bbelony

[beansprean]

Commissioned for @kristylime 's CUTEASS fic “A Prescription for Love”!!! This is a snippet from chapter 4! ;)

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Full body of Guillermo, dressed in a pink tee shirt, grey sweatpants, and socks, sitting up on his bed with one arm propped behind him and the other petting a gray kitten named Beaker who is happily arching and rubbing into the attention. A window nearby shows a gray sky outside, and his laptop is open in front of him on the bedspread, covered in various vampire and pride related stickers. Guillermo looks sadly down at the cat and sighs, saying, "I just wish I had some kind of sign..." 1b. Close up of Guillermo with a tear forming in his eye, glancing over as his phone, sitting on the bed nearby, begins to ding with multiple incoming texts. His phone has a black case with a rainbow bat pattern. 1c. Shoulders up of Guillermo sitting up and holding his phone with his right hand, his left taking a moment to rub the tear from his eye. The phone continues to ding with more texts. 1d. Repeat. Guillermo opens his eyes to look down curiously at the phone, swiping his thumb across the screen to unlock it as it dings twice more.

2a. A series of texts from human Nandor appear on the left with reactions from Guillermo on the right. His message reads: "Hi, Guillermo. I hope you had a nice time today. I had a really great time at brunch and showing you the farm. And I’m glad you got to meet Dr. Baron and Dr. Sirus. And all my animals. I think Rajah misses his pal, Beaker, though. He seems a bit glum this evening. I must confess that I’m still on Cloud 9… from the kiss. Though I am looking forward to Taco Tuesday. Unless you’d consider seeing me tomorrow? Maybe just some takeout from my parents’ restaurant at your place? LMK." This is followed by a text with a photo of a blue merle Australian Shepherd named Rajah laying on a large plaid doggy bed with his head on his paws, looking up at the camera with big sparkly sad blue eyes. On the right, a close up of Guillermo huffing out a small laugh through his nose as he reads, looking fond. 2b. Repeat. Nandor sends another photo of himself, half in frame, wearing a flannel shirt over a black tee and his hair in a loose braid grinning and holding a strip of bacon out between his teeth. Rajah appears from the other side and excitedly chomps down on the other end of the bacon strip. Nandor writes, "I have determined how to chase his blues away at least temporarily. BACONNNNN!!!!!" On the right, Guillermo's smile grows helplessly, looking more amused and more fond by the moment. 2c. Repeat. Nandor sends another photo, clearly taken moments after the previous one, showing himself snorting with laughter as Rajah licks all over his face. He writes, "How is Beaker doing?" and then "Sorry for all the text messages. I just realized this might be creepy." On the right, Guillermo finally dissolves into laughter, tipping his phone as if to cover his mouth.

3a. A text reply from Guillermo that reads "Not creepy at all. Beaker is settling in well. He seems to like me, air conditioning, and/or movies. He’s nice to cuddle with and talk to. Thank you again. I was also thinking about our kiss. That it was a long time coming and that I’d like you to kiss me more, if you’d like that. Tomorrow, I work until 7PM, but I would love for you to come over for dinner. Persian Delight would be wonderful, but I would like to cook for you at some point, too. 7:30PM tomorrow?" Nandor immediately replies "Sure, it's a date," with a winking kiss emoji. 3b. Close up on Guillermo's eyes shining with excitement above blushing cheeks as Nandor's last text echoes in pink around him. 3c. Full body of Guillermo, sun shining on him from behind as the sun pours through the window, grinning happily as he holds Beaker up to his cheek with one hand and holds his phone out with the other to take a selfie. He says, "I guess as far as signs go, it doesn’t get a lot clearer than that." Beaker mews in reply. /end ID

[stormythalamus]

agatha finale rant

so I’ve been seeing a lot of people complaining about the finale of Agatha and I wanted to give my two cents on their main points: 

1. “they used agatha’s show as a way to promote a man!!” well yes! that’s how marvel tv works im afraid. or any tv, really. wandavision was used to introduce agatha and monica, which led to their projects in the mcu (aaa, marvels). agatha introduced billy, leading to his future in visionquest or his solo series, which will introduce tommy and vision, which will lead to children’s crusade to reintroduce wanda. this is common for any tv show, but especially a big, connected franchise like marvel. i find it so concerning that even after all the promotion that showed us billy and agatha as co-leads, people were STILL shocked when the finale sets up a future story centered around him. like i hate to break it to yall but marvel wants money. and more shows means more money.

2. “they killed off a lesbian woman and not the gay man!” first of all, in the comics, agatha is a spirit guide for the scarlet witch. this form is her most comic accurate yet. also, did yall really think that was an unfair ending? or an ending PERIOD? all her death made me think of was the possibilities for the future with both billy AND rio. and again; rio was promoted as the ‘antagonist’ to agatha since the beginning. i don’t know how people went into this excepting a happily ever after for these two. they were always depicted as tragic lovers, and i honestly think the kiss of death was beautiful and poetic. i also don’t think this is the last we’re seeing of rio. and, as a side note, homophobia is still not okay! it doesn’t matter if you’re also gay; lesbians can be homophobic towards gay men, and gay men can be lesbophobic towards lesbians. and i’ve seen wayyyy too much of both in this fanbase. you can criticize characters and critique actors without bringing up their sexuality. we have enough incel homophobes doing that for us

3. if you’re still complaining about wanda not coming back i have no hope for you

4. this show, since day ZERO, was promoted as a show with billy and agatha as coleads. while i wish we had more backstory for how agatha and rio met, the salem flashbacks involving nicholas, the road scheme, and the song were much more important to the show. the parallels between nicky and billy were explored throughout the season a lot more than agatha and rios story (whether or not you like it, it’s still true (i personally wish we had a bit more on how they met 😭))

5. sending hate to actors about things their characters did is STILL not okay! and never will be!

6. this might be a hot take but if you’re only watching a show for a ship and don’t care about the story at all your opinion is irrelevant to me. like people who started watching after it was revealed in the show that agatha and rio were lovers (because, correct me if i’m wrong, this was never revealed before the episodes dropped) have no right to be upset when the show focuses on other things. and this is coming from a MASSIVE fan of agathario. and a lesbian. i loved the fact that i was watching characters who just happened to be lesbians have their own story. yes, i wish there was more agathario in the flashbacks. but i’m really not upset at all by what we got. and don’t get me wrong, people have every right to be disappointed, but they don’t have the right to hate on the creators and actors of the show. that’s not cool.

this is way longer than i thought it was gonna be 😭😭 hope everyone enjoyed the finale

[retiredteabag]

An Uninformed Narrative

Synopsis: You had lived in Stardew Valley for a year before you met the hunter from the adventures guild, Sukuna Itadori. It did not take long for him to catch your attention but you couldn't help feeling as if his affection resided anywhere but you.

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

This is a Sukuna stardew valley au, heavily inspired by @tearzintheclub's similar series with butcher!sukuna, I highly recommend reading their work, they are super kind and were a big motivation for me to make this!

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

You had been dying for a decade before coming to the valley, still, unmercifully, alive. The bitter years you spent milling away on a computer, endless days blurring onto the next. A monotonous cycle of tireless work for a corporation that left you unfulfilled, complacent, and depressed. Holed up in a city you did not even like.

It was corrosive, only now, a year later, could you look back and realize that life didn't begin for you until you moved to your grandfather's farm.

It had been hard work. You knew it would be. Still, the labor it took to keep up with crops and farm animals had been more than you anticipated. But you had friends now, and goals. And that was more valuable than anything.

One year ago, when you came to the valley, romance was quite possibly the last thing occupying your mind. Only now, being able to comfortably settle into your home, could you allow yourself to think about things other than the prosperity of your land and the health of your animals.

That brings us to now.

You had read books about the Stardew Valley mines back in the mountains north of town. Harvey, the village doctor, had warned you of its treacherous depths. Having focused most of your efforts on farm/house maintenance, you had not traversed into dangerous territory beyond upgrading your tools and acquiring bug meat.

This is why, after a whole year of living in the valley, you were surprised to receive a notice in your mailbox from "The Adventurers Guild", an initiation of sorts, requesting you to slay 10 slimes to be granted entry.

You had thought about it all evening. By the next morning, you felt up for the challenge. After taking care of the chores you left you made your way up past the carpenter's shop, dropped off a fish you caught the night before to your friend Linus, and entered the mines.

It had been scary but you protected yourself well and acquired some gems and geodes to show for it. It was late when you made the trek home, but you were determined to enter the adventurers guild the next day.

It had been a delight to meet Gil and Marlon, the two men who ran the guild. They sold weapons and protective gear, offered rewards for monster slaying, and purchased monster loot. Still having some on you, you traded them in for the cash. With a smile on your face, you decided to go into town to buy some icecream for Yuuji, Jas, and Vincent.

Penny, the town's teacher, had the kids in the museum for lessons until 2 PM, so you traveled quickly to meet them in time.

Penny was always a delight. Kind to everyone, even if they did not deserve it. She was so good with the kids as well, and dedicated much of her time to their education.

You had met Penny just a few days after moving to the town at the local flower shop in the Cidersap Forest. You had learned she was quite fond of Poppy flowers and the owner of the little place, Jin Itadori, was unbelievably generous, always interested in hearing about your farm, and always willing to give out a flower or two.

Yuuji, being the florist's son and Penny's student, became a quick friend of yours and always wanted to talk whenever you came by the shop. Of course, you never minded and listened intently whenever the boy felt like sharing a fun fact about the flora in his home.

--

Time passed with the changing of the seasons and it wasn't long before fall was upon you.

Ever since entering the mines and joining the Adventures guild, you have been thinking about the quests Marlon and Gil have sent you on. Though it is dangerous, scouring the mines for the flesh of monsters, it brings you a thrill to know you are doing something good for the community.

A post had gone up on the community board in town about collecting bat wings and bringing the population down to a manageable level the other day, and in your spare time, you had been working on completing the quest.

It was late one night when you began to make your way back up to the mountains from the mine's elevator, you had quite the collection and enough time to sell it at the Guild before making your way home.

"You've been keepin' busy." Marlon greeted you as the wind pushed the door open along with your arm.

You smile at the man, unloading the backpack of your finds. "Well there's always something to do around here." you reply.

"True as the day is long...." Gil rocked back and forth in his chair, pretending to hear your conversation.

"I must say I'm glad to have you 'round. The quest board in town seems to be worked through much faster now." Marlon takes the post you handed him and the 200 bat wings, he was just about to hand you the payment when the door to the Guild swung open.

The hinges seemed to rattle with the shock of the large man's blow of it. He's huffing, yanking a balaclava up and over his face.

He has thick, pink hair and bright red eyes, he's enormous, having to duck just a bit so as not to hit his head on the door frame.

You looked at him, a bit shocked at his garish entrance. He looks so familiar, but his face is covered in tattoos. A unique style you've never seen before, certainly not in Stardew Valley

Despite being at the counter yourself, the lumbering man strides right up next to you, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. And just then, you have a thought.

Was he doing town board requests too? He was clearly not from the village, you would have met him by now. But Marlon does not spare him much of a glace, even when a stack of bones and a collection of rings is placed on his counter.

"Those damn haunted skulls are somethin' else." The man looks at Marlon with a gaze of distaste but the Guild leader just laughs. The large man doesn't look at you once.

Despite the chill of fall present in the air, he has sweat glistening on his exposed neck, he runs a hand through his hair and you can't help but notice how handsome this man is. The only thing, who was he? And why was he monster hunting in the Valley's mines?

"You got a problem?" Shocked from your thoughts, you look up. You hadn't meant to stare but upon his antagonized question your eyes bulge a bit.

"No! No, no, sorry..." You turn away, collecting the gold Marlon left out for you, ready to turn and leave when the man behind the counter made a gesture with his hand.

He called your name, "This is Sukuna, likely haven't met em' have ya? He's real reserved and all."

So he lives here? How could that be? "Oh, it's nice to meet you!" You go to shake his hand but he just looks you up and down, effectively dissuading that desire.

"So you're the rookie taking all the board requests in town, hmm?" He looks so domineering, still, even having just met him, you can reasonably assume that's just what his face looks like.

You shuffle where you stand, "Er... maybe so, yes... I'm sorry, I didn't know that was your area..." You wave your hand to the array of loot he had seemingly just acquired. He scoffs.

Marlon looks to you, "Sukuna is our most tenured monster hunter-"

Gil interjects from his rocking chair, "If ever there's a board request this here man can't handle, I know hell's right about frozen over."

The man before them did not crack a smile. A shiver went down your spine.

"I see, well, I live on the farm behind the Cidersap Forest-"

He cuts you off, looking almost annoyed, "I know who you are."

Oh.

Okay...

"Gotcha, sorry, well... it was nice meeting you." Sukuna stares at you for a moment before turning back to the Adventurers Guild leaders.

The awkwardness of the moment was painful, you already know youll be obsessing over this first impression for the next month or so and your shaking leg is telling you it is time to escape the embaressment before this man shuts down any more small talk.

You wonder if perhaps Sukuna is upset with you for "taking his job". Or maybe he had a bad day. If he really had been hunting Haunted Skulls, he had probably been dangerously deep in the mines.

Even though his gaze had been piercing, his frown looked permanent, and his tattoos gave off a highly intimidating look. You could tell there had been no malice behind his demeanor. And that, would be a small comfort as you mulled your way through the darkness.

You spent the whole walk home thinking about the large man. You had been everywhere in Stardew Valley yet had never met him.

He must live out of town, you thought as you checked the weather for tomorrow.

Rain. That meant another day in the mines. You needed an upgrade on your equipment if you were going to continue supplying for your growing crops' demands. That meant plunging deeper into the depths of the mine.

Sleep pulled at you even still, just as your eyes fell shut the memory of the pink-haired man popped back up into your brain.

His shirt stuck nauseatingly to his toned chest, his neck glimmering in the firelight of the guild, and those eyes. The red, sharp eyes he had looked you up and down with.

"I know who you are."

It was a small town. Even if you were from the outskirts. It was a shame though... having not met the man before... he certainly seemed interesting.

You shook the man from your thoughts as your dog climbed into the bed and the two of you began to doze off.

Unknown to you, a long and unexpected day awaited you at dawn.

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

guess who just spent 15 minutes of their lifetime transcribing a 4 minute clip of pearl rambling about life series on stream (29/10/2024)

anyway i can’t upload the video (too long) here’s the transcript anyway (also long)

Pearl: Um, alrighty. By the way, I wanna— I’m, I’m curious, I wanna know, okay, it— when it came to… Secret Life, why did people think I— I betrayed Gem completely? Wouldn’t me teaming with Gem have betrayed Scar? I wanna know where all this, like, super [word that i can’t place for the life of me. solar???] “Pearl betrayed Gem” came from. (laughs) 

I understand, I killed her at the end. And we teamed up for a moment. But Scar was on our side and not trying to kill my allies. That was my team from the beginning. Gem, was always trying to kill ‘em. So how… how is that not a betrayal in any… like it kinda has to be quote unquote betrayal, but technically Scar was allied with me more? (laughs)

“Scar was distinctly not on anyone’s side” Did anyone watch my finale? ‘Cause, he was teamed up with us. Gem was trying to kill us in that last episode. So, logically, I would fight with the person who’s not trying to kill my team. [Freudian slip]

So I just wanna know, how did I do the betraying in that instance? (laughs) “From her POV it was a betrayal” Ahh, it’s a belief system, huh? (laughs) But it’s funny. I like it. I was just curious what, uh, put the nail in the coffin for that belief. ‘Cause I’ve seen it come up a little bit lately, and apparently I’m the one that betrayed. 

(laughs) I dunno about that one. Curious. Curious, curious, curious. (laughs) Technically, whichever way I’ve gone, I would’ve went— it would’ve been betraying somebody, right? If I’d turned around and killed Scar, I would’ve betrayed him, because he was allied with us at the end. And then killing Gem obviously, same. But, when it came to that, I actually let Scar— I think I hit her once. Otherwise it was Scar. I did one whack, and then I stood back and let him kind of rock and roll. And uh, make it— make it between those two. So it was an interesting finale, that one.

But, something that people have mentioned actually, is that, uhh, another thing was, with, uh, Cleo and Scott in Real Life.

All this talk of Pearlo betraying people, are we not gonna realise that people have betrayed me in the life series? With a split decision? I’m just sayin’. They ain’t innocent. (laughs) Just sayin’, I think— I think 5am Pearl had every right to do what I did. Throw in um, what is it, the fuel on the fire for this one?

Character arcs. It’s cool to see how people analyse them, so I’ve been seeing a little bit of that. Especially with the new, uh, “I don’t love you” line that I got last session. Love you Gem. Always will. Even when you say no. (laughs) Even if you don’t, I’ll still be there. It’s fine. (laughs)

“Do it for the plot, Pearl” Basically.

(clip ends)

[suna-cerely-yours]

a/n: I also want to be tutored by college!kuroo. And steal that black hoodie (also fun fact this was supposed to be a part of a college series)

warnings: fem!reader

Let’s be honest, you were good but there was no way you were passing this class without extra help. You groan, dropping your head in your friend’s lap, throwing your jean-clad legs over the armrest of the sofa the two of you occupied, in the corner of a very crowded frat house.

“I won’t pass, I’m sure of it. Probability distributions were bad enough, but now that he’s moved onto parameter estimation, I have absolutely zero idea what’s going on.”

“You’ll be fine,” your friend says, flicking you lightly on your forehead, “don’t be dramatic.”

There’s a series of cheers and noise from the direction of the kitchen, which has your friend craning her neck.

“I think they’re doing body shots over there.”

“I think I need a tutor.”

“The volleyball team is also there.”

“The professor’s such a hard-ass too.”

“I’m going to see if I can get their setter to do a body shot off of me.”

Slipping your head from her lap, she’s off, yelling something about calling you later. Groaning again, you rest your arm against your forehead, wondering if you should be spending your Friday night in the Statistics section of the library rather than the frat party you were currently at. You were about to get up when you feel the sofa sink with weight above your head. Moving your arm, you’re met with a red jacket and the smell of laundry detergent. 

“Ah, sorry- I’ll just get out of the way,” you begin, getting up and sitting properly on the couch.

“My friend aced Stat203 last year.”

You look questioningly at the man beside you, his eyes trained on his phone before him. Messily dyed hair tied in a low bun, red track jacket, black ripped jeans and a lip piercing- you were looking at the setter of your university’s volleyball team- Kenma Kozume.

“I- pardon? Are you talking to me?”

“He took the class for fun last year.”

“That’s- that’s great, uh but I don’t think I’m who you think I am. I-”

“You said you needed a tutor.”

You blink, eyes widening. Holy shit did the frat party actually turn out to be the correct place to look for a Statistics tutor?

“I am looking for someone to help me out a little, um, are you sure they would be willing to help me out?”

Kenma looks up from his phone, for the first time since you started talking, you notice. Golden eyes flick down your torso once, before meeting your eyes.

“I’ll give you his number, ask him yourself.”

                                                    .....

Setting your books down in the study room, you check your watch again, exactly five minutes before you and Tetsu were scheduled to meet. You still didn’t know who he exactly was, having no actual information about him aside from the nickname and the fact that he was Kenma’s friend. Apart from the initial awkwardness of messaging a stranger, the two of you had exchanged a couple of texts before deciding to meet for a scheduled tutoring session at the library. You’ve only started scrolling on Tumblr when there’s a sharp knock on the door, the person opening it before you can say anything.

Tall, is your first impression.

Red, is your next.

Hair, is your final- before realization sets in.

“Kuroo Tetsurou?”

Hazel eyes blink back as the captain of the volleyball team stands in front of you.

His eyes crinkle, lips curling into a smile as his enters the room, letting the door fall shut behind him as he drops into the seat before you.

" 's not fair that you know who I am and I don't," he says stretching back in his seat. " Kozume only said that a pretty girl needed some help."

Your eyebrow quirks at the pretty girl comment, but you don't say anything of it- opting to introduce yourself instead.

"Pretty name."

"Laying it on a lil' thick, aren't you?"

"All part of the charm m'lady."

You stop fidgeting with your textbook to look up at him and blink.

"M'lady?"

A pained look crosses over his face as he drags a hand through his hair, messing it up even more.

"Yeah, that might have been a little too thick."

Fighting the urge to smile, you press your lips together before murmuring a 'that's what she said', clicking your pen and flipping to a fresh page.

A snort escapes the man in question as he pulls your textbook closer to him.

"So, who's class are you taking this semester? Please tell me it's not Sakusa."

You chew on your lower lip in silence.

Kuroo glances your way once before sighing.

"Of course it's him."

"In my defense I didn't expect a man so pretty to be that much of a hard-ass."

"Hard-ass is putting it nicely."

You scowl, tapping your pen against the table lightly. "He teaches well, it's just- he's so unapproachable and he expects perfection and I have so much piled up this semester and I-"

"Woah, calm down pretty, it's okay. That's what I'm here for aren't I?", he smiles, a dimple popping in his left cheek.

You swallow before smiling back, nodding.

"Good girl, now where should we begin?"

This was going to be a long semester.

[send4venus]

do u think you could write something about reader faking an orgasm and then abby finding out n she is maaddd 🙈

it’s okay if not tho !❤️

I can absolutely try !! I hope what I wrote is somewhat close to what you were envisioning but either way, I hope you enjoy <33

Warnings - basically the ask, essentially porn with no plot therefore it's not written with any specific AU in mind so feel free to interpret it into whatever one you want, smut (MDNI), tribbing, unintentional edging, faking a orgasm, lowkey kinda awkward at the beginning, overstim, oral & fingering r!receiving, praise, abbys just a sweetheart who wants to take care of you

this is also definitely longer than it should’ve been but oh well

"fffuck baby you feel so good”

Abbys on top of you grunting and whining as she grinds her wet pussy across your’s and you’re also whining underneath her with furrowed brows however, unlike Abby, you can’t seem to reach that peak you so desperately want and need.

No matter what you try to do in an attempt to gain more friction whether it be grinding up into abby or trying to follow her movements, you only receive light grazes when abbys clit drags against yours which keeps you pent up and frustrated. And it definitely doesn’t help that your focus is off as your mind is crowded with the stress of midterms. All you want to do is have sex and cum with your girlfriend, but by the looks of it, that just wont be happening, and you’re too nervous to tell her.

Finally, Abby lets out a long drawn out string of curses and quick breaths as she leans down to lay on top of you as she orgasms and you feel her cum dripping onto your cunt and the feeling makes you let out a whine.

Abbys still grinding against you kisses along your neck and you can hear her whimpers and see her legs shake from overstimulation but you know she isnt gonna stop until you finish, so mentally you apologize to her for what you’re about to do and let out a series of faux high pitched whimpers moans and curses and grind up into her, hoping that she wont focus on it enough and just mistake her own juices as yours and that your moans are convincing enough.

But Abby knows you. She knows exactly what you sound like when you finish, she knows how your clit twitches and hole squeezes around nothing, your sloppy attempts at getting a few last bits of friction in, and she knows that whatever it was that you just did, definitely wasn’t real.

