#it shattered DIAMONDS man what would it do to FLESH

[shadebloopnik]

This is gonna sound SOOO off or smthn but

Was the Perfect Family Harmony planned to be a weapon against the Bergens?

Long post ahead bc brain is rotting

Ok so as we know, the Perfect Family Harmony is smthn that's so powerful that its capable of shattering diamonds. Not just that but its one of the only thing capable of doing so(according to Floyd it was the only thing but giving the benefit of the doubt)

So we know its strong, and we saw it blasting off Velvet and Veneer off their platforms when they performed it, and they weren't even the targets, they were blasted away by just the shockwave that came with using it.

"Its that powerful."

Ok, so its definitely powerful enough to be used as a weapon right? Yeah it was relatively safe enough to use in front of a crowd, else they wouldn't have tried to do it during a concert, but that could just be when those harmonizing aren't targeting anything.

If it could shatter diamonds, how easily could it break cages? What would it do if it was used to target a Bergen? A whole Kingdom of Bergens?

Lets also go back to that concert, to that time John was obsessed with them getting it right. They were in the Troll tree, in Bergentown, a place where any of them could die during Trollstice. The Bergens were a huge threat, something that trolls, at their size, couldn't fight back against normally so they had to run instead right?

But what if they COULD fight back? What if they had a weapon so powerful that it might finally be able to free them? To defeat the monsters that tortured their kind for centuries?

What if John Dory found a way to help make sure nothing would threaten his brothers' safety ever again?

Like, it'd make John Dory's obsession make SOOO MUCH MORE SENSE

Like yea he clearly has OCD and anxiety and some bossiness and that definitely added to it all, but imagine if it was more than that?

Look at him during that performance. He was in deep. He had a wild look in his eyes, a sort of deranged obsession to have everything be perfect no matter what. It wasn't healthy, it was scary, maybe even downright terrifying for his brothers who had to be subjected to it.

But you know what else he looked like?

Terrified

Man was scared out of his mind. His anxiety and stress levels were through the roof. He probably was one wrong tune away from hyperventilating.

What if it was bc it was so much more than the fans? What if he put the salvation of the entire troll-kind on his shoulders?

One wrong step meant they were nothing.

One wrong step meant disappointing the fans.

One wrong step meant letting down the kingdom.

One wrong step meant another troll getting eaten.

Thats why when they failed, John blew up. He took all of that self-hatred of failing to use that weapon to defeat the bergens and poured it all onto his brothers.

"I know we can reach the Perfect Family Harmony."

"What if we don't want to."

John Dory, blind to how and WHY his brothers didn't want to follow his lead, felt betrayed.

To him, all he's ever done was to ensure their safety, everything was for the greater good. He'd done everything he could, his goals slowly twisting him into a crazed obsession. To hear his brothers say they didn't want to help anymore might've struck a cord too much. If you'd noticed he actually looked really sad and hurt when they started bringing up how much they hated being in the band, but it slowly twisted to anger instead. Kind of in a like, "I tried doing everything for these shts and THIS is how they repay me???" way. He was so stressed and stuck in his own head with his failures that he just couldn't see what his brothers were trying to say.

So in a fit of impulsive rage, he left. To him it probably was like that rlly childish way of saying "Yea im leaving, good luck dealing with the Bergens while im goneee." You know? Like how kids runaway from home when they get angry or upset over every little thing but come back when they realize how stupid that was?

"Im not allowed to change."

And he DID come back. Who knows how long, but he did. Imagine how he must've felt seeing their empty pod in an empty tree, with the knowledge that he could've done something about it. The Perfect Family Harmony could've saved them. They could've used it to break the cage, to fight the Bergens. Hell, it could've been powerful enough to wipe out all the Bergens if they do so wished.

"Im the oldest, I have to be the leader."

He and his brothers were the only ones who'd ever gotten close to getting it right.

"Why do you think I moved into the middle of nowhere? So I didn't have to be in charge of anyone."

The village was counting on them. Counting on him. He let them down. He failed.

"Freeing the village Four little brothers is a lot of responsibility."

They could've gotten it. If only John did it right. If only John did it differently.

If only John Dory was Perfect

#this post got away from ms #idl what happened #what would've happened if they used the Perfecg Family Harmony against a Bergen? #it shattered DIAMONDS man what would it do to FLESH #Why eas John Dory so OBSESSED WITH IT #im rambling i know but!!!!!! IT MAKES SENSE A BIT RIGHT???? #John Dory #john dory #trolls #john dory trolls #trolls dreamworks #trolls band together #brozone #perfect family harmony #john dory angst #idk #trolls branch #trolls clay #trolls floyd #trolls bruce #trolls spruce #brozone trolls #john dory has ocd and anxiety and you can pry that from my cold dead fingers #the perfect family harmony as a bazooka #bergens #trolls bergens #JD #long post #character analysis #i think

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hi could I request kissing in the rain with Morpheus after a fight?; thank you

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

“Is my love not good enough for you?”

In all of his passions, Morpheus can quickly come on a little too strong. Although, ‘little’ should be treated as a diplomatic euphemism. There’s an element of mindless obsession in him, an endless chasm that deepens the stronger his affection is. It scares you. Not because he’s changing into a violent beast of rotten flesh and unrequited love but because you don’t know how to handle it - for every nugget of gold you might think about, Morpheus shoves entire pounds of red diamonds into your hands. While such devotion sounds wonderful on yellowing pages of vintage romances, the reality is quite underwhelming: you feel burdened, pressured, as though there is a debt you have to repay him. And this imagined debenture is slowly but surely killing your love for him.

“I never said that and I never meant anything like that. I said that it feels like you’re smothering me and that’s exactly what I meant by it - you’re going a bit too fast and too strong for me.”

“All that I have given you is a token of my own affection. Human language is not quite sufficient in expressing it.”

“Do you ever consider how your actions make me feel? What am I saying, of course you don’t! You go around guessing what I want or need but never bother actually to ask. This,” you frantically point between him and you, “will not work like that. I don’t want it to.”

And without exchanging any more words, you shut the door behind you and left into the night. Wandering the empty, dark streets of the city, you have not headed anywhere in particular except forwards. Tears are streaming down your face. You couldn’t stop them even if you tried. Shortly after, the rain started pouring as though the night wasn’t cold enough already. A string of curse words leaves your mouth as you hug yourself tightly.

Rid of strength, both physical and emotional, you sit on the curb of some unnamed street you’ve never been to before. All of it is wrong. So very wrong… You have stumbled upon a man who was more than glad to treat you like a queen in a castle and the most rational thing to do, judging by your behaviour, was to tell him off for being too much.

You put your face in your hands. The cold rain was drenching you and you could no longer tell whether your palms were wet with rainwater or your own tears. A shudder shakes your body but you don’t care at the moment. Tomorrow you’re going to wake up with a cold but, again, it doesn’t matter at the moment. Nothing really does.

“I know you can hear me, Morpheus,” you whisper under your breath. “You always do, somehow. I want to make things right. I have to. Please, just… give me a chance.”

You feel heavy material around your shoulders. It smells somewhat sweet and musty like fruits and parchment. The warmth of the garment is a pleasant change from the cold rain. Surprised, you look up only to see Morpheus standing right in front of you. The small area surrounding you is suddenly dry, the rainstorm miraculously avoiding the feuding couple.

“It is unsafe for you to be out at this time,” he states in a voice strangely devoid of emotions. Morpheus appears indifferent as he helps you up from the curb. Is he not as upset as you had expected? “This is me giving you chance.”

You look away for a moment, gathering your thoughts. There is so much you want to say, it’s hard to decide where to start. You already messed up once and although you know Morpheus is lovestruck enough to let you break his heart numerous times, it was simply wrong to rub salt further into the wounds you have inflicted, even if it was not intentional. “It’s just… you don’t love like humans do, you know?”

“Why would I? I’m not human.”

Silence. Part of Morpheus expects this disagreement in the way he’s too familiar with - his heart being shattered, reality-bending love rejected as if it could never be good enough. Like he is not good enough to have a happy ending.

“Look, Morpheus, you’ve got all of eternity to fall in love and get your heart broken only to love again. I’ve only my life, not even a century. I want to be certain before I commit.”

“What would make you certain?” he asks immediately.

Truthfully, it’s a very expected reaction from him. Something about his predictability makes you scoff quietly. “You can’t just make me certain that I want this life. It’s consistency, reliability, trust… Time, Morpheus. I need time. With you; just the two of us being together, no grand gestures involved. I want to know you, not what you can give me.” Staring at Morpheus’s face, you think he looks a little lost as though it was beyond him to disjoin those two elements. A troubled sigh leaves your lips. In the cold night air, the expression of distraught turns into a barely visible cloud of fog. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry, Morpheus. I shouldn’t have blown up on you like that. I know you mean well and that you only show just how much I mean to you but I need you to be patient with me. I’m still learning what it’s like to be loved by one of the Endless.”

“As much as I do not like idly waiting, I do have all of eternity to wait until you’re ready.”

His thin hands cradle your face. Morpheus leans in, your noses brushing against each other, but he lingers as though he was waiting. His shaky breath feels hot against your lips. Then, ever so gently, Morpheus tilts your head upwards only to lock you in a desperate, longing kiss. 

You just know he isn’t going to have to wait long.

#the sandman imagine #the sandman fanfic #the sandman netflix #the sandman #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman x reader #the sandman x you #sandman x reader #sandman x you #sandman imagine #sandman fanfiction #morpheus sandman #morpheus imagine #morpheus x you #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless fanfiction #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader

[sepublic]

            It’s been a while since I’ve actually drawn or introduced another Escapee, so let’s change that up! Meet Lynkos the Living Diamond, right-hand man to Midas (feel free to interpret that as you will), a violent, brutish, and enthusiastic brawler.

         Lynkos is a character whose backstory I’ve admittedly done little to flesh out or explore, being more of an afterthought that I’ve procrastinated upon until the inspiration has struck. As of now, I’m workshopping on an idea I’ll get into later this post, but for now let’s focus on what I DO have cemented for him!

         Lynkos is a rough-and-tumble type who loves to get his hands dirty (fitting, diamonds are born of the earth), bash heads, trade fisticuffs, that sort of thing. There’s a bit of a sadistic edge to him, but mostly he’s here for a challenge, and that’s part of his motivation in joining Midas’ group to kill the Wayvrens; They’re an invincible family who has changed the course of history and taken down innumerable, unstoppable foes! Nobody’s killed a single one as far as anyone knows, and Lynkos looks forward to breaking that record.

         When the death of literal child Lloyd was brought up, Lynkos was skeptical; He didn’t find it to be good sport and probably a waste of time, but the others had their reasons and there was always a cooldown between encounters with the Wayvren who defeated him. May as well do it to kill time, get it over with… Except, Midas and his gang continued to fail, no matter how much they applied the effort.

         It wasn’t so much that Lloyd himself was powerful and difficult to defeat; He was surrounded by a whole host of individuals who were very interested in keeping him alive, and THEY were a challenge! And suddenly, what seemed like an in-and-out sidequest became a legitimately Herculean task for Lynkos, who now looked forward to killing Lloyd, mostly because to do so would be an enormous accomplishment in and of itself; Sounds fun!

         Diamonds are formed under pressure, so I imagine there’s some thematic symbolism I could incorporate here, of Lynkos as a person who loves to push his own limits, diving into the gauntlet to emerge fire-forged and stronger than ever! He’s like a brutal boxer, constantly training, toughening himself up as scars form to be more and more durable, until he comes out as hard as diamond.

         But despite being seemingly impervious to scratches and other damage… Well, diamond is also brittle, and CAN be broken, especially by a fellow diamond. If Lynkos isn’t careful and pushes himself too far, one day he’ll strain and come against someone or something that will leave him totally shattered… But if he can, he’ll just get back up, recover, and use it as an opportunity to heal over his wounds and broken facets, because what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! Like a weightlifter tearing up muscle so it can reborn anew, phoenix-like.

         As mentioned, Lynkos is right-hand to Midas, and acts as his lieutenant; I thought there’d be some fun duality, since Gold and Diamonds go hand-in-hand as precious minerals. Granted, the actual value of diamond is exaggerated, so mayhaps that’s why Midas is just on top… Plus, there’s the duality, two sides of the same expensive coin, with Midas being a soft and malleable metal, Lynkos a hard and brittle crystal. One made himself this way, the other was always like this; Midas is a very heavy and existential, philosophical thinker.

         Lynkos? He’s a lot more simple-minded, blunt, and straightforward. He’s here for fun, for a violent brawl and a challenge, and is eager to bust heads and knock skulls together, haha! He doesn’t really get a lot of the complicated ruminations that Midas, Barracudox, and Tamericus frequently engage in… But it’s not like Lynkos doesn’t have a personal philosophy of his own, seeking challenge to emerge stronger for it, even if it breaks him, especially if it does even!

         Lynkos trusts Midas, he’s willing to jump in as a personal enforcer, and just for the chance to fight. He admires the Golden Man, engaging in complex discussions much too out-there for Lynkos’ brain, which technically IS a rock. Wherever Midas goes, Lynkos is probably going to follow, even if he doesn’t fully understand; Midas appreciates and values Lynkos’ loyalty, the trust is mutual, though there was an initial period in which the two had to acclimate to one another after escaping from the Tower of Tears.

         Despite is name, Lynkos isn’t made of actual diamond, but a wholly separate, unique substance, crystalline and almost alive in nature; Hence the moniker, ‘Living Diamond’ and all. This stuff grows, branches, splits apart into a web of fractals. It’s much sturdier than actual diamond, too, with just a bit more flexibility; But it’ll eventually crack under the right stresses, as Lynkos quickly found out.

         Lynkos grows his ‘living diamond’ from himself and is made of it; You could shatter his head and as long as a decent portion of him remains intact, he’ll regrow it, possessing powerful regenerative capabilities. He doesn’t really have any organs, he’s just solid crystal through and through, technically, and he’ll sometimes absorb and chow down on minerals to fuel himself. Call that carbo loading…

         One of Lynkos’ favorite methods of attack is to turn both hands into a jagged cluster of crytals, and shoot them out rapidly, impaling enemies from afar. Since the crystals themselves aren’t actual diamond, they don’t contribute to the devaluing of it like Midas and his gold touch, though to be fair actual diamond isn’t THAT rare either. Lynkos’ pillar-like limbs can also extend, growing to grab and/or stab people as the sharp ends jut out.

         There’s a pair of diamond clusters on Lynkos’ back that can each fire off and explode, acting as airbone mines that release waves of sharp crystal all over the place. Lynkos can pump the jagged ends of his arms or legs into the ground, growing trails of deadly prisms that erupt ahead of him. And when extending his limbs, crystals can split off from the rest, branching into their own directions like branches; And then those ‘branches’ can grow crystals that split off from the original, and so on and so forth.

         So if you managed to dodge a crystal spire, beware! It might just sprout another one out of its side to impale you with, correcting directions with each new extension. As a result, Lynkos can create some complex structures that zig-zag and intersect with one another, blocking off enemies’ escape by creating a ring of diamond to trap the two of them inside with. As I said, Lynkos might be simple-minded in terms of his outlook on life, but don’t assume that doesn’t make him clever when it comes to physical combat; He’s fully explored, weaponized, and made the most of his crystalline form.

         Of course, as fun as impalation is... Sometimes, nothing beats a good ol’ trade of fisticuffs! Lynkos’ claws and sharp crystals retract, leaving just a solid, durable prism out of his knuckles, before he rushes in and delivers a wave of beatings to break you down, make you crumble bit by bit. Diamond can be worn down and weathered away at, but it can also do the same to you as Lynkos. Be careful not to lock hands either, because Lynkos can always just sprout sharp crystals from his knuckles to shear right through your palms, yikes. Headbutts are similarly nasty thanks to that crown of Lynkos’.

         Being a living, growing mineral, Lynkos acts as the ‘mind’ for it, and can thus command it to shatter or recede even when separated from his body. This is helpful in case he’s accidentally blocked off a path, pinned down an ally, that sort of thing, and it’s useful in setting up prisoners, pinning limbs to the side within the embrace of several crystals; Sharp points stopping right below the chin and all!

         …An admittedly ridiculous idea I had for Lynkos when I was younger was also the ability to somehow carve and form four, tiny little wheels with sharp ridges on his chest and knees, even as Lynkos lies stomach down and tucks his limbs in; Enabling him to act as a ‘cart’ of sorts, the sharp wheels spinning on their crystalline axles to propel him forward. It’s really specific and implausible, but it’s an image and idea I’ve had so much fun with, that I might just keep it in anyway. Who needs a mine cart to transport crystals, when the mine cart IS the crystal transporting itself?

         Fun fact, it’s possible that if left on its own, under the right conditions… Crystals generated by Lynkos, planted in the ground, might be able to grow on their own! Spawning additional clusters and masses. I dunno if I’ll go through with this, but it’s a fun concept to me, since Lynkos is ‘Living Diamond’ and the mineral he’s comprised of is akin to an organism, even. Diamonds are formed from carbon after all… Maybe he’s considered in-universe the possibility of growing other Living Diamonds like him, but so far all he’s accomplished are identical statues.

         Which, now that I think of it, I could imagine Lynkos growing these as a decoy, or even leaving his original body behind as his consciousness goes down through his legs and into the ground, growing clusters of diamond that form a trail leading away, and eventually erupt and form into a newly-grown Lynkos! So he’s like a vegetable, a farmer in his own right, huh. It ain’t much but it’s honest work, Lynkos humbly declares as he tackles his old shell of himself into an opponent.

         As for Lynkos’ backstory, as I said; It’s always been more of an afterthought. Maybe I’ll play around with the idea of coal becoming diamonds; Maybe he was born of a species of rock monsters, some of whom are coal and can be lit ablaze, and/or are deathly terrified of that. As a miner, he gets trapped in a cave-in, pressurizes over countless years, and emerges as the Living Diamond!

         One of a kind but a possible mutation… Or not, it’s possible others of Lynkos’ species tried to replicate the process but failed. Maybe the conditions weren’t specific enough, and/or they ARE trying, they’re simply still in the process of forming when Lynkos escapes from the Tower of Tears, and still have plenty more years to go before they’d ready to emerge from their earthen cocoons.

         I imagine this would contribute to Lynkos’ rough-and-tumble nature, his philosophy of applying pressure and challenge, praising stress as a way to grow and evolve. He went through the gauntlet, the heat of flammable coal subjected to subterranean pressure, and like a phoenix was born anew, that sort of thing. So maybe there’s a bit of a fire motif for this crystal, after all.

         Maybe I’ll make Lynkos the same species, or an offshoot of the same species, as Magmint the Lava Golem. There’s so many transformed humans who are hardly human by now, what about members of other sapient species beyond recognition, not considering themselves as such? That does defeat the contrast of Midas becoming Gold while Lynkos supposedly Always Was, but maybe the foil comes from Midas choosing it while for Lynkos, it was a mining accident, a cave-in of fate.

         As for what happened when Lynkos emerged, hmm… I like to imagine a story in which adventurers hear of the world’s biggest diamond, braving an abandoned temple full of traps that are… long decayed by now and non-functional, how impressive! They see warnings on ancient murals telling them that those who seize the diamond will die, and brush off this alleged curse. They find an enormous, man-sized cluster of crystals at the end of the temple, sealed away… Only for it to split apart, forming limbs as it emerges, yawns, and stretches out! It’s Lynkos!

         So funny story, some ancient civilization captured Lynkos, seeing him as a precious artifact in his own right because he was made of diamond and could produce it. But then they realized he wasn’t ACTUAL diamond, had a rampaging brawler on their hands, and so shrugged and stored him away in a vault. So there’s no curse, actually; It’s not like the crystal brings some horrid fate upon you, it just grows limbs and kills you itself lol.

         I haven’t smoothed out the details and have considered this story for Midas, whom as I’ve brought up, has parallels to Lynkos; Maybe one or the other WAS valued and objectified as a ‘statue’ of precious quality, and hoarded away for it. Who knows? But if it happened to Lynkos, well, the Tower of Tears wouldn’t be his first rodeo being captured and locked away in an ancient stone structure, forgotten until awakened and freed, years later…

         His conflict with the Wayvrens is probably simple; Lynkos was being violent and destructive. Maybe they heard of how he was once sealed away, perhaps by his own species even, and opted to re-apply that solution, but with the Tower of Tears; Same difference, and more secure. But not completely as it turned out… When Lynkos escaped, he met up with Midas and the others, was attracted by the unbeatable task of killing the Wayvrens, and agreed to it.

         On the side, I like to think, either before or after the tower, maybe both, maybe this is how he encountered the Wayvrens, Lynkos became the champion of an underground fighting ring of misfits and other strange yet powerful individuals. His design has a bit of a ‘wrestling belt’ too, though that was admittedly more of a happy accident and coincidence as Lynkos’ story was fleshed out. Maybe he encounters Trexdis, Lloyd, and the others for the first time when they enter an underground fighting ring for Reasons, and discover that this enigmatic Champion is none other than an Escapee, and one of Midas’!

        Lynkos the Living Diamond… I expected this to be a lot shorter given his bare-bones backstory, but I guess I figured stuff out as I wrote along!

#Lynkos the Living Diamond #Tower of Tears #The Escapees #oc #ocs #my ocs #my art #drawing #sketch #GEverse

[crystalmannequin]

✧*̥˚💙✦headcanons✦💙*̥˚✧

main .・゜-: ✧ :-

💙 After the events of Dissidia Final Fantasy, the Warrior of Light, having been left lost and lingering in World A, went on to travel to the Kingdom of Cornelia. The castle in the distance, the first thing he saw upon being sent there, seemed to demand his attention and presence, and the otherwise aimless fighter thought there was nothing to be lost in discovering why. Upon entering the Kingdom, however, he was swiftly met with rather terrible news. The Princess had been kidnapped by Cornelia's greatest knight, Garland. Shocked -- though only somewhat -- by the mention of a man who he had defeated only days before, or so it felt, the Warrior of Light thought that perhaps it would too be prudent to ask after any significance of a certain Crystal he had on-hand; and learning of the prophecy delivered by Lukahn and taking matters to the throne, the Warrior set out determinedly to face Garland once more rescue the Princess. This seemingly innocuous event, or at least a strange bout of coincidence, spiralled into what would soon become an adventure across the entire lands, including perilous battles against the Four Fiends of Chaos, dangerous journeys over rotting earth and crazed seas, restoring the wind in the sky, and at last raising an attack upon Chaos -- though not the Chaos that the Warrior was most familiar with -- thousands of years into the past. Having along the way gathered a party of his fellow travellers, wandering with Crystals of their own, the four Warriors of Light sought to free the world of its curse of destruction, the light they held shining true. When at last the sunlight bathed Cornelia in it's grace, and the cycle that choked the world in misery had been shattered, the Warrior of Light was perhaps not as surprised as he should have been to find he was not remembered after pushing time itself to such a brink. While he had bonded with his allies over the course of their quest, and felt a comradery with them, the Warrior could not find it in himself to join any one of them with their future endeavours, deeply unused to a life lacking in everpresent conflict; the closest thing to familiarity he could find in this world was the position of knighthood, defending the Kingdom's monarchs, in a way that so faintly resembled his duty to a forsaken Goddess. The sight of Garland, even, did not burn him so badly, when he had finally saved the man as he ought.

