#(been stubbornly putting off the inevitable. >_>;)

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 12) [note: trigger warning for a pretty rough spanking scene with a belt and minimal aftercare. if you need to, you can skip to the midway point (there's a line between the first half and second).]

first chapter >> last chapter

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He keeps your hands tied behind your back on the ride home.

All that does is confirm the fact that he must know. Graves must have tracked him down or perhaps he was approached by someone who did consider your sudden arrival in town suspicious. Why else would the sheriff chase you all the way into the mountains on horseback and then take you back with him? He would’ve within his rights to leave your thieving self to wander alone in the woods and succumb to the elements.

John doesn’t say a word the first hour of the ride back. You can feel the anger emanating from him though. He almost shakes with it. His anger somehow upsets you more than whatever is left to come. 

“Anytime you wanna start talkin’, I’m all ears,” John finally says, breaking the silence. 

You keep your lips pressed together, stubbornly silent. There’s no use giving yourself away before you’ve learned how much he knows. You haven’t built this life of yours with loose lips. 

“I don’t know what in the Sam Hill has gotten into you,” he continues, and his voice is cobblestone tread rough in the night. “Running off all by yourself. There ain’t nothing out in these parts except outlaws and highwaymen. There are men out here that’d love to get their hands on a woman like you—not even a knife to defend yourself with. You haven’t even got a scrap of food on you, never mind water. You’d’ve been dead in a week if the men out here hadn’t picked you off themselves.”

His words make your stomach ache. You know that there are worse things out there. A thousand gruesome ways to die. You’re less of a lady than John might think—you’ve heard stories. You’ve brushed close to that reality yourself. You wonder how he’d take it if you were to tell him about what had happened back east. 

Maybe running away this time hadn’t been your smartest idea, but it had been your only. You can’t fault yourself for the instinct to survive. 

“I know,” you mumble, dropping your chin to your chest. 

“You gonna explain to me why you stole my horse and ran off in the first place?” he asks. 

It’s the strangest interrogation you’ve ever heard of—sitting on the same horse with your back to the man questioning you and your hands tied together at the wrists. You wonder if you leaned back whether you’d feel his heart beating furiously in his chest. 

You remain mulishly silent though, reticent to answer the question.

“Maybe I’ve been spoiling you,” he continues, trying to rationalize it to himself. “After the fuss you put up those first few days, I thought a bit of structure and discipline would do you well, and it did. Giving you a bit of slack was my mistake.”

You frown at that. Those don’t sound like the words of a man with any knowledge of the circumstances leading to you running off. He might not even have come across Graves at all in the hours since the man made his appearance in the general store. Otherwise, you can’t imagine how he wouldn’t make the connection. 

Still, you can’t make yourself come right out and say it, even though every iota of your being aches to let the truth out. Call it nerves overpowering the need to be truthful and good. You vacillate between honesty and self-preservation, but each avenue feels like being dropped into a nest of vipers. 

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t question you like this. It’s a boon you can’t give up, not yet. Not when the thought of his inevitable righteous fury fills you with dread and self-loathing. 

“I don’t have to explain myself,” you spit out suddenly, and it’s not you saying those words but something ugly and sad in you. “You’re not my owner.”

“I damn sure am your husband though,” John growls, winding his free hand around your hair to tug you back into his chest. “And I know these parts far better than you, little miss. Beyond running off on me for no good reason when I thought we put your reticence behind us, you went and put yourself in danger the likes of which you couldn’t even fathom.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you snap. “I know what men are like.”

“You’re telling me you pulled that stunt knowing what kinda danger is out there in the woods?”

“I wasn’t thinking!”

“I know you weren’t,” John grunts. “That’s the issue.” 

The rest of the ride home is uncomfortably quiet. John keeps one hand clamped on your waist while the other holds the reins of both horses, the two walking alongside each other back down the trail towards the house. The ride home is a lot longer than the ride out into the woods since John refuses to let either of them go faster than a slow trot while your hands are tied behind your back. 

He snorts in derision at your suggestion to undo your binds. “That eager for your punishment?” 

That gets you to zip your lips. 

When you get drowsy, John tips your head back and makes you sip from his waterskin. His hand fits carefully around your throat to hold your head in place, his fingers curling around to just graze the nape of your neck. Your throat pulses under his palm when you swallow. It’s far too intimate for how restless you feel, damn near shaking out of your skin, but it briefly shushes the voice in your head until he pulls his hand away. 

A shadow under the doorway of the house startles you at first before it takes a step into the faint light of the setting sun and you recognize the bristly blond of Simon’s shorn head and the red bandana shrouding the bottom half of his face. The tension ebbs back into you when you realize with creeping humiliation that the black horse you rode home on must belong to him. 

He watches the two of you approach with predictable disinterest, his eyes betraying nothing. The shame is excruciating. 

John brings the horse to a halt some feet from Simon, not bothering to greet him. You wonder if it’s the anger choking him or if this is just routine, men trading favors in silence lest a word in gratitude break the spell. After dismounting himself, John helps you down, all but picking you up and lifting you off the horse. 

Simon doesn’t say a word to either of you when he takes the reins from John’s hands, giving him only a curt nod and you a cursory glance before leading his horse away to mount. He doesn’t spare you a backwards glance before taking off back towards town. You watch him over your shoulder while John guides you up the porch steps and into the house, until the shape of him disappears into the horizon. Then the door shuts behind you. 

Alone now, your attention turns back to John. He stares down at you consideringly, a hand planted on the door he just shut until he lets it fall to his side. You can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing something out. 

It wouldn’t be right to call it anticipation; it’s not quite dread either. 

“I don’t make idle threats, you know,” he says, apropos of nothing. 

His words make you frown until you glance down to find him undoing his belt. Your blood turns to ice. He tugs the thick strap until it comes sliding out of each loop around his waist. The buckle rests heavy in his palm, thick fingers curling around it, and when he bends the belt in two, you already know that he intends to follow through with his threat from earlier, the one you said you’d gut him for.

“I’ll scream,” you warn, heart in your throat. It almost chokes you. “I mean it. I’ll scream like the devil.”

“Don’t go makin’ no empty threats now, darlin’,” he says in a low voice, almost taunting. You can hear the hard edge in his voice though. It’s not something he craves, but he’ll take it. 

“You touch me with that thing and I’ll never forgive you.” 

John’s eyes go hard. “I’ll just have to take that chance.” 

And then he’s on you.

He hooks an arm around your waist when you try to rush past him back out the door and it forces the breath out of you. 

You struggle as best you can with your hands tied behind your back, trying to wriggle out of his hold even as he heaves you up into his arms and climbs the staircase towards the bedroom. The steps creak under the added weight of you in his arms. The screams come tearing from your throat, ripping your vocal cords and nearly sending you into a coughing fit. 

“Let—me—go—” you shriek, kicking out wildly, hoping to catch something that’ll make him lose his balance. 

“All that squirmin’ ain’t making me feel more merciful,” he growls. 

John kicks the bedroom door open with his foot when he reaches the top of the staircase. The room looks ominous without the oil lamp lit, the shadows growing in the corners swallowing up the end table. The bed is just as you made it this morning, the sheets pressed tight and neat, and you only get a second to take that in before he marches towards the bed and throws you down onto it.  

You hit the bed hard, bouncing slightly. He sits down heavily enough to jostle you and when you try to roll away on instinct, a hand catches you by the bicep and pulls you back. He hauls you across the bulk of his thighs this time, far different from your first meeting back in the sheriff’s office all those weeks ago. Your feet don’t even touch the floor this time around, dangling in the air and flailing for purchase. 

“You brute—you bastard!” you screech.

“I’m not gonna be as charitable this time,” John says, yanking your dress up and your drawers down until your bare bottom is exposed. You gasp at the cold air, murmuring something like please, please, please under your breath. “Even if I knew why it was you decided to run off, that doesn’t excuse the fact that you did. You coulda been hurt or worse out there, darlin’, and I’d never have forgiven myself. I’m gonna make sure the lesson sinks in this time.”

He folds the leather belt to hold it in one hand, leaving the other to pin you down over his thighs, making sure you don’t wriggle out. The leather is cool at first when he drags it over your butt. It makes your breathing pick up. It’s so gentle that you can almost trick yourself into thinking that it’s all he intends to do. 

The first lash comes so quick that you barely register it. The second knocks the wind out of you, and then the pain sets in. 

It stings something fierce. Where his palm hurt that first time he bent you over his desk and spanked you, the belt burns. It goes deep and it lingers when he pulls the leather away from your stinging bottom. 

“Hurts like the dickens, don’t it?” John asks, not bothering to wait for confirmation before bringing the belt down again. “You’re lucky it’s only ten this time.”

You howl into the bedsheets, eyes tearing up and spilling down your cheeks. When you try to cover your ass with your bound hands, John grabs them and pins them to the small of your back. 

“What’ll you never do again?” he growls. 

“I—I’ll—”

“Say it, darlin’: I’ll never run off on my own again.”

“I’ll—n-never gonna—oh, it hurts, John—please—”

At some point, you must say the words he’s looking for. You lose count of how many times his belt has struck across your ass. Like thunder coming after lightning, you feel it and then you hear it. The sharp snap comes as a second wave of agony in and of itself. 

Your throat is stripped raw by the time it’s over. The aftermath finds you with a puddle of drool under your cheek, hair matted to your face. Sweat slicks the backs of your thighs and down your spine. Even the gentlest brush of John’s hand over your backside, the belt deposited off the side of the bed, makes you flinch, the skin there tender to the touch. You’ll surely feel it deep in your bones come sunrise. 

Too exhausted for anger, all you can do is lie there. It sits heavy in your stomach though, a pit at the center of you. You want to say, who gave you the right? The answer burns a ring around your finger though. You want to say, you don’t understand, it had nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with him and you. 

You can tell he wants to say something. It gets choked in his throat, but you can hear it in the way his breath draws in, like he’s trying to coax it from his chest but it simply won’t come out. 

“Stay right there,” John rumbles instead, shifting you onto the bed to let you lie on your belly. 

You moan in pain when he moves you, sniffling into your arms. The crook of your elbow is sticky with your tears and snot. 

The bed dips under his weight when he comes back. You flinch violently when he draws the skirt of your dress up again and smooths his hand over the tender cheeks of your backside, spreading a cool salve over your skin. The first touch of his hand makes you hiss, tears beading in the corners of your eyes again, but then the cool sinks in, alleviating the ache. 

He does that for another few minutes in silence. Gentle, tentative touches, only stopping when the salve has been spread evenly over your bottom. He’s quiet when he shifts you up the bed until your feet are no longer dangling off the end. You’re distantly aware of him taking off your shoes and tucking you into bed, but the events of the day have finally gotten the better of you. It would be easier to push a boulder up a hill than crack even one of your eyelids open.

Time passes slowly; sluggishly. Your thoughts can’t quite catch up with it, either too quick or too slow. You’re stuck in thoughts of the desert, caught in a sandstorm that manifests too suddenly for you to take cover. All you can do is close your eyes and wait it out. 

Morning comes like a brutal summoning into the waking world. 

It hurts, but you expected that. Before your eyes even open, you’re aware of a throbbing pain coming from your backside. You wince when you shift to your side, squeezing your eyes tight. You contemplate rolling over and taking your chances with John’s temper. The thought isn’t as appealing in the light of day though. 

It takes some time to get out of bed and when you do, you have to step tentatively from floorboard to floorboard, the ache making it decidedly uncomfortable. You can’t imagine what sitting down will be like. Riding a horse is just out of the question. 

From the bedroom window, you see John standing in front of the house with Simon, back again not even twelve hours later. With the window closed, you can’t hear their conversation, nor can you read their lips. Their exchange doesn’t last long though. After another minute or so, and a nod goodbye, Simon walks back over to his horse standing nearby and lifts himself up and over onto the saddle, taking off towards town. 

When John turns back towards the house, you see him glance up towards the bedroom window where you stand. The circles beneath his eyes are dark, pronounced. On another day, you might’ve ducked out of sight or jumped away from the window, but now you hold his gaze. 

He breaks your stare first this time, heading back inside. It’s less satisfying than you thought it’d be. 

You spend the day resting in bed and avoiding John for the most part. He spends the majority of the day out of the house. You hear him downstairs in the kitchen around midday, fixing himself up something to eat, and you listen attentively to the scrape of the chair across the floor and the pan on the stovetop. Like the day he brought you home, he brings you up a tray only to leave it at the door, rapping the door with his knuckles to let you know before heading back downstairs. 

When he comes up for bed, you’re already lying down with your back to the door, the oil lamp left unlit. John doesn’t say anything to you as he changes into his nightwear. He smells fresh when he climbs into bed, like he bathed in the creek out in the woods. You breathe in deeply, trying to keep your breath quiet enough to not disturb the silence. The pillow under your head is saturated with his scent. You turn your nose into it when he lies down on his back instead of curling into you like he usually does. 

Your chest aches at that simple denial. There’s a wall between the two of you and you know where it came from. Any trust that you’d built lies in ruins now. 

Perhaps that’s not quite right though. It’s a romantic notion that you’ve been building something together all this time, but it doesn’t feel right now that you have the wherewithal to look back and reflect. All this time, whenever you’ve touched, you’ve held him steadfast and at an arm's length away, stopping two degrees short of intimacy. 

Deliberately effusive; and worse, you’ve called it affection. 

The tenderness in your heart is the worst of it. There’s a bruise there, and it’s been there awhile. It’s only grown with your recent troubles. You tell yourself every year that you’ll air it out come spring, but then the winter comes and it freezes over again.  

The pillow under your chest grows damp with your tears. 

Your dress the next morning is cornflower blue. The wheatfields are golden stalks swaying in the breeze. It’s a pleasanter day than how you feel. 

The ride into town is as painful as you thought it might be. You wince with every stride, your bottom still tender as a rose. John’s arm tightens around your waist when you squirm, like you might slide off the saddle and try to flee again, and you bite your lip to hold back the urge to snap. 

The little bit of independence you’d grown to enjoy is snatched away from you. You expected that as well, but that loss of privilege comes with a biting ache. You fight the urge to gnash your teeth and bark at him that you’re not a child when he grips you under the arm and leads you down the road. It wouldn’t do you any good. 

When John leaves you off at the general store, you’re surprised to find Kate back, hale and hearty. She looks up when the chime over the door jingles and raises her eyebrows in greeting. The sound makes you flinch, memories coming back unbidden. 

You look over your shoulder to say something to John before he leaves, but the door is already closing behind him by the time you turn around. Your lips are pursed on a word that dissolves in your mouth. It has a bitter aftertaste. 

“Thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days,” you say instead, turning back to Kate. There’s already a chair pulled up for you by the wall and you make yourself comfortable there, grimacing at first when your sore backside touches the wood before settling in. 

She shrugs. “Plans changed. Gaz and I made it back late last night.”

You frown. “Gaz?”

“Kyle Garrick. Sorry—slip of the tongue. You’ve met him already. He used to go by Gaz way back when.”

“Way back when?”

“Not my story to tell. You should ask one of them, if you’re curious.”

You are, but not enough to ask. “Maybe.”

The two of you lapse into silence after that exchange. Before leaving the house, you remembered to bring with you some needles and wool to pass the time. They’re not as familiar in your hands as you’d like them to be, but you suppose, barring the possibility of Graves or another bounty hunter showing up in town to cart you off, you’ll have time to learn. 

The thought leaves you anxious. It feels distinctly more possible now. 

“You met Miles while I was away?” Kate asks, out of the blue.

Your head comes up at her question. “Miles?”

“He was minding the store for me while I was away. Said you came in the other day.”

You swallow reflexively. “Oh. Yes, I suppose I did meet him. I didn’t stay long, since you were gone and all.”

She hums and looks back down at the book in front of her. You feel nervous all of a sudden. 

“He said you were very helpful,” she says abruptly, breaking the silence. You flinch. “Told me some gentleman came by with a warrant for a murder back east and you were kind enough to take it to your husband for him so he could keep minding the shop.”

Your throat constricts. She pins you under her gaze, unblinking eyes staring into yours but not looking for anything. Wispy blonde bangs brush along her forehead when she tilts her head ever so slightly. 

You nod instead of answering. 

“Did you give it to him?” she asks.

“I didn’t have a chance to. The day got away from me,” you say tersely. 

“I heard something about that. Kyle said John had to borrow Simon’s horse the other day. Said something about him taking off in a hurry.”

Again, you don’t answer. It feels like without knowing it, you’ve crossed over a threshold. 

“Do you still have it?” Kate prompts when again you don’t respond. You don’t tell her that you don’t because in all the fuss the other day, it must have slipped out of your pocket and drifted off into the wind. “The warrant?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“That’s alright. I have a good enough idea about what it might’ve said.” 

Sweat beads on your upper lip. She all but says it outloud. You’re as still as a ferrotype under her gaze, imprinted in place, unable to move so much as a muscle or force a word past your stiff lips. 

“You’re under no obligation to tell me or anyone,” Kate says, and her voice is suddenly gentle, softer than you’ve ever heard it before. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I won’t be telling John, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you breathe, throat so tight that the words almost don’t come out. 

It’s the closest you’ve come to admitting to it, tangentially or not, and even now it’s spoken only out of the corner of your mouth. You don’t think you have it in you to recite the events sequentially. Even in the privacy of your memory, it comes piecemeal, in fragmented images that flicker across your mind because maybe to remember it whole would be too much. 

You don’t say much more after that, and neither does Kate. That wasn’t the point of bringing it up, you think. You'd know if it was. 

When John comes to fetch you at the end of the day, you leave without saying goodbye to Kate. Only a stiff smile before heading out on your way. If she returns your smile, you don’t notice it. To John, you simply duck your head and follow him out the door, letting him help you up onto the horse without a word. 

If it bothers him that you refuse to speak to him, he doesn’t show it. 

It’s so many steps back that you might as well be back where you started. Maybe even further back, a voyage gone so wrong that when you look over your shoulder, you can’t make heads or tails of where you came from. The trees from the other side of the trail never look quite the same. 

If you could open your mouth and say it, you would. If you knew he’d listen. But you don’t think John is that kind of man. Against the gold of the setting sun, he cuts a figure from times of yore. He speaks plain while you tend to speak in fricatives and bilabial stops, incapable of enunciating the words. 

You feel like a wound on the world. Getting it wrong again and again. 

It’s an old pain, one that started back when you were too small to hold it all. Now, you’ve grown large enough to hold it, though it holds you back in turn. You remember your parents studiously ignoring first creation like some noxious cloud billowing from the chimney. There’d been too many children for them to care about the runt. Shipped off to your aunt’s and uncle’s just for the cycle to repeat itself. 

It’s an old grief, this one, friendly because it nudges at your hips when you brush by, striking in the blue-green. And when it burns, it burns.

“John, I—” you say when he helps you down back at the house. 

He stares down at you, waiting you out. Your mouth goes dry, the truth beyond your grasp again. Your heart aches when his brows furrow and the lines around his eyes crease again, frustration welling beneath the surface. 

You understand. It sits under your skin too. 

"Go inside," he says instead when you don't go on. "I'll bring in the horses and start supper."

Your God sits at the edge of the bed, wholly lacking praise. It’s not His fault that it’s been awhile. These days, you can hardly muster up the energy to say hello. You gargle saltwater before you bathe and scrub your skin free of blood, waiting for the next morning to come.

And you think, lying on your side while John sleeps on the other side of the bed, wouldn’t it be lovely to get it right now, rather than in retrospect?

[brummiereader]

Uptown Girl

(Masterlist)

Summary: A woman from high society, never needing or wanting for anything. Your world of jewels and silk gowns comes crashing down around you when your father's mounting gambling debts catch up with him, and he is forced to relinquish your home Arrow House before his untimely death to his biggest creditor, Tommy Shelby. But with your name on the deeds, and the land of your childhood home your only bargaining source of income to escape the union arranged since your birth to a monster of a man from your own class. You make your intentions of staying put stubbornly known to the Birmingham gang leader, as you clutch to your only remaining hope of freedom from the inevitable chains of a violent marriage. With neither one of you willing to budge on the matter until the iron clad documents of Arrow House are reviewed, you are both begrudgingly left without any other choice but to live together. What will become of your unusual living situation with the notorious gangster, and the arranged marriage you want to be free from? A way out, friendship, lust...love? One thing is certain. Tommy Shelby's abrupt appearance into your life will open your curious eyes to a whole other world that had been shielded from you since the day of your noble birth.

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff, mutual pining, smut, domestic violence, mentions of suicide, violence

Authors Note: I basically took Alfie's passing statement of how Tommy acquired Arrow House and the trope "One bed, two people" and turned it into "One house, two strangers" and ran with it! The idea for this series and it's storyline, is loosely based off the lyrics to the well known song "Uptown Girl" by Billy Joel.

Teaser Trailer

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine (completed series)

Gif credit: @mushroomseb. Go check out their wonderful works of art!