Abby quickly sits up and positions herself over you with her arms on either side of your head and you’re trying your best to avoid her confrontational gaze.

“baby?”

You respond with a quick ‘hm?’ before finally looking at her, trying to make yourself appear as innocent as possible.

“did you just.. fake an orgasm?”

“what?! n-no of course not why would you-“

“don’t you dare fucking lie to me”

You swallow thickly. You knew she could see right through you and her assertiveness always made your facades crumble. So after a few seconds of silence and her pointed eyes staring right into yours you finally break

“okay i did im sorry! im just too distracted and i didn’t wanna ruin it for you and because i know how overstimulated you get and you wouldn’t stop until i came and-”

You rambled on and on explaining it to her and then she started… laughing? You stopped talking,suddenly feeling extremely embarrassed and exposed.

“baby its okay, i just wish you would’ve told me, i just gotta make it up to you now”

Your brows furrowed at the last part of her sentence

“make it up to me how?”

“ fuck right there! “

Abby’s tongue plunged in and out of your cunt, occasionally stopping and reaching up to circle or suck on your clit, she had already made you cum beforehand letting you grind up and down on her thigh, allowing you to get the friction you were so desperately craving, leaving you fucked out yet still begging for more.

Your moans and curses bounced off the walls as the noises abby made while eating you out as if you were her favorite food, and if Abby was honest, you might as well be.

“abs shit don’t stop m’ gonna cum im so close please don’t stop”

Abby hummed in acknowledgment and sped up her pace, earning an extremely loud whine from you and you ground onto her face in an attempt to bring you to your peak sooner.

Within seemingly seconds you’re thighs were squeezing around abbys head so tight she almost couldn’t breathe as your orgasm crashed into you, although she wasn’t complaining. Your hand instinctively tugged on her messy braid, causing her to groan into your core, and the other you slapped over your mouth in an attempt to muffle your moans and curses.

She slowed her movements and your thighs and hands loosened up. Eventually she stopped and you started to catch your breath, assuming she was done but it hitched when you felt her fingers curling up into you.

“i know baby just one more ‘kay? you can handle that right sweet girl?”

You nodded your head responding with a mumbled ‘can handle it abs’ which made her smile. She sat above you now, her eyes focused on watching how your cunt squeezed around her fingers as she pushed the remnants of your previous orgasm back in.

You felt that same bubbling feeling in your core embarrassingly quickly. You tried to tell abby through broken whines and curses, wrapping your hand around her wrist even, but couldn’t seem to get the words out as your brain was beginning to short circuit and your body began to twitch due to the overstimulation.

“shh i know baby go ahead i got you”

Not too long afterwards your legs shook and abby felt you squeeze around her fingers so tightly she could barely move. She leaned down and kissed you gently as you succumbed to your orgasm. the kiss was sweet and sensual, a stark contrast to the shocks being sent through you as she rubbed your clit.

Eventually every little thing became too much to handle and you brought your hand up to her chest to gently push her off. Abby sat up and removed her fingers, smiling as she admired her work, licking you off her fingers and leaning down to give you a quick peck on your lips, allowing you to taste yourself, before smiling against them

“told you i’d make it up to you”

[surielstea]

Trick or Treat

Selected: Trick

Pairings: Rhysand, Azriel, Cassian, Eris, and Lucien x Fem!Reader (Separately)

Summary: A series of one NSFW one shots all pertaining to a very slutty Halloween.

Warnings: Minors dni | Dom/Sub dynamics | Cockwarming (Rhys) | Mask kink (Az) | Breath play (Az) | Objectification (Cass) | Semi-public—in a corn maze (Eris) | Praise/Degradtion | a lot of other freaky stuff probably

Smut under the cut.

Rhysand

"Rhys," I let out in an eager moan, my body aching for more, needing him to move, to do anything but this sweet torture.

"Watch the movie, darling," The male purrs from behind me, his chest against my back, his lips brushing my ear.

"Can't," I breathe, grasping at his thigh, needing relief. "Please."

"Please what?" He taunted, dipping his face into the crook of my neck, beginning to trail kisses up the side of it.

"Move," I whimper. "Please Rhys, want you to fuck me," I beg, eyes glued to the television as the horror movie’s plot quickens, the eerie music building.

"I will baby, I will," He hushed in a reassuring tone. "Just stay still and watch the movie for me, yeah?"

I nodded, slowly, but as the movie went on the pressure in my core built, in desperate need of friction, of any form of attention.

I willed myself to stay still, to watch the movie, even though all I could feel and retain was the sensation of Rhysand buried inside of me.

"You've been good," He praised, nipping slightly at the mark he left on my neck. "So good," He whispered into my flushed skin and a shiver crawled down my spine. As a reward for my good behavior one of his hands, settled on my thigh, began its course upward, slipping beneath my flimsy skirt to the apex of my legs where we connected. He gave no warning before he began rubbing my clit with his thumb, teasing me with circles with not nearly enough pressure.

"Rhys," I whimpered, my voice a wobbling plead.

"Shh, this is the best part," He hummed, ignoring the way I was arching into him. He grunted softly as I shifted, my sore legs screaming at me for being in the same position for so long. I let out a broken moan as I adjusted to the new angle, so deep, he was so deep inside of me, and all the emotion he had to show for it was a few strained grunts.

A whimper escaped me, my grip on his thigh tightening as he applied more pressure to my sensitive clit, his touch still maddeningly light, just enough to make my breath hitch but not enough to satisfy the need thrumming through my veins. "Rhys," I breathed, voice trembling as I fought to stay still, to hold out as he wanted.

He chuckled softly, clearly pleased with the way I was unraveling in his arms. His fingers moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, building the tension higher, pushing me closer and closer to that edge. "You're so close, aren't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against my skin. I nodded eagerly. "Yeah? I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

I let out a needy moan, my body arching against him, the ache consuming every thought, every feeling, except for him. "Please," I gasped, no longer caring about anything but the desperate need to reach that high, to feel him fully, completely.

Rhys let out a satisfied hum, grabbing me by the hips and beginning to lift me up and down his length, his touch just rough enough to make me gasp as the pleasure crashed over me. His hands tightened, holding me steady as my body trembled in his grasp, his lips tracing soothing kisses along my neck, grounding me through every wave of bliss.

"That's it, darling," he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction as he continued his slow, lazy strokes, coaxing every last spark of pleasure from me. "You did so well for me."

As I caught my breath, my head lolled back against his shoulder, a sleepy, satisfied smile on my lips. "Guess I'll need a replay of the movie," I murmured, feeling the warmth of his laughter against my skin.

Rhys pressed a kiss to my temple, wrapping me closer to him, his voice soft and full of promise. "Only if you're good enough to last through the whole thing next time."

Azriel

"Leave it on," I pant as Azriel reaches for his mask, grabbing his wrists. "Fuck me with it on." I plead, the rest of our clothes a pile at our feet. His eyes—the only thing I could see—crinkled in a smirk, drawing me forward and laying me out beneath him. He remained silent, not wanting to break my illusion, keeping the mask from his costume on, and spreading my legs.

I can only see his eyes, but they're smoldering, dark with intensity, and I can feel the heat of his gaze raking over my exposed skin.

"Please," I breathe out, arching into his touch, craving more of him. I can feel him everywhere and nowhere at once, his hands firm on my thighs, holding me open as if he's afraid I might slip away. But I don't want to. I'm here for him, only him, and I'm aching, wanting him to end this teasing game he's started.

Azriel's fingers press into my thighs, his touch reverent yet possessive. He shifts, aligning himself, his scarred hands sliding up, tracing a shiver-inducing path over my hips, my waist, up to my wrists. He captures them, pinning them above my head, his strength inescapable yet never brutal. I'm at his mercy, and I feel his power like a tangible weight, the thrill of surrender so sweet I can barely stand it.

"Keep your eyes on me," he murmurs, the first words he's spoken, a whisper like silk against my skin. His voice is rough, a hint of the raw edge that tells me he's holding back, barely. His grip tightens just slightly, a warning, and I nod, my breaths coming faster, harder.

And then he finally presses into me, slow and deliberate, every inch stretching, filling, consuming. A gasp escapes me as my body molds to his, and he pauses, his eyes boring into mine through the mask, watching, memorizing every reaction, every shudder. I'm laid bare, vulnerable, yet somehow invincible under that stare. It's as if he's reading everything I'm feeling, every thought, every desire.

"Good girl," he whispers. His words send a shiver racing down my spine, pooling warmth low in my belly. He pulls back achingly slow, then thrusts forward, the movement making me arch beneath him, a moan slipping past my lips as he sets a pace that's maddeningly restrained. Every roll of his hips, every press of his body against mine, feels like he's claiming me, branding me.

My wrists twist in his grasp, desperate to touch him, to feel his skin against mine, but he holds them firm, smirking down at me through that mask, an air of dominance that has me melting beneath him.

"Azriel, please," I beg, the words spilling from me unbidden, needy. I don't even know what I'm asking for. Just more. More of him, more of this.

But he only chuckles, a low sound that vibrates through me, his hand shifting to wrap around my throat, his grip pressing lightly, sending sparks of pleasured pain through my veins. "You can beg all you want, love," he murmurs, his voice a taunt, "but I'm going to take my time."Azriel's grip on my throat is light, just enough to keep me grounded in the wild intensity between us. He keeps his gaze on me, unwavering, his eyes hidden behind the mask's shadows yet somehow sharper than ever, every silent command pulling me deeper under his control. I can't tear my eyes away, as though looking anywhere else might shatter the hold he has on me, on my body, on every pulse that races through my veins.

He moves, his hips rocking in a slow, merciless rhythm, building the ache between my legs until I'm sure I'll unravel at his slightest whim. Every brush, every thrust feels like he's staking his claim, making me his. My wrists strain in his grasp again, desperate, craving the friction of my fingers against his bare skin, but he tightens his hold, keeping me still, a silent reminder of who's in charge.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" His voice is a rough whisper, his lips grazing my ear. The low, taunting tone makes me shudder, my breaths turning ragged as he rolls his hips deeper, hitting a spot that pulls a strangled moan from my throat.

"Yes," I pant, my voice barely a whisper as he continues his slow, torturous pace, pushing me to the edge, but not letting me fall. His control over me is absolute, and the way he's drawing this out has me desperate, wanting to pull him closer and scream his name, to make him lose control just as he's making me.

He lets out a low chuckle, the sound reverberating through my body, and I can feel his smirk in the way his lips brush over my jaw, feather-light and maddeningly slow. "Then you'll be a good girl and take everything I give you," he murmurs, his voice like velvet and steel.

I nod frantically, my body arching up to meet his, each roll of his hips sending shocks of pleasure through me. He releases my wrists finally, his hands skimming down my sides, possessive and deliberate, leaving trails of fire everywhere he touches. My fingers immediately find their way to his back, clutching at him, pulling him closer as if I can tether him to me, my nails dragging over his skin hard enough to leave marks.

Azriel growls, his hips snapping harder, faster, and I gasp, my body tightening around him, helplessly caught in the rhythm he's set. His hands are on my hips now, gripping me, guiding me into each thrust, his strength and presence consuming me, making me feel everything all at once. The tension coils low in my belly, building with each movement, each whispered word, each smirk hidden behind that mask that keeps his face shrouded in mystery.

"Azriel,” I gasp, the pleasure reaching a fever pitch, teetering on the edge of release. He senses it, his hands tightening on my hips, holding me firmly as he drives into me, his pace relentless, unyielding, his gaze locked on mine, silently demanding I stay with him, watch him.

"That's it," he rasps, his voice low, thick with his own desire. "Let go for me."

So I do, a cry escaping me as the tension shatters, pleasure flooding through my body, leaving me trembling beneath him. He watches every reaction, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he slows, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until I'm gasping, utterly spent, and completely his.

Cassian

"This is ridiculous," I grumbled from behind the foldable dressing screen, glancing at myself in the mirror beside me. "Utterly ridiculous." I huffed.

"Come on out sweetheart," My mate says in a delighted tone, making my rage double.

With a permanent scowl on my face, I stepped from behind the divider shielding me from his gaze, facing the grinning male.

"I hate this. It's a total objectification, why can't females wear costumes that actually cover their asses?" I complained, doing my best to pull the short fabric down. "I mean c'mon, a sexy warrior costume? It's a juxtaposition in itself." I gesture down to the revealing costume, the spandex bodysuit doing little to cover, anything really, and I was certain I've seen belts bigger than the skirt, which were really just flaps of a gold material, meant to look like armor. "I mean, who would ever think this is a good idea?"

"I do." Cassian immediately answered, his eyes anywhere but my own.

"Cass," I blow out a breath, clenching my hands into fists and rocking back on my knee-high boots with a string of curses. He finally made eye contact with me, a winning smile on his lips that I was certain couldn't get any wider.

"Don't give me that look, you lost our bet fair and square," He said, giving me a pointed look. I roll my eyes, ignoring him.

"C'mere," He sighed from his seat on the couch. I frown but approach anyway. Once I'm an arm's length away he reaches out, his hands on the backs of my bare thighs, pulling me closer.

He looked up at me and leaned his chin on my stomach. I placed my hands on his shoulders, slowly slipping them into his hair as he guided me onto his lap, straddling his hips—as well as his prominently hard length.

His gaze flickered with amusement, though there was something darker glinting in his eyes, a challenge that I couldn't help but rise to. Even through my embarrassment, I could feel the tingling thrill creeping over my skin, his hands firm against the backs of my thighs as he held me.

"Still complaining?" he murmured, brushing his lips along my jaw. His voice was that low, dangerous tone he always took on when he was trying to coax me out of my irritation—and, unfortunately for me, it was very effective.

"Yes," I snapped, though my heart wasn't quite in it. His fingertips trailed along my thigh, tracing small circles that sent shivers up my spine. "This costume is horrible."

"It's a masterpiece," he disagreed, tugging me a little closer, his grin nothing short of wolfish. "I think it fits you perfectly, and you're going to look fantastic in it tonight."

Tonight. The event at Rita's. I was not looking forward to strutting around the pleasure hall dressed like this while every other female was draped in beautiful gowns, covered head to toe. But, the bet was a bet.

I leaned back slightly, folding my arms and arching a brow at him. "And what exactly are you wearing, hmm? If I have to parade around looking like this, the least you could do is show a little skin too." I tease, pulling at the collar of his shirt to expose a small expanse of his golden, muscular chest.

"Oh, I fully intend to match." His grin widened. "But first," His hands traveled higher, sending heat straight to my core, and his eyes darkened, drinking in every inch of me. "We have a few hours before we need to leave, and I think you're too tense to walk around like this. Let me help."

I shivered as his fingers traced my waist, his hands slipping beneath the hem of the bodysuit, igniting my skin wherever he touched. His lips followed, trailing hot kisses along my collarbone, his teeth grazing as he worked his way to the sensitive spot just below my ear.

"Cass," I managed, my voice faltering as he nipped at my skin, that devilish smirk never leaving his face. He chuckled, pulling back slightly to look up at me, one hand reaching up to cup my cheek.

"Just relax, sweetheart," he murmured, his fingers tangling into my hair as he brought my lips down to his. "I'll make you forget all about that bet."

Cassian's hands explored beneath the costume, his touch deliberately slow as he traced the aching curves of my body. "Admit it," he whispered, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns down my spine. "You enjoy knowing that everyone tonight will be looking at you." His gaze locked onto mine, intense and unwavering. "Knowing they'll all wish they could touch you," He let the words hang between us, his hands drifting lower, his fingers grazing the exposed skin of my thighs with a feather-light touch. "But they can't. Because you're mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sent a thrill through me, and I felt my resistance crumble completely. I leaned into him, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that was anything but gentle, pouring all of my pent-up frustration and desire into it. He responded eagerly, his hands gripping my thighs as he pulled me even closer, his mouth devouring mine with a fierce hunger that left me breathless.

He kissed me with a passion that was both possessive and reverent. My fingers dug into his shoulders, holding onto him as he deepened the kiss, his mouth hot and demanding against mine. His hands drifted up my sides, gripping me through the skin-tight bodysuit and sending a shiver down my spine as he traced over every curve with a knowing touch.

"Cassian," I gasped as he broke the kiss, his lips trailing down my neck, his teeth grazing my skin in a way that made my breath hitch. His hands found their way to the small clasp at the back of the bodysuit, his fingers working deftly to undo it as he pressed a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone.

"Let me see you," he murmured against my skin, his voice thick with desire. The costume slipped from my shoulders, and he pulled back slightly to take me in, his gaze dark with unrestrained hunger as he looked at me.

I felt a blush creep up my cheeks under his intense scrutiny, but his expression held nothing but awe and reverence. He reached out, brushing a thumb over my cheek before leaning in to kiss me again, his hands roaming over my now-exposed skin with a possessiveness that made my heart race.

His lips found their way to my neck, then lower, trailing a path of fire down my body as he took his time savoring every inch of me. I arched into him, lost in the sensation, my fingers tangling in his hair as he worshipped me with his touch, each kiss and caress sending another spark of desire through me.

Cassian's hands moved with a confidence and skill that left no room for doubt, his touch firm yet gentle as he explored every inch of me, his lips following wherever his hands had been, leaving a trail of heated kisses that made me gasp and cling to him for support.

By the time his gaze met mine again, I was breathless, my skin tingling in the aftermath of his attention. He smirked, clearly pleased with himself as he took in my flushed, disheveled state, his hands still holding me close as he leaned in to press one last, searing kiss to my lips.

"Still think the costume is ridiculous?" he asked, his voice low and teasing as he pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, a smug grin on his face.

I could barely form words, my mind still clouded with the remnants of our heated exchange. "Maybe," I managed, breathless, "but I think you convinced me to keep it on. For now."

Eris Vanserra

"Eris," I breathed, struggling to keep composure with the way he had his hand pressed to my pulsing cunt, my back arching into his chest. "Not here," I whispered, anxiously scanning the area for any onlookers, but the corn maze we stood in was empty—while the maze was open to the public at all times, it was three am and Eris seemed certain we were the only ones in here.

"No?" He purred beside my ear, his hand past my skirt and rubbing me through my soaked panties. "The idea of getting caught, it isn't making you soaked for me?" I shake my head no. "Say it then," He demanded.

I frowned, unable to form the words, because in truth he knew how turned on this made me, the thrilling possibility of being caught, the anticipation leaving me dripping.

Eris chuckled deeply from beside me, his fingers adding a little more pressure, his thumb connecting to my clothed clit. I let out a quiet moan at the sensation, my body going taut. "That's what I thought." He smirked, walking me over to a bench of hay bales, and guiding me to lay down atop them.

He didn't drag on the foreplay much longer, he spread my legs and settled between them, hands slipping up my thighs, gripping my panties and shredding through them—my breath hitched at the idea of having to walk home with nothing beneath my skirt.

Eris tossed the torn fabric aside and leaned in, his amber eyes dark with desire. The night air wrapped around us, cool against my heated skin, and the rough texture of the hay scratched at my back as he settled between my thighs. His hands slid up, pushing my skirt further until I was entirely exposed to him.

"You're mine tonight," he murmured, voice dripping with promise as he nipped at my inner thigh, lips grazing against my sensitive skin. His mouth moved closer, and my breath caught when his hot breath fanned over me.

Eris looked up, catching my gaze with a wicked grin. "Look at you," he said, voice low, sending a thrill down my spine. "So eager and ready, even out here, where anyone could stumble upon us."

I opened my mouth to protest, but it was too late. His tongue pressed against me, deliberate and slow, and I couldn't help the strangled moan that slipped past my lips. My hands flew to the hay beneath me, fingers clutching it as he worked me over, every flick of his tongue bringing me closer to the edge.

Eris's grip on my thighs tightened as he picked up the pace, his hands holding me in place as he devoured me with the fervor of a man who knew exactly how to unravel me. I squirmed, breathless, my body arching into his mouth, desperate for more of his touch.

"Eris—" I gasped, voice breaking as the pressure inside me built, wave after wave, until I thought I might come undone right there on the hay bales.

He pulled back just as I teetered on the edge, and I let out a whine of frustration. His hands skimmed up my thighs, his fingers tracing teasing circles around my sensitive skin. "Not so fast," he murmured, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I want to savor this."

Without warning, he moved up, his mouth crashing against mine, tasting of sin and satisfaction. I could feel him pressing against me, hard and ready, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

"Impatient little thing," he murmured against my lips, positioning himself at my entrance. He pressed in slowly, deliberately, stretching me inch by inch until I was full of him, filled in a way that left me gasping.

His movements started slow, torturous, every thrust dragging against every sensitive part of me until I was writhing beneath him, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. He gripped my hips, angling himself just right, and I cried out as he hit that perfect spot, over and over.

"Quiet," he growled, his voice dark with need. "We don't want anyone hearing, do we?"

I bit my lip, nodding, though it was almost impossible to stay silent with the way he was making me feel. Each thrust sent sparks through me, each movement bringing me closer to the edge until I was teetering on the brink.

"Come for me," he whispered, his voice a dark promise, and that was all I needed. The tension inside me snapped, and pleasure crashed over me, wave after wave, leaving me breathless and spent.

Eris followed moments later, a low groan escaping him as he buried himself deep, claiming me fully.

We stayed there for a moment, tangled together, breathing hard in the quiet of the corn maze. Finally, he pulled back, a satisfied smirk on his face as he helped me sit up, brushing a stray piece of hay from my hair.

"See?" he murmured, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Nothing wrong with a little adventure."

Lucien Vanserra

Lucien's touch was everywhere, his fingers leaving streaks of dark green body paint across my flushed skin, each one a vivid reminder of his presence. The paint, cheap and easy to transfer, coated his hands and forearms from the Halloween party we'd come from, smearing onto me with every touch. Each brush of his hands, each powerful thrust, left a fresh line, almost as if he were marking me in a way that would last long after tonight.

I could feel the paint dragging down my sides, streaking across my jaw, and dotting my thighs as he spread my legs wider, his grip tightening until I was sure I'd feel his touch in bruises tomorrow. But I wanted it—I wanted to feel him, to wear these marks like badges, his possessiveness painting me just as much as his body was. When his hands gripped my hips with an intensity that bordered on desperation, his fingertips sinking into the flesh there, my back arched off the sheets in response. The once pristine white cotton beneath us was now as stained as I was, smeared with trails of dark green.

"Lucien," I gasped, air thick in my lungs as I gripped his long, red hair, my fingers twisting through it as I tugged, spurred by the overwhelming need pulsing through me. He responded to that touch, that pull, with a low groan, his thrusts only growing more insistent, more relentless.

"That's it, fuck, you feel so good," he growled, his voice rough, raw with desire. His mouth latched onto the column of my throat, lips, and teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he bit, sucked, and kissed along the exposed line of my neck. I threw my head back into the pillow, leaving myself open for him, letting the pleasure he was giving me flow freely, like a dam that had finally broken.