... Unfortunately, a very present desire to duel with Garland even still has since been left unsatisfied, both due to the unrealised skills of one who has never endured the cycles of battle, and due to a simple lack of justification to do battle with the man.

💙 The Warrior's exact position within Cornelia's forces after the conclusion of Chaos' cycle is that of a Brigade Captain, not desiring any further glory. A nameless man can too become a faceless man, and on occasion the Warrior dons a simple uniform helmet, masking his features completely (as a reference to World of Final Fantasy's WoL, despite their separation as characters). However, his usual armaments are the same as ever, even the great horned helmet he likes to wear.

💙 The Warrior of Light, as a Manikin, tends to trigger a sort of uncanny valley effect. Though it may be blamed on an unblinking stare and unchanging blank expression, alongside a voice that rarely shifts in tone, the Warrior's statue-perfect features, rather frigid body temperature and apparent lack of a need to eat or drink likely do not help. Neither would the fact he does not tend to bleed, or how his flesh seems to fracture rather than tear. Or, how any severe injuries would quickly begin to crystallise outright. Disconnected limbs will turn to diamond dust, and what should be soft skin will chip like stone. The Warrior of Light rarely gets injured beyond his armour at all, which means these things are hardly common knowledge, even to himself.

💙 The Warrior of Light is the one responsible for 'putting to sleep' Cecil Harvey and the Onion Knight during the 12th Cycle of the war between Cosmos and Chaos. Expecting Kain would have difficulties with taking care of the former, the Warrior of Light took it upon himself to do so instead. With Onion Knight, it was simply a moment of opportunity.

『this headcanon im willing to throw aside just fine, since its a bit of a silly personal interpretation; listing for posterity』

💙 The Warrior of Light as seen in Stranger of Paradise is the same one who appears in Dissidia and Final Fantasy I. Much like The Emperor, he simply wandered across dimensions to get there. His reasons for doing so are unclear. Perhaps he felt a personal responsibility, as the universal counterforce to Garland in all capacities. Nevertheless, he did his job quietly and without great fanfare, and with a valiant attempt to not encounter The Emperor again in the process. Whether or not he succeeded with the latter...

misc. .・゜-: ✧ :-

💙 The Warrior of Light is usually equipped with Braveheart and the Lustrous Shield.

💙 His job class is still Warrior; he switches to Knight during EX Mode, like in Dissidia. If this seems out of place in a different setting, that's intentional.

💙 He cannot actually play a lute. Sheer luck decided that his attempt was close enough to open the passage in the Chaos Shrine. In fact, he is very poor at anything that isn't fighting or vaguely related to fighting.

『list subject to additions!』

#𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 ? (ooc)

[garciaasfluffypen]

a kind of betrayal

prompt: continuation of new roommates and insane plans wc: 1.6k  ship: jennifer jareau x elle greenaway 

a/n: reads part 1 and two before this!! also, let me know if you want me to do s2 & 3 with our lovely ladies :) 

part 1 • part 2

after a long talk with elle about her mother, and a failed attempt at getting an extension on her term paper, jj found herself at a loss. she toyed with the necklace she had found sitting on her desk, deep in thought.  they were trying to save the lives of everyone on campus, and she couldn’t even do that and balance her school work. her father was going to have a field day with her.

“please tell me you’re having better luck with the mystical weapon situation.” jj turned to elle, who was reading out of the sumerian book she and tara had gotten from the library.

elle let out a sigh. “mm, not so much. ascalon, an enchanted spear that kills dragons but only if you’re a christian saint. the scepter of kerykeion will heal them. the holy hand grenade of antioch would be perfect for an influx of monstrous rabbits.”

“wait,” jj pulled something up on the computer screen, waiting for elle to look over. “what about this one? the blade of hastur, forged from the burnt bones of starspawn and meant to shatter all that oppose it…” she trailed off.

“that may or may not be sealed into the face of a cliff in an underwater cavern a thousand feet below sea level.” elle continued, a plan forming in her head.

“no. it’s sealed in the face of a cliff in an underwater cavern, a thousand feet below sea level. nobody could survive that, which is probably the point.”

“i could get it.”

jj’s eyes widened as she looked over to elle. “what?”

“the sword. i could get it. pressure depth and nitrogen narcosis aren’t really itches for a vampire.”

“that would be- i mean, you’d be risking your life. and if your mother found out she would…”

“yeah, well, my mother fed the only person i cared about to a monster and maybe i don’t feel like letting that happen again.”

“i mean, i know that you’re not just doing it for me but seriously…”

“don’t be an idiot, jennifer. of course i’m doing it for you.” elle noticed the necklace she was wearing and started to freak out. “where’d you get that necklace?”

“i found it here, i thought you left it for me-”

“get it off.”

“what?”

elle reached for the necklace, hissing as it burned her hand the moment she made contact with it. before she knew it, jj was collapsing onto the bed, and elle was panicking. there was only one person who could be behind this. and she knew exactly who that person was.

“mother.”

“hello sweetheart,” jj- the dean- spoke, smiling sickenly sweet at elle. “i thought it was time we had a little talk.”

“what do you want, mother?”

“you didn’t come when i sent for you, i can’t imagine poor matt was at all unclear. he doesn’t quite have the brains for… delicacy.”

“if you’re going to kill me, why not just come yourself?” elle snarked, crossing her arms.

“kill you? when you think of the lengths i’ve gone to save you from your own foolishness?” a heartless chuckle fell from her lips. “i think you’re a practical girl and you’ll see that everything i do, i do for the best. that silly little creature couldn’t’ve loved you. the second she knew what you were, she spilled all your secrets like an idiot school child. she was a cockroach. a wretched, crawling thing just like poor jennifer. and you, my doll, are a diamond. stone can not love flesh.”

elle resisted the urge to spit in her face. “how could i ever trust you?”

“why don't i start us off with a gesture of good faith? matt has derek right now, and he’s just itching to help out.”

“i thought your hungry little night light wanted virgins.”

“oh, you’ve been reading barkley’s transcriptions. that man was obsessed. no, we just take girls because it's traditional. besides, the worlds just gonna grind them up anyway, so it’s almost a mercy. derek though, believes some idiot accident, perhaps depression over his lost sweetie.” she turned back to face elle. “so what’s it to be? shall we take the prom king here and leave you and the little moppet alone?”

elle sighed. “deal.”

“remember, she’s safe as long as you keep her from meddling. if either of you get in the way again, all bets are off. now be quick, catch!”

                                                           ---

jj stared at the screen, the events that had previously conspired playing out in front of her. tears brimmed her eyes as she watched, her feelings and emotions getting the best of her as she tried to figure out what was going on. alex watched along with her, a whacked up tara sitting on the bed mumbling about going to the party that she and alex were preventing her from going to. as if on cue, elle walked into the room and alex turned around, a stake being pointed right at her.

“not one more step, bloodsucker.”

“what is this?”

elle looked to jj, who simply pressed play on her computer. “were you ever going to tell me? about derek? about the fact she possessed me and used me to hurt my friends? or was it just going to be ‘sorry babe, no sword no rescue, that’s just the way the world is’?”

“jj that’s not- she promised to leave us alone.”

“yeah, just so long as you let her kill my friends. you know, it’s not the sword. the sword would kill you and i get that. it’s that you just gave up. after everything, you didn’t even try.” with tears in her eyes, jj turned away. “go away, elle. go run and hide. we’re done.”

                                                          ---

they had won, they had actually won. and elle was dead. elle was dead and it was all jennifer’s fault- if she hadn’t gone on that stupid adventure with tara and alex, she wouldn’t be sitting here all alone staring at elle’s side of the room and wishing she was there. jj missed elle, and it was something she had never thought she would miss her stupid remarks, and the hair in the shower drain. it had been approximately three days since they had won, and jj was going absolutely insane. an aftershock hit the building, and jj simply sighed, staring at her computer screen as she rode through it. as nice as it was having kate back, jj felt like there was a piece of her life that was missing now that elle wasn’t there. a weird emptiness that couldn’t be filled by another human, no matter how hard they tried.

“hey, jj.” alex lightly knocked on the door, pushing it open slightly. “so um, something happened and i um, i just wanted to come prepare you so that you wouldn’t freak out. so derek and some of his zeta bros were throwing cherry bombs into the big pit under the lustic building and um… the found… um…”

as if on cue, emily walked in with a passed out elle in her arms. jj shot up from her bed, running over to her.

“okay so, we think she’s… i mean she seems dead, but she’s a vampire, right?”

“blood! she needs blood!”

jj ran over to where kate had left the soy milk container earlier that day, grabbing it and bringing it back over to elle. slowly and carefully she poured some blood into her mouth, barely noticing alex and emily slipping out of the room to give them their privacy. a few minutes later elle stirred, a groan falling from her lips. jj practically catapulted herself onto elle, barely registering the fact she had thrown herself onto an injured person. elle was back, and that’s all she could think about.

“hey.”

“are you hurt? it looks like you’re hurt. and i’m sorry i hugged you so hard that you're hurt.” jj looked at elle as she stood up. “it’s just that you were dead and-and now you’re not and i know that you’re probably going through a lot of stuff with your mom, it’s just that-”

elle cut jj off with a kiss, pushing herself as close to the young blonde as she possibly could. she held her close, pulling in every scent of her that she hadn’t had while she was knocked out in the pit. the two of them pulled apart for air before jj initiated the second kiss, this one filled with more emotion than the last. elle pulled away, smiling slightly at jj as she stared at her in disbelief.

“so, you’re a giant black cat huh?”

elle chuckled. “so i am.”

“how are you- are you okay? how are you alive?”

“well, that’s the thing about being a vampire. kinda hard to hurt me unless you put a steak through my heart.”

“let’s not joke about that.” jj let out an exasperated laugh. “i just got you back. i can’t lose you again.”

“oh?” elle’s eyebrow raised. “you can’t loose me, you say?”

“shuddup.”

“what happened to the hatred you had for me a week ago?” elle teased.

“we don’t have to talk about that.” jj hid her face in elle’s good shoulder, blush covering her cheeks. “we really don’t.”

“mmm we do eventually, but i’m okay with not talking about it for now.”

“oh my god i’m so mean, do you need blood? you probably need more blood.” jj detached herself from elle, running to the fridge. “i know we have more in here somewhere.”

elle couldn’t help but smirk. to think that the semester started with jj hating elle’s guts, and here they were, about to embark on… well, she wasn’t sure what she could call it yet but…

jj was hers.  

#melly writes #jennifer jareau x elle greenaway #jennifer jareau imagine #elle greenaway imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds one shot #an i (queue) of 187

[cvpidsb0ws]

❛MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.❜ | han gyeong-su x gn!half-bie!reader

genre: fluff, and a smidge of angst. <3

warnings: swearing, has a literal scene of the reader eating someone's guts 💀💀 so-, gore, violence. and i think that's all.

sypnosis: gyeong-su runs after you when you suddenly storm out of the broadcasting room, only to find you feeding on someone in the resroom. with his torn knitted vest and love for you, how can he not be able to comfort you?

author's note: oh my gof. i am in awe with this man. !not proofread!

dedication: @xhornybiatchx <33

it was a night of tranquility. as the hands of the clock just reached midnight, the chin of gold stood out most from the glimmering specks of silver sprouting throughout the night sky, yet they still both shined like sapphires lost in diamonds through the window of the broadcasting room nevertheless.

only it truly wasn't such a tranquil night. not when fucking zombies were in hyosan high; crowding the halls, the classrooms, the cafeteria ─ literally everywhere.

still, silence lingered amongst you and your friends in the broadcasting room, even if it was all chaos outside. but in quietness, there remained a manipulating voice in your head.

legs shaking, you slowly stood up and walked to the very corner of the room, away from everything and everyone. sliding against the wall, you sat on the floor with your knees held close to your chest.

'eat them.' your voice persuaded, as you continued to chew on your nails. 'just fucking kill them all. it's so easy.'

'just a bite . . .'

"(name)?"

the honeyed voice of nam on-jo sounded like peonies in a field of silken lavender when she snapped you out of your endless reverie. 'why do you smell so good?'

"hey, are you oka-"

not letting her finish the sentence, you suddenly stood up and pushed her, causing her to fall on the ground, whilst you were quick to catch everyone off their guard, immediately running towards the doors to escape.

you succeeded, of course.

the screams of your beloved friends followed in your growing absence, only you didn't care at all. you simply kept running, wondering how the hell you didn't attract the zombies that were surrounding you if you were out in the open.

in time, you found a vacant place that would help you calm your nerves; the restroom.

shallow breaths came out of your mouth, as you gripped the edge of the sink tighter. overcame by hunger, you bit your hand. suddenly hit by reality, your head hesitantly tilted up, eyes glancing at yourself in the cracked mirror that was splattered with blood.

you shrieked, tears pooling in your eyes. you hit the cracked mirror with your bitten hand, making it shatter even more, as shards of glass pierced through your skin; you didn't even try to pull it out.

'how had it come to this?'

unconsciously, your hand started to reach where you got bitten by someone, shuddering at the brash presence of the memory that had just happened three hours ago. you didn't tell your friends, you were afraid on what they would do.

hearing whimpers coming from one of the stalls, your train of thoughts were interrupted. with step by step, you approached the third stall, being fast to open the door, only to see someone epitomizing a coward, choosing to hide in the murkiest corners, accompanied by dark shadows.

from the voice in your head entrancing you with the idea of your hunger being fulfilled, and to her irresistible scent that made your senses animalistic more than ever. you couldn't fight it.

you lunged at the frightful girl.

biting her neck, her flesh was in your mouth. and you felt sick because you loved it. you basked in the everlasting glory of her taste lingering in your mouth, of the screams that couldn't help but escape her, of the way her blood was painted on the walls and on you.

it was the first time in a while that you felt free.

"you're not eating without me, are you?"

you stopped. letting go of the limp body, tears fell down your face as you turned behind you.

it was gyeong-su. of course it was.

he looked disheveled after running for a long time to find you, but his entrancement of youth still remained. it was han gyeong-su, after all.

sobbing, you curled up into a ball on the floor, as your best friend quickly fell down to your side. "hey, hey, hey, hey, why are you crying? stop crying. i hate it when you cry."

"what does it taste like?" gyeong-su asked, his warm hands holding your cheeks as his thumbs made all your tears go away.

you couldn't help but laugh, sniffling, whilst you remarked. "what do you want me to say? it tastes like chicken?" gyeong-su chuckled, but it quickly disappeared as he heard a wretched sob come from your bloody lips.

"i just told you i hate it when you cry, you and your stubborn self."

he stood up, ripping a part off his knitted green vest, rinsing it with water from the sink.

"what are you doing here? you're not supposed to be here." you grimaced. gyeong-su only ignored you, whistling a tune that lovebirds would sing. he continued to wipe the blood off your lips with the upmost gentleness, as he held onto your hand and caressing it with his thumb.

once he was done cleaning you up, his fingers were entangled in your hair, massaging your scalp.

the way he was with you could almost make you cry.

actions meant more than words with han gyeong-su.

as one final touch of grace, he leant forward to kiss your forehead, stroking your cheeks, as a red blush coated them, with you smiling, drunk in euphoria.

"i love you so so much, darling."

but then, you closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, you were greeted with nothing, as everything that gyeong-su did came undone. and you were only on the ground, uncontrollably rocking back and forth as your cries of anguish became louder and louder by the minute.

because han gyeong-su was dead.

#all of us are dead #all of us are dead x reader #aouad #aouad x reader #han gyeong-su #gyeong-su #han gyeong-su x reader #gyeong-su x reader

[andnofcksweregiven]

My Girl

jeff x reader

warnings: smut, violence (fluffy ending)

synopsis: requested

A/N: I took inspo from the bit in Logan’s podcast with Jeff, I hope that’s ok with you x

His heart pounded as you took big strides ahead of him, the idea of the biggest argument you two would ever have plagued his mind. The apology of not repeating the mistake dripping off the tip of his tongue. 

Just an hour ago, you were both walking hand in hand, full of bliss as the In n’ Out take out bag swayed beside your bare leg- summer dress swaying softly in the cool breeze. Suddenly, you jumped as a random guy squeezed your ass whilst passing by, causing your skin to crawl with pure disgust. The action of the man hadn’t gone un-noticed by Jeff, as he felt you grip his hand slightly tighter for a split second- he would have been unaware of what had just happened if he didn’t slightly turn his head to stare at you, catching a creepy smirk curling the guys mouth as he directed his piercing gaze towards your backside. Jeff’s blood boiled, pure rage sitting heavy on his chest as his hand slipped from your grasp and instead collided with the random guys face.

You froze as you watched your boyfriend repeatedly strike the creeps face, people watching in bewilderment at the sudden fight outbreak. Eventually you snapped out of your shock induced daze, grabbing at the sleeve of Jeff’s shirt to restrain him from doing anymore damage to the man.

“Jeff please, lets go” you whispered, as to not bring anymore unwanted attention to the situation. However, the only thing Jeff could fixate on at the moment was the bloodied up perv, the one who disrespected you, the one who had assaulted you. YOU; the love of his life, the angel who graced a side of his bed every night and morning- the woman who sparked passion back into his heart and, consequently, his life after years of him malnourishing it. 

Jeff’s hand struck the mans jaw once again, ripping his sleeve out of your fingers along with the long forgotten take out bag; which’s content had splattered across the concrete beside the three of you. 

Jeff was incessant though. “Never. Touch. A. Girl. Like. That. You. Piece. Of. Shit” Each word followed with a swing of his fist until he landed a final blow, releasing the mans collar and dropping their head onto the hard ground below.

The drive back to the apartment was tense. Your arms crossed and face expressionless. This alerted Jeff that you weren’t too happy with him, now causing him to anxiously stir in his seat at the looming screaming match. From the moment he clocked your body language and face, he had started to plan his apology- refining it to the point of perfection.

He reached your figure, which leant on the wall beside the door- eyes following his every movement. Fumbling with the door keys, till finally getting the door open and allowing you to enter first as always. 

Following you in Jeff started to speak as he closed the door behind him, staring at the white color as to avoid your glare “Listen y/n, I know what you’re gunna say bu-” without warning, you pushed Jeff backwards, his back colliding with the slab of wood. Both your hands curling around his brown locks, as your lips hungrily attacked his.

Jeff’s eyes were wide from the sudden action before closing slowly, his hands gripping at your ass as his lips mimicked your movements. Eventually,  you pulled your head back, releasing his bottom lip, both of your breathing labored.

“That was one of the fucking hottest things I’ve seen” You panted out, as Jeff’s eyes filled with amazement. His mind grew foggy as you sultrily whispered into his ear “I want you to fuck me on the kitchen counter, and I want it hard” The last word highlighted by a bite on his earlobe. His dick grew harder, as he gawked at the devilish glint in your once diamond eyes.

He dived his head towards you, capturing you in a, once again, searing kiss. His arms lifting you up as to wrap your legs around his waist- your core slightly grazing against his bulge, causing is dick to twitch. 

He dropped you onto the counter top, the coolness contrasting against your hot skin. Your legs hitched higher up, as your started undoing the laces of his shorts, tugging them down to pool at his ankles; your mouths stayed glued to each other- your tongues fighting followed by teeth clashing as the air around you heated up.

Jeff hitched his long fingers at the front of your dress yanking it downwards, the spaghetti straps snapping from the abrupt force. You didn’t care, as in this moment, all you wanted was to relieve the ache between your legs. The bottom of your dress rode up to your waist, exposing your soaked panties. He pushed the lace fabric against your throbbing clit, the harsh texture sending electricity up your spine as he slowly moved his finger up and down.

“Jeff” you whined as you disconnected your lips, head falling back onto the cabinet as his mouth, instead started to attack the bare flesh of your breasts- harshly sucking and biting the skin as to mark you up. “Jeff please” His lips coiled into a smile as his mouth went down towards your hardened nipples, administrating the same actions as before.

“Please what, princess?” he said, his deep voice feeling like music to your ears.

“Please stop teasing me” The neediness in your voice prompting him to tear your underwear off, lips once again hungrily devouring each other. 

He pumped his dick lazily, resting the head against your entrance before pushing himself all the way in. No matter how many times you guys had sex, Jeff could never get used to how great you felt. He pulled out, the emptiness making you whine once again, but before you could complain- he shoved himself all the way back in, each time speeding up.

Clutching onto the edge of the counter, your knuckles turning white from the harshness of your grip, whilst your other arm wrapped itself behind Jeff’s neck- keeping his head close as possible. His thumb pressed against your clit once again, rubbing it as your walls clenched around him.

“Your my girl, okay? No one touches my girl like that except me- you understan’?” his accent becoming more prominent as he spoke against your lips.

The mixture of his vigorous hips movement and the roughness of the pad of his thumb, was making you clutch your eyes shut and any possibility of forming a coherent answer became futile. Jeff wrapped his hand around the area beneath your jaw, forcefully making you stare deep into his lust blown pupils.

“Do. ya .under. stan’” each syllable punctuated by a bone shattering thrust.

“y-y-essss” 

“say it princess”

“I’m yours-s Jeff, all yours. Fuck. I’m your girl, no one els-e-s” you moaned out as his tip repeatedly hit your spot, the pace of his thumb speeding up as he felt your walls grip his dick tighter.

Jeff’s head fell in between your shoulder and neck, as the coil within in you grew tighter. All of a sudden, you coated Jeff’s dick as you came, prompting his hips to still inside of you. Slowly pulling his dick out, he stared at your entrance as his seed dripped out of you and onto the counter and imprinting into his mind forever. 

Eventually, cleaning it up along with you with a near by paper towel- which he chucked half-hazardously besides your shaking leg. His attention brought back to you, when your right hand cradled his face as you delicately stroked his cheek- eyes slightly drooping from exhaustion.

“I love you Jeff Wittek, forever and always”

A small smile tugged at his cheeks as he inched his face closer, nose brushing against your own before a feather like kiss was placed on your pillowy lips.

#jeff wittek #jeff wittek imagines #jeff wittek imagine #jeff wittek x reader #jeff wittek fanfiction #jeff wittek smut #jeff wittek fluff #jeffs barbershop

[sylverstorms]

Dimitrescus x Maiden---- The End of Winter(s)

Requested here. (I don't always have time for requests but we all needed this one.)

First come the gunshots.

Then, a feeling of dread.

It is strange; You’ve had intruders enter the castle before, in the years you’ve been with the Dimitrescus. Some lasted seconds, others hours. There were one or two the daughters kept around for more than a day, just for the thrill of the chase.

It is not the first time you hear a gun go off in the estate. Your past also renders the sound familiar, nothing remarkable.

But.

You can’t shake off the nausea that accompanies it this time. Your chest constricts and your gut churns and you just know something has gone terribly wrong.

Your fears are confirmed when, minutes later, Bela stumbles in from the doorway, her usual grace and aura of certainty completely gone. She is shivering, shaking, chilled to the bone. The visible patches of her skin look grey and hardened into an almost diamond substance. Flies are breaking apart from her and falling, twitching, to the floor.

You immediately rush to her and she collapses forward in your embrace. Her chin knocks against your shoulder, cold as a block of ice.

“Bela, love, what happened?!” you ask, while leading her to the nearest fireplace. Of course, you know about their weakness.

But how does he?

