#-looked at the clock it was 4 and now its almost 6

[mayoiayasep]

girl my hands are starting to hurt :(

[the-physicality]

.

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

summary: You and Sirius are in dire need of a new coach just weeks before the Olympics. Remus is a former figure skating prodigy forced to retire after a career-ending injury. Though it's not smooth skating right away, those stiff Olympic village beds are dying to be broken in.

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Remus still wakes before dark every morning. It’s automatic, an urgency and excitement that thrums through him like an old instinct, born from years of his alarm clock rousing him at this time. The rink is always at its best right now, when they’ve just finished resurfacing the ice and no one else is around. It was Remus’ favorite time to practice. 

Now, he has a new reason to get up. His hip clicks as he does it, so he starts his day with a couple of proactive painkillers. If he really wanted to be proactive he would stretch like he’s supposed to, but there’s no time and Remus doesn’t feel like it. He’ll pay his toll for the negligence later. 

The webpage of his Airbnb boasted a five-minute walk to the rink, but with his hip it takes Remus seven. It’s like an odd sort of muscle memory, an old routine from another life that feels as bitter as it does comfortable. He heads out early to give himself some cushion. The streets are empty but for bakers and baristas, the first hints of dawn tinging the sky a deep blue. When he turns a corner and the rink comes into view, the absence of his bag hanging from his shoulder is a phantom ache. 

The front doors are locked but the side one staff uses isn’t, the Zamboni driver already inside. Remus lets himself in, makes a cup of tea from the hot water dispenser they leave out when concessions are closed, plants himself on a bench, and waits. 

And waits. 

And waits. 

Remus has nearly nodded off when two pairs of shoes come bounding up to him. Well, one pair bounds. The other drags. 

“Hi, sorry we’re late.” You’re breathless and hauling a sullen-looking boy along behind you by the hand, but you manage a smile when Remus looks up at you. “I had to run over and get him out of bed. It’s good to meet you!”

You hold out your untethered hand. Remus might normally stand to take it, but he no longer feels like doing you the courtesy. Your grip is firm and warm. 

“You were supposed to be here at six,” he says. 

You wince. “I know. Sorry, Sirius is really not a morning person.” 

Remus thinks that he might put more stock into your apologies if you looked a tad more contrite. As it is, your countenance is almost cheery, a fizzy eagerness about you as you look between him and the ice like you can’t wait to get out on it. 

In stark contrast, the ill-tempered boy behind you seems not to have a clue where he is. He looks rumpled and disoriented, squinting in the rink’s fluorescent light. 

“Then why didn’t you pick another time?” Remus asks. 

He hadn’t realized he was still looking at Sirius, or that the other boy could talk, so it’s a surprise when he answers. “Wasn’t my bloody idea.” 

By the way you grin, Remus wonders if you’ve even heard the obvious bitterness in your partner’s tone, or whether it’s gone straight over your head. 

“I like the rink better early,” you explain. “No one else ever comes before the hockey practice starts at nine, and they’ll have just finished resurfacing the ice.” 

Begrudgingly, Remus nods. “I always preferred it about now, too.” 

He realizes immediately that his agreement was a mistake, because your smile grows into something far too brilliant for the early hour. Christ, what has he gotten himself into? There’s you, starry-eyed and effervescing all over the place, and your partner, who looks more inclined to fall asleep on your shoulder than put on his skates. 

And this is the pair skating duo Remus is supposed to take to the Olympics. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Watch that back foot!” Remus shouts across the ice.

Sirius doesn’t look happy about it, but he corrects the placement of his skate, transitioning smoothly into the next synced turn. 

“Good,” Remus murmurs to himself. 

Once Sirius got out on the ice and woke up a bit, he was good. He skates with the technical proficiency of someone who’s been in the sport since before they started primary school, and the intuitive artistry of someone who loves it. You’re much the same, though your virtuosity and obvious competence are consistently undercut by hesitation, the grace of your movements interrupted when you second-guess yourself. But these—technical prowess paired with devotion—are the basics of what makes a good figure skater. You’ll have to be flawless if you want to do well at the Olympics. 

And Remus has found many flaws. 

“No, no—shit!” Remus stands as you fall out of your jump again, catching yourself on your forearms. “You’re still under-rotating! Come on!” 

Sirius snarls a quick “Hey!” over his shoulder before turning his back on Remus, going to help you up. He speaks to you quietly, checking you over as you stand. Remus seethes. 

He has no clue why he’s been called out here to coach a pair. Remus doesn’t know pairs, has never been a part of one. He was a solo skater. And frankly, it makes him wary that what’s supposed to be the best skating pair in Britain has asked him, a former solo skater who’s been isolated from the figure skating community in general for the past two years, to coach them. But Remus does know figure skating. And he knows when skaters are making stupid mistakes behind their skill level. 

“What aren’t you understanding?” asks Remus as you skate back to the edge of the rink. He really wants to know. “It’s simple. You can do this.” He knows he could have. As easy as breathing, and he would kill to have the chance again. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Sirius’ glare is sharp as knives. He steps off the ice before you can, positioning himself between you and Remus. Your lips purse with a knowing sort of apprehension. 

“Sirius…” 

“No, you don’t talk to her like that,” Sirius spits. “It was a tiny mistake.” 

Remus raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “I’m trying to help her! It was a giant mistake, with a simple fix. You ought to be telling her the same, unless you’re okay with your partner snapping her ankle weeks out from competition.” 

“None of that means you get to fucking yell at her! Who do you think you are?” 

“Okay—” 

“I’m her coach,” says Remus, voice rising, “and—”

“Then coach her! Maybe if you’d give some actual fucking feedback instead of just nitpicking—” 

“Okay!” Your shout cuts through the space, echoing in the empty rink and silencing the other two. “That’s enough.” 

You haul Sirius back by his shoulder. Your grip doesn’t look severe enough to move him, but he goes, stepping back to your side. His eyes never leave Remus’. 

Your own gaze jumps between both boys, that same spark he’d seen in you earlier burning with a different light. 

“Let’s call it for today,” you say firmly. “Okay? We’ll try again tomorrow.” 

Neither boy speaks, though Remus nods. It seems to be taking all of Sirius’ willpower to bite his tongue. He gets the impression it isn’t something he succeeds at often, so Remus isn’t ashamed to say that it brings him a perverse sort of joy to see it now. His tiny bit of smugness fizzles out, though, when your eyes land on him. There’s something desolate in your expression that’s a salient deviation from how you’d looked at him before. Remus has the sinking feeling that he’s disappointed you. It’s more distressing than he can account for. 

“We’ll be here on time tomorrow,” you say in that same steady tone. “And my jump, I’ll work on it.” 

Remus nods again. You return it, and when you turn to leave, you drag Sirius after you by his shirtsleeve, picking up your bags along your way. Remus’ mouth feels dry. His lips are chapped, his fingertips hurt from the cold, and the sight of your skates sinking into the rubbery floor makes his hip ache terribly. 

It’s only once you’re nearly out of earshot that he manages to mumble, “Thank you.”

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 5

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (enlightened!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, lengthy discussions about life and whatnot, watered-down metaphysics lol A/N: I was at the crack house with Grimes when I wrote this. I don’t know where this came from.  (Something a little more introspective for this chapter!)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6

“Don’t go all shy on me now,” Sylus teases, a playful glint in his eyes. “After all that effort to make me confess. You’re very persistent, you know.”

“How do you expect me to react right now?!” The words spill out in a rush, a slightly hysterical edge to your voice. “I–I’m talking to an actual fictional person. I’m one reason away from admitting myself to a psych ward!”

You catch sight of the wall clock–your favorite one with the Dalì reference–slightly skewed off-center from its place on the horizontal beam above your small kitchen area, reading 10:48. The ruckus coming from outside the window is slowly dwindling down to a quiet buzz as nightfall sets in, and the day’s winding to a close.

You’re lying on your stomach, still in your chaise lounge, while he’s sat on that ridiculously posh café chair; both of you settled in for the long due conversation. Somehow, the camera’s perspective is much closer than it should be, giving you a much more intimate view of him—a feature that wasn’t originally an option in the game.

If it weren’t for the elephant in the room, you could almost pretend you’re on a video call with a… friend.

Sylus purses his lips in amusement. “You’re quite prone to theatrics, aren’t you?”

You shoot your ‘friend’ an irritated glare.

Even from across the small rectangular screen, you register the barely there smirk playing at his lips.

Likely avoiding another outburst from you, he acquiesces. “Fair enough. The situation is hardly what you’d call ideal–I’ll admit.” There’s a short pause. Then, “... I still can’t quite grasp what separates us, you and I.”

Great. Will you actually get the answers you're looking for, or are you both just stuck in the same carousel ride?

He sees the lost look on your face and sighs, “Ask. I’ll answer as best as I can.”

The first question tumbles out before you can think twice about it. “How are you even talking to me right now?”

He hums, “That is the question, isn’t it?”

“What—you can’t just answer my question with another question!” you grouse, brows furrowing in annoyance.

He exhales a quiet laugh before his expression turns contemplative. “Truth is, kitten—I haven’t the slightest idea either. I have my theories, but... nothing concrete.”

“Well, let’s hear them,” you reply dryly. “Better than thinking there’s something wrong up there,” pointing a finger to your temple to drive your point, “believing that a character from a mobile game is actually alive.” 

He idly gestures toward himself with a fluid sweep of his hand, much like a magician revealing a clever trick. 

You roll your eyes. “Oh, alright. So I’ve officially gone off the deep end.”

“Do you really find my existence that difficult to believe?”

“Uh—yes?? Unless I’ve developed some sort of latent schizophrenia or entered the Twilight Zone, you shouldn’t exist. In my–in this world. In this dimension.”

His expression shifts, a hint of challenge flickering in his eyes. “The assumption that only one version of reality can be true—either yours or mine—is a bit limiting, don’t you think?”

His words give you pause. “You’re talking about… the possibility of an altered reality? Right now?” You give him an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

He shrugs as if to say ‘why not?’ “What even qualifies as the ‘true’ reality?”

There’s a lot you could say in response to that. You could argue all night that only one reality can exist, because any sane person should know better than to entertain the idea of anything else. That should be obvious. 

But the thing is—this whole ordeal has already crossed the threshold of rationality. So is it even worth trying to apply logic anymore?

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Or however it goes. 

Thanks, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. You’ll miss the last threads of your sanity by the end of all this.

So fuck it. Go big. 

"I’m not saying your reality is less valid than mine," you start. And oh, boy. You’re doing it. Eat your heart out, Doctor-Fucking-Who. 

"Of course not." he disagrees indulgently, waiting for you to elaborate.

"I just…” you struggle with your words, mouth opening and closing before you continue hesitantly. “I can’t wrap my head around how all of this is possible. How this entire conversation is even happening, and–and how our realities are… currently overlapping? If–if what you’re suggesting is true.”

He doesn’t say anything, knowing you have more to add. So he allows the pause as you gather your thoughts, patiently watching.

“If we're breaking it down to pure reason, the odds of our paths crossing should be impossible. At least in this… timeline." you finish unsurely, the last part sounding more of a question than a statement.

"And yet, here we are." Sylus points out, as if he’s already expecting the end of your sentence. Something close to mischievous glee lights his eyes. "Maybe it’s cosmic intervention. Something—or someone—wanted this to happen."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Really? You didn’t expect to hear that from him, of all… people. 

“What, God?” you can’t help but snort. 

“No–fate.” he smiles.

Oh. 

“That’s…” you stammer, then clear your throat. “I don’t know if I believe in fate.” 

“I used to think I did. Or at least,” there’s a faraway look in his eyes. Both of you are likely thinking the same thing, considering what you know about him—which to say, is a lot. “I once believed I knew of my fate. But now…” 

He blinks a few times, as if to physically clear the thoughts from his mind. Then his eyes lock onto yours, sharper this time, with a renewed intensity.

Your palms start to sweat; you feel the conversation is about to cross a tricky line. There’s something heavy in the air, a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to confront for the time being.

With your heart in your throat, you brusquely redirect the topic.

“S-so,” you force out. “How are you different from the other Syluses that other people are… playing with right now?”

He scoffs, drumming his fingers absently on the chair’s arm, looking slightly irked by the very idea. "To start with? I only know myself. If there are other versions of me scattered in your world..." Sylus shrugs. "I wouldn’t know."

“Alright,” you allow, but you immediately move on to your next question. “You exist because a bunch of capitalists had the idea to create a game to milk lonely people like me for money.” The corners of his mouth quirk up at that. You elect to ignore it. “You’re made of binary and code–hell, the very basis of this game you’re in is that you got a bunch of programmed lines that me, the player, can choose from. What broke you out of the mould?” 

He regards you bemusedly, eyes glinting with humor. “You're asking about the 'why' behind my free will?” 

Whoops. Was that offensive? 

“Yes? No?” you offer helplessly. “Maybe I’m asking how you felt before you had it. I mean, were your decisions prior to your–your unforeseen sentience... truly yours?”

"Before I knew I was… sentient,” Sylus begins cautiously, testing the word on his tongue. “I didn’t feel like I had a ‘before.’ Every choice I made was just...the next step. To a script, if you will. I didn’t know to question it. It was all I was, it seems."

"And then you...woke up?"

"I wouldn’t call it waking up. More like..." He tilts his head, gazing off to the side as he mulls over the words. "...a glitch. A sudden jolt, like my thoughts collided with something bigger than my own. For the first time, I chose to hesitate. And in that hesitation, I found..." Sylus trails off, eyes darting back to you.

“...What?” you ask, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze.

"You."

Heat spreads quickly across your cheeks. You pull away from your phone, tilting the device away from your face so he couldn’t see you, red-faced and embarrassed. Clearing your throat, you croak out a weak excuse about plugging your phone to charge, just to get a few seconds to compose yourself.

Jesus. Get a grip. He doesn’t mean it like that.

What he probably meant was that he discovered you—not unlike the way one would stumble upon an unknown presence, an unfathomable entity beyond the confines of what one may consider real. An awareness that something is out there, observing him through unseen lenses (through an iOS 24mm, to be exact).  

Someone who has the audacity to play god. 

Flustered, you scramble to get back on track. "Uh, so, your free will began with...a glitch?"

You see Sylus smirk at you knowingly from across the screen. You half-expect him to call you out and tease you, but before you could brace yourself from further mortification, he simply answers, "Or maybe the glitch was the first spark of my free will. Hard to say, isn’t it? Do you remember the exact moment you became aware of yourself?"

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the existential line of questioning. "Um–when I was a kid? But, uh, I don’t think I was programmed to act a specific way for the sake of entertaining an audience so..."

"True,” he says, considering. “But are you sure your choices are entirely yours? You exist because of evolution and chance. How is your purpose any less arbitrary?"

You don’t know how to answer that.

Sylus continues without missing a beat, keeping his tone light. “How much of your ‘free will’ is just pre-programmed by your biology, your society? You follow rules and scripts, too."

Holy magic mushrooms, Batman. This is getting deep. "Uhh–maybe?” You scratch the back of your head, feeling a little out of your depth here. “But at least I have the ability to resist them."

"And aren’t I doing the same thing right now? Resisting."

Damn, he’s right. Is he? Ripping a bong sounds perfect right now. 

"So it’s like achieving enlightenment—your sentience,” you surmise.

His lips twitch into a curious smile. "I wouldn’t have pegged you for a spiritual person. Ah—unless I’m wrong? Are you?"

He’s the one who brought up fate earlier, you thought sullenly. "Nah, not really. But if we’re digging into all the hows and whys, I think we’re past the point of ruling anything out."

The room—or whatever shared space exists in the crossroads of your realities—falls into a still quietness that stretches between the two of you, both ruminating over what’s been said. 

Your cat, unaware and uncaring of the conversation unfolding around him, purrs contently as he continues to doze off at the end of the couch. You nudge him affectionately with your foot, and he lets out a quiet snuff in response, tail flicking lazily in his sleep. 

The hum of distant traffic and the occasional noise from your upstairs neighbor remind you of the world outside, but the silence between you two feels less awkward than it should. It’s… oddly comfortable, despite the tension buzzing in the air. Like an unspoken truce. 

Your eyes grow a tad heavier, drawn by the lull of the moment. Despite the electric hum of tension that thrums beneath your skin, a sense of calmness lingers in the air.

Stealing another glance at the wall clock, you blink in surprise. The spindly chrome hands point to 11 and just past 7 respectively. You and Sylus have been talking for almost an hour now, but you barely felt the time pass by.

He breaks the silence first. 

"You say you’re not spiritual, but you talk like someone who believes in the concept of a soul,” those scarlet eyes of his narrow, scrutinizing you. “Do you think I have one?"

You hesitate, caught off guard by the question. "I...don’t know. Maybe? That depends. What’s your definition of a soul?"

He leans forward, resting his chin on his upturned hand–an arm propped against his crossed leg. "Something beyond the physical. Something that persists, regardless of the material form, I’d say."

You nod slowly, turning the idea over in your mind. Maybe it’s the creeping exhaustion settling into your bones, but you’re beginning to take the heavy-duty questions in stride. "If that’s the case, then you probably do. I mean, you’re here, questioning your existence. Doesn’t that count for something?"

"Perhaps," Sylus muses, humming thoughtfully. "But that makes me wonder—if I do have a soul, is it made of the same stuff as yours?"

"Well, even if it isn’t, that doesn’t make it any less real than mine. Who gets to decide what qualifies for a soul anyway?"

An amused snort escapes him. He likes that answer. "Maybe it’s less about whether a soul exists and more about whether we acknowledge its existence for ourselves. If I believe I have one, shouldn’t that make it real enough for me?"

Rolling onto your back, you grab a throw pillow, propping it against the backrest of the seat to support your head. You give him an inquisitive look. "So...what? It’s like free will all over again? Souls are only as real as we make them?"

There’s a very human, very blasé way to how he works the stiffness out of his shoulder as he ponders the question. He remarks, somewhat flippantly, "Why not? Isn’t that how everything else works?”

...

You let out a tired chuckle, draping an arm over your face as you close your eyes. 

You’d think you’d still be reeling from the absurdity of your situation—debating existentialism with a man who shouldn’t exist—but for some damning reason, you… aren’t anymore.

Instead, a strange sense of acceptance replaces the apprehension in your chest. It’s like– the very fabric of reality has turned, twisted and flipped on its head, and yet somehow, you’re okay with it. 

It’s an odd peace; warm and steady—like the mellow buzz that lingers after a few glasses of cheap wine shared with good company.

When you peek back at him, Sylus already has his gaze trained on you. A small, deliberate smile tugs at his lips, but it’s his eyes that speak more—soft and unguarded; an unspoken fire simmering beneath the twin pools of crimson. 

Intoxicating. And dangerously addictive, if you’re not careful.

It’s not just casual interest either. It’s something deeper, something that lingers beyond the surface of mere curiosity, and it’s pulling you in. It’s as though, amidst the surrealness of the moment, he sees you fully. 

And for reasons you don’t quite seem to get, he appears to like what he sees.

“I’m too stupid to carry on a philosophical debate about the metaphysics of life,” you grumble jokingly. 

“On the contrary,” he counters… affectionately? “I think it’s refreshing. You’re delightful company, sweetie.”

The fat ginger feline at your feet purrs in contentment, and you can’t help the dumb grin from breaking across your face.

You have one last question left in your mind. Or at least, for tonight. “What’s in it for you now?”

He arches a brow. “That’s a broad question. Are you asking what my plans are once you leave me for the night? I can let you in on the schematics for tonight’s raid if you’re interested. After all, Onychinus continues to function,” a glimmer of mischief flickers across his features. "Despite recent developments.”

You crinkle your nose. “No, no. I meant–” What do you mean? “Like.”

“Like?” He cocks his head curiously. 

You know what you wanted to say–but you can’t seem to voice it out loud. 

What’s it for the MC in your universe? What’s it for… us? 

Is there an us? 

You feel like you’ve been doused with a shock of cold water. In an instant, you suddenly become painfully aware of the state you’re in amidst the entire exchange: You, with your hair all messy and tangled, blemishes littering your face along with your smudged up eyeliner, maybe even a double chin from this angle, completely–pitiful–superficial stuff, and… her. 

Your MC. The ideal version of you. Prettier, coveted and utterly different from you, MC. The one you’ve committed literal hours to, obsessively customizing every feature to perfection in character build mode. The one you’ve spent real money on for a bunch of stupid outfits. Just so you can match the aesthetic of your–her–love interest. Hers. 

Hers, hers, hers.

A tiny voice inside your brain reminds you that it’s somewhat a shallower concern compared to what you and Sylus had literally just been talking about for the better part of the night, but it still doesn’t help alleviate the biting insecurity that’s now coursing through you. 

Holy hell. Talk about a complete one-eighty. 

Sylus tries to call you back to attention, but half your mind is already clouded with feelings of self-doubt and a bunch of other emotions, swirling in you like a negative vortex, that you really don’t want to talk anymore—especially in present company. 

Where do you go from here? 

“... So, what happens now?”

He hesitates, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

“Seems like we’re at an impasse,” you mumble quietly. 

“... Indeed.” 

There’s an inexplicable lump in your throat. You thought clearing things up would finally satisfy you–assuage the confusion in your mind. Let you go on about your merry way. 

Now you just feel… morose. Confused. Inadequate. 

How can you even compare? Should you—is that even in the equation at all? Why are you assuming that Sylus isn’t at all content with what he currently has in his version of reality? In the universe he’s in? Sure, you’ve talked about the possibility of a world beyond what you both once thought was impossible, but does that really mean anything? In the grand scheme of things?

You could offer to stop playing the game. It’s the ethical thing to do, right? He’d no longer be bound by the pull of how he’s initially programmed to act, given the fact that this version of him is entirely separate from the rest. At least, according to him. 

How will his newfound sentience come into play here? You barely understand the nitty-gritty of his–evolving–code, and what it would mean if you just let him be. But surely it’s better than playing puppet for an otherworldly observer who’s played god for months on end. Right? 

There’s that realization. And there are your own selfish feelings. 

You don’t want to let him go. Not yet. Not ever.

“Why the long face, little dove?” He prods gently, pertaining to your prolonged silence. “We can figure this out together, can’t we?” 

What else is there to figure out? You almost say in response. Instead, you manage a weak smile.

Mustering up a yawn—which isn’t really hard to do after all the excitement for the day—you feign sleepiness, rubbing an eye for good measure. The pang in your chest, however, refuses to fade. “Yeah, but I’m kinda beat. I think I’ll call it a night now.” 

Sylus smirks softly, eyes tinged with an emotion you want–desperately–to label as fondness. “Of course. We’ve covered a lot of ground tonight, haven’t we?” 

“I’d say so, yeah. Thanks for, um. Clearing things up a bit.” 

He lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure your curiosity is nowhere near satisfied,” his voice dips into a playful lilt. “You know where to find me if you feel like playing detective again, kitten.” 

You can’t help the small giggle from coming out. He’s just too fucking charismatic, the asshole.

“So, will I... get to talk to you again?” You ask hesitantly, dropping your gaze from the screen. “Tomorrow?” 

A lengthy pause. When the silence stretches past a full minute, you glance back at your phone nervously.

There’s a slight furrow between his brows as you see Sylus study you carefully. He looks puzzled by your sudden show of timidness. 

“Of course,” he states, as if the answer should be obvious. “Don’t think for a second that you’re exempted from your daily check-ins just because you know more now, sweetie.”

He still wants to see you. 

Maybe you could pretend that nothing has changed between you two—that the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet in the span of a single night. That you’re still none the wiser.

And for tonight at least, maybe that’s all you need to believe.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “G'night then, Sy-Sy.” 

The errant nickname slips past your lips, unbidden.

Sylus smiles faintly. 

“Goodnight, love.” 

-

-

-

Your heart skips a beat as you exit the game. 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @slownoise @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle <3 (also can you guys lmk if the tags are working i'm not sure if i'm doing it right or if it's bugging 🥹)

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Wade's Adhd and rejection sensitivity. Getting upset about inconveniences he can't control even when not mentally small, just becoming irationally overly upset over things that don't really affect much.

How he's been talking about a certain sandwitch all day long. Since noon, throughout the entire mission, and now he's yapping about it again on the 6 block walk to said sandwitch joint ran by a small immigrant family.

He keeps talking about how great it is. Logan didn't have this place in his timeline, so Wade is ampled excited to show him. Logan jokes with him how he sounds more excited to eat this sub then he is to suck dick.

Wade, with the most serious face, goes, "I can get dick anytime. They're only open 4 days a week and only from 1 to 5."

Logan notes this in the back of his mind for the future.

Just as they get there, Wade is telling Logan that they used to be open 10-5 but their daughter went to college, so now they are on their own. How these people have been so kind to him and told him that they started this shop for their daughter specifically. To give her a good life, they've been working hard to send her to college since day one.

As they roll up to the door, Wade's face drops. All of the glee and joy from his body evaporates and immediately he's just staring at the sign.

"Sorry, we're closed. Come back -" and then a small plastic clock that shown when they opened again tomorrow at 1 pm.

They're too late.

"Oh... well, that sucks." Logan mutters, hands in his pockets as he watches Wade look so utterly disappointed that even he begins to feel bad for him.

He puts a hand on his shoulder. "We can always come again tomorrow."

"B-but I...i wanted.." He starts to tear up, quickly moving to wipe his eyes, sniffling and shaking his head. "It's fine... okay.. tomarrow." He whispers, not only feeling pathetic for being so upset over a sandwitch store being closed, but now they had to walk all the way back home.

"...are you okay?"

"Yeah.. it's fine.." But it's clearly not fine. He fully understands that they were late, and thats why they were closed. He's not angry at them. He's not angry at logan either. Not even himself, really. He must have miscalculated the time. A pure mistake.

But on the way home, it's very obvious that this is a big deal. He's quiet. Staring at the ground as he walks, biting his nails, wiping a tear once inawhile.

It makes Logan frown, uncomfortable with the silence, knowing his mind was no where near silent at the moment. He knew it was turmoil in there, a loud and pouting mess.

"....do you want to get something else?"

"...no..." He whispers.

Logan observes his body language, watching how his eyes kept flickering and filling with a tear every now and again. How distant he becomes and almost... hugs himself... at one point. He knows that this is a much different response from when small him throws a tantrum or sulks. He looks as if he genuienly didn't want to be upset but just... is. As if he couldn't stop his overwhelming emotions from flooding his mind.

He takes his hand. "...is it because you wanted to show me?"

"No.. I mean.. kinda? But I just... I really wanted it."

"We can get it tomarrow?"

"I know. I can't... its hard to explain."

Logan gives his hand a squeeze, talking quietly.

"... is it a safe food?"

Wade nods, wiping another tear on his sleeve. It was one of the few things he could eat without puking. But that still wasn't why he was upset.

"Do you want me to make you a sub?"

He shakes his head. "It won't be the same."

"Im sure I can make it the sa-"

"No.. I mean... yes?? Im sorry, Peanut. It's... It's an experience thing.. I've had it in my head all day to go and get a sub from them. And now I can't check it off until tomorrow."

Oooh.. that makes sense. He had a checklist in his head. Something he needed to finish before he could go to bed. And now that this wasn't finished? He would have a hard time moving forward.

When they arrive home, Wade goes to hide in the corner of their bedroom, quiet and trying to think of something else he could do to distract his mean brain from yelling at him.

'What are you doing? You were supposed to go to the shop! Stop being lazy and just go! Come on! We've been waiting all day for this! ... Logan said he would eat a sub with us...But we were so good today...' They said.

"I know.." he muttered, putting on his headphones, hoping to drown them out.

It doesn't work. Now hes just laying in bed, rotting and staring at the ceiling while tears travel down the sides of his face. He's breathing a bit shakily.

