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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 2 months

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Emerald Hallow Chapter 5

Summary: Steve Rogers wants to move on. He wants to forget Peggy, and dive into the 21st century. But this man of the past doesn’t know how to navigate being an Alpha in a modern world of skittish Omegas. He prides himself on his self control, never wanting to harm or scare them, until something just smells too damn good…and he’s not the only one who notices.

**plus size reader

Warnings: abo!dynamics, smutty smut smut, name calling, eventual threesome, voyeurism, rough sex

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This was the first time Bucky was going to see Y/N perform at the club. It was Thanksgiving weekend, the Fall decorations already being put away and the Christmas decor going up seemingly overnight. Steve and Bucky sat at a small table near the front of the stage off to the right, listening to the band warm up as the bar bustled with people. Every Saturday night was packed whenever Y/N sang, and Bucky looked around in amazement.

“Wow, she’s really made a name for herself, hasn’t she?” Bucky mused quietly, watching the couples in their vintage outfits get settled at their tables, looking excitedly at the stage.

“You have no idea,” Steve replied, throwing Bucky a cocked eyebrow.

Just then the lights dimmed and the spotlight came on, the band counting themselves in and playing a small introduction. The drag queen host came out and the audience cheered, making her smile wide as she gave a dramatic bow. “Good evening everybody! I’m your host Dirty Peaches, but you can call me Peaches ‘cuz I get nasty,” the crowd “oo-ed.” “That’s a ‘Yonce' reference for those of you who are uncultured. Wow, what a turnout! Y’all been missing somebody?” The audience cheered again, and a chant started amongst the crowd.

“Emerald Hallow!”

“Okay okay, shit, I know when I’m not wanted,” Peaches said, looking put out. “Without further ado, please give a warm welcome to the one, the only, Emerald Hallow!”

The crowd cheered louder as Peaches stepped back and the curtain behind her opened to reveal Y/N. Bucky’s mouth dropped open, his eyes going comically wide as she stepped out and hugged Peaches and greeted her bandmates. She was dressed in a floor length satin gown. This one was much more modest than the one Steve had first met her in, with only her arms showing from the elbow down, displaying her tattoos. The dress was voluminous, hugging around her waist and chest snuggly while the rest flowed around her. It was a bright, crimson red color, her green hair complimenting it and making her look like a Christmas herald. Her hair was finger-waved again, the curls cascading down her back with her bangs curled and pinned back. She wore blood red lipstick that matched the dress and her sharp cat-eye eyeliner again.

“Holy fuck,” Bucky moaned, shifting himself so his erection wasn’t too obvious. Steve moved as well, his eyebrows hung low as he watched her.

“Hello, my pretties,” Y/N greeted everyone, her voice low and seductive. The audience whooped and hollered. “I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving, and even if you didn’t, maybe we can have a little fun together tonight,” she winked. “Lovies?” she gestured to the band, and they counted themselves into an introduction. “I’m feeling very…sexy lately,” Y/N sighed. More whoops resounded through the room. “You feeling sexy?” she smiled. “Well then…come here big boy.”

The music started, the trumpet playing a slow and dirty melody. More cheers were heard as couples moved to the small dance floor, the dancing much sexier than Steve had seen last time.

“You’ve been a bad, bad boy, I’m gonna take my time, so enjoy.”

Y/N’s eyes closed, her hands running down her hips as she swayed to the beat.

“There’s no need to feel no shame, Relax and sip upon my champagne. ‘Cause I wanna give you a little taste Of the sugar below my waist, You nasty boy.”

Her eyes were fixated on Steve as her hands went back up and over her stomach and slightly down the area between her legs but quickly back up to her chest, skimming across her breasts.

“I’ll give you some ooh-la-la Voulez-vous coucher avec moi? I got you breaking into a sweat Got you hot, bothered and wet You nasty boy.”

Her eyes were now on Bucky, raking over his figure. She reached toward him, her fingers swirling in “come hither” motion then moving her body so her back was facing them, tilting her hips towards him. Bucky twitched, having to stop himself from moving.

“Oh, baby for all it’s worth I swear I’ll be the first to blow Your…mind! Now if you’re ready, come and get me I’ll give you that hot, sweet, sexy, loving…”

The song continued and Steve and Bucky were both squirming. She looked too good, sounded too good, mixed with the ambience of the club around them and her scent seeming to pool around them and the audience it was like sweet torture.

“...now you better give me a little taste Put your icing on my cake You nasty boy. Oh no, ooh there I go again I need a spanking, ‘cause I’ve been bad! So let my body do the talkin’ I’ll slip you that hot, sweet, sexy lovin’.”

Y/N started to move more to the beat, throwing her head back and riffing through the bridge, singing phrases like, “Come on sugar!” and whiny “oohs” that made Steve shut his eyes tight and Bucky’s metal arm creak under the pressure of the fist he put it in. She sang to them, then to others, and at one point as the song started to end she scratched her long nails against her bond mark, making her pheromones burst through the enclosed space. She was causing the crowd to get more rowdy, the dancing couples nearly undressing and pawing at each other. She finished on a deep, whiny note and jiggled her body to the final drum. Steve felt territorial and murderous seeing the effect she had on everyone around her, and felt sorry for Bucky who was seriously struggling in the seat next to him.

The songs never stopped, one sexy number after another. By the time her set was ending Bucky was sweating and Steve’s jaw ached from how hard he was biting down.

“Thank you my pretties! I’ll see you next week. Good night, and have fun!” Y/N winked and licked her lower lip. She bowed deeply then acknowledged her band, then swayed her hips as she disappeared into the curtain behind her.

Steve turned to Bucky, who was gnawing at his lip and wiping his brow. “She really does play dirty,” Bucky growled.

“Little tease,” Steve grunted. He stood quickly. “Come on.”

“What? Where are we going?” Bucky asked, quickly standing with him.

Steve walked towards the backstage area. He went through the curtain, looking around for Y/N. When she was nowhere to be seen he gestured to one of the techies. “Where’d Emerald go?”

“Oh, she left already,” she said.

“Fuck,” Steve grunted. The techie stared at him. “Sorry. Thank you.” She walked away and he turned to Bucky. “Her place.”

“She hasn’t moved in with you?” Bucky asked, following Steve out to the car they came in.

“No, she likes having her own space. But that’s going to change very soon,” Steve said threateningly.

“Look, punk, I know you’re mad but she has every right to be upset with us. Tonight was payback, that’s all. As frustrated and horny as I am, we can’t let our emotions get the better of us,” Bucky reasoned, trying to give off a calming scent in the car as Steve drove too fast to Y/N’s apartment.

Once they parked Steve hopped out and barreled through the front door of her building, Bucky following not far behind. She was on the first floor so he quickly went to her door that was on a secluded part of the hallway. He knocked hard on the door.

“Omega, open the door,” Steve commanded, trying to breathe normally.

“Fuck off, Alpha,” Y/N called back through the door.

“Don’t think I won’t break down this door,” Steve threatened, his scent getting stronger.

Y/N opened the door just a fraction, glaring up at him. “What’s wrong, Steve? Feeling a little…frustrated?” her eyes narrowed and she looked down at his groin where his cock was straining against his pants.

Steve carefully but forcefully pushed the door open, making her step back. Bucky watched carefully, staying a step back but entering and closing the door behind him. Steve groaned at her outfit, a night teddie that matched the red gown she wore earlier. Her hair was tied up now, but the red lipstick was still on. “What do you think you were doing up there tonight, huh, Emerald?” he growled. “You just love being a fucking tease, don’t you? You sent Buck into an early rut.”

“What? I…” Bucky started to disagree but then felt a deep tug in his groin and slightly doubled over. “Shit.”

“I smelled it on him the moment you stepped out from the curtain,” Steve said, not once looking away from her. “I’m sorry we didn’t include you this morning. We should have talked about all of that before, but we didn’t, and we overstepped what is obviously a boundary for you. It was something that we needed to get over the initial hurdle in our relationship together. But for you to go up there, and nearly send everyone in that room into heat or rut, is inexcusable.”

Y/N’s gaze never wavered. She was not sorry, and from what he could tell, she was far from done. “It’s hard to not get what you want. The frustration feels stifling, doesn’t it?” She slowly approached him, getting close only to swerve around him and head towards Bucky. She walked up to Bucky, who was grimacing in pain, and pulled his head down into a passionate kiss. His hands gripped her face and held her close to him, moving his face down and scenting her neck hungrily. She pushed him back into the couch he was standing next to, making him sit, then pulling his clothes off one at a time, glancing at Steve periodically. “Overwhelming,” she muttered once she got Bucky fully naked. She turned and sat on his lap, leaning back against him. As she sat Steve saw she wasn’t wearing any underwear, Bucky’s cock slipping between her lower lips as she gyrated on him. Bucky’s hands immediately went to her breasts, pulling them out of the teddie and kneading them in his large hands. He was lost to his rut, not noticing or caring that Steve was there watching. His lips licked and sucked at her neck, making his scent and hers mix in heady perfume that made Steve’s mouth water. “How unfair,” Y/N said through gritted teeth.

Steve’s eyes blinked rapidly and his hand started moving towards his belt. “Don’t you dare,” Y/N growled. “You don’t get to join. It’s my turn with Bucky now.” She reached down and started flicking her clit, her hips jerking and making Bucky whine behind her. His hips started moving faster, his cock peeking through her legs repeatedly. “You don’t get to touch yourself,” she instructed Steve. He grunted and sank to his knees. “I want Bucky’s knot. Do you think he’ll breed me before you, Alpha?” She suddenly stiffened and came hard, a gush of her slick coating Bucky’s cock and her legs.

Bucky moaned and tried to aim his hips to get his cock up into her. He slipped his flesh arm down between her legs and dipped a finger inside her, his teeth biting gently into her shoulder. “Should he mark me, Alpha?” Y/N asked Steve, her hips shaking as Bucky’s finger moved faster in and out of her, then adding another finger. “Then you’ll both be my mates. How does that sound, Stevie baby?”

“So good, fuck Mama,” Steve groaned, his hands shaking as he restrained from touching himself.

“Mama? Huh…I like it,” Y/N laughed lightly. She moved off of Bucky’s lap, making Bucky whimper at the loss of her, but she moved him over so she could lay down on the couch, and he quickly moved to hover over her. She spread her legs wide, inviting Bucky to settle in between as he stroked his throbbing cock and ran the tip through her lower lips, getting himself wet with her slick. He slowly started to push into her, pulling a long keen from her. “He feels so good, Steve. No wonder you couldn’t wait for me this morning.”

“Mama please,” Steve begged, crawling towards the two of them. “I can’t take this, please, love.”

Bucky pushed fully into her and she arched her back, focusing back on him. Y/N ran her hands up and along Bucky’s stomach, chest, shoulders, neck and into his hair. She gripped the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled, making Bucky’s head wrench back and a loud growl rumble from his chest. “Look Bucky, look how horny our Stevie is,” she moaned. Bucky’s eyes finally found Steve’s and he growled again, trying to stake a claim. Steve growled back in warning. “You’re both so fucking hot, God,” Y/N shivered then pulled Bucky’s face back to her, focusing him back to the task at hand. He quickly lowered himself over her chest, licking, sucking and nipping at her breasts as his thrusts picked up. Steve felt small again, tears starting to prick at the sides of his eyes as the pleasure in his body had nowhere to go.

Y/N sensed his change and looked over at him and reached a hand out. “Give me your cock, Alpha.”

Steve moved so fast he nearly tripped himself. He pulled his belt and pants and underwear off, standing next to Y/N and Bucky. She took his large cock in her small hand and started pumping him steadily. She lifted her head to lick him and he stepped closer to help her reach. She licked him from tip to base, lathering him in her spit. Bucky looked up from her breasts and watched her suck on Steve. He whimpered at the sight. Y/N opened her mouth wide and tilted her head back. Steve understood and positioned himself above her head and slid his cock into her mouth and then deep down into her throat. She slightly gagged but breathed through her nose steadily to take him in all the way. Steve fucked her throat as Bucky fucked her pussy. The whole thing was so erotic that he knew he was going to bust any second.

Bucky started moving even faster as he licked her throat where the outline of Steve’s cock was moving. As his thrusts became even more frenzied he started nuzzling the opposite side from where Steve had bit and claimed her, his teeth scraping against her gland. “Claim her, Buck,” Steve grunted as he felt his balls tighten. “Then she’ll be ours.”

Bucky inhaled her again, then just as his hips snapped harshly and his knot inflated fully he locked himself to her and bit down on her neck, filling her pussy up with his seed. Y/N shrieked as her own orgasm washed over her, the vibration in her throat setting Steve off into cumming and he gasped and shivered, spilling himself down into her throat where she swallowed him greedily. As they all breathed heavily Steve started to pull himself out slowly, making sure not to hurt Y/N as her throat relaxed. She wetly coughed once he retreated and Bucky kissed her, tasting Steve on her tongue and moaning again. He pulled away from the kiss and lifted his head to lick Steve’s cock, giving his tip a small suck then laying his head back into the crook of Y/N’s neck, his bite mark leaving her skin red and sore, which he licked heavily to soothe.

“Mine,” Bucky whispered as he kissed his mark. “Ours.”

“So good, Omega,” Steve praised her, making her smile lazily up at him. He leaned down and kissed her. “Please tell me the war is over.”

“You wish,” Y/N smirked.

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vqrtualheartss · 1 year

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"𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖" — 𝑬42 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

ᴅ☆ᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴀʏ|

Do not question why the time is going so fast part two

Yes, your friends are low-key bimbos but they book n street smart

Y'all I'm so happy that my page is growing 🥹 I love y'all fr

—Warnings: I have never been outside this country so I am NOT familiar with Brooklyn slang., Use of N word —hence why the title says it's for black readers

𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓭𝓾𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 | Throughout Brooklyn Visions you were known as 'antisocial' —always wearing a mask even after the end of COVID, never at a party or a school function, 'dead socials', and the one that seals the deal: never seen with a boy.— Truth is you weren't even like that, up in that school the way everyone thinks is basically copied and pasted and not in a good way. It wouldn't take much to be viewed differently and not being too interested in interacting with almost anybody, you just kept to yourself. And no, this isn't some typical white highschool movie where you're bullied and apart of some loser, nerd squad, if anything it was far from that. Y'know those pretty, melanin-queen it-girls? Yeah, that's your crew, don't get it twisted though, you weren't some 'accessory friend' used by them —you we're just as pretty if not more— but you've seen how guys treat pretty girls in comparison to those "average" and who would want to be with someone like that? Definitely not you

It was the day before the mid-term break and your friends —Shadae, Nia, Kiara and Lailah— were nowhere to be found. Coming to the conclusion that they were at a party being held for whatever reason an exasperated sigh left your body closing your locker. "So that's really what they doing now? It's their lives soo if they don't care why should I?"

The sun's rays barely illuminated the hallway being hid behind clouds, playing into the gloomy theme. Walking through the large, empty spaces, head held straight going to your third/fifth class, you noticed someone staring at you through your peripheral vision—Miles Morales. A little introduction on him, he was apart of a group basically the male version of yours, minus you. Girls gushed at him, sliding notes into his locker and stuff, typical party animal, you heard through rumours that he hooks up with a new girl every other week. One would think it's false news cause that sounds absolutely atrocious but they came prepared with receipts ―But even those could be made up― and to no surprise, there were girls wanting to be one of his bi-weekly flings. Come to say though, it was a little weird how his gaze situated on you as you walked but you decided to brush it off as nothing. There's no way you could see yourself interacting with him. Ever.

In class

Since it was the last day so far all teachers gave a free period. As usual, you remained silent scrolling through whatever the media had to offer, even though having admitted that it was a boring ritual, you refrained to do otherwise. Time passed and the bell rung with you not wasting a second getting out the door, stuff already packed.

Moving along the steps going down to the next classroom, the deafening screech of the intercom went off as the minority of students covered their ears including yourself waiting for it to end, seeing a person take down their hands, everyone did too before the announcement went off.

"Attention students and staff: In light of the reduced teaching activities and productive learning for the day, we have made the decision to conclude school early. We believe that providing you with this extra time will allow you to enjoy a well-deserved break. Make the most of this unexpected opportunity and enjoy your extended free time!"

The halls erupted with cheers, laughter and talking as people made their way outside the school, although intending to head straight home, a few necessary stops to some stores had to be made before doing so. Heading out, you opened the phone still in your hand to make a list of things that came up to mind

Braiding hair

Gummy Wax

Bonnet

More coconut watrdf

"The fuck?" The words slipped from my mouth under a whisper at the sudden jolt of my body -can't even write a list in this school-, looking back I saw someone holding onto my arm, stopping me from going outside. It was Miles, -what could he ever want from me?- my eyebrow lifted, "hm?" "Sorry, I just wanted to talk to you" he released his hand off my body, leaning on a locker with his bag hanging off his shoulder "Um okay, about what?" I crossed my arms, noticing his eyes widened slightly before returning to their natural, slightly seductive state. "You actually talk?" "Nope" Trying to escape, he caught onto my hand, our eyes piercing into the others before he added "Alright that one was my fault, but I just wanted to ask if you're doing alright"

I glanced over his shoulder, searching for his friends, a camera, or any signs of people giggling, this had to be some sort of prank. Finding nothing, I gave in -one conversation can't hurt right?- "Yea I am, why do you ask?" "I didn't see your friends- wait" he tilted his head towards the door, hinting for us to go outside "You ain't tryna be seen with me or you good right here? " I looked around the room, dragging a hand down my face acknowledging the little clusters of people staring. Facing him again, I nodded and together we made our way out.

"So where we going first? Am I getting punk'd? I saw the lil' list you had" Rubbing his palms together, he anticipated my response as we crossed the road. Using my hand as a sun blocker, I squinted before answering

"You're very nosy and I will be-" "We" I stood taking a good look at the boy, blinking slowly. Realizing that he didn't plan on going anywhere else I caved in, "We will be going to the hair supply store first" he smiled at my renewed sentence.

"His dimples are cute- " "Nah shut the fuck up actually." "But he is though"

Shaking away the thoughts going back and forth with themselves, I focused my attention back to Miles who was already looking at me. To be fair, I was still skeptical of the sudden interactions and wanting to waste no one's time, I went straight toward my point. "What do you want? If you want something with one of my friends I can give it to you y'know" I kid you not when I say that this boy burst out laughing.

He held a hand at his chest before we stopped walking "That's what you think of me f'real?" I shrugged replying "That's what I think of most of them" I made a popping noise with my mouth, his hands digging deeper into the jacket's pockets. A playful smirk dancing on his face as he bit his lip, he was fine and I'm sure he knew it― Girl, no

Still standing, I continued. "Word in the street says that you copping a new chick every two weeks" he narrowed his eyes as I loosened my bag straps. "I be in the streets everyday and I never heard that" crossing his arms, he sent me a jest-filled glare before continuing " and how YOU hearing what's going on in these streets Miss Mysterious?" He pointed at me in the middle of his sentence to which I scratched my neck nervously with my index finger, avoiding any eye contact. Finishing his sentence he urged for my response with a "huh?" before looking down at me with half closed eyes, still chewing on his bottom lip

Counting on my fingers, I started to explain myself "Okay one, I don't gossip but the friends I hang around do and I have working ears, so what? And number two, I have a name sir" "Are you going to tell me it?" "It's (y/n)" "Well, (y/n) to answer your first question. Your crew? Nah, they okay but you though, you caught my eye. And I ain't trying to serve up that 'you're unique' cliché but real shit, that's what got me wanting to talk with you" "Okay I'm sure I'm not that interesting" my hands now rested on the curve of my hips, blankly looking at Miles who couldn't seem to take his eyes off of me. "Let me be the judge of that, tell me more about you"

I shook my head as I went to approach the other side of the pole he was on, worst mistake . He yanked me by my bag, dragging me over to his side as he stared at me with wide eyes "we don't do that shit around here" he extended his hand , pointing to the path infront him.

I looked back at him in disbelief, my eyes and eyebrows being the only features to express my astonishment, looking at my half expression, he laughed. "My bad, just please use your sense next time" "You talk too much, we need to get going" he raised his hands in defense "Alright ma'am" I rubbed my temple smiling underneath my mask, my lips making some type of imprint beneath it

Walking there was pretty interesting, getting bombarded with questions about myself and not about my friends. It was the first time I'd actually had a conversation with someone outside my circle, and you know what? It wasn't half bad. I found myself laughing and smiling at something that wasn't some dumb cat falling and it was quite nice.

Approaching the door and opening it, I joked "Ladies first" "Oh so you got jokes now? Guess I'm rubbing off on you" Rolling my eyes whilst walking inside, he wiped away an imaginary tear entering the store behind me. Taking a quick stroll through the aisles I saw Miles taking up some stuff too —some combs, wax, and a durag—

Shopping didn't go so smooth for me though, being stuck between three colours to choose from —1B, 30 and 350—."What's up?" Standing clueless, Miles came over to my area, positioning himself beside me, waiting for me to say something. Raising my hands with the braiding hair before slapping them on my thighs lightly, I complained "I can't choose" Taking the hair from my hands he started to put each one beside my head before speaking "You'd look like a doll in this one, go for it"

While he returned the hair back to their original positions except the one he picked —which was colour 30— I raised my eyebrows, internally questioning his choice of words before speaking up "you have such a smooth mouth don't you?" Crossing my hands as I gave him a mild, sidelong glance traced with amusement that turned into confusion when he placed his hand atop his head, biting his lip. "I woke up Chris Breezy, oh my God I'm the man" Mouth agape, I dragged a hand over my mask to stifle the laughter "Alright cool cool I get it, you spit lyrics like that. Get up" "shoulda known it's been that way, now let's go. We have more stuff to buy" He took two more packs of hair before we walked over to the cashier — the place where I had to find out how stubborn this boy is—

"Let me pay for it" "No, it's my stuff. I'm more than fine paying"

The cashier cleared her throat, annoyed at our 5-minute long bickering

"Oh sorry, here-" I shuffled inside my bag for my purse, completely oblivious to whatever Miles was doing "Here" "Thank you" I looked up hearing the cashier's words, completely shocked that Miles Morales, a 17 year old just handed the woman a black card. It must be nice.

Bagging the items he turned to face me, "See, I told you I'll pay" "Here, I'll pay you-" "No, think of it as.. a us becoming friends gift, plus we have more things to buy so save up"

Stretching my mouth underneath my nose I teased "Who said we're friends" he deadpanned while handing me my own bag with items "Don't play with me. I know your favourite colours, music, food, and more. I'm real friend material" I laughed at his reaction, not to mention his remix on the "real wifey material" part.

But he was right though, we had more places to be, taking out my phone to check the updated list we comprised together, glancing at the time, I cursed 4:48 PM. "Shit um, I really have to go home. Bye, and thank you" my words dragged themselves louder as I ran down the road waving at him frantically.

You hurried along your usual route back home, "Why the rush?" Well, the aim was to snag a 5 PM package. It might sound like a flimsy excuse to part ways with Miles knowing that girls would kill you in the armor of envy for him, but the package would be returned to facility if not claimed and who wants to wait months again? He'd understand. After securing the package you went home, fortunately enough it started to rain, the pattering of the droplets masking the sound of your attempts sneaking into your room to avoid any confrontation from your parents.

Usually when it rained you found the atmosphere peaceful— having been in a night gown with your bonnet on— but this time, it felt different. For some unknown reason you couldn't shake Miles off your mind—the sensual energy that radiated from him, his seductive stare he always wore or the husky laughs that echoed between you two— Everything about him was alluring, slowly drawing you in and you did not like it.

Miles, on the other hand didn't suppress his feelings, having to physically wipe the smiles and cut the laughter he created each time he thought about you. Ironic enough, he hadn't a clue what it was about you that had him this way. Shit, he doesn't even know how you look. He was sure of however, what it would take to even have a chance at holding your hand given the rumours that you've heard about him, but he was hell-bent on giving it a try.

#Spotify #black tumblr #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles x you #miles morales #vqrtualheartss #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #dae #miles molares #e42 miles #earth 42 miles fluff #earth42miles

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starcrossedxwriter · 11 months

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Wicked Fantasies Part 7 (MBJ x OC)

Warnings: harassment, public sex, the usual BDSM warnings apply heavilyyyy lol

A/N: Umm this is a fun one! Mostly fluff with a little drama lol We're getting into the holiday spirit with a couple time jumps so enjoyyy!

***

“I have a surprise for you,” Michael whispered, chuckling as Raven tucked herself deeper into the covers.

They had been out at a party until late and then Michael proceeded to have his way with her at his condo until the wee hours of the morning. Her body still ached from the suspension ropes he hung her from for over an hour. It was her first introduction into true restraints and bondage and she enjoyed it far more than she thought she would. And now, all she and her limbs wanted to do was burrow in her covers and sleep all day.

“Is the surprise a hot bath?” she called, her words still muffled by the heavy duvet cover.

“Nah.”

“Ok well then I hate surprises,” she mumbled, causing Michael to laugh.

“Come on, this is a fun one. I promise!”

She groaned and dramatically flopped the covers from over her face and pouted. “I was a really good girl last night and this is my reward? Being woken up at ungodly hours?”

Michael raised an eyebrow and glanced down at his Apple Watch. “It’s 10 am, baby.”

Her heart fluttered at the word baby, her eyes casting downward as she tried to limit the smile that wanted to bloom on her lips. She still was not used to it yet. To the world and everyone around them, nothing had changed. But for them, everything had changed. They were a real couple, bonafide and no longer faking or pretending. There was a new intimacy to it that she had not expected. And freedom. It was so clear to her now how much both of them had been holding back, how muted what they felt for each other truly was before. Because now, they could both experience the full breadth of their love for each other, could express it and receive it. And it made both of them wonder if they had ever experienced true romantic love before each other. Because this was everything and so much more.

Everything felt lighter and easier. And yet, Raven could not help but feel like there was a dark cloud looming over them, a deep-seeded fear that everything she felt would be taken away. Perhaps she was just worried that, even if they were telling the truth about their romance now, they had started off as a lie. It did not seem like the steadiest of foundations. However, she chose to brush those fears aside. They were just her doubts and insecurities talking. She had never felt for a man like she felt for Michael, never felt so loved by someone. It felt good and she realized she never knew true happiness until now. Sure, there had been times when she was happy. But pure uninhibited bliss? That was only a state Michael could bring out in her.

“So what’s this big surprise?” She asked as she stretched her body long in the bed before sliding out.

Her slippers shuffled against the floor as she made her way to his bathroom to get ready for the day.

“Wouldn’t be a big surprise if I told you now, would it?”

“I hate you,” she grumbled, though the smile on her face let him know that was a complete and utter lie.

“You weren’t sayin’ that last night… in fact, I distinctly remember making you scream the exact opposite,” he mused as his fingers played with the delicate thin strap of her night gown as he moved it to the side to press delicate kisses against her warm skin. “Over and over and over again. Maybe I need to give you a refresher.”

