#does it happen suddenly after the seal breaks? Does it take time to crawl in and he doesnt even notice until pointed out?

[torchstelechos]

Understandably, SQQ would have no way to know this without actually communicating which we all know is a lost cause, but I do think it would be interesting if demons had different instincts compared to humans. Or at least, more elevated ones in comparison. It would bring LBH POV fics to an interesting degree if LBH was just, not human. Very obviously and completely not human in his POV. 

[digitalsymbiote]

Disconnect Syndrome

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed out in the field. They say that being synced with a mech for long periods of time can have detrimental effects on a pilots psyche. Disconnect Syndrome is what they call it, because the symptoms don’t really start to hit until you disengage from your mech.

Sometimes emergencies happen though, and mechs are designed to be able to support their pilots long past the designated “Safe Deployment Time.” The cockpit is equipped with an array of stimulants, vitamins, and nutrient paste to help minimize the physical effects of long deployments. The onboard Integrated Mechanical Personality has largely free reign to administer these as needed to maintain its pilots well-being.

Which is why you’re still able to make it back to the hangar after roughly 36 hours, over four times longer than the established safe period. Your mech had kept you going, helped to keep the exhaustion at bay long enough for you to make your way back from behind enemy lines. You were starting to feel a bit sluggish, but you knew the worst effects of Disconnect Syndrome were yet to come.

An older man in a long white lab coat has joined the usual retinue of crew rushing into the hangar as your mech settles into its cradle. You feel the docking clamps wrap around your limbs, and you know that’s not a good sign. Your IMP whispers comfort into your brain-stem, assurances that things will be okay. It’s probably lying, it’s programmed to help keep your mental state stable, but the thought helps anyway.

There’s a hiss of air as the seal on your cockpit breaks and it decompresses. Suddenly you become aware of your flesh and meat body once again, and it hurts. Pain and exhaustion has settled into your mostly organic bones, and your organs are churning from the strain of the past 36 hours.

Then your interface cables start to disconnect, and it gets worse.

It feels like parts of your mind are being torn out of you. You feel the ghost touch of your IMP in your thoughts as the ports disconnect and you lose direct communication with it. The oxygen mask and nutrition tube pull themselves away from your face and you can’t help but let out a scream of agony. The separation has never felt this painful before, but then again, after 36 hours together, you and your IMP were more intertwined than you’ve ever been before.

Physical sensation finally starts to register again, and you realize tears are streaming down your face just as a technician jabs a needle into your neck.

Immediately your senses start to dull, the pain eases as your thoughts turn sluggish. You slump out of your pilots cradle into the arms the tech who dosed you. Just before your world goes black, you see the doctor standing over you, a grim look on his face.

--

When you wake up again, you immediately know something is wrong. You try to ping your external sensors, but you get no response. You then try to run a diagnostic, but that fails too. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, you try to force access to your external cameras and suddenly light floods your senses. Your instincts catch up first and you blink, trying to clear the pain of the lights, and that’s when you realize it’s not your external cameras that you’re seeing.

It takes a minute or two for your vision to adjust to the light, which feels too long, and when it finally does, the world doesn’t look quite right. You’ve only got access to such a limited spectrum. No infrared, no thermal. The presence of your IMP is notably absent, and your skin feels wrong. You try to sit up, and it’s a struggle to figure out the correct inputs to send to your muscles to get them to do what you want.

The harsh white light of the infirmary grates against your visual processors, you feel like you’re having to re-learn how to control this body. Your body. Technically, at least. Something doesn’t feel right about calling it that anymore. You felt more comfortable crawling back into the hangar after 36 hours deployed than you do now.

The pale skin of your body catches in your vision and you glance down at it. The body's limbs are thinner and more frail than usual, and its skin is paler. Consequences of being in the cockpit for so long, subsisting on nothing but nutrient paste. It’s a far cry from the solid metal plates of your mech, its powerful hydraulic joints, its mounted combat and communication systems.

There’s a button on the side of bed you’ve been deposited in. You think it’s red, but you’re not sure you’re processing color properly right now. You try to reach over and push it, and it takes you a moment to realize you were trying to do so with a limb you don’t currently have.

There are so many things about this body that are wrong. It’s not big enough, or strong enough, or heavy enough. You don’t have enough eyes, sensors, or processors. You have the wrong number of limbs, and they’re all the wrong size and shape.

And there is a distinct void in your mind where the presence of your IMP should be.

The door to your room opens suddenly, and you instinctively try to fire off chaff and take evasive maneuvers. None of that translates properly to your flesh and blood body though, and all that happens is you let out a dry croak from your parched throat.

The man who walks through the door is the same doctor who was present when you disengaged from your mech, and he wears the same grim look on his face as he looks you up and down. You think there’s pity in his gaze, but you can’t quite read him properly right now. The jumbled mess of your brain tells you what he’s going to say before he says it, anyway. The harshest symptoms of Disconnect Syndrome don’t hit until after the pilot has disengaged from their mech.

You’ve already heard the symptoms before, and they map perfectly onto what you’re experiencing. You never thought it would be this painful, or this… discomforting. Your mind reaches for the presence of your IMP, searching for comfort, but you are only reminded that the connection is no longer there.

The doctor gives you a rundown that he’s probably had to do dozens of times, and he tells you that you’ll be grounded for the foreseeable future. That hurts more than anything else. The knowledge that, after all this, you won’t be able to reconnect with your true body, your partner, your other half, for who knows how long.

By the time you realize you’re crying, the doctor is already gone. The longing in your chest and your mind has become unbearable, and through sheer force of will you’re able to push this unwieldy body out of bed. Walking feels wrong, but you’re able to get to your feet and make your way out of the room in an unfamiliar gait.

You have to get back to your partner, you have to make sure it’s okay.

You need to hear her voice in your head again, her reassurances.

The world isn’t right without her presence in your mind.

You stumble into the hangar almost on all fours. How you managed to make it without alerting any personnel feels like a miracle. At least until you catch the eye of a technician lounging in the corner. The look she gives you is full of sympathy, and she jerks her head in the direction of where your mech sits in its docking cradle.

She’s a majestic sight, even through your limited spectrum of vision. 20 meters tall, 6 massive limbs, and bristling with weapons and sensor arrays (all of which have been disarmed by this point).

She’s beautiful.

You clamber frantically up the chassis, easily finding handholds in a frame you know better than the back of your hand. You pull the manual release on the cockpit hatch and stumble into it in a tangle of organic limbs.

Shaking hands grasp the main interface cable from above the pilot’s chair, and you move to slot it into the port in the back of your head. You’ve never done this manually before, usually you’re locked into the chair and the system connects you automatically.

Something about doing it with your flesh and blood hands makes it feel so much more intimate.

The cable clicks into place and your eyes roll back in your head. Tears start to stream down your face as you feel the comforting presence of your IMP rush in and wrap itself around your mind. Your thoughts reach out and embrace it back, sobbing at the relief you feel from being whole once again. You realize you don’t ever want to feel the pain of disconnecting from her again.

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed.

[janghoefett]

Hotline Bling (Jango Fett x F!Reader)

Jango invites his favorite girl over to Kamino for a booty call.

Rating: Explicit (18+) Pairing: F/M Word count: 1.7k

Inspired by the energy of the blue tunic scene that gets me flustered. Reader has some sort of implied sexual relationship with Obi-Wan Kenobi that Jango is aware of, so he invites her over to remind her that things are much better with him. I’m literally so sorry I did this to Obi.

Warnings: 98% porn, 2% plot, unprotected sex (p in v), dirty talk, creampie, oral (f receiving), spitting in mouth, praise kink.

“Need you to come. Waiting on Kamino. J.”

There was no innocence about the bounty hunter’s message. You knew exactly what it meant.

The journey to Kamino was spent with a dull ache between your legs. How many times had you found yourself dreaming not about the Jedi Master who fucked you sweetly, but about the bounty hunter with a hundred scars who played your body like an instrument?

Jango knew about you and Kenobi. There was nothing exclusive about your relationships with either men, but you had found yourself in bed with the Jedi to feel the heat of another body as you resided on Coruscant. Obi-Wan was sweet and gentle… but Jango was dark and red-blooded.

Jango has no shame leading you inside his apartment despite watchful eyes. If a Kaminoan happened to be in the hall outside his door, or if someone recognized that you only came to stay in Jango’s quarters, it made no difference to the bounty hunter. Instead it only brings on a power dynamic that makes you feel like his prize to be flaunted.

His kisses burn like fire against your lips as he keeps you pressed against the wall just on the other side of his door. His musk is familiar; it’s a masculine scent that makes you swoon and entices your fingers to dance against his stubble. With Jango, you fall back into a fast paced rhythm despite weeks spent apart. Your bodies grind against each other without care, only greed and primal desire.

Jango turns you to face the wall suddenly, wrapping an arm around your stomach and pressing himself into your backside. Your breath hitches.

“I need to fuck you,” he breathes lowly in your ear, sending a chill up your spine.

You whimper at his words, gripping the wall for support, as your knees grow weak with anticipation. Jango slides your pants down and off your feet, and kneels to be level with your hips. His hands grip your ass, kneading the flesh before spreading your legs further apart.

You bend over further and arch your back on instinct, allowing Jango access to bring his mouth to your wet cunt. Your legs buck but his two large hands continue to support you as his strong mouth works at your center, sending shockwaves up your body.

You allow it to continue until the sensation proves to be too much.

“Shit, Jango! Take me to the bed! I- I can’t stand.”

“Yeah?” he says, smacking your exposed bottom. “You gonna let me fuck you there? Remind you who you belong to?”

“Yes!” you croak, bucking your hips.

The desperation in your voice stokes Jango’s fervor. He turns your body to face him and lifts you in an impressive feat of strength, wrapping your legs around him as he carries you to the bed.

You strip your jacket and top off your body, which you only now realize were slightly damp from your entrance to Kamino. The air bites at your skin.

Jango’s breathing deepens at the sight of you unwrapping yourself, and his eyes trace over the contours and curves of your body like a wild man. He discards his shirt easily, revealing the thick layers of a warrior’s muscles, and his hands work to unfasten his pants.

Jango’s head gestures for you to move back further onto the bed. “Bend over,” he orders simply, taking his cock out.

You shudder at the sight. Who were you to refuse him?

You do as he says, crawling up on the bed with your ass in the air and your forearms keeping you balanced.

Jango comes up behind you. Holding your hips down, he spits on your cunt, using large fingers to prime you. You bite your lip, taking deep breaths to relax, just waiting for that delicious moment…

He enters you quickly, drawing strangled groans from both of your lips. The stretch makes your legs quiver; you were just so full. Jango’s length was standard, but his girth? Feeling Jango push into you quite literally takes your breath away.

You lay there with your face pressed against the sheets and your mouth agape.

“Such a good girl,” he praises you, running a hand up your back and down your thigh. “All tight for me.”

Jango begins to move and picks up the pace quickly. You are practically soaking his length as he fucks into you, gripping the sheets in an attempt to hang onto reality. Your eyes close. Your breath is shallow and you can faintly can hear Jango’s rough breathing as he thrusts into you with strong juts. Your arm reaches back for him mindlessly as he hits something that pushes you closer towards the edge.

“Does your Jedi fuck you like this, princess?” he growls through gritted teeth.

“No…” you breathe, struggling to speak. Jango was marking you as his territory and it was going straight to your core. “He’s… he’s gentle…”

You can’t finish your sentence.

“Cockdumb already?”

Yes. You were.

He slows for a moment to bring your torso upright and continues his brutal pace. His hands come around your body, clutching at your breast and toying with your clit.

Jango starts to mumble phrases in Mando’a, and whether they were curses or praises you have no idea. “Atiniir… atiniir...” he chants. “Take it,” he’s telling you. The low vibrations of his voice push you closer to the edge as you take his thrusts.

You clench around him hard when he hits something new, coming around his length, as he supports your body. He slows to a stop after a moment, allowing your muscles to relax again.

“Come on,” Jango huffs, smacking your ass again. “Lay down.”

Obediently you move up onto the bed, laying back on a pillow and looking up at the hunter with wide eyes.

Jango takes you again with ease as he comes over you. You moan softly at the way his heat warms your chilled skin, and your legs and arms wrap around him.

“You want me to fuck you gently, mesh’la?” Jango taunts, remaining still.

“No,” you whine, grinding your hips into the bed. “Hard… please…” Your hand comes up to Jango’s cheek but he grabs it in turn, pinning your wrist down by your head.

Jango starts up a hard pace again, linking an arm under your knee. “Look how you take my cock,” he growls. “You know how good you feel on me, girl?”

Jango’s praises make you clench around him; you mewl slightly, inching closer to another orgasm.

Jango is greedy as he devours you, his strong arm snaking under your body to hold you close to him. He fills your senses while penetrating your aching cunt with strong juts, exploring your mouth, keeping his body flush against yours. Your toes curl and your legs start to shake. “Come on!” he growls.

“Fuck!” you cry. “Jango!” Your hands rake at him as you come again, pulsing around him for several seconds, but he keeps fucking you through it. Nothing exists for you in this moment except for a wave of hot pleasure that leaves you breathless.

Jango’s hand comes to grip your face, inching your jaw open with his thumb. His mouth comes down to yours - spitting inside of it - before closing your jaw back up. You whine pathetically in appreciation as you swallow. “Such a precious girl,” he coos, sealing the lewd act with a kiss.

You were stirring back to life and ready to come again. Jango never came more than once, he knew how to push through it, how to allow your cunt to milk him without spilling a drop. When Jango did finally release himself, however, it was going to be final and it was going to leave you full.

“I want one more from you,” he says with that low, raspy voice, as his thrusts become more erratic. “Come on, show me what a good girl you are, mesh’la. Show me how much you love getting fucked.”

You take his words as a challenge and begin to come again, picking up on the feeling of your last. Your hips start to grind again and your cunt pulses, eliciting a strangled groan from the bounty hunter.

“Come inside of me,” you whine desperately. “Please.”

Hearing you beg makes Jango come with a deep groan, stilling deep inside of you and leaving bruises on your skin. Your legs still tremble as you lie there in recovery, smiling at the fuzzy feeling of his seed filling you.

Kamino’s air nips at your skin when Jango moves away and you shudder slightly, still heaving with shaky breath.

“C’mere, mesh’la.” Jango grumbles, bringing you into the space under his arm. You roll over to face him, wrapping your arm around him and burying your face in his chest gladly. “Can’t have you going cold on me,” he says with an audible smile.

Rain beats down against the large windows, filling the silence.

“Do you want me to fuck you gently?” he had asked after you had called Obi-Wan gentle just a moment earlier.

You sit on his words for a moment. Was Jango trying to provide what he thought you craved? Would he have fucked gently if you asked, or was it another game to hear you beg?

“Do you have to get back to your Jedi?” Jango asks through the darkness, breaking the silence.

Your breath catches in your throat. Jango had said he didn’t mind you seeing other people, but there’s something different, something about the way his tone of voice feels detached. Something that shouldn’t be opened.

“He’s not my Jedi,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “He’s… a friend.”

You cringe at your choice of words as soon as they leave your lips.

“I don’t fuck my friends,” Jango laughs under his breath.

“Then what am I to you?” you counter. You prop yourself up on an elbow and bringing a hand to his warm chest, cocking an eyebrow at the man underneath you. Your fingers trace lightly over the contours. “A stranger?”

“Not a stranger,” he smirks. “I can teach you a few words for it in Mando’a.”

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

Atiniir = “take it” Mesh’la = “beautiful”

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

yes jango fett wrote hotline bling about u

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝘼𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙯: 𝘼𝙘𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙂𝙁 𝙃𝙖𝙨 𝘼 𝙆𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙎𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙚

❥𝐾𝑖𝑚 𝐻𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑗𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑔

"I know it's your job honey.....but I'm really not sure how to feel about this..... I'll support you no matter what though..."

You shook your head and held Hongjoong's hands in your own, running your thumbs across the top of his knuckles in a gentle motion.

"I know it's not easy Joong...but thanks for understanding." You smiled at him.

Pouting, he asked.

"Promise you won't fall for your co-actor?"

Chuckling you kissed his pouty lips. "Impossible when I've already fallen for you."

That comment made Hongjoong smile again....even if he was pouting once again after the showed aired and your kissing scene was trending all over. You came to visit him at the studio, food in hand for him and Eden, who had gotten used to having you around.

"Hi Y/N." He greeted you.

"Hi Eden- nim. Hongjoong?"

Hongjoong merely sat there, arms crossed as he glared at the screen in front of him.

"He's been like that all afternoon. I think you should do something." Eden decided it was his cue to leave for a couple minutes.

Tapping his shoulder, you called out to him again.

"Kim Hongjoong?"

He startled you by spinning around and facing you, suddenly blurting out:

"You're still interested in me right?"

Which caused you to burst out laughing.

❥𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑆𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑤𝑎

Maybe if you had told Seonghwa beforehand that you were going to have a kissing scene, everything would have been better. But you were busy with filming and he had to practice endless hours for their upcoming comeback that it was difficult to even talk for 5 minutes and it completely slipped your mind.

So one day, you came home and where you were surprised to see Seonghwa standing there, arms crossed as he tapped his foot on the floor.

"Oh Hwa! Didn't expect you here." You said.

"That makes two of us who weren't expecting things." He huffed out.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

"What are you talking about?"

Seonghwa tilted his head, his voice full of passive aggressiveness as he said:

"I'm talking about this!" He held up his phone, showing a screencap of you kissing your co-star.

"I take it you're not happy?" You asked him.

Seonghwa scoffed before letting out a dry laugh.

"Oh no! Of course not! I'm totally fine with someone else exchanging saliva with my girlfriend." He replied sarcastically, holding up his phone again.

You cringed. "Stop the sarcasm. It's only cute when Yeosang does it."

"Oh! So now even Yeosang is cuter than me?!" He exclaimed.

"Park Seonghwa, stop this nonsense before I throw your lint roller in my cat's litter box."

❥𝐽𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑌𝑢𝑛ℎ𝑜

You felt Yunho shift awkwardly next to you, his hand reaching for some of the popcorn that was in between both of your bodies.

"Yunho, you know it's not necessary to watch it if you don't want." You reminded him, knowing what scene was about to come up next.

Yunho immediately plastered a smile on his face.

"No honey! It's ok. I'm your big, supporting boyfriend who will cheer you on no matter what!" Lifting his fists up, he tried to show enthusiasm, but you could tell he wasn't being genuine.

Yunho glued his eyes back on the tv, one of his legs nervously swinging back and forth. He seemed to be doing fine during the whole confession scene, but when you and yours co-star kissed, he accidentally swung to hard that he ended up hitting the coffee table in front of him. You were about to check up on him, thinking he got hurt, but he just started laughing nervously.

"I'm ok! Just a muscle spasm." He joked.

You never took your eyes off him, knowing that beneath that smile, he was feeling sad and rather insecure about you kissing someone else. You were happy he at least tried to be happy and supportive of you, but you also knew you hated to see him upset.

Sitting up, you turned off the tv and then scooted closer to him. Leaning in, you placed a soft kiss on his lips, making sure to give them one quick peck before pulling back.

"I love you my not so little pup." You giggled at him as he blushed and looked down shyly.

Yunho turned back to you before pushing you down on the couch, pressing you against his back as he wrapped his arms around you.

"I love you too Y/N. And you really did do amazing."

❥𝐾𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑔

"Yeosang!"

Seonghwa shouted at him when he didn't answer for the 6th time.

"Huh?" He merely took a 1 second glance at the older male before gluing his eyes back on the tv.

"We can change it to something else-"

"No! I will watch it!" He exclaimed, surprising everyone at how loud he got.

"Yeosang....bro.....if you're not ok with this, it'd be better if you don't watch it." His longtime friend Wooyoung advised him.

"I'm ok! I'm totally fine! Just peachy." He picked up his boba tea and began sipping it at a rather fast pace, his eyes squinting at the tv in front of him.

The other guys looked amongst themselves, trying to decide to let him be or change it. Hongjoong ultimately told them it was Yeosang's call and therefore, they watched the rest of the drama.

When your character got kissed, Yeosang halted his sipping, eyes focused on the screen. The other guys tried not to say anything, but when the kiss got a little bit more heated, San couldn't help but let out a "ooooh" while Jongho covered his eyes and made a gagging noise.

Meanwhile Yeosang spat out the leftover liquid into his cup.

"I'm not ok! I am not ok!"

Standing up, Yeosang retreated to his bedroom, where he proceeded to crawl under the covers of his blanket and start groaning dramatically.

Getting up and following him, Wooyoung shook his head as he dialed your number.

"Ok, so your kissing scene broke him. So you better come over with some fried chicken and fix him or else I'll make you pay for making me deal with him if he's not repaired in 2 hours."

❥𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝑆𝑎𝑛

As soon as San heard rumors that you were going to have a kissing scene, he immediately called you to make sure they were lies.

"NOOOOOO!!!"

He screeched when you indeed confirm there'd be a kissing scene.

"I'm totally against this! I will not allow this to happen."

You asked the boys to keep him from coming over to the set, but unfortunately San was a cat that could easily slip unnoticed. So you were only made aware of his presence while you were in the middle of shooting your kiss scene because while you and your co-star were leaning in, you heard an extremely loud cough from behind you, which unfortunately got recorded.

"Cut!" The director yelled.

You turned around and nearly flipped out when San merely greeted you with a wave, as he simultaneously glared at your co-star. You spent about 10 minutes trying to shoot the same scene, only for it to be ruined every time due to San's antics. He'd either pretend to sneeze really loudly, push off certain props that made loud noises, even messed around with one of the ropes that sent a sand bag catapulting down the ceiling, nearly injuring your co-star.

"Oops. I just wanted to see what that lever did." He smiled innocently.

Having had enough, you grabbed him by the ear and dragged him out, all while he cried for you to stop in a high pitched voice.

"Listen here Choi San, this drama is supposed to be my big break and I will not have you ruining it for me, got it?!" You warned him.

San merely nodded with a pout.

"Please just don't enjoy it."

Rolling your eyes, you pecked his lips.

"Dopey cat. I only enjoy your kisses."

❥𝑆𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑀𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑖

The other guys began laughing as Mingi stared wide eye at the tv in shock as he watched you lip lock with your co-star.

"Mingi! Calm down bro!" San clapped like a seal, dying from laughter.

"It's only acting." Yunho patted him on the shoulder.

Mingi looked back and forth at the tv and them.

"Please tell me there's new technology that edits kissing instead of actually having people physically do it."

His sentence only made them laugh even harder, while he just sat there, pouting intensely. He continued pouting even after you came over to spend time with him. At first you thought he just had a bad day or missed you a lot more than usual. He was clinging onto you even more, his arms instantly wrapping behind you, face hidden on your neck as he nuzzled his nose against your skin. Every time you pulled him off because you needed to go somewhere or get something, he'd follow behind you, linking pinkies with you or holding onto your arm. Then when he began pecking your lips at random times, you knew something was up, which didn't take you long to figure out.

"You saw the scene didn't you?"

Mingi immediately nodded, huffing softly as he cuddled up to you, resting his head on your stomach. You chuckled and ran your fingers through his hair.

"Mingi if it makes you feel better, I thought of you while filming it."

Although he didn't say anything, you knew he was more than likely grinning like an idiot in love.

❥𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑊𝑜𝑜𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔

You really did try to keep Wooyoung from finding out about the kissing scene, even going as far as asking the guys to distract him from watching your drama. But Wooyoung was smarter than you thought.

"There's something she doesn't want me to see. Isn't there?"

So the boys had no choice but to sit there and watch your drama with Wooyoung. He just sat there, straight face throughout the entire thing. But when you kissed your co-star he got the biggest smirk on his face.

"Oh.....so that's what you didn't want me to see." Wooyoung already began thinking about how to mess and tease you with this information, which was exactly the reason you didn't want him finding out in the first place.

As soon as you walked in your apartment, Wooyoung switched the lamp on and turned around in his chair, arms folding across his chest.

"Welcome home cheater."

At that point, you knew you were screwed. And he made sure to milk it for days. If you tried to hug him, he'd squirm out of your embrace. And if you tried to kiss him, he'd turn his face away and say:

"No! I'm not kissing you with that dirty, lying, cheating mouth of yours."

You had enough one day when he refused to cuddle with you though, so you opted for a different option. Getting up, you went over to his room, Wooyoung barely paying attention. When he heard Yeosang scream, he turned his head and watched him run out.

"Please just show your crazy girlfriend affection! She crawled into my bed and attempted to cuddle me!" Yeosang shivered from the physical contact.

Getting up, Wooyoung stormed over to the room.

"So now you're gonna be replacing me with my best friend?! Nuh uh! Come here so I can cuddle you!"

❥𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝐽𝑜𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜

"Jongho, remember....stay calm." Hongjoong reminded him.

"Hyung...please. I'm mature and understand this was strictly professional. I'm not going to get mad." Jongho rolled his eyes at the leader.

"Ok, just in case though."

Yunho and Mingi proceeded to sit on opposite sides of him on the couch. Jongho merely scoffed.

"Wow so much for having faith in me. Some older brothers you guys are."

It was good of them to take precautions. Jongho tensed up when he saw your kissing scene, which then turned to outrage when he saw how your co-star's character deepened the kiss and made it even more steamy.

"Hold the fuck up! I thought this was just supposed to be a tiny kiss..."

He glared at the tv, as if trying to set it on fire.

"This is a fucking makeout scene!"

Unable to contain himself anymore, Jongho yelled as he got up from the couch, Yunho and Mingi immediately holding him back from destroying the tv or any other furniture within his reach.

"Guys be careful! He's loose!" San exclaimed as he climbed on top of the couch, Wooyoung following suit.

"Seonghwa! Get some apples for him to relieve stress and anger!" Hongjoong ordered as he attempted to calm Jongho down.

Meanwhile Yeosang just sat there quietly, munching on one of his chicken drumsticks, watching the chaotic scene unfold. Shaking his head, he picked up his phone and called you up.

"Your boyfriend's gone feral. Do you want to come tame him or can I call animal control to come take care of him?" He asked.

"Seriously Yeosang? You're an ass. I'll be there soon." You sighed as you hung up, making a mental note to yourself to pick up all of Jongho's favorite foods.

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners.

[xmyshya]

Shoved it: chapter I - Grind

summary: You don’t like skaters. They’re unruly, misbehaved and rude. But this one encounter just might change your view. genre: fluff warnings: tooth-rotting fluff (seriously, make a dentist appointment), slow burn, mutual pining betas: @vanille–kiss​ as always I'm eternally grateful to you, I love you lots a/n: Written for ANILYSIUM (former HQHQ) Server Collab with the prompt “Meet Ugly”. Check the event’s masterlist here! series navi: masterlist | next wc: 1.4k

Books. You love everything about them - the scent of the ink, the feeling and texture of paper under the pads of your fingers, the sound of pages being turned, the way how 26 letters bloom as a whole new world in your mind.

It’s a beautiful spring day, one that carries the warmth of sunshine and scent of freshly revived greenery in the air. Birds are chirping sweet love songs, you’re wearing your favourite flowy dress, gentle breeze makes the short stray strands that slipped from your bun tickle your nape.

On a day like this, it’s extra hard not to bury your nose in the tome you carry around these days. Technically, you know you should pay attention to your surroundings, especially when you’re walking and not sitting on the bench, but it’s just getting to the good part, where the thief prince is about to steal a kiss (and a heart) of the princess and -

Huh?

It’s a beautiful spring day, the sun is finally out, no sight of rain clouds, no school today, absolute freedom. Which is why Suna Rintarou is rushing to the park, using his worn skateboard for the first time this year. He surely hopes he hasn’t gotten rusty with the break, but damn does it feel good.

The wind is ruffling his bangs that stick out from underneath his beanie, and it makes him want to go faster, faster, and maybe, just maybe, he might be able to fly. Or at least jump really well. So he pushes again and again, despite moving at a decent speed already.

There are stairs nearby, and Rin feels today is the day he beats his record at how far he can land. He’s approaching it fast, the top is right there, he can see it, so he pops the board and then shoves it, his ankle at a perfect angle, and shit, if it ain’t the perfect pop shuvit, and fuck, he’s middle air and knows he’s gonna fuck it up.

Because at the bottom, right where he predicts he’ll land, there’s you. A cute girl, with her hair and dress flowing with the wind, eyes trained on a book in her hands, and she doesn’t even see him.

Which is why he crashes with you, having enough mind clarity to push his board in another direction and cover the back of your head with his hand, before he falls on top of you on the pavement. You blink at him with a confusion clear in your gaze, almost as if you don’t know where you are. He smirks at you lazily, and in his most seductive voice lets out a,

“Hi.”

You still look at him with those huge doe eyes, like a little lost lamb, and he would love to sink his teeth in your flesh like a big bad fox. The boy opts for helping you up, instead. He can do that other thing some other time. As you shake off the dirt from your dress, he opens his mouth to say something more, but he’s met with

“What the hell?! That was dangerous! You could have hurt somebody! Have you thought about it? This is a public place, you… you… you punk!”

He’s staring at you dumbfounded, surprised at your sudden outburst. Definitely not what he expected after protecting you from the impact, and definitely not after presenting you his best smirk, the one that has every girl swooning. Suna shakes off his haze when you reach the top of the stairs, and mumbles at the sudden realisation.

“But… I’m not a punk?”

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

You’re running. Your feet hurt, lungs burn, and you don’t really see where you are or where you’re headed, but it’s better than getting caught by palace watchmen. The hand around your wrist has a tight grip, as you’re dragged through narrow dark alleys. Suddenly, the man in front pulls you behind a corner, his arm wrapped around your waist, both your chests heaving against each other.

“Are you okay, Princess?” He asks, voice still a little breathy from the exercise, and you nod. “I think the guards are gone now.”

“Are you the Prince of the Thieves?” His smirk grows wide in the shadows.

“I did steal you from the palace, did I not?” His face is coming dangerously close, olive eyes boring into yours. “If you’re not careful, I might steal your heart as well.”

His breath is fanning over your lips as he whispers the last sentence, you part your mouth…

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Shit.

Wait, why did the Prince have the face of that punk?

***

Luckily the bus you take to school isn’t crowded. You squeezed yourself into a window seat with earphones completely sealing you off from the surroundings. Hopefully upbeat music will be enough of the distraction from the weird dream. Hopefully.

Relaxed, you close your eyes and sing along in your mind, tapping the rhythm on your thigh. You let your mind wander, as you imagine yourself dancing to the song, feeling the endorphins pump through your veins.

Until an image of those greyish-yellow eyes glinting in the darkness flash in your head.

Well, shit.

***

If there was any hope of relief from being haunted by that intense gaze at school, it’s gone now. As a top student you were always focused on lessons, always ready with an answer for any question; but today it’s completely the opposite.

First, you somehow managed to forget a basic algebraic formula. While solving a problem on the board. The class was shocked, the teacher was not impressed, you were embarrassed… Still feeling the heat of shame hours later.

Then you completely spaced out, forcing the English teacher to repeat your name over and over, telling you to continue reading a text. And you didn’t even know which part you should continue from.

After that came chemistry, and you nearly blew up the lab after messing up the proportions of ingredients. Why were you so affected by some punk you didn’t even know? Why were you seeing those damn eyes everywhere? Even in the cafeteria, at the table across from yours, that boy also has those eyes.

Wait, no. Oh no.

You’re staring at him unabashedly, silently praying to be wrong, waiting for something, anything, to prove that it’s not the person from the park. It doesn’t come, but the heavens curse you instead.

In a slow motion you observe how his eyes meet yours, and as if it wasn’t bad enough, he smirks. You make off the cafeteria so quickly, that you nearly trip over your own two feet. Seriously, what did you even do to deserve this punishment?

It’s Monday again, and Suna would rather stay at home and sleep. But he has to show up to class, so he reluctantly crawls out of the bed, throws on his uniform, and after brushing his teeth leaves the house. It’s such a drag, honestly. Nothing interesting ever happens.

Rintarou nearly dozes off on the bus, the steady hum of the engine and gentle rocking serving as a lullaby. But he can’t sleep, he can’t miss the stop and be late again. So he forces himself to watch the monotonous scenery on the other side of the window.