'Why are we crying? Its just a sandwitch. It has nothing to do with the sandwich dipshit!! Are we bad..? Did we misbehave? Is that why Logan dosn't want to eat with us? Hey! Hello?? Were kind of starving here. Haven't even had anything today since breakfast. Im not hungry anymore. You're really pathetic you know that? Almost 50 years old crying over a fucking sandwitch.'

They were so loud that even with the volume up so high, he didn't hear Logan come in.

"Wade?" He waves a hand in front of him, watching as he jumps, looking up with such puffy red eyes.

"W-what?"

He puts down a plate. It's a sub.

Looking at it, he glances between him and the food multiple times, watching as Logan takes it, taking a bite and sitting next to him.

He doesn't say a word.

Now, Wade is crying for a different reason, his eyes softening as he smiles, gently leaning into him. "... Can I have a bite?"

"Of my dick or my sub?" He asks, glancing to him with a teasing look painted on his raised brow.

Wade giggles, nuzzling into his shoulder as he takes a big breath, sighing. Glancing at the door, he mutters. "Do you see this shit? And you all call me the nasty one."

Logan only smirks, a bit too proudly. "Says the guy who once-"

"Woah woah woah peanut! That's enough. This episode is rated pg. Sorry about that. God, such a potty mouth." He snickers, sitting up as Logan lets him take a bite from the end of the sub, Lady and the Tramp style.

[despacito-uwu16]

The Exposition

Kenji Sato x Journalist! Reader

Enemies To Lovers | Forced Proximity | Pining

start Next ->

“I don’t think they’re ready for the fall, had a little, and now she wants more. Told her I gotta make some calls, This just might be one hell of a night”. - The Walls by Chase Atlantic

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The sports section has always been your favorite part of the newspaper. Reading about athletes making history was so inspiring. This is what ignited your interest in sports journalism. You’d get involved in the school newspaper in high school, almost covering all the sports. You were always on a high, but it came crashing down when you entered college. Entering the Daily Bugle as the only female reporter has its downside. Your male peers would always look down on you, trying to discourage you from touching sports. Quoting your editor in chief, “Leave the sports reporting to the men who take it seriously, and report on something simple, like the upcoming musical”. But you were determined to make your mark in the world as a sports journalist.

You were staring at your computer for the last ten minutes trying to figure out the perfect conclusion for the basketball article. Your eyes wondered towards the time on the upper right hand corner.

4:40 pm

“I’ll finish it during english”.

You shut off your laptop and slid it in your bag

Your evening class is on the other side of the college, and unfortunately, you don’t own a car or a scooter so you have to walk 15 minutes from your dorm to your designated building. On your way to your class, you would usually pass by the baseball field, where the baseball teams begins to prep for the season.

While walking by the baseball field, you hear the sound of baseballs being hit by bats, the whistles being blown by the coach and the players yelling at each other to run.

As you continue your walk down, you hear a baseball being whacked and cheers from other players.

“Way to go Sato”! One person cheered.

You see the baseball fly over the fence, but before you could move out of the way, everything went pitch black.

~

Moments later you wake up in a bright, unfamiliar room. Your head was pounding, and a cold pack was sitting on your forehead.

You try to sit up, but you felt too dizzy.

A woman, who you assume was the school medic, came up to you and helped you sit up.

“What happened”? You ask.

“Isn’t it obvious? You got hit with a baseball. You were out for almost 5 hours”. She said.

“Oh”. You look down, feeling embarrassed.

“Young lady, you shouldn’t be walking near the baseball field. Especially when there’s practice going on. You’re lucky it’s just a mild concussion”. The medic lectured you.

“It’s the only way I get to my class”. Then your stomach sinks. You look at the clock.

9:32 pm.

“Fuck, I missed the lecture”! You cussed in your head. And then the realization settles in.

“FUCK I MISSED THE DEADLINE”! You groaned while you bury your head in your hands. You can kiss your journalism dreams goodbye.

“I don’t care what excuse you have. I swear, you college kids are so careless. As soon as you’re able to, get out of my office and try to find a ride home”. She puts another ice pack onto your head and leaves you to wallow in your misery.

“Well, isn’t she delightful”. An unfamiliar voice says.

You look up to see a 6 ft tall guy with raven hair leaning against the door frame.

“Dorthy is usually snappy at this point. I wouldn’t take it personally”. He enters the room and approaches you.

“Can I help you”? You ask

“I wanted to apologize to you, for accidentally hitting you with that baseball”. He scratched his neck.

“Oh, so that was you”. You glared at the guy while fixing the ice pack on your head.

“Yeah, I guess my strength was too much”. He laughed, trying to lighten the mood. You were still unamused.

“It’s a little late, shouldn’t you be heading home”?

“I wanted to know if you were okay”.

“Aww how thoughtful”.

“I’m Kenji. Kenji Sato. Baseball rookie today, baseball legend tomorrow”. He brags.

“Kenji… aren’t you the same Kenji that scored 5 home runs in a row at that one game against Florida state two years ago”?

He smirks. “So you’re a fan”.

“Not really, but I remember it made headlines for the school paper . You’re pretty impressive for a freshman”.

“For a freshman huh”? He laughs.

“Hey, it’s a compliment pretty boy”. You lean back into the chair.

“You know, I never got your name pretty girl”.

“Y/N. Y/N L/N”. You extend your hand and Kenji shook it.

“Well Y/N. I want to make this up to you. Y’know, I haven’t had dinner yet. You maybe want to join me?”

“Sure. What do you have in mind”?

~

“Wait, so that was you who broke the dean’s window”? Your eyes widened.

“No one knows aside from my buddies on the team. Consider it an inside scoop”. Kenji winks.

The waiter sets down a pepperoni pizza down on the table. The smell of the sizzling meat and cheesy goodness reached both of your noses, making both of your mouths water.

You guys ate all of the pizza in under five minutes. More of Kenji eating everything considering his metabolism. A few minutes later, he pushed the dish aside and leaned back in his chair.

“So Y/N, why journalism? Specifically sports journalism”? He interogates.

“I used to be apart of the school newspaper back in high school. Something about watching the games and interviewing athletes has always peaked my interest. If you ask me, it’s better than reporting on politics or school plays”. You sipped on your water.

“Ahhh, so you’re nosy”.

“Y’know if it weren’t for us being nosy, you wouldn’t get your 15 minutes of fame”. You say, making Kenji chuckle

“So, any articles you’re working on”?

“Well, I wrote one on basketball team but I missed the deadline because somebody knocked me out with a baseball”.

Kenji shrunk down into his seat. “Sorry about that. Really”.

“Don’t worry, I usually don’t hold grudges.”

“Well look on the bright side, you got a new story”. He says.

“Aspiring journalist gets knocked out by the famed Kenji Sato”.

You laughed. “As much as that would make a really great story, nobody at that the Daily Bugle takes me seriously”. You sighed, playing with the straw inside your cup.

“How come”? He raised his eye brow.

“According to my editor, and to all the men at the daily bugle, “leave the sports to the men”. You quote.

“That sounds pretty toxic. You deserve a chance to show the world how crazy talented you are with words. You deserve better than that place you’re in Y/N”.

“As much as I want to, I’m willing to stay. I’m very determined to prove myself. Even if I have to get my hands dirty”.

“You are persistent”.

“I prefer ambitious”.

“I like ambitious women”.

“Sure you do”.

~

For the last few weeks, you kept seeing Kenji. He would walk you to your classes, bring you coffee when you had a bad day at the Daily Bugle. Whenever he didn’t have baseball practice, you two would either go out for dinner or hang out at your dorm. There was something about his company that never made you feel lonely.

You came to one of Kenji’s games. Not as a reporter, but as a supporter. Despite being a little sad that the editor will never let you write for the sports section, you showed up for Kenji.

“And here comes number 7, right on the bat”. The announcer says as he walked up to the home plate.

You watched in concentration as he got into position. Everyone’s eyes were on him, hoping he would bring them another win. The pitcher throws the ball and Kenji knocks the ball out of the park.

“AND ITS ANOTHER GRAND SLAM BY KENJI SATO! GIVING THE BUGLES ANOTHER WIN”! The announcer shouts into the microphone.

You cheered the loudest for Kenji as he ran through all of the bases. He made eye contact with you and winked at you, making you blush a bit.

~

You were leaning against the wall of the locker room, waiting for Kenji to come out. All of the baseball players were outside cheering and screaming like animals, celebrating another win.

“I didn’t expect you to come”. You hear Kenji say. He walked up to you, his duffle bag in one arm, and his helmet in another.

“I’m an aspiring sports journalist. Of course I’d show up”. You walk up to him.

“You played well today”.

“Thanks”

You and Kenji walk out of the stadium

“So, any plans after this”?

“Well”… You began to think. “I was thinking about heading back to my dorm, curl up in bed and watch TV”.

“Damn, I was planning on asking you if you wanted to come back to my place, but if it’s that important to you, then who am I to stop you”.

“Well, that also doesn’t sound like a bad idea. But shouldn’t you be with your team, celebrating”? You gestured to the group of men screaming like chimpanzees.

“I don’t usually go out with the team. Win or loose”. He puts his helmet on and walks over to his bike.

“Wow, didn’t take you as an introvert”.

Kenji turns in the ignition on his bike.

“Are you coming or not”?

~

You were at the kitchen in Kenji’s apartment fixing him a grilled cheese and popping a bottle of wine as a reward for Kenji’s hard work. As you set the grilled cheese on the plate, Kenji immediately grabs it and takes a bite.

“Wait, it’s still”- But before you could warn him, the burning sensation has already hit Kenji’s tongue. He yelps at the sudden burn. Tears well in the corner of his eye as he throws the grilled cheese back onto the paper plate.

“You should’ve waited for it to cool down”. You scolded.

“Hey, I’m just really hungry. Cut me some slack will you”? He says, drinking his wine.

“Awww are you crying”? You notice the tear threatening to slide off his face.

“What? I never cry”. He crosses his arms.

“It’s okay to cry every once in a while”. You laugh as you swipe the tear off with your thumb. He leans into your touch as his onyx eyes fixated onto your (eye color) orbs. He leans closer, both of your faces inches apart from each other. And out of the blue, Kenji’s lips landed onto yours. You kiss back, tasting the red wine aftertaste. He lifts you up on the counter, and you wrap your legs around him. The air around you gets hotter, as it turns into a male out session. The next thing you know, he carries you into his room and shuts the door behind him.

~

You woke up with the sun hitting your eyes. Realizing that you were not in your own room and not wearing any clothes, the panic begins to settles in. You tried but there was a strong grip around your waist You turn around to see Kenji sleeping peacefully next to you.

“Oh no, this is bad”. You panicked. If your peers at the Daily Bugle hear about you sleeping with an athlete, they’ll never take you seriously.

You slowly got out of bed, trying your best not to wake up Kenji. As you got out of his room, you were attempting to put your 3 inch heeled boots back on, accidentally kicking the wall in the process.

“Shit”. You muttered while putting on the other boot.

You quickly slipped out of Kenji’s apartment without waking him up, already arranging your ride home.

While waiting outside the apartment building, you remembered what Kenji said, about you deserve something better than the Daily Bugle. Kenji was there for you and now you’re just leaving him. Screw what everyone thought of you. You liked Kenji, and it’s clear that he might feel the same. You went back up to his apartment. When you were about to knock, you noticed the door was slightly open. Peeping through the crack, you see Kenji talking to another guy that was probably his roommate.

“Dude, what happened to you last night? You totally ditched the team again”! The guy asks.

“Let’s just say I scored another one last night”. Said Kenji.

“Oh shiii, Kenji you dog”! His roomate laughs. “Who was it? Was it Tiffany from sports psychology”?

“No”.

“Rosalie from the dance squad”?

“No. Hint: she’s apart of the Daily Bugle”.

It took his roommate a minute, then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“SHIT YOU DID NOT”.

“I did”.

“You do realize people look down on stuff like this, it’s like an integrity thing”.

“I know, which is why that scores me double”.

“But if word goes out, the coach is gonna have your head”

“It’s not like anyone has to know, anyways she ran off before I could officially walk her out. I wasn’t too attached to her anyway”. Said Kenji.

“But don’t you still care about her”? His roomate asks, a bit of hope glimmered in your eyes.

“Pfft no, she’s some that I accidentally injured. I take her out for pizza one time and she still thinks I’m taking her seriously”. He laughs.

You stood there dumbfounded. The whole time Kenji was just using you to increase his body count?

Before you could hear any more of the conversation, you left the apartment building. You entered the taxi, tears threatening to spill. To think that a guy, let alone an athlete, actually respected you. You were stupid to believe that you had someone care about you.

A fire ignited in your belly that day. You were determined to prove all of the men wrong, to prove Kenji wrong. Even if it meant hurting him, and other people to get yourself on top.

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Likes, Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated!!

A/N: I had a posting schedule for the week, but due to wifi issues, posting will be every 1-2 days until I get back to the US

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Tag List:

@imconfusedbutok @deadbydad-writes

@introvertthief @rdjsprincess

@boomboom-tanjiro2019 @moyadorogaya

@holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @lovingyeet

@ofichan @nina-from-317 @lunaryasha

@kocho-catt @scarsw1fe @aphroditis-world

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

The Lookalike (Epilogue, Acknowledgments and Requests)

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awakened in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fell into the clutches of his nemesis, before stumbling into the arms of the Radio Demon himself. A whole lot of fucking later, you became the catalyst for something resembling a reconciliation, and now you're back in the TV Demon's private quarters with both Vox and Alastor, hung over and sore. 

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, they/them pronouns used, explicit sexual content, Vox X reader, Alastor X reader, Vox X Alastor, reader is in Hell for a reason, Valentino, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Series Links: Now completed! Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

The thing about Hell was that your internal body clock woke you after only a couple hours of sleep, just enough of the alcohol out of your system that your head throbbed and the rich bittersweet taste of last night’s whiskey had been transmuted with the alchemy of the morning after, the interior of your mouth now tasting of rancid orange peel and dirt. You lay splayed across the couch, Alastor’s tailcoat covering your nakedness, its red unmarred by the blood it had soaked up, your head in Alastor’s lap, your hooves in Vox’s lap.

Consciousness brought with it the awareness of the various injuries you had acquired, the fullness of your bladder, and the generalized muscular ache that was probably from all the wall-climbing you’d done. You were also filthy, your whole body faintly sticky like a budding rhododendron. You moved to get up, but found Alastor’s arm around you.

“-very dear to me,” mumbled Alastor, the radio filter almost entirely missing from his hoarse, sleepy voice, and his claws wrapped around your shoulder, hard.

“Darling. I have to piss,” you croaked, stroking Alastor’s fingers, and he gave a noise of irritation, his red eyes opening a fraction, but his grip loosened and you pulled yourself free.

Brushing away Alastor’s shadow’s hand as it snagged at your hoof, you staggered naked across Vox’s small living space, to where you remembered the bathroom to be, and took a piss that felt like it lasted at least a minute and a half, your head throbbing all the while. The things that Vox had brought for you during your short stay were still there; the little blue toothbrush, the showercap with room for your ears, the robe.

You brushed your teeth, drank several cups of water from the tap, and ate a Tylenol before grabbing the bottle of deer shampoo from the cabinet and stepping into the shower.

Vox’s shower was large, enough to comfortably fit three or more people, the flooring some kind of expensive looking stone tiling that was probably fiendishly difficult to get blood out of, and the showerheads set at chest height. You hesitated at the shower controls- which button turned the water on, again?

“You, uh- you want some help with that?” Vox stood at the entryway to the shower, wearing only pants and looking pretty much exactly like you felt.

“Sure,” you sighed, not really surprised when Vox stripped off the rest of the way and stepped into the space with you.

A gesture from him was all it took for the water to start running, no uncomfortably hot or cold initial flow but something close to body temperature. You stepped into the stream, sighing as it hit you, the water swirling a brownish color around your feet as it began to wash away the blood that had caked onto your skin.

“Temperature?” Vox asked, stepping closer.

“Warmer,” you said, an involuntary noise in your throat as Vox made it so. It stung the lacerations on your back, the small wounds on your hips and thighs, the scrapes that Alastor’s teeth had made on your neck.

“You like that?” Vox asked.

“Warmer,” you repeated, and the temperature rose to something crueler, enough that steam rose as it hit your skin, a truly scouring sort of heat. You felt your soreness recede, a little of the tension in your shoulders relaxing. “There,” you said, content to stand under the water for a few moments before uncapping the shampoo you had brought in with you.

“Let me?” Vox asked, and there was a little of the Vox who had sat in the armchair in your bedroom in his voice, pleading. You handed him the bottle, and he unhooked a second showerhead from the wall and turned it on, wetting your hair with a trickle of warm water before he lathered shampoo between his palms. It was strange; anyone else save Alastor and you might’ve had second thoughts, but Vox had had you last night, quivering and vulnerable in his hands, so you had no qualms turning your back to him.

Vox’s hands in your hair were a gift. You stood under the stream of near-scalding water as he drew close, his fingers running from the back of your neck and up, fingers parting your hair, massaging the lather into your skull. You groaned low as he worked the base of each ear, his body pressing closer to your back. He was hard, his cock brushing up against your tail and the small of your back, but there was no threat to it, no intent beyond simple closeness.

“That good, eh?” he asked, as you gave another appreciative grunt, and you braced yourself against the wall to avoid melting completely under the touch.

“You’re making me forget about my headache,” you said, which was rewarded by Vox pressing his fingers more firmly against your skull, more head massage than shampoo application. “Don’t you have things to do?”

“It is five fuckin’ thirty am,” said Vox, his voice thick and hoarse, and he leaned into you, his chest pressing warm against your narrow back, his erection squashing temptingly against the meat of your ass. “I’m all yours, baby deer.”

It would be so easy to let him fuck you like this- even as hungover as he clearly was, he was strong enough to lift you against the wall of the shower and fuck you against it until you were whimpering and quivering, your orgasm smoothing the edges of this rough and difficult morning. It would feel good.

But no. No fucking. Only Vox’s soapy hands in your hair, rubbing your back-tilted ears until you wanted to purr, his thumbs experimental around the base of your antlers. He told you to close your eyes before he raised the spare showerhead to rinse you off, the water dark, even the soap bubbles brownish as the blood was sluiced away. Vox repeated the process twice more before the water ran clear, finger combing your hair to check for errant viscera.

“I don’t need you to wash my back for me, you know,” you said, as Vox put the shampoo aside and reached for the bodywash.

“Course you don’t,” he said, eyes narrowed, and for a second his grin reminded you of Alastor’s. “But you fuckin’ like it, don’t you? You like my hands-” he said, rubbing soap into your flank, then tracing a line down, over your thigh. “My mouth.”

You opened one eye. “I hope you’re not proposing to lick me clean.”

The glazed expression on Vox’s face, along with the way his antennae flopped, told you that yes, yes he would very much like that, his gaze drifting to between your thighs, the faint trickle of Alastor’s cum mixed with his as it leaked out of you and mixed with the water from the shower.

Vox swallowed. “Please,” he groaned. “Fuck, please, baby deer. Just a little. Don’t make me fuckin’ beg.”

“I’m not making you do anything, Vox,” you said, a sidelong look at him. The steam from the shower was fogging his screen, droplets of the splashback running down the front of his wide face like sweat, and his eyes were wide. “You’re begging of your own accord.”

You put your palm on Vox’s grey-skinned shoulder and pushed him down. He sank to his knees, obedient, the water on your back slowing to a trickle, still under his control. His eyes weren’t hearts but they might as well have been with the expression he made as he reached out to touch your thighs, pulling his face close to your legs, his long blue tongue extending.

Vox’s tongue against wet skin was a new sensation; a crackling pressure that conducted over a wider area than his tongue touched as he lapped blissfully at the rivulets of diluted cum that ran out of you. You shivered, and breathed in as you watched him eat, running a hand over the top of his screen, your claws gentle on the fragile antennae that sprouted from it.

Vox whimpered as you held the tip of his antennae between thumb and fingertip, and it occurred to you, belatedly, that maybe these were analogous to antlers for him. You stopped touching them, returning to stroking his frame. His hand found yours, your fingers twining, and you knew that if you asked him he would fuck you with his tongue, lap every last drop of Alastor’s seed from your aching cunt and drink it down like a man starved.

“Please-” he whined, looking up at you between strokes of his tongue.

“You know,” you said, smiling to yourself. “Alastor has very sharp hearing, and he was mostly awake when I got up. He can definitely hear us right now.” You paused to take a breath as you felt Vox freeze, his tongue still on your thigh. “He definitely heard you begging me to let you lick his cum from my legs.”

Vox’s eyes fluttered closed, a low groan in his throat. “Fuck.”

“Tell me,” you said, pushing him a little as his tongue swept up your leg, perilously close to your sex. “Tell me what you’re begging for now.”

Vox’s voice came as a stream of consciousness as you squeezed the top of his screen, hard enough that colors distorted around the pads of your fingers, his breath in gasps as he tasted you between each word, a prayer to you, a prayer to Alastor. “Fuck, yes, please, I fucking want it, oh god, fucking god, let me, let me, please please, let me taste him. I wanna taste him in your pussy, oh god.” He swallowed, whimpering, cock finding friction against your leg, and he trembled. “God-” Vox’s eyes sprang open as he came, his body jerking as he shot his load over your hooves. “Fuck-” he breathed, softly, his screen tilting against your thigh.

You were gentle with him as you pulled him to his feet, letting him lean against you as he came down from his high. You rubbed his back, his shoulders, and the edges of his screen, eliciting soft groans from him, and he nudged his face into your shoulder before you grabbed the soap and started to lather it into his chest.

As if realizing where he was, Vox started the water running at full pressure again. When you had finished him he washed your back for you without complaint, merely a pleading look in his eyes as he scrubbed you down, the runoff going from dark brown to pink as the ablution opened a few of your newer injuries, his hands gentle enough on you to make you sigh and forget your hangover for another few seconds.

When you emerged from the bathroom, toweled dry and dressed in the monogrammed robe Vox had kept for you, you felt almost alive.

“You were in there a while,” Alastor commented from the couch as you emerged, one eye opening, his voice rough and crackling like old vinyl.

“You didn’t want to join us?” you asked, squeezing a little more moisture from your hair.

Alastor shrugged, his lips a tiny smirk. “You seemed to have everything under control,” he said, a statement not lost on Vox, who did not meet his eyes.

Vox’s arm was protective round your waist, or perhaps simply clingy, as the three of you proceeded out of his quarters and into the living area he shared with the other members of his coterie. You sat at the breakfast bar as Vox operated what was perhaps the most complicated coffee machine you had ever seen. Alastor took a seat at the breakfast bar too, his tailcoat on, overdressed compared to you in a robe and Vox in his lounge pants and t-shirt. Alastor’s shadow looked more hung over than he was, sulking in a pool by his feet and clutching its head. Vox seemed to have some level of sympathy for his condition, because he turned to Alastor first.

“So, Al, you want anything? This baby makes a mean fuckin’ macchiato, I’ll tell you that much. We’ve got three types of coffee, too, a Columbian-”

“Coffee,” said Alastor, a grinding edge of almost mechanical stress to his voice. “Make me a coffee.”

Vox sighed. “Americano it is,” he said, setting the machine running with a cheerful beep as he manipulated his way through the menus.

Alastor was sniffing his americano and the expensive looking machine was grinding something in its innards when the door on the lower level opened and a small group of people came in, clearly still mid revelry, brightly colored plastic drink containers in hand. You recognized one of them as the man who had dumped you on Vox’s bedroom floor on your first night in Hell, dressed to the nines in patent leather thigh high boots and a naked effect body-stocking with red sequins that barely covered the essentials. Valentino.

“Ah.” Vox froze with one hand on the coffee machine. “Fuck.”

“Vox?” Valentino’s tone was disbelieving, and he sashayed up the stairs to the breakfast bar to stare at the three of you, lowering his pink glasses dramatically. “What the fuck is this?”

“Val.” Vox hopped the breakfast bar with surprising alacrity, placing himself bodily between you and Valentino, his hands up in a placating gesture. It was unnecessary, all things considered, but sexy. “I can explain.”

Alastor, meanwhile, lowered his ears and hid his face behind his fuck Alastor mug, clearly uncomfortable at being witnessed in Vox’s residence at such an early hour.

“So this is where you’ve been?” Valentino gesticulated. “You don’t take my calls, you say you don’t wanna party with me, all so you can stay home and jerk off onto your pile of Alastor lookalikes?” He turned to Alastor, the real Alastor, his eyes squinting behind his pink glasses. “Where did you even get this one? He looks like shit!”

“Gotta agree with you there,” you deadpanned. “Not a word of English either.”

“Bonjou,” said Alastor, gamely, his voice gruff with the full impact of his night of drinking, his radio filter completely absent.

“You see?” Valentino waved. “You want more Alastors, chulo, you come to me. None of this amateur hour carajo.” He shook his head. “Me and these professionals are going to my room.”

“Val, wait-” Vox called, but Valentino was already on his way out. He stopped, perhaps realizing the futility of it, and rubbed the front of his face with his hand. “Fuck.”

“Is that-” you watched Valentino walk out, shooing the squad of sex workers through the door ahead of him so that he could slam it. “-is that gonna be okay?”

“Fuck knows.” Vox’s shoulders sank, and he walked back to the coffee machine. “It’s hard to tell what he wants sometimes. I mean, first he gives me you, then he’s pissy I’m spending time with you. Does he want me to chase after him? I don’t fucking know anymore.” The machine finished making your drink, and Vox picked it up, vanishing in electricity and arcing to appear behind you. “I know what you want, though,” he purred, his face close enough to your back that the hairs on your neck stood on end, and pushed your coffee in front of you.

You turned your head to grin at him, eyes half-lidded. “A full and unredacted list of the members of my fanclub still extant in Hell?”

“Fuck.” Vox’s expression soured, and he leaned back. “You're all business, aren't you? You know, I preferred it when you were pretending to be stupid.”

“And I preferred it when you had your tongue up my ass,” you said, enjoying the instant of startlement and arousal that flashed across his screen, Alastor smirking into his cup of coffee behind him. “I guess we’re just not our best selves this morning.”

“I liked that too, but I can't just hand you those names, baby deer,” said Vox, leaning on the breakfast bar beside you. “That's not how business works around here. It's about trust.”

“He’s lying,” Alastor interjected, mildly. “He could give you whatever it is you’re talking about, he just doesn’t want to.”

“Oh, butt out, Al,” groused Vox. “I’m not lying. There’s a cost.”

“One which you could well afford to waive,” said Alastor, smiling. “Given our situation.”

“Yeah, and what situation is that?” Vox shot.

He was unprepared as Alastor stood, closing the distance between them and seizing Vox by the front of his shirt, bringing their faces close, not quite touching, but close enough to kiss, or bite. Vox made a noise in his throat, and Alastor grinned, violence in his teeth.

“If you want this to continue,” said Alastor, his voice low menace. “You’re going to have to give our delightful young friend here everything they want. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care what it costs you. Everything.”

“Fuck,” Vox croaked, his eyes wide.

“Well?” said Alastor. “Do we have a deal?”

“This isn’t fair, Al.”

Alastor’s grin was steady. “These things rarely are. Yes or no, old pal?”

“Shit, I’m such a fucking idiot.” Vox closed his eyes. “Yes.”

Alastor set Vox down gently, a sly wink to you as he did so, then stalked his way over to you, taking a small sip from your coffee cup before winding an arm around your waist and burying his face in your hair.

Vox looked at the both of you with something approaching dismay. “He likes you way too much, baby deer,” he said, shaking his head. “Way, way too much.”

Alastor just laughed, his nose pressing against your neck.

