenty of ways to conceal themselves from a relative child like Fedyor. As will the Black Hand.

He leans back in his chair and samples the whisky. Not bad, he thinks, though it’s been a long time since he drank human libations. It’s nice to be out among regular people, but he always has to keep strict watch on the part of himself that yearns to feed, that wants them to run, to fear, to fall. Fedyor has been a vampire long enough to control the hunger, to drink mostly from animals and space out his feeds on humans, to ask them for their consent or pay them for their trouble, but it’s still a struggle. He understands the urge that drives vampires to sequester themselves, to only live among their own kind, to keep drones and other willing human servants to feed from, so that you are not put to the trouble of chasing down a stranger and politely asking to bite them in the neck every fortnight or so, don’t get mixed up as to whether the mortals are your dinner company or just your dinner. It is a deuced bloody bother of a business. Fedyor always feels like an idiot whenever he tries.

Carr and his minions sort out their difficulties, and eventually the lights go down, provoking another eager murmur. Fedyor is not immune to the lure of whatever they are about to see, and he could have done much worse for a new home. He arrived here six years ago from his hometown in Russia, once his lack of aging became too difficult to conceal from his friends and family. Belle epoque Belgrade is a cosmopolitan, cultured world of stately opera houses and marble palaces, grand balls and gaslights, synagogues and streetcars, mosques and museums, bohemians and bordellos and broad balconies, telegraph wires and trolley cars and twisting lanes, churches and coffee shops in the Viennese style, with white-aproned waiters and colored mosaics and demitasse cups of Italian espresso. It is an ancient city, placed in a lethally strategic location at the confluence of two rivers, fought over in almost a hundred wars and razed almost forty times (and doubtless there are still more unmakings yet to come). Fedyor has found a place among the vampire community here, enough that he is trusted to deal with the Black Hand, despite his immortal youth. As to how that will go, well…

He watches the film with half an eye, impressed by the moving pictures just like his human counterparts, and then he feels it. The coldness on the back of his neck, the chirp of a sixth sense, the unshakeable awareness that he is being observed by a fellow bloodsucker. Though that term is considered somewhat dated and passé these days, mildly offensive. Vampires are eager as humans to participate in the scientific and industrial revolution, to concoct more enlightened regulations for themselves, to create an academic literature for their origins. There is talk among the sophisticated supernatural set of organizing an Academy for Preternatural Science, to hire vampire scholars, to establish a university. It’s a nice thought, if somewhat too ambitious (or so Fedyor thinks) for a race of beings that has only just decided that solving every problem with blood feuds to the death might not be the best idea. He wonders if one of those unreconstructed barbarians is behind him now.

Slowly, smoothly, so as to demonstrate that he is perfectly aware of being hunted, Fedyor turns around, and catches sight of the newcomer across the way. He is handsome – but then again, most vampires are, as it’s one of the benefits of the transformation. This one, however, is possessed of a roguish, rough-hewn attractiveness that seems genuine, still close to the face he wore as a mortal man, and not the eerie, glossy, imperturbable beauty that Fedyor sometimes finds so off-putting about his compatriots. This vampire is also wearing good clothes, and his overcoat is dark red, embroidered with curling black patterns. He looks at Fedyor, their eyes meet, and he nods once, half an inch. Game on.

Fedyor does his best to sit still until the lights come up, and the crowd claps rapturously and disperses to fetch more drinks and gush about the performance. Then he gets up and drifts toward a velvet curtain, slipping unobtrusively behind it. Back here, it is dark, dusty, and smells of candlewax and grease paint, the remnants of another performance, a conjurer’s closet. He steadies himself, turns around, and –

“Good evening,” the voice says, cold and curt. “I believe you were waiting to speak to me.”

“Yes.” Fedyor does his best to smile and appear charming and in command of the situation. “My name is Fedyor Kaminsky, and I am a representative of the Conclave. They have sent me here tonight in hopes of locating Ivan Sakharov, of the Black Hand. Is that you?”

The other vampire regards him flatly. His eyes are brown, as is his hair, which is cropped military-short and kept as sharp as his face. When he folds his arms, his muscles bulge, even through the sleeves of the well-tailored coat. “And if I was?”

“Then,” Fedyor says, “I am authorized by that same Conclave to deliver a warning to you and your associates that your current activities fall outside the bounds of the common supernatural law, and if you persist in pursuing them, there will be consequences.”

The other – well, he hasn’t denied it, so this must indeed be Ivan Sakharov – looks back at him with an utterly unimpressed expression. “Oh, so the Conclave found a new stooge to do their bidding? You’re a bit younger and fresher than the usual corpses those desiccated old tightwads usually send out after us, I’ll give you that. How long have you been in Belgrade?”

“How long have you?” Fedyor is almost sure he recognizes Ivan’s accent; they’re speaking Serbo-Croatian, but in both cases with a familiar cadence. “You’re Russian, aren’t you?”

That catches the other vampire by surprise. He hisses, baring a pair of white and very sharp fangs, and his eyes go briefly black. “You think so?”

“Yes,” Fedyor says. “But older than me, I think. Possibly quite a bit, though by how much, I can’t be sure. If we were to – ” he switches languages smoothly, in midsentence – “continue this conversation in Russian, would that be more to your liking?”

Ivan Sakharov eyes him icily. He must know that if he speaks their native tongue, he risks giving away his age by the style of his grammar, or perhaps his place of birth, and that is dangerous information for an unknown quantity to hold over you. There is a whiff of the emperor’s court around him, or perhaps the empress – does he hail from Catherine the Great’s day, Fedyor wonders, or earlier? There’s a long, crackling pause. Then Ivan says in brittle, too-correct English, “Or perhaps we should converse like this?”

Fedyor inclines his head, accepting that he has – for now – been outmaneuvered. They still haven’t taken their eyes off each other, standing close together in the dim velvet-draped shadows, near enough that if they were human, they would feel the other’s heat. There’s nothing but the faint wintry chill of unliving flesh, though a certain hunger rises unbidden in Fedyor’s stomach nonetheless. Then he says, “This does not have to be difficult. Cease your lawlessness and tell your friends to do the same.”

Ivan takes another step, close enough that their noses almost brush. “The Conclave has no power over me, Fedyor Kaminsky.”

“Do you want to test that?” Fedyor breathes, struggling to keep his focus at the other vampire’s threatening-but-thrilling nearness, the way his blood is singing under his skin in an entirely different way than he expected or frankly, that he wants. Just because Ivan Sakharov is annoyingly attractive (and also Russian) does not mean that he is not a dangerous, war-mongering, secret-cabal-plotting megalomaniac, and Fedyor does not need that sort of nonsense in his life. “If you did, I would, of course, be authorized to place you under arrest.”

Ivan looks at him goadingly. “I would like to see you try.”

Oh, so he is indeed one of those immortals (read: the kind who really need to experience mortality just to be kicked very hard in the balls). Fedyor struggles to contain his irritation. If he shows that this handsome bastard has gotten to him, this will only get worse. “If you promise to desist,” he says, “the Conclave will drop this matter and consider it closed. You and the rest of the Black Hand will not be subject to further investigation. That, or – ”

“How do I know that you are even from the Conclave? That you are who you say?”

“Why would I lie about it?”

Ivan shrugs. “I want proof.”

Fedyor grits his fangs. “What do you expect? A badge?”

“No. But I will accept your blood.”

That catches Fedyor off guard. Not that it should, necessarily. Since vampires can sense the thoughts and feelings of the creature that they’re feeding on, it’s a quick and time-tested way to prove that there is no funny business going on (or at least, no business that is funny beyond the usual). The obvious difficulty, however, is that it requires a possibly unfriendly rival to bite your neck or at the very least, your wrist, and one can understand why there would be a natural hesitation to yield one’s neck (Fedyor happens to be rather fond of his) to the clutches of the likes of Ivan Sakharov. But if he says no, he looks like he is weak or that he has something to hide, that he doesn’t trust Ivan or regard him as an equal, and the already-febrile situation with the Black Hand will only get worse. As bluffs go, Fedyor could call this one. But it would be very risky, and if it blows up in his face…

“Very well,” Fedyor says, chillingly correct. He pulls aside the collar of his evening coat and tilts his head, exposing the side of his throat. “Test me all you like.”

Ivan looks at him with something that makes that thing in Fedyor’s stomach rise up again, hot as an ember left burning in a brazier even when all the other lights go out. He hasn’t been warmed like this, not even by the sun, ever since he was turned in 1874 by a vampire named Dmitri Karamazov. He does his utmost to force it down. If Ivan bites him and senses that –

There’s a final pause, soft as tissue paper, fine as crystal. Then Ivan steps forward, looking almost impressed, as if he expected Fedyor to find some reason to back out. He flexes his jaw, bringing out those two impressively white and sharp fangs again, and reaches out, gripping Fedyor’s waist with his big hands and drawing him somewhat closer than is strictly necessary. Then he whispers, “As you wish, Conclave whore,” and bites.

He’s not entirely gentle about it, not that vampires usually are and not that Fedyor wasn’t expecting it. But all at once, as Ivan sucks at him, his mouth pressed hungrily to Fedyor’s neck, wet and raw and savage, Fedyor goes weak in the knees. He’s been fed on before, tested before, and this is different from any of those. He utters a mewling noise of need that he is shocked and deeply outraged to hear from himself, pressing still closer, knocking Ivan a few steps backward into the wall. His hands come up, seeking purchase on the other’s broad shoulders, a smoky curl of desire rising through him like rich incense. “Mmm,” he mutters. “Mmmgh. Yes. Like that. Yes.”

Ivan doesn’t answer for obvious reasons, since his mouth is otherwise occupied, but Fedyor can feel the little frisson of pleasure that travels through him at those words. That takes him aback. Not that he should rush to generalize, since most vampires are fairly flexible in their intimate preferences (you don’t live that long without wanting to sample everything that is on offer, carnally speaking) but for some reason, he just assumed that this tough, frightening, hard-as-nails secret anarchist supernatural idiot wouldn’t be inclined to gentlemen. Not that Fedyor is necessarily objecting. This feels far better than it has any right to do, considering that it started out as a naked challenge to his veracity. Agh, fuck, he should not think about naked. That makes the arousal burn even more hungrily, as he arches his back and presses himself wantonly against Ivan and knows that he’s hard as a rock and that this utter menace can definitely feel it. Ivan is in no hurry to pull away. He drinks for a few more seconds, past when there can be any reasonable doubt that Fedyor is telling the truth, and then slowly, deliberately breaks contact, fangs still half in Fedyor’s throat, as he withdraws with luxurious leisure. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and growls, “Ah.”

“Yes, ah,” Fedyor says, trying not to stammer, as pulses of hot and cold rush through him from head to toe. “Are you satisfied?”

Ivan gives him a wicked smile, drops of Fedyor’s blood still glistening heart-scarlet on his lips. “Maybe.”

God almighty, kill me now. Difficult, of course, when one is – strictly speaking – already deceased. (And now deceased in a different way, which makes it two kinds of dead at once, which makes Fedyor a prodigy.) He wants to ask if Ivan will perform the customary service of licking the bite wounds closed, but he’s also afraid that he may physically incinerate if Ivan does so, and since fire is rather famously one of the only things that can harm vampires, it is better not to take the risk. Instead, Fedyor pulls out his handkerchief and dabs at his throat, with as much casualness as he can muster. “Well,” he says. “You’ve had my word, Ivan Sakharov. Will you give me yours that you will bring your illegal organization to an end and return to the rule of Conclave law?”

Ivan looks him up and down, eyes lingering on the too-tight fit of Fedyor’s pinstriped trousers. Then he leans in, so close that Fedyor truly does think they’re about to kiss and momentarily blacks out, and whispers against the shell of his ear, “Absolutely not.”

And with that, and no more than a rush of air, he is gone.

[sugar-petals]

hey, kibbe related question, I'm curious to know why you think key is a soft dramatic rather than a FG?

good one, this post gives you two major pointers:

soft dramatic VS flamboyant gamine comparison

the type you may wear VS the type you are

impression-wise, flamboyant gamines come across as small and nimble — see j-hope or baekhyun, our posterboys lmao! soft dramatics seem a bit taller and appear more intimidating because of overextended sharp yang (intense brows, longer faces, stark cheekbones). 

FGs look mischievous and adorable instead. heir faces aren’t nearly as bold and angular. they’re softer, it’s their partial yin. baekhyun is known for being a real life puppy, key is recognized for his fiercer, mature features. public image surprisingly helps with typing since it summarizes how a person is instantly perceived which is key — pun intended — with kibbe.

their bone structure is similar since it’s yang-dominant, but i think you can see the difference. key has more presence and vertical line than a gamine as well, keeping up with minho even. gamines and romantics look petite next to him.

time for a test? putting on gamine clothes, see for yourself what happens: 

(^and yes, suspenders and bow ties can look surprisingly good on gamine types as we’ll see i a minute, it’s just not suited for D frames)

soft dramatic is a better style image because it’s as fashionable as he is, while at the same time staying appropriate for his height impression. even essence-wise it works: the type is literally called ‘diva/divo chic’ — sounds 100% perfect to describe key’s vibe. 

soft dramatics look better with less details and no color blocks. with satin kind of draping in particular, it puts the focus back on the face and ironically looks the opposite of overdressed. voila, he almost looks understated:

gamines on the other hand look extremely playful and can tolerate chaotic layered clothes congruently, no sophistication and silk needed. put some suspenders, a random hat, plus a contrasting high collar on on j-hope, suddenly it’s fashion and pure cuteness.

key looks a little funny with the same styling idea, a cute image doesn’t do him justice:

i’ve never seen someone look this appealing in a little bow tie and ruffles.

comparison: yes it’s very neat, but you’d be surprised how this is not an universally flattering outfit. put the same idea on a handsome flamboyant natural giant and it’s killing their complexion:

meanwhile key, also decked out in gamine overdrive: 

intense! 😂 and the same thing as with namjoon: he’s too tall, his lines aren’t in accordance with that much detail and patterning. it needs a kibbe type that sweeps the whole silhouette, with a consistent topic. tell-tale sign for a natural or dramatic. key wears flamboyant natural quite fantastically well so you know it’s close to his type, larger yang is his realm.

i can see why he’d get typed as FG since he’s wearing this style so often, it’s become his signature (especially the hair) and way of promoting the holy camp agenda which is great. we as kibbe enthusiasts just have to think twice when it comes to finding the person’s type that could be way beyond their current style niche. key seldom ventures into SD but when he does, he is effortless and outshines the outfit with his face which is the goal. if you wear your real type, no matter how outstanding the outfit, it’ll be second priority.

the thing is. you can make soft dramatic extremely camp if you play it up. hell, rupaul charles is a soft dramatic! key could easily be a trendsetter in his kibbe category just like when he wears FG. long as he keeps some soft dramatic elements (e.g. velvet, animal prints, sharp shoulders, deep Vs, glittery surfaces), the same effect is achieved and it suits him perfectly well. in fact, you could exaggerate these outfits without a problem.

and here’s the trick. he can work a bowtie, it just has to be on a larger scale because SD is the type that goes after the ‘bigger is better’ motto. the hair/eye combo isn’t completely SD but the whole concept still does its thing.

you can even tweak suspenders to suit his type as well. as long as they are yang enough (narrow, minimal, contrasting), he is wearing the hell out of them.

you can see how you can transfer styles to different categories and how key’s best looks are more geared towards something dramatic. it’s interesting how he became a style icon by wearing a type that’s almost the opposite of soft dramatic but it makes sense, it puts emphasis on the clothes if you dress outside your category rather than the person as a whole, you saw how large SD lines bring out his face more. 

the whole discussion gets to show you how consistent he’s been with wearing FG (and how much this type is valued in kpop realms) and how you can trademark another category for yourself if it’s your thing, and how wearing your real lines is not a ‘must’ anyway. he successfully experiments with FG all the time simply with confidence and the help of stylists/atmosphere.

to me, key looks the most interesting and easygoing when he kind of juggles his real type and his preferred type. something like this, sharp angles but a typical gamine linebreak belt, but at the same time maintaining the black vertical line dramatics wear so well. win-win situation.

[merakiaes]

How The Tables Turn - Tommy Shelby

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Requested: Yes. 

Prompts: None. 

Warnings/notes: Sorry if this is plain and boring. Hope it was what you wanted and that you like it <3

Wordcount: 3061

Summary: Growing up, Tommy never saw you as anything other than a sister and a friend. Until one night, when everything changes. 

Buddy, chum, comrade, mate, brother, kid. Only a few of the many, painfully deriding and mocking nicknames you got to hear from Tommy every single day, as you had been for the past fifteen years.

You had met when you were twelve and he was fourteen. You were new to Small Heath and didn’t have a very easy time making friends as you were… well, let’s just say that you were the one getting into trouble and dragging him along, also earning yourself the nickname ‘Missy Mischief’.

The last one, you didn’t mind much. It was all fun and games. But the other ones weren’t as fun, especially not when you were hopelessly in love with him.

You followed him and his brothers around every day after meeting them for the first time. Eventually, you were all so close they considered you as their sister. Tommy, too, much to your dismay.

Hell, even John and Arthur would switch it up with a “little bird”, “darling”, “princess”, “love” or “sweetheart” every once in a while. That’s more than you could say about Tommy, and still, it was only his lips you wanted to hear those names coming from.

You were fifteen and seventeen when you first shared your first romantic moment, getting a bit too drunk at the Garrison and ending up making out in the alley behind the pub. 

But the next morning, it was all forgotten in his case, and the next day he ran off and lost his virginity to someone else.

After that, you pretty much gave up the idea of ever ending up in a romantic relationship with Thomas Shelby. You stopped saving yourself for him and started seeing other men.

He didn’t even bat an eye, so you guessed it was just never meant to be and moved on.

You were now twenty-nine, and he was thirty-one. You didn’t have a job. Not a real one, anyways.

For the most part, you just helped out in the betting shop. And when you weren’t doing that, you were watching John’s kids or teaching Finn to read and count as his brothers had pulled him out of school with the increase of danger coming with the business. 

Tonight, a formal party was being held following a major race, and since you were with the Shelbys, you were expected to attend.

Every other time an event like this one had taken place, you hadn’t gotten much time to think much about your appearance with the way you were running around with the brothers. 

Hanging around them all of the time had resulted in you taking on a rather masculine sense of fashion, or a masculine outlook on it, at least.

In other words, you didn’t care much for expensive jewelry and fancy dresses, usually just ending up dressed in some cheap, old dress to save time.

But today Ada and Polly managed to steal you away and take you to the dressmaker with them, saying it was about time you started dressing in a way that flattered your already gorgeous body. Ada’s words, not yours.

In all honesty, you had never really given much thought to how you looked. You knew you were attractive, that’s all it was to it, basically. 

Why should you waste time worrying about your hair or your clothes when you weren’t interested in romance? Seeing as that was the major reason for women caring about their looks in the first place.

You grumbled under your breath as the dressmaker tightened the fabric around your waist, finding the tight feeling uncomfortable in comparison to the loose, basic dresses you usually wore.

But Ada’s mood wasn’t nearly as pessimistic as yours, the younger girl basically bouncing on the spot and clapping her hands as she gave you a once-over.

“Oh, how exciting!” She squealed, her eyes sparking with happiness at finally getting to give you the makeover she had dreamed about giving you for so many years. “Tommy won’t be able to take his eyes off of you!”

Your eyes narrowed when hearing those words leave her lips. You turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Why would I care about what he thinks, exactly?”

Polly chuckled, and through the mirror you could see her shaking her head where she stood behind you, already dressed in an elegant black dress. “Oh, darling.” She smiled, looking at you with a secretive look.

But Ada wasn’t about holding back, declaring loudly with a bright smile on her lips. ”You’re in love with him, of course!”

Your body froze slightly at the mention of Tommy and love in the same sentence, feelings you hadn’t dwelled upon for years pricking the surface.

You quickly pushed them back down with a scoff and a nervous laugh. “What? No.” You cleared your throat. “I mean, it’s no secret I used to be. But that was a long time ago.”

Polly raised an eyebrow at you through the mirror, crossing her arms over her chest in an almost challenging way.

