#in any case: welcome back chisel and bits !!

[bad-traffic-smp-ideas]

Wild card idea: all blocks and items explode into bits from the chisel and bits mod when mined/consumed. Good luck.

Joel DID mention recently how much he missed chisel and bits...

[live-laugh-lenney]

i’d honestly love a little something where like yn and the boys are on holiday (like in your recent post) and arthur and yn drunkenly hookup on like the second day and have to deal with the aftermath for the rest of the holiday 😭 but take your time ml, it’s okay if you don’t want to write it, just a suggestion. love your content and i hope your new job is treating you well <333

this was so rushed... and probably makes no sense... but there's something about arthur in holiday mode that really makes my insides go all fuzzy... hahaha. we'll definitely need to dwell more on this.

yn woke to the sound of crashing waves.

the first time, in years, that she hadn't been greeted with the rumble of the london underground or the passing cars of those going to work in the early hours of the morning. the first time, in months, where she had woken up on her own accord and not because her alarm clock was screeching at her to start her day. the first time, in days, where she woke up feeling relaxed and like she'd slept for weeks.

and it felt serene.

peaceful.

and it was also the first time she had woken up with an arm slung over her stomach and a heavy weight on her shoulder, warm breath flushing over her collarbone, as another body occupied the empty space beside her. and she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do in that situation because it wasn't her hotel room... not from the case that was pushed into the corner of the room and the array of male product on the dresser opposed to where her perfume was laid out upon hers.

all she could think about was the past 12 hours.

how it had started with a dinner in the small croatian town there were holidaying in, where she was wedged between chris and george for the majority of the time, sipping on cocktails as they tried to be, at least, a little bit sensible to start their trip away. how it didn't last long after they ended up in a small bar in the marina that kept them there until the early hours of the morning with beers in their hands, music loud in the quiet streets, dancing around with people that they had never met before in their lives. how she remembered stumbling back to their hotel with arthur, no clue as to where arthur hill nor george nor chris had ended up, with a desperate urge to go upstairs.

she couldn't have been that drunk. not if she could remember almost every moment that happened from the second they stepped foot in arthur's hotel room... how they shared drunken kisses as they made their way to his room, how his lips attached to her neck hastily once they were in the comfort of his hotel room, how her hands roamed his entire body, how he was hungry to feel her and how she was desperate for the pleasure he was bursting to give her, how he would have devoured her in any place that was comfortable and to hand.

the morning breeze blew the curtains of the hotel room gently from the small gap of the open balcony door and she could feel it cool her warm, exposed skin in a way that made her feel content; the heat of the croatian air was hot and any form of wind was gladly welcomed into any room she was in, anything to make her feel less suffocated from the atmosphere.

"hi."

"hi."

she drinks in his appearance as he laid beside her; how his cheeks were a little sun-kissed and how his nose was a little red from how he had caught the sunshine since their arrival two days ago, how his eyes were still clouded over and misty and how the lids of his eyes were still heavy with sleep. her eyes trailing down the length of his body... how his chest was exposed to the heat of the room, where the thin sheet started to cover up his modesty and covering him from his hips down, one leg stretched out with foot poking out at the end of the bed and one leg bent and she could feel his knee touching her own.

"when you've finished staring-"

"fuck off," she mumbles lowly, her cheeks turning a deepening pink-ish colour from being caught in her daze, her eyes darting away from the outline of his chiselled abdomen and up to the plain white ceiling, silently hoping the ground would swallow her up, "i'm sorry?"

"i'm not accepting that apology," he laughs softly and her face twists into a look of embarrassment and it wasn't long before her hands came from beneath the covers to hide her face away from his vision, "you can look at me, you know?"

"shut up," she grumbles and it comes out muffled, but he knows what she said, "you're making me feel awkward."

the room falls silent and, to keep herself calm, she zoned in on the sound of the waves in the distance as they crashed against the sand at its shoreline. she could feel his eyes on her, and she could feel the way his body moved on the bed as moved to lay on his side to look at her comfortably, and she knew she was being silly... heck, she wasn't so shy the night before as she took the clothes off his body and let him do the exact same to her.

"i didn't mean to," he says softly and he brought a hand up to wrap around her wrist in an effort to coax her hands from her face, "come on, show me that pretty face."

"stop it," she drops her hands and continues to stare at the ceiling above her, trying to ignore the gaze he had upon her, burning a hole into her cheek, "i'm sunburnt, arthur, so it's not pretty to look at."

"rubbish."

"i'll start peeling soon from how bad it is," she warns him and he rolls his eyes at just how dramatic she was being and, in that moment, she rolls onto her side to face him, "i'm serious. that's never pretty."

"you'll aways be pretty to me," he says and she can't stop the corners of her mouth from pointing upwards, a shy smile stretching across her lips and she makes eye contact with him, "that's better. i feel like today is gon'a be a good day now i've seen you properly."

"god, you are sickening," she laughs softly, "you have such a way with words yet you're still single. how does that work out?"

"the right girl just hasn't come along yet," he admits, .

"must be all the one night stands you have, you stud," she jokes and he frowns softly, eyebrows furrowing on his browline and his vision deters from her face and to the balcony doors behind her, "that was just a joke, arthur."

worry courses through her veins and he smiles softly, shaking his head, looking back at her and he can see a visible outtake of breath that she had seemingly held until she had valid proof he wasn't fully upset with her.

"shall we get dressed? go down for breakfast? see if the others turn up with major hangovers?" arthur suggests, a change of the subject that made yn feel guilt settle low in her belly, yet she nods to forget what she'd said, hoping he wouldn't dwell on her words, "where do you reckon the guys ended up?"

"i don't know," she responds, "as long as neither of them are face down in the marina itself. or laying dead in a ditch."

"all three of them?"

"it's arthur, george and chris. they're chaotic when they're together so who knows what happened after we left them last night," yn laughs softly, watching arthur as he sat on the edge of the bed and let his eyes wander across the floor to see where his boxers had ended up from the night before, "i'm going to head back to my room. have a shower and get dressed for the pool."

"don't fancy coming out with us to have a wander?"

she shakes her head and leans up on her elbows.

"i'll let you boys have some 'boy time' today," she insists and moves herself to copy his stance, sitting on the edge of the bed and using her foot to drag her clothes across the floor, "i'll see you for dinner though. i just fancy doing a bit of sunbathing, a bit of reading and a bit of daytime drinking."

"be safe, won't you?"

"always," she smiles, sliding her t-shirt over her head before picking up her shorts and standing to her feet, sliding the denim up her legs and buttoning the button at her waist, "give me a text when you're ready for breakfast, yeah? i'll come down and meet you."

he nods and looks at her.

"see you in an hour?"

"see you in an hour." xx

[blackjackkent]

Found the Mason's Guild!

If this was indeed the headquarters of the local Selunite Resistance against Shar's encroaching darkness, they didn't do a very good job, because it is DARK over here; this area is covered with the scary sort of dark where Selune's blessing isn't enough and we have to carry the moonlantern around.

Hector tries to assuage his anxiety via being a history nerd and Shadowheart is unimpressed.

She's right, though. There's a series of skeletons mounted outside the entrance to the guild building proper, which doesn't seem to bode well for a friendly welcome.

You don't scare me, I have a fancy lantern. >:|

There's also a lot of abandoned cut stone everywhere in case we want to leave this life of adventuring and build a giant marble tower.

Stepping inside, the place has definitely seen better days. Karlach notices a pile of bones on one stone slab (which the narrator describes as being "of varying shapes, sizes, and creatures"); it has a plaque next to it stating: "Here lies the Grand Mason, his bones and lies exposed." But the import of this, if any, is not obvious.

Oh, hey, more presents for Karlach in the event she needs a tune-up.

This seems promising.

The basement is full of even more cut stone and some broken statues.

There's an elevator here which doesn't seem to serve an obvious purpose:

As well as this, which was hidden behind a perception check:

I brought Astarion in quickly to deal with this bc it's a DC 18 and Hector's middling sleight-of-hand is starting to run through my lockpicks.

Unlocking this pushed open a hidden door in the wall. This note is pinned up inside:

Uh oh.

Unsurprisingly, this super conspicuous chest sitting out nearby is super trapped:

As soon as Hector biffed the disarm roll, some gates came up, a wall opened revealing gargoyles with fire in their mouths, and we went into turn-based mode.

O.O; I'm gonna reload and bring Astarion with me for the rest of this section.

There was only 33 gold in the chest once Astarion hacked it open, too. :P

Proceeding onward, we get to a very large room that looks like it might have once been a mess hall or something like that. Promising note for later:

This marked an area on our map for something to check out at Moonrise later.

From this note, I took literally one more step forward and the place erupted with wraiths like the ones Mummy and Daddy were back with Oliver.

...Astarion I hope you've been keeping up to speed on your rapier work.

Ultimately not too bad a fight. Particular shoutout to Shadowheart, who landed a couple very nice Sacred Flames that obliterated two of the shadow creatures. Nice to see since she honestly struggles in combat somewhat compared to the rest of the team.

Upsettingly, each of the corpses of the shadow creatures has some text when we inspect them afterwards:

"A happy, faded memory comes to you. A woman walking along a beach, holding hands with her husband-to-be."

"A distant memory of a man stretching his back with a groan. Another day of hauling masonry blocks done."

"Before the shadows, there was once a house full of warmth and children's laughter in this one's life. No more."

"Calloused hands work a hammer and chisel around a massive slab of rock. Months from now, a face will take shape."

"You can almost taste the souer ale that once clung to this soul's breath. He was insensible when the shadows came for him."

"You sense this one hid for days as the sounds of battle got closer and closer to town. You didn't even care who won, so long as it ended."

:(

There's journals on the table reflecting information about the last Selunites who stood while Ketheric Thorm's Dark Justiciars took over the town, bringing the shadow curse with them. This apparently counts as completing the quest of investigating the Selunite resistance.

Hector's okay with this, because historical knowledge about the Selunites is reward enough for him. For everyone else, though, it's probably a bit anticlimactic.

Luckily there's one more trapped and locked chest to open - DC 21 this time, so very glad I still have Astarion along. Decently nice helmet in it too, so we'll call that a win. :D

[goldenvoicedminstrel]

Hot take; Maglor has written every member of his immediate and extended family a song inspired by them. Every single one of them has promptly learned to play/sing that song, even if that is the only song they know (looking at you Caranthir) they know it perfectly.

This comes in handy later, because when Maglors memories start fading he keeps his family alive by singing their songs over and over. It’s also good for the family members, because when everything else about Maglors existence fades away, they have the songs to prove that he was real and that he loved them.

I had a lot of thoughts and even more emotions about this, so enjoy my rambling.

Let’s say it starts with someone, perhaps Fëanor, telling his small son the story of the Ainulindalë, how Eru composed the Great Music and the Ainur sang Arda into being, and how everything and everyone is a part of that Music.

Of course young Makalaurë, who learned to sing before he could speak, is enchanted. 

We are all a song! The next day he comes to Nerdanel and starts to hum a simple, sweet melody, that sounds a bit like a lullaby. When she asks what song it is, he only says: “Yours.”

(She begins to use it as a lullaby for him when he is afraid at night, and later for his brothers as well. It works without fail.)

And that is only the beginning. Because once he has started to hear the melody in everyone around him, he cannot stop and while the most important part is still the melody, he starts to make up words, too, and so the songs are born.

Maitimo’s gives him a lot of trouble at first. He is too young and inexperienced and he finds that his attempts to create something as graceful, kind and perfect as his older brother all fall short. It takes him years to finally put together a melody “well-formed” enough. It is indeed very beautiful and harmonic and has a majestic air to it that makes his brother blush, but Maitimo will always love best the first attempt his little brother presented him with so long ago.

It is easier for his younger brothers, children in general are louder in every way, and though he makes small changes over the years and adds parts to their songs as they grow, the melody at core remains the same.

Tyelko’s starts as a children’s rhyme, that teaches his brother to imitate the animals he loves (the elf version of old MacDonald had a farm) and evolves until it seems to be made up only of the sound of the birds and the barking of dogs and even, in a particularly dramatic moment, the bellow of a stag. 

Little Carnistir’s song starts out much quieter, but rises unexpectedly at times, and when his brother was very young, Makalaurë used to throw him into the air with the crescendos and he would shriek and giggle until he was red in the face. Later, he adds some words a plays on the numbers that Moryo so enjoys, and sometimes he can hear him absentmindedly hum the melody under his breath when brooding over another problem. (There is also a rhyme very obviously leading up to a swear word, which is then abruptly left out for comedic purposes.)

Words are important in Curvo’s song as well. It is the most complicated, fast-paced like their father’s, made up of many different parts all moulded together. There are many wordplays, because smithing is hard to portray in song, but word-smithing is much easier, and Makalaurë always knows when his brother is singing his song in his head, for an amused little smile appears in the corner of his mouth.

Each of the twins have their own song, but they are both built around the same musical theme and made to be sung as a duet. The Ambarussa immediately invent a game in which one of them hides in the woods, and the other, with his eyes closed, has to find him  only through singing his part and listening to the answering verse.

(He likes to add verses for special occasions and perform them elaborately. He did this for all his brothers when they came of age, and again for Curvo’s wedding. On the other hand he is not afraid to compose a verse of pure mockery when his brother have been getting on his nerves again. But those are only temporary of course. Though they can be very catchy.)

The last time he sings his brothers their songs, the last time any of them do so out loud in front of the others, is on the ship to Beleriand. He hopes it will raise their spirits and strengthen their resolve. 

Then their father dies violently and for the first time Makalaurë does not feel like singing, not even in grief.

(Or perhaps he stops singing them before that, when one of the Ambarussa fails to answer their brother’s song for the first time.)

Maitimo is taken and when he comes back, Maglor cannot bear to induce the torment his brother’s body and fëa have suffered into his melody as well, but when he tries to sing him his old song on his sickbed, Maedhros flinches away. And Maglor understands.

He has always tried to capture their fëa with his songs. But the people he wrote his songs about do not exist anymore, while at the same time he will not- cannot- erase this last piece of home, of a happier time, so he keeps the songs locked away in his mind, like a most priced jewel in a glass case, to be viewed but not touched again.

(Later, much later, when Maedhros steps forward, Silmaril in hand, into the fiery chasm, he does not remember his melody anymore.)

(When Caranthir dies alone in Doriath he hums.)

Yet still, parts of them, snippets of melody, make it into his greatest work before he realises it. His brothers’ songs become the strands that make up the frame of the Noldolantë, because as much as Maglor says the song is about the downfall of the Noldor, first and foremost, it is about his family.

He begins singing them again only after they are all gone.

They sound sad at first, because even the happiest song does when sung by a sad man,

but they become happier the longer he repeats them, and he is happier because he is with his brothers again and that feels so much more real than the cold, wet sand and hard rocks under his feet, and the chill clinging to his ragged clothes and protruding bones. 

The songs become happier and then they fade away.

But still they are sung in Valinor, where all those lost souls return to eventually.

After everything that has happened, it is not easy to remember the person you used to be and even harder to know who you are now.

When Nerdanel welcomes back her sons, who stumble out of the Halls like frightened children once again, she hums a melody to them that, she too, had locked away in her mind for a long time before releasing it again, in the times when the quiet was oppressing and the absence of her family like a physical wound. She hummed it under her breath or sang it to the empty room to remind herself her son had loved her once. 

Her own song. Calm and steady, slow where her husband’s had been fast, and repetitive where his had been ever changing. In every repetition a little detail had been changed, chiseled away like the outer layers of stone, until laid bare was the first song her son had ever written, a simple, sweet melody gifted by a little boy to his ammë.

She hums this melody into her sons’ ears when she takes them into her arms again for the first time in millennia, when they still cannot quite believe her to be real. Later she sings them another song, theirs, unchanged by time like none of them are, and her words are sincere and not filled with cruel irony.

The Ambarussa are the first to pick their melodies up again, and they begin to echo them back to each other like they did when they first learned them, and they rediscover that they are not alone.

Caranthir hums his song under his breath, and remembers he does not have to keep all his emotions hidden, and that his outbursts had once not only been angry, but filled with laughter as well.

Curufin repeats the familiar words, and recalls a time when his sharp tongue had been a source of amusement rather than manipulation, and his sharper mind had sough to solve complicated problems instead of creating them. 

Celegorm stands in the woods and imitates the animal calls his song helped him perfect long ago- and the animals answer him. He listens and laughs without cruelty, and remembers what love truly felt like.

Maedhros, when he finally arrives, sings the melody carefully, and when he tries to recreate its beauty, he remembers what it felt like to be whole and at peace.

But while they have their brother’s songs they do not have their brother.

They wait and they keep singing, hoping against all reason that somehow it might reach him, bring him comfort that they are safe now, bring him back to them.

He never comes. And so they cling to their songs in a way they cannot cling to him, and once again the songs remain unchanged.

Not because they pretend to be the same people they were before, but because this is the last thing they have of Makalaurë. He never wrote a song about himself, after all.

[wordynerdygurl]

Hello Everyone! I've been conspiring with @sammy-jo1977 to create a new series of sorts. We want to explore all those characters that started us on our journey into Fandoms, large and small.

This series will be a place for those ladies and gents who haven't had a lot of attention recently, are old favorites or the ones you can't seem to shake. If you would like to contribute a chapter to this guide, please send me a message! We want to have a full and accurate guide, so we are hoping you'll hop in with your character of expertise!

As an example, I'm posting our first story... I'd love to get your thoughts! With Love - Your WordyNerdyGurl

In The Stacks - A Rupert Giles Story

Author’s Note:  This story is due, in large part, to my beta-bestie @sammy-jo1977 and it is part of the afore mentioned series.  This character might be off television, but his fiery spirit lives on!! As always, reblogs/ shares are encouraged as are comments and love!

Pairing:  Female Reader x Giles (Buffy The Vampire Slayer Series) Summary:  You get up to mischief with the librarian, in the stacks. Warnings:  SMUT ahead.  General Buffy knowledge might help, but is not required.  There’s a moment with a bit of blood, but hopefully nothing too triggering for anyone! I hope you enjoy!

“Mr. Giles?” “Just a moment!”  You heard the clipped British voice answer before being drowned out by the heavy thumping of falling books and the rustling sound of shifting papers hitting the floor. As you stepped further into the Sunnydale High library, you weren’t surprised to see the familiar faces of Buffy, Willow, Xander and Cordelia huddled around a small table.  The friends were practically inseparable and clearly close.  You found their kinship adorable and couldn’t help smiling at the group as you drew closer. “Hello to some of my best students!  And of course, to you Mr. Harris.  How is everyone today?”

Willow, stalwart student and overachiever, smiled broadly, “Pretty good.  I did ace my math quiz and got an A on my English paper… but, well, I only pulled a B on my Bio test and I just know that I could have done better.” Offering her friend a consoling pat to the shoulder, Buffy sighed, “It’s ok, Will.  You’ll get those cells next time!” “Tune in next week as Willow passes her AP Biology test with flying colors, on ‘As Sunnydale Turns’!” Before anyone could counter, Giles came around the corner carrying a sturdy stack of texts which he dropped onto the table as gently as the large load allowed, “As always, you four are the best assistants a librarian could ask for.” “Come on Giles!  You know I only hang out here for the beautiful ladies!” Pinching the bridge of his strong nose, Rupert Giles sighed, “I am well aware of where your interests lie, Xander.” “Please, he can hardly handle being with one beautiful girl.”  That was from Cordelia who pouted prettily, her hand mirror open as she fixed her hair. “My girlfriend, ladies and gentlemen!  Thanks for that, Cordy.” Snapping the case shut, staring down her beau, she smiled, “You’re welcome.” “Uh, Mr. Giles, if I may?”  You hated to interrupt but you had come in with a purpose and you meant to see it through. “Yes, of course, how can I help?” Shuffling your feet, a bit nervous now with the asking, you smiled shyly, “I asked at the local library but they were absolutely no help.  You see, I’m looking for a specific point of reference and I was led to believe that you could help me.” “Oh!  Is it something for our Inner Vision collage boards?  I love working on mine, only… It’s not my fault that I only see dark clouds and blood when I close my eyes.” “Well, Miss Summers, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  And the best art challenges us to see that beauty.” “I hate to tell you what I see when I close my eyes.”  Xander retorted. “Ah, Mr. Harris, your collage certainly showcases your, ahem, cultured world view.” “Hey!  The Simpsons are fine art, ok?  Just because they don’t live in a museum doesn’t mean they aren’t culture.” Giles, unable to stand by any longer griped, “Xander, I am almost positive that cartoons do not count as culture.” You started to answer but Buffy cut you short, adding, “Don’t mind Giles.  If it doesn’t come out of some dirty, dusty old book it can’t be culture.” “It’s pop culture!  The entertainment of my generation!” It was your turn to cut in, turning to the tweed clad gentleman, “Actually, Mr. Giles, Xander has a point.  Cartoons and animation in general are all increasingly seen as valid forms of art.  No matter what your tomes might tell you.” Smirking a little, he appraised your answer before replying, “Be that as it may, Mr. Harris, the amount of television you consume is corrosive.” Raising his hands in defense, Xander’s head swiveled between the two of you as Willow chimed in, “Give it up, Xander.  You know you’ll never win and besides, I’m pretty sure that animation and art are different.  Wait.  They are, aren’t they?” “When I was in Rome last summer, the very attractive, very Italian tour guide told us that they’ve found painted graffiti on the Coliseum.  It only goes to prove that times change but people don’t.” “Cordy’s right!  About the art, not the dishy Italian.  And they didn’t paint it, they carved it.”  Bouncing her blonde hair decisively, Buffy made her declaration.   “Wouldn’t paint be easier?  I mean, who wants to carry a chisel in order to deface a wall?” “Oh!  Oh!  I know this!  The kind of paint needed to last for centuries hadn’t been invented yet!”  Willow, lifting out of her seat in the excitement of academic excellence, was giddy. “Yes, Willow, that is correct.  In fact, a lot of the graffiti is simple and very crude.  Mostly of the phallus, if memory serves.  I’m sure I can find a documented case in Agrippa if you’ll all just-” And you watched as everyone rolled their eyes as Giles trailed off, lost now in the hunt for a specific volume which could be sited, should further proof be needed. “Ew.  Pass.” “I’m with Buffy here, Giles.  Keep your Grecian graffiti out of my brain.” “I’ll stick with the Simpsons, thank you very much.” “Yes, well.  It’s not Grecian at all, is it?  It’s Roman-” Smiling broadly, Buffy hopped off the table, “Giles is right.  The Greeks were more into orgies!” “Buffy!”  Willow’s shocked response made you cover a laugh with a fake cough. “-Of course, cites are rare.  Very difficult to find documentation.”  Giles, typically, hadn’t given up the search. Cutting through the chatter, louder than it ever needed to be, the period bell sounded. "Ugh.  Gym class for me.  Why is this even a thing?" "I don't know Buffy, I thought you liked showing off in your little shorts and beating the boys at basketball." "Cordy, that's enough.  And while us boys do love looking at you, Buff... we don't love the beatings you regularly deliver." "Well, I have a free period Giles!  Do you want me to stay and -" Snapping shut the leather book he was gripping, Giles caught your eye and turned to the peppy student, "Uh, no Willow, I don't think so.  I believe I need to see what our Art Department is in need of at the moment." With a shrug, Willow began packing up her belongings as Xander slung his back back over his shoulder, "Will, you can come with me.  I'm going to find a nice little corner, under a tree, and sleep away my study hall." “But, I… I could help find the Agrippa?  Or… some other old Roman book?” Xander wrapped an arm around Willow and took Cordelia’s open hand, “But why do that when nothing calls?” "Another fine example of your scholastic aptitude, Mr. Harris", was your parting shot at the foursome as they walked out the door. "Well. Mr. Giles, now that we’re alone… Could I talk you into helping me out?" “Of course, of course.”  Pushing his glasses further up his nose, fixing his light eyes on yours, “What are we looking for?” Sighing deeply, knowing the chances were slim, “I was hoping we would find some examples of Pre-Columbian deity carvings.” Pausing, his look serious, Giles peered at you, “Interesting.  Anything in particular?” “Yes, actually.”  Again you flushed, more than a little flustered at what you were really looking for, “I’m researching fertility icons.” Raising his eyebrows, Giles started, more than a little outside of his comfort zone, but you had to give him credit.  He recovered from the shock rather quickly, “Oh… I… I see.  Well yes, I’m sure we can find… something.  If you’ll follow me, please.” “I’m right behind you.”  Biting into your bottom lip, you smiled to yourself.  Right behind Mr. Giles?  What a place to be.  Giles led the young art teacher through the deepest stacks of the library, pausing once or twice to confirm that she was keeping up with him.  He was ashamed to admit that he had lost travelers a time or two as he stalked through his overstuffed shelves, knowing instinctively where to find the book he needed most. For her, watching the tweed covered bottom of Mr. Giles was no hardship.  True, he was older and tad bit reserved in the best British way, yet she had the sneaking suspicion that underneath all the wool and starched cotton was the heart of a wild man poet. "Uh... just a bit further, I'm afraid.  Books like this, well, I keep them at a greater remove." "It makes sense.  Don't want the kiddos getting a hold of anything too tantalizing." "Of course not.  As you well know, they don't need much help in the libidinous response department." You chuckled softly, nodding as the air around you grew stuffier, "Too true!  You should see what some of them turn in and call art.  It would make a blind man blush." And at the mention of blushing, you were shocked to see a rosy hue grow on Mr. Giles' cheeks.  You liked it.  It reminded you of the high color in a Vermeer painting.  You couldn’t help the flutter in your belly at the thought, "Mr. Giles, have you ever seen a South American fertility statue?" "I can't say that I have... have... have you?"  Something about the idea of you examining an ancient artifact directly connected to sexual congress made his body stir.  "Hmm... Oh, yes.  I was able to study in Mexico for a semester.  Some of the art work is just incredible and the carvings, they're truly magnificent.  Carefully made.  Usually stone or..." swallowing hard, your throat suddenly dry, "hard wood." Breaking fast at the implication in your words, Giles froze in place which caused you to press directly against his broad, vest covered back.  You had a second to register the soft scent of his aftershave; something spicy and masculine, which made your mouth water.  Moaning quietly, you offered a weak apology, “Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Giles.” Offering you his profile, the bookcases too cramped for him to turn around fully, you saw his sweet smile, “That’s… that’s quite alright.  In fact, we’re here.” Stepping out of the way, you pushed back against the opposite wall, the shelves digging into your spine in the confined space.  Giles bent over, giving you a great view of his backside, as he extracted a slim book from the bottommost ledge.  When he stood up, directly in front of you, the narrow, book covered alcove caused him to stumble. Giles’ chest collided with your own, forcing the air out of your lungs.  Instinctively, you lifted a leg, curling it over the swell of one trousered hip and lifting the hem of your knee length plaid kilt.  Nose to nose in a compromising position, you exhaled a shaky breath as Mr. Giles inhaled, “Close quarters around here.” Shifting under his deceptively hard figure, it was difficult to ignore all the places that were firm to the touch, especially when you could feel so much through the thin barrier of your cotton panties.  Bracing one arm on the obliging shelf biting into your shoulder, Giles pushed back a bit, lifting his weight off of you without making any other attempts to move away.  He was so close now.  Close enough to feel your fuzzy sweater and all the soft skin that trembled beneath it.  Close enough to see the pound of your pulse in your throat.  Close enough that when you licked over your bottom lip Giles could almost taste it too.  And why shouldn’t he?  “Giles?”  Your voice was whisper soft, fanning hotly over the face of your colleague. “Uh… yes?” “I’m stuck.” Blinking behind his thick lenses, it took the normally quick witted Brit a second to process your words, “You’re stuck?” Nodding slowly, your hair curling over your cheek, “My… My skirt.  It’s… uh, caught.  Caught on something behind me.” “Good heavens!  I’m so sorry, let me help you.”  Slowly, Giles lowered your bare leg to the floor, his hand lingering for a second longer than absolutely necessary.  He was still in your space.  Still incredibly close to you. You arched away from the bookcase in an attempt to free yourself with a groan that sounded heady in the stuffy stacks.  All you managed to do was force your sweater covered décolletage into Giles’ chest.  Stammering, a wave of sweat breaking over his brow, “Allow me?” The way your skirt was caught pulled the bright plaid lower on your waist than you would normally consider decent.  It meant that you had a fleshy strip of skin exposed along your tummy and Giles raised his eyebrows by means of asking permission to touch you.  “Yea, yes.  Please!” Tentatively, gently, you felt the strong fingers of Rupert Giles circle your waist and shivered at the unfamiliar familiarity of his touch.  Your chin rested on his shoulder as he worked and you couldn’t help sighing when he opened his hands and pulled you closer.  Under other circumstances you might have misunderstood the embrace but you were both professionals.  Not that you hadn’t considered the handsome book guardian a time or two before. “I… I think we’re almost there.  If you’ll just, maybe to the right?” “Um, sure.”  Following his directions you twisted in his arms, trying hard not to tear your outfit or rub against Giles.  All the close contact and talk of fertility gods had you feeling a little aroused and it wouldn’t do for your colleague to learn that fact. With a triumphant grunt, Giles set you free, only for gravity to kick back in.  The momentum created by your falling took the gentleman and the entire Grollier’s Gothic Almanac collection with you.  A cascade of papers, scrolls and dust rained down on you both. Coughing, aware that you were laying on something softer than the floor, you struggled into a sitting position, swatting away clouds of disintegrated pages, “Rupert?  Are you alright?” From beneath you a rumbling grumble that sounded like, “Yes quite… you?” was heard.  It was then that you realized exactly where you were.  Straddling your friendly neighborhood librarian, surrounded by debris, but safe, all the same. “Oh my!  I’m so-” “No, No.  Please, don’t apologize.  I’ve been meaning to reorganize this section and well, now it seems I’ve got no choice.” “You’ve got a bump.  Right here…”  Just over his right eye a small bruised egg, the color of lilacs, was starting to rise and you gingerly touched the swelling spot. “Then it will match the one on the back of my head perfectly.” “Poor Giles!  All of this injury in the name of research!” “No one ever tells you the dangers one might encounter in the library.” His dry British wit sent you both into giggles and suddenly nothing could be funnier than the moment you were in with Mr. Giles.  Looking up at you, his fingertip traced over your cheek, suddenly serious, “I’m not the only one with a war wound, it appears.” “Oh?”  Your hand covered his as you realized that you had a small cut, bleeding just a little, over the apple of your jaw.  Smoothing his thumb over your injury, Giles soothed you, saying, “Hush now, I think you’ll live.”  And you watched as Giles sucked the drop of scarlet from the pad there, his green eyes on yours, daring you.  Something about it was so… sinful.  So dark.  So alluring. Then his lips were on yours, suddenly and savagely.  Hands, firm and capable, slid under the fluff of your sweater along your spine as you tangled your own in his dark hair.  Giles, drawing you near, was satisfied only when you were splayed over him, writhing between the piles of text and stacks of piled paperbacks, as his tongue plundered your mouth. Trapped by his bent knees at your bottom, Giles helped center you over the firmness of his excitement, teasing you as you moaned, “Oh, oh Rupert!” “Call me Ripper.”  Before the word had left your throat, Giles was sloppily kissing over your neck, sucking lightly on the skin revealed by the v-neck of your top.  Sitting up quickly, you lifted the soft sweater over your head, tossing it away from you without concern.  Like one of the teenagers you might chastise, you then hugged your lover tight, gasping when you felt the nip of teeth over your bra.  “Giles… Uh, Ripper!  Please, go easy?”  With a hard grip on your upper thigh and one hand on the back of your neck, Giles held you still, smirking, “If you wanted easy you shouldn’t have come looking for fertility icons, my dear little art teacher.  And if this particular article of clothing-” He paused long enough to pinch at your hardening nipple before continuing, “-is dear to you, take it off.” Clenching your abdominals at his crass language, more turned on that you could remember, you reached behind you.  Unhooking the pretty scrap of lace and satin, you shyly covered yourself, biting into your bottom lip, “Fine… Ripper.  Should I be worried for my virtue?” “Absolutely.”  Without waiting for permission, Giles pulled your arms away, exposing your bare body to his blazing gaze, “You have nothing to hide, you know?  You are-” “Just shut up and kiss me, Ripper.”  And he did. Grinding your hips into his, it was impossible to ignore his hardening manhood, even through the fabric of his pressed trousers.  Giles cupped your bottom, under your skirt but over your panties, bouncing you in place as if he was already inside of you.  For your part, you tried to unbutton his pin striped shirt, but the force of his kisses was proving too distracting. “Oh, dear!  Poor thing been kissed senseless?”  He was teasing and cruel, but in the sexiest possible way. Red cheeked and huffing, you nodded, “Yes… let me touch you!” “Tsk… you didn’t say ‘please’.” “Please!  Please, Ripper!  Oh god, please let me!” Unseating you slightly, Giles leaned up on his elbows, cocking his head to one side as he took in the mess he had made of you, “Go ahead then.  Unzip my pants.” “What?” Removing his glasses, eyeing you darkly, “You heard me, I think.” Swallowing hard, your hands shaking with excitement, you reached for Giles’ belt.  Watching him, and only him, you slowly slide the leather from it’s buckle.  When you popped the button of his pants and let your hand drag over his hardened length, Rupert groaned and tossed his head back, “Yes.  Keep going.” Slowly, agonizingly so, you lowered the zipper as you were ordered to do, “What now, Ripper?” “Take me out.  I want you to feel what you do to me.” “I can do that.”  You played it cool, but the saucy words being said in that clipped British baritone did things to you.  They made your thighs tighten, your belly flutter and your breath catch.   Trailing a hand over Giles' barely exposed hip, you moved closer to the prize, your prize, as it pulsed with need.  Wrapping your hand around the meaty girth of Rupert's member, you couldn't help stroking the silky hot skin, so vital in your palm.  That it caused the man beneath you to moan your name only added fuel to the fire of your desire. Slick and sorely wanting, you licked your lips, ready to savor the flavor of your book stacking beau but he stopped you, saying, "Last chance to run back to the studio." "No way… Ripper."  And you felt a rough jerk as your panties were removed by force, the air cool on your overheated core.  Another kiss, full of needful things, distracted you as Giles parted your lower lips with his nimble fingers. Pumping into you, once, twice, just to ensure that you were ready, Rupert swiftly stretched your center.  With your small hand guiding his shaft, you lowered yourself onto the engorged tower of his power, crying out a ragged, "Oh God!" You thought you were capable of handling any man, but the delicious spread Giles' fine form forced you to endure was more than you expected.  Clutching at his bunched up sweater vest, your back arched tautly as Rupert dragged your hips down onto his unrelenting hardness over and over.   In your head, a rhythmic, tribal tattoo that made you think of ancient fires and curved statues took hold and you rose and fell against Giles on the beats vibrating through your brain.  He sensed it too, alternating his stroke, slowing down and speeding up in time with the thrumming pulse only the pair of you could hear.  "I want you to cum for me.  Do you understand?  Tell me you understand." "Yes!  Yes!  I'm so close, Ripper!  So close!" "Good.  That's very good."  Tingling now, your muscles tensed, ready for the release Rupert would provide.  You flung yourself onto his swollen sex without thought or reason, merely searching for the pleasure he had promised.  His thumb, so thick, so clever, pressed against your sensitive clit and your world imploded. Rupert felt it.  The moment your body and his melded together was forceful.  It tore his pleasure from his loins in grunting gasps as he experienced your ecstacy at his hands. Limp and listless, you draped your half nude body over his, dazed and drained.  Who knew screwing the librarian would feel this good?  In your post coital haze you started to laugh.  Giles, his hands roaming over the sweat soaked skin of your back, heard your chuckles and joined in.  It was another release, of sorts, and you found it almost as intimate as the act you had just committed. Folding your hands under your chin, flashing Rupert a wide smile, "Ripper, huh?" Sliding his glasses back into place and carding a hand through his hair, Giles grinned, "Oh, uh… yes.  Ripper.  My nickname in London." Toying with the collar of his shirt, "I'd love to hear about London sometime… Ripper." At the sound of that name in your voice, Rupert flexed inside of you, "Call me that again and you'll miss last period." Gasping against him, nodding weakly, "Hmm… promise?" That made him smile broadly as he handed you back your sweater, "We can't have a repeat of last week, can we?" "It wasn’t my fault you didn't hear the bell ring, Mr. Giles!" Sitting up, you fastened your bra and shrugged into your sweater before asking, "Did you have to destroy my undies?" "I'm afraid I did.  Although I told you to remove anything dear, didn't I?" "What am I gonna do for the next hour, Giles?" Pushing his glasses up, "I would advise you not to bend over." Swatting at him playfully, you used one of the sturdier shelves to stand, adjusting your skirt and fluffing your hair.  Looking around at the absolute mess created by falling books, embarrassed, you asked, "Can I help clean this up?" "No, I don't think that'll be necessary.  After all, Willow will be in-" "Along with Buffy and Xander and Cordelia.  Got it." Standing himself, Giles chuckled as he fastened his trousers and set himself to rights, "Precisely.  Now-" he bent over to retrieve a slim volume, "- The book you asked about.  Fertility iconography in Meso-American subcultures." "Thanks.  Ya know, I always enjoy coming to the library.  I'm surprised more people don't." Walking with you, his hand on your lower back, nuzzling into your neck, "I enjoy you cumming in the library." It was on the tip of your tongue to say something fresh when the overly loud bell clanged.  Lifting up on tiptoes you pressed a kiss to the goose egg over Giles' eye, saying, "I hope that makes it feel better!" Snagging you into a tight hug, Giles stared into your eyes before kissing you deeply, "That.  That makes it feel better." And then the library door swung wide on the four students who called the library a second home, "Um… are my eyes deceiving me or is Giles sporting a black eye?  I was only gone for an hour, big guy, what happened?" "If you must know, Xander, a shelf collapsed in the back.  We were fortunate enough not to be badly hurt but, there were some bumps and bruises." "A shelf!  Oh no… which one?!" Giles turned to Willow solemnly, "I'm afraid all the Grollier’s… and most of Crentist." "On it.  Come on Xander.  You can help me sort!" "Aw, gee.  That sounds like fun." As the pair trotted off, you turned to Giles, whispering low, "Dinner?  My place?  You can tell me about London, your childhood and why you love tweed." Eyeing Buffy, who was distracted and a distraught, Giles answered, "Tonight?  Um…" "He'd love to!  Say 9 o'clock?  And, he'll bring the wine."