My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, my heels digging into his tanned back, urging him deeper. He shifted, and the new angle had me crying out, breathless at how perfectly he hit that sweet spot deep inside, each stroke deliberate yet utterly consuming. He was toying with me, his movements almost teasing, reveling in how he could make me writhe beneath him with ease.

With a wicked grin, Lucien adjusted his grip on my hips, his fingers pressing in just enough that I knew I'd feel his touch lingering long after the paint was gone. "Gods," he rasped, his voice thick with a hunger that mirrored my own. "You're taking me so well."

He leaned forward, his mouth trailing from my collarbone to my jaw, leaving warm, wet kisses in his wake. The scent of the body paint, mingling with his own earthy, masculine scent, filled the air, grounding me in the moment, and pulling me deeper under his spell.

"Did you wear that costume just for me?" he whispered, his teeth grazing the edge of my earlobe. For a brief, foggy moment, I tried to remember what I'd worn—a tight, dark dress that clung to every curve, a costume that had caught his eye from the moment I'd slipped it on, all of it meant to tempt him. Now, though, that seemed like a distant memory. All I could focus on was him, and the way he was dragging me to the brink.

"Only you," I managed to respond, my voice breaking as his pace deepened, his thrusts hitting harder, more intense. My moans filled the room, and he chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound that sent a new wave of heat rushing through me.

"That's my good girl," he murmured, his voice a rough, approving growl that shattered what little composure I had left. The praise sparked something in me, a desperate need for him to claim me completely, to fill every inch of me with his touch, his mark.

His thumbs pressed deeper into my hips, each movement of his hands adding new streaks of paint across my skin, his handprints smudging and smearing, as though he was branding me in his color. I could barely focus on anything beyond the sensation of him inside me, his body pressing into mine, his rough grip leaving trails of green along my ribs, and across my chest. I was his canvas, his masterpiece, and he was painting me with every thrust, every stroke of his fingers, every fierce kiss.

"You look good covered in me," he murmured, voice thick with a possessive satisfaction, his gaze devouring the sight of me beneath him, painted in his touch, his color. His hand drifted lower, wrapping around my thigh as he pulled me closer, his body aligning with mine in a way that made me gasp. Dark, messy lines streaked up the insides of my thighs, each one left there by his relentless grip.

As he leaned down, his hands came to rest on either side of my face, framing me, holding me as if I were something precious, even as he moved within me with a power that stole the breath from my lungs. His fingers, cool and damp with paint, brushed across my cheeks, his thumbs stroking gentle lines down my skin, leaving more traces of green. His mouth captured mine in a kiss that was searing, consuming, leaving no part of me untouched. The faintly earthy scent of the paint mingled with his taste, heady and intoxicating, making me feel dizzy as he filled every one of my senses.

The paint on his hands smeared along my jaw as his lips moved to follow, dragging a cool line down my neck, across my collarbone, until I could feel streaks trailing along my throat. The sensation of his palms sliding down my sides, smearing green across my ribs and waist, anchored me to him, to this moment. Each press of his hands painted me more thoroughly, my back arching into him as he moved as if my body was begging for every last trace of his mark.

When his body shifted, his fingers traced down my thighs, painting new lines in their wake, each touch leaving trails of dark green and filling me with a sense of being utterly, inescapably his. My body responded to him without hesitation, and I felt the pressure within me coil, tight and consuming, ready to break.

Lucien's hands never stopped moving, his fingers claiming every inch of me as his mouth grazed my shoulder, his breath hot against my skin as he whispered, "Come for me."

That command tipped me over the edge, and I shattered, my release crashing through me with a force that left me breathless, boneless. Lucien followed moments later, his voice a rough, broken sound as he called out my name, his body shuddering against mine as he finally stilled, both of us lost in the waves of pleasure that washed over us.

As we lay there, tangled together, my skin smeared with paint and his touch, I felt like a masterpiece—a living canvas painted in dark green streaks and handprints, marked in every way by him. Every smudge of color, every line on my skin, was a reminder of this night, a night I knew I'd never forget.

Read the SFW version here -> link

Replies and Reposts are always appreciated! ❤️

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @hufflepuff-pa55 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @cumuluscranium @adharanotfound @azrielsmate3 @aelincaddel @hiddlestonspassionsackx @dee-writes-smut @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @pit-and-the-pen @mybestfriendmademe @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @circe143 @bubybubsters @joshysloshy @username199945 @ivy-34 @notsarareallynot @vixenshiftsvrs @aurorab99 @pey2618 @loving-and-dreaming @mmg777 @andreperez11 @thatacotargirl @123345566 @one-big-fangirl @moonslitluna @imyherondale @salvawhxres @bookishbabyyyy @anuttellaa @breadsticks2004 @azriels-human @mamita-vera @demetercabingreen-thumb @lorosette @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tothestarsandwhateverend @ahaha0246 @mellowmusings @mythicalcookie

[cevansbrat0007]

Witches' Brouhaha

Summary: Ari saves you from a real-life fright on Halloween night...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Drunk/Abusive Asshole, Mildly Racist/Xenophobic Language, Mentions of Domestic Violence, Angry/Protective Ari, Physical Violence, Face Slapping, Wrestling, Manhandling, Oral Sex (Male rec), Cum Swallowing, Allusions to P in V Sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“Well, this should be the last of it.” You huff, setting a box of decorations and spare prizes down on the desk in the back of your shop. Wiping your hands on your gown, you turn around just in time to avoid colliding with your friend, Marisol Gonzalez, as she carries in several oversized event posters. 

“Sorry! Comin’ through.” She breezes by you, doing her best not to trip over the hem of her dress.

“Just lean them against the wall.” You tell her, stretching your arms above your head. “Yeah, right there is fine.”

Tonight’s Spooktacular Soiree at the local library had been an overwhelming success. You’d co-hosted the event with Marisol, who also happened to be the town librarian. While it was true that she was a couple years younger than you, you two had become fast friends over the past few months. And when she’d pitched this idea to you over coffee at the end of the summer, you’d known immediately that you wanted to be a part of it. 

It was a family friendly event, complete with music and games, dancing, a costume contest and, of course, books. Tons and tons of books. Talk about a perfect way to spend your Halloween. And you couldn’t have been more pleased with the turnout. 

Which was why, after numerous requests, you were already planning on doing the same thing again next year. Matter of fact, you two are so excited by the prospect, that you’re already discussing ideas when Ari walks in. 

“So, word on the street is that tonight was a smashing success.” You immediately perk up at the sound of him joining you in your office. “Not that I expected anything less from the Wicked Witch of the West and Cleopatra.” The handsome bounty hunter tosses a wink your way. 

“Actually, I’m dressed as Nefertiti.” Marisol corrects him with a smile.

“My mistake.” He amends before reaching for your hand to press a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Eh, no biggie. I gave up trying to explain it to people about an hour into the party anyway.” She tells him with a shrug. “Hey, chica. Should we go check to make sure we got everything out of your car?”

“Yeah.” You sigh before standing up and offering Ari your chair. 

“Need some help, ladies?”  

“Nah. We got it.” You reassure him, rising on your toes to kiss his cheek. “Just keep my seat warm for me, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gifts you with a lazy smile as he slides into your chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. "Hurry back now."

After triple checking that you’ve gotten everything out of your vehicle, you and Marisol return to the warmth and comfort of Baubles & Quills. Still riding the high of tonight’s success, you’re actually in the middle of showing off a new display when you hear the chime of your front door opening behind you. 

“Sorry, but we’re closed. Come back tomorrow…” The words die on your lips the moment you see who the hell just waltzed into your shop holding a bulging pillowcase. 

Although you’re not exactly sure who you were expecting, it was safe to say that this was the last person you wanted to see – especially on a night like tonight. Because standing before you is a man by the name of Dale Edwards.

And it becomes alarmingly clear that he’s drunk as fucking skunk.

“Dale.” You begin, keeping your voice calm and even. “We’re closed right now. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Hell naw.” The pudgy man slurs. “I–I…drove all the way here to deal with your ass now.” His murky gaze strays over Marisol, as if he just realized that you weren’t alone. “And when I’m done with you, I’ma call immigration on Gaudilupe here. Let ‘em know they might want to stop by for a visit.”

Your mouth falls open in shock as Marisol audibly gasps. Even though she spoke with a hint of an accent, the woman was as much of a citizen as you were. Not that she owed anyone an explanation.

Least of all him.

“Get out or I’m calling the cops.” You threaten, wishing you were standing near your panic button.

“Go ahead.” Dale snarls, spittle flying from his mouth. “And I’ll tell ‘em that I wanna press charges against the bitches who tried to corrupt my daughters by giving them pornography!”

“Now that is an absolute lie, Mr. Edwards!” The sweet librarian exclaims. “You know we would never do something like that.”

“Yeah? Well, I…” He shakes his head in an effort to regroup. “I went through their rooms. Got all the evi–evidence right here.” The man shakes the bag. “And I know you tried it again tonight. With families!” His voice grows louder with each word. “Offering candy like you ain’t just invited 'em to dance with the Devil!”

Oh good God, this was not going well.

“Marisol.” You whisper as you look around for a weapon. “There should be a phone right there next to the register. Grab it and dial 911.” 

Unfortunately for you, you make the mistake of taking your eyes off the man for two seconds. Which is why you miss the moment Dale reaches his hand into his bag before chucking the contents in your direction.

Drunk or not, the man proves to have good aim. Which is something you find out the hard way when several pieces of hard candy manage to graze your left cheek, making you scream.

Thankfully, it doesn’t hurt. Much.

Momentarily stunned, all you can do is stare back at him, mouth open, as you try to process what the hell had just happened. 

Because had this man really just thrown a fistful of candy at you? At ten o’clock on Halloween night?

“What the actual fuck–?” Is all you can manage before turning your head to look at Marisol’s equally shocked expression.  

“Um, Dale…I mean Mr. Edwards…I think it’s time you left now.” The sweet librarian tries, holding the phone tighter to her chest. 

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He snarls at the same time as one of his pudgy hands grabs ahold of your discount book rack, knocking it over, sending almost two dozen of your precious books crashing to the ground. “In fact, I think it’s high time someone put the fear of God into you two bitch–” Dale falters suddenly, his spine going ramrod straight at the sound of another man’s voice joining the fray. 

A voice that belonged to Ari.

In all the commotion, you’d completely forgotten that he was here – peacefully minding his business while he waited for you to join him in the back of your shop. 

“Just what in the hell is goin’ on out here?” You find yourself breathing a sigh of relief as your bounty hunter’s deep baritone washes over you like a balm.

“D-Dale was just leaving.” You tell him, sparing a quick glance over your shoulder to offer up a reassuring smile.

“Of course he was.” Ari agrees, jamming his hands into the pockets of jeans. “And as soon as he cleans up his mess, Mr. Edwards can be on his way.”

“I ain’t doin’ shit!” The angry man hisses at the same time as you eek out the nervous “that’s okay”.

However, Ari doesn’t really seem all that in the mood to listen. Not after what he just witnessed before you realized he was standing there. In fact, the only reason he hadn’t already personally introduced this drunken asshole to every goddamned wall in your store was because he didn’t want to cause anymore unnecessary damage.

But that also didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

He’s by your side in seconds, his eyes never once leaving the other male’s disgruntled form as his long legs eat up the space between you. 

“You okay, Marisol?” He asks, not bothering to hide the tick in his jaw. 

“I–I’m fine, Mr. Levinson.” 

“Glad to hear it, darlin’.” The bounty hunter takes a second to roll his shoulders, cracking his neck as he does. “Do me a favor. Take that box to the back and ring Bell’s Creek PD for me, would ya? Tell ‘em we’ve got a buddy here waiting for pick up. Go on, now.” He tacks on the last bit when he notices the young librarian hesitate briefly.

She hustles away with a nod. And although she tries to hide it, Ari doesn’t miss the way her lower lip starts to tremble as she makes her way to safety. Shit sets his teeth on edge. So much so, that he doesn’t speak again until he’s confident she’s out of earshot.

“Gotta be honest, fella, I’m about two seconds from breaking your fuckin’ jaw.”

“It’s okay, Ari. Really.” You try once more, bending your knees so you can begin collecting the candy littering your floor. “I can…I’ll tidy this up.”

“Baby.” The danger laced in his silky tone has you halting your movements almost immediately. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” Once he’s confident he’s gotten your attention, he returns his attention back to the man at the heart of this disruption. 

“You know what I hate, Dale?” The man at your side grunts, pushing up the sleeves of his thermal to reveal his brawny forearms. 

“This here ain’t none of your business, Levinson.” Your aggressor hisses, spittle flying from his lips. “Hell! This ain’t even your town.”

“Men who act like bullies once they’ve got a little drink in ‘em.” Ari shrugs, continuing on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Especially with women. Really pisses me the fuck off.” 

It’s only then that one of his hands goes to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his stormy gaze. While he was almost certain that you weren’t hurt, you knew there was a part of him that needed to see for himself. And although it’s hard, you manage to resist the urge to lean into his touch. 

“I run my house, okay? I–” Dale wobbles to the left before finding his balance. “I am the king of my goddamned castle and I don’t want my family readin’ any of the trash these two like to peddle.” He rails, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Have you seen ‘em, Levinson? We’re talkin’ stories about women openly fornicatin’ with all kinds of creatures! Demons and vampires, an-and werewolves. Why, they might as well be…be…layin’ with dogs!” 

“Oh go to hell!” You snort, unable to catch the words before they come tumbling out of your mouth. “You seriously just insulted the entire genre of paranormal romance!”

“Easy, Bird.” Ari murmurs, even as you bristle.

 “You and Guadalupe over there are out here promotin’ beastiality. I’ve seen it on the cover of those damned books. The same ones I caught my girls readin’!”

Gritting your teeth, you close your eyes and force yourself to take a deep breath. It’s not like you’d forced those books on his girls, both of whom were 19 and 22 respectively. They were romance novel junkies, just like you. And you couldn’t be more proud that you’d turned them onto authors like Kresley Cole, Jeaniene Frost, and Nalini Singh.

But deep down you also knew there was no use in arguing with this man. All you really wanted was him out of your store so you could finally lock-up and go home. 

“Look Dale, you’re drunk. I can see it and I can most definitely smell it.” Your fingers come up to pinch the bridge of your nose. “If you leave now, I promise I won’t press charges.” 

Which means your poor wife won’t be stuck bailing you out of jail. Again. Although you’re smart enough to leave that last part unsaid.

“I ain’t leavin’ until I’ve made my point.” Dale grunts, kicking at one of your fallen books. You grimace when you notice the way his boot rips the cover, nearly tearing it in half. “This filth ain’t welcome in my town.”  

“Jesus Christ, you moron - the police are already on their fucking way so it’s your goddamned funeral!” You screech, throwing your hands up in the air. 

“How ‘bout you shut your whore mouth before I –” Unfortunately for him, Dale doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. 

Moving with a speed that belies his size, you can only watch in what feels like slow motion your bounty hunter strikes. Slapping the other man dead in his mouth with enough force to send him staggering backwards. 

“Let that be the last time I hear you disrespect this young lady.” Ari rumbles, the fierce sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest. “And her shop.”

“I think you cracked my tooth!” He wails, clutching at his injured jaw. “And all over this bitch and her—ah fuck!” You can’t help but wince when his drunken stream of consciousness is interrupted once more when Ari slaps him in the mouth for yet the second time.

“Now what the fuck did I just say, Dale?” His dark chuckle makes you shiver. “Nope – eyes on me, buddy. There we go.” Your bounty hunter does a quick side step, using his big body to shield you from view.  

Feeling a bit dizzy, you lightly grip the back of your man’s shirt as you silently will your pulse to settle down. It had been awhile since you’d seen Ari like this. The last time he’d gotten physical with another man over you had been back at the local tavern. The night you credited with jumpstarting your relationship. 

A pained noise escapes Dale’s throat as he takes another step backwards. And then, wouldn’t you know it? That motherfucker has the nerve to spit out a broken tooth. The sound of it hitting your hardwood floor seems to echo throughout the store.

“I reckon you’re gonna want to see a dentist about that.” Comes the lawman’s cheeky response before he turns to you. 

Smiling down at you, he’s actually in the middle of instructing you to go check on Marisol when a hard covered tome connects with the side of his head. But to your surprise, Ari doesn’t even so much as flinch. 

In fact, he barely reacts at all. At least not until the guy tries to tackle him, sending them both flying and you scrambling out of the way. Any real worry for your man fades when you see him quickly regain the upper hand. He lands a solid blow to the pudgy man’s kidney before pinning him to the floor with a knee in his back, his right arm trussed up in a way that looks mighty uncomfortable. 

“Fuck you, asshole!” Dale squeals, belatedly reminding you of a stuck pig. “Fight me…” He wheezes. “Like a–like a man!”

“Dale, if I fought you like a man we’d be callin’ you an ambulance right about now.” Ari snarls before twisting the other man’s arm hard enough to make his bones snap. It only makes the man squeal louder. “Now apologize to my lady for making an absolute ass out of yourself tonight. And it had better be fuckin��� good, or I swear I’m gonna do a hell of a lot worse than a bruised kidney and dislocated shoulder.” 

Seeing your man like this, acting so protective and possessive over you and your shopwas doing funny things to those damned butterflies in your belly. Although you liked to think that you were more than capable of handling yourself, knowing that you had a man in your life who wouldn’t think twice about defending your honor made you feel so unbelievably loved and cherished.

It also made you wet as fuck. 

As your thoughts take an increasingly naughty turn, you get so caught up in the heat pooling between your thighs that you almost miss what’s transpiring in front of you. Key word: almost.

“I don’t think she heard you, Dale.” You watch as the man continues to thrash in Ari’s hold, his pathetic mewls of pain falling on deaf ears. “How bout you try that again?”

“I’m sorry!” 

Covering your mouth with your hand, all you can do is nod. Seconds later, flashing red and blue lights capture your attention as two squad cars pull into your parking lot.

Frankly, it was about damn time. 

You’re so grateful when Deputy Milton and another officer come waltzing through your front door. Just as Marisol makes her way back into your lobby. 

Milton frowns the moment he catches sight of her. While you had suspected that he might have a thing for the young librarian, his reaction only seemed to confirm it. Because you honestly couldn’t remember the last time you saw him angry before today.

“We got a call about a disturbance?” The Deputy surveys the scene, his frown growing more pronounced at the sight of the books and candy strewn across the ground. “Would you happen to know anything about that, Dale?”

His response comes out muffled. Not that it really matters any.

“I already informed Mr. Edwards that you boys would be more than happy to escort him back to the station.” Comes Ari’s gruff reply. “As soon as he cleans up his mess.”

“You know, I think the owner of this establishment would really appreciate that.” Milton cheekily turns to the officer at his side. “Right, Elkins?”

“I reckon it’s the only gentlemanly thing to do.” Officer Elkins pauses to wave at Marisol before continuing. “Ms. Gonzalez mentioned something about you both being assaulted. Would either of you ladies like press charges?”

You both shake your head no. If anything, you were pretty sure that Marisol wanted this whole nightmare to be over the same as you. 

“Alright. Guess that makes today your lucky day, then. Huh, Dale?” The officer hauls the man to his feet once Ari releases him. “Now, I’d get to cleanin’ if I was you. I’m anxious to get back to the supper I left behind at the station.”

 “You can’t be…” The man sucks in a harsh breath. “That guy just broke my tooth and you expect me to…to…”

“Clean up your mess?” Milton helpfully supplies. “Absolutely.” All three men chime at the same time.

“And when you’re done, we’ll escort you to your room. I’ll let you know right now that it ain’t the Marriott, but I suppose it’s better than the cold, hard ground.” The deputy muses with a shrug. “Mariam kicked you out after this latest episode. Can’t say I blame her after what you did to her face.”

“Oh my God.” You murmur, wrapping your arms around Ari’s trim waist. “Is she okay?”

“Eh.” Milton casts a sideways glare at Dale, silently warning him that he better get a move-on. Or else. “She walked away from tonight with a couple stitches. And possibly one hell of a wake-up call.”

You decide you’re better off remaining silent as haggard-looking Dale Edwards begins collecting the books he’d upended. And you remain that way even as he begins haphazardly stacking them back on the shelf.

Which was fine. You’d simply fix it tomorrow.

Next he moves to pick the candy he’d thrown at you. A soft sigh escapes you when you feel your man’s warm, lightly calloused palm come to rest on the back of your neck, giving you a reassuring squeeze. 

The entire process takes a little longer than it should, but given that the man is obviously inebriated, nobody sees fit to complain. 

Eventually, the task is complete. And a defeated Dale is led away in cuffs before being placed in the back of Elkins’ squad car.

Good riddance.

And when you offer to give Marisol a ride home, you’re not the least bit surprised you’re intercepted by Milton, who eagerly agrees to escort the traumatized woman home. They’re out the door a few moments later, leaving you alone with Ari. 

“Well shit.” He chuckles, his hand coming up to gently massage his shoulder as he watches you secure the lock. “That was…somethin’.” 

Instead of agreeing, you silently turn to face him, your hands resting on your hips. After all of that commotion, you had just one thing on your mind. And you weren’t going to let this man out of your store until you got it. 

“It probably wouldn’t hurt to break out the vacuum, Duchess. I can go grab it if you–” 

You cut him off a look before grabbing a fistful of his shirt, tugging his head down to your level to capture his lips in a kiss. Swallowing his surprised gasp, you can’t help the moan of appreciation you let out when he grabs your ass – hauling you even closer to his muscled body. 

“Fuck that.” You hiss, nipping at his plump bottom lip. “Don’t wanna vacuum.” Needing to taste more of him, you ultimately abandon his mouth in favor of kissing your way along his bearded jaw. 

He’d made a man bleed for you tonight. And words simply could not express just how horny that made you. 

“Oh yeah?” One of his large hands winds its way into your curls, wrenching your head back so that he can take control. “Then what do you want?” His eager tongue sweeps past your lips to dance with yours as he grinds his rapidly hardening cock against your belly. 

“You.” Comes your heated growl as you force him backwards. “I want you.”

Ari doesn’t protest when his back collides against the wall, or when you all but rip the shirt from his body. In fact, he fucking loves it. Although he might not be sure exactly what he did to make you act so goddamned feral, he’ll be damned before you ever hear him complain. 

“I’m right here, baby.” 

“Need more.” You hardly recognize the sound of your own voice. 

A wave of pure feminine satisfaction courses through you when you feel his big body shudder beneath your touch, his soft groan of pleasure driving you even closer to the brink. You rain sweet, hot kisses down the hard expanse of his chest, only pausing your ministrations long enough to give into the temptation to bite his left nipple, before continuing to move lower.

Right now, you were a woman on a mission. And nothing was going to stop you from reaching your intended destination. His turbulent blue eyes darken as they follow the path of your nails gliding along the ridges of his abs, causing goosebumps to rise across his tanned skin.

“Thank you for always protecting me.”

“Fuck! Always.” He grits out through clenched teeth.