[simplyreveries]

hihiii!!! if you haven’t done this already can you do housewardens and a s/o who’s based off of their movies princesses? :3

saw this request and fell in LOVE yes yes

riddle rosehearts

riddle always seems to notice how oh so curious you were- though he feels it would be inevitable when you're in a completely new world. you're always asking and inquiring him and others within the dorm and school wondering all about the great seven, nrc, twisted wonderland itself! to which riddle is quite proud of and content with sharing you about, he has an abundance of knowledge and is more than willing to share.

before your relationship when you first started to get to know him and his headstrong and strict ways — you had definitely surprised him when you stubbornly got upset with him and told him off (especially after the fact he was mean to you for being magicless…). he was taken aback as you had normally been quiet and even polite towards others.

always seems to be curious whenever you're off and seemingly zoned at— you tend to daydream a lot. whenever he tries to study with you, you usually huff and be distracted as you continue. he’ll shake his head and try to tell you that this is important, riddle will continuously make failed attempts at reminding you to do better when he gets distracted himself when he finds himself staring at you off in your own world.

he does enjoy how intelligent and observant you are. you always seem to give him good ideas when he’s troubled with something as dorm leader— and having dorm leader duties. he occasionally will come to you for advice when it comes to celebrations or unbirthday parties and such— he believes you have quite the creative mind as well.

leona kingscholar

when he had originally met you, he was instinctually nicer to you only for the fact he respects you all the more with your more headstrong but sensible self. leona will groan annoyed with you, but he would do basically anything if you asked him to—despite with how lighthearted you seem about something he just knows just how persistent and stubborn you can be. he honestly loves it that you're perfectly okay with challenging him and teasing him, he likes a bit of banter anyways from you.

he doesn't say it but loves it whenever you try to be playful and affectionate with him. he thinks it's cute how bold you are when it comes to kissing him or hugging him. he’ll have some stupid smirk on his face and tell you you’ve got some guts doing that to him all the time and every single time you have some retort for him.

you tend to push him (force him with a look) to be more active with his own dorm leader duties… not skipping classes to sleep… not putting effort into stuff he isn't interested in despite being in fact really talented. he’ll ask you if you'll only reward him with your affection if he does, it's what he thinks he deserves.

azul ashengrotto

you're always so eager and excited learning about twisted wonderland — he finds it so amusing as you're constantly pestering and asking him what things mean or what something was. what's funny though is that he’s still learning a lot still about life on land too. he is flattered that you seem just as curious about life in the ocean for him, though there are… more difficult memories he has dealt with there in his childhood, he still will share to you whatever you want to know.

azul only finds your curiosity of this whole world to be rather cute. as you're always trying to do things for keepsake, taking many pictures with your ghost camera anytime and anywhere or collect souvenirs and trinkets of places. he seemed confused as to why you had some plants in your room at ramshackle and you only laughed and said you found them interesting...! also, he would totally feel a twinge of pride and ego boost when you compliment his coin collection and seem amazed by it.

okay never mind what he tried to trick you for in chapter 3 but he clearly, he can see how gullible you can be and often seems stressed when he sees how sometimes other students try to take advantage of that. he swiftly approaches by your side and manages to have the poor student a nervous wreck around him for the reputation he holds for what he can do with those twins.

he is swooning anytime he hears you singing and humming to yourself, especially whenever you're doing shifts and working around the mostro lounge. you'll find him in his tired and more clingy moments of him asking you to simply just hum a melody he likes when he's lying next to you, he could simply listen to your voice all day.

kalim al asim

kalim loves your adventurous spirit, he will always be happy to bring you along on some carpet ride whenever you seem saddened because he knows all the sites of the desert at night can be so pretty. sometimes you two may get yourselves into little mishaps and trouble around school and campus but he’s never fazed by it, he loves it actually. he also tells you many times though, that he plans on bring you to his homelands so you can meet his family but also to show you around and go through the streets!

as you're someone who's really confrontational and no-nonsense kind of person— whenever you're dealing with some troublesome student, he's surprised but quickly turns to a happy support when you tell someone off. you’ll have kalim be like “yeah you tell them!!” right beside you just watching it unfold alskdjfjs. the first time he saw even a glimpse of that fiery attitude you hold inside was during the events of chapter 4 and you got into Jamil’s face got trying to manipulate you with his magic and sending you to the ends of the desert…! wow he was surprised but wow was he in love.

much alike you kalim as undoubtedly lived a sheltered life with his family during his youth in- he wants to explore and try new things with you all the time. he's practically dragging you out the door every day.

vil schoenheit

he didn't completely understand as to why you're always so chipper and happy. even before you two got into a relationship when he was staying at ramshackle with the others for the vdc training and saw the conditions of the place- yet you were so content with your situation. he’d find you doing your own thing getting work and cleaning down to keep yourself busy or go about helping the others as their “unofficial official manager”. you seemed to find the positives and happiness for anything that happened to you.

vil did grow fond of your voice and wanted to hear it more— he even wondered as to why you didn't try out for it yourself, as he believed you were blossoming with potential. he usually would catch you doing quite often and even helping the others prepare for the contest like epel, sing. he couldn't help but only grow intrigued with you as he heard you using your voice commonly.

your softness around him and others really brings out his more loving side— he can't help but almost feel more protective of you as well. he tries to remind and advise you to be more careful around the students here… he happens to be quite worried of your kindness being used to the advantage of troublesome students here. nevertheless, he’ll softly smile, carefully fix your uniform and tell you “tsk… don't you worry, dear.” if anything of that sorts even attempts to happen.

idia shroud

you're the straightforward and blunt one in contrast to his quiet and unconfrontational self. it's the perfect combination you guys are literally the epitome of “he asked for no pickles” BYE. any interaction idia had with you at first had him flustered and stumbling for his words— not only that but he was completely enthralled by you as well. double hit. idia had even believed that you were someone that was really out of his league and had no idea on how to even begin approaching someone such as yourself.

though you two are a like, you two aren't only in a relationship but you guys are literally each other's best friends as well. you are, whether you admit it or not, seem to be a bit lonely like him. its fine though because you get an extra friend when you start dating him, ortho!! duh… he will immediately accept you as his new sibling the minute he sees idia actually being genuinely giddy and happy around you.

despite how difficult he felt to even attempt to pursue someone like you… being someone like him. he only felt more of a sense of persistence and even infatuation when you tend to be abrasive and untrusting to others (i need to unlock their backstory hihihi) it made him feel too stubborn to give up the idea. not like he could've gotten you out his head anyways.

malleus draconia

malleus has the biggest soft spot for you and its incredibly obvious. he always tells you himself, he’d chuckle and tell you that you remind him of the princess in the tale that cursed into years of slumber. he finds your daydream-y disposition so endearing and usually instead of saying anything about it he silently watches you with a loving gaze of adornment.

he does have a protective streak over you, he can’t help but feel that way. he always seems to be worried about you in some way. he doesn't really talk about his concerns unless its lilia asking him what the troubled expression is for. he sometimes grows fearful of a human such as yourself from another world and being too gentle and kind to the others around you. i mean, just look at how sweet and accepting of himself when you first met him. you had no idea who he really was— a prince and the 5th strongest magic user in the world. yet, he couldn't help but feel like that personality is what made him fall for you even more.

he sometimes thinks you are like silver, as you sometimes have your own moments of tiredness and exhaustion fall on you. he finds it endearing and will make sure he is someone you're able to lean on when seemingly tired. he’ll gentle put his hand on the side of your head and guide it to lay against him.

[dollfaceksj]

Just saw your wips…. crack drabble series for Yoongi? Count me in pls!!!!

hope u like it 😘😘😘 tell me what u think!

ps: unlike toapp, this will have WEEKLY updates instead of daily updates. 🫶🏽 MASTERLIST POST to can’t afford love coming shortly after this.

can’t afford love | myg (m) #1

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“come on,” you sigh as the child in front of you stubbornly crosses his arms and looks away

you sit back and stare at him for a while, his shoe in your hand that he refuses to let you put on. “jun, we’re going to be late. miss jiyeong isn’t gonna be happy.”

he still refuses to even acknowledge your presence, staring at the wall like the little brat he is

he looks so much like his damn father.

stubborn little shit.

he’s mad because he wanted to eat his breakfast on his own

ended up spilling on the shirt he insisted on wearing today

which you had to change OBVIOUSLY

you wish you could argue with kids cause why are they DUMB.

he’s upset because

jun absolutely loves daycare

he loves spending time with his friends

and as a mother it pains you immensely

it pains you so fucking much

to realize that your child

is lonely.

“okay, jun. that means no more spongebob or daycare for a whole week,” you sigh as you rise to your feet and drop his shoes, pretending to head out the door without him

he cries out to make you stop in your tracks, inevitably ending his silent treatment towards you

you turn around to face him and place your hands on your hips. “are you gonna listen to mommy now or not?”

soft tears prick in his eyes as he nods, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand

“come here,” you coo as you squat and welcome him into your arms, kissing the top of his head. “you really wanted to leave me while you’re mad at me? you don’t want to break mommy’s heart, right?”

he shakes his head as he wipes his other eye, face still buried in the crook of your neck

every other monday, you bring jun to daycare and his father picks him up there at the end of the day. the following monday, it’s your turn to pick him up from daycare and keep him for the rest of the week until you have to drop him off again and not see him for the coming week

it’s the easiest way of doing week-week with your ex husband without having to see him.

your ex-husband…

min yoongi.

it’s been a little over a year since your divorce

you’ve seen him a few times since and it was only ever in regards to jun

well.. about 3 weeks following your divorce you’d have sex with him a few times but thats it. its been a year since

you’re bitter about the divorce but you can’t be too bitter

not when it was your idea to divorce to begin with

what else were you supposed to do? you were at home, taking care of everything and your husband was buried in work, gone all the time

such a typical fucking marriage

that you did not need nor want

the months leading up to your divorce were the worst, eventually the reason that made you snap

it was almost like living with a roommate who you barely saw

you weren’t worried about infidelity

no that wasn’t it

it was just the worry of your husband slowly falling out of love with you and you escaping before that theory could become reality

he was surprised when you slammed the divorce papers down onto his desk but he didn’t fight you

he didn’t protest, he didn’t pry, he didn’t do anything. asked how you two were going to handle jun and it came down to week-week.

now with a calm jun in your arms, you slowly shove the shoes onto his little feet before grabbing your purse and heading out the door of your apartment with your son in your arms

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like clockwork, it’s the next monday and time for you to pick up jun from daycare

it’s only noon so you’ve got time to clean around the house before having to pick jun up

until your doorbell rings

hm?

you weren’t expecting anyone today

you wrap the thin bathrobe around your naked (bra and underwear) body, having just come out the shower

you cautiously open the door to be met

with

your

ex husband

holding your son

holy shit

what the fuck

you haven’t seen this man in months

sent him a few texts here and there

but its been so long since u’ve last seen him

why is your heart

stuttering

in its rhythm

absolutely just

pounding

against your ribcage

your sons head leaning on yoongi’s shoulder, diaper butt perked up on his forearm

yoongi’s hair has grown a lot, ends tickling his shoulders and neck

white dress shirt and black slacks

he uhhh

looks pretty good.

too fucking good.

a frown creeps onto your brows at the sight in front of you. “what’s going on?”

“daycare called me, said he’d been vomiting. he’s burning up,” he replies, not protesting when your worried face lunges at your baby and take him from your exhusband’s arms

“why the hell didn’t they call me? they know he’s supposed to be with me this week.” your son is sound asleep in your arms, your hand gently rubbing his back as you walk further into your apartment

yoongi stays in the entrance but closes the door behind him to keep the cold out

“i don’t know. they just called me and i went to go pick him up.”

ugh he’s so nonchalant with everything

you glance over your shoulder at him. you start, “why didn’t you call me then?”

at this, he frowns. “i brought him here cause i didn’t want to worry you over the phone. is there a problem?”

of course he wants to make this into a bigger deal than it is.

of fucking course

“for fucks sake,” you mumble as you shake your head and lie your son down on the couch, surrounding him with pillows and blankets

“update me on his condition. i have to go back to work,” yoongi says as he opens the front door

“yeah, don’t let the door hit you on your way out,” you mutter under your breath as you fetch your thermometer to take your son’s temperature

yoongi scoffs but doesn’t say anything else before he leaves

but then

you realize that

yoongi could

potentially

fix

the small problem

you’ve been struggling with

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

your son has been sick the past few days, holed up at home and complaining about not seeing his friends on his birthday

he had a whole birthday outfit planned and snacks that he was going to share with everyone which he can’t do now

“what do you want for your birthday, baby?” you ask as you stroke his head

“daddy,” is all he says

“you’ll celebrate your birthday with daddy next week. what do you want to do with mommy?”

“i want daddy and mommy.” he continues to play with his airplanes as you blink at him. he’s never demanded you two be together so you have no idea how to even process this

“daddy is busy tonight, baby.” you stroke his cheek

he drops his airplane. “call daddy.”

“but–”

“i want daddy.”

the exasperated sigh that leaves you is almost painful as you reach for your phone

jun is just staring at you with his arms crossed and a frown on his little brows

having to dial his number on a wednesday at 5pm

ugh

how embarrassing

he picks up after the 2nd ring and you put it on speaker

“hello?”

“daddy.”

“oh, what’s up, buddy? my birthday boy. you feeling any better?”

“yesh.”

“that’s good to hear, daddy was worried about you, you know.”

“yesh.”

“daddy’s gonna do lots of fun things with you next week. are you excited?”

“yesh.”

“okay, that’s good, baby. i’ll see you soon, okay?”

“daddy, wait.”

“hm?”

“daddy come eat with me and mommy.”

?!???

“jun,” you mumble in a warning tone

“huh?”

fuck sake.

“i want daddy.”

“i don’t think mommy would like that, buddy. we’ll do something fun next week.”

“no, i want it for birthday, daddy. mommy also want.”

you shoot a stern frown at jun but he simply doesn’t care

“can you give mommy the phone, jun?”

“mommy hears you.”

“y/n?”

you sigh quietly as you rub your eyebrows.

“yeah?”

“what’s going on?”

“i’m not sure where this is coming from but jun wants to have dinner with us.”

it’s quiet on the other end. “tonight?”

“yes, tonight, yoongi. it’s his birthday and he’s been holed up for days with no one but me.”

“i know, i know.” a soft sigh leaves his lips. “i’ll be there at 7.”

your heart almost skips a beat

“see you then,” you say as you hang up

fuck.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

you get ready

you don’t even know why you’re wearing makeup and have your hair done wearing that dress that dress that yoongi likes so much

you’re doing it for your son’s birthday of course

and not because you’ve been contemplating asking yoongi a specific question

as you smooth out your dress and help a very nicely dressed jun sit at the table—that is filled with all of your best home made foods

the door rings

and your heart continues to pound out of your chest

you slowly walk up to the door and open it up, meeting eyes with your exhusband

clad in a simple black suit and his hair nicely styled with one side tucked behind his ear, he’s holding a bag and a bouquet of roses

your eyes shift to the roses with a quirk in your brow

“these are for jun,” he mumbles as he impatiently waits for you to step aside which you eventually do

he kicks his shoes off and hands you the bouquet before jun hops off his seat and runs up to his father

yoongi drops the plastic bag he’s holding onto the floor and hunches over to catch jun, raising him up and holding him in his arms. “who’s turning 3 years old today?”

“me?” jun replies, uncertain

“of course, you, silly! not daddy, right? are you crazy? is jun crazy?” he jokes as he pokes juns belly and nips at the crook of his neck, making jun laugh and giggle as he tries to resist

it warms your heart to see jun so happy

even if he was a shit fuckin husband

he’s always been an exceptional father

“come on, food’s gonna get cold,” you say as you walk up to the table, sitting in your usual spot

yoongi and jun join you shortly after and you have a nice dinner

together

as a family

:(

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

sitting at the table with a bottle of wine screwed open

jun on the floor in front of the tv with the new big toy he got from his father

you glance at yoongi who wipes his mouth with a napkin before shifting his gaze toward you

“i’ve missed your food,” he comments as he leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “thanks. it was really good.”

you nod. “thanks for coming.”

he shakes his head. “whatever jun wants, jun gets.”

you chuckle quietly and take another sip from your wine. you’ve been building the courage to ask yoongi that one question for almost an hour now

“yoongi,” you start as you place your glass back down on the table in front of you

he tilts his head to the side, an indicator that he hears you loud and clear

“you know,” you say as you take a deep breath. “jun aches to go to daycare. because he’s lonely.”

yoongi simply blinks at you, seemingly wondering where you’re going with this

silence

it’s so quiet for several moments, only the distant sounds of jun playing with his toys and spongebob playing on your tv reach your ears

“he’s lonely, yoongi,” you reiterate

he frowns this time, titling his head for a second in utter confusion

“i don’t understand what you want from me. i do my best to make time for him, you know th–”

“i’m not talking about me or you.”

you stay quiet after that, hoping he’ll figure it out on his own

he doesn’t though, just places his arms on the table, leaning further over it. “what are you getting at, y/n?”

the usage of your name sends a current of electricity up your spine

heats up the back of your neck, cheeks and your ears

“what i’m trying to say is…” you sigh as you bring your hand up to scratch the back of your head, looking away for a few moments

you gather your courage

make eyecontact with him

and part your lips to say;

“would you be willing to give him a sibling?”

to be continued.

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[solaiced]

CASE 8: THE STRONGEST OF THIS GENERATION IN BED.

!content!: dubcon since ur drunk, nervous gojo, set after the sorcerers' graduation, drinking, poisoning? and gojo has a crush on you.

wc: 651

solace: not posting day 6 and 7 yet 💔

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

"Stop it, Gojo" was your motto.

Everyday, without fail, Satoru "insufferable" Gojo was there to annoy you. He loved your reactions.

The way your eye twitched each time he spoke, and your mouth contorted in an inevitable pout.

But this? This had gone too far. As you throw the bottle of "water" at Gojo, hitting a head shot you wouldve celebrated had you been sober, your vision blurs, stumbling.

And Gojo? He laughs.

Fucking laughs at your misery. He had replaced your water with absolute vodka, knowing you’d get drunk immediately.

But he still gets closer, still helps you get more stable, so that he can face your anger, fury, rage, everything.

"Stop it, Gojo..." You mumble as he puts you on the couch. He chuckles, closing your eyes.

”Sleep,” he says, "I'll wake you up, in the morning." He assures, kissing your cheek as he lays you down. You grumble but don't fight him. It’s useless against the Strongest.

"Don't kiss me." You wipe your cheek stubbornly and he frowns, grabbing your face and kissing you again. Gojo aggressively kisses you repeatedly, smothering you.

You shake your head, trying to get out of his grasp, and when you move, his lips fall on yours. A moment of silence blankets you until you both pull away, faces hot.

Gojo sputters a little apology, it's the first time you see him so... flustered? His face is red, pupils blown wide as he braces himself for a yelling session.

"Gojo." He jumps at his own name.

"Again." God, you should never drink again. It'll ruin your life. Seriously.

Gojo swallows nervously. It was embarrassing, the Strongest, nervous because of a simple girl.

He doesn’t move, doesn't heed your words, so, you pull him in and crash your dry lips against his soft ones, pulling a surprised moan out of his throat while he falls on you, trapping you in with his arms. You take that in stride, because you smile against his lips.

He pulls away forcefully, pushing you down.

“Wait, wait!” You groan, getting dizzy from his frantic panicking.

"Are you sure you want to? I mean, you're drunk, and -mmpf!" You cut him off by covering his mouth, eyes lidded low in lust as your hand travels under his pants and he yelps, activating Infinity and jumping off the bed. You narrow your eyes. Gojo fixes his messy hair.

"Answer me, give me your consent!" He begs, blue eyes almost glowing in the dimly lit room.

“I want to fuck you, Gojo Satoru." You place an emphasis on his name. “Turn off Infinity and let me ride you." You get up and prowl towards him with a predatory gaze.

The Strongest trembles in fear and anticipation for the first time ever. You want to fuck him? He's waited years for this moment to happen. Just ... differently. Like a date, or something.

“Satoru," You whisper, hand reaching for him, and he almost cums in his pants, his name on your lips should be the only word that you pronounce, "deactivate it, please." You beg, lips contorted into a pleading pout.

"Sit." He orders, turning his shield off. Gojo's voice is so commanding, you debate disobeying him or not. However, instead of being stubborn like usual, you obey and unbutton your top in advance, and Gojo fees like he ascended to Heaven as you take off your bra and reveal your perky tits, keeping his composure, he stands infront of you, unzipping his pants.

His cerulean eyes shine as they look down on you, “Open your legs.”

~~~~~

That was hours ago. Maybe two, maybe four. You can't remember. However, Satoru, you couldn't forget. His perfect cock drilled into you for hours on end, which sealed your fate for tomorrow; you shall not walk for a week, at least.

Rough fingers dig in the sides of your hips, “Are you spa-spacing out... hah, on me girl? That won't do." Satoru promises while a hand reaches for your clit, puffy and red from abuse, aka, pinching and his neatly groomed white hair grinding on the sensitive nub.

"Ngh-o! I’m soh-sorry!" You weakly swat his hands away, kicking your legs and mewling when his tips smacks on tor your g-spot, eyes crossing.

His answering laugh is cruel, lips puckering to kiss away at your tears of overstimulation.

“Don’t be, baby, I’m-ah! Having so much fun with you.” His hot breath fanning your hot cheeks.

“Please!” You beg, nails digging into his hard shoulders, why was he so stupidly strong?! “Stop it, Gojo!” You can feel tears flowing down your cheeks once more, which Satoru wipes away with a little smile.

He thinks he’s never gone at it for so long. Six whole hours, and he thinks his dick is about to fall off. But he’s still going. He has to make up for lost time. He’s aiming to make you cum as much as he can until one of you passes out. Preferably you. Because he wants to take care of you.

However, at your cries of “stop” and “no more”, he doesn’t answer. He knows if you truly wanted it to stop, you could either easily push him off, or use the safe word. He’s reminded you multiple times of it, for fear that you forgot, but it’s obvious you don’t want it.

Satoru can feel his voice breaking as he coos little praises to you, how good you are for him, and how long he’s waited for this. Yet he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Hell, he’s got reverse cursed technique. He can go for days on end.

That said, he is careful as he thrusts into you, tip bullying your g-spot over and over again. Satoru loves the way your cunt flutters around him, the way it squeezes when he grinds his hips deep into you, and most importantly, he loves you.

Satoru can’t help but dig his fingers harder into the fat of your hips, mumbling your name under his breath. He’s cum once before you, and you suffered the consequences. This would not be the first time.

“Satoru!” Your mouth falls open as you cum for the… which one was this, again? Fuck, you lost count at the fifth one.

“Fuck, fuck, sweetie, please…” He begs for nothing, can’t stop, couldn’t stop if he wanted to.

As he presses his hips flush to yours for a final time, you scream, “Purple!” And his eyes shoot open, shit, what did he do?

He stops, denying his own orgasm for you. “Did I do something wrong?” He pulls out, making the both of you wince.

“Don’t, don’t cum inside.” You felt guilty, but you didn’t have plan B and he didn’t wear a condom. While you trusted Satoru to not have some sexual disease, you didn’t trust his cum.

“Fuck, I thought I hurt you. Okay, I won’t. I’ll buy you plan B tomorrow, ‘Kay? Just incase.” He pauses, hand around the thick appendage that was just inside of you, somehow. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head, although you felt very sore. “I’m fine, let me help you.” You swat away his hand and jerk him off with quick movements.

Satoru chokes on his spit, the quick movements too sudden as he grabs your wrist to stop you, the most pathetic whine dragging out his throat.

“N-not too fast.” He requests, nestling his head in your neck and tickling the underside of your jaw.

“No mercy. You didn’t give me any.” You push him down, spitting on his tip to ease your jerking.

“Wait, stttopp–“ His hips stutter, stuck between chasing the pleasure and shying away from you, his hands reaching for you.

“Don’t touch me, and I’ll have a bit of mercy on you.” Satoru groans, hands gripping the sheets instead.

“Good.” You continue, covering his tip with your other hand’s palm, the motions making him quiver.

“W-where did you- oh!” The white haired man’s cock spurts out a rope of cum, hips jerking up.

“Seriously?” You ask, groaning. “Guess I’ll clean you up. As always, hm?” You hum, tongue peeking out to lick him up.

“N-no! Oh my god!” His back arches at the stimulation, hands grabbing your hair to yank you off. He realises his mistake too late, eyes widening slowly.

“Well, I suppose you know your wrongdoing?” He nods shakily.

“No mercy.” You giggle sinisterly, straddling his lap.

~~~~~~

Satoru flops backwards, you in tow. You both breathe heavily, spent by the last hour(s?) of pure debauchery.

“Hah, I’m never underestimating you ever again.” Satoru huffs, arms wrapped around you like a protective barrier against outside threats.

“You used to underestimate me?” You repeat, bewildered.

“Uhhhh…” He whistles, looking away innocently.

“That’s it, we’re going again.”

“NOO!”

[ghostbeam]

600w, reader cuts their finger, one mention of blood dripping against the cutting board, inspired by how every time I chop anything I think about how Bakugou would murder me for how I hold things

“Hold you fingers right or I swear I’ll fly home right fucking now.”

Your boyfriend’s voice sounds over the phone as you continue to chop vegetables on the cutting board. With his eyebrows pinched together as he watches you through the phone screen, Katsuki sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of the blade of your knife coming entirely too close to your fingertips.

Sent on a mission out of town, the two of you had been FaceTiming every night for the past couple of days. With time zones, your boyfriend settles into bed around the time you start making dinner for yourself. It had been the perfect arrangement until he had to watch you wield a knife.

“You promise?” You tease, staring up at his worried face through the glow of your cellphone screen as you continue to chop up cabbage.

“You’re gonna cut yourself. I’m hanging up.” Katsuki says, voice stiff as he watches you.

“No you’re not.” You don’t stop chopping. Of course he’s not. He has to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.

“Move your fucking hand.”

“Oh my god, it’s fine, baby. I’m being careful.” You finally pause to look up at him. He’s moved to sit up in the hotel bed that he was previously lying against. His shoulders are tense and his lips are pursed. It makes you giggle.

“You’re very clearly not.” He clicks his tongue.

“I’m getting it done, aren’t I?” You speak, going back to the task at hand. He sighs over the phone.

“I’m serious.” You’re going to kill him. All he can do is sit and watch and wait for the inevitable. You mock him, stubbornly holding your hand in the way he’s told you time and time again not to.

“Ooh he’s serious—ow!” The blade of the knife comes down on the tip of your middle finger, a small gash opens and a drop of blood falls against your cutting board. You may have ruined dinner. You hear Katsuki curse.

“I fucking told you. Let me see.” He commands, sticking his face much closer to his phone than before.