Spinning on your heel, surprised that Buffy was your champion, you grinned, "Great!  Awesome!  I will see you then."

As you left you heard the bubbly blonde doling out instructions, "No Giles.  You can't wear that outfit to dinner!  You need to look nice.  Nicer than you do now.  Also, why is there so much dust in your hair?" If Giles answered you didn’t hear it over your big yawn.  You had a lot to do between now and 9 o’clock.  Rupert Giles was coming over for dinner and you could hardly wait.

------ Fin ------- I’m tagging my minxes, even though this is specifically NOT a Loki story.  I do want you guys to send me stories that might fall under the “Hot Characters” banner though!   Minxes:   @scrumptious-finicky-illusion​ @iamverity​ @mizfit2​ @sammy-jo1977​ @wolfsmom1​ @jessiejunebug​ @iluvsumbucky​ @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @lokislittlecorner​ @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81​ @caffiend-queen​​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​​ @jenjen8675309​​ @that-one-person​​ @roguewraith​​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​

[jostepherjoestar]

return from Sicily 🖤

sfw // gn reader // so much pining like whew 

Hello everyone, it is i, Cozy, back to give you a lil snack between schoolwork. This was fully self indulgent, to a worrying degree, so my apologies for that. But please enjoy, it was a fun little writing exercise since it’s been a while!💖✨

A distant car door shut, the sound muffled by the thick brick walls that separated you from the sparsely populated street where La Squadra Esecuzioni has been residing for a little while now. It’s not an uncommon sound, not at all actually. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up to heavy car doors slamming in the middle of the night, men of disputable morals stepping out and going about their even more so morally disputable business. But instead of filling you with annoyance that you’d have to lull yourself back to sleep again, this faint slam meant the return of your capo!

He’d been off on his very first holiday since joining Passione. Perhaps it was even the first in his life, the past never really presenting such opportunities unfortunately. 10 days. 10 whole days since the looming figure that brought a sense of calm and comfort to your shared homebase had left to start his travels to Sicily. And God had you missed him. You thought your crush on him had been manageable, maybe it would even dim by not seeing him for a while.

But oh no. It got worse. It got so much worse.

You hadn’t realised it before, but living so close with your teammates had conditioned you. You saw them every single day, for worse or for better. And that also included Risotto. Sometimes he’d be too busy to come out of his office but you were always sure to pay him a quick visit. Just to check up on him, you told yourself. You’d shoot him a warm smile that always received a small nod in return from the tired form pouring over his work.

A rush of excited energy barreled through your body, trying to suppress the need to wait at the front door like an overzealous golden retriever. You put down your phone and exhaled deeply, mentally preparing yourself as to not let on how much you’ve missed seeing him around.

You heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking and got up from the living room couch you’d been lounging on as casually as possible. Casually making your way to the entrance to casually welcome back your colleague. Casual.

Risotto looked...magnificent. His skin had darkened under the Sicilian sun and given him a nice tan that evenly spread over his figure. He was wearing a simple black shirt that clung to the right places, adorning his chiseled chest and barely holding onto his built biceps. His hat was nowhere in sight and his silver locks poked out in different directions, clearly not bothered to tame them for his drive home.

Your quick once-over cut short over the sound of your own voice. “You’re back! Did you have fun? I missed you-” To your own surprise the words left you all too soon. In an attempt to fix the slip up you hurriedly continued. “We all missed you, I mean…” you trailed off. Risotto’s lips quirked up into an amused smirk, showing off his dimple that rarely appeared. He looked a lot more relaxed than before he left.

“Oh? We?” he said, making it a point to lean to his side to direct his gaze to the empty apartment behind you. No one else had been home. You felt heat rise to your cheeks and the desperate need to run and never return. Why was this already so hard?

You nervously chuckled and wrung your hands together, casting your eyes down at Risotto’s bag that had been put near the messy shoe rack Formaggio promised to clean up while your capo was gone. Sensing you weren’t going to rebuttal his comment, he continued. “It was nice. But I did miss you all, too.” The baritone of voice only stoked the fires burning under your skin.

He had missed you. Your mind swatted away the unnecessary word that followed his statement indicating that he’d also missed your teammates. You really needed to get a grip on your feelings.

You looked up again, feeling a bit braver to face your capo. “You look at ease, it really did you good, huh?” you softly hummed. His eyes held kindness in return, no matter how dark and spooky they were to some, they held no sharp edge whenever they landed on you.

As soon as you both stepped further into the apartment you heard him let out a deep sigh. It wasn’t of displeasure, no, those were way deeper and mostly kept for difficult meetings. He was breathing in the familiar smell of home. One that strangely enough had become the one he most associated with you. Walking behind you towards his room with his bag gripped tightly, his hand clutching the straps even harder turning his knuckles white.

He’d missed you too. So much. His trip was fun and relaxing and he could finally spend time by himself after being surrounded by people 24/7. But with every stroll past the beach, every dinner spent by himself- calmly sipping a glass of deep red wine, he wished you were there to spend it with him. To hold your hand and gently sway it as the sea breeze washed away the stress work had caused to settle onto you both. To rest on the beach together, lazing on a towel while the sun beamed down and a comfortable silence that rested between you.

Risotto was thankful for the holiday he never thought he’d have while working for Passione, but even more thankful to be back home. Where you were.

You had kindly opened the door for him, that cute smile resting on your lips as you let him pass by. The room smelled fresh and sweet like the breeze outside, the wind fluttering the curtains. “I changed your sheets and opened the window for you. Thought you wouldn’t mind it.” you shyly said as he set down his bag and huffed down on the edge of his bed. Idly caressing the light sheets in appreciation. He offered you a quick smile in return, instantly making that heat rise back to your cheeks.

“I’ll let you get settled.” You were glad he was back home safe, maybe you’d rest easier now and maybe your feelings would reach a more manageable level again. But before you could get far, not even a step further towards the hallway, you felt a big hand grasp your wrist. It felt warm and calloused, one that has worked hard and endured too much. You bounced back but steadied yourself to face Risotto who had cleared his throat and swiftly let go of your wrist. Bold move there, he warned himself.

“Sorry, I- I got you something.” he grumbled out the apology, brow creased as he dipped down to reach for something in his bag.

“Here.” He handed you a strangely shaped crumpled newspaper, cursing himself for not wrapping it in something a bit nicer. It was much heavier than your average weekly publication so you held it steadier, gently trying to unwrap whatever was hiding inside. Excitement was still bubbling inside, but a sense of ease that only Risotto supplied had nestled its way into you.

Risotto took over the discarded newspaper to let you admire the gift, trying his best to hide his excited stare, eager to know if you’d liked it. In your hands rested a ceramic mug, it looked handmade and the uneven strokes of shiny blue coloured glaze gave it a rustic touch. Lemons and leaves decorated the sides, making you turn it over a couple times to fully admire the handiwork. You were so enamoured by the gift you’d forgotten to let him know your thoughts.

“For your collection…” he trailed off, getting a bit nervous at his choice and doubting if you’d liked it. He knew you had a particular taste in mugs that were allowed into your hallowed collection. (not to be touched by your other teammates of course)

“I love it Ris. Really, it’s absolutely beautiful. Thank you so much.” You really did love it, your heart could barely take how much you did. Clutching the mug in your hand, you reached over and hugged him. He had barely processed the relief of you liking his gift to be hit with your form clinging to his torso. Carefully, he placed a single hand around your middle, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable as he reciprocated. “Thank you.” you quietly let out while giving him a curt squeeze.

His arm eased you down  to sit next to him on the edge of the bed, feeling his very own surge of warmth ghost over his cheeks. His hand remained on your side, comfortably resting there, feeling right at home. You didn’t mind, not in the slightest. You were just so happy he’d returned and even brought you a thoughtful gift.

“Maybe next time I could show you around the shop I got it from. They have lots more to choose from.” he urged himself on, hearing his own heartbeat reach new speeds at the suggestion and its implications. A next time, but with you by his side.

You held onto the mug for dear life, clasping your fingers even tighter around the sides in case you’d drop it and shatter it like your chances with Risotto. Your mind raced, his suggestion having caused a mild short circuit of all functions. After a trained breath you find the strength to reply. “I’d like that very much. Just be sure to keep Ghiaccio away from the fragile stuff.” you chuckled nervously. A heavenly sound to the smitten capo.

“The rest of the team- as much as I like them- are uhm… not invited.” The smile that danced on his lips and the glint in his eyes made your heart flutter all over as you looked up at him.

A holiday? Just the two of you?

“Oh. Oh.”

You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his as the thought settles between you. His hand on your hip hadn’t moved, only growing warmer and now finally urging you to scootch a little closer. His soft touch lingering on the small of your back now, closing in the distance and letting your hands rest on his chest as he moved to your inviting lips.

You felt like you’d burst any second, steadying your breath seemingly the hardest task you’ve had to face yet. But then your lips met, softer than any you’d felt before and easing over yours like it was the greatest privilege ever granted. A warm palm cupping your cheek, only deepening the finalisation of your mutual holiday plans. Everything you’d both been wishing to let out finally coming together, moving along your lips with a deep need and hunger that got its chance to grasp at a godly buffet.

With disbelief you both let go- regrettably so, softly gasping for air. If you wanted to go on a holiday together, you would still need to be breathing to get there. As you shared the lingering moment of closeness, appreciating the warmth and love of each other’s gazes, your hearing picked up on scuffling in the hallway.

Mortified you snapped your attention to Melone in the doorway collecting what looked like money from a passing Formaggio and Prosciutto. “Told you they’d do it after he got back.” he smuggly grinned, counting his winnings as you heard Risotto let out a small chuckle under his breath. Earning him a playful jab to his side from you.

“Melone, I won’t kill you if we split the winnings. We have a holiday to save for.” you grumbled.

[braindeacl]

Cleansing | Solo

SETTING: Teagan’s Lake.  TIMING: Recent. SUMMARY: While Eilidh is clearing the lake of the infected frogs, she meets the one who put them there. WARNINGS: N/A.

As the saying goes, the frogs in her throat wanted to choke. Clung to her trachea as if she had a need to gasp; as if it would deter her. She had eaten frogs before. Knew their flavoring and feeling. But there was something different about these ones, one that was hard to place. They met her senses in the usual way. A mediocrity that satisfied the itch inside. Except they caused their own itch, refusing to settle in her stomach. Made her question the might of her killing bite. Did they still squirm and writhe with desperate survival for life? Yet as she watched one lay in her palm, motionless except for her hand beckoning a response, it still acted like the others when it met her mouth. Huh. Not pleasant, but not detrimental. Seemingly. She continued.

When the land lacked any hopping legs, she looked for their likeness in the waters. Seeking out those hidden to add to the collection in her stomach. Initially, her eyes found none, but not no one. The depths were home to more than those that caused her teeth to chatter. Her mind tried to focus on the chattering. Their purpose was great — to cleanse the lake of sickness. But those fish knew nothing of illness, only wanting to call her closer. Scales of precious gems that sparkled under the sun, whose rays were soft and welcoming. Like a dream. And like all dreams, thoughts were hard to hold, and she was lost to it. 

She wasn’t sure how long she had been down there, but suddenly she remembered the why. Motion above called her back to reality. Yet her heart loved the dream, so she expected the usual sort. The ones her eyes had grown accustomed to in the depths: a leaf breaking the surface or a fish dashing overhead. Reality finally returned when she was greeted by an army of frogs, descending upon the water with a purpose. A purpose that had failed to show itself the whole time she was submerged. Something had changed. She returned to the surface, and what she saw put the chatter back on her teeth.

A man stood on the bank. The bucket in his hand close to empty, for one frog still called it home. After a few forceful shakes, the creature joined its brethren in the water. Water the man expected to be still and silent, save for a ripple or two. A serene image that was broken by a pair of hateful eyes. And only just, the rest of the woman was still claimed by the lake. “How did…” The warmer seasons always called humans to waters, and in this case to their deaths. He knew this, but he thought had checked the area thoroughly. As he always had. What was routine suddenly filled him with panic. “You shouldn’t be in there! It’s not safe!” Was that monster close? Ready to destroy this innocent like the others? “She might get y-”

Eilidh didn’t so much as flinch. That blinkless stare persisted. Her only change was a tightening in the eyes as her suspicions solidified. It was you.

The man came to the same conclusion. As easily as the frogs slipped down, so too did his concern. Made his truth revealed, the one of his whole being. Of malice and death. “It worked. It really fucking worked…” The thought left him breathless. But that was only the calm of his storm, before he buckled over in laughter. He knew the frogs would weaken the monster. Chiseling away, bit by bit by bit. But he didn’t think it would take away all of her. Leave her a hollow of herself, so she may die an echo. Undetectable. Hardly a fae at all. 

If only he were right. 

Eilidh felt no weakness. While she had enjoyed a dream, it was only in reality that she felt invigorated. Her head dived back into the water. She was followed by sharp pings on the surface, mirrored by sharp stings on her back. Turned the area around her into streams of bubbles, as if air could bite. But it was the bullets that were really hungry. Iron ones, she assumed. No. She knew. They were hardly remarkable on her skin; brought the same warm kiss as any other. When she leapt out of the water (by the banks, by him) she was covered in those kisses. Leaking holes of darkness. She hardly noticed. Her only thought was of returning the favor. Lips peeled back to expose her teeth, but only for a moment, for they were quickly lost again to skin. His skin. And soon, his blood.

By the time the man realized his victory was premature, he knew her bite well. The two matched in dripping blood — made twins in their shared gore. The difference its coloring and reaction. His own blood lose made him wobble, but instincts got him believing he still had a chance. Bind faith had him firing in the air, but in that sightlessness only a few met their mark. 

Eilidh’s new wounds only served to make her hungrier. Greedier. She wrapped herself around him until his legs couldn’t hold them both. They splashed into the water, and it was there she made her final strike. On his neck.

As life left his body, she did as she came there to do. To cleanse. And his soul was very rotten. She left nothing behind. Except for the blood, which made the lake run red. 

[idreamofplaid]

Rebirth

Square Filled: Anonymous Sex

Characters: Dean x Reader; Cara (OFC); Chase and Jake (OMCs) mentioned

Rating: Explicit

Summary: After a nasty divorce and some soul searching, the reader knows just how to get her life back with a little help from a young handsome stranger.

Word Count: 3576

Tags: language; oral (female receiving); unprotected sex; age difference

A/N: This is for @idabbleincrazy ‘s 1k Follower Celebration. Congrats on your 1st thousand followers! I chose the song “1985″ by Bowling for Soup for inspiration and the prompt “Oh, fuck off.”

Created for @spnkinkbingo

Fuck him and his new girlfriend. He could have at least waited until the ink dried on your divorce papers before he decided to parade his “new” woman in front of the entire town. New. Right. He’d been fucking her while he was still married to you.

You needed to get the hell out of this place. Start over somewhere, somewhere that no one knew of your humiliation or how you’d thrown your life away. Only, you couldn’t because you had two children in high school that loved their lives here. At least they were happy; that’s what mattered, right?

The so-called “friends” you had in the subdivision couldn’t wait to tell you about your barely ex-husband and how he’d been seen out with her at the fanciest, most expensive restaurant in town. It was the same place he’d taken you for your last anniversary. 

By the time your SUV pulled up in front of the bridal boutique, you were still seething. You slammed the door when you got out, not giving a damn who saw you. Let them go back and tell the entire fucking book club about your lack of decorum if that’s how they got their thrills.

When you walked into the store, a sea of white flooded your vision. Well, here was exactly what you wanted to see. Wedding dresses. Beyond them, further in the back, were the prom dresses. It was like the highlight reel of your life in dress form. 

You’d gone to your senior prom with the cheating son of a bitch that was now providing juicy material for all the town gossips, and just like the biggest cliche ever; you’d given him your virginity that night. If only you could take that back, but you’d been young, wide eyed, and in love. Four years later, right after college graduation, you married him. As a result, Chase was the only man you’d ever had sex with. Right now, you were really kicking yourself for that one.

In fact, you couldn’t be more pissed at yourself for the decisions you’d made. If there was a way you could erase it all and somehow keep your two kids, you’d do it. You loved them, and it was that love that brought you here to this hell of taffeta, sequins, and silk. The alterations were finished on your daughter’s prom dress, and it was ready for pick up.

You tried to settle the storm of anger and frustration that was raging inside you before you walked up to the counter. It wasn’t the sales associate’s fault your life had turned out the way it had. You blamed yourself for that, and blaming yourself just made you madder.

Somehow, you managed to plaster on a smile while you gave your name and got the dress. Once it was in your hands, you stood frozen staring at it. It was a sapphire blue, body hugging, silk and Cara would be beautiful in it. It made your mind wander back to another blue prom dress, the dress you had worn thirty years ago. “I was the goddamned prom queen,” you muttered under your breath.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Joachin, the sales associate was staring at you with a confused expression on his face. 

“Nothing,” you replied a little too sharply, abandoning all your earlier good intentions toward the innocent Joachin. You turned and swept out of the store in a huff of tarnished memories and present day frustration.

As you walked out into the sunshine of the early afternoon, you draped the dress over your arm. With your other hand, you started to dig around in your purse for your keys. Where the hell were they?

By the time only a few steps remained between you and your car, a feeling of furious panic started to bubble up inside you. You couldn’t have.  When you reached the car and looked through the window, you saw that indeed you absolutely had. There were the keys, hanging in the ignition. 

You placed your forehead against the cool glass of the window and closed your eyes. Of course this had happened. You would be stuck here dealing with this fuck up for hours. The auto club was never quick to respond to any call for help. At least you didn’t have to worry about the kids getting home from school. Cara had her own car, and Jake had an away baseball game this afternoon. You wouldn’t need to pick him up until later tonight.

A deep voice broke through your mental attempt to organize this mess. “It looks like you could use some help.”

You opened your eyes to see those bloody keys still hanging there, mocking you. Without nearly as much fire as you’d been feeling earlier, but still enough to get your sentiment across, you responded, “Oh, fuck off.”

“Well, I could. Or, I could help you break into your car.” Break in? Who the hell was this, and how dare he have so much cockiness in his voice?

You turned to confront the unknown son of a bitch who was so clearly finding your situation amusing. Upon seeing him, your attitude instantly changed. This man was gorgeous. He had full lips, a chiseled jawline, and eyes the green of an Irish meadow.

His face was so pretty it could easily grace a movie screen, and his body was equally heart stopping. He had the broadest shoulders you’d ever seen on a man, and you could see enough through the open front of the leather jacket he was wearing to know his chest and stomach were firm. He looked like walking sex, and it had been way too long since you’d had any.

The spark of inspiration struck, but in this case it was more like a lightning bolt. It was time to reclaim your own life. “Forget the keys. Where’s your car?”

Young and handsome smiled and gave a nod in the direction of the other side of the street. “It’s over there.”

Your eyes followed the direction of the tilt of his head. “That’s your car?” It figured. The car was a classic muscle car, strong and beautiful. It was just as much of a standout as the man it belonged to. 

You dug back in your memory, seeking your long dormant flirting skills. They were rusty for sure, but still there. You smiled at this breathtaking man, just the right combination of coy and suggestive. “Could I trouble you to give me a ride home?”

He smiled back, and those green eyes got a certain gleam in them. God. He was clearly much better and more practiced at this flirting thing than you were. “Sure, sweetheart. It won’t be a problem at all.”

You followed him across the street, enjoying the view of his ass as you went. When you reached the car, he opened your door for you. THAT was something you hadn’t experienced in awhile. A welcome feeling began to flow through your veins, replacing the anger, frustration, humiliation, and regret you’d been feeling all day. This was a ripple of excitement and anticipation of entering unknown territory.

Handsome started the car, and the purr of the engine revved up that ripple of excitement inside you, turning it into a wave that washed over you and secured the idea that had been dancing through your mind. You silently committed yourself to it, and that decision filled you with something that felt remotely the way you remembered joy feeling.

He reached over and turned the knob to start the radio, then pushed a tape into the tape deck. Good lord. A cassette tape. It had been forever since you’d seen one of those. This guy had barely been born the last time they had been popular. 

The songs that poured through the speakers were from your youth, before that even. They were the songs you’d heard when you were a kid. Songs from the time of your life when you didn’t think anything about mistakes, or getting things wrong. You were just filled with hope, possibility, and excitement for the future. That was the feeling you needed to recapture.

This was a good start. Many would say it was a reckless start, but this wasn’t their life. It was yours, and it was time you took it back. In some ways, you would be claiming it for the first time, and this incredibly handsome, exciting, and just a bit dangerous man beside you could help you do that. 

He noticed the smile that had appeared on your face. “You like the music?” he asked. 

“I do. I appreciate a man with a taste for the classics.” Those intoxicating green eyes were focused on you before he turned them back to the road and smiled. 

Then a little bubble of excitement rose up in your chest, and you bit your lip. An idea had struck you. It was possible to redo your life; you were young enough. You weren’t just going to spend the rest of your days on the sidelines watching your kids live. On impulse, you turned and asked him, “Do you have anything from the eighties?” It was possible. This was a man with a collection of cassette tapes.