Raw hunger fills you the moment you finally reach the fastening of his jeans. You quickly undo the buttons before dropping to your knees to undo the zipper of his fly with your teeth, making your intentions clear. 

“Is this what you want, baby?” Your bounty hunter rasps, tangling his fingers in your hair once again. “This what you need right now?”

Meeting his gaze, you nod. Tonight, this man had unlocked something primal inside of you. And at this moment you wanted the taste of this man on your tongue more than anything. It takes you no time to free his impressive member from the confines of his pants before shoving them down his hair covered thighs.

Later, you might allow yourself to be embarrassed by the sound of appreciation the bubbles it’s way past your lips. But not tonight. Refusing to break eye contact, you wrap a hand around his girth as your head dips to lap up a salty bead of precum. A familiar warmth pools in your belly as your core spasms with need. 

Ari’s chin tips back on a groan when you draw him into your mouth at the same time as you begin working him up and down with your hand. His fingers dig into your scalp as he spurs you on, loving the little noises you make as you greedily suck him off. 

“That’s it, baby. My good fuckin’ girl.” 

Emboldened by his response, you increase your pace, hollowing your cheeks with every bob of your head. It’s damn near impossible to take all of him – he was much too big. But you’d been practicing. 

Thankfully, your bounty hunter had proven to be a patient man. He never complained whenever you decided you wanted to practice. 

You’re rewarded for your efforts when you feel your man’s hips begin to move in time with your rhythm, damn near choking you in the process. But Ari doesn’t stop. Your pretty little mouth feels too goddamned good right now for him to even dream of it. 

“Ah shit, Duchess.” He chuckles when you gag around him for the second time. “I know you love it like this. My girl loves chokin’ on my fat dick. Don’t you?” You try to respond as your eyes begin to water, your mascara running down your cheeks. 

“Mmph!” Your free hand moves to cup his heavy sac, kneading and massaging as you continue to devour him. And then your mouth moves lower, briefly sucking on his balls in a move that has him rocking back on his heels. In response, Ari readjusts his grip on your curls, forcing himself deeper down your throat. Having anticipated this, you do your damndest to control your response by breathing through your nose. 

It works like a charm.

“Fuck, baby.” His eyes roll back in his head as his impending orgasm threatens to overtake him. “Keep–keep me–oh fuck!”

And you were determined to take it all. You were gonna swallow him down like he was your favorite treat. Because let’s be honest, you’d come to crave him just as much as he craved you.

“Cum, Beast.” You purr, swirling your tongue around the plump mushroom head. Once. Twice. “Fucking cum for me.” You allow the wet heat of your mouth to engulf him once more, not missing the way his body begins to tremble beneath you.

He continues to thrust, his breathing becoming more labored as his movements grow increasingly erratic. He was so close. So goddamned close. You knew it. And so did he.

‘Give it to me, baby.” You beg between deep, ragged breaths, no longer caring about how desperate you sound. “Gag me. Make me choke on it.” Your thighs clench together as the heady thrum of pleasure dances along your skin. 

And as Ari always liked to say, your wish was his command. 

“FUCK!” He roars as he rears back, forcing you to take him to the hilt as jet after jet of his seed pumps its way down your throat. 

Once again you’re forced to rely on breathing through your nose until he’s finished, making a show of swallowing him down. And then you lick your lips, not wanting to miss a drop of your man’s salty goodness.

Like the good girl you are, you remain on your knees as you patiently wait for him to recover. You knew without having to check that your panties were positively ruined. That was no surprise. 

“Happy Halloween, Beast.” You murmur, nuzzling your nose against his still half-hard cock. 

“Oh yeah.” He responds with a quiet chuckle before gently cupping your chin. “You sure you’re okay, little Bird?” Your eyes flutter closed as he smooths the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. 

“Yeah.” You find yourself leaning into his touch, feeling safer and more protected than ever before.

“Good.” 

You watch as he rests his head against the wall, his big body now fully relaxed. But you’re not done with this man yet. Not by a long shot. Which is why you don’t bother trying to hide the impish grin that spreads across your features as you reach for his dick once more. 

“But I bet I’ll be even better after you fuck me.” 

END

Official Tag List

@katymae12344

@identity2212

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@blackhawkfanatic

@jamneuromain

@queerqueenlynn

@pono-pura-vida

@daykrisr999

@ninacutebee16

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@emerald-writes

@gh0stgurl

@blogbog710

@sincerelytlh

@gummydummy19

@steviebbboi

@missaprilt23

@scorpiosaintt

[biromantic-barbie]

Season of the witch. 💜💛💚🩷💙🧡

do not repost/remove my username.

[kirbyoctournament]

After a gruelling six months, we're pleased to finally announce to you this year's winners of the 2024 Kirby OC Tournament!

We'll start with the results from the Second Chance Brackets. This event was hosted to allow those who were voted out within the first three rounds of the mainline tournament to participate for a little longer, and featured high-speed 3VS match-ups.

The grand final of the Second Chance Brackets pitted Noir Fontaine (of @desultory-novice), the long-suffering swordsman, against Rope MF (of @mint-termsandconditions), that one guy who really really likes ropes. Both contestants produced an incredible, ongoing series of finale propagandas bouncing off the strengths of both characters, combining both lore and comedy, comics, and even animations!

Their poll, ✦ THERE ARE NO STRINGS ON ME ✦ concluded with one singular vote of difference. This polled in favour of:

⭒THERE ARE NO STRINGS ON ME⭒ ✦ FINAL RESULTS ✦

WINNER: Rope MF with 50.3% of votes!

Congratulations to Rope MF!! This was an incredibly tight race until the very end, with Noir claiming a lead for multiple updates right up until the last moment, with a surprise victory for Rope MF!

Moving on to the Mainline Tournament. After six months of intense 1 on 1 competition, our grand finalists emerged as Valfrey (of @gethoce), the butterfly samurai who created suns at the beginning of the universe, and starstruck dee (of @starflungwaddledee), a palmful of waddle dee who is definitely very normal.

Despite their differences of vibe, both characters are beloved by the community, within the tournament and out, and their creators have told consistent tales throughout the course of the event. Valfrey in particular has spent her time doing everyone a great service by handling one specific menace, a story that carried through into her propaganda until the very end, while starstruck found herself rather lost en route.

None the less, as we don't technically require contestants to be on the tournament grounds to compete, their poll ✦ FOR THE SUN ✦ ran as normal! The results are:

⭒FOR THE SUN⭒ ✦ FINAL RESULTS ✦

WINNER: starstruck dee with 54% of votes!

For this poll in particular, we have an additional graph to show the full week of movement!

Despite a slow start, starstruck dee pulled into a tie, and then into a lead that she maintained up until voting closed. Congratulations starstruck dee!! Propaganda and campaigning made an incredibly noticeable impact on this poll, with every post from each competitor and their supporters resulting in an instant uptick of attention for their character on the poll!

Congratulations to the winners, and also to their opponents. To be among the final four of a roster that was just shy of 150 characters is an incredible achievement!

Our final wrap-up for the tournament and this blog will be posted within the next week or so.

Once again, congratulations to our competitors, and thank you to all-- contestants and spectators alike-- for participating this year! This tournament could not exist without your love of OCs, and we are thrilled to have been able to host you, your characters, and all the creativity and passion that has come with them!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Touch of Sweetness 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Loki Laufeyson

Sister series to mob!Thor

Summary: you make a new friend, but that's not all. (short reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“So I thought we could go berry picking,” you suggest. “I saw it on the news. They’re going to be having a whole strawberry fest on this farm--” 

Estelle, Candy, and Jada sit at the table with you, sipping their fancy lattes as you nurse a hot chocolate. Caffeine always makes you so jumpy. Still, you could’ve got a tea and felt a little less childish. They always tend to make you feel a bit simple. Especially your sister, Jada. 

“Oh, look who just walked in,” Estelle raises her filled in brows. 

Candy cranes next to you and turns back with a gasp. You peer over your shoulder and see the large blond man as he joins the queue, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets casually. You squint as the person in front of him peeks back and moves frantically out of his way. You’re curious as the line scatters before him and he steps up to the counter without wait. 

You face the table again as the girls gape, “about the berries...” you begin. 

“Oh be quiet. You’re always talking about such stupid things,” Jada says. “What do you think he’s doing here?” 

“Well, he can go wherever he wants, can’t he?” Estelle intones. 

You don’t get the big deal. That man is huge, sure, but why are they so concerned. 

“It’s not stupid,” you argue. “We can bake after--” 

“Oh my god, grow up,” Candy barks. “Look at him...” 

You harrumph. You were nice enough to buy their drinks and once again, you’re pushed into the corner. You’re a nice person but they make you have un-nice thoughts. 

“Who cares?” You pout. 

“Whatever. Don’t be a baby because no one wants to go to a farm and get attacked by bees,” Jada snips. 

“Fine, I’ll go alone,” you stand and gather up your bag and cup. 

“Please, do.” Your sister chirps. 

“Ha, you are always so dramatic,” Candy cackles. 

You feel like crying. They’re always laughing at you. You tell your parents as much but they just come back with the same old excuse. ‘She’s your sister.’ 

Yes, well you’re an adult and so is Jada and she doesn’t need to be such a bully. You go up to the counter to hand over your used mug to the barista. 

“Thank you, it was very good,” you say. “Is it real cocoa?” 

“Um, I think so,” the girl behind the counter says. “Have a good day.” 

“You too,” you smile. Well, you don’t feel so bad now. 

You turn and head for the door. As you get there, that big blond man does too. He’s right ahead of you. And aware of you. He pulls the door inward and nods you outside. He has a bright pink box under his arm with the cafe’s logo on it. 

“Oh, thank you,” you duck your head and scurry out, sending one last look to your sister and her friends as they squint back at you. No, not at you, at that man. 

As you step outside, so does he. 

“Excuse me,” he calls after you before you can flee back home to mope. 

“Yes,” you stop and spin back so your ankles twist. 

“I suppose it’s not my place but I overheard you talking about berry picking? It sounds like a fun time and my... partner, she’s in need of distraction. Would you be able to tell me exactly where I can find this farm?” He asks. 

You’re shocked. He must have very good hearing. Or maybe you really are dramatic. 

You smile. His voice is deep and warm. Cozy, just like his beard. 

“Yes, it’s called Ulster’s Ridge,” you explain. “I’m not sure where exactly, I haven’t looked it up, but it’s all next week.” 

“Mm,” he nods thoughtfully. “It seems you don’t have anyone to go with.” 

“You... heard all that?” You look away bashfully. 

“Not very nice. Those are friends?” He wonders. 

“My sister. They’re her friends. Not mine, I guess,” you bat your lashes at the admittance stings in your eyes. “I’ll go by myself.” 

“That’s brave but if it isn’t too forward, my partner, she could use a friend. I’m not sure she’d like to be stuck with only me much longer.” He laughs lightly, “I’m afraid I can be a bit much myself.” 

“Oh, I... if she doesn’t mind, I guess,” you say. “I wouldn’t want to crash a date.” 

“Not at all,” he insists. “Might I have a name to give her? I don’t think she’d handle a ‘I met a strange woman today and chatted her up’ without more detail.” 

You giggle. He’s funny. “Sure,” you give your name. 

“Ah, lovely,” he praises. “My name is Thor. Odinson.” 

“It’s nice to meet--” you raise your hand and pause as the name strikes a familiar chord. Oh. Thor. When you pictured the infamous mafioso, you didn’t imagine a teddy bear of a man. 

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he grins and shakes your hand, his large one swallowing it up. “I promise, I’m not so vicious as they say I am. And how could anyone be so to a sweetheart like you?” 

“I... thanks, sir,” you say. 

“Thor, please. Only my men call me sir,” he squeezes and lets go of your hand. “I will see you for berry picking.” He takes his phone out. “I only need your number and I will have my lady choose a date.” 

“Oh, sure,” you accept his cell with a slight tremble. 

You bow your head as you focus on entering your number. You sense movement nearby and turn your head to the cafe window. You only realise then you’re standing right in front of your sister’s table. 

You sniff and hand the phone back with a smile, “thanks. I can’t wait.” 

“I look forward to it,” he says. He gets closer and leans in, “I know family can be tough. Don’t let your sister dull your shine, sweetness.” He winks and sidesteps you, “I hope your day gets brighter, little one.” 

“You too, Mr. Odinson,” you call after him and wave. 

“Thor,” he booms back over his shoulder as he struts away. 

You turn to look at your sister. Her and the others look gobsmacked. You smile wide and drop your hand. You don’t need them. More berries for you and your new friend. Whoever she is. 

[richarlotte]

How I get whatever I want.

- Journal. It’s important to plot out what you want before you begin doing anything new. Sit down, concentrate, and take the time to visualize what you want for yourself. Journaling is an extremely effective tool, and it’s important to be able to write about what you want instead of creating a concept in your mind. 

- Make goals less abstract: Find or make a path to the goal, then zone out (networking, reading, research). Your goals should not be abstract or difficult for you to understand. They should be clear, planned out to the best of your ability, and reasonable enough to achieve in 90 days. If you have a long-term goal, set up a series of short-term goals that will set you on the right path. 

- 3 month hiatus and just fixate on work. Be strict with time and money, keep a schedule, don’t allow minor distractions to sway you from your path, and use the next 90 days to bring yourself closer to the finish line. Can your hiatus be longer than 3 months? Yes, but if it becomes necessary to extend it, be sure that you’re engaging with the real world and not isolating yourself.

- You have to be sure of what waiting and a little bit of luck will do for you. So much of it is a waiting game, and while I believe that it’s important to work hard instead of being hard on yourself, knowing that luck plays into your success is imperative. If you don’t see immediate results, keep going until things fall into line. 

Plan, prepare, and then put your whole soul into action.

[amoscontorta]

The dream, the tie, the tour, the dream | ao3 | the Sylus series

Summary: You have a good dream, get a guided tour of Onychinus's base by the chaos twins, talk yourself into being sad again, and then have another good dream.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, Sylus's POV. Up until now I've avoided using MC's pronouns, but when the conversation is about MC and takes place outside of MC's presence, the dialogue can get really awkward. There is a small section in this part where MC is referred to as "they/them," meant as a placeholder for whatever pronouns the reader prefers. I'm still trying to figure out how to move forward in situations where body anatomy may differ depending on reader's preferred gender, but that's a problem for future me. Slow burn friends to lovers This story contains: dreams, grief, survivors guilt, sexual tension, inner monologues with lots of sexual contemplation, mc with self esteem issues, mentions of self-harm, boundary crossing typical of Sylus

You are on a beach. The black volcanic sand under your feet, sifting softly between your toes, is pleasantly warm. Heated through by the sun, but not so hot as to burn your tender soles. Your bandages are gone. The weight from your shoulders is gone. You lift your face to the sun. The golden light, the cherry blossom pinks and mandarin oranges bleed into ruby streaks, spilling across the placid water stretching to the horizon—it feels like evening. You walk to the water’s edge, the tide gushing over your ankles and retreating, and the water is as pleasantly warm as the sand. There is no one else on the beach. It is just you, the water, the occasional call of a gull overhead, and the constant whisper of the water, shushing onto land, sighing in retreat again.

Your heart is quiet. Your mind is quiet. You lower yourself to your knees, sit back on your heels. The water slips over your thighs, swirls around your backside, drifts back into itself again. In this moment, in this tranquil place, you feel a sense of validation—your constant struggle to survive, to be useful, the clench of your teeth as you shoulder your way through fight after fight, the memories that usually invade your sleep, the daily grind of simple existence—you keep going, despite everything, despite the whispering in you that maybe it would have been better if you had opened the door before Caleb, it would have been better if you had gone in ahead, and left him standing on the sidewalk, laughing softly outside of your gran’s house—you keep going, for moments like these. The sun pouring into the ocean. The birds overhead. The warmth of water and sand. You can survive it all, because every once in a while, you take a breath and the world is stunning. If Gran can’t meander along the beach, digging up clams anymore—if Caleb can’t sprint into the tide, slip through the waves with strong strokes of his muscular arms—then you must carry on, and do it for them. You must continue, to do everything that they no longer can.

Here in a pocket paradise that is all yours, you soak in the ecstatic feeling of being alive, and offer this feeling to your dead, a rainbow chrysanthemum laid upon their shrine in your mangled heart.

Eventually, the tide rises. The warm water reaches your waist, and then your chest. The pressure of the water increases, but you can’t find it in yourself to move. You let it rise to your neck and begin to float, but something begins to weigh you down. You try to kick up, but there’s a weight against your body, and you can’t seem to dislodge it. The water rises, rises, until you’re straining your neck, trying to keep your mouth and nose above the waves. 

You wake up abruptly.

The weight of the water is the weight of another person’s body, heavily draped over your own. You blink into the gloom of a dark room. Your racing heart slows, because you can tell by his scent alone that it’s Sylus—his face is pressed into your neck, his chest against the span of your torso, your leg caught between both of his, his hips are pressed heavily against one of your thighs.

It’s like having a giant, breathing, weighted blanket draped across your body. It’s not terrible at all. You breathe in his hair, faint shampoo and sleep-sweat. Normally, you would try to roll him off you. Or wake him up and ask him to move. But you’ve made a little deal with yourself. You’re going to allow yourself to accept whatever he offers you, for as long as it’s offered. Until you have to return to your real life, and wake from this glittering dream. The pleasure you feel, being pressed beneath him, free to simply exist in this quiet moment—you let yourself have it.

His breathing is slow, quiet, steady. His heartbeat, a hypnotic rhythm—you think it might be faster than average, though you’re no doctor—thuds against your skin. After a long, peaceful stretch of seconds, minutes—who knows, maybe hours? You find that it’s not enough to simply lie here, soaking in the comfort of Sylus’s body against yours. You find it incredible how quickly greed seeps into your desires. You want more. Very slowly, you lift your hands and begin running your fingertips along his silken skin, along his back, trailing his spine, the grooves of his muscles. You keep your nails short—even if you wanted longer nails, you will never forget the pain of one particularly nasty hand-to-hand fight in which one of your nails was ripped off, and several others bent painfully, after you had gone too long without trimming them properly. You’ve never made the same mistake again. But now, you let their blunt edges drag a little as you pet the sleeping dragon currently smothering you, hoping that he can feel the pleasant sensation in his dreams.

You do this for as long as you dare, but you’re worried that he’ll wake and catch you touching him like this, and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. You think you’re a creep for doing this without his consent in the first place. Regretfully, you let your hands fall back, resting on the bed’s soft sheets.

“Why’d you stop,” Sylus’s sleep-rough voice shatters the silence.

You freeze. Fuck. How long has he been awake?

When you fail to respond, he huffs his disapproval against your neck and pats around the bed until he finds one of your hands. He drags it to his back, and repeats the motion with your other hand. 

“Continue,” he mumbles. How he can sound so imperious while half-asleep will remain a mystery to you for the rest of your life.

It feels so good to have his skin under your hands again. This is just a dream—who are you to deny his petulant request when you enjoy it so much and there is nothing to lose, at least for right now? The invoice will come, eventually, and you will pay dearly. But for right now, you’re going to indulge, dammit. You let your hands wander again, and he sighs in contentment.

Time drifts again. You have no idea what hour it is, or how long you slept. You feel rested, satisfied. Eventually though, the needs of your body make themselves known, and you need to get up. You stop caressing his back.

He grumbles. “More.”

“I need to get up.”

“No y’don’t,” he starfishes even harder, his weight sinking you further into the mattress.

“Sylus, I really do need to get up.”

“You’re not getting up unless you manage to throw me to the floor again,” he gripes, flinging his arms out to impede any threat of you somehow finding an angle and rolling him again.

You laugh as you realize you’ve only seen him waking up once, when his sleepiness ended abruptly with a bite in your neck. You’re now learning how childishly grumpy he can be in the morning when he isn’t confusing dreams with reality.

“Now that’s a sound that I want to hear from you,” he sighs. “You don’t have to get up. We’ve been over this. You don’t have to work for a while.”

You poke him in the side. “I have to get up for other reasons, crow man. You’re crushing me—if you don’t get off me soon, I’m going to die smothered under your weight.”

“You can handle it,” he squishes you harder again. “And crow man? If you’re going to give silly nicknames, make sure they’re accurate,” he sniffs disdainfully.

“Oh? I think it’s rather fitting, what with your feathers and your squawking familiar.” He just tsks in response. “Well I’m certainly not going to call you a good boy,” you tease, preparing to try to tickle him off of you, if he’s even ticklish at all. If tickling doesn’t work, you’ll resort to biting. 

He lifts his head and meets your eyes, his own narrowed. “You just made it worse. There is nothing boyish about me,” he gripes. “But if that’s what you want… it could be an interesting challenge. I can be a good boy, for you,” he says, his rich voice impossibly deep.  

Your brain short circuits. You imagine caressing his face, that stupid collar he occasionally wears around his neck, a discreet pendant dangling from it, engraved with your name. Whispering “Good boy,” after he dumps the corpse of someone you despise at your feet. 

You have no idea where this thought comes from. You’ve never wanted to exert complete ownership over anyone before. You’ve never wanted to whisper demeaning pet names into their ears, even if such names were welcome. You try desperately to distract yourself from these unwelcome images of Sylus somehow beneath you, instead of at your side. “I said I’m not going to call you good boy, you deviant.” He frowns a little, and part of you wonders if you’ve somehow hurt his feelings. So you decide to be truthful, because even if this is just a shimmering dream, you don’t want him to hurt. “I can call you a good man, though, if you want to try being that for me,” you whisper.

Something changes in his face. His narrowed eyes widen, just a little, and he swallows thickly, Adam's apple bobbing in the long line of his throat. “Only you,” he breathes.

You lie there, shocked into stillness by the sudden intensity of his gaze. There is a flush along his skin, tipping his ears pink. Slowly, you become aware that his thick length is suddenly very prominent against your thigh. It’s morning wood, you tell yourself. This is normal. He had it last time you woke up together, too. And he must be so hot, pressed against you so tightly under the luxurious blanket.

You, however, have no excuse for your own body’s immediate reaction to his body’s reaction, your response to his vintage wine voice. This is bad. You want him so, so badly. You need out from under him before you do something really stupid, like lick into his mouth, suck his tongue into yours, and live like that until you die happily, your mouth full of him until the very end.

“Get off me,” you manage, strangled voice barely human. He just looks at you, eyes so bright they’re almost glowing. Like he’s daring you to cross a line, beyond which lies his great amusement at your humiliation.

You skip the tickling and lean forward, sinking your teeth as hard as you can into the meaty place where his neck meets his shoulder. He gasps, but instead of flinging himself off of you like you had expected, his gasp is followed by a groan, and his dick jerks against your thigh.

His skin tastes so good, but this is not what you meant to happen. You release his skin from between your teeth and are about to order him to move again when there’s a knock at his bedroom door. He lifts his head and glares over his shoulder at the sound of knocking, and you take the opening in his defenses to leverage your body and roll him again. Not off the bed, but just enough for you to free yourself from under his bulk.

