#And we caved on the third time hanging out

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

After two weeks in the desert and nearly dying multiple times, you start to soften up- a tad, only after a drowning a guy.

[Part one]  [Ao3] [9] [Full Piece Here - It's Mine!]

10 * Fill'er [10k]

Suggestive themes + third base (NSFW) We don't care about safe sex or pregnancy! It ain't happenin' here, baby!

"You were oh so kind,

You thawed my heart of the ice,

Now get the fuck out of my mind."

The Sweetest Bone - Go Hang

        Day Eighteen.

        You rose from your mess of a bed, unfurling from Omni's cape that you'd been using as a blanket in the night. He'd yet to acknowledge the behavior and you hoped it'd stay that way. You didn't want him or anything of his, you wanted warmth. The comfortable familiarity of a blanket. The fire kept you warm enough but it was normalcy you craved.

        The GDA issue armor set was near complete on your body. Baldie found the top a few days back but you'd been too out of it to remember him putting it on you. The chest plate was left by the bed, ready whenever you needed it. You were lucid now, which was a relief to the boys, but a burden you were struggling to carry. 

        You couldn't stop thinking about it. The taste lingered in the back of your throat. The muscles that moved his body were now fueling yours. The empty stool no one had sat in since. The blood stain on your bed that Maskless couldn't get off with just water. The lack of his pinched voice and constant threat of wanting to kill you for being even mildly defiant. It wasn't grief or sadness, just a loss, a strange, hollowing thing to know he died and you lived, and you were only alive because you ate part of him. 

        You were able to speak and but chose not to as much as possible these last two days. You didn't trust yourself not to kill one of them and for the rest to tie you down, shut you up, and force feed you until they all died or somehow escaped the desert. You wanted them to die suffering and scared, but you also knew they were the only reason you were alive in this cool cave with food in your stomach. Again the murders were pushed back.

        You stop behind Maskless who is hunched over a swath of fabric scavenged from above. A sprawling map is laid before his hands, drawn with Emperor's fancy pen. Sections are lettered and numbered. The central piece of fabric was this very cave, with the immediate outliers listed as A with a number that must mean some degree north or south. They were all sewn together with scrap wire or loose threads, stitches hasty and puckered.

        "Where can I take a bath?" You ask him. You'd been down and out those starving days, but not deaf. You'd heard a few of them talk about it. Return from it looking slightly less like shit.

        He doesn't turn, good. You don't want to see Mark's face. You'd been doing a pretty good job avoiding looking at all of them this whole time.

        The pen stops moving on a quadrant labeled G60. Fingers hover over the fabric until they pause, come down on, "B-seventy." He goes back to mapping.

        You study the map a few minutes longer. Trying to understand which exit and subsequent turns would lead to B70. Then you remember. You pull out your phone, still largely charged from unuse, and snapped a photo. If you got lost, you'd look at the picture. Easy. You pick the entrance that looks like most B70-ish and walk toward it, flashlight prematurely flicked on. 

        "Where do you think you're going?" Scars says from his post, leaned against the wall, standing guard and watching. 

        "Out." You don't stop. 

        He's stepped in front of you, making you pause. "To where?"

        "What are you, my dad?" You hope the mention of a dad hurts him but his exposed eye doesn't glitter with malice or sadness. He's not moving so you hit him with, "Get out of my way."

        Your body swayed slightly, the dizziness easy enough to ignore. Now that you weren't actively dying or burnt out, your powers were more evened out. Lucky for you, they were working as usual, and he moved out of your way and does not chase. You knew he wouldn't hold long but it was about control with him, and you'd taken it, if only for a second. 

        Five steps later, there was another Mark in front of you. You hadn't even made it out of the main cavern yet. "You're not going anywhere unaccompanied."

        Omni, up from bed. Beard thick and speckled with gray. You'd found his salt and pepper hair on your side of the bed despite your efforts to uphold boundaries. You would put things between you when you slept, the chestplate, a rock, anything you could find, but he found his way back to your side. Such a huge man but you never sensed the shared garbage cot move, waking up with your back pressed to his.

        You side step him silently, hoping your rejection was enough, but he continued, "I will gladly-"

        "No." You were depressed but not stupid. He'd been sizing you up ever since he got back. Something shifted in him up there, and you weren't ready to be alone with the guy. You didn't sense any ill-intent and that made you nervous. You wanted him off your back almost as much as Scars.

        You pulled the knife out of the GDA belt, pinched the blade between your fingers, and held it out to him. "You look like shit, shave."

        He took the knife and moves a step before stopping with a frown. "Don't do that."

        "Leave me alone."

        He doesn't budge. He's tense, like hard muscle could stop your power, sadly it seemed to work. "I understand you do not want my company. I respect that, however," he turned, scanning for someone not busy sleeping or drawing maps or making more water basins, "Hey, Seven." He didn't trust the little fucker far as he could throw him, but morale and productivity needed to stay high- and Seven was doing jack.

        Lensless lifted his head from the jerky he was gnawing on. Omni jerked his head, and he came over. A piece stuck out between his lips, wriggling while he chewed. "Yeah?" 

        "Stay with (Y/n)," Omni said.

        "Go sit down." You try.

        Lensless, apparently the seventh variant Angstrom Levy recruited into his ranks, trotted back to his stool. Sat. Got up again when Omni said, "Get over here."

        The control snapped, the deed done, you hadn't been specific enough. Lensless came back.

        Omni turned to you, "We can go back and forth all day or you can go bathe." There was an implied 'Or I help,' he didn't say.

        The thought of any of them holding your body naked in the water made you rethink sending Lensless back. But you don't want Omni to think he's won. So you let Lensless come before saying, "Fine. We'll go but you? Shave." You didn't particularly care how he looked just that he looked freakishly like Nolan. Brought back too many memories of meeting Mark's parents over dinner. 

        Omni frowns. "Your trick will not work on me, but I will respect your wishes. Thank you." He watches as you go, using your phone as a guide. Lensless nipping at your heels. He didn't like it, but he would respect that you didn't want him in particular around. He'd knew he'd find a way to change your mind.

        He found Tracksuit sleeping against a stalactite. Gray had finished more of the cots, lining the wall by the fire, but he hadn't gotten one yet.

        "Hey." Omni gently knocked the mans leg with his boot.

        Tracksuit stirred, mask shifting as his head bobbed. "What?"

        Omni pointed down the cave you'd just disappeared into. "Follow them." He assumes Tracksuit would concentrate, force his ears to pick up the joint footsteps and one-sided conversation. 

        Instead, the yellow of his lenses flashes in the pale moonlight as he scoffs, "Fuck off." His head nodded back down and he was asleep.

        He searched for others to follow you. Maskless was busy and uncaring. Scars scoffed, clearly feeling rejected. Phantom was gone, exploring off on his own. As were Gray and Mohawk in separate quadrants. The only variant that would cooperate was Baldie, who shot up from sleep in a panic when he heard. He was down the cave in a blink. 

        Omni leaned over the still water and held the knife to his cheek.

        ***

        "I said, turn around." The fourth fucking time. Why did Omni choose this stupid, perverted little fucker?

        He does, shoulder shaking as he says to himself, "Boobies."

        You slide deeper into the water. Pool waist deep. Water tepid, the room lit by your phone flashlight pointed at the ceiling. Underclothes in the water with you to be squeezed and scrubbed after you were done with your body. It took an hour to find the place on the map and Lensless was no help. 

        You were trying, really, you were, but the sand was everywhere and you could barely get a good scrub in before Lensless was turning around again to stare.

        You pressed your body to the edge of the pool, where he could only see your head and shoulders.

        "Are you always this creepy?" You spit at him because using your power so many times today was starting to make you dizzy. 

        "Pretty much." He says. "I'll stop if you use your powers on me again."

        "Yeah, for five fucking seconds." 

        He clasped his hands together, batting his lashes, "One more time? I promise I'll stay this time." 

        "Freak." You said before dipping your whole head under. Hearing him talk through water but not being able to understand was pure bliss.

        Your head barely broke the surface tension before knocking into Lesless's nose. He was on his hands and knees, peaking over the ledge, smiling big. "Will you use 'em now?"

        You start a, "Back o-" then you see it. The bulge pressing against his thighs, not even trying to hide it. You push away from the side. Legs pressed together, arms crossed over chest. "What the fuck is wrong with you, like actually?"

        "A lot of things." He chirped. Fingers leaving the edge to touch the gently rippling water. "You, mostly."

        You warred between using your powers, giving him what he wanted and feeling violated, or not using your powers and still feeling tread on. In the low gravity of the water, you crawled backwards to the opposite edge of the pool. "I'm not your dead girlfriend."

        "I know." His hand sinks into the water, then his wrist, then his elbow until his whole arm is in the pool. "Because you're meant for me." His ass in the air as the other enters the pool, prowling into the water like a leopard. "Before this, everything was so... boring, so normal. I couldn't figure out what was off." His torso kissed the surface as his legs slid in, crawling slowly through the water towards you. "I was a superhero, I had the girl, I had the friends, the life, and then-"

        The taser was at the other end of the pool, it'd do nothing but it'd feel good to use it on him. "Back up, I'm serious." 

        "Then Dad killed you and I killed him right back." Lensless was halfway across the pool now, not even listening to your threats. He moved purposefully slow, every roll of the muscles under his tight suit a warning he wanted you to see. "I didn't disagree with him or even hate him. I loved my Dad but killing him was so much fun, I couldn't just stop. When the Viltrumites came, they said I killed too much of the population to make Earth a viable breeding camp, but things still worked out for me in the end. Cuz now I'm here, with you, and you get it." He was closing in now. 

        Forcing you to pick between staying in the water with him or to get out and expose yourself. Either way, he had you where he wanted you. "Another inch closer and I'll fucking kill you."

        He paused, hand poised to grab your ankle. Already shit-eating grin spread further, "You better stop me then." You swallow, gathering power in your throat, as much as you could muster. His hand passes over your ankle, angling to take you by the meat of your thigh. "Or do you not want me to?"

        "Drown."

        His head went under. At first, you thought he was unaffected, head floating toward your legs but when you moved out of the way he didn't shift to follow. He sunk to the bottom, face down. You pulled yourself out of the pool, limbs heavy with the sudden drain. Blood dripped out of your nose. Still, Lensless did not resurface. 

        You knelt by the poolside, nakedly air drying for a few minutes. Wringing out your solider underclothes, agitating them against the rock to get out as many stains as you could. When it was done, Lensless was still unmoving in the water. 

        You put the armor back on. Underclothes slung over shoulder. No way were you putting on wet cotton and covering it with the unbreathing material. You grabbed your phone and left Lensless's body in the dark.

        You catch him because he wanted to be caught. Baldie not quite hiding behind a pillar of rock on your way back to the main cave.

        "I can see you." You tell him.        

        He swings out. "Sorry, Three told me to follow you guys."

        Your brows knit a moment then remember the numbers Angstrom had given them. "Of course he did. You see any of that?"

        "Enough to want Seven dead just as much as you." 

        Your eyes narrow, "You saw me naked?" 

        "No, I was only listening. Was going to jump in but then you..." His gait pauses. "Did you hear that?"

        You take two more steps before stopping, "No?"

        Baldie's head whips left, then right. "Really? You- you don't?"

        "I don't have super hearing." You say. "What is it?"

        "What does super hearing have to do with it? It's right there." His hand goes up to the low ceiling, touches bare fingers to rock. Soon as he touched the cool surface, he paused. "Oh," and started walking again. Distraction forgotten.

        You had to trot to keep up with him, now power walking, "What was that?"

        "Nothing," he waves you off, "nothing, just sand moving above us, I think."

        "You think?"

        "I'm not used to being around so many living, moving things at once." He says, looking dead ahead, not at you, anywhere but you, "It still surprises me sometimes. I can hear your heart beating and I don't believe it. I-" His head snaps to the side, ear up. "Come on." He takes your hand and speed navigates you out of the caves. Not quick enough to be in danger, but fast enough for you to ask questions. Questions he does not answer. 

        You're dropped off in the main room, sat atop your cot. Phone flashlight still glowing in your hand, he wouldn't look at you before turning and rising out of the porthole entrance into the dim, early evening. He looked every which way, brow furrowed before flying off to investigate. The others gathered below.

        "Is that guy okay?" Tracksuit said. 

        "I don't know." You switched off your phone and stuffed it into your pocket. "He just started acting weird."

        "It is uncommon for a Viltrumite to be found in our own prisons." Gray swept the rock debris off his kilt. A new basin freshly carved in front of him. "But it is always a good opportunity to test experimental medicines and procedures on them until they wither away." He left out a detail, that despite the Viltrumite resistance to age and diseases, the prisoners never lasted long.

        Tracksuit ran a hand through his greasy hair, "Jesus. He's gotta be buttfuck crazy." 

        Your lips twist, and you think of saying he's better than the rest of them before remembering how he let them force-feed you man meat. Who gave a shit if he was nice to you- he was Mark Grayson.

        "Thank you for letting me borrow this." His voice pulls your eyes and mind away from Baldie. Omni held the knife out to you, handle first. Beard gone but stubble still peaked through his skin. Most black, some gray. The knife was made for throat slitting, not shaving. 

         "Sure." You reach out only for the blade to be snatched away.

        "Watch it." Omni snaps, the edge nearly swiping your chestplate as it passed by.

        "Mind if I borrow this?" Mohawk said, already holding the knife. "My shit's been growing." He zipped by the poolside. Knife edge pressed to the grown-out buzzcut around his mohawk. 

        "Give it back." You hiss without power. Everything you had left was used on keeping Lensless's eyes off you, then killing him. 

        Mohawk swiped the blade down his scalp, leaving an even trail, he'd done this before. Hair fell to the dark shoulders of his suit. "Nah."

        Another swipe and Omni stepped in front of you, "She said-"

        "Dude, she definitely doesn't want your help." Another swipe and the right side of his head was shaved down clean. You hated that he was right. You were quite literally just about to tell Omni to piss off. He looks at you through dark lenses, lips pulled taught. Waiting for you to say it. Mohawk doesn't look but wiggles around knowing there's drama afoot, the pot-stirring fuck. 

        "I swear to God, Mohawk." You point at his back as more fuzz falls away. "Give me that back or-"

        The knife sweeps his hair one last time. When he turns he is clean shaven, mohawk seeming perkier with the shorter buzz around it. "What did you just call me?" His tone is mischievous, eyes dancing. That look paired with a knife brought back bad memories.

        Omni moves in front of you but you walk around him. "Give it."

        Mohawk sticks out the blade, edge first. If you wanted the handle, you'd have to take his hand. You take it by the blade, let it sink into the cut-proof material of the GDA gloves. A frown flickers as his grip falls away. You turn to sit by the fire Maskless was building. He didn't need it whatsoever but the chores had begun to naturally fall onto whoever got back to camp first. He could stand to freeze for days but in truth, he liked the warmth and light, it made him feel a little more human.

        Mohawk followed as you set your wet underclothes to hang over a rock, "Wait, say it again."

        "I didn't say anything." You plopped down on a stool on the opposite side of the fire. If you sat on the cot he'd make some gross innuendo and try to lick you or smell you or some other freaky alien thing. 

        Mohawk sat himself on the damp ground at your feet. Scooted close as he could to the stool, shoulder centimeters away from touching yours. Fine with his ass being cold as long as he was beside you. "You heard her call me that too, right?" He asked Maskless.

        Maskless let the fire crack. "I wasn't listening."

        "Bullshit, you have super hearing like the rest of us."

        "I was trying to ignore you guys." Maskless sat himself across the fire. Staring into it thinking about the color of William's eyes and the heat of his naked skin.

        Mohawk chuffed out his nose. "Okay, you hate fun, got it." He turned back to you, firelight accentuating his wide smile. "You've got'a nickname for me, huh? Not very creative but I can let it slide." 

        "It's not a nickname." You say. Head following Baldie as he returned from the surface. Tense but calm. He sat by the waters edge. Unwilling to look at anything else but his reflection.

        Tracksuit flops onto a seat a few stools down. "It's a nickname."

        Mohawk's head snapped to him, flirty stupidity suddenly gone off his face, "None of your business, dipshit."

        Tracksuit held up his hands in mock surrender, "Super hearing like you said, guy."

        Mohawk unwound, legs sprawled out in front of him, arms behind him to lean on, "You agree then?" 

        "I mean, yeah." Tracksuit paused as his stomach growled. "Ugh, I just sat-" Omni was above ground and back in a blink. He held out a piece of jerky to him with something like a smile. "Thanks, man." He bit into the meat, holding his veil off to the side. Tracksuit gave in the same day you did, because Baldie did too and he couldn't be the only non-cannibal. Said it felt like bad juju. The worst juju was him enjoying the meat because whatever Gray did to cook the stuff beat anything he'd had from the grocery store.

        Omni took the chance to sit on the stool closest to you, opposite Mohawk. "What do you think of me as?" The question was silly, stupid, but he sounded so serious saying it, you almost laugh.

        You point to his chest, the color combo that was iconic in your reality.

        "Isn't it obvious?" You said with little bite. Killing Lensless had left you in a better mood.

        His face fell as he said, "Omni Man."

        Jesus, he looked so sad at the thought. You wondered if his Omni Man also beat the shit out of him, if he won that fight unlike your Mark. "Just Omni." You corrected, "You're not your dad." That makes his face a little less depressing to look at.

        "Babe, Omni-Mark is right there." Mohawk says. "Oh my God, did you go by that?"

        "No," Omni says, "I kept the name Invincible."

        Mohawk rolls his eyes but concedes, "Invincible is a cool name."

        Scars doesn't move off the wall. "What do you call me?" 

        "Dickhead." You lied. 

        "Heartbeat picked up, you're lying." 

        Phantom comes down from the roof entrance, holding two slices of jerky. One is for you, you know it is. He always seemed to be the one to feed you, but without force. None of them had tried since the first time. You didn't want a repeat, so you'd eat in small bites once a day. You tried not to look at the meat in his hand, though your stomach was empty and aching. You weren't desperate enough to cave. Yet.

        He notices, slipping the extra slice into his suit to be held onto for awhile. He sat on the stool second closest by your side. Rolled up the bottom of his mask, unveiling sweat-slicked skin with longer stubble than you remembered. Lips parted to bite into the jerky when the knife is pulled from your belt.

        "Need to take care'a that?" Mohawk pulls the blade off your waist and holds it out to Phantom. You were happy about the distraction from Scars so you didn't bite. 

        You feel Phantom's eyes slide to you for approval. You sneer. "Fine, whatever, too many of you have touched it now. I don't want it anymore." Mohawk laughed but Phantom didn't smile. He took the knife only because it retained some of your body heat. 

        Tracksuit swallowed a thick wad of jerky, "Whadda'bout me? Shiesty, right?" He didn't particularly care in earnest, but this conversation was leagues better than the nights of contemplative silence he endured while you were on strike and refusing to talk to anyone. 

        "What the fuck is a shiesty?" You said.

        He tugged on the blue sheet on his face, "My mask, duh."

        "Oh. Huh. I've never heard that. I just call you Tracksuit." You gesture to the very bright and very obvious outfit.

        "Tracksuit." He sounded offended, deeply. "That's fuckin' dumb."

        You shrug, "Can't call all of you Mark in my head."

        "So who do you call Mark?" Mohawk leaned his head to rest on the side of your shoulder. Snickering when you leaned away. All this was a push-pull game of hard-to-get to him.

        "None of you." Hangs in the air. "Too weird."

        Mohawk leaned even further into your personal space, almost laying his head on your lap. "Come on, tell us what happened between you guys."

        "None of your business." You push off the stool to get out of his range, knocking into Gray's boots, who you hadn't even realized was standing guard beside you. Looking down at Mohawk like shit under his shoe.

        "You're Gray." You say to change to subject.

        Gray's hands, perpetually laced behind his back, unfurl so he can point a finger to his own chest. "Me?"

        "Like Grayson, duh." When you look back, Mohawk is back where he started, trying to lure you back onto the stool with his distance. Just so he could invade your space again.

        "I guess, but it's mostly the outfit." You only settle back on the cut rock because the way Gray is looking down at you, so intensely, is starting to get uncomfortable. To crack the pressure, you add, "It's not a bad look."        

        His face does something weird. Shifts. Smiles. Eyes gone soft, cheeks a tinge of pink. "You like my uniform?"

        "I didn't say that." You lean back onto your palms. Feeling a little warm in the face yourself. Mark Grayson smiling at you, blushing because of you. Brought back nostalgic feelings, good ones, then bitter ones. You don't look at him or his charming smile again.

        "You're Maskless." You say to the man who looked like he couldn't care less. Then your gaze rolls onto, "Phantom."

        "What!?" Mohawk barks, "Why does he get the cool name!?" 

        "Because he kept his mouth shut when we met." You say. "Snuck up on me way easier than you getting up in my face with the 'babe this, babe that' bullshit." 

        "Babe-" 

        "Exactly."

        Phantom made himself swallow. Not one to look stupid while being clearly flirted with. His smile was more a shift in the shadows on his face than Gray's.

        "I like it." The lack of modulator left his voice sounding raw, scratchy, but stronger than it'd been when you'd first arrived.

        Mohawk pointed like a child seeing someone slightly outside the norm, "You can actually fucking talk?" 

        Phantom did not dignify that with a response. 

        You knew Scars was behind you because so many of them tensed. "Are you avoiding me on purpose because you call me Sexy?" 

        "How about walking jail sentence?" You shoot back. 

        "You're avoiding the question." Scars breath wafted past your ear. His cape fallen onto your shoulder as he leaned over you. The flesh on the back of your neck prickled. Mohawk's knuckles crack, already forgetting that this place was fragile. Walls couldn't be broken in stupid fights willy-nilly.

        "Scars." You answer quieter than you meant to, and you know he's moving as Mohawk's eyes follow him. 

        "Scars?" He walks around the front of you, assessing your face for the truth he can hear in your heart. A wicked, knowing, deeply wanting grin stretched his face. "Good choice." The words were slick with desire, spoken like a dirty little secret. It felt like one to you, the way he talked about the bombs dropped on his head, the cheek-kiss of getting his face partly blown off. 

        Your leg shoots between his, kicking his loose cape into the fire. Sadly, it doesn't catch. "Hurting me was never that easy, my dear." He tuts. Slinking back to shadows like the creep he was, sporting a semi.

        "Fucking-" Tracksuit shook his head, like even he felt violated. "-Guy, man."

        "What about me?" Baldie said, fingers idling in the pool.

        You feel instantly shitty. He'd been better to you than most of these animals who'd laugh if they heard the name. He'd let you become a cannibal. He'd saved your life from Swimcap. You couldn't say it. 

        "I don't want to make the others jealous." The humiliation could be personal, face to face, alone. Not here.

        Mohawk snorts, "Jealous?"

        "Is it 'cuz he's Sexy?" Echoed off the cave walls he from which emerged. Completely alive, not blue in the face at all, but dripping wet. Lensless. "I was hoping I'd be Sexy."

        "How the fuck are you alive?" You're on your feet going for the taser you wish you'd used on him earlier. 

        "Is he supposed to be dead?" Tracksuit asked.

        "It was a good try," Lensless shakes out his leg, splattering water across the floor, "but you should know we can go without breathing for two weeks." 

        "When I tell most people to drown they usually breathe in the water, you fucking idiot." 

        Lensless chuckled, pushing the hair stuck to his mask back. Lashes darker wet. Suit somehow sticking closer to his body. "I'm not most people."

        "You tried to kill him?" Omni asked.

        "He was being a freak!" You hold the taser out over Mohawk's head. Lensless comes closer, firelight flicking orange on his wet body. You let the prongs release to make contact with his water-sodden throat. You know it won't work but you just needed to do it, for prosperity's sake. 

        He doesn't feel it but the effort makes him blush. He sits down next to Maskless as the prongs retract into the taser. "What do you call meeee?" His toes flex in his boots. Acting like he hadn't been soaking at the bottom of a pool for hours. 

        "Freak."

        He lights up, "Really?" Ugh. His smile is brighter and bigger than Gray's- it's stupid and cute and you hate how it gives you butterflies. 

        You fucking hate butterflies. "No. It's Lensless," You point to your eye, the side where he no longer has one because of you. 

        He partly deflates. "Why not Freak?"

        "Because it'd give you a boner."

        "Oh speaking of! I was in that pool awhile and you held control for a really long time. Like, really long! It was strong." The praise was good news but you had a feeling this was going south. "Like, good job, you're stronger than I thought- But it wasn't strong enough." 

        You lean forward, brows knit. "What do you-" The memory of his hard-on hits you like a grenade, you have to sit down, "Oh Jesus Christ."

        "What?" Tracksuit asked.

        You run your hand down your face. "That's not possible. How did you even-"

        "Cum?" He finishes painfully for you, "I dunno! It was like magic. Dick magic! You should do it again."

        The situation hits the Marks like a wave. Omni had Lensless by the neck, holding him overhead. Phantom had Lensless's arm out to the side, his own arm raised, poised to chop the thing off if he touched you with it. They turn to you for approval.

        "If anybody's killing him, I am." You say, but Lensless is not dropped.

        Tracksuit didn't know to laugh or scream, so he did both, "He came in the fucking bath water!"

        "There are other pools," Gray says stiffly.

        "It's the principal!" Tracksuit argues. "You can't just do that, dude!"

        "Put him down." You tell the duo. "Before he cums on you both."

        Phantom releases him quick, as if stung. Omni is still holding Lensless by the throat, but lowers him until his feet touch the floor. "If you ever talk to my wife like that again-"

        "Not your wife."

        "For the record," Lensless held up a finger as Omni slipped back, "I would not cum on you guys. That's weird. I've jerked off plenty of different ways, but I don't think I could fuck my clone. That's like, too much, even for me."

        "Cumming because I've tried to kill you on two separate occasions is fucking weird." You never thought you'd be having this stupid conversation but here you were, having it.

        "Two?" Omni raises a brow under his mask. "Two times?" Rage taught in the flex of his tensions.

        Your palms press to your eyes. "Can we talk about literally anything else?"

        Scars is merciless. "I'd also like to hear about those two times."

        They begin to bicker among themselves, questioning Lenseless who giggled like his life wasn't in danger. You couldn't listen to it anymore. It was up to you to turn this around. "Hey," You look directly at Maskless, hoping to grab his attention. His eyes don't leave the fire. "Hey Dummy, you wanna hear about William from my universe?" This time his eyes flicker up to you, honey brown eyes lit golden by the fire while Tracksuit goes onto the rest of the group about the principles of jerking off in the desert.

        His gaze is a heat sinking missile. "I thought it was Maskless."

        "Thought you weren't listening, didn't think you'd respond."

        He tapped his ear, "Heard something that wasn't lame. Tell me."

        You remembered little of William. He was spunky, nice to be around the few times you met while dating Mark. He was always welcoming and you could appreciae that. The one thing you really remember is, "He's lethal at bowling."

        A smile cracks his too-serious face, "He was, yeah. Couldn't beat him even with my powers."

        "I couldn't beat him with mine." Though you never tried. Mark and him were to remain in the dark, you had hoped forever before things went south.

        A smile cracks his too-serious face, "He was, yeah. Couldn't beat him even with my powers."

        "I couldn't beat him with mine." Though you never tried. Mark and him were to remain in the dark, you had hoped forever before things went south.

        "Shit, I haven't thought about that guy in forever." Mohawk stretched his arms over his head, bringing them behind him and trying to catch you by the waist. When you dodged out of the way he smirked. An 'I'll get you one day' kind of look. "He was crazy with those strikes n' shit."

        "He was good."  Phantom fiddled with the remaining jerky in his hands. He had more to say, but couldn't bring it to come out.

        "I used to go to the alley every weekend with Mom when I was younger." Omni said, having long since tuned out Tracksuit and Lensless' rambling, "Just so I could get better and beat him one day." He doesn't say how Dad thought it was a waste of his time, made him stop just for those few precious hours of training. How Mom let it happen.

        "Did you ever?" Maskless asks.

        "No." Omni forced away the memories. William didn't matter anymore. He hadn't mattered in a long time. Nothing had.

         Tracksuit noticed his audience had waned and said, "That guy abused those lanes."

        "'S gotta be a universal constant that he's crazy good at bowling." Lensless said, though nobody acknowledged him. Everyone still a little tiffed about the cum water thing. 

        Something in Maskless seemed to unspool. "Yeah, I guess it is."

        There was comfortable quiet a moment. Quiet where Gray wondered who this William character was. Friends were not something Viltrumites had. He was odd for his culture, yes, but he had still stuck by that notion. Across the room, Scars vaguely remembered a kid who's homework he'd steal and company he'd tolerate when necessary. 

        "Baby girl, you're my universal constant." Mohawk bumped his freshly shaved side against your shoulder. 

        "I'm literally not constant." You gestured to Maskless, to Tracksuit.

        "I mean, yeah, but everywhere else you're like..." The words fall off his tongue and his eyes dart around the room looking for a nice way to say it. Because you were not some moral, goody-two-shoes here and that was strange for everyone. But hell, that's what he liked about you. "My super hot and sexy wife-bitch." He doesn't bring up his planned proposal. The failure was too humiliating to share, even with other versions of himself.

        You could tell he'd thought of something else, how there was something fundamentally wrong compared to his (Y/n) and it sours the small moment of bonding. "She had time to care about those things didn't she?" You do your best to cover up the bitterness but it's hard, so hard. When Mohawk is staring at you with Mark's fucking face, enamored by every word. You hated that Mark was still attractive to you, that his opinion of you mattered at all. 