“Mhm.” She hummed, sharing a glance with Ada that made you narrow your eyes in suspicion again. But they said nothing else, Ada changing the subject while the dressmaker finished your dress.

An hour and a half later you were being helped out of the car by Finn, your hair wavy and pinned back to perfection and your blue, velvet, strapless dress covered by a long white fur coat to protect your bare arms from the chilly evening air.

You offered the youngest of the Shelby siblings a gentle smile as he helped you down the final step. “Thank you, Finn.”

He smiled back, and you squeezed his hand slightly before letting go, pulling your coat tighter around your form to shield yourself from the gust of air pulling through.

Together with Finn, Ada and Polly, you walked up the thin gravel path leading to the big, fancy mansion the party was being held in.

Tommy, John and Arthur had gone ahead together, having to arrive in time to greet other important people, while you got to take your time.

Upon entering the house, the sound of soft jazz music, chatting voices and laughter instantly reached your ears, and two varlets were ready by the front door to relieve Ada, Polly and yourselves of your coats.

The man taking your coat was younger than you by several years by the looks of it, but older than Finn, probably somewhere between twenty and twenty-three.

You noticed the way his eyes seemed to linger on your chest slightly when taking your coat. You raised an eyebrow at him, the corner of your lips tugging upwards slightly, and he instantly cleared his throat, adverted his gaze and hurried off to the coatroom.

“Well, you already seem to be attracting attention to yourself.” Polly mused, coming up beside you, pulling her white silk gloves up to her elbows.

You could only chuckle ad shake your head. “I feel like I’m wearing lingerie.”

Ada came up beside you, linking her arm with yours. “It’s called fashion, (Y/N). I would teach you all about it if you just stopped running around shooting people with my brothers for once.”

“There, there, Ada.” Polly chuckled, the apples of her cheeks round and full as she smiled with amusement.

The conversation was abandoned as Polly linked her arm with yours on the other side, the three of you starting to walk towards the ballroom where everyone else was already gathered and mingling.

Heads turned to look at you left and right as you walked, both men and women ogling at the beauty of the Shelby women. You may not have been one through blood or marriage, but you sure were one through association and that was just as honorable in your eyes.

Tommy was standing around in the ballroom with Arthur and John, talking to some high-sitting politician that he, to be frank, didn’t give a flying fuck about, when you entered.

Arthur was the first one to notice you, and he instantly slapped John on the chest, causing him to look in the same direction, as well. It wasn’t an unusual sigh to see Polly and Ada getting dressed up for events, but they had never seen you in a dress like that.

Noticing their sudden change of behavior, Tommy gave them a bored look, taking in the way their eyes were wide open and their lips pulled into proud smirks, and couldn’t help but wonder what they were looking at.

He turned his head around, followed their line of sight, and when he caught sight of you, he felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest.

Never in his life had he seen you as more than his forever-loyal little sister. He had never looked at you and felt any kind of romantic and sexual attraction for you. Never.

But with only one look at you now, reality came crashing down on him and he realized, he had been lying to himself his entire life, living in denial.

He could barely recognize you without your hair out of your usual messy-bun, dirty cargo pants and equally as dirty combat boots.

Your hair now was styled in perfectly symmetric waves, pinned back by sparkling diamond clasps, with long, dangling diamond earrings hanging from your ears to match. He realized then, that he hadn’t even known you had your ears pierced.

Your bright eyes were framed by your long lashes, even longer now with the makeup Ada had forced onto you, and the dress. God, the dress. It revealed dips and curves he hadn’t even known you had.

The blue satin hugged your body perfectly and had a slit up to the middle of your right thigh, revealing the edge of your black stay-ups.

For the first time in probably ever, he saw you for the woman you were and not the boyish girl you had never been. And he was absolutely stunned, breathless, at loss for words.

“Bloody hell.” Arthur was the first to break the silence, and John followed closely with a low whistle, twirling the toothpick around between his lips and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Who could’ve thought little bird could clean up that nice, eh, Tommy?”

John shoved his elbow out to nudge his older brother but was met only with air as Tommy was already excusing himself from the man they had been talking to and pushing his way through the crowd in your direction.

You had managed to snatch yourself a flute of champagne from a waiter passing by and was standing around sipping on the golden liquid, chatting quietly with Ada and Polly in waiting for the boys to seek you out when they got the time.

You were looking around, chuckling at a joke Ada had told about one of the men standing by nearby, when the girl in question suddenly nudged your side.

“Incoming.” She said, nodding forward.

Turning to follow her line of sight, you spotted Tommy coming your way, looking as handsome as ever with freshly groomed hair and a suit that looked to be more expensive than your entire attire all together.

Polly and Ada each placed a hand on your shoulders in goodbye before slipping off, leaving you to it.

You expected him to hug you, slap your back and greet you with a “Nice of you to join us, kid” like he usually did, but instead, he gingerly picked up your free hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles without ever breaking eye contact.

“My lady.” He greeted in a low voice, coming back up to his full height, but not letting go of your hand.

Your heart was left hammering in your chest at the unexpected act of affection, your ears burning hot. But you kept your composure, simply lifting an eyebrow.

“My lady?” You questioned, lifting the flute of champagne to your lips to take a small sip before continuing. “That’s new.”

He matched your expression, his eyebrows shooting up in a teasing manner. “Would you rather I call you mate?”

You rolled your eyes at his mocking retort, pulling your hand out of his and looking past him to scan the crowd. “No.” You declined. “No, I would not.”

You took another sip of your drink, eyes roaming the room and taking in the different faces. Tommy was quiet for a moment, but you could feel his gaze burning into his face.

The intensity of his stare was starting to make your skin crawl. Not because you were uncomfortable, but rather because the feelings you had been trying to push back for the man standing before you for so many years were flooding back so quickly.

He barely had to do anything, and it made you ashamed that you were still so whipped for him, after all this time of being neglected and seen merely as one of his siblings.  

“Do you dance?”

Having gotten so lost in your thoughts, you jumped at the sound of his voice when he suddenly spoke again.

It was funny. You were an honorary member of one of the fastest growing organized crime gangs in all of England, had been under gun-point countless of times without as much of batting an eye at the barrel shoved into your face, and still you managed to get scared just by being spoken to.

The ridiculousness of the entirety of it almost made you laugh out loud, but you kept it in, only letting out a quiet snort and letting your eyes turn back to Tommy’s.

“You would think after fifteen years of friendship that you would know how bad of a dancer I am.” You mused, looking into his baby blues through your lashes.

His confident smile almost seemed to falter for the shortest of moments, but he quickly recovered, taking a step closer to you and lowering his voice. “I’m just going to have to take you out tomorrow night and teach you, then, aren’t I?”

The question fell from his lips more as a statement than anything, and had your eyes growing wide with disbelief. “Thomas, are you asking me out on a date?” You asked, not even bothering to hide the shock in your voice.

He looked at you, eyes just as collected as always. “I believe I am.” He answered, his voice calm and even. “But then again, it depends…”

“Oh? On what?” You inquired, the shock now wearing off and being replaced with a mixture of complete joy and a little bit of… power? Yeah, power. You felt powerful having caught his interest and having him so captivated.

He hummed, the corners of his lips tugging upwards slightly. “Whether or not you’re accepting.”

You squinted your eyes slightly, a constant smile playing at your lips.

You thought you had forgotten all about the romantic feelings you once harbored for him. But as is appeared, they had never gone away, only been denied because of the constant rejection. 

“I believe I am.” You hummed back finally, never breaking eye contact.

You watched the small tug of his lips turned into a full smile and a moment of silence fell over the two of you, the only sounds being heard being the music and distant chatter.

But then he took yet another step closer to you, grabbing a hold of your upper arms, his warm hands starting to rub ginger circles on your bare skin. “You look beautiful, (Y/N).” He said suddenly.

The mere feeling of his touch was enough to make your skin erupt in goosebumps, but at the sound of the tone in his voice, you swore you could feel yourself getting weak at the knees.

“Thank you, Thomas.” You answered and let out a shaky breath when he suddenly bent down closer to your face.

He gave you an unreadable stare, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips. You had to try your hardest to control your breathing as he slowly leaned in even closer, going to close the distance between the two of you.

His lips brushed against yours, sending a spark through your entire body. His eyes started closing, and yours too, getting lost in the moment; the moment you had been waiting for for so long.

But you quickly caught yourself at that, bringing your glass up between the two of you just as he was about to press his lips to yours, staring innocently at him over the rim while then proceeding to throw the rest of the champagne back into your throat.

His face was warped up into one of shock, the calm twinkle in his eyes now something else entirely, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the feeling of power in your bones as you felt him wrapping around your finger.

All while holding his gaze, you pushed the glass into his hand and raised your own to his cheek, stroking it for a moment before giving it a pat.

“If I could wait for you for fifteen years...” You started, eyes crinkled at the corners with mischief as you leaned in closer to him, stopping yourself right before your lips made contact and scanning his face before continuing in a mocking whisper. “You can wait one day.”

You stayed right where you were for a moment, taking in the mixed emotions flashing through his eyes with a weird sense of pride, before taking a step back, giving him a curt smile and another short pat on the cheek. “Enjoy your evening, buddy.”

And with that, you left him staring after you and to be tormented by his brothers, approaching an equally as smug-looking Polly and Ada standing at the other side of the room witnessing the entire scene.

You knew he wasn’t that kind of man, but a part of you still wanted to make sure he wanted you for you and not just your dress, and therefor knew you couldn’t give in so easily.

But much to your luck, he never stopped chasing after you for the rest of his days, just like you had done up until that point. 

Oh, how the tables had turned.  

[leviathan-dee]

DMC Week 2020: Day 7: An Enticing Outcome

(An AU day! I’ve recently watched Van Helsing and had the need for masquerade Vergil and vampires. I’ve also never written smut before, so there is a small debut of spice at the end of this story lmao) (Vergil x Reader) (NSFW, sexual content, mentions of alcohol, canon typical blood and violence).

Thrown amidst an exsanguinous masquerade, you were left to fend for yourself, until a handsome and very much animated young noble graced you with his presence in hopes to rescue you from your predicament.

Word Count: 4,682

Characters: Vergil, Dante, Fem!Reader

Read On AO3

A starless night stretched outside the arched windows, an abyssal blanket shrouding the supposed ‘jovial’ celebration. It appeared as though the evening was overbearingly cold, albeit the vermilion glow of candles and chandeliers that peppered the ball. You should be warm. In fact, you should be sweating. However the facade of extravagant foods and fabricated smiles couldn’t possibly hope to mask the cold reception.

You brushed your goosebumps away, before observing the patrons of the masquerade evening. Mulberry silk and crushed velvet fabrics draped over bodies dragged on the tiles, the sound resonating almost deafeningly. These strangers waltzed amongst the golden halls, frozen limbs rigid in their movements. Even the gentle lul of acoustics, violins and pianos, appeared tuneless. Lifeless.

Naturally, the perfume thick air became colder with these observations. You coiled your tense fingers around the wineglass, the liquid within thickly sloshing at the movement. You eyed your drink with curiosity, sniffing the rim of the crystalline glass, before a sickly scent overwhelmed your senses. It was oddly metallic for a wine. You silently took note that the aristocrat your father wanted you to marry had peculiar tastes.

You assumed a doleful smile. Admittedly, you never expected yourself to be handed away to some noble, body and soul, for a fleeting promise of wealth and power. For a mere title, your flesh and blood threw you away like some bleating lamb, ready for the cut. Sad, truly. And yet, here you were, wearing the finest satin gown with an amethyst encrusted mask, preparing to don the title of Countess of Redgrave alongside your future husband.

For one final time, you attempted to swig a gulp of the obscure alcohol, instead gagging at the smell as it hit the back of your throat. You made a wheezing sound, forcing the bile down before it projectiled onto the polished surface of the ballroom. The mask wearing passersby began to eye you with stares that seemed oddly vacant; Perhaps even hungry? You averted your gaze, attempting to keep to yourself, as a morbidity so indescribably visceral, pierced through you at the thought.

Your prayers appeared to have been answered, a towering man with a gaze that gleamed with life graced your presence. The subtle flint hue in his irises was a welcome change to the usual cadaverous stares from the guests. Though their colour was cold, his eyes radiated a fervid warmth.

Tentatively, he approached you, seeking silent permission to close the gap. Your tranquil manner confirmed his wordless request. As he drifted across the polished tiles, you noted he was of highborn descendancy, his frame draped in exquisite brocade, the colour of Siberian delphiniums cascading from his chest in lacy frills. The man’s chiseled jaw was framed by a Venetian mask of vivid golds, whilst his silver locks sat subserviently slicked back. His tailcoat settled on the broad shoulders with nary a sign of creasing on the fabric. You took note that the air of sovereignty appeared to move behind him like an obedient wind.

Undoubtedly, he intrigued you.

A sweet scent of spiced apple and cinnamon gently wafted through the labyrinth of expensive perfumes, as the man finished his approach. It was as if he eclipsed the entire world with his presence. Though his height was intimidating, you felt safe knowing that the rose tint of his plush lips seemed more alive than the population within the hall tonight.

"You do not belong, my lady." The slight adenoidal, yet husky tone of the voice caught you off guard, alongside the strangely insulting statement. Though the sentence was forward and harsh, it was oddly true. You inhaled a quick breath before responding.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Forgive me for my brashness, your courtesy, but I fear a lady of your stature and health must not reside in such establishments, no matter how tempting it may be.” The cordial hum that followed his explanation somehow warmed your chilled core. Becoming aware of the titles he rained upon you, your cheeks began to blaze with a feverish life. You chuckled bashfully in turn, tracing the lip of your wine glass with your fingertips. His eyes followed the movement eagerly.

“I have yet to marry the Count. You need not address me as such.”

“It would be inappropriate of me to address you as anything but your future title, your ladyship.” The man’s tone stayed low yet soft spoken. Falling into deep thought, your fingers continued to circle the rim of your crystalline glass, a sweet melodic sound resonating between the two of you.

“I see. May I ask the gentleman his name, my lord?” As you finished your request, the noble beckoned your hand.

“You may, my lady,” swooping down to a low bow, he palmed your fingers, cradling them close to his face to plant a chaste kiss upon the knuckles, “Vergil Sparda, at your service.”

This noble, Vergil Sparda, kept his gaze on yours with every inch of your knuckles he pecked. A bashful expression spread across your face, the man sighing contentedly at your blazing cheeks. For the first time tonight, you felt welcomed. Welcomed by someone that appeared animated, as opposed to the cold-blooded patrons of the evening.

You took your hand back, already missing the feeling of his velvety lips upon your skin.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord.” Feeling somewhat embarrassed at your sudden schoolgirl attitude, one certainly not befit of a future Countess, you averted your gaze in order to regain your composure. It was not a successful endeavour.

“The pleasure is mine, your ladyship.” Vergil seemed to enjoy your abrupt change in posture, dragging out the vowels of every word with his honeyed voice to get another coy response. You wanted to return his teasing with your own coquettish mannerisms, however the exchange took a turn in your stomach, your abdomen becoming a breeding ground for rabid, carnal butterflies.

Trying to keep whatever dignity you had left from your burning cheeks, you proceeded to ponder the man’s goals. He appeared as though he did not belong here.

Come to think of it, neither did you.

“May I inquire as to what your affair with the masquerade is tonight?” Your question appeared to have caused his hand to reach for his silver hair, slicking the loose tendrils back into their place. Vergil fell deep in thought, before reaching for your glass of obscure scarlet liquid. He beckoned the wineglass onto his palm.

“I have business with the Count. A personal matter. In fact…” As he spoke, you obeyed his request for the glass, reaching forward dangerously close. Your fingers brushed past his, the warmth of foreign flesh feeling utterly scandalous.

Calculating his movements, his eyes kept burrowing into your soul, your stomach continuing its somersaults. Albeit the flirtatious moment, he examined the liquid within the glass with a disgusted snarl. Even through the Venetian mask, you could easily distinguish the slipping facade of stoicism, revealing a repulsed frown.

“My lady, have you ingested anything this fine evening? This drink included?” He swished the sanguine liquid, as an almost noxious, metallic odour began veering itself into your lungs once more. You tried not to gag, attempting to retain your poise. You kept your mouth shut in fears of suddenly emptying your stomach onto your ball-gown, instead opting for a vigorous shake of the head. Vergil nodded approvingly, before tossing the crystalline container aside, letting the macabre smelling swill pour in torrential floods down the polished surface of the ballroom. The ghoulish crowd reacted disapprovingly at the shattering sound of the glass.

“Very good. Now, follow me.”

Cradling your hand, the young noble pulled you in like a singularity, both mentally and physically. He seemed hasty, albeit his cool exterior of unwavering stoicism. You both weaved through crowds of marbled velvet, avoiding the dragging gowns and spilled wine . Each patron’s mortiferous faces contorted at the sight of your apprehension and worry. It appeared as though the whites of their eyes were a ghastly porcelain, so unbearably white that they gave off a luminous glow. Even their smiles seemed pernicious in nature, each tooth a sharp rapier ready to gnaw at whatever fell beneath their gaze.

Something felt off.

Sudden panic spread within your frame, your fingertips going numb, alongside an anxiety induced lump of phlegm forming in your throat. Your legs carried you beside Vergil, yet the seductive noble provided you with not a sliver of information to suggest why there was such a rush.

What was his business with your future husband?

What putrid liquid was in the glass?

Why did these guests appear so necrotic in nature?

With each step, your calves seemed to burn with a sweet ache of exhaustion. Undoubtedly, you had enough.

“Stop!” Your plea went ignored, the ultramarine draped noble with eyes of silver continuing on his cascade down the stairs towards the exit of the masquerade.

“Please?!”

“Not now, your ladyship.” Pausing in his surge out of the doors, Vergil turned to you, his arctic eyes pinning you down with an unwavering stare. It appeared as though it was a warning, yet not for you personally.

“Stop calling me that. I am no Countess. And unhand me, at once.” You inhaled a shuddering breath, unsure whether the surging unease was from your nefarious surroundings or the noble’s frigorific stare. You continued, nevertheless, once more attempting to break the silence of Vergil’s gaze.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away. It is not safe here.”

“Why?” You continued to wriggle your wrist under his iron albeit somewhat tender grip. Firm, yet not once feeling uncomfortable. He wordlessly sighed, tugging at your wrist, beckoning you to follow him. You felt safe in his presence, however each step felt like pulling teeth, your lack of knowledge in the situation filling you with dread. Giving up in your endless tirade of defiance, you followed the noble, his mood improving dramatically.

Each stranger became a grotesque amalgamation of lucid terrors, their teeth lengthening with every inch of the gap you closed between yourself and the exit. Their skin grew rubicund scales, their pupils morphing into sharp slits.

The golden arches of the entrance called to you, Vergil’s steadfast resolve forcing you away from danger, and certain demise.

It all occurred so incredibly swiftly.

One moment you were being protectively held against the silver hair’s chest, feeling his proud melodic drumming of the heart. The next, an ancient, ethereal weapon of foreign lands materialised within Vergil’s hands, flooding your vision with phosphorescent cerulean sparkles.

He stormed at the diabolical crowd, gently pushing you behind him to safety. Within a sliver of a second, the patrons of this nightmarish evening metamorphosed to what you can only explain as vampires from stories your dear mother told you, in order to scare you, and make you obey her orders. Your noble protector, however, made short work of them, parrying each swing of their hungry claws. Lifeblood flowed in rivers. Flesh was torn, and bones were fractured. These fissures within the vampiric patrons’ bodies were endless, Vergil showing no benevolent mercy as he summoned a cyclone of blades to sever body from limb.

Slashing with an unmatched speed, Vergil was a tempest. None could stand in his way. With every attempt at his flesh, the monsters were tossed aside, their teeth still baring and searching for a chalice to drink off. It was inevitable that one exsanguinous guest was lucky enough to swipe at your protector. Swirling on his heel, Vergil barely dodged a gnarly claw, his Venetian veil dropping to the bloodied floor. It was then, that you finally earned a glimpse of the noble’s face.

He was an incredibly concentrated man, the wrinkles upon his visage indicating a permanent grimace. A small, albeit deep, crinkle took residence between his brows. You could not help but become entranced with his features. Even his silver locks had come undone from their usual position, swaying in the wind with effortless ease, framing his sharp jaw. Every aspect of his face was bedecked in grace and grandiose elegance; Expressions of harsh focus, yet features of tender origins.