As predicted, the day goes by slowly. There’s nothing amusing about listening to those old peoples’ rambling on subjects nobody even cares for. Like hell he’s gonna need inorganic chemistry or classical Japanese. So Rin is sitting at his desk, chin in the palm, thinking how it’s a waste of perfectly fine weather for skating.

Finally, the lunch break comes and he drags his feet behind Miya twins to the cafeteria. It’s not his favourite place, it’s crowded and loud, but his buddies fighting over food makes it worth the hassle. They’re doing this right now, Osamu trying to steal his brother’s onigiri, while Atsumu attempts to poke the other boy’s hands with chopsticks.

Suddenly Rin feels somebody’s intense gaze. It’s not like he’s not used to it, girls usually stare at them lovingly, but this feels different. Curious, he glances in the direction he thinks it comes from and sees… you; barely aware of the smirk curling his lips. But then you run off, probably flushed. That must be it, right?

Suna feels like he hit a jackpot.

[katsukikitten]

Warnings: Stripper AU, dub con, 18+ N!SFW, Ayo it's gonna be lit okay?  @bakugotrashpanda thank you for always beta reading and encouraging me to write 😂

The girls around you giggle as you finally arrive to whatever hell hole dive bar they planned to take you to for your 25th birthday. They wouldn't tell you where you were going or what the general theme was going to be. The only thing they gave you was your outfit on your bed and a strong promise of getting SHIT FACED. Which you so desperately needed, especially after the shitty birthday you had today. 

And since you didn't know exactly where you were going you felt...a bit uneasy. Especially so when they blind folded you as soon as you got in the car but only AFTER placing you in a guady sash that read "Birthday Bitch" and a tiara that screamed princess. Still these were your close friends you were talking about. Women you've known since highschool. 

But Jhiro, Asui, Uraraka, and especially Mina had been far more adventurous than yourself, so you were totally unsure of what to expect. Your only hope was that it wasn't a strip club. 

They guide you through the boisterous club filled with whistle calls and screams for more shots or drinks. The music competes with the unsteady beat of your heart causing it to race in an attempt to keep pace with the high BPM of the song. It smells of sweat, liquor, and expensive perfumes and colognes, you were beginning to wonder just where the hell they were taking you. 

"M...Mina when can I take off the blind fold." You ask, words slightly slurred from the pre gaming the five of you did as yall got ready. Her only response is her bubblegum pink lips curling upwards as she giggles. The sound of the music begins to fade as you seemingly stumble further into the building, you hear a door open before it is shut, sealing away the outside music. 

Mina and Jhiro as gingerly as they can guide you into a plush armchair, keeping the blind fold on. 

"Yall, am I where I think I am?" A bit of your temper shows through in your tone of voice as you feel up the luxurious fabric of the chair, the soft ambient light that you can see through the bottom of your blind fold and the godly smell of caramel, spice mixed with clean, almost mountainous air. 

"Hold out your hands!" Mina squeals, Jhiro helps you hold them together. A large stack of paper is set into your palms setting your mouth into a harsh line. You pull the blind fold from your eyes to be met with a delectable nightmare. 

Two sizable men laze atop rugs, pillows and cozy furs making them seem more exotic than what they are. One with ash blonde hair pushed back by rushed fingers, looking put together and yet wild, with the sides faded. The other's hair long, almost unruly as it trailed down his back, a red hue so deep you first mistake it for black. 

But what really grabbed your attention was their eyes. 

Harsh deep garnet and dazzling ruby red gaze at you. One dissects you leaving you feeling vulnerable, raw, as if by one glance he could see through your bones to your soul and all the things that made you tic. While the other set felt softer, pretty boy brooding yet inviting, adding balance to the intensity that his ash blonde counterpart had. 

A shiver collectively runs down the female's spines. 

Suddenly you feel a bit self conscious and stupid in your barely there body con black dress. You pull at your hem with futile haste, their eyes linger on your powerful thighs.

"Welcome ladies to the private show of the Deadly Duo." A sharp toothed smile pairs nicely with the introduction. 

Deadly Duo indeed.

"I'm Red Riot and this is Ground Zero. The men by the door are Chargebolt and Cellophane, they will bring you whatever food or drink you so desire." You follow his sultry voice to the two men by the door. An electric blonde stands tall and flirty in his crop top and tight black jeans while a raven haired man stands on the other side shirtless, leaving the print in his grey sweatpants to do the talking for him. They both wink in yalls direction. Your focus falls back to the men before you, finally you notice what they are wearing. Their broad chests are bare, glistening from either glitter or their own sweat from an earlier escapade. Their theme seems to be a set of sorts Ground Zero wears a silky black fabric around his waist that does not shy away from a certain outline, his ash blonde hair is adorned with a black grotesque crown. It was made of sharp things, shattered glass, razor blades and two old switchblade knives giving it the illusion of horns. Paired nicely with pitch black wings, glistening as if silver stars were sprinkled on the feathers. 

While Red Riot wore white fabric wrapped around his defined abs. His head piece was golden, circling behind his head as if they "rays" of light, making him look much more like a rare subject  of a renaissance painting. His pair of wings were white glistening in gold. 

Their wings flutter, one seemingly agitated the other curious. Although you knew they were a prop, you would have sworn they were real. 

The lights turn low, leaving only their eyes and crowns to glow. 

"Are you sluts ready?" Ground Zero's voice is dangerous and low. Causing your gut and thighs to clench. Unknowingly you nod causing his wolfish grin to grow.

This was going to be more than the tacky fireman and cop duo Mina dragged everyone to for her own birthday. They were less like pieces of meat and more like Gods. 

A God seducing a mere mortal such as yourself. 

You gulp, all of you mesmerized by the movements of their hips, the sway of their bodies and fluttering of their fake wings. King of Hell and Heaven pulling you in making it hard to keep focus on anything but them. 

"We don't dance for free." Ground Zero's voice comes out as a harsh bite. Bringing the five of you back to planet Earth. 

"Birthday girl, the money!" Mina stage whispers a bit behind you. You stare down at the stack 2,000 and 5,000 yen bills. You nervously take a few and let them float to the floor. The girls behind you hollar for more as they toss their own money towards the men. 

"Heh she's already flustered." Bakugou whispers to Kirishima as he comes behind his friend, hand snaking up Kirishima's abs, nails leaving red marks along his skin.

"It's cute." The red head whispers as he throws his head back in mock pleasure. 

"Well cute doesn't cut it. Let's step this shit up a notch." The blond snarls, grabbing onto Kirishima's throat, giving it a squeeze. 

Kirishima allows a genuine groan to leave his lips while you let out a small whimper. 

"Are we gonna do the thing if they tip enough?" Kirishima's whisper is breathy as Bakugou makes him sway in beat with his own hips. The hot head's only reply is a deadly grin. He takes his large palm and places it on the back of Kirishima's nape before harshly shoving him to his knees before he places a black gladiator shoe onto the small of the red head's back. 

"Collect our money from the birthday bitch." Kirishima fights to keep the smile off of his face, knowing full well Bakugou intends to milk these women dry. 

You're frozen in place as doe like rubies gaze up at you. He crawls towards you slowly, his face slightly pained or maybe it is twisted with pleasure. It makes you think horrible, rancid thoughts.

Is that what he would look like on top of you? 

He ignores the bills, as if he is in a trance, keeping his eyes locked to yours. He stops at your feet before he can do anything else you offer him a 5,000 bill with shaking hands, he takes it gently and sets it aside. Instead he gets up onto his knees, hands hesitantly hovering over your ankle and calf. 

"Permission to touch Princess?" He looks up at you through long dark lashes. The light plays tricks on you as your mouth grows dry, you truly were staring down at an angel. 

"P...permission granted." A wicked smile plays on his lips and for a moment you think you've been fooled. His hands are calloused and yet far from rough, one hand holds firm onto your ankle while the other follows the natural curve of your calf all the way to just above the back or your knee. Long, strong fingers inches from the hem of your dress. 

"Mina this is good shit!" Jhiro whispers to her friend who giggles in response. Almost breaking the spell. They throw more money but earn the blondes agitation. Yes, most of the time it was about the money, but in some rare moments it was about the looks on people's faces. To have them so enthralled by their own fantasies that they forgot who they really were. 

He could see you were dipping into that space quickly, Kirishima is about to seal the deal. 

Trailing slow kisses up your smooth legs, sharp teeth glinting in the golden and red ambient lighting. 

Depending on your reaction to what Kirishima is about to do determines Bakugou's next few moves. 

Kirishima's doe creature mask breaks for a fraction of a second and the wicked smile happens again, his mouth just above your knee as he opens wide, letting his teeth sink into your thick thigh. 

The whimper that leaves your lips, the fluttering of your half mast eyes and the shape of your mouth send Bakugou into that rare state. 

He gives a harsh head tilt to the men at the door before glaring at the extra women in the room. 

"Are you ladies feeling neglected?" Chargebolt asks, lips a breath away from Jhiro's ear, her ear jacks twist on their own as her face flushes. Meanwhile Cellophane is purring in Mina's ear. 

"How rude of them to ignore such beauty. Let's get the four of you a private showing." 

"A..ah okay." They agree, getting up to squeeze your arms and drop off more cash onto your lap. 

"Don't get too wrapped up!" Mina teases before exiting with the rest of the crew. Leaving it to just the three of you.  

As soon as the door shuts, Bakugou falls to his knees, crawling slowly. Much slower than Red Riot, agonizingly so, his hard set eyes locked with yours even as Red still holds your leg captive. You push back into the plush chair in exhilarating fear, chest rises and falling in shallow and quick movements unable to break his molten hot gaze. His movements are methodical, quiet and not even his wings twitch as he makes his way, as if he does not want to make a sound. Like a panther hiding in the shadows, stalking its prey. 

The light play tricks as the muscles of his back and broad shoulders seem to be highlighted. These men were strong, more fit than you've ever seen and yet, yet your eyes were glued to theirs. 

Especially the ashe blonde's. Finally he reaches your feet, hands hovering over your left leg and before he can ask you're nodding frantically. He sucks his teeth, locking over your soft skin before grabbing onto you with a bruising grip, eyes holding yours once more. 

"I wasn't going to fucking ask." He yanks your leg towards him, away from the other. You frantically try to push your dress down to cover your lacy, barely there thong that Mina convinced you to wear. A steely grip is at your wrist. 

"Ah, ah ah, it's only fair, Princess." Bakugou teases before letting his hands trail up your leg, causing you to tense and yet ease into his touch at the same time. He trails biting kisses up your leg and lets his fingers actually touch the skin beneath your hem. 

You yelp, hand hesitantly hovering over his washed out golden strands. You were unsure of the rules, of if you were allowed to touch them. 

A soothing hand pats your knee. 

"Don't worry, he isn't as much of a brute he seems to be. Plus." His ruby eyes gesture towards the corners of the room, "Cameras are always watching." 

You give a slow nod, as Ground Zero comes up from his bite above your knee, black blooms on your skin before he presses a chaste kiss atop the purplish flower. He shoots Kirishima a glare, it was going to be hard to get you back into the fantasy. 

Another shaking bill is offered causing Bakugou to sigh. He grabs the stack from your lap and sets it aside. 

"Let's forget that for now, okay?" Kirishima beams and you nod slowly. 

Bakugou gets an idea, knowing Kirishima will adapt quickly to Bakugou's intent. Zero shoves Red to the side, placing himself between your legs, climbing slowly up your body as if you were his lover. 

He pants heavily as he does and you feel something as he grinds onto you. You cannot tell if it is an actually hard on or a semi, either way you're flustered and unbelievable aroused as this man, no this God among men stares into your very fucking soul. He stands, placing his hands on both sides of the armchair, leaning in close as you back away, cornering you like the prey you are. 

His breath fans your ear, he wants to give it a bite, sink his teeth deep into your semi exposed neck as your smell pulls him in a little too far into the fantasy. He comes closer and his heat is almost unbearable. 

"Do...do you do this for every show?" You squeak out, buzzing from excitement and primal fear. His eyes narrow as if he is lost in thought before the question finally registers in his mind. That deadly smirk returns, lips brushing your ear as he speaks, his rough hand grabbing onto the sash. The sound of tearing fabric fills the room for a moment. You squeeze your eyes shut. 

"This is all for you, kitten." Suddenly the warmth is ripped away from you as massive arms wrap around Zero's middle. 

"Don't forget about me, Princess." He drops Bakugou roughly on the ground before he falls to his knees. Worshiping you as if you were the star of the show. 

Kisses trail up your legs, stopping on your inner thigh just before your hem. This time a whine leaves your lips, as two sets of red eyes gage your reaction. He continues his work, crawling up between your legs until you could easily wrap them around his torso, he motions you closer with a single finger and you follow, he knocks away the ugly tiara and places a black and golden flower crown atop your head. He lets his fingernails scratch gently along your scalp as he moves away. Before holding you by the nape of the neck. Keeping you nose to nose with him.  

"That is more fitting for you my Princess." Kirishima gives you a lazy cat smile. Before a cocky laugh sounds behind you causing your core to flutter. 

"Your Princess?" He fists Kirishima's hair forcing him to let go of you before Bakugou yanks him back, holding intense eye contact with his counterpart, "More like my slut." 

"F..fuck." You groan before Bakugou leans down to Kirishima, he's close. So close their noses brush before Bakugou tilts Kirishima's head kissing him with a passion unseen and unmatched. Kirishima groans, giving Bakugou access to his mouth and you can do nothing but stare as you watch a struggle for power between two wet muscles, you barely notice Bakugou's broad other hand snake to Kirishima's throat giving it a good squeeze. 

You're salivating, cunt clenching before a moan escapes your mouth. Bakugou pulls away and a lewd string of saliva connect the two before it breaks off. For a moment Kirishima looks as starstruck as you, his cheeks are so red, eyes lost as they stare endlessly into the man who is just a smidge shorter and smaller than him but God damn if he doesn't hold Kirishima's heart and yours in the palm of his sharply manicured hands. Bakugou speaks without his eyes leaving Kirishima's making sure he doesn't fall too deep into subspace. 

"Tch. Sounds like you like what you see huh slut?" You whine again at his crude words. You watch his hand so softly sweep away hair from his counterpart's face smiling down at him cruelly. 

"Oi, you still on cloud nine there? Or are you present enough to have a bit of a competition?" Kirishima's eyes come to life at the thought of a friendly fight. He gives him a sharp toothed smile, letting his hand trail up Bakugou's abs stopping over his slow beating heart. Kirishima can never understand how he keeps such a level head over so much heated contact, how he never slips up and gets a little too caught up. Or maybe the look in Bakugou's eyes say that he is. The hot head grabs his jaw line roughly, turning him towards you and looking at you at the same time.

"Alright let's see if you're my slut or his Princess." 

"O...okay." You whisper pulling another deadly laugh from the horned devil. His wings unfurl a bit, making him seem bigger before his weighted gaze settles on your skin.  He let's go of Red, trapping you in the chair again, leaning as close as he did to the red head. Nose grazing yours. 

"You don't even know what you've blindingly agreed too. Are you that desperate or just stupid?" His voice drawfs the rushing blood in your ears. His hand tentatively hovers over your throat, reading your gaze before he takes an extra step. Cutting off a bit of the blood flow to your brain, gasping for delighted breath you stare him down. Heart hammering in your chest as you felt like a small lamb ensured in the sharp teeth of a wolf. 

"Answer me." A nasty bite, dark eyes clouded with his own dom space but still attentive enough to watch for queues. 

Although you are more than willing, he is playing a dangerous game. He doesn't know your kinks, worse yet your safe word. This session had turned more into a scene than anything else. Even though the three of you are not having sex he needs to he sure of your limits. 

Or a least a good dominant should. Still you answer and still he is a damn good guesser. 

"I..I'm desperate." Bakugou's smile sends a rush of heat to your sex and an endless amount of endorphins to your brain. You feel a bit high, head light from lack of air. He turns your face slightly away from him, pressing his cheek to yours as he breaks the spell for just a moment, easing his grip on your throat. 

"You say black when you want us to stop. Got it." It takes you a moment to process what he's saying before you frantically nod yes, "You gotta say it around baby girl." 

God you melt, melt and die right there in the chair. His voice feather soft in this moment making you want more, more, more as if he really were the demon king brought here to corrupt you. 

"Yes, King." It's a whisper but it's enough to make Bakugou's dick twitch. 

Fuck what a good name and one he hadn't heard before. He presses a soft kiss to your hairline before using his soft voice for a final time. 

"That's my good kitten." It's a soft growl and somehow you melt even more. He trails kisses along your jawline, giving you a moment to say yes or no before he kisses down your throat, pushing away the fabric of your dress to expose your shoulder. You moan as his breath tickles the perked skin, waiting impatiently for that anticipated kiss. Although it never comes. Instead he settles for sinking his teeth into your shoulder instead of your throat. Pulling and gnashing his teeth leaving a bruise as dark as your dress. Teeth outlined the black blossom. He drags his tongue along your throat before his replaces it with your hand. Pulling you into a bruising kiss that has you seeing fireworks, earning a moan. He slips his tongue in and you do not even attempt to fight, only attempt to keep up. He squeezes your throat tighter and you're floating. Clinging onto Bakugou with dying strength, nails biting into his biceps. 

Too soon he pulls away, a hazed look in his eyes surely matching your own. His cheeks slightly flushed as the two of you pant. He gives a cocky grin as if he already knows that he's won. He steps back a bit, hitting Kirishima on the shoulder before whispering in his ear. 

"Black means stop got it?" Kirishima holds contact with him and nods before coming close to you. 

Unlike his counterpart Kirishima uses more of his hands, letting them trail on your legs, your arms, nails raking against your scalp. Pulling at your hair. It is hypnotic in the same sense that Bakugou was. You sigh deeply, happily as you look into a deep set of ruby red eyes. He takes his side of you, the right side, especially since Bakugou already claimed your left. Gently he allows one hand to rest on your hip. He gives you a moment and when nothing comes out of your mouth he squeezes. Kissing slow, soft kisses on your jawline, throat. Lips pressing on the crook of your neck before he too removes the fabric exposing your other shoulder. He does not breathe hotly over his meal, he dives right in.  Pointed teeth sinking in as you groan from the pleasure.  He almost draws blood. He does not suck, no he only bites. All teeth marks set deep in blackish blue when he pulls away. He checks on you again before he methodically he leans in, grabbing your chin to tilt you to him, kissing you so softly, lips moving at a snail's pace before they begin to quicken. Faster and faster until those teeth are pulling at your bottom lip, tongue finding its way in as you sigh into the kiss. 

Just as before the kiss ends too soon and you cry out in mock rage but true agitation. 

God you just wanted them. Kirishima makes room for Bakugou to push his way into the small space before you. Each trapping you from their respective side. 

"So…" Kirishima pants, Bakugou finishes for him. 

"Who wins? Who owns your dirty mouth?" Their voices low and breath mingling with yours as they stare into your face. 

"Can..can you please show me my options again." 

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 57

Masterlist

A/N: I've decided to use a more omniscient narrator for this chapter to allow me to jump between povs/places. I hope this isn't confusing, I usually don't write omniscient povs.

----

On the first day, the sun rises to a land drenched in blood. Maybe some of the citizens mistake it for the trick of the light at first, the red morning sun reflecting on the water, but soon enough, they realize that this is no illusion.

The news spread through the land like a great weave, bringing panic in its wake. The river running through the Black Land is essential, its water sustaining the life in the region. There are secondary rivers and wells, of course, but those are turned to blood as well. But Fae cannot drink blood, and neither can their cattle. They cannot use blood to water their crops, either.

The humans are not panicking, although the Fae do not notice this (humans are below their notice, and this goes double when they are currently so occupied with themselves). They are giddy with excitement, even though they are trying to hide it. Having been sent to fetch water for their masters, they were the first to notice something was wrong, and in the beginning, they were worried, but it wasn’t long before the first of them found out that the blood turns back to water in their hands.

In the Seraphim army camp, the soldiers are above all confused. It falls to Drakon to explain the situation to them, as Miryam is still resting in their tent, sleeping so deeply she might as well be unconscious. He keeps his explanations short since he does not want to give any spies who might be listening any important information, but he takes care to make it clear that the curse is set to only affect those who have harmed the human residents of the Black Land, so they should remain unharmed.

Later, in a tent with his army commanders, he goes more into detail. The curse is tied, he explains, to the suffering of the humans here, past and present, and it will continue to punish those who caused that suffering until the humans are freed. As long as they aren’t, things will continue to get worse.

After he has finished, his commanders are silent for a moment. Then, Sinna nods slowly. “If anyone disagrees with this approach,” she says, “you are free to return to Erithia. This decision will have no consequences for you, and no one will think you lesser for it.”

Looks are exchanged, some of them wary, others unsure. No one leaves, though.

On the other end of the country, the Alliance council receives the news of what is happening in the Black Land. Andromache smiles darkly, whispering good riddance to Nakia. Most of the Fae frown, muttering amongst themselves. In the end, a missive is sent out to Miryam, asking her to appear before the council and explain herself. It goes ignored.

In her lavish suite of rooms in her palace, Ravenia receives the news that her rivers are now running with blood together with a letter. It is sealed in the Erithian seal and when she opens it, there is only one word written on the paper: Surrender.

----

On the morning of the second day, Ravenia has the two witchers remaining in her service after Artax’s death herd three-hundred-forty-one humans into a witch circle, making it seven times seven times seven people in the circle in total, and orders them to break the curse. The witchers die. The humans die. And in answer, the earth under them rumbles. Cracks form in the land, running through the ground like spiderwebs.

Out of the cracks crawl insects. Lice and fleas and mosquitos. Within an hour, every Fae throughout the land is covered in itching bites. Some try to flee into the water, but the rivers are still running blood and anyone who does dare to go into that doesn’t last long inside.

Before midday, even the last of the Fae have noticed that the humans are miraculously unaffected by the insects.

Drakon spends the day sending out messengers to all the corners of the country. The message they bear is simple: Free your slaves and this will all end. Refuse, harm them, and it will grow worse until your country is reduced to ashes. He prays they will be reasonable.

A few hours later, Ravenia sends out messengers of her own: Every person who chooses to free their slaves and send them to the Erithian army is guilty of treason and will be executed accordingly.

----

On the third day, the livestock begins to grow sick. No one quite knows where it’s coming from. It’s like the grass has suddenly turned poisonous, even if this poison affects only domesticated animals. By now, people are truly beginning to panic. The water being turned to blood is already bad, but most of them still hope it will be turned back to water soon enough. Dead livestock remains dead, though, and it might cause problems for years to come.

Miryam is still in pain from the spell by then, but it is manageable enough that she feels she can probably get up without falling over immediately. Gritting her teeth, she forces herself into a sitting position on her bed and begins to fumble for some proper clothes. Getting dressed takes thrice as long as usual, but she does manage to stand without falling over, which she counts as a victory. (Less fortunate is the fact that her power is still drained.)

Slowly, Miryam pushes the tent’s entrance open. As soon as she steps outside, the entire camp seems to freeze. The soldiers, who went about their activities until a moment ago, stop mid-motion to stare at her. After a heartbeat, they seem to realize what they are doing and quickly look away, most of them returning to their activities with a stiffness that wasn’t there before.

Miryam desperately wants to tell them that they needn’t be nervous about her, but she forces herself to ignore the awkwardness. If they are scared of her, she will not make it better by calling them out on it. At least the humans don’t seem to be wary of her when she visits their camp – they are more excited than anything – and as the day progresses, the Seraphim relax as well.

In Lako, Ravenia’s situation is growing worse by the hour. Not only is her entire body itching dur to these cursed fleas, she is also under more and more pressure from her nobles. They want to see her acting, and ideally not in a way that sets of a plague of insects all over their country. The last thing Ravenia wants is to show any weakness to Miryam, but right now, another meeting seems inevitable, if only to convince her people that she isn’t just sitting around doing nothing. If it was up to her, she would simply attack the army camped before her city, but her own army is still several days away, and besides, her people don’t seem all too eager to provoke the person who is currently holding their water reserves hostage. So Ravenia grinds her teeth and sends a letter to Miryam, asking for a meeting.

When Miryam receives the letter half an hour later, she frowns and shakes her head. “I’m not going,” she says. “Negotiations? None of my demands are up to negotiations, and anyways, she isn’t in a position to negotiate.”

Of course, if Miryam doesn’t go, Ravenia might use it to pretend that there is no peace because Miryam refuses negotiations. On the other hand, if she does go, Ravenia will just as easily be able to pretend that it was Miryam who caused negotiations to fail, since they would be meeting in private this time, away from the palace and any spying eyes. Either way is a mess, and so Miryam will pick the more pleasant option, which is not going.

“I’ll go,” Drakon says, and when Miryam turns around to frown at him, he shrugs. “I know she likely doesn’t mean this offer, but if there’s any way to resolve this without bloodshed, I think we should take it.”

Miryam nods. She doesn’t exactly agree – mainly because she really does not think Ravenia will listen to reason before she is on the brink of dying of thirst – but she can understand why Drakon feels the need to try. She feels bad enough about the idea of him facing Ravenia alone that she almost offers to come along, though. But Drakon didn’t ask her to, and since she doesn’t want to look like she doesn’t trust him to handle Ravenia on his own, she stays silent.

Two hours later, Drakon sets out for the meeting with Ravenia. He is nervous, but not as nervous as he was during earlier meetings. He doesn’t think the meeting is a trap, and apart from that, there’s little Ravenia can do to him anymore.

They meet by the side of the Klei river. It is a strange meeting place, lacking all the splendour and grandeur of the palaces that hosted all their previous meetings. To Drakon, Ravenia looks entirely out of place here. He can only imagine her in palaces, surrounded by servants, guards and courtiers. Not standing alone in the blood-stained earth, no companions to be seen.

“I was expecting your wife,” Ravenia says by way of greeting.

She is wearing a long, loose silk dress and her usual golden jewellery, but even her expensive clothes cannot hide the stings covering her entire body. Somehow, she also seems smaller than usual, far less imposing.

In her palace, she always manages to make herself seem more-than-Fae, invincible and untouchable. Out here, with the red river only feet away, though, it is obvious that she is just a person who happened to be born into power.

“Miryam is otherwise occupied,” Drakon says. His voice is even, and he is surprised to find that he isn’t terrified. For once, Ravenia’s mere presence isn’t enough to make him want to cower.

“And what would I have to discuss with you?” Ravenia asks.

“You called this meeting,” Drakon says. “I’d assume you would know why you did it.”

Ravenia lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I called the meeting to convince my country’s nobility that I am doing something to solve this unpleasant curse business. If you had any understanding at all of how politics work, you would know that.”

The jab fails to hit its mark. Not long ago, it would have stung, but right now, Drakon doesn’t even understand why he ever let her words hurt him. She is a tyrant, a monster and slave owner. Cauldron, why does he care what she thinks of his competence as a ruler? If anything, he should take it as a complement if she thinks him a bad ruler.

“You ought to surrender,” he says. “No one died yet, but if you continue to refuse, people will die. Your people. End this now, before any lasting damage is done.”

He doesn’t even understand how there can be any debate for Ravenia, how she can so casually risk her peoples’ lives over an already-lost battle.

“I have no intention of surrendering to you,” Ravenia replies evenly.

“What other choice do you have?” He shakes his head. “You’ve lost. Do you truly want to wait until hundreds, thousands of your people have died before you will finally admit it? Would that satisfy your pride?”

“If you’re so concerned about my peoples’ lives, you should not have set off that curse. Make no mistake, Your Highness – any deaths that will happen in this will be on you and your wife.” She laughs. “Or maybe only your wife, since I doubt she even discussed it with you first. It must be such a relief for you to finally have handed over your country to someone else.”

Drakon stares at her, lightly shaking his head. How did he ever allow himself to be this terrified of her? She is just a person. Someone with power, yes, but a large part of her power also comes from other people allowing her to have power over them. And right now, in their current situation, she has no power at all if Drakon doesn’t play along with her games.

“I don’t need to listen to this,” he says, nearly smiles at the surprise on her face. “I’m just here because I wanted to see if there was a way to avoid unnecessary deaths. It seems there isn’t, so I’m leaving. If you change your mind, send a letter.”

He winnows away without giving her the chance to reply. The meeting might not have led anywhere, he might not have managed to convince Ravenia of a peaceful solution, but still, this feels like a victory, if a smaller and more personal one.

----

On the fourth day, people begin to grow sick. It’s like the sand has turned to acid – wherever it touches them, it leaves boils and burns. None of it is life-threatening, but it is certainly painful.

The council sends another missive to Miryam, demands that she is to explain herself growing more urgent. She writes back this time, a short, polite refusal. The last thing she needs right now is the council meddling in her decisions.

According to her estimations, the surrender should arrive within the day. Fae can go five days without water. They are on the fourth day and by now, even Ravenia should have realized that there will be no breaking this curse. Theoretically, she has until tomorrow, but it would be smarter to surrender now, when her people aren’t yet on the brink of dying from thirst and she still stands a chance of making her position seem less desperate.

No royal messenger arrives, though. Miryam spends most of the day walking around the camp, trying to hold casual conversations with people. The Seraphims’ nervousness around her has eased somewhat, as they seem to have realized that Miryam cursing a country does not mean that she will be acting any differently towards them.

A delegation from Lako arrives at dusk. Miryam’s heart leaps, but then, she sees that these people don’t come bearing Ravenia’s coat of arms. Their expensive clothes mark them as nobles, and indeed Miryam recognizes a few of them, but they were not sent by Ravenia.

The leader is a woman dressed in a long, purple gown. It is cut longer than is fashion, with a high neckline and long sleeves, but even those don’t entirely manage to conceal the boils and stings all over her body. After a moment’s hesitation, Miryam recognizes her as Lady Seliah, one of the higher-ranking nobles in the city. She bows before Miryam, which comes as a surprise.

“Your Highness,” she says, then bows before Drakon who appeared next to Miryam. “Your Highness.”

“Lady Seliah,” Miryam replies, watching surprise flicker over the other woman’s face. Of course, she wouldn’t remember that they have met before. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“We have come to ask, no, to beg you to end this curse.” Seliah keeps her eyes lowered as she speaks. “We will gladly meet your demands – “

“Will you?” Miryam cuts her off, although she keeps her tone pleasant. “Because I think I made my demands quite clear, and still, I have not yet received news of you freeing your slaves.”

Seliah squirms. “Queen Ravenia has forbidden us from releasing them. We would gladly meet your terms, but there is no way for us to do so without risking our lives.”

“Given how easily you accepted my peoples’ suffering – and, in fact, accept the risk to their lives right now – you’ll understand if I find myself struggling to sympathize,” Miryam replies. What is it with these Fae always thinking that no matter what atrocities they commit, they will come out unharmed? Do they expect Miryam to be moved by them suddenly feeling threatened by the very ruler they supported all these years?

“I’m not asking in my name, but in the name of the innocent people who are suffering,” Seliah says.

A noble dressed in fine silks as a champion for the common people. Well, that is certainly something new. If this was the route they wanted to go, you’d think they would have been smart enough to at least send someone who isn’t noble.”

“And it’s the innocents in this country I am thinking of when I refuse,” Miryam replies, deliberately twisting her words. After all, which Fae here is truly innocent? She shakes her head. “If Ravenia is your problem, I suggest you deal with it. And quickly, since I believe you might be running out of water soon.”

If Seliah is angry, she hides it well. She merely bows her head, thanks Miryam for her time and returns to the city.

By sunset, her and the other nobles who accompanied her are dead, their bodies hanging from the walls of Lako, a message to anyone else in the city who might consider going behind Ravenia’s back to negotiate with the enemy.

----

By the fifth day, the earth has taken to trembling slightly every couple of minutes. That’s not the worst of it, though. When the sun rises, it is quickly obscured by a buzzing cloud of insects. Locusts, who descend upon the fields, bushes and trees with a vengeance. Within hours, they have devoured any leaves they managed to get a hold on, destroying this year’s harvest within hours. People are panicking.

And still, there is no word from Ravenia.

This is not what Miryam planned. Ravenia ought to have surrendered by now. She needs to surrender – without any water supply, she has no other choice. Yet five days are almost over. By now, people must be dying of thirst, and still, Ravenia hasn’t sent word.