        "I mean, yeah, I ran the empire, she looked hot. It was like a full time job."

        Your lips twist. "How hot was she when you killed her?"

        His head jerks away. Offense flashing in his eyes as his face tenses. Got 'em.

        He hits you back with a low hiss, "How bad did it hurt when you got gutted?"

        He wants you to remember him doing it, knows you won't. Wants you to remember pain and misery for everything you put him through, even though it wasn't you. Just reminding him of you was enough to warrant punishment.

        It's your turn to be surprised. Everyone's turn to be surprised.

        "Gutted?" Lensless sounded hopeful.

        You want to throttle Mohawk. Slap him around the room till he's red but nothing you could do would hurt him. Not even drowning apparently. "Like shit."

        You had just turned nineteen. A few months into your second go-around with Machine Head. He'd sent you to chase a rat down. Some kid your age who kept selling on Machine Head's block, a few of his men had gone missing before you.  

        "Describe it." Mohawk says, "I wanna know exactly what you felt when I did the same fuckin' thing to you."

        So you did. Machine Head didn't warn you because he didn't know. Psychics were a sheltered bunch. Didn't often make themselves known to the public or criminal enterprises. So when you caught the kid selling in the depths of some alleyway, you didn't except it to happen- nothing. He didn't listen to your commands, and you didn't get knocked back into a trashcan by his invisible push. He grinned then, said, "Oh good, I was wondering when I could do this again." 

        He opened you up low with a box cutter. Deep and fast. You stumbled back, holding your cut guts through your slashed open hoodie. He waited, wanted to watch you fall to your knees, onto your face and die by his hands. You whipped the gun out of the back of your pants and brained him right there. Somebody must have heard the shot, because an ambulance was there before you passed out from the pain. 

        "Happy?" You enjoyed Mohawk's rigid expression. How hard he had to focus to feign cool satisfaction when you could feel the agitation roiling under his skin. You were hurt, almost died, and he wasn't there to be the killer or savior or whatever bullshit his twisted brain thought up.

        "I wanna see the scar." Lensless says. "No proof or it didn't happen."

        You turn on him. "Proof? You want proof?"

        "Yeah, that's what I asked."

        You were tempted to lift the armor, but didn't. You wouldn't be able to deal with the sad puppy dog eyes on the old wound that sometimes still ached. Didn't want to tell them how much time Machine Head added to your sentence when he had to pay off the hospital staff for stitching you back together. All those corrective surgeries meant you'd be working for him at least another five years on top of everything else.

        So you hit him with the classic, "I can't have kids, you fucking asshole." It always shut people up.

        The room is still.

        "What?" Omni says.        

        Oh good! He looked upset! But not for you, not the usual pity you got and hated, he was upset for himself, and you loved ruining their expectations of you.

        "He gutted me, idiot." Your hand followed the scar path, memorized well, "Angled the knife so deep inside me it almost cut my uterus in half. Missed most of the important shit but got that. Isn't it funny?" You relish in the misery that falls heavy over his shoulders. "Didn't even get to start considering having kids," you add just to see him crumple, "before the option was literally cut out of me."

        "Are you-" He grips at his hair, struck through with gray stress, "Are you sure?"

        He could sense more gray coming in soon. This was too much. You two had been talking about starting a family when everything had happened. You had to be lying to get at him. Yet you heartbeat was steady, if only a little elevated with the pleasure of upsetting him.

        Here comes the home run, baby. "Pretty sure. Been around plenty and not a single scare." His hand goes over his googles like you'd see the tears under them. Wham, crack, pow right in the kisser.

        "I need a moment." He didn't move a muscle but floated up and out of the cave. You smiled at the thought of him crying.

        Scars liked how mean you were. Lensless too. Mohawk was conflicted. Phantom was concerned. Baldie wasn't upset, moreso shocked you were talking about the apparent trauma with them of all people. Maskless didn't care. Tracksuit quietly enjoyed his personal drama TV.

        Then there was Gray who'd taken his version of you to Viltrum to specifically breed a child into. If you could not procreate, what was the point? Sure, he'd come to your reality for the glory of Viltrum, but you were an added sweetener, a trophy to cement his victory. This you wasn't weak or humanly moral, he liked you a lot, but put simply, what was the point of winning your favor if you couldn't give him a child? That was one of his main duties to the empire, how could he leave it unfulfilled? He said nothing and tried to keep his expression blank. 

        "So you learned that through what? Getting ran through by a bunch'a guys?" Mohawk elbowed your side, trying to win you back.

        "Now that's an image." Scars muses though he hated the idea, he loved seeing you squirm.

        Mohawk took it a step further, "Ever been fucked by a Viltrumite, baby? I bet I could-"

       You had. The memory was sweet and clumsy, though stung to remember.

        "Not interested." You finally feel the weight of all their eyes on you, the reason some of them were upset and why some of them weren't. You stand and he almost falls after leaning so hard into you.

         "I'm going to piss." You didn't wait for reply, just turned and moved. Phone flashlight on, map pulled up on your screen, no piss sloshing in your bladder.

        You heard some protest, but no one stopped you. No one wanted to be the bad guy. Scars did, but he wanted you to brew awhile in your own angst.

        Omni returned maybe five minutes later. Right when Lensless was saying to himself, "She's been peeing awhile."

        He looks across the fire, sees none of them gone, only you, and asks, "Which way did she go?"

        He pointed, Omni went.

        ***

        This was stupid. These caves were stupid. So dark and wet and echoey. You considered downing some codeine just to feel something else besides a dull roiling anger made sharper by hunger you couldn't stand to sate. You'd been running on fumes and rage for so long, you'd grown almost used to it but here- in these caves? Surrounded by reminders of everything that went wrong? It was starting to wear you down. 

        With Machine Head you always went home to be alone at the end of the day. Sat with your cat, watched stupid TV on your laptop. Life sucked, but it was good enough. Now you were sitting on a wet ledge you almost fell down a few minutes ago. Drop so deep your flashlight couldn't penetrate the bottom. There was something introspective there, you think, but couldn't be bothered to chase it. 

        You were vulnerable and sad, but at least you were alone.

        "There you are." Omni's behind you. Of course he came for you.

        "Go away." 

        You don't hear him leave. Hopefully he floated back to camp. But when you turn he's there, hovering in the laid-down phone light, over the ground your ass was freezing on. "I won't leave you again." He said. "I apologize for my... response."

        Your eyes narrow. "Jus' gonna stalk me like the rest, huh?"

        "I'm not going to-" He swallowed the words because they're partly true. He retries, "I want to protect you. And I can't protect you from the past. It upset me to hear that."

        Now, that was funny. "You force fed me human meat."

         His lip twitched, not the response he was looking for. "Two did that." Meaning Scars.

         "You helped."

        "Because I care about you (Y/n)," It's said soft, an olive branch, an apology without actually saying it. 

        "You cared so much you killed the (Y/n) in your dimension, right? Even though she was your wife. Some doting husband you were." Pow, right in the kisser, again. 

        "(Y/n) I-"

        You exploded, why did he get to look at you like a kicked puppy when you knew he killed a version of you he apparently loved. "No, dude! This is fucking crazy! You killed her- me- and now you're like- rebounding with me. It's fucking insane!"

        "That's not what this is. Let me explain." His tone was still soft. It pissed you off. 

        "I don't give a fuck how you feel! I'm not your dumb, bitch wife!" You stand and spin, fast, too fast. Your foot slips on the edge and you tip back, back, back, until there is no ground beneath your feet. You fall, you are falling. Still falling because he hesitates catching you. He's out of view and all you can think is you were going to die because of him again. There are arms strong under your back, body heat curling around you as you gasp. He floats down to the bottom, where the air is even colder and damper, the rock smoother. 

        You can't see anything. Phone light left at the ledge. You are vulnerable and he holds you despite everything he knows you've done, everything you know he's done.

        "Put me down." He only does because your voice warbled. Knife fights and stabbings were one thing, falling almost to your death was another. You'd never get used to almost dying. 

        You stumble until you're leaned against a wall, chanting to nobody, "You almost let me die." 

        "I didn't." He says. 

        "You almost let me die."

        You hear him come closer, cape fluttering behind him, "I would never let you die." This version, anyhow.

        "You thought about it."

        Omni is quiet. "You're just so... different." The admission is a leaden weight, only to be dropped in absolute dark. "I wasn't expecting a different person, different circumstances. You complicate things."

        You swallow the bile that'd been creeping up. "This doesn't have to be complicated." You turn to face the sound of his voice. Eyes widen to try and find his frame in the dark, but you see nothing. "It's always been simple. I'm a different person and so are you. I'm nothing like her and you're nothing like him."

        In this instance you are the same as she was. Eyes wide in the dark, searching, while he can make you out tangled in the sheets of his bed. Disappointed in him but still open looking for an option to make it all better. Vulnerable and wanting in the darkness before he takes you. The scenes of then and now mash together like his lips upon yours. Your back is pressed flush to the wall, surprised hands not yet tightened to fists on his chest. His gentle yet firm touch holding your head in place, knee parting your legs. 

        You hadn't known to resist, it happened so quickly. One second you were bitching, the next he was sucking on your lip. The gasp you let out is a welcome into your mouth, for his tongue to find and wind around yours. The friction melts something inside you. His groan and tightening grip only melts it quicker. 

        He moves his head with yours, nipping at your lip. His tongue lathes over yours. It's the first time he's kissed you, but you know its also not, because knows how to gently tear you apart.  

        Mark never got to know you this well, nobody in your reality did, you'd never had a partner for more than a few months. But Omni had, he knew you. It brings on a wave of nostalgia for something you never had, of sadness, of angst, of desire to know the other side of what he knew. 

        Your hands fold in and out of fists. One second bumping against his chest, the next gripping his shoulders. You hate him but feeling his knee press so hard between your legs softens the feeling.

        "Tell me to stop." He says breathlessly between the heated exchange, spit making both your lips slippery. As he says it, his other hand is undoing the buttons of your pants. Hasty but careful not to rip the fabric.

        All he gets in reply is a, "Fuck you," which isn't stop.

        He takes it as permission, licking a hot stripe up the side of your neck. Which earns him your arms thrown over his shoulder and your clothed cunt dragging up and down his armored knee. The drag stutters when his lips find their home in the nape of your neck, his teeth teasing the skin. You twitch and gasp, the sound different from his wife but the reaction similar.

        His gloved hand slips into your pants and finding no resistance. You were bare. He pressed his palm to the pulsing flesh, just making sure what's his was there. He could feel the heat, the silken softness through the kevlar of his gloves. You buck, needily against his unmoving hand, trying to take what you wanted. The already pulsing flesh of his cock began to ache.

        Omni tore off his gloves, needing to feel skin to slick. At the same time you claw off his stupid mask, pushing it to hang around his neck like a limp hood. You couldn't see his face, you didn't want to, but the lenses were a barrier between you. You find his hair, twisting it in your grasp, pulling hard at the dried gelled strands for a reaction but get none. 

         His touch returned. He hadn't felt you in months and when he did, you were so hot it burned, so wet his fingers slipped, blood rushing to his dick so fast he almost blacked out.

        "God." He breathed against your neck, exploring with fingerpads. Testing if the same buttons did the same things. They did. 

        You had no clue how he was working you like this. Hookups were fun, and part of the fun was the exploratory nature of it, directing someone how to please you. Learning just enough to reach your end and never having to think about it again. But Omni knew, there was nothing tentative about his touch. It was knowing, he was perfectly circling your clit with two lazy fingers and you were mewling embarrassingly into his neck. Scratching at his scalp. He had wiped your mind blank.

        He was in complete control of your body and it pissed you off as much as it made you needily grind against his knee. You unwound your hands from his hair, trailing down the hard mass of his chest, over the bulge you knew was there. Because you knew hookups were always a two way street. You had just barley began to grope him when he pulled your arm back over his shoulder.

        He hissed between teeth. "Don't." He's right back to circling your clit. Breath hot on your face. "This is for me." To prove something to himself. That you were the same person in the very core of your being if not the surface. If some part of you was the same, he could live. He would live for you.

        "That doesn't make any-" Thick finger tips press into your entrance. Not even past the first knuckle and you're gasping, words forgotten. 

        Satisfaction hums in his chest. "I want to focus on you." He pushes two digits in, tortuously slow. Relishing in the way you twitch and gasp at every gained fraction of skin. His palm met your slickened cunt, rough padded thumb pressed to your clit. He moved, slow, curling his fingers against your insides.  

        "Fuck!" Your thighs go up, around his hips like a vice. 

        "Quiet." He swallows your moans in an open-mouthed kiss. You were louder than her, but he didn't mind because feeling you around him, warm, wet, and welcoming, cemented the idea inside him. You were her, in some removed yet fundamental way, you were her and she was you. No other human would allow a monster like him to touch them, but she had been brave to love him, and you were brave for standing against him. Taking him like this.

        For giving him the gift for his wife, alive and whole again, he pulls his fingers out only to ram them right back in. You'd always liked things on the rougher side and he liked to deliver. It seemed you liked it a whole hell of a lot here too. Practically crying into his mouth which meant he just had to keep viciously stuffing your cunt with his fingers. Thumb messily slipping back and forth across your clit. He knew you were close by how uncoordinated your kiss became. Your breath coming out in hot pants against his lips.

        Your hands didn't know where to go, spasming on his back, twisting in the cape or his hair. 

      "Ma-Mar-Mmmh-haaa!" Your walls tightened around him, but he didn't slow. Viltrumite strength was good for something.

        Orgasm hit you, a sledgehammer to the cunt. So hard you were paralyzed in his grip. Pussy clenching against his fingers like it never wanted him to leave. He pumped right on through it, muttering praise, "Good. Good job."

        Your body started to go limp but he held you up. Fingers never breaking pace even as your insides tried to slow him in the aftershocks. You hadn't cum so fast with a partner in... ever. You didn't know how to handle this kind of pleasure, given as a brutal gift by someone else. You wanted to choke him out with his stupid cape. You wanted him to fuck you literally forever. 

        His fingers adjusted the tiniest amount and you threw your head back against the rock. His tongue back on your neck. "Mmm-haaa-!"

        "Markus." He kissed into your throat, "Call me Markus."

        The thrusts dwindle into slow, rolling pumps. He waits for you to be desperate enough to say it but you won't. It's too intimate, too much. You buck your hips into his hand, "Come on, come on, faster." You just manage not to tack on a desperate please. You weren't that far gone yet.

        Instead, he buried his fingers against your g-spot and rubbed viciously at your clit with his thumb. Your back jerked involuntarily up, name ripping out, "Markus!" God, you were going to regret this later.

        Pleased, he pulls his fingers out, and two becomes three, and you are filled to the brim. But it feels right, like he'd fucked you this way a million times. A strangled cry is torn from your throat, pushed back in by his tongue in your mouth. His thumb has fallen, hand focused on ramming you full. Whole arm flexing, shaking you both. Palm slapping harsh against your swollen clit. 

        Your second coming is a lot different than what's in the Bible. Lots more, "Oh fuck's" muttered against his spit-slicked mouth. 

        His pace followed the spasm of your muscle. First erratic, then dwindling, slipping out of your pulsing body when it was done, though you had more to give. He let you go slack in his hold, allowing himself a still moment to taste you on his flesh. He sucked his fingers nearly down to the bone as your feet found purchase. That familiar sour tang that reminded him of home, his cock throbbing. His point was proven. His meaning refound.

        Your heartbeat still pitter-pattered, your body still wanting, still open to him. You could go another round. He considered the idea. He still had you against the wall. A no still hadn't come off your lips but a, "What the fuck is wrong with you," just had, so it was about time to pack it up.

        "Did you not enjoy that?"

        "What- I- Tch-"

        You can't see it but he smiles soft. You'd come around and there'd be more where that came from. 

        "Well?" He goaded, hoping you'd say it. How right that felt. How inexplicably well he knew your body. 

        "I'm still mad at you." Came out with little bite. He'd dulled your teeth.

        You feel rather than hear his chuckle, his hand coming to your waist. 

        "Are you?" It's teasing in a way you'd never heard before, but she had. Before you both had done the same song and dance. Something stupid was done or said and you were on the verge of argument. Then he'd bend you over a counter or table, and fuck the fight right out of you. Worked like a charm. Happy wife, happy life, dad had once said.

        "Yes." You don't give into his teasing, don't lean into the fingers tracing your body but don't move away.  

          Markus pulls his mask up and over his head. He knows if he says nothing you'll dig your grave deeper in three, two, one... "I'm not calling you that in front of everyone. It's a stupid name."

         "It's our full name." You try stepping over his knee, still perched between your legs but nearly trip. He catches you by the arm, shifts you easily to rest over his forearms.

        You tried to keep your voice from wavering, “I know that. Nobody calls you that in any universe.”

         "I know, that’s why it'll be our secret," He lifts off the ground easily, feeling lighter than air.

[tired-truffle]

My Soul to Keep

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 4k

A/N: Rises from my Dragon Age cave to throw this at you - sorry for the delay! Hopefully it won't take me as long for the next chapter <3

Tag List: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @ihascat5 @pebble-bb @goooofy-goooober1121 @furblurwurblur @potatointhedirt @webofwhimsy @mad-simp420 @xo-mingx @patchs-curiosity-corner (Let me know if you'd like to be added or if I missed you!)

Chapter 3

Masterlist

Two days later - on a rare day off for Viktor - the call came. You’d been lingering in the apartment while Viktor worked at his desk, scribbling notes that you couldn’t understand. He’d answered the phone on the third ring, and you watched as his face remained impassive.

“It’s what you suspected,” he said after hanging up the receiver. His voice was distant, his mind already three steps ahead. “The doctor diagnosed consumption.”

“Oh.” His illness had a name now - what you’d guessed it to be. That made it feel real in a way you hadn’t expected. “Did they say what to do?”

“They requested that I return to the clinic urgently for further testing.”

You’d accompanied Viktor without further delay. Once he’d arrived, they brought him back for x-rays - needed to determine if it was a latent or active infection. Thankfully, you’d been right about that too. An hour later, after the radiologist had taken a look, it was confirmed to be latent. They’d started him on medication and sent him on his way.

Back at his apartment, still prior to noon, Viktor paced.

“I should have known you’d be right,” he said, not looking up. “You know impossible things. It leads me to believe I should at least attempt to prevent this, ah, shitty future you spoke of. What would you have me do?”

The question caught you off guard, but only for a moment. You’d prepared for this in the past few days, mulling over exactly what you wanted to say. “Okay, what I’m going to tell you may sound a little far-fetched, but I need you to work with me. And remember, if you think I’m crazy and I turn out to be a figment of your imagination then that means you’re crazy too, so don’t judge me ‘till after I prove it. 

Viktor finally met your gaze, intense amber boring into your translucence - could your panties get wet if you were the only one who could feel it?

“I’m listening.” “Great. The first thing we need is Jayce Talis’s address. He’s a student at the Academy. I’m pretty sure he lives in an apartment that belongs to the Kirammans.”

Viktor hesitated, clearly puzzled. “Why do we need his address?”

You took a deep breath, readying yourself for the conversation you’d been dreading. “What he’s working on will start a chain of events that leads to…many deaths and a civil war. We have to stop it before it starts. I don’t know if his work is salvageable, but first things first, we need to get to him before his work is stolen. That’s what starts it all.”

For a moment, silence hung between you like a third presence in the room.

“Eh, why not?” Viktor strode to his desk, rummaging through piles of paper and notes until he found what he was looking for - a directory.

You watched as he flipped through pages with deft fingers, pausing occasionally to check names and addresses. His focus was absolute; this man would one day change the world. Whether he changed it for the better remained to be seen.

“There.” He tapped a line on the page with more force than necessary. “Jayce Talis. The address matches one owned by House Kiramman.”

Perfect. Though what you planned to do once you got to his apartment was a vague idea at best. You couldn’t necessarily do anything, but Viktor could. If Jayce listened to him.

Viktor’s eyes searched your translucent face for guidance, or perhaps reassurance.

“Shall we depart?”

You nodded, reticent to waste any more time.

Floated closely behind him, he moved through the apartment building. Out on the street, Piltover was alive with activity - the clatter of carriages mingling with the sharp whistles of enforcers directing foot traffic.

As you approached the district where Jayce lived, Viktor adjusted his pace, falling into rhythm beside you.

“What if he doesn’t believe us?” Viktor asked quietly when he was sure there was no one around to hear him.

“We’ll make him believe,” you said. Though your voice carried more confidence than you felt, there was no room for doubt now - not when there was so much at stake.

Fuck, this was a terrible, half-baked idea. You only hoped it didn’t get Viktor in trouble. At least he’d have you for company in his jail cell, right?

Finally, the building came into view, a vague memory swimming in the back of your mind. You’d never seen it from a street angle, but you recognized the golden railings and fine stonework. Viktor glanced up at it briefly before charging straight ahead toward its entrance.

This was it - the moment when everything could change. Or nothing would. And Viktor would become the Machine Herald. Probably.

Through the opulent but cozy foyer and up the stairs, Viktor caught Jayce just as he was stepping out of his apartment, a satchel slung over one shoulder. His hair was tousled in a way that suggested an early morning soak and he had the expression of a man already late for something important. It almost made you laugh. Though you were more partial to him with a beard, his height and broad shoulders were entirely different to witness in person.

“That’s him,” you whispered to Viktor, forgetting for a moment that only he could hear you. And see you. Fuck.

“Are you Jayce Talis?” Viktor asked, stepping towards the larger man.

Jayce hesitated, eyeing Viktor with vague curiosity. “Uh, yeah? Look, I’m about to head out, can this wait?”

“I assure you,” Viktor said, planting himself firmly between Jayce and the hallway, “it will only take a minute. I’m here on Heimerdinger’s behalf.”

The name-drop gave Jayce pause - and Viktor’s academy robes gave his statement credibility. That and Jayce was much too trusting for his own good. This was the man who’d paid full price without bargaining for goods in Zaun and thought he wouldn’t get targeted.

He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “Fine. Come in.”

As they entered, Viktor glanced around with discerning interest while Jayce closed the door behind them. The place was sparsely furnished but refined - clearly Kiramman-owned.

You hovered impatiently before making a decision: you floated down the hall toward what you remembered as the back office. Sure enough, the door stood closed at the end of the corridor. You passed through it like a whisper of guilt.

Inside was exactly as you’d feared - a half-eaten sandwich on a desk cluttered with notes and blueprints. Your heart sank faster than the Hindenburg, which didn’t even exist here - all your references, tossed out like a baby with the bathwater.

Unless Jayce left sandwiches lying around every day - a likely possibility, if he didn’t have the Kiramman funds for a maid - that meant Vander’s kids were coming today.

Outside, Viktor was engaged in conversation, calm as always. You held back a scream of panic. To have arrived when you did, this must have been some sort of sick fate.

“Professor Heimerdinger believes your work to be promising,” he said carefully, “but I have reason to suspect it could lead to grave consequences.”

Jayce leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed in skeptical defiance. “What are you talking about?”

Viktor hesitated just long enough for you to slip back through the walls and rejoin them.

“There is much at stake,” Viktor resumed when he saw you hovering urgently at his side again. “I fear it might cause…unnecessary harm.”

“What do you know of my work?” Jayce asked in a suspicious drawl, his eyes narrowing as he tried to gauge Viktor’s intentions.

Viktor fell silent, and amber eyes flicked toward you in a way that made the truth sting - you hadn’t told him anything about Jayce’s research. You, ghostly and useless, with your half-baked plans and vague ideas.

You rushed to fill the gap. “The desk by the balcony,” you blurted out. “Lift the papers in the middle.”

Viktor moved slowly, as if contemplating, and Jayce huffed his irritation. His cane tapped across the ground as he crossed the room to the large desk that sat beneath the window. He reached for the stack of notes just as Jayce pushed off the bookshelf.

“Hey, wait! Don’t touch—”

But Viktor already had them in hand. The papers shifted like leaves in autumn, revealing a glimmering but rough gemstone beneath.

Jayce lurched forward, panic and frustration in the deep set of his frown. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m trying to help,” Viktor insisted, though he was staring at the gemstone in awe. Perhaps you should have warned him. It pulsed gently with light, casting blue shadows across their faces.

“Help?” Jayce’s skepticism hardened into anger. “This is sabotage!”

“It’s still intact, and no harm has befallen your work. I fail to see how that is sabotage. I came to help, that is the truth.”

Jayce rubbed his temple as if warding off a headache. “And I’m supposed to take your word for it? You barge in here uninvited—”

“Technically, you invited me in,” Viktor cut in, regaining some composure.

Jayce's scowl deepened. “And you think showing up with a warning about ‘grave consequences’ is going to get me to trust you?”

“If you are as smart as I’ve been led to believe, you will listen.”

“Then explain,” Jayce challenged. “If you know everything, tell me what these ‘grave consequences’ are.”

Viktor hesitated for a fraction of a second, and you swooped in with the frantic energy of a hummingbird on caffeine. “Jayce was tailed when he came back from Zaun. These kids are coming to rob him today since they know he has money and didn’t even try to get a better price at that pawn shop for pretty illegal shit, they took him for a sucker.”

“You were followed you back from the Undercity,” Viktor said smoothly. “You purchased illegal components, and now they believe you have more wealth than sense. The would-be thieves are planning to strike today.”

Jayce's anger wavered, doubt creeping through indignation like a crack across thawing ice. You were about to breathe a sigh of relief when his stubbornness rallied for one last stand.

“Why should I believe any of that?” he asked, pushing back. “You expect me to just take your word on blind faith?”

Viktor’s eyes flitted towards you - maybe he wanted more help, or maybe he was wondering how long before he blew his entire cover. Probably both.

“They’ll be here at some point during the day, but I don’t know when. If we wait, we can prove it,” you offered, cringing at how terrible a plan it was. Would he even agree to wait potentially hours? “Jayce is trying to blend magic and science, but it's unstable. One wrong move and it could blow up this entire apartment. You are the one who will help him stabilize it.”

Viktor’s expression shifted subtly, interest sparking in his eyes, though he kept it masked under indifference. “You realize that magic is illegal in Piltover. If the authorities were to discover this—” he gestured toward the gemstone, “—you would be expelled from the Academy. Most likely arrested.”

Jayce paled slightly, a bead of sweat tracing his temple. “So this is blackmail?”

Viktor ignored the accusation and continued steadily. “It is fortunate that I am here, and not Professor Heimerdinger.”

“What?” Jayce’s confusion was almost comical.

“I want to help you with your research,” Viktor said simply.

Jayce laughed incredulously. “I don’t even know you.”

“Not yet,” Viktor replied, calm as ever, “but you are about to be burgled and lose everything, I’d imagine.”

“How do you—” Jayce began, defensive suspicion flaring once more.

Viktor rolled his eyes with exasperation. “Do I look like I’m about to rob you? Relax. I have informants.”

Jayce wiped a hand down his face, frustration mingling with reluctant acceptance.

“We can wait,” Viktor suggested. “I’ll prove it when they try to break in.”

“No offence,” Jayce countered warily, “but I'd rather get the Enforcers to deal with this.”

“They’re just kids,” you insisted urgently to Viktor, wishing you could tug at his sleeve. “They’ll come back unless they’re properly scared away. I have an idea that I think will work, but I’m going to need you to do it. And to trust me.”

Knowledge could be a weapon if applied precisely.

Viktor gave an almost imperceptible nod before addressing Jayce again. “The Enforcers will not stop them permanently; they will be back the moment your guard is lowered. I can ensure that doesn’t happen.”

Jayce eyed him skeptically. “And how exactly will you do that?”

Bobbing his head from side to side, Viktor made a non-committal noise. “That depends on how they react.” A smooth cover, but at the widening of Jayce’s eyes, Viktor was quick to correct his assumption. “And no, I’m not going to hurt them. They’re children.”

Jayce’s nose crinkled. “I’m…going to be robbed by a bunch of kids.”

“Precisely,” Viktor said with too much enthusiasm, but you couldn’t deny how cute it was.

Jayce threw his hands up in exasperation. "Whatever, fine. But if this goes south, it's on your head."

"Says the guy with the illegal parts," Viktor retorted dryly, tapping his cane against the floor as he glanced meaningfully at the gemstone.

Jayce gave him a withering look that could have wilted a cactus, but said nothing more.

You floated closer to Viktor, and began to explain your plan. His eyes widened slightly at certain details, but he nodded to signal his understanding.

"Jayce," Viktor addressed the taller man, "wait out of sight of the balcony and open a window in your study so you may listen when the time comes. I'll inform you when the coast is clear."

"And what exactly are you going to do?" Jayce asked, suspicion in the tightness around his mouth.

"Prepare," Viktor replied simply. "Now go."

With obvious reluctance, Jayce retreated to the adjacent room, glancing back over his shoulder several times before finally disappearing around the corner. There it was again, too trusting for his own good, even of someone he was suspicious of. Viktor moved to the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines until he selected a worn book on theoretical physics. He settled into an armchair partially hidden from the balcony behind the bookcase, crossing his legs as if he had all the time in the world.

"Do you really think this will work?" he whispered, barely audible as he flipped through the pages.

You hovered near his shoulder. "It has to," you whispered back, unsure why you felt the need to match his volume when only he could hear you. "Trust me, I've seen what happens if we don't intervene."