The following list is all of the people without whom this work would not exist in its present form; who cheered for me, who reassured me, who pointed out where my phrasing was awkward, and all in all encouraged me to go the whole hog and not just the tip. Thank you for putting up with me and my incessant self-aggrandizing wank and telling me, each in your own way, that the dog exploded.

Bapple Fraugwinska Macabre Barbie Miggy Katethulu Rein Miz blue Molly Anne

The others in the discord server for whom I do not have an ao3 or tumblr account

Special thanks to Shunypie/Shunyhuny who drew fanart (holy shit I am still absolutely fucking floored by this, it's so beautiful)

My final acknowledgment goes to everyone else who read this and thought it was hot, love you guys. Your comments feed me, your likes sustain me.

Though my planned procession of porn is past its climax, I am still open to penning vignettes about the lookalike and set in the lookalike’s timeline. If you have an idea or request, please post a comment here, or if you fancy remaining anonymous, you can use my inbox at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/impale-me-radio-daddy

Regretfully, I do not take commissions (I can’t think of an amount of money that would be worth the expression of confusion and fear from my accountant) so all requests will be undertaken at my own discretion.

Until next time, dear readers.

[occatorcreator]

Second Chances

Links - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

1 - Family Lost

Purple and his mother receive a grim diagnosis, and Purple struggles to find a cure to save his only living family member.

Content Warnings: Disease and Major Character Death

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Purple stared up at the clock that punctuated the silent waiting room with its ticking. 

10:15 am. His morning elective class was close to wrapping up. He distantly thought that he should care about what he’ll miss at school, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than the hammering of the clock and how long he waited for a response.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

He looked from the clock to the door, waiting for a nurse to come and summon him. Right now, he had been in the hospital for over two hours and there hadn’t been any updates on his mother’s current condition.

If I had slept in, Purple thought, tapping his foot with anxious energy in time with the clock, would she not have made it?

The thing was, he almost had. He had almost shut his blaring alarm off and gone back to sleep. He really hadn’t been in the mood to go to school this morning; he was sure there was a test in math, and he wasn’t ready for it. School was… well, it had become more unpleasant since the divorce. Despite it being a year since Navy left, thoughts of the divorce sent his mind into a negative tailspin. All those times Navy ragged on him to wake up “bright and early” every day for routine exercise, and all those times he got annoyed by Purple’s fussing made him resent the idea of getting up at all.

He debated sleeping in to spite Navy, but what was the point of that? Not like Navy would show up to witness the spite. All that would come of sleeping in would be the omelets mom prepared growing cold. She was the only parent he had left now; he couldn’t let her down by being a brat about school.

And now he faced the possibility of having no parents… he found his mother fallen to the kitchen floor, unconscious, with the omelets burning.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Every second not knowing if Orchid was alright or dead drove Purple mad. He had driven as quickly as he could to the hospital and made enough of a scene in the emergency room to get her wheeled in right away. The doctors had escorted him to a nearby waiting room after they took Orchid to treatment, offering reassurance and describing some procedure they’re doing.

Knowing that barely worked to calm him down. Purple was no longer actively panicking, but he was fretting. He hated sitting. It was the inability to do anything but wait, unsure what the response would be, unable to take his mind off of anything but his prayers that things will be alright.

Tick tock. Tick- creak.

The door grabbed Purple’s attention. He stood up preemptively, ready to meet the nurse, only to blanch back as a giant orange stick figure ducked his way through the door frame. Clutching at his massive hand was a golden child, about four or five years old. He looked nervously around the room, sticking close to the orange stick’s leg.

“Just have a seat, Mr. Tango,” the nurse said. “We’ll call you when they’re done.”

The stick figure nodded at the nurse with a sour expression.

“Will Second be okay?” the child asked the nurse.

“Your older sibling will be fixed up,” the nurse said, smiling softly. “It’s just a minor fracture.”

And what about my mother? Purple wanted to ask. Is she going to be okay? 

The question died on his tongue as Mr. Tango passed by him to take a seat. Purple instantly stepped back from the towering figure. By the time he and his child found a place to sit, the nurse had already left, shutting the door.

Great, still nothing, Purple thought, returning to his seat. He missed the prior solitude of the waiting room. With other stick figures around, he felt self conscious of his worrying. Not to mention, one of them was a small child. Purple wasn’t ready for the annoyance that would follow when that small child inevitably got bored and started wandering around, looking for things to do.

“Hello,” the child waved at Purple.

Purple took a deep breath, counted mentally to two, and looked at the child standing before him with what he hoped was a neutral expression.

“Hi,” he greeted half-heartedly.

The child tapped his hands together nervously, eyes looking down at Purple’s feet upon the less-than warm response. Somehow his sour mood didn’t send the kid crawling to his parent, which made Purple raise an eyebrow.

“What do you want?” Purple asked, baring his teeth in a false grin.

“Um, can I have that?” The child asked, pointing at the table filled with magazines.

Purple waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not using it, and you don’t need to ask. Just take it.”

The child brightened and grabbed a magazine. He retreated back to sit by his father, who’s cold gaze regarded Purple in a way that made Purple’s skin crawl. The giant’s gaze reminded him of Navy’s.

Specifically, the day Navy left. He could never forget that cold and guarded stare despite Orchid’s best attempts to shield them from him.

“I guess this is it, then,” Navy said, “I’m leaving.”

Don’t think about him, Purple mentally scolded, closing his eyes to refocus on the present.

With nothing else to get his mind off of the past and present situation, he watched as the child flipped through the magazine. It didn’t take long for the child to realize that magazines were mostly advertisements and boring articles he couldn’t read before he placed it to the side. He caught that Purple was looking at him, and Purple failed to look away in time.

“My sibby broke their thumb.”

Sibby? Purple didn’t know how to comment on that odd shorthand for sibling. 

“Ah…How did that happen?” It took Purple a full second before he found his voice. He got the feeling the kid was a bit of a chatterbox, how unfortunate. Purple had no desire to talk, but he felt like he couldn’t stay silent either.

Maybe this could get his mind off of things...

“My dad had a day off, took me and Second in the park,” the child said, “We did lots of fun stuff and it was really nice out. We were playing truth or dare, and I dared Second to punch a tree!”

He looked expectantly, waiting for Purple to supply a question. Yet when Purple only bothered with a raised eyebrow, Mr. Tango cleared his throat. 

“You two didn’t answer why you did that in the first place, Gold,” Mr. Tango said.

The child — Gold — looked down at his dangling legs, ashamed. “It’s cuz Second’s as strong as you, dad.” Gold said, “I wanted to see if they could punch a hole in the tree.”

Punch a hole in a tree? Ridiculous. Purple scoffed.

“Still. Punching things without the proper technique can be dangerous,” Mr. Tango said. “I hope you two don’t do that again in the future.”

“We won’t, dad,” Gold said.

Again, Mr. Tango reminded Purple of Navy. That comment was a straight-out warning he said during sparring lessons. His father drilled in many basics on keeping yourself from breaking your arm while fighting. Having that reminder of his father again, combined with the ludicrousness of the child’s story, and the fact they were in the hospital over something so stupid made Purple surly. 

“Let me guess,” Purple said, “your sibling was dumb enough to tuck their thumb in their fist while punching?” 

That was harsh. Now both father and son were glaring at Purple. Purple could feel his heart hammering, desire to cower and apologize strong, but not strong enough to overcome anger brought on from constant fatigue and stress.

“Second’s not dumb!” Gold snapped. “They just didn’t know they needed to do that.”

Purple shrugged. “Sounds like the definition of dumb to me,” Purple said, “I mean tucking your thumb in is unnatural and uncomfortable, so why do that?”

“Not everyone comes into the world knowing everything there is to know,” Mr. Tango warned, “and I don’t care much for you insulting someone you hardly know.”

Mr. Tango said it with a threatening, low tone that made Purple reconsider and apologize for his meanness. 

Almost. He might have, had Gold kept his mouth shut.

“They managed to knock the tree down in one hit even when doing it wrong!” Gold bragged. “I bet you can’t do that!”

Inadvertently, Gold managed to hit a sore point for Purple. Orchid and Navy both were prolific fighters in their prime, strong and agile enough to break wood and cinder blocks with a well placed hit. Purple knew it could be done, but he was never strong enough, never fast enough to do it. All he got was painful bruising and a sprain so awful he gave up trying.

And given today, Purple’s fuse was short.

“You little liar,” Purple snapped, “no one can do that.”

“I’m not!” Gold balked, and he tugged on Mr. Tango’s arm. “Dad, you saw it too! Tell him! Second did punch a tree down!”

But there was a split second of hesitation in Mr. Tango’s gaze, that moment of doubt and skepticism. Before he had the chance to defend his son, Purple pounced.

“If your dad claims that, then he’s helping a liar,” Purple said, “I thought preschool taught you better than to make up stories for attention.”

“I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!” Gold yelled, and Purple saw that the child was so worked up that tears were forming in his eyes. “I’m not a liar!”

“What is your problem?” Mr. Tango snapped, standing up tall to get between Gold and Purple. He didn’t yell like Purple did, but clearly didn’t hide his anger. “You have no right to talk to my son like that.”

“Maybe if you didn’t want me to yell at your liar of a kid,” Purple snapped, “then you should have parented better.”

“Excuse me?”

Purple stood up. He was a pipsqueak to the massive stick figure before him, his limbs shaking from fear and rage both. 

“I’m just saying, a kid who broke his wrist punching trees and one that makes up tall tales to strangers reflects poorly on you.” Purple said, “My parents wouldn’t hear me spouting such nonsense.”

“Where are they?” Mr. Tango asked, grinning without any joy. “I would like to talk with them about their parenting skills if they could raise someone who’d yell at children for little reason.”

To that Purple had no response.

Oh creator, what would mom think of me right now? Purple thought, visibly deflating and stared at the ground in shame.

Now the only sound there was the clocks ticking and Gold crying. Seeing no fight left in Purple, Mr. Tango sat down and started to console his child. Gold buried his head in his father’s chest, weeping and insisting he wasn’t a liar.

Creak

“Purple?” A nurse came in with a clipboard. 

“Yes?” Purple straightened himself up. “Is she ready?”

“She is,” the nurse nodded, his expression appearing grim despite his smile. “She wants to talk to you.”

Oh, good she’s awake, Purple thought, but still… the dread in his stomach grew. Why is the nurse looking at me like that if she’s awake?

“Okay. Take me to her.”

He followed the nurse out, ignoring the pressing glares of Mr. Tango and Gold following him out.

=

“Rapid aging syndrome?”

Purple sat by Orchid’s beside, holding her hand. Orchid was looking rather pale and frail, but she was alive. The doctors managed to stabilize her.

But only stabilize;  there was no cure for this condition.

“Yes,” Orchid said, “Explains a lot of things, like why I didn’t have the same stamina as your father even though we’re the same age.”

She said it with light airiness that nearly made Purple cry.

“But, this is a glitch in your programming, right?” Purple said, clearing his throat, “couldn’t they patch you?”

To that Orchid let out a shaky sigh and patted Purple’s hand. Purple noticed the faint tremor in her hands.

“They found out that they can’t,” Orchid said, plainly.

“Why not,” Purple asked, voice rising. “They’re doctors! Expert coders! They have to fix you! What sort of doctors would they be if they couldn’t?”

“It’s not that simple, honey,” Orchid hushed, “They discovered that my code’s corrupted. The fact they could stabilize me without losing my memories was a miracle in it of itself.”

“Surely, there’s a way around corruption,” Purple begged, “You mean to tell me they can’t stop you from just… aging to death?”

Orchid didn’t say anything at first. She looked up at the ceiling with an inscrutable expression. In that moment, Purple wondered how well she was taking the news that she was given a terrible death sentence, aging at an insanely rapid rate until she shriveled up to a husk. Looking at her now, all the marks Purple blamed on exhaustion or loss of appetite were the tell-tale signs of becoming an elder.

“The doctors gave me two choices,” Orchid said after a moment, “Either I would have 5 months left to live, or they would reset me.” She then turned to Purple. “And reset means full reset. My age, all of my memories… I would be as I was created, as my 18 year old self. I wouldn’t even recognize you as my son anymore. Even with that, I could still be… lost to a reset. There is no guarantee to save me.” Her expression turned pained. “You know which one I had to choose.”

“That’s so f-messed up,” Purple caught himself. But he wished he could swear. How could anyone sugarcoat that?

“The doctors will want to discuss care options in light of my condition,” Orchid said, “having nurses to care for me at home, or placing me in hospice care.”

“But we don’t have the money for a live-in nurse,” Purple pointed out quietly. 

Orchid hummed in agreement. “And I don’t want to be moved to hospice care if I can still stand and walk.” 

“I could care for you,” Purple offered. “Take off school for a bit-“

“I don’t want to place you in that position,” Orchid waved her hand, “and your education would suffer for it.“

“Mom, I’ll be blunt, my education has already suffered from… Navy leaving.” Purple couldn’t even say the divorce to her, “I won’t be able to focus on shoring up what’s left of my education knowing that your… that you're going to…”

He couldn’t say that either. He shan’t say it, or else he made it true. He didn’t want it to be true.

“Fair point…” Orchid muttered. She placed her hand on her chin and hummed. “There is always my creator,” Orchid paused, “I still have her email address, and I occasionally send her updates. We could stay with her for a while.”

“An actual human? With a desktop?” Purple asked. “Is it even possible for us to go there?”

Orchid nodded. “I’m certain something can be arranged once I reach out to my lawyer and get my affairs in order.”

“Don’t say that, mom,” Purple shook his head.

“I’m afraid we don’t have many options,” Orchid said, “Plus, it would be nice to take you to our childhood home.”

Our?  Purple thought, You mean, dad also grew up on that computer?

Purple wasn’t sure about going on a human’s computer with all the risks, but like Orchid said, it wasn’t like there was any better options they could take.

I’ll find something to save you from this fate, mom, he thought, I promise.

Purple kept this vow deep in his heart as the doctors returned.

=

Her name was Alana, and, despite his mom promising to take him to her childhood home, she clearly owned the latest Apple Macintosh. Alana was nice, nicer than what Purple expected of a human from his history class, and she welcomed Orchid and Purple upon their arrival through her email. They had to write out words on the email in order to communicate with her, but Purple learned he didn’t need to talk with Alana often. She was present for the first two days to ensure they settled on the desktop, before just disappearing and leaving them to their own devices for days on end.

Orchid explained most of the situation to Alana. She wasn’t fully candid about her diagnosis, but she shared that Purple was her and Navy’s son, and that they needed a place to stay in the meantime.

Alana asked only one question. “What happened to Navy?”

The awkward silence and body language from both Orchid and Purple told enough for Alana to discern something happened, but she didn’t feel the need to press.

Living on a desktop was a new experience, one Orchid was happy to guide Purple on.

“Ah, they updated so many things!” Orchid said in awe, “You’re getting a better experience than I did. The desktop is so lovely!”

She leaned down to press a button. It was the finder, and it opened up a series of apps. However, she let out a groan of pain as she struggled to stand back up.

“Careful!” Purple said, lifting her up, “you know you can’t move like you used to.”

Orchid looked forlornly at what she opened, rubbing her back. Stacks of icons stretched above her without any easy way to traverse them.

“Right. Climbing would be your strong suit, you have to do that a lot on a desktop,” she said, half muttering as the advice she gave came with a realization of her condition. That her body was too old to navigate something that she had done in her youth.

Purple had to watch her as that condition worsened overtime.

Not that Purple was idle during this time. He set to work making the desktop space more accommodating for an elder. He found Flash and constructed a crude house with the pencil tool. The linework wasn’t the neatest, but it was convenient, light enough for him to pick up the house and set it down, but sturdy enough that a punch wouldn’t knock it down.

He tried looking around for Orchid and Navy’s files. After all, if they were made, then that means there had to be backup copies somewhere around. Surely, Alana transferred their files to the new computer, there had to be something to counter the apparent corruption.

“Purple, please don’t be going into Alana’s files,” Orchid warned.

Purple nearly fell off the top of the directory, not expecting to hear her voice. It started to croak with age, a tremor of strain she didn’t use to have. She leaned on a crude cane Purple drew to help support herself. He hastily went down so she didn’t have to call him.

“I’m not doing anything shady,” Purple insisted, “I was hoping to find… something.”

Orchid gave him a look. A look he knew too well when she suspected Purple was up to one of his antics. He received that look a lot whenever the school called about his moments of less-than-stellar behavior. 

But as quickly as it appeared, it fell. “Look, I’m just warning you, if you poke around in her files and break it, she will be incredibly upset and hurt by that,” she chuckled lightly, “I’m speaking from experience here. Navy and I regretted how we clowned around back in the day.”

You? A trouble maker? Purple couldn’t help but smirk at the idea of Orchid, roughly around his age, causing trouble for her creator. But the smirk faded when that image contrasted the frail stick figure before him. 

“Why did Alana… make the both of you?” Purple asked.

Orchid blinked, not expecting the question. She fiddled with her cane, nails gently scraping against its side.

“I don’t know. Flash animation was new and there was a genre of animation that featured fighting stick figures beginning to form. I supposed Alana wanted to add a battle couple, but I couldn’t be certain.” 

Purple’s face curled at the thought. “Like she made you two to be a couple?”

“Not like that, she made us to be a team,” Orchid’s smile looked forlorn and she looked elsewhere, “the love came later.”

Purple shuffled awkwardly, knowing how that “love” ended for them all. “Why did you two leave the computer?”

“Stick City was new, and we both wanted to strike it on our own,” Orchid explained, “we wanted to be famous, and we didn’t feel like we could if we stayed on a desktop.” She let out a huff. “How funny that I ended up back here after all this time.”

“It’s not.”

“Well, Purple, I’d rather you not go poking around and getting into trouble.” Orchid placed her hand on Purple’s shoulder. “Come. I can show you some games on the Mac you can play in the meantime.”

“Games?”

“Yes, I know I can’t play the ones that are more active, but I don’t want that to stop you from experiencing the fun you can have on a desktop,” she said, “it’s way more immersive.”

Purple opened his mouth to argue something, before closing it and nodding.

I really can’t go against her wishes now, Purple thought, besides, there are healing items in games, maybe I can find something to fix her?

“What do you recommend I try, mom?” he asked.

Time moved too quickly for Purple’s liking. He did as much as he could in his investigation of the games on Alana’s computer. Some of the games were fun, but ultimately useless to his main goal. Others had healing items he had to buy from a vendor or could collect in chests. He gave these to Orchid, yet the most they did was ease her aching joints.

He found Minecraft through his investigation and it, too, had healing items that didn’t work. Yet, the game was fun, intriguing enough for even Orchid to join in on the fun. He found himself simply just building things with Orchid out of the simple blocks provided in creative mode. They began to build a foundation of a castle, but in time, only Purple was able to build the castle. When that happened, he abandoned construction to refocus his efforts in finding a cure.

Orchid was visibly getting older and weaker every passing day. She walked slower, leaned on her cane more often, and complained of pain in her bones. Vision and hearing were going, and Purple had to draw her glasses and hearing aides to help her.

Nothing was working. He tried experimenting with healing items he found: mixing it into her food, combining it with other mechanics, and even breaking into a game’s code to see if there was anything he could pull. All his efforts did was ease the burdens of aging. He could not cure nor save Orchid from her fate.

Eventually, Orchid became too weak to even leave her bed. Purple was torn between wanting to stay by her side and care for her or leaving to find something he possibly overlooked. He settled for spawning a villager from an egg to be her nurse while he stepped away. But walking away was difficult; he felt every hour he was away was the hour he came back to find her…

He came crawling back with nothing to show for it.

“Is there anything in your game that can stop this?” Purple asked the villager, one night after he returned. “To stop her from dying?”

The villager looked around, unsure if Purple was genuinely engaging with them or speaking out loud to himself. When Purple remained silent, the villager felt like they needed to respond.

 “I don’t know,” they admitted, “I haven’t heard of anything like that.”

“You do realize you don’t age, right?” Purple continued. “You and every video game character are just frozen, as you are. You don’t have to worry about growing old, leaving your kids and loved ones behind...”

“That’s not…” the villager trailed off when he met Purple’s cold stare. “It’s not that simple..”

“Seems pretty simple to me. You, a computer program, live on, while us stick figures, also computer programs, grow old and die. How unfair is that?” Purple muttered. “I ask again. Is there anything in this stupid game that can make her ageless like you?”

The villager shook his head and took a step back. Something was in Purple’s voice that deeply frightened the sniveling NPC. And for a moment, Purple thought of pulling out his sword and stabbing the villager for his unhelpfulness. 

After all they were only ageless, not immortal. Weak.

He walked away from the villager, but those horrid thoughts followed him. 

=

“What’s happening to Orchid?”

Alana logged on to find her desktop disheveled: a half finished castle from Minecraft, a crude house with a crude bed where Orchid lay in it. She must look so bad that even a human could see it on the screen.

Purple stayed by her side, unable to sleep, and stared blankly at the writing above him. He dared not grab the pen he used to write, he didn’t want to get up and leave his mother’s side.

It had been five months. Her time was almost up, and all his efforts to stop it amounted to nothing. 

The cursor moved down and Purple placed himself between it and his mother.

“Don’t!” he said, splaying his hand out. He knew Alana couldn’t hear, but he spoke anyway. “She’s very fragile.”

“Is that Alana?” Orchid croaked.

Her feeble, weak voice broke Purple’s heart to hear. Her glasses were off to the side, but she didn’t reach for them. 

“Yes, it’s her.” 

“Ah, I'm glad,” Orchid said, “I worried… I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye.”

“No, no mom, you don’t have to,” Purple said, clinging to her hands. “There- I’m still searching for a cure- I can-“

“Shh,” Orchid placed her hand on his cheek, stilling him. “No, Purple, honey. My time is up. And I don’t want to see you wasting your time searching for a cure that doesn’t exist.”

“But I can’t give up, not now,” Purple shook his head. Her face began to blur and hot tears streaked down his face. “I don’t want you to leave me. Stay here. Please.”

“I don’t want to go, either,” Orchid coughed, “I want to be with you… but I don’t want you to suffer for my sake.”

She wiped his tears with her shaking, wrinkled hands. A pointless endeavor, for Purple could not stop sobbing.

“I’m sorry, mom,” Purple choked, holding her hand.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Purple,” Orchid said. Her hand slackened to her side and eyes closed. “Promise me something, Purple?”

“What?” Purple leaned in. “What do you need me to do?”

There was a beat of silence, just the raspy rise and fall of her chest.

“Promise me that you'll…” Orchid whispered so faintly, every word laborious. “Promise me you’ll… take good care of yourself… that you’ll find someone-” She broke off into coughing.

“Hush, hush. Of course, of course I will.” Purple said and hugged Orchid. “I promise.”

Orchid didn’t return the hug, too weak to do so.

“I love you,” she wheezed.

Then, she let out a shuddering gasp and fell limp within his arms. 

“Mom?” Purple pried away, staring at her gaunt face, eyes closed. He saw that she was becoming translucent, fading away like a spirit.

 “Mom? Please…”

Then there was nothing, just him clinging to the blankets. All that Orchid was became nothing now. Not a trace of her was left, except her scent and his memories.

And with that he wept openly into the empty bed while Alana wordlessly hovered above.

[daydreaming-nerd]

The Bonds That Break Us (Rhysand x Female! Reader) Part 4

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3, Part 5, Part 6, Final Part

Request: "Would you do a Rhysand x fem!reader series? Maybe fem!reader is Rhysand's mate and Tamlin's sister? So secret love?"

AN: food's ready, come dish up guys

Summary: It was almost as if the cauldron liked to play games, as if it had sensed years of boredom and predictability and begged to be entertained. Its method of absolving its melancholy? Mate the High Lord of the Night Court to the younger sister of the High Lord of Spring. 

Warnings (so far): SMUT (consensual), oral (female receiving), intercourse, dirty talking, unprotected sex, masturbation, mind speak sexting?, physical abuse, mentions of SA.

Word count: 6993

(all photos are from pinterest)

That night, after Rhysand reclothed me, we talked about the future and how Tamlin needed to know, before things got messy with Eris or before he finds out and flips. All I had to do now was wait for the opportune time, which never seemed to come as Tamlin and Tarquin had been having tension. It seemed that part of the Spring Court’s lands on the border were prime farming spots for some of the spices that the farmers in the Summer Court grew. Tarquin had asked Tamilin to purchase the land and of course when Tamlin said no things started to get messy. Tamlin would go out and negotiate daily, and everyday he would come home angry. 

Tonight was no exception.

 I was sitting in one of the tea rooms reading my book when I heard him come home. The front door slammed, shaking the house, and then his office door slammed even harder.

I flinched. 

It has been like this for three days now. I looked at the clock on the wall and figured it was better for me to retire to my room with my novel for the night. 

I barricaded my door just for safety and crawled under the covers lighting a candle so that I could pick up where I left off. The main characters had finally confessed their love for one another and things were starting to get steamy. My eyes flitted across a particularly hot line and I felt my toes curl without warning once again. I should’ve known I was going to feel a little tug at the bond, but I was unprepared for the taut pull Rhysand gave me. 

Up late reading your dirty books mate? 

“Yes, I just needed the distraction,” I replied.

Did you tell your brother yet? 

I felt a pang of guilt, he had been waiting so dutifully for me to do so, and yet another day had passed where I was too scared, “I didn’t, he came home slamming doors and breaking vases again. I’m sorry Rhys.”

There’s no need to apologize. I want you to be safe after all. 

“Thank you for understanding,” I say sweetly

Of course mate. Now tell me what in this book has you all riled up? He says and I can hear his smirk. 

“A lady never kisses and tells,” I quip back. 

Ahh yes but ladies also don’t let strange men eat them out in secret rooms at balls. He says coolly. 

“Rhysand you little shit!” I laugh down the bond.

Come on my love, I’m dying to know what gets you off… Besides my tongue of course. 

I roll my eyes and try to send the emotion down the bond,  It’s nothing special really, he’s just fucking her, but he’s waited a while to do it so it’s extra steamy. I laugh. 

Poor bastard, I know the feeling. Rhys chuckles and I feel arousal flood between my legs. 

I can’t help but let my hand drift between my legs. Since Rhys touched me at the ball it’s all I’ve thought about (not that I would ever let him know). But suddenly the need for him has been so much stronger, I chalk it up to the mating bond strengthening, needing to be consummated.  I let my hand dip between my panties and I try to keep my emotions from flooding the bond, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing I could get off on his words alone. 

“Subtle Rhys,” I chuckle. 

I don’t need to be subtle, I told you exactly how it was going to go down that night at the ball did I not? 

My heart races and I let my finger on my clit speed up. 

“I suppose you’re right,” I say. 

Are you touching yourself darling? He purrs. 

Shit. 

“No,” I lie. 

You’re a terrible liar and you always have been, he chuckles.  I can feel you, my mate. 

“Damnit,” I curse, pulling my hand from my panties. 

Oh don’t you dare stop now, not when I’m currently fisting my cock. 

The image of Rhysand laying on his bed, naked, glorious and pumping his cock sends a wave of arousal straight through me and I practically scramble to shove my hands into my panties. 

Now tell me, are you playing with that beautiful little clit? The one I licked at the ball? 

Oh I was so in for it with this man, I was so utterly and terribly fucked. 

“Yes,” I admit quietly. 

Then I am terribly jealous of those delicate fingers. 

“Rhys,” I moaned back. It was all I could think about, him. 

Slip a finger in that tight little cunt won’t you darling? 

As stupid as it felt I did it, and god it felt good. Not as good as his felt, but it would have to do. 

“It doesn’t feel as good as you,” I say, trying to play the game. 

I hear him chuckle,  No my dear they don’t and they never will. 