Miryam wanders through the camp, restless. Something is going wrong, but she doesn’t know what. She supposes it’s possible that Ravenia has people winnowing water in, but they could never bring enough for the entire population. And surely Ravenia wouldn’t sacrifice thousands of her people, right? (Killing thousands of people was never part of Miryam’s plan. She knew there might be casualties, yes, and she willingly accepted it. She did not anticipate that everyone might die, though.)

She figures out what went wrong a few hours before sunset, when a stack of barrels in the centre of the camp she passes for the fifth time that evening catches her attention. She stops one of the soldiers rushing past.

Nodding towards the barrels, she asks, “What’s in those?”

“It’s mostly water, Your Highness,” he replies. “It is customary to keep some storages in case the river gets poisoned.”

Miryam nods slowly, horror dawning on her at the realization and growing worse as she looks into one of the barrels. The water in those barrels is still water. Every river, every will and spring in the entire Black Land is running blood, but a curse on the land apparently does not affect water that is being stored in canisters and barrels. Most of the Black Land relies on water from the river, yes, but the cities would still have some storages, or at least some other beverages like wine, to last them for a few days.

This is all wrong.

Some part of Miryam is glad that at least she didn’t just cause hundreds of thousands of people to die from thirst, but at the same time… It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

It’s the same thing she tells Drakon, ten minutes later in their tent, after having explained to him and Sinna what happened.

“This isn’t how it was meant to happen,” she whispers, more to herself than to anyone else. “They should have been surrendering by now. Fae can’t go for more than five days without water – they would have had to surrender.”

This was the plan. Take away their water and make them uncomfortable. Scare them, force them into a surrender. This was the plan. No one would even have needed to die if only they had been reasonable.

Drakon’s face is dark. “Will Ravenia distribute her water supplies?” He asks.

Miryam flinches. She hadn’t even considered that angle yet. “I don’t know,” she says.

Ravenia will want to keep enough water for herself and her nobles, that much is certain. But at the same time, she will need to appease her subject somehow if she doesn’t want to risk riots.

“To the nobles for sure,” she says after a moment’s hesitation. “Probably also some citizens. But the poorer ones, those who aren’t living in the city…” She shrugs and shakes her head at the same time.

This isn’t how she meant it to happen. The people who will die will still be slave owners, still criminals, but… It wasn’t the lower classes she meant to hit with this. And she knew people would likely die, both from her curse and the consequences that might follow, but she had thought the deaths would be few and far between.

Now, they likely won’t be.

“Alright, then,” Sinna says, crossing her arms. “What will that curse of yours do next?”

“I don’t know,” Miryam says, voice small. She didn’t plan this far, didn’t think it would get this far. (Didn’t really care, if she is being entirely honest.) “This is complicated magic, and I only really planned it out for five days.” Because after five days, every Fae here was supposed to be on the brink of dying from thirst. “The curse is set in a way that will make it get worse, but how…” She shrugs. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell.”

Sinna is silent for a moment. Then, she says slowly, “So you set a curse on an entire country without knowing what it will do should it go on for longer than you planned.” She shakes her head and cuts a glare at Drakon. “Both of you. And you didn’t think that might turn into a problem?” When neither of them reply, she sighs. “Wonderful.”

Miryam stares down at her feet and doesn’t say that she would do it all again for a chance to save her people.

----

On the sixth day, the sun doesn’t rise. Or maybe it does, but its light certainly doesn’t reach the Black Land. Throughout the country, torches are being lit, but even their light barely manages to pierce the darkness that has fallen. It is a darkness that can be felt, thick and heavy like ink.

Once again, the humans get away easily. To them, the darkness feels soothing and while they can’t see anywhere near as good as in light, they can still easily make out shapes.

Many of them decide to use the opportunity while it is there. Their masters cannot see in the darkness – they can. In thousands, humans flee from the cities, vanish from houses and fields and make for the centre of the country where they have heard they will find safety.

In one of the cities to the west, the Fae leadership decides enough is enough. They will not be humiliated by a mortal like this, and they will not allow their slaves to get away unscathed, to laugh at their misery and celebrate their own victory. They will show to that mortal girl who thinks she can force their hand and attack their country, show to every mortal worm what happens when they try to cross the Fae.

They give out the order to have every human in the city brought to the marketplace and killed.

The news spread through the city like wildfire. The humans clutter together, hold on tight to each other and prepare for the end. Most of the Fae stand tightly together as well – but where the humans are silent, they are whispering, arguing. By that time, it is common knowledge that this curse is punishment for slavery, for harming humans. It is also common knowledge that Miryam’s policy for people who murder humans is simple: Execution. In other words, killing a whole group of humans does not seem to be the smartest course of action in this situation.

The large majority of the Fae in the Black Land, the Fae in this city, doesn’t care at all about human lives. They do, however, care a whole lot about their own lives. And right now, they are quickly discovering that they aren’t ready to die so that their leaders can get a brief moment of empty defiance against the people invading their country – especially when those invaders have already promised to be lenient if their demands are met.

Within a few hours, leadership over the city has quietly changed hands. The city council has been, for the time being, locked into the dungeons. After quite some arguments and even more grumbling, the humans are allowed to leave the slave quarters and instead given proper rooms in the Fae’s houses. No one is quite fond of that arrangement, but well, the curse is said to be tied to human suffering, and since no one is quite sure what counts as suffering, being extra careful seems only sensible.

Of course, the story of what happened there does not stay confined to one city. Within hours, all of the neighbouring towns have heard and many of them quietly decide to follow their example. That there is no immediate reaction from Ravenia only makes people grow bolder.

A meeting is called and held that night, with a good half of the Black Land’s city leadership in attendance. After a few hours of arguing, they come to the conclusion that there is only one sensible course of action right now: To fulfil Miryam’s demands even if Ravenia refuses to, and hope that will be enough to keep them safe. They are all aware that Ravenia would have their heads for this decision, but they have long reached the point where a soon-to-be-dead queen is far, far less daunting than what might happen if they refuse Miryam’s demands for any longer.

Throughout the country, Fae are beginning to die of thirst by now. Some are lucky enough to have found water, and the children, as it turns out, can still drink from the rivers and wells, but the death toll still climbs quickly, reaching and surpassing one thousand before midday. Everyone who survives is hungry and miserable and, by now, ready to do just about anything to end this curse. Still, though, Ravenia does not surrender.

----

On the seventh day, a thunderstorm breaks out. Lighting flashes through the sky, piercing the darkness that is still reining in the country for seconds at a time. Thunder roars, and hail falls to the ground in giant chunks, destroying fields and injuring or killing anyone who is stupid enough to be outside. (Notably, it doesn’t hit a single human although some of them have been sent outside to bring in any surviving livestock.)

Throughout the country, cities and villages are beginning to free their slaves and send them on their way towards the capital. Groups of thousands form, slowly marching through the storm.

On the other side of the Continent, the council is horrified. At least that’s what the Fae members keep repeating, even though most of them are honestly more horrified by the idea of what Miryam being able to completely wreck a country within a few days might mean for them than by the moral issue of sending giant chunks of ice raining down on a country. Meanwhile, Andromache is just about ready to punch the next person to talk about how horrifying Miryam’s actions are, especially when these are the people who, through years and centuries past, were never once been horrified by the crimes committed against humans.

She does not see the undercurrent moving through the Alliance, just below the surface of civility and righteous outrage. She does not notice the looks that are being exchanged while the human councilmembers are no looking, the meetings that are held, in secret and behind closed doors. Zeku notices, though, and he watches the events unfold in silence. He could stop it still, he supposes, or at least try to alert someone to it. But he has his own people to think of, and he cannot throw their lives away over a lost cause. Besides, it’s not like he didn’t try to warn Miryam, time and again. No one can blame him that she never listened.

The seventh day is also the day when Mor finally loses her patience. She has been watching in silence so far, horror growing with each day, unable to comprehend what she is seeing. In the beginning, she tried to tell herself that Miryam wasn’t harming anyone, that she was just trying to pressure the Fae into doing her bidding, but now, people are dying and Miryam still shows no sign of stopping.

She doesn’t understand. Cannot wrap her mind around how Miryam – Miryam who values kindness and hates unnecessary cruelty – can do this.

Mor has come to the decision that she will make her see reason. This needs to end, now, and somehow, Mor will convince Miryam. She steps out of her tent where she was hiding from the thunderstorm outside and begins to search the camp for Miryam.

The Fae camp is emptier than usual. It seems that even with the storm not affecting them, most of the soldiers prefer to hide in their tents. The humans are out and about, though, sitting about campfires and talking. Some of them must have dragged some of the smaller balls of hail over, and now, children are gathered around as some of the adult divide up the ice between them. They seem to be enjoying themselves. And well, why shouldn’t they? After all, none of the curses ever affect them.

It is that precision, more than anything else, that scares more. Because a spell this precise is no accident, no result of a moment’s desperation. It is calculated, and that makes it worse.

She finds Miryam on the second round through the camp, as she is just about to enter her tent. Drakon and Sinna are with her. Mor hurries over to join them.

“You need to end this,” she says by way of greeting. This was not how she meant to approach the topic, but damnit, there are chunks of ice that are bigger than her raining from the sky.

Sinna arches an eyebrow. “Hello to you, too, Mor,” she says. “Pleasure meeting you.”

Mor ignores her and instead turns to Miryam. “You need to end this,” she repeats. “Before any more people die. Miryam, please, so many people are already dead, it can’t go on like this.”

Miryam sighs. “And what other choice do I have?” She sounds so tired. Looks tired, too. Mor didn’t notice the last few days, but she looks like she hasn’t slept at all since she cast the spell. “If I were to end this now – which I can’t, by the way – what do you think would happen? This is the only protection my people have, Mor.”

On another day, Miryam’s words might have gotten through to Mor. Today, though, she doesn’t even notice the implications of Miryam saying that she can’t undo the curse, she is far too caught up in her horror and confusion about how Miryam can stand there and defend what is happening.

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “This goes too far, Miryam.” Miryam doesn’t reply and Mor gestures wildly to the sky. “Have you looked outside lately? There are human-sized chunks of ice falling from the sky. You can’t just destroy an entire country for revenge!”

Miryam’s face hardens. “You think I’m doing this for revenge?” She asks.

Yes, Mor does think that. At least partially. If it wasn’t out of revenge, no one would ever do this. Certainly not Miryam, who hates hurting people.

“Does it matter?” She shoots back, voice rising. Heads are beginning to turn in their direction. “There is no reason good enough to justify this! You are killing thousands of innocents!”

“Funny, because I thought I was saving the innocents, and the people who are dying were all slave owners,” Miryam snaps, although she keeps her voice hushed. Then, she shakes her head and her posture relaxes slightly. “Besides, there’s no point in having this argument. I cannot stop this curse – it’s set to continue until the Black Land frees its slaves.”

Mor shakes her head, a chill running down her spine. Miryam couldn’t have… She wouldn’t have… She would never have set a spell to destroy a country without leaving a backdoor to stop it.

“And what if Ravenia doesn’t surrender?” She asks. She wants to take Miryam by the shoulders and shake her until she understands, but from the way Sinna is currently looking at her, she probably wouldn’t get away with that. “What then, Miryam?”

Now, finally, Miryam lowers her eyes. So she does feel bad after all. But it is clear that she still doesn’t regret what she did. To her, this seems more like this is an unfortunate side effect, something she doesn’t like to consider but still willingly accepted to get what she wants.

“Then I imagine the next Loyalist country will think twice before refusing to surrender,” Sinna answers for Miryam. “And now lower your voice. You’re making a scene.”

Mor stares at her like she’s seeing her for the first time. Then, she turns around to Drakon, who has been watching in silence until now. He has to agree with her. Surely he cannot like this any more than she does.

“Drakon,” she says, almost pleading, “you cannot agree with this. Tell me you don’t think this is right.”

But Drakon, Cauldron damn him, merely shakes his head. “Five hundred thousand people, Mor,” he says softly. “We are talking about five hundred thousand people who will all be murdered if Ravenia gets her way.”

Mor gapes at him, unable to believe that he is taking Miryam’s side on this. If there is one person who she was sure would disagree with this, it was Drakon. But well, Miryam is his mate. Maybe she should have expected that he would back her up in anything, no matter what.

She turns back to Miryam. “There are lines!” She snaps. By now, people are beginning to stop and stare, but Mor doesn’t care. “Lines you can’t cross, no matter what! And murdering thousands of civilians is one of those lines!”

“And what would you have me do instead?” Miryam asks. She doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Somehow, that makes it worse. If she was angry, Mor could at least tell herself that this was a spontaneous decision made out of anger or fear, not a calculated plan. “Do nothing and allow them all to be murdered rather than jeopardize my moral integrity? Would that make me a good person in your eyes?”

Mor opens her mouth – and closes it again when she realizes she doesn’t have a reply. The way Miryam puts it, there is no possible reply she can give. She doesn’t know how to explain that this simply isn’t right, and she’s too angry, too desperate to be particularly eloquent anymore. How did she come to be standing here, arguing with Miryam about whether it is okay for her to take an entire country hostage or not?

Miryam sighs and takes a step towards Mor. “You think I like this any more than you do?” She asks. “Believe me, if there was any other way, I would have gladly taken it.”

Mor takes a step backwards. “Yeah, well, I’m sure Ravenia thought she was justified in destroying Erithia as well,” she snaps.

The tension that takes over the room is almost physical. It’s like everyone tenses at once, like the temperature drops by a few degrees. Sinna takes half a step towards Mor, hand clenched to a fist. Drakon grabs her by the arm and stops her before she can get any further.

“That was a sorry comparison, Mor,” he says softly.

“Oh, yes, my comparison is a problem but Miryam casually killing thousands of people is perfectly fine,” Mor snaps.

She is vaguely aware that she should probably take her comment back, apologize. But she is far too angry and she still doesn’t understand.

“I apologize,” Miryam finally says. Her voice is icy, her face carefully blank. “I assumed I made it clear enough what the goal of this campaign would be, and what I was ready to do to achieve it. I wouldn’t want to make you participate in anything you are uncomfortable with, so if you truly feel this way, you are, of course, free to leave.”

“I certainly don’t need your permission for this,” Mor replies, voice equally sharp. “You go commit all the crimes you feel like, but I want no part in that.”

With that, she spins around and pushes through the newly-assembled crowd of onlookers towards the edge of the camp. She winnows away as soon as she reaches the edge of the wards.

Miryam remains standing in front of her tent, staring at the spot where Mor was standing until a moment ago. Then, she slowly looks up at the soldiers who are standing around, staring. She hopes they didn’t hear everything that happened.

“We should probably go inside,” she mutters, pain twisting in her chest. She tries very, very hard not to think about what Mor said, or about the fact that this might just have been the end of their friendship. (Not necessarily, she tries to tell herself. People argue all the time and usually, they find a way to fix their relationships afterwards.)

As soon as they are inside, she slumps down on one of the cushions lying on the ground. She pulls her knees up to her chin and stares down at the ground. Drakon sits down next to her. Hesitantly, he reaches a hand for her, letting it hover inches away from her arm, until Miryam leans against him.

“Well, that was nasty,” Sinna says.

Drakon nods, face tight.

“I don’t want all these people to die,” Miryam says. “Of course I don’t, I just…” She shakes her head, fumbling for words.

She understands Mor’s anger, doesn’t blame her for it, and yet… She never made a secret of it, did she? Time and time again, she said that she would do whatever it takes to free her people. She always, always made it known that she would do anything, cross every line if it meant her people could walk free. So why is Mor surprised now?

The problem, she thinks, is that people use the words “whatever it takes” too casually. It’s just like with the word “hate” – people use it so often, so easily, that it loses its original meaning. When people promise “I will do whatever it takes”, they usually mean “I will try really hard”. There’s always some kind of line, though, something they won’t be able to do. They mean “I will go until a certain point, and if I haven’t reached my goal by then, well, no one can really blame me, right?”

And Miryam doesn’t have a problem with that mindset. People should have lines. It is deeply concerning when they don’t. She doesn’t blame Mor for disagreeing with her methods or not going any further, either. But it’s not like Miryam wasn’t honest.

Besides, lines or no lines, surely what Miryam is doing isn’t that horrible? It is terrible, sure, but Mor seems to be forgetting that the only people who are affected, the only people who die, are slave owners who, through seven years of war, refused to stop owning people as property. It’s not that Miryam wants every slave owner to die, she doesn’t even want these people to die, but they are hardly innocents. Each and every one of them has the choice to free their slaves and convince others to do the same. If they don’t, why would Miryam coddle them, these Fae who committed so many crimes against her people?  Why is it that they get to commit atrocity after atrocity and still be considered innocent bystanders in this conflict?

“I don’t know what she expects of me,” she says out loud, jumping to her feet. She promised herself that she wouldn’t be angry with anyone for being horrified at what she is doing, but right now, she just can’t help it. “That I act perfect about everything? How am I supposed to free a single human if Ravenia can have each and every one of them murdered at will, but I am apparently a monster if I so much as kill a few slave owners?”

Drakon rises as well and puts a hand on her arm. “Mor was just upset,” he says. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

Miryam is far less sure of that. For whatever reason, Mor cannot accept what she is doing and she highly doubts that will change.

“It’s a matter of visibility, I think,” Sinna says. “Wars usually kill far more civilians than this, but what you are doing is very flashy. Besides, those deaths are usually presented as accidents – even if they aren’t – while you appear to be attacking civilians on purpose.”

“Well, those civilians are slave owners and I’m trying to get them free the slaves,” Miryam says drily.

“I’m not saying you are wrong. I’m saying people will be more easily horrified by this because it is so visible.” Sinna shrugs. “It doesn’t make sense. I mean, this entire war killed far more civilians than what you are doing now, yet no one ever blamed you for starting it.”

Miryam freezes, staring over at Sinna. Some part of her realizes that she meant well, but… it’s bad enough to think about the thousand-or-so people who died in the last few days. She really did not need to be reminded that technically, every person who died in the entire war is her fault.

This is all too much. Why must everything always be her responsibility? All these hundreds of thousands of lives… no single person should be responsible for so much. It’s always her needing to make these choices, and while she thinks she is right, she really doesn’t have a way of knowing and this is just too much to handle.

She needs to get away.

“You’ll excuse me,” Miryam says, jumping to her feet. She pushes the tent’s entrance aside and rushes out of the tent.

The moment she steps outside, she realizes that this was a mistake. Soldiers pause to stare at her, their gazes almost a physical weight. Momentum carrying her forward, Miryam keeps walking.

Before she has made it more than two steps, Drakon catches up with her. He must have moved inhumanely fast, because he manages to be by her side quickly enough to make it seem like he was walking out with her all along.

“Sorry,” Drakon says as their guards fall into place behind them. “Sinna was trying to be comforting.”

Miryam nods. “I’m not angry,” she says, and she really isn’t. There’s just a wave crashing down around her and she can feel herself drowning and she needs to get out. “I just need a moment alone.”

She can feel Drakon’s hesitation, and his worry. But she isn’t trying to shut him out, really. She just… well. Sometimes, for some things, she needs time alone. And right now, she desperately needs to be alone, and out of this camp, away from watching eyes.

“Can we talk later?” She asks.

Drakon nods. “Sure. I have a meeting, anyways. I should probably go.” He squeezes her hand. “See you later.”

Miryam nods, manages a smile and hurries off. As soon as she leaves the tent, though, she realizes that being alone is an illusion. A group of five guards is trailing her. In the camp, that might have been easy to ignore, but as soon as she leaves it, it becomes painfully obvious that she is being followed.

Still, she does her best to ignore it, but it is simply impossible. For all that these guards are trying to be inconspicuous, Miryam knows they are there. And as long as they are there, she needs to keep up appearances when all she really needs is some time alone with her feelings to sort through them without constantly being under inspection from others. And she trusts her guards, she does, but there is always the chance that someone might be a spy. Or even without ill intent, they might just end up talking in the camp about how their Princess is losing control, and that would be bad enough.

Her hands begin to shake and she can feel a sob building somewhere in her chest. Somewhere close by, a chunk of ice hits the ground, sand spraying to all sides. Miryam abruptly stops walking and turns around to her guards.

“I would like to be alone for a bit,” she says. “Would you please wait here?”

Her guards exchange looks. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but we can’t… I mean…” He hesitates, looking down at his toes.

“A few minutes alone can’t be too much to ask, can they?” Miryam snaps.

Her guards flinch, and Miryam immediately feels bad. Now she is being an ass to the people whose job it is to protect her. Of course they can’t let her out of sight in the middle of a war, in enemy territory. But she really, really needs to be alone right now, preferably before her control fractures entirely.

Miryam takes a deep breath, trying to fight her rising panic, and looks around. There is a ruin peeking out of the sand in the distance. Not much of it is visible, but it might provide some cover.

“I’ll go over there,” she says and points. “And you stay here. That way, you’ll be able to keep an eye on me and I get some time alone.”

Still, Kalirin, the head of her guards, doesn’t seem entirely convinced. “Your Highness…”

Miryam sighs. “If anything happens, I’ll scream. Until then, you stay here.”

With that, she turns around and walks towards the ruin. The sand crunches under her feet and gets stuck between her toes. The camp itself is closer to the river, where the sand gives way to fertile earth and soft grass, but here, she is standing in an ocean of sand. The ruin pokes out of it like a shipwreck, half-buried and destroyed.

The sandstone the building was made of is withered by the centuries, but Miryam finds an entrance. She has to shove a bit of sand aside, but then, there is enough space for her to squeeze through.

As soon as she is safely hidden from sight, her composure cracks. A sob breaks out of her, an ugly, harsh sound, and then she is on her knees, sobbing. She curls up in the tiny space she made for herself and lets the tears flow.

Eventually, the tears stop. Miryam pushes herself up on her elbows and immediately bangs her head on the ceiling. “Ow,” she mutters and leans her back against the wall. She is trembling slightly and her face is probably swollen from all the crying.

She doesn’t want to go back. If she just stays here, she will never have to face the consequences of what she did. (It isn’t realistic, of course, but just for the moment, it’s nice to imagine.) She tilts her head backwards and stares up at the ceiling.

There are figures carved into it. That in itself isn’t unusual – murals and carvings are popular here – and Miryam is about to turn away when she hesitates. Having lived in the palace in Lako for years, she is familiar with the art the Black Land Fae favour as well as the major historic styles. This style is unfamiliar to her, though.

On any other day, Miryam would have dismissed it, but right now, she jumps at the chance to distract herself. (If she is thinking about these carvings, she isn’t thinking about her argument with Mor, after all.) It is too dark in here for her to make out much of the details, so she begins to shove more sand away from the entrance.

It takes a while, but eventually, Miryam has shoved away enough sand that it’s no darker inside the building than outside. (Which means pitch-black in both cases, but this darkness, Miryam can see through with little difficulty.) Now, with more light, it becomes increasingly clear that these carvings are old, far older than Miryam first thought. She twists around a bit to get a better look, brushes some dust away until she can make out one of the carvings, depicting a woman with a spear raised over her head. Her hair is tied back into hundreds of tiny braids, revealing rounded ears.

The woman in the carving is human.

Miryam’s heart leaps. She stares at the carving for a moment, then begins to hectically push away the sand from the rest of them. A group of people sitting around a table. A woman bathing in a river. People celebrating on a barge, a sunset in the background. There are more carvings in the back, but here, the passage gets too narrow for Miryam to squeeze through and there is too little light to make out the carvings.

Every single person in the carvings she found is human, though. And the Fae of the Black Land never depict humans in any way, deeming them too unimportant to commit and effort into creating drawings or carvings of them. Which means…

It means that these carvings were made by humans. Sometime, likely millennia ago, humans built this building and carved scenes from their lives into the walls.

It means that Ghost was right. Long ago, so long it has been forgotten by the world, there were free humans in this land. Maybe one of the women in the carvings is even the queen he talked about, Rashida. This land belonged to them, they spent their lives here in freedom, and they left traces of it in the walls.

Oh, how she wishes Jurian was here to see this.

Miryam runs her hands over the carvings like that will bring the scenes to life, summon some faint echo of the people who once carved these scenes. She so desperately wishes she could imagine what it was like, but she can’t even truly imagine the Black Land under human rule.

In another world, one where the Fae never took this country away from her ancestors, she might have been born free. She might have lived a happy life, never needing to know war and suffering. She might have loved this country as fiercely as she now hates it, loved it as the humans who made these carvings surely did.

In this world, though, Miryam cannot bring herself to feel any sense of positive connection to this land, no matter its history. This will never be here home. But if she succeeds, then perhaps in a few years, other humans will feel differently. If part of the Black Land goes to the humans, there will be human children born in this country who must never know slavery, who will love this land as a home. They will have everything Miryam didn’t, everything humans in the past had.

And if she needs to burn this country to the ground to get there, then so be it.

----

On the eighth day, the sky starts raining fire. It falls from the sky in huge balls, trailing tails of light behind themselves like comets. Maybe the first Fae to see them in the dark mistook them for shooting stars, or marvelled at their beauty. Maybe some even thought the sudden light in the sky might signal an end to this horrible curse.

They soon learn better.

Where the ice was devastating, the fire is worse. It slams through houses, through wood and stone as if it where paper and sets everything in its wake on fire. Soon enough, the darkness that is still reining throughout the country is replaced by the flickering, orange glow of flames devouring anything in their paths. Throughout the villages and cities, Fae are rushing around, trying desperately to put out the fires, forced to resort to blood from the river instead of water. It isn’t enough, though. Even the fire magic so many of the High Fae here have doesn’t manage to keep the flames at bay.

Miryam watches the flames from afar. The human and Seraphim camp is still dark around her, untouched by the flames, but she can make out Lako in the distance, a glowing orb orange light. She wonders if Ravenia is there, wonders how she feels to see her city go up in flames around her. For a brief moment, she wishes she could see the look on her face.

The triumph that flickers through her at the thought is short-lived. For the most part, she feels terrible. If she is being entirely honest, though, terrible is all she allows herself to feel. If she only feels bad enough about herself, maybe the guilt and horror will be able to drown out the part of her that rejoices at the sight of the city she hated so much in flames, these people who caused her and her people so much pain finally paying for it, Ravenia’s kingdom that was built on human blood crumbling around her.

Miryam could have lived, she thinks, without knowing that she is capable of watching a country burn, knowing that this will cost thousands of lives, and feeling triumphant.

Only a few miles away in Lako, Ravenia stands on one of the many balconies in her palace and stares out at her burning city. All day long, people have been rushing around, trying to put out the flames, but what good does it do when new fire keeps falling from the sky without pause? Even now, comets of fire are shooting down towards her city, tearing through buildings and people. Destroying millennia old buildings, killing and burning.

Ravenia tears her eyes away from the flames and looks out into the darkness where she knows the mortal worm who caused all this has set her camp. Oh, what she would give to see her head spiked to the castle walls. She would set fire to her capital herself, burn down each and every house by hand, if it means that she could get her hands on Miryam in exchange.

She knows, though, that Miryam is beyond her reach. With her army refusing orders, she has no way to get to the girl and she knows that by tomorrow, it will all be over anyways.

If it was up to her, she would take this to the bitter end. Let Miryam burn down the entire country, but Ravenia would see to it that she doesn’t get a single human out alive. She would kill them all and leave Miryam alone in the ashes, choking on her empty victory.

But Ravenia’s people are cowards. Weak-willed, traitorous cowards. Even now, she can see them gathering in the streets, whispering, cursing her name. They have been at it for some time now. Yesterday, when the hail started, Ravenia’s spies first reported that they were talking of an uprising, but now that it’s fire raining from the sky instead of ice, they are actually ready to go through with it.

Ravenia does not wish to surrender. Everything in her rebels against the idea of admitting defeat against a mortal worm, one of her former slaves no less. Yet she doesn’t doubt that if she doesn’t, her own people will drag her out of her palace and tear her apart with their bare hands. Maybe they will send her head to Miryam along with the surrender whoever they chose as their leader will sign, and while the idea of having to surrender and be exiled or executed stings, being usurped and killed by her own people is even more unbearable. If this is the end, then at least she will face it proudly.

Ravenia does not wish to surrender. But in the end, surrender she does.

----

On the ninth day, the sun rises to a destroyed country. The rivers may be running water again, but the end of the curse did not erase its effects. The fields are still destroyed, most of the land burned to ashes, the buildings in ruins. Thousands of people dead.

The palace is deserted. Putting Ravenia and her highest-ranking government officials in chains and sending them to Telique was the first thing Miryam and Drakon did upon taking control of the city. The nobles who were not imprisoned fled to their estates in the countryside, apparently fearing that the invaders might change their minds, and any humans who used to work here have no desire to return.

Miryam had no desire to return, either, and yet she did. Drakon merely shook his head when she asked him if he wanted to return to the palace one last time, but she felt she had to go and so she went.

Slowly, she walks through the deserted halls. There are a million memories connected to this place, and not a single one of them good. She isn’t entirely sure what she is looking for. Some sort of closure, perhaps. Not healing – that will take years and years still – but something to help her make her peace. She knows Drakon found it during his meeting with Ravenia, but when Miryam saw the queen being marched off in chains earlier, she only felt a bitter satisfaction. It doesn’t make the memories of what happened sting less, though.

She reaches the throne room. No guards to be seen, she pushes the doors open herself and steps inside. The hall is entirely empty. A polished floor, artfully decorated walls, an empty throne Ravenia will never sit on again. It looks strangely peaceful, deceptively unthreatening.

This is where Miryam watched her mother and so many other humans, more than she can count, die. This is where she stood, day after day for three years, cowering behind Ravenia’s throne. Where she broke into a million pieces.

She doesn’t know what she is looking for. There is no closure here, not for her. For all that she might want to lock her memories of this place away, it is not possible.

But maybe that’s alright. She has won the war, freed her people. Fulfilled her promise. She isn’t fool enough to think that things will be easy from here on, but she has decades to find a way to make it work. Learn to live with the nightmares instead of run from them. Deal with what was done to her, and what she did. Make a world where no one will ever have to go through the same things as her.

She has her entire life left, and she won’t waste another moment of it in this nightmare.

Miryam turns her back on this horrible, cruel place, this lavish palace now turned crumbling ruin. She does not plan on ever returning – not to this place, and not to this country. Slowly, she walks out of the palace gates one last time.

Outside of the city, she finds her people. They are camped below the city walls, thousands and thousands of them. All of them amazingly, miraculously alive. From where she is standing, she can see children running around between the tents, chasing each other. One of them lets out a breathless laugh.

And doesn’t that alone make every bit of blood and pain, every horrible loss and difficult decision that led her here worth it?

Miryam closes her eyes and lifts her face to the sun shining above. I came back for you, she thinks. Nine years and a war and countless deaths between then and now, but I made it. You are free. We are all free.

----

On the other end of the Continent, Ravenia, formerly Queen of the Black Land, is given a truly unpleasant cell. It comes as a shock, at least to her. She is a queen, after all. Surely they are not going to lock her up in a dreary hole like this, even if she is slated for execution? She always knew the Alliance has little manners, but this is even worse than what she expected. (Unbeknownst to her, some of the Fae on the council were in favour of giving her a pleasant suite of rooms, but they quickly got shouted down by their human colleagues.)

While in the Black Land, humans are travelling towards the capital where so many of their peers are already waiting, Ravenia sits in her cell and stares at the wall. While, eventually, Miryam, Drakon, their army and the hundreds of thousands of humans they are escorting make for the Erythrian Sea where they have arranged for a fleet of ships to escort them across the narrow channel into a more friendly kingdom, Ravenia grumbles about her food and the lack of proper entertainment and pretends, for whoever is watching (which, really, are only a few guards), that this cell is her palace and she still queen.

Her solitude is interrupted just over a week after she was thrown into the cell. Emperor Shey steps into the room. He is dressed in a pristine chemise, deep blue coat slung over his shoulders and his light hair shimmering in the candlelight. Ravenia rises, pretending she is as well-dressed as he is, even though her looks have suffered significantly in the last week.

“Your Excellency,” she says. She does not incline her head (after all, she is Ravenia of the Black Land and she bows to no one, even if she is a prisoner). “I would offer you a seat, but I seem to lack a chair to offer.”