Viktor nodded, his eyes never leaving the book. "I find myself wondering why I trust you so implicitly," he said quietly. "Perhaps I truly am going mad."

You smiled through the tension. "Maybe. Or maybe the universe just decided you needed a ghost friend."

"A ghost friend," he repeated as if testing out its validity. His lips twitched into the faintest smile. "How peculiar."

You returned his smile with one of your own. “I’ll wait on the balcony and let you know when they’re coming.”

You slipped through the glass doors, passing through the solid barrier as if it were nothing more than water. Being a ghost had its uses. The bright sun shone through you, creating no shadow as you hovered above the balcony floor.

Time ticked by with excruciating slowness. You paced back and forth, floating just above the railing, scanning the neighbouring rooftops for any sign of movement. The waiting gnawed at you, setting your nerves on edge.

A restless energy began to suffuse through your limbs. It started as a subtle tingle in your fingertips, then spread rapidly through your limbs. You tried to calm yourself, focusing on the mission at hand like the good little ghost lookout you were trying to be, but the strange energy pulsed more intensely.

Without any further warning, your perspective shifted dramatically. The balcony suddenly grew larger around you, the railing now above you rather than at waist height. You glanced down to see paws instead of hands. You extended your claws, to test, though what exactly it proved you were not sure.

For fuck’s sake, not this shit again, you cursed internally, your tail – yes, your tail – twitching with annoyance. Somehow, you'd transformed into a cat again. The timing couldn't have been worse.

You were about to turn back and alert Viktor to your predicament when movement caught your eye. There, skipping across the adjacent rooftops were four small figures. Even from this distance, you recognized them instantly – Powder with her vibrant blue hair, Vi leading the pack, Claggor's bulky silhouette bringing up the rear, and Milo, nimble and quick, already pulling ahead as they approached Jayce's balcony.

There was no time to dwell on your feline fuck up. You darted back through the glass doors. Inside, Viktor remained seated in the armchair, his nose buried in the theoretical physics book. You were sure it wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. Was there anything science-related he wasn’t an expert on?

You bounded across the room, meowing loudly.

Viktor looked up from his reading, eyes widening slightly at the sight of you. One eyebrow arched upward in a curve of surprise, but to his credit, he recovered quickly. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you like that before.

You pawed at the air in the direction of the balcony, and he nodded his understanding.

The clicking sound of a lock being fiddled with reached your cat ears, and Viktor stood, setting his book aside, and took quick strides to approach the balcony. Before Vi could smash through the glass, Viktor yanked the doors open, slipping out onto the balcony and causing the young thief to stumble backward with a startled yelp.

Four pairs of eyes widened in shock as Viktor stood before them, his thin frame towering over them. His cane rested over his arm and despite his scholarly appearance, there was something commanding about his presence that made even Vi take a cautious step back. To see them all so young…a bittersweet burn swirled in your chest. If you could stop them from experiencing the horrors that awaited them, maybe they could finally get the happiness they deserved.

Milo and Claggor could see adulthood. Powder would never become Jinx and neither she nor Vi would lose their father. And then lose him again years down the line. Was Isha even alive at this point in time?

"Uh…we were just…" Milo stuttered. "We thought this was…our friend's place. Yeah! We were supposed to water his plants while he's away."

You snorted - a strange sound coming from a cat - and circled around Viktor's ankles. The absurdity of the excuse was almost painful to witness. Not a single plant was visible on the balcony and you knew there were none inside.

Viktor's face remained impassive as he regarded each child in turn. "Milo," he said, nodding at the boy who was frozen post-excuse. "Vi." The pink-haired girl's fists clenched reflexively at her sides. "Claggor." The larger boy shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Powder." The smallest of the group peered up at him with wide, curious eyes.

"How do you know our names?" Vi demanded, stepping forward protectively. Her stance was defensive, ready to fight or flee depending on what happened next. "Who the hell are you?"

Viktor didn't answer her question. Instead, he leaned slightly on his cane and asked with disarming casualness, "Does Vander know you're out here, attempting to burglarize private Piltie residences and disrupt the peace he has worked so hard to achieve?"

The mention of Vander's name sent a visible ripple of tension through the group. Claggor glanced nervously at Vi, whose face had drained of colour. Powder shrank behind her sister, while Milo's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

"I don't know who you're talking about," Vi finally said, but the tremor in her voice sold her out.

"I wonder," Viktor continued, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone, "what would happen if I were to send word to the Enforcers right now. They might decide to make an example of you."

You could see the calculations running behind Vi's eyes as she weighed their options. Fight? Run? Neither seemed particularly promising. It was four versus one, but Viktor’s calm confidence had her wary.

"Or," Viktor continued, "I could pretend I never saw you here today and we can forget this ever happened. Well, after Vander receives the message I sent earlier this morning informing him of your activities."

A bluff that he pulled off with fascinating ease.

Fear flashed across Vi's face for a brief moment before her defiance returned. "You're lying."

"Am I?" Viktor asked, and even you began to question - but no, he hadn’t known who they were earlier. He was simply a good actor. "You may have noticed I knew your names without introduction. I know about Vander. What else might I know?"

Vi's lips pressed into a thin line as uncertainty crept across her face.

"We didn't mean any harm," Powder piped up, and you had to resist the feline urge to rub your face against her. "We just needed—"

"Powder, shut up," Vi hissed, nudging her sister.

"Money," Viktor finished for her. "Yes, I'm aware. The Undercity is struggling even more than it was when I lived there.”

You padded around Viktor's legs, your eyes fixed on the children. This wasn't how things had gone in Arcane. These kids were supposed to break in, get caught by Jayce, and end up fleeing with the gemstone that would eventually tear apart their lives. But now Viktor stood between them and that fate, rewriting history. God this was absolutely insane. You were insane. But fuck it. You could at least let yourself enjoy your insanity a little.

"You're from the Undercity?" Milo asked, his suspicion momentarily giving way to curiosity.

Viktor inclined his head slightly. "I am. And I know what it means to be desperate enough to risk crossing into Piltover for a chance at something better."

Vi's stance softened, though not completely. "Then you know why we're here."

"I do," Viktor agreed. "But thievery is not the answer you seek."

"Easy for you to say," Vi shot back. "You got out."

Your tail swished impatiently as you watched the exchange. This was taking too long, and Jayce could emerge at any moment, potentially ruining the delicate balance Viktor was maintaining. His impatience could ruin everything. You hoped he was listening intently from the study, and you eyed the cracked open window.

"I did not 'get out' through crime," Viktor replied evenly. "I used my mind. And each of you has something valuable between your ears as well, if you would only apply it differently."

Claggor shifted uncomfortably. "We don’t have time for school, mister."

"Perhaps not formal education, no," Viktor conceded. "But there are other ways to learn, to create value. Should you wish to apply your talents, you may contact me here.” He produced a business card from his pocket, holding it out towards VI.

Vi snatched the card, her eyes narrowing as she studied Viktor's face for any sign of deception. "Why would you help us?"

"Because someone once helped me," Viktor said simply. "Now go, before the Enforcer patrol makes its rounds."

The children exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Vi pocketed the card with reluctant acceptance and gave a curt nod.

"Come on," she said to the others, already backing away. "Let's get out of here."

Powder lingered a moment longer, her curious gaze fixed on Viktor, before scampering after her sister.

The four of them disappeared over the balcony's edge, their small bodies retreating the way they had come. You watched them go, relief washing over you. They were safe - for now.

Viktor remained at the balcony rail until they were completely out of sight. Then he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours. He spread his hands in a helpless gesture, shoulders rising in a shrug that seemed to ask: Was that what you wanted?

You meowed in response, unable to communicate properly in your current form. The absurdity of the situation - you as a ghost cat, Viktor standing on Jayce's balcony after averting a historical catastrophe - left you spinning.

One catastrophe down, only…a few more to go.

A/N: I hope that all made sense! There are a lot of moving pieces, and we have more to explore and Jayce to deal with, but the crisis has been averted…for now.

[luludeluluramblings]

A meme for feral basis if I may:

*babies first kidnapping*

Criminals: "We have you're daughter now give us 12 million or she dies."

Bruce: *sweats* "WhIcH dAuGhTeR!?

Criminal 1: *describes feral mc whose actively biting through her restraints*

Bruce: Good luck! *laughs and hangs up*

Criminal 1: What the?! dang kid your dad must hate-

*notices they're gone*

Criminal 2: Where I'd she go?!

*They hear feral laughter from everywhere*

Criminal 3: She's in the walls. SHES IN THE WALLS!!

Mc: *Appears behind them like the undertaker* Boo!

Criminals: *horrified screams*

Actually this is baby's third kidnapping.

The first kidnapping Feral!Reader was on their best behavior. They had just moved to Gotham and the whole family had been pounding into their head that they needed to behave and show some decorum.

So Feral!Reader managed to keep all intrusive thoughts under control that one incident.

Bruce (and the rest of the family) freaked the fuck out. Their little abomination was kidnapped for ransom. They're monstrosity had some thugs holding a gun to their head.

Of course, Feral!Reader doesn't flinch or anything. They stay very mindful and demure.

After the whole incident, Feral!Reader does get grazed with a stray bullet. But, they were so excited that they did such a good job even if Bruce was in cardiac arrest from the possible close call.

Bruce makes the decision then and there that Feral!Reader is allowed to go ape shit ONLY when kidnapped.

Which leads us to the second kidnapping. Well, attempted. The idiots tried to kidnap Feral!Reader from a gala. High society has given Bruce so much space since.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

*Goons break into Gala to hold everyone hostage and steal shit*

*Villain of the week monologging *

*Bat Fam hidden in various locations around the Gala with com-links*

Bruce *hidding in a closet* : Who's on patrol tonight?

Barbara *in the BatCave* : Jason, but he's twenty minutes away.

Damian *Under one of the tables* : We can take them.

Stephanie *By the dessert table* : Not if we want people to ask questions.

Duke *back at the manor* : I can maybe swing it in fifteen if I use the Bat mobile.

Damian: Now who wants to drive it?

Tim *stuck with a group of investors getting their luxury watches stolen* : Shut up you two.

Jason *Driving on his motorcycle* : I'm on my way. Cass can be my backup.

Bruce: Good, we can manage until-

Dick *at a random table* : Feral!Reader vanished on me!

Stephanie: How did you lose them?!

Bruce: Does anyone have visual on them?

Damien: No, but I have a bad feeling.

Barbara: I'm pulling up security footage of the venue.

Jason: I'm booking it.

Duke: I'm heading to the Cave to suit up.

Tim: Wait, I think I saw them. Their by the buffet table.

*Feral!Reader ginning manically while they steal the fuel pots from the food warmers.*

Tim: Oh, that's not good.

Bruce: What's not good?

Tim: Babs, get the fire department on speed dial.

*Feral!Reader manged make a pipe bomb with a few things they found. Then used some random fabric they ripped from their clothing hog tie the villain and their goons.*

Villain: You little bitch!

Feral!Reader: Don't call bitch or you ain't gonna like what I do to you!

Villian: Do your worst, bitch!

Feral!Reader: Bet.

*Feral!Reader proceeds to procure a bottle of maple syrup and a fire ant farm before shoving both objects down the villains pants.*

Feral!Reader: My cousin once said that this was a good hack to make your dick bigger.

*Villain screaming.*

*Goons screaming cause the ants are getting on them too.*

*Gotham elite looking in horror.*

Bruce: ...

Bruce: Well, I'm sure this was just a one time incident.

*It was not.*

Tim: Someone needs to check on that cousin…

[mysicklove]

cw: sub! megumi, dom! gn! reader, overstimulation, handjobs (as always), dacryphilia, slight sadism in reader, slight masochism in megumi? teasing, "good boy" used once.

wc: 1.3k

a/n: i have been recently hating my writing style guys what do I do </3 also I did this instead of hw so tonight is gonna suck.

“waitwaitwaitwait!” megumi mumbles into your neck for the third time this night. you feel another round of tears drip onto your collarbone, and shaky hands grip your t-shirt in a plea. he was naked — his pale skin seeming to flush a shade of red, and his spine was curved as he caved in over himself.

your thumb circles around the tip, teasing it until you watch another glob of precum bead at his slit. you crane your neck to look at him, using your free hand to tilt his chin up to press a small kiss to his lips. “doing so good,” you mumble into his mouth, and he lets out a broken sob, “staying still and taking it. we don’t need any rope today.”

his whole body feels to be on fire, and with every stroke of your hand, a whole new wave of overstimulation forces another shiver. the boy's mouth hangs open, lip glistening from a mix of saliva from your mouth and tears. “you’re so mean to me."

“poor thing,” you coo, knowing that you aren't going to do anything about his complaint. instead, you use your thumb to brush away some tears. he sniffles at you, nodding his head to hopefully coax some more praise. but your mind travels back to your movements, your wrists twisting back and forth as you focus on the red tip. “but you look so cute like this, i can’t help it, y’know that.”

his head falls back onto your shoulder, and immediately, he plants kisses on your neck, nibbling at the skin to try and distract himself. the top of his dark hair was matted with sweat, but the tips of it tickled your collarbone. you use your thumb to rub at his cheek as you continue to stroke him off, ignoring his sporadic jerks of pain. “can you cum again? just one more time, for me?”

the noise megumi lets out is meek, pathetic even, and he shakes his head into your chest. he has begun to hiccup from the intensity of his sobs, and his hand hasn't moved from gripping fiercely at your shirt. "last one," he breathes, rubbing his nose into your skin, "p-promise its the last one!"

you grab his face again with one hand and begin to pepper it with kisses, successfully wiping away more tears as he whines with shut eyes. his eyelashes are globbed together, and when he opens them again, he narrows them at you, slightly peeved and scared at your lack of response. "promise," he manages to get out before he bites his lip from you rubbing your pointer finger over his slit.

"fine, fine, I promise," you concede, and your hand stops teasing him, instead fully pumping him from base to tip. the act makes his thighs tremble, and you push them slightly more apart to give you easier access. the redness of his cock contrasts his pale skin adorably, and you can't help you're staring as he continues to leak.

"it hurts," he whimpers, mostly to himself, because all he can think about is how overwhelmed he feels. his thoughts are spinning, and even just the slightest touches on other parts of his body seem to startle him due to him focusing his entire attention on trying not to rip your hand off of his cock.

you don't pay attention to the whine, instead just pressing more kisses to his flushed cheeks, nibbling gently at the flesh while he sniffles. but, even with all the complaints and whines he was letting out, you've noticed that his hips have begun to buck back into your hand, only making the lewd noise louder. he tries to pretend that it was you who was torturing him, but his movements were of his own free will.

"you like it now?"

"no!" he says much too quickly, flashing you panicked eyes. "i-i just. 's not my fault!" at this point, you have fully stopped your movements just to watch in admiration of the boy. he was desperate in his movements, and with each thrust of his hips into the makeshift hole a coo leaves your mouth.

"aw, look, now you're getting excited. do you want to cum, megumi?" you purr, brushing his bangs back while twisting your other wrist. his eyes roll back, and his mouth remains open as he lets out quick, short breaths. now, his noises consisted more of moans rather than pained whimpers as he started to chase his high.

"n-no—yes. fuck I-" is all he manages to get out before your mouth is pressed onto his. but he pulls away only five seconds later due to his rapid heartbeat and the need for oxygen to keep up with it. you just chuckle at him and increase your speed, eyes flickering from the sight between his legs and his flushed face.

his thighs begin to squeeze shut, and his moans begin to increase in pitch, a telltale sign that he is teetering near his high. you chuckle at him when he begins to latch onto your neck, planting sloppy kisses to whatever surface he can. "are you close?"

he doesnt even attempt to speak, instead just nodding his head lazily. the act makes you roll your eyes and squeeze just a tad too hard on his dick in warning. he lets out a squeak at the feeling, and this time he does speak up. "yeah. yes. yes. c-close."

you pet his head, satisfied with his answer. "good boy. you can cum, alright?"

another set of tears pools in his eyes, and this time you cock your head to the side. "why are you crying 'gumi? I didn't hurt you that bad, did I?"

"no," he sniffles, "sorry d-dont stop. feels good, don't know why I'm crying. just don't stop!"

"relax. relax. I'm not," you reassure, kissing his face again. "you're lucky you are so cute, with all your demands."

he ignores you like he usually does when you tease him, but you are unsure if it is because he is being his usual self or because he is lost in pleasure.

seconds later, his hands grab at your shoulder, and he goes silent for a breath. then, just as the first rope shoots out, he cries, "cuming! of fuck. fuck!"

your lover's entire body quivers, and his mouth latches into your skin as the first wave washes over him. his eyes roll back and his mouth falls open with a silent scream. more tears come tumbling down his face, and you watch as the most pathetic amount of cum tonight comes dribbling out. it slides down his flushed cock and mixes with the movements of your hands.

eventually, when he comes down from his high and feels the stinging lick of overstimulation once again, he immediately forces your hand off, pinning the white-stained limb to the ground with frantic eyes. then he turns to you, even with his body jerking every couple of seconds from the aftershock, and glares at you — it doesn't hold much effect, considering his cheeks were flushed red and eyelashes were wet with tears, but it was cute nonetheless. "no. more."

you grin at the demand and use your clean hand to ruffle his hair. "your wish is my command, princess."

he narrows his eyes at the nickname, and the man tears himself from your arms. "I am going to shower," he mumbles before using all of his strength to stand up. he takes a step forward, and immediately he comes tumbling down.

megumi pretends he doesn't see the way his legs are trembling, but you see the way his ear twinged red in humiliation. you, of course, use it to your advantage. "need a little help there, Bambi?"

"you're not allowed to touch me for a week," he grumbles but grabs onto your arm and lets himself be left to the bathroom. it was an empty threat, as they usually are.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hello hello! I was just reading through your account and saw the ask of some hsr characters being the big spoon, so I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing hsr characters being the little spoon? I was thinking characters like, Silver Wolf, Asta, Acheron and Firefly, if that's ok with you.

Have a good one!

(H:SR) Silver Wolf, Asta, Acheron, Firefly, Feixiao, Qingque, Serval, and Tingyun being asked to be the small spoon

(Silver Wolf) "'Kay."

Silver Wolf doesn't get flustered nor does she really hesitate to let S/O hold her.

As long as they don't block her arms and hands from moving and to keep playing her game, it's good.

It's a nice feeling, sure, but she's too busy grinding.

For in the grim darkness of the far future, there is only material grinding.

(Silver Wolf) "...What? Turn down the brightness? Hang on, just need to see in this cave for a second-"

(Asta) "A-Alright, go ahead!"

Asta feels honestly a little giddy being held by her S/O.

She isn't particularly shy with her affection, but to be in such an intimate space never failed to get her heart beating faster.

Asta takes a deep breath before exhaling, snuggling into S/O's chest and hugging them back.

For now, she doesn't have to worry about work, she can just decompress with their arms around her.

(Asta) "...Do you think we need to buy a new blanket? This one feels a little too thin-...N-No need? Hm. True, this would be our third blanket.-"

(Acheron) "...You may hold me if you wish."

Acheron takes a second to adjust in their hold. Normally, she was the one holding S/O.

She wasn't entirely 100% positive at first if she liked it, but with how quickly her body relaxed she figured she could learn to.

Regardless, it's something she will start to treasure, any time spent with her beloved is time well spent.

Acheron's face is unmoving until S/O's hand brushes the back of her head, holding her gently yet firmly.

(Acheron) "Is your hand stroking my hair?...No, it is not unpleasant, it's quite nice, actually..."

(Firefly) "If you don't mind...!"

Well, Firefly doesn't really need sleep that much, but she'll never pass an up an opportunity to snuggle!

As much as she enjoyed being the big spoon for S/O sometimes, she could not deny how nice it felt for someone to care for her like this.

Even if it was something small like cuddling, it still meant a lot to Firefly.

Firefly's smile is ear to ear, accompanied by a light blush as she holds S/O back, her head underneath their chin.

(Firefly) "Dream well, S/O..."

(Feixiao) "Hm, alright, guess I could!"

Feixiao as the little spoon? Now that was a novel experience!

It felt absolutely divine to her to be held by S/O like this, as well as very strange.

Usually her strong arms would be holding S/O, sober or otherwise but she could get used to this!...Probably!

Her Foxian ears droop ever so slightly as she smiles, leaning into S/O's touch as their hand caressed her face.

(Feixiao) "Just don't blame me if you wake up when I do! With your arms around me it'll be kinda hard to get out."

(Qingque) "...Is that some kind of joke, S/O?!"

As if Qingque wasn't always the little spoon anyway!

Pouting, she'll just sigh before letting S/O hold her tightly, blushing.

It takes only a few seconds for her attitude to soften, simply yawning and ready to fall asleep.

Even if the hardest thing she did today was play a few games at work.

(Qingque) "...Why am I yawning? I'll have you know I do work from time to time you know!...STOP LAUGHING!"

(Serval) "Change of pace, huh? Sure!"

Serval doesn't hesitate, at least not until S/O holds her closer, making her blush.

She fiddles with her fingers for a brief moment before shifting their arms around her stomach, allowing her to move her head backwards into them.

Serval closes her eyes with a wide smile, already feeling comfortable.

Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

(Serval) "Hm, you're really comfy too, S/O..."

(Tingyun) "Mind the tail!"

Tingyun giggles at their request, but promptly settles in after doing the proper care for her tail, making sure that S/O can't mess with it during their sleep.

But afterwards, Tingyun happily lets herself be held by S/O.

After a long day, nothing is better than being held coming home. Well, maybe that and a promotion.

But she probably shouldn't complain.

(Tingyun) "Good night, S/O!~...Hm? What about my ears?...Alright, a little touching is fine, but don't mess it up too bad!"

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me, epilogue

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. Lee discovers life on her own.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange bedroom besties 🧡 Here we are, this is the end! I'll see you on the other side 🧡 @frannyzooey marry me? 🧡

Word count: 8.6k (I'll never learn)

[prev] * [series masterlist] *

Epilogue: In The Beginning

He comes to you every Friday, in the loneliness of your room, in the hollow space of your life, through the cold hard rectangle of your phone. 

Hey, baby.

Hey, Frankie.

How’s my girl doing?

The caress of his voice convokes the memory of his touch, of the bedspread’s synthetic fabric, stained and slippery, and the rough material of the brown rug abrading your knees. 

You close your eyes, so you can see it better. His freckles, his dimple. The dip between his collarbones. His skin of gold, the smoothness of his curls, gliding between your fingertips. 

His cold hard stare. His soft sad eyes. 

I’m good. 

You close your eyes and smile, because he’s there, still, another week, true to his word, and the modulated sound in your earpiece lets you hear his own relief, breathed out in a smiling exhale. 

Through space and distance, through memories, his hands ghost your skin. 

Sometimes, the round accents of his low husk guide your hand downward, down between your legs, wringing wistful waves of pleasure out of you. 

Let me hear you come, baby. 

It’s a distant echo. A forlorn imitation of what his body did to yours in the motel room. Outstretched shadows on a cave’s wall. 

And afterward, his voice sounds pained, hurting the same way your heart feels bruised. 

Sometimes, most times, he just wants you to talk. 

Tell me. What’d you do this week? Learn anything new?

Is it worth it? What you've learned in this seven day gap, this open wound of a time-stretch, waiting for his voice to fill your ears like his body once filled your life, is it all really worth it? 

Your bones are worn out, your skin feels too big. Your heart is shrunk, aching, heavy like lead, blackened like coal, near the wild creature crying ruby tears. 

And yet, you learn. Every week, you have something new to tell him. Every week, intently, he listens. 

In the loneliness of your room, in the hollow space of your life, through the cold hard rectangle of your phone, your love continues to grow, nurtured by words and silences. 

—

In a surprising turn of events, you don’t entirely dislike New York. 

The city still mildly scares you. Its buoyant history feels like a sparkling secret you’ll never be let in on. Its mythical aura makes you feel small and provincial. It’s definitely too big, too noisy, too stressful. And, you’ve learned at your expense, ridiculously pricey. 

But it is also completely, blissfully anonymous. People don’t only ignore who you are, they also do not care. Since you got here, your name hasn’t once elicited the silent gasp or double take it never fails to provoke down in Tampa. 

And instead of drowning, forever disappearing, you wake up every morning and breathe in a big gulp of saturated New York air, making the conscious choice to tame the current. 

Spring is undecided, imprecise. It oscillates between chilly mornings and warm afternoons, cumbersome jackets and disorientation. 

Your shabby blue suitcase stands out like a sore thumb in a corner of Polly and Ava’s living-room, styled with slick 1950s furniture, straight lines, confidential art pieces, and quality material. 

Thrown from a life sentence in a glass tower into this transient condition, you vacillate, but hang on tight, and you wait, in between Fridays, to be tethered by the thread of Frankie’s praise and encouragement. 

On weekdays, from 9 to 5, you sit behind a black square desk on the third floor of a modest Manhattan publishing company, proofreading copies of psychiatric essays for typos. 

The work is dull, tedious, an entry-level position hardly above an internship, but the task is concrete, its results tangible. It provides you with a decent salary you might owe entirely to your connection with Polly, and the priceless satisfaction of a job accomplished when the working day is done. 

You miss him. 

Summer is unforgiving. The entire city smells like hot trash, melted asphalt, car exhaust and overwrought engines. The combined heat from millions of strangers' bodies pressed together in urban proximity is otherworldly. 

The nearby presence of the Atlantic Ocean, centuries of waves, dark and unfathomable, is impossible to conceive. Your frazzled eyes search the city sky in vain for the line of the horizon. 

The commute from your furnished studio apartment in Jackson Heights is uncomfortable and never-ending. You read voraciously, to prevent your mind from wandering to the square window with the yellow curtains, the black-edged mirror and the one dollar store painting of the Appalachian. Your lost paradise. Your unexpected home.

At night, you’re too tired. Too tired to eat, too tired to read any more, or even watch television. You stumble onto your empty bed and pray for an empty sleep.

On weekends, you seek refuge in air-conditioned museums. There, in the bustling silence, among crowds of eclectic tourists snapping performative pictures in square format, your life is suddenly, quietly upturned: art understands. Art heals. Art is the key to translating your raw feelings. A catharsis for your searing emotions. 

You miss him. 

With fall come crisp winds, clear lights and yellowing leaves, and the city turns another kind of spectacular. You finally seem to find your bearings. 

At work, you’re given more responsibilities, along with your very own intern. A tall, polite young man in an awful suit that hangs off his lanky frame, he stops blinking every time you address him, hungry eyes snapping to your lips every now and then. It makes you smile, what you do to him. 

In your kitchenette, which is really more of a narrow corridor than anything else, you’ve taped a world map on which you pin a round, colourful thumbtack for every new cuisine you taste. Cold burritos shared with Frankie on the motel’s dirty carpet are hard to beat. But Columbian chicharrón ranges at a close second. 

Forsaking rest, you spend your Sunday afternoons in a 1st Ave cinema, which specializes in pre-war films. In the solitary darkness of the red velvet-lined theater, you fall in love with Louise Brooks, with Pabst’s German realism, and Murnau’s Sunrise. New names and faces crowd your thoughts during your daily commutes: Bette Davies, Theda Bara, Marion Davis... Slapstick comedies have you kicking your feet, and you devour every book and article you can dig out on the Hays Code. 

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, you clock off early and hurry uptown, where you attend evening classes in art history in a small overheated classroom decorated with faded museum postcards from all over the world. 

The attendees form a small mismatched crowd of second-chancers, seeking meaningful connections more than a proper education.

Thierry is the first to approach you. A stupidly handsome, late twenty-something man, sporting a dark Mohawk and second-hand bespoke shoes matched with a leather perfecto, Thierry claims to be French Canadian, and you know better than to call him out on the obvious fib. If anything, you’re more than willing to play along. Thierry takes you out as often as you’ll let him, sometimes to cafés and thrift stores, but more often to gay bars. He says you’re the best wingman he’s ever had, with your distant demeanor and the melancholy in your gaze. 

“My peers love your brand, bébé,” he says.

On one of these drunken late-evenings turned early-mornings, in a Brooklyn dinner with greasy pleather benches, over eggs Benedict and burnt filter coffee, Thierry tells you he was born Travis, in Nowhere, North Dakota. His voice remains surprisingly steady when he explains how, tired of living in fear, he ran off to New York with less than 18 dollars to his name. But his eyes won’t meet yours. Too shiny. Too liquid. 

He tells you about the straight man, married with children, who once broke his heart, and asks you about the one who broke yours. 

“I didn’t need a man to do that,” you answer in earnest. You watch the tears brimming in his dark blue eyes. You hear him say, “I love you, Lee. You’re the best friend I have,” and you believe him.

Around mid-October, Vera joins the Thursday evening class. She’s prompt to initiate conversation, and soon, you spend every other Saturday afternoon in her quaint Brighton Beach apartment, eating blini with homemade jam, mesmerized by her deep gravely voice as she recounts tales of her life in the USSR. Of how she fled the country, back in 1986, with nothing but grit, a suitcase full of photographs, and a heart bleeding memories. She speaks, you find, simply because you are willing to listen. Before you leave, she hugs you strong enough to crack your spine. 

Vera was a mother, once. To a blond boy named Igor, who died of undiagnosed leukemia not long after he’d learned to walk.   