She smirked and decided to play the brat, excited for where the experience could take her. “Seems like the first lesson didn’t stick… not a very effective teacher it seems, Mr. Jordan.”

Michael chuckled. “You’re gon’ regret that shit. But lucky for you, we gotta get to the house soon so I ain’t got time to put you in your place. But tonight, that ass is mine.”

Raven clenched her thighs together and grinned. Of course, he was not too foolish to not realize that was the exact outcome she wanted.

The pair listened to music as they got dressed in comfortable clothes and drove over to Michael’s family’s house. Everyone was there, hot chocolate and breakfast waiting. The entire entry way was filled with bins and boxes of ornaments, decorations, and trees.

“What’s all this?”

Michael smiled. “Well ma don't let December 1 pass without ensuring the house is decorated so figured you could help us out this year. I remember you tellin’ me your grandma would let you decorate her tree and thought you might like it.”

Raven felt everything inside her melt and her eyes well up with tears. He seemed to remember literally everything she told him.

“Y-Yea I would like that,” she offered, her throat tight as she tried not to cry.

“Don’t cry, Rae,” he laughed, pulling her into a hug. “It was supposed to make you happy.”

“I am happy,” she whispered pitifully as her tears stained his sweater.

“My cute crybaby,” he kissed her on the top of her head. “Ok, no tears on decorating day or moms’ll never let you live it down. Come on.”

Raven laughed and wiped them away before following him into the kitchen. Everyone greeted her with hugs and smiles. All of them joked around and talked as they ate the delicious breakfast Michael’s mom prepared. Raven felt as if she had gained 10 pounds since spending more time at Michael’s house.

“Ok baby girl,” Michael gestured toward the many decorations in his foyer. “You get to be creative director. We got four trees.”

Raven’s eyes bugged out of her head. “Four trees??”

“One in here, one in the living room, one upstairs and then one in the basement.”

Raven let out a breathy chuckle as she took in his matter of fact tone, as if to say everyone had enough space for four trees.

She studied the available decorations before pulling all of them out and sectioning them off. And before she knew it, Christmas music blared on the speakers and the troops went to work, decorating all four trees. Michael and Raven were in charge of the second largest one in his family room, Raven needing a ladder to decorate the full thing.

The pair had a ball decorating, Michael thoroughly amused at Raven’s strong opinions on how to fluff out a fake tree. She had a professional eye for detail that he had not expected as she worked. But there was a playfulness to all of it, a joy that made him thankful he went this route instead of his usual. She sang loudly with the music playing, knowing every word to every song that came on. And her entire body practically bounced around as they finished their tree and she went to go help with the others.

By the time they finished dinner and stowed away all the extra decorations and cleaned up, they were exhausted. Everyone else had gone to bed, leaving Michael and Raven on his couch with cups of hot chocolate, spiked to Michael’s preference, and a movie playing in the background.

Raven could barely look at the movie though as her eyes kept traveling to the two trees that were within eyesight and all the random Christmas decorations they had spread across his house. She felt as if she had stepped into a winter wonderland.

“You did a great job as creative director,” he whispered as he watched her eyes study the tree Raven was in charge of. “Still mad at this surprise?”

It was beautiful, decorated in soft colors of white, rose, and gold with small white lights. It was not the pristine and perfectly symmetrical tree he usually had in his living room, towering and professionally decorated to the point that it could have been in a magazine. No, every aspect of the 11 ft tree was done painstakingly, in Michael’s opinion, by hand. But something about it was more beautiful than any other Christmas tree he had ever had as an adult. It was crafted with love and attention and care, it was homey and perfect.

She smiled. “No, you were right… It was a fun one. But I know you usually hire someone to do it.”

“Who told you that?”

“Your dad accidentally let it slip,” she chuckled. “It’s not as good as a real decorator could do. Not as… refined or perfect,” she scoffed, bowing her head, her own insecurities seeping in. That was her too… not refined enough or good enough to be on the arm of someone like him, to be in his life in this way. He could call her his girlfriend but her doubt about whether she deserved the designation still lingered like weeds.

His finger lifted her eyes back to his. “It’s perfect… exactly what the house needed but didn’t realize.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think we’re talkin’ about trees anymore.”

“Don’t think we ever were,” he winked at her.

Silence fell over them as they cuddled on the couch. Michael stared down at her, wondering if this was finally his chance. There was so much he still wanted to know about her, so much she revealed but still kept from him. He understood it but he wanted to consume every little thing there was to know about her, even the things that were hard to share. He wanted to help her carry her baggage or help her unpack it and set it down where she could.

And there was one thing, one story, that she kept from him as much as she could. The one major thing about her life he still did not have the answer to but desperately wanted it.

“You ever gon’ tell me?” He asked quietly as Raven shifted so she was leaning her back against his chest.

“Tell you what?” She threw him a confused glance. He knew everything worth knowing about her.

“Why you stopped writing? You said you’d tell me one day.”

Her face fell. She was not sure where she thought the conversation was going to go but it was not there. She supposed she was not going to be able to keep it a secret forever, particularly not when she revealed it to the whole dinner table at Thanksgiving by accident.

“Not that interesting of a story, I’m afraid.” She tried to downplay it as she shifted uncomfortably. And it wasn’t, half the women she knew had a story like hers, varying degrees of awfulness but the story was unfortunately common.

“Then tell me.” At her silence, he amended. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Rae. I just… want to know everything about you and if you’re up for sharing, I wanna hear it.”

She sat up and turned to face him, her nails tapping against the ceramic mug as she brought her legs beneath her.

“Just your typical ‘men ain’t shit’ story.” At his confused glance, she elaborated. “The first editor I had at my publisher was a woman and she was amazing. Worked with her on my first book and it was great. By the time it came out, we were starting to edit and refine the second and I had signed my contract for it. And… she had a baby and decided to be a stay at home mom. My new editor, this guy… he was good, great at his job. Nice enough to be unsuspecting and unassuming. But I could tell… well, I could tell he was attracted to me? Or liked me, you know? But I ignored it, figured as long as he didn’t try anything, it wouldn’t be a problem. One night, we were working late on his edits for the book and he… made a pass at me.”

Michael’s eyes immediately darkened as if he knew exactly where the story was headed. She could immediately feel a shift in his whole demeanor, his outrage wafted off of him. And something about it was incredibly sexy… that he was so angry for her.

She smiled. “Relax… you can put Killmonger back in his cage,” she teased with a soft smile. “He didn’t do that. I said no a-and he pushed, but I held firm. I’m not above using my body to get what I want… that much is obvious but I like for it to be my choice, not some asshole taking it away from me. Anyway, finally, he accepted that no meant no so we called it a night and I went home. All he had done was make me uncomfortable, he hadn’t hurt me or anything, so I figured he would just apologize and we’d both move on. A week later, my agent called and said that they weren’t gonna move forward with my book. I was no longer a fit for their publishing house.”

Michael could still hear the pain and frustration that had been caused in her voice, despite her best efforts to keep the tone light.

“The contract I signed after I submitted the draft gave them distribution rights for three years so I got a year and some change to go. I tried to think of new ideas, you know, write other stuff in the meantime but he blacklisted me from damn near every publishing house worth anything. So my agent dropped me. And then I was… just too tired to write anything after that. Like he had just taken all of life for it out of me?” She paused for a moment before continuing. “I was hoping to use the time to save up to eventually self publish the second one when I can but my family’s made that difficult,” she chuckled. “So yea… doing my 3 year bid and then I’ll be free. It won’t make me the same amount of money, but there’s freedom in self-publishing I guess. Being your own boss.”

“I’m sorry. No one deserves that.” He figured it was something along those lines but it did not make it any easier to hear.

She shrugged. “No, they don’t. But what can I say? I’m a magnet for shitty people.” Her tone attempted to lighten the mood but it fell flat. “Or… I dunno… too trusting of people who haven’t earned it,” she mused. “But if I wasn’t so trusting, I wouldn’t be here… with you. And I would’ve hated to miss out on this.”

“I’d like to believe God would’ve helped us find our way to each other without you having to go through trauma and concussions,” he pushed her hair behind her ear.

“Yea maybe. But without all that, I wouldn’t be the woman you love.”

“How do you do that?” Michael asked quietly.

“What?”

“Find the silver lining in everything? One bad breakup had me showin’ my entire ass for years and you… you’ve seen the worst people have to offer. How do you even trust people after all this?”

Raven smiled and shifted so she could straddle his hips and sit in his lap. “It’s not easy… and some days, it feels like it’s not worth it. But… you remember Monique, that dancer I told you about? Well, my first night at the club was a fuckin’ disaster. I was 18, hella green and hella naive. I made like nothing in tips cause I sucked.” Michael loved how she laughed with her whole body as she reminisced on her memories. “And this drunk asshole tried to follow me out to my car and tried to get me to go home with him. Monique rolled up like a knight in shining armor and punched him square in the face. She gave me half her tips for the night and the next day, offered to teach me some moves and some fighting moves in case that ever happened again. The point is… For every terrible person I’ve come across that wanted to do me harm, I’ve run into someone who reminded that there’s more good out there than I know… as fuckin’ cliche as that sounds. So I just hold onto that. Just don’t… don’t ever want to be jaded? Let someone have the power to steal the inherent qualities that make me… me? No one should have that much power, you know?”

“One of the many things I love about you,” he whispered, tugging on her arm so she was in his lap.

Hearing the word love on his lips made her heart flutter every single time. Deep down in her soul she felt it in every way.

She rested her hands on his chest. “One of the ways? I’m that amazing??” She joked, causing him to shake his head.

“Yea. You are that amazing. How about we take our drinks upstairs and I can tell you all the ways?” He leaned in and nipped at her earlobe with his teeth causing an ache between her legs to grow.

“I’d rather you show me.”

“That’s a given, baby.”

***

Michael spied behind a bookshelf as Raven interacted with the young students filling the plush seating of the library’s gathering space. His heart wanted to burst as she talked to the students. He knew she only fell into this job as a result of a shitty situation but she was making the best of it. And he could not help but think that perhaps this was truly her calling in addition to writing. The kids seemed to love her and she seemed to love them back, all of their faces in bright smiles.

And for the first time, he found himself wondering what she would be like as a mom. And what their kids would be like. Michael always wanted kids but he figured it would not be in the cards for him any time soon. However, Raven made him want to think about that, and want to think about a future. And now, he saw those additional grandkids his mom wanted so badly as clear as day.

He counted, the club had almost 50 kids in it. They all looked like they ranged in age from middle school aged to seniors in high school.

“I got something for y’all,” she reached behind her and pulled out a couple of boxes of neatly wrapped gift bags. “It isn’t much but… what’s our last book club meeting before the holidays without a gift??”

The kids cheered as they all leapt out of their seats. Even he was curious as to what the gift could be. She had not even mentioned it to him.

He could tell they were personalized in some way as she handed them out one by one, checking each gift tag to make sure each kid got the right gift. She instructed the kids to wait to rip into them. Though it was clear that was a chore for most of them. Once the last kid, who Michael recognized as Jamal who he had met once before, had his in hand, stuffing paper started to fly.

Each kid pulled out a glittering sliver book embosser, a different book, and a handwritten card from Raven.

“What is it?” One of the girls in the class asked as she pushed her wide framed glasses up higher on her nose.

“You know those stickers that go on Oprah’s book club books?” All the kids nodded. “It’s like that but with your names and a bit more fun. It’s like a stamp you can put in the first page of your books. Y’all are all starting your own library collections, should have something that makes them a bit more unique. And the books are ones I think each of you would like. And the card is just a note from me ahead of the new year.”

“It’s kinda old school but cool. Like something vintage,” another girl offered as she tested out the embosser.

“Yea it’s like a typewriter or some shit. That’s dope, that’s dope,” Jamal remarked as he tested his out on the book in front of him.

Michael had to stifle his own laughter so as not to give himself away as Raven facepalmed herself and laughed.

“Like a typewriter. Wow. How old do y’all think I am??”

“You really want us to answer that?”

She shook her head immediately. “You know what… Point taken. Well I hope y’all like them and they aren’t too too old-school,” she offered with a smile as the group started to mutter excitedly to themselves as they tested out their new gadgets on their books.

“It isn’t much but just wanted to do something small to say Merry Christmas.” She glanced at the clock. “Oh I didn’t even see the time. Aight, we gotta wrap up, I’m sure some of your parents’ve been waiting outside for a while.” At their groans, she merely shook her head. “We are well past our hour and y’all aren’t gonna get me in trouble with your parents.”

She ushered the younger kids and some siblings to the door, each of their parents greeting her and chatting for a few moments before they walked their kids out to their cards or toward the street.

At that point, only a small group of older kids remained. “Alright, you know the drill - text me when you get home and stay in your groups, please.”

“We ain’t babies.”

“Yea and we all live like 5 minutes from here,” the girl with glasses remarked.

“I know y’all are basically grown. But humor me please. If one of you got hurt or lost, it’d take literal years off my life. You’re really doing it for my sanity over anything else,” she reasoned.

Raven got along with the kids so well because she was an adult they could relate to and trust but even she had to put on the hat of responsible adult occasionally, much to their collective chagrin. And that meant ensuring every kid made it the few blocks, bus ride, or into the car to get home.

“Yes, Ms. T.” All of their disgruntled murmurs filled the library as they headed out the door in small groups depending on where they lived. Thankfully, they were all friends so she knew they’d look out for each other.

“You can come outta hiding now,” she called, seemingly to no one in particular.

“Busted?” Michael asked as he emerged from the shelves to stare at her, an amused expression painted on her face.

“Yep… caught a glimpse of you scurrying behind that bookshelf. Better be glad the kids didn’t see you. You’re more than one of their celebrity crushes. They would’ve been all over you for a picture or a story or a reel or whatever they do on social these days.”

Michael let out a barking laugh. “You sound like an old lady.”

“I am an old lady… proudly,” she laughed. “And they know it too.”

“Those were sweet gifts you got them.”

She smiled. “Thanks. Despite well… everything, Christmas is my favorite time of the year. Everyone’s so caught up in the spirit and giving. It wasn’t much but I hoped it would put a smile on one of two of their faces. Did you hear them call me old school?? Super offensive,” she chuckled.

“Hella offensive.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Language, Mr. Jordan,” she winked at him playfully.

“You gonna discipline me, Ms. Turner?” He asked, closing the space between them, his breath tickling the skin on her neck as he leaned in to whisper in her ear.

Raven felt her whole body flush with heat. Fuck. For some foolish reason, she had worried the spark between them would fade once they settled into the normalcy and mundaneness of a real relationship. However, it had been the exact opposite. Somehow, everything he did only heightened her emotions and desire for him. She thought it was overwhelming before? Well, now it was all consuming and blinding.

“Maybe you should take me home and find out?” She whispered.

“What if I want to find out here?”

“Then I’d have to remind you that this is a public library… with cameras everywhere.”

He glanced around. “Come on, I bet you know one spot that ain’t got cameras, baby girl. I vaguely remember you saying you wanted to live out some fantasies. You gonna tell me sex in public ain’t one of them?”

Her eyes darkened with lust. She knew he knew that he had her. It was most certainly one, one of the more sinful ones she would admit. But it lacked practicality.

“This isn’t just in public, babe. This is my job,” she reminded him, her resolve growing weaker with every word. And he knew it.

“That makes it even more fun. Come on, baby. You know you want me to fuck you senseless in one of these shelves, want me to make you beg to come right here.”

Fucking hate him, she thought to herself. Her panties were soaked.

She grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs to the second floor, to a small far corner that she knew had no cameras in the vicinity. It also was ominously dark as some of the overhead lights had gone out earlier that week. She knew the library was utterly deserted and there was absolutely no chance of them getting caught, but still it made her nervous. But she supposed that was the entire point.

“Can’t believe we’re doing this…” she mumbled, more to herself than Michael. Not that having sex at work or in public had not been on her list of things to one day do. She did not think it would be this particular job.

“Relax and enjoy it,” he whispered in her ear before he pushed her forward, forcing her upper body against the cold wooden table in the corner.

She hissed slightly as the cold material touched her bare arms. She could already tell what this was going to be: quick and dirty… and her favorite: rough. His touch always had a gentleness to it, which she appreciated. However, she loved it when he was rough, when he left a mark to remind her whose exactly she was.

“You gon’ be quiet for me?”

“Yes.”

She yelped as a hard smack fell across her ass as he pushed her skirt up to her waist.

“Yes what?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl. But if that was any indication, don’t think you’re gonna keep quiet so…”

Before Raven could even react, Michael ripped her panties clean from her body and stuffed them into her mouth as a makeshift gag. The quickness of it, the bite of the material against her skin, and the mere act of being forced to taste herself made her moan. But it worked, the sound was muffled.

“That’s much better. And don’t let them fall out or I’ll light that ass up, understand?”

She nodded fervently. Her body shuddered as he wiped a finger over her clit.

“So wet for me.” He sucked her juices off his finger and moaned lightly. “You taste so good, baby girl.”

She wanted to say thank you or beg but she couldn’t, not with her panties muffling her voice.

She let out a guttural moan as he filled her in one stroke, the angle of the low table allowing him to get deep. One hand pushed her back deeper into the table as she squirmed. His strokes were deep and guttural, each one ending with jolt to her g spot.

He was not making love to her, he was not gentle. This was pure fucking, fast and furious and uninhibited and she loved it. Everything in her wanted to scream but she could not. But her muffled low moans filled the small space as he settled into a rhythm.

“You gon’ cum on this dick, you disgusting slut??”

She could only force her head up enough to nod slightly before falling back against the table. She did not even feel the pain of her thighs banging into the table with every thrust because she was so focused on him. The power of his thighs slamming against hers, the pressure of one had at the base of her neck while the other bit into the meat of her hip.

Where they were became irrelevant, the nervousness she felt about that fell away as every sense in her body focused on him and only him and the pleasure he so graciously provided her.

Her eyes screwed shut as waves of pleasure hit her with the force of a train. Usually she had time to warm up and prepare herself but not today. Today, she was merely a vessel for him to get off and she loved every second of it.

“Fuck… that’s it baby. Cum on this dick.” Michael was in heaven as her pussy clenched around him. He usually could last far longer than this but his body seemed to understand the point of a quickie. And so it did not take long for him to feel himself reaching the peak.

He groaned and held onto her tightly as he filled her with his cum, part of him wanting to collapse next to her. He leaned over her for a few moments to catch his breath before staggering back from her as he pulled his briefs and pants back up and righted himself.

Raven propped herself up on her elbows after letting her panties fall from her mouth. She glanced back at him with an incredulous look on her face as if she was still shocked that they just did that. Which made them both burst out into laughter.

“Well that was… definitely one for the books,” she remarked as she sat up and turned around. She leaned against the table, her panties bunched up in her hand, she gestured toward them. “That was a nice addition, Mr. Jordan. Seems like you punished me more than I did you though.”

“Eh you can punish me later, how about that?” He kissed her on the forehead before fishing her panties out of her hand and pushing them into his pocket with a wink. “Think I’ll keep those for the rest of the night. You can’t put ‘em back on.”

“Whose there??” An older man’s voice rang out causing both of them to scurry to fully right their clothing.

Raven cleared her throat as Michael helped her adjust her top and she emerged from the bookshelves.

“I-It’s just me, Mr. Robinson!”

She waved at the elderly black man who was clearly maintenance staff.

“Ms. Turner! Figured it was you. Whatchu doin’ here so late? Book club ended a while ago?”

Raven smiled and nodded. She grabbed Michael and pulled him out of the shelves. “My boyfriend came to pick me up and got distracted giving him a tour. This is Michael,” she gestured at the star, the older man’s eyes growing big. “This is Mr. Robinson.”

“How you doin’ man? I’m a big fan!” He offered, shaking Michael’s hand. “Cynthia called earlier and said some lights up here were out so I just came to fix ‘em before tomorrow.”

“Thank you, we really appreciate that. Well, it’s all yours. We were just looking at books and joking around, we’ll get out of your way.” She jerked her head toward the door, gesturing for Michael to follow her. However, when she reached the steps, she turned back. “Oh and Mr. Robinson?”

The man seemed to have a knowing look on his face. “Didn’t see anyone here when I came through, you were just finishin’ up as I was comin’ in.” He winked at her before waving them on their way.

They made quick work of grabbing Raven’s bag and materials before scurrying out the door, the pair both busting out into laughter as they climbed into Michael’s SUV.

“That was a close one,” she remarked. “Ok that was fun but definitely no more job sex.”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t enjoy it,” he teased.

She gently shoved him back into his seat as she chuckled. “Shut upppppp. Whew I’m exhausted, can’t wait to knock out.”

Michael patted his thigh, Raven laying down across the seat so she could sleep. It was a bit of a trek to his house from her neighborhood so Raven closed her eyes and enjoyed the soft music that played as Allen drove them home.

“Do you miss it?”

“Hm?” Raven asked, needing further clarification of what he was asking.

“Do you miss writing? Or does this… the kids fill that void?”

Raven thought about it for a moment, realizing she had never really let herself think too much about it or miss it that much. “Umm… yea, I try not to… try not to think about it. But I miss it a lot. It was my dream and I love these kids… don’t get me wrong. They are amazing and I have so much fun with them. But it doesn’t fill the void? Just makes the void a bit more bearable.”

His hand ran through her blow out for a few moments before nodding and allowing silence to fall over them. Soon her gentle snores filled the car as Michael thought long and hard about what she said. He reached into his pocket, careful not to jolt the sleeping woman beneath him and opened his text thread with Alex.

Michael: hey, need two favors

Alex: Don’t you always?

Michael: ha ha. Need you to find me a contact at Hatchett & Perkins Publishing house? Like in legal or licensing or somethin

Alex: Let me guess… this favor is not so you can write a memoir?

Michael: of course not.

Alex: Give me till tomorrow and I’ll send you a name & email. Favor #2?

Michael: You got any friends that rep authors?

Alex: Yep.

Michael: Find me one that reps fantasy. Preferably black women if you know them

Alex: Done.

Michael let his phone fall onto his other thigh before he leaned back and smiled to himself. He was about to give her the Christmas of a lifetime.

***

Christmas Day

Raven stretched lazily, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting up to Michael’s bedroom through the cracked bedroom door. She lazily rolled over, surprised to find his spot empty. She groped in the bed for her phone, squinting to read the time. 8 am.

Too early, she huffed as she threw the covers back over her head. They had been up past midnight partaking in the Jordans’ Christmas Eve traditions. They drank, watched a Christmas movie - this year was Michael’s turn to choose and he chose Jim Carey’s the Grinch much to Raven’s excitement - and opened one present each.

There was a mountain of them under the tree. She had spent days helping Michael wrap them all. He had intended to have them sent out to be professionally wrapped but Raven put a stop to that nearly immediately. Similar to tree decorating, she thought there was something impersonal about having a professional do it. So she spent an entire Saturday wrapping all of his presents for his family, he hid hers from her much to her chagrin, and she had a ball doing it. His dining table looked like a disaster when she was done but each one looked perfect, his girl using different color wrapping paper for each member of the family.

Raven had truly improved the whole Christmas holiday for the entire household, reminding him that just because money could buy some conveniences did not mean it should. He also just loved her childlike excitement and joy around the season that seemed endless. She was constantly humming a Christmas song under her breath, her singing voice was not half bad though she did not agree.

She never much cared for Christmas herself. She loved the spirit and energy it brought for others but there was nothing special about it for her. No traditions or joyous memories to hold on to. But Michael went out of his way to help her create some with his family and she loved him dearly for it.

She had dozed off again when a familiar voice woke her up.

“Come on sleepyhead. It’s present time,” she heard a singsongy voice call out that made her groan. “Five seconds or I’ll tackle you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” She called out, her voice muffled under the thick comforter.

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Three…”

“Two…”

Raven let out a shriek as she felt Michael’s heavy body land on her. His fingers attempted to tickle her sides, forcing laughter and her face to emerge from the covers.

“Fine, fine. I yield! I yield! I yield!” She cried out.

At her words, he gripped her hips and flipped them over so she was straddling his waist. He grabbed a Santa hat he discarded on the bed and plopped into her head. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” she leaned down and kissed him on the lips.

“Get dressed, we’re opening presents at 9.”

She nodded. “Alrighty. I’ll just start breakfast while y’all do that.”

“You’re opening presents too.”

“You gave me mine last night?” And it was gorgeous, a set of diamond earrings that she was honestly afraid to ever wear.

“You thought I only got you one present??”

She laughed, not understanding. “Well, I only got you one present!”

“That’s fine. Hell, you could just put a bow on yourself and I would be happy. I got everything I could ever need or want. But you have presents under the tree from everyone and everyone has a present from you and us. Get dressed.”

At her shocked expression, Michael figured that she was not used to getting many, if any gifts. However, he decided to keep the mood light and playful.

“You surprised? You been naughty this year or somethin’? Expectin’ a lump of coal?”

She offered him a sly grin. “Oh I’ve been real naughty. But somethin’ tells me that being naughty got me more presents from Santa than being nice would’ve.”

“You damn right, girl.”

She let out a cackle and rolled her eyes before sliding out of bed to get dressed. Before she knew it, the entire family was surrounded by an explosion of wrapping paper and stacks of gifts.

Raven loved all of her gifts from Michael’s family. They gave her a lot of books and gadgets for writers and readers but she loved all of them. She imagined that was all they really knew about her but she appreciated that they put effort and thought into it.

“Ok, baby girl. Last one from me,” Michael handed her a box with a neat bow around it. The rest of the family had dispersed to get dressed for the day and for brunch, leaving the couple in the living room surrounded by everyone’s presents.

“Baby…” she let out a playful whine. Most of her gifts had come for Michael and while they were all sweet and thoughtful, she knew they had cost him an arm and a leg. Another first edition book, a gorgeous Chloe tote bag for her to take to work, and more jewelry than she knew what to do with. It made her gift feel measly in comparison but she had done her best. “You already got me so much. Don’t need anything else.”

He shook his head. “Well, this is the gift that matters.”

She paused. “Well I have yours upstairs… I just wanted to give it to you when we were alone. Wanna go up there and exchange?”

He nodded, both of them heading up to his room with bright grins on their faces. She sat her gift down on the bed while she went into her stuff and pulled out a small book.

She held it close to her chest, taking a deep breath. “It’s not much… I d-didn’t know what to get a man who has well… everything a person could want. But I thought, well, maybe you’d like this. O-or at least you’d give me an A for effort,” she chuckled. “But if you hate it, I totally understand. You don’t gotta pretend if you don’t like it.”

Michael raised an eyebrow and laughed, closing the space between them. “Why don’t you let me see it before you decide that I don’t like it? Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

She nodded and held out the small book to him. It looked like a professionally printed book, with a beautiful but simple black and gold cover.

The title read: The Fall by Raven Turner

Michael opened the first page, which read:

It’s not much but you were the first person in a long time to make me want to pick up my figurative pen again. And this was the result: a story dedicated to every moment of the greatest fall of my life. I love you.

Raven

“You wrote me a book?” He asked quietly as he examined it in his hands.

She nodded. “Y-You like it?”