“It’s fine! I’m fine!” You tell him, bringing your finger to your mouth and sucking on the open wound. Your boyfriends eyes widen at the action, running a hand through his hair.

“Fuck! I’m coming home!” He moves to get out of the bed, watching you through the screen. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees you move to the sink on the other side of the counter. You’re at least washing the gash instead of getting the germs from your mouth all over it.

“Katsuki, it’s just a tiny cut!” You tell him over the sound of the water. He groans.

“No more cooking. I’m sending u money to order out. I’ve shown u so many times how to hold your hand when you’re chopping—“ He switches from to an app on his phone to send you money, transferring enough so that you can have dinner (and dessert for that matter) the whole rest of the week. “god, lemme see it.”

“Stop! Im okay! Im putting a bandaid on.” He watches you walk out of frame, likely looking for the band aid’s in the first aid kit in the bathroom. When you return, you’ve wrapped a patterned bandaid covered in stars around the tip of your finger, showing it off to him in the form of flipping him off. He rolls his eyes.

“My fucking stomach hurts. You stress me out.” He tells you, falling back into the bed and holding the phone above him.

“Katsuki.” He hears your voice over the phone. He moves his eyes to look at your face on the screen. You’re a little sweaty from the heat of the kitchen, and he can tell you’re tired from the day you’ve had. His face softens.

“What.” He speaks softly.

“I love you.” You smile.

“Love you too.” He says, “even though you can’t use a knife correctly.”

[thewintercorner]

guess who's back to yap about vitalasy!

looking so deeply at s2 recently got me back onto the worldender and cycles analysis grind but from a different perspective and ohhh man has that been fruitful

i've always had this feeling about vitalasy that he got the cycles but didn't Get them. he saw the cycles, could identify them as they were happening, but didn't understand why -- except he did seem to understand why? okay, so maybe he gets why but he doesn't get enough of the indomitability of that why to know it's impossible to overcome it. except he knows when to give up. and he knows when the big sacrifices are necessary and effective. and--

point is, i always had this weird dissonance about vitalasy that i couldn't ever really overcome. for pretty much all of the time i've watched lifesteal, i've operated off of an assumption that reckoning with the cycles, understanding them, would inevitably lead a player to become a worldender. in my mind, there was no world in which a player saw their world for what it was - constantly decaying, dying from the moment it comes into existence - and doesn't then seek to put it out of its misery as quickly as they can.

and yet, there was vitalasy. there was this player that fought so hard against the end of the world, and yet seemed to understand on some deep level that there was only so much he could do. here was this player that started preparing to fight decimation almost as soon as he learnt their name. here was this player, ever self-sacrificial, who always seemed to know exactly when and what to sacrifice to let the server live on.

he acted with such calculation and talked about the server in a way that clearly spoke to at least some understanding of the cycles -- certainly much more than the average player, at least, especially in season 3. and yet, he wasn't a worldender - and yet, he fought to save it, over and over again. why the anomaly?

then, i watched spoke's s2 video again, and something about worldending clicked. the thing about worldending is that it is a wildly selfless task. to end the world, you must be willing to give up everything you have ever cared about, everything you have ever loved, in pursuit of a more graceful end to the world that it would give itself. and it's not just giving up; you have to be willing to kill, to annihilate all those things. it is selfless destruction of your entire existence. nothing you care about can remain.

it raises a question: where's the compassion? where's the room for it, for humanity, in an act like that? the answer, i think, is simple: there really isn't any.

turn back to vitalasy. here is this player, this person, with so much love to give that it seems to spill out of his heart at every opportunity. vitalasy loves fiercely, loves his friends and his home and his server. he loves all of it so much i couldn't imagine him ever ending the world.

worldending is selfless. selflessness is a choice one has to make. therefore, is there not another choice? can one not choose instead to be selfish?

im going to start quoting the original flow of thoughts (written in the back of my linguistics notebook; i loveee not paying attention in class) here, because i think i wrote it better then than i could rephrase it now:

"perhaps there is another option: to be selfish. to reckon with the cycles and the inevitable decay, to look in the eyes of death and still choose your friends. to foresee the apocalypse is not to accept it; by many moral codes, it would be a an act of monumental apathy to sit back and idly watch - or worse yet, fight to accelerate - the end of the world as you've seen it. understanding the cycles is a predisposition, not the diagnosis. to quote jacob geller (go watch his vids if you haven't!!), some people can more easily imagine learning to die that learning to fight. in the context of lifesteal, it's understandable. but amongst the war and fire, there is still love. vi loves fiercely, vibrantly, stubbornly. of course he is going to fight. of course he will use the reckoning to understand how best to fight the cycles. yes, they are inevitable. yes, he fights for an infinite end, an eternal battle. is an extra day of loving not worth it? he claws moment from the death grip of the reality he exists in because the love is worth it. the sacrifices he makes are worth it because he's buying them more time. the world is cruel, but he refuses to be part of the cruelty."

tl;dr: the other option is to let the love win over the despair, to fight to live instead of fighting to die.

this is what vitalasy does. in knowing the cycles, he turns himself into a more effective weapon against them. he's self-sacrificial to a fault, but it becomes an advantage when he uses that to take the moral cost, take the heart cost, to take his entire life and fight the fight that no one else is ready to touch. vitalasy is so often villianized because he uses the same methods as the bad guys; the part people miss is that he uses their techniques against them. yes, he dupes in s4; how else are they meant to fight the other dupers when the end the world? yes, he feeds one more death to decimation in his sacrifice at the end of s3 -- because it lets six others get revived.

there is not only dread. in the darkness, there is light. vitalasy just eluded me for so long because he was the first to see it.

(there is a whole other discussion to be had on the implications of this on oath!zam, especially in light of recent events. i plan to write a companion post to this sometime soon going through all of those :))

[elf-osamu]

“WOW, I REALLY CAN’T SPEAK, HUH? MUST BE BECAUSE OF HOW PRETTY YOU LOOK”

[ masterlist ] [ event ] [ reblogs are v v v appreciated ]

fluff, romantic relationship, lucifer, mammon, barbatos x gn!reader

warning(s) : mammon’s one is kinda sad at first ?? mostly bc he’s overthinking things ☹️ probably he’s a bit ooc but idc he’s gorgeous regardless (let’s say you two are at the start of your relationship in this one-shot).

words count : 2587 words

request: “howdy may i rq an obey me scenario with this prompt —> “wow i really can’t speak, huh? must be because of how pretty you look.” gn! mc says it ! would like it to be with lucifer, mammon and barbatos. maybe something like them rambling and asking if mc is listening and they drop that line ^ thank youu”

a/n : AA FINALLY AN OBEY ME REQUEST 🫶🏻 i love those characters with all of my heart, aND THIS PROMPT IS SO GOOD, it’s one of my favorites !! thank you for requesting btw <33 and i apologize for the long wait :( i had no time to write between school and personal matters. anyway, just so you know, lucifer’s and mammon’s ones are soooo long while barbato’s is auite short, i kinda rushed it because i felt bad since i’ve been neglecting requests lately 😭😭 (yeah this is the second time i’m posting this)

LUCIFER :

as the student council vice president, lucifer is well known among the royal academy of diavolo’s demons and angels: although being a composed individual most of the time, he has also an intimidating and almost cruel side to him because of his status, hence why many demons fear him. his fierce, self-assured demeanour is somewhat entrancing, capturing everyone’s gaze in an unbreakable trance, plus his aura of pride is something inevitable in everyday life.

this is not to mention his complicated past and the authority he possesses thanks to lord diavolo, which — according to many demons and a few angels — give more might to his persona.

although sometimes you were the main cause of many troubles in the past, now you can consider yourself quite privileged to be in his good graces. as his partner you have access to a vulnerable part of him that not everyone has a chance to see, where his pride comes off and his insecurities and annoyances emerge, and you can afford to be bold with him.

this very day, he is complaining about a bunch of ‘inferior’ demons who have caused a rather bothersome fuss during curses and hexes class, knocking out a student, giving a headache to your beloved: lucifer knows perfectly well how to put someone in their place, even forcefully if necessary, however it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel pressured and tired after doing his duty.

the stress derived from all of his responsibilities, and from the piles of paperwork stubbornly sitting on his desk nearly every day, highly increases over time.

now the two of you are in his study, lucifer is rereading the report about today’s incident he just finished to write while you intently watch him work, helping him here and there. frowing in displeasure, he keeps changing a few sentences, wondering how the hell he’s going to survive this afternoon.

however, you can’t help but admire his handsome features: his black eyes shine with a reddish light, they are a little jaded but also alive; his rosy lips form a straight line, emphasizing his concentration, but no less beautiful; his cheeks are covered with a slight sheen of blush, probably due to his weariness; what to say, his demonic beauty is undoubtedly striking.

being too busy with your thoughts, you don’t realize he’s trying to get your attention to what he has been saying for the past few minutes.

“[name], are you listening to me?” he asks, lips slightly parted at your silence.

it’s almost funny, the fact that he completely ignores the reason of your quietness.

“[name].” at this point, lucifer’s voice is filled more with worry than irritation. why aren’t you responding to him? is something the matter?

as he’s about to ask another question, you snap back to reality, slowly turning to your senses.

you try to say something to seem completely nonchalant, but your voice — hoarse from nervousness — betrays you, and you can’t help but observe again your partner, who is frowing even more than before. if that’s possible.

you sigh, in defeat with yourself, and a genuine grin makes its way onto your face. “wow, i really can’t speak, huh? must be because of how pretty you look”.

at first, he doesn’t really process those words.

although his gaze is fixed on your figure, his mind is fuzzy from all the work he’s currently doing, almost as if he were in a dream-like state, not at all focused on the present world. there’s silence for a few seconds in the room you two are in, and you’re asking yourself if you need to bring lucifer back to reality. but when you’re about to talk to him, you shift slightly on your sit, and his brain registers the movement.

so, suddenly, realization hits him. perhaps, too suddenly.

if it weren’t for his majestic pride, he’d cover his face, now completely red — but, doing so would be admitting his confused (but contented) mood derived from the sound of your words, which is inadmissible to him. so, all he can do is pretend that he’s not impressed by what you have said, even if his body is betraying him: in addition to the blush on his face and neck, his eyes are filled with astonishment and his lips, slightly parted again, form a small circle, defining his astonishment.

finally, he glares at you — taking back a part of his self-control — and seems to be lost in thought, probably wondering how he should face the situation without feeling too embarrassed; you can almost see the gears of his brain working wildly, desperately trying to find a simple solution.

and then, his eyes sparkle.

never underestimate a demon, especially if it’s lucifer. have you flustered him? well, be prepared, because he’ll pay you back in the same coin.

he adjusts himself on his scarlet armchair, which highlights his shimmering eyes, and leans towards you, over his desk. you can tell by his look that, if you let him speak, his words will be the death of you. and there’s no way you’ll allow it.

“too bad i need to be in another a class in, like, five minutes,” you blatantly lie, checking your wristwatch, and getting up. you lean just a little to give lucifer a quick peck on the lips. “well, see you later, pretty boy”, you wink at him and leave the room in a hurry, without giving him enough time to process what has happened.

yet again, he’s stunned by how you’ve called him.

the avatar of pride may be confident and assertive, but his heart can only flutter when someone is genuinely complimenting him. especially if it’s you.

MAMMON :

“… and so he blamed me! me, do ya understand? he, without hesitation, cursed the great mammon in front of the whole class! what an outrageous thing to do, don’t ya think!?”.

one interesting thing about the avatar of greed is that, despite his attempts to play it cool, he’s not confident about himself. thinking about it, it can’t but make sense: he’s driven by his multiple desires — money, for example — and craves them every time there’s a minimal absence of those, including external approval; he needs to be seen and accepted by everyone.

admitting it out loud would probably never be an option, considering his stubborn nature, but mammon would do anything to make you smile or laugh at his jokes — anything. he wants to be worthy of your attention — because in his mind he’s not deserving of love, particularly yours. of course, if you asked him something about this matter, he’d say the opposite — he’s everything but good at communicating his needs.

getting to know the demon hasn’t been an easy task, but with time you’ve managed to discover that there’s a soft side to him — a kind, warm heart behind his usual carefree mask.

despite all these thoughts spinning in your head, in this moment you are still fascinated by mammon’s temper and gestures: his hands, shaken, are moving quickly in the air, a slight pout is adorning his face, and his eyes are glimmering in bitter frustration — the sky of the devildom is reaching his darkest shade of colour while he looks vigorous yet ethereal.

“… handsome”, you murmur, as if talking to yourself.

mammon suddenly stops in his tracks, a slight embarassed expression appearing on his face.

“oh? what did ya say?” he asks, confused yet hopeful, thinking that maybe he has misheard you — because how could someone like you view him as nothing but that? sure, you’re his partner, however the fear of not being seen and loved for who he really is… is always present.

you sigh and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head on his shoulder. “wow, i really can’t speak, huh? ah, must be because of how pretty you look…”.

the noises of the night fill the atmosphere between you two in this moment; mammon’s brain has stopped working and, honestly, you can’t blame him: saying that he’s taken aback by your remark would be a great understatement to describe the current situation.

the avatar of greed is feeling so many emotions in so little time — his heart is pounding stronger than ever, you can almost hear its soft sound, and a reassurance which he has never felt so intensely is hugging his chest. these sensations are something he would gladly immerse himself into, a new type of greed to add to his long and interminable list, a new need.

unfortunately, the clock is ticking and mammon doesn’t want you to see his true self, not in a moment so embarassing for him, not like this — though he would love to indulge in this sweet pleasure for a while longer.

“you— human! what are ya thinking, speaking like that to your first demon? ya sure are bold! i’ll close one eye for this time, so consider yourself lucky tonight, because the great mammon won’t be so gentle in the future!”

a quick laugh escapes from your lips and, before he can question it, you grab his jaw with one of your hands, so his eyes can only be directed towards you.

“mammon, sweetheart, drop the act. you are making a fool of yourself and, although you’d be so entertaining to watch right now, you need to realise that i love you, truly.”, your gaze softens and you smile at him, making his heart melt. “it’s okay to not understand why you are cared about — but i want you to know that you are important to me, so, so fcking much. we’re in this together — aren’t we? then, will you allow me to show why and how i’m going to love and take care of you, mh?”.

mammon remains still as you finish your speech; his unsteady breath, however, betrays him.

“[name], i… thank you”, he says, unsure on how to continue his response.

“talk your feelings out, if you feel like it. i’m not a judge here,” you reassure him.

his gaze shifts for a moment, symbolising his indecision, but then it returns to yours. “i’m… i am glad to have ya in my life, [name]. but, well, i suppose i have one request to make”.

your smile turns suddenly into a smirk, finally happy to see your boyfriend taking courage to express his feelings.

“yes, dear?”.

“be greedy with me,” he pauses, slowly breathing in and out to not mess up his next words. “indulge in my sin whenever you can, day by day, and don’t leave anything behind. spare nothing, let the greed take control over you, like i’ll do with you from now on”.

“oh now, now, who is the bold one?” you murmur, getting closer to him. “you’re extremely covetous, mammon, and this is one of the many things which i appreciate about you. i already made a pact with you, so i don’t see a problem with your request. i accept it”, and you kiss him, as if you’re sealing the deal.

who would have thought that one of the greatest demons of all the realms could feel such things for a human?

BARBATOS :

despite being barbatos’s partner, it’s not quite often that you’re invited over lord diavolo’s castle to spend time with two of the most powerful demons in the devildom. the reason why is actually pretty simple: your lover’s life is full of events to attend and favors to give. his presence is requested by every kind of beings, alongside his trusted services to the devildom’s prince, resulting in little to no space left for your meetings. the same can be said for you, since your school life isn’t exactly giving you energy to talk to him either — so you could say you two are fair.

this evening is different from the usual, since you were invited for dinner — a rare, but pleasant occasion to find yourself in. the one who has arranged it all is, nevertheless, lord diavolo himself: though he often acts oblivious of his requests, he has a keen eye for his butler’s mental state — so it would have been only a matter of time before he found out about barbatos’ single desire to relieve his stress… you.

using the “celebration” of your school achievements as an excuse, diavolo set up these hours in his magnificent mansion just for the two of you — saying that he’s attended elsewhere and oh so unfortunately he won’t be able to remain with you even for a while longer.

this is the premise of the current moment — you are quite literally squeezing your boyfriend, hugging him from behind, while he prepares his nightly skincare routine. he’s looking at himself in the mirror, dark green eyes are inspecting his state: his hands are on both sides of the sink, slightly supporting his robust and elegant figure; his torso is covered by a black tank top — something you’d rarely have the chance to see, considering barbatos’ extreme care for a professional appearance; his cold but soft skin seems bright, almost shining, under the tender lamp’s light.

his lips are smartly moving, giving life to his thoughts, however you are too focused on him to pay attention to his words.

“[name]?”

the sudden call of your name wakes you up, but only for a second.

“mh?”

his eyes meet yours in the mirror. “are you listening to me?”.

“mmh mh”, you nod, not registering his question at all, and continue to admire him in silence.

obviously, he’s completely aware of it — after all, he’s the demon who can see through both the past and future.

with a swift movement of his body, he turns to face you, making you cling to his waist.

with his right hand, he gently holds your chin between his fingers. “would you like, my love, to share your thoughts on the matter? you seem rather unfocused tonight, wouldn’t you agree?”.

you swallow, waiting for your confidence to come back. then, you try to give back the same energy of his — since you wouldn’t like to lose to his antics, not again.

“damn, i really can’t speak right now, huh? must be because of how pretty you look, barbatos. it’s actually not fair”.

although you don’t look nearly as self-assured as him, you regain a bit of your control when you notice a hint of hesitation and bewilderment on his face.

he scoffs, looking away from your eyes — and doing so makes it evident that his ears are bright red. you catch the opportunity right away, moving his hair away from the sensitive skin.

“ah! if only the others saw you, the formidable barbatos, right now! you wouldn’t be feared so much,” you teasingly comment, preparing for his next move.

“i wouldn’t be so daring if i were in your place, [name]”, barbatos remarks jokingly — but you can never be so sure when it comes to him: as proof you have his piercing gaze fixated on your face, which conveys a message that you couldn’t otherwise pick up.

“well- i guess i’ll make it up tomorrow! aren’t you tired? it’s been an exhausting day — let’s watch a movie!” you suddenly suggest, not resisting to his towering yet fascinating aura.

he sighs as you quickly evade from his arms, though he’s suppressing a smile.

barbatos supposes he can let one person to make fun of him.

[ do not copy, translate, repost, etc. | by @ elf-osamu ]

[blurredcolour]

In My Blood | Part Five

In My Blood Masterlist

Curtis "Curt" Biddick x SOE!Female Reader

Putting your safety into the hands of a group of anarchists with no allegiance to anyone but themselves is a necessary evil to ensure your safe passage across the Pyrenees. But it is not the only uncomfortable truth you and Curt encounter on the last leg of your flight from occupied Europe.

Warnings: MAJOR canon divergence, Language, Weapons, Spy Craft, Fear, Cold, Exhaustion, Angst, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [Oral Sex - f receiving, Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Pull-out Method] - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This story contains revisionist history, read at your own risk. Reader is half-Belgian, half-English and has been given an extensive backstory and family tree. While they have been given the codename of "Marie," no physical descriptions or Y/N are used.

Italics used for non-English words and to indicate dialogue spoken in a language other than English.

This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 8078

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

The final deadbolt had barely clicked into place behind Françoise, on her way to the market in search of both food and news from the Ponzán group, when Curt crept down the hallway, pulling the door to her room shut, thus trapping the sleeping Charbon within.

“Curt!” You hissed softly as he returned to slide to his knees on the carpet before you, quickly folding your skirt higher on your thighs before beginning to push your legs apart.

The distracting sensation of his lips trailing kissing up your inner thighs briefly jarred your train of thought, making your eyes flutter shut. The feeling of your underwear being peeled from your hips restored your focus and you gulped.

“Wait, wait I have to tell you something important about our guides…” You whispered, frantically trying to pull him up to meet your eyes with his, fingers trying to cup his jaw.

“Mmm, I can listen while I do this.” He murmured, mouth remaining stubbornly close to its goal.

“Yes, well, I cannot speak while you do.” You huffed, trembling slightly at the caress of his breath against your folds.

With a dramatic sigh, he sat back on his haunches and looked up to you expectantly, though a faint smirk still tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s…a difficult four day walk to the other side – if we are lucky. And our guides are not friends of the French, the English, or the Americans. They are focused solely on their own cause and simply see the money and weapons they can gain through this endeavour as useful. We are a means to an end for them. Baggage to be delivered. There is no allegiance or alliance involved, do you understand?”

“What is their cause, then?” He tilted his head thoughtfully, fingers idly caressing the skin of your knee where they still rested.

“The overthrow of Francisco Franco in Spain, yet another Fascist. But promise me you will not be too trusting, alright? We have a cautious, monetary-based relationship with them. That is all.”

A cheeky grin tugged at the corner of his lips, and he leaned forward to kiss the inside of your knee. “Don’t you worry, gorgeous, not taking any of them to bed, I assure you.”

Your huff of minor annoyance dissolved into a whimper of pleasure as his tongue delved into your folds, his hands gripping your hips as he took full advantage of Françoise’s absence to wring an orgasm from you. He was still taking his time, savouring the fruits of his labour, when the scrape of her key in the first of the deadbolts sounded. Gently but firmly prodding him away with a foot to the chest, you retrieved your underwear from where it lay forgotten on the area rug, shimmying into it before resuming your seat on the sofa with a novel just as she opened the door.

Curt excused himself to the washroom, making you bite the inside of your cheek as you could only imagine just what he might get up to in there, as you stood to help your host with the bags of food she had returned with. Potatoes, mostly, a few sad carrots and a shrivelled head a cabbage, along several unlabelled cans. Shortly after Curt’s departure, a rather frazzled looking Charbon burst onto the scene, surely just released from his captivity in Françoise’s bedroom.

“Cheaper for the mystery.” She muttered in regards to the tins as you helped unpack it all in the kitchen, doing your best to ignore the fluttering echoes of pleasure in your lower abdomen. “Payment has been received, the pair of you are to arrive at the newspaper office just after curfew ends tomorrow morning. The paper delivery truck with take you to Saint-Girons on its regular route, supplies contained within.”

A swirling mixture of relief and trepidation filled your veins and you nodded quickly. “Thank you, Françoise, it has been a real pleasure, but I am sure you will be glad to see the back of us.”

“We are leaving then?” Curt’s hushed voice piped up from the doorway where he was now leaning, remnants of a flush still painting his cheeks, making you swallow thickly.

“First thing tomorrow.” You nodded.

“I’ll go check my bag.” He murmured, slipping off to his room as you turned to Françoise.

“We will make you a loaf of bread and I will send you with a can of beans.” She murmured, producing a tin from her pantry.

With a nod of deep gratitude, the pair of you set to work, using the subpar ingredients she had on hand to bake a heavy loaf of coarse bread to stash within your pack. Dinner was a quiet affair, assembled of potatoes, as usual, with the addition of a bean-and-cabbage stew, before you turned in early. Waking at three, each of you bathed and dressed, setting your rucksacks by the door as Françoise fed you one last breakfast. As soon as the clock hit five, you parted from the woman and her cat with cheek kisses and whispered well-wishes, winding your way through the chilled and silent streets to the appointed pick-up location.

As arranged, the canvas-covered delivery truck was waiting, the driver offering a boost to help you inside before loading bundles of heavily censored newspapers to be delivered to the smaller communities around Toulouse, including your meet-up point. Deep inside the truck, you found the winter clothing and accessories you had arranged for, a small smile of relief come to your face.