She wraps her arms around your waist tight, almost too tight, like she’s on the verge of breaking apart –physically, mentally—and you’re the only anchor she’s got.

From the top of the staircase, you hear Alcina’s hurried steps. Another door snaps open in the far corner of the room and you see Cassandra materialize out of the swarm there, then rush over to you.

“I… I… This can’t be happening.” Bela whispers, gasping for breath.

You can only hold her more securely against you, running your fingers through her blonde hair. It seems to calm her somewhat. Both your ministrations and the warmth.

You and Alcina share a look of pure worry.

“I failed. Mother, I failed.” Bela practically sobs without facing the woman and your heart shatters into pieces. You’ve never seen her like this.

“Bela—” she tries to say, while Cassandra remains there like a statue, unable to process the scene.

“He shot the windows and now he knows.” Bela pulls slightly away from you to say. “That stupid man-thing has got Daniela!”

“I’m going. I’ll rip out his intestines and feed them to him.” Cassandra growls and it’s a dark, ominous sound.

Alcina grabs her arm before she can swarm off. “No. I won’t risk another one of you. I will deal with that vermin.” she says through clenched teeth. You can see the effort she puts into keeping her voice steady.

You want to reach for her, to comfort her, but Bela is in a worst state, battling her body’s reaction to the cold and her self-loathing for her failure, so you stay put.

“Stay with Eliza. Do not let him anywhere near her. I will get Daniela.” she orders her daughters, leaving them as your guards.

Cassandra walks over to you and takes your hand in hers, lacing your fingers together. With her free one, she rubs Bela’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I’ve wanted to kill Daniela several times over the last century so I can safely say it just doesn’t work.” even as she tries to lighten the mood, though, you can see how tempted she is to disobey Alcina and go after Winters. Her grip keeps clenching and unclenching. “He won’t come near you, darling.” she promises you.

But then… the thought strikes you. What if you go near him?

-

-

After you put Bela to sleep, you tell Cassandra to wait a while with her and that you’ll be back.

You will be back. Just not without Daniela.

The more you think about it, the more sense it makes for you to go. You are only human, yes, but that is precisely what can give you an edge in this. You do not have a fatal weakness to the cold. You move much faster than Alcina.

And although you’ve tried hard to grow beyond your past, you always knew you were no better than what it made you.

You’ve killed dozens who had done nothing to you during your time in the military’s special forces. Why would you not plant a bullet in the head of someone who dared to harm your new family?

Duke recognizes the look in your eye when you ask to see his collection of rifles. You pick one to your liking and test its weight in your grip. So much for promising never to touch a gun again.

You run through corridors and rooms before you hear his voice.

“Shut up, witch! I’m getting Rose back!” he shouts at Daniela, coped up in the library where there’s only one entrance. You press against the wall and carefully peek through. She gives a weak giggle, chained in front of an open window as she is.

God, she must be suffering.

Still, her eye rapidly flits to you. You motion for her to drop down. And then-

You turn into the room, rifle blazing, the first bullets driven into his head and the rest of the clip emptied in his torso. Blood splatters everywhere with every pull of the trigger and for the first time in your life you do feel something as you kill another person. Pure satisfaction.

You leap over the crimson pool that is swelling around Winters’ corpse to free Daniela, who is laughing even though she’s basically an icicle, at this point.

When you pull her away from the cold she collapses into you, much like Bela did, only she can’t move her limbs enough to cling to you.

“Daniela?!!” You hear Alcina’s voice wrecked with anguish. “I will slice you to bits, you filthy man-thing!” she nearly screams as she approaches the library.

“Go wild, dear. He won’t put up much of a fight.” you reply, a brief smirk curling your lip. Daniela burrows deeper into your warmth with a faint laugh. Alcina is equal parts confused and fuming when she ducks under the doorway—

And sees the body of Ethan Winters laying in a pool of his own blood. Her claws detract. She stalks over to his corpse…

Then crushes his head under her heel.

You wince at the gut-churning, crunching sound, holding Daniela tighter, but part of you is deeply relieved it’s finally over despite the brutality. Can’t take any chances.

You almost lost them. You lower your head to Daniela’s neck as silent tears start to flow from your eyes.

“Baby, I’m.. fine…” the redhead croaks out, nudging you with her head.

Alcina kneels down beside you, more exhausted than you’ve ever seen her. She gathers you both into a hug, resting her head on top of yours. You stay there a long time.

“My beautiful girl. My love.” she whispers to Daniela and you. She’s too proud to say most of the things she wants, but you can see them in her expression and the tightness of her throat regardless.

“…I’m hungry.” Daniela complains once feeling returns to her frozen form.

“When are you not?” you tease.

“We’d have that man’s flesh for dinner… but I would never feed my daughters something so disgusting.” Alcina says.

She picks Daniela up in her arms like a baby and you do not look at the bloody mess behind you.

-

-

After dinner, the Dimitrescus and you are all sitting in a couch in front of the fireplace, making light conversation and basking in each other’s presence.

Alcina is delicately sipping wine while you’re leaned against her, with Daniela practically in your lap. Cassandra is beside her and none too happy to not touch as much of you, though she is keeping your hand on her thigh possessively. Bela is curled like a cat at your legs, her cheek on your knee.

“Can you not hog her like you’re here by yourself?” Cassandra growls at Daniela, who doesn’t even think to budge.

“I’m the one who almost died. Piss off.” Daniela’s lips brush against your neck as she speaks.

“Daughters.” Alcina chastises.

“How long are you going to play the ‘I almost died’ card for?” Cassandra asks irritably.

“As long as it works~” Daniela kisses your jawline several times.

“Bela, are you still sulking?” Cassandra nudges her with her foot.

“Leave me alone...” the eldest sister huffs.

And the answer to that is a resounding yes.

You know it will take time to be completely over this. You know right now they all need you, in different ways.

Bela has to climb out of the self-blaming pit she’s dug herself in –she always is too rough on herself—and your touch grounds her.

Cassandra wants you to please her hard and long in bed to blow off the steam of the past day or she won’t be able to rest at all.

Daniela won’t show it but she was petrified and she’s still scared. She needs your attention, needs you to drown her in kisses, until it all goes away.

Alcina almost lost her girls to that man. She hasn’t recovered from the shock but you can see the bone-deep gratitude and the sheer love in her eyes whenever they lock with yours. Her girls will get you first, but when it’s her time with you…

Well.

She’ll thank you in so many ways.

.

Ko-Fi

#cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #resident evil village #fanfiction #fix it fic #everyone gets what they deserve #also Dani is the baby of the family and she needs extra protecting

[siltuz-png]

It’s all going to be okay.

Fighting for every second of your life with nothing but silence in the air was shattering to his psyche. The marble was too bright to be real, giving away his every movement, but there was no time to be a coward and run. Hiding only worked when there was distance, objects, people. There was nothing in this vast hellscape. Only white for miles and miles. Garroth knew this, he had tried the cowardly route. He had run until his legs could no longer hold him, but in the end it just brought him back to the same damn place. The purple furling leaves once a symbol of peace and healing now tortured Garroth, he was sure he hated the color now. It mocked him every time he saw it, it infuriated him. A chapel dedicated to Irene The Matron, Goddess of The Divine Healing, now a battleground for kin to shed blood upon.

These thoughts rushed through his head in an instant as he caught his breath, but there was no time for thinking as another swing of his brother's blade assaulted him once more. Black steel clashed against diamond, his gaze piercing his brothers. He dreamed of better times when he loved his brother, the times when they had shared a meal at the same table, when their mother read them the same bedtime story. But those times were gone and dreaming would be the end of him, as the only thing that he associated with his brother was pure anger and hatred. He had stolen everything from him, the woman he cherished, the man he loved, the years he could’ve spent being a father to children that weren’t even his. Rage was something that scared Garroth, his own strength known for its killing grip. But now it fueled him, it sent energy through every aching muscle in his body and it begged him to keep going.

Fight, fight, fight, fight. Run, run, run, run. No, no, NO, NO! A sick chant rang through his head, three different pieces refusing to become one man. The angry brute screaming at him to rip his brother's head off, the young man who fled his responsibilities crying to run, and the older sibling begging that he not hurt his baby brother. What could he do to make this stop? What god could he pray to to save his mortal flesh?

There was nothing. There was no one. Just white. Just anger. Just blood. Just pain. What was there left for him? A crumbling country on the verge of war? The man he betrayed for kin that did not care for him? A legion of disappointment and anger waited in another world for him. Was it even worth it?

Garroth closed his eyes and for a brief moment wondered what it would be like to let go. To be able to fall back into that never ending light and to never be afraid again, he imagined it must be warm.

He awoke under a large tree, the sunlight fluttering through the leaves. A warm body shifted under his arm and he looked down. Soft brown hair waved in the gentle breeze as Garroth smiled at the man in his arms. A soft yellow light washed over everything, breathing life into the world. He couldn’t help but shake his head as he settled back down to the abyss of sleep.

It was warm.

#aphmau #aphmau garroth #garroth ro'meave #lil bittie writing to feed the kitties

[bakingandbooks3]

A Court of Song and Serpents

A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.

Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.

Nesta

Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.

Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.

Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.

Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.

How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.

Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.

She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.

“This is an exile.”

Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.

“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”

“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”

“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.

Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.

Something Nesta could never do.

“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.

Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.

Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.

But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.

Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.

There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.

She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…

Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.

Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.

Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.

They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.

Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.

The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.

Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”

In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.

And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”

Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.

Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”

Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.

You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.

Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.

Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.

Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.

Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.

But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.

Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.

---

Cassian

Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.

The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.

Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.

That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.

Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.

Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.

He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.

Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.

He was not okay, not okay at all.

When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?

Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.

One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.

Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.

The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.

Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.

Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.

She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.

To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.

So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.

.

.

.

AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

@lovemeforever12345 @champanheandluxxury @nahthanks@perseusannabeth@queenestarcheron@silvernesta

@loosingdreams@sayosdreams@audreycressworth@cyra04@that-golden-lyre@nessiantrashh@misswonderflower@dontgetsalmonella@caram267@bickbickbarnes@sabrinasam-blog

#acotar #cassian #nessian #acomaf #acowar #acosf #a court of silver flames #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #nesta #acosf rewrite #bab writes #azriel #elain #feyre acotar #feyre archeron #rhysand #anti rhysand #okay it’s not really anti guys it just starts that way #so like bear with me #to have development you gotta bash them first #you know? #anyways love y’all

[inkedtae]

fountain of fantasies ⇾ jjk. [M]

⟶ from the eros universe; you do not need to read eros to read this one shot

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ god!jungkook x curvy!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ s2l, greek mythology au, circa. 1800 au, historical au, light fluff, angst, smut, pwp, filth, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ you rather be engaging in heart racing activities than in heart breaking ones

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 15.6k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ dom!jungkook, bigdick!jungkook, buff!jungkook, winged!jungkook, longhair!jungkook, ponytail!jungkook, sub!reader, slightly insecure!reader, shy!reader, mentions and consumption of alcohol, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it folks), rough sex, playful-ish sex, semi-public sex, fountain sex, dirty talk, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight degradation, overstimulation, exhibition, a lil voyeurism, praise kink, anal, edging, squirting, choking, hair pulling, bodyworshipping, a lil motorboating, a lil begging, water play, a lil spit play, a lil breast play, ass play, a fountain of filth :)

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ i’m too much of a hoe for greek god guk not to turn this into a mini-series... 

⤜ banner by ↠ @thebannershop​ (thank you dearie~)

⤜ beta’d by ↠  @moonmintrails​ (my soulmate~)

⤜ le playlist ↠

Plump plum juices leak from your violet stained lips. You watch the storm rage through the balcony windows. Flashes of lightning, streaks of raindrops and the wall-rattling thunder only stares back at you. The noise of the world around you would be just the perfect cover for all the sounds he draws out of you. Teeth sinking into the fruit’s flesh, you take another bite and fix your stockings. Topless, you lean back in your plush seat and cross your legs. 

You know he’s not coming. It’s been a week since his last visit, a week of staying up late only to fall asleep and wake up to a new toy. You glance at your bed. The collection of gifts under it do not compensate for his absence. You don’t want the ruby dildos or golden anal plugs. You can live without the silver tit-clamps and sapphire pearled whips. It’s him you won’t do without. 

But tonight would be a perfect night of fun. You swallow your bite before taking another one as your mind circles every dirty thought you’ve been wanting to entertain for the last seven days. Staring out the rain stained windows, the one that appeals to you the most for tonight would be on that balcony, where it started all those months ago. The thought of being drenched in rainwater while he bends you over the railing makes you squeeze your crossed legs together. And the fluttering flap of his wings as they shake out the storm prickles your skin with goosebumps. Wet hands tangled in your wet hair. Loud moans blended in the loud thunder. 

An urgent knock raps on your door. You sit up, letting out a shaky breath from the remnants of that fantasy. As you set your plum down by some grapes on the side table, you shoot to your feet to grab your robe. 

“Bunny,” Mary, your sister, whispers from the other side. 

The little childhood nickname brings a smile to your face. The two of you would play Wonderland in the garden as children and Mary would have you, Bunny, guide her down the right path. Now, she only ever calls you that when she’s nervous and struggling to admit it. 

Tying the robe around your waist, you eagerly let her in. “What is it, Mary?” You smile as she rushes past you. 

She doesn’t take a moment to properly greet you, darting to your little library instead. “Do you have that book about Mount Olympus?” She asks. Her freshly painted nails scrape over the spines of each book as you part your lips to reply. “Oh! Here it is!”

Returning to your seat, you watch your older sister skim through the pages. “Why the sudden interest in Greek gods?” 

“Michael mentioned something about Hera and I just wanted to- I knew it!” 

Chewing on another bite, you raise a brow at her. “I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that tomorrow,” you chuckle around your food.

Mary pauses. Her eyes, previously gleaming with excitement, diminish into indifference. She clears her throat and shuts the book. “Mama says to never correct a man.”

You stuff your mouth with a big bite and avoid your sister’s gaze. There’s lots you have to say about your mother’s philosophy on love, but you know better than to voice those opinions. 

Mary continues talking, despite knowing your reservations about your mother. She holds the book to her chest and tentatively sits on your bed. “Mama wants me to talk to you about something.”

Slowly chewing, you glance at her. You already know where this is going. It’s another desperate attempt on your mother’s part to make sure you don’t wear the dress he had gifted you. She knows full well how much it reveals and how well it’s designed. You don’t care for your mother’s opinion though; you haven’t for months. It’s Mary’s opinion on the subject that matters to you. 

“But, I told her that I don’t want to lie to you.” She takes a moment to sigh then meets your gaze once more. “You’ll look gorgeous in that dress, Bunny,” she smiles. “And I have the perfect shoes for them too.”

A laugh bubbles out of your throat and you almost choke on your food. Mary laughs at your struggling state. “Oh, can we get ready for your party together?” You ask, perking up in your seat once you properly swallow your food. 

Mary’s excited gaze wavers. She glances back at the book before hesitantly nodding. “Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing…”

You give her a pointed look. Flopping down on the bed, Mary groans and stares up at the ceiling. “What do you think of Michael?” You part your lips to reply, but she continues, “I mean I know he’s from a good family, and can take care of me, and he’s so handsome.”

You bite your lip at the last comment. Michael is not exactly your type of heartthrob. But, then again, your senses have been obscured by a god, so now not a single person can look as handsome, as beautiful, as heavenly as your Eros. 

“But, he says and does things I’m not exactly…” She trails off. “And I think his previous courtship with Linette ended horribly.”

Her half-sentence rings some warning in your gut. However, by the way she avoids eye contact to stare at your crystal chandelier, you decide not to address it. “What makes you think so?” you ask instead.

“Well, that’s what he told me.”

Resisting the urge to scoff, you simply quirk a brow. Mary may be a couple of years older, but she still hasn’t grown out of her naive tendencies. You’re about to tell her that everything will be okay when you catch a familiar silhouette on your balcony. 

He’s here.

Mary shoots up off your bed. You fear for a second that she may have seen him, but then she asks, “So? What do you think?”

Gulping, you take a moment to collect your thoughts. Erasing the fact that he’s finally here from your mind, you try to remain focused on your sister. You want the best for her. You want her to be excited about who she marries and for the life she will spend with that person. And that’s why it takes you a world of restraint not to tell her that if she isn’t a hundred percent sure about marrying Michael, then maybe she shouldn’t. 

“Do you love him, Mary?” You ask. “And I don’t mean that ‘nobility’ love. I mean that, ‘makes you cry just thinking about losing him’ love.”

Mary hesitates.Your eyes flicker to the balcony where he continues to stand. Inhaling deeply, you silently ask him to wait just a second longer. 

“I think I do,” she smiles. 

Your heart shatters at her phrasing. I think. Where is the room for thinking when true love is at your door? You want to tell her that there shouldn’t be any of this ‘thinking’ nonsense. You either do or you don’t, you want to say. But her smile is so pure and eyes light up just enough that you don’t have the heart to take it all away. Besides, maybe she really does love him. 

“Then, I think he’s perfect for you.”

Mary grabs the book and jumps to her feet. “Let’s meet in my room at seven,” she smiles, ruffling through your hair on her way to the door. “Have a good night, Bunny.”

“You too,” you smile as she shuts the door with a wink. The gesture is unusual but you suppose she’s just excited about the party tomorrow. You’re not exactly sure why she did it and with a winged god at your door, you can’t find it in you to care for too long. 

Darting to the balcony, you pull open the doors to be greeted by empty winds and heavy raindrops. Those wings are gone, balcony vacant of anything but despair. Not even a gift replaces his presence. You hold your tears back and swallow the growing lump in your throat. Your time is not one of his toys, nor is it free. You’ve run out of patience. You’re empty of reason, thriving on broken feelings. 

Shakily sighing, you bury the hurt in your voice and whisper, “if you can’t stay, don’t come at all.”

Sparkling diamonds, glasses, and wine circle the ballroom. Sipping on your drink, you take in the gleaming marble floors and the arches of the grand windows. The Barbury Estate is twice the size of yours. You want to believe that your mother’s delight in Mary’s proposal has more to do with her happiness than the fact that her fiancé is riddled with more wealth than he knows what to do with. But, you know that your mother has a special bond with money. It’s the same relationship she has with social standards. Her philosophy is simple; the more, the better. Now, if only your mother felt that way about you. 

No, wait. This night is not about you. An evening lost in a grand room of people only appeals to you when the occasion for such torture is your sister’s engagement party. Your chest swells with pride as you watch Mary dance with her fiancé. Michael Barbury is not exactly what you would call ‘prince charming.’ His jokes border on racism and thoughts are somewhat insipid, but he makes Mary happy. That’s all that matters to you. Her relapse in judgement last night does worry you. But you know that she’ll be happy with Michael. With Eros gone, you wonder how soon you’ll find a love like that too.

Mary’s graceful giggles cut you out of your trance. You blink once, twice until your senses fully return to you. Even the smallest thought of him throws you out of your consciousness. Settling your eyes back on your sister, watching as she basks in Michael’s unwavering attention and dotting devotion, you’re greeted with a sense of comfort. The guilt of not speaking your truth disappears and the fear of never finding love dissipates to the back of your mind. 

“Miss (Y/N)?” Lee Kyon asks, waving his hand in front of you. 

Right, you forgot he was there. Turning to face him once more, you flash Kyon a somewhat kind smile. “Yes, Mr. Lee?”

He furrows his brows. “Is everything alright?”

Perhaps everything would be alright if your mother didn’t constantly feel the need to set you up with the first poor man that accidently looks your way. Yes, you’re well aware of your mother’s behaviour and the fact that Kyon has no real interest in getting to know you. Judging by the way he continues to loop back to the same dull topic about the history of wine, you can tell that he is merely trying to keep the conversation short enough to be polite, but not long enough to be courting you. 

It’s not as though you care for his company either. Kyon has half of Michael’s intelligence. Even though you were only half-listening to his rant, you already pick out the few historical inaccuracies in his unprompted explanation. Of course, the worst thing you can do to a man is attack his wits and pride; that’s what your mother tells you anyway. It’s what worried Mary last night too. And you’ve tested that theory enough to know how true it is and how fun it can be. Watching them grapple for the right words, flare their nostrils in frustration and demand you apologize will always be just as humorous as when they try to “teach” you about language or art or, in Kyon’s case, history. 

Biting back a sigh, you nod and silently pray for a way out of this boring conversation and into something a bit more exciting. 

Clearing his throat, Kyon searches for a way to fill the silence. He then half-heartedly mutters, “You look darling this evening.”

Glancing down at your dress, your face heats up. The tiger lily-peach layers of satin and tulle fall down to your ankles. The pleated skirt mirrors the petals of a flower. Cleavage on display, the long flowy sleeves fall off your shoulders. Finished with a green ribbon around your waist and gleaming pink jewels, this is possibly the best dress he has gifted you. 

Your Eros left it, no wait- he’s not yours anymore. A friend left it hanging in your closet one morning after another passionate night in his embrace. It was a beautiful surprise to be woken up to and a manageable struggle to explain how it came into your possession. You can’t help but find it a bit ironic how your mother is desperate to set you up with the first man she sees, but hesitant to dress you up for the occasion. He must have known, must have felt your frustration towards your mistreatment. 

It takes everything in you to fight off the smile playing on your lips. You glance back up at Kyon, parting your lips to thank him when he continues, “And how brave of you to wear such a dress.”

You pause. “Brave?” 

Kyon smiles and nods. 

Is he really telling you what you think he is? Is he really undermining your confidence, undermining the beauty you know you have by commending your ‘bravery?’ No, you mustn’t judge too quickly. Perhaps he’s admiring your choice to go against expectations of covering up with a shawl. 

You swallow back your initial assumptions, and decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Lee?”

“Well,” Kyon starts. He looks off to the side and raises both his brows before looking to you once more. His hazel eyes scan your figure, jaw clenching as he clears his throat. “A dress like this is traditionally worn by a woman that looks more like…” he trails off, eyes wandering as well. “Like Miss (L/N).”

A stinging chorus of hushed laughter strikes your pride. Your gut boils with shame and humiliation as your eyes bounce between the partygoers near you. You hadn’t realized they were eavesdropping. As a desperate attempt to ignore their maliciously amused looks, you follow Kyon’s gaze to Mary. Chewing on your lip, you ignore the urge to roll your eyes. This isn’t the first time someone has compared you to her, and you know very well that it won’t be the last. Even the utter disrespect of referring to you by your first name and your sister by your last name further displays their lack of recognition for you. In their eyes, you will forever remain as Miss (Y/N), the spinster-destined sister of Miss (L/N). And though you are certain that the twinge of pain and anger festering in your chest is for Kyon, you can’t help but be a little annoyed with your sister as well. 

But then she laughs, smiling so bright and wide. She looks up at Michael and rests her chin on his bicep, reveling in his attention and embrace. You realize, in her moment of happiness, that you can’t find it in you to hold this grudge against her. Your love for her is greater than your pride. Besides, she plays no part in your insecurities. And, you decide as you turn back to Kyon, neither will this privileged upperclassman.

“How brave,” you sigh with a single shouldered shrug. 

“What is, Miss (Y/N)?”

“How brave of you to believe anyone cares for your opinion.”

Kyon chokes on his drink. The partygoers, previously humoured by your embarrassment, relish in your courage to upstage Kyon. Gasping a giggle, you step back to avoid being spit on. He glares at you as he wipes his chin. You don’t hesitate to return that hard, hateful look in his eye. Raising a challenging brow, you dare him to attempt to embarrass you again.