He didn’t take his eyes from the road, but his grin got bigger. “There’s a box under the seat. You might find some Bon Jovi in there, but I’m not making any promises.”

You reached under the seat, found the box, and started to shuffle through the bunch of tapes you found there. After sorting through the Zeppelin and the AC/DC, your eyes fell upon exacting what you’d been looking for. It was Bon Jovi’s greatest album in your opinion, Slippery When Wet, circa 1987. 

You opened the plastic cassette cover and took the tape in your hands. It sent a rush through you, unlike anything you’d felt in years. This was the album you played in your own cassette deck every afternoon after school, all that time ago, with your best friend in the passenger seat beside you. Everything lay ahead of you, all the bad decisions still lay ahead. It was all nothing but good. 

It felt like a magical talisman you held in your hands. You looked at your new companion hopefully. “Can I?”

“Sure,” he answered as he popped the current tape out of the deck and tossed it on the seat between you.

You put your find in the tape deck, and immediately the sounds of “Livin’ on a Prayer” filled your ears. Your eyes closed, and you allowed yourself to indulge in the fantasy of turning back the clock and living a different life. It was a life with a different boyfriend and a different outcome, the one where you weren’t a washed up stay at home mom who had put so many of her dreams on hold to support her husband and his.

Dreams of travel filled your mind, dreams of travel and starting your own business. Once you had imagined being a fashion designer, a glamorous fashion designer, before you started wearing conservative suburban wife clothes and stopped dreaming. The rekindling of that spark of who you might have been brought a smile to your lips.

“What are you thinking?” Handsome with the green eyes and the incredible voice asked you. He reached across the seat and took your hand in his. Your smile got even bigger. It was time to push the reset button on your life.

You gave the gorgeous stranger directions to your house. Okay, that was a little risky, but of all the things that had gone off the rails in your life; your intuition wasn’t one of them. You had the very distinct feeling you could trust him. 

Your garage door opener was trapped back in your SUV along with your keys. He’d just have to park his car in the driveway. Let the nosy neighbors wonder about that.

Fortunately, you had a spare key to the house hidden nearby. It took a minute to find the correct rock, but when you did; there was the key where you’d hidden it underneath. You returned to the front door triumphant, key in your hand. Once inside, you put your purse on the table in the foyer while mystery man turned in a slow circle, taking in the place.

He turned back to you. “Nice house.”

You took off your jacket and hung it on the coat rack in the corner. “Thanks. There’s a nice liquor cabinet too. How about a drink? A small thank you for rescuing me from the side of the road.”

He rubbed his thumb along the corner of his mouth. “It wasn’t exactly the side of the road, but I will take that drink.”

You walked on into the house, making your way to the living room; he followed. The bar was located near the massive floor to ceiling fireplace, and the ceilings were high. Chase had insisted on it. It always struck you as a little much, but he was ever aware of appearances. Until now, it would seem. Apparently, abandoning your wife and children for a gold digging bimbo was a good look.

The crystal decanters on the bar certainly had the right look. They also had the right aged whiskey inside them. You flipped over two tumblers and poured some in each. 

He took the glass you offered him and raised it to those luscious lips. After a long sip, he asked you “What’s it like living in a place like this?”

You whirled the whiskey in your glass for a moment, starting at it, then glanced up at him. “Not as wonderful as you might imagine. What about you? Where do you live?”

It was his turn to find his glass fascinating for a few seconds. “Nowhere really. I travel around a lot.” You couldn’t quite pin down the tone of his voice. Did he like that fact about his life or not? Either way, it added to the air of mystery around him.

You took a swallow from your own glass. The little boost of alcohol induced bravery certainly wouldn’t hurt with what you had in mind. “Are you in town for long?”

He licked his lips before answering. “That depends. I’m here for a job. Not sure how long it’s going to take yet.” Enough with the small talk.

You took the glass from his hand and put it down on the bar. “What about this afternoon? Do you have a little time off?”

He settled his hand at your waist. “I could take a couple of hours for some relaxation.”

You downed the remaining contents of your glass and placed it on the bar next to his. “I have a couple of hours too.” You put your arm around him and let your palm rest over the center of his back.

That sinful mouth was on top of yours in an instant, and he absolutely knew what to do with it. His kiss was gentle but firm, tongue dragging along the seam of your lips until you opened them for him. The taste of the bourbon on his tongue as his tongue moved around yours was practically weaving a spell around you.

The kiss became deeper and more insistent. Your tongue swirled and tangled around his, and your breathing hitched in your chest. He started to bend you back over the bar, and, from deep inside your pocket, your phone started to ring. “Ignore it,” he said against your lips.

“I can’t.” That’s what it meant to be a mother. You fished the phone out of your pocket and checked the screen to see who was calling. Maybe it wasn’t one of the kids. Cara.

You touched the screen to answer and put the phone next to your ear. “Hello.”

Without any preamble, your daughter launched right into the purpose of her call. “Mom, is okay if I…. Why are you breathing so hard? Are you doing one of those old aerobics routines again? Mom, that is so lame.”

He was kissing down your neck, his mouth open just enough to require you to struggle to concentrate. “No, that’s not what I’m doing.”

You heard the sigh and could picture her rolling her eyes. “Whatever, Mom. Can I go over to Tabitha’s for dinner?”

He was sucking on your pulse point, and it was getting harder to keep your mind on the conversation. “Yes. That’s fine. Be careful driving home.” You ended the call, aware the kissing that had felt so incredibly good had stopped.

He’d taken a step back from you, and those captivating green eyes held a big question. “Look, this can’t happen if you’re….”

You quickly replayed your side of the conversation in your head. “Married? No. I am very much not married. That was my daughter, and she won’t be home for several hours.”

His smile was back, and his arm went back around your waist. “Well, in that case, where were we?”

You all but tore the leather jacket from his shoulders and let it fall in a heap on your expensive rug along with your phone. The rest of his clothes and yours disappeared on the trip down the hall to your bedroom where you’d been sleeping alone for so many months. 

Surprisingly, you didn’t feel at all self conscious as you walked into your bedroom naked with this man you’d just met. He was a sight to behold. You wanted to taste and touch every tempting inch of him, and you started with his chest. 

You ran your hand over the firm muscles in his pecs and let your fingers trace over the fascinating tattoo there. It was as much a mystery as the rest of him, and you didn’t ask him any questions about it. This wasn’t a “bare your heart and share your past” kind of afternoon. 

He watched your hands on him, and when he raised his eyes to meet yours; they were dark, filled with lust. His hand closed over yours, large and strong, and he led you to the four poster bed. God, he was gorgeous. 

Solid thighs, toned stomach, and thick cock that made your mouth water just looking at it. He lay back on the bed, his golden freckle dusted skin a beautiful contrast to the white of the comforter, and pulled you down with him. You could feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh. 

It made you wet for him, and for a brief second you wondered exactly what it was you were doing. That stray thought didn’t last long. It was replaced by a voice inside you that had been silenced by responsibilities and expectations of who you should be. He’s hot, and you’re single. Enjoy him.

He pulled you down into another kiss that made your head go dizzy with the sheer goodness of it. It felt wonderful, blissful, and consuming. Most of all, it made you feel sexy again. You started to move your hips, undulating them on the warmth of his firm body beneath you, losing yourself to the moment. 

There were so many sensations competing for your attention. He was igniting the desire inside you that you had all but forgotten was there. His muscled arms circled around you, and he rolled you under him, caging you between his arms on either side of your head. 

“Sure you want to do this?” he asked you huskily. His voice was as sexy as the rest of him.

“Absolutely. Don’t you dare stop now.” His lips crashed down on yours, and you returned every bit of the passion he put into that kiss. Then he moved his mouth down your body. The heat of his mouth closed over one of your nipples, and he began to suck on it, pulling the softest, neediest moans from you you’d ever heard escape your mouth. 

This man shattered every inhibition you ever had with his talented tongue. The sounds you made when he closed his lips around your clit were absolutely wanton. He licked at you and ate you out like he enjoyed it. If his mouth was talented; his cock was even better. 

It stretched you with a sweet burn that satisfied the ache and filled you. You dragged your nails down his back, wanting to leave your mark on him. He was certainly going to leave his with you. The memory of this day would be seared in your mind always. 

He knew ways to make you feel good you had never even known about yourself. After your third orgasm of the afternoon, he finally came. You felt the pulsing of his cock inside you, and there was a certain satisfaction in that. You were smiling when he pulled out, rolled over, and lay down next to you.

His chest was rising and falling, his arm slung over his head. He was the picture of debauchery, and you loved how it felt to be debauched. You would need to take the comforter to the cleaners after this, because you weren’t done yet. Let those busybodies at the dry cleaners just try and figure out what happened to your bedding.

That wicked thought made you smile broadly. Oh, yes. The comforter would be ruined by the time you were done. This guy was for sure good for another round. Or two.

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @tumbler-tidbits @fandom-princess-forevermore @emoryhemsworth @emilyshurley @shaniquacynthia @crashdevlin @terrarium-jpeg @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @asthesunwentdown @vulgar-library @thinkinghardhardlythinking @petitgateau911

Dean/Jensen: @deansyahtzee @flamencodiva @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @focusonspn @akshi8278 @ladywinchester1967 @sgarrett49 @wingedcatninja @coffee-obsessed-writer @adoptdontshoppets @ellewritesfix05​ @weepingwillowphoenix​

[effinsusie]

Day 7: Purple

CLASS ACT ch 2 on A03

Summary: School’s finally out.  Rated T+

Their tangled bodies fell together in a heap of sweaty exhaustion, clinging on as the world around them slowly fell back into place. Kagome's head finally stopped swimming, but she was still catching her breath, and the heavy rise and fall of his scalding chest beneath her cheek told her he was as well.

When the last stars sparkled from her vision; the fingers buried in thick, wild strands gave a gentle tug that forced her to look up.

"Look at you," she croaked, nuzzling deeper in his embrace, "So smug. It just slipped."

"So much for your restraint."

Those long, talented fingers lazily worked through the knots he'd put there. His own hair was no better, and she braved the arrogance she spent the last two hours feeding just to take another glimpse of the rare, disorderly sight.

Too rare, she sighed. At least lately.

She rolled on top of him to put her face in his own; the challenge in her eyes caused his eyebrow to lift.

Soft lips drifted to his ear. "Bet you can't make me say it again," she whispered before heatedly kissing the abused flesh, sucking on his lobe.

Warm hands smoothed over her backside, squeezing roughly when she rotated her hips. He rocked into the friction that stirred his arousal once again, releasing a guttural groan when skillful lips moved down his neck.

"Hn, I have worked too long around children to not identify such a childish ploy, Miss Higurashi."

Lean legs parted, pinning him between her knees and she rested her forehead heavily atop his own. Blue eyes looked innocently into his, batting dark lashes against his heavy lids.

"Does that mean you are going to discipline me, Principal Taisho?" she taunted, squirming into him again.

She let out a delightful shriek when he made firm contact with her ass, which became a pleasured gasp as he soothed the erotic sting with the offending palm. She threw her head back, encouraging the attention as he feasted on her throat to a chorus of breathy moans and sighs.

When she tried to rise up on her knees, a swift maneuver toppled her, so she was trapped half-way beneath him.

"You are in for a long night," he promised lowly. "I will ensure you are hydrated."

As he tried to pry himself off, she clung to him in protest. He returned for a kiss.

"I will not have you passing out from exhaustion before I am through with you."

Another slap reddened her other cheek, and she finally let him rise, rolling onto her back with a satiated smile.

Scooting to sit against her headboard, Kagome watched on fondly as he took a couple of tall glasses into the bathroom and busied himself at the sink. His chiseled body was covered with bitemarks and bruises, and she admired her handiwork in the various shades of purple littering his long, pale form.

"I meant it, you know."

He looked up from the glass he was filling, lips quirked. "I know."

The smile they shared relayed much more than the lust they'd spent the better part of the evening celebrating. But the circumstances of their relationship forced too much to go unsaid as it was.

"I've really missed you this week."

The hint of sadness in her voice reflected in his gaze, making her feel guilty.

"I will endeavor to make the next more accommodating, lest we find ourselves both seeking employment."

He was only half-joking, but it was clear that ignoring their desires at work was impossible if they couldn't find at least some time together during the week.

She hated those rules, but she loved this job. And she had only just started there. She didn't know if his tenor made the situation better for him, or worse.

"Maybe me, but they won't fire you."

"I am your superior," he said, and shut off the sink. "I am held to a higher standard."

"Don't think that's not how I'll plead my case if we get caught, either." She grinned cheekily as he walked back in the room, a full glass of water in each hand.

"Don't think I will not support those claims."

She was only kidding, but Kagome truly believed she was the only one in danger of getting put up on the chopping block if their colleagues found out about them. At the very least, his job would be spared.

His reputation, on the other hand...

Not that hers would be any better, but that was the more likely consequence of their torrid little affair.

At least, she had to believe it was. She didn't know if she could carry on like this if she thought their actions might ruin him. Speaking of which...

"I meant to ask; did you get ahold of Kagura?"

He rounded the bed carefully with his cargo, looking too stoic not to be uncomfortable with the topic.

He'd pointedly avoided discussing her, though she suspected it was for as his benefit just as much as hers. But enough time had passed, and she didn't want to avoid anything when it came to him.

She'd proven that just thirty minutes ago.

"Unfortunately, I missed her at pick up this afternoon- despite the messages I left."

He handed her a glass and took a seat on the edge of the bed while she greedily gulped it down.

"I called three times, and she has yet to respond," he said, and paused halfway to bringing the water to his lips. "Though considering how we left things, it is not entirely unexpected."

Seeing how much this daunted him, she felt guilty for troubling him with it. But she knew he would have wanted her to.

She began rubbing his back supportively.

"I hope she does, for Rin's sake. You're her daughter's principal; she can't avoid you forever."

He sighed, placing his empty glass next to hers. "You are right, of course, but the wounds are still fresh." At her insistence, he stretched out beside her on the bed, pulling her close as she happily nuzzled into the embrace.

"Regardless, if need be, I shall pay her a visit. Though I hope it does not come to that."

"Me too." She smiled deviously, sliding her body over his. "But I have to say; it's really sexy how you go above and beyond for your students."

Mischief returned to his eyes, staring back at her through sodden, silver bangs. She gyrated, hands smoothing over the planes of his broad chest as he arrested her arms in his grip.

"Let us not forget all I do for the teachers," he rumbled, craning forward.

Before their lips met, she pushed him back.

"I hope I'm the only one getting such special attention."

"Of course," he said, and leaned towards her again. This time, he landed a kiss.

When she pulled away after only a quick moment, he was not discouraged, affirming his hold and busying himself at the hollow of her throat.

"Hm, I don't know," she grinned. "I see you talking to Kaede an awful lot in the lounge..."

A muffled noise vibrated against her, making the hands at his shoulders clutch tightly.

"Merely a decoy," he removed his lips long enough to say, "to divert from the tawdry affair I am having with the pretty, young new hire."

She giggled as he returned to kissing her neck, but they became breathier as he grew more assertive.

"So scandalous," she gasped. "I'm starting to think you didn't hire me on account of my exemplary credentials."

"Of course, I did," he said, dragging his mouth over salty, heated skin. "Though I must admit, that was not the reason I insisted on taking you to lunch on your first day."

She feigned incredulity, forcing him onto his back.

"You mean, you don't take all the new teachers to the nicest restaurant in town to welcome them aboard?"

"No." He kissed her again. "Nor do I invite them to my personal residence for celebratory drinks, offer to help them move into their new apartment or... any of the numerous events that took place afterward."

She rested her full weight atop him, batting innocent blue eyes in his face once again.

"Except Kaede," she asserted.

She shrieked when he flipped them effortlessly, a mixture of giggles and screams as he pinned her beneath his body and let her punishment finally commence.

They continued long into the night, along with a myriad of other noises that made him glad he got her hydrated.

TBC

***

A/N: That's SessKag Week! I wish I could have given you guys (and myself) closure on all these stories, but I'm actually pretty syked I managed to post everyday. I couldn't quite make it last year, and I did not think I'd have more than 3 days to contribute when the week began. I was literally writing until the moment I posted on these, so it was pretty exciting! I learned a lot about what I can get done if I really push, and don't worry about perfection (or whatever my version of that is lol) So, I have this story and Greener Pastures to finish, along with another installment to Transparent (Opaque). Which would you like to see first? I'll see what i can do.

And for those of you screaming WTF? FINISH RENDEZVOUS ALREADY! or UPDATE VICE; don't worry! I did not abandon them. I was just trying to get through this week, and then I swear I will get back to those. Sometimes space from a story makes it better, and i think you're gonna be glad i let it settle.

Thanks for reading!  I have a ton to catch up on.

Oh yeah, and Feudal Connection is having their Inuyasha awards rn on Tumblr. So you can go vote for the fics and art you like for a bit longer.

[bruhstories]

Good Night’s Sleep

Summary: Bucky joined the Avengers and Y/N gives him a warm welcome. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Avenger!Bucky AU) Warnings: (oh boy, this is gonna be a lot of warnings) language, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex, slight masochist!Reader - you know what, it’s a filthy, shameless smut, you get the idea Word Count: 2287

A/N: just fuck me up man, just give me my own personal Bucky

Bucky had gladly been accepted into the Avengers initiative after the effects of his brainwashing have been reversed. Tony's been keeping an eye on him, not trusting the assassin yet. Nat, Clint and Sam were more than happy to have a new teammate and, in the case of Steve, an old friend back, while Bruce and Thor were seemingly indifferent to him. And then there was Y/N, the woman who got under his skin, the woman who got his attention the moment he stepped in the Avengers Tower. She captivated him in every aspect, with her radiant smile and her positive attitude. She was so pure and outgoing, with a laughter that was so sweet it made him forget his crimes. Bucky was lovestruck by her, but his feelings didn't seem to be reciprocated. Sam picked up on Bucky's little crush and made it his goal to annoy him, while Nat told him to lower his standards because she was way out his league. Y/N was a new member as well, she joined the Avengers a bit sooner than Barnes, when S.H.I.E.L.D. was called in for several bank robberies. At first, Fury didn't want to bother with meaningless robberies, until he found out that the criminal was never detected by the cameras or the security guards. She was like a ghost and they found out why when they caught her - Y/N could turn invisible and pass through almost any kind of material. They set up a trap, caught her and invited her to join S.H.I.E.L.D. and ultimately, the Avengers. She accepted gladly, her optimistic and good nature conflicting with a life of stealing and robberies. But she had to do what she could to survive.

And Bucky was smitten.

Unlike Steve, who'd found love in Peggy, Bucky never experienced falling in love. Sure, he slept around, girls threw themselves at his feet back in the day, even now, but he didn't want any other girl, he wanted her, and she wasn't an easy prey. Some nights he couldn't sleep because of her. He dreamt of her, in positions she'd probably never experienced, he wondered if she was a virgin. She seemed like a virgin. That very thought would keep him up until the morning. He wanted to take that away from her, he wanted to break her. But then, he'd feel guilty. Still, he imagined her, sprawled on his bed, moaning and begging for more. Cock in his hand, he wondered what were her kinks, wondered how she'd look with his hand around her throat - she would call him all kinds of things: daddy, sir, master. That was his breaking point, that was what made him climax. Bucky groaned, desperate to feel her under his touch but knowing he could never have her. The assassin washed his hands and left his bedroom. He needed a drink and Stark had plenty of those.

Inside the lounge room, Y/N watched a movie. It was very late, but she couldn't sleep. Startled by the door swung open, she peeked over the blanket and saw a very tense Bucky. Unbothered by the TV, he made his way straight to the bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He downed it, shrugged and took the bottle with him. "You okay?" A sickly sweet voice asked before he could leave. The man felt a shiver run down his spine and his blood cold. "Bucky? It's 3 in the morning. Are you alright?" Y/N asked again. "I'm fine." He finally said. He wanted to leave, really, but his body couldn't move anymore. "Are you troubled by nightmares?" "Sort of." He wasn't lying, technically, he was awake because of his dreams. They just weren't nightmares, even though he wished they were. "You can sit with me if you want. I can't sleep because of nightmares either..." She confessed.

Fuck fuck fuck.

As if on autopilot, his body moved towards the couch and sat down after Y/N moved over. She handed him a part of her blanket and they both sat in silence. He was afraid to even accidentally touch her, let alone do it intentionally. "Drink?" Bucky offered her the bottle. "Sure, why not." The woman shrugged. Their fingers touched when she took the bottle and Bucky shivered once more. She noticed and clicked her tongue. "Do you have a problem with me?" Y/N abruptly asked him. "What? No!" The man cluelessly tried to assure her. "Then why do you act so cold around me? I thought it's because I'm a girl but you don't have this problem with Nat. Have I done something?"

Yeah, you exist.

"No, doll, I've met Nat before. I guess I'm not used to being part of a team and meeting new peop-" "Bullshit." Y/N cut him off. "You didn't know the others either yet when you're around me you always seem so tense." "Alright, you caught me. I've never been around such a beautiful woman." Bucky half-confessed. That seemed to shut her up. "Oh." She replied, blood rushing in her cheeks. "I didn't think you'd consider me pretty." "Beautiful." He whispered. "What?" "Nothing." "See? You're doing it again!" Y/N pouted and folded her arms across her chest, visibly upset by his attitude. Bucky shook his head and took the bottle from her. "Just because you think I'm pretty doesn't mean you can't talk to me!" "I didn't say pretty, I said beautiful." The man rolled his icy blue eyes and took some sips of whiskey. "Pretty, beautiful, whatever. It's not an excuse!" "It is when it's driving me insane! You probably have no idea how tormented I am by you, by your Y/E/C eyes, your smile, your voice! That's what's keeping me up at night, Y/N, that's why I haven't had a single good night's sleep since I came here." Bucky confessed a bit too much. Doe eyes gazed into his. Y/N bit her lower lip. She was a virgin, yes, but she couldn't deny the fact that she wanted to be ravaged by him, because she felt the same way since she met him. "I'm sorry. Shit, I'm so sorry-" Bucky was beginning to apologise. "Do you dream of fucking me?" The woman took him completely by surprise. "Wh- I- what?" The assassin sipped more of the whiskey, avoiding her question. "Do you want to fuck me?" She asked again. "What am I supposed to answer?" "It's a simple yes or no question. For example," Y/N leaned closer to him, "if you were to ask me this question, I'd say yes."

Fuck fuck FUCK.

Bucky felt his heart rate go higher. Not to mention he felt his bulge growing. "Fuck yes." He whispered, his lips almost touching her. "Then fuck me." She crushed his lips in a sloppy kiss. Bucky kissed back, he kissed her back with so much hunger for her touch that he bit her lip, small droplets of blood running down her skin. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you." The man pulled back. "I do." Y/N licked the blood. "I want you to hurt me. I don't want you holding back." "Aren't you... a virgin?" Bucky sighed. "I am. But I don't want to be one anymore. And I want you." She removed the blanket, her nipples protruding through her white tank top. "Please... please have me." Y/N begged the man. "Jesus, I won't be able to stop myself if you keep begging like that." He kissed her again, his metallic arm holding her neck. His other hand slid under the tank top, cupping one of her breasts. She moaned under his touch pulling his body closer to her. "I don't want you to stop." Y/N managed between kisses. That was enough to drive Bucky mad with lust. He moved from kissing her lips to kissing her neck and collar. "You know it's gonna hurt, right?" He asked her.

She nodded and removed her tank top, revealing her perfectly round breasts. Bucky did the same, and Y/N took a moment to admire his chiseled body. Hastily, she removed the rest of her clothing, ready for his cock, but Bucky had other plans. He buried his head between her thighs and ever so slowly licked her clit. She was already so fucking wet, but he wanted to make sure his cock would slip in easily. "Oh my God! This feels so good!" Y/N yelled and Bucky laughed, the vibrations from his laughter sending more small shock waves through her body. "You're gonna gave to be a good girl and keep quiet." Bucky told her before inserting a finger between her folds. The new sensation was shocking at first, but she quickly grew accustomed to it, only moaning in pleasure. Another finger entered her and Y/N threw her head back, but still wanting more. "Bucky, please... I need- ah!" "What do you need, doll?" He sneered, lazily licking her clit. "I need you!!" She breathed. "Y'already have me. Be more specific." Bucky corrected her, painstakingly slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of her wet pussy. "Oh, please, don't make me say it..." The woman innocently whimpered. "You have to earn it. If not, I can stop-" "N-no, don't stop! Please, Bucky, I want your cock!" Y/N shut her eyes and bit her lip in embarrassment. He stopped, removed his shorts and hovered over her. "Open your eyes, Y/N. There's nothing to be ashamed of." The man assured her before rubbing her clit with the tip of his hard member, droplets of precum leaking from it. "Are you sure you want this?" "Yes, yes! Please fuck me, make me yours!"

With her pleas echoing inside his head, Bucky slowly slid half of his cock inside of her, the stretching sensation making Y/N writhing in pain. He stopped, but she dug her nails into his skin. "Don't you dare stop, Bucky! I told you not to hold back!" She slowly moved her hips closer to his. The man obeyed, and with one swift thrust, he was in her. Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist, not allowing him to pull back, and tightly gripped his shoulders with her thin fingers. Bucky started moving. The moans that escaped from her lips turned into sobs, but for some sick, dark reason Bucky liked it. The problem was that she liked it, too. She liked the pain. "Harder!" Y/N almost ordered him, surprising the assassin again, but he gladly thrusted harder. In a very short time, the woman got used to the feeling of his cock inside of her and they found a good pace. "Fuck, you're so tight... You like it, doll?" Bucky whispered in her ear before nibbling at her earlobe. "I fucking love it!" She moaned, her Y/E/C eyes rolling with lust. The pain slowly dissipated, replaced only by pleasure. The assassin's metallic arm covered her mouth, not wanting her screams to wake the other Avengers up, and the gesture only turned her on more. In their frenzy, Bucky realised he was close to his orgasm. He didn't want to cum in her, so he quickly pulled out, earning only protests out of Y/N. "Shit, Y/N, I'm gonna cum." As if he just said a magic word, the woman got up from the couch and kneeled in between his legs. "Wait, what are you doing?" "I wanna suck your dick..." She whispered seductively, her innocent eyes gazing into his. Bucky nodded, bracing himself for the feeling of her hot mouth around his cock. The woman licked her lips and sucked the tip of his member, slowly moving down his shaft. He couldn't stop the moan that escaped him and Y/N grinned as she picked up the pace. "Faster, fuck, suck it faster!" Bucky ordered her, feeling his climax closer. She bobbed her head up and down when suddenly he grabbed her head and held it in place. Hot liquid shot from his cock and Y/N swallowed it eagerly before he removed the softening member out of her wet mouth. "Your turn." The assassin sneered and swiftly picked her up, placing her on the coffee table in fron of the couch. He spread her legs and ate her out, intoxicated by the sweet smell of her. It didn't take him long to finish her off, her legs shaking from her orgasm, juices dripping down her ass. Bucky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rested his back on the couch. Y/N, still on the table, whimpered and moan, still amazed by how good that was. "W-was that just like in your dreams?" The woman mewled trying to get up. "So much better. I just didn't expect you to be..." "Be what?" She asked with a smile, flipping her Y/H/C hair back. "A dirty slut." Bucky chuckled. She responded by blushing and hiding her face behind her palms. "Really? You're still embarrassed after this?" "I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd say that." The man gently grabbed her hands and looked her in the eye. "You better get used to it, doll, 'cause I'm never letting you go." He kissed her on the forehead.

They walked to the dormitories, with Y/N holding onto him, her legs wobbling from the effort. "Hey, um, do you wanna sleep with me? Just sleeping, no sex." She asked. Bucky nodded and entered her room. It was the first time he ever went inside her room and he got a feeling of comfort from it, despite being almost identical to his. Y/N dragged herself to bed, followed by him. She rested her head on his chest and immediately fell asleep. Bucky lazily brushed her hair with his fingers before dozing off. Finally, he'd have a good sleep.

[jooniyah]

Silver Blades

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Fem Reader ; Yandere Royalty!au 

Genre: Angst, Mature

Warnings: Hard Yandere behavior, emotional abuse, dubcon bordering on non-con, violence, degradation and physical abuse, manipulation, profanity, smattering of smut, blood, swords and murder.

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction and I do not condone any of the actions of the characters in this fiction. This is to be treated as pure fantasy, and should not be misconstrued to be demeaning the idols in any way. If any of the above warnings cause you discomfort, kindly refrain from reading.

This is an incredibly mean yandere, please proceed only if you are not triggered by the warnings. I repeat, please be sure to read all the warnings carefully. Author’s note:  I have coined a couple of words to better suit my fiction, please be assured that they are not typographical errors. I am sorry in advance for the ending, and for breaking your heart! Okay, read and get your hearts broken! 

Picture credit: YimeiZhu

“Don’t you dare sulk,” your aunt grumbled, adjusting your corset. 

“It is the King’s orders and the law of the land. Keep your face pleasant.”

You couldn’t see properly, all those tears blurring your vision. You searched your aunt’s face for any trace of compassion, but there was nothing kind in the eyes that stared back at you. 

“You know I have my own children to take care of,” she continued, pulling at the lace, crushing your chest tighter. 

You squeezed your eyes shut in pain as the laces bit into your skin. Why were you the Cimarin when there were plenty of other girls in the kingdom? How was it that life always seemed to hand you the worst of luck? 

“Wipe that look from your face,” your aunt chided, bustling around to fetch your Tochir, or gifts, meant to be taken with you to the Prince.