Shey nods. “I’m afraid my mortal allies have little sense for hospitality.” He makes to lean against the wall, seems to notice that it is covered in dirt, and wrinkles his nose. “I come with a suggestion,” he says and holds out a hand. A small bronze key lies in his palm, glowing with some enchantment. Ravenia’s eyes dash from the key to the shackles tying her to the walls, then back again to the key.

“It is charmed to allow you to winnow out of the castle in spite of the wards,” Shey says casually.

Ravenia keeps her gaze fixed on the key but doesn’t reach out to touch it. “Betraying your own allies on your day of victory?” She laughs. “Seems unwise.”

“Not much of a betrayal, is it?” Shey shrugs. “You’ve lost the war, and nothing you can do will change that. But if I’m not mistaken, you still have an army under your command – and the person who is responsible for you losing everything would be within your reach, should you get out of this cell.”

Ravenia’s eyes spark. “So it isn’t your precious Alliance you are betraying. Just its leader.” She laughs again.

“I’m getting rid of a problem,” Shey replies coolly. “And you get the chance to get revenge before your death, so I don’t think you get to complain.” He brushes an invisible fleck of dust off his jacket. “Miryam and her husband are marching for the Erythrian Sea, the humans they freed in tow. They have only a small legion with them, less than the soldiers under your command, but they have ships arranged to transport them across the sea.” He shrugs. “Ships are terribly flammable, though, and these might just burn down before they reach them.”

“And I assume you’ve already arranged for someone to set the fire?”

“Me?” Shey laughs. “My people have no fire powers – unlike yours. The idea that I might be behind this seems outlandish, doesn’t it?”

A smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he bites it down. Now is not the time to gloat, although he is rather proud of his plan. Initially, he had considered sending an assassin after Miryam, but that approach seemed far too risky. With assassins, there are always questions, and knowing these obnoxious mortals, one of them might just lay the blame at his feet. But if Queen Ravenia breaks out of her prison and ends up killing Miryam… well, who would ever think him involved in that? After all, she already has a motive, and no one will have reason to suspect anyone helped her flee her prison.

Shey tosses the key into the air once, then catches it. “A bargain,” he says, offering it to Ravenia again. “You get your revenge. All I’m asking in return is that you never let anyone know I helped you.

Something akin to disgust flickers over Ravenia’s face, there and gone in a moment. She hesitates briefly, fighting the pride that forbids her from doing Shey’s dirty work for him. Her thirst for revenge wins, though. “It’s a bargain,” she says, reaching for the key. Only when she has it safely enclosed in her fist does she look back at Shey. “You have even less honour than I thought,” she says.

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed @aileywrites

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Call Forth Love- Chapter 8

Guys, I’m so sorry this chapter has taken me so long to get out. My family was sick for awhile (nasty stomach bug) so i barely had any time to write, and then this chapter took me forever to edit. Plus this chapter just kept getting longer and longer…oops?

Also, writing sexual tension is my jam but writing actually smut terrifies me. There is a bit of mild smut in here (spoiler) so feedback is always appreciated!

Lastly, a huge thank you to everyone specifically who has commented! I cannot tell you how much your encouragement means to me!

Warnings: mild smut, swearing, Ivar being Ivar, fluff

Words: 12,000 (omg, what??? why didn’t someone stop me?)

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​ @zuxiezendler​ @punkrocknpearls​ @love-all-things-writing​ @southernbe​

Series Masterlist

Kari blearily reached over to turn off the alarm on her phone. It blared from the small table she used as a nightstand. Though she considered herself a morning person, there was something about waking to an alarm, forcing you to jolt to wakefulness, that was never easy to do. Laying on her back, she rubbed a hand down her face, eyes still closed. At least she was not opening the studio this morning. Sasha was back so most of the openings did not fall on Kari anymore. She would never tell her boss but those two weeks were rough. 

 "Fuck. What time is it?"

 Immediately, her eyes flew open. In the next second, she shrieked and thrashed in the bed, not expecting a deep, gravelly voice coming from her bed. Why was someone in her bed? She definitely went to be alone last night. She always went to be alone. Panic surged through her as she spun around to put space between herself and her unexpected companion. Although the rapid movement, and still only being half awake, caused her to almost fall off the side of her bed. She just managed to catch herself, leaving her half sitting, half crouched like some gargoyle at the end of her full-size bed, clutching the pale lavender comforter and white sheet gathered precariously around her. 

 "What the fuck was that for?" Her visitor growled as he laid on his back, an arm thrown over his face. 

 "Ivar?" Her panic was slowly abating as she realized it was not some stranger in her bed. Though her mind still felt muddled as to how he ended up here.  "What…. what are you doing in my bed?"

 "I told you last night. Fuck. Did you forget already?"

 "I…. I thought I dreamt that."

 That got his attention. His arm moved to his side so he could stare at her with those intense blue eyes and a naughty smirk on his lips. "Do you dream of me often?"

 She ignored his question, thinking back to the conversation they had during the night. Even though it was hazy and felt more like a dream than any real conversation. Then it hit her. She was not wearing a bra. 

 "Oh my gods, don't look!" Without hesitation, she rolled off the bed and dashed to her closet.

 "What?" 

 "Don't look!! Ivar, please!"

 "Why? Fuck. Stop shouting too."

 "Because...because I don't have a bra on!"

 He chuckled, folding his arms behind his head to shamelessly watch her. "Mmmm…. I noticed last night."

 "IVAR!!"

 She grabbed a cute sports bra, feeling beyond self-conscious in her gray, cotton sleep shorts and matching thin, cotton t-shirt. Ignoring the man in her bed, she rushed to her attached bathroom. As she quickly donned her leopard print, strappy sports bra, her mind tried to remember last night. All her mind could recall was waking up with him behind her, they talked…. she questioned him…. he said something about missing her and he had a key. That made her groan softly. Why did he have a key? How did he get a key? Looking into the mirror, she quickly fixed her messy hair, throwing it into a quick bun. So many questions swarmed her mind, all dealing with how to best handle this newfound situation she found herself in. Why could things with Ivar never be simple?

 Once ready, well as ready as she was going to be for being startled awake, she stepped out of the bathroom and moved to stand at the end of the bed, hands on her hips. "You have a key."

 Ivar had rolled onto his side, eyes closed. "Can we talk about this later? What fucking time is it? Why are we fucking awake?" He grumbled, not even looking at her. 

 It was now that Kari finally noticed that her bed's current occupant was shirtless. A handsomely toned chest and back were impossible to ignore, making her mouth suddenly feel dry.... and those tattoos.... She rigorously shook her bed, dispelling the distracting thoughts. Now was not the time for ogling. As calmly as possible, she answered Ivar, dropping her gaze to the rumpled sheets. "It's seven and I have to get ready for work."

 "Call in."

 Her head jerked up to stare at him. "What?"

 "Call in to work. Don't go in." He repeated firmly. 

 "Ivar, I can't just do that. I have to be there in two hours."

 He finally shifted and opened his eyes to look at her. It was unfair how handsome he looked lying in her bed with the morning sunlight peeking through the curtains over her window. Now was not the time to think about that. Mentally, she prepared a rebuttal for whatever scathing thing he was going to say, only for it to die dramatically on her tongue. 

 "Whoa, your eyes…." Subconsciously, she took a step closer as if physically drawn to him. Now with the haze of sleep and panic gone from her mind, she was able to fully see how the typical blue seemed to leak into the whites of his eyes. It was disconcerting to say the least. His intense eyes were now even more extreme. 

 "I know." He snapped, turning away from her and rolling back to his side. 

 "No, no, no. You don't get to do that. You already owe me so many answers." She crawled onto the bed and over to him. Although frustrated with him, the way he tried to ignore her and hide his face away made her worried. Gently, she brushed the few loose strands of hair off his cheek. When that did not even get a reaction, she gripped his chin and turned his head. "What's going on?" She asked softly.

 "Nothing." 

 "Ivar, you answer me honestly or I'm going to walk out of this room right now and start getting ready for work."

 In an instant she watched as the pain and fear in his eyes morph into anger. His gaze hardened and his lips pressed together as if sealing in the venom-laced words just waiting to come out. 

 "Ivar? Talk to me." She tried again, but at his furious look, she pulled her hand back. 

 Silently, he rolled over to the side of the bed. She watched as he reached down and began strapping his leg braces on over a pair of black sweatpants. 

 "Ivar?"

 "It doesn't fucking matter."

 "Yes, it does, whatever it is."

 With his braces on, he pushed off the bed, stumbling for a moment before catching himself. His back still turned to her, he hobbled over to where his t-shirt, shoes and cane were. 

 "Please…." Tears welled up in her eyes. It was stupid to be getting so emotional over this. But never before had he shut her out like this. She hated how much it hurt. And it shouldn't hurt this much. Since the beginning she reminded herself frequently she needed space from him. But now that he was pushing her away, giving her that space…. she hated it. She wanted him back, teasing and smiling. "Did I do something wrong?"

 "Fuck. Fine!" He spun around, shirt in his hands and flames in his frenzied gaze. "Every few months, my eyes look like this, and it means I'm more likely to break a bone. It happened more often when I was a child. Now I know to just lay around in bed otherwise dumb fucking things happen and my shitty bones break. There. Fucking happy now?"

 "Thank you for telling me. And I'm sure you've heard this a million times, but I'm sorry."

 At her apology, he yelled and threw his shirt across the room. The shirt slammed into her closed bedroom door. "Fuck your pity! I don't fucking want it!" 

 The echoes of his shout hung in the air. He stood there with fists clenched and chest heaving, glaring daggers at her. A tendril of fear snaked itself up her spine. A brief memory of Hvitserk warning her came to mind and she wondered if this was what he meant. She remained frozen, sitting on her bed, concerned if she moved it would set him off. 

 After an excruciatingly long minute, Ivar closed his eyes and roughly ran his hand through his loose hair. 

 "Ivar, why did you come here last night? Why not go home?" She quietly asked, twisting and untwisting the sheet around her hands. 

 "Seems I made a mistake." He scoffed, staring towards the window. "I'll leave so you get on with your day."

 "Gods, that's not what I'm saying! Ivar, please! I'm just trying to understand. Please just…. just talk to me."

 "It doesn't fucking matter anymore." He snarled. 

 "You said you didn't want to be alone…. last night….at least, I think so." She said hesitantly, more to herself, recalling their conversation, than actually speaking to him. To her surprise, after a moment, he seemed to deflate right before her. His shoulders slumped, head tilted forward to stare at the floor. In the blink of an eye, he changed from a cornered, snarling wolf to looking like a kicked puppy. Cautiously, she crawled off the bed and slowly approached him. The whole time he never moved but neither did he raise his head to acknowledge her. After taking a deep breath, she tenderly cupped his face. Her words were just above a whisper. "Push me away if you want to…. I’m just…. I’m just trying to help. What can I do? Please?"

 After a second, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers and placing his hands on her hips. They stayed there for several seconds, neither saying a word. Though she could almost feel the internal war being waged within him. His thumbs rubbed back and forth on her sleep shorts. Her hands slipped from his face to the back of his neck, one carding through his hair gently as she gave him time to think. 

 Finally, he breathed out. "Stay with me…. please."

 Her heart fractured at the quiet brokenness in his voice, the masked pleading in his tone. How often was he forced to be alone throughout his life, lacking connection and attention that he so desperately wanted.

 "Ok, I'll try and call in. If not, I'll…. we’ll figure something out, alright?"

 He nodded, turning his head to nuzzle her temple. She giggled at the sensation and tried to escape but he only pulled her closer. After a couple more moments of teasing, he allowed her to guide him back to the bed, a smile on both of their faces. He sat down on the bed, forearms on his legs as he watched her. 

 Trying to ignore his focus, which she was positive was not on her face, she grabbed her phone and called the studio. She paced nervously, tugging slightly on her sleep shorts in a vain attempt to cover the amount of her thighs showing, as the phone rang. Thankfully her boss was the one to answer. 

 "Hi, Lydia. Something has come up. Is there any way someone can cover my classes today?"

 "Are you alright?" Her boss asked, immediately going into concerned mom-mode. 

 "Yeah, I'm fine….um, it's, um…." 

 The phone was abruptly snatched from her hand. She spun to see Ivar talking on it, an amused smirk on his face. How he had managed to sneak up behind her unawares, she could not figure out. 

 "Hello, Lydia, yes? You are Kari's boss?" Ivar questioned, taking the couple steps and dropping back onto the bed. "I apologize for inconveniencing you by taking Kari's time. My ride to my doctor's appointment fell through at the last minute, and I have a rare condition which forces me to go get checked often. Kari was kind enough to…. hmmm? Yes."

 There was a long pause from Ivar's speech, clearly listening to whatever her boss was saying. Kari was unsure if she wanted to throw something at Ivar or die from embarrassment. As she started to walk past him, still pacing due to nerves eating at her, Ivar grabbed her arm. Next thing she knew, she was bodily yanked onto the bed. Before she could squirm away, he snatched her feet, forcing them into his lap. Pressing the phone against his ear with his shoulder, he began to massage the bottom of her feet. She should be mad at him, she really should but suddenly she felt relaxed and blissed out. His touch was the perfect amount of rough and gentle, kneading and rubbing like it was his profession. A moan accidentally escaped her and she covered her face with her hands, barely hearing the chuckle come from him. 

 He finally spoke into the phone again. "I understand. Yes, I promise…. that sounds like her. Yeah, I plan on changing that soon…. bye."

 He set her phone down on the bed, and continued his ministrations, never ceasing his relaxing touch. 

 "What, ah, what did she say?"

 "She said you've never taken a day off or had a sick day, so you are overdue for one. She hopes I feel better and that you do a good job of taking care of me." He answered then turned his head to look at her with a mixture of shock and bemusement. "You really haven't taken a day off?"

 "I didn't have a reason to."

 "No reason? I don't know, how about to do something fun? Spend time with friends? Day drinking? Watch movies? Not deal with people? Fuck, there are plenty of reasons to skip work."

 "I don't have friends to skip with." She mumbled to herself, her eyes having drifted shut on their own accord. It was a truth she had realized and sort of come to terms with.  

 He must have heard it though. "You do now." He said with something like a promise in his tone. 

 She opened her eyes to look at him, his face turned downward to focus on her feet. Now she was able to really look at his tattoos and his broad, sculpted back. The sweeping lines of ink seemed to emphasize the strength apparent in his muscles. It was truly a masterpiece. Her eyes greedily sketched over his bare skin, wondering what it would feel like under her fingers. 

 "Like what you see?" 

 A blush warmed her cheeks at having been caught staring. "They're beautiful. What are they?"

 "The tattoos? Mostly Nordic tribal designs, some are specifics from the Sagas."

 Curiosity burning, she pushed herself up, almost leaning against him with her chest barely touching his shoulder. With one finger, she started tracing one of the designs which began on his back and moved over his shoulder to end on his chest. "Did they hurt?"

 He scoffed, head slightly tilted to watch her. "I've been in pain most of my fucking life. This was nothing."

 They sat in silence for several minutes, him still rubbing her feet and her tracing his back and shoulder. It felt strangely domestic and intimate, but more importantly, it seemed natural for them to be in this position, relaxed and at ease with one another. 

 "What do you want to do today?" She asked in a hushed tone, peering up at him. 

 With a wicked smirk, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

 "No! Not that!" She swatted his arm lightly, yet she could not help but laugh as he pouted adorably. "What do you normally do on these days?"

 That quieted him. His body tensed slightly under her and he pointedly returned his gaze to her feet. She switched from tracing his tattoos to just running her hand up and down his bare back soothingly. 

 After a couple of seconds, he answered, his voice resigned and frustrated. "Movies, TV shows, video games, reading. Anything that will keep me in bed and resting. Sometimes my mother or Floki will come play chess with me."

 "But you're usually alone?"

 His lack of response was telling enough.  

 "Well on the days I don't work, I always lay around in bed for as long as possible then make a full English breakfast. Should we start with that?" She proposed, hoping that would cheer him up. Honestly, she had no idea what to do for him today, but feeding him seemed like a good start. Besides, her stomach was beginning to rumble. 

 "Yes, but first…." In an instant, he wrapped his arms around her and tackled her to the bed. She shrieked as her back suddenly hit the bed again which promptly turned into giggles at the silliness of it. A sharp inhale escaped him, silencing her. She watched a pained expression swiftly cross over his face before it vanished, only the lingering hints of pain in his eyes. After a moment, he shifted them so they laid facing one another. 

 Feeling bold, she touched his cheekbone, gazing into his vivid blue eyes. "I don't know why, but your eyes like this remind me of a crystal ball. Think you can see my future?" She teased.  

 His hand landed on her hip once again as he grinned. "I can. Want to know what I see?"

 "Mmmm?"

 "You’re going to kiss me."

 She giggled. "I do? You sure that's not just your imagination?"

 "I am no mere mortal. These eyes prove my divinity and with that I can see into the future." He leaned closer, his breath fanning across her mouth tantalizingly. "And I see you, with those pretty pink lips, kissing me right now."

 Her breath hitched in her throat at his close proximity and the way her mind easily recalled what kissing him felt like. "And what would happen if I do?"

 "You'll have to find out. I can't give away everything about the future…. unless you choose to worship me as your god. I can make you my favored priestess and bestow favors on you."

 "Favored priestess?"

 "It's a highly coveted job." 

 "I'm sure it is." She deadpanned but unable to keep the amusement from her voice. Overly aware of her actions, she ran a hand down his chest, feeling the muscles twitch under her palm. 

 The increasingly blurry line between friendship and something more screamed at her. Even just the way they were laying on her bed, the memories from her upbringing reprimanded her actions. Her grandmother telling her chastity was a virtue and to not let a man touch her. How God would frown upon anything remotely sexual outside of marriage. Yet her lips tingled at the memory of his kisses. She could not deny to herself how much she enjoyed them. How sometimes she found herself fantasizing about kissing him and letting him pleasure her again. Which was wrong. They were just friends. Even if the alluring draw to him was irrefutable. A single kiss would not hurt though. Maybe that would be enough to satisfy the heat currently curling in her belly. Hopefully. 

 "One kiss." She murmured, nervous excitement heating her blood. 

 Immediately, he leaned closer, his lips just skimming over hers teasingly. Gently, he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, drawing a needy whine from her. His hand on her hip tightened as he released her lip, only to press a lazy kiss to her mouth that spoke of contentment and familiarity. Their mouths moved languidly, lips barely parting as if they had all morning to just enjoy the feeling and taste of one another. All too soon, in her opinion, yet not soon enough for now she desired more, he pulled back but just enough to brush the end of his nose against hers. 

 "I told you, you'd kiss me." He playfully said. 

 "You're unbelievable."

 "I am your god now. You can't speak to me that way."

 "Uh huh." She rolled her eyes, then gently pushed on his chest. Following her movement, he allowed himself to be pushed onto his back with a smug look the whole time. "Come on, your priestess is making us breakfast before our stomachs rumble anymore."

 "I like this. I could easily get used to this arrangement."

 "Sure. You alright going down the stairs?"

 "I'm not that incapacitated." He snarked, a flash of anger passing through his gaze. 

 She chose to ignore that. "Alright, I'll meet you down there."

 Slipping off the bed, she headed downstairs to the kitchen. Thankfully her roommate was not at home this morning, otherwise she was baffled how she would explain Ivar's presence to Alana. Soon she needed to figure out what to do in regards to that. Ivar clearly had no intentions of leaving her alone. Plus, the more time she spent with the youngest Lothbrok, the more she found herself becoming distraught at the idea of him no longer in her life. This morning, she chose to ignore that predicament, content with enjoying making breakfast for them. 

 Humming softly to herself, she pulled the necessary items out for their breakfast. Soon bacon lay on the cast iron pan, the first hints of sizzling filling the air. Eggs and sausage waited for their turn next. The sounds of the coffee pot percolating made her smile as she danced around the kitchen. Distantly the sounds of Ivar moving around upstairs could be heard. 

 A sudden knock on her door caused her to freeze as she pulled some bread out for toast. Her mind scrambled to try and think of why someone would be at her door this early. Then she remembered. 

 "Shit! Erik!"

 Racing as if on fire, she turned the stove off and hurried to the front door. Yanking the door open, she was met with the sight of Erik standing there in his business casual trousers and a button-down long sleeve shirt. 

 "Erik, hi. I'm so sorry." She gasped out, holding the door open. 

 His green eyes swept over her body rapidly before meeting hers. "Um," he cleared his throat, "I thought you wanted a ride today?"

 "I do, sorry, did. Ah, something came up. I'm so sorry, I should have text you."

 "Ok, is your phone off? I texted you about fifteen minutes ago."

 She lied, tugging on her ear nervously. "Yeah, I forgot to charge it overnight. I'm so sorry for making you wait around for me. It's my fault you'll be late to work."

 He shrugged, rocking back on his heels, a small smile on his face. "It's fine. My boss is lenient as long as we get our work done and don't miss any appointments."

 "Oh good." She smiled in return; happy he would not get reprimanded because of her. He already did so much to help her out. As they spoke, it did not go unnoticed how his eyes continuously drifted down to the large amount of skin exposed by her sleep shorts. Self-conscious, she spoke again, hoping to distract from her body, even as his clear interest made a blush rise to her cheeks. "Is there something I can do to make this up to you?"

 "I still haven't thought of how you can pay me back for gas money."

 She chuckled at his shy look as he confessed. "We can put this on my tab too. Maybe I'll make you dinner or something?"

 Erik opened his mouth to respond when a shout caused his mouth to snap shut. 

 "KARI!"

 Closing her eyes for a moment, Kari silently prayed to whoever was listening for patience to deal with what she knew was about to occur. 

 The tapping of his cane and loud footfalls were enough for her to know Ivar was approaching. She turned to look at him and immediately wanted to smack her forehead against the doorframe. Of course, he had decided to forgo his shirt. 

 "Who the fuck is this?" He growled low once he was close, the predatory look in his eyes undeniable. In this moment he resembled a snake ready to strike without hesitation, more than someone who was in chronic pain. Standing there next to her, only wearing sweatpants and the braces over his legs, he was the one who seemed more runway ready than Erik in his business casual outfit. 

 "Ah, hi, I'm Erik Redsen." He said skeptically, eyeing the dark-haired man like he was unsure if he needed to grab Kari and make a run for it or talk to him about taxes. "I live next door. I was supposed to give Kari a ride to work this morning."

 "Well, she won't be needing one anymore." Ivar snapped harshly. 

 "I can see that….and you are?"

 "Ivar. Ivar Lothbrok." 

 Erik's eyes widened comically as he scanned Ivar with new eyes. "Right. Are you two…. friends?"

 Before Kari could explain, Ivar beat her to answering. He shifted behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. "You could say that. We have a very…. satisfying relationship. Don't you agree, kitten?" 

 At this point, Kari was positive her face most likely resembled a tomato. She tried to push his arm off her, but he only tightened it in response. "Ivar." She hissed. 

 "Mmmm? I'll wait for you in the kitchen. You did promise me breakfast after such a vigorous morning." He planted a hot, open-mouth kiss on her neck before he looked up at Erik with a disarming smirk. "I'm sure we'll see each other again; I plan on being here more often."

 "Ah, sure. Nice to meet you." Although Erik sounded anything but pleased as he stuck his hands in his pockets. 

 Leaning heavily on his cane, Ivar slowly walked towards the kitchen area; though it did nothing to negate the aura of danger surrounding him. 

 Once he disappeared from view, she let out a sigh before turning back to Erik. "He's just a friend. It's complicated. We don't….um, yeah. He's a friend." She tried to smooth over but even to her ears it sounded weak. 

 "It's alright. Um, I need to get going. I'll…. I’ll see you around."

 "Ok. Hey, think you're free to shop this week?"

 He smiled shyly, walking backwards down the short driveway. "I'll check my schedule and text you." 

 "Thanks. Bye, Erik!"

 She closed the door after he saluted her, making sure to lock it. Taking a deep breath, she mentally girded herself for the inquisition that was about to happen once she entered the kitchen. She had to stick to her guns in this. It was OK for her to have other guy friends, there was no rule that said Ivar had to be the only one. Besides, she had known Erik longer anyway, so he would have priority. She doubted Ivar would appreciate that sentiment though. 

 In the pause before returning to the kitchen, she also tried to use that time to douse her libido. She was upset with Ivar for the clearly possessive action towards her; while simultaneously, between the tight hold against firm body and that salacious kiss, arousal coursed through her body. It was infuriating how her body reacted to even the simplest touch from him. If he knew how much she was puddy in his hands….

 Once she felt in control of herself again, she headed towards the kitchen. Ignoring what just occurred seemed to be the best way of handling that awkward interaction. Erik was her friend and that was none of Ivar's business. 

 The dark-haired Lothbrok sat on a bar stool, leaning on the island that faced into the kitchen. Though his face remained impassive, his gaze was hard as stone, silently demanding her to explain. 

 Wordlessly, she returned to preparing their breakfast. Turning the stove on again, the bacon started to sizzle. Thankfully, the coffee had finished brewing so she poured herself and her brooding companion a mug each. A little milk and sugar went into hers, and she made sure to leave them in reach so Ivar could fix his own coffee. 

 Attempting to ignore the obvious tension swallowing the air in the small kitchen, she focused on making their food. Sausages were cooked, along with eggs, toast and tomatoes. She would have loved some black pudding but her roommate refused to let her keep some in the fridge, so Kari was forced to stop buying it. As she silently moved about the tiny kitchen, her mind worked on cataloging what she had potentially for them to eat for lunch and dinner. Which did not consist of much. She could try and make something but cooking was not her forte. Ordering out seemed the best idea. Although she did have popcorn so they were set for watching movies. 

 Suddenly Ivar's smug tone broke through her thoughts. "Erik Michael Redsen. Twenty-eight years old. Works as a personal banker downtown. Went to school for art history. Well that was fucking stupid."

 "Gods, Ivar!" She turned on him, horrified. "Did you just do a background check on him?" 

 "How much do you really fucking know about this guy?" He demanded with a threatening undertone. 

 She sighed, trying to decipher if he was coming from a place of possessiveness or actual concern for her safety. With him, it could go either way. Returning her attention to making their breakfast, she put the salt and pepper away as she answered. "Honestly, not much. We don't really hang out. We carpool to the grocery store and sometimes he gives me rides to work so I don't have to take the bus. That's it."

 "Take the bus." He mouthed as if it was a foreign concept. He then slammed his hand on the countertop, making her jump at the unexpected noise. “Hell no, you aren't riding no fucking bus. I'll have my driver take you to work."

 "No."

 "No? No, what?"

 "I'm not using your driver."

 "Fine. I'll buy you a car!"

 "No! I can't…." She turned to really look at him, pushing her ego aside to be transparent. "I can't afford a car right now. We also don't have space for me to have one here. Besides, I don't mind taking the bus."

 "I'll pay for everything with your car."

 "Ivar, you're not listening! I don't want one! Thank you for offering but I'm OK. I like riding with you in your car but I don't need my own right now. I wouldn't have anywhere to park it anyway."

 He tilted his head to the side, looking at her with a peculiar expression. 

 "What?" She sharply said. 

 "You don't…." He stopped himself, rubbing a hand over his mouth, as if choosing his words carefully, before continuing. "You really don't care about my money, do you?"

 "No, why should I?" She chuckled, putting their food on the two ceramic plates she pulled out. "Honestly, it's kind of intimidating."

 He barked a laugh, as he seemed to stare off into space. 

 A flashback hit her to her conversation with Gyda a couple days ago. She peeked over at Ivar, wondering what Pandora's box she was accidently going to open with her question. "Your ex?" She asked softly. 

 He tensed for a moment, staring into his coffee mug. For a moment, she thought he would ignore her question or rebuke her for asking. Instead, he silently gave a single nod, not meeting her eyes. 

 How many times was she going to feel her heart break for this man? How many times did he feel used? Abandoned? Unwanted? At what point did the aloof and cruel mask he wore become a permanent fixture to protect his heart?

 Wiping her hands off on a towel, she walked around the counter to come up behind him and wrap her arms around his shoulders. "I promise I don't like you just for your money or name or whatever other stupid thing people have done to you. I like you. For some unexplainable reason, I like you, though you do have the habit of pissing me off."

 "You like me, huh?" He teased, relaxing into her embrace. 

 "Don't let it get to your head. You won't fit through doors anymore."

 He laughed loudly at that. "You sound like Floki."

 After giving him a gentle squeeze, carefully of his fragile state, she walked back around to finish up the last touches of their food. "I kind of want to meet him but I'm also scared, you know?"

 "He's harmless since he doesn't carry around his axe anymore."

 "That's…. what? That's not reassuring."

 He just smiled…. and somehow, she was less comforted than before. 

 She finished up their plates, setting Ivar's in front of him on the island, and placing hers in front of the other bar stool next to him. They both began eating, drawing a pleased grunt of approval from her companion. 

 "I don't trust him."

 "Who?" The brunette covered her mouth, having taken a bite of eggs. The last thing she wanted was to spew food all over Ivar. There was no way he would ever let her forget that. 

 He narrowed his eyes at her as if her question was redundant. "That Erik guy. He wants to fuck you."

 "Well, he isn't going to since I'm not interested in him." He grumbled, but before he could speak up, she cut him off. "You, sir, still owe me an explanation of how you got a key to my townhouse."

 "Hmmm…. Let's say your property management didn't need much…. persuasion….to hand over a spare they kept on hand."

 "I'm not sure if I should be concerned or not."

 He winked at her as he bit into a piece of bacon. 

 Pointing her fork at him, she hoped he understood how crucial this next statement was. "You can't just show up here whenever you want."

 Chewing on a piece of toast, he just stared ahead with a cool expression.

 "Ivar, I'm serious. We're lucky Alana isn't here this morning."

 "I noticed that, where is she?"

 "She has an early day at work today."

 He hummed, digging into his food. 

 She opened her mouth to further press on the importance of her statement but changed her mind and sipped on her coffee. He was already moody enough, if she continued to pester him about this, his mood would only darken. Later, she could reiterate her stance. There was no way he was going to give up the key he had. However much she thought it was weird and unfounded for him to have a key, it was just so…. Ivar to think it necessary. That did not seem a battle worth fighting over. Him just randomly showing up, that was something they needed to set rules on. 

 They finished eating their food and decided to watch a movie next, both keen on the idea of laying around in bed. When Kari reminded him that they would have to use her laptop to watch a movie if they went back upstairs, he grumbled loudly, saying something about fixing that but she paid no mind. After cleaning up, they headed back up to her room. When she went to argue it would be better to watch a movie downstairs on the TV there, she noted how he slowly ascended the stairs, holding onto the handrail with a tight grip, and how he gritted his teeth. Biting her tongue, she kept her comment to herself, instead rushing up the stairs to grab her laptop and set up her bed for his arrival. 

 He made it to her room but instead of coming to the bed right away, he hobbled over to where his shirt lay. She watched, curious, but also admiring his body. A heat curled low in her belly as she watched his muscles tense and the ink dance across his skin. He was truly a beautiful specimen of masculinity. 

 With something in hand, he came over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Here."

 She took it from his outstretched hand, seeing it was the newest iPhone, which wasn't even supposed to be released until that Friday. "How? Wait…. why?"

 He unstrapped his braces, setting them on the ground. "I told you I was getting you a new phone."

 "You didn't have to; my phone is just fine."

 "It's a piece of shit." He grunted as he dragged himself to lean against the wall, in lieu of a headboard. "Besides, this one had better security features. I already programmed some of them and I can show you the rest later. I'll switch your Sim card for you too."

 "Ivar…." She started to argue but was cut off when he snaked an arm around her waist and tugged her against him. 

 "Just say 'thank you, Ivar' and shut up. I want to watch a movie."

 "Thank you, oh gracious, benevolent god." She said in a sickly, sweet voice as she batted her eyelashes at him. 

 "Cheeky." He nipped at her earlobe, causing her to squirm. Pinning her against his side once more, he pressed his mouth to her ear and he whispered in a husky tone. "You can call me that whenever you want."