He takes one step towards you, looking as though he’s about to grab at your arm when his stride is redirected. Kyon walks away without another word. You stare after him in confusion as he mutters an apology under his breath. 

You’re not sure what caused this sudden change in his angry course, but you’re all too happy to be rid of him to dwell on the thought of his motives much longer. He must’ve known how offensive his words were. True, most people compare you to your sister, but at least they have the decency to do it behind your back. You rather be physically absent from a conversation like that. It makes it easier to ignore and avoid the negativity. 

Confidence restored, you feel comfortable in your skin again. The dress is a perfect fit, the struggle to breath nowhere to be found, and sits well on your frame- despite what others think. However, you have very little time to revel in your victory as your mother stalks towards you.

“What have you done?” she hisses over your shoulder. Before you even have a chance to look back at her, she drags you by your arm to the edge of the room. “What did you say this time?”

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips as you clasp your hands before you and reply, “He insulted me.”

Your mother quirks a brow. “And?” She questions as if waiting for a more substantial argument. 

“And?” You echo in confusion. “And he insulted me. I don’t see why that’s not enough of a reason to insult him back.”

She shakes her head and inhales deeply. You brace yourself for the disparaging rant you know is coming. Nothing good ever comes from a head shake and heavy sigh. But, instead of her usual ‘stay in your place’ harangue, your mother cuts to the chase this time. “Do you realize that might just be your only chance for happiness?” 

Suppressing a dry chuckle, you lower your gaze to the floor. You know your mother is well aware of how her question sounds; you know she doesn’t care. Still, you ask, “Is that really what happiness looks like, mother?”

She falls silent. After a beat, you dare to peek up at her. Those once hard eyes soften as her gaze locks on Mary and Michael, locks on how they gaze upon one another with such adoration. Blinking repeatedly, she turns to you and sighs, “Yes, to some people that,” she pauses to glance at Kyon, “is what happiness looks like.” 

A wicked pang of sad, lonely anger twists in your chest then tumbles to the pit of your stomach. Your gaze falls to the ground and heart shatters with that last shred of hope that your mother perhaps did want the best for you. Up until now, you truly believed that in some twisted way, she was just looking out for you, making sure you have someone by your side long after she’s gone. Her words now and that shameless look that matches that shameless confession only point to the painfully obvious fact you have tried so hard to ignore. Your mother’s need to make you look a certain way and throw you at any breathing man has never been for your well-being, but rather the well-being of her reputation. 

“Go to Mr. Lee, (Y/N),” she orders. “Offer to freshen his drink, wipe down his shirt, and then apologize. Beg for his forgiveness if you have to; just make this right.” 

With a deep breath, you trail your eyes back up and try to collect yourself. Your eyes flicker between the exit and where Kyon stands.Your mother clears her throat, drawing your attention back on her. 

“Have I made myself clear?” 

“Crystal.”

She returns to her friends, that gleeful smile plastered on her face once more. Your eyes fall back on Kyon with every intention of following through your mother’s orders. However, he only greets your gaze with malice. A wave of nausea overwhelms you. 

With a shake of your head, you tear yourself away from his threatening demeanour and turn towards the exit. You just need to get out of his line of sight, out of that pretentious atmosphere. Something within you can’t seem to stop telling you that one more moment near that passive-aggressive punk will only make you feel worse. So, you lengthen your strides out of the ballroom and down the hall to put as much distance between you and them. 

The pressure of their expectations suffocates you like no corset ever has. All you can think is how desperately you need some fresh air. It takes you a moment, but you navigate your way around the manor well enough to find the back entrance. 

Cold air engulfs you the moment you step outside. A relieved giggle slips past your lips and you throw your head back to relish in the cool spring breeze. The sky reflects a swirl of silvery indigo. It lures you into its constellations and wonders with every other glance. Lowering your gaze, you scan the garden before you. A cobblestone path leads all the way down to a hedged maze. You can never resist a good garden. In fact, you had helped design the one back home. You hope that when your husband-to-be comes along, he’d have a garden too and maybe you can design it together.

Realizing you can maybe hold on to a few more moments of peace if they can’t find you, you decide to follow the path and hide away within the walls of the maze. You’re halfway down the cobblestone trail when you sense a strong pull dragging your soul closer to the hedges. Picking up your pace, you follow that tug faster, soon weaving through the maze like you’ve been through it before. It’s not long before you reach the centre. 

It’s a large clearing, decorated with a variety of blooming flowers. In the middle stands a grand marble fountain. Three tiered, the fountain sprouts fresh water through the mouths of singing angels. A little smile plays on your lips as you click-clack your way towards it. The tranquil rush of the stream calms your previously erratic heart. You take a seat on the edge and stare down at the pool. It’s empty of floating flowers or little fish like the one you have at home, but still beautiful all the same. 

“Miss (L/N).”

Your eyes well up the moment his sweet voice greets your ears. A shaky breath escapes you and you turn to find him. Did he not hear your words last night? Does he not care? Or is he here to stay this time?

Sitting atop the hedges of the garden maze and out of the moon’s light, he looks just as heavenly as always. Most details of his beauty are hidden, but you can make out his long hair and the way it’s pulled back into a ponytail, leaving loose, short strands to frame his face. And those soft wings are out, spread wide behind him as he stares back at you. Shirtless, he smirks. 

You can’t help the smile stretching upon your lips at the sight of him. It’s an uncontrollable reflex, as is the wetness of your core when he’s around. He usually doesn’t arrive this early when he does show up. How long has he been there? 

Clearing your throat, however, you subside the urge to smile upon his presence. “Mr. Jeon.” His name leaves your lips in a trembling breath as your heart’s aflush with desire. You have to remind yourself that you’re upset with his disappearances.

A sweet smile takes over his features. “I’ve upset you,” he notes. 

Is this a joke to him? How many nights does he expect you to wait around for a maybe? You both know your time is worth more than that. And though you want to tell him that he’s done more than upset you, that he’s disappointed you, you confess something else instead. “I’ve missed you.”

“You know I miss you too,” he replies. 

You resist the urge to scoff. “Are you working tonight?”

He shakes his head. “I just got off actually.”

Without me? You mentally scold yourself for your dirty thought. You can’t even hold onto your anger for more than thirty seconds without having the urge to spread your legs for him. “Lucky me,” you sarcastically reply. 

“Do you like the dress?”

“I’d like it more with the gift from last night,” you glare at him. “If there was a gift from last night, that is.” 

Hopping off the edge, his wings fan out to guide him down before you with ease. Your face falls as he stands in the moonlight. Thick mud coats his muscular body and those once white wings are stained with dirt and grim. His sharp face is scratched with little scabs as well. He looks like he fell from the sky. 

“Jungkook,” you whisper as you reach out to caress his wounded cheek. 

But Jungkook can’t be any less interested in his current state. His attention does not waver off you. Those kind eyes of his scan your frame, lingering around your breasts. “It looks even better than I imagined.”

You feel as though you have to ask him if this really is a joke to him this time. He leaves you for a week with very little behind and returns only to be caked in mud and peppered with wounds and has the audacity to pretend it’s not an issue. Now, you’re upset. 

You blink back your tears, quietly asking, “What happened?”

Maybe it was the hurt in your tone or the worry flashing in your eyes but his usually cocky demeanor trembles just enough to comfort you. “It’s just been a long night, baby. I missed a couple of shots and it took a little more effort than usual to fix everything.”

Fidgeting fingers trail up the exposed side of his thick thigh under the stained toga-like skirt he wears. He shudders under your touch as your hands make their way up to his buff chest where they stay. You inhale deeply to settle your erratic heart. The earthy grim of the mud invades your senses. He doesn’t even smell like himself anymore. 

Knitting your brows together, you ask, “Are you hurt?”

Jungkook’s entire expression softens. Shaking his head, he goes to cradle your body closer to his but stops before his hands reach your waist. You can feel his desire though, to touch and be touched. It’s raw and real, and purely Jungkook. This shared desire the two of you have roots deep within your souls. It breaks your heart to think that he’s not yours anymore, and maybe you made that decision rashly, in a moment of anger. But, you both know it’s not how you feel right now. 

“I need to know your schedule,” you say in a quiet voice. He tongues his cheek, erupting your heart with a surge of want. You ignore the feeling long enough to continue, “I can’t just sit and wait, Jungkook.”

He stares down at you, eyes unreadable. You can tell that he’s mulling over your words, but have no clue how he feels about them. Finally, he cups your cheeks, staining them with dirt, and says “I need you to trust me when I say that I’m doing my best to get to you as quickly as I can, darling.”

Your heart cannot deny him when his gaze reflects such sincerity and honesty. Every ounce of trust, of belief is in him and only him. And maybe you are being selfish, but to be stranded without an explanation is heartbreaking. You know he knows that, or at least feels it in you when you think of him and pray. 

“Just tell me I’m yours again,” he whispers, “and I’ll prove to you how much I’ve missed you too.”

Is that why he’s here? He’s afraid of losing you? Biting your lip, you can’t help but lean into his touch. It was mean of you to punish him like this and make him think that you were really upset with him when in actuality, all you wanted was a little more attention. You give him an innocent look through your lashes. He does his best not to swoon, but you know him well enough now to know that the little quiver in his lips means he’s on the verge of getting on his knees. 

“No man of mine is this dirty,” you smirk, echoing the words of your first encounter. 

Jungkook smiles and this time you have to keep yourself from swooning at the sight of his dimples. “I thought that’s exactly how you like them,” he purrs as he walks you back towards the fountain. 

Heat rushes to your face. The marble edge of the fountain hits the bend of your knees but you refuse to sit down with Jungkook only inches away. His hands may still be on your face, rubbing that dirt into your cheeks, but his body is still too far away from yours. You move to take a step forward, desperate to have your body against his. However, Jungkook is quicker, most likely having read your mind, and moves back before you can even get half a step in. 

Your eyes harden at the action. Pushing his hands off your face, you quirk a brow. 

“I don’t want to ruin your dress.”

“A dress like this is meant to be ruined.”

He smirks. You can tell by the amusement dancing in his eyes that he’s enjoying the sight of you this needy and possessive. He decides to further test the limits of your composure, asking, “Don’t you have a party to get back to?”

He’s teasing. The mockery riddled in his features is enough of a hint, but the playful tone in his voice is still something you bask in. Taking a seat on the edge of the fountain, you let out a deep sigh and look up to the clouds. “A flight back home might do us both some good,” you suggest instead. “It’s not like there’s anything waiting for me at the party anyways.”

“Not even your sister?”

You shake your head. 

“Mother?”

Face folding, you suppress the urge to groan and whisper, “Oh, gods no.” 

Jungkook chuckles as he circles around the fountain. He dips his hand in the clear water, before asking, “What about Lee Kyon?”

Now, what would Jeon Jungkook know of Lee Kyon? A quick scan of his features doesn’t let you in on much besides the fact that he’s trying to draw a reaction out of you. However, what reaction is he hoping for? Is he looking for an explanation? He knows all about your mother’s habits and your relationships, or lack thereof, with mortal men. You never even have to say it; Jungkook knows there’s no one else for you but him. 

“Mr. Lee is fragile,” you sigh. 

His wings twitch. He likes what he hears. You curl in your lips to keep from smiling. Could he, Eros the god of love, lust and desire, really be jealous of an imbecile? Setting your visual tastes aside for a moment, you and Jungkook both know that Kyon, bless him, knows less than the very fountain you’re sitting on… The very fountain Jungkook is climbing into.

“What are you doing?” You ask, shooting to your feet as Jungkook makes himself comfortable. A giggle tumbles out of you, even though you tried to bite it back, at the sight of him washing himself like a bird. 

Jungkook stops for a moment, that playful gaze meeting yours. This one look is enough for you to know he’s heard, and he’s most likely still hearing your thoughts. You wish you could dip in and out of his mind too. It might put an end to all the guessing on your end. 

Continuing to splash his torso clean, he replies, “You’re sending me some mixed messages, baby. I thought you didn’t like me dirty.”

He has a point. Making your way over to him, you sit by his submerged frame on the edge of the fountain. Jungkook rubs his lips as he watches your jeweled fingers trace the curves of your cleavage. Your hand stops in the centre, just above the tied strings of your corset. You begin unlacing it when Jungkook tsks. Snapping your gaze to his, you wait for further instructions. 

“What are you doing?”

“I want to get in with you.”

“So, get in.”

You move to unlace your corset once more, but Jungkook grabs onto your wrist. Catching his darkening gaze, you furrow your brows at his tilting head. He’s gesturing for you to get in, but won’t let you take off your dress. He can’t serious think you’d get in wearing it the water is filthy with his- 

Glancing at the clear water, your thoughts are overtaken by confusion. You expected it to be tinted a dark brown from all the mud but it only reflects the marble bowl of the fountain, Jungkook’s legs, and that growing erection between them. You probably should question him on when he took that skirt off and why the water is so clean even after he went into it with layers of dirt coating his skin, but the heat between your legs is slowly growing more and more insufferable. 

Your eyes flicker back to Jungkook’s to find him already staring at you, a smirk painted on his handsome face. He pushes his tongue against his cheek once more, knowing how much you love that move, then quirks a cocky brow. Kicking off your heels, you lift your dress enough to dip each stocking covered foot into the fountain. You hiss at the sensation of the soggy socks against your feet, but power through knowing how much Jungkook loves the way they look on you. 

Your dress puffs up to the surface and you have to push it down and back to put as little space between you and Jungkook. “Your hair’s filthy,” you pout as you finally straddle his lap. 

Jungkook lets out a little sigh. You first think it’s because his cock stands right in front of your pussy, but soon realize how wrong you are. His dazed gaze wanders over your features, unsure where to stop and what to admire first. Those large hands instinctively find your thick thighs. He rubs and massages them as you untie his hair and wet your hands enough to wash some of the dirt away. You tilt his head back and lick your lips. It’s a habit you have when concentrating. Jungkook knows it well. 

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he suddenly purrs. His voice is thick, saturated with lust and adoration. “Honestly, you don’t have to do anything, darling, just let me look at you for a little bit.” 

You freeze, hands half tangled in his mud slick hair, and gaze back down at him. Dipping your head down, your lips catch his. You’re obsessed with the lack of hesitation between the two of you. Never has Jungkook thought twice about taking you as his when the two of you are this close. No matter how long he’s gone or how upset you may feel about that, when you find each other again, it’s almost like he never left. Your souls rapture in harmony and bodies tangle indefinitely. Eternity lies in the palms of your hands every second you're together. 

“I’ve got to clean your hair,” you mutter against his lips. He only hums before kissing you again. Inhaling sharply, you let him have another sip of your breath before pulling away completely. And you realize, as you glance at his wings, that they could probably use a good scrub down too before the two of you indulge in the good fun you’ve been dying to have all week. 

Before you can vocalize this, however, Jungkook is already readjusting your shared position. He tucks his wings tight behind him and shifts the two of you around so that the stream of the fountain washes down his back. “Hurry,” he orders. There’s very little room for negotiation in his tone. His appetite for a fun night is growing too and you can’t help but smile at the eagerness you’ve triggered. 

Sticking your tongue out, you hook it under his chin and tilt his head back. Jungkook continues to gaze down at you as he gives into your gesture. “That’s hot,” he mutters. 

This is new. He never talks this much when things start to heat up. Most of the time, you’re tossed looks and expected to decipher his mood, but you’re all too caught up in how gorgeous he is, you can barely understand what he means. Everything is always based on feelings and going with your instincts. But this time, Jungkook’s more vocal. It’s almost as if he’s thinking out loud. 

His wings twitch again. You snap your gaze from his hair to his eyes and find he’s raising a brow. Didn’t you wish you could hear his thoughts too? Could this be his way of granting it to you?

“You know what I like most about you?” He asks as you continue to wash the mud from his hair. Grazing your nails through his scalp, you hum in reply. “You’re incredibly intelligent.” 

Your fingers shudder against his head. The guilt of last night returns. Your sister should be with someone who isn’t afraid of her intelligence either. You should’ve told her not to follow through with this, not to marry Michael.

Jungkook’s hands trail up to your ass, gripping onto the plump flesh. The harsh gesture snaps you back into the moment. You jump a bit and let out a little squeal as your gaze meets his. “I much rather you don’t think of other men when you’re with me,” he groans. 

Fighting off the proud smile tempting your lips, you nod. “Sorry; it won’t happen again.” 

“Better not,” he mutters and that smile finally settles on your lips. “And don’t worry about your sister. She’ll be fine.” 

A part of you wants to question him more about how he knows that, but the death grip he has on your ass and the way he’s looking at you does not leave much room for a sexless conversation. You rather your family stay out of conversations like this with Jungkook. His desire to be the only one in your thoughts makes a bit more sense to you now. 

Smiling, Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose. “You figure things out faster than most people,” he says. 

You kiss the little freckle under his lip to let him know you’re done cleaning his hair. “You spend too much time in my head,” you tease. Instead of in my…  The rest of the sentence twirls in your mind for him to find it. 

As you move to clean his right wing he chuckles and continues, “I’m serious, baby.” He kisses your neck as you stand on your knees and reach for his wing to properly clean it off. “Your mind amazes me. That’s why I spend so much time there.” 

Barriers of the mind fall. They were trembling before but now, with every whispered thought Jungkook voices, you can feel those walls of distance crumble around your inseparable bodies. You’ve always melded perfectly physically and stroked the other’s spirit by caressing your souls, but mental barriers have always halted any real conversation between you and Jungkook. He’s always been able to know your next move, your every thought because of his immortality. And to have the chance to do the same only makes you feel that much closer to him. For this reason, you hope he doesn’t regret opening up to you and giving you a little peek inside his mind. 

Your physical senses shock you back to the moment. His fingers soften their grip on your ass, rubbing it instead and your pussy reactively clenches at that pet name you love so much. Unsteadily inhaling deeply, you move to clean his other wing in silence. You decide you won’t talk this time. Your mind is open to him if he’s looking for your opinion, but tonight you just want to hear his thoughts and be the one tossing unreadable looks. 

Jungkook chuckles against your neck, rolling his shoulders back as you brush your fingers through his wings. His lips trail down to your collarbone. He kisses his way down to your breasts and buries his face between them. Breathing in your scent, he sighs happily and mutters, “This is my favourite thing.”

Your breasts? By the way his hands always settle on your ass and the fact that his first hand-delivered toy was an anal plug, you always just assumed that his favourite feature of yours must be your ass. But you suppose if your breasts-

“Actually, I was talking about the way you smell.”

“It’s called soap,” you tease, earning yourself a light spank. He then bites on your right tit, sucking on the skin just because he can. You giggle and settle yourself back on his lap. Your ass, plush and plump, all but melts over his muscular thighs. 

Jungkook stares at you. His brown eyes are vacant and lost in thought. He quiets under your gaze, only just shifting to pull you closer than you already are. Your pussy frames the length of his cock and you find it increasingly hard to stay still. Trying to read that dazed expression on his face, you wonder what happened with his devotion to thinking out loud. 

Licking his lips, Jungkook finally breaks the silence. “Twenty-three.” He leans towards you turning the two of you back around so his back is against the fountain’s edge again. “I want you in twenty-three different ways, but I don’t think we have time to do all of them.”

You swallow thickly. Grinding your hips into his, you rub your needy pussy against his throbbing erection. Jungkook’s eyes slightly roll back and he has to hold your hips down only to look at you properly again. “Can we make time?” You ask. The desperate cry for more is evident in your voice and you know that, by the quirk of his brow and the shudder of his wings, he’s having trouble saying no. 

“I wish,” he confesses. “My favourite ones take time.” 

His fingers dig into your ass again, hinting at what his favourite positions might be. It’s no surprise that it has to do with your ass, you’re just worried that he’s going to ask for more than you’re ready for. Yes, you may have gotten used to anal plugs over time since he knows how to prep you for them, but his cock is an entirely different game. You are constantly reminded of how those other toys really are just toys because his cock is that uncomparable. 

Jungkook relaxes back against the marble wall and watches you as you salivate over the size of his cock. He doesn’t need to read your mind to know you're terrified of whatever pain may come with it but excited because you’re just that much of a whore for him. 

“You know you don’t have to do it. I have lots of other favourites,” he smirks. 

As your thoughts trail off, he bucks his hips into yours. You breathe moan and clutch onto his shoulders. Every little movement makes you ache for more. A week without a single bit of sexual stimulation, even by yourself, is too long. He never told you that you couldn’t play around alone anymore, but when you have him, why the hell would you play with yourself? You know he’s going to come every night, or at least you hope he is. And the truth is, one he must already know judging by the pleased look in his eyes, even if he had told you he wasn’t coming, you still wouldn’t have touched yourself. Nothing can compare to his touch; you don’t need to try anything else to know this.

A shaky breath escapes Jungkook at your next mental confession. You don't think you were ever really mad at him. You just knew that acting out would get him to come tonight. Jungkook scoffs, looking up at the darkening sky as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

Are you even really sorry? His eyes dart to yours as if wanting to see for himself if your thoughts are true. You don't know if you can answer this question with his eyes on you like that. But, that conclusion seems to be enough of an answer for him. 

He shakes his head and wraps his arms around your waist. Pouting, he asks, “Do you know how worried I was?”

You mirror his expression, drawing a pout in your features as well, and press your chest against his. His breath hitches and body melts into yours, betraying his intentions. Noticing his struggle to stay upset with you, you pepper wet kisses under his chin and along his jawline. 

Jungkook can’t resist you for much longer. He whimpers as his hips grind into yours. Bending at your every touch, he unravels beneath you. A giddy smile breaks your pouty features and it’s only then that he seems to realize how much he’s let himself go in front of you. His grip on your hips hardens. As you kiss up his face, you find his lust-stuck eyes dark with dominance. He hates being vulnerable to your touch this much.

“No, baby,” he rasps. You quirk a brow. “I hate how drunk you get off the power.” 

A proud smirk twitches on the corner of your lips, confirming his words. You’ve barely had taste for the power he’s accusing you of getting drunk off of. However, the fact that you’re able to control him so well with such a small dose fills your heart with pride. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I am?”

There’s a certain cocky pitch in your tone that rings sharply to his ears. His brows twitch, wings flutter, and gaze wavers. He may have been able to look past your exaggerations of dismissal and the way you tease him, but to speak to him with very little regard for his power unleashes something primal within him. You can always tell you’ve really pissed him off when he pouts, clenches his jaw, and breathes so steadily, you can barely hear him. 

Jungkook watches you carefully. “One week without my dick and suddenly you think you own it?” 

“Don’t I?”

A sharp smack lands on your ass. The slow draft of the water does not slow his hands down. In fact, it only increases the sting and accuracy. You gasp and fall forward against him only to be spanked again. Another moan leaves you, this time with your lips hovering over his. Exchanging breathes, a dangerous thought occurs to you. Your lips are over his. What’s to stop you from spit-

He growls. You tremble against him. The purely thunderous rumble in his chest rattles your soul. “I fucking dare you,” he hisses.

Though you want to heed his warning, you can’t help but notice how he keeps his mouth open despite his disapproval. You gather what you have in your mouth and pause for a moment, knowing that he knows what you’re about to do. His mouth remains open. You drop the wad of spit it without a second thought. 