 The ladies from the village had all gathered in your aunt’s house, bringing sprigs of honeysuckle, carnation, and heather as part of your Tochir. As was customary, they draped your corseted body in yards and yards of silk, sprinkling each layer with a perfume that was made of distilled azaleas. 

The smell overpowered you, making you feel giddy and suffocated. Your hair was elaborately braided, complete with tiny flowers set in the twists of your braids.  

  You looked at yourself in the rusted mirror. You were the prettiest you had ever been. Why then was your heart threatening to burst anytime out of your corseted chest? How convenient for your aunt that the King had chosen you. An orphan. Raised unwillingly under the roof of your mother’s sister. 

Your aunt had a way of reminding you often that you were nothing more than a burden to her. How relieved she’d be right now, that her daughters had been spared. It was you that the King had asked for. You, the Cimarin of the Prince. You laughed bitterly at your reflection. 

“Born under the unluckiest of stars,” you spat at yourself miserably.   

The ladies had fashioned the flower sprigs into a small bouquet for you to carry. It was time to leave. Your aunt was telling you how to behave with the Prince, but your numb mind couldn’t process a word. She pressed a jade medallion, also a part of your Tochir, into your palm, the stone feeling as cold as your frightened heart. 

“…. fortunate that I wasn’t asked to provide any dowry,” your aunt was rambling on, her face lighting up, not believing her luck at getting rid of an unwanted encumbrance that had threatened to encroach her daughters’ dowry money. 

Your parents hadn’t foreseen dying at thirty-odd years of their lives and had left you penniless when you became an orphan at the tender age of seven. The Royal carriage arrived, drawn by two luxuriously black steeds. 

The footman opened the dainty doors, waiting for you to board. Clutching your Tochir, you looked back one last time, heart sinking when you realized that every other woman apart from your aunt had a sympathetic look on her face. With a strangled sob, you turned and climbed into the carriage.   

*****

The long ride to the Palace allowed you to bemoan your destiny, tears flowing ceaselessly with each sob that raked your body. The sweat in your palms seeped through your gloves and dampened the stems in the bouquet you held onto for dear life. The smell of heather and azaleas adulterated by the odor of sweat emanating from your gloves seemed to curl around you like wisps of smoke. 

Whatever did you do to deserve this? Would your parents have defied the King’s orders had they been alive? 

“Why didn’t you take me with you, mama?” were the only words echoing desperately in your head. 

You could see the towers of the castle looming in the distance. The Donjon grew bigger in your field of vision as the horses sped with thudding hooves towards the castle. A fresh wave of fear stirred in the pit of your stomach as you sensed the carriage slowing to a halt. 

You were frozen in your seat when the liveried footman opened the door and held an arm out to you. A small group of Royal maids had gathered around the carriage. A matronly woman reached in and pulled your arm harshly, with an air of annoyance, as if she were bored with welcoming distraught Cimarins all her life.

When you alighted awkwardly, with the woman’s hand still gripping you tightly, the rest of the maids sprinkled rose water on you, another rite. But the air, to you, was nothing but a smothering fire, finally consuming your wings, burning them to ashes forever.   

***** The great halls you were led along were adorned with tasteful decorations, every ornate item polished to perfection, every piece of delicate china gleaming vibrantly. There was not a speck of dust on the glass panes, not a spot on the crisp curtains. So different from the grime-covered attic you were used to sleeping in.

The orderliness scared you, the enormity of the fact that you were going to live in the Palace hitting you hard. Your throat went dry when you were finally led to a chamber, furnished minimally with only a cupboard and a divan.

“You won’t be using this room much,” said the maid who had led you to the room. “You will only use this room to retire in case of illness or menstruation.” 

The gravity of her words struck you like cold daggers. Suddenly the room felt like a safe haven you dared not to leave. You hadn’t opened your mouth ever since you arrived, gawking at the intimidating surroundings. The maid looked at you closely, and you thought you sensed a flicker of pity in her eyes. 

“The Prince will be ready for you in an hour.” She stopped and stared at you. “Stop looking so forlorn and wear a smile when you meet the Prince. You are here to be with the Prince, whether you like it or not.” 

And with that, she turned and left.   

***** You had nothing to do except wait to be summoned to the Prince’s chambers. Seated on the divan, you looked down at the silk robes you were wearing. All perfumed up and wrapped elaborately, only to be torn at the hands of the Royal stranger.

 The jade medallion was supposed to be the symbol of good luck you brought to the Prince. Where then was the symbol for the bad luck he brought to you? The cold green stone glinted at you as you kept turning it in your palms.

 Out of nowhere, a maid materialized and said, “The Prince will see you now.” 

You shot up to your feet, blood rushing to your head. Was it time already? Your legs felt like lead as you followed the maid along the long corridors. She stopped before a door and motioned for you to go in. 

“You will wait here.” 

Without any more instructions, she closed the door behind her. This was a large room, furnished with only a magnificent bed, strewn with rose petals. You had been there only a few minutes when a side door opened. 

In walked a young man, dressed in the richest of robes, his eyes never looking once in your direction. He stood and surveyed the bed, his jet-black hair spilling over his eyebrows. His mauve robes contrasted sharply with his fair skin, the light from the windows enhancing the color of his robes and casting a glow on his chiseled face. With a snap of his head, he turned and gazed directly into your eyes. 

You stared back spellbound; how could a mortal man be this handsome?   

He advanced towards you without a word, eyes locked onto yours. His face had a boyish charm that mesmerized you and rendered you speechless. He stopped directly in front of you, one arm catching hold of your robes.

 Losing no time, he pulled the fabric hard, causing you to turn on your heels over and over as he unwound the silk hastily. Irritation clouded his features as the silk kept spilling out without ceasing. 

“How many damned layers are there?” he muttered and dug his fingers into the fabric between your breasts and ripped it. 

He said nothing as he tore at the silk, finally reaching the corset. Like an angry child tearing at the wrappers of a gift, he butchered the lace, reducing it to shreds. Finally, with a dark joy, he yanked off the corset, drinking up the sight of your body, with his arms suspended in the air, holding the mangled corset. 

You instinctively raised your arms to cover your chest, when he gripped you hard.

 “Do not dare do anything you aren’t told to.” 

His coal-black eyes roamed maniacally all over your body, a frightening grin curling up his lips.

“It is my birthday, and you are the Cimarin my father chose to gift me. He did well.” 

His arms curled around your waist as he pulled you snug against his clothed chest. 

“Obey me and you will be rewarded,” he sniffed your hair, sighing at the feeling of having his own Cimarin at last.

He was not a boy anymore, he had turned eighteen, and here was a woman picked exclusively to please him. He closed his eyes as he felt the heat of your body against him. He had grown tired of his own hands, he now had another set of hands to caress him. He had never seen a naked woman so close before, he had grown hard as soon as he had set eyes on your rotund breasts.   

When he opened his eyes, you were still rigid in his arms. He didn’t enjoy the stricken look on your face. 

“Disrobe me,” he ordered, letting go of you.

 With shaking hands, you got to work on removing his clothing. He stood still, looking at you as you peeled the robes off his body, revealing broad shoulders and an incredibly taut chest.

 You had been indoors most of your life, never having seen a topless man. Your virginity had been the first to satisfy the criteria for a Royal Cimarin. Your hands stopped at his underclothes, unsure of what to do next.

 “I don’t recall telling you to stop,” ground out the Prince, impatience contorting his features. 

Closing your eyes, you swiftly undid the buttons and pulled the fabric down, your head remaining bent, not daring to look.

 “Do not keep me waiting,” he thundered, pushing your shoulders down to kneel before him. 

“Please me,” he ordered, closing his eyes, waiting to feel your lips on him. 

A whole minute later, he threw his eyes open, rage evident in his burning orbs, only to see you cowering, with no clue on how you were supposed to please him.    

Thoroughly peeved, he grabbed your head into position, with a curt “Open your mouth.”

 Catching a fistful of your hair, he pushed himself inside your mouth, hissing at the warmth. He threw his head back and groaned, all the while snapping his hips into your face. You tried your best to avoid gagging, holding back the tears threatening to spill out. He became more excited, pinching your nose closed, willing you to take more of him. He forced himself deeper, causing your nose to touch the tufts of hair at his base.

His excitement caused him to climax sooner than he had wished to, and he came in your mouth, causing you to cringe. You hoped he hadn’t noticed, and closed your eyes, waiting for him to remove himself. With a shuddering sigh, he released your mouth and cupped your face tightly, making you wince.

“Never do that again. I’ll let it pass since I’m feeling benevolent today,” he said, eyes boring into you.

 You gulped and nodded. There was something in his eyes that screamed danger and you’d rather not be on the receiving end of it. He was astonishingly strong for an eighteen-year-old. The veins in his arms were prominent, bulging with each movement. He could probably snap your neck in no time if he ever felt like it. 

“What are you looking at?” he asked, and when he received no answer, he clucked his tongue. 

“ Swallow it. Always swallow unless I tell you otherwise.”

 You swallowed immediately, and he smiled his arrogant grin again. God, he was enjoying this so much. He wanted to do everything he had ever imagined, try every possible fancy and have his way with you. This, an obedient woman just to satisfy his whims, felt too good to be true.   

You were naïve enough to think it was over for the day. Just as you thought he would leave you alone to mend your broken dignity, he bent and picked you up in one fluid motion. 

Throwing you on the bed, he leaped over you with the swift agility of a panther stalking its prey. His skin glowed in all its naked glory, muscles flexing as he hovered over you. There was a carnal hunger in his eyes, so palpable that the air felt charged with his want.

Without warning, he sunk his sharp teeth into your breast, making you arch in pain. He didn’t seem to care, as he tried to bite deeper and fit as much of the flesh in his mouth. He closed his eyes, one hand kneading the other breast as he inhaled the soft feminine scent emanating from the swell of your bosom. 

As someone whose calloused hands had held only the hard hilts of bloodied swords for so long, he found it hard to comprehend the pliancy of your supple mounds. Wanting to give the same attention to both breasts, he switched sides, gnawing on the other breast with equal vigor. He was growing hard once more, and when he felt ready again, you had two crescents of bite marks on both sides of your chest.    

Spreading your legs, he inspected your core, snapping his head to look accusingly at you, stating, “You are not wet for me.” 

Though he would never say it out loud, it was a humiliating slap to his ego that his own Cimarin was not wet for him. You didn’t feel privileged that the Prince of the land was providing you his ministrations? Fine. Your arousal didn’t matter to him anyway. You were there for his pleasure, and not the other way around. 

His chest twisted in anger, hating you for being apparently unperturbed by him. With a harsh shove, he entered you, hissing at the warmth of your tight walls. The shocked gasp and look of terror on your face appeased him and spurred him to pound into you harder. 

“I wasn’t … I wasn’t ready…” you whimpered, choking on your sobs.    

Wisps of dark hair fell over his eyes, brushing his eyelashes as he panted out, “Your Highness.” He shrunk his eyes at you, snarling, “You are to address me properly, you ungrateful peasant.” 

The words stung you, bringing tears to your eyes. 

“It hurts, your Highness,” you mumbled slowly.

 “Do I look like I care? You will get used to it,” was his reply. 

Something about your teary eyes aroused him, heightening his pleasure. Serves you right for being thankless, he thought. You lay beneath him, watching him tear into you, his exacting hands gripping your hips agonizingly hard. The lack of lubrication made your insides burn. You could do nothing but grit your teeth and bear it. 

Your fear had tightened your walls and had made you feel even better for him. His sinful groans chilled you to the bones, heating your cheeks and causing your core to throb. He thrust harder and harder, deep growls rumbling in his chest as your core pulsed around him. His forehead and torso glistened with sweat when he finally reached his high, releasing himself inside you with a feral groan. A huge smirk broke out on his face, and he pulled out of you. 

God, you felt a thousand times better than his hands ever did. What a fine day to turn eighteen! He was still blissed out when you scurried to make room for him on the bed. His eyes softened a bit before disgust clouded them.

“You have the audacity to think you can share a bed with the Prince?” he scoffed, rolling off the bed. 

The man really knew how to slice you with his words.

 “Dress me up,” he commanded, standing upright. 

Cheeks burning with shame and embarrassment, you clothed him again. As soon as your fingers finished tying his sash, he abruptly turned on his heel and exited the room without a word, leaving you quivering, naked and humiliated. 

*****   The days at the Palace were all the same. You had two maids whose job was to dress you up in the best silks of the land for the Prince. You were supposed to be ready to present yourself to the Prince at a moment’s notice. 

All-day long, you had nothing to do except wait for him to come back from his princely duties and throw himself at you. He never cared if you liked it or not. He ravaged you whenever he pleased, and deserted you as soon as he got dressed. It was as if you were just a mannequin for him to play with.

 But wasn’t it exactly what a Cimarin’s role was? Every Prince had a Cimarin to practice his husbandly duties with, so he could please his bride better. But everyone knew that the real reason was to curb unwanted displays of the Royal heir’s promiscuity with all the maidens of the Kingdom. 

The King usually chose a virgin damsel and appointed her as the Prince’s Cimarin. The title probably served to mask the bluntness of other words one would use to refer to such a companion. 

You had been granted access to saunter in the Royal gardens, but you had quickly learned that you were looked upon with contempt by the maids. To them, you were nothing but another maid of the Royal household, albeit a titled one. Your title did nothing to hide the fact that you were as disposable as they were. 

There were bitter stares directed at you whenever you ventured out of the Prince’s lair. It was even more difficult when you retired five days a month to your little room. No one cared to ask if you wanted anything to soothe the pain, no one brought you a morsel to eat. 

Once you hadn’t eaten during the entirety of your exile, only to be greeted back by the Prince sarcastically with “Those bones look good on you.”   

***** A whole year rolled by, filled with the Prince’s harsh claiming of your body. His habits of biting and pouncing on you had advanced to whipping and choking. He vented all his anger on you, punishing you for things you hadn’t the least to do with. He simply didn’t care if you were in pain because of him. You were his to destroy.

One day, he returned with a stormy temper, his foot sprained, all thanks to his horse, which had thrown him off the saddle. He shouted for you, his face all stony and seething with anger. 

When you rushed to his side, he thrust his foot in your face, saying “Bandage it.”

You ran out to the Royal doctor in your quest for bandages. 

As he waited impatiently, it occurred to him that he had come straight to you instead of summoning the doctor to his private chambers. What had brought him to you? Were you, the insignificant peasant, growing on him? 

When you returned, he searched your face for anything other than the usual revulsion and fear he had grown accustomed to. He noticed how your fingers trembled, evidently scared to make a mistake and get whipped for it. No, you didn’t even like him, he was sure of that. But why was it that he wanted you to think of him all the time, even if it were out of fear and hatred?

Your face was aligned with his foot, bandaging the sprained ankle as he rested his foot on your bent knee. 

“Kiss my foot,” he said, intently staring at you. 

You were taken aback by the strange command and blinked in confusion. 

“I said, kiss my foot,” he drawled lazily, “Which part of it is unclear to you?” 

Not wanting to get punished, you swallowed your pride and pecked the bridge of his foot. T

he Prince leaned back, satisfied. He decided it would be best to remind himself of your station with orders like these. You were not a Princess, surely you didn’t deserve to be treated like one. 

When you placed his foot down gingerly, he barked out, “Fetch me the cavalry officer.” 

He was always this blunt, leaving you to figure out who or what he wanted, leaving ample room for error, and consequently, painful punishments.    

When you ran out to the stables, you found the groom and asked for the cavalry officer on duty during the Prince’s accident. The groom sent you in search of an officer named Jimin. 

As you skidded to a halt in front of the said officer, you were stunned into silence. In front of you was a man looking like he had descended straight from the Heavens. 

His soft blond hair caught the sunlight and shone, and his grey eyes gleamed like jewels. He was dressed impeccably, the crisp riding uniform tailored to fit his lithe body perfectly, clinging to his toned frame. 

Only when he cleared his throat discreetly did you snap out of your trance. 

“Yes, miss?” he asked, and you marveled at his mellifluous voice. 

“The Prince… He wants you,” you managed to blurt out. 

Your cheeks felt hot, your whole body felt like it was on fire. The gallant officer nodded politely, thanking you for the message. He fell into step alongside you, silently walking towards the lair, as you secretly called it. 

As you walked with him by your side, you couldn’t stop the buzzing in your ears. Did he know you were the Cimarin? Did he look down upon you like the rest of the Royal servants did? Did he always dress this well? 

As you led him to the room, you had the sinking feeling that the officer probably knew what happened inside whenever the Prince frequented this part of his suite. You couldn’t bear to look at him when you presented him to the Prince and curtseyed out of the way. 

You could hear Prince Jeon’s deep sonorous voice shouting at the officer for not taking enough care about the steeds, but you found your ears struggling to filter and catch just the cavalryman’s soft measured replies. 

After the meeting ended, the blond man saluted his Prince and left the room, gliding out to the hall you were standing in. As he crossed you, his eyes flitted to yours, crinkling into beautiful crescents as he flashed you a gorgeous smile. You blushed furiously, unable to stop yourself from smiling back, the exchange feeling so natural and effortless. 

You were still in a happy mood when you went back in, it was so obvious that the Prince raised his eyebrows at you. 

“So happy that I’ve sprained my ankle, are you? Do not fret, I shall put my other body parts to good use while my foot recovers.” 

The rest of the afternoon, as the Prince pounded into you, the only face you could think of was that of the blond young officer.   

*****

One month and sixteen days. It had been that long until you had the chance of seeing the smart cavalry officer again. T

his time too, you were bringing him a message from the Prince. He was probably oblivious to the way his charms were making you mushy, or he might probably think nothing about a creature as lowly as a Cimarin. 

Either way, he never lingered near you a moment too long, taking all your breath with him as he marched away. As you stared at his retreating figure, a part of you fantasized about being an average country girl he would meet at inns, someone with an inkling of dignity he could proudly talk to. 

With a sigh, you turned back to the lair, it was getting late and God knew what punishment the Prince was brewing for you now. When you reached the room, however, Prince Jeon was nowhere to be seen. 

Just as you decided it was a lucky day for you, the Prince’s voice drifted from a nearby room. It was treason to overhear, and you hurried to the windows to shut the voice out when the subject of his talk froze you in place. 

“….. that I want another Cimarin,” he was saying. 

“What happened to the one you have now? Is she not good enough?” a deeper voice much like the Prince’s asked. 

Was it the King? You waited with a beating heart for the Prince to speak again. 

“She is satisfactory, your Majesty. But I still wish to have another one.” 

The King remained silent for a moment. “Do you want me to get rid of the present one then?” 

Your breath caught in your throat. Whatever did ‘get rid of’ mean? 

There was a long pause and the Prince replied, “No, your Majesty. She serves me well enough. I was wondering if I could have another Cimarin, in addition to this one. It is not uncommon to have a couple of Cimarins, I believe?” 

You closed the window, having heard enough. They were discussing you as if you were a slave, a toy they disposed of after playing with. Your head throbbed, and you had to calm yourself down before the Prince caught you red-faced and became suspicious.   

*****

When the Prince returned, he was quite put out. He had wanted to see if he felt the same way he felt about you with any other Cimarin. But the King had not given his word, rather choosing to say he would think about it. 

True, having a harem of Cimarins would defeat the purpose of having just one woman to take care of his needs until he got married. But how else would he find out if the feelings were just boyish lust? 

He was annoyed at you for putting him in this position. Had you made him a weak man who only thought with his crotch? How was it that the more he tried to distance himself from you, the more he found himself going back to you? 

You were seeping through the folds of his brain like poison. But the irony was that he wanted it. He wanted to be poisoned by you. Your eyes, your sweet-smelling hair, the way you bit your lips and scrunched your face when he entered you, it all made him go crazy. 

He lay down on the bed and beckoned to you. The rule was to either kneel on the bed or remain standing but to never lie down with him as an equal. Except, of course, he told you explicitly to do so. 

Today, however, he wanted your mouth on him, erasing away all those annoying thoughts that buzzed in his head. He caught your hair in his hand, guiding your mouth to his hard member. His moans filled the room as you got to work on him.

Catching hold of your head, he thrust his hips off the bed and hit your throat deep, enjoying the way your throat muscles constricted around him. He couldn’t help forcing his hands on the back of your head to take him deeper, causing you to make those gagging noises that made him go wild. 

He looked down at the dark hair that bobbed in his crotch and a thought flickered in his mind. You were so fragile that he could just end your life with a snap of his fingers. What if he choked you to death, stuffed full of him? 

His hands left your hair and circled the pulse points on your neck. He could feel your pulse throbbing against his fingertips. Just one hard press and he could break you, break all the insanity you were putting him through. 

Right at the moment he started to tighten his hold around your neck, there was a knock on the door. He let go of you, waiting for you to stuff his member back into his underclothes, and dress him up again.

*****   

 When you opened the door, there was officer Jimin, along with a person who looked more decorated, he was probably a higher authority of the cavalry. They had rolls of parchment in their hands, which they requested the Prince to sign. You went back in as the Prince made his way to the door to reach for the parchment. 

Embarrassment crept up your spine, you wished you could melt away instead of letting Jimin see you in the lair, hair disheveled and mouth crusted with come.

 But luck had its way, and the bottle of ink into which Prince Jeon dipped his quill slipped and shattered to pieces on the floor, splashing ink all over his feet. 

The irate Prince turned back and bellowed, “Hey, you! Come clean this mess.” 

 You scrambled to wipe the ink, feeling as insignificant as the dust on the floor. The Prince saw an opportunity to humiliate you further and thrust his ink-smeared foot towards you. 

Ears burning, you blotted up the ink as well as you could with the end of your robes. You knew he would have a fit if you used the rag to wipe his precious feet. When you were done, he proceeded to nudge his foot into the crook of your hips.

“Pick all the glass.” 

You wished the ground would swallow you. Here you were on all fours, picking glass pieces at the feet of three men, one being the man you had never wanted to witness your mortification. As you hurried, the minute shards pierced your palms, drawing blood. 

When you bit your lips and raised your head, you saw two soft grey eyes looking at you with concern. The indignity was too much to bear, and you gathered all the shards and fled into the room. The grey eyes followed you, unaware that a pair of cold black eyes were staring at them with dark malice.   

***** When the two men turned to leave, the Prince waved one hand at Jimin saying, “Jimin will stay behind.” You instinctively stiffened on hearing it. 

Seeing Jimin look at you with such softness had kindled a fire in the Prince’s chest. He had to establish who you belonged to. 

“You! You ruined my feet on the pretext of cleaning them. Let me hear you whip yourself ten times,” he yelled from the door. 

You hung your head, catching sight of Jimin’s horrified face when you reached for the whip. 

As the whip cracked through the air, hitting you and bringing broken gasps of pain, the Prince enjoyed the growing look of dismay on his subordinate’s face. 

“Is she counting right?” he asked Jimin lazily. The officer stood motionless, unable to respond. When he was finally excused after the sounds of the whip ceased, he turned and marched away, wiping the tears in his eyes.  

Back in the lair, the only words directed to you after Jimin had left were, “Don’t you dare graze me with those shards. I don’t want your blood on me either.”

 As much as it had irked him to make you whip yourself, he justified it to himself that it was to keep Jimin from looking at you that way again. He was sure the man knew what you had been really punished for. He would make up for the pain by going easy on you that night. But he had to change his mind because when he reached to touch you, he was annoyed by the way you flinched. Well, if you wouldn’t behave, you quite deserved the whip. That was one load off his chest, sympathy didn’t really suit him.  

*****   The next day, you were alone in the lair, an official duty had required Prince Jeon to ride far away, on a trip spanning three days. You were considering retiring to your little room when there was a hesitant knock on the door. 

You didn’t recognize this knock. It wasn’t the maids, they ignored you when the Prince was away. It couldn’t be the Prince either, he had left early, he was accustomed to throwing the door open without knocking anyway. 

You opened the door slowly, catching sight of a breathless Jimin in the foyer. He stood there panting, unsure of himself. Finally, he pulled himself together.

“Miss? I was wondering if I could have a word with you?” 

You nodded your head, and he hastily added, “Not here.” 

He looked around to see if anyone was watching. “Could you meet me by the rose bushes?” 

There was an urgency in his voice and you replied in the affirmative. He left as abruptly as he had come, not turning back once. 

You made sure you were dressed as inconspicuously as possible, and threw a cloak on, before slipping out of the room unnoticed. The rose bushes were in a dark spot of the Royal gardens, and it was secluded enough to provide privacy. 

When you reached the bushes, Jimin was already waiting for you, his hands in the pockets of his breeches. 

“Miss, I can’t express how sorry I am, it was all my fault yesterday that you had to harm yourself,” he started, his words tumbling out in a rapid torrent. 

He extended his palm towards you with a soft “If I may..” 

When you gave him your hands, he examined the little cut wounds on your palms. 

“I am truly sorry for the suffering I caused you,” he repeated, his eyes now glistening as he took in the welts on your forearm. 

Instinctively you pulled the frills on the sleeves to hide them. He didn’t need to see them and feel more guilty. But he had already seen them, his heart bleeding on seeing you trying to put on a brave face for him. 

“Please do not worry, officer. I am fine. I really am.”

  “Please, call me Jimin. I have to tell you something else, miss” he said.

 “Please call me Y/N. No one here even knows my name,” you mumbled. 

You wanted to hear your name roll off his tongue, you wanted to hear your name pronounced in his mellow voice. 

“Y/N,” he repeated, looking deep into your eyes, “I came to tell you as soon as I heard it. The Prince has requested another Cimarin and the King was just discussing with the minister on whether he should get rid of you.” 

This was something you already knew, except for the fact that the King wouldn’t let the Prince have two Cimarins. 

“I came to tell you I will do everything in my power to help you if you want to escape,” he continued. 

Your eyes widened. So did he care about you, the lowly Cimarin? There was heavy silence before you spoke. 

“But wouldn’t that be treason, Jimin?” you asked in a low voice. 

He looked torn between his Royal obligation and his need to help you. 

“I am prepared to face anything if it ensures your safety,” he replied. 

Your heart swelled on seeing his earnest face. 

“I think the Prince would not relinquish his hold of me that easily. There is still time. But I thank you sincerely for offering your help.” 

He shifted on his feet hesitantly, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should say what he was about to say next. “Can I meet you again? Would you mind coming with me to a certain place tomorrow?” 

Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest, and you replied: “I’d love to.” 

A relieved smile blossomed on his face, and he gently raised your hand to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. Little did he know of the storm the feeling of his lips was causing inside you. 

He waited for you to leave first, promising to call on you the next day. Suddenly after so many days of darkness, it felt like the sun was beginning to rise in your life.   

*****

The next day, Jimin was there at your doorstep again, true to his promise. 

“I hope you ride?” he asked as he extended his arm to you. 

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you replied shyly. 

He grinned and patted your arm, saying, “Not to worry, Y/N.” 

He smuggled you out of the Royal grounds, taking you to the stables. There was a gorgeous steed swishing its tail, tied to a tree. You pulled the hood of your cloak to hide your face, eyes scanning the surroundings to make sure no one saw you. 

Jimin mounted the horse with a graceful jump and held his hand out to you. His strong arms pulled you up in a side-saddle position, to make up for the lack of your riding habit. He galloped off into the woods, holding you in place between his arms, the wind tearing at your hair. 

It felt wonderful, as if you were on wings, riding to oblivion, far far away from the horrors of the lair. Behind you, Jimin’s warm chest felt like a wall of safety, resting on your back and spreading tendrils of happiness all over you. 

On reaching the heart of the woods, he helped you dismount, and led his horse to water, tying it up securely. When he returned, he was smiling broadly, with no trace of condescendence in his eyes, very unlike the Prince’s. 

He led you to the banks of a small rivulet flowing through the woods, laying his robe down for you to sit on. He sat down beside you, saying, “Hold my hand.” 

He composed himself for a moment and said: “There is something about you that keeps drawing me to you.” 

Blood rose to your cheeks, painting them red as you bent down, trying your best to hide your shy smile. He reached out to lift your chin and found you blushing furiously. He wanted to be sure you liked him too before he made a fool of himself. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, searching your eyes. “Do you feel the same way about me?” 

This felt too good to be true. Was this a dream? You couldn’t believe your ears. 

“Jimin, is this out of pity? Everyone else despises me at the Palace,” you breathed. 

He scoffed and shook his head. 

“Do you think I care about what they think? And no, this is not out of pity. I offered to help you, yes, but this is something that I’ve been meaning to ask you for quite some time.” 

He looked ahead at the water, lost in thought. 

“I like you,” you said softly. 

At that, his head turned to you, blonde hair dancing over his eyes. 

“Did you just say what I thought I heard you say?”

You said nothing, choosing to smile wide instead. He clasped your hand tightly, joy evident on his features. 

“But don’t you find me repulsive? I am just the Prince’s…” 

He placed a finger on your lips before you could say anymore. “Don’t beat yourself up thinking like that. You did not choose to do it. You were forced to obey a Royal order.” 

He squeezed your hand reassuringly, adding, “I would never find you repulsive. It is a promise upon my honor.” 

Tears welled in your eyes, as a huge burden was lifted off your shoulders. He genuinely liked you, he didn’t think you were easy prey, nor did he look down on you. Maybe your future wasn’t bleak after all. You nestled closer to him and wrapped his free hand around your shoulder. 

Fondness flooded his face as he ruffled your hair. God, he was going to take such good care of you. He had been unable to sleep the whole night on that wretched day, his ears ringing with the cracks of the whip. He shuddered and pulled you closer. He wouldn’t mind if he had to die to protect you from that monster of a Prince. 

The whole afternoon passed with comfortable ease, both of you talking and getting to know each other better. It was the first time in months that you breathed freely, laughing at Jimin’s little jokes and marveling at the way his eyes regarded you. 