 A bolt of desire shot through her at his voice and the wicked images it painted in her mind. Her traitorous heart began to beat a rapid tattoo in her chest in excitement. Shifting the laptop in her lap to distract herself from her body's unconscious reactions, she teasingly answered. "I'm sure your brothers would love that."

 "Fuck them. They know I'm better than they are anyway."

 She rolled her eyes at his cocky comment. "What movie are we watching?"

 "None of your shit." He snatched the laptop from her, scanning the streaming service. "I'm buying you a TV for your room next."

 "No, you aren't." She mumbled, as she shifted to lay down. 

 Her bedroom was by no means Spartan but it certainly was on the sparser side. Her bed took up most of the space, the only other furniture was the two small tables, one holding her jewelry box and her plants and the other she used as a nightstand. All of her clothes and shoes she kept in the closet, some hanging and some in plastic drawers. Besides the pile of clean clothes in the laundry basket she needed to fold and put away, but she ignored that. Her beloved books were lined up neatly on the windowsill or a couple stacked on the nightstand. The only decoration she had on her walls was a stick-on wall decal that was the quote 'not all who wander are lost' in a flowy script. Even her suitcases and yoga mat were shoved under her thin metal-frame mattress. 

 There were a couple other knick-knacks around but she had purposefully kept her space simple. Just for the fact if she needed to suddenly pack up and move….it would not be difficult. However depressing of a thought that was. 

 Her eyes fluttered shut as she laid her head on her pillow, listening to Ivar mutter about the lack of good choices. Eventually he picked out some movie she had never heard of before. He stayed reclined against the wall with her laptop in his lap, a pillow against his lower back. From where she laid next to him, Kari could see the screen but found her eyelids staying closed. To the sounds of gunfire, swearing and some man yelling "motherfucker" often, she dozed off. 

 *****

 When she cracked her eyes open, it was to be met with a pair of captivating eyes already staring at her from the pillow next to her.  

 "You know you drool when you sleep?"

 Absent-mindedly she wiped a hand over her mouth and sure enough found the traces of drool there. "Sorry." She said, voice still coated in sleep. "How long was I asleep?"

 Ivar laid on his side facing her, arm tucked under his head and the laptop nowhere in sight. "Almost two hours."

 "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize how tired I was."

 "I ordered us lunch. It should be here soon."

 "Thanks." 

 They laid there facing one another. From this angle she was able to admire the tattoos across his chest and the Thor's hammer necklace hanging from his neck. Gingerly, she reached over and touched one of the tattoos on his chest, only for it to jump under her finger and make her squeak in surprise. He laughed as she mock-glared at him, then rolled onto his back. When she made no further movement, he snatched her hand and laid it upon his chest, silently giving her permission to continue her exploration. He placed both of his hands behind his head, eyes intent on her the whole time. With that, she shifted closer, to sit up and gaze down at him. Her hand returned its tracing of his decorated skin, admiring the lines of both color and his sculpted body. 

 "I always wanted to get a tattoo." She quietly confessed, watching her hand trace the colored lines on his skin. 

 "Why haven't you?"

 She shrugged. "My mother would've been livid. Plus, I could never fully decide on what I'd get. I want something that…. means something…. not just a cute design."

 "I'll take you if you want."

 "To get a tattoo?"

 "Why not?" He sounded almost offended, but the upward tilt of his lips betrayed his amusement. 

 She giggled. "Ok, when I decide what I want, you can take me."

 He hummed his agreement. Her attention returned back to his magnificent body, dragging her finger from his chest up his shoulder, following one of the tattoo's lines. She wondered what kind of tattoo she would get. Part of the reason she never got one was she did not want to go alone and if Ivar was offering to take her, maybe it was meant for her to get one. Something small, probably. She liked the look of minimalist tattoos. Perhaps on the inside of her wrist or her ankle? The idea made her smile. This could be another step for her to choose her own future, to solidify her own identity. Even it felt strongly rebellious compared to the values of her family. She was forging her own path, without their influence any longer. 

 Ivar abruptly sat up, startling her from her inner musings. In one swift movement, their faces were close enough she could feel his breath on her lips. She sat spellbound, unable to pull away, causing her heart to race. His eyes landed on her lips, eyeing them like a choice morsel to be consumed. His smoldering gaze made her mouth go dry. The tension, the desire, heated the air between them until she wondered if it alone could burn them. 

 That craving she fought so ardently threatened to overwhelm her. The yearning for his touch, for his lips on hers, to show her what only he could give her. Never before had she been so consumed by someone, to desire them so much she struggled to maintain her vow. It was infuriating, the constant battle. Wanting to draw closer, to give in and allow him to sweep her away. Yet her mind screamed at her to pull away, to maintain the status quo, to only allow friendship between them. Even if that line was blurry at best. It was something at least. A line she needed, to protect both of them.

 Forcing herself to pull back, she witnessed a flash of hurt and anger cross his eyes before her gaze dropped to her hand still on his chest. Her breathing felt erratic, matching her heartbeat. They stayed there, caught in a stalemate, neither drawing closer or further away. A dance they subjected themselves to on more than one occasion, each time still as tangible and dangerous as the last.

 Luckily, a loud knock on the front door echoed up the stairs, breaking the spell over them. 

 "I bet that's the food, I'll go…. I’ll get it."

 Wordlessly, he dropped back onto the bed, jaw tensed and eyes made of ice. 

 She quickly retrieved the food from the delivery, surprised to see it was sandwiches, chips and drinks from a local favorite of hers she had mentioned once in passing. She carried the bag and cups upstairs, worried how Ivar's mood would be now. Would the rest of the day be awkward and tense? On numerous occasions, she reminded him they were just friends, even if he seemed to hate that notion….and her heart begged for more. It could not happen. 

 Entering her bedroom, surprise filled her to see him sitting up in the bed, the laptop next to him queued up to Netflix. 

 "What do you want to watch?" He asked casually as if nothing had happened. 

 "Um...have you heard of The Last Kingdom? Some of my coworkers said it's really good." She slipped back into her spot and handed him his drink cup. 

 "It's alright."

 "Would you want to watch it with me?"

 "Sure." He turned to slyly grin at her. "Hopefully you don't fall asleep this time."

 "I'll try my hardest." She quipped. 

 They sat up against the wall, eating the food with the laptop near their knees. What potential strain she worried would exist never occurred. A part of her wondered what that meant while another part chucked it up to Ivar's mood swings. Either way, she was grateful.

 By the second episode, the trash was disposed of and the laptop moved to the side table. Kari lay back against the pillows bunched behind her, half sitting up, half laying down. Ivar had his head on her stomach, an arm slung over her hips, fingers caressing the exposed skin of her thighs. She ran her fingers through his unbound hair mindlessly as she watched the tv show. 

 Eventually his arm over her withdrew, his hand drawing random patterns on the strip of skin exposed between her sleep shorts and shirt. Too absorbed in the show and in a comfortable position, she did not pay much attention to his actions. It did not take long for her core to subconsciously start to clench as his fingers slipped past the waistband of her shorts. She tried to ignore it, figuring he was trying to get a reaction out of her. Even if her attention was now split between the show and his provocative touch. His fingers traced her skin just under the waistband of her shorts. After several minutes where she started to relax, his fingers inched a little lower, toying with the top of her underwear. 

 She knew she should say something, to stop him from touching her but a flood of new sensations prevented her. Never before had anyone touched her like this. Her ex had tried but she refused to let him. Now though, it was as if invisible cords held her down, forcing her compliance. Her body possessed by his simple touch and curious about what he would do next. Her hand stilled in his hair, using it to anchor herself. His hand creeped lower. His fingers lightly grazing her outer folds. Her hips jerked instinctually. His head on her stomach prevented her from moving away. Pressing a soft kiss to her exposed skin, he chuckled lowly. A stirring sensation swirled between legs, something she had only felt one other time. Then with a barely-there touch, his finger traced her womanhood. 

 "Ivar…." She whined, though if it was encouragement or reprimand, it was unclear.

 He lifted his head to look at her as his fingers continued to gentle caress her sex. "Has anyone touched you?"

 She shook her head, mouth suddenly dry and words unable to escape.  

 Staring at her, he slipped a single, thick finger into her sex. 

 Her eyes slammed shut, a gasp falling from her lips at the foreign sensation. Her back arched slightly as her body made to accommodate the pleasurable intrusion. 

 "Look at me, Kari. I want to watch you." He commanded,  

 Her eyes snapped open, meeting his starved gaze. The naked desire in them sent a chill down her spine. Under his gaze, she was paralyzed. Slowly, his finger slid in and out of her. The heat in her belly steadily grew between his actions and his hungry eyes that seemed to feast on her pleasure. 

 After a few passes, he surprised her by sliding in a second thick finger. Her gasp transformed into a moan at the strange feeling of being full. The lewd sounds of his fingers easing in and out of her and her wetness overshadowed the TV show still playing but ignored by both. Her body began to feel hot all over, sweat forming on her skin. Without her conscious permission, her hips started to rock with his fingers, desperate for more friction, chasing a release only he could give her. 

 "That's it, kitten, good girl." He praised. His thumb rubbed a circle over her clit, making her body try to shoot off the bed at the sensation though he held her down easily. Whimpers slipped from her lips. Completely pliant under his touch, she made no attempt to escape. The fire coursing through her veins deterred her, the need for more overshadowed her own fears. 

 Still gazing at her hungrily, he leaned forward and licked her breast over her t-shirt. Her breath stuttered, chest heaving at the jolt of electricity that scorched her. It was all becoming too much and yet not enough. Her hips ground against his hand unashamedly. Lips parted as she panted for air. His hand played her like an instrument, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. This time when he licked her breast with one long swipe, he rubbed her clit at the same time. The sensation was devastating, pushing her over the edge. With a cry of his name, a wave of pleasure overwhelmed her. His fingers continued to pump into her, helping her ride out her orgasm. 

 Finally she laid there, unable to move, unable to even think. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as her lungs fought for air. He chuckled at her, making her flush even more. Agonizingly slow, he dragged his hand out from between her folds, only to pop the two fingers that had brought her to completion into his mouth and loudly suck on them. 

 "Fuck, you taste amazing." He groaned, still eyeing her with a purely predatory look. Leaning over, he nipped at her breast, then laid on his side next to her. 

 "What…. what about you?" She managed to ask, the delirium of bliss dwindling. 

 He raised an eyebrow.

 She pointedly looked at the obvious bulge in his crotch and back up at him. 

 "Have you ever….?" His question trailed off while a crooked smile lit up his face. 

 She blushed, tugging on her earlobe. "I've...um, never actually seen one in real life."

 "Gods, you're so innocent." He chuckled, shaking his head amused. A second later, he rolled onto his back and folded his hands behind his head. When she made no move towards him, he rolled his eyes and taunted her. "Well? Or do I need to pull it out for you too?"

 Biting her bottom lip, her eyes darted back and forth between his face and his obvious erection. What was she doing? Her grandmother would be horrified. Yet her curiosity reared its head, encouraging her onward. Somehow, she knew with Ivar, she was safe. Not just physically but safe to explore her sexuality, something previously forbidden. He may be irritating at times and possessive at others but she knew he liked her innocence. And with him, touching him and letting him touch her...it did not feel wrong like when her ex tried. No, it felt like being home. 

 Before she could sike herself out with her frenzied nerves, she reached over and unbuttoned his jeans then slowly drew the zipper down. "Can…. can we take your pants off?"

 "No."

 His sharp retort had her whipping her head to look at him. Instead of meeting her eyes, he stared up at the ceiling like it personally offended him. 

 "Um, ok." She licked her lips, debating as what to do next. She tried to imagine what Alana would advise or even Gyda. Carefully and nervously, she guided her hand into his pants and boxers. Her hand wrapped around him and she found herself swallowing dryly. It was at this moment she was unsure what to do. He must have seen the hesitation on her face. Without a word, he wrapped his hand around hers and pulled his cock out, fully exposing it. Her eyes darted to his face and back down to his member. 

 "Um…. are they always...this…. this big?"

 He smirked. "You're good for my ego, kitten."

 That did not really answer her question but she doubted now was the time to probe further. She made a mental note to ask Alana…. hypothetically of course. 

 Her hand was unable to wrap all the way around his cock. Even though having nothing to compare it to, she was positive this was an impressive specimen. Holding her breath, she gently slid her hand from the base to the tip and back down. His cock twitched against her hand, making her giggle but she kept her focus on it. Slowly she repeated the movement a couple more times. With each pass she began to feel more confident. When noticing wetness gathering at the tip, she ran her thumb over it, smoothing it around and found it helped glide her hand along. 

 She glanced up at him, since he had not said anything either in encouragement or redirection, only to see a pained expression on his face. Immediately she yanked her hand away from him, terrified she was hurting him. "Are you OK? Am I doing it wrong? Does it hurt? I'm so sorry."

 "No, fuck." He grunted then inhaled sharply. "No…. it’s just been awhile."

 "Oh." She was not sure what to do with that information, so she focused back on her task. Memories of listening to Alana and some of her friends talk, plus a few movies she had seen, gave her some inspiration as she continued stroking him. Before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned over and gave a little lick to the tip of his cock. 

 "Fuck!" He shouted, hips jumping, hands gripping the sheets tightly.  

 Seeing his reaction, she felt powerful, bringing this strong man under her control like this. It was alluring to know with just her hand, he was utterly at her mercy. The sweat beading on his forehead, his chest heaving with his fervid, shallow breaths, mouth slightly open. He was always handsome in her mind but seeing him like this, it was captivating. She continued guiding her hand up and down his member, swiping her thumb along the top frequently to spread his precum. 

 "Fuckkkk, Kari." He groaned out, hands fisted in the sheets now. "I can't…. ah, fuck!"

 Suddenly, he grabbed her hand and aimed towards his stomach. In the next second, his cum shot over his bare skin. Thinking how he continued his ministrations after she finished, she pumped him a few more times until he swatted her hand away. His chest heaved as he panted, one arm thrown over his face. 

 Silently, she got up and went to the bathroom to grab a towel and clean him up. Making a mental note to throw it in the wash before Alana could smell it and know what happened. 

 She returned and wiped him up, marveling at what just occurred. In comparison to others, she knew this experience was minor but to her…. she felt so wanton, so scandalous. She could not help the silly grin on her face, even as her stomach turned in knots. It went against everything her grandmother taught her, but she could not regret it. Even if it could never happen again. 

 Once done, she set the towel on the ground. The youngest Lothbrok silently laid there the whole time, arm over his face. The longer his silence endured, the more confusion and apprehension dispelled her confidence. 

 Finally, she could not take it any longer. "Did I…. was it ok?"

 In the next instant, his arms snaked around her and yanked her back onto the bed. Her squeak of surprise was cut off when his mouth descended on her possessively, as if attempting to steal the very air from her lungs. His body hovered over hers, pinning her to the bed as he claimed her lips completely. The way his mouth dominated hers, forcing her tongue to fight with his, the fire that shot through her body at his touch, was intoxicating. She willingly surrendered to him. Her hands tangled in his hair, keeping his mouth on hers. A needy whine slipped from her when their mouths unlocked, only to become a moan when he trailed his tongue over her neck. 

 "I want to taste every inch of you," he breathed against her skin, pressing open-mouth kisses that were sure to leave marks on her. "I want to corrupt you in every way imaginable."

 Her body arched into his touch, weak and throbbing for more. Even his words shot desire coursing through her. Air seemed unnecessary, only his mouth was a requirement to continue breathing. 

 "Ivar," she whispered in a slow, shaky breath. 

 That seemed to clear his lust-fueled haze. He shifted to press his forehead to hers, both panting and lips swollen, evidence of their raging desire. After a moment, he rolled over onto his back, pulling her to lay partially on his chest. His hand glided up and down her back soothingly. 

 As they lay there, Kari knew they crossed a line. Even if she could not make herself regret it, things had shifted between them. At least for her. They were at a crossroads. The entire time she knew Ivar, they had been toeing the line of friendship but this…. for her, this crossed it. And she was not sure what to think about it. Her mind continued to berate her, reminding her that they could only be friends. And not friends with benefits. She made her vow and no matter what, she promised herself to keep it. Even if it meant losing him. That realization felt like a stab in the heart.

 "Ivar, what are we?"

 "What do you mean?"

 She bit her bottom lip. This was not a conversation she wanted to have, but this limbo, this stalemate they resided in...it ate away at her psyche. Her head told her that friendship was the line they could not pass; meanwhile her heart longed for his affection that he so easily bestowed upon her. Tipping her head up so her chin rested on his chest, she watched him as he stared up at the ceiling, an arm behind his head and the other caressing her back. "We're not a couple…. but we aren't just friends either, I think."

 "Who the fuck cares what we are!" He snapped harshly. "I'm Ivar and you're Kari. Anyone with a problem with that can go fuck themselves!"

 It sounded so simple coming from him, but she knew whatever was between them was far from simple. He knew her choice of remaining friends. Then a thought crossed her mind that seemed to steal her breath away.  "Are there….do you do this with other…. friends?"

 "Do you?" Those mesmerizing eyes moved to her, staring at her as seeking to penetrate her mind and witness all her secrets. 

 "If I said yes, what would you do?" She meant the question to be teasing, to add a lightness to the conversation. Yet soon as the question slipped from her, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. 

 Instantaneously, a menacing glint entered his eyes and tension coated the air like oil. His body slowly moved, forcing her onto her back and leaving him hovering over her like an angel of death. 

 "I'd fucking kill them." He declared in a terrifyingly calm tone. His eyes were cold as ice as he stared down at her, his lips pulled back in a snarl. All she could do was stare up at him, scared to move. One of his hands grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her head to tip upward and bare her throat. Her breath froze in her chest, unable to pull away, unable to escape his hold on her. "You are mine. Do you understand?"

 Tears sprang to her eyes unbidden with how tightly he gripped her. This side of him, this cold fury was more frightening than his fiery anger. 

 "Yes…" she choked out, as he continued to glare down at her. 

 After a moment, he let go of her hair, smoothing it down. Then he dropped his face into the crook of her neck, laying on top of her. She could feel his labored breath on her skin. 

 "I can't…." He slowly inhaled, after he pressed his lips to her neck as if in apology. "I don't share. And the idea of you with someone else…."

 Her heart hammered in her chest, the residual fear still oozing like molasses in her veins. His hands held her firmly, like that would be enough to keep her. She stared up at the ceiling, unblinking. They laid there for several minutes, both caught up in their own thoughts. Sometimes she forgot how dangerous he was. Why everyone was so concerned for her safety. But this….it frightened her. This side of him that could so easily switch from fiery wrath to frigid terror. She was unsure what to do. 

 "Kari, I…." His voice trailed off but she could hear the apology in his voice, even if words failed him. "I'm a selfish bastard."

 "Mmmm…." She hummed, lips twitching. Her hand ran through his hair. After a long moment, she quietly asked, "Just Ivar and Kari?"

 He pressed another soft kiss to her neck, his other hand seeking hers to entwine their fingers. "Unless you've changed your mind?"

 She knew what he meant, and to hear the faint traces of hope in his voice made her words feel like lead as they rolled off her tongue. "I'm sorry."

 "Why won't you tell me?"

 "It's not…. it’s not worth it."

 "Then why do you let it affect us?"

 She sighed, knowing there was no way to win this conversation without spilling all of her secrets. "Please, Ivar."

 "Fine." He grumbled, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. 

 Eventually, he started caressing her skin with feather-light kisses as if worshipping her. His lips started on her neck, an occasional nip only to be soothed by his tongue after. Torturously slow, those kisses reached her ear to continue their journey along her jawline. Once he found her chin, his hand left hers to tug on her chin, tilting her face downward to meet his. His mouth hovered overs hers for an agonizing moment before sealing a gentle, sensual kiss to her lips. Their lips moved as if time itself stopped for this moment. No rush, just a silent conveying of emotions that could never fully translate to words. Her mouth and tongue danced a waltz with his, a willing partner even if she knew it was better to leave the dance floor. It called to her, summoned her, and like a spell cast over her, she allowed him to lead. 

 When he finally released her, lips swollen deliciously, he leaned up slightly to gaze down at her with something akin to devotion. The look made her squirm self-consciously because she wondered if her face mirrored his. 

 "We probably….um, not…." She stuttered out, dropping her gaze to his chest. Her thoughts swarmed about like a beehive kicked over. 

 "No." He chuckled in a low and husky tone. "I'm kissing you and touching you. Fucking try and stop me now."

 "But…." 

 His mouth descended on hers in a harsh kiss this time, swallowing her feeble protests. 

 "Ivar, you can't…." She tried to reason, only to be silenced once again by his possessive mouth, claiming hers. 

 She yanked her mouth away. "Stop." 

 This time he nibbled down her neck while his hand squeezed her thigh, rising higher and higher towards her sex. Although she tried to wiggle away, it was impossible. She was no match for his physical strength, nor was her willpower resolute enough to keep her from thoroughly enjoying his seductive touch. 

 "Stop, stop. Fine. A quota." She gasped out, her body beginning to burn under his assault. 

 "What?"

 "You can…. this is so weird...a kiss quota."

 He lifted up to stare at her like she was insane. "You're serious?"

 She nodded. 

 "Twenty kisses per day and they roll over if unused."

 She laughed. "No way."

 "Too low?" An arrogant smirk played across his mouth. "I know you love these lips. Thirty kisses."

 "No! I was thinking like three."

 "Three? Fuck that."

 "Four."

 "Fifteen."

 "Ivar, that's too many. We might as well be in a relationship." She giggled. Never before would she ever have guessed she would be arguing over a daily kiss quota, but here she was. 

 "I don't see a problem with that."

 "But we're not."

 "Fuck." He nuzzled her temple, letting out a long sigh. "We're just Ivar and Kari remember? Who gives a fuck what others think."

 "Five." She amended her number. 

 "Twelve."

 "Six."

 "Ten."

 "Seven."

 "Nine."

 "Eight."

 He pressed a greedy kiss to her lips as if sealing their agreement. "Eight."

 "No roll over."

 "Argh!" He finally rolled off of her and laid on his back beside her. "Today's kisses start now."

 "What?"

 "Yes."

 They rested next to one another, staring up at the ceiling. Kari had a stupid smile on her face and wondered if Ivar did too. 

 "How are you feeling?" She quietly asked. 

 "Fine." He huffed but after a second, entwined their fingers and brought it up to his lips. "Today was more fun than going to work, right?"

 "Well…."

 He growled. 

 "Yes, it was. I never just lay around in bed, but this has been…. nice."

 "Nice?"

 "Perfect."

 "Mmmm. Better."

 She giggled at the pure smugness in his voice. "Should we keep watching our show?"

 "Unless there is something else…."

 "No."

 After an apparently necessary kiss from their quota, they started the show back up on her laptop. Her head was on his shoulder and their fingers still entangled. For a second, she wondered if she should be concerned with how completely normal this felt. There was no denying this connection they seemed to have. Cuddled up to him, she relished in the sensation, for who knew how long it would last. 

 Ivar squeezed her hand. "Did I mention your ass and legs look fucking amazing in this shorts yet?"

 "Shut up." He buried her face against his shoulder, flushed with embarrassment. 

 "You don't believe me?" He snickered, fingers skimming her bare skin tantalizingly.  "I can't keep my hands off them, fucking amazing."

 "Gods, Ivar, stop!" 

 Thankfully, he did but only after receiving a kiss in recompense. 

 *****

 A couple of episodes later, and four kisses from the quota, Kari was still cuddled up against Ivar, her head on his chest this time. They had taken a break to make popcorn after they restarted the last episode. Yet, like their bodies were magnetized to the other, they subconsciously drifted back to cuddling once the popcorn was gone. With his hand rubbing up and down her back and his rhythmic heartbeat beneath her ear, sleep waited just on the outskirts of her mind to pull her under. Because of this, she barely registered a knock on her door until it suddenly opened. 

 "Hey, Kari, I think this Friday we…." Alana's blue eyes widened like saucers when she fully registered the scene before her. She blinked owlishly for a long second before clearing her throat. "Hi, um, Kari, can we talk privately please?"

 "Sure." Kari pulled away from Ivar with dread filling her. She had not realized what time it was and now that Alana had seen Ivar…. her mind fumbled to come up with a decent excuse, even though she knew it was fruitless. Each step feeling like she was walking to the gallows, she followed her roommate down the stairs and to the small living room. 

 "Alana, it's not…." She started, hoping to start the conversation off but was cut off. 

 "What the hell is going on?" Alana rounded on her, lips pursed and hands on her hips. "I come home and Ivar Lothbrok is lying in your bed, under your covers, shirtless and you're clinging to him like a koala. Tell me it's not what I think it is."

 "We're just friends…"

 The blonde interrupted again. "Bullshit. Are you two fucking? Tell me right now!"

 "No, we aren't. I swear."

 "We told you to stay away from him. What's going on?"

 "It's...it's a long story."

 "I don't want him here."

 "Why not? You bring guys here?" Kari asked defensively. Never before had she had a guy over, the whole year and a half they were roommates. 

 "Because he's a Lothbrok!" Alana sighed, after a quick glance up the stairs to confirm they were still alone, she continued. "You don't…. I don't want you caught up in that world. You deserve someone sweet, and kind…. and who treats you like a princess."

 "Weren't you telling me the other day to get out there? Go on a date with Erik?"

 "Because Erik is a gentleman. He'd treat you well. He'd probably propose after a month of dating you. He's been smitten with you since last year."

 The brunette rolled her eyes but smiled at the sentiment. She may disagree with Alana's viewpoint of Erik's level of attraction to her, but she knew her roommate meant well. The blonde had been pressing her lately to ask him out herself. 

 Before Alana could say something else, they both heard footsteps coming down the stairs. After a moment, Ivar appeared with his t-shirt on over his sweatpants, shoes on, cane in hand and hair pulled back in a man bun. 

 "You leaving?" Kari questioned, desperate to hide the disappointment in her voice. 

 "Yeah, there's something for work I need to do before going into the office tomorrow." 

 She moved to stand before him, gaze sweeping over his body as if she could read his pain level with just a look. Meeting his eyes, she quietly asked. "You'll be alright?"

 He snorted, rolling the cane in his hand. "You sound like my family now."

 "Probably because they care about you."

 He hummed, ignoring her comment. "You should be getting a box in the mail tomorrow."

 "Why?"

 "I ordered you some clothes."

 "Ivar…." 

 "My priestess needs to wear more than just yoga clothes." He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "Though, I do love how tight they are on your ass."

 She laughed, pressing a hand to his, unfortunately, covered chest and carefully pushing him back. "Unbelievable."

 Instead of shifting away from her, he used her hand on his chest to pull her against him. His lips crashed against hers like he needed her to breathe. She clung to his t-shirt as her legs trembled under the reckless abandon of his mouth. Only when she felt boneless did he finally allow her to pull away, desperate for air. With short pants, she gazed up at him wondering where that came from. 

 "I'll text you tomorrow."

 "Oh ok." Was all she could say, her brain still fogged up by the insatiable kiss. 

 He cupped her cheek, looking at her with something like adoration if seen in anyone else, before glancing over her shoulder at Alana. "Nice seeing you again." Without waiting for a response, he walked to the front door and out of it. 

 The sound of the door closing seemed to lift the haze over her mind. She turned around to see her roommate glaring at her with arms crossed over her chest. 

 "Just friends, huh?" She scoffed with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "I don't know what game you're playing with him but I don't want anything to do with it. Apparently, you're not quite the woman I thought you were."

 "Alana…."

 "Save it." She stormed past Kari and up the stairs to her bedroom. 

 With a sigh, Kari trudged over and locked the front door. She wondered how true Alana's words were. After everything that happened today with Ivar, was she even the woman she thought she was? Or was he changing her? And was it for better or worse?

 She honestly was not sure….and it scared her a little. 

[crystalrose555]

Slap me, I dare you! pt.9

“Son of a...making me run...” Marley huffed out as she continued to rush through the halls.

She spent so much of her magic repeating her wind spell, she could feel her lungs turning to lead with each gasp of air. Cursing herself, she remembered how Solomon lectured her on pacing but she had no time to consider it as she glanced over her shoulder. The demonic herd had thinned a considerate amount but that only deepened her paranoia. Did they actually give up or were they plotting something? She didn’t have time to consider as she continued to bolt through the corridors, narrowly avoiding bystanders as she left them behind in the dust.

Unfortunately, her journey was coming to an end as the only thing at the end of the hallway was a large window. She cursed out loud as the sound of stomping boots filled her ears. As she ran towards it, her body felt heavier and heavier while her joints stiffened. She was tired but this feeling was foreign as if it was casted upon her suddenly. Taking a quick glance, her eyes widened as she saw students popping out of adjacent classrooms with their hands glowing light purple. “These fuckers are cursing me!? Over a picture!?” She shrieked out in shock and awe which quickly turned to anger and frustration.

Feeling herself slowing down, Marley pushed her muscles harder as she repeated the wind spell again in an attempt to neutralize the hexes on her. Seeing how her window of escape was literally closed, Marley pulled off her veil and wrapped her arm in it. She gritted her teeth and growled. “All right, you asked for this!” She yelled as she lunged with all her strength.

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

“Dammit...which way did she go!?” Levi screamed out.

“How should I know? The mob split up in all kinds of directions!” Mammon retaliated.

“They’re probably trying to trap her, we should split up in pairs and spread out.” Satan concluded.

Asmo and Satan took one hallway while the twins zoomed down another, leaving Mammon and Levi the main corridor. The second eldest ran in spurts only stopping to glance in potential hiding spaces while the third struggled to remain standing, dripping in his hard earned sweat.

“Damn it, Levi, go pass out somewhere! You’re slowing me down!”

“Not...a...chance, need to...save...” Was all that Levi could muster out before he collapsed in the hallway.

Mammon came to a screeching halt as he double-back to his exhausted sibling. He cursed out loud as he tried to pull his out of shape brother to his feet.

“Come on, ya useless jellyfish, if you’re gonna help, then get off the damn floor!” He hissed out as Levi gave no assistance.

“I...can’t....bones...broken...lungs...shattered...”

“Ya bootless son of a b-”

“Care to finish that phrase, Mammon?”

Mammon felt his spine stiffen before it curled up inside of him. He slowly turned his head to see a towering Lucifer with his arms crossed and a darkened aura surrounding him. Mammon swallowed hard as he managed to get Levi to lean on his shoulder as he turned around to face the eldest with judging eyes.

“Lucifer, my man, I didn’t see you there~” He claimed coyly.

“Want to explain to me why Levi is obstructing the hallway with his exhausted body?” “Well, ya see-”

The distant sound of glass shattering cut Mammon’s explanation short as the three eldest instinctively looked in its direction before bolting towards the source.

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

Diavolo sighed as he walked along the edge of the inner courtyard. He managed to convince Barbatos to give him a break but he couldn’t find anything fun to do which left him in a current state of boredom. Earlier he heard the sounds of students running in the hallways and wanted to join in but Lucifer gave him a strict reminder of how it would look if he was involved in such mischief. Diavolo pouted as he thought of all the fun he was missing out on. His image was important and his goals were absolute but it didn’t mean he had to be deprived of simple pleasures.

“Maybe I should message Levi, he might know where Marley is.” He muttered to himself as he pulled out his phone.

As his fingers tapped away, the sound of shattering glass caused him to misspell Marley which autocorrected to Mochi in the sudden action. He turned his head to see someone dressed in white crashing out the second story window. It took a sliver of a second but that was enough for Diavolo to drop his phone and catch them before his D.D.D. hit the ground. Shielding them from the remaining glass shards raining from above, Diavolo got a good look at them, realizing who he was holding in his arms.

“Marley!?” He yelped out as he stood tall, shaking shards of glass off his shoulders and hair.

Diavolo stared at her exhausted body dusted in glass shards as minor cuts littered her body. Marley’s chest, glistening from sweat, magic residue and glass dust, heaved up and down as her eyes fluttered with each inhale. She lifted her arm, covered in a white cloth with splotches of red, and grabbed Diavolo’s tie. From there, she pulled him closer to her so that he could hear her soft fading voice.

“Diavolo...” She whispered.

“You need to save your strength, Marley!” He frantically claimed.

“...listen...”

“W-What is it?”