He rushed forward and pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply. “I more than like it. This is the best gift anyone’s ever gotten me!”

He peppered her face with kisses that made her giggle. “You sure? My other option was like a watch or something…”

He laughed. “Total waste of money. This is more valuable to me than 100 Rolexes. Thank you. I’ll read it tonight.”

Nothing would have taken the smile off her face.

“Now it’s your turn,” he urged as he sat his gift on his bedside table.

Raven sat on his bed as she gently ripped the bow off and opened the box to find an envelope inside. It was odd, Raven could not possibly understand what the gift could be.

She ripped open the envelope to reveal a plane ticket and hotel reservation to a resort in Thailand.

“Y-You’re serious?? Thailand??”

“Wanted to ring in our first New Years together somewhere special.”

“Babe… this is…”

“Exactly what you deserve. I have a feeling next year is gonna be your best year yet and I think we should usher it in with some style.” He had more than just a feeling, as long as his real surprise was wrapped up by their trip, it would surely be her best year yet.

She laughed, wiping her tears away. “This is most certainly style. Thank you. I love it.”

“I’m glad you do cause we leave tomorrow night.”

Her mouth dropped open. “W-what?? Babe I gotta get my hair done… a wax, my nails! These aren’t vacation nails…” she glanced down at her beautiful but very Christmas themed nail set.

“You think I’d book you a trip to Thailand and not take care of everything?” His face scrunched up in a faux annoyance that made her chuckle. “You’re in for a day of pampering tomorrow while Jason picks out pieces and has his team pack for you. I plan on having you naked for most of the next two weeks so you ain’t gonna need much clothes.”

“And work?”

“You’d be surprised what a handsome face and nice smile will get you,” he remarked with a shrug.

She stood and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You’re you. That’s all it takes.”

She smiled and kissed him again. She glanced at the bed, lust curling in her belly.

“How long before your family comes looking for us?”

She shrieked and laughed as he gently pushed her down on his bed.

“Long enough for me to make you cum at least twice.”

***

Raven was thankful their bungalow at this resort was fairly distant from the others as Michael seemed committed to making her scream over and over and over again for the last five days. She had seen very little of the resort aside from when they emerged for dinner. They had a private pool and private access to the beach.

Michael had not been lying when he said he planned to have her naked for most of the trip. All she could do was laugh when she realized the only panties packed for her had been part of very sexy and elaborate lingerie sets that would not count as clothes for anyone with eyes. When she was not in a bathing suit or an outfit for dinner, she was in lingerie that did not stay on her body for long.

Michael quite literally ravished her from sun up to sun down on every surface in their suite, in and by the pool, underneath the waterfall shower in their giant bathroom, and in the sand on their private beach. Though, neither of them did that one again due to the uncontrollable and annoying nature of sand.

But every moment of it was pure bliss. She loved how he switched, often at a moment’s notice, from treating her like a grand prize he won to a convenient hole for him to fuck. It was not uncommon for him, while they were mid conversation about something utterly random by the pool or over lunch, to bend her over the nearest surface and fuck her senseless simply because he felt like it. Their games did not diminish but seemed to amplify the more their relationship blossomed.

Today, their game was orgasm denial. It was New Year’s Eve and Michael practically ignored her most of the day. After several days of being woken up with his head between her legs bringing her to orgasm, she was almost saddened to be woken up with a mere call for breakfast.

The only time he touched her was during breakfast, as he - without a single word - slid his favorite vibrating toy into her pussy. She expected him to turn it on and bring her to orgasm right there, but he did no such thing. Instead, he told her of the tour of the nearby islands they were going to go on after breakfast.

From that moment forward, all of his touches were chaste at best and decidedly frustrating to his girlfriend, much to his satisfaction. He could feel her eyes boring into the side of his face as if willing him to turn on the remote in his pocket as their tour guide jetted them around on a boat ride along the gorgeous blue water.

It was difficult to ignore her for him too but he loved how eager she was, how the more he pretended he had not put the vibrator in her, the more aware she was of its presence. He watched her intently, how she tried to pay attention to the tour guide as she droned on and on about history, how her body squirmed in her seat with every platonic touch he offered, how her shoulders fell in disappointment every time those platonic touches did not turn into more.

The boat ride was three hours of pure torture and he knew if he touched her, she would be dripping wet underneath her very revealing bathing suit and cover up.

As they returned to their resort and stood up to get off the boat, Michael turned the vibrator on its full setting, Raven letting out a groan and her knees buckling beneath her.

She almost fell completely to the floor of the boat but Michael skillfully caught her and feigned concern for her.

“You ok, baby?” He glanced back at the tour guide before discreetly cutting the vibrator off. “Think the heat just got to her. Let me get you inside, love.”

Raven was so consumed with the short-lived but amazing pleasure that all she could do was nod. She wanted to curse at him, scream at him.

He held onto her tightly, keeping her flush to his side, as if he was helping a sick person until they made it back to their secluded bungalow. And by that time, Raven was fuming.

“What the fuck, Bakari! In front of that lady as I was getting off the boat?? After you ignored me all morning??” She was not actually angry at him, she was just so fucking horny that she was angry.

Michael grabbed her by the arm and put his hand around the base of her neck as he held her in a rough grip that made her thighs clench together.

“If you want to cum at all again before 2023, I’d shut the fuck up. Understand?” he warned, his voice so strong and dominant that her mouth immediately shut.

Fuck. Admittedly, 2023 was only 12 more hours away, at least in Thailand. But she did not think she could wait 12 more hours. She was most certainly not God’s strongest soldier.

“Y-Yes sir.”

He grabbed her hand and led her outside to their private pool. “Sit,” he gestured toward one lounge chair that faced the pool.

She sat down immediately, surprised when he disappeared back into their room, returning with several ropes.

Fuck, she thought to herself again. Whatever he was about to do, she knew it would be extremely fun for him and a sort of delicious torturous fun for her.

“Lay back.”

She laid down against the warm fabric of the chair. He adjusted it so she was leaning back. He grabbed both of her hands and raised them above her head, tying them to the top of the lounge chair. Instinctively, she tried to move them but his knots were tight.

Then she watched as he did the same with each ankle, tying them to either side of the lounge chair so her legs were spread open.

And then much to her surprise, he shed his clothes and slid in the pool. Her eyes filled with pure lust as she took in the droplets of water cascading down his perfect chiseled chest. She’d never get used to him.

“Seems like you keep forgettin’ whose runnin’ this shit. So maybe this’ll teach you.”

She did not fully understand what he meant until she felt the vibrator turn on, this time at its lowest setting. Her hips rolled as much as she could with her body restrained. She bit her lip to stop the moans from escaping, part of her not wanting to give him the satisfaction as she knew he was going to drag this out as long as possible.

“You can try to keep quiet if you want to, baby. Honestly that’ll just make the show more entertaining for me.”

And a show it was. Raven could only imagine how she looked to him as he leaned against the opposite edge of the pool and controlled her pleasure from afar. He talked, telling her about his upcoming projects for 2023, how he was so excited for his directorial debut of Creed 3. At first, with the toy on its lowest setting, she found it easier to ignore and engage in a conversation with him.

However, as he steadily increased the intensity, her questions and responses were more broken by moans and groans that she could not hide.

“How many books are in that series of yours?”

“Supposed to b- SHIT!” She cried out as he increased it to the highest setting. “Fuckkkkk,” she moaned as her hips started humping the air to increase the pleasure as she came close to her first orgasm of the day. However, as soon as she got to the edge, he cut it off, robbing her of it.

“Michael!” She called out in frustration.

“10.”

“10 what??”

“Spankings. 5 for not answering my question and 5 for not addressing me properly.”

She desperately wanted to roll her eyes. This nigga.

“Three… the series is three books.”

“Good girl.”

The cycle and their conversation continued. Michael asked her more random questions about writing and her writing process and expected full answers as he brought her to the edge of an orgasm but took them away five more times. He gave her ample time to calm down in between each one but each time made the climb more intense and made the lack of an orgasm more painful.

And all the while, he sat unmoving like a statue across from her, watching as she moaned, begged, pleaded, and writhed around against her restraints.

“You wanna cum, don’t you, baby?” He asked, moving for the first time to wade over to her.

She was in tears as she nodded. “P-Please, d-daddy. I n-need to cum. I c-can’t take… much more. Please.”

He lifted himself out of the water, Raven’s eyes studying how his biceps flexed at the swift motion.

He grabbed her chin to force her to look at him. “You’ll take as much as I tell you. Besides, do you deserve pleasure before you’ve been punished?”

She groaned. She hated him so much but she loved him so much that she would indeed take as much as he told her to.

“N-no, no I don’t.”

“That’s right. Only good girls get to orgasm. Are you gonna take your punishment like a good girl?”

She nodded desperately. “Y-yes, I promise.”

With that, he untied her and helped her up. He made her crawl behind him to their bedroom. He helped her onto the bed.

“You know what to do.”

Indeed, she did. Raven quickly discarded her bathing suit and climbed onto the bed and assumed his favorite position for both pleasure and punishment. Her face pressed against their comforter as she placed the deepest arch she could in her back.

“Good girl, you want my hand or the belt?”

That was an easy choice in her mind but she appreciated him letting her choose. “Your hand, please,” she asked innocently.

She knew it was both of their preference. Something about feeling the extent of his strength with every lash, seeing the red marks on her ass in the shape of his palm, made every punishment well worth it. She also knew Michael preferred it too.

“Count ‘em out or I start over.”

She groaned. This was the hardest part, focusing on each one enough to remember the number.

She shrieked as he hit her the first time. She was not gonna be able to sit comfortably for the rest of their vacation.

“One.”

By the time she hit 15, she was in tears but she would have begged him not to stop.

“Ten more, baby. And you’re doing so good…” he grabbed the remote he had discarded next to them and turn it on to its highest setting. “You can cum whenever you want.”

Raven felt like her whole body was in flames as he rained down the last ten blows while the vibrator did the work of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost against her g-spot. She tried to grab a pillow to bury her face in as her screams reached a fever pitch that she imagined could be heard across their resort but Michael grabbed a fist of her braids and forced her head up.

“Nah I wanna hear you.”

She could not even register the last two spankings as she blissfully felt every part of her body, down to the cellular level, become overwhelmed with mind-numbing, life altering pleasure. Her entire body collapsed forward onto the bed, her legs unable to hold her lower body up.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she mumbled as she felt the vibrator turn off and started to come down.

Michael smiled as he took in her form, he had utterly depleted her as she laid there, her entire body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

He climbed onto the bed and pulled her into his arms, rubbing her back soothingly as she laid there, her brain not fully functioning or cognizant of his presence.

Raven used the little bit of energy she had to settle into his arms, burying her head into his neck. She appreciated his commitment to aftercare, particularly when their sessions were super intense. Oftentimes, they were just so intense, they rubbed Raven raw emotionally and left her feeling vulnerable. And when they were merely fake dating, she had to often ignore those needs because she was afraid to ask him for more. He always checked in and ran her a bath or gave her a massage, often brought her food to ensure she was ok before he went to his guest room to sleep.

But now, she could snuggle up against him and feel close to him, feel his love and receive his praise while she recovered. And she had not realized just how much she was missing.

“You ok?” He asked. “That was intense.”

“I’m excellent. And still horny but I don’t think my legs work to move,” she moaned.

“Well, rest. I’ll wake up when it’s time to get ready for dinner.”

He watched her for a while before he set an alarm and dozed off himself.

***

“Figured we could go watch the fireworks on the beach. They told me the good ones start around 11:30… so in a bit.”

Raven smiled as she continued eating. They had slept most of the day away after their session and she was starving. Michael had a private dinner scheduled for them in their suite, which she appreciated. She still got dolled up in a flowery two piece crop top and skirt but it was nice to have dinner in their own space.

“So my mom asks this every New Years Eve… what do you want out of 2023?”

Raven’s fork paused in mid air as she thought on the question. What did she want out of the new year? She had no idea.

“Umm… whew, I dunno. I’ve just been counting down the last couple years truth be told. Kinda felt lost and all over the place without my career? Didn’t really think I had much to look forward to? But…”

“But…”

“But now I feel like I don’t want everything to just pass me by? Like even if I’m not free to do what I love just yet, I wanna feel… happy? I wanna feel good and enjoy life.” She shrugged. “It’s kinda stupid.”

He held his hand out for her to take it and squeezed, his thumb rubbing her hand. “That’s far from stupid. I have a surprise for you.”

He took a deep breath and reached under the table to grab a box.

She smiled and shook her head. “This trip wasn’t a surprise enough??”

“Nah. And this is really just a late Christmas gift. Legal shit delayed it a couple days… but it seems fitting. Here’s to a 2023 of happiness and freedom.”

He held the box out to her, it exactly resembled the one he had given her with their surprise trip to Thailand inside only this one had a large stack of paperwork in it.

“What’s this??” She pulled the heavy stack, her eyes growing wide as she thumbed through them, skimming them quickly. “I-Is this what I think it is?”

“If you think it’s the rights to your book, which are now yours to do with whatever you want, then yes. If you were thinkin’ it was somethin’ else…”

Her mouth dropped open. Her breath came out more as a strangled sob than anything else as she continued reading.

“This is…” she laughed nervously. “This is a joke right? Y-you didn’t… I know this had to have cost like… someone’s yearly salary money.” She stood and shook her head. “Y-You have to let me pay you back for that. It’ll take me like a fuckin’ decade,” she admitted. “But you can’t…”

Michael gestured for him to come to her. He kept her flush to his lap as her entire body trembled from the pure shock. He had expected this reaction and was prepared. But he had not done what he did and paid what he did lightly. It was worth every single frustrating conversation and dollar spent.

“Yes I can… and I did. Getting rid of the last piece of dead weight you were dragging around was worth every dime. You deserve to tell your stories and they took that from you. So I took it back and am giving it to you. One signature,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and held it to her. “And they are all yours.”

A tear fell on the papers before Raven tossed them down to the ground and threw herself into Michael’s arms as she sobbed into his neck. He wrapped his arms around her tightly as he held her.

“I love you… so much.” She whispered through her sobs. “T-this is the greatest thing anyone’s ever done for m-me.”

His palm wiped away the tears streaming down her face as he kissed her.

“It’s nothing.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s literally everything… I don’t deserve you,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“Yea you do. And all the other good things in this world. I’ll spend every day making sure you know it.”

They finished their dessert with Raven still on his lap, the young woman too shocked to really speak or offer much to the conversation. She could not believe it, could not believe him. She knew it would still be a long road to self-publish and figure all of that out but now? Now she had options, she could figure it out without waiting for the timer to hit zero.

And he had done that for her.

“Come on, fireworks are about to start.”

Raven nodded and smiled. “Give me 5 minutes? Gonna put these somewhere safe,” she grabbed the scattered papers off the floor. “And fix my makeup. Can’t have you kissing me at midnight with eyeliner running down my face. That’d be a tragic start to the year.”

“I’ll be by the pool. Don’t take too long.”

He watched her walk away and smiled before walking outside to the balcony. The fireworks were already in full swing and he could hear music and laughter from the main beach of the resort.

It was the perfect end to a perfect night. Well, almost. A buzzing in his pocket redirected his attention. Tasha’s name scrolled across his phone.

“This girl,” he mumbled. He knew her well enough to know if he did not answer she would simply call back.

Michael glanced over his shoulder and sighed as he swiped across his phone.

“Hey,” he offered coldly. The truth was he had forgotten everything about Tasha, had not thought about her once since her name graced his screen on Raven’s birthday.

He did not hate her or offer her ill will, he just had no interest in seeing or speaking to her again.

“Hey baby. Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.” Michael’s tone was short and clipped, praying he could get her off the phone before Raven came back from the bathroom to find him.

“Wanted to see if the New Year was gonna bring my favorite customer back to me?”

“Look Tash…”

“It’s been a few months, Mike. You promised.”

Michael rolled his eyes. He had let her get far too comfortable, so comfortable that she thought he’d always be there. Which seemed like a base level foolish assumption given her line of work. But either way, he had moved on. Raven was his present and his future. He had no interest in anyone else. But this was the weight he was dragging around behind him, he quickly realized. And every day that he did not tell Tasha that truth and let her believe there was something there for them, was a disservice to her, Raven, and himself.

“I know what I said but shit changed. I love her, Tash.”

A wave of anger hit him as he heard the woman scoff, which was filled with disbelief.

“Her?? You love her??”

“Yes, her. I love her and even though it started off as somethin’ not real, it’s real to us both now and she’s everything I want.” He sighed. “Look, you are a great girl, I enjoyed our time together but I can’t see you anymore. Ever.”

“You serious right now??” He could feel her rage through the phone but that did not deter him. Raven was everything for him and nothing Tasha could say would change that.

“Dead serious. I know this ain’t what you wanted to hear but it’s over between us. I’m sorry.”

She was seething. “Fuck you, Michael! You can’t just drop me outta fuckin’ no where! What am I supposed to fuckin’ do??”

He bowed his head. Her reaction was not out of the realm of possibility, he just had not considered it at all, had not considered that he would have to “break up” with her officially. But he did not regret nor was he phased by her anger. That part of his life - whoring and using any and every woman who would let him - was over and in the past.

“Find another client to replace me. I can’t be the first client to move on.”

There was a long pause. “Nah you ain’t the first. But you’re the first to fall in love with a fuckin’ hooker and try to pass it off as a real relationship. Imagine the money TMZ would give me for that story.”

Michael’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding right?”

“I ain’t’ fuckin’ laughin. You can leave me for that country ass fake bumpkin, you can put her in designer clothes and call her your girlfriend but unfortunately for you, I know what she really is. A whore. And while you might think you can wave a wand and make her a housewife, everyone else? They’ll fuckin’ tear her apart. You really want that?”

Michael couldn’t believe this shit. In all his years of being famous and having money, he had never had someone try to blackmail him. Michael clenched his eyes shut. “How much?”

“There we go. Glad we could come to an agreement. $10k for now. I expect it as soon as you get back to LA. And then we can figure out an arrangement that works for both of us. Happy New Year, baby.”

And with that, the phone went dead. Michael clenched it in his hand in frustration as he turned and shook his head. He quickly deleted the call from his call log to ensure Raven did not accidentally see it and sent Alex a text.

Mike: We have a BIG problem

“Wow, those are gorgeous!”

Michael slid his phone in his pocket as Raven emerged and stood next to him, her make up pristine and her body now clad in a very sexy ocean blue lingerie set. Michael forced a smile onto his face as he grabbed her ass and squeezed.

“Not as gorgeous as you.”

“We got five minutes till midnight and then I figured we could create some fireworks of our own?”

“I like the sound of that…” Michael mused.

He knew he needed to tell Raven about Tasha but he did not have the heart to do it right then. She was so happy, so happy that her whole body seemed to radiate with it. He refused to let anything diminish or take that feeling away. And he refused to let another selfish person steal her joy and relaxation while they were on vacation. He had a week to figure out a plan and get Tasha out of his life once and for all. And he had every intention of doing so and telling Raven once it was all said and done. She was finally happy and she deserved to stay that way. This was exclusively his mess, he would get himself out of it.

“Oh you never told me,” Raven said as they sat down and stuck their feet in the water while the fireworks continued to boom loudly around them, painting the sky in bright colors.

“What?”

“What you want out of 2023?”

Michael glanced down at her and the bright smile on her face. “I think I got everything I want for 2023. I got you, about to finish the biggest run of my career. I guess I just… want to make sure I don’t lose it all?”

She gently shoved him with her shoulder and chuckled. “Well, you aren’t gonna lose me.”

“That a promise?”

“Yes it is.”

Off in the distance, they could hear the faint countdown from the giant crowd at the beach.

Five… four… three… two…

“Happy New Year, Rae.”

“Happy New Year, baby.”

They shared a deep kiss under the fireworks before Michael swooped her up into his arms and carried her to bed, their room becoming a fireworks show for two.

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r

***

A/N: the babies are in relationship blisssssss. And how perfect is Michael? Getting her book back for her. Also I tried to do some research on how all that works and it is really confusing so any real authors reading - don't hate me if I got it wrong LOL it's fiction! Well, as we all knew it would, Tasha has come back to claim her man again... what do we think? Should he have told Raven? Or should he wait till they get home? Or should he just deal with Tasha on his own? Anndddd this is the last update for this story for like a month - so so sorry to leave it like that LOL love yall though! Hope you enjoyed it!

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #michael b jordan x reader #black panther #michael b jordan fanfic #creed 3 #adonis creed

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t3a-tan · 1 year

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Hi! I have read that au were Oliver is a human... What would happen if he found a tiny borrower child?

Human Oliver is certifiably the best at dealing with tiny people

Kind of a continuation of this

Word Count: 2,428

---

"Oliver? I found this toy outside… I think someone dropped it."

When coming into work that morning the last thing Oliver expected was to see one of the children he worked with pull a tiny person out of their pocket. At first glance it looked like an action figure— but Oliver bristled as he noticed the 'toy' was squirming; tiny tears glistening off of their cheeks.

Oliver was reminded of the tiny man he had seen not weeks ago who had fallen into his cereal bowl. He had mused with the idea of more tiny people existing, but he had never tried to seek them out. That man had been scared enough.

"It tickles…" The child currently clutching the tiny person in a…less than comfortable looking grip giggled. Oliver hid his wince behind a smile.

"Oh? Well it's good that you spotted it. One of my other patients' parents rang about a missing toy, actually. Thank you, Connie." Lying to his patients was not something he usually did as the trust he got from them was so important, but in this case he was lying in order to prevent harm rather than cause it.

Holding out his hand, Oliver watched as the tiny person was dropped into it, and as much as he wanted to right the situation as soon as possible he couldn't devote his attention onto the tiny person at the moment. Based on the first tiny person that Oliver had interacted with's reaction to being seen, Oliver doubted this one wanted their existence to be known by anyone else.

So he pocketed them, resting a hand over the trouser pocket and trying his best to keep still and to avoid straining the fabric and causing discomfort for the current unwilling passenger. He then focused on the session with his patient, hoping that the experience wouldn't be too traumatising for whoever he had trapped in his pocket.

…

Oliver was thankful that Connie was his last patient that day— once he had his office to himself again he sat down at his desk rather than the chair he sat on during sessions, reaching into his pocket with gentle but precise fingers until he snagged one of the tiny limbs within. They immediately began to thrash again once he had made contact, but Oliver still removed them from his pocket.

He knew he wouldn't hurt them… assuring them of that was a different story.

"It's alright…" He shushed, despite knowing they would probably be too panicked to listen clearly at the moment. Oliver carefully lowered the squirming person onto his desk. "I'm not going to—"

A pause.

"You're only a child…" He breathed, eyebrows furrowing with concern. If he had noticed such an important detail beforehand he would have been in a bit more of a rush to reassure them of their safety. Children were much more susceptible to lifelong traumas than adults, and Oliver wanted to prevent exactly that.

The tiny child appeared to be a boy, probably only eight or younger. He had an almost reddish brown hair and an almond skin tone, his eyes dark and frightened; filled with tears. The temporary eye contact he got was ripped away suddenly as the tiny boy struggled to his feet and began to run.

Oliver fought the urge to stop him. There was nowhere for the child to run to on the desk, so he only watched as he retreated and hid behind a stack of post-it notes.

The fact that he even could hide his entire person behind that stack was remarkable— but really, there were more pressing things to focus on.

"I'm sorry for keeping you in my pocket for so long. That must have been quite frightening…not to mention uncomfortable." Oliver spoke in a delicate tone, leaning his head down slightly so he wasn't towering quite so much.

"My name is Oliver… Dr. Oliver Oakwood…" He caught a glimpse of the little trembling ball curled up on his desk and only whimpering in response to his introduction. In fact, he thought he saw a tiny flinch at the mention of him being a doctor.

Oliver couldn't help but sigh, resting his cheek on one of his hands.

"Connie said she found you outside. What were you doing outside alone, little one? You can't be any older than eight." He tried to gently coax an answer from the terrified boy, treading lightly.

Based on the man who had fallen into Oliver's cereal not all that long ago, these little people lived in the walls of houses. Why was there a child all alone outside of a child's psychology practice? It didn't seem like the best place to live.

"I-I'm ten…"

Oliver's eyebrows raised slightly, almost not catching the shaky words. He's ten… His lips pressed into a frown. If this boy was ten, he was definitely malnourished.

"My apologies. Perhaps I need a new prescription for my glasses." Although a joke, Oliver wasn't the best at his delivery so it sounded completely serious to anyone listening. The child very hesitantly turned their head up to look at him, and Oliver remained still, offering a small reassuring smile.

"Are you lost, little one? I can help you get back to wherever you need to be and whoever you need to be with. I don't intend to hurt you or anything of the sort, so there's no need to be frightened— though it's perfectly understandable if you are." He made sure to keep his tone soft and non-threatening.

If he had been scary for a grown man, he was surely terrifying to this child.

The boy wiped his eyes slightly, hiccuping before opening his mouth as if to speak. They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Thinking quickly, Oliver murmured a small apology before placing his hand over the tiny child, not pressing down but making sure he couldn't squirm out of the grip nonetheless.

Kaleigh opened the door moments after, content as usual. Some people would say it was infectious, but Oliver kept up a neutral disposition despite her smile.

"Hey, Oliver. Helen said to let you know that she can't do the meeting tomorrow, so she's rescheduling it to the tenth next month if that date works for you too— her daughter tested positive for COVID this morning. She tested negative but you should probably take the test too just in case." She explained, tapping on the edge of the door slightly.

Oliver nodded. "I'll take it once I'm home and I'll email her about the meeting… Thank you for letting me know." He offered a polite smile, although on the inside he wished he had just been emailed about the situation later.

Kaleigh smiled brightly in response, nodding and shutting the door again. Oliver waited a few moments before letting out a sigh of relief, and lifting his hand off of the tiny child trapped under it. His expression shifted to one of concern.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you at all?" He asked gently. The squirming had stopped once Kaleigh started speaking, so Oliver worried he might have accidentally pressed down too hard. The boy shook his head, staring up at Oliver with…awe? What?

"Y-you…you hid me from her…"

Oliver blinked, his brows pinching with confusion. That wasn't the response he expected.

"Of course. I presumed you don't want to be seen by anyone else. You're already scared enough of me, so I doubt another giant would help." He tilted his head slightly. "Was that the correct assumption?"

The boy nodded quickly, eyes wide. Oliver let out a small sigh of relief, relaxing a bit. He was glad he hadn't needlessly trapped the boy in such a forceful manner.

There was silence for a few moments, the boy fidgeting nervously as Oliver observed, thinking about what to do now.

"A-are…are you going to let me go..?"

Oliver was once again taken aback by the boy's hesitant words. Did he think Oliver would keep him? Tiny people sure thought humans were barbaric creatures… he was sure the size difference only made those beliefs worse.

"Of course, sweetheart. You're a person, not mine to keep." Oliver leaned in slightly, now resting his head on his forearms, looking over the boy's unkempt appearance. It seemed that tiny people didn't live all that well. "Although ten is quite a big age, I will need to make sure I return you to your parents when I do let you go. Are they in this building?"