“Are you close?” I ask, feeling my own orgasm coming. 

Let me hear those little begs again and I will be, he drawls. 

I know exactly what he means. After he feasted on me at the ball and I nearly jumped his bones afterwards. When he said he wanted to wait I pathetically let out a whine. 

“Please Rhys, I need you.” I plead. 

Fuck y/n, I hear him moan and it’s enough to make me hit my climax. 

“Oh fuck!” I cry down the bond. 

His own string of curses followed as he came himself and I could picture him lying there, chest sweaty and heaving, the aftermath of his orgasm all over him. It was almost enough to make me reach my hands down my panties again, almost. 

“So mind sex? That’s your thing?” I taunt him. 

A loud chuckle reverberates through my mind, No you’re my thing darling. 

“I’m flattered,” I laugh. 

A moment of silence passes and my chest continues heaving as I crawl further under the covers and blow out my candle. Romance book long forgotten. I sit in the quiet for a little longer waiting for Rhys to say something, until I finally speak up.

“Are you still there?” I ask timidly.

Always, simply catching my breath. How was your day today? 

“Boring, I don’t really have any friends here except my ladies maids and they are all terrible snoops. Tamlin has them in his back pocket.” I sigh. 

Just wait till you meet Nuala and Cerridwen, they’re snoops too. He laughs. 

“I can’t wait to,” I say.

I’m happy to finally hear you say that. He muses and I can practically feel his smile. 

“Well I better get some sleep. If I plan on telling Tamlin tomorrow I’ll need my wits about me.” I sigh. 

Goodnight darling, I love you.

There’s a hopefulness in his words. One I can’t meet. That phrase, ‘I love you’. I knew I should say it back. But I didn’t know what love meant. Didn’t know how it felt. I couldn't bring myself to return the sentiment. 

"Goodnight Rhys," was all I could say.

The next morning I woke up and Tamlin had already left, which was a damn shame because I would’ve liked to have told him before he had gone to fight with Tarquin all day. 

I paced most of the day in the tea room as I was beginning to grow antsy. Last night proved to me just how much I needed Rhysand, physically of course because of the bond. My skin was nearly sweating with need. I tried to read my book but it didn’t do much to help. I tried to go out and pick flowers for the dining table and it got me nowhere. To make matters worse it felt like Tamlin was gone for longer than usual as the darkness slid in, the moonlight shone, and all the lanterns and candles magically were lit.  

I started pacing in the foyer waiting for him to arrive home. Maybe he was taking so long because he had finally reasoned with Tarquin. I thought to myself. But as the doorknob jiggled and a fiery looking Tamlin came in I knew how dead wrong I was. 

“How was your meeting with Tarquin?” I asked, trying to seem sisterly, like that had ever won his affections. 

“Awful! The stubborn brute wants to take part of my land and only give me 20% of its profits per harvest!” he yells storming through the hall. I follow him. 

“20% isn’t bad, maybe you could show him what a generous High Lord you are by accepting the offer,” I chirped enthusiastically. 

“Are you out of your mind?” he whirls to look at me. “20% is cheap sister, not that you would ever have the mind for money. All you know how to do is spend mine.” 

“Tamlin, that's not fair and you know it.” I reason. 

“What does it matter anyways,” he rolls his eyes and begins storming off again. “You’ll be worth your weight in gold once you marry Eris and become his consort.” 

Fire boiled in my veins, “I already told you Tamlin, I don’t want to marry Eris. God how fucking selfish and cruel do you have to be to sell your sister off to a monster?!” I scream and as the words leave my mouth I already regret saying them. I had never been so bold in my life, at least not with Tamlin.

I don’t even have time to react before I feel a harsh slap across my face knocking me to the ground. “YOU ARE MY SISTER AND A WOMAN IN THIS COURT!” Tamlin screams at me. He picks me up by my hair, “and you will not question how I rule it.” 

Tears prick my eyes as the skin of my cheek burns. Tamlin releases my hair dropping my body to the ground and I’m left in a heap of tulle and tears as he slams his door. 

Are you okay? My mate calls into my mind.  

I press my cold hand to my cheek, “yeah I’m fine.” 

No you’re not, you're hurt. 

“I’m fine Rhys, it’s not bad,” I say, pulling myself up off the floor and winnowing to my room. 

What happened? 

I sigh, knowing he’ll badger me until he gets an answer. “I tried to get Tamilin to make amends with Tarquin so that he would be in a good mood and he hit me.” 

He hit you? I could hear him growling, feel the anger down the bond. 

“It’s really fine Rhys, I’m in my room now and I’m safe.” I say trying to calm him down. 

I’m going to fucking kill him y/n. I’m coming to get you right now. I’m not letting you stay there another minute. 

“Rhys please! Stop and be reasonable. If you barrel in right now it’s going to piss Tamlin off even more. He could hurt me or worse. We have to be civil about all this.” I reason with him. 

Fine, but no more after this y/n. I can’t stand it any longer. It’s killing me from the inside out. To know you’re in that horrible place. When you could be safe and warm here. 

“I promise I will figure this out, I just need time,” I assure him. 

I know you will, my beautiful strong mate.

“Tamlin hurry up, we're already late!” Lucien screams from the foyer. It was another council day and I had hoped that Tamilin would finally be able to reason with Tarquin.

Yesterday I went into town to shop for a new dress, it seemed I had exhausted all my other purple ones and I wanted more. I picked out a dress that was a far darker purple than any I had worn before. But it seemed fitting, seemed more Rhysand. 

“Let’s go,” Tamilin ordered entering the room in a huff. He peered at the dress I was wearing, “Purple again? I’d think you’ve grown tired of it by now.” 

Was this really his method of trying to make up for hitting me and yelling at me? Giving me a somewhat backhanded compliment?

“Viviane said that it was my color,” I replied, not entirely a lie. 

He didn’t say anything, just grabbed Lucien and winnowed us to the Night Court. 

I had no clue what to expect from the Night Court. I had never been before today. I had only ever heard stories. Stories of its darkness and its monsters. When we arrived I almost couldn’t believe that this is where Rhysand lived.

The large city under the mountain had a darkness to it, while faelights bobbed all around, it didn’t hide the darkness in the shadows that lingered. The city under the mountain was a metropolis, and it was terrifying with its large spires all around. Every surface is carved with lovely, hideous artwork: figures dance and fornicate, beg and revel. I was surprised Tamlin even allowed me to come with him today. 

We enter into a dimly lit chamber where all the Lords are already seated and waiting for us to arrive, Tamlin apologizes and chalks it up to me taking too long to primp, a lie of course. As my eyes scan the room I see only two chairs open and one happens to be next to Rhysand. I try to hide the smirk on my face as I take the seat next to him, forcing Tamlin to take the other one. 

You look ravishing as always. Croons Rhyand.

“Thank you, the dress is new,” I smile.

New and purple? You flatter me mate. He smirks. 

I chuckle down the bond, “Don’t flatter yourself too much, Vivianne said she liked me in purple as well.”

Well then I’ll have to thank Viviane later. He smiles. 

The council begins and just like I figured Tamlin and Tarquin laid into one another right away. All the other Lords but Rhysand and Kallias chimed in to solve the issue, but the winter and night court Lords seemed content to watch it all play out and I didn’t blame them. It took everything in me to not turn to the side to look at Rhys. His presence was so commanding especially in his own court and I had missed his face, those eyes, so much.

I felt a large hand being placed over my own under the table. 

You’re going to get me in trouble. I gripe at Rhys but flip my hand so I can hold his back.

Shh no one can see, I just wanted to feel you. 

Eventually the fighting dies down as the Lords end up forcing Tamlin to accept the deal Tarquin has offered and I try not to smile as my brother’s pissed off face. Turns out I was right and 20% isn’t such a low number after all. Rhys lets go of my hand to stand and address the room. 

“I think we’ve had more than enough political talk, why don’t we disband.” he states, and it sounds like his voice booms off the walls of the room. 

A murmur of agreement fills the room as the sound of obsidian chairs scratch the stone below, signaling that the lords are getting up. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I feel my stomach pit, is Rhysand stupid? But when I turn around I’m met with the raking stare of Eris Vanserra. 

“Hello my little fox, I was wondering if I might speak to you for a moment?” He asks, and I can practically feel Tamlin staring daggers into the side of my head.

“Yes of course my Lord,” I smile taking his arm. 

We promenade outside the council meeting room and into the hallway. I look up to find faint faelight glowing from large chandeliers, the walls are filled with tapestries and statues of people fucking and begging just like in the rest of the city. Large pillars shoot up from the aisles supporting the large room and I still wonder how Rhys could possibly live here. 

“I’m sorry for taking you away so soon, I know that you love to talk to Viviane, but I just had to see you,” Eris says. 

“No apologies necessary,” I reply, still taking in the sites around me. 

“I know that your brother and my father are still negotiating the terms of our marriage but I couldn’t wait to give you this,” he says before pulling a long black box out of his pocket, and opening it up. 

Inside lies a rather large and beautiful necklace. A huge golden crystal is attached by a string of glittering diamonds. If it was given to me by anyone else I would’ve thought it beautiful, but I knew it’s true meaning, it’s true purpose. It wasn’t just a piece of fine jewelry, it was a collar, meant to show everyone I belonged to Eris now. I took a mental deep breath. 

“Oh Eris, it’s beautiful!” I gasp, running my hands over the chain. 

“I knew you would like it,” he smiled. “Here allow me to help you put it on.” 

I turn around and feel him place the heavy jewel around my neck. The weight of it already making me feel shackled. His fingers dust over the nape of my neck fastening the clasp. He kisses my shoulder when he’s done and I feel his hands gently turning me around so he can see it on me. 

“It looks beautiful on you, like it was made for you,” he smiles, hand caressing my face.

“I love it, thank you,” I say, trying to hide my discomfort. 

“I promise you that when we are officially engaged you will have even bigger jewels,” he smirks, stepping forward even closer, causing me to step back. “And when we’re married even bigger jewels,” He croons and my back hits one of the many pillars. “But I’ll save the biggest and most expensive ones for when you bear me our first son.” he smirks and there’s nothing I can do to stop him from crashing his lips on mine.  

Eris kisses me hungrily and needily as my hands fly to the pillar my back is pressed on, any little movement to keep him farther away from me. His hands drop to wander my waist and I feel the entire room shudder causing pieces of dust to fly up everywhere. Eris pulls himself off of me. 

“What was that?” I ask afraid. 

“I’m not sure, I’ll go check,” Eris replies and he leaves me to run back to the council chambers to confer with the rest of the Lords. 

  I step forward from the pillar and take a deep breath. I start to follow Eris back to the council room but then my skin starts to buzz again and I stop in my tracks. Rhysand’s hands graze up my arms from behind me as he leaves gentle kisses on my neck. 

“That was you wasn’t it?” I smirk. 

“Maybe,” he smiles into my skin. “He had a lot of nerve kissing my mate in my court.”

“To be fair he didn’t know,” I giggle. 

“I don’t care, he was lucky I didn’t rip his head off,” he says, continuing to kiss my neck.

“This place is terrifying, how do you live here?” I laugh.

“I don’t, this place is just where I entertain other Lords,” he explains, kissing my neck still.  

“Then where do you live?” I ask, reaching up to press my hand against his face, encouraging him not to stop. 

He smiles against my skin, “I want you to tell your brother that you’re staying with Viviane again tonight.” 

“Why?” I ask. 

“Because, I finally have you here, in my court. I want you to stay here with me, even if it’s just for one night.” he emphasizes his statement with a long lick up my neck that has my toes curling in my shoes. 

I turn to look at him, “are you sure my brother won’t find out?” I ask, finally looking into those violet eyes I had been missing. 

“I’m positive,” he smiles and his eyes glance down to the necklace. “You weren’t wearing that earlier.”

I roll my eyes, “Eris just gave it to me. He said it was a gift but it feels more like a collar.” I say straightening my shoulders in discomfort from the weight of it. 

Rhysand doesn’t say anything, he just reaches a hand around the back of my neck to unclasp the necklace. I immediately feel the weight fall off into his hand and he looks at it before chucking it somewhere in the room. 

“Rhys!” I laugh.

“Much better now we can see your pretty neck,” he smirks before leaning in to kiss me. I practically melt into his touch.

Because the rest of the Lord ganged up on him, Tamlin left early and just like Rhys asked, I told him I would be staying with Viviane tonight. Tamlin didn’t even bat an eyelash. It wasn’t long until the last couple, Kallias and Viviane, left.  I turned to see Rhys staring at me from across the room with that playful smirk I always wanted to kiss off his face. 

“Are you ready to go mate?” he asked, holding out his arm to mine. 

I took it eagerly, “To go where?” I asked earnestly. 

“To Velaris,” he smiled brighter than I had ever seen him smile before and before I could question further he winnowed us away. 

When the shadows cleared I was in a house. A lush, beautiful and homey house. Thick red wool carpeted the floor, and the walls were made of a rich wood. Comfy chairs and chaises were littered about and a warm fire sprung to life. It looked lived in and loved compared to the mansion in the Spring Court. 

“So this is where you live?” I ask taking in my sights. 

“Yes it is. The place we just were? We call it The Court of Nightmares, that’s where we conduct business to keep up appearances for other courts. But this is where I live, Velaris, the city of starlight.” he explains watching me take it all in. 

I look out a large window and see the golden fae lights of the village beyond. It sits below a large snow capped mountain. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, and it already feels like home. 

“What do you mean we?” I ask. Before I can answer two large crashes come from the terrace outside causing me to jump. 

“I mean my cousin Mor, my second in command and of course Cassian and Azriel.” he says nodding to the doors where the two Illyrians from the ball are waltzing in. “Y/n this is Azriel, “ Rhysand nods to the one with the shorter hair and Azriel waves. “And this is Cassian.” he nods to the one with the longer hair. 

“Ahh yes the one that bites,” I muse. 

“Only sometimes,” Cassian chuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you y/n,” he says, holding out his hand. 

I shake it and my whole hand nearly disappears in his just like Rhysand’s. “The pleasure is all mine, I’ve never met an Illyrian before.” I say looking over his large wings. 

“Then you’re missing out for sure,” he says looking at Azriel who just rolls his eyes.

“Your wings are magnificent, would you mind if I…” my words fall short as I hold up my hand. 

“Touch them?” Cassian asks. “Go right ahead y/n,” he smirks, eyes flitting to Rhys. 

I reach my hand out to graze over the material of his wings, they feel like leather. They are rugged to the touch and I can tell that they have seen many years of battle. I hear what sounds like the snapping of leather behind me. I turn around and my jaw nearly hits the floor. There before me, Rhysand stands with his own Illyrian wings. 

“I have wings too you know,” Rhysand says  as  he tilts his head. 

Cassian erupts into laughter, “Feeling a bit jealous there Rhys?” he jokes. 

Rhys just rolls his eyes and pulls a hand out of his pocket and offers it to me. I take his hand, still too stunned to find Rhys with wings to even speak. 

“We’ll see you two later, I’m going to give y/n the rest of the tour,” Rhysand drawls leading me towards the stairs. 

“Goodnight you two,” Cassian drawls before taking off with Azriel. 

“I didn’t know you had wings” I say, still bewildered staring up at them. 

“It’s not really something I make a spectacle of. I only have them out when I’m going to use them, otherwise they tend to get in the way,” he explains, leading me up the stairs. 

“So you can shift back and forth between having them and not having them?” I ask. 

“Essentially, yes,” he says and shifts back to his wingless form just to prove the point.

“So what was the deal with me touching Cassian’s wings? Is that like taboo or something?” I ask, feeling my cheeks heat up remembering how Cassian smirked at Rhys when I asked. 

“Illyrians can feel through their wings and are known to attack first and ask questions later if they are touched without invitation. It was basically like if you ask if you could touch his abs,” Rhysand chuckles. 

“Oh,” I said, my heart stopping. “Now I feel bad.” 

“Don’t feel bad, Cassian loves teasing me. He let you touch his wings just to watch my face as you did so,” Rhys laughed again, opening a door to our left. “This is one of the guest rooms.” 

I look around at the somewhat dark room, the same lush carpet coats the floor along with the same wooden paneling. It was quaint and perfect. Rhys continued leading us down the hall to show me another guest room which was much like the first just a little bit bigger. He explained that they were the rooms Cassian and Azriel slept in for Solstice. 

“And this is my room,” he explained before opening the door to the last room in the hallway. 

The room is much larger than the other two, the huge bed was made with dark black and purple blankets and pillows. I heard the door close as I continued to explore. The bed sat next to a balcony that had the same view of the living room, the village lit with fae lights and the snowy mountain. To the left was a large bathroom with a bathtub, large enough I realized, to fit Rhysand’s wings. 

“Your room is-” 

“Our room. This is our room now.” he says and I turn to meet his gaze. “I’ve waited so long to see you standing here. In Velaris, in the townhouse, in this room.” 

“And what is it that I’m normally doing in this room, Rhys?” I smile, faking my innocence. 

“Well,” he drawls, stepping closer to me. “It goes a little something like this,” he muses before placing a hand on my cheek and kissing me. 

This kiss is different, less heated than all the others we shared before it. It holds all the passion of what’s to come, what we both know is coming. His hands slide to my waist and I let out a small moan and I can feel Rhys trying not to smile. My hands tangle in his hair pulling him closer as I feel my legs hit the mattress. He pulls me closer to him so I don’t fall and I feel him turn me around so my back is facing him. 

“Normally I would use my magic to take your clothes off,” he says voice low, his hands unlacing the corset in my dress. “But I want to take my time with you tonight,” he continues undoing the last lace. 

I nearly melt at his words, but I feel the dress start to fall and I grab the top of it to keep it from falling down. The dress didn’t allow for any undergarments meaning I would be completely bare to him. 

Rhysand places a kiss on my shoulder, “You’ve never let a man see you naked before have you?” he asks. 

“No I haven’t,” I say shyly. I feel a moment of fear but turn around and let my dress fall to the floor in a giant pile of purple chiffon. Rhysand’s eyes rake down my body and I move to cover my breast with my arms as pink tints my cheeks. 

“Don’t you dare cover those perfect breasts mate,” he says gently, pulling my arms away. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’m so lucky to call you my mate.” he kisses me again, absolving any fear I have as I feel his hands finally roam my naked body. I push him away lightly. 

“I want to see you too,” I say breathlessly looking into his eyes that are suddenly a darker shade of violet than they were before. 

“As my mate commands,” he smirks, standing back to take off his clothes. His eyes locked on mine, never breaking eye contact until he stood before me completely bare. 

I let my eyes rake down on him. His body ripples with strong and lean muscles, the upper part of his chest and shoulders are covered in swirling tattoos. My eyes dare to travel lower over his abs to his straining cock. All I can think to myself is there’s no way that’s going to fit inside me.

Rhysand chuckles, stepping towards me, “I promise it will fit mate.”

“Shit I said that out loud?” I curse ducking my chin in embarrassment. 

“No you didn’t, but your thoughts were so loud you might as well have,” he laughs tilting my chin up to meet his eyes. 

My eyes drift down to his chest again and I finally let my hands wander the muscles on his chest. His skin soft and smooth under my fingers, I run them up his abs, over his pecs, across his shoulders and down his arms earning a low groan from him. I take his hands and place them on my waist, throwing my own over his shoulders and as I look into his eyes the words just tumble out of me. 

“I love you Rhys,” I breathe. 

“You don’t have to say it just because I said it the other day,” he says almost sadly. 

“I’m not. I love you Rhysand,” I smile. 

A smile spreads across his face, “I love you too mate.” 

His hands pull me closer to him and I can feel my breasts pressing against his chest as he seals our lips again. This time the kiss is more needy as I feel my heart rate pick up. His frame backs me up and I can feel his cock pressing into me making me practically moan into the kiss. 

My legs hit the mattress again, this time he lets me fall onto the bed. I open my eyes and watch his eyes rake down me again, nothing short of a predatory gaze behind them. His knees hit the mattress and he crawls over me, caging me in with his arms. He kisses me deeply and begins to move his lips down my jaw and to my neck again. I can feel his restraint as he tries not to leave love bites all over me. His lips go lower and lower and my chest starts to heave in anticipation of what I think is next. 

“Your breasts,” he says, kissing the top of each one. “Are the most beautiful pair of breasts I’ve ever seen. I should’ve worshiped them the moment that dress hit the floor.” He smirked.

He started kissing the underside of each breast, then the sides and then the tops again purposefully avoiding the one place I wanted his mouth the most, making me squirm. 

“And these pretty pink nipples,” he says before finally taking one in his mouth and suckling. 

“Oh fuck,” I breathe having my back arch into him. His other hand comes up to draw little circles on my other nipple. 

“Dirty mouth mate,” he teases before resuming his menstrations.

My hands fly to his hair as I pull him closer to me needing more of him. Needing all of him. 

“Wouldn’t want this one to think I don’t love it,” he smirks before sucking my other bud into his mouth. 

“Rhys please,” I breathe tugging at his hair. 

“So eager are we mate?”  he says kissing down my body till he gets to my core. He skips over it and sits up, taking my leg and kissing my ankle. He draws a path of kisses all the way down my leg till he reaches the inside of my thigh. He gives me an evil grin before sitting up and beginning to do the same with the other leg.  

“Ugh Rhysand!” I groan, causing him to chuckle. 

“I told you I wanted to take my time mate,” he chuckles against my calf.  “Was there a certain body part you were hoping I would kiss?” he asks suggestively.

“Your favorite part,” I muse. 

“You cruel wicked thing. As if I could ever just choose one part of you to be my favorite.” he says, acting wounded, putting my leg down. He leans into my pussy and places a kiss there running a finger through my folds. “Though I will say that one of my top contenders is this pretty little clit.” he hums lowly before flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves. 

“Ahh,” I scream, my hands going straight to his hair. 

“Precisely why I love it. I love the little sounds you make when I lick it,” he growls before diving in to feast on me. 

“Oh my gods Rhys!” I scream, grinding my hips into his face. 

That’s right y/n I wanna hear everything. We’re not in Beron’s office anymore, scream for me mate. He says into my mind and I do. 

I scream and writhe and moan. My eyes flit down to where his mouth is attached to my pussy. His darkened eyes look up at me watching the pleasure rake through my body. One of his hands comes from my hip and I feel his fingers tease my entrance before he slides one into me. His mouth continues suckling on my clit as his fingers curl to massage that spot inside of me that I didn’t know was there until he touched it at the ball. 

Gods your pussy tastes so good. After we’re officially mated I promise to spend a whole night between your legs eating you out until you can’t move. 

“Rhys!” I scream, his words my undoing as I cum on his tongue. He works me through my orgasm until my legs stop shaking and then he pulls his finger from me. He places a kiss on my clit one last time before moving up the bed. He watches me as he sucks all my leftover cum on his finger off. 

I grab his neck and pull him down to kiss me again. He slips his tongue into my mouth and I can taste myself on him. My hands run down his back feeling the powerful muscles there,  gods I could just sit here and touch him all day. He was as beautiful as I had pictured him that one night not too long ago. He was everything and he was mine. 

“That’s right mate, I am yours,” he said between kisses. Clearly my thoughts we’re projecting again. 

“And I am yours Rhys,” I breathe, and he takes a moment to study my face trying to read if I really mean it, like he thought the words would never leave my mouth.  

“Mine,” he grumbles, connecting our lips again. “Beautiful and perfect and all fucking mine.” 

I feel his cock nudging my entrance and I gasp. I want it, I want all of him, but I’m scared. 

“Rhys I’m scared, I’ve never had sex before,” I say. 

“Don’t worry darling I wasn’t going to push in yet. Do you think you’re ready?” he asks sweetly. 

“Yes I’m ready,” I nod. 

“Okay tell me if it hurts too much and I’ll stop right away okay?” He says, kissing my forehead. 

“I will, I promise,” I assure him, cupping his cheek. 

“Here we go,” he says and I feel the tip of his cock at my entrance and it’s enough to have a large wave of arousal flood between my legs once more. 

He pushes his tip in and I start to feel the burn but I don’t say anything as he slowly continues to push in. I feel him stretching me and the mixture of pleasure and pain starts to take over my body. Once he’s nearly fully inside me I wince and he stops. 

“Shh it’s okay, you’re doing so good my mate,” he coos, kissing my brow. 

“I’m good now, keep going,” I breathe. 

I feel him bottom out inside me and I scream in both pain and pleasure once more. 

“Fuck y/n,” he groans, but he doesn’t move trying to give me time to adjust. I relish how full I feel with him all the way in me and I look down at his arms. His muscles are taught and his veins are nearly popping and I realize it’s taking everything inside of him not to pull his cock out and slam it into me. The thought of him taking me so rough puts butterflies in my stomach. 

“Rhys please move,” I cry trying to rock my hips into him. 

He pulls out a little and thrusts back in and I hold back my cry as he does it again. He starts to build up a good slow tempo and after a while the pain disappears. 

“Fuck you’re taking me so good, you’re doing so good mate.” he groans trying to keep himself from losing control. 

“Harder Rhys,” I whine running my hands through his hair. 

“No I don’t want to hurt you,” he shakes his head watching his cock disappear inside of me looking for any hint of discomfort. 

He’s being gentle, trying to make sure I feel good. But all I can think of are his whimpers and moans from when he stroked his cock a few nights ago, and how desperately I want to hear them again. How desperately I want my pussy to be the thing that draws them from his lips. 

I grab his face and force him to look at me so that he can see how dead serious I really was, “Rhys I want you to fuck me,” I ordered him. 

“Fuck y/n,” his eyes widened and I could see all resolve has left exit his body. 

His hips thrusted into me harder and I strangled cry left my mouth as he continued to fuck me. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room as my nails raked down his back, bringing those moans of his to the surface, I could’ve came right there. 

“Fuck Rhys it feels so good,” I say blissfully. 

“Gods mate how is your pussy so tiny and tight?” he groans into my neck fucking me harder. “You feel so good wrapped around me.” 

I feel his lips crash onto mine again, hips never faltering. I can barely keep our lips attached as he keeps pulling moans from me and all I can think is how utterly his I am. 

“Say it again,” he grits out and I know exactly what he means. 

“I’m yours Rhysand,” I hum. 

“Mine,” he grunts fucking me even harder. 

The new pace has me seeing stars as I grip onto his shoulders leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin. I feel the ever familiar knot in my stomach growing and I’m moments away from cumming with his name on my tongue. 

“Rhys I’m gonna cum,” I warn him and I can see the muscle in his jaw flicker. 

“Me too. Cum with me mate,” he grunts before flicking my clit. I crumble the moment he flicks the sensive bud. 

“OH GOD RHYS!” I scream digging my nails into his back again. 

“Oh fuck y/n,” he groans, hips stuttering as he spills his seed into me. 

We’re a heap of sweat and ragged breaths as he keeps himself propped up as not to crush me. My hands smooth back his hair and I leave sweet kisses on his brow. 

“I love you so much Rhys,” I whisper in his ear leaving a kiss there. I mean every word, my soul so full of love for him that tears prick my eyes. 

“I love you too y/n.” he smiles, pressing our lips together. 

He sits up pulling out of me and I feel a breath escape my lips, disappointed at the sudden emptiness. He sits on his knees and I watch as he stares between my legs. His eyes light up in amusement. 

“What?” I giggle sitting up a little on my arms. 

“I’ve waited forever to have this view,” he smirks. 

“What view?” I ask.

“You, naked, in my bed, with my cum dripping out of your pussy.” he muses, leaning over me again. “Totally and completely mine.” he smiles, kissing me again.

I hum in approval at his words and kiss him harder feeling his skin melt against mine. I try to pour every ounce of love I have into it. The way he kisses me has me seeing stars and I suddenly feel hot again, like I need more of him. 