On the ride back to the Palace, he held the reins in one hand, the other arm wrapped around your waist, holding you as if you were a precious treasure to him. That night was the first in months that you slept without any worry about the future. You had a person who loved you with all his heart, Cimarin or not.   

*****

The three days Prince Jeon had been away were the ones you treasured the most. They were filled with happiness and laughs, delicate holding of hands and deep talk. The more you talked, the more you fell for Jimin. 

You remembered how he had attempted to kiss you; he had been remarkably nervous for a cavalryman who was used to fighting battles. He had cupped your face in his hands, tilting his head to align his lips with yours. Just as his breath had ghosted your lips, you had pulled away. You still remembered the shocked look on his face. 

He had begun to stammer his apologies before you had cut him short saying, “I want to kiss you as your woman, and your woman only. Not as the Cimarin.” 

You giggled when you recalled how relieved he looked on hearing that. True, he had tried to get a kiss from you at least five times after that, proclaiming that he did not care about sentiments like those. But you had slipped from his arms every time, teasing him, saying it would all be worth the wait. 

As you lay on the bed with your eyes closed, a cold voice shook you out of your pleasant reverie. 

“What the devil are you grinning about?” 

You jumped to your feet in horror, the Prince had returned already. He looked at you with narrowed eyes, which were heavy with fatigue. Without waiting for your reply, he pulled you towards him, collapsing on the bed with his arms wrapped snugly around your waist. He fell asleep within seconds, arms hugging you tight. As you lay there in his embrace, you couldn’t help wishing it were Jimin holding you, not the Prince. You smiled again, even thinking about him made bliss course through your veins. 

What were you going to do to hold on to his hand? He was the only bright light in your tunnel of darkness. You looked down at the head resting on your bosom. God forbid the Prince ever found out about Jimin.   

***** Weeks later, a rumor wafted through the Royal household, multiplying as it passed each ear and left each mouth. Someone had claimed that they had seen a Palace horse in the woods, carrying a rider and a cloaked woman. 

It made your face go pale when your maids talked about it while they were dressing you up for the day. Your heart beat faster, not able to control the fear that threatened to make your lips tremble. 

Fortunately, your maids didn’t notice, too busy gossiping away. But the Prince did. He cast one look at your face and raised his eyebrows.

 “Don’t tell me it is time for you to retire to your room for the month already. I might have you whipped for making me come this far for nothing.” 

You shook your head, not trusting your voice.

“What else is it then?” he huffed. 

You weren’t sure if he knew it yet. Palace horses weren’t for romantic trysts, and you knew it would cause serious trouble if the rumor was reported to him. 

“It is nothing your Highness,” you replied, crossing your fingers, “I just have a headache.” 

To your surprise, he placed his thumbs on your temples, pressing them lightly. His face was impassive, but his touch was unusually gentle. 

“Stop squirming,” he said, holding his thumbs in place, keeping your back pressed against his chest. “Better?” he asked, pulling your jaw to face him. 

“Y-Yes…” you stammered. 

This was unusual and somehow scary. Prince Jeon was actually in deep thought. He had been told of the Palace horse incident that morning, but he hadn’t a clue on who the miscreants were. He decided to call the cavalry officers and investigate, but he didn’t want to send you out into the sun with your headache. 

“Get one of the maids, and tell them I summoned officers Shin Ho and Park Jimin,” he murmured to you. 

You obediently left and returned when you had sent a maid on the errand. The Prince was pacing the room, his mind preoccupied with the events that had happened the previous night. 

His father had sent for him, telling him there was a prospective bride for him from the Kingdom of Huwan. He had provided a portrait of the Princess Leila of Huwan, beautifully rendered in pastels by the Royal artist. Instead of being thrilled, the Prince found himself staring at the portrait in dismay. 

The Princess did look captivatingly beautiful, but he felt nothing, she didn’t stir his heart. He had listened to his father talk about all the political ties the union would bring and all the wealth that would reach the Royal coffers. 

“This is a wonderful proposal, and I want you to consider this carefully,” the King had told him. 

Prince Jeon had been caught off-guard. He hadn’t expected to get married at nineteen, but when it came to issues of Royal unions, it was the King’s word that ultimately prevailed. This was a dilemma and according to him, you were the root cause of it. You had messed with his mind and ruined him. But he couldn’t think of a way to salvage the situation. 

Just as all these thoughts were running through his mind, you returned and stood by the bed as was the custom. Damn you. Why hadn’t you been born a Princess? He hated you for placing him in such a knot. He stood observing your lowered head, those eyelashes dusting your cheeks, making you look the picture of innocence. His attention was broken by the sound of footsteps on the foyer, followed by a brisk knock. 

You ran to open the door, moving back to the farthest corner of the room after the Prince reached the doorstep. 

“Shin Ho,” the Prince began, “It has come to my ears that someone from the Palace had taken a woman to the woods on a Palace steed during my absence. It appears that they were engaged in a liaison, such was the report that reached me.” 

As the Prince addressed officer Shin Ho, unadulterated shock registered on Jimin’s face, and he caught sight of you standing behind the Prince, hands covering your mouth to muffle your gasp. 

“This kind of behavior is inexcusable; I want you to inquire into this. I want to know which bastard had the nerve to take one of my horses for a dalliance with some woman.” 

You found yourself struggling to breathe. An innocent stroll in the woods had been warped into an ugly liaison by wagging tongues. What would happen if someone in the stables remembered that Jimin had taken a horse on the specific day and let it slip to officer Shin Ho? You were shaking in apprehension when Jimin caught your eye and shook his head subtly. 

‘Don’t give yourself away,’ his eyes seemed to tell you. 

Prince Jeon discussed with the officers for some more time, telling them how the issue was to be handled. When the officers finally took their leave, you were rooted to the spot, not hearing when the Prince called you twice. 

“Have you gone deaf?” he hollered, shaking you by the shoulders. “What has gotten into you?” 

He was half-distracted by the Princess Leila issue that your shaky limbs and guilt-ridden face didn’t quite register on his usually sharp mind. He wanted to forget everything for some time and get lost inside you. He let go of your shoulders. 

“On your knees, take me in your mouth.” 

When you dropped down to your knees and obediently started working your mouth on his member, he wondered if he could order Princess Leila to do all the things he made you do to him. He closed his eyes to recall her face from the portrait, but to his surprise, he couldn’t even remember how she looked like. Your face kept flashing, replacing hers on the portrait in his subconscious eye. You had become a threat to his sanity.   

***** Exactly one fortnight later, the King summoned Prince Jeon again, asking him for his decision. It was just rhetorical, both of them knew, because the King had already made up his mind and had sent a pigeon to the King of Huwan. 

The news somehow broke out and spread through the Palace like wildfire. When your maids arrived the next day, one of them gave you a haughty look before saying, “I am so eager to see how you would perform your duties as the chambermaid, O mighty Cimarin.” 

Her mouth stretched into a sneer when you looked at her with bewildered eyes.

 “Whatever do you mean?” 

She clucked her tongue, whispering: “We are going to have a proper Princess in this household, someone worthy of the Prince’s attention. I can’t wait to see her kick you out of the Palace. Because, my dear, you are nothing but scum.” 

“And what do you think you are?” a deep voice boomed behind you, as Prince Jeon stood with his nose flaring. 

The maid immediately straightened, muttering incoherent syllables of explanation as the Prince ambled forward, laying a hand on your shoulder. 

He leaned in towards her, making her uncomfortable, and looked straight at her eyes hissing, “You are not to step foot inside the Royal grounds. I will have you beheaded if I see you again.” You saw the woman’s countenance turn ashen. 

“Your Highness, was she telling the truth?” you asked slowly, after the terrified woman fled the room. 

“What was she telling you?” he asked, looking at your reflection in the mirror of the vanity table.

 “That you will be having a bride…” your voice trailed off. 

His hand left your shoulder as if it had been scalded. So you had come to know about it? He misread the look on your face, assuming you were mocking him. You thought he was too drunk with a Cimarin to marry a Princess? Well, he would prove you wrong. 

“Yes, I am.”

 He straightened to stand at his full height, as you rose quickly to your feet. He couldn’t decipher the reaction on your face. Were you as annoyed about it as he was? He wanted to make you hurt as much as he was hurting inside. 

“Well?” he asked, “What is with that look?” 

He cocked his head to the side, saying, “You didn’t expect me to….”

 He threw his head back in mirth. “You thought I would marry you?” 

He laughed loudly, seeing your face twist in humiliation. 

“You are nothing but a concubine” he sneered. “I would never marry a woman like you.” 

He saw the way your lips trembled, shame evident on your face. It made him feel better, he did not want to suffer alone, he had to make you suffer with him. When he left your room an hour later, leaving your body ravaged and bitten, he was sure he had broken you, as much as you had broken him.  

*****

As the months reduced to weeks, and the weeks flew by in haste, the Prince’s behavior towards you became more and more hysterical. He taunted and jibed at you without the slightest provocation. 

He was nervous, unsure of how he would handle his new bride. He released all of his nervous anxiety on you, belittling you and hurting your mind as well as your body. 

At long last, the day of the wedding grew nearer, and the King and Queen of Huwan arrived at the capital. The Palace was decorated with the finest of the Kingdom’s artworks. All-day long, the maids polished the silver and china till they sparkled and shone. The whole Palace was buzzing with feverish excitement, caught up in the whirlwind of the Royal wedding. 

The Prince, however, didn’t stop visiting you. If anything, he visited more often than he had ever done. He never spoke anything about his impending wedding, choosing to talk about your worthlessness instead. You felt like all the insults he hurled at you were sinking in, threatening to make you believe you were nothing more than a slave destined to die at his feet. 

You hadn’t seen Jimin since the day the Prince sent him out to inquire about the misuse of the Palace horse. The only solace you had in these dark times was the memories of those three carefree magical days in the woods.   

It was the eve of the wedding, and all the servants of the Royal household had been instructed to gather in the threshold of the Royal Hall to welcome the new bride. You stood at the very back of the line of servants, craning your neck to see what the new Princess looked like. 

A few minutes later, a magnificent carriage drew up to the steps, and out stepped the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Her clothes were made of the loveliest satin, and everything about her features screamed perfection. She had elaborate jet-black curls arranged in ringlets, framing her face and setting off her pale skin perfectly. 

The Prince reached out to her, kissing her knuckles and requesting her arm, to which she happily obliged. She glided up the steps, accepting the welcome of the servants with a gentle bow of her head. The Prince was searching for you along the rows and smirked haughtily when he caught your eyes. As they sailed into the specially decorated ballroom, you couldn’t help thinking they looked perfect for each other. 

You knew the Prince would always be on the best of his behavior with his bride. Because after all, Royal wives were for soft lovemaking and breeding heirs, while Cimarins were for satisfying animalistic desires.   

******

The Royal wedding took place with eminent people from far and wide in attendance. 

The Prince had looked his smartest, in a crisp white wedding suit, with gold piping along the shoulders and Royal decorations adorning the breast of his suit. The Princess had glowed in a dreamy white gown, tailored to show off her slender body beautifully. 

As the guests retired to the ballroom for toasts, a hand pulled you to a relatively abandoned area of the Palace. 

“Y/N,” Jimin whispered, “I almost went mad without seeing you for months.” 

His face looked deeply troubled, and he continued, “Come away with me, I shall take you to the farthest land from here, and we shall live as man and wife.” 

Your mouth fell open, the prospect of running away numbing you into silence. 

When you finally regained control over your voice, you asked, “How can we go away without getting caught? The Royal guards are everywhere. How would we cross the borders of the Kingdom?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “Leave all of it to me, I only seek your consent. I shall take care of everything.” 

He pressed your hands in his, earnest eyes looking determined. 

“I shall come with you,” you said, squeezing his hands and nodding your head urgently. 

His whole face lit up with elation, all the worry washing away. 

“I will come back and take you when I have everything ready,” he promised and left you after kissing your hands. 

When you walked back to your lair, there was a ball of fear crushing your chest, making it difficult to breathe.   

*****

As you lay on the bed tossing and turning, worrying about Jimin and how you were supposed to escape the Royal guards, there was a heavy rain pouring outside. Everyone had rejoiced that it was a good omen on a wedding night, but to you, the thunder rumbling outside only served to make the night eerier. 

Sleep refused to touch your eyelids, and the wind howling outside your window made your worry grow even more pronounced. 

Suddenly, the door was thrown open with a crash, and a flash of lightning illuminated the profile of the Prince, standing framed by the doorway. He walked in unsteadily, holding a bottle in his hand, swaying slightly. 

The man had been thoroughly intoxicated, the front of his white dressing gown soaked with alcohol. It clung to his body, the white fabric sheer with all the alcohol, showing off his chest with every flash of lightning. He chuckled in a drunken stupor, pulling the sheets and clawing at your legs. You were terrified. This was his wedding night, and what was he doing here, hovering over your legs? 

He took another swig from the bottle and threw it away, the glass shattering to pieces as he wiped his mouth with his forearm. There was an ominous smirk on his face now, and he pushed your legs apart as wide as he could. 

He would never tell a soul what had really happened in his bedroom a couple hours before. He had watched his bride undress sensually, and had noted how much effort she put into making it appeal to him. He had caressed her breasts, running his fingers over her body. He had peeled all the layers of fabric from her body expecting to grow hard. But he had felt nothing. 

Nothing was stirring in his breeches, and to his horror, he had found he was flaccid, his body showing no response to her nakedness. The Royal women were not educated on matters of the bedroom, so she was blissfully unaware of his problem. His cheeks had started burning, he could not allow himself to be humiliated like that. 

He had to imagine your scrunched up face and work on his member to get it hard. When he had entered her and started rocking his hips, he had found the lovemaking too slow for him to enjoy. He had always been a man of feral passion with you, and the irritating slowness had made him go crazy. But he had known better than to be harsh with his bride, he would always have to be careful to never let that side of him slip. When he had finally done the deed, he had escaped as soon as she had drifted off to sleep. The mortification had made him go in search of alcohol, and finally, in search of you.   

As he pushed into you, he let out a long drawn out moan, almost demonic in nature. He started thrusting like a mad man, trying to prove to himself that he had not lost his masculinity and that he was indeed a man of vigor. You caught sight of his eyes, blown wide, as he rammed into you with all his might. 

The lightning made his eyes look predatory, and his snarling teeth made it more frightening. His sounds echoed throughout the room, the bed creaking in harmony with his loud grunts. Finally, when he climaxed, he threw his head back in euphoria. He bit his lip as he emptied himself inside you, deciding he would never let go of you. You were always going to be his Cimarin. 

*****

You woke with a start when a fresh peal of thunder sounded outside, to find the Prince draped over you, his tousled hair tickling your chin. You gently nudged him awake. 

“Your Highness, it is almost dawn.” 

He mumbled sleepily, looking at you in confusion before realization hit him. 

“Quick, dress me up,” he commanded urgently. 

It would never do for the Prince to be caught sleeping away from his wife on the first dawn of his married life. He bolted through the door as quickly as he could, not looking back at you once. The shattered glass was lying everywhere, and you got to work cleaning it, wondering if this was going to happen every night until you escaped.   

***** It was exactly a week later that officer Shin Ho requested an audience with Prince Jeon. He brought a young stable boy with him and had a quick meeting with the Prince. When he left, the Prince was fuming and trembling with anger. He marched straight to the lair, throwing the door open with unusual force. The bed was empty, and you were gone.   

“Hold on a little tighter, lamb. I don’t want you to fall,” Jimin said, riding as fast as he could. 

He was tearing through the wind, whip cracking in the air as he urged his horse to go faster. The hooves were thudding as loudly as your heart was. This time around, you were seated behind him, clasping his waist in your arms, chest draped on his back. You held on tighter and closed your eyes, praying to every powerful force in the world to deliver you safely from the clutches of the Prince. 

You were sure the Prince would have found you were missing by now, and there was a definite possibility that the best riders of the Kingdom had been dispatched to alert the guards at the borders. 

You rode on for what seemed like hours until you had to stop to let the horse drink water. 

“You feeling alright, love?” Jimin asked, catching stray strands of hair and tucking them behind your ears. 

You nodded, collapsing into his chest in a tight hug. 

“You will be alright,” he said, kissing the top of your head, patting your back reassuringly. 

“Let me ask you something, you once said that you liked me. But, fair maiden, do you love me?” 

His eyes twinkled as you peeled yourself from him to look at him indignantly. 

“I would not have come this far if I hadn’t loved and trusted you,” you said and hit his chest with balled fists. 

He chuckled merrily, catching hold of your small fists with a fond look lighting up his features. 

“Let us go then, my love, we shall go far away from all this din and love each other to our heart’s content.” 

******

When you resumed riding, it was past midday, you could tell from the short shadows cast on the ground. You had ridden on for a few more hours when you reached a forest. 

“We need to cross this if we are to avoid going into the village,” Jimin said, cajoling the horse to trot past the prickly bushes that were overgrown on both sides. 

They scratched and jabbed, but you made no complaint, it was nothing compared to what the Prince had done to you ever so often. 

Suddenly, your ears caught a sound, which felt like it came from right ahead of you. You strained your ears, patting Jimin slowly to let him know that you had heard something. 

“Jimin, I think…” you were saying, when an arrow shot right through the trees, hitting Jimin straight at his chest, causing him to gasp and topple from the horse. Frightened by the sudden movement, the horse reared and bucked, throwing you off before fleeing into the dense forest. 

“Jimin! Jimin!’ you cried, kneeling and tapping his face. 

Only then did you see the arrow still sticking out from his chest, drawing blood that pooled around him, staining the forest floor. You started wailing, calling his name out like a prayer, trying to keep him conscious. 

“Y/N,” he breathed out, coughing, blood spurting from his mouth. 

“No no no Jimin, stay with me, don’t leave me” you sobbed, tears flowing and landing on his face. 

“Y/N, ” he said again, blood pouring from the sides of his mouth in a steady stream now. His eyes were losing their luster, and his breathing was becoming rugged. He struggled to keep his eyes open and parted his lips to form a whisper.

“Kiss me.” 

You bent down urgently to place your lips on his, crashing your mouth on his in desperation. But you were met with no yield, his lips did not move to kiss you back. When you pulled away in confusion to look at him, his eyes had stilled, and a lone tear trickled out of the corner of his eyes.

Your wails filled the air, each powerful sob racking your body as you screamed out, wringing your heart in anguish. There was nothing more for you to do, the only light in your life had been snuffed out. It hurt you like someone had punched a hole in your chest, and pulled your heart through your ribs. 

As you kneeled there, your clothes bloodied and Jimin’s head on your lap, the thunder of hooves growing nearer sent vibrations coursing through the ground. 

A pair of riding boots dismounted from the horse with a thud, and you heard a disgustingly familiar sing-song voice saying, “Well well, if it isn’t the Kingdom’s whore.” 

Your tear-filled eyes made out the blurred figure of the body you knew only too well. 

“I could cut you to pieces for betraying me like this, whore!” he said, drawing his sword out and placing it on your shoulder, the blade pressing into the side of your neck. 

“But what is the thrill in that?” he pulled his sword back, the blade cutting the skin of your neck and drawing blood. 

You remained kneeling on the ground, eyes blank, not moving or uttering anything. 

He bent down and bunched your hair in his fist, pulling you up with a harsh tug. 

“You will return to the Palace with me, and serve my wife. You will be the chambermaid, and I shall strip you of your honor, I shall enjoy doing so.” 

His hold on your hair tightened, and he pulled your face closer, placing a volley of stinging slaps on your cheeks until his hands smarted. 

“Lying, scheming ungrateful whore,” he spat out, throwing you over his horse. 

You were lying uncomfortably across the horse, head and legs on either side of the animal. From your position, you saw Jimin’s body lying on the ground, face upturned towards the sky, your eyes never leaving his body as the horse trotted farther and farther away from the scene until he became a dot and disappeared from your line of sight.   

****** Your hand clutched the small hunting knife you had extracted from Jimin’s robes. Life was no longer worth living, there was no Jimin anymore to love you and protect you. You would rather get beheaded than go live with this monster again, you would not endure his violence any longer. There was no reason to endure him, as you now had no purpose in life. You decided it would be better to be hanged than serve Prince Jeon again. 

Clasping the knife tightly, you raised yourself from your awkward position and turned, seeing the surprise on the Prince’s face turn into horror when you sliced the knife through the air, plunging it into his heart with all your might. Both of you fell on the ground, rolling in the dust. 

The knife was embedded deeply in his chest and only a part of the hilt jutted out. You screamed like a madwoman, rushing to your feet and climbing over him, swinging your legs on either side of him. You pulled with all your strength, and retrieved the knife, stabbing him again with as much force you could muster. The Prince’s mouth opened and closed several times, straining to clear the blood that was choking his breath. 

You didn’t stop screaming as you reached out to clasp your hands around his neck, pressing hard and never letting go. The screams leaving your body turned into powerful sobs, your hands only left his neck when his pulse had stopped throbbing. 

His eyes had bulged wide in his fight for air. You let go and rolled off of him, the catharsis hitting you like a wall of bricks. The monster had finally been killed. 

*****   It was a glorious morning, you could hear the sweet chirping of birds drifting through the air. 

You were at peace, all feelings wiped from your mind as you were led through the dark corridors. 

The chains on your hands and feet were clanking with each step. The long corridor opened into an arena, where hundreds of people had gathered. 

When you were led to the guillotine on the podium, the chains were loosened and your hands were cuffed. 

You looked at the sky, which was a beautiful rosy pink. It reminded you of Jimin. You smiled. He always brought a smile on your face. 

“Off with her head,” the King bellowed. 

You raised your face to the sky one last time. 

“I’m coming Jimin, I shall come to you and kiss you, my love,” you whispered, closing your eyes.  

[bibislut]

Hello!! I'd love love LOVE if I could get a bit of a longer fic of Loki x Female Reader. The reader is a member of the Avengers and she has it BAD for Loki. They are very close but she does not think he would ever return those feelings. She is sent on a stealth mission but it goes wrong. She ends up in a sex trafficking hustle and she is a virgin. Loki notices she doesn't come back and gets worried and he rescues her before anything bad happens.

Hi! This is a fantastic prompt, and I hope I’ve done it justice!

This was a little out of my comfort zone simply because I’ve never written much action before, but I’m pretty damn happy with the result!

Word count: 4263

Warnings: Strong language, talk of sex trafficking, talk of r*pe. Nothing sexually explicit.

You sip slowly at your coffee, letting the feeling of the hot liquid oozing down your throat ease your hunched up body. 

Last night you had drunk a few too many glasses of wine, and few too little glasses of water. You trace the lines of the polished oak wood table before you, really wishing you could go back to bed. Leaning back in your chair, you take another sip as Fury's voice carries around the room.

"..simple enough for soldiers such as yourselves.." You tune him out again, the other six members of your stealth squad rigid in their seats, eyes studying the director carefully, listening silently to every word he says. 

Your eyes come into focus again as a familiar silhouette appears on the other side of the glass wall. Loki walks past nonchalantly, hands stuffed into his dark wash jeans, green t-shirt clinging deliciously to his chiseled torso. It really is unfair how gorgeous he is. You watch as he goes up to the coffee machine and presses the button for a latte. Snorting into your cup, you push your thoughts out to him. 

~Tosser ~

You know full well that he's only come down to the briefing floor to wind you up, with a perfectly good coffee machine on your own floor. 

~ Oh absolutely, my dear ~

The silken sound of Loki's voice whispers lowly in your ear, unheard by others in the room. You watch as his large hand reaches out to wrap around the paper cup.

~ Good luck, today ~

You scowl at him as he turns around and winks at you before striding away.

~ Piss off ~ 

A small smile plays at his lips just before he leaves your line of vision. He was the prick who had suggested a movie marathon last night, helped you demolish half of the wine fridge and now got to stay at the Tower all day, doing fuck all. It really wasn't fair. Maybe when you got back you could have a little revenge, cover his bedroom ceiling in pictures of Thor or something, maybe hide some photos in his drawers and pillow cases. Something he couldn't quickly magic away. 

You smirk. That might just work.

"Agent!" Fury's voice carries around the room and you flick your eyes over to him. He smiles sardonically. "Nice of you to join us."

"You're welcome." You smile back sweetly and his jaw twitches. "Don't worry, Director. I've already read the brief, and you said it yourself, the mission should be easy enough." The lie flows easily from your lips. 

"Jesus fuck, you're as bad as Stark with that mouth of yours. It's not appreciated, Agent."

"It's part of why you keep me around."

"Uh-huh." He grunts and drops the file he was holding onto the table. "Briefing concluded. You're all to be on the jet in 30 minutes."

The soldiers around you all stand up and you clear out with them. You need a filthy helping of grease, and have just enough time to leg it to the burger van a couple blocks away.

-----

You throw the dirty napkins in the bin and wash your hands, running over the brief in your mind. The hard drive you're being sent to retrieve is in the basement of an abandoned gym in one of the poorer neighbourhoods of Atlantic City. A maximum of ten men are expected to be there, all of them with weapons, no more than six of them with military training. The hard drive contains sensitive information which the leader had won in a bet, and was now trying to sell to the highest bidder. Two of your team will take the upper level, another two on the ground floor, and the last two with you in the basement. 

The most stressful thing will be dealing with Williamson's singing on the way back, an awful celebratory habit of his. Thank god he's a good soldier, otherwise you might strap him with a parachute and kick him off the jet. 

-----

“Everyone off. The entry point is three blocks west.” You motion everyone off the jet with your hands before following them as you all jog through the desolate neighbourhood. You all flatten your backs against the wall of the next door building, and you creep forwards to peer ahead. A lone man stands outside the door, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he looks around. Although dressed casually, you can see the handgun tucked into his waistband. You slide the silencer onto your gun and take aim.

His body falls to the ground with a soft thud and you wave to the others to follow. Williamson moves in front of you to kick the door down and you aim over his left shoulder as the two of you take down the men inside before they can shout out. Peters and Edwards push forward into the building ahead of you, and the other four follow you to the staircase on your right. Williamson and Smith take the stairs up and you wave Johnson and Willows down with you. 

As you descend, the throbbing in your head returns and you rub your forehead, willing it to go away. The door in front of you is slightly ajar and you hold your hand up to stop the others as you listen closely.

“...the new lot are waiting by the docks, should be leaving in an hour or so.” A gruff voice says.

A high pitched laugh rings out. “Any of them any good?” 

“As if you could afford one, Anderson.” A third man snickers. 

Perfect, they’re not expecting you. You nod to the other two before pushing the door open. The men are sitting around a table, and you shoot one in the chest before the other two have even stood up. Johnson ducks as the smaller guy shoots, and you land a bullet in his throat before he can turn to you. 

The rest of the room is empty, with a door on the left and right. “Johnson, Willows. You take the right, I’ll take the left.” You whisper and they nod.

You press your ear to the door on the left. It’s mostly silent, except for the clacking of computer keys. Only one guy it seems. You kick the door open, gun raised at the man behind the computer.

Time seems to slow as your finger rests on the trigger, a flicker of surprise gracing your features at the young man in front of you; spotty skin, a star trek t-shirt stained with ketchup and a poor attempt at what is probably his first mustache.

You shouldn’t hesitate, you never have before. Maybe it’s the headache, maybe it’s something else, but either way - you know you’ve fucked up as a large figure looms in your peripheral vision to your right. You barely leap out of the way before the giant of a man’s fist punches through the air where your head was. You spin to face him, back to the young guy as you shoot straight through the big guy’s head. Turning quickly back around, you lift your gun again, expecting to see the younger guy’s face.

Instead, you see the fist of a man double your size, right before it lands on your face. You fly back against the wall, gun falling from your grip. Your head spins and vision blurs as you try to lift yourself to your feet. 

“Not so fast, pretty girl.” The brute’s giant hand wraps around your throat as shouts sound out around you. He drags you by your throat as you kick out, scratching at his fist, towards an open door at the back of the room. He drags you past several men as Johnson and Willows burst into the room, shooting at them. They disappear from sight as you’re dragged through the door into a dim hallway. You gasp for air, your vision growing dark as the blood is restricted to your head. Just as you black out, you feel yourself being hauled over the brute’s shoulder.

----

When you wake, your head is pounding and everything hurts. You’re cold, and everything is so bright. You squint around the room, taking in the concrete walls, the concrete floor, the fluorescent lights. Opposite you is a window of one way glass, and just in front of it, a camera on a tripod, the flashing red light indicating that it is recording. You look yourself over and realise with a jarring shiver that you’ve been stripped and given a simple white dress, your legs and shoulders exposed. As you do this a rattle sounds next to you and you gasp, clutching at your neck and feeling the metal collar wrapped around it. The back of it has a chain attached, and when you stand on shaky legs, you realise the chain is attached to the middle of the wall. You don’t bother to pull at it, knowing full well that it won’t budge.

The chain allows you to move about six feet away from the wall, but no further, definitely not close enough to kick at the tripod or touch the glass. The girl in the mirror looks awful, dark circles under her eyes and bruises around her neck, skin grey in the light. You grind your teeth, more angry than scared. Ten men! What a load of bullshit! They had at least fifteen in the building, and if Fury could get his fucking facts straight, you would’ve been more prepared!

You stop your gnashing as the door to the left of the camera clangs, the sound of several bolts being opened, before it swings open to reveal two men. The first, a tall, balding man in a suit, smiles at you coldly. The second is dressed in all black, clutching a rifle.

They stop next to the camera as the door slams shut behind them, echoing around the chamber. 

“Do you know why you are here?” The first man drawls, his voice like a serpents. 

You smirk at him. “You’re gonna torture me for information. Good luck with that by the way, I’ve been trained by the best. You won’t hear a peep from me.”

He snickers, covering his mouth with his hand and you try not to show your unease. “I have no use for your information, sweetheart.” He stares over at you like he can see through your dress. “No, your mind is not what I value. Your body will fetch a much higher price.”