He watches you carefully as you look down at your disheveled sleep top and short shorts. You don’t even want to think about what it must look like with you sprawled across Sylus’s big bed. You launch yourself onto the floor and hightail it to the bathroom before whoever it is can open the door.

You take your time, nosing around Sylus’s big, expensive cave of a bathroom, trying to calm the fuck down. You’re shocked to find more of your hygiene products tucked away in the vanity’s cabinets: your face wash, lotion, your preferred toothpaste. Maybe you should have expected this, based on the presence of your hair products in his shower. But expecting such thoughtful care… only in a dream, would you ever dare expect such consideration. You think back to his answer to your why— “I’m never bored when you’re around.” And how you immediately retreated into yourself, wallowing in the self-pitying thought of being nothing more than a jester for his amusement. You turn the bottle of face wash in your hands. You love your friends, deeply. Even Zayne, as your impenetrable doctor. You would kill for him. Then again, you kill a lot, so maybe that’s not saying much. Okay, you’d offer him your shoes, the shirt off your back, a place on your couch, if he ever needed it. You’d offer him your kidney, if he ever needed it. You’d take a hit for him, because he’s a good man, and so much more useful than you, his surgeon’s hands saving more lives than you could dream of. Xavier, you’d die for. To protect him, because he’s better at protecting Linkon City citizens than you, and because you care for him deeply as a person. But would you ever think to stock his face wash in your bathroom, in anticipation of him needing it? Would you ever offer to shampoo Zayne’s hair, even if you were utterly convinced that he still cared for you as a friend? Okay, so you can imagine throwing Rafayel into a tub and hosing him down like an angry cat, but that’s not quite the same.

What if Sylus actually … you prod the thought like a sore tooth with your tongue. It hurts a little, even considering it, because of the huge possibility that it’s so completely absurd. But he was turned on last night, after you threw him to the ground. Fully awake, no dream lingering in his mind. And this morning. Some part of your intuition, the part that has kept you alive this long, tells you that the reaction he had in bed just now was because you had brought up him being a good boy. You’ve never really praised him, have you? You set the face wash gingerly on the black marble top counter. Why is everything so fucking gothic in his house? He can be allergic to sunlight, but he doesn’t need to live in a mausoleum. You pick up an electric toothpaste, still in the packaging. The same color and model as the one you have at home. This is your dream, right? What if you just close your eyes and keep running your hands along his skin? What if you say kind things to him, and watch how the blush rises up his chest and cheeks? That can be part of your indulgence, right? You won’t hurt anyone, telling him truthfully how you admire him. How you think that just as he contains multitudes of darkness, you’ve seen flashes of such deep kindness—he is also such a good man. He can laugh at you, and discard you at the end of all this. And you’ll have stayed true to yourself, the genuine person you always try to be, and you’ll have said what you really thought, knowing that the stakes are so low, because the chance of reciprocation was always nil to begin with.

You set about preparing for the day, finding your anti-perspirant in a cupboard, teeth brushed, face washed. You change the bandages on your feet. When you’re ready, you look down at yourself. If anyone is offended at your sleep clothes, well. That’s their problem, because you don’t have anything else. You hear low voices drifting through the bathroom door, but gather the courage to go back into the bedroom.

Sylus sits on the edge of his large desk, and the two young men you now recognize as Luke and Kieran lounge on the black leather armchairs circling the low table in the sitting area before Sylus’s desk. For the first time since being back at the base, you see Mephisto resting on a tall perch in the corner, his glittering crimson eye fixed on you. You stick your tongue out at the little snitch.

They fall silent as you stand in the bathroom doorway, suddenly tense under their gazes. The last time you saw them, you were choking one of them.

Sylus lifts the corner of his mouth as he follows the twins’ gazes and finds you. “Come,” he says, as if pleased to see you. You take another look at the twins, but then pad silently over the thick rugs covering the dark marble floor, pausing in front of Sylus. He opens his arms, and with only the wordless thoughts amounting to indulge, seize what’s offered while it lasts, it’s only a dream, drifting through your mind, you go to him. He takes your wrist and draws you into his side. He’s still shirtless, so his warm skin is satin against your own as he wraps an arm around you and noses into your hair for a moment. “Luke and Kieran have brought some things from your place. I have a meeting with Aidan that I have to attend—he’s waiting impatiently like he employs me and not the other way round, so Luke and Kieran will show you around. You can tell them where you want your things to be placed for your stay here.”

You stiffen, pulling back a little from his embrace. It hadn’t occurred to you that he wouldn’t want you staying in his own bedroom. Why hadn’t that occurred to you? You blink away the sudden slice of shame at the thought of your arrogant presumption, and the pain at the thought of being separated from him. What had you been expecting? That he’d be around 24/7 to accommodate your every whim, at your beck and call? Waiting for your touch, your kind words? Ridiculous. Without thinking, you reach behind yourself, prepared to dig your short nails into the skin of your back with your free hand, deep—punishment for these stupid thoughts.

Sylus’s wine-dark eyes follow the movement of your hand, and he catches your wrist.

“Kieran, Luke, leave us,” he orders, low, without taking his eyes off your hand. You look away, deeply embarrassed for having been caught trying to harm yourself, and for the twins being sent away as a result. Surely you weren’t that obvious? It was just a short movement of your hand. You hear their retreating footsteps, and the soft click of the door ricochets through the quiet room.

“New rule. Every time you have the urge to hurt yourself, you hurt me instead,” Sylus says softly, caressing your wrists with his thumbs.

The idea of hurting him hurts worse than the embarrassment of this part of yourself being exposed, worse than the idea that he doesn’t want to share his bed with you anymore, worse than the idea of being so close but separated. “No.”

“This is non-negotiable,” he retorts, squeezing your wrists a little, but not enough to hurt.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Sylus,” you bite back, heart clenching as you take in his lovely face, the pale sweep of all his unmarred skin.

“Then you will not be hurting yourself, either.” He says this with a finality that makes you bristle.

“You don’t get to decide this for me.”

“My house, my rules,” he pulls you closer and then lifts you onto his desk. He stands between your legs and places his big hands on your shoulders, thumbs meeting at the hollow of your throat.

“That’s not what I agreed to when I accepted your invitation,” you argue. “I will leave, if you try to condition my stay here on following your unilaterally imposed rules.” You mean it. No matter how much you’ve come to crave being close to him, he doesn’t get to tell you what to do like you’re a child, or his subordinate.

“I really think you should consider apprenticing with Aidan, if you ever want to switch professions,” Sylus murmurs, his eyes soft. “But I’m not saying that this rule is a condition of staying at the base.”

“Then what are you saying?” You eye him suspiciously.

“It’s a condition of accepting me into your life. I refuse to watch you get hurt. Even if it’s you who is inflicting the injury. If you’re so opposed to the idea of hurting me, then every time you have the urge to hurt yourself, just think that hurting yourself is the equivalent of hurting me.”

You can’t meet his eyes anymore. Instead, you lean forward and rest your forehead against his stomach. He rests one big palm against the back of your head and strokes over your hair gently.

“Did you want to hurt yourself because you felt bad for how you responded to Kieran last night?” he asks suddenly.

Ah, the guessing game has begun. You made a deal that you’d play. You hate your past self for making that deal, a little. You shake your head. You do feel bad for how you treated Kieran, but that’s an entirely different story.

“Is it because you don’t like the selection of bath products I have for your stay?” he follows up, amusement lightening his tone.

You snort softly. “No. You’ve basically reproduced my own bathroom in yours. Thank you for being so thoughtful.” You hope he can hear the sincerity in your voice.

“Anything you want, or are missing, just ask. It will be yours,” he promises. You lift your head to see him looking down into your face with an inexplicable fondness.

“Did you want to hurt yourself because you weren’t expecting me to offer you a different room?” he asks, and your stomach roils. You swallow, staring up into his face. Answering truthfully will say so much about what you want. What will happen, if you reveal this vulnerability? What if he thinks you’re an entitled, arrogant fool?

He waits patiently, that fond expression unchanging.

You promised him. You made a deal. You’re not a dealbreaker. You have principles, dammit. You’re in a dream. None of this will matter, in the end. You close your eyes. You close your eyes and nod.

“I win,” he gloats, pulling you up, wrapping his arms tightly around you. He settles his big palms under your thighs and lifts, and you wrap your legs around his waist like a koala. “Thank you,” he says. You just hug him, afraid of what’s next. “I wanted to give you a choice. I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay in my bedroom with me, simply because we’ve been sharing beds up until now. You’re free to do as you like while you stay with me.”

At hearing his words, something inside of you realigns, and it no longer hurts. You assumed the worst of him, and his intentions towards you, again. “Free to do what I want, but you say shit like ‘My house, my rules,’” you imitate his deep voice, but try to make it sound stupid. Which it could never be, because his voice does things to you that you are not willing to admit yet.

“You need to keep practicing, if you ever want to properly impersonate me,” he says serenely, and ignores your scowl in response. “Promise me that you will come to me, anytime you feel like hurting yourself,” he continues. “If you can’t bring yourself to hurt me, at least bring yourself to me.”

Why does he want so much from you? Why is he extracting promise after promise, deal after deal? Will he ever be satisfied? You feel like you’re feeding him pieces of yourself, bit by bit, and are afraid of what will be left when he’s finally sated. But each request, though monumental from one perspective, seems so reasonable from another. Can you go to him, each time you have the urge to hurt, to hit, scratch, to cut your own flesh, because it’s better than whatever emotional poison is seeping through you at the time? Surely he’s too busy to enforce such a promise.

It’s just a dream. It will be over, soon enough. You nod into his shoulder.

“It’s a deal.” He seals your fate with a satisfied sigh. He holds you tightly as he turns and sits on his desk. You find yourself in his lap, again, and look questioningly into his face.

“Luke and Kieran are going to give you a proper tour of the base. If there’s no other room you like better than mine, you can ask them to move your things in here. Are you comfortable with that, while I meet with Aidan?” He slides his hand under your chin and lifts your face. He’s so beautiful, and treating you with such thoughtful consideration—it hurts to look at him.

“Why do you think I’d prefer a different room?” You can’t imagine a room that is more enticing than any room he’s in. “Don’t tell me you have themed rooms, like a novelty bed and breakfast,” you gasp, getting excited about the thought. Maybe this extravagant drama queen has an undersea themed room, complete with submersible-shaped waterbed and floor to ceiling aquariums with exotic deep sea creatures in them! Or a fairy tale grotto, with floor to ceiling vegetation and mossy rocks and a hot tub designed to look like a natural hot spring. Or—

Sylus laughs softly. “Will I disappoint you if I say no, I can’t currently offer you themed rooms like some tacky love hotel?”

You gasp again, but this time in indignation. “I said bed and breakfast, not a love hotel, you visionless snob,” you scowl at him. “Money is wasted on the rich. All of your wealth, and you don’t do anything fun with your house,” you say forlornly.

“You haven’t even seen a fraction of my house, and yet you think you’re qualified to judge whether there’s anything fun here,” he clicks his tongue.

“If you don’t have an aquarium themed wing with endangered fish rescued from fishermen nets, your house doesn’t qualify as fun,” you grumble.

“You’ve been spending too much time with your artist friend,” Sylus caresses the line of your jaw with his thumb. “But if you want me to build an aquarium to rival the Linkon City Aquarium and Aquatic Wildlife Center next to the greenhouse, then just say the word. It’s done,” he says lightly, as if this would be the easiest task in the world for him to fulfill.

You just stare at him.

“Well?” he asks, patient, placid.  You realize that he’s serious. He would do this, if you asked it of him. You suddenly recall one of the first times he came to your home, and told you he had bought the chain of arcades that happened to be your favorite place to go when you wanted to acquire new plushies. He had acted as if he had no idea that you liked to spend time there. Even then, did he…? You can’t go there. You can’t read so much into the things Sylus does. He’s larger than life. Of course he’d make extravagant offers to his friends, because he can afford it. Even so, it’s such an absurdly over the top, sweet thought.

“You’re so good to me,” you breathe, instead of answering his question. What a lovely dream, to be able to say this truth to his face.

His eyes widen, and his grip tightens on your jaw. That pretty flush appears on his cheeks.

“Would you go so far as to say that I’m a good boy?” he teases, and the playfulness in his tone makes you laugh out loud. You put your palm on his face and push him gently away from you. He just laughs softly. However, your mind short-circuits as you feel his body respond, again, as you sit on his lap.

It hits you suddenly, that same flash of intuition as in the bathroom earlier. Sylus Qin likes challenges, but he also likes praise. He reacted when you bit him. And he reacted when you said he was good. It’s most likely not you in particular that incites his excitement each time it has happened—he probably just has a kink for being bullied, because of his tendency to be bored out of his mind in his uncontested position of authority. And in turn, he probably has a kink for being praised, because of how he spends his days atop a mountain of corpses, surrounded by enemies desperate but incapable of dragging him from his throne. You wonder if he might even like praise more than he likes being taunted. You suddenly want to indulge yourself—you want to pester him, bully him. You want to praise him, spoil him rotten. Even more so than he already is, the rich bastard. And you want to watch each and every reaction, to store away with all the other memories you intend to collect while staying with him.

“Sylus, I swear to god if you don’t stop your simpering and canoodling and get out here right now, I’m dumping your exclusivity and taking on new clients. I’ve already missed knitting club because of your antics, I’m not going to miss this month’s pet play meetup too,” a voice you don’t recognize derails your racing thoughts, and the pounding that follows on Sylus’s closed bedroom door is so loud that you wince.

You turn your head slowly and look at Sylus in dawning horror. “Tell me that’s not why you call me kitten,” you demand, loud enough to be heard over the door-banging. Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose like he has an oncoming headache. “Is this a pet play thing?” you ask, trying really, really hard not to make assumptions, as you promised. Look, you’re really not one to judge. People get off on a wide variety of weird and wonderful things. But you will not be wandering around with a butt plug tail and licking your “paws” for his amusement, no matter how much you want to spoil him while you’re staying with him.

“That’s not why he calls you kitten, kitten! Send him out! Luke and Kieran will take care of your needs while he’s busy with me!” The voice shouts again before Sylus can answer, and you realize that the man currently bellowing through the door is Aidan.

“Okay, if your legal counsel ever calls me kitten again when he’s within reach, I can’t guarantee that he won’t be missing his tongue the next time you need it for your defense,” you hiss, your skin crawling from being referred to by an endearment that only one person in the entire universe is allowed to call you.

Sylus lifts his head from his hand, an alarmingly pleased look on his face. “I’ll be sure to warn him, kitten.” An actual smirk spreads over his big sexy mouth. “Just to confirm: it’s okay that I call you that, but no one else?”

You stiffen, realizing that yes, that was just the thought you had, and you wonder when the hell you started to enjoy it when Sylus referred to you by the most ridiculous pet names. In any other man’s mouth, they’d be cringeworthy. But it’s Sylus, and it’s Sylus’s mouth. You’re realizing that you’d probably let him do almost anything to you, as long as it involved his mouth. You bite your tongue, trying to clear your mind of that thought, but gently, because now you can’t think of hurting yourself, without hurting him. So you just glare mutinously at him, hoping he can’t read your thoughts on your face which so often seems to be the case.

“If you think I won’t have you disbarred the moment you try to dump my exclusive patronage, you’re more delusional than your puppies. Cease abusing my door and go wait in my office,” Sylus commands, eyes never leaving yours, voice raised only to the volume necessary to be heard over Aidan’s racket and seemingly utterly unfazed by his antics.

“You have five minutes, and then you’re going to have to find me at the meetup,” Aidan retorts, before a distinct sound of heels clacking on the glossy floor briskly fades down the hall.

Sylus touches your elbow gently. “Sweetheart, I really would prefer not to have to fish him out of a doggy run designed for humans pretending to be puppies for their owners again. If you’re not comfortable with Luke and Kieran, I will personally show you around in a little bit. You can stay here and get some more sleep while you wait.”

You wonder why he is so insistent that someone accompanies you around his house. Maybe he doesn’t trust you to not go into certain rooms, or snoop where you don’t belong. You want to ask him, but you also don’t want to be the reason he misses his five minute window with Aidan and then will have to … you try to imagine Sylus surrounded by a bunch of adult humans in puppy masks, halters and wagging tails, and you almost do want to make him late. Maybe you can bribe Mephisto with some sort of snitch treat to record footage of the look on Sylus’s face as he tries to pry Aidan away from his extracurricular activities. You wonder if Aidan is an owner or a puppy. Actually, you never want to actually know the answer to that question. People are entitled to their privacy, you tell yourself firmly.

“I feel like you’re up to no good, with that look on your face,” he murmurs, calling your attention back to him. You decide to be merciful, since he offered to build you an aquarium.

“I’m fine with Luke and Kieran giving me a tour,” you say, although you’re dreading having to face them alone after what you did to them last night.

“You’re sure?” he asks, dipping his head and running his nose along your shoulder.

“I’ve faced worse than you minions,” you say lightly, truthfully. You can survive anything they plan for you, if they’re inclined towards retaliation.

He breathes deeply, once, as if collecting the scent of your skin to store for later, which can’t possibly be true, and stands, setting you softly on your feet.

“Take what you want from my dressing room. I’ll be back in a while. If you need anything, tell Luke and Kieran, and they’ll arrange it.” 

You just nod, and watch him as he slips on his warm-looking house shoes and a robe before leisurely strolling out of his bedroom. You admire the kind of petty self-assurance displayed as he refuses to hurry, even in the face of Aidan’s threats.

You shake your head and wander back into what Sylus referred to as his dressing room, which is apparently just a room-sized walk-in closet, with the clothing racked and displayed like an upscale boutique instead of just some rich guy’s oversized wardrobe. As in the rest of his house, the benches and sitting chairs are all black leather, the walls a mix of black and maroon. There are large floor to ceiling mirrors in between the racks and cabinets. You eye a display case of heavy men’s watches. There are a series of thin drawers, and you wonder what they contain, so you pull one out and find carefully folded ties. You run a finger along one silky black one, but then jerk back, pivoting back on one foot and raising your fists at the sudden loud squawk that bursts into the room.

Mephisto must have silently flown in behind you, because he’s now sitting on yet another one of those edgily designed perches in one corner of the dressing room and eyeing you with one glittering ruby eye.

You drop your fists. “Don’t like me touching daddy’s things, huh?” you ask, without rancor. You get it. You’d be protective of some stranger nosing around Sylus’s things too, if you didn’t know what intentions they may have.

Mephisto squawks again, this time more quietly, as if satisfied that you’ve removed your filthy paws from his master’s possessions.

“You do realize that Sylus said I could wear what I want though, right?” you ask. “Even you can’t expect me to wander around the base in my pajamas all day.”

Mephisto just ruffles his soft-looking feathers and continues to watch you.

You decide to be a shit, and reach for the tie again. But he doesn’t respond, as if he understood you when you said that Sylus said it was okay. You slip the glossy tie from its place nestled in the drawer and go to one of the mirrors, tying it around your own neck a little clumsily. You’re not accustomed to wearing ties, but the idea of something belonging to Sylus around your neck is calming in the face of having to walk around without him in the place he kept you captive before you knew that he didn’t actually want to kill you.

There are so many choices, and you know nothing will really properly fit you in here. You don’t wander further into the room any more than strictly necessary, ignoring the rows of closed wardrobe doors lining the wall until the far end of the room, which contains one of those three-sided mirrors designed to show your reflection from multiple angles. You grab one of his endless soft sweaters from a stack displayed on one of the open shelves and slip it over your tank top. Hopefully you can fetch pants that actually fit from the things Luke and Kieran apparently brought from your place. You do not want to think too hard about the fact that they were able to access your apartment without a key and what they rifled through in order to bring some of your stuff. You open a few more drawers in search of thick socks to wear since there’s no way you’re going to stumble around in Sylus sized slippers, but you find yourself having accidentally opened his underwear drawer. You stop, staring, taking in pair after pair of folded boxer briefs, and briefs, in a variety of dark and bold colors. You swallow, imagining him walking around in one such pair of little crimson briefs, all of that ass stuffed into the thin scrap of fabric.

You slam the drawer shut, quickly yank open more drawers until you find socks, and pull them onto your feet. They’re big on you, of course, and the tops sink back to your ankles. Oh well. You stride out of the bedroom before you give into the urge to go back and shove your face into his underwear drawer like the creep you are.

You hear the flap of wings, and glance behind you to find Mephisto leisurely following behind you. Okay, so apparently you’re going to be surveilled the entire time you stay here. Got it.

You peek out the bedroom door and find Luke and Kieran leaning on either side, messing with their phones. They look up at you in unison, and the mirrored effect is a little uncanny.

“Uh, hi,” you say, trying not to sound hesitant and failing. “I was told there’d be a tour?”

They look beyond you, at each other across the threshold. Some unspoken communication seems to pass between them, but you have no idea what it could be about.

One of them clears his throat. “Yes, Sylus tasked us with showing you rooms that you can stay in during your time with us,” one of them says, with a strange formality.

“Okay, thanks.” You shift from one foot to the other as they do that staring thing again.

“Yeah, but we gotta warn you, Sylus doesn’t really keep track of the day to day shit of the house, and a lot of the rooms he thought may work for you aren’t actually free right now,” the other one says, glancing to his brother as if checking to make sure what he’s saying is right.

“I see,” you say, because what the hell else are you supposed to say? It doesn’t matter to you, because you’re just going to end up choosing Sylus’s bedroom since the man doesn’t have enough imagination to have a carousel themed room with dragon mounts and a cotton candy machine in his big stupid mansion.

And thus begins your tour. You’ve seen a lot of the places they show you before, during your time creeping around trying to locate the brooch. Expansive sitting room with its soaring windows and black leather, heavy furniture. Gigantic kitchen topped with the ubiquitous black marble, dark wooden vintage cabinetry, double chef’s refrigerators and sinks big enough to take a bath in. The dining room with a dining room table for hosting kings’ banquets. Your heart is racing, standing in the room Sylus ordered you to have your last meal. You tell yourself that you’re here now, and not still back there, facing Sylus’s cruel, indifferent, beautiful wrath. You smooth your fingertips down the length of his tie around your neck, imagining it’s the soft skin of his broad back.

“Hey, are you okay?” one of the twins asks. “You look like shit.”

The other one shushes him. “There are more diplomatic ways of phrasing that, Luke,” he chides gently.

Okay. You’re starting to figure out that Kieran is the one who speaks with formal gravity, and Luke speaks like the typical twenty-something dude he resembles.

You force a smile. “Yeah, man, no worries. Luke’s probably right, it’s been… a stupid couple of days,” you say.

They just stare at you, their pretty dark curls sweeping over their foreheads. You notice their mirrored beauty marks, Luke’s at the corner of his left brown eye, and Kieran’s under his right. Now you think you’ll be able to tell them apart, moving forward.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Luke scoffs, and then glares at Kieran nudging him with his elbow. “What? Are we just gonna pretend that last night didn’t happen?” he sulks.