This fixation was cut short, Vergil Sparda calling forth Geryon, a horse of sublime magnificence. Its sleek surface appeared to reflect the vermillion lights of the ball inside, the horse’s shadowy appearance seeming like a void of pure black.

Snapping his fingers, Vergil ordered you forward beside him, whilst fending off hordes of ravenous predators. Undoubtedly, you obeyed. Hiding behind him, Vergil inhaled deeply before crouching, drawing his sword only a minuscule sliver to reveal the radiating power within its sheath. You observed the peeking metal. It appeared as though it was a pure mirror, reflecting the nobles devious visage in all of its glory.

The ground shook violently, forcing you to steady yourself on the man’s shoulders. As the necrotic beings approached, cerulean energy swirled around the two of you, the air becoming thick with tension and the smell of smoke.

And then… Silence.

Silence that was followed by pained groans and the cacophonous sounds of sliced flesh. The display of severed dimensions, refractions of light dancing around your vision, materialised without a single movement from Vergil Sparda. Your jaw sat ajar at the sudden majestic view. The air seemed to become sliced into many tiny slivers, like paper-cuts in reality.

As the quiet resumed once more, the noble closed the gap between his hilt and the sheath with an achingly slow snap. His lips curled mischievously upon seeing your expression of shock.

“That was- What was that?” Your query went ignored, the noble wordlessly hooking his arm around your waist to prop you upon the horse. Letting out a tiny squeak, you complied, grabbing onto the braided mane of the creature. The noble effortlessly sat upon the steed’s spine in front of you.

“Hold on.” His voice was steady. Husky and low. Whether it was from the battle, or your closeness to him, the sudden change in character concerned you. Nevertheless, you once again complied, coiling your arms around his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat pound against your palm. The scent of cinnamon would have been overwhelming, if not for the splatters of blood that blended with the sweet spice.

It was a tranquil ride, the stillness of the Redgrave forest forcing you to adopt a reticent manner. Though your physical closeness to the man was evident, you still had barriers to uphold. Your head seemed to nod against his broad back, the warmth calming you into the realm of slumber. No words were spoken between the two of you.

Thus, the horse continued with utmost haste.

Away from the masquerade.

Away from the Count.

Away from your title.

…

“My lady. We have arrived.”

The noble hopped off of the horse, his ultramarine shirt ruffles soaked in tar-like blood. Tentative in his movements, he offered you his hand in order to help you reach the floor to safety. Your toes touched ground with a less-than elegant huff resonating from your lungs, with you accidentally stumbling into the towering noble’s chest. An apologetic expression graced your visage. Before speaking, you yawned widely, a small giggle bubbling from your chest.

“Thank you,” keeping your fingers laced around his own, you squeezed reassuringly before craning your neck up to observe the scratches upon his face, “how are you faring? You’re injured, my lord.”

“I’m fine.” Although his voice was firm, his expression was grave. It seemed to soften whilst his eyes lingered on yours. Your own vision appeared to trail around his features, the glimmer of intrigue never dwindling. The curiosity was overwhelming. You wondered how his velvety lips would feel upon your own plush mouth. Would the sensation be the same as the chaste kiss he placed on your knuckles? Or would it be so much more-

Unfortunately, your trail of thought was cut short. The tender, yet focused gaze of the man morphed into one of annoyance, as a boisterous noble sprung forth from a gold embellished carriage, his horse neighing in defiance.

You attempted to wave off your bashful and warming complexion; However, to no avail.

The man appeared identical to Vergil, noting that the noble may be a less stoic twin to your saviour. He was draped in matching brocade, except for the scarlet hues that peppered his frame. His locks also appeared to match Vergil’s current state, cascading to the sides of his jaw, framing the chiseled features elegantly. A broad, genuine smile spread across the man’s lips as you approached beside your saviour, continuing to subconsciously lace your fingers with Vergil’s.

“Welcome back brother, you finally made it. And ahh, Lady Y/N, it is an honour to finally make your acquaintance. I am at a disadvantage.” You attempted a warm smile, your curling lips appearing disingenuous. You instead opted for a curtsy, the scarlet clad man bowing in turn.

“We must leave at once, the Lamiae demons are close behind, Dante.” Vergil ran his fingers through his silver hair to fix its positioning, furthering the differences between him and his brother.

“I beg your pardon? Demons? My lord, explain yourself! Demons?!” A small ghost of a smirk tugged at Vergil’s lips, leaving you perplexed as to why he derived such pleasure from your fright. Holding on to your delicate fingers, he pulled your figure towards the carriage, beckoning you to enter to safety.

“Come on. We need to press on.” Vergil’s brother, Dante, assumed a serious tone which somewhat bewildered you. He returned to the carriage, placing his posterior back into the rider’s seat, whilst whistling to draw the attention of Geryon. To your surprise, the black horse emigrated in front of the carriage. Dante’s arms began to glow with a royal violet magic, a bridle morphing in his palms, connecting him to Geryon and the carriage.

You watched in complete awe. Vergil Sparda noted your wide-eyed stare.

“I will explain everything when we’re moving towards safety, my lady.”

Nodding in agreement with your features still morphed through perplexion, you followed the towering man. The inside of the carriage was a luxurious change to the forest outside. Countless silk fabrics were draped over the seats, swaying with embellished fleur de lis symbols. Vergil gently fixed a section of the silk, letting you relax from the recent life-threatening events.

You sighed as you landed amongst the cushioning fabrics.

Vergil sighed with contentment in turn.

“Me and my brother were to exterminate the threat within the masquerade tonight, the Lamiae. We did not anticipate that their depraved rituals would involve an innocent bystander such as yourself, until recently...” Sitting beside you, Vergil’s fingers laced around yours, gently stroking your skin with his thumb. It was a harmless act of absent-minded tenderness and comfort, yet it felt so much more than a simple gesture. Something amorous began to broil in your stomach.

“I… apologise if I was too abrasive, my lord. You saved me from certain demise, and I should thank you for that.” As you spoke, the noble kept his softened gaze upon yours, drawing your hand to his lips, to place more ardent pecks on the skin. That same feeling of wanton curiosity overwhelmed you as it once did at your first meeting with the enticing man.

“No need to apologise, Lady Y/N. It would be a shame if a woman of your stature was overly submissive.”

For the first time this evening, your name rolled off his tongue. It sent countless lascivious shivers down your spine, your grip on his fingers tightening at the mention. He seemed to note the reaction with his own returning squeeze of your delicate hand.

“Besides, I could not allow a creature of such extraordinary beauty to fall into the hands of that vile Count.” The atmosphere within the chamber appeared to drift into one of attraction, the two of you being pulled in by pure inquisitiveness. Your eyes danced between his own, whilst the blaze within your abdomen and cheeks began anew.

“I- Thank you, Vergil.” You decided to grace his ears with your own utterance of his name. He gave a small smirk, reaching up to a stray lock on your cheek, which he deftly pushed aside to have a better view of your embarrassed visage.

Sitting quietly, the carriage began its journey, Dante whistling a tune to himself, occasionally talking to the horses. You let out some giggles upon hearing the noble’s less stoic twin make conversation with the creatures, and hearing Vergil’s exasperated scoffs at the comments.

Pondering your predicament and the sudden appearance of your timely rescuer, a question bounced to the forefront of your mind.

“Was I to become one of them?” Though the question was harmless enough, Vergil’s brow wrinkle made a comeback.

“Your ladyship, you were no future wife to the Count, but a sacrifice. These demons are vampiric by nature, and rarely ‘recruit’ into their ranks. The Count simply found you worthy enough to… drain.” As the words cascaded from his lips, your nausea returned in full force. Vergil noticed your anxious demeanour, cradling your chin to meet his gaze. Your head spun like a silk throwing machine, the world becoming a hazy mess of subdued hues.

“I am sorry to say this, but your father knew this all along.” His low, yet tender tone flowed through the air. Though tears were meant to escape your vision, your sorrow and grief was as dry as a desert. Nothing could hurt as much as the mention of your own father wanting your death in exchange for a title.

Vergil continued to cradle your face, stroking small circles upon your skin to ease the sting of such news. He seemed to understand this burning feeling. Your eyes met with his again, searching for answers that were not there. Perhaps you were not searching for answers? Searching for comfort instead? Perhaps a friend?

“Truly, Vergil. Thank you for this. How can I possibly repay you?”

“There is no need, my lady. Your company is enough.”

The comment rolled off as a request, rather than as a statement. Your company was his desire,

and you wanted to comply.

For what monstrous contessa would deny this pulchritudinous hunter their reward?

Certainly not you.

As the smell of cinnamon and spiced apple graced your lungs, the thrill of supple lips brushing against yours overpowered the senses. His fingers carded through your hair, mirroring your own movements of trailing fingers through his arctic locks. Your shivers seemed to come in endless waves. His tongue delved curiously at the entrance of your lips, asking silent permission to explore further. You complied once more, parting your mouth, and sighing into his warmth. Tiny mewls escaped your throat, the noble reacting positively to your noises with the nestle of his palm against your thigh, and a possessive, almost hungry, pull towards his hips. Eager to sate your wanton curiosity, you plunged into each others’ embrace in unison, sharing this moment of voluptuous desire.

You hadn’t even noticed the speed at which your clothes were discarded. Vergil’s hands moved along your naked thigh, enjoying the shifting muscle, to meet the folds of your slicked petals. His hands began to travel miles upon the shivering skin of your loins, his fingers tracing your exposed core, finally pushing to the apex of your pleasures with repetitive yet decisive movements. Pump after pump of his fingers against your satin centre, your gaze shifted towards his lustful eyes, his expression reflecting the sheer pleasure he experienced watching your flower unfold beneath him. The mischievous smirk that formed on Vergil’s visage appeared to have pushed you even further into the blissful euphoria he was so easily able to thrust upon you with nothing but his hands.

The feverish yearning for his full glory inside of you was unbearable. You began to plead him, as his honeyed sighs and low growl resonated against your neck, his velvety lips promising release, brushing soft kisses against the flesh. He did not give in, however. His delicate, yet strong digits continued their tirade at your core, pushing you to your limits as you sighed out his name in a delectable, yet hushed voice.

Oh how scandalous this union was. To be stolen away on the night of the masquerade, which your fiance gifted you for the consolidation of two families. How scandalous was it to spend the night with a stranger you barely knew, no matter how tempting it was. You continued mewling into his ear, gracing your saviour and conqueror with euphoria, whilst pondering these vulgar acts.

Impatience appeared to overtake the silver haired noble. His facade of stoicism and composure slipping into one of fervent need for your sweat slicked body against his. Before your very eyes, his skin was exposed to the fervid warm air of the carriage. Unable to control your own carnal need for the man, your fingers laced around his member, his seed beading at your satin touch. A small, almost cautious exhale of gratification escaped Vergil’s lungs. Achingly slowly, your thumb traced the tip of his cock, coating his seed across the silken skin. His eyes darkened with an insatiable hunger, pushing your back against the cool silk of the carriage. It was then that your thighs shivered with an expectant welcome.

As his frame fit against yours, like a finishing piece of the puzzle, the sensation of his decadent skin propelled you to a realm of exhilaration. He pushed your folds to the sides, revelling in the display of your glazed over eyes and your slicked petals opening up only for him. Tentatively, he lavished your core with his length. The noble closed the gap between your hips, relishing in the sensation of your satin walls, whilst observing the blooming lethargy his body caused in your own. With each slow pump, the quiet groans that escaped Vergil’s lips poured out in unison with your own.

An abrupt thrust into your core caused an overbearing moan to escape your lungs, Vergil’s eyes widening in fears of alerting the oblivious driver. He placed his palm against your mouth to quieten your fragmented voice. The danger of being found out only quickened your arousal, your silken walls closing around Vergil’s cock. This caused his pupils to completely blow out, quickening the pace to chase his pleasure with yours.

Vergil’s racing heartbeat unified with yours, and the marks he left upon your skin with his longing bites, seemed to push you to your limits. Your thighs closed around the noble’s hips, welcoming a vigorous ecstasy to bloom within your frame. He followed suit, prolonging his euphoria with feverish thrusts into your core. Amidst each pump, you breathed in his scent, kissing the frame of his jaw with worshipping pecks after pushing his palm away from your mouth. You let your voice fill his ears, his own husky groans gracing your skin as a delectable orgasm spread within his body.

This maelstrom of pleasure pushed all of your worries aside, forgetting the predicament of betrayal and the discovery of the existence of demons. The view of the panting, undone hunter above you, his muscles rippling alongside the intoxicating feeling within his loins, was grandiose to say the least. You admired his sweat slicked skin, running your fingers across the Herculean build of his abdomen.

A victorious, as well as dangerous, smirk formed on his lips.

He appeared to enjoy your cherishing gaze.

Reaching down to knead the skin on your buttocks, he drew you in for another round, his craving for your silken walls not yet sated.

You expected this evening to be dull and monotonous. And yet, your heart beat faster than it had its entire existence from carnal pleasures. Was this your way of saying thanks? With both your bodies interlocking, causing saccharine friction between silk sheets?

It appears so. But you didn’t mind.

And neither did Vergil.

Here’s hoping Dante wouldn’t hear the events of this hedonistic night as it continued until the end of your long journey.

[star-spangledstud]

Better Than Me (2/2)

Part one is here!

Summary: You really are better than them. 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (female!)Reader.

Word Count: 3000-ish.

Warnings: Angst. Fluff.

It was ridiculous. So ridiculous that it bordered near downright insane. Absolutely fucking ridiculous. Impractical, stupid and completely, utterly ridiculous. Beautiful, sparkly and downright amazing, but ridiculous. You fucking loved it.

The baby pink, bejeweled handgun sat inside a pink velvet box on your lap. The bow, which was also pink, of course, was lying at your feet, which were clad in bedazzled silver Louboutins. Gems of all colors on the rainbow covered it on all sides, from the barrel to the handgrip and along the safety pin.

You gazed up at Tony, who wore an amused expression on his face, before glancing over at Pepper. She had her hand over her mouth in embarrassment, clearly horrified by Tony’s gift choice. The card read that it was from both of them. Clearly, that wasn’t the case. 

“Happy birthday, kid.” He said with a smirk that nearly extended from ear to ear.

“I don’t even want to know how much you spent on that,” Pepper muttered, shaking her head while you took the thing out of the pink and white polka-dotted tissue paper.

The others sighed audibly when you smiled, annoyed that Tony’s gift overshadowed theirs yet again. To be fair, they’d all expected it, but all of them secretly hoped any one of their gifts would be your favorite. 

“I love it,” you said, twirling the weapon around in your hand, “and I agree with Pepper, I can’t even imagine how much you spent on this thing...”

“You’ll make it work,” he mused, “Two million dollars, by the way, and you could just thank me.”

Your breath caught in your throat and for a moment, you were sure Pepper was going to faint. Natasha shook her head, watching the scene unfold in horror. It was the ugliest thing she had ever seen. Wanda, who seemed to share none of her feelings, had created a monster out of you.

“Thanks, Tony,” you blew him a kiss, unable to get up from your seat at the dinner table that was covered in white roses in silver vases and wine that came from expensive bottles.

“It’s very pretty,” the witch said, “Can I hold it?” 

“Please,” you shoved it into her hands, “by all means.” 

“You’re insane, Tony,” you said as you took the gift Bruce had gotten for you from his outstretched hands with a smile, “Absolutely fucking nuts, but I love you for it.”

Your eyes went around the room, finding Steve at the end of the table of which you sat at the head. You were the birthday girl, after all, the pink satin sash draped around you said so in large, cursive letters and so it was your turn to have the most important seat of the house. It was a ridiculous ordeal, he thought so anyway, but you were smiling and chatting and enjoying the company of your friends and it was good to see. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened and knew very well he was to blame. 

He was the one who pushed you away, even though it was for your own good.

You took Thor’s gift just as the waiter began to serve your first course, and since he was seated closest to you, you thanked him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Steve’s gift came last. You didn’t expect anything from him given the circumstances.

Four hours, six courses and many glasses of wine and Asgardian mead later, you found yourself back in your room. Gifts given to you by your fellow team members were sprawled out on your bed, ranging from a pair of silk pajamas with glittery Ugg slippers to match from Wanda to Starbucks and Sephora gift cards from Sam and everything in between. Chocolate covered strawberries in a glittery box, two romance novels, a bottle of beautifully aged red wine from Asgard and a peach-toned Dior lipstick, all tokens of appreciation given to you by the people you cared about the most. 

Despite the hardships that you faced the previous year and the social distancing that occurred during that time, you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be with the team again. You’d changed a lot in a year, grown to be a different person than the one you were before. It wasn’t necessarily a good or a bad thing in your mind, it just happened naturally.  

You sat down beside the velvet box, eyes automatically flying towards the item on your far left. A drawing of you, sitting on a terrace, staring out into the sunny skyline with a cup of coffee in your hand. It was an old drawing by the looks of it because your hair was much shorter and a different shade and your clothing was far plainer than it was now; black jeans and a white t-shirt. A signature that read SR sat in the bottom right corner in messy, doctor-like handwriting. It made your toes curl. 

Of course, he was the one with the overly personal gift. You didn’t know whether it was because he simply had no fucking clue what 21st-century women liked to receive for their birthdays or whether he’d purposely done it to make you remember the day it was drawn, but the latter happened and now, you were sitting on your bed with prickling eyes and goosebumps that lined your skin.

You remembered that day very vividly. You’d only been an Avenger for three months and were struggling to adjust to the fact that you had to suddenly follow orders. Before joining the team, you’d worked alone, hired by people with deep pockets and dark intentions. You made your own rules. 

The first time Steve had taken you out for coffee he kind to offer you advice. At first, you thought it felt a little like he was trying to be the human resource manager with the way he talked to you, you continued to meet up every Saturday afternoon and as the weeks passed, something in the dynamic changed.  He loosened up, got rid of his Captain America persona and instead became Steve. You didn’t know what caused the change, but it was good, allowed you to actually get to know the man behind the suit and vice versa. 

That particular day was a good one, It was a sunny day in spring, not too hot and not too cold, with a soft breeze that carried the scent of fresh flowers across the terrace. You’d ordered a latte, Steve liked it black. You weren’t talking, but instead, a comfortable silence hung between you. You’d brought a book just like you always did and read it while occasionally eyeing the people that passed you by. Steve, whose cheeks had become fiery red out of the blue, pulled out a leather-bound sketchbook and began to draw.

You never asked him what he was drawing, even when he stored away his pencils and shoved the book back inside his tote did you not bother to pry. Not even when you became so close you’d sometimes fall asleep together on the couch, did you not ask. 

You knew now, but they didn’t say ignorance is bliss without reason.

You began to mindlessly pick at three layers of lavender toned sparkling nail polish, pulling at it as it came off your fingers with far too much ease. You’d paid the lady $60 for your manicure three days prior and now, you were ripping it off. With a deep sigh, you pushed yourself up, gripping the back of your heels so you could slip them off with ease. You’d probably never wear them again. 

You slowly began to clean up the mess, discarded packaging, boxes, and gift bags and placing them in the corner of your room near the door. You put everything away except for the drawing, which you couldn’t decide what to do with. Why was it such a big deal to you, anyway? You hardly spoke to Steve anymore and if you did, it was during pre- and post-mission briefings. Maybe that’s why it made you feel so strange. it didn’t feel right, such a personal, intimate gift after how far the two of you had drifted apart. 

He hadn’t asked you about Netflix in four months and you hadn’t offered your expertise on which shows and movies were the best. You didn’t bring him coffee anymore but instead, he made his own, never leaving enough in the pot for you to make a cup as well. The message he sent you was loud and clear and in return, you were an open book. 

He’d grumble when a stranger was seated at the breakfast table on Sundays courtesy of your hospitality, avert his eyes when they tried to kiss you openly (which you refused). The pang in his chest would hit him when he saw Ubers out front whose engines were running to carry you to your dates in high-end restaurants and fancy bars. He wasn’t jealous, he kept telling himself. He was just worried about your safety when you disappeared into the night with strange men. Men that weren’t him, ironically. 