You clench your jaw at his words, trying not to let the fear creep into you. 

He steps forwards, arms behind his back as he looks you up and down. “There are many out there who would love to have one of SHIELD’s operatives in their hands. It’s a much more personal way to… take out their grievances.”

You fight the urge to step back, away from him; and instead raise your chin at him, not looking away. 

He chuckles. “Look at that, such bravery. I do wonder how long that will hold out.” He turns away, walking back towards the wall before leaning nonchalantly against it. “I saw you, you know, when they brought you here. So beautiful, so vulnerable.” He licks his lips. “Such a lovely body too, what a shame we can’t hear how nicely you beg.” Your hands twitch by your sides, itching to cover yourself. “Tell me, are you a virgin?”

You still, not allowing yourself to do anything that will give away an answer, but that seems to be answer enough. He claps his hands in joy, pushing himself off the wall in excitement. “You are! Oh, how wonderful! We can double the price now.” He chortles to himself.

“Fuck you.” You spit at his feet, straining against the chain.

“Not me darling, but someone else. Soon.” He taps his hand on top of the camera. “Do you know why we record you? So that the buyers can get a taste for the product they’re buying; and you, sweetheart, are the newest in a long line of girls who have been in our special store.”

He picks up the camera and switches it off, handing it to the other man. “Don’t fret. You won’t be in here too long, we’ve already received some interest.”

The man knocks on the door and it opens again. “Toodles.” He wags his fingers at you before striding out.

The door shuts behind the two, and you hear the bolts sliding into place. They’re really not taking any chances with you, are they? You sit back against the wall, and run your hands through your hair. You have no idea how long has passed since you arrived at the original mission site, but it’s surely not more than a few hours. They had definitely drugged you in some way to get you here, but you were confident that they hadn’t… violated you. You shiver, closing your eyes and bowing your head.

You’d be found, right? Before.. Before you were bought by whatever despicable human wanted this kind of perverse thing. You had been wanting to lose your virginity for a while, but the right time never seemed to come around, and by the time it did, your mind was occupied with something , well, someone, else. You sure as hell aren’t going to go down without a fight, but the fear grips you tightly and blink away the tears. What if you don’t have a choice? What if they.. No. You’re not going to think about it. 

You trust the team. You trust him. Loki. He had been your rock since you joined the team, the one you clicked with the most. His quiet wit, and his loud exclamations when you got him alone. His gorgeous smile, and the amused looks he reserved only for you when the others did something stupid. The way he had taught you how to project your thoughts to him, and no one else, a private thing between the two of you. He was your best friend. And yes, maybe you had been hoping to lose your v-card to him, but that didn’t really matter now, as long as it wasn’t some evil bastard on the other side of the glass. Fuck, if you got out of here in time, you might finally grow the balls to actually tell him how you feel. He wouldn’t reciprocate of course, but at least you wouldn’t have to hide it anymore. The thought of Loki in a slutty priest costume swims into your head. “You have a confession?” The absurdity of it makes you smile, a small reprieve from the worry itching itself through your veins.

You allow yourself to drift off into a daydream of different members of the team in ridiculous outfits, Thor as a ballerina, Tony in a unicorn onesie, Nat as Director Fury, and soon enough drift off to sleep.

-----

You wake to the sound of scraping metal, and look up at the man in the suit as he carries in a tray of food and a glass of water. He slides it over to you, some of the water spilling over the edge of the paper cup. An apple and two slices of buttered bread lie on the tray, no plate, nothing you can use as a weapon.

“I wouldn’t usually bring a girl their food myself, but I thought I’d let you know some exciting news!” He exclaims in an exaggerated tone.

You say nothing, gulping down the water as he watches your throat move. “We’ve had a tremendous response to your tape. The top six bidders will be here tomorrow morning to see you in person.”

He smiles at you in mock kindness. “Make sure you rest up well, I imagine you’ll be quite busy tomorrow.” He laughs, heading towards the door.

You stand up quickly, holding out a hand. “Wait!” He turns back, an eyebrow raised. “Could I please use the toilet?”

He smiles coldly. “Of course, I can't have you soiled when the buyers arrive.” He gestures to someone outside the door and two men walk in, dressed just as the other guy was earlier, holding guns. “Please escort her to the lavatory.” He leaves the room and the two men look at you.

“Face the wall, palms to the wall.” The one on the right barks and you do as you’re told. You feel one of them come up behind you, moving your hair out of the way and you feel sick. The jingle of keys sounds and then you feel the neck restraint slacken. Two pairs of hands grab an arm each, and they lead you away between them, your restraint falling to the floor. Outside the door is a long hallway lined with doors, all of them shut tight. You get the distinct feeling that you are underground and struggle to keep up with the guards' long strides. When you reach the end of the hallway, it opens up into a larger room, where a woman in a white lab coat is bustling about. A young girl, perhaps 17 or 18 lies unconscious on a bed, a large gash on her head. It looks as if the doctor is stitching her up. The guards pull you around the side of a curtain to see a toilet. They let you go and push you towards it. They don’t turn away, amused looks on their faces as your skin flushes. You lift your skirt, squatting down. You try to focus on something else, utterly mortified as they watch you. You reach for the toilet roll and wipe, turning around to flush the toilet.

This is the only chance you might get. You launch yourself backwards into one of the guards, grabbing his arm and shifting your weight to throw him over your shoulder. He wacks his head on the bowl of the toilet, but you don’t stop. Hitting the other guard’s pressure points, you pull the gun from his grasp, sliding it across the room. You put one foot on the unconscious guard’s body, using the momentum to launch yourself onto the other guard, hitting him repeatedly with your elbows as he tries to pry you off. You land an especially hard blow and he stumbles, allowing you to kick off him and push him into the wall which he slides down. You skid around the curtain, the doctor shielding the unconscious girl’s body as she looks at you with wide eyes. 

“Please you have to help me, how do I get out of here?!” You try not to scream the words but she just looks at you. “¿Dónde está la salida?” You say, hoping maybe she speaks spanish. The sounds of boots on concrete thunder towards the room from down the hallway and you shake her shoulders. “Please!” Again, she says nothing.

You grab a scalpel off of the tray beside her, wielding it in front of you as guards come pouring into the room. One, two, three, four, five, six. All of them aiming at you. You drop the scalpel, holding your hands up in surrender.

-----

You don’t sleep a wink all night, just staring at the wall, your back aching from the unforgiving floor. What if you’re not found in time? What if you’re sold like a slave? Images of what could happen flash through your mind and you wipe at the tears that threaten to spill over. You have to hope, you can’t give into the fear so easily.

It feels like an eternity, this waiting. Eventually, you hear voices outside. “I think you’ll find she’s much to your liking, gentleman.” The clang of the bolts sliding sounds and you push yourself back against the wall, pulling your dress as low as it will go, and yet it still won’t cover your knees. Your heart pounds in your ears as the guy in the suit walks in, followed by six other men. Your eyes lock on the second to last’s and the lights in the room flicker. Loki.

Now with short blonde hair, and wearing a cream suit; he looks almost nothing like himself. And yet you’d know those ice blue eyes anywhere, those cheekbones, those lips - usually lifted in laughter but now pressed tight together. His eyes blaze with anger as he takes you in, covered in bruises, hunched against the wall. Your heart beats so loudly you’re sure everyone can hear it, and you look away quickly, not wanting to let your reaction give anything away.

~ Stay calm ~ You send your thoughts out to him.

~ My love, what have they done to you? ~ Your eyes dart back to his as the lights flicker again. His voice in your ear brings tears to your eyes as relief floods you. He’s never called you that before.

~ You need to keep your magic under control ~ 

“...bidding at 1.5, gentlemen?” The man’s voice draws you back to the room. A larger guy licks his lips at you as he raises his hand.

“Wonderful. What about 1.75? Anyone?”  Loki raises his hand and you shiver.

“Excellent. Anyone have two million for one of SHIELD’s own?” 

~ We have to delay them, the team is almost here ~ Loki’s voice in your ear is like silk, and makes you feel stronger just from hearing it.

You gulp as another man raises his hand. You had been trying so hard to contain your emotions , but if you’re gonna slow this down, you need to put on a show. 

“Fuck you!” You spit, clambering to your feet. “I dare you, fucking try me!” You scream it, letting yourself feel the anger, breathing heavily.

The men laugh at you. “Isn’t she so feisty?” One says. 

“Mmm indeed.” Another agrees and raises his hand.

“Two million, lovely. Anyone going for two and a quarter?” 

You scream, throwing yourself forward until the chain pulls painfully at your throat. “Come here you bastard, and let me give you two million dollars worth.” You reach your hands out like a mad woman, clawing at the air in front of the men. 

“May I?” Loki asks, stepping forwards towards you with fake curiosity. 

“Oi! Who said you get to touch her?!” One of the men shouts, pulling Loki back. He spins around, towering over the guy.

“Gentlemen please, let us continue the auction.” The man says and Loki straightens his blazer, returning to the wall. 

Gun shots ring out down the hall and all of them men look over to the open door. “If you’ll excuse me.” The man says, rushing from the room. 

“Looks like it’s free dibs.” One of the men says, eyeing you up. You stumble backwards as you lock eyes with him, and then another man punches him.

Apparently that is all that is needed for a brawl to break out, and you back against the wall, watching as Loki drops something, nonchalantly kicking it back to you as he throws a punch. The hook pick slides across the floor and you scramble to pick it up, sliding it into the lock around your throat. You jiggle it, almost laughing in elation as it releases, and you rip it from around your throat. When you look up, four of the men lay on the floor unconscious, and Loki slams the last against the wall, smashing his head into the concrete. 

He turns around, his glamour falling away to reveal his long black hair and leather suit. Tears pour down your face as he pulls you into his embrace, shushing you. “My little dove, I’m here.” He coos at you and you cry harder at the nickname he reserves for special occasions. 

“I was so worried… I thought.. I thought you might not find me in time.” You sob into his chest.

“Sshh, I will always be here for you.”

“Promise me.” You let your walls down with your words, and Loki sinks to the floor with you in his lap.

“I promise, my love.”

You sniffle, pulling away from him. “Don’t call me that. You don’t mean it.”

He chuckles. “Is this really the place for confessions?”

The image of him in a slutty priest outfit flashes through your head and you give a watery laugh. “Because of the unconscious cunts on the floor?”

“I mean, partly.” He says, smoothing your hair behind your ears as you wipe your face.

“Are we safe?” You ask, knowing he can sense the energies around.

“Yes, the others are waiting just outside.”

“Then yes, it is the place for confessions. I was so scared Loki…”

“Sshh it’s okay.” He rubs the pads of his thumbs over your cheeks.

“No, it’s not. Because through everything I was so scared that I wouldn’t get to see you, get to tell you..” You break off, tears threatening to pour again.

“I know, little dove.” He tilts your chin up to make you look at him and strokes your hair. “I love you.” He whispers the words, and your tears spill over at the sight of his own eyes shining with tears, at hearing him say the words you had waited so long for.

“I love you too, Loki.” You hold onto him tightly, and he squeezes you, letting you cry.

After several long minutes, you pull away, wiping the snot from your face. “Sorry, I probably look disgusting.”

“Be quiet. You look as gorgeous as ever.” He stands, offering you a hand. He shrugs out of his long leather jacket, draping it over your shoulders. “Let’s get you home, pet.”

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

Hope you enjoyed!

My fic requests are open! Please refer to this post for more info!

[be11atrixthestrange]

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 10

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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More Chapters

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TW: non-con, although nothing explicit

[Hermione]

Hermione leans on the bar table for support, one hand clutching her drink and the other rubbing at her temple. The room is spinning, and she's dizzy, nauseous, and unable to focus her eyes on anything.

With one blinding exception, of course. In her peripheral vision, she can see the security guard dragging Ron Weasley from the venue, his arms flailing as he stumbles alongside. Against all odds, his vibrant red hair always draws her attention, even when it's entirely inappropriate.

"Can you believe him?" growls Cormac, massaging his eye. "Bartender, ice."

The bartender abruptly stops wiping down the table to stare back at Cormac, her eyebrows raised in amusement. "Bartender?"

"Yeah. Ice."

Hermione takes a long swig through her straw and glances between Cormac and the bartender, who seem to be sizing each other up.

The bartender flashes her name card at Cormac and offers a smile that looks more fake than genuine. "Sure, you can have some ice," she says sweetly. "But for next time, my name is Rosmerta."

Rosmerta turns away from the bar, muttering something about rude tourists. Hermione makes a mental note to leave her a good tip at the end of the night.

Once Rosmerta's out of earshot, Cormac turns to Hermione. "Why is everyone being so rude to me today? First your ex-boyfriend, now that old broad?"

His comment, and more specifically, the way he says it feels slimy to Hermione, as if his 'woe is me' attitude is nothing more than an effort to rack up pity points.

"Aww, you're almost done with your drink," he says, right as Rosmerta returns with a pack of ice. He snatches the ice from her hands and demands, "Another for the lady."

Hermione's cheeks heat up in embarrassment. No 'thank you' for the ice, no 'please' for the drink — what does she see in this guy? Other than the fact that he's conveniently interested in her, and he's not Ron, of course. Hermione mouths an apology to Rosmerta when the bartender saunters off to refill Hermione's glass.

"Rosmerta has been lovely to us. She's not an old broad," says Hermione to Cormac, who's now pressing the packet of ice to his bruised eye. "And he's not my ex-boyfriend."

Cormac chuckles. "It sure looks like something happened between you and ginger. By the way you dumped ice water on him, you'd think he cheated on you or something."

Hermione stiffens at the reminder of Lavender's mischievous look as she buttoned her blouse in the hallway, followed by the nonchalant way Ron waltzed up to her just now, as if nothing had happened between them. She covers up her shaky hand with another drawn-out sip of her strong drink, forcing down the bitter taste with a grimace.

"I'm glad you never dated the ginger because you can do so much better. Like me, for instance." Cormac motions to himself, a smug smile on his face.

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione puts the straw back to her lips — she really should have asked Rosmerta to hold the straw, but thanks to Cormac, they were already the most demanding couple at the bar, and she didn't want to put any more stress on the poor woman.

She glances over to her companion. So far he's been quite rude — embarrassingly so — and has only talked about himself. He spotted her on the dance floor a short while before and seemed kind enough, so she'd agreed to get a drink with him. She hadn't let herself get a good look at him earlier, so her eyes trace over Cormac's body now, his biceps bulging from his too-tight polo, his chiseled jawline. Underneath the bruise, his eyes are nice. They're not impossibly blue, like tropical seas she can get lost in, but they're not bad.

He's actually quite good-looking, but he'd be even easier on the eyes if he didn't know it. Pompousness is not a trait Hermione looks for in a man.

But she's not looking for anything serious with Cormac, so maybe she can turn the other cheek to some of his more unpleasant qualities. A bit more alcohol might help. She's just here to have fun, after all. Cormac seems to be an appropriate option for that.

As if reading her mind, Cormac leans over to her and whispers, "What do you say? Want to get out of here?"

It's the memory of Lavender fastening her blouse, her smug 'Give him a chance to get dressed first' that gives her response all the permission needed to slip from her lips.

"I guess."

"I'll take that as a yes," says Cormac, rising to his feet and tugging at Hermione's arm.

She stumbles out of her chair, somewhat surprised by his constricting grip on her wrist. It almost cuts off her circulation and would feel unnecessary in any other circumstance.

But she also stood up too quickly and is momentarily flustered and dizzy, so maybe she has his support to thank for not falling down.

"Oh my god, I'm drunk, aren't I?"

Cormac scoffs, sliding his arm around her waist to support her. His hand lands a little too low on her hips for comfort. It doesn't feel anything like Ron's did — caring, gentle, and responsive to communication. Yet, she's hesitant to say anything and bring his attention to what lies beneath his fingers, just in case his hand placement isn't intentional. She might ruin something innocent. That, or he might read too much into her taking notice. She's unsure which is more likely.

"You seem perfectly in control to me," says Cormac.

His softly-spoken comment flushes out some of her self-consciousness — before, she feared that she looked sloppy, messy, unattractive. But it also irritates her, invalidating her difficulty standing and walking in a straight line without the support of his body up against hers. Plus, the fact that it's nearly a whisper, and she can barely hear him suggests that she's not the one he's trying to convince.

Maybe she's reading too much into everything, and it's just the alcohol talking.

They continue across the dance floor and out the doors, his thick hand steady on her hip. When they reach the stairs and the music quiets down, he picks up the conversation again.

"For real. What did that boy do? You said he lied to you?"

Right. Hermione glances at Cormac, who's smirking at her, and decides he doesn't need to know the details.

"Oh, that? It was nothing."

"Nothing gets a drink in the face?" laughs Cormac. "Well, lucky for me, I like them a little feisty."

His words immediately make Hermione uncomfortable. He likes them feisty? How many feisty notches are there on Cormac's bedpost? Is she sensing an attraction to a woman who fights back? Her head spins, and again, she has to remind herself that it's probably just the alcohol talking.

Still, something feels off.

When they make it to the top of the stairs, Hermione places some reluctant trust in her instincts and uses the flat ground as an opportunity to pull away from Cormac. In doing so, she accidentally slides her backside against his hand. As predicted, he interprets her movement incorrectly.

"I see what you're doing, Hermione," he growls. With a hum of appreciation, his fingers clench down through the fabric of her skirt and firmly grip her bum. He turns his body toward her and presses her back to the wall.

Hermione opens her mouth to speak up, but she doesn't know what to communicate. She's not sure if she wants him to stop or if she just wants assurance that he would if she told him to, but her racing mind has no clue how to phrase that request without ruining the possibility of a casual, consensual encounter.

He'd probably prefer the benefit of the doubt, as most men have come to expect it, but then there's the problem that he's nearly twice her height, his hands are as big as her face, and he likes them feisty, which might cause him to interpret dissent as a flirt or a challenge.

Hermione internally chastises herself for wasting time overthinking everything, again, because she instinctively knows that the longer she's quiet, the more her silence will sound like permission. It only takes a few seconds for her to run out of time to decide where she even falls on the spectrum between yes and no before his lips crash roughly into hers.

He presses his hips against her, and she can feel his erection digging into her leg. It's prepped and ready, and she's anything but.

He runs his tongue across her lips, and his grumble of pleasure reverberates into her throat. It takes effort, but she turns her head to the side. As she feared, he interprets this as an invitation to tug at the soft flesh of her neck with his teeth and slide his free hand up her dress until it cups her breast.

"Cormac—"

"Couldn't even wait until you got to my room, could you?" he muses, his lips dragging hungrily along her shoulder. "I could tell you wanted me, but damn."

A storm of anger boils up inside of her — his supposed confidence in feelings she herself has yet to identify is beyond invasive.

She can't get her hand between them for leverage. "Cormac, please—"

"You're welcome," he chuckles back, completely misinterpreting her meaning. Again.

His pinned hand tugs at the fabric of her dress, inching it up and over the curve of her bum and exposing her lacy knickers. "Ahh, you came prepared to fuck, didn't you?"

Another burst of anger and the following rush of adrenaline gives Hermione just enough strength to push him off of her, even if it's only for a second. "Cormac, please get off me."

He removes his mouth from her neck and narrows his eyes at her. "What?"

"I don't want to do this."

He doesn't move. "You serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious," says Hermione, her tone steady and firm.

"You agreed to leave the bar with me. What do you think I meant by that?" Cormac's face is reddening, and Hermione's palms respond by breaking out in a sweat. "Fucking tease."

"Hermione!"

A familiar voice — one that typically irritates her to her core — draws Cormac's attention away from Hermione for a split second, long enough to take a breath.

"We're busy here," he quips but pauses when he sees Lavender Brown, clad in a tight pink skirt and sparkly kitten heels. "Oh, hello there—"

"I can see that," says Lavender, narrowing her eyes at Hermione, who sends her a pleading glance. "But I have to steal Hermione away. It's an emergency."

Hermione's shoulders instantly relax — the irony of this being Lavender's second "emergency" excuse of the day isn't lost on her.

"It's not the best time," says Cormac. "But you're welcome to join us."

"Tempting. What's your room number?" she asks, batting her eyelashes while simultaneously reaching for Hermione's arm. "Maybe we'll meet you there in a bit."

Cormac grins as Hermione slips out from between his body and the wall. "I'm in room 407. I'll be waiting."

"Perfect! See you soon," says Lavender, looping Hermione's arm over her shoulder and turning her down the hall again.

Hermione can hear Cormac's content chuckles as they round the corner. As soon as they're out of his sight, she slips from Lavender's arm, instantly annoyed by her again.

"Why did you do that?" She tries to hide her irritation, but it escapes into her tone.

Lavender raises her eyebrows. "Um, you're welcome."

A tingle of guilt almost causes Hermione to apologize, but the uncomfortable notion of owing Lavender stops her. "I didn't need you to swoop in and save me. I had it under control."

Lavender scowls at her. "Well, from my perspective, it looked like he was going to take advantage of you right there in that hallway, so my instincts kicked in. Next time, I just won't bother."

They slow to a stop at room 210, and Lavender whips out her room key. "You're welcome to come in — I didn't think you'd want him to know where your room was. Especially since it's on the same floor as his."

The floodgates holding back Hemione's guilt break, and she's suddenly overwhelmed with appreciation for the girl holding open the door. She smiles sheepishly at Lavender as she passes her and enters the room.

"Thank you, Lavender. I'm… I'm sorry."

Lavender follows her in and lets the door shut behind her. "It's fine. I know we don't exactly get along, but I'd like to think you'd do the same for me."

"I would." This, Hermione is sure of. At least, she thinks she is. If not, she should self-reflect, but that's an ordeal for sobriety.

"I'll make tea," says Lavender.

Hermione takes a seat at the kitchen bar, and silence fills the room. Her head collapses into her hands, and she gets lost in her thoughts while the water boils.

Tonight could have been an utter disaster.

Although thankful for Lavender's intervention — she shouldn't have left the bar with Cormac in the first place — there's a part of her that blames Lavender for it all. It was Hermione's jealousy that drove her to cling to the first guy to show interest tonight. She's hesitant to thank Lavender for fixing a problem she created in the first place.

The tea kettle whistles and jolts Hermione away from her thoughts.

Lavender pours her a cup and slides it over to Hermione, along with a bottle of aspirin.

"That will help you sober up."

"Thanks," grumbles Hermione.

Then Lavender takes a seat next to Hermione and says something that changes everything.

"I didn't have sex with Ron earlier today."

Hermione freezes, her mind overwhelmed with a tidal wave of rioting thoughts that can somehow be stripped down to one single word.

"What?"

Lavender sips her tea, her hand trembling. From nerves? Jealousy? Anger? Hermione doesn't know.

"When I came out of Ron's room and buttoned up my blouse, I was pretending." She glances away as she says it, her cheeks reddening under a blanket of foundation.

Hermione sighs, doing her best to steady her breath as to not give away the sheer amount of emotions Lavender just ignited. "Why… why did you do that?"

Lavender shrugs. "Honestly? I'm not entirely sure. I went to his room with the intention of flirting with him. We'd just slept together a few days ago, and I thought it would be the same. It wasn't the same."

Hermione's sudden envy doesn't make sense, and she knows that; she had no claim to Ron a few days ago. She has no claim to him now, really, so her relief that they didn't sleep together today has no bearing.

So is the fact that she just poured water over him and paraded around another bloke to 'get back at him' for something he never did. Hermione's stomach bubbles with nausea, and not from the alcohol.

"What happened in his room?" Hermione asks, aiming for a neutral tone.

Lavender sends her a sideways glance before answering, and according to her expression, Hermione's casual questions aren't fooling her at all.

"I saw you two at the bar, and I got jealous. I want him back so badly, and I thought this week in Vegas would finally make it happen. But his eyes have been on you since day one, and I don't understand. You and I are so different."

Different we are, thinks Hermione as she pulls another sip of tea to drown out her sudden self-consciousness.

"I can tell he's interested in you. He's expressed interest in other girls since we've broken up, but they always looked like me, and I would just pretend that was the reason he was looking. I can't do that with you."

Lavender's not straight-up insulting Hermione, but it feels that way, so her defenses start to rise. All Hermione can hear is, 'How can Ron be interested in someone like you?'

She's still avoiding Hermione's eye contact when she continues, "I got so jealous and insecure, and thought, 'why would Ron be interested in me, when he could have someone like Hermione?' Someone smart, successful, someone who doesn't need male attention to feel good about herself."

Hermione nearly drops her tea. She was way off the mark.

"I gave it one last-ditch effort. I followed him to his room, tried to flirt, and he rejected me. It confirmed he was interested in someone else, and he didn't have to tell me who. So when I saw you in the hallway, my instinct was to try and sabotage it."

Lavender finally looks at Hermione, and there are tears glistening in her eyes. Clearly, she feels awful.

She's not the only one.

"When I saw that guy basically forcing himself on you, I felt awful. I knew something bad must have gone down between you and Ron."

Hermione's eyes sting with tears, and Lavender notices. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." Lavender smiles and wipes away the remaining tears from her eyes. "Okay, get out."

"What?" says Hermione, affronted, but then looks to see that Lavender's still grinning.

"You seem sober enough now, and we're still not friends. But at least you know that… it's not about you," she laughs, and finally making sense of Lavender's dry humor, Hermione can't help but laugh back.

"Men," says Hermione, and it's all she needs to say for Lavender to snort.

"Are the worst," she continues. "But Ron's a good one. Go find him at the bar. He's probably looking for you."

"About that," says Hermione, and Lavender's eyes narrow in curiosity. "He got kicked out. I splashed water on him, and then he punched Cormac."

Her eyes widen. "Wow."

"Yeah," says Hermione, swirling her tea.

"So he's probably wallowing in his room," she grumbles. "I'd tell you to go there, but seeing as he's my ex-boyfriend and I still want him, it's a conflict of interest."

Hermione gets to her feet. "Then I'll go somewhere else."

"And I don't want to know."

Hermione sends a thankful smile Lavender's way and turns toward the door.

"Lavender?"

"Yeah?"

"I misjudged you. I'm sorry."

Lavender contemplates her for a moment, then nods. "I misjudged you too."

It's enough closure for the pair to part peacefully — no admissions of friendship, but clarity on where they stand. And it's more than Hermione can hope for.

Lavender turns away to wipe a tear, and Hermione smiles again as she passes through the door and into the hall. The pit in her stomach has morphed into something else entirely — empathy, gratitude, and a small nugget of guilt.

As for right now, she only has one pressing matter on her to-do list.

[detectivejay-chuckles-halstead]

Jay Halstead x Reader Imagine

Description: Being Jay’s partner was the best thing that happened in your career. Being with Jay was the best thing in your life. But what happens when a case goes sideways?

Words: 8048

Warnings: Violence against Women, Major Whump

Pairings: Jay Halstead x Reader

The day you were brought upstairs from being a beat cop was one of the best days of your life. You’d helped out many times on Intelligence cases, had caught the eye of the key players in the team. Your partner, Kim Burgess, was excited for you, but you knew she wanted that spot when Erin left. 

It was a once in a lifetime opportunity for you, and you wouldn’t turn it down just to try and be nice to Kim’s feelings. Plus, the night Voight had extended the opportunity to you, you and Kim had gone out to Molly’s, Kim had bought you a round, had excessively congratulated you with Adam by her side. He told you how excited he was to have you upstairs now, but he gave you a warning that night. 

“Jay and Erin, they had a good thing going, and he’s taking her leaving pretty hard,” Adam explained. “So, don’t be surprised if you don’t get a warm welcome.” 

“I’m not too worried,” you replied. “He’ll warm up to me pretty fast, considering how charming I can be.” That got a laugh out of the couple, nursing your beer. “Plus, he texted me, saying he was on his way.”

Adam gave you a funny look, but didn’t say anything. You could make the excuse that it was just Jay trying to get to know you, but you knew that was wrong. He’d figure it out soon enough. The three of you laughed about nothing, shared a few more shots, and had an overall great time until Jay showed up. You could tell he was there when a hand came to rest on your back, turning to look at him with a smile.

“Took you long enough, babe,” you said, letting him kiss you before turning back to your friends. Kim had a shit-eating grin, and Adam looked like he was a fish out of water.

It had been Jay’s idea to keep it on the down-low, with everything that happened with Erin. You couldn’t blame him. When Erin announced she’d be leaving, Voight had been the one to talk to Jay about bringing you up. He knew, though, about the rule of no in-house relationships, and had let Voight know what was going on between the two of you. At first, you though Jay was joking when he’d explained it to you, saying that Voight said it was fine as long as it didn’t interfere with your job. Maybe, it had meant that Voight knew you were both good cops, good enough to need to be on his team. 

“I knew it!” Kim announced, turning to Adam with a look of triumph. “I knew it! You’ve just been in a good mood recently, more so than usual and…”

“And Jay and I have been together for almost two years, Kim,” you cut her off, her smile dropping with a look of confusion. 

“How you been keeping this a secret, man?” Adam asked him as you snuck your hand up the hem of Jay’s shirt to rest on the skin of his waist. He gave you a coy smile before answering his friend. 

“It wasn’t hard. You all thought Erin and I had a thing going on the side. You just had the wrong girl. Erin loves, Y/N,” he answered. 

“That is true. And she was the only one outside of our families who knew, not counting Mouse, because he’s part of Jay’s family. Until Voight brought me upstairs,” you continued. “Though, I don’t know why he’s bending the rules for us, though.” Jay hadn’t been able to answer that question either. 

“Again, how have you been keeping this huge secret for two years?” Adam said again, leaning across the table to push against Jay’s chest. He couldn’t help but laugh, stealing a drink from your beer. 