Sorting through the items, you took the boots in Curt’s estimated size, passing them to him before you shrugged out of your light coat and began to layer the wool trousers and heavy knit sweater atop your skirt and blouse. It was by no means a smooth ride, the roads around here well-worn, roughened dirt tracks in some places, making your wardrobe change less than easy, but once you were properly dressed with warm boots on your feet, you were indisputably more comfortable. Tucking your hair inside the knit cap to try and disguise your femininity, given that the Vichy had resurrected some ancient law that made it illegal for women to wear trousers, you stowed the scarf and mitts into your pack atop your shoulder bag and the rations. Quietly biding the remainder of your time through several stops at communities along the way, Curt eventually stopped looking to you each time the truck lumbered to a halt until at last the flap pulled back to reveal you were sitting on a bridge just outside the town of Saint-Girons.

“This is you.” The driver muttered and you nodded to Curt, the pair of you quickly climbing from the back to wait amongst the trees.

As the truck drove away, silence overtook the valley, the foothills of the Pyrenees looming to the south. A glance at your watch told you it was just before eight o’clock, and though the sun was well up it held very little warmth. The breeze rolling down from the mountains was even colder than the crisp of autumn, hinting at the ice and snow that surely awaited you at even higher elevations. You were about to dig through your pack to retrieve your mitts when the rustling of brush across the river halted your movements. Two faces, crowned by dark hair, peered out between the leaves, beckoning to you with a short, sharp whistle.

“Come on.” You whispered to Curt, stepping into the open and slowly making your way across the bridge to link up with them.

“Tomás,” the taller of the two introduced himself with a hand to his chest once you had reached them, “Diego.” He gestured to his shorter but more muscular companion.

“Marie, Curt.” You introduced the pair of you in kind, earning a nod.

“We go.” Tomás murmured and started off down a well-worn track, not even allowing you a moment to sort out the mitten situation.

Diego waited until the three of you were in motion before silently bringing up the rear.

“Here.” Curt muttered, passing you the mittens from the pockets of his wool coat after watching you bury your hands in your pockets, and you shot him a look of gratitude just as Tomás spun back to eye him coldly.

“Silence.” He snapped before resuming his brisk pace, clearly eager to put civilization behind your small group as quickly as possible.

Curt raised an eyebrow at you, and you pressed your lips together guiltily but did as instructed, well aware that you were no longer the guide – you were now simply another person desperately fleeing Nazi-occupied territory. And so your quartet walked in silence. Leaving all houses behind, you began a slow climb along a woodland trail, passing small communities below as you put one foot in front of the other for hours. Four hours, to be precise, of steady, gradual ascent before Tomás brought your group to a halt in a thicket of trees and pulled out a canteen to drink deeply.

“Ten minutos.” He uttered, barely winded, before stepping off to the side with Diego to engage a conversation in tones so low you could not hear them, even at this distance.

Setting your pack down, you pulled Curt’s mittens free as you sat heavily on a fallen log to unbuckle your bag and retrieve your own along with the parchment-wrapped loaf of bread, tearing him off a bite. Holding it out to him, your lips twitched fondly as he held out a flask – for that was the only liquid-holding container Françoise had been able to spare – filled with water. Trading your items, you took a sip as he quickly ate his snack. Handing the flask back, you grabbed a chunk of bread yourself, trying to ignore the throbbing on your heel, quite certain you were nurturing a blister in your new-to-you boots. The pair of you had just finished your small meal when Tomás nodded, all brusque efficient and urgency.

“We go.” Came his clipped command and you quickly closed your pack and secured it on your back, wearing your own mittens now as the endless walk resumed.

Risking a glance at your watch, you noted it was just after noon, the sun’s position almost directly overhead confirming as such. Your route began a minor descent, the land up here home to ranchers and rolling green pasture, before there was one final push upwards into a small farmyard as the sun was preparing to set. All told you had walked over eight hours, your legs feeling fit to fall right off your body by the time the four of you climbed into the hayloft of a weathered barn, wood gone grey with age. Just two rungs from the safety and comfort of the bed of hay, you were not quite sure if you could summon that last bit of effort.

The feeling of Curt’s firm hand shoving against your left butt cheek proved the be the last, necessary bit of impetus to push you up and over the edge. Crawling into the back corner of your sweet-smelling shelter, you settled in with a heavy sigh, letting your eyelids fall shut for an indulgent moment, only semi-aware of the movements of your companions around you. After an indiscernible amount of time, perhaps a few minutes or perhaps as many as thirty, Curt gently prodded you awake to offer you a slab of bread covered in thin slices of cured beef, a pair of apples cupped in his other hand.

“Eat, you’ll feel better.” He whispered and you nodded obediently, leveraging yourself up to regard to sudden feast with curiosity. “Farmer came out to check on us, brought us some food.” He smiled a little as you took the open-faced sandwich and one of the apples, watching him then settle in to sit beside you.

Picking up another for himself, he made a slow meal out of the bread you and Françoise had crafted along with the very locally sourced meat – something neither of you had seen in quite some time. Retrieving the flask from his pocket, he took a sip of water before offering you one as well. As you methodically polished off your dinner, you could not help but notice the studious and calculated glances Tomás and Diego were shooting your way.

On the surface, the seemed friendly enough, rather standoffish, but professional and efficient. Looking to Curt once you had eaten your share, you swallowed. “I’m going to sleep, thank you.”

He nodded slowly, his own gaze travelling over to your guides, entire body tensing as the action seemed to summon Tomás over.

“You two sleep. I sleep now. Diego watch. Then change. Seven tomorrow, we go.”

Nodding slowly, desperately trying to hide your exhaustion, you glanced at your watch and swallowed to note that it was only seven in the evening, and you were already struggling to keep your eyelids open. “Thank you.”

He nodded and moved back to their corner of the loft. You cast a soft glance to Curt before putting a respectable amount of distance between you two and nestled into the hay, almost immediately falling asleep. The next day, as you were crawling up a rain-slicked incline, fingers scrabbling for purchase on wet rocks and muddy terrain, you were glad you had taken the chance to rest as much as you had. Your group had reached such an elevation that you were practically walking amongst the clouds, barely able to see the path ahead, which would have meant certain death without your guides. They would never be your friends, but you would always owe them your lives.

You could feel the air growing thinner as you doubled your elevation, the rain changing to fluttering flakes of snow, your sodden clothes making you shiver in the dropping temperatures. Canteens and flasks were refilled as you came across a crystal-clear, yet icy cold lake, fingers still chilled inside your mittens hours later. Your shelter that night was a stone climbing hut, one of many which dotted the Pyrenees, built by enthusiastic climbing clubs in happier times. The small stove in the corner was purposefully left cold as, despite the known lack of border patrols along this route due to the rugged terrain and typically abysmal weather, it was prudent to attract as little attention as possible to your small group.

Instead, the four of you huddled back-to-back in a circle, wrapping up in mildewy but nonetheless warm blankets that resided in this shelter, sharing body heat as your breath hung in foggy clouds from your lips. Dinner consisted of cold beans from your can, shared four ways, and bread. Breakfast, more bread. Leaving your shelter with its mildewy blankets behind, you dragged your aching body out into the brilliantly white landscape the next day, gratefully accepting a walking stick from the ever-silent Diego. It was made of a dense wood, worn smooth by countless hands, all four of you carrying similar tools that became incredibly useful as you entered terrain of year-round ice and snowpack.

Feeling as though you had climbed straight up for over eight hours, while in actuality it was only an elevation gain of one thousand metres, you were unspeakably grateful as Tomás announced ‘we stop’ at another simple climbing hut. It was Diego, this time, who produced two tins of tuna, the language on the labels speaking to their origin in Spain, the protein a welcome addition to your dwindling bread before the four of you resumed your circular sleep set-up from the night before.

Up this high, 2245 metres above sea level, the shared body heat beneath even more pungent blankets was only enough to take the edge of the biting cold. You found it very difficult to control your shivers and as soon as the sun broke the horizon, Tomás was rousing you from your fitful sleep.

“We go…down…” His voice contained a touch of sympathy, and you could not help the small, hopeful smile at the thought that soon, soon you would be in Spain.

In safety. In relative warmth.

It did not mean your fourth and final day of the trek was easy, however. The landscape remained just as cruel and unfeeling, luring you downwards before forcing you to climb back up steeply. Diego’s first words since your meeting back on that bridge in Saint-Girons, however, were like a shot in the arm.

Traversing yet another stretch of dirt track with mountains towering above you, it felt no different to any other landscape before it, yet to him something had changed.

“España.” He murmured from behind and you inhaled sharply, looking back to him, eyes bright with hope, to which he nodded.

“Spain…Curt we’re in Spain…” You whispered, watching with delight at the brilliant grin that etched its way across his features hardened by exhaustion.

It was downhill from there, mercifully, the mountains falling away beneath your feet back into rolling hills. Homes began to dot the landscape again, the patchy snow yielding to the brown of late autumn grass. Of course, it was not as though you were completely safe here. Spain, though technically neutral, was not overly fond of people sneaking into the country illegally. If detained by Spanish police, Curt was at serious risk of being returned to the Nazis as a prisoner of war while you? If you were lucky, you would be handed over to the British, but most likely returned to France with only French papers on your person.

After learning this lesson the hard way, the Pat-now-Françoise and Comet Lines had both determined that escapees were not truly safe until they were in Gibraltar. Thus once they arrived in Spain, contact was made with the British Embassy in Madrid to arrange for transport in a diplomatic car through the dubiously neutral and espionage-riddled Spanish landscape. This was what you suspected Diego was managing as he peeled off from your group on the outskirts of Esterri d’Aneu, while Tomás continued on, leading you into a charming apartment building, taking you down to a suite in the basement.

Producing a key from the inside of his coat, he unlocked the door to the darkened space, leading you inside and turning on the lights once he had secured the door behind you.

“Rules – Curtains, closed. No noise. Bath ok. Knock on door four times is food. Car comes in morning from England embassy.”

“Gracias, Tomás.” You spoke as emphatically as your dwindling energy could muster and were rewarded by the tiniest of smiles from the serious man.

“Goodbye.” He nodded to both of you before leaving, the key tucked securely in his pocket, and you quickly locked the door behind him.

Struggling wearily with the straps of your rucksack, you looked to Curt softly as gently pulled your hands out of the way before taking over, sliding the heavy pack from your back to set on the floor, shrugging out of his own as well, before grasping your still-icy fingers.

“C’mon.” He whispered and dragged you through the apartment in search of something, stopping when he located the bathroom.

Guiding you to sit on the closed toilet seat, he turned on the tub faucet, adjusting the temperature to his liking before plugging the stopper then turning back to carefully begin stripping your clothes. Still beyond-cold and barely awake, you wordlessly complied, allowing yourself to be guided into the deliciously warm water as he shut the tap off. Leaning back with a dreamy sigh, you watched through half-lidded eyes as he stripped down to his undershirt and trousers before kneeling at the side of the tub to help you wash days of grime and effort from your skin and hair as the ice in your bones melted.

Slowly emerging from the sluggish state that the cold had induced, the way his fingers lingered on the raised mark on the back of your right arm made you lean up to press a tender kiss to his lips. “You should get it here, it’s miraculous.” You spoke in hushed tones and watched his throat flex as he swallowed thickly.

“You really are.” He whispered, the pink tinge to his cheeks driving home the fact that, for all your intimacy you had not yet been fully naked before him.

“It’s your turn.” You whispered, pulling at his belt, helping him out of his clothes before slipping from the still-warm water to wrap yourself in a nearby towel, grasping his hands to guide him into the tub which was sadly not large enough to hold both of you.

Taking up his position beside the tub, you ensured he was cleaned in turn, indulging in more than a few exploratory caresses before the water began to grow cold. Grabbing the second towel from its place on the rack, you held it out to him as he pulled the plug on the drain and stepped out to pull you close into a warm kiss. Navigating through the unfamiliar surroundings half-blind, the pair of you located the bedroom and took a moment to finish towelling off before diving beneath the inviting pile of blankets.

Limbs tangling immediately, your mouths met hungrily, repeatedly, after days of denial under unfamiliar and scrutinizing gazes. Gripping the back of your knee, he pulled your leg overtop his hip, grinding his cock along your ever-slickening folds until you where whining into his mouth. Obligingly sinking into your warmth, you welcomed him with a hungry moan, fingers buried in his hair as your bodies mirrored the push and pull to drive each other over the precipice of release, his cum coating your inner thighs thanks to a timely withdrawal at the last second as he buried his face in the crook of your shoulder.

Gasping for breath, covered in a delightful sheen of sweat, you at last felt well and truly warmed after your descent from the mountains. As his arms pulled you closer into his chest, lips pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, you felt a dangerous sense of contentment unfurl deep within your belly.

“I was clean.” You teased to chase it away, his resulting huff of a laugh ruffling your still-drying hair.

“I’ll take care of you in a minute, I promise.” Another kiss was pressed, this time to your nose. “Now that we’re free, can I please know more about you?” Curt pleaded, pulling back just enough to weaponize his piercing blue eyes against you.

At your hesitancy to even draw breath, he pushed onward. “Here, I’ll show you how its done since you’ve probably forgotten. I’m Curtis Rundle Biddick, son of Ernest and Delphia Biddick. Born 1915 in The Bronx, New York. I had three little sisters, but God saw fit to take little Elizabeth from us when she was just two. Ann and Charlotte still live with my mother, which is good because we lost our father when I was eight.”

As he spoke, you had been fighting the urge to clamp your hand over his mouth to shut him up. An urge born purely of the fear that he might succeed at chipping away completely at your already fragile defences and irrevocably entrench himself in your heart. Yet when he came to the loss of his father, there was an undeniable shift within you, a falling away of that need to keep him at arms length.

“So young…” You whispered, your fingers reaching out to affectionately trace along the scars that curled up the side of his neck, brow furrowing slightly as he eyed you with an alluring blend of intensity and patience. With a deep breath for courage, you released your tight grip on that final barrier between you and let it all pour out – your full name, your father’s lineage, your mother’s, the reason why you were in England when the Nazis invaded, just how your parents had met their end. As you spoke, his eyes grew impossibly wide, raking across your face as if trying to detect a lie in your surely absurd-sounding words. Unaware that tears had began to seep from your eyes, you jumped slightly when he reached out to brush them away with the backs of his fingertips before smiling softly.

Only to jump once more as four solid knocks resounded from the front door followed by eerie silence.

“That’ll be food.” He whispered and kissed you softly. “You stay, I go.” He muttered in a tragically accurate impersonation of Tomás that had laughter dangerously close to escaping your throat.

Watching his wonderfully naked figure slip from the cozy nest you had built, you deliberately disobeyed him, slipping back to the washroom to clean up and collect your clothes, returning to the bedroom just as he did. Taking both packs from his arm, you set them on the floor, digging out your nightgown to slid over your head, to match the trousers slung low on his hips. Diving back into the warmth of the bed, the pair of you settled in for a picnic of plentiful local foods, including several in-season vegetables and meats. Spain really was beginning to feel like paradise.

“Can’t believe you’re royalty…” He shook his head in awe before taking another eager bite of food.

Swallowing back a laugh you shook your head quickly. “Distantly related.” You clarified, taking a long sip of fresh water.

“Mmm whatever you say, princess.” He winked with a lopsided grin, reaching forward to wipe at the corner of your mouth with one of the cloth napkins packed in amongst the food.

Brilliant grins echoed one another’s across your humble feast, whispered questions traded back and forth as you could not help but want to know more about him and share more about yourself in kind. As you settled in for sleep, things tidied up, outfits hung up for the morning, you pressed a drowsy kiss to his throat before surrendering to the depths of sleep in the warmth of his arms.

Four sharp knocks awoke you early the next morning, a glance at your watch confirming it was just before six. Slipping from Curt’s protesting arms, you carefully retrieved breakfast, laying it out on the small table before getting ready for the day in the bathroom to hopefully avoid his interference in the name of efficiency. A sleepy and still half-dressed Curt awaited you at the table when you emerged, the pair of you eating quietly and then he went to the washroom to tidy himself for the day.

Setting your walking sticks and heavy winter clothes in the corner, you slid back into your lighter jacket given the warmer weather Spain was famous for, though you kept the scarf and mittens just in case. Moving to the bedroom, you had just finished tidying the bed when there were two knocks on the door, a number Tomás had not prepared you for. Meeting a fully dressed Curt in the hallway, you approached the door together, clutching your shoulder bag, peering through the peephole to see a man in a suit sporting a union-jack armband. Exhaling slowly, you unlocked the door.

“Your car is out front.” He stated quietly and the pair of you nodded quickly, grabbing your luggage and promptly following him out, realizing you had no way to lock up afterward, but not wanting to wait around to worry about it.

The black Fiat stood parked outside on the sleepy streets of the small mountain village, the driver quickly ushering you into the plush backseat where a basket sat on the floor. Climbing into the front seat, he seemed eager to get the vehicle in motion before addressing you once more.

“Sorry we cannot put your luggage in the boot, it is filled with petrol cans. There is food in the basket between you, we’ll only stop to refuel as needed, otherwise straight on to the Embassy in Madrid.”

Nodding your quick thanks, you watched out the windows quietly as the Spanish side of the Pyrenees melted away into flatter, more populated lands. The first refueling took place at a service station where you and Curt were permitted to make use of the facilities after some light coaching on the Spanish terminology, but you were all quickly back on the road again. It was not long before Curt was dozing, slumped against the car door and the peaceful sound of his deep breaths lulled you to sleep as well. The second refuelling was after a gentle prodding to rouse the pair of you, the boot only accessible by folding down your seats and the cans used to fill the fuel tank pulled off in the twilight in desolate countryside.

Taking advantage of the stop, the pair of you indulged in the delights of the food basket but were quickly asleep once the journey resumed. The clang of a gate awoke you sometime later, your surroundings altogether different, metropolitan, day having completely given way to a night lit up by streetlights which seemed altogether novel after years of blackout.

“We’ve arrived at the Embassy. For the moment you are on British soil. Please come inside while we prepare another driver to take you the rest of the way.” The driver pulled up to the front of a grand building beneath a portico, another formally dressed man stepping forward to open the door to the car.

Grabbing your things, you slid from the vehicle carefully and followed him inside, looking to Curt startled as the man stopped and gestured to a small sitting room. “In here please, miss. No, sir, you will follow me.”

Watching Curt’s face harden you quickly reached out to touch his arm reassuringly. “It is fine, they will want to confirm we are indeed who we say we are.”

Somehow, his frown only grew. “After everything you’ve done for ‘em…”

“Sir, Miss, if you please.” The well-heeled man in his perfectly pressed suit, not a hair out of place nor, surely, a meal missed interrupted in that cruelly polite English way and you narrowed your eyes in response before turning sharply into the appointed room and shutting the door firmly behind you.

It was a room of soaring ceilings, gilded moldings, finely upholstered furniture, and fringed lampshades. The paintings on the walls were only those of known artists. The Dowager Marchioness would have fit right in. To you it read as cold and impersonal, a room to impress and intimidate, not to welcome someone. Setting your worn and filthy pack on the ivory sofa, you sank into the plush cushions, desperate to get this over with.

After about twenty minutes they sent in a yet another impeccably dressed Embassy official, offering sandwiches and cigarettes. You were beginning to wonder if they did anything in Spain other than eat. Declining both, you got right into the meat of it, easily answering the key questions and explaining all aspects of your journey, confirming yourself as an agent of the SOE whose identity had been burned and thus was in desperate need of returning to England.

“Thank you for your indulgence, Miss, it shouldn’t be much longer before the car is ready to continue onto Gibraltar. Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

Shaking your head, you only asked to use to facilities, freshening up afterwards before being shown to where Curt was in a much more utilitarian office, busily tucking into a sandwich and sipping on a Coca-Cola.

“Knew they’d come ‘round.” He muttered once he had swallowed, and you smirked a little.

“How on earth are you hungry?” You shook your head affectionately, stealing a sip of his drink, closing your eyes slowly at the long-forgotten taste.

“M’not, just not sure when we’ll get something this good again, y’know?” He muttered defensively as he polished off the last few bites and you squeezed his shoulder softly because you truly could not argue with that.

A knock on the door summoned the pair of you back to the car, a different, younger driver behind the wheel to begin the drive to Gibraltar. It was still dark as you left the embassy behind, the orange splotches of the streetlights hypnotizing as you wound through the city out onto the road south. Always south. It would only be hours now, a day at most, before you were back on English soil for real. And then what.

Your eyes drifted back towards the man seated beside you, sleeping once again, head bobbing lightly as the car traversed the worn gravel roads. His life. Your life. While they had been so very unified over the past several weeks, they would inevitable diverge would they not? They would surely have to. The fact that you had been forced out of occupied Europe did not mean the war was over – not by any stretch of the imagination. There was still so very much to do to help liberate the people of your homeland – Dr Legot and his assistant Edda, the Maes boys, Tillens and his daughters. But also the people of France – Delphine and Hugo, Emile, Gilles, Victoire and her young son, Françoise…all their lives had touched yours, had become a part of yours. They had helped you escape, to stay alive. Turning your back on them now was inconceivable. You would find another way.

As the lights of the city receded in the rearview mirror, you eventually succumbed to sleep once more, waking only as the driver needed to access the boot to refill the petrol tank. Breaking into the fresh basket of food, you shared some sandwiches with the drowsy Curt on the roadside in the weak light of dawn before climbing back in to rest once more. The brilliant glare of the sun woke you next as the car wound through the city of Seville, another refuelling stop and bathroom break was undertaken before, at last, you were crossing the border into the British territory of Gibraltar. Driving past the airport, you pulled onto the military base.

Stretching your legs stiffly, you could not help but note how much warmer it felt down here, even though the sun had set a few hours ago.

“Lieutenant Biddick, right this way sir, we have a bunk for you amongst other escapees awaiting evacuation on tomorrow’s flight.” An RAF orderly stepped forward to great the car and you nodded to Curt as he glanced at you for direction.

Another man stepped forward to address you. “Ma’am, I’m Lieutenant McIntyre, please follow me, we have separation accommodations for you.”

“Thank you very much, Lieutenant.” You nodded, thanking him once again as he insisted on carrying your bag and you followed him in the opposite direction, glancing back at Curt as he disappeared into the night.

The room, if you could call it that, appeared hastily prepared – a cot in a back office with thankfully no windows. After spending nearly two days sleeping upright in a car, you were just pleased to have the chance to lay down.

“Washroom is just across the hall, there’s stationery on the desk if you want to write home. I will be back to fetch you at 0530 for breakfast, Ma’am.”

“I appreciate your help Lieutenant, thank you.” Nodding warmly as he dismissed himself, you stepped across the empty hall, surely bustling with humanity during regular hours, to prepare for sleep. Having no one to write home to, leastways not from Gibraltar or even London without raising terrible suspicions, you climbed onto the cot to sleep deeply.

You did not stir until Lieutenant McIntyre knocked at five-thirty, rushing into fresh clothing as the poor man waited in the hall, though he assured you it was no trouble. Pinning your hair back as you followed him to the mess with your handbag hanging from your shoulder, headscarf tied to the strap for use during the final leg of your journey. You were startled to see a table filled with men a dozen men, a cacophony of accents filling the room speaking to the fact that they were from all manner of hometowns. Curt seemed to be deep in discussion with three of them, speculating about their future assignments as you grabbed a tray to collect breakfast, your luggage set in the corner with the rest of the bags.

“But you know, Richie, we can’t just keep flying in the ETO, we know far too much about the escape lines to ever fall into German hands.” A young, nasal voice chided sharply.

“Pearson’s right an’ you know it.” Curt chimed in as you nodded to the man offering you a scoop of some dubiously textured eggs. “It’ll be flight school stateside…”

“Or the Pacific…all them gorgeous island girls…” Their friend with a remarkably deep voice for his diminutive stature chimed in and you suddenly found you did not have much of an appetite.

Accepting a slice of bacon and a cup of coffee nonetheless, you took an open seat at the end of the table to pick at your food, blinking at the appearance of a massive orange on the corner of your tray.

“Gotcha somethin’.” Curt beamed down at you, and you looked up at him, eyes wide with astonishment.