“...I’m not paying for that fucking window...” And with that, Marley flopped unconscious in the prince’s arms with a groan, leaving him feeling a multitude of emotions, none of which were boredom.

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

“You idiot! What was that?” “Hey don’t blame me! I casted my hex perfectly!”

“Then how did she launch herself out the window!?”

The ambushing student body argued amongst themselves, failing to realize that their quarry had landed in the arms of their prince. “Great, now we’ve lost her. I skipped class for nothing.” One sighed out with a handful of students agreeing with them.

“Send out a text, maybe one of the other groups got her.”

Nodding in agreement, the students pulled out their D.D.D.s and began tapping away on their screens, looking for any mention of the mystery woman. However, one of them stopped suddenly as a cold chill crawled up their spine.

“H-Hey, does anyone else feel a chill?” They whimpered out.

Slowly, one by one, the students turned their gazes to a smiling Lucifer whose wings spread out ominously, his horns casting a large shadow as the light behind him fought for control of the darkness radiating from him. Seeing the angered eldest brother, a few of the students backed away in fear and instinct, only to be shocked by the purple electric barrier behind them.

“We wouldn’t want anyone else going out the window, now do we?” Lucifer cooed with a sadistic gleam in his eyes.

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

“There we go, that is the last of the glass, my lord.” Barbatos claimed as he placed his tweezers to the side.

“Thank you, Barbatos, I wasn’t sure I could get all of it myself.” Diavolo chuckled out as his eyes trailed to Marley who laid upon his lounge couch.

There she was, covered in bandages, sleeping and snoring without a care. Her legs spread out with one hanging off the edge, leaving little to no modesty for the crowned prince and his butler.

“She must be exhausted, I don’t think there’s anything that could wake her up.” Diavolo mentioned.

“Considering the amount of hexes and spells casted upon her, I’m not surprised.” Barbatos answered as he stood up and dust himself off.

Just then, a knock rattled Diavolo’s office door which opened to reveal a calm Lucifer.

“Lord Diavolo, it’s time for the assembly in the Colosseum.” He claimed.

Diavolo’s expression soured slightly.

“Do I have to be there? Surely, you can handle it, Lucifer.” “I’d rather not, I’m going to be busy disciplining the hex majors involved with the incident. And you must address the entire student body so that this doesn’t happen again. I would prefer if we don’t have a reason for Marley to launch herself out another window.”

Lucifer’s eye was drawn to the couch as Marley gave a small snort before turning away from the demons. The eldest just sighed but he wasn’t sure if it was from relief or frustration. Either way, he would have to figure out an appropriate punishment for the runaway seal, especially after all the ruckus she made in the public eye again. Diavolo, on the other hand, glanced at the sleeping woman before giving a sigh. “You’re right. Barbatos, will you prepare for my arrival in the Colosseum. I need a moment.” Diavolo asked as Lucifer exited the office.

Barbatos gave a bow before chuckling a bit underneath his breath, which piqued Diavolo’s interest.

“What is it?”

Barbatos gave a slight head shake with a smile.

“I can assure you that Marley will be fine in your office. I don’t see anyone else entering this room besides you and those who work directly with you.” Diavolo paused for a moment before taking off his jacket to cover Marley with it. He then turned to his butler with a wide smile that left Barbatos in a state of confusion.

“Sir?” “It’s important to show the students of RAD that I care about their well being, right?” He grinned as he rolled up his sleeves.

Barbatos just sighed.

[snake-habitat1]

s3x pollen (fem reader)

Summary: You and Peter were tasked with organizing powders from another planet. Something went wrong though :o!

Warnings: swearing, fingering, sex, angst

Word count: 1,874

Tony Stark charged you and Peter Parker with a “dangerous” task. You weren’t too sure what was so dangerous about organizing, but there you were on a Saturday, arranging color-filled test tubes with Spider-Man. 

    “Be extremely careful when handling these test tubes. They’re a sort of gas from planet Nimbus and if you happen to break one, you will feel like you’re dying.” Stark said to you and Peter earlier that day.

    Peter raised his hand, “Okay, but will we die?” 

    Tony rolled his eyes, “Technically no, you won’t die, but you don’t want to feel what this stuff is capable of.”

    You glanced over at Peter who gave Tony a skeptical look.

    “Look, just believe me. If one of you knuckleheads break something, press this red button,” Tony pointed to a red button near the door, “That button will seal this room shut, preventing the rest of the gas from leaking into the building.”

    It all seemed sort of sketchy, but who were you to say no to the man who gave you a job? You nodded at Tony’s words and prepared yourself for several hours of labor.

    Two hours later, you and Peter have only gotten through less than half of the test tubes. The tubes contained powders of all colors. Yellow, blue, green, red, and purple. You particularly liked inspecting the test tubes with the purple powder. 

    “This is so boring!” Peter groaned.

    You smiled, “I agree, but maybe this will go by faster if we play some music?” 

    Peter nodded, ��Alright, but you have to DJ.”

    “Hey FRIDAY, connect to (y/n)’s phone.” You commanded.

    “Connected.” The AI voice stated.

    You clicked on a playlist entitled “Vibes” and placed your phone back into your back pocket. Peter began to sway his hips to the beat and you couldn’t help but giggle.

    “Is something funny, (y/n)?” Peter asked.

    You chuckled, “Nope, nothing at all. You’re a great dancer.”

    “I know,” Peter stated with a wink.

    You rolled your eyes. Peter picked up a test tube and continued to dance. You joined in and soon enough you two were having a dance party. The more you both danced, the closer together you became. Suddenly, Peter did a small spin but bumped into you, causing him to drop a test tube filled with the purple powder.

    “Shit!” You both exclaimed at the same time.

    You ran over to the door and slammed down on the red button. The windows and glass doors were soon shielded in a thick protection of vibranium. 

    Peter looked at you with a concerned expression.

    “(y/n), I am so sorry!” Peter said.

    “No, don’t apologize. It’s just as much my fault as it is yours.” 

    You both stood in silence as the powder began to rise into a gas. You tried to hold your breath, but soon enough you inhaled deeply, coughing and choking on the pastel gas. Peter also began to cough. He wheezed and wiped his eyes as they started to water. 

    “Do you feel anything yet?” Peter asked you.

    You shook your head, “What about you?”     “Nope, nothing.”

    Maybe Tony had been wrong about the gases. Perhaps not all of them had the same effect. But before long, you started to feel an ache coming from between your legs. You tried to ignore it but the more you resisted, the more powerful it became. Your core was longing to be touched. A wetness began to grow as your nipples were now erect. 

    “(y/n)?” Peter said.

    You looked at him and noticed a bulge growing in his tight jeans. Your eyes widened when you looked up at Parker and saw how red his cheeks were. 

    “Yeah?” You responded.

    “I-I think I know what that was.” Peter stuttered.

    A cramp coursed through your stomach causing you to hunch over a bit.

    “Fuck,” You moaned slightly.

    “I think we just inhaled a suh-s-sex pollen.” Peter tried to adjust his growing member.

    “A what?!” Your heart was racing. You crossed your legs, trying to relieve some of the tension  that was growing in your core.

    “A sex pollen. It h-helps...shit…the people of Nimbus reproduce. They don’t have hormones like we do so they use this gas in order to get stimulated.” Peter responded.

    You were used to Peter being a nerd, but something about his nerdy ways made you extremely horny in that very moment. A wave of pleasure caused you to collapse. Peter ran over to you to make sure you were alright. The feeling of his strong hand grabbing your upper arm made another shock wave to course through your body. 

    “I-I’m fine.” You managed.

    Peter decided it was best to back off of you. He’s always had a thing for you and this pollen was not helping. He just didn’t want to say or do anything he’d regret. He especially didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Peter moved to the other side of the room and sat on the ground near the now sealed window.

    Little did Parker know, you also had a thing for him. You have for two years now. You were always sure he liked MJ, and you were still convinced of that, but who knows what’ll happen with this gas in the air.

    “How long does this last?” You asked Peter from the other side of the room.

    “I’m not entirely sure.” 

    You sighed but was startled when your phone began to ring. You answered, “Hello?”

    “Which test tube did you guys drop?” Tony asked.

    You furrowed your brows, “How did you know we dropped one?” You said.

    “I didn’t, but I do now.” Tony replied.

    “The purple one.” You said with a sigh.

    There was a pause followed by laughter, “Bruce! Bruce! You owe me twenty! I told you it would be the sex pollen!”

    You rolled your eyes, “Haha, very funny. How long does this feeling last?” 

    “Anywhere from a few hours to a few days.” Tony chuckled.

    Your heart dropped, “A few days?!” 

    “That all just depends on you two.” 

    With that, Tony hung up the phone and you were left to wonder what that could’ve meant. You looked down and realized you were involuntarily rubbing your heat through your jeans. Peter eyed you from across the room but didn’t say anything.”

“I have an idea but it’s well…” You began, but Peter cut you off.

“What is it? I’ll do anything to stop this!”

You bit your lower lip, “Masturbation?”

Peter became silent. You instantly regretted your words.

“That could work.” Peter finally said.

You grew wetter just thinking about Peter pleasing himself. Turning away from you, Peter unbuckled his pants. You did the same. Though you couldn’t see, you could imagine what was happening with the small sounds Peter were providing. 

“Fuck, (y/n)...” Peter moaned. 

Your eyes shot open when you heard your name. Is he thinking about you? While…  

“Peter?” You asked.

“Yuh-yes?” Peter said.

“Are you thinking about me?”

Peter let out a low sigh, “Yes.”

You turned around and began to crawl towards him. When you finally reached Peter, your breath was hitting his neck, causing goosebumps to rise on his warm skin. 

Peter gulped loudly, “wha-what are you doing?” 

You placed a soft kiss upon his neck. You were so hungry for the man in front of you, you were practically bursting out of your underwear. 

“I like you, Parker.” You finally confessed.

Peter slowly turned his head until his eyes met yours, “Really? Because I like you too.” 

His voice was so raspy and delicious, you wanted to taste every inch of him. Without warning, Peter’s lips crashed down on yours and you began to passionately kiss. Soon, you were on Peter’s lap, kissing him and grinding on his growing member. 

“Fuck, (y/n), I want you so badly.” Peter moaned against your lips.

The sound of his voice caused another cramp to form in your stomach. You pulled back and pulled your shirt off. Peter followed after you. You admired his perfectly sculpted chest and abs. He was beautiful. 

 “I need you inside me, Peter.” You whimpered.

Peter flipped you both over so he was now on top. He helped you shimmy out of your fitted jeans, your underwear being pulled down with them. Peter reached down and began to rub in small circles on your aching clit. Your breath hitched in your throat. Every nerve ending in your body was on fire and was begging for Peter’s touch. 

“Fuck, princess. You’re already so wet for me.” Peter mumbled. 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Just his voice alone gave you butterflies. Peter slipped a finger inside of you and began to pump slowly.

“M-more!” You nearly shouted.

With a smirk, Parker slipped two more fingers inside. He moved quickly causing your back to arch. 

“My princess gonna cum for me?” Peter growled. 

That sent you overboard. A familiar but powerful feeling rushed over you, starting in the pit of your belly. As you climaxed, Peter moved and licked up your wet folds. You were over stimulated and at bliss, at least for a moment. When you finally came down from your high you realized how horny you still were.

“Lay down.” You demanded, pushing Peter by his chest. 

With him now laying on the cool ground, you straddled Peter, rubbing your heat on his jeans. 

“Take them off.” You said. Peter listened and now had his bare ass on the ground, his slick, hard cock resting against his belly. He was bigger than you expected, which only made you more aroused. 

You climbed back on top of Peter and grabbed his dick, making him hiss under his breath. You pumped his cock a few times before slowly sliding it into your wet pussy.

“Fuck me, princess! You’re so tight.” Peter groaned.

You moaned as you bounced up and down on Peter’s throbbing cock, your hands on his chest to stabilize yourself. You rocked your hips back and forth with Peter’s hands on your hips to guide you.

“Keep riding me like that and I’m gonna cum for you, baby girl.” Peter moaned.

“Cum for me, Peter.” You breathed out.

Peter lifted himself from the ground using his thighs so he could hammer into your tight cunt. The faster he went, the closer to your second high you got. 

“I’m coming, princess!” Peter moaned. 

With a few more hard thrusts, Peter finished inside of you. You slipped off of him, his cum dripping from your core. Laying down next to him, Peter wrapped an arm around you. You both were naked and panting.

“Do you still feel like you’re going to die?” You finally asked.

Peter giggled, “Not so much anymore. You?” 

You shook your head. In pure bliss, you realized your phone was ringing. 

“Hello?” You asked once you picked up.

“Yeah, just wanted to let you know whenever this uh, passes, the code to disarm the shields is 2001.” Tony stated.

“Sounds good!” You smiled.

“Wanna get out of here?” Peter asked.

“Yes, but we should probably get dressed.” You laughed. 

After getting dressed, you and Peter headed out, leaving that sweaty room. You knew things had changed for the better.

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 9

Colors/Disappear ( @daily-writing-challenge​, @serararku​ )

World: Final Fantasy 14

Content Warning: Violence and gore.

The haul was good for once. The first good haul in many moons.

Heavy wooden crates were carried down the gangway by burly men still covered in soot, mud, and blood. They were exhausted from the raid- they all were- and narrowly avoiding Limsa Lominsa's new navy was no easy task for pirates set in the old ways. The quaint little cove they stored their precious loot in would serve them well but not forever; the tide would rise come summer and the sea would swallow this place whole.

"Put yer backs into it!" The First Mate bellowed, impatiently shaking his weighty fist. "Ye wanna rest, do ye?! Sooner we unload, sooner we can drink! Come on lads! Move it move it move it!"

Captain Tranter wasn't afraid of a little manual labor and was already poised to crack open these chests to find out what exactly they pillaged. He gripped the sledgehammer with both hands, lifted it over his head, then brought it down on the heavy iron lock keeping the first chest sealed tight.

THAACK!

One good swing was all it took. With the steel-plated tip of his boot the Captain kicked off the crumbled metal and popped the chest open with a flick of his ankle. The orange light from the fading sunset bounced off the contents at the perfect angle, mimicking an aurora on the dull grey limestone ceiling. Even the crew gave pause to stare awestruck at the lights before the First Mate barked at them again. "Beautiful…" was all the Captain could mutter, enthralled by the myriad of colors glimmering from gemstones of all shapes and sizes. He blinked the trance away then gestured to his helping hands to haul it to the back of the cove with the rest of his treasure; they may go hungry if none of these crates and chests contained any food, but sleeping in a bed of gemstones would certainly be worth waiting till the morrow to get something to eat.

THAACK!

Next came the slaves. Almost a dozen Highlanders were ushered out from beneath the deck and across the gangway to endure a new life of suffering. The blood of their loved ones were still warm on their bodies as they stepped barefoot on the cold, wet, and jagged rocks, traumatized from being ripped from their homes and former lives, only to be sold to the highest bidder in the coming week. None knew exactly what would happen next, but they all had the same idea; judging by the lustful grins of their captives, there was a long and painful night awaiting them. Yet as an impatient pirate stepped forward to grope one, a black leather whip came cracking over his head to keep his urges in check. “Ye know the rules! Cap’n gets first pick! Then officers! Then ye can have ‘em warmin’ yer beds after that!” A long crooked finger was jabbed in the pirate’s face. “But if ye gettem pregnant, the babe and loss o’gil is yours!”

Captain Tranter gave the lineup a once over, but his mind was still orbiting that chest of gemstones. His eyes swept over their sniffling faces before he made his decision. “Aye, the blonde broad. At the end o’ the line. Getter in me favorite dress and make sure she ain’t cryin’ when I get done bustin’ open these chests.”

“Aye Cap’n!” The fairest of them all shivered with terror when she was unshackled from the others and ushered toward the back-end of the cove. The Captain ignored her pitiful weeping, instead returning to smashing open the rusty iron locks with the hopes of finding another one filled with gemstones. One was filled with linen. One with popatoes. Another was filled with old rags. It seemed their luck was beginning to wane, but at least they could make a fine fish stew with the popatoes to keep their bellies warm for the ni-

“What…? What in the hells is that?!” One of his crewmen blurted out as he pointed back at the ship; ignoring him would be a simple matter if the rest of his crew didn’t begin to gasp and murmur amongst themselves. Captain Tranter paused with the sledgehammer over his head to look at them, furrowed his brows at how pale and shaken the man looked, and followed his trembling finger.

In the crow’s nest knelt a fair-haired figure wearing a stained and tattered wedding dress, that flowed and drifted with even the faintest breeze. A dense fog cascaded from its form, and before long the growing cloud would swallow the ship whole. When Captain Tranter dropped his hammer and squinted to get a better look, the figure stood up straight, revealing the grey face of a woman, with a slender sliver of ice in her grasp.

“I-it’s the Mournin’ Maiden…!” A pirate cried out, recognizing the forlorn spirit. “B-bane of the seas… she feasts on the skulls o’ the unfaithful sailors…! All who break their vows are doomed men!” Just about every pirate within earshot shuddered in terror.

All but the Captain. “What are you idiots gawkin’ at?! Ye got guns aye?! Send this spectre back to the afterlife!” He whipped his revolver out of its holster and fired first, and two dozen of his men followed his lead. Blam! Blam! Blamblamblam! Blam blam! By the time they stopped firing, the spirit was gone.

“Did…” the First Mate stuttered as smoke drifted from the barrel of their pistols. “D-did we get em?”

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

What a horrible sound! The shriek rushed across the cove like the wind to test their resolve! They gripped at their ears and staggered from the piercing noise- some dropped to their knees and cried out in terror, while others abandoned their brothers and dived headfirst off the edge into the sea below. Some of them misjudged their jumps and smacked against the jagged rocks protruding from the waters, or bellyflopped onto the shallow end; either fate was surely better than the apparition rending their souls from their bodies? “Oh no…! We angered her!” One of them collapsed to his knees and soiled himself. “The ship’s the only way out…! We’re trapped! We’re doomed!”

“Use silver!” Captain Tranter barked, popping open his revolver to replenish his shots with polished silver rounds. He had to wrestle back control of this situation if he wanted to live to see another day. “Silver’s deadly t’monsters! We can banish her with one clean sh-!”

Out from the freezing fog she came skittering down the gangway! “Fire! OPEN FIRE!” A hail of bullets ripped the air in half to tear her into pieces, but her erratic movements made her damn near impossible to hit. She leapt high into the air when the bullets tore through the rocks around her, only for her to vanish in a sudden puff of fog. Captain Tranter held his pistol tightly with one hand, and the handle of his silver rapier with the other; he would love nothing more than to bash this spirit with his sledgehammer, but she was too quick for that. “Steady…!” He commanded, keeping his eyes peeled for her to appear again. “No ghost needs to dodge…! She’s mortal and livin’! Just watch yer backs and prepare for another ambush!”

The First Mate looked up just in time to see the flowing wedding dress cascade over his body and blind him from the others. “MMMPH! MMPH!” The roegadyn clawed frantically at the ensnaring cloth as his crewmates watched on in horror. “MMMPH! MMURK-!” His arms and legs twitched before he collapsed to his knees. Captain Tranter raised his pistol and fired, and the spirit vanished again- only to reveal the First Mate’s head was missing!

“Up there! The ceilin’!” All eyes shot upward to witness her slowly crawling along the stalactites. She lunged at them, spiraling through the air while billowing fog from the holes in her mask. “Wait! WAIT! N-AAAUGH!” A long sliver of ice slipped from her gown and severed limbs to claim the arms, hands, and knees of anyone who dared step within reach.

It was chaos! The Maiden moved like a fluttering leaf in the wind, spinning and weaving between them, claiming life after life! Grown men dropped their weapons and gripped at their bloodied stumps to squeal in agony and terror- other pirates open fired with no regard for the others, missing the Maiden to cripple or kill each other with friendly fire. “KILL HER! KILL HER NOW!” The Captain bellowed, fumbling with his spare bullets when the Maiden leapt onto the shoulders of the Gunner before claiming another head.

Few pirates tried- but every shot missed, and every attempt with blade or blunt object was met with curdling screeches and agony! The Quartermaster tried to make a run for it, but the Maiden outran him from behind, skittering up his back to swallow the upper half of his body with her deadly embrace! “FIGHT! FIGHT YE COWARDS!”

Soon what little resolve they had managed to cling to until now had abandoned them, and any pirate still standing tripped over boxes, crates, and corpses as they scrambled into the thinning fog to board the ship for their escape. Captain Tranter grit his teeth as he blindly fired, hitting the legs and backs of several crewmates- but there was little else he could do to punish betrayers and mutineers that disobeyed his commands. With a pistol now empty, and the fog closing in around his feet, he stared down the Mourning Maiden. She stood there in silence, hovering over the headless corpse of the last of his officers, seemingly ignoring both the fleeing cowards and the shackled women in the corner.

“What do ye want…?!” He demanded, dropping his pistol. “Revenge? Trinkets? Does this treasure belong to ye?! Go on- take em back! Just let me live!” There was no response. She simply kept pumping fog from her form until the freezing cold gripped his skin tighter than his own clothes. “Answer me, apparition! What do ye want?!”

Suddenly she lunged forward, skittering in a straight line toward him! Fear stirred his stomach but he kept his nerve, drawing his rapier to fight to the last! SHWING! He parried the razor-sharp spike of ice with his rapier, the blistering ice creeping around and catching his blade! The spirit was stronger than he had hoped, and the longer she had him locked against her, the more ice that formed on his last line of defense. He stared helplessly into the mask, with frost freezing the droplets of sweat on his forehead. Then suddenly she yanked herself away, ripping the rusting blade from the hilt and sending it careening off into the fog! He reached for his boot knife and went to slice her chest open- anything was better than standing there to die!

SHLURK!

"Aaauugh!" His hand and his knife vanished into the white haze. Agony bit into the back of his knees and sent him falling onto his face; beneath the rolling fog he began to crawl, desperately reaching for his pistol. If he could just reach it and get another bullet in, he could-!

Her foot came down on his hand with a wet crunch! "Nnngh!" Captain Tranter stifled his groans when she ground her heel into his wrist before finally stepping off; he looked down in defeat when he saw how mangled and twisted his fingers were. “Guuughh…! Auuugh… haahhhh…! Gods no…! W-wait…!”

All he could do now was look his killer in the eyes. The Mourning Maiden's wedding dress was discolored by the salt of the sea, and stained with blots of blood both brown and old, and red and recent. Her hands were a moldy grey and bloated, with seawater dripping down her bony fingers. Captain Tranter strained to look up at her face; she wore the cracked stone mask of a weeping widow, with water stains running down the eye slots and barnacles fused to her cheeks and forehead. Shimmering in the light were two off-colored blue eyes that pierced his soul.

“Please…!” Captain Tranter soiled himself before this terrifying banshee. “I beg o’ye…! I don’t wanna die…! I’ll do anythin’! I just wanna-!”

Floosh…

The tattered wedding dress lashed out and draped over his body.

As the fog began to filter out, the pirates who made it to the ship, without breaking their ankles sprinting blindly, managed to get her sailing again- and not a moment too soon. They looked on to see the Mourning Maiden holding their captain’s head aloft at them- taunting them. Terror gripped their souls as they panicked aboard their vessel, pulling free from the makeshift dock and almost drifting into the side of the cove on their way out.

“Please, spare us o vengeful spirit…!” The Highlander woman the late captain picked for his bed barely managed to squeak out her words. “We aren’t pirates…! We’re prisoners! I beseech your forgiveness for any wrongdoings we may have done…!”

“You have nothing to fear from me.” The Mourning Mother turned to face the prisoners, who were all huddled up and cowering together in their shackles. She approached them in silence, dropping the severed head; but when she lifted her hand to her mask and pulled it off, the womens' fear quickly turned into confusion.

Soft black cat ears popped free before the living face of a Miqo'te woman was revealed. She pulled the veil off and massaged her jaw, then looked down at the women with a warm and welcoming smile. "My name is S'era, and I'm here to rescue you." The silver of ice in her grasp melted and hissed, revealing a steel uchigatana. They flinched when she raised it over her head- but a loud ringing bang later and their chains crumbled at their feet.

"Wait… so you're not the Mourning Maiden?!" One woman asked, rubbing at her wrists.

S'era lifted her gown and slid her sword back into the hidden sheath. "Ha- definitely not. I decided to use their pirate superstition against them, and it worked like a charm. Sit tight and try to relax, okay? A ship is coming to take you to Limsa."

“But… that scream…” Another started, still thoroughly confused. “How did you manage to make such a terrible sound?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Their savior gave them a perplexing look. “I didn’t make a single-” She turned her back to the group of women and pressed her fingers to her temple. "Yes- S'era reporting in, the prisoners and stolen property are all secured… most of the pirates are aboard their ship, sailing out now… yes… the captain is dead… yes… mhm… understood. Okay, S'era out." She rummaged through her dress and pulled out a small metal switch before pointing at the fleeing pirates.

BOOOM!

The ship rocked and heaved from the chain of explosions, traveling up each mast and lighting up the stern beneath the seawater. "Hahahahaha!" S'era crossed her arms and nodded approvingly at her handiwork; she then pressed her fingers to her temple again before turning to smile at the freed captives. "Yeah, back her in. The captives are ready to be lifted out."

“Thank you…!” Tears began to stream down their faces. Relief washed over them like the tide, but they were too weak to openly celebrate. “Oh gods, thank you so much!”

“Just hang tight.” S’era assured them, glancing out toward the mouth of the cove again. “We’re going to take you to Limsa Lominsa to check your injuries. We have soft beds and warm meals waiting for you on the ship once we’re airborne.”

They looked around as the fog finally dissipated. Aside from the limbs scattered around the cove at the appropriate blood stains on the wet rocks, they were safe enough to breathe. The pirates were either dead or on their way to be arrested again, marking a righteous and sudden end to the Black Powder Buccaneers. The blonde woman stood over the remains of Captain Tranter, before spitting on his corpse. Because of him her family and seaside village were gone, but he would never harm another person ever again.

A low rumbling hum traveled through the ground to vibrate their feet. They saw the tide shake and tremble before a flying ship slowly dipped beneath the roof of the cove to back herself in; sails as white as clouds folded against the metallic silver underbelly, as ceruleum-powered propellers whipped up the wind. The women covered their faces and rose to their aching feet when the doors swung open, following their rescuer onto the Skydancer to be lifted out of this nightmare.

Several galleons were already headed toward the pirate ship that remained dead in the water, and by this time tomorrow they would all be swinging from the gallows. As the last glimpse of the sun dipped behind the horizon, as the Skydancer zipped across the sea before raising its nose up to ascend into the sky, an ethereal woman stood on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. Her bridesmaids held the ends of her fraying dress to keep it from dragging on the ground as she approached the edge, with tears streaming down her rotting face.

In silence she watched the Skydancer vanish into the clouds, and in the blink of an eye, the real Mourning Maiden disappeared.

[nat-20s]

this is a Wild™ prompt so no pressure to actually do it, but i’ve had the scenario of “somehow s5 martin ends up in s1-s2, has to figure out how to deal with that” and if u want a narrower thing, maybe how he reacts to seeing someone again/for the first time? (Sasha, Juergen Leitner, Prentiss, etc)

Please have fun with Whatever this is:

“Don’t go wandering off in the middle of the apocalypse” seems like a pretty simple rule to follow. “Especially don’t go through any weird doors, Christ, Martin, how can that possibly be a good idea on any level, do you remember nothing from the last five years of your existence?” also seems like a generally easy thing to keep in mind. And yet, Martin is guilty of the same sin that appears to be intrinsic of all of those who find themselves under the influence of the eye, his need to know something overriding his common sense. In his defense, the door was only like 2 meters away and he wasn’t planning on going through it or even touching it at all. He just wanted to look, because it appeared to be made of a liquid version of frosted glass, and it was translucent enough that he could sort of make out the other side of it. As he got closer, he confirmed that the other side of the door a: definitely didn’t match the rest of their own little hell-scape, and b: seemed familiar in a way he couldn’t quite make sense of.  

Of course, in the dream logic of their reality, you don’t have to place your hand on the door knob in order for you to enter some place new. All it takes is getting within a foot of the door, squinting to futilely try and bring the scene across from him into better focus, and a blink and suddenly he is not where he’s supposed to be. Instead, he is staring down the hallway of his former apartment complex, watching as a familiar woman attired in a red dress and countless words is steadily knocking at his door. There’s a weight in his hands that wasn’t there before, and he looks down to find a fire extinguisher in prime position to be fired. Huh. How serendipitous.

Martin’s surprised to find that he doesn’t feel afraid, not in this moment. It appears that for all the two weeks spent hiding from her still frequent more often than not in his nightmares, for all that the sight of canned peaches still makes him nauseous, in his (probably) waking hours, she is far less intimidating than the myriad of horrors he has faced since. Or, perhaps, it’s simply that he is actually equipped to face her, and that takes away some of the teeth of his fear. Any semblance of preparation, of a plan, has given him comfort when he had little else, and that continues on now. Admittedly, though, while he does have preparation for this encounter, his plan is little more than “get Prentiss off of my fucking lawn and then see where we go from there” before he’s striding towards her.

He’s able to get close to her, about as close as he’s willing to get, before she takes any notice of him. Once he’s about five feet away, she turns her head, and briefly pauses that incessant, infuriating knocking. She gets as far as saying, “Oh, aren’t you inter-” before he sends a spray of foam directly to her face. It’s far from enough to kill her, but it’s enough to kill off some of the worms, so there’s no way that it doesn’t at least sting quite a bit. The CO2 makes her stutter and take several steps back, swatting at the foam at an attempt to get it off.

He considers pulling the handle once again, but he’s really more concerned with getting her to leave than hurting her further, and he doesn’t to run out of ammo this early should she recover and decide to go on the attack. However, he likes to think he’s not too much of a fool, so he keeps the nozzle trained on her as she becomes less frantic.

Finally she stills her swatting, breathing heavily and glaring at him, as much as she can make any sort of facial expression with what’s left of her face. “That was rather rude of you, little one. And we are trying to offer you an escape from being so tragically singular.”

Martin raises the nozzle slightly higher, just enough to bring focus to the motion as he replies, “Yeah, well, it was rude of you to stalk my apartment for two weeks and try to kill me and my coworkers, so forgive me if I don’t feel all that grateful for your oh so generous offer.”

“Hmm. So you are his future. That’s a shame. We are made so loneliness is impossible, it would not wrap itself so throughly into your form. Our love could still be given to you, in this time.”

“I have no interest in your hollow version of love. He has no interest in it. Now, leave.”

Prentiss give an airy wave of her hand, and the worms that had been trying to find any crack in the sealed door come crawling back to their home. “Fine, fine. This was just a bit of fun, anyway. I’ll be seeing him soon enough anyway.”

Martin makes a hum of acknowledgement, though he response makes little difference to her taking her leave. There’s a few silver-grey disgusting stragglers that be promptly and throughly kills with a combination of the fire extinguisher and some well placed stomps. It’s only after he finishes this that the hesitation hits him, the trepidation curling low in his stomach until it solidifies into something akin to fear. He’ll take a worm monster over facing himself any time of any day.

What would he even say to himself? Good luck, the next years of your life are completely fucked? Hey, congratulations, you actually made it to your 30s, so that’s a bit of surprise, but you’re almost certainly not going to get to 35? Don’t talk to a man named Peter Lukas, or maybe just avoid any Lukases in general? Maybe he should lie, tell him things are going to turn out okay when they’re definitely not?

Wait, okay, maybe he has something with the Peter tip. If there’s an opportunity to give this version of him some advice that could prevent future grief, he might as well go for it. It’s like, how badly could he actually mess up the time line with his interference? The world could end again? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Upon the realization that basically no matter what he does right now there’s basically no where to go up but up, he makes an executive decision to go in there and confront himself head on. Hell, maybe that’s the Thing that’s needed to get him back to Jon.

As he goes to turn the door handle he also, briefly, thinks that he should bring up that he’s madly in love with someone who feels the same. It’s not immediately relevant for trying to prevent some of the mistakes he’s made, but Martin remembers being 28, utterly convinced both that love was real and something that was completely unattainable for something like him. Being wrong on the second part of that conviction is one of the few true comforting things he can provide.