Jungkook swallows it almost immediately. “You’re going to regret that,” he breathes. 

“I highly doubt that,” you smirk.

The cocky persona you seemed to have picked up from him crumbles when his middle finger pushes between your cheeks and circles your tightest hole. His words about his favourite ways to fuck you return to you in distant echoes. You arch your back and push your ass into his hand. His finger threatens to slip in. 

“You’re barely ready,” he scoffs.

Do you harbour reservations based on fears that he just might be too big to fit in your ass? Of course you do; he’s huge. A fact of which he can’t help but always smirk at when you point it out. But, you’re hungry for him and you know that he would never do anything to hurt you. Letting out a shaky breath, you affirm, “I can take it.”

“You aren’t wet enough.”

“Then, change that.”

The continuous authority that drips in your tone has tested his patience for the last time. Reaching a hand out of the fountain, Jungkook grabs for something on the ground. You try to lean over him and sneak a peek at what he’s looking for, but the friction of your clit against his length has you shuddering back in place. 

A little smile breaks Jungkook’s previously callous expression. He pecks your neck and laughs quietly against your skin as he mutters, “You’re adorable.” 

Heat rushes down to your core instead of your face at the little praise. You lean down to press a gentle kiss to his lips when you catch a glimpse of something gold in your peripherals. Glancing up, you find him clutching onto his bow. Before you have the chance to ask what he’s planning, Jungkook only just drops the tip of his bow in to break the surface of the water. A misty rose gold tints the clarity. Little flicks of sparkling gold twinkle back at you as you watch the fountain filter the essence all around you. 

You cautiously meet gaze. He always confirms new things with you before acting on anything, no matter how mad or horny he is. His rash decision to spike the fountain with an unknown substance chills your blood for a second. You start to shift back from him a bit when he breaks the silence. 

“It’s just a lubricant,” he quickly explains. A relieved breath, you didn’t realize you were holding, leaves you. Shifting back against him, you nudge your nose against his. “Sex is a bit different underwater, baby, and I don’t have time to get you as ready as you need to be.” 

A gentle nibble on his lip is all it takes for the rush of the fountain to be the only sound in the silence that settles upon you. His hands guide your hips against his, the fiction much smoother now with that hint of lubrication swirling around. You run a hand through his hand and tug his head back to be greeted with the sweet rumble of his laughter. You can’t help but giggle with him as you place soft kisses along the side of his neck. 

Jungkook quietly moans in little whines and breathless gasps. Every shudder of his wings and furrow of his brows makes you want to rip your dress off and be just as naked and against him. But, then again, there’s something powerful to the taste of being fully clothed and still destroying a man’s composure. You barely have to do anything and Jungkook bends to your every will. You can now understand why he believes you’re so drunk on power, but the truth is you always had this power. He knows this, most likely wanting you to realize it too if he’s the one that suggested you stay clothed. The only difference now is that he’s openly displaying the ways you unravel him rather than keeping it to himself. 

“Do you see what I mean now?” He asks in a breathless whisper. You trail your kiss up to his cheek and moan against it as he continues, “You’re so smart and beautiful and precious.” 

Jungkook pauses, stilling your hips and pulling his face away from yours to look into your eyes. He parts his lips to speak but his words keep falling short somehow. 

His words so far have already ignited an untamable fire not only between your legs, but within your bones as well. He is drenched in every part of you. Shifting to a softer touch, you untangle your fingers from his damp hair and cup his cheeks the same way he had done to you not too long ago. “Go on,” you tease, tossing him a playful look. 

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even smirk. His eyes, though hinted with amusement, continue to be lost in some sort of trance. He knows you’re curious, but keeps this little bit of thought to himself. Lifting your hips, he hovers your entrance over his erection and finally smirks. 

“Beg a little,” he orders. Though his voice barely carries to the other side of the fountain, the authority in his tone is still as clear and hard as it always is.

Your power trip must have really messed with him if he’s having you beg without giving you a good reason to. An annoyed sigh fans against your collarbone as your body continues to hover over his. “Don’t play,” he rasps, “You know that’s not it. I can hear the truth before the lie, darling.”

That’s an unfair advantage but one you don’t mind too much if it means he talks to you like this all the time. He’s right too. You know that’s not what’s got him eager to hear you beg. It’s the way you beg that’s got him eager to fuck you. Clenching around emptiness, needy to be filled and ruined, you whine a tiny “please,” then a string of profanities as his tip strokes its way to your entrance from your clit. 

“Again.”

Back arched, breasts against his bare chest, and hands clutched onto his biceps, you place your lips on the shell of his ear and blow a gentle breeze against it. “Please,” you mewl. 

Jungkook’s hands tremble and he all but drops you on his cock. Pussy in an instant stretch, with very little room to adjust, you cry out in his ear. Though your voice may be broken and pitchy, Jungkook doesn’t flinch. When it comes to you, the usual results never qualify. You are one of a kind, as unique as him. 

His muscles flex under your palms. Hands finding their place on your ass again, Jungkook guides your thrusts. He can practically feel your weakening body with every bounce and grind against him. You know he can. He shows it in every tightening grip on your ass and grunt in his moans. 

The knot in your stomach is already twisting, conspiring against your better judgement on how long you think you can last. You’ve never been able to outlast him, cumming twice before he finally reaches his first orgasm of the night. He’s just so big and hits those right places way before the rest of him can catch up. How he manages to brush up against your softest spots within the first three thrusts will always be beyond your comprehension. He’s just that good. 

The choked moan that leaves him resembles a chuckle. A frustrated whine escapes you. Is he still listening to your thoughts? It’s not like you’re thinking anything he already hasn’t heard you say, or rather scream, but it still somewhat embrassasses you to know that he will always hear how whipped you are for him. 

“Tell me,” you plead with your lips pressed just under his ear. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

The sparkling water around you begins to splash out of the fountain bowl as Jungkook speeds up the pace of your bounces. Deciding your ass seems to be too much of a distraction to him, you pause mid-thrust and move his hands up to your hips. A shuddering gasp escapes him as you carry on with the bounces at his same pace. Your ass claps in and out of the water, thrashing water all around the ground. 

Jungkook digs his short nails into the flesh of your hips, growling every time you whine at his tightening grip. Forehead against his, you catch his gaze and offer an innocent one. “I’m-” he cuts himself off, realizing how breathless and dazed he sounds. You nuzzle your face into his as a silent attempt to encourage him to continue. “Kiss me,” he begs. 

If you weren’t stuffed full of his cock and extremely enchanted by the way he pretends to sound composed, you would’ve refused to kiss him and insisted that he finish that sentence. And that knot in the pit of your gut only tightens with the grip of your pussy. Pressing your lips against his, you slip your tongue in and let him swallow your moans. 

The moment his tongue tackles yours, your legs quake. Thrusts hesitating, your body begins to spasm against his. Your hands grapple at his shoulder just to ensure you stay a float as your threatening orgasm continues to build. 

“Jungk-” You break the kiss to tell him, to ask as he has taught you over and over again. 

But Jungkook only latches his lips onto yours once more. You gulp down a moan or two of his before he hisses against your lips, “Just fucking cum. Now, kiss me.”

You may have been drunk off power not too long ago, but as you kiss him again, you realize that he is drunk off you. And that’s all it takes for your ograsm to finally rush over you. Jungkook lifts his hips up to meet your stuttering ones. Your lips fall off his. Face buried in the crook of his neck, you cry out his name and cream all over his cock. 

“I’m thinking you’re such a good girl for cumming like this,” he suddenly whispers as you ride out your orgasm. Even with your ears ringing and mind shuddering from the second wave of cum gushing all over his hard, huge cock, you can still hear every dirty praise clearly. “My whore got herself off so well.”

The whine that escapes you from his words alone is borderline pornographic. Jungkook even feels it, arching his back so his chest collides with yours as well. “You’re so sexy,” he whimpers as you babble fountain water by his shoulder from exhaustion. 

Wet, wet, wet; everything is wet. You’re both drenched in lube tinted waters, cum, and your desires. You can’t revel in it though, as the skirts of your dress float the surface and corset clings to your chest all too tightly. You can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone tell him that you need a quick break. 

“No,” he groans, settling you on his thighs. Circling his hips into yours, Jungkook grips onto the nape of your neck to peel you off him. 

Your heart stumbles as your mind races to figure out what you’ve done that was so wrong, he’s wanting to stop the night here. “I’m sorr-”

“You don’t need a break,” he sighs between moans. He sits himself up, his wings extending only to drape over the lip of the fountain’s bowl. All movements underwater cease as he digs his fingers into the bust of your corset. In one swift motion, Jungkook tears the first few laces apart, instantly sending a full batch of oxygen to your lungs. 

Gasping, you gaze down at your torn dress before glaring at him. Maybe with just a wet dress, you could have explained your way out of whatever mess this is going to get you in when you attempt to return to the party. However, a torn dress will not be that easy to explain. You want to glare at him and tell him off but he shoves his face between your now exposed breasts and moans before you’re able to. 

He moves your hands up his shoulders so your arms drape over them, then settles them on his favourite place; your ass. Two of his fingers push between your cheeks and stroke your hole. His touch there is much smoother than before and you suspect that it must be the bow-tipped lube. 

You moan quietly, resting your chin atop his damp head as he kisses and bites at your breasts. Your pussy still hasn’t recovered from your orgasm seconds ago. In fact, truth be told, your entire body is having trouble recuperating after cumming that hard in a week. But you want more of him and he still hasn’t filled you of his godly load yet. And with his fingers circling around your asshole, you can’t deny him the second ride he’s patiently waiting for. 

A slow grind of hips into hips is a good start, you tell yourself. You’ve never really had to deal with this before, since Jungkook would usually just keep pounding into you despite the fact that he knows your limbs are exhausted from one orgasm already. Clenching your jaw, you start to bounce again, ass clapping against his thighs in suppressed thumps underwater. The overstimulated pleasure brings tears to your eyes. You cry out his name and hold onto his wings. 

He groans against your right breast from the contact. You’re about to apologize, knowing his wings are sensitive, when he shoves his fingers into your tightest hole. You freeze and throw your head back from how easily he slipped in and how fucking good it feels. Jungkook scissors his fingers within you, peeking a glance up from between your breasts. 

“Are you okay, baby?” he slurs. He licks up the valley of your breasts, holding your gaze shamelessly. 

“Mhm,” you mewl. 

Resuming your thrusts, you feel your tears run down your face freely. You don’t even have it in you to wipe them away. Your hands, instead, centre around his back. You scratch at it for a bit until you feel him add a finger. Moans tumble into his wet hair as your fingers trail up the length of his spine. 

Jungkook stiffens. A choked groan tears from his throat and he hides his face further into your breasts. They bounce around his cheeks with each hop on his cock. Too consumed by your own overstimulated pleasure to dwell much thought on his movements, or lack thereof, you mindlessly repeat the action. You stroke his spine once more and then you hear it. 

He sobs a moan.

You still your hips, looking down at him. As you run a hand through his hair, you’re about to ask if he’s okay when the whooshing flutter of wings obscures your vision. One second, you’re straddling his lap with his fingers in your ass. The next, you’re the one submerged in the water with him hovering over you. Wings fully extended, face stained with tears, Jungkook makes sure your arms are resting over his shoulders like before then takes up a deadly speed of thrusts into you. 

His speed defies the laws of physics, hips moving much faster than they should underwater. Half the fountain is on the ground from the force of his movement. All you can do is sob with him as your body becomes his only source of pleasure. 

What’s gotten into him? He doesn’t even have an interest in your ass anymore, hands locked in a death-like grip on your hips. In a moment of pure animalistic pleasure, you just wish you knew what’s running through his head. 

“You,” he growls in a pout. “You’re all I think about, you fucking whore. You’re all I can ever think about.” He swallows thickly before continuing, “You can’t go one second without thinking of me and now all I can hear is your voice. All the time; it’s you, you, you.”

You don’t know if you should apologize or cum from the simple confession alone. His voice, his words, his entire fucking attitude has you aching to cum all over again. 

Jungkook stumbles over his chuckles. “You just love seeing me like this, huh? You love seeing me worship you, baby?” 

Worship. Does he want you to cum that badly that he’s willing to lie? You both know he doesn’t worshi-

A sharp thrust derails your thoughts. Your eyes roll back as you moan out his name. 

“You’re my goddess,” he confesses. “You’re my only goddess.”

He repeats the phrase over and over again until that’s all that rings in your ear, in your heart, in your soul. His release paints your tightening walls. The knots within your gut have unraveled long ago and it’s only when your blurred vision somewhat clears and convulsing body trickles into tremors do you realize that you’ve both cum together to the words he’s still repeating. 

Voice a tiny, gruff whisper, Jungkook whispers, “My goddess.”

He’s serious. He must be. He truly worships you. The tears in his eyes, the break in his voice, the truth is clear and just as starkly bare as he is between your legs. His eyes suddenly flash with worry, almost as if he’s recognized what he’s said. He meant what he said, you realize, but he never meant to say it. 

Jungkook gingerly pulls out of you as you try to seat yourself up. You pull your legs into your chest and watch him take a seat beside you. He leans his head back against the rim of the fountain and gazes up at the sky. You follow his gaze, noticing it’s gotten much darker out, the silver stream of stars piercing an indigo backdrop no more. A midnight black cloaks the world above you, a crescent moon lighting up your night and an array of stars twinkling down at you. Though your mind is still foggy from your recent orgasms, body still shuddering, you can’t help but think about his words. What makes him think you belong up there, amongst true gods and goddesses? 

His wings twitch as they tuck themselves behind him. You know that combination well. He’s hiding something. Usually, you don’t ask, knowing he will only deflect the topic and shower you with attention and praises instead. But, his spoken thoughts are now looping around your mind, begging to be answered. 

“Jungkook,” you mutter, shifting closer to him. Face still stained with tears, he forces himself to look at you. The questions are on the tip of your tongue; what, why, when? However, as you part your lips all you can bring yourself to say is, “I didn’t hear anything.”

You’re my goddess. 

The words return with ten times the force they previously held. It’s almost like denying their existence is just as blasphemous as saying them. You swallow thickly and try to extract the words from your mind, but it's too late. They are as entrenched in your bones as your affection for him is. There is no undoing what has been done. 

You bring a hand up to his face and wipe away the stray tears. He melts into you almost immediately. Maybe it’s best if you return to the party now. You can make up some excuse as to why you’re drenched and torn on your way there. Jungkook’s state is all but worrying and you feel as though you shouldn’t be witnessing this. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he finally says. His voice has regained composure and tone controlled. No more does he choke on his words or laughter. The authority he indirectly bestowed upon you has been returned to him. 

You should tell him you’re done, that he shouldn’t say things he doesn’t mean to. You should tell him that he shouldn’t play with your feelings or your heart like this. But, again, the words wither away the moment you part your lips to voice them. And, instead, you ask, “How do you want me?”

Jungkook smirks. His hands snake around your hips and lift you up onto his lap. Back to his chest, you make yourself comfortable, leaning into him. He pushes the excess fabric of your dress aside just to get you as close as possible. Then, you feel it against your ass, pushing its way between your cheeks. His erection is just as hard as when you started. It’s no wonder why he’s not done with you yet. You suppose he didn’t just confess something he can’t take back only to still leave with a full hard-on. 

“I thought you didn’t hear anything,” he whispers in your ear as his hands cup the underside of your thighs. 

You nervously look at him over your shoulder. “I didn’t.”

He chews on your earlobe, warm tongue caressing your jaw. “I should stop thinking about it,” he whimpers against your skin. “I should stop thinking about you.”

I’m not a goddess, you want to tell him. But, by the way he sucks in a sharp breath, you can tell he’s heard and isn’t impressed. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to scold you for degrading yourself, or to correct you. The words never arrive. 

Jungkook shakily exhales. No more trips into his thoughts it would seem. He remains silent as he spreads your legs and swiftly lifts you up. You expect another harsh round into your pussy but his tip shoves its way through your asshole instead. Throwing your head back, you try to suppress your scream by holding your breath. 

It doesn’t hurt as much as it usually does during the first initial thrust of a toy. Whatever he tinted the water with must be the result of a smooth entrance, and a deliciously blissful stretch. You let out a breath you held, along with a loud, high-pitched squeal. Jungkook folds you up well, holding the bend of each knee into your chest as he continues to slowly lower you onto him. 

Once you finally take him all in, you settle your entire body back into him. Shuddering breaths, drifting eyes, you hold him deep within you and try not to completely lose yourself in a fit of moans and pleads. You don’t even know what you’d be begging for, just that a string of “pleases” will leave you. 

Are you getting bigger, you mentally ask. 

He chuckles and shakes his head as his nose nuzzles into your cheeks. He can’t get enough. Inhaling you deeply, you realize that he can’t get enough of you. He even said so in so many words. And you don’t have much of a problem with that considering you can’t ever get enough of him either. You’ve consumed all of his thoughts it would seem and he’s even lost himself to you so much so that he’s declared you his one and only god-

“Fuck!” 

The stream of the fountain rushes down on your clit. He holds you straight beneath it as his hips move up and down against your ass. You’re at his total mercy, every thought of ever being in control a complete joke. You rest your head against his shoulders, trembling hands placed over his as a desperate attempt to control yourself.

Your first water wave induced orgasm hits you within seconds. You don’t know for sure, but you’re all but certain that you’re cumming. Your eyes have been screwed shut for a while, and body shaking since this endeavor in the fountain began. Only when you try to close your legs do you confirm that you indeed came.

Jungkook keeps them open though. He ignores your pathetic scratches on his knuckles as you try to explain to him that it’s all just too fucking much for you to take. “Just let me cum,” he tries to soothe between little hushes and murmurs about how good you’re taking his cock. 

But then your second orgasm from the fountain hits and you can’t stop squirming in his hold. He keeps you folded and under the water’s subjection nonetheless, somehow even cooling the temperature down. As you shiver under the cold rush, Jungkook positions you higher against him so that the water pours into you instead. You realize, pussy clean of his cum now, that you’re getting fucked by a fountain; a fountain that he controls. And you fucking love it. 

Then, there’s the fullness of your ass. Every inch of you is his. If you’re his goddess, he must know that he’s your god. Your one and only. 

“Careful,” he warns against your thoughts. 

You have an assful of his cock in you, getting off more times than you can both count in a fountain that does not belong to either of you; when have the two of you ever been careful? In fact, your recklessness is what brought you together. Had he not seen you on your balcony every night, he might not be here at all. Carelessness runs in your veins, laced in your tone as you cry out, “You’re my god!”

The clouds rumble above you. The heavens can warn all they want. Interrupting sexual endeavors would do them more harm than it would do you. 

“If you want to cum, you’ll behave,” Jungkook hisses. His thrusts suddenly snap into something primal. 

Your body bounces every time, water rushing down your clit once more. This time you feel your orgasm build, and fast. Toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, you hold onto every twisting, clenching knot at the pit of your stomach. 

“Ask!”

“Please?”

A particular ram into your ass lets you know that half-hearted plea won’t get you very far. He doesn’t deign to repeat himself. Instead, he lets his harsh movements and bone-rattling growls speak for him. 

“Please let me cum, Jungkook, please.”

“Again.”

“Please, please, please, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t say it. But you feel it. You feel the approval in the form of a gentle kiss against your ear. Hips a craze, rolling against the wave, you clench your jaw and try to channel all your pleasure in a high-pitched moan rather than the cry your lungs are desperate to let out. Your cum gushes then, juices squirt seconds later. Entire body on fire, under the scrutiny of the stream as you try and fail to recollect yourself. You’re shattered, ruined, obliterated by his cock and this fountain of fantasies. 

“That’s a good girl,” he coos. “That’s my good girl.”

His. His. Gods, the things you would do to be his always, not just under the cover of the night. Jungkook releases your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist as he grounds your ass over his hips. Load after load shoots within you, making your giggle and shake with ecstasy at the filling sensation of being stuffed so well. 

“Ah-yah, baby,” he groans in a scowl against your jawline. “You’ve got the tightest little hole for me, hmm? If you weren’t so exhausted, I’d have us do this all over again.”

Exhaustion. Yes, that’s what you’re feeling. With your mind foggy and broken from the countless orgasms he’s sent through you, you can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone think to go for another round. Your body’s only excuse for staying afloat is the winged god behind you. He clutches onto you as if his only reason for surviving is you. And judging by his previous confession, that very well might be the case. 

Jungkook rests back against the fountain’s edge once he’s done. Gasping for air, he continues to hold onto you, kissing your shoulder mindlessly. “I never really know how much I miss you until I have you,” he whispers. His teeth graze your supple skin. 

Body limp, you can’t find it in you to reply. All you can think is after he pulls out, he’s going to fly back to Gods know where and leave you to hobble back to the party alone. After all, isn’t that how every night ends? You two share a passionate few moments, both have out of body experiences when orgasming, then you fall asleep and he sneaks away. What’s to say this night won’t be any different?

“I thought I told you to trust me?”

“I do.”

He scoffs. You don’t blame him. Your words are hardly convincing. It has nothing to do with the fact that you just came five or six different times. It’s the lack of commitment in your tone that tips him off. You hear it too. You really do trust him. He’s just let you down too many times to count. 

“What more do I need to do? I’m with you every chance I get.” 

Exhaustion. It’s not a physical one, not the one you’re still recovering from. It’s one of the mind. He’s exhausted with this back and forth. You are too. This isn’t exactly what you thought your first relationship would look like. 

He pauses, body freezing beneath you. 

Oh, right. He’s in your mind. He heard that. Is that not what this is, though? Isn’t this a relationship?

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say it,” You repeat, looking at him over your shoulder. 

Jungkook starts to soften in you. You’ve really set him off now. He lifts you up and off his cock, sitting you on his thigh and ignoring the way you hiss and whine at the discomfort. You turn to glare at him over your shoulder only to find him already glaring at you. 

“Do you want me to come back?”

Is he threatening you? “Do I have to remind you who came here begging-”

“You lied!” He cuts you off with a shout. 

“You knew that, though. You knew I was lying,” you point out, a pout starting to overtake your features. “You came because you missed me.”

“That’s never been a secret.”

“Say it then, Jungkook. Say this is a relationship.”

He falls silent. His once annoyed eyes can’t even meet yours. 

“I know you��re jealous of Lee Ky-”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffs. Shaking his head, he forces himself to meet your gaze. 

Sad tears vary drastically from blissful ones. Tears of bliss soothe the pleasure and make it bearable. Tears of sadness sting your eyes, pierce your heart and shed any part of you that can make such a situation bearable. Sad tears only remind you of your pain. 

Your eyes sting with despair as he regards you with such frustration. Emptying your mind, discarding all thoughts, you ask, “Are you coming tomorrow?”

Jungkook sighs, but not a beat of hesitance affects his answer. “Of course.”

You raise a brow. See?

“Fine. This is a relationship,” he mutters. “What does that change?”

Nothing. It hasn’t changed a thing. You don’t even feel any different, any better. Maybe it’s because you forced it out of him? You don’t know. The tears only fall faster though, and you can’t bear to look at him. Your heart’s conflicted, shattered and replaced all at once because, though he is the cause of your tears, his presence is also the only thing soothing them. You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your temple over his. 

You can at least relish in his company for a few moments longer. And his scent, that intoxicating waft of creamy coconut and sweet peony orchards returns now that all that mud and grime has been washed off. The scent is comforting enough for you to relax in his arms and forget your pain for a second. 