When you leave her place, your clothes are impregnated with her scent, bergamot tea and vanilla tobacco. You take a long stroll to Coney Island in the brisk dusk, clutching your scarf high on your face. The sharp Atlantic wind makes your eyes water. Shivering, you sit on a boardwalk bench, and marvel at the Wonder Wheel’s lights, brightening the crepuscular fall.

You miss him.  

Ava seldom has time for you in her ever busy schedule. Sometimes, the two of you meet for a quick lunch, and every once in a while, she takes you to an art performance where young adults with edgy haircuts douse their naked bodies in paint in front of a live audience to protest climate change or human trafficking. You don’t always understand, in truth, you rarely do, but you always welcome the opportunity to broaden your horizon. 

Polly makes sure to have you over for dinner at least once every two weeks. The regularity is touching. Some nights, you feel like indulging, and take a cab back to your place.

You learn. Every day, you learn. Through sweltering heat and ice-sharp cold, through lively chatter and the crackling of dead leaves. Through loneliness, yours and other’s. You learn. 

Home isn’t always a place. Sometimes, home is people. 

And you miss him, you miss him, you miss him… 

—

Twenty-nine Fridays. 

Frankie once more sat down behind Lupe’s desk at the dispatch center, to count down the weeks since your departure on the large cardboard calendar. 

There’s 29 of them now. Soon, those empty Fridays will outnumber the ones you filled with your skin and your scent. 

Your absence has torn a gaping hole inside his chest, and loneliness came pouring in to fill it. The feeling is alienating. It’s worse than shame, worse than fear, fear of hurting and fear of dying. The grief is all encompassing. It’s worse than everything he’s ever been stricken with. 

“Time will help, hermanito,” his sister had said shortly after you’d left. “Time is gonna make it better, don’t worry. Paso a paso.” 

Will hadn’t said anything. Will would never lie to his face. 

Frankie knows, just like Will does, that time ain’t gonna do shit. If anything, time will only make it worse.

Time has forsaken him. Everywhere around him, people go on with their lives, moving forward, making plans. 

Lua’s curls grow longer, her babbling evolving into fully formed words, and her balance becoming surer as she explores the world around her with her big bright eyes wide open. His beacon. His pride. His little miracle. 

Marcus moved in with Lupe. There was a proposal, quickly followed by talks of a spring wedding.  

Tess’ll be starting college soon, sponsored by the Redfly Family trust, her little sister already attending middle school.

Will went back to Colorado, where he found a counseling position at the VA office in downtown Aurora. 

Benny quit the MMA circuit and followed his brother, like he always does. Met a girl back home, a brunette with water-clear eyes, a kind heart and a sharp sense of humor. Now, they work together on her father’s tree farm, and he says things like, “she gave me a purpose.”

And Frankie’s stuck here. Stuck inside his pain, locked up within his loss with a hole the shape of you inside his chest, surviving on the promise of your voice every Friday at 7pm. Of your cheery tone when you talk about what you’ve discovered and learned, your new friends, your new tastes, your unassertive victories. Your steady healing. 

Only he knows your life up there can’t always be milk and honey. But you won’t tell him about the hardship. Bottling it up for his sake, he assumes, but then, where’s his fucking purpose? 

His longing just follows him everywhere, dimming the sun, turning his food all wrong, turning his friends to enemies, places that once brought him solace no longer meaning relief. The cab of his truck devoid of your scent, a song on the radio that you’re not here to hum, and his blood turns to lead. The whole world around him, a reflective surface to reverberate his grief. 

So Frankie waits. Minutes, hours, and days. He aches and simmers and he waits. He’s cut for grit and patience and restraint, anyway. He waits for time to remember about him, to let him hop back onto that fast-paced train, he waits to be alive again. Hold your body close to him, feel the coolness of your touch, breathe in the scent of your perfume. Be your man. Keep you safe. Forever and always. 

He waits, until one afternoon in early December, when Lupe approaches him in the break room after his shift. 

“We need to talk,” she says. 

The following morning, a Thursday, an incoming call wakes him up. The sound of your sobbing comes in shaky and muffled through the receiver, and his spine grows rigid.

“I need to see you,” you say.

And Frankie knows he’s done waiting. 

—

The front door rattles with three successive knocks. Like a bloodhound, you still, head perking up, a near white-knuckle grip on the vacuum handle. You press the tiny button on your headphones to pause the music, and Kate Bush’s voice fades to silence, allowing the vacuum’s roar to resurface. You kill it, too. 

It’s impossible you could have heard anything over all this din. 

You balance the vacuum handle against the dresser to grab your phone that’s lying there, and check the time on it. 

Noon. Frankie’s plane just took off. He isn’t due here for another three hours. Leaving you just enough time to finish tidying up the apartment, take an everything shower and hop on a cab to go pick him up. You purposefully postponed the cleaning until the very last minute, so you wouldn’t go insane waiting for him in these last hours.

A little pang of guilt flares hot across your neck and cheeks, quick and sharp, at how shamelessly you begged over the phone, a couple of days prior. Letting him hear your sniffling, the sound of your tears rolling down your face, if you could have, just because you couldn’t bear the misery of crying on your own anymore. Unabashed and so very selfish in your need of him. Of his hold and his warmth. His eyes and freckles. The weight of his body, the low thrum of his heartbeat. Petulant like a child. Please, please come here.

You snatch the headphones off your head. The room is silent. Three floors down, the neighbor’s yelling at her husband again, their baby crying. No one in the hallway knocking on your door, then.  

“Damn it,” you mutter, tossing the headphones on the dresser and padding over to the minuscule entryway. Wearing nothing but your sleep shorts and ragged college t-shirt, all of which should have been in last week's laundry load. If someone’s here, they’re in for a smelly treat. 

You wrench the door wide open, like a dare, like a vain wish, and you’re met with the solid wall of Frankie’s broad chest. 

A gasp, yours, short and high-pitched, and he collides into you, his arms circling your waist, pulling you flush against him. His face burrowing in the curve of your neck, his hat knocked off his head with the force of the collision. A hard press, a sharp inhale, he’s hoisting you up and carrying you inside, kicking the door shut behind him. 

Your heart, black and shrivelled, is suddenly too big for your rib cage. The wild creature’s purrs are deafening. Dopamine floods your brain, you’re madly happy, a relief so intense you’re trembling. 

“I’m not leaving this stupid city until you’ve given me this t-shirt,” he says, his mustache grazing the tender skin behind your ear. 

He smells like cold air, and underneath it, him. Old leather, a hint of sawdust, blond and taffy-sweet, and you smile through the tears lumping the back of your throat, wrapping your arms over his shoulders, fingers threading through his curls, digging into his thick jacket, socked feet dangling an inch above the floor. 

“It’s gross. I’ve been sleeping in it for a week, at least.”

“Yea, well, that’s the point, baby.”

You laugh, a choked up sound, half elation half sob, the curve of his own grin felt against your throat. 

“I’ve missed you. Fuck, Lee, I’ve missed you so much,” he groans, and his words, rasped and warped, bear the weight of his loneliness. Months worth of sleepless nights. 

His large hands span your back in all directions, a needy grasp at the soft curves of your hips, back up to your shoulder blades, and down to your waist, making sure —Are you real?— making up for everything that’s been lost. Your back arches into his chest, into his pulsating life force, your leg hitching up along his cold denim. 

There’s all of his strength, all of his need in this embrace. Forever imprinting the shape of you into his flesh. 

“I’ve missed you, too,” you whisper. 

His right hand leaves your back, barely, just long enough to slide the strap of his black rucksack off his shoulder, before it returns to you. Fingers curling around your nape, his forearm aligning with your spine. The metal of his belt digs into your belly as you push into him with a near matching strength, no space left between your bodies for anything but this bright beaming bliss. 

Entwined like honeysuckle and ivy, you stand there, in the entryway, under the dangling naked bulb. Basking into each other’s scent. Bodies thrumming high and strong like a power line of the highest voltage.

“Let me look at you,” he says after a while, hands cupping your face, dark eyes raking over your features under his creased brow, “how are you feeling, baby?”

His gaze flicks over to the thin scar in your hairline before it locks with yours, and it’s a binding spell, again, always, intact and unaltered. Black magic and fate, things that aren’t even real except he makes them. 

“I’m good!” you laugh, your fingers curling around his forearms, a stubborn little tear hanging from your lashes. “I’m good, now.”

“Yea? Good,” he nods. “You look good. You look fantastic.”

Your lips pinch down a bashful, incredulous smile. He leans back into you and presses a pointed kiss to your lips, greedy, wet, open-mouthed, and you respond in kind, eager, starved. He tastes of coffee and him, and you might lose your sanity with how content you are feeling, how happy, how frighteningly complete.

His hands snake under the hem of your t-shirt, and there’s the cold tip of his fingers, the warm cup of his palms, spanning the expanse of your back, roaming over your shuddering skin and your body ignites in their wake, coming back to life, inch after inch after touch.  

You’re the first to break the kiss with a sudden concern, irrelevant, futile, and he’s holding your face again, his eyes hooded with want, drinking you in. 

“I thought your plane landed at 3pm. I wanted to come pick you up. I’m not even done cleaning, I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, I’m sorry. I got to the airport too early,” he chuckles. “Figured I could change my flight. I should’ve texted you.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” you start, but his face slots back into the curve of your neck, and you flinch with a new sensation, as he nuzzles his way up, his plush lips a soft caress over the shell of your ear, his scruff a soft tickle. A dark shade of amber pooling down inside you. The thinner hair on your nape standing up. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, Frankie,” you breathe out, voice weighed by that thick and sticky thing coiling in your center. “It must have cost you a fortune.”

“Got a veteran discount. And even if I didn’t, I couldn’t fucking care less about the price,” he murmurs into your skin.

A veteran. A pilot. Once more, always, the notion turns your blood to mush, thick like molasses, saccharine like a schoolgirl crush. And then, a thought, overwhelming, terrible: this man, a veteran, a pilot, dropped everything to fly across the country and make sure you were okay. Because to him, you are worth it. Because he cares. Because you’re his.

Pride, fierce and territorial, tightens your belly. Pride and that something else. 

“Do you want something to drink?” you manage to ask, a reminder that you’re still very much your mother’s daughter. “Coffee? Something to eat? Do you need to rest?” 

“Thanks, baby,” he says, straightening up to let you see the wicked grin dimpling his gorgeous face, “I got everything I need right here.”

—

Through the density of his body, tense and giving, through a need stronger than the both of you, in the stifling intimacy of a closed motel room, month after month, week after week, you’ve learned him. 

Out of necessity, you’ve allowed time and physical distance to come between you and him, only to find the knowledge is still there, constituent to your very being. Ingrained, ineradicable. Like an instinct, like the sun’s fiery circle burnt into your retinas through closed eyelids. 

Mellow inside and out, lightheaded and boneless, you follow him to the kitchen. Standing close to him by the steel sink as he washes his hands, enraptured, enamored, chest pressed to the back of his arm, cheek rubbing the brawny swell of his shoulder. Humming, like a cat purrs. 

You lead him into the room where you eat, sleep, and dream of him, bare walls, sparse furniture you never chose, a single narrow window. It’s supposed to be home but doesn’t feel like it, until he steps in, and everything changes.  

He looks massive in here, just like he did in the kitchen, too large for your everyday life, all proportions distorted, your perspective reframed by the scale of his shape. 

You watch him undress, and the details of him resurface. The plane of his solid chest, the breadth of his shoulders, when he removes his jacket. The graceful arabesque of his wrist tattoo, his lean forearms, when his flannel slides off his frame. The dip of his collarbones with its firework of sparkling freckles. His tanned skin, his softer belly, his scars and old wounds, when he tugs off his t-shirt. The trail of darker hair underneath his navel. His thighs, as he slides down his denim, thick and strong, his knees, his calves, the harmonious shape of him, the sum that surpasses the parts, everything so perfect, and you realize just how much you remember, how delusional you had been, thinking you could go on without it.

Everything pushed to the back of your consciousness, so the separation could be bearable. 

As he stands before you in the gray midday light, your desire is tinged by mute apprehension. You fled Tampa moved by the urgent necessity of your own survival. Now that you've shed most of your scarred skin, now that the danger no longer feels imminent, how will you survive his absence, once he’s gone?

Frankie calls your name, his round husk roping you out of your head, and you ask, “Should I keep my t-shirt?”

“Not today. Today, you take off everything.”

Sat on the edge of your bed, he beckons you, guiding you to stand between his spread thighs with firm, tender hands. The reverence that softens his mahogany eyes, the love and want you find there, it’s all yours. Yours to keep and treasure. 

The tip of his fingers thread along your curves in a delicate touch, brushing down the back of your legs, up to the small of your back, along your spine. Then down your arms, his lips nestling into the inside of your wrist, smooth and fragrant. A soft trail of love, light kisses and caress, shedding weeks of longing in their wake. 

You cup his face, thumbs slotting in the bare patches of his scruff jaw, and relish in the way he leans into your hold. 

He bends into you, his mouth a wet press to your soft belly. The scrape of his teeth, gently teasing. 

Twining your fingers into his thick curls, your fingernails scrape over his scalp. The echo of his groan reverberates deep into your center, slick leaking warm down your folds. You tug his face back to look at him, and ever so quiet, he hums, the sweetest sound, the greatest gift, eyes flickering shut under the pleading arch of his brow, a smile curling the corner of his lips. So much abandon. So much trust. You’re falling.

A fleeting memory tugs at your heart, wistful, indelible. Yours for the night only, and your breathing falters, you’re sinking deeper. 

Yours forever, if you’d only say the word. 

“Do you remember when you wouldn’t let me touch your hair?” you tease, but there’s hardly any air left in your lungs. 

His smile broadens. 

“Remember when you told me your name was Marion?”

Your laughter rushes out of you and his eyes flash open, his smile fully bloomed, transforming his face, all dimples and crinkly eyes. 

“Come here, Marion,” he chuckles, sitting you over his sturdy lap. 

All at once, you’re crushed against his chest to the music of his rumbling mmhs, before his embrace loosens, head dipping, nipping at your collarbone, calloused palm skimming up the underside of your breast.

“Fucking perfect,” you hear him growl before his mouth latches around your nipple.

You keen, quiet, grateful, eyes fluttering close as his tongue twirls around the hardening bud, hanging on for dear life to the breadth of his shoulders. So many sensations, after feeling so little for so long. There’s a live-wire buzzing down from your sternum to your core, and your pulse’s a desperate staccato, you struggle to remain afloat.

With an appreciative sound, he sucks on your nipple, a rough hand squeezing your breast, and when he bites into the soft flesh of it, it shoots straight to your clit. Your hips bucking forward of their own volition, seeking more.

Under your folds, his cock twitches, exquisitely stiff for you, already. 

“I could come like that, you know?” you pant, rolling your hips into the bulk of his want.

A shake of his curls, and he lets go, his mouth releasing your breast with a wet sound.

“No,” he husks, teeth ghosting the column of your neck, “you’re coming on my cock. Put it in.”

Your heart stutters, skips a beat, or two, or several. 

His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs but he’s not moving you away, and there’s no space between your sealed bodies, no leeway for any movement. You’re trapped in his hold, pinned to his skin, glued to the amber golden light of him. And your hips keep rolling, and your heart keeps tripping, and your want keeps swelling. 

His lips wrap over the beating vein in your neck, sucking on the tender skin, sharp and stinging, teeth sinking into the surfacing blood. You lean into him, lean into the bite, lean into the pain.

You give yourself to it, all the love and the want and the affection, lose yourself in it, limp and pliant as it pours inside you, and everything has a name, now, everything is right, as his touch dissolves all the hurt calcified around your heart, all the fear you wouldn’t let out, all the failures and the doubt. 

You breathe out his name, and he breathes out yours, and you’re whole, bright, in bloom. Brimming with life.

He fits in your hand, warm and hefty, smooth skin and bulging veins, throbbing under the caress of your thumb, leaking thick and tangy over your knuckles, and you’re desperate for a taste, but you can’t let him go.

“Put it in, come on” he grits, but there’s no bark to his words, only need, bleeding into the bruising furrow of his fingers into the plush of your ass. 

A lift, you’re weightless in his hold, and he’s pushing thick and stiff at your entrance. Your face hanging above his, lips parted, trembling, and it’s already too much, the way everything within you pulsates and tingles. 

His gaze levels with yours, and his eyes spear into your eyes before he lowers you onto him with an unyielding grip and a shaky exhalation. And with each splitting inch, the searing girth of him stretching you blind. 

Fingers curled around his biceps, forehead pressed to his, you sink down to the hilt. The coarse hair at his base grazes your clit and sweat beads over your temple. 

With measured breaths, he pauses, giving you time to adjust. Eyes skittering over the small line splitting your brow, the quiver of your lip that you're too full to bite down on. 

For the first time ever, there has been no Stop me. This is something else. 

This is what comes next. What you’ve earned, what you’ve prayed for. 

There’s a tremor in his frame, the only evidence of his waning control, and he grabs at your ass, rocking you onto him, languid, scorching, a deep grind, perked up nipples grazing his solid chest, and you're already ascending. 

“Frankie,” you whine, plead, beg, walls a frantic flutter as his cock slots right into the center of you in rolling waves.

“Let go, Lee” he rasps, “let go, I got you.”

With the hushed assurance of his words, round and sincere, your release crackles and tenses. You slump in his arms, undone, rebuilt.

“I’ve missed you, Lee,” he presses into the slope of your shoulder, “God, I’ve missed you.”

—

He’s insatiable. Some of it is reminiscent of your first encounters at the motel, when his hunger was indiscernible from his rage. 

Tied up, with your arms behind your back and your face buried in the mattress as he holds your ass up with a bruising grip on your hips and pounds into you hard, rough, relentless. 

His fingers tangled in your sweat-damp hair, your knees on the hard tiles of the shower as he fucks your throat until you forget how to breathe. 

And suddenly reverential, his gentleness nearly too much when he wakes you up to cover your body in kisses and strokes. Overwhelming, the desperation with which he seeks the contact of your skin, his gaze spearing into your eyes as he grinds deep into your heat. 

The urgent, low husk of his voice when he murmurs, “Tell me what you want, Lee, let me give you what you need.” 

When he sits you on his face and relents control, when you pull on his curls to press him closer to where you want him, shameless and wanton, riding your release.

—

“And what about the Russians?” you ask, propping your chin on his chest. “Have you ever fought against the Russians?”

“Jesus, woman,” he laughs, “how old do you think I am?”

“I’m not talking Cold War Russians, I’m talking CIA stuff. I know you lot, Delta operatives.”

“Oh yea?” he grins, cocking an eyebrow. “What have you heard?”

A mischievous expression dances on your face and he chuckles again, a wider grin pulling his lips. Lightheaded, is one way to put it. Melting inside is another. Giddy like a teenager with your levity. 

Your eyes flicker down to his dimple and you lift your hand off his chest to brush your finger into the dip in his cheek. You keep it there for a beat, seemingly absorbed, enthralled by the touch, and then it’s over. You lower your head back onto him, cheek resting right over his scar, he knows there’s no coincidence to it.

Frankie lets out a silent sigh. His head lolls back on the fat pillow. Twenty-nine Fridays, carved out and hollow. Twenty-nine weeks, 1123 miles, carrying his love and hunger like a penance, and then this. Your naked body tucked against his, under the thick downy comforter, in this tiny room saturated with your scent. Your taste on his tongue. Your easy laughter. Your gaze sinking into his eyes. It's a blessed sensory overload. That old slicing ache in his chest singing another song. 

Somehow, you look younger than when he last saw you. Maybe not younger, just more carefree. Understandably so. Those last weeks in Tampa, you had become so frail. But you’ve put on some weight since. It sits harmoniously on your figure, suits your features and brightens up your face. Means there’s more of you, too, and he can’t keep his hands from roaming your curves. 

He knows he’s gotta talk to you at some point. It’ll kill the mood, probably. Inform you of that decision Lupe took that will affect his life for the foreseeable future. Affect yours as well, maybe. To some extent at least. That insane rippling effect. His past choices always breathing down his neck, when he’d give everything for a clean slate.

But you look so fucking delicious. He went so fucking long, too fucking long without you, now he cannot get enough. It’s too soon to risk it. 

There were plans. An itinerary you had drafted in the short lapse of time it had taken him to organize his trip here, and that you’d texted him on the night before his flight. Things you wanted to show him, places that matter to you. The Coney Island boardwalk, the Guggenheim, and some marine paintings in the Frick Collection you were excited to share with him. He’d texted back with some requests of his own: your office building, the place in Brooklyn where you attend the evening classes, your favorite places to eat. 

But since he arrived, he’s kept you in, or you have him, he cannot tell. Either way, the two of you haven’t left the dim apartment, and any notion of time has been reduced to the alternation of semi-dark urban nights and stonewashed winter days. 

He tries not to dwell on the fact that your apartment barely looks lived in. Bare walls, save for that map in your kitchen, if he can even call that a kitchen. Your suitcase standing beside the dresser, like you’re ready to take off. No curtains, no rug, no lampshade. It’s almost like you don’t really want to settle. Like you’re still trying to decide if you truly belong here. 

The only evidence of you is taped to the mirror above the dresser. A Polaroid of a kid in pigtails blowing raspberries, washed out yellow and blurry by the years. Your sister, if he had to guess. 

And that receipt tucked between the pages of a leather-bound book on your nightstand. From the cantina. That very first Friday he brought food to the motel. He checked the date stamp. 

It breaks his heart, the way you’re torn and scattered. Neither here nor there. His guilt might be irrelevant, misplaced, but it churns his insides nonetheless.

Still, New York is where you live now. You’ve made some good friends, work a job you seem to like enough to give it your best. It’s probably just a matter of time before you store away the suitcase. 

Part of him wants to go out and explore this city that has robbed you from him. Learn everything he can about your life here, so that when he flies out on Saturday morning, he can picture you in your environment, going about your daily life. Anything to try to survive your absence. 

He wants to meet your family. A dinner is scheduled sometime this week with your sister and her girlfriend. He’d like to meet your friends. Further explore the mixed emotions and feelings he experiences whenever you mention these people, whenever he thinks of them. Gratitude, for the affection and comfort they give you. Envy, for the parts of you that are familiar to them and that himself will never get to know. 

The person you are when you’re with them. 

“Frankie?” you call quietly, your leg a smooth brush against his as you hitch it higher.

“Yes, baby?”

“Have you ever thought about how people are like… made of layers?”

“That’s funny, I was just thinking about it.”

“Really?” you exclaim. 

Your head pops up comically, and his jaw tenses. Why can’t he bring himself to let you see the dopey smile that melts his face whenever you look at him like this? Until now, he’s never felt vulnerable demonstrating his affection. 

But things with you are different. That living pull between you is too big, bigger than him. He senses it thrumming behind your lungs while it whirs inside his chest like an answer, constantly, it might bleed him dry with its intensity. Like first love. Pristine. Brand new. All encompassing. 

“Mmh,” he grunts, gathering his brain. “Yea. Or maybe like puzzles?”

“Yes,” you agree, your tone serious, and you scoot up a notch, propping your head in your hand, so you don’t have to crane your neck to look at him, “puzzles, exactly. And everyone you know holds a different piece of you.”

“Yea, pretty much, I guess.”

“And so the puzzle of you is never truly complete because the pieces are never all together at once.”

You pause, pondering over your reflection. 

“Do you think all the pieces could fit together, if they were assembled?” Frankie asks after a moment, a strange sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, like his center of gravity has suddenly shifted. 

“Probably not,” you muse, head shaking imperceptibly, your gaze lost somewhere in the distance.

The memory of the motel room resurfaces, stifling heat, amber lighting. The distance that sometimes clouded your eyes, your silent retreat within yourself, that inner world of yours, your island. Week after week, getting closer, within his reach, yet never fully accessible. He swallows thickly. 

“I think you got all my pieces,” you say in a casual tone, in contradiction with his thoughts.  

He tightens his grip around your waist.

“I don’t think I do, baby. But it’s okay,” he lies, as if he’s not free-falling from the sky, plummeting straight into your ocean. 

Slipping out of his hold, you sit up on the rumpled bed, your naked back turned to him. 

“Do you think I’ve got all your pieces?” you ask.

“God, I hope not,” he sighs, running a palm over his face. 

Hugging your knees, you lean forward, away from him. The room is thick with a compact silence, as if all the sounds were absorbed by fresh snow.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” he asks, brushing his knuckles along your spine. A shiver fizzles under his touch.

“I was wondering… Is it important? Do you have to know someone to love them? What’s the right balance between knowing your partner, and knowing yourself? What’s the tipping point?”

His hand splays over your lower back.

“The tipping point to what?”

You shake your head in frustration, straightening your back, your knee bumped against his thigh. Offering him your profile, but not your direct gaze.

“I don’t know how to explain. When do you start losing yourself to be what others… what people expect you to be? At what moment do you start feeling isolated? Misunderstood? In a relationship, I mean? Because that’s the beginning of the end.”

“Fuck, Lee, I don’t– I don’t have those answers,” he frowns, sitting up with a cinch. “I know I love you, all of you, even the pieces I don’t know. I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to be someone else.” 

Reaching behind you, you take his hand and weave your fingers with his. Your fingertips are cold, and he squeezes his into the back of your hand, to imprint some of his heat into you. Some of his words, too. 

At last, you fully turn. Under your scowl, something darkens your gaze. Something Frankie cannot decipher. His face close to yours, his eyes boring into your eyes, the moment tightens his throat, decisive, important. The pregnant silence. The gray winter light painting shades of blue on your pale skin. The old pain spears through his heart, sweet and beaming. It’s gonna split him in half. He knows he’ll never forget it. Never let go of this sensation. 

“I trust you, Frankie.”

“I trust you, too.”

Your brow shifts, the tiniest inflection, and your eyes widen, luminous like a rising sun, like a summer morning.

“I promise I’ll always be honest with you.”

“I promise I’ll always be honest with you, baby,” he rasps, the weight of his secret sitting on the back of his tongue. 

—

On the fourth day, at last, you venture outside, ushered by your sister’s and Polly’s dinner invitation. 

The itinerary had to be stripped to the bare minimum. Frankie will be flying out in two nights. Your heart stutters and sinks every time you think of him leaving. 

The cold is unforgiving, the sky a gray shade of white, heavy and full like a quilted blanket. Against reason, you offer to take him to Coney Island, where the Atlantic wind will freeze the ears off your head. You’re not sure why it’s important for you to take him there, but he says he’s game. 

Bundled up in your thrift store coat, your face half concealed between a scarf the size of a tablecloth and a wool hat, you watch him brave the cruel temperatures with nothing more than a Sherpa lined trucker jacket over a fleece shirt, and his ragged Standard Heating Oil cap. 

As you stand and shiver, waiting for the bus —the first act of an interminable route— the tip of his ears poke out from underneath his curls, reddened by the frosty air. Sliding your numbed-out hand in his, you’re surprised by the warmth of his palm. Your mind wanders to the harsh conditions his former life has trained him to endure. You squeeze his hand with all of your strength. 

Later, sitting side by side on the subway’s hard plastic seats, you rant to him about your love-hate relationship with the NYC Metropolitan Transportation Authority. The never-ending rides, ideal for reading, listening to music, or idle contemplation. The welcome aloneness of anonymity, in a sea of indifferent strangers. 

He listens, his sharp profile tilted down in concentration over your words, and you’re mindful to downplay the downsides, the maddening time-consuming sprawl of the city, the promiscuity, the last-minute route changes and the undecipherable PA announcements. 

It’s not a lie as much as an omission. You can’t send him back over there with the knowledge that despite all its perks, you’ve failed to make this place your home. 

Thinking of your earlier promise, you fall silent, the deafening thunder of the train’s wheels over the tracks ringing out in your ears like a metallic injunction.

Your head lolls onto the round slope of his padded shoulder. His large hand curls over your thigh with a strong squeeze as he presses his lips to your temple. 

“What are you thinking, baby?”

“I was thinking that I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to living here,” you confess.

His shoulder slumps under your cheek. 

It’s another hour on the F train before you make it to the ocean. 

On the boardwalk, by the deserted amusement park, the wind slices through you, biting the exposed skin of your cheeks and chilling your bones. The defunct Parachute Jump stands erect like a skeletal sentinel, guarding over the memories of summers past. The graceful Wonder Wheel’s silhouette stands out in bright colors against the bleak December sky, like a benevolent promise, the assurance of continuity and the return of better days. 

“I think it’s my favorite season to be here,” you murmur.

“I can see the appeal,” Frankie rasps against the wind, eyes trained on the line of the horizon over your head. His arms circling your waist, the wall of his solid heat at your back.

“What have you told your sister about me?” he asks after a moment.

“Not much. Are you nervous?”

“No, not really. Wait, should I be? Her girlfriend’s a shrink, right?”

You laugh heartily, and immediately regret it when air made of pure frost rushes inside your lungs, freezing its way to the very end of your bronchioles. 

“Polly’s nice, don’t worry about her. Don’t worry about either of them. I love them, but I’m not waiting for their blessing.”

You’re done abiding that collective “we.” Another resolve rising up to the surface without your conscious knowledge of the process. 

“Oh shit, look at that,” Frankie exclaims. 

Above you, snowflakes descend from the white sky in a fast-paced twirl. Your very first New York snow. It’s neither fluffy nor cute, though, more like fierce little icy shards barreling toward you like small crystalline weapons. 

Your first thought is of his child.

“Has Lua ever seen the snow?”