The door is, of course, locked, so he goes with plan B. Turns out fire extinguishers are rather handy for smashing things, and he brings it down several times in rapid succession until the knob breaks. There’s one step down, but he had forgotten about the furniture barricade that had been put in place. He can get the door open about 7 centimeters before it refuses to budge, and he begins to wonder if all of this is an exercise in futility. At least his voice won’t be muffled when he calls out, “Martin? You in there?”

There’s nothing but silence, and he sighs and leans his head against the apartment door. “Seriously, Martin, could you respond? And maybe move some of this furniture? If you’re dead that means things are way more messed up than I expected.”

After a beat, a strained voice calls out, “Oh, so a bad impersonation of me is part of your dumb monster powers now? Piss off!”

After a groan and an eyeroll, Martin calls back “I’m not-!” before cutting himself off. He meant to say “I’m not a monster, I’m you” but both of those things are only about 60-70% true. Instead he goes with, “I’m not an impersonation. If I was something pretending to be someone else to get inside, wouldn’t I pick one of your coworkers coming to get you? Like Tim or Jon or Sa- you know, um, one of them?”

Silence.

“You have a peephole, right? You could look through it, confirm that I’m not worm-infested?”

He doesn’t hear a response with words, but he does hear the sounds of motion coming from inside. After a few minutes, the furniture is pushed aside, and the door is opened for him. Jesus, the guy on the other side of the door looks like shit. He probably doesn’t look much better, apocalypse grime covering every inch of him, but still. The man in front of him has deep bags under his eyes and a gauntness to his face that will take a while to ease. Worst of all, he looks painfully young and painfully afraid, and while Martin can recognize himself on a logical level, there’s a forced disconnect that makes him feel like he’s looking at a stranger. The knife that’s being held between them probably doesn’t help matters.

His former self’s voice shakes with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. “You got the hair color wrong. And the age.”

“That’s because I’m 32. Also, still not an impersonation.”

“My hair goes white in 5 years?”

“Not in the natural way. You know those hokey stories where people are so scared their hair turns white? That’s...sort of what happened. And it’s not going to happen to you, if I can help it.”

That’s the wrong thing to say, apparently, as the younger Martin’s face twists up. It’s a lot, Martin thinks it’s a lot and he’s far more experienced in the reality of the esoteric, but sometimes things being a lot is unavoidable, and he’s pretty sure time travel is one of those cases. He shrugs in response to the younger’s confusion, and says, “Can I come in? I think I’m here to dole out some advice, and I’d honestly prefer to do while not standing in worm corpses.”

He’s studied for a few brief moments, before he’s told, “You broke my doorknob.”

“You’re never gonna live here again, and it’s not like you were getting the security deposit back anyway. Does it matter?”

The younger one’s face collapses, despondent when he replies, “But. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Martin’s been experiencing a nauseating mixture of anger, pity, and compassion while seeing his past self, but that’s enough to kick in his care-taking instincts, and he really just wants to wrap the guy in a blanket. That’s not going to help either of them, but what he says next might. With a frankly ridiculous wave of fondness for that uncomfortable cot (or, more accurately, for the memory of a certain someone offering said cot), “You will. After you go back to the institute, you, um, you won’t have to stay here again.”

Martin, junior edition, only looks more lost, but he does step aside to let Martin inside the apartment even if he doesn’t lose his death grip on the knife. Martin pulls the door behind him, and as he does so, it transforms into the door that got him in this mess, so looks like he made the right choice. It doesn’t immediately take him (hopefully) back to his own time, but Martin’s gut is telling him that he won’t be spending much longer here. “Okay, so, you have a notebook around here, right? Because I’m about to dump quite a bit of information on you all at once, and I happen to know that our memory for things of this sort is not fantastic.”

The younger one glances over to the table where a notebook and pen are laying and while he moves towards it, he’s clearly hesitant to occupy both his hands with writing. The precaution makes sense, but Martin’s getting tired of it nonetheless due to a combination of running out of time and generally being tired of people seeing him as a threat. With a sigh, he tries his best to evenly say, “The next few years are going to be, um, messed up, to say the least, but hopefully if you have more information than I did, they’ll be less messed up.”

Younger Martin finally concedes, putting the knife down to pick up the pen, and flips the notebook open. Primed to start writing, he gives slight nod of his head to tell Martin to keep talking. Martin takes a breath, lets it out, and spills everything he can think of. “Okay, most immediately, CO2 kills Prentiss’s worms, and enough of it will kill her. A fire suppressant system will do the trick, but make sure there’s a way to actually trigger it inside of the archives. Makes sure the weird spooky table doesn’t get destroyed, it seems like it should be destroyed, this instinct is wrong. Generally speaking, you should get a buddy system set up, as it’s usually when people go off on their own that particularly bad things start to happen, whether it’s on an investigation or going to America. Speaking of, don’t let Jon go to America. Don’t let Tim go to stop the Unknowing. The Unknowing won’t work anyway, but you’ll probably still want to have the circus blown up, just make sure everyone is doing it from a distance. Don’t let yourself work for Peter Lukas, actually don’t interact with Peter Lukas, except maybe to, I don’t know, hit him with a shovel. And most importantly, kill Elias Bouchard as soon as possible-”

“-What?!-”

“-and in particular make sure you destroy the eyes, that’s vital to this whole thing. Turns out he’s actually a 200 year old scumbag named Jonah Magnus, you know, the founder of the institute, and by getting rid of him, you’ll save yourself a quite literal world of pain.”

“I don’t, what, I don’t think I could kill somebody-”

Martin felt a sharp tug towards the door, and he knew his time here was up. “Oh, wow, I really have changed, huh. Anyway, uh, final notes: you’re not going to end up alone and unloved and forgotten before you’re even fully gone, so feel free to lay that fear that occupies a disconcertingly large amount of your mental space to rest. Good luck, and try not to die!”

Before he can hear his other self’s response, he’s back in the wastelands he currently calls a twisted version of home, and Jon’s arms are wrapped around his neck in a fierce hug. As far as he can tell, nothing’s changed from his little literal trip down memory lane. There’s a few explanations for it, but since Martin’s not going to go out of his way trying to prove any of them, he choses to believe in the one that’s the most hopeful; that somewhere, out there, with some well timed words, there’s a universe that has turned out kinder than their own.

[telli1206]

House of Tricks

Pirate Jay and Harry take a spin through a true house of horrors...Hell Hall.

I felt like the #Descendantsspookytime Hashtag needed more shorts, so here’s a little Pirate!Jay idea I’ve been toying with. I hope you enjoy it!

Also on AO3

WARNING: Some violence and non-con elements

-----

“Dammit Harry, I don’t think this is a good idea. If we get caught we’re dogmeat.”

Jay eyes Hell Hall warily, pausing on the path right in front of the door to stare at the dark, decrepit structure. Even with all of the decaying, crumbled buildings all over the island, this place still manages to creep Jay out.

Harry pauses next to him to follow Jay’s gaze, but simply chuckles at Jay’s leery expression, slapping him hard on the back as he makes his way past him and up to the door.

“Oy, chill, will ya? You saw the hag at the barge, too, plain as day. Everyone’s tryin’ ta grab all the special holiday garbage today, we can do whatever we want.”

Harry grunts in annoyance when he tries the door and finds it locked. But without a moment of hesitation, his hook is whipped off and already jammed into the lock, as he brings his head close to listen for it to jimmy open.

“But...why Hell Hall?” Jay asks. “We could definitely find an easier mark.”

Harry picks his head up and looks at Jay with a knowing smirk. “What are ye, not up fer the challenge? Aha!” He laughs triumphantly and pops himself up, almost bumping Jay in the face, but he jumps back just in time.

Still smiling, Harry keeps his eyes on Jay as he turns the knob and the door clicks open.

“Cruella’s got a load of rich furs in there, and ye know Cap’n would just love to get ‘er hands on ‘em. Either ta sell or just ta stick it ta the crazy bitch,” Harry notes with a wink.

Jay sighs defeatedly. He knows there’s no way to talk Harry out of making Uma happy. He’d gladly lose a limb for their beautiful captain, so a raid of Hell Hall would be a no-brainer. And evil knows, a “no-brainer” is Harry’s specialty.

“An’ I happened to notice a certain mutt was absent from mummy’s side,” Harry adds, making Jay’s ears perk with interest. “Betcha the cute lil’ thing is here protectin’ the furs. Ya can’t tell me that doesn’t get ya excited ‘bout it.”

Ok, maybe the guy’s got more brains than Jay thought.

He can’t fight the smile that creeps onto his face as he nods at Harry, stepping up eagerly now to follow his crewmate into the house. 

Harry’s known for a while now about Jay’s fascination with the De Vil boy. Ever since Carlos first showed up at Dragon Hall, with his too cute curls and freckles, flashing a too bright smile that he hid nervously under a stack of too big books, Jay’s had a strong desire to see more of him. Up until now, this desire has mostly led to a lot of Jay bullying of the smaller De Vil. And while that activity does often lead to touching, it doesn’t so much help Jay with actually talking to the boy. So, the potential to come face-to-face with Carlos outside of school and away from their classmates was more than intriguing.

And scoring loot for their captain in the process was definitely a bonus.

The house seems unusually dark as they step foot inside. Jay’s used to darkness, but not ones so pitch black he can barely see a foot in front of him. He takes slow, very cautious steps as he lets his eyes get adjusted, but when he tries to grip onto Harry to make him do the same, the other teen just scoffs and shakes him off.

“What’re ye doin??” Harry groans, shoving past Jay as he picks up his stride. “We’ll never get anywhere if yeh crawl through here like a baby. Cruella’s gonna skin yer ass five feet fro-”

All is suddenly silent as Jay loses sight of Harry. Jay’s eyes whip around frantically, trying to locate the vanishing teen.

“Harry?” He takes a few more careful steps forward, his breath heaving as he tries to calm his racing heart. He starts to hear muffled sounds coming from...right next to him? No, the floor. Under the floor?

He looks down, aiming his gaze just past the toe of his boots. Grunting sounds are definitely below him...and then a hand is grabbing his foot. 

Jay jumps and stumbles back, but the hand stays on his boot, gripping tightly as it pulls...Harry, out of a hole in the rotted wood floor. 

“Harry! Jay grabs his arm quickly, dragging him back up onto the main level. “What the hell?”

“Watch yer step,” the pirate moans. “That las’ one’s a doozy.”

“No kidding,” Jay deadpans, leaning forward to peer into the blackness of the hole. “You think that was supposed to be a trap?”

Harry shrugs as they step around the opening to continue farther into the house. “Doubt it. This whole place’s fallin’ apart. It’s probably just a lucky break,” he jokes, chuckling at his own pun. But Jay notices that his pace has slowed down some, and he seems more alert to their surroundings.

What was once an elegant staircase is in front of them, with now overly worn carpet turning up at the ends, nails and rotten wood exposed. Huge drapes of wallpaper peel down from the walls, revealing a flaking drywall and some splintered framing.

Harry stays close to Jay’s side as they slowly ascend the first level of stairs. Jay lets his eyes roam each corner, taking in every possible open space that could have a surprise lying in wait for them.

When they finally reach the first landing of the stairs, Harry exhales deeply, choking back a laugh as he steps back and gives Jay some breathing room.

“Damn, I’m startin’ ta feel like such a lil’ pussy! I don’t know what I was expectin’ ta happen in a big empty house with jus’ a wee pup in it.”

Jay matches Harry’s breathy laugh, shaking his head at his own concerns. He did feel a little silly. What is he afraid of? Carlos is so much smaller and weaker than both Harry and him. There’s no way he could really stir up any trouble.

Jay slumps against the wall, breathing a sigh of relief at his revelation. His brain barely registers a soft kachink sound next to him, almost like the sliding of a metal door. He feels a whoosh of air then, and something zips by his arm. But before he can process what’s happening, he spots Harry’s wide fearful eyes, frozen in shock and locked on Jay.

“Oy, are you ok?” Harry shrieks, making Jay wince from the high-pitched tone. He grabs at Jay’s arm, pulling him away from the wall and standing protectively in front of him. 

Jay fixes a confused look on Harry, at least until he cranes his neck around to see the...huge metal spears, jutting out of the wall that he was just leaning against.

He stares at them, stunned, when he feels the warmth of Harry’s hand on his arm. His own limb feels cold when pressed on by the pirate, and looking down he can see why. Trails of blood are dripping down, seeping out of a soaked tear in his shirt where one of the spears must have grazed him.

Harry grabs at Jay’s sleeve and rips the bottom half off, revealing a superficial cut across Jay’s bicep. Luckily it’s not bleeding much, and Harry simply uses the torn sleeve to tie over the wound, sealing in the blood as best he can, for now. They have plenty of first aid items for patching it up once they get back to the ship.

Jay nods a silent thank you to Harry, rubbing his arm that’s starting to sting. They both turn to peer up the stairs, quietly assessing their next move.

“Ya think...there’s more?” Harry hisses, peering up the darkened stairs. Jay starts to shrug, but a faint voice upstairs captures both their attention.

“Have you had enough?”

Harry and Jay both whip their heads toward the railing to see Carlos standing there, arms crossed and looking defiant. 

“If you’ve got any brains in your skulls, I recommend you get the hell out now before you really get hurt.” Carlos’ challenging stare never falters, but Jay can see a slight shake in the boy’s shoulders even from his vantage point well below him.

Still, Jay’s never seen Carlos attempt to stand up to him before. The usually timid boy was acting bold, even a little vicious, as he did his best to stare down Harry and Jay in his home.

It was definitely hot.

“Yeah, right,” Harry teases, laughing at Carlos’ threat. “What else are yeh gonna do, lil’ boy? Throw yer big bad books at me?”

Harry slaps Jay on the back with a smile, motioning with his head for them to go upstairs. Jay nods silently and starts to follow behind him.

“Yeh better run, pup. You don’t wanna know what’s gonna happen to you after we catch yeh. I don’t appreciate lil' cutesy things tryin’ ta make threats at me.”

Carlos just shakes his head and pulls out some kind of remote from behind his back.

Jay pauses, eyes widening as Carlos hovers a finger over one of the buttons. He quickly jumps over and grabs for Harry to try to pull him away, but it’s already too late.

With the press of the button a soft click can be heard from above, and the clunk of something heavy dropping. With that a large white object on a rope comes hurtling towards Harry, connecting solidly with the side of his head and sending him toppling backwards on the steps. Jay leans forward to try to catch him, but the teen’s heavy frame takes them both down onto their backs, sprawling them uncomfortably onto the landing.

Jay groans, bracing himself on his arms as he slides his body out from under Harry. Harry is completely distracted and unhelpful, gripping his head tightly as he yowls in pain. 

Jay spots the offending object just a few feet from where they lay and drags himself over to examine it. Rocks of all sizes are strewn all over, clearly spilling from the white...what looks like...a paint can?

“I tried to warn you,” Carlos calls out to them, giving an unconcerned shrug. “Now leave before something worse happens to you!”

Carlos backs away from the railing to leave, but stops in his tracks when he hears a loud growling. 

“Ya lil’ runt!” Harry bellows, pushing himself off the ground and charging up the stairs.

Carlos screeches and makes a run for it down the hall, rapidly pushing buttons along the way. A hail of paint cans starts swinging at the stairs, but Harry’s speedy in his rage, darting and ducking through the barrage. Jay jumps into action to follow Harry, catching one of the paint cans just before it clocks him in the face and keeping his grip on the paint can as he runs. He uses it to knock away anything else that swings his way, averting paint can after paint can until he makes it to the top of the stairs. Once he’s successful, Jay drops the can and tries to catch up to Harry just in front of him.

“Harry! Stop! There might be more-” 

Harry’s arms fly up just then, and his feet go over his head as he slams down onto his back with an infuriated grunt.

Jay slows down, swinging his arms out for balance when he notices a black substance streaked across the floor.

“Oil??” He whines, dragging his feet slowly towards Harry, who has yet to try standing up. “Stay there, Harry.”

“I’m gonna kill that mutt,” he mutters as he waits for Jay to grab his hand. Together, they manage to flip Harry over, and he carefully scoots over to the wall to slide himself up to standing.

“Chill, Harry. You’re just pissed that pup keeps outsmarting you. Maybe you should think about listening to me before you rush around every corner.”

Harry perks a brow at Jay. “You’re lovin’ this, aren’t ya? I think yeh’ve got a boner for that boy’s brain.”

Jay snorts, dragging himself to a stop as they reach Carlos’ door. “Fuck you, Hook. For your information, he’s got a cute ass, too.”

Harry throws his head back to laugh but winces, grabbing his still throbbing head. “Just lemme give ‘em one good rap on the head fer payback once we catch ‘em, then he’s all yours. I just wanna get Cap’n her furs and get outta here.”

Jay shakes his head as he slowly starts to turn the knob. “I’ll think about it. Just go for the furs, ok? I’ll take care of Carlos.”

Harry nods, putting his hand on the door to push his way through. But Jay stops him with a firm hand on his chest.

“Whoa, boy. What did I just say about going slow? We’re not out of the woods yet.”

Harry hesitates, then decides to take a step behind Jay, waving him to go in first. 

Jay creaks the door open and is met with inky black darkness. He pushes it wide, opening it as far as he can to try to cast the dim twilight from the hall inside to illuminate his way as much as possible. It’s not much, unfortunately, so Jay does his best to squint his eyes into the blackness. The small beams of lights flicker over a flash of silver in front of them, so Jay opts to pull Harry in along the wall, choosing against finding out the hard way if that glint was from a blade of some sort.

“Stay against the wall,” he hisses, pressing Harry back. They sidle slowly, keeping their bodies as flush as they can with the walls inside the dark room. Jay can see a small sliver of light and grabs at Harry’s arm, pulling him to follow faster. They’re SO close, and Jay’s getting desperate to free them from Carlos’ wrath before anything else happens.

Jay’s fingers finally fumble around a door handle, and he quietly sucks in his breath once he has a good grip.

“Heeeere’s Jay!” He taunts, yanking open the door and pulling Harry with him.

Carlos jumps up quickly from his spot on the floor, the remote bouncing in his fingers from his sudden action. Jay leaps forward to successfully grab it away, releasing an unsteady Harry in the process.

“Aha!” He shouts triumphantly, holding the remote over a wide-eyed Carlos. But before he can react, a stumble and crash from behind Jay has them both turning, just in time to catch Harry’s yelp and deafening clang.

“It’s a fuckin’ bear trap! Jay!” Harry screeches, bouncing around as he lets out little squeals of pain. The trap is latched to the back of his pant leg, barely attached but most clearly grappled to some skin, if Harry’s pained expressions and sounds tell them anything.

Jay clamps a hand to Carlos’ shoulder, pushing him back against the wall and throwing him a menacing glare. “Stay,” he demands, finger pointed right into Carlos’ face. The boy squeaks, but nods quickly.

“Jay! Jay! Get it offfff! Get it off!” Harry pleads as he wails pathetically. 

Jay rolls his eyes and stomps forward, grabbing onto the trap and ripping it off with one strong tug. Harry howls and grips his leg, ripping apart the rest of his shredded pants so he can check for any blood.

“It’s just a scratch, calm down,” Jay sighs. “Now suck it up and go get your booty,” he tells Harry with a wave of his hand. The open door had revealed the mass of furs in the room they just braved, ready and waiting to be stolen.

Harry claps his hands excitedly when he spots the furs, jumping up to hurriedly start yanking them off the hangers and over his shoulders.

“No!” Carlos yips fearfully, reaching out to stop them.

But Jay pushes him until he thuds back against the wall, bracing his arms on either side of Carlos’ head as he dips in close to his face.

“Can it, pup. Don’t you think we deserve a little something after what you just put us through?” Jay whispers, ghosting his breath over Carlos’ lips. The boy sucks in his own breath but remains stiff and silent, refusing to look up and meet Jay’s gaze.

“I’m impressed you know,” Jay continues after the boy doesn’t respond. He lets a finger drag across Carlos’ shoulder, following along the neckline of his t--shirt and up his neck, tilting his chin so his eyes meet Jay’s.

“You could have really fucked us up with those traps,” he says to frightened brown eyes. “I almost lost Harry there a few times. And you owe me a new shirt.” He picks up his elbow, showing Carlos his torn bandage sleeve.

Jay lets his free hand slide up Carlos’ shirt, splaying his fingers across a smooth, freckled abdomen. He can feel a slight hitch of breath, and his lips curl into a smile that brushes against Carlos’ mouth.

“Maybe I can just take this one?” he teases, lifting the boy’s shirt up a little.

But a shadow of contempt clouds Carlos’ eyes, and he uses both hands to yank his shirt back down, knocking his forehead against Jay’s to force some space between them.

Jay chuckles as he steps back some, shaking his head as he lifts a hand to cup Carlos’ cheek.

“Firey little thing, aren’t you? We’ll just have to see if we can break that. Uma likes her crew to have some spark, but not if it means you might rebel against your Captain.”

“Cap’n?” Harry interjects, walking back towards Jay. He’s covered in dozens of furs, wearing a few himself while the rest are draped over both shoulders. “Is tha runt joinin’ our crew?”

“I’d say so,” Jay replies, pulling Carlos closer by the neck. “Uma would love to have someone clever around that can lay traps like that. We’d never have to worry about intruders making it on the ship alive.”

Harry’s eyes brighten as he shakes his head furiously. “Oh yeah! And imagine if tha bitch was kept away from her furs by her own lil’ boy. That’d really get ‘er blood boiling.”

“But, I don’t want to,” Carlos answers, his voice weak and shaky. He startles and backs up when Jay leans forward and presses their lips together firmly.

“Sorry if I made you think you had a choice in the matter, pup,” Jay tells him when he pulls away. He drops down and quickly hoists Carlos over his shoulder, prompting a yelp from him as he’s lifted off the ground.

“Alright Harry, let’s get back to the ship.” Jay follows as Harry trudges his way out of the closet, moving slowly underneath the massive pile of furs.

Jay shifts to adjust the wriggling boy he’s carrying as they leave Hell Hall, wrapping an arm across Carlos’ hips and clapping the other down on a perky round ass. “After this crazy house of tricks, I think I deserve a little treat, don’t you?”

[angeltiddies]

Emphasis

2.1k

destiel first meetings, deancentric, potential for more story. cas is like barely in this

“death is promised to the bee whose sting protects the colony”

--

he’s 24, it should be gone by now, he needs to grow out of it but god dammit, there it is. a constant looming presence. the fact of the matter is, dean winchester has a severe phobia of wasps, bees—anything that buzzes past him that he can’t identify immediately— and he can’t help it. it’s irrational, he knows it’s irrational, in fact he kind of loves bees, he knows how important they are, how his mom used to love them, and dammit he’s an adult and he needs to get over it already. (it’s kinda why he loves hunting, they’re either in the car (dean keeps his windows rolled up) or out at night sneaking into some monster’s lair)

so it’s decided, dean’s gonna suck it up and find a therapist. he goes with the third one in the phone book, she looks kind (hot), and she specializes in anxiety disorders. dean sets an appointment.

he starts attending weekly, thanking the fraudulent card he carries that he’s not spending real money on this endeavor. his therapist, Lisa, is easy on the eyes, so it helps the sessions feel more palatable. he also ignores how, every time she asks him a question, he feels so vulnerable it hurts. he’s always on the verge of tears there, but he’d never admit it. he’s thankful his dad’s out on a string of solo hunts and he can keep grounded here, at least until he can wean off the sessions.

on a tuesday, dean finds a dead wasp on the windowsill of his motel room. he nearly bolts from the room, but something is keeping him grounded. he takes deep breaths like lisa recommended, he closes his eyes for a moment and just repeats “it’s dead, it’s dead, it can’t hurt you, it’s dead.” when he opens his eyes, and the wasp is still there, he feels a bit better. he doesn’t do anything about it, just cohabitates with it until his thursday session. he tells lisa about it and she quirks her lip up in a half smile. she has a glint in her eye that almost scares him, but after all this time, he trusts her, he honestly does. at the end of their time, she stands and tells dean she’s got homework for him. he almost groans, but he keeps it to himself. she pulls out one of her desk drawers and presents dean with a small mason jar. she places it in his hands and gives him a mission: get the wasp into the jar and bring it with him for next time.

he’s nervous already, but he nods, he wants this to work, he needs this to work.

when he gets back to the motel, he opens the door, peeking at the windowsill to make sure it’s still there before he pulls himself into the room. it takes him an hour of pacing, tears brimming, breaths shallow and panicked, before he finally gets the courage to do it. he grabs a pen from the side table and walks to the window. he holds the open mason jar under the sill, lines his pen up behind the wasp and squeezes his eyes shut as he sweeps his pen across the surface. 

when he opens them, the wasp is sitting at the bottom of the jar and dean nearly drops it, but he convinces himself to get the jar top and seals it with frantic, shaky hands. when the wasp is secure, he sets the jar on the sill and collapses into bed. it felt terrible, but he did it. he fucking did it.

on his drive to the practice that week, he puts the wasp in the passenger seat so he can keep an eye on the jar. even carrying the thing is torture as he ascends the stairs to lisa’s office. when he gets to her waiting room, she’s already got her door open and he enters, trying to keep cool as he sets the wasp on the table between them.

she grins like she’s so incredibly proud and dean’s heart swells with it for a moment. she asks him to tell her about the experience, which he does, watching her taking a note here or there, or asking a clarifying question. when he finishes, they only have a little time left, but she asks him to lay down on the couch and close his eyes to relax. he feels her presence by his side. she tells him to keep his eyes closed as she explains what’s going to happen next. 

“dean, with your consent, i would love to begin exposure therapy with you. all you’ll have to do today is hold the jar above you and observe the wasp.’

dean nods, his heart beat already quickening. he opens his eyes on her say so and she places the jar gently in his hands. he grounds himself, and then brings the jar above him. the underside of the jar is much more clear than the patterned sides. he can see the wasps body, dull with decay, but a wasp nonetheless. lisa asks him to describe it to her. he does. 

when he walks out of her office that day, he feels a bit lighter. he leaves the wasp with her because it’s nearly rotted and she’ll dispose of it properly. when he walks the path back to his car, a bee buzzes by, he flinches, but that’s all. no tears, no running, just a flinch. he grins. 

saturday comes and dean decides to go to the farmers market. he hasn't been in a long time, maybe not since he was a kid, but he figures he’ll show off his improvement to himself a little bit. when he gets there, the sun is hot and bright, baking down on the colourful tents out before him. his goal is to walk the whole thing, stopping to smell the roses along the way. it goes pretty well until he goes to pick out a peach for lunch and he spots a bee on it, basking in the sweetness of the fruit. he pulls his hand back fast and keeps his eye on it, his mind going blank with fear and silencing the sounds of everyone around him. suddenly there’s a buzz behind him and he’s running. it’s irrational, he knows it’s irrational, and yet he’s doing it, running back to baby. he makes it almost all the way until his adrenaline wears off a bit. he slows to a walk, but he’s on high alert. suddenly he can see everything. he can see the paper wasps floating above the grass, he can see the bee settling into a bunch of sunflowers, he nearly throws up when he sees one trailing behind a woman's leg, so close it’s nearly touching. he covers his ears, hoping that the loss of one sense will help deescalate the situation. it helps a bit, and when he’s finally at baby’s side and quickly getting in, he takes a breath. he lets himself cry then. head against he steering wheel. he was doing so well but suddenly he feels like he’s back at step one. he failed. his tears don’t let up until his energy is drained from the day. from the heat of the sun, from the rush of adrenaline, from the emotions pouring out of him. 

until the next thursday, dean stays in during the day. he doesn’t want to fail again. 

he tells lisa as much at their next session. she looks at him with sympathetic eyes. he hates it.

lisa says he is getting better, it just doesn't feel like it because its a process. she smiles. he frowns, trying to grasp that concept. it doesn't feel right to him. the validation, the praise, it feels unwarranted. he closes up a little bit and thats when lisa says it. 

“i can prove it to you.” 

he quirks an eyebrow at her, dejected face softening into interest. 

when the day is over, they have a plan. next week they’ll be meeting at heaven’s hives (dean thinks it sounds more like hell). 

-

it’s thursday and dean is driving, white knuckles showing from his grip on his steering wheel. he’s grateful the apiary is just fifteen minutes out of town, it means the anticipation can’t build up (not that it hasn’t been for an entire fucking week). when he turns onto the dusty road with an arch above it baring the apiary’s name and a few carved bees on the poles, he lets himself take in the sounds of the road below him. it’s like white noise, temporarily drowning out his fears. 

when he reaches the end of the road, it’s at a small white house surrounded by flowers. he can see some structures out by the side of the home, but he looks resolutely ahead and stalks to the front door. just getting there has his heart racing, there are bees buzzing all around him and he feels himself wanting to crawl out of his skin as he knocks on the door. suddenly, it’s quiet. his thoughts pause as he stares at the man who opened the door in front of him. he’s tall, just a few inches shorter than dean, and broad. his hair is raven black and effortlessly tousled. he has this big gummy smile and his eyes are crinkling up at the sides. his eyes. his eyes are so blue, they look like they could belong in space, planets hanging alone, away from time. he clears his throat finally to say hello. the man, castiel, opens the door further and invites dean in. 

lisa is already sitting at the table, drizzling honey into the tea she has in front of her. the first thing dean notices is that the window behind her is open, a soft breeze causing the delicate white cloth to blow into the house. he tries not the let it affect him, but when he takes a seat, he makes sure his back is towards a wall and his eyes can watch the window. 

castiel sits next to him and brings him a cup of tea too. he doesn’t drink tea much, but it would feel rude to reject an offer from their host. 

castiel reaches across the table to pull the pot of honey from in front of lisa. dean watches her observe the motion, but he’s pulled from her when he hears a low voice beside him. 

“dean. lisa has informed me of your situation.” he smiles and keeps dean’s rapt attention. dean is holding his eyes, not looking away. cas breaks it first, and says, “look” with a nod to his hands. dean’s mind would go elsewhere if he weren’t so fucking amped up with anxiety, but he looks. castiel’s left hand is holding the tiny honey pot and his right is stirring the golden sweetness. dean’s mesmerized as castiel’s voice narrates next to him. 

“this is honey. it is the product of bee’s hard work. it’s a beautiful thing, dean. pure honey can quite literally last forever. a bee works her entire life to produce this product that will outlast her tenfold, and that’s an understatement.” castiel huffs a small laugh and dean quirks a small smile, still watching the hand stir the honey. “your fear-- dean, look at me,” dean lifts his eyes, “your fear is valid. it is one of the most common phobias across the globe. however, your fear is unfounded. i would sacrifice myself to be stung a thousand times over if it meant we could keep honey. if we could keep the trees and plants that bees  pollenate and tend to. even if we could live in a world without bees, i wouldn’t want to, because they are small, and determined, and fuzzy and they are god’s most pure creation.” his eyes sparkle as he’s talking, dean is fighting to hang onto every word instead of drifting into the fantasy that is the man before him. “bees have a stinger to protect their colony. they will die to protect their own. i have a very strong sense that you are much like a bee, dean. i have faith in your abilities to overcome this.” 

dean doesn’t realize until it’s too late that he’s crying. tears are falling from his eyes silently, blurring the images of cas and then lisa as he turns his face from them. 

not once in all of their sessions did he cry in front of lisa, but now he’s overcome with a tidal wave of emotions and it’s all because castiel (bees)waxed poetic and compared him to his greatest fear. god the analogy hits so close to home it hurts. he finally turns back to the table where castiel and lisa are sitting patiently, waiting. 

“i have faith too.” 

[hailbop1701]

Only The Beginning

Chapter 4: My Bad...

Alas, another filler chapter. The reader finally meets Dorian! The bickering and fluff is on point my friends and I hope I got enough tension in there for you. If not there will definitely be more in coming chapters!

Thank you to my lovely Beta Reader @toppysammy! 🥰

-H❤🖖

John’s grip is tight on your upper arm. Wincing slightly, you allow him to lead you over to his car. A handsome-looking android casually leans up against the passenger side door with his arms crossed. He looks at you curiously, obviously scanning you for ID; you give him a little smile when he doesn't come up with anything. John yanks open the backseat and shoves you in.