He should’ve seen you when you were right in front of him. When you were there, literally waiting for him to make a move on you, begging him with your mannerisms and your looks, your glances, and smiles even when his jokes weren’t funny. He knew damn well you would make an amazing couple, that you could take on the entire fucking world as a duo, but he was too scared to put it on the line, too scared of what might happen once the bad guys caught a whiff of your relationship. They’d already tried to destroy Bucky and Jesus Christ, they nearly succeeded. He couldn’t handle the thought of losing you to an organization like HYDRA, or worse. He never told you this. You had no idea. You were convinced he didn’t want you because of your flaws. Because of who you were. 

You got over it, shut out the thought of ever holding hands with Steve in public, the thoughts of ever feeling his lips softly pressing against your plump cheeks and his body weighing down on top of you while his voice vibrated against your ear and neck. You managed to forget about him, managed to exchange the memories and fantasies of him for diamond necklaces, silk blazers, and expensive shoes. You traded him in for strangers with big bank accounts driving nice cars wearing expensive suits. They managed to fill the void he created by pushing you away. 

So yeah, the gift bothered you. It was too nice, too sweet, so sweet you had to struggle to stay stoic when thanking him earlier. You literally had to stop yourself from smiling too big, from allowing tears of gratitude and happiness to completely ruin your make-up. if things had been different, you would have done those things. They weren’t. He didn’t want you and now he was being nice. It didn’t make sense. 

Just as you were about to change into a different outfit for the evening, your phone vibrated. You picked it up off your nightstand and opened it. It was a text message, but not from the guy who would be knocking on the front door in the coming hour.

I didn’t get a chance to personally wish you a happy birthday. Can we talk? -S

You gripped the device so hard you nearly crushed the screen. Six months ago, a message like this would’ve had you crying on your bathroom floor for four hours. Now, it just made you angry. So angry, that you picked your studded Louboutin off the floor and chucked it at the wall. The heel broke off against the concrete, but you didn’t notice. You weren’t going to wear them again anyway.  

Your fingers typed furiously, breathing coming out in shallow huffs. Images of the girls he’d brought back to Tony’s party’s flashed before your eyes while your fingers went faster than your brain could keep up with. 

Roof. Omw. 

Whether he understood the abbreviation ‘omw’ or not, you didn’t take the time to guess. You left your room without changing into the other dress or putting on new shoes. The elevator went up agonizingly slowly, but it was too late to go back and take the stairs. The buttons were pushed and the door closed. 

He was standing by the edge, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed over his chest. In contrast to you, he had changed his attire, leaving the light blue button-down he was wearing earlier for a plain white t-shirt and black sweatpants. He looked down at your feet, noticed how your polished toes were bare and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he caught the expression on your face. You weren’t surprised to find him there first. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d come up there running. Apparently, though, he did know what ‘omw’ meant.

“What the hell is this?” You asked, waving your phone in front of his face, “what do you think you’re doing?” 

“What do you mean?” He asked, voice wavering. 

“What do I mean? What...,” you snorted, “What do you mean?! The gift, the talking? We shouldn’t be here.” 

“But why?” He knew why but chose to ignore the sensical part of his brain that told him he shouldn’t be doing this.

You lifted your arms, a deep breath leaving you while you considered what to say. You wanted to come up with an excuse, tell him you were busy or that you’d lost sight of not just him, but the entire team, but fuck it, lying wouldn’t get you anywhere. It had never gotten you anywhere before.  

“Because I have to get over you.” 

He was silent, taking in your words. They stung, even though he already knew the truth they carried. 

“I couldn’t have you constantly hanging around me anymore. I couldn’t stand seeing those girls hanging off your arm at those stupid parties and I sure as hell didn’t want to hear how fun they were and how great and wonderful and how amazing, and-”

He stepped forward, gripping your arms. The sudden contact made blood rush to your head, making you nauseous and dizzy simultaneously. 

 “I spent so much time wondering why they were better than me,” you mumbled, “I still haven’t figured it out.” 

“They aren’t better than you,” he replied softly, “they don’t even compare to you.” 

You looked up, eyes large and glossy and so goddamn pretty with that champagne eyeshadow and winged liner and Steve thought he was going to lose his mind then and there.

“I had to let you go because I’m afraid,” he admitted, “terrified of what might happen if anyone tries to get to you because of me.” 

“Steve,” you tried, but couldn’t find words. 

All this time, you thought he didn’t like you. That he wasn’t interested in you, didn’t want anything from you but a friendship at most. You’d taught yourself to ignore your constant desire for him because it would never be reciprocated.

“When you distanced yourself from me, I knew I’d messed up, but it was too late. I’d dug a hole for myself and there was nothing I could do to get back out,” he snorted, “I needed those girls as a distraction, but none of them are as good as you.” 

He smiled sadly, taking your hands in his larger, calloused palms and began to rub circles on your knuckles. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I’ve been stupid and an ass and I don’t deserve to even be in the same room as you. I fucked up, Y/N.”

The skin on the back of his neck was soft when you clasped your fingers around it, muscles tensing up when you began to pull him down to meet you. Without heels on, you’d lost a significant amount of height on him, causing him to tower over you. On a hot day, he could be your personal parasol, shielding you from the sun with his entire body.

“Idiot,” you mumbled before his mouth found yours. 

He kissed you, hands gripping your waist out of fear that if he were to let go, he’d wake up in his bed alone. But it wasn’t a dream, he knew it because the soft feeling of your glossy lips against his own was unlike anything he’d ever felt. 

“Idiot,” you said again when you took a moment to breathe. 

“I am,” he kissed you again, the sweet taste of Chardonnay and that night’s dessert - creme brulee and vanilla ice cream - still lingering on your tongue, sending his senses in complete overdrive. 

“I don’t want to stay away from you anymore,” he said finally, “I’d never let anyone hurt you.” 

You smiled, heart ready to explode from the sudden burst of happiness you experienced for the first time in a long time. Maybe Wanda was right all along. 

“Steve, I can defend myself. You know that, right?” You mused.

“I’ll kill them if they try.” 

He captured your lips with his again. The scent of his cologne, oud, and pine, nearly caused your knees to buckle from under you. You didn’t even realize the goosebumps that lined your skin, or the fact that the date you were supposed to meet up with had already bailed on you. It didn’t matter, because you finally had Steve where you wanted him. It only took for the two of you to drift apart almost completely for you to realize that you could never truly get away from one another. 

You placed your head on top of his chest, allowing his body heat to warm you up in a hug that engulfed you. It was nice, the feeling of his chest rising and falling slowly while you watched the city’s skyline in the dark. The want for it had been suppressed for so long you almost forgot what it felt like. 

“Steve?” You asked, peeking up at him through false eyelashes and three layers of waterproof mascara. 

“Hmm?”

“Your gift was my favorite.”

Yeah, all of those bitches definitely weren’t better than you. 

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 50

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Neo helped me find what I was looking for. A place called The Den. I could feel the music even from outside. Neo led me by one hand down a set of long stairs deep into the Atlas rock in her typical silence. The steady beat of techno dance music hammered away at me.

We opened the door to the place and the sound of it rocked me back onto the balls of my feet. I could feel the sound of the music against the hairs on my arms. It was the sort of sound you felt as well as heard. Wump, wump, wump, wump, wump. It was like holding a jackhammer against my stomach.

We came out onto a dance floor of black and white. There were rich golden lights that shone down in alternating fashions. The yellow light alternated with purples, whites, and blues and gave the place an otherworldly feel.

It felt like a stranger's dream. Smoke breezed through the atmosphere of the place and the flood lights poured through the stuff. Both nicotine and Mary Jane filled the air. It was thick enough to cut through like butter. It wafted about and was dense enough that I felt like I could peel away at it.

There were people dancing on the floor in front of us. The women wore satin and silk dresses. Short skirts and slitted outfits were everywhere. The men wore white and blue button downs that played hell with my sense of color in the light. They wore black and brown khakis held up by nice looking belts.

Drinks were served around the edges of the dance floor. There were tables lined up against the walls. Red velvets adorned the seats of the first floor. Alcoholic beverages and cash were exchanged over the circular bar near the center of the dance floor and against the walls.

It was gorgeous and full of life. It was nothing like the Malachite's bar back in Mistral's lower floors.

This was a place the good folks of Atlas could use to get away from it all. And boy were they. The dance floor was a mish-mash-mosh-pit. Flailing limbs raved against day jobs as people tried to waste their evening away.

Wump, Wump, Wump . The hypnotic tune of the dance music battered away at me. It was the sort of sound you felt as much as you heard.

We walked through the raving limbs of the first floor of The Den.

There were other scents on the smoke. Probably other things being inhaled besides traditional stuff and Marijuana. Flashing lights strobed and warbled through the heavy weight of the air.

Neo was holding her nose. For my part I pulled out my own pipe and took a take. My exhalation was lost to the chaos of the first floor.

Atlesians were everywhere. Taking part in those finer things in life and trying to escape their evening. It was all about booze and dance.

Near stairs leading up to the second floor a man in a black shirt and jeans stopped Neo and I. He was armed with a pistol in a holster attached to the side of his chest. He wore dark sunglasses despite being inside which I kinda understood considering the strobe lights and all. He was about my height and broad at the shoulder but the pistol didn't look huntsman class. He didn’t look huntsman class.

I could take him disgustingly easily.

I stopped anyways at his gesture. I tried to read his lips as he spoke into a walkie-talkie on his collar but didn’t get anything. He pressed a finger into a wired microphone in his ear. He must have gotten a response he was looking for because he stepped aside. He swung a red velvet rope with him as he did.

I blew smoke and felt the relaxation take me over. Nobody wanted a fight in a place like this. Not me, and not this guy's boss.

I ascended to the second floor, away from the raving pit of people down on the first. Up here people were smoking harder things. There were razor blades and lines of hyper ready to be taken. In one corner there was an orgy going on. I watched someone do a shot out of a young girl's belly button, too.

I was starting to figure out why this place was called The Den.

It was a drug den, sure. That too. But it was more than that. It was a place to get away and be animals. It was about letting loose. I found the thought a touch hypocritical considering the racial segregation of Mantle and Atlas.

It was a touch quieter on the second floor and there were couches and balconies strewn about. One such couch with the red velvet covering had a gold haired man sitting on it. He peeked over glasses to reveal golden amber eyes. He was surrounded by security guards in that same black shirt and jeans uniform. He was also wearing a golden suit that I thought was tacky and flashed in the light.

I stepped closer and someone put a gun in my face. I turned to look at him in shock. Not because I found the weapon threatening, but because of the precise opposite. He couldn't kill me with that water pistol.

I blew smoke right in the guards face. Nice, and long. He coughed and I laughed. I enjoyed my little high and it was still loud enough that I couldn't hear my own madness. The whisperings of Mother were drowned out by the sheer volume. I picked at a bug in my ear, though, you couldn't have everything.

The golden haired man waved an arm and the pistol was removed from my grill. The man holding it looked away and rubbed his eyes from the smoke.

I walked up to the man on the couch and pocketed my pipe.

"Aurum?" I asked. The name was probably fake. I knew that. His hair might even be dyed. The suit was a bit hard on the eyes too. But if you were going to call yourself Aurum then you better work for it.

"You know my name but I don't know yours." He pointed to the side of the couch, offering me a seat. I took it and he started pouring three amber shots for himself, Neo, and I.

"I'm Cloud Strife."

"I've never heard of you."

"No one has."

"I know her, though, you're working with Neapolitan. Are you perhaps her new handler? I was wondering what would happen with Roman dead. You seem to fit the bill."

"Maybe a little." I let him read into that as much as he wanted. Neo moved like she was going to sit on my lap but I blocked her to the side, placing her next to me. She sat down on the far side of the wide couch of Aurum from me.

I turned back to Aurum.

"What can I do for someone like you?"

"I'm looking for information on General Ironwood. I want to know the facilities he and his friends visit nearly every day."

He poured himself another shallow shot on the table in front of him.

I took mine. It tasted like oranges and was smooth and rich. It hit the back of my throat like a golf swing.

"The general doesn't have friends, by the by. That's a free-bee."

"Even still."

"I hope you can pay for information like that."

"I can. For every facility he and his associates visit everyday I'll pay you ten grand."

"Oh is that all." His voice came out low under the beat of the music.

"There's extra in it for you if it only started since Black-Out day."

"Well that is interesting," he purred.

"Something catch your attention?"

"Maybe a little," he shot back. Throwing my own words in my face as he did. "There's Winter Schnee."

"Winter Schnee…?"

"Special Operative Winter Schnee. She works closely with General Ironwood. "

"Oh?"

"She visits this special bunker nearly every day. Since Black-Out day no less."

“I can pay you two-hundred grand for the name of that facility and the details on it.”

Aurum took his second shot and poured me and Neo another. “Now we’re talkin’,” he growled. “What if I don’t need your money, though.”

“What? Do you need people killed?”

“People, plural,” he laughed out in a rich baritone. “I like you. No wonder you’ve managed to capture Neapolitan. You’re violent.”

“Well we are all products of our upbringing.”

“I don’t need people killed but I could use Neapolitan’s skills.”

“What for?”

“A little job. You see some of my men got locked up by Atlas Security."

"Sounds unfortunate."

"They're going to be sentenced to forced labor down in the mines."

Why wasn't I surprised that that was how Atlas dealt with its criminals. You just chuck the dissidents and anyone you can arrest down in the mines and you got yourself a slave labor force.

Gross.

And typical of Atlas. Nobody cares what happened to prisoners. I bet the prison system was for-profit here, even. Anything to make a buck in Atlas. The more the place tried to have redeeming qualities the more I hated it.  

I listened to a brief pause in the wump, wump, wump of the music.

"You need us to bust them out."

"I need her. I don't need you beyond that."

"We'll see. I'll need the details. What's security look like? When's the transfer?"

"In two days. They're being held in an Atlas police station. Security is tight. That's why I could use Neapolitan's help."

"Their names?"

"A boy named Obsidian. And another called Cobalt." He summoned photos of a dark haired kid with dark eyes. There was another frame which held the blue haired boy with pale eyes.

"We do this for you and those facility details are ours. Everything I asked for."

He held out a hand for me to shake. "It's a deal. What do you say?"

I shook on it and he grinned golden teeth at me.

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

I didn't trust Aurum. I thought he'd double cross me given the opportunity. I didn't have any real safeguards against him doing it beyond the threat of myself and Neo. Which if he knew who she was it was a pretty big threat. If he knew who I was it would be even bigger.

I think that's how shit worked up here. There was as much backstabbing as could be managed. Even still I had little choice but to help him and deal with the consequences later. If he tired to cross me I'd just kill him and torture him and not in that order.  

The operation was going to be a simple one. We knew when and where they were going to be transferred on the gondola down to the lower city.

I was going to fly down, open the gondola like a tin can, and we were going to grab them.

Nice and easy. In and out. No questions asked.

We arrived at the station in Atlas and fought our way inside. It was on the under belly of Atlas and had some guards to it. I slammed one to the side with Crocea Mors and jumped-kicked another. I was way too fast for some simple guards to stop me. I was just far too strong, too.  

"Stop right there!" Neo and I didn't listen to the guard.

We rushed Atlas Sec at the top of the gondola station and made our way down to where the gondola hung. We watched the car shuttle off with our prisoners in question inside. I could see more guards on board through the windows.

The station was all dark greys and blue lights. With a single tram line running down the middle where people could get on and off, it was lit by soft blue and white lights. It was manned by Atlas Security at the moment. I wasn't sure if this station was permanently owned by Atlas military forces or if this was a special occasion. Either way I was crashing their party.

I vaulted a security gate. With ease, my sprint turned into a hovering dash as I went over. I slammed a knee into a sentry's face. He went rolling down.

I grabbed one guard and slammed him against the ground. Then I hammered him into a wall. His armor shattered as I did.

I launched a high kick that brought down a third. It was going very well. Neo came hurtling alongside me and whipped her body weight around an Atlas Security agent's neck.

She teleported ahead of me and knocked another agent's gun upwards while I crossed the gap. I cut his gun in half and pulled the rifle butt out of his hands and smacked him in the head with it.

I swung my sword and knocked down the security officer before me. I kicked down another and punched the lights out of a third hard enough to shatter his helmet. Neo slowly choked out a last and we listened to the sound of communications failing between Atlas on the gondola and up here.

"Report! Soldier, report! What's happening up there?!"

I listened for a moment before I jumped up on the cable with an easy flip. I balanced for a moment and Neo reached out and grabbed a hold of me. I leaned forward and I flew down the cable on a pocket of air at the gondola car.

It took a few moments to reach it with the wind whistling past us in the clear Solitas sky. I felt and heard Neo hold on with bated breath.

I arrived on top of it and sliced into the metal with Crocea Mors as I flew and ripped into the roof so I could start to pull it off. I put the sword on my back as we dangled out over the open air above Mantle. I jammed a hand into the jagged slice I made in the metal and I peeled the metal back as I hovered with a casual strength. Glass shattered and fell down onto the lower city as I pulled the car apart.

Guards inside peppered me with fire but Neo teleported off my back and into the gondola. She jumped around inside  bringing down the guards with grace and ease. She swung her weight around and slammed one into the jagged glass where a window used to be. She flipped and shoved another into a twisted bar of metal from where I ripped the roof off.

She jumped up with her umbrella and teleported first Obsidian out to me who I grabbed. Then the other. I reversed my momentum, I was tractionless for a moment as I reversed directions and began to fly back up the thick cable of twisted metal wires. I rode up on the gondola cable and flew back up to the top where we'd already disabled Atlas security.

I watched Neo jump out of the car and begin her descent down with her parasol. We'd meet up later easily enough back at the motel.

I carried the two guys, one in each arm all the way back up to the top of the tram station. I held them by their handcuffs and it was easy enough to glide along the cable back to the station.

We made it look simple, too. No casualties, even. Probably. None up here but I could make no promises about what happened in the car. Neo hadn't exactly been gentle from what I heard once she got inside.

I set the two guys down and flipped to a landing in the grey gondola station. The members of Atlas Security we already disabled were still down.

"Well you're off then." I shattered their restraints with my sword and set them loose.

"What, wait! Who are you?" The black haired kid asked. I called him a kid but he was probably about the same age as me.

"I'm Cloud Strife. Run to your boss and tell him our business is done on my side. Go! Before more security shows up."

I kicked a rousing Atlas Security agent in the head and went back down with a muted grunt.

They bolted and I looked out of the station at the distant form of Neo.

I didn't need to fight my way out. I just charged Limit and jumped off the side of the station.