“That’s not what I smell like,” he whispers. You tilt your head away to get a better look at him. A little smirk tugs on the corner of his lip as he says, “It’s what you smell like.”

Impossible. He’s always smelled like at the end of every night. You’d cuddle into his chest and inhale a breathful of the tropical scent. How could that be what you smell like if he reeks of it? The knowing look in his eyes is enough of a hint for you to realize you know the answer. He’s dripping with your essence every night because he spent the night in you. You wonder if you smell like him too. 

He sighs, circling his arms lazily around your waist. He deeply inhales your skin, smiling against it, but doesn’t answer your mentally posed question. Damp hair clinging to the sides of your faces, you settle in the other’s company. One of his hands rises from the water and wipes away your tears. As you sniffle, he whispers, “I promise I’m-”

“Doing the best you can,” you croak, finishing his sentence with him. 

Yes, yes. You’ve heard it all before. You don’t think he’s lying, your Eros is no liar. You do believe that he is, in fact, doing the best he can. But if his best is only a few hours every night, you’re not sure you can accept that. And, yet, you also can’t find it in you to truly, with all your heart, reject it as well. 

He needs to prove his devotion to you in another way. A risky thought then tiptoes into your mind. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you take a deep breath and ask, “Could you do me a tiny favour?”

Jungkook’s hesitant to meet your gaze. He glances at you through his peripherals, otherwise keeping his gaze locked on your breasts. Whether he’s trying to distract himself or not, you still push them out a bit in hopes that they will grant you the “yes” you’re hoping to hear.

He nods. 

With a little kiss upon his cheek, you stroke his shoulder with the soft tips of your fingers and ask, “Would you please escort me to my sister’s wedding?”

He turns his head away from you. Staring across at the other side of the garden, Jungkook withdraws from you. His hands fall off your frame as he heavily sighs. You press yourself against him, trying to regain his attention but he only shakes his head. 

“Acting cute won’t make this any easier,” he grumbles. 

You huff and slouch against him. “How about just the rehearsal dinner?” You try to negotiate. When he rolls his eyes, you quickly add, “I’ll be stuck with Kyon and honestly I don’t think I handle another minute of his incorrect reilieration about history.” 

Jungkook snaps his head towards you at the mention of another man. You cock a brow to which he only scoffs at. “You’re being obnoxious,” he seethes. “And unbelievably selfish.”

“So?” you question before you can stop yourself. His words sting, slicing through your confidence all too easily. There isn’t much room for thinking and even if there was, he would be listening to them anyways. So, you might as well say what you want out loud. “Was it not selfish of you to make me wait-”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m not going to repeat myself, (Y/N). You can’t keep telling me that you trust me only to keep bringing this up. I was busy. You had to wait. It didn’t kill you.” 

Your tears have returned. He rolls his eyes at the sight. Whatever remnants of your heart you thought you had has been obliviated. “You make me feel so loved,” you whisper as your hands retract from his body. 

Jungkook’s expression disarms all hostility. His eyes reflect regret but you’ve heard, seen all you need to. 

“But why do you only make me feel this way when we’re naked?”

“You’re not naked,” he’s quick to reply. 

It’s your turn to scoff. How can a god be this dense? “Aren’t I, though? Tell me, Jeon Jungkook, whose thoughts are open for the other to hear? Who is the one waiting, praying for the other’s attention? Who has been bare since first glance on the stupid balcony you left last night?”

Before he couldn’t meet your eye out of disinterest, but now he avoids your gaze out of guilt. Yes, you’ve been obnoxious, selfish, maybe even a little entitled. However, you’ve had a god to yourself for months. You’ve had endless moments of ecstasy that only end in soft cuddles and whispered sweet nothings into the night. Is wanting that attention when the sun hasn’t set yet too much to ask? 

Jungkook parts his lips to reply when his eyes suddenly shoot up. He sits up, almost knocking you off his lap and snaps his head towards the very pathway you came from. 

“(Y/N)!” 

You gasp upon hearing your mother’s voice. The clicks of her heels draw further towards you and before you can look at Jungkook and ask what you should do, what you should say, you’re thrown into the fountain. 

Ice cold waves engulf you as you inhale a good chunk of the fountain. Your lungs burn from the accidental intake of water. You only just get your hands under you and sit yourself up and out of the water as quickly as you can. Familiar shouts ring in the distance. Coughing up the fountain, you push your hair back and look around the garden. 

Your mother is staring at you in utter shock, screaming at you to come out but refusing to help you herself. As you try to lift yourself up, you find the water has returned to its usual clarity and that Jungkook is nowhere to be found. He seriously left you to almost drown in the fountain by yourself? He’d be lucky to get more than a kiss from your tomorrow night. You can’t believe he has the audacity to yell at you then let you there like that. In a fit of anger, you send a lashing string after lashing string of profanities to him in the form of a prayer. 

“Miss (L/N)!”

Your blood chills. Hands on the lip of the fountain, you turn towards his voice. Fully dressed in a dark blue suit, his wings nowhere to be found, and dry hair pulled back a neat ponytail, Jungkook rushes over to you. His strong hands settle on your waist before he effortlessly scoops you out.

All you can do is stare. Mouth agape, eyes vacant, you try to figure out why the hell he made himself all presentable and left you looking like a mess. You want to whisper your profanities and swear that he will never touch your ass for leaving you in such a mess, but all you can find yourself saying is, “Mr. Jeon.”

His eyes shoot to the sky as your mother rushes towards you. Nothing is making sense and you only wish you can read his mind to know what to do next. 

“Goodness, (Y/N),” your mother hisses as she rushes towards you. “Cover yourself!”

Looking down at your bust, you gasp. Oh, right, he tore it. Crossing your arms over your chest, you look up at him and glare. But Jungkook only takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s only when you feel your mother’s arms around you do you realize that you’re shivering. 

“What have you done to yourself now?” she whispers in your ear. 

Her eyes then settle on Jungkook. That look graces her face. That look of assessment. She’s scanning the unknown god up and down, looking for signs of wealth, status, and reliability. It doesn’t take her long to innocently smile and fall victim to his beauty, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Jeon.”

He bows his head then turns to you and says, “I told you not to sit on the edge.” Jungkook fakes a polished chuckle. He shakes his head at you when your eyes narrow at him. “I told her, Mrs. (L/N), I told her the marble is slippery. But, Miss (L/N) just had to get a better look at those flowers.”

You glance back at the fountain with your mother, finding an array of tiger lilies floating in the bowl. All this trouble to explain why you’re wet? You look back at him cautiously and wonder what the end of this conversation is meant to look like. 

“Yes, she loves flowers,” your mother sighs. She then sets her sights on Jungkook once more and asks, “Jeon… I’m not sure I know of the Jeons. Are you from out of town?”

Jungkook charms your mother instantly with that kind, toothy smile of his. He nods and compliments her quick wits, to which she laughs, then explains, “I’m visiting for the wedding.”

The wedding? Does that mean?

“Miss (L/N) invited me. I’m rather glad to have run into you, Mrs. (L/N) as I was hoping to ask permission to escort your daughter to the wedding.”

One of your hands, previously covering your right breast, shoots up to cover your mouth out of utter shock. Did he orchestrate all this just to agree to your favour? You hope you haven’t guilted him into it. You’ve done that to get him here and admit to your relationship; you already regret doing that. You just hope he’s acting on his own accord right now. 

Jungkook shoots you a wink as your mother fixes the jacket so that your uncovered breast is concealed once more. Sighing of relief, you offer him a grateful smile. 

“Are you sure?” Your mother suddenly asks, looking back to Jungkook. “(Y/N) is the one you want to escort?”

He glances at you and smiles. “Miss (L/N) the one and only thing I’m always sure about.”

Your mother raises a brow at you. She smells something fishy, knows something is off about this entire encounter. You watch her carefully as she looks between you and Jungkook. And when you expect her to refuse, to lecture you in front of him, your mother adopts an opposite approach. She smiles upon the two of you and shifts you closer to Jungkook. 

“I would be delighted to have you escort my daughter, Mr. Jeon,” she beams. “Do you mind walking (Y/N) to the carriages? I cannot let her go back and drip all over the Barbury’s rugs.” 

Jungkook offers you his elbow, returning your mother’s smile. “It would be my pleasure.” 

You stumble towards Jungkook, your mother practically pushing you into him. With a shaky hand, you take his arm and let him guide you out of the maze. After a turn or two within the tall hedges, you part your lips to ask him what he thinks he’s doing. 

However, Jungkook fills the silence before you can. “I’ll buy you an entire bouquet of lilies, darling. Just promise me to never fall into a fountain again,” he laughs, exaggerating the volume of his voice. 

This time, you pick up on his hints and realize that your mother must still be close by if he’s still putting up such an act. “I promise it won’t happen again, Mr. Jeon,” you innocently reply. 

A smirk, you know is real, graces his features. He walks you around the manor and to the front of the house before breaking out of this noble character of his. “I think she bought it. Your mother is a very suspicious woman.”

You scoff. “That’s just one of many titles she holds,” you mumble under your breath. As you walk towards your family’s carriage, you can’t help but ask, “Why did you do that?”

Jungkook stops you before the door and takes both your hands in his. Those amused eyes linger around your exposed breasts. He chuckles a bit at the way you arch your back to keep them there, making you giggle along with him. 

“Are you happy?”

You pause. Is that why he did this? To make you happy?

“Are you?”

He gives you a pointed look. “Answer the question, (Y/N).”

“Are you just doing this to make me happy, Jungkook?” You ask instead. “Because I will go back to her and tell her that we were both in that fountain and-”

“So what if I am?” He cuts you off. “I want you to be happy, (Y/N). Why is that so wrong?”

It’s not. There’s nothing wrong with him wanting you to be happy. But you want him to be happy with his decision. You’ve forced him into admitting things and meeting you. You don’t want to force him into this too. You want him to want to take you, to want to be with you. That is what true happiness is to you. It’s Jungkook unconditionally wanting you the way you unconditionally want him. 

Jungkook cups your face. Leaning his forehead against yours, he whispers, “I’m sorry I make you think I don’t want you just as much as you want me.” His nose brushes against yours, hitching your breath as he presses himself against you and continues in a breathy whisper, “Watching you cry breaks me in ways I can’t describe. And being the reason for your tears just destroys me, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to see you smile again.” 

Then, he presses his lips upon yours, reaching for the carriage door behind you. When he pulls away, he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, ushering you into your seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, baby,” he smiles. 

You’ve misjudged him for the third time tonight. Thinking he doesn’t care for you, thinking he left you, and thinking he doesn’t want you. All you can do now is pray that he forgives you for all the curses you’ve hurled his way. 

He chuckles and places kisses on both your hands. “It was very amusing actually.” 

You nod. “I’m sure.” But, you’re still sorry. 

With one last round of kisses over your knuckles, Jungkook promises, “I won’t be late.”

“I’ll be waiting regardless,” you immediately reply. 

The next three words are on the tip of your tongue. He can almost hear them, judging by the twitch of his brows. You don’t have a chance to say them though as he clears his throat and shuts the door. You watch him from the window, shakily exhaling. 

Jungkook calls the coachmen. The carriage jerks forward. The lasting image of his smirk, those sweet eyes and that muscular frame is all you try to see. However, in seconds, he’s pulled from view. The only memory you have of him remains with that sacrilegious confession in a fountain of fantasies. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#networkbangtan #btsguild #btswritingcafe #bangtanfairygarden #bangtanhq #goldenclosetnet #btsgoldnet #magicshopnet #jungkook smut #greek god au #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fluff #bts smut

[honestlyfrance]

find me in san francisco

ship: sam/bucky

warning: violence, cursing, apocalypse

summary:

Bucky looked over to Sam for a moment before speaking, "Las Vegas may have currency but it doesn't have you."

OR

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes stumble upon each other once more at the aftermath of war.

—■—■—

Run. That’s what you do best anyway, isn’t it?

The view of a beachside stretches, the sand a murky grey with glasses and scraps of metal lining the boardwalk as if washed up against the rough and harsh soil, leaning against the ugly and crumbling brick wall where the actual boardwalk started up above at a level, and at a low tide the pitch-black ocean water lapped against the side at an increasingly frightening pace, as if it was always unsteady, always unnatural. Here on this sand, he ran, clad in a black ensemble, a matching WWII remnant design gas mask on his face, tubes attached to an oxygen tank he had in a backpack. He almost left no boot prints on the shore due to the dense debris that littered there. It was frightening what the last decade had given the earth — so terrible.

The man was running as fast as he could, biting down his tongue as he breathed at an interval of every three minutes – he had managed to breathe every five or six minutes when he was idle, and he has yet to learn to save his breath as he runs. He reaches the staircase that led to the boardwalk, hopping up the marble steps that cracked at every step he made, turning and twisting until he made his way out of the abandoned boardwalk, and was it just him when the stores and barest frames of buildings moaned in agony as the only life that passed through its once lively soul had left as soon as it arrived, or was it just the hunger that nipped at his guts?

He ended up by the road, and it was abandoned by cars and people, buildings just as decayed and bare as the ones in the boardwalk. He looked around for a moment, frantically—he has perfected the art of saving his breath, he’s been breathing for an interval of four minutes now, based on his watch. He took a right and ran as fast as his legs could go, which was a fast jog that could carry him for three hours at most without wasting his breath. 

As the road ended up uphill, with him leaning forward against the heavy pull of gravity from below, there was a view of a clinic before the T-intersection. Our man didn’t falter in step and breath as he reached the clinic, breaking the glass door in one swing with his right elbow. The glass door cracked and shattered in a million diamonds, bouncing on the floor and sticking to his sleeves. He patted them off and entered through the door, invading the empty veterinarian’s clinic.

He went into a room, where the surgeries occur and found some more oxygen gas tanks. Out of all twenty of them only six had not been wasted. He took them all. His tank was still full, but he took them. No more for the strays who would try to salvage for oxygen, the only thing left for them is the decaying flesh and bones of animals in cages in the next room. He took them, placed them in his retractable wagon, and pulled north.

He hears the faintest sound, but he hasn't faltered. He walked slowly now, his breathing smooth as water as his ears tried to pick up the source of the sound. It rolled on the ground. Heavy. Faraway. It didn't change pace.

Our man, who used to go by Sam Wilson, had continued on his way, squaring his shoulders as his jaw clenched beneath the mask, and for once, he had let his guard down. He trusted his heart over his gut —  he let his eyes wander towards the ground because it felt right to do so. God, when was the last time Sam had relaxed? Swinging his arms as he hummed a tune— When was the last time he could touch the sky and feel free?

It was a car. Some Mercedes. A dark shade of green. It had a pop of silver on the hood, what used to be a logo now scratched off, but there was definitely a wing in there.

The passenger window rolled down when the car had matched Sam's pace. Sam didn't want to look, didn't want to disappoint himself and get shot again. He didn't want to let his hopes wander towards the heavens just so it can fall so fast like what happened to Lucifer. He didn't want to die, to have that sliver of mercy turn into a knife.

The man in the car was covered top to bottom in a black ensemble, what they used to call the Winter Soldier armor due to the uniqueness and durability. Sam didn't want his hopes to get too high, so he assumed that the stranger wanted to steal his wagon of oxygen tanks. The atmosphere is thinning so fast, it's incomprehensible; everybody would do anything to live.

Sam whiplashed, pulled out his knife from his thigh holster, twirling it in his fingers before pulling his elbow back — it all happened too fast, next thing Sam knew, the stranger had leaned back into the driver's seat as soon as the knife had lodged itself into the driver seat window, barely an inch away from the man.

The man laughed for a moment as if it was the most adorable thing he had witnessed. His breath hitched and his arms were crossed over his chest as if he actually believed that was where Sam was aiming for.

"Nice car." Sam spoke, his words deeply muffled by his mask, it almost sounded like another language, "I'm taking it."

The man had no time to react because, by the time he had regained his stature, Sam had reached in and unlocked the passenger door, swinging it open. Holding onto the side and door of the car, Sam lifted himself and swung both his feet towards the man's chest, successfully knocking the air out of him. 

As the man had choked, Sam swung himself inside and closed the door shut, leaving his wagon outside. He sat on the passenger's seat, looking over at the wheezing man. Grabbing the man's right arm and locking it under his arm, Sam elbowed the man to the chest, throat, and nose, feeling the satisfying ringing pain shooting through his skin. Sam had worn elbow pads, decorated it with silver spikes even — poor man.

Sam had twisted the man's right arm — the man grunted like a trapped animal — and forced him to duck, and with a spare hand, he grabbed the man by the collar, slamming his face into the wheel, earning several short honks, not loud and long enough for anyone in the radius to hear.

The man heaved as Sam pulled him back, even caressing the back of the man's neck, letting the stranger have a few breaths of air for a moment. What a saint Sam was. Sam abruptly squeezed the man's neck, earning a satisfying whine. As Sam was reaching over for the knife lodged in the window, the man had uppercut him in the stomach, earning an alarming wheeze from our man. With a final tug from Sam and a punch by the man, they found themselves overcome with adrenaline.

Sam pulled the knife out of the window with a grunt, pushing the knife through the man's thigh with a terrifying shringggg, eliciting a muffled scream from him.

Sam pushed the man away from him and slid against the passenger door, heaving heavily, already afraid of how much oxygen he lost in the fight. His head felt light, and there's a ringing pain in his abdomen, one that urged him to caress it with a gentleness which his gloves contrasted. 

The driver's seat door suddenly swung open and an arm had stuck in and dragged the stranger out of the car, rolling on the ground with a gurgled grunt. The stranger tried standing up despite his injured leg but the man had pulled the knife out of his shin, eliciting a garbled line of a shriek as he collapsed on the asphalt road.

Sam rolled his eyes as he opened up his own door, pulling in the oxygen tanks one by one as the new man continued to clean up the scene, wiping the knife and pocketed it in his holster. Sam had retracted back his wagon and pocketed it as he closed the door, the new man taking the last man's seat in the car, his eyes blanketed by his dark goggles.

The new driver shifted gear and removed the handbrake, stepping on the gas quite slowly to avoid the roar of the engine or the screeching of tires. This man spoke, his words muffled deeply, signing as he said, "Run over?"

Sam waved a hand, shaking his head, and there's a glint in his eyes as he glanced over to the man wearing a black ensemble just like his, but there's a filter mask instead, more sleek and functional, something the Winter Soldier armor couldn't have, the actual original one that belonged to Bucky Barnes.

Bucky's eyes had joy in them as he looked over to Sam. The car moved for a few feet away from the grunting stranger, then Bucky shifted the gear to reverse, looking over at the rearview mirror until he deeply injured the man's legs. Bucky took his time in shifting back to drive, the car jumping a bit as they continued on with stealing the car. 

"I didn't think you'd come," Sam signed with one hand, leaning his head against the closed window, his chest rising and falling heavily. "You were on the way to Las Vegas."

Bucky looked over to Sam for a moment before speaking, "Las Vegas may have currency but it doesn't have you." 

Sam had to take a moment before figuring out what the man was saying, and when he did, he smiled under his mask, closing his eyes as it reached them. Groaning, Sam shook his head at that, Bucky laughing at the side as he maneuvered the car through the throes of wrecked cars and metal of the San Francisco streets.

The wreckage of the road, of course, only stretched the more the car rolled down the disaster of a scene. The afternoon sky was dull and settling as the winds whistled a low tune, but even then it was merely a delusion, merely a fictitious ensemble, something more of a mirage, a ploy to the senses. Decorating the asphalt road were small fires that were either already burning or had suddenly combusted out of nowhere, and other than this, the afternoon harsh sun rays were bouncing off of the reflective surfaces of dismantled cars, almost disfiguring the two men’s sight from the windshield. 

It's almost like an ode to the old world, a painting dedicated to the world before downfall played into fate, something of a music piece played for the masses disguised as the Trojan horse. Our two men had sat in silence as this scenery passed by them, but all they felt was tension and war in their veins, their gazes as strong as liquor and they despised that — despised how much they could've gotten if nothing ever happened in the first place.

Bucky reached over to Sam quiet hesitantly, grabbing his attention with a slight tap. Sam's eyes glanced at Bucky's hand, watching the way Bucky signed, slowly, as if wanting Sam to take it all in, I'm sorry.

Sam spoke, but his words were chopped and deeply muffled, barely comprehensible, but Bucky knew what he was trying to say with the way Sam's eyebrows hardened, the quick tick of his jaw, and the softness in his ocher eyes. Sam's nervous, forgiving, I was okay without you.

Bucky's eyebrows relaxed, and he wanted so badly to remove his goggles but he knew he shouldn't, so he nodded, cleared his throat, and said: "You were always okay without me."

Sam nodded. They both knew. Sam was always fine on his own, but he felt that need for a companion and he adored Bucky's like Apollo's Icarus — like a scar down one's spine, one made out of love, ambition, and yearning. 

"I wanted to be human. I wanted someone," Sam spoke, only signing it when he had gathered himself. He had set his head against the window, his breath shuddering as he added one last bit, "I wanted it to be you."

There's heat rising in Bucky's chest and all he could think of was how much Sam was attracted to it, but he's afraid he'd burn the angel because people like Bucky only ever did was hurt the most beautiful things in the world, but damnit, Sam wasn't beautiful.

People like Sam were ugly to the bone because they don't truly believe in peace and beauty. They've fought tooth and nail to accept fate with stardust in their eyes and that journey alone was frightening, murderous intent for all.

It's scary to think someone like Sam wasn't able to love because he was just so full of it.

"I want to love you," Bucky speaks, and they were soon going down a steep road. He moves methodically to drive them quietly. "I want to be with you too."

Sam signs, furiously, his eyebrows knitted together as his eyes had a sadness in them Bucky couldn't pinpoint. "Then why did you leave?"

Bucky's hand flew to the clasps of his goggles, but then he stopped, realized what he was doing, and slowly set his hand back down on the steering wheel. Sam was watching the man with wide eyes, silent and nervous as if they were going to suddenly combust at any moment, and maybe they were with the way flames lick their skin as if hungry peasants — maybe they were those hungry peasants.

"To survive. Didn't realize that's an empty wish if I didn't find companionship — you, when I was already so far away." Bucky replied, and his voice was clear, a little murky, but Sam heard it all, even the man's heartbeat laced around the words. "I didn't want to live greedily, I wanted to live loved and to love."

Sam turned back to face the road, his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes caught sight of the hood of the car. There were a million thoughts that ran through his head at the speed of light, but he wasn't baffled when these thoughts turned to plans, survival plans, plans with Bucky Barnes. His lip squirmed under the mask and it hurts to even smirk, but Sam's heart is so full of emotions he never thought he could feel again and it's euphoric.

Sunlight dances on grass and Sam could feel himself breathe freely again as if he was alive before the war. He could feel Bucky's flesh hand in his and there are the softness and toughness of skin he craved after the war. There were too many feelings in Sam's chest that made him weep, but he stayed stoic, stared out the windshield, his jaw hurting as he tried his best to stop his smile.

They were on flat ground and Sam made a sound Bucky thinks was laughter. Bucky's chest fluttered just like the first time he heard that laugh — before the war.