The boy shook his head, before beginning to tear up again.

"I-I'm lost… I fell in the lady's bag and she brought it here, a-and I tried to figure out where I was outside but then I got caught by the small human…" The boy began to spiral, hugging himself in a self-soothing gesture. Oliver's expression became sympathetic.

"Oh dear…" He wanted to physically comfort the child, but he also knew by now that his hands were considered the very opposite of comforting. "Is it alright if I hold you, little one?"

He fully expected a no, and would have respected that— but he was pleasantly surprised by the nod he received in response to that question. Very gently, and slow enough for the boy to change his mind at any moment, Oliver scooped him up into his hands and cradled him closely.

"There there…" He felt minuscule hands grip onto his shirt, his thumb rubbing circles into the tiny boy's back. "I'll get you home, I promise you that. And until you are home I won't let anything happen to you, okay?"

Being lost was already terrifying for children that weren't shorter than his thumb— he couldn't imagine how scared this boy must have been, especially considering these tiny people thought humans would do terrible things to them.

And Oliver had no doubt that was true of some humans. He couldn't blame them for being afraid; he could only try to assure them of their safety and personhood.

Once the boy had stopped crying, Oliver spoke again, this time trying to get the information he needed to help him get home safely.

"What did the lady look like? Perhaps I'll recognize the description." He asked, his tone still light and soothing. The boy sniffled and wiped at his eyes.

"S-she… she has light brown hair… a-and she's old. Mama says she's in her forties…" Oliver didn't bother to correct the child that forty was not old in the slightest, focusing on pinpointing the description on a person.

"Is her name Helen?" He tilted his head as he waited for confirmation. The boy perked up and nodded.

"I-I think so… but she went home. H-how am I going to find home now..?" He began to get worked up again, sniffling and eyes watering, preparing to cry. Oliver rubbed his back again gently, offering a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry… she's my supervisor. I know where she lives. I can drop by on my way home, alright?" He assured. The boy wiped at his eyes again and nodded. Oliver hummed. "What's your name by the way, little one?"

"M-Marcus…" He stammered in response. Oliver smiled again.

"Okay, Marcus. You'll be home safe in no time…"

…

Oliver stopped by the corner shop to buy a get well soon card and some sweets, just to use as an excuse for why he was stopping by— not to mention that it was the polite thing to do. He had Marcus in his chest pocket the whole time, speaking to him whilst they were in the car.

Marcus was a curious and bright young boy— he told Oliver all about his collection of broken crayons and the drawings in his room. He spoke about his parents, and told him about what borrowers were. There was no sign of the timid boy Oliver had first met— now he was just as bubbly and energetic as could be, and Oliver couldn't help but smile over that fact.

After reaching Helen's house, Oliver got out of the car and picked up her card and sweets, walking to the front door and knocking three times. He had put on a mask beforehand— he still had some disposable ones in his car from when the pandemic first kicked off.

She opened the door, also wearing a mask.

"Hello Oliver." She greeted, though Oliver could tell she was thoroughly confused by his presence. He held out the card and sweets.

"Kaleigh let me know that your daughter is sick. I hope she feels better soon…" He explained politely. Her face lit up.

"Oh! How sweet. Let me make you a cuppa before you head off, alright? Jamie has been in her room since this morning and I've wiped everything down, so everything should be COVID free." She stepped aside and opened the door wider so Oliver could come in. Oliver entered with a nod.

"You can take off your mask for now by the way."

Once he was inside she shut the door behind him and shuffled into the kitchen in her slippers, pulling out a chair at the table. Oliver sat down graciously, removing his mask.

"Luckily she's not having really bad symptoms at the moment… Mostly headaches and muscle soreness. She had a fever earlier but it's gone now." Helen began to talk and Oliver paid attention whilst at the same time very delicately removing Marcus from his pocket, taking the opportunity whilst her back was turned.

He hummed, prompting her to continue as he leaned down and carefully placed Marcus onto the ground, giving him a gentle pat on the head with his finger. Marcus hugged onto the appendage for a few moments before looking around to get his bearings. Oliver waited patiently, just to make sure this was indeed the right house.

"I had it twice last year and it was awful. I'm glad she doesn't get the more severe symptoms like that." Helen continued.

"I recall."

Soon enough Marcus had ran over to one of the walls with an outlet, prying it open just enough to fit through. He waved to Oliver before ducking inside, and Oliver waved back with a smile, watching the outlet shut behind him.

"How do you have your tea?"

He turned his gaze to focus on Helen again. His heart felt warm; relieved that the tiny boy was safe, and that his parents wouldn't be worried sick over his disappearance for much longer. He leaned his chin onto his hand, meeting his supervisor's gaze with a smile.

"Just one sugar please."

#g/t community #ocs #g/t artist #g/t #ask box #g/t writer #borrowers #oc asks #giant/tiny #ask #g/t fearplay #g/t angst #giant/tiny writing #gentle giant

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whxre-bxby · 1 year

Note

Hi! I love your stories <3

I had an idea for either a Zdinarsk x Reader or a Quaritch x Reader, It could be something like where your their close friend at first but then slowly devolp feelings for each other?

Please not It is completly ok to deny my request,

Have a great rest of your day <3

(Yes! Love it, here we go)

Recom Miles Quaritch x Human f. Reader

"Heartfelt Confessions" <3

Masterlist

"I think you're beautiful in every way possible. You're probably wonderin' what I'm goin' on and on about. If you ask, I'll just say it's about your plants..." "What are you going on and on about?" "Plants..."

Summary: Quaritch and you are close friends but one night, he can't help but confess his long-felt feelings to you in Na'vi. Thinking you won't understand he doesn't think much of it. But little does he know, you've been learning Na'vi to impress him.

WARNINGS: Smut, fluff, angst, cursing, size difference, unprotected sex, penetration, fingering, riding

Word Count: 4870

Words in italic are Na'vi!

You were sitting at Quaritch’s table, in his room when he walked in. His eyes instantly found you and his stern gaze was enlightened by a soft smile. A pleasant surprise you were.

“Hi.” I muse, noticing his tense appearance.

“Evenin’.” he greeted me back while slightly turning to the side to close the door behind him. His room was big. He had a table, a bathroom, a small kitchen and a large bed. Well, everything in here was large to me. I almost had to climb onto the chair I was sitting on.

“What a fuckin’ week this day’s been.” Miles groaned, rubbing a hand down his face before slowly making his way to the table.

I smile and stifle a small laugh. He was clearly stressed again. Not that it was uncommon. It wasn’t. It just managed to amuse me to a certain extent every time.

Quaritch and I were close friends. I knew him since he was human. At that time we never talked but he would often go out of his way to greet and smile at me. Something he never did to anyone else at base. I took his actions to heart and once I found out he was being partly resurrected, it didn’t take long to resume the small connection we had.

His recom body noticed me almost instantly. I could tell that the Avatar knew my face and was trying to figure out from the overload of memories it received, who exactly I was.

Once we overcame the first step of our slightly awkward introduction, things went smoothly. The Colonel would start to greet me and smile whenever he walked past. That soon escalated into asking how each other’s day has been and soon we would have long and pleasant conversations whenever we saw each other.

I would leave my paperwork behind and he would dismiss his soldiers to talk to me.

“Hey, at least it’s over, right?” I say, leaning forward so that my elbows are resting on the table. Quaritch gives me a second-long agreeing smile before sighing again and slumping into the chair in front of me.

“How’s your day been?” he asks and I see how he pushes all his worries away, to give me his full attention. It was something I always admired about Miles.

“Fairly normal. I guess better than yours.” I say with a light chuckle. Quaritch drops his head defeatedly with a small smile again.

“Yeah, not hard to beat.” he replies, wiping his hand over his mouth before straightening his posture.

“What’ve you been up to?” Quaritch asks me, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. His bright yellow eyes are fixated on me. Not once has he let his gaze falter. I could only keep eye contact for a few seconds before having to look away, but Miles was different.

“Trying to study this new plant.” I say, waving it off because I never thought it was interesting for others to hear.

Quaritch stays still, watching me with his sparkling eyes. Almost as if he were waiting for me to continue. My confusion becomes visible.

He nods in a way that encourages me to keep talking.

“We’re still trying to come up with a name for it, but it’s been messing up all the samples in the lab.” I add, glancing at him to make sure I’m not boring him.

Quaritch blinks but his ears remain perked forwards, giving me all his attention.

“Somehow, its cells are able to change and we don’t know why. It can alter the amount of cells in surrounding plants too, so it’s really been messing up all our tests.” I say, rolling my eyes when I remember the fight that plant put on.

My eyes fall back on Miles’ face and he has an amused smile stretched across his lips.

“Anyway, that’s been a pain. Because it seems to also be able to change whether it wants to be poisonous or not. Like it has a mind of its own.”

“Ain’t that a bitch.” he mumbles through his small grin. Quaritch liked seeing me complain. He as a Colonel couldn’t because he was ranking so high, so he got a kick out of seeing me do it for us both.

“Yeah. Might as well name it something like that.” I say, leaning back and palming my forehead.

“ ‘M sure there’s somethin’ for it in Na’vi.” Miles mumbles and his tail slowly sways behind him.

“Out of the two of us, you should know that.” I smirk at him, attempting to playfully tease him about not remembering enough of the native language that was taught to him.

“Heh, not that advanced, sweet’eart.” He chuckles, finally letting his eyes fall to the surface of his wooden table.

“I’m sure you know other words, right?” I ask, opening my water bottle and taking a few sips.

“Yeah, uh… blue morons.” Quaritch says and I catch the Na’vi words.

“What does that mean?”

Miles chuckles at my eagerness to learn. “Blue morons.”

“Oh, wow. How philosophical.” I muse. “Wise words you used there, Colonel.”

“Comes in handy when you come across one.” he replies, cracking his neck and rolling his sore shoulders free from stress.

“Hey, they’re not that bad. If they were, I probably wouldn’t like you as much as I do.”

For a second, Quaritch’s eyes light up. Mine are looking down as I chuckle so I don’t see it happen, but his lips part slightly and his tail stills as he replays the sentence in his head.

“Still don’t know why you do.” He grumbles, and I sigh, dropping my head back in frustration.

“We’re not going over this again.” I say, knowing he often feels the tiniest bit self-conscious. Our age gap is significantly big. Not physically, but he is still his 50-year-old self in his mind.

He’s just gazing at me, seeming to once again be engulfed by his thoughts.

“Teach me more Na’vi.” I say, wanting to distract him from it.

He scoffs. “Don’t think I’m even pronouncin’ half of it correctly.”

“Doesn’t matter, I like hearing you say it.” I say, propping my head up on both palms.

Quaritch is staring at me again, not seeming to have predicted that answer from me.

“Come on, enlighten me.” I urge him on, watching how his ears twitch in the direction of my voice. “Pleaseee.”

He blinks a few times as if he were waking up from a type of hypnosis.

“Fine. What do ye’ wanna hear?” Miles doesn’t seem very amused by my requests but he complies.

“Anything. It doesn’t matter.”

He huffs out a dramatic sigh before remembering a few sentences he was told to practice. Miles started out with the basics, naming off a few body parts, verbs and nouns until he got distracted.

You are dreamily gazing up at him, enjoying the sound of his voice speaking the foreign words. Your plan is to surprise him by telling him you had started learning a few things too.

He stops in silence for a few seconds, gazing deeply into your innocent big eyes. Something catches him and he’s debating whether he should or shouldn’t say what has been on his mind for weeks. You wouldn’t understand him anyway, so he could let a few things off his chest. Perhaps it would finally help him sleep better. Knowing he told you his feeling in a way you didn’t understand could help him finally blow off some steam.

His work was stressful but what bothered him the most was you.

Not in the way you think. But you clouded his mind throughout the day. He couldn’t shake his emotions and did his best to contain them around you. Miles loved spending time with you but it pained him a little more every time when you two would part and he would still have his feelings bottled up.

Never did he plan on telling you. Miles promised this was something he would take to the grave because it would affect your work and friendship. The connection you two had, despite being a human woman and a recom Avatar, was something Quaritch truly cherished and he would never let his stupid feelings get in the way of ruining that.

You were much younger than him. Miles would tell himself that it’s better for you to be with a human who is younger. You two just don’t fit in that way. Not that he was insecure about himself. He wasn’t. Quaritch admired his looks and was often cocky about it but he would never dare ruin your life by becoming a large part of it as an Avatar. With your young age, you had a bright future ahead of you. Unlike him. He might die tomorrow on his next mission and never come back. You needed to have someone reliable and trustworthy.

But now he has an opportunity to tell you without knowing. What could go wrong?

“I like what you did with your hair today…” Quaritch starts. His raspy voice takes on a rather soft tone as his eyes start to slowly roam my face.

I smile, tilting my head and listening. He doesn’t know I can understand most of what he’s saying. I’ll surprise him when he’s done.

“Don’t quite know how ya managed to braid it up like that,” he chuckles as he examines the loose strands hanging from my tied-up hairdo.

“But it looks nice.”

I choose not to react. His words have mesmerised me and his voice is comforting all of me. I didn’t know I needed his presence this much until now.

“Haven’t seen you do your hair in a while…” Miles continues and I almost scoff. So much for him being a beginner. He was doing really well.

“You should do it more often. It looks good.”

Only good, huh?

“Makes you look beautiful.” Miles softly speaks, letting his eyes dreamily rest on my face.

Suddenly, I freeze. Not visibly because I wasn’t really moving, but my amused smile fades and my breathing stops. I wasn’t expecting that.

“Of course, you always look beautiful.” he says, with almost a light chuckle.

“That’s why I- feel so connected to you.” Miles has started fiddling with his hands, but it wasn’t too obvious.

Was this a confession?

“Everythin’ about you is beautiful to me.”

I’m speechless. Never would I have ever thought that Quaritch felt this way about me. But I knew he wasn’t lying. The look on his face, his soft voice, the calm body language and the slightly saddened eyes. Miles was being genuine. This was his heartfelt confession.

“Ye’r probably wonderin’ what I’m goin’ on and on about.” He stifles a breathy laugh. But even through that, I can tell he is hurt.

“If ya’ ask, I’ll just tell you it’s about your plants.” Those words he mutters under his breath.

The last sentence wounds my heart. I feel sad for him. That he doesn’t feel like he can properly share his emotions with me. Miles often doubts himself and I know that he doesn’t think he is good enough for me. Even though right now, what we have is just a friendship, Miles fears hurting me.

My heart is racing and even through my sadness for him, I’m ecstatic that he feels the same way about me. I’ve been in love with him for a while but through his worries, I never wanted to tell him because he would definitely completely withdraw himself from our friendship. Probably out of fear of ruining my life, even though I still don’t understand how he could ever do that. All he does is brighten my days.

Finally, I have the opportunity to make it work out for both of us.

“What are you going on about?” I ask. The question should have sounded amused but my voice was quieter and my joking side has died down. Miles noticed this. I could tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion for a few seconds. But he seemed to brush it off quickly.

I watch him swallow nervously and for the first time ever, his eyes can’t hold eye contact with me and instead, he chooses to gaze down at the table again.

“Your plants…” he replies. His voice is barely above a whisper.

I’m scanning over his face, noticing the worry in his expression and the slumping sadness, weighing down his broad shoulders.

There’s a minute of silence as I watch him, thinking about what I should do next. Quaritch looks uneasy. Me being quiet is unusual and he doesn’t understand why it’s happening right now.

“You think my plants are beautiful?” I ask him in Na’vi. Miles’ body freezes for a good few seconds before he slowly lifts his eyes to meet mine again. He doesn’t have to look up far because he is still towering over me with his extreme height. Even while sitting.

His mouth opens in an attempt to say something but he can’t form any words at the moment. Miles’ bright yellow eyes are wide and filled with surprise.

“You understood it all, didn’t you?” he breathes out and his figure slumps in defeat, preparing for my confirmation. I give him a gentle smile and nod, watching his ears droop in regret.

“Yeah, I did.” I say, wanting to somehow comfort him.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I ask, reaching for his hand but Quaritch almost flinches away from me. Like a bear afraid of a mouse.

“I should leave. It’s gettin’ late.” He spills out, abruptly standing up and stumbling back a few steps while his hand nervously rubs the back of his neck.

“This is your room.” I argue against him, trying to think of a way to calm him down. He looks like his world is falling apart.

“Miles, stop.”

He listens, standing in the middle of his room. Yet, he refuses to look at me.

“Tell me again.”

He stares at me like he’s seen a ghost.

“I want to hear it from you in English.”

“Y/N, stop. I don’t-”

I interrupt his movements and words by jogging over and stepping in between him and the door. Quickly, I lock it and give him a challenging look. Quaritch looks extremely confused by my actions.

“Say it, otherwise neither of us is ever leaving.” I demand. He scoffs, looking up at the ceiling. My stubbornness always ceased to amaze him.

“What are you doin’?” he asks me. His voice is leaking with despair.

“Just do it.”

He sighs, taking note of how stupid he is for letting me get to him so easily.

“I think you’re beautiful. Happy?” Quaritch says. He looks tired and weak. The way he speaks his words shows me his low energy.

“No, you didn’t mean it.”

A second ago, Miles looked like he was in love. Now he looks like he could kill me. At least I know it’s really him, because this is how he is. And I happen to love it.

“If you don’t give me your full confession, I’ll do it instead.”

My words catch the man’s attention and he chooses to stay quiet.

“One would think you would be mature enough to say you love me.”

Miles stays silent.

“Do you?”

He takes a moment to think about whether he is giving up all his fight now. He is.

“Yeah…” Miles whispers in defeat. Checkmate. He couldn’t get out of this.

Without hesitation I move towards him, standing on my tippy-toes as I wrap my arms around his slim waist and embrace him into a tight hug.

The sudden contact makes Quaritch tense and he raises his arms. His eyes peer down at me while he tries to understand what my reaction meant.

“I love you.” I mumble against his hip, not letting go.

Miles’ face lights up and his drooped ears once again perk forward. What a rollercoaster of emotions this is.

“Say that again?” he asks, needing to make sure he heard me correctly.

“I love you, Miles.” I repeat, looking up at him this time.

His stomach twists in excitement when he hears his name. I can feel it. Once again, he looks mesmerised and it makes me melt against him. We feel very comfortable around each other so this really just became the sprinkles on the ice cream.

His lips are parted again in surprise as he tries to come up with something to say but there are no words he can find. The moment is so special to him, he is once again afraid of ruining it. So instead, I feel his large hands cradle my head and back against him.

Luckily, the night was young, so I had time to comfort my big blue Avatar. We sat down again and finally, Miles told me all his worries. He explained that he didn’t want people to think badly of me because I was dating an Avatar. It’s common that people get their reputations lowered for spending too much time with recoms. Even though they are the RDA’s leading force in completing their mission successfully, many others still aren’t fond of the Avatar Program. Their rules are that natives are enemies and anything that is blue, must be located outside of Bridgehead City.

No one directly told this to the Deja Blu team, but the Marines often caught on to the dirty looks they received.

Quaritch was afraid to ruin my career by dragging me down the social ladder.

I of course reassured him that that won’t happen and that I would much rather be around him than pretend to be someone I’m not around others. Adding to that, why would I care about what others think? As long as I’m happy, which I am with Miles, I don’t need to worry about other people’s opinions.

Those arguments were able to silence Miles’ worries. At least for now. After that, he deepend his confession because he said he can’t sleep without knowing he’s told me everything. Of course, I listened intently.

“Would you like te’ stay the night?” Miles asks, anxiously glancing down at me. His fingers were once again intertwined and he kept fiddling with them. Seeing him feel nervous is completely new to me. Miles is the most confident person I know.

“Are you okay with that?” I ask, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. But the truth is, I really wanted to stay and I was hoping he’d ask. Here in the RDA, everything is about work and professionality. No one gets much time to themselves. Even while Miles and I were friends, I found myself longing for his touch and presence. I would hug him for a second too long and subconsciously lean into him when he was next to me. Perhaps I was touch deprived, but often he would mirror my actions. His hands would linger on my back at random times. Or his tail would curl around me. I think we both need this.

“More than happy.” Miles smiles. I get ready for bed while he signs off on his tablet.

His bed is extremely large to me, I feel like I could run laps on it. Without further ado, I drop down face-first onto the mattress. The long day we both had was starting to take a toll on us.

I heard Miles chuckle from the other side of the room.

“Comfortable?” he asks teasingly, while I try to free my tangled legs from his heavy blanket.

“Not yet. I’m cold.” I say, giving him a cheeky grin. He doesn’t seem to quite catch on to what I mean so I sign grabby hands at him. His ears perk forward and his eyebrows raise before he drops his head again and chuckles.

“Never thought I’d get te’ have ya like this.” he smirks, putting the tablet down. Miles walks over to his coat hanger and pulls his tank top over his head, throwing it over the chair next to it.

My movements stop and I sit on the bed, watching him like a lovestruck idiot. I had entered his room in my sleepwear which was my oversized shirt and comfortable shorts. Meaning I didn’t have to change.

Quaritch moved his hands to his belt and I watched him, not noticing his sly smirk as he watched my reaction. I was too preoccupied with staring at his hands.

A teasing whistle made me glance up and lock eyes with him.

“Somethin’ caught yer’ eye?” he asks, smugly.

“Okay stop teasing. Wait until I get my clothes off.” I scoff, waving him off. His eyebrows raise in surprise again. My words caught him off guard. Miles’ silence makes me replay my sentence in my head and I gasp.

“No- wait. I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I sure as hell won’t be complainin’.” Miles grins, and I notice he’s discarded his camo pants now too.

My limbs feel like rubber as I watch him walk over to the bed. He effortlessly pulls the heavy blanket up, sliding under it with me. Miles settles down, covering himself with the cloth while I sit next to his side and just stare.

“I can’t sleep with you starin’ like that.” Miles mumbled, opening an eye to look at me.

“I can’t sleep with you next to me.” I blurt out. I was way too excited to just fall asleep now.

Once again I manage to catch him off guard and both his eyes open. He doesn’t say anything. His eyes just scan my body, taking note of my restlessness it seems.

“You ain’t tired?”

I shake my head ‘no’ a bit too hard which shows him my energy. A small grin slowly spreads across his face, letting me get a glimpse of his sharp fangs.

“Need somethin’?”

I blink a few times. Surely he doesn’t mean what I think he does.

“Just ask, sweetheart. You’re gonna get it.”

My heart is pounding in my chest.

“I don’t know what-”

“I don’t want to ruin you, baby. If you want it, you’re gonna have to do it.” Miles says and for whatever reason, his words sound reassuring to me.

I swallow thickly, staring at him like a deer stuck in headlights.

“Tell me. You want this?” he asks. I think for a moment before slowly nodding.

“Yeah? C’mon, use your words, pretty girl.”

“Yeah…” I whisper. My voice almost gave out.

“Let me help you.”

Miles suddenly became extremely caring and attentive to me. I noticed how careful he was when touching me. As if he were afraid that the blue of his hands would permanently stain my skin.

He helped me out of my clothes, once I was ready to let it happen.

“Goddamn, baby. Been dreamin’ of you like this for ages.” he groans, letting his predatory eyes take in my bare skin.

He was still afraid of hurting me so instead, he let me do what I wanted. In a way, he got his kicks out of it too.

Miles loved seeing you use his body. Perhaps it was the irony of the size difference that amused him or just that you were so sweet and soft.

You were just getting off by using his hand, holding it in place and fingering yourself with it. Quaritch refused to take action at first. But seeing that got him so pent up that he was rock-hard under the blanket. It was visible, very visible, but he didn’t care. Miles couldn’t rip his eyes from the sight in front of him. You petite, delicate hands, struggling to use his large and heavy ones. The squelching sound that was elicited from your pretty little pussy, every time his fingers reached knuckle deep almost had him cumming. The fact that your slick was dripping down his fingers made him feral.

“Aight’ that’s it. C’mere.” Miles almost ordered, pulling his fingers from inside you. It startled you but soon, your mouth was salivating when he revealed his leaking, throbbing cock. It was huge and you knew there was no way you could ever fit it all without getting injured, but it looked so tempting.

Within seconds, his hands were on your hips, pulling you on his lap. It seems as though his usual confidence has returned.

“You gotta take over, I don’t wanna hurt you.” he breathes out, letting go of my hips. I nod, quickly arranging myself on top of him. My hand reaches for his aching dick while he puts his hands behind his bed, gripping onto the head of the bed to contain himself. His body shudders when I glide his tip through my wet folds, smearing his pre-cum all over my swollen pussy lips. Everything about him turned me on so much, I couldn’t think of anything else but stuffing him inside me.

The second I start to slowly sink my body down on his tip, Miles tenses and his head drops back. I see how his teeth dig into his bottom lip, making the soft skin turn white.

“F-fuck…” he hisses through clenched teeth. “So tight, baby.”

I don’t stop, letting myself get distracted from my discomfort by his pleasure. The stretch made my insides burn and ache but seeing how good it felt for him motivated me to pull through.

I managed to take just slightly over half of him into me before I realised it won’t be possible to get more. My senses were already overwhelmed with how full I was, I could barely move.

Soon, my hips started to rock back and forth and eventually, I started to gently bounce up and down him.

Miles was groaning and almost panting, digging his fingers into the pillow beneath his head. His eyes were fixated on me and the way my body moved.

Very quickly, my legs got tired because I had to push myself up higher since he was so big.

“A little- hmph… help please?” I mewl, realising I can no longer keep pace. I definitely don’t need to ask Quaritch twice. In an instant, his large hands grope my ass before lifting me off his cock. He doesn’t push me further down him to force me to take more, he just supports my movements which I greatly appreciate.

Miles’ ears are pinned back, his tail is thrashing and his fangs are bared as he focuses with pinched-together eyebrows on pleasuring both of us.

I started feeling bliss when he applied pressure on my clit with his rough thumb, gently rubbing small circles on it before gradually speeding up with our pace.

My eyes were half-lidded as I steadied myself on his arms. Quaritch was in full control now but he still listened and didn’t switch anything up so that I wasn’t in pain.

“Miles- I..” I whine, arching my back while he repeatedly pulls me down his length.

“You can cum, baby. It’s all f’r you.” he groans, starting to buck his hips up and off the mattress to meet my movements. The plush skin of my ass was slapping against his abdomen and upper thighs, turning my skin red.

He applied some more pressure on my clitoris and I was over the moon. My legs trembled and my body shook while Miles continued to thrusts up into me. My orgasm made my pussy clench around him which had him cursing and cumming deep inside me. Almost instantly, my pussy was overflowing with his warm and thick cum. It was running down my thighs and onto the base of his cock.

I leaned forwards, planting both my hands onto his midsection to support my weight while I regained my breath. Miles was panting hard and he dropped his head back into the soft pillow while his large hands gently stroked up and down my waist in a comforting manner.