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-WG

[nctsiren]

Thank you for turning on anon uwu for the ask game thingy can I ask these for all of the girls? daydreams, caress, ivory, golden, freckles, twilight, poppy, clouds, roses, lollipop, dimples, whisper, pencil, honey, velvet, strawberry, kiss, shampoo, lace, sapphos?

hewwo anon!!! thank u for requesting!! i’m sorry it’s late :(( hope you enjoy, nonetheless!! i enjoyed writing it 🥺

daydream-

hyeyoung: “i think i’ll say joan jett or debbie harry!! i admire them a lot, i love their music, and i think it’d be fun to be a rock singer.”

mila: “i think it’d be nice to be beetle. i’ve always wondered how his mind works. being a dog seems cool”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “seulgi unnie!! i’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be perfect ;)”

caress-

hyeyoung: “i love to snuggle... i like when johnny lays between my legs with his head on my chest. it makes me so happy.”

mila: “yes... but i play hard to get with some of the wayv members. i feel at ease cuddling with ten.”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “there are hundreds of youtube comps of me being snuggly and affectionate .. i just love my members”

ivory-

hyeyoung: “i wear matching sets. like the pants and the button up shirt? or the silk/satin shorts and matching tank tops. i love cute pajamas, i always have.”

mila: “i usually wear a sports bra and boxers or shorts.”

evie: “big shirt and my underwear.”

jimin: “usually a big hoodie and shorts!”

golden-

hyeyoung: “i cannot choose!! i own lots of stationary, and i scrapbook, as well.”

mila: “i’m not really a stationary person. just gimme some lined paper and i am all good.”

evie: “i love a good pen.”

jimin: “AHH i’m a sucker for the cute stationary cards. i like writing letters and notes”

freckles-

hyeyoung: “honestly, i have a pair of black cigarette pants that i love to pieces. i wear them often- they just go with everything and are so comfortable!”

mila: “i... honestly probably this hoodie i stole from lucas. it’s super big and comfy. if i don’t wear it at certain times i feel like something bad will happen ://“

evie: “i have this big, chunky grandpa sweater that’s striped and i wear it to the point where it might start falling apart.”

jimin: “it’s not really a clothing item, but i’ve worn the lily necklace chenle gave me every day since i got it. and my necklace that’s just my name, jimin, in cursive.”

twilight (this is their best friend outside of the other girls)-

hyeyoung: “i know it’s cheesy, but johnny, for obvious reasons... i’m also quite close to irene unnie, as well as jaehyun and taeyong. it’s hard for me to pick.”

mila: “ten.”

evie: “i legitimately cannot pick outside of the girls... maybe lucas... or yuta... or doyo... i don’t fucking know.”

jimin: “chenle- i’m stuck with him.”

poppy-

hyeyoung: “pink. i’m not even much of a pink girl, but pastel pink is lovely.”

mila: “is... pastel orange a thing? i see it in my mind, but i don’t know if anyone else can.”

evie: “green. green is my favorite color in general, all shades.”

jimin: “lavender and periwinkle are my favorite colors outside of grey and white.”

clouds-

hyeyoung: “it was me alone in a practice room, but the room had large windows in it and it was so light. i was dancing- there was no music playling, but i still was. i felt so happy, and i stopped after twirling because johnny had arrived and he just smiled at me with so much love in his eyes.”

mila: “i honestly don’t remember my dreams, but i remember how i felt during them?”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “all of my dreams are weird and i don’t have a favorite because they’re too bizarre to enjoy.”

roses-

hyeyoung: “red roses... my late grandma, who was the person i loved most in the world, loved red roses.”

mila: “i think... tulips.”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “lilies, but not because of my name. my loved ones give them to me because of my name, but i love them because i receive them from my loved ones LMAO”

lollipop-

hyeyoung: “lipstick is my favorite. nice reds and pinks. i never go dark with lipstick- only dark eye makeup.”

mila: “i love ALL makeup”

evie: “i kind of hate wearing makeup, but i guess i’d pick eyebrow stuff.”

jimin: “mascara and blush! i like the heavy blush look.”

dimples-

hyeyoung: “my favorite thing is when i see people’s eyes crinkle when they smile. smiles and lips- oh, lips- are so beautiful.”

mila: “i love the variety of expressions that people can show even in a matter of seconds. i love seeing the range of emotions and thoughts on people’s faces.”

evie: “i love noses. all noses. also, i think facial structures are so lovely and unique. everyone is different.”

jimin: “smiles and eyes. i think eyes are so, so beautiful. i’ve never met anyone with eyes that aren’t beautiful. and smiles are heavenly because seeing a person’s joy written on their face is priceless.”

whisper-

hyeyoung: “i usually get the amount you’re supposed to get. i tend to go to bed earlier and wake up earlier. my alarm is santeria by sublime, like johnny’s...”

mila: “i have horrible, horrible insomnia and only get a very little amount.”

evie was answered on my other post!! ++ she also will sleep through ANYTHING even her alarms

jimin: “i either get too much or too little.”

pencil-

hyeyoung: “i bullet journal to plan, and i also write down the things that make me anxious during the day so that i can reflect and see what i could do next time to sooth myself more”

mila: “lined notebooks full of songs that i keep in a specific drawer. if i need to get out anything, it escapes my mind in a song”

evie: “my journals are 10% words, 90% drawings.”

jimin: “i have my song journals, but then i have my jimin journals which hold every intimate thought or emotion i have ever felt.”

honey-

hyeyoung: “baby or love. those are what johnny most commonly calls me. he likes to call me angel, too, and that really gets me :) .. we also call each other chipmunk.”

mila: “i used to hate being called lala, but now i love it. it’s also cute when evie calls me baozi, because i call her shumai. i also like bun.”

evie’s is answered on my other post!!

jimin: “uhh... baby, minmin (thanks, jisung), i like when people call me flower too 🥺”

velvet-

hyeyoung: “my first crush? i saw kurt cobain when i was little and thought he was the most handsome man i’d ever seen- i listened to a lot of nirvana growing up. a lot of people don’t expect me to like things like grunge or rock, but it’s very much my style!! im just shy and don’t dress to reflect it.”

mila: “i watched hercules when i was really little and became obsessed with meg. yup. it was the classic ‘i just thought i wanted to be her!’ but nope. gay.”

evie: “i don’t remember?! i think it was when i was in secondary school, because i didn’t like anyone for a while. just this classmate... and i was a cringe little fuck.”

jimin: “the first notable one i remember was when i was in second grade... i was reading twilight and fell in love with edward. yes, i was reading twilight in second grade, yes when i got to breaking dawn my mom didn’t let me read part of the honeymoon. i also had a crush on bella, and to this day, i would be in a throuple with robert pattinson and kristen stewart.”

strawberry-

hyeyoung: “cherries and strawberries, because they taste best covered in chocolate.”

mila: “mangos are so fucking good.”

evie: “grapes are arguably the best fruit and gumdrop grapes are arguably the best kind.”

jimin: “watermelon, bitchesssss”

kiss-

hyeyoung: “i mean, my first kiss was with a boy i was friends with when i was in america. we had both smoked a cigarette before it (i just wanted to try it) so it tasted bad. the other guys i kissed i weren’t proper friends with, and then johnny.”

mila: “um, ive kissed evie, like, when we were dating. i havent kissed many people to be honest...”

evie: “i kissed mila, i’ve kissed lily (a friendly peck), i’ve ALMOST kissed hyeyoung, i’ve kissed some of my guy friends and girl friends predebut- so, yes, i have kissed friends. and people who aren’t friends. i just like to kiss.”

jimin: “... sigh. renjun, chenle, evie, The Ex We Don’t Talk About, yeri (friendly, like with evie), and probably a few other friends in a non-romantic way? i dunno”

shampoo-

hyeyoung: “my favorite scent is johnny’s versace cologne, his shampoo, and his skin. definitely roses. i also love my perfume smell, clean linen, and i love the smell of champagne.”

mila: “i like the smell of cigarettes... YES i know it’s bad, but it calms me down. i’d also pick the smell of rain, or beetle, because he always smells good.”

evie: “the smell of paint and pencils is so comforting. i also like nature smells. when the air smells cold, it’s so nice. and the OCEAN.”

jimin: “home-y smells? laundry, and warm smells... lavender and florals, my perfume, and the smell of summer nights and bonfires. also any of my members.”

lace-

hyeyoung: definitely a dress person, is definitely in love with the classiness and sleeves of that first one, and is definitely happy about how sexy she looks in that second one.

mila: is NOT a dress person and prefers dresses that she can go braless with and are comfortable

evie: this is just Evie and we all know it

jimin: the first one is cute on it’s own AND with a big sweater/sweatshirt over it, and the second one make her feel like she on a european holiday

sapphos-

hyeyoung: “jiminnie :) she writes such beautiful poetry- i’m very thankful that she chose to share some with me!”

mila: “i don’t think i have a favorite poet, to be honest... i like kate bush, though, and i know she’s a singer, but she’s truly a poet.”

evie: “michael faudet. he wrote a series of poetry books, his first is called ‘dirty pretty things’ and it’s really 18+ but i thought it was gorgeous. i have all of his books.”

jimin: “asking me to pick a favorite poet is like asking me to pick a favorite member- can’t do it.”

[headoverhiddles]

Mephistopheles of Los Angeles - Marilyn Manson x Reader [Smut] (Part II)

Synopsis: After the kiss, it’s impossible to avoid the press. But behind closed doors, there’s no reason to deny that you two have a connection. AKA Marilyn invites you and Johnny over to his place for a night of fun. 

Notes: Third and final part coming soon! Also, I love comments :) 

PART I

PART III

You sit up by your window, watching the pool glisten. You can't come out and say anything-- he was probably drunk. But, you two did have that magnificent conversation before the drinks came around... there was definitely a connection there.

As if you two shared a mind, just as you're about to pick up the phone to call Johnny, his ID shows up on your screen.

"Hey," you say.

"Morning, sunshine," he says, his voice cracking from an obvious hangover, "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

You groan, sliding the curtains shut and blocking out the sun. He laughs.

"Hey, what if--" Just then, someone else starts to call through. It's an unknown number. You really shouldn't answer, you being who you are... but there's a glimmer of misplaced hope inside you, leftover from last night maybe.

"I'll call you back, kay?" you mumble, and swipe on the call. "Yeah?"

"Hey." It's him, deep, gravelly voice and all.

"Hey." You pull your feet up to your chest. "What's going on?"

"I was hoping-- I got your number from Depp by the way, so I'm not a stalker-- that you guys'd come over to my place, like, tomorrow night. Night before your premiere. We could celebrate properly."

"Sounds great," you smile. "How are you not hungover?"

"I am, I'm just a good faker." He pauses. "It felt good to unwind with you last night. I... appreciate company like yours. I also appreciate that that was the sexiest kiss I've had in like, ten years." That's all he says, then he hangs up. Sober, he's a very somber person... but his drunk side shines through every now and then it seems. Smirking, you stand, and start to think about a shower. Johnny will probably be getting a call next.

-

The next night, the three of you are situated in Marilyn's living room, the thermostat set to cool air and a low soundtrack of David Bowie floating in the background.

"Cherry. Blood red. So we can pretend we're vampires." A pyramid of jello boxes sit on his counter top, three bottles of Absinthe that would be used instead of water.

"We basically are," Johnny comments idly, watching a fly crawl along the counter.

"Or, or we can pretend we're eating flesh," Marilyn continues, shaking one packet out into the bowl, "Absinthe and flesh. Or we can pretend (y/n) is menstruating, and--"

Both you and Johnny groan loud enough to drown out the rock star's ravings, and finally he concedes, adding the absinthe (mostly) silently. Ultimately however, Johnny is unable to restrain himself from pitching in. "Who would want to eat a woman out on her period though?"

"You'd be surprised," you answer that one, swinging your legs over Marilyn's velvet couch.

"I wouldn't mind it," Marilyn offered, licking the cherry goop off his tattooed fingers, "If I was like, an actual vampire."

This sets Johnny off again, and as he's laughing, you saunter up to Marilyn, wrapping your arms around him from behind.

"And what if you weren't a vampire?"

"You mean if I didn't need to stick my tongue in a reservoir of ovum littered blood?"

"Yes."

"Well, I know girls get aroused on their period, because their hormones are raging. So if my girl was horny as fuck for me on her period and wanted me to eat her pussy, I mean, I wouldn't say no."

You pat his cheek. "A true gentleman."

"I've always wondered this-- when you fuck a girl on her period and she cums, is it like a dam of blood breaking?"

"What, like the parting of the red sea?" Johnny frowns. Marilyn considers this.

"More like... Titanic, but... the Titanic is your dick."

"Completely false," you say, and both guys look over to you, legitimately interested. "It's the opposite. At least for me. The blood stops for a bit, then... comes back with a vengeance once all your wetness has returned from whence it came."

"Very interesting, love," Johnny says, getting up and pouring himself another drink.

"I love being educated in the vaginal arts," Marilyn says, making obscene slurping noises as he licks the rest of his fingers clean.

As the night wears on the three of you (plus Lily) put down bottle after bottle, smoke a couple of joints, and finish the red coagulated creation. Once two AM hits, the conversation deepens, and the guitar breaks out.

"It's gonna be hell for you answering questions about those pictures this weekend, (y/n)," Johnny says, strumming the acoustic instrument.

"I know. The questions I get are so dumb, I've already had a billion asking about you and me and if we're dating. Just because two people play love interests--"

"And have fabulous onscreen chemistry," Johnny adds.

"Yes, doesn't mean we should get... shipped!" Angrily, you exhale a cloud of smoke, the joint hanging lazily between your fingers.

"It's because the media's bullshit consists of asking why male artists do what they do, and asking female artists why they fuck who they fuck," Marilyn mutters candidly, stealing the joint.

"Load of crap," Johnny nods, playing a riff of The Beautiful People.

"I like you... though," Marilyn mumbles, glancing your way.

"I like you too," you blink.

"I would've fucked you y'know... if the paparazzi weren't such cockblocking motherfuckers..."

"I know. When it comes to the press though, we've gotta make it look like an accident if they did get pictures."

"Which they did," Johnny nodded, "I already saw one this morning titled "Chateau Marmont's Wild Nightlife: Johnny Depp blazes one while rising co-star and shock-rocker best friend get 'cheeky' in the bushes." Now we've got not only rumours about you and me to deal with but you and this fuck." This makes Marilyn laugh.

"I'm just known as the best friend now? Wow." He touches his wow tattoo, holding it up.

"You're faded, man."

"Faded, faithful, and fuckin' fatal."

"They make me look like a fucking stoner now, so I'm not much better."

"You are a fucking stoner."

"I'm Jack Sparrow, mate."

"You're a fucking stoner."

You just roll your eyes as they bicker. You remember what your agent told you-- if it's not purposefully publicized, it's messy, and messy doesn't sell. Guess that's what it's like in the Hollywood dating pool.

"Nah, but of course we've gotta deny all of it," Marilyn sighs. "It would blow up your career in a not-good way cause they'd say this young, impressionable starlet is dating a satanist, or whatever they call me, and I don't really feel like answering a billion stupid questions about you either at this point, not when I'm trying to promote my record. They're going crazy over this cause you're so popular right now, (y/n). It'll be all over People and the internet and shit."

"Covering personal shit is the worst part of this job," Johnny mutters. "Unless it's a story about smuggling cocaine into the Pirates premiere."

"Wasn't that at Disneyland?" you frown.

Marilyn and Johnny both nod noncommittally.

"Worth it," Johnny says, holding his guitar with one hand and flicking a piece of the blood red Jell-O onto the ceiling with a spoon.

"Clean that up," Marilyn grins.

"Lick it off, mate," Johnny laughs. It suddenly falls, and with a jiggle, lands between your breasts. You yelp as it splatters into your cleavage, and the two men fall to the floor laughing.

"Mmmmhmmhmm," Marilyn smiles, crawling over to you on his hands and knees with tipsy half-lidded eyes, "I think I will lick it off." He straddles you on the armchair, one leg on either side, and puts his face into your tits, his tongue sweeping deep licks between, up, down, ugh...

"Fuck, you're making me horny," you whisper. Johnny giggles, standing and snatching a small bag and heading up to Marilyn's pool patio with his guitar.  

"See you two in the morning."

"Don't drown," you call up.

"I don't want to have to clean up your chlorine bloated corpse in the morning," Marilyn adds.

"I will leave you the sexiest corpse you could possibly imagine, brother," Johnny calls back down, stumbling up the stairs. You and Marilyn turn your attention back to one another.

"Your tits taste good," he comments, eyes flickering lazily back down to them.

"My pussy tastes even better," you grin, taking his hand and sliding it down between your legs. He rubs it against you, and comes up with slick fingers.

"Bedroom."

His bed is covered in black silk sheets, a satin cover blanketed overtop of them. Messy piles of books and records litter the floor, and creepy artefacts you wouldn't want to see with a light on surround everything on bookshelves.

"You have blacklights?" you ask, looking around the dark, mysterious room.

"To admire the cum shots on the ceiling," he clarifies.

"Oh, is that all?"

"--But I don't like to call it cum, I like to call it... making wet in you," he giggles.

"Mmm, make wet in me?"

"I would love to make wet in you."

Before you can say anything else, he grabs you by the hips, shoving you forward onto the bed. You land on your stomach, and he stands behind you as you turn your head.

"Take your panties off," he says in a low, level voice, as if he had sobered up in seconds. You feel your bratty side coming out.

"What if I don't?"

He lifts his chin up, looking like a king. "Get on your hands and knees... arch your back and present your ass for me. It's a really pretty ass, I just wanna look at it. Promise."

You do so, and wait in the darkness. After a second, you feel his tongue dart out, licking a stripe up your panties from behind. Then he smacks your ass hard. "Ohgod," you whisper, and he smiles.

"You look so good like this." You flip over, and crawl up to the headboard, hanging on. "Why don't you spread your legs for daddy?"

"Why don't you spread them for me, daddy? I'm a little bit tired."

"Lazy little bitch," he mumbles, sliding his hand between your legs. It rests on your knee, then you feel the pressure of him parting your thighs. He rolls over on top of you, and for a moment, you think he's going to instigate a kiss. You part your lips, waiting for him. Instead, he slides down like a snake between those parted thighs and hooks his fingers into your panties.

"Just lick around them," you smirk, biting your lip.

"Uh, uh. I want to enjoy my meal," he drawls, and pulls them off down to your ankle.

"Eat my pussy good, baby."

"Oh, I plan to."

"Gonna fuck me after that?"

"You know I am, kitten."

He delves between your folds again, making low noises. His hands reach up to grope and grab at whatever they can; your hips, your breasts, your inner thighs. After a moment, you gasp as he slips two fingers into you, then three, fucking you rough with them.

"That's--" You gasp, grinding into his face, "That's so good..."

He hums, the vibration of his lips against your clit driving you wild.

"How fuckin' close are you?" he hisses.

"So fucking close," you whine.

"Cum for me. Make wet... in my face."

"God, you're gonna ruin my ladyboner by saying shit like that!"

A few more masterful circles of his tongue however, and you do cum, gripping the boards for dear life.

"Grab my--" he murmurs, "Grab my hair, love it when it's-- oh, tugged--"

Your hands fly to his hair, and you tug the short black locks as he fucks you with his tongue through your orgasm. Giving you a moment to breathe, he flashes his dark glare up between your legs, eyes shining almost demonically in the dark.

"Fuck me, Brian," you breathe. He crawls up on top of you, holding you by your shoulders as he guides his dick between your legs. When he finally pushes in, he gives a grunt as you moan, wrapping your legs around his ass.

"So fucking good," he groans, and you bite into his shoulder.

"Ohhh yeah, oh yeah," you moan, and he suddenly pulls out.

"Back on your hands and knees, kitten." You obey this time, fucked out but wanting more. He smacks your ass again, and you moan, wiggling back. He spanks you again, and again, and you bite your fist. "Nah, nah," he whispers, "I wanna hear you. Get fuckin' loud, scream it out."

You very nearly scream as he spanks you again, and presses soft kisses up your back, turning into hickies by the top between your shoulder blades.

"Wanna ride you," you breathe. Wordlessly, he lays down, and you roll over top of him, getting into reverse cowgirl position. With another gasp, you sink down over his big cock, and roll your hips.

"That's good," he groans, "Fuckkkk yeah, that's good."

"Daddy, daddy--" you gasp.

"Daddy's gonna make you cum," he whispers, reaching up and around to squeeze your breast. He sits up, so that his chest is pressed to your back, and the angle makes you moan even louder. "I gotchu," he whispers in your ear, "I gotchu, I gotchu, gonna take real good care of you... cause you're takin real good care of me..."

You nearly sob as you reach back and grab his hair, and he sinks his teeth into your shoulder as you had done with him. You feel a bit of blood drip, and cum hard. Marilyn increases his pace as he feels you gush around his cock, pounding you harder than ever. Skin slaps against skin as he fucks you on his lap, and your orgasm keeps burning through you as he mumbles growled-out words of praise.

When you finally come back down to earth, he's pressing kisses to the bite mark, which felt good in the moment, but stings like hell now.

"Guess you're a real fucking vampire, Manson," you giggle. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, laughing.

[nonagaye]

Tinfoil Weddings

This post is layered in tinfoil--beware. I believe Sansa’s wedding with Tyrion is a foil for her future wedding with Jon. As well as Jon attending Alys Karstarks wedding being some kind of foil.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Sansa was not fond of marrying Tyrion Lannister. But there were many interesting things that happened before her wedding, and at the reception.

The most tinfoil we be placed on the events before the wedding. Let’s get that out of the way. Sansa and Jon have a chapter, one right after the other.

Atop the stones of the ringwall, Ghost hunched with white fur bristling. He made no sound, but his dark red eyes spoke blood. The Lord of Bones moved his hand slowly away from his sword, backed off a step, and left them with a curse.