“How did you…” You whispered, picking up the rare piece of fresh fruit as though it was made of fine china.

“‘pparently, they grow around here.” He shrugged before looking over to his friends as they called his name.

“Thank you very much. You should go talk to them.” You nodded encouragingly, filling your mouth with food even though it tasted much like sawdust – and not just due to your inner emotional turmoil, the powdered eggs were truly atrocious.

You could feel Curt’s eyes on you, narrowed, hesitant, until that deep voice bellowed at him once more. “Yeah, alright Bergman, keep your panties on.” He hollered back, earning a smattering of laughs from both his friends and a handful of other men gathered at the table, before turning back to you. “We’ll talk on the plane.” He murmured lowly, just for your ears, before resuming his seat amongst the group.

Forcing about half of your food down, Lieutenant McIntyre and the Orderly from the night before appeared, announcing that it was time for your group to depart for the airfield. There was much excitement amongst the crowd, all of them bursting from their chairs and grabbing their luggage to rush out the door. Returning your tray with its unfinished food, you cradled the orange as you followed quietly, earning a seat at the very rear of the transport truck by taking it slower than the rest. Tucking the orange into your rucksack, you secured your hair beneath the silk scarf as the truck began to pull out.

It was a short drive today, retracing the roads almost to the border where just enough land had been reclaimed from the sea to build an airstrip. The streets were quiet, attesting to the fact that the majority of the civilian population had been evacuated, leaving only those with essential occupations and military personnel on this tiny peninsula. While the rest of the men were busy chatting away, you rode in silence, watching out the back as the scenery blurred by, already consumed by thoughts of what you might do to remain useful now that you were thoroughly exiled.

The vehicle came to a stop, jostling your distracted body into the man seated next to you, making you mumble an apology as you stood to climb down. A man dressed in British Naval uniform, a Captain if you remembered your rank badges correctly, appeared at the tailgate and offered you a hand. But it was when he greeted you by name that you nearly stumbled off the back of the truck and found yourself truly in need of it.

“Manfred Smythe, I’m a friend of your uncle’s – went to Eaton and then Oxford together. Allow me.” He offered his hand to take your rucksack and you handed it over to him in stunned silence, still trying to determine if this spelled utter disaster. “The plane is just this way, follow me.”

He urged you forward with a smooth gesture of his hand, and you nodded your thanks, walking quickly towards the large plane sporting four engines, gleaming silver in the morning sunlight. Casting a cautious glance behind you, Curt’s furrowed brow was pronounced and unmistakable, making your throat clench in unspoken apology.

“On loan from the Yanks, does a marvelous job of covering the distance between St. Mawgan’s and Gibraltar in just five hours.” Smythe’s voice snagged your attention again as he smiled and gestured you up the small set of stairs, tucking his cap beneath his arm to follow you onto the aircraft with room for twenty-one passengers and five crew. “Take a seat in the row of front, it has the most leg room.” He coaxed, tone still warm and friendly, but even the Gestapo could sound that way if they wanted to.

Shuffling along the aisle, you sank into the seat against the window on the left, watching him lift your bag into the cargo hold above before he sat next to you, talking about the weather as the rest of your cohort filed on. Curt, you noted, managed to secure the seat directly behind you. It was nigh impossible to determine what the purpose of any of this was, even as the door to the plane was shut and the engines roared to life one-by-one. It was not until you were leveling out, high in the air above the ocean, that he said anything of real substance.

“I must say it is nice to finally make the acquaintance of the Belgian niece ‘toiling away for the ATS in the wilds of Scotland.’”

The glint his in eye, mixed with the tone in his voice, made your stomach drop, leaving you with the sensation that you had somehow left it behind on the runway.

“Please do not fret, we are in…how best to say this…rather similar lines of occupation?” He quirked an eyebrow, the words jolting the sickeningly erratic beat of your heart into a more normal rhythm. “I can imagine you are feeling rather defeated right now – as opposed to the rest of the men on this flight. They have escaped.”

“I have failed.” You quickly rushed to complete his comparison with a nod.

“I can assure you that is untrue – for the majority of our set, failure is death in a ditch. While the location of your employment has changed out of mortal necessity, there is much you can yet do.”

Eyeing your nicked, uneven nails for a thoughtful moment, you suddenly turned to look him directly in the eye. “Do you really mean that or are you simply trying to soothe me in my hour of need?”

A furious set of rapid-fire blinks overtook Smythe for a moment before he chuckled in response, shaking his head. “I had been warned you were a bit of a livewire…you do not disappoint. While I was in Gibraltar for other reasons, I can assure you my presence on this flight is entire for the purpose of making good use of your talents for the remainder of this war and into the next if you so choose.” As you opened your mouth to question his use of the words ‘the next’ he shushed you with a minute flash of his palm. “We will discuss more in the car back to London. So, do tell me, how is the Dowager Marchioness these days?”

His ability to drone on rivaled that of the aircrafts very engines, surely a ploy to discourage any eavesdropping from risk of shear boredom. Yet his skill at donning the mantle of his upbringing like some kind of cloak of stealth was rather inspiring. You could still feel Curt’s seething presence at your back, making the hairs on your neck stand on end, the muscles of your shoulders aching with the desire to look at him, but to indulge in such an urge in front of a man like Smythe would be suicide – both socially and professionally, though it was the latter you were most preoccupied with at this moment.

Courtesy of a stiff tailwind, the flight was just shy of five hours, England welcoming you back to her shores with open arms of rain and mist as the wheels bumped down onto the tarmac to cheers of elation from your fellow passengers. Sliding slowly to your feet, the first sight that greeted you was the intense gaze of Curt, and you nodded softly in acknowledgement. Acknowledgement of his obvious distress at having been robbed a plane ride at your side and the yawning pit of dread that had opened up within your stomach. Following Smythe from the aircraft, you stopped on the wet cement of the tarmac.

“Captain Smythe, might I beg your indulgence just five minutes before we leave?”

He tilted his head, cap restored to its rightful place, somewhat protecting him from the rain. “I’ll go find my driver.” He replied after a moment of eyeing you skeptically.

Only once he had turned did you look to Curt who had come to stand at your side expectantly.

“Who the hell does that guy think he is…” He muttered bitterly, watching Smythe’s back recede.

“My superior, from what I can gather.” You swallowed and offered him a brave smile. “Well, I wish you the best of luck, Curtis Biddick of The Bronx, New York, wherever they send you next.”

His eyes snapped to yours sharply, a heavy weight settling over your chest as you slowly watched the realization that this was goodbye dawn across his face. “No wait, this, you’re really…”

“You have your job to finish, on the other side of the Atlantic, perhaps the Pacific even, and I have mine. Here.” The pained look of pain in his eyes made you gulp roughly against the bitter bloom of guilt in your breast.

“But we can keep in touch…”

“I can’t,” You voice trembled fractiously, and you clenched your jaw to summon the will to carry on, “promise anything, Curt. I cannot promise to write or even receive letters until this war is over for every single person who helped us get out of there.” Tears began to pool along your waterline as you reached up to tug at the knot holding your scarf in place. “I can promise that I will never forget you.” You whispered, slipping the square of silk into his pocket as cracks slowly began to etch their way across your heart.

He watched your movements, unspeaking, before suddenly reaching into his jacket pocket to retrieve an envelope, tearing it open. He shoved the contents back into his jacket before forcefully depositing the ragged envelope into your coat pocket. You were vaguely aware of the sound of a vehicle approaching but found yourself unable to tear your eyes away.

“If you’re ever in New York, after you know, you’re done saving the world, look me up.” The shaky, hurt quality to his voice made you clench your eyes shut, tears spilling down your cheeks.

As the sound of his shoes striking the pavement reached your ears you forced them to open again, vision still blurred by tears, but clear enough to see him stalk away before turning back sharply. Within a few determined strides he returned to you, grasping the back of your neck and pulling you close for a firm, salty kiss. The sound of a car door closing firmly made you wrench back from his grip with a barely conceal sob before you darted through the precipitation to slide through the door held open by a uniformed driver beneath an umbrella into the backseat with Smythe.

Desperately fighting with your lungs to restore your shaky breaths to normal, you listened to Smythe instruct his driver to head to London with your head bowed. Doing your best to surreptitiously wipe away at the evidence of your tears, including the fresh ones that stubbornly continued to steal down your cheeks, with the frayed cuffs of your jacket, you were startled with Smythe offered you a fine linen handkerchief.

“It can be so terribly difficult when some of them get attached.” His voice was rather clinical about the whole thing, making you wonder how he would feel if he realized the one who had grown too attached was you.

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

Read The Epilogue

In My Blood Masterlist

Tag list: @precious-little-scoundrel, @luminouslywriting, @polikabra, @beingalive1

[justashadetalkative]

writedisaster​:

       “Mhmm.  Gotcha, gotcha.”  She can’t fully sympathize with whatever his reasoning is here, but hell.  Other people’s money isn’t any of her business, unless she’s getting a cut.

       “I think it’s great you wanna help your fellow man and all, but you might wanna think about protecting your own interests while you do it.  Doesn’t have to be about money,”  she suggests.  “We can do a zero rent lease, just to have something in place in case things go south.  Say you set someone up with a place to live, and turns out they’re not the kind of person you thought they were.  They make noise, they dump trash, they bring criminal enterprise onto the property, they get district authorities cranky at you, they keep having domestic incidents, et cetera, et cetera.

       “If you got a lease, you got terms.  You can get them out of your hair with a minimum amount of fuss, if you need to.  But if they’re living there on a handshake and a gentleman’s agreement - once they’re moved in, you can’t just kick ’em out, legally.  If you try and brute force ’em to the curb on your own, they can sue you about it if they’re savvy.  If you’re playing by the rules, you’d have to drag ’em to court with no lease violations to talk about.  That case’d probably still go in your favor, eventually, but I’ve seen that kind go on for months.  You know I’d love to represent you, but I’ll tell you right now that those are legal fees you can avoid with the right preparation.”

       She shrugs, leaning back in her leather chair.  “Something to think about.  I can also get you business cards for some property maintenance folks I’ve worked with before, if that’s all you want from me today.”

Diamond shakes his head silently, hunching forward and running a hand down his face as Jules speaks. He isn’t sure whether to laugh or groan; winds up doing both, in sequence, as she finishes.

“Those are all — very valid points. It'd be good advice under normal circumstances. At least in a society with sufficient protections against involuntary homelessness, and we could argue what ‘sufficient’ looks like all damn day, I’m certain,” he says once he’s collected himself, letting his arm fall to rest against his knees. “It’s... unfortunately, my situation is rather complicated. The occupants of my main... property... have a fundamental right to residency. There is a formal residency agreement, but eviction isn't on the table no matter how troublesome the resident. Negotiation–” and force, but Diamond is hardly going to admit to that now, “–is the only means of enforcement.”

He’d worry about disclosing even these bare bones of the situation, but, well, the Spire is quite literally in a different dimension. Jules can’t do a thing. Diamond brushes his hands across the desk, collecting his own copies of the paperwork and sliding them into his messenger bag.

"As for this property, however... I'm honestly not certain yet how I'll be handling upkeep. Putting together a zero-rent lease to have on hand, just in the interests of keeping my options open, does sound like a good idea. I'd be happy to have the business contact information for your property maintenance folks as well." His lips quirk. "Though an email with that info would be harder for me to lose and easier to use than a card, if you're willing to transcribe it."

@justashadetalkative gets a Jules for Diamond!

        “Of course, it’s absolutely none of my business what you do or don’t do with your properties,”  Jules says, shuffling signed papers into a file.  “But, you know, if you were ever considering going into the landlord business, Guzzo and Guzzo can work with you on lease issues as well.”

[withacapitalp]

I won’t wish to be yours (or for you to be mine)

Read it on ao3

Second Part

Eddie was never going to be able to stay. 

Logically, Steve understood that. He understood it, and he agreed. No matter what the government tried to spin, no matter what Hopper told them, the people of Hawkins thought Eddie was a murderer. A boy like Eddie had been guilty since the first day he arrived, and this was the inevitable conclusion. 

Still, there was knowing he was eventually going to leave, and then there was watching Eddie put the last boxes in his van and cling on tight to his uncle.

July 14th. Eddie had stayed ten days past 4th of July. Just long enough to make sure they were all going to be okay on the first anniversary. It was kind. It was thoughtful. 

It made Steve wish he knew how to hate him. 

“Okay, so as long as you stick to your timetable, you should get to Chicago by tonight. You have a reservation at this hotel already, so try to get there around check in time, okay? They even have parking in the back,” Nancy rattled off, handing Eddie a thick folder of papers. 

When Eddie had told the five of them he was leaving, she had launched into research mode. It was the way she coped, and it was productive. In just one month she had managed to put together a full dossier of the exact route Eddie had to take to get to New York, even found him a few garages outside of the city in towns where no one would have ever heard his name. 

“Thanks, Drew,” Eddie said with a grin, patting Wayne twice on the shoulder and dragging Nancy into a hug, “Actually, thanks to all of you. You guys have been super helpful.” 

They had been. Nancy planned, Jonathan had started putting together an album of all the pictures he had taken, Argyle began cultivating the perfect stash for Eddie to bring with him, and Robin made about a dozen mixtapes of ‘real music’ for him to listen to. 

Steve had grieved. 

He hadn’t done a damn thing to help or make this process easier. Robin had done her best to try and make things better, she always did, but it didn't help that she was also leaving in less than a month. All of them were. Off to colleges all across the country, while Steve stayed here all by himself. 

He was supposed to at least be able to keep Eddie. But Steve never really got to keep good things, so he should have expected this. 

He turned away from the rest so they wouldn’t see the scowl on his face, kicking at some of the weeds stubbornly poking out from the gravel outside of Wayne’s trailer. The kids had already come by to say their goodbyes, leaving before they had to watch Eddie go. They had offered for Steve to come with them, and he should have taken it. It had felt wrong at the moment to be the only teen to not be there to wish Eddie farewell, but now Steve felt like his world was collapsing, and he just wanted to go home. 

Never mind that his home was standing about 20 feet away from him, laughing with the rest of his friends. Never mind that his home was leaving for good, never to return, and Steve was probably never going to see him again. 

“Hey, easy on the flowers,” Eddie said with a laugh, pulling away from the rest. He squatted low, picking the dandelion and examining it, “Still looks good,” 

Steve hummed, unable to make words come. 

“Make a wish,” Eddie whispered, holding the fuzzy flower up to Steve’s lips. He took a sharp breath in, hating the way his chest felt like it was about to cave in. 

I wish the people in this town would fuck off so you didn’t have to go. 

I wish everything would just stay exactly as it is. 

I wish you would stay. 

I wish I wasn’t so selfish. 

I wish I knew how to tell you I love you. 

Because he did. Steve loved Eddie in a way he thought he was never going to be able to love again. He loved Eddie so much it hurt, and he had started to think that Eddie might even love him right back, but then it had all broken down. 

Now Eddie was going, and Steve had missed his chance. 

Steve banished all of those stupid greedy thoughts, pulling away just enough to blow out a heavy short gust, watching the seeds dance away, merrily floating across the trailer park, unaware they carried no wishes with them. 

“What’d you wish for?” Eddie asked. 

Steve let himself look at Eddie. Really, honestly, look. He memorized the wave of Eddie’s curls, and the long slow slope of his nose. Steve mentally sketched out the sharp jawline, and the way his eyes sparkled. He committed it all to a place in his brain where Eddie could stay young and beautiful forever. 

That was the Eddie Steve could love forever, that was the Eddie that would stay. 

He could let this one go. 

“That you’d be happy, wherever you’re going,” He whispered, pulling Eddie into a far too tight hug. He rested his chin on Eddie’s shoulder and closed his eyes, dragging in a long breath and savoring the smell of Eddie’s cheap, terrible, 2-in-1 shampoo conditioner. 

Eddie held him back just as tight, his forehead nestled in Steve’s neck. 

“I’m gonna call. Every day,” He promised, and Steve forced down the scoff that wanted to come up. 

That’s what everyone always said. I’ll call, I’ll write, we won’t lose touch. It never happened. His own parents hadn’t even managed to keep calling, why would Eddie be any different? 

No, Steve knew the truth. They would call every day for a while, maybe even multiple times a day. Then they would slowly go to every other day, then once a week, once a month, just on birthdays and special occasions. And, eventually, Eddie would forget his name, or Steve would only be fond memories that lived in high school yearbooks and yellowed old photo albums. 

Eddie would forget that he had maybe started to love Steve. 

It was going to happen with Eddie, then Robin, then Jonathan, then Argyle, and finally Nancy. It would happen with the kids when they finally went off on their own, and Joyce and Hopper when there were no more people tying them down to Hawkins. Everyone would leave, because that’s what people did. 

They would leave, and Steve would stay, and he needed to learn how to be okay with that. He needed to figure out how to get over losing people. 

And he needed to be alone to learn how to do that. 

“Does that sound good, Stevie?” 

Oh. Right. Eddie was expecting a response. 

“Yeah. You better. I’ll be waiting by the phone,” Steve said, hating how much that was going to be true. Eddie laughed like it was a joke, but it was the god honest truth. Steve would wait by the phone every single day, and one day the phone wouldn’t ring again. 

He swallowed down the bitterness that was rising, untangling himself from Eddie’s arms and interlocking their fingers. This was the last time he was going to hold this hand, the last time he was going to feel those rings. He needed to savor it. 

They walked back to the others as one single unit. There was another round of hugs, a few well hidden tears, and then Eddie was getting into his van. For the first time there was an air of nervousness, and he glanced around the group, his eyes landing on Steve and staying there. 

Eddie wanted reassurance. He needed a patented Steve Pep Talk, a few words to tell him that he was making the right decision. 

Well, he was making the right decision for him, but Steve couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell Eddie it was okay to go. His heart was already breaking in two as it was, giving Eddie the last push he needed would shatter it completely. 

Then Robin’s hand was sneaking into his, and she was giving him a look, and Steve couldn’t be selfish anymore. 

“Don’t forget us when you get big and famous,” Steve said with a wave, all of them pretending his voice hadn’t cracked even a bit. Eddie gave him a beaming smile and a two fingered salute, starting up the van with the usual roar. He carefully backed out of the drive, leaving the trailer park with an obnoxiously long beep of his horn and a waving hand. 

And he was gone. 

He was actually gone. 

Steve didn’t bother to stick around and chat with the rest. He had given the last bit of his care away to Eddie, and now he just wanted to curl up in his bed. Steve had to learn to live with this pain, and the sooner he started, the better. 

Robin followed him without words, and he loved her for it. They had already discussed their plans. They were going to get rip roaring drunk, and Steve was going to have a good long cry, and then they would eat ice cream. It wasn’t enough, but it was better than being by himself before he had to be. 

“I’m sorry,” Robin said softly as they got into his Beemer. 

“Don’t be. He’ll be okay.” Steve replied automatically, starting the car and pulling out, going the same way as Eddie. A wild crazy part of him almost wanted to speed to catch up, cut Eddie off, tell him not to go. 

Steve kept the car below 30, barely crawling on a street he normally flew down. 

“He will be,” Robin said carefully. The unspoken ‘I’m worried you won’t be’ sat between them, heavy and oh so painful. 

“I will be,” Steve said stubbornly, ignoring the look Robin gave him. He put the radio on so they didn’t have to talk anymore, hating himself for wishing that he had wished for Eddie to stay. 

[gerec]

for writing prompts, exes university au cherik?

I really love the university au you wrote where charles hooks up with Sebastian after he and Erik break up and Sebastian takes blackmail photos, so would also love a peek at what happens next hehe

Hi Anon,

Sorry for the delay! I do have more that I plan to write for that uni au, but what I've written isn't ready for posting yet so I wrote something else instead! Hope you like it :D

-----

Exes/University AU

Pairings: Cherik, mentioned Charles/Reed Richards, mentioned Erik/Shaw Tags: Exes, infidelity (sort of), post-breakup fight

It was one in the morning by the time Charles stumbled out of the Uber, still mostly drunk from an ill-advised combination of cheap beer and single malt Scotch. His head ached nearly as much as his poor ass and thighs, and he cursed every step up the three flights of stairs to his apartment. Still, it was less torturous than what awaited him there, standing with his hands shoved in his jeans and leaning against his front door.

“Erik?” he slurred, the flare of relief immediately dwarfed by a tsunami of hurt and anger. It was physically painful to see him, so fucking handsome and self-possessed, and Charles would throw something at that smug face if a) he had anything other than his phone or b) he didn’t think he’d trip and fall over himself instead. “What the— I told you I never wanted to see you again.”

He shoved Erik out of the way, intent on getting inside and slamming the door, only to realize he’d left his keys behind at Reed’s. Groaning, he pressed his pounding forehead against the door, wondering if it was too late to call one of his friends – Moira, or maybe Logan – for a place to crash. Instead, he felt Erik’s arm on his bicep, holding him steady, just as the door miraculously opened and he almost toppled in.

“What?”

“I still have my key,” Erik said, which yes, Charles remembered now; Erik’s had a key to his apartment for the past two years, for almost as long as they’ve been friends and then lovers. So much had happened these past few days that he’d completely forgotten to ask for his key back. Maybe he could give it to Hank instead, he thought, someone he trusted, who was dependable and wouldn’t rip his fucking heart right out of his chest.

“Great. Thanks. You can leave it on the counter and get the fuck out.”

“Charles—”

“No.” He dragged himself to the living room and sank onto the sofa, wincing in discomfort as his ass hit the cushioned edge. “Just…no.”

If he were any less drunk he would physically throw Erik out, or at least get a good punch in before inevitably losing the fight. He knew better than anyone, how stubborn Erik was, and how utterly immoveable he could be if he set his mind to something. Once upon a time, he could count on that steadfastness to extend to both their friendship and their relationship; once upon a time, he could trust Erik when he could trust nothing and no one else.

As it was, he’d have to hope that the man would get tired of being ignored, or else Charles would just pass out and not have to deal with any of it until he could start drinking again tomorrow. Stubbornly, he pretended not to notice the glass of water and pain pills Erik put on the coffee table, and refused to quail under that familiar, judgemental frown.

“Where were you?”

“Oh, fuck off, Erik.” “I saw you leaving Finnegan’s with Reed Richards three hours ago.”

Charles scoffed, still unwilling (unable) to look Erik in the eye. “What? You’re stalking me now?”

“Mein Gott, Charles! He’s your Professor—”

“He’s not anymore! I stopped TA-ing for him last semester—”

“—and he’s married! And he’s old enough to be your father! What were you thinking?” Erik snarled, eyes narrowed and gleaming with disgust. He would think it was jealousy if he didn’t know any better; if he hadn’t seen evidence for himself how very little Charles truly meant to him. And certainly not after what Erik did – who Erik did – not 24 hours after their split.

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business who I fuck,” Charles answered, voice dripping with the kind of casual snobbery and disregard that he knew Erik hated. “At least I waited three whole days before I bent over to take another man’s cock up my ass! And I had the decency to do it in the privacy of that man’s home instead of at a frat party for the whole world to see! For all our friends to see!”

He should have felt something – triumphant, vindicated even – to see Erik’s face go white as a sheet; he clearly had not expected the grapevine to work quite so quickly in delivering Charles the news. And until this moment, there’d been a tiny bit of Charles that hoped it wasn’t true, only to have that dashed to a million pieces by Erik’s pained expression. He wanted to be sick, thinking about Erik with that absolute bastard, being pressed up against the wall with his pants around his ankles and moaning Shaw’s name.

(He swore to Charles that they were over for good; that he was over him, and like an idiot Charles had believed every word out of Erik’s lying mouth.)

“I don’t…it wasn’t…”

There was literally nothing Erik could say that would fix what was broken, and Charles realized with a sudden clarity that he just needed Erik gone – out of his apartment and definitely out of his life.

“It doesn’t matter. I don't want to know.”