“God, I love you so much, darlin’.” Quaritch whispered, moving his hand up to stroke it over my head and gently tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I love you too.” I whisper, slowly falling into his chest. He smiles, pulling my head to his and for the first time, our lips connect. It’s a soft and gentle kiss. Miles is clearly watching out with his fangs so as to not overwhelm me with the size difference.

When we pull away, he gently pulls me off of him. Our mixed fluids are covering the insides of my thighs and his lower area but right now, we’re both too tired to mind.

“You tired now?” Miles jokes, nuzzling his face against my cheek. I smile and nudge him in the chest.

“Exhausted.”

“You can sleep, baby. I’ll take care of you.” He reassures me. Even though there was no hazardous danger, his words comforted me and made me feel safe.

Very soon, I was snoozing on his chest. Miles had laid me down comfortably on top of him and covered both of us with the blanket, before turning the light off and getting some sleep himself. Luckily, neither of you had to get up early in the morning tomorrow.

Tag List: @numarusworld @number1gal @jatwow @ken-dala @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @ikranwings

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britcision · 2 years

Text

I’m spoiling you all, really, the last chapter was just last night

Buuuuut it’s WIP Wednesday, so enjoy!

Chapters in the tag

——————

Pay Attention To Me Dammit

“Okay,” Danny sucked in a deep breath, surfacing from Jason’s suit to two deeply concerned pairs of blue eyes, “let’s get somewhere private real fast.”

Tucker snickered, helpfully extracting both him and Sam from Jason’s arms.

“I can’t fucking believe you forgot Vlad was coming,” he sighed, voice still shaking as he gave Jason a once over.

Sam, sucking in huge gasps of air, pinched his arm as she straightened.

“Oh shut up, not like you brought him up either,” she wheezed, still grinning.

“Vladdie’s gonna be fucking heartbroken,” Tucker sighed happily, shoving Danny towards a corner.

People were definitely looking. And not just the other four bats; regular guests were watching behind fans, hands, or just deadass staring.

Tim took over, catching Danny’s wrist and pulling the other boy after him. They weren’t that far off the same height.

“So, should I take it that “Vlad” being here is a good thing or a bad thing?” He asked, pulling on his best socialite smile, heading for one of the hall exits instead.

“Side room?” Jason wondered, guiding Sam and Tucker quickly after him. Tim nodded without looking back.

“They shouldn’t be busy yet. We can talk without being overheard,” he added to the other three, who obligingly sped up.

“As for your question, Vlad being here is… probably gonna end up being nothing?” Danny offered, doing his best smiles for the rich assholes they passed.

Sam kicked him in the ankle.

“Wait til we’re alone,” she said quietly, hustling Tucker along.

Unsurprisingly to Jason and Tim, the first side room already had four other people sitting in it, on two extremely plush couches, angled at right angles and facing a fireplace. Before Danny could turn to find another, Steph caught his hand and pulled him in.

“Hi, Stephanie Brown, friend of the Waynes, we’re gonna talk all about Jason’s adorable little crush on you but first, what did you need privacy for?” She asked, eyes bright with innuendo.

Danny grinned right back, already liking this one, and relaxed when Tim and Jason guided the others in and shut the door.

“Well, I guess you all being here means no one has to be found later… and the more eyes the better in this case,” he mused, looking over the other teens and young adult.

Dick waved at Tucker, grinning sarcastically.

“Danny. And Danny,” he added, nodding to Danny himself.

Sam hid a snicker behind her hand.

“That’s what you went with?” She asked Tucker, and he grinned entirely unrepentantly back.

“What, Jason said he told them who I was,” he said in his very best innocent voice.

Before they could get going, Jason raised a hand.

“I’m gonna guess there was a reason you snuck Danny in other than getting back at Sam’s parents? Vlad Masters,” he prodded, dropping to sit on one of the plush royal blue couches next to Cass.

All three Amity Parkers sobered immediately.

“Right… yeah, we should sit for this,” Tucker agreed, glancing around the room. Seating for nine was going to be tight, but… well, he may no longer be a teenager, but he was still seating-flexible.

Introductions were made as people juggled themselves around, finally ending with Cass, Jason, and Danny on one sofa, Sam, Steph, and Damian on the other, and Dick and Tim perching on windowsill or sofa arm respectively. Tucker took the floor.

Once movement stilled, Danny exchanged glances with Sam and Tucker. Maybe hoping that for once, he wouldn’t be doing the explaining?

He shoulda known better.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair and didn’t lean intentionally into Jason’s side. It was good to have another halfa around, that was all.

“Sooooo… cliff’s notes? Vlad Masters is a shady millionaire who uses some seriously unethical shit to make predatory deals with other millionaires to steal their fortune. We think he’s here to make his way to that final “b”, byyyy stealing your dad’s fortune,” he explained quickly, glancing around at the Waynes and adjacents he could see.

They did not look convinced.

Tim frowned, leaning forward on his knee and steepling his fingers.

“If you have proof of that, shouldn’t someone already be looking into him?” He asked contemplatively, eyes fixed on Danny’s face.

It was. Weirdly intense.

Fighting down discomfort, Danny shrugged.

“So remember when I said deeply unethical? Think like, mind control. He’s hard to investigate.”

“You make him sound like a supervillain,” Dick noted from the windowsill.

Sam raised a pointed eyebrow at him.

“Duh, we said “millionaire”.”

“Hey,” Tim protested, leaning around Steph to frown at her, “I’m a millionaire.”

She stared him dead in the eye while Steph snickered.

“I said what I said.”

“And so are you,” he shot back sharply, eyes narrowing.

Sam didn’t blink.

“I work at a plant nursery my parents don’t approve of and pay my own tuition. My family are millionaires; I’m not,” she said plainly.

Tim puffed up his cheeks, but let them deflate silently. Jason definitely wasn’t smirking.

Cass leaned forwards suddenly, eyes darting around the room searchingly before settling on Sam.

“Masters. Your connection?” She asked softly, the others stilling to hear her.

Both of Sam’s brows rose, but she didn’t comment at hearing the other girl’s voice for the first time. She looked to Danny instead, raising an eyebrow.

Danny blew out a huff of air, ruffling his bangs.

“So… we… well…”

“He wants to fuck Danny’s mom and adopt Danny,” Tucker said bluntly, tipping his head back to hit Danny’s knees and grinning up at him.

Danny poked him in the forehead, but didn’t refute it.

“Yeah. So he’s kinda been my problem for a while. And he’s the mayor of Amity Park now? Is he still?” He asked, looking from one to the other.

Sam shrugged.

“Think so. I haven’t heard about anyone new.”

The Waynes and co were all kind of just… staring at them. Danny gave them jazz hands.

“And now he’s heeeeeere. He probably won’t make any moves if he knows I’m around, but we should keep an eye on him around Mr Wayne anyway.”

“And we can add him to the fuckery list, along with Sam’s parents,” Tucker added with a very satisfied smile.

It drew all eyes his way, ranging from intrigued to sceptical.

“How?” Steph asked, eyes bright.

Tucker waved a hand over the room.

“Black hair. Blue eyes. For one thing, Mr Drake-Wayne is even the same height, so if he sees you from behind, he could be confused. Dick’s not far off either. And best of all,” he added while the others did quick visual comparisons, decidedly smug, “we hint that Bruce is thinking of accepting Danny as an intern. Step one of Wayne Adoption.”

Sam’s eyes lit up with evil glee.

“Oh he’d do his fucking nut if you cozied up to someone richer than him, Danny,” she gasped, hands bouncing on her lap.

Danny hesitated for a moment, glancing over at Jason. Who was looking back, gears clearly turning. Seeing that he had Danny’s eye, he leaned in quickly.

“Vlad Masters would be Vlad Plasmius, yes?” He asked in a low voice. He’d scanned the database more than read in detail, but he knew the basics.

One very important basic.

Vlad was the other halfa.

And Vlad could sense other halfas. For a hot second Danny very nearly took off out of the room, ready to go find and kick Vlad’s ass and keep him far, far away from Jason.

He didn’t realise he’d clenched his fists until one of them was held in a large, hot hand. Slowly, shakily he uncurled them, checking for blood in the deep half moon crevices now dug in his palms.

Nothing. He was fine.

“Danny?” Jason asked softly, and Danny looked up to his face. There was something in his eyes, something familiar in the way they flashed a deep, sudden green when their eyes met.

Yeah, Jason’s Obsession was fucking definitely Protection, at least in part. Danny clasped his hand quickly, half worried Jason was gonna do just what he’d had to try so hard not to.

Would it have been that bad if Jason was just his friend, not his knight?

There was no way to know anymore.

Covering Jason’s hands in both of his, he gave Jason the best smile he could.

“I’m fine. But yeah, that’s him. And we… should probably also have a private word.” Because there was this sudden, very nasty little temptation curling through him.

“Would this private word have anything to do with Jason almost going full feral?” Dick asked with a studied innocence that had at least a master’s degree.

Which was when Danny noticed that the rest were all staring at them. At their clasped hands. At Jason’s still a little too green eyes.

Jason grimaced, fully aware of what they must have seen. He tamped the green down firmly, pushing against the wave of protect-protect-PROTECT the pit was damn near screaming inside him.

Wasn’t entirely sure it was only the pit.

Watching Danny tense up like that, clearly in the throes of fight or flight, pulled at something primal inside him.

Jason didn’t know who Vlad Masters was, what he looked like, what he was doing, but he was fully willing to throw him out of the building by the neck if Danny would relax even a little.

He threatens my king, something growled in the back of his mind and Jason’s hands jerked.

That was fucking new. And not fucking welcome.

He looked to Dick instead, giving him a strained smile. It was the best he could do right now.

“Yeah,” he admitted, not fully comfortable with how strained his voice sounded. How tight his throat felt.

Had the pit tried to use his mouth? Make him speak?

Just the thought made him want to puke, but he pushed that down too. He had shit to do today, and the pit wasn’t gonna ruin it.

“I told you he was helping me with the pit,” he added when Dick still looked calculatedly calm. Definitely not about to tackle him to the ground if he moved too suddenly.

Fuck Jason hoped Dick never tried. When they fought for fun, for training, sure Dick could hand him his ass six ways from Sunday. But when the green took over…

He didn’t want to hurt his brother. None of his brothers, ever again.

Except maybe a little bit psychologically.

“Fenton’s eyes changed too,” Damian said sharply, and oooh absolutely nothing in Jason liked that accusatory tone.

Not about Danny. Not about his king.

His head snapped around to glare at the youngest and knew his eyes had gone green again from the way the others recoiled. All but Sam and Danny. And Damian himself, suicidal little gremlin.

All but Cass, who slipped herself carefully but immovably back into his lap, hooking her feet into the backs of his knees and hands on his cheeks. Pinning him in place.

Making him look at her, not Damian.

She studied his expression intensely, her eyes saying more than even Dick could manage.

And there was a hand in his again, gently soothing across his fingers until his knuckles opened, and Cass let him look away to Danny. Doing just what Jason had done less than a minute ago.

Danny didn’t have to tell his secrets to anyone he didn’t want to. Not now, not the first time they met, not before he trusted them.

Anger-protect-not their business

And Danny smiled back, all gentle and soft, and Jason settled back, relaxing muscles he hadn’t noticed tensing.

Reassurance-calm-safe safe safe-trust

If Jason trusted them, Danny would too. And if that didn’t sting something right in his chest.

Danny cleared his throat, turning back to the rest of the room and giving them a slightly tighter smile.

“Yeah. I. Uh… I was exposed to the Lazarus pits? About a year before Jason was. So I know what it’s like when it gets too strong.”

Half truths at best, but close enough to be believed. To make sense.

Close enough that no one except Damian, tactless boy wonder, would ever ask.

“Only the dying can survive exposure to the pits,” the boy snapped, eyes sharp as he studied Danny in a new light.

Jason’s hands nearly clenched again, but this time Danny’s was in the way. Protecting Danny meant not crushing Danny’s hand.

Good loophole.

“The dying and the dead,” Danny agreed placidly, calm just barely tinted by amusement.

Jason closed his eyes, let himself focus on breathing in Danny’s aura.

Was that a hint of trouble-fun-plans plans mayhem?

Damian squinted at Danny for another long moment, then nodded sharply and sat back. Steph punched him.

“Damian, you can’t just go asking people if they’ve died,” she hissed in a comically loud whisper.

“It was relevant to the conversation!” Damian insisted, immediately sitting back up to defend his honour. Steph tweaked his nose and he properly growled, gearing up to tackle her.

“It was rude, Baby Bat,” Dick coaxed gently, coming from the windowsill to the couch to scoop Damian into his arms.

The only one of them who could have done it and survived. Damian glowered up at him too, then folded his arms and scowled at the floor.

Dire retributions would surely be incoming.

“Hey, it’s cool,” Danny caused, grinning along with the others now that the tension had broken. “He just wanted to know I’m not gonna hurt Jason, right?”

All eyes turned back to Damian, who squinted suspiciously at Danny again. Jason was ready for the flare of protectiveness this time.

Danny was fine. He could handle the demon brat, even if Dick didn’t have him in hand already.

Jason didn’t want to hurt his brother.

Which caused a different, confusing flare of protectiveness because what he needed to protect Damian from was himself, and the self same flares.

He stifled a chuckle that would probably only make things worse.

Finally Damian huffed, turning away into Dick’s arms.

“Tt. Ridiculous. I only wished to be sure you spoke the truth,” he snapped, and the room resettled.

Danny raised both hands, grinning, and Cass shuffled to rest her ear over Jason’s heart.

“Okay?” She asked softly, moving her feet from his pressure points. Jason brought his other arm up and around her, squeezing gently.

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks,” he replied just as quietly, resting his cheek in her hair.

“Well, this does also kinda simplify things,” Danny added with a chuckle, leaning back against the couch. “I can just tell all of you; Vlad’s also been ecto…. Pit contaminated. And we can sense each other, so he’s going to know Jason is too.”

That geared the bats back up, all turning back to stare at Danny. Who grinned utterly wickedly.

“So Vladdie gets to be on the rare and extremely valued double fuckery list.”

“Is he gonna try and do anything to Jason?” Steph asked sharply, posture tensing towards the door like it might open at any second.

Tucker shrugged, moving back to lean against the couch next to Danny’s legs. He’d wisely made himself scarce when there was a chance either halfa would make a break for it.

“Like Danny said, Vlad probably won’t try anything if he knows we’re around? He can’t do his mind control on Danny so he’s gotta keep it in his pants, even if he’d rather not.”

Sam brightened, catching on to where the boys were going.

“But because Vlad is like… Obsessed with Danny for being like him, there’s a chance he’ll wanna try and adopt Jason too,” she said slowly, her smile becoming full and wicked.

“And since we’re already planning to have me and Jason caught in some indelicate way to upset the Mansons,” Danny added, utterly self satisfied, “we can fry his brain thinking he can only adopt one of us.”

“And that’s after we make him play Find The Real Danny,” Tucker jumped in, grinning broadly, “because it’s not specific enough to track a single person in a busy room. Do you guys do accents?”

Tim and Dick exchanged glances and shrugged.

“Yours wouldn’t be hard,” Tim pointed out, a smirk pulling across his own face as he nodded to Danny.

“I’d like to know why we’re also fucking with the Mansons though?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow at Sam. Who shrugged.

“They refused to let me bring my girlfriend as a plus one. So we’re gonna ruin me for men and make them think twice next time.”

“Wait, so you’re not dating Danny?” Steph asked, proving she had been hovering during their little meet and greet.

None of the Amity Parkers seemed surprised. Not by her listening in, anyway.

Danny flushed cherry red, Tucker burst out laughing, and Sam smirked.

“Not since high school,” she said casually. Danny groped around for a throwable pillow but came up short.

For some reason, Jason felt absolutely no need to protect his king from some righteous bullying. Another fun loophole.

Must be the lack of potential stabbing.

Dick grinned suddenly, now leaning on the other arm of the couch from Tim.

“Okay, but we definitely don’t tell this part to Bruce,” he said eagerly, beckoning all the others closer. “If Jason’s job is to flirt with Sam and defile Danny, we were also here to meet Danny as Jason’s friend.”

“Let Bruce think Danny’s leading you both on!” Steph finished, clapping her hands and cackling. “Oh it’s perfect!”

Sam cackled along with her, turning a much warmer smile on the other girl.

“Oh, my parents would love to trash talk Danny to him too, they’ve probably already hurried off to let him know I’m “eligible”,” she agreed with the most sarcastic air quotes Jason had ever seen.

Steph lurched immediately to her feet.

“We’re gonna miss it! Okay, so our first task is to make sure Vlad knows Danny is here, right? So he knows not to try anything on Bruce,” she added to confirm, looking between the Amity Parkers.

Danny frowned thoughtfully, touching his lower lip. Jason tried not to focus on it.

“He should know as soon as we get within proximity of each other… so probably once we’re both in the big room?”

Tim nodded, rising along with Steph, the fire of planning in his eyes.

“Sam and Jason need to be seen to be flirting, but Danny doesn’t have to be with them. Dick and I can wander through the crowd, keeping an eye out for Masters but keeping our faces turned away. Cass, can you help with that?”

Cass nodded, sitting straighter and resting her head on Jason’s shoulder instead.

“Yes. Can be Dick’s eyes, signal you both.”

Tim nodded, turning to point to Damian.

“And if you can get as close to Masters as you can, you can signal us too if he gets too close to Bruce or us.”

Damian nodded, all ruffled feathers smoothing as he straightened his suit.

“I shall watch him for any suspicious moves. I can also run interference if he approaches Father.”

Steph nodded happily and clapped her hands, pointing both at Tucker.

“And you can join me in spying on the Mansons and recording them if they talk to Bruce, for the rest of us to enjoy later!” She declared triumphantly.

Tucker shot to his feet, grinning broadly.

“Yeah! And if they catch us we can tell them Jason and Sam are doing something, or ask if they’ve seen Danny,” he agreed, bouncing on his toes. He stuck a hand out in front of him. “Ready?”

Steph slapped her palm down on the back of his hand.

“Ready!”

The room now filled with purpose, everyone came to join Tucker, sticking their hands in in a circle, even as Damian complained about “ridiculous social rituals”.

No one else seemed to mind, tossing their hands into the air as they all whispered “BREAK!”, not wanting to be heard from the hallway.

As the room emptied, Danny hung back, catching Jason’s eye.

“So I know you’re probably not ready to talk about this,” he said softly as Sam lingered in the doorway, her back conspicuously to them, “but I just need to ask you if there was electricity involved when you died.”

Jason felt his whole body tense, less than pleasant memories rushing to the fore. Broken bones. A blade in his leg. Explosion.

No electricity.

He could see the strain on Danny’s face as his mind cleared, and shook his head.

“No. Why?” He asked warily, suddenly very concerned.

Danny made a face that did precisely nothing to lessen it, looking away.

“Because there was when I died, and Vlad knows it. And he… he can control electricity. But you’ll be fine, well, other than the usual “oh no a bad guy is shooting me with electricity”, right?”

Danny was babbling now, clearly trying to distract himself, but all Jason could see was pure, pulsing green. Before he knew he’d moved he had an arm wrapped firmly around slender shoulders, crushing Danny to his chest.

He didn’t need to be told that reminders of a ghost’s death wounds could be debilitating. He’d have known without the data. Without the catch in Danny’s voice.

“If he ever lays a fucking finger on you again I’ll fucking kill him,” he growled, his voice coming out almost as low as his helmet modulator.

Danny stiffened for just a moment in his grasp, then relaxed against him.

“I mean, I can handle myself,” he protested weakly, voice somewhat muffled in Jason’s jacket, “but I’m not gonna fight you on that one, Jay.”

It soothed something inside him, something hot in the center of his chest that burned at just the thought of anyone hurting the man in his arms.

Attacking him. Using the pain and trauma of his death against him. Attacking his king.

A gentle hand soothed up and down his spine.

Safe-protected-I’m okay-safe

It took a minute before Jason could bring himself to let go, smiling sheepishly down at Danny.

“Sorry. Guess I’m… uh, not used to dealing with anything other than rage from the pit,” he explained weakly.

It felt stupid, comparing something as soft as the urge to protect to those bloodthirsty rampages. That didn’t make it any less true.

Danny shrugged, rolling out his shoulders and grinning up at him.

“Hey, like I said. Shoulda seen me when I first changed. Anyway, shall we go make Vlad’s night a living hell?” He asked wickedly, a cheeky smile on his face.

Jason nodded and made for the door, giving Sam a small smile of appreciation. She looked between the two of them and snickered.

“Yeah, rumpling you both up in a closet’s gonna be easy breezy,” she said lazily, pushing the door open again. “You should trade ties.”

Danny’s hand flew to his throat and he chuckled softly, then shook both of his hands out.

“Okay… time to go make sure Vladdie knows I’m around,” he sighed, cracking his neck. Like he was limbering up for a fight?

Jason cocked a brow, taking Sam’s arm.

“What are you gonna do?” He asked as they moved out into the hall, back towards the ballroom.

Danny shot him a quick grin.

“Expand my aura to cover the whole room. He’ll know I’m flexing, and he won’t be able to miss it. Should help confuse him about Tim and Dick too, since the whole place is gonna feel like me,” he added, and Jason grinned.

Alright, that was gonna be a useful trick. Time to see that famous Ghost King aura put to the test.

He wasn’t really expecting to feel a change really. He was close enough that Danny’s aura was still brushing gently over his, soothing the pit that he was right there.

Ready and close if Jason needed to protect him.

And then Danny’s brows furrowed for a moment, he flexed his shoulders back, and Jason was surrounded in pulsing waves of DANNY-DANNY-DANNY.

He didn’t know he’d stumbled until Sam caught him, her hand small on his chest right over the thudding pulse of his heart.

He barely felt it. All he could see, all he could hear, all he could feel was the raw power surging out of the man beside him.

Feeling Frostbite in the Far Frozen had been overwhelming. This… this rewrote the beat of his heart, crawled with his breath into his lungs, curled around every deep and intimate part of himself.

Everything was right in the world. His King was here. The pit fucking sang in his veins.

Aaaand Jason hadn’t been this hard in dress pants since he’d been an excitable teenager who couldn’t help it. Eyes closing, he swayed back against the hallway wall.

He could just barely feel Sam’s hand still on his chest, a grounding point as he sucked in deep breaths. Heard her snicker as the ringing in his ears began to die down.

“You’re getting better at that, Danny,” she noted, and Jason hissed.

This could have been worse? More? How?

And then Danny’s hand was at his shoulder too and he didn’t need to open his eyes to know it. Knew the touch, the feel, the way the pit surged warmth to the spot.

Heard Danny’s soft voice as though it were being broadcast straight into his head.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked quietly, and Jason honestly wasn’t sure.

Think about Bruce’s old underwear commercials. Jane Austen novels. Alfred’s expression if Jason ruined his good pants this fucking early into a party.

Later, maybe, it’d give a flare of authenticity but Danny almost certainly wouldn’t be down.

Danny. There was someone here who wanted to hurt Danny.

Jason’s eyes snapped open and he sucked in another deep breath. It was still redolent of Danny’s aura, still cupping him on every side, but he had a purpose now. A job to do.

He managed a slightly strained smile.

“‘M fine. It’s just a shock.” He cleared his throat, reaching down to tug at the front of his trousers as subtly as he could. “Is, uh… is it always like that?”

Danny looked confused for a moment, still concerned, but it was easier to miss the pulsing beat of his emotions now. Easier to focus.

He’d protect Danny’s feelings too, but he couldn’t do that if he was overwhelmed.

Finally Danny shrugged, glancing out towards the ballroom.

“I wouldn’t know… it doesn’t feel all that different to me. Just like everyone in the room is now inside my personal space,” he added, pulling a face.

Jason stared at him for a long moment, wondering how the hell he was going to ask. If he even wanted to mention the effects it had had - was still having, cleaning guns, Alfred in lace, Vlad was still here.

Nope.

Just. Nope. Not opening that can of worms today.

If Danny didn’t know that just feeling him all around him like that was gonna send Jason to horny jail, Jason was just never gonna tell him. And if Vlad had an even similar reaction, Jason would double kick his ass.

Hauling himself away from the wall, Jason cleared his throat again and fixed his jacket.

“Alright… I’m good. Shall we?” He asked Sam, offering her his arm this time. She gave him a quick up and down, raised a brow, but didn’t comment.

“Sure you are,” she chuckled softly, taking his arm with a reluctant half smile, turning back to Danny. “Are you gonna stick close, or do you wanna recon Vlad?”

Danny considered it for a moment, moving with them as they returned to the hall. Then he shrugged.

“I might go take a peek, but if I see your parents I’ll third wheel back on over. You guys should go mosey,” he added, waving a hand quickly.

Jason nodded, tucking Sam closer, turned back to the room, and… froze. Sam, utterly unaffected, made it a couple steps forward before she noticed and turned back, frowning.

“Hey, what’s up?” She asked in a low whisper, eyes flicking around them.

Good fucking question.

Jason closed his eyes, sucking in a slow breath and trying to work out what had shot down his spine like cold water. Brows furrowed, he tried to will his feet to move.

Took a step backwards and opened his eyes again, frowning back at Sam.

“Alright, I didn’t mean to do that,” he hissed, head turning automatically… to where Danny had taken a couple of steps away.

Green surged below his skin, asking what the fuck he thought he was doing. Abandoning his post. Leaving his king.

There was someone here who’d hurt him, who’d used his fucking death against him, and Jason was gonna what? Not be close enough to break his fingers for thinking it?

Eyes closed for a moment, Jason weighed the odds he could just push this down and keep going. Felt Sam tuck closer. They did have a whole ass plan…

Felt a sudden wash of concern-what’s wrong-protect from the surrounding warmth of Danny.

And sighed, shaking his head, pulling Sam with him after Danny. With each step the green sung, a deep satisfaction not his own rising inside.

He gave Danny a sheepish smile and a shrug.

“I don’t think I can leave you alone. Not if he’s here,” he added a little more quietly, well aware they were being watched once again.

Confusion flashed across Danny’s face for a moment, then he groaned and slapped himself in the forehead.

“Fucking Clockwork… alright, we stick together. Tim and Dick will have plenty of fun with Vlad anyway,” he said, grin slowly spreading again as he tucked himself in to Sam’s other side.

“And we can have more fun with my parents,” Sam pointed out innocently, scanning the crowd around them. Shot them both a sidelong glance each, half smirking. “And I get two lots of cute arm candy.”

Danny and Jason turned automatically to look each other over, Jason’s grin broadening as Danny’s cheeks flushed.

Dick had said he looked a treat in this suit. Must have been right about something.

Suddenly Danny’s aura was all very studious and concentrated nothing to see here.

Jason bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing, letting his eyes trail a little slower over his king’s frame.

Wherever Danny had gotten his suit from, they knew a thing or two about tailoring. It fit him well, emphasising the lean lines of his legs and torso. Didn’t quite square off his shoulders.

Jason still hadn’t had much practice with projecting his own emotions back, but he had the feeling his… appreciation got through when Danny’s blush darkened.