Ghost padded beside their garrons as Jon and Ygritte descended the Fist. It was not until they were halfway across the Milkwater that Jon felt safe enough to say, "I never asked you to lie for me."

"I never did," she said. "I left out part, is all."

"You said - "

" - that we f**k beneath your cloak many a night. I never said when we started, though." The smile she gave him was almost shy. "Find another place for Ghost to sleep tonight, Jon Snow. It's like Mance said. Deeds is truer than words." ASOS, Jon II

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via wiki: A circular rampart (German: Ringwall) is an embankment built in the shape of a circle that was used as part of the defences for a military fortification, hill fort or refuge, or was built for religious purposes or as a place of gathering.

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There’s a clear symbol of protection going on here--Ghost--protecting Jon and his red headed love. As well as the ringwall being an actual representative of defense. Then Ygrite saves Jon by lying to Mance that they f**k beneath Jon’s cloak.

The very next chapter we have Sansa prepping for the King’s wedding, or so she thinks.

“A new gown?" she said, as wary as she was astonished.

"More lovely than any you have worn, my lady," the old woman promised. She measured Sansa's hips with a length of knotted string. "All silk and Myrish lace, with satin linings. You will be very beautiful. The queen herself has commanded it." 

[...]

"What color will it be?" she asked the seamstress."Leave the colors to me, my lady. You will be pleased, I know you will. You shall have smallclothes and hose as well, kirtles and mantles and cloaks, and all else befitting a . . . a lovely young lady of noble birth.""Will they be ready in time for the king's wedding?" - ASOS, Sansa II

Sansa's having a beautiful dress made for the King’s wedding; satin and lace, with a beautiful cloak to match. (Foreshadowing for Sansa marrying a King) Sansa is happy, but the Lannisters have other plans...

“I will not have the rose and the direwolf in bed together,” declared Lord Tywin. “We must forestall him.” “How?” asked Cersei. “By marriage. Yours, to begin with.”

At this point, we have the rose[Sansa] and the direwolf[Jon](the rose and wolf are interchangeable, as Jon could easily represent the rose) in Chapters 15 and 16. Then Tyrion in Chapter 19, discussing how to keep the rose and direwolf apart. What has kept the Rose and the wolf apart has been Sansa’s marriage/betrothals. She left home to marry Joffrey, was forced to marry Tyrion, and later being pushed towards Harry the heir. 

The day of Sansa’s wedding has arrived. 

Cersei herself arrived with the seamstress, and watched as they dressed Sansa in her new clothes. The smallclothes were all silk, but the gown itself was ivory samite and cloth-of-silver, and lined with silvery satin. The points of the long dagged sleeves almost touched the ground when she lowered her arms. And it was a woman's gown, not a little girl's, there was no doubt of that. The bodice was slashed in front almost to her belly, the deep vee covered over with a panel of ornate Myrish lace in dove-grey.  

[...]

"You are very beautiful, my lady," the seamstress said when she was dressed.

"I am, aren't I?" Sansa giggled, and spun, her skirts swirling around her. "

[...] 

 Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A flerce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa looked at it with sudden dread. "Your father's colors," said Cersei, as they fastened it about her neck with a slender silver chain. - ASOS, Sansa III

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The bride's cloak Sigorn fastened about Lady Alys's shoulders showed a bronze disk on a field of white wool, surrounded by flames made with wisps of crimson silk. 

[...]

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

"Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand. -ADWD, Jon II

Sansa smiling and happy on her “wedding” day, Alys smile(on wedding day) reminds Jon of his little sister. Sansa wears satin and lace, while Alys hair was wrapped in lace found by Satin. Alys also wears satin.

Sansa wears a white cloak, with a silver wolf. The cloak in appearance could represent “Lady” her deceased wolf, Ghost or both symbolically protecting her. Sansa is foreshadowed to be Winterfell’s lady, Queen of winter.

“She had dreamed of her wedding a thousand times, and always she had pictured how her betrothed would stand behind her tall and strong, sweep the cloak of his protection over her shoulders, and tenderly kiss her cheek as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp.” Sansa, ASOS III

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“The Magnar all but ripped the maiden's cloak from Alys's shoulders, but when he fastened her bride's cloak about her he was almost tender. As he leaned down to kiss her cheek, their breath mingled. The flames roared once again. The queen's men began to sing a song of praise. 

"Is it done?"Jon heard Satin whisper.” ADWD, Jon II

Sansa wishes that her husband could tenderly kiss her as he cloaks her in his protection, while Jon watches this exact thing at Alys’ wedding. If you’ve read any “Grey girl metas” then you would naturally see Alys as a foil for Sansa. And if I’m not mistaken, Alys was once betrothed to her cousin--Cregan Karstark, but escaped and ran to Jon at the Wall and married to a new man to create a new house. 

Perhaps she ought to have remained beside her husband, but she wanted to dance so badly ... and Ser Garlan was brother to Margaery, to Willas, to her Knight of Flowers. "I see why they name you Garlan the Gallant, ser," she said, as she took his hand. "My lady is gracious to say so. My brother Willas gave me that name, as it happens. To protect me." "To protect you?" She gave him a puzzled look. - ASOS, Sansa II

[Garlan the Gallant(:brave) is often described as tall, broad built, skilled soldier, honorable, modest and kind.]

Sansa’s actually dances with someone who is brave, gentle and strong.

“She had often daydreamed of how she would dance at her wedding, with every eye upon her and her handsome lord. In her dreams they had all been smiling.” ASOS, Sansa II

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“Do you dance often, here at Castle Black?”

“Every time we have a wedding, my lady.”

“You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon.”“Anon?” teased Jon.

“When we were children.” She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. “As you know well.”

“My lady should dance with her husband.” - Jon, ADWD

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“A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow. he thought. You‘ll dance with me anon.“ – Jon XII, ADWD

Sansa dreams of her husband dancing with her and smiling. If we connect the two quotes from Jon and Alys, who’s just a foil for Sansa. This is foreshadowing for dancing at a wedding.

Speaking of Snow flakes

When the last of the riders had disappeared into the trees, Jon Snow rode the winch cage down with Dolorous Edd. A few scattered snowflakes were falling as they made their slow descent, dancing on the gusty wind. One followed the cage down, drifting just beyond the bars. It was falling faster than they were descending and from time to time would vanish beneath them. Then a gust of wind would catch it and push it upward once again. Jon could have reached through the bars and caught it if he had wished.

- ADWD, Jon XIII

Let me point out that Jon is in a cage, he’s a crow. Metaphorically we could say he’s in bird cage. Jon sees the snowflakes dancing once again. But one separates, and seems to fall but is pushed back up to him. Possible Foreshadowing for another caged bird? Sansa?

Ser Sweetrobin,” Lord Robert said, and Alayne knew that she dare not wait for Mya to return. She helped the boy dismount, and hand in hand they walked out onto the bare stone saddle, their cloaks snapping and flapping behind them. All around was empty air and sky, the ground falling away sharply to either side. There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghost wolf, big as mountains. -Sansa, AFFC

Could it be that Sansa is that snowflake, at the vale?

One more thing about Sansa’s wedding:

“Jalabhar Xho said something she did not understand in the Summer Tongue” - ASOS, Sansa II

[Jalabar is an exiled Prince from the Summer Isles, that came to Westeros to plead for help in retaking his homeland.]

What could he have said to Sansa? He can speak the common tongue as he’s pleaded with Cersei for help, so what could he have said to Sansa day, that he had to say it in a different language?

All in all there is clear foreshadowing of a happy wedding and marriage between Jon and Sansa.

I hope I wasn’t too longwinded and all over the place, and anyone that’s reading this is able to see the points that I’m trying to connect.

Inspired by the ‘Rose and the Direwolf’ meta by @shinynewrevulsions

[thewhiterabbit42]

An Honorary Winchester

Part 1 of Out of Grace (human Gabriel series)

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Word count: 10938… oops

Tags: Smut, fingering, unprotected sex, human Gabriel, short reader

Summary: It would be great to have an archangel in your back pocket.  Too bad this one’s human and in as much of a bind as you are when you find yourselves smack dab in the middle of a werewolves’ den.  

Author’s note:  This was written for @gone-to-fight-the-fairies​ Supernatural’s Summer of Heroes Challenge (I’m sorry this is late!).  My quote was: Scott Lang: “On my Signal, run like hell.”  

All tags are at the end. If you find a line through yours, it wouldn’t work :(

Special thanks to my beta @sumara62​, first of her blogname, Queen of the Commas, Purveyor of Descriptives, and (likely) Receiver of Headaches thanks to my muse operating in one tense and my story being written in another. Also to @blondecoffeecake​ for all the encouragement and for answering important science questions.  Thanks ever so much for being my sunshine.

***Please do not repost or copy my work to any other site without my written permission.  Giving credit does NOT count.  Reblogging is ok.***

This was not good.  

Your eyes scanned the room through the hidden vantage point within the wall, and they widened as four more figures entered through the main door.

This was more than not good.  This wasn’t even bad.  This was straight up ugly. 

In all your time of hunting, you’d never had the odds stacked so terribly against you.  This particular group of monsters was well-organized, and well-funded enough to have their own bunker-like structure.  They also appeared to be far more well-numbered than anyone originally anticipated.  

If you hadn’t slipped down a hill and crash landed through the smallest window in existence, you might not have been so in need of a well-timed rescue.  

At least you weren’t alone.  Gabriel had managed to squeeze himself through the frame while Sam and Dean circled back to try and find the main entrance.  These days, however, Heaven’s weapon was looking a bit less terrible and far more soft.  

Might have had to do with how many bags of skittles the man ate… or how he was, in fact, an actual man now.  

Gabriel didn’t like to talk about how he lost his grace.  All things considered, it wasn’t hard to figure out it likely had something to do with Lucifer.  The last time anyone had seen him as an archangel had been back during the apocalypse, saving the Winchester’s asses.  It might have actually been the last time anyone had seen him, period, before you stumbled upon him hitchhiking his way back to the brothers.

You’d never met any of them before that.  Now, you couldn’t get rid of them either.  Except, it seemed, when you actually needed their help.  

“You have a plan?”  He murmured.  

Well it certainly wasn’t to get screwed.  At least not by the pack of werewolves congregating in the room in front of you.  

You wracked your brain, trying to come up with a solution, though the way he was practically on top of you was making it awfully hard to think about anything other than the way his dulcet tone caressed your ear or how his breath was ghosting warmly over you.  

It wasn’t his fault.  He was mostly this close to keep from being heard, though it did mean his lips were as close to your ear as they could be without actually touching.  This might have been as close as they’ve been to any part of you other than the back of your hand.  

You swallowed, doing your best to also ignore the way his chest was brushing lightly against your shoulder.

“Don’t die?” You finally replied.  You practically heard his eye roll through the mounting tension.  

“If there’s anyone I’d rather get screwed by the Winchesters’ with, it’s you, but I’d much rather those prepositions be reversed,” he whispered.  

“You mean positions?” You questioned absently, doing another head count in hopes the last several had been inaccurately high.  

“I meant exactly what I said.”  A smirk sang through his words and when you finally got the punchline, your eyes were the ones rolling heavenward.  

You knew he was just trying to keep things light, to keep you both calm, and possibly even distract you a little while he came up with a plan.  You also knew it was all just bravado.  Gabriel had been a regular part of your life for so long enough now that if any part of that statement were true, he would have made a move already, because, unlike you, he was not a coward.  

“So… you would rather get screwed with the Winchesters’ by me?” You informed him, tone as dry as your smile.  “Because I want you to know upfront, I have a two dick maximum.”

You turned your head to gauge his reaction.  His nose grazed your temple as he let out a short, amused, puff of air through it.  

“Ok, maybe not quite what I meant, shortcake,” his voice was a pleasant rumble in the back of his throat, though a single note of exasperation rang softly through his tone.  “Besides, you should know by now I don’t play well with others and I’m not really a fan of sharing.  Candy.  Toys.  Anything.”

You were about to tease him about that one time he had to share a bed with Dean because you and Sam refused to (and because that particular motel carpet was liable to give you some infectious disease just looking at it) when the door across the room opened again.

The addition of four more guests had the playful remark dying in your throat.  

You turned your attention fully back to the two dozen or so monsters milling about, having tea, eating cookies, chatting about the weather and how many bodies they had to hide this summer or whatever it was that werewolves made small talk about.  

The breath he let out was the heaviest sound you ever heard him make, and his hands came down on your shoulders.  You were wearing your favorite jacket, broken in just right.  The leather was old, worn, supple, and well loved, so the fact his fingers were moving over that at the moment didn’t really surprise you.  Neither did the anxious drumming that scurried down the side of your arms, halting just above your elbows.

Gabriel liked to touch.  Anything soft, smooth, furry.  The easiest way to cheer up the ex-trickster was to plop something cute and fuzzy in front of him (and though he’d never admit it, making surprise trips to pet stores and humane societies was one of your more often used pick me ups for him).  He was particularly fond of things like silk, satin, and velvet, but textures in general seemed to draw him in.  

His touch often came when things were idle, when he was bored and in need of something to occupy his attention, or something to keep him grounded as his mind whirred away.  When it didn’t have to do with sensory stimulation, it was tied to his nerves.  It was a tossup as to whether or not it was the second or third one of those driving his need to have his hands on you at the moment.  

Likely a little of both.  

He guided you back along the passageway, moving you far enough away to be out of their earshot.  He released you, pacing slightly as he continued to think.  His nervous energy was infectious, and you shoved your hands into your pockets, hoping to find something to fiddle with.  You forced yourself to at least act like you were calm, however, and you leaned back against the wall, once again trying to think of a way out of this mess.  

“We gotta make a move,” he finally said, breaking the silence as his movements stilled.  Despite his assertion, his gaze remained uncertain, muddying the waters on just how necessary he felt it was.  

“We should to wait for Sam and Dean,” you answered.  You were outnumbered twelve to one.  If you had found this place a few days ago, you might have had some hope within the dozen people being kept prisoner not far from where you stood.  Now, however, the majority of them were weak with hunger and thirst, and you couldn’t risk putting them in harm’s way in the condition they were in.  

Gabriel stepped closer, placing his hand above your head on the wall as he leaned in toward you.

“We’ve been waiting” he reminded emphatically, trying to keep his voice at a low hush. “We wait any longer and our backup is going to need backup before coming in after us.”

He was right.  He was also so close you could feel his breath across your skin.  It smelled like citrus and sweetness, and you’d put money on it if you reached into his pockets you’d find a fresh skittles wrapper in there.  

You were about to crack a joke about it when the look on his face shifted and he suddenly pinned you beneath a strange stare.  It was packed to the brim in a way you’d never seen before, and there was no way you could hope to untangle all the threads woven through gold within the few short moments you had.

“Alright, the plan is, on my signal, run like hell,” he declared, leaving no room for argument.    

For a moment, you could only look at him.  Working with and even existing around the former archangel had been a significant learning curve for you.  It had taken you some time to pick up on his subtleties, to see past his facades, and to also calibrate your bullshit detector, which was currently giving you all sorts of off the charts readings.  

“Gabriel…”  

“The door on the other side of the room is the key,” he spoke over you, pushing things right along.  “You know which one I’m talking about?”

You pursed your lips, irritated, but you nodded.  It was one of several leading into it, but likely the only one that led out considering it was where most of the werewolves came through.

“Good.  Head straight for it.  Don’t look back,” he finished.

“What are you going to do?”  You demanded, suspicious of just how this plan of his was supposed to work.  

“The usual.  Bring a little pandemonium and chaos to the party.  Liven things up.  Or unliven them, ideally,” he smirked, though it seemed a little stiff.  He reached into his pocket with his free hand, and what he brought up for your inspection had your eyes widening.

“Is that a grenade?”

Where the hell had he gotten that?

He grinned.  “Always wanted to play around with one of these bad boys.  I’ve been guaranteed this one’s filled with silver.  Guess we’ll find out how reputable my man really is.”  

He quickly pocketed the weapon before reaching down to his side.   He unclipped his gun, handing it to you with that same intent stare as before.  

“Take it,” he ordered.

You glanced at the pistol, your stomach sinking as you realized what the real plan was.  

Your father always warned you never to find yourself a good man.  Good men, in this life, Sport, mean you die a widow.  Find yourself one you can trust with most things, but who’s selfish enough not to sacrifice his entire world for yours, unless that’s all that’s left to throw at something.  

Gabriel, was not a mediocre man.  Now matter how much he liked to drive others insane, or how much of an ass he could be, when it came down to it, he was a good one, and good men could never be trusted not to do something stupid when it came to protecting people they cared about.   

“I’m not leaving here without you,” you stated, the finality of that truth clearly intoned.  

The thought of making it out without him had you more terrified than not walking out of there at all.  

“We don’t know what’s through that door, sweetheart, and you need to clear a path for us pronto if we’re gonna get out of here… but you do whatever it takes to get those two muttonheads in here and get those people out,” he pulled his hand back from the wall, hooking a finger beneath your chin, an unexpected softness overtaking him. “Understood?”

Sometimes you wondered if he knew about the torch you carried for him (and just how big it was).  These moments seemed to be happening more and more, popping up in the middle of some impossible or dangerous situation, and always when he needed to convince you to do something that put him at risk.  

“I’m not leaving here without you and I mean it,” you reiterated.    

“Don’t argue with me, kid.  I am millions of years older than you.”  There was a wryness to his tone, though the undercurrent of patience suggested he wasn’t entirely joking.  

You put your hand on the gun, your fingers brushing over his.  You could feel your heart leaping into your throat at the determination in his gaze, and it made your words come out more as a plea than the directive it was intended to be.  

“And I’ve never left anyone behind on a hunt before.  Don’t ask me to do it to you.”    

Your tongue darted out across your bottom lip and his eyes immediately dropped down, drawn to the movement.  His head dipped ever so slightly closer, and your heart leapt right back down into your chest, hammering madly.  It looked as if he was about to – no, he wouldn’t – but he was so close and –

Something changed.  Something had shadows descending swift and harsh across amber and just as quickly as you were convinced he was going to kiss you, he stepped back.  He put his hand over yours, pushing the gun back in your direction.  

“Take it.”

You swallowed back on your disappointment, but it was too late; your fight had already been extinguished, and you ended up taking the weapon from him.  He fished out another magazine from his pocket, wordlessly handing it to you.  

His smile was meant to be reassuring, but you could see the weight clinging to the darks of his eyes, making them appear faded.  “You ready for this?”

***

The correct answer was no.  No you were not prepared for any of this.  You’d been put into messed up situations before, but this - this was intense.  

First of all, grenades were loud.  Really loud.  Especially in close quarters.  Your ears not only rang the same way they did when you fired your gun, but there was an additional muffled quality, dampening your hearing further.  

Second, they packed a punch.  You weren’t sure where Gabriel intended to hit, but it almost didn’t matter.  The shrapnel had scattered across the entire room, blowing bulbs, shattering glass, taking chunks out of furniture, or spraying them with holes.  

Third, when werewolves screamed in agony, they didn’t sound any different than any other person, and when they had pieces taken out of them, they didn’t look any different either.  

The entire experience was far more disorienting than you expected and for a moment you could only stare at the terrible scene in front of you.  

“Move!”

Gabriel’s voice edged into your awareness, but it was the way he dragged you, stumbling through the chaos, that had your mind sharpening again.  You worked on burying the horror, numbing it beneath the sudden rush of adrenaline and fear as members of the pack began to shake free from their own daze.  

One of them leapt up, rushing blindly at you, and it took three shots to take him down.  Another soon followed, and the way it closed in faster than you’d ever seen, its sights set on Gabriel, put you almost in a full-blown panic.  You caught it just above the heart, and your father’s voice swam back into your consciousness: almost only counts with horseshoes and hand grenades.  You miss a shot, Sport, and you potentially miss saving a life.      

The monster growled, and for a moment you feared it was going to lunge.  At least, that would have been the smart move.  It raised its arm high, projecting the wild swing it took at Gabriel, giving the ex-trickster and you plenty of notice to anticipate the attack.  He leapt back just as you pulled the trigger, and this time you hit your mark.   

The ones that came through the door were just as feral, and you realized it must be the smell driving them mad, an insanity-inducing cocktail comprised of blood, death, fear, anger, grief, and God knew what else.  Thankfully, it seemed like the majority were already in that room with you, because not only had you kicked the hornet’s nest, but hitting them this way had apparently stirred them into such a frenzy that nothing short of hitting their heart was going to slow them down.    