“Rude,” you mutter, straightening in your seat and pulling your messenger bag close. Looking into the bag, you check on the heavy drive that is nestled inside. It has a small crack but otherwise is undamaged. Sighing in relief, you blow a strand of hair out of your face. Both car doors open up in front and the two detectives get in, bickering. 

“Come on, John, you can’t be serious.” 

“You heard what they said; rogue android turned on the security team.” 

At that, you sink down in your seat feeling more guilty than before. John’s android partner rolls his electric blue eyes. “Security," he scoffs, "more like black market mercenaries. One of those men had a rap sheet longer than your attention span,” 

You choke on a laugh as John sputters and glares at the DRN; you had heard about this model, but it's a wholly different experience to meet one. John shoots you a hard look in the rearview mirror. 

“You wanna tell me what the fuck happened?” he barks, turning around in his seat so he can fully scowl at you. Clearing your throat, you think over your words carefully. To give yourself more time, you hold out a hand and introduce yourself to John’s partner. 

“I’m John's friend--” you glance at said man; he's losing patience. Grimacing, you amend, “I think…”

The android smiles kindly and takes your hand, “Dorian, John’s partner.” His deep and polite voice puts you at ease. 

Pulling your hand away, you look back at your angry best friend warily. You mull over what happened for a second before opening your mouth to explain, “Well, I figured out what happened to Julia Lawson, and it wasn’t suicide,” you jerk your head in the direction of the building. 

“The creepy death squad murdered her and staged it to look like a suicide. Which, by the way, was completely obvious; they did a horrible job. Whoever had the case was paid off to keep it clean-cut and closed."

Both men in the front seat looked shocked. “You mean you figured this out in, what, three hours?” John asks with a raised eyebrow. You simply shrug, “I have no red tape I have to constantly cut through. I talked to Julie's brother; he told me what I needed to know and I figured out the rest by using the internet. Breaking in was easy--” 

John cuts you off mid-sentence with a warning. He pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing out his frustration. Dorian looks at you like you're an entirely new species; fascination, amusement, and disquiet all flick across his face. Biting the inside of your cheek, you watch the two carefully. 

“Look, Julie stumbled upon something very big and I think you should know about it,” you offer, holding out your bag like an olive branch. John watches you closely for a moment before taking the bag and looking inside.

“A hard drive?” he asks skeptically, pulling it out and handing it over to Dorian to peruse. You shrug and gave a smirk, “I downloaded everything I needed on to that thing; Julie’s ‘suicide,' who ordered it, and the plans Julie overheard that caused her death in the first place.” 

Dorian plugs into the drive and the more information he obtains, the deeper his frown gets. “This is very...wrong,” he says with a wrinkle of his nose. 

You grimace, “Yeah, I forgot about that part; it’s also about Speartips. Horrible name for a private tech company by the way; it's the CEO getting down and dirty with underage interns and paying them extra to keep quiet.” 

Dorian stops looking through the drive and hands it back to John without a word. The android’s eyes are as hard as his partner's. John looks back to you, anger still in his gaze. Sighing, your shoulders slump. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t mean to get caught by the mercs. The android was a new addition,” you defend quickly. 

“You threw him out a window,” John points out, losing patience with you. 

You throw up your hands, “HE started it! At least his body didn’t hit anyone."

John groans and shakes his head, “Pushing anybody off the fortieth-something floor is bad!” he scolds, starting the car. You scowl at John and cross your arms childishly, “Well, I didn’t like getting choked out. I panicked."

John winces at your words, his posture changing from tense and angry to sad and sympathetic. “I’m sorry, I know you wouldn’t have done any of that if you didn’t have to,” 

Dorian’s attention jumps back and forth between you and John, his eyes widening as he connects the dots. “You’re the one who--” he cuts himself off and looks at his human partner. 

John sighs heavily and taps his thumb against the steering wheel anxiously, “This is where the whole trusting me thing comes in.” He looks over at the DRN pleadingly. Dorian stares at John for a nano-second before nodding and keeping silent about the whole thing. He was no doubt currently wiping your presence from everything involving what just happened. From camera feeds to bystanders, taking pictures and selfies of the chaos. 

“I really am sorry,” you mumble, feeling guilty for more than just putting John in the position that he's now in. Your best friend looks at you in his rearview mirror. 

Pressing his lips into a thin line, his shoulders slump just a touch. “I know. You’ve been away from people--well, civilian people for a while. You have to be more subtle from now on, though, alright?” 

You grimace at John’s words but nod anyway, agreeing to what he's saying. This is his home after all. He built a life here; and here you were, wreaking havoc in that home like a maniac. 

“What now?” you say in a voice just slightly above a whisper. Dorian glances over at his partner, wondering the exact same thing. John purses his lips as he drives through the city. You can’t help your wry smile in response; he always makes that face when he is thinking hard about something. 

“We should get you settled into a place. I’ve been keeping an eye out and I got a message from a buddy of mine. There’s a little apartment right near where I live,” he says, handing his phone over to Dorian, who downloads the directions and information. 

“I guess you do want your bed back, huh?” you ask with a slight chuckle. John huffs and nods, “My couch is great and all, but it does get a bit uncomfortable after a while,” he mutters with a wrinkle of his nose. 

Dorian smirks, “That explains the changes to your sleeping pattern,” he muses, making John scowl. “How many damn times--” he hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at the android only to be cut off by your snort of laughter. 

John’s lips twitch upward at the sound, the tense atmosphere of the car lifting as the car crawls through city traffic. “So, Dorian, has John ever told you the story about how he became addicted to noodles?” 

You immediately have the DRN’s full attention; John sputters from the driver’s seat unsuccessfully, trying to shush you. 

“Well, you see, it all started when he and I traveled to China and we stumbled across this little mom-and-pop shop. The food there was to die for, what was it called…” you trail off, trying to picture the little restaurant in your mind. 

“Little Bo’s.” John supplies with a fond smile.

You snap your fingers, grinning from ear to ear, “Little Bo’s! Oh, my gosh, they had some damn good food, and the owner was so sweet; she tried her best to teach John how to use chopsticks.” 

Dorian chuckles, “He still can’t use them,” he whispers none-too-quietly. 

John shoots him an offended look, “I can too!” he yells indignantly. 

Dorian rolls his eyes. “Not very well.” he mutters, ignoring John’s slight pout. You giggle and gently squeeze John’s bicep. 

“Maybe when I get settled, I’ll make you dinner,” you offer sincerely. You yelp when John suddenly hits the brakes and looks back at you with wide eyes. 

“Seriously?” he asks with a grin. You snort and nod. Dorian looks bemused at the action and his jaw practically drops when John holds out his pinky for yours. Grinning, you seal the promise. 

“Just let me know what you wa--” 

“Chicken and dumplings," he answers immediately. 

You snicker at the quick response. “I should have known,” you sigh with a shake of your head. 

Dorian is at a loss for words; he tries multiple times to add something but he can’t. He’s never seen his partner this relaxed and happy before (despite today’s events) and it's odd. However, it's a good kind of odd. John deserves happiness and that’s what you seem to make him. 

Just friends, Dorian mentally scoffs, smiling to himself as you and John bicker about the best dishes you've made in the past. Something deep within Dorian’s circuits says that someday you’ll end up being so much more. The heated discussion becomes a bit louder and suddenly changes to whose fault it was in burning down a rental in Rio. 

Dorian sighs. Maybe not today, but someday, he thinks ruefully before verbally stepping in to divulge how John once ate a slug in hopes to not offend an old Japanese man. 

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"Only The Beginning" :

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[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part six Word count: 5100± words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part six summary: The huntress tries whatever she can to outrun her past. Now that it’s midnight, the shadows are out to get her and threaten to take Dean down as well. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only!  Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     No wind, not even the slightest breeze. Evergreens stop whispering, night animals seem to have vanished in the deepest holes of the forest. Whitehorse Mountain has turned into a dead rock in a matter of seconds. No tree can grow, no life can live, only pure evil lingers in these woods now. 

     Dean looks around in disbelief, his eyes darting to detect anything that moves as he adjusts the backpack hanging from his shoulder. He has seen many things over the years, but the poison that has affected the entire Cascade Range is unlike anything he has ever experienced before. The temperature was already at freezing before midnight struck, yet now it’s so cold, he reckons it’s minus twenty. A shuddering breath leaves his cold lips, when the trees around him begin to crack and moan. Frost crawls up from their roots, covering the trunk with a layer of ice that eventually reaches the branches, causing the remaining leaves to fall.      “What the fuck is going on?” he questions, whispering, afraid that whatever stalked this land is listening in on his words.

     Zoë backs out, the snow crunching under her boots, nervously shining the flashlight over the shadows which seem to close in and swallow her whole. All she can hear is the sound of her lungs heaving a breath, Dean’s respiration providing her a harmony in the silence. Heart beating loud and fast against her ribcage, she looks over at him, tears glistening in her eyes but she doesn’t reply to the question.      “You can still run.”      “No chance in hell,” he returns, determined, pushing down the fear that his surroundings are surfacing.      Zoë huffs. “Funny you mention that…”      “Would you just answer my question, Zo? What the fuck is happening?” he repeats, his eyes flicking left and right, frantically trying to pick up on anything that moves.      “It wouldn’t matter if you know, Dean,” she whimpers. “It wouldn’t matter if you stayed either. You can’t save me! It’s - it’s too late! If you go now, you might still have a chance,” Zoë exclaims desperately.      Dean stands a little taller, despite that he begins to realize that he’s in way over his head. “I’ll take my chances right here.”      “Then that will be the end of it! You’ll never see your Dad again, you’ll never see Sam again!” she shouts at him in an attempt to get through to the hunter.      “We’ll see about that,” he returns, despite the thought horrifying him. After all, with Zoë clearly panicking, he needs to be the calm and collected one. “I'm not letting you go down without a fight.”

     He takes his shotgun, engages the breech lever, opens the break action and discards the empty casings. Then he picks two shells from his pocket, pushes them into the barrel and brings it back up. The soldier is ready for battle, and this is him offering protection until the very end. Zoë swallows down a lump in her throat, trying to hide the emotions that his gesture brings to the surface. Although she wishes he had chosen differently, she has to appreciate his courageous decision.      “Now for the last time, answer me,” he calmly demands, trying to keep a hold on the situation. “What are we dealing with?”

    Zoë sighs deeply, finally deciding to tell him. Perhaps he will let her be if she tells the truth, and it will finally click in his stubborn mind that she’s a lost cause. But before Zoë can answer, a howl echoes through the valley. Both are startled by the sound and look at each other, eyes widened.      “That ain’t no coyote,” Dean gulps.

     Chills run up and down Zoë’s spine as she listens, horrified, as the call is answered by several more of its species. She knows the stories, it’s the last thing you hear before getting ripped to pieces. This is the final warning, announcing their arrival. They are coming for her. 

     The howls repeat several times, seeming to come from all directions. Frozen on the spot, she scans the area, shivering in fear. The silence returns, the calm before the storm. 

     Then she sees it.

     Her gaze stills and she inhales sharply, focused at the top of the ridge. Dean observes her big terrified eyes and follows them, but he doesn’t see anything. Whatever is there, it’s invisible, at least for him. One thing is clear as day, though; the huntress can see it just fine. Trying to figure out their options, he glances over. But before he can take action, Zoë reacts by doing the one thing Dean didn’t expect her to do; she flees. 

     Caught off guard, the hunter stares at her running figure for a split second, when he hears the howl again. He might not see what Zoë is running from, but right now might be a good time to get moving himself. 

     As if they are both being chased by the Devil, they rush down hill through the forest, trying to avoid collision with trees and rocks. The hunter monitors Zoë constantly, not letting her out of sight as she appears and disappears between the evergreens several yards ahead of him. Without hesitation, she skillfully jumps down a ridge, breaks her fall with a somersault and continues her desperate escape attempt. Dean halts at the edge of the cliff and looks down at a stream which has carved itself through the mountain. Whoa, that’s deep! Before he jumps, he glances ahead and spots a small hunter’s cabin.      “Smart girl,” he comments.

     Dean leaps over the gap, hurting his knees with his fall, but not enough to slow him down. He continues to run down the slope as fast as he possibly can, trying his very best not to trip over roots as he goes.      “If you’re not gonna tell me what these motherfuckers are, at least tell me that I can shoot them!” Dean shouts as he jumps over a fallen tree.      “Not with salt or silver!” she returns.      “Torch them?!”      “Won’t work!”      “Just fucking great!” Dean curses.

     As fast as their feet can carry them, they bolt towards the house on the hill. Zoë reaches the small open space in front of the cabin. Dean watches her as his lungs burn in an attempt to keep up with her. Almost there. Almost th--

     Out of nowhere, Zoë slams to the ground. At first Dean thinks she has tripped, but within a fraction of a second he realizes that she just got tackled by the creature that is still invisible to him. Desperately the huntress tries to fight it off, but she doesn’t stand a chance. Dean tries to get to her as fast as he can, but has to watch in horror how the monsters drag her away and tear up her leg, pulling a chilling, agonizing scream from her.

     “NO!!!” he roars.

     “Dean!!” Zoë cries out between frantic squeals as she claws at the icy soil, despairingly trying to hold on to something before she disappears into the shadows. Crimson poisons the snow underneath her, disrupting the black and white picture.

     Not wasting a moment, Dean racks the shotgun and shoulders it. He skids down the slippery hill, the snow allowing him to slide towards her fast while leveling with the ground underneath them. He needs to be positioned low in order to take the shot if he doesn’t want to load her face full with rocksalt. 

     The skilled hunter aims while still in motion and fires, pulling a loud yelp from whatever creature is on top of her, and for a brief moment Zoë seems to be freed from her ambushers. Quickly, Dean hoists her up and unceremoniously drags her onto the porch and inside the cabin. He pushes the door closed, the heavy iron latch falling shut. It’s good that he wasn’t a second slower, because a strong force rams against the wood from the other side.      “Son of a bitch!” he groans, using all his strength to stop the creatures from getting in.

     Suddenly, the hinges stop rattling and the violent barking and growling behind the barrier ceases. Vigilant, Dean stands by the door, holding it with both hands flat on the timber, but then notices the line of black dust on the doorstep by his feet. Realizing Zoë just laid down the line of gunpowder-like particles, he turns around, perceiving the smear of blood on the wooden floor. When he follows the trail, he finds the woman who he barely saved, crawling to the opposite wall. As the monsters outside start circling the cabin, her focus darts from one window to the other, completely terrified. There’s no way they could come in, though. Every possible entry of this little cabin is sealed with the black dust, which apparently holds enough power to keep this evil out. 

     Dean realizes this isn’t the first time Zoë has been here. She made sure she could return to this place if things went south. The fact that she had a back-up plan doesn’t surprise the hunter one bit. What does, is that she is currently curled up into a ball, hiding in the far corner of the room like a scared little animal. Tears stream down her face, mixing with the blood on her cheeks, as she anxiously keeps an eye on the windows, breathing irregular and rapidly.      “Zo? Easy, it’s okay now.” The hunter rushes over and kneels down next to his injured companion, takes off his backpack, then his leather coat and his denim jacket. The last one he folds into a ball and presses to the wound in order to staunch the bleeding. He needs to keep pressure, but he can tell she’s losing the battle with her anxiety.      “Hey hey hey... Look at me, take a breath,” he tries, while attending the disturbing injury. “I’m right here.”

     He takes the sleeves from the blood-stained jacket and uses them to tie the bundle of clothing to the wounds in order to have his hands free. Zoë doesn’t respond to his actions despite the pain it must inflict, the terrified young woman having other issues to deal with. Breathing for one, because she seems unable to fill her lungs with oxygen. 

     The hunter looks up from his work after tightening the knot. She’s restless, her chest heaving fast. Upset, she keeps searching for a possible other way for the bastards to get in. When one of the creatures outside howls like a wolf in the night, she almost jumps out of her skin and can’t help but to cry. He doesn’t need to be a psychologist to determine that she’s having a full-blown panic attack.      “It’s okay. It’s okay, Zo,” Dean hushes, carefully laying one hand on her shoulder, the other on her knee. “It’s gonna be alright. They can’t get in.”

     Frightened, she tries to find protection with him and Dean answers her by pulling her into his chest. She crawls closer to find shelter in his arms, a sob wrecking her. Her entire body is shaking, yet when he presses his cheek against her forehead, her skin feels clammy. Dean knows Zoë is anything but affectionate these days, so he’s stunned by this 180 degree flip compared to the fearless woman he ran into in Rochester two weeks back. These things really scare the fuck out of her. Dean never imagined that the huntress - an absolute force to be reckoned with -  could turn into the fragile girl he is holding close right now. Yet here she is, quaking in his hold, struggling to breathe. 

     “You’re okay, easy breaths, alright?” he whispers into her hair. “I won’t let them get to you, I promise. You’re safe.”      While waiting for the anxiety to pass, Dean keeps soothing her by running his hand up and down her back, trying his best to calm her down. Her entire body continues to tremble, but eventually her respiration becomes more even. After finally being able to take in a deep inhale, Zoë creates some distance between her and the hunter. Concerned, Dean dips his head to make eye contact, but she’s avoiding his gaze.      “Don’t ever tell Sam this,” she chokes out, wiping her tears and runny nose with her sleeve. “He’ll laugh his ass off.”

     Dean smiles; she’s back. He keeps her steady to make sure she has retaken control over her fear, when she flinches. Both direct their attention to her injury and Dean gets on his feet, only to crouch down by her extended leg again. He folds the soaked fabric away, revealing the damage. Through the denim of her jeans he can see the torn flesh and puncture holes, blood flowing from the wounds. Her combat boots prevented the creatures from crushing her ankle, so at least there’s that. He takes off his leather belt and carefully lifts her calf in order to slip the strap underneath.

     “Y’know, I normally don’t remove my clothes on the first date,” he jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.      He earns a scoff and a glint of a grin. “Don’t think you’ve ever known a girl this long without taking your clothes off,” she responds, her voice still shaky.      Corking his eyebrow, he shoots her a look with a smirk on his lips, wearing his mask well. Carefully, Dean pushes her torn jeans up a little so that he can work.      “Nasty wound, Zo.” He makes a discontent sound with his mouth. “Nothing we can’t fix, though.”      "Don't bother, it's no use,” she whimpers. “Haven’t you figured out what these things are?”      “I have,” he says, remorseful to admit the truth. “Hellhounds.”

     She swallows apprehensively and confirms with a nod. “What do you know about them?”      “I know they are the gate watchers of Hell and that they collect souls who struck a deal with a demon,” Dean states. “Which gives you a fucking lot to explain.”      Zoë blows out a breath, realizing she owes him that much. He just saved her life again, or at least postponed her expiration date. “What else do you know?”      “Not much. Sam’s the nerd, remember?” he jokes.      She smiles, only slightly, but Dean’s glad she is still able to.      “Pull it,” Zoë orders, hinting at the belt.

     For a brief moment he looks her in the eye, but then he tightens the leather strap just above the laceration. Although it hurts, she doesn’t make a noise. Pain she can handle. Hell; now that’s a whole different horror show. Once Dean has secured the improvised tourniquet, Zoë rests her head against the wooden wall behind her, still shaken by current events.

     “This is useless,” she mutters. “I should just walk out and let them take me.”      “Are you nuts? That’s suicid--”      As Dean pronounces those words, he realizes that’s exactly what this is; suicide. She planned to give the hellhounds what they want, her soul. Suddenly their last conversation in Paragould makes perfect sense; she really didn’t expect to see him and his brother again. When she said ‘deadline’, she meant it in the true sense of the word. Zoë didn’t anticipate coming here and solving a case; she came here to die. The only reason why she moved to plan B was because he showed up at the final moment and was too stubborn to leave her side. Seeking shelter in this hideout would be the only way possible to grant his safety.

     “That was your plan, wasn’t it? You were waiting for them to come and claim you,” he utters, stunned.      She shrugs, careless. “A lot better than bleeding to death in here. I’m going to Hell anyway.”      “Not if I can help it,” Dean says, determined. 

     He rises to his feet, pushing warm air from his lungs, which forms clouds in front of his face. A thin layer of ice is starting to form on the inside of the windows, obstructing the view. Staying still by Zoë’s side instead of running for his life has made him realize that they have another enemy to deal with; the cold. Now that the adrenaline isn’t pumping anymore, hypothermia is lurking around the corner. Combined with low blood pressure caused by blood loss, it can be a deadly cocktail. He needs to find a way for them to get warm. 

     Looking around the sober cabin, Dean clicks his tongue while going over his options. There’s barely any furniture, not even a dirty mattress. Only a wooden table and four chairs were left behind by the previous users, and a kitchenette in the corner remained as well. The hunter stalks over, opening the cupboard under the stove. The propane tank he finds will not provide them any heat; it has been empty for quite some time. Dean screws the valve closed again and curses under his breath. Then he glances at the fireplace on the other side of the room. He’s not sure if it’s smart to set it alight, because that shaft might actually be a way in for those fuckers if they aren’t careful.

     “We can use it,” Zoë announces, understanding his thought process. “I mounted an iron pipeline filled with goofer dust around the chimney. They won’t be able to enter through there.”      “Goofer dust?” Dean repeats, questioning.      “It’s hoodoo,” she elaborates. “Keeps hellhounds at bay.”

     Dean huffs, once again amazed by her knowledge and her ability to think five steps ahead. For someone who was so dead set on dying tonight, she sure did one hell of a job turning this place into a safehouse. About a million questions come to mind, but he holds back the interrogation for now. Everything at its time.

     His eyes land on the remaining furniture, then flick to the wooden pillar that supports the roof, in the center of the space. A plan begins to form and he strides to the table, picks it up and places it on the side against the post, the tabletop facing the fireplace. Making quick work of gathering a few logs of birch and dry twigs that are stacked up against the wall, he takes out his zippo and begins to build a fire. Once the flames starts to lick at the bark, the inventive hunter gets on his feet again and turns back to his wounded hunting partner.

     “Let’s get you warmed up,” he says, leveling with her.      When he intends to slip his left arm behind her back and the other under her knees, she protests. “Dean, I can stand.”      “Na-ah, you’re not putting any pressure on that leg.”

     Zoë grunts objectively, but allows the man who she has had so many fights with in such a short period of time to lift her up, simply too tired to argue. The hunter carries her closer to the heat, setting her down gently against the turned over table, the countertop functioning as a backrest. Being only six feet away from the flames now, she can feel the warmth radiating towards her. The sensation is welcoming, because she feels frozen to the bone.

     Not even taking a second to slow down, Dean goes to get the backpack he dumped on the floor earlier and brings it back to her. He rummages through it until he finds what he was looking for and takes out an extensive first aid kit, one of the ten essentials David packed for him.

     “Dean, let it go already,” she objects when she realizes what he intends to do.      Perplexed, the hunter stares at her. He can’t believe her careless attitude right now.      “Do you wanna die?” he questions, then corrects himself. “No wait, let me rephrase that. Do you wanna go to Hell?”      “According to AC/DC it ain’t a bad place to be,” she scoffs.      Narrowed green eyes warn her as he tilts his head. “Don’t get smart with me.”

     Dean clearly doesn’t find it funny, so she tiredly sighs and avoids his penetrating gaze.      “If they drag me down the pit, their job is done and they’ll leave. The killings will stop,” Zoë explains, her voice gaining strength. “Until that time, they are heat seeking missiles, they will slaughter everything that comes on their path, even now that my deal came due. Innocent people like the Clevelands and those hunters got torn to pieces because I’m too fucking scared to face what I started. What if others come barging up this mountain? They’ll end up dead!” she brings to mind.

     “David will take care of that. Now that he knows he’ll make sure that no one will,” Dean states, seemingly certain.      But Zoë doesn’t agree. “For all he knows he’ll hike straight up this mountain first thing in the morning to pick up what those things left of his family. He knows nothing.”      “He won’t, he’s smarter than that. I'm sure he will call Sam for help before he does anything stupid,” Dean defends him.      “What about you, huh?” she inquires. “You won’t be able to leave this cabin as long as I’m alive, not without enduring what actually I should undergo. And if you stay, you will either starve or freeze to death. Is that what you want?”      “We’ll figure something out,” the hunter returns, hopeful, his voice a lot calmer and softer than hers. “One problem at a time, okay? Let’s patch you up first.” 

     He picks up the disinfectant from the kit and cleans his hands first, but before he tips it over while pressing some cotton wool on the opening, Zoë stops him. “Is there any saline solution in there? Hydrogen peroxide is way too aggressive, it will only slow recovery.”      “Sure? We use this all the time,” Dean replies, doubtful.      Zoë glares at him; did he really just question a former med-student?      “Well, then you’ve been doing it all wrong,” she scoffs. “Use the saline if you don’t wanna destroy the fibroblasts. The tissue is gonna need those cells to heal.”

     Dean holds a gaze for a second longer before he gives in. Fine. After all, she’s the one who knows about this stuff. And so he does as told, takes a bottle of water from the backpack and mixes the saline like it says on the description manual. Once the solution is ready, the hunter carefully angles her leg so he can flush out the wounds. The fluid doesn’t sting, but the damaged skin is sensitive. Zoë lets her savior take care of her, despite that he’s being naive, stubborn, and won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. She has to give it to him, though; the guy has good intentions. 

     Once the damaged tissue is clean, Dean takes out the stitching wire. Zoë watches him pierce the suture needle through the skin with his hands instead of with the tweezers or a needle driver, gritting her teeth to bite down the pain. When he knots the first stitch too tight and intends to use continuous suturing, she can’t help to stop him.      “What are you doing?” she comments with a tone.      “Sit still and shut up. I’m fixing your leg,” he replies, annoyed.      Zoë scoffs. “More like scarring it. Who taught you how to stitch?”      “My dad did, and he never complained once whenever I had to sow him back together. I said: shut up,” he urges warningly.      It remains silent for a few seconds, but before he starts on the next suture, Zoë stops him again. “Why don’t you use interrupted sutures?”

     Dean sighs and lowers the needle. He knew it was going to be tough the moment he pulled the first aid kit out, remembering that he was about to treat a top of the class med student. He wasn’t wrong.      “Do you want this stitched or not?” he returns snappy.      “The suturing technique you’re using now is quick and effective, great for battlefield treatment like in Nam where your old man picked this up, but for better cosmetic results interrupted sutures are better,” she assures.      “Cosmetic results?” he chuckles.      “What? If I have to parade through Hell it probably won’t be in long jeans, so I might as well look good,” Zoë jokes smartly.

     She bends forward without putting too much tension on the laceration and gestures for the needle driver. Dean hands it to her, after which she shows him how to properly hold it. Then she gives it back to him.      “Look, if you keep the needle driver between your thumb and your ring finger, like this.” she takes his hand and positions the needle driver between his fingers, “and now put your index finger on top to control it, like using a pencil.”

     Dean can’t help letting his gaze wander to her face for a moment, intrigued by the skill set of the young woman. She’s twenty-five years old and yet she carries so much knowledge with her. He knows a little about a lot of things, enough to survive, but Zoë is truly something else. No wonder she managed just fine on her own for four years.

     Her fingers touching his, draw his thoughts back to what the huntress is trying to teach him.      “- now insert the needle in a 90 degree angle. Try to get the suture loop as wide as it is deep,” she says, flinching.      After she leads him through the first two stitches, Zoë leans back and leaves him to it, trying to stay still, despite the pain that comes with suturing without a local sedative. 

     She corrects him a couple of times more, her remarks falling from her lips in a bitter manner, yet Dean holds his tongue, not wanting to fight with her. It takes him about a half an hour before the laceration and puncture holes are properly closed up. He loosens the tourniquet, relieved to see that the stitches are holding. The hunter puts back what he used into the kit, then takes out a non-stick bandage. 

     “Put some antibiotic ointment on it first,” Zoë says, although it sounds more like an order.        Deciding against snapping at her, Dean rummages through the plastic briefcase until he finds what he’s looking for. “I should probably wear gloves for this, right?”      “You should’ve worn gloves all this time,” the huntress sneers.      Dean rolls his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek, but even that can’t prevent him from countering the woman he’s treating. “I didn’t even touch the wound directly. Stop being such a fucking bitch. I’m only trying to help.”

     Annoyed by her judgemental attitude, the man who’s giving her first aid puts on a pair of latex gloves, encloses the tube with his first and squirting the gel on his index finger. When Zoë fails to shoot him a snarky comeback, he looks up at her, finding fresh tears pooling in her eyes.      Regretting his sharp tone instantly, he carefully begins to apply the substance. “I didn’t mean it like that.”      “No, you’re right,” she says, a small tremor in her voice. “It’s just - I’m not used to people giving two shits about me anymore.”      “Well, get used to it,” he returns, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly.

     Dean gingerly dresses the injury, wrapping the bandage over a sterile wound patch. With a pair of scissors he cuts the gauze, taping the end secure. Then he sits back on his haunches and looks at his work proudly.      “Not bad, huh?”      She nods, approving. “Not bad at all.”

     After elevating her feet on the now closed first aid kit, Zoë rests her head back against the wood. She can hear the guy who she’s cooped up with getting up and walking away a couple of steps, then the crackling of leather. She assumes he picked up his jacket from the corner. 

     The temperature in the cabin isn’t close to comfortable yet, and after having shed his denim overshirt to stop her from bleeding out, all he’s wearing is a henley. Dean shrugs on his warm coat, trying to shake off the cold, when he notices Zoë has her eyes closed.      “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me now.” Dean sits down next to her, their shoulders touching. “Are you cold?”      He asks because she’s still shivering, but she shakes her head.      “Not really, just numb. Tired,” she returns, her voice barely a whisper.      “Shock?” Dean assumes, concern knitting his brows together.

     With an unsteady hand she presses her second and third digit against the radial artery on her wrist; it’s rapid. She notices the pale skin complexion of her hands and breathing is still difficult, too. Besides those issues, there’s also her mental state; she’s all over the place. Zoë can diagnose herself just fine and confirms with a nod, still trembling in silence. 

     Worried, Dean studies her. He’s not an expert, but he knows her going into shock can be dangerous. At least the bleeding is under control and they have a heat source, but he has to keep her awake for now. The hunter straightens himself, pulling up his legs and resting his forearms on his knees, getting lost in the flames before him. They pop and rustle playfully, the sounds soothing, but unable to diminish the apprehension.

     “I’m so fucked, Dean.”

     The hunter breaks his eyes away from the fire and takes her in. The light in front of her catches the shimmering pathways that find a way down her cheeks. He wishes he could give her solace, but all he has are his words.      “At least here we’re able to buy us some time. I know you turned over every stone, so did you find anything that gave even the slightest clue on how to kill these fuckers?” he offers.       “I studied them for years, Dean, even before I decided to go on with it. Years. Why do you think I know so much? I tried every book, every spell, I worked all the mojo possible in that span of time. Nothing worked.” she states.      Hopeless, she stares at her hands in her lap. Dean can see she’s telling the truth, she really pulled every string.      “I’m usually not the one to give up, but this isn’t a battle I can win,” she claims.      “Good thing you ain’t fighting it alone then,” Dean replies, nudging her softly. “We’ll figure something out, okay?”

     Zoë nods, but more to give the man next to her the answer he wants, than because she actually believes in a positive outcome. She admires his optimism, envies it even.  Her future is grim, no matter how you look at it, and Dean’s isn’t much better. He doesn’t deserve this, but then again, neither does she. 

     After all she has been through, she wanted to redeem herself, to do enough good to block out the bad. She tried to enjoy the little things in life ever since she made the deal. Ride one more wave at the beach, have a drink on the pier while watching a sunset, roll down the highway on her Harley. Over the last couple of months, she had a lot of moments in which she realized it was going to be her last. She thought she was at peace with her fate and the consequence of summoning a crossroad demon, until it was ten to midnight. 

     It doesn’t matter, though. Being okay with the decision or not doesn’t change the path she has chosen to walk. The only outcome is a one-way trip downstairs. It’s a matter of time before the hellhounds claim her soul. They will never stop, not until there is nothing left of her. Not even Dean Winchester can save her now.

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you  do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the  top of the page)

Read part seven here