“No.”

You squint against the wind and the stabbing snow, against the white daylight and all of your past hesitations.

“I can't wait to meet her, you know.”

He pulls you in closer, reaching out for your body through layers and layers of winter clothes. 

For a while now, the feeling has grown steady and strong inside of you, taking up more space each day. Nurtured by the pictures and many stories you’ve asked Frankie to share with you. This time, you’re better equipped to name it, from the very beginning. And it’s strange, in a tranquil kind of way, the unconditionality of this love. The irrationality of it. You love her, without any reason for it. You love her, just because. 

“How is it, being a parent? Did you know from the start what to do?”

“Oh fuck no,” he scoffs wryly. “Most of the time, I feel like she’s the one teaching me how to be her dad.”

The honesty of the statement makes you smile.

“Do you think you could bring her, next time?”

“She’s gonna have to get used to it.”

Frankie’s words reach your ear as you’ve already spoken yours. You whip around in his arms to face him, struck by the look on his face. Like he’s trying to chew his molars.

“Wait, what? Used to what?”

“She’s gonna have to get used to the snow.”

—

Your eyes are fucking blazing, so big they eat up half your face. A single teardrop clings to your lashes, from the near polar gale, probably, and you’re shivering cold. 

He can’t stall any longer. Not again. Not this time. Not when he just gave you his word to always be honest with you. 

“Lua’s mother's getting married. They’ll be moving to Rochester in the spring. Her fiancé’s from there. His father passed away a couple weeks ago, and his mother has ALS. He wants to move back to take care of her.”

“Rochester… New York, Rochester?”

Frankie nods. Against his chest, your lean figure grows stiff. 

“She’s taking Lua with her?” you ask in a thin voice. 

Frankie nods again. The wind picks up in gusts, those sharp snowflakes falling down obliquely, murderous, whipping your faces relentlessly. He wants to get you somewhere inside, somewhere warm. What if you get sick when he’s about to leave? 

Why you seem to fall for the things that are the most arduous to love is a complete mystery to him. This place in the winter. Him.

Your fingers curl around his lapel. 

“She’s taking Lua, yea. We talked about it. I’m gonna have to relocate. There’s no way I’m seeing my kid less than I already do. I started scouting for jobs in the area.”

“Is that why you came here? To tell me?”

“I came here because you said you needed to see me, Lee,” he answers, the hint of a scowl sharpening his tone.

You tilt down your face and furrow into his neck, your woolly hat a fuzzy tickle against the scruff of his chin. Your unrelenting tenderness, that brought him back from the darkness.

“I’ve checked the flights here from up there. It’s a short trip, a little under two hours. I could come down to visit every other weekend. If you want me to, of course” he adds, his voice warped with sheer fucking terror, his heart thumping in his throat. 

“I don’t like it,” you shoot right back, rising your face to look him dead in the eye. 

It’s that same look again, the one from that very first night at the bar, feverish, lost, hopeful against all odds, against your better judgment. Instinctively, his hands fly to cup your face. It’s cold as marble, and his palms ignite at the contact of your skin, again, still, always. Your eyes pool with something dark and dense, your fingers leaving his jacket to cuff his wrists. 

“Every other weekend isn’t enough, Frankie. It’s not enough.”

“What are you saying, Lee?”

“I'm saying I want to go there with you.”

His pain huffs out of him. Disbelief in a puff of white breath. 

“You want to follow my ex and her new husband to fucking nowhere up north, when you just settled here?”

Brow pinched in a stern expression, you nod frantically between his palms.

“Yes. I want to be with you.”

“What about your sister? Your job? Your friends? What about–”

“I can find another job,” you cut it, words punching out of you and landing straight into his gut. “You said it’s only two hours to fly here, I can visit them, I want to be with you, Frankie, please, please, plea–”

His mouth crashes over yours, silencing your plea. Your lips are icy-cold as you press back into his kiss. He feels your arms rounding his back, your little fists bunching his jacket, clinging to his shoulders. He could swear he feels your heart, too, pounding loud against his, leaping out into his rib cage, exactly where he wants it, where he needs it, next to his, to keep it warm and safe. 

How did he get here, on this freezing boardwalk, facing the dark immensity of the Atlantic Ocean on the cusp of a second chance? On the verge of everything he never dared to long for? Everything he has ever truly wanted? 

“You’re gonna come with me, baby?” he chokes, the words rolling thick over his tongue. 

“Yes,” you sniffle, a tear running down your cheek.

“You’re gonna let me love you? Gonna let me build you a home?”

“Yes, Frankie,” you nod again, a smile tugging your lips, more tears slipping down your face, and he’s surprised the wind doesn’t turn them into pear-shaped diamonds. 

“Okay. Okay, alright,” he smiles. “Can we get somewhere warm now?”

You laugh, leaning into his hold. Blue lips, red cheeks, pink scar. Eyes of gold. 

“Yes,” you agree with another sniff. “Remember when we wished for seasons?”

The End

****

End notes: alright, Orange bedroom besties, raise your hand who thought they wouldn't end up together? I tried, this time I really tried, but there's nothing I can deny this man... or you, I guess? This series took a big chunk out of my life. It consumed a lot of my heart, time, energy, brain, emotions... Wow, look at that, not unlike therapy, huh? Anyway, enough about me, my point is, THANK YOU. Thank you for your patience, I know I'm the slowest and I feel terrible, thank you for reading, or for just passing by, thank you for bookmarking for later, engaging, lurking, liking, commenting, reblogging, sending an ask, reccing, thank you for supporting me in any way and manner, thank you thank you thank you, Ily and I appreciate you, genuinely, so very much 🧡 Thank you Kelli my love, for beta reading that whole damn thing with so much kindness, for teaching me so patiently, for holding my hand every step of the way, for listening to my endless rambling, for being you, smart and talented, selfless and gracious, for being my friend. This is a story about hope, and your stories brought back hope into my life. I love you, I like you, I admire you, until the end of times 🧡 Thank you Lua @pedrit0-pascalit0 for letting me love you on main, oops I mean use your name! Thank you for sharing your thots on the Pilot™ with me, thank you for being a menace in DMs and keeping me alive and alert with your smart and talent and humor. Ily. Big loads 🧡 @dreamymyrrh you know what you did, and everything you gave this story. I'm so grateful for you 🧡 I love you more, I don't want to hear anything, shhhhh 🧡 Now I'm gonna go lie in the dark utterly terrified that I won't ever have another idea or write another word rest a little bit and get back to work as soon as inspiration strikes again!

THANK YOU ALL 🧡

[f1cflcfic]

Just Because I Called You (Carlos Sainz) - part ii

pairing: carlos sainz jr x fem!reader

summary: y/n knows there's a reason for his contact details to be saved under 'do not interact', but one call does not mean you miss him.

genre: 2.7k words, written au, angst, mentions of alcohol

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons

part i

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

It’s been ten days. Ten days since you broke your one month streak. Ten days since you slept with your ex. Ten days of constantly oscillating between anger and sadness, of lying to your friends, and trying desperately not to let Carlos Sainz Jr. occupy your every thought.

At least it’s off-season, so the chances of accidentally coming across his face on social media or on billboards in town are a lot less high.

You’re meant to be over him. You were the one that broke up with him, after all. And yet, you can’t seem to get him out of your head.

“Oh come on,” your colleague nudges your shoulder, leaning in to make sure you can hear him. “I thought we would crush this quiz, but you’re not even paying attention!”

Slammers is loud on any given day, but it’s their monthly quiz night that really makes the whole place feel just a tad overcrowded. Normally, it’s something you look forward to, winding down from long office hours – and finally letting loose with colleagues.

Normally, you’re the first one to shout the right answers down the table to whoever’s in charge of writing them down.

Normally, you don’t mind the no-phone policy that lets you actually focus on spending time together, rather than sending off a final email or text.

This time around, you’re just trying your hardest to not zone out completely, give into the irritating urge to grab your phone and obsessively check it for messages, or – worst case scenario, cave and send a message yourself.

You can justify it, too. There’s the hoodie he’d left in your room, after all.

And your key. He still has your spare key.

It’s not because you miss him.

When your coworker pokes you again, you give him a half-hearted grin. “Sorry, I’m just a little bit distracted,” you apologise, making an effort to look over the answers that have been given so far. There’s quite a few items still left wide open, question marks crowding the margins.

“Well, we can’t have that. We kinda need your brainpower to win, as you can see,” he winks.

Wendy pipes up to defend you. “Don’t bother her Dean, she’s still recovering from a breakup. Takes about one-third of the time you were together, so she's got a couple months left to go.”

She means well, but it’s also an invitation for people to jump on the opportunity to talk to you about Carlos. You can’t help but internally roll your eyes when inevitably, someone indeed pipes up to ask for details. “What would really cheer me up is if we’d win this quiz and receive a,” you lean forward and squint your eyes to read the prizes listed on the screen up front. “A dinner voucher for Amù. Good food nurtures the soul, right?”

It’s a good restaurant. You’d been there twice with Carlos, once with his family in tow. That had been a good night. Until you’d gone and ruined it by freaking out afterwards. Everything had seemed a little too serious, his parents being a little too nice, and his sisters wanting to hang out with you. You hadn’t even said “I love you” to each other, and yet they were treating you as if you were already their daughter in law.

Carlos hadn’t understood your reaction, and had gotten upset over you not liking his family. It’d been one of many moments that had inevitably led to your decision to break things off.

Wendy smirks, then raises her eyebrows at the rest of the group. “You heard the woman – no to more personal questions, yes to more pub quiz questions please!”

You’re four drinks in now, and while the pub food has certainly helped stave off full intoxication, you’re definitely well on your way to being drunk. Add to that a pretty challenging quiz, and the zero-phone policy, and you actually were having a great time – finally feeling unburdened by confusion, guilt and lingering hurt.

Of course, it doesn’t last forever. When the last round of questions is announced, it’s clear that your blissful bubble of ignorance is about to burst. First, it’s the fact that the category is none other than Monaco itself. Immediately, you know that’s code for at least one Formula One reference.

Second, it’s the way in which Dean has apparently taken the news of you being single as a green light to getting very comfortable around you. His arm is draped around your chair, and every time you lean back a little, his fingers ghost across your skin.

You wish it wouldn’t be unwelcome. Dean’s hot, and maybe in another life, under different circumstances, you’d be flattered. As it stands, all it does is remind you of the fact that just ten days ago it was Carlos’ lips trailing down your shoulders and you still don't know how to feel about it.

Sighing, you lean forward again, trying to pay attention to the questions instead. Sure, your skin craves contact, but not at the cost of poor decision-making. You’ve done enough of that lately.

The quiz goes exactly as you’d expected, as your ears perk up at the next question. “What did the podium in Monaco look like for its iconic F1 race in 2024? Bonus points if you can name both the drivers and their constructors."

It’s impossible for everyone in Slammers to know that you’re right there – or to even be aware of the fact that you’d been dating a driver up until recently. Still, the question leaves you wanting to run and hide, and you cling to the numbing taste of alcohol on your tongue as you answer the question for your team. “Charles P1, Piastri P2, Carlos P3. Ferrari, McLaren, Ferrari."

At the time, it’d been so exciting. Two Ferraris on the podium, Carlos shifting up in the Driver’s Championship standings. You shiver at the memory of the epic celebration sex that had followed and – no.

You shouldn’t be thinking about him like that, you chastise yourself.

“Hmm. Shouldn’t be thinking about who, like what?” Dean murmurs in your ear, his hand sliding down your back to settle at your hip.

Embarrassed, you twist to look at him, effectively putting some space between the two of you. “Did I say that out loud?”

He nods, smiling as his gaze flickers down to your lips. “I’d be happy to take your mind off of whoever else you’re thinking of.”

You blink once, then twice, as you process what Dean’s offering. “That’s very kind of you. But I – need the bathroom,” you slide out of your seat and hurry away.

The sight that greets you in the bathroom mirror is not one that you recognise. Your skin’s flushed, and empty eyes stare back at you as you try to make sense of what had just happened.

Did Dean really try to come onto you? You sprinkle some cold water on your face, trying to bring some relief and ground yourself.

Maybe Carlos was right, when he said you were so difficult to read sometimes. You can't even read your own reflection.

How fucking infuriating.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

Alarmed, you immediately shift your expression into something a little less fragile – shutters closing again as you paste a happy smile on your face and turn around.

It makes no sense whatsoever, but you find yourself hugging none other than Carlos’ youngest sister Ana just seconds later. “Que suerte!”

“What are you doing here?” You ask, hoping that it doesn’t come across as accusatory as it sounds in your head. Most importantly, you hope that she knows you’re no longer together with Carlos. That news should not be coming from you, and definitely not delivered in a random bathroom in Monaco’s decidedly not-finest establishment.  

“My boyfriend and I are visiting,” Ana starts, but her smile fades a little as she rolls her eyes. “But my brother’s been in a mood, so we’re out here while he gets to be miserable by himself tonight.”

Something about how at ease she seems, makes you all the more uneasy to hear whatever comes next. “How great that I run into you here! Of course, great minds think alike when it comes to escaping one of Carlos’ sulks.”

She definitely doesn’t know, you conclude, as you try not to think too much about the fact that he’s apparently miserable and alone. “It’s good to see you, I hope you’re well,” Ana continues blithely, and you’re torn between telling her the truth or revelling in the lie for a little longer.

“Yeah, I think so. Just out with colleagues now, we do our monthly pub quiz here,” you say, testing the waters a little bit. Maybe this is fine. Maybe pretending for a little bit won’t hurt at all.

Excitedly, Ana claps in her hands. “What’s your team name? Are you winning?”

“Smartinis. And I think we are – last question was about Formula 1, so,” you note with glee. Weirdly enough, there’s a lick of satisfaction that runs through you as Ana smiles at you widely. It’s a genuine smile. At least she doesn’t hate you. Yet.  

Maybe it’s the fact that she looks so similar to her brother, or it’s the alcohol that’s still coursing through your veins. But all of a sudden you feel a lot closer to crying than three seconds ago. The wave of emotion is only further accelerated by Ana’s smile falling from her face as she watches you get more and more upset.

“Are you okay, Y/N? Can I help?” Ana gasps, “did you and Carlos have a fight?”  

A miserable laugh bubbles up from the back of your throat, and the sheer concern in her brown eyes make it easy to decide between the truth and the alternative. “It’s fine,” you squeak. “My co-worker just came on to me, so I fled here to try and figure out how to navigate that. But I can’t even think straight, because I’m drunk and confused.”

It’s not something you’d ever hoped to discuss with Ana, of all people, and definitely not given your current state. She seems a little thrown at the mention of someone else being interested in you, but recovers quickly. “Tipaza, you didn’t do anything wrong - it is okay, no? He made you uncomfortable, that is not okay. But it’s stupid either way. Everyone knows the rules, you don’t date colleagues or exes. Que idiota.”

Who is the real idiot here, you wonder briefly. Had Dean made you uncomfortable? Sure, a little bit. But had you really not done anything wrong? Guilt pools in your stomach as you glance at her, and think of Carlos.

She doesn’t know.

Why did she not know, when Carlos is so close to his family?

“I guess it’s okay. He hasn’t crossed my boundaries, yet. Just hasn’t caught onto the fact that I’m not interested, I suppose. ‘m not ready,” you mutter the last bit. Ana doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m just tired and overwhelmed,” you tack on for good measure. “As soon as I know I’ve won this thing, I should probably just go home.”

Ana smiles at your renewed resolve, and squeezes your arm briefly. “Ah – of course my cuñis is just as competitive as my brother.” She pauses when her phone buzzes, and she glances down briefly before shooting you an apologetic smile. “We’re headed to the next pub. See you?”

She’s gone before you can properly respond, make up your mind about telling her you probably won’t ever see her again, or ask her what cuñis even means.

It’s probably just another nickname, you figure, then splash some more water on your face before making your way back to the table. The whole group is shouting, debating what the answer is to the last question of the night. “Monaco is French! So it must mean something in French,” one of your colleagues says. “No, it obviously comes from monarchy,” someone else argues. “Actually,” you start, and everyone turns to listen. “it comes from Mon Oikos, it’s Greek – Hercules passed through and a lone temple was built to honour him afterwards, as he’d turned away the old gods. It means single/lone house.”

As someone feverishly writes it down, just in time for the quizmaster to collect the team’s answer sheet, Wendy smiles at you. “Truthfully you’re the only Smartini in this entire team. When we win, you’re so getting that voucher, girl. Now go treat yourself to another drink!”

You laugh, and dutifully walk over to the bar to order another martini for the both of you. Maybe it’ll help drown out the lingering guilt towards Ana, or the rest of the night that still awaits you, you think wryly, as you back a shot.

When you return to your table, you make a quick pitstop to deliver Wendy’s drink to her, before realising there’s nowhere else to sit than your original seat next to Dean.

“Whether or not we get that voucher, I’d love to take you out sometimes,” he says, before you can even get a word in otherwise. Part of you admires him for being so bold, but another part is irritated at the presumptuous nature of his request, and the fact he cannot seem to read the room.

“Actually,” you turn to face him properly, shaking your head in an unspoken apology. “I don’t think it’d be a good idea. You’re one of my favorite coworkers, and I’d like to keep it that way. I’m not – I’m not really into dating right now.”

He seems a little taken aback by your answer, and frowns. “I thought you and that driver were done?”

You shrug. “Doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into the next best thing.”

Dean’s smile returns at that. “I’m not really looking for that either. But I wouldn’t mind spending some more time with you. Alone. Casually. As your next best thing.”

It’s hard not to cringe, and you desperately want to look anywhere else. However, the liquid courage from earlier makes you stare straight at him as you shake your head once more. “I’m going to have to say no to that offer as well.”

He tries to smooth over the dejected look on his face when he realises you’re serious. “Alright, fine. Guess I misread things. You seemed chill this evening.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, but he shrugs as his arm pulls away from your chair. “I mean, we were getting cosy. We’re both attractive, and for the first time in weeks you’re not distracted by this goddamn phone of yours.”

Where you’d previously been pretty hopeful that Dean would handle the rejection well, that changes in an instant. “What do you - why do you have my phone?” You ask sharply as soon as he slides it across the table towards you.

He shrugs. “It went off while you were in the bathroom, and I was closest to the basket. Had to make sure we wouldn’t be disqualified.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then look down at your screen. There’s two missed calls, and your stomach sinks when you see who they’re from.

“It seemed like you didn’t want to talk to the person who called you anyways,” he adds, as if it’s no big deal at all and he’s actually done you a favour.

Sure, you might have saved Carlos’ contact under “x do not interact x”, but it’s not up to anyone else to decline his calls. And most of all, that warning had been put in place mostly to keep you from reaching out. Not the other way around.  

“That still gives you no right to pick up my phone.”

Immediately, Dean backpedals, “I didn’t answer – just told him you were busy.”  

It only makes things worse.

“Fuck,” you swear under your breath.

As much as you want Carlos to know you do not miss him, this isn't the way. Feeling queasy all of a sudden, dread settles into your gut as you read the text thread again and again.

She's busy.

Who is this?

Dean.

Why do you have Y/Ns phone?

Hello?

I’m coming to pick you up.

And then, on your third read through, a new text bubble appears. "Outside." “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

Let me know what you think <3 Likes, comments, reblogs, asks are all appreciated. part iii will hopefully be posted in the next five days again.

Update: part iii is available here now.

[2tcs]

Day 6: Forgetting an important date and offense

DeadTired: Tim

TheBloodSon: Damian

WingDing: Dick

PurplePower: Steph

Shadow: Cass

GlowStick: Duke

UndeadDrama: Jason

SpaceCadet: Danny

Alfred: Alfred

B Less Batchat

Feb 9, 11:15 AM

DeadTired

“I don’t think you understand the 

importance of getting a third

party to” bla bla bla

I sware. Some of these old farts

just need to retire already.

PurplePower

But if they retired then the world might figure

out that we don’t need them.

Shadow 

🤯

WingDing

Just a little longer Tim then your home free

DeadTired

Easy for you to say. I have three meetings

after this. And all of them could be covered

in an email. But I swear that none of these

Old hats even know what an email is.

SpaceCadet

ducks to be you

Ducks

Ducks

DeadTired

It’s okay. Take your time.

SpaceCadet

Fuds you

wtf?

PurplePower

🤣😂🤣

Shadow

😂

WingDing

Autocorrect strikes again.

TheBloodSon

Please cease this irritating conversation.

Some of us have important work to do.

GlowStick

This is kinda the highlight of my patrol.

But I remember when I was in school.

Don’t let the teachers see you texting.

TheBloodSon

Tt. As if they would catch me.

SpaceCadet

Aren’t you at lunch right now

Damian? Besides you could

just put your phone on mute.

PurplePower

Ooo Snap!

TheBloodSon

That is irrelevant. You all need to

focus on your duties instead of

complaining about frivolous things.

WingDing

Aw. Look how responsible you are!

PurplePower

Our little boy is growing so fast. 😭

Shadow

😢

DeadTired

Some day he will be all grown up

and too smart to hang out with us

simpleton.

TheBloodSon

I am already too smart for a plebian

like you Drake.

SpaceCadet

Lol

Sit down, pleb.

Oh before I forget

The 12 is my dd so I

won’t be available.

Shadow

👍

WingDing

👍

GlowStick

👍

DeadTired

👍

PurplePower

👍

TheBloodSon

Tt

UndeadDrama

QUIT SPAMING MY PHONE!

Alfred

Might I suggest you all return to your

duties?

Feb 10, 8:30 PM

SpaceCadet

Where is everyone?

Shadow

❓

SpaceCadet

I’m in the cave but no one else is.

DeadTired

Lol

Check the time.

Alfred

Young master. I can hear you all the way

in the manor. Please mind your language

And remember to place a quarter in the

jar.

SpaceCadet

Sorry Alfred

Feb 11, 6:00 AM

DeadTired

GUYS! I JUST FIGURED IT OUT!!!

I KNOW WHAT COFFEE SHOP

DANNY GOES TO!!!!

DANNY YOU ARE SUCH A SELFISH

AHOLE!!! THEY GAVE ME A 12OZ 

OF STRAIT ESPRESSO SHOTS!!!

Alfred

Master Tim. Master Danny. If you would 

please meet me in the kitchen at exactly 

6:30 am I would very much appreciate it.

SpaceCadet

Tim. I am sorry to inform you

that we are no longer friends.

DeadTired

GET BENT DEAD BOY!

SpaceCadet

Alfred? Tim hasn’t gone to sleep

since February 7th. He has set

up an alarm system to tell him

when you are coming up the 

stairs to the family wing so

he can pretend to be asleep

when you check on him.

DeadTired

YOU TRAITER!

SpaceCadet

Oh, hay! Thanks Tim! Now

I have my own theme music

for the day!

DeadTired

NO! SUFFER!!!

UndeadDrama

Why the heck is the Barbie song

playing next door…

Never mind. I just read the texts.

SpaceCadet

I′m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world

Life in plastic, it's fantastic

You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere

Imagination, life is your creation

DeadTired

GO EAT A DICK!

SpaceCadet

I think Kory would unalive me if

I tried to eat your brother.

DeadTired

ALSKDJFA;OLSDIFJKA;SOLKDF

Feb 11, 9:15 AM

UndeadDrama

I hate to inform everyone but

Danny’s phone has unfortunately passed

away.

GlowStick

R.I.P.

What song was it playing?

UndeadDrama

Crazy Frog. Auto-tuned Crazy Frog.

WingDing

Isn’t that song already auto-tuned?

UndeadDrama

This was worse. So much worse.

Think Alvin and the Chipmunks 

level of pitch with the weird 

auto-tune echo.

PurplePower

On this day we say goodbye to

a good phone. Taken from us

too soon. Please light a candle

for our fallen comrade. 🕯️

WingDing

🕯️

Shadow

🕯️

GlowStick

🕯️

UndeadDrama

🕯️

GlowStick has invited (888) XXX-XXXX 

to the chat.

(888) XXX-XXXX  has changed their name to 

DieHard.

DieHard

🕯️

DeadTired

YOU WILL SUFFER!!!

Feb 12, 10 AM

GlowStick

Hay. Has anyone seen Danny?

He wasn’t in class today.

TheBloodSon

He is probably shirking his studies.

WingDing

Come on Dams. Danny likes that.

Hay Jason. Danny’s apartment is

Next to yours. Is he home?

Feb 12, 3:16 PM

UndeadDrama

Just woke up. I didn’t hear him get

back last night.

Feb 12, 3:30 PM

UndeadDrama

Just went through his apartment.

He’s not there and it doesn’t look

like anything’s been touched since

I was over yesterday.

Shadow

😱

PurplePower

That’s not like Danny. Sleep is sacred

to him. He would never purposely

Stay out later than his normal patrol.

GlowStick

He never showed up for class. I’m on

patrol rn so I’ll keep an eye out for him.

Shadow

🤕❓

WingDing

I don’t know Cass.

I’m coming to Gotham tonight

To help look for him.

UndeadDrama

I’m going to do a few rounds

in the alley. If I can’t find him 

before patrol, I’ll have some of

my men start nosing around.

Alfred

I will make sure the med bay is

prepped and ready. Please be safe

everyone.

DeadTired

👍

TheBloodSon

Of course.

WingDing

👍

PurplePower

👍

Shadow

👍

GlowStick

👍

UndeadDrama

Okay Alfi.

Feb 13, 7:35 AM

DieHard

Hay everyone. I just got

back in Gotham.

What did I miss?

WingDing

DANNY!!!

PurplePower

Danny! Where were you!

Shadow

🥺💔

DeadTired

WTF WAS YOUR TRACKER?

WHY WAS YOUR PHONE

UNTRACABLE?!

GlowStick

Dude! Are you okay?

TheBloodSon

Tt. I do not see a reason for you

all to be so concerned.

DieHard

DID YOU ALL FORGET

ABOUT MY DEATH DAY?!

DISSHONER! DISSHONER

ON YOU! DISSHONER ON 

YOUR COW!

Alfred

Young Master Danny. I am happy

To hear you are back. If you would

be so kind please come by the

manor, I would greatly appreciate it.

DieHard

Of course Alfred.

Feb 13, 2:50 PM

UndeadDrama

Danny! Your back!

DieHard

🖕

UndeadDrama

😢

DieHard

🖕🖕

UndeadDrama

😭

[avatar-anna]

Rumors

so...i've had this concept rattling around in my brain, but i had no idea how to write it, so i used pictures instead. i definitely want to do more, but tumnlr only allows 10 pictures a post, so here's to hoping i remember to come back to this in the future!

yourinstagram

liked by taylorswift and 67,530 others

yourinstagram: had a very cool dude over today to make even cooler music

yoursistersinstagram: you let someone in the bat cave?!

y/nfan5: possible collab on the new album?

yourinstagram: more like i was helping someone with theirs ;))

harrystyles: Thank you for having me. X.

harryfan3: HARRY???

harryfan7: omgomgomgomgomg

y/nfan1: pls god let us have a harry and y/n collab on his next album i NEED it

harrystyles

liked by gemmastyles, yourinstagram and 2,233,781 others

harrystyles: HS3. Coming soon.

harryfan8: NEW ALBUM ALERT

harryfan11: HARRY YOU CANT JUST DROP SOMETHING LIKE THAT WITHOUT A RELEASE DATE

harryfan4: this has to be what he was working on with y/n right?

y/nfan3: i need them both on a song together

yourinstagram: had fun late night talking with you xx

y/nfan9: i'm sorry wHAT

harryfan5: is this flirting this sounds like flirting

harryfan13: honestly...here for it

y/nupdates

liked by harryfan7 and 4,320 others

y/nupdates: Y/n in a video for Vogue recently!