Unfortunately, most of the ones capable of attacking were almost recovered enough to start fighting back.

“We need to get to the hallway,” you urged.  You were way too exposed in the large area and not only did you need cover, but you needed a way to funnel the enemy so you weren’t dealing with all of them at once.

Gabriel continued forward, and you moved with him, your back close to his as you tried to keep them off you.  When there wasn’t anything coming, you went on the offensive, taking out the ones closest to pulling themselves to their feet before they could become a direct threat.  

“Clear!” He announced and you glanced back to find he had the door cracked.  He motioned for you to go through and you leveled a look of disbelief before dragging him alongside you.  Unfortunately, there was no way to lock the door behind you, leaving you both vulnerable to far too many wolves still capable of tearing your throat out.  

“Let’s just hope this place isn’t a maze,” you muttered before you both sprinted down the hall.  

***

You weren’t going to make it.  They were everywhere: lurking behind every door you passed, wandering into the hallways you needed to pass through.  Most of them had no idea you were coming, but the moment they laid eyes on you, they were primed to kill on sight.  

You needed a way to slow them down.  None of doors had locks that could be utilized without keys, and as more slowly built on your trail, the more you realized this couldn’t end well for  either of you.  

If you didn’t find a way to box them in or reach the exit (and the Winchesters), you were going to be in trouble.  You made sure to keep Gabe as close to you as possible, especially when any enemies were nearby, anticipating that he would make take matters into his own hands the first chance he got.  

You pushed through another doorway, surprised to find yourself in another large, conference room type area.  Gabriel immediately shut the door behind you, bracing his weight against it.  

“Get that chair,” he ordered, pointing to one against the wall.  You grabbed it and, guessing his intent, jammed it beneath the door handle.  Both of you worked on putting what else you could in front of it before quickly working on a second door that looked like it connected to some of the side areas you’d passed.  It wouldn’t hold forever, but it would certainly buy you some time.  

A chorus of growls sounded along the hallway you entered from as you rushed into the one you hoped led to the way out.  A thunderous rattling and the sound of wood splintering caught your ears.  You rounded the corner, the sound fading, only to be met with another identical looking hallway.  You finally realized you had no idea just how big this place was or how many more corridors you had to get through before you could even get out.  

You needed a new plan, and fast.  

Hope flared fierce within your chest as the two of you took another turn, and the door at the end of this hall appeared different from the rest.  A large, steel, sliding bar was installed as some sort of deadbolt, which could only mean one thing.

Relief flooded your system, overriding some of the adrenaline as you and Gabriel exchanged a look.  He smiled, taking hold of your hand, and for a moment you actually believed that maybe, just maybe, things would turn out alright.  

You had always been a sucker for the hope of a happy ending.  

The unmistakable echo of footsteps and snarls informed you this end would be bloody and brutal.  

Gabriel picked up his pace, practically dragging you and your short legs along as you did your best to keep up with him.  You were only slowing him down.  If he wasn’t so concerned about you, he could have been through that next door and easily increasing the distance between the monsters and himself.  

An idea formed in your head and you winced, because he was going to be so pissed at you.  It didn’t matter.  You weren’t going to be what dragged down such a complicated and magnificent being who deserved far more than what the world had ever given him.  

He had also been the one who handed you all the guns.

You let him break away from you, allowing a little distance to form as you pretended to be winded. He turned slightly, keeping you in his peripheral even as he opened the door and peeked around the edge of it.

“It’s clear!  Come on!” He gestured for you to hurry and you waited until he was fully through the threshold before picking up your pace.  It was perfect timing.  As he he kept watch down the hallway, he was too distracted to notice the way you were working toward an all out sprint until you were almost on top of him, and he had just enough time for his brows to hit his hairline before you dropped your shoulder.  You collided with him, sending him sprawling across the floor.  You wasted no time, dropping to your knee and removing a small six-shooter strapped to your ankle for oh shit situations just like this one. You prayed it would be enough and slid it in his direction.

“What the hell are you doing?”  He wheezed.  You grimaced, realizing you had knocked the wind out of him.   

“Whatever it takes,” you apologized, guilt bleeding through your words.  

His eyes went wider than you’d ever seen, and your mouth went dry as you saw the same fear you felt earlier at the thought of leaving him behind.  

“Get them in as fast as you can,” you said, proud of the steadiness in your tone, though the reality of what you were about to do was about to come crashing down upon you.  

“Wait,” he gasped, hastily pulling himself to his feet as he tried to reason with you  “You don’t need to do anything stupid, short stack.  We’re almost there.”

You backed up when you saw the way his body was tensing, as if preparing to throw himself back through that doorway or you over his shoulder.  Even knowing how fast he was, you underestimated how much quicker he could move than you, especially given the right motivation.  You barely made it back around the door in time, and he was so close when you slammed it you might have literally shut it on his face.   

A frustrated growl rose from behind it as you tried to keep him from pushing back through.  You fumbled with the deadbolt, struggling to keep your weight braced against it and keep it steady long enough to lock it.  The way he kept throwing himself wildly at it made it impossible for you to get the metal to line up properly.  

“Father, dammit, open the door!”  He shouted, a panicked edge entering his tone.  “Don’t do this - don’t you dare do this to me, y/n, please.”

What started as a command, slowly morphed into a plea, and your resolve almost broke beneath his desperation.  The pack was close to descending upon you, however, reminding you why you needed to do this.  You lowered yourself, pushing your feet against the floor with renewed purpose.  Putting everything you had into it, you shoved back, managing to steady the door long enough for you to jam the bar into place.  

“Go!” You shouted when he continued pounding.  The hair on the back of your neck prickled, rising uncomfortably, your signal you were out of time.  Steeling yourself for the oncoming onslaught, you turned, drawing both of your weapons.  You had just swapped out the magazines and settled into your stance when the first one rounded the corner.  

As the pack began to flood the hall in front of you, Gabriel’s frantic banging faded beneath the loud pop of your firearms, and you poured all your concentration into making each bullet count before you ran out of them or luck.  

***

Despite the fact you escaped death’s clutches relatively unharmed and didn’t have to leave anyone behind, you had a feeling you were so, so screwed still.

Gabriel hadn’t spoken a word to you since your sincere attempt at saving his life (and the lives of all the captives that had still been waiting in cages to be rescued).  You weren’t sure if he was seething, or just perfectly happy to let Dean have first dibs at a tirade.  If you had to guess, he was beyond the emotional capability of a normal human being when it came to whatever sentiment was lurking in his gaze, if that darkness lining gold was as infinite as it seemed.  

He wouldn’t even look at or acknowledge you, his stare fixed somewhere out in the darkness as you headed toward the closest twenty-four hour diner Sam could find.

“Are you even listening to me?” Dean demanded.  

No, actually, you weren’t.

You knew Dean cared, and the reason he was thundering his disapproval down upon you was that you had scared the shit out of all of them, which was why you were actively ignoring him.  You weren’t the type of person that did well receiving lectures, but you also weren’t the type to hold it against them for being furious you gave them an unconventional stress test on their hearts.  

“Dean, just take it easy, alright?” Sam interjected.  

Dear, sweet, Sammy.  He had tried to disarm the nuke his brother had become once all the danger had passed and the people had made it safely out.  Not only had he failed, but he had drawn an impressive amount of his brother’s ire for a few minutes and you hadn’t expect him to intervene on your behalf again.  

You’d have to remember to pick up his favorite candy or beer when you had a chance.  

“Sammy, stay out of this,” Dean warned.  

“Look, she gets it.  Only you, me, and Gabriel are allowed to engage in risky heroics,” the younger man sassed back.  

Correction: you were going to have to take this man on a vacation weekend for the lip he just gave.  

The look on Dean’s face was priceless.  The mixture of shock and utter betrayal had you sniggering quietly to yourself.  

“I can’t believe you,” he shook his head in disappointment.  “She could have died –”

“But she didn’t.  In fact, her idea likely saved them both and all those people,” Sam tried reasoning.  His brother, however, was beyond hearing it at the moment.

“The only reason any of this worked out was because we came along and prevented her from getting ripped to shreds!”  He insisted, his eyes swinging back to you in the mirror.  “I don’t know what’s going on, but you are getting sloppy, really sloppy, and if you can’t get your head in the game, I’m benching you.”

His words were like throwing gasoline onto a small, flickering flame.  Everything exploded in a brief, fiery burst as your patience finally wore thin.

“Listen here, Winchester, you are not my father, and since I don’t have any lingering daddy issues like some people in this car–” and by some, you meant all of them, “– I am not in search of one.  My own never got away with telling me I couldn’t hunt, and you sure as hell aren’t going to, so you better check whatever part of your issues are causing you to treat me like I’m some god damn child.  We have all taken risks before.  We’ve all thrown ourselves to the wolves to save someone else, so don’t lecture me because it was my turn to do it.”

“You didn’t just throw yourselves to the wolves, you locked yourself in there with them!  A pack of rabid ones, I might add,” Dean snarkily reminded.  “And if we had come in one minute later –”

“But.  You.  Didn’t,” you snapped, eyes burning as you met his gaze in the rear-view mirror.  “I do get it.  I almost died, but almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”

Surprise cut through the bulk of his fury just before he turned back to the road.  White-knuckled fingers gripped the steering wheel and you watched the muscle on the side of his jaw go rigid.

“Not in this family it doesn’t,” he muttered.    

“I’m not a Winchester.”  The words were out of your mouth before you realized what it was you were saying.  A heavy silence fell between you and for the first time, Gabriel’s attention drifted back to what was happening in the vehicle.  

You would have thought you had insulted their father… or brought up the uncomfortable fact that their father got yours killed by how thick the tension had become.  

“Don’t you pull that, crap,” Dean grumbled, obviously wounded by the remark.  “We have been through too much together for you to act like you’re not one of us.”  

He shook his head emphatically, as if he couldn’t believe you had the gall to insist you didn’t have a place among them.  That wasn’t what you were saying, but there was no point in telling him that now.  Dean wasn’t likely to hear much of anything until he’d had some time to calm down (and put something in his stomach).  

You were all running on empty, and you hoped stopping for food would help settle most of the discourse on just how stupid you were for wanting to protect your friend.  

You rode the rest of the way in silence, which thankfully wasn’t far.  Before long, Sam was guiding Dean off the highway to a small building no bigger than a bus.  There were more cars than you expected at this hour, and Dean was forced to pull around into the shadows of a small parking area behind the building.  Once he found a spot, he shut off the engine, and you honestly couldn’t get out of that car fast enough.  Unfortunately, neither could Dean, and the way he strode around the vehicle toward you with renewed purpose suggested he still had yet to finish with you.  

No doubt he was coming to browbeat you properly, face to face.  

“Dean –” Sam sighed, his tone saying enough as he moved to interrupt his brother.  Dean just put his hand up, his eyes fixed intently on you as he approached.  

“I get why being one of us might not be the most desirable thing, given our family’s histories,” he began, his voice much calmer than before.  “But for the record, you are one of us in every way that matters.”  

The earnestness beneath his words caught you off guard.   The dark pit of sentiments leftover from this evening began to churn, and a slow-creeping guilt crawled its way up from within it.  You pursed your lips, trying to force it, and everything else rushing to the surface, back down where you could keep a tight lid on it.   

“People come and go in our line of work, but, for whatever reason, you haven’t.  You’ve chosen us as much as we’ve chosen you, and you can’t expect us to be thrilled when we come into a place fully anticipating to find that we’ve lost you, understand?”

The problem wasn’t that you hadn’t understood this from the beginning, it was that you didn’t appreciate feeling like you were being spoken down to for doing what you thought was right.  

It didn’t matter now.  Everything had worked out.  Everyone seemed to be done yelling at you.  You would all move past this, and by sunup, everything would go back to normal again.  

You nodded up at Dean and he smiled.  

“Good,” he said, clapping you so heartily on the shoulder your entire body swayed, “Because I’m starving.  Let’s go eat.”

He released you, that purpose in his frame now turned elsewhere as he wasted no time heading toward the diner.  

Sam saw you hesitate and he lingered, watching you lean against the car, and take a moment to enjoy the crisp, fall air around you.   

“You ok?” He asked.  

You nodded.  “I just need a minute.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing slightly before trailing after his brother.  

You shoved your hands into your pockets, looking up at the night sky.  You turned, your back resting against the cold metal as your eyes drifting over the twinkling lights scattered across the darkness.  You were surprised at how clearly you could see the stars, and as you focused on losing yourself to the infiniteness of the galaxies above you, you felt the guilt and horrors from this evening begin to drift away.

It also helped to have your mind wandering back to the last time you’d stopped to admire the heavens.

It had been a few months ago, right after you and Gabriel had solved a case involving a Wendigo that had wandered into a national forest, preying on campers.  The two of you had decided to stay a little longer, and the park rangers had been so grateful for your help that they had allowed you to stay, free of charge.  The whole idea had come from a remark Gabe had made about not seeing the allure of “roughing it” in the wilderness.

You were only supposed to stay a few days, but those few turned into a few more and before you knew it, an entire week had passed.  It was the best week you’d had since you father had died.  Possibly the best week you’d ever had, and you knew it had less to do with the what or where and far more to do with the who.

You caught movement out of the corner of your eye and you found the who in question moving around the side of the car.  You hadn’t even realized the former archangel was still out there.  You stood up, about to move toward him when you caught the dark look on his face.

“Gabe?”  

He pushed you back against the car, his grip tight on your shoulder as he leveled a finger right in your face.

“Don’t you ever do something like that again, do you understand?!”

For a moment you could only blink.  You’d heard Gabriel yell before, mostly at Dean, but he had never raised his voice to you.  He wasn’t shouting now, either, though you wished he would, because whatever this was was far more intense and unsettling than having him unleash on you the way Dean had.   

“If those two idiots want to be big, dumb heroes, let them, but you - you are too important to be pulling stunts like that!”  There’s so much beneath his tone, so much swirling within gold, that you haven’t a clue as to what he was talking about, only that he believed it.  

“Gabriel, I’m - I’m nobody,” you stammered, so confused as to why he would think you were anything special.

“You are everything!” He insisted, though it wasn’t his anger that hit the tipping point.  It was something far more potent as his voice grew strained with the underlying trepidation.  A mist formed over amber, and your eyes widened as you realized what was happening.

You’d only seen him tear up once.  It was a brief and powerful thing to witness, a mighty archangel on his knees before you, moved beneath the burden of his humanity.  Helplessness was not a concept Gabriel did well with, then or now, and you suddenly realize it was one you inadvertently reintroduced by closing that door on him today.

You should have known better.  You were the only one who’d been there with any consistency since his transformation, and being left alone (even though you know the Winchesters would continue to look after him) must have been a terrifying prospect for him.

“I’m sorry…”  You took the hand still pointing at you into your own, folding your fingers around his until they finally relax within your grip.  

His eyes closed a moment and he inhaled slowly.  He took his time breathing back out, and when he looked back at you, everything had changed.  The chaos settled to an absolute certainty, one you’d only ever seen from beings with lifespans far greater than yours. It was a reminder of how much more he used to be, and the vulnerability and genuine emotion beneath his words also showed you how much more he was now.

“I can’t do this without you,” he confessed, and for a brief moment he looked utterly lost.

You swallowed.  It took a lot for him to admit his weaknesses (or as most people called them, feelings), but this was more than that.  This was huge for him, and you couldn’t help but feel like there was something more hanging in the balance, something more than just what he had told you.

You took a moment, weighing your words carefully.  Gabriel rarely put himself out there like this, and the last thing you wanted was to give the wrong response and discourage him from ever doing so again.

Sometimes the simplest and safest thing you can offer someone is the truth.  Your father’s voice sounded in the back of your mind.  It was comforting to have his advice so ingrained in you that he was still able to provide it during times like this.  

“Why do you think I pushed you through that door?”  You asked, your voice timid as you stepped out on that shaky limb beside your friend.  

For a moment he just studied you, his gaze hard and appraising.  He almost looked like he didn’t trust you, but you had never given him a reason to doubt what you said… had you?

“I’ve always hunted alone,” you explained, a nervous thrum flooding your veins.  “As soon as I was old enough to, anyway.  My father thought it was for the best.  He always told me when you hunt with someone you care about, you make more mistakes, and you take different risks.”  

Your teeth worried briefly over your bottom lip.  You’d never shared this with anyone before.  You’d never had anyone to share something like this with.  It had always been about keeping people at arm’s length, especially after your father’s death.  

Then along came Gabriel, who had you breaking every rule you and your father had ever laid out.  

“He was right.  I wouldn’t have barred that door for just anyone… but I’ve also come to realize, he was wrong, about doing this all alone.  I can’t do this without you either.”  You gave him a shy, nervous smile, hoping that this would settle the storm rumbling within honeyed hues.  Everything only grew fiercer, however, and you weren’t certain anything you said had actually helped rather than somehow making a mess of things.  

You were about to apologize when the hand at your shoulder slid up to the back of your neck.  You went completely still, your mind reeling, and the way he regarded you was as if this were a test.  His eyes watched your every movement as his thumb began to trace along the fine hairs at your nape.  Goosebumps raced out from beneath his touch, compounded by ripples of excitement as you watched his gaze trail down to your lips.   

“I want to kiss you.” His voice was rough with emotion and you blinked, unsure if you heard him correctly.  The way he cupped your face with his other hand, however, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone, suggested you were not suffering from any auditory hallucinations.  

The look in his eyes grew as the seconds passed, but he continued to wait, and you realized despite his statement, there was a clear question being posed.  You tentatively reached up, running your fingers along the beginnings of a beard growing out along his cheeks.

“Then what are you waiting for?” You asked, your fingers daring as they drifted into the mess of curls behind his head.  He waited for you to pull him toward you before he did the same to you, and the moment your mouth touched his, a thrilling shock wave erupted straight down the center of you.  

There was a hesitance beneath both your lips, as if neither one of you could believe this was really happening.  Perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps you were still back in the werewolf den, bleeding out, and to block out the horror of your final moments, your brain had conjured your greatest desire instead.

If this was how you went, you could live with that… or die with it, as the case might have actually been.

You would likely die either way, with the way your pulse took off when he nudged you back against the car.  His fingers weaved through the back of your hair, tilting your head back just as he grew emboldened enough to take your lower lip between teeth, nibbling and drawing out a pleased sigh from somewhere deep inside you.  His tongue swept out, stealing a taste of you before his mouth became firmer, ravenous to the point you questioned just how long it had been since he’d done this with anyone.    

His hands joined his hungry exploration, slipping beneath your shirt in search of skin.  He ghosted along your stomach before doing a wide arc around your side and down your lower back.  His fingers dipped beneath the band of your jeans, brushing along the edge of your underwear as he circled back toward the front of you.  

You knew exactly where this was headed, and you had a feeling if you didn’t refocus him soon, he was going to take you right there against the side of car.  

The thought only had you even dizzier with desire.  

You reached beside you, fumbling for the handle.  When you finally got a grip on it, you nudged him forward with your hips.  He took the hint, but not before he grabbed the loopholes of your pants, jerking you flush against him.  You gasped as his erection dug into the front of you, and you managed you guide him sideways enough to swing the door open.  You grabbed him by his jacket, pulling him with you into the car.  Despite Dean’s voice niggling at the back of your mind (watch the shoes on the upholstery!), you dropped down onto the seat, footwear and all, dragging yourself back by the elbows as Gabe climbed in over you.  

He paused long enough to shut the door behind him, and gold glinted in a way you’d never seen before.  That was when the the archangel in him emerged, coming out in the sinuous, graceful way he crawled up the length of you.  The human in him, however, was what had him pressing his mouth back to yours again in haste, his tongue probing for entrance as he slipped his knee between your thighs.  

You opened both lips and legs for him, a rush of heat and electricity enveloping you when he nestled against your mound and his tongue slide over yours.  Your moan was echoed from him as he rocked his hips against you.  He was already so hard, just as you were certain you were already soaked, and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.  

When his hand glided up to your breast, fixing that transgression, you almost swore he read your mind, human or not.  