Sam's gloved fingers find their way grazing Bucky's jaw, only a fleeting feeling none of them could feel, but there's warmth in their chests as Sam cupped another hand around the man's cheek, their hearts singing in octaves as Apollo fell instead of Icarus; all backward love, they'll make it worth it.

Sam leaned into Bucky's face and their masks made a clicking sound when they met. This was the closest they could get to kissing, but it's not truly a love story if lips had to prove it. Don't you hear the world still just for them? 

Sam stared at the goggles, thinking he could see Bucky's eyes flutter close, fighting to keep them open. Sighing, Sam closed his eyes to take at the moment, the new normal they can have.

Letting go, Sam leaned back into his seat, saying, signing, "We just stole S.H.I.E.L.D. property."

There's a trace of a grin on Bucky's words when he said, "What bastards. You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Sam turned to Bucky, and they share a sound similar to a laugh.

"As always." 

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winterfalcon #sam wilson sundays #france: writing #france: works

[lucas-grey]

I always wondered how Grey met Olivia. We know from his mercenaries in Colorado that she was about 7 years old and that they met in 2002 in Sierra Leone. That was the time of civil war there, so I presume he met her when he was there as a mercenary. That's why I wrote another short FanFiction where I imagined how they met. I hope you enjoy it and I would feel very grateful for some love ❤️

Bo, Sierra Leone

The civil war was over. Two days ago, on January the 18th 2002, the official end of the war had been announced.

Lucas Grey and his group of mercenaries had arrived in a small village near Bo. He was part of the Executive Outcomes group. Their task was to track down the still existing rebels and to push through the end of the war even in the small towns where this news had not yet arrived.

The village looked like many others he had seen in the past few days and weeks. A landscape of destroyed houses, debris and no access to clean drinking water. On the streets he saw children whose faces were marked by the misery of war. Also shattered families. Grey and his men blocked it out of their minds. They had their job. They stormed the buildings that were still intact, and led the rebels outside at gunpoint. Anyone who refused or even resisted was taken down. It was the ruthless face of war. And even if the official cease of fire had been solemnly announced and sealed with a signature, the fighting outside the big cities continued. And with it, the suffering.

A small building at the edge of town was still intact, although the bullet holes were clearly visible in the cracked walls. Grey gave his men a silent hand signal to storm the house. He led the way with his AK-47 loaded and pointing forward. The first room was empty. Grey went to the next one. Empty. It was routine. As he advanced through the aisles he kept his breathing steady and his pulse even. He had done this dozens of times.

When Grey got to the last room, he switched on the flashlight on his rifle. The room was pitch dark. The only small window of the place was covered with wooden panels. Grey smelled an acrid stench that he knew all too well. He shone in a corner and saw two corpses. Adults. One man, one woman. "The room is clean," he said as he shone his flashlight up and suddenly into the face of a little girl who narrowed her eyes to the bright light. The dirt on her face was smeared with tears and her eyes were swollen. Her short black hair was matted and dirty, as was her torn clothes. She stood barefoot next to the two dead bodies and looked at Grey, trembling.

Lucas lowered his gun. “Open the window,” he ordered, and two of the mercenaries tore the planks off the window with a strong jerk. A blinding sunray ate its way into the dark room. Lucas looked at the two bodies lying face down on the floor. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs, as were their feet. With his foot he turned the male body over. The man's face was smashed beyond recognition. All that was visible was a mass of purple flesh. Grey's gaze wandered to the little girl. She stared at the dead man. “Are these your parents?", Grey asked her. She did not answer. Grey saw a tear run down her cheek. It was answer enough for him. He knew they were her parents or at least had cared for her. “What happened here, Mister Grey?", one of the men asked. Grey shrugged. “Diamonds”, the girl suddenly whispered. Grey walked slowly towards her. She looked at him. “They had diamonds?" He asked. She nodded. “The coup plotters probably executed them”, said one of the mercenaries. Lucas sighed. “We're done here. Let’s head back to camp.”

When Lucas turned to follow his men, he paused for a moment. It was his last day of work there. He would write a final report at camp tonight and be on a plane to Central America tomorrow. What remained was another war memory and more images that would haunt him in his dreams at night. He turned and looked at the little girl. He knew she had little chance of surviving. He had seen enough children in filthy wars who were orphaned and left alone by their governments. Children who had no chance of a better life. It was his last day of work in Sierra Leone. He walked slowly up to the girl and crouched down in front of her. “Do you have someone who can take care of you?", he asked. She shook her head. Lucas paused. Maybe he could find someone willing to do so before leaving. There were enough aid organisation on site. Somebody would take care. And if not, he would. “What's your name?", he asked with a slight smile and held out his hand. She looked at him with her big brown eyes as she timidly put her hand in his. “My name is Olivia”.

Special thanks goes out to @sillyliterature for correcting and giving very good tips! Thank you so much for reading it ❤️

#lucas grey #olivia hall #hitman #hitman fanfiction #fanfiction #my fanfiction

[cherrybracelets]

The Less I Know The Better

spencer reid x reader

warnings: no adult content but fighting occurs | word count: 1.3k (she a little shorty before sometbing big 👀)

masterlist | requests

an: yeah i stole this idea from one of my OWN fics whatever don’t @ me

“Are you not talking to me now?” You growled, slamming the door behind you as you and Spencer walked into your apartment.

“I’m not not talking, I just need a moment to process,” he replied, tilting his head and smirking slightly. You rolled your eyes in frustration and threw your bag on the table.

“I really didn’t want to fight tonight Spence. I haven’t seen you in a weeks and chances are you’ll get swept away again soon.”

“Well I’d like to go one day without you complaining about my job,” he shouted, his fists clenched and his nails digging into the flesh of his palms.

“I do nothing but support you and your career!” You responded, raising your voice slightly.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, (Y/N). I am exhausted and really just want to relax while I can.” Spencer ran his hands through his hair in grief, a wave of nausea overcoming him as the exhaustion of travel took its toll on him.

“Of course, just walk away. Every time I bring up how I feel you always just say you can’t deal with it and leave. When do I get a chance to talk?” You felt your face getting hot, an uncomfortable wave of tears flooding your face as you broke down. The man you so desperately loved didn’t even care how he hurt you anymore.

“I walk away because this is bullshit. You know it is. I’m literally catching criminals, murderers. If you can’t handle that, that’s on you.” Spencer shook his head, his cheeks red and his head spinning. He hated seeing you cry, but he wasn’t himself right now. He was angry and tired and wanted desperately to crawl up in bed with you, feel the comfort of your flesh against his and the softness of the sheets. He missed the smell of the room you two shared, he missed the smell of your freshly washed hair and your mint chapstick.

He sat down on the chair in the living room with a groan, putting his head in his hands. You watched him take a few deep breaths, and you tried to ground yourself as well. He’s only been home for a day, and you didn’t want to spend your limited time together like this. It wasn’t worth it.

“I think I’m gonna go take a walk, get some fresh air. I just need to clear my head.” You wiped the tears from your face and rolled your shoulders back, trying to pick yourself up.

“You think I’m gonna let you go take a walk alone at night? Do you literally have no idea what I do for a living?” He laughed slightly, sitting back in the chair and watching you.

“I don’t wanna be around you right now, Spence. We’re just gonna keep fighting and I can’t handle that. This is already... so hard.” You hated thinking it, but moments like this made your relationship feel so fragile. One wrong move and everything would shatter. And you hated how hard it was all the time. Every day was a constant battle. Sometimes you wondered if loving him was worth all of this.

“What, you want to end this or something? You want to give up on me?” Spencer asked in disbelief.

“I love you, but sometimes it feels like you have given up on me! You’ve been gone for weeks, each gap gets longer and longer, and you keep assuming I’ll always be there when you get back. How long will you be gone before I decide you aren’t coming back?” You spilled everything out so quickly, you had to catch your breath. He sat there, his mouth agape as he replayed your words over and over in his head.

“But you said... you said we’d be together forever. You can’t leave. You promised me...” he whispered, his brows furrowed as he worked through his thoughts.

“I said that when you still put in an effort here. You’ve taken me for granted, Spencer. It’s not fair to me. I’m sorry but... I have to tell you how I feel.” You were crying again, choking on your words as you watched the Spencer breaking down in front of you.

“No, no. This can’t happen. It’s not supposed to happen.” He chuckled quietly, his eyes darting around the room as he lost himself in thought.

“Well we need to talk about this.” You crossed your arms, hoping he would look at you, but he was already in his own world.

“What am I supposed to do now?” He spoke to himself, shaking his head.

“Spencer, talk to me!”

He started walking away, shuffling quickly down the hall. You followed him, frustrated at his lack of communication. You yelled his name a few times, but he either didn’t hear you or didn’t care. He walked into the bedroom rather loudly, opened the closet doors and shuffling around.

“What are you doing?” You asked, shocked at his total lack of recognition of you. He didn’t respond, just continued to search through the closet. He pulled out a small duffel bag, which you quickly recognized as his go back for work.

“Are you seriously leaving right now?” You asked, gasping in anger.

“What am I supposed to do with this now, (Y/N)?” He pulled out a small black box from the bag, opening up the lid to reveal a large diamond ring.

“What...” you whispered, staring in confusion at the rock in front of you.

“Derek helped me pick it out in New York on the last case. I analyzed the stone myself, one of the best cuts I’ve ever seen. It’s literally perfect, for you. And you want to walk away?” He snapped the lid shut, holding it tightly in his hand.

“Spencer... I... I don’t know what to say.” You felt dizzy, and you sat down slowly on the bed.

“I want to marry you. I never... I never gave up on us.” Spencer was crying himself, now, so many emotions flooding through him.

“Ask me to marry you.”

“What?”

“Ask me, Spencer. Just ask.”

“Will you be my wife, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” He opened the box back up, taking the ring out and holding it in his fingers.

“It’s literally the only thing I’ve ever wanted.” You laughed, taking his face in your hands and kissing him softly.

“Let me put it on,” he gushed, taking your hand and delicately sliding the ring on your hand.

“I’m so sorry for saying I... for even thinking I wanted to end things. I love you more than anything, I just miss you so much Spencer. I hate not seeing you for that long.”

“I know, I’m so sorry. I got used to you being around and assumed I had nothing to worry about. I’m sorry for taking you for granted. You are literally my everything, I would be a fool to not give you the world.”

“We have to call my parents! And your mom! And the team!” You yelped, looking at the ring beautifully placed on your hand. “It’s so perfect, Spencer.”

“Just like the person wearing it.” He smiled and kissed you.

“I’m gonna be your wife,” you beamed.

“And I’m gonna be a husband. Never thought I’d say that,” he giggled, kissing you on the forehead and wiping away tears from your cheeks.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 11

Synopsis: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Chapters:  Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Completed.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings:  Explicit smut, violence, gore, cutting, angst, manhandling, choking, foul language, bondage, breath play, unprotected sex. 

A/N: Assuming my usual panic attack positions! Ok, so there are about 2 chapters left and I fear this story is about to conclude... 😰 This chapter put me through an emotional turmoill! Many thanks for my editor and muse @agniavateira, @yespolkadotkitty for the cover art and @dancingwendigo and @wondersofdreaming who’re helping me through my panic attacks and providing tips

Please comment, review and reblog.  💖

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me

Pearly tendrils of light shine through the creases of his lids, waking him from a dreamless sleep. A mixture of iron and dream-like mellowness tugs at his nose, like death and fresh roses. It’s so close he can nearly taste it on his parched tongue. Swallowing the scorching dryness in his throat, the fallen man attempts to move but a leaden warmth defies him, hugging softly onto his upper torso and embracing him in the foreign fog of solace. 

A delicate heartbeat murmurs against his, so frail it virtually feels as if it melted into his own ribs. 

As if she dissolved into him.

Cold sweat layers his forehead. Snapping frantically he shoves the girl off of him, curling against the headboard with a crazed neurotic look on his face as if he was touched by a blaze of blistering fire. 

“What the fuck do you want!?” August yells, his voice hoarse and cracked. His glare shoots through her across the small bedroom, his mind rapidly trying to grasp any recollection of the messy chamber. This location is strange to him; the walls feel like they’re closing in, withdrawing the air from his lungs in a place that seems like a warzone. The light-carpeted floor is soiled by a long path of the darkest red, the trail leading back to them.  

The porcelain valkyrie is pushed to the edge of the bed, seemingly like a rare mythological creature. Her long hair drapes her face like a dark veil, pierced by two shiny diamonds that glimpse through, imbued with naivety. Still drowsy, she tries to collect her own senses, rubbing her heavy forehead and releasing a soft groan.

“Relax, stop shouting.” she pleads with lids half shut. Her slender arms spread in the air, suggesting a peace treaty. 

August scowls, his airflow becoming short and quickened. He lets a hand rave over his chest with panic, finding it bare and sticky with dry blood and sweat. A clean bandage is wrapped around his left pectoral and crossed tightly around one shoulder. While the aching sting still bites into the wounded muscle, his energy has slightly renewed, as well as his sanity. 

Or so he believes. 

Making another hasty survey of the room, he finds his belt and armed holster scattered on the floor. He makes a dash for it, immediately aiming the gun in Ingvild’s direction, refusing to fall to whatever game this may be.  

She stares at him motionless, remaining seated with her knees folded and her feet nestled below her behind. “Feels nice doesn’t it?” she provokes, her lips breaking into a faint grin as if the muscles of her face are still learning the concept of smiling. “To wake up with your tits out.”

Looking back at her unamused, his hand waves the gun. A glower shadows his face, painting deep lines in his forehead. The attempt to greet her with an onslaught of insults results in nothing but a painful wheeze as his throat sears. 

“Don’t move,” Ingvild commands lightly and climbs off the bed, completely ignoring the click of the gun and August’s arm that follows her every movement. Her legs nearly float through as she moves gracefully, rushing to the bathroom nearby. She grabs a glass and fills it from the tap before quickly returning to sit on the bed, offering the tall glass to August.

Wary of her peace offering, he hesitates, scanning her for any signs of wickedness and finding none. Something else glints through her big irises instead. The deep lines that dot those beautiful greys seem so brittle, immersed in emotion he can’t define or recognize at all. 

It makes him feel attacked.

Snatching the glass violently, he swallows its content in one gulp, feeling a thirst he never sensed in his entire existence. He places the glass on the nightstand, slamming it so harshly it shatters.  

Ingvild peers at the light sparkling onto the broken shards and averts her eyes back to August’s profoundly ragged face. He glares with blazes of fury, evidently less than inclined to trust her despite her efforts to make amends, and the fact that she nursed him through a stormy night. 

It pricks her heart, more than it ever did when she tried to gain Liam’s affection.

“I could have killed you at least three times in your sleep,” she murmurs and then pauses, attempting to smirk again. “You should really lay off the snacks, I nearly fainted trying to get you to the bed.”

Unphased, he carefully gauges her appearance. Soft, pale light shines through the window, showering her skin with a mellow haze as she sits holding a hand over her forearm, squeezing it nervously. Her glance is filled with rain clouds, the cynicism and the hatred he grew so accustomed to is untraceable. 

A piece inside her shifted, deeming her fragile all of the sudden. In his heart of tar and stone, he knows she speaks the truth, yet the spirit of vengeance won’t let go. Bile rises in his throat, fingers twitching as the constant hunger to touch her prickles his skin. The woman is a natural prey to him, making his mouth salivate. It’s enough to see her defenceless to make him want to gnaw fresh cavities in her flesh. 

But something else boils in his veins. More than just a primal need.

“Why can’t you just let me be?” he asks sharply, teeth gritted and jaw strained tightly. A slight tremor runs through his bones, his body dominated by anger and despair. 

“You came here,” she answers, staring fearlessly between the barrel and his furious gaze. A small frown forms between her eyebrows, the grey clouds inside her lustrous eyes beginning to take wind. “You wanted to retaliate.”

Fragments of the other night begin to slice into the black matter of his brain: her tears, her lips moving slowly, whispering his own words of a vendetta in her angelic voice. 

Like a dream, nebulous and virginal, how beautiful she was surrendering her will to his. 

‘Fight it! She betrayed you.’

“Oh trust me, princess, I still very much want to see you die.” he retorts, the gun beginning to feel heavy in his hand. He reaches to hold his own wrist, giving a fierce glare. “You should have ended it, darling.”

“Yes, I should’ve killed you,” she agrees, her lower lip slightly quivering as she looks at him with desperation. Her chest begins to heave through the cleavage of her top, the same tarnished one she wore that night. It still smells like his sweat. His musk is so stubborn it lingers. 

“I should be a good girl, for Liam, for Icarus. But I have so many thoughts going through my head over and over again, splitting my mind in half. I don’t want to do this anymore, I don’t want to kill for them, I don’t want to kill you. It hurts.”

Shuffling in a swift movement, she crawls toward him, her muscles flexing inward. Her slick manoeuvres remind him of a majestic feline. August’s pupils dilate as the lines of her face sharpen in his sight and the warmth of her body returns to caress him like a pleasant autumn breeze.

Ingvild reaches her slender arm for his wrist fearlessly before he can even muster any protest. Ignoring the gun aimed at her throat, she forces his palm flat onto her chest and inhales sharply. Her heart thunders against his touch, making his own beat accelerate.  

“Right here,” she says, gazing deeply into his eyes as if trying to enchant him. “I have killed close to 470 people since I was 14. I don’t remember their faces, but I do know I never felt this before, not for any of them.”

The azure ocean in August’s eyes gushes with alarming gusts. The scarce physical contact ignited a spark inside him, driving him to withdraw his hand aggressively, putting down the flame before it begins to spread again. 

“What do you want? What do you think this is?” he asks furiously, boring a frenzied look into her eyes. He feels a certain heat rising in his chest. He reasons with himself that it’s just the gunshot wound festering, burning his lungs to cinders.

“I want you,” she answers, her gaze dropping to his lips, admiring the fine shape. A sharp cupid’s bow hidden beneath the coarse hair of his thick moustache. Her hands dream of stroking his sculptured jaw and feel the bristle of his untamed stubble. 

“I want to follow you on your mission.”    

‘She is lying. Don’t trust her, remember what happened the last time you’ve placed your faith in a woman?’

August’s nostrils flare, his mind scouring frantically, bargaining for a reason why she would be different. Twice he spared her, his murderous will weakened by her manipulative spells, clawed by whatever it was she had on him. The voice in his head warns him gravely, yet the fact that here he is, still alive by her merciful hand spikes his doubts, meddling with his thoughts the way only she could do. 

Ever since she stepped into his life he’s been spiralling into a cataclysm. Something that he always gripped with zeal was no longer in his control.  

Leaning closer, he narrows his eyes with spite. The muscle of his jaw contracts, clenching tightly. He grazes the cold barrel of the gun against the supple skin of her cheek. “Why should I trust you?” he spits out, tracing her face further with the hard, crude metal.  “You think that because I broke you in, I actually care about you?”

Ingvild studies his face, not showing any sign of fear as she nods to herself. “You need proof.”

The young woman looks around her, searching for something in the room thoughtfully. Her eyes rest on the nightstand beside August and she leans to it, brushing her entire figure against his broad body for a split second as she reaches for the broken glass. 

“What do you think you’re doing, princess?” he asks cautiously, his eyes following her every move.  He crooks his eyebrow as she sits in front of him with her legs bunched beneath her bottom. Displaying her left arm with her elbow resting on one knee and her palm facing upward, she presses the shard against her wrist. 

August frowns in a mixture of confusion and agitation, alarm bells ringing at the back of his head. Yet no rational thought makes it to his mind as he watches the glass tear through her skin. 

Silence befalls the room. Abruptly so quiet he can hear the buzz of the electric cords running through the walls. Even her breath pauses as her right hand drops the shard on the bed, her eyes remaining poised, darting onto his. Overcome with disbelief he wonders if she actually did it, scrutinizing her flesh which seems intact.  

Suddenly, a spout of blood emerges through her open wrist. 

Dark red liquor licks down her arm, sensually dripping onto her worn jeans and pooling onto the blanket. August’s heart stirs with shock, yet he attempts to force his emotions away. 

“What the hell do you think you are doing?!” 

Keeping her sight on his, Ingvild remains still, not flinching a muscle as the blood pumps out of her severed artery. The pain is excruciating yet the chants in her mind continue to tell her to hold her groans inside. 

‘Show no weakness, prove your strength.’

“You want loyalty.”

“Won’t mean a thing if you’re dead,” he answers coldly, waiting for her to stop the blood, to show any fear or regret. The thick liquid continues to flow down her arm, tarnishing her porcelain skin that begins to turn paler as the blood drains from her body. He gathers the torture must be unbearable yet she won’t even make a whimper.

‘What is she waiting for?’

“I’m not going to save you,” August warns. 

Ingvild shrugs lightly, trying not to move her arm too much. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll die one way or another, by your hand or Icarus’. At least this gives me a choice.”

The drops staining the bed sound like rain tapping against a window ledge, heavy and dull.

August’s brows knit together, his eyes running back and forth between her arm and her face, watching her lips turning light blue, triggering disturbing memories in his mind. “What on earth does that mean?” Heavy frown lines paint his forehead as he recalls her words before she shot him. 

“I have to kill you.” 

“You’re a slave?” he reckons, looking at the colour vanishing from her face as she nods. “How very disappointing, Ingvild.”

“A tool, controlled by men whom I’ve never seen to manipulate the world and sustain the old order, as you wrote in your manifesto.” she shuts her eyes for a mere second, trying to push back the throbbing twinge in her vein as her body screams with panic. 

“They stole my freedom…” she pauses, finding it suddenly hard to speak. “They stole me... what did they take from you?”

“It’s none of your business,” he snaps, aware of how her voice slows down along with her breath. He swears he can hear her heartbeat getting louder as if begging to be rescued. 

“But I am bleeding for you.” she provokes, offering a small weak chuckle. Feeling the euphoria creeping to her mind. “You should tell me your plans like villains do in the movies. I’m dying anyway.”

August snarls. Shaking his head, his eyes hold a rageful ocean, washed with concern. The image of her dying corpse lying beneath him flashes into his memory. A dead angel in the snow, lips frozen in time. He should have left her there in the frozen lake. But for a split second, she was Lacey and then she wasn’t. 

As she slowly dives into her own death, he still wonders why he couldn’t let her drown.

‘For fuck’s sake.’

Ingvild closes her eyes accepting the shadows that seduce her to join them, the pain dwindling as her body gives in. But she’s quickly pulled back by August who holds her hand, covering the bleeding slit with his tattered shirt and pressing into it. His voice comes as distant thunder, vibrating gently in her ears before words begin to make sense again.  

“Hold it up, like this,” he commands her, folding her arm and fisting her wrist tightly. “Where are the bandages?”

Ingvild tilts her chin, her sleepy eyes gesturing onto her bag on the floor where a pristine white pack of badges lies. 

“Keep the pressure on,” he orders her again. His voice is calm as if once again he follows protocols. Yet something stirred, hiding within the silent sea of his eyes which snap at her for a split second. 

They’re tainted by fear. 

Ingvild watches with hushed admiration as he hurries to grab the bandage and returns to her. A small wrinkle rests between his brow, focusing intently on wrapping her open wound. He makes such a beautiful, neat work dressing her injury, she almost feels sorry for making a mess out of his.    

“Have I proved myself?” she taunts, peeking at him through her lashes while he makes work of tying the dressing tightly at her wrist. His elegant hands wrap a piece of medical duct tape around the bandages, twirling the long thick bands ceremonially as if they were silk ribbons.