He watched a myriad of emotions flicker over Erik’s face, until his lips settled into a tight, thin line. It was going to be anger then, because anger was Erik’s default, and it was easier and more familiar to handle than either sorrow or shame.

“We’re not back together,” he said, as though it would make any difference or change anything. “And…you and I were broken up. I didn’t cheat on you, Charles.”

“And I didn’t cheat on you,” he said, even if it had felt like cheating, spread out on Reed’s bed with his legs in the air. “Guess we’re both just a couple of sluts. You and I were never going to work. We shouldn't have gotten together in the first place.”

If he was any less drunk, he would have withered under the intensity of Erik’s icy glare, and maybe even empathized with how much he must be hurting too over their split. As it was, Charles was just too tired and too heartbroken; he wanted Erik to leave so he could just think and breathe again and not beg him to stay.

“Is that what you really think?” Erik asked, arms crossed and expression shuttered. He knew what Erik would think and how he would react, and still Charles forced himself not to back down or open himself to even more heartbreak.

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes, so he didn’t have to watch Erik turn and walk out the door.

[inuhalfdemon]

No One Can Know... (5/?)

Word Count: 2,526 Words

Rating: Mature (SMUT)

Chapter 5

"I want your love, and I want your revenge

You and me could write a bad romance

I want your love and all your lover's revenge

You and me could write a bad romance"

- Lady Gaga

_________________________________________________

“Better to come here now then.” 

Lucifer was right. Alastor had already put things off longer than was prudent for them and it might be best that tonight was not a night that they spent at the hotel. 

Maybe this was a mistake... He thought.

Not that Lucifer hadn’t proven that he was fully capable of handling Alastor; but would he be prepared for Alastor at his absolute worst?

Alastor had not been entirely honest with Lucifer; refraining from offering up the fact that he had chosen avoidance - had forcibly made himself celibate - for the past 7 years. This, of course, was creating a large problem to him now. He had hoped to pay the consequence of denying his body a natural need it required under...different circumstances; perhaps at some time when the stakes weren't set quite so high with very few options to consider.  

He had withheld this information knowing that Lucifer would inevitably want to know the reason why; and Alastor – quite simply – had no interest in discussing it.

Alastor was feeling uncomfortable. 

Two days had passed since his visit to Lucifer’s and he was very nearly fully into his rut now. He had stubbornly pushed off contacting the angel for as long as was possible but it was getting harder and harder to maintain his composure. 

During the daytime, he threw himself into tasks throughout the hotel; performing maintenance and small renovations where he could; helping Charlie in formulating a strong argument for redemption by researching terminology and definitions that would best accommodate her proposals; exchanging preliminary ideas with Vaggie on possible preparations for fortifying the hotel should the need require it; helping the other residents with small and meaningless chores or errands. He no longer slept and he spent the nights drinking and making efforts in dulling the edge to his urges.

Despite the distraction and despite him trying to deal with the arousals himself...he wasn't accomplishing much in assuaging his symptoms. Alastor's body was betraying him and he did not care for it. He felt overheated; a cold sweat constantly at his back. He had to take measures in concealing spontaneous erections and felt like every nerve on his body was a live wire just ready to ignite. His antlers were even weighing heavier on his head and he knew he couldn't ignore the implications of this much longer. 

When he got to Lucifer's, he felt a frazzled mess. Lucifer took one look at him and knew - despite all of the arrogant antics, despite all of the careful planning - Alastor was not handling his rut well. He was too...maniac and too on-edge. His ears too straight and twitchy, his eyes and smile too wide... 

"Have you eaten?" Lucifer asked him, inviting him inside. "You look like you could maybe use some food..." and maybe some sleep... 

"No, I have not...I -" He was trying to remember when he last ate...not today. "I suppose I should." 

"Shrimp and grits sound okay?" Lucifer asked him, walking toward the kitchen. 

Alastor paused; tilting his head. 

"I asked Charlie, alright." Lucifer told him. "I explained to her that you and I had important matters to discuss regarding information from Carmilla's extermination meetings she conducts with the Overlords tonight and I asked her what you might like to eat. She said you liked Cajun, so Cajun I made." 

Alastor just stared at him; giving him a hard look.

“Won’t your daughter be wondering at the strangeness of our…nightly meeting?” He asked.

“Hardly.” Lucifer told him turning and continuing down the corridor. “She knows that you’re nocturnal and that I’m an insomniac. Honestly; she’s just thrilled that we don’t have any foreseeable plans in murdering each other.”  

“I’d rather you didn’t go out of your way to make special accommodations for me.”

"I have an interest in knowing people, Alastor. I'm sure you've seen that trait in Charlie, as well. Don't be so surprised and don’t be so skeptical." 

Flicking one ear; Alastor followed him to the kitchen.

"Also, you might hate the dinner. Who knows. I never said I was a good cook." 

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

Following their meal, Lucifer noted that Alastor still seemed...out of sorts. They had engaged in quiet conversation that was pleasant enough but the man just seemed too...nervous and distant. Whatever expectations Lucifer had with tonight; this wasn't it.

Maybe this isn't the best solution... 

With the food gone and dishes put away; there was nothing left for it... 

"I don't know about you, but I could use a shower." Lucifer said; standing up to stretch. "Care to join me?" 

"A shower sounds....nice, actually." 

The bathroom was unlike anything Alastor had seen; dead or alive. It was incredibly spacious and immaculately kept... 

The shower was a large walk-in with multiple waterflow heads. Lucifer unabashedly stripped himself naked; setting his clothes aside. Walking across the tiles; he flipped on the knobs of two of the heads before stepping underneath the streaming water of one. 

Alastor paused; watching him. He expected Lucifer to start in on some form of leud comments...make an attempt at some or dirty talk; or hungrily – curiously even - watch him as he undressed; but the angel was paying him absolutely no mind. 

Sighing; Alastor slipped out of his suit jacket. 

Fully naked, he stepped into the shower with Lucifer; going to the second shower head that was beside him. Alastor stood underneath the jet; feeling the heated water soothe the static nervous energy he had stored in his body. He waited for Lucifer to turn toward him; to approach; to look at him and begin touching him but...he never did. Lucifer stood under his own steaming jet of water, eyes closed and head tilted as he showered; almost seemingly having forgotten that Alastor was even there. Alastor tweaked an ear, then closing his eyes he turned his face into the spray of water; feeling it thrum against his antlers, cascading across his lowered ears and through his hair. 

Lucifer watched Alastor from the corner of his eye. He had noted a hint of some sort of cologne when Alastor stepped into the shower with him but now...now that Alastor was under the water the smell was pungent. It was a heavy but earthy odor; something akin to the smell of pine trees and rain or the soft tones of a woodfire smoke. Lucifer breathed the scent in deeply; his pupils gently dilated, his heart rate jumped, and his mouth began to water...all at once he was suddenly very much aroused and he immediately realized that he was smelling and breathing in the concentrated pheromones of Alastor's musk. Lucifer couldn't help but stare at him now, feeling a powerful urge now to approach the red deer demon; to feel and to touch...to give and to take.

He saw the water washing across Alastor’s upturned face; ringlets, splashes and streams of it curling and twisting all down across his body. He briefly noted that Alastor was covered in scars; a sharp flickering of red and then he saw that Alastor also possessed a rather soft-and-delicate-looking deer tail. Lucifer wondered at the amount of secrets Alastor must be willing to sacrifice to see these deals he had made done…

Lucifer’s erection was openly jutting upwards but…he held back. Watching Alastor closely; he somehow knew that he wasn't ready to be touched yet. 

What hell it must be…he thought…to be someone who cared so little for physical intimacy - to have it forced upon them by their own biological need. Lucifer couldn't fathom it but he saw the discomfort; the detachment that Alastor was experiencing from it. It reminded Lucifer of one of his episodes that he had sometimes when he-

Wait. 

Hold on. 

Lucifer shook his head; blinking water from his eyes as he concentrated, looking much more closely at Alastor now.

Was Alastor...experiencing some episode of post-traumatic distress?

Lucifer focused; assessing all of the signs and he saw it, realizing…

“I’d rather not discuss it…”

Suddenly; all of it made sense.

Lucifer had wondered how Alastor – a sinner Cervidae demon that had been in Hell for as long as he had – had not yet come to terms with the matter of his occurring and re-occurring mating cycles. 

Something had to have happened…

Fuck…

Lucifer rubbed his face; of course, this had to be even more complicated.

He thought briefly again about what both Lilith and Alastor had said…about how Alastor had actually killed demons before when he –

Then, Lucifer remembered what he himself had told Alastor:

“…it wasn’t for the intentions that they had thought…”

Alastor was still standing under the shower head next to his; eyes closed, face tilted up, smile fixed to his face. His body was rigid; tension never leaving his body.

Lucifer sighed.

“Hey, Al…”

Alastor’s eyes opened; he turned his head, ears lifting, looking at Lucifer now – somehow expressionless despite the ever-present grin. 

“Come here; I-I’d like you to touch me.”

Alastor’s ears straightened; processing for a moment…

Then, reaching out – Alastor turned the knob to his shower head; turning off the spray of water. He went to Lucifer; stepping into the falling water and looking down at the angel. Reaching out again; he found the knob – turning it. Heat flared across Lucifer’s skin; turning his pale skin a rosy pink.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Lucifer hissed.

Alastor huffed; a small smirk touching his face. Turning, he put his back to the streaming jet of hot water; facing Lucifer. Steam began to rapidly fill the shower; heat radiating around them.

Alastor waited; still anticipating Lucifer to reach out – touch him; grab him; grip him; smother him…

Lucifer lifted his hands; palms open and held to the side.

“Per our agreement…” He said, softly.

Alastor’s eyes widened; understanding.

“I won’t touch you.” Lucifer told him. “Not until you want me to.”

Alastor’s breathing changed; the base to his antlers were becoming more full, more points erupting and curling upward.

“Don’t hold back.” Lucifer told him.

Layers of tension left Alastor as he moved himself closer to Lucifer; his upper body leaning down and over the angel.

He took Lucifer’s face between clawed hands; tilting his head and pressing his mouth to his. Alastor kissed him and Lucifer kept his hands raised and away. Alastor pressed himself closer; completely blocking the spray of water coming from the shower head and Lucifer was grateful for the added heat that was filling the room in a foggy humid blanket.

Still kissing him; Alastor’s hands left the angel’s face and began exploring his body. Clawed fingers traced stimulating patterns all along Lucifer’s wet neck, chest, shoulders and stomach. Lucifer shuddered; groaning softly into Alastor’s mouth. Unlike Alastor; Lucifer craved to touch and craved being touched…now finding himself coming out of a rather lengthy dry spell – maybe not years worth, but still – his body was terribly touch deprived and every contact Alastor made with him was bracing to him. Keeping his hands away – he clenched his fists at the urge to reach out and touch Alastor.

Alastor pulled his head back; breaking the kiss. His fingers curled around Lucifer’s chin; his eyes wide and dilating.

“Put your hands on my shoulders.” He breathed.

Unclenching his fists; Lucifer did as he was instructed. Alastor waited for him to rest his hands on either side; pausing as if assessing himself - deciding whether he would find the contact acceptable.

Nodding; he leant back in – pressing his lips back again to Lucifer’s – his own clawed hands finding and gripping the smaller man’s waist; palms resting on each hip.

Lucifer let his hands rest – still - at Alastor’s shoulders; neither moving them to touch and explore Alastor like he ached to do nor to grip and pull him closer. Alastor gave a soft growl and Lucifer took it as an approving sound as the demon coaxed their mouths open; sliding his tongue between parted lips – he twisted and flicked it with and against Lucifer’s forked one.

More and more of the unease was leaving Alastor’s body…making room for a new kind of tension. Lucifer felt Alastor grip his hips tighter; his developing erection pressing into the King’s belly. Disengaging himself from Lucifer’s mouth; Alastor pressed his forehead to Lucifer’s; his breathing heavy.

“You may touch me now.” Alastor told him.

Slowly; Lucifer leaned in – touching his lips to Alastor’s collar bone and sliding his hands down across Alastor’s arms and his chest. Alastor groaned; sinking into the touch and Lucifer knew that he would no longer have to take such pangs to be so cautious. He nipped and licked at Alastor’s skin; his tongue tracing across the raised and jagged scars that crisscrossed his chest. Clawed fingers dragging soft red marks; everywhere they went.

Lifting a hand from a hip; Alastor found Lucifer’s length. He palmed and stroked the King; feeling the firming of muscle in his hand. Lucifer sucked in a breath; hands involuntarily gripping tightly at Alastor’s arms. Lucifer quickly released his sudden grip; but Alastor only chuckled lowly at the response he had elicited in him.

“Turn around, my King.” Alastor told him lowly.

Turning; Lucifer felt Alastor’s hands grip his shoulders – pulling him against him so that Lucifer could feel the sinner’s erection pressing sharply into his back. Alastor adjusted himself; then possessively wrapped an arm around Lucifer’s torso; holding him firmly to him as he leant himself over – reaching down to take the swollen and aching member into his grip again. He pressed himself tightly against the angel; his own fully erect penis sliding up and down Lucifer’s wet back as he moved his hips – pumping the King in his hand.

Lucifer bent himself back against Alastor; his hips quivering into jutting as he felt himself quickly approaching a climax. His clawed fingers dug into the wet and slick skin of Alastor’s forearm; wrapped tightly across his chest. Alastor’s face was pressed tightly into the side of Lucifer’s neck; growling and gasping as both their movements stimulated him into an ever-deepening arousal.

Alastor’s grip tightened and Lucifer knew he was lost. His hips jutted sharply; and he felt himself release into Alastor’s hand; cum slipping between fingers and washing away in the cascade of water around them. Alastor let him go; and Lucifer shakily stood – his back still to Alastor.

A soft flickering of the lights and a soft buzzing of something static made Lucifer turn. Alastor was standing behind him; his penis curved tightly upward, a hand covering his face – his eyes were wide, red and flaring crazily behind spread fingers. His smile maniac and stretched too wide. His ears were erratically twitching in sharp movements; the fur on them standing sharply on end. The lights began to strobe; going out briefly before flickering back in again. Shadows were creeping into corners; crawling across walls – slowly consuming the room. Alastor’s antlers where branching and stretching dramatically overhead; the points lengthening and twisting around themselves in a beautifully chilling way. Alastor’s musk pervaded the room; hanging heavy in the thickening steam that surrounded them.

“Somewhere else…” Alastor was saying; his widening eyes seeing nothing. “I’m…”

And the room went dark.

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

Chapter 6

[whxtedreams]

Chapter 2 - Die For Him

Summary

Past: You deal with a particularly painful period and near-death encounter.

Present: Tommy helps you with your healing process when Joel comes over.

CW // Anxiety, pain, mentions of past violence.

Word count: 12,409

Before

Late Autumn 2019  

The first day traveling with Tommy, you threatened to kill him eight times. His warm and friendly nature was off-putting and uncomfortable, and you had to fight the urge to lash out at him whenever he tried to help you or show some form of kindness.

By the second week, you only threatened to kill him once a day. You've managed to somewhat soften towards Tommy's gentle and caring demeanour, and every day, you feel yourself becoming a little less cold and standoffish around him.

The last two weeks have been a blur of traveling in an attempt to reach the small town called Jackson that Tommy mentioned when you first met. The weather has been growing colder as winter draws closer, the nights becoming darker while the days grow shorter. You've noticed that Tommy has started giving his jacket to Annabel as she sleeps to keep her warm when he notices her shivering in her sleeping bag.

You've watched intently as Annabel gradually grew closer to Tommy, her interactions with him becoming more playful and teasing. He's responded in kind, the two of them engaging in a game of banter and playful torment that keeps you curious and entertained. Even so, there's a small part of you that knows he knows that Annabel is in pain, and you're grateful that Tommy is helping her in a way that you haven’t been able to after all these years.

Although it hasn't only been Annabel that Tommy has taken a liking to, for whatever reason, he finds himself sitting beside you after she falls asleep each night. It's become almost routine at this point. He drapes his jacket over Annabel, makes his way over to you and sits beside you. The first few nights, there were no words exchanged. You simply watched the flames until you inevitably fell asleep while he kept the first watch. Slowly, however, he began to speak with you more and more, and the two of you began to get to know one another in the quiet hours of the night.

It was within the second week of traveling to Wyoming that Tommy finally earned your hard-earned trust. The three of you stumbled across a water park, and your body decided that it was the perfect time for you to undergo a particularly painful monthly cycle. You had felt the shooting pain the day before, and you knew it was going to be a bad flare-up. You were trying your best to hide the pain behind a veil of composure, but the combination of your hormones, cramps, and tiredness was causing you to become increasingly irritable and snappish with both Tommy and Annabel.

You double over in pain as it becomes unbearable, and Tommy rushes over to you, placing a hand on your back. You shove his hand away and mutter that you're fine, but the pain is becoming too much to bear, and the left side of your abdomen feels like it's being tied into knots. You grit your teeth and groan in pain, clutching onto your side as you try to stand up straight and find some relief from the discomfort. It doesn't help, as the pain only worsens with the movement, and you wince as the cramps become even more intense.

Tommy moves to lift your shirt and frowns when he doesn't see a physical wound. You push his hand away once again and stubbornly lower your shirt, refusing to show him any sign of your discomfort. The pain is growing steadily worse, but you force yourself to try and keep up a strong and defiant facade, unable to handle the thought of showing vulnerability to Tommy. You're trying your best to endure, and the tightness of your expression shows just how much you're struggling to contain your emotions and discomfort.

"Are you having one of your flare-ups?" Annabel asks, and you look up at her with an expression of annoyance at her question. You nod, confirming her suspicion but unwilling to acknowledge the pain you're experiencing aloud. 

The cramps are becoming harder to ignore, and you slowly allow yourself to be led to a nearby chair left over from what seems to be a fast food truck. You lower yourself painfully into the chair and continue to try and ignore the shooting pains going up your back.

“I’ll be fine, just need to sit for a bit.” You mutter as Annable gently rubs your shoulder. 

"Flare-ups?" Tommy questions with some curiosity, and you look up at him with a glare. You're annoyed that he's questioning you about this, the pain still lingering and causing you even more discomfort. 

Tommy's eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth hangs open at the sudden realisation, a quiet "Oh " hanging in the air as he looks down between your legs before he continues. "You're on your period?" He questions, and you nod in response. You can see the gears turning in his mind as he considers this new information. “That’s why you’ve been more… stubborn.” He mutters to himself. 

"I swear to the Gods, I will fucking gut you," you threaten, and Tommy quickly lifts his hands up in defence, looking away from you.

"Alright, alright, Sunshine," Tommy apologises as he backs away and evaluates the surroundings of the park, pointing to a tower as a potential safe haven. You internally groan at the distance, knowing that you'll have to force yourself to move in spite of the pain. "It's high enough, sheltered, and looks like a good vantage point to rest," he says, and you nod reluctantly in agreement. "Can you walk that far?" he questions, and you take a deep breath as you try to fight through the pain. You nod in response, determined to power through the discomfort.

Annabel helps you up from the chair, and you take a deep breath before trying to focus on anything else but the pain in your abdomen. You manage to make it to the tower with Annabel's arm around your waist, but the exertion of climbing even one flight of stairs leaves you winded and in pain. You collapse into a sitting position, trying to get comfortable, and you close your eyes and lean your head against the railing. The cold metal feels somewhat soothing, and your breathing slowly becomes more regular as you attempt to relax, if only for a moment. 

“Just… need a minute.” You sigh. 

"You haven't had one this bad in a few months," Annabel sighs as she leans down in front of you. You look up at her with a tired expression as the cramps seem to dissipate slightly, though the pain remains constant and still making your every movement an uncomfortable one.

“I’m okay” You whisper and close your eyes, holding onto your side. 

Tommy realises that you've stopped climbing the stairs and tracks back down, sliding his rifle onto his back with the strap and leaning down. Before you can react, he places his hands under your arms and quickly lifts you to stand without warning, your eyes shooting open once he does so. You let out a small yelp of surprise, and for a moment, you struggle in his grip as your cramps worsen, and the strain of the sudden movement makes your body tense up.

“What are you-” 

"Gonna carry you the rest of the way, lift your legs" Tommy demands, and before you have a chance to argue, he lifts you in a swift motion, and you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. You're surprised to find yourself light and easy to handle, and you look up at Tommy with a frown as he smoothly transitions to carrying you, placing his left hand on your thigh and his right on your back. To him, it feels like you weigh little more than a bag of feathers, and you find that amusing despite feeling slightly embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

You tense in Tommy's embrace and hold on to him tightly as he climbs the stairs again. "You don't have to carry me," you mutter into his shoulder, your face flushed with embarrassment. You watch as Annabel climbs the stairs behind you, attempting not to laugh and you feel a pang of guilt for making Tommy carry you like this. 

"Just tryin' to be a gentleman,” Tommy replies casually with a hint of a smirk on his face.

You roll your eyes at his remark and let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh yes, Tommy, my knight in shining armour, here to carry me upstairs. Wow, such a gentleman." You mock dryly, and his smirk deepens slightly as he continues to carry you up the stairs with ease. He remains silent as Annabel joins in the teasing, and you find yourself laughing a little in spite of the discomfort of your cramps.

"You two are going to be the death of me," Tommy sighs as he reaches the top of the tower and places you down gently. Annabel quietly laughs behind you, and you shake your head, taking a moment to steady yourself as your feet hit the ground. Once you reach relative stability, you turn to face Tommy once more, and he paces the platform, carefully giving everything he can a good shake and nod to check its sturdiness. With a satisfied nod of his own, he turns back to face you and Annabel, seemingly content with the safety of the tower.

"Good enough for you?" You chuckle, still clutching your stomach and grimacing slightly at the movement. Tommy rolls his eyes and leans over the railing, surveying the ground below before looking up at the roof once more and giving it a satisfied nod. You watch for a moment as he seemingly takes in his surroundings, his expression becoming more serious as he does so. He returns to you; his brows knit in concern as he sees your discomfort. 

Tommy slides his bag off his back and sets it against one of the inner structural poles, digging through his pack to take out his sleeping bag and spreading it on the metal floor of the tower. He gestures to the floor with a nod towards the sleeping bag, and you frown. When you don't seem to budge, he simply turns to you and lets out a sigh. "I know yours has holes in it," he says, his voice becoming softer and more serious. "You're already in pain; may as well be comfortable." 

You look into his eyes and see the concern and tenderness in his expression, and the pain in your chest becomes more and more prominent. You hate him for showing you any kindness, knowing that the more he tries to break down your walls and move into your life, the more unbearable it will be when he eventually leaves or dies. You know how this always ends, and you find yourself reluctantly nodding in agreement. You can't keep fighting him anymore, not when you're in this condition. So, you let him win, and the sleeping bag feels soft and smells like him as you lie down on the metal floor. Although smelling like him isn’t a compliment. You can't remember the last time he actually cleaned himself. 

When the sun began to set, and you finally found a position to lay down that eased the pain, Annabel bounces her small rubber ball against the railing. With each bounce, you feel your nerve endings alight in a painful haze, and you grit your teeth, trying to ignore the repetitive noise. You shift, raising your knee closer to your chest as your other leg stretches out, but the cramps and discomfort still make it difficult to find a comfortable position. You do your best to focus on the calming colours of the sunset and the feeling of the cool air on your skin rather than pay attention to the ball bouncing nearby.

No more than two minutes later, you snap.

“I’ll throw that ball off this tower if you bounce it again.” You glare at her as you turn over to face her. Annabel catches the ball and blinks at you. Her mouth twitches, threatening to smile and you raise your eyebrows as if to say, don’t you dare . Her wrist flicks and the ball bounces again against the railing. You groan as Tommy laughs from where he stands beside you. 

“Whoops.” She smirks as she catches it again.