You shifted out of your jacket, removing one of several hindrances as he continued mapping the curves of your body.  You decided it was time to get to know his, your hands diving beneath his shirt before your palms skimmed the soft contour of his stomach.  Three years ago, you imagined what you were touching was the rock-hard, washboard example of perfection.  

You found this version of him far more attractive.  

Your fingers wandered restlessly, trying to explore, but the fire he expertly stoked made you feel as if you couldn’t get enough of him fast enough.  Your hands reached down the back of him, cupping that delicious ass you’d spent far too much time admiring, before giving it a firm squeeze.  You followed with a sensual roll of your hips, enjoying the currents of desire that sparked upon hearing the way his breath hitched in response.  

He broke away from your mouth, lips blazing across your jaw and down the side of your neck.  Every lick, every suck, every bite had a purpose, and with every mark he left behind, he was claiming you inch by inch.  It drove you wild, feeling the insatiable need beneath his touch, feeling his own want overflowing onto you along with the heat of his body.  

It was too much and, yet, not nearly enough.  You became acutely aware of just how hot it was, how stifling it felt beneath all your clothing with him pressed against you.  It was an issue that needed fixing.  Now.  

You tugged open the front of your pants, kicking off your shoes, and the moment they hit the floor, he was up on his knees.  His fingers curled beneath denim and cotton, and with one swift yank, he had your pants and panties down to your ankles.  One more tug had them free, where they went sailing over his shoulder against the window.  

His gaze roamed up the length of you, darkening with desire.  “I want to see you.  All of you.”  

Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t deny him what he asked, not when he looked at you in a way no other man ever had.  It was like you were the only thing that existed, like seeing you laid bare before him was what he needed, more than the air in his lungs, more than for his heart to keep beating.  More than anything, he just needed you, and the warmth that rushed into your cheeks was equal parts excitement and shyness.  

You nervously pulled your shirt over your head, your eyes dropping away from his uncertainly.  It had never mattered before what men thought about your body.  Most of them were drunk enough to not care about the scars, scrapes, and bruises that came from hunts, but Gabriel was different.  How many bodies had he seen in his lifetime?  How many examples of perfection were already seared into his mind?  

By the time you were out of your bra, the silence was more deafening than your pulse pounding in your ears.

He wasn’t just quiet.  He was too quiet, and when you chanced a glance back up at him, you saw why.  Everything was different.  The carnal heat had been extinguished, leaving a vacuum of something in its wake.  His face was completely unreadable as his eyes moved down the front of you, his throat bobbing once, twice, and when he finally completed his appraisal, he looked almost astonished.

“You are so beautiful,” he rasped, breathless as he reverently ran his hands along the back of your calves.  A deep flush cascaded down from your cheeks, flooding your chest and running straight down the length of you.  His palms smoothed up around the side of your thighs, and when they rose above the swell of your hips he dropped down onto his elbows, caging your lower body in place.  He brought his mouth down to your hipbone, kissing and nipping his way across the sensitive band of skin beneath your stomach as he made his way toward the other side.  

Your body squirmed beneath his attention as he diverted his course up towards your navel.  You loved not only what he was doing to you, but how he looked as he did it.  The way tousled, golden strands fell down across his face.  The way amber turned absolutely molten whenever it flicked up to watch your own reactions.  The way his lip would curl ever so slightly when he drew a particularly satisfying sound from you.  Everything about him was intoxicating, ensnaring your senses and drawing you further beneath dark and decadent waves that lapped persistently at your core.  

There was no way you were going to hold out much longer.  

It took incredible restraint on your part not to divest him of his remaining clothing; even more to refrain from climbing into his lap to ride him in a way he’d never experienced before.

The inner edge of your resolve crumbled, and you grabbed his hand, cupping it over your breast.  He groaned, his mouth stuttering as he brought his other hand up and brushed his thumbs across your aching peaks.  The breathy moan that escaped your lips was pure satisfaction, and you arched into his touch, your body begging for more.  He languidly circled the taut nubs before his mouth came up and latched onto one, lavishing you until he had you mewling beneath his ministrations.

A sense of urgency built beneath his movements, matching the flames of your desire that were quickly turning into an uncontrollable wildfire.  The slightest touch had pleasure singing across your nerve-endings, and you couldn’t recall anyone ever making you feel this way.  

The fingers from his free hand lightly dragged along your inner thigh.  The sensation suddenly vanished, only to reappear along your folds.  Your hips jerked as a solitary fingertip traced lightly down the front of them.  You whimpered when he curled the tip inward, drawing it up along your slit until he found your entrance.  

“Oh, father,” he groaned, and you were right there with him as he sank his finger into your entrance.  “You’re so wet already.”

Your head dropped back, your eyes sliding shut as you focused on the abundance of sensations he was creating.  The way he just held his finger there a moment was torturous, and just when you were worried that devious side of him was going to make an appearance, he withdrew, easing a second one inside of you.  The ensuing stretch your walls gave has your hips lifting straight off the seat, taking him deeper within you.  

You let out a half-groan, half-growl, and you were as gratified by the addition as you were dissatisfied when everything suddenly came to a halt.  When you glanced up at him to see what happened, you found him with his eyes shut, looking deep in concentration as the tip of his nose came to rest in the valley between your breasts.  You couldn’t help but wonder what it was he was savoring at that moment.  Was it the fact you were already soaked?  Was it the heat of your core that captivated him or was it simply the snug way you gripped around his fingers?  

“I want to be inside you,” he pleaded and when his eyes reopened, liquid honey had all but been swallowed by pools of wanton lust that had his pupils blown wide.  His mouth was hard and hungry as it seared its way back up to your neck where he sucked greedily against your collarbone.  You pulled a breath in through your teeth, feeling the a mark form just as he began to scissor in and out of you.  Your rocked your hips against his hand, urging him on.   

“Please,” he beseeched.

“God, yes,” you sighed.  “I need–” you cried out as he curled his fingers upward, hitting that delicious spot inside you just right.  “–you now.”

He withdrew both hands from your body, and you whined, aching at the sudden loss of him.  His shoes bounced off the door as he frantically kicked them off, but that was the most he removed, unable to wait another second before he was in you.  He barely had his pants undone when he reached within his boxers, pulling himself out, aligning the tip, and pushing into you all in one swift movement.  

Your groan melded with his, a duet of sinful satisfaction singing through the vehicle.  The way you stretched around him was glorious, your entire body tingling with anticipation.  He drew back a few inches, easing into you even further and the world began to melt away around the edges at how amazingly full you felt with him inside you.  

“Oh… fuck,” he grunted, jaw clenched tight and his fingers dug uncomfortably into your waist.  

“Gabriel,” you began when he didn’t move; his head drifted up, eyes locking with yours.  “I want you to fuck me.”

There was as much dryness as impatience in your tone. Technically, he had only asked about being inside of you.  

“As you wish, sugar,” his voice was low, husky, and filled with the same naked desire that glowed within gold as he flashed you a devastating smile.  He pulled back out of you, dragging his tip along your walls, almost withdrawing completely before rolling his hips back into you.  He repeated the languid movements as he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the top of your breasts, teasing at your peaks as he gave you some time to adjust to his size.  His teeth flashed out, gently scraping along your nipple just before he released it, only to snap himself back against you.  

You yelped, caught off guard by the hard, sudden thrust.  His eyes were immediately on you, concern breaking through the heated haze of his stare.  You pushed his pants down to his knees, digging your fingers into his ass.  This was one part of him that seemed to always stay firm, mostly thanks to all the running around he did on cases since he hated staying idle for very long.  

“Again,” you urged, nipping hungrily along his jaw, and though the noise you made when he did was sharp, there was no doubt about whether it was pleasure or pain.  “Faster.”

His gaze never left yours as he followed your directive, increasing his pace until he was pounding away at you properly.  

“Oh fu-uck, Gabe,” you panted, raising your hips to meet every one of his thrusts.   He grabbed your knee, settling your thigh up against his waist.  You eagerly raised the other, locking your legs behind him.

“Father, you feel amazing, shortcake.  So hot.  So tight,” he purred.  “This is - I’ve never - I want to fuck you in every position imaginable and then when we’re finished, I want to come up with ones that have never been done before.”

The more he talked, the more you unconsciously clenched around him.  The throaty quality of his voice as he began to unravel beneath the input his senses were feeding him was hotter than anything you’d ever heard before.  The hunger beneath his words only added to the throbbing ache building within your stomach and you were already so close to coming completely undone.  

His hands slipped beneath your thighs, reaching up to generously cup your backside before lifting it off the seat.  He pushed into you again, testing the new angle and depth.  You loved the way his eyes fluttered as he went as far as this position would let him.  Wanting more for him, for both of you, you arched your back, lifting further off the seat and settling your hands beneath you to help hold yourself steady.  You dug your heels into his thighs, drawing him in as far as you could, relishing the low moan you received as you clenched down around him.

He began to move again, but this position didn’t allow him to snap his hips as far back as he could before.  This one kept him closer, forcing him to make shallower thrusts that had him repeatedly dragging across your g-spot before burying deep within you once again.  You weren’t sure at what point you lost the ability for language, but the profanity tumbling from your mouth turned to incoherent mewls and you bit down on your lip as he sent you over the edge harder and faster than you ever had before.    

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, your walls shuddering around him, drawing him so close to his own brink that his pace faltered in an attempt to keep from careening right over it.  He slowed everything down, taking time to nibble his way along one side of your neck before turning his attention to the other.  

“Sweetheart, I want to come inside you.”

You’d never let anyone do that before.  Your life had been a combination of semi-dating attempts with hunters (which never ended well) and one night stands.  You’d never trusted anyone enough not to make them wear a condom, let alone do what he was asking.     

“I don’t think I’ve wanted anything so badly,” he murmured, finding his way back to your lips where he his kisses turned tender.  He brought his hand up to your cheek, and the affection beneath his touch made you realize how much you wanted it, too.

“Then come for me,” you told him, another rule shattering beneath his influence. 

It was all he needed to hear.  His hips began to move again, thrusting into you faster and faster until they begin to stutter.  You felt him thickening, and you tightened around him.  A deep growl erupted from deep within him as he began to pulsate, and he slammed into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled his seed inside of you.   

He slumped forward, his head resting on your chest and you both need a moment to catch your breath.  Your hand slipped through soft strands, idly stroking through the soft mess of curls at the back of his neck.  He made a satisfied sound, and the vibrations in his chest hummed lightly against your skin. 

“This isn’t how I wanted our first time to be,” he apologized.   

The fact he’d put thought into your first time had your heart soaring, as does the implication that  there were going to be many more times to follow.  

His body tensed and his head suddenly popped up as he realized what he’d just admitted.  “I mean… that’s if… I didn’t even ask…”

The way he fumbled over his thoughts made you wonder how much the human condition really interfered with the eloquence you knew he had to possess after billions of years of existing.

“Hey,” you interrupted, throwing him a lifeline.  “You’re going to fuck me in every known position, remember?”

He let out a breath of a laugh, a bashful smile drawing out the dimples along his cheeks.  “If that’s what you want.  I’d certainly like the chance to do this again, properly.”

He looked a little sheepish, though it was hard to tell how much of the color in his cheeks was from this conversation and how much was just residual afterglow.  

“I believe you did just fine putting what you needed where,” you teased.  The truth was, he’d done more than fine.  It had probably been one of the best sexual experiences of your life, because you actually had feelings for him.  Unfortunately, one of them happened to be you feeling vulnerable and you found it hard to admit just how deep in this you already were.

“Shortcake, if you’re not screaming my name, I’m not doing it right,” the wryness beneath his words became overshadowed by his lingering disappointment in himself.

You let out a silent sigh, and the fingers in his hair unconsciously stroked a little more lovingly.  You didn’t know how to convince him he was wrong.  Whenever you couldn’t change his mind, you tended to distract him until another opportunity presented itself for you to be heard.  

“I don’t think I’ve ever screamed anyone’s name before,” you mused, waving that fact in his face much like a matador would wave a red flag.  

His smile stretched into a full, cat-like grin as he took the bait.  “Oh, sweetheart, we are going to have to change that.”

Challenge accepted his gaze said, and the wicked promise that gleamed back at you had heat stirring beneath the surface once more.  As much as you wanted a taste of what he had in mind, a car door slammed across the lot, reminding you of just where you were and who exactly would be coming for you if you didn’t make an appearance inside soon.  

“I look forward to you trying.”  You gave him a playful smile, followed by a slow, sweet kiss.  

“I suppose that’s my cue,” he mumbled against your lips, stealing a few more kisses before drawing away.  He eased out of you before moving back across the seat to give you room to sit up.  He took a moment to pull his pants up and secure them before helping you gather your clothing.  

You murmured your thanks as he handed you a pile of denim.  It took you a minute to find your underwear in it, and the silence that stretched on between you started to turn awkward.

“Guess this makes me an honorary Winchester,” you began, filling it with the first thought that came to your mind.

“Oh?” He asked idly, as he bent over grab his shoes.   

“I’ve slept with an archangel in the backseat of Baby right after making terribly heroic and terribly stupid decisions.  I’d say that pretty much qualifies me,” you explained dryly, hoping to keep things light.

“Former archangel,” he reminded, a bitter note beneath his words.  “But yeah.  That about meets the criteria.”  

“You’ll always be an archangel, Gabe,” you informed him and his posture went a little more rigid as he tried to jam his foot into his shoe.  “It’s not the measure of your strength that determines that, or even the status of your being.  You’re not any less of something just because you don’t have your grace.  You’re still you, and part of that will always be absolute.”  

He looked up at you, and while the heaviness was still there, there was also an appreciation that relieved some of the weight he carried.  “That’s some pretty deep insight you just threw at me, kid.  You sure you don’t have some infiniteness inside you?”

“I believe I just did,” you quipped with an unabashed grin.  

Pride tugged at his lips in a way that brightened his features and breathed an air of confidence into him you’d never seen before.  You couldn’t help but wonder if this was who he truly was, minus the burden of humanity.  If so, he must have been quite the sight.

It took you a few more minutes to put yourself back to rights.  Gabe waited patiently for you to finish, a small smile playing at his lips as he watched you try to tame the mess your hair had become by jamming it back into a ponytail.  You managed to win that fight, though only marginally, and his hand was resting on the door handle by the time you slipped back into your jacket.  

“You know, I really did enjoy this,” you reassured, placing a kiss on his cheek.  “Besides, you know if we took any longer, Dean would have just come along and –”

A sudden, sharp rapping on top of the roof has you both startled  and you shoot toward the opposite side of the car and it was like you were sixteen again getting caught in the back of Johnny Moretti’s Hurst Cutlass.  

“You both better be fully clothed in there because if I open this door and see something I don’t wanna see, someone’s getting shot,” Dean warned.  

Correction, this was exactly like that time your father caught you in the back of that vehicle.

Gabriel’s brows both raise high and he gave you a look that suggested he really is questioning if there wasn’t some divinity in you after all.  

“Wait in here,” you whispered before opening your door.  Your hand reached up to grab the frame, and you simultaneously hoisted yourself up as you stepped out, your head popping over the top of the vehicle to arch a brow at your friend.  

“What is taking you two so long?” Dean demanded, his eyes appraising and suspicious as they undoubtedly took note of your flushed features.  

“You’re not the only one who thinks I’m an idiot,” you informed him, latching on to the only explanation you could come up with for your lingering blush and your absence.  “Would you rather we hashed it out in there or out here?”

“Neither,” he said after a few moments.  “I’d rather you get your asses inside and order so that we can leave sometime before sunup.”  He jerked his hand back in the direction of the building impatiently.  “You have five minutes to get in there or we’re paying the bill and leaving.”

Dean turned on his heel, striding back back toward the diner without giving you the opportunity to say another word.  

You rolled your eyes and shut your door, your stomach, more than Dean’s attitude, urging you to do as you were told.  You made your way around the back of the vehicle just as Gabriel was getting out.  

“Everything alright?” He asked, moving to your side.     

All things considered, you would have to say that things were pretty damn good and the only reason they weren’t excellent was due to the fact you really did need to eat something.  

“Next time, you should just bend me over the hood.  Especially if Dean’s been an ass about something,” you suggested, and you were rewarded with a smirk.

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart,” he warned, his hand sliding beneath your jacket to play with the soft material of your shirt as you both made your way toward the building.  

ALL the tags:

@girl-next-door-writes  @sumara62 @fand0maniac @feelmyroarrrr @omgreganlove @jannalionheart @baritonechick, @deaths-maiden @lucifer-in-leather @stone-met   @the-moose-of-baskerville @summer-binging-spn  @blondecoffeecake  @raspberrypuddle @ourloveisforthelovely @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @crowley-you-sinnamon-roll @tistai @christinalibertymikaelson

Gabe Squad: @theblackenedsky @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @pepperwoodatnight @lacqueluster @samikitten @ludwigs-a-monster @a-vast-african-plain @onlyanothersocialcasualty @kazosa @cobrakai–1972 @nobodys-baby-now

[oopsbirdficced]

@regina-del-cielo asked: *barges in* Hello dear! I heard you were out of prompts! So… romantic Aiolos/Saga with #37 “You didn't think I'd let you spend Christmas alone, did you?”, romantic Rhada/Kanon with #6 “Christmas doesn't have to be about family, ya know?”, friendship Minos/Aiacos with #5 “That's not how Santa Claus works…”, friendship Deathmask/Shura with #13 “Ho ho ho, bitch.”, and romantic Milo/Aiolia with #44 “You've never had a New Year's kiss?”! Hope you don't mind having so many - if there are, just choose the ones that inspire you most! :D thank you lots!

(1/5, thanks for all of these! I might be slow, my mom is coming for a brief visit, which is exciting.)

Minos was developing a sudden, debilitating headache. There, in his office, his sanctum from the general insanity of the rest of the Underworld, Aiacos was… lounging… in his desk chair.

“What are you doing here, Aiacos?” he asked flatly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Aiacos smiled roguishly.

“Spreading the spirit of the season, Minos.” He looked utterly insufferable. “Like the outfit?” He stood, arms outstretched, and Minos grimaced.

“I had been attempting not to notice it.” He admitted. “I'm still not wholly certain what it's supposed to be, outside of something you should not be wearing in public.” It was a thoroughly skimpy outfit, a scrap of a skirt in red velvet, the bottom hem trimmed with plush white faux fur. On the top he had a bustier of the same red velvet with decorative white satin buttons lining the front. He had cuffs and a choker of faux fur, and a Santa hat that matched the outfit perfectly. Under the skirt he wore a pair of white silk stockings, and a pair of matched, knee-high high-heeled boots, red trimmed with white faux fur at the top.

“How are you walking in those?” He asked, in lieu of the question he really wanted to ask. Aiacos shrugged lightly.

“Violate taught me?” He offered. Minos frowned.

“I don't recall ever having seen her wear heels,” he remarked, before sighing. “Very well, I give up. How is this supposed to- what was it, ‘spread the spirit if the season’?” He asked, thoroughly resigned. Aiacos rolled his eyes.

“I'm Santa! Sexy Santa.” He wiggled his eyebrows ridiculously. Minos gently rested his face in his hands.

“That's not how Santa Claus works…” he said, softly despairing. “Why?” Aiacos laughed- more a cackle than anything.

“You should see your face! I fuckin’ knew this would be worth it!” He choked out, before propping his hands on his knees and practically screaming with laughter.

“Lord Minos, is everything-” Luné leaned in with a perfunctory knock on the doorframe, before his eyes landed on Aiacos. He promptly looked as though he had bitten into a lemon, backing back out. “Never mind.” He muttered.

“Wait, Luné. I'll accompany you. It's been awhile since I did an overview of the Halls of Judgement.” He said abruptly, turning on his heel and marching out of the office.

“As you say, Milord,” Luné murmured softly.

“All right! Now to get Rhadamanthys!” Aiacos cackled behind them, running off down the hallway. Minos took a very brief moment to reluctantly admire the fact that not only could Aiacos walk in three-inch heels, he could also run in them. “Oh yeah! Merry Christmas, asshole!” Aiacos performed an impressive hairpin turn, pulled a wrapped gift from the bag he was also carrying, matched to the outfit, and chucked it at Minos’s head. Minis caught it, as much as he would have loved to just dodge it.

“This better not be a practical joke,” he muttered, inspecting the gift.