His stern gaze rests upon her face, noting every flake of her long lashes, watching the different colours shift like thick liquid as daylight breaks onto her glassy irises. Awe plays with the strings in his chest, mesmerized by the innocence in her that refuses to die even after he desecrated her. 

The craving in him seethes. Like a thirsty man in the desert who stumbles onto an oasis.    

‘You can’t let her go, can’t let her slip between your fingers.’

With her wrist still in his grasp, he allows himself to stroke a thumb over the white cotton of the bandage, brushing the suppleness of her skin.

“This is not the devotion I need from you, princess.”

Ingvild flinches like a scared animal, shivering at the foreign tenderness of his touch. No one ever touched her with kindness. Soft, feather-like caresses embark further up her milky skin, making her moan at the pleasant new sensation. Light and careful, his fingers ascend to her neck and press around her chin.  

“Angel,” August murmurs, low and sonorous. His bulky body looms closer, whilst the grip around her jaw becomes tense, drawing her closer until his lips are a mere inch away from hers. “Do you want to be devoted to me?”

“Yes,” she answers, voice still lingering either by blood loss or the passion that begins to cloud her mind.

Consoled by her answer, a small growl builds in the pit of August’s diaphragm, accompanied by a lustful grin that edges his chiselled face. 

“Then show me your devotion.”

“No…” she protests lightly, finally breaking into a true little smile that glints brightly in her eyes. The radiance almost makes him want to take it from her by force. “I’m not a toy.” 

August smirk widens at her response, exposing his sharp fangs that beam at the faint hint of rosy hues that circles her cheeks. 

“Did I stutter?” Authority paints his voice, his grip putting pressure on her nape and pressing her chin up with the pad of his thumb. The patience in him wears thin, greed weaving in his gut yet he vows to hold back as much as possible, unwilling to tear down her wings. 

She must submit freely.

Fallen by his power, she watches the darkness pour into his eyes, his lips pulling apart slightly, anticipating the moment when he can steal the air from her lungs and nibble into the plumpness of her lips. Whatever strength in her wanes, bending to his will. She meekly takes his lips into hers, suckling him above and below, feeling the rough graze of his moustache. 

It’s nothing like the violent kiss they shared in the pit, yet something in her quickly awakens: a hunger like no other, turning the kiss more demanding. Like fire spreading, their tongues quickly engulf each other, dancing feverishly. August’s growl vibrates all the way down her sternum, his hands roaming down to grope every patch of skin. 

A mewl of protest breaks from her as he leaves her lips, followed by a deep sigh as he begins to kiss down her throat. The scruff of his coarse facial hair makes her blood rush and her heart pumps with exhilaration, nearly halting from the bliss of his touch.

“I want everything.” August blurts out, tugging her shirt over her head and then biting her breasts over her bra. The canvas of her skin is tainted by deep-grey and purple shades. Flicking the clasp of her bra, he wonders briefly which were from their fight and which formed as he fucked her so aggressively. He feels nothing but pride in knowing he will make new ones right now. Brand her as he claims her his own. 

Sharp teeth sink into her tender breasts, coaxing yips of pain, marking her with wet little cavities while his fingers fiddle with her jeans, urgently huddling it down her legs along with her underwear. Impassioned, she shifts from her position, kicking away the last remnants of her clothes. The chill air tickles her wet flesh, making her exhale with ghastly need. More wolf than a man, August leans back, his torso layered with sweat that glistens of the dark fur of his torso. The fabric of his trousers is stretched painfully over the massive bulge and mindlessly she reaches out to feel him, kneading the outlines of his erection through his pants. 

‘Fuck, her touch...’ 

Fervent groans tremor through his sinew as she squeezes him harder. She frees him from his trousers, running a hand up and down his shaft, astounded by his vastness and the correlation of smooth velvet skin over rock-hard muscle. 

Still sore, the pounding heat of need rocks at the centre of her cunt, possessing her into swaying her perky breasts against his cock. Pearly beads of precum exude from the tip, coating the erected peaks of her nipples.

“Fuck!” August pants and swallows hard, as the battle over his self-control drains him. Patience has always been his virtue in bed, his power over women. Release in control by sodomy that inflicted true pleasure. 

But not with her. She strings different tunes, singing seductive hymns to the animal in him. 

He wants her. He needs her. He must have all of her.  

‘I deserve her.’

Drawing back against the headboard, his hands snap at her hip, lifting her with ease to stand on her knees right above his cock. Ingvild nibbles at her bottom lip, her eyes falling onto his hardened shaft which lies heavily against his abs. 

If not for all the injuries she caused him, the large man’s Adonis-like form would have looked like a renaissance statue cut out of marble. 

“Come here,” he commands, removing one hand from her to seize the base of his huge cock which towers with glory amidst the dark bundles of curls. “Take me in”

A stream of arousal rushes inside her, making her quiver as she lowers her soaked crease onto his erection ever so gingerly. Cries of overwhelm break from her lips. His girth splits her apart, whilst his wolf-like glares bore into hers with the triumph of conquest. 

Every push stretches her wider, forcing her body to succumb and accept him despite the painful effort. August is too big, his vastness tears whatever innocence is left to her, and he is not even fully within.

Shivering, she halts, hearing August’s snarl of protest when realizing she has her nails cleaving crescent-marks on his pumped shoulders.  

“All the way in, angel,” he commands, and then bucks his hips into her and snaps her down onto his pulsating shaft, giving no notice to the scream she lets out as he sears her. 

He drives himself in until her ass slams onto his thick thighs. She can feel his hot flinching cock buried within the dark pit of her gut while his sack strains against her clenched cavern. 

“Good girl.” August praises, pressing her against his chest as they both pant and groan in harmony. Calls of pleasure and cries of pain mingle into a sinful symphony.

But suddenly he stills, and his hand snaps at her neck. Thumb pressing at her artery, he makes a small thrust, causing her to whine as little sparks kindle in her cunt. 

“August, please.” she whimpers, trying to ride him to ease the aching despair that boils in her cunt. He fills her to the hilt yet gives no friction but the thundering throb of his thick veins. 

“Devotion.” he replies, his free arm fishing for the leather belt perched on the floor. With one determined wring of his wrist,he wraps it around her neck, giving her a nice little collar with a leash made of the thick strap. 

His finger brushes up and down the leather erotically, staring at the girl’s hazy grey orbs to see if he can find a drop of protest.   

Instead, she presses her hands on his furry torso and desperately begins to mount him with teetering gasps. The noose tightens with the sway of her body yet the tension and the grind within is far too agonizing to stay still; the need to have him sunken in her depth of her soul defies any will to breathe.

August gapes his mouth with awe, groaning loudly as he feels her drenched cunt gripping around. She’s impossibly tight, his fresh little flower, crying out so hopelessly as if it hurts, as if being fucked by his large cock is so pleasurably unbearable yet her life depends on it.

“Poor little tight cunt,” he taunts, urging her to fall faster back on his thighs while bucking his hips into her with deep slams. “you missed this?” he asks with a groan, tying the strap around his fist and pulling her closer to meet his hooded gaze, “You missed me fucking you, angel?”

Unable to make more than strangled sobs, she nods with glassy eyes, feeling the squeeze around her arteries while her cunt convulses and blazes with ecstasy. Flames bloom in the pit of her womb, every assault of his cock inside her pushes the heat further through her nerves. Desperate, she is reduced to nothing but her pursuit of forgotten euphoria. 

The fervent flames lick up her spine, darkness whispering in her mind. Yet she leans back, letting the noose devoid the oxygen to her heart and brain as her body falls lost into a delirium.

August feels her pussy tensing around his cock as the belt halts her airflow; through the heated waves of pleasure, an alarm blares. “Careful,” he rasps, reaching his fist to her throat to replace the belt and pulling her until her chest grinds into his own. “Don’t damage what’s mine!”

Her reply is a cracked wheeze, her body jolting as he fucks her into a punishing rhythm. Hot and burning, stoking inside her, balls thudding and battering her hole, the chant of their wet skin colliding in a violent dance accompanies the chaotic symphony of their moans. His angel latches onto him, wrapping tighter and tighter as her body accepts his offering of rage, sucking and milking him dry.

August pulls her face against his, fingers flexing around her jugular, lips grazing her own and then hovering to rob her of her feeble exhales. 

“You want to breathe?” he snarls.

Ingvild nods, feeling the storm of fire about to erupt inside her. Her canal gripping him so tightly she can feel every tendon and ridges of him grazing her walls. Tears well in her raincloud eyes, her heart shrinking as she feels him, all of him, consuming her with his existence.

“Then come for me, angel.” 

With his words, she arches back, letting the fire implode in her loins and sweep her into a rapture so intense her entire body shakes around him. All she can feel is August, filing her soul, seeping in deeper than her thoughts. 

Tears spring down her cheeks, emotions and pleasure whirl at her heart at once.

“August!”

Hearing his name on her lips spikes the savage spirits within. Reduced to a beast, he takes hold of her hips, flipping her over and riding between her thighs. His hands pin her down by the neck and he ravages her through her climax. He can feel the flinch of his cock, swelling larger inside her narrow space. The innocence of her essence devours him. All the hate and pain diminishes and for a brief moment, he is allowed into heaven, feeling nothing but bliss in his chest. His shouts of pleasure echo into the room, his body jerking into her as the hot, white ribbons of his thick seed sprout into her womb.

Falling down to earth is always the hardest part.

Taking a hard swallow, he leans his sweaty forehead against hers, rolling it slowly and listening to the silent hisses from her mouth. Still basking in the afterglow of his orgasm, he pulls himself to his elbows fighting the spasm in his muscles and their will to collapse. His brow suddenly crumples at her sight: her eyes shine with a wide spectrum of emotions that glisten sadly down her temples. Shivering sobs escape from quivering lips, trying to find words that never make it to her tongue. 

August observes her carefully, removing his grip from her neck gingerly and reaching out a thumb to dry her tears. The crystals in her eyes were broken to dozens of many pieces that reflected the light back in various shades. A look of a lost child that carries an oddly familiar sensation, something that makes him cold and warm, as if Ingvild is inside his blood and he is inside hers. 

They had killed each other after all and then brought one another’s hearts to beat again. In his twisted mind, it made for a more profound intimacy than sex.

“Easy, babygirl.” he speaks unusually compassionate, dipping a finger in the wetness beneath her eyes and then slips it into his mouth, tasting the salt onto his tongue. “That was intense for you, wasn’t it?”

She nods silently, the emotional release tingling through her aortae, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. She never felt like this: whole, vulnerable, and belonging. She never felt anything at all, all her life. Her body tries to control the jitters in her muscles yet her body seems suddenly inexplicably cold.   

“Sh... it’s okay,” August whispers, capturing her lips into a chaste comforting kiss. “I’ve got you.” he murmurs and allows his lips to trail lower, pressing soft butterfly kisses over every patch of skin and bone, descending through the plains of her naked flesh, tasting the mixture of their sweat. His fingers find the large crescent scar in her lower abdomen, tracing the withering stitches in a sick memory of their first night together.

He feels no remorse. Had he changed his action, she wouldn’t have been his right now.  

Ingvild finally manages to release a sound, moaning with exhaustion as she eases into his care, her lungs and heart catching up when her body begins to float. With whatever strength left in him, August holds her the way a groom holds his bride, and carries her in his firm arms. 

~*~

The bath is filled hot near to the brim. Mountains of foam edge onto the water, looking like fluffy little clouds. This bathroom is not as nearly as luxurious as the one he had in Bergen. It’s painfully plain, like something out of an 80’s film, yet right now it looks like the most outrageous, spoiling delight. 

Sitting on the stone, his hand whirls the water, testing the heat before stepping in.   

“Come here,” he beckons, reaching toward Ingvild to join him as he sits down, releasing a deep sigh of relief as the hot water soothes the pain. The bath is hardly big enough for a man of his size, his knees buck up, peeking above the water. 

Ingvild takes his hand, stepping to sit at the spot between his thighs, making sure not to wet the bandages on her wrists. August’s arms guide her to melt back against his broad chest carefully, avoiding friction with the gunshot wound that begins to ache more and more as the last of the endorphins dwindle. He breaks into a small groan and lands his chin atop her head while glaring into the water with rising concern.  

“They will come for us.” Ingvild finally manages to find words, her voice still husky as her jugular strains. “Once they know you’re not dead, they’ll hunt us. We need to move, fast.”

August weighs her words. He muses over the sacrifice she made, and for whom? The man who stabbed her and nearly left her to float in a frozen lake? ‘She chose, you didn’t force her.’

 Indeed, it was her free will that brought her to him.  

“We should,” he answers, rinsing some water onto her torso and rubbing her forearms clean. “Just relax now, you won’t do me good all broken.”

“You care about me,” she teases, a small smile creeping on her lips.

“We will make for my safe house from here, and then we can take the train to Manchester,” he answers, ignoring her comment.

Ingvild catches some foam in her palm, squeezing the dissolving material between her fingers lightly and then blows it with the weak airflow that comes from her lungs. Little specks of bubbles fly into the bath. August watches them with her silently.    

“For the plutonium,” she utters.

“Yes.”

Tilting his head slightly, he looks down to see if there is any disgust or fear shadowing her face, yet finds none. The girl continues forming little abstract shapes in the dwindling white hills, twirling her fingernails on the tiny bubbles. The edge of her spine peeks between the thick strands of her hair, while hues of purple, nearly black, hug her nape. The girl is forbearing, enduring as she was taught; he wonders if it’s to please him, or if it pleases her as well.

Cupping water in his hands, he begins to wash her skin, pouring onto the back of her neck and her shoulders. He brushes his fingers through the brown waves of her hair while she leans her head back and closes her eyes.

It’s as if years of tension peel off from her, uncovering truths she fought to hide. August was right, and so was Liam; no one ever loved her. But now in the arms of a monster, she suddenly senses what she imagines would be care and affection. His touch is no longer clinical and it feels as if vines are growing onto her limbs, twirling around her and pulling her to become one with him. 

In her mind, she can’t help but start picking into the not-so-distant past, recalling being his hostage and the conversations they had when they still hated one another. The anguish that resonates in his eyes didn’t speak of hatred individually toward the world, the specks of brown held a fair amount toward himself as well.

“What did Sloane do?” she asks curiously. “In Bergen, you mentioned she did something to you.” 

She feels August’s sudden halt, his long digits entangled in her hair, pulling slightly while his chest sinks inward. His inhale takes into a heavy suction and his nostrils flare. He didn’t think of Lacey since he woke in Ingvild’s arms. 

“She tricked me.” his eyes focus onto nothing and his fingers resume their course through Ingvild’s wet strands. He becomes slightly agitated, unlacing the small knots that formed at the edge with force. “She suspected me and never liked me- for a reason, of course. She knew someone was distributing secrets and weapons beneath her nose, so she sent a spy. In my case, it was my partner.”

“A woman,” Ingvild continues, the realization hitting her softly. “Lacey.”

Her name on Ingvild’s tongue sends a shiver creeping from the base of his spine. 

“Yes,” he answers dryly and clenches his jaw. “We were partners for months. She got close. She... was loyal, she understood me or so I thought, but then I found out, she wasn’t.”

Ingvild hears the shift in his tone again, in their reflection on the water she sees him staring forward with grim shades painting his eyes. The corners of his lips tugged down as he broods.

“It sounds like you loved her.”

August remains silent, giving no answer. It resonates in her right away - betrayal burnt hotter than the wound itself. In their carnal twist, August burned her, but it wasn’t her carnal devotion he sought for. 

“Where is she now?” 

“Dead.” he answers, releasing a deep sigh of silent rage, not even bothering to shy from the truth this time. Ingvild was bred into a world of monsters; she breathed them, she killed them and he was just another beast for her to slay. Yet she chose to stroke her hand on his snout regardless of what she knew.

“I killed her.” 

In his mind Lacey walks away, her blue heels tapping on the floor, echoing before she gives him one last glance. She turns away, her golden curls dulled by the lack of light as she vanishes into a mist of smoke and shadow. 

Ingvild feels a slight relief at the thought of Lacey being dead, for some reason she can’t explain to herself.  August returns his gaze to her again, removing his hands from her hair. His hand wraps around her jaw, pressing her head to look into his piercing glare. He looks for fear but finds none.

“Try to rest,” he commands and then wraps his arms around her possessively. “Long days are ahead.”  

“Will you read me your manifesto?”

August looks down on her face once more, wondering for a moment if this is another hallucination. A terrible thought crosses his mind and his heart flinches; what if in these moments he’s actually bleeding to his death in the pit, his mind playing tricks as he breathes his last breath?

But the softness and warmth of her body feels more vivid than ever. Stronger than the doubt that creeps into his mind. 

“There has never been peace without first a great suffering. The greater the suffering, the greater the peace. As mankind is drawn to his self-destruction like a moth to the candle...” he chants, accompanied by Ingvild who also recites his words in her gentle voice. 

_________________________________________________

disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

#Henry Cavill #August Walker #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #August Walker Fanfiction #August Walker smut #August Walker x OFC #Henry Cavill Smut #Henry Cavill x OFC #Henry Cavill Fic #August Walker Fic #augustwalker #henrycavill #augustwalkersmut #henrycavillsmut

[sinstxrscreamwritcr]

< always keep the safety on >

no minors. smuttiness below cut. all characters 21+.

charlotte peers down the sight of a sniper rifle, trained on a man in a tight suit and gilded wristwatch. diamonds glint in midday sunlight, a chorus of chatter sounding below. boats float by on the river, peaceful, idyllic. all unaware that she's about to end someone's life - 

she's forced to bite her tongue when a smooth velour glove runs up her thigh. his body is a heavy weight, enveloping her in sugarplum purple and scent of lavender. " why the hell aren't you on street-level? we have a mission to - " 

" because the view's better up here, darling. " adam mouths, coarse stubble scraping delightfully at pale flesh. " besides, one of the others could take the shot for you. and you've owed me this for some time. "

" adam, we can't - ! here - ? " charlotte begins, but falters when he works her belt free. idly popping the button, tugging the zipper. the sound is overshadowed by their breathing. his fingers, still velour-clad, work their way lower. " goddamn if your timing isn't terrible. " 

" non-consent is still consent with me, lucky dove. " he breathes, tongue licking a broad stripe up her neck. " your no is my yes. what's the harm in taking risks? "

her pulse jumps, heart thudding against her ribs. if anyone were to look up, they'd see. her trigger-grip slides, barrel pointed to the sky. a hand catches rough stone, shuddering. his digits stroke, thumbing that bundle of nerves in slow circles. 

" mmm, remember vienna? fine wine, dancing, and oh - i couldn't wait to get you alone. that blue lace hugging your curves, gold peacock-feather accents, " he continues, " and the eyeshadow. made you look a goddess reborn. " 

faux velvet caresses slick flesh, parting her for better access. she does remember. that night had been special. once.

him, all in black; and her, all in blue - down to her lingerie. they'd spun across the ballroom floor, practically floating. food sampled, drinks tossed back. conversation kept short - 

" until I pressed you to an alcove and had you panting. underwear tugged aside, cock freed. such a needy thing. neck bared for me to sink my teeth. perfume and sweat and sex an aphrodisiac all its' own. " 

" are you two still wasting time? if so, i'll blow the bastard's brains out myself! " ahkos' voice cut through. adam gives a smirk. never stopping, nor slowing, his other hand touches his earpiece. 

" onward with the brutality. charlotte's distracted, i'm afraid. " he responds, watching her. mouth open in a silent moan, hands flat against cinderblock. she shivers, eyes tightly closed.

" achilles - fuck, whatever your name is, just k-kill him - " charlotte gasps, rocking, grinding against adam's hand. " i - fuck, can't stay focused - " 

and it's true. she can't. not with his fingers inside her up to the knuckle, thumb circling counter-clockwise. he's quicker now, adding pressure. her cheeks flush with heat. she bites her cheek to keep from moaning, tongue still stinging. 

" mhm, dove, you look divine - at my mercy, eyes beginning to glaze and lips parted. " adam hums, neatly removing the earpiece. he places it beneath the rifle stand, volume raised and broadcast net widened. 

" would you like the others to hear as i make you come? let them know just what we're doing? "

" we don't need to hear that shit, you prick - " 

" oh, of course you do, " adam counters, a jab. " you're not the only one that's been caught with your hands in places they shouldn't be. what was it you once said, that we should share our toys? " 

" shut the fuck up you son of a bitch - or i'll put this bullet between your legs. " laos growled, " see how you fucking like it. "

" bet i'd love it. go ahead, pull the trigger. " adam replied, a teasing lilt to his tone. " what, too big of a target? " 

" too small, asshole. " 

adam feigns a wince, pouting. " oh, low blow, laos. i'll have you know i'm not. well, not where pleasure's concerned. you, on the other hand... "

" knock it off, adam! achilles! take the damn shot before monsieur duvalle notices! we can't let this belly up! " their superior bites out. 

" how about I knock you off, frenchman? you seem tense. " 

" fuck you! "

charlotte whimpers. her nails scrape stone. hips buck, eyes shut. flush spreads. " you - oh, oh god, you're such - a fucking asshole. " 

" mmm, maybe so - " adam muses, " you're still so weak for me, dove. fucking yourself on my fingers like this. so sweet, so slick - "  

pigeons startle. a dog barks in the alley below. a hand grips his scarf, tugged off-balance. his digits curl, grinning. she's close, he's soaked.

" welcome your little death as duvalle meets his, " he purrs in her ear.

achilles pulls the trigger. porcelain shatters, overshadowing her own cry. red blossoms across the man's chest. her vision whites out. 

then, the screams start. 

still wet, he escorts her from the tower. metal bumps his leg as they make a beeline for getaway. to any other, they'd look pedestrians catching a cab. 

sirens begin to wail. boys in blue on the scene. time to collect the rest and rendevous elsewhere. 

adam gives a surly achilles a wink once inside, raising his hand. as his tongue lewdly works the material, he groans. his comrade offers a single-fingered salute while tipping a beer bottle up. 

" jealous, laos? or envious? "

" neither, you pompous peacock. i've half a mind to let my boot meet your ass. " ahkos snarls, teeth bared in the neon glow.

" make it your mouth instead and we're set, " adam offers with a smirk.

" don't do that again. ten minutes to subdue or kill. achilles chose kill. you - you had the audacity to get into sexual hijinks with her! " renault slid into his seat, glaring daggers at adam. " don't you have any impulse control? or control in general? " 

adam shrugs. leaning back, he then peels off his gloves. casually tossing them towards ahkos. the wolf withdraws a knife, pinning them to the floorboard. 

" cut that shit out. "

charlotte rolls her eyes. stuck with five year olds who think the world's their sandbox. " argyle - " 

" before you say anything - i apologize for the tight situation. " adam murmurs, a coy grin stealing across his face. his gaze flicks to her hands, then back up.

" a tight - what? " charlotte blinks, confused. cool metal curves around her wrists. realization hits like a gut-punch. "you didn't - tell me you didn't, adam, or i swear to god - ! " 

" mhm, sorry darling. you just looked so delectable, all flushed and panting. our fun's not over. besides - i have the key. " he reassures, flashing a small sliver of silver. 

shit.

#< drabble > #「🎻」 ↜ ↝ ‖ ◸ adam argyle ◿ ‖