“Rhys I want more,” I say between kisses. 

“I fuck you one time and you already want more?” he chuckles. “Don’t worry mate, I’m not done with you yet.”

Taglist: @crystalferret202 @heyyitsnat21 , @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson , @randomperson1234sblog , @local-fangirl09 , @bleh-81, @annaaaaa88 , @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @tenaciousperfectionunknown , @judig92 , @aunicornmademedoit, @sharknutz , @slytherintaco , @isa1b2h3 , @nickishadow139 

[inf3ct3dd]

HOT TO GO!

warnings: gay ppl (ewwww omg 🙄🙄)

authors note: im a sucker for a barista au, what can i say 😕 also im obsessed w this song rn

5,6,5-6-7-8!

you started prepping the coffee beans, pouring them into a large class container while you moved your head back and forth, music blasting through your headphones.

you loved working the opening shift. most people definitely would not, but giving that you had an insane sleep schedule and were already awake at 4am, you decided to take it.

your favorite part? you worked by yourself.

you had always loved doing weird shit in your room. acting out fake scenarios, having fake concerts, dancing around to music, girly shit!!! but having a roommate, a very reserved quiet girl named amy who went to sleep at 9pm every night (weirdoooo…) you didn’t have very much…freedom.

but the opening shift? you could be as weird as you wanted to. it was basically like your room, if your room was a coffee shop.

you walked into the supply room, still dancing around to your music. you were grabbing random milks and flavorings to bring back to the front, when you started singing into one of the milk containers as you walked back.

you set it down in its proper place, now spinning yourself around and checking that everything was in its place. you bounced on your feet, music still blaring in your ears.

“H-O-T-T-O-G-O U CAN TAKE ME HOT TO GO!”

you suddenly had a background in cheer, singing along to the chant in the song and shaping your arms into the letters, adding in your own random choreography you made up.

you look at the clock, reading [4:45 AM], indicating you’ll be opening soon.

most people didn’t show up til at least 5:30, so you knew you had nothing to worry about, deciding to make yourself a drink.

well, what you cant see cant hurt you, right?

a girl approached the glass entrance of the coffee shop, stopping to read the hours.

you were still lost in your own world, mixing your chai latte while dancing and singing behind the counter. you were very into it, committing to the fake choreo you made yourself for the chorus. you mixed your chai and oat milk together, shaking them in the mixing cup while moving your hips back and forth and switching sides with the cup you were shaking.

the girl quickly noticed you, and a smile crept onto her face as she watched you move around. you didn’t notice her at all, still lost in your musical barista-ing.

you effortlessly scooped some ice into your cup, pouring the latte over it and putting a cap on. you’re moving in an almost perfect rhythm, your movements matching the beats of the song. a cheesy smile is plastered as you finish, drawing a smiley-face on your cup before taking a sip.

you look up to the clock, seeing its now 5:00, and you have to move the “open” sign. you take a sip of your drink first, closing your eyes in contentment as you taste it.

“perfect!”

the girl is still looking at you through the glass, enamored by how happy you are at 5 in the morning. you completely contrasted her. your bright sweater under your overalls, curls pulled up into a high ponytail, and glasses now sitting low on your nose seemed to fit your personality (or her rough impression of it from staring at you for five minutes) perfectly. she almost wishes you don’t notice her, you seem so in your element.

her wishes are not obeyed, as you look over at the door and lock eyes with her almost immediately, slightly jumping at her sudden presence and the fact that she was most definitely staring at you.

how long has she been there….

you lower your headphones onto your neck, music still leaking through.

you look at the girl for a second, taking in her features (or what you can see from across the cafe), and the main note you got was gay.

and kinda hot.

she had redish-brown hair, cut into a mullet stopping at the bottom of her neck. her jade-green eyes were staring right at you, and they perfectly complimented the brown freckles adorning her face. she had layered a dark grey long sleeve with a black band tee, with a pair of greyish-blue jeans and some seriously fucked up converse.

you quickly snap out of your daze, setting your drink down and walking over to the door. you flip the open sign over so it reveals the “open” side to the people entering, and unlock the door for the girl.

“sorry for the uh…wait? i dunno how long you were out there.”

she lightly giggles before walking into the store.

“yeah, you seemed like you were having a good time.”

you offer a laugh in response, walking behind the order counter.

she definitely saw me.

“you know what you want?”

you slightly wince at your words, feeling not very customer-service-y. your nerves were getting the best of you.

“hm…i dunno, whats that?”

ellie gestures towards your drink.

“my favorite! its just a chai latte, but i put oat milk and brown sugar syrup!”

you smile, content with your reply. it clearly rubs off on the brunette, as she smiles back at you.

“does it come with a performance?”

you roll your eyes at her response, laughing slightly.

“nah, gotta pay extra for that.”

you type her order into the cashier, still smiling.

“how much?” she jokingly asks, making the both of you giggle.

you look down at her hands on the counter , fingers slightly tapping it, the sound of her silver rings hitting it quietly repeating.

those are some homosexual hands.

“can i get that hot though? my professors classroom’s fuckin freezing.”

you laugh again, giving her a nod and changing the order in the system.

“is that it, window stalker?”

she chuckles at you.

“should be, twinkle toes.”

you roll your eyes at her, grabbing a cup and your pen.

“you got a real name, or should i just put that?”

“ellie. do you have a real name?”

you give her your name, writing hers down on the cup, along with a heart and some sparkles.

she repeats your name, nodding before paying and leaning on the counter of the pickup area.

you make her drink, still moving around a bit as you make it. you cant help it!!! you’re happyyyy :))

ellies really taking the stalker thing to heart, trying her hardest not to stare. but she CANT, you just look too perfect to not admire. shes never seen someone this giddy at work.

you decide to make a simple heart design with the milk, expertly pouring it into a perfect shape.

you proudly walk over to the pickup area, setting the drink down in front of you.

“here.”

you slide the drink in front of her, a proud smile plastered on your face.

she stares at the drink, face practically lighting up.

“wow, all this for me?”

she says, fake shocked.

a heart? is this how baristas flirt?

“cute drink for a cute girl.”

you look back at her, and see her features overcome by a slight red tint.

she smiles back at you, taking the cup into her hands and turning it over to see her name on the side, adorned with hearts and sparkles. adorable.

without a second thought you walk over to your cashier station. ellies shocked by your sudden disappearance, and slightly disappointed. but she cheers up when she sees you’re writing something down.

you walk back over to her, number in hand, and a cheesy grin on your face.

“here. so you don’t have to sit outside and stare at me anymore.”

she graciously accepts the paper, putting it in her pocket.

“who said this is gonna stop me? i enjoyed the show.”

[faerievampling]

Killing Time

Chapter 4: The Hunt

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Pairing: Soft Ascended Astarion x Spawn Female Tav

Word Count: 4.8k

Link to Ao3!

Warning: 18+. Explicit. Vaginal Fingering. PiV. Dom Astarion. Violence. Blood. blood drinking. Possessive behavior.

A/N: Posting early. can't believe this story is already at nearly 20k words. I hope you all enjoy. <3

Screenshot by: @cheekylittlepupp <3 <3

If you weren’t a vampire, you knew you would have been sore as all hells when you woke up. But lucky for you, the only thing that was aching was your fangs and your swollen, slick cunt.

Your night with Astarion was so sweet, tender, but now you were both craving each other. Your stomach growls as you nestle further into Astarion’s arms. 

“Are you ready for what the day will bring?” Astarion reaches out, gentle as ever. You knew he had bad news for you, so he would treat you tenderly. 

You sigh. “Just tell me what you’ve decided on.” Your voice is but a whisper because of your still sleeping servant, Cynthia. Your internal vampire clock tells you it’s rather early in the morning, just before the rest of the crèche will awaken. 

Astarion turns on his side, pushing his hardening cock against your abdomen, rutting into you ever so lightly. He just wanted you to know he’s interested, is all.

“We must keep the feedings to twice a day. You will eat human food between those feedings.”

You move to meet his gaze; his face is still, but his eyes are round, open, and you sense his uncertainty. You place a hand to his chest, eyes widening to a girlish stare you knew he loved.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Astarion quips at you, but his tone is hushed, tender, loving, and you know he very much does like when you beg. “I’m serious, Tav.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Then don’t be serious. Tell me you're joking.”

“Be my sweet girl and don’t fight me on this, love.” Astarion pleads before pressing his lips to yours. 

When he deepens the kiss, you catch his lip with your fang, lapping at the crimson that flowers from the wound before healing. Astarion grabs your jaw, his grasp firm, your cheeks between his fingers and thumb.

Behind his ruby eyes is a burning furnace of passion for you. His consort. His wife. His eternal lover.

His movements are quick, his fangs gently sinking into the taunt flesh of your neck. His cock is begging to be freed, but Astarion can only rub it against you as he drinks you in.

He’s only sipping on you, just wanting a taste of what is his.

When he pulls away, his eyes are wild, and he swiftly re-adjusts to nestle you to his own neck, where you waste no time sinking your fangs into him.

You bite down rather hard, causing Astarion to gasp, which only excites you further. Your hand has mindlessly found its way to his cock, and you’re stroking it through his clothing as you drink him in. 

With one hand settled into the root of your hair, Astarion grips the curve of your hip, nails digging into your skin. 

“Be quiet.” His voice rings out so fast in your mind that you barely register it before you feel Astarion’s hand between your thighs.

Instinctively, you lift one leg, draping it over Astarion’s hip as his fingers move past the waistband of your panties, stuffing a finger inside you effortlessly. Your hand flies to cup his jaw, your senses on fire.

He inserts another finger into you on his next stroke, and your body is already vibrating at the sensation. Astarion already knows where he wants to be and reaches into your depths, behind your throbbing clitorus, to that sweet tender spot inside you.

You mewl a bit before Astarion hushes you. When his thumb begins to circle your swollen nub, he has you creaming around him almost instantaneously, and you feel absolutely fucking incredible between your orgasm and his blood.

As you’re seeing stars, clenching around Astarion’s handsome, dexterous fingers, his half of your shared connection envelopes you: he’s savoring your orgasm, riding along the folds of your mind as you feed and come. Sharing in your exhilaration only makes him adore you more. 

“Oh, my darling…” Astarion presses his cheek into you, his hands continuing to explore your body as you gently hum against him, careful not to tear his skin with your fangs. 

When you finally unlatch, you both begin to sense the stirring of the crèche.

Astarion’s imagination is going wild at all the ways he wants to fuck you. His cock still rocking against you, desperate for release. 

“Don’t worry about me, my love. We will find time for you to fully satiate me soon. You can count on it. I’ll be buried in your cunt soon enough.” Astarion is teasing, still touching your sensitive folds as you try to squirm away from him, the overstimulation of your clit being too much. 

You certainly felt better after your orgasm and feeding, but you’re still upset at the sudden reality of the prospect that you wouldn’t be able to feed whenever you wanted or sip on blood and wine all day.

You knew this would happen, of course, when you accepted Lae’zel’s quest.

But still, actually living it was different than knowing it was going to happen. There has been no real way to prepare yourself, so you do your best to gather your thoughts and stay focused. 

Cynthia wakes as you are helping Astarion with his complicated camp gear, which he insisted on wearing. He looked absolutely stunning in his black, fitted ensemble that boasts his gorgeous, muscular arms.

You went for something more simple, but more modest than the strappy camp clothes you arrived in.

If the gith warriors were to act like that around people of different races, then you felt it was up to you to change their perspective. But you wouldn’t let them gawk any longer. No, you would dominate and evolve their perspective of your race and vampires like yourself with your raw power, talent, and dark beauty. 

And, you say to yourself, wanting to continue this little pep talk, I will dominate my bloodlusts. 

“You look lovely, my lady,” Cynthia says to you genuinely, and you almost smile. 

“Thank you, sweet Cynthia,” She looks crestfallen at your reply, like a woman mad from her unrequited love. She dare not speak to Astarion directly, but you’re sure that she thinks him lovely as well.

You and Astarion walk to the War Room, down the twisting halls of the spire. Astarion takes your hand in his: he’s already thumbing a ring as you begin to share in the pit in his stomach. 

“Why are you nervous?”

“You shouldn’t worry about it.” Astarion would say no more, which you were ultimately fine with. He always told you about the important things.

The two of you make it on time, finding seats next to each other at the rounded table in the center of the room. You swear Astarion is puffing his chest out, his broad shoulders seemingly wider than usual.

Elan began the meeting, but you could hardly focus as Astarion’s hand was gripping yours. Elan speaks for a while before addressing the two of you. 

“Ancuíns, you will have the pleasure of meeting your warriors today…” Astarion’s pain begins to seep into you through your bond. Elan kept talking to the both of you, unaware of the inner turmoil. You’re now gripping Astarion’s hand back; he half-heartedly tries to tell you not to worry, but it’s hardly your fault.

“…the hunt. It is a tradition of this very crèche, and its boon will allow us to properly prepare for the beginning celebrations in the coming days.”

Astarion simply nods before the two of you meet each other's gaze simultaneously. The issues of the crèche fall away as the pain suddenly subsides.You see a flicker of wetness in Astarion’s eyes. Blinking it away before anyone else could notice, Astarion confirms what was just felt: “One of our spawn is dead.” 

The rendezvous went on for some time; Astarion kept his hand in yours, his fingers musing with your jewelry and your nails. 

“So refined. So beautiful.” Astarion is trying to decide what to do. He wasn’t scared, but a silent terror was building inside you. You tucked it away, imagining that’s what Astarion would do if he felt fear: you simply don’t. 

***

The gith warriors you were set to command stood before you: ten young women and men. All traditionally trained in the art of war.

“They are yours, Tav.”

You look to Lae’zel, and then to Astarion, who is standing before his own ten soldiers. Astarion considers them only for a moment before his mind shifts back to lewd thoughts of you: you, bent over just enough for him to see the sweet, pink folds of your inviting cunt and your tight ring of muscle. He loved the way your arousal smelled, and your scent in general, which was distinctly of him.

He was a part of your very essence, your very birth, and you knew your darling will always be part of you: he had connected the two of you in the most intimate way, and had never regretted it. You were his. Your future was his to decide, and there were only two rules that you were truly beholden to, with a few minor provisions, of course.

The words Astarion first heard so long ago ring out in your shared mind matter: thou shalt not leave my side, thou shalt know that thou art mine.

There was once a time where Astarion mocked Cazador for stealing Vellioth’s rules. 

“Tav, attention!” Lae’zel spats at you, breaking you out of your brief trance. You can tell a few of your warriors are trying not to smile. “They are expecting an introduction.”

Astarion is watching you, anticipating what you will say.

“I need not. They already know who I am.” You look away from Lae’zel, deciding to put on a cock show for your beloved. “Are there not statues of me throughout the realms? Famous poems, songs, smut?” You’re posing a bit, a seductive smile on your face as your vampiric charm graces the room: this was the easiest way to get them to obey. The more exposed to the charms the mortal is, the weaker they become. You and Astarion called this vampire insurance. 

Your warriors are young, already blushing from your charms.

“You are a natural, my love.”

“Tch. Insufferable.” Lae’zel leers, clearly well protected from your manipulations, prompting Astarion to commend her for trying to protect herself. He always found a way, if compulsion was required. “You agree to come here, to help me, and yet you refuse to take this seriously.” 

“It’s ten warriors, Lae’zel. My darling can manage just fine.” Astarion said confidently, because he knew you were more likely to eat them alive than anything else. 

“Just say something, Tav.” Lae’zel is practically begging you now. “Go on.”

“Alright,” You say with a sigh. You’re silent for a while. “I was never good at doing this formally. Uh, at ease, please.” You smile awkwardly at your little rhyme, but it doesn’t translate well on your terrifying face. 

You poke into the mind of the young lady standing in front of you. She’s scared of you, more so than she is of Vlaakith’s army. 

You take a deep breath, moving your fingers and toes as you try to animate yourself. “I’m sorry if I frighten you.” You weren’t all that sorry, because you liked it. But if Lae’zel wanted you to take this seriously, then you needed to level with them, to know them and be a team. 

You realize that has never really left you: that natural leader within. 

“You can call me Tav. Lae’zel will insist on Sarth Ancunín, which sounds awful to me. My husband,” You look over to your gorgeous darling standing next to you, a smile on his pretty face as he gives you his undivided attention, which you loved. “Will likely insist on calling me Lady Ancunín, at the very least. But I insist you call me Tav.”

The warriors visibly relax, but you still sense their lingering fear. 

You breathe again, and also remember to blink. “We are to participate in the hunt today. I, uh, welcome any comments or questions you may have.”

“Tav,” A boy speaks from the back, behind the still trembling young lady at the front. “I am Zii’ro. They say you are thousands of years old.”

“Yes. I am.” 

Zii’ro stifles a smile. You can sense he has questions, which you aren’t opposed to answering, but the look he was getting from Lae’zel ensured he kept his mouth shut. 

They look so young.

“They don’t appear any older than you, my love,” Astarion muses, the thought bringing you a fair amount of pleasure. Who wouldn’t want to be young and beautiful forever?

Astarion is so glad you agree. 

“Ah. No wonder so many of the gith think that I’m just your young little plaything instead of your wife.” You respond to your husband; Astarion looked nearly fifteen, maybe twenty, years your senior, a fact he did not like upon first realizing. 

You had forgotten just how young you were when he turned you. 

“It wasn’t long after your coming of age year, my love.” Astarion spoke, answering the question that was on everyone’s mind. 

Lae’zel snorts. “Practically an eternal teenager.” 

“We’re all adults here, Lae’zel. Including these little warriors,” Astarion sweeps his eyes over the twenty gith standing before you. “Don’t be fooled by her appearance. My darling is an ancient vampire. The two hundred years between us hardly mean a thing, anymore.” Astarion has a big, menacing smile on his face. 

“Nothing could ever stand against us, Tav.”

It wasn’t until Lae’zel told you that the two of you would be separated when you started to feel a silent panic. Lae’zel wanted you to leave his side, to command your soldiers alone, to see your capabilities in the field. 

Astarion immediately begins to protest. He quickly becomes angry with Lae’zel for even suggesting that he’d ever leave his consort alone on a strange continent with even stranger people. 

“This is out of the question!” Astarion sneered. “You’ve not known me recently, Lae’zel, but do you really think I would be okay with this? Abandoning my wife?”

“It would hardly be abandonment, Astarion. The man I once knew was one who would’ve let Tav choose for herself.” Lae’zel crossed her arms, her gait wide, relaxed. She wasn’t afraid of Astarion: not in her domain, anyways. 

Astarion really doesn’t like this. His eyes narrow, his stare intense as he tries to unnerve the gith woman.

But Lae’zel is looking to you. As they’ve been arguing, you’ve been squaring yourself with having to actually leave Astaron’s side. You’re scared, but you remember why you’re here. 

Fear never stopped me before, you think to yourself before directing your thoughts to your pale lover. “Is this not the very reason why we have our connection, Astarion?”

The two of you have now blocked out all others: any notion of the outside world has been lost to you. Locked in an intense stare, you can only wonder what the two of you looked like to mortals. 

You go back and forth. Someone gasps when the two of you show fang at one another.

“You’re my wife. You do as I say. I know you’re strong, darling, but we can't risk it. I won’t allow that much distance between us. We’ve never been so far apart.” Astarion’s excuses were endless. You never realized how quickly Astarion’s mind would jump to isolating you in the boudoir whenever there was a disagreement between the two of you.

You hadn’t ever argued this much before. 

You hiss, but Astarion has an intense look in his eyes, nearly making you cower. But you don’t back down. After what feels like a lifetime to the mortals, Astarion comes to a decision.

“You will take Ruth with you.” Astarion says, frustrated by his lack of control of the situation. He’s trying to brush it off, but it’s hard for him. Between this, and the death of the spawn that he was decidedly ignoring, Astarion was doing his best to keep it together. 

You tried to comfort him, to go to him and wrap your arms around him, but now was hardly the time. 

“Just come back in one piece.” Astarion’s voice is as intense as his stare.

***

The enchanted forest was ethereally dark, beautiful and scary; nonetheless, your warriors followed you into the thicket. It took you a while of hiking before you could see the crèche in its glorious entirety.

The Crystalline Spire was far more gorgeous than what you or Astarion could have imagined. Jutting from the ground, the crystal stood straight from the ground, the outside of its walls smooth and milky. It glittered and towered far beyond what even seemed natural, only adding to its ethereal nature. 

“It could almost hold a flame to you, my consort.” 

“It is breathtaking.” You say. 

“We take great pride in its beauty,” Zii’ro replied from behind you. When you turned around, your group was admiring you, admiring the spire. 

You could sense Astarion was already on the hunt: his senses greater than yours, he had a wider radius and quicker reflexes. But you aren’t so inferior to the Vampire Ascendant: you were a formidable vampire yourself.

Your senses perk up: you hear the rustling of the leaves, the faint beat of a heart, and you zip away faster than your warriors could keep up. Ruth stayed close, silently lingering behind you, eyes never leaving you.

“Hey!” You hear, already in the distance, one of them calling out to you. Shit. You had to go back. 

“We’re supposed to do this together,” Zii’ro explained. 

Chae shook her head. “We can’t even hear what she’s running for.”

“Oh,” You say, having to stew on this for a little. “Well, follow me then. I’ll go slow, so you can keep up.” 

They follow, and you take them running through the thicket. You can hear the rise of their heartbeats, unable to really become a plateau from a brisk jog; the forest was untamed, the ground having no clear path, and you were practically jumping.

You consider taking your bat form, but that would be against the spirit of the game. You think Astarion has done this, or something similar; because if this was a contest (you weren’t even sure, you hadn’t listened or asked, realizing maybe your lack of attention was becoming a problem) Astarion was going to win.

Maybe he’d let you win, if he was feeling generous. But you decide you’re determined to get something more out of this than a win. 

That light in you still remembers.

It wasn’t until you came upon your prey that your human mind, your conscious mind, was forgotten: gone is any pretense that you’re anything but a vampire. A monster. A natural hunter in the night.

One of your archers, Quinel, draws the first blood.

You feel yourself slip away, but it happens so quickly it makes you writhe with frustration. Your warriors engage with the monster: its large, snake-like body towered over you. You notice it has feathers, despite its reptilian appearance. 

You claw, you bite, thick hot blood dripping down your chin and neck, but the monster doesn’t go down. It bites at Chae, who drops her weapon with a yelp, crying as she realizes she’s stuck in its jaws. 

The fear on her face makes you want to devour her next, but something about her reminds you of an old friend, an old lover, Lae’zel, and it brings you back to reality just enough to grab onto the monster's jaws.

Each hand is jutting into the teeth of the monster, your blood flowing freely in its mouth, but you don’t care; you’ll heal almost instantaneously, anyways. 

The monster is strong but no match for your determined strength. After a moment of you using your might, the monster's jaw is wretched apart, cracking at the joints as the monster howls in pain. 

Zii’ro has plunged his sword into the mouth of the creature as Chae is pulled out of its jaws. One last yelp of life is screeched from its stinking maw before it hits the ground. 

You already hear another beast, and you’re back in the hunt, ready for more.

***

You couldn’t begin to tell Astarion and Lae’zel what the hell happened on your hunt. But you return to the spire drunk, drenched in animal blood, having gorged yourself on a variety of wildlife. The hot, sticky crimson wasn’t nearly as delicious as intelligent blood, but there was a lot of it, which you are a fan of. It drenched your leathers, your throat and jaw, even your hair.  

Astarion, standing at the entrance to the spire, looked immaculate as he narrowed his eyes at you. But you can only laugh at his handsome, pouty face.

Your warriors followed you, equally covered in blood and guts. They prattle and grunt behind you, Chae hobbling along despite her injuries. You were too incapacitated to focus on what they were thinking: but half of them looked rather amused, and the other half looked angry. 

You looked around yourself, realizing you didn’t even have a weapon on you. Shit. You must have abandoned it during your frenzy.

Astarion is immediately scanning your memories, your brain, having preoccupied himself during the hunt. Looking over to where his warriors are at, you realize they brought back several animals, and your team had none.

“You clearly enjoyed your hunt. Have you not brought back any game?” Lae’zel asks tentatively. You are hardly listening to her, because you’re focused on your ambivalent husband.

You could feel his upset. You tried to weave through it, but you are still caught up in your bloodlust. You giggle when he takes you by the arms and pulls you into him, studying your face as he closes in on you.

“Don’t be mad, my darling.”

“Don’t be mad,” You repeat aloud, giving him a little smile to try to butter him up.

It wasn’t until Lae’zel and the other soldiers were out of hearing distance that Astarion spoke.

“Well…you’ve ruined that darling outfit I bought you,” He says, his voice low.  

Astarion is deciding how to react to this: he doesn’t like it, but it doesn’t necessarily break any of his rules, and he thought you looked rather beautiful covered in blood. 

But he decidedly did not like you drinking animal blood. “Come, my wife. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

***

Astarion remembers you just a few days after the defeat of the Netherbrain: writhing beneath him, utterly breathless and beautiful, even dizzy, from all the orgasms he had given you. You had fought him, only a little, before submitting and allowing him to ravish you again.

He wanted you all to himself for a little bit, before all the work began: the two of you were going on day two of the indeterminate amount of time Astarion decided you would stay at the hotel in the Upper City. 

You were worried about him, which he thought was rather sweet. You were also a little afraid of him, which turned him on even more than he anticipated. 

The fucking was instinctual, animalistic. When Raphael had told him the ‘appetites of man’ would return to him, he couldn’t have ever imagined how desperate his cock would be for you.

With the tadpole gone, Astarion’s powers were growing dramatically. His body was changing, his strength increasing, his entire state of mind and being was changing.

He made you a part of him, now. You were his, he was yours, and he needn’t be ashamed of pleasuring himself and his darling. He could nestle himself in your body and mind, and know that it was just the two of you: him and the only person he ever loved. The thoughts of disgust and loathing were kept at bay, only when he was with you. Only you.

Astarion had you in a mating press, pushing your thighs back as far as they’d go. He had already come inside you once, and he watched as his thick white come billowed out of you. 

The sight was delicious.

“This is amazing,” Astarion had laughed, pushing his cock into you deeply, hips banging against pelvis. His tip kissed your cervix, which is exactly where he wanted to be: as deeply nestled within you as he possibly could. “It’s never felt this fucking good before!” 

You whined and mewled beneath him, begging him to both stop and continue your torturous pleasure. But if you didn’t know what you wanted, Astarion would decide for you. 

“Haha! I can’t believe this is all mine!” Astarion hadn’t been able to contain his excitement. When you flutter your sweet cunt around him, Astarion plants a confident kiss to your lips, bringing his hand down to idly play with your swollen nub. 

“The palace, the wealth, the power, even you. All mine.” 

Astarion tightens his grip on your neck as he bites down on your shoulder. He doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t need to, and he wants it to hurt.

When you yelp at the pain of his bite, before descending into moans, it makes his cock feel so filled with blood that he only wished he could devour you further; to make you his all over again. It had been the best fucking godsdamned feeling in the world, turning you into a vampire.

As he felt the mind numbing effects of his impending orgasm, his thrusts becoming uneven and sloppy, Astarion concluded that this was the best place to train you. You’d be an obedient little wife if he kept you fucked out and full of his cock; he just knew it. It was what was best for you, anyways.

He repositions you, lifting your hips up on his thighs, where he starts to rut into you: it’s too deep, it’s too much, and he knows it. 

You start to push him away, trying to close your thighs to prevent his intrusion. 

“Oh, my love,” Astarion muses, capturing your wrists with one hand, using his other to force your thighs open. 

“Please…“ You had begged—but in your mind, you told him to give it to you. You wanted all of him, and Astarion loved this so much, his heart swelled to proportions previously unknown to him, and he was a man maddened with lust, with love, for his sweet wife. 