You take a step back. Okay, apparently this is happening now. You should have brought it up at the beginning of this little tour. “Look, I’m really sorry—” you begin, but Kieran cuts you off.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says, glaring at Luke. 

Luke rolls his eyes. “I hate tiptoeing around shit,” he grumbles, sounding increasingly irritated. “Better clear the air now than just pretend that shit didn’t happen.”

You nod. “Luke’s right. I’m sorry I didn’t say something immediately. I’m really sorry about what I did to you, Kieran. I didn’t know it was you,” you say softly. You mean it. The marks around his neck are still visible above the standing collar of his black shirt. Come to think of it, as you look at the twins, they look like they took clothes right out of Sylus’s closet. Does Onychinus have some kind of dress code? You tilt your head, wondering if Sylus imposes his flamboyant fashion sense on everyone in the organization.

Kieran curls his finger and thumb around Luke’s wrist, and Luke seems to settle down at the touch. “You don’t need to apologize. We miscalculated our approach to … our approach to you out there.”

“Yeah,” Luke says. “It sucked, but it’s no worse than what boss did to Kieran the first time he tried to hug him from behind.”

You just stare at them, wondering if it’s okay to ask what Sylus did.

“Quite right. He threw me so hard that I landed flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, with my vision blurring,” he says, chuckling as if at a fond memory.

“Yeah, and boss was so upset that he wouldn’t allow anyone to move Kieran until he had the N109 Zone’s top spinal surgeon helicoptered to the base to give the green light for Kieran to get up in case he hurt his back,” Luke snickers. “Boss insisted that he wanted to make sure he hadn’t damaged one of his employees in a way that would piss off Linda from HR instead of admitting he was worried about accidentally hurting Kieran.”

You snort. Of course. Why would the big, bad leader of Onychinus admit to caring about one of his men so much?

“You would do well to remember that when it comes to boss, you have to watch what he does, and pay less attention to what he says,” Kieran says, staring at you intently, like he’s telling you some incredibly valuable piece of intel.

You laugh, a little uncomfortable. “Okay, I’ll, uh, try to remember that the next time he is choking me after praising me as his kindred spirit,” you say without heat, and then immediately regret it. You don’t know why you said that, because you’re not lying to yourself or Sylus when you say that you’ve forgiven him. It’s in the past, now. Maybe it will just take you a little longer to forget, though. 

Luke and Kieran’s faces fall in unison, and you feel even worse. They exchange glances again. “He’s so fucking stupid sometimes,” Luke mumbles, and Kieran closes his eyes as if in pain at the thought of Sylus’s epic stupidity.

You clear your throat. “Forget I said that. Your boss and I are good now, I promise.”

“How good?” Luke perks up and asks eagerly. Kieran elbows him again. 

“Shall we continue with the tour? We’ll go through the guest room wing after the gym, theater, ice rink, armories, and pool,” Kieran cuts in smoothly.

Your brain short circuits. “You guys have an ice skating rink and a pool?”

“Yeah, both are really fucking nice when you wanna work out but are tired of the indoor track, cardio machines in the gym, and boxing ring.” Luke ticks each off his fingers, like going through a grocery list. “And Kieran and I are nuts for professional ice hockey, so boss built us a rink.”

You laugh. No wonder Sylus so easily offered to build you an aquarium. Apparently that’s just what the man does for people he likes.

“All right,” you say, tucking the idea of the pool away in your mind as a possibility since your feet hurt like shit and you know you’ll go out of your mind if you don’t work out while they heal.

Mephisto flaps behind you as Luke and Kieran lead the way to the promised destinations, showing you all the soaring-ceilinged rooms in the house containing so many entertainment options. If you lived here, you’d never have to leave again unless you wanted to. You shake your head at the thought. This is not your home, nor will it ever be. 

Luke and Kieran are bizarrely kind to you, as if they really meant it when they said they don’t hold your actions the previous night against you. They crack jokes, and share little anecdotes about Sylus that paints him in a truly benevolent, generous light. As if they’re trying to convince you of what you already know: for all of his capacity for cruelty, he’s equally capable of the heights of kindness. 

By the time they lead you down a long hallway, you’re exhausted. Of course, your body could keep going, but the emotional toll of the past 48 hours suddenly hits you like a brick.

The twins stop at the first closed door in the hallway, and do that particular silent exchange of looks again. You wonder what they’re so furiously telepathically discussing.

Finally, Kieran gently opens the door and invites you to take a look. “So this is what most of these rooms are like,”  he says, as you peek in and, as expected, do not find a sky-diving themed room with one of those high velocity vertical wind tunnels that you can hop into and simulate the experience of freefall in the comforting knowledge that you won’t be careening to your messy death in case of parachute failure. It’s just a tastefully, if rather gothic, appointed room with a big bed, a view of the N109 Zone wasteland and urban skyline, a loveseat, coffee table, and desk. You definitely would not prefer this space to Sylus’s presence.

“Too bad that this room, and you know, like, all the rest of the rooms Sylus said you might be able to use are actually like, not free for use,” Luke says, eyes wide and mournful as if he really regrets this “fact.”

But why would Sylus suggest showing you these options if none of the rooms are actually available? He insisted that he wanted to give you a choice, and you believe him. You suddenly get the feeling that you are missing something. Maybe the easygoing kindness of the twins towards you was just an act, and they really, really do not want you staying here after all.

“Oh?” you ask, casually. “Is there someone already staying here?”

Luke glances at Kieran, as if for help. “Yes,” Kieran says slowly. “A business associate, who is staying briefly for a meeting with boss.”

“Huh,” you say. “And all the rooms are occupied?”

The twins nod in unison.

“But we haven’t seen anyone else, the entire time you’ve shown me around. Where is everyone?” you prod. 

They exchange another look, and Kieran turns back to you after a long moment. “Of course, due to the nature of their business, they come and go. And right now, they are… absent, probably taking care of their business,” he says vaguely. “And, my apologies, it slipped my mind—not all the rooms are occupied. Some are under reconstruction. Renovations, and the like. Rewiring. Boss was gone for a long time, and the upkeep suffered a bit,” he clearly lies.

You just nod, slowly. “So… where should I stay?” you ask, in the hope of being about to suss out why the hell they’re lying to you.

Luke jumps in. “Oh, I bet boss won’t have a problem with you staying with him! We can just bring your shit to his room,” he says brightly, like the thought just occurred to him.

Suddenly it hits you. Shockingly, the twins don’t dislike you. Inexplicably, they ship you with Sylus. You try to control your face. You’re going to have to disappoint them terribly. But before that, you see the opportunity for fuckery, to repay them for their little handcuff and flare gun prank from the last time you were here.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose on him. He probably has people in and out of his bed all the time, and I don’t want to cramp his style,” you say, even though that’s not what you intended to say, at all. Where the fuck did that thought come from?  

Oh shit. 

It’s probably true. If you’re going to be staying here for a while, you might see Sylus bring home… other partners, until he lands his crush. Just because he loves someone doesn’t mean he isn’t interested in engaging in pleasure with others until he and his crush decide to go monogamous. Or maybe he is polyamorous, or simply believes in open relationships? What the fuck do you know? All you know is that he’s so beautiful, and could have anyone so long as he doesn’t strangle them upon first meeting. You wish, not for the first time, that you had a heart that could handle being with someone who loves another. But you can’t even believe someone would choose you in the first place. You’d always assume that they preferred the other, no matter how much reassurance they offered. Your heart aches, and aches, and aches. 

No. You won’t wallow in this pain. You can survive it, watching Sylus invite others into his bed. Well, not literally. But being aware of it. You can survive anything. You were just intending to fuck with Luke and Kieran, but now you’re serious. “If all the bedrooms are taken, I can just sleep in the greenhouse garden bed,” you say, lightly, smiling. You don’t have a care in the world. The greenhouse is beautiful, and it’s tucked conveniently away at the back of Sylus’s stupidly big house. Staying there will spare you from having to lurk through these dark halls when Sylus has guests—those of the bedroom variety, and business. It will spare Sylus from the annoying task of having to order you to make yourself scarce when he does need you to make room for someone else in his bed.

“No!” Luke and Kieran interrupt your train of thoughts. “That’s not—” Luke begins, before Kieran talks over him.

“Oh no, that won’t do. The humidity alone would make it very hard for you to sleep. You’re here to recover, correct? The greenhouse’s environment isn’t suited for—” he continues, before Luke cuts him off in turn.

“You can’t, sorry. Boss’s pet jaguar needs free range time every day, and it’s dangerous for anyone to be in there when… Sprinkles is loose,” Luke finishes with a look of triumph, like this lie is non-rebuttable.

“Oh, I love large cats! I actually have some training in handling large predator rescues,” you lie in return. “Could you take me to meet… Sprinkles… now? She can get familiar with my scent to begin,” you say brightly. “I’ll just make sure to leave the greenhouse when she needs her free-range enrichment time.”

Kieran pinches the bridge of his nose, and you’re struck again by how sometimes the twins sometimes look and act so much like their boss. As if they’re two young ducks who imprinted on Onychinus’s fearsome leader as ducklings and now reflect his mannerisms and style. Luke’s face just falls as he realizes that now you’re going to find out the Sprinkles is, in fact, not real.

Kieran turns to his brother. “We’ve talked about the art of lying, buddy,” he says patiently. “What is one of the things we need to avoid when fabricating an untruth?”

Luke looks a little chagrined. “Saying anything that is easily disproved with a simple internet search or other immediate attempt at verification,” he says forlornly.

Kieran nods, breathing through his nose. He turns to you again. “We’ll take your things to the greenhouse,” he says in resignation. 

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely. It’s cute that they think you and Sylus could ever be a thing, and it’s such a relief that they don’t hate your guts after last night.

“I’m really tired, so I’m just going to head back there now,” you say, letting them off the hook for being your babysitters. “Thanks again for the tour.”

You turn to leave, and as expected, Mephisto’s wings flap behind you. You don’t think the twins will get in trouble for not surveilling you if Mephisto is going to be your shadow while you stay here. You resolve to just stick to the places the twins showed you, so as not to wear out your welcome faster if Sylus finds you somewhere he doesn’t want you sticking your nose.

As you slowly make your way through the base because of the throbbing in your feet, the N109 Zone urban skyline blinking in the far distance through each huge window you pass, you try to recover the good mood you were in earlier as you teased Sylus, buoyant in your fantasy of being capable of spoiling him. You feel ridiculous now.

Mephisto squawks quietly when you begin to limp. You consider removing Sylus’s ruby and throwing it into a room so that he’ll swoop after the shiny bauble like the crow he’s designed to mimic and then slamming the door shut, just so you’ll be free of that feeling of being judged for a brief moment, but you decide to wait to thwart him until you really need his eyes off you. You assume that he’ll only fall for such a ploy once.

Finally, you’re back at the greenhouse. You sigh after taking a big breath of the fragrant air. You don’t realize how chilly you were in the cold marble halls of Onychinus’s headquarters until you step back into this warm, alive space. You reach the bed, and note that Kieran and Luke must have beaten you in here. Your “things” consist of a small crate with your phone charger, ruby earring, and a crow plushie you had won at the arcade, what feels like a lifetime ago. No clothes. No shoes. Your phone isn’t even in here.

Mephisto settles on top of the garden bed’s canopy and begins preening his feathers. You think for the first time since accepting Sylus’s offer that you’ve made a mistake. You don’t know if you can handle the loneliness, even in this beautiful, verdant space. Maybe you’d feel safer, curled up in the confines of your small bedroom in your apartment, watching the fall rain hit your windowpane as you wait for your grief and fear of loud noises to fade with time.

Until you catch Sylus again, you won’t be able to get a vehicle to go home though. You’re hungry, and tired. You hobble to the little fridge under Sylus’s garden bar and root around. There are some fresh chunks of pineapple in a little container, and more pomegranate seeds. You fill your stomach, drink some water, and then collapse back onto the bed. The linen sheets are cool on your skin, despite how warm the air is.

The slow sink into oblivion eclipses everything else, and you pass out.

* * *

Now that Sylus is done with his meeting, which got sidetracked into a heart-to-heart that he had not planned before he found himself under Adian’s concerned interrogation. As a result, the whole thing went on for much longer than he anticipated. But now the most urgent pending matters have received his attention, and he can turn such attention back to something that is much more interesting.

He strides down the hall to his bedroom, only to find it dark and empty. He flicks on the lights. Not even Mephisto is in here. Maybe you’re still on the tour with the twins. But by his quick calculation, they should be done with the pro forma offer of his various empty guest rooms and you’d be back by now. Sylus drums his long fingers on the worn but well-cared for wood of his desk and fishes his phone from his sleep pants pocket. He should get dressed, too. But not before he locates you, and gets you back where you belong, unless you’re actually somewhere in the house enjoying yourself.

He pulls up the app connected to Mephisto and sees only the lush vegetation surrounding the garden bed. Why would you be there? He fiddles with the phone, and Mephisto receives the message, dutifully flying to the bar. Sylus sighs, something clenched inside of him relaxing now that he has his eyes on you again. But you’re asleep on the garden bed. If you were tired, why wouldn’t you have come back here? He asks Mephisto to look more closely at your face. You’re frowning, even in sleep. As if you’re having a troubling dream again. And you’re wearing… is that one of his ties? And one of his sweaters. He’s pleased, but also surprised that you chose more of his clothing, instead of choosing from the entire back section of his dressing room that contains your preferred style of clothing in your size that has been in there since he met you again.

Sometimes you’re such an enigma to him, and he relishes each new mystery—each like a wooden puzzle box, opening with a satisfying click after he has managed to figure out the key required to release the contents hidden inside.

His mind drifts back to his tie. He’s never seen you wear one before. He thinks of running a finger underneath its silk length, where it lies against your throat, and tugging a little. Of letting the fabric slide under his palm as he pulls the tail of it, and you along with it, until you’re pressed against him.

He rubs his forehead. If he continues this line of thought, he’s going to have the same problem that he’s had to some degree almost constantly since you set foot in his home again. You’re here , of your own volition now. And he can’t wait to just… be near you, as much as possible, every minute that work doesn’t call him away from your side. The closer you are, the more it seems to hurt when he’s forced to be separate from you.

There has to be some reason you’re not here with him this instant, and instead have retreated to the greenhouse. He fiddles with his phone again and a few minutes later, Luke and Kieran come slinking into his bedroom.

“We tried our best, boss,” Luke blurts, not even letting Sylus ask his question.

“We really did,” Kieran adds glumly. “But we uh. We failed to provide the motivation for your hunter to return to your room instead of choosing somewhere else to stay.” He toes the thick, intricate carpet with his house shoe.

Sylus narrows his eyes. You had already bravely expressed your desire to stay in Sylus’s room. He saw how much you were afraid of admitting it, as it made you vulnerable to rejection. As if Sylus would ever reject the opportunity to be as close to you as possible. He frowns. He thought he had sufficiently reassured you of his desire for you to remain with him. Something must have gone wrong during your tour of the house.

“Explain.”

“We might have told the hunter that none of the guest rooms were available, because they were taken already,” Kieran mumbles. “They subsequently said that they could just stay in the greenhouse if that were the case.”

“And then I lied and said that you had a pet jaguar in the greenhouse,” Luke confesses, as if he’s confessing to a murder that his boss didn’t order.

Sylus blinks. He’s consistently surprised by Luke’s creative, completely ineffectual attempts at lying. 

“But they obviously didn’t believe that and said they have experience in lion taming or some shit and a free-range big cat wouldn’t bother them,” he rushes on.

Sylus laughs, low in his throat. He doesn’t recall reading anything about hobbies you may have regarding handling big cats, but you’re not lying, if you count how Sylus felt like the most domesticated of leopards under your soft touch when waking up to your delicious body under his.

“Is that it?” he asks, forcing himself to focus again. “Nothing else was discussed regarding the rooming situation?”

“No, we swear!” Luke says. “You can check Mephisto. They just suddenly seemed really sad and tired, and said they would head back to the greenhouse. We fucked up our chance at helping you get what you want,” he says regretfully. “Not to mention we probably managed to give Noah an advantage in the bet,” he adds, quietly. As if everyone in the room can’t hear that he is disappointed by this fact too.

“Let’s not forget that the whole point of the bet is to help boss, Luke,” Kieran pats Luke’s back softly. Luke looks a little guilty, but nods.

Sylus sighs. “You’re dismissed,” he commands, trying to put them out of their misery. He suspects whatever sent you running again has nothing to do with their ridiculous attempts to encourage you to stay with him, and he knows they meant well. In any case, he’s not going to wait to get to the bottom of whatever negative thought must be currently bothering you. Never again is he going to allow you to be in pain for a moment longer than necessary. And if you insist on sleeping in the greenhouse, then you’re going to have to accept that he’ll be there with you. He winces at the thought of all that heat and humidity, but he’ll gladly bear it. For as long as you’re under his roof, wherever you are, he’ll be there too until you tell him to get lost and mean it. He checks Mephisto’s view again, and you haven’t moved. He takes a shower as quickly as possible, throws on some fresh comfortable clothes, and heads out of the bedroom.

The greenhouse is still dim, since technically this is Sylus’s “day” and he has the lighting system tied to his own sleep schedule and not the rest of the world’s. He finds you still sleeping, curled in on yourself. He’s relieved that you can sleep at all, after your seemingly endless months of insomnia. He hopes it’s because you’re near him. He pauses at the bedside, just taking you in, savoring the rise and fall of your chest, the curve of your soft lips. Mephisto ruffles his feathers and lifts into the air before settling on Sylus’s shoulder. They both stare down at you for a long quiet moment.

“Thank you,” Sylus murmurs, running his fingers along the bird’s soft feathers. Mephisto recognizes the gratitude, and the dismissal, and leisurely takes flight to wait by the door for when Sylus is ready to leave again or call him back.

Sylus watches you sleep, a dark figure looming over the your curled-up form, the white linen sheets draped across your hips. Finally, Sylus’s patience stretches thin, a frayed wire. He half kneels on the bed and slides his arms under your shoulders and knees, and lifts you until your cheek is resting against his shoulder. Your eyelids flutter, but don’t open. He begins the long walk back to his bedroom, brushing past heavy leaves quivering with dew, pausing to let a butterfly pass safely from one side of the path to the other.

“Sylus,” you sigh as he passes through the mudroom, the air growing significantly cooler. Mephisto flies ahead. When he looks down into your face, he realizes you're talking in your sleep.

“Yes, beloved?” he asks softly.

“Sylus,” you repeat, this time with a little whine of distress.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He hopes you’ll answer honestly from a place of safety in your dreams.

You sigh and nuzzle his shoulder, but then make a low keening sound in your throat, as if you've just seen something terribly painful. He tightens his arms around you. "Tell me what you see," he coaxes, quietly.

"Don’t wanna…” you clench your teeth. “—someone else in your bed.” Your words are mumbled, voice strained, and there are tears gathered at the corners of your eyes. He wants to lick them away, but he’s worried he’ll wake you if he jostles you by leaning down.

Sylus lets his normally racing thoughts drift back over the conversation that Luke and Kieran reported to him. Their lie regarding the guest rooms—the assertion that they’re fully occupied, while in reality empty, and rarely used. Something in that conversation triggered something in you. Full guest rooms imply other people in the house. Sylus snorts. His home is his sanctuary, and he guards it jealously. Very few people have ever made it past his threshold. And lived, in any case. 

His thoughts drift to your current distress, and your insistence, contrary to the agreement earlier, that you sleep in the greenhouse. The floodlight of his intuition washes through him.

Despite all of his reassurances about not having a lover, about hoping you’d stay in his room, he has failed to make it clear that you would be the only one doing so. Sylus looks down into your lovely face, and his heart thumps-thumps-thumps in the cage of his ribs.

He admires the thoroughness of your worries. Just as Sylus spends his time layering plans upon plans, trying to account for every contingency, your anxious brain seems to do something similar, but it’s constantly seeking the disasters, the hidden traps posed by others if you place your trust in them, layering fear upon fear. He recognizes that truly earning your trust will require him to carefully dismantle every trap for you, real or imagined, until you no longer look at him as accessible only through a minefield, but via an unwavering, inevitable path, free of tripwires. Until you realize that, in fact, he’s the one who has the most to fear. Because you can, and will, run if driven to it. And he can’t. He surrendered himself to you so long ago, the shackles tying him to you unidirectional. He’ll be the one left behind, his chest ripped open and gaping, as you flee with his heart between your teeth, if he is unable to catch you.

He’s relieved. At least this particular trap is easy to dismantle. He carries you into his bedroom, lays you gently on his bed. He settles on his side, head proposed up by his hand resting on his elbow. 

“As if I would want anyone else in my bed, now that you’ve been in it,” he whispers. He continues to luxuriate in how close you are as he debates with himself. He promised you that he would not use the power of his aether core eye on you without your consent. This is no longer a problem for him: he successfully circumvented that rule with the guessing game. There's no reason to use that particular asset of his evol if you are willing to answer his specific questions when he needs to map the depths hidden in your heart. And he figured out what is currently bothering you without even having to ask you. But you don’t know the full extent of your own powers, let alone his.

He gives in to temptation, and runs a finger along the tie wrapped around your throat, where your skin meets the fabric. He never promised that he wouldn’t use any of his powers on you. Only the one. He won’t be breaking his promise. You should have been more specific, if you wanted to restrain him completely. He knows that he should be patient, wait to reassure you. That he should go through the motions of playing the game, and wait patiently until you answer him, so that he can relieve you of the ridiculous notion that he would ever have anyone else in his bed when you exist in the world. He slips two fingers under the tie, presses against the pulse point in your throat, swallows the temptation to lean down and suck. You make another sorrowful sound, brows furrowing as if having a distressing dream. Sylus has never been a patient man. He has all the time in the world for you, to draw you to him, to slip under your layers and unfold them carefully, one by one. But how can he be expected to wait to soothe your pain when he can resolve it immediately, even as you sleep? He marvels at the insatiability of his greed—the closer he gets to you, the longer you're near. Yes, it is increasingly difficult to bear any distance when you're so close. Further still, he has begun to miss you terribly even when you're asleep in his arms. His patience, a wire already stretched thin, snaps.   

He won’t be breaking his promise, he tells himself. It's better to soothe you now, than let this worry fester. He lets the energy of his evol build, the dark tendrils curling up your sleeping form, until they thin, drift like mist, and slip under your closed eyelids.

You sigh again and settle deeper into sleep, as Sylus closes his own eyes, and lets himself dream.

* * *

You’re on the beach again. The sun is bleeding into the ocean, hemorrhaging streaks of violet, magenta, neon orange. You want to catch some in a glass and drink it down. The sand glitters darkly underneath you as you stretch sleepily. You slowly become aware of a soft, solid bulk underneath you. You turn your head, and downy fur, silver a stark contrast to the black sand on the beach, sweeps under your cheek. Your heart jolts as you realize that you’re resting on a preternaturally giant jungle cat, like a prehistoric leopard or jaguar. Its breathing lifts your whole body with each inhale, and lowers you gently on each exhale.