Grinning down at Sam, Jason patted her hand.

“Only if my code name’s Gummy Bear.”

A startled laugh from Danny was the reaction he’d been going for. Sam’s sudden, utterly wicked smile was a lot more concerning.

“Alright. Danny’s is gonna be Jawbreaker,” she decided, her gaze darting briefly down to Jason’s lips as she smirked.

Jason looked away quickly, his own cheeks uncomfortably warm as Danny choked.

———————

Tag list: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikoyuii @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog1 @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @eonic

#dp x dc #dpxdc #danny fenton dead and loving it #dead on main #wip wednesday

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ranger-lodge-one · 10 days

Text

INTRODUCTION POST

Hey, the names Henry.

To be honest I didn’t actually plan on making this blog, just something I was musing over, but here we are. This is mostly just smth to keep me occupied during the long days.

I very recently got assigned to this lodge, I’m not telling you the region just know it’s near a town called Pineridge since I know damn well there is at least three or more places with that name.

I’m the only one in this lodge though, it’s not meant to house more than maybe two rangers since its not a ranger station, it mostly operates as a firewatch location during the summer anyways. That doesn’t matter though.

I’ll probably just talk about the stuff I see on the job here, plenty of Pokemon here in the forest and with the town nearby there is also probably plenty of campers and rowdy teens. Maybe I’ll share some nature photos or trail cam footage or something.

Lastly, I do have a partner Pokemon, his name is Tucker and he’s my Boltund. Real tough guy, that one.

[ READ UNDER THE CUT ]

!!HORROR ELEMENTS WILL BE PRESENT ON THIS BLOG!!

This blog takes place in the forests and mountains of an undisclosed region that the little secluded town of Pineridge calls home. The stories shared here will be from the perspective of one ranger by the name of Henry, a man who has no idea what he’s in for when it comes to Pineridge.

…

Hi, so, this blog is going to be a lot of me making shit up on the fly with some planning beforehand! Just kind of a fun side thing that isn’t connected to any of my other blogs! Just a guy trying to do his job when shit keeps going sideways!

Anyways, welcome to Ranger Lodge One!

Likes and follows come from @espers-n-espurrs!

=====================

Blog Guidelines

Though both the blog runner and character are adults I will probably not be interacting with anything suggestive or NSFW.

Pelipper Mail/Malice: OFF

Musharna Mail/Malice: OFF

Magic Anons: OFF ➥ These things may be turned on in the future, but for now they will be remaining off to allow this to have more of an actual blog feel.

Mystery Gifts: Currently OFF

ANY kind of PKMN IRL blog can interact! Eeby Deebies, sapient/sentient pkmn, evil teams, canon characters, etc.

IN CHARACTER anon hate is fine! Keep in mind that I reserve the right to not answer all anon hate asks though! Especially if they are something I don't feel comfortable answering!

ASK TO TAG! Sometimes an important tag may slip my mind or I may not think of it so please do not be afraid to let me know!

HIGH STAKES! This blog will delve into high stakes territory at certain points! Be aware of this for your own comfort!

=====================

TAGS

#henry talks -> The man is posting!

#henry rbs -> What it says on the tin!

#askbox -> Answered asks!

#rotomblr #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #rotumblr #pokeblog rp

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evelhak · 1 month

Note

I’m curious about a few: Propinquity, Anem and Bitchberg (a great name, lol)

Well, you've already read about Bitchberg by now from the previous ask. :D

Lol, I actually winced a little when I saw you asked about "Propinquity" since it's the current working title of my Akashi centric fic, and I know you don't find him that interesting. It's still just a bunch of "notes" (=bits of monologue and dialogue that come to me and I have to write down so I won't forget). I haven't actively started this fic yet, since I can't really write multiple projects at the same time. I will probably have to finish another shorter fic after The Luminous Things, before I get to this one.

I know the opening lines, though:

Winning is like breathing. Sometimes I wake up, gasping for air, but my lungs seem to have fallen into a partial state of paralysis.

Or something fairly close to that. The idea has been in my head for a long time, because I really enjoy digging up ignored dimensions that kind of naturally follow from whatever is going on in canon.

There is of course one thing in this fic that could interest you: The main love interest is an OC. :) You know some things about Azumi already. Here's a snippet that will probably serve as her introduction in the fic:

I absolutely pretended to be the empress of this micro-utopia, growing up. Not because it was mine to conquer, or control. Because it was mine to know. To pick apart. Explore, taste, and merge with. A little pocket of wonder in this huge city, a bubble with its own rules. That's what I came to realise pretty soon, anyway. About the world. How different, how illogical and ultimately unsatisfying it was, compared to my shrine, my home, my own ecosystem, my island of undisturbed ground. It frustrates me that the rest of the world doesn't know how to do it. Live and let live. Give and take. Circle of life. A system that works. Because I was born into it. An heir to it. Happiness.

Micro-utopias are a huge element in my whole fic series as it progresses, and there are several kinds of them, Azumi's home life being its own example. Utopia is generally something I'm really interested to write about, especially because a lot of people claim you can't write interesting utopia without making it dystopia in the end, and I very much disagree with that, as people are always imperfect, so you don't need to add any intentionally awful circumstances for a story to have conflict, if you're writing believable people. For me, the key to what makes the most out of utopia is to centre it around whose utopia it is and why. This got slightly off topic, these are just themes I really like exploring and since my fics are my playground, I definitely use them for exploration of things I might want to write later in a more polished form in my original fiction.

The working title "Propinquity" came while I was writing a chapter in The Luminous Things where Kagami ends up lost in Kyoto (it's complicated) and spends the night in Azumi's place, where he has many enlightening conversations with Akashi. (Azumi and Akashi are already together in my main fic timeline, their own fic will cover how they got together, among other things.)

Here's a snippet from the chapter also titled "Propinquity", which I haven't yet posted anywhere, so things might still change a little, but for now, Akashi muses something like this in it:

"[Propinquity] is the central theme of this shrine. Things develop, and change, and prosper in propinquity. It rings true, doesn’t it? Right things, wrong things… so it really matters what you surround yourself with. It’s not enough to know and think. You have to see, and taste, and touch… A plant wouldn’t grow from the understanding that it needs water, if it never got it. It would still die from poison, no matter how informed it was. Azumi knew all of this, so bone deep. That’s why she was disappointed with the world. That’s why she retreated back to her paradise. I think that’s what caught my attention at first. How she had a physical place to go to when she needed to get away."

I probably would not have developed any need to write a story about Akashi's love life on my own. (Well, it's not all there is to it, but it is a how-they-get-together type of story). It was the influence of my ex, who's a big Akashi fan, and as I have probably said before, Azumi was originally her OC that we worked on together a lot. Eventually I grew attached to Akashi and Azumi together, and now I have my own version of the story.

I don't think I actually read any Akashi x OC fics myself, but my ex read them and complained about them, usually, and I picked up on two pretty common patterns, which I didn't want to do: I didn't want the OC to be 1) poor, or 2) have a similar family dynamic and childhood trauma as Akashi. This is because I wasn't interested in dealing with the power imbalance that tends to come with very different socioeconomic standing, and I also didn't want to write a relationship where people get stuck in validating each other's trauma, and it takes them a long time to grow beyond that phase because their relationship is centred around how similar their experiences are. I wanted to hit that sweet spot which I like the most, a relationship that centres around growth, having enough common ground, and being inspired by things about the other that you've never experienced before, or even believed really exists in the world. The kind of relationship that makes you feel that you want to fill your own gaps, and a key factor in that is the proximity, or, propinquity to a person you can rely on, because they don't have the same weaknesses as you. I just really love writing about people who are good influences to each other.

A lot of this fic will also be about dissociation and trauma. Yay.

Anem, then, is another original novel I've started multiple times without being completely satisfied. The premise is pretty classic religious cult + good girl/bad girl dynamic, or at least would seem like that in the beginning.

Here's how I seem to have described it on my website at some point:

Dina is a good girl. She picks up flowers every morning, to put on the altar of her family’s home. She’s chaste, she’s beautiful. She fears God. Semira is a “Wild One”, she rarely goes to church, she speaks out of turn. She could be beautiful, if her hair wasn’t so short. Dina doesn’t think it’s her job to save Semira. After all, if the Fathers don’t know how to help the girl, how could she? But Dina keeps ending up spending time with Semira anyway, and the more she does, the stronger the big black swirling something grows in her stomach. There’s clearly something very wrong about Semira. And there’s something wrong about the woods surrounding their isolated village. Dina knows she’s supposed to stay away, but Semira keeps going into the woods.

It has a lot bigger world and anything but clear-cut themes and dynamics, even though it may seem like that in the beginning... and it's one of those early projects that are sort of everything, because you're not good at narrowing it down yet. It's like a dystopian supernatural medieval fantasy horror philosophical cult story I wrote just to barf out everything I was thinking in my early years of studying theology. It's certainly a cult story, but is the cult the big bad or the world around it? It's certainly a queer story, but is it a love story or a hate story? It's certainly trying to say something, but what? No one knows, not even me. It's a big mess.

I'm also starting to feel like I'm dealing with every element and theme I have in this story, in some other story too, and coincidentally someone from my writing group actually just got a book published this year that has a strikingly similar setting and themes, (we both wrote them without knowing about each other) and even though it shouldn't, it does kind of add to my confusion to what to do with this story. I do still want to write it at some point, but it's a big question mark that sort of just pops up from below the surface every time I'm not actively thinking or writing about another project.

Some angsty pictures of Dina, also drawn in my early university years (Oh Lord how obvious my Arina Tanemura influences still were in the way I draw):

Yeah... at least they are accurately dramatic to the story.

Thanks for the ask. I hope there was something entertaining. <3

For anyone curious, here's the WIP list.

#wip game #propinquity #anem

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actionmemeplay · 9 months

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AMP-GUIDES: GETTING STARTED WITH RPing OCs IN THE RPC

Pointers for new or first-time OC players looking to get the ball rolling with writing original characters on Tumblr.

► First off: why make a post like this?

...Because original characters in the RPC (particularly ones who AREN'T fandom OCs, who instead belong to their own original universe) don't have the starting boost of having an existing fandom behind them. They don't set out already recognisable to other players, so it can sometimes be a little tougher to drum up engagement.

► Tip #1: Make your OC easy to know

Two things to keep in mind when trying to get an OC blog out there: 1: nobody knows your character except you. Ergo, 2: ...it's your number one objective to make your OC knowable and interesting to your hopefully-future-RP partners! People visiting your blog should have a way to quickly find out the basics of your character and what makes them tick. Keep in mind that having too much information can sometimes be as big of a roadblock to interaction as not having enough. Long bios documenting your OC's entire life-story can be useful to have around, but may be better to have in addition to a shorter and more succinct bio that neatly introduces the core concept of your muse. When you go hunting for a new book at the library or bookshop, do you dive into every book you pick up straight from page 1? Or do you check out the blurb first, to see if the plot even sounds interesting to you? Your muse doesn't need fancy powers or tragic backstory to be interesting, but regardless of if your OC is the plainest everyman or a secret superhero, you still have to let us see what makes it worth getting to know them. Make sure your pages contain the most basic of basics, such as name, gender (or just pronouns), age, and basic physical details, as well as where your muse comes from/what their world is like, a cursory introduction to their personality, and what they're up to at this point in their life. Establishing a setting and any goals can offer hooks for interactions with other muses. Other things that can be helpful are rundowns of their likes and dislikes, their positive/negative/neutral traits, and information on their strengths or weaknesses, or even the places you'd be most likely to find them.

► Tip #2: Consider visuals

Faceclaims, icons, and fancy graphics are NOT mandatory to finding your OC's niche and having a good time in the tumblr RPC...but they can be nice to have around, and some players feel they can connect easier to OCs when they have a visual aid to help visualise your character. Even if you don't plan on using icons, having just one good quality image for your OC's bio can go a long way. But again: it's optional, so don't sweat it too much.

► Tip #3: Shop around for fandoms with themes or settings similar to your OC's

Is your OC is from a fantasy background? Sci-fi? From a version of our own world? When you're getting started trying to find writing partners, you may find you're most likely to be successful reaching out to muses from canons that fit together well with what you're going for with your own OC. This doesn't mean you can't also shoot for cross-genre interactions, of course, but seeking out muses from fictional worlds similar to your own can be a good place to start.

► Tip #4: Showcase your OC in action

Even if you're not writing threads just yet, in-character posts, open starters or short drabbles can all be a good indicator for newcomers of how your character interacts with others and with the world. Remember: nobody knows your character yet, so something that gives others a hint of your character's vibe can be useful for sparking interest in them. Writing short headcanon posts can be used to the same effect, as they can be a helpful and fun way to both flesh our who your muse is as a person, and to introduce tidbits about your character that don't necessarily come up in a bio section...which can offer more interesting lore about your muse and help other players identify things your characters might either bond or bicker over.

► Tip #5: Don't forget about your fellow OCs

Don't be a stranger! If you know what a slog it can be to build traction for an OC blog then it makes sense to extend a little energy to your fellow OCs in the community. Take the time to check over other OC players' blogs, see if you might find their character interesting, or maybe even take a chance if you're on the fence...you can always unfollow later if you decide your play styles or your muses don't gel.

► Tip #6: Don't get discouraged

OCs can have a harder time in fandom heavy RPCs. It's just a natural expectation of not having the "brand recognition" and pre-existing affection that canon muses frequently do. Some OCs have an easier time taking off than others, but don't give up if yours comes up on a slow start. If you're passionate about your muse and are willing to be a little patient, you'll find your crowd! If you ARE struggling to find people to write with, maybe shop around different promo tags and fandoms, and audit your OC's pages again to make sure that there's enough to draw folks in and that you're selling what makes them unique and engaging. OCs can sometimes take a little more work than canon muses to get out there, but don't listen to anyone who tells you the RPC doesn't like OCs or that they can't be really successful out here. It's true that writing an OC often necessitates being the one to reach out first, but it's a rewarding experience, and you'll be surprised how many people will be enthusiastic to get to know your muse and will grow to love them in time.

#AMP original #roleplay how to #roleplay guides #not a meme #original characters #long post

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mollywog · 4 months

Text

When the Stars Align

From the Beginning | Part 6

He was pleasantly surprised to find Katniss already seated when he’d come down for breakfast the next day. It was a relief to know she did not intend to avoid him now that their initial encounter was over. So in the spirit of their tentative renewed friendship, he’d offered to escort her to the Abernathy’s.

Shortly after Lord Abernathy had taken Katniss and her sister under his care, Haymitch had married Hazelle, a widow and distant cousin of the Everdeens. With her came her four children, Gale, Rory, Vick, and Posy, soon followed by the arrival of two more children of their own.

He supposes that’s why the Abernathys are generous in their use of the term family. Peeta had been enfolded in their clan upon his introduction and treated no differently than his brother who’d never been half so at ease in their presence.

This morning the Everdeens, Hawthornes, and Abernathy’s had greeted him warmly with no trace of resentment. The younger children had occupied the first half hour catching him up on their last two years of accomplishments until Rory had asked of his travels and they’d all sat in rapt attention as he told slightly embellished tales of his adventures.

He’s missed this. He makes friends easily wherever he goes and has always had a gift for captivating an audience, but this is different and he revels in the glimpses of Katniss watching on with her scowls and knowing smirks.

After a while, when the twins have been relegated to the nursery and the older boys sent to the tailors, Peeta sits silently listening as the remaining ladies discuss plans for Primrose’s debut season.

“But what of you Peeta,” Prim interrupts his musings, “Is it not time to find you a wife?”

And so it begins, he thinks grimly, but before he can reply, Katniss cuts in, “leave him be, Primrose. He’s just returned home yesterday!”

He’s been dreading this line of inquiry. He’s tried very hard to turn his mind to marriage to no avail. He can’t picture feeling content with a woman sitting across the hearth from him unless it is Katniss and marrying her is an impossibility. It’s satisfying to find that she does not wish him settled so soon; they shall be allies on this front.

Regardless, He can’t resist an opportunity to tease,“is that a proposal Ms Everdeen? Young ladies have certainly become bolder since I was last in town.”

Posy giggles and Hazelle gives a tisk.

Another debutant might have blushed, but Prim shrugs his gallantry off, “certainly not, we’d never suit; We’re too similar, you and I, but perhaps I could introduce you about? Ms Cresta is due to call this morning and Rue Starling should be arriving in town any day. Then there’s Lady Glimmer -”

“Absolutely not!” Katniss interrupts.

Ignoring her sister, Prim looks at him expectantly and Peeta shrugs, “the Countess has spoken.”

“That’s enough Primrose,” Hazelle interjects, “his lordship will not require your assistance, he is remembered quite fondly by the ladies of town.”

Peeta gave her a quizzical look.

“Oh come now. You were always intriguing as Mr. Mellark, the charming and handsome artist, but now you’re Lord Bakerston, the eligible Earl,” Prim says.

“Am I no longer handsome?”

“That sort of thing is not necessary when there’s an earldom to consider. No, I’m certain you’ll never be in want of a dance partner, though I do hope you’ll consider saving a set for me.”

His smile is pinched as he shifts in his seat, taking an interest in adjusting the cuff at his left ankle, “I'm sorry to disappoint, but I’m afraid I no longer dance.”

He’s met with several pairs of incredulous stares. He shrugs in false levity, “I never much enjoyed it and now I fear I’m out of practice. I’ve resigned myself to the card players.”

He silently thanks little Laurel for her well timed entrance, with complaints of her brother’s antics to keep further questions at bay. Katniss seizes the opportunity to take their leave in the mayhem and they slip into the hall.

“What is this nonsense about not dancing?” He should have known she would not be so easily waylaid, “you always danced well with me.”

“One always enjoys a superior partner.”

She begins to protest when a shout comes from above. They whip their heads towards the sound in time to see eight year old Mitch, the future Lord of the manor, charging down the stairs in a manner quite unfit for the title, preceded by an orange ball of fur. Primrose’s cat, Buttercup, makes a dash down the stairs, through the hall, then in an unexpected move, turns towards the cracked door behind them. Caught off guard and unable to sidestep the beast, Peeta tumbles to the ground.

There’s an uncomfortable pull at his knee and a cracking sound followed by a feminine shriek. His eyes fly to Katniss; her face stricken as she stares. He follows her gaze all down to the unnatural angle of his leg just below his left knee.

#when the stars align #everlark fanfiction #regency AU #Regencylark #bridgerton inspired #fic update #wip

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momhwaissues · 14 days

Text

Losing My Religion

《Chapter one》

Pairing: Deranged Hongjoong x Too-Good-For-This-World Seonghwa

《 Summary 》

In which photography major Hongjoong worships the ground education major Seonghwa walks on, to the point of obsession; all goes well until Hongjoong crosses the point of no return... And Seonghwa wakes up in an unfamiliar bedroom

《 Chapter Warnings 》

kidnapping, mentions of violence, obsessive behavior, religious themes.

《 A/N 》

Proofreading and fixing this chapter took longer than I thought, but alas; this was a thread on Twitter that I decided to cross-post here and on AO3. Comments are always welcomed! Hope this little introduction sets the tone for what's to come.

THIS CHAPTER IS PART OF 18+ CONTENT, MINORS DNI

♱⋆ִ࣪𖤐♱𖤐⋆ִ࣪♱

Hongjoong wouldn't be caught dead admitting being wrong, but right now he had a feeling he may have fucked up. He stared at the man laying on his bed, features peaceful as sleep protected him from reality. He may have fucked up indeed. But Hongjoong knew that everything he did what was necessary, that things escalated quickly, and he needed to fix it somehow. Bringing the other to his apartment would probably buy him some time; not even his friends knew where he lived, let alone those vultures from campus

Seonghwa shifted in his sleep, only to feel a tug on his leg restricting his movements; he furrowed his brows, and a barely audible whine escaped his lips. Hongjoong could only stand there, staring, taking in every single detail of his skin, every movement of his body. Oh, how divine he looked like that.

He had no idea how many hours had passed, legs and back aching from standing still for so long, shivering from the night air. Startled by a particularly cold breeze, he realized how careless he had been, tucking Seonghwa in on his bed with nothing but his clothes and a thin sheet. He must be freezing there without a blanket!

Taking one from the wardrobe behind him, he inched closer to the bed, covering Seonghwa up as delicately as possible. Still leaning forward, towering above the older, he’s caught by surprise by the man starting to wake up.

His mind went a mile per second looking for ways to explain what exactly had happened, to justify the whole situation; it wasn’t his fault if that despicable man decided to invade Seonghwa’s room, his sanctuary. His Star was pure, divine; he held a light of his own, radiating warmth and managing to bring graces to the life of those around him. He wasn't supposed to be tainted by the mundane, corrupted by filthy hands and thoughts.

All Hongjoong could do was stare back as Seonghwa’s eyes started to focus, confusion painting his features at the foreign bed he found himself on. This wasn't his room? Or his date's room? At least he supposed it wasn’t, as the decor didn't match the man he went to the bar with. Has he had too much to drink? Had someone spiked his drink? He couldn't remember much of the date, memories blurring after he had met up with the man. But he could still feel the texture of his clothes on his body, so maybe nothing dangerous had happened.

Hongjoong waited patiently. Not that he had a choice, he could barely breathe standing so close to the man he'd trust his faith and soul to without a second thought. He wasn't worthy of being in his presence, but still there he was, in front of him, on his bed.

Seonghwa was his muse, his faith, his personal belief; for years he had watched him from afar, witnessing his miracles and graces. He was benevolent, never turning his back to those who needed him, even those who didn't know they did. And Hongjoong was his faithful sheep, never straying away, witnessing his every good deed, immortalizing them, praying at his images for his unconditional love.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize that the weather had dropped so much, I should have gotten you a blanket earlier" Seonghwa stared at him, still confused but at least less scared than he was before "It's okay, I'm not cold... but where am I?"

He tried to sit back against the headboard, and once again felt a tug on his leg; Had he injured his ankle somehow? "And I apologize, I can't remember much... what happened?"

The slight slurring on his voice made Hongjoong’s heart skip a beat; he looked even softer like this, washing away his worries. Seonghwa was ever calm, ever patient waiting for Hongjoong to answer. "I saw you at the bar a few hours ago, but I had a feeling you weren't safe; that person with you, he wanted to harm you! And I couldn't let it happen.” he felt anger bubbling again inside him at the mere memory of Seonghwa taking the man’s glass, looking completely out of it a while later. “The only place I could bring you safely was my apartment." Hongjoong lowered his head, avoiding his gaze.

His round eyes went wide at Hongjoong’s words, mixed feelings swirling inside his head. He had been fooled, once again. No person he ever got close seemed to care about him or his feelings; they either ghosted him, or got inexplicably wary around him, acting cold and avoidant. It didn't matter how much he offered to others, it never seemed to be good enough.

Tears started slowly streaming down his face, heart aching, and the sight twisted something inside Hongjoong’s own chest that he couldn’t quite name yet. The world didn't deserve Seonghwa. They would only play with his feelings and hurt him, despite his good nature. Only Hongjoong knew how glorious he really was.

Only Hongjoong deserved him.

"Hey, don't cry, it's all good now;” Hongjoong tried to look as reassuring as he could. “you're safe now, and won't ever have to see that bastard again." He was resolute in making sure of it; Seonghwa nodded back at him, drying his tears with the back of his hands. His eyes were still glistening, but he felt calmer, safer.

After that, Hongjoong managed to convince Seonghwa to sleep some more, saying he still looked a little out of it and promising he'd bring him something to eat as soon as he woke up again. Closing the bedroom door, he felt like he could finally breathe; everything worked out so easily in the end.

Grabbing a set of keys and a black face mask, he left the apartment, going down the stairs towards the building's boiling room; He had unfinished business to take care of.

♱⋆ִ࣪𖤐♱𖤐⋆ִ࣪♱

The place always irked him; too loud, humid and dark, as if straight out of a horror movie. But worse than the room, was the man unconscious on the floor. Being completely honest, Hongjoong had no idea how he managed to bring him there. It had happened before, being so enraged that his body acted on its own accord. He probably dragged the man through the service entry at the parking lot, the possibility of getting caught never crossing his mind. The lack of security on the building helped a lot in times like this. And if the guy ended up with a concussion or two, he couldn't care less.

It wasn't the first time he had to teach someone a lesson, to make them repent from trying to taint Seonghwa’s purity, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. More than anything he wished it could be, that others could come to their senses and see Seonghwa as the magnificent being that he was. The absurdity of their blindness instigated too much all at once: the protectiveness, the rage, the jealousy.

And once again the hour passed on a blur. The stranger was tied to a pipe, dangerously unconscious; he sported several bruises and burn marks through his broad back and naked torso. Not even fire would be enough to purify the man from his sinful intentions, but at least for now he had repented from his misstep.

He untied the sinner and pondered what to do next. Exiting through the same route he got in, he left the barely alive body on an alleyway several blocks from the building, a known spot for burglars and other criminals to reign free. Another perk of living on the least privileged side of the city.

With that nuisance taken care of, he took the time to get himself cleaned and to prepare something for Seonghwa to eat. He may not be the best cook, but his mother's special dish was one he was very proud of learning; his Star deserved something worthy of his appetite.

Seonghwa woke up to the rich smell of broth and the sound of the door opening. He still felt dizzy, but considerably less than earlier; he could now recognize the short man in front of him, someone he had seen many times around campus but never got the name of.

"Oh, did I make you wait for too long? I'm sorry, I had to fix some things before coming back. " Hongjoong almost looked wary, but he presumed it was simply worry for his well-being. The food looked delicious, and Seonghwa couldn't remember when was the last time he ate. He couldn't remember much at all. "Don't worry, I just woke up. I'm feeling a lot better too, only hungry." Hongjoong relaxed as Seonghwa seemed less scared than before, almost glad to see him again.

He was waiting for him, and that alone made everything worth it.

After eating, Hongjoong was persistent about him drinking at least the glass of water he brought. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was, throat burning and tongue dry. Now that most of his needs were satiated, Seonghwa felt light and floating, the horrible experience mainly forgotten for now. He could feel Hongjoong’s heavy gaze on him, waiting for something, or maybe to say something.

"I don't think you remember me, we used to go to the same school before college, the same classroom as well" He looked shy and hopeful, although odds were the man in front of him didn't; how could his Star remember him, know about his existence? He was an observer, a sideliner, a nobody.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure…" and he could feel a little bit of his heart breaking "Kim, right? Your last name, I mean."

The soft light from the table lamp reflected on Seonghwa’s golden skin, and there hasn't been a moment before that had looked more divine than now; Not when alone at the park during sunset, nor when peaceful asleep, illuminated by the full moon. Right now he looked holy, an angel from above so benevolent to the point of remembering his name.

"Yes! It's me!” He could barely contain the pure joy he felt. “I mean, sorry, I'm Hongjoong. Kim Hongjoong. " The way he stuttered may have made him embarrassed, but it was worth the melodious giggle that left Seonghwa’s lips. He once again looked peaceful, almost dozing off again, "Thank you, Kim Hongjoong, for taking care of me;” the movement of his eyelids slowly coming to a halt with each blink. “I'm really grateful you were there. My guardian angel."