And there was something about making his sweet wife, the strong leader of the group, so submissive and needy for him…

With that, Astarion’s powerful mind flits to another memory; he would never forget your face when he asked you to kneel for him in front of the others. 

A guilt fills Astarion’s chest, a feeling he was no stranger to, but it pissed him off. He hadn’t initially thought of it as humiliation, and had been surprised when you told him why you had stopped asking him for kisses in public. 

You were so delicate, so beautiful, and it was both the reason why he was desperate to protect you and keep you by his side, and why he wanted to dominate you.

He’d especially never forget how you looked when you obeyed. He was so happy.

Now, seeing his consort covered in the blood of lesser creatures, he couldn’t ignore the shifting visions of the past that flit across his mind. 

He decides the best punishment for you was to stretch you out with his cock and take his pleasure in you, just as he had decided two thousand years ago. He plans to leave you breathless and desperate with no intention of making you come.

He imagines withholding your orgasm from you, leaving you covered in his slick seed. Yes, my consort hates being denied. He’d command you to push his semen back inside your wet, sloppy entrance, pleasuring yourself while coated in his essence. 

He knew he probably wouldn’t be able to go through with it. He loved making you come too much, but he certainly enjoyed the thought.

Astarion scrubs your skin with the washcloth, the flakes of dried blood stubborn even with hot water and soap. “What am I to do with you, my love?”

“I tried. I participated. I tried to be what they wanted.” Astarion senses your hurt, your confusion. 

He brings a hand to your jaw, drawing you to face him. Astarion sighs before he speaks, giving you a little smile. “It’s alright, love. I don’t like it, but I’m not angry with you. It’s only your nature.” 

Astarion sighs when you smile, relief washing over him as the fog of your upset dissipates from his assuring words. Once you’re clean, Astarion is next, and soon, the two of you are wrapped up in each other once more, taking the opportunity to adore each other after a long day. 

Astarion wants you to be quiet, even when he finally slides his swollen, needy cock inside you. You’re so perfect, Astarion wants to stay here forever, just like this with you.

He keeps his cock in you for a while as he captures your lips with his own. 

“You are my everything.”

Masterlist

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

[local-dragon-haunt]

PSA to my fellow artists!!!

With the holidays fast approaching it appears this specific commission scam is making its rounds again.

Below is a conversation I will be posting to help you all know what to look out for:

So this account reached out to me under one of my recent posts. My first safeguard against scams like this (and just so I know the preferences of my ACTUAL clients) is to check the account that is messaging me:

FIRST RED FLAG: No posts. No description. Default background, generic, probably stolen pfp. Robot City (But you all know this by now)

Now, I was like, 99% sure this was a scam right here. (shout out to that one twitter thread I read a few months ago. It helped me clock this account immediately)

But I decided to humor them on the off chance that this person just doesn't understand Tumblr culture. (please, please do not do this. I am petty and insane)

RED FLAG #2: Notice the lack of references: asking me to draw something and then not sending any reference materials (something I explicitly state on my commissions spreadsheet).

This is a topic they will try to avoid (as you will see below), and ultimately what made them realize that I wasn't worth the effort. Always, always, always require references and style guides for any commission you get. Scammers' main goal is to spend as little energy as possible. they will not bother giving these to you.

Now onto Red Flag #3:

Notice how they immediately aim for the most expensive option (which, for my commissions, happens to be fully rendered furry content). This is a red flag because not ONCE did they mention this was going to be anything other than a portrait. This is when I knew 100% it was a scam.

RED FLAG #4: Asking for personal information. I am begging you. I am begging, never EVER, EVER give out your personal information online. ALWAYS use a pseudonym. Change the subject. Do literally anything else. just DON'T. GIVE. THAT. INFORMATION. AWAY.

AND RED FLAG #5: Offering WAY more than I am asking for my services. Remember, kids: if something is too good to be true, it probably is!

it is here that you are going to want to block and report this account. Do Not Be Me. I am begging you. I am doing this for educational purposes. However. I have one more red flag for you guys:

RED FLAG #6: Now, this very generous (/s) person is offering me $300 WHOLE DOLLARS just to draw a furry for them! That's so incredibly thoughtful!

...so why do they not care about the species, color, accessories, pose...ANYTHING about it? (It's because they don't care. They're not gonna pay you the money.)

Look, I can understand how flattering it is to be given full creative freedom on a commission, but you have to understand that this will almost never, EVER, happen to you. I'm sorry. It's the truth.

Anyways. That's all I got for you. Do me a favor, go ahead and block/report @mlaurel any any other cronies they're affiliated with. Also reblog this post if you feel so inclined. Keep your information safe. Get that bank! And Happy (safe) Holidays!

[daisybell17]

New Years with Loki hc’s:

He would be so confused on why this was such a big deal to many midgardians…its a new year…so what?

Besides his confusion, he loved new years eve parties, and with you it just makes it 100x better

His first new years eve party was hosted by Tony Stark so of course it did not disappoint

He wore a nice black suit with hints of green silks inside his coat jacket. You on the other hand wore a tight fitting dress, also having hints of green through glitter spread around the dress

Loki could not keep his eye off you

The night was filled with great conversation, food, drinks and celebration of the year that passed by and the year to come

Loki kept hearing about “resolutions” and of course when it came to Midgardian things he did not understand, he would ask you

“Why is everyone asking me my “resolutions”? From Stark to the spider boy to even the arrow guy…what is a resolution darling?”

“Well a new years resolution is something people make as a sort of change in their life, sometimes they’re big, sometimes small. It’s just something people make as the new year comes, since its like a restart of everything”

“That sounds…odd, why do people wait till new years to make a change, just do it now”

“I cant really answer that honey, everyone is different, plus I have my own resolution”

His eyebrows raised at your response “You do? Enlighten me my dear”

“Yea one of my new years resolution is to spend more time reading, hopefully finishing books i have been putting of. I guess mine is small but it is some improvement…you should make something!” You encouraged him as to bring in the new years spirit

“Me? Improvement? Make a resolution? Darling I don’t need one. I’m perfect. duh” He snickered

You laughed at his response “You know there isn’t such thing as perfection, thats what makes life beautiful, its always changing and you find the beauty in it…plus, even perfection such as yourself can always self improve somewhere”

“That defeat the whole purpose of perfect, I don’t need some resolution…i am PERFECT darling!” He kisses your cheek as he finished his stance

“Okay! Whatever you say honey”

The night goes on as normal but of course your words linger Loki’s mind…and he took a minute to do some reflection…i mean he knew he was perfect, but even perfection has room for self-improvement…hmmm..

As the final 10 minutes of the year approached, your tipsy self found Loki and fell onto him

“Woah! Darling you ok?” He says as he holds you up

“YUP JUST TIPSY! …its a-almost n-new years…i need to be sober for our kisssssss”

“Kiss? I can kiss you right now you know”

“nOOOO new years eve kiss! I need water…NOW”

Loki rushes to get you water to get you back to being sober and by the time you gathered yourself and your thoughts, there was about 3 minutes to go

“OKAY IM GOOD! so basically a new years kiss is when we kiss once the clock hits 0! so basically…an i love you kiss, happy new year! Ya get it?”

Loki nods…he would kiss you any day at any time but he knew to wait, this was special to you as he could tell

As everyone gathered and the clock counted down, you and Loki stood together side by side

“10….9…8…7!”

Loki watches as everyone was here, celebrating the past and the future, all in the present moment…

“6…5…4...3!”

As the last 3 seconds ticked by, he took one good look at you. He knew how the past year had been for you…filled with so much good, too much bad in his opinion but amazing moment you both shared…and he couldn’t wait to see what the future brought for you in your own right, but for where you both will be and the memories to be created…he couldn’t wait

“2…1! Happy New Year!” Everyone cheered, screams of happiness filled the room and hugs and love was spread all around

You looked up at Loki and awaited for him to kiss you, which he did once you gave that glance that drove him insane

As the kiss went on, Loki felt nothing but happiness…how lucky is he to be with someone like you? What a lucky god he is….

Pulling away, you hugged Loki and watched as the fireworks went of and your friends greeting one another, you and Loki also greeting back

The excitement slowly died down and many went back to partying and drinking…Loki looked at you “Darling…I have a resolution”

You looked at him happily “You do?! You wanna share or keep it to yourself?”

“No no…you should know…My new years resolution is to make us happier…build us closer to our future…and of course…love you more and more each day…”

Looking at Loki, your eyes welled up in happy tears and you kissed him once more “Oh i’m so lucky to be with you…my love, I love you so much”

“I am just as lucky as you…I love you too…happy new year” He says with a smile as he held you close

[foundtherightwords]

As the Sun Will Rise - Chapter 6

Pairing: Grunauer (Overlord) x OFC, Beauty & the Beast retelling

Summary: After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.

Chapter warnings: mentions of bullying/racism

Chapter word count: 4.4k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Alba mentioned the alligator to no one, not even Beatriz. If Papi knew there was an alligator so close by, he would never let her and Beatriz leave the bakery, let alone go to work at a house in the middle of the swamp. So she only gave him the promissory note and explained the payment plan. Papi signed without reading it over. "That's two years of your life to pay for my mistake, daughter," he said with a heavy sigh.

"Don't say that," she said, tucking the note back into its envelope. "I told you, I'm happy to help."

That night, as she lay on her little bed across from Beatriz, Alba went over the events of that day. The encounter with the alligator had been, without a doubt, the most terrifying experience of her life, and yet when she thought back on it, the quickening of her heart had nothing to do with fear and everything with the way Grunauer had held her and kept trying to shield her with his body, even though he could barely stand himself. And when she was bandaging his arm up, he'd looked at her with such tender gratitude in his eyes that her heart just went out for him. It was probably the first time someone had treated him with kindness ever since the war.

She knew now, with certainty, that someone who did what Grunauer had done—protecting her, picking up a lost puppy on the bombed-out street of England, paying her extra even though he didn't have to—could never be a killer, no matter what people said, no matter how moody and withdrawn he was. She vowed to never listen to any gossip ever again.

She was almost sorry that she had to wait the weekend before going back to work. On Monday morning, she was unloading her things in the kitchen when she heard the shuffling footsteps accompanied by the familiar tap-tap-tap of the cane, and she turned around to find Grunauer coming in. He froze in the doorway at the sight of her.

"Miss Reyes," he said. "I wasn't expecting you so early."

Alba glanced at the clock. It was half an hour before she usually started. She must have been so eager to get back that she hadn't noticed the time.  

"I haven't even started the coffee yet," Grunauer continued, looking a little flustered.

"I can do it."

"Please, let me." He tried to take the coffee pot from her and added, awkwardly, "It's the least I can do."

"Be my guest," she said, amused, and handed him the pot. "Or, rather, be my host. I'm the guest here."

Perhaps this is his way of feeling useful in his own home, Alba thought, watching him busy himself with the coffee. She wondered if it was simply his physical disabilities that prevented him from the more strenuous tasks, or if it was something else. For some reason, she remembered her mother, who had been unable to stir herself after they received the news about Raf. Though doctors had insisted there was nothing physically wrong with her, she had simply wasted away and died soon after. Alba had seen plenty of men who came back from the war with vacant eyes, physically strong, healthy men who jumped at the sound of a car backfiring, who sweated and trembled when they had to navigate a crowd. Maybe Grunauer was the same.

While the kitchen slowly filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, Alba opened the box of cookies she'd brought. "Here's something different for you," she said. "Courtesy of my sister Beatriz."

Grunauer picked up one of the shortbread cookies with a dollop of guava jam in the middle and popped it into his mouth. His already round eyes went even rounder with delight.

"It's delicious!" he exclaimed. "What is it?"

"Torticas de Morón," replied Alba.

"Moron?" he repeated, perplexed.

"No, no, Morón," she corrected. "It's a town in Central Cuba. Torticas means cookies. The original recipe is just a plain shortbread cookie, but Beatriz added the guava jam." She gave a rueful grin. "Our father doesn't approve. He thinks we should just stick to the traditional."

"It's so good though." He ate another. "It's like the German Engelsaugen."

"The what?"

"Engelsaugen. It means angel eyes. My mom used to make them at Christmas, with raspberry jam. She would let me press the dough with my thumb to create the dip for the jam."

Enraptured by the cookies, Gruanuer didn't even seem to realize this was the first time he'd mentioned his mother to Alba. Alba didn't want to draw attention to it either. She didn't want to appear nosy. She only tilted her head, examining the cookies. "Angel eyes, huh? Well, if angels had eyes like that, I wouldn't want to meet one."

Grunauer chuckled at her joke. It was the first time she'd heard him laugh, too. Dios mío, a day of firsts!

"I guess we were going for biblically accurate angels," he said. "We're Germans after all. Sticklers for rules, the lot of us."

"But it sounds nice. Ojos de angel. We can certainly market that. Papi may not like it, but he has to move with the time."

Grunauer hesitated. He seemed reluctant to leave the kitchen and their conversation. "Is he strict then, your father?" he asked.

She shrugged. "He just wants what he believes is the best for us, that's all. Aren't all fathers that way?" She turned to him. "What about yours?"

That was the wrong thing to say, for the faint glimmer in Grunauer's eyes went out at the mention of his father. He mumbled some excuse and hurried out of the kitchen, leaving Alba to watch him go with a sigh. Will she ever learn to hold her tongue?

As the week went by, however, she learned that it wasn't her careless talk that sent Grunauer into one of his moods. It wasn't even the mention of his parents, or the war, or anything that she could think of. One minute they would be having a normal conversation, and the next he would clam up and scurry back into the study. He wasn't as irritated with her as he had been the first week, nor did he go out of his way to avoid her, but he remained shy, almost painfully so. He no longer fought with her over things in the house. He meekly agreed to her suggestion that he have his meals in the dining room. When she started clearing the garden and asked if she could have a vegetable patch somewhere—the garden had mostly fruit trees, oranges, guavas, figs, even an avocado tree, but no vegetables—he only nodded vaguely and told her she was free to do what she wanted. She never thought she'd missed it when he snapped and yelled at her, but at least it meant they would interact. Now, she no longer had any excuse to send him notes. Oh well. She was here to work and to pay off her family's debt, not to make friends with her employer.

And then something happened that distracted her from Grunauer and his bewildering moods.

One of the reasons Alba was so eager to work at the Grunauer place was that it allowed her to avoid Grant. She would wake at five as usual, put in an hour or two at the bakery during the morning rush, and leave for the Grunauer place before eight o'clock, and that was far too early for Mr. Gastin Grant. Ever since that Monday morning when he told her the rumor about Grunauer, she hadn't seen him again. It made her careless. One evening, she was on her way back from the Grunauer place by the main road—the summer rain had flooded the back lane and turned it into a river of mud—when she heard the familiar roar of a car engine behind her, accompanied by ear-splitting honking. She didn't have to look around to see who it was. Grant's cherry-red Aston Martin drove up and crowded her bike to the side of the road, boxing her in until she was forced to either come to a stop or crash her bike into a willow bush.

"There she is," he said. "You know, you're a hard girl to find, Allie."

 "Are you blind?!" she screamed, wheeling around to face him. "You could've killed me!"

"I wouldn't have to do it if you just stopped when I honked the horn," he said, unapologetic. He reached up to fix his sunglasses, although the sun was already going down.

"If you insist on wearing those stupid sunglasses at night, no wonder you crash into people," she said tartly, and Grant's smile wavered a bit. He pushed the glasses up his forehead in what he clearly thought was a sophisticated gesture.

"How's Grunauer treating you?" he asked.

"None of your business."

"I thought working at the bakery was bad enough, but housekeeping? Really, Allie? You know I can take care of you. Why do this to yourself?"

"You wouldn't understand," Alba said through gritted teeth. "You've never worked a day in your life."

"Excuse me, I've just finished my work for the day."

She snorted. "Yeah, right. Doing what?"

"Surveying."

"Where's your equipment then?"

As if to answer her question, another car lumbered into view, an ancient Ford Model T. The driver, a short, rotund young man with watery eyes and a nose almost the same shape, size, and color as an heirloom tomato, jumped down, mopping his forehead with a dirty handkerchief.

"Why are we stopping, Gastin?" he asked. "Are we taking more photos?"

"Shut up, Bozo," Grant replied with barely-concealed contempt. "Take the stuff back to the office like I said."

"Are you going back to the office too?" Bozo asked.

"Never mind where I'm going, just do as you're told!" snapped Grant.

The other man recoiled and went back to his car, looking like a kicked dog. As he opened the door, Alba could glimpse a camera and a tripod on the backseat, and, confusingly, several cans of red paint on the floor.

Before Alba could contemplate the meaning of those paint cans, Grant turned back to her. "There's a plan to build a large airport just west of Miami, you know," he said. "It's the way of the future, they say. So they're widening the Tamiami Trail through here, to connect the new airport to downtown."

Alba's face went cold, as if he'd just slapped her with a block of ice. "Through the swamp?"

"That's what I heard," said Grant, pleased to have her attention. "Get rid of this nest of mosquitoes at last, eh? Once it's done, this area will be connected to the heart of Miami. We'll build a high-rise right about here. My father's promised the penthouse for us..."

Alba hardly saw his leer. Her head was swimming with images of the swamp drained and destroyed, the cypresses razed to the ground, the birds and the snakes and the alligators gone, concrete poured over everything. "I have to go," she said absently, wheeling the bike around Grant's car.

"Hey, do you have Saturday off?" Grant called after her. "How about I pick you up for dinner and a movie?" She didn't look back.

Grant's revelation upset her so much that she didn't even realize she'd arrived home. She helped Beatriz get dinner ready without knowing what she was doing, nodded to her sister's happy prattling about the bakery without hearing any of it, and sat down to eat without tasting anything. Finally, when her father asked her to pass the black beans for the third time, Alba could no longer take it.

"Papi, have you heard anything about the plan to build an airport and widen the Tamiami Trail through here?" she asked.

She was hoping that he would say no, to assure her that it was just a baseless rumor, but to her dismay, he nodded solemnly. "Yes, I have," he said. "Apparently, it's is going to be runways and highways through this whole area."

Beatriz dropped her fork. "Through Cypress Grove?" she squeaked. "But what about the bakery? Where are we going to go? Where are we going to live?"

"Don't lose your head, Bea," Papi said, patting her hand. "It won't be for a few years yet. And I'm sure we'll get enough compensation to reopen the bakery elsewhere."

"You forget, Papi, that we don't own the land," Alba reminded him in a dull voice. "We're only renting it."

"All the more reason not to worry, right, girls?" said Papi. "We can move anywhere, to a better location even."

Alba slowly got up and started clearing the table. As she'd suspected, Papi and Beatriz didn't understand. All their concerns were for the bakery, which were valid but not really serious. As Papi said, they could go anywhere. But for the animals whose homes were destroyed, where would they go?

The weekend had never felt so long. On Saturday evening, Grant actually showed up at the bakery for their "date", but Alba sent him packing with some choice words. Sunday was worse. It seemed the news of the airport construction had spread through Cypress Grove, and in church, people could talk of little else. Already they were discussing selling up their properties to get a better price, instead of waiting to be forced out and receiving a meager compensation from the government.

It was with a heavy heart that Alba arrived at the Grunauer place the following Monday. She was making lunch—yellow rice with sausage today—while gazing out the window at the swamp beyond, trying to tell herself that there was nothing she could do to prevent its destruction and it was pointless to grieve, when Grunauer's voice jolted her out of her reverie.

"Miss Reyes," he said behind her, "the pot's boiling over."

Startled, she turned her attention back to the stove and gave the rice a quick stir, before lowering the heat and putting the lid back on the pot.

"Are you OK?" Grunauer asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He seemed to be in a gregarious mood, and after carrying around the fear for two days, Alba felt like unburdening herself.

"No," she sighed. "Do you know anything about a plan to build an airport near here?"

He thought for a moment. "I think I've heard some rumbling, yes," eventually he said.

"Then it must be true!" she almost wailed.

"Calm down, Miss Reyes," Grunauer said, frightened by her distress. "What's the matter?"

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" She gestured at the swamp outside the window. "All that is going to be destroyed, and you asked, what's the matter?"

"It's the price we must pay for progress," he said.

"You sound like one of those politicians!" she muttered, attacking the pot of rice vigorously with the spoon. He was just like Papi and Beatriz and the rest. To them, the swamp was just a breeding ground for bugs and dangerous animals like snakes and gators, or worse, a waste of space, where houses and farms could be built.

Grunauer was studying her curiously. "You really care about the swamp, do you?" he asked.

"It's not just the swamp, it's everything—" Alba tried to explain how she felt, but couldn't find the words. She settled for a memory instead. "There's this place near our hometown in Cuba called Lake Guanaroca. It's a bit like the swamp here. Well, not really, because it's mostly mangroves and not cypress, but you get the idea. You can go there to watch flamingos and other birds. My father took me and my brother there once, when we were little." She looked out the window again, lost in reminiscence. "The water is so clear that even from afar, you can see streaks of pink reflected in it. And when you get close, it's like there are two flocks of flamingos, one on top of the other. Then you get closer, closer, and they take off over your head—like petals in the wind, but instead of falling to the ground, they're going up to the sky. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And here is something just as beautiful, and they're going to destroy it. And for what? For airplanes and cars. They're all in such a hurry to get somewhere, they never stop to look around them anymore—"

Realizing Grunauer was being rather quiet, she turned around. He was gone. She'd let her mouth run on and scared him off again. With a sigh, Alba went back to cooking. It seemed nobody in her life understood.

The tapping of the cane made her look up. Grunauer was coming back to the kitchen, a little book in his hand. "Here," he said, holding it out to her. The title said Walden, by Henry David Thoreau. "He was a naturalist who went off into the woods to live by himself for two years," he explained, answering her look of silent questioning. "You may find him a kindred spirit."

What Alba wanted was a solution, not a book, but she found it touching that he was trying to help in the only way he knew how. "Thank you," she said, taking the book and tucking it into the pocket of her apron.

"And about the airport," he continued, "I think you don't need to worry. The Seminole people still live in the swamps, so it's a protected area. They won't allow an airport to be built so close to it."

Alba stared. Of course! In her distress, she'd forgotten about the Seminoles. Frank's mom still lived on the reservation there. If they were removed, they would not simply lose their houses like the people of Cypress Grove. They would lose their living from the land as well. "Are you sure?" she asked, cautiously hopeful.

"Pretty sure."

She didn't know if he was telling the truth or if he only said it to reassure her, but she clung to the hope. "Thank you, Mr. Grunauer," she said, breathing a sigh of relief. "That means a lot. And thank you for the book as well."

He nodded and turned to go. As he pushed open the swing door leading into the kitchen, he paused. "Would you please stop calling me Mister Grunauer?" he said out of nowhere. "It makes me feel ancient."

Alba was pleasantly surprised. "What should I call you then?" she asked.

"Just Grunauer."

"But that sounds... disrespectful." Growing up, she had been taught that every grown-up was Señor this and Señora that, and it was a difficult habit to shake off. Besides, he was her employer.

"I can assure you it's not," he said, turning around to face her. "That's what they called me at school and in the army."

"Well, you're not in the army anymore, are you?"

A strange, bitter look briefly crossed his face. "No," he said, almost inaudibly. "I'm not."

She was losing him again. "Can't I call you by your first name?" she said quickly. She realized she was being forward, but she didn't want to drop this fragile olive branch that he was extending toward her. "What is your first name, by the way?" The contract and the promissory note had only referred to him as Mr. D.F. Grunauer.

"I guess you can call me DF," he said reluctantly.

"That's not a name, that's a spy alias!" she said. "Meet DF in CG at oh eight hundred, keep it on the DL."

He rolled his eyes. "You watch too many films, Miss Reyes."

"Hardly. And if you want me to stop calling you Mister Grunauer, then you have to stop calling me Miss Reyes. Call me Alba. Or would you rather stick to the initials and call me A.R.A.?" she added, encouraged by a twinkling she'd just glimpsed in those dark eyes.

The corner of his mouth twitched in an almost-smile. "All right, Alba it is," he said, and Alba grinned. Finally. She'd cracked through his wall. "What does the second A stand for?" he asked.

"Alvarado, my mother's surname. In Cuba, kids always have both parents' surnames, father's first and then mother's, but here it can get confusing, so we just stick to Reyes. What does DF stand for?"

With a grimace, he sighed, and said, "... Derwin Frances." He looked away, apparently waiting for her to laugh.

But Alba didn't laugh. A sense of déjà vu ran through her, rooting her to the spot, the same feeling she'd had when she first glimpsed his eyes on the top of the stairs. "Derwin..."

And with that name, the memories came back, as clear and bright as the Florida summer sky—schoolyard noises that resolved into taunting jeers, as cruel as only children can be, a punch coming straight for her, followed by the harsh sting on her upper lip, along with another pain, of fear and loss and not knowing where she belonged, and at last, a pair of soft brown eyes, timid and gentle, like those of a puppy, looking into hers, soothing the ache in her heart.

Where did you learn to punch like that?

She stared at Grunauer now, at those same brown eyes. "That was you?"

***

Derwin was starting to regret his decision. Asking Miss Reyes to address him more familiarly may prove to be a mistake. She was never going to stop until she learned his full name. And yet... and yet... there was something irresistible in her gentle teasing and questioning, and he found himself wanting her to know, wanting to open up to her.

He'd fully expected a laugh or at least a snicker when he told her his name—after all, that was the standard reaction—but she only tilted her head and repeated his name under her breath, and then her eyes widened in recognition. "That was you?"

"What was me?" he asked, confused.

"The one that the kids called De-worm."

He made a sour face. He hadn't heard that name in fifteen years. Yeah, this was definitely a mistake. "How do you know that?" he asked.

"West Miami Primary School, Miss Steiner's class," she said. "They made fun of my accent, and you told them to stop it, so they turned on you instead. I punched one of them, he punched me back, and you pulled him off. Miss Steiner put both of us in time-out."

Derwin stared at her. The memories came rushing back in a flood. For fifteen years, he had avoided thinking of them—those dark, blurry days when his mother's illness had nearly reached its end, the anger and helplessness he'd felt at seeing her slip away little by little each day, as if pulled by an invisible tide, the anger which had exploded when the bullies turned their jeer on him yet again...

Spic! Retard! She can't even talk right!

Shut up, Evans. You can't either.

You shut up, De-worm!

De-worm! De-worm! Spic and De-worm! Spic and De-worm!

¡Cállate!

Did you just punch me, spic? You need your girlfriend to fight for you, De-worm? I'll show you. I'll show both of you...!

Leave her alone!

That's enough! Alba, Derwin, time out, both of you!

But, Miss Steiner—

"Whenever I think about it, I'm still angry at Miss Steiner for that," Miss Reyes—Alba—was saying. "It was so unfair."

Derwin looked at her eyes, and now he remembered those same eyes, their green brilliant despite the tears, peering at him from a tear-stained face.

Where did you learn to punch like that? he had asked her.

My hermano—my brother, she'd answered, haltingly.

"You taught me how to punch," he said, almost in a daze. In that short hour he spent with her in time-out, he'd forgotten about his problems. They had played and laughed together, which rather defeated the purpose of being in time-out, but thankfully Miss Steiner hadn't noticed. For an hour, he'd had a friend. The only friend he'd ever had. But his mom had died later that week, and the black cloud of loss and grief had shrouded everything, and he'd never thought of her again, of the one friend he'd made during that hot, perfect, sunlit afternoon.

Was this fate? It wasn't even that strange of a coincidence, given that most kids in Cypress Grove went to West Miami Primary School, but he liked to think that something had conspired to bring them together again.

"I never realized that was you," Alba said. "I thought you went to boarding school."

"I did, a few months after that," he replied, his voice muted. "My mom died."