You begin to move from your spot on the sleeping bag to throw the stupid thing as Tommy speaks up, his tone gentle and calming. "Come on, girls, let's not kill each other," he says with a laugh. He turns to look at Annabel and gently pleads with her. "Leave your aunt alone," he tells her before turning back to look out over the edge of the tower, and you notice his expression softening as he looks over the landscape. The sun has almost set by now, and the sky has taken on a red hue. 

"Geez, just trying to have some fun around here," she grumbles, clearly disappointed to have had her game come to an end. However, when Tommy turns back around to look at her, she quickly shrugs and puts her ball back in her jacket pocket. He doesn't seem to push the issue any further, and his attention appears to be directed towards you as he gently nudges you back to the sleeping bag with a few taps of his foot. You groan a little as you try to get comfortable again, but you don't argue as you lie back down on the metal floor.

Tommy eventually settles down beside you with his back leaning against the railing, the sun having set and the moon filling the night sky. A soft blanket of shadows covers his face as he looks down at you for a moment, and while you're not entirely sure of his expression in the dark, you feel him reaching a hand to gently brush your hair back and tuck it behind your ear. You don't make any attempt to move out of his way as he does so. 

"I didn't realise periods could be so... painful," he admits as he eases his hand out of your hair and back into his lap, an expression of genuine concern on his face as he looks down at you. 

Annabel has remained quiet for some time now, her focus taken up by a book she found a few days prior. She lets out a small chuckle when she hears Tommy's comment, but you keep your eyes on her, wondering if she's going to say anything else. However, she doesn't, and a brief moment of silence settles in between the three of you.

"They're normally not," you reply. "I have endometriosis, it can be a... bitch sometimes."

 Annabel snorts at your description, but Tommy's expression twists in a visible look of confusion. He stares at you for a moment before speaking up. 

"Endometri…?" he repeats in a questioning tone as if he's never heard of the word before. Annabel looks at him, her smile fading as she realises that he's never dealt with this particular issue before. “You dying or something?”

The two of you chuckle together before you shake your head and sit up a little against the pole behind you to face Tommy properly. "No, no. Nothing like that," you reassure him with a faint smile and his face softens when he realises that there's nothing to worry about. He relaxes his body and leans his head against the railing, and for a moment, the three of you sit in silence. The night has descended and the air is still and quiet, the only sound coming from the subtle breeze blowing through the sky and the occasional rustle as Tommy rests against the metal railing of the tower.   

"So, what is it, then?" he finally asks. 

"You want me to go full scientific or dumb it down for you?" you smirk, teasing Tommy with your knowledge of a medical condition he's never heard of before. He scoffs a bit and glances back to Annabel, who has put her book down to listen in on your exchange.

"Dumb it down. I'm a simple man," Tommy says, raising his hands in an exaggerated mocking gesture but keeping a light, playful tone. 

You nod and look up at the stars, thinking of how to word it for him. “It’s a condition, disease – whatever you want to call it – where tissue similar to the lining of your uterus grows elsewhere as well. Sometimes, it can attach to other organs, too, like the ovaries and intestines, causing a shit load of pain. 

“The problem is, is that tissue still acts like the lining of the uterus, so when you get your period, those tissues also bleed and tear. It can also cause problems with fertility and infertility.." You explain, and Tommy nods again, his expression becoming more serious as he listens.

“How bad is it?” He asks, looking back up at you. 

You sigh and shrug. “Haven’t exactly had any scans lately.” You huff a laugh. “But I was diagnosed back in 02. My poor brother thought I was dying and took me to the E.R. Did some tests. Back then, it was all over my ovaries. But it can get bad, not always this bad though," you reply to Tommy, glancing back up at him.

"I'm sorry," Tommy sighs, his sympathy clear in his expression as he sees you flinch from another sudden bout of pain.

"It's fine," you assure Tommy, waving your hand dismissively as you lay back down. "At least I can't get pregnant with infected running around and people trying to kill us," you add, attempting to inject some levity into the situation by making a joke, and Annabel groans as she lies down herself. She doesn't find your joke as amusing, but Tommy's expression softens as he looks at you both. You let out a slow sigh before shifting slightly, a grimace of discomfort crossing your face as the cramps and nausea increase once more.

"Just go to sleep, the both of you," Tommy tells you and Annabel with a roll of his eyes, and you smile back in appreciation as he offers to keep watch first. You make a mental note to thank him later and try to find a comfortable position.

Annabel groans in resignation, settling back down on the floor with an annoyed expression as she watches Tommy take his place next to the railing. You do your best to close your eyes and relax, letting the calm night air wash over your face, trying in vain to ease the discomfort.

You wake with a start to a bloodcurdling scream and instinctively jolt into a sitting position, your eyes frantically scanning the platform around you as you search for Annabel in a state of panic. The moon is still high in the sky, and the night is as quiet as it was before, with nothing but the sound of gentle wind gently blowing over the tower. There's no sign of Annabel anywhere on the platform. You try to calm your quickening heartbeat as you start to rise to your feet.

As you scramble to a standing position, your eyes quickly dart over to Tommy, who has just set down his hunting rifle against the railing on the other side of the platform. The moment your eyes land on it, your heart skips a beat at the thought of Tommy aiming his rifle through the scope, and your eyes widen in fear.

He’s killed her. He’s fucking shot her. 

Tommy takes a deep breath and presses on the trigger of the rifle, and you jolt in response to the loud sound of the firing gun. Your ears ring slightly and you shut your eyes tight as you wince. When you open your eyes again, you notice Tommy staring off into the distance; his expression hardens as he watches something through the scope of his rifle.

He shoots again. And again. 

"Tommy-" you whisper, your voice faint and trembling with tension.

"Quiet. Infected," He snaps at you quickly as he takes another deep breath and fires the gun again, his voice harsher than before as he focuses on the target in the distance. 

You freeze in your place, your ears ringing as you wait for the next shot. When it comes, you almost flinch but manage to keep still, your eyes fixed on Tommy's back. After a moment, he fires the gun once more, his expression becoming more and more concentrated with each shot.

“Annabel-” 

"Stairs," Tommy says with a grunt as he reloads his rifle, and you remain where you are, stunned by the sudden change in his demeanour. "Pack your shit, we gotta move." He orders more forcefully this time, his voice sharp and filled with urgency, and you don't move. "DO IT NOW!" he shouts, and the sudden shift in his tone and the look of anger in his eyes causes you to jump in surprise, prompting you to gather your things quickly.

Annabel arrives at the top of the stairs and pants, out of breath as Tommy lays the rifle down against the railing and adjusts the scope. 

“What-”

“Went to pee, fucking clickers showed up out of nowhere,” Annabel explains as she kneels in front of her backpack. Seeing her in distress and how her hands shake as she tries to pack her things up quickly, you turn back to Tommy once more with wide eyes as he curses and steps back from the railing. He storms over to you and picks up his bag, and swings it over his shoulder.

However, before you can say anything, Tommy barks out another order, his voice stern and commanding as it rings through the tower. "There’s too many of them, I really fucking hope you can run Sunshine.” 

You nod frantically and scramble to grab your backpack in response to Tommy's warning, the urgency in his voice making your movements swift and hasty. Annabel does the same, quickly scooping up her backpack and slinging it over her shoulder. Annabel runs over to the stairs and leans over the railing, swearing. “They’re coming up the stairs, Tommy.” Her voice cracks and she stumbles back, terrified. 

"Down the slide," Tommy directs with a sharp nod of his head towards the slide, and your eyes widen in surprise. You glance at the enclosed slide for a moment, imagining the worst-case scenario of being stuck in that small, confined space while an infected rushes up the slide towards you. Annabel has already made her way towards it, but she doesn't look convinced either.  

"If it was an open slide, maybe, but it's a fucking enclosed one," you reply with an agitated expression. "An infected could block us in, and we'd be completely fucked."

Tommy groans and shoves you towards the slide, making another sudden move as he snatches your gun from your holster and shoves it into your chest, his expression becoming stern again. "No arguments. You go down first, then Anna. I'll cover the back," he orders you, his tone brooking no argument.   

Annabel looks up at him with a worried expression, her eyes filled with anxiety as she nods in response to Tommy's instructions, but she says nothing.  

"Go, now!" Tommy orders sharply, and you flinch at the sudden outburst and his loud tone. You hurry to crouch and enter the enclosed slide, the cramping pain in your abdomen slowly returning as you do so. Despite having to hunch over to fit inside the enclosed slide, your legs are still able to stand fully as you slowly make your way down it, keeping your torso bent downwards to avoid banging your head against the top. You squint your eyes as you turn on the flashlight equipped onto your bag strap over your shoulder. 

Annabel follows after you, her expression becoming more fearful as she enters the slide next. She's breathing hard and sweating, her face pale, and you know she's terrified, but she manages to keep calm. 

You pause in your descent as you hear the sound of Tommy firing his rifle a few times from the platform, the loud gunshots reverberating through the enclosed tube. Annabel leans over, grabbing your hand tightly as he enters the tube and catches up to you where you wait for him. "Got the few coming up the stairs, shouldn't be any more behind us," he says quickly and grunts from the discomfort of being taller and having to hunch over further. 

"Told you being shorter was an advantage," you tease, and Annabel lets out a soft laugh, though Tommy just grunts in response to your comment. 

"Very funny, now move," he deadpans, gesturing for you to hurry as he keeps his gaze fixed in front of you, his rifle ready to shoot at a moment's notice.

You keep your gun drawn as you move slowly and carefully down the slide, using the flashlight to illuminate the dark space around you. The tube is quiet, and aside from the sound of your own breathing, you hear nothing but the subtle echo of your footsteps or the occasional scrape of your body or clothes against the side of the slide. The silence in the enclosed space is eerie, and you find it difficult to remain focused as you continue to move, the dull but constant pain in your abdomen and the fear of what you might face at the bottom of the slide weighing on your mind.

You sigh in relief as you see the light from the full moon at the end of the tube on the last corner. You reach the end of the slide and pause for a moment, taking in your surroundings with a nervous expression as you contemplate your next move and listen intently for any incoming infected. You seat yourself on the edge and turn over to your stomach with your legs dangling over the edge and push yourself down until you hang on by your hands and drop the rest of the way into the empty pool.

You steady yourself and look up and wave your hands towards you, gesturing for Annabel to follow.

Then you hear the clicks. 

Your heart drops.

Time slows almost to a halt as you see movement in your peripheral vision. Your focus locks on Annabel's mouth as it opens wide in a scream, and you see Tommy's hand rip her from the edge of the slide before she jumps down, throwing her behind him. The clicker is jumping at you from the edge of the pool, and you tear your eyes away from Annabel towards it, only to see the infected's face only inches from your own a split second before it grabs you and slams you into the dirty concrete. A scream tears through your throat as you make the harsh connection with the bottom of the pool, your chest tightening. 

Annabel screams again as you're tackled off your feet, and you close your eyes in fear as the infected's weight forces you to the floor, its weight on top of you and its jaws just inches away from your throat.

You stare up at the clicker in a panic, your hands grabbing onto its shoulders as you try to hold it off. Its gums pull back with a snarl, exposing its rotten, bloody teeth as they snap at you again and again, desperate to tear into your flesh. The panic escalates as its fetid breath fills your nose, and you try to fight it off with all the strength you can muster, but the clicker is relentless in its attempt to sink its teeth into you. You're stuck beneath it, your body frozen and your face twisted in fear and agony as the monster prepares to strike.

You stare up at the clicker in terror and panic, your hands gripping firmly onto its shoulders as you try to hold it off. If you let go, even just for a second, you know you'll be bitten. If you could just let go for a moment to aim your gun, to shoot it, you could probably kill it. But you can't. The terror grows as you stare into its rotten, bloodstained teeth as it continues to try and tear into you.

The infected's death rattle echoes in your ears, and you feel the jolts of the body above you as bullets tear through its head, millimetres away from hitting you. The infected slumps against your body in a lifeless state, and you lie there on the cold, hard ground, still trying to recover from the shock and process what just happened. Your heart is pounding in your chest and your breathing comes in laboured gasps as you slowly start to take in your surroundings once again. 

Fuck – Tommy’s a good shot.

Tommy yanks the body off you and you take in a deep breath, relieved to feel the lack of weight now on your chest.

Annabel's weight replaces the infected on top of you, and her body drapes over yours in a tender hug. You feel her face press against your shoulder as her sobs continue to shake her body, and you can't help but feel empathy for her as she hugs you tightly. You focus on calming yourself, your breathing slowly returning to normal as you try to collect your thoughts.

"You bit?" Tommy asks you after a moment from behind you, his expression filled with concern as you crane your neck to look up at him. 

You shift your focus back to Annabel in your arms, her face buried against your shoulder as she continues to cry. Her sobs continue to rock her body, and she presses her face even more tightly into your shoulder as she waits for your response.

You close your eyes and sigh into Annabel's embrace. “No, don’t think so.” 

The two of you cling to each other, having recently gone through a life-threatening experience. You let out a slow, shaky breath as you try to calm your racing heart, and Annabel presses closer to you.

Tommy taps Annabel's back, and she flinches slightly at the unexpected touch, her body trembling and shaking in response. She quickly recovers from her moment of fright, realising that it was only Tommy's hand touching her and not an infected trying to grab her.

“Come on, we should get out of here,” Tommy says softly, and Annabel nods, rising to her feet.

Tommy outstretches his hand to help you up, and this time, you take it.

Tommy's hand softly pulls at the collar of your shirt, tugging as he checks for a bite on one shoulder. You feel his grasp shift as he pulls the fabric to the side and then to the other, exposing your other shoulder before his hand shifts yet again. This time, he moves his touch downward, slowly pulling up the shirt's fabric to examine your skin. His hand gently lifts your sleeves as he carefully checks your body for any trace of a bite. The sensation is oddly tender, and you have to stop yourself from tensing up from his close contact, not used to being touched.

He steps back and nods, a silent question. 

You good ?

You nod back. 

Yes.

The flickering flame from Tommy’s modest campfire roars to life the next night, and you close your eyes in delight at the welcome warmth. Annabel's laughter fills the night air, her praise bolstering Tommy's ego as he basks in the glow of her admiration.

You slowly open one eye and see Annabel high-five Tommy, his smile wide as he joins in her laughter. With a shake of your head, you murmur, "His ego is big enough. You don’t need to encourage it." Your own laugh comes out quietly as you uncross your legs to stretch them out, leaning back on your arms.

Tommy points a finger at you and shakes his head in mock frustration, and you can't help but laugh internally. "You let the girl praise me however she pleases," he teases, his laughter carrying a slight hint of amusement as he lowers his hand to toss his lighter aside to be put away later.

You roll your eyes and hide your smile as you turn your head away from the pair.

You still remain distrustful of him, of course, but the way he's taken care of Annabel causes your suspicions to dwindle slightly. Perhaps he isn't as much of a threat as you first believed.

Tommy's grunt as he sits beside you startles you out of your thoughts, and your head whips towards him as he bends his legs and places his arms on his knees. Your body stiffens in response to his sudden movement and the fact that he's so close to you, but you try your best to control your tension. He says nothing, the only sound being the crackling of the fire and the crickets. For a moment, you wonder why he's sitting so close, but he says nothing. He simply watches you quietly, his gaze studying you.

Your eyes wander to Annabel, who sleeps peacefully against a nearby tree. Tommy's jacket drapes over her along with her own, and you wonder just how long you've been lost inside your thoughts. You quickly glance back to Tommy, who continues to study you silently, his face conveying concern and curiosity.

“Is your…” He trails off while gesturing to your stomach. “You know… still giving you grief?” He asks awkwardly

You roll your eyes and shake your head.

"You've been quiet today, Sunshine," Tommy frowns, his voice carrying a touch of concern. He watches you for a moment and then gestures towards your head. "You haven’t threatened to kill me today. What's going on inside that head of yours?" He asks, and you raise an eyebrow at him in response. "I've noticed you get lost up there a bit," he adds, and you can't deny the fact that his words are true.

Your body tenses up, and you consider not answering. But something about his question feels sincere, and you find yourself hesitating for a moment. After a moment, you decide to answer him honestly. 

"I could have died yesterday," you mumble darkly as you stare into the flames, the memory of the events of yesterday playing out in your mind like a nightmare. "I could have been bit and she would have watched me die. She would be alone," you continue, allowing the full weight of the fear and trauma of the infected encounter to sink in. You feel a heaviness settling over you as you reflect on how close you came to losing everything in just a few short moments.

"If something happens-" you continue, your voice quiet and heavy with emotion. You're cut off mid-sentence by Tommy placing a soothing hand on your knee, and you look up at him, his gaze kind and his expression understanding.

"Nothing's going to happen to you. To either of you," he reassures, his voice calm and the touch of his hand on your knee still present in a soothing way. He nods, avoiding your gaze and seemingly not wanting to get into a deeper conversation about the possibility of something bad happening. 

You take a deep breath and continue your thoughts, determined to finish what you started. "But if something happens to me--" You raise your hand to stop Tommy from interrupting you again, and he looks at you, finally meeting your gaze as he shuts his mouth. "If something happens to me, promise me you'll take her to Jackson, or wherever you choose to go. That you'll keep her safe," you say, placing your hand on top of his. "That you'll kill anyone or anything that tries to hurt her." Your expression remains steady and determined, wanting to make sure that Tommy understands the weight of this request.

After a moment of consideration and thoughtful deliberation, Tommy slowly nods in response to your request, understanding the weight of your words and the seriousness of your request. "I promise," he says softly, his voice tender and his eyes focused on yours.

"We haven't been in a community in a very long time, Tommy," you reveal, and he nods in understanding. "We stayed clear of quarantine zones and any sign of a community while Dean was around," you continue, and Tommy listens silently. When you start to ramble your confession, he nods again, attempting to reassure you. "It’s only ever been us. Sure there was Dean, but at the end of the day it’s always been us. We don't know how to... Deal with large groups of people, what if I fuck it up and get Annabel and I thrown out, and we're on our own again," you say with a sigh.

Tommy pokes the fire with a stick as he listens to you, and the fire continues to burn in front of you. “My brother, Joel and I were on our own for a while in a small group.” He shares as he watches the fire, and you focus your attention on him. “We did a lot of things that still haunt me to this day, but I had the same feeling as you do now. I was scared that after everything we did, I wouldn't know how to function in society again, but I left them and joined the Fireflies, hoping to create a better world. It took a bit of adjusting, but I made it work.” He sets his stick back down next to him and sighs as he looks back over at you. 

You take a moment to absorb his words and insight into his past. You’ve heard of the Fireflies, seen their propaganda near quarantine zones and heard Dean mention them a few times after coming back from trading with different groups. Maybe he had crossed paths with Tommy before?    

"What made you leave the Fireflies?" You ask curiously, and Tommy's expression grows serious. 

He pauses for a moment as he considers his answer, and for a moment, you feel a pang of guilt for having brought up such a sensitive subject. But you want to know his story, and you need to know his reasons for leaving. Tommy sighs quietly and stares at the fire for a moment longer before meeting your gaze again. "I needed a change," he eventually says, his tone quiet.

After a moment's pause, he continues. “When I saw you for the first time, you had that same scared look in your eyes that I did when I was with Joel. You were covered in so much blood, and you looked terrified.” He shakes his head and stifles a chuckle before he continues again. “You were a force to reckon with and ready to kill me, but you were still terrified. I wasn’t going to bring you or Annabel with me, but I couldn’t leave you two there.” 

You frown at his words, and you give a slight nod in response. You recall the sheer terror you felt after dealing with the raiders and returning to him with Annabel, the stress and exhaustion from the situation leaving you shaken and tense.

"I was going to kill you the second I saw you, but I heard you make Annabel laugh," you confess, and Tommy nods in understanding. You frown again, trying to shake off the memory of that day, and you nod slowly. "I'm glad I hesitated," you conclude, your confession taking its toll, and you close your eyes as you attempt to push the feeling down. “You make her happy.”

Tommy's hands wrap around your shoulders, and your eyes open in shock as he pulls you into a side hug. Surprised by his touch, you lose balance and clutch the fabric of his shirt as your legs scramble beside you on the ground. His hands feel like fire against your skin, causing panic to rise in your chest at his unexpected touch. Every fiber of your being screams at you to pull away immediately, but you remain frozen in place, your expression betraying your fear, even though your heart is racing.  

Tommy must feel your body begin to shake since he leans back and looks down at you, his hand gently wiping away a tear that you never noticed until he draws your attention to it. Surprised and embarrassed, you try to suppress your tears as you look back up to him. His eyes dart between your teary eyes, worry evident in his. "Why are you crying?" He whispers softly, and you shake your head quickly, trying to deny the tears you can no longer hold back. 

You didn't expect this reaction, and it starts to confuse you further. The tears slowly turn into quiet sobs, and Tommy holds you closer to his chest – where you’re sure you're leaving snot and tears on his shirt. 

Why are you crying? You don’t cry .

You find yourself crying without restraint now that you're in Tommy's arms as the fire his touch creates slowly turns to comfort. To safety. As the tears fall, you feel a mixture of emotions run through you, an overwhelming sensation as you release all the pain and fear you've been holding onto for years. His embrace is gentle yet calming, and you can feel your body gradually relax as you allow him to comfort you. His presence eases your mind, helping you forget about all the troubles and worries that fill your world. You can’t remember the last time you allowed someone to touch you besides Annabel. And that scares you. Terrifies you. 

"You're okay, Sunshine. It's okay," Tommy soothes you, his hands gently rubbing your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you. Your tears continue to flow freely, and you can feel his embrace become even more protective of you. The fire crackles softly nearby as Tommy continues to rub your shoulder, attempting to help you overcome the pain you've suffered. His voice is gentle and soft, his words providing a sense of comfort and security in you that you didn't expect but is also desperately needed.

“I’m so tired, Tommy. I can’t do this anymore.” You cry between sobs.

You cry for your brother, the pain of losing him still sharp even after all these years, and you wish you could have done more to save him. You cry for Annabel, who didn't deserve to lose her father so young. You cry for the lives you took to protect yourself, to protect Annabel, and you wonder if they were deserved. You cry for your own pain, for the world you live in, for all of the lives you've taken to survive.

You aren't sure how long you cried in his arms or how long it took to cry yourself to sleep, but when you wake up, your head is resting on his lap, and his jacket is keeping you warm. His fingers are gently tangled within your hair, and you look up at him with hazy eyes, surprised that he is still there. His smile is sympathetic as he meets your gaze, and you feel a sense of comfort return to you. He's still there, still holding you, and you can't help but feel a bit of relief at his continued presence.

"Feeling better, Sunshine?" He whispers, and you can hear the quiet concern in his voice. You look up at him as he gently detangles your hair with his fingers. You nod in response to his question, and as you sit up in his lap, you take in his warm expression in the moonlight.

You rub your eyes as you yawn, your focus shifting towards Annabel. You notice that Tommy's jacket is no longer covering her and is now bundled over your legs, having moved when you sat up. "Sorry," you say, and Tommy just smiles in response. 

"Don' worry ‘bout it," Tommy reassures you, letting out a yawn of his own as he does so. "Annabel mentioned the other day she was worried ‘bout ya," he pauses for a moment and tilts his head, considering what he wants to say next. "Said ya don’ talk to ‘er ‘bout anythin’ you've been through," he adds with another yawn. 

You would have smiled at Tommy's southern accent, which is more prominent in his sleepy state, if not for the words that hit you like a truck. You can't deny that she's seen you suffer, but you've fought against displaying your emotions to her, wanting to be strong for her. You realise now how little she actually knows about you and what you're truly feeling, and it's making you consider whether or not it's time to let down your walls and let her in, finally. She’s not a little kid anymore. 

"I forget she's not a kid anymore," you agree with Tommy, realising that the little girl is now nearly an adult. "I mean, she's seventeen now, but I still see her as the little four-year-old I had to carry around." You sigh as you twist your back to crack it, feeling the stiffness from sleeping on Tommy's lap. "Gods, I basically raised the kid since Dean was always off hunting or looting for days on end," you add, and Tommy raises an eyebrow in understanding.