"A lot of people ask me how Harry Styles ended up recording at my house when we'd virtually never crossed paths before. It was actually Taylor (Swift) who kind of set the whole thing up. They spoke at the Grammys last year and she apparently gave him my number so we could work together...He called and asked if I was available to help with his album at all. At the time I was on the road, then working on stuff for the band, and it just kind of went back and forth for a few months while we tried to line up our schedules. Then I was done touring, but I was kind of in a weird state in life where I didn't want to leave the house or hang out with anyone. And I remember making up excuses because I wasn't really up to making myself presentable to a whole team of people I'd never met before and having our first meeting be this huge thing. I'd basically built it all up in my head about how our ideas would clash and we wouldn't get along and I just kept telling him maybe some other time. Long story short, Harry showed up at my place a week later by himself with just a guitar, a notebook, and my favorite takeout order. We spent the whole day together working on a bunch of different stuff from themes to genres of music to sampling and mixing. And writing. Lots and lots of writing. And now he's a dear friend. He's so sweet and so talented. I wish him all the best with the new album."

y/nfan8: ok i'm glad it worked out and everything but imagine a virtual stranger showing up to your HOUSE?? like she said no and he basically forced her to write his album for her

y/nfan4: that's so real of her tbh to not want to leave her house

y/nfan2: y/n is notoriously introverted it makes sense

harryfan13: girl...

y/nfan7: i don't think it was that serious. and if she really didn't want him there she could've said no

harryfan13: and y/n literally called him a friend?? stop trying to start shit that doesn't exist

y/nfan7: of COURSE mother brought them together

harryfan17: i can't believe that's what harry and taylor were talking about in the video!

harryfan2: chill harry doesn't need to be in a relationship with every woman he's associated with

harryfan4: wait but wasn't y/n at that grammys too?

harryfan9: it was still covid it's possible their paths didn't cross

y/nfan19: wait what if he was too shy to go up to her??😭

harryfan4: i love that they're writing besties now but i think they'd be so cute together 🥹

hsupdates

liked by harryfan4 and 10,343 others

hsupdates: Harry about Y/n L/n for Rolling Stone:

"I've always admired (Y/n's) work. She and her band are incredibly talented, and are just so passionate about creating music. I wanted that same energy for my third album, the freedom to make whatever I want without any reservations, and I knew Y/n was the perfect addition to the team. It took some convincing, but once we kind of got started, we couldn't stop. As we've gotten to know each other these past few months, I not only respect her as a musician, but for the person she is as well. Her soul is one of a kind, and I feel like my album would be so different without her on it. So now not only do I have an album that I'm proud of and love, but I got an extraordinary friend out of it too."

harryfan9: so this is what people mean when they say platonic soulmates

y/nfan12: all we've gotten is crumbs and i'm already in love with their friendship. and the album of course

y/nfan2: i'm so interested to hear this album now. if y/n is on it it has to be good

harryfan3: "her soul is one of a kind?" if that's harry as a friend i don't think i can handle boyfriendrry😭

y/nfan7: i'm holding out hope for them honestly🤞🏼🤞🏼

liked by harrystyles and 23,724 others

yourinstagram

yourinstagram: you've fallen from the sky down to me, i see it in your face, i'm relief, i'm your summer girl

y/nfan17: shut up are those song lyrics??

yourbandinstagram: the tears behind your dark sunglasses, the fears inside your heart as deep as gashes🎶🎶

y/nfan17: HOLY SHIT those ARE lyrics!

y/nfan6: haven't even heard the song and i know the girls have done it again

harryfan4: could it...could it be about harry?

y/nfan8: you're grasping at straws

harryfan12: are they? they've been spotted together all over LA

harrystyles: ☀️☀️

y/nfan8: as friends. friends can hang out can't they?

harryfan3: new music from harry AND y/n? we're about to be fed y'all

harryfan10: THEY REALLY ARE BESTIES

y/nfan2: i bet they collaborated on this song together

Interviewer (I): What's one memory or experience you can share from making this album? Any trips to Japan or Jamaica?

Harry (H): We stayed in Los Angeles mostly for this one. But erm...in terms of a specific memory...I would say that while I was working with Y/n, one of the tracks was actually inspired by her cat.

I: Really?

H: Yeah. Whenever it did something to annoy Y/n, which was quite often, she'd call her a little freak. The song's obviously not about the cat, but the phrase was in my head and yeah. Things just kind of...snowballed from there.

I: The sound that Y/n's band has is more rock centric, a similar sound to your first album. Is that what we can expect for your third studio album?

I: You've become quite close to Y/n L/n it seems like.

H: Not necessarily. Y/n and I collaborated, but she also let me take the reins in terms of sound. She had opinions of course and we would bounce ideas off of each other...but she really just followed my lead and supported the vision I had. She is playing a majority of the instruments on the album, though.

H: It's hard not to.

I: How so?

I: It sounds like you could go on for quite some time about her.

H: She's just cool, you know? I was kind of intimidated when we met for the first time. She's quiet, but you never forget that she's in the room, you just want to go over and talk to her. Of course once you meet her she's incredibly kind and not at all intimidating, but still like chill and stuff. The first time we met we sat for an hour just talking about music we enjoyed and live shows we wanted to attend and things we learned while in lockdown. She's just effortlessly cool. An old soul, I guess. And somehow she translates that into her music. Her sisters, too. They're all just first-rate musicians.

H: Sorry. I kind of gushed for a minute there.

H: And the band. They're just so talented, you know?

harrystyles

liked by jeffazoff and 4,211,323 others

harrystyles: From start to finish, making this album has been such an incredible journey. It was so fun to try new things sonically while also making something that I'm one hundred percent proud of. I've never felt more myself while making music than I did while creating this album for all of you, and I have so many people to thank for that. Hopefully you know who you are. I love, love, love you.

harryfan16: 😭😭😭😭😭

harris_reed: little angel👼

harryfan3: WE'RE SO PROUD OF YOU

yourinstagram: congratulations h. you deserve it.💐💐💐

harrystyles: I couldn't have done it without you💐

yourinstagram

liked by yourbandinstagram and 53,089 others

yourinstagram: for one night and one night only...but in all seriousness shout out to my friend and his incredible album. happy to have been a part of the magic :)))

harryfan13: HAPPY HARRY DAY!!!

harryfan4: is she in ny??

y/nfan7: yes! she was spotted with harry before the show today

harryfan9: they're literally so cute i love their friendship

harrystyles: You made the magic happen. Thank you for everything. X.

harryfan3: they're so...

y/nfan2: i genuinely think they like fucking with us bc i legitimately can't tell if they're dating or not

y/nfan7: at this point i don't even care i love whatever they're doing they both just seem so happy to be besties/lovers/collaborators and i love that for them

harryfan5: ^^

y/nupdates

liked by harryfan10 and 3,742 others

y/nupdates: Y/n performing Keep Driving onstage with Harry in NYC tonight at ONO!

y/nupdates: When he introduced her, he said: "Tonight is special in a lot of ways. I'm sharing my album with you for the first time, my family's here, my friends are here, and...a very good friend of mine is here to play a song with me tonight. This album wouldn't have been possible without her, so please give her as much love as you've given me. Y/n L/n, everybody!"

harryfan4: stop they're so close it hurts😭

y/nfan7: i was there they were staring at each other and smiling the whole time!

harryfan12: that's the one where he says choke her with a sea view!?

y/nfan7: YES AND I SWEAR HIS SMILE GOT BIGGER WHEN HE SANG THAT PART AND LOOKED AT HER LIKE HE FULLY HAD TO TURN AROUND TO LOOK AT HER BC SHE WAS PLAYING THE DRUMS

harryfan3: i'm choosing to believe they're in love idc what anyone else says

hs/ynupdates

hs/ynupdates: Harry, Y/n, and her sisters in New York after ONO tonight! Apparently Harry and Y/n were standing and walking very close to each other. Like arms wrapped around each other close.

harryfan2: that could literally mean anything tho. they're good friends why wouldn't they walk next to each other?

y/nfan14: i feel like they don't know if they're dating or not at this point😅

y/nfan8: her sisters are so unserious i love it

y/nfan5: i love that they all showed up for harry🥹

yourbandinstagram

liked by taylorswift, harrystyles and 710,225 others

yourbandinstagram: Thanks for having us, London!

y/nfan1: i can't believe i got to see harry and y/n perform in ONE NIGHT

harryfan3: sending my love and my tears to everyone who got to experience this historic night

harrystyles: Thank you for taking the time to share the stage with me. X.

yourbandfan2: how do y'all always look so good 😭

I: So you opened for Harry Styles a few weeks ago and performed a song with him in New York.

Y/n: My sisters and I did, yeah.

I: How did that come about? Did your team call his team? Or was it more casual than that?

Y/n: Oh, definitely more casual. I think we were just hanging out together one morning and he kind of just suggested it. No bells and whistles or anything like that.

I: So can we expect (Your band) to join Harry on his upcoming tour, then?

Y/n: I don't think so. We're working on putting out a record of our own at the moment, but we do want to get back out on the road soon, but I will definitely be attending more of his shows in the future.

I: And what can we expect from this upcoming record? Did Harry help you the way you helped him out?

Y/n: I've sent him a couple things to listen to, and I value his opinion a lot, both as a friend and as an artist. He also showed me a couple records recently which kind of influenced how I approached some of the songs sonically. He's got a huge vinyl collection at his house. I'm honestly kind of jealous.

I: There's been some rumors running around that you and Harry are in a romantic relationship. Would you like to put any of those rumors to rest?

Y/n: I could see where people might think that. Harry's very affectionate by nature, and over the last couple of months we've become very close. He's not just someone I admire in the music industry, but as a person in general. I feel incredibly lucky to call him a friend. And a close one, at that.

I: So just a friend then?

Y/n: Yeah. Yeah, just a friend.

[lvrsturniolo]

“a boy two boys who are jacked and kind..”

‘Slim Pickins’

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws 💓

It was one of those random afternoons where you, Matt, and Chris were just hanging out at their house(Nick had just gotten back from a space camp meeting and was taking a nap),scrolling through TikTok and tossing around ideas for what to do. Chris was laying sprawled across the couch, scrolling through his For You Page, while Matt sat at the table pretending to be interested in something on his phone. You were sitting on the floor, back against the couch, doing the same thing until Chris suddenly sat up.

“Yo, have you two seen that one TikTok trend to the Sabrina carpenter song?,” he said, grinning like he just had the best idea ever.

“The Juno pose one? Cause I’m not doing that if that’s what you’re thinking of.”

The boy giggled softly. “No, no. It’s the one to- I think the songs called slim pickins?”

You squinted at him. “What’s that?”

He flipped his phone around to show a video of some dude lifting his girlfriend onto his shoulder.

“Absolutely not,” Matt muttered from across the room without even looking up.

Chris rolled his eyes. “Don’t even start. It’s not like you’d be the only one lifting her. We’d do it together. Team effort.”

You laughed, looking between them. “You seriously think both of you could pull that off? You’re barely strong enough to pick me up in general, let alone on your shoulder.”

Chris was already hyped. “Nah, we got this, it’ll be both of us together;piece of cake! We’re stronger than we look, right Matt?”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself.

“C’mon,” Chris said, nudging you. “You in? It’ll be funny. Worst case, we drop you and it’s great content.

“Worst case, I break a bone and you’re paying my hospital bill,” you shot back, but honestly, it sounded kind of fun.

Chris clapped his hands together, leaning down and kissing you softly on your forehead. “Thank you baby, it’ll be fun I promise.”

It took another ten minutes of you and Chris trying to convince Matt, but when he saw you giving him those eyes. The begging eyes,he finally caved. “Fine, but if this goes south, m’blaming both of you,” Matt grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris said, dragging you both to the center of the living room where there was more space. “Alright, so here’s the plan. You get in the middle, we both squat down, and then we lift you up. Easy.”

“Easy for you to say,” Matt muttered, shaking his head but moving into position anyway.

The first attempt was a disaster. You couldn’t stop laughing long enough to actually get steady, and Matt kept losing his grip.

“Bro, hold her fuckin legs higher!” Chris yelled, adjusting his grip on your thigh.

“I’m trying! She keeps moving!” Matt shot back, struggling to keep his balance.

“Guys, I swear if you drop me—” you started, but you were laughing too hard to finish the sentence.

By the third try, you were all red-faced and wheezing from laughing so much. Finally, Chris and Matt managed to get you up on their shoulders at the same time, and you threw your arms out like you were on top of the world.

“WE DID IT!” Chris yelled, spinning in a circle while still holding you up.

Matt looked up at you, smirking despite himself. “Not bad, huh?”

“Alright, alright, you proved me wrong,” you said, laughing and holding onto their heads for balance.

You all stood there for a second, just laughing like idiots and feeling way too proud of yourselves. It wasn’t perfect, but it was your kind of perfect.

“Alright, one more time for the TikTok,” Chris said, already setting up his phone.

Matt groaned. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! Why weren’t we filming before?”

“Come on, Matt,” you teased. “For the content!”

And honestly? It was worth every awkward, giggly attempt.

Mel speaks~I know this is shit but I tried 😋😋 I loveeeee Chratt so much

[hiddendreamsstuff]

A little (time called) resus fantasy that asks you to use your imagination as to how we got here. Feel free to DM with your ideas. 😁

You are naked from the waist up. You have a blanket over your bottom half to give you some sense of dignity. They are pounding on your already bruised and battered chest endlessly. Your chest caves so deep with each one at this point. Your ample chest is exposed and your breasts show the impact of the doctor's compressions. You arm hangs partially off the table, bouncing with each one. You have a tube down your throat and the nurse is pumping air to you through it with a bag.

Leads are connected all over your chest measuring all of your vitals, of which there are none at the moment. The monitor makes a high pitched buzzing sound. The team around you is working tirelessly as I watch them from the corner of the room.

One nurse is giving you resuscitation meds through an IV in your arm… A doctor is doing compressions because all of the nurses in the room have exhausted themselves doing so for the better part of an hour….Another nurse is charting…. The other continues filling your lungs with air…. The final one stands by the monitor, paddles at the ready….

It’s your third code today. The others were short; a minute or two at first, then ten. You have been shocked nine times in total. Five of them were at 360j during this code alone. You have maxed out on drugs. But your heart has not had electrical activity for over 20 minutes now

… it’s been too long; I can tell- you look different- there is a void in the room…

Another doctor comes into the room. She sees the “time down” reading on the monitor. It says 47 minutes 52 seconds. She goes to the doctor doing compressions and puts her hand on her shoulder. “She is gone. You have to let her go” she says earnestly.

“She’s young” they say.

“She is healthy” they say.

“Can we go just a few more minutes?” One begs.

The doctor doesn’t stop right away. Then she pauses with her hands still on your chest then slowly pulls them away across your breast. The nurse does not stop breaths until the doctor sighs deeply and tears well up. “She has been down 48 minutes 35 seconds. We have to call it….Time of Death: 15:42…”

Now your body’s still. I sink to the floor.

No one else moves right away. Then, the doctor rips off her gloves and yells, “Damn it! I can’t believe we’ve lost another one!” and leaves the room. The other doctor follows her out to the hallway. I watch the nurses start unattaching leads, remove the tube from your throat, and pull the blanket up to your neck.

You are gone. There was no saving you. What is left for me?

[fanficimagery]

The Lost Girl

You just wanted to travel and forget all about the drama you left behind. You didn't expect to fall in with four boys who would become another family. Maybe more.

[Part Two of Three]

Author’s Note:  This is... terrible. As with everything I've written before, I lost interest in this idea. But since I posted part one, I NEEDED to post a part two. Unfortunately, this then turned into three parts, so I need to start writing that now. Joy -_- Words: 7.6K

In the privacy of the cave that was once a popular resort, you pace around the space as you poke at the burning wound on your shoulder. You can already see the venom from the bite poisoning the flesh around the wound and you grimace. "Fuck."

"What can we do?" Dwayne asks.

"Nothing."

Paul and Marko quickly ignite the barrels around the cave as David and Dwayne keep watch over you, and you pull your phone out from your back pocket, sighing with relief when you see you still have two bars of reception. Without meeting anyone's gaze, you find Klaus' contact and call him. The first call goes to voicemail, as does the second, third, and fourth.

"Answer the phone, Niklaus Mikaelson!" You hiss into a voicemail. Then finding Elijah's contact, you call him and sag with relief when you hear him pick up. "Where's your idiot brother?"

"Well hello to you too, Miss Gilbert."

"Elijah, I love you, but now is not the time. I'm on a time limit here. Where. Is. Your. Brother?"

The phone line goes quiet and then, "What happened?"

"A couple of werewolves decided to make camp in territory that doesn't belong to them." There was no beating around the bush. Not if you wanted the cure as soon as possible.

"We're on our way."

"Please hurry."

"Are you in a safe place? Does anyone know what you are?"

"Yeah. My new friends are vampires, but they're different. They're forced to sleep from sunup to sundown."

"Put them on."

"You're on speaker," you say as you press the speaker option.

"To whomever is listening, you need to prepare. YN's health will deteriorate very quickly, and she will hallucinate. She won't know who you are. Do you have a place away from innocent civilians?"

"Yes," David answers. "We're pretty well removed from the humans. At the bottom of Hudson's Bluff, there's an entrance into our home."

"Good. Niklaus and I will get there as quickly as we can. You might want to have chains on hand because YN will either try to harm herself or you. And YN? I know you hate it, but if they sleep while the sun is up, you need to give up your daylight ring so you can't leave."

"Figures." You sigh.

"We'll be there soon."

Elijah hangs up and you place your phone aside on an upturned crate. Pacing once more, you nervously fidget with your daylight ring that Elijah mentioned. You've never felt comfortable parting with it, but you know things are about to get crazy and you can't risk leaving the cave while the boys are sleeping.

"I haven't taken my ring off since it was given to me," you say. Hesitantly, you slip it off and glance at Dwayne. "If you lose it, I will murder you."

Dwayne doesn't even crack a smile, but he does accept the ring when you hold it out for him. He stares at it and then slips it onto his pinky. "You'll get this back as soon as you're cured."

"I know." You smile sadly at him and then meet the concerned gazes of Paul and Marko.

"Do we really need to chain you up?" Paul asks.

"It would be best."

"We're not chaining you up," Dwayne says. "What's the next option?"

"Nothing. If you leave me free, you need to barricade wherever it is you guys' sleep. I don't want to risk flipping my shit and thinking you're all threats when you can't defend yourself."

Marko nods. "We can do that. Anything else?"

"Yeah. Go out and feed. If shit hits the fan when you guys wake up, you're gonna want your full strength."

"We're not leaving you," Dwayne says.

At that, you smile softly. "I'll be fine right now. I'll clean off that mattress over there," you say while pointing to the mattress in question, "and try to get some sleep. It'll start off like a fast-acting flu before the craziness sets in."

Dwayne opens his mouth to retort, but David pulls rank. "She's right. Let's go."

Instead of arguing, Dwayne says, "Fine, but don't mess with that mattress and blanket. We can still access some of the rooms in this place, so we'll find you a better mattress."

"Okay."

As the four boys take their leave, you lay on the sofa and attempt to remain calm. You already know how this is going to go thanks to Rose and Damon being bit by a werewolf before, and you're dreading it.

. .

. .

The boys return hours later- Paul and Marko riding the high of a fuck and feed whereas David and Dwayne have yet to forget what's waiting for them in the cave. They immediately recognize something is off when Paul and Marko go quiet, and then hear Marko hesitantly calling out your name.

David and Dwayne rush into the main room to see you sitting on the couch, hunched over your knees with your hands clasped around your ears. But the moment Marko touches your uninjured shoulder, you snap. You hiss and grab Marko by the throat, moving so fast and pinning him to the couch you were just sitting on.

"Where's my brother?! Who are- what did you do with him?!"

"YN? YN it's me Marko. I don't-"

"Stop lying!"

"Grab her," David says.

Dwayne doesn't waste a second, flying over to you and wrapping his arms around you from behind. You buck and hiss in his hold, and he's surprised by the strength you possess even while injured. "She's burning up," he tells them.

"Holy shit. Have the hallucinations started already?" Paul asks, helping his stunned brother up.

Marko huffs. "Uh, yeah! Do you think any of us have ever met her brother?"

"Fair."

You continue to scream and thrash, and it isn't until David walks in front of you and grasps your face between his hands do you calm down. "YN. You're in Santa Carla, not Mystic Falls. None of us know who your brother is."

He can see when your mind clears, the glaze in your eyes dimming just a little.

"David..?"

"There you are." The blonde smirks as he releases your face. "I think you gave Marko a bit of a scare."

Your gaze darts to Marko who grins at you and then glance down at the arms banded around you. "What did I do?" You ask.

"Nothing much, girlie," Marko assures you. "I was just surprised by your strength."

"Dwayne?"

"You surprised him by pinning him to the couch. You didn't hurt him."

The moment you sag in Dwayne's hold, David instructs Marko and Paul to get your temporary room ready. Dwayne sets you on your feet, but he doesn't let you go. Instead, he sits on the couch and drags you down until you're sitting sideways on his lap.

"Everything hurts," you whine as you settle, resting your head on Dwayne's shoulder. "I just want it to stop."

"What can we do?"

"Nothing. Only the cure will stop it."

"What is the cure?" David asks. "You never said."

You hesitate to answer, but figure they're going to find out soon anyway. "It's Klaus' blood. It's why ninety-nine percent of infected vampires die. They either don't know there's a cure or Klaus refuses to give up his blood."

"So, he has the ability to infect and save a vampire with his bite and blood?"

Shivering, you nod.

"Did he ever bite you?" Dwayne asks. "When you were enemies?"

"No, but he did bite my friend Caroline. And then he saved her because he's in love with her."

Neither say anything and the only noise is that from Paul and Marko who are setting up your space. You continue to shake and whimper in Dwayne's hold, waiting until you can lay down. And then when it's all done, Dwayne stands and carries you over to the mattress.

"Sun's almost up. Do you need anything?"

"No." You curl up, dragging a sheet over yourself. "Just go and barricade yourselves in. If I somehow find you and you manage to wake up, snap my neck. I'll wake up eventually."

"Dibs on snapping-"

"We're not snapping her neck," Dwayne snarls at Paul. "Shut up."

Paul's eyes widen as Marko snickers at his misfortune. You manage a weak smile before letting your eyes drift close, and then the space darkens when the sheets around you are settled in place.

"You think she'll still be alive when we wake up?" Marko asks.

"Yes."

Dwayne stalks off and the boys watch him go. Only when he's out of earshot does David say, "For all of our sakes, those friends of hers better get here soon. I have a feeling Dwayne will brood for a long while if something happens to YN."

"Are mates real?" Paul suddenly wonders. "Because as far as I know, Dwayne and YN haven't even kissed, and our boy is protective and possessive."

David chuckles. "Who knows. Now come on. Sun's here."

As soon as the words leave David's mouth, shafts of sunlight start filtering in, and the boys make a beeline for the tunnel that leads to their own sleeping quarters.

The moment the sun dips below the horizon and the Lost Boys' eyes snap open, none of them waste another second hanging upside down. They fly down and rush towards the main room but hesitate by the opening of the tunnel to listen for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing seems amiss, so they head on out.

One by one, the vampires spread out with Dwayne heading towards YN's sleeping space. He pulls back the sheets and what he finds has the breath stilling in his lungs. YN lays there, paler than ever with sweat slicked skin. There are dark circles beneath her eyes, and it appears as if she's barely breathing.

"Find her phone. Call her friends. Now!" David barks.

Paul and Marko immediately go on the hunt and Dwayne steps onto the mattress, lowering himself down next to her. "..YN?"

With your peaceful slumber interrupted, your eyes flutter open, but readily fall back shut, and you whine as you register the pain your body is in. "Noooo."

"You gotta get up, sweetheart."

"S'too late. You should go. Don't need to see this." You weakly push at the hand smoothing hair from your forehead. "Go."

"No."

Tears gather behind your eyelids, and you manage to open them to get one last look. You sigh at seeing Dwayne's anguished features and then turn your head, only to find David and the others standing where your sheets once hung. "Thank you. For taking me in," you mumble. "I forgot what it felt like to have people treat me with decency."

"You're talking like you're dyin', girlie," Paul muses. "You ain't goin' nowhere. Not if we have any say so in the matter."

You manage a weak smile before you let your eyes fall shut. "If only.."

"Hey. Hey, no. Open your eyes." Dwayne lifts your upper body, moving behind you to cradle you between his thighs and against his chest. "Open your eyes, YN."

"Stop, Dwayne. Please." Being jostled makes you whimper even more. "It hurts too much."

"Your friends will be here soon."

"Will they?" Your head falls back until it's resting on Dwayne's shoulder, and you open your eyes to see him. You weakly reach up, fingers caressing his jaw as you attempt to smile. "We would have annoyed the others so much."

"We still can."

"Maybe in our next life."

"Well, that's a bit dramatic." The boys all hiss at the accented voice and you choke on a sob. "And here I thought your sister Elena was the best actress in the Gilbert family."

"Klaus."

"Hello, love. You look unwell."

You frown. "I feel like shit."

"Language, Miss Gilbert."

Your gaze slides to Klaus' left and you smile. "Hello, Elijah."

Elijah smiles at you and then turns his attention to his brother. "Please heal Miss Gilbert so that we may convene elsewhere. No offense to your living situation," he then says while nodding at David.

You snort and then groan, and Klaus finally takes pity on you. He pulls something out of his pocket and then tosses it at Dwayne. "Help her drink that."

Dwayne catches a vial in hand, notices the thick red liquid inside, and quickly uncorks it. He holds the vial to your lips, and you readily drink Klaus' blood. You take a moment to catch your breath afterward, groaning as you push yourself to sit up. "Sooo, that was fun. Let's not do it again." Paul and Marko laugh, and then you twist your upper body a little to look at Dwayne. "Aren't you glad I didn't die?"

"I knew you wouldn't."

"Yeah, yeah. Now help me up. I feel gross and need to go back to my hotel to shower." Dwayne hurriedly climbs to his feet, offering you a hand up. You groan some more, stretching and grimacing now that you're no longer horizontal.

"So, like are you healed now?" Paul asks.

"Pretty much. I just need a good shower, a bite to eat, and to listen to my gut instinct and not follow David into the woods to hunt a goddamn werewolf."

Paul and Marko snicker as Elijah and Klaus turn towards the blonde in question. He lazily smirks, uncaring that the most feared vampire and hybrid are staring him down. "You might have followed me into the woods, but you tackled that wolf off of Dwayne when it had him pinned."

Klaus groans and Elijah shakes his head. "We should have known."

"Oh whatever." You avoid everyone's stare except for Dwayne's. "Thanks for tucking me and not leaving when I said so." You wink at him. "I'll meet you on the boardwalk in half an hour."

. .

. .

It doesn't take you long whatsoever to shower, change, and guzzle down a couple blood bags that Elijah had taken the liberty to retrieve for you.

"Well, you look awfully dressed up for this deranged little town," Klaus says.

You smirk and give a little twirl, the skirt of your dress flaring out just above your knees. "Well, I gotta make up for how I looked just an hour ago."

"You really like this vampire, don't you?" Elijah wonders.

You shrug, suddenly bashful as you hunt down your cropped leather jacket. "I mean, he's nice."

Klaus snorts. "Nice doesn't catch your attention, sweetheart. Try again."

Slipping into your jacket, you quietly groan. "He's.. protective. And mine. And if anyone hurts him or his brothers, I will hurt them back."

When you meet the brothers' stare, you find them both smiling at you.

"It's about time you found someone," Elijah says. "Niklaus and I were starting to worry."

"Of course, you were." Your eyes roll, but you're still smiling fondly. "Now can we go? I also want human food now."

You, Elijah, and Klaus run to the boardwalk, blending in with the nightlife so no one sees you appear from between one blink and the next. The boardwalk brings a smile to your face, especially when the Mikaelson's look so out of place.

It isn't hard to find the Lost Boys since you know their usual hangouts and make a beeline for them leaning against the railing near their motorbikes. There are a few girls hanging around them, Paul and Marko eating the attention up and stringing along the poor girls with eyes for them. David and Dwayne, however, seem wholly uninterested in the two girls vying for their attention and you smile mischievously.

You saunter in Dwayne's direction, making sure to catch his gaze as you only have eyes for him. His eyes seem to pass over you before quickly flickering back and the moment his lips curve into a smile, you laugh. The girl who'd been standing too close in order to speak with him looks in your direction, frowning, but you completely ignore her. You walk right up to Dwayne, hands sliding around his bare waist under his jacket as you lean up on the tips of your toes to capture his lips in a kiss. He smiles against your mouth, immediately kissing you back as his own arms wrap around your waist to pull you against him.

The wolf-whistles and jeers from his brothers do nothing to deter you, nor does Elijah and Klaus' presence.

"Uh, excuse me?" The feminine voice interrupting you makes you mentally snarl.

You pull back and glance at the female for a second. "You're excused."

"We were talking."

"No, you were talking, and he was waiting for me. Now run along, little girl. Your presence isn't needed."

"Y'ow! That was cold, girlie." Paul calls out.

You wink at Paul and then look back at Dwayne. Lifting your left hand, you wiggle your empty ring finger. "I believe you have something of mine."

Dwayne smirks as he pulls your daylight ring off his pinky, sensually sliding your ring back into its rightful place. When it's settled on your finger, you chuckle before chastely kissing him again.

The girl who'd been vying for David's attention is apparently the smartest of the bunch and she readily rounds up her girls to walk off. Paul and Marko mockingly wave at them as they scoff at you still in Dwayne's arms, and you press a kiss to his bare chest before stepping aside and tucking yourself under his arm.

"Well, you're feeling better," David drawls.

"Mhm. Nothing like a little blood to perk one right back up."

The Lost Boys all chuckle but leave it to a Mikaelson to bring your mood back down.

"Well since you're in good spirits," Elijah says and your smile drops.

"Elijah, no."

"Your family is growing impatient with your prolonged absence."

You groan. "Have they gotten Bonnie to track me?"

"Yes, but fortunately I thought about that in advance and have had you under a cloaking spell for quite some time now," Klaus says with a smirk. "They're not very happy with me at the moment."

"They never are," you muse. After a moment, you sigh a little as you lean more into Dwayne. "I'm gonna have to visit, aren't I? Just to shut them up."

"Yes."

"When do we leave?"

"As soon as our witch gets your new friends their daylight jewelry."

Klaus and Elijah smirk as it takes a moment for their words to sink in. And when they do, you jerk out of Dwayne's hold. "Wait, what?! You're getting them-"

Klaus shrugs as if it's no big deal. "It's more for me than it is for you. No one other than Elijah and I know your new friends are a different breed of vampires. It'll be a nice surprise when Damon steps out of line."

You huff a laugh and then face the boys. "Would you guys even be interested in leaving Santa Carla for a bit if the jewelry works?"

"Uh, hell yes," Paul blurts.

Marko eagerly nods, Dwayne shrugs, and David frowns.

"We can't leave Santa Carla unprotected. If we do, other vampires are likely to move in."