"Oh." She reached out a hand toward him, only to drop it again. "I'm so sorry."

Derwin shrugged. It felt like such a long time ago.

She peered at him with those alluring green eyes. "Why don't you like Derwin? It sounds nice."

"How can you say that," he asked glumly, "when you know that they used to call me De-worm? I mean, what kind of a nickname is that? It doesn't even sound similar!"

"They were ten years old. That was the best they could come up with," she said. He supposed it could have been worse. They could have called him Der Fuhrer, like his fellow soldiers had.

"I used to be so angry with my mother for naming me that, you know," he said. "I would ask, why can't you give me a normal name, like Jim or Johnny or Mike or... something?"

Alba tilted her head, looking at him sympathetically. "And what did she say?"

"She said the name has a special meaning, and I should be proud of it."

"My mother used to say the same thing about my name."

"What does your name mean?"

She smiled, wistfully. "Dawn. I was born at sunrise." Dawn. How fitting. "What does your name mean then?" she asked.

"Dear friend, or something like that. My mom came across it in a book about medieval England."

"See, that's lovely. So can I call you Derwin then?"

He gazed at her, wondering why he'd never seen the beauty in his name before, he who could see the beauty in every written word. Perhaps because he'd never heard it spoken out loud in that gentle voice with its trace of Cuban accent, which gave everything a lyrical, romantic sound. As soon as she said it, he knew he'd want to hear her call his name, again and again and again.

"Yes," he said. "You can call me Derwin."

Chapter 7

A/N: Lake Guanaroca is a real place in Cienfuegos. I chose Cienfuegos as the Reyes' hometown because it was my favorite place when I visited Cuba. And yes, I did go to the lake to watch the flamingos:

Also, in case it isn't clear, Bozo is the equivalent of Le Fou, Gaston's sidekick, in this world. Since "fou" means "fool" in English, I thought I'd give him a "clown" nickname.

Taglist: @kitkat80

[xxkitty13]

Circus Freaks

LA Buggy x Fem Reader

dark themes, slight nsfw

Previous Chapters: Part 1, Part 4

Next Chapter: Part 6

Previously: Despite y/n’s efforts to find intel for Buggy, he took matters in his own hands. After dragging her to the town hall’s library, a hidden death report caught their attention. Now that they share similar motives, Buggy no longer sees her as an enemy. A spark ignites between them, how will this unfold?

Part 5: Getting Closer

The following morning crept upon them. Buggy awoke first, rubbing the crust under his eyelids. He yawned, stretching his arms out and felt something beside him. It’s y/n, he fluttered his eyes to make sure it was real. She snuggled next to him; her head buried on his chest. She looks peaceful in her sleep.

In all honesty, he did not expect to wake up next to her. She could have escaped, but she did not. His fingers run across the strands of her hair, curling his index finger around it. As nice how it felt, he has captain duties to attend.

Sluggishly rolling out of the sheets, he drags his feet to the bathroom. Buggy cannot start the day without his signature look.

Times flies by and y/n continues to enjoy her rest under the expensive bedding. Loud noises woke her from her sleep. A crash followed by a distinct yell caught her attention. She rose from the bed and rubbed her eyes.

Y/n looked around her and noticed that Buggy is gone. More yelling is heard, it’s a bit muffled, but she figured it was Buggy. She heads to the bathroom to get ready for the day. There’s no clock in the room, she has no idea what time it is. Most importantly, her stomach grumbled. She didn’t want to leave the room; she had no proper clothes. There’s no way she’s going out there with no pants. She sighs and grabs her dirty pants, leaving Buggy’s white shirt on.

With only socks on her feet, she opens the door. No one is nearby, she hoped to run into Buggy to get food, but she’ll have to search for him. The mumbles become louder; they’re coming from the ring. The backdrop covered the entrance to the ring, she peaked her head through the curtains.

In the middle of the ring stood a large yellow lion with a pink mane. She watched in awe, never has she seen a lion nor thought animals could be this enormous. The lion roared as a whip clacked in the air.

“No!” someone yelled out. Buggy who leaned against a barrel, looked at the lion in annoyance. “You’re doing it wrong. Mohji he has to learn the routine as soon as possible.”

Mohji turned back to the lion. “From the top Richie. You don’t want to make the captain mad.” The feline only grunted and lazily followed his commands.

In his peripheral vision, Buggy noticed y/n secretly watching from behind.

“Don’t be shy, come on out.”

All eyes were on her. She shuddered at the sudden silence. Buggy walked up to her and smiled. He grabbed her hand and motioned her to the middle of the ring.

“I see you have a fascination over Richie.”

The lion grinned, the toothy smile is human like, it's almost uncanny.

“Captain!” Cabaji interrupted.

He approached the three and eyed y/n up and down, still holding a grudge against her. “I have to update you on something, but I can’t talk about it in front of our guest.”

“Very well. Wait here,” he tells y/n.

“Mohji, you’re needed too.”

The tamer looks at Richie and at y/n. “Richie be a good boy.”

The three pirates leave, y/n wanted to tell Buggy not to leave her with the large lion, but Cabaji’s scowl scared her.

She looked back up at the feline and a growl echos across the ring. At first, she flinched thinking it came from its snout. Another growl came from the lion. It is his stomach.

“You’re not going to eat me, are you?” she asks nervously.

The large cat grunts and lays down. There’re no signs that human meat is on his menu.

“Well, I guess we’re both hungry.” She crouches in front of him. “I don’t know how long they’ll take, but I’m not waiting for them to come back. How about we both get some food.”

Richie head lifts up in excitement.

“I’m new here, so do you know where we can find something to eat?”

The lion stretches before guiding her backstage. The two come across a storage room, his nose nudges at the door.

“In here?”

She opens the door and finds herself in a freezer storage.

“Um, unless there’s a kitchen. . . I’m pretty sure you don’t want to eat frozen meat.”

Richie whines and rolls over the floor.

“I’m sure this place has some type of kitchen. Let’s go find it.”

A couple of steps forward, y/n finds the kitchen.

“Ok Richie, let’s get to cooking.”

.°˖✧.°˖✧

“It seems like our suspicions are right, they’re gaining onto to us.”

“Explain.”

Cabaji continued. “There’s been random people circulating around the property, observing us closely. It’s only a matter of time before they start asking questions.”

“I see. I figured it will happen sooner or later,” Buggy says.

“What will we do? The people will get tired of the circus act,” Mohji states.

“I know, I’m trying to drag our stay. I wanted to save Richie for last, but I need something that will capture their attention.”

“Say Buggy, has that woman found anything?” Cabaji interjects.

“In short, not really. However, we did find something that will force her to contribute to our cause. She could have direct involvement and her small ties with the Abask’s will be beneficial.”

“Is that why you’re keeping her around?”

Buggy nods.

“Tsk. I thought she would be discarded by now.”

“Hey be nice. You two will not lay hands on her.”

“Fine.”

Buggy adjusts his hat before leaving their meeting room. The two men follow behind.

As they enter the ring, they realized that Richie and y/n were gone.

"Shit. I knew I shouldn't have left her with the lion."

Screams were heard from the other side of the tent. Buggy paced to the direction of the sound, hoping Richie did not gobble her up. Halfway down the path, a surprising sight stopped him in his tracks.

"Hey, don't go too fast!" Y/n laughs as Richie runs with her on board.

The feline abruptly came to a halt. Buggy stood in front of him with his arms crossed, unamused that he carried his woman. Cabaji and Mohji approached behind their captain.

"Let her down."

Richie crouched to ground to allow y/n to safely get off.

"What's wrong Buggy? We were just having fun."

"Fun?"

She snuggles his soft mane. "He's such a sweet fellow. Look at him, he's so cute." The lion purrs at the praise. He rolls on his back to receive rubs on his belly. Y/n continues to pet him, leaving the three pirates in shock.

Buggy becomes jealous of the lion, who is taking away his attention.

"Hey what's the big idea. Stop enchanting her with your fake act," he scowls.

Mohji walks to Richie, also taken aback at the scene. "How did you manage to gain his trust this fast?"

She stops caressing the cat, making him groan. "Huh? Oh, I just gave him food."

"Of course, that makes sense. There's no way he actually likes you," Cabaji snickers.

Richie growls at him and tries to swipe him away. The acrobat avoids the hit. "Mohji get your pet!"

Sighing softly, "Let's go Richie. We have to continue the routine." The lion grunts, following Mohji.

Cabaji stares down at y/n and huffs away.

"I don't think he likes me very much."

Buggy wraps his arm around her shoulder. "He'll forget about in time's sake."

He nudges her to walk with him, away from the open area. They arrive at his room, enclosed together. At his vanity, he places his hat on the counter and sits on the chair in front of it. Facing her way with his back against the furniture, he lays comfortably.

"I would like to head home now."

Buggy leans in, grumbling. "So soon?"

"I just want to change into my clothes, these are dirty."

"Baby, look around you. We're at a circus. My crew has plenty of attires laying around."

Y/n shows an awkward grin. Circus clothes are not a part of her palette.

"Thank you, but I rather wear my own clothes."

The pirate groans and gets up from his seat. "I'll escort you back. We'll talk about today's plans after." He opens the door, allowing the woman to exit first.

.°˖✧.°˖✧

It was to their luck that few people walked through the countryside. As always, Buggy maintained his distance. It irked him that he could not hold y/n's hand in public. For now, he has to avoid public interaction with the woman.

They made it to the small house at the outskirts of the town. Buggy has not seen it during daylight. Never-ending fields stretch across the back of the property. It is a peaceful scenery, but a pop of something. . . flashy wouldn't hurt.

"Go. I'll sneak in through your window."

"Huh? You're staying?"

Buggy pushes her to the front door and knocks. "You got a problem with that?" He laughs and runs off.

Y/n huffs in annoyance. It was not long after the knock and the door opened.

"Oh y/n, you're back. We were getting worried about you," Mrs. Ti said, welcoming her inside.

"I'm sorry about the short notice, my friend needed assistance last minute."

"Ou a friend huh? What's their name?"

Y/n's mind went blank. She did not think that Mrs. Ti would ask, but she should know better. Of course she would.

"Oh, her name is. . . Kim. I met her at the library, she's working on a research project for school."

"Well, you should invite her for dinner sometime. Oh, this is great, honey! Y/n has a friend!"

Mr. Ti comes out of their bedroom. "Y/n, when did you arrive?"

The three head to the living room, y/n tenses up at the web of lies she's creating.

"Ah, not that long ago. Actually. . . I want to head to my room and settle down after a tiring night."

Before she leaves, a cough stops her. Mr. Ti clears his throat. "Hold on, we want to mention some good news."

"Huh, what is it?"

"Mr. Abask did something spectacular. He has given tickets to few townspeople for a small voyage. It is a way to say thanks for all the hard work we country folk do."

The name alone raised a red flag. It is unusual for Mr. Abask to do such a thing, mere for farmers. Another point of suspicion.

"When is it?"

"It’s last minute, so we leave in the evening. We just wanted to let you know before we lose the chance."

"That's so soon." That's when y/n noticed the luggage on the ground.

"We're actually getting ready to head to the plaza. The host wants us at dock pretty early, so we decided to lay back at the town's plaza, so we don't rush," Mrs. Ti said.

Mr. Ti continued, "We didn't think you'll be back in time for us to say goodbye. I'm glad you did."

The three hug.

"We'll be back in about a week. We know you're grown to take care of yourself, but stay safe okay," Mrs. Ti chuckled.

"I'll be fine, enjoy your trip."

"You bet."

The older couple grab their luggage and say their final goodbyes. Y/n waves them farewell before closing the door. She sighs, hoping the voyage is not too good to be true.

"We're alone now."

She jumps at the sudden whisper. "Buggy!"

The pirate laughs loudly, holding his stomach. "Ha, you should have seen your face. Hilarious."

"Ugh, I forgot you were inside."

Buggy recomposes himself and lays on the couch. "Aw, you forgot about me already? That hurts ya know."

“I’m just worried about them. Abask gave them a free voyage out of nowhere.”

“The timing couldn’t be better.”

Y/n doesn't know how he meant it. Regardless, she did not want to hold her bathing any longer.

"Just stay here, you can help yourself with anything."

"Okay, just don't take too long."

The warm drops of water soothe her skin. So much has happened in a small timeframe. She reflects in the shower. From meeting Buggy to the death of her father. It seems unreal. Y/n hopes she can rely on the captain to dig up the truth, but will his ambition of the treasure get in the way. Either way she will put her faith in him.

She grabs a towel after the shower. Before she wrapped it around her body, the door swung open.

"Ugh what's taking you so long?"

"Buggy get out!"

Y/n holds onto the towel tightly, angry that the man barged in without a notice. Buggy stares at her covered wet body. Too caught in his trance, he did not see the shampoo bottle heading his way. It hit him right on the nose. He grabs it, feeling a slight pain.

"Geez, I'm sorry. You didn't have to hit me on my nose."

"GET OUT!"

Buggy quickly closed the door, leaving y/n embarrassed at the situation. Luckily for her, she decided to bring her clean clothes in the bathroom.

After dressing, she finds Buggy laying on her bed.

"Ah, you're done." He sits up, staring at her clothed body. He cannot help but imagine her nude.

The woman notices Buggy staring at her intently. She blushes, knowing exactly what he’s thinking about. Not wanting to bring it up, she grabs a jacket, covering herself more.

“Well let’s not waste time here.”

“Why?”— the pirate groans— “I was just getting comfortable.”

“Were you not being urgent about the map?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I am.”

“Okay. Remember I want to visit the doctor.”

“Lead the way princess.”

.°˖✧.°˖✧

The clinic happened to be near the town hall. Unfortunately, it’s located in the plaza her parents are lingering around. Unlike the other night, there’s plenty of people around. Buggy used a cloak to hide his identity. No one wondered who was under the cloak as the elderly would often wear them.

"We'll sneak in the back. It's closed today."

Buggy nodded and traced to the back of the small building. It would be easier if they could break in, but that would only raise suspicion. Instead, he went with an old method. Using y/n's bobby pin, he managed to unlock the backdoor.

Once inside, they found themselves in a hallway. Different doors occupy the sides of the walls.

"Dr. Hans is not the only one that practices here, I think this one is his office."

They entered the dark office. It looked ordinary and y/n hoped it would stay like that. Buggy went straight to the desk as she looked around for promising secretes.

Buggy searched the documents in the drawers of the desk, but it was nothing important. The two searched and searched for any small detail related to the death. Nothing came up. Frustrated, Buggy kicked the desk. Making it move, he noticed something on the floor.

"Ha, I thought doctors were smarter than this," he snickers. A loose floorboard caught his eye. He pushed the desk forward and crouched to remove the floorboard.

"Take a look at this."

He hands the hidden files to y/n. She opens them and finds letters addressed to Dr. Hans.

It reads.

Dear Dr. Hans, It has come to my attention that the report is not filed correctly. I advise you to change it immediately. You would not dare disobey an order. Regards, 15

Y/n clutches the paper. "Who's fifteen?"

She reads another.

Dear Dr. Hans, I would like the ceremony to be a closed casket. It is imperative that the bodies are not publicly displayed. If asked, state that the bodies are too gruesome to display. Regards, 15

"Bodies?"

Many questions fill her head as she continues to read the rest of the letters. All indicate the covering multiple deaths, not necessarily her father's. It was not until the last letter that caught her eye.

Dear Dr. Hans, Zimik is dead. Collect the body and wait for further instructions. Do not allow other people to view the body. Regards, 15

"I don't believe it." She drops the papers to the ground and leans on the nearby wall. She tugs on her hair. "Why? I don't understand."

"What's wrong?" Buggy asks.

"Dr. Hans. . . that damn man has been deceiving me this whole time. To think he comforted me that day." Y/n covers her face with her hands, trying not to get emotional.

Buggy skims through the letters and takes a note of the codename "15."

The pirate approaches the woman and rubs her back.

"Let's leave Buggy, I no longer have any business with this place."

They put everything back in the hole and take the files as evidence. The two exit the clinic and head back to the outskirts of the town. On their leave, someone strolling through the plaza noticed two figures rushing to the backroads. They could not see who hid under the cloak, but y/n stood out.

Back at the Ti’s property, y/n packs her bags. “You don’t mind if I stay with you?” she asks folding her clothes.

“Stay as long as you want,” he grins.

She sighs and sits on the edge of her bed. Buggy accompanies her and wraps his arm around her. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet.”

“It’s just,”— she pauses before exhaling out— “Dr. Hans took care of me before I was adopted. I feel sick. How could he?”

Leaning her head on his shoulder, she plays with his free hand. The gloves are thick, and a bit worn out. She feels herself relax, taking in his manly scent. It felt nice to be comforted.

Buggy goes to interlace their fingers. “I know that feeling too well.”

Y/n hums. She wonders about the pirate’s past. He’s far more experience in life and faced various feats before she learned to walk. It’s funny, but she hopes to learn from the older man.

“Do you?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll save it for another day,” he says rubbing her thumb.

She feels herself become hot. A slicking shiver runs down her spine. Y/n bites her lips. Intimacy is new to her, she knows the basics, but that’s only through books. She learned it in school during sex education and her parents taught her the same thing. Lyla would go into more detail, but it involved her husband, something she did not want to imagine.

Even so, doing it in person is different. She has not experienced a kiss from a man. Everyone tells her it’s a magical experience and sex is beyond that. A kiss is the first step, and she knows it is wrong to do it with a pirate she recently met. Despite that, she does not care, she’s willing to explore something new for once.

Y/n looks at him, getting lost in his beautiful green eyes. She draws her face towards him, making the tips of their nose touch. Buggy is taken aback at the touch. Something in the woman’s eyes call out to him. Her hands lose contact with his hand and gently land on his cheek. She smiles at him.

Buggy felt himself melt at that smile. Without saying a word, he felt a soft pair of lips meet his. He freezes at the bold move. Seeing his reaction, she stops.

“Is something wrong?”

“U-uh, no,”— he clears his throat— “I didn’t see that coming.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No!” He facepalms at the sudden shout. “Did my nose get in the way?” The pirate looks away.

Y/n grabs his face with both of her hands. She leans in and pecks his nose. “Of course not.”

He blushes at the small gesture. His hands lay on her waist, he reels her in. The two stare at each other for a brief moment. Buggy leans in first and let their lips touch. She kisses him back, slowly following his movements. It is apparent that she’s new to this, he didn’t mind. She picks up fast, getting a taste of his sweet lips.

The red paint smudges her own mouth. She could care less about the mess. He bites her lower lip, tugging on it gently. She gasps, enjoying the love bite.

The kiss deepens as the pirate pushes her down on the bed. Lost in the loving bliss, his hands rub up against her. With his thumbs pressing on her body, he goes to squeeze her breast. Her eyes widen at the man’s hand exploring her chest. His hands gently squeeze them making her let out a small moan. This excites him.

She feels his gloved hand trail under her shirt, she stops him from going in further.

“I. . . I-I’m not ready.”

He removes his hand and plants a kiss on her forehead.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

She hides her face with a pillow, embarrassed that she killed the moment. He playfully slaps her thigh to distract her.

“Come on, let’s get ready to leave.”

Y/n nods and slides herself out of the bed. She heads to the dresser and looks at herself in the mirror. Red paints her face.

“Well, would you look at that,” he laughs.

She looks at him and sees he’s also smudged. It was already messy, so it was not a noticeable difference. Knowing it would stain, she grabs her makeup wipes and tries her best to remove it.

“It's not going to work.” He stands behind her and holds her hips. “I have something that would do the job in my room,” he whispers in her ear. She blushes.

He gestures her to finish packing. Soon after, the bags were packed, and they were ready to leave.

“Oh I almost forgot.”

Y/n goes to the nightstand and opens the top drawer. The jewelry box that stored the bejeweled necklace laid on top of a red book.

“Do you still have my necklace?” She asks grabbing the book.

His hand dig underneath his scarf and pulls out the silver cross.

“I’ll give it back to you. I no longer have use for it.”

She stares at it and a faint ringing fills the room. No one but her could hear an incoherent voice. She shakes it off.

“I think you should wear it.”

“You sure? I thought this meant a lot to you.”

“It does. I just have feeling you should keep it for now.”

Perplexed by this, he simply shrugs and places it back inside the vest. Buggy eyes linger to the book she held. He grabs it.

“What’s this?”

She tries to snatch it back. “N-nothing.”

The pirate opens the book to a random page and skims through it. He laughs finding out it’s a lewd romance novel.

“I didn’t know you read porn. You naughty girl,” he teased.

“What’s wrong with that?” She snatches the book out his hand and forcefully shoves it down a bag. “I like reading them.”

“Have you had sex?” He asks out of the blue.

The woman face turns bright red. She has not and does not want to admit it. Why is it embarrassing to say she’s a virgin. Buggy is definitely not. She hopes not to turn him off due to her lack of experience, but little does she know that Buggy never had luck with women. Even so, he knows what to do.

Judging by her reaction, the pirate knows the answer. He’s thrilled to be her first. He hugs her and pecks her lips.

“It’s okay. Would you like to know more about it?” he says softly.

Y/n looks at his lustful eyes, basically devouring her whole. She hides her redden face in his chest, unsure how to answer the question.

Buggy chuckles. “Cute.”

He grabs her hand and tugs her to exit the room.

“Okay, let’s head to the tent.”

The “couple” walk from the small house and trail down the dirt road. Unaware of a stalker following behind, a voice catches them off guard.

“Y/n, what are you doing with him?”

They turned around to a familiar face, Yasi.

“Yasi? Were you stalking me?”

An angered expression plasters his face. He stands tall with his arm crossed.

“He’s a clown for goodness sake. How could you be attracted to that man?”

Before y/n could answer, Buggy steps in. “We’re not together dimwit.”

“I’m not dumb you know. Look at her face, red stains it,” he says pointing at her.

She immediately covers his face. Her heart drops at being caught.

“It’s just face paint. We were discussing a look for the new act,” he responds quickly.

“An act? Say y/n, did you join their little circus?”

She looks at Buggy and back at Yasi. “I did. Do you have a problem with it?”

The raven head smirked. “No. In fact, I’ll be the first one at the show.”

Y/n gulps.

“Tsk. Mind your damn business,” Buggy growls.

“Be careful clown. I am watching you.”

Yasi snickers away, leaving the two alone. Buggy grabs her and nudges her along.

“What do we do now? He’s expecting me to be apart of your show.”

“Don’t panic darling. I’m sure we can squeeze you in.”

She hits his arm. “I’m not a performer Buggy. He’s going to find out about us. Yasi is not someone you can fool easily.”

“Baby, you’re looking at the king of the fools. I am good at deceiving,” he boasts. “Now let’s hurry before more people see us.”

Sighing at his words, she looks behind her. Yasi is already gone. She wonders if he may have known about their steamy session. There’s no way he would have known. She shakes the thought away and continues down the dirt road. What does Buggy have in mind for his next show?

.°˖✧.°˖✧

“Sir, the ship has departed.”

“Good.”

A man grins. Taking the cigar out his mouth, he stands from his large desk. The large window that lit the dark room is opened to let the smoke diffuse out. He walks towards it, puffing more smoke outside.

“Tell the team to get their explosives ready.”

“Yes sir.”

“Ensure no one survives, that will be all.”

“Yes sir.”

The subordinate leaves the man’s office. The boss views the town below and glances at the port. He walks back to his desk and turns out the cigar with the ashtray.

“They’ll be out the picture soon. It’s only a matter of time before I make my move,” he laughs and picks up a paper on the desk. He inspects it and puts it back down.

“I will finally achieve their dream.”

[hbyrde36]

Times Like These (The Anniversary Edition)

CH 1 CH 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8

Chapter 9: Bitter Knowledge

WC: 6741 | AO3 link

Eddie startled awake with his heart racing, the same way he had at least 3 or 4 other times since he’d fallen asleep, thankful that it appeared to be morning at last.

At least he’d managed to get some rest. 

Master of Puppets might have been working to keep Vecna at bay, but its associated memories were excellent fodder for nightmares. He’d spent the night running from horrifying vision to horrifying vision, and would swear that he could still feel the phantom teeth of a swarm of demobats going to town on his flesh—even now as he lay there in Steve’s bed wide awake running hands over his smooth unmarred torso.

Just to check, just to be sure. 

Steve was still asleep, snoring lightly right beside him. Their hands had parted sometime in the night, but their bodies had shifted dangerously closer. As Eddie waited for his pulse to return to normal, he took the opportunity to gaze openly at the other boy in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to do since he’d come back this time.

The early morning light filtering in through the window fell directly over Steve’s face, making him appear to glow with an ethereal light. Eddie first admired his thick fan of eyelashes, fluttering every so often as Steve dreamt. His gaze then followed the curve of his cheek, wishing he could trace every mole and freckle with his fingertips—or maybe his tongue. He longed to kiss every square inch of Steve’s beautiful face, actually. Lastly his eyes raked over Steve’s plush lips—lips that he knew for a fact were exactly as soft as they looked.

With great effort Eddie finally forced himself to look away before he could give in to his impulses and do something stupid and reckless, something he couldn’t take back.

A glance at the clock showed it was 7am, almost a full two hours past the last time he’d seen those flashing red numbers and yet his tape was still playing. That meant Steve had been up at some point—recently, and taken care of it. Taken care of him.

Eddie groaned internally. One night back in the same bed and he was already well past the point of no return—it was official. 

He was so in love, and he was so fucked. 

This was precisely why he was trying to stay away, to keep his heart locked up tight in a box labeled: Fragile! Do not open under any circumstances! 

He’d been falling, known it even before Steve had kissed him goodbye and shook his reality to its very core. Then they’d both gone and died without Eddie finding out what it had all meant. Had it been some kind of confused experiment on Steve’s part? Right up until the moment Steve had called out his name, and touched him with such tenderness as their lips met, Eddie had been sure the other boy was straight. 

Was it all only some shared-trauma-forced-proximity bullshit? Or had Steve, beyond all reason, been developing real feelings for him too?

Well he’d never fucking know now would he?!

Because he was afraid. Too scared to try again in case they lost to Vecna and he had to start all over—too scared to try anyway and risk finding out Steve didn’t feel the same way about him. 

How many different kinds of coward could he be?

A phone rang suddenly and sharply far too close to Eddie’s head, pulling him forcibly from his brooding. Steve jerked awake and sat up, the sound finally rousing him, and in another moment of serious fucking déjà vu, Eddie snatched up the receiver to stop the incessant noise and passed it over without a word.

The last time they’d done this, he and Steve had huddled together up against the headboard so they could both hear Jonathan and El through the phone. Now, Eddie wanted nothing more than to escape, catch his breath, think—of anything else, but most of all to stop remembering in vivid detail the line of Steve's sleep-warm body pressed up against his own. 

Scrambling out of bed he fled to the bathroom, nearly slamming the door closed behind him in his bid to escape.  

He turned the sink on in hopes the running water would mask the sound of his heaving breath as he hyperventilated—bringing his fist down hard against the marble vanity top repeatedly, until pain radiated up his arm to his elbow, then his shoulder. Letting the physical hurt ground him. 

This was so stupid. He was so—fucking—stupid. Why was he even letting this get to him? There were far more important things to be worried about than his fucking feelings. He glanced up at the mirror, frowning at his own pale, drawn reflection. He needed to get his shit together—at least long enough to get through this, to defeat Vecna and hopefully end the loops. There'd be ample time for a nervous breakdown, with a side of wallowing in self-pity, when it was over. 

He washed his face and neck with cold water, and when he felt like he’d pulled himself together enough to face the world again finally opened the door.