“I guess with everything going on, I just didn't want to put her through any more than she already had to deal with," you continue, and Tommy nods in response. "Didn't want her to see how scared I was. Or weak," you say quietly, thinking about how hard it is to show your true self to Annabel. "I guess that's why I've always kinda kept her at a distance when it comes to my emotions," you add, and Tommy looks over at you with a sympathetic gaze.

Tommy slowly shifts against the tree and rolls his shoulders and neck, looking a little less tense as he relaxes slightly. "Joel used to do the same thing to me. Shut me out when shit went south," he says with a sigh, his voice tired and his eyes closed as he leans against the tree. "It's not healthy," he adds after a moment. He opens his eyes after a little bit and turns to face you, his expression soft and his tone understanding as he continues, "And as a younger sibling myself, I can tell she just wants to help ya. Let her." 

You nod in response to Tommy's words, taking them into account as you glance over at Annabel, who is still asleep. "Alright, Tommy. You get some sleep, I'll take over the watch," you tell him quietly, your voice low so as not to disturb Annabel as she rests nearby.

Tommy slowly nods, yawning slightly as he closes his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest and shifts against the tree to get comfortable. "Wake me if you need anything," he says sleepily. 

You nod and frown at Tommy as he gets comfortable and settles down to rest, and you can't help but feel a soft tug at your heart. You want to trust him, but your mind screams at you every time you lower your guard around the man. He's been nothing but kind to you, and you've been nothing but short and rude to him, hoping to keep him at arm's length and protect yourself from pain. But as he continues to push and push, your walls start to crumble, and you're forced to grapple with the possibility of letting him in. 

You hate him. Annabel loves him, so you tolerate him.

But you know that's a lie.

Your eyes widen as you make the realisation, and you look over at Tommy, seeing the soft curls that have draped over his face as he drifts off to sleep. His eyes are closed, and his chest slowly rises and falls with deep breaths. Gradually, his snores begin to turn from soft and low to louder and more forceful. You watch in silent contemplation, the soft glow of the fire casting shadows against the darkness that surrounds you and illuminating Tommy's face, which seems almost peaceful in sleep. You feel a pang in your chest as you look at him, wanting to protect him and make sure that no harm ever comes his way. 

Your entire life, you've only felt the need to protect Annabel, feeling the overwhelming desire to shield her from the dangers of this new world. You would die for her. 

You think back to the people who have come and gone through your life, and you recall Dean, who gave up everything at sixteen to raise you after your mother died during childbirth and your father passed before that due to cancer. You loved him, but ultimately, you never would've considered dying for him. But in the end, he gave his life for you and Annabel, leaving a hole that never quite healed and a lingering sadness that has followed you ever since.

There was your first boyfriend, then your first girlfriend. Two relationships that didn't last long enough for you to form a connection with either of them fully. Their lives cut short by the cruel realities of the world. As the realisation sinks in, you feel a pang of heartache and loss, mourning the connections that could've been but were never fully formed. You wonder how your life would've turned out if things had been different if both of them had lived and your relationships had had time to blossom and grow.

But in this moment, as you watch Tommy sleep, your heart stirs, and you realise that you would die for him as well as Annabel. There's a softness that spreads across your heart as the realisation hits you, and you reach over and gently brush away a lock of hair that's draped in his face, gazing at the peacefulness that blankets his expression and feeling a sense of protectiveness wash over you.

You would trust Annabel with him.

You would die for Tommy.

Now

Spring 2024 

Two Weeks Later

You are going to kill him.

You stare furiously up at Tommy from where you sit on his couch, your eyes narrow and your jaw clenched with simmering anger. The smug look on his face only grows as you continue to sit in front of him, and you can feel your blood boiling with rage. The stupid, smug look that covers his face only fuels the flames of your anger, his expression adding to the heat of your rage.

"Pick up four," he grins and places a +4 wild card on the stack of cards that are laid out in front of you on the coffee table, followed by a mischievous wink. "Oh, and UNO," he adds with a laugh, seeming to delight in your irritation.

You narrow your eyes in irritation, picking up the four cards that Tommy dealt you while muttering under your breath. You glare at him, your annoyance and frustration growing even more as you feel the unfairness of the situation. But Tommy only grins even wider at your visible irritation, his smug expression indicating that he knows exactly what he's doing and enjoying the reaction he's getting out of you. 

You lean back in the chair and wince in response to the lingering pain in your stomach, your healing process has been slow and tedious. You spent two weeks in the clinic before the doctors finally let you leave under strict instructions that you stay with Tommy and his wife, Maria. Since living alone these days without... her , you've been struggling to take care of yourself properly, and the doctors – as well as Tommy – feared that you might do yourself more harm if left without supervision. So, they insisted that you stay with him and Maria until you fully recover.

It took three hours of your stay before Tommy finally offered to play a game, the boredom of the last few weeks weighing heavy on your mind. You were grateful for the distraction and the opportunity to do something other than stare at the walls or the doctors and nurses bustling about the building. You had to keep your mind from racing as your body and mind cried out for action, for something to help you escape the tedium of isolation. Having a game to occupy your mind and lift your spirits was just what you needed, and you were secretly thankful that Tommy had initiated the idea.

You would never tell him that, though. 

"Your turn," you snarl in response, glaring at him over the cards you hold in your hand, and he smirks back, still enjoying and provoking your irritation. You clench your jaw and try to focus on the game, wanting to win just to spite Tommy and bring his smugness to an end.

He slowly reveals his last card between his two fingers and places it on the pile of cards, glancing over at you with a smug smile on his face as he does so.

You groan in defeat and drop your cards on the table in front of you, the feeling of losing sitting heavily in your chest. "You suck," you whine, letting your emotions get the better of you for a moment before collecting yourself and shaking your head. 

Despite the loss, you realise that the game served its purpose; it kept you distracted and it eased the heavy boredom that has been weighing on you over the last couple of weeks. Despite the defeat, you still feel a sense of satisfaction that you were able to engage in something other than sitting alone with your thoughts for a while.

Tommy laughs as he begins to pick up the cards from the table, and you respond with a roll of your eyes before sinking further into the couch with a loud sigh. "Oh, don't be a sore loser, Sunshine," he teases, looking up at you between his eyelashes.

"Whatever," you mumble under your breath, trying to downplay the embarrassment you feel at being beaten at the game. But Tommy isn't having any of it, and you see a slight hint of a knowing grin on his face as you realise that your attempts to hide your feelings of embarrassment are futile.

“How's your stomach? Need me to have a look at it? I haven’t seen it since it happened," Tommy asks as he picks up the last card, and you glance down at the cut on your stomach, which still aches. You're not eager to have him look at it, as the wound still feels raw and sensitive, but you nod in response to his question, knowing that he's just trying to be kind and help you take care of your injury.

It took the two brothers nine hours on horseback to bring you back to Jackson. Tommy held you close to his chest and carefully avoided touching your wound while you sat between his legs on his horse. Once he was satisfied with the distance he put between you and the church, he lowered you to the ground on a soft patch of grass and began to properly tend to your wound, stitching and cleaning it as he worked with Joel's help.

It took nine hours and six stops to tend to your wound before you reached the safety of Jackson.

Tommy stands from the armchair, placing the cards on the table before reaching for your hand and helping you up from the couch. You gasp in pain when your injured abdomen is suddenly jarred awake, and Tommy apologises in response to your reaction. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls your hand around his shoulders as he leads you across the room, down the hallway, and into the bathroom. He carefully lowers you onto the closed toilet seat, and you wince slightly as you sit down, but you find a comfortable position and let out a sigh of relief as your body relaxes.

Tommy crouches in front of you and gently lifts your shirt, exposing the now-uncovered and partially healed wound. You wince at the discomfort of the gesture, and a surge of anxiety and nervousness creeps down your spine as you feel Tommy's eyes on you, studying the cut on your stomach. He stares for a beat before shaking his head and reaching for a cloth on the sink, wetting it with water and returning to crouch between your legs. He begins to carefully dab the area around and along the wound, and you breathe in slowly and deeply in an effort to manage the stinging sensation.  

“I thought you were going to die on me,” Tommy mumbles as he collects a bottle of antiseptic from the cabinet across the bathroom, and you look down at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. The admission hangs in the air between you for a moment, and you can hear the cap twist and then he shifts as he pours it onto a clean cloth. 

"You can't get rid of me that easily," you say, attempting to lighten the mood with a huff. To your surprise, when you look back up at Tommy, he seems frustrated as he sighs. You look at him with a raised eyebrow, wondering if your joke somehow upset him. He doesn't elaborate and instead, he focuses on your wound, dabbing the antiseptic on the area with gentle strokes. You manage to ignore the slight sting and keep still, but you're still curious about his annoyance at your little joke.

You open your mouth to question Tommy but your words are cut short as he pushes slightly on your wound, causing you to hiss in involuntary discomfort and pain. You look up at him, and he's now leaning back on his heels with his hand resting on your knee. He stares up at you, a sad and pained expression in his eyes. "It is that easy though, isn't it? One mistake, and you're gone. One stupid mistake and you're dead and I've lost both you and Annabel," he says softly, and your heart breaks when you see the hurt in his expression.

"Don't-" 

"No. Stop pushing me away," he says sternly as he speaks over you, his eyes meeting yours. "I promised you I would hunt those bastards with you and you left me here while you went and nearly got yourself killed. We–" he gestures between the two of you, "do this together. I have your back while you have mine," he says with firmness and conviction, indicating that he won't budge on this, or accept any denial.

"I know," you whisper in response, acknowledging Tommy's words and the strength of his convictions. You don't try to argue with him or push against his will this time, as you realise he means what he says. There's no point in getting into an argument about this, so you simply nod, signaling that you heard and understand him, and are willing to move forward with those terms.

"Do you? You going to run off in the middle of the night again?" Tommy questions with a skeptical expression, and you look away from his probing gaze and bite back the urge to snap back a snide response. Instead, you simply turn back to look at him, meeting his eyes and offering a faint nod.

Tommy's hand remains on your knee, his gaze never leaving yours as the two of you exchange a simple and subtle acceptance of this mutual understanding. You both know what needs to be done, and there's no point in arguing or pushing each other away. You're in this together, and you'll stay that way. There is no other option.

Tommy sighs and stands up, gently lifting you off the seat with him and bringing you close for a tight hug. Your hands grip onto the back of his shirt, and you allow yourself to lean into him. Despite the pain of your injury, you feel a gentle sense of comfort and stability as his strong arms hold you close, and you let out a soft sigh as the hug helps to ease some of the lingering tension and discomfort in your body. As you grip his shirt and sink into the hug, you allow yourself to rest and to take comfort in his embrace.

A knock on the door tears Tommy's attention away from you, as Maria yells at him from the kitchen to go and get the door. He gives you an apologetic smile as he looks down at you, and your grip on his shirt only tightens as you feel a stab of disappointment at the interruption. You don't want to be separated from him just yet, knowing that you'll miss his presence and comfort. Still, you release him and he gives you an apologetic smile as he looks down at you.

"Coming," Tommy calls out as he guides you back into the living room and sets you down on the couch. You settle into it and he heads towards the front entrance of his home to answer the knocking on the door.  

You still your breaths to listen to the hushed voices in the entryway, hoping to catch a few words that would provide you with some insight into who might be at the door. Your curiosity and anticipation are high, and even if only for a moment, you're able to drown out the pain of your injury with the hope that you'll learn a little more about the situation outside. But as you listen intently, struggling to understand their words, you realise that you still can't discern anything of value. The uncertainty just deepens the mystery and heightens your anticipation.

After what feels like an eternity, your eyes follow Tommy as he steps back into the room, now accompanied by his brother Joel. You instantly lock eyes with Joel, and his face remains blank and devoid of emotions as he continues to stare back. You notice a slight tenseness about him, and his neutral expression is off-putting and unsettling. You exchange a quick glance with Tommy before your gaze shifts back to Joel, and you find yourself unable to look away. You're not sure of what to say or do in this situation, and you wait for either of them to break the tension and say something.

You take a moment to study him this time, properly absorbing his appearance. In your wounded and anger-clouded mind when you saw him last, you didn’t take the time to properly look at him. He does seem... familiar. Almost like a dream that you've partly forgotten that you wake up from, desperately trying to recall. Perhaps it's hazel eyes, or his weathered yet kind expression, that reminds you of someone? The recognition is fuzzy and fleeting, but his presence stirs an unexpected sense of... comfort?

Still, the sense of familiarity lingers, and you can't quite shake the feeling that you've seen this man before.

"Heard you were out of the woods," Joel mutters after a beat, his expression still blank and his tone neutral. You look back at him in confusion, unsure of what he means by that or how exactly to respond. You glance over at Tommy for any kind of explanation or clarification.

"He means he heard you're no longer dyin'" Tommy repeats for your benefit, and you nod in understanding and confirmation. You glance back at Joel, who remains utterly still and expressionless. 

"Oh, right. Thank you, for uh, showing up with Tommy," you awkwardly thank him, and he grunts in response. The tension in the room is palpable, and you still don't quite know what to make of Joel's presence. It’s very overwhelming. 

Why is he so familiar? Is it because he’s Tommy’s brother?

You reluctantly turn your attention from Joel back to Tommy, who sits back down in his chair and runs a hand over his face. His eyes are closed as he lets out a soft huff of frustration, and you look at him with concern and curiosity.

"So, why are you here?" you ask Joel, your frustration evident in your tone. You hadn't meant to come across as harsh or annoyed, but you still want to know the answer to your question. Tommy sits quietly in his chair, his eyes closed as he listens to your exchange with his brother, and you shift your focus back to Joel, waiting for a response.

"Joel has taken up your patrol route while you've been out of action," Tommy explains, and you shift your focus from Joel back to Tommy. You feel a hint of frustration in your stomach at the idea of someone else taking your route, but you push it down and try to conceal your feelings, not wanting to cause any further tension than there already is. You're still curious about why Joel is here, but you don't say anything yet, wanting to give Tommy the chance to explain without any interruptions or additional pressure.

"He came across a few raiders tonight." Tommy sighs and looks up at his older brother, and you wait for a moment, expecting Joel to expand on the sentence and provide more information. However, he stays silent, keeping his neutral expression and not uttering a word. You look over at Tommy, noticing his disappointment and frustration towards his brother's lack of elaboration, and you're left wondering what exactly was encountered or if there's a reason for Joel's continued silence.

You nod at Tommy's words and recall the last time you encountered raiders while on your patrol route, remembering how you'd given them a fierce warning not to step near the cabin. It has been months since you last saw any raiders, but now, it seems that they've chosen to ignore your warning. Judging by Tommy's weary look, things hadn't gone too well for Joel tonight, and you can't help but feel a twinge of frustration and anxiety as you consider the possibility of more raiders returning to the area.

Your hands grip the sides of the couch as you try to stay calm, and your nails dig into the delicate fabric as you struggle to contain a growing sense of worry and anxiety. You cast a quick look over at Tommy, noticing his own tense demeanour as he studies his older brother's blank expression. The anticipation and tension in the room are immense, and it's taking all of your willpower just to stay still and keep quiet while you await any further information or elaboration regarding the encounters with the raiders tonight.

"They were looking for you," Joel finally speaks, his voice still low and calm as he enters the room and stands beside Tommy. 

Your grip on the couch loosens and your shoulders shake in a silent laugh as you agree with him. "Of course they are," you say, and then offer a small but amused shake of your head. "Why?" you ask, your tone a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "I've done a lot to piss a lot of people off. What's their reason?" It's a reasonable question, and you're genuinely interested to find out what exactly could be motivating these raiders to seek you out after all this time.

Joel blinks at your question and shifts on his feet, leaning against the doorway with his hands in his pockets. As he repeats their reasoning to you, he speaks in a flat tone and stares at you with a blank expression. "Said you killed half their group after they got too close to the cabin, burnt their bodies in a pile with a warning," 

You stare back at him in silence, processing the information and realising the seriousness of the situation. You're not surprised at their apparent vengeance and retaliation.

"Fair," you respond flatly. 

Joel shifts on his feet again and keeps his gaze on you, his face still blank of expression. He doesn't offer any further elaboration or comment, and you remain silent as well. Tommy seems to notice your lack of further response, so he turns to his brother and asks, "What happened?" Joel simply offers a tired shrug and glances over at you again, seemingly waiting for you to share your own information or perspective. The tension in the room remains.

"You got a problem with me, Joel?" you ask, glaring back at him. It's a bold move on your part, and you don't back down as you stare directly at him and wait for a response, but Joel doesn't seem phased by your demeanour. 

He simply shrugs his shoulders again, his voice remaining calm and flat as he responds, "No." Tommy doesn't intervene and instead watches the interaction play out with a mixture of curiosity and mild concern. 

You gently place your hand over the wound along your side as you turn your gaze to Joel. "Good. I hope you sent them a similar message?" you reply, your tone somewhat playful as you raise an eyebrow at him. You need assurance that Joel gave the raiders a lesson in coming back to the cabin. 

As you question Joel, you feel a sharp twinge of pain as you move your hand across the wound along your side. You draw in a sharp inhale as you try to manage the discomfort, but you manage to maintain your composure as you wait for a response. 

Tommy remains still, studying the interaction between you and his brother as well as your reaction to the brief pain you felt. He appears genuinely concerned, but you ignore the feelings of discomfort and the lingering pain as you wait for Joel to speak. 

Joel stays silent for a moment as you wait for a response, his expression unconcerned. But his eyes betray the worry you know stirs within him, and a flicker of concern passes over his face at your pain. 

He turns his attention back to Tommy, who watches him silently, waiting for whatever response he has to offer. 

"Yeah, they're dead," Joel responds bluntly and with a sigh, his expression remaining cold and unruffled. The flicker of concern that had crossed his face earlier disappears. You're both relieved and a little bit disappointed that he gave such a brief response, as you had hoped for a little bit of elaboration. But you're glad to have your curiosity satisfied and know that the Raiders are no longer a threat. At least that group. 

You sigh and slowly push yourself up from the couch, placing your hands on your knees and feeling a soft twinge of pain as the strain of movement extends and pulls across the wounded area. But before you have the chance to wince or make a noise in response to the pain, Tommy leaps to his feet and rushes to your side, assisting you to your feet. He holds out his arm to support you, and you take it, accepting the assistance while allowing yourself to rest for a moment. You can feel Tommy's warmth as he stands beside you, offering a gentle sense of comfort and reassurance.

"Thanks," you murmur quietly, trying to appear fine despite still feeling weak and unsteady on your feet. Tommy keeps his hands on your back for a moment but soon lets go, and you try to stand with a slight air of independence and confidence, even if you're still feeling a little shaky. Joel remains motionless and emotionless in the doorway, his body relaxed and his expression neutral as he watches your small exchange with Tommy.

"Good." You nod at Joel in response, his intense gaze feeling like it's burning through you. It's almost uncomfortable having him stare at you, but it also feels warm and a good kind of intense. You instinctively look away and avert your gaze.

So familiar.  

"Now, if you don't mind me, I've had a long night of allowing Tommy to beat me in UNO." You force a smile, but Tommy shakes his head in denial, and Joel stares at you for another moment before finally breaking his blank expression. His face lights up with a small smile, and he turns back to his brother, shaking his head and offering a brief chuckle.

"You didn't allow me shit," Tommy snaps, and while Joel's expression remains relaxed, you notice a hint of amusement in his glance towards his brother.

Maria's disapproval of Tommy's language is shouted from the kitchen, and while Tommy offers a sheepish, apologetic glance towards his wife, you find yourself laughing to yourself.    

You roll your eyes and wave Tommy off with a dismissive gesture. "Whatever. I'm going to bed," you huff and walk past the two brothers to the spare bedroom you've been staying in. Before opening your door, you look back to see Joel watching you. You tilt your head at his action, a little surprised at the attention. You're not particularly certain what to make of him, and you feel your chest tighten as the silence lingers between the two of you. 

Weird.

"Night Joel." You nod towards him as you enter your spare bedroom and close the door behind you, the click of the lock echoing as you lock the door for the night. You settle into your bed and turn out the lights, but as you close your eyes and wait for sleep to take you, Joel's gaze is the last thing on your mind. Perhaps he was just being polite, but there was something about his look that seemed to hold a bit of depth or significance behind it. You eventually let out a soft sigh and drift off into an uneasy sleep.

Joel Miller is a fucking enigma.  

Chapter 3

Notes

I have so many ideas on where to lead this story, and I'm so excited to share this with you!

I was hesitant to add that the MC has endo, but it's something I suffer with personally, so I felt comfortable being able to write about it. I don't want to make the character a projection of myself but trust me, it's relevant to the story…

Divider by the beautiful saradika

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

For the heraldry color ask game, Vert 2 and Argent 4 for Yorick?

Vert 2: How hopeful is your OC about the future? Do they see things as becoming better in general--either for them personally or the world at large? Or do they feel as if decline and disaster are inevitable and all that can be done is to delay the final end for as long as possible?

At the point where we are right now, I think that Yorick is fairly hopeful, but purely because he has to be. If things aren't going to get better for him & his family & the people he loves, then what's the point? What's the point of having been separated from his mom & his sister, of having been his dad's squire, of putting up with Viserys, of everything that happened to his aunt, of being dragged to war, of Alicent having to marry his uncle, of his mom dying, of Ella having been in Essos for a year, of sending Aemon to be fostered if in the end it doesn't mean anything? I don't think he sees things as improving on their own, it very much has to be forced & have a conscious effort made, but it's there & it's possible. So he strives & he makes an effort for things to improve & he stubbornly clings to something hopeful not because the most you can try for is things to not get worse quickly, but because there has to be a point & things have to be better for the people he cares about. He is hopeful about a better future, even if he has to force that good will & improvement in himself & his surroundings.

Argent 4: Do others find your OC easy to believe? Or is there something about them that makes others distrustful or cynical about their motives or trustworthiness?

In general, I'd say Yorick comes off as pretty trustworthy & genuine. He doesn't really do a lot to make people see him otherwise. He's only going to be lying or concealing some level of the truth to soften the blow or protect someone, and those instances are small enough that no one really clocks it. People are only ever really suspicious of his motives or think he's going to lie to them/try to manipulate them if they have a preconceived notion about them prior to even properly meeting him (Aegon), they have their own internal stuff & the expectations of their environment that they're projecting (Rhaenyra, Daemon sometimes), or they are Otto Hightower beefing with a child because he doesn't like that child's dad.

[onehundredandeleventropicalfish]

I've never gone back and reread the Sandman comics, so in regards to the sibling meeting scene, I just realized. Destiny. *Destiny*. What do you mean there's much to discuss. You know exactly what is going to happen, Destiny. Dream and Desire will fight a few times, then everyone goes home. Why are you talking like there's going to be a discussion on actually important, universal matters. "It has been centuries" and we will discuss nothing that happened in said centuries

oh there was a very important reason destiny called that meeting

there's a reason the fates told destiny to call that meeting

because desire would start needling dream about nada until he snapped and left, and then death would follow and be like "desire was an asshole in there but they're also right, get nada out of hell you doofus", and dream actually listens to death so he tries to, which kicks off lucifer's plan, which means that titania sends nuala to the dreaming to negotiate, which means that she gets stuck in the dreaming and dream eventually gives her one wish as thanks for all she's done and also in consolation for having to be here, which she uses to call dream out of the dreaming in kindly ones, and there's the entire plot right there

kicked off by this meeting

(which i've also written a fair bit on in terms of the angsty side, which is that destiny didn't like he had to do this but also he didn't have a choice, because it's his job to never have a choice)

but on the funny side of it i do think it's hilarious that dream and desire are at each others' throats enough that literally all destiny had to do to get them to start fighting was put them in the same room with nothing to talk about, it was that inevitable that desire would bring up dream's love life

the reason destiny didn't tell them that, is because they're both contrary enough that had destiny told them everything they probably would have stubbornly gotten along just out of spite