"Fear not, I'll have some associates stay behind to make sure that doesn't happen," Klaus says. "And they'll even hunt down the wolf who bit YN, and any others trespassing since I'm assuming you boys run the entire city."

David doesn't seem too impressed, but with Paul and Marko overly eager, you can see that he doesn't want to squash their fun. "Are you sure these daylight rings will work for us?" He asks, looking at Elijah and Klaus.

"Yes. Though we figured rings wouldn't fit your aesthetic, so we have leather bracelets being fitted with the spelled stone. They should be ready in a day or two since the witch has to tweak the spell a bit."

"Well okay then."

"Yes!" You beam. Quickly grabbing hold of Dwayne's hand, you start tugging him away from the group. "So, while you all come up with a plan for our departure, Dwayne and I are going to go for a walk. Near death experience and all that, so I'm feeling a little bit foolish."

Elijah and Klaus immediately scowl, and you wink. "Love you, boys. Don't murder my friends."

Dwayne laughs as you hurriedly tug him away then, disappearing into the crowd of locals and tourists. You drag him past all the rides and booths, heading for a small, darkened pier. You lead him towards the very end, turning your back on the ocean and facing Dwayne as you lean against the railing. "Hi," you muse.

"Hi." He steps closer, caging you against the railing as he leans his head down to press a kiss to your forehead. "Glad to see you're not on death's door anymore."

"Feels good not to be on death's door anymore." You laugh, wrapping your arms around his waist so you're hugging him. "So, are you ready to get out of Santa Carla for a few days?"

"Depends. Do you think these bracelets will work?"

"Yes. The witches aren't dumb enough to double cross the Mikaelson's."

"Mhm. And what should we expect in Mystic Falls? What should I expect in Mystic Falls?"

You slowly grin. "Is this your way of asking if I left anyone behind, Dwayne?"

"Yes."

"God, I love that you're so blunt." You quickly lean up to peck his lips. "And no. I didn't leave anyone behind. I'm older than my sister's friend group, so I didn't go there with any of the boys. I almost had a fling with Damon, but I refused to play into his games when I realized he was doing anything to rile up my sister and his brother. And then there's that whole thing that happened with Caroline, and I've never forgiven him for it. I don't know how my sister managed to look past it."

"What thing?"

"Damon lured Caroline to bed, using her to feed and fuck. Sometimes, he'd show her what he was and practically brutalize her before compelling her to forget and then do it all over again the next night. He pretty much raped her and now my sister believes he's the love of her life."

Dwayne scowls. "She the girl that turned the same night as you?"

"Yep. She knocked him on his ass when all her memories returned, but she was just expected to fall in line and treat him as a friend when all was said and done."

"That's messed up."

"Yeah." You heave a sigh, shrugging. "Their whole friend group is toxic as hell which was the main motivator for me getting the hell out of there. And now I gotta return so they know I'm alive and well, so they can stop blaming Elijah and Klaus for anything."

"If this Damon guy so much as looks at you wrong..."

"Then I give full permission to snap his neck or rough him up some. Just don't kill him because then I'll never hear the end of it."

"No promises."

You laugh and kiss him once more. "Fair enough. Now let's go do some gross couple-y shit and piss off a few humans before we're stuck with your brothers and my family for a week."

It took nearly two days for Klaus' witch to pull through, delivering the bracelets to your hotel suite that the Mikaelson's had been staying in with you. The three of you then left for the cave where Klaus urged you to wake your friends before the sun set so they could try their bracelets. They'd been none too happy to be woken, but all too eager to try the bracelets once you told them they were done.

Paul, being the guinea pig, put his bracelet on and cautiously held his hand in a ray of sunlight. When his hand didn't smoke or burst into flames, he stepped fully into the light and held his breath before letting out a whoop of delight.

Another perk that came with the bracelet was that once the bracelets had been secured around their wrists, they all noticed that they weren't fatigued by the sun anymore. The lost boys took great pleasure in leaving the cave and standing atop Hudson's Bluff in broad daylight, and then Klaus urged everyone to hurry because Santa Carla was very much beneath him.

While Klaus called some contacts to be stationed around the little town, while also giving them the task of hunting down any werewolf in Santa Carla, you let your hotel know that you'd be gone for a week. Elijah assured the boys they'd have everything once they reached Mystic Falls, and then it wasn't long until everyone was loaded up onto a private jet.

. .

. .

There's a large SUV waiting at the airport just outside of Mystic Falls and you all pile in with Elijah getting behind the wheel. And instead of driving straight to their home, Elijah drives through the town so the boys can see just exactly where it is you came from.

"Everything's so.. clean," Marko muses as he stares out a window.

"I can't believe you grew up here," Paul then adds. "These people aren't gonna chase us out of town with pitchforks and torches, are they?"

You laugh. "Not the humans, but my family and friends will most definitely try."

Klaus points out the Mystic Grill and that it'll be where everyone will make their grand entrance after the boys don appropriate attire. And then it's off to their precious mansion and you take great joy in the boys' impressed expressions upon seeing it for the first time.

"Max's beach house has nothing on this house," Paul says in awe.

"You know where your room is, Miss Gilbert," Elijah says as you enter the foyer of the mansion. And with a lingering stare and then a sigh, he adds, "And if your beau wants to stay with you, that's fine with us." You meet Dwayne's stare and wiggle your eyebrows, earning a smile and nod in return. "As for the rest of you, please follow me so we can get you situated."

"Shower and change," Klaus calls out on his way towards his studio. "The fun begins in one hour."

Dwayne follows you to your room as Elijah shows everyone else to theirs. He walks in behind you, taking in the extravagant room and lavish decor. Dwayne's eyebrow arches. "You grew up like this?"

You chuckle as you open a closet to choose an outfit for yourself. "No. The Mikaelson's are filthy rich compared to everyone in this town. I lived in a much smaller, less fancy house."

"Yet you're completely at home here."

"When you meet my sister and her friends later, you'll understand why I've spent so much time here." You pull out an outfit and turn towards Dwayne. "Now go shower while I get Elijah to deliver whatever clothes he has for you. I'll shower in Rebekah's room."

"Or we can shower together."

"Absolutely not!" You hear Klaus' shout all the way from downstairs.

Laughing, you nudge Dwayne towards the shower and then go in search of Elijah. You ask for Dwayne's clothing to be delivered to your room while you use Rebekah's shower. You hurriedly shower and change, and when you exit you find Rebekah waiting on her bed.

"So who's the riff raff?" She asks.

"Hello to you too, Bex," you muse. At her expectant expression, you say, "They're my new friends."

"Sex friends?" She wiggles her eyebrows.

"Ew. No." You pause a beat and then, "Well.."

"I knew it. Which one is it?"

"Dwayne. He's showering in my room so I don't think you've seen him. And unfortunately, there's been no sex. Not yet at least."

She grins. "Where did you meet them?"

"Santa Carla. It's where I've been staying and plan to stay now," you admit. "They, uh, they're vampires. Not our kind, but the kind that look truly monstrous when their faces change. And they can fly."

"Well, that's interesting."

"Not as interesting as the fact that we're not telling anyone what they are unless they have to intervene in some drama."

Rebekah's eyes light up and you laugh at her sudden interest. "So what's the plan?"

"We're all going to the Grill just so everyone can see that I'm alive and well, and that your brother isn't keeping me in a dungeon somewhere. We'll probably be here for a week before we go back to California."

"Excellent. We're having a party."

"No."

"Can it be one of those fancy parties?" You startle at the voice, turning to see Paul and Marko standing in the doorway. "We really want to see YN in a poofy dress."

"Absolutely not."

"Ohhhh. A ball!"

You sigh, knowing it's a losing battle. You glare at your friends, but then take a moment to take in what you're actually seeing. Without the dirty jeans, mesh shirts, and tattered jackets, the boys actually look pretty decent. Marko kept his hair the same, but you were surprised to see Paul's hair in a messy bun. Both wore stylish ripped skinny jeans, band tees, and Doc Martens. "You boys clean up well."

Marko smirks. "You should see David."

When your brain reboots, you hurriedly step into your own shoes before rushing down the stairs with the laughing boys behind you. You find Elijah and David in the kitchen, most likely drinking blood from a mug since Elijah made it clear there was no killing within the town limits, and gape. David stands there in a burgundy dress shirt with the top two buttons left open, a black winter peacoat with its collar popped, fitted jeans, and brown boots.

"Keep staring like that and Dwayne will get jealous."

Your jaw clicks shut and then you can't help but laugh. "Enjoying the fresh clothes?"

"It's better than using the clothes of our victims."

You catch sight of Rebekah's nose wrinkling and you laugh. "Yeah. Definitely better than stealing from the dead."

You properly introduce Rebekah to David, Paul, and Marko, and let them chat as she asks to see their vampire face. Paul happily obliges and even the blonde Original is impressed with the difference between your breed of vampires. Klaus soon joins the group, and you're all enjoying warmed up blood from the fridge when you see Dwayne enter from the corner of your eye.

Turning to face him, your gaze sweeps along him from head to toe. He's in a white dress shirt that's been left unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, snug faded jeans resting on his hips, and black boots adoring his feet. His hair has been pulled into a ponytail, only on the last loop through he didn't pull his hair all the way through and left the strands trapped so it's all hanging above his neck still.

And holy hell does he look good.

"Maybe telling you boys to shower was a mistake." Rebekah snorts at your ogling and you snap out of it before making your way to Dwayne. "Hi." You kiss his cheek. "You look nice."

"Right back at 'ya."

"As bloody adorable as you two are," Rebekah says, "can we go? It's been a while since I've annoyed your friends."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go."

Rebekah isn't too keen on squishing herself between two strangers, so she takes her own vehicle. And not wanting her to drive alone, you grab Dwayne's hand and lead him along until you're pushing him towards the backseat of her car while climbing into the passenger seat yourself. He's quiet on the drive, but listens as Rebekah asks you about your travels.

When Rebekah finally parks at Mystic Grill, you get out and immediately wrap your hand around Dwayne's. You're giddy as you get closer to the front entrance, ignoring Rebekah's teasing. Then upon entering the establishment, you scan the place for Elijah or Klaus or the other boys. And a moment later, Paul's eager waving from the back catches your attention.

Rebekah saunters her way through Mystic Grill while you and Dwayne follow. They've pushed three tables together with Elijah and Klaus sitting on either end. Paul and Marko are sitting across from each other, closest to Klaus, and David is sitting near Elijah. Rebekah chooses the seat across from David, closest to Elijah, which forces you and Dwayne to sit across from one another instead of side by side.

Elijah tells the table to order whatever they want, and there's a mad scramble for the menus when a handful are dropped off.

"YN?"

You glance up and over your shoulder, and smile politely at the blonde haired, blue eyed ex-boyfriend of your sister. "Hey, Matty. Long time no see."

He smiles, but then that smile falters when he notices the company you're keeping. "Are you, uh, are you good?"

"Never been better," you muse. "And you?"

"It's Mystic Falls." He shrugs. "You know how it is."

"Yeah. I do."

A beat passes and then Matt clears his throat. "So what can I get everyone to drink?"

Elijah, Klaus, and David all get bourbon, Rebekah and Dwayne get sweet tea, Marko gets lemonade, and you and Paul order Coke.

As Matt takes his leave, Rebekah starts to chuckle. "Well if your sister didn't know you were in town, she will now."

"I know," you groan. "I know we're here to ruffle some feathers, but I was hoping we would be able to eat in peace."

"Are they really that bad?" Marko asks.

You shrug. "If Damon wasn't involved, it would be tense but a decent time. But since Damon will be involved, he'll do his best to antagonize one or all of the Mikaelson's. Maybe even you guys since you're new and friends of mine."

"Well we do love some good verbal spars." Paul wiggles his eyebrows and you playfully roll your eyes.

Matt soon returns with the drinks and then takes everyone's order. Elijah and Klaus don't want any food, but all the lost boys order cheeseburgers and fries whereas you and Rebekah opt for chicken wraps and a basket of cheese fries each.

You barely have a moment to relax before your name's being called again and you mentally groan. Turning in your seat, you plaster on a friendly smile. "Hey, sis."

Elena stands there, happy yet anxious as she takes in those you're sitting with. "When did you get in?"

As she takes a step closer, you stand and awkwardly hug her. "Earlier today," you say. "Made some friends and what not, and thought I'd show them where I grew up."

"So you picked up some stragglers and thought it was a good idea to show them where you live?"

Your gaze slides to the right and you sigh. "Lived. Past tense. And hello to you too, Damon."

Damon smirks, blue eyes sparkling with a little malice as Elena stammers. "L-Lived? What are you talking about?"

You shrug. "Mystic Falls isn't that great of a fit for me anymore, so I found a place that was."

"So where do you live now?"

"Out of state."

"YN." Elena frowns. "I don't really think-"

"Drop it, Elena." You shake your head at her. "I'm the older sister here. If I wanna settle elsewhere, I will."

"But-"

"Elena."

Elena frowns, but wisely shuts her mouth, and Damon gestures to the side with his head. "As adorable as this squabble is, maybe we should take this outside. Family business and all."

"Funny. Last I checked, you are a Salvatore and these two lovely ladies are Gilberts," Elijah drawls.

Damon's smirk falls. "Stay out of it, Mikaelson."

Paul and Marko snicker as David and Klaus grin, but Dwayne is watching the conversation rather closely.

You roll your eyes with a sigh and stand up. "Whatever. I'm not going outside though. I'm starving and Matt will be back with our food any minute now."

You walk towards the hallway where the bathrooms are, leaning against the wall. Elena and Damon are on your heels, and they don't waste a second laying into you.

"What the hell, YN? You disappear for a year and then come back, only to let me know you're not even living here anymore?" Elena says.

"We're not children anymore. I don't have to run my relocation past you."

She gapes. "Well, no, but-"

"But nothing."

"Knock off the attitude," Damon says through gritted teeth. "We get that you think you're important because the Mikaelson's are manipulating you, but enough is enough. It's time to stop playing nice with the enemy and come home to your family like a good little girl."

You hiss in Damon's direction, taking a step towards him. "Last I checked, you're not family. Shut up and wait outside like the good little lap dog you are."

"YN!"

Before you can blink, a hand is around your throat and you're being shoved back into the wall. "Careful, YN. I might not be able to make your life difficult with the Mikaelson's, but you brought four brand new, very fragile guys into the mix."

"Damon, stop."

"I'll have no problem picking them off one by one until you behave."

Instead of rising to the bait, you slowly smirk at him. "I'd like to see you try."

"Am I interrupting?"

You, Elena, and Damon turn towards the open end of the hallway, and you smile at the sight of Dwayne. A very tense Dwayne. "Hi, baby," you coo. "And no, you're not. Is our food at the table?"

"Yes."

"I'll be right there." Dwayne glares at Damon before giving you a nod, and then he turns to walk away. As soon as he's out of sight, you reach up and grab onto Damon's wrist, yanking his hand from your neck and snapping his wrist. He hisses in pain and Elena gasps. "Touch me again and it'll be your neck I snap next," you snarl.

He sneers right back at you. "You have a weakness. Good to know."

"You go after him and I will fucking kill you," you suddenly seethe, fangs elongating in your sudden spike of anger. Then looking at your sister, you say, "If any of my friends are hurt by the hands of your little boy toy, we are done. For good. And given what we are, dear sister, that's a long time to have no contact with your only sister."

Elena sadly shakes her head. "You've changed."

"You're damn right I have. You and your enemies made me into the person I am today. I am done being talked down to and being walked all over. You have a problem, fix it yourself. Stop playing the woe is me card and deal with your life as it is. You wanted to lay with vampires? Well congratulations, Elena, you're laying with vampires and dealing with all the issues that come with the life you chose."

"I didn't want this!"

"Of course you did," you drawl. "Otherwise you would have turned the other way when Stefan let the vampire secret out of the bag. Now if you'll excuse me, I got a meal to eat and friends to show around."

You slam your shoulder into Damon on your way out of the hall, shaking your head in amusement when you catch sight of every Mikaelson and lost boy already staring at you. Paul has moved next to Marko, leaving the spot next to Dwayne empty for you.

"You good?" Dwayne asks as soon as you sit down.

"Peachy." Under the table, Dwayne pulls your chair closer to his and lays a hand rather possessively atop your thigh. You grin. "Now can we eat? I'm starving."

The first night back in Mystic Falls is fairly quiet. Your only run-ins were with Damon and Elena, but you did get text messages from Jeremy, Caroline, and Bonnie. Your brother and friends seem excited to know you're back in town, but explain their surprise with your sudden move. Jeremy tries to not so discreetly discover where you're now living, but you don't give up the location. You just tell them all that you're happy and you rather not say where you're living because Damon will do anything and everything to drag you back to Mystic Falls the moment something displeases Elena.

And the fact that none of them argue your point lets you know that they completely understand.

You and Rebekah then got to show the boys Mystic Falls at night, letting them see just how drastically different your hometown is compared to Santa Carla.

The boys, thankfully, don't cause any issues and your first night is easy.

Your second day in Mystic Falls, however, is proving to be testing your patience.

"I. Do. Not. Want. A. Birthday. Party."

"Too bad." Rebekah smirks. "We're throwing you one."

"You're my least favorite Mikaelson." Turning around, you sigh and pout. "Elijah, tell your sister no party."

"Sorry, Miss Gilbert. No can do."

"You're no fun. Klaus?"

Klaus merely smirks, attention never wavering from the canvas he's been painting his next masterpiece on.

"So, is this going to be a party party? Or a fancy party? I was digging those poofy dresses I saw in YN's phone," Paul muses.

Rebekah gasps as she perks up, and you groan. You'd hope they'd forgotten about that.

"No ball!" You snap. "I can deal with pretty dresses and suits, but nothing too fancy."

Rebekah immediately pouts, but she gives in fairly easily. "Fine. Then I'm inviting anyone and everyone."

"Fine."

"And your boys have to wear suits."

"Duh. If I'm dressing up, so are they."

"And cutting their hair."

"Absolutely not."

"Yes." Rebekah scowls. "Mullets are gross."

You shrug. "I don't disagree, but Marko and David somehow manage to pull it off."

"They need to go."

"Nope. Paul and Dwayne can do with a trim, but you're not touching the mullets."

"YN."

"Rebekah."

"They're gross."

"It's their style."

"Elijah!"

"Klaus!"

Both you and Rebekah, who'd managed to end up toe to toe in your back and forth, turn to look at her brothers. But instead of just finding the two of them, you find the lost boys watching along with amusement dancing in their eyes.

You and Rebekah both roll your eyes then, huffing simultaneously, which earns laughter in return.

"So, are we talking a live band or a DJ?" She then asks, ignoring all the men in the room.

"DJ, definitely."

"Food?"

"Anything small that can be eaten by hand."

As you and Rebekah walk off to plan, Elijah stares at the boys and stands. "Well since we're throwing a party, we must be fitted for new suits. Let's go, boys."

Paul whoops, but his delight only lasts as long as it takes for Klaus to remind him that he has to get his hair trimmed.

. .

. .

After spending the day planning a party with Rebekah and brainstorming what kind of dress you're looking for, you can finally call it a night after Klaus tells you not to wait up. Both he and Elijah have kept the boys out and about, none of them complaining because they're still awed about being able to be walking around in the sunlight annoying people that Klaus doesn't care for.

After showering and slipping into a tank top and pajama shorts, you lay in bed while scrolling through social media. You hear when all the men/boys return and can't help but smile when you hear Elijah's exasperation with his brother over telling a rather bawdy joke to your friends.

Then it isn't long until Dwayne enters your room and you put your phone down as he takes a clothing bag to hang in the closet. "Have fun?" You muse.

He gives you a deadpan look over his shoulder and you laugh. Dwayne then toes off his boots, sliding into the bed next to you with a quiet groan. "You know, I always wondered what it'd be like to have money." He drapes his arm over your stomach, dragging you closer to him so his nose is pressed to your temple as he breathes you in.

"And…?"

"It's insane. Klaus was compelling everyone to get what he wanted, but Elijah was just dropping bills left and right without a care in the world."

You turn your head and kiss the underside of his jaw. "No drama?"

"We ran into that Damon guy and his own brother. They kept dropping not so subtle hints that Elijah and Klaus were dangerous individuals, and he wouldn't be surprised if our bodies were found in the woods sooner rather than later."

You snort with laughter. "And what did you guys say in return?"

His lips twitch. "Klaus pretended to compel us all, fed off Paul, and told them to mind their business. I thought that Stefan guy was about to blow a vein when Damon gritted his teeth and mentioned that we were important to you."

"Please tell me Klaus' bite didn't poison Paul," you grumble.

"Nah. That was the only upside of the night. We found that a werewolf's bite doesn't affect us like it did you. Elijah's impressed and is going to look into our breed of vampire."

"Well that's good, I guess. Did everyone get fitted?"

"Yeah, we're all good."

"Good." You scoot up and kiss square on the lips. "Now go shower and change into something more comfortable than jeans. I'm in the mood for some cuddles."

Dwayne grins and kisses you again, lingering a little longer and leaving you breathless after scraping his fangs along your bottom lip. "Just cuddles?"

"Hmm? No," you answer in a bit of a daze. "Definitely not. Now hurry up."

[skyeet-the-writer]

The One With the Bagel

uhhh this is super overdue but here it is for the new year!! i hope you guys like it!! also hope you guys have had a happy and safe holiday season! x. chandler bing x female!reader summary: after making plans, chandler bing shows the cool, alternative girl from canada around the city word count: ~2.9k warnings: none <previous next>

Chandler made good on his promise to show you around. Of course he did, how could he not? You gave him your number. Chandler may be stupid, but if he turned down the opportunity to hang out with you, he’d have Joey check him into a mental institution.

He didn’t call you right away, he figured it would be best to wait a few days. He wanted to wait at least three days, but he caved at two and a half and left you a voicemail on his lunch break.

He had rehearsed it many times and written it down several times. He wanted to get the words just right.

“Hey, y/n. Sorry to bother you, but if you still want to, I’m still open to showing you around the city. Or, well, parts. Um, yeah. I’m free this weekend, we can get coffee too or something if you want. But just let me know. Bye.”

When he hung up, he felt like the air had been pulled directly from his lungs and he immediately wanted to shoot himself. Why did he stutter so much? He knew why, but why? Why did he say ‘but’ so many times?

He did his best not to think about it for the rest of the day.

When he got home from work, exhausted as all hell, he had managed to forget about the whole phone call for at least an hour. But the moment he walked through the door, Joey called his name with a smirk and a strange look in his eyes.

“What’s with you?” Chandler asked, loosening his tie and finally being able to breathe again.

Instead of answering right away, his friend pointed to the phone and said, “She left you a message, man!”

His stomach dropped to his toes and he felt dread creep up his fingertips. Oh, God, what if you didn’t want him to show you around anymore? What if his quick reply freaked you out? God, if you never wanted to see him ever again Chandler couldn’t live with himself.

But still, he made himself walk towards the answering machine. It was blinking, so it was clear Joey hadn’t read it, but Chandler wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

He looked up at his friend, who seemed excited, the opposite of how he felt.

Swallowing, he pressed play and your perfect voice sounded through the apartment.

“Hey, Chandler! Great to hear from you, I was wondering if you’d call.”

He blinked at the phone. Were you waiting for him to call?

“Sorry about not answering, I was at work and then the bartender was sick and I had to do it. Real cool to make the new girl bartend by herself after she finished her training.” You laugh and Chandler feels the corners of his lips quirk up. “Sorry, I’m rambling. But, uh, yeah, I’d totally be down for Sunday. And coffee sounds great. Just call me back when you can and we can figure out the details or whatever. Bye, Chan.”

The machine clicked, signaling you had hung up, and Chandler stared at the white box with a smile on his face and a warm, somewhat foreign feeling in his heart.

Joey shook his shoulders, a grin plastered across his cheeks. "You got it, man, you're in!"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," he said, shrugging Joey off of him. "So, like, should I call her back now or wait?"

Glancing at the time the message from you was received, Joey answered, "I mean, she called a couple of hours ago. Do it now, man, she's probably off of work."

He nodded, feeling his heart rate pick up again. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

But instead of grabbing the phone, he just stared at it. He stared at it for so long that Joey had to touch his arm to get him to look at him.

"You want to order a pizza first?"

Chandler nodded. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

And so, forty-five minutes and two-thirds of a pizza later, Chandler mustered up the courage to call you.

It only takes two rings for you to pick up.

"Hello?" Chandler has been waiting to hear your voice again for days and nothing can describe the pure amount of euphoria that rushes through his veins at your tone.

He keeps calm, however, and says, "Hey, y/n, it's Chandler."

Your tone lightens and he can practically hear the smile in your voice. "Oh, hey, Chan!"

A smile paints itself across his cheeks and heat rises up his neck and he tries to ignore Joey's excited looks. "Hey."

"You got my message, right?" For a moment, he hears some noises from your side of the call, almost like you're closing a plastic container, and he hopes he didn't catch you in the middle of eating. "I'm free on Sunday, is that cool?"

"Yeah, that works." He suggests meeting up at nine and when you laugh a little, his grin widens at your nervousness. "What is it?"

You laugh again and elaborate. "Okay, so, actually, I work the night before and we don't close until, like, one. So maybe ten? Instead?"

Chandler would hang out with you at three in the morning if you asked him to. "Yeah, that's fine."

"Awesome. So, around ten at Central Perk? Since it's really the only place I know in the city?"

A teasing smile pulls at his lips as he waves his roommate away before he embarrasses himself. "For now."

"For now?"

"Yeah. I'll show you around to all the good places."

"Even the Empire State Building?" Your voice is teasing and it makes his organs do gymnastics.

He chuckles and nods even if you can't see it. "Even the Empire State Building."

"Sick! See you then, Chan."

"See you then, y/n." He needs to come up with a nickname for you.

"Bye."

"Bye."

And then you hang up and Chandler places the phone back down. There's a beat where he makes eye contact with Joey before they both erupt into celebratory cheers and jump up and down together like they always do.

"Go Chandler!"

"Go me!"

~*~

Sunday comes both sooner and later than you expected. It's sooner because you worked a double the day before but it's also later because you've been looking forward to it ever since the two of you scheduled it.

But, eventually, ten o'clock rolls around and you're sitting at a table in Central Perk patiently waiting. You haven't been here for long, but since you always get nervous meeting up with new people, you grabbed a newspaper and started to do the crossword to calm your nerves.

You like Chandler, a lot. He's very sweet, funny, and he's pretty cute, too. You share a lot of similar interests, but since you've only had one encounter and a couple of phone calls, you still get anxious.

You're sure it will go away when you both make conversation.

Chewing on the end of the pencil, you rack your mind for the solution to this one question, but you can't quite remember the name, though it's on the tip of your tongue.

The bell above the door rings and you look up, smiling when you see Chandler. You wave him over and he quickly spots you, casually walking over.

"You do the crossword, too?" he asks with a small smile.

You nod. "Sometimes, yeah. Hey, I need your help with one. What's a prehistoric beast with a large bony frill?"

He tilts his head and asks, "How many letters is it?"

Glancing down at the paper, you count the little squares and answer, "Eleven."

He mouths some letters, and counts with his fingers, before saying, "Triceratops."

"That's what it is!" You quickly scribble it down in messy handwriting. "I knew that, I just forgot the word for it."

"Yeah, sure." He gives you a teasing smirk as you stand up, stashing the newspaper into your bag.

You raise a brow at him. "Wow, rude, Chan."

"I'm messing."

"I know." You smile at him. "So. You promised to show me where the good coffee is?"

He nods and moves towards the door, holding it open for you to go out of. "I did. You like bagels?"

"Of course I do, I'm not a monster."

Your humor always gets to him and he jerks his head down the street. "Come on. I'll show you a great place."

"Lead the way."

~*~

An hour later, you stand beside Chandler with a bagel in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Okay,” you say, walking past a couple holding hands. “It might have been a long wait, but you say it’s worth it?”

Chandler nods and smiles. “I promise you, it is.”

He leads you to a little bench by a flower shop and you take a seat laying the bagel across your lap.

“Coffee first,” he says to you.

“But you said the bagel is the best part.”

“Best for last?”

“I always do best for first.”

“Okay, well, drawing out the tension makes things better.”

You roll your eyes and hold out your coffee cup. “Clink me, Bing.”

A smile creeps onto his face and he can't help but say, "Is that a euphemism?"

Mirroring his teasing smile, you reply, "You wish."

He does.

But he doesn't say that and instead taps his disposable coffee cup against yours and takes a sip at the same time as you do.

Taking a sip, you immediately flinch back at the searing burning sensation on your tongue. Chandler does the same thing and you both laugh.

"He did warn it was hot," you mutter, referencing the kind older man who cashed you out while you run your front teeth over your tongue.

Chandler smiles. "Yeah, he did."

After blowing on the liquid for another moment, you both clink your cups again and you take a sip. Chandler recommended the latte and you trusted his opinion. Sure enough, as soon as the slightly-cooled down liquid touches your tongue, you're glad you trusted him.

"Woah," you say, looking at Chandler.

He's smiling. "Right?"

You smile back, taking another sip of the delicious beverage. "This is so good."

"I told you it would be good."

"It's not just good, it's great."

"Exactly. None of my other friends think it's very good."

You frown just a little. "Really? I mean, Central Perk is good and all, but this is amazing."

He just shrugs. "It's okay. I have you to go with me now."

You smile at him and a strange and warm feeling flutters in your chest.