Just as you’re about to panic about being so close to such a large predator, a sense of calm spreads through your body, like the warmth of a large sip of wine. You know, as one sometimes does in dreams, that you are the safest you’ve ever been, resting against this fearsome carnivore. The creature may pose a danger to every single other creature in the world, but you are its master, and you are the only master it will ever acknowledge.

The certainty you feel is intoxicating. You smile, and run your fingers and flat palm through the animal’s soft, thick fur. A low rumbling begins to shake your body, and you realize it is purring, the noise vibrating through your chest. You’re delighted, sitting up, placing your other hand in its coat, and begin to caress the flank of this giant beast with both hands. When you look over, you find it has lifted its head, whiskers twitching, ruby eyes regarding you lazily. The purring continues.

“Who’s a good kitty?” you ask, laughing, and the cat’s whiskers twitch again. It leans forward and bumps its head against your shoulder. You take the hint and begin scratching behind big fluffy ears and the purring increases in volume. “You’re a good kitty, that’s who,” you coo, voice saccharine, and the cat opens its wide jaws, huge fangs glittering in the dying sunlight, and licks a stripe up the whole side of your face.

“Noooo!” you cry, half-amused, half-disgusted at the saliva now coating part of your face, and push the cat’s head away with the flat of your palms. “Bad kitty!” you scold, the effect lost in your laughter. The cat just huffs and noses your wet cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” you sigh, running your hands through its fur again. You close your eyes and just enjoy the sensation of warmth and safety under your hands. You lean down and rest your cheek against the cat’s shoulder. Gradually, you become aware of a shift, so slowly it almost feels like it isn’t happening, but eventually your fingertips are no longer running through fur, but along soft skin. You open your eyes, and find your cheek resting on Sylus’s shoulder, the black sand making his pale skin almost glow in the last gasp of sunlight drowning in the ocean.

“You’re here,” you smile, because you can admit to yourself, here in this lovely dream, that Sylus is probably the only person you would want with you in this secret pocket paradise.

“Are you pleased?” he asks, lifting an arrogant silver eyebrow. Even in dreams, he’s so smug.

“I’m so pleased,” you admit. “Of course I’m pleased to see you here. This place is so beautiful—of course you should see it.” You gaze drifts back over the sunset, the water.

“As beautiful as me?” he teases, because he was the cat, and you called him beautiful. 

“As if you need to fish for compliments. You’re probably swimming in them,” you murmur, trying to push away the thought of everyone else who looks at him and sees the same radiant creature that you see.

“I don’t want anyone else’s compliments. I want yours, and only yours,” your dream Sylus says, using his finger along your jaw to pull your gaze back to him.

You pause, wondering if it’s okay to say what you’re thinking out loud, in your own private dream. The waves shush onto the shore, and sigh in retreat.

“You’re the most frightening, achingly lovely person I’ve ever seen.” You sigh, because this is just a dream. You lift your hand and run a fingertip under his eye with the aether core. “It hurts to look at you, you’re so beautiful. Sometimes, I miss you even when you’re right in front of me, like this dream is already in the past and you're already gone.” You let your fingers trail from his eye to his temple. “Your loveliness is only matched by what’s going on in here, although I don’t think I’ll ever discover the half of it.” 

As you speak, Sylus’s lips part, and he stares at you like you’ve just threatened to rip Mephisto’s wiring out through his beak.

You drop your hand and look away. Even if this is a dream, maybe that was too much. 

“Look at me,” Sylus says, voice strained. You try to appear nonchalant, and turn your head to meet his blood-bright eyes. “You stole the words from my mouth. Such theft requires compensation."

Before you can ask what he means, he leans in and presses his full lips to yours.

It’s as if all the air has been sucked from the world. The constant hush of the waves ceases. The only sound is your heart pounding, and Sylus’s breath drifting through your lips, parted in surprise.

He cradles your cheeks in his big hands and draws back, just enough to search your eyes. “May I continue?”

In answer, you learn forward and press your lips to his. They’re so soft. They’re so plush. His hands tighten, and his tongue flicks out to lick your bottom lip. You open your mouth and catch his tongue between your teeth, gently biting. He inhales sharply and surges forward, pressing his tongue further between your teeth—you open wide and suddenly every individual action blurs. It’s just Sylus, his tongue filling your mouth, your hands sliding into his soft, soft hair, his body pressing into yours as he leans you back into the sand and licks into you, over and over again.

Suddenly he pulls back, eyes glittering as he looks down into your face, a string of saliva falling from his bottom lip back into your panting mouth. You catch it on your tongue, savor it before swallowing. 

“When you wake up, you’ll remember that I don’t want anyone else in my bed. Just you. Only you.” He stares into your eyes, waiting for your response.

“That’s the dream,” you smile. 

“That’s the truth, my beloved,” he counters. “You will remember, and know it to be true, when you wake up.”

Instead of arguing with him, you just pull him down to you again and kiss him, memorizing the feel of his mouth moving against yours, the tilt of his head as he works to get his tongue deeper, deeper. You hope you never wake up. As if hearing your thoughts, his deep kisses slow. He draws back a little, and places soft, barely there kisses to one side of your mouth, then to the other. He nudges your nose with his own. 

“Time to wake up, my love,” he smiles down at you. 

You shake your head a little, suddenly frightened of waking up cold and alone. He just nods, once. “You can handle it,” he promises. 

Sylus has said that he never breaks a promise. And you believe him.

You wake up.

End note: thanks to the really kind people who responded to my post the other day when i was worried that each part may drag on for too long for reader tastes. their responses were incredibly reassuring. also thanks to leaderincrows for sylus's line about mc not getting out of bed unless they could throw him to the ground, i stole it like mephisto steals shiny shit please forgive me. also, anything in this fic was in no way meant to mock people who are into puppy play. aidan is proud as fuck as he should be, and sylus's slightly disdainful attitude would change the second he thought mc would want to lead him around by his tail. Rough plans: if my brain will cooperate, i'm hoping for tank and black card shenanigans with noah. Or pool and ice hockey shenanigans with sylus and the twins, respectively. for some reason this week my brain wanted more fucking introspection and we didn't make it to the fun stuff and big toys.

[helluva-headache]

I try usually to not get into discourse about the shows because it's exhausting but I'm just throwing this out there because it's bouncing around in my brain.

It's kinda wild to me how many Stolas haters there are that genuinely don't believe Stolas is going to have any sort of reckoning when it comes to his class/racial bias.

I've even seen people go as far as say the writers of the show are "just going to let it slide" and Stolas "won't face any consequences".

Like... the writers are the ones who wrote in Stolas' class/racial bias to begin with.

During Harvest Moon Festival, they purposefully show a shot of the crowd looking angry as Stolas addresses them as "tiny wrath ring imps".

The writers wrote Striker's dialogue in Harvest Moon Festival and Western Energy, clearly showing his distaste for royals and the disparity between classes. They wouldn't do this, especially in the scenes where Striker is talking directly about/to Stolas, if this wasn't going to be an important issue that will be addressed down the line.

It's even brought up in Full Moon and Apology Tour. In Full Moon, Blitzø's anger towards Stolas' attitude regarding imps is the climax of their argument at the end of the episode. He may not have expressed it in a way that Stolas would be entirely receptive to in that moment, but it's a huge first step as this is the first time Blitzø is directly expressing his frustration to Stolas' face.

And then in Apology Tour we have Stolas saying to Blitzø "I don't look down on you!" and "When have I ever?-" and then goes on to compare Blitzø's attitude to Striker's. This conversation is derailed when Stolas finds out about the first assassination attempt, but their conversation here is another big step in the right direction. This conversation shows Blitzø, and us in the audience, that Stolas doesn't actively believe he's better than imps, but passively without realizing it treats imps as if they are lesser.

This is important because it distinguishes Stolas' behavior from that of someone with malicious intent, perhaps like how Andrealphus did when referring to Striker as a "mangy stray". This distinction shows us that Stolas is capable of change. He's never had a reason to examine his class/racial bias, until he met Blitzø.

All this to say there are too many breadcrumbs intentionally left by the writers for this topic to not be addressed at some point. I understand some people who are especially fans of Blitzø may be upset because of a literal "anti-Blitzø party" in Apology Tour, and might feel like the show is unfairly digging at Blitzø without addressing Stolas' wrongs. However, I feel like it's reasonable for Blitzø's issues to be addressed first as he is the main character. And based on the season 2 trailer, I don't doubt that in one of the next few episodes the show will be digging into Stolas as well.

The show isn't over yet. If a major character flaw that has been referred to in multiple episodes throughout the entire series hasn't been formally addressed yet, trust the writers to address it before the show is completed.

[guardianofnightmares]

Attack

“And remember: there is enough fuel in those rods for couple of maneuvers and a descent. That’s it.” Blitzwing said in a stern tone while adjusting some screws on minibot’s backplates. “I highly recommend you to not stray far away from your group for too long.”

He knew that his companion was not that reckless to go on adventures of his own on a battlefield, but it’s still difficult not to worry about mechs’ safety. Even if the targeting systems of an Autobots’ flagship "Endeavor" were supposed to be down by the beginning of an operation, its guns would still be working at full capacity.

Chances of being shot by a random plasma beam were still pretty high.

“I know, Blitzwing, I know,” said minibot sighed in defeat. His spirits were not that much higher than everyone else’s lately.

“But hey,” He continued, “Even if I wanted to, I doubt Megacon would allow me to go sightseeing without him… And if I indeed managed to do just that, my fear of withering away from his lecture about my recklessness definitely outweighs the fun of getting into troubles.”

----------

Phew, third entry for the @blitzbee-week event has arrived at last. Prompt of a third day was "Attack", which turned out to be quite an interesting one to create a piece for. Eventually, I've decided to picture a scene of preparations for one of first major battles in a story of mine. Considering a fact that a mentioned scene takes place at the beginning of a second part/volume of a fanfic, I found it to be a good opportunity to show an evolution of relationship between characters (at least in comparison to previous entries).

Fanfic the scene is taken from is called "TFA: Icarus". You can read it by following a [link] for the series "folder" which also includes an existing teaser (future prologue) for a story. The updates are slow, I know, I am sorry for a delay, I was very busy with a job of mine lately and I do not know when the situation will change for better. Despite all of it, I'm still deeply grateful for every subscription and "like" you leave under works for this project of mine. Know that I see and appreciate every kind gesture of yours).

As always, if anyone is interested to know what's going on "behind the scenes" of a picture, I will provide the full snippet of a depicted interaction under a cut line. Hope you'll enjoy it. Especially those of you, who read previous "chapters" of mine, for you might find a reference here to one of them ;)

Bumblebee finally glanced at a Decepticon sitting on his haunches behind his back. The Warframe’s been checking on a Cybertronian analogue of a humans’ “parachute” for the last half of megacycle, trying to secure the massive carcass on a frame it was not meant to be worn by. 

“How’s it looking?” The Bot asked. Not out of vanity, for once, but rather out of practicality - a bleak, outdated “jetpack” was the smallest one they could salvage, and it’s still way too big for a mech of Bumblebee’s proportions. Several kilograms of metal more and it’d have begun to tip a yellow colored Autobot over. 

“… It’ll have to do.” 

A brisk, honest and not so uplifting answer. But, come to think of it, Bumblebee would’ve been more surprised to hear a reassuring comment coming from a Triplechanger. 

A notion that Bumbler was capable of periodically predicting Con’s responses almost made him chortle. The possibility of his team forming a bond with Warframes over the course of a stellar cycle after an escape from Cybertron was improbable at best. And yet, there they were - trying to work as a single unit despite ever present old grudges. 

For a goal they were fighting for together against a common foe was more important than any of their just (and unjust) beliefs. 

“And remember: there is enough fuel in those rods for couple of maneuvers and a descent. That’s it.” Blitzwing said in a stern tone while adjusting some screws on minibot’s backplates. “I highly recommend you to not stray far away from your group for too long.”

He knew that his companion was not that reckless to go on adventures of his own on a battlefield, but it’s still difficult not to worry about mechs’ safety. Even if the targeting systems of an Autobots’ flagship "Endeavor" were supposed to be down by the beginning of an operation, its guns would still be working at full capacity.

Chances of being shot by a random plasma beam were still pretty high.

“I know, Blitzwing, I know,” said minibot sighed in defeat. His spirits were not that much higher than everyone else’s lately.

“But hey,” He continued, “Even if I wanted to, I doubt Megacon would allow me to go sightseeing without him... And if I indeed managed to do just that, my fear of withering away from his lecture about my recklessness definitely outweighs the fun of getting into troubles.”

The last comment earned him a snort from a companion.

“Yes, he tends to do exactly that. You’d be insanely lucky if that was the only punishment coming upon your helm,” Blitzwing agreed in a more lighthearted tone. “Especially since, it seems, Megatron’s already figured out where someone prefers to spend their shift at once in a while.”

“…what do you mean by that?” Bumblebee asked worriedly after a short lived pause - he could almost “see” a smirk plastered across Blitzwing’s faceplates with the back of his own helm. And if he’s learnt anything about a Con over the last orbital cycles, it’s that him being smug never promised anything good for a yellow and black Bot. 

“Let’s just say that if a certain hiding spot is indeed real, I’ll make sure to send you energon treats during a “home arrest” of yours.” Blitzwing mused out loud. A followed groan full of despair, which came from a small mech, made Blitzwing slip an amused laugh. 

And here a minibot hoped that Megatron would be any different than a so-called Bossbot of his. 

---

Soon after the Trpilechanger’s done everything he could in order to make Bumbler’s descent to a flagship safer, a huge figure appeared at an entrance to a bay. Bumbler noticed a newcomer only when a said mech contacted him via personal comlink, voice commanding yet devoid of usual rasp undertones. 

“Time to go, minibot,” Megatron announced, as if wanting to make sure that his arrival was interpreted as a sign to wrap preparations up. It made both Cybertronians to pause their conversation and to look up at an arrived Decepticon. 

The red and grey mech stood with his servos being clasped behind his back, polished shoulder pauldrons proudly shining under a warm artificial light. One of his chest plates bared signs of a recent scuffle at one of remote outposts - the right side was adorned with a fresh wielding patchwork, performed by Ratchet himself, which hid an ugly and deep scar. 

The sight of a quickly healing wound reminded Bumblebee of an amusing memory he’d witnessed in a medbay the other day - Ratchet and Megatron bickering with each other about who’s a true madmech between two of them, while a medic was performing mentioned repairs. The fact that a Warlord received an injury during a rescue of a red and white Autobot, who stayed behind in order to cover their team’s escape, seemed to slip out of both of their processors. Ratchet was nigh unstoppable in his fury, and it seemed that Megatron’s finally found someone who could rival his own stubbornness. Something, all members of a team were certain of, both older mechs secretly admired about each other. 

With raised up spirits, minibot quickly picked up a bag of tools, which laid near a working bench, and waved goodbye to a Triplechanger, who stayed behind to tidy a working place up. 

Blitzwing couldn’t hear what his two comrades were talking about while standing at an exit to a bay, but he could still observe the interaction between them. 

The height difference between mechs was ridiculous. It became especially obvious when Megatron lowered himself to a ground in order to access electronic panel of a “jetpack”, while Bumblebee was checking on contents of a bag of his. To Blitzwing, the scene almost resembled the way human parent would interact with their child after meeting them from an educational establishment back on Earth. Come to think of it, Bumbler looked like a sparkling in comparison to all of Warframes, which made the situation even more amusing in Blitzwing’s optics. 

After switching on needed components, the grey Decepticon activated a program in his own engine’s software. Both mechs synchronized recently updated broadcasting frequencies of their flying gear, and the “jetpack” came to life with a faint glow of its side lights.

A model of a “parachute” may have looked old, but the technology behind an outdated surface was something to be proud of. As if to prove a point, Megatron shifted his wings from side to side, up and down. Minibot whirled his head around just in time to see his own wings mirroring movements of his larger partner with a barely there delay. Created during an expansion of territories on foreign planets, devices similar to Bumbler’s one allowed Autobots to join Decepticons in off-ground battles and explorations, going so far as to copy difficult maneuvers of Warframes with an impressive accuracy. 

A true forgotten marvel of Cybertronian engineering. 

To say that Bumblebee could barely keep his excitement under control would be an understatement. The way he puffed up his chest plates and spread his temporary wings reminded local workers of a young Warframe after the first successful training session at a boot camp, fears and doubts the Bot had about an upcoming battle diminishing at a prospect of taking the first flight in his life. Even if it’ll mostly be coordinated by a partner. 

Bumblebee faced a rising by his side Decepticon with a contagious smile plastered across his grey faceplates, blue optics glowing with eagerness. He said something to him, most likely a spicy remark about his immaculate skills as a Prime soon-to-be Flyer on a battlefield taking place in an outer space. Those jovial antics made Megatron roll his optics, after which he turned an Autobot around with a smirk and (lightly) shoved him forward in direction of a main hangar, where they would join other members of a boarding party. 

---

It’s been a while since both mechs disappeared out of the view of Triplechanger, leaving him to his own devices. The grey and violet mech was in a middle of cleaning a working bench when he received a call. 

“Hey, Blitzwing!” A booming voice of Bulkhead sounded clearly over the comlink, only interrupted by periodic screeching of metal against metal in a background. “Are you and Bumblebee finished by any chance?”

“Fortune is on your side this time, my artistic friend, - Megatron’s already picked your yellow menace up.” Warframe answered while putting instruments into their designated slots. “What’s the matter?” 

“Lugnut and I would really appreciate it, if you joined us with loading ammo on a ship - these electromagnetic emitters are putting a strain even on him. Optimus is already helping us by operating a crane, but I don’t think it’s enough for everything to be finished on time.” A green Autobot admitted guiltily. When Blitzwing was about to say something, he added: “One more thing: Optimus said that he’d like to discuss a plan of an attack with you again afterwards - something about an established route through an asteroid field doesn’t click right with him.“

Of course it didn’t. But Blitzwing could hardly blame him for being extra cautious. Truth be told, he’d expected an ex-cadet to contact him sooner or later in order to go through a plan one more time. Meaning, there’s really no point for him to act getting annoyed at a prospect of doing an additional work during a current shift. 

“Alright. Seems that by helping you I’m going to kill two cats with one stone, so, count me in.”

“It’s “two birds”, Blitzwing,” Bulkhead corrected him with an audible smile. “Anyways, I’ll be waiting for you at an entrance 4-06. Thank you.”

With that being said, the bulky Autobot hung up the call, leaving a Warframe alone with his own thoughts, smiling to himself while cleaning the last of used tools from grease and oil. 

Many things have changed since the beginning of a new cycle of War, for better and for worse. With the amount of mechs switching sides and betraying their causes, sometimes it was easier to assume, that all around you were enemies rather than to hope you had at least someone to rely on. 

Yet, despite every obstacle Outcast Autobots and Earth-stranded Decepticons had to go through so far, the newly formed squad of theirs was a proof that some things stayed the same. That Camaraderie still had a value in an ever treacherous world. And Blitzwing had a feeling that no matter what lied ahead of them, the old healed bonds and recently blossomed ones would stand the test of time.

As if coming to an internal agreement with himself, the Triplechanger shook his helm and finally headed to an agreed upon place of meeting with his unlikely comrades, while silently humming a tune Bumblebee taught him once.

Perhaps, an Autobot known as Prowl was right after all?

Perhaps, it was indeed the right time to start having Faith and Trust in teammates once more?

[princessmisery666]

The Full Seresin Service - Part 2 of 3

Series Summary: You and Jake have been dancing around each other for a while. The Dagger Squad set it up so that the dancing stops, but a case of miscommunication could ruin it all.

Summary: The rules are set, the deal is made, and the Full Seresin Service begins. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Right?  

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: Fluff, flirting, teasing, smut, miscommunication.

W/C: 5.2k

Characters: Unnamed female reader (you/she/her), Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace, Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado. 

Pairing: Hangman x Female Reader. Phoenix x Coyote.

Notes: Reader has a call sign. 

Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch - thanks for saving the smut section 😄 // all mistakes are mine. Special shoutout to @writercole

Graphics: made by me on Canva.

Master Lists: Series // Top Gun Maverick // Main

I do not give consent for this or any other of my works to be reposted/reworked or translated on to any other account or platform.

You take your bottle of wine and a glass to the room. Your credit card will not thank you, but you don't care right now. You need to drown your sordid thoughts of Jake dropping that fluffy white towel and showing you what’s beneath it.

While juggling the bottle, a glass, your phone, and book, you manage to slip the keycard in and elbow the door handle down, using your butt to open the door and shuffle into the room. 

“Oh crap,” Jake grumbles.

He grabs his T-shirt from the end of the bed, but it's too late. You’ve seen it all, and it doesn’t help that he cups himself, the fabric of the shirt perfectly shapes his cock. He has to be doing it on purpose.

“Sorry,” you say, but don't bother turning around now that he’s partly covered up.

“What are you doing back here?” It’s more of an accusation than a question. “I saw you in the bar.”

“I didn’t feel like reading after all,” you say, walking further into the room and placing the bottle on the nightstand. “What are you doing back here?”

“I lost concentration too,” he says, “came back to change, was gonna work up a sweat in the gym.”

“You brought gym gear?”

“Like you didn’t.”

Urgh. You hate that he knows that you did. You never planned to do a full workout. After all, you're on vacation, but you’d have done some light cardio at least.

You backtrack, annoyed at yourself that you're predictable or that he knows you're better than you like. “And I didn’t say I lost concentration. I’m not that easily swayed.”

He snorts a chuckle, “Could’ve fooled me.” His cocky smirk spreads wide. “You can’t keep your eyes on my face.”

Of course, your eyes betray you, drifting down to his crotch and back up again. “Well, that’s because I’m not blind, and I saw everything and can still see it ‘cause you're holding it like a…a…dick.” You realize your mistake and quickly try to correct it. “I don’t mean a dick like a cock. I mean, you’re a dick!”

Jake laughs, an actual stomach laugh, and you do not take to being laughed at lightly. You grab a pillow from the bed and launch it at him. Naturally, Jake, being Jake, catches it with one hand and replaces the tee with the pillow. 

“Better?” he asks smugly. “Now you can’t see it.”

“Whatever,” you sneer.

“That’s not a yes.”

“Jake,” you scold. “You promised you wouldn’t annoy me. And you’ve already annoyed me by letting Javy and Natasha set this whole thing up, so just stop, please.” 

“Wait? Set what up?”

“Don’t play dumb ‘cause I know you’re not.”

“Pretend I am.”

“The whole fuckin’ dagger squad set it up so we’d team up and win to send us here to…” Your arms flail around, searching for the word, but it doesn’t help, and you drop them, defeated. “I don’t even know what.”

Geez. You hate how flustered he makes you. When you are face to face and not in a cockpit, you always have to be careful about what you say. You're always conscious of how he can misconstrue something or turn it into innuendo. 

“Cosmo, I swear I didn’t know anything about that.” he pleads for you to believe him. “Coyote gave me the ice cream clue, but honestly, at the time, I thought he was playing me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say softly. “We’re here now, so can we just do what we said we’d do and stay out of each other’s way.”