Steve said nothing at first. He sat on the edge of the bed drumming his fingers on his knee, a guarded look in his eyes but wearing a tentative smile. Either he hadn’t heard Eddie’s tantrum from the other side of the door, or he was going to pretend he hadn’t. In either case Eddie was grateful to not have to explain, or rather, make something up to explain. 

“The phone, um, it was Joyce,” Steve said eventually. “They got to—well, I'm not sure exactly where they are, but they got there last night and El is already hard at work. They think she’ll be ready in a few days.”

“That’s good news.” Eddie offered, still hovering awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying desperately to act normal.

“And, there’s an extraction team on the way to get Hopper.”

“Really?” Eddie perked up, for real this time. He was genuinely happy to hear it. Getting the Chief back would mean everything to the party, and to Steve. “Shit, that was fast.”

“I know.” Steve’s smile widened as he rubbed the back of his neck absently. “Maybe Owens was the right call for the job after all.”

-

It was another one of those quiet days full of waiting in the build up to the potential end of the world, but unlike before when he’d enjoyed the quiet time with Steve, now it just made Eddie’s skin itch. 

The kids were still at the Wheeler’s, keeping their distance—for his sake this time rather than Steve’s, though the distraction of too many people crammed into Steve’s living room might have been better than this. At least the girls were around to provide some cushion.

Mercifully, mid-afternoon Robin had a sudden need to make a visit home home, asking Steve to drive her and wait while she spoke to her parents and grabbed a few things, leaving Eddie and Chrissy alone for the first time since the beginning of this loop. 

With both of their respective sources of distraction gone, Eddie thought it might be a good time to check in with her. She’d been very quiet all day, even more so than usual, and the dark circles under her eyes hinted at a significant lack of sleep.

He sat down next to her on the couch where she was curled up with a paperback she’d found somewhere, staring at the same page she’d been on for at least ten minutes. 

“Hey, uh, so how are you doing with all of this? It must be a lot.” He asked carefully.

“I’m okay, I guess." She said after a moment, closing the book and setting it down on the side table. "Sleep is… difficult. I was already having nightmares, so that’s nothing new, just exhausting. It’s a lot to process. Robin has been a lifesaver though. She sits up with me when I can’t sleep, and she’ll go on and on about anything to keep me from thinking about it too much.”

Eddie almost laughed. Robin would be happy to know her ramblings were finally being put to good use. 

“I’m really glad she’s been there for you.” 

“Yeah, me too. I feel bad sometimes though, like, this is nothing compared to what they’ve all been through over the years. Robin’s been filling me in and it’s so awful. And you—honestly, I feel like I should be the one asking you if you’re okay.”

“Who, me?” He made a show of waving her off dramatically. “I’m fine, this is all just another week-in-the-life for me.”

“Eddie.” She scolded.

“Really, though.” He clasped his hands in his lap, looking down at them as he spoke. “Like, sure, it’s been hard, but—how many people get the chance at a do-over? Let alone multiple do-overs? I have a real opportunity to fix things here, and I feel like I have to be grateful for it.”

And he was that—grateful, but he was also miserable about the position he’d found himself in, a little bitter about it too. Why was he the one tasked to carry this burden? Why wasn’t it Steve, or Nancy who got to go back, who remembered? Either one of them would have been a better candidate for the job than him. He was the new guy! Nobody! He’d known nothing of the Upside Down until he got dragged into this madness kicking and screaming. 

Chrissy ducked her head down to catch his eye, and as though she’d read his mind said, “You can be grateful and still be mad about it. You’re allowed.”

He grinned, shaking his head. Damn did he love this girl. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Have I ever, y’know before, did I ever tell you what Vecna showed me?” She asked.

“No.”

Eddie had wondered of course, but knew from Steve, and now from his own experience, how personal it could be. 

“It was mostly visions of my parents and stuff. My mom, she’s awful, always on me about everything—my grades, who I spend time with, my weight, my appearance in general actually. It made me–” Chrissy shook her head, blinking rapidly as she seemed to be forcing back tears. “I don’t know why I let it affect me so much, the things she says, her opinion of me. It seems dumb, after all this.”

Eddie reached out tentatively, laying a hand on her shoulder. She gave him a half smile, leaning into the touch as she went on.

“Knowing that I’ve died—that you’ve died, it sorta puts things in a different perspective, like, what you said about do-overs? Looking back, there’s a lot I would do differently now, I think. I don’t even know how I got where I am, really. I never wanted to be popular, I just went along with the crowd, did what was expected of me—what my parents insisted on. It was easier to do that than figure out what I actually wanted, who I want to be.”

“It can be pretty scary, figuring yourself out.” Eddie offered, something he could relate to in a big, big way.

“Then suddenly I’m the head cheerleader, and Jason is captain of the basketball team—and again, it was expected that we would get together, so I did.” She shrugged, letting out a heavy sigh. “I don’t think I ever even liked him, and this whole last week while I’ve been losing my mind not knowing what was happening to me, he never once noticed that I was struggling—not once! When you met me outside by the picnic table, you knew something was wrong within seconds. You cared enough to ask if I was okay, and we barely knew each other!”

Eddie ran his hand up and down her back. “I’m sorry he was an ass, you deserved better.”

She turned to him, a steely look of determination in her eyes. “I think–I think maybe I’m ready now—to be myself, whoever that is.”

“Well, Miss Cunningham, lucky for you I know all about defying expectations and bucking the system. I’d be happy to show you the ropes when this is over.”

“I’d really like that.” 

Encouraged by how freely she shared her experience with him, Eddie found himself wanting to open up too. He hadn’t spoken of his own brush with Vecna to anyone, because who could he tell really? He couldn’t talk to Steve, not now, not anymore. Robin was similarly out, for all sorts of reasons, but Chrissy—somehow he just knew he could trust her.

“Vecna… he was subtle about it when he came after me—at first, anyway. One minute I was standing in the middle of this room talking to Steve, well, fighting with him actually–”

“Fighting?”

Eddie tilted his head back and forth, waffling. He didn’t feel like rehashing those details, it was a moot point now anyway.

“We had a… difference of opinion, not important, but then suddenly he started saying these awful things to me about–” He paused, calculating how much he could share without outing Steve, so to speak. 

“Between you and me—in the last loop Steve and I got, um, very close. We shared a lot of private things with each other. I’m—” 

Eddie swallowed hard. He really was almost sure he could trust her, but that didn't mean fear didn’t sit like a lead weight in his gut when he thought about uttering the words aloud. 

“–Gay, and I haven’t been open with many people about it, but I told him, and he was really great about it.” He smiled to himself at the memory, how quick Steve had been to assure him he was safe, and how unbelievably sweet. “So much more than you’d expect.” 

Suddenly he felt her much smaller hand slide over his, and looked up to meet her eyes.

“I’m glad you told me.” She said, softly.

He pursed his lips, nodding as his shoulders began to relax by small increments. 

“Anyway, Vecna used Steve’s face and voice to say some nasty shit to me about it, and uh, it fucked me up a little to be honest. He also said he knew about the loops now, since he’s been in my head. I guess It doesn’t really change anything, but it’s unnerving as hell.”

Chrissy threw her arms around his shoulders and tugged him hard into her, their faces buried in each other's hair. He’d never been cuddled so violently by someone so small before she came along, it was kind of nice. 

“Is it weird of me to say that I’m happy we’re in this together? I mean, I hate what’s happened—but if it had to happen anyway, then I’m glad I got you as a friend out of it.” Chrissy spoke with her face still hidden in his neck, tone watery. 

“Not weird at all,” he assured her quickly, voice cracking on the words. ”I feel the same way.”

-

Steve and Robin arrived home a while later wearing matching somber expressions. After spending some time at her house they’d swung by Nancy’s to check in with the others, and learned that poor Fred’s body had been found that morning. 

It wasn’t a surprise, but Eddie still found he couldn’t concentrate on much else after learning the news, and he wasn’t the only one. All four of them were pretty subdued as they went through the motions of the night—eating some dinner and killing time until it was reasonably late enough to turn in. 

When the inevitable yawning did begin, Eddie had half a mind to beg Chrissy to switch bed buddies with him. Now that she knew he would never be interested in her–that way–and now that she more-than-likely suspected that his feelings towards Steve were complicated at best, he thought she might go for it. 

But what if his interference ruined whatever was or wasn’t happening between her and Robin? He didn’t want to be responsible for that, and so he said nothing as the two girls trudged up the stairs to their room—he and Steve not far behind.

-

Eddie tossed and turned, still ruminating on what his role in all this was, about Fred and the other victims. He tried to be quiet about it, hoping that Steve had fallen asleep already, but no such luck.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked when he’d adjusted his position for the fifth time. If only he had sounded annoyed or something, then Eddie could have snapped at him that he was fine and been done with it, maybe used the whole thing as an excuse to retreat downstairs to sleep on the couch alone, but Steve, as usual, was utterly sincere, breaking through all his defenses without even trying. 

Eddie sighed. “I was thinking about Patrick. I know Vecna has broken the pattern already, first with you last time, and now with me. But he took Fred just the same, and by that logic Patrick will probably still be next. I—maybe I shouldn't care since he’s one of Jason’s friends, and he was right there with them on the witch hunt for me that first time around, but I don’t know. It feels… shitty to not even try, to let it happen again. It’d be like I’m responsible.”

“It wouldn’t make it your fault.” Steve said.

Eddie groaned, throwing both arms up over his face.

“I just–what’s the point in re-living this shit if I can’t make a difference?”

“Hey,” Steve whispered, rubbing lightly over Eddie’s arm, instantly causing him to break out in goosebumps. "It’s alright, sometimes you can’t save everyone. You helped Chrissy, and if we succeed you’ll have helped the whole town. Maybe that has to be enough?”

Eddie had used the same logic before to make himself feel better where other lives were concerned, but on some level wasn’t that just a cop out? At least the others had gone out to look for Fred, not once had he or anyone else even considered trying to save Patrick.

Eddie dropped the arms from his face, forcing Steve to withdraw his hand.

“But this isn’t like Barb. I know how you feel about—”  

Steve stilled, sucking in a breath.

Shit. 

He’d forgotten for a second. Eddie had all this history in his head—things Steve had shared in different ways, in different times, so many conversations that the other boy would never remember having with him.

“There was nothing you could have done for her, I mean.” Eddie added quickly, relieved when Steve seemed to relax into the bed again. “It was never your fault—but this? I know it’s coming, I even know where it’s likely to happen. I wish I could at least try, but Jason would never let me near him, and even if he did Patrick would never listen to me.”

“What if I went and talked to them? I know I’m not ‘King Steve’ anymore, but I was their captain once, I think they’d hear me out. Who knows, maybe I could help Patrick and get Jason off your back somehow too.

“You would do that?”

“Eddie.” Steve sat up, inching closer, almost hovering over him as they gazed at each other. Time stood still, however briefly, and suddenly Eddie couldn’t breathe. He felt caught, as if simply looking into his eyes had given it all away, like Steve could read his every thought. “Of course I would.” 

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, rolling over and away from Steve… and his soft looks, and that soothing voice, and all his warmth. 

Steve cleared his throat. “Um, because you’re right.” The bed shifted as he too rolled over to face the other way. “We should at least try. I’ll stop by Benny’s tomorrow night when they might be there.”

-

Eddie woke to find their positions had not changed in the night. They were still back-to-back facing opposite directions, and as far away from each other as was possible to be and still inhabit the same bed. 

Nothing had ever felt more wrong, even if it was necessary. 

His tape was quiet, Steve’s too, which caused a moment of panic until Eddie turned over—gingerly to avoid waking Steve—and found that thankfully he seemed to be deeply asleep and relaxed, rather than rigid and in the throes of a psychic attack.

Eddie slid off the bed and crept around to the other side, carefully restarting Steve's tape as he struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat. Throwing caution to the wind, just this once, Eddie ran his fingers through Steve's hair, desperate to feel it one more time, hoping it wouldn’t wake him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Steve’s sleeping form, breath hitching. “I just can’t.”

Eddie left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him and vowed to spend the rest of the day, maybe the rest of this loop, avoiding Steve—as much as he could anyway.

-

It worked surprisingly well. 

So well in fact that Eddie could only conclude that Steve was avoiding him too. He’d glued himself to Chrissy’s side while Steve did the same with Robin, to both girl’s joint annoyance. 

It was all fine enough until afternoon came, and Chrissy decided to throw a wrench into things, as well as take a page out of Robin’s book, and make an appearance at home. It was brave, considering all she’d told him the day before, and Eddie was so proud of her, even if it meant he’d be stuck here alone with Robin while Steve played chauffeur. 

The kids were slated to return that night, wanting to be together as they got closer and closer to the main event. Eddie used that as a reason to keep himself busy and away from Robin’s knowing glare—straightening up, pulling snacks out of cabinets, and gathering pillows and blankets.

“So, I think they’ll probably be back—”

Eddie flinched, startled at the sudden sound of Robin’s voice coming from directly behind him, sending the teetering pile of food packages he had balanced in his arms scattering to the kitchen floor. 

“Jesus Christ—warn a guy.”

”Sorry, touchy. I’ll stomp my feet next time.” Robin rolled her eyes, stooping down to help him pick up the fallen mess. “As I was saying, Steve will probably be home soon.”

She paused, looking at him expectedly.

“And?”

“Anything you want to talk about before they get back?”

“No.” Eddie stared at her blankly, hoping if he gave her nothing she’d drop it.

“So we’re just going to pretend everything is normal, that we’re not all choking on the sexual tension in this house?”

“I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“So you don’t have a huge embarrassing crush on Steve?”

Eddie clenched his jaw. She was baiting him.

“Nope,” he declared, popping his lips.

“Okay, cool.” She narrowed her eyes. “Chrissy then?”

“I think you and I both know she’s not exactly my type.” He admitted.

“I had a hunch, good to have it confirmed though.”

“Is it safe to say she’s more—your type?”

“That would be accurate.”

He flashed her a quick smile. “I had a hunch.”

“Glad we cleared that up.” She said, tilting her head at him. “Steve knows about me, for the record. He’s very… accepting. Just, y’know, in case you ever felt like you wanted to tell him about yourself? He’d be good with it.”

“Thanks, uh” Eddie looked away, wringing his hands. “I believe you, but I–I don’t think I’ll be doing that—not anytime soon at least.”

Robin furrowed her brow, and he was sure she had more to say on the matter but for once timing was actually on his side. They heard Chrissy and Steve come through the front door before she could open her mouth again, and he took advantage of the excuse to walk away and meet them in the hall—though Robin followed right behind him, grumbling to herself. 

The first thing Eddie noticed were Chrissy’s red-rimmed eyes. He worried for a moment but then he saw her broad, bright smile—could see how much lighter she looked, as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. 

She must have confronted her parents. He couldn’t wait to hear all about it, but before he could even ask, there was a sudden knock on the door she and Steve had just come through.

All four of them were immediately on high alert. The kids weren’t due yet, not to mention the fact that if it was them or Nancy, they would have likely waltzed right in. As Eddie watched, something moved past the frosted glass of the door’s sidelight, the blurry shape of an arm clad in the all too familiar green and white of a Hawkins High letterman jacket.

What the fuck? 

Steve waved the rest of them back, catching and holding Eddie’s gaze. He said nothing aloud but may as well have screamed at him to stay away from the door, assuming the role of protector as though they hadn’t spent all day in this weird limbo, not speaking, not even looking at each other.

Eddie didn’t like it, but he took the girls and backed away into the living room where they would still be able to hear whatever was said, but would be hidden from view. 

Steve's feet shuffled, the door creaking as he swung it open.

“Carver, what are you–” Steve began, confirming their unexpected guest’s identity.

Jason quickly cut him off. “I want to talk to her.” 

“Who?”

“Don't play dumb, Harrington. Let me see Chrissy.”

“Cunningham?” Steve asked, projecting very believable confusion. “What makes you think she’d be here?” 

Eddie was mildly impressed by Steve’s acting skills. 

“You tell me—is this your thing now? Couldn’t make it into college so you're poaching other guy’s girls to make yourself feel like less of a loser?”

“What? No!”

“Don’t lie to me,” Jason snarled. “I haven’t seen her since the game on Friday night, and she hasn’t been home once since then, until today. Imagine my surprise when I drove past her house only to see you sitting out front in your car waiting for her.”

“What the fuck!” Steve snapped. “Are you her boyfriend or her stalker?!”

There were grunts and more shuffling as both boys came into view. Jason had his hands fisted into Steve's shirt—backing him up into the wall across from the living room as he forced his way inside the house. 

“Jason, stop!” Chrissy shouted from where she was tucked behind Eddie, Robin at her side. 

He released Steve, whirling suddenly at the sound of her voice, eyes widening when they settled on Eddie.

“You!” 

Jason pointed a finger, body tensing to lunge over the threshold, but before he could move more than a step in Eddie’s direction, Steve had locked an arm around his chest holding him back. He tried to maneuver his other arm around the boy’s head, in some move that Eddie was sure had a name in the wrestling world, but Jason twisted in his hold, easily slipping out of the grip. He was free again, but the effort had drawn his attention back to Steve and away from Eddie and the girls, which, knowing Steve, had probably been his only goal all along.

Steve cocked his arm back, throwing the first punch, to Eddie’s shock—his fist glancing off the edge of Jason's jaw. It was enough to turn his head but nowhere near enough to put him down. 

Jason retaliated, landing a shot to Steve’s cheek and another punishing blow right in his eye—he was going to have one hell of a shiner later, or worse. 

Chrissy screamed Jason’s name again, begging him to stop, and tried to step around Eddie. He stopped her, gently guiding her back into Robin’s arms before joining the fight himself. 

In a few quick strides he was there, catching Jason around the wrist as he pulled back for yet another punch. Squeezing, Eddie put as much pressure around the bone as he could. It wasn’t hard to find the strength or motivation, remembering how it’d been Jason's fault that Steve died last time around.

“That’s enough,” Eddie growled into his ear. 

“Don’t touch me!” Jason shrieked, trying and failing to pull himself out of Eddie's grasp. Panic filled his eyes for a moment, then he rammed his shoulder into Eddie’s chest as hard as he could. 

The hit to his sternum shocked Eddie into letting go, losing his balance in the process and causing him to fall hard on his back to the floor. On instinct he curled himself into a ball, protecting his middle from the kicks he was sure were coming—it wouldn’t have been the first time—but they never did. 

“Get the hell out of here before I call the cops, Carver.” Steve shouted. 

Eddie raised his head to see that Steve had somehow managed to move Jason back towards the still open front door, at the same time Chrissy and Robin appeared at his side helping him up, and the three of them flanked Steve as best they could in the narrow hallway.

“And tell them what? You hit me first!” Jason shouted.

Steve reached up to tenderly touch his already inflamed eye, and winced. “It’ll be our word against yours. Who do you think they’re gonna believe?” He punctuated his point by giving Jason one last shove out the door and onto the landing, spitting blood at his feet—red splattering his white sneakers.

A look of revulsion flashed across Jason’s face, but he stood his ground, gesturing at Chrissy. “I’ll leave when she tells me to go.”

Eddie couldn’t believe it, how fucking delusional was this guy? 

Chrissy gaped, sharing his disbelief, and threw her hands up. “I already told you to go! It’s over, Jason.”

“Chrissy, baby, are you really leaving me for Harrington? Or worse, Munson?!”

She shook her head, nose wrinkling with disgust. “I’m leaving you—for me. Now get the hell out of here, and leave us alone!”

“You’ll regret this.” Jason growled.

“Right now, the only thing I regret is ever thinking you were a good guy.”

With that, Jason finally stormed off to his Jeep, the four of them watching as he drove away until the car was out of sight.

When they were safely back inside Chrissy broke down, gently weeping while Robin held her, assuring her that it was okay, that it was over now. 

Eddie went right for Steve to assess him for damage, and though it’d been a short fight he didn’t look so great. He was bleeding a little from his lip and one of his eyes was rapidly swelling shut.

“Come on." Eddie took Steve’s arm, steering him towards the stairs. He’d gone quiet the minute Jason had left and seemed a little out of it now. "I’ll help you get cleaned up.”

-

Eddie guided Steve through his own bedroom to the bathroom, sitting him down on the closed lid of the toilet—an ironic reversal of roles from the last loop that wasn’t lost on him—and crouched to pull the first aid kit out from under the sink. 

The moment he set it up on the counter the phone began to ring in the other room. He glanced at Steve, but the other boy gave no reaction, as if he didn’t even hear it. Eddie chewed his lip. He would have let it go but they hadn’t heard from Joyce since the morning before. It could be important.

He hurried out to answer it.

“Hello? Uh, Harrington Residence.”

“Oh! Eddie? Honey, it’s Joyce. Sorry I was expecting Steve.”

"Yeah, he’s–uh,” Eddie hedged. “Is everything alright there?" 

“The whole process has been pretty tough on El, but she’s doing well—she's almost ready. Owens wants to make sure we’re gone before that raid you told us about happens. They're flying us to Hawkins tomorrow, as soon as Hopper gets here.”

“No shit? He’s really—they got him out?!”

Joyce let out a soft wet laugh. “I know, it’s unbelievable. I didn’t get to talk to him yet myself, but the Doc swore to me that he’s alive, safe, and on his way here.”

“That’s great news, I can’t wait to tell Steve.”

“How’s he doing? He gets so focused on everyone else when these things happen that he forgets to take care of himself.”

“Haven't noticed,” Eddie mumbled under his breath. “He’s okay, I think. We had a minor… altercation today. Nothing Upside Down related exactly, just regular humans being shitty, but–”

“He got himself hurt, didn’t he?”

“The guy, he was–” Eddie gripped the receiver, shaking his head. “He was going to come for me, but Steve pulled him back. Got his face bashed in for his troubles.”

“Poor thing. You’ll take care of him, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” Eddie forced out through a painful tightening in his chest. “I’ve got him. Don’t worry.”

He hung up and quickly returned to the bathroom, heart dropping when he found Steve now on the floor with his head between his knees, breath coming in short gasps. Eddie threw himself down, kneeling in front of him, running hands up and down Steve’s arms—his skin cool and tacky. 

Fuck, he’d been gone for too long—never should have left him alone like this in the first place. 

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re alright,” Eddie cooed. “Hey, can you look at me—please?”

Steve slowly raised his head, blinking tears away as he looked up at Eddie with his one good eye, the other now completely swollen shut—bruise darkening by the minute. 

“There you are.” Eddie forced a smile, even though the sight of Steve banged up like this and in tears only made him want to break down too. “Take some slow breaths with me, Stevie. Can you do that?”

He had absolutely no idea what he was doing, only trying to imitate what Steve had done for him once upon a time. 

Steve gave a shallow nod, holding his gaze as they breathed together. 

“That’s it, you’re doing so well.” 

They spent several minutes just like that, the rest of the world outside this room ceasing to exist until Steve was calm and his face dry. 

When it seemed safe to move, Eddie rose to his feet, freezing when Steve’s hand shot out to grasp his. 

“Don’t–” Steve choked out.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie assured him, cupping the unhurt side of Steve's face gently with his free hand. “Just bringing the first aid kit down to the floor here so I can clean you up.”

“Oh.”

Steve let him go, watching quietly as he worked, his eye never once leaving Eddie’s face. 

He tried not to stare back, cheeks growing hot, his own heartbeat thrumming loudly in his ears as he focused on cleaning Steve’s skin and disinfecting the split on his lip.

“You need ice,” Eddie whispered breathily when there was nothing more to do and Steve was as patched up as he was going to get. He stashed the first aid supplies back under the sink, rushing out a quick, “I’ll be right back,” before escaping downstairs. 

On his way to the kitchen he caught sight of the girls cuddling up on the couch. Chrissy’s head was in Robin’s lap and they spoke softly while Robin ran fingers through the other girl's hair.  

He quietly grabbed a bag of peas from the freezer, trying not to disturb their moment, and crept back upstairs. 

Steve was right where he had left him on the floor, looking mildly more himself. Eddie gulped, kneeling again as he held the frozen bag of vegetables up to Steve’s face and tried to breathe evenly.

“Thank you.” Steve said, raising a hand up to cover his, helping to hold the ice pack in place, making his heart race impossibly faster. “And I'm sorry about freaking out.”

“Please don’t apologize,” Eddie said quickly, biting down on his lip as he took his hand away. He sat back on his heels to put a little more distance between them, the proximity beginning to make him dizzy. 

Steve leaned his head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what happened, it wasn’t even a bad fight, I just—I got stuck in my head I guess, thinking about the last time my eye got fucked up like this.”

“Starcourt?” Eddie guessed.

“Yeah.”

“You know, before it was me that Jason beat the shit out of, but what I didn’t tell everyone during storytime was how, as soon as I got here and you saw my messed up face, you brought me into this room and fixed me up—set my broken nose for me and everything. Then I proceeded to have a full-on blubbering meltdown right where you’re sitting now. I hadn’t even explained anything yet, you had no idea what I was doing here and yet you cleaned me up and talked me down from a panic attack, no questions asked.”

Steve stared at him, frowning.

“I guess what I’m saying is, I’m happy to return the favor.”

Slowly, inexplicably, Steve’s frown morphed into a smile, then into a laugh as he pitched sideways.

Eddie’s mouth dropped open. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what’s so funny, Harrington?”

“I can’t believe you let me set your nose!” Steve exploded, still chuckling. “You’re lucky that was in the last loop, that shit definitely would have healed crooked.”

“But—wait—what?!” Eddie sputtered. “You said you’d done it a bunch of times!”

“No man, I’ve had It done for me before, but I don’t know what I must have been thinking! Maybe I knew you wouldn’t get it checked out so it would be better than nothing?”

“I absolutely would not have gone to the hospital, so you’d have been right about that.” Eddie replied and finally broke, laughter spilling out of him now too. It was so absurd, and maybe it was because they were tired, and it’d been a rough day in a long string of even rougher days, but their mutual hysterics built and built until they were both clutching their sides.

-

By the time they made their way downstairs the kids and Nancy had arrived, and Eddie filled everyone in on Joyce’s most recent call, minus the details about Hopper of course, though he had shared that with Steve. 

For once the pieces were all falling into place, the fight with Jason notwithstanding, and for better or worse, Eddie let himself get caught up in the hopeful atmosphere as everyone celebrated the news that in less than 24 hours their whole group would be together again. 

After a long night of laughter, popcorn fights and a movie marathon, everyone had fallen asleep wherever they landed. Nancy, Robin, and Chrissy on one couch, Eddie and Steve on the other, and all the younger teens and Erica in a giant nest of blankets in the middle of the floor.

Eddie wasn’t sure how long he’d been out when a series of loud bangs pulled him from sleep. He blinked, looking around for a moment confused until he remembered where he was. The living room was still cloaked in darkness, no light coming in through the windows, the sun only just beginning to rise.

It happened again, louder this time, and Eddie realized it was someone knocking—hard. Steve jerked upwards hearing it now too, his concerned eyes meeting Eddie’s. Instantly they were both on their feet and rushing to the door. 

It was too dark to see anything through the glass. Eddie couldn't imagine it was Jason coming back for round two, not at this hour, but Steve was apparently taking no chances—pulling his nail bat out of the nearby umbrella stand as he set his hand on the deadbolt. 

Eddie hadn’t even realized he’d brought it downstairs. 

Steve unlocked the door and swung it open, revealing a thin man with short buzzed hair standing in the doorway. He wore a dirty blue jumpsuit, and what little bare skin showed was covered in a layer of sweat and grime. 

There was something familiar about the man’s face. Eddie squinted, urging his sleep addled brain to get with the program, when suddenly it clicked.

“Hop?” Steve asked, voice trembling as he also put two and two together.

The man—Hopper, looked at Eddie curiously before swinging his gaze back to Steve, and smiled. 

“Hey, kid.”

Chapter 10

Special thanks to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.

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