“Its had its days where it’s harder, but we leave work at work, and leave our worries at the door, man,” Jay tried explaining. “Now, I have an idea.” 

——-

It had been two weeks of being in Intelligence with Jay. You hadn’t gotten any good cases, mostly just helping out overall in the district and getting used to things. The two of you would walk in together and leave together, even if it meant one of you would be waiting a bit longer for the other. You would make each other coffee, throwing wadded up paper at each other, generally flirting. And nobody seemed to notice, and if they did, they didn’t say anything. 

One morning in particular, you both had a long night, dueling hangovers. You were wearing his leather jacket and a pair of your own sunglasses. Jay was grumbling about you stealing his jacket, that you never thought to bring your own when it started getting cold out. 

“At least your ears are warm with that beanie,” you reminded him, sitting down at your desk and propping your feet up. He just glared at you, rubbing his arms, trying to heat them up with friction. 

“It’s not like you haven’t hogged the entire coat closet with jackets and coats, Y/N,” he countered, you throwing a pen at him. 

“What, you crashed at his place last night?” Kevin asked, confused. That got a snort out of Adam. “You know something we don’t?” he then asked, turning to the other man. Adam threw his hands up defensively. 

“They’ve been playing us for weeks,” Antonio finally chimed in, you letting your sunglasses fall down the bridge of your nose to look at him. “Talked to Gabby last night. Those two,” he continued, pointing between the two of you, “have started having a thing.” You couldn’t help but look at Jay and laugh, him giving you a smile in return. He leaned back in his chair, hands on his stomach. 

“Close, but not quite, Antonio,” Jay corrected, looking over at Adam, getting a puzzled look from the Antonio.

“Yeah. Y/N is his half-sister,” Adam informed the team. You were so glad he was playing along. 

“A Halstead sister? But her last name isn’t Halstead,” he said, seeming to be even more confused now. Tears were streaming down your face as you laughed, standing up. 

“Definitely siblings,” you agreed, sitting down on Jay’s lap, your arm draped around his shoulders. Kevin looked grossed out when you sat on Jay’s lap, even more so when you kissed him. 

“Jay and I have been dating for two years you guys,” you assured them. “Plus, I don’t think Will could keep up with a sister, let alone someone as insane as me.” 

“We’ve got a case,” Voight interrupted, shooting the two of you dagger eyes. That was enough for you to get off Jay’s lap, making your way back to your own desk. 

——-

“I don’t like this,” Jay told you as you got changed in the locker room, your back to him. You guys needed someone to go undercover in a strip joint, and unfortunately, you were the only woman on the team. 

“I know you don’t, but Jay, these girls deserve justice,” you reminded him before motioning for him to toss you the shirt sitting on the bench. He did so, you pulling it on. “Plus, it’s not like you’re not going to be there,” you added, turning to face him. 

You didn’t like the clothes one bit, the shirt too low cut, the skirt to high up on your thighs, and the heels were killing your feet already. But it was worth it if it meant you caught this son of a bitch. 

“I look ridiculous,” you grumble, trying to pull the skirt down a little bit, but his hands caught your wrists, looking up at him through your eyelashes. You were jealous that he got to get dressed up in a suit, the light blue of the shirt complimenting his eyes. He had the top three buttons undone, getting a glimpse of well chiseled chest.

“You look fine,” he assured you. “Plus, I wouldn’t mind if you brought that outfit home after this.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, letting him kiss you before you began to apply your makeup. 

The case was tough, so far four girls working out of a strip club found dead in the alley behind it just a few nights apart. It had been obvious that they’d been abducted from the club, killed at a secondary location, and then dumped. You hadn’t been able to catch whoever was doing it, not sure how he was getting away with it. It had been Al’s idea to send someone in, and obviously, that meant you.

“In your dreams, Halstead,” you told him, applying the lipstick thick. “Only if Detective Halstead finally shows up to.”

You’d been trying to convince him for months to do some roleplay, but he’d always found an excuse not to. You knew part of it was because of the agreement to leave work at work and all worries at the door, but you kept thinking it would be fun. Maybe this was the incentive to get him to agree, by playing stripper as well. 

“I’ll consider it,” he agreed, biting the inside of his cheek as his eyes landed on your ass. 

“You two ready to go?” Antonio said, popping his head inside the locker room.  “Remember, you still got to follow strip club rules, Halstead. Even if your girl is dancing.” Jay jokingly groaned, but you knew there was some truth in it as the two of you walked with Antonio down to the back entrance. 

 “There’s a mic in the necklace,” Mouse told you, helping you put the necklace on. It was simple, not too flashy, but hung low enough to accent your assets. 

“We’ll be listening in the entire time, Y/L/N,” Voight reminded you. “Jay’s gonna be in there as well, able to listen as well. You remember the code word?” 

You nodded, remembering it well. “Jeweler. Though, don’t know how I’m gonna slip that into conversation. I’ll find a way though.” Voight nodded, looking between you and Jay again.

“You guys are gonna have to keep your heads on straight with this one, okay? No going rogue, playing this by the books. No funny business either, okay?” You and Jay both verbally agreed with what Hank was saying before heading out, the team following you. 

——-

The music in the club was louder than you’d like it to be, not really into the whole club scene. Especially not strip clubs. As you made your way around the place, trying to pick up somebody, you could see Jay eyeing you occasionally. It wasn’t often enough to draw suspicion, but enough to give you some sense of security. 

After your third loop, an attractive gentleman put his hand on your arm to get your attention, a charming smile. He had to be no older than mid-thirties, salt-and-pepper hair, dark green eyes. If you weren’t madly in love with Jay, you would have thought this man would be a good choice. 

“How much for a private dance?” he asked you, voice like gravel. 

“Seventy-five,” you answered, the man not missing a beat as he pulled out a hundred. You took the money, and gave him a smile. You saw Jay’s brow furrow as your eyes met before the man walked with you to the back rooms. 

“How long have you been working here?” he asked, loosening his tie as he sat down. “I haven’t seen you around before.” 

“Just a couple weeks. My name’s Candy. What’s yours?” you asked innocently with a smile, straddling him. 

“Justin. I’m sorry to hear about those girls, the ones they found nearby.” You couldn’t explain it, but you did not have a good feeling about this guy, his hand coming up to play with your necklace. “Where did you get such a beautiful piece?” he then asked as you ground your hips down into his, pretending to enjoy this. 

“I just got it back from-” You couldn’t get the last word out before his hand was around your throat, cutting off any chance of breathing you had. You grabbed his wrist with both hands, trying to get his hand from around your throat. No noise came out though, wanting to call for help. Your nails dug into the skin of his arm. You tried, you really did, but you could see the edges of your vision getting darker and darker until your world went black. 

——

Jay. That was the first name that came to your mind when you finally came to. Your hands were bound above your head, a gag in your mouth. It took a minute to piece together the bits and pieces to remember why you were in this position, how you got there. 

You turned your head to each side, trying to see where you were at. It looked like a warehouse of some kind, but more like a long term storage facility. You weren’t exactly sure. Either way, it wasn’t where you were supposed to be. You were supposed to be closing this case, and going home. With Jay.

You knew as soon as he realized you were gone, he was going to beat himself up over it. He was going to blame himself for not watching you better before directing his anger at Voight or Al since those were the two who thought of this plan. 

It was cold, the metal of the table you were tied to. You could feel zip-ties digging into your skin, digging deeper the more you struggled against them. You tried kicking your legs, but you had rope around your ankles. You didn’t know what else to do, stuck there, waiting for this psycho to make his next move. Unfortunately, you didn’t have to wait long to hear his footsteps approaching. Tears pricked at your eyes, trying to not let them spill over. But you were terrified. You’d seen those girls’ bodies, knew the torture they’d endured in just a few short hours. You could only hope that Jay would find you soon.

———-

You couldn’t take it anymore, praying for death. If dying meant getting out of the pain, out of this torture, it would be worth it. Justin had taken the gag out of your mouth seemingly hours ago, screams tearing at your throat with every punch, every cut, every single time he touched you. 

“Please,” you begged. “Please just kill me.” You didn’t think of the mic that you were still wearing when you begged for him to end it. It didn’t matter either way, because you’d given up hope that they’d find you. 

————

“How can we not know where she is?” Jay yelled, hand raking through his hair as they went over every detail again. The suit jacket had long been discarded, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up mid-forearm. He knew there should have been a GPS tracker as well, just in case. But at the same time, he’d been determined to protect you. It was his job, as both your partner at work and your boyfriend. 

He’d told Mouse to continuously listen to the incoming audio, to let him know if anything changed. It had been hours since you’d disappeared, hours that you could have been dead. He tried to not think of that, tried to hold onto the hope that you would be okay. 

“Jay, you might want to hear this,” Mouse said from his desk. Jay walked over, putting on the headphones as Mouse rewound the recording.

“Please,” you begged, his heart breaking as he heard your strained voice. “Please just kill me.” Mouse had told him what was going on, Jay had heard your screams, feeling helpless. 

“Dammit!” he yelled, slamming the headphones down on the desk, pacing the length of the bullpen as the others worked diligently to figure out where this guy had you hidden. “Dammit,” he muttered, quieter this time, leaning against his desk. It was just that morning that you were sitting in the desk across from his, smiling, laughing. He rubbed his eyes, wiping away the forming tears as Voight called him into his office. 

“This isn’t your fault, Halstead,” Voight tried telling him, but he brushed it off.

“Yes, it is. I shouldn’t have let her go back there, I should’ve followed. I should have realized something was wrong sooner. Y/N is being tortured because I couldn’t protect her!” Jay ranted, hands and voice shaking. “I can’t lose her, Hank.” 

Voight didn’t have many moments that someone could call him soft, but this was one of them, pulling Jay in and letting him cry. “We’re going to get her back,” he assured Jay, the younger detective clinging to his Sergeant. 

“We’ve got something!” Adam announced, Jay letting go with a nod and walking back out. “Justin’s mom rents a warehouse out in Cicero. The thing is, mom’s been dead for fifteen years, since Justin was a kid,” he continued.

“Let’s go!” Voight told the crew, looking at Jay. As everyone rushed down, he held Jay back for a minute. “We’d all understand if this son of a bitch doesn’t walk out of that warehouse tonight.” 

Jay knew what Voight meant, knew that there would be no limits or restrictions on how they could handle this guy, on how Voight would let him handle it. For the first time in Jay’s life, he wanted true, unfiltered revenge. 

———

You couldn’t breathe, every breath making the fire in your chest grow hotter. He’d stopped his actions for the time being, but you were just waiting for imminent death. You heard footsteps approaching you, squeezing your eyes shut as Justin whistled an unidentifiable tune. You could hear chains rattling together, could barely hear the city outside. It was ironic. Born in Chicago. Killed in Chicago.

“Tell me, Nightingale,” he said as he laid the chain across your throat. “You so sure you want to die?” 

“Please,” was the only word you could manage to get out as he started pulling down on the chain, feeling the air get trapped in your lungs, unable to get more in. You tried to cough, tried to scream, but nothing would work. This was it. And the only thing on your mind was Jay, his smile, his laugh, the memories. He was the best thing in your life. You could only hope he could forgive you. 

You couldn’t hear much over the sound of blood rushing in your ears, though, you easily recognized the sound of gun fire. The chain fell, allowing you to suck in a deep breath which caused more pain to your chest. Then, a coughing fit before trying to pull free of the zip ties and rope again, not sure what was going on. 

“Y/N!” you heard someone yell before hands were on you again. 

You couldn’t help but scream at the sudden contact, not sure who it was, eyes squeezing closed, head thrashing back and forth. You felt whoever it was untie the rope around your ankles, getting a good kick in as soon as your foot was free. He groaned before cutting your hands free. 

“Look at me,” he said, voice soft, soothing. You opened your eyes, seeing that it was Jay. As soon as you recognized him, your bottom lip quivered, trying to cover yourself. He didn’t say anything as he slipped his jacket off, draping it over your shoulders. 

“You’re okay,” he assured you. “I’ve got you.” That was enough, with everything that had happened to you. You couldn’t just put on a brave face, tears streaming down your cheeks as he pulled you into his chest. Sobs wracked through your body, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you from going under. Surprisingly, he didn’t stroke through your hair or rubbed you back. Instead, he just pressed his forehead to the top of your head, just holding you. This was as much of an ordeal for him, considering he’d thought he’d lost you. 

“Jay,” Voight said, getting his attention. You didn’t turn to look at the Sergeant, keeping a tight hold on Jay. “How do you want to handle this?”

“Let’s just get her to Med. I’ll meet you at the docks,” he said, his grip tightening a little more on you.  You didn’t know what he meant by that, and you were sure you didn’t want to know. 

“Intelligence to Main. Roll an ambo to our location for a severely assaulted officer,” Kevin said into the radio, getting an affirmative reply. 

“You’re gonna get checked out at Med with Jay, okay?” Voight told you. You just nodded into Jay’s chest, not saying anything. You would have never thought that the feeling of the kevlar vest against you would feel like home, or the smell of the cologne he knew you hated but he loved. Plus, the kevlar gave a barrier. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, but you were scared, terrified, and it gave you a little more security. 

“You’re safe,” Jay assured you again. You heard the ambulance arrive, could tell the medics were waiting for you to let go of him. Your mind blocked it out, though, surely going into shock. You couldn’t distinguish what Jay was telling them, or telling you. 

They got you on the stretcher, moving you to the ambulance. Jay was right next to you the entire time, holding your hand. However, as soon as the medic touched you to start an IV, you freaked out, throwing punches and screaming. It took Jay and Adam holding you down for them to be able to sedate you. Your own fear was overwhelming, so you didn’t notice the tears in Jay’s eyes as he restrained you. But, his face was the last thing you saw before drifting off. 

———

When you woke up, you were expecting to be back in that warehouse. Instead, you felt blankets on top of you, a pillow behind your head, and the weight of Jay’s arms and head on your lap. He was sleeping, probably very uncomfortably. You could see his vest on the couch across the room, which meant he hadn’t gone back to the station at all. Had he left at all? 

Everything hurt. Every breath still hurt, but not as bad. There was still the fear though. You hadn’t known what had happened to the offender, if he was in jail or dead. Remembering what happened was what tipped Jay off that you were awake. 

You’d always been under the impression that the brain could block off traumatic events, had hoped you’d never remember what happened. Every ache told you otherwise, flashbacks of what he did to you resting under the surface. You were shaking, hyperventilating, heart rate spiking which set off the monitor.

Jay’s head shot up, looking at you with worry. “Hey,” he said softly, not touching you. You looked at him, which made you start crying. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe.” 

“Jay,” you choked out before dissolving into full fledged sobs. He climbed into the bed with you, holding you. Just like the night before, he didn’t rub a hand along your back and comb through your hair. He just held you. You thought it might have been his way of acknowledging what happened. Or maybe, just maybe, in the back of your mind, you thought it could be because he saw you differently. 

“Breathe, Y/N. Just breathe,” he told you each time you took a breath to continue crying. It was enough for you to take deeper breaths, which helped calm you down. “That’s it. Just breathe.” 

“I’m sorry,” you told him as your sobs died down into sniffles. “I’m so sorry.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry about, you hear me? Nothing. This was not your fault, not by a long shot,” he told you. You didn’t understand why he could be so forgiving, or to look past the position you’d gotten yourself into.

“I want to go home,” you then told him. You didn’t know how long they were going to keep you at Med, hoped it wouldn’t be long. You just wanted to be at home, in your bed, not giving a care in the world. 

“I know. Dr Manning is going to come up and see you. She just wanted you to be awake to check things over. Then, Dr Charles is gonna see you. Then, hopefully you’ll go home today.” He took a breath, seeming to steady himself before he spoke again. “I thought I lost you.” 

You couldn’t say anything to that, and you didn’t. There wasn’t a lot you could say at this point, all of it so fresh in your mind, trying to process what had happened. 

———-

You’d kicked Jay out of the room when Dr Charles had shown up. He looked hurt, but you hoped he’d eventually understand. It just felt like he was breathing down your throat, and with everything that had happened, you’d decided you needed some kind of space even if it was just talking to Dr Charles alone.

“I know everybody has probably been asking you this,” he said, sitting down in the chair Jay had been occupying. “But, how are you feeling?” You rolled your eyes, arms crossing over your chest so that your hands wouldn’t shake.

“I don’t know how to describe it,” you answered. “Everything hurts. I haven’t had the courage to look at the damage he caused. Jay…” You shook your head. “He’s been a little overbearing, breathing down my neck all day. He acts like I’m going to break every time he touches me.”

“And what do you think? Do you feel like you’re going to break if he touches you?” Daniel asked. 

You couldn’t help it as tears welled in your eyes again, quickly brushing them away. It seemed like he noticed, though he didn’t say anything. You were very conflicted with that answer, but you tried to be honest with him. He wasn’t going to judge you, you knew that. Jay was a different story. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to tell him how you felt about it. 

“I feel…” You took a breath to steady yourself. “I feel like I’m already broken. And that Jay is going to cut himself on those edges.” 

“What you’re telling me, how it’s sounding. It’s all very normal after experiencing a traumatic event like you did. And those emotions are going to take a long time to figure out, it’s not going to be over night. I’m going to sign off on your discharge, but I want you following up with either myself or someone in my office to set up a time to continue this discussion once you settle a little, okay?” You nodded, wiping away more tears. It felt like you just couldn’t stop crying. “Do you want me to send Jay in?”

“No… Yes. I-I don’t.” You just looked up at the ceiling. 

“I’ll go ahead and send him in. The best advice I have for you right now in this moment is to set boundaries with him. Hell, with everyone. At least until you process and figure out the mess that’s in your head.” After you nodded, he left the room. It took a few minutes for Jay to come in, figuring Daniel had probably talked to Jay about something. 

When Jay did come back in, he didn’t say anything as he sat down, seeming to wait for you to start the conversation. Maybe it was something Daniel had said, you weren’t sure. 

“Dr Charles suggested I make boundaries,” you said softly, folding your hands on your lap as you looked over at him. “I love you, Jay, but I...I don’t know.” 

“Whatever it is, I’ll understand, and I’ll respect it. This doesn’t change anything with us.” It was nice to hear it, but you didn’t really believe it. What if he decided it was too much for him? What if the boundaries you set pushed him too far away? But it was worth a shot. 

“When I’m upset, I like that you’ll hold me without me having to say anything. Just hold me,” you told him, looking down at your hands. “I’ll let you know if I don’t want it. But when I’m not. I want to initiate contact for a while. If-If you do, because you forget or...or whatever reason, I’ll let you know if it’s okay.” He nodded along, seeming to be really listening to you. “I don’t know about sleeping, how to go about that. Maybe I’ll sleep in the guest room for a while? But I just...I don’t want to be alone in the apartment.” 

“I’ll move some stuff around when we get home,” he told you. He didn’t seem to sound hurt, seemed very understanding. “I just want to make sure, to clarify. Is it okay if I ask if something is okay? Say, I want to kiss you or hold your hand or whatever it is?” You nodded in agreement, knowing as long as you got some kind of heads up and that it didn’t just come out of the blue. “I’ll do my best, I’ll really try.” 

“Thank you,” you said, reaching your hand out for his. He gave you a sad smile as he obliged with the unspoken request, lacing your fingers together. 

———

Jay had brought you home that afternoon, following a couple steps behind you. You didn’t understand what you’d done to deserve a guy like Jay, who could be so understanding. You knew he had his own demons though, that he probably understood through those. 

It was odd being home. It had only been a couple of days since you’d left for work and hadn’t come back. Oh, how things could change in a couple of days. Jay sat down your bag on the kitchen table. The ride home had been quiet, the both of you keeping your hands to yourself. Usually, you’d ride home with his hand on your knee, or your hands entwined at the center console. A part of you had wanted that normalcy, but it felt wrong.

“I’m going to move some of my clothes to the guest room. It’s not fair to make you move your stuff,” he told you. You just nodded in response, wanting to take a shower. You knew you didn’t want Jay anywhere near you when you saw yourself in the mirror for the first time. 

The two of you went your separate ways, doing your own things. You had grabbed his Army t-shirt and some of your yoga pants before locking yourself in the bathroom. 

You weren’t sure how to go about it, so you stripped down and took a shower. When you were done and dried off, you held onto the sink and looking down. The sink drain had twelve holes, which you counted at least a dozen times, trying to get the courage to look into the mirror. Despite feeling the pain of every bruise and ut, seeing it was different.

The chain he’d started to strangle you with had left a dark bruise along the front of your throat. You could vaguely make out the lighter finger-shaped bruises he’d left from the club. Your lips were busted in three different spots, and one eye looked like it was nearly swollen shut. A deep gash ran through your eyebrow, another had stitches along your temple. Your nose was bruised, surprised it wasn’t broken. Your eyes continued downward, losing count of how many handprints were left on you, how many cuts he’d tallied into your skin. You ignored the worst of it, the part that you were sure was going to leave an everlasting scar. Across your stomach, he’d carved the word ‘whore.’ The cuts were deep and inflamed. You were a detective, a well liked, detective who had gone undercover and had come out with the word ‘whore’ scarred on your body for the world to see. Even if you weren’t, even if you had indeed been a worker at that club, it wasn’t something you — or anybody else — deserved to have happen. 

You didn’t realize you were crying again until Jay knocked on the door, asking if you were alright. You didn’t say anything in response, throwing on the clothes before unlocking the door. Now you knew how much like shit you actually looked after the whole ordeal. 

“Do you want to talk or-” You cut him off, talking being the last thing you wanted to do. 

“I’m going to go lay down,” you said. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.” 

He nodded in response. You knew you had to do what felt right to help you get through this. So, you got closer to him, almost pressed against him again. He kept his hands at his sides, confused as to what you were doing. You cupped his cheeks in your hands, then stood on your tip-toes and brushing your lips against his. It wasn’t a full kiss, barely the ghost of one, but it was enough to show him that this didn’t change anything, just like he’d said. 

———

Voight had told you to take time off, and you were more than happy to if you were being honest. But in this moment, you were frustrated and bored out of your mind. It had been nearly six weeks, all of your bruises healed up, the cuts scarring over for the most part. You avoided the mirror like the plague, though, but it was something you were working on with Dr Charles. 

“It’s not like I’m going to go off the deep end, Jay! If I was going to do that, I would have!” The two of you were sitting on the couch, his arm around you.

You’d lessened on your boundaries with him, letting him know if it was a good day or a bad day. If it was bad, then the boundaries were there in full force. If it was a good day, less so. He’d gotten into the habit of making sure you knew he was next to you before touching you, which made it a little better. You still weren’t sharing a bed full time, but some nights. It was a process, you both knew that. 

“I know, but Voight cares about you. He just wants to make sure you’re one-hundred percent before coming back. That’s all.” You pulled back, glaring at him.

“So, what? I’m not one-hundred percent? You think that Jay, huh?” you asked, angry, getting up off the couch to pace the room. 

“That’s not...You know what I mean, Y/N,” he replied, sitting on the edge of the couch with his elbows on his knees. 

“I know what you said, Jay!” You huffed, crossing your arms and looking at him. “Those first few days, it felt like you thought I was going to break. But now! It’s been six weeks, Jay! I’m not going to just fall apart at the drop of a hat! You still treat me like I’m fragile and I hate it!” You weren’t going to lie, it had been boiling down to this. Dr Charles had told you that you needed to talk to Jay before it reached this point, but you had never found the need to. 

“I respect your boundaries, Y/N. I don’t think you’re going to just break,” he tried explaining, but you were upset and a bit irrational. 

“Really? Jay, I want my boyfriend back! Not the cop who had to rescue me, because sometimes that’s all you seem to act like!” you reminded him. 

“You…” He shook his head. “Yeah, Y/N. Sometimes it’s hard to turn off the cop part of me, to differentiate the different parts of myself. I remember standing in Voight’s office, helpless after hearing you beg for Justin to kill you. I remember crying, not sure if we were going to find you in time and blaming myself. So yeah, sometimes it’s hard for me to act like your boyfriend when the cop side of me couldn’t save you,” he told you, voice steady. That was how you knew he was truly upset. 

With you, you would yell and your voice would shake and it was obvious you were upset. With him, it was different. It was a stoic face, a firm and steady voice. And he didn’t move. He wouldn’t talk with his hands like he did when he was calm and relaxed. 

He’d never really talked about what happened when it came to finding you, and you’d never thought to ask. Now, though, it made more sense. You’d completely forgotten about the mic in the necklace, not realizing that Jay would have been able to hear every second of your torture. 

“Jay, I-” It was his turn to cut you off. 

“I didn’t tell you for a reason. You were blaming yourself for it when we found you. I wasn’t going to add to that. Plus, it wasn’t me we needed to focus on getting better. It was you. So yeah, I didn’t tell you because there wasn’t a reason to. And yeah, it’s affected how I act around you some days. I can still hear your screams in my head, even when you’re standing right there in front of me smiling. I was afraid that if I let my guard down again, it could happen again. And I’ve been trying to work on it, I really have,” he continued. 

You didn’t know what to say, feeling like a complete asshole. So, you pushed him back on the couch to straddle him. Then, you did what he’d been doing for you for the past six weeks. You just held him tight. 

———-

Voight had agreed to let you come back three weeks later. You had a feeling Jay was the mastermind behind it, thanking him on the drive home from work. It was nice to get back to a normal routine, one step back to being yourself.

———

It had been four months since the attack, and you were ready for a lot of things. One of them was having Jay back in your bedroom with you. It had been few and far between that he had slept in the guest room over the last two of those months, but you were ready for that step. Another was getting rid of set boundaries. Still, he told you to let him know if you were having a bad day and that he’d help in any way he could. Even if that meant giving you space. The third...well, the third was something you’d talked to Dr Charles about, and he urged you to try. Even if it didn’t go as far as you were hoping, he wanted you to try. 

“Jay?” you asked as the two of you laid in bed. He was reading an online article — you weren’t sure what for — and you’d been doing a crossword puzzle. He gave you a hmmm in response, not looking at you. It took a deep breath to build some kind of courage, tossing your puzzle book on the bedside table before taking his phone from him. He looked at you confused as you set the device next to your puzzle book. 

“Okay, you have my attention,” he assured you with a smile. 

“I want to try something.” He looked at you puzzled, but didn’t say anything, knowing you were going to answer his questions soon. You took that as the go-ahead, moving to straddle his lap with a smile of your own. His hands rested on your thighs, looking at you. 

“What did you have in mind?” he asked. You didn’t answer with words, instead, it was a rough kiss, your hands running through his hair and holding him close. 

The two of you had shared a number of kisses since the incident, though they were always short and sweet, never lasting long. It was typically you that stopped, that pulled away with apologies. So, what you weren’t expecting was for Jay to pull back. 

“Y/N,” he started to say, licking his bottom lip, but you cut him off with another, softer kiss. 

“I’m sure, Jay. This isn’t a rash thing, or something I haven’t thought over a million times.” He nodded, kissing you again, pulling you flush against him. The two of you continued this dance for a while, pulling back to kiss down along the skin of his neck. 

For you, this wasn’t just about the intimacy. It was to show him that you trusted him. As well as showing yourself that you could trust him. He hadn’t seen the scars, having only seen glimpses when they first found you. It was you baring yourself to him for the first time all over again. 

You pulled back again, pulling off his shirt. He looked at you with desire and love as your hands slid down his chest, feeling the muscles just beneath the surface. When he went to take off your shirt though, your hands grabbed his wrists, stopping him. He looked confused more than anything. 

“I just...He caused a lot of permanent scars,” you warned Jay. He didn’t say anything, just giving you a soft, reassuring smile as he slowly slid your shirt up and over your head, keeping eye contact the entire time. 

“Whatever he did, it doesn’t change who you are. It doesn’t change how I see you,” Jay assured you. You couldn’t help that your bottom lip quivered, not able to look away from him as his eyes left yours and began looking you over. 

One of his hands rested on your thigh, the other traced the scars starting from your collarbone and going down. His touch was light as a feather, but you knew it was there. He didn’t trace the word across your stomach, though. You knew he saw it, saw him look at it, a flash of anger in his eyes. 

“This isn’t true,” he told you firmly. “This is far from the truth. You are beautiful, and amazing, and the best thing that has ever happened to me. You’re smart, funny, honest. The list could go on and on, but this. You’re not this. You’re not what he did to you.” You really didn’t know what you’d done to deserve a guy like Jay Halstead. You knew he could go on, would probably ramble if you let him, so you kissed him again. It was less heated than before, but still firm. 

It took a few more minutes to progress past this point, but when it did, you couldn’t help but be nervous. It had taken you seemingly forever to feel like you weren’t broken anymore, to feel whole again. Jay had helped you get to that point, through a lot of pain and frustration and tears. You’d tried to dip your hand down the waistband of his pants, but he’d stopped you.

“We have plenty of time for that,” he said. “I just want you.” 

You’d decided to change positions. Again, to show yourself you trusted him, you lay on your back, pulling him on top of you. It made you nervous for all of three seconds before he kissed you, those nerves and fears washing away quickly. 

He took his time, assuring you and reassuring you that the two of you had all the time in the world, that there was no reason to rush this. He turned you into a hot mess, practically begging for more. And he delivered, taking his time, making sure you were okay, which usually just got a ‘shut up and kiss me’ as a reply. 

Afterwards, your head rested on his chest, his fingers running softly along your back. You couldn’t help but smile, hearing his heartbeat under you, feeling him breathe. The two of you were slick with sweat, sheets tangled around your ankles and waist. 

“I love you,” you told him, kissing a trail on his chest with no rhyme or reason before kissing him. “No matter what.” 

“I love you too. Let’s go ahead and sleep. We can talk in the morning.” You couldn’t agree more. 