“I will, I promise,” he states. “But I really need you to know I had no hand in setting this up. Us teaming up or winning, or you walking in here and seeing me naked ‘cause that’s disgusting, creep-level shit, and I swear it’s purely coincidence. Coyote texted me about you, and I needed an outlet, so I was going to work out, I swear.” 

“Fuck,” you huff, “Coyote and Phoenix strike again. She texted me, and I needed to stop thinking about it, so I came back here to drink away my…” 

“Feelings.”

“Thoughts.” You correct with an incredulous look. “I don’t have feelings for or about you, Hangman.”

“That’s bullshit,” he states. “You avoid being alone with me ‘cause you don’t trust yourself.”

Shit. He really does know you better than you thought. But you're saved by the bell, or rather the knock on the door. You walk to answer it and hear Jake moving around. You hope he’s dressing to go to the gym.

You take the ice bucket from the concierge and thank him before closing the door. So as not to get another peek at Jake, you keep your head down as you make your way back to the wine on the nightstand. You pour a glass and put the bottle in the ice. If Jake weren’t there, you’d probably swig from the bottle. You need to be done with the conversation and Jake.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he says sincerely. “If you answer me one thing.” 

You gulp half a glass of wine and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “What?”

“Why are you resisting this?”

“Honestly,” you sigh, turning to face him. He’s pulled on a pair of boxer briefs but nothing else. It makes it slightly easier to talk to him. “I’m not a true member of the Dagger squad. You all have this deep bond I’ll never be a part of. I had to earn my place, and sometimes, I’m still an outsider.”

“That’s not true,” Jake argues. “You’re one of us. None of us ever think otherwise.”

“Maybe,” you shrug with a half smile. “But you have a reputation, Hangman. You’re not exactly the stable relationship kind of guy. A couple of weeks with someone is the most you can manage. I know if I gave in to you, you’d get a ‘atta boy’ and proud slaps on the back, but me, I’d lose the respect of our friends.”

“You mean the friends who set this up?” he asks. 

He has a point, and he knows it too. You're silent for too long, and he slowly makes his way around the bed to stand in front of you. “You want this as much as I do. We make a good team. Scrap that. We’re the best team in the air. I wanna know if that translates to the ground, too. There’s something between us that each of us is trying to ignore and clearly failing miserably.” 

You laugh lightly because he’s right. “There’s nothing but lust between us, Jake,” you counter. “We want what we can’t have, the low-hanging forbidden fruit.”

“Ouch,” he laughs. 

“Don’t pretend you're not an easy lay,” you jest. 

The dig of his promiscuity doesn’t deter him. He steps closer, his eyes soft and his tone sincere. “Give me a chance,” he suggests. “A weekend pass. We’ll keep it between you and me. We’ll eat the forbidden fruit, and it’ll be our secret.” he winks. “No one has to know.”

He’s right. Again. No one would need to know, and they’d have no way of finding out. Sure, Hangman could be a douche and tell them, but what proof would he have?

He’s already wearing you down, so there’s no need for the extra, “I promise I’ll make it the best weekend of your life. No-holds-barred. Full Jake Seresin service,” but it’s nice to know he’s committed.

“You know I���m seeing someone. Klay, remember him?” 

“Please, that fizzled out a week ago for you,” he jeers. “You’ve seen him a total of three times in the last five weeks. Two of those were drinks at the Hard Deck, and I gave you a ride home. If I know you as well as I think I do, you’ve got a text saved in your notes telling him you don’t want to see him again. You're just waiting for the right time.”

You really need to put some distance between your personal and professional life. 

“I have two conditions,” you say. 

He nods, smile already morphing to an air of smugness. “Anything.” 

“Whatever does or does not happen, we remain professional. It doesn’t affect our work.”

“Done.” 

“No one knows anything,” you say sternly. “They can guess and speculate, but nothing is ever confirmed.”

“Done.” he holds his hand out for you to shake, but you have other ideas. Stepping into his personal space, you deliver a gentle kiss to his lips. 

His reaction is immediate. It’s a flurry of caressing, groping, and clothing being removed. A hand cradles the back of your head, and the other finds purchase on your hip. The press of his flesh against yours is electric, and you shiver as his tongue sweeps over your bottom lip.

Jake moans as you open up to him, deepening the kiss. His hand slips to your ass cheek as he slowly shuffles you both toward the bed, pink lips now suckling on your neck. You laugh as you both tumble onto the mattress when he misjudges the distance. He’s quick to follow as you shuffle toward the headboard, his mouth latching onto a breast, and his tongue swirls over the taut nipple.

“F- fuck,” you whimper as you arch into him.

Sharp teeth gently graze the nub, and he mumbles, “You have beautiful tits,” as he shifts to suck the neglected nipple into the damp heat of his mouth. Jake’s hands rest on your hips as he knees closer between your legs. A hand replaces his mouth, kneading your breast as he sits up. “I’ve wanted you like this for a long time.”

“Well, now that you’ve got me, what’s your plan?” you snark, eyes mere slits as you stare up at his pretty face. The smirk you typically want to smack from his smug features is now inexplicably sexy as he pops a brow.

“Well, I was thinking maybe a little begging…”

The hard pinch to your pebbled bud contrasts with the soft brush of fingers up your thigh, and your walls clench as goosebumps race across your flesh.

“Maybe a little screaming.” Jake leans forward and presses a hand into the pillow next to your head as the other splays over your stomach, thumb lightly brushing your clit.

You tilt your hips, seeking friction, and he chuckles, shifting his hand up and away from where you need him. Refusing to give him what he wants so easily, you bite your lip to keep the plea locked away.

“Now, now, none of that. I want to hear you.” Jake nips at your bottom lip, pulling it from between your teeth. At the same time, he slips two fingers into your already slick heat, causing you to jerk and moan loudly. “There we go.”

Not wanting to give him the upper hand – you silently chuckle at the unintentional pun – you reach down and encircle his dick with a gentle squeeze.

The steady pump of his fingers falters as he growls, “Shit!” But he grasps your wrist to halt any movement on your part. “Nope. Not yet.”

“Jake,” you whine, dragging out his name. “That’s not fair.”

“I haven’t heard any begging yet.” The pressure of his grip increases, and he pulls his fingers from inside you, slowly licking each one clean as he stares you down.

You hate to admit how easily he got you worked up, but your body betrays you. You’re right on the precipice, and you want him to send you over the edge in the best way. Loosening your hold on his throbbing dick, you whimper, “Please…”

“What was that?” He releases your wrist, capturing your hand and entwining your fingers as he pushes them into the pillow above your head. “Do you need something?”

The smug smile is back, and you have reverted to wanting to slap it off his face, but instead, you give in and plead, “Please… please… I want you to make me come,” while plotting your revenge.

“That’s better.”

He squeezes your hand and swiftly pushes his fingers back inside you as his thumb circles your clit. 

Jake is as adept with his hands in the bedroom as he is in the cockpit of a fighter jet. Within moments, you’re screaming his name, your free hand gripping the back of his neck, your inner muscles contracting tightly around the fingers pressed against that sweet spot.

“Damn,” Jake groans, “that’s so hot. But we’re just getting started.”

Jake struts into the bathroom and presses himself to your back, resting his chin on your shoulder. He smiles at your reflection in the mirror while you set your toiletries out on the countertop. He lived up to his reputation, and after a few rounds of him making you come with his tongue, fingers, and cock you decide to shower to give you both some time to recover.

“You're getting all clean just for me to make you dirty again,” Jake smirks, kissing your shoulder and scrapping it away with his teeth.

“You can get me as dirty as you like,” you say, “but I need to shower.”

“Seems like a waste, but okay.” he shrugs and holds up the room service menu. “Do you want more wine or water?”

“Both,” you chuckle, “we’re gonna need to hydrate.”

“Copy that,” he says before smacking your ass and walking back into the room to put the order in.

You overindulge in the shower because the water pressure is impressive, and the waterfall showerhead is calming. You also need a minute, or ten, to get yourself in check. The sex is phenomenal, but Jake has surprised you. Shockingly, he’s respectful, attentive, and not as selfish as you expected. He constantly checked in to make sure you were okay, and that you liked what he was doing, and though he rarely needed it, he asked for direction. 

You recognize this is dangerous ground to be walking on, but it’s only a weekend, two nights of surrendering to your desires, and then it’s over. You can do this.  

There’s little point in dressing again. Jake is sure to have you naked and moaning again soon enough, so once you’ve showered, you opt for a t-shirt and clean underwear - you need to be somewhat presentable when room service arrives.

You're pulling the garment over your head as you leave the bathroom, but you freeze as soon as your head is free.

Jake is standing beside the prepared table, wearing nothing but a smile and a white towel slung over his arm. The dimmed lights and the candles dotted around the room create dancing shadows on the walls. The table is set for two - silver serving trays with large round lids hiding the delicious-smelling delights beneath them, and a bottle of wine is cooling in the ice bucket. A single rose in a slim vase adorns the center of the table, with a small gift-wrapped box set in front of it.

“Jake,” you gasp, unable to hide the shock.

His smile is full of charm and pride at the reaction. “I told you,” he says, walking closer, “full Seresin service.”

“I’m getting more naked butler vibes,” you jest, accepting his offered hand and letting him lead you to the table.

He laughs, pulling out your chair, “Same thing.” Quickly, he rushes around to his side, picking up the gift and handing it to you as he sits down. “I swear I picked this up before the whole setup and sex thing. It‘s meant as a thank you for letting me join you.”

Intrigue has you ripping off the fancy bow and paper with perhaps too much enthusiasm. It’s a bottle of your favorite perfume, thoughtful, expensive, and unexpected.

“You said it was your favorite back at the store,” Jake explains. 

“Thank you.”

It’s a lovely gesture, and though you don’t want to think about it, you can’t help but wonder how many women have been charmed by the Full Seresin Service. He clearly knows what you want, the romance of it all, but come Monday morning, this will all be a distant memory.

The following day is a blur of sex. Jake doesn’t hold back, and you each teach the other a thing or two. He takes a shower around four and has some kind of epiphany while seemingly enjoying the fancy shower because he exits with a wide grin and a burst of enthusiasm. 

“Do what you need to get ready for a fancy event,” he says.

“What?” you question, watching him pull on sweats. “I didn’t pack anything to wear to a fancy event, Jake.”

“Trust me,” he says, sitting on the chair and slipping his sneakers on. “Take a shower, do your make-up, leave the rest to me.”

“Where’re you going?” 

He grabs his wallet and phone, swipes the room key from the top of the dresser, and gives you a swift kiss. “Trust me,” he says again, leaning back to look at you. “I won’t be long, you’ve got an hour.”

He’s true to his word, and less than an hour later, he returns carrying three shopping bags and a proud smile. 

You’ve applied light make-up and styled your hair, “You look good.” Jake compliments. “Here,” he hands you the largest bag and one of the smaller ones. “Take them in the bathroom, but don’t come out until I tell you.”

He’s far too excited, but you don’t protest his instructions, intrigued by what the big surprise is. 

In the bathroom, you pull the garment out of the bag - a long, bronze, cowl-neck chiffon dress. It’s beautiful and undoubtedly expensive because he’s already removed the tags. There are strappy heels to match in the other bag.

You slip the dress on over your head, careful not to touch your hair, and it instantly makes you feel sexy. The fabric is soft, and the color looks good on you.

“Ready when you are,” Jake calls.

After putting the shoes on, you take a few extra moments to check your reflection, twisting left and right. It’s not the kind of dress you can wear underwear with, and you shuffle your panties off. Now, the gesture of the dress makes a little more sense. You assume there’s something in it for Jake, too.

Jake gasps as soon as you step out. “Wow.” his mouth remains in the O shape while you twirl for him. “Damn, you look… wow.” 

You look him up and down - black suit pants, formal shoes, his shirt and jacket are the same bronze color as your dress. He looks edible, but before the drool can escape your mouth, he’s in your space.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in close to him. He nips your ear. “Maybe we forget the rest of the plan, and I’ll just fuck you in this dress instead.”

“I mean, that is the deal,” you laugh, scrapping your nails down the nape of his neck, “but I’m intrigued about the rest of the plan.”

“Come on,” he grins, taking your hand and leading you out of the room.

The room is filled with joy. Everyone is smiling and happy, people chatting and dancing, eating the canapes being served by the wait staff. Jake feels giddy. He has no other word for it and brushes it off as the atmosphere in the room, but he knows better. It’s you, or rather the two of you.

It feels right. Like the last puzzle piece falling into place after months of trying to figure out the complex picture.  

Jake senses you’re nervous, eyes darting around the room, sipping your drink too often. “Relax,” he says, placing a reassuring hand on the small of your back.

“How can I?” you ask, “we’re gate crashing a wedding.” 

“Act like you belong,” he advises, “We look like we belong. Stop worrying.” He catches a server as they pass, grabs two fresh glasses of champagne from the tray, and hands you one. “To the bride and groom.” 

“Whoever they are,” you toast.

Jake keeps his hand on the small of your back as you each watch the celebration for a while. It’s not only to assure you he’s there but also to make sure anyone looking, and he’s seen a few men looking, knows that you're with him.

“So, Jake,” you start, wistful and light as you turn your back to the room and focus on him. “Is this your end goal? Marriage? Kids? The whole nine yards?”

“Definitely,” he nods, “someday.”

You can’t hide your expression, even though you try by taking a delicate sip of your drink. 

He cocks his brow. “Why does that shock you?”

“It doesn’t, not really. You're a family guy. I’ve seen that on family days and heard you call your sister, but” you grimace around in an apologetic tone, “you don’t exactly pick the settling-down types.”

“Ha,” he laughs. “Okay, that’s fair.” He sobers a little, mind reeling at the list of exes he knows you're aware of to have made that conclusion.

“You tend to go for the jealous, insecure, toxic type,” you explain. “And that’s not to say you’re not as toxic sometimes, but there’s a pattern.”

He scoffs in offense. “Wait a second, when have I been the toxic one?”

“Laura.” You say without hesitation. “You let her believe you and me were screwing because you wanted to break up with her.”

“No, no, no,” Jake corrects, “you got that all wrong. I did break up with her and she assumed it was because of you. That’s not my fault.”

“Did you explicitly tell her we weren’t sleeping together?”

He shrugs, laughing around the rim of his glass. “No, ‘cause I was too busy trying to sleep with you.”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes. “And Nicole?”

“Okay, yeah, she was just a crazy person.”

“I know!” you remember. “She threw a bottle at me in the Hard Deck. If it weren't for Nat’s cat-like reflexes, I’d have a scar right now.”

“That was some kung-fu master shit she pulled. I think that’s what made Coyote fall for her.”

“Don’t change the subject, Lieutenant,” you say. “What about Kate? I had to pretend to be your pregnant wife to get her to leave you alone.”

“Point made, toxic, jealous, and insecure.” he agrees. “I guess I’m not ready to settle down yet, so I keep making bad decisions.”

“Well, what’s one more?” you wink. 

His heart skips, and he feels a little sick. You’re not a bad decision. In fact, you're probably the only good decision, women-wise, he’s made since he was a teenager. 

You're the take-back-home type of girl. The kind of woman he’d proudly introduce to his family. Though the predecessors who had the privilege didn’t work out, he feels if it were to end the same with you, you’d forever be the ex that his family continued to invite to family functions, and his mom would sigh and tell him he’d lost a good one every time she saw you.

“You are not jealous, insecure, or toxic, Cosmo,” Jake says. 

“Exactly,” you laugh. “So clearly not your type.”

He doesn’t correct you, even though you are absolutely wrong. “What about you?” Jake asks. “You want the whole nine yards?”

“I guess, with the right guy.” You finish your drink and put the empty glass on the table. “Okay, if we’re doing this,” you say, “let's do it right. Mr Seresin, may I have this dance?” 

He accepts your offered hand and leads you to the dance floor. A few people give you odd looks, trying to place who you are, but it’s easily ignored.

Jake’s raging boner after one and a half slow songs and perhaps too much winding and grinding for a public place is not so easily ignored. “Let’s get out of here,” you whisper, and he gladly takes you back to the room.

The sex after the wedding was mind-blowing. Jake doesn’t know how, but every time, it gets better. He feels the butterflies in his stomach every time you touch him, casual touches, a brush of his hand, a lazy sleep-hazed kiss. 

It’s Sunday afternoon, the last night, and Jake knows without a doubt that he’s not ready to let this go. It’s not just about the sex, which is fucking - excuse the pun - amazing, but it’s the intimacy of it all too.

You're different. In the confines of the hotel room, you're freer, shameless, and adventurous, revealing secrets that only make him want you more. The pillow talk is deep and meaningful and, at other times, fun and light. Both make him want to talk to you as much as fuck you. 

He lies on the bed, watching you pack your suitcase. The items you won’t need in the morning. “Urgh,” you groan, “I hate packing.” 

“Me too.”

“I wish I was that last-minute kinda person,” you say, folding a clean t-shirt and placing it neatly in the suitcase. You haven’t had much use for the clothes you packed. 

Jake cocks his brow at you in the mirror, “You are wasting precious fuckin’ time.”

“I know,” you say with an apologetic grimace. “The weekend pass expires at midnight. But I can’t not do this.”

He laughs lightly, shuffling off the bed, and saunters over, slipping his arms around your waist while you organize your things. “Worth the price of admission?”

“Absolutely.” You smirk at his reflection in the mirror. “Ten out of ten. Would highly recommend.”

“Repeat customer?” he asks, sucking in a breath and holding it while he waits for your answer. He can laugh it off as a joke if the reply is negative, but he hopes it’s positive.

“I’ll leave the money on the dresser,” you squirm out of his embrace, turning to kiss his lips quickly. “Gigolo Jake.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he admits, delivering a harder kiss to your cheek. “I’m gonna take a shower.”  

The shower is running, but he’s not under the spray. Instead, he’s naked, sitting on the cold closed toilet lid, texting Coyote.

He’s breaking the rules. He knows he is, but he needs to talk it through with someone because what he’s feeling is new and confusing.

<Hangman: I need you to promise me this stays between us. Not even Phoenix can know. 

>Coyote: What’d you do now bro?

<Hangman: Promise me. 

>Coyote: Promise.

<Hangman: I slept with her. 

>Coyote: So?

<Hangman: Repeatedly.

>Coyote: I’m confused. Was it bad or something?

<Hangman: No. It was…

He struggles to find the word, and his cock twitches while his memory replays the last twenty-four hours.

<Hangman: Phenomenal. I wanna do it again and again and again.

>Coyote: 🤣🤣🤣. Sorry to tell you but that’s what happens when you like someone Jake. You go back for more.

<Hangman: Not me. 

>Coyote: Except now you feelin’ some type of way and you’re freaking out.

<Hangman: YES! What the hell man?! It was supposed to be a one-and-done!

>Coyote: Man, I'm the wrong person to ask. I never meant for Nat and me to be a thing but now I can’t imagine not being with her.

<Hangman: Not helping. 

>Coyote: Sorry bro. It is what it is now. Embrace it. 

<Hangman: Embrace it how?

>Coyote: You could start by telling her you actually like her. Do some of that Seresin Speciality romance stuff. 

<Hangman: She has a tattoo low on her hip, a fighter jet in the night sky. I swear there’s a H in the stars. I can’t stop looking at it. It’s like it’s meant to be.  

>Coyote: Wow, you sound like you’re way below the hard deck.

He’s not wrong. Jake’s flying below a level that isn’t safe, and he can either pull the ejection handle or do some pilot shit and finish the mission. 

>Coyote: Phoenix says she’s all for grand gestures and actions speaking louder than words.

<Hangman: 🙄way to keep a promise.

>Coyote: She can read too dude. Sorry.

<Hangman: I forgot you have your text size big enough to read from the moon. 

>Phoenix: 🤣 He does! Now quit stalling. Go tell Cosmo you like her. 

<Hangman: I might have an idea or two for a grand gesture. Thanks for the tip. 

>Coyote: Hey I’m not straining my eyes and having to wear glasses and not being able to fly. 

It probably would have been easier to start a group chat.

Jake decides not to reply. He’s wasting water. Setting his phone on the countertop, he steps into the shower.

He’s not ready to say goodbye to the weekend and go back to reality, and grand gestures should happen somewhere nice and memorable. He needs to set things in motion. 

“Cosmo,” he calls out. 

“Yeah,” you yell back. 

He doesn’t want to scream it at you, so he asks, “Come here, will ya?” while he lathers his hair with shampoo.

He sticks his head out of the shower as you enter the bathroom. You chuckle, smiling as you swipe soap suds off his brow before they trickle into his eye. It’s a sweet and delicate touch, but it sends his heart racing.

He clears his throat. “You’re not scheduled to work till Friday, right?” he asks, though it’s unnecessary because he’s always aware of your schedule.

“Yeah,” you sigh. The reminder brings a touch of reality to the room. 

He feels a wave of nerves but ignores them, hearing Coyote’s voice in his head, ‘Embrace it.’ “How about we stay a couple more nights? I’ll upgrade you to the Premium Seresin Package.”

You chuckle and look a little sheepish when you reply. “Um….yeah, okay. But the same rules apply.”

“Yeah, obviously. I wouldn’t want…”

His phone chiming interrupts, and simultaneously, you both look at the message preview. 

>Coyote: Go chase that flying jet and make her see stars…

“Really?!” you scoff. “Couldn’t even make it back to base before you go shooting your mouth off! What happened to ‘no one has to know’?”

“Cosmo, wait,” he calls as you leave, slamming the door. As quickly as he can, he rinses the shampoo from his hair. “Shit!” There is no towel hanging up, and he has no choice but to exit naked and dripping wet.

You shove your feet into your sneakers, carry-on slung over your shoulder, suitcase zipped and ready to go. “I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit!”

“It wasn’t bullshit,” Jake says, grabbing your wrist to try and get you to slow down. 

“Don’t touch me.” You snatch your arm away. “I can’t believe I trusted you, Hangman. I should’ve known you’d hang me out to dry, too!” You sneer, and the disgust in your expression breaks him a little.

He ignores the jab of hurt that stabs through him, trying again. “Cosmo, I swear it’s not what you think.”

You grab your suitcase handle and march toward the door, but Jake is closer, and he steps in your path. 

He pleads, “Please let me explain.”

“Move.” 

He doesn’t, and instead of asking again, you shove into his shoulder and drag your suitcase behind you. The wheels hit his toes. “Fuck!” he yells, hopping around on one leg, clutching his injured foot before falling onto the bed. “Don’t leave, please, Cosmo.”

But it’s too late. You're out the door and gone.

Part 3 - I Didn't Know Then What I Know Now - Friday 1st November 2024

Tags + Info

@alexxavicry / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @imjess-themess 

/ @justagirlinafandomworld / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @shanimallina87 / @wildbornsiren / 

@writercole / @xoxabs88xox / @dempy / @atarmychick007 / @genius2025

 @kmc1989 / @alipap3 / @emorychase