As the world faded to black again and reality and dreams blended together, Seonghwa barely acknowledged the painful tug on his ankle as he tried to get more comfortable, or the distant voice whispering back to him "I've always been there my angel.”

Hongjoong couldn’t hold back the urge to finally feel him, a chaste kiss on his forehead.

“And I forever will be.”

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gloomstalkertav · 17 hours

Text

Summary: In which Zevlor and Tav arrive in Baldur's Gate, and spend 10,000 words not confessing how they feel (then 1,000 finally doing so).

Part 7 of 10

Warnings: Implied, non-graphic sexual situations

Word Count: ~11.1k

View story masterpost | Read on Ao3

Lakrissa is not wrong. The more of her peace offering Zevlor puts away, the lighter he finds his mood, and the swifter and easier his answers come. Alfira, too, is a world more cheerful, though she’s consumed little of her own pudding, too busy hastening in her new subject like a long-awaited guest.

“So, how did you get to the city? When did you get to the city? Before or after Tav? I mean, we left as soon as there was sunlight, same as she and the others did, but we made it to the Gate before them somehow. I never understood that.”

“Well, they were slower,” Zevlor explains between forkfuls of pudding. “There were more of them at that point. They had a great deal of equipment to carry. And they stopped to take out any regiments of cultists they met along the way.”

“But you weren’t with them?”

“No. I learned all that later. I left sometime after they did — joined a group of those unfortunates displaced by the cult’s attacks also heading for Baldur’s Gate. By the time I arrived, Tav and her party had already made quite a name for themselves.”

“Did you stay in the refugee camp in Rivington?”

But Alfira’s dubious tone convinces Zevlor she knows the answer.

“No,” he says with only the slightest wince. “I did not imagine a warm welcome waited for me there.”

He swallows the last mouthful of syrupy slice and reaches for his tankard. His hand is steadier now; the ale’s taste similarly improved. The complaints of his body quieted, Zevlor finds it possible to reflect on, rather than relive, that first day in Baldur's Gate: dragging himself, half-starved and wholly exhausted, through its southernmost district's overcrowded and inhospitable streets.

“In spite of everything,” he muses, “I couldn’t stand to sit idle. My only thought at the time was to make myself useful, somehow. But there was little I was fit to do. I had no trade experience, and I was in no state to join the border militia. There was the circus, of course, but” — he nods at Alfira’s notes - “I wasn’t sure who I might run into there. Still, I hadn't ruled it out. Then I spotted Ilmater’s temple.”

It was a poor replacement for the holy houses of Zevlor’s memory. The entire building, complete with single, modest bell tower, would have fit easily within one wing of Elturel’s High Hall. Tall, weedy purple flowers and presumptuous vines had overtaken its stone facade, toppled bricks huddled in piles just past its open entrance, and, once inside, odd pockets of sunlight cut through the reverent dim, courtesy of the roof’s missing slats. Zevlor, who had not felt properly warm since the heat he’d blithely cursed at the Emerald Grove, limped to one of these. The sound of his footsteps caught the attention of two temple attendants, seated at a table crowded with alchemical apparatus. They frowned at the sight of him.

“You’re too early for supper and too late for healing,” snapped one, some variety of elf. “Potions are doled out in the morning and soup’s distributed an hour before dusk until we run dry. First come, first served.”

All in all, an inauspicious introduction to the Crying God’s flock.

“Bill, please.” Wood scraped stone as the other robed attendant, a harassed-sounding dwarf, pushed back his chair and got to his feet, addressing Zevlor more politely: "Welcome to Ilmater's house, my friend. We are limited in our resources, but we’ll help however we can."

He cast a wary gaze up Zevlor, who supposed his own first impression left as much to be desired: hair unkempt, skin unwashed, his neglected armor filthy and rusting and hanging off him where hunger had eaten away any excess flesh. All that could be said for him was, in spite of his obvious infernal traits, he hardly looked a threat; except for the short sword tucked through his belt — Tav's, which Zevlor had refused to part with on the road for any sum of money no matter how hungry he'd become. He dropped his arms to his sides to obscure it, but it was not the weapon the dwarf wrinkled his brow at: it was Zevlor’s hands.

“Why, you're shaking fit to shatter, my friend. What ails you?”

A voice from behind him, high and quavery with age, spared Zevlor the trial of cobbling together an answer he did not have.

“Combat fatigue,” it sighed, and the halfling woman who matched it shuffled around Zevlor’s exhausted legs. She lifted her chin to look up at him and shook her head sadly, new lines erupting over her face’s well-established wrinkles. “All this bloody fighting, if you will excuse my language, spreads it like the plague, it does. Brother Clements, fetch some clean clothes from the spare box. Brother Bill, put the kettle on — a hot drink’s the thing. Do come through, sir, and we’ll see what the Broken God’s grace can do for you.”

“Little, as it turned out,” Zevlor sums up succinctly. “A health potion repaired the minor scrapes, and the drink did at least help me find my tongue enough to explain who I was, or had been. Whatever ailed my hands, however, was beyond the aid of magic or medicine. Sister Yannis could not heal the tremors. But she was kind enough to permit me a bunk in the temple infirmary in exchange for what labour I could provide.”

“You were lucky,” comments Alfira. “When we got here, the temple was refusing anyone any help at all. There had been a—”

“A murder, yes. The Sister explained. Apparently, it had done a number on the temple’s reputation. Even after it had been solved and services re-instated, Ilmater's regular followers were much slower to return than the refugees. The temple was overrun with demands for assistance. I believe that’s the main reason I was allowed to stay.”

Alfira cocks her head, a smile creeping up the side of her face like one of the temple's intrepid vines.

“And did the Sister tell you who solved the murder?”

“Of course.”

“That lovely horned lass,” explained the rector in her tremulous soprano, sliding a second bowl along the kitchen's scrubbed wood table after Zevlor’s hands had toppled the first. “You see her about regular in town, now, only I can’t remember the name. Tail like they’ve all got, though the horns were a bit smaller than most. Eyes were different too; very blue. Load of dark hair looked like it could eat the teeth off a comb. What was her name…”

Zevlor, navigating his spoon with a weak and wobbling fist, asked, “Might it have been Tav?” before gulping down what soup survived the shaky journey to his mouth. It tasted of potato, seasoned only by the name his tongue had not had an excuse to say for days.

A few of the wrinkles adorning Sister Yannis’ world-weary forehead unwound as she smiled.

“Oh, that’s the job! I expect you’ll know her, then?”

“Not all the tieflings in the Gate know each other, Sister, anymore than all the halflings or all the dwarves.” Brother Clements’ gentle admonishment drifted towards them as he sidled through a side door into the temple’s warm, sunlit kitchen. “That name’s appeared in every issue of the Mouth since she got here, and half the mouths in town, too. They say she and her camp are all that stand between us and that cult. They’ve set themselves up just beyond the hill. You’ll have seen her on your way in, I reckon?” the dwarf adds to Zevlor, tipping a bundle of clean, if well worn, robes the same dusty blue as his and the Sister’s onto the bench beside him, and avoiding Zevlor’s tail, which shivered in imitation of his hands as he replied ruefully:

“Something like that.”

“He wasn’t wrong, either. Tav’s local adventures made up most of the table-talk among the refugees who came for the temple’s daily meal. By the end of that first night, I’d heard at least a half-dozen fantastic rumours about what she and her companions had got up to in the tenday since they arrived: foiled a plot to blow up refugee children, discovered a ring of shape shifters, stopped a serial killer, killed a clown at the circus, who might also have been a shapeshifter or a cultist or both — accounts disagreed.”

Zevlor chuckles softly into his tankard, still held aloft — memories of struggling to transport similar pewter mugs and laden bowls to tables and benches inspiring a renewed appreciation for the reliable use of his hands.

“I wouldn’t have believed a word of it of anyone else,” he continued, “but it was Tav.”

But such paltry exploits of Tav’s are old news to Alfira. Her quillpen has ceased its frantic scratching and hovers, impatient, over her parchment.

“Right. So, when did you finally go see her?”

Zevlor raises his brows at the overeager bard.

“I didn’t.”

Not that the idea didn’t tempt him as, at long last, Zevlor eased himself onto his allotted infirmary bunk, horns tucked carefully around a stack of pillows and back giving glory to Ilmater for the blessing that was the lumpy goose-feather mattress beneath it. With such long-absent luxuries, sleep ought to have claimed him at once. But the knowledge Tav’s camp was less than a mile away, that he could reach it in minutes if he chose, fluttered in his chest like some trapped, winged insect he lacked the energy to squash flat.

Was she there now? What was she doing? Bedding down for the night herself, or refusing to rest, using the quiet hours to plan the downfall of cults and killers and false gods, instead? Zevlor closed his eyes, picturing Tav in the cast-off dress he’d seen so often at the grove, dark coils of hair loose and wild around her face as she bent her head to pore over notes by the light of a dying fire. And there, on the cusp of sleep, all the longing and regret the march to the Gate had held at bay welled up through the cracks in Zevlor’s resolve to keep himself, and the burden he'd become, from Tav. He envisioned scenarios, every bit as fantastic as the stories the refugees told: of wandering into her camp on some pretext — an apology for the way he had left? returning her sword, perhaps? — and her leaner face — or was she eating better now? — glancing up at him, the fire’s red embers illuminating her surprise and delight — or would it be disappointment and fury, at last? Had his unceremonious departure sealed the fate of their friendship, and whatever else it might have been, or could she still possibly want—

Only it did not matter what either of them wanted, Zevlor was cogent enough to remember the next day. The facts had not changed. He was no use to Tav, or her quest against the Absolute; nor was he worthy of her friendship, let alone anything else, anymore — truths driven repeatedly home with each successive dish and precious potion bottle his treacherous hands refused to hold.

Sister Yannis bore these almost hourly crashes with saintly understanding, but, by the end of his second day in Ilmater’s service, Zevlor had been relegated to less breakable, more menial tasks: he spent hours in the temple’s pitiful courtyards pulling up weeds and pulling down vines, washed an endless river of laundry, scrubbed tables and benches and swept and mopped floors twice daily soiled by an army of uncleaned hands and feet. And if any of it felt beneath him, Zevlor reminded himself of the bodies buried at Last Light. The humilities of domestic labour seemed a fitting penance, and the proper prison for his pride, and prevented him indulging further fantasies of Tav — at any rate, during the day.

Which meant he was entirely unprepared to enter the kitchen one late afternoon, a burlap sack of vegetables carefully hoisted in his arms, and hear her voice echoing up through the temple’s floor.

“… just hate to leave them there like that.”

“They’re dead! They don’t care!”

“Well, I care!”

Zevlor froze. The sack sagged in his arms. Unless he had gone abruptly mad — a possibility which could not be ruled out — he knew that voice, and the voice she argued with. And the third that interjected:

“We can always come back for them another day when we’ve got more time. Astarion’s right, it takes longer to prepare for an event like this than you might think, especially when you’ve been living rough for so long.”

“Thank you, gentlemen, I know exactly how long it takes to complete one’s toilette.”

The trap door set into the kitchen's floor banged open and Zevlor jumped, the sack tumbling from his slack arms with a series of squashy thuds. Potatoes and onions spilled from its burlap mouth and rolled across flagged stone. He barely noticed. He had eyes only for Tav: her wild, dark hair defying its plaits, pale tail swishing behind her as she hoisted herself from the ground, armor shining in the waning sunlight wafting through the kitchen windows as she clambered slowly to her feet, her face upturned to his, blue eyes impossibly wide…

“A day’s wage plus tips says she threw herself at you the second she saw you,” interrupts Lakrissa in a saccharine sing-song as she rips the privacy curtain aside and begins scooping up the pudding bowls.

Zevlor clicks his tongue in mock reproof.

“I’d take it easy on the wagers, Lakrissa. You’re on an unlucky streak, I’m afraid.”

Hands full of dishes, and calls for ale coming from the table behind her, Lakrissa can do no more than roll her eyes extravagantly and groan in disgust, “Ugh — you and Tav, honestly. Call me back you’ve got over yourselves, and we’re on to some proper action again,” before turning on her heel and flouncing away.

Alfira’s stretches out a colourful boot to kick the privacy curtain more fully closed — her only acknowledgement her partner was ever there — and asks, “You mean she wasn’t glad to see you?” in tones of such rapt attention, Zevlor isn’t sure whether or not to laugh. He sips his ale and waits for Lakrissa’s footsteps to fade back into the Elfsong’s ambient noise before admitting, “Well, not right away.”

“Odd, running into each other like this,” were Tav’s first words: cool and cutting in a way Zevlor had never heard directed at him, “considering how we parted last. You’ll remember that, of course.”

“Yes. Of-of course.”

Zevlor’s tongue tripped thickly over the words, his stomach plummeting as he made the shift from impossible dream to dreaded nightmare: Tav was here, before him, as he’d pictured more times than he liked to admit over the last few days, but her face was flat, her eyes dark and guarded as though curtains had been drawn behind cobalt stained glass. At her side, the pale elf, Astarion, let one hand drift to the hilt of a cruel-looking dagger, while behind them the Blade of Frontiers, arms occupied by a wrapped, bulky something wafting a fetid scent into the room, regarded Zevlor with undisguised consternation.

It hurt to look at them. Zevlor addressed his clumsy apology to the burlap sack at his feet instead.

“I … I am sorry for how we — how I left things. It was unconscionable of me to leave like that. I thought it for the best at the time, but…” He shook his head at the ground. “That’s no excuse. You deserved an explanation and a proper goodbye. You always gave one — but the once.” He chanced a glance at Tav. Her face might have been carved from wisteria marble. Cursing himself for the mess he was making of what should have been a simple admission of guilt, Zevlor fell back on the one feeble restitution he had: “I have your sword. I’ve kept it in … well, relatively good condition. I’ve meant to return it. I - I’ll get it for you.”

But he had not taken more than two cautious steps around the vegetable minefield when a wall of cool, unyielding mail hit his chest with enough force to knock him back against the kitchen table.

“Oh gods, it’s you. It is you. It’s really you,” Tav repeated in a voice as unsteady as Zevlor’s hands — currently trapped at his sides by her arms wrapped around him so tight he could feel every dip and groove of her armor. “I’m sorry, but I had to check. Gods, I was terrified … I thought she’d found you first,” and if her words meant nothing to Zevlor, the way she breathed them against his robe's high collar seemed to indicate she was not unhappy with him, which was all that mattered right now.

He had only seconds, however, to savour the relief of this realisation, and the warmth of Tav’s lips tantalisingly close to the skin of his throat, before she was pulling away, pelting him with rapid-fire questions as she anxiously inspected his face.

“But where did you go? I looked for you on the road and in the camps and couldn’t find anyone who’d seen you, I’ve been so worried. When did you get here?”

“Just a few days ago,” Zevlor managed to insert into her quick inhale before Tav was plunging on.

“And you've already joined the temple of Ilmater?”

“Not joined exactly, no. But the acting rector, Sister Yannis, has been kind enough to allow me to stay and help their order. They’re short-handed at present.”

“I suppose they would be after what happened. Oh, thank every god you weren’t here for all that!” Tav’s eyes darted towards the trapdoor, and a violent shudder rattled her armor. She touched Zevlor’s arm again as if reassuring herself he was still there, then drew a deep breath and continued, “But I’m glad the temple’s helping people again. I didn’t realise they’d been allowed.”

“Yes, well,” — the feel of her nails absently grazing his skin through the thin sleeve of his robe turned Zevlor’s head giddy and light — “I hear you’re to thank for that. Or, as the Sister put it, that lovely horned lass — I assumed you were who she meant.”

Tav laughed: an eruption of mirth far beyond what his weak, delirious flirtation deserved, and with a stale note threaded through it, that made Zevlor think it might have been some time since she'd last attempted the sound. He understood. He felt almost capable of smiling himself. For one sunlit moment, the past and every awful thing in it was a distant fever dream, dissipating in the light of Tav’s merry face beaming up at him and the bright, unbelievable joy of being together in Baldur’s Gate.

Then a door on the other side of the kitchen opened, and reality fell across them like a shadow.

“Ilmater’s patience, what’s happened? What’s all this?”

Alfira groans in abject disappointment and slumps back in her seat.

“It might have been worse,” Zevlor says, purposefully misinterpreting this display. “Nearly all the food was salvageable, and it was Brother Donnick who entered — he was the younger and more kindly of the temple’s two half-elves and, coincidentally, the one most fond of discussing Rivington’s resident heroes. So, he was thrilled to see Tav, and willing to forgive her any small sins such as distracting the temple’s kitchen hands before the supper rush. And, of course, when Tav discovered this , and the queue already lined up outside, and offered to stay and help,” — the over-invested bard makes a noise of approval and wriggles back up in her chair; Zevlor ignores this as well — “he was elated. Perhaps, the only one who was.”

Alfira’s excitement freezes on her face.

“Wait. You mean you weren’t?”

“Absolutely not. Saving peoples’ lives is one thing, but I draw the line at charitable good works.”

“Tav, you know I’d rather stay and help, but we really are pressed for time.”

“Then go,” was Tav’s answer to her companions’ protests, removing her fingerless gloves at them deliberately. “Drop Dribbles off at the circus on your way back to camp, then you can get started on whatever lengthy ablutions gentlemen need to prepare for posh events, and I’ll take my turn when I’m finished here.”

“Yes, that’s all very well for us, but what about you, Miss Nobody-Goes-Anywhere-Alone?”

“I’ll be fine,” Tav assured the petulant elf, throwing a glowing look at Zevlor. “I’m not alone.”

And Zevlor’s stomach roiled in delight and disquiet…

…which unlikely cocktail continued to ferment within him over the next few hours; prompting Brother Donnick to comment more than once on how ill he looked and wouldn’t he rather go have a quiet lie-down. Zevlor ought to have agreed; removed himself entirely from temptation. He did not think his will strong enough at present to resist further persuasions on Tav’s part to join her camp — the reason he assumed she had stayed — but nor could he bear to leave. His heart felt lighter, his hands steadier than they'd been since he arrived, at the familiar sight of her making the rounds through the refugees crowding the refectory, extending smiles and encouragements along with bowls of soup and mugs of mead. Better sense could not rip his eyes from her. Its only hope was time. By the stories told of her, and her companions’ complaints, it was obvious Tav had a world of more important things awaiting her attention. She surely could not put them off for long.

But the sunset peeking through the high, small windows and the gaps in the ceiling faded slowly to black, the soup ran out, and the sated refugees migrated from the temple in clumps and swathes, until only a handful of bodies lingered at tables nursing dregs of mead. And still Tav wandered among them, collecting dishes and carting them to the kitchen in careful stacks. It was on her way back from one of these trips she finally paused to catch Zevlor’s eyes. He dropped his at once to the rag he was running over an empty table, but he could already hear the telltale padding of her boots across the temple’s smooth stone. The table shifted under his hand as she leaned against it.

“You know, I must admit: this is not what I pictured you doing in Baldur’s Gate.”

Tav’s low murmur near his ear — and the thought of her picturing him doing anything at all — sent a frisson of pleasure singing down Zevlor’s spine. His tail strained against his robe, not made for tieflings, and the question was out of his mouth before he could think twice:

“What had you pictured?”

“Oh, I don’t know exactly.” Her nails tapped a thoughtful rhythm into the wood. “Combat training for the Watch, maybe? Knocking some order into the Flaming Fist? Or maybe I’m just not used to seeing you out of your armor.”

Her fingers stilled abruptly on the table, as if this last remark surprised even her. As Zevlor lifted his gaze, Tav swung hers over her shoulder, towards the pool at the temple’s centre. She spent a few seconds in presumed appreciation of its holy aesthetic before turning back, a flush the colour of thunderstorms still on her cheeks.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s worthwhile work. I wish I had more time for things like this — actually helping people, not just killing things. I just wouldn’t have thought you” — she met Zevlor’s eyes — “would enjoy a … quiet, temple life.”

Zevlor let the rag he was passing mindlessly across the tabletop rest. He glanced around. Brother Donnick was still in the kitchen and Brother Bill hovering near the temple’s entrance, clearing his throat pointedly at the last refugee to remain seated. Zevlor lowered his voice, nevertheless.

“To be honest, of the Triad, the Crying God was never the one I gave the most obeisance. There are no paladins of Ilmater. His followers abide by a strictly passive creed: forgiveness and mercy to all, even the worst of criminals, the cruellest of enemies. Never tenents that sat well with me.”

“So, this isn’t what you originally intended to do when you got to the city, then?”

“None of this is what I intended,” Zevlor admitted. Tav’s tail perked up behind her. He grimaced — the pain of disappointing her a twisted knife in his gut — and finished, “But I believe it is the best place for me now.”

Tav opened her mouth to speak, paused, then closed it again. With the room lit only by scattered tallow candles and the moonlight spilling from the holes overhead, Zevlor could not interpret her expression, but her tail drooped sadly. Her eyes wandered to the next table over. A mug, several bowls and a few spoons lay scattered across it. A jerk of her head towards them and a perfunctory twitch of her lips at Zevlor evidenced Tav’s intention; then, she was walking away. As she approached the other table, she passed through a pool of moonlight, and Zevlor was viscerally reminded of their last night in the forest together: the tentative plans he had dreamed up when he had been a more worthy person; when the possibility of a new life, perhaps even better than the one he had lost, had seemed within his grasp.

Melancholy filled Zevlor's veins. He felt like a battered cask of soured wine as he returned to the table and the rag, abruptly aware of the renewed trembling of his fingers, the sting at the base of his tail where stiff cloth rubbed sensitive skin. He bent his aching back to wipe down the chairs, suppressing his grimace when he heard Tav's footsteps padding back.

“You know,” she said, her voice higher-pitched than usual in her effort to sound light and off-hand, “my offer’s still good. You’re always welcome to join our camp. If you prefer to remain a pacifist now, we’ve got plenty of this sort of work that needs doing, too. We’ve collected so many new people, we’re overrun with chores — I don’t know how you always kept your camp so organised. I could certainly use an expert.”

Zevlor did his best to imitate Tav’s teasing tone —“You wouldn't want the help of an old, unreliable traitor,” — but even he could hear the bitterness that leaked through.

“Not especially, no,” she replied, her own sangfroid cracking. “I was thinking more the help of an experienced leader and a paladin.”

“I am neither of those things anymore.”

“Fine, then. A friend.”

The rag slipped between Zevlor’s suddenly quaking fingers. He snatched for it, hit a leg of the table instead, and the stack of dishes Tav had perched there while she talked toppled to the floor. The resultant clatter resonated through the temple like sparring swords on shields. Wincing at the noise, the humiliation, the strain on his aching bones as he got to his knees, Zevlor reached for the mug, and nearly knocked horns with Tav who had also stooped to help clean up. By the time they were both upright and the dishes — blessedly unbroken — spirited safely off to the kitchen by an indignantly muttering Brother Bill, Zevlor’s face was a bonfire of shame and frustration, but his voice was stronger, his resolve more firm than either had been since Tav arrived.

“Even if my will could be trusted, my body could not,” he told her. “I can barely hold a pen anymore, let alone a bow or a sword. You need allies you can rely on, with skills that will further your cause. You deserve—”

But what Tav deserved died on Zevlor's lips as she grabbed one of his trembling hands in hers. She brought it close to her face, examining it like a piece of faulty weaponry; apparently, unable to feel his racing pulse.

“Doesn’t this place have a healer?” she asked.

“Yes,” Zevlor managed after a few false starts, “but it isn’t Ilmater’s will to heal this affliction. Or so says Sister Yannis.” Tav raised an eyebrow at him; it matched the ironic twist of Zevlor’s lips. “She recommends reducing stress and maintaining a restful state of mind.”

Tav snorted biting laughter from her nose like dragonfire.

“Well, good thing the world’s not ending all around us, then.”

She dropped his hand but held his gaze; hers melting from sarcastic to thoughtful as she inspected Zevlor's face. He averted his eyes from her familiar intent, almost reverent stare; he would not let it derail him. At last, he heard her exhale — a slow, resigned sigh — and say more softly, “Zevlor, I’m not a healer, but … this last year … everything you’ve been through … I really do think it would be more concerning if you weren’t showing some signs of strain. You’ve endured enough to drive a lesser person mad. Maybe staying out of the fray for a bit isn’t such a bad idea. Maybe this is the right place for you. For now.”

Zevlor blinked, unseated. He had steeled himself for a verbal spar — more of Tav’s infuriatingly reasonable persuasions or inarguable rhetoric, not a meek concession. And certainly not for what she threw at him next:

"But, you wouldn't happen to know anything useful about fighting vampires?”

“Vampires,” Zevlor repeated, positive he had misheard, but—

“Vampires,” Tav confirmed. “I’m planning a … well, a siege, I suppose, or an invasion, of a vampire lord’s lair. You mentioned Elturel’s history with them in passing once. I know it was before your time, but I thought you might have some ideas for me. Something that could help me plan.”

Zevlor’s brain was slow to adjust to this new, entirely unforeseen track.

“What do vampires have to do with the Cult of the Absolute?” he asked.

Tav’s smile was small, but no less triumphant for it.

“That's a story best told over a drink.”

“Before you ask,” Zevlor interjects into his own reminiscence, “the drink was tea and the talk was purely business, with Brother Donnick as audience and chaperone. So, that’s all it was.”

“Oh for…” Alfira’s exclamation trails into an indignant huff. She grabs her tankard, swigs down ale, and stops just short of slamming it back to the table; then decides: “Lakrissa’s not far wrong about you two. I never imagined it took this long! And, for the record,” she adds with uncharacteristic venom, “I think you were being incredibly stupid. There was absolutely no good reason for you not to go with Tav. It was pure stubbornness.”

Zevlor regards his own dwindling ale supply with a sort of sheepish gloom.

“I won’t argue,” he says. “But I will warn you: that’s going to get worse before it gets any better.”

Alfira’s ochre eyes narrow.

“What is ‘worse’?”

The very question that kept Zevlor from sleep after Tav had finally left, with the ominous promise to him and a delighted Brother Donnick to return and help with the temple’s supper again the next chance she had. And what was worse: to see her, or not to see her? To tease his resolve with more encounters like this, or cut himself off from Tav completely?

Zevlor lifted his neck, snaked a hand behind his horns to unfasten his hair, then let his head fall back against the stacked pillows, and ran his calloused fingers across the fraying edges of the small, embroidered band. Tav’s — which, like her sword, she had given him without hesitation and had never asked him to return. It was her signature, her greatest gift and her fatal flaw, and what he loved most about her, he decided there in the honest dark: the way she gave of herself unreservedly to every lost and pointless cause. He clenched an impotent fist around her band. What wouldn’t he give to have anything to give her... But he was less than useless to Tav now. And which was crueller: to let himself drain even more of her time and resources and affection knowing he had absolutely nothing worthwhile to offer her in return, or end the companionship Tav clearly hoped to rekindle in one quick, if painful, stroke…

The night passed fitful and fruitless, and Zevlor still had no answer by the time he dragged himself from his bunk. But with a bit of luck, he decided as he slogged sleepily through the day’s chores, he would not have to choose anytime soon. Yesterday had surely been a once-off. Tav had the demands of a whole city on her shoulders. Whatever she promised, she couldn’t possibly carve out hours of her time to volunteer at Ilmater’s temple every day.