———-

Some days, it felt like it had all happened yesterday, that you had just been getting ready in the locker room with Jay right behind you. Other days, it seemed like a different lifetime. Most of the time, it was the latter. But this day was different. It had been an entire year.

You’d grown as a person and as a detective in that year. You weren’t scared of turning the corner or entering a dark room. You’d been more hesitant at first when it came to being undercover, but Mouse had always made sure to give you something with a GPS tracker, just in case. It made you feel safer. 

You’d requested the day off, as well as Jay, Voight not arguing the issue. You figured he probably understood. You didn’t want to leave the house, wanted to just spend the entire day curled up in bed with Jay with the occasional pizza delivery. And that’s exactly what you did. 

He was pressed against your back, holding you close to him. Your hand grabbed his, moving it to the scars on your stomach. They were your constant reminder, though, you’d learned to block them out for the most part. It was as if he knew what you were asking, unable to say it, his calloused fingers tracing the letters. 

“You’re not what he did to you,” he reminded you, whispering it in your ear. You couldn’t help but smile a little bit, but not saying anything. 

“When I was there. When he was choking me with the chains and I thought I was going to die…” You didn’t know if you should even tell him, but you were already halfway there. It was just finding the right words.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he reminded you. It had been an agreement one of the times he’d come with you to see Dr Charles that he never wanted you to feel obligated to tell him what happened in that warehouse. He could piece enough together to figure it out himself.

“I want to. When I thought I was going to die, it wasn’t my life flashing before my eyes. Or maybe it was, just in a different way. The only thing I could think of, that came to mind, was you, Jay,” you told him. “I was so upset that I wouldn’t be able to be there to tell you it wasn’t your fault, because I knew you’d blame yourself. I saw a future we’d never have. I saw your face and your smile and I heard your laugh. And of all the things I could see in those final moments, I was so happy it was you. But...I know you heard me begging to die. I was in so much pain, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to die when I begged, but when it was happening, all I wanted was to live. I wanted to see you again, so badly, for you to tell me it was all going to be okay.” You noticed wetness dripping onto your neck, rolling over to see his eyes rimmed red. 

This day wasn’t just about you. He suffered that day too. It had just taken you a long time to be able to see that. You’d been so focused on your own pain that you ignored his. You cupped his cheek, not saying anything. 

“Mouse had me listen to that audio. He hadn’t let me listen to much else, but that moment…” He sniffled. “I’m just glad you’re okay, and here with me. I love you.” 

You didn’t know what you would have done without him over the past year. He had really been your rock, your guiding light. You loved Jay Halstead more than life itself, it seemed like, and you would make sure to let him know every day for the rest of your life.

[satorisa]

Falling: Chapter 1 - In which the Hug is Finally Acknowledged

Rating: T

Summary:  "I wanna forget all this burden in my past."

Alternate Reading: AO3

Lift the Veil? I don’t know her.

D.N.Angel ending? I don’t know her.

But that hug? Lives, rent free in my mind, man.

Warning: Spoilers for the DNAngel ending abound.

After Dark disappeared, the hours continued to flow as if the incident had never occurred. Satoshi brought Risa home that evening before he visited the Niwa household to brainstorm a story for Commissioner Hiwatari’s disappearance. Daisuke slept next to him that night and, while comforted by his friend’s rhythmic breathing and familiar warmth, Satoshi kept his tired eyes on the window, watching as the evening skies brightened to a morning blue.

Commissioner Hiwatari was declared missing the next day, and Inspector Saehara decided to take Satoshi in for the time being. He moved into the Saehara household that same evening, everything he owned packed in a duffel bag weighing on his shoulder, and Takeshi showed him around the house.

Satoshi met Mama Saehara through a video call that same evening. She worked as a fashion designer, and her job had flung her off to Paris this time. He quite liked her.

After they hung up, he had a warm dinner with Takeshi and Inspector Saehara. It was leftovers from last night, but he enjoyed the food nonetheless.

That night, Satoshi slept next to Takeshi, who snored in his ear while either kicking him or rolling on him. Satoshi kept his tired eyes on the window, watching as the evening skies brightened to a morning blue.

He went shopping with the Saeharas the next day. They bought a bunk bed, a desk, and whatever else they thought that Satoshi would need. After that, the days fell back into their familiar rhythm as if the incident had never occurred.

Satoshi slept in the top bed for privacy. Takeshi took the bottom bed since he didn’t quite care. Their desks sat side by side in front of the window: Takeshi’s impeccably spotless and Satoshi’s covered in manila folders and schoolwork.

Everyday, Satoshi woke up, went to school, and attended the art club that Daisuke finally convinced him to join. On some evenings, Inspector Saehara would ask him for help on a case, and they always headed home after work with fried chicken for dinner. For the most part though, Satoshi spent his time after school with Daisuke and Takeshi.

Then Riku moved away.

Risa began to hang out with Daisuke and Takeshi just as much as she hung out with Ritsuko and the other girls, but she still maintained the same distance she had with Satoshi prior to the incident. She’d greet him, cordial and courteous, and she’d smile and laugh with the boys, just like him, but that was the extent of their relationship: friends of friends.

And that was how Satoshi’s second year in middle school came to an end.

…

The last of the art club members finally left. They were a group of giggling girls who clearly only joined to get closer to Satoshi but, after realizing that he wouldn’t pay any attention to them yet again, they decided to call it a day.

Satoshi sighed in relief when the door closed behind them and ran his hand through his hair. Daisuke, president of the art club, laughed at the strands that were sticking up.

“How long are you going to let them stay here?” Satoshi asked, watching the group walk and giggle down below.

“They’ll get tired eventually.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Just wait. They’ll eventually realize how boring you are and set their eyes on someone else.”

Satoshi shot Daisuke a look. He laughed before slipping off his stool.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

“My painting.”

Daisuke, eyes shining with curiosity, scurried over to Satoshi’s canvas. His jaw slacked.

Before him was the familiar visage of Dark outlined in pencil. The sharp angle of his eyes, his chiseled features, his charismatic smile, and his dark hair flowing around him: everything was detailed to utmost perfection.

“Oh my god.”

“How is it?”

“It looks just like him.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

Daisuke nodded, awestruck, but that eventually gave way to a darker expression on his face. “…why are you doing this, though?”

Satoshi shrugged. “I don’t know. Still life practice got boring, so I decided to try doing something different.”

“You could have done something else besides starting on a portrait of Dark.”

“I know, but this is what I ended up making.”

“…are you okay?”

“That’s a rhetorical question.”

Daisuke sighed. “It’s just—we’re worried about you, Satoshi. We don’t want you to hurt yourself, you know? If you’re not ready to face it, you don’t have to.”

“What? Would a portrait of my father have been better?”

“No, Satoshi, I—”

“Sorry,” Satoshi said before getting off his stool. He grabbed his bag and made his way to the door. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.” At the entrance, he turned around to face Daisuke. “But when the hell am I going to ever be ready?”

…

The sun began to set, casting its golden hue on the busts and wooden stands by the wall. Since Inspector Saehara didn’t need his help that evening, Satoshi stayed after the club meeting to work on his painting. A palette full of varying hues of purple floated gracefully in his left hand while a worn brush sat precariously in his right, waiting to lay down another thoughtful stroke.

The door opened.

“Hello, Hiwatari-kun!”

He tore his eyes away from the canvas to see Risa standing there. She no longer had her customary pink ribbon tying her hair up; her dark locks cascaded down just like Riku’s. If she trimmed some off, she’d be the spitting image of her sister.

Perhaps that was why she changed her hairstyle.

“Are you heading home soon?”

He glanced at his watch: 6:04 PM.

“Maybe.” Satoshi noted the bag slung over her shoulder. “I’m assuming you’re on your way back?”

“Yeah.” She frowned. “Saehara-kun kept us all late today because our monthly issue is coming out. What a workaholic.”

Satoshi smirked. “Like father, like son.”

“His dad’s just like that?”

“Absolutely. His mom’s the same way, too, so it probably runs in the family.”

Risa giggled. The door opened again, and it was the man of the hour himself. He pouted.

“I’m not as bad as my parents.”

“Sure,” Satoshi sarcastically drawled.

Takeshi just shook his head. “Whatever, bro. You headin’ back soon?”

“Maybe. Don’t wait for me if you need to head out.”

“Nah. I kinda want to hit up the arcade for a bit before we go grocery shopping.”

“Can we drop by the bookstore, too? I need to grab a couple of things.”

“Yeah. I think I need some stuff from there, too.” Takeshi then turned to Risa. “You wanna stick around with us, then? No hard feelings if you need to jet, though.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass. I don’t want to stay out too late and worry my parents.” She waved with a smile. “I’ll see you two tomorrow then. Bye!”

Risa skipped out of the room while Takeshi walked over to examine Satoshi’s painting. He whistled.

“Yanno, you’re a little too talented for someone who doesn’t like painting.”

“Shut up. You know how I feel about it.”

“And yet you joined the art club.”

“I have to start somewhere with that positive reassociation and all.”

“And how’s that goin’ for ya?”

“Terrible. I’m hating every second of it.”

“Well, uh, nobody asked you to make a painting of that Dark Mousy fellow, yanno?”

“Couldn’t help it. His handsome face kept bothering me.”

…

Mama Saehara popped up on his phone screen with the Parisian skyline behind her.

“Good evening, Satoshi.”

“Good morning, Saehara-san.”

“No need to be so formal with me! Please, call me Mama.”

“I’d rather not.”

She laughed. “Alrighty, hun. How’re you doing?”

“I’m alright.”

“And the therapy? Have you decided to go?”

“No. I don’t think I can.”

“That’s alright. You’re doing alright. No need to push yourself if you’re not ready.” She sighed. “I just need this project to finish and then I’ll take the first flight I can back to Japan. Just wait for me, okay?”

“No need to rush. Take all the time you need.”

“Oh honey, I appreciate the thought, but I don’t know if I trust those buffoons to take care of you. Speaking of them, how are they treating you?”

“They’re very nice. I like living here, Saehara-san. Thank you for taking me in.”

“I’m glad, Satoshi. And you’re very welcome! It’s the least we could do, truly.”

Her phone rang. Mama Saehara answered before launching into a furious tirade of French. After she hung up, she sighed and began to massage her temples.

“Sorry to cut this call short, but there’s an emergency. I’ll call again as soon as I can. Toodles!”

“Bye. Have a nice day.”

Satoshi saw himself reflected on his phone screen, and he took out his earbuds before leaving the room. He went downstairs to see Inspector Saehara at the table, can of beer open in front of him, while Takeshi began plating the food.

“How’s Ma?” Takeshi asked.

“Alright. Busy,” Satoshi answered. He grabbed some plates and bowls from the cabinets.

“Sound about right,” Takeshi said. “And you?”

“Hm?”

“How’re you?”

“Alright. Tired.”

Takeshi smirked. “Who isn’t?”

He patted Satoshi’s back before putting the plates full of table and hounding his dad about drinking: just another meal at the Saehara household.

Satoshi smiled as he began to set the table.

…

After the club meeting, Satoshi stayed behind to work on his painting, unrestrained by a request from Inspector Saehara. He mindlessly toiled away until the door opened.

“Hi, Hiwatari-kun!”

Risa’s voice broke his focus. Golden hour had passed and the blue hour settled in, dying the room a muted blue. Even Risa, despite her chipper demeanor, seamlessly blended in with the mood.

“Hey, Harada. Did the newspaper club meeting just finish?”

“Nope. It ended a while ago, but I stayed back to wrap something up.”

“So Takeshi’s already gone?”

“Yeah. I think he went to the arcade with a couple of our club members for some bonding time.”

“Ah.”

Risa swayed her head. “Are you heading home soon?”

“Yeah. Let me tidy up here, and I’ll leave with you.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

Satoshi covered his painting with a tarp before leaving the room to clean his brushes and palette. He returned to see Risa on a stool, watching something on her phone. She laughed until she noticed he had returned, and she paused her video before offering a weak wave and smile.

Satoshi grabbed his bag. “You ready to head out?”

“Yup!”

She hopped off the stool. Satoshi closed the door behind them before they walked to the faculty office. He bowed before entering, leaving the keys to the art room with the frazzled student-teacher, and bowed after leaving. Risa trailed behind him uncharacteristically calm and quiet the whole time.

When they got to the shoe lockers, Risa finally broke her silence.

“Hiwatari-kun,” she began as he took off his slippers, “did you know him?”

“Know who?”

“The person I was waiting for that day at the lamppost.”

“It took you this long to ask me about that?”

Risa giggled. “Sorry. I couldn’t find a good time to bring it up.”

“Really? I thought you’d do it by screaming at me about hugging you and overstepping boundaries.”

Risa giggled again. Satoshi raised his eyebrow as he slipped on his shoes. “I was thinking about it, but I thought it’d be too rude to. After all, you appeared when I needed someone the most. Thank you for that.”

“I had a snarky reply to that but, since you’re being genuine, I’ll keep it to myself.”

They reconvened at the entrance. Risa’s smile looked more genuine that the one she had earlier.

Good.

“So, why bring it up now?” Satoshi asked as they began walking out.

“I tried to forget about it. Why should I stay hung up over someone I don’t remember? But, well, long story short, I couldn’t. I want to know who he was.”

They stopped at an intersection. Cars rushed by while commuters joined them, preoccupied with their own lives. Satoshi focused on the red light of the crosswalk, trying not to look at Risa’s expression.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Of course I do! Why else would I be asking you about him?”

“And what if I tell you that it might be overwhelming?”

“So? I’d still want to know!”

“Even if it’ll make you cry?”

“Of course! I don’t want to just forget about him!”

Satoshi sighed. The light at the crosswalk turned green, and they began to move. Risa’s head bobbed with each step, and Satoshi focused on the sidewalk to avoid looking at her.

“Harada, I’d rather not see you cry,” he said. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Okay then. I’ll try not to cry.”

“You? Who displays your emotions for the whole world to see? Forget it.”

Risa grabbed his arm, and he turned around. She forced him to look at her. He saw the determination in her eyes, burning just as much as it did when she was chasing Dark mere months ago.

“Hiwatari-kun, please.”

How could he say no to her?

“Alright. Fine. Just give me some time, okay?”

He brushed off her arm, frustrated by her stubbornness. But he saw the softness in her expression when he yielded, and he etched it in his memory.

[bsidethetrees]

Early Night

Request from @indigotsubaki for Mirajane using Laxus as a makeup dummy. 

.

It was one of those stagnant kind of days where not much was going on and the bar was all but dead. Mirajane enjoyed those days, as she did most, for specific reasons dealing with the less stress load and not as much risk of injury do to a bar brawl, but overall, it made for a rather boring day.

When Laxus happened into the hall, she did perk up some, as she often did at the sight of her occasional date, but when he approached the bar with something of a question on his tongue, she knew she was about to have the misfortune of turning him down.

"I'm sorry, dragon," she remarked before he could even make his offer, standing where she had behind the bar, wiping it down with a cool rag, "but I have to work today. And tomorrow. And the day after, actually-"

"Mirajane," Kinana quickly butted in. She was rare to do this, especially when the woman was having a rather private conversation, but the bar was so empty that day that she heard her across the room and rushed right over. Serving tray under one arm, she stood before the bar and off to the side of Laxus as she insisted to her mentor of sorts, "I can handle everything here today. You more than deserve a day off."

"What? No." The older woman frowned. "I don't want to leave you here all by yourself. Just so Laxus and I could go on a date?"

"I haven't," Laxus spoke up then, perhaps with a bit of a grumble as he glanced back and forth at the women before him, "asked you for a date, you know."

"O-Oh." She beamed though, Mirajane did, up at the man as she remarked, "Did you not get to that part yet?"

"No," he replied though, just as quickly, he was shrugging some as he said, "But I was going to ask if-"

"Go, Mira." Kinana seemed rather insisted. "Everything will be fine here. Promise."

"Well," the other woman sighed as she mulled it all over. "If you insist-"

"I really do."

"Then-"

"I still," Laxus complained in his monotone way, "haven't asked to even take you out, you know."

"Oh, dragon, then go ahead and ask," Mirajane suggested with a bit of a giggle, as if he were the dense one.

Someone in the bar was calling out for a refill then and Kinana turned on her heel to take care of this issue, leaving the pair alone. As Mirajane stared up into his dark eyes though, Laxus only snorted.

"If you must know," he began as she quickly moved to untie her apron and toss down the rag in her hand, "I actually just wanted you to come by my place tonight after work."

"Your place?"

"No hard plan," he assured her. "To just...be together."

This took the woman aback for a moment and she only studied the man with a bit of surprise. While the two had found themselves quite the unlikely pair as of late, it was a rather wholesome attempt at courtship that they seemed to be drifting through. Mirajane was very aware that the man was frequently absent and that getting entangled with him would entail long stretches of uncertainty. Laxus, by the same token, knew that the woman had a slew of interested parties and entertained a few. Between the two of them, Mirajane and Laxus were equally aware of the others romantic inclinations, but still seemed to find one another, at least once or twice, when Laxus was in town for more than a few days.

"He's a fun date," Mirajane offered frequently to the uncertainty of any questioner and though the slayer wasn't one to be questioned, he would grunt a bit, when the Thunder Legion felt so bold, and shrug his shoulders.

"She's Mirajane fucking Strauss," he explained quite simply and, well, though it did fluster Evergreen and make Freed sigh deeply, Bickslow would always give him a big thumbs up, which had to count for something.

They liked one another.

A lot, at times.

Less at others.

But it felt good for each of them, maybe, to have the other to fall back on. Laxus seemed to come around only when Mirajane most need him while she was always there, in the guild, where she belonged, certainly not waiting on him, but if he closed his eyes tight enough, blocked out reality well enough, well, then it was almost as if she were.

Still, it was a bit strange, maybe, for there to be no big plan behind their time spent together. Mirajane always had a ball or event she was just dying to take him to or Laxus would want a woman to accompany him to a new bar or restaurant.

While they certainly spent a lot of time together in the interim, it was never with the express intention. They found one another to be good company, and it was more than welcome, but it was a bit strange, maybe, for Laxus to seek her out solely for it and while he kept mostly quiet, Mirajane found herself with some subtle glee.

She'd been to the man's apartment before, of course, and even had stayed the night quite a few times. But this felt different as they weren't stumbling into the place inebriated and hot, but rather sober and slightly chilled by the autumn air. Laxus dropped his coat on the rack before turning to take Mira's as well, his eyes not clouded by lust for once, but rather, maybe...a bit of nerves?

Mirajane found this hard to accept.

"I have some steaks in the fridge that I was saving for guys night, with Freed and Bickslow, but I can get some more," he told the woman as he walked further through the apartment. "Or I can go out later and get us some takeout, if you want. But for now," and he paused some, as he'd made it to his kitchen, heading right over to sling open the fridge, "let's have a drink."

Mirajane tried to decline, crinkling her nose a bit at the sight of the beer bottle he presented her with, but the man merely popped the cap on one with his rather impressive canine before walking over to the counter top and nodding at where a bottle of wine sat, corked.

And she couldn't rightly deny the offer, given it was surely her favorite label, and they fell together, eventually, into his couch, a music lacrima playing distantly in the background.

"So," Mirajane began around the one glass she insisted she was having, "was there anything in particular you wanted to do?"

"No," Laxus answered honestly enough. After a sip of his drink, he added, "Just to be with you."

It felt like the final confirmation she needed and that time, when the woman giggled, it felt real and Laxus felt the tips of his ears heat up, maybe just a bit, laughing himself at his own admission. Everything felt easier now and, for all the talking Mirajane typically required, Laxus was glad to find that this was now not the case.

He'd never brought a woman back to his place just to sit around. Honestly, maybe that wasn't even his true intention. He'd felt like the sex was implied, maybe, and did hope the night would turn that way originally (fine, even still), but fuck it wasn't a strange comfort to just exist then, beside the demon. Nothing more, nothing less. Just sit beside her and silently consider all of the things that to say aloud would ruin their own existence.

"Was there anything you wanted to do?" he asked when her cup was running low and he was already starting on his second beer. "Mirajane?"

"Well," she began with a bit of a sigh, "I dunno."

"What do you usually do?" he tried instead. "When you get an unexpected time off?"

"Last time I did," she told him truthfully, "I reorganized my kitchen cabinets."

Laxus considered this in silent for a moment before saying, "I only have a couple plates, cups, and bowls in mine. They only take up one cabinet. But you can have at it if you-"

"No way." She frowned. "How do you live like that?"

"Like a single person," he answered simply and, well, that made sense, maybe.

Humming still, Mirajane told him, "It sounds like someone needs a cookware set for their birthday."

"It sounds like someone's not finding out when that is then," he retorted bluntly before insisting, "Come on, Mira. There has to be something that you wanna do, right now. Something more than just sit and drink."

His question felt a bit leading and she might have taken it as such if his tone wasn't rather open while his gaze uncharacteristically seemed much the same. Laxus was honestly wishing for her to present the two of them something fun to do around his apartment and though, as her eyes scanned about, it was instead something the man didn't possess that she found herself suggesting.

"I have always wanted to do your makeup."

Laxus was mid sip and choked a bit, maybe, as he questioned, "My what?"

"Oh c'mon, dragon," she insisted in that pouty face of hers that she saved just for when he was being a sourpuss. "Don't tell me you've wanted to enhance your looks a bit."

"My face was chiseled by the gods," the man told her simply. "I don't need stupid makeup to make myself look better when I'm already the most handsome thing to ever grace this planet."

"Awe, you're a little handsome boy, huh?"

"Mirajane-"

"And hey, Lax," she griped a bit then, "what are you saying anyways? You don't need anything to enhance your look, but I do?"

"Did I say that?"

"That...that's what I'm asking," she replied. "Did you?"

He eyed her then, Laxus did, weighing his options before saying, "No."

"No you're not saying that? Or no you're-"

"You wear it because you like the way it makes you look," he told her then, angling his bottle towards her before pointing it back to his own chest. "I already like the way I look. A lot. So you should probably check yourself, demon, more than me."

She finished her drink then, Mira did, down to the last drop, before informing the man, "You're letting me do your makeup, Laxus. You owe it to me after that last remark."

The man got up then, to get another beer it seemed, and he stood with the fridge door open for a few moments before snagging one. As he pulled out from his mostly barren fridge, it was with some thought as to what he wanted, anyways, when he'd invited the woman over. While the obvious implication was true, there was more to it as well.

He liked Mira's company. And the antics that they could get up to together. Going out somewhere with her was never boring and he'd hoped that this would carryover into their time spent inside his apartment. She so frequently did the heavy lifting on the side of entertaining actions or engaging conversation that, for once, he knew it would only be fair if he played along.

"Fine." He came back into the room with half the new beer already drowned. As Mirajane, who'd honestly not considered him as truly giving in so easily, blinked up at the man in surprise, he conditioned, "But it doesn't leave this apartment."

While it wasn't her main forte, Mirajane did seem to dabble a bit in Titania's reequip territory. He'd seen the woman summon many things from her own reequip space, from her musical equipment to a purse, but that night she brought forth a modest makeup bag.

"Now Laxus," she began as they sat together, cross-legged on his bed, the man weary and his date with a wide grin, "I know that you probably too well versed in the beauty world-"

"Safe assumption," he grumbled as the woman merely giggled.

"Well," she continued with a shrug, "it's just that I've actually thought about doing this a lot."

"This?"

"Your makeup."

"Excuse me?"

"You have such good cheek bones," she insisted, stopping her rifling and pulling from her makeup bag and instead reaching to to ghost some fingers over the man's cheek. "And you could cut a steak with your jawline."

"I'm really close to kicking you out."

"It's a complement," the woman insisted, but he only rolled his eyes before downing the rest of the bottle and tossing it haphazardly towards the mini-trashcan in the corner of his room. As he missed (rather badly), Mirajane only made a face and hummed some, continuing, "And your eyes are just so-"

"Can you do something for me?"

"If you ask me to shut up, Lax," she warned simply, "then I'm going to leave."

But the man only stared at her blankly as he said, "Can you make make my scar go away?"

"W-What?"

"My scar." And he reached up then to tap at his most recognizable feature. "Can you hide them?"

"W-Well, I mean, I guess I can, Lax. Under concealer. But-"

"You can do whatever else you want," he assured her then. "I just want you to hide it as well."

There seemed to be an awkwardness about them now, as Mirajane busied herself with pulling her essentials from her bag and Laxus merely waited.

He'd never had someone so interested in his face before and it almost made him blush, just a bit, when the woman leaned over to begin her work. It was strange, to say the least, to only sit silently as the woman did her magic. He did as she said, even when she ordered him softly not to be so tense, trying to be the perfect dummy, and it was….

Weird, so fucking weird, but also calming, just being with the woman.

He felt like her energy meshed with hers perfectly. Yes, they both had something they'd buried, in their past, that could still come out at times, but over all, they both spent their free time decompressing and, occasionally, lamenting over shared experiences. He knew the facade that she put on up at the guildhall had to get tiring at times, to parade, and she was accepting of when his guard slipped a bit and the snarky, rugged side of made a short-lived escape.

They were good together.

Laxus wasn't anywhere near ready to say that they would always be that way, that there wasn't another woman that could see himself being even better with, but he'd begun to edge more into begin the confirmation phase, with the one before him, and maybe leaving all the others behind.

Maybe.

But he didn't want to have that conversation that night, didn't really want to think of it at all, but he did note how pretty Mirajane's eyes looked, when she was so focused in on a task and how it most tickled, just a bit, when the gentle brushstrokes graced the very tip of his nose.

It felt like it went on forever but when it was over, both knowing for separate reasons that the man, more than likely, would never again allow this, it felt like it hadn't gone on long enough. Mirajane smiled at him though, insisting that he go take a look in his mirror.

"How," she complained when she glanced around his bedroom for one, anticipating at least one on the back of a door, over his dresser, or even a floor length one, but coming up dry, "do you not have a single mirror in here?"

She anticipated some sort of crack over his own perfection, but the man only tumbled back out of bed, trying not to seem too eager as he headed to his bathroom.

"Well?" Mirajane insisted as she followed. "What do you think?"

Laxus had come to stand before the mirror above his sink, blinking some as Mirajane looked at the reflection as well. Under the harsh bathroom light, she found she didn't like it as much as she had before, in the cozy lighting of his room.

"It's not my best work," she chided a bit. "But-"

"Can I touch it?"

"I mean...it's not paint, Lax, but don't like smear it around or-"

"It's just weird," he told her softly, or maybe not. Maybe he wasn't speaking to her at all. The woman couldn't be too certain. As he brought a finger up to ghost over where, typically, the zigzag of a scar lay across his eye, he only added, "It's always been there. Since...since Ivan..."

Glancing away from his reflection then and instead at the actual man, she only insisted to him truthfully, "I like you better with it, personally."

"You do?"

Mirajane nodded when he turned to face her. "It's a part of you. And I'm attracted to you. So of course I like it. There's not anything in you that I want to change."

She blushed some, Mira did, at this admission, but he felt like her bashfulness was put on, maybe, just a bit. Still, he allowed himself to smile in return before turning to look back at his reflection.

"Now," he questioned, "how do I get it off?"

"Dragon," she complained. "I just put it on. Why would you want to take it off already?"

"Because I let you have your fun-"

"You enjoyed it too." Still though, with a groan, she pulled her bag from her reequip space once more, the object appearing in her palm. Pulling out some cotton pads and a bottle of some sort of liquid, she only said, "Lean down?"

"I can't just take a fucking shower?"

"If you want it all off," she remarked as, regardless of his complaints, the man still complied, always, "then this is just easier."

"You do this every night?" he asked her softly as the woman, after wetting the cotton pads, began to run the cool liquid across his face. "Demon?"

"I have a whole regimen."

"A what?"

"What do you think women do in the bathroom exactly? Before bed?"

"I mean...I'm usually shitting."

She crinkled her nose at the man before replying simply, "You have to take care of your skin, Lax. I've actually been meaning to talk to you about it. If you want to age gracefully-"

"I'm not going to age."

"-then you need to start taking care of your skin," she went on. "I didn't want to be presumptuous, but if you want me to buy you a kit-"

"I really don't."

"It's something to think about," was her final warning before, finished, she took a step back and the man was himself again, blinking into the twinkling eyes of the demon.

"You mentioned," she asked after a beat passed, "steak earlier? Didn't you?"

The night was far from over, it had only really just began, but after some time in the kitchen together, shifting through the searing of meat and chopping of vegetables, to the eating and light flirting, and eventually the finale where they lightly argued over who would wash and who would dry, the early evening came to an equally early end.

It was nice, when they fell into the bed together this time, but Laxus found himself equally as drawn to when they climbed back out of it, Mirajane giggling some when they stumbled back into the bathroom once more, this time headed for the shower. He liked the feeling of her, anyways, just as he had the whole night, but in a different way now as the water cascaded down and her bangs fell, wet and sticking to her forehead, over her deep blue eyes.

"Laxus?" she asked only once the sun had truly fallen beneath the horizon and it was a more acceptable hour, maybe, for sleep and they found themselves in his bed for the third, final time of the night.

He made some sort of sigh, a grunt maybe, in reply as he lay on his side, facing her and playing along, absently, as the woman toyed with his fingers, tired, but not wanting to let the moment slip away just yet. The dragon was sympathetic as, of course, he knew the feeling.

"I'm glad we could be together today." And her fingers escaped his, reaching out instead to gently press into his forehead, following perfectly the jagged line his scar left in his flesh, ghosting over his eye lid and finishing with a sharp poke into his cheek. "Tonight."

He shrugged, losing the fight with his need to be indifferent as he offered rather dryly, "We have fun together."

But Mirajane only smiled, forgiving in this as her hand fell to the mattress and, quickly, his larger one moved to cover it.

"Yeah," she agreed softly. "We do."