But before you can even think about it, Chandler is putting the coffee down beside him on the bench and picking up his bagel. "Okay. Try the bagel now."

Nodding, you place the coffee down and carefully unwrap a small section of the bagel that you can eat. You had gotten a bagel called an 'All-Nighter', which had two eggs, bacon, cheese, and some kind of chipotle aioli on a cheesy bagel. It sounded like actual heaven considering you hadn't eaten all day and your mouth waters as the delectable scent wafts up to your nose.

Once again, you and Chandler clink your own bagels--he got one called the 'Santa Fe' with egg whites, sausage, and salsa on a plain bagel--and take a bite at the same time.

You're not one to groan at food, but this sandwich is so good you almost do. It's messy and you're glad for the double layer of paper around it. It's cheesy, it's warm, and it's a little spicy. It's everything you've been craving.

"Holy shit," you say, mouth still a little full. "This is so good, Chandler."

He just nods, already taking another bite.

Licking a stray piece of sauce from your lips, you hardly swallow before you go in for another bite. Together, you and Chandler eat in silence, too busy consuming your own individual meals like it's the last meal. Honestly, you would want this bagel to be your last meal.

You finish first, licking your greasy fingers before using a napkin to wipe them. Carefully, you shove all your trash into the bag and take a couple more sips of your latte before it gets cold.

Chandler is soon finished and while he's wiping his hands, you say, "That was the best sandwich I've ever had in my life, Chan."

"I told you it would be life-changing."

"I'm so sorry for doubting you," you tease, smiling and stretching your legs out in front of you and taking in the scene. It's almost noon on a Sunday in Manhattan and the streets are, unsurprisingly, crawling with people, but everyone seems a lot more relaxed and chill on Sunday rather than a busy Friday morning when you're running late for work.

You and Chandler lapse into a pleasant silence where you both just people-watch for a few minutes while your meals digest. You watch the people go by and wonder what they're doing today and what plans they have. You wonder if they've ever had a life-changing bagel as well, you wonder how many of them are new to the city like you and how many know it well like Chandler.

He speaks up. “What do you want to go see first?”

Looking at him, you know the first thing you want to do. “Empire State Building.”

He smiles and stands, offering you a hand. “Come on, then.”

Taking it, you let him haul you up before dropping his hand almost immediately. For a second, disappointment fills his chest before he pushes it away. Together, he leads you to the Empire State Building, talking about everything and nothing all at once.

~*~

By the time it was getting dark, you had both wandered halfway around Manhatten. You had seen the Empire State Building, walked by the National Museum—where his friend Ross worked, which you thought was interesting—you had walked around Times Square, and by the Rockefeller Center.

“Is it true that at Christmas they have a huge tree?” you ask as Chandler walks beside you.

He nods, smiling. “It is. And they have an ice rink.”

This makes you stop in your tracks and you turn to him. He blinks and stands next to you, completely aware that there’s a giant smile on your face.

“Are you serious?” you ask.

Chandler nods slowly. “Yeah, I’m serious. What, do you like skating?”

“Uh, yeah.” You laugh and roll your eyes. “Chandler, I love skating. You know I did hockey for, like, years right?”

“No, I didn’t.”

You widen your eyes at him. “Oh. Well, I did.”

“I didn’t know you liked hockey.”

“I’m from Canada,” you say, starting to walk once more. “It’s a requirement. I got my first stick on my fifth birthday.”

“That’s so cool,” your friend says. “I love hockey.”

“What’re the teams in the city? I know there’s the Rangers, I just can’t remember the other one.”

“The Islanders,” he tells you. “But the Rangers are better. Joey and I go to the games a lot, but if I have an extra ticket, you can come too.”

“Thanks.” You smile at him, this cute little half-smile that makes his chest squeeze.

But he doesn’t think about it and smiles back, nods, and listens as you explain how you were the best defender on your team in primary school.

Eventually, you make it back to your apartment. Hell’s Kitchen isn’t as sketchy as it used to be and Chandler walks you up to your apartment building. It’s well past sunset, but the streetlights are bright enough.

“This is me,” you say, gesturing behind you to the building. “Thanks for walking me back.”

“It was no problem,” Chandler says, completely aware that you both walked right past his own apartment building twenty minutes ago. “I’m not far from here. Besides, I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t get mugged.”

“Considering I have three dollars in my wallet, I don’t think that’s a problem.”

Chandler laughs and you laugh too and you realize how much you love his company. He’s funny and he gets you. He’s fun to be around and he’s nice, something a little uncommon here in the city.

“We should do this again,” you hear yourself say. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” he replies. “Call me?”

He doesn’t mean to say it. It slips out and his eyes widen the words leave his lips but you just laugh gently and nod.

“I will.” Taking his hand, you shake it twice. Your rings are cold against his hand but he’s quickly distracted away from that when you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. You have to lean on your tiptoes to do it and you’re already pulled away when he realizes what you’ve done.

Releasing his hand, you watch his neck heat up and panic rises up in you for fear you’ve gone too far. But then a small smile crosses his face and the knot in your stomach loosens.

Before the silence becomes awkward, you say, “Goodnight, Chandler. Get home safe.”

“You too,” he blurts out before cursing. But you just laugh that sweet laugh of yours and buzz yourself in, propping the door with your foot.

“Don’t get mugged on the way home, Chan.” And with another wave, you walk inside and let the door close behind you.

And Chandler is left standing alone in the streets of New York with a cheesy smile on his face. He scratches his chin but the grin doesn’t leave his face the entire time he meanders his way back to his apartment.

And his smile only grows wider when Joey mentions the lipstick stain on his cheek.

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part One

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Rewrite

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I’ve been hyper fixated on Batfam and DC in general for the past two months, and this is what my brain has been cooking. This is based on an fem!OC I made, but I converted it to GN!Reader. Or attempted to. Might write an official one with the oc. I don’t know. I’m new at this stuff and doing this on mobile to boot.

Warning(s): Yandere themes, Obsessive behavior

Reader grows up happy, healthy, a safe away from Gotham

Momma and Daddy (step-father) adore their darling reader

Daddy is kind and understanding; gives good advice, encourages reader, comforts reader after nasty break ups

Momma is sassy and a bit possessive of her baby reader

Momma never tells reader anything about their biological father (He was a big city playboy that missed the court date for custody is all she said)

Reader has a much younger half-brother from Momma and Daddy, who reader also adores

Little Brother’s are annoying, but you have so many interest in common

Suddenly Momma and Daddy are dead; (tragic accident or murdered)

Reader’s Bio Father, Bruce Wayne is called and flies into town via Private Jet and whisk you off to Gotham

Bruce can’t get custody over half-brother due to Reader’s step-grandparents fighting him.

(They tried to keep Reader too, but blood is thicker than water in the eyes of the court. And, Bruce has enough money to make that water run dry)

Bruce isn’t exactly like Momma described, he’s distant and a bit cold with reader. (Like he doesn’t know what to do.)

Bruce gets upset when Reader talks about missing Momma and Daddy, especially when Reader talks about Daddy.

Bruce doesn’t introduce Reader to the family right away.

Reader doesn’t see anyone, but Bruce and Alfred for the first week at the manor.

Bruce avoids reader, but gets upset when Reader ignores him

Reader starts researching their new family. Everything they can find in the media, even the company.

(Family Buisness funds the Justice League? Gotham gains a new Vigilante almost every time Bruce gains a new kid? Jason Todd’s death and reappearance. Suspicious…)

Reader finally meets the others.

First up Cassandra.

Quite, but watches reader like she knows all of reader’s secrets. (That’s terrifying.)

Reader’s instincts scream that she’s dangerous (Reader trusts those instincts.)

Reader is still nice, they get along. Cass rather be alone, but it’s cool. They’re cool.

Second up is Duke.

Duke is great. Official bro. Passes all the vibe checks. (Most normal one in this house.)

Reader’s meta abilities go haywire around him, so Reader needs to be careful. (Reader’s not sharing that secret yet. Not till they share what Reader suspects is their secret)

Third, Dick and Barbara.

Dick is a whirlwind, coddling and pitying, treating reader like a sweet helpless child then leaving. (He’s a busy popular man)

Barbara is polite, but a stranger.

Reader tries to be friendly, but can’t get past the stranger stage.

Fourth Stephanie.

Stephanie politely ignores reader, but reader genuinely wants to hang out. (Similar interest, close in age. Please, can we be friends? ……….)

Reader says they’ll keep trying (It happens… eventually….)

Fifth, Tim.

Tim just brushes Reader off with a blank look and disappears.

Reader can never find Tim. (Always in the cave, at work, on patrol. He’s a busy busy busy sleepy man that avoids even the mention of Reader)

(Stephanie hangs out with Tim though, but they still ignore reader. It’s fine. Reader is fine. It doesn’t hurt.)

Sixth is Jason.

Jason is mean.

Calls reader spoiled, says reader a an ignorant privileged princess, Daddy’s pet, a brat, etc.

But, then leaves when reader starts to snap back.

(He looks like he’s struggling not to strangle reader almost every time reader sees him.)

Seventh is the youngest and reader’s half brother.

Reader is excited to meet him, reader already has a younger half-brother. Having two sounds even better!

Damian is cruel

It breaks reader’s heart.

Damian either ignores reader, or mocks reader viscously. He’ll push and shove and throw things at reader. (Won’t draw a weaponed though, he’s past that.)

He brushes off all of Reader’s attempts at sibling bonding.

All this goes on for a few months.

Reader tries so hard to get close to everyone, but they’re either avoid them, ignore them, are cruel, or they just don’t have the time.

Reader’s life in Gotham is… different.

Reader’s a commodity, and, surprisingly enough, most people like Reader

School Friendships form, which reader worries are because they’re a Wayne child

(Which is true, but not in the way Reader thinks; hint: it involves other types of night avians)

Teacher’s appreciate a humble Wayne (Damian goes to the same school, Reader is a relief to teach)

Reader is quite talented, not a prodigy, not extraordinary. Just extremely approachable.

But, like all good things there is a downside.

Reader wants to spend time with their new friends.

They’re invited to Galas, lunches, brunches, vacations, shopping, etc.

And Reader WANTS to go

But, Bruce won’t let them

It’s not safe

(Which Reader understands, that’s why they never really explore Gotham, but still brunch couldn’t hurt, right?)

So Reader has no one to lean on or connect with. It’s isolating.

Instead Reader spends hours talking on the phone to their old friends and family back in their small town.

There’s a silver lining though: Things are going to get better before they get worse

So much worse

[thelampisaflashlight]

Right Here, Right Now

[Aether meets a friend at the bar. Dewther.] Below the cut.

The bar is pleasantly warm when Aether shuffles inside, sniffling lightly as his nose dribbles slightly from the shift in temperature; It's a cold, dark, and shockingly dry November outside, but he'll gladly brave the frosty night air if it means he gets to hang out in a place like this for at least a little while.

"Oi, Aeth, over here!" a rough voice calls out from a booth in the corner, a pale, skinny arm shoots into the air, waving him over.

Aether smiles and makes his way over, weaving passed tables and chairs packed with other patrons, and plops himself down inside the booth with a soft "umph" as the seat gives more resistance than expected upon impact.

"Took you long enough." the other sniffs, not so much in an annoyed fashion but in more of a relieved way -Aether's known him for years, he should know by now what the difference is- and slides him over a glass of slowly warming beer, "Ice's already melted."

"It's fine, think I'll like it better warm with how cold it is out there." he sighs, slipping his coat off and setting it beside him on the bench, "Did I keep you waiting, Dew?"

The fire ghoul shrugs, stirring his own drink, something blood red and fruity, with his straw, "Ehn, not really, got here about fifteen minutes ago."

"It's funny," he adds, "how we can arrive here at different times despite leaving from the same location..."

Aether snorts.

"I had to make a stop along the way to grab a couple things..." he says, reaching into his coat pocket and revealing a small carboard box, which he flashes the label of to Dew before hiding it away again, "Forgive me?"

Dew shifts in his seat a little, "...I'll think about it."

"We don't have to-" Aether starts, but something in the way Dew meets his gaze makes him bite his tongue, "Tell me about your day."

And, just like that, the pair fall into a casual conversation, ranging from the wonderous bullshit that is having to do ministry paperwork, to tales of the younger, less seasoned ghouls getting up to shenanigans.

"-and then Aurora looked at me like I had two heads when I said I knew about the caves." Dew rolls his eyes, leaning backwards, his long red hair bobbing back and forth in the loose bun he's pulled it into, hands gesturing widely, "Like, it's the caves, Aeth, the caves."

"I remember when I first went there," Aether chuckles, "I thought it was super secluded, too, and then I found out-"

"-That the sauna is, like, right fucking there, yeah?" Dew finishes and Aether nods, grinning, "Ah, well, now she knows... Hahh..."

Aether sips his beer -his third overall- and sets the glass down with a heavy sigh, "It's been a while since we've gotten to hang out like this, ya know, one on one..."

"It has," Dew agrees, sitting back up so he can reach over and finish off his own drink, "us old timers don't get out that much, do we?"

"Ouch."

"What?"

"'Old timers'... You wound me, Dewdrop." Aether jokes, giving a yelp when Dew's foot collides with his ankle, "What was that for?"

"We're old, Aeth, nothin' wrong with admitting that." he ruffles slightly, "Just means we have more experience..."

Dew's foot brushes against Aether's leg again, but this time the movement is softer, more deliberate, as he slides it upwards, stopping about midcalf, "...Right?"

Aether lets out a little huff, "Cheeky as ever..."

"You like it." Dew hums, leaning forward, "How about you and me get out of here?"

"Your place or mine?"

"We'll just start walking and see where we end up first."

Dew laughs, hiding his face behind his hand when a handful of the other patrons look over.

"...I like the sound of that." he whispers, and Aether feels, more than he sees, his fear.

Dew pays their bill, and Aether makes himself a wall.

They walk back to the abbey, watching the lights of the town turn into distant sparks, moving at a leisurely pace until the sidewalk turns into grass and then finely compacted earth underfoot.

Dew's hand, which had been brushing against his the whole way, but never quite catching, finds its way into Aether's, and their fingers slip together easily.

Everything about what they're doing feels easier when it's dark, when no one can see it, when it feels safe.

Even still...

"I love you." he says, "You know that, right?"

I know. I love you, too." Dew gives his hand a squeeze, "It's just... People can be dicks when it comes to things they don't understand."

"Fuck 'em." Aether lifts his chin, giving a little grunt, before lowering his head and sighing, "I get it though... Better safe than sorry, even in a town like ours... I wish it was different, but I also know things aren't going to change overnight."

"Sorry for bringing the mood down-"

"No! I mean, no, it's good." Aether clarifies, turning towards Dew and holding his other hand, "It's... you're being logical. I just, when I'm with you, it's easy to... to forget."

"I'm just being paranoid-"

They both pause, taking a deep breath.

"...No more scary real world shit?" Dew sticks his pinkie out towards Aether, who hooks his around it, "Yeah?"

"You've got a deal, Sparks."

Dew unruffles a bit, releasing Aether's hands so he can stretch and soothe the tension in his, well, everything.

"Back on track." Aether says, reaching into his jacket pocket and withdrawing the package from earlier; A box of condoms that seems to have already been opened, although it's hard to tell in the dark.

"Right here??" Dew flusters, looking around, "Aether-"

"Wait, shit-" Aether digs deeper into his pocket, "-Not that one, not yet... Fuck, where did I-OH!"

Aether withdraws a smaller box from his breast pocket, "Forgot I put it there... Ha, ha..."

"Aether, what..."

The quint, opens the box and holds it out towards Dewdrop, easing himself down onto one knee.

"I was going to wait, surprise you with it later, but I..."

Dew practically bowls him over with the force of his hug.

"Right here?" Aether teases, and Dew gives a wet laugh.

"You wanna marry me?" Aether asks as Dew wraps his arms around him.

"Only if you wanna marry me." Dew replies and Aether snickers.

"Wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to." he says, rubbing his back as the wobbly laughter turns into genuine crying, "Oh, love..."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just..." Dew deflates a bit, "Fuck, I'm just all over the place tonight..."

"You wanna talk about it?" Aether asks, feeling Dew pull away, "What's wrong?"

Dew digs into his pocket.

"I was trying to think of a good time to ask... I was stressing out about it all night and then you, and I, and..."

Aether looks at the gold band pinched between Dew's trembling fingers.

"You-"

The fire ghoul captures his lips.

"Right here." he gasps.

"Right here, right now."

.

.

.

"Aether, Dew, you're back-" Mountain greets as the pair stumbles into the common room, staring as he takes in their messed up hair and wrinkled clothing, "...Do I wanna know what happened?"

Dew wipes his nose on his shirt, which is covered in mud and... something Mountain decides not to acknowledge at the moment.

"...We're getting married?"

"You're what-"

"Married. Going to be." Aether supplies unhelpfully, then claps him on the shoulder, "Wanna be my best man?"

Mountain opens his mouth, then closes it, assessing the situation, and then sighs.

"You know what? Sure, but also, what the fuck-"

[pompomqt]

Journey to the West Chapter 75

Pigsy telling Sandy and Tripitaka that Wukong was swallowed by the Demon and is totally dead:

Welcome back to this week's chapter of Journey to the West with @journeythroughjourneytothewest. This week it's the final chapter of book three, so let's get into it shall we?

So Wukong enters the demon cave to find that it very much looks like a demon cave. I've very grateful that they didn't kidnap Tripitaka for this one, because I think all the human bones, hair and flesh laying around would probably freak him out. At least the main hall where the Demon Kings like to hang out is pretty nice though. We also get to meet our demon's of the week, a Green Haired Lion Demon, a Yellow-Tusked Elephant Demon, and a Eagle-roc Demon.

Monkey isn't intimidated however, and greets the three kings as Wind Cutter. When they ask how his patrol went and if he's spotted Sun Wukong yet, he tells them the same story he told the minion demon's outside about how scary the Great Sage is. Upon hearing this the first King wants to just cut their losses immediately and seal their cave shut to let the priests pass. However this alarms Monkey, since if they do that, he himself won't be able to make a quick escape. His solution to this problem is to try and scare them even more by saying he has dreadful plans for each of them, that he would skin the first king, debone the second, and rip the tendons out of the third. Yeesh. Anyways Monkey says they should probably be careful since Wukong possesses the ability of transformation and can turn into a fly and squeeze in here seize them all. To add to the drama, Monkey transforms one of his hairs into a fly to panic everyone further.

Unfortunately for Monkey, the sight of everyone losing their minds over a fly is enough to cause him to laugh out loud and cause his disguise to slip. The third demon catches him slipping and declares to his brothers that they were almost fooled, and that Little Wind Cutter here is really Sun Wukong. Wukong of course slaps back on his disguise and denies the allegations, and is actually helped along by the First King, who asks for his nameplate, which since Wukong stole it from the real Wind Cutter, is able to provide.

The, third Demon however is sure that he is right, so he has some minion demon's bring some rope to tie up Monkey before removing his clothes to show that he still has a monkey body. Because apparently while Wukong can transform into any animal, plant, or object he wants, when trying to transform into another person, only his face changes. Which is a really weird rule for his powers to have, can he transform into complete human if it's just a generic one? Did his body match a normal Wind Cutter, before he transformed into this specific one?

Anyways, the Lion King tells a minion to bring on the wine so they can celebrate their capture of Sun Wukong, but the Eagle-Roc King advises them that they should probably make sure Wukong is completely secured before they get plastered in his presence. So they have 36 minion demon's carry out the two foot tall mystic vase, before stripping Wukong naked and bringing him to the mouth of the vase where he is then sucked inside. They didn't even have to call his name to make this one work, guess it's a premium version.

Once inside the vase, Wukong finds it's surprisingly cool- up until he opens his mouth to comment on that fact, because apparently this vases melting feature is voice activated. The moment Wukong speaks, the vase becomes engulfed in flames, which is simple enough for Monkey to deal with with a fire repelling charm. However the vase isn't out of tricks just yet, this time it sends out forty snakes to bite him- which Wukong handles by killing them and ripping them to pieces. Next the vase upgrades to three fire dragons, and Wukong is starting to get tired of this nonsense so he tries to grow and shrink in size only to find the vase growing and shrinking with him.

Monkey is starting to panic and bursts into tears, after all if he dies or stays trapped here, Tripitaka is doomed to. Worrying about Tripitaka however helps him remember that when he first met him, and got the fillet placed on his head, Guanyin had given him three plot-resolving hairs to try and make up for it. He decides that now is as good of a time as any to finally use them, so he pulls them out and changes one into a diamond drill, the second into a strip of bamboo and the third into a piece of cotton rope. Using these three items he is able to drill through the bottom of the vase, which on top of letting him out, also makes the vase functionally useless so they can't use it against him again.

As a mole cricket, Monkey leaves the vase and lands on top of the First King's head. Coincidentally the kings also decide it's about time to check if he's melted yet and ask the minion demon's to bring it over. The minion demon's to their horror find that the vase is suddenly much lighter. The First King decides to check for himself and opens the vase only to find it empty. Monkey uses this opportunity to grab his stuff and book it to the door.

Monkey makes his way back to Tripitaka who is currently offering a prayer to the gods to aid Monkey in his current quest. Monkey is very moved by this and greets Tripitaka. Tripitaka is very sweet and praises him for his hard work and tells him he was worried about him when he didn't come back. So Monkey tells him the story about what happened, and when Tripitaka asks for clarification that Monkey hasn't actually dealt with the monster spirits later, and therefor can't proceed safely, Monkey takes that as a challenge.

Tripitaka suggests that he take Pigsy and Sandy with him this time to clear the mountain of demon's, but Monkey insists that Sandy stay to guard Tripitaka and that he'll just take Pigsy with him. Pigsy protests this saying he won't be much use anyways, but Monkey insists that he can at the very least provide moral support.

So Monkey and Pigsy head off, and when they get there Monkey just bangs on the door and demands they come out and fight him. Nice and straightforward this time I see. When the First King hears about this he asks who wants to go out there and fight him, only for everyone in the room to suddenly turn deaf. Left with no other choice, the First King decides to face them himself. So the King goes out to confront Monkey and asks why he's even harassing them in the first place, they didn't even do anything to him! Which is true. Monkey however points out that they were plotting from the very beginning to kidnap and eat Tripitaka, which is also true.

Anyways the Lion King is nice enough to offer to fight Wukong one on one instead of setting his entire army on them, so Wukong also tells Pigsy to wait on the sidelines. The King then offers a wager with Wukong, that if he can withstand three blows, he'll let them pass, but if he can't, Tripitaka is dinner. Monkey has heard this kind of bet before and asks if he can get it in writing. Well, Monkey doesn't get his written contract, but he does take the bet, and the Demon swings his weapon down on Monkey's head, only to hear a loud crack, but Monkey is completely unharmed. I mean he is the Stone Monkey, not to mention the whole thing with Laozi's stove.

Anyways take two, and this time, the weapon is 'able' to split his head in half, which immediately forms two Sun Wukong's. The Demon King is like 'Okay sure, you can split yourself in half, but can you put yourself back together! If you can you can hit me back!' Wukong immediately takes that deal, and rolls himself back into one, and immediately attacks him with his staff, only to have the demon block the attack, with his own weapon. The two begin to fight in earnest until Pigsy spots an opportunity and hits the demon with a sneak attack. The Demon, unsure of how much of a threat Pigsy actually is, panics and tries to flee.

Monkey and Pigsy give chase, only for the Lion Demon to pull the same trick he pulled on the celestial soldiers, and open his mouth wide to swallow them. Pigsy panics and high tails it out of there to go hide under a bush, but Monkey, never one to pass up the opportunity to use one of his favorite strategies for dealing with demon's, let's himself be swallowed. Pigsy despite having seen Monkey pull this exact stunt before thinks he's done for, and heads back to the rest of the pilgrimage to tell them the bad news.

Tripitaka is waiting patiently with Sandy, but begins to panic when he see's Pigsy come back alone, Pigsy validates his fear by crying and telling him that Wukong has been swallowed by the demon. This causes Tripitaka to collapse and cry in despair. Pigsy instead of trying to do anything to... I don't know, comfort or reassure Tripitaka, immediately moves on to how they should divide up their belongings so they can each just go back to their individual lives. Oh and they can sell the horse to be able to afford Tripitaka a nice coffin at least, which just makes Tripitaka cry harder.

Meanwhile, we cut back to Monkey who is very much not dead, and who is in fact rather enjoying himself. Monkey refuses to budge from the demon's stomach, even as the demon tries everything he can think of to try and throw him up. Eventually he lands on trying to negotiate with Monkey and asks why he won't come out. Monkey says it's rather warm in here, so he'll just stay cozy for the winter. The Demon says he'll just starve him out, but Monkey points out that he can just eat the demon from the inside out. The Demon is beginning to panic, so he asks his brothers to bring him some medicinal wine to try and drug Monkey. However Monkey has put so many questionable things in his mouth during his life, what is there that he is afraid to drink?

When the demon tries to drink the wine, Monkey manages to swipe it from him and drink it instead. After eight tries, the demon gives it up, since he can't even feel it, Monkey on the other hand very much can, and becomes completely wasted. This is bad news for the Demon, because Wukong is apparently a hyper drunk, and showcases his drunkenness by doing cartwheels and prancing around the demon's insides. Ouch.

Current Sun Wukong Stats: Names/Titles: Monkey, The Stone Monkey, The Handsome Monkey King, Sun Wukong (Monkey awakened to the void), Bimawen (Banhorseplague), The Great Sage Equal To Heaven and Pilgrim Sun. Immortality: 5 + 94,000 years Weapon: The Compliant Golden Hooped Rod Abilities: 72 Transformations, Cloud-Somersault, Ability to transform his individual hairs, super strength, Ability to Summon Wind, Water restriction charm, and the ability to change into a huge war form, ability to duplicate his staff, ability to immobilize others, the ability to put others to sleep, and the Fiery eyes and Diamond Pupils, intimidating horses, churning large bodies of water, sleeplessness, seizing the wind, enhanced smell, discerning good and evil within a thousand miles, Spirit Summoning, lock picking, object transformation, distance reduction, vanishing in a flash of light, super healing, transforming others, Invisibility, Wind Immunity, Medicine Making, putting out fire from a distance with a glass of wine, weaving a straw dragon and Body Division Demon Kill Count: 752 + Unknown Number of Minions Human Kill Count: 1039 God's Defeated: 23 + Unknown number Defeats: 7 Crime List: Robbery, Murder, Mass Murder, Arson, Theft, Coercion, Threatening a Government Official, Resisting Arrest, Assault, Forgery, Employee Theft, False Imprisonment, Impersonating a Government Official, Treason, attempted murder, failure to control or report a dangerous fire, desecrating a corpse, breaking and entering, trespassing, violating Tree Law, looting corpses, trading counterfeit goods, criminal threat, animal abuse, Assisting or Instigating Escape, Damage to Religious Property, contaminating a substance for human consumption, Identity Fraud, Disorderly Conduct, Joyriding, unauthorized practice of medicine and Voyeurism Cry Count: 15 + 3 fake cries Mountains Trapped Under: 4

Current Tang Sanzang stats: Names/Titles: River Float, Xuanzang, Tang Sanzang, Tripitaka and the Tang Monk Abilities: Curing Blindness, making branches point a certain direction (allegedly), reciting sutras, pretty privilege, memorization, Heart Sutra, Meditation, and Being Heaven's Specialist Little Guy Cry Count: 40 Tight Fillet Spell Uses: 63 Paralyzed by fear: 6 Bandit Problems: 3 Kidnapped by demons: 13 Falling Off Horses: 12

Current Bai Long Ma Stats: Names/Titles: Bai Long Ma (White Dragon Horse), Prince of the Western Ocean, and third prince jade dragon of the dragon king Aorun Abilities: Transforming into a human, a water snake, and a horse, eating a horse in one bite, flight, Magic of Water Restriction, Singing, Sword Dancing and Magic Pee Cry Count: 1 Crime List: Arson, and Grave Disobedience. Contributions to the plot: 4 Kidnapped by demons: 3

Current Zhu Wuneng Stats: Names/Titles: The Marshal of the Heavenly Reeds, Zhu Wuneng (Pig who is aware of ability), Zhu Ganglie, Pigsy, Idiot and Eight Rules. Weapon: Rake Abilities: 36 Transformations, parting water, fighting underwater, cloud soaring, size enhancement, CPR and Shoveling Demon Kill Count/Kill steals: 15 + Unknown number of minions Kidnapped by Demons: 9 Human Kill Count: 1 Failed Flirtation/romances Attempts: 4 Cry Count: 4 Crime List: Sexual Harassment, Murder, Kidnapping, arson, defamation, Damage to Religious Property, contaminating a substance for human consumption, Identity Fraud, Theft, Forcible entry, Disrupting a Funeral, Violating Tree Law and Arson

Current Sha Wujing Stats: Names/Titles: The Curtain-Raising General, Sha Wujing (Sand Aware of Purity), Sandy and Sha Monk Weapon: Monster Taming Staff Abilities: Fighting underwater, Cloud soaring, and fetching water from a well. Demon Kill Count: 1 + Unknown number of minions. Kidnapped by Demons: 6 Human Kill Count: 1 Cry Count: 2 Crime List: Breaking a Crystal Cup, murder, desecration of a human corpse, Damage to Religious Property, contaminating a substance for human consumption and Arson

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