Had he been less exhausted, Zevlor might have remembered the goddess of luck had rarely been on his side.

The kitchen door swung open. The clatter and chatter of a supper in full swing drifted in from the refectory, then faded as the door was closed, replaced by the clicking of unfamiliar shoes. Zevlor took a moment to finish his painstaking ladling of soup into bowls before looking up — and was very glad he’d done so in that order. The spasm of white-hot shock, excitement, consternation, and pure, primal arousal that rattled from the base of his horns to the tip of his trapped tail would have capsized the entire laden tray.

Tav was almost unrecognisable. Almost. Beneath the upswept knot of sleek, raven hair and the colourful paints shading her lips and cheeks were cobalt eyes Zevlor would know anywhere; and parting the heavy length of embroidered purple velvet clinging to her frame were the bare, wisteria legs he had seen once before and would never forget. She swept past him on silver sandals whose ties crawled up her calves, unfastened a small reticule of matching embroidery from her skirt and deposited it on the kitchen’s scrubbed wood table, then turned and met Zevlor’s eyes. For one second of extraordinary hubris, he wondered if he was the reason for this glamorous transformation. But—

“Bloody Gortash’s coronation,” Tav grumbled as she slid the tray of bowls from under Zevlor’s shaking hands and marched for the door again in a cloud of heady perfume.

The full tale, however, had to wait until supper was finished and Tav settled in the kitchen helping Zevlor take his turn at the washing up. He did his very best to listen as she spoke. But even with the washbasin, then the table piled with dishes to be dried, kept safely between them, the sight of Tav’s bare legs — close enough he could make out the delicate pattern of infernal ridges decorating her knees and the exposed jut of her hips — had unlinked some important chain in Zevlor’s brain. His dilemma of the day was a distant, foreign land; Tav’s words, too, reached his ears as if from far away. By the end of her story, the only bits he had retained were that she and a few of her companions had attended the coronation of Baldur’s Gate’s first Archduke, and that among the man’s many, many hidden crimes was landing Karlach — Tav’s other tiefling friend — in Avernus.

“It took Wyll and I both to hold her back,” Tav concluded. “Literally. We took an arm each and dragged her out. And you’ve seen her — even in sensible shoes, that’s no easy task. I felt bad, but, honestly, there was no chance of us winning a fight. We’d no weapons, there were at least two of those Steel Watch monsters in the room, plus more at the exits. Not to mention the regular guard and a whole crowd of civilians.”

She added another bowl to her clean, dried stack and paused for Zevlor’s verdict.

“That’s good,” he murmured vaguely, eyes still on Tav’s lips — he did not know the name of the deep shade of red they were painted, but had grown to appreciate it over the last hour, nonetheless. Then her silence, and the words proceeding it, caught up to him. He cleared his throat roughly and corrected, “Good of you to keep her from causing an incident.”

“Well, I suppose that’s one upside to all this.” Tav gestured down her dress with the drying rag, drops of water marring the deep, plum velvet. “I don’t know that we could have kept her punching his smug face in if she weren’t ‘trussed up in a posh straitjacket’ as she put it.”

Her chirp of laughter did intriguing things to the bodice of her gown as she scooped up the stack of bowls and carried them across the kitchen to the open cupboard. Zevlor paused in drying a tin spoon to watch her walk away. His eyes wandered instinctively south of her swaying tail before darting back up, a rogue thought occurring.

“You must have had this commissioned,” he said out loud. “The dress.”

“What?” Tav stopped, bowls balanced in her arms, and glanced down, as if to check what she was wearing. “No, it’s ready-to-wear. Astarion picked it all out from a shop in town and did everyone’s alterations. Except the fitting for my tail. I did that myself. I’m getting rather good.” She gave a little proud half-twirl, demonstrating her tail’s range of motion — and introducing Zevlor to the backs of her thighs — then returned to the cupboard. “Mind you,” she said over her shoulder, “it cost nearly as much as bespoke, all told. Cleaned us out of almost half of everything I’ve saved.”

The silver laces of her sandals clung to her calves as Tav stretched to push bowls onto the topmost shelf. Zevlor’s fingers itched with envy. Something gave beneath them, and he looked down to find the tin spoon in his hand slightly bent. He set it aside in bemusement, picked up another and kept his eyes fixed firmly upon it as he remarked wryly, “I had no idea being a hero paid so well.”

“Better than you might think.” There was a hint of a smile in Tav’s voice. “But most of our current good fortune comes courtesy of one Arfur of Rivington. He graciously donated his entire estate, including his not insignificant coffers, to our cause soon after we arrived. I’m actually thinking of setting his house up as a sort of inn for refugees with families, get some of the children out of the tents before the cold comes. If I ever have a few days to work up a proper plan. In the meantime” — Zevlor heard more of the swish of her skirts and the click of her sandals heralding her return than he did of Tav’s words —“I like to think we’ve put his gold to better use, new clothes notwithstanding. Although…”

Her sudden hush ought to have been his first warning, but there was a fog around Zevlor’s mind. The only thing it felt currently worthy of note was that Tav’s body waited somewhere close behind him. It urged his eyes to find her. He fought them. Then the sound of her shoes resumed.

“I don’t know that you can really put a price on clothes that fit properly,” Tav continued, and the strange undercurrent to her casual prattle was Zevlor’s second unheeded sign. “It’s more a necessity than a luxury, especially for tieflings. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Of course,” he agreed absently, unwittingly sealing his fate.

“Good. Glad that’s settled then.”

Reason told Zevlor there was something strange about this response. But reason had been demoted to his brain’s reserve ranks; its frontline focused solely on following Tav's movements without looking up. She stood beside him now. He could smell the clean scent of her hair underneath the perfume, feel the soft velvet of her dress brush his arm as she reached for something on the table’s far side. Unidentifiable rattles and clinks won his eyes. He glanced at her hands. She was rifling through her embroidered reticule, producing a series of random objects: a miniature pair of scissors, a minute spool of purple thread, a folded patch of leather with what looked like two silver needles stuck through. And even were his mental faculties at full strength, it might still have taken Zevlor, untrained in any tailoring arts, a minute to interpret their purpose. As things stood, he was lost.

“Turn around,” Tav instructed.

Zevlor’s bewildered gaze climbed to her face. Cobalt excitement twinkled in her eyes, and triumph twitched playfully across her deep-red and enticing lips.

“Go on. Turn.” She illustrated the motion with a finger in case he’d forgotten how. “It won’t take long.”

“What won’t take long?” Zevlor croaked even as he shuffled obediently in place — his throat was strangely dry, his heart pounding; his body aware of what was about to happen before his brain could put it into words.

“Just a necessity.”

A split second of breathless anticipation passed. Then Tav’s shoes clicked forward once, her skirts swished as she sank to her knees, and Zevlor understood her intention at the same time he felt her warm hand just above the base of his tail…

“She didn’t!”

“She did.”

“But … she had to know what she was doing? She has a tail! She knows what that feels like!”

“Well, you must remember, Tav hadn’t known many tieflings. Knowledge you and I think of as implicit was still largely foreign to her then. She didn’t realise that can feel so...”

Stimulating. Agonising. An impossible marriage of bliss and torture. Tav’s fingers were quick, purposeful, careful not to linger as she measured out the hole she planned to cut. But Zevlor could not remember the last time such sensitive parts of him had been so gently touched. It was going to break him.

“Tav…” His voice was just shy of an open groan, his eyes on the verge of rolling back. “This is … this isn’t—”

“Zevlor, please.” And his name in Tav’s pleading voice made his already pressing problem impossibly harder. “You can’t keep this up. I could see it yesterday. It’s agony having your tail trapped like this, I know, and certainly not conducive to a restful mental state. And, really, it won’t take long at all, I swear. Like I said, I’m quite good at it now.”

No doubt Tav meant her dulcet babble to distract him from what she read as discomfort. She kept up a steady stream of it over minutes that dragged on like years, but her words might have been a different language for all Zevlor understood of them.

Fire blazed in his blood and pooled in his core; and when she parted the split fabric to let his tail spring through and her bare hand brushed his exposed skin, he was positive it would burn him both alive. How Tav did not feel it was beyond him. She was already stitching fabric back together beneath his tail, neglecting the placement of her hands in her haste, and even through a layer of starched cloth, ripples of molten pleasure coursed through him at every accidental touch. Zevlor gritted his sharp teeth against it. He tasted blood on his tongue. He let the pain ground him. He squeezed his eyes shut and sent up a slew of silent prayers to every god he’d ever known: Torm for strength, Tyr for courage, Ilmater for forbearance…

The rest of the ordeal passed in a blur. Afterwards, Zevlor wasn’t sure how he survived it; or how it had ended exactly, except that it definitely wasn’t how his imagination wanted: on his knees at Tav’s silver-lined feet, lips worshipping the flawless skin of her legs between entreaties for her to touch every other unworthy part of him, to fix everything else in his body that ached. Instead, he had a hazy impression of Tav’s satisfied smile, fading as she peered into his face, asking him if he felt ill. He thought he might have agreed. He hoped he’d said something in the way of thanks or at least farewell before fleeing, but couldn’t be sure. His next clear memory came as he lay, panting and spent, above blankets, his newly altered robes sticky and stained and his horns caught in the posts of his bunk, mortified at his lack of control and hoping against all hope Tav had left the temple before he’d cried her name.

It was another long night of wretched introspection. By the end of it, Zevlor’s body and soul felt as wrecked as if he’d done pitched battle. And looked it, too, if Sister Yannis’ reaction when he reported to the refectory for morning chores was an accurate mirror. Her wrinkled face erupted into worried lines. She had him crouch where she could feel his forehead, declared him fevered, and sent him straight back to the infirmary to rest — which suited Zevlor fine.

Because he knew his mission, now; and knew he was too weak to execute it without resorting to low tactics. But any soldier who thought warfare always honourable had never truly fought for their lives or the lives of those they loved. And Zevlor refused to let Tav waste any more of hers on him, whatever it cost him, whatever it took...

...be it a fever, or a pretense of one, that lasted that day into the next, and a request of Sister Yannis to inform any guests who might ask after him he was not to be disturbed; then, when he could not lie still a day longer, a strategic retreat outdoors, where he spent all waking hours — including the supper ones — at groundskeeping and where he had could watch Rivington's main road, and hide himself away again whenever he spied any dark-haired, blue-eyed tieflings headed the temple's way.

It pained him — a slow, sharp, nauseating throb, like a stab to the gut, and one that did not heal even as the days passed and Zevlor’s sightings of Tav became infrequent, then stopped altogether. Anxiety only built in the absence of these fleeting glimpses, like infection over an untreated wound. It was Brother Dannis, who followed accounts of Tav and her companions almost as religiously as the god he served, who eventually explained: Rivington’s resident heroes had moved house. Though they’d left some behind to maintain their camp, Tav and most of her companions had secured rooms in the lower city where the work was largely based place. And while this knowledge eased some of Zevlor’s worry after Tav’s wellbeing, it brought him no real peace. He wondered bleakly if anything ever would; if time would teach him to accept this tense, joyless, but necessary existence with better grace.

It did not. But it did bring, a tenday later, the 101st issue of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette.

“I remember that!” gasps Alfira, clapping a hand to her face — the first time her quill has stilled in full minutes. “I couldn’t believe it when I read it! I mean quite literally, I didn’t believe one word, but it was awful all the same. I thought she must have pissed off Estra Stir, or—”

“Enver Gortash,” Zevlor growls. “Retaliation for destroying his Steel Watch.”

“Ohh…” Comprehension blooms in Alfira’s voice. “I never put those two together … but that makes sense! Everyone just - just turned on her. Alan couldn’t even let her in the Elfsong that day, afraid of what it would do for business. She had to leave her friends and go back to their camp in Rivington. All of it sort of died away on its own after that final fight, but it was scary there for a while. I remember I was so upset people would think those things about her after all she'd done!”

Zevlor considers the beginning of that most pivotal day in his head: Brother Donnick, who’d hero-worshipped Tav for so long, quoting the article incessantly at him until he’d lost the run of himself and punched the half-elf in the jaw.

“So was I.”

He was exiled to groundswork again after that. Hardly a punishment — Zevlor was glad for an excuse to vent some of his righteous anger at something, even if it was only the temple’s tenacious vines.

The baseless accusations, the outright lies, the unfair and unexpected turning of an entire populace on those who had saved them… the parallels with Elturel disturbed him. And the thought of Tav out there, somewhere in the city, enduring the same injustices he had suffered shook Zevlor to his core. He tore bare-handed at the brambles climbing the idol of Ilmater guarding the temple’s front, hardly aware of their prickling thorns; hardly aware of anything — the dip of the sun into shadow, the evening breeze rippling the back of his hair, the slurry of footsteps and shouting from the street below him — until he heard a familiar whistle of air.

Zevlor ducked without thinking. Tall weeds and torn brambles hit his face. He disregarded them, his senses strained for signs of further projectiles. But all that came was a sickening splat, followed by a swell of hateful laughter. He pushed to his feet, hackles raised, and searched the buildings opposite, then the street below for evidence of attack…

…and found a nightmare come to life: Tav — slumped in the dirt at the centre of a jeering mob, one hand pressed to the side of her head, a river of bright red running through her fingers.

Panic wiped all thought from Zevlor’s mind. He was a creature of action and instinct. He leapt the temple railing, landed on his feet, and was running flat out down the road in the space of seconds, knocking gawkers and catcallers from his path. A strain in his throat, and the turn of startled heads, told him he was yelling, but whether it was words or a simple roar of rage he did not stop to discover. His unrestrained tail whipped shrieking faces and evaded grabbing hands as he pushed and shoved his way to the centre of the crowd.

Tav was still on the ground. She had struggled to her knees, but froze at the sight of Zevlor. A sign her wound would likely keep until they reached safety, he recognised, even if the red oozing down her cheek and into her gaping mouth made his stomach cramp. He forced it down. There would be time to assess the damage later. The next step was getting Tav away from danger.

He crouched at her side.

“Can you walk?” he asked, and, at her nod, threaded an arm under hers and slid her weight onto his shoulder to hoist her to her feet.

“And there’s another one!” called a harsh voice over the rabble's raucous din. “All these bleedin’ foulbloods, that’s where it all comes from! The Archduke should have ‘em—”

“Enough!” Zevlor’s bark was the sort to call down silence on a trained brigade. It stopped the grey-haired human mid-word, and cast an uneasy hush over his audience’s cheers. Faces flicked from curling horns to fiery pupils engulfed in infernal black sclera, and, for once, Zevlor was glad to watch their eyes all shift nervously away. “You should be ashamed of yourselves!" he snarled at them, letting his tail lash threateningly behind him for good measure. “Every person in this damned city owes this woman their lives. Now, get out of the way!”

He took one, unassailable step forward, and the mob all around broke ranks. His slower trek back up the road towards the temple, half-dragging, half-supporting Tav, went uncontested — by any of the hastily retreating bystanders. Tav herself maintained a litany of murmured protests all the time Zevlor limped her up the stone steps and into the refectory’s sheltered shade. He ignored her: easy enough to do while they walked. On reaching the infirmary and transferring Tav into the nearest wooden chair, however, she twisted in his arms and gripped his face in both hands, demanding his eyes.

“Zevlor.” She said his name like a reveille: loud and distinct. “Zevlor, I’m not hurt. I’m fine. Look,” and released one hand to run a finger through the red stain clotting on her cheek, then popped it into her mouth before announcing: “Tomato.”

In the quiet that echoed after the word, Zevlor realised he was panting. Hard. He inhaled, trying to force his lungs to accept air and his brain this new, important fact. Blood still pumping in his ears, he scanned Tav for other injuries they might both have missed and found only dirty scuffs on the knees of her armor and what was clearly, now he was looking properly, seedy pulp dripping down her neck.

She brushed a blob of this to the threadbare rug and prompted, “You could still fetch me a towel?”

A concrete task. Zevlor’s brain re-engaged, and he set off for a familiar cupboard, returning with two of the infirmary’s least ragged many-purpose cloths. Rather than placing them in Tav’s outstretched hand, however, he dragged another of the fireside chairs closer to her, sat, and, adrenaline still animating his limbs, mopped the mess from her shoulder himself. He caught the subtle widening of her eyes, but kept his own on her sticky armour; then the stained skin of her throat as his cloth climbed.

After a few laden seconds in which he could hear only his heartbeat, Tav ventured cautiously, “Are… are you alright?”

This question had far too many layers for Zevlor to consider them all right now. He opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say. What came out was a gruff accusation.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be going anywhere alone?”

Tav’s face crinkled, tomato juice diverting into laugh lines, as she chuffed mirthlessly.

“I appreciate your concern, but that danger has mostly passed. Orin’s gone underground since we ended the murder tribunal — there’s been no signs of assassins or shapeshifters for days. And now Gortash’s toy soldiers are broken, the streets are relatively safe.”

“And the angry mobs?”

“Have tomatoes.” When this failed to ease any of Zevlor's pinched grimace, she sighed. “And they're nothing I can't deal with. Actually, I’m an old hand at this part — the name-calling and fruit-flinging and the torches-and-pitchfork brigade. It happens everywhere I go. I’m used to it by now. It really doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!” Zevlor snapped, throwing down the sodden, red-stained rag. It took a supreme effort of will to rein in his simmering anger — but he could hardly take out on Tav fury he felt on her behalf. His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath, then repeated, “It matters,” with more restraint, “because it's wrong. You've done nothing to deserve this.” He began pulling slimes of tomato peel from Tav’s tangle of gathered hair, flinging them to the floor with disgust. “Not one of those people would be alive if it weren’t for you. For them to treat you like that is beyond shameful. And none of that mindless rabble would have dared face you on their own. Cowards, every one!

“What?” he interrupted himself, his hand stilling against Tav’s ear, as a smile — a genuine smile — glowed across her face.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head — very slightly so as not to dislodge his hand. “It’s just…” She raised one of her own and laid it tentatively on his. “Your hands. They’re quite steady now,” she explained.

It took a moment for Zevlor to understand, then to understand Tav was right. His eyes flicked from her smile to his hand. There was the knot of veins he knew well, the callouses and thorn-pricks to be expected, the long nails that needed cutting, dirt ground underneath. But it was so still and secure in itself, it might have belonged to someone else. And with Tav’s pale, stained fingers resting lightly atop it, Zevlor thought of the man’s it might have been: the one who had not failed his people, had not let them die, but led them here; who had crafted a life in Baldur’s Gate he could have been proud of; who had something to share with the woman holding her breath before him, waiting on him to speak.

Zevlor wet his lips, but no words came. Whatever temporary reprieve adrenaline may have allowed his better sense — and, apparently, his tremors — nothing of substance had changed. He still had nothing to offer Tav. And it would be an injustice worse than one tomato to let either of them forget it.

He slid his hand from under hers, all his righteous rage deflating. And with it, any idea of what to say next. Yet even from this, Tav rescued him. Her chair whispered across the rug as she stood and pushed it back.

“I should … get going,” she said, sounding suddenly terribly weary. “Thank you for your help. It was … I…”

She trailed away, abandoning the thought in favour of a last look at Zevlor, eyes full of some deep cobalt emotion he could not translate. Then, she turned for the infirmary door. But the thought of her traversing Rivington’s hostile streets, alone and distracted by exhaustion, was too much for Zevlor to bear. And it occurred to him in a last, purposeful surge, he did, in fact, have one thing to offer her the rest of Baldur’s Gate currently would not.

“Wait,” he called, rising from his chair and ignoring the chiding of his better sense. “Let me walk you to your camp. You’ll need someone watching your back.”

It was a short, uneventful, uncommunicative journey. Zevlor led Tav out one of the temple’s side-doors, through the iron gates into the adjacent grounds co-opted by the Circus of the Last Days, then along Rivington's fringes and into its low foothills where Tav and her companions had re-appropriated a ruined farm for their base camp. Lights flickered between the boarded windows of the few derelict buildings, and the fence showed signs of recent repair, but Zevlor still recognised the tops of colourful scrap-fabric tents spread across the low-cut grass. He thought of the last time he’d seen them with a wistful pang.

“I’d ask you to stay a bit,” said Tav, speaking for the first time since they’d left the temple. “Eat with us or something, but ... I assume you have things to attend to. You’ve been so busy lately. You never have time to see me when I stop by.”

It was a statement of fact, but she put it to him like a question, a plea to understand. And Zevlor found he, too, was desperate for a cleaner air between them. He turned to face her fully.

“Why do you come to the temple?” he asked.

“To see you,” she admitted, unabashed.

“What are you hoping to see?”

This question seemed to stymy Tav. She cocked her head, regarding Zevlor in confusion for a moment. Then said simply, “You. Just … you. I like seeing you.” And, when this answer furrowed Zevlor's brow, burst with unexpected passion: “Zevlor, I like you! How is that not obvious?! I like talking with you, being with you! Getting to see you is what I look forward to the most about every day!”

Tav’s face contorted, her tail twisting in knots behind her, in earnest entreaty for Zevlor to understand.

“You make me think and make me laugh and - and hope and make me feel better about everything that’s happening, all of this… mess.” She waved her hands frantically at the world around them. “Every single day is harder than the last one right now, and I’m trying very hard to put a brave face on it for everyone else and not complain, but, honestly, sometimes I feel I might drown in all the things, all the people, I’m responsible for. And at the end of the day, just seeing you, even just for a minute … it makes me feel like I can take whatever fate throws at me next.”

Her storm of vehemence abated as abruptly as it had begun. Tav’s arms collapsed, her tail fell limply to her ankles. She took a shaky breath, teeth worrying at the corner of her lip, before saying, more softly, “But the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable or … or bother you. If you don’t want me to come by the temple anymore, I’ll stop. Only… wasn’t I supposed to look you up when I got here?” she added with self-conscious humour, wrapping her arms around herself, presumably to stave off the cool evening breeze. "Didn't ... didn’t you say I had family at the Gate?”

“That was … before.” Zevlor shook his head, less in any disagreement than in sheer wonder at the confession his brain was still struggling to absorb. “I had planned … mrag, I don’t know what I planned,” he groaned explosively, running both hands over his face. It burned, like his wounded pride. But Tav's raw honesty had unlocked his. He spoke, fast and thoughtless, into his hands. "Before meeting you, I don’t think my plans ever made it as far as Baldur’s Gate. I had hopes for the others, but none for myself. All that mattered was getting them here. And then… you….” He looked up as he said it: even sticky and red-stained and smelling strongly of tomato, Tav was still every bit the picture of divine aid she had been when he’d first seen her, perhaps even more so now. “You appeared. You saved us all. You saved me. And for the first time, I truly believed I might make it here and accomplish something worthwhile. Perhaps even have something to offer you when you arrived. But nothing has gone the way I wanted. I have less than before. I am less now. I’m not just oathbroken and exiled, I’m a traitor” — he spat the word from his mouth like a curse, voice rising — “who led my own people to their deaths! They would revile you for associating with me. I have nothing for you! I—”

“But I don’t need anything from you!" And Tav’s in contrast was little more than a fragile whisper, poured directly from her lips onto Zevlor's as she closed the space between them, her fingers inching delicately up his clenched jaw. “I don't need you to give me anything! The only thing I ever wanted from you was you. I didn’t love you on potential or because of what I thought you might accomplish or become, I fell in love with you exactly as you were when I met you. As you are right now.”

From somewhere around them, distantly familiar voices called, but Zevlor could not guess at directions or names.

“Why?”

The word left him in a weightless murmur. Tav would not have heard it, nor Zevlor her response — “So many reasons,” — were her mouth not already pressed to his. He felt her thumbs stroking the ridges of his cheeks, but nothing else. Which did not concern him unduly. This was surely a dream. Tav’s words, her love, - gentle, un-demanding kiss, did not belong to the hell that was this world, but some heaven Zevlor no longer deserved. And if it was a dream, there was no harm in enjoying it. He could let his own lips reply. He could revel in the taste of her: clean and refreshing as cool water, with a hint of tomato that did not matter; like it did not matter that it had been so long since he had done this, he’d almost forgotten how; or that there were footsteps perilously close by and a voice he knew calling Tav’s name—

“Tav, is that — oh!”

Then her lips were gone, replaced by cold, empty air. Zevlor blinked, his eyes adjusting to a dark that felt blinding to his bleary eyes.

“Just-just a minute, Wyll. I’ll be there in-in just a minute,” came Tav’s breathless voice, and a succession of noises — murmured voices, a stifled laugh, a thwack of a hand hitting leather, a yelp, footsteps tromping swiftly away through grass — punctured the dream-like bubble cushioning Zevlor’s mind…

…and he was panting, inches from Tav as they stood huddled together at the entrance to her camp, three figures retreating back inside its fence; one, the Blade of Frontiers, threw Zevlor what looked like an apologetic grin before shutting the gate behind him with a click. A quick assessment of the last minutes informed Zevlor he had, in fact, kissed Tav, or let her kiss him, and it had been interrupted by what looked like half her camp. Before fear or reason or better sense or mortification or anything else could take hold of him, however, Tav was there to save him from them all.

“Look,” she murmured, speaking into Zevlor's face again, if not quite as intimately close as before, “this isn’t exactly how I hoped things would be in Baldur’s Gate either, but… they won’t be this way forever, will they? I mean, the world can’t be ending forever. Things will get better. We'll get better. And we don’t have to make any important decisions now. We can take things slow. We have plenty of time.”

Her words vibrated with the same nerve-soothing, spirit-bolstering note Zevlor remembered from so many occasions. As always, it ignited hope. And, abandoning his reason, he clung to it. Reason might lead him astray, he decided, but Tav would not.

“Meanwhile..." Tav's eyes, the only light in the darkness, fluttered to his lips again as she asked, “May I keep coming by the temple? To see you?” and Zevlor's own low voice rang with surprising conviction as he promised her, “Anything you want.”

The return journey — or what little of it Zevlor accomplished — went by in a daze. His body felt buoyant, unburdened. His back and knees barely existed at all, let alone offered any complaint. The pinprick lights of the city in the distance guided his feet to Rivington’s main road, and he had just stepped onto it, amused at the spring in his own step, when a voice drifted towards him from behind; very like Tav’s, only —

“Oh, and Zevlor? One last thing…”

— only there was something indefinably off about it. And about the cobalt eyes that glittered at Zevlor as he swivelled round. And the wisteria face that possessed all of Tav’s exact features, except he had never seen Tav wear that sort of sharp, smug, self-possessed smile…

“So, you knew who it was right away?”

“Well, obviously I didn't. I only knew it wasn't Tav. Who — or what, I suppose — she really was I didn't know until it was too late.”

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